“No,” he said. “No”⁠—he hesitate⁠—“it is the usual feast that follows the sacrament! Lugur⁠—and Double Tongue, who came with you, will be there,” he added slowly.

“Lugur⁠—” I gasped in astonishment. “After what happened⁠—he will be there?”

“Perhaps because of what happened, Goodwin, my friend,” he answered⁠—his eyes again full of malice; “and there will be others⁠—friends of Yolara⁠—friends of Lugur⁠—and perhaps another”⁠—his voice was almost inaudible⁠—“one whom they have not called⁠—” He halted, half-fearfully, glancing at the globe; put finger to lips and spread himself out upon one of the couches.

“Strike up the band”⁠—came O’Keefe’s voice⁠—“here comes the hero!”

He strode into the room. I am bound to say that the admiration in Rador’s eyes was reflected in my own, and even, if involuntarily, in Olaf’s.

“A son of Siyana!” whispered Rador.