rless as he.

The ten boys knelt down and crossed their arms upon their bosoms; El
Safy fell flat upon his face, and crawling so, like a worm, came at
length to the steps of the throne. The Old Man let him lie while he
blinked solemnly before him. Not the Pope himself, as Milo had once seen
him, hoar with sanctity, looked more remotely, more awfully pure than
this king of murder, snowy upon his blood-red field. What gave closer
mystery was that the light came strange and milky through agate windows,
and that when the Old Man spoke it was in a dry, whispering voice which,
with the sound of a murmur in the forest, was in tune with the silence
of all the rest. El Safy stood up, and was rigid. There ensued a
passionless flow of question and answer. The Old Man murmured to the
roof, scarcely moving his lips; El Safy answered by rote, not moving any
other muscles but his jaw's. As for the Assassins, they stayed squat
against the walls, as if they had been dead men, buried sitting.

At a sign from El Safy the abbot with veiled Jehane came down the hail,
and stood before the white spectre on his throne. Jehane saw that this
was really a man. There was a faint tinge of red at his nostrils, his
eyes were yellowish and very bright, his nails coloured red. The shape
of his head was that of an old bird. She judged him bald under his high
cap; but his beard came below his breast-bone. When he opened his mouth
to speak she observed that his teeth were the whitest part of him, and
his lips rather grey. He did not seem to look at her, but said to the
abbot, 'Tell me why you have come into my country, being a Frank and a
Christian dog; and why you have brought with you this fair woman.'

'My lord,' said the abbot, after clearing his throat, 'we are lovers and
servants of the great king whom you call the Melek Richard, a lion
indeed in the paths of the Moslems, who makes bitter war upon your enemy
the Soldan; and in defence of him we are come. For it appears that a
servant of your lordship's, called Giafaribn Mulk, is now in Acre, which
is King Richard's good town, conspiring with the Marquess the death of
our lord.'

'It is the first I have heard of it,' said the Old Man. 'He was sent for
a different purpose, but his hand is otherwise free. What else have you
to say?'

'Why, this, my lord,' said the abbot, 'that our lord the King has too
many enemies not declared, who compass his destruction while he
compasses their soul's health. T