the tree
shadows were like black velvet. A silvery lance pierced even into the
hollow of Marco's evergreen and struck across his face.

Perhaps it was this sudden change which attracted the attention of
those inside the balconied room. A man's figure appeared at the long
windows. Marco saw now that it was the Prince. He opened the windows
and stepped out on to the balcony.

"It is all over," he said quietly. And he stood with his face lifted,
looking at the great white sailing moon.

He stood very still and seemed for the moment to forget the world and
himself. It was a wonderful, triumphant queen of a moon. But something
brought him back to earth. A low, but strong and clear, boy-voice came
up to him from the garden path below.

"The Lamp is lighted. The Lamp is lighted," it said, and the words
sounded almost as if some one were uttering a prayer. They seemed to
call to him, to arrest him, to draw him.

He stood still a few seconds in dead silence. Then he bent over the
balustrade. The moonlight had not broken the darkness below.

"That is a boy's voice," he said in a low tone, "but I cannot see who
is speaking."

"Yes, it is a boy's voice," it answered, in a way which somehow moved
him, because it was so ardent. "It is the son of Stefan Loristan. The
Lamp is lighted."

"Wait. I am coming down to you," the Prince said.

In a few minutes Marco heard a door open gently not far from where he
stood. Then the man he had been following so many days appeared at his
side.

"How long have you been here?" he asked.

"Before the gates closed. I hid myself in the hollow of the big shrub
there, Highness," Marco answered.

"Then you were out in the storm?"

"Yes, Highness."

The Prince put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I cannot see you--but
it is best to stand in the shadow. You are drenched to the skin."

"I have been able to give your Highness--the Sign," Marco whispered.
"A storm is nothing."

There was a silence. Marco knew that his companion was pausing to turn
something over in his mind.

"So-o?" he said slowly, at length. "The Lamp is lighted, And YOU are
sent to bear the Sign." Something in his voice made Marco feel that he
was smiling.

"What a race you are! What a race--you Samavian Loristans!"

He paused as if to think the thing over again.

"I want to see your face," he said next. "Here is a tree with a shaft
of moonlight striking through the branches. Let us step asid