Something of cold splendor, terribly possessing, came close to them as he spoke the words; for this was no empty phrase.  Behind it lay the great drive of a relentless reality.  And it struck at the very root of the fear that grew every moment more insistent in the hearts of the two lovers.  They did not want to become as gods.  They desired to remain quietly human and to love!

But before either of them could utter speech, even had they dared, the awful clergyman continued; and nothing brought home to them more vividly the horrible responsibility of the experiment, and the results of possible failure, than the few words with which he concluded.

“And to mispronounce, to utter falsely, to call inaccurately, will mean to summon into life upon the world—­and into the heart of the utterer—­that which is incomplete, that which is not God—­Devils!—­devils of that subtle Alteration which is destruction—­the devils of a Lie.”

* * * * *

And so for hours at a time they rehearsed the sounds of the chord, but very softly, lest the sound should rise and reach the four rooms and invite the escape of the waiting Letters prematurely.

Mrs. Mawle, holding the bit of paper on which her instructions were clearly written, was as eager almost as her master, and as the note she had to utter was practically the only one left in the register of her voice, her deafness provided little difficulty.

“Though when the letters awake into life and cry aloud,” said Skale, beaming upon her dear old apple-skinned face, “it will be in tones that even the deaf shall hear.  For they will spell a measure of redemption that shall destroy in a second of time all physical disabilities whatsoever....”

It was at this moment Spinrobin asked a question that for days had been hovering about his lips.  He asked it gravely, hesitatingly, even solemnly, while Miriam hung upon the answer with an anxiety as great as his own.

“And if any one of us fails,” he said, “and pronounces falsely, will the result affect all of us, or only the utterer?”

“The utterer only,” replied the clergyman.  “For it is his own spirit that must absorb the forces and powers invoked by the sound he utters.”

He took the question lightly, it seemed.  The possibility of failure was too remote to be practical.

Chapter XIII

I

But Spinrobin was hardly prepared for the suddenness of the denouement.  He had looked for a longer period of preparation, with the paraphernalia of a considerable, even an august ceremony.  Instead, the announcement came with an abrupt simplicity that caught him with a horrid shock of surprise.  He was taken wholly unawares.

“The only thing I fear,” Mr. Skale had confided to them, “is that the vibrations of our chord may have already risen to the rooms and cause a premature escape.  But, even so, we shall have ample warning.  For the deaf, being protected from the coarser sounds of earth, are swift to hear the lightest whispers from Heaven.  Mrs. Mawle will know.  Mrs. Mawle will instantly warn us....”