“I am not afraid of him,” he answered, “but I do not like tunnels.  Still, perhaps it would be better to accompany you than to be left in this place alone.  Now I will unpack the food.”

Yva turned to go.

“I must leave you,” she said, “since my father needs my help.  The matter has to do with the Force that he would let loose tomorrow, and its measurements; also with the preparation of the robes that we must wear lest it should harm us in its leap.”

Something in her eyes told me that she wished me to follow her, and I did so.  Outside the portico where we stood in the desolate, lighted street, she halted.

“If you are not afraid,” she said, “meet me at midnight by the statue of Fate in the great temple, for I would speak with you, Humphrey, where, if anywhere, we may be alone.”

“I will come, Yva.”

“You know the road, and the gates are open, Humphrey.”

Then she gave me her hand to kiss and glided away.  I returned to the others and we ate, somewhat sparingly, for we wished to save our food in case of need, and having drunk of the Life-water, were not hungry.  Also we talked a little, but by common consent avoided the subject of the morrow and what it might bring forth.

We knew that terrible things were afoot, but lacking any knowledge of what these might be, thought it useless to discuss them.  Indeed we were too depressed, so much so that even Bastin and Bickley ceased from arguing.  The latter was so overcome by the exhibition of Oro’s powers when he caused the pistol to leap into the air and discharge itself, that he could not even pluck up courage to laugh at the failure of Bastin’s efforts to do justice on the old Super-man, or rather to prevent him from attempting a colossal crime.

At length we lay down on the couches to rest, Bastin remarking that he wished he could turn off the light, also that he did not in the least regret having tried to kill Oro.  Sleep seemed to come to the others quickly, but I could only doze, to wake up from time to time.  Of this I was not sorry, since whenever I dropped off dreams seemed to pursue me.  For the most part they were of my dead wife.  She appeared to be trying to console me for some loss, but the strange thing was that sometimes she spoke with her own voice and sometimes with Yva’s, and sometimes looked at me with her own eyes and sometimes with those of Yva.  I remember nothing else about these dreams, which were very confused.

After one of them, the most vivid of all, I awoke and looked at my watch.  It was half-past eleven, almost time for me to be starting.  The other two seemed to be fast asleep.  Presently I rose and crept down the court without waking them.  Outside the portico, which by the way was a curious example of the survival of custom in architecture, since none was needed in that weatherless place, I turned to the right and followed the wide street to the temple enclosure.  Through the pillared courts I went, my footsteps, although I walked as softly as I could, echoing loudly in that intense silence, through the great doors into the utter solitude of the vast and perfect fane.