At his cry armed men ran swiftly from behind the hut, where they had evidently been placed beforehand.

Sir Henry, Good, and Umbopa ranged themselves alongside of me, and lifted their rifles.

“Stop!” I shouted boldly, though at the moment my heart was in my boots.  “Stop! we, the white men from the Stars, say that it shall not be.  Come but one pace nearer, and we will put out the moon like a wind-blown lamp, as we who dwell in her House can do, and plunge the land in darkness.  Dare to disobey, and ye shall taste of our magic.”

My threat produced an effect; the men halted, and Scragga stood still before us, his spear lifted.

“Hear him! hear him!” piped Gagool; “hear the liar who says that he will put out the moon like a lamp.  Let him do it, and the girl shall be speared.  Yes, let him do it, or die by the girl, he and those with him.”

I glanced up at the moon despairingly, and now to my intense joy and relief saw that we—­or rather the almanack—­had made no mistake.  On the edge of the great orb lay a faint rim of shadow, while a smoky hue grew and gathered upon its bright surface.  Never shall I forget that supreme, that superb moment of relief.

Then I lifted my hand solemnly towards the sky, an example which Sir Henry and Good followed, and quoted a line or two from the “Ingoldsby Legends” at it in the most impressive tones that I could command.  Sir Henry followed suit with a verse out of the Old Testament, and something about Balbus building a wall, in Latin, whilst Good addressed the Queen of Night in a volume of the most classical bad language which he could think of.

Slowly the penumbra, the shadow of a shadow, crept on over the bright surface, and as it crept I heard deep gasps of fear rising from the multitude around.

“Look, O king!” I cried; “look, Gagool!  Look, chiefs and people and women, and see if the white men from the Stars keep their word, or if they be but empty liars!

“The moon grows black before your eyes; soon there will be darkness—­ ay, darkness in the hour of the full moon.  Ye have asked for a sign; it is given to you.  Grow dark, O Moon! withdraw thy light, thou pure and holy One; bring the proud heart of usurping murderers to the dust, and eat up the world with shadows.”

A groan of terror burst from the onlookers.  Some stood petrified with dread, others threw themselves upon their knees and cried aloud.  As for the king, he sat still and turned pale beneath his dusky skin.  Only Gagool kept her courage.

“It will pass,” she cried; “I have often seen the like before; no man can put out the moon; lose not heart; sit still—­the shadow will pass.”

“Wait, and ye shall see,” I replied, hopping with excitement.  “O Moon!  Moon!  Moon! wherefore art thou so cold and fickle?” This appropriate quotation was from the pages of a popular romance that I chanced to have read recently, though now I come to think of it, it was ungrateful of me to abuse the Lady of the Heavens, who was showing herself to be the truest of friends to us, however she may have behaved to the impassioned lover in the novel.  Then I added:  “Keep it up, Good, I can’t remember any more poetry.  Curse away, there’s a good fellow.”