Still Watson held back.  He could not understand what Holcomb meant.

Queen waited only until the Senestro set foot on the dais.  She crouched, then leaped.

It was done.

With a lightning shift of his nimble feet, the high-tempered Bar kicked the shepherd in the side.  Caught at full leap, she was knocked completely over and fell upon the snow-stone.

It was the Sacrilege!

Even the Bars beyond the Senestro stopped in horror.  The Four-Footed One—­sacred to the Jarados—­it was she who had been touched!  Had the Senestro undone all on the Spot of Judgment, What would be the end?

Fenton acted.  He caught the Senestro before he could get his balance and with a mighty heave hurled him over the side of the stair.  A second, and it was over.

Another second was the last.  For the great Leaf of the Jarados had opened.

The green and red stood still; but out of the blue came a dazzling light, a powerful beam; so brilliant, it seemed solid.  It shot across the whole sweep of the temple and touched the Prophecy.  Over the golden scrolls it traced its marvellous colour, until it came to the lines: 

  Beware ye of sacrilege!  Lest I take from ye all that I
  have given ye, and the day be postponed—­beware ye of
  sacrilege!

For a moment the strange light stood still, so that the checked millions might read.  Then it turned upon the dais.

There it spread, and hovered over the group, until it seemed to work them together—­the Nervina to Harry, the Aradna to Hobart.  Not one of them knew what it was; they obeyed by impulse—­it was their destiny; the Chosen, and the queens.

The light stopped at the foot of Dr. Holcomb.  Then the strangest thing happened.

Out of the light—­or rather, from where it bathed the snowstone—­ came a man; a man much like Holcomb, bearded and short and kindly.

He was the real Jarados!

Unhesitatingly the professor stepped up beside him.  Then followed Hobart and the Aradna, Harry and the Nervina, and lastly, from the crowd of Bars, MacPherson.  The whole concourse in the temple stopped in awe and terror.

Only for a second.  Then the Jarados and all at his side—­were gone.

And upon the snow-stone there stood a sword of living flame.

It stood there for just a breath, exactly where the group had been.

And it was gone.

That was all.

No; not quite all.  For when the Blind Spot closed that night at 288 Chatterton Place, there came once more the deep, solemn peal of the Bell of the Jarados.

XLVIII

THE UNACCOUNTABLE

Were this account merely a work of fiction, it would harmonise things so as to have no unaccountables in it.  As it is, the present writers will have to make this quite clear: 

It is not known why the Rhamda Avec failed to show himself at the crucial moment.  Perhaps he could have changed everything.  We can only surmise; he has not been seen or heard from since.