Half blinded by the extreme effulgence, and confused by the jostling to and fro of a multitude immeasurably greater than any he had ever seen or imagined, Theos instinctively stretched out his hand in the helpless fashion of one not knowing whither next to turn, . .  Sah-luma immediately caught it in his own, and hurried him along without saying a word.

How they managed to glide through the close ranks of pushing, pressing people, and effect an entrance he never knew,—­but when he recovered from his momentary dazed bewilderment, he found himself inside the Temple, standing near a pillar of finely fluted white marble that shot up like the stem of a palm-tree and lost its final point in the dim yet sparkling splendor of the immense dome above.  Lights twinkled everywhere,—­there was the odor of faint perfumes mingled with the fresher fragrance of flowers,—­ there were distant glimpses of jewelled shrines, and the leering faces of grotesque idols clothed in draperies of amber, purple, and green,—­and between the multitudinous columns that ringed the superb fane with snowy circles, one within the other, hung glittering lamps, set with rare gems and swinging by long chains of gold.

But the crowning splendor of the whole was concentrated on the place of the secret Inner Shrine.  There an Arch of pale-blue fire spanned the dome from left to right, . . there, from huge bronze vessels mounted on tall tripods the smoke of burning incense arose in thick and odorous clouds,—­there children clad in white, and wearing garlands of vivid scarlet blossoms, stood about in little groups as still as exquisitely modelled statuettes, their small hands folded, and their eyes downcast, . . there, the steps were strewn with branches of palm, flowering oleander, rose-laurel, and olive-sprays,—­but the Sanctuary itself was not visible.

Before that Holy of Holies hung the dazzling folds of the “Silver Veil,” a curtain of the most wonderfully woven silver tissue, that seen in the flashing azure light of the luminous arch above it, resembled nothing so much as a suddenly frozen sheet of foam.  Across it was emblazoned in large characters: 

I am the past, the present, the future,

The might-have-been, and the shall-not-be,

The ever, and the never,

No mortal knoweth my name.

As Theos with some difficulty, owing to the intense brilliancy of the Veil, managed to decipher these words, he heard a solitary trumpet sounded,—­a clear-blown note that echoed itself many times among the lofty arches before it finally floated into silence.  Recognizing this as an evident signal for some new and important phase in the proceedings, he turned his eyes away from the place of the Shrine, and looking round the building was surprised to see how completely