At least the figures on that mirror of the flame were a miracle.  Nay, why so?  A hundred clairvoyants in a hundred cities can produce or see their like in water and in crystal, the difference being only one of size.  They were but reflections of scenes familiar to the mind of Ayesha, or perhaps not so much as that.  Perhaps they were only phantasms called up in our minds by her mesmeric force.

Nay, none of these things were true miracles, since all, however strange, might be capable of explanation.  What right then had we to expect a marvel now?

Such thoughts as these rose in our minds as the endless minutes were born and died and—­nothing happened.

Yes, at last one thing did happen.  The light from the sheet of flame died gradually away as the flame itself sank downwards into the abysses of the pit.  But about this in itself there was nothing wonderful, for as we had seen with our own eyes from afar this fire varied much, and indeed it was customary for it to die down at the approach of dawn, which now drew very near.

Still that onward-creeping darkness added to the terrors of the scene.  By the last rays of the lurid light we saw Ayesha rise and advance some few paces to that little tongue of rock at the edge of the pit off which the body of Rassen had been hurled; saw her standing on it, also, looking like some black, misshapen imp against the smoky glow which still rose from the depths beneath.

Leo would have gone forward to her, for he believed that she was about to hurl herself to doom, which indeed I thought was her design.  But the priest Oros, and the priestess Papave, obeying, I suppose, some secret command that reached them I know not how, sprang to him and seizing his arms, held him back.  Then it became quite dark, and through the darkness we could hear Ayesha chanting a dirge-like hymn in some secret, holy tongue which was unknown to us.

A great flake of fire floated through the gloom, rocking to and fro like some vast bird upon its pinions.  We had seen many such that night, torn by the gale from the crest of the blazing curtain as I have described.  But—­but—­“Horace,” whispered Leo through his chattering teeth, “that flame is coming up against the wind!”

“Perhaps the wind has changed,” I answered, though I knew well that it had not; that it blew stronger than ever from the south.

Nearer and nearer sailed the rocking flame, two enormous wings was the shape of it, with something dark between them.  It reached the little promontory.  The wings appeared to fold themselves about the dwarfed figure that stood thereon—­illuminating it for a moment.  Then the light went out of them and they vanished—­everything vanished.

A while passed, it may have been one minute or ten, when suddenly the priestess Papave, in obedience to some summons which we could not hear, crept by me.  I knew that it was she because her woman’s garments touched me as she went.  Another space of silence and of deep darkness, during which I heard Papave return, breathing in short, sobbing gasps like one who is very frightened.