band of the same crystal, marking the formal threshold of the Hall. Immediately inside this stood the same Chief who had received us in the former Hall; and as we stood at the door, stretching forth his left hand, he spoke, or rather chanted, what, by the rhythmical sequence of the words, by the frequent recurrence of alliteration and irregular rhyme, was evidently a formula committed to the verse of the Martial tongue: a formula, like all those of the Order, never written, but handed down by memory, and therefore, perhaps, cast in a shape which rendered accurate remembrance easier and more certain. "Ye who, lost in outer night, Reach at last the Source of Light, Ask ye in that light to dwell? None we urge and none repel; Opens at your touch the door, Bright within the lamp of lore. Yet beware! The threshold passed, Fixed the bond, the ball is cast. Failing heart or faltering feet Find nor pardon nor retreat. Loyal faith hath guerdon given Boundless as the star-sown Heaven; Horror fathomless and gloom Rayless veil the recreant's doom. Warned betimes, in time beware—Freely turn, or frankly swear." "What am I to swear?" I asked. A voice on my left murmured in a low tone the formula, which I repeated, Eveena accompanying my words in an almost inaudible whisper— "Whatsoe'er within the Shrine Eyes may see or soul divine, Swear we secret as the deep, Silent as the Urn to keep. By the Light we claim to share, By the Fount of Light, we swear."