Then he listened to the sounds, and it seemed to him as if somewhere, far down eastwards, there was a silence beginning. He jerked his head impatiently, as a man behind him began to talk rapidly and confusedly. Why would he not be silent, and let silence be heard?... The man stopped presently, and out of the distance there swelled up a roar, as soft as the roll of a summer tide; it passed up towards him from the right; it was about him, dinning in his ears. There was no longer any individual voice: it was the breathing of the giant that had been born; he was crying out too; he did not know what he said, but he could not be silent. His veins and nerves seemed alight with wine; and as he stared down the long street, hearing the huge cry ebb from him and move toward the palace, he knew why he had cried, and why he was now silent. A slender, fish-shaped thing, as white as milk, as ghostly as a shadow, and as beautiful as the dawn, slid into sight half-a-mile away, turned and came towards him, floating, as it seemed, on the very wave of silence that it created, up, up the long curving street on outstretched wings, not twenty feet above the heads of the crowd. There was one great sigh, and then silence once more. * * * * * When Percy could think consciously again--for his will was only capable of efforts as a clock of ticks--the strange white thing was nearer. He told himself that he had seen a hundred such before; and at the same instant that this was different from all others. Then it was nearer still, floating slowly, slowly, like a gull over the sea; he could make out its smooth nose, its low parapet beyond, the steersman’s head motionless; he could even hear now the soft winnowing of the screw--and then he saw that for which he had waited. High on the central deck there stood a chair, draped, too, in white, with some insignia visible above its back; and in the chair sat the figure of a man, motionless and lonely. He made no sign as he came; his dark dress showed vividedly against the whiteness; his head was raised, and he turned it gently now and again from side to side. It came nearer still, in the profound stillness; the head turned, and for an instant the face was plainly visible in the soft, radiant light. It was a pale face, strongly marked, as of a young man, with arched, black eyebrows, thin lips, and white hair. Then the face turned once more, the steersman shifted his head, and the beautiful shape, wheeling a little, passed the corner, and moved up towards the palace. There was an hysterical yelp somewhere, a cry, and again the tempestuous groan broke out. BOOK II-THE ENCOUNTER CHAPTER I I Oliver Brand was seated at his desk, on the evening of the next day, reading the leading article of the _New People_, evening edition. * * * * *