Some minutes passed, and from the door at the rear of the dais came Minos. His dogs trooped in with him, bristling at sight of the priest. The king took his seat on the ancient, raised throne of his forefathers, with its plinth above, whereon were carved the words MINOEBAEIVEYETHEEAPAANHEOH (Minos, Basileustes Sardanes Ho Hekaton, or Minos, hundredth King of Sardanes.) A number of the nobles climbed up the steps from the lower hall, and took their stations below the throne. Scarcely was the king in his place when the tumult of affright again broke forth, an unintelligible clamor of many voices. Minos raised his hands to still it. He addressed his people calmly, with the demeanor and smile that long before had earned for him the name of the Smiling Prince. "Tradition saith, and the writings of history which the priest keep do confirm," he said, "that in time very long ago our ancestors came to Sardanes from a great, bright world to the north, a world wherein they were part of a mighty people. By a strange mischance came they to Sardanes, and might return no more whence they came. Here have their descendants lived in peace and plenty. But a little time agone two strangers, that Polaris--of the Snows, and the Rose girl, came among us. They, too, told us of the outer world--a place so different from this that we scarce could conceive of it. There the sun shineth always. Here he is hid from us for half of each year. There all things live in his warmth. Here are we warmed by the ring of fire-mountains, and all without is the bleak desert of ice and snow. "They told us also, did the strangers, of the nature of the fires which spout yonder, and of the mighty forces in the earth from which they are sprung. Wherefore tremble ye now, my people? Because a hill shaketh? Because a fire flameth anew that perhaps flamed aforetime, long before your forefathers came? Fear not. These things be of nature, and of nature only, and will pass. I, Minos, your king, am sure that no great harm impendeth, and that all things will be again as they have been." Reassuring as were his words and his calmness, murmurs broke out anew from the people. "Never hath it been so chill in the time of the great darkness as now it is," cried a voice. "Hephaistos! Hephaistos! These things must be of the great god, who is sore wroth with Sardanes. The priests have said it," called another. Above the many-tongued murmur swelled the name of the high priest. "Analos! Analos! Let us hear from the wise priest of the Gateway!" they shouted. With a smile of grim defiance at the king, Analos glided from his seat and stood at the edge of the platform. He drew his long, black cloak around him, and stood poised like a bird of dark omen, wrapped in its sable pinions. His somber eyes glowed. Good actor was the priest. He spoke never a word until the silence of death in the hall told him that he had the attention of every straining ear.