“I don’t think my description can be good, if I left you with that impression,” said Alan thoughtfully. “They are not like the black, savage natives of the present day. I should say rather, that they still possess the savage instincts of our forefathers. The sacrifice of living creatures, even humanity, does not revolt them. They are impervious to great pain themselves, and can watch it in others without flinching. The living sacrifices they offered to the Fire must have suffered agonies before life was finally extinct in them; but to their mind the pain they were inflicting made the sacrifice still more acceptable to their Almighty. They inflicted terrible tortures on their Virgin Watchers of the Temple—they were cruel, cunning, vile—yet in other ways they were too cultured to be called savages. Savage yes, but not savages.” “I see the difference you mean, my boy. But didn’t you say they worshipped the Fire?” “Yes. It is itself a part of their religion. I don’t think I ever understood it properly myself. They looked on the Fire almost as God himself—not a different God, but just God. Yet at the same time they believed that the God of their Fathers exists in the Heaven above the Upper World. It sounds very complicated, I am afraid.” “No, no, my boy. I understand quite well what you mean.” “They believed they had to offer living sacrifices to the Fire to keep it burning. The strangest part of their belief is, that when the Fire does die out, then will come the consummation of the entire world—not only theirs but ours too.” “Then they know of our world?” “Oh yes. Dathan and Abiram left written histories about the world they had left—the world they had once inhabited.” “Going back to the Fire,” said Sir John. “Is it large?” “Enormous. We never saw it in its entirety. It seemed to stretch away into the distance for miles. It was walled in with a glass-like substance, and was absolutely unlike any fire we had ever seen before. It seemed to have no real substance—was all leaping, brilliant flames—yet the heart of it seemed solid and firm. During our stay we could see that the Fire was really growing less and less. Imperceptibly at first, but latterly by leaps and bounds.” “I wonder what _will_ happen when the Fire does go out,” said Desmond thoughtfully. “It has existed on itself for these thousands of years. The only fuel that was ever given it latterly was human or animal life. Surely that could hardly feed a Fire.” “I think some world-wide catastrophe will come when the Fire dies out, if ever it does,” said Alan. “And Jez-Riah just fell to dust,” went on Sir John slowly. “Yes.” Mavis was very excited. “Why our fortunes are made,” she cried. “Of course you’ll write to the papers?” “We didn’t know what to do,” said Alan. “Desmond and I talked it over and came to the conclusion we would tell Uncle John first and get his advice.” “No one else knows at all?” “No one but us five.”