The girls obediently went to find their brothers, who were leaning on the balcony railings. “Where’s the learned gentleman?” asked Anthea. “There he is—below,” said the priest, who had come with them. “Your High Ji-jimmy is with the Kings.” The ten Kings were no longer alone. The learned gentleman—no one had noticed how he got there—stood with them on the steps of an altar, on which lay the dead body of the black bull. All the rest of the courtyard was thick with people, seemingly of all classes, and all were shouting, “The sea—the sea!” “Be calm,” said the most kingly of the Kings, he who had lassoed the bull. “Our town is strong against the thunders of the sea and of the sky!” “I want to go home,” whined the Psammead. “We can’t go without _him_,” said Anthea firmly. “Jimmy,” she called, “Jimmy!” and waved to him. He heard her, and began to come towards her through the crowd. They could see from the balcony the sea-captain edging his way out from among the people. And his face was dead white, like paper. “To the hills!” he cried in a loud and terrible voice. And above his voice came another voice, louder, more terrible—the voice of the sea. The girls looked seaward. Across the smooth distance of the sea something huge and black rolled towards the town. It was a wave, but a wave a hundred feet in height, a wave that looked like a mountain—a wave rising higher and higher till suddenly it seemed to break in two—one half of it rushed out to sea again; the other— “Oh!” cried Anthea, “the town—the poor people!” “It’s all thousands of years ago, really,” said Robert but his voice trembled. They hid their eyes for a moment. They could not bear to look down, for the wave had broken on the face of the town, sweeping over the quays and docks, overwhelming the great storehouses and factories, tearing gigantic stones from forts and bridges, and using them as battering rams against the temples. Great ships were swept over the roofs of the houses and dashed down halfway up the hill among ruined gardens and broken buildings. The water ground brown fishing-boats to powder on the golden roofs of Palaces. Then the wave swept back towards the sea. “I want to go home,” cried the Psammead fiercely. “Oh, yes, yes!” said Jane, and the boys were ready—but the learned gentleman had not come. Then suddenly they heard him dash up to the inner gallery, crying— “I _must_ see the end of the dream.” He rushed up the higher flight. The others followed him. They found themselves in a sort of turret—roofed, but open to the air at the sides. The learned gentleman was leaning on the parapet, and as they rejoined him the vast wave rushed back on the town. This time it rose higher—destroyed more. “Come home,” cried the Psammead; “_that’s_ the _last_, I know it is! That’s the last—over there.” It pointed with a claw that trembled. “Oh, come!” cried Jane, holding up the Amulet. “I _will see_ the end of the dream,” cried the learned gentleman.