Kalliboas answered me without hesitation. 'Our wise ones suppose,' he said, 'that this universe in which we live is composed of a finite number of elementary forms, which act and react upon one another perpetually. Therefore the number of possible regroupings and chains of events is limited. But the time in which they so react is infinite. Therefore every event which happens must have happened an infinite number of times before, and will be repeated an infinite number of times in the future--not only that exact event, but others approximating to it in all degrees of similarity. Thus, the existence of our great founder upon this earth, being one of that limited number of possible events, is repeated after the comparatively short lapse of twenty-two centuries, which in the life-history of the universe is a mere moment. But there is a difference. Then he came to this valley a great conqueror despairing of the world and mankind. Now he has come to find his own lost people.' Poyning glanced at me. 'Pretty odd,' he muttered in English, 'to meet old Nietzsche's Eternal Recurrence so far from home as this!' Kalliboas cocked his ear at the name. 'That philosopher of yours has indeed rediscovered old truths,' he said. 'But it is better to discover old truths than to repeat old lies.' 'Your people, then,' said Poyning, 'were looking for the return of the King. Yet was it not strange they all should recognise him immediately they saw his face?' Kalliboas rose in silence and led the way to another part of the courtyard, where we came in front of a grotto-like chamber. There was only one object here--a statue about half life-size, apparently in iron having the surface treated in some way to resist rust. The features were a marvellously exact image of Saunders Philipson, and that was startling enough; but what astonished me more was that the statue seemed to be supported on one wire little thicker than a knitting-needle. 'We have many images of our great founder,' said Kalliboas, 'with which all our people are perfectly acquainted, but we value none so much as this. It was made by his friend Deinokrates, the sculptor, one of that faithful band who followed him here.' 'But--but how is it supported? One wire is not enough to hold its weight?' There was a fleeting light of amusement over the old man's austere face. 'The wire is there to hold it down,' he said. 'It was an idle fancy of the sculptor's. The roof of this chamber is of great slabs of the stone that attracts iron, which was dug from the mountains westward. Do not go near if you have anything of iron about your persons.'