It is not so easy to judge of the exact passage of time in Meleager, but I fancy about two years must have flowed past without any incident worthy of record since I parted with my cherished manuscript. The diurnal revolution of duty, sleep, exercise and meditation marched so smoothly onward that it came to my unprepared mind as a crashing shock to learn that my cycle of calm existence was liable to fierce disturbance. My sharp awakening was on this wise. For some days I had received no visit from my dear old friend, the Arch-priest (for by this time, in spite of certain barriers of circumstance and polity, he had grown very dear to me), and this omission caused me to feel some degree of anxiety concerning his absence. More curious than alarmed I therefore asked one of the hierarchy, Vaïlo, who was in attendance, the cause of this suspension of the usual visits. The councillor, discreetly casting his eyes to the ground, replied that the Arch-priest was expecting shortly to be absorbed into the family of the Sun-god. Albeit enigmatically thus expressed, I could not fail to realise the gravity of the news; in plain parlance, my friend and adviser was on the point of dissolution. A horrible chill invaded my heart, and I felt sick with a sense of genuine sorrow and of deep misgiving. I knew him to be old, and I ought therefore to have anticipated the propinquity of his death, but with blind egoism I had overlooked such eventualities. My first impulse was to ply Vaïlo with questions as to his condition and chance of recovery, but the guarded replies afforded me no ray of hope. I even begged to be conducted to the old man's bedside to take a last farewell, but this request Vaïlo (I think and trust with a touch of pity in his harsh voice) assured me was illegal. I then lapsed into sullen silence, whereupon the councillor took the opportunity to depart, leaving me a prey to unspeakable misery and agitation.