the god Itmightbe.

Slowly, slowly, the last of the twilight passed. Slowly, the graceful
lines, the proud forms, the majestic piles of the city melted--melted,
blurred and were lost even as are lost the form and loveliness of a snow
flake on the sleeve. Slowly, slowly, the glorious colors faded as fade
the flowers at the touch of frost. The lights went out. The darkness
came. The city that is fairer than an angel's dream was gone.

* * * * *



AND THE THIRD VOICE WAS THE VOICE OF THE NIGHT


[Illustration: And the Third Voice was
The Voice of the Night (see king008.png)]

It was full night when the Pilgrim turned again to seek his couch.

Without the Temple it was very still--dark and still. Very still was it
within The Quiet Room, and the darkness that came stealing through the
open window was a thick and heavy darkness. The Pilgrim lay upon his
couch staring with blank, unseeing eyes into a blackness wherein there
was not even a spot of gray to show where the window was.

And after a little there came out of the heavy darkness the sad, sad
Voice of the Night.