“His father wrought us evil, he destroyed us — and is gone down into the eternal fires! Yes, down into the eternal fires!

He escaped us — but it was God’s will, yes it was God’s will, we must not repine. But he hath not escaped the fires! No, he hath not escaped the fires, the consuming, unpitying, remorseless fires — and they are everlasting!”

And so he wrought, and still wrought — mumbling, chuckling a low rasping chuckle at times — and at times breaking again into words —

“It was his father that did it all. I am but an archangel; but for him I should be pope!”

The King stirred. The hermit sprang noiselessly