The blackness gathered itself together--then from it began to pulse billows of radiance, spangled with infinite darting swarms of flashing corpuscles like uncounted hosts of dancing fireflies.
Higher the waves rolled--phosphorescent green and iridescent violet, weird copperous yellows and metallic saffrons and a shimmer of glittering ash of rose--then wavered, split and formed into gigantic, sparkling, marching curtains of splendor.
A vast circle of light sprang out upon the folds of the flickering, rushing curtains.

Misty at first, its edges sharpened until they rested upon the blazing glory of the northern sky like a pale ring of cold flame.

And about it the aurora began to churn, to heap itself, to revolve.
Toward the ring from every side raced the majestic folds, drew themselves together, circled, seethed around it like foam of fire about the lip of a cauldron, and poured through the shining circle as though it were the mouth of that fabled cavern where old Aeolus sits blowing forth and breathing back the winds that sweep the earth.
Yes--into the ring's mouth the aurora flew, cascading in a columned stream to earth.

Then swiftly, a mist swept over all the heavens, veiled that incredible cataract.
"Magnetism ?" muttered Drake.

"I guess NOT!" "It struck about where the Ting-Pa was broken and seemed drawn down like the rays," I said.
"Purposeful," Drake said.