Indeed it is worse, since then we worshipped Fate and but a few of us had wisdom.

Now you all claim wisdom and declare that you worship a God of Mercy." With these words still ringing in my ears I woke up upon the Island of Orofena, filled with terror at the horrible possibilities of nightmare.
What else could it be?
There was the brown and ancient cone of the extinct volcano.

There were the tall palms of the main island and the lake glittering in the sunlight between.

There was Bastin conducting a kind of Sunday school of Orofenans upon the point of the Rock of Offerings, as now he had obtained the leave of Oro to do.

There was the mouth of the cave, and issuing from it Bickley, who by help of one of the hurricane lamps had been making an examination of the buried remains of what he supposed to be flying machines.