"For goodness' sake! Bastin, stop your Biblical parallels and let us adore, yes, let us adore the divinest creature that the earth has borne!" Never have I loved Bickley more than when I heard him utter those words.
"'Divinest' is a large term, Bickley, and one to which I hesitate to subscribe, remembering as I do certain of the prophets and the Early Fathers with all their faults, not of course to mention the Apostles.
But--" here he paused, for suddenly all three of us became aware of Oro.
He also has been thrown to the ground by the strength of the prisoned forces which he gathered and loosed upon their unholy errand, but, as I rejoiced to observe, had suffered from them much more than ourselves.
Doubtless this was owing to the fact that he had sprung forward in a last wild effort to save his daughter, or to prevent her from interfering with his experiment, I know not which.

As a result his right cheek was much scorched, his right arm was withered and helpless, and his magnificent beard was half burnt off him.

Further, very evidently he was suffering from severe shock, for he rocked upon his feet and shook like an aspen leaf.

All this, however, did not interfere with the liveliness of his grief and rage.
There he stood, a towering shape, like a lightning-smitten statue, and cursed us, especially Bastin.
"My daughter has gone!" he cried, "burned up by the fiery power that is my servant.

Nothing remains of her but dust, and, Priest, this is your doing.