"Have I not quoted from the sacred Scitsym--which until this hour I have never been permitted to look upon?
Have I not foretold the coming of this man--the garments he would wear--the Sign upon his person?
And have I not done these things by a power outside myself ?" Again his voice rose; and the congregation thrilled in response.
"You have listened to me--you have marvelled--but in your Souls doubt has held sway.

Now is the moment of justification! It is not meet that the Great One should plead for recognition; it is for you--the Watchers--to see and claim him.

Master!" he cried, suddenly.

"Master, show them the Sign!" A hush like the hush of night fell upon the people; and in this curious and impressive lull the white-robed man turned slowly round facing the congregation.
His appearance was arresting and remarkable, though it possessed nothing of beauty.

He had a tall and powerful figure, a strong and determined face; his bare head was covered with close-cut black hair; his hard, firm lips were clean-shaven, and his gray eyes looked across the chapel with a peculiar sombre fire.
He stood silent for a moment, surveying the faces clustered before him; then he raised his left hand.
[Illustration: "ACROSS THE PROPHET'S BREAST, IN MARKS OF A CRUEL LACERATION, RAN THE SYMBOLIC OCTAGONAL FIGURE OF THE MYSTIC SECT"] "My People!" he began, in a deep, slow voice.