Lifting it high, he poured some wine into two glass goblets, and without a word handed one to the white-robed Prophet, and himself picked up the other.
"John," he said, deliberately, "you were magnificent! Let me give you a toast?
Power! Power made Absolute!" With a grave gesture the Prophet extended his hand, and their glasses clinked.
"Power made Absolute!" he responded, in a low, deep voice.
In silence they drank the toast; but, as he replaced his glass upon the table, the Prophet shook off his gravity, and turned again to his companion.
"Now!" he exclaimed.

"Now! Out with it all! How much of this has been native adroitness, and how much unbelievable good-fortune?
Out with it! I'm hungry and thirsty for the truth." For answer the Precursor slowly lifted the gold flask and replenished his own glass.

"Truth in a golden flask! But, to throw a sop to your curiosity, it was a matter of native genius engineered by Providence.

I don't mind admitting that when I stood on the doorstep of this house fifteen nights ago and knocked the mystic knock, I felt like a man embarking on a coffin-ship." He stopped to drain his glass.
The Prophet took a step forward.
"And then ?" he said, eagerly.

"Then ?" The other waved his empty glass.
"Oh, there entered the native genius of Terence Dominick Devereaux! Under that tremendous escort I stormed the citadel--" The Prophet smiled.