To-night I will speak to you as one of yourselves." Something in the tone--something in the words--struck a note of surprise and uneasiness.

Again Bale-Corphew shot a swift glance at Norov, and old Michael Arian lifted his head and strained his sightless eyes towards the Throne, while Enid's hands tightened spasmodically on the back of the chair in front of her, and her lips parted in new fear.

What was he going to say?
How much further was he going to compromise himself?
But the body of the congregation swayed forward in absorbed attention, and the Prophet continued to survey the fixed faces with grave, steady eyes.
"My People," he said, "you are an unusual gathering.

Some would call you a gathering of fanatics--some might even call you a gathering of fools.
But fools, fanatics, or Mystics, you are all men and women.

You are all human beings!" Old Arian started, and Norov's cold, blue eyes flashed; but still the Prophet was oblivious of their emotion.
"It is always well to study one's own kind; and to-night I am going to speak to you of a man.