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This rudely amphitheatral space seemed now the better part of a mile to its outer edge. The vast area opened to Graham’s eyes, none the less strange and wonderful for the remote view he had had of it in the oval mirror. In another moment they had come out high up on the brow of the cliff of torn buildings that overhung the wreckage. A tumult of shouts came drifting up to him. They came at last to a passage that curved about, and showed broadening before him an oblong opening, clouds hot with sunset, and the ragged skyline of the ruinous Council House. The way ran deviously through a maze of buildings. After he had taken their drugs and bathed by their advice in cold water, he felt a rapid return of interest and energy, and was presently able and willing to accompany Ostrog through several miles (as it seemed) of passages, lifts, and slides to the closing scene of the White Council’s rule. He was roused by two medical attendants, come prepared with stimulants to sustain him through the next occasion.
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The continuous excitement of the last twelve hours had left him inordinately fatigued, even his curiosity was exhausted for a space he sat inert and passive with open eyes, and for a space he slept. But some hours had to elapse before it was possible to effect the formal capitulation, and so after he had spoken his “Word” he retired to his new apartments in the wind-vane offices. SO FAR as Graham was able to judge, it was near midday when the white banner of the Council fell.