" He laughed.
He had an infectious laugh, and Loder responded to it.
"But what am I to do?" he persisted.
"Oh, nothing. Being the priestess, she, naturally demands
acolytes; but she'll let you know that she holds the prior
place. The tent is so fixed that she sees nothing beyond your
hands; so there's absolutely no delusion." He laughed once
more. Then suddenly he lowered his voice and slackened his
steps. "Here we are!" he whispered, in pretended awe.
At the end of the path the space widened to the full breadth
of the conservatory. The light was dimmer, giving an added
impression of distance; away to the left, Loder heard the
sound of splashing water, and on his right hand he caught his
first glimpse of the tent that was his goal.
It was an artistic little structure--a pavilion formed of
silky fabric that showed bronze in the light of an Oriental
lamp that hung above its entrance. As they drew closer, a man
emerged from it. He stood for a moment in uncertainty,
looking about him; then, catching sight of them, he came
forward laughing.
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