CHAPTER XXII
THE TRIUMPH OF THE SNAKE
Old Slat, a grey figure, huddled to the chin in a cloak against the chill of the dawn, squatted at the head of the steps near the north-eastern corner of the upper temple, watching the day break.
First, low down in the east, the sky became faintly luminous, the dead darkness giving gradual place to a wan and sallow light. Then a soft, pink tinge suffused it; and next the sky was ripped suddenly, across and across, by great streaks and slashes of crimson.
As Slat sat watching, the intensity of the colour kindled and glowed—as though upon the fires of some huge furnace, hidden below the sky-line, mighty bellows were at work; and from the horizon, immense waves of crimson rose. higher and higher, invading in quick succession each shadowy bank of cloud, until the very zenith of the heavens was attained. Answering fires awakened in the west; and presently the whole firmament had become one fervent, glorious canopy. Here and there, where
