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    When we were first brought to the villa, I had noticed an old mill, standing in flat, uncultivated ground between two forks of road and seeming utterly deserted, though a broad, well-trodden path led toward it. Unattractive in afternoon sunshine, it looked positively ugly in the twilight of a day during which the sun had never succeeded in penetrating heavy clouds that raced in on a harrying wind.
    We had all, including the General, walked the distance of perhaps a thousand yards from the villa. Others must have traveled much further on foot, from the town and still more outlying parts. There were hundreds, all dressed in black—I had been provided with a black smock reaching almost to my ankles. They crowded together on the rain-sodden ground in front of the mill but left a path for the General’s party and the Summoner who accompaniedus. As we passed I saw their faces: There was grimness and apprehension in them, but expectancy too.
    The nearer we got, the more plainly ruinous the mill was shown to be. It could not have been put to its proper purpose for many years. It was just a black and broken tower. Even under this darkening sky I was able to see through a gaping window to a hole in the farther wall. I thought of Paddy’s remark on John’s Isle, about Demons perching on a windmill’s sails. They could scarcely do so here, where even the frame had long since rotted away.
    Standing on a stone slab in front of the ragged hole which had been the mill’s front door, the Summoner bowed ceremoniously to General Pengelly, who bowed stiffly in return. He was physically almost an opposite to Summoner Hawkins, being squat and amply fleshed. But as he launched into his address, his tone was no less threatening.
    It was as sinners, he told us, that we were assembled: wretched, guilty, worthless sinners. There was none present who had not in some way offended against the Dark One. Most of us were deeply sunkin iniquity, many lost to salvation and hope. Day by day we committed wickedness, breaking the laws laid down to guide us.
    Those laws were plain enough. There must be no truck with machines, which in the past had led men to perdition, and no voyaging far from shore, into seas where the Madness lingered. Apart from that, there was the simple duty of obedience. The child must obey its parents, servants their masters, soldiers their general. And this obedience was part of a greater serving—of the dread ruler of the universe, the Dark One. The laws were not difficult to understand, yet men and women and children continually transgressed against them.
    â€œBut,” he cried, “the Dark One is not mocked! His purposes cannot be frustrated by puny mortals. Rebellion will earn undying torment, obedience the blissful reward of being given wings to fly above the dark moon-valleys, and watch the damned as they writhe in hellfire.”
    His voice pierced through a gusting wind. “The fool in his folly declares himself contented with the day. He has eaten and drunk, his house is roofedand his hearth warmed. He has a wife to his bed, children to bear his name.”
    The Summoner paused, but as he resumed his voice lifted to a shout. “So much for the day—but look what follows! There will come a dusk of Demons, to seek out the fool and pluck him from wife and child, from home and hearth, to lift him high and carry him far, and pitch him at last into the unquenchable flames. . . .
    â€œAbase yourselves therefore. Abase yourselves and repent your follies. Kneel before the Dark One, and the Demons that do his will. . . .”
    Beside the Summoner the General dropped clumsily to his knees, and the rest of the congregation followed suit. I felt the chill of wet earth on my knees through the thin smock. Some, I saw, had prostrated themselves completely.
    â€œRepent,” the Summoner shouted. “Repent, and beg mercy of the