 CHAPTER XIX A STRANGE TEMPTATION On went the dance, faster, faster, and even faster. Only the pen of some mirth-loving rose-crowned Greek bard could adequately describe the dazzling wild beauty and fantastic grace of those whirling fairy forms that now inspired to a baccant-like ardor urged one another to fresh speed with brief, soft cries of musical rapture, now advancing, now retreating, now intermingling altogether in an undulating garland of living loveliness, now parting asunder with an air of sweet coquettishness and caprice, a non-meeting again and winding arm within arm, still bending forward in attitudes of the tenderest entreaty they seemed, with their languid praying eyes and clasped hands to be waiting for love to soothe the breathless sweetness of their parted lips with kisses. The light in the dome again changed its hue from pale rose-pink to flickered to delicate amber-green, flooding the floor with a radiance as of watery moonbeams and softening the daintily-graped outlines of that exquisite group of human blossoms till they looked like the dimly imagined shapes of naryads floating on the glistening width of the sea. And now the extreme end of the vast hall began to waver to and fro as those shaken at its foundation by subterranean forces, a flaring shaft of flame struck through id-like the sweeping blade of a tightened sword and presently with a thunderous noise the whole wall slid asunder and recoiling backwards on either side disclosed to garden, golden with the sleepy glory of the late moon and peacefully fair in all the dreamy attractiveness of drooping foliage, soft earth and star-sprinkled violet sky. In full view and lit up by the reflected radiance flung out from the dome, a rushing waterfall made sonorous surgy music of its own as it tumbled headlong into a rocky recess overgrown with lotus lilies and plumy fern. Here and there, small white and gold tents or pavilions glimmered invitingly through the shadows cast by the great magnolia trees from whose lovely half-shut buds, balmy odors crept deliciously through the warm air. The sound of sweet pipes and faintly tinkling cymbals echoed from distant shady nooks as though elfin shepherds were guarding their very flocks in some hidden corner of this ambrosial pastureage, and ever by degrees the light grew warmer and more mellow intent till it resembled the deep hue of an autumn-yellow sunset-fleck through with emerald haze. Another clash of cymbals this time stormily persistent and convincing. Another yet another and then a chime of bells, a steady ringing persuasive chime, such as brings tears to the eyes of many a wanderer who, hearing a similar sound when far away from home, straightway thinks of the village church of his earlier years. Those years of the best happiness we ever know on earth because we enjoy in them the bliss of ignorance, the glory of youth, a curious stifling sensation began to oppress Theos' heart as he listened to those bells. They reminded him of such strange things, things to which he could not give a name, things foolish yet sweet, odd suggestions of fair women who were wanting to pray for those they loved and who believed alas, the pity of it, that their prayers would be heard and granted. What was it that these dear loving, credulous ones said when in the silence of the night they offered up their patience, applications to an irresponsible heaven, lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil. Yes, he remembered those were the words, the simple wise words that for positive practical minds had neither meaning nor reason and that yet were so infinitely pathetic in their perfect humility and absolute trust. Lead us not into temptation. He murmured the phrase under his breath as he gazed with straining eyes out into the languorous beauty of that garden scene that spread its dewy emerald glamour before him and deliver us from evil broke from his lips in a half sobbing sigh as the peal of the chiming bells softened by degrees into a subdued tunefulness of indistinct and tremulous semitones and the clarion clearness of the cymbals against smote the still air with forceful and jarring clangor. Then like a rainbow-garmeted perry floating easily out of some far-off sphere of skywonders, an aerial maiden-shape glided into the full lustre of the varying light, a dancer nude, safe for the pearly glistening veil that was carelessly cast about her dainty limbs, her white arms and delicate ankles, being adorned with circles of tiny golden bells which kept up a melodious jingle jangle as she moved and now began the strangest music, music that seemed to hover capriciously between luscious melody and harsh discord, a wild and curious medley of fantastic minor suggestions in which the imagined soul might discover hints of tears and folly, love and madness. To this uncertain yet luxurious measure, the glittering girl dancer leaped forward with a startlingly beautiful abruptness and halting as it were on the boundary line between the dome and the garden beyond, raised her rounded arms in a snowy arch above her head, and so for one brief instant looked like an exquisite angel ready to soar upward to her native realm. Her pause was a mere breathing space in duration, dropping her arms again with a swift decision that set all the little bells on them clashing stormily. She straightway hurled herself, so to speak, into the giddy paces of a dance that was more like an enigma than an exercise. Round and round she floated wildly like an opal winged butterfly in a net of sunbeams, now seemingly shaken by delicate tremors as aspen leaves were shaken by the faintest wind, now assuming the most voluptuous eccentricities of posture, sometimes bending wistfully toward the velveteur from which she trod. As though she listened to the chanting of demon voices underground, and again with her waving white hands appearing to summon spirits downward from their wanderings in upper air, her figure was in perfect harmony with the seductive grace of her gestures, not only her twinkling feet but her whole body danced, her very features bespoke entire abandonment to the frenzy of rapid movement, her large black eyes splashed with something of fierceness as well as languid, her raven hair streamed behind her like a dark spread wing, her parted lips powdered and quivered with excitement and ardor, while ever and anon she turned her beautiful head toward the eagerly attentive group of revelers who watched her performance with an air of indescribable sweetness, malice, and mockery. Again and again she whirled, she flew, she sprang, and while cries of hail and elita, triumphed in elita, resounded uproariously through the dome, suddenly the character of the music changed from an appealing murmurous complaint and persuasion. It rose to a marshal and almost menacing fervor, the roll of drums and the shrill, reedy warbling of pipes and other flutie minstrels, the cross, the silvery thread of strong harps and veals, the light from the fiery globe shot forth a new effulgence, this time in two broad rays, one out dazzling pale azure, the other clear pearly white, Nelita's graceful movements grew slower and slower till she merely seemed to sway indolently to and fro, like a mermaid rocking herself to sleep on the summit of a wave. And then from among the veiling shadows of the trees there stepped forth the man, beautiful as a sculptured god of magnificently molded form and noble stature, clothed from chest to knee in a close fitting garb of what seemed to be a thick network of massively linked gold. His dark hair was crowned with ivy and that his belt gleamed an unsheathed dagger, slowly and with courtly gracey approached the panting Nelita, who now with half-closed eyes and slackening steps looked as though she were drowsily footing her way into dreamland. He touched her snowy shoulder she started with an inimitable gesture of surprise, a smile brilliant as morning dawn on her face. Withdrawing herself slightly she assumed an air of heartily sweet disdain and refusal, then capriciously relenting she gave him her hand, and in another instant to the sound of a joyous melody that seemed to tumble through the air as billows tumble on the beach, the dazzling pear whirled away in a giddy waltz, like two bright flames blown suddenly together by the wind. No language could give an adequate idea of the marvelous bewitchment and beauty of their united movements, and as they flew over the dark smooth turf with the flower-laden trees drooping duly about them and the yellow moonbeams like melted amber beneath their noiseless feet, while the pale sapphire and white radiations from the dome sparkling upon them orio wise gave them the appearance of glittering birds circling through a limitless space of luminous and never clouded ether on, on, and they scarcely touched the earth as they spun dizzily round and round, their gracefully entwined limbs shining light polished ivory in the light, on, on, with ever-increasing swiftness they sped till their two forms seemed to merge into one, when as though oppressed by their own abandonment of joy they paused, hoveringly their embracing arms closing round one another, their lips almost touching their eyes reflecting each other's ardent looks, then their figures grew less and less distinct, they appeared to melt mysteriously into the azure pearly light that surrounded them and finally, like faint clouds fading on the edge of a sea horizon, they vanished. The effect of this brief voluptuous dance and its equally voluptuous end was simply indescribable. The young men who had watched it through in silence and flushed ecstasy now sprang from their couches with shouts of rapture and unrestrained excitement and seizing the other dancing maidens who had till now remained in clustered half-hidden groups behind the crystalline columns of the Hall World, then often to the inviting pleasant beyond where the little white and gold pavilions peeped through the heavy foliage and before the oaks in the picturesque hurry and confusion of the scene could quite realize what had happened. The great globe in the dome was suddenly extinguished, a firm hand closed imperiously on his own and he was drawn along swiftly, he knew not with a slight tremor shook him as he discovered that Saluma was no longer by his side, the friend whom he so ardently desired to protect had gone and he could not tell where he glanced about him. In the semi-obscurity he was able to discern the sheen of the lake with its white burden of water lilies and the branchy outlines of the moonlit garden and yes it was Lycea whose grass played so warmly on his arm, Lycea whose lovely tempting face was so pairlessly near his own, Lycea whose smile colored the soft gloom with such a luring luster, his heart beat, his blood burned, he strove in vain to imagine what fate was now in store for him. He was conscious of the beauty of the night that spread its star embroidered splendors about him, conscious too of the vital youth and passion that throbbed amorously in his veins, endowing him with that keenly sweet headstrong rapture which is said to come but once in a lifetime, in which in the very excess of its fond folly is too often apt to bring sorrow and endless remorse in its strain. One moment more and he found himself in an exquisitely adorned pavilion of painted silk, faintly lit by one lamp of tenderest rose, luster incorporated with gold spangled tissue. He was surrounded by a thicket of orange trees and full bloom and the fragrance of the wax and white flowers clung heavily to the air, breathing forth delicate suggestions of languor and sleep. The measured rush of the near-waterfall alone disturbed the deep silence, with now and then the subdued and painted trill of a nightingale soothing itself to rest with its own song in some deep, shattered cops. Here on a couch have heaped up stemless roses such as might have been prepared for the repose of Titania. Lycea seated herself while Theo stood gazing at her, infascinated wonderment and gradually increasing masterfulness of passion. She looked lovelier than ever in that dim, soft mingle light of rosy lamp and silver moonbeams. Her smile was no longer cold, but warmly sweet. Her eyes had lost their mocking glitter and swam in a soft langer that was strangely bewitching. Even the orb symbol on her white bosom seemed for once to drowse. Her lips parted in a faint sigh, a glance like fire flashed from beneath her black, silken lashes. Theo, she said tremulously, Theo's, and waited. He, mute and oppressed by indistinct hovering recollections, fed his gaze on her seductive fairness for one earnest moment longer, then suddenly advancing he knelt before her and took her unresisting hands in his. Lycea, in his voice even to his own ears had a solemn as well as passionate thrill. Lycea, what wouldst thou have with me speak for my heart aches with a burden of dark memories, memories conjured up by the wizard's spell of thine eyes? Those eyes so cruel, sweet, that seemed to lure me to my soul's ruin. Tell me, have we not met before, loved before, wronged each other and God before, parted before, maybe tis but a brain sick fancy? Nevertheless, my spirit knows thee, feels thee, clings to thee, and yet recoils from thee as one whom I did love in by gone days of old. My thoughts of thee are strange, fair Lycea, and he pressed her warm delicate fingers with unconscious fierceness. I would have sworn that in the past thou disbetrayed me. Her low laugh stirred the silence into a faint, tuneful echo. Thou foolish dreamer, she murmured half mockingly, half tenderly. Thou art dazed with wine, steeped in song, bewitched with beauty, and knoweth nothing of what thou sayest. He thinks thou art a crazed poet, a more fervid than Saluma, in the mystic nature of thine utterance. Thou shalt be laureate, not he, what if thou wert offered his place, his fame? He looked at her surprised and perplexed, and paused an instant before replying. Then he said slowly, so strange a thing could never be, for Saluma's place once empty could not again be filled. I grudged him, not his glory laurels. Moreover, with his fame compared to love, he uttered the last words in a low tone, as though he spoke them to himself. She heard, and a flash of triumph brightened her beautiful face. Ah, and she drooped her head lower and lower till her dark fragrant tresses touched his brow. Then thou dost love me. He started, a dull pang ached in his heart, a jill of vague uncertainty and dread. Love, was it love indeed that he felt? Love or base desire? Love, the word rang in his ears with the same sacred suggestiveness, as that conveyed by the chime of bells? Surely love was a holy thing, a passion pure, impersonal, divine, and deathless, and it seemed to him that somewhere it had been written or said, wheresoever a man seeketh himself, there he falleth from love. And did he not seek himself and the gratification of his own immediate pleasure? Painfully he considered it was a supreme moment with him, a moment when he felt himself to be positively held within the grasp of some great archangel, who turning grandly reproachful eyes upon him, demanded, art thou the servant of love or the slave of self? And while he remained silent, the silken sweet voice of the fairest woman he had ever seen once more sent its musical cadence through his brain in that fateful question, thou dost love me? A deep sigh broke from him, he moved nearer to her, he entwined her warm waist within his arms, and stared upon her as though he drank her beauty in with his eyes, up to the crowning masses of her dusky hair, where the little serpent's heads darted forth glisteningly over the dainty curve of her white shoulders and bosom, where the symbolic eyes seemed to regard him with a sleepy weirdness, down to the blue veins, small feet in the silvery sandals, and up again to the red witchery of her mouth and black splendor of those twin fire jewels that flash beneath her heavy lashes, his gaze wandered hungrily, searchingly, passionately, his heartbeat with a loud and patient eagerness, like a wild thing struggling in its cage, but though his lips moved, he said in a word she too was silent, so passed or seemed to pass some minutes, minutes that were almost terrible in the weight of mysterious meaning they held unuttered, then with a half smothered cry, he suddenly released her and sprang erect, love he cried, nay, it is a word for children and angels, not for me, what have I to do with love, what has thou? Thou, Lycea, who dost make the lives of men thy sport, and their torments thy mockery, there is no name for this fever that consumes me when I look upon thee, no name for this unquiet ravishment that draws me to the inmingled bliss and agony, if I must perish of mine own bitter sweet frenzy, let me be slain now and most utterly, but love has no abiding place, twix me and thee, Lycea, love, ah, no, no, speak no more of love, it hath a charm sound, recalling to my soul some glory, I have lost, he spoke wildly, incoherently, scarcely knowing what he said, and she, half lying on her couch of roses, looked at him curiously with somber meditative eyes, a smile of delicate derision, part of her lips, of a truth, our late feasting hath roused in thee, a most singular delirium, she murmured indolently with a touch of cold amusement in her accents, thou dost seem to dwell in the past rather than the present, what ails thee, come hither closer, and she stretched out her lovely arms on which the twisted diamond snakes glittered in such flashing coils, come, where is that manful guise mere feigning, and thus thou fear me, fear thee, and stung to a sudden heat, the oaths made one bound to her sight, and seizing her slim wrists, held them in a vice-like grip, so little do I fear thee, Lycea, so well do I know thee, that in my very caresses I would slay thee, couldst thou thus be slain, thou art to me the living presence of an unforgotten sin, a sin most deadly sweet and unrepentant of, ah, why dost thou tempt me, and he bent over her more ardently, must I not meet my death at thy hands, I must, and more than death, yet for thy kiss I will risk hell, for one embrace of thine I will brave perdition, I'll cruel enchantress, and winding his arms about her he drew her close against his breast, and looked down on the dreamy fairness of her face, would there were such a thing as death for souls like mine and thine, would we might die most absolutely thus, heart against heart, never to wake again, and loathe earth typo or archaism, other who speaks of the cool sweetness of the grave, the quiet ending of all strife, the unbreaking seal of fate, the deep and stirless rest, these things are not, and never were, for the grave gives up its dead, the strife is forever and ever resumed, the seal is broken, and in all the laboring universe there shall be found no rest, and no forgetfulness, ah, God, no forgetfulness! A shutter ran through his frame and clasping her, almost roughly he stooped toward her, till his lips nearly touched hers, thou art accursed, licey, and I share thy curse, speak, how shall we cheer each other in the shadow realm of fiends, thou shall be queen there, and I thy servitor, we will make us merry with the griefs of others, our music shall be the dropping of lost women's tears, and the groans of betrayed and tortured men, and the light around us shall be quenchless fire, shall it not be so licey, and think as thou that we shall ever regret the loss of heaven? The words rushed impetuously from his lips, he thought little, and cared less what he said, so long as he could, by speech, no matter how incoherent, were leave in part the terrible oppression of vague memories that burdened his brain, but she, listening, drew herself swiftly from his embrace and stood up, her large eyes bicks full upon him with an expression of wondering, scorn, and fear, thou art mad, she said, a quiver of alarm in her voice, mad as Coase rule, and all his evil croaking brethren, I offer thee love, and thou praitest of death, life is here in all the fullness of the now, for thy delight, and thou ravest of an immortal hereafter, which is not and can never be, why talk thus wildly, why gaze only with so distraught accountants, but an hour gone, thou art the model of a cold discretion and quiet valor, thus I have judged thee worthy of my favor, favor sought by many and granted to few, but and thou dost wander amid such chaotic and unreasoning fancies, thou canst not serve me, nor therefore canst thou win the reward that would otherwise have awaited thee. Here she paused, a questioning keen under glance, flashed from beneath her dark lashes, he, however, with pained, wistful eyes, raised steadfastly to hers, gave no sign of apology or contrition for the disconnected strangeness of his recent outbursts. Only he became gradually conscious of an inward-growing calm as though the divine voice that had once soothed the angry waves of Galilee were now hushing his turbulent emotions with a soft peace-be still. She watched him closely, and all at once, apparently, rendered impatient by his impassive attitude, she came coaxingly toward him and laid one soft hand on his shoulder. Canst thou not be happy, Theos? She whispered gently, happy as other men are, when loved as thou art loved. His upturned gaze rested on the glittering serpents heads that crowned her dusky tresses, then on the great eye that stared watchfully between her white breasts, a strong tremor shook him, and he sighed, happy as other men are, when they love and are deceived in love, he said, yes, even so, Lycea, I can be happy. She threw one arm about him, thou shalt not be deceived, she murmured quickly, thou shalt be honored above the noblest. In the realm thy dearest hope shall be fulfilled, thy utmost desire shall be granted, riches, power, fame, all shall be thine, if thou wilt do my bidding. She uttered the last words with slow and meaning emphasis, he met her eager burning, looks quietly, almost coldly, the curious numb apathy of his spirit increased, and when he spoke, his voice was low and faint like the voice of one who speaks unconsciously in his sleep. What canst thou ask that I will not grant? He said listlessly, is it not as it was in the old time, thou to command and I to obey, speak fair queen, how can I serve thee? Her answer came, swift and fierce, as the hiss of a snake kills saluma. The brief sentence leaped into his brain with the swift fiery action of some burning drug. A red mist rose to his eyes, pushing her fiercely from him. He started to his feet in a bewildered, sick horror, kill saluma, kill the gracious, smiling, happy creature whose every minute of existence was his joy. Kill the friend he loved, the poet he worshipped, kill him. Ah, God, never, never, he staggered backward, disly, and lycea, with a sudden stealthy spring, like that of her favorite Tigris, threw herself against his breast and looked up at him, her splendid eyes ablaze with passion, her black hair streaming, her lips curved in a cruel smile, and the hateful jewel on her breast seeming to flash, with ferocious vindictiveness, kill him. She repeated eagerly, now, in his soddish slumber, now when he had lost sight of his poet mission in the hot fumes of wine, now when, despite his genius, he hath made of himself a thing lower than the beasts, kill him. I will keep good counsel, and none shall ever know who did the deed. He loves me, and I weary of his love. I would have him dead, dead as nerve jealous. But were he to drain the silver nectar, the whole city would cry out upon me for his loss. Therefore he may not perish, so, but and thou wilt slay him, see. And she clung to Theos with the fierce tenacity of some wild animal. All this beauty of mine is thine. Thy days and nights shall be dreams of rapture. Thou shalt be second to none in alchyrus. Thou shalt rule with me over king and people, and we will make the land a pleasure garden for our love and joy. Here is thy weapon, and she thrust into his hand a dagger. The very dagger her slave, Gosra, had deprived him out when by its prompt use he might have mercifully ended the cruel torments of no jealous. Let thy stroke be strong and unfaltering. Stab him to the heart, the cold, cold, selfish heart that has never ate, with a throb of pity kill him, tis an easy task, for lo, how fast he sleeps. And suddenly throwing back a rich gold curtain that depended from one side of the painted pavilion, she disclosed a small interior chamber hung with amber and crimson, where on a lo, much tumble couch covered with crumpled glistening draperies lay the king's chief minstrel. The dainty darling of women, the laureate of the realm, sunk in a heavy drunken stupor so deep as to be almost deathlike. Theos stared upon him amazed and bewildered. How came he there? Had he heard any of the conversation that had just passed between Lycea and himself? Apparently not. He seemed bound as by chains in a stirless lethargy. His posture was careless, yet uneasy. His brilliant attire was torn and otherwise disordered, and some of his priceless jewels had fallen on the couch and gleamed here and there like big straight dew drops. His face was deeply flushed in his straight dark brows, where nip frowningly his breathing was hurried and irregular. One arm was thrown above his head, the other hung down nervulously. The relaxed fingers hovering immediately above a costly jewel cup that had dropped from his clasp, two empty wine-flaggins lay cast on the ground beside him, and he had evidently experienced a discomfort and feverish heat arising from intoxication. For his silk and vest was loosened as though for greater ease and coolness, thus leaving the smooth breadth of his chest bare and fully exposed, to this Lycea pointed with a fiendish glee as she pulled Theos forward. Strike now, she whispered quick, why dost thou hesitate? He looked at her fixedly, the previous hot passion he had felt. For her, froze like ice within his veins, her fairness seemed no longer so distinctly fair. The witching radiance of her eyes had lost its charm, and he motioned her from him with a silent gesture of stern repugnance. Catching sight of the sheeny glimmer of the lake through the curtain-dentrance of the tent, he made a sudden spring-dither dashed aside the draperies and flung the dagger he held far out towards the watery mirror. It whirled glaring through the air, and fell with a quick splash into the silver-rippled depths, and gravely contented he turned upon her, dauntless and serene in the consciousness of power. Thus do I obey thee, he said in firm tones, that thrill through and through was scorn and indignation. Thou evil beauty, thou fallen fairness, kill, saluma, nay sooner would I kill myself or thee. His life is a glory to the world, his death shall never profit thee. For one instant alert anger blazed in her face, the next her features hardened themselves into a rigidly cold expression of disdain, though her eyes widened with wrathful wonder. A low laugh broke from her lips. Ah, she cried, art thou angel or demon, that thou dares defy me, thou shits be either or both to array thyself in opposition against the high priestess of Nagyya, whose relentless will hath caused empires to taunt her and thrones to fall. His life a glory to the world, and she pointed to saluma's recumbent figure with a gesture of loathing and contempt. His, the life of a drunken voluptuary, a sensual egotist, a poet who sees no genius save his own, and who condemns all vice, save that which he himself indulges in. A laurel, swine, a false god of art, and for him thou dost reject me, ah, thou fool, and her splendid eyes shot forth resentful fire. Thou rash, unthinking, headstrong fool, thou knowest not what thou hast lost. I guard thy friend as thou wilt. Thou dost guard him at thine own peril. Think not that he or thou shall escape my vengeance. What dost thou play the heroic with me? Thou who art man, and therefore no hero? For men are towers, all except when in the heat of battle they follow the pursuit of their own brief glory. Pultrons and knaves and spirit incapable of resisting their own passions. And will thou pretend to be stronger than the rest? Will thou take up arms against thyself in destiny? Thou mad man? In a live form, quivered with concentrated rage. Thou puny wretch, that dost first clutch at, and then refuse my love. Thou who dost oppose thy miserable force to the fate that hunts thee down. Thou who dost gaze at me with such great, child-foolish eyes. Beware, beware of me, I hate thee, as I hate all men. I will humbly thee, as I have humbled the proudest of thy sex. Wheresoever thou goest, I will track thee out in torturgy, and thou shalt die miserably, lingeringly, horribly, as I would have every man die. Could I fulfill my utmost heart's desire? Tonight, be free, to but tomorrow, as thou livest, I will claim thee. Like an enraged queen, she stood, one white jeweled arm stretched forth menacingly, her bosom heaving, and her face aflame with wrath, but views leaning against Saluma's couch hurt her with as much impassiveness, as though a threatening voice were but the sound of an idle wind. Only when she ceased, he turned his untroubled gaze calmly and full upon her, and then, to his own infinite surprise, she shivered, and shrank backwards, while over her countenance flitted a vague and undefinable, almost spectral expression of terror. He saw it, and swift words came at once to his lips, words that uttered themselves without premeditation. Tomorrow I see it, thou shalt claim nothing, he said in a still-composed voice, that to himself had something strange and unearthly in its tone. Not even a grave, get thee hence, pray to the gods that thou hast any, for truly there is need of prayer, thou shalt not harm, Saluma. His love for thee may be his present curse, but it shall not work his future ruin. Thou canst not slay me, Lysia, seeing that to myself I am dead already, dead yet alive in thought, and thou dost now seem to my soul but the shadow of a past crime, the ghost of a temptation overcome and baffled, while thou sweet sin here he suddenly moved toward her and caught her hands hard, looking fearlessly the while at her flushed path trouble-face. I do confess that I have loved thee, I do own that I have found thee fair, but now, now that I see thee as thou art in all the nameless horror of thy beauty, I do entreat, and his accent sank to a low yet fervent supplication, I do entreat the most high God that I may be released from thee for ever. She gazed upon him with dilated terrified eyes, and he dimly wondered as he looked why she should seem to fear him. Not a word did she utter in reply, step by step. She retreated from him, her glittering exquisite form grew paler and more indistinct and outlined and presently, catching at the gold curtain that divided the two pavilions. She paused, still regarding him steadfastly. An evil smile curved her lips, a smile of cold menace, and irisive scorn. The iris-colored jewel on her breast darted forth, vivid flashes of azure and green and gray. The snakes in her hair seemed to rise and hiss at him. And then with an awful unspoken threat written resolveedly on every line of her fair feature, she let the gold draperies fall softly, and so disappeared. Leaving him alone with saluma, he stood for a moment half amazed, half perplexed, and drawing a deep breath, he pushed the clustering hair off his forehead with an unconscious gesture of relief. She was gone. And he felt as though he had gained a victory over something, though he knew not what. The cold air from the lake blew refreshingly on a seeded brow, and a thousand odors from orange flowers and jasmine floated peressingly about him. The night was very still, and approaching the opening of the tent, he looked out. There, in the soft sky gloom, moved the majestic procession of the undiscovered worlds, seeming to be no more than bright dots on the measureless expanse of pure ether. There, low on the horizon, the yellow moon swooned languidly downwards in a better fleecy cloud. The drowsy chirp of a dreaming bird came softly now and again from the deep branched shadows of the heavy foliage. And the lilies on the surface of the lake nodded mysteriously among the slow ripples, likewise white elves whispering to one another some secretive fairyland, and Saluma still slept, and still that puzzled and weary frown darkened the fairness of his broad brow. And coming back to his side, Theo stood watching him with a yearning and sorrowful wistfulness, gathering up the jewels that had fallen out of his dress. He replaced them one by one, and strove to rearrange the tossed and tumble garb as best he might. While he was thus occupied, his hand happened to touch the tablet that hung by a silver chain from the laureate's belt. He glanced at it. He was covered with fine writing, and turning it more toward the light he soon made out. Four stanzas perfectly rhymed and smoothly flowing as a well-modulated harmony. He read them slowly with a faint smile. He recognized them as his own. They were part of a poem he had long ago begun, yet had never finished. And now Saluma had the same idea. Moreover, he had chosen the same rhythm, the same words. Well, after all, what did it matter? Nothing. He felt so far as he was concerned. He had ceased to care for his own personality or interests. Saluma had become dearer to him than himself. His immediate anxiety was centered in the question of how to rouse his friend from the torpor in which he lay and get him out of this voluptuous garden of delights before any lurking danger could overtake him. Full of this intention, he presently ventured to draw aside the curtain that concealed Lycia's pavilion, and looking any, saw to his great relief that she was no longer there. Her couch of crushed roses scented the place with heavy fragrance, and the ruby lamp was still burning, but she herself had departed. Now was the time for escape, thought the owes. Now, while she was absent, now, if Saluma could be persuaded to come away, he might reach his own palace in safety, and once there he could be warned of the death that threatened him through the treachery of the woman he loved. But would he believe in or accept the warning? At any rate, some effort must be made to rescue him, and Theos, without more ado, bent above him and called aloud. Saluma, wake, Saluma. End of chapter 19. Chapter 20 of Our Death by Marie Corelli. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The passage of the tombs. Saluma stirred uneasily and smiled in his sleep. More wine, he muttered thickly. More, more I say. What wilt thou stint the generous juice that warms my soul to song? Pour, pour out lavishly. I will mix the honey of thy luscious lips with the crimson bubbles on this goblet's brim, and the taste thereof shall be as nectar dropped from paradise. Nay, nay, I will drink to none but myself, to the immortal bard, Saluma, poet of poets, named first and greatest on the scroll of fame. I, tis a worthy toast, and merits a deeper draft of mellow vintage. Fill, fill again, the world is but the drunken dream of a god-poet and we but the mad revelers of a shadow day. To ill-pass, to ill-pass, let us enjoy ere all is done. Ground fought in wine and love and music, wine and music. His voice broke in a short, smothered sigh. Theos surveyed him with mingled impatience, pity, and something of repulsion, and there was a warm touch of indignant remonstrance in his tone when he called again, Saluma, rouse the man for very shame's sake, art thou dead to the honor of thy calling, that thou dost willfully consent to be the victim of wine, bibbing, and debauchery. O thou frail soul, how hast thou quenched the heavenly essence within thee? Why wilt thou be thus self-disgraced and all-inglorious? Saluma, Saluma, and he shook him violently by the arm. Up, up, thou truant to the faith of art. I will not let thee drouse the hours away in such unseemliness. Wake, for the night is almost past. The morning is at hand, and danger threatens thee, which thou be found here drunk at sunrise. This time Saluma was thoroughly disturbed, and with a half uttered oath, he sat up, pushed his tumbled hair from his brows, and stared at his companion in blinking sleepy wonderment. Now, by my soul, thou art a most unmanorly ruffian, he said pettishly, yet with a vain smile, what question didst thou bawl unmusically in mine ear? Will I be drunk at sunrise? I, and at sunset too, sir Malapurth, if that will satisfy thee, has thou been grudged sufficient wine, that thou dost envy me, my slumber? What dost thou hear, where hast thou been? And becoming more conscious of his surroundings, he suddenly stood up, and catching hold of theos, to support himself, gazed upon him suspiciously, with very dim and bloodshot eyes, art thou fresh from the arms of the ravishing Nalita? Is she not fair, of choice, more so for a lover's banquet, doth she not dance a madness into the veins? I, I! She was reserved for thee, my jolly Roysterer, but thou art not the first, nor wilt thou be the last, that hath reveled in her store of charms? No matter, and he laughed foolishly, better a wild dancer than a tame prude. Here he looked about him in confused bewilderment, whereas Lycea was she not here a moment since, and he staggered toward the neighboring pavilion, and dashed the dividing curtain aside. Lycea, Lycea, he shouted, noisily, then receiving no answer, he flung himself down on the vacant couch of roses, and gathering up a handful of the crumpled flowers, kissed them passionately. The witch is flown, he said, laughing again, that mirthless, stupid laugh as he spoke. She doth love to tantalize me thus. Tell me, what doth thou think of her? Is she not a peerless moon of womanhood? Does she not eclipse all known or imaginable beauty? I, and I will tell thee a secret she is mine, mine from the dark dresses down to the dainty feet, mine all mine, so long as I shall please to call her so, notwithstanding that the foolish people of Alchiris think she is impervious to love, self-centered, holy, and immaculate, Ba, as if a woman ever was immaculate. But Mark, you though she loves me, me, crowned laureate of the realm, she loves no other man, and why? Because no other man is found half so worthy of love. All men must love her, nor jealous loved her, and he is dead because of over much presumption, and many there be who shall still die likewise for love of her. But I am her chosen and elected one, her faith is mine, her heart is mine, her very soul is mine, mine I would swear, though all the gods of the past, present, and future, denied her constancy. Here, his uncertain wandering gaze met the grave pained an almost stern regard. Of Theos, why dost thou stare thus, Al, like upon me? He demanded irritably, art thou not my friend and worshipper, wilt preach, wilt moralize, on the folly of the time, the vices of the age, thou locused it, but for thee hold thy peace, and thou lovest me, we can but live and die, and there's an end all's over with the best and wisest of us soon. Let us be merry while we may. And he tossed a cluster of roses playfully in the air, catching them as they fell again in a soft shower of severed, fluttering pink and white petals. Theos listened to his rambling, unguarded words with a sense of acute personal sorrow. He was a man young, handsome, and in doubt with the rarest gift of nature, a great poetic genius, a man who had attained an early manhood, the highest worldly fame together with the friendship of a king, and the love of a people, yet what was he in himself? A mere petty egoist, a poor deluded fool, the unresisting prey of his own passions, the besotted slave of a treacherous woman, and the voluntary degrader of his own life. What was the use of genius then, if it could not aid one to overcome self? What was the worth of fame if it were not made to serve as a bright incentive and noble example to others of less renown? As this thought passed across his mind, Theos sighed, he felt curiously conscious, stricken, ashamed, and humiliated through Saluma, and solely for Saluma's sake. At present, however, his jeep anxiety was to get his friend safely out of Laesia's pavilion before she should return to it, and his spirit chafed within him at each moment of enforced delay. Come, come, Saluma, he said at last gently, yet with persuasive earnestness, come away from this place, the feast is over, the fair ones are gone. Why should we linger, thou art half asleep? Believe me, to his time thou were at home and at rest. Lean upon me, so that as well, this as the other, rose unsteadily to his feet, and lurched heavily against him. Now let me guide thee, though of a truth I know not the way, through this wondrous woodland maze, canst tell me whether we should turn, or hast thou no remembrance of the nearest road to thine own dwelling? Thus, speaking, he managed to lead his stupefied companion out of the tent into the cool, dewy garden, where, feeling somewhat refreshed, by the breath of the night wind blowing on his face, Saluma straightened himself and made an absurd attempt to look exceedingly dignified. Nay, and thou wilt depart with such scant ceremony, he grumbled peevishly, get thee thence and find out the road as best thou mayest. Why should I a-d, for myself I am well contented here to remain and sleep? No better count can the poet have done this violet, scented moss, and he waved his arm with a grand eloquent gesture, no grander canopy than this star of a sprinkled heaven. Leave me, for my eyes are wondrous heavy, and I would feign slumber undisturbed till the break of day. By my soul thou art a rough companion, and he struggled violently to release himself from Theos' resolute and compelling grasp, where which thou drag me, out of danger and the shadow of death, replied Theos firmly, thy life is threatened, Saluma, and I will not see thee slain. If thou canst not guard thyself, then I must guard thee. Come, delay no longer, I beseech thee. Do I not, lovely friend, and would I urge thee thus without good reason, O thou misguided soul, thou dost most ignorantly court destruction, but if my strength can shield thee, thou shalt not die before thy time. And he hurried his pace, half-leading, half-carrying, the reluctant poet, who, however, was too drowsy and lethargic to do more than feebly resent his action, and thus they went together along a broad path that seemed to extend itself in a direct line straight across the grounds, for which in reality turned and twisted about, through all manner of perplexing nooks and corners, now under trees so closely interwoven, and not a glimpse of the sky could be seen through the dense darkness of the cross-bowls. Now by gorgeous banks of roses pale yellow and white, that looked like frozen foam in the dying glitter of the moon, now beneath very light trellis work overgrown with jasmine, and people by thousands of dancing fireflies. While at every undulating bend or sharp angle in the road theos' heart, be quickly in fear lest they should meet some armed retainer, or a spy of lyceas who might interrupt their progress, or perhaps, for them to relate forbid their departure. Nothing of the kind happened or seemed likely to happen. The splendid gardens were all apparently deserted, and not a living soul was anywhere to be seen. Presently through an archway of twisted magnolia stems theos caught a glimpse of the illuminated pool with the marble nymph in its center which had so greatly fascinated him on his first arrival, and he pressed forward eagerly, knowing that now they could not be very far from the gates of exit. All at once the tall figure of a man, clad in complete armor, came into sudden view, between some heavily drooping bows. It stood out for a second, and then hurriedly disappeared, muffling his face in a black mantle, as it fled. Not however before theos had recognized those dark hearty features, those relentless brows, and that stern almost lurid smile, and with a quick convulsive movement he grasped his companion's arm. His saluma he whispered, saw you not the king? Saluma started as though he had received a dagger thrust, his very lips turned pale in the moonlight. The king, he echoed, with an accent of incredulous amazement. The king, thou art mad, it could not be where dost thou see him. In silence theos pointed to the dark shrubbery. Saluma shook himself free of his friend's hold, and standing erect, gazed in the direction indicated, with an expression of mingle fear, distrust, bewilderment, and wrath on his features. He was suddenly but effectually sobered in all the delicate beauty of his face, came back like the rich tone of a fine picture restored. His hand fell instinctively toward the jeweled hilt of the poignant at his belt. The king, he muttered under his breath. The king, then his coast ruled, right after all, I must one learn wisdom from a madman. By my soul, if I thought, he rechecked himself abruptly and turned upon Theos. Nay, thou art deceived, he said with a forced smile, it was not the king. It was some rash, unknown intruder whose worthless life must pay the penalty of trespass. And he drew his flashing weapon from his sheet. This shall unmask him. And thou, my friend, get thee away, and home, fear nothing for it, my safety, go hence and quickly, I'll follow thee anon. And before Theos could utter a word of warning, he plunged impetuously into the innermost recess of the dense foliage behind which the mysterious armed figure had just vanished and was instantly lost to sight. Saluma, Saluma, called Theos, passionately come back, whether it will thou go? Saluma! Only silence answered him, silence rendered even more profound by the subdued, faint rustling of the wind among the leaves, and agitated by all manner of vague alarms and dreary forebodings, he stood still for a moment, hesitating as to whether he should follow his friend or no. Some instinct stronger than himself, however, persuaded him that it would be best to continue his road. He therefore went on slowly, hoping against hope that Saluma might still rejoin him. But herein he was disappointed. He waited a little while near the illuminated water, dreamily eyeing the beautiful marble nymph crowned with her wreath of amethystine flame. She resembled I see as somewhat he thought. Only this was a frozen fairness, while the peerless drums of the cruel high priestess were those of living flesh and blood. Yet the remembrance of all the tenderly witching loveliness that might have been his, had he slain Saluma at her bidding, now moved him neither to regret nor lover's passion, but only touched his spirit with a sense of bitter repulsion. While a strange pity for the poet laureate's infatuation awoke in him, pity that any man could be so reckless, blind, and desperate as to love a woman for her irreparable beauty of body, never cared to know whether the graces of her mind were equal to the graces of her form. We men have yet to learn the true meaning of love he mused rather sadly. We consider it from the selfish standpoint of our own unbridled passions. We willingly accept a fair face as the visible reflex of a fair soul and nine times out of ten. We are utterly mistaken. We begin wrongly, and we therefore end miserably. We should love a woman for what she is, and not for what she appears to be. Yet how are we to fathom her nature? How shall we guess? How can we decide? Are we fooled by an evil fate, or do we, in our loves and marriages, deliberately fool ourselves? He pondered the question hazily, without arriving at any satisfactory answer, and as Saluma still did not return, he resumed his slow, unguided, and solitary way. He presently found himself in a close boscage of tall trees, straight as vines, and covered with very large thick leaves that exhaled a peculiarly faint odor, and here, pausing abruptly, he looked anxiously about him. This was certainly not the avenue through which he had previously come with Saluma, and he soon felt uncomfortably convinced that he had somehow taken the wrong path, perceiving a low iron gate standing open in front of him. He went further and discovered a steep stone staircase leading down into what seemed to be a vast well, black and empty, as a starless midnight. Peering doubtfully into this gloomy pit, he fancied he saw a small blue flame, wavering through and through at the bottom, and pricked by a sudden impulse of curiosity, he made up his mind to descend. He went down slowly and cautiously, counting each step as he placed his foot upon it. There were a hundred steps in all, and at the end, the light he had seen completely vanished, leaving him in the most profound darkness. Confused and startled, he stretched out his hands instinctively, as a blind man might do, and thus came in contact with something sharp, pointed, and icy cold like the frozen talon of a dead bird. Shattering at the touch, he recoiled and was about to try and grope his way up the stairs again, when the light once more appeared, this time casting a thin, slanting azure blaze through the dense shadows, and he was able gradually to realize the horrors of the place into which he had unwittingly adventured. One faint cry escaped his lips, and then he was mute and motionless, chilled to the very heart a great awe, and speechless dread overwhelmed him, for he, a living man and fully conscious of life, stood alone, surrounded by a ghastly multitude of skeletons. Skeletons bleached white as ivory, and glistening with a smooth moist polish as a pearl. Shoulder to shoulder, arm against arm, they stood, placed upright and as close together as possible. Every bony hand held a rusty spear, and on every skull gleamed a small metal cask inscribed with hieroglyphic characters. Thousands of eyeless sockets seemed to turn toward him in blank yet questioning wonder, suggesting awfully to his mind that the eyes might still be there, fallen far back into the head from whence they yet saw themselves unseen. Thousands of grinning jaws seemed to mock at him as he leaned half-fainting against the damp, weed-grown portal. He fancied he could hear the derisive laugh of death echoing horribly through those dimly distant arches. This, this, he thought wildly, was the sequel to his brief and wretched history. For this one end he had wandered out of the ways of his former life, and forgotten almost all he had ever known. Here was the only poor finale, and all wise, and all potent God could contrive for the clothes of his marvelous symphony of creative love, and like awe, cruel, cruel. Then there was no justice, no pity, no compensation, and all the wit and breadth of the universe, if death indeed was the end of everything, and God of the great force called by that name was nothing but a tyrant and torturer of his helpless creature man. So, thinking dull and feebly, he pressed his hand on his aching eyes to shut out the sight of that grim crowd of fleshless rigid shapes that everywhere confronted him. The darkness of the place seemed to descend upon him crushingly, and reeling for it he would have fallen in a swoon, had not a strong hand suddenly grasped his arm, and supported him firmly upright. Now now my son said a grave musical voice that had in it a certain touch of compassion, what ails thee, and why art thou here? Art thou condemned to die, or dost thou seek and escape from death? Making an effort to overcome the sick giddiness that confused his brain, he looked up, a bright lamp flared in his eyes, contrasting so dazzlingly with the surrounding gloom that for a moment he was half-blinded by its brilliancy, but presently, steadying his gaze, he was able to discern the dark outline of a tall, black, gromited figure standing beside him. The figure of an old man whose severe and dignified aspect at first reminded him somewhat of the prophet, Coase Rule, only that Coase Rule's rugged features had borne the impress of patient, long-endured, bitter suffering, and the personage who now confronted him had a face so calm and seriously impassive that it might have been taken for that of one newly dead, from whose liniments all traces of earthly passion have forever been smoothed away. Art thou condemned to die, or dost thou seek and escape from death? The question had or seemed to have a curious significance. It reiterated itself almost noisily in his ears. His mind was troubled by vague surmises and dreary forebodings. Speech was difficult to him, and his lips quivered pathetically when he at last found force to frame his struggling thoughts into language. Escape from death, he murmured, gazing wildly around as he spoke on the vast skeleton crowd that encircled him. Oh, man, dost thou also talk of dreamlike impossibilities, but thou also maintain a creed of hope when not awaits us but despair. Art thou fooled likewise with the glimmering soul mirage of a never-to-be-realized future. Escape from death, how and where? Art not these dry and vacant forms sufficiently eloquent of the all omnipotence of decay, and he caught his unknown companion almost fiercely by the long robe, while a sound that was half a sob and half a sigh came from his aching throat, blow you how emptily they stare upon us. How frozen piteous is their smile, poor, poor, frail shapes, nay, who would think these hollow shells of bone had once been men, men with strong hearts, warm, flowing blood, and throbbing pulses, men of thought and action, who maybe did most nobly bear themselves in life upon the earth, and yet are now forgotten. Men, ah, great heaven, can it be that these most rueful, lowly things have loved and hoped and labored through all their days for such an end as this. Escape from death, alas, there is no escape. Tis evident we almost die, die, and with dust quenched eyes, and learn our knowledge of the sun, the stars, the marvels of the universe. For us no more shall the flowers bloom or the sweet birds sing. The balm of the world will write itself anew in every rosy effluxing of the dawn. But we, we who have enjoyed therein, we who have sung the praises of the light, the harmonies of wind and sea, the tunefulness of woods and fields, we whose ambitious thoughts have soared, art angel-like through unseen imperians of space, there to drink in a honeyed hope of heaven. We shall be but dead, mute, cold and sterlish as deep undugged stones. Dead, ah, God, thou utmost cruelty, and in a sudden excess of grief and passion he raised one hand and shook it aloft with a menacing gesture. Would I might look upon thee face to face, than rebuketh thee for thy merciless injustice? He spoke wildly, as though possessed by a sort of frenzy, his unknown companion hurt him with an air of mild impudient patience. Peace, peace, blaspheme not the most high my son, he said gently yet reproachfully, distraught as thou dost seem with some strange misery, and sick with fears forbear thine ignorant fury against him, who hath for love's dear sake alone created thee. Control thy soul in patience, surely thou art afflicted by thine own vain and false imaginings, which for a time contort and dark in the clear light of truth. Why dost thou thus describe thy self concerning the end of life, seeing that barely it hath no end, and that what we men call death is not a conclusion, but merely a new beginning. Waste not thy pity on the skeleton forms, the empty dwellings of martial spirits long since fled, as well weep over fallen huts of corn from which the blossoms have sprung right joyously upward. This world is but our roadside hostelry, wherein we have imbalanced sojourners, Terry, for one brief rest this night. Why regret the loss of the poor refreshment offered thee here, when there are a thousand better feasts awaiting thee elsewhere on thy way. Come, let me lead thee hence. This place is known as the Passage of the Tombs, and communicates with the inner court of the Sacred Temple, and if, as I fear, thou art a stray fugitive from the accursed Lysia's band of lovers, thou mayest be tracked hither and quickly slain. Come, I will show thee a secret labyrinth by which thou canst gain the embankment of the river, and from thence we take thyself speedily home, if thou hast a home. He reposed in a keen question glance, flashed in his dark eyes, but not withstanding thy fluency of speech and fashion of attire, he thinks thou hast the lost and solitary heir of one who is a stranger in the city of Alkyris. Theoside, a stranger I am indeed, he said rurally, a stranger to my very self and all my former belongings, ask me no questions, good father, for, as I live, I cannot answer them. I am oppressed by a nameless and mysterious suffering. My brain is darkened, my thoughts, but have formed and never wholly uttered, and I, I who once deemed human intelligence and reason all supreme, all clear, all absolute, am now compelled to use that reason reasonlessly. And to work with that intelligence and helpless ignorance, as to what end my mental toil shall serve. Woeful and strange it is, yet true, I am as a broken straw in a whirlwind, or the pale ghost of my own identity, groping for things forgotten in a land of shadows. I know not whence I came, nor whither I go, nay, do not fear me, I am not mad, I am conscious of my life, my strength and physical well-being, and though I may speak wildly, I harbor no ill intent toward any man. My quarrel is with God alone. He paused, then resumed in calmer accents, you judge rightly, reverend sir, I am a stranger in Al-Kiris. I entered the city gates this morning when the sun was high, and at noon I found courteous welcome and princely sheltered. I am the guest of the poet Saluma. The old man looked at him, half-compassionately. Ah, Saluma is thine host. He stood with a touch of melancholy surprise in his tone. Then wherefore art thou here, here in this dark abode where none may linger and escape with life? How earnest thou within the bounds of Lycia's fatal plaisance? Has the laureate's friendship thus misguided thee? The use hesitated before replying. He was again moved by that curious instinctive dread of hearing Saluma's name associated with any sort of reproach, and his voice had a somewhat defiant ring. Has he answered nay? Surely, I am neither a child nor a woman, that I should weakly yield to guidance or misleading. Some trifling matter of free will remains to me, in spite of mine affliction, and that I have sucked with Saluma at the palace of the high priestess has been as much my choice as his example. Who among men would turn aside from high feasting and mirthful company? Not I, believe me, and Saluma's desires herein were but the reflex of mine own. We came together through the woodland and parted but a moment since. He stopped abruptly, startled by a sudden clash as of steel, and that tramp-tramp of approaching feet his aged companion caught him by the arm. Hush, he whispered, not a word more, not a breath, for thy life must pay the penalty. Quick, follow me close. Step softly. There is a hiding place near at hand, where we may couch unseen till these dread visitants pass by. Moving stealthily and with anxious precaution he led the way to a niche, hollowed deeply out in the thickness of the wall and turning his lamp aside, so that not the faintest climber of it could be perceived. He took theos by the hand and drew him into what seemed to be a huge cavernous recess, utterly dark and icy cold. Here, crouching low in the furthest gloom, they both waited silently, theos ignorant as to the cause of the sudden alarm and wondering vaguely what strange new circumstance was about to happen. The measure tramp-tramp of feet came nearer and nearer and in another moment the flare of smoking torches illumined the vaulted passage casting many a ruddy flicker and flash on the ivory gleaming whiteness of the vast skeleton army that stood with such grim and pallid patience as they're waiting for a marching signal. Presently there appeared a number of half-naked men carrying short axes stained with blood, coarse, savage, cruel-looking brutes, all whose lowering faces bore the marks of a thousand unrepentant crimes. These were followed by four tall personages clad in flowing white robes and closely masked, and finally there came a band of black slaves clothed in vivid scarlet dragging between them two writhing bleeding creatures, one a man, the other a girl, inner earliest youth both convulsed by the evident last agonies of death. Arrived at the center of that part of the vault where the skeleton crowd was thickest, this horrible cortege halted while one of the masked personages undid from his girdle a large bunch of keys, and now Theos watching everything with grateful interest from the obscure corner where he was, thanks to his unknown friend successfully concealed, perceived for the first time a low iron door heavily barred and surmounted by sharp spikes as long as drawn daggers. When this dreary portal was with many a drawing groan and clang slowly opened, such an awful cry broke from the lips of the tortured man as might have wrung compassion from the most hardened tyrant. Resting himself fiercely out of the grasp of the slaves who held him, he struggled to his feet while the blood poured from the cruel wounds that were inflicted all over his body and raising his manacled hands aloft he cried, mercy mercy not for me but for her for her my love my life my tenderest little one what is her crime ye fiends why do ye deem love a sin and passion a dishonor shall there be no more heart longings because ye are cold spare her she is so young so fond so innocent of all reproach save one the shame of loving me spare her or if ye will not spare slay her at once now now with swift compassionate sword but cast her not alive into young hideous serpents den not alive oh no no ye gods have pity here his voice broke in a sudden light passed over his agonized countenance gazing steadfastly at the girl whose beautiful white body now lay motionless on the coal stone with a cloud of fair hair falling vey alike over it his eyes seemed to strain themselves out of their sockets in the intensity of his eager regard when all at once he gave vent to a wild peal of delirious laughter and exclaimed dead dead thanks be to the merciless gods for this one gift of grace at the last dead dead oh the blessed favor and freedom of death sweetheart they can torture thee no more no more odd devils that ye are and his voice grown frantically loud pierced the gloomy arches with terrible resonance as he saw the red-garmented slaves vainly endeavoring to rouse with ferocious blows and thrust new life in the fair stiffening corpse before them this time ye are baffled baffled and i live to see your vanquishment give her to me and he stretched out his trembling arms give her she is dead and you cannot offer to negaia any lifeless thing i will weave her a shroud of her own gold hair i will bury her softly away in the darkness i will sing to her as i used to sing in the silent summer evenings when we fancied our secret of forbidden love unknown and with my lips on hers i will pray pray for the pardon of passion grown stronger than life he seized and swing forward fell a shiver ran through his limbs one deep gasping sigh and all was over the band of torturers gathered around the body uttering fierce oaths and exclamations of dismay both dead said one of the individuals in white did the most fatal augury fatal indeed said another and turning to the men with the blood stained axes he added angrily ye were too swift and lavish of your weapons ye should have let these criminals suffer slowly inch by inch and yet have left them life enough wherewith to linger on and anguish many hours the wretches thus addressed look sullen and humiliated and approaching the two corpses would have brutally inflicted fresh wounds on them and not the seeming chief of the party interfered let be let be he said austerely he cannot cause the dead to feel with that it were possible then might the glorious and godlike thirst of vengeance in our great high priestess be somewhat more appeased in this matter for the unlawful communion of love between a vestal virgin and an anointed priest cannot be too utterly abhorred and condemned and these twain who vested valley valley their vows have perished far too easily the sanctity of the temple has been outraged licea will not be satisfied and how shall we pacify her righteous wrath concerning this too tranquil death of the undeserving and impure drawing all together in a close group they held a whispered consultation and finally appearing to have come to some sort of decision they took up the dead bodies one after another and flung them carelessly into the dark aperture lately enclosed as they did this uh stealthy rustling sound was heard as of some great creature moving to and fro in the far interior but they soon locked and barred the iron portal once more and then took their departure rather hurriedly leaving the vault by the way theos had entered it namely up the stone stairway that led into licea's palace gardens as the last echo of their retreating steps died away and the last glimmer of their lurid torches vanished theos sprang out from his hiding place his venable companion slowly followed oh god can such things be he cried loudly reckless of all possible risk for himself as his voice rang penetratingly through the deep silence where these brute murderers actual men are but the wandering grim shadows of some long past crime nay surely i do but dream and ghouls and demons born out of nightmare sleep duvex my troubled spirit justice justice for the innocence is there none in all alchiris none replied the old man who stood beside him lamp in hand fixing his dark melancholy eyes upon him as he spoke none neither in alchiris nor in any other great city on the people to earth justice i who am named zeryl the misty because of my tired of searching into things that are hidden from the unstudies and i'm thinking i know that justice is an idle name an empty braggart word forever on the mouths of kings and judges but never in their hearts moreover what is guilt what is innocence both must be defined according to the law of the realm wherein we dwell and from that law there can be no appeal these men we lately saw were the chief priests and executioners of the sacred temple they have done no wrong they have simply fulfilled their duty the culprit slain deserved their fate they loved where loving was forbidden torture and death was the strictly ordained punishment and he written was justice justice as portioned out by the penal code of the high court of council he was heard and gave an expressive gesture of loathing and contempt oh narrow jurisdiction oh short sided false equity exclaimed passionately are there different laws for high and low must the weak and defenseless be condemned to death for the self same sin committed openly by their more powerful brethren who yet escaped scot-free what if the high priest is them if these poor lover victims merited their doom why is not lycea slain is not she a willingly violated best does she not count her lovers by the score are not her vows long since broken is not her life a life of wanton luxury and open shame why death the law be holding these things remain in her case dumb and ineffectual hush hush my son said the aged cereal anxiously these stone walls hear the far too loudly who knows but they may echo four five words to unsuspected listeners peace peace lycea is as much queen as zephyronum is king of alchyrus and surely they'll know us that the sins of tyrants are accounted virtues so long as they retain their ruling powers the public voice pronounces lycea chase and zephyronum faithful who then shall dare to disprove the verdict does the same in all countries near and far the law serves the strong while professing to defend the weak the rich man gains his cause the beggar loses it how can it be otherwise while lust of gold prevails gold is the moving force of this our era without it kings and ministers are impotent an army star with it all things can be accomplished even to the concealment of the foulest crimes come come and he laid one hand kindly on theos's arm thou hast a generous and fiery spirit for thou should never have been born into this planet if thou seekest such a thing as justice no man will ever deal true justice to his fellow man on earth unless perhaps in ages to come when the old creeds are swept away for a new and a grander wider pure form of faith is accepted by the people for religion in alchyrus today is a hollow mockery a sham kept up partly from fear partly from motives of policy but every thinker is an atheist at heart our splendid civilization is tottering towards its fall and should the foredoomed destruction of this city come to pass vast ages of progress discovery and invention will be swept away as though they have never been he paused inside then continued sorrowfully there is there must be something wrong in the mechanism of life some little hitch that stops the even wheels some curious perpetual mischance that crosses us at every turn but i doubt not all is for the best and will prove most truly so hereafter hereafter echos theos bitterly thinkest out that even god repenting of the evil he have done will ever be able to compensate us by any future bliss for all the needless anguish of the present cereal looked at him with a strange almost spectral expression of mingle pity fear and misgiving but he offered no reply to this home thrust of a question engraved silence and with slow majestic tread he began to leave the way along through the dismal labyrinth the black winding arches holding his blue lamp aloft as he went the better to lighten the dense gloom theos followed him silent also unwrapped in stern and mournful musings of his own musings through which faint threads of pale recollection connected with his past glimmered hazely from time to time perplexing rather than enlightening his bewildered brain presently found himself in a low narrow vestibule illumined by the bright yet soft radiance of a suspended star and here coming close up with his guide in observing his dress and manner more attentively he suddenly perceived as shining something which the old man wore hanging from his neck in which flashed against the sable hue of his garment like a wandering moon beam stopping abruptly he examined this ornament with straining visible gaze and slowly very slowly recognized its fashion of construction it was a plain silver cross nothing more yet at sight of the sacred strange yet familiar symbol a cord seemed to snap in his brain tears rushed to his tired eyes and with a sharp cry fell on his knees grasping his companions robe wildly as a drowning man grasped at a floating spar while the venerable cereal startled at his action stared down upon him in evident amazement and terror rescue rescue he cried oh thou blessed among men thought us where the sign of eternal safety the sign of the way the truth in the life without the way there is no going without the truth there is no knowing without the life there is no living now do i know thee for a saint in al-qiras for thou dost openly avow thyself a follower of the divine faith that fools despise and selfish souls repudiate i do beseech thee thou good and holy man absolve me of my sin of unbelief teach me help me and i will hear thy councils with the meekness of a listening child see you i kneel i pray i even i am humiliated to the very dust of shame i have no pride i seek no glory i do entreat even as i once rejected the blessing of the cross whereby i shall regain my lost love my despised pardon my banished peace and with pathetic earnestness he raised his hands towards the silver emblem and touched it tenderly reverently then as though unworthy he bent his head low and waited eagerly for a name a name that he himself could not remember the name suggested by the cross but not declared if that name were once spoken in the form of a benediction he felt instinctively that he would straightway be released from the mysterious spell of misery that bound his intelligence in such a grievous thrawl but not a word of consolation did his companion utter on the contrary seemed agitated by the stranger's surprise and alarm now may all the gods in heaven defend thee thou unhappy desperate distracted soul he said in trembling and frightened accents thou dost implore the blessing of a faith unknown a mystery predicted but not yet fulfilled i agree that shall not be declared to men for full five thousand years end of chapter 20