And then, with a sudden change of tone and manner—

“Hast thou seen enough, my stranger guest, or shall I show thee

more of the wonders of these tombs that are my palace halls? If

thou wilt, I can lead thee to where Tisno, the mightiest and most

valorous King of Kôr, in whose day these caves were ended, lies

in a pomp that seems to mock at nothingness, and bid the empty

shadows of the past do homage to his sculptured vanity!”

“I have seen enough, oh Queen,” I answered. “My heart is

overwhelmed by the power of the present Death. Mortality is weak,

and easily broken down by a sense of the companionship that waits

upon its end. Take me hence, oh Ayesha!”

XVII.

THE BALANCE TURNS

In a few minutes, following the lamps of the mutes, which, held

out from the body as a bearer holds water in a vessel, had the

appearance of floating down the darkness by themselves, we came

to a stair which led us to _She’s_ ante-room, the same that

Billali had crept up upon on all fours on the previous day. Here

I would have bid the Queen adieu, but she would not.

“Nay,” she said, “enter with me, oh Holly, for of a truth thy

conversation pleaseth me. Think, oh Holly: for two thousand years

have I had none to converse with save slaves and my own thoughts,

and though of all this thinking hath much wisdom come, and many

secrets been made plain, yet am I weary of my thoughts, and have

come to loathe mine own society, for surely the food that memory

gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the

teeth of hope that we can bear to bite it. Now, though thy

thoughts are green and tender, as becometh one so young, yet are

they those of a thinking brain, and in truth thou dost bring back

to my mind certain of those old philosophers with whom in days

bygone I have disputed at Athens, and at Becca in Arabia, for

thou hast the same crabbed air and dusty look, as though thou

hadst passed thy days in reading ill-writ Greek, and been stained

dark with the grime of manuscripts. So draw the curtain, and sit

here by my side, and we will eat fruit, and talk of pleasant

things. See, I will again unveil to thee. Thou hast brought it on

thyself, oh Holly; fairly have I warned thee—and thou shalt call

me beautiful as even those old philosophers were wont to do. Fie

upon them, forgetting their philosophy!”

And without more ado she stood up and shook the white wrappings

from her, and came forth shining and splendid like some

glittering snake when she has cast her slough; ay, and fixed her

wonderful eyes upon me—more deadly than any Basilisk’s—and

pierced me through and through with their beauty, and sent her

light laugh ringing through the air like chimes of silver bells.

A new mood was on her, and the very colour of her mind seemed to

change beneath it. It was no longer torture-torn and hateful, as

I had seen it when she was cursing her dead rival by the leaping

flames, no longer icily terrible as in the judgment-hall, no

longer rich, and sombre, and splendid, like a Tyrian cloth, as in

the dwellings of the dead. No, her mood now was that of Aphrodité

triumphing. Life—radiant, ecstatic, wonderful—seemed to flow from

her and around her. Softly she laughed and sighed, and swift her

glances flew. She shook her heavy tresses, and their perfume

filled the place; she struck her little sandalled foot upon the

floor, and hummed a snatch of some old Greek epithalamium. All

the majesty was gone, or did but lurk and faintly flicker through

her laughing eyes, like lightning seen through sunlight. She had

cast off the terror of the leaping flame, the cold power of

judgment that was even now being done, and the wise sadness of

the tombs—cast them off and put them behind her, like the white

shroud she wore, and now stood out the incarnation of lovely

tempting womanhood, made more perfect—and in a way more

spiritual—than ever woman was before.

“So, my Holly, sit there where thou canst see me. It is by thine

own wish, remember—again I say, blame me not if thou dost wear

away thy little span with such a sick pain at the heart that thou

wouldst fain have died before ever thy curious eyes were set upon

me. There, sit so, and tell me, for in truth I am inclined for

praises—tell me, am I not beautiful? Nay, speak not so hastily;

consider well the point; take me feature by feature, forgetting

not my form, and my hands and feet, and my hair, and the

whiteness of my skin, and then tell me truly, hast thou ever

known a woman who in aught, ay, in one little portion of her

beauty, in the curve of an eyelash even, or the modelling of a

shell-like ear, is justified to hold a light before my

loveliness? Now, my waist! Perchance thou thinkest it too large,

but of a truth it is not so; it is this golden snake that is too

large, and doth not bind it as it should. It is a wide snake, and

knoweth that it is ill to tie in the waist. But see, give me thy

hands—so—now press them round me, and there, with but a little

force, thy fingers touch, oh Holly.”

I could bear it no longer. I am but a man, and she was more than

a woman. Heaven knows what she was—I do not! But then and there I

fell upon my knees before her, and told her in a sad mixture of

languages—for such moments confuse the thoughts—that I worshipped

her as never woman was worshipped, and that I would give my

immortal soul to marry her, which at that time I certainly would

have done, and so, indeed, would any other man, or all the race

of men rolled into one. For a moment she looked surprised, and

then she began to laugh, and clap her hands in glee.

“Oh, so soon, oh Holly!” she said. “I wondered how many minutes

it would need to bring thee to thy knees. I have not seen a man

kneel before me for so many days, and, believe me, to a woman’s

heart the sight is sweet, ay, wisdom and length of days take not

from that dear pleasure which is our sex’s only right.

“What wouldst thou?—what wouldst thou? Thou dost not know what

thou doest. Have I not told thee that I am not for thee? I love

but one, and thou art not the man. Ah Holly, for all thy

wisdom—and in a way thou art wise—thou art but a fool running

after folly. Thou wouldst look into mine eyes—thou wouldst kiss

me! Well, if it pleaseth thee, _look_,” and she bent herself

towards me, and fixed her dark and thrilling orbs upon my own;

“ay, and _kiss_ too, if thou wilt, for, thanks be given to the

scheme of things, kisses leave no marks, except upon the heart.

But if thou dost kiss, I tell thee of a surety wilt thou eat out

thy breast with love of me, and die!” and she bent yet further

towards me till her soft hair brushed my brow, and her fragrant

breath played upon my face, and made me faint and weak. Then of a

sudden, even as I stretched out my hands to clasp, she

straightened herself, and a quick change passed over her.

Reaching out her hand, she held it over my head, and it seemed to

me that something flowed from it that chilled me back to common

sense, and a knowledge of propriety and the domestic virtues.

“Enough of this wanton folly,” she said with a touch of

sternness. “Listen, Holly. Thou art a good and honest man, and I

fain would spare thee; but, oh! it is so hard for woman to be

merciful. I have said I am not for thee, therefore let thy

thoughts pass by me like an idle wind, and the dust of thy

imagination sink again into the depths—well, of despair, if thou

wilt. Thou dost not know me, Holly. Hadst thou seen me but ten

hours past when my passion seized me, thou hadst shrunk from me

in fear and trembling. I am of many moods, and, like the water in

that vessel, I reflect many things; but they pass, my Holly; they

pass, and are forgotten. Only the water is the water still, and I

still am I, and that which maketh the water maketh it, and that

which maketh me maketh me, nor can my quality be altered.

Therefore, pay no heed to what I seem, seeing that thou canst not

know what I am. If thou troublest me again I will veil myself,

and thou shalt behold my face no more.”

I rose, and sank on the cushioned couch beside her, yet quivering

with emotion, though for a moment my mad passion had left me, as

the leaves of a tree quiver still, although the gust be gone that

stirred them. I did not dare to tell her that I _had_ seen her in

that deep and hellish mood, muttering incantations to the fire in

the tomb.

“So,” she went on, “now eat some fruit; believe me, it is the

only true food for man. Oh, tell me of the philosophy of that

Hebrew Messiah, who came after me, and who thou sayest doth now

rule Rome, and Greece, and Egypt, and the barbarians beyond. It

must have been a strange philosophy that He taught, for in my day

the peoples would have naught of our philosophies. Revel and lust

and drink, blood and cold steel, and the shock of men gathered in

the battle—these were the canons of their creeds.”

I had recovered myself a little by now, and, feeling bitterly

ashamed of the weakness into which I had been betrayed, I did my

best to expound to her the doctrines of Christianity, to which,

however, with the single exception of our conception of Heaven

and Hell, I found that she paid but scant attention, her interest

being all directed towards the Man who taught them. Also I told

her that among her own people, the Arabs, another prophet, one

Mohammed, had arisen and preached a new faith, to which many

millions of mankind now adhered.

“Ah!” she said; “I see—two new religions! I have known so many,

and doubtless there have been many more since I knew aught beyond

these caves of Kôr. Mankind asks ever of the skies to vision out

what lies behind them. It is terror for the end, and but a

subtler form of selfishness—this it is that breeds religions.

Mark, my Holly, each religion claims the future for its

followers; or, at least, the good thereof. The evil is for those

benighted ones who will have none of it; seeing the light the

true believers worship, as the fishes see the stars, but dimly.

The religions come and the religions pass, and the civilisations

come and pass, and naught endures but the world and human nature.

Ah! if man would but see that hope is from within and not from

without—that he himself must work out his own salvation! He is

there, and within him is the breath of life and a knowledge of

good and evil as good and evil is to him. Thereon let him build

and stand erect, and not cast himself before the image of some

unknown God, modelled like his poor self, but with a bigger brain

to think the evil thing, and a longer arm to do it.”

I thought to myself, which shows how old such reasoning is,

being, indeed, one of the recurring qualities of theological

discussion, that her argument sounded very like some that I have

heard in the nineteenth century, and in other places than the

caves of Kôr, and with which, by the way, I totally disagree, but

I did not care to try and discuss the question with her. To begin

with, my mind was too weary with all the emotions through which I

had passed, and, in the second place, I knew that I should get

the worst of it. It is weary work enough to argue with an

ordinary materialist, who hurls statistics and whole strata of

geological facts at your head, whilst you can only buffet him

with deductions and instincts and the snowflakes of faith, that

are, alas! so apt to melt in the hot embers of our troubles. How

little chance, then, should I have against one whose brain was

supernaturally sharpened, and who had two thousand years of

experience, besides all manner of knowledge of the secrets of

Nature at her command! Feeling that she would be more likely to

convert me than I should to convert her, I thought it best to

leave the matter alone, and so sat silent. Many a time since then

have I bitterly regretted that I did so, for thereby I lost the

only opportunity I can remember having had of ascertaining what

Ayesha _really_ believed, and what her “philosophy” was.

“Well, my Holly,” she continued, “and so those people of mine have

found a prophet, a false prophet thou sayest, for he is not thine own,

and, indeed, I doubt it not. Yet in my day was it otherwise, for then

we Arabs had many gods. Allât there was, and Saba, the Host of Heaven,

Al Uzza, and Manah the stony one, for whom the blood of victims flowed,

and Wadd and Sawâ, and Yaghûth the Lion of the dwellers in Yaman, and

Yäûk the Horse of Morad, and Nasr the Eagle of Hamyar; ay, and many

more. Oh, the folly of it all, the shame and the pitiful folly! Yet

when I rose in wisdom and spoke thereof, surely they would have slain

me in the name of their outraged gods. Well, so hath it ever been;—but,

my Holly, art thou weary of me already, that thou dost sit so silent?

Or dost thou fear lest I should teach thee my philosophy?—for know I

have a philosophy. What would a teacher be without her own philosophy?

and if thou dost vex me overmuch beware! for I will have thee learn it,

and thou shalt be my disciple, and we twain will found a faith that

shall swallow up all others. Faithless man! And but half an hour since

thou wast upon thy knees—the posture does not suit thee, Holly—swearing

that thou didst love me. What shall we do?—Nay, I have it. I will come

and see this youth, the Lion, as the old man Billali calls him, who

came with thee, and who is so sick. The fever must have run its course

by now, and if he is about to die I will recover him. Fear not, my

Holly, I shall use no magic. Have I not told thee that there is no such

thing as magic, though there is such a thing as understanding and

applying the forces which are in Nature? Go now, and presently, when I

have made the drug ready, I will follow thee.”[1]

[1] Ayesha was a great chemist, indeed chemistry appears to have been

her only amusement and occupation. She had one of the caves fitted up

as a laboratory, and, although her appliances were necessarily rude,

the results that she attained were, as will become clear in the course

of this narrative, sufficiently surprising.—L. H. H.

Accordingly I went, only to find Job and Ustane in a great state

of grief, declaring that Leo was in the throes of death, and that

they had been searching for me everywhere. I rushed to the couch,

and glanced at him: clearly he was dying. He was senseless, and

breathing heavily, but his lips were quivering, and every now and

again a little shudder ran down his frame. I knew enough of

doctoring to see that in another hour he would be beyond the

reach of earthly help—perhaps in another five minutes. How I

cursed my selfishness and the folly that had kept me lingering by

Ayesha’s side while my dear boy lay dying! Alas and alas! how

easily the best of us are lighted down to evil by the gleam of a

woman’s eyes! What a wicked wretch was I! Actually, for the last

half-hour I had scarcely thought of Leo, and this, be it

remembered, of the man who for twenty years had been my dearest

companion, and the chief interest of my existence. And now,

perhaps, it was too late!

I wrung my hands, and glanced round. Ustane was sitting by the

couch, and in her eyes burnt the dull light of despair. Job was

blubbering—I am sorry I cannot name his distress by any more

delicate word—audibly in the corner. Seeing my eye fixed upon

him, he went outside to give way to his grief in the passage.

Obviously the only hope lay in Ayesha. She, and she alone—unless,

indeed, she was an imposter, which I could not believe—could save

him. I would go and implore her to come. As I started to do so,

however, Job came flying into the room, his hair literally

standing on end with terror.

“Oh, God help us, sir!” he ejaculated in a frightened whisper,

“here’s a corpse a-coming sliding down the passage!”

For a moment I was puzzled, but presently, of course, it struck

me that he must have seen Ayesha, wrapped in her grave-like

garment, and been deceived by the extraordinary undulating

smoothness of her walk into a belief that she was a white ghost

gliding towards him. Indeed, at that very moment the question was

settled, for Ayesha herself was in the apartment, or rather cave.

Job turned, and saw her sheeted form, and then, with a convulsive

howl of “Here it comes!” sprang into a corner, and jammed his

face against the wall, and Ustane, guessing whose the dread

presence must be, prostrated herself upon her face.

“Thou comest in a good time, Ayesha,” I said, “for my boy lies at

the point of death.”

“So,” she said softly; “provided he be not dead, it is no matter,

for I can bring him back to life, my Holly. Is that man there thy

servant, and is that the method wherewith thy servants greet

strangers in thy country?”

“He is frightened of thy garb—it hath a death-like air,” I

answered.

She laughed.

“And the girl? Ah, I see now. It is she of whom thou didst speak

to me. Well, bid them both to leave us, and we will see to this

sick Lion of thine. I love not that underlings should perceive my

wisdom.”

Thereon I told Ustane in Arabic and Job in English both to leave

the room; an order which the latter obeyed readily enough, and

was glad to obey, for he could not in any way subdue his fear.

But it was otherwise with Ustane.

“What does _She_ want?” she whispered, divided between her fear

of the terrible Queen and her anxiety to remain near Leo. “It is

surely the right of a wife to be near her husband when he dieth.

Nay, I will not go, my lord the Baboon.”

“Why doth not that woman leave us, my Holly?” asked Ayesha from

the other end of the cave, where she was engaged in carelessly

examining some of the sculptures on the wall.

“She is not willing to leave Leo,” I answered, not knowing what

to say. Ayesha wheeled round, and, pointing to the girl Ustane,

said one word, and one only, but it was quite enough, for the

tone in which it was said meant volumes.

“Go!”

And then Ustane crept past her on her hands and knees, and went.

“Thou seest, my Holly,” said Ayesha, with a little laugh, “it was

needful that I should give these people a lesson in obedience.

That girl went nigh to disobeying me, but then she did not learn

this morn how I treat the disobedient. Well, she has gone; and

now let me see the youth,” and she glided towards the couch on

which Leo lay, with his face in the shadow and turned towards the

wall.

“He hath a noble shape,” she said, as she bent over him to look

upon his face.

Next second her tall and willowy form was staggering back across

the room, as though she had been shot or stabbed, staggering back

till at last she struck the cavern wall, and then there burst

from her lips the most awful and unearthly scream that I ever

heard in all my life.

“What is it, Ayesha?” I cried. “Is he dead?”

She turned, and sprang towards me like a tigress.

“Thou dog!” she said, in her terrible whisper, which sounded like

the hiss of a snake, “why didst thou hide this from me?” And she

stretched out her arm, and I thought that she was about to slay

me.

“What?” I ejaculated, in the most lively terror; “what?”

“Ah!” she said, “perchance thou didst not know. Learn, my Holly,

learn: there lies—there lies my lost Kallikrates. Kallikrates,

who has come back to me at last, as I knew he would, as I knew he

would;” and she began to sob and to laugh, and generally to

conduct herself like any other lady who is a little upset,

murmuring “Kallikrates, Kallikrates!”

“Nonsense,” thought I to myself, but I did not like to say it;

and, indeed, at that moment I was thinking of Leo’s life, having

forgotten everything else in that terrible anxiety. What I feared

now was that he should die while she was “carrying on.”

“Unless thou art able to help him, Ayesha,” I put in, by way of a

reminder, “thy Kallikrates will soon be far beyond thy calling.

Surely he dieth even now.”

“True,” she said, with a start. “Oh, why did I not come before! I

am unnerved—my hand trembles, even mine—and yet it is very easy.

Here, thou Holly, take this phial,” and she produced a tiny jar

of pottery from the folds of her garment, “and pour the liquid in

it down his throat. It will cure him if he be not dead. Swift,

now! Swift! The man dies!”

I glanced towards him; it was true enough, Leo was in his

death-struggle. I saw his poor face turning ashen, and heard the

breath begin to rattle in his throat. The phial was stoppered

with a little piece of wood. I drew it with my teeth, and a drop

of the fluid within flew out upon my tongue. It had a sweet

flavour, and for a second made my head swim, and a mist gather

before my eyes, but happily the effect passed away as swiftly as

it had arisen.

When I reached Leo’s side he was plainly expiring—his golden head

was slowly turning from side to side, and his mouth was slightly

open. I called to Ayesha to hold his head, and this she managed

to do, though the woman was quivering from head to foot, like an

aspen-leaf or a startled horse. Then, forcing the jaw a little

more open, I poured the contents of the phial into his mouth.

Instantly a little vapour arose from it, as happens when one

disturbs nitric acid, and this sight did not increase my hopes,

already faint enough, of the efficacy of the treatment.

One thing, however, was certain, the death throes ceased—at first

I thought because he had got beyond them, and crossed the awful

river. His face turned to a livid pallor, and his heart-beats,

which had been feeble enough before, seemed to die away

altogether—only the eyelid still twitched a little. In my doubt I

looked up at Ayesha, whose head-wrapping had slipped back in her

excitement when she went reeling across the room. She was still

holding Leo’s head, and, with a face as pale as his own, watching

his countenance with such an expression of agonised anxiety as I

had never seen before. Clearly she did not know if he would live

or die. Five minutes slowly passed and I saw that she was

abandoning hope; her lovely oval face seemed to fall in and grow

visibly thinner beneath the pressure of a mental agony whose

pencil drew black lines about the hollows of her eyes. The coral

faded even from her lips, till they were as white as Leo’s face,

and quivered pitifully. It was shocking to see her: even in my

own grief I felt for hers.

“Is it too late?” I gasped.

She hid her face in her hands, and made no answer, and I too

turned away. But as I did so I heard a deep-drawn breath, and

looking down perceived a line of colour creeping up Leo’s face,

then another and another, and then, wonder of wonders, the man we

had thought dead turned over on his side.

“Thou seest,” I said in a whisper.

“I see,” she answered hoarsely. “He is saved. I thought we were

too late—another moment—one little moment more—and he had been

gone!” and she burst into an awful flood of tears, sobbing as

though her heart would break, and yet looking lovelier than ever

as she did it. At last she ceased.

“Forgive me, my Holly—forgive me for my weakness,” she said.

“Thou seest after all I am a very woman. Think—now think of it!

This morning didst thou speak of the place of torment appointed

by this new religion of thine. Hell or Hades thou didst call it—a

place where the vital essence lives and retains an individual

memory, and where all the errors and faults of judgment, and

unsatisfied passions and the unsubstantial terrors of the mind

wherewith it hath at any time had to do, come to mock and haunt

and gibe and wring the heart for ever and for ever with the

vision of its own hopelessness. Thus, even thus, have I lived for

full two thousand years—for some six and sixty generations, as ye

reckon time—in a Hell, as thou callest it—tormented by the memory

of a crime, tortured day and night with an unfulfilled

desire—without companionship, without comfort, without death, and

led on only down my dreary road by the marsh lights of Hope,

which, though they flickered here and there, and now glowed

strong, and now were not, yet, as my skill told me, would one day

lead unto my deliverer.

“And then—think of it still, oh Holly, for never shalt thou hear

such another tale, or see such another scene, nay, not even if I

give thee ten thousand years of life—and thou shalt have it in

payment if thou wilt—think: at last my deliverer came—he for whom

I had watched and waited through the generations—at the appointed

time he came to seek me, as I knew that he must come, for my

wisdom could not err, though I knew not when or how. Yet see how

ignorant I was! See how small my knowledge, and how faint my

strength! For hours he lay there sick unto death, and I felt it

not—I who had waited for him for two thousand years—I knew it

not. And then at last I see him, and behold, my chance is gone

but by a hair’s breadth even before I have it, for he is in the

very jaws of death, whence no power of mine can draw him. And if

he die, surely must the Hell be lived through once more—once more

must I face the weary centuries, and wait, and wait till the time

in its fulness shall bring my Beloved back to me. And then thou

gavest him the medicine, and that five minutes dragged long

before I knew if he would live or die, and I tell thee that all

the sixty generations that are gone were not so long as that five

minutes. But they passed at length, and still he showed no sign,

and I knew that if the drug works not then, so far as I have had

knowledge, it works not at all. Then thought I that he was once

more dead, and all the tortures of all the years gathered

themselves into a single venomed spear, and pierced me through

and through, because again I had lost Kallikrates! And then, when

all was done, behold! he sighed, behold! he lived, and I knew

that he would live, for none die on whom the drug takes hold.

Think of it now, my Holly—think of the wonder of it! He will

sleep for twelve hours and then the fever will have left him!”

She stopped, and laid her hand upon his golden head, and then

bent down and kissed his brow with a chastened abandonment of

tenderness that would have been beautiful to behold had not the

sight cut me to the heart—for I was jealous!

XVIII.

“GO, WOMAN!”

Then followed a silence of a minute or so, during which _She_

appeared, if one might judge from the almost angelic rapture of

her face—for she looked angelic sometimes—to be plunged into a

happy ecstasy. Suddenly, however, a new thought struck her, and

her expression became the very reverse of angelic.

“Almost had I forgotten,” she said, “that woman, Ustane. What is

she to Kallikrates—his servant, or——” and she paused, and her

voice trembled.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I understand that she is wed to him

according to the custom of the Amahagger,” I answered; “but I

know not.”

Her face grew dark as a thunder-cloud. Old as she was, Ayesha had

not outlived jealousy.

“Then there is an end,” she said; “she must die, even now!”

“For what crime?” I asked, horrified. “She is guilty of naught

that thou art not guilty of thyself, oh Ayesha. She loves the

man, and he has been pleased to accept her love: where, then, is

her sin?”

“Truly, oh Holly, thou art foolish,” she answered, almost

petulantly. “Where is her sin? Her sin is that she stands between

me and my desire. Well, I know that I can take him from her—for

dwells there a man upon this earth, oh Holly, who could resist me

if I put out my strength? Men are faithful for so long only as

temptations pass them by. If the temptation be but strong enough,

then will the man yield, for every man, like every rope, hath his

breaking strain, and passion is to men what gold and power are to

women—the weight upon their weakness. Believe me, ill will it go

with mortal woman in that heaven of which thou speakest, if only

the spirits be more fair, for their lords will never turn to look

upon them, and their Heaven will become their Hell. For man can

be bought with woman’s beauty, if it be but beautiful enough; and

woman’s beauty can be ever bought with gold, if only there be

gold enough. So was it in my day, and so it will be to the end of

time. The world is a great mart, my Holly, where all things are

for sale to him who bids the highest in the currency of our

desires.”

These remarks, which were as cynical as might have been expected

from a woman of Ayesha’s age and experience, jarred upon me, and

I answered, testily, that in our heaven there was no marriage or

giving in marriage.

“Else would it not be heaven, dost thou mean?” she put in. “Fie

on thee, Holly, to think so ill of us poor women! Is it, then,

marriage that marks the line between thy heaven and thy hell? but

enough of this. This is no time for disputing and the challenge

of our wits. Why dost thou always dispute? Art thou also a

philosopher of these latter days? As for this woman, she must

die; for, though I can take her lover from her, yet, while she

lived, might he think tenderly of her, and that I cannot away

with. No other woman shall dwell in my Lord’s thoughts; my empire

shall be all my own. She hath had her day, let her be content;

for better is an hour with love than a century of loneliness—now

the night shall swallow her.”

“Nay, nay,” I cried, “it would be a wicked crime; and from a

crime naught comes but what is evil. For thine own sake, do not

this deed.”

“Is it, then, a crime, oh foolish man, to put away that which

stands between us and our ends? Then is our life one long crime,

my Holly, since day by day we destroy that we may live, since in

this world none save the strongest can endure. Those who are weak

must perish; the earth is to the strong, and the fruits thereof.

For every tree that grows a score shall wither, that the strong

one may take their share. We run to place and power over the dead

bodies of those who fail and fall; ay, we win the food we eat

from out of the mouths of starving babes. It is the scheme of

things. Thou sayest, too, that a crime breeds evil, but therein

thou dost lack experience; for out of crimes come many good

things, and out of good grows much evil. The cruel rage of the

tyrant may prove a blessing to the thousands who come after him,

and the sweetheartedness of a holy man may make a nation slaves.

Man doeth this, and doeth that from the good or evil of his

heart; but he knoweth not to what end his moral sense doth prompt

him; for when he striketh he is blind to where the blow shall

fall, nor can he count the airy threads that weave the web of

circumstance. Good and evil, love and hate, night and day, sweet

and bitter, man and woman, heaven above and the earth beneath—all

these things are necessary, one to the other, and who knows the

end of each? I tell thee that there is a hand of fate that twines

them up to bear the burden of its purpose, and all things are

gathered in that great rope to which all things are needful.

Therefore doth it not become us to say this thing is evil and

this good, or the dark is hateful and the light lovely; for to

other eyes than ours the evil may be the good and the darkness

more beautiful than the day, or all alike be fair. Hearest thou,

my Holly?”

I felt it was hopeless to argue against casuistry of this nature,

which, if it were carried to its logical conclusion, would

absolutely destroy all morality, as we understand it. But her

talk gave me a fresh thrill of fear; for what may not be possible

to a being who, unconstrained by human law, is also absolutely

unshackled by a moral sense of right and wrong, which, however

partial and conventional it may be, is yet based, as our

conscience tells us, upon the great wall of individual

responsibility that marks off mankind from the beasts?

But I was deeply anxious to save Ustane, whom I liked and

respected, from the dire fate that overshadowed her at the hands

of her mighty rival. So I made one more appeal.

“Ayesha,” I said, “thou art too subtle for me; but thou thyself

hast told me that each man should be a law unto himself, and

follow the teaching of his heart. Hath thy heart no mercy towards

her whose place thou wouldst take? Bethink thee—as thou

sayest—though to me the thing is incredible—he whom thou desirest

has returned to thee after many ages, and but now thou hast, as

thou sayest also, wrung him from the jaws of death. Wilt thou

celebrate his coming by the murder of one who loved him, and whom

perchance he loved—one, at the least, who saved his life for thee

when the spears of thy slaves would have made an end thereof?

Thou sayest also that in past days thou didst grievously wrong

this man, that with thine own hand thou didst slay him because of

the Egyptian Amenartas whom he loved.”

“How knowest thou that, oh stranger? How knowest thou that name?

I spoke it not to thee,” she broke in with a cry, catching at my

arm.

“Perchance I dreamed it,” I answered; “strange dreams do hover

about these caves of Kôr. It seems that the dream was, indeed, a

shadow of the truth. What came to thee of thy mad crime?—two

thousand years of waiting, was it not? And now wouldst thou

repeat the history? Say what thou wilt, I tell thee that evil

will come of it; for to him who doeth, at the least, good breeds

good and evil evil, even though in after days out of evil cometh

good. Offences must needs come; but woe to him by whom the

offence cometh. So said that Messiah of whom I spoke to thee, and

it was truly said. If thou slayest this innocent woman, I say

unto thee that thou shalt be accursed, and pluck no fruit from

thine ancient tree of love. Also, what thinkest thou? How will

this man take thee red-handed from the slaughter of her who loved

and tended him?”

“As to that,” she answered, “I have already answered thee. Had I

slain thee as well as her, yet should he love me, Holly, because

he could not save himself therefrom any more than thou couldst

save thyself from dying, if by chance I slew thee, oh Holly. And

yet maybe there is truth in what thou dost say; for in some way

it presseth on my mind. If it may be, I will spare this woman;

for have I not told thee that I am not cruel for the sake of

cruelty? I love not to see suffering, or to cause it. Let her

come before me—quick now, before my mood changes,” and she

hastily covered her face with its gauzy wrapping.

Well pleased to have succeeded even to this extent, I passed out

into the passage and called to Ustane, whose white garment I

caught sight of some yards away, huddled up against one of the

earthenware lamps that were placed at intervals along the tunnel.

She rose, and ran towards me.

“Is my lord dead? Oh, say not he is dead,” she cried, lifting her

noble-looking face, all stained as it was with tears, up to me

with an air of infinite beseeching that went straight to my

heart.

“Nay, he lives,” I answered. “_She_ hath saved him. Enter.”

She sighed deeply, entered, and fell upon her hands and knees,

after the custom of the Amahagger people, in the presence of the

dread _She_.

“Stand,” said Ayesha, in her coldest voice, “and come hither.”

Ustane obeyed, standing before her with bowed head.

Then came a pause, which Ayesha broke.

“Who is this man?” she said, pointing to the sleeping form of

Leo.

“The man is my husband,” she answered in a low voice.

“Who gave him to thee for a husband?”

“I took him according to the custom of our country, oh _She_.”

“Thou hast done evil, woman, in taking this man, who is a

stranger. He is not a man of thine own race, and the custom

fails. Listen: perchance thou didst this thing through ignorance,

therefore, woman, do I spare thee, otherwise hadst thou died.

Listen again. Go from hence back to thine own place, and never

dare to speak to or set thine eyes upon this man again. He is not

for thee. Listen a third time. If thou breakest this my law, that

moment thou diest. Go.”

But Ustane did not move.

“Go, woman!”

Then she looked up, and I saw that her face was torn with

passion.

“Nay, oh _She_. I will not go,” she answered in a choked voice:

“the man is my husband, and I love him—I love him, and I will not

leave him. What right hast thou to command me to leave my

husband?”

I saw a little quiver pass down Ayesha’s frame, and shuddered

myself, fearing the worst.

“Be pitiful,” I said in Latin; “it is but Nature working.”

“I am pitiful,” she answered coldly in the same language; “had I

not been pitiful she had been dead even now.” Then, addressing

Ustane: “Woman, I say to thee, go before I destroy thee where

thou art!”

“I will not go! He is mine—mine!” she cried in anguish. “I took

him, and I saved his life! Destroy me, then, if thou hast the

power! I will not give thee my husband—never—never!”

Ayesha made a movement so swift that I could scarcely follow it,

but it seemed to me that she lightly struck the poor girl upon

the head with her hand. I looked at Ustane, and then staggered

back in horror, for there upon her hair, right across her

bronze-like tresses, were three finger-marks _white as snow_. As

for the girl herself, she had put her hands to her head, and was

looking dazed.

“Great heavens!” I said, perfectly aghast at this dreadful

manifestation of human power; but _She_ did but laugh a little.

“Thou thinkest, poor ignorant fool,” she said to the bewildered

woman, “that I have not the power to slay. Stay, there lies a

mirror,” and she pointed to Leo’s round shaving-glass that had

been arranged by Job with other things upon his portmanteau;

“give it to this woman, my Holly, and let her see that which lies

across her hair, and whether or no I have power to slay.”

I picked up the glass, and held it before Ustane’s eyes. She

gazed, then felt at her hair, then gazed again, and then sank

upon the ground with a sort of sob.

“Now, wilt thou go, or must I strike a second time?” asked

Ayesha, in mockery. “Look, I have set my seal upon thee so that I

may know thee till thy hair is all as white as it. If I see thy

face again, be sure, too, that thy bones shall soon be whiter

than my mark upon thy hair.”

Utterly awed and broken down, the poor creature rose, and, marked

with that awful mark, crept from the room, sobbing bitterly.

“Look not so frighted, my Holly,” said Ayesha, when she had gone.

“I tell thee I deal not in magic—there is no such thing. ‘Tis

only a force that thou dost not understand. I marked her to

strike terror to her heart, else must I have slain her. And now I

will bid my servants to bear my Lord Kallikrates to a chamber

near mine own, that I may watch over him, and be ready to greet

him when he wakes; and thither, too, shalt thou come, my Holly,

and the white man, thy servant. But one thing remember at thy

peril. Naught shalt thou say to Kallikrates as to how this woman

went, and as little as may be of me. Now, I have warned thee!”

and she slid away to give her orders, leaving me more absolutely

confounded than ever. Indeed, so bewildered was I, and racked and

torn with such a succession of various emotions, that I began to

think that I must be going mad. However, perhaps fortunately, I

had but little time to reflect, for presently the mutes arrived

to carry the sleeping Leo and our possessions across the central

cave, so for a while all was bustle. Our new rooms were situated

immediately behind what we used to call Ayesha’s boudoir—the

curtained space where I had first seen her. Where she herself

slept I did not then know, but it was somewhere quite close.

That night I passed in Leo’s room, but he slept through it like

the dead, never once stirring. I also slept fairly well, as,

indeed, I needed to do, but my sleep was full of dreams of all

the horrors and wonders I had undergone. Chiefly, however, I was

haunted by that frightful piece of _diablerie_ by which Ayesha

left her finger-marks upon her rival’s hair. There was something

so terrible about her swift, snake-like movement, and the

instantaneous blanching of that threefold line, that, if the

results to Ustane had been much more tremendous, I doubt if they

would have impressed me so deeply. To this day I often dream of

that awful scene, and see the weeping woman, bereaved, and marked

like Cain, cast a last look at her lover, and creep from the

presence of her dread Queen.

Another dream that troubled me originated in the huge pyramid of

bones. I dreamed that they all stood up and marched past me in

thousands and tens of thousands—in squadrons, companies, and

armies—with the sunlight shining through their hollow ribs. On

they rushed across the plain to Kôr, their imperial home; I saw

the drawbridges fall before them, and heard their bones clank

through the brazen gates. On they went, up the splendid streets,

on past fountains, palaces, and temples such as the eye of man

never saw. But there was no man to greet them in the

market-place, and no woman’s face appeared at the windows—only a

bodiless voice went before them, calling: “_Fallen is Imperial

Kôr!—fallen!—fallen! fallen!_” On, right through the city,

marched those gleaming phalanxes, and the rattle of their bony

tread echoed through the silent air as they pressed grimly on.

They passed through the city and clomb the wall, and marched

along the great roadway that was made upon the wall, till at

length they once more reached the drawbridge. Then, as the sun

was sinking, they returned again towards their sepulchre, and

luridly his light shone in the sockets of their empty eyes,

throwing gigantic shadows of their bones, that stretched away,

and crept and crept like huge spiders’ legs as their armies wound

across the plain. Then they came to the cave, and once more one

by one flung themselves in unending files through the hole into

the pit of bones, and I awoke, shuddering, to see _She_, who had

evidently been standing between my couch and Leo’s, glide like a

shadow from the room.

After this I slept again, soundly this time, till morning, when I

awoke much refreshed, and got up. At last the hour drew near at

which, according to Ayesha, Leo was to awake, and with it came

_She_ herself, as usual, veiled.

“Thou shalt see, oh Holly,” she said; “presently shall he awake

in his right mind, the fever having left him.”

Hardly were the words out of her mouth, when Leo turned round and

stretched out his arms, yawned, opened his eyes, and, perceiving

a female form bending over him, threw his arms round her and

kissed her, mistaking her, perhaps, for Ustane. At any rate, he

said, in Arabic, “Hullo, Ustane, why have you tied your head up

like that? Have you got the toothache?” and then, in English, “I

say, I’m awfully hungry. Why, Job, you old son of a gun, where

the deuce have we got to now—eh?”

“I am sure I wish I knew, Mr. Leo,” said Job, edging suspiciously

past Ayesha, whom he still regarded with the utmost disgust and

horror, being by no means sure that she was not an animated

corpse; “but you mustn’t talk, Mr. Leo, you’ve been very ill, and

given us a great deal of hanxiety, and, if this lady,” looking at

Ayesha, “would be so kind as to move, I’ll bring you your soup.”

This turned Leo’s attention to the “lady,” who was standing by in

perfect silence. “Hullo!” he said; “that is not Ustane—where is

Ustane?”

Then, for the first time, Ayesha spoke to him, and her first

words were a lie. “She has gone from hence upon a visit,” she

said; “and, behold, in her place am I here as thine handmaiden.”

Ayesha’s silver notes seemed to puzzle Leo’s half-awakened

intellect, as also did her corpse-like wrappings. However, he

said nothing at the time, but drank off his soup greedily enough,

and then turned over and slept again till the evening. When he

woke for the second time he saw me, and began to question me as

to what had happened, but I had to put him off as best I could

till the morrow, when he awoke almost miraculously better. Then I

told him something of his illness and of my doings, but as Ayesha

was present I could not tell him much except that she was the

Queen of the country, and well disposed towards us, and that it

was her pleasure to go veiled; for, though of course I spoke in

English, I was afraid that she might understand what we were

saying from the expression of our faces, and besides, I

remembered her warning.

On the following day Leo got up almost entirely recovered. The

flesh wound in his side was healed, and his constitution,

naturally a vigorous one, had shaken off the exhaustion

consequent on his terrible fever with a rapidity that I can only

attribute to the effects of the wonderful drug which Ayesha had

given to him, and also to the fact that his illness had been too

short to reduce him very much. With his returning health came

back full recollection of all his adventures up to the time when

he had lost consciousness in the marsh, and of course of Ustane

also, to whom I had discovered he had grown considerably

attached. Indeed, he overwhelmed me with questions about the poor

girl, which I did not dare to answer, for after Leo’s first

awakening _She_ had sent for me, and again warned me solemnly

that I was to reveal nothing of the story to him, delicately

hinting that if I did it would be the worse for me. She also, for

the second time, cautioned me not to tell Leo anything more than

I was obliged about herself, saying that she would reveal herself

to him in her own time.

Indeed, her whole manner changed. After all that I had seen I had

expected that she would take the earliest opportunity of claiming

the man she believed to be her old-world lover, but this, for

some reason of her own, which was at the time quite inscrutable

to me, she did not do. All that she did was to attend to his

wants quietly, and with a humility which was in striking contrast

with her former imperious bearing, addressing him always in a

tone of something very like respect, and keeping him with her as

much as possible. Of course his curiosity was as much excited

about this mysterious woman as my own had been, and he was

particularly anxious to see her face, which I had, without

entering into particulars, told him was as lovely as her form and

voice. This in itself was enough to raise the expectations of any

young man to a dangerous pitch, and, had it not been that he had

not as yet completely shaken off the effects of illness, and was

much troubled in his mind about Ustane, of whose affection and

brave devotion he spoke in touching terms, I have no doubt that

he would have entered into her plans, and fallen in love with her

by anticipation. As it was, however, he was simply wildly

curious, and also, like myself, considerably awed, for, though no

hint had been given to him by Ayesha of her extraordinary age, he

not unnaturally came to identify her with the woman spoken of on

the potsherd. At last, quite driven into a corner by his

continual questions, which he showered on me while he was

dressing on this third morning, I referred him to Ayesha, saying,

with perfect truth, that I did not know where Ustane was.

Accordingly, after Leo had eaten a hearty breakfast, we adjourned

into _She’s_ presence, for her mutes had orders to admit us at

all hours.

She was, as usual, seated in what, for want of a better term, we

called her boudoir, and on the curtains being drawn she rose from

her couch and, stretching out both hands, came forward to greet

us, or rather Leo; for I, as may be imagined, was now quite left

in the cold. It was a pretty sight to see her veiled form gliding

towards the sturdy young Englishman, dressed in his grey flannel

suit; for, though he is half a Greek in blood, Leo is, with the

exception of his hair, one of the most English-looking men I ever

saw. He has nothing of the subtle form or slippery manner of the

modern Greek about him, though I presume that he got his

remarkable personal beauty from his foreign mother, whose

portrait he resembles not a little. He is very tall and

big-chested, and yet not awkward, as so many big men are, and his

head is set upon him in such a fashion as to give him a proud and

vigorous air, which was well translated in his Amahagger name of

the “Lion.”

“Greeting to thee, my young stranger lord,” she said in her

softest voice. “Right glad am I to see thee upon thy feet.

Believe me, had I not saved thee at the last, never wouldst thou

have stood upon those feet again. But the danger is done, and it

shall be my care”—and she flung a world of meaning into the

words—“that it doth return no more.”

Leo bowed to her, and then, in his best Arabic, thanked her for

all her kindness and courtesy in caring for one unknown to her.

“Nay,” she answered softly, “ill could the world spare such a

man. Beauty is too rare upon it. Give me no thanks, who am made

happy by thy coming.”

“Humph! old fellow,” said Leo aside to me in English, “the lady

is very civil. We seem to have tumbled into clover. I hope that

you have made the most of your opportunities. By Jove! what a

pair of arms she has got!”

I nudged him in the ribs to make him keep quiet, for I caught

sight of a gleam from Ayesha’s veiled eyes, which were regarding

me curiously.

“I trust,” went on Ayesha, “that my servants have attended well

upon thee; if there can be comfort in this poor place, be sure it

waits on thee. Is there aught that I can do for thee more?”

“Yes, oh _She_,” answered Leo hastily, “I would fain know whither

the young lady who was looking after me has gone to.”

“Ah,” said Ayesha: “the girl—yes, I saw her. Nay, I know not; she

said that she would go, I know not whither. Perchance she will

return, perchance not. It is wearisome waiting on the sick, and

these savage women are fickle.”

Leo looked both sulky and distressed at this intelligence.

“It’s very odd,” he said to me in English; and then, addressing

_She_, “I cannot understand,” he said; “the young lady and

I—well—in short, we had a regard for each other.”

Ayesha laughed a little very musically, and then turned the

subject.

XIX.

“GIVE ME A BLACK GOAT!”

The conversation after this was of such a desultory order that I do not

quite recollect it. For some reason, perhaps from a desire to keep her

identity and character in reserve, Ayesha did not talk freely, as she

usually did. Presently, however, she informed Leo that she had arranged

a dance that night for our amusement. I was astonished to hear this, as

I fancied that the Amahagger were much too gloomy a folk to indulge in

any such frivolity; but, as will presently more clearly appear, it

turned out that an Amahagger dance has little in common with such

fantastic festivities in other countries, savage or civilised. Then, as

we were about to withdraw, she suggested that Leo might like to see

some of the wonders of the caves, and as he gladly assented thither we

departed, accompanied by Job and Billali. To describe our visit would

only be to repeat a great deal of what I have already said. The tombs

we entered were indeed different, for the whole rock was a honeycomb of

sepulchres,[1] but the contents were nearly always similar. Afterwards

we visited the pyramid of bones that had haunted my dreams on the

previous night, and from thence went down a long passage to one of the

great vaults occupied by the bodies of the poorer citizens of Imperial

Kôr. These bodies were not nearly so well preserved as were those of

the wealthier classes. Many of them had no linen covering on them, also

they were buried from five hundred to one thousand in a single large

vault, the corpses in some instances being thickly piled one upon

another, like a heap of slain.

[1] For a long while it puzzled me to know what could have been done

with the enormous quantities of rock that must have been dug out of

these vast caves; but I afterwards discovered that it was for the most

part built into the walls and palaces of Kôr, and also used to line

the reservoirs and sewers.—L. H. H.

Leo was of course intensely interested in this stupendous and

unequalled sight, which was, indeed, enough to awake all the

imagination a man had in him into the most active life. But to

poor Job it did not prove attractive. His nerves—already

seriously shaken by what he had undergone since we had arrived in

this terrible country—were, as may be imagined, still further

disturbed by the spectacle of these masses of departed humanity,

whereof the forms still remained perfect before his eyes, though

their voices were for ever lost in the eternal silence of the

tomb. Nor was he comforted when old Billali, by way of soothing

his evident agitation, informed him that he should not be

frightened of these dead things, as he would soon be like them

himself.

“There’s a nice thing to say of a man, sir,” he ejaculated, when

I translated this little remark; “but there, what can one expect

of an old man-eating savage? Not but what I dare say he’s right,”

and Job sighed.

When we had finished inspecting the caves, we returned and had

our meal, for it was now past four in the afternoon, and we

all—especially Leo—needed some food and rest. At six o’clock we,

together with Job, waited on Ayesha, who set to work to terrify

our poor servant still further by showing him pictures on the

pool of water in the font-like vessel. She learnt from me that he

was one of seventeen children, and then bid him think of all his

brothers and sisters, or as many of them as he could, gathered

together in his father’s cottage. Then she told him to look in

the water, and there, reflected from its stilly surface, was that

dead scene of many years gone by, as it was recalled to our

retainer’s brain. Some of the faces were clear enough, but some

were mere blurs and splotches, or with one feature grossly

exaggerated; the fact being that, in these instances, Job had

been unable to recall the exact appearances of the individuals,

or remembered them only by a peculiarity of his tribe, and the

water could only reflect what he saw with his mind’s eye. For it

must be remembered that _She’s_ power in this matter was strictly

limited; she could apparently, except in very rare instances,

only photograph upon the water what was actually in the mind of

some one present, and then only by his will. But, if she was

personally acquainted with a locality, she could, as in the case

of ourselves and the whale-boat, throw its reflection upon the

water, and also, it seems, the reflection of anything extraneous

that was passing there at the time. This power, however, did not

extend to the minds of others. For instance, she could show me

the interior of my college chapel, as I remembered it, but not as

it was at the moment of reflection; for, where other people were

concerned, her art was strictly limited to the facts or memories

present to _their_ consciousness at the moment. So much was this

so that when we tried, for her amusement, to show her pictures of

noted buildings, such as St. Paul’s or the Houses of Parliament,

the result was most imperfect; for, of course, though we had a

good general idea of their appearance, we could not recall all

the architectural details, and therefore the minutiæ necessary to

a perfect reflection were wanting. But Job could not be got to

understand this, and, so far from accepting a natural explanation

of the matter, which was after all, though strange enough in all

conscience, nothing more than an instance of glorified and

perfected telepathy, he set the whole thing down as a

manifestation of the blackest magic. I shall never forget the

howl of terror which he uttered when he saw the more or less

perfect portraits of his long-scattered brethren staring at him

from the quiet water, or the merry peal of laughter with which

Ayesha greeted his consternation. As for Leo, he did not

altogether like it either, but ran his fingers through his yellow

curls, and remarked that it gave him the creeps.

After about an hour of this amusement, in the latter part of

which Job did _not_ participate, the mutes by signs indicated

that Billali was waiting for an audience. Accordingly he was told

to “crawl up,” which he did as awkwardly as usual, and announced

that the dance was ready to begin if _She_ and the white

strangers would be pleased to attend. Shortly afterwards we all

rose, and, Ayesha having thrown a dark cloak (the same, by the

way, that she had worn when I saw her cursing by the fire) over

her white wrappings, we started. The dance was to be held in the

open air, on the smooth rocky plateau in front of the great cave,

and thither we made our way. About fifteen paces from the mouth

of the cave we found three chairs placed, and here we sat and

waited, for as yet no dancers were to be seen. The night was

almost, but not quite, dark, the moon not having risen as yet,

which made us wonder how we should be able to see the dancing.

“Thou wilt presently understand,” said Ayesha, with a little

laugh, when Leo asked her; and we certainly did. Scarcely were

the words out of her mouth when from every point we saw dark

forms rushing up, each bearing with him what we at first took to

be an enormous flaming torch. Whatever they were, they were

burning furiously, for the flames stood out a yard or more behind

each bearer. On they came, fifty or more of them, carrying their

flaming burdens and looking like so many devils from hell. Leo

was the first to discover what these burdens were.

“Great heaven!” he said, “they are corpses on fire!”

I stared and stared again—he was perfectly right—the torches that

were to light our entertainment were human mummies from the

caves!

On rushed the bearers of the flaming corpses, and, meeting at a

spot about twenty paces in front of us, built their ghastly

burdens crossways into a huge bonfire. Heavens! how they roared

and flared! No tar barrel could have burnt as those mummies did.

Nor was this all. Suddenly I saw one great fellow seize a flaming

human arm that had fallen from its parent frame, and rush off

into the darkness. Presently he stopped, and a tall streak of

fire shot up into the air, illumining the gloom, and also the

lamp from which it sprang. That lamp was the mummy of a woman

tied to a stout stake let into the rock, and he had fired her

hair. On he went a few paces and touched a second, then a third,

and a fourth, till at last we were surrounded on all three sides

by a great ring of bodies flaring furiously, the material with

which they were preserved having rendered them so inflammable

that the flames would literally spout out of the ears and mouth

in tongues of fire a foot or more in length.

Nero illuminated his gardens with live Christians soaked in tar,

and we were now treated to a similar spectacle, probably for the

first time since his day, only happily our lamps were not living

ones.

But, although this element of horror was fortunately wanting, to

describe the awful and hideous grandeur of the spectacle thus

presented to us is, I feel, so absolutely beyond my poor powers

that I scarcely dare attempt it. To begin with, it appealed to

the moral as well as the physical susceptibilities. There was

something very terrible, and yet very fascinating, about the

employment of the remote dead to illumine the orgies of the

living; in itself the thing was a satire, both on the living and

the dead. Cæsar’s dust—or is it Alexander’s?—may stop a bunghole,

but the functions of these dead Cæsars of the past was to light

up a savage fetish dance. To such base uses may we come, of so

little account may we be in the minds of the eager multitudes

that we shall breed, many of whom, so far from revering our

memory, will live to curse us for begetting them into such a

world of woe.

Then there was the physical side of the spectacle, and a weird

and splendid one it was. Those old citizens of Kôr burnt as, to

judge from their sculptures and inscriptions, they had lived,

very fast, and with the utmost liberality. What is more, there

were plenty of them. As soon as ever a mummy had burnt down to

the ankles, which it did in about twenty minutes, the feet were

kicked away, and another one put in its place. The bonfire was

kept going on the same generous scale, and its flames shot up,

with a hiss and a crackle, twenty or thirty feet into the air,

throwing great flashes of light far out into the gloom, through

which the dark forms of the Amahagger flitted to and fro like

devils replenishing the infernal fires. We all stood and stared

aghast—shocked, and yet fascinated at so strange a spectacle, and

half expecting to see the spirits those flaming forms had once

enclosed come creeping from the shadows to work vengeance on

their desecrators.

“I promised thee a strange sight, my Holly,” laughed Ayesha,

whose nerves alone did not seem to be affected; “and, behold, I

have not failed thee. Also, it hath its lesson. Trust not to the

future, for who knows what the future may bring! Therefore, live

for the day, and endeavour not to escape the dust which seems to

be man’s end. What thinkest thou those long-forgotten nobles and

ladies would have felt had they known that they should one day

flare to light the dance or boil the pot of savages? But see,

here come the dancers; a merry crew—are they not? The stage is

lit—now for the play.”

As she spoke, we perceived two lines of figures, one male and the

other female, to the number of about a hundred, each advancing

round the human bonfire, arrayed only in the usual leopard and

buck skins. They formed up, in perfect silence, in two lines,

facing each other between us and the fire, and then the dance—a

sort of infernal and fiendish cancan—began. To describe it is

quite impossible, but, though there was a good deal of tossing of

legs and double-shuffling, it seemed to our untutored minds to be

more of a play than a dance, and, as usual with this dreadful

people, whose minds seem to have taken their colour from the

caves in which they live, and whose jokes and amusements are

drawn from the inexhaustible stores of preserved mortality with

which they share their homes, the subject appeared to be a most

ghastly one. I know that it represented an attempted murder first

of all, and then the burial alive of the victim and his

struggling from the grave; each act of the abominable drama,

which was carried on in perfect silence, being rounded off and

finished with a furious and most revolting dance round the

supposed victim, who writhed upon the ground in the red light of

the bonfire.

Presently, however, this pleasing piece was interrupted. Suddenly

there was a slight commotion, and a large powerful woman, whom I

had noted as one of the most vigorous of the dancers, came, made

mad and drunken with unholy excitement, bounding and staggering

towards us, shrieking out as she came:—

“I want a Black Goat, I must have a Black Goat, bring me a Black

Goat!” and down she fell upon the rocky floor foaming and

writhing, and shrieking for a Black Goat, about as hideous a

spectacle as can well be conceived.

Instantly most of the dancers came up and got round her, though

some still continued their capers in the background.

“She has got a Devil,” called out one of them. “Run and get a

black goat. There, Devil, keep quiet! keep quiet! You shall have

the goat presently. They have gone to fetch it, Devil.”

“I want a Black Goat, I must have a Black Goat!” shrieked the

foaming rolling creature again.

“All right, Devil, the goat will be here presently; keep quiet,

there’s a good Devil!”

And so on till the goat, taken from a neighbouring kraal, did at

last arrive, being dragged bleating on to the scene by its horns.

“Is it a Black One, is it a Black One?” shrieked the possessed.

“Yes, yes, Devil, as black as night;” then aside, “keep it behind

thee, don’t let the Devil see that it has got a white spot on its

rump and another on its belly. In one minute, Devil. There, cut

his throat quick. Where is the saucer?”

“The Goat! the Goat! the Goat! Give me the blood of my black

goat! I must have it, don’t you see I must have it? Oh! oh! oh!

give me the blood of the goat.”

At this moment a terrified _bah!_ announced that the poor goat

had been sacrificed, and the next minute a woman ran up with a

saucer full of blood. This the possessed creature, who was then

raving and foaming her wildest, seized and _drank_, and was

instantly recovered, and without a trace of hysteria, or fits, or

being possessed, or whatever dreadful thing it was she was

suffering from. She stretched her arms, smiled faintly, and

walked quietly back to the dancers, who presently withdrew in a

double line as they had come, leaving the space between us and

the bonfire deserted.

I thought that the entertainment was now over, and, feeling

rather queer, was about to ask _She_ if we could rise, when

suddenly what at first I took to be a baboon came hopping round

the fire, and was instantly met upon the other side by a lion, or

rather a human being dressed in a lion’s skin. Then came a goat,

then a man wrapped in an ox’s hide, with the horns wobbling about

in a ludicrous way. After him followed a blesbok, then an impala,

then a koodoo, then more goats, and many other animals, including

a girl sewn up in the shining scaly hide of a boa-constrictor,

several yards of which trailed along the ground behind her. When

all the beasts had collected they began to dance about in a

lumbering, unnatural fashion, and to imitate the sounds produced

by the respective animals they represented, till the whole air

was alive with roars and bleating and the hissing of snakes. This

went on for a long time, till, getting tired of the pantomime, I

asked Ayesha if there would be any objection to Leo and myself

walking round to inspect the human torches, and, as she had

nothing to say against it, we started, striking round to the

left. After looking at one or two of the flaming bodies, we were

about to return, thoroughly disgusted with the grotesque

weirdness of the spectacle, when our attention was attracted by

one of the dancers, a particularly active leopard, that had

separated itself from its fellow-beasts, and was whisking about

in our immediate neighbourhood, but gradually drawing into a spot

where the shadow was darkest, equidistant between two of the

flaming mummies. Drawn by curiosity, we followed it, when

suddenly it darted past us into the shadows beyond, and as it did

so erected itself and whispered, “Come,” in a voice that we both

recognised as that of Ustane. Without waiting to consult me Leo

turned and followed her into the outer darkness, and I, feeling

sick enough at heart, went after them. The leopard crawled on for

about fifty paces—a sufficient distance to be quite beyond the

light of the fire and torches—and then Leo came up with it, or,

rather, with Ustane.

“Oh, my lord,” I heard her whisper, “so I have found thee!

Listen. I am in peril of my life from ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_.’

Surely the Baboon has told thee how she drove me from thee? I

love thee, my lord, and thou art mine according to the custom of

the country. I saved thy life! My Lion, wilt thou cast me off

now?”

“Of course not,” ejaculated Leo; “I have been wondering whither

thou hadst gone. Let us go and explain matters to the Queen.”

“Nay, nay, she would slay us. Thou knowest not her power—the

Baboon there, he knoweth, for he saw. Nay, there is but one way:

if thou wilt cleave to me, thou must flee with me across the

marshes even now, and then perchance we may escape.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Leo,” I began, but she broke in—

“Nay, listen not to him. Swift—be swift—death is in the air we

breathe. Even now, mayhap, _She_ heareth us,” and without more

ado she proceeded to back her arguments by throwing herself into

his arms. As she did so the leopard’s head slipped from her hair,

and I saw the three white finger-marks upon it, gleaming faintly

in the starlight. Once more realising the desperate nature of the

position, I was about to interpose, for I knew that Leo was not

too strong-minded where women were concerned, when—oh! horror!—I

heard a little silvery laugh behind me. I turned round, and there

was _She_ herself, and with her Billali and two male mutes. I

gasped and nearly sank to the ground, for I knew that such a

situation must result in some dreadful tragedy, of which it

seemed exceedingly probable to me that I should be the first

victim. As for Ustane, she untwined her arms and covered her eyes

with her hands, while Leo, not knowing the full terror of the

position, merely covered up, and looked as foolish as a man

caught in such a trap would naturally do.

XX.

TRIUMPH

Then followed a moment of the most painful silence that I ever

endured. It was broken by Ayesha, who addressed herself to Leo.

“Nay, now, my lord and guest,” she said in her softest tones,

which yet had the ring of steel about them, “look not so bashful.

Surely the sight was a pretty one—the leopard and the lion!”

“Oh, hang it all!” said Leo in English.

“And thou, Ustane,” she went on, “surely I should have passed

thee by, had not the light fallen on the white across thy hair,”

and she pointed to the bright edge of the rising moon which was

now appearing above the horizon. “Well! well! the dance is

done—see, the tapers have burnt down, and all things end in

silence and in ashes. So thou thoughtest it a fit time for love,

Ustane, my servant—and I, dreaming not that I could be disobeyed,

thought thee already far away.”

“Play not with me,” moaned the wretched woman; “slay me, and let

there be an end.”

“Nay, why? It is not well to go so swift from the hot lips of

love down to the cold mouth of the grave,” and she made a motion

to the mutes, who instantly stepped up and caught the girl by

either arm. With an oath Leo sprang upon the nearest, and hurled

him to the ground, and then stood over him with his face set, and

his fist ready.

Again Ayesha laughed. “It was well thrown, my guest; thou hast a

strong arm for one who so late was sick. But now out of thy

courtesy I pray thee let that man live and do my bidding. He

shall not harm the girl; the night air grows chill, and I would

welcome her in mine own place. Surely she whom thou dost favour

shall be favoured of me also.”

I took Leo by the arm, and pulled him from the prostrate mute,

and he, half bewildered, obeyed the pressure. Then we all set out

for the cave across the plateau, where a pile of white human

ashes was all that remained of the fire that had lit the dancing,

for the dancers had vanished.

In due course we gained Ayesha’s boudoir—all too soon, it seemed

to me, having a sad presage of what was to come lying heavy on my

heart.

Ayesha seated herself upon her cushions, and, having dismissed

Job and Billali, by signs bade the mutes tend the lamps and

retire—all save one girl, who was her favourite personal

attendant. We three remained standing, the unfortunate Ustane a

little to the left of the rest of us.

“Now, oh Holly,” Ayesha began, “how came it that thou who didst

hear my words bidding this evil-doer”—and she pointed to

Ustane—“to go hence—thou at whose prayer I did weakly spare her

life—how came it, I say, that thou wast a sharer in what I saw

to-night? Answer, and for thine own sake, I say, speak all the

truth, for I am not minded to hear lies upon this matter!”

“It was by accident, oh Queen,” I answered. “I knew naught of

it.”

“I do believe thee, oh Holly,” she answered coldly, “and well it

is for thee that I do—then does the whole guilt rest upon her.”

“I do not find any guilt therein,” broke in Leo. “She is not

another man’s wife, and it appears that she has married me

according to the custom of this awful place, so who is the worse?

Any way, madam,” he went on, “whatever she has done I have done

too, so if she is to be punished let me be punished also; and I

tell thee,” he went on, working himself up into a fury, “that if

thou biddest one of those deaf and dumb villains to touch her

again I will tear him to pieces!” And he looked as though he

meant it.

Ayesha listened in icy silence, and made no remark. When he had

finished, however, she addressed Ustane.

“Hast thou aught to say, woman? Thou silly straw, thou feather,

who didst think to float towards thy passion’s petty ends, even

against the great wind of my will! Tell me, for I fain would

understand. Why didst thou this thing?”

And then I think I saw the most tremendous exhibition of moral

courage and intrepidity that it is possible to conceive. For the

poor doomed girl, knowing what she had to expect at the hands of

her terrible Queen, knowing, too, from bitter experience, how

great was her adversary’s power, yet gathered herself together,

and out of the very depths of her despair drew materials to defy

her.

“I did it, oh _She_,” she answered, drawing herself up to the

full of her stately height, and throwing back the panther skin

from her head, “because my love is stronger than the grave. I did

it because my life without this man whom my heart chose would be

but a living death. Therefore did I risk my life, and, now that I

know that it is forfeit to thine anger, yet am I glad that I did

risk it, and pay it away in the risking, ay, because he embraced

me once, and told me that he loved me yet.”

Here Ayesha half rose from her couch, and then sank down again.

“I have no magic,” went on Ustane, her rich voice ringing strong

and full, “and I am not a Queen, nor do I live for ever, but a

woman’s heart is heavy to sink through waters, however deep, oh

Queen! and a woman’s eyes are quick to see—even through thy veil,

oh Queen!

“Listen: I know it, thou dost love this man thyself, and

therefore wouldst thou destroy me who stand across thy path. Ay,

I die—I die, and go into the darkness, nor know I whither I go.

But this I know. There is a light shining in my breast, and by

that light, as by a lamp, I see the truth, and the future that I

shall not share unroll itself before me like a scroll. When first

I knew my lord,” and she pointed to Leo, “I knew also that death

would be the bridal gift he gave me—it rushed upon me of a

sudden, but I turned not back, being ready to pay the price, and,

behold, death is here! And now, even as I knew that, so do I,

standing on the steps of doom, know that thou shalt not reap the

profit of thy crime. Mine he is, and, though thy beauty shine

like a sun among the stars, mine shall he remain for thee. Never

here in this life shall he look thee in the eyes and call thee

spouse. Thou too art doomed, I see”—and her voice rang like the

cry of an inspired prophetess; “ah, I see——”

Then came an answering cry of mingled rage and terror. I turned

my head. Ayesha had risen, and was standing with her outstretched

hand pointing at Ustane, who had suddenly stopped speaking. I

gazed at the poor woman, and as I gazed there came upon her face

that same woeful, fixed expression of terror that I had seen once

before when she had broken out into her wild chant. Her eyes grew

large, her nostrils dilated, and her lips blanched.

Ayesha said nothing, she made no sound, she only drew herself up,

stretched out her arm, and, her tall veiled frame quivering like

an aspen leaf, appeared to look fixedly at her victim. Even as

she did so Ustane put her hands to her head, uttered one piercing

scream, turned round twice, and then fell backwards with a

thud—prone upon the floor. Both Leo and myself rushed to her—she

was stone dead—blasted into death by some mysterious electric

agency or overwhelming will-force whereof the dread _She_ had

command.

For a moment Leo did not quite realise what had happened. But,

when he did, his face was awful to see. With a savage oath he

rose from beside the corpse, and, turning, literally sprang at

Ayesha. But she was watching, and, seeing him come, stretched out

her hand again, and he went staggering back towards me, and would

have fallen, had I not caught him. Afterwards he told me that he

felt as though he had suddenly received a violent blow in the

chest, and, what is more, utterly cowed, as if all the manhood

had been taken out of him.

Then Ayesha spoke. “Forgive me, my guest,” she said softly,

addressing him, “if I have shocked thee with my justice.”

“Forgive thee, thou fiend,” roared poor Leo, wringing his hands

in his rage and grief. “Forgive thee, thou murderess! By Heaven,

I will kill thee if I can!”

“Nay, nay,” she answered in the same soft voice, “thou dost not

understand—the time has come for thee to learn. _Thou_ art my

love, my Kallikrates, my Beautiful, my Strong! For two thousand

years, Kallikrates, have I waited for _thee_, and now at length

thou hast come back to me; and as for this woman,” pointing to

the corpse, “she stood between me and thee, and therefore have I

laid her in the dust, Kallikrates.”

“It is an accursed lie!” said Leo. “My name is not Kallikrates! I

am Leo Vincey; my ancestor was Kallikrates—at least, I believe he

was.”

“Ah, thou sayest it—thine ancestor was Kallikrates, and thou,

even thou, art Kallikrates reborn, come back—and mine own dear

lord!”

“I am not Kallikrates, and, as for being thy lord, or having

aught to do with thee, I had sooner be the lord of a fiend from

hell, for she would be better than thou.”

“Sayest thou so—sayest thou so, Kallikrates? Nay, but thou hast

not seen me for so long a time that no memory remains. Yet am I

very fair, Kallikrates!”

“I hate thee, murderess, and I have no wish to see thee. What is

it to me how fair thou art? I hate thee, I say.”

“Yet within a very little space shalt thou creep to my knee, and

swear that thou dost love me,” answered Ayesha, with a sweet,

mocking laugh. “Come, there is no time like the present time,

here before this dead girl who loved thee, let us put it to the

proof.

“Look now on me, Kallikrates!” and with a sudden motion she shook

her gauzy covering from her, and stood forth in her low kirtle

and her snaky zone, in her glorious radiant beauty and her

imperial grace, rising from her wrappings, as it were, like Venus

from the wave, or Galatea from her marble, or a beatified spirit

from the tomb. She stood forth, and fixed her deep and glowing

eyes upon Leo’s eyes, and I saw his clenched fists unclasp, and

his set and quivering features relax beneath her gaze. I saw his

wonder and astonishment grow into admiration, and then into

fascination, and the more he struggled the more I saw the power

of her dread beauty fasten on him and take possession of his

senses, drugging them, and drawing the heart out of him. Did I

not know the process? Had not I, who was twice his age, gone

through it myself? Was I not going through it afresh even then,

although her sweet and passionate gaze was not for me? Yes, alas,

I was! Alas, that I should have to confess that at that very

moment I was rent by mad and furious jealousy. I could have flown

at him, shame upon me! The woman had confounded and almost

destroyed my moral sense, as she was bound to confound all who

looked upon her superhuman loveliness. But—I do not quite know

how—I got the better of myself, and once more turned to see the

climax of the tragedy.

“Oh, great Heaven!” gasped Leo, “art thou a woman?”

“A woman in truth—in very truth—and thine own spouse,

Kallikrates!” she answered, stretching out her rounded ivory arms

towards him, and smiling, ah, so sweetly!

He looked and looked, and slowly I perceived that he was drawing

nearer to her. Suddenly his eye fell upon the corpse of poor

Ustane, and he shuddered and stopped.

“How can I?” he said hoarsely. “Thou art a murderess; she loved

me.”

Observe, he was already forgetting that he had loved her.

“It is naught,” she murmured, and her voice sounded sweet as the

night-wind passing through the trees. “It is naught at all. If I

have sinned, let my beauty answer for my sin. If I have sinned,

it is for love of thee: let my sin, therefore, be put away and

forgotten;” and once more she stretched out her arms and

whispered “_Come_,” and then in another few seconds it was all

over.

I saw him struggle—I saw him even turn to fly; but her eyes drew

him more strongly than iron bonds, and the magic of her beauty

and concentrated will and passion entered into him and

overpowered him—ay, even there, in the presence of the body of

the woman who had loved him well enough to die for him. It sounds

horrible and wicked enough, but he should not be too greatly

blamed, and be sure his sin will find him out. The temptress who

drew him into evil was more than human, and her beauty was

greater than the loveliness of the daughters of men.

I looked up again and now her perfect form lay in his arms, and

her lips were pressed against his own; and thus, with the corpse

of his dead love for an altar, did Leo Vincey plight his troth to

her red-handed murderess—plight it for ever and a day. For those

who sell themselves into a like dominion, paying down the price

of their own honour, and throwing their soul into the balance to

sink the scale to the level of their lusts, can hope for no

deliverance here or hereafter. As they have sown, so shall they

reap and reap, even when the poppy flowers of passion have

withered in their hands, and their harvest is but bitter tares,

garnered in satiety.

Suddenly, with a snake-like motion, she seemed to slip from his

embrace, and then again broke out into her low laugh of

triumphant mockery.

“Did I not tell thee that within a little space thou wouldst

creep to my knee, oh Kallikrates? And surely the space has not

been a great one!”

Leo groaned in shame and misery; for though he was overcome and

stricken down, he was not so lost as to be unaware of the depth

of the degradation to which he had sunk. On the contrary, his

better nature rose up in arms against his fallen self, as I saw

clearly enough later on.

Ayesha laughed again, and then quickly veiled herself, and made a

sign to the girl mute, who had been watching the whole scene with

curious startled eyes. The girl left, and presently returned,

followed by two male mutes, to whom the Queen made another sign.

Thereon they all three seized the body of poor Ustane by the

arms, and dragged it heavily down the cavern and away through the

curtains at the end. Leo watched it for a little while, and then

covered his eyes with his hand, and it too, to my excited fancy,

seemed to watch us as it went.

“There passes the dead past,” said Ayesha, solemnly, as the curtains

shook and fell back into their places, when the ghastly procession had

vanished behind them. And then, with one of those extraordinary

transitions of which I have already spoken, she again threw off her

veil, and broke out, after the ancient and poetic fashion of the

dwellers in Arabia,[1] into a pæan of triumph or epithalamium, which,

wild and beautiful as it was, is exceedingly difficult to render into

English, and ought by rights to be sung to the music of a cantata,

rather than written and read. It was divided into two parts—one

descriptive or definitive, and the other personal; and, as nearly as I

can remember, ran as follows:—

[1] Among the ancient Arabians the power of poetic declamation, either

in verse or prose, was held in the highest honour and esteem, and he

who excelled in it was known as “Khâteb,” or Orator. Every year a

general assembly was held at which the rival poets repeated their

compositions, when those poems which were judged to be the best were,

so soon as the knowledge and the art of writing became general,

inscribed on silk in letters of gold, and publicly exhibited, being

known as “Al Modhahabât,” or golden verses. In the poem given above by

Mr. Holly, Ayesha evidently followed the traditional poetic manner of

her people, which was to embody their thoughts in a series of somewhat

disconnected sentences, each remarkable for its beauty and the grace

of its expression. —Editor.

Love is like a flower in the desert.

It is like the aloe of Arabia that blooms but once and dies; it

blooms in the salt emptiness of Life, and the brightness of its

beauty is set upon the waste as a star is set upon a storm.

It hath the sun above that is the Spirit, and above it blows the

air of its divinity.

At the echoing of a step, Love blooms, I say; I say Love blooms,

and bends her beauty down to him who passeth by.

He plucketh it, yea, he plucketh the red cup that is full of

honey, and beareth it away; away across the desert, away till the

flower be withered, away till the desert be done.

There is only one perfect flower in the wilderness of Life.

That flower is Love!

There is only one fixed star in the midsts of our wandering.

That star is Love!

There is only one hope in our despairing night.

That hope is Love!

All else is false. All else is shadow moving upon water. All else

is wind and vanity.

Who shall say what is the weight or the measure of Love?

It is born of the flesh, it dwelleth in the spirit. From each

doth it draw its comfort.

For beauty it is as a star.

Many are its shapes, but all are beautiful, and none know where

the star rose, or the horizon where it shall set.

Then, turning to Leo, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, she

went on in a fuller and more triumphant tone, speaking in

balanced sentences that gradually grew and swelled from idealised

prose into pure and majestic verse:—

Long have I loved thee, oh, my love; yet has my love not

lessened.

Long have I waited for thee, and behold my reward is at hand—is

here!

Far away I saw thee once, and thou wast taken from me.

Then in a grave sowed I the seed of patience, and shone upon it

with the sun of hope, and watered it with tears of repentance,

and breathed on it with the breath of my knowledge. And now, lo!

it hath sprung up, and borne fruit. Lo! out of the grave hath it

sprung. Yea, from among the dry bones and ashes of the dead.