I have waited and my reward is with me.

I have overcome Death, and Death brought back to me him that was

dead.

Therefore do I rejoice, for fair is the future.

Green are the paths that we shall tread across the everlasting

meadows.

The hour is at hand. Night hath fled away into the valleys.

The dawn kisseth the mountain tops.

Soft shall we live, my love, and easy shall we go.

Crowned shall we be with the diadem of Kings.

Worshipping and wonder struck all peoples of the world, Blinded

shall fall before our beauty and might.

From time unto times shall our greatness thunder on, Rolling like

a chariot through the dust of endless days.

Laughing shall we speed in our victory and pomp, Laughing like

the Daylight as he leaps along the hills.

Onward, still triumphant to a triumph ever new!

Onward, in our power to a power unattained!

Onward, never weary, clad with splendour for a robe!

Till accomplished be our fate, and the night is rushing down.

She paused in her strange and most thrilling allegorical chant,

of which I am, unfortunately, only able to give the burden, and

that feebly enough, and then said—

“Perchance thou dost not believe my word, Kallikrates—perchance

thou thinkest that I do delude thee, and that I have not lived

these many years, and that thou hast not been born again to me.

Nay, look not so—put away that pale cast of doubt, for oh be sure

herein can error find no foothold! Sooner shall the suns forget

their course and the swallow miss her nest, than my soul shall

swear a lie and be led astray from thee, Kallikrates. Blind me,

take away mine eyes, and let the darkness utterly fence me in,

and still mine ears would catch the tone of thy unforgotten

voice, striking more loud against the portals of my sense than

can the call of brazen-throated clarions:—stop up mine hearing

also, and let a thousand touch me on the brow, and I would name

thee out of all:—yea, rob me of every sense, and see me stand

deaf and blind, and dumb, and with nerves that cannot weigh the

value of a touch, yet would my spirit leap within me like a

quickening child and cry unto my heart, behold Kallikrates!

behold, thou watcher, the watches of thy night are ended! behold

thou who seekest in the night season, thy morning Star ariseth.”

She paused awhile and then continued, “But stay, if thy heart is

yet hardened against the mighty truth and thou dost require a

further pledge of that which thou dost find too deep to

understand, even now shall it be given to thee, and to thee also,

oh my Holly. Bear each one of you a lamp, and follow after me

whither I shall lead you.”

Without stopping to think—indeed, speaking for myself, I had

almost abandoned the function in circumstances under which to

think seemed to be absolutely useless, since thought fell hourly

helpless against a black wall of wonder—we took the lamps and

followed her. Going to the end of her “boudoir,” she raised a

curtain and revealed a little stair of the sort that is so common

in these dim caves of Kôr. As we hurried down the stair I

observed that the steps were worn in the centre to such an extent

that some of them had been reduced from seven and a half inches,

at which I guessed their original height, to about three and a

half. Now, all the other steps that I had seen in the caves were

practically unworn, as was to be expected, seeing that the only

traffic which ever passed upon them was that of those who bore a

fresh burden to the tomb. Therefore this fact struck my notice

with that curious force with which little things do strike us

when our minds are absolutely overwhelmed by a sudden rush of

powerful sensations; beaten flat, as it were, like a sea beneath

the first burst of a hurricane, so that every little object on

the surface starts into an unnatural prominence.

At the bottom of the staircase I stood and stared at the worn

steps, and Ayesha, turning, saw me.

“Wonderest thou whose are the feet that have worn away the rock,

my Holly?” she asked. “They are mine—even mine own light feet! I

can remember when those stairs were fresh and level, but for two

thousand years and more have I gone down hither day by day, and

see, my sandals have worn out the solid rock!”

I made no answer, but I do not think that anything that I had

heard or seen brought home to my limited understanding so clear a

sense of this being’s overwhelming antiquity as that hard rock

hollowed out by her soft white feet. How many hundreds of

thousands of times must she have passed up and down that stair to

bring about such a result?

The stair led to a tunnel, and a few paces down the tunnel was

one of the usual curtain-hung doorways, a glance at which told me

that it was the same where I had been a witness of that terrible

scene by the leaping flame. I recognised the pattern of the

curtain, and the sight of it brought the whole event vividly

before my eyes, and made me tremble even at its memory. Ayesha

entered the tomb (for it was a tomb), and we followed her—I, for

one, rejoicing that the mystery of the place was about to be

cleared up, and yet afraid to face its solution.

XXI.

THE DEAD AND LIVING MEET

“See now the place where I have slept for these two thousand

years,” said Ayesha, taking the lamp from Leo’s hand and holding

it above her head. Its rays fell upon a little hollow in the

floor, where I had seen the leaping flame, but the fire was out

now. They fell upon the white form stretched there beneath its

wrappings upon its bed of stone, upon the fretted carving of the

tomb, and upon another shelf of stone opposite the one on which

the body lay, and separated from it by the breadth of the cave.

“Here,” went on Ayesha, laying her hand upon the rock—“here have

I slept night by night for all these generations, with but a

cloak to cover me. It did not become me that I should lie soft

when my spouse yonder,” and she pointed to the rigid form, “lay

stiff in death. Here night by night have I slept in his cold

company—till, thou seest, this thick slab, like the stairs down

which we passed, has worn thin with the tossing of my form—so

faithful have I been to thee even in thy space of sleep,

Kallikrates. And now, mine own, thou shalt see a wonderful

thing—living, thou shalt behold thyself dead—for well have I

tended thee during all these years, Kallikrates. Art thou

prepared?”

We made no answer, but gazed at each other with frightened eyes,

the whole scene was so dreadful and so solemn. Ayesha advanced,

and laid her hand upon the corner of the shroud, and once more

spoke.

“Be not affrighted,” she said; “though the thing seem wonderful

to thee—all we who live have thus lived before; nor is the very

shape that holds us a stranger to the sun! Only we know it not,

because memory writes no record, and earth hath gathered in the

earth she lent us, for none have saved our glory from the grave.

But I, by my arts and by the arts of those dead men of Kôr which

I have learned, have held thee back, oh Kallikrates, from the

dust, that the waxen stamp of beauty on thy face should ever rest

before mine eye. ‘Twas a mask that memory might fill, serving to

fashion out thy presence from the past, and give it strength to

wander in the habitations of my thought, clad in a mummery of

life that stayed my appetite with visions of dead days.

“Behold now, let the Dead and Living meet! Across the gulf of

Time they still are one. Time hath no power against Identity,

though sleep the merciful hath blotted out the tablets of our

mind, and with oblivion sealed the sorrows that else would hound

us from life to life, stuffing the brain with gathered griefs

till it burst in the madness of uttermost despair. Still are they

one, for the wrappings of our sleep shall roll away as

thunder-clouds before the wind; the frozen voice of the past

shall melt in music like mountain snows beneath the sun; and the

weeping and the laughter of the lost hours shall be heard once

more most sweetly echoing up the cliffs of immeasurable time.

“Ay, the sleep shall roll away, and the voices shall be heard,

when down the completed chain, whereof our each existence is a

link, the lightning of the Spirit hath passed to work out the

purpose of our being; quickening and fusing those separated days

of life, and shaping them to a staff whereon we may safely lean

as we wend to our appointed fate.

“Therefore, have no fear, Kallikrates, when thou—living, and but

lately born—shalt look upon thine own departed self, who breathed

and died so long ago. I do but turn one page in thy Book of

Being, and show thee what is writ thereon.

“_Behold!_”

With a sudden motion she drew the shroud from the cold form, and

let the lamplight play upon it. I looked, and then shrank back

terrified; since, say what she might in explanation, the sight

was an uncanny one—for her explanations were beyond the grasp of

our finite minds, and when they were stripped from the mists of

vague esoteric philosophy, and brought into conflict with the

cold and horrifying fact, did not do much to break its force. For

there, stretched upon the stone bier before us, robed in white

and perfectly preserved, was what appeared to be the body of Leo

Vincey. I stared from Leo, standing _there_ alive, to Leo lying

_there_ dead, and could see no difference; except, perhaps, that

the body on the bier looked older. Feature for feature they were

the same, even down to the crop of little golden curls, which was

Leo’s most uncommon beauty. It even seemed to me, as I looked,

that the expression on the dead man’s face resembled that which I

had sometimes seen upon Leo’s when he was plunged into profound

sleep. I can only sum up the closeness of the resemblance by

saying that I never saw twins so exactly similar as that dead and

living pair.

I turned to see what effect was produced upon Leo by the sight of

his dead self, and found it to be one of partial stupefaction. He

stood for two or three minutes staring, and said nothing, and

when at last he spoke it was only to ejaculate—

“Cover it up, and take me away.”

“Nay, wait, Kallikrates,” said Ayesha, who, standing with the

lamp raised above her head, flooding with its light her own rich

beauty and the cold wonder of the death-clothed form upon the

bier, resembled an inspired Sibyl rather than a woman, as she

rolled out her majestic sentences with a grandeur and a freedom

of utterance which I am, alas! quite unable to reproduce.

“Wait, I would show thee something, that no tittle of my crime

may be hidden from thee. Do thou, oh Holly, open the garment on

the breast of the dead Kallikrates, for perchance my lord may

fear to touch it himself.”

I obeyed with trembling hands. It seemed a desecration and an

unhallowed thing to touch that sleeping image of the live man by

my side. Presently his broad chest was bare, and there upon it,

right over the heart, was a wound, evidently inflicted with a

spear.

“Thou seest, Kallikrates,” she said. “Know then that it was _I_

who slew thee: in the Place of Life _I_ gave thee death. I slew

thee because of the Egyptian Amenartas, whom thou didst love, for

by her wiles she held thy heart, and her I could not smite as but

now I smote that woman, for she was too strong for me. In my

haste and bitter anger I slew thee, and now for all these days

have I lamented thee, and waited for thy coming. And thou hast

come, and none can stand between thee and me, and of a truth now

for death I will give thee life—not life eternal, for that none

can give, but life and youth that shall endure for thousands upon

thousands of years, and with it pomp, and power, and wealth, and

all things that are good and beautiful, such as have been to no

man before thee, nor shall be to any man who comes after. And now

one thing more, and thou shalt rest and make ready for the day of

thy new birth. Thou seest this body, which was thine own. For all

these centuries it hath been my cold comfort and my companion,

but now I need it no more, for I have thy living presence, and it

can but serve to stir up memories of that which I would fain

forget. Let it therefore go back to the dust from which I held

it.

“Behold! I have prepared against this happy hour!” And going to

the other shelf or stone ledge, which she said had served her for

a bed, she took from it a large vitrified double-handed vase, the

mouth of which was tied up with a bladder. This she loosed, and

then, having bent down and gently kissed the white forehead of

the dead man, she undid the vase, and sprinkled its contents

carefully over the form, taking, I observed, the greatest

precautions against any drop of them touching us or herself, and

then poured out what remained of the liquid upon the chest and

head. Instantly a dense vapour arose, and the cave was filled

with choking fumes that prevented us from seeing anything while

the deadly acid (for I presume it was some tremendous preparation

of that sort) did its work. From the spot where the body lay came

a fierce fizzing and cracking sound, which ceased, however,

before the fumes had cleared away. At last they were all gone,

except a little cloud that still hung over the corpse. In a

couple of minutes more this too had vanished, and, wonderful as

it may seem, it is a fact that on the stone bench that had

supported the mortal remains of the ancient Kallikrates for so

many centuries there was now nothing to be seen but a few

handfuls of smoking white powder. The acid had utterly destroyed

the body, and even in places eaten into the stone. Ayesha stooped

down, and, taking a handful of this powder in her grasp, threw it

into the air, saying at the same time, in a voice of calm

solemnity—

“Dust to dust!—the past to the past!—the dead to the

dead!—Kallikrates is dead, and is born again!”

The ashes floated noiselessly to the rocky floor, and we stood in

awed silence and watched them fall, too overcome for words.

“Now leave me,” she said, “and sleep if ye may. I must watch and

think, for to-morrow night we go hence, and the time is long

since I trod the path that we must follow.”

Accordingly we bowed, and left her.

As we passed to our own apartment I peeped into Job’s sleeping

place, to see how he fared, for he had gone away just before our

interview with the murdered Ustane, quite prostrated by the

terrors of the Amahagger festivity. He was sleeping soundly, good

honest fellow that he was, and I rejoiced to think that his

nerves, which, like those of most uneducated people, were far

from strong, had been spared the closing scenes of this dreadful

day. Then we entered our own chamber, and here at last poor Leo,

who, ever since he had looked upon that frozen image of his

living self, had been in a state not far removed from

stupefaction, burst out into a torrent of grief. Now that he was

no longer in the presence of the dread _She_, his sense of the

awfulness of all that had happened, and more especially of the

wicked murder of Ustane, who was bound to him by ties so close,

broke upon him like a storm, and lashed him into an agony of

remorse and terror which was painful to witness. He cursed

himself—he cursed the hour when we had first seen the writing on

the sherd, which was being so mysteriously verified, and bitterly

he cursed his own weakness. Ayesha he dared not curse—who dared

speak evil of such a woman, whose consciousness, for aught we

knew, was watching us at the very moment?

“What am I to do, old fellow?” he groaned, resting his head

against my shoulder in the extremity of his grief. “I let her be

killed—not that I could help that, but within five minutes I was

kissing her murderess over her body. I am a degraded brute, but I

cannot resist that” (and here his voice sank)—“that awful

sorceress. I know I shall do it again to-morrow; I know that I am

in her power for always; if I never saw her again I should never

think of anybody else during all my life; I must follow her as a

needle follows a magnet; I would not go away now if I could; I

could not leave her, my legs would not carry me, but my mind is

still clear enough, and in my mind I hate her—at least, I think

so. It is all so horrible; and that—that body! What can I make of

it? It was _I_! I am sold into bondage, old fellow, and she will

take my soul as the price of herself!”

Then, for the first time, I told him that I was in a but very

little better position; and I am bound to say that,

notwithstanding his own infatuation, he had the decency to

sympathise with me. Perhaps he did not think it worth while being

jealous, realising that he had no cause so far as the lady was

concerned. I went on to suggest that we should try to run away,

but we soon rejected the project as futile, and, to be perfectly

honest, I do not believe that either of us would really have left

Ayesha even if some superior power had suddenly offered to convey

us from these gloomy caves and set us down in Cambridge. We could

no more have left her than a moth can leave the light that

destroys it. We were like confirmed opium-eaters: in our moments

of reason we well knew the deadly nature of our pursuit, but we

certainly were not prepared to abandon its terrible delights.

No man who once had seen _She_ unveiled, and heard the music of

her voice, and drunk in the bitter wisdom of her words, would

willingly give up the sight for a whole sea of placid joys. How

much more, then, was this likely to be so when, as in Leo’s case,

to put myself out of the question, this extraordinary creature

declared her utter and absolute devotion, and gave what appeared

to be proofs of its having lasted for some two thousand years?

No doubt she was a wicked person, and no doubt she had murdered

Ustane when she stood in her path, but then she was very

faithful, and by a law of nature man is apt to think but lightly

of a woman’s crimes, especially if that woman be beautiful, and

the crime be committed for the love of him.

And then, for the rest, when had such a chance ever come to a man

before as that which now lay in Leo’s hand? True, in uniting himself to

this dread woman, he would place his life under the influence of a

mysterious creature of evil tendencies,[1] but then that would be

likely enough to happen to him in any ordinary marriage. On the other

hand, however, no ordinary marriage could bring him such awful

beauty—for awful is the only word that can describe it—such divine

devotion, such wisdom, and command over the secrets of nature, and the

place and power that they must win, or, lastly, the royal crown of

unending youth, if indeed she could give that. No, on the whole, it is

not wonderful that, though Leo was plunged in bitter shame and grief,

such as any gentleman would have felt under the circumstances, he was

not ready to entertain the idea of running away from his extraordinary

fortune.

[1] After some months of consideration of this statement I am bound to

confess that I am not quite satisfied of its truth. It is perfectly

true that Ayesha committed a murder, but I shrewdly suspect that, were

we endowed with the same absolute power, and if we had the same

tremendous interest at stake, we would be very apt to do likewise

under parallel circumstances. Also, it must be remembered that she

looked on it as an execution for disobedience under a system which

made the slightest disobedience punishable by death. Putting aside

this question of the murder, her evil-doing resolves itself into the

expression of views and the acknowledgment of motives which are

contrary to our preaching if not to our practice. Now at first sight

this might be fairly taken as a proof of an evil nature, but when we

come to consider the great antiquity of the individual it becomes

doubtful if it was anything more than the natural cynicism which

arises from age and bitter experience, and the possession of

extraordinary powers of observation. It is a well known fact that very

often, putting the period of boyhood out of the question, the older we

grow the more cynical and hardened we get; indeed many of us are only

saved by timely death from utter moral petrifaction if not moral

corruption. No one will deny that a young man is on the average better

than an old one, for he is without that experience of the order of

things that in certain thoughtful dispositions can hardly fail to

produce cynicism, and that disregard of acknowledged methods and

established custom which we call evil. Now the oldest man upon the

earth was but a babe compared to Ayesha, and the wisest man upon the

earth was not one-third as wise. And the fruit of her wisdom was this,

that there was but one thing worth living for, and that was Love in

its highest sense, and to gain that good thing she was not prepared to

stop at trifles. This is really the sum of her evil doings, and it

must be remembered, on the other hand, that, whatever may be thought

of them, she had some virtues developed to a degree very uncommon in

either sex—constancy, for instance.—L. H. H.

My own opinion is that he would have been mad if he had done so.

But then I confess that my statement on the matter must be

accepted with qualifications. I am in love with Ayesha myself to

this day, and I would rather have been the object of her

affection for one short week than that of any other woman in the

world for a whole lifetime. And let me add that, if anybody who

doubts this statement, and thinks me foolish for making it, could

have seen Ayesha draw her veil and flash out in beauty on his

gaze, his view would exactly coincide with my own. Of course, I

am speaking of any _man_. We never had the advantage of a lady’s

opinion of Ayesha, but I think it quite possible that she would

have regarded the Queen with dislike, would have expressed her

disapproval in some more or less pointed manner, and ultimately

have got herself blasted.

For two hours or more Leo and I sat with shaken nerves and

frightened eyes, and talked over the miraculous events through

which we were passing. It seemed like a dream or a fairy tale,

instead of the solemn, sober fact. Who would have believed that

the writing on the potsherd was not only true, but that we should

live to verify its truth, and that we two seekers should find her

who was sought, patiently awaiting our coming in the tombs of

Kôr? Who would have thought that in the person of Leo this

mysterious woman should, as she believed, discover the being whom

she awaited from century to century, and whose former earthly

habitation she had till this very night preserved? But so it was.

In the face of all we had seen it was difficult for us as

ordinary reasoning men any longer to doubt its truth, and

therefore at last, with humble hearts and a deep sense of the

impotence of human knowledge, and the insolence of its assumption

that denies that to be possible which it has no experience of, we

laid ourselves down to sleep, leaving our fates in the hands of

that watching Providence which had thus chosen to allow us to

draw the veil of human ignorance, and reveal to us for good or

evil some glimpse of the possibilities of life.

XXII.

JOB HAS A PRESENTIMENT

It was nine o’clock on the following morning when Job, who still

looked scared and frightened, came in to call me, and at the same

time breathe his gratitude at finding us alive in our beds, which

it appeared was more than he had expected. When I told him of the

awful end of poor Ustane he was even more grateful at our

survival, and much shocked, though Ustane had been no favourite

of his, or he of hers, for the matter of that. She called him

“pig” in bastard Arabic, and he called her “hussy” in good

English, but these amenities were forgotten in the face of the

catastrophe that had overwhelmed her at the hands of her Queen.

“I don’t want to say anything as mayn’t be agreeable, sir,” said

Job, when he had finished exclaiming at my tale, “but it’s my

opinion that that there _She_ is the old gentleman himself, or

perhaps his wife, if he has one, which I suppose he has, for he

couldn’t be so wicked all by himself. The Witch of Endor was a

fool to her, sir: bless you, she would make no more of raising

every gentleman in the Bible out of these here beastly tombs than

I should of growing cress on an old flannel. It’s a country of

devils, this is, sir, and she’s the master one of the lot; and if

ever we get out of it it will be more than I expect to do. I

don’t see no way out of it. That witch isn’t likely to let a fine

young man like Mr. Leo go.”

“Come,” I said, “at any rate she saved his life.”

“Yes, and she’ll take his soul to pay for it. She’ll make him a

witch, like herself. I say it’s wicked to have anything to do

with those sort of people. Last night, sir, I lay awake and read

in my little Bible that my poor old mother gave me about what is

going to happen to sorceresses and them sort, till my hair stood

on end. Lord, how the old lady would stare if she saw where her

Job had got to!”

“Yes, it’s a queer country, and a queer people too, Job,” I

answered, with a sigh, for, though I am not superstitious like

Job, I admit to a natural shrinking (which will not bear

investigation) from the things that are above Nature.

“You are right, sir,” he answered, “and if you won’t think me

very foolish, I should like to say something to you now that Mr.

Leo is out of the way”—(Leo had got up early and gone for a

stroll)—“and that is that I know it is the last country as ever I

shall see in this world. I had a dream last night, and I dreamed

that I saw my old father with a kind of night-shirt on him,

something like these folks wear when they want to be in

particular full-dress, and a bit of that feathery grass in his

hand, which he may have gathered on the way, for I saw lots of it

yesterday about three hundred yards from the mouth of this

beastly cave.

“’Job,’ he said to me, solemn like, and yet with a kind of

satisfaction shining through him, more like a Methody parson when

he has sold a neighbour a marked horse for a sound one and

cleared twenty pounds by the job than anything I can think

on—’Job, time’s up, Job; but I never did expect to have to come

and hunt you out in this ‘ere place, Job. Such ado as I have had

to nose you up; it wasn’t friendly to give your poor old father

such a run, let alone that a wonderful lot of bad characters hail

from this place Kôr.’”

“Regular cautions,” I suggested.

“Yes, sir—of course, sir, that’s just what he said they

was—’cautions, downright scorchers’—sir, and I’m sure I don’t

doubt it, seeing what I know of them, and their hot-potting

ways,” went on Job sadly. “Anyway, he was sure that time was up,

and went away saying that we should see more than we cared for of

each other soon, and I suppose he was a-thinking of the fact that

father and I never could hit it off together for longer nor three

days, and I daresay that things will be similar when we meet

again.”

“Surely,” I said, “you don’t think that you are going to die

because you dreamed you saw your old father; if one dies because

one dreams of one’s father, what happens to a man who dreams of

his mother-in-law?”

“Ah, sir, you’re laughing at me,” said Job; “but, you see, you

didn’t know my old father. If it had been anybody else—my Aunt

Mary, for instance, who never made much of a job—I should not

have thought so much of it; but my father was that idle, which he

shouldn’t have been with seventeen children, that he would never

have put himself out to come here just to see the place. No, sir;

I know that he meant business. Well, sir, I can’t help it; I

suppose every man must go some time or other, though it is a hard

thing to die in a place like this, where Christian burial isn’t

to be had for its weight in gold. I’ve tried to be a good man,

sir, and do my duty honest, and if it wasn’t for the supercilus

kind of way in which father carried on last night—a sort of

sniffing at me as it were, as though he hadn’t no opinion of my

references and testimonials—I should feel easy enough in my mind.

Any way, sir, I’ve been a good servant to you and Mr. Leo, bless

him!—why, it seems but the other day that I used to lead him

about the streets with a penny whip;—and if ever you get out of

this place—which, as father didn’t allude to you, perhaps you

may—I hope you will think kindly of my whitened bones, and never

have anything more to do with Greek writing on flower-pots, sir,

if I may make so bold as to say so.”

“Come, come, Job,” I said seriously, “this is all nonsense, you

know. You mustn’t be silly enough to go getting such ideas into

your head. We’ve lived through some queer things, and I hope that

we may go on doing so.”

“No, sir,” answered Job, in a tone of conviction that jarred on

me unpleasantly, “it isn’t nonsense. I’m a doomed man, and I feel

it, and a wonderful uncomfortable feeling it is, sir, for one

can’t help wondering how it’s going to come about. If you are

eating your dinner you think of poison and it goes against your

stomach, and if you are walking along these dark rabbit-burrows

you think of knives, and Lord, don’t you just shiver about the

back! I ain’t particular, sir, provided it’s sharp, like that

poor girl, who, now that she’s gone, I am sorry to have spoke

hard on, though I don’t approve of her morals in getting married,

which I consider too quick to be decent. Still, sir,” and poor

Job turned a shade paler as he said it, “I do hope it won’t be

that hot-pot game.”

“Nonsense,” I broke in angrily, “nonsense!”

“Very well, sir,” said Job, “it isn’t my place to differ from

you, sir, but if you happen to be going anywhere, sir, I should

be obliged if you could manage to take me with you, seeing that I

shall be glad to have a friendly face to look at when the time

comes, just to help one through, as it were. And now, sir, I’ll

be getting the breakfast,” and he went, leaving me in a very

uncomfortable state of mind. I was deeply attached to old Job,

who was one of the best and honestest men I have ever had to do

with in any class of life, and really more of a friend than a

servant, and the mere idea of anything happening to him brought a

lump into my throat. Beneath all his ludicrous talk I could see

that he himself was quite convinced that something was going to

happen, and though in most cases these convictions turn out to be

utter moonshine—and this particular one especially was to be

amply accounted for by the gloomy and unaccustomed surroundings

in which its victim was placed—still it did more or less carry a

chill to my heart, as any dread that is obviously a genuine

object of belief is apt to do, however absurd the belief may be.

Presently the breakfast arrived, and with it Leo, who had been

taking a walk outside the cave—to clear his mind, he said—and

very glad I was to see both, for they gave me a respite from my

gloomy thoughts. After breakfast we went for another walk, and

watched some of the Amahagger sowing a plot of ground with the

grain from which they make their beer. This they did in

scriptural fashion—a man with a bag made of goat’s hide fastened

round his waist walking up and down the plot and scattering the

seed as he went. It was a positive relief to see one of these

dreadful people do anything so homely and pleasant as sow a

field, perhaps because it seemed to link them, as it were, with

the rest of humanity.

As we were returning Billali met us, and informed us that it was

_She’s_ pleasure that we should wait upon her, and accordingly we

entered her presence, not without trepidation, for Ayesha was

certainly an exception to the rule. Familiarity with her might

and did breed passion and wonder and horror, but it certainly did

_not_ breed contempt.

We were as usual shown in by the mutes, and after these had

retired Ayesha unveiled, and once more bade Leo embrace her,

which, notwithstanding his heart-searchings of the previous

night, he did with more alacrity and fervour than in strictness

courtesy required.

She laid her white hand on his head, and looked him fondly in the

eyes. “Dost thou wonder, my Kallikrates,” she said, “when thou

shalt call me all thine own, and when we shall of a truth be for

one another and to one another? I will tell thee. First, must

thou be even as I am, not immortal indeed, for that I am not, but

so cased and hardened against the attacks of Time that his arrows

shall glance from the armour of thy vigorous life as the sunbeams

glance from water. As yet I may not mate with thee, for thou and

I are different, and the very brightness of my being would burn

thee up, and perchance destroy thee. Thou couldst not even endure

to look upon me for too long a time lest thine eyes should ache,

and thy senses swim, and therefore” (with a little nod) “shall I

presently veil myself again.” (This by the way she did not do.)

“No: listen, thou shalt not be tried beyond endurance, for this

very evening, an hour before the sun goes down, shall we start

hence, and by to-morrow’s dark, if all goes well, and the road is

not lost to me, which I pray it may not be, shall we stand in the

place of Life, and thou shalt bathe in the fire, and come forth

glorified, as no man ever was before thee, and then, Kallikrates,

shalt thou call me wife, and I will call thee husband.”

Leo muttered something in answer to this astonishing statement, I

do not know what, and she laughed a little at his confusion, and

went on.

“And thou, too, oh Holly; on thee also will I confer this boon,

and then of a truth shalt thou be evergreen, and this will I

do—well, because thou hast pleased me, Holly, for thou art not

altogether a fool, like most of the sons of men, and because,

though thou hast a school of philosophy as full of nonsense as

those of the old days, yet hast thou not forgotten how to turn a

pretty phrase about a lady’s eyes.”

“Hulloa, old fellow!” whispered Leo, with a return of his old

cheerfulness, “have you been paying compliments? I should never

have thought it of you!”

“I thank thee, oh Ayesha,” I replied, with as much dignity as I

could command, “but if there be such a place as thou dost

describe, and if in this strange place there may be found a fiery

virtue that can hold off Death when he comes to pluck us by the

hand, yet would I none of it. For me, oh Ayesha, the world has

not proved so soft a nest that I would lie in it for ever. A

stony-hearted mother is our earth, and stones are the bread she

gives her children for their daily food. Stones to eat and bitter

water for their thirst, and stripes for tender nurture. Who would

endure this for many lives? Who would so load up his back with

memories of lost hours and loves, and of his neighbour’s sorrows

that he cannot lessen, and wisdom that brings not consolation?

Hard is it to die, because our delicate flesh doth shrink back

from the worm it will not feel, and from that unknown which the

winding-sheet doth curtain from our view. But harder still, to my

fancy, would it be to live on, green in the leaf and fair, but

dead and rotten at the core, and feel that other secret worm of

recollection gnawing ever at the heart.”

“Bethink thee, Holly,” she said; “yet doth long life and strength

and beauty beyond measure mean power and all things that are dear

to man.”

“And what, oh Queen,” I answered, “are those things that are dear

to man? Are they not bubbles? Is not ambition but an endless

ladder by which no height is ever climbed till the last

unreachable rung is mounted? For height leads on to height, and

there is no resting-place upon them, and rung doth grow upon

rung, and there is no limit to the number. Doth not wealth

satiate, and become nauseous, and no longer serve to satisfy or

pleasure, or to buy an hour’s peace of mind? And is there any end

to wisdom that we may hope to reach it? Rather, the more we

learn, shall we not thereby be able only to better compass out

our ignorance? Did we live ten thousand years could we hope to

solve the secrets of the suns, and of the space beyond the suns,

and of the Hand that hung them in the heavens? Would not our

wisdom be but as a gnawing hunger calling our consciousness day

by day to a knowledge of the empty craving of our souls? Would it

not be but as a light in one of these great caverns, that, though

bright it burn, and brighter yet, doth but the more serve to show

the depths of the gloom around it? And what good thing is there

beyond that we may gain by length of days?”

“Nay, my Holly, there is love—love which makes all things

beautiful, and doth breathe divinity into the very dust we tread.

With love shall life roll gloriously on from year to year, like

the voice of some great music that hath power to hold the

hearer’s heart poised on eagles’ wings above the sordid shame and

folly of the earth.”

“It may be so,” I answered; “but if the loved one prove a broken

reed to pierce us, or if the love be loved in vain—what then?

Shall a man grave his sorrows upon a stone when he hath but need

to write them on the water? Nay, oh _She_, I will live my day,

and grow old with my generation, and die my appointed death, and

be forgotten. For I do hope for an immortality to which the

little span that perchance thou canst confer will be but as a

finger’s length laid against the measure of the great world; and,

mark this! the immortality to which I look, and which my faith

doth promise me, shall be free from the bonds that here must tie

my spirit down. For, while the flesh endures, sorrow and evil and

the scorpion whips of sin must endure also; but when the flesh

hath fallen from us, then shall the spirit shine forth clad in

the brightness of eternal good, and for its common air shall

breathe so rare an ether of most noble thoughts that the highest

aspiration of our manhood, or the purest incense of a maiden’s

prayer, would prove too earthly gross to float therein.”

“Thou lookest high,” answered Ayesha, with a little laugh, “and

speakest clearly as a trumpet and with no uncertain sound. And

yet methinks that but now didst thou talk of ‘that Unknown’ from

which the winding-sheet doth curtain us. But perchance, thou

seest with the eye of Faith, gazing on that brightness, that is

to be, through the painted-glass of thy imagination. Strange are

the pictures of the future that mankind can thus draw with this

brush of faith and this many-coloured pigment of imagination!

Strange, too, that no one of them doth agree with another! I

could tell thee—but there, what is the use? why rob a fool of his

bauble? Let it pass, and I pray, oh Holly, that when thou dost

feel old age creeping slowly toward thyself, and the confusion of

senility making havoc in thy brain, thou mayest not bitterly

regret that thou didst cast away the imperial boon I would have

given to thee. But so it hath ever been; man can never be content

with that which his hand can pluck. If a lamp be in his reach to

light him through the darkness, he must needs cast it down

because it is no star. Happiness danceth ever apace before him,

like the marsh-fires in the swamps, and he must catch the fire,

and he must hold the star! Beauty is naught to him, because there

are lips more honey-sweet; and wealth is naught, because others

can weigh him down with heavier shekels; and fame is naught,

because there have been greater men than he. Thyself thou saidst

it, and I turn thy words against thee. Well, thou dreamest that

thou shalt pluck the star. I believe it not, and I think thee a

fool, my Holly, to throw away the lamp.”

I made no answer, for I could not—especially before Leo—tell her

that since I had seen her face I knew that it would always be

before my eyes, and that I had no wish to prolong an existence

which must always be haunted and tortured by her memory, and by

the last bitterness of unsatisfied love. But so it was, and so,

alas, is it to this hour!

“And now,” went on _She_, changing her tone and the subject

together, “tell me, my Kallikrates, for as yet I know it not, how

came ye to seek me here? Yesternight thou didst say that

Kallikrates—him whom thou sawest—was thine ancestor. How was it?

Tell me—thou dost not speak overmuch!”

Thus adjured, Leo told her the wonderful story of the casket and

of the potsherd that, written on by his ancestress, the Egyptian

Amenartas, had been the means of guiding us to her. Ayesha

listened intently, and, when he had finished, spoke to me.

“Did I not tell thee one day, when we did talk of good and evil,

oh Holly—it was when my beloved lay so ill—that out of good came

evil, and out of evil good—that they who sowed knew not what the

crop should be, nor he who struck where the blow should fall?

See, now: this Egyptian Amenartas, this royal child of the Nile

who hated me, and whom even now I hate, for in a way she did

prevail against me—see, now, she herself hath been the very means

to bring her lover to mine arms! For her sake I slew him, and

now, behold, through her he hath come back to me! She would have

done me evil, and sowed her seeds that I might reap tares, and

behold she hath given me more than all the world can give, and

there is a strange square for thee to fit into thy circle of good

and evil, oh Holly!

“And so,” she went on, after a pause—“and so she bade her son

destroy me if he might, because I slew his father. And thou, my

Kallikrates, art the father, and in a sense thou art likewise the

son; and wouldst thou avenge thy wrong, and the wrong of that

far-off mother of thine, upon me, oh Kallikrates? See,” and she

slid to her knees, and drew the white corsage still farther down

her ivory bosom—“see, here beats my heart, and there by thy side

is a knife, heavy, and long, and sharp, the very knife to slay an

erring woman with. Take it now, and be avenged. Strike, and

strike home!—so shalt thou be satisfied, Kallikrates, and go

through life a happy man, because thou hast paid back the wrong,

and obeyed the mandate of the past.”

He looked at her, and then stretched out his hand and lifted her

to her feet.

“Rise, Ayesha,” he said sadly; “well thou knowest that I cannot

strike thee, no, not even for the sake of her whom thou slewest

but last night. I am in thy power, and a very slave to thee. How

can I kill thee?—sooner should I slay myself.”

“Almost dost thou begin to love me, Kallikrates,” she answered,

smiling. “And now tell me of thy country—’tis a great people, is

it not? with an empire like that of Rome! Surely thou wouldst

return thither, and it is well, for I mean not that thou shouldst

dwell in these caves of Kôr. Nay, when once thou art even as I

am, we will go hence—fear not but that I shall find a path—and

then shall we journey to this England of thine, and live as it

becometh us to live. Two thousand years have I waited for the day

when I should see the last of these hateful caves and this

gloomy-visaged folk, and now it is at hand, and my heart bounds

up to meet it like a child’s towards its holiday. For thou shalt

rule this England——”

“But we have a queen already,” broke in Leo, hastily.

“It is naught, it is naught,” said Ayesha; “she can be

overthrown.”

At this we both broke out into an exclamation of dismay, and

explained that we should as soon think of overthrowing ourselves.

“But here is a strange thing,” said Ayesha, in astonishment; “a

queen whom her people love! Surely the world must have changed

since I dwelt in Kôr.”

Again we explained that it was the character of monarchs that had

changed, and that the one under whom we lived was venerated and

beloved by all right-thinking people in her vast realms. Also, we

told her that real power in our country rested in the hands of

the people, and that we were in fact ruled by the votes of the

lower and least educated classes of the community.

“Ah,” she said, “a democracy—then surely there is a tyrant, for I

have long since seen that democracies, having no clear will of

their own, in the end set up a tyrant, and worship him.”

“Yes,” I said, “we have our tyrants.”

“Well,” she answered resignedly, “we can at any rate destroy

these tyrants, and Kallikrates shall rule the land.”

I instantly informed Ayesha that in England “blasting” was not an

amusement that could be indulged in with impunity, and that any

such attempt would meet with the consideration of the law and

probably end upon a scaffold.

“The law,” she laughed with scorn—“the law! Canst thou not

understand, oh Holly, that I am above the law, and so shall my

Kallikrates be also? All human law will be to us as the north

wind to a mountain. Does the wind bend the mountain, or the

mountain the wind?”

“And now leave me, I pray thee, and thou too, my own Kallikrates,

for I would get me ready against our journey, and so must ye

both, and your servant also. But bring no great quantity of

things with thee, for I trust that we shall be but three days

gone. Then shall we return hither, and I will make a plan whereby

we can bid farewell for ever to these sepulchres of Kôr. Yea,

surely thou mayst kiss my hand!”

So we went, I, for one, meditating deeply on the awful nature of the

problem that now opened out before us. The terrible _She_ had evidently

made up her mind to go to England, and it made me absolutely shudder to

think what would be the result of her arrival there. What her powers

were I knew, and I could not doubt but that she would exercise them to

the full. It might be possible to control her for a while, but her

proud, ambitious spirit would be certain to break loose and avenge

itself for the long centuries of its solitude. She would, if necessary,

and if the power of her beauty did not unaided prove equal to the

occasion, blast her way to any end she set before her, and, as she

could not die, and for aught I knew could not even be killed,[1] what

was there to stop her? In the end she would, I had little doubt, assume

absolute rule over the British dominions, and probably over the whole

earth, and, though I was sure that she would speedily make ours the

most glorious and prosperous empire that the world has ever seen, it

would be at the cost of a terrible sacrifice of life.

[1] I regret to say that I was never able to ascertain if _She_ was

invulnerable against the ordinary accidents of life. Presumably this

was so, else some misadventure would have been sure to put an end to

her in the course of so many centuries. True, she offered to let Leo

slay her, but very probably this was only an experiment to try his

temper and mental attitude towards her. Ayesha never gave way to

impulse without some valid object.—L. H. H.

The whole thing sounded like a dream or some extraordinary

invention of a speculative brain, and yet it was a fact—a

wonderful fact—of which the whole world would soon be called on

to take notice. What was the meaning of it all? After much

thinking I could only conclude that this marvellous creature,

whose passion had kept her for so many centuries chained as it

were, and comparatively harmless, was now about to be used by

Providence as a means to change the order of the world, and

possibly, by the building up of a power that could no more be

rebelled against or questioned than the decrees of Fate, to

change it materially for the better.

XXIII.

THE TEMPLE OF TRUTH

Our preparations did not take us very long. We put a change of

clothing apiece and some spare boots into my Gladstone bag, also

we took our revolvers and an express rifle each, together with a

good supply of ammunition, a precaution to which, under

Providence, we subsequently owed our lives over and over again.

The rest of our gear, together with our heavy rifles, we left

behind us.

A few minutes before the appointed time we once more attended in

Ayesha’s boudoir, and found her also ready, her dark cloak thrown

over her winding-sheetlike wrappings.

“Are ye prepared for the great venture?” she said.

“We are,” I answered, “though for my part, Ayesha, I have no

faith in it.”

“Ah, my Holly,” she said, “thou art of a truth like those old

Jews—of whom the memory vexes me so sorely—unbelieving, and hard

to accept that which they have not known. But thou shalt see; for

unless my mirror beyond lies,” and she pointed to the font of

crystal water, “the path is yet open as it was of old time. And

now let us start upon the new life which shall end—who knoweth

where?”

“Ah,” I echoed, “who knoweth where?” and we passed down into the

great central cave, and out into the light of day. At the mouth

of the cave we found a single litter with six bearers, all of

them mutes, waiting, and with them I was relieved to see our old

friend Billali, for whom I had conceived a sort of affection. It

appeared that, for reasons not necessary to explain at length,

Ayesha had thought it best that, with the exception of herself,

we should proceed on foot, and this we were nothing loth to do,

after our long confinement in these caves, which, however

suitable they might be for sarcophagi—a singularly inappropriate

word, by the way, for these particular tombs, which certainly did

not consume the bodies given to their keeping—were depressing

habitations for breathing mortals like ourselves. Either by

accident or by the orders of _She_, the space in front of the

cave where we had beheld that awful dance was perfectly clear of

spectators. Not a soul was to be seen, and consequently I do not

believe that our departure was known to anybody, except perhaps

the mutes who waited on _She_, and they were, of course, in the

habit of keeping what they saw to themselves.

In a few minutes’ time we were stepping out sharply across the

great cultivated plain or lake bed, framed like a vast emerald in

its setting of frowning cliff, and had another opportunity of

wondering at the extraordinary nature of the site chosen by these

old people of Kôr for their capital, and at the marvellous amount

of labour, ingenuity, and engineering skill that must have been

brought into requisition by the founders of the city to drain so

huge a sheet of water, and to keep it clear of subsequent

accumulations. It is, indeed, so far as my experience goes, an

unequalled instance of what man can do in the face of nature, for

in my opinion such achievements as the Suez Canal or even the

Mont Cenis Tunnel do not approach this ancient undertaking in

magnitude and grandeur of conception.

When we had been walking for about half an hour, enjoying ourselves

exceedingly in the delightful cool which about this time of the day

always appeared to descend upon the great plain of Kôr, and which in

some degree atoned for the want of any land or sea breeze—for all wind

was kept off by the rocky mountain wall—we began to get a clear view of

what Billali had informed us were the ruins of the great city. And even

from that distance we could see how wonderful those ruins were, a fact

which with every step we took became more evident. The town was not

very large if compared to Babylon or Thebes, or other cities of remote

antiquity; perhaps its outer wall contained some twelve square miles of

ground, or a little more. Nor had the walls, so far as we could judge

when we reached them, been very high, probably not more than forty

feet, which was about their present height where they had not through

the sinking of the ground, or some such cause, fallen into ruin. The

reason of this, no doubt, was that the people of Kôr, being protected

from any outside attack by far more tremendous ramparts than any that

the hand of man could rear, only required them for show and to guard

against civil discord. But on the other hand they were as broad as they

were high, built entirely of dressed stone, hewn, no doubt, from the

vast caves, and surrounded by a great moat about sixty feet in width,

some reaches of which were still filled with water. About ten minutes

before the sun finally sank we reached this moat, and passed down and

through it, clambering across what evidently were the piled-up

fragments of a great bridge in order to do so, and then with some

little difficulty over the slope of the wall to its summit. I wish that

it lay within the power of my pen to give some idea of the grandeur of

the sight that then met our view. There, all bathed in the red glow of

the sinking sun, were miles upon miles of ruins—columns, temples,

shrines, and the palaces of kings, varied with patches of green bush.

Of course, the roofs of these buildings had long since fallen into

decay and vanished, but owing to the extreme massiveness of the style

of building, and to the hardness and durability of the rock employed,

most of the party walls and great columns still remained standing.[1]

[1] In connection with the extraordinary state of preservation of

these ruins after so vast a lapse of time— at least six thousand

years—it must be remembered that Kôr was not burnt or destroyed by an

enemy or an earthquake, but deserted, owing to the action of a

terrible plague. Consequently the houses were left unharmed; also the

climate of the plain is remarkably fine and dry, and there is very

little rain or wind; as a result of which these relics have only to

contend against the unaided action of time, that works but slowly upon

such massive blocks of masonry. —L. H. H.

Straight before us stretched away what had evidently been the main

thoroughfare of the city, for it was very wide, wider than the Thames

Embankment, and regular, being, as we afterwards discovered, paved, or

rather built, throughout of blocks of dressed stone, such as were

employed in the walls, it was but little overgrown even now with grass

and shrubs that could get no depth of soil to live in. What had been

the parks and gardens, on the contrary, were now dense jungle. Indeed,

it was easy even from a distance to trace the course of the various

roads by the burnt-up appearance of the scanty grass that grew upon

them. On either side of this great thoroughfare were vast blocks of

ruins, each block, generally speaking, being separated from its

neighbour by a space of what had once, I suppose, been garden-ground,

but was now dense and tangled bush. They were all built of the same

coloured stone, and most of them had pillars, which was as much as we

could make out in the fading light as we passed swiftly up the main

road, that I believe I am right in saying no living foot had pressed

for thousands of years.[2]

[2] Billali told me that the Amahagger believe that the site of the

city is haunted, and could not be persuaded to enter it upon any

consideration. Indeed, I could see that he himself did not at all like

doing so, and was only consoled by the reflection that he was under

the direct protection of _She_. It struck Leo and myself as very

curious that a people which has no objection to living amongst the

dead, with whom their familiarity has perhaps bred contempt, and even

using their bodies for purposes of fuel, should be terrified at

approaching the habitations that these very departed had occupied when

alive. After all, however, it is only a savage inconsistency.—L. H. H.

Presently we came to an enormous pile, which we rightly took to

be a temple covering at least eight acres of ground, and

apparently arranged in a series of courts, each one enclosing

another of smaller size, on the principle of a Chinese nest of

boxes, the courts being separated one from the other by rows of

huge columns. And, while I think of it, I may as well state a

remarkable thing about the shape of these columns, which

resembled none that I have ever seen or heard of, being fashioned

with a kind of waist at the centre, and swelling out above and

below. At first we thought that this shape was meant to roughly

symbolise or suggest the female form, as was a common habit

amongst the ancient religious architects of many creeds. On the

following day, however, as we went up the slopes of the mountain,

we discovered a large quantity of the most stately looking palms,

of which the trunks grew exactly in this shape, and I have now no

doubt but that the first designer of those columns drew his

inspiration from the graceful bends of those very palms, or

rather of their ancestors, which then, some eight or ten thousand

years ago, as now, beautified the slopes of the mountain that had

once formed the shores of the volcanic lake.

At the _façade_ of this huge temple, which, I should imagine, is

almost as large as that of El-Karnac, at Thebes, some of the

largest columns, which I measured, being between eighteen to

twenty feet in diameter at the base, by about seventy feet in

height, our little procession was halted, and Ayesha descended

from her litter.

“There was a spot here, Kallikrates,” she said to Leo, who had

run up to help her down, “where one might sleep. Two thousand

years ago did thou and I and that Egyptian asp rest therein, but

since then have I not set foot here, nor any man, and perchance

it has fallen,” and, followed by the rest of us, she passed up a

vast flight of broken and ruined steps into the outer court, and

looked round into the gloom. Presently she seemed to recollect,

and, walking a few paces along the wall to the left, halted.

“It is here,” she said, and at the same time beckoned to the two mutes,

who were loaded with provisions and our little belongings, to advance.

One of them came forward, and, producing a lamp, lit it from his

brazier (for the Amahagger when on a journey nearly always carried with

them a little lighted brazier, from which to provide fire). The tinder

of this brazier was made of broken fragments of mummy carefully damped,

and, if the admixture of moisture was properly managed, this unholy

compound would smoulder away for hours.[3] As soon as the lamp was lit

we entered the place before which Ayesha had halted. It turned out to

be a chamber hollowed in the thickness of the wall, and, from the fact

of there still being a massive stone table in it, I should think that

it had probably served as a living-room, perhaps for one of the

door-keepers of the great temple.

[3] After all we are not much in advance of the Amahagger in these

matters. “Mummy,” that is pounded ancient Egyptian, is, I believe, a

pigment much used by artists, and especially by those of them who

direct their talents to the reproduction of the works of the old

masters.—Editor.

Here we stopped, and after cleaning the place out and making it

as comfortable as circumstances and the darkness would permit, we

ate some cold meat, at least Leo, Job and I did, for Ayesha, as I

think I have said elsewhere, never touched anything except cakes

of flour, fruit and water. While we were still eating, the moon,

which was at her full, rose above the mountain-wall, and began to

flood the place with silver.

“Wot ye why I have brought you here to-night, my Holly?” said

Ayesha, leaning her head upon her hand and watching the great orb

as she rose, like some heavenly queen, above the solemn pillars

of the temple. “I brought you—nay, it is strange, but knowest

thou, Kallikrates, that thou liest at this moment upon the very

spot where thy dead body lay when I bore thee back to those caves

of Kôr so many years ago? It all returns to my mind now. I can

see it, and horrible is it to my sight!” and she shuddered.

Here Leo jumped up and hastily changed his seat. However the

reminiscence might affect Ayesha, it clearly had few charms for

him.

“I brought you,” went on Ayesha presently, “that ye might look

upon the most wonderful sight that ever the eye of man beheld—the

full moon shining over ruined Kôr. When ye have done your

eating—I would that I could teach you to eat naught but fruit,

Kallikrates, but that will come after thou hast laved in the

fire. Once I, too, ate flesh like a brute beast. When ye have

done we will go out, and I will show you this great temple and

the God whom men once worshipped therein.”

Of course we got up at once, and started. And here again my pen

fails me. To give a string of measurements and details of the

various courts of the temple would only be wearisome, supposing

that I had them, and yet I know not how I am to describe what we

saw, magnificent as it was even in its ruin, almost beyond the

power of realisation. Court upon dim court, row upon row of

mighty pillars—some of them (especially at the gateways)

sculptured from pedestal to capital—space upon space of empty

chambers that spoke more eloquently to the imagination than any

crowded streets. And over all, the dead silence of the dead, the

sense of utter loneliness, and the brooding spirit of the Past!

How beautiful it was, and yet how drear! We did not dare to speak

aloud. Ayesha herself was awed in the presence of an antiquity

compared to which even her length of days was but a little thing;

we only whispered, and our whispers seemed to run from column to

column, till they were lost in the quiet air. Bright fell the

moonlight on pillar and court and shattered wall, hiding all

their rents and imperfections in its silver garment, and clothing

their hoar majesty with the peculiar glory of the night. It was a

wonderful sight to see the full moon looking down on the ruined

fane of Kôr. It was a wonderful thing to think for how many

thousands of years the dead orb above and the dead city below had

gazed thus upon each other, and in the utter solitude of space

poured forth each to each the tale of their lost life and

long-departed glory. The white light fell, and minute by minute

the quiet shadows crept across the grass-grown courts like the

spirits of old priests haunting the habitations of their

worship—the white light fell, and the long shadows grew till the

beauty and grandeur of each scene and the untamed majesty of its

present Death seemed to sink into our very souls, and speak more

loudly than the shouts of armies concerning the pomp and

splendour that the grave had swallowed, and even memory had

forgotten.

“Come,” said Ayesha, after we had gazed and gazed, I know not for

how long, “and I will show you the stony flower of Loveliness and

Wonder’s very crown, if yet it stands to mock time with its

beauty and fill the heart of man with longing for that which is

behind the veil,” and, without waiting for an answer, she led us

through two more pillared courts into the inner shrine of the old

fane.

And there, in the centre of the inmost court, that might have

been some fifty yards square, or a little more, we stood face to

face with what is perhaps the grandest allegorical work of Art

that the genius of her children has ever given to the world. For

in the exact centre of the court, placed upon a thick square slab

of rock, was a huge round ball of dark stone, some twenty feet in

diameter, and standing on the ball was a colossal winged figure

of a beauty so entrancing and divine that when I first gazed upon

it, illuminated and shadowed as it was by the soft light of the

moon, my breath stood still, and for an instant my heart ceased

its beating.

The statue was hewn from marble so pure and white that even now,

after all those ages, it shone as the moonbeams danced upon it,

and its height was, I should say, a trifle over twenty feet. It

was the winged figure of a woman of such marvellous loveliness

and delicacy of form that the size seemed rather to add to than

to detract from its so human and yet more spiritual beauty. She

was bending forward and poising herself upon her half-spread

wings as though to preserve her balance as she leant. Her arms

were outstretched like those of some woman about to embrace one

she dearly loved, while her whole attitude gave an impression of

the tenderest beseeching. Her perfect and most gracious form was

naked, save—and here came the extraordinary thing—the face, which

was thinly veiled, so that we could only trace the marking of her

features. A gauzy veil was thrown round and about the head, and

of its two ends one fell down across her left breast, which was

outlined beneath it, and one, now broken, streamed away upon the

air behind her.

“Who is she?” I asked, as soon as I could take my eyes off the

statue.

“Canst thou not guess, oh Holly?” answered Ayesha. “Where then is

thy imagination? It is Truth standing on the World, and calling

to its children to unveil her face. See what is writ upon the

pedestal. Without doubt it is taken from the book of Scriptures

of these men of Kôr,” and she led the way to the foot of the

statue, where an inscription of the usual Chinese-looking

hieroglyphics was so deeply graven as to be still quite legible,

at least to Ayesha. According to her translation it ran thus:—

“Is there no man that will draw my veil and look upon my face,

for it is very fair? Unto him who draws my veil shall I be, and

peace will I give him, and sweet children of knowledge and good

works.”

And a voice cried, “Though all those who seek after thee desire

thee, behold! Virgin art thou, and Virgin shalt thou go till Time

be done. No man is there born of woman who may draw thy veil and

live, nor shall be. By Death only can thy veil be drawn, oh

Truth!”

And Truth stretched out her arms and wept, because those who

sought her might not find her, nor look upon her face to face.

“Thou seest,” said Ayesha, when she had finished translating,

“Truth was the Goddess of the people of old Kôr, and to her they

built their shrines, and her they sought; knowing that they

should never find, still sought they.”

“And so,” I added sadly, “do men seek to this very hour, but they

find out; and, as this Scripture saith, nor shall they; for in

Death only is Truth found.”

Then with one more look at this veiled and spiritualised

loveliness—which was so perfect and so pure that one might almost

fancy that the light of a living spirit shone through the marble

prison to lead man on to high and ethereal thoughts—this poet’s

dream of beauty frozen into stone, which I shall never forget

while I live, we turned and went back through the vast moonlit

courts to the spot whence we had started. I never saw the statue

again, which I the more regret, because on the great ball of

stone representing the World whereon the figure stood, lines were

drawn, that probably, had there been light enough, we should have

discovered to be a map of the Universe as it was known to the

people of Kôr. It is at any rate suggestive of some scientific

knowledge that these long-dead worshippers of Truth had

recognised the fact that the globe is round.

XXIV.

WALKING THE PLANK

Next day the mutes woke us before the dawn; and by the time that

we had got the sleep out of our eyes, and gone through a

perfunctory wash at a spring which still welled up into the

remains of a marble basin in the centre of the North quadrangle

of the vast outer court, we found _She_ standing by the litter

ready to start, while old Billali and the two bearer mutes were

busy collecting the baggage. As usual, Ayesha was veiled like the

marble Truth (by the way, I wonder if she originally got the idea

of covering up her beauty from that statue?). I noticed, however,

that she seemed very depressed, and had none of that proud and

buoyant bearing which would have betrayed her among a thousand

women of the same stature, even if they had been veiled like

herself. She looked up as we came—for her head was bowed—and

greeted us. Leo asked her how she had slept.

“Ill, my Kallikrates,” she answered, “ill. This night have

strange and hideous dreams come creeping through my brain, and I

know not what they may portend. Almost do I feel as though some

evil overshadowed me; and yet how can evil touch me? I wonder,”

she went on with a sudden outbreak of womanly tenderness, “I

wonder if, should aught happen to me, so that I slept awhile and

left thee waking, thou wouldst think gently of me? I wonder, my

Kallikrates, if thou wouldst tarry till I came again, as for so

many centuries I have tarried for thy coming?”

Then, without waiting for an answer, she went on: “Come, let us

be setting forth, for we have far to go, and before another day

is born in yonder blue should we stand in the place of Life.”

In five minutes we were once more on our way through the vast

ruined city, which loomed at us on either side in the grey

dawning in a way that was at once grand and oppressive. Just as

the first ray of the rising sun shot like a golden arrow athwart

this storied desolation we gained the further gateway of the

outer wall, and having given one more glance at the hoar and

pillared majesty through which we had journeyed, and (with the

exception of Job, for whom ruins had no charms) breathed a sigh

of regret that we had not had more time to explore it, passed

through the great moat, and on to the plain beyond.

As the sun rose so did Ayesha’s spirits, till by breakfast-time

they had regained their normal level, and she laughingly set down

her previous depression to the associations of the spot where she

had slept.

“These barbarians swear that Kôr is haunted,” she said, “and of a

truth I do believe their saying, for never did I know so ill a

night save one. I remember it now. It was on that very spot when

thou didst lie dead at my feet, Kallikrates. Never will I visit

it again; it is a place of evil omen.”

After a very brief halt for breakfast we pressed on with such

good will that by two o’clock in the afternoon we were at the

foot of the vast wall of rock that formed the lip of the volcano,

and which at this point towered up precipitously above us for

fifteen hundred or two thousand feet. Here we halted, certainly

not to my astonishment, for I did not see how it was possible

that we should go any farther.

“Now,” said Ayesha, as she descended from her litter, “doth our

labour but commence, for here do we part with these men, and

henceforward must we bear ourselves;” and then, addressing

Billali, “do thou and these slaves remain here, and abide our

coming. By to-morrow at the midday shall we be with thee—if not,

wait.”

Billali bowed humbly, and said that her august bidding should be

obeyed if they stopped there till they grew old.

“And this man, oh Holly,” said _She_, pointing to Job; “best is

it that he should tarry also, for if his heart be not high and

his courage great, perchance some evil might overtake him. Also,

the secrets of the place whither we go are not fit for common

eyes.”

I translated this to Job, who instantly and earnestly entreated

me, almost with tears in his eyes, not to leave him behind. He

said he was sure that he could see nothing worse than he had

already seen, and that he was terrified to death at the idea of

being left alone with those “dumb folk,” who, he thought, would

probably take the opportunity to hot-pot him.

I translated what he said to Ayesha, who shrugged her shoulders,

and answered, “Well, let him come, it is naught to me; on his own

head be it, and he will serve to bear the lamp and this,” and she

pointed to a narrow plank, some sixteen feet in length, which had

been bound above the long bearing-pole of her hammock, as I had

thought to make curtains spread out better, but, as it now

appeared, for some unknown purpose connected with our

extraordinary undertaking.

Accordingly, the plank, which, though tough, was very light, was

given to Job to carry, and also one of the lamps. I slung the

other on to my back, together with a spare jar of oil, while Leo

loaded himself with the provisions and some water in a kid’s

skin. When this was done _She_ bade Billali and the six bearer

mutes to retreat behind a grove of flowering magnolias about a

hundred yards away, and remain there under pain of death till we

had vanished. They bowed humbly, and went, and, as he departed,

old Billali gave me a friendly shake of the hand, and whispered

that he had rather that it was I than he who was going on this

wonderful expedition with “_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” and upon my

word I felt inclined to agree with him. In another minute they

were gone, and then, having briefly asked us if we were ready,

Ayesha turned, and gazed up the towering cliff.

“Goodness me, Leo,” I said, “surely we are not going to climb

that precipice!”

Leo shrugged his shoulders, being in a condition of

half-fascinated, half-expectant mystification, and as he did so,

Ayesha with a sudden move began to climb the cliff, and of course

we had to follow her. It was perfectly marvellous to see the ease

and grace with which she sprang from rock to rock, and swung

herself along the ledges. The ascent was not, however, so

difficult as it seemed, although there were one or two nasty

places where it did not do to look behind you, the fact being

that the rock still sloped here, and was not absolutely

precipitous as it was higher up. In this way we, with no great

labour, mounted to the height of some fifty feet above our last

standing-place, the only really troublesome thing to manage being

Job’s board, and in doing so drew some fifty or sixty paces to

the left of our starting-point, for we went up like a crab,

sideways. Presently we reached a ledge, narrow enough at first,

but which widened as we followed it, and moreover sloped inwards

like the petal of a flower, so that as we followed it we

gradually got into a kind of rut or fold of rock, that grew

deeper and deeper, till at last it resembled a Devonshire lane in

stone, and hid us perfectly from the gaze of anybody on the slope

below, if there had been anybody to gaze. This lane (which

appeared to be a natural formation) continued for some fifty or

sixty paces, and then suddenly ended in a cave, also natural,

running at right angles to it. I am sure it was a natural cave,

and not hollowed by the hand of man, because of its irregular and

contorted shape and course, which gave it the appearance of

having been blown bodily in the mountain by some frightful

eruption of gas following the line of the least resistance. All

the caves hollowed by the ancients of Kôr, on the contrary, were

cut out with the most perfect regularity and symmetry. At the

mouth of this cave Ayesha halted, and bade us light the two

lamps, which I did, giving one to her and keeping the other

myself. Then, taking the lead, she advanced down the cavern,

picking her way with great care, as indeed it was necessary to

do, for the floor was most irregular—strewn with boulders like

the bed of a stream, and in some places pitted with deep holes,

in which it would have been easy to break one’s leg.

This cavern we pursued for twenty minutes or more, it being, so

far as I could form a judgment—owing to its numerous twists and

turns no easy task—about a quarter of a mile long.

At last, however, we halted at its farther end, and whilst I was

still trying to pierce the gloom a great gust of air came tearing

down it, and extinguished both the lamps.

Ayesha called to us, and we crept up to her, for she was a little

in front, and were rewarded with a view that was positively

appalling in its gloom and grandeur. Before us was a mighty chasm

in the black rock, jagged and torn and splintered through it in a

far past age by some awful convulsion of Nature, as though it had

been cleft by stroke upon stroke of the lightning. This chasm,

which was bounded by a precipice on the hither, and presumably,

though we could not see it, on the farther side also, may have

measured any width across, but from its darkness I do not think

it can have been very broad. It was impossible to make out much

of its outline, or how far it ran, for the simple reason that the

point where we were standing was so far from the upper surface of

the cliff, at least fifteen hundred or two thousand feet, that

only a very dim light struggled down to us from above. The mouth

of the cavern that we had been following gave on to a most

curious and tremendous spur of rock, which jutted out in mid air

into the gulf before us, for a distance of some fifty yards,

coming to a sharp point at its termination, and resembling

nothing that I can think of so much as the spur upon the leg of a

cock in shape. This huge spur was attached only to the parent

precipice at its base, which was, of course, enormous, just as

the cock’s spur is attached to its leg. Otherwise it was utterly

unsupported.

“Here must we pass,” said Ayesha. “Be careful lest giddiness

overcome you, or the wind sweep you into the gulf beneath, for of

a truth it hath no bottom;” and, without giving us any further

time to get scared, she started walking along the spur, leaving

us to follow her as best we might. I was next to her, then came

Job, painfully dragging his plank, while Leo brought up the rear.

It was a wonderful sight to see this intrepid woman gliding

fearlessly along that dreadful place. For my part, when I had

gone but a very few yards, what between the pressure of the air

and the awful sense of the consequences that a slip would entail,

I found it necessary to go down on my hands and knees and crawl,

and so did the other two.

But Ayesha never condescended to this. On she went, leaning her

body against the gusts of wind, and never seeming to lose her

head or her balance.

In a few minutes we had crossed some twenty paces of this awful

bridge, which got narrower at every step, and then all of a

sudden a great gust came tearing along the gorge. I saw Ayesha

lean herself against it, but the strong draught got under her

dark cloak, and tore it from her, and away it went down the wind

flapping like a wounded bird. It was dreadful to see it go, till

it was lost in the blackness. I clung to the saddle of rock, and

looked round, while, like a living thing, the great spur vibrated

with a humming sound beneath us. The sight was a truly awesome

one. There we were poised in the gloom between earth and heaven.

Beneath us were hundreds upon hundreds of feet of emptiness that

gradually grew darker, till at last it was absolutely black, and

at what depth it ended is more than I can guess. Above was space

upon space of giddy air, and far, far away a line of blue sky.

And down this vast gulf upon which we were pinnacled the great

draught dashed and roared, driving clouds and misty wreaths of

vapour before it, till we were nearly blinded, and utterly

confused.

The whole position was so tremendous and so absolutely unearthly,

that I believe it actually lulled our sense of terror, but to

this hour I often see it in my dreams, and at its mere phantasy

wake up covered with cold sweat.

“On! on!” cried the white form before us, for now the cloak had

gone, _She_ was robed in white, and looked more like a spirit

riding down the gale than a woman; “On, or ye will fall and be

dashed to pieces. Keep your eyes fixed upon the ground, and

closely hug the rock.”

We obeyed her, and crept painfully along the quivering path,

against which the wind shrieked and wailed as it shook it,

causing it to murmur like a vast tuning-fork. On we went, I do

not know for how long, only gazing round now and again, when it

was absolutely necessary, until at last we saw that we were on

the very tip of the spur, a slab of rock, little larger than an

ordinary table, that throbbed and jumped like any over-engined

steamer. There we lay, clinging to the ground, and looked about

us, while Ayesha stood leaning out against the wind, down which

her long hair streamed, and, absolutely heedless of the hideous

depth that yawned beneath, pointed before her. Then we saw why

the narrow plank had been provided, which Job and I had painfully

dragged along between us. Before us was an empty space, on the

other side of which was something, as yet we could not see what,

for here—either owing to the shadow of the opposite cliff, or

from some other cause—the gloom was that of night.

“We must wait awhile,” called Ayesha; “soon there will be light.”

At the moment I could not imagine what she meant. How could more

light than there was ever come to this dreadful spot? While I was

still wondering, suddenly, like a great sword of flame, a beam

from the setting sun pierced the Stygian gloom, and smote upon

the point of rock whereon we lay, illumining Ayesha’s lovely form

with an unearthly splendour. I only wish I could describe the

wild and marvellous beauty of that sword of fire, laid across the

darkness and rushing mist-wreaths of the gulf. How it got there I

do not to this moment know, but I presume that there was some

cleft or hole in the opposing cliff, through which it pierced

when the setting orb was in a direct line therewith. All I can

say is, that the effect was the most wonderful that I ever saw.

Right through the heart of the darkness that flaming sword was

stabbed, and where it lay there was the most surpassingly vivid

light, so vivid that even at a distance we could see the grain of

the rock, while, outside of it—yes, within a few inches of its

keen edge—was naught but clustering shadows.

And now, by this ray of light, for which _She_ had been waiting,

and timed our arrival to meet, knowing that at this season for

thousands of years it had always struck thus at sunset, we saw

what was before us. Within eleven or twelve feet of the very tip

of the tongue-like rock whereon we stood there arose, presumably

from the far bottom of the gulf, a sugarloaf-shaped cone, of

which the summit was exactly opposite to us. But had there been a

summit only it would not have helped us much, for the nearest

point of its circumference was some forty feet from where we

were. On the lip of this summit, however, which was circular and

hollow, rested a tremendous flat boulder, something like a

glacier stone—perhaps it was one, for all I know to the

contrary—and the end of this boulder approached to within twelve

feet or so of us. This huge rock was nothing more or less than a

gigantic rocking-stone, accurately balanced upon the edge of the

cone or miniature crater, like a half-crown on the rim of a

wine-glass; for, in the fierce light that played upon it and us,

we could see it oscillating in the gusts of wind.

“Quick!” said Ayesha; “the plank—we must cross while the light

endures; presently it will be gone.”

“Oh, Lord, sir!” groaned Job, “surely she don’t mean us to walk

across that there place on that there thing,” as in obedience to

my direction he pushed the long board towards me.

“That’s it, Job,” I halloaed in ghastly merriment, though the

idea of walking the plank was no pleasanter to me than to him.

I pushed the board on to Ayesha, who deftly ran it across the

gulf so that one end of it rested on the rocking-stone, the other

remaining on the extremity of the trembling spur. Then placing

her foot upon it to prevent it from being blown away, she turned

to me.

“Since I was last here, oh Holly,” she called, “the support of

the moving stone hath lessened somewhat, so that I am not certain

if it will bear our weight or no. Therefore will I cross the

first, because no harm will come unto me,” and, without further

ado, she trod lightly but firmly across the frail bridge, and in

another second was standing safe upon the heaving stone.

“It is safe,” she called. “See, hold thou the plank! I will stand

on the farther side of the stone so that it may not overbalance

with your greater weights. Now, come, oh Holly, for presently the

light will fail us.”

I struggled to my knees, and if ever I felt terrified in my life

it was then, and I am not ashamed to say that I hesitated and

hung back.

“Surely thou art not afraid,” this strange creature called in a

lull of the gale, from where she stood poised like a bird on the

highest point of the rocking-stone. “Make way then for

Kallikrates.”

This settled me; it is better to fall down a precipice and die

than be laughed at by such a woman; so I clenched my teeth, and

in another instant I was on that horrible, narrow, bending plank,

with bottomless space beneath and around me. I have always hated

a great height, but never before did I realise the full horrors

of which such a position is capable. Oh, the sickening sensation

of that yielding board resting on the two moving supports. I grew

dizzy, and thought that I must fall; my spine _crept_; it seemed

to me that I was falling, and my delight at finding myself

sprawling upon that stone, which rose and fell beneath me like a

boat in a swell, cannot be expressed in words. All I know is that

briefly, but earnestly enough, I thanked Providence for

preserving me so far.

Then came Leo’s turn, and though he looked rather queer, he came

across like a rope-dancer. Ayesha stretched out her hand to clasp

his own, and I heard her say, “Bravely done, my love—bravely

done! The old Greek spirit lives in thee yet!”

And now only poor Job remained on the farther side of the gulf.

He crept up to the plank, and yelled out, “I can’t do it, sir. I

shall fall into that beastly place.”

“You must,” I remember saying with inappropriate

facetiousness—“you must, Job, it’s as easy as catching flies.” I

suppose that I must have said it to satisfy my conscience,

because although the expression conveys a wonderful idea of

facility, as a matter of fact I know no more difficult operation

in the whole world than catching flies—that is, in warm weather,

unless, indeed, it is catching mosquitoes.

“I can’t, sir—I can’t, indeed.”

“Let the man come, or let him stop and perish there. See, the

light is dying! In a moment it will be gone!” said Ayesha.

I looked. She was right. The sun was passing below the level of

the hole or cleft in the precipice through which the ray reached

us.

“If you stop there, Job, you will die alone,” I called; “the

light is going.”

“Come, be a man, Job,” roared Leo; “it’s quite easy.”

Thus adjured, the miserable Job, with a most awful yell,

precipitated himself face downwards on the plank—he did not dare,

small blame to him, to try to walk it, and commenced to draw

himself across in little jerks, his poor legs hanging down on

either side into the nothingness beneath.

His violent jerks at the frail board made the great stone, which

was only balanced on a few inches of rock, oscillate in a most

dreadful manner, and, to make matters worse, when he was half-way

across the flying ray of lurid light suddenly went out, just as

though a lamp had been extinguished in a curtained room, leaving

the whole howling wilderness of air black with darkness.

“Come on, Job, for God’s sake!” I shouted in an agony of fear,

while the stone, gathering motion with every swing, rocked so

violently that it was difficult to hang on to it. It was a truly

awful position.

“Lord have mercy on me!” cried poor Job from the darkness. “Oh,

the plank’s slipping!” and I heard a violent struggle, and

thought that he was gone.

But at that moment his outstretched hand, clasping in agony at

the air, met my own, and I hauled—ah, how I did haul, putting out

all the strength that it has pleased Providence to give me in

such abundance—and to my joy in another minute Job was gasping on

the rock beside me. But the plank! I felt it slip, and heard it

knock against a projecting knob of rock, and it was gone.

“Great heavens!” I exclaimed. “How are we going to get back?”

“I don’t know,” answered Leo, out of the gloom. “’Sufficient to

the day is the evil thereof,’ I am thankful enough to be here.”

But Ayesha merely called to me to take her hand and creep after

her.

XXV.

THE SPIRIT OF LIFE

I did as I was bid, and in fear and trembling felt myself guided

over the edge of the stone. I sprawled my legs out, but could

touch nothing.

“I am going to fall!” I gasped.

“Nay, let thyself go, and trust to me,” answered Ayesha.

Now, if the position is considered, it will be easily understood

that this was a greater demand upon my confidence than was

justified by my knowledge of Ayesha’s character. For all I knew

she might be in the very act of consigning me to a horrible doom.

But in life we sometimes have to lay our faith upon strange

altars, and so it was now.

“Let thyself go!” she cried, and, having no choice, I did.

I felt myself slide a pace or two down the sloping surface of the

rock, and then pass into the air, and the thought flashed through

my brain that I was lost. But no! In another instant my feet

struck against a rocky floor, and I felt that I was standing upon

something solid, and out of reach of the wind, which I could hear

singing away overhead. As I stood there thanking Heaven for these

small mercies, there was a slip and a scuffle, and down came Leo

alongside of me.

“Hulloa, old fellow!” he called out, “are you there? This is

getting interesting, is it not?”

Just then, with a terrific yell, Job arrived right on the top of

us, knocking us both down. By the time we had struggled to our

feet again Ayesha was standing among us, and bidding us light the

lamps, which fortunately remained uninjured, as also did the

spare jar of oil.

I got out my box of wax matches, and they struck as merrily,

there, in that awful place, as they could have done in a London

drawing-room.

In a couple of minutes both the lamps were alight and revealed a

curious scene. We were huddled together in a rocky chamber, some

ten feet square, and scared enough we looked; that is, except

Ayesha, who was standing calmly with her arms folded, and waiting

for the lamps to burn up. The chamber appeared to be partly

natural, and partly hollowed out of the top of the cone. The roof

of the natural part was formed of the swinging stone, and that of

the back part of the chamber, which sloped downwards, was hewn

from the live rock. For the rest, the place was warm and dry—a

perfect haven of rest compared to the giddy pinnacle above, and

the quivering spur that shot out to meet it in mid-air.

“So!” said _She_, “safely have we come, though once I feared that

the rocking stone would fall with you, and precipitate you into

the bottomless depths beneath, for I do believe that the cleft

goeth down to the very womb of the world. The rock whereon the

stone resteth hath crumbled beneath the swinging weight. And now

that he,” nodding towards Job, who was sitting on the floor,

feebly wiping his forehead with a red cotton pocket-handkerchief,

“whom they rightly call the ‘Pig,’ for as a pig is he stupid,

hath let fall the plank, it will not be easy to return across the

gulf, and to that end must I make a plan. But now rest a while,

and look upon this place. What think ye that it is?”

“We know not,” I answered.

“Wouldst thou believe, oh Holly, that once a man did choose this

airy nest for a daily habitation, and did here endure for many

years; leaving it only but one day in every twelve to seek food

and water and oil that the people brought, more than he could

carry, and laid as an offering in the mouth of the tunnel through

which we passed hither?”