Early as she dared that forenoon, Dolores had sought audience with the
King. From calculation new to her, she had arrayed herself to please
him. Ceding the mauves and dove grays that seemed best to express
her, she had selected one of the court creations designed for her by
the master electrician of His Highness’s own robes--an effect as of
dawn-tinted tulles weighted by a tunic sewn over with rose rubies. Her
hair she had wrapped about her head like a splendid coronet. To the
handle of the jasper-like staff to be carried with the costume she
had fastened the tiny dynamo of a full-blown, scarlet rose and in the
ribbon of one silver sandal, just over the high-arched instep, had
tied a closed, pearl-dewed bud. Upon Adeline’s verdict of “Exquisite,
madame!” she had studied the mercury lest any possibility of further
effect be neglected. The reflection was of a woman-soul, young, fresh,
hopeful as the early morn, yet already aglow from the red realizations
of her noon-day.
His Majesty received her alone in the throne-room. Among fulsome
compliments he interspersed his gratification that she had not awaited
a summons from him.
Dolores was more surprised by this affability than she should have been
by any new truculence. For the first moments she found herself overcome
by what she had prepared to overcome in him--indignation.
“Then you did not really suspect me last night?”
He lifted a protesting hand. “You wouldn’t deprive me of that pleasure?
Can’t you conceive how much rivals are enjoyed by the admirer who need
have no fear?” He descended the dais to substantiate the claim in the
mirror.
After he had placed the prime minister’s chair for her, she gave him
her answer. She would accept the office of Low Priestess.
At the quiet pronouncement a gleam lit the steel of his eyes.
“I am glad,” said he. “Sooner or later--probably sooner _than_ later--I
should have made you accept it. However, it is gratifying that you have
done so, shall we say, _near_-voluntarily? You make me hope that----”
He bent his head and looked into her face. Soon he finished in the
smooth voice of a hierophant expounding his doctrine.
“You make me hope several things of you. From your viewpoint I ought
to despise you for last night’s discovery that your vamping mania
has consumed a soldier from my ranks doddering enough to be your
grandfather.”
“You are too intelligent to believe that,” she flashed.
“Nice work for an earthly audience. But it’s not to your interest to
convince me. I am too delighted to find you worse than you at times
appear. Did you notice down in the world that the virtuous women keep
the devotion of their men? I guess not. One difference between me and
male earthlings is that I own up to a depravity which they are taught
from birth to deny. The worse I think you, the longer you’re likely to
hold me. Pray let me dream on!”
“To hold--_you?_”
Something of sincerity in his voice forced the query. Instantly she
regretted it.
“That _naïveté_ is your cleverest trick,” he approved. “You probably
guessed long before I did my--ah--dishonorable intentions. Since you
ask, I don’t mind declaring them here and now.”
“Oh, no, not now--not here!”
With the protest she got to her feet and turned toward the door. But
she was stopped by the compelling look of him.
“Why should I be willing to invest you with a power equal almost to my
own? Am I likely to overlook how much more deadly is the female than
the male--how much faster you will grow in sin than I have done, once
you are well started? Should I risk your attempting to overthrow me by
not making our interests one?”
She did not answer his questions. And she asked none other. She stood,
perforce, waiting to hear that of which instinct had warned her all
along.
He began again in different vein. “I’ve been mighty lonely down here
these last few thousand years. You see, I’ve never been appreciated or
understood. The moment I saw you that terrible Tuesday--or was it a
tragic Thursday?--I appreciated that you were different. To have the
sympathy and approval of a woman-soul like you----” He interrupted
with a laugh at himself. “But there, I’ll leave that ‘lonely,’
‘misunderstood’ old plea for the husbands of the world to tell other
men’s wives. The truth is, you have convinced me that I’ve missed a
whole lot. Much as I despise weaknesses, I have come to feel that one
would be a luxury. Dolores, I want to love you.”
“But I don’t want you to.” She stepped back from him.
“And I want you,” he continued imperturbably, “to want to love me. I
could have made you do so long ago, just as your hypnotic osteopath
could have done, but I’d not be satisfied with that brand. Come, give
the devil his due!”
All she gave him was silence. He watched her while continuing.
“In the close relationship which I propose, you’ll have greater
opportunity to quip my curiosity and compel my admiration. Should I
tire of you our community of interests will bind me to you much as
earthlings are bound in that state called--Fairest fiend, I ask you to
become my queen.”
“_No!_”
Dolores was dismayed beyond all discretion. She tried to throw off the
clutch which he laid upon her arm.
“You’d be wiser to conceal your aversion,” he advised. “You are going
to accept me whether you wish to or not, just as you have accepted the
office of Low Priestess. In both cases the answer was settled before
the proposition was put. And it is a fair proposition, this last. I am
positively anxious to care for you as much as I can--more, if anything,
than I intend to make you care for me. ‘He that leadeth into captivity
shall go into captivity.’ Don’t you see? I have acknowledged my wish
for one weakness to give you every chance for graceful consent. With
me it is now or never. I feel that you are the one woman-shade who
can teach me--well, what I wish to know. But you won’t get a second
chance. The Great-I-Am is a softy to give man a second chance in the
Redemption. I shall not be that soft regarding you.”
As still she spoke no word, he urged more stressfully:
“Have you no ambition that you scorn the queenship of the Universe?
That’s what my offer means. I have taken none into the secret of
my Great Intention. And until I feel that we are one in spirit as
in state, I shall not fully confide in you. But I’ll say that the
day of my deliverance is close at hand. Soon my supremacy shall be
established from everlasting to everlasting. Ruthlessness shall rule
before the time of the end. How long, do you suppose, can He stand who
is self-acknowledged to be all this weakness called love, against The
Hate, which am I?”
The question he blazed into her eyes, now uplifted to the demand of his.
“Little fool, how dare you hesitate? Consider what you are and who I
am--your smallness and my greatness. Consider Eternity. Hell is my
home-land. I have conquered Earth. High Heaven only is to gain. The
time is near when the Castling from Paradise shall return unto his
own. Judgment shall be damned on that day. And I shall be Jehovah. The
Day--_The Day_!”
In an ecstasy of egoism, he caught the spirit-girl by the shoulders;
willed her up the steps and into his great carved chair.
“Sit you in the seat of the mighty,” he ordered. “Learn the sensation
of gracing a throne. Queen of three worlds--_my_ queen--accept the
salute of your most abject slave!”
Sinking to one knee he lowered his lips to her bare ankle. The spot
they pressed stung as though from nettles, then turned redder than the
rose-bud tied against her instep.
“I am a suppliant, Queen Dolores--I who never was a suppliant before.”
His lips increased in ardor through the contact. “I need you. I want
you. But I want you to acknowledge the need of me. Always have I jeered
at mortal men who plead for favor. I don’t know what’s come over me. I
could take you and make you and break you all in one flash of my will.
And yet--I ask you, Dolores. I _ask_ you.”
The spirit-girl realized that the time had come for her to speak, but
she could not force her tongue. Gone was her self-reliance of the early
dawn. She had come prepared, but not for this. Overwhelmed she felt by
his declaration as she had not been by his threats.
The sensation was familiar; recalled those days of uncertainty in the
Cabot home when she had been tried by the evasive ways of John. Then
her fear had been for him and, through him, for herself. Now he and she
were included only as infinitesimal atoms in the universal disaster
that impended.
Look high as Heaven, look low as Hell, she was afraid.
“How dark it is growing!” She shuddered.
“Is it so dark you cannot see that I am on my knees, still asking you?”
“How can you ask me, when you know where my heart belongs?”
His lips lifted over his fang-like teeth, in sudden reversion to type.
“No heart that I want can belong anywhere else,” he snarled. “You have
seen that mongrel lover of yours turn yellow with cowardice.”
“I have seen him,” she corrected, “conquer cowardice.”
“We won’t quibble. The obstinacy of the female heart is more often a
fault than a virtue. Open your mind to conviction. Can you imagine
me feeling cowardice? I’ve tried to give you an idea of how bad I
am. At least I have shown enough inherent evil to awaken some slight
admiration.”
“But our standards are very different, Your Lowness. I don’t admire
this ruthlessness you boast. The sensations from love and hate are very
much alike, they say. Isn’t it possible that you are mistaken in the
absolutism of your wickedness? Don’t you suppose that you are capable
of a pulse-beat of mercy for one who----”
The flash of lightning that shivered through the thickening gloom of
the great room seemed to illuminate her broken query with significance.
The answering rumble of thunder was no less menacing than his reply.
“This is heresy. You weaken your capacity for sin with every such
thought. Good as you are, I’ll make you in time bad as I am. As the
queen-consort you shall become the wickedest thought of my mind, the
most vicious desire of my soul. Deadlier than death, you shall give and
keep giving life to my love. Undying love--that would be a delicate
morsel, would it not, little gourmet of the hearts of men?”
“All real love is undying,” she maintained.
Her eyes held on the distant curtain. Its alternating electric stripes
were writhing like snakes, as if tormented by a wind stronger than its
dynamo.
“At least, passion is not. Undying passion--that would be something new
even to you, eh? Do you remember, siren, my mention of an ‘experiment’?”
Dolores, at the look that was lapping her face, shrank back into the
throne chair. At the burn of his hands as they pressed her outline from
waist to shoulders, a scream broke from control. But even as she was
impelled forward and down, her terror became exorcised by the lure in
the look of him. That most destructive of all forces--the brute force
of evil thought--bent her knees; loosened her clutch of the chair-arms;
drew downward her face. Almost had her lips met his in a loathing, yet
longing soul-caress----
The semi-gloom was lit by many kilowatts of light. The curtain was torn
apart. From the entrance door a tall man-spirit fought his way. A
cursing demon pack surrounded him. To his legs clung the dwarfs of the
Gehennan gate. Lightnings from the storm without followed him, as steel
slivers follow a magnet. Disheveled, wild of eye from the fury of his
fight, unannounced and undeterred, he forced his way to the dais steps.
“At last--_John_!”
Sad from the very intensity of her gladness rang the bell tones of
Dolores’ salutation. At sight of her beloved she had found herself;
had broken the evil spell put upon her; had risen from the throne. She
stood with hands outstretched, a visualization of that composite called
a woman’s heart. Ethereal as the fabric of her gown shone her face and
forehead. Rose red as the mesh of rubies that girdled her glowed her
lips. And from the deep purple of her eyes all mystery cleared--a royal
revelation.
But John Cabot did not accept the invitation of her hands. He did not
ascend the steps. In silence he returned her gaze. In his ears still
rang the scream which had brought him strength to worst the hellion
guards. His mind hurt from the sobs of the love-lad and Innocentia,
huddled in horror outside the door. His eyes saw only the picture hung
before his entry of a lady downbent and a kneeling knight, their lips
about to meet.
He lifted his regard to the magnificent figure looming negligently
behind the throne-chair. Gray eyes met black, a soundless clash of iron
and steel.
Satan snapped the pause. “So--you have joined us, after all?”
“Sir,” said John, “you have the advantage over me.”
“I have, indeed, as will develop on acquaintance. I believe you have
already met her known as Grief to Men. Suppose you bow before the queen
to be.”
John’s gaze returned to the prayer for forgiveness on Dolores’ face.
His leonine head leaned as if to hear the quiver of her lips. The great
soul of him saw more than his eyes had seen. He granted the prayer,
took the offered hand; bent before the spirit of the woman he had
loved until his kiss swept her finger-tips.
“Dolores, I have come to you. On Earth I was too weak in flesh to show
the strength of my regard for you. But you should not have distrusted
and deserted me. Didn’t you realize, from your own desolation, how hard
it was for me to stay away?”
“Afterward I realized,” she murmured. “Too late I knew.”
“I was fighting your enemies, myself chief among them. I had determined
to save your good name. It was ironical that the friend who tried to
help me ruined both your life and mine. Had I known about the child,
even though I could not have freed myself by law, I should have
declared you my wife before the world--not as I’d have wished, but in a
binding pact. Dolores, I have come to tell you----”
“So we observe,” slashed His Majesty’s sword-sharp voice. “And might
I inquire just why you presume to come to this lady--you who have a
perfectly bad wife on Earth?”
“I am divorced by death.”
John continued to look only at her whose good-faith was the _sine qua
non_ of his desire. She, he could see, was eager to hear him, despite
her apparent fear of the Machiavellian presence. To her he spoke, low
and rapidly.
“I found myself in a burning plane at sea. I seemed to hear your voice
calling me from far away. But the shortcut I tried to take to you has
proved the longest way. When I learned that you had been assigned to
Gehenna and I by special license to the Fields, I went mad with rage.
That you should be damned and I rewarded for the selfsame crime was
unspeakable! They could not drive me back. To be spiritually chained
to earth would be bad enough, yet that would have a mortal limit. Even
Mors does not seem to know the date of the Second Call. A century
on Earth is accounted only an hour here. To wait around in futile
transitions from fear to hope--from hope to fear----”
“Why didn’t you go on when you had a chance”--again Satan
interposed--“on toward that nice place called Paradise?”
“Dolores, you are my Paradise--lost and regained, though not yet
redeemed. I have come to redeem you.”
“_Christ!_” Malice sounded close behind the Satanic sneer. “Just what
is your claim, redeemer?”
At last John Cabot answered him directly. “I want justice for this
woman-soul. I want it _now_. I demand that you release her.”
“You _want_? _You_ demand? And you contend that she belongs to the
Fields, she compared with whom the ‘mother of harlots’ was a saint in a
niche?”
“You lie!”
At the suppressed fury of John’s declaration, noxious fumes began to
spread from the Belial glare.
“A strong word to use over a mere disparity in point of view. However,
your compliment sounded genuine and I thank you. Sorry that your demand
must be denied. Law of the land, you know.”
“The best thing about most laws is that they can be broken,” John
asserted. “I cannot conceive of a great intellect that would not except
this case, once it was explained. A woman who never had an unclean
thought or an impulse that was not wholly kind has been sent into
Badlands, while each of those who contributed to her fall has been
reinstated in the opinion of men. A shop vulture has made a virtue of
his vulturing. An alleged man of God----”
“Don’t go through the list,” His Majesty objected. “I’ve had many a
laugh over the choice assortment. Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief,
richman, poorman, beggar-man----”
“Thief?” John interrupted in his turn. “I am the thief. And even
I, the most culpable of all, have ‘come back’ in the opinion of my
fellows--have been rewarded as was everybody concerned in her ruin.”
“Yes, even down to that delightful old woman who was so anxious to get
her gas bill paid.”
At the King’s interjection, Dolores sank back into the throne-chair.
Against its high back he leaned for support in his loudening laughter.
John Cabot did not laugh. With each peal of Satan’s mirth, his frown
darkened.
“I am not afraid of you and your ridicule. If the double-standard rule
is the law to which you refer--if that holds beyond the jurisdiction of
Earth--then doubly do I intend to break it.”
“_You_ intend? Really, you are--too funny--funnier than all--the rest!”
His Majesty struggled for control of his risibilities. “Allow me to say
that your visit, although something of a surprise to one who does not
often have ’em, is not unwelcome. It is, in fact, almost too gratifying
to be true. You’re a bold, if not bad man. I have need of your sort. Of
course, you’ll have to be born again. All good men must be regenerated
down here.”
“You don’t intend, then--” Dolores half turned--“that he shall go back?”
“My poor child, do you expect me to flout the gift of Providence--even
one sent down like this, C. O. D.? He has about as much chance of going
back, this snuffed flame of yours, as you yourself.”
Stiffening from his negligent pose, he seated himself upon one arm of
the throne-chair and leaned over her confidentially.
“Mayhap you and I would have been even more companionable had you
appreciated how much I, too, have longed for the coming of John Cabot.
Perhaps it is foolish of me, but I find I’m just a bit jealous of your
quondam lovers. I’d like to have them all down here as sort of safety
valves when I get bad and mad. Having only John, I’d be less than
inhuman to give up taking it out on him. Besides that great experiment
on myself, there’s a lesser one I wish to try out on you. Now, now,
sweet Grief, don’t worry! Nothing painful. Rather one whose success
will bring you delight.”
“Please to--tell me--what you mean?” faltered Dolores.
“I’ve noticed that when the only man a woman earthling ever really
loved demises--shuffles quite beyond her reach, you know--she proceeds
to love, as soon as she can locate him, the second only ever man. I’d
like to demonstrate that the rule holds down here. You wouldn’t be true
to type if you didn’t have a lingering sort of affection for every one
of your ex-onlies.”
“But I don’t see----”
“I make John die a second death before your eyes, in order that he be
regenerated unto sin. I crunch to dust the bones of his spirit. I tear
to bits the sinews of his soul. When you see him an unrecognizable heap
in the morgue of Gehenna, will you like me, do you suppose now, more or
less?”
At her failure to reply, he sauntered toward the nearest mirror;
there carefully adjusted his red cravat. Evidently reassured by the
magnificence of his reflection, he added amiably enough:
“That Judge Strang was no more a sport than am I. He took a long chance
on you after one short look. After the some few looks I’ve had, I’ll
take a longer one. What say you, fair fiend? Be a sport, too. Come,
let’s make it a bet!”
Her response was a worded moan. “Why, John--_why_ did you come?”
For a moment His Majesty considered the drooping, dusk-crowned head.
“Evidently,” he made remark to whom it might concern, “she doesn’t
consider mine a betting proposition.”
As if suddenly aware of the hellion guard cluttering the great room, he
amused himself driving them back against the highly-charged curtains.
John Cabot mounted the dais steps; removed the girl-soul’s hands from
her face; held them while he bent to look into her eyes.
“You are my mate,” he said. “You have been tried--tempted, perhaps. But
I believe in you. You swore once to believe in me. Do you remember?
Come with me, Dolores. Let me fight your way up to the Fields as I
fought mine down. Have courage to come.”
“I’d only hold you back,” she sighed.
“The harder the fight, the dearer the victory,” he urged. “And we
should be together. Does that mean nothing to you? Whatever your fate,
I should feel honored to share it--to serve you through Eternity in
atonement. Where faith lives there is love.”
“Faith?” A rasping sob shook her--or was it a laugh? “Faith, he says,
is the fear of fools.”
“Faith is fear? I do not understand.”
“Yes. Fools pretend faith because they fear. But nobody really believes
in anything down here. Everybody fears--fears despair. He’ll never let
me go. You must leave me if you can. Lean low and listen. Later you’ll
understand.”
She caught his arm; shook like a reed with her whisper.
“God sacrificed his only begotten Son, they say, to try to save the
world. You must sacrifice your hope of me to try to save----”
“_Damn you!_”
The curse was addressed to the king--the first Dolores ever had heard
from the lips of John Cabot. Satan had approached soundlessly; with his
charged forefinger and thumb had flicked the intruder on the brow.
“Save your vitriol. I’m already damned,” he answered with consummate
insolence.
John, blinking confusedly, straightened. The impulses of his late life
still controlled him. With the flash of a puma’s instinct, he leaped
upon the First of Fiends.