BEFORE LEPRAYLYA
One by one, in twos and threes and then in a body, the small craft
had dropped behind, and now we were alone on the black waters, across
which, from the shores and from many of the boats, came quivering lines
of light.
"It must be the eclipse," said Rhodes, "that has affected the Dromans
in this manner so remarkable. It is plain, Bill, that there is
something about this sudden darkness that is mysterious and awful to
these Hypogeans. It must be that it is in some way a most extraordinary
eclipse."
It _was_ a most extraordinary eclipse, and there _was_ something awful
about it--something more awful than we thought. And what troubled me
the most was this: they seemed to think that we men from the World
Above had something to do with this dread darkness--already one of far
longer duration than any eclipse any living Droman had ever known.
Indeed, none such had been recorded for what we would call centuries,
and the last had been the harbinger of the most fearful calamities.
We knew full well that some superstition was pointing a fell finger
in our direction; but through the mind of neither flickered the
thought that this eclipse might so to speak, be metamorphosed into a
death-charge against us.
As we were drawing in to the palace, a heavy voice came across the
water. On the instant the rowers rested on their oars. Our commander
answered the hail, the heavy voice came again, whereupon the oars were
dipped and our craft glided in toward the landing-place.
This hailing, by the way, was pure formality, for they on the island
knew who we were.
"What a scene!" said Milton Rhodes, his eyes shining. "What a moment,
old _tillicum_, is this for you and me! We shall never, in all
likelihood, know another such as this is!"
Like a great lovely water-bird, our boat swung in to the landing-place,
where she was at once made fast.
And then it was that another strange thing happened.
Rhodes and I stepped from the boat together. Since the light had gone
out in that fierce and terrible flash, not the faintest glimmer had
shone overhead, anywhere. But hardly had _we_ set foot on the island
when there came a flash wrathful and awful.
For a few moments, for the flash seemed to travel along the roof for
many miles, the palace and the other buildings there, the people, and
there were two or three hundreds, the water, the city, the distant
walls of rock stood out in bold relief, as though in the glare of
leperous fire. Then utter darkness again. It was like, and yet,
strangely enough, very unlike too, a lightning-flash; but no thunder
roared, not the faintest sound was heard.
Again shot and quivered that leperous light.
And this time cries broke out, cries that fear and horror wrung from
the Dromans.
It was, indeed, an awful moment and an awful scene.
"It looks," said Milton, "as though they think that the world is coming
to an end."
"Certainly," I nodded, looking about me a little anxiously, "it seems
that they think just that. Look at Drorathusa!"
Again she was standing with arms extended upward, as we had seen her
at the mouth of the great cave, and once more that strange, eerie
voice of hers came sounding. Every one else there, save Rhodes and
myself and a little girl who was clinging to Drorathusa's dress, was
kneeling. Little wonder that, as I looked upon that scene, with the
leperous light flashing and shaking and quivering through the darkness,
I thought, for some moments, it must all be a dream.
The flashes became more frequent. The light began to turn opalescent
and to shoot and quiver and shake up along the roof.
Then of a sudden the eclipse--what other word is there to use?--had
passed and all was bright once more.
For some moments, there was silence, utter, resting on the place like
something tangible. Arose a murmur of gladness, and then a song,
started by Drorathusa herself, of thanksgiving. Every one, I believe,
joined in this anthem, or whatever it should be called, and the voices,
rising and falling, produced upon us twain from another world, though
we understood but a single word, an effect strange and pronounced.
That single word which we understood was _zur_, which means light.
This word is remarkable not only as being a monosyllable--Drome, of
course, is another--in this language of polysyllables but also for a
resemblance that will be set forth by the following, which I take from
the writings of the great scientist Sir John Herschel:
"In a conversation held some years ago by the author of these pages
with his lamented friend, Dr. Hawtrey, Head-Master and late Provost of
Eton College, on the subject of Etymology, I happened to remark that
the syllable _Ur_ or _Or_ must have some very remote origin, having
found its way into many languages, conveying the sense of something
absolute, solemn, definite, fundamental, or of unknown antiquity, as
in the German words _Ur-alt_ (primeval), _Ur-satz_ (a fundamental
proposition), _Ur-theil_ (a solemn judgment)--in the Latin _Oriri_
(to arise), _Origo_ (the origin), _Aurora_ (the dawn)--in the Greek
_Opos_ (a boundary, a mountain, the extreme limit of our vision, whence
our _horizon_), _Opaw_ (to see), _Opoos_ (straight, just, right),
_Opkos_ (an oath or solemn sanction), _Opai_ (the seasons, the great
natural divisions of time), etc. 'You are right,' was his reply, 'it
is the oldest of all words; the first word ever recorded to have been
pronounced. It is the Hebrew for LIGHT ... AOR.'"
And there, down in Drome, is the word _zur_, and it means light. Whence
came that word _zur_ into the Droman language? Its semblance to _ur_ or
_or_ or _aor_ is unequivocal. Is that semblance a mere coincidence? Or
did these syllables have a common origin?
Of course, there is no answer forthcoming. In all likelihood, there
never will be an answer.
Periods of gloom are by no means a rarity in Drome, so lamps are
always kept in readiness, and no Droman would think of beginning a
journey into a dense forest without some kind of lamp, lantern or
torch. Gloom, then, they accept as a matter of course; but in utter
darkness their minds are a prey to fear and to something akin to
horror. Superstition is rampant in Drome, and some of the worst species
of it have their origin in these very eclipses. Among this strange, and
in some ways truly wonderful, people, there is an astonishing mingling
of good sense, a genuine love for some branches of science, and a
belief in omens, portents, prodigies and other things of that kind,
that would make your hair stand up on end.
Probably you will better understand that scene which I have just
described--that in the utter darkness--and better understand that one
which was so soon to follow when I say that one of their old prophets,
as it is recorded in their sacred writings, foretold a time when the
light is to go out to shine no more--a time when Drome is to be in a
darkness that will last forever and forever.
The song ended, Drorathusa came over and placed herself between Rhodes
and me; and then we quitted that landing-place, ascended a short flight
of steps, passed through a most beautiful court and then, having
ascended more steps, entered the palace itself.
Our little party was conducted straight to the throne-room.
And straight down the great central aisle we went and stood at last
before the queen herself.
[Illustration: And what were the thoughts of the queen as she saw
before her two men from another world?]