/Stricken/ dumb with a ghastly supernatural terror which far exceeded
any ordinary sense of fear, he gazed at her, spellbound, his blood
freezing, his very limbs stiffening, for now--now she looked like the
picture he had painted of her; and Death--Death, livid, tortured and
horrible, stared at him skull-wise from the transparent covering of
her exquisitely tinted seeming-human flesh. Larger and brighter and
wilder grew her eyes as she fixed them on him, and her voice rang
through the silence with an unearthly resonance as she spoke and said:
“Welcome, my lover, to this abode of love! Welcome to these arms, for
whose embraces your covetous soul has thirsted unappeased! Take all of
me, for I am yours!--aye, so truly yours that you can never escape
me!--never separate from me--no! not through a thousand thousand
centuries! Life of my life! Soul of my soul! Possess me, as I possess
you!--for our two unrepenting spirits form a dual flame in Hell which
must burn on and on to all eternity! Leap to my arms, master and
lord,--king and conqueror! Here, here!” and she smote her white arms
against her whiter bosom. “Take all your fill of burning
wickedness--of cursed joy! and then--sleep! as you have slept before,
these many thousand years!”
Still mute and aghast he stared at her; his senses swam, his brain
reeled, and then slowly, like the lifting of a curtain on the last
scene of a dire tragedy, a lightning thought, a scorching memory,
sprang into his mind and overwhelmed him like a rolling wave that
brings death in its track. With a fierce oath he rushed towards her,
and seized her hands in his--hands cold as ice and clammy as with the
dews of the grave.
“Ziska! Woman! Devil! Speak before you drive me to madness! What
passion moves you thus--what mystic fooling? Into what place have I
been decoyed at your bidding? Why am I brought hither? Speak,
speak!--or I shall murder you!”
“Nay!” she said, and her slight swaying form dilated and grew till she
seemed to rise up from the very ground and to tower above him like an
enraged demon evoked from mist or flame. “You have done that once! To
murder me twice is beyond your power!” And as she spoke her hands
slipped from his like the hands of a corpse newly dead. “Never again
can you hurl forth my anguished soul unprepared to the outer darkness
of things invisible; never again! For I am free!--free with an
immortal freedom--free to work out repentance or revenge,--even as Man
is free to shape his course for good or evil. He chooses evil; I
choose revenge! What place is this, you ask?” and with a majestic
gliding motion she advanced a little and pointed upward to the
sparkling gold-patterned roof. “Above us, the Great Pyramid lifts its
summit to the stars; and here below,--here where you will presently
lie, my lover and lord, asleep in the delicate bosom of love--here. …”
She paused, and a low laugh broke from her lips; then she added slowly
and impressively:
“Here is the tomb of Araxes!”
As she spoke, a creeping sense of coldness and horror stole into his
veins like the approach of death,--the strange impressions he had
felt, the haunting and confusing memory he had always had of her face
and voice, the supernatural theories he had lately heard discussed,
all rushed at once upon his mind, and he uttered a loud involuntary
cry.
“My God! What frenzy is this! A woman’s vain trick!--a fool’s mad
scheme! What is Araxes to me?--or I to Araxes?”
“Everything!” replied Ziska, the vindictive demon light in her eyes
blazing with a truly frightful intensity. “Inasmuch as ye are one and
the same! The same dark soul of sin--unpurged, uncleansed through ages
of eternal fire! Sensualist! Voluptuary! Accursëd spirit of the man I
loved, come forth from the present Seeming-of-things! Come forth and
cling to me! Cling!--for the whole forces of a million universes shall
not separate us! O Eternal Spirits of the Dead!” and she lifted her
ghostly white arms with a wild gesture. “Rend ye the veil! Declare to
the infidel and unbeliever the truth of the life beyond death; the
life wherein ye and I dwell and work, clamoring for late justice!”
Here she sprang forward and caught the arm of Gervase with all the
fierce eagerness of some ravenous bird of prey; and as she did so he
knew her grasp meant death.
“Remember the days of old, Araxes! Look back, look back from the
present to the past, and remember the crimes that are still unavenged!
Remember the love sought and won!--remember the broken
heart!--remember the ruined life! Remember the triumphs of war!--the
glories of conquest! Remember the lust of ambition!--the
treachery!--the slaughter!--the blasphemies against high Heaven!
Remember the night of the Feast of Osiris--the Feast of the Sun!
Remember how Ziska-Charmazel awaited her lover, singing alone for joy,
in blind faith and blinder love, his favorite song of the Lotus-Lily!
The moon was high, as it is now!--the stars glittered above the
Pyramids, as they glitter now!--in the palace there was the sound of
music and triumph and laughter, and a whisper on the air of the fickle
heart and changeful mood of Araxes; of another face which charmed him,
though less fair than that of Ziska-Charmazel! Remember, remember!”
and she clung closer and closer as he staggered backward half
suffocated by his own emotions and the horror of her touch. “Remember
the fierce word!--the quick and murderous blow!--the plunge of the
jewelled knife up to the hilt in the passionate white bosom of
Charmazel!--the lonely anguish in which she died! Died,--but to live
again and pursue her murderer!--to track him down to his grave wherein
the king strewed gold, and devils strewed curses!--down, down to the
end of all his glory and conquest into the silence of yon
gold-encrusted clay! And out of silence again into sound and light and
fire, ever pursuing, I have followed--followed through a thousand
phases of existence!--and I will follow still through limitless space
and endless time, till the great Maker of this terrible wheel of life
Himself shall say, ‘Stop! Here ends even the law of vengeance!’ Oh,
for ten thousand centuries more in which to work my passion and prove
my wrong! All the treasure of love despised!--all the hope of a life
betrayed!--all the salvation of heaven denied! Tremble, Soul of
Araxes!--for hate is eternal, as love is eternal!--the veil is down,
and Memory stings!”
She turned her face, now spectral and pallid as a waning moon, up to
him; her form grew thin and skeleton-like, while still retaining the
transparent outline of its beauty; and he realized at last that no
creature of flesh and blood was this that clung to him, but some
mysterious bodiless horror of the Supernatural, unguessed at by the
outer world of men! The dews of death stood thick on his forehead;
there was a straining agony at his heart, and his breath came in quick
convulsive gasps; but worse than his physical torture was the
overwhelming and convincing truth of the actual existence of the
Spiritual Universe, now so suddenly and awfully revealed. What he had
all his life denied was now declared a certainty; where he had been
deaf and blind, he now heard and saw. Ziska! Ziska-Charmazel! In very
truth he knew he remembered her; in very truth he knew he had loved
her; in very truth he knew he had murdered her! But another still
stranger truth was forcing itself upon him now; and this was, that the
old love of the old old days was arising within him in all its
strength once more, and that he loved her still! Unreal and terrible
as it seemed, it was nevertheless a fact, that as he gazed upon her
tortured face, her beautiful anguished eyes, her phantom form, he felt
that he would give his own soul to rescue hers and lift her from the
coils of vengeance into love again! Her words awoke vibrating
pulsations of thought, long dormant in the innermost recesses of his
spirit, which, like so many dagger-thrusts, stabbed him with a myriad
recollections; and as a disguising cloak may fall from the figure of a
friend in a masquerade, so his present-seeming personality dropped
from him and no longer had any substance. He recognized himself as
Araxes--always the same Soul passing through a myriad changes,--and
all the links of his past and present were suddenly welded together in
one unbroken chain, stretching over thousands of years, every link of
which he was able to count, mark, and recognize. By the dreadful light
of that dumb comprehension which flashes on all parting souls at the
moment of dissolution, he perceived at last that not the Body but the
Spirit is the central secret of life,--not deeds, but thoughts evolve
creation. Death? That was a name merely; there was no death,--only a
change into some other form of existence. What change--what form would
be his now? This thought startled him--roused him,--and once again the
low spirit-voice of his long-ago betrayed and murdered love thrilled
in his ears:
“Soul of Araxes, cling to my soul!--for this present life is swiftly
passing! No more scorn of the Divine can stand whither we are
speeding, for the Terrible and Eternal Truth overshadows us and our
destinies! Closed are the gates of Heaven,--open wide are the portals
of Hell! Enter with me, my lover Araxes!--die as I died, unprepared
and alone! Die, and pass out into new life again--such life as
mine--such torture as mine--such despair as mine--such hate as mine!
…”
She ceased abruptly, for he, convinced now of the certainty of
Immortality, was suddenly moved to a strange access of courage and
resolution. Something sweet and subtle stirred in him,--a sense of
power,--a hint of joy, which completely overcame all dread of death.
Old love revived, grew stronger in his soul, and his gaze rested on
the shadowy form beside him, no longer with horror but with
tenderness. She was Ziska-Charmazel,--she had been his love--the
dearest portion of his life--once in the far-off time; she had been
the fairest of women--and more than fair, she had been faithful! Yes,
he remembered that, as he remembered Her! Every curve in her beautiful
body had been a joy for him alone; and for him alone her lips, sweet
and fresh as rosebuds, had kept their kisses. She had loved him as few
women have either heart or strength to love, and he had rewarded her
fidelity by death and eternal torment! A struggling cry escaped him,
and he stretched out his arms:
“Ziska! Forgive--forgive!”
As he uttered the words, he saw her wan face suddenly change,--all the
terror and torture passed from it like a passing cloud,--beautiful as
an angel’s, it smiled upon him,--the eyes softened and flashed with
love, the lips trembled, the spectral form glowed with a living
luminance, and a mystic Glory glittered above the dusky hair! Filled
with ecstasy at the sight of her wondrous loveliness, he felt nothing
of the coldness of death at his heart,--a divine passion inspired him,
and with the last effort of his failing strength he strove to gather
all the spirit-like beauty of her being into his embrace.
“Love--Love!” he cried. “Not Hate, but Love! Come back out of the
darkness, soul of the woman I wronged! Forgive me! Come back to me!
Hell or Heaven, what matters it if we are together! Come to me,--come!
Love is stronger than Hate!”
Speech failed him; the cold agony of death gripped at his heart and
struck him mute, but still he saw the beautiful passionate eyes of a
forgiving Love turned gloriously upon him like stars in the black
chaos whither he now seemed rushing. Then came a solemn surging sound
as of great wings beating on a tempestuous air, and all the light in
the tomb was suddenly extinguished. One instant more he stood upright
in the thick darkness; then a burning knife seemed plunged into his
breast, and he reeled forward and fell, his last hold on life being
the consciousness that soft arms were clasping him and drawing him
away--away--he knew not whither--and that warm lips, sweet and tender,
were closely pressed on his. And presently, out of the heavy gloom
came a Voice which said:
“Peace! The old gods are best, and the law is made perfect. A life
demands a life. Love’s debt must be paid by Love! The woman’s soul
forgives; the man’s repents,--wherefore they are both released from
bondage and the memory of sin. Let them go hence, the curse is
lifted!”
* * * *
Once more the wavering ghostly light gave luminance to the splendor of
the tomb, and showed where, fallen sideways among the golden treasures
and mementoes of the past, lay the dead body of Armand Gervase. Above
him gleamed the great jewelled sarcophagus; and within touch of his
passive hand was the ivory shield and gold-hilted sword of Araxes. The
spectral radiance gleamed, wandered and flitted over all things,--now
feebly, now brilliantly,--till finally flashing with a pale glare on
the dark dead face, with the proud closed lips and black level brows,
it flickered out; and one of the many countless mysteries of the Great
Pyramid was again hidden in impenetrable darkness.
* * * *
Vainly Denzil Murray waited next morning for his rival to appear. He
paced up and down impatiently, watching the rosy hues of sunrise
spreading over the wide desert and lighting up the massive features of
the Sphinx, till as hour after hour passed and still Gervase did not
come, he hurried back to the Mena House Hotel, and meeting Dr. Maxwell
Dean on the way, to him poured out his rage and perplexity.
“I never thought Gervase was a coward!” he said hotly.
“Nor should you think so now,” returned the Doctor, with a grave and
preoccupied air. “Whatever his faults, cowardice was not one of them.
You see, I speak of him in the past tense. I told you your intended
duel would not come off, and I was right. Denzil, I don’t think you
will ever see either Armand Gervase or the Princess Ziska again.”
Denzil started violently.
“What do you mean? The Princess is here,--here in this very house.”
“Is she?” and Dr. Dean sighed somewhat impatiently. “Well, let us
see!” Then, turning to a passing waiter, he inquired: “Is the Princess
Ziska here still?”
“No, sir. She left quite suddenly late last night; going on to Thebes,
I believe, sir.”
The Doctor looked meaningly at Denzil.
“You hear?”
But Denzil in his turn was interrogating the waiter.
“Is Mr. Gervase in his room?”
“No, sir. He went out about ten o’clock yesterday evening, and I don’t
think he is coming back. One of the Princess Ziska’s servants--the
tall Nubian whom you may have noticed, sir--brought a message from him
to say that his luggage was to be sent to Paris, and that the money
for his bill would be found on his dressing-table. It was all right,
of course, but we thought it rather curious.”
And glancing deferentially from one to the other of his questioners
with a smile, the waiter went on his way.
“They have fled together!” said Denzil then, in choked accents of
fury. “By Heaven, if I had guessed the plan already formed in his
treacherous mind, I would never have shaken hands with Gervase last
night!”
“Oh, you did shake hands?” queried Dr. Dean, meditatively. “Well,
there was no harm in that. You were right. You and Gervase will meet
no more in this life, believe me! He and the Princess Ziska have
undoubtedly, as you say, fled together--but not to Thebes!”
He paused a moment, then laid his hand kindly on Denzil’s shoulder.
“Let us go back to Cairo, my boy, and from thence as soon as possible
to England. We shall all be better away from this terrible land, where
the dead have far more power than the living!”
Denzil stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“You talk in riddles!” he said, irritably. “Do you think I shall let
Gervase escape me? I will track him wherever he has gone,--I daresay I
shall find him in Paris.”
Dr. Dean took one or two slow turns up and down the corridor where
they were conversing, then stopping abruptly, looked his young friend
full and steadily in the eyes.
“Come, come, Denzil. No more of this folly,” he said, gently. “Why
should you entertain these ideas of vengeance against Gervase? He has
really done you no harm. He was the natural mate of the woman you
imagined you loved,--the response to her query,--the other half of her
being; and that she was and is his destiny, and he hers, should not
excite your envy or hatred. I say you _imagined_ you loved the
Princess Ziska,--it was a young man’s hot freak of passion for an
almost matchless beauty, but no more than that. And if you would be
frank with yourself, you know that passion has already cooled. I
repeat, you will never see Gervase or the Princess Ziska again in this
life; so make the best of it.”
“Perhaps you have assisted him to escape me!” said Denzil frigidly.
Dr. Dean smiled.
“That’s rather a rough speech, Denzil! But never mind!” he returned.
“Your pride is wounded, and you are still sore. Suspect me as you
please,--make me out a new Pandarus, if you like--I shall not be
offended. But you know--for I have often told you--that I never
interfere in love matters. They are too explosive, too vitally
dangerous; outsiders ought never to meddle with them. And I never do.
Come back with me to Cairo. And when we are once more safely
established on the solid and unromantic isles of Britain, you will
forget all about the Princess Ziska; or if you do remember her, it
will only be as a dream in the night, a kind of vague shadow and
uncertainty, which will never seriously trouble your mind. You look
incredulous. I tell you at your age love is little more than a vision;
you must wait a few years yet before it becomes a reality, and then
Heaven help you, Denzil!--for you will be a troublesome fellow to deal
with! Meanwhile, let us get back to Cairo and see Helen.”
Somewhat soothed by the Doctor’s good-nature, and a trifle ashamed of
his wrath, Denzil yielded, and the evening saw them both back at the
Gezireh Palace Hotel, where of course the news of the sudden
disappearance of Armand Gervase with the Princess Ziska created the
utmost excitement. Helen Murray shivered and grew pale as death when
she heard it; lively old Lady Fulkeward simpered and giggled, and
declared it was “the most delightful thing she had ever heard of!”--an
elopement in the desert was “so exquisitely romantic!” Sir Chetwynd
Lyle wrote a conventional and stilted account of it for his paper, and
ponderously opined that the immorality of Frenchmen was absolutely
beyond any decent journalist’s powers of description. Lady Chetwynd
Lyle, on the contrary, said that the “scandal” was not the fault of
Gervase; it was all “that horrid woman,” who had thrown herself at his
head. Ross Courtney thought the whole thing was “queer;” and young
Lord Fulkeward said there was something about it he didn’t quite
understand,--something “deep,” which his aristocratic quality of
intelligence could not fathom. And society talked and gossiped till
Paris and London caught the rumor, and the name of the famous French
artist, who had so strangely vanished from the scene of his triumphs
with a beautiful woman whom no one had ever heard of before, was soon
in everybody’s mouth. No trace of him or of the Princess Ziska could
be discovered; his portmanteau contained no letters or
papers,--nothing but a few clothes; his paint-box and easel were sent
on to his deserted studio in Paris, and also a blank square of canvas,
on which, as Dr. Dean and others knew, had once been the
curiously-horrible portrait of the Princess. But that appalling “first
sketch” was wiped out and clean gone as though it had never been
painted, and Dr. Dean called Denzil’s attention to the fact. But
Denzil thought nothing of it, as he imagined that Gervase himself had
obliterated it before leaving Cairo.
A few of the curious among the gossips went to see the house the
Princess had lately occupied, where she had “received” society and
managed to shock it as well. It was shut up, and looked as if it had
not been inhabited for years. And the gossips said it was “strange,
very strange!” and confessed themselves utterly mystified. But the
fact remained that Gervase had disappeared and the Princess Ziska with
him. “However,” said Society, “they can’t possibly hide themselves for
long. Two such remarkable personalities are bound to appear again
somewhere. I daresay we shall come across them in Paris or on the
Riviera. The world is much too small for the holding of a secret.”
And presently, with the approach of spring, and the gradual break-up
of the Cairo “season,” Denzil Murray and his sister sailed from
Alexandria _en route_ for Venice. Dr. Dean accompanied them; so did
the Fulkewards and Ross Courtney. The Chetwynd-Lyles went by a
different steamer, “old” Lady Fulkeward being quite too much for the
patience of those sweet but still unengaged “girls” Muriel and Dolly.
One night when the great ship was speeding swiftly over a calm sea,
and Denzil, lost in sorrowful meditation, was gazing out over the
trackless ocean with pained and passionate eyes which could see
nothing but the witching and exquisite beauty of the Princess Ziska,
now possessed and enjoyed by Gervase, Dr. Dean touched him on the arm
and said:
“Denzil, have you ever read Shakespeare?”
Denzil started and forced a smile.
“Why, yes, of course!”
“Then you know the lines--
‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy?’
The Princess Ziska was one of those ‘things.’”
Denzil regarded him in wonderment.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, of course, you will think me insane,” said the Doctor,
resignedly. “People always take refuge in thinking that those who tell
them uncomfortable truths are lunatics. You’ve heard me talk of
ghosts?--ghosts that walk and move about us like human beings?--and
they are generally very brilliant and clever impersonations of
humanity, too--and that nevertheless are _not_ human?”
Denzil assented.
“The Princess Ziska was a ghost!” concluded the Doctor, folding his
arms very tightly across his chest and nodding defiantly.
“Nonsense!” cried Denzil. “You are mad!”
“Precisely the remark I thought you would make!” and Dr. Dean unfolded
his arms again and smiled triumphantly. “Therefore, my dear boy, let
us for the future avoid this subject. I know what I know; I can
distinguish phantoms from reality, and I am not deceived by
appearances. But the world prefers ignorance to knowledge, and even so
let it be. Next time I meet a ghost I’ll keep my own counsel!” He
paused a moment,--then added: “You remember I told you I was hunting
down that warrior of old time, Araxes?”
Denzil nodded, a trifle impatiently.
“Well,” resumed the Doctor slowly,--“Before we left Egypt I found him!
But how I found him, and where, is my secret!”
* * * *
* * * *
* * * *
Society still speaks occasionally of Armand Gervase, and wonders in
its feeble way when he will be “tired” of the Egyptian beauty he ran
away with, or she of him. Society never thinks very far or cares very
much for anything long, but it does certainly expect to see the once
famous French artist “turn up” suddenly, either in his old quarters in
Paris, or in one or the other of the fashionable resorts of the
Riviera. That he should be dead has never occurred to anyone, except
perhaps Dr. Maxwell Dean. But Dr. Dean has grown extremely
reticent--almost surly; and never answers any questions concerning his
_Scientific Theory of Ghosts_, a work which, when published, created a
great deal of excitement, owing to its singularity and novelty of
treatment. There was the usual “hee-hawing” from the donkeys in the
literary pasture, who fondly imagined their brayings deserved to be
considered in the light of serious opinion;--and then after a while
the book fell into the hands of scientists only,--men who are
beginning to understand the discretion of silence, and to hold their
tongues as closely as the Egyptian priests of old did, aware that the
great majority of men are never ripe for knowledge. Quite lately Dr.
Dean attended two weddings,--one being that of “old” Lady Fulkeward,
who has married a very pretty young fellow of five-and-twenty, whose
dearest consideration in life is the shape of his shirt-collar; the
other, that of Denzil Murray, who has wedded the perfectly well-born,
well-bred and virtuous, if somewhat cold-blooded, daughter of his
next-door neighbor in the Highlands. Concerning his Egyptian
experience he never speaks,--he lives the ordinary life of the
Scottish land-owner, looking after his tenantry, considering the
crops, preserving the game, and clearing fallen timber;--and if the
glowing face of the beautiful Ziska ever floats before his memory, it
is only in a vague dream from which he quickly rouses himself with a
troubled sigh. His sister Helen has never married. Lord Fulkeward
proposed to her but was gently rejected, whereupon the disconsolate
young nobleman took a journey to the States and married the daughter
of a millionaire oil-merchant instead. Sir Chetwynd Lyle and his
pig-faced spouse still thrive and grow fat on the proceeds of the
_Daily Dial_, and there is faint hope that one of their “girls” will
wed an aspiring journalist,--a bold adventurer who wants “a share in
the paper” somehow, even if he has to marry Muriel or Dolly in order
to get it. Ross Courtney is the only man of the party once assembled
at the Gezireh Palace Hotel who still goes to Cairo every winter,
fascinated thither by an annually recurring dim notion that he may
“discover traces” of the lost Armand Gervase and the Princess Ziska.
And he frequently accompanies the numerous sight-seers who season
after season drive from Cairo to the Pyramids, and take pleasure in
staring at the Sphinx with all the impertinence common to pigmies when
contemplating greatness. But more riddles than that of the Sphinx are
lost in the depths of the sandy desert; and more unsolved problems lie
in the recesses of the past than even the restless and inquiring
spirit of modern times will ever discover;--and if it should ever
chance that in days to come, the secret of the movable floor of the
Great Pyramid should be found, and the lost treasures of Egypt brought
to light, there will probably be much discussion and marvel concerning
the Golden Tomb of Araxes. For the hieroglyphs on the jewelled
sarcophagus speak of him thus and say:--
“Araxes was a Man of Might, far exceeding in Strength and Beauty the
common sons of men. Great in War, Invincible in Love, he did Excel in
Deeds of Courage and of Conquest,--and for whatsoever Sins he did in
the secret Weakness of humanity commit, the Gods must judge him. But
in all that may befit a Warrior, Amenhotep The King doth give him
honor,--and to the Spirits of Darkness and of Light his Soul is here
commended to its Rest.”
Thus much of the fierce dead hero of old time,--but of the mouldering
corpse that lies on the golden floor of the same tomb, its skeleton
hand touching, almost grasping, the sword of Araxes, what shall be
said? Nothing--since the Old and the New, the Past and the Present,
are but as one moment in the countings of eternity, and even with a
late repentance Love pardons all.
FINIS.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
The edition published by Arrowsmith (Bristol, 1897) was referenced for
most of the fixes listed below.
Alterations to the text:
[CHAPTER I]
Change “fine,--_occcasionally_ classic,--but intelligent” to
_occasionally_.
“And that reminds me, there is _at_ fellow arrived” to _a_.
“I hate, pale-blue eyes. I prefer soft...” delete comma.
“But this _large_, soft and silvery, was like” to _laugh_.
[CHAPTER II]
“a trifle, I assure you?” change question mark to exclamation mark.
“met in one flash of mutual comprehension! then, as the...” change
exclamation mark to a semicolon.
[CHAPTER III]
“come and find me in the _upper-room_” to _supper-room_.
[CHAPTER V]
“My dear Ross you know how dull they are!” add comma after _Ross_.
“Courtney _look_ at him puzzled and baffled.” to _looked_.
[CHAPTER VI]
“and has resided there _every_ since” to _ever_.
“It is an enigma as profound as that of the _sphinx_” to _Sphinx_.
“poignard clasped in in her right hand” delete one _in_.
“addressing _his_ unfascinating object with apparent indifference” to
_this_.
[CHAPTER VII]
“You are an _uprincipled_ man, Armand” to _unprincipled_.
(“You believe in Death?” _ask_ the Princess) to _asked_.
[CHAPTER VIII]
“_Beside_, there’s something rather strange” to _Besides_.
[CHAPTER X]
“_A_ la campagne--le desert--les pyramides!” to _À_.
“has gone to _secures_ rooms at the Mena House Hotel” to _secure_.
“as though it were an _after thought_” to _afterthought_.
[CHAPTER XI]
“she _semed_ to float lazily like a creature” to _seemed_.
“to pretend to be shocked at the _proceeding_” to _proceedings_.
[CHAPTER XII]
“reviewed the emotions of the past night and _tired_ to analyze them”
to _tried_.
[CHAPTER XIII]
“Gervase _move_ aside with him” to _moved_.
[CHAPTER XIV]
“Your ‘passion,’ you see, my friend awakens” add comma after
_friend_.
(“Ah, there is the difficulty!” she said.) Merge with the paragraph
that follows.
“like a Cleopatra, _on_ any other old-world enchantress” to _or_.
[CHAPTER XV]
“his arms _was_ suddenly seized and pinioned” to _were_.
[CHAPTER XVI]
“Vainly Denzil _Marray_ waited next morning” to _Murray_.