_HELENA __AGAIN._
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When my uncle came out to his morning meal, a strange transformation had
taken place. He was buoyant and cheerful; his face was radiant with a
pleasing vivacity. Indeed he was absolutely mirthful. Martha regarded him
with profound astonishment, which gave way to fear that the dear old man
had lost his reason, when he burst out into the following speech:
“Rejoice, my friends! rejoice, my children! I have got it fixed. I see our
way clearly out of all our troubles. Get ready, as quickly but as quietly
as you can, to leave this horrible place. Be silent as the grave. A ship
will be ready for us on Sunday afternoon; and while these mad people are
yelling in their vile amphitheatre, she will weigh anchor, slip her cable,
and with Mary on board and angels smiling on the voyage, her prow will
point steadily for the land of Gaul.”
During this speech he was rubbing his hands with glee; and at the
conclusion of it he waved them over his head in an excited manner. His
listeners showed by their silence and the tears in their eyes what they
thought of this singular conduct.
“Come, come!” said the old man, resuming his usual gravity, “I am in
earnest. God has revealed what I must do, in a dream. I know exactly where
Mary is. She is well and will soon be happy. You must obey me. Ask me no
questions. Trust in me implicitly. All will be right.”
Seeing Beltrezzor so thoroughly in earnest, the little group became
hopeful and cheerful, and proceeded with alacrity to make preparations for
the sudden and strange journey. Beltrezzor went out into the city, and was
incessantly occupied in arranging and working for his remarkable
enterprise. He barely came home to sleep at night, so much had he to do in
so little time.
He continued as vivacious as ever. His spirits, his hope, his assurance,
seemed to rise every hour. At last, the evening before the Sabbath, the
little party with their baggage were quietly transferred after nightfall
from the house of Salothel to a beautiful new ship anchored away up at the
very end of the long pier which adorns the river front of Antioch.
When they were all safe on board the vessel, Beltrezzor took Martha into
the cabin, and opening a closet, he showed her several boxes of rosewood
bound with brass bands.
“This,” he said, “is full of golden coins of various sizes and value. This
contains jewels of incalculable splendor wrought by the greatest
artificers in the East. This conceals precious stones of great beauty and
high price. And this last contains some genuine diamonds, brought from the
remotest India, and which would excite the envy of kings and queens.
“Here are the keys to them all. Take them.”
“And all this immense wealth,” said Martha in amazement.
“One half of it is for you and Mary.”
“And the other half?”
“Is for the man who brings Mary to this vessel to-morrow and conducts it
to Gaul.”
“Oh, generous uncle; and for yourself?”
“Something far more valuable than all that.”
My uncle returned to the house of Salothel to sleep, fearing lest its
sudden evacuation should excite the suspicion of the neighbors. Several
servants also, bribed to profound secrecy, were to remain until after the
Sabbath. Beltrezzor was obliged to move with great caution. A single false
step might ruin everything. If the parties who were plotting the
destruction of Mary obtained the least clue to his movements, his whole
scheme might be thwarted. Mary would be given to the lion, the rest seized
and perhaps murdered, and his splendid estate confiscated. He could not
sleep a moment under the weight of such tremendous responsibilities.
It was the next morning, the day of the Jewish Sabbath, when the grand
exhibition was to take place at the amphitheatre, that I arrived at
Antioch. Just as my uncle was leaving the house for ever, he met me at the
door. I thought he would have started from me as from a ghost. But he was
one of those quiet men whom nothing ever surprised. He gave me a sedate
but cordial welcome, just as if he had been expecting me. He had
difficulty in calming my excitement and fury when I learned what a
shocking fate was impending over my youngest and most beautiful sister.
He would not tell me anything about the means he had adopted for Mary’s
deliverance. I was very restive under this burden of secrecy and mystery.
“Be quiet, my son,” he said, “or you will mar all. You have come into the
fight too late to understand the exact state of the parties and to take
command. Be patient. Do the part I give you. Do it well, and trust to me
for the rest. We must not be seen together, for you may be watched, and
that might betray me. You must not go to the ship until the hour of
starting, for you might be followed there, and that might ruin us both.
“Stay in the house until nearly four o’clock. At four o’clock precisely be
at the north-east angle of the amphitheatre on the opposite side of the
street. You will see a chariot standing there with the letter G in gilt
upon its side. A servant will be holding a gray horse a few paces off. At
four, precisely, two persons will come out of one of the rear doors of the
amphitheatre. They will enter the chariot and drive away rapidly. Mount
the horse and follow them. Ten minutes afterward you will be in the arms
of your sisters!”
I was very much dissatisfied with this arrangement. I felt that the stake
was too immense and sacred for the whole work to be left to the knowledge,
the discretion and the energy of one man. But my uncle was resolute in
keeping his plan for Mary’s deliverance entirely to himself. He bade me
adieu. There was a singular tenderness in his words:
“Good-bye, Lazarus. I need not conceal from you the fact that there is
danger in this enterprise. You may never see me again. You will take care
of your sisters in my place. Be honest, be faithful, be good. If my plan
succeeds, this will be the greatest, happiest day of my life. Courage!
Adieu.”
The old sweet smile irradiated his face, and he went off as gayly as if he
were going to a feast instead of entering upon a dangerous enterprise.
I went up stairs in the now deserted house of Salothel, and sat down at an
open window, looking out on a beautiful public square. At any other time I
would have been delighted with the scene. My heart would have been cheered
by the tender green of the soft grass, by the rustling of the leaves in
the wind, and the twittering of the birds among the branches. I would have
admired the splendid domes and spires of Antioch rising all around above
the tree-tops, and the brilliant tints of an eastern sky flecked with
fantastic and fleecy clouds.
But the glories of nature and art were alike powerless on a spirit sunk
into the deepest abyss of sorrow and fear. My heart was full of the direst
forebodings. The morning hours passed gloomily away. My restlessness
became insupportable. It must have been about noon, when, looking down
into the public square, I saw a young man seated upon one of the iron
benches, whose face immediately riveted my attention. It was my old friend
and fellow-student, Demetrius, the brother of Helena.
A powerful temptation immediately assailed me. It was to do something for
my poor sister independently of Beltrezzor’s schemes, so that if one
failed the other might succeed. One resource only seemed so little to
depend upon. I was nearly frantic waiting thus in idleness for the
fruition of an unknown plan which might fail at the very moment when its
success was expected.