He paused,--then resumed in calmer accents,--"You judge rightly, reverend sir,--I am a stranger in Al-Kyris. I entered the city-gates this morning when the sun was high,--and ere noon I found courteous welcome and princely shelter,--I am the guest of the poet Sah-luma."

The old man looked at him half compa.s.sionately.

"Ah, Sah-luma is thine host?" he said with a touch of melancholy surprise in his tone--"Then wherefore art thou here? ... here in this dark abode where none may linger and escape with life? ... how earnest thou within the bounds of Lysid's fatal pleasaunce! ... Has the Laureate's friendship thus misguided thee?"

Theos hesitated before replying. He was again moved by that curious instinctive dread of hearing Sah-luma's name a.s.sociated with any sort of reproach,--and his voice had a somewhat defiant ring as he answered:

"Nay, surely I am neither child nor woman that I should weakly yield to guidance or misleading! Some trifling matter of free-will remains to me in spite of mine affliction,--and that I have supped with Sah-luma at the Palace of the High Priestess, has been as much my choice as his example. Who among men would turn aside from high feasting and mirthful company? ... not I, believe me! ... and Sah-luma's desires herein were but the reflex of mine own. We came together through the woodland, and parted but a moment since..."

He stopped abruptly, startled by a sudden clash as of steel and the tramp-tramp of approaching feet. His aged companion caught him by the arm...

"Hush!" he whispered.. "Not a word more.. not a breath! ... or thy life must pay the penalty! Quick,--follow me close! ... step softly! ...

there is a hiding-place near at hand where we may couch unseen till these dread visitants pa.s.s by."

Moving stealthily and with anxious precaution, he led the way to a niche hollowed deeply out in the thickness of the wall, and turning his lamp aside so that not the faintest glimmer of it could be perceived, he took Theos by the hand, and drew him into what seemed to be a huge cavernous recess, utterly dark and icy cold.

Here, crouching low in the furthest gloom, they both waited silently,--Theos ignorant as to the cause of the sudden alarm, and wondering vaguely what strange new circ.u.mstance was about to happen.

The measured tramp-tramp of feet came nearer and nearer, and in another moment the flare of smoking torches illumined the vaulted pa.s.sage, casting many a ruddy flicker and flash on the ivory-gleaming whiteness of the vast skeleton army that stood with such grim and pallid patience as though waiting for a marching signal.

Presently there appeared a number of half-naked men, carrying short axes stained with blood,--coa.r.s.e, savage, cruel-looking brutes all, whose lowering faces bore the marks of a thousand unrepented crimes,--these were followed by four tall personages clad in flowing white robes and closely masked,--and finally there came a band of black slaves clothed in vivid scarlet, dragging between them two writhing, bleeding creatures,--one a man, the other a girl in her earliest youth, both convulsed by the evident last agonies of death.

Arrived at the centre of that part of the vault where the skeleton crowd was thickest, this horrible cortege halted, while one of the masked personages undid from his girdle a large bunch of keys. And now Theos, watching everything with dreadful interest from the obscure corner where he was, thanks to his unknown friend, successfully concealed, perceived for the first time a low, iron door, heavily barred, and surmounted by sharp spikes as long as drawn daggers. When this dreary portal was, with many a jarring groan and clang, slowly opened, such an awful cry broke from the lips of the tortured man as might have wrung compa.s.sion from the most hardened tyrant. Wresting himself fiercely out of the grasp of the slaves who held him, he struggled to his feet, while the blood poured from the cruel wounds that were inflicted all over his body, and raising his manacled hands aloft he cried..

"Mercy! ... mercy! ... not for me, but for her! ... for her, my love, my life, my tenderest little one! ... What is her crime, ye fiends? ...

why do ye deem love a sin and pa.s.sion a dishonor? ... Shall there be no more heart-longings because ye are cold? ... Spare her! ... she is so young, so fond, so innocent of all reproach save one, the shame of loving me! Spare her! ... or, if ye will not spare, slay her at once!

... now!--now, with swift compa.s.sionate sword, . . but cast her not alive into yon hideous serpent's den! ... not alive! ... ah no, no,--ye G.o.ds have pity! ..."

Here his voice broke and a sudden light pa.s.sed over his agonized countenance. Gazing steadfastly at the girl, whose beautiful, white body now lay motionless on the cold stone, with a cloud of fair hair falling veil-like over it, his eyes seemed to strain themselves out of their sockets in the intensity of his eager regard, when all at once he gave vent to a wild peal of delirious laughter and exclaimed..

"Dead.. dead! ... Thanks be to the merciless G.o.ds for this one gift of grace at the last! Dead.. dead! ... O the blessed favor and freedom of death! ... Sweetheart, they can torture thee no more.. no more! ... Ah, devils that ye are!" and his voice grown frantically loud, pierced the gloomy arches with terrible resonance, as he saw the red-garmented slaves vainly endeavoring to rouse, with ferocious blows and thrusts, new life in the fair, stiffening corpse before them.. "This time ye are baffled! ... Baffled!--and I live to see your vanquishment! Give her to me!" and he stretched out his trembling arms ... "Give her...she is dead--and ye cannot offer to Nagaya any lifeless thing! I will weave her a shroud of her own gold hair--I will bury her softly away in the darkness--I will sing to her as I used to sing in the silent summer evenings, when we fancied our secret of forbidden love unknown,--and with my lips on hers, I will pray.. pray for the pardon of pa.s.sion grown stronger...than...life! ..."

He ceased, and swaying forward, fell, . . a shiver ran through his limbs...one deep, gasping sigh...and all was over. The band of torturers gathered round the body, uttering fierce oaths and exclamations of dismay.

"Both dead!" said one of the individuals in white.. "'Tis a most fatal augury!"

"Fatal indeed!" said another, and turning to the men with the blood stained axes, he added angrily--"Ye were too swift and lavish of your weapons--ye should have let these criminals suffer slowly inch by inch, and yet have left them life enough wherewith to linger on in anguish many hours."

The wretches thus addressed looked sullen and humiliated, and approaching the two corpses, would have brutally inflicted fresh wounds on them, had not the seeming chief of the party interfered.

"Let be.. let be!" he said austerely--"Ye cannot cause the dead to feel, . . would that it were possible! Then might the glorious and G.o.d like thirst of vengeance in our great High Priestess be somewhat more appeased in this matter. For the unlawful communion of love between a vestal virgin and an anointed priest cannot be too utterly abhorred and condemned,--and these twain, who thus did foully violate their vows, have perished far too easily. The sanct.i.ty of the Temple has been outraged, . . Lysia will not be satisfied, . . and how shall we pacify her righteous wrath, concerning this too tranquil death of the undeserving and impure?"

Drawing all together in a close group they held a whispered consultation, and finally, appearing to have come to some sort of decision, they took up the dead bodies one after another, and flung them carelessly into the dark aperture lately unclosed. As they did this, a stealthy, rustling sound was heard, as of some great creature moving to and fro in the far interior, but they soon locked and barred the iron portal once more, and then took their departure rather hurriedly, leaving the vault by the way Theos had entered it--namely, up the stone stairway that led into Lysia's palace-gardens. As the last echo of their retreating steps died away and the last glimmer of their lurid torches vanished, Theos sprang out from his hiding-place,--his venerable companion slowly followed.

"Oh, G.o.d! Can such things be!" he cried loudly, reckless of all possible risk for himself as his voice rang penetratingly through the deep silence--"Were these brute-murderers actual men?--or but the wandering, grim shadows of some long past crime? ... Nay,--surely I do but dream!--and ghouls and demons born out of nightmare-sleep do vex my troubled spirit! Justice! ... justice for the innocent! ... Is there none in all Al-Kyris?"

"None!" replied the old man who stood beside him, lamp in hand, fixing his dark, melancholy eyes upon him as he spoke--"None! ... neither in Al-Kyris nor in any other great city on the peopled earth! Justice? ...

I who am named Zuriel the Mystic, because of my tireless searching into things that are hidden from the unstudious and unthinking,--I know that Justice is an idle name,--an empty braggart-word forever on the mouths of kings and judges, but never in their hearts! Moreover,--what is guilt? ... What is innocence? Both must be defined according to the law of the realm wherein we dwell,--and from that law there can be no appeal. These men we lately saw were the chief priests and executioners of the Sacred Temple,--they have done no wrong--they have simply fulfilled their duty. The culprits slain deserved their fate,--they loved where loving was forbidden,--torture and death was the strictly ordained punishment, and herein was justice,--justice as portioned out by the Penal Code of the High Court of Council."

Theos heard, and gave an expressive gesture of loathing and contempt.

"O narrow jurisdiction! ... O short-sighted, false equity!" he exclaimed pa.s.sionately. "Are there different laws for high and low? ...

Must the weak and defenceless be condemned to death for the self-same sin committed openly by their more powerful brethren who yet escape scot-free? What of the High Priestess then? ... If these poor lover-victims merited their doom, why is not Lysia slain? ... Is not SHE a willingly violated vestal? ... doth SHE not count her lovers by the score? ... are not her vows long since broken? ... is not her life a life of wanton luxury and open shame? ... Why doth the Law, beholding these things, remain in her case dumb and ineffectual?"

"Hush, hush, my son!" said the aged Zuriel anxiously--"These stone walls hear thee far too loudly,--who knows but they may echo forth thy words to unsuspected listeners! Peace--peace! ... Lysia is as much Queen, as Zephoranim is King of Al-Kyris; and surely thou knowest that the sins of tyrants are accounted virtues, so long as they retain their ruling powers? The public voice p.r.o.nounces Lysia chaste, and Zephoranim faithful; who then shall dare to disprove the verdict?--'Tis the same in all countries, near and far,--the law serves the strong, while professing to defend the weak. The rich man gains his cause,--the beggar loses it,--how can it be otherwise, while l.u.s.t of gold prevails?

Gold is the moving-force of this our era,--without it kings and ministers are impotent, and armies starve, . . with it, all things can be accomplished even to the concealment of the foulest crimes. Come, come! ..." and he laid one hand kindly on Theos's arm, "Thou hast a generous and fiery spirit, but thou shouldst never have been born into this planet if thou seekest such a thing as Justice! No man will ever deal true justice to his fellow man on earth, unless perhaps in ages to come, when the old creeds are swept away for a new, and a grander, wider, purer form of faith is accepted by the people. For religion in Al-Kyris to-day is a hollow mockery,--a sham, kept up partly from fear,--partly from motives of policy,--but every thinker is an atheist at heart, . . our splendid civilization is tottering towards its fall, . . and should the fore-doomed destruction of this city come to pa.s.s, vast ages of progress, discovery, and invention will be swept away as though they had never been!"

He paused and sighed,--then continued sorrowfully--"There is, there must be something wrong in the mechanism of life,--some little hitch that stops the even wheels,--some curious perpetual mischance that crosses us at every turn,--but I doubt not all is for the best, and will prove most truly so hereafter!"

"Hereafter!" echoes Theos bitterly ... "Thinkest thou that even G.o.d, repenting of the evil He hath done, will ever be able to compensate us by any future bliss, for all the needless anguish of the Present?"

Zuriel looked at him with a strange, almost spectral expression of mingled pity, fear, and misgiving, but he offered no reply to this home-thrust of a question. In grave silence and with slow, majestic tread he began to lead the way along through the dismal labyrinth of black, winding arches, holding his blue lamp aloft as he went, the better to lighten the dense gloom.

Theos followed him, silent also, and wrapped in stern, and mournful musings of his own, . . musings through which faint threads of pale recollection connected with his past glimmered hazily from time to time, perplexing rather than enlightening his bewildered brain.

Presently he found himself in a low, narrow vestibule illumined by the bright yet soft radiance of a suspended Star,--and here, coming close up with his guide and observing his dress and manner more attentively, he suddenly perceived a shining SOMETHING which the old man wore hanging from his neck and which flashed against the sable hue of his garment like a wandering moonbeam.

Stopping abruptly, he examined this ornament with straining, wistful gaze, . . and slowly, very slowly, recognized its fashion of construction,--it was a plain silver Cross--nothing more. Yet at sight of the sacred, strange, yet familiar Symbol, a chord seemed to snap in his brain,--tears rushed to his tired eyes, and with a sharp cry he fell on his knees, grasping his companion's robe wildly, as a drowning man grasps at a floating spar,--while the venerable Zuriel, startled at his action, stared down upon him in evident amazement and terror.

"Rescue! ... rescue!" he cried, ... "O thou blessed among men!--thou dost wear the Sign of Eternal Safety! ... the Sign of the Way, the Truth, and the Life! ... 'without the Way, there is no going, without the Truth there is no knowing, without the Life there is no living'!

Now do I know thee for a saint in Al-Kyris,--for thou dost openly avow thyself a follower of the Divine Faith that fools despise, and selfish souls repudiate, . . ah, I do beseech thee, thou good and holy man, absolve me of my sin of Unbelief! Teach me! ... help me! ... and I will hear thy counsels with the meekness of a listening child! ..See you, I kneel! ... I pray! ... I, even I, am humiliated to the very dust of shame! I have no pride, . . I seek no glory, ... I do entreat, even as I once rejected the blessing of the Cross, whereby I shall regain my lost love,--my despised pardon,--my vanished peace!"

And, with pathetic earnestness, he raised his hands toward the silver emblem, and touched it tenderly, reverently, ... then as though unworthy, he bent his head low, and waited eagerly for a Name, . . a Name that he himself could not remember, . . a Name suggested by the Cross, but not declared. If that Name were once spoken in the form of a benediction, he felt instinctively that he would straightway be released from the mysterious spell of misery that bound his intelligence in such a grievous thrall. But not a word of consolation did his companion utter, . . on the contrary, he seemed agitated by the strangest surprise and alarm.

"Now may all the G.o.ds in Heaven defend thee, thou unhappy, desperate, distracted soul!" he said in trembling, affrighted accents. "Thou dost implore the blessing of a Faith unknown! ... a Mystery predicted but not yet fulfilled...a Creed that shall not be declared to men for full FIVE THOUSAND YEARS!"

CHAPTER XXI.

THE CRIMSON RIVER.

At these unexpected words Theos sprang wildly to his feet. An awful darkness seemed to close in upon him,--and a chaotic confusion of memories began to whirl and drift through his mind like flotsam and jetsam tossed upon a storm-swept sea. The aged and shadowy-looking Zuriel stood motionless, watching him with something of timid pity and mild patience.

"FIVE THOUSAND YEARS!" he muttered hoa.r.s.ely, pressing his hands into his aching brows, while his eyes again fixed themselves yearningly on the Cross.. "Five thousand years before.... before WHAT?"

He caught the old man's arm, and in spite of himself, a laugh, wild, discordant, and out of all keeping with his inward emotions, broke from his parched lips,--"Thou doting fool!" he cried almost furiously,--"Why dost thou mock me then with this false image of a hope unrealized? ...

Who gave thee leave to add more fuel to my flame of torment? ... What means this symbol to thine eyes? Speak.. speak! What admonition does it hold for thee? ... what promise? ... what menace? ... what warning? ...

what love? ... Speak.. speak! O, shall I force confession from thy throat, or must I die unsatisfied and slain by speechless longing! What didst thou say? ... FIVE THOUSAND YEARS? ... Nay, by the G.o.ds, thou liest!"--and he pointed excitedly to the sacred Emblem,--"I tell thee that Holy Sign is as familiar to my suffering soul as the chiming of bells at sunset! ... as well known to my sight as the unfolding of flowers in the fields of spring! ... What shall be done or said of it, in five thousand years, that has not already been said and done?"

Zuriel regarded him more compa.s.sionately than ever, with a penetrating, mournful expression in his serious dark eyes.

"Alas, alas, my son! thou art most grievously distraught!" he said in troubled tones. "Thy words but prove the dark disorder of thy wits,--may Heaven soon heal thee of thy mental wound! Restrain thy wild and wandering fancies? ... for surely thou canst not be familiar, as thou sayest with this silver Symbol, seeing that it is but the Talisman [Footnote: The Cross was held in singular veneration in the Temple of Serapis, and by many tribes in the East, ages before the coming of Christ] or Badge of the Mystic Brethren of Al-Kyris, and has no signification whatsoever save for the Elect. It was designed some twenty years ago by the inspired Chief of our Order, Khosrul, and such as are still his faithful disciples wear it as a record and constant reminder of his famous Prophecy."

Theos heard, and a dull apathy stole over him,--his recent excitement died out under a chilling weight of vague yet bitter disappointment.

"And this Prophecy?" he asked listlessly.. "What is its nature and whom doth it concern?"