"Nay, in very truth it is a strange and marvellous thing!" replied Zuriel, his calm voice thrilling with a mellow touch of fervor..

"Khosrul, 'tis said, has heard the angels whispering in Heaven, and his attentive ears have caught the echo of their distant speech.

"Thus spiritually instructed, he doth powerfully predict Salvation for the human race,--and doth announce, that in five thousand years or more, a G.o.d shall be moved by wondrous mercy to descend from Heaven, and take the form of Man, wherein, unknown, despised, rejected, he will live our life from commencement to finish, teaching, praying, and sanctifying by His Divine Presence the whole sin-burdened Earth. This done, He will consent to suffer a most cruel death, . . and the manner of His death will be that He shall hang, nailed hands and feet to a Cross, as though He were a common criminal, . . His holy brows shall be bound about with thorns,--and after hours of agony He, innocent of every sin, shall perish miserably--friendless, unpitied, and alone. But afterward, ... and mark you! this is the chiefest glory of all! ... He will rise again triumphant from the grave to prove his G.o.d-head, and to convince Mankind beyond all doubt an question, that there is indeed an immortal Hereafter,--an actual, free Eternity of Life, compared with which this our transient existence is a mere brief breathing-s.p.a.ce of pause and probation, . . and then for evermore His sacred Name shall dominate and civilize the world..."

"What Name?".. interrupted Theos, with eager abruptness ... "Canst thou p.r.o.nounce it?"

Zuriel shook his head.

"Not I, my son"--he answered gravely.. "Not even Khosrul can penetrate thus far! The Name of Him who is to come, is hidden deep among G.o.d's unfathomed silences! It should suffice thee that thou knowest now the sum and substance of the Prophecy. Would I might live to see the days when all shall be fulfilled! ... but alas, my remaining years are few upon the earth, and Heaven's time is not ours!"

He sighed,--and resumed his slow pacing onwards,--Theos walked beside him as a man may walk in sleep, uncertainly and with unseeing eyes, his heart beating loudly, and a sick sense of suffocation in his throat.

What did it all mean? ... Had his life gone back in some strange way?

... or had he merely DREAMED of a former existence different to this one? He remembered now what Sah-luma had told him respecting Khosrul's "new" theory of a future religion,--a theory that to him had seemed so old, so old!--so utterly exhausted and worn threadbare! In what a cruel problem was he hopelessly involved!--what a useless, perplexed, confused being he had become! ... he who would once to have staked his life on the unflinching strength and capabilities of human reason!

After a pause, . .

"Forgive me!" he said in a low tone, and speaking with some effort..

"forgive me and have patience with my laggard comprehension, . . I am perplexed at heart and slow of thought; wilt thou a.s.sure me faithfully, that this G.o.d-Man thou speakest of is not yet born on earth?"

The faintest shadow of a wondering smile flickered over the old man's wrinkled countenance, like the reflection of a pa.s.sing taper-flame on a faded picture.

"My son, my son!" he murmured with compa.s.sionate tolerance--"Have I not told thee that five thousand years and more must pa.s.s away ere the prediction be accomplished? ... I marvel that so plain a truth should thus disquiet thee! Now, by my soul, thou lookest pallid as the dead!

... Come, let us hasten on more rapidly,--thy fainting spirits will revive in fresher air."

He hurried his pace as he spoke, and glided along with such a curious, stealthy noiselessness that by and by Theos began dubiously to wonder whether after all he were a real personage or a phantom? He noticed that his own figure seemed to possess much more substantiality and distinctness of outline than that of this mysterious Zuriel, whose very garments resembled floating cloud rather than actual, woven fabric. Was his companion then a fitting Spectre? ...

He smiled at the absurdity of the idea, and to change the drift of his own foolish fancies he asked suddenly,--"Concerning this wondrous city of Al-Kyris...is it of very ancient days, and long lineage?"

"The annals of its recorded history reach over a period of twelve thousand years"--replied Zuriel, . . "But 'tis the present fashion to count from the Deification of Nagaya or the Snake,--and, according to this, we are now in the nine hundred and eighty-ninth year of so-called Grace and Knowledge,--rather say Dishonor and Crime! ... for a crueler, more bloodthirsty creed than the worship of Nagaya never debased a people! Who shall number up the innocent victims that have been sacrificed in the great Temple of the Sacred Python!--and even on this very day which has just dawned, another holocaust is to be offered on the Veiled Shrine,--or so it hath been publicly proclaimed throughout the city,--and the crowd will flock to see a virgin's blood spilt on the accursed altars where Lysia, in all the potency of triumphant wickedness, presides. But if the auguries of the stars prevail, 'twill be for the last time!" Here he paused and looked fixedly at Theos.

"Thou dost return straightway to Sah-luma ... is it not so?"

Theos bent his head in a.s.sent.

"Art thou true friend, or mere flatterer to that spoilt child of fair fame and fortune?"

"Friend!"--cried Theos with eager enthusiasm, ... "I would give my life to save his!"

"Aye, verily? ... is it so?" ... and Zuriel's melancholy eyes dwelt upon him with a strange and sombre wistfulness, ... "Then, as thou art a man, persuade him out of evil into good! ... rouse him to n.o.ble shame and n.o.bler penitence for all those faults which mar his poet-genus and deprive it of immortal worth! ... urge him to depart from Al-Kyris while there is yet time ere the bolt of destruction falls! ... and, ...

mark you well this final warning! ... bid him to-day avoid the Temple, and beware the King!"--

As he said this he stopped and extinguished the lamp he carried. There was no longer any need of it, for a broad patch of gray light fell through an aperture in the wall, showing a few rough, broken steps that led upwards,--and pointing to these he bade the bewildered Theos a kindly farewell.

"Thou wilt find Sah-luma's palace easily,"--he said--"Not a child in the streets but knows the way thither. Guard thy friend and be thyself also on guard against coming disaster,--and if thou art not yet resolved to die, escape from the city ere to-night's sun-setting.

Soothe thy distempered fancies with thoughts of G.o.d, and cease not to pray for thy soul's salvation! Peace be with thee!"--

He raised his hands with an expressive gesture of benediction, and turning round abruptly disappeared. Where had he gone? ... how had he vanished? ... It was impossible to tell! ... he seemed to have melted away like a mist into utter nothingness! Profoundly perplexed, Theos ascended the steps before him, his mind anxiously revolving all the strange adventures of the night, while a dim sense of some unspeakable, coming calamity brooded darkly upon him.

The solemn admonitions he had just heard affected him deeply, for the reason that they appeared to apply so specially to Sah-luma,--and the idea that any evil fate was in store for the bright, beautiful creature, whom he had, oddly enough, learned to love more than himself, moved him to an almost womanish apprehension. In case of pressing necessity, could he exercise any authority over the capricious movements of the wilful Laureate, whose egotism was so absolute, whose imperious ways were so charming, whose commands were never questioned?

He doubted it! ... for Sah-luma was accustomed to follow the lead of his own immediate pleasure, in reckless scorn of consequences,--and it was not likely he would listen to the persuasions or exhortations, however friendly, of any one presuming to run counter to his wishes.

Again and again Theos asked himself--"If Sah-luma of his own accord, and despite all warning, deliberately rushed into deadly peril, could I, even loving him as I do, rescue him?"--And as he pondered on this, a strange answer shaped itself unbidden in his brain--an answer that seemed as though it were spoken aloud by some interior voice..

"No,--no!--ten thousand times no! You could not save him any more than you could save yourself from the results of your own misdoing! If you voluntarily choose evil, not all the forces in the world can lift you into good,--if you voluntarily choose danger, not all the G.o.ds can bring you into safety! FREE WILL is the divine condition attached to human life, and each man by thought, word, and deed, determines his own fate, and decides his own future!"

He sighed despondingly, ... a curious, vague contrition stirred within him, ... he felt as though HE were in some mysterious way to blame for all his poet-friend's short-comings!

In a few minutes he found himself on the broad marble embankment, close to the very spot from whence he had first beheld the beautiful High Priestess sailing slowly by in all her golden pomp and splendor, and as he thought of her now, a shudder, half of aversion, half of desire, quivered through him, flushing his brows with the warm uprising blood that yet burned rebelliously at the remembrance of her witching, perfect loveliness!

Here too he had met Sah-luma, . . ah Heaven!--how many things had happened since then! ... how much he had seen and heard! ... Enough, at any rate, to convince him, that the men and women of Al-Kyris were more or less the same as those of other great cities he seemed to have known in far-off, half-forgotten days,--that they plotted against each other, deceived each other, accused each other falsely, murdered each other, and were fools, traitors, and egotists generally, after the customary fashion of human pigmies,--that they set up a Sham to serve as Religion, Gold being their only G.o.d,--that the rich wantoned in splendid luxury, and wilfully neglected the poor,--that the King was a showy profligate, ruled by a treacherous courtesan, just like many other famous Kings and Princes, who, because of their stalwart, martial bearing, and a certain surface good-nature, manage to conceal their vices from the too lenient eyes of the subjects they mislead,--and that finally all things were evidently tending toward some great convulsion and upheaval possibly arising from discontent and dissension among the citizens themselves,--or, likelier still, from the sudden invasion of a foreign foe,--for any more terrific termination of events did not just then suggest itself to his imagination.

Absorbed in thought, he walked some paces along the embankment, before he perceived that a number of people were already a.s.sembled there,--men, women, and children, who, crowding eagerly together to the very edge of the parapet, appeared to be anxiously watching the waters below.

What unusual sight attracted them? ... and why were they all so silent as though struck dumb by some unutterable dismay? One or two, raising their heads, turned their pale, alarmed faces toward Theos as he approached, their eyes seeming to mutely inquire his opinion, concerning the alarming phenomenon which held them thus spellbound and fear-stricken.

He made his way quickly to where they stood, and looking where they looked, uttered a sharp, involuntary exclamation, ... the river, the clear, rippling river was RED AS BLOOD. Beneath the slowly breaking light of dawn, that streaked the heavens with delicate lines of silver-gray and daffodil, the whole visible length and breadth of the heaving waters shone with a darkly flickering crimson hue, deeper than the l.u.s.tre of the deepest ruby, flowing sluggishly the while as though clogged with some thick and weedy slime.

As the sky brightened gradually into a pale, ethereal blue, so the tide became ruddier and more p.r.o.nounced in color,--and presently, as though seized by a resistless panic, the group of staring, terrified bystanders broke up suddenly, and rushed away in various directions, covering their faces as they fled and uttering loud cries of lamentation and despair.

Theos alone remained behind, . . resting his folded arms on the sculptured bal.u.s.trade, he gazed down, down into those crimson depths till their strange tint dazzled and confused his sight,--looking up for relief to the eastern horizon where the sun was just bursting out in full splendor from a pavilion of violet cloud, the red reflection was still before his eyes, so much so, that the very air seemed flushed with spreading fire.

And then like the sound of a tocsin ringing in his ears, the words of the Prophet Khosrul, as p.r.o.nounced in the presence of the King, recurred to his memory with new and suggestive force. "BLOOD--BLOOD!

'TIS A SCARLET SEA WHEREIN LIKE A BROKEN AND EMPTY SHIP AL-KYRIS FOUNDERS,--FOUNDERS NEVER TO RISE AGAIN!"

Still painfully oppressed by an increasing sense of some swift-approaching disaster, his thoughts once more reverted anxiously to Sah-luma. He must be warned,--yes!--even if he disdained all warning! Yet, . . warn him against what? "BID HIM AVOID THE TEMPLE AND BEWARE THE KING!"

So had said Zuriel the Mystic,--but to the laurelled favorite of the monarch, and idol of the people, such an admonition would seem more than absurd! It was useless to talk to him about the prophecies of Khosrul,--he had heard them all, and laughed them to scorn.

"How can I"--then mused Theos disconsolately,--"How can I make him believe that some undeclared evil threatens him, when he is at the very pinnacle of fame and fortune with all Al-Kyris at his feet? ... He would never listen to me, ... nor would any persuasions of mine induce him to leave the city where his name is so glorious and his renown so firmly established. Of Lysia's treachery I may perhaps convince him, ... yet even in this attempt I may fail, and incur his hatred for my pains! If I had only myself to consider! ... "--And here his reflections suddenly took a strange, unbidden turn. If he had only himself to consider! ... well, what then! Was it not just within the bounds of probability that, under the same circ.u.mstances, he might be precisely as self-willed and as haughtily opinionated as the friend whose arrogance he deplored, yet could not alter?

So pointed a suggestion was not exactly suited to his immediate humor, and he felt curiously vexed with himself for indulging in such a foolish a.s.sociation of ideas! The positions were entirely different, he argued, angrily addressing the troublesome inward monitor that every now and then tormented him,--there was no resemblance whatever between himself, the unknown, unfamed wanderer in a strange land, and the brilliant Sah-luma, chosen Poet Laureate of the realm!

No resemblance, . . none at all! ... he reiterated over and over again in his own mind, . . except ... except, ... well! ... except in perhaps a few trifling touches of character and temper that were scarcely worth the noting! At this juncture, his uncomfortable reverie was interrupted by the sound of a harsh, metallic voice close behind him.

"What fools there are in the world!" said the voice in emphatic accents of supreme contempt--"What braying a.s.ses!--What earth-snouting swine!

Saw you not yon crowd of whimpering idiots flying helter-skelter like chaff before the wind, weeping, wailing, and bemoaning their miserable little sins, scattering dust on their addled pates, and howling on their G.o.ds for mercy,--all forsooth! because for once in their un.o.bserving lives they behold the river red instead of green! Ay me!

'tis a thing to laugh at, this cra.s.s, and brutish ignorance of the mult.i.tude,--no teaching will ever cleanse their minds from the cobwebs of vulgar superst.i.tion,--and I, in common with every wise and worthy sage of sound repute and knowledge, must needs waste all my scientific labors on a perpetually ungrateful public!"

Turning hastily round Theos confronted the speaker,--a tall, spare man with a pale, clean-shaven, intellectual face, small, shrewd, speculative eyes, and very straight, neatly parted locks,--a man on whose every lineament was expressed a profound belief in himself, and an equally profound scorn for the opinions of any one who might possibly presume to disagree with him. He smiled condescendingly as he met Theos's half-surprised, half-inquiring look, and saluted him with a gravely pompous air, which however, was not without a saving touch of that indescribable, easy grace which seemed to distinguish the manners of all the inhabitants of Al-Kyris. Theos returned the salutation with equal gravity, whereupon the new-comer waving his hand majestically, continued:

"You sir, I see, are young, . . and probably you are enrolled among the advanced students of one or other of our great collegiate inst.i.tutions,--therefore the peculiar, though not at all unnatural tint of the river this morning, is of course no mystery to you, if, as I presume, you follow the Scientific Cla.s.ses of Instruction in the Physiology of Nature, of Manifestation of Simple and Complex Motive Force, and the Perpetual Evolution of Atoms?"

Theos smiled,--the grandiloquent manner of this self-important individual amused him.

"Most worthy sir," he replied, "you form too favorable an opinion of my scholarly attainments! I am a stranger in Al-Kyris,--and know naught of its educational system, or the interior mechanism of its wondrous civilization! I come from far-off lands, where, if I remember rightly, much is taught and but little retained,--where petty pedagogues persist in dragging new generations of men through old and worn-out ruts of knowledge that future ages shall never have need of, . . and concerning even the progress of science, I confess to a certain incredulity, seeing that to my mind Science somewhat resembles a straight line drawn clear across country but leading, alas! to an ocean wherein all landmarks are lost and swallowed up in blankness. Over and over again the human race has trodden the same pathway of research,--over and over again has it stood bewildered and baffled on the sh.o.r.es of the same vast sea,--the most marvellous discoveries are after all mere child's play compared to the tremendous secrets that must remain forever unrevealed; and the poor and trifling comprehension of things that we, after a life-time of study, succeed in attaining, is only just sufficient to add to our already burdened existence the undesirable clogs of discontent and disappointed endeavor. We die,--in almost as much ignorance as we were born, . . and when we come face to face with the Last Dark Mystery, what shall our little wisdom profit us?"

With his arms folded in an att.i.tude of enforced patience and complacent superiority, the other listened.

"Curious, . . curious!" he murmured in a mild sotto-voce,--"A would-be pessimist!--aye, aye,--'tis very greatly the fashion for young men in these days to a.s.sume the manner of elderly and exhausted cynics who have tried everything and approve of nothing! 'Tis a strange craze!--but, my good sir, let us keep to the subject at present under discussion. Like all unripe philosophers, you wander from the point. I did not ask you for your opinion concerning the uselessness or the efficiency of learning,--I merely sought to discover whether you, like the silly throng that lately scattered right and left of you, had any foolish forebodings respecting the transformed color of this river,--a color which, however seeming peculiar, arises, as all good scholars know, from causes that are perfectly simple and easily explainable."