The men recoiled, and lay panting from their labors on the edges of the subway. Charlie blessed his lucky stars that hidden in his clothes was a bundle of tapers used by the explorers for just such emergencies. By great good fortune, his captors had not discovered them.
“What’s to be done now, Jim?”
“Git down there and explore, but hanged if I want the job, Mr. Vance.”
“We’ll go together, Jim. Let’s see,” he mused, “What did Prof. Stone’s parchment say? ‘Beware the tank to the right where dwells the sacred crocodile, still living, although centuries have rolled by, and men have been gathered to the shades who once tended on his wants. And beware the fifth gallery to the right where abide the sacred serpents with jewelled crowns, for of a truth are they terrible,” quoted Charlie, dreamily.
“You don’t suppose this is the place you were hunting for, do you?” queried Jim, with eyes big with excitement.
“Jim, my boy, that’s a question no man can answer at this distance from the object of our search. But if it is, as I suspect, the way to the treasure will lead us to liberty, for the other end must be within the pyramid. I’m for searching this passage. Come on if you are with me.”
He lighted his taper and swung it into the abyss, disclosing steps of granite leading off in the darkness. As his head disappeared from view, Jim, with a shudder, followed. The steps led to a passage or passages, for the whole of the underground room was formed of vaulted passages, sliding off in every direction. The stairs ended in another passage; the men went down it; it was situated, as nearly as they could judge, directly beneath the room where they had been confined. Silently the two figures crept on, literally feeling their way. Shortly they came to another passage running at right angles; slowly they crept along the tunnel, for it was nothing more, narrowing until it suddenly ended in a sort of cave, running at right angles; they crossed this, halting at the further side to rest and think. Charlie looked anxiously about him for signs, but saw nothing alarming in the smooth sandy floor, and irregular contorted sides. The floor was strewn with bowlders like the bed of a torrent. As they went on, the cavern widened into an amphitheatre with huge supporting columns. To the right and left of the cave there were immense bare spaces stretching away into immense galleries. Here they paused to rest, eating sparingly of the food they had brought. “Let us rest here,” said Charlie, “I am dead beat.”
“Is it not safer to go on? We cannot be very far from the room where we were confined.”
“I’ll sit here a few moments, anyhow,” replied Charlie. Jim wandered aimlessly about the great vault, turning over stones and peering into crevices.
“What do you expect to find, Jim, the buried treasure?” laughed Charlie, as he noted the earnestness of the other’s search.
Jim was bending over something—wrenching off a great iron cover. Suddenly he cried out, “Mr. Vance, here it is!”
Charlie reached his side with a bound. There sat Jim, and in front of him lay, imbedded in the sand of the cavern’s floor, a huge box, long and wide and deep, whose rusted hinges could not withstand the stalwart Negro’s frantic efforts.
With a shuddering sigh the lid was thrust back, falling to one side with a great groan of almost mortal anguish as it gave up the trust committed to its care ages before. They both gazed, and as they gazed were well-nigh blinded. For this is what they saw:—
At first, a blaze of darting rays that sparkled and shot out myriad scintillations of color—red, violet, orange, green, and deepest crimson. Then by degrees, they saw that these hues came from a jumbled heap of gems—some large, some small, but together in value beyond all dreams of wealth.
Diamonds, rubies, sapphires, amethysts, opals, emeralds, turquoises—lay roughly heaped together, some polished, some uncut, some as necklaces and chains, others gleaming in rings and bracelets—wealth beyond the dreams of princes.
Near to the first box lay another, and in it lay gold in bars and gold in flakes, hidden by the priests of Osiris, that had adorned the crowns of queens Candace and Semiramis—a spectacle glorious beyond compare.
“The Professor’s parchment told the truth,” cried Charlie, after a few moments, when he had regained his breath. “But what shall we do with it, now we have it?” asked Jim in disconsolate tones. “We can’t carry it with us.”
“True for you, Jim,” replied Vance, sadly. “This wealth is a mockery now we have it. Jim, we’re left, badly left. Here we’ve been romping around for almost six months after this very treasure, and now we’ve got it we can’t hold it. This whole expedition has been like monkeying with a saw mill, Jim, my boy, and I for one, give in beaten. Left, I should say so; badly left, when I counted Africa a played-out hole in the ground. And, Jim, when we get home, if ever we do, the drinks are on me. Now, old man, stow some of these glittering baubles in your clothing, as I am going to do, and then we’ll renew our travels.” He spoke in jest, but the tears were in his eyes, and as he clasped Jim’s toil-hardened black hand, he told himself that Ai’s words were true. Where was the color line now? Jim was a brother; the nearness of their desolation in this uncanny land, left nothing but a feeling of brotherhood. He felt then the truth of the words, “Of one blood have I made all races of men.”
As they stooped to replace the cover, Jim’s foot knocked against an iron ring set in the sandy flooring. “I believe it’s another box, Mr. Vance,” he called out, and dropping his work, he pulled with all his might.
“Careful, Jim,” called Charlie’s warning voice. Too late! The ring disappeared at the second tug, revealing a black pit from which came the odor of musk. From out the darkness came the sweeping sound of a great body moving in wavelets over a vast space. Fascinated into perfect stillness, Vance became aware of pale emerald eyes watching him, and the sound of deep breathing other than their own. There was a wild rattle and rush in the darkness, as Jim, moving forward, flung down his taper and turned to flee.
“The serpents! The serpents! Fly for your life, Jim!” shouted Charlie, as he dashed away from the opening. Too late! There came a terrible cry, repeated again and again. Charlie Vance sunk upon the ground, overcome with horror.
CHAPTER XIX
IT must have been about one o’clock in the morning when Reuel started out of a fitful slumber by the sound of that terrible scream. He sprang to his feet and listened. He heard not a sound; all was silence within the palace. But his experience was so vivid that reason could not control his feelings; he threw wide the dividing curtains, and fled out upon the balcony. All was silence. The moonlight flooded the landscape with the strength of daylight. As he stood trying to calm himself, a shadow fell across his path, and raising his eyes, he beheld the form of Mira; she beckoned him on, and he, turning, followed the shadowy figure, full of confidence that she would show him the way to that fearful scream.
On they glided like two shadows, until the phantom paused before what seemed a solid wall, and with warning gaze and uplifted finger, bade him enter. It was a portion of the palace unfamiliar to him; the walls presented no hope of entrance. What could it mean? Mira faded from his gaze, and as he stood there puzzling over this happening, suddenly the solid wall began to glide away, leaving a yawning space, in which appeared Ai’s startled and disturbed face.
“Back!” he cried, as he beheld his King. “Back, Ergamenes! how come you here?”
“What was the cry I heard, Ai? I cannot rest. I have been led hither,” he continued, significantly. Then, noticing the other’s disturbed vision, he continued, “Tell me. I command you.”
With a murmured protest, Ai stepped aside, saying, “Perhaps it is best.”
Reuel advanced into the room. The hole in the floor was securely closed, and on the divans lay Charlie Vance, white and unconscious, and Jim Titus, crushed almost to a jelly but still alive. Abdallah and a group of natives were working over Vance, trying to restore consciousness. Reuel gave one startled, terr
ified glance at the two figures, and staggered backward to the wall.
Upon hearing that cry, Jim Titus stirred uneasily, and muttered, “It’s him!”
“He wishes to speak with you,” said Ai, gravely.
“How came they here, and thus?” demanded Reuel in threatening anger.
“They were searching for you, and we found them, too, in the pyramid. We confined them here, debating what was best to do, fearing you would become dissatisfied. They tried to escape and found the treasure and the snakes. The black man will die.”
“Are you there, Mr. Reuel?” came in a muffled voice from the dying man.
Reuel stood beside him and took his hand,—“Yes, Jim, it is I; how came you thus?”
“The way of the transgressor is hard,” groaned the man. “I would not have been here had I not consented to take your life. I am sure you must have suspected me; I was but a bungler, and often my heart failed me.”
“Unhappy man! how could you plot to hurt one who has never harmed you?” exclaimed Reuel.
“Aubrey Livingston was my foster brother, and I could deny him nothing.”
“Aubrey Livingston! Was he the instigator?”
“Yes,” sighed the dying man. “Return home as soon as possible and rescue your wife—your wife, and yet not your wife—for a man may not marry his sister.”
“What!” almost shrieked Reuel. “What!”
“I have said it. Dianthe Lusk is your own sister, the half-sister of Aubrey Livingston, who is your half-brother.”
Reuel stood for a moment, apparently struggling for words to answer the dying man’s assertion, then fell on his knees in a passion of sobs agonizing to witness. “You know then, Jim, that I am Mira’s son?” he said at length.
“I do. Aubrey planned to have Miss Dianthe from the first night he saw her; he got you this chance with the expedition; he kept you from getting anything else to force you to a separation from the girl. He bribed me to accidentally put you out of the way. He killed Miss Molly to have a free road to Dianthe. Go home, Reuel Briggs, and at least rescue the girl from misery. Watch, watch, or he will outwit you yet.” Reuel started in a frenzy of rage to seize the man, but Ai’s hand was on his arm.
“Peace, Ergamenes; he belongs to the ages now.”
One more convulsive gasp, and Jim Titus had gone to atone for the deeds done in the flesh.
With pallid lips and trembling frame, Reuel turned from the dead to the living. As he sat beside his friend, his mind was far away in America looking with brooding eyes into the past and gazing hopelessly into the future. Truly hath the poet said,—
“The evil that men do lives after them.”
And Reuel cursed with a mighty curse the bond that bound him to the white race of his native land.
* * *
One month after the events narrated in the previous chapter, a strange party stood on the deck of the out-going steamer at Alexandria, Egypt—Reuel and Charlie Vance, accompanied by Ai and Abdallah in the guise of servants. Ai had with great difficulty obtained permission of the Council to allow King Ergamenes to return to America. This was finally accomplished by Ai’s being surety for Reuel’s safe return, and so the journey was begun which was to end in the apprehension and punishment of Aubrey Livingston.
Through the long journey homeward two men thought only of vengeance, but with very different degrees of feeling. Charlie Vance held to the old Bible punishment for the pure crime of manslaughter, but in Reuel’s wrongs lay something beyond the reach of punishment by the law’s arm; in it was the accumulation of years of foulest wrongs heaped upon the innocent and defenceless women of a race, added to this last great outrage. At night he said, as he paced the narrow confines of the deck, “Thank God, it is night;” and when the faint streaks of dawn glowed in the distance, gradually creeping across the expanse of waters, “Thank God, it is morning.” Another hour, and he would say, “Would God it were night!” By day or night some phantom in his ears holloes in ocean’s roar or booms in thunder, howls in the winds or murmurs in the breeze, chants in the voice of the sea-fowl—“Too late, too late. ’Tis done, and worse than murder.”
Westward the vessel sped—westward while the sun showed only as a crimson bull in its Arabian setting, or gleamed through a veil of smoke off the English coast, ending in the grey, angry, white-capped waves of the Atlantic in winter.
CHAPTER XX
IT was believed by the general public and Mr. Vance that Molly and Dianthe had perished beneath the waters of the Charles River, although only Molly’s body was recovered. Aubrey was picked up on the bank of the river in an unconscious state, where he was supposed to have made his way after vainly striving to rescue the two girls.
When he had somewhat recovered from the shock of the accident, it was rumored that he had gone to Canada with a hunting party, and so he disappeared from public view.
But Dianthe had not perished. As the three struggled in the water, Molly, with all the confidence of requited love, threw her arms about her lover. With a muttered oath, Aubrey tried to shake her off, but her clinging arms refused to release him. From the encircling arms he saw a sight that maddened him—Dianthe’s head was disappearing beneath the waters where the lily-stems floated in their fatal beauty, holding in their tenacious grasp the girl he loved. An appalling sound had broken through the air as she went down—a heart-stirring cry of agony—the tone of a voice pleading with God for life! The precious boon of life! That cry drove away the man, and the brute instinct so rife within us all, ready always to leap to the front in times of excitement or danger, took full possession of the body. He forgot honor, humanity, God.
With a savage kick he freed himself and swam swiftly toward the spot where Dianthe’s golden head had last appeared. He was just in time. Grasping the flowing locks with one hand and holding her head above the treacherous water, he swam with her to the bank.
Pretty, innocent, tender-hearted Molly sank never to rise again. Without a word, but with a look of anguished horror, her despairing face was covered by the glistening, greedy waters that lapped so hungrily about the water-lily beds.
As Aubrey bore Dianthe up the bank his fascinated gaze went backward to the spot where he had seen Molly sink. To his surprise and horror, as he gazed the body rose to the surface and floated as did poor Elaine:
“In her right hand the lily,
—All her bright hair streaming down—
—And she herself in white,
All but her face, and that clear-featured face
Was lovely, for she did not seem as dead,
But fast asleep, and lay as tho’ she smiled.”25
Staggering like a drunken man, he made his way to a small cottage up the bank, where a woman, evidently expecting him, opened the door without waiting for his knock.
“Quick! Here she is. Not a word. I will return to-night.” With these words Livingston sped back to the river bank, where he was found by the rescuing party, in a seemingly exhausted condition.
For weeks after these happenings Dianthe lived in another world, unconscious of her own identity. It was early fall before her full faculties were once more with her. The influence which Livingston had acquired rendered her quiescent in his hands, and not too curious as to circumstances of time and place. One day he brought her a letter, stating that Reuel was dead.
Sick at heart, bending beneath the blight that thus unexpectedly fell upon her, the girl gave herself up to grief, and weary of the buffets of Fate, yielded to Aubrey’s persuasions and became his wife. On the night which witnessed Jim Titus’s awful death, they had just returned to Livingston’s ancestral home in Maryland.
It would be desecration to call the passion which Aubrey entertained for Dianthe, love. Yet passion it was—the greatest he had ever known—with its shadow, jealousy. Indifference on the part of his idol could not touch him; she was his other self, and he
hated all things that stood between him and his love.
It was a blustering night in the first part of November. It was twilight. Within the house profound stillness reigned. The heavens were shut out of sight by masses of sullen, inky clouds, and a piercing north wind was howling. Within the room where Dianthe lay, a glorious fire burnt in a wide, low grate. A table, a couch and some chairs were drawn near to it for warmth. Dianthe lay alone. Presently there came a knock at the door. “Enter,” said the pale woman on the couch, never once removing her gaze from the whirling flakes and sombre sky.
Aubrey entered and stood for some moments gazing in silence at the beautiful picture presented to his view. She was gowned in spotless white, her bright hair flowed about her unconstrained by comb or pin. Her features were like marble, the deep grey eyes gazed wistfully into the far distance. The man looked at her with hungry, devouring eyes. Something, he knew not what, had come between them. His coveted happiness, sin-bought and crime-stained, had turned to ashes—Dead-Sea fruit indeed. The cold gaze she turned on him half froze him, and changed his feelings into a corresponding channel with her own.
“You are ill, Dianthe. What seems to be your trouble? I am told that you see spirits. May I ask if they wear the dress of African explorers?”
It had come to this unhappy state between them.
“Aubrey,” replied the girl in a calm, dispassionate tone, “Aubrey, at this very hour in this room, as I lay here, not sleeping, nor disposed to sleep, there where you stand, stood a lovely woman; I have seen her thus once before. She neither looked at me nor spoke, but walked to the table, opened the Bible, stooped over it a while, seeming to write, then seemed to sink, just as she rose, and disappeared. Examine the book, and tell me, is that fancy?”
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