Ah! with what different sensations one views the mighty events of life after the lapse of years. Happenings which at the time seemed most momentous have dwindled into insignificance; seeming calamities are known to have been blessings; mighty problems, then apparently impossible of solution, are now seen as but trifles to be easily brushed away.
In some such way I look back upon my Thibetan experiences; but the time has not yet come when I can think calmly of the sight upon which my eyes rested as I gazed from the old, grey tower of the lamasery of Psam-dagong, when after that night of terror, the sunlight came at last. We were all there—all but Maurice. Where he was God alone could tell. The Doctor and I stood together looking over the parapet; old Padma paced up and down, grinding his infernal prayer wheel; Ni-fan-lu and his brother lamas were there with other prayer wheels; Ah Schow was there, taking in the situation with all the stoical indifference of his race. Walla Benjow was there also. She stood apart, white and silent, gazing upon the mighty sweep of water which surrounded the lamasery on every side. Thus it will be seen that the worst had happened and nothing remained for us but to bravely face the situation. Then, as never before, I admired the Doctor’s perfect self-possession. Though I knew the man to be utterly selfish, I now leaned upon him as a tower of strength, for he could talk to these strange people and I could not.
“It is right about there the lake is, Wylde,” he said, pointing off at a gap in the mountain range which flanked the lamasery on the north. “There are several of these lakes, Padma tells me, and it is the one nearest, which is also on the lowest level, that has broken away. Into this the upper lakes are pouring their contents steadily, and until they are drained off, the water will continue to rise. A hard frost may save us, but in the event of soft weather for the next forty-eight hours we shall be drowned out to a dead certainty. In fact there don’t seem to be much help for us anyhow, as the temperature has been on the rise since midnight, and if those clouds mean anything it is rain before noon.”
You see the Doctor had been questioning Padma and now drew near to tell me the result.
I saw the waters come.
We were all at the top of the tower within five minutes after the startling cry which burst from the lips of Ni-fan-lu, as he came rushing down the stairs.
When we first reached our point of observation I could see nothing which I had not seen already.
There were the mountains, there at our feet lay the snow-white plains glistening in the moonlight; above us were more stars than I ever imagined the firmament contained previous to my entrance into this desolate land; and there, half way between the zenith and the snowy peaks, was Mars.
Instinctively my gaze became riveted upon the planet. I forgot our danger; I heard not the Doctor’s violent exclamations, I was deaf even to Walla’s weeping; I could think only of Maurice—Maurice and the man Mirrikh—of the mighty mystery in which I had become involved.
Were they there? Were they actually there? Had I been there? Had I seen what I had seen, or was it all the outcome of the fearful strain to which my nervous system had been subjected? Perhaps it was hypnotism. Perhaps Padma to pacify me had made me see it? But no. There was the Doctor. He had seen it too.
Thus I pondered as I gazed, the voices of the lamas sounding like the confused murmur of a distant crowd, when all at once a wild shout went up.
“Look! Look!” roared the Doctor, “there it comes! There it comes at last!”
He caught my arm and pointed to the gap in the snow-clad range, which before had been but a dark blot upon the endless wall of white, and there I saw something flash; something of dazzling brilliancy upon which the moonbeams fell with silvery glare.
Then all at once a mighty roar burst upon the stillness and I saw it rise higher—higher—yet higher! A torrent was rushing through the gap into the valley below.
But the valley was invisible and as yet there was no water and a low range of foothills lay between us and the flood. Would it not be drained off by the valley? Would not the foothills form an effectual barrier of defence? I put these questions to the Doctor, and he put them to Padma, who answered—“No!”
There was no hope, it seemed; and then I learned the story of the lake, whose name, be it understood, was Dshambi; the “nor” being simply the Thibetan word for any large body of fresh water. To my surprise I found that it was not, properly speaking, a lake, but an artificial reservoir; or rather a series of reservoirs, the water being held in check by walls of masonry, the lowest one of which had now given way. These walls were built ages before, Padma said; in fact as near as I could make out he regarded the reservoirs as prehistoric, claiming for them an antiquity of more than ten thousand years. Of course, not being an archæologist I do not pretend to judge of this, and will merely state that Padma further declared that the plains below Psam-dagong were once the seat of a vast population. He told of underground ruins beneath the sand, referred to a buried city whose wants these lakes had supplied; adding that the walls had long been in a highly dangerous condition, and that for this reason Psam-dagong lost its prestige and became practically deserted, for pilgrims from the adjoining valleys feared to visit it, and without the offerings of the pious pilgrim no lamasery could live.
We continued to watch; the moments creeping slowly on until the grey of dawn began to appear in the east. All this time we could see the water rushing down the awful precipice, foaming and tearing into the valley. In that treeless region there was absolutely nothing to stay it, nothing in the least to interfere with its progress until it should reach Psam-dagong.
And it came!
At last I saw it trickling down the foothills; the valley behind was but a hollow, enclosed on all sides; this we knew must now be full. Faster and faster it came, but it came steadily; the foothills formed a dam of perhaps half a mile in length, over which the water soon began to descend with a continuous flow, filling the ravines on either side of the table upon which the lamasery stood, until now all landmarks had vanished and we were in the midst of water, flowing past us with noiseless but steady rush. Slowly it rose, but the rise was steady; as I gazed down over the parapet of the old tower I could see that it was almost on a level with the base of the lamasery walls.
Meanwhile I had returned several times to the underground chamber to examine the condition of Maurice's body. There was no change in its appearance. I could not think otherwise than that my friend was dead.
“We shall have to make the best of it,” I said, in response to the Doctor’s statement of the facts of the situation. “Did you learn from Padma what we most particularly wanted to know?”
“About the means of escape?”
“Yes.”
“I asked him.”
“Well, what did he say?”
“He said to tell you that you need be under no alarm, that there are secrets connected with Psam-dagong of which Ni-fan-lu and the other lamas know nothing, that there is no danger whatever of our perishing in the flood.”
“Well, upon my word, why couldn’t you say so before! If there is hope why not let me have it? It is not kind, Doctor, to keep me in suspense at a time like this.”
“Why, to tell the truth, I do not altogether believe him,” said the Doctor. “I questioned the old fellow sharply, and it is my belief he’s a blessed falsifier. I could not make head or tail of what he said.”
“But what was the drift of it? Does he expect the water to fall?”
“No; not under any circumstances until the lakes are empty. He says the lamasery will surely be overwhelmed—perhaps swept away.”
“My God! You don’t mean it! Poor Maurice! What is to be done?”
“Poor Maurice! It’s rather poor me, poor you! Maurice is dead. When he committed suicide—and if ever a man in this world committed suicide Maurice did it—I washed my hands of all responsibility concerning him. This mad business has turned out exactly as I predicted.”
“Stop a moment! Confine yourself to facts. Of course you had no more idea than I what turn affairs would take, you could not have had. When you told me you had been to Mars did you mean it, or”
“Or did I lie? Spit it right out, Wylde. No; I did not lie. I meant it at the time, but it was all imagination—hypnotism if you like—infernal black magic, I call it. Of course we have no more been to Mars than we have to the moon, nor has Maurice any such existence as you and I imagined while we were in that strange condition. Maurice is dead—dead beyond recall!”
“But to get back to the subject,” I answered coldly. “There is no use in discussing that matter any further.”
“Returning to our muttons, then, all I’ve got to say is that I don’t believe Padma has any more idea of the way to escape than we have. There is no boat at the lamasery, nor anything to make one out of. Besides these trees in the courtyard, I doubt if there is ten feet of lumber in the whole establishment. Even allowing there was, where could we go? We should be landed on the plains below here and left to freeze or starve to death, for we could not transport mules, of course, and no human being could travel through this country on foot as things are now; so you see—oh, Padma is speaking! He has ground his everlasting prayer to a finish. Let us see what he wants.”
The announcement of the old priest was simply that breakfast would be served in half an hour, and that we should be notified when it was ready if we preferred to remain on the tower and watch the progress of the flood. As I looked I perceived that most of the lamas had left us, and that Walla also had vanished.
“Have no fears. This accident was foreseen long ago and the emergency fully provided for,” the old priest said, as he left us to descend the stairs.
But the Doctor felt no such confidence, nor did I.
“I am going back to Maurice,” I said, after Padma had departed. “I shall never leave him. Either some means must be found of transporting that body, or I remain behind.”
“If you attempt to carry out that resolve you are a bigger fool than I think you,” answered the Doctor. “Upon my word I should rather think you’d be looking after that girl a bit. You have the field all to yourself, now that Maurice is out of the way.”
To this I made no other answer than to leave him abruptly, for aside from the coarseness of the insinuation, the Doctor’s remark grated upon my nerves horribly, for a reason which I must now explain.
I no longer loved Walla—that is if I had ever loved her.
Rather should I say that the girl’s face no longer produced those singular sensations with which I had for days been tormented.
Why was this?
I did not know.
The fact is I had been a puzzle to myself since the first day I met the man Mirrikh.
The change came with the return to consciousness after the real, or imaginary, trip made with Maurice and Mirrikh through the spheres. From that moment the face of Walla Benjow seemed to grow absolutely repulsive to me. I wondered how I ever could have thought it beautiful, I saw it now as I had never seen it, and could see in it nothing more than in the faces of thousands of native women upon whom I had looked since I came to Farther India. I was disgusted with myself beyond measure for having looked at it in any other light.
Was this jealousy?
Was it because Walla in that last awful moment before Maurice took the fatal step declared her love for my friend?
Then I was foolish enough, ignorant enough of the heart’s most holy affection, to believe this?
Ah! I do not think so now.
But a sense of duty prompted me to seek the girl and give her such hopeful assurances as I could. I sought her in vain, however, nor did I see Walla again until after breakfast, which was served to the Doctor and myself alone, as usual, Padma having come for me in the vault to which I had returned, insisting by signs in his gentle way that I must eat.
During the meal I controlled my anxiety as best I could, and we discussed the situation in all its bearings.
We could see no hope outside of Padma.
After breakfast we ascended to the top of the tower again.
The water was now approaching the lamasery walls, with a much higher temperature and every appearance of rain.
Meanwhile the lamas seemed to have recovered from their fright and were hurrying hither and thither with great bags on their backs, popping in at one door and out at another. They were carrying the treasures of the lamasery into an underground vault, with the hope that after the flood subsided they could return and claim them. Already the temple was stripped of its magnificence. I had seen all this going on when last I descended to the chamber where the body of my poor friend lay.
“I think I shall stay here and smoke a pipe,” said the Doctor. “I wish to watch the progress of this affair, beside which I have an appointment with Padma. He promised to return in an hour and fully explain the means by which we are to escape.”
“Stay by all means,” I replied. “I shall descend again and try to find Walla. It is very singular what has become of the girl.”
We had inquired for her, of course, but could get no satisfaction; before ascending the tower stairs I dispatched Ah Schow to look her up, and now, when I came out into the courtyard, I saw her standing beneath the big tree with a face so white that my heart melted. I hurried forward and seized her hand.
“So you have come at last!” I exclaimed. “Where have you been? We have looked everywhere for you.”
She stared dully.
“I have been with him,” she answered. “I saw you, but you did not see me.”
“Do you mean with Maurice? Surely you were not in the underground chamber?”
“Yes.”
“But where?”
“I was on the other side of the altar, upon the floor. Oh, my friend, tell me—what does it all mean?”
“Why, don’t you comprehend it yet?” I said rather testily. “There is a flood; the water”
“Of course I understand that. It is not of that I am speaking, I mean about him.”
“Maurice?”
“Yes. Tell me—why did they kill him? I cannot understand.”
How dull she seemed. How strangely she spoke. As if she did not know! I said as much, and in no very pleasant manner either, but she did not seem to understand even yet.
“Of all that happened in that vault I remember nothing,” she said. “They have done something to me—what is it? My head don’t seem to be right.”
I questioned her further. To me it seemed incredible that she should forget her mad rush toward Maurice, her earnest pleading that he should not take the fatal step.
But she assured me that she did not remember, nor could she account for her time between our arrival at the lamasery and the moment I saw her in the corner of the underground chamber. Her mind seemed to be in a most extraordinary condition. The more I questioned her, the more confused she became.
Then suddenly she broke out with a low, wailing cry and began lamenting Maurice.
She seemed to think they had killed him, that they had offered him up as a sacrifice. In this strange mood she showed an intensity of passion of which I had not believed her capable, and confessed her love for Maurice in the most emphatic terms.
Altogether our interview was a most peculiar one, and decidedly painful for me, for I was utterly at a loss to make her comprehend the situation.
“Kill me! Kill me, Mr. Wylde! Let me go to him!” she wailed. “I loved him! Oh, how I loved him! He did not know it! His eyes were never for me; but you—oh, how I hated you! I—ah God! What is this?”
Suddenly clapping both hands about her head Walla stood before me reeling like a person intoxicated; her eyes closed, the lids began to twitch violently, her face grew whiter still.
Suddenly this paroxysm seemed to pass, and her hands fell to her sides, and for some minutes, she remained as white and rigid as a standing corpse.
Now it need scarcely be said that I was much disturbed by all this, but when I tried to speak, something seemed to have palsied my tongue.
Suddenly the expression of her face changed, and to my amazement I felt rushing upon me all that love for this strange creature which I had previously experienced. I could have caught her in my arms, but she waved me back and spoke in tones wholly unlike her own.
“Not now my beloved; not now mine other self! The veil between the world of matter and the world of spirit still separates us. Have patience, George. Yet a little while and you will have crossed the border. Then to all eternity shall we live as one!”
What was this?
What did it mean?
Every drop of blood in my veins seemed suddenly to have been transformed to liquid fire.
Love!
I swear that no man ever experienced such love as I felt for Walla Benjow then, and yet I could not even bear to think of my former folly ten minutes before.
“Walla! Oh Walla!” I breathed. “What is this? What spell is it that you have the power to cast over me? Tell me—”
“Stay!” she murmured. “It is time that you knew something of the truth. I am not Walla Benjow. This land is not as your land. There the power, yes the very existence of such as I is denied. George Wylde, I am a spirit. I hold this woman in control. It is I you have loved—not Walla. To you she is nothing, but I am your soul’s companion. Have no fear. This trial will pass. Now I must leave you, for your friend would speak.”
It was a hard blow to my scepticism, yet I was not ignorant of the claims of a class of persons whom, until now, I had looked upon as arrant charlatans. I allude, of course, to the trance mediums of modern Spiritualism. I had never seen any of their work, but I had read of it, and now the recollection of what I had read recurred to my mind.
Then I saw Walla’s face change again—saw a shudder pass through her frame—was thanking my stars that the Doctor was not present, when suddenly I was startled by hearing her exclaim in a totally different voice with much more of the masculine about it:
“Hello, George!”
I started back as though stung.
It was not Maurice’s voice, that is certain; yet there was something about it which so strangely resembled his voice as to be positively startling.
I thought of Maurice on the instant, although I positively declare that when “my friend” was alluded to a moment previous it never entered my mind that it bore reference to him.
“Don’t you know me?” asked the voice. “I want you to understand, old fellow, that I still live.”
“Maurice?” I gasped.
“Yes, Maurice.”
“For Heaven’s sake”
“No. Not for heaven’s sake, for your sake! It is an awful bother for me to do this, but I am partly selfish in it, and Mirrikh is helping me out. I want to say two things to you, George, and I want you to understand that it is Maurice De Veber, and no one else, who talks to you—do you hear?”
“Say on! I hear, but I think I’m going mad!”
“Mad! Not a bit of it! You are the same clear headed fellow you always were; you are simply dealing with forces and conditions which you don’t understand—that is all.”
“And you?”
“I am right here with you.”
“I cannot believe it.”
“Believe it or not it is a fact, George; but no more. I cannot hold this medium any longer without injuring her. What I want to say is this: Watch my body, for as sure as there is a God in heaven I shall return to you. Beware of the Doctor. He will play you false.”
“Maurice! “Maurice!” I cried. “You have my promise. So long as your body remains as it is, so long will I guard it. Maurice! Speak again! Tell me”
I stopped abruptly.
Again the shudder passed over Walla; her eyes opened; she stood there blinking stupidly.
“What—what is the matter?” she gasped. “What have you been doing to me, Mr. Wylde?”
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Ding, dong!
The lamasery bell was tolling—tolling the funeral knell of a shrine which for all I know stood as we see it now in the day’s of Gladstone’s Juventus Mundi; for the world when young in Europe was very old in Asia. God alone could tell if the tottering old structure would endure the strain to which it was about to be subjected.
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Ding, dong!
I could think only of the big bell at the gate of Greenwood cemetery, tolling as it tolled on that chill October day when I consigned my baby boy to the dust.
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Ding, dong!
I could see my wife weeping and protesting that she wanted to die also; begging me to bury her along with the child, when at that very time she
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Ding, dong!
Ring out, old bell! Ring out your loudest peal and drown these memories forever! If the teachings of this strange land are truth, then may they indeed be forgotten; for not only does the boy still live, but there awaits me in that land, where we know each other as we are, one whose heart will beat in perfect accord with my heart’s beatings: whose soul shall know no thought, no longing that is not in harmony with my own!
Ding, dong! Ding, dong! Ding, dong!
Still the bell kept tolling. Why, I did not know; but this much was certain—our time at Psam-dagong was growing short, for the waters had risen almost to the top of the lamasery wall and the rain was falling in torrents.
“Come, George,” said the Doctor, calling me from the temple doorway. “Come. Padma wants you; he is going to show us the road by which we are to escape!”
The sound of the Doctor’s voice banished the strange spell which had come upon me. At the same moment the bell upon which Ni-fan-lu had been banging away for more than an hour suddenly ceased to toll. I hurried across the courtyard to the temple door.
It was late in the afternoon—the afternoon following the bursting of the Dshambi-nor. Long ago Walla and I had parted, she to crouch before the altar where lay Maurice’s body, I to wander hither and thither, pondering, doubting, wondering, fearing! God knows I could make nothing of it. The only wonder is I did not go raving mad.
Now I would say to myself that I was mad; that Maurice was dead; that the proper thing for me was to immolate myself on that same altar and make an end of it all. Again I was in reverie, and in fancy saw myself floating through the spheres, seeking the voice which through Walla’s lips had spoken those words of cheer. Still again I was execrating Walla for her subtle power of fascination, calling her a fraud and cursing myself for a fool. But I had not told the Doctor what happened in the courtyard beneath the big tree, and I did not tell him now as I followed him into the temple, where we found old Padma waiting for us before the big Buddha, looking as patriarchal and serene as ever.
With his usual self-assurance Philpot began rattling away, assuming that patronizing manner which I had grown to dislike so much.
“Look here, George, I’ve been having a long talk with Padma,” he said as we passed through the temple. “As near as I can understand, this whole region is undermined with vast caverns; we are to pass through these caverns by some means which I can’t make out and are to fetch up at another lamasery close to Lh’asa. You see I’ve been busy while you’ve been moping about.”
“It makes no difference to me where we go,” I replied, “providing we take Maurice’s body with us. Without that I shall not stir.”
“Oh that will be all right. I spoke to Padma, and he seemed surprised that there should be any question about it. If it is any comfort to you to know it, he scouts the idea of Maurice being dead; says he is as sure to come back as the sun is to rise.”
“I shall fulfill my promise in any event,” I replied. “So long as Maurice’s body remains as those other bodies are down there, I shall never leave it, even if it costs me my life.”
“Well, by Jove! You’re a friend worth having; but—wait! Padma wants to speak.”
What was the old priest saying? I would have given anything to have been able to understand.
As it was I could only follow them down into the underground chamber again, where we found Walla beside Maurice, a sight which aroused feelings amounting almost to jealous hatred within me. She could stay there where I felt that I ought to stay; yet to save me I could not do it, for to stand gazing at those still, white features drove me almost mad.
There was no change in the appearance of the face. I took one good look at it as I passed the altar, following Padma over to the side of the chamber opposite to the stone drawers containing the alleged planetary corpses.
Still talking to the Doctor, in his slow, mild fashion, Padma drew from beneath his robe a huge bronze key which he proceeded to fit into a hole in the stone. Turning this he gave the wall a push and a narrow section of the stone moved back revealing a dark opening behind. He caught up a lamp which he had placed behind him on the floor, flashed it into the opening and I saw, extending down from it, a broad sheet of polished brass, pitched at a sharp angle, above which was a wheel and a rope. I could not imagine what all this meant until the Doctor began to explain.
“Padma says that this inclined plane leads into another cavern miles and miles away, Wylde,” he said hurriedly. “There is a car of some sort attached to the rope and we are to be let down in it, From the cavern to Lh’asa the distance is short and the way easy. We are to leave at midnight, providing the water holds off that long. By that time they will have all the treasures of the lamasery safely stored away. See! He is pulling the car up now.”
Padma had seized the rope and was pulling it over the wheel. I perceived at once that it was old and worn and many of the strands had parted. I looked at the priest’s face and saw the expression of calm serenity leave it and something like fear assume its place. Suddenly he ceased to pull and began talking hurriedly with the Doctor who gave one sharp exclamation and turned to me, his countenance as pale as death.
“Bad news, George! The rope is all worn out. It hasn’t been used in many years and can’t possibly take the car down more than once or twice.”
“Then our fate depends upon the size of the car?”
“Precisely.”
“Ask him how big it is? Let us know the worst!”
He turned to Padma and put the question, but instead of replying the priest began tugging at the rope again. In a moment a rumbling sound was heard and I saw a small box-like arrangement come into view; it rested close down upon the brass and seemed to run upon rollers which were invisible. I have neglected to mention that there was a bronze guard about six inches high on either side of the incline to prevent the car from running off.
“By Jove! We’re fixed now!” cried the Doctor. “It’s barely big enough for two!”
We knew the worst in a moment.
Flashing his light upward at the wheel, Padma, having first made the rope fast to a hook, climbed into the car and began a careful examination.
The Doctor was very uneasy.
“George, it’s my opinion the old guy means to go down and save himself,” he whispered. “Let’s grab him and you and I go. He told me just how to manage the machine and it’s as easy as rolling off a log.”
“No, no! There are other lives to be saved besides our own.”
“To the dogs with the others! What are we to do?”
“But how about Maurice?”
“Maurice is dead. We have ourselves to think of. We can’t be sacrificed for a corpse.”
“Unless Maurice’s body leaves this place I remain and take my chances,” I said coldly.
“But this is madness! A man’s life is all he has in this world, and”
“And I am beginning to believe in the existence of another where for our deeds, good or evil, we shall be held in strict account.
“Bah! Leave preaching to me; it’s my business, not yours! We can easily overcome the old fellow and take our chances in the car. I tell you the lamasery is doomed! There is no earthly show for us unless we do it. Have common sense and listen to me. If you don’t want to attack Padma now, we can hang around here and do it later on.”
“Neither sooner or later, without Maurice.”
“But we cannot take the body. There is barely room for you and me to crowd into the car.”
Here we were interrupted by Padma, who stepped out of the car and began speaking again. His face had assumed its wonted expression of calmness, yet when the Doctor came to translate I found that the situation was fully as critical as he had feared.
He declared that there was very little chance of the rope taking the car safely even one trip down into the cavern, but he calmly assured the Doctor that this need not matter, for there still existed another means of escape.
At this point the Doctor turned to listen again. For some moments Padma spoke earnestly and then left us, ascending the stairs. Not until the sound of his footsteps died away did the Doctor deign to answer me, although I had twice addressed him, begging to know what the priest had said.
“Do you want to know?” he exclaimed, turning suddenly upon me, and speaking very rapidly. “He tells me that this other way lies through the cavern beneath the temple, where the fatal gas is stored. He says that it was built ages ago before the gas came and abandoned because it came; he says all we’ve got to do is to inhale the gas, and go at lightning speed by way of the spirit world, sending our bodies down through the cavern and taking them up again at the other end of the route. I tell you, Wylde, it’s all balderdash. The fellow is a sly old rascal. He is trying to throw us off the scent and means to go by the car himself, leaving us to be drowned out here when the water comes. Now then, here’s the last call. Will you go with me, or will you not?”
“Not without Maurice.”
“Fool!”
“Put it as you will.”
“I put it as it is. Think twice.”
“No! Doctor beware! No good can come of so selfish a proceeding. Remember that the rope may hold out. Would you deprive these other poor wretches of their chance of life?”
“Rubbish! What are they to me? Let them go the other way if they want to, I—hark! What was that? A cry above! By the eternal! I believe the water has come.”
We hurried up into the temple, for the Doctor suddenly ceased his argument.
It was as he had feared.
When we reached the courtyard we found the lamas standing in the pouring rain, huddled together beneath the big tree, their eyes fixed upon the wall surrounding the lamasery, over which the water was beginning to come in little splashes here and there.
“Better get your grip, George!” cried the Doctor. “If we do escape we shall need it. Go now and I will have a look over the wall. I shall do nothing until you return.”
There was reason in his suggestion, and relying upon his promise I hurried into the lamasery. Not only did I want to save something of my belongings if possible, but I was anxious to find Ah Schow and give him warning, for I could see nothing of the faithful fellow in the yard.
I was gone perhaps ten minutes; time for the most part spent in search of the Chinaman, whom I found at last in the big room where our meals had been served. Hastily I told him of the danger and together we returned to the yard.
Here the situation had changed but little, except that instead of coming by splashes the water was now running over the wall in places in steady streams.
But where was the Doctor?
To my surprise I could see nothing of him, nor was old Padma visible. Beneath the big tree the lamas stood in silence, showing not the slightest emotion, each grinding away at his own private prayer wheel, the united clicks of the different wheels making the most infernal din. At once the truth flashed upon me. The Doctor had availed himself of my absence to carry his purpose into effect.
I knew it—I was sure of it—I felt as certain of it as though I had seen him go.
Then I felt furious with the fellow, but now as I look back upon that trying hour, I do not know that I so much blame him.
As he viewed the situation it was a question of life or death. He had given me my chance—I had refused to take it—he disposed of me for the moment to save further argument and had started on that strange journey alone.
Without pausing an instant I rushed into the temple, bounded around the big Buddha and down the stone stairs.
How deathly still the chamber was! How ghastly looked poor Maurice’s face as I flew past the altar beside which Walla, with bowed head still crouched, as white and silent as Maurice himself.
I rushed across to the stone door which still stood open. It was as I had supposed. The car was no longer there.
“Selfish pig!” I burst out. “If he has gone to his death he richly deserves it, yet upon my word I would scarcely have had the courage—merciful God!”
You see I caught up the lamp as I approached the opening, and flashing it in saw that no more of the rope was visible than a dangling end, with broken strands hanging down over the wheel.
Taking advantage of my absence the Doctor had gone—gone where?
It was the sound of many footsteps which recalled me to myself, for the shock of that broken rope proved almost too much for my already overstrained nerves. Turning I beheld the lamas of Psam-dagong approaching in solemn procession with Padma at their head, while Ah Schow, carrying my neglected grip, brought up the rear, looking as stoical and indifferent as though nothing unusual had occurred.
If his Joss wanted Ah Schow, his Joss would take him; if not he would escape even though the world were in flames.
Such was our Chinaman’s way of looking at the matter, and it was a highly comforting one—there is no doubt about that.
I pulled myself together as best I could, and advancing to meet them pointed toward the entrance to that strange incline, at the same time calling to Ah Schow to come forward and act as interpreter between Padma and myself.
But there was no excitement about the matter.
Padma seemed to view the Doctor’s act as one of simple folly. Fortunately for me I found no difficulty in talking to him through Ah Schow.
“We could not have gone by the car in any event, my son.” he said. “This affair has all been settled. We go by the way of the world of spirit. By his selfishness your friend has doubtless gone to his death, while we most surely shall be saved.”
“Is there no chance that he still lives?” I asked.
“How can I tell? I have not passed over that road for many years. Since the days of my boyhood it has been against the orders of our spiritual master, the most holy Tale Lama, that this road should be used except in such an emergency as this. I know not where the rope parted or how; but let us not discuss the matter further. What is done is done. We have now to think ourselves. Watch well and follow us in what we are about to do, and by Buddha's grace, not a hair of your head shall be harmed.”
“And my friend here?” I asked, waving my hand toward the altar.
He thought that I referred to Walla and replied that she should be cared for equally with myself; when I made him understand that it was Maurice, he actually smiled.
“Why need you concern yourself about him? Already his soul is separated from the material covering. We have but to send that down by the way our bodies are to go. He will never know until it pleases Buddha to send him back to the material again.”
He ceased to address me with this, and out came those infernal prayer wheels again and the grinding of a petition, of a quarter of an hour’s length began.
While this was in progress I made my last visit to the courtyard. Being in Rome I resolved to do precisely as the Romans did, but I wanted one more look at daylight—moreover I was curiously anxious to know how the water stood.
When I reached the temple I found the floor covered to the depth of half an inch.
Now the temple floor was raised about three feet above the yard level, and the platform behind the statue where the stairs began, perhaps as much more.
I waded through the icy water, and gaining the door, peered out into the courtyard.
There was absolutely no hope. The water was now pouring over the wall on all sides. It would have taken a boat to reach the big tree.
Back in the underground chamber again, I placed myself beside Maurice and waited for the clicking prayer wheels to cease, feeling a sense of calm assurance difficult to explain.
Just then Walla aroused from her lethargy, and tottering to her feet questioned me as to the situation, which I explained as well as I could.
She said but little; seeming to take it for granted that nothing could be done to change matters.
“Do they take him?” she asked after a moment.
“Yes.”
“Then I shall go too.”
“You will have to go or drown.”
She smiled sadly.
“If I thought he would never return I should stay and drown.”
“You love him so?”
“I love him—yes. I never knew what it was to love till now. I could die for his sake. I can live and suffer if it will help to bring him back.”
“Poor child! He will have no thought of you even should he return.”
She shot toward me a glance so malignant that I was amazed. I should have carried the discussion further, but just then the prayer wheels ceased their click. Padma bent down about ten feet away from the altar, and I saw a large trap door raised.
I would have pressed forward to see what this meant, but Padma’s eyes caught my movement and he waved me back; the lamas silently formed themselves into a half circle about the altar and stood like so many statues, while the priest, putting a small paper roll into his wheel, ground the prayer to a finish, wasting five precious seconds, for it was but a question of a very short time now when the water must come pouring down the stone steps.
Presently the prayer wheel stopped whirling, and a box containing “joss sticks” was passed around.
Each lama shook out the sticks, seized the one which fell nearest the altar and carefully examined the characters printed upon it. I wondered what they were doing and beckoned Ah Schow to approach.
“Dat for las’ man,” explained our cook. “He no can go—he die.”
Suddenly a shout went up and I saw a young lama rise from the floor with face as white as death. He did not speak, however, nor did any of his companions. He had drawn the fatal character, whatever it might have been, and I must do the fellow justice and say that he submitted like a true man.
Padma now called me and pointed into the open trap. There was no car here, nothing but a square, inclined box, or shute, made of hard-baked clay, polished on the bottom and sides as smooth as glass.
“This my son,” explained the priest, Ah Schow interpreting, “was constructed ages before the lamasery was built; for know that this shrine stands upon the site of one almost as old as the world itself. It leads to the cavern, passing directly through that other cavern where lurks the gas. Since your friend has cut off the other road, this is our only hope. We shall inhale the gas one by one, sending the bodies through this opening. Is it your wish to accompany us, or do you fear? ”
“I fear, but I shall go,” I answered. “That is providing my friend”
“That is already settled, my son. Explain to the sister.”
“I have explained.”
“And your servant?”
“Understands as well as I have the power to make him; but tell me father, the lama who drew the fatal lot—must he die?”
“He must, my son. Who is to put his body into the opening? He cannot do it himself after inhaling the gas.”
“Cannot your spirit friends assist?”
The priest shook his head.
“Under certain circumstances that might be done, but it needs a harmony of thought, a calmness of soul, to enable them to take on the power which we are not able to furnish under such circumstances as these.”
“One question more—the bodies in the boxes? Those planetary corpses—are they to be left behind?”
“We cannot take them. It is impossible. We have scarcely time to save ourselves.”
“Then souls from the planets can never visit this earth again?”
“Never in these bodies, my son. Psam-dagong is doomed.”
“And there is no other channel of communication?”
“None that I am aware of; none known to the followers of Buddha. I cannot answer for the rest of the world. But time presses. A beginning must be made.”
He ceased to speak, and approaching the altar opened the little door in its side and arranged the golden tube as it had been before.
“Ni-fan-lu!” he called.
Ni-fan-lu stepped forward. His face was pale, but he was entirely calm.
Padma in loud and distinct tones spoke a few hurried words, whereupon the lamas all bowed profoundly, their hands crossed upon their breasts. He then laid his own hand upon the plug and Ni-fan-lu bent down, fixed his mouth to the tube, and with long, deep inhalations drew in the gas.
Suddenly he straightened up—I wondered how he knew when to do it—and Padma quickly restored the plug.
With that strange sense of quiescence still upon me, I watched the face of the young lama and saw pass over it the same change of expression which I had noted upon the face of Mr. Mirrikh and Maurice. Suddenly he reeled, pressed his hand to his heart, staggered back a step or two, and sank to the floor.
Again Padma spoke.
Instantly two lamas seized Ni-fan-lu and carrying him to the open trap thrust him down, head first, into the shute.
I darted forward and saw the body disappear like a flash. I knew then what my fate was to be, and yet to save me I could not stir up the slightest feeling of fear.
“We will now send down the body of your friend,” said Padma. “By the time it has made the journey Ni-fan-lu will be ready to receive it, for I have instructed him to take on his material body instantly, and not wander away into the spirit world.”
I simply bowed assent, for I was fully prepared for this; but Walla, the instant the lamas approached the altar, gave a fearful shriek and flung herself across poor Maurice.
“Come! Come!” I exclaimed. “We cannot have this. Calm yourself! It must be done.”
But she only screamed the louder, and I was wondering what means could be taken to quiet her, for she struck at the lamas with her clenched fists, and even tried to bite one of them, when suddenly Padma, who had slipped around in front of the altar, began making passes about her head.
Poor Walla!
It was but an instant before she was in the clutches of the hypnotic spell. Her struggles ceased; she straightened up and fixed her eyes on Padma, wholly subject to his will.
“We will send her first,” said the priest. “Since she fancies she loves him let her be there to receive his body.”
He addressed a few hurried words to Walla who immediately bent down over the golden tube.
Padma was already there to attend to her. The plug was removed and the gas inhaled. In this case there was not even a momentary resistance. Walla sank to the floor and was instantly seized. They tied a cord about her skirts to keep them close, and without emotion I stood calmly by and saw the girl whom but yesterday I thought I loved, thrust headlong down into those unknown depths.
Positively I began to be alarmed at myself my sensibilities had become so dulled; but just as I was giving way to these feelings, it seemed to me that a hand was pressed against my forehead with feathery lightness, while a voice whispered:
“George, my boy, be brave—be calm. I am with you. Do not fear.”
Was it imagination, or was it real?
Was it all an emanation from my own mind and memory, or was it actually the hand of some bright spirit hovering near?
I do not know any better now than I knew then; but this much I do know, the voice was the voice of my mother, and the sense of her dear presence so strong that her face seemed somehow to mix itself up with the face of Walla as they took her away. I can no more explain this than I can explain Maurice's voice and Maurice’s individuality speaking through the girl’s lips. All I can say is that if Walla was a mystery in those trying hours, I was rapidly becoming a greater mystery to myself.
Now all this came to me and was gone in a minute; the next and the lamas were at the altar working over Maurice’s body.
I did not attempt to interfere; nor, though I felt deeply moved to do it, could I make any demonstration over the body. Somehow it no longer seemed as if this was Maurice. As the lamas bore it to the trap I found myself muttering: “Maurice is not here! Maurice is not here! Maurice is in Mars!” And I kept saying it over and over again, unable to check myself, until suddenly the lamas at the trap rose up and I knew that Maurice’s bodily form had followed the ones which had gone before.
I sprang to the trap furious with myself for not having been there to see it go; amazed that I could have stood aside mumbling like a parrot while they took my friend away. Padma’s hand was on my arm before I reached it, however, and his gentle voice calmed my excitement.
“No, my son do not look,” he said; “it will only alarm you and can do no good. By this time Ni-fan-lu is surely ready to receive you. Let me advise you to make the descent next. It will be better so.”
But I hesitated and drew back.
“As you will,” said the venerable Buddhist with calm indifference; “but before you decide, look behind—I am not selfish in thus urging—look at the stairs.”
I turned and saw how wisely he had spoken. There was a tiny stream trickling over the edge of the topmost step, spattering in silvery drops upon the stone floor below.
“The water!” I exclaimed. “It has come!”
“Even so, my son! It is as you say—the water has come!”
Fancy Ah Schow standing between us, interpreting with no more show of emotion than a post! In a Chinaman we call this blind belief in fatality? Perhaps it is; but were an Englishman, a Frenchman, aye, or an American, to do the same, he would lay claim to courage with a mighty deal of clatter, no matter what his private belief regarding a future state might be.
“Spiritual father!” I cried, bestowing upon the old lama the title by which his flock invariably addressed him, “let me ask you, what must be the nature of my thoughts during the strange journey I am about to make? Would it not be better for you to go first that your assistance might be given to the wandering souls seeking their bodies at the other end of the passage? How am I to find my way?”
“My son, you have no need of my assistance,” he answered. “Nor will I leave this place until the last of my lamas has departed save the one whom Buddha has called unto himself. If death comes to me, it will be welcome. As for your other question, know that where your thoughts are there your spiritual presence must ever be. So long as the life cord is unbroken your soul must seek your material body when you will it to do so. Beware then lest you will it too soon, for I know not what breaks time may have made in the passage; should you return and inhale an over-supply of the gas all the power of your will could not preserve you from death. Then indeed would the cord be broken and you enter the realm of spirit to remain until the will of Buddha calls you to earth again.”
“But how shall I know? What sense will tell me of the proper time?”
“Why, my son, your senses remain with you—not an atom of your personality is lost. You can, if you wish, follow your body every inch of the way. There will be no such difficulties as you fear.”
“But Walla—the girl—her senses are no longer in her control! What of her?”
“They are in mine, my son; and at the proper moment I shall restore them to her. She will safely reach her journey's end.”
“But the distance—what is it?”
“It is great. I cannot express it so that you will understand. It is many, many miles, as you would say.”
“Will she have reached the end of her journey before you enter the passage?”
“You mean before my body enters? Possibly not; but that will make no difference. My body is not myself. Once my spirit is unchained it can operate far more readily than at present. But time presses; see, the water stream grows larger. Either you must go or another—choose!”
“I will go," I replied boldly. “My determination is taken. Even though there were no danger I would still go, I cannot remain here alone.”
“Well spoken, my son. The danger, however, all lies in remaining. Come forward, bend before the tube and put your lips upon it. Fix your mind upon your body; will to remain near it and all the powers of heaven and earth cannot keep you from it, for the will of man is all-powerful, subject only to the will of the Supreme.”
The time had clearly come and I hesitated no longer.
Bending down over the golden tube I fixed my mouth upon it the instant Padma pulled out the plug.
All sense of fear seemed to have left me. As Mr. Mirrikh, Maurice and Ni-fan-lu had done before me, I drew in the fatal gas and straightened up.
The deed was done!
Was there something wrong?
Was I alone, of all those who had inhaled the gas before me, proof against its powers?
I thought so then.
Thus far I had experienced absolutely no change in my sensations.
I turned to Ah Schow and told him to ask Padma what the matter was; but, strange to say, Ah Schow did not seem to hear.
I spoke louder—louder still—I shouted. It had no effect whatever upon my servant.
They stood there looking at me; and then, to my utter amazement, I was looking at myself. There I was lying upon the stone floor beside the altar, in the precise spot where Maurice had lain before me. I saw the two lamas approach, lift me up and carry me to the trap. I saw them put me head first into the shute; I saw myself disappear like a flash. And yet I solemnly affirm that so far as my own consciousness went, I was precisely the same George Wylde I had been before.
I was a man; a living man, with every atom of my personality perfect; every member of my body, every stitch of my clothing intact; yet when I spoke, no one heard; when I moved about I seemed to pass directly through the forms around me. Already I had forgotten Padma’s injunction. I had not fixed my thoughts upon my body. How could I be expected to do so when to me it seemed as though I were in my body still?
My first thought after the disappearance of my body, was one of curiosity to know how the flood was progressing. I thought of the big tree in the courtyard beneath which I had passed through that strange experience with Walla, and instantly I was there.
Now for a moment terror seized me, for the courtyard was a lake; the water was pouring over the wall in torrents. But I soon perceived that I was no longer as I had been. I seemed to float above the water, and when I thought wonderingly of what was beyond the wall, I rose higher. I could look over it, and my eyes rested upon a vast sea, extending in every direction.
“Will it never end?” I thought. “Is there more still to come? What is its source? Has it not been exhausted yet? Would that I were at this wonderful Dshambi-nor.”
Suddenly I seemed to shoot through the air with incredible swiftness, and before I could at all realize the situation, I was approaching those distant mountain peaks which had seemed so far away. The next I knew I was among them, hovering above a lake into which water was pouring from another lake at a higher level. At the outer edge of this upper lake, between two precipices, I perceived a wall made up of rough stones, in the middle of which was a yawning gap with the water rushing through. Then I comprehended exactly what had occurred.
I looked down into the water. It formed no obstacle to my vision. I could see that the bottom of the lake was strewn all over with small objects made to represent the human head in profile. There were thousands upon thousands of them. Many were of gold, others of a black, dirty substance, which I instantly knew had once been glittering silver, now changed by the action of the water; but by far the largest number were of stone.
“What are these? How came they here?” I asked myself.
The answer came to me, not in words, but by an inward consciousness which it seemed impossible to question, and I knew that they were the offerings of an ancient race which had vanished thousands upon thousands of years before many of our western thinkers are willing to admit the earth existed; cast into the lake to propitiate the spirit believed to hold its waters in check. I knew also, by the same mysterious sense, that it was this race which had built the dam, the vaults beneath the lamasery and the strange shute into which I had seen my body go.
Still thinking of these things, I suddenly found myself in motion again, and before I knew it was back in the courtyard; passing directly through the temple wall, which offered no more resistance than so much air; I was in the underground chamber once more.
Here matters had changed. The water lay six inches deep upon the floor, and Padma was in the act of inhaling the gas. He was alone save for the lama upon whom the lot had fallen. Suddenly I saw his body sink into this man’s arms and another Padma rise beside it, appearing as a whitish cloud emanating from the region of the spleen, but quickly taking on the old lama’s familiar form and floating away.
I watched him as he vanished through the solid walls of the chamber and then turned to look at what was left behind.
The lama was dragging the body towards the trap into which the water was now pouring in a steady stream. He had tied a cloth tightly over the mouth and nostrils; in another instant he threw it down and it was gone.
Breathlessly I watched him, for I knew that his time had come. It did not seem to disturb him, however. He closed the trap and wading to the altar removed the plug from the golden tube and inhaled the gas, restoring the plug before he raised himself again. Once more that mysterious process was repeated. The body of the lama sank to the floor with a splash, but his spirit—I questioned these mighty facts no longer—rose up and soared away, leaving me the sole occupant of that gloomy vault.
Now one might reasonably suppose that by this time I would have found leisure to think of my own body, but I had not done so yet. The fact is I was enjoying a delicious sense of freedom—a sensation too delicious to be disturbed.
I thought, instead, of Maurice. I desired to see him, to speak to him, to know where he was and what he was about.
Then like a flash that chamber vanished and I was repeating my former experience—I was floating among the spheres.
Sun, moon and stars innumerable were all about me, each in its proper form and place; each following its own proper motion; all of which I was, as before, in some measure able to grasp.
Was I moving?
I certainly was and with incredible rapidity; yet as I directed my eyes toward Mars, which hovered a dull, reddish globe of light above me, it seemed at a distance vast beyond all computation. It was only when I looked beyond it and caught sight of Orion and great Sirius that I comprehended something of the immensity of space. Then Mars seemed so near that I felt I had only to reach out my hand and touch it, while aeons of time lay between myself and the Dog Star. My brain reeled—I was grappling with problems comprehensible only to the Divine essence — the Lord, God Almighty, who holds countless suns and worlds without end in the hollow of his hand.
Then a voice spoke.
“Beware, George! Fix your thoughts upon your friends, lest while contemplating mysteries too deep for your natural mind, you sever the life cord and return to your proper sphere of usefulness no more!”
Now may God keep the memory of what I beheld at that instant ever green!
But why do I say it? There can be no lapse of time so great, no depth of space so vast, as to prevent me, when the time comes that this mortal body of mine is laid down to dust, from seeking out that face!
Beside me floated a female form beautiful beyond all telling, clothed in loose garments of fleecy whiteness; her face close to my face, her eyes looking into my eyes, her thoughts so intertwined with my thoughts that I knew them and knew that she knew mine.
“Who are you—some bright spirit sent to guide me?” I asked, with a strange inward speech of which I can give no proper description, except to say that I gave utterance to no audible sounds.
Nor were such necessary. Not only did she understand me, but I had as little difficulty with her answer. After a second it was as though we were talking as mortals talk, yet this I knew was not actually the case.
“I am your soul’s mate to all eternity, George,” she said. “For many years I have been with you in spirit. I laid down the material when you were but a child.”
“You are then a spirit?”
“I am. It was I who spoke with you in the courtyard through the mediumship of the girl Walla.”
“Then it was true?”
“Not only true, but more than that. Since your first meeting with that girl I have been able, in a sense, to make you feel my presence. It was I who looked at you out of her eyes, George, when you thought you loved her; when I ceased to look, your love was transformed almost to hatred. These, however, are things which you cannot comprehend.”
“So little do I comprehend that though I accept them as facts now, I shall reject and doubt upon my return to earth.”
“It is so. Yet they will leave their impressions. George, you are mine, I am yours. No power can keep us apart in eternity; though God alone knows when our souls shall be united in the realm of spirit. To me, however, this matters little, for to me as a spirit, time has no existence, but to you—for you can now never forget me—the time may seem long.”
“But how—by what power did you speak to me through the lips of the girl?”
“By the power of mind over mind. As a hypnotizer handles his lucide, so I handled Walla. Her consciousness was for the time obliterated. It was I who spoke.”
“Incomprehensible; but now I cannot doubt. Let us change the subject. Will you tell me your name?”
“Not now—it is not permitted—call me Hope.”
“Hope of the hour when I shall see you always?”
“That is it. You recognize my power over you, I perceive.”
“I feel as I never felt before in the presence of anyone, man or woman. It is not love as I have experienced love. It is rather a sense of completeness. I feel as if before I saw you I was but a fragment. I feel”
“Stay! You do not know yet the true conjugal feeling.”
“I do not, I admit it. My wife”
“Your wife! Do not use the word. I am your wife. As man and wife we were created from the beginning. Your unhappy companion, had she found her heart’s proper resting place, would have been a different woman. Marriage, my love, is an ordinance so holy that the Divine nature alone can fully comprehend it. In the Divine the male and female, the positive and negative of spiritual force, are truly united. With mortals this is seldom granted; with disembodied spirits it may be called into existence at will in a certain sense, but many who in the world have been unhappily mated, do not will it—they fear, and their fear prevents. But in the Divine it is a mighty force, the creative power calling into being the myriads of immortal souls with which the universe is filled.”
“As I said before, I hear, I comprehend dimly, I believe instinctively—but I shall forget.”
“Would you taste in some slight measure the ineffable bliss of a true conjugal union? That, my love, will be something which you can never forget.”
“Most gladly!”
Then in an instant I was alone!
Alone? No, not alone! I was complete!
No words can do my feelings justice. A strange sensation of duality had come over me. I felt that there were two of us, and yet that I and the woman were mysteriously one.
But I could not see her—nor did I wish to see her. She seemed to be inside of me—it was rapture unspeakable to know that she was there.
I could hear her speak; I addressed her—she answered. She was mine, I was hers. Her soul was in my soul, her thoughts truly my thoughts. I was a man, and I knew that I had been but a fragment of a man before.
“George, I am here. You know me now. No length of time so long before we are thus finally brought together that you will forget.”
“Never! Never! Never leave me, my beloved! I cried. “Remain in my soul forever! I have no wish now to go back to earth!”
But no sooner had I given utterance to this sentiment than she was at my side again, smiling sadly.
“Oh, you must not say that,” she said. “Your life work has but begun. Do not think that this experience has been accorded you without a purpose. Nothing is without a purpose. Marriage is most grossly misunderstood by you mortals. It is to be your work to write of this and other strange experiences through which you are passing, so that those who care to read may know something of the truth.”
“Come to me again!” I cried. “That taste of bliss makes me long for more! Come, my love—my wife!”
She shook her head and smiled.
“Not again, George. You have other duties to perform, as I have said. As it is your life cord was almost severed—you can see it there behind you, trailing like a silver thread.”
But I had already seen it and did not even turn to look. I begged and pleaded until she bade me desist with a certain positiveness of manner which I did not altogether fancy. This she seemed to understand.
“You see,” she said, “there is not true harmony between us yet; there cannot be until you have crossed the border. The veil still divides us, George.”
“Can you not tear it aside and show me the spirit world?”
“No—oh no! That cannot be.”
“But if I am a spirit, why not?”
“You are not a spirit in the word’s full sense. Let that silver cord be severed and you would quickly see the spirit world, but that would be a calamity.”
“Why a calamity?”
“It is a calamity for any man to leave earth life with his work unfinished. But I must now leave you. George, my love, my husband, my soul’s true mate, I go, but I shall come once again. Farewell!”
She vanished like meadow mist before the rays of the rising sun, and I was alone.
Yet I felt her near me. I knew the sense of her presence now—nor has that knowledge ever left me—I knew that she was near me then, that her thoughts were impressing themselves upon my soul.
“Think of Maurice,” she seemed to say; and immediately I thought of Maurice.
Had my planetary journey been prolonged for a purpose?
I do not know, but this much is certain, on the instant, when obeying that inward voice, I fixed my mind on Maurice, I stood at his side!
For me space had been obliterated. If it was all true and Maurice was on Mars, then was I also on Mars. I could see Maurice, but I instantly perceived that he was powerless to see me.
It was Maurice and it was not Maurice.
The person I stood beside was dressed in a long gown of blue satin, belted in at the waist and beautifully embroidered with flowers in their natural colors, but the face, though it bore some resemblance to my friend, was as the face of my mysterious acquaintance at Panompin. Like Mr. Mirrikh’s face, half yellow, half black; yet inside of that body—and I seemed able to look inside without the slightest difficulty, I could see another man, perfect in every particular. This was Maurice De Veber as I knew him—there was no change.
When I first saw him I shouted his name aloud, but now finding that I could not make my presence known, I contented myself with simply looking at him and surveying his surroundings which were, of course, of the highest interest, for then I had not the slightest doubt that I was actually on the planet Mars.
Maurice was sitting upon a chair made of reeds plaited together, in a room of considerable size where there was a couch, also of plaited reeds, but no other furniture save an extra chair or two. He was smoking an odd-looking cigar; its shape was a perfect crescent, and instead of the odor of tobacco, it sent up with the smoke a most delicious perfume.
Now it seemed to me that it was morning and that Maurice had just arisen from the couch, where he had been sleeping all night with his present clothes on. With the same ease I comprehended that this was the way people slept here; that they did not remove their clothing at night as we do, because their dress hangs perfectly loose upon them, and the daily bath is a universal custom. Thinking then of the naked men I had seen in my previous vision, it came to me that this was not the same country Maurice had first entered, but another where the manners and customs were different. At that instant my ears caught a burst of strange music outside, at which he sprang up and went darting through the door. It was a harmony of many sounds precisely such as we heard that rainy night in the ruined tower, when Mr. Mirrikh afterward came through the shawl in sections, scaring me almost out of my wits.
I followed Maurice, coming out upon a broad lawn bordered by great trees, all of species wholly strange to me, but not at all unlike the trees of temperate latitudes on earth. Beyond the trees was an open space—a public square apparently, where an immense crowd of people had assembled. On the other side of the square rose a great temple. Nothing in comparison with the structures seen in my previous vision, but still far larger than any building on earth.
Instinctively I floated away from Maurice and found myself inside this temple. As with everything else, I seemed to grasp its purpose at a glance, and knew that here people worshiped one God; a God all-powerful, executing His will through the instrumentality of myriads of ministering spirits. Many statues, superbly cut in snowy marble, stood beneath the great dome overshadowing the vast interior. They were representations of men and women once prominent in the social affairs of these people, whose spirits were supposed still to have the interests of the nation in charge.
Before each statue was a little altar, and upon most of the altars lay offerings of fruit and beautiful flowers.
That prayers to God, and consultation of the spirit guides sent in answer, constitute the religion of this race, was likewise impressed upon me. Forms, ceremonies, all the tricks and devices of priestcraft aiming at personal dominion are unknown here.
One God and all creation united with him in a harmonious desire to work His will; from the mightiest spirit of spheres celestial, to the humblest germ invisible even beneath the most powerful glass the ingenuity of man can devise.
Out again in the square the music called me now, and I knew that it was not instrumental but the production of the human voice.
The vast throng stood facing a choir of a hundred youths and as many maidens, who occupied a semicircular platform ranged around a sort of pulpit. Now for the first time I had a good view of these Martians, and saw that, except for the strange blackness about the face, the men were just the same as the men on Earth, and the nature of this discoloration I was now able to comprehend at a glance.
The faces of the women were perfectly fair, so with the boys; some of the young men exhibited the blackness, others younger did not, but no such thing as beards could be seen. The blackness, then, was the sign of virility, and really, when one comes to think of it, was no more disfiguring than a beard.
They were singing, and such amazing singing! From those two hundred human throats issued every sound capable of being produced by the finest orchestra ever gathered together. How they did it I do not pretend to say, but I could hear the notes of violins, flutes, flageolets, cornets and instruments innumerable, even to the bass viol and the boom of the big bass drum.
Again I was at Maurice’s side. He was watching and listening.
Presently a man ascended the rostrum, and bareheaded, beneath those broad spreading branches, began to address the multitude. Intense grew my interest when I perceived that this man was Mr. Mirrikh. He announced that he would continue his lecture upon the manners and customs of the planet Earth.
And he spoke well. For fully fifteen minutes I listened. It seemed to be one of a series of lectures describing his earth journey. The point upon which he particularly dwelt was the gross ignorance in which the inhabitants of our planet were plunged concerning spiritual laws; our general disbelief in the existence and importance of such laws, extending even in many instances to a total denial of the existence of spirit and a spiritual world.
“And on their planet, even among those who admit the existence of a life after death, my friends,” he shouted, “there is but little knowledge and still less desire to attain to wisdom in matters spiritual. There men are satisfied to leave such things to priests whose mission, it appears, is to terrorize the ignorant, to distort and suppress such few facts as they possess; to load down their barbarous worship with senseless forms and ceremonies, until all knowledge of the Divine principle is obliterated, and all freedom of thought crushed. Even among the few enlightened minds existing on this planet a singular condition of affairs obtains; for these are for the most part men steeped in selfishness who strive to conceal rather than promulgate spiritual truth. Not that individual minds do not exist whose enlightenment in a sense approaches ours; but they are as grains of sand in the desert, and powerless to make themselves heard or their influence felt.”
All this, and much more, I heard him say, and to my ears every word came in plain English, yet I seemed to know that he was not speaking my language, but that it was my inner consciousness which understood.
“But if I remain here I shall see nothing of Mars,” I suddenly reflected, and the desire to comprehend something of the nature of the planet became intense.
I looked at Maurice, whom for the time being I had forgotten, and I now perceived what before I had failed to observe—Maurice was not alone.
There, beside him, stood a young woman of superb figure and sweet, gentle countenance. At first I thought she must be a spirit, for I became inwardly conscious of a certain harmonious blending of soul between them; but I soon perceived that she was still in the material body, and I knew also that already Maurice recognized this harmony; that he loved her, that she loved him.
Then my desire to be off reached an intensity no longer to be resisted, and I found myself floating over a vast city made up of the same low buildings previously observed, with here and there a temple or some public edifice thrown in.
Presently I was beyond the city and moving over forest and plain; all very beautiful, but in no essential particular differing from similar scenes on earth.
Soon I came to water—it was red. I looked above me—the clouds, of which there were but few, also had a reddish tinge.
I floated above the water with the same electric rapidity. It was a land-locked sea, extending to a vast distance on either side of me, but its width was not great, and soon I had left it behind and was passing above a densely wooded country, more tropical in appearance than the land first seen.
Here I perceived, scattered through the forest, small groupings of huts of conical shape, made of branches and thatched, in and about which were people of widely different appearance from Mr. Mirrikh and his audience. They were small of stature and entirely naked; the color of their skin was a dirty brown; their foreheads were low and retreating, exhibiting little more intelligence than the Bushmen of Africa—scarcely as much.
Passing beyond this vast forest I came to another sea, and beyond that again to a beautiful country of great extent inhabited by a people similar to those whom I had seen at first.
Floating upon the seas I saw ships innumerable; they were not large, without sails, and seemed to be propelled by electricity. Animals of many kinds I saw also; nearly all differed from the animal forms of earth, and for me to attempt to describe them would only have the effect of adding to the ridicule which this part of my narrative is sure to call down upon my unfortunate head.
Soon I had passed over this stretch of country and another narrow sea lay before me, beyond which I perceived a more barren land; rather Arctic in appearance; this passed, vegetation ceased, and I found myself floating above immense plains buried beneath ice and snow.
I knew that I must now be nearing the Martian poles and my curiosity had become intense, when suddenly I heard that gentle voice again:
“Beware, George! You are going too far, your life cord is being strained beyond endurance. Fix your thoughts upon your body without delay!”
It was a bitter disappointment to me, but I could not disobey.
I closed my eyes and thought of that body which I had seen thrown into the shute with as little ceremony as if it had been a meal sack.
Instantly the wondrous scene was obliterated and all consciousness left me.
The next I knew I was experiencing precisely the same sensations one feels when recovering from a fainting fit.
“Wylde! Wylde! Wake up! Wylde! Wylde! Speak to me, for God’s sake!” some one was shouting in my ears.
It was the Doctor’s voice.
I was surrounded by utter darkness lying upon a couch as hard as stone.
“Breakfast! Breakfast! Come Wylde, turn out! All is ready for our sumptuous repast!”
A month has elapsed since my return from Mars and again the Doctor’s hand is upon my shoulder; he is shaking me violently. I rub my eyes, yawn, straighten up and stare about.
The sight is not a cheerful one. Surrounding me are the walls of a vast cavern, possessed of none of that beauty of caverns about which poets and novelists love to rave. There are no snowy stalactites nor glittering stalagmites, nothing but the black, ragged rock, all dripping with moisture where the gloom permits my eyes to penetrate. The floor is of sand, mingled with which are whitish fragments strewn in every direction; these, though they have long since lost their terrors, never cease to be disquieting; they are human bones; bones of men who lived out their lives in ages long gone by; a musty odor seems to arise from them; the air is damp and chilly; rheumatic pains rack my own unfortunate bones as I stagger to my feet.
“Don’t you want any breakfast?” asked the Doctor gloomily. “Not that I blame you much if you don’t, for the fodder we’ve been subsisting on these last four weeks is enough to make a horse sick. You had better come and take your share though, for there will be no more until to-morrow. If we ever expect to escape we must keep up the physical no matter how our spirits flag.”
“So you are beginning to acknowledge the existence of spirit, Doctor?” I said slyly.
“Pshaw! Don’t you begin nagging thus early in the day. I am reduced to the necessity of acknowledging it or quarrelling with you, George Wylde, and under the existing circumstances that would be a decided mistake.”
I said no more, but followed the Doctor through the chamber in which we now found ourselves, into a larger one where a fire burned and Ah Schow was steeping tea in an old earthern pot. Upon a huge fragment of rock cups, saucers and plates were laid and several lamas sat around devouring rice with their chopsticks. Walla bent over the fire near our cook, busily stirring the contents of a huge, smoke-begrimed vessel; the glow of the fire alone shed light upon the scene.
Such was my situation now after the lapse of many weary days—days lengthened into weeks until, as I have said, a month had passed.
Who can wonder if I own to an inward longing for a second inhalation from that golden tube; if I sometimes wish my life cord might have been severed; that I was back again with Maurice and Mr. Mirrikh in Mars?
But enough of this.
We were now in a vast cavern opening back into the side of a mountain, but just where on the face of God’s footstool this cavern was located, we did not know.
With us—by us I mean the Doctor and myself—were Padma and all his lamas save the one whom I had seen put the body of the old priest into the shute. That Walla and Ah Schow were likewise with us I have already said.
My return from Mars was to this cave. I opened my eyes to find the Doctor bending over me, using every effort to resuscitate what, as he assured me afterward, he fully believed to be a corpse; but he could scarcely have been more surprised when I rose up and spoke than I was to see him, for I had counted the Doctor as already dead.
His story was briefly told.
The Doctor boarded the car, and acting upon the information furnished him by Padma, started alone on his perilous journey. Of course I was immensely curious to learn how he had fared, but his description of the trip from the lamasery to the cavern was singularly vague.
“Upon my word, I can’t tell you much about it, George,” he said, when I came to question him. “I just held on to the rope and seemed to go with a rush. It was pitch dark, but there was plenty of air and the motion of the car not rapid enough to take my breath away; I thought I was never going to reach the end, when all at once the rope parted, and the next thing I knew I was lying on the bottom of the car, which had ceased to move.”
“And what did you do then?” I asked.
“Do! What could I do? It was all as dark as Erebus, and I hadn’t the remotest idea where I was.”
“You would have fared better if you had been less selfish and taken your chances with the rest of us,” I answered; and then I told him something of my own experiences—but not all. But I maintained stoutly that I had seen Maurice; that in spirit I had been to Mars.
He would not admit it, of course; but I hardly think he altogether doubted. Returning to his own story he went on to say that at first he wandered about in a state bordering on madness, for what could he do there alone in the darkness but wander on till strength failed and death came to his relief?
Frightful must have been his mental suffering in those awful moments; fortunately for him, however, he was not called upon to endure them long, for suddenly he saw a light flash through the gloom and hurrying to it beheld Ni-fan-lu.
But let the Doctor give the rest in his own words.
“I was amazed beyond all telling, George. There stood the fellow precisely as I had last seen him.
“ ‘How did you get here?’ ” I demanded.
“He threw up his hands upon seeing me and seemed even more startled than I was—I knew afterward that he believed me dead—I had to repeat my question a second time, and in answer he pointed to a square, box-like arrangement which projected through the wall of the cave, terminating a few inches above the floor.”
“My body came through there,” he said; “I inhaled the gas, left it, followed in spirit and took it up again.”
“I might have argued with him, but before I could even answer, Walla came shooting out of the box and fell at my feet. You can imagine my amazement, when after a moment I saw her rise up and begin rubbing her eyes like one just awakening. I questioned her, but she could tell me nothing; she did not even remember how she had started, but commenced to cry out for Maurice. While I tried to quiet her Maurice’s body came down, and after that yours, and after yours came Ah Schow, and then lama after lama; at length your grip came flying out and a lot of bags followed it. Last of all came Padma all tied up with rags, but I had grown used to it by this time, and what worried me most was that you showed no sign of returning consciousness like the rest. It alarmed Padma not a little, too, and he immediately hypnotized Walla and began to question her. Her answers did not surprise me a bit, for by this time I was prepared for anything. She said that you had gone to seek Maurice in Mars.”
Here, so far as can interest the reader, the Doctor’s narative ended. Two points, however, may be alluded to. The distance between the lamasery and the cavern, and the length of time during which I had remained unconscious after the appearance of my body at the other end of the shute.
Concerning the first, lam unfortunately not in position to furnish any information, for the Doctor had not thought to note the time while the excitement continued. One thing is certain, those strange underground inclines were many miles in length; as for myself, Philpot assured me that he watched over my body for more than an hour and had just about given me up, when all at once I looked at him and spoke his name.
Now all this talk took place beside Maurice’s body, which the Doctor and Ni-fan-lu had carefully conveyed to a rocky shelf on one side of the cavern, where I found it enveloped in that coarse bagging such as the Chinese wrap around tea chests. There was no change in the appearance of the face, nor had there been any as yet after the lapse of a full month. At night I slept beside it, by day Walla usually watched; between us both it was seldom left alone.
Whether or no the Doctor still believed Maurice dead I cannot positively say, for he had long since refused to discuss the matter. He freely admitted, however, that there was something very different from either death or the ordinary trance state about my friend’s condition; and he would sometimes sit by for a long time holding a pocket mirror before the nostrils—but never a sign of moisture came upon the glass, and yet at no time was the body absolutely cold. Indeed the Doctor assured me that he was satisfied that no true rigor mortis had come upon it. Once he urged me to let him try bleeding, but I grew so excited in my refusal that he never mentioned the matter again.
Such, briefly told, are the salient points connected with our arrival in this strange place; and now, before resuming the thread of my narrative, let me speak a few words about the cave itself.
It was of vast extent, reaching far back into the heart of the mountain, but no efforts at exploration had been made. Just how we could be on a mountain at all I could not understand, unless the country from Psam-dagong down toward Lh’asa has a gradual descent; but on a mountain we were, Padma assured us, surrounded by rocks on all sides saye one, and this one, when I first beheld it, I almost wished might be walled in too.
Here the cavern opened upon a roaring torrent, rushing down between perpendicular walls; foaming, boiling, tearing its way past the entrance like mad, with the water setting back into the cave for a distance of at least twenty feet.
Beyond we could see only a wall of gray granite, from which we were separated by the torrent.
“Our way lies there,” said the old lama, calmly, “but the flood is here before us. We shall have to wait for the water to fall.”
“But how are we to pass through that barrier?” I asked. “It is a pity that our bodies could not have been sent a little further on.”
“A pity indeed. This I did not anticipate; but it would have made no difference. We chose the only possible way of escaping from Psam-dagong.”
Let me mention that Padma made no allusion at any time to the octor’s mad action. With that quiet good sense he ever displayed, the old lama let the matter drop.
“Is there a way of passing through that wall?” asked the Doctor.
“Most certainly,” was the reply. “There is a passage directly through it leading down the mountain. From thence to Lh’asa the way is short and easy. Indeed the city might be discerned from the mountain tops beyond the river, could we but transport ourselves there.”
“Ah! If we only could!” I cried; “but tell me, father, this passage: is it below the water level now?”
“It is, my son; we can only possess our souls in patience till the waters fall.”
“And that will be when?”
“Buddha alone can answer.”
“And in the meantime how are we to subsist?”
“There are stores of rice and other provisions in the cavern here upon which we shall be obliged to draw. Of water we have enough and to spare.”
“And these provisions were placed here—when?”
“Years ago in anticipation of the bursting of the Dshambi-nor; still they are in good condition. I have examined them. Palatable they certainly are not, but they will sustain life.”
“But how are we to cross even when the water falls; is there not a deep ravine?”
“So deep, my son, that to gaze upon it as I saw it in my boyhood would fill your soul with terror. There was a bridge here then; since it has been swept away; we must find means, if we can, to construct another; but one thing weighs heavily on my mind: even if we do in the end manage to cross here, what will become of you?”
“Why do you ask? Shall we not go with you?”
“Children,” he said, gazing upon us pityingly, “so far as lies in my power I shall protect you, but know the worst. You are foreigners; worse still, you are English. The moment you pass through the gates of Lh’asa you will be seized and put to death. No Englishman has ever been known to enter the city save one, and he lost his life in the end. The law of our Chinese masters is most stringent. Your friend, Mr. Mirrikh, has left you no letter of safe conduct out of the country. It is simply impossible that you can ever escape from Thibet.”
Not until now had we known this, for we could not read the letter Mr. Mirrikh had given us, which proved so perfect an open sesame into this strange land. Padma proceeded to inform us that it only requested that we be passed to Psam-dagong, but it made no provision whatever for our return, and not under any circumstances would it save us once we were in Lh’asa.
It was a gloomy outlook. Padma’s reference to Mr. Moorcroft, who lived twelve years in Lh’asa in disguise, did not cheer us any.
Moorcroft arrived at Lh’asa by way of Ladak, in 1820. He wore the dress of a Mahommedan and managed to deceive the*police up to the last. Indeed his murder was the work of a mountain banditti, and not until his effects came to be examined was the fact of his being an Englishman known.
“By Jove, this is a bad business!” said the Doctor after Padma left us. “I’ve been expecting something of this sort, Wylde. The only thing left is for us to turn Buddhists. Oh, for the levitating powers of Mirrikh! Bless me! but those were not half bad days at the musty old Nagkon Wat. Would that they were back again. ”
But wishing could bring no change in our situation. Day after day while Walla and I watched by Maurice’s body the Doctor watched the water at the mouth of the cave.
For eight days it continued to rise, until at last, instead of extending twenty feet back into the cave it reached more than fifty. Very naturally we began to wonder if it would keep on rising and ultimately drown us out; but on the ninth day, to my intense relief, it began to fall, and after that kept on falling, until now it was below the entrance of the passage through the granite wall on the other side of the ravine, or canon, as I preferred to call it; we could still see the water rushing madly when we wished, but it was necessary to lean out of the cave to do this, for our rocky prison was now entirely dry.
Such was the situation on that morning when the Doctor called me to breakfast.
At my appearance Walla turned her share of the cooking over to Ah Schow and hastily retreated to take her place beside Maurice’s body. And in this connection I may as well say that my feelings toward the poor girl had long since assumed proper shape. The love which I, in my ignorance, thought I felt for her, I knew now belonged to another; to a being not of this world, whose very existence had become to me but a beautiful dream.
Thus Walla, no longer annoyed by the consciousness that I was always watching her, came to be upon very good terms with me; and although we spoke but seldom, we thoroughly understood each other so far as Maurice was concerned, and was not that enough?
There was nothing particularly remarkable about this day, except that it rained, and so long as the daylight lasted—it was precious little of it we saw—there was a steady drip at the mouth of the cave.
We had fallen into a regular routine by this time. Padma gathered his lamas about him at stated hours, and so far as they were able, the rules of the lamasery were preserved; prayer wheels were ground and spiritual instruction given. At first the Doctor undertook to explain something of Padma’s discourses, for every other day the venerable lama kindly consented to deliver them in Hindustani, which language several of his flock understood; but it was hard translating to me, and as the Doctor soon grew tired of the task, we gave it up.
When not engaged in religious exercises, the lamas kept themselves busy as best they could, and foremost among their occupations was the plaiting of long strips of hide, out of which it was intended to construct a bridge to throw across the cañon, though how this was to be accomplished I could not comprehend. The hides were found in the cave in the small chamber where the provisions had been stored. The former bridge was likewise of hide, Padma informed us, and these had been placed where we discovered them for the purpose of renewing it when necessary. But one thing I may say right here, we found it very difficult to draw much information about the country or the cave and its history from the old superior of Psam-dagong, for in spite of his friendly manner he seemed determined that in case we ever did succeed in leaving Thibet alive, it should be in utter ignorance about the land and its resources, so far as he was concerned. Often we questioned him on these points, but his replies were always vague and unsatisfactory, and the conversation was dropped as soon as possible. Perhaps, indeed, the old man’s life had been such a retired one that his information was but slight on matters other than of a spiritual nature; but the Doctor maintained, and I agreed with him, that he probably thought he acted under orders from the Grand Lama, for he would at times retire and be absent for hours, and upon his return declare that he had been in spirit to Lh’asa and in consultation with his superior. I give all this just as we received it at the time, and shall make no comments upon its probable truth or falsity. Once I asked him why during these visits he could not provide for our departure from the country, but he cut me short by saying that such things were impossible; that his conversations in spirit with his superior were only of a spiritual nature, that he could not even bring help to assist us in our leaving the cave.
Thus the days came and went, and the time drew near when our departure was to take place; indeed there was no reason why a move should not be made now, so far as I could see, for the bridge was complete and the water had fallen below the opening in the wall on the opposite side of the canon. Padma informed us, however, that nothing could be done until a certain holy day, and declined to tell us when this would come or how the bridge was to be thrown across the cañon. Indeed all his communications to us were involved in so much mystery that our anxiety became intense; yet we were powerless to do anything and tried to be as patient as circumstances would permit.
“There's something wrong about it all, George!” the Doctor kept saying. “With all his mildness and pretended fatherly interest in our welfare, I don’t trust Padma. We are foreigners, and the old fellow has all the prejudices of his race. Be very sure we shall never leave Thibet alive."
And such were some of the sayings and doings of the dreary days during which we remained prisoners underground.
“Good evening, my children! The day is spent at last, but the sunlight will soon come again. Our time in this gloomy retreat grows short, and before we leave it forever, I would show you more of the mysteries of Nature; I am about to consult my spirit guides as to the proper steps to be taken in your case. Would it please you to be present and increase your store of wisdom? I do not urge it, I only suggest that wisdom, no matter how acquired, must ever assist in the progress of the soul toward that blessed Nirvana where we shall be in Buddha and his all-pervading essence more fully in us."
“By all means let us join him, George," said the Doctor. “Anything to break this infernal monotony. Shall I say yes?"
“Ask him if he cannot go through his ceremony right here,” I replied. “I do not want to leave Maurice just now.”
“But why not now as well at another time? You often leave him with Walla for hours together.”
“I do not know. I have strange feelings about Maurice to-night. It seems to me that a change is at hand; that before many hours the monotony of our existence here, which has been so irksome to us both, will be broken. I cannot explain my feelings, but I am determined to remain where I am.”
He raised no objection. He seldom did that now to anything, but turned to Padma and translated my reply.
Nor had the old lama, rather to my surprise, any objection to offer.
“What I am about to do can as well be done here as elsewhere,” he answered. “I leave you now, but I shall return presently. Remain as you are and try and bring your minds into a state of perfect quiescence.”
Thus saying Padma retreated, leaving the Doctor and myself to discuss the best methods of becoming quiescent—rather a difficult matter under the circumstances.
Walla at the time was seated upon the sandy floor close to the shelf of rock where Maurice’s body lay. She seldom spoke in these days, but seemed to live only in the contemplation of those cold, white features. Sincerely I pitied the girl. Far better for her would it have been had she remained among her own people. The education which she had received had done nothing for her but to make her discontented with the sphere in which her lot was cast, and foster within her hopes and aspirations impossible of realization; for what could she ever be to Maurice or Maurice to her, even if the miracle we hoped for should be accomplished and that body rise again?
How little the best of us can comprehend the future. What spiritual relation Maurice bore to poor Walla, God alone can tell; that her work for him was to be of the utmost importance will be seen before my story is at an end.
In less than ten minutes Padma was back again, and with him came a young lama whose name I have striven in vain to remember. He carried in his arms a heap of argols—part of the stores of the caves—which he flung down upon the sand with a sigh of relief.
“Are the others not to be with us?” asked the Doctor.
“No; they have retired to rest,” was the answer. “What we are now about to do can best be done in the presence of but a few. Indeed your own presence may interfere with matters to some extent, but I am determined that you shall see.”
I made no reply, for we had agreed to throw ourselves fully into the channels of Padma’s thought, whatever they might be. Indeed I shall even now forbear to comment upon the scene, but simply content myself with describing it as we saw it on that ever memorable night.
The first thing Padma did was to produce a small musical instrument resembling a drum head in shape; a wooden hoop with parchment covering. Seating himself in Oriental fashion, he spoke a few words to the lama who had scooped out a hole for the argols and started a blaze.
Immediately the lama threw aside his robe and we saw that he was entirely naked save for a strip of cloth about his loins; in this condition he seated himself cross legged before the fire and Padma ordered the Doctor to extinguish the wretched lamp which stood on the ledge near Maurice’s face. This action aroused Walla; she raised up and looked curiously at us. I doubt if she had even heard our conversation regarding the matter, for she seemed surprised, although she did not speak.
“It will be necessary for you to remain perfectly quiet,” said Padma. “To those who speak to you talk freely; otherwise say nothing—do not even move.”
“What the mischief!” muttered the Doctor. “Who is he talking about? Who is there to speak to us beside himself?”
“Peace!” cried the old lama peremptorily, his ears catching the murmur of the Doctor’s voice. “Peace, my children, or we cannot proceed.”
We were silent immediately, and Padma placing his drum head upon his knees, began monotonously beating it with two small sticks. There was no attempt at harmony, just a steady tap! tap! I could but think, as I watched him, that precisely such were the operations of the medicine men among our American Indians, and indeed the prophets of all primitive people, so far as my reading has shown me. Meanwhile his companion sat with folded arms, rocking his naked body to and fro, his eyes fixed upon the dull glow of the smoldering argols; occasionally his lips seemed to move.
Five—ten—fifteen minutes passed. We began to grow impatient, and the Doctor was in a dreadful fidget, for nothing whatever had happened. What we expected was that the lama would become entranced and begin speaking by what professed to be spirit inspiration. What actually did happen was something of a totally different sort.
Still the tapping of the drum continued, until the strain grew fearful and each tap seemed to burn its way into my brain like red hot iron. For relief I removed my eyes from the rocking body of the lama and looked at Walla. Her head was bowed low upon her breast. She seemed to be asleep.
“Look! look!” breathed the Doctor before I could move my eyes back to the lama again.
I looked and saw that a change had come; a change the meaning of which, I at least, should be able to recognize even if the Doctor could not; the body of the lama had ceased to move and around it a whitish mist was gathering; this rapidly increased in density until it became a great oblong ball of light, which bounded up and down upon the sand for a few seconds and then vanished like a flash.
“Children you must not speak!” whispered Padma; “but for your interruption the spirit would have succeeded. No matter; it will come again.”
“Materialization, by Jove!” breathed the Doctor almost inaudibly, but held his tongue after that.
In a moment the light appeared again and this time there was no bounding about. Padma beat his drum faster and faster and then suddenly ceased altogether. As he did so we saw the figure of a man rise at the feet of the lama; sink back again, rise a second time and stand erect. To our intense astonishment this person was almost a counterpart of Padma himself; not only in point of age and features, but in dress. Without even glancing in our direction, he walked with firm tread toward the old lama who bowed low before him; extending his hand he raised Padma, embraced and kissed him; then side by side they walked together into the shadows of the cave and disappeared.
I looked at the Doctor triumphantly, only to find him staring at me.
“Just as I saw it at the inn of Zhad-uan” I whispered, forgetting Padma’s injunction of silence; but the Doctor did not answer and for excellent reason. A ball of light, precisely similar to the other, was hovering at my feet.
Breathlessly we watched it, but after a few seconds it disappeared. I remembered Mr. Mirrikh’s injunction and whispered to the Doctor to turn his head away; but this, it seemed, was not necessary, for at the same instant I saw what appeared to be a mass of moving white drapery upon the floor, and suddenly a female form rose up and approached my companion with outstretched arms.
“Miles—Miles, my boy, don’t you know me?” I heard her whisper in hoarse, sepulchral tones.
“My mother!” burst from the Doctor. He started up and drew back in terror.
Instantly the white figure sank down and seemed to de-solve into nothingness; but there was the naked lama crouching by the fire still, his eyes closed, his head bent forward upon his breast. To all appearance he was sound asleep.
“You fool!” I whispered. “Why did you do so? If that was indeed your mother’s spirit she surely would have done you no harm.”
He brushed his hand across his face which I could see was damp with perspiration.
“George, if we are going mad, then God help us! If that was my mother’s spirit, then I am a fool! Anyhow, she is the last person I want to see.”
“As far as that is concerned you probably know your own business best. Did she resemble your mother?”
“She did—most decidedly.”
“She was certainly a woman of advanced years. I noticed her bent form and her thin features. One thing is sure, she could speak English, and what’s more she knew your name.”
He muttered something which I did not catch. I would have questioned him further, but the sound of footsteps announced that Padma was returning, and I forbore.
The old lama came alone, seated himself before the fire and took up his drum.
“My children, we may speak a few words now, while the spirits renew their forces,” he said. “Have you also had visitors from the world unseen?”
“There was a female here,” replied the Doctor, curtly. “As to where she came from probably you know best.”
“Where could she have come from? Is there a woman in this cave beside your companion who sits behind you?”
“She was not the one.”
“Then indeed you have beheld a spirit. Did she not inform you who she was?”
“No,” replied the Doctor, so savagely that Padma sighed and resumed his drumming, nor did I attempt to interfere, or even to ask what had become of the form which walked away with him and failed to return.
Ten minutes more elapsed and then the light again appeared hovering about the slumbering lama; the drumming came faster and faster and the end was the same as before, but this time it was a young man who rose up, and to my intense excitement I saw that he wore a black dress coat and trousers, with snowy shirt front and polished boots. In short he was in European dress, when no such clothes, let it be remembered, were in the possession either of the Doctor or myself.
We watched him breathlessly. For a few seconds he seemed to totter, his hands went up and he began to rub his eyes.
Presently he moved forward with uncertain step, as a man might walk when treading on thin ice, and extending his hands toward me, repeated in that same sepulchral voice, a single word:
“Papa! Papa!”
I was upon my feet in an instant; every drop of blood in my veins seemed turned to fire. I was expecting spirits, I had even thought of several of my defunct friends whom I should have been pleased to see, but I had never thought of this.
“Who—who are you?” I gasped. “In God's name tell me—can it be”
“Can it be that I am your boy, papa? Yes; I am no one else!”
He caught both my hands and held them. His were icy cold, but they were flesh and blood.
“Willie!” I murmured.
“Yes, Willie—your son. I am ever with you, papa. This trial is soon to pass. Do not fear.”
“But you are a man; my Willie was but a baby!”
“Has time ceased, papa? Think of the years?”
“Yet not enough for this change.”
“Enough and more than enough in the realm of spirit. Good-night, papa. Think as kindly of mama) as you can!”
He was going down! Slowly his form sank before my eyes until nothing but the head remained visible on the sand.
“Good-night, dear papa! Good-night!”
Then the head vanished like a puff of smoke!
“By the immortal Cæsar! I’ve nothing to say after that!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Have you a son dead? Say yes, and I’m a Spiritualist from this moment.”
“I have.”
“And his name—but look! Look!”
He paused suddenly and pointed to Padma, who had arisen and drawn nearer to us.
The cause was plain enough. Between the old lama and the fire stood two hideous forms. They were men of low stature, with enormous heads, ugly and misshapen, great bulging eyes and fearful mouths. They kept moving round and round in a circle, darting towards us glances of malignant hate.
Immediately Padma produced his prayer wheel and began grinding it furiously, calling out unintelligible sentences in Thibetan. After a moment the two forms sank down and vanished, upon which the old lama gave a sigh of relief.
“They are the spirits of the ancients,” he said; “once dwellers in this cavern, where they still linger near their bones. They saw their opportunity and seized it, but we cannot profitably converse with such as they, so I bade them begone.”
“Whence comes this wonderful gift, father?” I asked. “Explain something of the nature of the phenomena. Was that indeed my son with whom I spoke?”
“The gift comes from heaven, as do all the gifts we possess, my child. As for your son you should be the best judge. I do not even know that you have a son.”
“I lost a son—an infant.”
“Nothing is lost. If you ever had a son you have him still; the mere fact of his being unable to control the material body is nothing. What can annihilate a human soul? Nothing; not even the will of Buddha. He can absorb, it is true, but I say again, nothing is lost.”
“But my son was but an infant when he left me—it is not so long ago.”
“Infants born of intelligent parents soon become men and women in the realm of spirit. A few years at the most almost always suffices. Often it is but a few months.”
“You speak as with knowledge. With my people it is different. While many claim to believe in the existence of spirits, few think of them as other than intangible and wholly incomprehensible beings, whose lives are passed in eternal rest or eternal suffering. For one to lay claim to any accurate information in the matter, is only to excite ridicule or persecution for none will believe their claim.”
“I speak as with knowledge, my son, because I have knowledge. The realm of spirit is everywhere. Men may question its existence, but this can only be for a short time while they remain grossly material in their nature. As for your eternal rest, I cannot understand it any more than I can your notion of eternal punishment. Does the sun ever rest? Does the earth ever cease its revolutions, or the stars their own proper motion? Man is born to be useful, and rest, which is but a state of mind rather than a condition, can only come through constant activity in one’s sphere of use. I can see it. in no other light. As for the other—punishment may indeed be eternal to such as cannot lay aside gross and material thoughts; the punishment of remaining in them, with the spiritual surroundings which such thoughts must of necessity bring; but beyond that I cannot understand you. Is it of arbitrary punishment by the will of the Supreme that you speak?”
“It is, father—such are the teachings of our priests.”
“Then most grossly are they in error, most densely must their minds be steeped in spiritual ignorance. Have they no spirit guides to teach them better? I cannot understand such a condition of affairs. In this land the masses know but little of such matters; it is true, but with the lamas it is different. I might say further that we do not always deem it best to raise men above their sphere, but we never wilfully deceive as your priests must surely do, for they cannot themselves be ignorant of the truth.’*
“I think they are, as you view it, father. Some of them are most worthy men; but tell me whence comes the power to take on the material body in which these forms have appeared to us?’*
“I care not to fully explain. What are our bodies but condensations of certain molecules? Mind controls matter. If disembodied intelligences so will it, what is to prevent the hasty condensation of the molecules and the formation of a temporary body in any shape they desire to assume?”
“And this is the way the phenomena we have witnessed was accomplished?”
“It is.”
“But those hideous creatures, whence came they? By whose will were they sent here?”
“That is different. They were not sent here, they were here already, as I have told you; have been here for thousands of years, perhaps. Possibly they were able to draw strength from the dry bones which lay scattered all about us. It may be so.”
“But their hideous faces? Were there ever men such as they?”
“Very possibly those were not their true faces, but such as correspond to their present state.”
“Correspond to their state? I do not understand you.”
“Yet it is simple. In the realm of spirit a man appears to others as he really is, spiritually. Thus a vile man would appear hideous to your eyes, while to himself he seems just the reverse.”
“Do our fears create forms?” asked the Doctor breaking in suddenly.
“They do,” replied Padma;” or rather they draw about us spirits of corresponding natures; but I must talk no more. There are yet other spirits who would appear, and—ha! We have talked too long already! Those fiends have gained control of the forces again!”
A wild, unearthly cry, sounding as at a distance in the depths of the cave, suddenly rang out. Instantly came an answering cry—then another and another until similar cries were coming from all directions. Now they seemed close to us; again, they would retreat and die away in the distance. Some were like the human voice, others like the cries of animals; one in particular, which kept coming and going, was startlingly like the whining of a dog in distress. Padma meanwhile had resumed his prayer wheel and was grinding vigorously, having enjoined upon us on no account to speak if we valued our lives and reason. As for Walla, she was evidently either asleep or entranced, for through it all she never moved. For perhaps ten minutes these strange sounds continued. Padma seemed to be making but little progress in laying the spirits which were supposed to haunt the cave.
Suddenly I felt the Doctor's trembling hand lightly touch my arm. He was pointing toward the fire, out of which I could now dimly discern hideous faces peering at us by dozens. Not only were they in the fire itself, but around and above, coming and going, flitting about in every direction. For the most part they were recognizably human faces and evil-looking beyond description. Not a few animal faces were mingled with them, however; these were not the faces of modern animal forms, but looked as though they might have escaped from the pages of some geological text book, freely illustrated with prehistoric creatures. They seemed to come and go, as did also the more human faces, with a sort of pulsation; beside this the whole mass of faces had a rotary movement with the fire for its axis. Words fail when I attempt to express the horror which seized me as I gazed.
“By heavens, Wylde, this is worse than the D. Ts!” whispered the Doctor.
Was it the mere act of speech which did the mischief?
I cannot answer; I only know that instantly as the Doctor uttered these words, the whole mass of heads and faces seemed to detach itself from the fire and come bounding toward us over the sand, enveloped in a milky cloud, while the cave fairly rang with wild yells and hideous screeches.
We sprang to our feet and backed against the wall, for retreat was impossible. I do not pretend to analyze the Doctor’s feelings, but I know that for the moment my fear was intense, and I found myself doing what I had not done since my childhood—repeating the prayer for God’s protection which I had learned to lisp at my mother’s knee.
“Away! Away you devils! Get back to hell!" roared the Doctor.
Then above the terrific din which filled the cavern, old Padma’s voice could be distinguished uttering unintelligible words in clear distinct tones.
Suddenly the voices ceased and there was only the old lama’s audible; for a moment the bounding mass seemed to halt in its advance, though the movement of the faces still continued. Then all at once the whole was obliterated and we were facing Padma; his eyes were blazing with passion, his face livid with rage.
“Fools! Madmen!” he burst out. “Would you endanger your own lives as well as mine? So much for attempting to instruct such minds as yours in our occult mysteries. It is enough! My guide spoke truly when he warned me against you. Let your fate be upon your own heads!”
In vain the Doctor stammered words of apology, but the venerable lama seemed not to hear.
Striding toward his entranced subordinate, he made a few hasty passes about his head, whereupon the lama’s eyes were opened and he staggered to his feet, reeling like one intoxicated; most surely would he have fallen had not Padma caught him in his arms.
“Speak to him! Pacify him!” I whispered to the Doctor. “Our lives depend wholly upon him.”
“Can’t do it,” was the reply. “Better wait until he has quieted down a bit. He is too furious to listen to any explanation now.”
Fatal error! That the Doctor lived to repent his decision we shall presently see.
But the opportunity was lost, for without speaking again, Padma, still supporting the young lama, retreated in the direction of his own quarters and we were left alone.
I hastened to light the lamp, for the fire was now dying down; as I did so I instinctively glanced at Maurice’s face and thought I could discern a change.
I shouted to the Doctor, and held the lamp closer.
Just then Walla roused up, rubbed her eyes and in a trembling voice asked what the matter was; the Doctor put the same question, for he was already at my side.
“Look! look!” I exclaimed. “Moisture on the forehead!”
“Don’t deceive yourself, George; it is all your excited imagination. No! By the gods, it’s a fact!”
At the same instant I felt a rush of cold air pass my face and even as we looked the eyelids began to twitch.
We gazed in breathless silence. I could see Walla’s big, black orbs dilate. I could hear the quick beating of my own heart.
Suddenly a convulsive shudder was seen to pass over the body; the eyes opened and fixed themselves upon mine.
“Maurice! Maurice!” I shouted, springing forward.
But Walla was before me. With a wild cry she flung herself upon his breast.
Now indeed were we face to face with a mighty mystery; now indeed was the promise of the man Mirrikh fulfilled.
If his words were truth, if my own strange experiences were facts and not fancies, then Maurice had returned from Mars.
“Maurice! Oh Maurice! Speak to me, Maurice! For God’s sake tell me this is real!”
He pushed Walla aside with a look of loathing, and raising himself to a sitting position spoke, for we had already torn off the bagging in which his body was swathed.
“George!”
“Oh Maurice!”
I am not ashamed to own it. I was crying like a child. I bent forward and would have flung my arms about him, when to my dismay he thrust me away too.
“No, no! Don’t do that!” he cried. “You musn’t do it! Where is she? I can’t see her. Where is she, George?”
I felt a shiver pass over me. Was he mad?
“Do you mean Walla? She is here, Maurice.”
The girl stood facing him; her lips tightly set, her face as livid as the face of a corpse.
“No, no! I don’t mean Walla at all. You know very well who I mean, George Wylde. You saw her in Mars, Mirrikh told me so. Where is she, I say?”
“I do not understand you,” I replied. “Try and pull yourself together, old fellow. Your mind is wandering. Doctor, for God’s sake do something. He is mad! Unless there is help we shall lose him again.”
“What can I do?” groaned the Doctor.
“I will call Padma!”
“To the mischief with Padma! We have had enough of him. Maurice, my dear boy, your mind is wandering a bit, and no wonder. You have had a fearful experience. Try”
“Stop! Let me think! Do not speak to me until I speak to you.”
He buried his face in his hands and for several moments remained silent. I looked around to see if Walla had grown calmer. To my surprise I saw her gliding off into the darkness. Most sincerely did I pity the girl, but what could I do for her? She loved him, he had rejected her. Words were not necessary to convey to a mind so open to impression as hers the true state of Maurice De Veber’s heart.
Silently the Doctor and I stood contemplating him until at length the hands were removed.
I started back in amazement. What I saw the Doctor saw also; he uttered a quick exclamation of astonishment.
The whole appearance of Maurice’s face had changed.
It was Maurice and it was not Maurice.
Every feature was altered; every line had softened; there was an indescribable beauty about the countenance of my friend which was wholly unnatural. Even his voice was different; it was no longer the deep voice of Maurice, but pitched in a higher key.
“George Wylde!” he said almost stiffly; “I want to feel that you mean to stand by me whatever happens. I have passed through a wonderful experience, I am passing through the most wonderful part of it now, and I need all your help and sympathy.”
“And you shall have it, Maurice—you have it already, my dear boy.”
“And you, Doctor, are not to question me. Hear me, my friends: I do not know how long a time has elapsed since I parted from you, but of all that has happened during that time I have nothing to tell—absolutely nothing. Do you understand?”
His voice rose almost to a shriek as he spoke these last words. His whole frame trembled with emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes.
The Doctor behaved splendidly.
“There there! Don’t disturb yourself! No one is going to question you,” he answered. “Are you hungry? Would you not like something to eat?”
“I—I suppose so. I do not know. The thought of food nauseates me, and yet I suppose I had better take it. How long is it, George?”
“A month,” I answered gloomily.
“Only a month! It seems years! And you got back safely. I did not see you, old fellow, but Mirrikh did. A wonderful man that! Oh God, to come back to this dreary world again after the life I have been leading! It is horrible! Horrible! But that is not the worst.”
“What can you mean?” I breathed.
“Which is the worst? To suffer yourself or drag those you love into torment?” he asked fiercely.
And as he spoke his face completely changed. Again he was Maurice—Maurice speaking in deadly earnest, if not in anger—then like a flash the face was transformed again, became as before, and over it spread a sad smile.
“Do not be angry with—with me,” he said. “I cannot help it. I am not fully master of myself.”
I was too deeply concerned for anger. Was he indeed mad? If not, then what did it all mean?
“You shall have food at once,” I said. “Meanwhile can you bear being left alone a moment?”
“Why certainly; but stay, I want to know where I am. What place is this? This is not the chamber from which I started on my journey to Mars?”
“No; it is not. Great changes have come to us since then, Maurice. Let me advise you not to question us now. Later on we will tell you”
“No! No! Now! Tell me now!”
“Would you object to letting me feel your pulse, Maurice?” asked the Doctor.
He submitted quietly enough. The Doctor performed the operation and dropped the hand without comment.
“Why don’t you stand up?” he asked.
“Because I do not chose to.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes—no!”
“Which?”
“No—no?”
“I should like to see you walk a few steps.”
“But you won’t!” he flashed, and again that marvelous change of facial expression came and went.
The Doctor would have pressed him further, but he turned beseechingly to me.
“George, won’t you tell me?”
I told him all. I could not refuse.
He listened, making no comment until I had uttered the last word.
“Then our situation is desperate?”
“Most desperate.”
“Even if we escape from the cave there is no help for us?”
“None, it would seem.”
“Yet Mirrikh promised,” he murmured, “and I shall trust him. Have no fear, George. We shall escape from this peril. We shall see New York again.”
“God grant it! But let me say a word in behalf of Walla, Maurice. Though humble enough and of another race than ours, the poor girl loves you. Be kind to her, Maurice. If you could have seen the devotion with which she watched over you; if”
“Say no more! ” he interrupted. “I shall be kind, but if, as you say, she loves me, then she must learn to unlove. Of course you understand”
“Of course, of course; but you wounded her feelings terribly.”
“Cannot you mend matters? I thought you were mad about the girl yourself.”
I shook my head.
“I have passed out of that state long ago, Maurice. I did not know myself.”
“No; but I know you, George; I know you better now than ever before. You need not explain further. The gas has done its work for you as well as for me.”
“It has! God knows it has.”
I thought then of that face and its heavenly beauty. It seemed as if a single word was whispered in my ear.
“Hope!”
I heard it! I positively declare I heard it. The voice was as real as was Maurice’s which followed, asking for something to eat.
And thus in sadness and mystery began the night of Maurice’s return; a night of horrors which will never cease to be present in my waking moments, or to disturb my dreams.
“I will go and fetch some rice,” said the Doctor. “Come Wylde, I have a word to say.”
I glanced at Maurice, but he made no objection and with the Doctor’s hand upon my arm I walked into the shadows. It was not until we were out of hearing that he spoke.
“I want you to prepare yourself for the worst,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Maurice can’t live. It is useless for me to kick against the pricks any longer. I own that all this is wonderful, most mysterious; but there is something seriously wrong with our friend, physically. Did you ever hear of a man having a double pulse, George Wylde?”
“A double pulse! I am entirely at a loss to understand you. What in heaven’s name do you mean by a double pulse?”
“I mean precisely what I say. I was impressed to feel his pulse. I cannot tell you why, but so it was. There are two beats for every one.”
“Do you mean two beats together?”
“I mean two separate and distinct beats together and in the same second of time.”
“You must be mad, Doctor. Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“I never did—that I swear. Furthermore, I swear that I am not mad. Indeed I am strongly inclined to believe that I am the only thoroughly sane person in this cave.”
He spoke further in the same strain; he positively assured me of the truth of his marvelous statement, and reiterated his belief that there was something all wrong with Maurice’s heart, and that unless an immediate change came he could not long survive. After a moment I left him, and while he went on to fetch the rice I started to return.
I had not gone far before I perceived Walla coming toward me, springing from heaven knew where—the cave was full of turns and corners—she held up her hand warningly, and pointed in the direction of Maurice.
“What is it, Walla?” I asked kindly.
“What ails him? Is he going to die?” she murmured.
“I hope not. God grant that he may not.”
“Something is wrong?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I cannot explain. Something about his heart.”
“His heart! No! Not that! He is mad! He is talking gibberish! He must be mad for he drives me from him—I who would lay down my life to save his!”
She caught me by the hand and drew me to a place where a projecting point in the rock wall enabled us to watch Maurice unseen.
He was sitting just as we had left him. Although I thought myself prepared for anything I was certainly not prepared for what followed.
Maurice was talking in two languages. At one moment he spoke in English, the next and he seemed to answer himself in an unknown tongue; and the faint glow of the lamp striking full upon his face I saw those same wondrous changes come and go. When he spoke in English it was Maurice's face which was turned toward me, his deep voice which uttered the words; but when he suddenly broke out in what Walla called gibberish, the face grew almost feminine in its beauty and the voice changed to that of a woman. It is so! I swear it! It was a most marvelous thing to watch those transformations come and go.
“But what was he saying?
The first I heard was:
“For God’s sake tell me the worst. Can there never be a change?”
Strange words in that other voice followed.
“But what am I to do?”
Again the answer. Let me give something of this most peculiar conversation. The words spoken in the unknown tongue I must represent by dashes. I can do nothing else.
“I can never live so. I feel a sense of suffocation as though I was going to burst.”
“ ”
“Will time make it easier?”
“ ”
“No; I cannot rise. The weight holds me down.”
“ ”
“I will try to walk if you insist upon it; but I know I shall fall.”
He tottered to his feet, and staggered a few steps, precisely as a man might walk who was bearing a heavy burden. It was painful to watch him. I should have spoken now but something appeared to restrain me. In a moment he seemed to give it up, and retreating to the stone bench, sank down panting.
“It is no use. I can’t do it. I can never walk this way!”
“ ”
“Can we not return?”
“ ”
“But what about my friends? I can never control myself. If I escape from this place and return to my own country they will put me into a lunatic asylum, for I cannot hope to make them understand.”
“ ”
“You say there is one who will understand me—do you mean George Wylde?”
“ ”
“Shall I tell him?”
“ ”
“I fear even him.”
At this point a hand was suddenly laid upon my arm. I looked around expecting to see Walla, but instead saw the Doctor. He was holding a bowl of rice and looking at me questioningly. To my surprise I perceived that Walla had again disappeared.
Strange creature! I never understood her. Sometimes now I find myself wondering if it was all her love for Maurice; if her father’s terrible fate had not left its mark upon the poor girl’s brain.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” demanded the Doctor.
“I was watching Maurice,” I said, hurriedly explaining.
“What did I tell you? We are not out of the woods with Maurice yet by a good deal.”
“But how do you account for it? By the way, did you meet Walla? She was here a second ago, but seems to have vanished again.”
“No; I saw nothing of her. As for accounting for Maurice’s present condition I don’t profess to be able to do it. You who lay claim to having taken a planetary journey yourself ought to understand better than I; but he seems to be sitting perfectly quiet. Weren’t you mistaken?”
“No, no! He has stopped talking. He hears us. It is no use now.”
Maurice ate the rice with no show of hunger. I make this statement particularly, for I want it understood that whatever may be said of his spirit, his physical body had received no nourishment for a full month—to this I am prepared to swear.
When we finished eating, the Doctor, with many a sigh, produced the pipe and the last remnant of the tobacco.
“There you are, old man,” he said. “I know you must be dying for a smoke. I have tried to keep your pipe from drying up the best I could.”
So far Maurice had maintained a gloomy silence, but to my infinite relief it was now my friend’s dear face at which I was looking, not the other one; that, beautiful though it was, I had almost come to fear.
“Well, upon my word, Doctor, I believe I should enjoy a smoke,” he answered almost cheerfully.
He took the pipe and began to fill it, while the Doctor kept rattling away.
“Had a smoke since you left, Maurice?”
“Oh yes!”
“They smoke in Mars then.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you relent and tell us something? George was kinder. He told me his experience.”
“I can tell you nothing, Doctor, but I would like to ask you one question and George another.”
“I’ll be forgiving then and answer. Fire away.”
“Do you believe that I have actually been to Mars?”
The Doctor hesitated.
“Why as to that, I hardly know what to say,” he replied. “Since you left us, Maurice, my mind has been in a curiously muddled state. So many strange things have been forced upon me that in spite of reason I have been obliged to waver in my utter disbelief in the spiritual. I know Wylde to be a man of positive and unimaginative character. I know that he would not wilfully deceive me, and I am willing to believe that he thinks he went to Mars. Further than that, there is my own experience, of which he has, perhaps, told you. I thought I went to Mars and said as much when I came to my senses. That is about where I stand. I am bound to admit also that the inhaling of the gas, be its nature what it may, produces effects altogether beyond the range of medical knowledge. I am entirely willing to believe, my dear fellow, that you honestly think you have visited the planet Mars. Indeed I will go a step further and admit that I haven’t a doubt that I, had I inhaled the gas would now entertain some such notion myself.”
“Then you do not believe that I have actually visited Mars?”
“No. I believe you have been in a condition wholly abnormal, your supposed experiences emanating from your own brain.”
“Good! Now we understand each other. Let me say that my experiences were as real to me as ever the experiences of any month of your life on earth have been to you. Now George, for your question. Do you believe that while I was absent I paid you a visit?”
“I do,” I replied firmly. “I doubt no longer; I believe it all.”
“What is this? What is this?” cried the Doctor. “Something I have not heard?”
“Tell him, George.”
I related my experience with Walla in the courtyard at Psam-dagong; of course I did not tell the Doctor of the warning spoken against himself.
“And do you claim to have controlled Walla’s spirit at that time?” he asked of Maurice.
“Oh no!”
“What then?”
“I controlled her brain, her lips. I merely spoke through her physical organs. How her spirit was disposed of I know no more than you do.”
“And did you know what you were doing; were you conscious of speaking with George?”
“Certainly.”
“Supposing yourself to be in Mars at the time?”
“Not supposing—being in Mars at the time. Such things are common enough there. Mental telegraphy is there universally practiced and its operators as well recognized as an ordinary telegraph operator here. I desired to speak with George, and Mirrikh took me to one of those persons, that is all. The first thing I knew I was speaking with George and heard him speak to me.”
“But tell me, Maurice,” I said; “has the question of distance anything at all to do with it?”
“Nothing whatever. It is simply a question of spiritual influx. If you desire to speak with a person at a distance, you must have a medium or operator at each end of the line, and either know the person yourself or find some one who does know him. If I am en rapport with you, it would be just as easy for a professional human telegrapher to assist me to address you at a distance of ten million miles as ten; while for me to attempt to converse with one with whom I was not en rapport, would be impossible at a distance of ten feet”
“By Jove! It would be a deuced good idea if you could strike up a communication with Mirrikh and get from him a letter of safe conduct out of this infernal country!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Eh, Maurice? What do you think of that?”
“I think it as unnecessary as it is under existing conditions impossible. Before we parted, Mr. Mirrikh promised that matter should be attended to, and rely upon it he will keep his word. By the way, George, he sent his warmest regards to you, and to you too, Doctor. He said that it was not likely he should ever return to earth again for a permanent stay, but if he did he should certainly look you up.”
“Then by Jove! I hope he won’t look me up!” growled the Doctor; “for my part I’ve seen quite enough of him.”
Maurice laughed; begging a match of me he proceeded to light the pipe.
“Ah, this is like old times,” he said, giving two or three preliminary puffs.
For ten or fifteen minutes we sat there chatting quite comfortably. Indeed Maurice was so much the old Maurice that I was just beginning to wonder if it would not come around all right, when all at once he was seized with a most violent fit of coughing and choking and the pipe dropped from his hand.
“Oh God! Oh! Oh! This is frightful!” he groaned. “Oh, I am suffocating! I’ve done it now! George! George! Help her! Help!”
He pressed his hand to his forehead, half arose, but instantly fell back again, his face deathly white.
Then relief came, and the Doctor felt that his efforts to increase the consumption of rice in this section of Thibet had been wasted. As he gasped and choked I saw that strange look creep over his face again, and with it came a change of speech, and Maurice began muttering wildly in the unknown tongue.
“Tobacco sick, by Jove!” cried the Doctor. “An old smoker too! Can’t account for it. What’s he mumbling about? What did he mean by upon calling you to help her?”
“Let us help him," I answered hastily. “Come Doctor, we must get him to my bed.”
“Which being of sand is a shade softer than the stone. All right, my boy. Maurice, you’ll have to walk now.”
But there was no Maurice to answer us so far as intelligence went. He kept on muttering strange words and wept, holding out his hands beseechingly. The Doctor took him on one side and I on the other and together we raised him up. It was painful to witness the struggle he made to walk. He would plant one foot forward and hold on to us desperately while he dragged the other to its proper position, talking all the while in that same unknown language. At last we succeeded in getting him to the place where I usually slept and laid him down. In a few moments he sank off to sleep.
Long the Doctor and I sat watching him, discussing his strange condition in all its bearings. The face turned toward us was in no sense Maurice’s; we studied it carefully and were both of the opinion that it was a face in which the feminine strongly predominated. I took occasion to feel not only of the pulse but also the heart several times. That the pulse had a double action was undeniable, and it was precisely the same with the heart. We could feel two distinct beats with each throb it gave. The Doctor made a most careful examination of the lungs also, but could detect no difference there.
“One thing is certain, George,” he said at last; “your friend has come back to us in a most remarkable condition. If he survives it will be a miracle. His whole internal organism seems to be deranged.”
“Suppose we call Padma in consultation?” I suggested. “He must be over his anger by this time. I’m sure he will not refuse.”
To this the Doctor agreed, and as he had been the offending party, it was decided that I should be the one to go and fetch the old lama, and I accordingly started down the cave in the darkness, expecting to see the light which the lamas always kept burning as soon as I rounded a certain angle, for between our quarters and those of the lamas the cave took a sharp turn.
Soon I caught the glimmer of the lamp and hurried forward more rapidly. I thought it a bit strange that I did not see Ni-fan-lu or one of the other lamas on guard, for one invariably watched while his companions slept, but not one of them was visible now.
How still it was! I believe the slightest sound would have caused me to start in terror, for the recollection of those unearthly visitants was still strong upon me. At last I reached the lamp, which rested upon a large flat stone around which the lamas usually lay at night, and to my astonishment could not discover a soul.
Like a flash the truth dawned upon me. I seized the lamp and hurried toward a small recess where Padma slept alone.
This was also vacant. Back again into the open cave I flew, and flashed the lamp toward the corner where the lamas kept the bags and various belongings sent down the shute from Psam-dagong. Not a vestige of any of these articles remained.
“They have deserted us!” I murmured, striving to be calm; “they have deserted and Ah Schow has gone with them! It is long past midnight, and this must be the morning of the day they have been looking forward to. This is Padma’s revenge.”
With tottering steps I moved toward the cañon. The rawhide bridge over which the lamas had toiled so patiently was missing too, and I strained my eyes as I approached the mouth of the cave, expecting to see it laid across the rift.
Now the roar of the torrent greeted me. I could hear the water’s swash against the rocky walls as it went tumbling through the chasm. Then a splash of rain struck my face, and my ears caught another sound. It was the rushing of the wind through the cañon, and I knew that the storm was still raging above us. Ten steps more and I had reached the brink.
The bridge was there! Oh yes, it was there! I could see it with hideous distinctness as I flashed the light across the rift.
At my feet was the iron peg driven into the rock, by which it had been fastened, but the bridge lay all in a heap on the other side of the cañon, close to the entrance of the passage. By what occult power it had been conveyed there, God alone could tell, but there it was, and who could question that over it the last lama had crossed, and then, doubtless by Padma’s direction, our escape had been cut off.
We were deserted. Left alone to face the horrors of the cave until Death should come to our relief!
“Gone! Do you mean to tell me that they are all gone?” cried the Doctor, when I broke the news.
“Gone to a man, and Ah Schow with them. The bridge lies upon the other side of the cañon. We have been abandoned to our fate!”
The Doctor gave an exclamation of despair.
“My God! My God! This is terrible!” he breathed. “I would never have dreamed that mild old man could use us so! It is all my fault, George! All mine, every bit of it. From the first moment I met you on the stairs of the old tower of the Nagkon Wat, I have been nothing but a dead weight upon you, a perpetual handicap, a Jonah, a curse.”
“Do not upbraid yourself,” I answered, for his distress was most painful. “It was perfectly natural for you to speak. Let us waste no time in idle regrets. We must decide upon some definite course of action, and follow it without delay.”
“Oh there’s time enough! God knows there’s time enough! Is the rice all gone too?”
“I didn’t look into the corner where the provisions were stored.”
“Then I will go and do that much! Hark! What voice was that? Some of those devils back to mock us in our misery? Merciful powers! Is the mountain falling down?”
The sound first heard was a sharp cracking, followed immediately by an awful crash. The ground beneath us shook with great violence. Maurice raised up and began muttering unintelligible words.
“An earthquake!” gasped the Doctor. “This is to be our end!”
At the moment I could but agree with him; we stood breathlessly listening, the noise dying away into an ill-defined rumble and then all was still.
“Surely that was an earthquake shock,” said the Doctor.
“I cannot imagine what else it could have been,” I answered, and yet Thibet is not an earthquake country.”
“Who knows whether it is or not? Who knows anything about it? Who can tell where we are?”
In my opinion it is much more likely to have been a landslide, caused by the rain.”
“By Jove! You’ve hit it, George! No doubt you are right, and we’ve heard the last of it. Here, let me have the lamp and I'll go and have a look around for myself. See what Maurice is talking about, if you can make out.”
“Has he spoken before?”
“No.”
“And Walla?”
“I have seen nothing of the girl. It wouldn’t surprise me if she had wandered off into the depths of the cavern and lost herself; or like as not she has committed suicide. Her’s is one of those dreamy, over-morbid natures. For weeks she has lived in the anticipation of Maurice’s return, and now that he is back again and has rejected her, Lord knows what the effect may be.”
He caught up the lamp which I had brought with me from the outer cavern and hurried away. I turned to Maurice who had now risen to a sitting position; his face was toward me, the eyes were filled with tears, the hands extended pleadingly as though beseeching help—help which I could not give.
“What is the trouble?” I asked, seating myself beside him. “That noise was nothing. If you heard my startling disclosure let me beseech you to try and be something like your old self once more. I need your help, Maurice—I do indeed.”
Not to my surprise, but to my infinite sorrow, he began rattling on in that same strange way. I listened attentively. It was certainly a definite language he was speaking. Its sounds were soft and extremely melodious, far more so even than Spanish. As my ear grew accustomed to them I could detect the frequent repetition of certain particular words. “This,” I thought, “must be one of the languages of Mars.”
“I cannot understand you old fellow,” I said, sadly. “It is no use. Awhile ago you had no difficulty in speaking English. Why not do it now?”
Again he broke into weeping and laying his head against my breast sobbed like a child. I put my arm around him, stroked his hair and spoke soothing words. Did he understand me? Perhaps not, but the calmness or my sphere seemed to sooth him and gradually he grew quiet, even smiled.
Now suddenly he pulled himself away and pointed to his face, indicating each feature separately. I felt that he wanted me to fully appreciated the change which had come upon him, but there was no need to call my attention to it, for I appreciated it already. Certainly it was not Maurice’s face upon which I gazed; just as surely was it the face of a woman. I was puzzled beyond all telling, but I strove to retain my calmness, feeling that thus my power to help him must be greater.
Suddenly he began rubbing his face with both hands in the most violent fashion and I saw his whole frame tremble. Once he groaned; again a sharp cry of pain escaped him, then the hands fell and the strange expression had gone.
Now it was a man’s face—it was the face of Maurice De Veber, my friend!
What was this? What was it? What wondrous change had come over Maurice since we parted in the lamasery of Psam-dagong?
“George!”
He called my name—something he had not done since he dropped the pipe.
“Oh Maurice! My poor friend!”
“Pity me, George. I’m in an awful fix!”
“Pity you! Maurice I am ready to lay down my life for you. But while you are able to talk intelligently, let me ask you if you know that the lamas have deserted us—that all hope of escape from this cave has been cut off?”
“Yes, yes, I know all.”
“Then you could understand me even though I was not able to understand you.”
“I did not hear you, George, but she did—she told me.”
“Maurice, you will drive me mad. In God’s name who is this mysterious She to whom you keep alluding?”
He looked about warily.
“Where is the Doctor?” he whispered. “He must not know.”
“He has gone to look into our situation.”
“He is out of hearing?”
“Oh yes. What is it Maurice? Explain your condition. I doubt if you can realize how desperate it appears to us.”
“Indeed I do, and to me.”
“But will you explain?”
“To you, yes; but not to him, ever. Pity me, George. I am a lost man. I have committed a fatal error. May God send death quickly to my relief.”
“Tell me—tell me all! This suspense drives me mad! Maurice, tell me! I can bear this no longer, my friend.”
“Nor shall you,” he said, speaking very rapidly. “George, prepare your mind for a mystery; a mystery greater by far than any of the many mysteries with which you have been brought in contact since you first met Mr. Mirrikh in the streets of Panompin. George, I have brought a woman back with me from Mars!"
I sprang to my feet, and extended my hands towards him.
“Don't, Maurice! Don’t give way to it! Hold your reason! Don’t allow yourself to think of it again.”
“George, it’s a solemn fact. We are here together. I love her, George! I love her with an intensity bred of the conditions of the planet to which Mirrikh took me, and of which you can form no conception. She is my wife, George. I married her on Mars!”
It was maddening to listening to him, yet I restrained myself. I saw that he must be indulged.
“Well, well, old fellow, if you say so, of course it must be so; but—you will excuse me for asking the question—where have you left her? You will have to admit she is not here?”
Suddenly a sound reached my ears. It was a groan—it seemed to come from behind Maurice. If he heard he showed it by no sign.
“But she is here, George. More than that you have seen her, you have talked with her. George, you cannot comprehend it—it is incomprehensible. My wife is within me. We are two souls in one body. Heavens! Only think of it! If we ever do get home they will clap me into a lunatic asylum as sure as fate. Oh George, George! Would to gracious I had listened to the advice of Mirrikh and been content to wait until death released us both, and we could meet in the spirit world.”
“So Mirrikh advised you against it?”
“He did—most earnestly. You see the time had come when I was to return. They told me it was either that or death, for my body would be destroyed if I delayed longer. They spoke of peril threatening you, George, and that helped to influence me. We talked of parting, but it was no use, we couldn’t do it. She’s the dearest creature, George, but oh her weight is something awful! Tell me—tell me, what am I to do?”
I shook my head helplessly.
“Do you mean to say that”
“I mean to tell you just that; Merzilla, my wife, is inside of me at the present moment, George, as truly as I am in my body myself. You grasp the situation; besides that you must remember her for Mirrikh said you saw her when you were on Mars.”
“Do you refer to the girl who stood beside you when Mirrikh delivered his lecture before that great assemblage?”
“Yes, yes!” he cried joyfully. “Then you actually were there? If I had only known it! He said so afterward—but of course I couldn’t see you. Yes, George, that’s the girl. Tell me, what do you think of her? Isn’t she the most superb creature? Heavens! It is frightful to think of the situation we are in? Why, that bit of a smoke almost killed her, and as for the rice—well, just fancy offering her rice to eat. Oh, if you had only staid longer on Mars!”
“Maurice,” I said firmly; “this thing must stop right here. We must come to an immediate understanding, for the Doctor may be back at any moment. Evidently you believe these strange assertions and you have done well to tell me, for I am beginning to believe you have some foundation for them. At first they were so startling as to banish even memory; but memory has now returned, Maurice. My dear boy, I fear that I, of all men on this earth, alone can comprehend you. In a situation somewhat resembling yours I have been myself.”
“You, George!”
“Yes; even I. Listen.”
I told him then of Hope; described even to the minutest details my own strange experiences after inhaling the gas. I concealed nothing and yet a moment before I would have perished rather than disclose that which I had come to cherish as the most holy of memories.”
His sense of relief was so manifest as he listened that I was forced, in spite of myself, to in some measure credit his astounding claim.
“You have described it to a hair, George; and there’s no use saying another word. You met your soul’s mate and parted with her again. I have mine within me. We could not part. We were warned, but we resolved to take our chances. If we could only manage to walk it wouldn't be so bad.”
“Let me try and understand you,” I said, earnestly. “Do you actually feel her bodily weight? It cannot be, even allowing”
“Even allowing I’m sane! Out with it. No, it is not exactly that! It is a sort of brain pressure. I feel like a man whose hat is too tight for him; as though a lump of iron was on my head. When I try to move I cannot control my limbs. With my poor girl it is even worse, for when she takes control, the very air seems to stifle her and your voices sound hideous. She is furiously jealous about Walla too. Oh dear, I’m sure I don’t see what we are going to do.”
I stared at him helplessly. In spite of my own confession any one might have seen that I was not fully converted even yet.
Just then I thought I heard a groan again, but as before Maurice paid no heed.
“You see we can’t both make my physical brain act at once George,” he continued. “When I take control my individuality is in the ascendant and that gives me my natural expression and lets me talk to you as I am talking now, but when she takes hold I am obliterated, pushed out of existence for the time being, as it were. Then my face becomes transfigured until it looks almost like hers, she tells me, and she can only talk to you in her own language; but we neither of us seem able to fully control the body; perhaps we may learn in time.”
“It is a desperate situation, Maurice. I am trying to comprehend it, but it comes very hard.”
“And if you find it hard what on earth will others do? Mirrikh told me that it was madness, but I listened to the advice of another, an over-enthusiastic fellow who claimed to have lived double on Jupiter. You see it’s very common for man and wife to occupy one body on Jupiter, and”
“Stop!” I interrupted. “I beg you will stop! Whatever you may know about these matters you will do well to keep to yourself. Later, perhaps, you and I may talk them over, but what we want now is to devise some plan to get you out of your desperate fix?”
“Exactly, but what can be done? Merzilla must either have a body or remain inside of me.”
“Her name is Merzilla?”
“Yes. Do you not think it pretty? It means”
“No matter! No matter! Let me think!”
“There's one thing I may as well tell you, George; you will believe it or not, as you like. I was informed before I left Mars that if we could catch upon a woman in the very act of dying, Merzilla could, under certain conditions, seize her body, enter into it and reanimate it. Of course I don’t understand how, but on Mars”
“Of course you will never mention it again if you want to avoid the asylum you feared just now.”
“Oh I suppose it’s no use. Of course we can find no such chance, though it’s almost enough to tempt a fellow into murder. Then there is the question of eating. They don’t eat such food as we do on Mars. I know just how to provide for Merzilla if I could only get about, and in time she would learn to eat our dishes, but so long as I can’t control my legs, what am I to do?”
“You are to stop talking now,” I whispered hurriedly, “for here comes the Doctor, and—bless me! It is Walla back again! Has she been listening! Has the poor girl heard?”
Out of the darkness behind us Walla was seen gliding. There was a peculiar calmness about her face; she tottered toward us and sank down upon the sand at Maurice’s feet.
“I will help you, my friend, my love!” she murmured. “If I cannot have your heart, at least I can relieve your suffering. Take my life! Take it! Let the woman who has your love have my body also. Then when my spirit is free I shall be able to remain ever at your side! Do it, Maurice! Oh, my love do it! I will be your wife in spirit! Let her have my body, and all will be well.”
“I listened, awe-stricken by her very earnestness.”
Where I accepted most dubiously, she seemed to grasp the situation and give full credence to Maurice’s amazing claim. She meant it all—she meant every word she uttered. To Walla there was no moral chord strained in the thought of sharing Maurice’s heart with another. To her ideas, being with Maurice in spirit was as real as being with him in the body. On the principle “better half the loaf than no bread,” she was not only willing but anxious to make the sacrifice and ease the strain all around.
But I doubt if Maurice quite understood her at first.
“No, no! You talk nonsense—ridiculous nonsense!” he muttered pettishly, but he had not the heart to push her away.
It was most painful to watch her. She fairly grovelled at his feet, kissing his knees and trying to seize his hand.
“No, no! Get up! Get up girl!” he cried. “Take her away George! For God’s sake, take her away!”
Really I wonder I had not attempted to interfere before, but something seemed to restrain me. Was it the same influence which kept one word forever ringing in my ears? Possibly. Need I write the word? Need I say that it was:
“Hope!”
Suddenly Walla’s wild ejaculations ceased and a convulsive shudder swept through her whole frame; she sank back upon the sand, trembling and twitching. I thought I knew what was coming, but I did not speak, for the change which now came over Maurice took all my thought.
He leaped up with a wild shout and began running about over the sand.
“She is gone, George! She is gone! Oh God! send her back again. Don’t let her go!”
There was something in it. I felt then that there must be something in it; but still I was restrained from speaking, and in an instant Walla staggered to her feet. Her eyes were closed and the lids kept twitching. The expression of her face had altered somewhat. It was softer—more refined. She made one rush toward Maurice, speaking rapidly, unintelligible words.
“Merzilla! My Merzilla!” he murmured brokenly; opening his arms he folded her to his breast.
Still I remained dumb! Still the same strange spell was upon me. As one looks at distant objects through a mist I saw them; the sound of their voices—they were both speaking that strange language—fell upon my ears as the confused murmuring of some distant stream.
How long was it? Seconds, minutes or even more than minutes; I cannot tell. I seemed to be far from them. I could not have interfered had I tried, and the next I knew Maurice was sitting down again with Walla crouching upon the sand.
“George! George!” he called. “Arouse yourself old fellow. Merzilla says that God has ordained the sacrifice—that it will come in the natural order of events and by no act of mine.”
“Who—what is the matter?” I gasped. “I feel so very odd. I”
“Hark! Look! Look there!”
He was pointing down at Walla.
I looked and instantly realized what was coming. I had seen it too often to be deceived! About the girl’s body a white cloud was gathering; the unseen beings around us were at their work again.
I was powerless to speak—I could only look. Slowly the cloud grew denser, until in an ill-defined way it had assumed the human shape. Suddenly vanishing then, I next saw it upon the sand—there was a form in white between Walla and Maurice. It was a woman upon her hands and knees. For a few seconds she remained thus, and then shot upward and stood before me at her full height. I was gazing at a face beautiful beyond description—a face which æons of time would not have sufficed to make me forget. Our eyes met, and she glided toward me with outstretched arms. How tall and graceful she was! How queenly every motion she made!
“George! My love! My soul’s companion! It is I! I have fulfilled my promise! For the last time until you have penetrated the veil you behold me. Hope!
I sprang forward to grasp her, but it was too late! Before my extended hands could touch her form she sank down, seemingly dissolving into an undefined mass of whitish vapor, and I found myself clutching at the empty air.
“They’ve gone! By Jove, there ain’t a trace of them! Boys, we are deserted for a solemn fact.”
It was the Doctor’s voice and it came in good time, for the strain was more than I could bear.
But evidently he had seen nothing of it all, for he came hurrying toward us with the lamp in one hand and a big earthen pot filled with cooked rice in the other. Upon his face I could read despair.
It seemed amazing that I should be able to recover my equanimity with so much ease, but I answered him as calmly as though nothing of an exciting nature had occurred; and this with every nerve in my body quivering; this in spite of the fact that I was trembling from head to foot.
As for Maurice, he showed no disposition to interfere. The same strange calmness seemed to have come to him as to myself. Probably Walla still remained entranced, for she neither spoke nor moved.
“Then you found things as I told you, Doctor?”
“Well I should say so! They’ve gone, every mother’s son of them, and this pot of rice is all in the way of eatables left behind. Thought I might as well freeze on to that while there was time, for fear it might be spirited away too. But I say, Wylde, how do you suppose they put the bridge across the rift?”
“I'm sure I can’t tell you. Have you found out?”
“Found out! No indeed; I’d like to know, though. Time was when I should have called it a miracle, but in this devil’s den miracles are as plenty as bees about a hive, I give it up. Maurice, old man, how do you feel now?”
“Better,” answered Maurice, “much better, thank you Doctor, but I haven’t got my legs yet.”
“That will come in time; but look here, my boy, you must eat something. Let me warm you up some rice. It’s all we have. We may as well view the situation philosophically, eat, drink and be merry, for as sure as there is a God above us, we are doomed to death by starvation unless help reaches us from outside.”
“Which,” said I, “is most improbable—still do I hope.”
“You will hope in vain then. We are in a desperate situation, and all owing to me.”
“How to you, Doctor?” asked Maurice.
“Do not let us talk about that,” I interposed. “The Doctor is not to blame. I will stir up the fire, and if Maurice wants the rice he shall have it. Morning will soon be here, and perhaps it may bring us good fortune of which we little dream.”
“It can’t,” said the Doctor, decidedly. “The proposition is simply an impossible one. There is only one chance for us. The lamas may not have gone for good, but only retreated through the passage on the other side of the rift, intending to return with the daylight and help us across.”
It was but a slender thread to hold to. “This,” I thought, “cannot be why I was told to hope.”
I left the Doctor talking with Maurice, and moving toward the spot where the argols still smoldered, proceeded to stir them up and heap on the few uncharred ones which still remained. Still the calmness was upon me. I had an ill-defined feeling that in spite of the assurance I had received to the contrary, I should see her again.
And as I worked the impression grew stronger and stronger. I found myself looking behind me; actually listening for the rustle of those snowy garments; I could not divest my mind of the idea that she was close at hand.
Was it so?
God knows!
All I can say is—and most positively do I affirm it to be a solemn fact and no illusion—that then as the sense of nearness increased I heard her voice.
“George! Fly to the mouth of the cave!” it said; “death is close upon you! Lose no time! Fly! Fly!”
But why should I have done it when it seemed then as if I had no other desire than to join her beyond the veil?
Surely I was not master of my own actions, for I dropped the argols and bounded back to Maurice’s side.
“We must go!” I cried excitedly. “We must fly! Something is going to happen! There is no time to be lost!”
“Fly the devil!” burst the Doctor. “Where the deuce are we to fly to? Are you going off the handle too, Wylde?”
I certainly was not myself at that moment, for I made him no answer, but seizing Walla, raised her up. She opened her eyes, staring at me stupidly.
“We are going to leave here,” I cried. “Do you hear me? Can you walk?”
“Yes—why not?”
“Keep close to us then. Come, Maurice.”
“George, I can’t walk: You will have to carry me.”
“Nonsense, Nonsense!” exclaimed the Doctor. “One place is as good as another. Calm yourself, Wylde. Nothing but trouble can come of giving away to the horrors of our situation like this.”
“No, no! We are to go! I have had a most vivid impression of impending danger. For God’s sake, Doctor, humor me this once! Help me carry him to the mouth of the cave.”
“And then”
“Then we shall see. Ah, it has come! Too late! Too late!”
Something had happened.
Suddenly the strange cracking sound was heard again, and in a second a fearful crash came.
The next I knew I was flung violently upon the sand; crash followed crash, mingling in one hellish roar, until as suddenly as it had come upon us all sound ceased.
We were all upon the sand now—no living creature could have stood up against that shock.
“Look! Look there!” shrieked the Doctor, pointing behind the stone near which Maurice had sat.
He was pointing at black vacancy—nothingness! The rocky walls had vanished, the cold rain was beating in upon us—the unexplored depths of the cavern had disappeared.
“Is it an earthquake?” gasped Maurice. “Oh, George, this is terrible! Terrible! And after we were told to hope!”
I leaped to my feet, for something seemed to tell me that all depended upon my coolness now.
“We must make for the mouth of the cave,” I shouted. “You see I knew what I was talking about, Doctor; if you cannot help me to carry Maurice I must carry him alone.”
The Doctor never spoke a word but moved toward Maurice.
I bade Walla take the rice pot and she seized it, while the Doctor and I lifted Maurice upon our interlocked hands, that persistent objector obeying my commands as meekly as a child.
“There is still hope for us.” I said, prophetically. “Courage, my friends! We shall yet be saved!”
God knows why I said it, when there seemed so little cause to hope.
We hurried forward, Walla following in silence; here the roof of the cavern was still above us—here there had been no change. In a few moments we stood at the very brink of the cañon with that wild torrent tumbling over the rocks at our feet.
Now at last my strength failed me. I was as weak as a baby when we put Maurice down.
“By Jove, but this is tremendous!” gasped the Doctor. “At least we’ve got a moment to draw our breath in before chaos comes.”
“And it’s coming,” I said calmly.
“I believe you! Maurice, your weight is something fearful.”
Maurice staggered to his feet, and catching my arm clung to me trembling; yet he was entirely cool.
“This is no earthquake,” he said. “I have experienced too many shocks since I have been in the East to make a mistake.”
“But what else then? We are supposed to be on a mountain—is the mountain tumbling down?” asked the Doctor.
“It is a wash out of some sort,” I asserted boldly. “You know we decided some time since that we were in a limestone region, Doctor; the cavern may have been undermined for years for all we know.”
The Doctor groaned and stared across the rift helplessly.
“Oh, if we were only over there! If we were only over there,” he kept saying. “How did they do it? How—ah! It has come again! This is the last call, boys! Gad! I’ve a mind to jump for it. Here goes.”
I clutched his arm in time and held him back. What he proposed could only have been a leap into the great beyond, for across the rift was more than thirty feet.
Meanwhile the loud cracking which had startled him was followed by a crash awful beyond all telling, and I saw the whole roof of the cavern break away. Great rocks were falling all about us; behind, a black gulf had opened; whirling down from snow-clad peaks now for the first time visible, a mighty wind came sweeping, splashing the rain about as though some bursting reservoir had been suddenly emptied out upon our devoted heads, but through it all that same strange calmness still held its sway.
“Hope!” I cried, flinging one arm about Maurice who was sinking slowly down upon the rocky ledge. “Hope! This is not our end.”
Hope for what?
What could save us?
Yet above that awful din my voice arose loud enough for all to hear.
Suddenly the rock upon which we stood began to crumble; huge fragments broke away at our very feet and went whirling down into the yawning gulf.
Hope!
The word was but mockery!
Chaos would have been more befitting, for chaos had surely come!
“The sun! The sun! God be praised! We see the sun again!”
And Maurice De Veber, as he thus exclaimed, stretched his hands out toward the eastern horizon, above which the first red glow of the sun’s great disk had become visible. We watched it in the moments which followed and saw it rise above that mighty chain of snow-clad peaks.
The night had passed away; the storm had fled with the dawning of the morning. One by one the stars which had appeared only to vanish, faded out of sight, and another day was upon us. Chaos had come and was gone again, and we were still alive to tell the tale.
But where were we?
It will not take long to tell it. Our abiding place is soon described.
We were high in the air, crouching upon a flat surface of rock, twenty-three feet in length, sixteen feet, eight inches at the widest part—the Doctor measured it—while down to the nearest foothold below was a hundred feet, at the very least, and this was but a mass of broken rocks and debris, with the water on every hand, rushing down the slope like mad.
Do not expect me to tell what had happened. We never definitely knew. I feel safe in asserting, however, that it was but a cutting away of the limestone rocks on that mountain slope, caused by the rush of water from the Dshambinor, which had been pent up in the ravines above us by the ice.
This, at least, is my idea of it; but it is only an idea. We were on the side of a mountain still. The whole country seemed to be one vast mountain, broken into ravines and separate peaks innumerable; the newly-formed ravine in which our pillar stood was wider than most of the others—that was all.
Only on the side of the rift, directly opposite to what had before been the mouth of the cave, no change had come. To the right, the left and behind us, the rocks had been torn away by that awful washout, landslide—or whatever you may be pleased to call it; but directly in front was the ledge to which the lamas had crossed, and there, still, the hide bridge lay before what had been the mouth of the passage, now appearing as a natural arch through which the sunlight came streaming, its radiance falling full upon Walla’s upturned face. Walla was upon her knees; she seemed to be praying, but whether to the God of the Christians or the God of her fathers, I cannot tell. That I rejoiced at the welcome sight equally with my friend need not be said.
Moments passed and I did not answer, but remained gazing off upon the sunlit landscape in gloomy silence, for a state of deep depression had succeeded my rapturous enthusiasm. Now I could see no possible avenue of escape; no cause for hope!
“What are you thinking of, George?” demanded Maurice. “You’re as solemn as an owl. Why don’t you act the true philosopher like the Doctor? See how peacefully he is sleeping there.”
It was true. Utterly worn out at last, Philpot had sunk off into slumber, and lay stretched out at full length at my feet; and this when we were expecting every moment to feel the pillar crumbling beneath us and to find ourselves whirling down to an awful fate.
“What do you suppose I am thinking of?” I said, sullenly.
“Of the same thing I was; the morning we met Mirrikh on the tower of the Nagkon Wat.”
“Indeed I was not! I only wish I had never known Mirrikh. I was thinking of this pillar which is all that stands between us and eternity, and wondering if this was the way those rock pillars around the grand cañon of the Colorado were formed.”
“Like enough; but if you love me do brace up, old man. For my part I don’t care much whether we get out of this or not. God knows I could never live as I am.”
“Do you know, Maurice, I find it very hard to believe you are as you claim to be, now that the sunlight has come. In the gloom of the cavern I was able to work myself up to it, but now it is a different thing.”
“I wish to God it was different with me then! If you could only change places with me for a couple of minutes! You’d know all about it if you could.”
“Thank you! I’m bad enough off as I am! You were able to eat that rice though. Last night you told me that your friend Merzilla didn’t like rice.”
“Don’t—don’t, for heaven’s sake, George! Your lightness of speech wounds me dreadfully. Have you forgotten that divine creature who rose up before you last night? George, you and I no longer are as other men. To deny the existence of the spirit now as you denied in our old discussions would be but a sorry stand for a man of your common sense to take. Look at me, George! As God hears me, I never expect to see another earthly sunrise; yet I am happy in the thought, for how much brighter—ah, how much brighter—the rise into the light of the heavenly sun, the Lord of life and light itself; the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end!”
A rapt expression had now come upon his countenance, he stretched his arms open toward the sun, and bowed low before it just as we saw Mr. Mirrikh do on the tower of the Nagkon Wat.
Recalled in a measure to my former mental condition by the allusions to the happenings of those strange moments, I spoke quite calmly, even lightly, in reply.
“What? You haven’t turned sun worshipper, Maurice?”
“We are all sun worshippers on Mars, George. As the natural sun rules the visible world, so does the spiritual sun, which is the creative power of the universe, rule the spheres innumerable of the world unseen. Sun worship was the worship of all primitive peoples, because they possessed knowledge in matters spiritual of which we have no conception. Thus knowing the harmony existing between things natural and things spiritual, they bowed before the natural sun as the visible representation of the universal Creator, and this even while they worshipped his attributes, his differing aspects toward mankind, under a thousand forms.”
“There may be much in what you say; but tell me, Maurice, when Walla seemed to be controlled and you spoke with her—the time you walked, I mean—do you claim that the woman was then out of your body and in the body of that unfortunate girl? I have had no opportunity to ask you of this until now."
“Claim is hardly the word, George; it was so. But for heaven’s sake don’t let the Doctor hear.”
“He is sound asleep.”
“Don’t be too sure.”
“But I am sure,” I answered, when suddenly the Doctor raised his head.
“You are mistaken, George. I am wide awake and listening, though I did drop off for awhile. I will not be mean enough to listen any longer to your secrets, Maurice, since you do not wish me to hear them, but I have heard enough already to show me in what particular direction your brain disturbance runs.”
Maurice was furious; it was as much as he could do to restrain himself; as for me, I was sincerely sorry that the subject had been brought to the Doctor’s notice. He kept right on talking, for neither of us spoke.
“You may think that yours is altogether a new disease, my boy, but allow me to correct you. It’s as old as Adam, whose case is the first on record, and you must admit that Adam was a deuced sight better off with Mrs. Eve inside of him than after she was let out to go apple stealing and fooling round with snakes, instead of attending to her domestic duties, as she should. During the Middle Ages such cases were common; and they are not undiscoverable now; almost any first-class lunatic asylum ought to produce three or four, at least. I remember when I had my last charge in London—it was an old church down among the watermen, on the very banks of the Thames—for a certain reason I’d rather not locate it exactly—there was a man who used to bother the life out of me insisting that he had a woman inside of him and wanting my advice as to how to get her out. I suggested an emetic, but”
He paused for he caught the look upon Maurice's face. It was terrible! I knew what my friend was in anger for I had seen him angry in the old days at Panompin. He was furiously angry now, but before he could explode I interposed in the interest of peace.
“For God’s sake Doctor, have a care what you say.” I cried. “Here we are perched on top of this pinnacle expecting to be hurled to death at any moment. Are we to spend our last hours in senseless quarrels? Look! Look yonder through the arch on the other side of the cañon and tell me what you see.”
“By Jove! It’s a city!” cried the Doctor. “It’s Lh’asa!”
And so it was. I had espied it while the Doctor was talking. There, far in the distance, lay the metropolis of the Buddhist world. Its low houses of snowy whiteness, interspersed in every direction with the gilded roofs of numerous temples, reminded me not a little of the city I had seen in my first Martian vision; high above all towered the majestic palace of the Tale Lama.
If there was any reliance to be placed upon the statements of geographers, this could be no other city than the far-famed Lh’asa.
And if this was true, then how far were we from Psam-dagong? The length of those remarkable underground passages must have been greater even than we had supposed.
But we had ample time to ponder over the problem, for the day passed and darkness fell upon us. Still our rock stood firm.
It was a fearful day for me.
Added to the horrors of our situation was the dissension among us and poor Walla’s condition.
The girl would neither speak nor eat; she would not even respond to Maurice, but remained in what I think must have been a half entranced condition, muttering in her own language at times. At first I thought she was praying, but afterward I rather came to doubt it. As for Maurice, he positively declined to hold any communication with the Doctor—would not even answer him when he offered an apology.
Then again in that old earthen pot we had perhaps five pounds of cooked rice and not a drop of water.
The horrors of thirst were already upon us and starvation stared us in the face.
Long before night came all hope had departed, and I prayed most devoutly that the rock might fall and hurl us to our doom.
It was a glorious night. The moon was at her full, the vault above us ablaze with stars innumerable. Far in the distance, through that natural archway, we could discern the twinkling lights of Lh’asa.
Midnight came and found Maurice slumbering. Not again had the transformation come upon him. If his claim was true and a female spirit from our sister planet was united with his own, then like a sensible creature she had kept in the background. Walla’s condition remained as before. The Doctor and I sat together, conversing in low tones.
“Under these circumstances I consider suicide perfectly justifiable, even admitting a hereafter,” Philpot was saying. “To-morrow will have afforded Padma ample time for any move he may intend to make, if indeed he intends any. If by this time to-morrow help has not come, the dawning of another day will not find me here, Wylde. I shall take my chances and discount the future, if I can muster up the courage to make the fatal plunge.”
“In a case like this every man must decide for himself,” I replied gloomily; “but for my part all doubts of an existence beyond the grave have vanished. Our lives were certainly not given us to throw away, and I shall stick it out to the end.”
“But think of the horrors of starvation; think”
He suddenly ceased to speak; his head fell forward on his breast, his eyes closed, his face became as white as death.
“Doctor! Doctor!” I cried, springing to my feet. I was in the act of bending over him when I heard that gentle voice in my ear, and a hand was softly brushed across my brow.
“Do not interfere with our work, George. Help is at hand. Remain perfectly passive or you will spoil it all.”
Not since the last time I heard the voice in the cave had I experienced anything which I could ascribe to a spiritual origin. Once more I was seized with that same sense of security; that same immeasureable calmness. Involuntarily I found myself repeating a single word, over and over again.
“Hope!” I kept murmuring. “Hope!"
I turned and looked behind me.
Maurice still slumbered. Walla crouched near him, her head bent forward, and there—oh God! there it was again—there was that bounding globe of light at her feet.
Hope!
I did hope now!
Silently I prayed that God might give his spirit messengers power to help us in this the hour of our sore distress.
I watched the light. It came and went. There seemed to be unusual difficulty in repeating the process which I had so often seen; but it came at last, and I saw at Walla's feet a man who was certainly not Maurice, nor yet the Doctor. He was crouching upon his hands and knees. By no human power could he have come unknown to me upon the rock.
Breathlessly I watched him; saw him writhe and twist about as though in agony, and then at last rise up with a spring and stand before me as perfect a man as I was myself.
One glance at his face was sufficient. It was a face yellow above and black below. There were those wondrous eyes gazing upon me with that same look of profound intelligence, that same calm assurance of power over me—over us all. It was the man I had met at Panompin, it was my friend Mirrikh. Least of all I had expected this. Had help come to me from the realms of material space? Had my prayer been heard in Mars?
Then he spoke—spoke in phrases which proved most conclusively that he possessed the power to read my very thoughts.
“Friend Wylde, I greet you!” he said, extending his hand, which I took in both of mine, finding it as surely flesh and blood as my own. “Gradually you are progressing on the higher planes of Nature’s secrets. Know that time and space are but imaginary limitations. From the most distant of those glittering points above us I could come to you as easily as I have come from my home in Mars."
I tried to reply, but my voice seemed to die away into an incoherent murmur.
Withdrawing his hand he now produced a sealed letter which he laid in mine.
“Your safe conduct from Thibet,” he said quietly. “It was an oversight on my part. Padma has all the prejudices of his people; moreover he fears for himself. He has indeed betrayed you. Your presence on this rock is known, and the sentence of death has been already pronounced against you. You are to be shot down where you stand, one by one; but this will protect you and carry you safely beyond the frontier. Look toward the city and you will understand that I speak truly in this.”
He raised his hand, making quick passes before my eyes. Then as I looked through the arch, distance became as naught. I could see with the most astonishing distinctness. I was at the very gates of Lh’asa.
“You see the city?” he asked.
“I do, most plainly. It is precisely as if I were looking through a powerful telescope. I am there.”
“Look again! Look at the foot of the mountain!”
Now suddenly I seemed to be looking down from a height upon a broad roadway, along which a troop of perhaps fifty armed men were trudging. They were dressed in the well-known costume of the Chinese military, and at the head of the procession the dragon flag floated.
“For you,” he said. “In less than half an hour they will be beneath the arch. Present my letter to the commander and have no fear.”
I inclined my head in dumb assent. I could not speak. Still he read my thoughts.
“To permit you to talk to me, Mr. Wylde, would only be to have objections raised, and each objection is just so much of a hinderance to my work. It is for this reason that we have entranced the Doctor and even thrown our dear friend into slumber. My time is short. I cannot waste the forces drawn from that poor girl to produce this body, for she is reserved for another work, which, strange as it may seem to you, is as much for her eternal welfare as for the good of those whom she will materially assist. Ask me your question now, I see it burning in your brain, but after that do not speak unless you would destroy all your chances of escape. In its way my power is as limited as your own.”
“Maurice! Tell me!” I burst. “Did he actually go to Mars? Did I? Did”
“Stop! This is idle. You know it is so!”
“But the other? Is Maurice’s claim true? Is there actually within that body another soul than his?”
“It is true. Behold!”
“Not the soul!”
“No, no; not the soul! No man, no spirit, none but God himself can see the soul. Look at the Doctor and you will understand what I mean.”
Again his hand passed before my eyes and they rested upon the Doctor. To my astonishment I saw that he was not alone. Above him stood a man’s form, dim and shadowy, with wolfish face and hideous bulging eyes. He held his hands above the Doctor’s head.
“It is the spirit which holds him in control,” said Mirrikh. “It is a spirit which is ever with him, ever will be until he rises out of his sphere of intense selfishness, if happily that times ever comes; but this is not what I would have you see. Look at the Doctor himself.”
Again I looked. I could see the whole internal organism of the Doctor’s body, but not singly, as I should have supposed. I could see the heart busy with its ceaseless toil; I could detect every rise and fall of the lungs; I could look into his stomach, perceive its emptiness, and even feel its cravings; more wonderful than all, I could see the mysterious workings of each convolution of the brain, from which seemed to dart myriads of tiny sparks. At a single glance my eyes seemed capable of following these through the extension of every nerve in his body, and at the same time seeing that everything upon which they rested had its duplicate. There were two Doctors; one gross and material, the other thin, airy, most highly refined; but there was no other difference between them. If one was a man, then so also was the other. Not an organ, not a muscle, not even the most minute fibre which was not perfectly reproduced.
“It is the spiritual man you behold,” said Mirrikh. “Until the heart ceases to beat, it remains enchained. Its life is eternal, it destruction as impossible as for you to tear one of yonder stars from heaven; and as it is with the Doctor, so also is it with every man on earth. But look now at Maurice and behold a mystery unfathomable to your Western schools of thought.”
Instantly my eyes were upon Maurice.
Here my experience with the Doctor was repeated, but with a difference.
With wonderful distinctness I could discern the spiritual prototype of my friend, but there, mingled with it so strangely that I was unable to detect where one began and the other ended, was a complete duplication of every portion of the spiritual Maurice. I could see them separately, yet were they blended incomprehensibly. One was Maurice but the other was a woman. I could see her face with perfect plainess. More than that, I recognized her. It was the woman whom I had seen standing beside Maurice on Mars.
Now Mirrikh waved his hand and all this vanished. I was looking on his face again.
“You believe now?”
“I cannot do otherwise—I must believe.”
“It is well that you do, for it is written that you must write, that those who will may read. The time is close at hand when a flood of spiritual light is to be poured upon the earth, arousing the Eastern adepts from their selfish lethargy; light before which the agnosticism of the West will melt away like snow before an April sun. Yours is the mission, friend Wylde, to in some slight degree aid in the coming of the light. It has already begun to shine, but it must be made to shine brighter and brighter still, until darkness is wholly banished, and men, as in the days of old, know Nature’s secrets as the dwellers beyond the veil know them; know each other, not as they would seem to be, but as they are.”
“God grant that I may be faithful to the trust!” I murmured.
“Have no fear. Your work is but as the work of one of the minutest fibres in the body whose interiors you have just seen. Help will be given you when help is needed. In the words of Jesus the Christ, I say unto you: “Watch and pray! The time is close at hand.”
He ceased to speak and walked with firm tread toward the rift—that awful rift through which the water went rushing with its sullen roar.
To my continued amazement I saw that the break offered no obstacle to his progress. He seemed to float rather than walk across it. In an instant I beheld him on the other side. Silently, and with a sense of profound confidence in his power, I watched him. He bent over the strips of hide and examined them with care, straightening up at last and looking toward me.
“Wylde,” he called, “I am very sorry, but I find that it is going to take more force than I supposed to accomplish my purpose. My dear friend, I had intended that you should witness what I am about to do, but I must ask you to look the other way.”
Then before I could reply, some influence more powerful than my own will forced me to turn my head.
It seemed but a moment, and in that moment a strange rush of sound swept past me.
“Look, Mr. Wylde! It is done!”
I turned.
The bridge was stretched across the rift and Mirrikh stood at my side.
“The way lies open before you,” he said. “Save yourself, save your friends. Be faithful in the use God has given you to perform. I shall ever think of you with kindly remembrance. Farewell!”
He extended his hand; I grasped it warmly. As I did so his feet and limbs seemed to dissolve and he began slowly sinking down—I was forced to stoop low in order to retain my hold upon the hand.
In another instant the body was gone, the head and the hand I grasped alone remaining.
“Farewell!” the familiar voice exclaimed, and then the head vanished also.
I looked at my hand, for I still felt the grasp of his.
Delusion!
My hand was empty.
My friend Mirrikh had disappeared.
“Maurice! Maurice! Wake up!”
“What's the row?” muttered Maurice. “ ’Taint time for the breakfast bell yet, mother. Do leave a fellow alone.”
As space had been obliterated when my friend Mr. Mirrikh made me see Lh’asa, so now with Maurice was time without existence. His dreams were of his mother; he was a boy again; his spirit, untrammeled, was living in the so-called past. And what is the past to man but a mental condition—a state? Free to act, how perfectly the spirit is able to resuscitate it. Maurice certainly saw his mother—in his dream.
“Come, come, old fellow! Wake up! Wake up,” I repeated. “This is no time for dreaming. We have work to do. Wake up, Maurice. We are to be saved!”
He leaped to his feet and began staggering about the rock. I caught him by the shoulder and held him fast, fearful lest he should totter over into the abyss.
“Are you awake? Do you know that you are walking?” I demanded.
The instant I called his attention to the fact he sank down and declared he could not walk a step.
“What is the matter, George? I feel so queer?”
“Worse than before?”
“Altogether different. I feel elated. Somehow I seem to have a profound assurance that I shall soon be let out of my awful fix.”
“God grant it; but look, Maurice. Look there! What do you see?”
“Merciful heaven! It is the bridge!”
“It is nothing else!” I cried triumphantly; “and look at this?”
I extended the letter.
“What is it, George?”
“Our safe conduct beyond the frontiers of Thibet.”
Maurice gave a quick gasp.
“Mirrikh has been here,” he breathed. “I knew it! He promised me and I knew he would keep his word. The laying of the bridge across the rift was his work.”
“You are right! Mirrikh has been here. Maurice, that man is deserving of all your enthusiasm. He is indeed a most wonderful individual.”
“Wonderful! He’s a right good fellow, but there is nothing very extraordinary about him. There are thousands of just such men on Mars. Oh George! Why, why didn’t you wake me? I shall never forgive myself for not having seen him. I counted on him to tell me what the deuce I am to do about Merzilla, and now it is too late!”
“He would not permit it, Maurice. He came up at Walla’s feet, but he would not let me wake you. Said you had been made to sleep soundly on purpose, as he needed all the power he could gather to lay the bridge.”
“But how did he do it?”
“Don’t ask me. I was not allowed to witness the operation. All I can tell you is that he went across that cañon as though it was solid rock.”
“Pooh! That’s nothing. They do that floating in the air business right along, on Mars. All it requires is perfect faith; but about my affairs—did he leave any message for me, George?”
“He left his kindest regards. He told me that all had been arranged for your relief.”
“But how? Did he say?”
“Upon that point he was indefinite.”
“Confound his indefiniteness. I want—hold on! The Doctor is waking up.”
He was right. At that moment Philpot’s eyes opened; he stared stupidly, first at me, then at Maurice, then at the rift; springing up at last with a cry of surprise.
“Gad! The bridge! Padma has returned! We are saved!” And without waiting for me to answer he started across the rift.
“Selfish pig!” muttered Maurice in a tone of disgust.
I watched him breathlessly. Secretly I rejoiced that I had not been called upon to be the first, for the bridge was but a shaky affair at best, being simply long strips of hide laid close together with cross strips plaited in. There was no guard of any kind, not even a rope.
It creaked horribly as the Doctor trod upon it; worse still it took to swaying. I turned away in terror, expecting to see him dashed into the abyss.
“He can never do it,” I murmured, when a shout told me that he was safely on the other side.
Then I opened my batteries upon him, upbraiding him for his selfish act.
“Hush! Hush,” whispered Maurice. “For heaven’s sake control yourself, George! Will it pay for us to get up a quarrel at a time like this?”
“Can’t help it, Wylde,” called the Doctor coolly. “If I had thought twice I shouldn’t have done it, but I acted on impulse and here I am, and here you can bet your bottom dollar I mean to stay.”
“Better say you followed the promptings of some selfish devil you keep around you!”
My thoughts were upon what I had seen, but of course he did not understand.
“Take it easy! Take it easy,” he called back. “If you had been civil about it I might have repented and come over again to help you with Maurice. You had better join me and stop your talk. The first you know the thing will tumble into the rift.”
I had not thought of Maurice’s condition until now.
“In heaven’s name what are you to do?” I gasped. “You can never walk across."
“Never!”
“Nor can I carry you. Oh Maurice, we are as badly off as ever.”
“Better get Walla over and leave me to my fate, George,” he answered gloomily. “There is no help for it as matters stand. Perhaps you can get help once you are across.”
“I shall never leave you,” I replied firmly. “Maurice don’t you think you might do it if you tried?”
“It is impossible.”
“But—what’s the matter?”
“Hush! hush," he whispered, raising his hand suddenly. “Merzilla is speaking. She says for you to take Walla and leave me. She assures me that it will be all right.”
“No, no! I shall not do it.”
“But you must; Merzilla orders it.”
“You may feel it necessary to obey her—I do not.”
“George, I beseech you! For God’s sake do not refuse me!”
“Maurice, it is useless. My resolve is taken. Until I know that you are safe across the rift I shall remain where I am.”
“Oh what can I say?" he cried. “What can I say to make you yield?”
“Come on, Wylde? Don’t be a fool! We couldn’t have carried him over anyhow. Come on, and we will go for help,” shouted the Doctor.
But I never answered him, for creeping over Maurice’s face I saw the change come again.
It was no longer Maurice who looked at me—it was the face of the woman, if I ever saw a woman’s face in this world.
More perfectly than before was it transfigured and it turned toward me pleadingly; again I was addressed in that unknown tongue.
God knows what she said, but her manner was unmistakable. She pointed toward the bridge, at Walla, at me.
There could be no doubt whatever that she was beseeching me to yield; but I was still stubborn and would not. Seeing determination in my face she caught my hand and kissed it again and again—she even grovelled at my feet, crying out in agony, pleading in unintelligible words.
“You see how it is, Wylde. He’s off the handle again!” called the Doctor. “That settles it. You can do nothing now but save yourself if you have a grain of common sense left.”
Still I should have remained firm to my purpose if I had not distinctly heard that well-remembered voice in my ear. “Do it, George! Do it at once and trust in God!”
I felt that I could hesitate no longer.
“How is that thing fastened on your side?” I shouted to the Doctor. “Is there an iron peg, the same as here?”
“Yes.”
“Will it bear both Walla and myself? I cannot leave the poor creature to cross alone.”
“I should say it might; it seemed strong enough, but the swing is something terrible. You had better leave the girl till we can get help.”
I paid no heed to this, but bent down and shook Walla gently. She had never even lifted her head since the appearance of Mirrikh upon the rock, Now, however, she responded, and looking up asked me what I wanted. I raised her and pointed to the bridge.
Instantly she clapped her hands to her face and began sobbing.
“Ah, it has come! I saw it all in my dreams!” she murmured. “It is to be my fate!”
“No, no! You will be saved! I shall help you to cross. Come, Walla. We are to go now.”
“Let me say good bye. I know that I shall see him again, but now all looks so dark—so dark!”
She uncovered her face and moved toward Maurice, but drew back before she had taken three steps.
“No, no! I want nothing to do with you!” she hissed. “But for you he would have loved me!”
The answer came promptly. Though the words were past my comprehension, the tone was one of kindly pity. It seemed to have no effect upon Walla, however, for with a gesture of disgust she turned away and caught my hand.
“Come,” she whispered. “Come! My father is over there! He is beckoning to me. Come—come! We must go!”
And we started, but I did not dare to look at Maurice.
“I will surely come back again if nothing turns up to help him,” I murmured, as I planted my foot upon the bridge.
For the first few seconds I almost feared that I had overestimated my courage. Though the bridge was wide enough for us to walk abreast the sway of the hides was fearful.
I closed my eyes, clutched Walla’s hand despairingly and pushed on.
“Courage!” roared the Doctor. “Courage! you are almost over, George!”
My eyes opened; perhaps three feet remained—it could not be more than four—but those swaying hides would rock like mad.
Steadying myself as best I could, never daring to drop my eyes to the waters which surged below me, I plunged madly on—I had almost made it—the Doctor’s right hand even grasped my left, when suddenly Walla slipped, fell forward, and in a twinkling was off our frail support.
Oh God, banish the memory of that moment!
I saw her fall; I saw her head strike the ragged edges of those merciless rocks, but thanks to the Doctor’s strong hand, I held on.
She never gave one cry. Never again did I hear the sound of her voice.
“Hold on, George! Hold on! Keep cool, old man! Slowly now! Slowly! I may be a selfish pig, but by God I am not going to let go your hand!”
Oh the horror of it! The black, unspeakable horror!
I had one foot on the hides and one foot on the rocks, my body was bent till my head was below the bridge, but still I held on, hearing the Doctor’s voice as though it were miles away; seeing that white, upturned face, over which the blood went trickling, gazing imploringly up from the depths
with eyes which seemed to look through me, beyond me, far away into the bright realms of the unseen!
But the Doctor held on like a Trojan, while I, with all my strength, pulled her up; raised her until he could grasp her other arm, and somehow we managed to lay her on the rocks.
“She’s a goner, poor thing! That blow on the temple did it!”
Thus the Doctor; but I scarcely heard him. I staggered back a few steps, stretched out my hands toward Maurice, whose face I could dimly discern upon the other side of the rift; and then—why then I had no existence—I was obliterated. Chaos had come once more!
I was dreaming of Hope! I was at her side; together we were floating through realms of boundless space.
But it was not as it had been before. It was just as vivid, just as real, and yet there was a difference. I gazed into her eyes, I stretched out my hands to grasp her, but clutched at the empty air.
“No, George; not now!” I heard her say. “All danger has passed, and many useful years lie before you. Return to your work, but before I remove my power from your brain I would have you behold the workings of a mighty mystery—a mystery which concerns that mightiest of all mysteries—the human soul.”
Then I thought she bent forward and kissed me, but when once more I tried to throw my arms about her, she was not there.
Nor was I the light and airy being which in fancy I had thought myself.
I was lying upon the rocks looking at the Doctor, powerless to move or speak.
Evidently he considered me simply in a faint, and had left me to look out for myself while he attended to Walla.
He had his ear against her heart when I first saw him, while his fingers pressed her pulse; but in a moment he stood up, muttering a single word.
“Dead!”
With all my might I tried to call out to him, but in vain.
Again he returned to the charge, and this time the examination was most searching.
Once more he rose up, muttering:
“Dead as a door nail!”
Then instead of turning to me, as one might naturally have supposed he would do, he stood gazing down upon Walla’s face.
What did he see? What did he read in those white, silent features?
God knows! I only know what I saw, and, be it real, or be it but a dream, my eyes actually beheld what I am about to relate.
Above Walla hovered two females in snow white garments, with faces pure and refined beyond description. They seemed to be busy about her head; their hands moved with incredible rapidity.
For several moments, it seemed to me, I continued to watch them, then suddenly they rose into the air and with them rose Walla, perfect even to the smallest shred of her garments; yet another Walla remained stretched upon the rocks.
“She is dead! These are ministering angels taking her spirit away,” I thought; when all at once something white seemed to flit across my vision, and to my utter amazement I beheld the woman whom I had seen standing by the side of Maurice on Mars, settling down over Walla’s earthly form.
“It is Merzilla! She is seeking a body!” flashed over me, and I remembered Maurice’s words.
For an instant she appeared to hover over Walla, her fingers moving like lightning. To me it seemed as though she were drawing from her own brain a silvery thread which she conveyed to the brain of the corpse.
Still I watched her. Still the work continued. The length of the thread was tremendous. It seemed as if miles upon miles of it had been unwound.
Would she never cease?
Just as I asked myself the question, I heard the Doctor’s voice shouting in my ear.
“A miracle! By Jove! A miracle! Wylde! Oh Wylde!”
I sprang up and tremblingly caught his arm.
“Walla!” I gasped. “Walla? Does she live?”
“Look! I swear to you that a moment ago Walla was dead; but now look!”
Walla had risen to her feet, but over the face had come a wondrous change.
Walla!
But was it Walla?
Upon this point I prefer not to commit myself.
All I know is that where Walla’s skin was dark, the face of the woman before me became as light as any blonde I ever saw. Where Walla’s hair was jet black, the hair upon the head at which I now looked, I saw change to a light brown. As for the face—but enough! I shall say it boldly. I saw every feature of that face transformed. It was no longer Walla Benjow upon whom we gazed. It was the woman I had seen on Mars!
“A miracle!” roared the Doctor; yet again. “Wylde, I’m as mad as the rest of you! By Jove! Did you see it? I swear to you man, she was dead.”
But Walla—shall I call her Walla still?—paid not the slightest attention to us.
“Maurice! Maurice!” she shouted, running toward the edge of the precipice with outstretched hands, calling out when she reached it, in that unknown tongue.
I looked across the rift at Maurice.
Fearful was the change which had come over his face.
“Don’t look at me, George Wylde!” he shouted. “Don’t look at me, man! I did not do it! I swear to God I had no hand in Walla’s death!”
Still, in spite of his prohibition, I might have looked at him—might even have attempted to argue the point when he reached my side, for already he had started, walking as well as he ever walked, across the swaying bridge. In short, it is quite impossible to tell what I might or might not have done, had a not sharp exclamation from the Doctor warned me that still another change had come.
It was a light flashing beneath the arch.
There stood a man in Chinese dress holding in one hand a lantern, in the other the dragon flag.
Instantly I recognized him as the man who had headed the procession which Mirrikh showed me at the foot of the mountain, and I knew that the time for transcendental reflection had passed, never to return.
“By Jove! There’s a whole troop of them!” gasped the Doctor. “The jig is up just as we’ve got everything fixed. We’ll be marched off to the Tale Lama and be beheaded as sure as fate.”
By this time Maurice was over the bridge and had flung his arms about—well, I suppose I might as well begin, and say Merzilla.
“Speak to them, George. They are all Chinamen!” he cried. “Now is the time to see if Mirrikh’s letter is any good.”
Through the arch they came pouring, with a hideous din of beating tom-toms and a formidable display of glistening spears.
I pulled out the letter, glancing hastily at the line of Thibetan characters inscribed upon it, and bowing low, laid it in the hand of the fat Celestial who came shambling toward us, evidently being in command.
He glared at me and then opened the letter—we watched him.
To save my soul from perdition I could not remember a solitary word of Chinese, though I had rather prided myself upon my pure Pekinese accent in the old days at Swatow.
Slowly he read the letter through to the end, and then, with a changed expression, bowed low before us—so low that the glass ball on his cap almost touched the rock.
“Peace be unto you, my lords lamas! These children of the Flowery Kingdom are at your disposal. May your path to the frontier be strewn with roses, and long life and much happiness await you in your native land!”
*******
Years have passed.
I write these lines not upon Thibetan territory, but amid the most prosaic surroundings. I am in my bedroom in the house of my friend, Maurice De Veber. As I glance from my window I can see only other windows opposite, while the roar of the city penetrates the lowered upper sash.
Need I say that I am back in New York?
Scarcely.
For the true New Yorker there is but one city—his own.
Mirrikh’s letter proved to be all that he had promised—but no more.
We never came any nearer to Lh’asa than the foot of the mountain.
Without an adventure worth narrating, we were escorted hurriedly to the frontier, and as the Doctor expressed it, “promptly fired across.”
At last we found ourselves safe in Mandalay, from whence the journey to Calcutta was just nothing at all. And I learned from our conductor that to a certainty would we have met death but for that piece of paper which came so strangely into my hands.
At Calcutta, Doctor Philpot left us, and from that day to this I have never seen him, although we still occasionally correspond. The last I heard he was in Australia. He never makes the slightest allusion in his letters to our Thibetan experiences; although he writes in the most friendly spirit, and repeatedly refers to “the pleasant days at the Nagkon Wat.”
One word more. The Doctor is preaching again. He has a charge at Wagga-Wagga, I think it is; I have mislaid his last letter and am not quite sure about the name. If his nature has changed I am not aware of it. Certainly his letters are written in the same light vein which ever characterized the man from the first hour of our meeting upon the tower stairs.
So much for the Doctor.
Concerning Maurice and his companion I have only this to say: he calls her Merzilla and speaks to her in a language which certainly is not one of the tongues of earth.
She is much like ordinary women and can now speak English, but seldom uses it in addressing her husband.
Maurice married her in Calcutta and she signed the register Merzilla Layakwoma, giving her residence, etc., as Thibet.
Most surely is she a lady, and a highly intelligent one; most decidedly are they the happiest married couple I ever knew. But one thing mars their happiness. As yet there are no olive plants about their table. Maurice says there never will be any. Probably he is right.
As for myself, I live with these, my friends, for I have no others, unless, indeed, it is the Doctor—but stay, there is Mr. Mirrikh! Have I not a friend on Mars?
The thought is stupendous!
For years I could not pluck up courage to brave the sneers of the skeptical and follow Mirrikh’s injunction; but at last I put myself down to the task, and for better or worse launch my strange story upon the world.
This done, I await the result with a calmness amounting almost to indifference.
I have done my part, and have but one ambition now—to meet her beyond the veil.
To those who have followed me through my strange adventures, I can express my state of mind in a single word.
Hope!
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