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“And thou, oh, stranger, who dost hail from the foot of the throne of
Osiris, who art the son of Ra, the emissary of Horus, the beloved of
all the gods, tell Isis, the mysterious goddess, why thou art here.”
“I am here to crave of Isis the pure, Isis the beloved, Isis the most
holy, that she deign to pour the fruits of her blessing upon me, for I
would take this woman to be my wife.”
It was Hugh’s voice which spoke slowly and solemnly, and which
was the first sound that penetrated to my brain, still wandering in the
realms of cloud-land.
Through the window of my prison an intense flood of light filtered
brilliantly, illuminating the granite floor and walls. A strong scent of
incense and myrrh had driven away the stupefying fumes of that
burning herb which had lulled me to sleep. I tried to collect my
scattered senses, but a terrible pain in my head and eyes still kept
me half-stupefied. And yet I heard Hugh’s voice speaking strange
and momentous words, and a dull instinct whispered to me that I
must get to him, somehow, for a reason, of which I was not as yet
fully conscious. A raging thirst had made my tongue swell and
parched my throat: the events of the last few hours danced before
my clouded brain like some weird phantasmagoria.
The Pharaoh… dead! murdered! his body lying close to me, when
last I had opened my eyes, but now, carried away, while I had been
asleep… Maat-kha!… the murderess!… Hugh’s promised bride! Ur-
tasen, the evil plotter!… who had done… I knew not what…
something that would wreck Hugh’s life as well as his honour.… Neit-
akrit!… who might be a friend, and yet was a foe!… and I… a
helpless prisoner, stupid, senseless, half-drowsy still, after a drugged
and heavy sleep!
“And thou, Maat-kha, who art daughter of Uah-ab-ra, the son of
Ach-mes, the son of Ne-ku, tell Isis, the mysterious goddess, why
thou art here.”
I did not know that voice, some priest probably… no concern of
mine… I could perhaps get another half-hour’s sleep… I was still so
tired.
“I came here to crave of Isis the pure, Isis the beloved, Isis the
most holy, that she deign to pour upon me the fruits of her blessing,
for I would swear fealty to this man, and be his wife.”
That was Queen Maat-kha’s voice, and just now I had heard that
of Hugh… the pain in my head was intolerable… my limbs felt weak
and stiff: there was the whole length of my prison between me and
the aperture, through which probably I should be able to see those
who had spoken. I began to drag myself along, but I was only half
awake, my limbs only just managed to bear me along, and I did not
know if I should ever reach that aperture.
“Art awake, oh, Isis, who art daughter of Ra?
“Art awake, oh, Isis, who art sister and bride of Osiris?
“Art awake, oh, Isis, who art mother of Horus?
“Oh, Isis, give life to this man and to this woman, who have sought
the sanctity of thy temple!
“The gods above do rejoice! the glorious company is full of joy,
giving praise to thee, oh, Isis, who art pure!
“Isis who art beloved!
“Isis who art most holy!”
I had at last, after terrible difficulties, succeeded in reaching the
window; with infinite pain I struggled to my feet, but I could not stand:
my head was heavy and my knees shook under me. Twice I fell
down, but at the third struggle my hands convulsively fastened on
the marble ledge, and steadying myself as best I could, I looked out,
dazed, before me.
The sanctuary and the temple beyond it were one dazzling mass
of lighted lamps and torches. The gossamer curtain had been drawn
aside, and I could see the interminable vista of snow-white columns,
on which the silver inlay glistened with a thousand sparks. Between
the pillars, a sea of dark heads, adorned with gaily-coloured caps
and kerchiefs, amongst which, occasionally, I caught sight of the
glitter of a golden uræus, or elaborately jewelled belt.… I could
distinguish no details: my eyes were blurred, my brain overclouded. I
remember that gorgeous picture only as one remembers a dream.
Immediately before me Isis towered, wrapped in her sacred
mantle, which hand of man has never dared to touch. On her head a
gigantic pair of snow-white horns, between which glittered the silver
disc of a huge full moon. Immediately at her feet a group of priests,
with shaven crowns and long flowing robes of white, stood in a semi-
circle, in the middle of which the high-priest of the goddess stood
with arms outstretched, reciting the invocations.
Beneath the many hanging lamps, wherein burned lights of
different colours, the other priests of the gods of Kamt were massed
in imposing groups: the priests of Ra with yellow robes and leopard
skins round their bodies: those of Phtah, with monstrous scarabæus
of iridescent blue and green enamel on the top of their heads: those
of Thot, with masks of apes entirely covering their faces, and those
of Hor, with masks of sparrow-hawks, while the jackal’s head hid the
features of the priests of Anubis. Immediately to the right of the
officiating high priests stood Ur-tasen, the high priest of Ra.
“Isis is strong!
“Isis is great!
“Isis is living and mighty!”
The various attributes of the goddess reached my dull ears only as
the sound of muffled drums.
At the foot of the sanctuary steps, against a background of men
and women in gorgeous raiments, and beneath a canopy of white
lilies, stood Hugh Tankerville and his promised wife. His face was
even paler than when I had seen it last: his eyes gleamed darkly and
with an unnatural fire. He held his arms tightly crossed over his
chest, and in his whole attitude there was the expression of an
indomitable will triumphing over an overwhelming passion.
I saw him, as I had seen the sanctuary, the goddess, the crowds of
people, only as one sees a vivid dream. It seemed to me as if he
were not really there, but that slowly, very slowly, I was waking from
that sleep which had held me enthralled for months, and that when I
was fully awake I should look round me, and see myself sitting in the
dear old Museum, at The Chestnuts, with Mr. Tankerville sitting
beside me, telling me of beautiful, mysterious, legendary Neit-akrit.
I tried to speak to Hugh, for he was not far from me, but my tongue
seemed rooted to my palate, and, as in a dream, not a sound
escaped my throat. Clouds of incense rose all around, and when the
high priest had ceased to laud the magnificence of his goddess, the
priestesses, clad all in white, with their huge, disfiguring wigs over
their heads, began a sweet and monotonous chant, accompanying
themselves upon their crescent-shaped harps, and beating upon the
sistrum and the drum.
Beside Hugh, underneath that same canopy of lilies, and with her
hand holding his, was Queen Maat-kha. She had discarded her
gorgeous funereal draperies, and was standing clad all in white, her
regal crown over her low, square brow, her great black tresses
descending each side of her pale face, almost to her knees, and
intertwined with ropes of pearls. And I, in my dream, thought that I
could see, clinging to her finger tips, the last drops of her murdered
son’s blood.
Again I tried to scream, but my throat seemed paralysed.
Gradually memory, as a vague, still indistinct shadow, began to
creep back into my mind. Hugh was before me clad in sumptuous
robes, his dark head uncovered, his tall figure erect, ready to plight
his troth, to pledge that word, which he worshipped as a divinity, to
the vile murderess by his side. Twice a murderess, since having
slain her son she would ruthlessly sacrifice her lover to save herself
from the tortures of jealousy. Yes, I did remember! It was imperative
that I should warn Hugh of some terrible danger which the woman
beside him and the high priest of Ra had placed across his path.
“Oh, thou who art beloved of the gods, and thou who art Queen of
Kamt, behold! Isis the goddess is awakened!
“Ra, all-creating, all-powerful and mighty, doth descend to earth!
“Phtah, the mysterious, and Osiris, the bounty-giver, do hover
invisibly over your heads!
“But Hapi, who proceedeth from Ra, who, in his divine person, is
the living representative of Isis, of Osiris, and of Phtah, Hapi himself
will pass before your eyes!
“With the finger of your right hand ye may touch the sacred star
upon his brow!
“With both your eyes ye may gaze upon him!
“But, ye all, children of Kamt! veil ye your countenance! the god
will pass amongst you, and the sight of him gives blindness to those
who are not wholly pure!”
A terrific cloud of incense rose from every corner of the edifice.
Hugh and the Queen mounted two of the steps which led up to the
sanctuary, and behind them the silver tissue of the veil fell together
with a prolonged and softly sighing sound. Immediately underneath
the window where I was a bowl full of incense must have been
burning, for a cloud rose like a curtain between me and the
sanctuary. Through it I could see Hugh, not twenty yards away from
me, and I tried to scream… and my throat was absolutely paralysed.
Now, there was great tramping of feet, and opposite to me a
brilliant cortège came slowly towards the bridal pair. Adorned with
bunches of gardenias and tuberoses, but with heavy chains round
his feet and head, a gigantic ox was being dragged along. He was
black, save for a white spot upon his forehead, and a patch upon his
back: his horns were silvered, and he was led by ten priests of Isis,
who held him by heavy silver chains. The great beast, snorting and
puffing and evidently much annoyed at having been dragged from
his stable, allowed himself to be taken fairly peacefully along, until he
was brought to a standstill in the middle of the sanctuary,
immediately at the foot of the throne of Isis. All the priests had
prostrated themselves face downwards on the ground. Hugh and
Maat-kha alone remained standing. At a sign from the high priest
they both placed their hand upon the forehead of the beast, while the
priestesses intoned a triumphal march. Then, as stolidly as he had
come, the god Hapi retired from the gaze of his worshippers.
“Oh thou, the son of Ra! the emissary of Osiris! the beloved of the
gods! art ready to take the oath which will bind thee, thy body and
thy soul, the breath within thy body and the blood beneath thy flesh,
to the woman who is to be thy wife?”
And I, in this strange and vivid dream, which was so real, and
which I could not grasp, heard Hugh’s voice clear and distinct:
“I am ready.”
And I, his friend, his chum, his schoolfellow, I, Mark Emmett, who
would have given at any time my life for his, could not succeed in
giving one warning shout to stop this monstrous deed.
The poison—whatever it was—was still in my veins… my limbs felt
like lead… I could not keep my head erect.… I could see all, hear
every word, and smell the incense… but I could not utter a sound.
“Oh! son of Ra, beloved of the gods, at dawn when anon, Isis, the
pure, sinks fainting into the arms of Osiris, her beloved and glorious
spouse, thou wilt stand beside the sacred cataract, where since five
times a thousand years the kings of Kamt have given the first kiss to
their bride!
“Oh then! oh, son of Ra, wilt swear to give thy bride that kiss and
to take her for wife?”
“I swear!” said Hugh, earnestly.
“Oh, son of Ra, beloved of the gods, having taken unto thee a
wife, wilt swear to be true to her with thy soul and with thy body?”
“I swear!”
“Oh, son of Ra, beloved of the gods, dost swear before all men
that thou wilt be true to her, whom thou wilt take to thyself as wife?”
“I swear!”
“Wilt swear it on the names of the gods of Kamt, of Ra, of Osiris
and of Horus? of Anubis and Set? Wilt swear it upon thy manhood
and upon thy honour?”
“I swear it!”
Hugh Tankerville, calm and impassive, had pledged his honour to
be true to her who even now was plotting his death and his shame.
I seemed to remember all now as in a flash. The sight of Ur-
tasen’s face as he watched the high priest of Isis administering this
oath to my friend, for the space of a second, illumined a corner of my
dulled intellect. I saw it all with the vividness of reality: the murdered
Pharaoh lying beside the cataract; Hugh wandering unsuspectingly
thither, with the shaven priests of Isis creeping on his trail, like
jackals after their prey: then the mob yelling and cursing: Hugh,
helpless in the face of the terrible accusations; the hall of justice: the
doom from which probably even his own personality could not save
him: and all the while I tried to shriek. I opened my parched lips, and
but a few dull, guttural sounds escaped my throat, and Hugh could
not hear. He was there within a few yards of me, pledging his
manhood, his honour, to a pagan murderess, and I could do nothing,
for I was in a dream, which gripped my throat and numbed my limbs.
Once it seemed to me as if Hugh held up his head suddenly, while a
look of surprise came into his eyes: encouraged, I tried again; my
head fell back as if weighted with lead, the lids closed over my
aching eyes, the vision of the snow-white temple, the brilliant crowd,
the gorgeous and motley group of priests became more and more
dim. With a feeble effort, I tried to raise my hand, and beat childishly,
impotently, against the immovable and cold stone walls of my prison;
but even that effort proved too great: my grip on the marble relaxed,
my knees absolutely gave way under me, and stupefied, drowsy,
sleepy still under the potency of the mysterious drug, I sank again
into heavy, dreamless sleep.…
CHAPTER XXVII.
WHITE ROSEMARY
The cloud was being slowly lifted from round my brain: the dream
was gradually being dispelled; reality—terrible, appalling—forced
itself before my enfeebled mind. My head still felt like lead, my eyes
burned like pieces of charcoal in their sockets, my limbs still were
paralysed and stiff—but my brain was clear, and I remembered.
Through the window of my prison a very faint glimmer only was
creeping in from the sanctuary, throwing a dim band of light upon the
floor. In the air there hovered the heavy odour of burnt incense and
myrrh, but everything around was silent and at peace.
Had it all been a dream, or had the brilliant marriage ceremony
taken place? Had I seen Hugh standing before the altar of the
goddess swearing to wed the murderess of her son?
Slowly I raised myself upon my knees, then another mighty effort
brought me to my feet, but I could not stand alone, I had to lean
against the wall; an intolerable feeling of nausea overcame me, and I
feared that I would again lose consciousness. At last I managed to
look through the window. In strange contrast to the last picture which
I had seen, the snow-white temple of Isis now was dark and
deserted. The guests had gone, as had the priests with their
grotesque masks, the priestesses with their harps and lutes—the
canopy of lilies hung from above, but from beneath it bride and
bridegroom had disappeared. The sacred edifice with its
interminable vista of white and silver columns stretched out before
me in all its imposing and majestic vastness. Suddenly it seemed to
me that in the gloom my tired, aching eyes perceived a tall and
solitary figure leaning against one of the pillars not very far from me.
The curtain had been drawn aside to enable the lonely watcher to
see the great goddess in her sanctuary, during his long and lonely
vigil. My eyes ached and burned so I could scarcely see, and was
forced to close them from sheer pain, but tired as they were they had
not failed even in the gloom to recognise in the lonely watcher Hugh
Tankerville, my friend.
I could not see his features, for the temple itself was not lighted
up; only through the distant gateway beyond, the rays of the moon
sinking towards the west threw weird patches of blue light upon the
pillars and the floor. I tried to call to him, but the same terrible grip
seemed still to hold my throat; what poison was it, I wonder, with
which the treacherous high-priest had succeeded in silencing my
warning voice? The memory of the past few hours became
intolerable torture, the feeling of utter helplessness, coupled with the
comparative clearness of my brain, was harder to bear than the
physical ailments which still paralysed my throat and limbs.
Longingly I looked at Hugh; it seemed to me as if some subtle
magnetism in my gaze must ultimately succeed in drawing his. O
God! was I then presently destined to see him walk forth from this
accursed temple right into the hideous trap which had been set for
him? I tried to use what little power I had to make as much noise as I
could, vaguely hoping that Hugh would hear: I scratched the marble
wall with my nails, I beat it with the palm of my hand, but the temple
was very vast, my efforts weak, and Hugh did not hear. Then I tried
to stretch out my arm and perhaps wave my handkerchief through
the narrow window: I tried to fumble for it, but the effort was too
great; my arms were almost inert, and I literally could not stretch
them out far enough. Dizzy with the feeble attempt, I leaned back
against the wall tired out.
Yet the danger grew every moment more terrible. If I remained too
feeble to call out, if I could not succeed in attracting Hugh’s attention,
if I did not in fact warn him of the damnable plot that had been
hatched against him, he would presently go forth from the temple to
the sacred grove of Isis, thinking to meet his bride; there he would
find himself alone with the dead body of the Pharaoh, placed there
by Ur-tasen’s commands.
I remembered all the details of that awful, treacherous plan quite
clearly: nay, more, I saw the whole thing realised before my mind’s
eye, as clearly as if I were gazing on a picture. I could see the high
priest of Ra creeping in the wake of Hugh, I heard his hypocritical
voice loudly denouncing the man I loved best on earth, and accusing
him of the foul murder… and after that what would happen?… I
dared not think. Would the crowd who had worshipped Hugh turn
worship into execration? Would they believe that the son of Ra, he
who was beloved of the gods, was nothing but a vile criminal who
would strike a feeble enemy in the dark?
Who knows? A crowd is as wayward as a child, as fickle as the
most capricious flirt.… And I could not warn Hugh, for I was a
prisoner, and the hour of dawn was nigh.
And Neit-akrit, the beautiful Princess?… Vainly I tried to cling to
that last ray of hope. Surely a girl, so young, so beautiful, could not
allow such vile treachery to be committed against the man whom she
loved. Yes, she loved him, I knew that, I felt it: when she spoke of
him to Ur-tasen her voice almost broke in a sob. Oh! for the
knowledge of that mysterious thing called a woman’s heart! Loving
him, what would she do? Give him a word of warning ere it was too
late, thereby sending him into the arms of Maat-kha, his wife, or let
him go to disgrace and death sooner than see him happy with
another?
These thoughts chased one another in my poor aching head, until
the physical pain of it all became more than I could bear. I closed my
eyes; the sight of that great temple, of Hugh standing there, alone
and unsuspecting, was positive torture to me.
When I looked again Hugh was still there, leaning against the
pillar, but it suddenly seemed to me as if something was moving
close to him. Gradually the moving form took a more definite shape,
and in the shadow my burning eyes had recognised a quaint and
dainty outline, and an aureole of golden hair. It was she! silent,
mysterious, walking towards him with that undulating grace which
was peculiarly her own. Absorbed in thought, he evidently had not
heard the sound of her tiny bare feet upon the smooth floor. She was
wrapped in a white kalasiris, without jewels or ornaments of any
kind, and Sen-tur was not by her side.
She came quite close to him, and then he raised his head and saw
her. She looked exquisitely beautiful, graceful and tall as the white
lilies of Kamt; she placed a warning finger to her mouth, but he took
the tiny hand in both his own, and murmured, as if in a dream:
“Neit-akrit!”
“Hush!” she warned, “the very air is filled with potent dangers, and
thine enemies lurk hidden all around.”
“But thou art here,” he said. “Do not speak! stand still for a
moment, for I would look at thee! How beautiful thou art! and how thy
presence doth fill the temple of Isis with a radiance which is almost
divine!”
Obedient to his wish, she stood quite still, her dainty form against
the ghost-like whiteness of the marble pillars, on which the rapidly
sinking moon threw its last brilliant rays. Something in his look,
however, must have made her move, for she turned away.
“Dost wonder why I am here?” she asked.
“No! I hardly dare believe that thou art real, that thou art not an
enchanting dream, with which Isis thought to soothe my aching
senses. Wilt speak to me again?”
“I would tell thee why I came,” she said.
“Nay! not that,” he pleaded. “What care I, so long as thou art here,
and I can look at thee?”
“Nay! but thou must know,” she said, with a half-merry, half-
nervous little laugh. “Hast heard, oh, son of Ra, that in Kamt we who
are maidens deem it the luckiest thing on earth to pluck the flowers
from out the canopy which sheltered the heads of the bride and
bridegroom, if they come of royal blood? The posy thus made brings
to the owner lasting happiness. And so, to-night, while Tanis is mad
with joy, I crept out of my palace, and came to the temple of Isis, to
twine the nosegay, and having twined it, give it thee.”
I gazed and wondered; little did I understand what the strange girl
intended when she came alone to see Hugh in his solitude. A wild
hope was in my heart that she had come to warn, and an earnest
prayer that he might listen. He did not speak. I fancy he would not
trust himself to say much, but when she so daintily expressed her
desire for his happiness, he raised both her small hands to his lips.
She withdrew them quickly, and said:
“Nay! we have no time to lose, for the posy must be large. There
are many flowers needed to make the bunch of happiness complete.
Thou must help me to pick them, for some of them are too high for
me to reach. But thou art tall! See…” she said, pointing eagerly up to
the great floral canopy, whence masses of blossoms hung in fragrant
shower, “that perfect lily up there, would it not make a lovely centre
for the bunch? Thou art so tall,” she repeated with a pretty gesture of
entreaty, “wilt reach it down for me?”
And Hugh obediently stretched his long limbs and with much
difficulty succeeded in disentangling the coveted lily.
“Is it not beautiful?” she said admiringly, “so chaste! but oh! so
cold. Dost know, oh, beloved of the gods, what the white lily of Kamt
means?”
He shook his head.
“All flowers have a meaning, of course, and the lily means duty,”
she said with a sigh, “that is why it seems so cold, even cruel, in its
waxy, spotless whiteness, but it must form the centre of the bunch,
for I think thou dost love duty dearly, too dearly methinks, and
perhaps wouldst not be happy without it. But,” she added more gaily,
“we will soften her waxy coldness: dost see that graceful bunch of
white acacia? that means homely happiness. It would look well in
graceful clusters round the stern centre of duty.”
He was listening to her merry talk, I fancied, with a slightly puzzled
air sometimes. Still less than I could he guess why she had come;
but her presence made him happy for the moment, and it was quite
gaily that he said: “But I cannot reach the homely happiness.”
“Oh, what a pity!” she said earnestly. “Duty will look so ugly without
home to soften it.”
She paused perplexed, then added with an odd look at Hugh:
“Canst jump, oh, beloved of the gods?”
He laughed gaily, merrily, as I had heard him laugh of old.
“Can I?” he asserted triumphantly, and with gesture and action
hardly befitting the solemn majesty of the temple of Isis, Hugh made
a sudden grab for the drooping acacia, and brought down a perfect
shower of white petals, as the floral canopy trembled with the shock.
“Homely happiness is hard to get,” he said with a laugh, “but it well
repays the effort; the scent of the acacia is very sweet.”
She was laughingly shaking her golden tresses, to which the white
petals persistently clung.
“It was hard,” she said, “but see! how pretty it looks; now, I wonder,
what would look well beside it.”
“These orange blossoms are pretty.”
“Yes!… they are pretty.… Wouldst like a cluster?… In Kamt we call
them wedded bliss.… Dost want it in the posy?” she asked with a
quaint anxious tone in her voice.
“No!” he said abruptly.
The moon must have sunk down very low behind the distant hills
of Kamt, and the temple of Isis was dark, only the fitful glow of one of
the sanctuary lamps lit up the dainty scene before me. Hugh, I could
see, still had himself in absolute control. How long that would last I
could not say. I considered that he owed no allegiance to the woman
who had planned his murder; the sacrilegious marriage had not been
completed, and I, feeble, half-paralysed as I was, had yet the
strength to pray that beautiful Neit-akrit would make my friend forget
the fateful hour of dawn.
There had been long silence between them while she, a trifle
nervously, was fumbling with the flowers, and he was looking
tenderly, longingly, at her.
“Ah, I know!” she said at last, “I must give thee white roses; they
will look lovely beside the homely happiness. See! a beautiful cluster
hangs just above thy head. Thou canst reach it quite easily and
needst but to stretch out thy hand.”
“A lovely cluster indeed, and the scent is delightfully sweet. Wilt
tell me what white roses mean in Kamt?”
He was handing the drooping cluster of roses to her, and she
stretched out her small hand for it; the other was already loaded with
flowers.
“In Kamt white roses mean love,” she whispered, as she took the
flowers from him.
I could see that his fingers fastened upon hers, that his whole
body trembled as if with a mighty effort. It was a cruel position for
any man deeply in love with a very beautiful woman, to be alone with
her in this vast and silent temple, with myriads of flowers round him,
making the air fragrant and heavy. She did not try to disengage her
hand, but stood a little while, with her great eyes meeting his, boldly
and fearlessly.
It was only when, with sudden impulse, he tried to draw her closer
to him, that she gently withdrew her hands and said lightly: