Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, August 12, 1899, Page 2

CHAPTER I. Up a steep and narrow defile of a chain of mountains, some few leagues distant from Benares, a little caravan slowly and laboriously made its way. The night, succeeding the day of burning and intolerable heat, was black as its own shadow. Great, som- ber clouds held the full moon from hu- man view, nor permitted it to send one ray of welcome light. Not preath of air stirred. The storm t was abroad, but as yet his voice had not thundered forth his pres- ence, nor his eyes flashed their indig- nant lightning at these audacious mor- tals who came to brave him, In the middle of the little party was anquin, borne by six Hindoos, a rel of the same number preceding with torches. Close beside it walked a young Na- tive—a boy—almost a child, since he could have numbered scarce fourteen figure was slight, his fea- but straight and regu- “at, black eyes burned with intelligence. Some ten feet in the rear followed a man of grotesque appearance, mounted on a thin horse, each of whose move- a ments produced strange contortions and grimaces upon the rider's empur- pled visage, which was surmounted by a bushy shock of straw-colored hair. At the summit of the mountain, and before beginning its descent, the bear- ers paused. A gloved hand then part- ed the curtain of a palanquin, while a deep, musical voice, speaking in Eng- lish, called: “Kazil! Come here, child; I wish to speak with you.” The young Hindoo proached, “What does the master wish?’ he asked, respectfully. “Why do we not go on?” “Master, the mountain is steep; the bearers stop to rest.” “How far are we from Benares?” x hours’ march.” “We will arrive there at daybreak?” “Yes, master, unless the storm delays us “You think the storm close upon us?” “I fear so.” And with these words, as though in- spired by them, the demon of the tem- pest seemed to launch itself upon the mortals who had unwittingly evoked t. “The voice of S zil, bowing his head. But already the other Hindoos had prostrated themselves, face downward, upon the earth. “We must hasten!” cried the voice from the palanquin. “Give the order to the bearers, Kazil, not to lose anoth- er minute.” Kazil repeated these commands in Hindostanee; but, as they were about to be obeyed, there came ‘a second sh of thunder—a second blinding 1 of lightning. The Hindos prostrated themselves anew, striking their chests and utter- ing low, monotonous exhortations. “Why do they wait?’ asked the En- glishman. “Master,” replied Kazil, “we can go no further.” “And why “The storm will last throughout the night. Before many minutes the tor- rents in the mountains will be impass- able, and the footpaths will have be- come impracticable. If we were fool- hardy enough to undertake the de- scent we should be engulefd by the faves and hurled upon the rocks.” “Truly, good reason!” laughed the Englishman. “Not consoling, but with- out argument. What do you say, my poor Stop?” These last words were addressed to the singular-looking personage, who had dismounted from his horse and approached the speaker, and who now took off his hat respectfully, answering in a nasal tone, with comical, grief- stricken intonations: “Ah, your honor, it is a devilish country! My hair—my beautiful hair, instantly ap- !” murmured Ka- ‘which the prety girls of Northumber- ; land likened to ripe corn—will certain- ly grow whiter before its time. We were so happy in our dear England. Why did you leave it to come to this infernal place and bring me with you?” “You need not have followed me. I left you free to remain if you wished.” “Ah, yes! Free—perfectly free. But yeur honor knows well that the day when it shall please you to walk through fire or water, come when it may, I will follow. Your honor is the body, I the shadow. It,is fate. Where the body goes the shadow must follow; ‘but surely the shadow has a right to complain, and I avail myself of it.” “Yes,” answered the young master, laughing; ‘you are very faithful—I do you that justice; but you lack philoso- phy.” “It is not my fault. If I had studied, as your honor, at Cambridge or Ox- ford, perhaps I, too, should have haa philosophy; but then I should be a gentleman, and not a valet; and that wvould be unfortunate for your honor, who would find difficulty in replacing me. Further speech was interrupted by a huiricane of wind and torrents of rain. “We must find shelter,” exclaimed the Englishman. ‘“Kazil, do you know of no cave or recess in the rocks?” “None,” answered the boy. The young traveler threw a hasty glance around him, discovering, by aid of the lightning flashes lighting the mountain in a blaze of glory by their almost continuous succession, a singu- lar mass of stone, profiled against the heavens, at a distance from them of some few hundred feet. “What is that?’ he asked. “It is the ruined temple of the God Siva,” answered the child, in tones low and filled with emotion. “Ah!” continued the Englishman, lightly. “Then we must appeal to the god for a night’s hospitality. Go, Ka- zil, speak to the escort, and let us gain the ruins quickly.” But Kazil, instead of obeying the or- der, trembled and stood still. “Have you not heard?’ asked the Englishman, amazed—“haye you not understood me?” “I have heard stammered the boy. Then why do you hesitate?” “Master, we are here on the top of the mountain called. Beomah—on the very lands of the mountain saint. Death walks night and day about the ruins, and defends them better than any army of Sepoys. The spirit of Siva, god of evil, inhabits the pagoda.” “I have no objection,” said the En- glishman, with a smile. “But Siva, god of evil, in offering us shelter agairst the storm, will become god of | benevolence. That will be, surely, flattering to him.” “The temple is a sacred place for be- lievers,” answered Kazil, quickly; “but for unbelievers it is accursed.” “Don’t go, your honor,’ pleaded Stop. “I have always been afraid of } the devil, and the god of these people must be the devil himself. Don’t go! Be wet, rather, with resignation; soaked with heroism.” For sole reply, the traveler sarugged his shoulders; then. turning toward Kazil, he said, simply: “T command!” In his turn, the young Hindoo ad- dressed the bearers. One answered, and Kazil again re- plied to him, until, after a colloquey of sume minutes, he addressed his mas- ter: and understood,” hey refuse to obey,” he said. “The terror with which the ruins inspire them is insurmountable.” “But is not my word command?” “In all else, master, yes. They will keep their engagement, if need be, at peril of their lives—they will continue their route, braving mountain torrents and avalanche of rock—but nothing would induce them, on such a night, to penetrate the ruins of the temple which belongs to Siva, the terrible god!” The traveler, seeing, in the face of such superstition, argument or com- mand could have no effect, insisted no longer. “So be it,” he satd, stepping from the palanquin. “I will go alone with Stop.” “I will accompany you, master,” an- rered the ing Hindoo, You, Ia You are not afraid, ‘My flesh shudders, my face pales, my heart beats to suffocation. I be- ; lieve in the danger, and I am afraid; but what matters it? I will accompa- ny you.” “Come, then, my child. these natives dare not ¢ old of the temple, perhaps they will carry the palanquin near the ruins.” T master, they will do, I prom- ise you.” Repeating his master’s commands, the bearers took up their burden; but their steps slackened as they grew near, until, at a distance of a stone’s throw, they set. it down, halting. “Master,” said Kazil, taking a torch from one of their hands, “they will go ne further. Come!” And the three moved together in the direction of the once-famed temple. The child appeared strangely moved, | though he struggled for outward calm. His bronze skin had become almost white; his great, black eyes, half- yeiléd by their long, upcurled lashes ! (whch might have been the envy of j any woman), expressed anguish and | ter Nor was Stop, the valet, more reas sured, glancing cautiously about him, as though expecting the onslaught of hidden enemies. The Englishman alone preserved a perfect and immovable calm, as, step- ping within the ruins, he surveyed them with reflective curiosity and qui- et thoughtfulness. The lightning flashes showed him to be a man of from twenty-eight to thir- iy years of age. His light hair, but that it was cut so closely to his hand- some head, would have curled like a child’s. His eyes were blue and dark; his skin, pink and white, almost to ef- feminacy, but the expression of firm- ness about the mouth, half-concealed by a long, silken mustache and the su- perb physique and splendid breadth of ! shoulder. As the three stood within the ruins, suddenly there sounded the hoot of an owl, twice repeated from the two ends of the temple. Kazil shivered, and bent his head as one eagerly listening. Before half a minute had elapsed, the cry was again heard, thrice repeat- ed in two different directions. Kazil had regained his composure; | but, as he lowered his head, these words escaped his pale, pallid lips, al- though in an undistinguishable voice: “Our brothers watch!” “Ah!” cried the Englishman, laugh- ing. “The night birds fail in respect ; for this sacred place.” | “Master,” answered Kazil, “the owl is the bird sacred to the god Siva.” Penetrating further into the ruins— Stop, meanwhile making further ejac- ; ulations of fright—the Englishman, who had taken from Kazil’s hand the And_ since s the thresh- torch, discovered an inner and thor- oughly protected retreat—a vaulted chamber, the entrance to which was guarded by the hideous stautue of some Hindoo divinity, bearing the head of a bull upon a roughly-chiseled dish, whose sight struck fresh terror to Stop’s cowardly heart. The place in which they found them- selves had something the appearance of an inner chapel (had they been in a Christian land); but here at least they were secure from the fierce onslaught of the elements, and Kazil, with won- derful ingenuity, gathered materials to light and make a fire, which soon sent its ruddy glow to lend fantastic shad- ows on the walls and to dry their drip- ping garments. Again Kazil disappeared, this time returning with some cushions he had taken from the palanquin, stretching them upon the ground, that his young master might rest in comfort. “Master,” he said, “the storm will last throughout the night. When you have quite dried your clothes, throw yourself down here, and you will sleep until daylight.” “Thauk you, my child! But you, so young, and after so wearisome a “Tear not for me,” he answered. “I am but a child, but I have strength and will. I may neither eat nor drink, if need be, for more than a day, march- ing under the fierce sun or through the tempest, and my body will not weaken. Your father has seen my strength. If you will ask if Kazil speaks the truth, he will tell you.” “You love my father?” “Do I love him? I owe him even life. He saved me from death in the most horrible form. I owe him the air I breathe. I love him, and I will love you, master, because you are his son. If ever you need my blood, I will give if for you as freely as I would shed it for him—as I would sacrifice it for your brother, Sir Edward.” The Englishman caught the boy’s hands and tightly pressed them. “Brave child! You love my father and my brother. Then I shall love you!” A tear rolled down Kazil’s bronzed cheek, but already Stop had stretched himself upon the ground, not without many a muttered curse at the hard and unyielding, substance. “What will you do, Kazil?’ asked the master. “1 shall. watch,” was the simple re ply. “You are, then, made of marble?” “Yes.” “Ah, well, so be it! The warmth suc- ceeding the rain has given me almost a fever. I will gladly rest for an hour or two.” And, with these words, the traveler exterded himself upon the cushions and was soon asleep, though not be- fore Stop’s snorings could be distinctly heard. ‘ Kazil, his arms lrossed over his chest, leaned his back against the wall, before the opening which gave access to the consecrated hall, and began to hum, in a low and almost indistinet yeice, some verses of a Hindoo song. Again, at these intervals, the hoot of the owl was repeated quite near at hand, but low, and as if suppressed. Kazil trembled. His songs ceased on his lips. He listened interitly, while his eager and fixed gaze appeared to mutely question the silence and the shadow. The mysterious cry of the bird was not again heard, nothing came to dissi- pate the external darkness; but with- in the vaulted room something strange and full of mystery was about to be revealed. One of the bas-reliefs, that which represented the sixteenth incarnation of the god Vishnu, suddenly, without the slightest sound, slid back upon its invisible grooves, leaving in its place a square and yawnng aperture. This aperture was directly opposite the cushions on which the weary traveler slept. For some seconds it remained black and empty; then, instantly, it served to frame a vision mcst strange and un- expected. The head of a woman—a head young and pale, of dazzling but sinister beauty, appeared at the open- ing. \ The head was crowned by a diadem of jetty braids, wound round and round about it in superb luxuriance, and in whose thick masses glistened sequins of gold. The lips were carna- tion hue. The eyes, black and very large, threw magnetic glances toward the silent sleeper, as if they could not withdraw their gaze. Soon the purple pupils dilated and distended, in the darkness, with an in- ner light, such as one sees in the black diamond; her lips, half-parted in a marvelous smile, which unveiled the exquisite whiteness of her teeta, like faultless pearls hidden in a casket of wet coral. Thus transfigured, the head was of regal beauty, indescribable by the pen of any writer, and before whose yolup- tuous splendor the brush of even a great artist might fall dismayed. Surely, spirit or mortal, she to whom belonged this radiant beauty must be goddess or queen. Kazil, always attentive, but always motionless, had not raised his eyes to- ward the vanished bas-relief, and, con- sequently, had seen nothing. After a long and almost ecstatic con- templation, the head vanished but still the aperture remained, Doubtless the exquisite and incomparable vision would reappear. All was not finished. One of the slabs from the floor of the chamber suddenly replaced itself, and seemed to sing into a black, unknown abyss. The child was about to utter a cry, put his voice failed him. The bronzed face of a gigantic Hindoo appeared in the opening, his finger upon his lips, to command silence, while at the same time his other hand traced in space mysterious sign, which doubtless indi- cated the countersign of some secret ' order. Kazil understood it, and his lips, half-opened, closed without having ar- ticulated a sound. An expression of acute and _ terrible anguish over- swept his face. He bowed his head, while a great sigh rent his breast. The Hindoo emerged from the abyss like the devils or fairies from the in genious trap door of the stage of our modern theaters. He paused before Kazil, touched him on the shoulder, and then, lifting the flowing sleeves whch concealed his muscular arm, he showed some strange characters, deep- ly imprinted in blue lines in the bronzed flesh. The boy, glancing at this mark, made a feeble movement of mingled fear and respect, otherwise maintaining his sad and submissive attitude. The man then made toward the trav- eler, his naked feet making no sound upon the flags, and bending over him, with slow deliberation, he began mak- ing above him gestures like mesmeric passes. The pale head had reappeared in its frame amid the shadows, and followed each moyement of the Hindoo with rapt attention. Afer the first passes, the sleeper's breathing became rapid and feverish, and a series of slight, nervous shivers agitated him. The ‘passes continued. The shiverings ceased, and a calm, so deep that it resembled death rather than slumber, succeeded the moment- ary disturbance. Then the Hindoo drew from the folds of his girdle a small crystal flask, filled with a blood- red and yet transparent liquor. He poured a few drops in the hollow of his hand, and bathed with it the English- man’s temples, whose breathing sud- denly appeared to cease. This was but the beginning of the work. Approaching the valet, as he had his master, he repeated the passes and the application. He returned then to the Englishman, evidently assured that nothing could disturb his slumber, since, lifting him in his arms, he bore him upon his brawny shoulders as easily and with no more effort than as if his burden’s superb and splendid tions of a frail child. “Is it to death that the sons of Bow- hanie have doomed the stranger?” asked Kazil, in trembling tones, as the Hindoo passed him with the burden. The man answered merely by a neg- ative sign, accompanied by a strange smile. “There are my orders?” continued the child. “Yes,” “What are they?” “Remain here.” “Until when?” “Until my return.” “Which will take place?’ “To-morrow night,” Kazil extended his arm toward Stop. “But if he awakens?” Again a smile crept about the Hin- doo’s lips—a smile which signified, “He will not awaken.” “He will live, however?’ persisted the child. “Yes; but his sleep resembles death, and will last one night and one day without interruption.” “The natives who have borne the pa- lanquin have not dared to cross the threshold of the temple, and wait with- out,” said Kazil. Let them wait.” “They have no food.” “Let one go in search of food and bring it to them.” “I obey.” “It is well.” All this time the Hindoo bore his liv- ing weight as though unconscious of any tax upon his strength, and now, still bearing it, disappeared in the black space; the flag stone upraised, readjusted itself, the pale head disap- peared from the opening beyond, the bas-relief, representing the sixteenth incarnation of the god Vishnu, glided back into its place, and profound and unbroken silence reigned in the cham- ber sacred to the god, where Kazil alone waked and watehed, and Stop, the valet, slept- CHAPTER IT. It remains for us to follow the gigan- tic Hindoo. After having descended some forty or fifty steps of a staircase in excellent preservation, the native entered a sub- terranean vault, feebly lighted by @ small Iamp placed upon a block of granite of terrible aspeet. This block had recently been the monstrous altar on which were immolated the human victims offered as a sacrifice to the god Siva. The subterranean apartment was the exact counterpart, in form and dimensions, of the Votive hall above. As the Hindoo reached the last step of the staircase he found himself eon- fronted with the pale and beautiful un- known; but now fold after fold of white gauze, embroidered in gold, en- veloped her, so that only her luminous black eyes were yizible. As far as one might judge beneath the veil, she was a woman of medium height and wonderful elegance and grace. Her small, aristocratie hands, ungloved and white, were adorned with priceless jewels. Two tiny scar- let slippers covered her feet, whieh seemed the feet of a ehild. “I have obeyed, madame,” said the Hindoo, in slow, guttural tomes. “Here is the stranger.” “Is he not beautiful, Saugor?’ she asked. “I do not know, madame.” “How? You do not know? You have not, then, indeed, looked at him?” “I have seen him, madame, but I do not understand the beauty of these pale faces, with hair the color of the sun. Those who resemble women so closely are not the men for me.” ane unknown smiled beneath her veil. “Saugor,” she said, “where are the mutes?” “In the subterranean gallery, with tLe palanquin.” It is well. I will open the iron gate.” “Where will you go, madame?” “To the palace.” “Shall I precede you with my bur- den?” No. The mutes will stranger in the palanquin.” “But it will admit of but one.” “T will walk.” “But—” The young woman interrupted with an imperious gesture, adding, in a tone which suffered no reply: “Obey me!” Saugor bowed and was silent. ‘The unknown turned toward an fron door; massive as though destined to Close upon those condemned to death. Taking from her belt a key, she in- treduced it into the lock; the door swung back upon its hinges, revealing a yaulted gallery, which seemed to sing itseit into the very entraits ef the fecrih, carry the manhood had dwindled to the propor- | ‘| with the sleeping “Twelve negroes, dressed in red and wearing turbans of the same shade, stood immovable near a _ palanquin painted in sombre colors. Four negro pages ceaselessly fed with oil their flaming torches. All these men were mute. None‘could read or write. One might thus confide in them as in a tomb, since their ig- norance and the terrible mutilation to which they had been subjected, ren- dered discretion absolute and forced. Seeing the unknown, the negroes prostrated themselyes to the earth, as if one of their religious divinities had appeared. Saugor placed upon the cushions of the palanquin the inanimate burden, and, after questioning with a look his mistress, gave an order. The bearers instantly arose, and, taking the supports of the palanquin upon their shoulders, walked on, pre- ceded by the pages, Saugor and the young woman following silently. At the foot of a staircase numbering two hundred and fifty steps, they paused. Saugor again lifted the En- lishman in his arms, and, followed by the unknown, made its ascent, a bronze door at the top swinging back and allowing them to enter a vast court, ornamented with all the splen- dors of Oriental luxury, and which ap- peared to be the vestibule of a fairy palace. The Hindoo, always bearing his un- conscious burden, crossed the court and passed through a suite of apart- merts, of which even an incomplete description would require pages, until he paused in a boudoir, dimly lighted by an alabaster lamp suspended from the ceiling. This boudoir, entirely hung with silk of varied hues, had no other furniture than a large, low divan, of luxurious softness, and piles of cushions, thrown here and there, as by chance, on the thick, velvety carpet. Porteries of stuffs like the hangings upon the walls, concealed any ope- ing. It was here, and on the large di- van, that Saugor placed the stranger. Then, bowing low before the un- known, he withdrew, leaving her alone Jnglishman. The young woman threw off her veils, and her pale face, rendered still | paler by the opaline light from the | lamp, appeared anew in its new and splendid beauty. The expression of her great eyes had become singular and changing. Alter- nately they shone with fever, or soft- ened into an indescribable languor. Kneeling near the divan for some mo- ments, she contemplated in silence the plonde and handsome head cf the sleep- | er; then, leaning over him, she kissed his brow, and drawing from her dr a flask like that which Saugor had used in the temple, but holding a liquid perfectly colorless, she held it te his | nostrils. Instantly his breath, until now so weak and uncertain, became more rap- id and strong. At the same time his eyelids trembled, as if about to lift then selves. : | Seeing this, the unknown rose like 2 | startled fawn, and, crossing the boud- oir, lifted a portiere and disappeared, letting fall from her the tulle embroid- ered with gold. One or two minutes passed. The sleeper moved uneasily, then, gradual- ly, consciousness returned. He awoke from his slumber, and, lifting himself upon his elbow, opened his ey: and looked about him. What were his sems- ations? He had fallen asleep in the Temple of Siva, under the ‘dark and sinister roof of the round chamber. He awoke in an exquisite boudoir, embalmed in fragrant odors. His stupor was pro- found, but it did not Iast Tong. In- stantly an explanation, perfectly clear | and logical, suggested itself to him. It was the influence of the East—a charming dream which opened to him the magic portals of fairyland. Let it bring what further charming and wi- looked for surprises that it might, ft | would not astont him. Convinced that he dreamed, he found himself dis- posed to await further revelations, nor Tet anything find him unprepared. But searcely had he arrived at this decision when faint and delicate strains of mu- sic floated through the room. They came from instruments all un- known to him, and were accompanied | by the exquisite tones of a woman's ; voice, chanting some love melod, From whence came this music it was | impossible to discover. It seemed to} emanate from everywhere and sur- round him in fts dreamy atmosphere. The young man smiled and murmured: “My dream continues. It is charm- ing. To dream thus is to live two lives. But this is the feast of the ears —what will the feast of the eyes be?” He had not to wait Iong for a re- sponse. Some of the hangings of the boudoir were noiselessly drawn aside, } discovering = reom beyond, whose walls were of marble and whose center was a fountain of falling water. Its sprays sparkled in all the rainbow tints, caught from the refieetion of twenty silver Iamps, which fell im a large shell of mother-of-pearl. A “Very pretty!’ murmured the Eng- lishman. “The dream complicates it- self. One could hardly have succeeded better at Drury Lane Theater, for the Christmas festival! It needs but a bal- let to complete it!” ! Seareely had this thought taken shape when a group of houris ap- eared before him, floating through the mazes of some Hastern dance. Never; had he beheld such exquisite beauty of | form, such perfect symmetry of mo- tion.’ Each new attitude revealed new grace. He smiled as he murmured: “J would applaud, but dare not, lest I awake. I cannot yet bid farewell to my beautiful dream.” Then the music ceased, the light from the silver lamps paled; one by one, the lovely forms disappeared; the hangings fell back in their place. “Tt is fairyland,” thought the En- glishman. “But the Queen of Fairies, where is she, that she does not wel- come me to her magic domain?”. | One of the porteiries was at this mo- ment drawn aside. A woman entered the boudoir, dressed in the Oriental fashion, delicious odors emanating from the folds of her robe; a halt- mask of black velvet concealed the up- pre portion of her face, but through it could be seen her great eyes, fairly scintillating with light. Her erjmson lips were parted in a smile, revealing | speak of your bh her teeth of dazzling purity. Her slen-, der, graceful figure, her arms, white and firm; her shoulders, which seemed hewn from some bleck of marbte—all k ® betrayed her fn the flower of perfect youth. For several seconds she upon the threshold, as though a sud- den timidity forbade her to adyance. Merciful heaven!” cried the English- man. “This is a vision from’ Para- dise!” I would give a year of my life heed this dream reality. I would give—” He had no time to complete the phrase. The beautiful vision crossed the boudoir, approached the divan and, in a low, melodious voice, asked, im purest English: “Will you tell me your name?’ The Englishman shuddered. “She speaks!” he said to himself. “I dare not answer, lest she vanish!” You are silent,” she continued. ‘Nay, you are my guest to-night, and surely I have the right to know to whom I offer hospitality. Speak, then. Answer me! What is your name?” Then he dared hesitate no longer, y name,” he answered, “is George Malcolm.” “George Malcolm!” she murmured to herself. “You are an Englishman?” she said, aloud. “Yes, madame.” Why have you left England, and what brings you to India?’ “It is two months since I left home, and I am here to rejoin my father, Sir John Malcolm, who is Chief Judge of the Presidency of Benares.” The unknown trembled as she thought: “John Malcolm! the Chief Judge! the ee investigator? I knew it—I know ima?” ‘Then, after a moment’s silence, she » again. ell me,” she said, “what do you think of all that has befallen you to- night?” “Must I answer you frankly, ma- dame?” “Certainly.” “Well, then, I fancy myself in the mids of a delicious dream, which it rests with you to make yet more ec- static.” “And to accomplish this result, what must I do?” ‘Remove the mask which conceals from my hungry gaze even a part of your beauty.” “How do you know that I am beauti- ful?” “That which I see is a sure guaran- tee of what is hidden.” “You may be deceived.” “Oh, no, madame; I am not de- ceived; you are beautiful enough to madden all the saints in Paradise. I guess it from the unconquerable emo- tion I feel in your presence. I feel it in the quickened pulsations of my heart.” The unknown smiled. “Your heart,” she repeated. “You Is it accustomed, then, to beat so fast and so loud?’ “No, madame. It is you, alone, who have the power to thus agitate it.” “Ah! So you say to every woman.” “I say it to no other. My lips have not yet learned to lie.” “Have you, then, never loved?” “Never, seriously. Never have I felt myself drawn toward a woman as I feel myself drawn toward you.” “Yet you do not know me.” “I divine you,” he responded. And with the words, lifting himself upon the divan, he took in his the two little white hands of the unknown, drawing her toward him until his lips met hers. “Madame,” he passionately implored, “I pray you take off this mask! Let me see you! I adore you—adore you!” The unknown answered with some light raillery. “Even at the risk of losing your ador- ation, I refuse to accede to your ree quest. I will not remove’ my mask,” “But why?” “Because I do not wish it.’” This she uttered in the tone of one accustomed to command; but, as if to mitigate the severity of her resolu- tions, she continued, more gently: “Tf, however, George Malcolm, my mask does not alarm you, I ask you to sup with me. Will you accept?” “Yes,” murmured the young English- man, in a sort of stupefaction, thinking that to eat and drink in dreamland sur- passed all the marvels which had gone before. That he slept, he had no doubt. He remembered that, overcome with fa- tigue, he had lost consciousness in the Temple of Siva. He now felt con- vinced that, in some unknown form, he had previously taken an opiate. The unknown now stepped back a Tittle way,. clapping her hands twice to- gether. Immediately four negro pages, splen- didly and fantastically. costumed im purple satin and silver cloth, entered, Dearing @ table, fully served, which they placed in the middle of the bowd- oir. In place of chairs, they drew be- fore it the cushions; then, swift and dumb, disappeared, i “George Maleolm,” said the un- known, “come; do honor te my re past.” The Englishman feared to stir, lest, at the first movement, he should awak- en; yet he dared mot hesitate; and, rising, to his unutterable amaze, he dis- covered not only that the dream con- tinued, but that he walked with as firm & step as though fully awake. His hostess took his hand and led him to one of the pile of cushions, on which she bade him be seated. She in- stalled herself opposite him. He regarded the table curiously, sud- denly finding hmself possessed of a rost violent appetite. The repast was served in Russian style, with dishes of exquisite delicacy, and a most tempt- ing odor surrounding the dessert, part of which was composed of fruit from every clime. Wines of France, Spain and the Rhine mingled fraternally with those of Cyprus and the Cape. Even the fa- miliar brand of champagne was not wanting. The service was of soli@ gold. The china, more precious than the massive metal. “I alone shall wait upon you,” mur- mured the unknown, daintily carving the fowl before her. Then, filling two glasses, in the shape of beauty, with a transparent wine, which looked like melted amber, she raised hers to her lips. “Drink to me,” she “With this, which has mellowed under the warm fires of the sun for a thou. sand years.” Thus began the repast, while an tn- visible and mysterious orchestra could be faintly heard playing delicious gems from the Italian opera. commanded, —