JACK was so much dazed by what he had seen and heard that he could find nothing to say to Lamara, or to Aunion either. The slope from the amphitheater led down to the beach, where a boat was in waiting. Lamara, who had been conversing apart with Aunion, now addressed Jack.
“I must leave you in Argon’s care. We shall soon meet again. We, no more than you, know what is to come. We cannot promise that what you wish will come to pass; but we sometimes live to be thankful for hopes unfulfilled. The spirit always gives us what we need. You have friends; have patience!”
The ominous purport which Jack was prone to put upon her words was somewhat counteracted by the smile which accompanied the touch of her finger-tips in farewell. She and her minister boarded the craft, and Jack and Argon were alone.
“I don’t know that I shall ever be wise enough to comprehend all this,” Jack remarked; “but I shall never be quite the same fool that I was before. I feel, without knowing why, that what seemed cruel in your speech was love and mercy. As for Lamara, she lives and speaks in a world and a language beyond me. And yet I believe that something in me deeper than my mind understands her. Perhaps I’ve never known myself, and that is why I know nothing.”
“The best generally comes last,” said Argon. “I’ve lived twenty times as long as you, but what small light I have comes from others, and with difficulty. What I said to-day was born of the thinking of men wiser and better than I shall ever be. What I wanted was to take that poor child in my arms and comfort her. But, thanks to the spirit, and to Lamara, and to the societies, I was able to rise to a higher love of her than that!” “What will Zarga do?” Jack inquired.
“I think the shock she got from that sapphire charm of yours began a vital alteration in her, which events happening afterward confirmed and gave direction to,” said his friend. “She had been in a morbid state. I doubt if she really cared for you—in that way—at all. Your adventure in coming here stirred her imagination, and the impulse of rivalry with Miriam roused her vanity and ambition. Then, no doubt, Torpeon led her on. Probably, too, some indiscretions on your part and Miriam’s helped the conspirators. But nothing irrevocable, so far as I know, has happened yet.”
Having none of the vanity of amorous conquest, Jack was relieved to learn that Zarga’s infatuation might be unsubstantial. But he returned to his question.
“No one can foretell her plans,” was Argon’s answer. “But I’m sure she’ll never be content with anything less than trying her utmost to undo the mischief she has done. And in spite of her light manner, she really is a girl of remarkable qualities. Lamara, as you heard, gives her her full confidence and unrestricted liberty. I dare say she is at work already. For that matter, there’s no time to lose; and we must realize that the situation is serious. Torpeon will go all lengths!”
“I hope I needn’t tell you that I had sense enough to understand from what Lamara said to-day, that forgiveness of the enemy is not only your belief, but your practise. That implies that I ought to forgive Torpeon. But if evil be our only enemy, then it is his as well as mine; and if I can take a hand in preventing the evil he intends, I shall be doing him a friendly service. Of course, it won’t be easy to bear in mind the distinction between his evil and himself; but I’ll promise to try my best! I won’t try to kill him; I’ll go no further than to use every means possible to get Miriam away from him; and then, if he puts his evil away, I’ll forgive him with all my heart! It seems to me Lamara herself shouldn’t ask more! And I don’t see that I can ask less.”
The candor of this plea tempted Argon to smile; but he put a hand affectionately on Jack’s shoulder and replied: “I agree with you!”
“That’s a comfort!” rejoined the other. “Now, as it seems plain I can do nothing here, can’t you give me a lift over to Tor?”
“That is not for me to decide,” Argon answered. “I know only in part the present state of things; but I know that several forces are working together in behalf of Miriam and you. They are powerful forces; humanly speaking, they could hardly be more so. On the other hand, Torpeon is putting forth his whole strength, which is very formidable, and no scruples will restrain him. But neither you nor I know the plan of campaign on either side; so that if we were to break in on our own account, we might happen to do more harm than good. Just as a parallel example, suppose Miriam had carried out that experiment a while ago!”
Jack reddened. “A woman in extremity has a right to the protection of death.”
“That lies between her and the spirit,” said Argon.
“May not the spirit work through me?”
Argon was silent.
“I don’t know what other plans there may be,” Jack resumed. “My plan is to be with her, to save her if I can; if not, to die with her. Who else is so much concerned as I?”
He was speaking with the utmost energy, but with self-control. Argon was conscious of an increase of moral stature in him; he felt the contagion of his mood and the justice of his argument. But yonder swung the red planet, beyond the reach of either of them. The young Saturnian had no power at his personal disposal to bridge the distance. Such adventures could be undertaken only by cooperation of larger means. He recalled Lamara’s words at parting, “The spirit gives us what we need!” With all his heart, at that moment, he shared his friend’s longing for light and aid.
They were standing but a few rods from the entrance of the amphitheater. Argon, whose eyes were turned in that direction, saw some one emerge from the portal who did not at once move toward them, or seem to be aware of their propinquity. He appeared to be contemplating the great structure, and thoughtfully estimating its architectural qualities and proportions. He rested a hand upon one of the huge pillars of the entrance, and examined a design wrought upon it by the unknown artist who had taken part in the erection of the only building in Saturn which was permanent. Argon himself had often studied this design, executed in low relief and representing a flowering rose-bush growing out of a skull. The stranger traced the outlines with his finger. Argon had never fathomed the meaning of the symbol, which belonged to an era removed immeasurably from the present. Who could this stranger be who interested himself in Saturnian problems of archeology? He was not a Saturnian; his dress was unfamiliar, and he bore the insignia of none of the great societies.
The man now turned his face seaward, and perceived the others. He made a courteous gesture of salutation, but remained where he was. Jack, who now observed him for the first time, was seize with an unaccountable curiosity or interest. The aspect of the unknown was so cordial and inviting that the two youths were insensibly drawn toward him.
He was of commanding stature, with a light and lofty carriage of head and shoulders, and a grace of posture and movement which indicated the vigor of manhood in its prime. He wore an undergarment of a lustrous tissue woven of gold and white threads, reaching half-way down his thigh, and a short, white cloak with a deep-violet hem. Sandals were on his feet; his head was uncovered, except by the wavy curls of his yellow hair. The smile in his eyes stirred also the corners of his lips, and his whole countenance conveyed an impression of good fellowship, intelligence, and effectiveness such as made impossibilities seem easy and discouragement absurd. Life, in his companionship, would be uninterrupted achievement and delight; and this was so obvious at the first glance that he immediately wore the guise of a tried and familiar friend, though neither Jack nor Argon could recall having ever before seen him.
“You have an admirable building here,” he remarked, “and I’m glad to see it is still in use. It belongs to a date when the earth and man used to work together in a way rather different from now. You have made improvements since then, and yet some interesting secrets have been forgotten. This carving now—can either of you young men explain its use and significance?”
He looked from one to another with an expression so bright and pregnant as to have the effect of an overflowing fountain of wisdom, ready to irrigate and render fruitful all the world’s deserts of ignorance. Jack offered no reply, though he was possessed by the conviction that he and this wonderful stranger could not have met for no purpose, so profoundly intimate and kindly was his regard, and so great withal was his moral and intellectual ascendancy. He was a king of men, but democratic and simple as a boon comrade.
“I have puzzled over it many times,” Argon answered; “but neither I nor our wise ones could solve it. The secret was lost, as you say, many thousands of lives ago.”
“Nothing truly done or thought is ever lost, however,” rejoined the stranger. “The secret waits in its place till the need for it returns. As for this particular enigma, I happened to know the sculptor who wrought it well; and he and I helped each other in turn to place this section of the shaft. Apparently it’s never been opened since!”
“You!” exclaimed Argon in a reverential tone. “You are an immortal, then!”
The other glanced up with a laugh. “Why, so are we all! But I’m one of the travelers. When I was a little fellow I used to stare up in the sky at night, and tell myself that some time I’d visit those bright places up there and make friends with the folks that lived in them. Well, there are a good many of them, and I’m still in the early stages of my journey; but there are persons worth knowing in all of them, and my circle of friends is enlarging! One of these days, if you like,” he added, turning to Jack, “I’ll take you about a little and introduce you. But as to this design: it stands, of course, for a word in the universal language, but you would probably be more interested in seeing the thing that it covers. Let’s try if these old joints and hinges are still in working order.”
The pillar was a massive monolith, of a diameter twice the height of a man. He laid hold of it, seizing it in both arms, and put forth his strength to drag it toward the left. The broad muscles of his chest and arms rounded out under the skin, but for a moment the column did not yield. Jack was about to offer his aid, though the enterprise seemed utterly impossible; but just then the great shaft started, and slid smoothly and noiselessly on its base, disclosing an aperture in the plinth below. The whole column had been swung aside.
The stranger stepped back, turning a pleased smile upon the onlookers, like a boy successful in a feat of strength or skill.
“We were pretty fair workmen in those days,” he observed; “our rule and square were true! Now, what do you say—shall we have a look inside?”
Jack started forward, his heart on fire with anticipation of some good event, he knew not what. Argon followed. In the cavity of the plinth there was the shining of a box finely wrought in gold; it was covered with work in high relief, but of what design could not be discerned in the obscurity of the receptacle. The stranger grasped the box by the corners and lifted it out into the clear daylight.
It was foursquare, about a cubit in height, and half as much on the side. The lid was pyramidal, with a winged figure on the apex. The entire surface of the object was carved over with a representation of a clambering rose-vine, amid the interstices of which were numerous little golden skeletons, some of them caught in the snare, other forcing their way actively between the branches. There was enough conventionalism in the treatment to preserve its dignity. The effect was grotesque, but grave.
The stranger now turned back the lid on its hinge, revealing a tall beaker, with panels of clear crystal set in gold and enriched with precious stones. He took it out of the box and set it down on a corner of the plinth. It bore a cover, and was half filled with some transparent liquid which sparkled like melted diamonds.
“There is a draft which few living men would venture to swallow,” the stranger remarked with an enigmatic smile. “The recipe for its making has been sought by many since then, but was never recovered. It is said to possess the property of enabling the drinker to win the desire of his heart; but if there be any doubt or falsehood in him, it will destroy him forever. Would you care to taste of it?”
His eyes were upon Jack as he spoke. There was a challenge in them, and yet warning. As Jack met the look, he knew who the stranger was. Solarion was come to offer him all he loved and longed for in life, but at the risk, should he prove unworthy, of death. It was the choice which, in some form, is submitted to every human creature at some epoch in his career. Jack laid a hand on the handle of the beaker, but paused.
“There’s no doubt in me of my love for her,” he said, addressing this mysterious messenger with a certain stateliness of manner not customary with him, but befitting the solemnity of the occasion. “But I’m a man, and no angel. There are things I’ve thought and done which I wish had been otherwise. Tell me this: if I fail, what will become of her?”
“I cannot answer,” replied Solarion. “But God deals with us all alike.”
Jack turned the words over in his mind. “I’m content!” he said at length.
He uncovered the beaker, from which rose immediately a marvelous fragrance that dispensed itself in the air about them. He had a glimpse of the troubled face of Argon, and exchanged a mute farewell with him.
The last thing he saw was Solarion, who stood in a meditative posture, one hand resting on the golden box, and his eyes fixed unswervingly upon him. Then, with the image of Miriam filling his soul, he raised the cup to his lips and drank.