ZISKA

THE PROBLEM OF A WICKED SOULBYMARIE CORELLI

Other Books by the same Author

THE SORROWS OF SATAN BARABBAS A ROMANCE OF TWO WORLDS THE MIGHTYATOM, ETC. , ETC. 

TO THE PRESENT LIVING RE-INCARNATION OF ARAXES

ZISKA. 

THE PROBLEM OF A WICKED SOUL. 

PROLOGUE. 

Dark against the sky towered the Great Pyramid, and over its apexhung the moon. Like a wreck cast ashore by some titanic storm, theSphinx, reposing amid the undulating waves of grayish sandsurrounding it, seemed for once to drowse. Its solemn visage thathad impassively watched ages come and go, empires rise and fall, and generations of men live and die, appeared for the moment tohave lost its usual expression of speculative wisdom and intensedisdain--its cold eyes seemed to droop, its stern mouth almostsmiled. The air was calm and sultry; and not a human footdisturbed the silence. But towards midnight a Voice suddenly aroseas it were like a wind in the desert, crying aloud: "Araxes!Araxes!" and wailing past, sank with a profound echo into the deeprecesses of the vast Egyptian tomb. Moonlight and the Hour wovetheir own mystery; the mystery of a Shadow and a Shape thatflitted out like a thin vapor from the very portals of Death'sancient temple, and drifting forward a few paces resolved itselfinto the visionary fairness of a Woman's form--a Woman whose darkhair fell about her heavily, like the black remnants of a long-buried corpse's wrappings; a Woman whose eyes flashed with anunholy fire as she lifted her face to the white moon and waved herghostly arms upon the air. And again the wild Voice pulsatedthrough the stillness. 

 "Araxes! ... Araxes! Thou art here, --and I pursue thee! Through life into death; through death out into life again! I find thee and I follow! I follow! Araxes!... "

Moonlight and the Hour wove their own mystery; and ere the paleopal dawn flushed the sky with hues of rose and amber the Shadowhad vanished; the Voice was heard no more. Slowly the sun liftedthe edge of its golden shield above the horizon, and the greatSphinx awaking from its apparent brief slumber, stared inexpressive and eternal scorn across the tracts of sand and tuftedpalm-trees towards the glittering dome of El-Hazar--that abode ofprofound sanctity and learning, where men still knelt andworshipped, praying the Unknown to deliver them from the Unseen. And one would almost have deemed that the sculptured Monster withthe enigmatical Woman-face and Lion-form had strange thoughts inits huge granite brain; for when the full day sprang in glory overthe desert and illumined its large features with a burning saffronradiance, its cruel lips still smiled as though yearning to speakand propound the terrible riddle of old time; the Problem whichkilled!

CHAPTER I. 

It was the full "season" in Cairo. The ubiquitous Britisher andthe no less ubiquitous American had planted their differing"society" standards on the sandy soil watered by the Nile, andwere busily engaged in the work of reducing the city, formerlycalled Al Kahira or The Victorious, to a more deplorable conditionof subjection and slavery than any old-world conqueror could everhave done. For the heavy yoke of modern fashion has been flung onthe neck of Al Kahira, and the irresistible, tyrannic dominion of"swagger" vulgarity has laid The Victorious low. The swarthychildren of the desert might, and possibly would, be ready andwilling to go forth and fight men with men's weapons for thefreedom to live and die unmolested in their own native land; butagainst the blandly-smiling, white-helmeted, sun-spectacled, perspiring horde of Cook's "cheap trippers, " what can they do saveremain inert and well-nigh speechless? For nothing like the cheaptripper was ever seen in the world till our present enlightenedand glorious day of progress; he is a new-grafted type of nomad, like and yet unlike a man. The Darwin theory asserts itselfproudly and prominently in bristles of truth all over him--in hisrestlessness, his ape-like agility and curiosity, his shamelessinquisitiveness, his careful cleansing of himself from foreignfleas, his general attention to minutiae, and his always voraciousappetite; and where the ape ends and the man begins is somewhatdifficult to discover. The "image of God" wherewith he, togetherwith his fellows, was originally supposed to be impressed in thefirst fresh days of Creation, seems fairly blotted out, for thereis no touch of the Divine in his mortal composition. Nor does thesecond created phase-the copy of the Divineo--namely, the Heroic, --dignify his form or ennoble his countenance. There is nothing ofthe heroic in the wandering biped who swings through the streetsof Cairo in white flannels, laughing at the staid composure of theArabs, flicking thumb and finger at the patient noses of the smallhireable donkeys and other beasts of burden, thrusting a warm redface of inquiry into the shadowy recesses of odoriferous bazaars, and sauntering at evening in the Esbekiyeh Gardens, cigar in mouthand hands in pockets, looking on the scene and behaving in it asif the whole place were but a reflex of Earl's Court Exhibition. History affects the cheap tripper not at all; he regards thePyramids as "good building" merely, and the inscrutable Sphinxitself as a fine target for empty soda-water bottles, whileperhaps his chiefest regret is that the granite whereof theancient monster is hewn is too hard for him to inscribe hisdistinguished name thereon. It is true that there is a punishmentinflicted on any person or persons attempting such wanton work--afine or the bastinado; yet neither fine nor bastinado would affectthe "tripper" if he could only succeed in carving "'Arry" on theSphinx's jaw. But he cannot, and herein is his own misery. Otherwise he comports himself in Egypt as he does at Margate, withno more thought, reflection, or reverence than dignify thecomposition of his far-off Simian ancestor. 

Taking him all in all, he is, however, no worse, and in somerespects better, than the "swagger" folk who "do" Egypt, orrather, consent in a languid way to be "done" by Egypt. These arethe people who annually leave England on the plea of being unableto stand the cheery, frosty, and in every respect healthy winterof their native country--that winter, which with its wild winds, its sparkling frost and snow, its holly trees bright with scarletberries, its merry hunters galloping over field and moor duringdaylight hours, and its great log fires roaring up the chimneys atevening, was sufficiently good for their forefathers to thriveupon and live through contentedly up to a hale and hearty old agein the times when the fever of travelling from place to place wasan unknown disease, and home was indeed "sweet home. " Infected bystrange maladies of the blood and nerves, to which even scientificphysicians find it hard to give suitable names, they shudder atthe first whiff of cold, and filling huge trunks with a thousandfoolish things which have, through luxurious habit, becomenecessities to their pallid existences, they hastily depart to theLand of the Sun, carrying with them their nameless languors, discontents and incurable illnesses, for which Heaven itself, muchless Egypt, could provide no remedy. It is not at all to bewondered at that these physically and morally sick tribes of humankind have ceased to give any serious attention as to what maypossibly become of them after death, or whether there IS any"after, " for they are in the mentally comatose condition whichprecedes entire wreckage of brain-force; existence itself hasbecome a "bore;" one place is like another, and they repeat thesame monotonous round of living in every spot where theycongregate, whether it be east, west, north, or south. On theRiviera they find little to do except meet at Rumpelmayer's atCannes, the London House at Nice, or the Casino at Monte-Carlo;and in Cairo they inaugurate a miniature London "season" overagain, worked in the same groove of dinners, dances, drives, picnics, flirtations, and matrimonial engagements. But the Caireneseason has perhaps some advantage over the London one so far asthis particular set of "swagger" folk are concerned--it is lesshampered by the proprieties. One can be more "free, " you know! Youmay take a little walk into "Old" Cairo, and turning a corner youmay catch glimpses of what Mark Twain calls "Oriental simplicity, "namely, picturesquely-composed groups of "dear delightful" Arabswhose clothing is no more than primitive custom makes strictlynecessary. These kind of "tableaux vivants" or "art studies" givequite a thrill of novelty to Cairene-English Society, --a touch ofsavagery, --a soupcon of peculiarity which is entirely lacking tofashionable London. Then, it must be remembered that the "childrenof the desert" have been led by gentle degrees to understand thatfor harboring the strange locusts imported into their land byCook, and the still stranger specimens of unclassified insectcalled Upper Ten, which imports itself, they will receive"backsheesh. "

"Backsheesh" is a certain source of comfort to all nations, andtranslates itself with sweetest euphony into all languages, andthe desert-born tribes have justice on their side when they demandas much of it as they can get, rightfully or wrongfully. Theydeserve to gain some sort of advantage out of the odd-lookingswarms of Western invaders who amaze them by their dress andaffront them by their manners. "Backsheesh, " therefore, has becomethe perpetual cry of the Desert-Born, --it is the only means ofoffence and defence left to them, and very naturally they cling toit with fervor and resolution. And who shall blame them? The tall, majestic, meditative Arab--superb as mere man, and standing naked-footed on his sandy native soil, with his one rough garment flunground his loins and his great black eyes fronting, eagle-like, thesun--merits something considerable for condescending to act asguide and servant to the Western moneyed civilian who clothes hislower limbs in straight, funnel-like cloth casings, shaped to thestrict resemblance of an elephant's legs, and finishes thegraceful design by enclosing the rest of his body in a stiff shirtwherein he can scarcely move, and a square-cut coat which divideshim neatly in twain by a line immediately above the knee, with theeffect of lessening his height by several inches. The Desert-Bornsurveys him gravely and in civil compassion, sometimes with amuttered prayer against the hideousness of him, but on the wholewith patience and equanimity, --influenced by considerations of"backsheesh. " And the English "season" whirls lightly andvaporously, like blown egg-froth, over the mystic land of the oldgods, --the terrible land filled with dark secrets as yetunexplored, --the land "shadowing with wings, " as the Bible hathit, --the land in which are buried tremendous histories as yetunguessed, --profound enigmas of the supernatural, --labyrinths ofwonder, terror and mystery, --all of which remain unrevealed to thegiddy-pated, dancing, dining, gabbling throng of the fashionabletravelling lunatics of the day, --the people who "never thinkbecause it is too much trouble, " people whose one idea is tojourney from hotel to hotel and compare notes with theiracquaintances afterwards as to which house provided them with thebest-cooked food. For it is a noticeable fact that with mostvisitors to the "show" places of Europe and the East, food, bedding and selfish personal comfort are the firstconsiderations, --the scenery and the associations come last. Formerly the position was reversed. In the days when there were norailways, and the immortal Byron wrote his Childe Harold, it wascustomary to rate personal inconvenience lightly; the beautiful orhistoric scene was the attraction for the traveller, and not thearrangements made for his special form of digestive apparatus. Byron could sleep on the deck of a sailing vessel wrapped in hiscloak and feel none the worse for it; his well-braced mind andaspiring spirit soared above all bodily discomforts; his thoughtswere engrossed with the mighty teachings of time; he was able tolose himself in glorious reveries on the lessons of the past andthe possibilities of the future; the attitude of the inspiredThinker as well as Poet was his, and a crust of bread and cheeseserved him as sufficiently on his journeyings among the thenunspoilt valleys and mountains of Switzerland as the warm, greasy, indigestible fare of the elaborate table-d'hotes at Lucerne andInterlaken serve us now. But we, in our "superior" condition, pooh-pooh the Byronic spirit of indifference to events and scornof trifles, --we say it is "melodramatic, " completely forgettingthat our attitude towards ourselves and things in general is oneof most pitiable bathos. We cannot write Childe Harold, but we cangrumble at both bed and board in every hotel under the sun; we candiscover teasing midges in the air and questionable insects in therooms; and we can discuss each bill presented to us with anindustrious persistence which nearly drives landlords frantic andourselves as well. In these kind of important matters we areindeed "superior" to Byron and other ranting dreamers of his type, but we produce no Childe Harolds, and we have come to the strangepass of pretending that Don Juan is improper, while we pore overZola with avidity! To such a pitch has our culture brought us!And, like the Pharisee in the Testament, we thank God we are notas others are. We are glad we are not as the Arab, as the African, as the Hindoo; we are proud of our elephant-legs and our dividingcoat-line; these things show we are civilized, and that Godapproves of us more than any other type of creature ever created. We take possession of nations, not by thunder of war, but byclatter of dinner-plates. We do not raise armies, we build hotels;and we settle ourselves in Egypt as we do at Homburg, to dress anddine and sleep and sniff contempt on all things but ourselves, tosuch an extent that we have actually got into the habit of callingthe natives of the places we usurp "foreigners. " WE are theforeigners; but somehow we never can see it. Wherever wecondescend to build hotels, that spot we consider ours. We aresurprised at the impertinence of Frankfort people who presume tovisit Homburg while we are having our "season" there; we wonderhow they dare do it! And, of a truth, they seem amazed at theirown boldness, and creep shyly through the Kur-Garten as thoughfearing to be turned out by the custodians. The same thing occursin Egypt; we are frequently astounded at what we call "theimpertinence of these foreigners, " i. E. The natives. They ought tobe proud to have us and our elephant-legs; glad to see such nobleand beautiful types of civilization as the stout parvenu with hispendant paunch, and his family of gawky youths and maidens of thelarge-toothed, long-limbed genus; glad to see the English "mamma, "who never grows old, but wears young hair in innocent curls, andhas her wrinkles annually "massaged" out by a Paris artiste incomplexion. The Desert-Born, we say, should be happy and gratefulto see such sights, and not demand so much "backsheesh. " In fact, the Desert-Born should not get so much in our way as he does; heis a very good servant, of course, but as a man and a brother--pooh! Egypt may be his country, and he may love it as much as welove England; but our feelings are more to be considered than his, and there is no connecting link of human sympathy betweenElephant-Legs and sun-browned Nudity!

So at least thought Sir Chetwynd Lyle, a stout gentleman of coarsebuild and coarser physiognomy, as he sat in a deep arm-chair inthe great hall or lounge of the Gezireh Palace Hotel, smokingafter dinner in the company of two or three acquaintances withwhom he had fraternized during his stay in Cairo. Sir Chetwynd wasfond of airing his opinions for the benefit of as many people whocared to listen to him, and Sir Chetwynd had some right to hisopinions, inasmuch as he was the editor and proprietor of a largeLondon newspaper. His knighthood was quite a recent distinction, and nobody knew exactly how he had managed to get it. He hadoriginally been known in Fleet Street by the irreverent sobriquetof "greasy Chetwynd, " owing to his largeness, oiliness and generalair of blandly-meaningless benevolence. He had a wife and twodaughters, and one of his objects in wintering at Cairo was to gethis cherished children married. It was time, for the bloom wasslightly off the fair girl-roses, --the dainty petals of thedelicate buds were beginning to wither. And Sir Chetwynd had heardmuch of Cairo; he understood that there was a great deal ofliberty allowed there between men and maids, --that they went outtogether on driving excursions to the Pyramids, that they rode onlilliputian donkeys over the sand at moonlight, that they floatedabout in boats at evening on the Nile, and that, in short, therewere more opportunities of marriage among the "flesh-pots ofEgypt" than in all the rush and crush of London. So here he was, portly and comfortable, and on the whole well satisfied with hisexpedition; there were a good many eligible bachelors about, andMuriel and Dolly were really doing their best. So was theirmother, Lady Chetwynd Lyle; she allowed no "eligible" to escapeher hawk-like observation, and on this particular evening she wasin all her glory, for there was to be a costume ball at theGezireh Palace Hotel, --a superb affair, organized by theproprietors for the amusement of their paying guests, whocertainly paid well, --even stiffly. Owing to the preparations thatwere going on for this festivity, the lounge, with its sumptuousEgyptian decorations and luxurious modern fittings, was well-nighdeserted save for Sir Chetwynd and his particular group offriends, to whom he was holding forth, between slow cigar-puffs, on the squalor of the Arabs, the frightful thievery of the Sheiks, the incompetency of his own special dragoman, and the mistakepeople made in thinking the Egyptians themselves a fine race. 

"They are tall, certainly, " said Sir Chetwynd, surveying hispaunch, which lolled comfortably, and as it were by itself, infront of him, like a kind of waistcoated air-balloon. "I grant youthey are tall. That is, the majority of them are. But I have seenshort men among them. The Khedive is not taller than I am. And theEgyptian face is very deceptive. The features are often fine, --occasionally classic, --but intelligent expression is totallylacking. "

Here Sir Chetwynd waved his cigar descriptively, as though hewould fain suggest that a heavy jaw, a fat nose with a pimple atthe end, and a gross mouth with black teeth inside it, which werespecial points in his own physiognomy, went further to make up"intelligent expression" than any well-moulded, straight, Easterntype of sun-browned countenance ever seen or imagined. 

"Well, I don't quite agree with you there, " said a man who waslying full length on one of the divans close by and smoking. "These brown chaps have deuced fine eyes. There doesn't seem to beany lack of expression in them. And that reminds me, there is atfellow arrived here to-day who looks for all the world like anEgyptian, of the best form. He is a Frenchman, though; aProvencal, --every one knows him, --he is the famous painter, ArmandGervase. "

"Indeed!"--and Sir Chetwynd roused himself at the name--"ArmandGervase! THE Armand Gervase?"

"The only one original, " laughed the other. "He's come here tomake studies of Eastern women. A rare old time he'll have amongthem, I daresay! He's not famous for character. He ought to paintthe Princess Ziska. "

"Ah, by-the-bye, I wanted to ask you about that lady. Does anyoneknow who she is? My wife is very anxious to find out whether sheis--well--er--quite the proper person, you know! When one hasyoung girls, one cannot be too careful. "

Ross Courtney, the man on the divan, got up slowly and stretchedhis long athletic limbs with a lazy enjoyment in the action. Hewas a sporting person with unhampered means and large estates inScotland and Ireland; he lived a joyous, "don't-care" life ofwandering about the world in search of adventures, and he had ascorn of civilized conventionalities--newspapers and their editorsamong them. And whenever Sir Chetwynd spoke of his "young girls"he was moved to irreverent smiling, as he knew the youngest of thetwain was at least thirty. He also recognized and avoided the wilytraps and pitfalls set for him by Lady Chetwynd Lyle in the hopethat he would yield himself up a captive to the charms of Murielor Dolly; and as he thought of these two fair ones now andinvoluntarily compared them in his mind with the other woman justspoken of, the smile that had begun to hover on his lips deepenedunconsciously till his handsome face was quite illumined with itsmirth. 

"Upon my word, I don't think it matters who anybody is in Cairo!"he said with a fine carelessness. "The people whose families areall guaranteed respectable are more lax in their behavior than thepeople one knows nothing about. As for the Princess Ziska, herextraordinary beauty and intelligence would give her the entreeanywhere--even if she hadn't money to back those qualities up. "

"She's enormously wealthy, I hear, " said young Lord Fulkeward, another of the languid smokers, caressing his scarcely perceptiblemoustache. "My mother thinks she is a divorcee. "

Sir Chetwynd looked very serious, and shook his fat head solemnly. 

"Well, there is nothing remarkable in being divorced, you know, "laughed Ross Courtney. "Nowadays it seems the natural and fittingend of marriage. "

Sir Chetwynd looked graver still. He refused to be drawn into thiskind of flippant conversation. He, at any rate, was respectablymarried; he had no sympathy whatever with the larger majority ofpeople whose marriages were a failure. 

"There is no Prince Ziska then?" he inquired. "The name sounds tome of Russian origin, and I imagined--my wife also imagined, --thatthe husband of the lady might very easily be in Russia while hiswife's health might necessitate her wintering in Egypt. TheRussian winter climate is inclement, I believe. "

"That would be a very neat arrangement, " yawned Lord Fulkeward. "But my mother thinks not. My mother thinks there is not a husbandat all, --that there never was a husband. In fact my mother hasvery strong convictions on the subject. But my mother intends tovisit her all the same. "

"She does? Lady Fulkeward has decided on that? Oh, well, in THATcase!"--and Sir Chetwynd expanded his lower-chest air-balloon. "Ofcourse, Lady Chetwynd Lyle can no longer have any scruples on thesubject. If Lady Fulkeward visits the Princess there can be nodoubt as to her actual STATUS. "

"Oh, I don't know!" murmured Lord Fulkeward, stroking his downylip. "You see my mother's rather an exceptional person. When thegovernor was alive she hardly ever went out anywhere, you know, and all the people who came to our house in Yorkshire had to bringtheir pedigrees with them, so to speak. It was beastly dull! Butnow my mother has taken to 'studying character, ' don'cher know;she likes all sorts of people about her, and the more mixed theyare the more she is delighted with them. Fact, I assure you! Quitea change has come over my mother since the poor old governordied!"

Ross Courtney looked amused. A change indeed had come over LadyFulkeward--a change, sudden, mysterious and amazing to many of herformer distinguished friends with "pedigrees. " In her husband'slifetime her hair had been a soft silver-gray; her face pale, refined and serious; her form full and matronly; her step soberand discreet; but two years after the death of the kindly andnoble old lord who had cherished her as the apple of his eye andup to the last moment of his breath had thought her the mostbeautiful woman in England, she appeared with golden tresses, apeach-bloom complexion, and a figure which had been so massaged, rubbed, pressed and artistically corseted as to appear positivelysylph-like. She danced like a fairy, she who had once been called"old" Lady Fulkeward; she smoked cigarettes; she laughed like achild at every trivial thing--any joke, however stale, flat andunprofitable, was sufficient to stir her light pulses tomerriment; and she flirted--oh, heavens!--HOW she flirted!--with askill and a grace and a knowledge and an aplomb that nearly droveMuriel and Dolly Chetwynd Lyle frantic. They, poor things, werebeaten out of the field altogether by her superior tact and art of"fence, " and they hated her accordingly and called her in privatea "horrid old woman, " which perhaps, when her maid undressed her, she was. But she was having a distinctly "good time" in Cairo; shecalled her son, who was in delicate health, "my poor dear littleboy!" and he, though twenty-eight on his last birthday, wasreduced to such an abject condition of servitude by herassertiveness, impudent gayety and general freedom of manner, thathe could not open his mouth without alluding to "my mother, " andusing "my mother" as a peg whereon to hang all his own opinionsand emotions as well as the opinions and emotions of other people. 

"Lady Fulkeward admires the Princess very much, I believe?" saidanother lounger who had not yet spoken. 

"Oh, as to that!"--and Lord Fulkeward roused himself to some faintshow of energy. "Who wouldn't admire her? By Jove! Only, I tellyou what--there's something I weird about her eyes. Fact! I don'tlike her eyes. "

"Shut up, Fulke! She has beautiful eyes!" burst out Courtney, hotly; then flushing suddenly he bit his lips and was silent. 

"Who is this that has beautiful eyes?" suddenly demanded a slow, gruff voice, and a little thin gentleman, dressed in a kind ofacademic gown and cap, appeared on the scene. 

"Hullo! here's our F. R. S. A. !" exclaimed Lord Fulkeward. "By Jove!Is that the style you have got yourself up in for tonight? Itlooks awfully smart, don'cher know!"

The personage thus complimented adjusted his spectacles andsurveyed his acquaintances with a very well-satisfied air. Intruth, Dr. Maxwell Dean had some reason for self-satisfaction, ifthe knowledge that he possessed one of the cleverest heads inEurope could give a man cause for pride. He was apparently theonly individual in the Gezireh Palace Hotel who had come to Egyptfor any serious purpose. A purpose he had, though what it was hedeclined to explain. Reticent, often brusque, and sometimesmysterious in his manner of speech, there was not the slightestdoubt that he was at work on something, and that he also had avery trying habit of closely studying every object, small orgreat, that came under his observation. He studied the natives tosuch an extent that he knew every differing shade of color intheir skins; he studied Sir Chetwynd Lyle and knew that heoccasionally took bribes to "put things" into his paper; hestudied Dolly and Muriel Chetwynd Lyle, and knew that they wouldnever succeed in getting husbands; he studied Lady Fulkeward, andthought her very well got up for sixty; he studied Ross Courtney, and knew he would never do anything but kill animals all his life;and he studied the working of the Gezireh Palace Hotel, and saw afortune rising out of it for the proprietors. But apart from theseordinary surface things, he studied other matters--"occult"peculiarities of temperament, "coincidences, " strange occurrencesgenerally. He could read the Egyptian hieroglyphs perfectly, andhe understood the difference between "royal cartouche" scarabeiand Birmingham-manufactured ones. He was never dull; he had plentyto do; and he took everything as it came in its turn. Even thecostume ball for which he had now attired himself did not presentitself to him as a "bore, " but as a new vein of information, opening to him fresh glimpses of the genus homo as seen in a stateof eccentricity. 

"I think, " he now said, complacently, "that the cap and gown lookwell for a man of my years. It is a simple garb, but cool, convenient and not unbecoming. I had thought at first of adoptingthe dress of an ancient Egyptian priest, but I find it difficultto secure the complete outfit. I would never wear a costume of thekind that was not in every point historically correct. "

No one smiled. No one would have dared to smile at Dr. MaxwellDean when he spoke of "historically correct" things. He hadstudied them as he had studied everything, and he knew all aboutthem. 

Sir Chetwynd murmured:

"Quite right--er--the ancient designs were very elaborate--"

"And symbolic, " finished Dr. Dean. "Symbolic of very curiousmeanings, I assure you. But I fear I have interrupted your talk. Mr. Courtney was speaking about somebody's beautiful eyes; who isthe fair one in question?"

"The Princess Ziska, " said Lord Fulkeward. "I was saying that Idon't quite like the look of her eyes. "

"Why not? Why not?" demanded the doctor with sudden asperity. "What's the matter with them?"

"Everything's the matter with them!" replied Ross Courtney with aforced laugh. "They are too splendid and wild for Fulke; he likesthe English pale-blue better than the Egyptian gazelle-black. "

"No, I don't, " said Lord Fulkeward, speaking more animatedly thanwas customary with him. "I hate, pale-blue eyes. I prefer softviolet-gray ones, like Miss Murray's. "

"Miss Helen Murray is a very charming young lady, " said Dr. Dean. "But her beauty is quite of an ordinary type, while that of thePrincess Ziska--"

"Is EXTRA-ordinary--exactly! That's just what I say!" declaredCourtney. "I think she is the loveliest woman I have ever seen. "

There was a pause, during which the little doctor looked with aferret-like curiosity from one man to the other. Sir Chetwynd Lylerose ponderously up from the depths of his arm-chair. 

"I think, " said he, "I had better go and get into my uniform--theWindsor, you know! I always have it with me wherever I go; itcomes in very useful for fancy balls such as the one we are goingto have tonight, when no particular period is observed in costume. Isn't it about time we all got ready?"

"Upon my life, I think it is!" agreed Lord Fulkeward. "I am comingout as a Neapolitan fisherman! I don't believe Neapolitanfishermen ever really dress in the way I'm going to make up, butit's the accepted stage-type, don'cher know. "

"Ah! I daresay you will look very well in it, " murmured RossCourtney, vaguely. "Hullo! here comes Denzil Murray!"

They all turned instinctively to watch the entrance of a handsomeyoung man, attired in the picturesque garb worn by Florentinenobles during the prosperous reign of the Medicis. It was acostume admirably adapted to the wearer, who, being grave andalmost stern of feature, needed the brightness of jewels and thegloss of velvet and satin to throw out the classic contour of hisfine head and enhance the lustre of his brooding, darkly-passionate eyes. Denzil Murray was a pure-blooded Highlander, --thelevel brows, the firm lips, the straight, fearless look, allbespoke him a son of the heather-crowned mountains and adescendant of the proud races that scorned the "Sassenach, " andretained sufficient of the material whereof their early Phoenicianancestors were made to be capable of both the extremes of hate andlove in their most potent forms. He moved slowly towards the groupof men awaiting his approach with a reserved air of something likehauteur; it was possible he was conscious of his good looks, butit was equally evident that he did not desire to be made theobject of impertinent remark. His friends silently recognizedthis, and only Lord Fulkeward, moved to a mild transport ofadmiration, ventured to comment on his appearance. 

"I say, Denzil, you're awfully well got up! Awfully well!Magnificent!"

Denzil Murray bowed with a somewhat wearied and sarcastic air. 

"When one is in Rome, or Egypt, one must do as Rome, or Egypt, does, " he said, carelessly. "If hotel proprietors will give fancyballs, it is necessary to rise to the occasion. You look verywell, Doctor. Why don't you other fellows go and get yourtoggeries on? It's past ten o'clock, and the Princess Ziska willbe here by eleven. "

"There are other people coming besides the Princess Ziska, arethere not, Mr. Murray?" inquired Sir Chetwynd Lyle, with anobtrusively bantering air. 

Denzil Murray glanced him over disdainfully. 

"I believe there are, " he answered coolly. "Otherwise the ballwould scarcely pay its expenses. But as the Princess is admittedlythe most beautiful woman in Cairo this season, she will naturallybe the centre of attraction. That's why I mentioned she would behere at eleven. "

"She told you that?" inquired Ross Courtney. 

"She did. "

Courtney looked up, then down, and seemed about to speak again, but checked himself and finally strolled off, followed by LordFulkeward. 

"I hear, " said Dr. Dean then, addressing Denzil Murray, "that agreat celebrity has arrived at this hotel--the painter, ArmandGervase. "

Denzil's face brightened instantly with a pleasant smile. 

"The dearest friend I have in the world!" he said. "Yes, he ishere. I met him outside the door this afternoon. We are very oldchums. I have stayed with him in Paris, and he has stayed with mein Scotland. A charming fellow! He is very French in his ideas;but he knows England well, and speaks English perfectly. "

"French in his ideas!" echoed Sir Chetwynd Lyle, who was justpreparing to leave the lounge. "Dear me! How is that?"

"He is a Frenchman, " said Dr. Dean, suavely. "Therefore that hisideas should be French ought not to be a matter of surprise to us, my dear Sir Chetwynd. "

Sir Chetwynd snorted. He had a suspicion that he--the editor andproprietor of the Daily Dial--was being laughed at, and he at onceclambered on his high horse of British Morality. 

"Frenchman or no Frenchman, " he observed, "the ideas promulgatedin France at the present day are distinctly profane andpernicious. There is a lack of principle--a want of rectitude in--er--the French Press, for example, that is highly deplorable. "

"And is the English Press immaculate?" asked Denzil languidly. 

"We hope so, " replied Sir Chetwynd. "We do our best to make itso. "

And with that remark he took his paunch and himself away intoretirement, leaving Dr. Dean and young Murray facing each other, asingular pair enough in the contrast of their appearance anddress, --the one small, lean and wiry, in plain-cut, loose-flowingacademic gown; the other tall, broad and muscular, clad in therich attire of mediaeval Florence, and looking for all the worldlike a fine picture of that period stepped out from, its frame. There was a silence between them for a moment, --then the Doctorspoke in a low tone:

"It won't do, my dear boy, --I assure you it won't do! You willbreak your heart over a dream, and make yourself miserable fornothing. And you will break your sister's heart as well; perhapsyou haven't thought of that?"

Denzil flung himself into the chair Sir Chetwynd had just vacated, and gave vent to a sigh that was almost a groan. 

"Helen doesn't know anything--yet, " he said hoarsely. "I knownothing myself; how can I? I haven't said a word to--to HER. If Ispoke all that was in my mind, I daresay she would laugh at me. You are the only one who has guessed my secret. You saw me lastnight when I--when I accompanied her home. But I never passed herpalace gates, --she wouldn't let me. She bade me 'good-night'outside; a servant admitted her, and she vanished through theportal like a witch or a ghost. Sometimes I fancy she IS a ghost. She is so white, so light, so noiseless and so lovely!"

He turned his eyes away, ashamed of the emotion that moved him. Dr. Maxwell Dean took off his academic cap and examined itsinterior as though he considered it remarkable. 

"Yes, " he said slowly; "I have thought the same thing of hermyself--sometimes. "

Further conversation was interrupted by the entrance of themilitary band of the evening, which now crossed the "lounge, " eachman carrying his instrument with him; and these were followed byseveral groups of people in fancy dress, all ready and eager forthe ball. Pierrots and Pierrettes, monks in drooping cowls, flower-girls, water-carriers, symbolic figures of "Night" and"Morning, " mingled with the counterfeit presentments of dead-and-gone kings and queens, began to flock together, laughing andtalking on their way to the ball-room; and presently among themcame a man whose superior height and build, combined with hiseminently picturesque, half-savage type of beauty, caused everyone to turn and watch him as he passed, and murmur whisperingcomments on the various qualities wherein he differed fromthemselves. He was attired for the occasion as a Bedouin chief, and his fierce black eyes, and close-curling, dark hair, combinedwith the natural olive tint of his complexion, were well set offby the snowy folds of his turban and the whiteness of his entirecostume, which was unrelieved by any color save at the waist, where a gleam of scarlet was shown in the sash which helped tofasten a murderous-looking dagger and other "correct" weapons ofattack to his belt. He entered the hall with a swift andsingularly light step, and made straight for Denzil Murray. 

"Ah! here you are!" he said, speaking English with a slightforeign accent, which was more agreeable to the ear thanotherwise. "But, my excellent boy, what magnificence! A Medicicostume! Never say to me that you are not vain; you are asconscious of your good looks as any pretty woman. Behold me, howsimple and unobtrusive I am!"

He laughed, and Murray sprang up from the chair where he had beendespondently reclining. 

"Oh, come, I like that!" he exclaimed. "Simple and unobtrusive!Why everybody is staring at you now as if you had dropped from themoon! You cannot be Armand Gervase and simple and unobtrusive atthe same time!"

"Why not?" demanded Gervase, lightly. "Fame is capricious, and hertrumpet is not loud enough to be heard all over the world at once. The venerable proprietor of the dirty bazaar where I managed topurchase these charming articles of Bedouin costume had neverheard of me in his life. Miserable man! He does not know what hehas missed!"

Here his flashing black eyes lit suddenly on Dr. Dean, who was"studying" him in the same sort of pertinacious way in which thatlearned little man studied everything. 

"A friend of yours, Denzil?" he inquired. 

"Yes, " responded Murray readily; "a very great friend--Dr. MaxwellDean. Dr. Dean, let me introduce to you Armand Gervase; I need notexplain him further!"

"You need not, indeed!" said the doctor, with a ceremonious bow. "The name is one of universal celebrity. "

"It is not always an advantage--this universal celebrity, " repliedGervase. "Nor is it true that any celebrity is actually universal. Perhaps the only living person that is universally known, by nameat least, is Zola. Mankind are at one in their appreciation ofvice. "

"I cannot altogether agree with you there, " said Dr. Dean slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the artist's bold, proud features withsingular curiosity. "The French Academy, I presume, areindividually as appreciative of human weaknesses as most men; buttaken collectively, some spirit higher and stronger than their ownkeeps them unanimous in their rejection of the notorious Realistwho sacrifices all the canons of art and beauty to the discussionof topics unmentionable in decent society. "

Gervase laughed idly. 

"Oh, he will get in some day, you may be sure, " he answered. "There is no spirit higher and stronger than the spirit ofnaturalism in man; and in time, when a few prejudices have diedaway and mawkish sentiment has been worn threadbare, Zola will beenrolled as the first of the French Academicians, with even morehonors than if he had succeeded in the beginning. That is the wayof all those 'select' bodies. As Napoleon said, 'Le monde vient acelui qui sait attendre. '"

The little Doctor's countenance now showed the most lively andeager interest. 

"You quite believe that, Monsieur Gervase? You are entirely sureof what you said just now?"

"What did I say? I forget!" smiled Gervase, lighting a cigaretteand beginning to smoke it leisurely. 

"You said, 'There is no spirit higher or stronger than the spiritof naturalism in man. ' Are you positive on this point?"

"Why, of course! Most entirely positive!" And the great painterlooked amused as he gave the reply. "Naturalism is Nature, or thethings appertaining to Nature, and there is nothing higher orstronger than Nature everywhere and anywhere. "

"How about God?" inquired Dr. Dean with a curious air, as if hewere propounding a remarkable conundrum. 

"God!" Gervase laughed loudly. "Pardon! Are you a clergyman?"

"By no means!" and the Doctor gave a little bow and deprecatingsmile. "I am not in any way connected with the Church. I am adoctor of laws and literature, --a humble student of philosophy andscience generally... "

"Philosophy! Science!" interrupted Gervase. "And you ask aboutGod! Parbleu! Science and philosophy have progressed beyond Him!"

"Exactly!" and Dr. Dean rubbed his hands together pleasantly. "That is your opinion? Yes, I thought so! Science and philosophy, to put it comprehensively, have beaten poor God on His own ground!Ha! ha! ha! Very good--very good! And humorous as well! Ha! ha!"

And a very droll appearance just then had this "humble student ofphilosophy and science generally, " for he bent himself to and frowith laughter, and his small eyes almost disappeared behind hisshelving brows in the excess of his mirth. And two crosslinesformed themselves near his thin mouth--such lines as are carven onthe ancient Greek masks which indicate satire. 

Denzil Murray flushed uncomfortably. 

"Gervase doesn't believe in anything but Art, " he said, as thoughhalf apologizing for his friend: "Art is the sole object of hisexistence; I don't believe he ever has time to think aboutanything else. "

"Of what else should I think, mon ami?" exclaimed Gervasemirthfully. "Of life? It is all Art to me; and by Art I mean theidealization and transfiguration of Nature. "

"Oh. If you do that sort of thing you are a romancist, " interposedDr. Dean emphatically. "Nature neither idealizes nor transfiguresitself; it is simply Nature and no more. Matter uncontrolled bySpirit is anything but ideal. "

"Precisely, " answered Gervase quickly and with some warmth; "butmy spirit idealizes it, --my imagination sees beyond it, --my soulgrasps it. "

"Oh, you have a soul?" exclaimed Dr. Dean, beginning to laughagain. "Now, how did you find that out?"

Gervase looked at him in a sudden surprise. 

"Every man has an inward self, naturally, " he said. "We call it'soul' as a figure of speech; it is really temperament merely. "

"Oh, it is merely temperament? Then you don't think it is likelyto outlive you, this soul--to take new phases upon itself and goon existing, an immortal being, when your body is in a far worsecondition (because less carefully preserved) than an Egyptianmummy?"

"Certainly not!" and Gervase flung away the end of his finishedcigarette. "The immortality of the soul is quite an explodedtheory. It was always a ridiculous one. We have quite enough tovex us in our present life, and why men ever set about inventinganother is more than I am able to understand. It was a mostfoolish and barbaric superstition. "

The gay sound of music now floated towards them from the ball-room, --the strains of a graceful, joyous, half-commanding, half-pleading waltz came rhythmically beating on the air like themeasured movement of wings, --and Denzil Murray, beginning to growrestless, walked to and fro, his eyes watching every figure thatcrossed and re-crossed the hall. But Dr. Dean's interest in ArmandGervase remained intense and unabated; and approaching him, helaid two lean fingers delicately on the white folds of the Bedouindress just where the heart of the man was hidden. 

"'A foolish and barbaric superstition!'" he echoed slowly andmeditatively. "You do not believe in any possibility of therebeing a life--or several lives--after this present death throughwhich we must all pass inevitably, sooner or later?"

"Not in the least! I leave such ideas to the ignorant anduneducated. I should be unworthy of the progressive teachings ofmy time if I believed such arrant nonsense. "

"Death, you consider, finishes all? There is nothing further--nomysteries beyond? ... " and Dr. Dean's eyes glittered as hestretched forth one thin, slight hand and pointed into space withthe word "beyond, " an action which gave it a curious emphasis, andfor a fleeting second left a weird impression on even the carelessmind of Gervase. But he laughed it off lightly. 

"Nothing beyond? Of course not! My dear sir, why ask such aquestion? Nothing can be plainer or more positive than the factthat death, as you say, finishes all. "

A woman's laugh, low and exquisitely musical, rippled on the airas he spoke--delicious laughter, rarer than song; for women as arule laugh too loudly, and the sound of their merriment partakesmore of the nature of a goose's cackle than any other sort ofnatural melody. But this large, soft and silvery, was like adelicately subdued cadence played on a magic flute in thedistance, and suggested nothing but sweetness; and at the sound ofit Gervase started violently and turned sharply round upon hisfriend Murray with a look of wonderment and perplexity. 

"Who is that?" he demanded. "I have heard that pretty laughbefore; it must be some one I know. "

But Denzil scarcely heard him. Pale, and with eyes full ofyearning and passion, he was watching the slow approach of a groupof people in fancy dress, who were all eagerly pressing round onecentral figure--the figure of a woman clad in gleaming goldentissues and veiled in the old Egyptian fashion up to the eyes, with jewels flashing about her waist, bosom and hair, --a woman whomoved glidingly as if she floated rather than walked, and whosebeauty, half hidden as it was by the exigencies of the costume shehad chosen, was so unusual and brilliant that it seemed to createan atmosphere of bewilderment and rapture around her as she came. She was preceded by a small Nubian boy in a costume of vividscarlet, who, walking backwards humbly, fanned her slowly with atall fan of peacock's plumes made after the quaint designs ofancient Egypt. The lustre radiating from the peacock's feathers, the light of her golden garments, her jewels and the marvellousblack splendor of her eyes, all flashed for a moment like suddenlightning on Gervase; something--he knew not what--turned himgiddy and blind; hardly knowing what he did, he sprang eagerlyforward, when all at once he felt the lean, small hand of Dr. Deanon his arm and stopped short embarrassed. 

"Pardon me!" said the little savant, with a delicate, half-supercilious lifting of his eyebrows. "But--do you know thePrincess Ziska?"

CHAPTER II. 

Gervase stared at him, still dazzled and confused. 

"Whom did you say? ... The Princess Ziska? ... No, I don't knowher ... Yet, stay! Yes, I think I have seen her ... Somewhere, --inParis, possibly. Will you introduce me?"

"I leave that duty to Mr. Denzil Murray, " said the Doctor, foldinghis arms neatly behind his back ... "He knows her better than Ido. "

And smiling his little grim, cynical smile, he settled hisacademic cap more firmly on his head and strolled off towards theballroom. Gervase stood irresolute, his eyes fixed on thatwondrous golden figure that floated before his eyes like an aerialvision. Denzil Murray had gone forward to meet the Princess andwas now talking to her, his handsome face radiating with theadmiration he made no attempt to conceal. After a little pauseGervase moved towards him a step or two, and caught part of theconversation. 

"You look the very beau-ideal of an Egyptian Princess, " Murray wassaying. "Your costume is perfect. "

She laughed. Again that sweet, rare laughter! Gervase thrilledwith the pulsation of it, --it beat in his ears and smote his brainwith a strange echo of familiarity. 

"Is it not?" she responded. "I am 'historically correct, ' as yourfriend Dr. Dean would say. My ornaments are genuine, --they allcame out of the same tomb. "

"I find one fault with your attire, Princess, " said one of themale admirers who had entered with her; "part of your face isveiled. That is a cruelty to us all!"

She waived the compliment aside with a light gesture. 

"It was the fashion in ancient Egypt, " she said. "Love in thoseold days was not what it is now, --one glance, one smile wassufficient to set the soul on fire and draw another soul towardsit to consume together in the suddenly kindled flame! And womenveiled their faces in youth, lest they should be deemed tooprodigal of their charms; and in age they covered themselves stillmore closely, in order not to affront the Sun-God's fairness bytheir wrinkles. " She smiled, a dazzling smile that drew Gervaseyet a few steps closer unconsciously, as though he were beingmagnetized. "But I am not bound to keep the veil always up, " andas she spoke she loosened it and let it fall, showing an exquisiteface, fair as a lily, and of such perfect loveliness that the menwho were gathered round her seemed to lose breath and speech atsight of it. "That pleases you better, Mr. Murray?"

Denzil grew very pale. Bending down he murmured something to herin a low tone. She raised her lovely brows with a little touch ofsurprise that was half disdain, and looked at him straightly. 

"You say very pretty things; but they do not always please me, "she observed. "However, that is my fault, no doubt. "

And she began to move onwards, her Nubian page preceding her asbefore. Gervase stood in her path and confronted her as she came. 

"Introduce me, " he said in a commanding tone to Denzil. 

Denzil looked at him, somewhat startled by the suppressed passionin his voice. 

"Certainly. Princess, permit me!" She paused, a figure of silentgrace and attention. "Allow me to present to you my friend, ArmandGervase, the most famous artist in France--Gervase, the PrincessZiska. "

She raised her deep, dark eyes and fixed them on his face, and ashe looked boldly at her in a kind of audacious admiration, he feltagain that strange dizzying shock which had before thrilled himthrough and through. There was something strangely familiar abouther; the faint odors that seemed exhaled from her garments, --thegleam of the jewel-winged scarabei on her breast, --the weird lightof the emerald-studded serpent in her hair; and more, much morefamiliar than these trifles, was the sound of her voice--dulcet, penetrating, grave and haunting in its tone. 

"At last we meet, Monsieur Armand Gervase!" she said slowly andwith a graceful inclination of her head. "But I cannot look uponyou as a stranger, for I have known you so long--in spirit!"

She smiled--a strange smile, dazzling yet enigmatical--andsomething wild and voluptuous seemed to stir in Gervase's pulsesas he touched the small hand, loaded with quaint Egyptian gems, which she graciously extended towards him. 

"I think I have known you, too!" he said. "Possibly in a dream, --adream of beauty never realized till now!"

His voice sank to an amorous whisper; but she said nothing inreply, nor could her looks be construed into any expression ofeither pleasure or offence. Yet through the heart of young DenzilMurray went a sudden pang of jealousy, and for the first time inhis life he became conscious that even among men as well as womenthere may exist what is called the "petty envy" of a possiblerival, and the uneasy desire to outshine such an one in all pointsof appearance, dress and manner. His gaze rested broodingly on thetall, muscular form of Gervase, and he noted the symmetry andsupple grace of the man with an irritation of which he wasashamed. He knew, despite his own undeniably handsome personality, which was set off to such advantage that night by the richness ofthe Florentine costume he had adopted, that there was a certainfascination about Gervase which was inborn, a trick of mannerwhich made him seem picturesque at all times; and that even whenthe great French artist had stayed with him in Scotland and gothimself up for the occasion in more or less baggy tweeds, peoplewere fond of remarking that the only man who ever succeeded inmaking tweeds look artistic was Armand Gervase. And in the whiteBedouin garb he now wore he was seen at his best; a certainrestless passion betrayed in eyes and lips made him look thesavage part he had "dressed" for, and as he bent his head over thePrincess Ziska's hand and kissed it with an odd mingling offlippancy and reverence, Denzil suddenly began to think howcuriously alike they were, these two! Strong man and fair woman, both had many physical points in common, --the same dark, levelbrows, --the same half wild, half tender eyes, --the same sinuousgrace of form, --the same peculiar lightness of movement, --and yetboth were different, while resembling each other. It was not whatis called a "family likeness" which existed between them; it wasthe cast of countenance or "type" that exists between races ortribes, and had young Murray not known his friend Gervase to be aFrench Provencal and equally understood the Princess Ziska to beof Russian origin, he would have declared them both, natives ofEgypt, of the purest caste and highest breeding. He was so struckby this idea that he might have spoken his thought aloud had henot heard Gervase boldly arranging dance after dance with thePrincess, and apparently preparing to write no name but hers downthe entire length of his ball programme, --a piece of audacitywhich had the effect of rousing Denzil to assert his own rights. 

"You promised me the first waltz, Princess, " he said, his faceflushing as he spoke. 

"Quite true! And you shall have it, " she replied, smiling. "Monsieur Gervase will have the second. The music sounds veryinviting; shall we not go in?"

"We spoil the effect of your entree crowding about you like this, "said Denzil, glancing somewhat sullenly at Gervase and the othermen surrounding her; "and, by the way, you have never told us whatcharacter you represent to-night; some great queen of old time, nodoubt?"

"No, I lay no claim to sovereignty, " she answered; "I am for to-night the living picture of a once famous and very improper personwho bore half my name, a dancer of old time, known as 'Ziska-Charmazel, ' the favorite of the harem of a great Egyptian warrior, described in forgotten histories as 'The Mighty Araxes. '"

She paused; her admirers, fascinated by the sound of her voice, were all silent. She fixed her eyes upon Gervase; and addressinghim only, continued:

"Yes, I am 'Charmazel, '" she said. "She was, as I tell you, an'improper' person, or would be so considered by the good Englishpeople. Because, you know, she was never married to Araxes!"

This explanation, given with the demurest naivete, caused a laughamong her listeners. 

"That wouldn't make her 'improper' in France, " said Gervase gayly. "She would only seem more interesting. "

"Ah! Then modern France is like old Egypt?" she queried, stillsmiling. "And Frenchmen can be found perhaps who are like Araxesin the number of their loves and infidelities?"

"I should say my country is populated entirely with copies ofhim, " replied Gervase, mirthfully. "Was he a very distinguishedpersonage?"

"He was. Old legends say he was the greatest warrior of his time;as you, Monsieur Gervase, are the greatest artist. "

Gervase bowed. 

"You flatter me, fair Charmazel!" he said; then suddenly as thestrange name passed his lips he recoiled as if he had been stung, and seemed for a moment dazed. The Princess turned her dark eyeson him inquiringly. 

"Something troubles you, Monsieur Gervase?" she asked. 

His brows knitted in a perplexed frown. 

"Nothing ... The heat ... The air ... A trifle, I assure you? Willyou not join the dancers? Denzil, the music calls you. When yourwaltz with the Princess is ended I shall claim my turn. For themoment ... Au revoir!"

He stood aside and let the little group pass him by: the PrincessZiska moving with her floating, noiseless grace, Denzil Murraybeside her, the little Nubian boy waving the peacock-plumes infront of them both, and all the other enslaved admirers of thissingularly attractive woman crowding together behind. He watchedthe little cortege with strained, dim sight, till just at thedividing portal between the lounge and the ballroom the Princessturned and looked back at him with a smile. Over all theintervening heads their eyes met in one flash of mutualcomprehension! then, as the fair face vanished like a lightabsorbed into the lights beyond it, Gervase, left alone, droppedheavily into a chair and stared vaguely at the elaborate patternof the thick carpet at his feet. Passing his hand across hisforehead he withdrew it, wet with drops of perspiration. 

"What is wrong with me?" he muttered. "Am I sickening for a feverbefore I have been forty-eight hours in Cairo? What fool's notionis this in my brain? Where have I seen her before? In Paris? St. Petersburg? London? Charmazel! ... Charmazel! ... What has thename to do with me? Ziska-Charmazel! It is like the name of aromance or a gypsy tune. Bah! I must be dreaming! Her face, hereyes, are perfectly familiar; where, where have I seen her andplayed the mad fool with her before? Was she a model at one of thestudios? Have I seen her by chance thus in her days of poverty, and does her image recall itself vividly now despite her changedsurroundings? I know the very perfume of her hair ... It seems tocreep into my blood ... It intoxicates me ... It chokes me! ... "

He sprang up with a fierce gesture, then after a minute's pausesat down again, and again stared at the floor. 

The gay music from the ball-room danced towards him on the air insweet, broken echoes, --he heard nothing and saw nothing. 

"My God!" he said at last, under his breath. "Can it be possiblethat I love this woman?"

CHAPTER III. 

Within the ball-room the tide of gayety was rising to its height. It may be a very trivial matter, yet it is certain that fancydress gives a peculiar charm, freedom, and brightness tofestivities of the kind; and men who in the ordinary mournfulblack evening-suit would be taciturn of speech and conventional inbearing, throw off their customary reserve when they findthemselves in the brilliant and becoming attire of somepicturesque period when dress was an art as well as a fashion; andnot only do they look their best, but they somehow manage to puton "manner" with costume, and to become courteous, witty, andgraceful to a degree that sometimes causes their own relatives towonder at them and speculate as to why they have grown so suddenlyinteresting. Few have read Sartor Resartus with eithercomprehension or profit, and are therefore unaware, asTeufelsdrockh was, that "Society is founded upon Cloth"--i. E. Thatman does adapt his manners very much to suit his clothes; and thatas the costume of the days of Louis Quinze or Louis Seize inspiredgraceful deportment and studied courtesy to women, so does thecostume of our nineteenth century inspire brusque demeanor andcurt forms of speech, which, however sincere, are not flatteringto the fair sex. 

More love-making goes on at a fancy-dress ball than at an ordinaryone; and numerous were the couples that strolled through thecorridors and along the terraces of the Gezireh Palace Hotel when, after the first dozen dances were ended, it was discovered thatone of the most glorious of full moons had risen over the turretsand minarets of Cairo, illumining every visible object with asclear a lustre as that of day. Then it was that warriors andnobles of mediaeval days were seen strolling with mythologicalgoddesses and out-of-date peasants of Italy and Spain; thenaudacious "toreadors" were perceived whispering in the ears ofcrowned queens, and clowns were caught lingering amorously by theside of impossible flower-girls of all nations. Then it was thatSir Chetwynd Lyle, with his paunch discreetly restrained withinthe limits of a Windsor uniform which had been made for him sometwo or three years since, paced up and down complacently in themoonlight, watching his two "girls, " Muriel and Dolly, doingbusiness with certain "eligibles"; then it was that LadyFulkeward, fearfully and wonderfully got up as the "Duchess ofGainsborough" sidled to and fro, flirted with this man, floutedthat, giggled, shrugged her shoulders, waved her fan, andcomported herself altogether as if she were a hoyden of seventeenjust let loose from school for the holidays. And then the worthyDr. Maxwell Dean, somewhat exhausted by vigorous capering in the"Lancers, " strolled forth to inhale the air, fanning himself withhis cap as he walked, and listening keenly to every chance word orsentence he could hear, whether it concerned himself or not. Hehad peculiar theories, and one of them was, as he would tell you, that if you overheard a remark apparently not intended for you, you were to make yourself quite easy, as it was "a point ofpredestination" that you should at that particular moment, consciously or unconsciously, play the eavesdropper. The reason ofit would, he always averred, be explained to you later on in yourcareer. The well-known saying "listeners never hear any good ofthemselves" was, he declared, a most ridiculous aphorism. "Youoverhear persons talking and you listen. Very well. It may chancethat you hear yourself abused. What then? Nothing can be so goodfor you as such abuse; the instruction given is twofold; it warnsyou against foes whom you have perhaps considered friends, and ittones down any overweening conceit you may have had concerningyour own importance or ability. Listen to everything if you arewise--I always do. I am an old and practised listener. And I havenever listened in vain. All the information I have gained throughlistening, though apparently at first disconnected andunclassified, has fitted into my work like the stray pieces of apuzzle, and has proved eminently useful. Wherever I am I alwayskeep my ears well open. "

With such views as he thus entertained, life was always enormouslyinteresting to Dr. Dean--he found nothing tiresome, not even theconversation of the type known as Noodle. The Noodle was ascurious a specimen of nature to him as the emu or the crocodile. And as he turned up his intellectual little physiognomy to thedeep, warm Egyptian sky and inhaled the air sniffingly, as thoughit were a monster scent-bottle just uncorked for his specialgratification, he smiled as he observed Muriel Chetwynd Lylestanding entirely alone at the end of the terrace, attired as a"Boulogne fish-wife, " and looking daggers after the hastily-retreating figure of a "White Hussar, "--no other than RossCourtney. 

"How extremely droll a 'Boulogne fish-wife' looks in Egypt, "commented the Doctor to his inward self. "Remarkable! Theincongruity is peculiarly typical of the Chetwynd Lyles. Thecostume of the young woman is like the knighthood of her father, --droll, droll, very droll!" Aloud he said--"Why are you notdancing, Miss Muriel?"

"Oh, I don't know--I'm tired, " she said, petulantly. "Besides, allthe men are after that Ziska woman, --they seem to have lost theirheads about her!"

"Ah!" and Dr. Dean rubbed his hands. "Yes--possibly! Well, she iscertainly very beautiful. "

"I cannot see it!" and Muriel Chetwynd Lyle flushed with theinward rage which could not be spoken. "It's the way she dressesmore than her looks. Nobody knows who she is--but they do not seemto care about that. They are all raving like lunatics over her, and that man--that artist who arrived here to-day, ArmandGervase, --seems the maddest of the lot. Haven't you noticed howoften he has danced with her?"

"I couldn't help noticing that, " said the Doctor, emphatically, "for I have never seen anything more exquisite than the way theywaltz together. Physically, they seem made for one another. "

Muriel laughed disdainfully. 

"You had better tell Mr. Denzil Murray that; he is in a bad enoughhumor now, and that remark of yours wouldn't improve it, I cantell you!"

She broke off abruptly, as a slim, fair girl, dressed as a Greekvestal in white, with a chaplet of silver myrtle-leaves round herhair, suddenly approached and touched Dr. Dean on the arm. 

"Can I speak to you a moment?" she asked. 

"My dear Miss Murray! Of course!" and the Doctor turned to her atonce. "What is it?"

She paced with him a few steps in silence, while Muriel ChetwyndLyle moved languidly away from the terrace and re-entered theball-room. 

"What is it?" repeated Dr. Dean. "You seem distressed; come, tellme all about it!"

Helen Murray lifted her eyes--the soft, violet-gray eyes that LordFulkeward had said he admired--suffused with tears, and fixed themon the old man's face. 

"I wish, " she said--"I wish we had never come to Egypt! I feel asif some great misfortune were going to happen to us; I do, indeed!Oh, Dr. Dean, have you watched my brother this evening?"

"I have, " he replied, and then was silent. 

"And what do you think?" she asked anxiously. "How can you accountfor his strangeness--his roughness--even to me?"

And the tears brimmed over and fell, despite her efforts torestrain them. Dr. Dean stopped in his walk and took her two handsin his own. 

"My dear Helen, it's no use worrying yourself like this, " he said. "Nothing can stop the progress of the Inevitable. I have watchedDenzil, I have watched the new arrival, Armand Gervase, I havewatched the mysterious Ziska, and I have watched you! Well, whatis the result? The Inevitable, --simply the unconquerableInevitable. Denzil is in love, Gervase is in love, everybody is inlove, except me and one other! It is a whole network of mischief, and I am the unhappy fly that has unconsciously fallen into thevery middle of it. But the spider, my dear, --the spider who wovethe web in the first instance, --is the Princess Ziska, and she isNOT in love! She is the other one. She is not in love with anybodyany more than I am. She's got something else on her mind--I don'tknow what it is exactly, but it isn't love. Excluding her andmyself, the whole hotel is in love--YOU are in love!"

Helen withdrew her hands from his grasp and a deep flush reddenedher fair face. 

"I!" she stammered--"Dr. Dean, you are mistaken. ... "

"Dr. Dean was never mistaken on love-matters in his life, " saidthat self-satisfied sage complacently. "Now, my dear, don't beoffended. I have known both you and your brother ever since youwere left little orphan children together; if I cannot speakplainly to you, who can? You are in love, little Helen--and veryunwisely, too--with the man Gervase. I have heard of him often, but I never saw him before to-night. And I don't approve of him. "

Helen grew as pale as she had been rosy, and her face as themoonlight fell upon it was very sorrowful. 

"He stayed with us in Scotland two summers ago, " she said softly. "He was very agreeable... "

"Ha! No doubt! He made a sort of love to you then, I suppose. Ican imagine him doing it very well! There is a nice romantic glennear your house--just where the river runs, and where I caught afifteen-pound salmon some five years ago. Ha! Catching salmon ishealthy work; much better than falling in love. No, no, Helen!Gervase is not good enough for you; you want a far better man. Hashe spoken to you to-night?"

"Oh, yes! And he has danced with me. "

"Ha! How often?"

"Once. "

"And how many times with the Princess Ziska?"

Helen's fair head drooped, and she answered nothing. All at oncethe little Doctor's hand closed on her arm with a soft yet firmgrip. 

"Look!" he whispered. 

She raised her eyes and saw two figures step out on the terraceand stand in the full moonlight, --the white Bedouin dress of theone and the glittering golden robe of the other made them easilyrecognizable, --they were Gervase and the Princess Ziska. Helengave a faint, quick sigh. 

"Let us go in, " she said. 

"Nonsense! Why should we go in? On the contrary, let us jointhem. "

"Oh, no!" and Helen shrank visibly at the very idea. "I cannot; donot ask me! I have tried--you know I have tried--to like thePrincess; but something in her--I don't know what it is--repelsme. To speak truthfully, I think I am afraid of her. "

"Afraid! Pooh! Why should you be afraid? It is true one doesn'toften see a woman with the eyes of a vampire-bat; but there isnothing to be frightened about. I have dissected the eyes of avampire-bat--very interesting work, very. The Princess has them--only, of course, hers are larger and finer; but there is exactlythe same expression in them. I am fond of study, you know; I amstudying her. What! Are you determined to run away?"

"I am engaged for this dance to Mr. Courtney, " said Helen, nervously. 

"Well, well! We'll resume our conversation another time, " and Dr. Dean took her hand and patted it pleasantly. "Don't fret yourselfabout Denzil; he'll be all right. And take my advice: don't marrya Bedouin chief; marry an honest, straightforward, tender-heartedEnglishman who'll take care of you, not a nondescript savagewho'll desert you!"

And with a humorous and kindly smile, Dr. Dean moved off to jointhe two motionless and picturesque figures that stood side by sidelooking at the moon, while Helen, like a frightened bird suddenlyreleased, fled precipitately back to the ball-room, where RossCourtney was already searching for her as his partner in the nextwaltz. 

"Upon my word, " mused the Doctor, "this is a very pretty kettle offish! The Gezireh Palace Hotel is not a hotel at all, it seems tome; it is a lunatic asylum. What with Lady Fulkeward gettingherself up as twenty at the age of sixty; and Muriel and DollyChetwynd Lyle man-hunting with more ferocity than sportsmen hunttigers; Helen in love, Denzil in love, Gervase in love--dear me!dear me! What a list of subjects for a student's consideration!And the Princess Ziska ... "

He broke off his meditations abruptly, vaguely impressed by thestrange solemnity of the night. An equal solemnity seemed tosurround the two figures to which he now drew nigh, and as thePrincess Ziska turned her eyes upon him as he came, he was, to hisown vexation, aware that something indefinable disturbed his usualequanimity and gave him an unpleasant thrill. 

"You are enjoying a moonlight stroll, Doctor?" she inquired. 

Her veil was now cast aside in a careless fold of soft draperyover her shoulders, and her face in its ethereal delicacy offeature and brilliant coloring looked almost too beautiful to behuman. Dr. Dean did not reply for a moment; he was thinking what asingular resemblance there was between Armand Gervase and one ofthe figures on a certain Egyptian fresco in the British Museum. 

"Enjoying--er--er--a what?--a moonlight stroll? Exactly--er--yes!Pardon me, Princess, my mind often wanders, and I am afraid I amgetting a little deaf as well. Yes, I find the night singularlyconducive to meditation; one cannot be in a land like this under asky like this"--and he pointed to the shining heaven--"withoutrecalling the great histories of the past. "

"I daresay they were very much like the histories of the present, "said Gervase smiling. 

"I should doubt that. History is what man makes it; and thecharacter of man in the early days of civilization was, I think, more forceful, more earnest, more strong of purpose, more bent ongreat achievements. "

"The principal achievement and glory being to kill as many ofone's fellow-creatures as possible!" laughed Gervase--"Like thefamous warrior, Araxes, of whom the Princess has just been tellingme!"

"Araxes was great, but now Araxes is a forgotten hero, " said thePrincess slowly, each accent of her dulcet voice chiming on theear like the stroke of a small silver bell. "None of the moderndiscoverers know anything about him yet. They have not even foundhis tomb; but he was buried in the Pyramids with all the honors ofa king. No doubt your clever men will excavate him some day. "

"I think the Pyramids have been very thoroughly explored, " saidDr. Dean. "Nothing of any importance remains in them now. "

The Princess arched her lovely eyebrows. 

"No? Ah! I daresay you know them better than I do!" and shelaughed, a laugh which was not mirthful so much as scornful. 

"I am very much interested in Araxes, " said Gervase then, "partly, I suppose, because he is as yet in the happy condition of being aninterred mummy. Nobody has dug him up, unwound his cerements, orphotographed him, and his ornaments have not been stolen. And inthe second place I am interested in him because it appears he wasin love with the famous dancer of his day whom the Princessrepresents to-night, --Charmazel. I wish I had heard the storybefore I came to Cairo; I would have got myself up as Araxes inperson to-night. "

"In order to play the lover of Charmazel?" queried the Doctor. 

"Exactly!" replied Gervase with flashing eyes; "I daresay I couldhave acted the part. "

"I should imagine you could act any part, " replied the Doctor, blandly. "The role of love-making comes easily to most men. "

The Princess looked at him as he spoke and smiled. The jewelledscarab, set as a brooch on her bosom, flashed luridly in the moon, and in her black eyes there was a similar lurid gleam. 

"Come and talk to me, " she said, laying her hand on his arm; "I amtired, and the conversation of one's ball-room partners is verybanal. Monsieur Gervase would like me to dance all night, Iimagine; but I am too lazy. I leave such energy to Lady Fulkewardand to all the English misses and madams. I love indolence. "

"Most Russian women do, I think, " observed the Doctor. 

She laughed. 

"But I am not Russian!"

"I know. I never thought you were, " he returned composedly; "buteveryone in the hotel has come to the conclusion that you are!"

"They are all wrong! What can I do to put them right?" sheinquired with a fascinating little upward movement of hereyebrows. 

"Nothing! Leave them in their ignorance. I shall not enlightenthem, though I know your nationality. "

"You do?" and a curious shadow darkened her features. "But perhapsyou are wrong also!"

"I think not, " said the Doctor, with gentle obstinacy. "You are anEgyptian. Born in Egypt; born OF Egypt. Pure Eastern! There isnothing Western about you. Is not it so?"

She looked at him enigmatically. 

"You have made a near guess, " she replied; "but you are notabsolutely correct. Originally, I am of Egypt. "

Dr. Dean nodded pleasantly. 

"Originally, --yes. That is precisely what I mean--originally! Letme take you in to supper. "

He offered his arm, but Gervase made a hasty step forward. 

"Princess, " he began--

She waved him off lightly. 

"My dear Monsieur Gervase, we are not in the desert, where Bedouinchiefs do just as they like. We are in a modern hotel in Cairo, and all the good English mammas will be dreadfully shocked if I amseen too much with you. I have danced with you five times, remember! And I will dance with you once more before I leave. Whenour waltz begins, come and find me in the upper-room. "

She moved away on Dr. Dean's arm, and Gervase moodily drew backand let her pass. When she had gone, he lit a cigarette and walkedimpatiently up and down the terrace, a heavy frown wrinkling hisbrows. The shadow of a man suddenly darkened the moonlight infront of him, and Denzil Murray's hand fell on his shoulder. 

"Gervase, " he said, huskily, "I must speak to you. "

Gervase glanced him up and down, taking note of his pale face andwild eyes with a certain good-humored regret and compassion. 

"Say on, my friend. "

Denzil looked straight at him, biting his lips hard and clenchinghis hands in the effort to keep down some evidently violentemotion. 

"The Princess Ziska, " he began, --

Gervase smiled, and flicked the ash off his cigarette. 

"The Princess Ziska, " he echoed, --"Yes? What of her? She seems tobe the only person talked about in Cairo. Everybody in this hotel, at any rate, begins conversation with precisely the same words asyou do, --'the Princess Ziska!' Upon my life, it is very amusing!"

"It is not amusing to me, " said Denzil, bitterly. "To me it is amatter of life and death. " He paused, and Gervase looked at himcuriously. "We've always been such good friends, Gervase, " hecontinued, "that I should be sorry if anything came between usnow, so I think it is better to make a clean breast of it andspeak out plainly. " Again he hesitated, his face growing stillpaler, then with a sudden ardent light glowing in his eyes hesaid--"Gervase, I love the Princess Ziska!"

Gervase threw away his cigarette and laughed aloud with a wildhilarity. 

"My good boy, I am very sorry for you! Sorry, too, for myself! Ideplore the position in which we are placed with all my heart andsoul. It is unfortunate, but it seems inevitable. You love thePrincess Ziska, --and by all the gods of Egypt and Christendom, sodo I!"

CHAPTER IV. 

Denzil recoiled a step backward, then with an impulsive movementstrode close up to him, his face unnaturally flushed and his eyesglittering with an evil fire. 

"You--you love her! What!--in one short hour, you--who have oftenboasted to me of having no heart, no eyes for women except asmodels for your canvas, --you say now that you love a woman whomyou have never seen before to-night!"

"Stop!" returned Gervase somewhat moodily, "I am not so sure aboutthat. I HAVE seen her before, though where I cannot tell. But thefire that stirs my pulses now seems to spring from some oldpassion suddenly revived, and the eyes of the woman we are bothmad for--well! they do not inspire holiness, my dear friend! No, --neither in you nor in me! Let us be honest with each other. Thereis something vile in the composition of Madame la Princesse, andit responds to something equally vile in ourselves. We shall bedragged down by the force of it, --tant pis pour nous! I am sorrierfor you than for myself, for you are a good fellow, au fond; youhave what the world is learning to despise--sentiment. I havenone; for as I told you before, I have no heart, but I havepassions--tigerish ones--which must be humored; in fact, I make itmy business in life to humor them. "

"Do you intend to humor them in this instance?"

"Assuredly! If I can. "

"Then, --friend as you have been, you can be friend no more, " saidDenzil fiercely. "My God! Do you not understand? My blood is aswarm as yours, --I will not yield to you one smile, one look fromZiska! No!--I will kill you first!"

Gervase looked at him calmly. 

"Will you? Pauvre garcon! You are such a boy still, Denzil, --by-the-bye, how old are you? Ah, I remember now, --twenty-two. Onlytwenty-two, and I am thirty-eight! So in the measure of timealone, your life is more valuable to you than mine is to me. Ifyou choose, therefore, you can kill me, --now, if you like! I havea very convenient dagger in my belt--I think it has a point--whichyou are welcome to use for the purpose; but, for heaven's sake, don't rant about it--do it! You can kill me--of course you can;but you cannot--mark this well, Denzil!--you cannot prevent myloving the same woman whom you love. I think instead of ravingabout the matter here in the moonlight, which has the effect ofmaking us look like two orthodox villains in a set stage-scene, we'd better make the best of it, and resolve to abide by thelady's choice in the matter. What say you? You have known her formany days, --I have known her for two hours. You have had the firstinnings, so you cannot complain. "

Here he playfully unfastened the Bedouin knife which hung at hisbelt and offered it to Denzil, holding it delicately by theglittering blade. 

"One thrust, my brave boy!" he said. "And you will stop the Ziskafever in my veins at once and forever. But, unless you deal themurderer's blow, the fever will go on increasing till it reachesits extremest height, and then ... "

"And then?" echoed Denzil. 

"Then? Oh--God only knows what then!"

Denzil thrust away the offered weapon with a movement of aversion. 

"You can jest, " he said. "You are always jesting. But you do notknow--you cannot read the horrible thoughts in my mind. I cannotresolve their meaning even to myself. There is some truth in yourlight words; I feel, I know instinctively, that the woman I lovehas an attraction about her which is not good, but evil; yet whatdoes that matter? Do not men sometimes love vile women?"

"Always!" replied Gervase briefly. 

"Gervase, I have suffered tortures ever since I saw her face!"exclaimed the unhappy lad, his self-control suddenly giving way. "You cannot imagine what my life has been! Her eyes make me mad, --the merest touch of her hand seems to drag me away invisibly ... "

"To perdition!" finished Gervase. "That is the usual end of thejourney we men take with beautiful women. "

"And now, " went on Denzil, hardly heeding him, "as if my owndespair were not sufficient, you must needs add to it! What evilfate, I wonder, sent you to Cairo! Of course, I have no chancewith her now; you are sure to win the day. And can you wonder thenthat I feel as if I could kill you?"

"Oh, I wonder at nothing, " said Gervase calmly, "except, perhaps, at myself. And I echo your words most feelingly, --What evil fatesent me to Cairo? I cannot tell! But here I purpose to remain. Mydear Murray, don't let us quarrel if we can help it; it is such awaste of time. I am not angry with you for loving la belle Ziska, --try, therefore, not to be angry with me. Let the fair one herselfdecide as to our merits. My own opinion is that she cares forneither of us, and, moreover, that she never will care for any oneexcept her fascinating self. And certainly her charms are quiteenough to engross her whole attention. By the way, let me ask you, Denzil, in this headstrong passion of yours, --for it is aheadstrong passion, just as mine is, --do you actually intend tomake the Ziska your wife if she will have you?"

"Of course, " replied Murray, with some haughtiness. 

A fleeting expression of amusement flitted over Gervase'sfeatures. 

"It is very honorable of you, " he said, "very! My dear boy, youshall have your full chance. Because I--I would not make thePrincess Madame Gervase for all the world! She is not formed for alife of domesticity--and pardon me--I cannot picture her as thecontented chatelaine of your grand old Scotch castle in Ross-shire. "

"Why not?"

"From an artistic point of view the idea is incongruous, " saidGervase lazily. "Nevertheless, I will not interfere with yourwooing. "

Denzil's face brightened. 

"You will not?"

"I will not--I promise! But"--and here Gervase paused, looking hisyoung friend full in the eyes, "remember, if your chance falls tothe ground--if Madame gives you your conge--if she does notconsent to be a Scottish chatelaine and listen every day to thebagpipes at dinner, --you cannot expect me then to be indifferentto my own desires. She shall not be Madame Gervase, --oh, no! Sheshall not be asked to attend to the pot-au-feu; she shall act therole for which she has dressed to-night; she shall be anotherCharmazel to another Araxes, though the wild days of Egypt are nomore!"

A sudden shiver ran through him as he spoke, and instinctively hedrew the white folds of his picturesque garb closer about him. 

"There is a chill wind sweeping in from the desert, " he said, "anevil, sandy breath tasting of mummy-dust blown through thecrevices of the tombs of kings. Let us go in. "

Murray looked at him in a kind of dull despair. 

"And what is to be done?" he asked. "I cannot answer for myself--and--from what you say, neither can you. "

"My dear friend--or foe--whichever you determine to be, I cananswer for myself in one particular at any rate, namely, that as Itold you, I shall not ask the Princess to marry me. You, on thecontrary, will do so. Bonne chance! I shall do nothing to preventMadame from accepting the honorable position you intend to offerher. And till the fiat has gone forth and the fair one hasdecided, we will not fly at each other's throats like wolvesdisputing possession of a lamb; we will assume composure, even ifwe have it not. " He paused, and laid one hand kindly on theyounger man's shoulder, "Is it agreed?"

Denzil gave a mute sign of resigned acquiescence. 

"Good! I like you, Denzil; you are a charming boy! Hot-temperedand a trifle melodramatic in your loves and hatreds, --yes!--forthat you might have been a Provencal instead of a Scot. Before Iknew you I had a vague idea that all Scotchmen were, or needs mustbe, ridiculous, --I don't know why. I associated them withbagpipes, short petticoats and whisky. I had no idea of the typeyou so well represent, --the dark, fine eyes, the strong physique, and the impetuous disposition which suggests the South rather thanthe North; and to-night you look so unlike the accepted cafechantant picture of the ever-dancing Highlander that you might invery truth be a Florentine in more points than the dress which sowell becomes you. Yes, --I like you--and more than you, I like yoursister. That is why I don't want to quarrel with you; I wouldn'tgrieve Mademoiselle Helen for the world. "

Murray gave him a quick, half-angry side-glance. 

"You are a strange fellow, Gervase. Two summers ago you werealmost in love with Helen. "

Gervase sighed. 

"True. Almost. That's just it. 'Almost' is a very uncomfortableword. I have been almost in love so many times. I have never beendrawn by a woman's eyes and dragged down, down, --in a madwhirlpool of sweetness and poison intermixed. I have never had mysoul strangled by the coils of a woman's hair--black hair, blackas night, --in the perfumed meshes of which a jewelled serpentgleams ... I have never felt the insidious horror of a love likestrong drink mounting through the blood to the brain, and theremaking inextricable confusion of time, space, eternity, everything, except the passion itself; never, never have I feltall this, Denzil, till to-night! To-night! Bah! It is a wild nightof dancing and folly, and the Princess Ziska is to blame for itall! Don't look so tragic, my good Denzil, --what ails you now?"

"What ails me? Good Heavens! Can you ask it!" and Murray gave agesture of mingled despair and impatience. "If you love her inthis wild, uncontrolled way ... "

"It is the only way I know of, " said Gervase. "Love must be wildand uncontrolled to save it from banalite. It must be a summerthunderstorm; the heavy brooding of the clouds of thought, thelightning of desire, then the crash, the downpour, --and the end, in which the bland sun smiles upon a bland world of dull butwholesome routine and tame conventionality, making believe thatthere never was such a thing known as the past storm! Be consoled, Denzil, and trust me, --you shall have time to make your honorableproposal, and Madame had better accept you, --for your love wouldlast, --mine could not!"

He spoke with a strange fierceness and irritability, and his eyeswere darkened by a sudden shadow of melancholy. Denzil, bewilderedat his words and manner, stared at him in a kind of helplessindignation. 

"Then you admit yourself to be cruel and unprincipled?" he said. 

Gervase smiled, with a little shrug of impatience. 

"Do I? I was not aware of it. Is inconstancy to women cruelty andwant of principle? If so, all men must bear the brunt of theaccusation with me. For men were originally barbarians, and alwayslooked upon women as toys or slaves; the barbaric taint is not outof us yet, I assure you, --at any rate, it is not out of me. I am apure savage; I consider the love of woman as my right; if I winit, I enjoy it as long as I please, but no longer, --and not allthe forces of heaven and earth should bind me to any woman I hadonce grown weary of. "

"If that is your character, " said Murray stiffly, "it were wellthe Princess Ziska should know it. "

"True, " and Gervase laughed loudly. "Tell her, man ami! Tell herthat Armand Gervase is an unprincipled villain, not worth a glancefrom her dazzling eyes! It will be the way to make her adore me!My good boy, do you not know that there is something verymarvellous in the attraction we call love? It is a pre-ordaineddestiny, --and if one soul is so constituted that it must meet andmix with another, nothing can hinder the operation. So that, believe me, I am quite indifferent as to what you say of me toMadame la Princesse or to anyone else. It will not be for eithermy looks or my character that she will love me if, indeed, sheever does love me; it will be for something indistinct, indefinable but resistless in us both, which no one on earth canexplain. And now I must go, Denzil, and claim the fair one forthis waltz. Try and look less miserable, my dear fellow, --I willnot quarrel with you on the Princess's account, nor on any otherpretext if I can help it, --for I don't want to kill you, and I amconvinced your death and not mine would be the result of a fightbetween us!"

His eyes flashed under his straight, fierce brows with a suddentouch of imperiousness, and his commanding presence becamemagnetic, almost over-powering. Tormented with a dozen cross-currents of feeling, young Denzil Murray was mute;--only hisbreath came and went quickly, and there was a certain silently-declared antagonism in his very attitude. Gervase saw it andsmiled; then turning away with his peculiarly noiseless step andgrace of bearing, he disappeared. 

CHAPTER V. 

Ten minutes later the larger number of dancers in the ball-roomcame to a sudden pause in their gyrations and stood looking on inopen-mouthed, reluctantly-admiring wonderment at the exquisitewaltz movements of the Princess Ziska as she floated past them inthe arms of Gervase, who, as a "Bedouin chief, " was perhaps onlyacting his part aright when he held her to him with so passionateand close a grip and gazed down upon her fair face with such aburning ardor in his eyes. Nothing in the dancing world was everseen like the dancing of these two--nothing so languorouslybeautiful as the swaying grace of their well-matched figuresgliding to the music in as perfectly harmonious a measure as abird's two wings beat to the pulsations of the air. People noticedthat as the Princess danced a tiny tinkling sound accompanied herevery step; and the more curious observers, peeping downwards asshe flew by, saw that she had kept to the details of ancientEgyptian costume so exactly that she even wore sandals, and thather feet, perfectly shaped and lovely as perfectly shaped andlovely hands, were bare save for the sandal-ribbons which crossedthem, and which were fastened with jewels. Round the slim ankleswere light bands of gold, also glittering with gems, andfurthermore adorned by little golden bells which produced thepretty tinkling music that attracted attention. 

"What a delightful creature she is!" said Lady Fulkeward, settlingher "Duchess of Gainsborough" hat on her powdered wig morebecomingly and smiling up in the face of Ross Courtney, whohappened to be standing close by. "So sweetly unconventional!Everybody here thinks her improper; she may be, but I like her. I'm not a bit of a prude. "

Courtney smiled irreverently at this. Prudery and "old" LadyFulkeward were indeed wide apart. Aloud he said:

"I think whenever a woman is exceptionally beautiful she generallygets reported as 'improper' by her own sex; especially if she hasa fascinating manner and dresses well. "

"So true, " and Lady Fulkeward simpered. "Exactly what I findwherever I go! Poor dear Ziska! She has to pay the penalty forcaptivating all you men in the way she does. I'm sure YOU havelost your heart to her quite as much as anybody else, haven'tyou?"

Courtney reddened. 

"I don't think so, " he answered; "I admire her very much, but Ihaven't lost my heart ... "

"Naughty boy! Don't prevaricate!" and Lady Fulkeward smiled in thebewitching pearly manner her admirably-made artificial teethallowed her to do. "Every man in the hotel is in love with thePrincess, and I'm sure I don't blame them. If I belonged to yoursex I should be in love with her too. As it is, I am in love withthe new arrival, that glorious creature, Gervase. He is superb! Helooks like an untamed savage. I adore handsome barbarians!"

"He's scarcely a barbarian, I think, " said Courtney, with someamusement; "he is the great French artist, the 'lion' of Parisjust now, --only secondary to Sarah Bernhardt. "

"Artists are always barbarians, " declared Lady Fulkewardenthusiastically. "They paint naughty people without any clotheson; they never have any idea of time; they never keep theirappointments; and they are always falling in love with the wrongperson and getting into trouble, which is so nice of them! That'swhy I worship them all. They are so refreshingly unlike OUR set!"

Courtney raised his eyebrows inquiringly. 

"You know what I mean by our set, " went on the vivacious old"Gainsborough, " "the aristocrats whose conversation is limited tothe weather and scandal, and who are so frightfully dull! Dull! Mydear Ross you know how dull they are!"

"Well, upon my word, they are, " admitted Courtney. "You are rightthere. I certainly agree with you. "

"I'm sure you do! They have no ideas. Now, artists have ideas, --they live on ideas and sentiment. Sentiment is such a beautifulthing--so charming! I believe that fierce-looking Gervase is acreature of sentiment--and how delightful that is! Of course, he'll paint the Princess Ziska--he MUST paint her, --no one elsecould do it so well. By the way, have you been asked to her greatparty next week?"

"Yes. "

"And are you going?"

"Most assuredly. "

"So am I. That absurd Chetwynd Lyle woman came to me this eveningand asked me if I really thought it would be proper to take her'girls' there, " and Lady Fulkeward laughed shrilly. "Girls indeed!I should say those two long, ugly women could go anywhere withsafety. 'Do you consider the Princess a proper woman?' she asked, and I said, 'Certainly, as proper as you are. '"

Courtney laughed outright, and began to think there was some funin Lady Fulkeward. 

"By Jove! Did you tell her that?"

"I should think I did! Oh, I know a thing or two about theChetwynd Lyles, but I keep my mouth shut till it suits me to openit. I said I was going, and then, of course, she said she would. "

"Naturally. "

And Courtney gave the answer vaguely, for the waltz was ended, andthe Princess Ziska, on the arm of Gervase, was leaving the ball-room. 

"She's going, " exclaimed Lady Fulkeward. "Dear creature! Excuseme--I must speak to her for a moment. "

And with a swish of her full skirts and a toss of her huge hat andfeathers, the lively flirt of sixty tripped off with all theagility of sixteen, leaving Courtney to follow her or remain wherehe was, just as he chose. He hesitated, and during that undecidedpause was joined by Dr. Maxwell Dean. 

"A very brilliant and interesting evening!" said that individual, smiling complacently. "I don't remember any time when I haveenjoyed myself so thoroughly. "

"Really! I shouldn't have thought you a man to care for fancy-dress balls, " said Courtney. 

"Shouldn't you? Ha! Well, some fancy-dress balls I might not carefor, but this one has been highly productive of entertainment inevery way, and several incidents connected with it have opened upto me a new vista of research, the possibilities of which are--er--very interesting and remarkable. "

"Indeed!" murmured Courtney indifferently, his eyes fixed on theslim, supple figure of the Princess Ziska as she slowly moved amidher circle of admirers out of the ball-room, her golden skirtsgleaming sun-like against the polished floor, and the jewels abouther flashing in vivid points of light from the hem of her robe tothe snake in her hair. 

"Yes, " continued the Doctor, smiling and rubbing his hands, "Ithink I have got the clue to a very interesting problem. But I seeyou are absorbed--and no wonder! A charming woman, the PrincessZiska--charming! Do you believe in ghosts?"

This question was put with such unexpected abruptness thatCourtney was quite taken aback. 

"Ghosts?" he echoed. "No, I cannot say I do. I have never seenone, and I have never heard of one that did not turn out a bogus. "

"Oh! I don't mean the usual sort of ghost, " said the Doctor, drawing his shelving brows together in a meditative knot of criss-cross lines over his small, speculative eyes. "The ghost that iscommon to Scotch castles and English manor-houses, and thatappears in an orthodox night-gown, sighs, screams, rattles chainsand bangs doors ad libitum. No, no! That kind of ghost is composedof indigestion, aided by rats and a gust of wind. No; when I sayghosts, I mean ghosts--ghosts that do not need the midnight hourto evolve themselves into being, and that by no means vanish atcock-crow. My ghosts are those that move about among us in socialintercourse for days, months--sometimes years--according to theirseveral missions; ghosts that talk to us, imitate our customs andways, shake hands with us, laugh and dance with us, and altogethercomport themselves like human beings. Those are my kind of ghosts--'scientific' ghosts. There are hundreds, aye, perhaps thousandsof them in the world at this very moment. "

An uncomfortable shudder ran through Courtney's veins; theDoctor's manner seemed peculiar and uncanny. 

"By Jove! I hope not!" he involuntarily exclaimed. "The orthodoxghost is an infinitely better arrangement. One at least knows whatto expect. But a 'scientific' ghost that moves about in society, resembling ourselves in every respect, appearing to be actuallyhuman and yet having no humanity at all in its composition, is aterrific notion indeed! You don't mean to say you believe in thepossibility of such an appalling creature?"

"I not only believe it, " answered the Doctor composedly, "I knowit!"

Here the band crashed out "God save the Queen, " which, as a wittyItalian once remarked, is the De Profundis of every Englishfestivity. 

"But--God bless my soul!" began Courtney ... 

"No, don't say that!" urged the Doctor. "Say 'God save the Queen. 'It's more British. "

"Bother 'God save the Queen, '" exclaimed Courtney impatiently. --"Look here, you don't mean it seriously, do you?"

"I always mean everything seriously, " said Dr. Dean, --"even myjokes. "

"Now come, no nonsense, Doctor, " and Courtney, taking his arm, ledhim towards one of the windows opening out to the moonlit garden, --"can you, as an honest man, assure me in sober earnest that thereare 'scientific ghosts' of the nature you describe?"

The little Doctor surveyed the scenery, glanced up at the moon, and then at his companion's pleasant but not very intelligentface. 

"I would rather not discuss the matter, " he said at last, withsome brusqueness. "There are certain subjects connected withpsychic phenomena on which it is best to be silent; besides, whatinterest can such things have for you? You are a sportsman, --keepto your big game, and leave ghost-hunting to me. "

"That is not a fair answer to my question, " said Courtney, "I'msure I don't want to interfere with your researches in any way; Ionly want to know if it is a fact that ghosts exist, and that theyare really of such a nature as to deserve the term 'scientific. '"

Dr. Dean was silent a moment. Then, stretching out his small, thinhand, he pointed to the clear sky, where the stars were almostlost to sight in the brilliance of the moon. 

"Look out there!" he said, his voice thrilling with sudden andsolemn fervor. "There in the limitless ether move millions ofuniverses--vast creations which our finite brains cannot estimatewithout reeling, --enormous forces always at work, in the mightymovements of which our earth is nothing more than a grain of sand. Yet far more marvellous than their size or number is themathematical exactitude of their proportions, --the minuteperfection of their balance, --the exquisite precision with whichevery one part is fitted to another part, not a pin's point awry, not a hair's breadth astray. Well, the same exactitude which rulesthe formation and working of Matter controls the formation andworking of Spirit; and this is why I know that ghosts exist, and, moreover, that we are COMPELLED by the laws of the phenomenasurrounding us to meet them every day. "

"I confess I do not follow you at all, " said Courtney bewildered. 

"No, " and Dr. Dean smiled curiously. "I have perhaps expressedmyself obscurely. Yet I am generally considered a clear exponent. First of all, let me ask you, do you believe in the existence ofMatter?"

"Why, of course!"

"You do. Then you will no doubt admit that there is Something--anIntelligent Principle or Spiritual Force--which creates andcontrols this Matter?"

Courtney hesitated. 

"Well, I suppose there must be, " he said at last. "I'm not achurch-goer, and I'm rather a free-thinker, but I certainlybelieve there is a Mind at work behind the Matter. "

"That being the case, " proceeded the Doctor, "I suppose you willnot deny to this Invisible Mind the same exactitude of proportionand precise method of action already granted to Visible Matter?". 

"Of course, I could not deny such a reasonable proposition, " saidCourtney. 

"Very good! Pursuing the argument logically, and allowing for anexactly-moving Mind behind exactly-working Matter, it follows thatthere can be no such thing as injustice anywhere in the universe?"

"My dear Socrates redivivus, " laughed Courtney, "I fail to seewhat all this has to do with ghosts. "

"It has everything to do with them, " declared the Doctoremphatically, "I repeat that if we grant these already statedpremises concerning the composition of Mind and Matter, there canbe no such thing as injustice. Yet seemingly unjust things aredone every day, and seemingly go unpunished. I say 'seemingly'advisedly, because the punishment is always administered. And herethe 'scientific ghosts' come in. 'Vengeance is mine, ' saith theLord, --and the ghosts I speak of are the Lord's way of doing it. "

"You mean ... " began Courtney. 

"I mean, " continued the Doctor with some excitement, "that thesinner who imagines his sins are undiscovered is a fool whodeceives himself. I mean that the murderer who has secretly tornthe life out of his shrieking victim in some unfrequented spot, and has succeeded in hiding his crime from what we call 'justice, 'cannot escape the Spiritual law of vengeance. What would you say, "and Dr. Dean laid his thin fingers on Courtney's coat-sleeve witha light pressure, --"if I told you that the soul of a murderedcreature is often sent back to earth in human shape to dog itsmurderer down? And that many a criminal undiscovered by the policeis haunted by a seeming Person, --a man or a woman, --who is onterms of intimacy with him, --who eats at his table, drinks hiswine, clasps his hand, smiles in his face, and yet is trulynothing but the ghost of his victim in human disguise, sent todrag him gradually to his well-deserved, miserable end; what wouldyou say to such a thing?"

"Horrible!" exclaimed Courtney, recoiling. "Beyond everythingmonstrous and horrible!"

The Doctor smiled and withdrew his hand from his companion's arm. 

"There are a great many horrible things in the universe as well aspleasant ones, " he observed dryly. "Crime and its results arealways of a disagreeable nature. But we cannot alter the psychiclaw of equity any more than we can alter the material law ofgravitation. It is growing late; I think, if you will excuse me, Iwill go to bed. "

Courtney look at him puzzled and baffled. 

"Then your 'scientific ghosts' are positive realities?" he began;here he gave a violent start as a tall white figure suddenly movedout of the shadows in the garden and came slowly towards them. "Upon my life, Doctor, you have made me quite nervous!"

"No, no, surely not, " smiled the Doctor pleasantly--"not nervous!Not such a brave killer of game as you are! No, no! You don't takeMonsieur Armand Gervase for a ghost, do you? He is toosubstantial, --far too substantial! Ha! ha! ha!"

And he laughed quietly, the wrinkled smile still remaining on hisface as Gervase approached. 

"Everybody is going to bed, " said the great artist lazily. "Withthe departure of the Princess Ziska, the pleasures of the eveningare ended. "

"She is certainly the belle of Cairo this season, " said Courtney, "but I tell you what, --I am rather sorry to see young Murray haslost his head about her. "

"Parbleu! So am I, " said Gervase imperturbably; "it seems a pity. "

"He will get over it, " interposed Dr. Dean placidly. "It's anillness, --like typhoid, --we must do all we can to keep down thetemperature of the patient, and we shall pull him through. "

"Keep him cool, in short!" laughed Gervase. 

"Exactly!" The little Doctor smiled shrewdly. "You look feverish, Monsieur Gervase. "

Gervase flushed red under his dark skin. 

"I daresay I am feverish, " he replied irritably, --"I find thisplace hot as an oven. I think I should go away to-morrow if I hadnot asked the Princess Ziska to sit to me. "

"You are going to paint her picture?" exclaimed Courtney. "ByJove! I congratulate you. It will be the masterpiece of the nextsalon"

Gervase bowed. 

"You flatter me! The Princess is undoubtedly an attractivesubject. But, as I said before, this place stifles me. I think thehotel is too near the river, --there is an oozy smell from the Nilethat I hate, and the heat is perfectly sulphureous. Don't you findit so, Doctor?"

"N-n-o! I cannot say that I do. Let me feel your pulse; I am not amedical man--but I can easily recognize any premonitions ofillness. "

Gervase held out his long, brown, well-shaped hand, and thesavant's small, cool fingers pressed lightly on his wrist. 

"You are quite well, Monsieur Gervase, " he said after a pause, --"You have a little sur-excitation of the nerves, certainly, --butit is not curable by medicine. " He dropped the hand he held, andlooked up--"Good-night!"

"Good-night!" responded Gervase. 

"Good-night!" added Courtney. 

And with an amiable salutation the Doctor went his way. The ball-room was now quite deserted, and the hotel servants wereextinguishing the lights. 

"A curious little man, that Doctor, " observed Gervase, addressingCourtney, to whom as yet he had not been formally introduced. 

"Very curious!" was the reply, "I have known him for some years, --he is a very clever man, but I have never been able quite to makehim out. I think he is a bit eccentric. He's just been telling mehe believes in ghosts. "

"Ah, poor fellow!" and Gervase yawned as, with his companion, hecrossed the deserted ball-room. "Then he has what you call a screwloose. I suppose it is that which makes him interesting. Good-night!"

"Good-night!"

And separating, they went their several ways to the small, cell-like bedrooms, which are the prime discomfort of the GezirehPalace Hotel, and soon a great silence reigned throughout thebuilding. All Cairo slept, --save where at an open lattice windowthe moon shone full on a face up-turned to her silver radiance, --the white, watchful face, and dark, sleepless eyes of the PrincessZiska. 

CHAPTER VI. 

Next day the ordinary course of things was resumed at the GezirehPalace Hotel, and the delights and flirtations of the fancy-ballbegan to vanish into what Hans Breitmann calls "the ewigkeit". Menwere lazier than usual and came down later to breakfast, and girlslooked worn and haggard with over-much dancing, but otherwisethere was no sign to indicate that the festivity of the pastevening had left "tracks behind, " or made a lasting impression ofimportance on any human life. Lady Chetwynd Lyle, portly and pig-faced, sat on the terrace working at an elaborate piece of cross-stitch, talking scandal in the civilest tone imaginable, anddamning all her "dear friends" with that peculiar air of entirepoliteness and good breeding which distinguishes certain ladieswhen they are saying nasty things about one another. Herdaughters, Muriel and Dolly, sat dutifully near her, one readingthe Daily Dial, as befitted the offspring of the editor andproprietor thereof, the other knitting. Lord Fulkeward lounged onthe balustrade close by, and his lovely mother, attired in quite acharming and girlish costume of white foulard exquisitely cut andfitting into a waist not measuring more than twenty-two inches, reclined in a long deck-chair, looking the very pink of paintedand powdered perfection. 

"You are so very lenient, " Lady Chetwynd Lyle was saying, as shebent over her needlework. "So very lenient, my dear LadyFulkeward, that I am afraid you do not read people's characters ascorrectly as I do. I have had, owing to my husband's position injournalism, a great deal of social experience, and I assure you Ido NOT think the Princess Ziska a safe person. She may beperfectly proper--she MAY be--but she is not the style we areaccustomed to in London. "

"I should rather think not!" interrupted Lord Fulkeward, hastily. "By Jove! She wouldn't have a hair left on her head in London, don'cher know!"

"What do you mean?" inquired Muriel Chetwynd Lyle, simpering. "Youreally do say such funny things, Lord Fulkeward!"

"Do I?" and the young nobleman was so alarmed and embarrassed atthe very idea of his ever saying funny things that he was renderedquite speechless for a moment. Anon he took heart and resumed:"Er--well--I mean that the society women would tear her to bits inno time. She'd get asked nowhere, but she'd get blackguardedeverywhere; she couldn't help herself with that face and thoseeyes. "

His mother laughed. 

"Dear Fulke! You are such a naughty boy! You shouldn't make suchremarks before Lady Lyle. She never says anything against anyone!"

"Dear Fulke" stared. Had he given vent to his feelings he wouldhave exclaimed: "Oh, Lord!--isn't the old lady a deep one!" But asit was he attended to his young moustache anxiously and remainedsilent. Lady Chetwynd Lyle meanwhile flushed with annoyance; shefelt that Lady Fulkeward's remark was sarcastic, but she could notvery well resent it, seeing that Lady Fulkeward was a peeress ofthe realm, and that she herself, by the strict laws of heraldry, was truly only "Dame" Chetwynd Lyle, as wife of an ordinaryknight, and had no business to be called "her ladyship" at all. 

"I should, indeed, be sorry, " she said, primly, "if I weremistaken in my private estimate of the Princess Ziska's character, but I must believe my own eyes and the evidence of my own senses, and surely no one can condone the extremely fast way in which shebehaved with that new man--that French artist, Armand Gervase--last night. Why, she danced six times with him! And she actuallyallowed him to walk home with her through the streets of Cairo!They went off together, in their fancy dresses, just as they were!I never heard of such a thing!"

"Oh, there was nothing remarkable at all in that, " said LordFulkeward. "Everybody went about the place in fancy costume lastnight. I went out in my Neapolitan dress with a girl, and I metDenzil Murray coming down a street just behind here--took him fora Florentine prince, upon my word! And I bet you Gervase never gotbeyond the door of the Princess's palace; for that blessed oldNubian she keeps--the chap with a face like a mummy--bangs thegate in everybody's face, and says in guttural French: 'LaPrincesse ne voit per-r-r-sonne!' I've tried it. I tell you it'sno go!"

"Well, we shall all get inside the mysterious palace nextWednesday evening, " said Lady Fulkeward, closing her eyes with agraceful air of languor, "It will be charming, I am sure, and Idaresay we shall find that there is no mystery at all about it. "

"Two months ago, " suddenly said a smooth voice behind them, "theZiska's house or palace was uninhabited. "

Lady Fulkeward gave a little scream and looked round. 

"Good gracious, Dr. Dean! How you frightened me!"

The Doctor made an apologetic bow. 

"I am very sorry. I forgot you were so sensitive; pray pardon me!As I was saying, two months ago the palace of the Princess Ziskawas a deserted barrack. Formerly, so I hear, it used to be thehouse of some great personage; but it had been allowed to fallinto decay, and nobody would rent it, even for the rush of theCairene season, till it was secured by the Nubian you werespeaking of just now--the interesting Nubian with the face like amummy; he took it and furnished it, and when it was ready Madamela Princesse appeared on the scene and has resided there everysince. "

"I wonder what that Nubian has to do with her?" said Lady ChetwyndLyle, severely. 

"Nothing at all, " replied the Doctor, calmly. "He is the merestservant--the kind of person who is 'told off' to attend on thewomen of a harem. "

"Ah, I see you have been making inquiries concerning the princess, Doctor, " said Lady Fulkeward, with a smile. 

"I have. "

"And have you found out anything about her?"

"No; that is, nothing of social importance, except, perhaps, twoitems--first, that she is not a Russian; secondly, that she hasnever been married. "

"Never been married!" exclaimed Lady Chetwynd Lyle, then suddenlyturning to her daughters she said blandly: "Muriel, Dolly, go intothe house, my dears. It is getting rather warm for you on thisterrace. I will join you in a few minutes. "

The "girls" rose obediently with a delightfully innocent andjuvenile air, and fortunately for them did not notice theirreverent smile that played on young Lord Fulkeward's face, whichwas immediately reflected on the artistically tinted countenanceof his mother, at the manner of their dismissal. 

"There is surely nothing improper in never having been married, "said Dr. Dean, with a mock serious air. "Consider, my dear LadyLyle, is there not something very chaste and beautiful in theaspect of an old maid?"

Lady Lyle looked up sharply. She had an idea that both she and herdaughters were being quizzed, and she had some difficulty tocontrol her rising temper. 

"Then do you call the Princess an old maid?" she demanded. 

Lady Fulkeward looked amused; her son laughed outright. But theDoctor's face was perfectly composed. 

"I don't know what else I can call her, " he said, with athoughtful air. "She is no longer in her teens, and she has toomuch voluptuous charm for an ingenue. Still, I admit, you wouldscarcely call her 'old' except in the parlance of the modernmatrimonial market. Our present-day roues, you know, prefer theirvictims young, and I fancy the Princess Ziska would be too old andperhaps too clever for most of them. Personally speaking, she doesnot impress me as being of any particular age, but as she is notmarried, and is, so to speak, a maid fully developed, I amperforce obliged to call her an old maid. "

"She wouldn't thank you for the compliment, " said Lady Lyle with aspiteful grin. 

"I daresay not, " responded the Doctor blandly, "but I imagine shehas very little personal vanity. Her mind is too preoccupied withsomething more important than the consideration of her own goodlooks. "

"And what is that?" inquired Lady Fulkeward, with some curiosity. 

"Ah! there is the difficulty! What is it that engrosses our fairfriend more than the looking-glass? I should like to know--but Icannot find out. It is an enigma as profound as that of thesphinx. Good-morning, Monsieur Gervase!"--and, turning round, headdressed the artist, who just then stepped out on the terracecarrying a paintbox and a large canvas strapped together inportable form. "Are you going to sketch some picturesque corner ofthe city?"

"No, " replied Gervase, listlessly raising his white sun-hat to theladies present with a courteous, yet somewhat indifferent grace. "I'm going to the Princess Ziska's. I shall probably get the wholeoutline of her features this morning. "

"A full-length portrait?" inquired the Doctor. 

"I fancy not. Not the first attempt, at any rate--head andshoulders only. "

"Do you know where her house is?" asked Lord Fulkeward. "If youdon't, I'll walk with you and show you the way. "

"Thanks--you are very good. I shall be obliged to you. "

And raising his hat again he sauntered slowly off, young Fulkewardwalking with him and chatting to him with more animation than thatexhausted and somewhat vacant-minded aristocrat usually showed toanyone. 

"It is exceedingly warm, " said Lady Lyle, rising then and puttingaway her cross-stitch apparatus, "I thought of driving to thePyramids this afternoon, but really ... "

"There is shade all the way, " suggested the Doctor, "I said asmuch to a young woman this morning who has been in the hotel fornearly two months, and hasn't seen the Pyramids yet. "

"What has she been doing with herself?" asked Lady Fulkeward, smiling. 

"Dancing with officers, " said Dr. Dean. "How can Cheops comparewith a moustached noodle in military uniform! Good-bye for thepresent; I'm going to hunt for scarabei. "

"I thought you had such a collection of them already, " said LadyLyle. 

"So I have. But the Princess had a remarkable one on last night, and I want to find another like it. It's blue--very blue--almostlike a rare turquoise, and it appears it is the sign-manual of thewarrior Araxes, who was a kind of king in his way, or desertchief, which was about the same thing in those days. He fought forAmenhotep, and seemed from all accounts to be a greater man thanAmenhotep himself. The Princess Ziska is a wonderful Egyptologist;I had a most interesting conversation with her last night in thesupper-room. "

"Then she is really a woman of culture and intelligence?" queriedLady Lyle. 

The Doctor smiled. 

"I should say she would be a great deal too much for theUniversity of Oxford, as far as Oriental learning goes, " he said. "She can read the Egyptian papyri, she tells me, and she candecipher anything on any of the monuments. I only wish I couldpersuade her to accompany me to Thebes and Karnak. "

Lady Fulkeward unfurled her fan and swayed it to and fro with anelegant languor. 

"How delightful that would be!" she sighed. "So romantic andsolemn--all those dear old cities with those marvellous figures ofthe Egyptians carved and painted on the stones! And Rameses--dearRameses! He really has good legs everywhere! Haven't you noticedthat? So many of these ancient sculptures represent the Egyptianswith such angular bodies and such frightfully thin legs, butRameses always has good legs wherever you find him. It's sorefreshing! DO make up a party, Dr. Dean!--we'll all go with you;and I'm sure the Princess Ziska will be the most charmingcompanion possible. Let us have a dahabeah! I'm good for half theexpenses, if you will only arrange everything. "

The Doctor stroked his chin and looked dubious, but he wasevidently attracted by the idea. 

"I'll see about it, " he said at last. "Meanwhile I'll go and havea hunt for some traces of Amenhotep and Araxes. "

He strolled down the terrace, and Lady Chetwynd Lyle, turning herback on "old" Lady Fulkeward, went after her "girls, " while thefascinating Fulkeward herself continued to recline comfortably inher chair, and presently smiled a welcome on a youngish-lookingman with a fair moustache who came forward and sat down besideher, talking to her in low, tender and confidential tones. He wasthe very impecunious colonel of one of the regiments thenstationed in Cairo, and as he never wasted time on sentiment, hehad been lately thinking that a marriage with a widowed peeresswho had twenty thousand pounds a year in her own right might notbe a "half bad" arrangement for him. So he determined to do theagreeable, and as he was a perfect adept in the art of making lovewithout feeling it, he got on very well, and his prospectsbrightened steadily hour by hour. 

Meanwhile young Fulkeward was escorting Armand Gervase throughseveral narrow by-streets, talking to him as well as he knew howand trying in his feeble way to "draw him out, " in which task hemet with but indifferent success. 

"It must be awfully jolly and--er--all that sort of thing to be sofamous, " he observed, glancing up at the strong, dark, broodingface above him. "They had a picture of yours over in London once;I went to see it with my mother. It was called 'Le Poignard, ' doyou remember it?"

Gervase shrugged his shoulders carelessly. 

"Yes, I remember. A poor thing at its best. It was a woman with adagger in her hand. "

"Yes, awfully fine, don'cher know! She was a very dark woman--toodark for my taste, --and she'd got a poignard clasped in in herright hand. Of course, she was going to murder somebody with it;that was plain enough. You meant it so, didn't you?"

"I suppose I did. "

"She was in a sort of Eastern get-up, " pursued Fulkeward, "one ofyour former studies in Egypt, perhaps. "

Gervase started, and passed his hand across his forehead with abewildered air. 

"No, no! Not a former study, by any means. How could it be? Thisis my first visit to Egypt. I have never been here before. "

"Haven't you? Really! Well, you'll find it awfully interesting andall that sort of thing. I don't see half as much of it as I shouldlike. I'm a weak chap--got something wrong with my lungs, --awfulbother, but can't be helped. My mother won't let me do too much. Here we are; this is the Princess Ziska's. "

They were standing in a narrow street ending in a cul-de-sac, withtall houses on each side which cast long, black, melancholyshadows on the rough pavement below. A vague sense of gloom andoppression stole over Gervase as he surveyed the outside of theparticular dwelling Fulkeward pointed out to him--a square, palatial building, which had no doubt once been magnificent in itsexterior adornment, but which now, owing to long neglect, hadfallen into somewhat melancholy decay. The sombre portal, fantastically ornamented with designs copied from some of theEgyptian monuments, rather resembled the gateway of a tomb than anentrance to the private residence of a beautiful living woman, andFulkeward, noting his companion's silence, added:

"Not a very cheerful corner, is it? Some of these places areregular holes, don'cher know; but I daresay it's all rightinside. "

"You have never been inside?"

"Never. " And Fulkeward lowered his voice: "Look up there; there'sthe beast that keeps everybody out!"

Gervase followed his glance, and perceived behind the projectingcarved lattice-work of one of the windows a dark, wrinkled faceand two gleaming eyes which, even at that distance, had, orappeared to have, a somewhat sinister expression. 

"He's the nastiest type of Nubian I have ever seen, " pursuedFulkeward. "Looks just like a galvanized corpse. "

Gervase smiled, and perceiving a long bell-handle at the gateway, pulled it sharply. In another moment the Nubian appeared, hisaspect fully justifying Lord Fulkeward's description of him. Theparchment-like skin on his face was yellowish-black, and wrinkledin a thousand places; his lips were of a livid blue, and weredrawn up and down above and below the teeth in a kind of fixedgrin, while the dense brilliance of his eyes was so fierce andfiery as to suggest those of some savage beast athirst for prey. 

"Madame la Princesse Ziska" began Gervase, addressing hisunfascinating object with apparent indifference to hishideousness. 

The Nubian's grinning lips stretched themselves wider apart as, ina thick, snarling voice he demanded:

"Votre nom?"

"Armand Gervase. "

"Entrez!"

"Et moi?" queried Fulkeward, with a conciliatory smile. 

"Non! Pas vous. Monsieur Armand Gervase, seul!"

Fulkeward gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders; Gervase lookedround at him ere he crossed the threshold of the mysterioushabitation. 

"I'm sorry you have to walk back alone. "

"Don't mention it, " said Fulkeward affably. "You see, you havecome on business. You're going to paint the Princess's picture;and I daresay this blessed old rascal knows that I want nothingexcept to look at his mistress and wonder what she's made of. "

"What she's made of?" echoed Gervase in surprise. "Don't you thinkshe's made like other women?"

"No; can't say I do. She seems all fire and vapor and eyes in themiddle, don'cher know. Oh, I'm an ass--always was--but that's thefeeling she gives me. Ta-ta! Wish you a pleasant morning!"

He nodded and strolled away, and Gervase hesitated yet anothermoment, looking full at the Nubian, who returned him stare forstare. 

"Maintenant?" he began. 

"Oui, maintenant" echoed the Nubian. 

"La Princesse, ou est elle?"

"La!" and the Nubian pointed down a long, dark passage beyondwhich there seemed to be the glimmer of green palms and otherfoliage. "Elle vous attend, Monsieur Armand Gervase! Entrez!Suivez!"

Slowly Gervase passed in, and the great tomb-like door closed uponhim with a heavy clang. The whole long, bright day passed, and hedid not reappear; not a human foot crossed the lonely street andnothing was seen there all through the warm sunshiny hours savethe long, black shadows on the pavement, which grew longer anddarker as the evening fell. 

CHAPTER VII. 

Within the palace of the Princess Ziska a strange silence reigned. In whatever way the business of her household was carried on, itwas evidently with the most absolute noiselessness, for not asound disturbed the utter stillness environing her. She herself, clad in white garments that clung about her closely, displayingthe perfect outlines of her form, stood waiting for her guest in aroom that was fairly dazzling to the eye in its profusion ofexquisitely assorted and harmonized colors, as well as impressiveto the mind in its suggestions of the past rather than of thepresent. Quaint musical instruments of the fashion of thousands ofyears ago hung on the walls or lay on brackets and tables, but nobooks such as our modern time produces were to be seen; only tied-up bundles of papyri and curious little tablets of clay inscribedwith mysterious hieroglyphs. Flowers adorned every corner--many ofthem strange blossoms which a connoisseur would have declared tobe unknown in Egypt, --palms and ferns and foliage of everydescription were banked up against the walls in gracefulprofusion, and from the latticed windows the light filteredthrough colored squares, giving a kind of rainbow-effect to theroom, as though it were a scene in a dream rather than a reality. And even more dream-like than her surroundings was the woman whoawaited the approach of her visitor, her eyes turned towards thedoor--fiery eyes filled with such ardent watchfulness as seemed toburn the very air. The eyes of a hawk gleaming on its prey, --theeyes of a famished tiger in the dark, were less fraught withterrific meaning than the eyes of Ziska as she listenedattentively to the on-coming footsteps through the outsidecorridor which told her that Gervase was near. 

"At last!" she whispered, "at last!" The next moment the Nubianflung the door wide open and announced "Monsieur Armand Gervase!"

She advanced with all the wonderful grace which distinguished her, holding out both her slim, soft hands. Gervase caught them in hisown and kissed them fervently, whereupon the Nubian retired, closing the door after him. 

"You are very welcome, Monsieur Gervase, " said the Princess then, speaking with a measured slowness that was attractive as well assoothing to the ear. "You have left all the dear English peoplewell at the Gezireh Palace? Lady Fulkeward was not too tired afterher exertions at the ball? And you?"

But Gervase was gazing at her in a speechless confusion of mindtoo great for words. A sudden, inexplicable emotion tookpossession of him, --an emotion to which he could give no name, butwhich stupefied him and held him mute. Was it her beauty which sodazzled his senses? Was it some subtle perfume in the room thatawoke a dim haunting memory? Or what was it that seemed sostrangely familiar? He struggled with himself, and finally spokeout his thought:

"I have seen you before, Princess; I am quite sure I have! Ithought I had last night; but to-day I am positive about it. Strange, isn't it? I wonder where we really met?"

Her dark eyes rested on him fully. 

"I wonder!" she echoed, smiling. "The world is so small, and somany people nowadays make the 'grand tour, ' that it is not at allsurprising we should have passed each other en route through ourjourney of life. "

Gervase still hesitated, glancing about him with a singularlyembarrassed air, while she continued to watch him intently. Presently his sensations, whatever they were, passed off, andgradually recovering his equanimity, he became aware that he wasquite alone with one of the most fascinating women he had everseen. His eyes flashed, and he smiled. 

"I have come to paint your picture, " he said softly. "Shall Ibegin?"

She had seated herself on a silken divan, and her head restedagainst a pile of richly-embroidered cushions. Without waiting forher answer, he threw himself down beside her and caught her handin his. 

"Shall I paint your picture?" he whispered. "Or shall I make loveto you?"

She laughed, --the sweet, low laugh that somehow chilled his bloodwhile it charmed his hearing. 

"Whichever you please, " she answered. "Both performances would nodoubt be works of art!"

"What do you mean?"

"Can you not understand? If you paint my picture it will be a workof art. If you make love to me it will equally be a work of art:that is, a composed thing--an elaborate study. "

"Bah! Love is not a composed thing, " said Gervase, leaning closerto her. "It is wild, and full of libertinage as the sea. "

"And equally as fickle, " added the Princess composedly, taking afan of feathers near her and waving it to and fro. "Man's idea oflove is to take all he can get from a woman, and give her nothingin return but misery sometimes, and sometimes death. "

"You do not, --you cannot think that!" said Gervase, looking at herdazzling face with a passion of admiration he made no attempt toconceal. "Men on the whole are not as cruel or as treacherous aswomen. I would swear, looking at you, that, beautiful as you are, you are cruel, and that is perhaps why I love you! You are like asplendid tigress waiting to be tamed!"

"And you think you could tame me?" interposed Ziska, looking athim with an inscrutable disdain in her black eyes. 

"Yes, if you loved me!"

"Ah, possibly! But then it happens that I do not love you. I loveno one. I have had too much of love; it is a folly I have grownweary of!"

Gervase fixed his eyes on her with an audacious look which seemedto hint that he might possibly take advantage of being alone withher to enforce his ideas of love more eloquently than was inaccordance with the proprieties. She perceived his humor, smiled, and coldly gave him back glance for glance. Then, rising from thedivan, she drew herself up to her full height and surveyed himwith a kind of indulgent contempt. 

"You are an uprincipled man, Armand Gervase, " she said; "and doyou know I fear you always will be! A cleansing of your soulthrough centuries of fire will be necessary for you in the nextworld, --that next world which you do not believe in. But it isperhaps as well to warn you that I am not without protection inthis place ... See!" and as she spoke she clapped her hands. 

A clanging noise as of brazen bells answered her, --and Gervase, springing up from his seat, saw, to his utter amazement, theapparently solid walls of the room in which they were, dividerapidly and form themselves in several square openings whichshowed a much larger and vaster apartment beyond, resembling agreat hall. Here were assembled some twenty or thirty gorgeously-costumed Arab attendants, --men of a dark and sinister type, whoappeared to be fully armed, judging from the unpleasant-lookingdaggers and other weapons they carried at their belts. ThePrincess clapped her hands again, and the walls closed in the samerapid fashion as they had opened, while the beautiful mistress ofthis strange habitation laughed mirthfully at the completeconfusion of her visitor and would-be lover. 

"Paint me now!" she said, flinging herself in a picturesqueattitude on one of the sofas close by; "I am ready. "

"But _I_ am not ready!" retorted Gervase, angrily. "Do you take mefor a child, or a fool?"

"Both in one, " responded the Princess, tranquilly; "being a man!"

His breath came and went quickly. 

"Take care, beautiful Ziska!" he said. "Take care how you defyme!"

"And take care, Monsieur Gervase; take care how you defy ME!" sheresponded, with a strange, quick glance at him. "Do you notrealize what folly you are talking? You are making love to me inthe fashion of a brigand, rather than a nineteenth-centuryFrenchman of good standing, --and I--I have to defend myselfagainst you also brigand-wise, by showing you that I have armedservants within call! It is very strange, --it would frighten evenLady Fulkeward, and I think she is not easily frightened. Praycommence your work, and leave such an out-of-date matter as loveto dreamers and pretty sentimentalists, like Miss Helen Murray. "

He was silent, and busied himself in unstrapping his canvas andpaint-box with a great deal of almost vicious energy. In a fewmoments he had gained sufficient composure to look full at her, and taking his palette in hand, he began dabbing on the colors, talking between whiles. 

"Do you suppose, " he said, keeping his voice carefully subdued, "that you can intimidate me by showing me a score of wretchedblack rascals whom you have placed on guard to defend you outthere? And why did you place them on guard? You must have beenafraid of me! Pardieu! I could snatch you out of their midst, if Ichose! You do not know me; if you did, you would understand thatnot all the world, armed to the teeth should balk me of mydesires! But I have been too hasty--that I own, --I can wait. " Heraised his eyes and saw that she was listening with an air ofamused indifference. "I shall have to mix strange tints in yourportrait, ma belle! It is difficult to find the exact hue of yourskin--there is rose and brown in it; and there is yet anothercolor which I must evolve while working, --and it is not the hue ofhealth. It is something dark and suggestive of death; I hope youare not destined to an early grave! And yet, why not? It is betterthat a beautiful woman should die in her beauty than live tobecome old and tiresome ... "

"You think that?" interrupted the Ziska suddenly, smiling somewhatcoldly. 

"I do, most honestly. Had I lived in the early days ofcivilization, when men were allowed to have as many women as theycould provide for, I would have mercifully killed any sweetfavorite as soon as her beauty began to wane. A lovely woman, deadin her first exquisite youth, --how beautiful a subject for themind to dwell upon! How it suggests all manner of poetic fanciesand graceful threnodies! But a woman grown old, who has outlivedall passion and is a mere bundle of fat, or a mummy of skin andbone, --what poetry does her existence suggest? How can she appealto art or sentiment? She is a misery to herself and an eyesore toothers. Yes, Princess, believe me, --Love first, and Deathafterwards, are woman's best friends. "

"You believe in Death?" ask the Princess, looking steadily at him. 

"It is the only thing I do believe in, " he answered lightly. "Itis a fact that will bear examination, but not contradiction. May Iask you to turn your head slightly to the left--so! Yes, that willdo; if I can catch the look in your eyes that gleams there now, --the look of intense, burning, greedy cruelty which is somurderously fascinating, I shall be content. "

He seated himself opposite to her, and, putting down his palette, took up his canvas, and posing it on his knee, began drawing thefirst rough outline of his sketch in charcoal. She, meanwhile, leaning against heaped-up cushions of amber satin, remainedsilent. 

"You are not a vain woman, " he pursued, "or you would resent mydescription of your eyes. 'Greedy cruelty' is not a prettyexpression, nor would it be considered complimentary by themajority of the fair sex. Yet, from my point of view, it is thehighest flattery I can pay you, for I adore the eyes of savageanimals, and the beautiful eye of the forest-beast is in yourhead, --diableresse charmante comme vous etes! I wonder what givesyou such an insatiate love of vengeance?"

He looked up and saw her eyes glistening and narrowing at thecorners, like the eyes of an angry snake. 

"If I have such a feeling, " she replied slowly, "it is probably aquestion of heritage. "

"Ah! Your parents were perhaps barbaric in their notions of loveand hatred?" he queried, lazily working at his charcoal sketchwith growing admiration for its result. 

"My parents came of a race of kings!" she answered. "All myancestors were proud, and of a temper unknown to this petty day. They resented a wrong, they punished falsehood and treachery, andthey took a life for a life. YOUR generation tolerates every sinknown in the calendar with a smile and a shrug, --you have arrivedat the end of your civilization, even to the denial of Deity and afuture life. "

"That is not the end of our civilization, Princess, " said Gervase, working away intently, with eyes fixed on the canvas as he talked. "That is the triumphal apex, the glory, the culmination ofeverything that is great and supreme in manhood. In France, mannow knows himself to be the only God; England--good, slow-pacingEngland--is approaching France in intelligence by degrees, and Irejoice to see that it is possible for a newspaper like theAgnostic to exist in London. Only the other day that excellentjournal was discussing the possibility of teaching monkeys toread, and a witty writer, who adopts the nom de plume of'Saladin, ' very cleverly remarked 'that supposing monkeys wereable to read the New Testament, they would still remain monkeys;in fact, they would probably be greater monkeys than ever. ' Thefact of such an expression being allowed to pass muster in oncepious London is an excellent sign of the times and of our progresstowards the pure Age of Reason. The name of Christ is no longerone to conjure with. "

A dead silence followed his words, and the peculiar stillness andheaviness of the atmosphere struck him with a vague alarm. Helifted his eyes, --the Princess Ziska met his gaze steadily, butthere was something in her aspect that moved him to wonderment anda curious touch of terror. The delicate rose-tint of her cheekshad faded to an ashy paleness, her lips were pressed togethertightly and her eyes seemed to have gained a vivid and angrylustre which Medusa herself might have envied. 

"Did you ever try to conjure with that name?" she asked. 

"Never, " he replied, forcing a smile and remonstrating withhimself for the inexplicable nature of his emotions. 

She went on slowly:

"In my creed--for I have a creed--it is believed that those whohave never taken the sacred name of Christ to their hearts, as atalisman of comfort and support, are left as it were in the vortexof uncertainties, tossed to and fro among many whirling and mightyforces, and haunted forever by the phantoms of their own evildeeds. Till they learn and accept the truth of their marvellousRedemption, they are the prey of wicked spirits who tempt and leadthem on to divers miseries. But when the great Name of Him whodied upon the Cross is acknowledged, then it is found to be ofthat transfiguring nature which turns evil to good, and sometimesmakes angels out of fiends. Nevertheless, for the hardenedreprobate and unbeliever the old laws suffice. "

Gervase had stopped the quick movement of his "fusin, " and lookedat her curiously. 

"What old laws?" he asked. 

"Stern justice without mercy!" she answered; then in lighteraccents she added: "Have you finished your first outline?"

In reply, he turned his canvas round to her, showing her a headand profile boldly presented in black and white. She smiled. 

"It is clever; but it is not like me, " she said. "When you beginthe coloring you will find that your picture and I have noresemblance to each other. "

He flushed with a sense of wounded amour propre. 

"Pardon, madame!--I am no novice at the art of painting, " he said;"and much as your charms dazzle and ensnare me, they do notdisqualify my brain and hand from perfectly delineating them uponmy canvas. I love you to distraction; but my passion shall nothinder me from making your picture a masterpiece. "

She laughed. 

"What an egoist you are, Monsieur Gervase!" she said. "Even inyour professed passion for me you count yourself first, --meafterwards!"

"Naturally!" he replied. "A man must always be first by naturalcreation. When he allows himself to play second fiddle, he is afool!"

"And when he is a fool--and he often is--he is the first offools!" said the Princess. "No ape--no baboon hanging by its tailto a tree--looks such a fool as a man-fool. For a man-fool has hadall the opportunities of education and learning bestowed upon him;this great universe, with its daily lessons of the natural and thesupernatural, is his book laid open for his reading, and when hewill neither read it nor consider it, and, moreover, when heutterly denies the very Maker of it, then there is no fool in allcreation like him. For the ape-fool does at least admit that theremay be a stronger beast somewhere, --a creature who may suddenlycome upon him and end his joys of hanging by his tail to a treeand make havoc of his fruit-eating and chattering, while manthinks there is nothing anywhere superior to himself. "

Gervase smiled tolerantly. 

"I am afraid I have ruffled you, Princess, " he said. "I see youhave religious ideas: I have none. "

Once again she laughed musically. 

"Religious ideas! I! Not at all. I have a creed as I told you, butit is an ugly one--not at all sentimental or agreeable. It is oneI have adopted from ancient Egypt. "

"Explain it to me, " said Gervase; "I will adopt it also, for yoursake. "

"It is too supernatural for you, " she said, paying no heed to theamorous tone of his voice or the expressive tenderness of hiseyes. 

"Never mind! Love will make me accept an army of ghosts, ifnecessary. "

"One of the chief tenets of my faith, " she continued, "is theeternal immortality of each individual Soul. Will you acceptthat?"

"For the moment, certainly!"

Her eyes glowed like great jewels as she proceeded:

"The Egyptian cult I follow is very briefly explained. The Soulbegins in protoplasm without conscious individuality. Itprogresses through various forms till individual consciousness isattained. Once attained, it is never lost, but it lives on, pressing towards perfection, taking upon itself various phases ofexistence according to the passions which have most completelydominated it from the first. That is all. But according to thistheory, you might have lived in the world long ago, and so mightI: we might even have met; and for some reason or other we mayhave become re-incarnated now. A disciple of my creed would giveyou that as the reason why you sometimes imagine you have seen mebefore. "

As she spoke, the dazed and troubled sensation he had oncepreviously experienced came upon him; he laid down the canvas heheld and passed his hand across his forehead bewilderedly. 

"Yes; very curious and fantastic. I've heard a great deal aboutthe doctrine of reincarnation. I don't believe in it, --I can'tbelieve in it! But if I could: if I could imagine I had ever metyou in some bygone time, and you were like what you are at thismoment, I should have loved you, --I MUST have loved you! You see Icannot leave the subject of love alone; and your re-incarnationidea gives my fancy something to work upon. So, beautiful Ziska, if your soul ever took the form of a flower, I must have been itscompanion blossom; if it ever paced the forest as a beast of prey, I must have been its mate; if it ever was human before, then Imust have been its lover! Do you like such pretty follies? I willtalk them by the hour. "

Here he rose, and with a movement that was half fierce and halftender, he knelt beside her, taking her hands in his own. 

"I love you, Ziska! I cannot help myself. I am drawn to you bysome force stronger than my own will; but you need not be afraidof me--not yet! As I said, I can wait. I can endure the mingledtorture and rapture of this sudden passion and make no sign, tillmy patience tires, and then--then I will win you if I die for it!"

He sprang up before she could speak a word in answer, and seizinghis canvas again, exclaimed gayly:

"Now for the hues of morning and evening combined, to paint theradiance of this wicked soul of love that so enthralls me! First, the raven-black of midnight for the hair, --the lustre of thecoldest, brightest stars for eyes, --the blush-rose of early dawnfor lips and cheeks. Ah! How shall I make a real beginning of thismarvel?"

"It will be difficult, I fear, " said Ziska slowly, with a faint, cold smile; "and still more difficult, perchance, will be theend!"

CHAPTER VIII. 

The table d'hote at the Gezireh Palace Hotel had already begunwhen Gervase entered the dining-room and sat down near LadyFulkeward and Dr. Dean. 

"You have missed the soup, " said her ladyship, looking up at himwith a sweet smile. "All you artists are alike, --you have no ideawhatever of time. And how have you succeeded with that charmingmysterious person, the Princess Ziska?"

Gervase kept his gaze steadily fixed on the table-cloth. He wasextremely pale, and had the air of one who has gone through somegreat mental exhaustion. 

"I have not succeeded as well as I expected, " he answered slowly. "I think my hand must have lost its cunning. At any rate, whateverthe reason may be, Art has been defeated by Nature. "

He crumbled up the piece of bread near his plate in small portionswith a kind of involuntary violence in the action, and Dr. Dean, deliberately drawing out a pair of spectacles from their case, adjusted them, and surveyed him curiously. 

"You mean to say that you cannot paint the Princess's picture?"

Gervase glanced up at him with a half-sullen, half-defiantexpression. 

"I don't say that, " he replied; "I can paint something--somethingwhich you can call a picture if you like, --but there is noresemblance to the Princess Ziska in it. She is beautiful, and Ican get nothing of her beauty, --I can only get the reflection of aface which is not hers. "

"How very curious!" exclaimed Lady Fulkeward. "Quitepsychological, is it not, Doctor? It is almost creepy!" and shemanaged to produce a delicate shudder of her white shoulderswithout cracking the blanc de perle enamel. "It will be somethingfresh for you to study. "

"Possibly it will--possibly, " said the Doctor, still surveyingGervase blandly through his round glasses; "but it isn't the firsttime I have heard of painters who unconsciously produce otherfaces than those of their sitters. I distinctly remember a case inpoint. A gentleman, famous for his charities and generalbenevolence, had his portrait painted by a great artist forpresentation to the town-hall of his native place, and the artistwas quite unable to avoid making him unto the likeness of avillain. It was quite a distressing affair; the painter wasprobably more distressed than anybody about it, and he tried byevery possible means in his power to impart a truthful and nobleaspect to the countenance of the man who was known and admitted tobe a benefactor to his race. But it was all in vain: the portraitwhen finished was the portrait of a stranger and a scoundrel. Thepeople for whom it was intended declared they would not have sucha libel on their generous friend hung up in their town-hall. Thepainter was in despair, and there was going to be a generalhubbub, when, lo and behold the 'noble' personage himself wassuddenly arrested for a brutal murder committed twelve years back. He was found guilty and hanged, and the painter kept the portraitthat had so remarkably betrayed the murderer's real nature, as acuriosity ever afterwards. "

"Is that a fact?" inquired a man who was seated at the other sideof the table, and who had listened with great interest to thestory. 

"A positive fact, " said the Doctor. "One of those many singularcircumstances which occur in life, and which are beyond allexplanation. "

Gervase moved restlessly; then filling for himself a glass ofclaret, drained it off thirstily. 

"Something of the same kind has happened to me, " he said with ahard, mirthless laugh, "for out of the most perfect beauty I haveonly succeeded in presenting an atrocity. "

"Dear me!" exclaimed Lady Fulkeward. "What a disappointing day youmust have had! But of course, you will try again; the Princesswill surely give you another sitting?"

"Oh, yes! I shall certainly try again and yet again, and ever somany times again, " said Gervase, with a kind of angry obstinacy inhis tone, "the more so as she has told me I will never succeed inpainting her. "

"She told you that, did she?" put in Dr. Dean, with an air oflively interest. 

"Yes. "

Just then the handing round of fresh dishes and the clatter ofknives and forks effectually put a stop to the conversation forthe time, and Gervase presently glancing about him saw that DenzilMurray and his sister were dining apart at a smaller table withyoung Lord Fulkeward and Ross Courtney. Helen was looking herfairest and best that evening--her sweet face, framed in its angelaureole of bright hair had a singular look of pureness and truthexpressed upon it rare to find in any woman beyond her earlyteens. Unconsciously to himself, Gervase sighed as he caught aview of her delicate profile, and Lady Fulkeward's sharp earsheard the sound of that sigh. 

"Isn't that a charming little party over there?" she asked. "Youngpeople, you know! They always like to be together! That very sweetgirl, Miss Murray, was so much distressed about her brother to-day, --something was the matter with him--a touch of fever, Ibelieve, --that she begged me to let Fulke dine with them in orderto distract Mr. Denzil's mind. Fulke is a dear boy, you know--veryconsoling in his ways, though he says so little. Then Mr. Courtneyvolunteered to join them, and there they are. The Chetwynd Lylesare gone to a big dinner at the Continental this evening. "

"The Chetwynd Lyles--let me see. Who are they?" mused Gervasealoud, "Do I know them?"

"No, --that is, you have not been formally introduced, " said Dr. Dean. " Sir Chetwynd Lyle is the editor and proprietor of theLondon Daily Dial, Lady Chetwynd Lyle is his wife, and the twoelderly-youthful ladies who appeared as 'Boulogne fishwives' lastnight at the ball are his daughters. "

"Cruel man!" exclaimed Lady Fulkeward with a girlish giggle. "Theidea of calling those sweet girls, Muriel and Dolly, 'elderly-youthful!'"

"What are they, my dear madam, what are they?" demanded theimperturbable little savant. "'Elderly-youthful' is a veryconvenient expression, and applies perfectly to people who refuseto be old and cannot possibly be young. "

"Nonsense! I will not listen to you!" and her ladyship opened herjewelled fan and spread it before her eyes to completely screenthe objectionable Doctor from view. "Don't you know your theoriesare quite out of date? Nobody is old, --we all utterly refuse to beold! Why, " and she shut her fan with a sudden jerk, "I shall haveyou calling ME old next. "

"Never, madam!" said Dr. Dean gallantly laying his hand upon hisheart. "You are quite an exception to the rule. You have passedthrough the furnace of marriage and come out unscathed. Time hasdone its worst with you, and now retreats, baffled and powerless;it can touch you no more!"

Whether this was meant as a compliment or the reverse it wouldhave been difficult to say, but Lady Fulkeward graciously acceptedit as the choicest flattery, and bowed, smiling and gratified. Dinner was now drawing to its end, and people were giving theirorders for coffee to be served to them on the terrace and in thegardens, Gervase among the rest. The Doctor turned to him. 

"I should like to see your picture of the Princess, " he said, --"that is if you have no objection. "

"Not the least in the world, " replied Gervase, --"only it isn't thePrincess, it is somebody else. "

A faint shudder passed over him. The Doctor noticed it. 

"Talking of curious things, " went on that irrepressible savant, "Istarted hunting for a particular scarabeus to-day. I couldn't findit, of course, --it generally takes years to find even a triflethat one especially wants. But I came across a queer old man inone of the curiosity-shops who told me that over at Karnak theyhad just discovered a large fresco in one of the tombs describingthe exploits of the very man whose track I'm on--Araxes ... "

Gervase started, --he knew not why. 

"What has Araxes to do with you?" he demanded. 

"Oh, nothing! But the Princess Ziska spoke of him as a greatwarrior in the days of Amenhotep, --and she seems to be a greatEgyptologist, and to know many things of which we are ignorant. Then you know last night she adopted the costume of a dancer ofthat period, named Ziska-Charmazel. Well, now it appears that inone part of this fresco the scene depicted is this very Ziska-Charmazel dancing before Araxes. "

Gervase listened with strained attention, --his heart beat thickly, as though the Doctor were telling him of some horriblecircumstance in which he had an active part; whereas he had trulyno interest at all in the matter, except in so far as events ofhistory are more or less interesting to everyone. 

"Well?" he said after a pause. 

"Well, " echoed Dr. Dean. "There is really nothing more to saybeyond that I want to find out everything I can concerning thisAraxes, if only for the reason that the charming Princess chose toimpersonate his lady-love last night. One must amuse one's self inone's own fashion, even in Egypt, and this amuses ME. "

Gervase rose, feeling in his pocket for his cigarette-case. 

"Come, " he said briefly, "I will show you my picture. "

He straightened his tall, fine figure and walked slowly across theroom to the table where Denzil Murray sat with his sister andfriends. 

"Denzil, " he said, --"I have made a strange portrait of thePrincess Ziska, and I'm going to show it to Dr. Dean. I shouldlike you to see it too. Will you come?"

Denzil looked at him with a dark reproach in his eyes. 

"If you like, " he answered shortly. 

"I do like!" and Gervase laid his hand on the young fellow'sshoulder with a kind pressure. "You will find it a piece ofcurious disenchantment, as well as a proof of my want of skill. You are all welcome to come and look at it except ... " here hehesitated, --"except Miss Murray. I think--yes, I think it mightpossibly frighten Miss Murray. "

Helen raised her eyes to his, but said nothing. 

"Oh, by Jove!" murmured Lord Fulkeward, feeling his moustache asusual. "Then don't you come, Miss Murray. We'll tell you all aboutit afterwards. "

"I have no curiosity on the subject, " she said a trifle coldly. "Denzil, you will find me in the drawing-room. I have a letter towrite home. "

With a slight salute she left them, Gervase watching thedisappearance of her graceful figure with a tinge of melancholyregret in his eyes. 

"It is evident Mademoiselle Helen does not like the PrincessZiska, " he observed. 

"Oh, well, as to that, " said Fulkeward hastily, "you know youcan't expect women to lose their heads about her as men do. Beside, there's something rather strange in the Princess's mannerand appearance, and perhaps Miss Murray doesn't take to her anymore than I do. "

"Oh, then you are not one of her lovers?" queried Dr. Deansmiling. 

"No; are you?"

"I? Good heavens, my dear young sir, I was never in love with awoman in my life! That is, not what YOU would call in love. At theage of sixteen I wrote verses to a mature young damsel of forty, --a woman with a remarkably fine figure and plenty of it; sherejected my advances with scorn, and I have never loved since!"

They all laughed, --even Denzil Murray's sullen features clearedfor the moment into the brightness of a smile. 

"Where did you paint the Princess's picture?" inquired RossCourtney suddenly. 

"In her own house, " replied Gervase. "But we were not alone, forthe fascinating fair one had some twenty or more armed servantswithin call. " There was a movement of surprise among hislisteners, and he went on: "Yes; Madame is very well protected, Iassure you, --as much so as if she were the first favorite in aharem. Come now, and see my sketch. "

He led the way to a private sitting-room which he had secured forhimself in the hotel at almost fabulous terms. It was a smallapartment, but it had the advantage of a long French window whichopened out into the garden. Here, on an easel, was a canvas withits back turned towards the spectator. 

"Sit down, " said Gervase abruptly addressing his guests, "and beprepared for a curiosity unlike anything you have ever seenbefore!" He paused a moment, looking steadily at Dr. Dean. "Perhaps, Doctor, as you are interested in psychic phenomena, youmay be able to explain how I got such a face on my canvas, for Icannot explain it to myself. "

He slowly turned the canvas round, and, scarcely heeding theexclamation of amazement that broke simultaneously from all themen present, stared at it himself, fascinated by a singularmagnetism more potent than either horror or fear. 

CHAPTER IX. 

What a strange and awful face it was!--what a thing of distortedpassion and pain! What an agony was expressed in every line of thefeatures!--agony in which the traces of a divine beauty lingeredonly to render the whole countenance more repellent and terrific!A kind of sentient solemnity, mingled with wrath and terror, glared from the painted eyes, --the lips, slightly parted in acruel upward curve, seemed about to utter a shriek of menace, --thehair, drooping in black, thick clusters low on the brow, lookedwet as with the dews of the rigor mortis, --and to add to themysterious horror of the whole conception, the distinct outline ofa death's-head was seen plainly through the rose-brown flesh-tints. There was no real resemblance in this horrible picture tothe radiant and glowing loveliness of the Princess Ziska, yet, atthe same time, there was sufficient dim likeness to make animaginative person think it might be possible for her to assumethat appearance in death. Several minutes passed in uttersilence, --then Lord Fulkeward suddenly rose. 

"I'm going!" he said. "It's a beastly thing; it makes me sick!"

"Grand merci!" said Gervase with a forced smile. 

"I really can't help it, " declared the young man, turning his backto the picture. "If I am rude, you must excuse it. I'm not verystrong--my mother will tell you I get put out very easily, --and Ishall dream of this horrid face all night if I don't give it awide berth. "

And, without any further remark he stepped out through the openwindow into the garden, and walked off. Gervase made no comment onhis departure; he turned his eyes towards Dr. Dean who, withspectacles on nose, was staring hard at the picture with everysign of the deepest interest. 

"Well, Doctor, " he said, "you see it is not at all like thePrincess. "

"Oh, yes it is!" returned the Doctor placidly. "If you couldimagine the Princess's face in torture, it would be like her. Itis the kind of expression she might wear if she suddenly met witha violent end. "

"But why should I paint her so?" demanded Gervase. "She wasperfectly tranquil; and her attitude was most picturesquelycomposed. I sketched her as I thought I saw her, --how did thistortured head come on my canvas?"

The Doctor scratched his chin thoughtfully. It was certainly aproblem. He stared hard at Gervase, as though searching for theclue to the mystery in the handsome artist's own face. Then heturned to Denzil Murray, who had not stirred or spoken. 

"What do you think of it, eh, Denzil?" he asked. 

The young man started as from a dream. 

"I don't know what to think of it. "

"And you?" said the Doctor, addressing Ross Courtney. 

"I? Oh, I am of the same opinion as Fulkeward, --I think it is ahorrible thing. And the curious part of the matter is that it islike the Princess Ziska, and yet totally unlike. Upon my word, youknow, it is a very unpleasant picture. "

Dr. Dean got up and paced the room two or three times, his browsknitted in a heavy frown. Suddenly he stopped in front of Gervase. 

"Tell me, " he said, "have you any recollection of ever having metthe Princess Ziska before?"

Gervase looked puzzled, then answered slowly:

"No, I have no actual recollection of the kind. At the same time, I admit to you that there is something about her which has alwaysstruck me as being familiar. The tone of her voice and thepeculiar cadence of her laughter particularly affect me in thisway. Last night when I was dancing with her, I wondered whether Ihad ever come across her as a model in one of the studios in Parisor Rome. "

The Doctor listened to him attentively, watching him narrowly thewhile. But he shook his head incredulously at the idea of thePrincess ever having posed as a model. 

"No, no, that won't do!" he said. "I do not believe she was everin the model business. Think again. You are now a man in the primeof life, Monsieur Gervase, but look back to your early youth, --theperiod when young men do wild, reckless, and often wicked things, --did you ever in that thoughtless time break a woman's heart?"

Gervase flushed, and shrugged his shoulders. 

"Pardieu! I may have done! Who can tell? But if I did, what wouldthat have to do with this?" and he tapped the picture impatiently. 

The Doctor sat down and smacked his lips with a peculiar air ofenjoyment. 

"It would have a great deal to do with it, " he answered, "that is, psychologically speaking. I have known of such cases. We willargue the point out systematically thus:--Suppose that you, inyour boyhood, had wronged some woman, and suppose that woman haddied. You might imagine you had got rid of that woman. But if herlove was very strong and her sense of outrage very bitter, I musttell you that you have not got rid of her by any means, moreover, you never will get rid of her. And why? Because her Soul, like allSouls, is imperishable. Now, putting it as a mere supposition, andfor the sake of the argument, that you feel a certain admirationfor the Princess Ziska, an admiration which might possibly deepeninto something more than platonic, ... "--here Denzil Murraylooked up, his eyes glowing with an angry pain as he fixed them onGervase, --"why then the Soul of the other woman you once wrongedmight come between you and the face of the new attraction andcause you to unconsciously paint the tortured look of the injuredand unforgiving Spirit on the countenance of the lovely fascinatorwhose charms are just beginning to ensnare you. I repeat, I haveknown of such cases. " And, unheeding the amazed and incredulouslooks of his listeners, the little Doctor folded both his shortarms across his chest, and hugged himself in the exquisite delightof his own strange theories. " The fact is, "he continued, " youcannot get rid of ghosts! They are all about us--everywhere!Sometimes they take forms, sometimes they are content to remaininvisible. But they never fail to make their presence felt. Oftenduring the performance of some great piece of music they driftbetween the air and the melody, making the sounds wilder and morehaunting, and freezing the blood of the listener with a vagueagony and chill. Sometimes they come between us and our friends, mysteriously forbidding any further exchange of civilities orsympathies, and occasionally they meet us alone and walk and talkwith us invisibly. Generally they mean well, but sometimes theymean ill. And the only explanation I can offer you, MonsieurGervase, as to the present picture problem is that a ghost musthave come between you and your canvas!"

Gervase laughed loudly. 

"My good friend, you are an adept in the art of pleading theimpossible! You must excuse me; I am a sceptic; and I hope I amalso in possession of my sober reason, --therefore, you can hardlywonder at my entirely refusing to accept such preposteroustheories as those you appear to believe in. "

Dr. Dean gave him a civil little bow. 

"I do not ask you to accept them, my dear sir! I state my facts, and you can take them or leave them, just as you please. Youyourself can offer no explanation of the singular way in whichthis picture has been produced; I offer one which is perfectlytenable with the discoveries of psychic science, --and you dismissit as preposterous. That being the case, I should recommend you tocut up this canvas and try your hand again on the same subject. "

"Of course, I shall try again, " retorted Gervase. "But I do notthink I shall destroy this first sketch. It is a curiosity in itsway; and it has a peculiar fascination for me. Do you notice howthoroughly Egyptian the features are? They are the very contour ofsome of the faces on the recently-discovered frescoes. "

"Oh, I noticed that at once, " said the Doctor; "but that is notremarkable, seeing that you yourself are quite of an Egyptiantype, though a Frenchman, --so much so, in fact, that many peoplein this hotel have commented on it. "

Gervase said nothing, but slowly turned the canvas round with itsface to the wall. 

"You have seen enough of it, I suppose?" he inquired of DenzilMurray. 

"More than enough!"

Gervase smiled. 

"It ought to disenchant you, " he said in a lower tone. 

"But it is a libel on her beauty, --it is not in the least likeher, " returned Murray coldly. 

"Not in the very least? Are you sure? My dear Denzil, you know aswell as I do that there IS a likeness, combined with a dreadfulunlikeness; and it is that which troubles both of us. I assureyou, my good boy, I am as sorry for you as I am for myself, --for Ifeel that this woman will be the death of one or both of us!"

Denzil made no reply, and presently they all strolled out in thegarden and lit their cigars and cigarettes, with the exception ofDr. Dean who never smoked and never drank anything stronger thanwater. 

"I am going to get up a party for the Nile, " he said as he turnedhis sharp, ferret-like eyes upwards to the clear heavens; "and Ishall take the Princess into my confidence. In fact, I havewritten to her about it to-day. I hear she has a magnificentelectric dahabeah, and if she will let us charter it. ... "

"She won't, " said Denzil hastily, "unless she goes with itherself. "

"You seem to know a great deal about her, " observed Dr. Deanindulgently, "and why should she not go herself? She is evidentlywell instructed in the ancient history of Egypt, and, as she readsthe hieroglyphs, she will be a delightful guide and a mostvaluable assistant to me in my researches. "

"What researches are you engaged upon now?" inquired Courtney. 

"I am hunting down a man called Araxes, " answered the Doctor. "Helived, so far as I can make out, some four or five thousand yearsago, more or less; and I want to find out what he did and how hedied, and when I know how he died, then I mean to discover wherehe is buried. If possible, I shall excavate him. I also want tofind the remains of Ziska-Charmazel, the lady impersonated by ourcharming friend the Princess last night, --the dancer, who, itappears from a recently-discovered fresco, occupied most of hertime in dancing before this same Araxes and making herselfgenerally agreeable to him. "

"What an odd fancy!" exclaimed Denzil. "How can a man and womandead five thousand years ago be of any interest to you?"

"What interest has Rameses?" demanded the Doctor politely, "or anyof the Ptolemies? Araxes, like Rameses, may lead to freshdiscoveries in Egypt, for all we know. One name is as good asanother, --and each odoriferous mummy has its own mystery. "

They all came just then to a pause in their walk, Gervase stoppingto light a fresh cigarette. The rays of the rising moon fell uponhim as he stood, a tall and stately figure, against a backgroundof palms, and shone on his dark features with a touch of grayish-green luminance that gave him for the moment an almost spectralappearance. Dr. Dean glanced at him with a smile. 

"What a figure of an Egyptian, is he not!" he said to Courtney andDenzil Murray. "Look at him! What height and symmetry! What aworld of ferocity in those black, slumbrous eyes! Yes, MonsieurGervase, I am talking about you. I am admiring you!"

"Trop d'honneur!" murmured Gervase, carefully shielding with onehand the match with which he was kindling his cigarette. 

"Yes, " continued the Doctor, "I am admiring you. Being a littleman myself, I naturally like tall men, and as an investigator ofpsychic forms I am immensely interested when I see a finely-madebody in which the soul lies torpid. That is why you unconsciouslycompose for me a wonderful subject of study. I wonder now, howlong this torpidity in the psychic germ has lasted in you? Itcommenced, of course, originally in protoplasm; but it must havecontinued through various low forms and met with enormousdifficulties in attaining to individual consciousness as man, --because even now it is scarcely conscious. "

Gervase laughed. 

"Why, that beginning of the soul in protoplasm is part of a creedwhich the Princess Ziska was trying to teach me to-day, " he saidlightly. "It's all no use. I don't believe in the soul; if I did, I should be a miserable man. "

"Why?" asked Murray. 

"Why? Because, my dear fellow, I should be rather afraid of myfuture. I should not like to live again; I might have to remembercertain incidents which I would rather forget. There is yourcharming sister, Mademoiselle Helen! I must go and talk to her, --her conversation always does me good; and after that picture whichI have been unfortunate enough to produce, her presence will be assoothing as the freshness of morning after an unpleasantnightmare. "

He moved away; Denzil Murray with Courtney followed him. Dr. Deanremained behind, and presently sitting down in a retired corner ofthe garden alone, he took out a small pocket-book and stylographicpen and occupied himself for more than half an hour in busilywriting till he had covered two or three pages with his small, neat caligraphy. 

"It is the most interesting problem I ever had the chance ofstudying!" he murmured half aloud when he had finished, "Ofcourse, if my researches into the psychic spheres of action areworth anything, it can only be one case out of thousands. Thousands? Aye, perhaps millions! Great heavens! Among whatterrific unseen forces we live! And in exact proportion to everyman's arrogant denial of the 'Divinity that shapes our ends, sowill be measured out to him the revelation of the invisible. Strange that the human race has never entirely realized as yet thedepth of meaning in the words describing hell: 'Where the wormdieth not, and where the flame is never quenched. The 'worm' isRetribution, the 'flame' is the immortal Spirit, --and the two areforever striving to escape from the other. Horrible! And yet thereare men who believe in neither one thing nor the other, and rejectthe Redemption that does away with both! God forgive us all oursins, --and especially the sins of pride and presumption!"

And with a shade of profound melancholy on his features, thelittle Doctor put by his note-book, and, avoiding all the hotelloungers on the terrace and elsewhere, retired to his own room andwent to bed. 

CHAPTER X. 

The next day when Armand Gervase went to call on the PrincessZiska he was refused admittance. The Nubian attendant who keptwatch and ward at her gates, hearing the door-bell ring, contentedhimself with thrusting his ugly head through an open upper windowand shouting--

"Madame est sortie!"

"Ou donc?" called Gervase in answer. 

"A la campagne--le desert--les pyramides!" returned the Nubian, atthe same time banging the lattice to in order to prevent thepossibility of any further conversation. And Gervase, standing inthe street irresolutely for a moment, fancied he heard a peal ofmalicious laughter in the distance. 

"Beast!" he muttered, "I must try him with a money bribe next timeI get hold of him. I wonder what I shall do with myself now?--haunted and brain-ridden as I am by this woman and her picture?"

The hot sun glared in his eyes and made them ache, --the roughstones of the narrow street were scorching to his feet. He beganto move slowly away with a curious faint sensation of giddinessand sickness upon him, when the sound of music floating from thedirection of the Princess Ziska's palace brought him to a suddenstandstill. It was a strange, wild melody, played on someinstrument with seemingly muffled strings. A voice with a deep, throbbing thrill of sweetness in it began to sing:

 Oh, for the passionless peace of the Lotus-Lily! It floats in a waking dream on the waters chilly, With its leaves unfurled To the wondering world, Knowing naught of the sorrow and restless pain That burns and tortures the human brain; Oh, for the passionless peace of the Lotus-Lily!

 Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily! Bared to the moon on the waters dark and chilly. A star above Is its only love, And one brief sigh of its scented breath Is all it will ever know of Death; Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily!

When the song ceased, Gervase raised his eyes from the ground onwhich he had fixed them in a kind of brooding stupor, and staredat the burning blue of the sky as vaguely and wildly as a sick manin the delirium of fever. 

"God! What ails me!" he muttered, supporting himself with one handagainst the black and crumbling wall near which he stood. "Whyshould that melody steal away my strength and make me think ofthings with which I have surely no connection! What tricks myimagination plays me in this city of the Orient--I might as wellbe hypnotized! What have I to do with dreams of war and triumphand rapine and murder, and what is the name of Ziska-Charmazel tome?"

He shook himself with the action of a fine brute that has beenstung by some teasing insect, and, mastering his emotions by aneffort, walked away. But he was so absorbed in strange thoughts, that he stumbled up against Denzil Murray in a side street on theway to the Gezireh Palace Hotel without seeing him, and would havepassed him altogether had not Denzil somewhat fiercely said:

"Stop!"

Gervase looked at him bewilderedly. 

"Why, Denzil, is it you? My dear fellow, forgive me my brusquerie!I believe I have got a stroke of the sun, or something of thesort; I assure you I hardly know what I am doing or where I amgoing!"

"I believe it!" said Denzil, hoarsely. "You are as mad as I am--for love!"

Gervase smiled; a slight incredulous smile. 

"You think so? I am not sure! If love makes a man as thoroughlyunstrung and nervous as I am to-day, then love is a very badillness. "

"It is the worst illness in the world, " said Denzil, speakinghurriedly and wildly. "The most cruel and torturing! And there isno cure for it save death. My God, Gervase! You were my friend butyesterday! I never should have thought it possible to hate you!"

"Yet you do hate me?" queried Gervase, still smiling a little. 

"Hate you? I could kill you! You have been with HER!"

Quietly Gervase took his arm. 

"My good Denzil, you are mistaken! I confess to you frankly Ishould have been with HER--you mean the Princess Ziska, of course--had it been possible. But she has fled the city for the moment--at least, according to the corpse-like Nubian who acts as porter. "

"He lies!" exclaimed Denzil, hotly. "I saw her this morning. "

"I hope you improved your opportunity, " said Gervase, imperturbably. "Anyway, at the present moment she is not visible. "

A silence fell between them for some minutes; then Denzil spokeagain. 

"Gervase, it is no use, I cannot stand this sort of thing. We musthave it out. What does it all mean?"

"It is difficult to explain, my dear boy, " answered Gervase, halfseriously, half mockingly. "It means, I presume, that we are bothin love with the same woman, and that we both intend to try ourchances with her. But, as I told you the other night, I do not seewhy we should quarrel about it. Your intentions towards thePrincess are honorable--mine are dishonorable, and I shall make nosecret of them. If you win her, I shall ... "

He paused, and there was a sudden look in his eyes which gave thema sombre darkness, darker than their own natural color. 

"You shall--what?" asked Denzil. 

"Do something desperate, " replied Gervase. "What the somethingwill be depends on the humor of the moment. A tiger balked of hisprey is not an agreeable beast; a strong man deprived of the womanhe passionately desires is a little less agreeable even than thetiger. But let us adopt the policy of laissez-faire. Nothing isdecided; the fair one cares for neither of us; let us be friendsuntil she makes her choice. "

"We cannot be friends, " said Denzil, sternly. 

"Good! Let us be foes then, but courteous, even in our quarrel, dear boy. If we must kill each other, let us do it civilly. To flyat each other's throats would be purely barbaric. We owe a certainduty to civilization; things have progressed since the days ofAraxes. "

Denzil stared at him gloomily. 

"Araxes is Dr. Dean's fad, " he said. "I don't know anything aboutEgyptian mummies, and don't want to know. My matter is with thepresent, and not with the past. "

They had reached the hotel by this time, and turned into thegardens side by side. 

"You understand?" repeated Denzil. "We cannot be friends!"

Gervase gave him a profoundly courteous salute, and the twoseparated. 

Later on in the afternoon, about an hour before dinner-time, Gervase, strolling on the terrace of the hotel alone, saw HelenMurray seated at a little distance under some trees, with a bookin her hand which she was not reading. There were tears in hereyes, but as he approached her she furtively dashed them away andgreeted him with a poor attempt at a smile. 

"You have a moment to spare me?" he asked, sitting down besideher. 

She bent her head in acquiescence. 

"I am a very unhappy man, Mademoiselle Helen, " he began, lookingat her with a certain compassionate tenderness as he spoke. "Iwant your sympathy, but I know I do not deserve it. "

Helen remained silent. A faint flush crimsoned her cheeks, but hereyes were veiled under the long lashes--she thought he could notsee them. 

"You remember, " he went on, "our pleasant times in Scotland? Ah, it is a restful place, your Highland home, with the beautifulpurple hills rolling away in the distance, and the glorious moorscovered with fragrant heather, and the gurgling of the river thatruns between birch and fir and willow, making music all day longfor those who have the ears to listen, and the hearts tounderstand the pretty love tune it sings! You know Frenchmenalways have more or less sympathy with the Scotch--some oldassociation, perhaps, with the romantic times of Mary Queen ofScots, when the light and changeful fancies of Chastelard and hisbrother poets and lutists made havoc in the hearts of many aHighland maiden. What is that bright drop on your hand, Helen?--are you crying?" He waited a moment, and his voice was softer andmore tremulous. "Dear girl, I am not worthy of tears. I am notgood enough for you. "

He gave her time to recover her momentary emotion and then wenton, still softly and tenderly:

"Listen, Helen. I want you to believe me and forgive me, if youcan. I know--I remember those moonlight evenings in Scotland--holyand happy evenings, as sweet as flower-scented pages in a younggirl's missal; yes, and I did not mean to play with you, Helen, orwound your gentle heart. I almost loved you!" He spoke the wordspassionately, and for a moment she raised her eyes and looked athim in something of fear as well as sorrow. "'Yes, ' I said to myself, 'this woman, so true and pure and fair, is a bride for aking; and if I can win her--if!' Ah, there my musings stopped. ButI came to Egypt chiefly to meet you again, knowing that you andyour brother were in Cairo. How was I to know, how was I to guessthat this horrible thing would happen?"

Helen gazed at him wonderingly. 

"What horrible thing?" she asked, falteringly, the rich colorcoming and going on her face, and her heart beating violently asshe put the question. 

His eyes flashed. 

"This, " he answered. "The close and pernicious enthralment of awoman I never met till the night before last; a woman whose facehaunts me; a woman who drags me to her side with the force of amagnet, there to grovel like a brain-sick fool and plead with herfor a love which I already know is poison to my soul! Helen, Helen! You do not understand--you will never understand! Here, inthe very air I breathe, I fancy I can trace the perfume she shakesfrom her garments as she moves; something indescribablyfascinating yet terrible attracts me to her; it is an evilattraction, I know, but I cannot resist it. There is somethingwicked in every man's nature; I am conscious enough that there issomething detestably wicked in mine, and I have not sufficientgoodness to overbalance it. And this woman, --this silent, gliding, glittering-eyed creature that has suddenly taken possession of myfancy--she overcomes me in spite of myself; she makes havoc of allthe good intentions of my life. I admit it--I confess it!"

"You are speaking of the Princess Ziska?" asked Helen, tremblingly. 

"Of whom else should I speak?" he responded, dreamily. "There isno one like her; probably there never was anyone like her, except, perhaps, Ziska-Charmazel!"

As the name passed his lips, he sprang hastily up and stoodamazed, as though some sudden voice had called him. Helen Murraylooked at him in alarm. 

"Oh, what is it?" she exclaimed. 

He forced a laugh. 

"Nothing--nothing--but a madness! I suppose it is all a part of mystrange malady. Your brother is stricken with the same fever. Surely you know that?"

"Indeed I do know it, " Helen answered, "to my sorrow!"

He regarded her intently. Her face in its pure outline and quietsadness of expression touched him more than he cared to own evento himself. 

"My dear Helen, " he said, with an effort at composure, "I havebeen talking wildly; you must forgive me! Don't think about me atall; I am not worth it! Denzil has taken it into his head toquarrel with me on account of the Princess Ziska, but I assure youI will not quarrel with him. He is infatuated, and so am I. Thebest thing for all of us to do would be to leave Egypt instantly;I feel that instinctively, only we cannot do it. Something holdsus here. You will never persuade Denzil to go, and I--I cannotpersuade myself to go. There is a clinging sweetness in the airfor me; and there are vague suggestions, memories, dreams, histories--wonderful things which hold me spell-bound! I wish Icould analyze them, recognize them, or understand them. But Icannot, and there, perhaps, is their secret charm. Only one thinggrieves me, and that is, that I have, perhaps, unwittingly, insome thoughtless way, given you pain; is it so, Helen?"

She rose quickly, and with a quiet dignity held out her hand. 

"No, Monsieur Gervase, " she said, "it is not so. I am not one ofthose women who take every little idle word said by men in jest augrand serieux! You have always been a kind and courteous friend, and if you ever fancied you had a warmer feeling for me, as yousay, I am sure you were mistaken. We often delude ourselves inthese matters. I wish, for your sake, I could think the PrincessZiska worthy of the love she so readily inspires. But, --I cannot!My brother's infatuation for her is to me terrible. I feel it willbreak his heart, --and mine!" A little half sob caught her breathand interrupted her; she paused, but presently went on with aneffort at calmness: "You talk of our leaving Egypt; how I wishthat were possible! But I spoke to Denzil about it on the night ofthe ball, and he was furious with me for the mere suggestion. Itseems like an evil fate. "

"It IS an evil fate, " said Gervase gloomily. "Enfin, my dearHelen, we cannot escape from it, --at least, _I_ cannot. But Inever was intended for good things, not even for a lasting love. Alasting love I feel would bore me. You look amazed; you believe inlasting love? So do many sweet women. But do you know what symbolI, as an artist, would employ were I asked to give my idea of Loveon my canvas?"

Helen smiled sadly and shook her head. 

"I would paint a glowing flame, " said Gervase dreamily. "A flameleaping up from the pit of hell to the height of heaven, springingin darkness, lost in light; and flying into the centre of thatflame should be a white moth--a blind, soft, mad thing withbeating, tremulous wings, --that should be Love! Whirled into thevery heart of the ravening fire, --crushed, shrivelled out ofexistence in one wild, rushing rapture--that is what Love must beto me! One cannot prolong passion over fifty years, more or less, of commonplace routine, as marriage would have us do. The verynotion is absurd. Love is like a choice wine of exquisite bouquetand intoxicating flavor; it is the most maddening draught in theworld, but you cannot drink it every day. No, my dear Helen; I amnot made for a quiet life, --nor for a long one, I fancy. "

His voice unconsciously sank into a melancholy tone, and for onemoment Helen's composure nearly gave way. She loved him as truewomen love, with that sublime self-sacrifice which only desiresthe happiness of the thing beloved; yet a kind of insensate ragestirred for once in her gentle soul to think that the mere sightof a strange woman with dark eyes, --a woman whom no one knewanything about, and who was by some people deemed a mereadventuress, --should have so overwhelmed this man whose genius shehad deemed superior to fleeting impressions. Controlling the tearsthat rose to her eyes and threatened to fall, she said gently, "Good-bye, Monsieur Gervase!"

He started as from a reverie. 

"Good-bye, Helen! Some day you will think kindly of me again?"

"I think kindly of you now, " she answered tremulously; then, nottrusting herself to say any more, she turned swiftly and left him. 

"The flame and the moth!" he mused, watching her slight figuretill it had disappeared. "Yes, it is the only fitting symbol. Lovemust be always so. Sudden, impetuous, ungovernable, and then--theend! To stretch out the divine passion over life-long breakfastsand dinners! It would be intolerable to me. Lord Fulkeward coulddo that sort of thing; his chest is narrow, and his sentiments areas limited as his chest. He would duly kiss his wife every morningand evening, and he would not analyze the fact that no specialthrill of joy stirred in him at the action. What should he do withthrills of joy--this poor Fulkeward? And yet it is likely he willmarry Helen. Or will it be the Courtney animal, --the type of manwhose one idea is 'to arise, kill, and eat?' "Ah, well!" and hesighed. "She is not for me, this maiden grace of womanhood. If Imarried her, I should make her miserable. I am made for passion, not for peace. "

He started as he heard a step behind him, and turning, saw Dr. Dean. The worthy little savant looked worried and preoccupied. 

"I have had a letter from the Princess Ziska, " he said, withoutany preliminary. "She has gone to secures rooms at the Mena HouseHotel, which is situated close to the Pyramids. She regrets shecannot enter into the idea of taking a trip up the Nile. She hasno time, she says, as she is soon leaving Cairo. But she suggeststhat we should make up a party for the Mena House while she isstaying there, as she can, so she tells me, make the Pyramids muchmore interesting for us by her intimate knowledge of them. Now, tome this is a very tempting offer, but I should not care to goalone. "

"The Murrays will go, I am sure, " murmured Gervase lazily. "At anyrate, Denzil will. "

The Doctor looked at him narrowly. 

"If Denzil goes, so will you go, " he said. "Thus there are twoalready booked for company. And I fancy the Fulkewards might likethe idea. "

"The Princess is leaving Cairo?" queried Gervase presently, asthough it were an after thought. 

"So she informs me in her letter. The party which is to come offon Wednesday night is her last reception. "

Gervase was silent a moment. Then he said:

"Have you told Denzil?"

"Not yet. "

"Better do so then, " and Gervase glanced up at the sky, nowglowing red with a fiery sunset. "He wants to propose, you know. "

"Good God!" cried the Doctor, sharply, "If he proposes to thatwoman. ... "

"Why should he not?" demanded Gervase. "Is she not as ripe forlove and fit for marriage as any other of her sex?"

"Her sex!" echoed the Doctor grimly. "Her sex!--There!--forheaven's sake don't talk to me!--leave me alone! The PrincessZiska is like no woman living; she has none of the sentiments of awoman, --and the notion of Denzil's being such a fool as to thinkof proposing to her--Oh, leave me alone, I tell you! Let me worrythis out!"

And clapping his hat well down over his eyes, he began to walkaway in a strange condition of excitement, which he evidently hadsome difficulty in suppressing. Suddenly, however, he turned, cameback and tapped Gervase smartly on the chest. 

"YOU are the man for the Princess, " he said impressively. "Thereis a madness in you which you call love for her; you are herfitting mate, not that poor boy, Denzil Murray. In certain men andwomen spirit leaps to spirit, --note responds to note--and if allthe world were to interpose its trumpery bulk, nothing couldprevent such tumultuous forces rushing together. Follow yourdestiny, Monsieur Gervase, but do not ruin another man's life onthe way. Follow your destiny, --complete it, --you are bound to doso, --but in the havoc and wildness to come, for God's sake, letthe innocent go free!"

He spoke with extraordinary solemnity, and Gervase stared at himin utter bewilderment and perplexity, not understanding in theleast what he meant. But before he could interpose a word or ask aquestion, Dr. Dean had gone. 

CHAPTER XI. 

The next two or three days passed without any incident of interestoccurring to move the languid calm and excite the fleetinginterest of the fashionable English and European visitors who werecongregated at the Gezireh Palace Hotel. The anxious flirtationsof Dolly and Muriel Chetwynd Lyle afforded subjects of mirth tothe profane, --the wonderfully youthful toilettes of Lady Fulkewardprovided several keynotes from which to strike frivolousconversation, --and when the great painter, Armand Gervase, actually made a sketch of her ladyship for his own amusement, andmade her look about sixteen, and girlish at that, his popularityknew no bounds. Everyone wanted to give him a commission, particularly the elderly fair, and he could have made a fortunehad he chosen, after the example set him by the Englishacademicians, by painting the portraits of ugly nobodies who wereready to pay any price to be turned out as handsome somebodies. But he was too restless and ill at ease to apply himself steadilyto work, --the glowing skies of Egypt, the picturesque groups ofnatives to be seen at every turn, --the curious corners of oldCairo--these made no impression upon his mind at all, and when hewas alone, he passed whole half hours staring at the strangepicture he had made of the Princess Ziska, wherein the face ofdeath seemed confronting him through a mask of life. And hewelcomed with a strong sense of relief and expectation the long-looked-for evening of the Princess's "reception, " to which many ofthe visitors in Cairo had been invited since a fortnight, andwhich those persons who always profess to be "in the know, " evenif they are wallowing in ignorance, declared would surpass anyentertainment ever given during the Cairene season. 

The night came at last. It was exceedingly sultry, but bright andclear, and the moon shone with effective brilliance on the gayly-attired groups of people that between nine and ten o'clock beganto throng the narrow street in which the carved tomb-like portalof the Princess Ziska's residence was the most conspicuous object. Lady Chetwynd Lyle, remarkable for bad taste in her dress and thedisposal of her diamonds, stared in haughty amazement at theNubian, who saluted her and her daughters with the grin peculiarto his uninviting cast of countenance, and swept into thecourtyard attended by her husband with an air as though sheimagined her presence gave the necessary flavor of "good style" tothe proceedings. She was followed by Lady Fulkeward, innocentlyclad in white and wearing a knot of lilies on her prettily-enamelled left shoulder, Lord Fulkeward, Denzil Murray and hissister. Helen also wore white, but though she was in the twentiesand Lady Fulkeward was in the sixties, the girl had so muchsadness in her face and so much tragedy in her soft eyes that shelooked, if anything, older than the old woman. Gervase and Dr. Dean arrived together, and found themselves in a brilliant, crushing crowd of people, all of different nationalities and allmanifesting a good deal of impatience because they were delayed afew minutes in an open court, where a couple of stone lions withwings were the only spectators of their costumes. 

"Most singular behavior!" said Lady Chetwynd Lyle, snorting andsniffing, "to keep us waiting outside like this! The Princess hasno idea of European manners!"

As she spoke, a sudden blaze of light flamed on the scene, andtwenty tall Egyptian servants in white, with red turbans, carryinglighted torches and marching two by two crossed the court, and bymute yet stately gestures invited the company to follow. And thecompany did follow in haste, with scramble and rudeness, as is theway of "European manners" nowadays; and presently, having beenrelieved of their cloaks and wrappings, stood startled andconfounded in a huge hall richly adorned with silk and cloth ofgold hangings, where, between two bronze sphinxes, the PrincessZiska, attired wonderfully in a dim, pale rose color, with flecksof jewels flashing from her draperies here and there, waited toreceive her guests. Like a queen she stood, --behind her towered agiant palm, and at her feet were strewn roses and lotus-lilies. Oneither side of her, seated on the ground, were young girlsgorgeously clad and veiled to the eyes in the Egyptian fashion, and as the staring, heated and impetuous swarm of "travelling"English and Americans came face to face with her in her marvellousbeauty, they were for the moment stricken spellbound, and couldscarcely summon up the necessary assurance to advance and take thehand she outstretched to them in welcome. She appeared not to seethe general embarrassment, and greeted all who approached her withcourteous ease and composure, speaking the few words which everygraceful hostess deems adequate before "passing on" her visitors. And presently music began, --music wild and fantastic, of acharacter unknown to modern fashionable ears, yet strangelyfamiliar to Armand Gervase, who started at the first sound of it, and seemed enthralled. 

"That is not an ordinary orchestra, " said Dr. Dean in his ear. "The instruments are ancient, and the form of melody is barbaric. "

Gervase answered nothing, for the Princess Ziska just thenapproached them. 

"Come into the Red Saloon, " she said. "I am persuading my gueststo pass on there. I have an old bas-relief on the walls which Iwould like you to see, --you, especially, Dr. Dean!--for you are solearned in antiquities. I hear you are trying to discover tracesof Araxes?"

"I am, " replied the Doctor. "You interested me very much in hishistory. "

"He was a great man, " said the Princess, slowly piloting them asshe spoke, without hurry and with careful courtesy, through theserried ranks of the now freely chattering and animated company. "Much greater than any of your modern heroes. But he had twofaults; faults which frequently accompany the plentitude ofpower, --cruelty and selfishness. He betrayed and murdered the onlywoman that ever loved him, Ziska-Charmazel. "

"Murdered her!" exclaimed Dr. Dean. "How?"

"Oh, it is only a legend!" and the Princess smiled, turning herdark eyes with a bewitching languor on Gervase, who, for somereason or other which he could not explain, felt as if he werewalking in a dream on the edge of a deep chasm of nothingness, into which he must presently sink to utter destruction. "All theseold histories happened so long ago that they are nothing but mythsnow to the present generation. "

"Time does not rob any incident of its interest to me, " said Dr. Dean. "Ages hence Queen Victoria will be as much a doubtfulpotentate as King Lud. To the wise student of things there is notime and no distance. All history from the very beginning is likea wonderful chain in which no link is ever really broken, and inwhich every part fits closely to the other part, --though why thechain should exist at all is a mystery we cannot solve. Yet I amquite certain that even our late friend Araxes has his connectionwith the present, if only for the reason that he lived in thepast. "

"How do you argue out that theory!" asked Gervase with suddeninterest. 

"How do you argue it? The question is, how can you argue at allabout anything that is so plain and demonstrated a fact? Thedoctrine of evolution proves it. Everything that we were once hasits part in us now. Suppose, if you like, that we were originallyno more than shells on the shore, --some remnant of the nature ofthe shell must be in us at this moment. Nothing is lost, --nothingis wasted, --not even a thought. I carry my theories very far, "pursued the Doctor, looking keenly from one to the other of hissilent companions as they walked beside him through a longcorridor towards the Red Saloon, which could be seen, brilliantlylit up and thronged with people. "Very far indeed, especially inregard to matters of love. I maintain that if it is decreed thatthe soul of a man and the soul of a woman must meet, --must rushtogether, --not all the forces of the universe can hinder them;aye, even if they were, for some conventional cause orcircumstance themselves reluctant to consummate their destiny, itwould nevertheless, despite them, be consummated. For mark you, --in some form or other they have rushed together before! Whether asflames in the air, or twining leaves on a tree, or flowers in afield, they have felt the sweetness and fitness of each other'sbeing in former lives, --and the craving sense of that sweetnessand fitness can never be done away with, --never! Not as long asthis present universe lasts! It is a terrible thing, " continuedthe Doctor in a lower tone, "a terrible fatality, --the desire oflove. In some cases it is a curse; in others, a divine andpriceless blessing. The results depend entirely on thetemperaments of the human creatures possessed by its fever. Whenit kindles, rises and burns towards Heaven in a steady flame ofever-brightening purity and faith, then it makes marriage the mostperfect union on earth, --the sweetest and most blessedcompanionship; but when it is a mere gust of fire, bright andfierce as the sudden leaping light of a volcano, then it witherseverything at a touch, --faith, honor, truth, --and dies into dullashes in which no spark remains to warm or inspire man's highernature. Better death than such a love, --for it works misery onearth; but who can tell what horrors it may not create Hereafter!"

The Princess looked at him with a strange, weird gleam in her darkeyes. 

"You are right, " she said. "It is just the Hereafter that mennever think of. I am glad you, at least, acknowledge the truth ofthe life beyond death. "

"I am bound to acknowledge it, " returned the Doctor; "inasmuch asI know it exists. "

Gervase glanced at him with a smile, in which there was somethingof contempt. 

"You are very much behind the age, Doctor, " he remarked lightly. 

"Very much behind indeed, " agreed Dr. Dean composedly. "The agerushes on too rapidly for me, and gives no time to theconsideration of things by the way. I stop, --I take breathingspace in which to think; life without thought is madness, and Idesire to have no part in a mad age. "

At that moment they entered the Red Saloon, a stately apartment, which was entirely modelled after the most ancient forms ofEgyptian architecture. The centre of the vast room was quite clearof furniture, so that the Princess Ziska's guests went wanderingup and down, to and fro, entirely at their ease, without crush orinconvenience, and congregated in corners for conversation; thoughif they chose they could recline on low divans and gorgeously-cushioned benches ranged against the walls and sheltered by tallpalms and flowering exotics. The music was heard to betteradvantage here than in the hall where the company had first beenreceived; and as the Princess moved to a seat under the pale greenfrondage of a huge tropical fern and bade her two companions sitbeside her, sounds of the wildest, most melancholy and hauntingcharacter began to palpitate upon the air in the mournful, throbbing fashion in which a nightingale sings when its soul isburdened with love. The passionate tremor that shakes the bird'sthroat at mating-time seemed to shake the unseen instruments thatnow discoursed strange melody, and Gervase, listening dreamily, felt a curious contraction and aching at his heart and a sense ofsuffocation in his throat, combined with an insatiate desire toseize in his arms the mysterious Ziska, with her dark fathomlesseyes and slight, yet voluptuous, form, --to drag her to his breastand crush her there, whispering:

"Mine!--mine! By all the gods of the past and present--mine! Whoshall tear her from me, --who dispute my right to love her--ruinher--murder her, if I choose? She is mine!"

"The bas-relief I told you of is just above us, " said the Princessthen, addressing herself to the Doctor; "would you like to examineit? One of the servants shall bring you a lighted taper, and bypassing it in front of the sculpture you will be able to see thedesign better. Ah, Mr. Murray!" and she smiled as she greetedDenzil, who just then approached. "You are in time to give us youropinion. I want Dr. Dean to see that very old piece of stonecarving on the wall above us, --it will serve as a link for him inthe history of Araxes. "

"Indeed!" murmured Denzil, somewhat abstractedly. 

The Princess glanced at his brooding face and laughed. 

"You, I know, are not interested at all in old history, " she wenton. "The past has no attraction for you. "

"No. The present is enough, " he replied, with a glance of mingledhope and passion. 

She smiled, and signing to one of her Egyptian attendants, badehim bring a lighted taper. He did so, and passed it slowly up anddown and to the right and left of the large piece of ancientsculpture that occupied more than half the wall, while Dr. Deanstood by, spectacles on nose, to examine the carving as closely aspossible. Several other people, attracted by what was going on, paused to look also, and the Princess undertook to explain thescene depicted. 

"This piece of carving is of the date of the King Amenhotep orAmenophis III. , of the Eighteenth Dynasty. It represents thereturn of the warrior Araxes, a favorite servant of the king's, after some brilliant victory. You see, there is the triumphal carin which he rides, drawn by winged horses, and behind him are thesolar deities--Ra, Sikar, Tmu, and Osiris. He is supposed to beapproaching his palace in triumph; the gates are thrown open toreceive him, and coming out to meet him is the chief favorite ofhis harem, the celebrated dancer of that period--Ziska-Charmazel. "

"Whom he afterwards murdered, you say?" queried Dr. Deanmeditatively. 

"Yes. He murdered her simply because she loved him too well andwas in the way of his ambition. There was nothing astonishing inhis behavior, not even if you consider it in the light of moderntimes. Men always murder--morally, if not physically--the womenwho love them too well. "

"You truly think that?" asked Denzil Murray in a low tone. 

"I not only truly think it, I truly know it!" she answered, with adisdainful flash of her eyes. "Of course, I speak of strong menwith strong passions; they are the only kind of men women everworship. Of course, a weak, good-natured man is different; hewould probably not harm a woman for the world, or give her theleast cause for pain if he could help it, but that sort of mannever becomes either an adept or a master in love. Araxes wasprobably both. No doubt he considered he had a perfect right toslay what he had grown weary of; he thought no more than men ofhis type think to-day, that the taking of a life demands a life inexchange, if not in this world, then in the next. "

The group of people near her were all silent, gazing with an oddfascination at the quaint and ancient-sculptured figures abovethem, when all at once Dr. Dean, taking the taper from the handsof the Egyptian servant, held the flame close to the features ofthe warrior riding in the car of triumph, and said slowly:

"Do you not see a curious resemblance, Princess, between thisAraxes and a friend of ours here present? Monsieur Armand Gervase, will you kindly step forward? Yes, that will do, turn your headslightly, --so! Yes! Now observe the outline of the features ofAraxes as carven in this sculpture thousands of years ago, andcompare it with the outline of the features of our celebratedfriend, the greatest French artist of his day. Am I the only onewho perceives the remarkable similarity of contour andexpression?"

The Princess made no reply. A smile crossed her lips, but no wordescaped them. Several persons, however, pressed eagerly forward tolook at and comment upon what was indeed a startling likeness. Thesame straight, fierce brows, the same proud, firm mouth, the samealmond-shaped eyes were, as it seemed, copied from the anciententablature and repeated in flesh and blood in the features ofGervase. Even Denzil Murray, absorbed though he was in conflictingthoughts of his own, was struck by the coincidence. 

"It is really very remarkable!" he said. "Allowing for thepeculiar style of drawing and design common to ancient Egypt, theportrait of Araxes might pass for Gervase in Egyptian costume. "

Gervase himself was silent. Some mysterious emotion held him mute, and he was only aware of a vague irritation that fretted himwithout any seemingly adequate cause. Dr. Dean meanwhile pursuedhis investigations with the lighted taper, and presently, turninground on the assembled little group of bystanders, he said:

"I have just discovered another singular thing. The face of thewoman here--the dancer and favorite--is the face of our charminghostess, the Princess Ziska!"

Exclamations of wonder greeted this announcement, and everybodycraned their necks to see. And then the Princess spoke, slowly andlanguidly. 

"Yes, " she murmured, "I was hoping you would perceive that. Imyself noticed how very like me is the famous Ziska-Charmazel, andthat is just why I dressed in her fashion for the fancy ball theother evening. It seemed to me the best thing to do, as I wantedto choose an ancient period, and then, you know, I bear half hername. "

Dr. Dean looked at her keenly, and a somewhat grim smile wrinkledhis lips. 

"You could not have done better, " he declared. "You and thedancing-girl of Araxes might be twin sisters. "

He lowered the taper he held that it might more strongly illumineher face, and as the outline of her head and throat and bust wasthrown into full relief, Gervase, staring at her, was againconscious of that sudden, painful emotion of familiarity which hadbefore overwhelmed him, and he felt that in all the world he hadno such intimate knowledge of any woman as he had of Ziska. Heknew her! Ah!--how did he NOT know her? Every curve of that pliantform was to him the living memory of something once possessed andloved, and he pressed his hand heavily across his eyes for amoment to shut out the sight of all the exquisite voluptuous gracewhich shook his self-control and tempted him almost beyond man'smortal endurance. 

"Are you not well, Monsieur Gervase?" said Dr. Dean, observing himclosely, and handing back the lighted taper to the Egyptianservant who waited to receive it. "The portraits on this oldcarving have perhaps affected you unpleasantly? Yet there isreally nothing of importance in such a coincidence. "

"Nothing of importance, perhaps, but surely something ofsingularity, " interrupted Denzil Murray, "especially in theresemblance between the Princess and the dancing-girl of thatancient period, --their features are positively line for linealike. "

The Princess laughed. 

"Yes, is it not curious?" she said, and, taking the taper from herservant, she sprang lightly on one of the benches near the walland leaned her beautiful head on the entablature, so that herprofile stood out close against that of the once reputed Ziska-Charmazel. "We are, as Dr. Dean says, twins!"

Several of the guests had now gathered together in that particularpart of the room, and they all looked up at her as she stood thus, in silent and somewhat superstitious wonderment. The fascinatingdancer, famed in ages past, and the lovely, living charmeresse ofthe present were the image of each other, and so extraordinary wasthe resemblance that it was almost what some folks would term"uncanny. " The fair Ziska did not, however, give her acquaintancestime for much meditation or surprise concerning the matter, forshe soon came down from her elevation near the sculptured friezeand, extinguishing the taper she held, she said lightly:

"As Dr. Dean has remarked, there is really nothing of importancein the coincidence. Ages ago, in the time of Araxes, roses musthave bloomed; and who shall say that a rose in to-day's garden isnot precisely the same in size, scent and color as one that Araxeshimself plucked at his palace gates? Thus, if flowers are bornalike in different ages, why not women and men?"

"Very well argued, Princess, " said the Doctor. "I quite agree withyou. Nature is bound to repeat some of her choicest patterns, lestshe should forget the art of making them. "

There was now a general movement among the guests, that particularkind of movement which means irritability and restlessness, andimplies that either supper must be immediately served, or elsesome novel entertainment be brought in to distract attention andprevent tedium. The Princess, turning to Gervase, said smilingly:

"Apropos of the dancing-girl of Araxes and the art of dancinggenerally, I am going to entertain the company presently byletting them see a real old dance of Thebes. If you will excuse mea moment I must just prepare them and get the rooms slightlycleared. I will return to you presently. "

She glided away with her usual noiseless grace, and within a fewminutes of her departure the gay crowds began to fall back againstthe walls and disperse themselves generally in expectant groupshere and there, the Egyptian servants moving in and out andevidently informing them of the entertainment in prospect. 

"Well, I shall stay here, " said Dr. Dean, "underneath thisremarkable stone carving of your warrior-prototype, MonsieurGervase. You seem very much abstracted. I asked you before if youwere not well; but you never answered me. "

"I am perfectly well, " replied Gervase, with some irritation. "Theheat is rather trying, that is all. But I attach no importance tothat stone frieze. One can easily imagine likenesses where thereare really none. "

"True!" and the Doctor smiled to himself, and said no more. Justthen a wild burst of music sounded suddenly through the apartment, and he turned round in lively anticipation to watch theproceedings. 

The middle of the room was now quite clear, and presently, movingwith the silent grace of swans on still water, came four girlsclosely veiled, carrying quaintly-shaped harps and lutes. A Nubianservant followed them, and spread a gold-embroidered carpet uponthe ground, whereon they all sat down and began to thrum thestrings of their instruments in a muffled, dreamy manner, playinga music which had nothing of melody in it, and which yet vaguelysuggested a passionate tune. This thrumming went on for some timewhen all at once from a side entrance in the hall a bright, apparently winged thing bounded from the outer darkness into thecentre of the hall, --a woman clad in glistening cloth of gold andveiled entirely in misty folds of white, who, raising her armsgleaming with jewelled bangles high above her head, remainedpoised on tiptoe for a moment, as though about to fly. Her barefeet, white and dimpled, sparkled with gems and glitteringanklets; her skirts as she moved showed fluttering flecks of whiteand pink like the leaves of May-blossoms shaken by a summerbreeze; the music grew louder and wilder, and a brazen clang fromunseen cymbals prepared her as it seemed for flight. She began herdance slowly, gliding mysteriously from side to side, anon turningsuddenly with her head lifted, as though listening for some wordof love which should recall her or command; then, bending downagain, she seemed to float lazily like a creature that was dancingin a dream without conscious knowledge of her actions. The brazencymbals clashed again, and then, with a wild, beautiful movement, like that of a hunted stag leaping the brow of a hill, the dancersprang forward, turned, pirouetted and tossed herself round andround giddily with a marvellous and exquisite celerity, as if shewere nothing but a bright circle of gold spinning in clear ether. Spontaneous applause broke forth from every part of the hall; theguests crowded forward, staring and almost breathless withamazement. Dr. Dean got up in a state of the greatest excitement, clapping his hands involuntarily; and Gervase, every nerve in hisbody quivering, advanced one or two steps, feeling that he muststop this bright, wild, wanton thing in her incessant whirling, orelse die in the hunger of love which consumed his soul. DenzilMurray glanced at him, and, after a pause, left his side anddisappeared. Suddenly, with a quick movement, the dancer loosenedher golden dress and misty veil, and tossing them aside likefalling leaves, she stood confessed--a marvellous, glowing visionin silvery white-no other than the Princess Ziska!

Shouts echoed from every part of the hall:

"Ziska! Ziska!"

And at the name Lady Chetwynd Lyle rose in all her majesty fromthe seat she had occupied till then, and in tones of virtuousindignation said to Lady Fulkeward:

"I told you the Princess was not a proper person! Now it is provedI am right! To think I should have brought Dolly and Muriel here!I shall really never forgive myself! Come, Sir Chetwynd, --let usleave this place instantly!"

And stout Sir Chetwynd, gloating on the exquisite beauty of thePrincess Ziska's form as she still danced on in her snowy whiteattire, her lovely face alight with mirth at the surprise she hadmade for her guests, tried his best to look sanctimonious andsignally failed in the attempt as he answered:

"Certainly! Certainly, my dear! Most improper ... Mostastonishing!"

While Lady Fulkeward answered innocently:

"Is it? Do you really think so? Oh, dear! I suppose it isimproper, --it must be, you know; but it is most delightful andoriginal!"

And while the Chetwynd Lyles thus moved to depart in a cloud ofoutraged propriety, followed by others who likewise thought itwell to pretend to be shocked at the proceeding, Gervase, dizzy, breathless, and torn by such conflicting passions as he couldnever express, was in a condition more mad than sane. 

"My God!" he muttered under his breath. "This--this is love! Thisis the beginning and end of life! To possess her, --to hold her inmy arms--heart to heart, lips to lips ... This is what all theeternal forces of Nature meant when they made me man!"

And he watched with strained, passionate eyes the movements of thePrincess Ziska as they grew slower and slower, till she seemedfloating merely like a foam-bell on a wave, and then ... From someunseen quarter of the room a rich throbbing voice began to sing:--

 "Oh, for the passionless peace of the Lotus-Lily! It floats in a waking dream on the waters chilly, With its leaves unfurled To the wondering world, Knowing naught of the sorrow and restless pain That burns and tortures the human brain; Oh, for the passionless peace of the Lotus-Lily! Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily! Bared to the moon on the waters dark and chilly. A star above Is its only love, And one brief sigh of its scented breath Is all it will ever know of Death; Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily!"

As the sound died away in a sigh rather than a note, the PrincessZiska's dancing ceased altogether. A shout of applause broke fromall assembled, and in the midst of it there was a sudden commotionand excitement, and Dr. Dean was seen bending over a man'sprostrate figure. The great French painter, Armand Gervase, hadsuddenly fainted. 

CHAPTER XII. 

A curious yet very general feeling of superstitious uneasiness anddiscomfort pervaded the Gezireh Palace Hotel the day after thePrincess Ziska's reception. Something had happened, and no oneknew what. The proprieties had been outraged, but no one knew why. It was certainly not the custom for a hostess, and a Princess toboot, to dance like a wild bacchante before a crowd of her invitedguests, yet, as Dr. Dean blandly observed, --

"Where was the harm? In London, ladies of good birth and breedingwent in for 'skirt-dancing, ' and no one presumed to breathe a wordagainst their reputations; why in Cairo should not a lady go infor a Theban dance without being considered improper?"

Why, indeed? There seemed no adequate reason for being eithersurprised or offended; yet surprised and offended most peoplewere, and scandal ran rife, and rumor wagged all its poisonoustongues to spread evil reports against the Princess Ziska's nameand fame, till Denzil Murray, maddened and furious, rushed up tohis sister in her room and swore that he would marry the Princessif he died for it. 

"They are blackguarding her downstairs, the beasts!" he saidhotly. "They are calling her by every bad name under the sun! ButI will make everything straight for her; she shall be my wife! Ifshe will have me, I will marry her to-morrow!"

Helen looked at him in speechless despair. 

"Oh, Denzil!" she faltered, and then could say no more, for thetears that blinded her eyes. 

"Oh, yes, of course, I know what you mean!" he continued, marchingup and down the room excitedly. "You are like all the others; youthink her an adventuress. I think her the purest, the noblest ofwomen! There is where we differ. I spoke to her last night, --Itold her I loved her. "

"You did?" and Helen gazed at him with wet, tragic eyes, --"And she... "

"She bade me be silent. She told me I must not speak--not yet. Shesaid she would give me her answer when we were all together at theMena House Hotel. "

"You intend to be one of the party there then?" said Helenfaintly. 

"Of course I do. And so do you, I hope. "

"No, Denzil, I cannot. Don't ask me. I will stay here with LadyFulkeward. She is not going, nor are the Chetwynd Lyles. I shallbe quite safe with them. I would rather not go to the Mena House, --I could not bear it ... "

Her voice gave way entirely, and she broke out crying bitterly. 

Denzil stood still and regarded her with a kind of sullen shameand remorse. 

"What a very sympathetic sister you are!" he observed. "When yousee me madly in love with a woman--a perfectly beautiful, adorablewoman--you put yourself at once in the way and make out that mymarriage with her will be a misery to you. You surely do notexpect me to remain single all my life, do you?"

"No, Denzil, " sobbed Helen, "but I had hoped to see you marry somesweet girl of our own land who would be your dear and truecompanion, --who would be a sister to me, --who ... There! don'tmind me! Be happy in your own way, my dear brother. I have nobusiness to interfere. I can only say that if the Princess Ziskaconsents to marry you, I will do my best to like her, for yoursake. "

"Well, that's something, at any rate, " said Denzil, with an air ofrelief. "Don't cry, Helen, it bothers me. As for the 'sweet girl'you have got in view for me, you will permit me to say that 'sweetgirls' are becoming uncommonly scarce in Britain. What withbicycle riders and great rough tomboys generally, with large handsand larger feet, I confess I do not care about them. I like awomanly woman, --a graceful woman, --a fascinating, bewitchingwoman, and the Princess is all that and more. Surely you considerher beautiful?"

"Very beautiful indeed!" sighed poor Helen. --"Too beautiful!"

"Nonsense! As if any woman can be too beautiful! I am sorry youwon't come to the Mena House. It would be a change for you, --andGervase is going. "

"Is he better to-day?" inquired Helen timidly. 

"Oh, I believe he is quite well again. It was the heat or thescent of the flowers, or something of that sort, that made himfaint last night. He is not acclimatized yet, you know. And hesaid that the Princess's dancing made him giddy. "

"I don't wonder at that, " murmured Helen. 

"It was marvellous--glorious!" said Denzil dreamily. "It was likenothing else ever seen or imagined!"

"If she were your wife, would you care for her to dance beforepeople?" inquired Helen tremblingly. 

Denzil turned upon her in haughty wrath. 

"How like a woman that is! To insinuate a nasty suggestion--toimply an innuendo without uttering it! If she were my wife, shewould do nothing unbecoming that position. "

"Then you did think it a little unbecoming?" persisted Helen. 

"No, I did NOT!" said Denzil sharply. "An independent woman may domany things that a married woman may not. Marriage brings its ownduties and responsibilities, --time enough to consider them whenthey come. "

He turned angrily on his heel and left her, and Helen, burying herfair face in her hands, wept long and unrestrainedly. This"strange woman out of Egypt" had turned her brother's heartagainst her, and stolen away her almost declared lover. It was nowonder that her tears fell fast, wrung from her with the pain ofthis double wound; for Helen, though quiet and undemonstrative, had fine feelings and unsounded depths of passion in her nature, and the fatal attraction she felt for Armand Gervase was morepowerful than she had herself known. Now that he had openlyconfessed his infatuation for another woman, it seemed as thoughthe earth had opened at her feet and shown her nothing but a gravein which to fall. Life--empty and blank and bare of love andtenderness, stretched before her imagination; she saw herselftoiling along the monotonously even road of duty till her hairbecame gray and her face thin and wan and wrinkled, and never agleam again of the beautiful, glowing, romantic passion that for ashort time had made her days splendid with the dreams that aresweeter than all realities. 

Poor Helen! It was little marvel that she wept as all women weepwhen their hearts are broken. It is so easy to break a heart;sometimes a mere word will do it. But the vanishing of the wingedLove-god from the soul is even more than heart-break, --it is utterand irretrievable loss, --complete and dominating chaos out ofwhich no good thing can ever be designed or created. In our dayswe do our best to supply the place of a reluctant Eros by thegilded, grinning Mammon-figure which we try to consider assuperior to any silver-pinioned god that ever descended in hisrainbow car to sing heavenly songs to mortals; but it is anunlovely substitute, --a hideous idol at best; and grasp its goldenknees and worship it as we will, it gives us little or no comfortin the hours of strong temptation or trouble. We have made amistake--we, in our progressive generation, --we have banished theold sweetnesses, triumphs and delights of life, and we have got inexchange steam and electricity. But the heart of the age clamorson unsatisfied, --none of our "new" ideas content it--nothingpacifies its restless yearning; it feels--this great heart ofhuman life--that it is losing more than it gains, hence theincessant, restless aching of the time, and the perpetual longingfor something Science cannot teach, --something vague, beautiful, indefinable, yet satisfying to every pulse of the soul; and thenearest emotion to that divine solace is what we in our higher andbetter moments recognize as Love. And Love was lost to HelenMurray; the choice pearl had fallen in the vast gulf of Might-have-been, and not all the forces of Nature would ever restore toher that priceless gem. 

And while she wept to herself in solitude, and her brother Denzilwandered about in the gardens of the hotel, encouraging withinhimself hopes of winning the bewitching Ziska for a wife, ArmandGervase, shut up in his room under plea of slight indisposition, reviewed the emotions of the past night and tired to analyze them. Some men are born self-analysts, and are able to dissect theirfeelings by some peculiar form of mental surgery which finallyleads them to cut out tenderness as though it were a cancer, loveas a disease, and romantic aspirations as mere uncomfortablegrowths injurious to self-interest, but Gervase was not one ofthese. Outwardly he assumed more or less the composed and carelessdemeanor of the modern French cynic, but inwardly the man was araging fire of fierce passions which were sometimes too strong tobe held in check. At the present moment he was prepared tosacrifice everything, even life itself, to obtain possession ofthe woman he coveted, and he made no attempt whatever to resistthe tempest of desire that was urging him on with an invincibleforce in a direction which, for some strange and altogetherinexplicable reason, he dreaded. Yes, there was a dim sense ofterror lurking behind all the wild passion that filled his soul--ahaunting, vague idea that this sudden love, with its glowing ardorand intoxicating delirium, was like the brilliant red sunset whichfrequently prognosticates a night of storm, ruin and death. Yet, though he felt this presentiment like a creeping shudder of coldthrough his blood, it did not hold him back, or for a momentimpress him with the idea that it might be better to yield nofurther to this desperate love-madness which enthralled him. 

Once only, he thought, "What if I left Egypt now--at once--and sawher no more?" And then he laughed scornfully at the impossibilityproposed. "Leave Egypt!" he muttered, "I might as well leave theworld altogether! She would draw me back with those sweet wildeyes of hers, --she would drag me from the uttermost parts of theearth to fall at her feet in a very agony of love. My God! Shemust have her way and do with me as she will, for I feel that sheholds my life in her hands!"

As he spoke these last words half aloud, he sprang up from thechair in which he had been reclining, and stood for a moment lostin frowning meditation. 

"My life in her hands!" he repeated musingly. "Yes, it has come tothat! My life!" A great sigh broke from him. "My life--my art--mywork--my name! In all these things I have taken pride, and she--she can trample them under her feet and make of me nothing morethan man clamoring for woman's love! What a wild world it is! Whata strange Force must that be which created it!--the Force thatsome men call God and others Devil! A strange, blind, bruteForce!--for it makes us aspire only to fall; it gives a man dreamsof ambition and splendid attainment only to fling him like a madfool on a woman's breast, and bid him find there, and there only, the bewildering sweetness which makes everything else in existencepoor and tame in comparison. Well, well--my life! What is it? Amere grain of sand dropped in the sea; let her do with it as shewill. God! How I felt her power upon me last night, --last nightwhen her lithe figure swaying in the dance reminded me ... "

He paused, startled at the turn his own thoughts were taking. 

"Of what? Let me try and express to myself now what I could notexpress or realize last night. She--Ziska--I thought was mine, --mine from her dimpled feet to her dusky hair, --and she danced forme alone. It seemed that the jewels she wore upon her rounded armsand slender ankles were all love-gifts from me--every circlet ofgold, every starry, shining gem on her fair body was the symbol ofsome secret joy between us--joy so keen as to be almost pain. Andas she danced, I thought I was in a vast hall of a majesticpalace, where open colonnades revealed wide glimpses of a burningdesert and deep blue sky. I heard the distant sound of rollingdrums, and not far off I saw the Sphinx--a creature not old butnew--resting upon a giant pedestal and guarding the sculpturedgate of some great temple which contained, as I then thought, allthe treasures of the world. I could paint the picture as I saw itthen! It was a fleeting impression merely, conjured up by thedance that dizzied my brain. And that song of the Lotus-lily! Thatwas strange--very strange, for I thought I had heard it oftenbefore, --and I saw myself in the vague dream, a prince, a warrior, almost a king, and far more famous in the world than I am now!"

He looked about him uneasily, with a kind of nervous terror, andhis eyes rested for a moment on the easel where the picture he hadpainted of the Princess was placed, covered from view by a fold ofdark cloth. 

"Bah!" he exclaimed at last with a forced laugh, "What stupidfancies fool me! It is all the vague talk of that would-be learnedass, Dr. Dean, with his ridiculous theories about life and death. I shall be imagining I am his fad, Araxes, next! This sort ofthing will never do. Let me reason out the matter calmly. I lovethis woman, --love her to absolute madness. It is not the best kindof love, maybe, but it is the only kind I am capable of, and suchas it is, she possesses it all. What then? Well! We go to-morrowto the Pyramids, and we join her at the Mena House, I and the poorboy Denzil. He will try his chance--I mine. If he wins, I shallkill him as surely as I myself live, --yes, even though he isHelen's brother. No man shall snatch Ziska from my arms andcontinue to breathe. If I win, it is possible he may kill me, andI shall respect him for trying to do it. But I shall satisfy mylove first; Ziska will be mine--mine in every sense ofpossession, --before I die. Yes, that must be--that will have tobe. And afterwards, --why let Denzil do his worst; a man can butdie once. "

He drew the cloth off his easel and stared at the strange pictureof the Princess, which seemed almost sentient in its half-watchful, half-mocking expression. 

"There is a dead face and a living one on this canvas, " he said, "and the dead face seems to enthral me as much as the living. Bothhave the same cruel smile, --both the same compelling magnetism ofeye. Only it is a singular thing that I should know the dead faceeven more intimately than the living--that the tortured look uponit should be a kind of haunting memory--horrible--ghastly. ... "

He flung the cloth over the easel again impatiently, and tried tolaugh at his own morbid imagination. 

"I know who is responsible for all this nonsense, " he said. "It isthat ridiculous little half-mad faddist, Dr. Dean. He is going tothe Mena House, too. Well!--he will be the witness of a comedy ora tragedy there, --and Heaven alone knows which it will be!"

And to distract his thoughts from dwelling any longer on thehaunting ideas that perplexed him, he took up one of the latestand frothiest of French novels and began to read. Some one in aroom not far off was singing a French song, --a man with a richbaritone voice, --and unconsciously to himself Gervase caught thewords as they rang out full and clearly on the quiet, heated air--

 O toi que j'ai tant aimee Songes-tu que je t'aime encor? Et dans ton ame alarmee, Ne sens-tu pas quelque remord? Viens avec moi, si tu m'aimes, Habiter dans ces deserts; Nous y vivrons pour nous memes, Oublies de tout l'univers!

And something like a mist of tears clouded his aching eyes as herepeated, half mechanically and dreamily--

 O toi que j'ai tant aimee, Songes-tu que je t'aime encor?

CHAPTER XIII. 

For the benefit of those among the untravelled English who havenot yet broken a soda-water bottle against the Sphinx, or eatensandwiches to the immortal memory of Cheops, it may be as well toexplain that the Mena House Hotel is a long, rambling, roomybuilding, situated within five minutes' walk of the Great Pyramid, and happily possessed of a golfing-ground and a marble swimming-bath. That ubiquitous nuisance, the "amateur photographer, " canthere have his "dark room" for the development of his more or lessimperfect "plates"; and there is a resident chaplain for thepiously inclined. With a chaplain and a "dark room, " what more canthe aspiring soul of the modern tourist desire? Some of the roomsat the Mena House are small and stuffy; others large and furnishedwith sufficient elegance: and the Princess Ziska had secured a"suite" of the best that could be obtained, and was soon installedthere with befitting luxury. She left Cairo quite suddenly, andwithout any visible preparation, the morning after the receptionin which she had astonished her guests by her dancing: and she didnot call at the Gezireh Palace Hotel to say good-bye to any of heracquaintances there. She was perhaps conscious that her somewhat"free" behavior had startled several worthy and sanctimoniouspersons; and possibly she also thought that to take rooms in anhotel which was only an hour's distance from Cairo, could scarcelybe considered as absenting herself from Cairene society. She wasfollowed to her desert retreat by Dr. Dean, Armand Gervase, andDenzil Murray, who drove to the Mena House together in onecarriage, and were more or less all three in a sober andmeditative frame of mind. They arrived in time to see the Sphinxbathed in the fierce glow of an ardent sunset, which turned thegolden sands to crimson, and made the granite monster look like acruel idol surrounded by a sea of blood. The brilliant red of theheavens flamed in its stony eyes, and gave them a sentient look asof contemplated murder, --and the same radiance fitfully playing onthe half-scornful, half-sensual lips caused them to smile with aseeming voluptuous mockery. Dr. Dean stood transfixed for a whileat the strange splendor of the spectacle, and turning to his twosilent companions, said suddenly:

"There is something, after all, in the unguessed riddle of theSphinx. It is not a fable; it is a truth. There is a problem to besolved, and that monstrous creature knows it! The woman's face, the brute's body--Spiritualism and Materialism in one! It is life, and more than life; it is love. Forever and forever it teaches thesame wonderful, terrible mystery. We aspire, yet we fall; lovewould fain give us wings wherewith to fly; but the wretched bodylies prone--supine; it cannot soar to the Light Eternal. "

"What IS the Light Eternal?" queried Gervase, moodily. "How do weknow it exists? We cannot prove it. This world is what we see; wehave to do with it and ourselves. Soul without body could notexist. ... "

"Could it not?" said the Doctor. "How, then, does body existwithout soul?"

This was an unexpected but fair question, and Gervase foundhimself curiously perplexed by it. He offered no reply, neitherdid Denzil, and they all three slowly entered the Mena HouseHotel, there to be met with deferential salutations by the urbaneand affable landlord, and to be assured that they would find theirrooms comfortable, and also that "Madame la Princesse Ziska"expected them to dine with her that evening. At this message, Denzil Murray made a sign to Gervase that he wished to speak tohim alone. Gervase move aside with him. 

"Give me my chance!" said Denzil, fiercely. 

"Take it!" replied Gervase listlessly. "Let to-night witness theinterchange of hearts between you and the Princess; I shall notinterfere. "

Denzil stared at him in sullen astonishment. 

"You will not interfere? Your fancy for her is at an end?"

Gervase raised his dark, glowing eyes and fixed them on his would-be rival with a strange and sombre expression. 

"My 'fancy' for her? My good boy, take care what you say! Don'trouse me too far, for I am dangerous! My 'fancy' for her! What doyou know of it? You are hot-blooded and young; but the chill ofthe North controls you in a fashion, while I--a man in the primeof manhood--am of the South, and the Southern fire brooks nocontrol. Have you seen a quiet ocean, smooth as glass, with only adimple in the deep blue to show that perhaps, should occasionserve, there might arise a little wave? And have you seen the wildstorm breaking from a black cloud and suddenly making that quietexpanse nothing but a tourbillon of furious elements, in which thevery sea-gull's cry is whelmed and lost in the thunder of thebillows? Such a storm as that may be compared to the 'fancy' yousuppose I feel for the woman who has dragged us both here to dieat her feet--for that, I believe, is what it will come to. Life isnot possible under the strain of emotion with which we two areliving it. ... "

He broke off, then resumed in quieter tones:

"I say to you: Use your opportunities while you have them. Afterdinner I will leave you alone with the Princess. I will go out fora stroll with Dr. Dean. Take your chance, Denzil, for, as I live, it is your last! It will be my turn next! Give me credit for to-night's patience!"

He turned quickly away, and in a moment was gone. Denzil Murraystood still for a while, thinking deeply, and trying to review theposition in which he found himself. He was madly in love with awoman for whom his only sister had the most violent antipathy; andthat sister, who had once been all in all to him, had now becomealmost less than nothing in the headstrong passion which consumedhim. No consideration for her peace and ultimate happinessaffected him, though he was sensible of a certain remorseful pitywhen thinking of her gentle ways and docile yielding to his oftenimpatient and impetuous humors; but, after all, she was only hissister, --she could not understand his present condition of mind. Then there was Gervase, whom he had for some years looked upon asone of his most admired and intimate friends; now he was nothingmore or less than a rival and an enemy, notwithstanding hisseeming courtesy and civil self-restraint. As a matter of fact, he, Denzil, was left alone to face his fate: to dare the brilliantseduction of the witching eyes of Ziska, --to win her or to loseher forever! And consider every point as he would, the wearyconviction was borne in upon him that, whether he met with victoryor defeat, the result would bring more misery than joy. 

When he entered the Princess's salon that evening, he found Dr. Dean and Gervase already there. The Princess herself, attired in adinner-dress made with quite a modern Parisian elegance, receivedhim in her usual graceful manner, and expressed with muchsweetness her hope that the air of the desert would provebeneficial to him after the great heats that had prevailed inCairo. Nothing but conventionalities were spoken. Oh, thoseconventionalities! What a world of repressed emotions theysometimes cover! How difficult it is to conceive that the man andwoman who are greeting each other with calm courtesy in a crowdeddrawing-room are the very two, who, standing face to face in themoonlit silence of some lonely grove of trees or shaded garden, once in their lives suddenly realized the wild passion thatneither dared confess! Tragedies lie deepest underconventionalities--such secrets are buried beneath them assometimes might make the angels weep! They are safeguards, however, against stronger emotions; and the strange bathos of twohuman creatures talking politely about the weather when the soulof each is clamoring for the other, has sometimes, despite itsabsurdity, saved the situation. 

At dinner, the Princess Ziska devoted herself almost entirely tothe entertainment of Dr. Dean, and awakened his interest verykeenly on the subject of the Great Pyramid. 

"It has never really been explored, " she said. "The excavators whoimagine they have fathomed its secrets are completely in error. The upper chambers are mere deceits to the investigator; they werebuilt and planned purposely to mislead, and the secrets they hidehave never even been guessed at, much less discovered. "

"Are you sure of that?" inquired the Doctor, eagerly. "If so, would you not give your information. ... "

"I neither give my information nor sell it, " interrupted thePrincess, smiling coldly. "I am only a woman--and women aresupposed to know nothing. With the rest of my sex, I am judgedillogical and imaginative; you wise men would call my knowledge ofhistory deficient, my facts not proven. But, if you like, I willtell you the story of the construction of the Great Pyramid, andwhy it is unlikely that anyone will ever find the treasures thatare buried within it. You can receive the narrative with the usualincredulity common to men; I shall not attempt to argue the prosand cons with you, because I never argue. Treat it as a fairy-tale--no woman is ever supposed to know anything for a fact, --sheis too stupid. Only men are wise!"

Her dark, disdainful glance flashed on Gervase and Denzil; anonshe smiled bewitchingly, and added:

"Is it not so?"

"Wisdom is nothing compared to beauty, " said Gervase. "A beautifulwoman can turn the wisest man into a fool. "

The Princess laughed lightly. 

"Yes, and a moment afterwards he regrets his folly, " she said. "Heclamors for the beautiful woman as a child might cry for the moon, and when he at last possesses her, he tires. Satisfied with havingcompassed her degradation, he exclaims: 'What shall I do with thisbeauty, which, because it is mine, now palls upon me? Let me killit and forget it; I am aweary of love, and the world is full ofwomen!' That is the way of your sex, Monsieur Gervase; it is abrutal way, but it is the one most of you follow. "

"There is such a thing as love!" said Denzil, looking up quickly, a pained flush on his handsome face. 

"In the hearts of women, yes!" said Ziska, her voice growingtremulous with strange and sudden passion. "Women love--ah!--withwhat force and tenderness and utter abandonment of self! But theirlove is in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred utterly wasted; itis a largesse flung to the ungrateful, a jewel tossed in the mire!If there were not some compensation in the next life for the ruinwrought on loving women, the Eternal God himself would be amockery and a jest. "

"And is he not?" queried Gervase, ironically. "Fair Princess, Iwould not willingly shake your faith in things unseen, but whatdoes the 'Eternal God, ' as you call Him, care as to the destiny ofany individual unit on this globe of matter? Does He interferewhen the murderer's knife descends upon the victim? And has Heever interfered? He it is who created the sexes and placed betweenthem the strong attraction that often works more evil and miserythan good; and what barrier has He ever interposed between womanand man, her natural destroyer? None!--save the trifling one ofvirtue, which is a flimsy thing, and often breaks down at thefirst temptation. No, my dear Princess; the 'Eternal God, ' ifthere is one, does nothing but look on impassively at theuniversal havoc of creation. And in the blindness and silence ofthings, I cannot recognize an Eternal God at all; we wereevidently made to eat, drink, breed and die--and there an end. "

"What of ambition?" asked Dr. Dean. "What of the inspiration thatlifts a man beyond himself and his material needs, and teaches himto strive after the Highest?"

"Mere mad folly!" replied Gervase impetuously. "Take the Arts. I, for example, dream of painting a picture that shall move the worldto admiration, --but I seldom grasp the idea I have imagined. Ipaint something, --anything, --and the world gapes at it, and somerich fool buys it, leaving me free to paint another something; andso on and so on, to the end of my career. I ask you whatsatisfaction does it bring? What is it to Raphael that thousandsof human units, cultured and silly, have stared at his 'Madonnas'and his famous Cartoons?"

"Well, we do not exactly know what it may or may not be toRaphael, " said the Doctor, meditatively. "According to mytheories, Raphael is not dead, but merely removed into anotherform, on another planet possibly, and is working elsewhere. Youmight as well ask what it is to Araxes now that he was a famouswarrior once?"

Gervase moved uneasily. 

"You have got Araxes on the brain, Doctor, " he said, with a forcedsmile, "and in our conversation we are forgetting that thePrincess has promised to tell us a fairytale, the story of theGreat Pyramid. "

The Princess looked at him, then at Denzil Murray, and lastly atDr. Dean. 

"Would you really care to hear it?" she asked. 

"Most certainly!" they all three answered. 

She rose from the dinner-table. 

"Come here to the window, " she said. "You can see the greatstructure now, in the dusky light, --look at it well and try, ifyou can, to realize that deep, deep down in the earth on which itstands is a connected gallery of rocky caves wherein no human foothas ever penetrated since the Deluge swept over the land and madea desert of all the old-time civilization!"

Her slight figure appeared to dilate as she spoke, raising oneslender hand and arm to point at the huge mass that towered upagainst the clear, starlit sky. Her listeners were silent, awedand attentive. 

"One of the latest ideas concerning the Pyramids is, as you know, that they were built as towers of defence against the Deluge. Thatis correct. The wise men of the old days foretold the time when'the waters should rise and cover the earth, ' and these hugemonuments were prepared and raised to a height which it wasestimated would always appear above the level of the coming flood, to show where the treasures of Egypt were hidden for safety. Yes, --the treasures of Egypt, the wisdom, the science of Egypt! Theyare all down there still! And there, to all intents and purposes, they are likely to remain. "

"But archaeologists are of the opinion that the Pyramids have beenthoroughly explored, " began Dr. Dean, with some excitement. 

The Princess interrupted him by a slight gesture. 

"Archaeologists, my dear Doctor, are like the rest of this world'sso-called 'learned' men; they work in one groove, and aregenerally content with it. Sometimes an unusually brilliant brainconceives the erratic notion of working in several grooves, and isstraightway judged as mad or fanatic. It is when these comet-likeintelligences sweep across the world's horizon that we hear of aJulius Caesar, a Napoleon, a Shakespeare. But archaeologists arethe narrowest and dryest of men, --they preconceive a certainsystem of work and follow it out by mathematical rule and plan, without one touch of imagination to help them to discover newchannels of interest or historical information. As I told youbefore I began to speak, you are welcome to entirely disbelieve mystory of the Great Pyramid, --but as I have begun it, you may aswell hear it through. " She paused a moment, then went on:"According to my information, the building of the Pyramids wascommenced three hundred years before the Deluge, in the time ofSaurid, the son of Sabaloc, who, it is said, was the first toreceive a warning dream of the coming flood. Saurid, beingconvinced by his priests, astrologers and soothsayers that theportent was a true one, became from that time possessed of oneidea, which was that the vast learning of Egypt, its sciences, discoveries and strange traditions should not be lost, --and thatthe exploits and achievements of those who were great and famousin the land should be so recorded as never to be forgotten. Inthose days, here where you see these measureless tracts of sand, there were great mountainous rocks and granite quarries, andSaurid utilized these for the hollowing out of deep caverns inwhich to conceal treasure. When these caverns were prepared to hisliking, he caused a floor to be made, portions of which wererendered movable by means of secret springs, and then leaving ahollow space of some four feet in height, he started foundationsfor another floor above it. This upper floor is what you nowadayssee when you enter the Pyramid, --and no one imagines that under itis an open space with room to walk in, and yet another floorbelow, where everything of value is secreted. "

Dr. Dean drew a long breath of wonderment. 

"Astonishing, if true!"

The Princess smiled somewhat disdainfully, and went on:

"Saurid's work was carried on after his death by his successors, and with thousands of slaves toiling night and day the Pyramidswere in the course of years raised above the caverns whichconcealed Egypt's mysteries. Everything was gradually accumulatedin these underground store-houses, --the engraved talismans, theslabs of stone on which were deeply carved the geometrical andastronomical sciences; indestructible glass chests containingpapyri, on which were written the various discoveries made inbeneficial drugs, swift poisons, and other medicines. And amongthese many things were thirty great jars full of precious stones, some of which were marvels of the earth. They are there still! Andsome of the great men who died were interred in these caves, everyone in a separate chamber inlaid with gold and gems, and I think, "here the Princess turned her dark eyes full on Dr. Dean, "I thinkthat if you knew the secret way of lifting the apparentlyimmovable floor, which is like the solid ground, and descendingthrough the winding galleries beneath, it is more than probableyou would find in the Great Pyramid the tomb of Araxes!"

Her eyes glistened strangely in the evening light with thatpeculiar fiery glow which had made Dr. Dean once describe them asbeing like the eyes of a vampire-bat, and there was somethingcuriously impressive in her gesture as she once more pointed tothe towering structure which loomed against the heavens, with onestar flashing immediately above it. A sudden involuntary shuddershook Gervase as with icy cold; he moved restlessly, and presentlyremarked:

"Well, it is a safe tomb, at any rate! Whoever Araxes was, hestands little chance of being exhumed if he lies two floors belowthe Great Pyramid in a sealed-up rocky cavern! Princess, you looklike an inspired prophetess!--so much talk of ancient and mustytimes makes me feel uncanny, and I will, with your permission, have a smoke with Dr. Dean in the garden to steady my nerves. Themere notion of thirty vases of unclaimed precious stones hiddendown yonder is enough to upset any man's equanimity!"

"The papyri would interest me more than the jewels, " said Dr. Dean. "What do you say, Denzil?"

Denzil Murray woke up suddenly from a fit of abstraction. 

"Oh, I don't know anything about it, " he answered. "I never wasvery much interested in those old times, --they seem to me allmyth. I could never link past, present and future together as somepeople can; they are to me all separate things. The past is donewith, --the present is our own to enjoy or to detest, and thefuture no man can look into. "

"Ah, Denzil, you are young, and reflection has not been very hardat work in that headstrong brain of yours, " said Dr. Dean with anindulgent smile, "otherwise you would see that past, present andfuture are one and indissoluble. The past is as much a part ofyour present identity as the present, and the future, too, lies inyou in embryo. The mystery of one man's life contains allmysteries, and if we could only understand it from its verybeginning we should find out the cause of all things, and theultimate intention of creation. "

"Well, now, you have all had enough serious talk, " said thePrincess Ziska lightly, "so let us adjourn to the drawing-room. One of my waiting-women shall sing to you by and by; she has avery sweet voice. "

"Is it she who sings that song about the lotus-lily?" askedGervase, suddenly. 

The Princess smiled strangely. 

"Yes, --it is she. "

Dr. Dean chose a cigar from a silver box on the table; Gervase didthe same. 

"Won't you smoke, Denzil?" he asked carelessly. 

"No, thanks!" Denzil spoke hurriedly and hoarsely. "I think--ifthe Princess will permit me--I will stay and talk with her in thedrawing-room while you two have your smoke together. "

The Princess gave a charming bow of assent to this proposition. Gervase took the Doctor somewhat roughly by the arm and led himout through the open French window into the grounds beyond, remarking as he went:

"You will excuse us, Princess? We leave you in good company!"

She smiled. 

"I will excuse you, certainly! But do not be long!"

And she passed from the dining-room into the small saloon beyond, followed closely by Denzil. 

Once out in the grounds, Gervase gave vent to a boisterous fit ofwild laughter, so loud and fierce that little Dr. Dean came to anabrupt standstill, and stared at him in something of alarm as wellas amazement. 

"Are you going mad, Gervase?" he asked. 

"Yes!" cried Gervase, "that is just it, --I am going mad, --mad forlove, or whatever you please to call it! What do you think I ammade of? Flesh and blood, or cast-iron? Heavens! Do you think ifall the elements were to combine in a war against me, they shouldcheat me out of this woman or rob me of her? No, no! A thousandtimes no! Satisfy yourself, my excellent Doctor, with your mustyrecords of the past, --prate as you choose of the future, --but inthe immediate, burning, active present my will is law! And thefool Denzil thinks to thwart me, --I, who have never been thwartedsince I knew the meaning of existence!"

He paused in a kind of breathless agitation, and Dr. Dean graspedhis arm firmly. 

"Come, come, what is all this excitement for?" he said. "What areyou saying about Denzil?"

Gervase controlled himself with a violent effort and forced asmile. 

"He has got his chance, --I have given it to him! He is alone withthe Princess, and he is asking her to be his wife!"

"Nonsense!" said the Doctor sharply. "If he does commit such afolly, it will be no use. The woman is NOT HUMAN!"

"Not human?" echoed Gervase, his black eyes dilating with a suddenamazement--"What do you mean?"

The little Doctor rubbed his nose impatiently and seemed sorry hehad spoken. 

"I mean--let me see! What do I mean?" he said at lastmeditatively--"Oh, well, it is easy enough of explanation. Thereare plenty of people like the Princess Ziska to whom I would applythe words 'not human. ' She is all beauty and no heart. Again--ifyou follow me--she is all desire and no passion, which is acharacter 'like unto the beasts which perish. ' A large majority ofmen are made so, and some women, --though the women arecomparatively few. Now, so far as the Princess Ziska isconcerned, " continued the Doctor, fixing his keen, penetrativeglance on Gervase as he spoke, "I frankly admit to you that I findin her material for a very curious and complex study. That is whyI have come after her here. I have said she is all desire and nopassion. That of itself is inhuman; but what I am busy about nowis to try and analyze the nature of the particular desire thatmoves her, controls her, keeps her alive, --in short. It is notlove; of that I feel confident; and it is not hate, --though it ismore like hate than love. It is something indefinable, somethingthat is almost occult, so deep-seated and bewildering is theriddle. You look upon me as a madman--yes! I know you do! But mador sane, I emphatically repeat, the Princess is NOT HUMAN, and bythis expression I wish to imply that though she has the outwardappearance of a most beautiful and seductive human body, she hasthe soul of a fiend. Now, do you understand me?"

"It would take Oedipus himself all his time to do that, "--saidGervase, forcing a laugh which had no mirth in it, for he wasconscious of a vaguely unpleasant sensation--a chill, as of somedark presentiment, which oppressed his mind. "When you know I donot believe in the soul, why do you talk to me about it? The soulof a fiend, --the soul of an angel, --what are they? Mere emptyterms to me, meaning nothing. I think I agree with you though, inone or two points concerning the Princess; par exemple, I do notlook upon her as one of those delicately embodied purities ofwomanhood before whom we men instinctively bend in reverence, butwhom, at the same time, we generally avoid, ashamed of ourvileness. No; she is certainly not one of the

 "'Maiden roses left to die Because they climb so near the sky, That not the boldest passer-by Can pluck them from their vantage high. '

And whether it is best to be a solitary 'maiden-rose' or aPrincess Ziska, who shall say? And human or inhuman, whatevercomposition she is made of, you may make yourself positivelycertain that Denzil Murray is just now doing his best to persuadeher to be a Highland chatelaine in the future. Heavens, what astrange fate it will be for la belle Egyptienne!"

"Oh, you think she IS Egyptian then?" queried Dr. Dean, with anair of lively curiosity. 

"Of course I do. She has the Egyptian type of form andcountenance. Consider only the resemblance between her and thedancer she chose to represent the other night--the Ziska-Charmazelof the antique sculpture on her walls!"

"Ay, but if you grant one resemblance, you must also admitanother, " said the Doctor quickly. "The likeness between yourselfand the old-world warrior, Araxes, is no less remarkable!" Gervasemoved uneasily, and a sudden pallor blanched his face, making itlook wan and haggard in the light of the rising moon. "And it israther singular, " went on the imperturbable savant, "thataccording to the legend or history--whichever you please toconsider it, --for in time, legends become histories and historieslegends--Araxes should have been the lover of this very Ziska-Charmazel, and that you, who are the living portrait of Araxes, should suddenly become enamored of the equally living portrait ofthe dead woman! You must own, that to a mere onlooker and observerlike myself, it seems a curious coincidence!"

Gervase smoked on in silence, his level brows contracted in amusing frown. 

"Yes, it seems curious, " he said at last, "but a great manycurious coincidences happen in this world--so many that we, in ourdays of rush and turmoil, have not time to consider them as theycome or go. Perhaps of all the strange things in life, the suddensympathies and the headstrong passions which spring up in a day ora night between certain men and certain women are the strangest. Ilook upon you, Doctor, as a very clever fellow with just a littletwist in his brain, or let us say a 'fad' about spiritual matters;but in one of your more or less fantastic and extravagant theoriesI am half disposed to believe, and that is the notion you have ofthe possibility of some natures, male and female, having metbefore in a previous state of existence and under different forms, such as birds, flowers, or forest animals, or even mereincorporeal breaths of air and flame. It is an idea which Iconfess fascinates me. It seems fairly reasonable too, for, asmany scientists argue that you cannot destroy matter, but onlytransform it, there is really nothing impossible in thesuggestion. "

He paused, then added slowly as he flung the end of his cigaraway:

"I have felt the force of this odd fancy of yours most stronglysince I met the Princess Ziska. "

"Indeed! Then the impression she gave you first is still upon you--that of having known her before?"

Gervase waited a minute or two before replying; then he answered:

"Yes. And not only of having known her before, but of having lovedher before. Love!--mon Dieu!--what a tame word it is! How poorlyit expresses the actual emotion! Fire in the veins--delirium inthe brain--reason gone to chaos! And this madness is mildlydescribed as 'love?'"

"There are other words for it, " said the Doctor. "Words that arenot so poetic, but which, perhaps, are more fitting. "

"No!" interrupted Gervase, almost fiercely. "There are no wordswhich truly describe this one emotion which rules the world. Iknow what YOU mean, of course; you mean evil words, licentiouswords, and yet it has nothing whatever to do with these. Youcannot call such an exalted state of the nerves and sensations byan evil name. "

Dr. Dean pondered the question for a few moments. 

"No, I am not sure that I can, " he said, meditatively. "If I did, I should have to give an evil name to the Creator who designed manand woman and ordained the law of attraction which draws, andoften DRAGS them together. I like to be fair to everybody, theCreator included; yet to be fair to everybody I shall appear tosanction immorality. For the fact is that our civilization hasupset all the original intentions of nature. Nature evidentlymeant Love, or the emotion we call Love, to be the keynote of theuniverse. But apparently Nature did not intend marriage. Theflowers, the birds, the lower animals, mate afresh every spring, and this is the creed that the disciples of Naturalism nowadaysare anxious to force upon the attention of the world. It is onlymen and women, they say, that are so foolish as to take each otherfor better or worse till death do them part. Now, I should like, from the physical scientist's point of view, to prove that the menand women are wrong, and that the lower animals are right; butspiritual science comes in and confutes me. For in spiritualscience I find this truth, which will not be gainsaid--namely, that from time immemorial, certain immortal forms of Nature havebeen created solely for one another; like two halves of a circle, they are intended to meet and form the perfect round, and all theelements of creation, spiritual and material, will work theirhardest to pull them together. Such natures, I consider, shouldabsolutely and imperatively be joined in marriage. It then becomesa divine decree. Even grant, if you like, that the natures sojoined are evil, and that the sympathy between them is of a moreor less reprehensible character, it is quite as well that theyshould unite, and that the result of such an union should be seen. The evil might come out of them in a family of criminals which thelaw could exterminate with advantage to the world in general. Whereas on the other hand, given two fine and aspiring natureswith perfect sympathy between them, as perfect as the two notes ofa perfect chord, the children of such a marriage would probably beas near gods as humanity could bring them. I speak as a scientistmerely. Such consequences are not foreseen by the majority, andmarriages as a rule take place between persons who are by no meansmade for each other. Besides, a kind of devil comes into thebusiness, and often prevents the two sympathetic naturesconjoining. Love-matters alone are quite sufficient to convince methat there IS a devil as well as a divinity that 'shapes ourends. '"

"You speak as if you yourself had loved, Doctor, " said Gervase, with a half smile. 

"And so I have, " replied the Doctor, calmly. "I have loved to thefull as passionately and ardently as even you can love. I thankGod the woman I loved died, --I could never have possessed her, forshe was already wedded, --and I would not have disgraced her byrobbing her from her lawful husband. So Death stepped in and gaveher to me--forever!" and he raised his eyes to the solemn starlitsky. "Yes, nothing can ever come between us now; no demon tearsher white soul from me; she died innocent of evil, and she ismine--mine in every pulse of her being, as we shall both knowhereafter!"

His face, which was not remarkable for any beauty of feature, grewrapt and almost noble in its expression, and Gervase looked at himwith a faint touch of ironical wonder. 

"Upon my word, your morality almost outreaches your mysticism!" hesaid. "I see you are one of those old-fashioned men who thinkmarriage a sacred sort of thing and the only self-respecting formof love. "

"Old-fashioned I may be, " replied Dr. Dean; "but I certainlybelieve in marriage for the woman's sake. If the license of menwere not restrained by some sort of barrier it would break allbounds. Now I, had I chosen, could have taken the woman I loved tomyself; it needed but a little skilful persuasion on my part, forher husband was a drink-sodden ruffian... "

"And why, in the name of Heaven, did you not do so?" demandedGervase impatiently. 

"Because I know the end of all such liaisons, " said the Doctorsadly. "A month or two of delirious happiness, then years ofremorse to follow. The man is lowered in his own secret estimationof himself, and the woman is hopelessly ruined, socially andmorally. No, Death is far better; and in my case Death has proveda good friend, for it has given me the spotless soul of the womanI loved, which is far fairer than her body was. "

"But, unfortunately, intangible!" said Gervase, satirically. 

The Doctor looked at him keenly and coldly. 

"Do not be too sure of that, my friend! Never talk about what youdo not understand; you only wander astray. The spiritual world isa blank to you, so do not presume to judge of what you will neverrealize TILL REALIZATION IS FORCED UPON YOU!"

He uttered the last words with slow and singular emphasis. 

"Forced upon me?" began Gervase. "What do you mean? ... "

He broke off abruptly, for at that moment Denzil Murray emergedfrom the doorway of the hotel, and came towards them with anunsteady, swaying step like that of a drunken man. 

"You had better go in to the Princess, " he said, staring atGervase with a wild smile; "she is waiting for you!"

"What's the matter with you, Denzil?" inquired Dr. Dean, catchinghim by the arm as he made a movement to go on and pass them. 

Denzil stopped, frowning impatiently. 

"Matter? Nothing! What should be the matter?"

"Oh, no offence; no offence, my boy!" and Dr. Dean at onceloosened his arm. "I only thought you looked as if you had hadsome upset or worry, that's all. "

"Climate! climate!" said Denzil, hoarsely. "Egypt does not agreewith me, I suppose!--the dryness of the soil breeds fever and atouch of madness! Men are not blocks of wood or monoliths ofstone; they are creatures of flesh and blood, of nerve and muscle;you cannot torture them so... "

He interrupted himself with a kind of breathless irritation at hisown speech. Gervase regarded him steadily, slightly smiling. 

"Torture them how, Denzil?" asked the Doctor, kindly. "Dear lad, you are talking nonsense. Come and stroll with me up and down; theair is quite balmy and delightful; it will cool your brain. "

"Yes, it needs cooling!" retorted Denzil, beginning to laugh witha sort of wild hilarity. "Too much wine, --too much woman, --toomuch of these musty old-world records and ghastly pyramids!"

Here he broke off, adding quickly:

"Doctor, Helen and I will go back to England next week, if all iswell. "

"Why, certainly, certainly!" said Dr. Dean, soothingly. "I thinkwe are all beginning to feel we have had enough of Egypt. I shallprobably return home with you. Meanwhile, come for a stroll andtalk to me; Monsieur Armand Gervase will perhaps go in and excuseus for a few minutes to the Princess Ziska. "

"With pleasure!" said Gervase; then, beckoning Denzil Murrayaside, he whispered:

"Tell me, have you won or lost?"

"Lost!" replied Denzil, fiercely, through his set teeth. "It isyour turn now! But, if you win, as sure as there is a God aboveus, I will kill you!"

"SOIT! But not till I am ready for killing! AFTER TO-MORROW NIGHTI shall be at your service, not till then!"

And smiling coldly, his dark face looking singularly pale andstern in the moonlight, Gervase turned away, and, walking with hisusual light, swift, yet leisurely tread, entered the Princess'sapartment by the French window which was still open, and fromwhich the sound of sweet music came floating deliciously on theair as he disappeared. 

CHAPTER XIV. 

In a half-reclining attitude of indolently graceful ease, thePrincess Ziska watched from beneath the slumbrous shadow of herlong-fringed eyelids the approach of her now scarcely-to-becontrolled lover. He came towards her with a certain impetuosityof movement which was so far removed from ordinary conventionalityas to be wholly admirable from the purely picturesque point ofview, despite the fact that it expressed more passion andimpatience than were in keeping with nineteenth-century customsand manners. He had almost reached her side before he became awarethat there were two other women in the room besides the Princess, --silent, veiled figures that sat, or rather crouched, on thefloor, holding quaintly carved and inlaid musical instruments ofsome antique date in their hands, the only sign of life about thembeing their large, dark, glistening almond-shaped eyes, which wereevery now and then raised and fixed on Gervase with an intense andsearching look of inquiry. Strangely embarrassed by their glances, he addressed the Princess in a low tone:

"Will you not send away your women?"

She smiled. 

"Yes, presently; if you wish it, I will. But you must hear somemusic first. Sit down there, " and she pointed with her smalljewelled hand to a low chair near her own. "My lutist shall singyou something, --in English, of course!--for all the world is beingAnglicized by degrees, and there will soon be no separate nationsleft. Something, too, of romantic southern passion is beinggradually grafted on to English sentiment, so that English songsare not so stupid as they were once. I translated some stanzasfrom one of the old Egyptian poets into English the other day, perhaps you will like them. Myrmentis, sing us the 'Song ofDarkness. '"

An odd sensation of familiarity with the name of "Myrmentis"startled Gervase as he heard it pronounced, and he looked at thegirl who was so called in a kind of dread. But she did not meethis questioning regard, --she was already bending over her lute andtuning its strings, while her companion likewise prepared toaccompany her on a similar though larger instrument, and in an-other moment her voice, full and rich, with a sobbing passion init which thrilled him to the inmost soul, rang out on the warmsilence:

 In the darkness what deeds are done! What wild words spoken! What joys are tasted, what passion wasted! What hearts are broken! Not a glimpse of the moon shall shine, Not a star shall mark The passing of night, --or shed its light On my Dream of the Dark!

 On the scented and slumbrous air, Strange thoughts are thronging; And a blind desire more fierce than fire Fills the soul with longing; Through the silence heavy and sweet Comes the panting breath Of a lover unseen from the Might-Have-Been, Whose loving is Death!

 In the darkness a deed was done, A wild word spoken! A joy was tasted, --a passion wasted, -- A heart was broken! Not a glimpse of the moon shall shine, Not a star shall mark The passing of night, --or shed its light On my Dream of the Dark!

The song died away in a shuddering echo, and before Gervase hadtime to raise his eyes from their brooding study of the floor thesinger and her companion had noiselessly disappeared, and he wasleft alone with the Princess Ziska. He drew along breath, andturning fully round in his chair, looked at her steadily. Therewas a faint smile on her lips--a smile of mingled mockery andtriumph, --her beautiful witch-like eyes glittered. Leaning towardsher, he grasped her hands suddenly in his own. 

"Now, " he whispered, "shall I speak or be silent?"

"Whichever you please, " she responded composedly, still smiling. "Speech or silence rest equally with yourself. I compel neither. "

"That is false!" he said passionately. "You do compel! Your eyesdrag my very soul out of me--your touch drives me into frenzy! Youtemptress! You force me to speak, though you know already what Ihave to say! That I love you, love you! And that you love me! Thatyour whole life leaps to mine as mine to yours! You know all this;if I were stricken dumb, you could read it in my face, but youwill have it spoken--you will extort from me the whole secret ofmy madness!--yes, for you to take a cruel joy in knowing that I AMmad--mad for the love of you! And you cannot be too often or toothoroughly assured that your own passion finds its reflex in me!"

He paused, abruptly checked in his wild words by the sound of herlow, sweet, chill laughter. She withdrew her hands from hisburning grasp. 

"My dear friend, " she said lightly, "you really have a veryexcellent opinion of yourself--excuse me for saying so! 'My ownpassion!' Do you actually suppose I have a 'passion' for you?" Andrising from her chair, she drew up her slim supple figure to itsfull height and looked at him with an amused and airy scorn. "Youare totally mistaken! No one man living can move me to love; Iknow all men too well! Their natures are uniformly composed of thesame mixture of cruelty, lust and selfishness; and forever andforever, through all the ages of the world, they use the greaterpart of their intellectual abilities in devising new ways tocondone and conceal their vices. You call me 'temptress';--why?The temptation, if any there be, emanates from yourself and yourown unbridled desires; I do nothing. I am made as I am made; if myface or my form seems fair in your eyes, this is not my fault. Your glance lights on me, as the hawk's lights on coveted prey;but think you the prey loves the hawk in response? It is themistake all men make with all women, --to judge them always asbeing of the same base material as themselves. Some women thereare who shame their womanhood; but the majority, as a rule, preserve their self-respect till taught by men to lose it. "

Gervase sprang up and faced her, his eyes flashing dangerously. 

"Do not make any pretence with me!" he said half angrily. "Nevertell me you cannot love! ... "

"I HAVE loved!" she interrupted him. "As true women love, --once, and only once. It suffices; not for one lifetime, but many. Iloved; and gave myself ungrudgingly and trustingly to the man mysoul worshipped. I was betrayed, of course!--it is the usualstory--quite old, quite commonplace! I can tell it to you withoutso much as a blush of pain! Since then I have not loved, --I haveHATED; and I live but for one thing--Revenge. "

Her face paled as she spoke, and a something vague, dark, spectraland terrible seemed to enfold her like a cloud where she stood. Anon she smiled sweetly, and with a bewitching provocativeness. 

"Your 'passion, ' you see, my friend awakens rather a singular'reflex' in me!--not quite of the nature you imagined!"

He remained for a moment inert; then, with an almost savageboldness, threw his arm about her. 

"Have everything your own way, Ziska!" he said in quick, fierceaccents. "I will accept all your fancies, and humor all yourcaprices. I will grant that you do not love me--I will evensuppose that I am repellent to you, --but that shall make nodifference to my desire! You shall be mine!--willing or unwilling!If every kiss I take from your lips be torn from you withreluctance, yet those kisses I will have!--you shall not escapeme! You--you, out of all women in the world, I choose... "

"As your wife?" said Ziska slowly, her dark eyes gleaming with astrange light as she dexterously withdrew herself from hisembrace. 

He uttered an impatient exclamation. 

"My wife! Dieu! What a banalite! You, with your exquisite, glowingbeauty and voluptuous charm, you would be a 'wife'--that tiresomefigure-head of utterly dull respectability? You, with yourunmatched air of wild grace and freedom, would submit to be tieddown in the bonds of marriage, --marriage, which to my thinking andthat of many other men of my character, is one of the many cursesof this idiotic nineteenth century! No, I offer you love, Ziska!--ideal, passionate love!--the glowing, rapturous dream of ecstasyin which such a thing as marriage would be impossible, the merestvulgar commonplace--almost a profanity. "

"I understand!" and the Princess Ziska regarded him intently, herbreath coming and going, and a strange smile quivering on herlips. "You would play the part of an Araxes over again!"

He smiled; and with all the audacity of a bold and determinednature, put his arms round her and drew her close up to hisbreast. 

"Yes, " he said, "I would play the part of an Araxes over again!"

As he uttered the words, an indescribable sensation of horrorseized him--a mist darkened his sight, his blood grew cold, and atremor shook him from head to foot. The fair woman's face that waslifted so close to his own seemed spectral and far off; and for afleeting moment her very beauty grew into something likehideousness, as if the strange effect of the picture he hadpainted of her was now becoming actual and apparent--namely, theface of death looking through the mask of life. Yet he did notloosen his arms from about her waist; on the contrary he claspedher even more closely, and kept his eyes fixed upon her with suchpertinacity that it seemed as if he expected her to vanish fromhis sight while he still held her. 

"To play the part of an Araxes aright, " she murmured then in slowand dulcet accents, "you would need to be cruel and remorseless, and sacrifice my life--or any woman's life--to your own clamorousand selfish passion. But you, --Armand Gervase, --educated, civilized, intellectual, and totally unlike the barbaric Araxes, could not do that, could you? The progress of the world, theincreasing intelligence of humanity, the coming of the Christ, these things are surely of some weight with you, are they not? Orare you made of the same savage and impenitent stuff as composedthe once famous yet brutal warrior of old time? Do you admire thecharacter and spirit of Araxes?--he who, if history reports himtruly, would snatch a woman's life as though it were a waysideflower, crush out all its sweetness and delicacy, and then flingit into the dust withered and dead? Do you think that because aman is strong and famous, he has a right to the love of woman?--acharter to destroy her as he pleases? If you remember the story Itold you, Araxes murdered with his own hand Ziska-Charmazel thewoman who loved him. "

"He had perhaps grown weary of her, " said Gervase, speaking withan effort, and still studying the exquisite loveliness of thebewitching face that was so close to his own, like a man in adream. 

At this she laughed, and laid her two hands on his shoulders witha close and clinging clasp which thrilled him strangely. 

"Ah, there is the difficulty!" she said. 

"What cure shall ever be found for love-weariness? Men are alllike children--they tire of their toys; hence the frequent troubleand discomfort of marriage. They grow weary of the same face, thesame caressing arms, the same faithful heart! You, for instance, would grow weary of me!"

"I think not, " answered Gervase. And now the vague sense ofuncertainty and pain which had distressed him passed away, leavinghim fully self-possessed once more. "I think you are one of thoseexceptional women whom a man never grows weary of: like aCleopatra, or any other old-world enchantress, you fascinate witha look, you fasten with a touch, and you have a singular freshnessand wild attraction about you which makes you unlike any other ofyour sex. I know well enough that I shall never get the memory ofyou out of my brain; your face will haunt me till I die!"

"And after death?" she queried, half-closing her eyes, andregarding him languorously through her silky black lashes. 

"Ah, ma belle, after that there is nothing to be done even in theway of love. Tout est fini! Considering the brevity of life andthe absolute certainty of death, I think that the men and womenwho are so foolish as to miss any opportunities of enjoyment whilethey are alive deserve more punishment than those who take allthey can get, even in the line of what is called wickedness. Wickedness is a curious thing: it takes different shapes indifferent lands, and what is called 'wicked' here, is virtue in, let us say, the Fiji Islands. There is really no strict rule ofconduct in the world, no fixed law of morality. "

"There is honor!" said the Princess, slowly;--"A code which evensavages recognize. "

He was silent. For a moment he seemed to hesitate; but hisindecision soon passed. His face flushed, and anon grew pale, asclosing his arms more victoriously round the fair woman who justthen appeared voluntarily to yield to his embrace, he bent downand whispered a few words in the tiny ear, white and delicate as ashell, which was half-hidden by the rich loose clusters of herluxuriant hair. She heard, and smiled; and her eyes flashed with asingular ferocity which he did not see, otherwise it might havestartled him. 

"I will answer you to-morrow, " she said. "Be patient till then. "

And as she spoke, she released herself determinedly from the claspof his arms and withdrew to a little distance, looking at him witha fixed and searching scrutiny. 

"Do not preach patience to me!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "Inever had that virtue, and I certainly cannot begin to cultivateit now. "

"Had you ever any virtues?" she asked in a playful tone ofsomething like satire. 

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"I do not know what you consider virtues, " he answered lightly:"If honesty is one, I have that. I make no pretence to be what Iam not. I would not pass off somebody else's picture as my own, for instance. But I cannot sham to be moral. I could not possiblylove a woman without wanting her all to myself, and I have not theslightest belief in the sanctimonious humbug of a man who playsthe Platonic lover only. But I don't cheat, and I don't lie. I amwhat I am. ... "

"A man!" said Ziska, a lurid and vindictive light dilating andfiring her wonderful eyes. "A man!--the essence of all that isevil, the possibility of all that is good! But the essence isstrong and works; the possibility is a dream which dissolves inthe dreaming!"

"Yes, you are right, ma chere!" he responded carelessly. "Goodness--as the world understands goodness--never makes a careerfor itself worth anything. Even Christ, who has figured as asymbol of goodness for eighteen hundred years, was not devoid ofthe sin of ambition: He wanted to reign over all Judaea. "

"You view Him in that light?" inquired Ziska with a keen look. "And as man only?"

"Why, of course! The idea of an incarnate God has long ago beendiscarded by all reasoning thinkers. "

"And what of an incarnate devil?" pursued Ziska, her breath comingand going quickly. 

"As impossible as the other fancy!" he responded almost gayly. "There are no gods and no devils, ma belle! The world is ruled byourselves alone, and it behoves us to make the best of it. Howwill you give me my answer to-morrow? When shall I see you? Speaklow and quickly, --Dr. Dean is coming in here from the garden:when--when?"

"I will send for you, " she answered. 

"At what hour?"

"The moon rises at ten. And at ten my messenger shall come foryou. "

"A trustworthy messenger, I hope? One who knows how to be silent?"

"As silent as the grave!" she said, looking at him fixedly. "Assecret as the Great Pyramid and the hidden tomb of Araxes!"

And smiling, she turned to greet Dr. Dean, who just then enteredthe saloon. 

"Denzil has gone to bed, " he announced. "He begged me to excusehim to you, Princess. I think the boy is feverish. Egypt doesn'tagree with him. "

"I am sorry he is ill, " said the Princess with a charming air ofsympathy. 

"Oh, he isn't exactly ill, " returned the Doctor, looking sharplyat her beautiful face as he spoke. "He is simply unnerved andrestless. I am a little anxious about him. I think he ought to goback to England--or Scotland. "

"I think so, too, " agreed Gervase. "And Mademoiselle Helen withhim. "

"Mademoiselle Helen you consider very beautiful?" murmured thePrincess, unfurling her fan and waving it indolently to and fro. 

"No, not beautiful, " answered the Doctor quickly. "But verypretty, sweet and lovable--and good. "

"Ah then, of course some one will break her heart!" said thePrincess calmly. "That is what always happens to good women. "

And she smiled as she saw Gervase flush, half with anger, halfwith shame. The little Doctor rubbed his nose crossly. 

"Not always, Princess, " he said. "Sometimes it does; in factpretty often. It is an unfortunate truth that virtue is seldomrewarded in this world. Virtue in a woman nowadays---"

"Means no lovers and no fun!" said Gervase gayly. "And thepossibility of a highly decorous marriage with a curate or abankclerk, followed by the pleasing result of a family of littlecurates or little bank-clerks. It is not a dazzling prospect!"

The Doctor smiled grimly; then after a wavering moment ofindecision, broke out into a chuckling laugh. 

"You have an odd way of putting things, " he said. "But I'm afraidyou may be right in your estimate of the position. Quite as manywomen are as miserably sacrificed on the altar of virtue as ofvice. It is 'a mad world, ' as Shakespeare says. I hope the nextlife we pass into after this one will at least be sane. "

"Well, if you believe in Heaven, you have Testament authority forthe fact that there will be 'neither marriage nor giving inmarriage' there, at any rate, " laughed Gervase. "And if we wish tofollow that text out truly in our present state of existence andbecome 'as the angels of God' we ought at once to abolishmatrimony. "

"Have done! Have done!" exclaimed the Doctor, still smiling, however, notwithstanding his protest. "You Southern Frenchmen arehalf barbarians, --you have neither religion nor morality. "

"Dieu merci!" said Gervase, irreverently; then turning to thePrincess Ziska, he bowed low and with a courtly grace over thehand she extended towards him in farewell. "Good-night, Princess!"--then in a whisper he added: "To-morrow I shall awaityour summons. "

"It will come without fail, never fear!" she answered in equallysoft tones. "I hope it may find you ready. "

He raised his eyes and gave her one long, lingering, passionatelook; then with another "Good-night, " which included Dr. Dean, left the room. The Doctor lingered a moment, studying the face andform of the Princess with a curiously inquisitive air; while shein her turn confronted him haughtily, and with a touch of defiancein her aspect. 

"Well, " said the savant presently, after a pause: "Now you havegot him, what are you going to do with him?"

She smiled coldly, but answered nothing. 

"You need not flash your beautiful eyes at me in that eminentlyunpleasant fashion, " pursued the Doctor, easily. "You see I KNOWYOU, and I am not afraid of you. I only make a stand against youin one respect: you shall not kill the boy Denzil. "

"He is nothing to me!" she said, with a gesture of contempt. 

"I know he is nothing to you; but you are something to him. Hedoes not recognize your nature as I do. I must get him out of thereach of your spell--"

"You need not trouble yourself, " she interrupted him, a sombremelancholy darkening her face; "I shall be gone to-morrow. "

"Gone altogether?" inquired the Doctor calmly and withoutsurprise, --"Not to come back?"

"Not in this present generation!" she answered. 

Still Dr. Dean evinced no surprise. 

"Then you will have satisfied yourself?" he asked. 

She bent her head. 

"For the time being--yes! I shall have satisfied myself. "

There followed a silence, during which the little Doctor looked athis beautiful companion with all the meditative interest of ascientist engaged in working out some intricate and deeplyinteresting problem. 

"I suppose I may not inquire how you propose to obtain thissatisfaction?" he said. 

"You may inquire, but you will not be answered!" she retorted, smiling darkly. 

"Your intentions are pitiless?"

Still smiling, she said not a word. 

"You are impenitent?"

She remained silent. 

"And, worst of all, you do not desire redemption! You are one ofthose who forever and ever cry, 'Evil, be thou my good!' Thus foryou, Christ died in vain!"

A faint tremor ran through her, but she was still mute. 

"So you and creatures like you, must have their way in the worlduntil the end, " concluded the Doctor, thoughtfully. "And if allthe philosophers that ever lived were to pronounce you what youare, they would be disbelieved and condemned as madmen! Well, Princess, I am glad I have never at any time crossed your pathtill now, or given you cause of offence against me. We partfriends, I trust? Good-night! Farewell!"

She held out her hand. He hesitated before taking it. 

"Are you afraid?" she queried coldly. "It will not harm you!"

"I am afraid of nothing, " he said, at once clasping the whitetaper fingers in his own, "except a bad conscience. "

"That will never trouble you!" and the Princess looked at him fulland steadily. "There are no dark corners in your life--no meanside-alleys and trap-holes of deceit; you have walked on the openand straight road. You are a good man and a wise one. But thoughyou, in your knowledge of spiritual things, recognize me for whatI am, take my advice and be silent on the matter. The world wouldnever believe the truth, even if you told it, for the time is notyet ripe for men and women to recognize the avengers of theirwicked deeds. They are kept purposely in the dark lest the lightshould kill!"

And with her sombre eyes darkening, yet glowing with the inwardfire that always smouldered in their dazzling depths, she salutedhim gravely and gracefully, watching him to the last as he slowlywithdrew. 

CHAPTER XV. 

The next day broke with a bright, hot glare over the wide desert, and the sky in its cloudless burning blue had more than its usualappearance of limitless and awful immensity. The Sphinx and thePyramids alone gave a shadow and a substance to the dazzling andtransparent air, --all the rest of the visible landscape seemednaught save a far-stretching ocean of glittering sand, scorched bythe blazing sun. Dr. Maxwell Dean rose early and went down to thehotel breakfast in a somewhat depressed frame of mind; he hadslept badly, and his dreams had been unpleasant, when not actuallyghastly, and he was considerably relieved, though he could nothave told why, when he saw his young friend Denzil Murray, seatedat the breakfast table, apparently enjoying an excellent meal. 

"Hullo, Denzil!" he exclaimed cheerily, "I hardly expected youdown yet. Are you better?"

"Thanks, I am perfectly well, " said Denzil, with a careless air. "I thought I would breakfast early in order to drive into Cairobefore the day gets too sultry. "

"Into Cairo!" echoed the Doctor. "Why, aren't you going to stayhere a few days?"

"No, not exactly, " answered Denzil, stirring his coffee quicklyand beginning to swallow it in large gulps. "I shall be back to-night, though. I'm only going just to see my sister and tell herto prepare for our journey home. I shan't be absent more than afew hours. "

"I thought you might possibly like to go a little further up theNile?" suggested the Doctor. 

"Oh, no, I've had enough of it! You see, when a man proposes to awoman and gets refused, he can't keep on dangling round that womanas if he thought it possible she might change her mind. " And heforced a smile. "I've got an appointment with Gervase to-morrowmorning, and I must come back to-night in order to keep it--butafter that I'm off. "

"An appointment with Gervase?" repeated the Doctor, slowly. "Whatsort of an appointment?"

Denzil avoided his keen look. 

"Really, Doctor, you are getting awfully inquisitive!" heexclaimed with a hard laugh. "You want to know altogether toomuch!"

"Yes, I always do; it is a habit of mine, " responded Dr. Dean, calmly. "But in the present case, it doesn't need much perspicuityto fathom your mystery. The dullest clod-hopper will tell you hecan see through a millstone when there's a hole in it. And I wasalways a good hand at putting two and two together and making fourout of them. You and Gervase are in love with the same woman; thewoman has rejected you and is encouraging Gervase; Gervase, youthink, will on this very night be in the position of the acceptedlover, for which successful fortune, attending him, you, therejected one, propose to kill him to-morrow morning if you can, unless he kills you. And you are going to Cairo to get yourpistols or whatever weapons you have arranged to fight with, andalso to say good-bye to your sister. "

Denzil kept his eyes fixed studiously on the table-cloth and madeno answer. 

"However, " continued the Doctor complacently, "you can have it allyour own way as far as I am concerned. I never interfere in thesesort of matters. I should do no good if I attempted it. Besides, Ihaven't the slightest anxiety on your behalf--not the slightest. Waiter, some more coffee, please?"

"Upon my word!" exclaimed Denzil, with a fretful laugh, "you are amost extraordinary man, Doctor!"

"I hope I am!" retorted the Doctor. "To be merely ordinary wouldnot suit my line of ambition. This is very excellent coffee"--herehe peered into the fresh pot of the fragrant beverage just setbefore him. "They make it better here than at the Gezireh Palace. Well, Denzil, my boy, when you get into Cairo, give my love toHelen and tell her we'll all go home to the old country together;I, myself, have got quite enough out of Egypt this time to satisfymy fondness for new experiences. And let me assure you, my goodfellow, that your proposed duel with Gervase will not come off!"

"It will come off!" said Denzil, with sudden fierceness. "ByHeaven, it shall!--it must!"

"More wills than one have the working out of our destinies, "answered Dr. Dean with some gravity. "Man is not by any meanssupreme. He imagines he is, but that is only one of his manylittle delusions. You think you will have your way; Gervase thinkshe will have his way; I think I will have my way; but as a matterof fact there is only one person in this affair whose 'way' willbe absolute, and that person is the Princess Ziska. Ce que femmeveut Dieu veut. "

"She has nothing whatever to do with the matter, " declared Denzil. 

"Pardon! She has everything to do with it. She is the cause of itand she knows it. And as I have already told you, your proposedfight will not come off. " And the little Doctor smiled serenely. "There is your carriage at the door, I suppose. Off with you, myboy!--be off like a whirlwind, and return here armed to the teethif you like! You have heard the expression 'fighting the air'?That is what you will do tomorrow morning!"

And apparently in the best of all possible humors, Dr. Deanaccompanied his young friend to the portico of the hotel andwatched him drive off down the stately avenue of palm-trees whichnow cast their refreshing shade on the entire route from thePyramids to Cairo. When he had fairly gone, the thoughtful savantsurveyed the different tourists who were preparing to ascend thePyramids under the escort of their Arab guides, regardless of therisks they ran of dislocated arms and broken shoulder-bones, --andin the study of the various odd types thus presented to him, hefound himself fairly well amused. 

"Protoplasm--mere protoplasm!" he murmured. "The germ of soul hasnot yet attained to individual consciousness in any one of thesestrange bipeds. Their thoughts are as jelly, --their reasoningpowers in embryo, --their intellectual faculties barelyperceptible. Yet they are interesting, viewed in the same lightand considered on the same scale as fish or insects merely. As menand women of course they are misnomers, --laughableimpossibilities. Well, well!--in the space of two or threethousand years, the protoplasm may start into form out of thevoid, and the fibres of a conscious Intellectuality may sprout, --but it will have to be in some other phase of existence--certainlynot in this one. And now to shut myself up and write my memoranda--for I must not lose a single detail of this singular Egyptianpsychic problem. The whole thing I perceive is rounding itselftowards completion and catastrophe--but in what way? How will it--how CAN it end?"

And with a meditative frown puckering his brows, Dr. Dean foldedhis hands behind his back and retired to his own room, from whencehe did not emerge all day. 

Armand Gervase in the meanwhile was making himself the life andsoul of everything at the Mena House Hotel. He struck up an easyacquaintance with several of the visitors staying there, --saidpretty things to young women and pleasant things to old, --and inthe course of a few hours succeeded in becoming the most popularpersonage in the place. He accepted invitations to parties, andagreed to share in various' excursions, till he engaged himselffor every day in the coming week, and was so gay and gallant andfascinating in manner and bearing that fair ladies lost theirhearts to him at a glance, and what amusement or pleasure therewas at the Mena House seemed to be doubly enhanced by the merefact of his presence. In truth Gervase was in a singular mood ofelation and excitation; a strong inward triumph possessed him andfilled his soul with an imperious pride and sense of conquestwhich, for the time being, made him feel as though he were a veryking of men. There was nothing in his nature of the nobletenderness which makes the lover mentally exalt his beloved as aqueen before whom he is content to submit his whole soul inworship; what he realized was merely this: that here was one ofthe most beautiful and seductive women ever created, in the personof the Princess Ziska, and that he, Gervase, meant to possess thatloveliest of women, whatever happened in the near or distantfuture. Of her, and of the influence of his passion on herpersonally, he did not stop to think, except with the curiouslyblind egotism which is the heritage of most men, and which led himto judge that her happiness would in some way or other be enhancedby his brief and fickle love. For, as a rule, men do notunderstand love. They understand desire, amounting sometimes tomerciless covetousness for what they cannot get, --this is aleading natural characteristic of the masculine nature--but Love--love that endures silently and faithfully through the stress oftrouble and the passing of years--love which sacrifices everythingto the beloved and never changes or falters, --this is a divinepassion which seldom or never sanctifies and inspires the life ofa man. Women are not made of such base material; their loveinvariably springs first from the Ideal, not the Sensual, and ifafterwards it develops into the sensual, it is through the roughand coarsening touch of man alone. 

Throughout the entire day the Princess Ziska herself never lefther private apartments, and towards late afternoon Gervase beganto feel the hours drag along with unconscionable slowness andmonotony. Never did the sun seem so slow in sinking; never did thenight appear so far off. When at last dinner was served in thehotel, both Denzil Murray and Dr. Dean sat next to him at table, and, judging from outward appearances, the most friendly relationsexisted between all three of them. At the close of the meal, however, Denzil made a sign to Gervase to follow him, and whenthey had reached a quiet corner, said:

"I am aware of your victory; you have won where I have lost. Butyou know my intention?"

"Perfectly!" responded Gervase, with a cool smile. 

"By Heaven!" went on the younger man, in accents of suppressedfury, "if I yielded to the temptation which besets me when I seeyou standing there facing me, with your easy and self-satisfieddemeanor, --when I know that you mean dishonor where I meanthonor, --when you have had the effrontery to confess to me that youonly intend to make the Princess Ziska your mistress when I wouldhave made her my wife, --God! I could shoot you dead at thismoment!"

Gervase looked at him steadily, still smiling slightly; thengradually the smile died away, leaving his countenance shadowed byan intense melancholy. 

"I can quite enter into your feelings, my dear boy!" he said. "Anddo you know, I'm not sure that it would not be a good thing if youwere to shoot me dead! My life is of no particular value toanybody, --certainly not to myself; and I begin to think I've beenalways more or less of a failure. I have won fame, but I havemissed--something--but upon my word, I don't quite know what!"

He sighed heavily, then suddenly held out his hand. 

"Denzil, the bitterest foes shake hands before fighting each otherto the death, as we propose to do to-morrow; it is a civil customand hurts no one, I should like to part kindly from you to-night!"

Denzil hesitated; then something stronger than himself made himyield to the impulsive note of strong emotion in his formerfriend's voice, and the two men's hands met in a momentary silentgrasp. Then Denzil turned quickly away. 

"To-morrow morning at six, " he said, briefly; "close to theSphinx. "

"Good!" responded Gervase. "The Sphinx shall second us both andsee fair play. Good-night, Denzil!"

"Good-night!" responded Denzil, coldly, as he moved on anddisappeared. 

A slight shiver ran through Gervase's blood as he watched himdepart. 

"Odd that I should imagine I have seen the last of him!" hemurmured. "There are strange portents in the air of the desert, Isuppose! Is he going to his death? Or am I going to mine?"

Again the cold tremor shook him, and combating with his uneasysensations, he went to his own apartment, there to await theexpected summons of the Princess. No triumph filled him now; nosense of joy elated him; a vague fear and dull foreboding were allthe emotions he was conscious of. Even his impatient desire oflove had cooled, and he watched the darkening of night over thedesert, and the stars shining out one by one in the black azure ofthe heavens, with a gradually deepening depression. A dreamy sensestole over him of remoteness or detachment from all visiblethings, as though he were suddenly and mysteriously separated fromthe rest of humankind by an invisible force which he was powerlessto resist. He was still lost in this vague half-torpor or semi-conscious reverie, when a light tap startled him back to therealization of earth and his earthly surroundings. In response tohis "Entrez!" the tall Nubian, whom he had seen in Cairo as theguardian of the Princess's household, appeared, his repulsivefeatures looking, if anything, more ghastly and hideous than ever. 

"Madame la Princesse demande votre presence!" said this unlovelyattendant of one of the fairest of women. "Suivez-moi!"

Without a moment's hesitation or loss of time, Gervase obeyed, andallowing his guide to precede him at a little distance, followedhim through the corridors of the hotel, out at the hall door andbeyond, through the garden. A clock struck ten as they passed intothe warm evening air, and the mellow rays of the moon werebeginning to whiten the sides of the Great Pyramid. A few of thepeople staying in the hotel were lounging about, but these paid noparticular heed to Gervase or his companion. At about two hundredyards from the entrance of the Mena House, the Nubian stopped andwaited till Gervase came up with him. 

"Madame la Princesse vous aime, Monsieur Gervase!" he said, with asarcastic grin. "Mais, --elle veut que l'Amour soit toujoursaveugle! oui, toujours! C'est le destin qui vous appelle, --il fautsoumettre! L'Amour sans yeux! oui!--en fin, --comme ca!"

And before Gervase could utter a word of protest, or demand themeaning of this strange proceeding, his arms was suddenly seizedand pinioned behind his back, his mouth gagged, and his eyesblindfolded. 

"Maintenant, " continued the Nubian. "Nous irons ensemble!"

Choked and mad with rage, Gervase for a few moments struggledfuriously as well as he was able with his powerful captor. Allsorts of ideas surged in his brain: the Princess Ziska might, withall her beauty and fascination, be nothing but the ruler of a bandof robbers and murderers--who could tell? Yet reason did notwholly desert him in extremity, for even while he tried to fightfor his liberty he remembered that there was no good to be gainedout of taking him prisoner; he had neither money nor valuables--nothing which could excite the cupidity of even a starvingBedouin. As this thought crossed his brain, he ceased hisstruggles abruptly, and stood still, panting for breath, whensuddenly a sound of singing floated towards him:

 "Oh, for the pure cold heart of the Lotus-Lily! A star above Is its only love, And one brief sigh of its scented breath Is all it will ever know of Death! Oh, for the passionless heart of the Lotus-Lily!"

He listened, and all power of resistance ebbed slowly away fromhim; he became perfectly passive--almost apathetic--and yieldingto the somewhat rough handling of his guide, allowed himself to beurged with silent rapidity onward over the thick sand, till hepresently became conscious that he was leaving the fresh open airand entering a building of some sort, for his feet pressed hardearth and stone instead of sand. All at once he was forciblybrought to a standstill, and a heavy rolling noise and clang, likedistant muttered thunder, resounded in his ears, followed by deadsilence. Then his arm was closely grasped again, and he was ledon, on and on, along what seemed to be an interminable distance, for not a glimmer of light could be seen under the tight folds ofthe bandage across his eyes. Presently the earth shook under him, --some heavy substance was moved, and there was another boomingthunderous noise, accompanied by the falling of chains. 

"C'est l'escalier de Madame la Princesse!" said the Nubian. "Presde la chambre nuptiale! Descendez! Vite!"

Down--down! Resistance was useless, even had he cared to resist, for he felt as though twenty pairs of hands instead of one werepushing him violently on all sides; down, still down he went, dumb, blind and helpless, till at last he was allowed to stop andbreathe. His arms were released, the bandage was taken from hiseyes, the gag from his mouth--he was free! Free--yes! but where?Thick darkness encompassed him; he stretched out his hands in themurky atmosphere and felt nothing. 

"Ziska!" he cried. 

The name sprang up against the silence and struck out numberlessechoes, and with the echoes came a shuddering sigh, that was notof them, whispering:

"Charmazel!"

Gervase heard it, and a deadly fear, born of the supernatural, possessed him. 

"Ziska! Ziska!" he called again wildly. 

"Charmazel!" answered the penetrating unknown voice; and as itthrilled upon the air like a sob of pain, a dim light began toshine through the gloom, waveringly at first, then more steadily, till it gradually spread wide, illuminating with a pale andspectral light the place in which he found himself, --a place moreweird and wondrous than any mystic scene in dream-land. Hestumbled forward giddily, utterly bewildered, staring about himlike a man in delirium, and speechless with mingled horror andamazement. He was alone--utterly alone in a vast square chamber, the walls and roof of which were thickly patterned and glisteningwith gold. Squares of gold were set in the very pavement on whichhe trod, and at the furthest end of the chamber, a magnificentsarcophagus of solid gold, encrusted with thousands upon thousandsof jewels, which were set upon it in marvellous and fantasticdevices, glittered and flashed with the hues of living fire. Golden cups, golden vases, a golden suit of armor, bracelets andchains of gold intermixed with gems, were heaped up against thewalls and scattered on the floor; and a round shield of ivoryinlaid with gold, together with a sword in a jewelled sheath, wereplaced in an upright position against the head of the sarcophagus, from whence all the spectral and mysterious light seemed toemerge. With thickly beating heart and faltering pulses Gervasestill advanced, gazing half entranced, half terrified at theextraordinary and sumptuous splendor surrounding him, mutteringalmost unconsciously as he moved along:

"A king's sepulchre, --a warrior's tomb! How came I here?--and why?Is this a trysting-place for love as well as death?--and will shecome to me? ... "

He recoiled suddenly with a violent start, for there, like astrange Spirit of Evil risen from the ground, leaning against thegreat gold sarcophagus, her exquisite form scarcely concealed bythe misty white of her draperies, her dark hair hanging like acloud over her shoulders, and her black eyes aflame with wrath, menace and passion, stood the mysterious Ziska!

CHAPTER XVI. 

Stricken dumb with a ghastly supernatural terror which farexceeded any ordinary sense of fear, he gazed at her, spellbound, his blood freezing, his very limbs stiffening, for now--now shelooked like the picture he had painted of her; and Death--Death, livid, tortured and horrible, stared at him skull-wise from thetransparent covering of her exquisitely tinted seeming-humanflesh. Larger and brighter and wilder grew her eyes as she fixedthem on him, and her voice rang through the silence with anunearthly resonance as she spoke and said:

"Welcome, my lover, to this abode of love! Welcome to these arms, for whose embraces your covetous soul has thirsted unappeased!Take all of me, for I am yours!--aye, so truly yours that you cannever escape me!--never separate from me--no! not through athousand thousand centuries! Life of my life! Soul of my soul!Possess me, as I possess you!--for our two unrepenting spiritsform a dual flame in Hell which must burn on and on to alleternity! Leap to my arms, master and lord, --king and conqueror!Here, here!" and she smote her white arms against her whiterbosom. "Take all your fill of burning wickedness--of cursed joy!and then--sleep! as you have slept before, these many thousandyears!"

Still mute and aghast he stared at her; his senses swam, his brainreeled, and then slowly, like the lifting of a curtain on the lastscene of a dire tragedy, a lightning thought, a scorching memory, sprang into his mind and overwhelmed him like a rolling wave thatbrings death in its track. With a fierce oath he rushed towardsher, and seized her hands in his--hands cold as ice and clammy aswith the dews of the grave. 

"Ziska! Woman! Devil! Speak before you drive me to madness! Whatpassion moves you thus--what mystic fooling? Into what place haveI been decoyed at your bidding? Why am I brought hither? Speak, speak!--or I shall murder you!"

"Nay!" she said, and her slight swaying form dilated and grew tillshe seemed to rise up from the very ground and to tower above himlike an enraged demon evoked from mist or flame. "You have donethat once! To murder me twice is beyond your power!" And as shespoke her hands slipped from his like the hands of a corpse newlydead. "Never again can you hurl forth my anguished soul unpreparedto the outer darkness of things invisible; never again! For I amfree!--free with an immortal freedom--free to work out repentanceor revenge, --even as Man is free to shape his course for good orevil. He chooses evil; I choose revenge! What place is this, youask?" and with a majestic gliding motion she advanced a little andpointed upward to the sparkling gold-patterned roof. "Above us, the Great Pyramid lifts its summit to the stars; and here below, --here where you will presently lie, my lover and lord, asleep inthe delicate bosom of love--here... "

She paused, and a low laugh broke from her lips; then she addedslowly and impressively:

"Here is the tomb of Araxes!"

As she spoke, a creeping sense of coldness and horror stole intohis veins like the approach of death, --the strange impressions hehad felt, the haunting and confusing memory he had always had ofher face and voice, the supernatural theories he had lately hearddiscussed, all rushed at once upon his mind, and he uttered a loudinvoluntary cry. 

"My God! What frenzy is this! A woman's vain trick!--a fool's madscheme! What is Araxes to me?--or I to Araxes?"

"Everything!" replied Ziska, the vindictive demon light in hereyes blazing with a truly frightful intensity. "Inasmuch as ye areone and the same! The same dark soul of sin--unpurged, uncleansedthrough ages of eternal fire! Sensualist! Voluptuary! Accursedspirit of the man I loved, come forth from the present Seeming-of-things! Come forth and cling to me! Cling!--for the whole forcesof a million universes shall not separate us! O Eternal Spirits ofthe Dead!" and she lifted her ghostly white arms with a wildgesture. "Rend ye the veil! Declare to the infidel and unbelieverthe truth of the life beyond death; the life wherein ye and Idwell and work, clamoring for late justice!"

Here she sprang forward and caught the arm of Gervase with all thefierce eagerness of some ravenous bird of prey; and as she did sohe knew her grasp meant death. 

"Remember the days of old, Araxes! Look back, look back from thepresent to the past, and remember the crimes that are stillunavenged! Remember the love sought and won!--remember the brokenheart!--remember the ruined life! Remember the triumphs of war!--the glories of conquest! Remember the lust of ambition!--thetreachery!--the slaughter!--the blasphemies against high Heaven!Remember the night of the Feast of Osiris--the Feast of the Sun!Remember how Ziska-Charmazel awaited her lover, singing alone forjoy, in blind faith and blinder love, his favorite song of theLotus-Lily! The moon was high, as it is now!--the stars glitteredabove the Pyramids, as they glitter now!--in the palace there wasthe sound of music and triumph and laughter, and a whisper on theair of the fickle heart and changeful mood of Araxes; of anotherface which charmed him, though less fair than that of Ziska-Charmazel! Remember, remember!" and she clung closer and closer ashe staggered backward half suffocated by his own emotions and thehorror of her touch. "Remember the fierce word!--the quick andmurderous blow!--the plunge of the jewelled knife up to the hiltin the passionate white bosom of Charmazel!--the lonely anguish inwhich she died! Died, --but to live again and pursue her murderer!--to track him down to his grave wherein the king strewed gold, anddevils strewed curses!--down, down to the end of all his glory andconquest into the silence of yon gold-encrusted clay! And out ofsilence again into sound and light and fire, ever pursuing, I havefollowed--followed through a thousand phases of existence!--and Iwill follow still through limitless space and endless time, tillthe great Maker of this terrible wheel of life Himself shall say, 'Stop! Here ends even the law of vengeance!' Oh, for ten thousandcenturies more in which to work my passion and prove my wrong! Allthe treasure of love despised!--all the hope of a life betrayed!--all the salvation of heaven denied! Tremble, Soul of Araxes!--forhate is eternal, as love is eternal!--the veil is down, and Memorystings!"

She turned her face, now spectral and pallid as a waning moon, upto him; her form grew thin and skeleton-like, while stillretaining the transparent outline of its beauty; and he realizedat last that no creature of flesh and blood was this that clung tohim, but some mysterious bodiless horror of the Supernatural, unguessed at by the outer world of men! The dews of death stoodthick on his forehead; there was a straining agony at his heart, and his breath came in quick convulsive gasps; but worse than hisphysical torture was the overwhelming and convincing truth of theactual existence of the Spiritual Universe, now so suddenly andawfully revealed. What he had all his life denied was now declareda certainty; where he had been deaf and blind, he now heard andsaw. Ziska! Ziska-Charmazel! In very truth he knew he rememberedher; in very truth he knew he had loved her; in very truth he knewhe had murdered her! But another still stranger truth was forcingitself upon him now; and this was, that the old love of the oldold days was arising within him in all its strength once more, andthat he loved her still! Unreal and terrible as it seemed, it wasnevertheless a fact, that as he gazed upon her tortured face, herbeautiful anguished eyes, her phantom form, he felt that he wouldgive his own soul to rescue hers and lift her from the coils ofvengeance into love again! Her words awoke vibrating pulsations ofthought, long dormant in the innermost recesses of his spirit, which, like so many dagger-thrusts, stabbed him with a myriadrecollections; and as a disguising cloak may fall from the figureof a friend in a masquerade, so his present-seeming personalitydropped from him and no longer had any substance. He recognizedhimself as Araxes--always the same Soul passing through a myriadchanges, --and all the links of his past and present were suddenlywelded together in one unbroken chain, stretching over thousandsof years, every link of which he was able to count, mark, andrecognize. By the dreadful light of that dumb comprehension whichflashes on all parting souls at the moment of dissolution, heperceived at last that not the Body but the Spirit is the centralsecret of life, --not deeds, but thoughts evolve creation. Death?That was a name merely; there was no death, --only a change intosome other form of existence. What change--what form would be hisnow? This thought startled him--roused him, --and once again thelow spirit-voice of his long-ago betrayed and murdered lovethrilled in his ears:

"Soul of Araxes, cling to my soul!--for this present life isswiftly passing! No more scorn of the Divine can stand whither weare speeding, for the Terrible and Eternal Truth overshadows usand our destinies! Closed are the gates of Heaven, --open wide arethe portals of Hell! Enter with me, my lover Araxes!--die as Idied, unprepared and alone! Die, and pass out into new life again--such life as mine--such torture as mine--such despair as mine--such hate as mine! ... "

She ceased abruptly, for he, convinced now of the certainty ofImmortality, was suddenly moved to a strange access of courage andresolution. Something sweet and subtle stirred in him, --a sense ofpower, --a hint of joy, which completely overcame all dread ofdeath. Old love revived, grew stronger in his soul, and his gazerested on the shadowy form beside him, no longer with horror butwith tenderness. She was Ziska-Charmazel, --she had been his love--the dearest portion of his life--once in the far-off time; she hadbeen the fairest of women--and more than fair, she had beenfaithful! Yes, he remembered that, as he remembered Her! Everycurve in her beautiful body had been a joy for him alone; and forhim alone her lips, sweet and fresh as rosebuds, had kept theirkisses. She had loved him as few women have either heart orstrength to love, and he had rewarded her fidelity by death andeternal torment! A struggling cry escaped him, and he stretchedout his arms:

"Ziska! Forgive--forgive!"

As he uttered the words, he saw her wan face suddenly change, --allthe terror and torture passed from it like a passing cloud, --beautiful as an angel's, it smiled upon him, --the eyes softenedand flashed with love, the lips trembled, the spectral form glowedwith a living luminance, and a mystic Glory glittered above thedusky hair! Filled with ecstasy at the sight of her wondrousloveliness, he felt nothing of the coldness of death at hisheart, --a divine passion inspired him, and with the last effort ofhis failing strength he strove to gather all the spirit-likebeauty of her being into his embrace. 

"Love--Love!" he cried. "Not Hate, but Love! Come back out of thedarkness, soul of the woman I wronged! Forgive me! Come back tome! Hell or Heaven, what matters it if we are together! Come tome, --come! Love is stronger than Hate!"

Speech failed him; the cold agony of death gripped at his heartand struck him mute, but still he saw the beautiful passionateeyes of a forgiving Love turned gloriously upon him like stars inthe black chaos whither he now seemed rushing. Then came a solemnsurging sound as of great wings beating on a tempestuous air, andall the light in the tomb was suddenly extinguished. One instantmore he stood upright in the thick darkness; then a burning knifeseemed plunged into his breast, and he reeled forward and fell, his last hold on life being the consciousness that soft arms wereclasping him and drawing him away--away--he knew not whither--andthat warm lips, sweet and tender, were closely pressed on his. Andpresently, out of the heavy gloom came a Voice which said:

"Peace! The old gods are best, and the law is made perfect. A lifedemands a life. Love's debt must be paid by Love! The woman's soulforgives; the man's repents, --wherefore they are both releasedfrom bondage and the memory of sin. Let them go hence, the curseis lifted!"

* * * *

Once more the wavering ghostly light gave luminance to thesplendor of the tomb, and showed where, fallen sideways among thegolden treasures and mementoes of the past, lay the dead body ofArmand Gervase. Above him gleamed the great jewelled sarcophagus;and within touch of his passive hand was the ivory shield andgold-hilted sword of Araxes. The spectral radiance gleamed, wandered and flitted over all things, --now feebly, nowbrilliantly, --till finally flashing with a pale glare on the darkdead face, with the proud closed lips and black level brows, itflickered out; and one of the many countless mysteries of theGreat Pyramid was again hidden in impenetrable darkness. 

* * * *

Vainly Denzil Marray waited next morning for his rival to appear. He paced up and down impatiently, watching the rosy hues ofsunrise spreading over the wide desert and lighting up the massivefeatures of the Sphinx, till as hour after hour passed and stillGervase did not come, he hurried back to the Mena House Hotel, andmeeting Dr. Maxwell Dean on the way, to him poured out his rageand perplexity. 

"I never thought Gervase was a coward!" he said hotly. 

"Nor should you think so now, " returned the Doctor, with a graveand preoccupied air. "Whatever his faults, cowardice was not oneof them. You see, I speak of him in the past tense. I told youyour intended duel would not come off, and I was right. Denzil, Idon't think you will ever see either Armand Gervase or thePrincess Ziska again. "

Denzil started violently. 

"What do you mean? The Princess is here, --here in this veryhouse. "

"Is she?" and Dr. Dean sighed somewhat impatiently. "Well, let ussee!" Then, turning to a passing waiter, he inquired: "Is thePrincess Ziska here still?"

"No, sir. She left quite suddenly late last night; going on toThebes, I believe, sir. "

The Doctor looked meaningly at Denzil. 

"You hear?"

But Denzil in his turn was interrogating the waiter. 

"Is Mr. Gervase in his room?"

"No, sir. He went out about ten o'clock yesterday evening, and Idon't think he is coming back. One of the Princess Ziska'sservants--the tall Nubian whom you may have noticed, sir--broughta message from him to say that his luggage was to be sent toParis, and that the money for his bill would be found on hisdressing-table. It was all right, of course, but we thought itrather curious. "

And glancing deferentially from one to the other of hisquestioners with a smile, the waiter went on his way. 

"They have fled together!" said Denzil then, in choked accents offury. "By Heaven, if I had guessed the plan already formed in histreacherous mind, I would never have shaken hands with Gervaselast night!"

"Oh, you did shake hands?" queried Dr. Dean, meditatively. "Well, there was no harm in that. You were right. You and Gervase willmeet no more in this life, believe me! He and the Princess Ziskahave undoubtedly, as you say, fled together--but not to Thebes!"

He paused a moment, then laid his hand kindly on Denzil'sshoulder. 

"Let us go back to Cairo, my boy, and from thence as soon aspossible to England. We shall all be better away from thisterrible land, where the dead have far more power than theliving!"

Denzil stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

"You talk in riddles!" he said, irritably. "Do you think I shalllet Gervase escape me? I will track him wherever he has gone, --Idaresay I shall find him in Paris. "

Dr. Dean took one or two slow turns up and down the corridor wherethey were conversing, then stopping abruptly, looked his youngfriend full and steadily in the eyes. 

"Come, come, Denzil. No more of this folly, " he said, gently. "Whyshould you entertain these ideas of vengeance against Gervase? Hehas really done you no harm. He was the natural mate of the womanyou imagined you loved, --the response to her query, --the otherhalf of her being; and that she was and is his destiny, and hehers, should not excite your envy or hatred. I say you IMAGINEDyou loved the Princess Ziska, --it was a young man's hot freak ofpassion for an almost matchless beauty, but no more than that. Andif you would be frank with yourself, you know that passion hasalready cooled. I repeat, you will never see Gervase or thePrincess Ziska again in this life; so make the best of it. "

"Perhaps you have assisted him to escape me!" said Denzilfrigidly. 

Dr. Dean smiled. 

"That's rather a rough speech, Denzil! But never mind!" hereturned. "Your pride is wounded, and you are still sore. Suspectme as you please, --make me out a new Pandarus, if you like--Ishall not be offended. But you know--for I have often told you--that I never interfere in love matters. They are too explosive, too vitally dangerous; outsiders ought never to meddle with them. And I never do. Come back with me to Cairo. And when we are oncemore safely established on the solid and unromantic isles ofBritain, you will forget all about the Princess Ziska; or if youdo remember her, it will only be as a dream in the night, a kindof vague shadow and uncertainty, which will never seriouslytrouble your mind. You look incredulous. I tell you at your agelove is little more than a vision; you must wait a few years yetbefore it becomes a reality, and then Heaven help you, Denzil!--for you will be a troublesome fellow to deal with! Meanwhile, letus get back to Cairo and see Helen. "

Somewhat soothed by the Doctor's good-nature, and a trifle ashamedof his wrath, Denzil yielded, and the evening saw them both backat the Gezireh Palace Hotel, where of course the news of thesudden disappearance of Armand Gervase with the Princess Ziskacreated the utmost excitement. Helen Murray shivered and grew paleas death when she heard it; lively old Lady Fulkeward simpered andgiggled, and declared it was "the most delightful thing she hadever heard of!"--an elopement in the desert was "so exquisitelyromantic!" Sir Chetwynd Lyle wrote a conventional and stiltedaccount of it for his paper, and ponderously opined that theimmorality of Frenchmen was absolutely beyond any decentjournalist's powers of description. Lady Chetwynd Lyle, on thecontrary, said that the "scandal" was not the fault of Gervase; itwas all "that horrid woman, " who had thrown herself at his head. Ross Courtney thought the whole thing was "queer;" and young LordFulkeward said there was something about it he didn't quiteunderstand, --something "deep, " which his aristocratic quality ofintelligence could not fathom. And society talked and gossipedtill Paris and London caught the rumor, and the name of the famousFrench artist, who had so strangely vanished from the scene of histriumphs with a beautiful woman whom no one had ever heard ofbefore, was soon in everybody's mouth. No trace of him or of thePrincess Ziska could be discovered; his portmanteau contained noletters or papers, --nothing but a few clothes; his paint-box andeasel were sent on to his deserted studio in Paris, and also ablank square of canvas, on which, as Dr. Dean and others knew, hadonce been the curiously-horrible portrait of the Princess. Butthat appalling "first sketch" was wiped out and clean gone asthough it had never been painted, and Dr. Dean called Denzil'sattention to the fact. But Denzil thought nothing of it, as heimagined that Gervase himself had obliterated it before leavingCairo. 

A few of the curious among the gossips went to see the house thePrincess had lately occupied, where she had "received" society andmanaged to shock it as well. It was shut up, and looked as if ithad not been inhabited for years. And the gossips said it was"strange, very strange!" and confessed themselves utterlymystified. But the fact remained that Gervase had disappeared andthe Princess Ziska with him. "However, " said Society, "they can'tpossibly hide themselves for long. Two such remarkablepersonalities are bound to appear again somewhere. I daresay weshall come across them in Paris or on the Riviera. The world ismuch too small for the holding of a secret. "

And presently, with the approach of spring, and the gradual break-up of the Cairo "season, " Denzil Murray and his sister sailed fromAlexandria en route for Venice. Dr. Dean accompanied them; so didthe Fulkewards and Ross Courtney. The Chetwynd-Lyles went by adifferent steamer, "old" Lady Fulkeward being quite too much forthe patience of those sweet but still unengaged "girls" Muriel andDolly. One night when the great ship was speeding swiftly over acalm sea, and Denzil, lost in sorrowful meditation, was gazing outover the trackless ocean with pained and passionate eyes whichcould see nothing but the witching and exquisite beauty of thePrincess Ziska, now possessed and enjoyed by Gervase, Dr. Deantouched him on the arm and said:

"Denzil, have you ever read Shakespeare?"

Denzil started and forced a smile. 

"Why, yes, of course!"

"Then you know the lines--

 'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, Than aredreamt of in your philosophy?'

The Princess Ziska was one of those 'things. '"

Denzil regarded him in wonderment. 

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, of course, you will think me insane, " said the Doctor, resignedly. "People always take refuge in thinking that those whotell them uncomfortable truths are lunatics. You've heard me talkof ghosts?--ghosts that walk and move about us like human beings?--and they are generally very brilliant and clever impersonationsof humanity, too--and that nevertheless are NOT human?"

Denzil assented. 

"The Princess Ziska was a ghost!" concluded the Doctor, foldinghis arms very tightly across his chest and nodding defiantly. 

"Nonsense!" cried Denzil. "You are mad!"

"Precisely the remark I thought you would make!" and Dr. Deanunfolded his arms again and smiled triumphantly. "Therefore, mydear boy, let us for the future avoid this subject. I know what Iknow; I can distinguish phantoms from reality, and I am notdeceived by appearances. But the world prefers ignorance toknowledge, and even so let it be. Next time I meet a ghost I'llkeep my own counsel!" He paused a moment, --then added: "Youremember I told you I was hunting down that warrior of old time, Araxes?"

Denzil nodded, a trifle impatiently. 

"Well, " resumed the Doctor slowly, --"Before we left Egypt I foundhim! But how I found him, and where, is my secret!"

Society still speaks occasionally of Armand Gervase, and wondersin its feeble way when he will be "tired" of the Egyptian beautyhe ran away with, or she of him. Society never thinks very far orcares very much for anything long, but it does certainly expect tosee the once famous French artist "turn up" suddenly, either inhis old quarters in Paris, or in one or the other of thefashionable resorts of the Riviera. That he should be dead hasnever occurred to anyone, except perhaps Dr. Maxwell Dean. But Dr. Dean has grown extremely reticent--almost surly; and never answersany questions concerning his Scientific Theory of Ghosts, a workwhich, when published, created a great deal of excitement, owingto its singularity and novelty of treatment. There was the usual"hee-hawing" from the donkeys in the literary pasture, who fondlyimagined their brayings deserved to be considered in the light ofserious opinion;--and then after a while the book fell into thehands of scientists only, --men who are beginning to understand thediscretion of silence, and to hold their tongues as closely as theEgyptian priests of old did, aware that the great majority of menare never ripe for knowledge. Quite lately Dr. Dean attended twoweddings, --one being that of "old" Lady Fulkeward, who has marrieda very pretty young fellow of five-and-twenty, whose dearestconsideration in life is the shape of his shirt-collar; the other, that of Denzil Murray, who has wedded the perfectly well-born, well-bred and virtuous, if somewhat cold-blooded, daughter of hisnext-door neighbor in the Highlands. Concerning his Egyptianexperience he never speaks, --he lives the ordinary life of theScottish land-owner, looking after his tenantry, considering thecrops, preserving the game, and clearing fallen timber;--and ifthe glowing face of the beautiful Ziska ever floats before hismemory, it is only in a vague dream from which he quickly rouseshimself with a troubled sigh. His sister Helen has never married. Lord Fulkeward proposed to her but was gently rejected, whereuponthe disconsolate young nobleman took a journey to the States andmarried the daughter of a millionaire oil-merchant instead. SirChetwynd Lyle and his pig-faced spouse still thrive and grow faton the proceeds of the Daily Dial, and there is faint hope thatone of their "girls" will wed an aspiring journalist, --a boldadventurer who wants "a share in the paper" somehow, even if hehas to marry Muriel or Dolly in order to get it. Ross Courtney isthe only man of the party once assembled at the Gezireh PalaceHotel who still goes to Cairo every winter, fascinated thither byan annually recurring dim notion that he may "discover traces" ofthe lost Armand Gervase and the Princess Ziska. And he frequentlyaccompanies the numerous sight-seers who season after season drivefrom Cairo to the Pyramids, and take pleasure in staring at theSphinx with all the impertinence common to pigmies whencontemplating greatness. But more riddles than that of the Sphinxare lost in the depths of the sandy desert; and more unsolvedproblems lie in the recesses of the past than even the restlessand inquiring spirit of modern times will ever discover;--and ifit should ever chance that in days to come, the secret of themovable floor of the Great Pyramid should be found, and the losttreasures of Egypt brought to light, there will probably be muchdiscussion and marvel concerning the Golden Tomb of Araxes. Forthe hieroglyphs on the jewelled sarcophagus speak of him thus andsay:--

"Araxes was a Man of Might, far exceeding in Strength and Beautythe common sons of men. Great in War, Invincible in Love, he didExcel in Deeds of Courage and of Conquest, --and for whatsoeverSins he did in the secret Weakness of humanity commit, the Godsmust judge him. But in all that may befit a Warrior, Amenhotep TheKing doth give him honor, --and to the Spirits of Darkness and ofLight his Soul is here commended to its Rest. "

Thus much of the fierce dead hero of old time, --but of themouldering corpse that lies on the golden floor of the same tomb, its skeleton hand touching, almost grasping, the sword of Araxes, what shall be said? Nothing--since the Old and the New, the Pastand the Present, are but as one moment in the countings ofeternity, and even with a late repentance Love pardons all. 

FINIS.