The Greatest Works of Fergus Hume - 22 Mystery Novels in One Edition. Fergus Hume

the funeral couch of Patroclus, and beneath its beam sits the sullen-faced Achilles, gazing with wrathful eyes at the dimly-seen walls of Troy… Ai: Ai:… The end is near, O Queen… Thy fatal beauty hath worked out its evil destiny and already the irrevocable fiat has gone forth from the Fates… Ai: Ai:… Crafty Ulysses, with the cautious wrinkles round thy deep-set eyes, I pray thee tell me where thou art going… Ithaca:… Push off the galley from the shores of Troy… Unloose the ten years’ bound sail… and let us cross the foaming leagues of perilous seas in search of thine island home… Lo: how the great sea freshens and whitens under the caress of the winds, and we feel the salt breath of the wandering fields of foam of large savour in our nostrils… But lo: what purple land gleams dimly in the distance?… Lotus-eaters… (Here the diary is illegible.) See… how the nymphs sport in the crystal waters… the flash of white bodies; the waving of dishevelled locks… Ithaca…. Turn the galley home to where the ever-weaving Penelope awaits thee…

      Ah, Ithaca.

      * * *

      …Oh, clash and clamour of music… the light tread of slave-girls scattering flowers… the barbaric gleam of scarlet and gold… the martial bearing of the Roman soldiers… and she—the serpent of the Nile—comes for her Roman lover… Ah, Cleopatra. Egypt … he with the passionate face, that stretches out his arms to thee, would sustain the great diadem of the world on his brow, but for thee, dark-browed gipsy… Hark, how the shrill music sounds… he comes. Anthony.

      …Ancient Egypt, mysterious and marvellous, wrapped in the deepest mists of antiquity… Long slumbrous ranges of palaces… long trains of painted figures on the walls… and symbolical hieroglyphics… Lift up the dense veil which shrouds thy mysterious… countenance, O lsis… Behold how the solemn sphynxesin silent lines gaze wide-eyed at the mysterious Pyramids… O mysterious Egypt… hail… Osiris… Thoth… (Here the writing is illegible.)

      …Strike the timbrel, for Miriam, the prophetess of the Lord, sings a pæan of victory, and her great brother towers sublime over the Redeemed Israelites… Golgotha… Calvary… The Cross… who… who hangs upon it so still and lifeless?… Behind… reddens the evening sky, and the Cross hangs like a thunder-cloud over Jerusalem… Is it then true… this which I deemed a fable?… Didst thou die for humanity, O Christ?… Ah, lift not those pain-charged eyes, O Nazarene:… see how the red blood drips from thy thorn-wreathed diadem… Prophet… Christianity … I am in space, the centre of the… great wheel of the universe… around throng the nebulous masses of worlds… and this heaving mass of fire, is this the earth?… I stand before the portals of creation… Open… God… Fire… Chaos…

      The fresh morning breaks slowly in the East, and the dreamer awakes to the reality of life.

      Chapter VI.

       The Last Ingredient of the Elixir

       Table of Contents

      “A rarer drug

       Than all the perfumed spices of the East.”

      Philippa was seated at the window of the breakfast room, dressed in her riding habit. Engaged that morning to ride with Lord Dulchester, and longing to be in the saddle, she waited his arrival with some impatience. She was reading the “Field,” her favourite paper; every now and then glancing at the clock, or bending down to caress the huge staghound lying at her feet. At last with a laugh she arose, tossed the paper on the floor, and stepped out on to the terrace followed by her dog.

      It was a cold, clear morning, with a brisk wind blowing, which brought the blood into Philippa’s cheeks in no time. There were a number of pigeons on the terrace, but at her approach they flew away, and she saw them, whirling specks of white, in the cold, blue sky. Miss Harkness stood staring at them for some time, and then, giving her dog’s ears a malicious pull, she began to talk to herself.

      “I never did see anyone like that Jack of mine. He is always late; it is about half an hour since the time I told him. Ah, there’s that dear old pater hard at work; I shall go in and see him.”

      The window of the library was open, and, stepping lightly in, she went to her father. He was bending over his writing-table examining a stray leaf of some book, and looked up with a bewildered expression when her shadow fell on him.

      “Well, pater,” she said, gaily, laying her gloved hand on his shoulder, “hard at work? Why don’t you come out for a ride, instead of sitting all day among these musty old books?”

      “Bless me, Philippa, how you talk,” answered her father, peevishly. “How can I spare the time? Besides, Professor Brankel is coming to see the library to-day.”

      Philippa turned round without a word and went on to the terrace, where she stood carelessly slicking at the leaves of a cypress which grew near, and thinking deeply. Her dog lay down at her feet, and put his nose between his paws, keeping one bright eye sharply on his mistress, while the other blinked half-asleep. The thoughts of Miss Harkness were not of a pleasant nature. She had forgotten the German, and her father’s reminder had brought to her the unpleasant fact that there was such a person. She was by no means a young lady given to fancies, and yet there was that about this Professor she did not like. Although not of an imaginative tendency, his eyes seemed to fascinate her and again she thought of Christabel.

      “It’s one comfort I shall be away all day,” she muttered to herself, “and he will be gone by the time I come home, that is, if the pater does not ask——”

      “Phil! Phil!” cried a voice almost immediately beneath her, and on looking over she saw her tardy lover, mounted on a splendid horse, and looking handsome and fresh, as a young Briton ought to look on riding five miles on a cold morning, with his lady-love at the end of the fifth mile.

      “How late you are, Jack,” she cried, catching up her gloves and flying down the steps. “I’ve been waiting quite an hour.”

      “Couldn’t get away,” replied Dulchester, who had dismounted, and was looking with pride at her eager face. “The governor wanted to consult me about some things, and it was with great difficulty I could come even now.”

      “I am to take that explanation with a grain of salt,” laughed Philippa, whose horse had now been brought round.

      “Just as you like—with or without salt,” retorted Jack, flinging the reins of his horse to the groom, and standing ready to assist her to mount.

      She laughed lightly, put her foot on his hand, and in another moment was in the saddle. She gathered up her reins, and gave Fiddle-de-dee a sharp stroke with her whip, which caused him to dance about in the most alarming manner.

      “Now then, Phil, are you ready?” asked Lord Dulchester, who had mounted his own horse and was steering it beside hers.

      “Aye, aye, sir,” and away they went down the avenue, leaving the grooms looking after them with intense admiration.

      “They’re a rare couple,” said one to the other.

      “Aye, the finest this part o’ the country,” and with a laugh both went inside.

      Meanwhile Miss Harkness and her lover had reached the park gates, and had just passed through them when they saw the Professor coming along the road. Philippa’s heart gave a jump as she saw those gleaming eyes once more fixed on hers.

      “Good morning, Miss Harkness,” said the Professor; “I see you are indulging in your favourite pastime. I am calling on Sir Gilbert.”

      “You will find him in the library,” said Philippa, bowing coldly, while Dulchester passed him with a curt “Good morning.”

      The Professor stood looking after them with a sneer on his face as they rode away laughing and chatting merrily, and the same envy of their happiness came into his heart as Satan felt when he saw Adam and Eve in the garden.

      “Oh, Hell, what do mine eyes with grief behold?