The Greatest Works of Ingersoll Lockwood. Lockwood Ingersoll

is kept alive in the hearts of a few chosen ones, and they hand it down, each quarter century, to younger keepers selected for the purpose.

      To Antonius the secret had been thus confided.

      And such was the tale he told to me!

      With a light heart, now that its weight of doubt and uncertainty had been lifted from it, I bade Antonius farewell, and, followed by Bulger wended my way back to the abodes of the Slow Movers.

      As I passed through one of the groves peopled with marble forms, I paused, I hardly knew why, in front of an admirable bust of the great Cæsar.

      Bulger joined me, and there we stood, children of this late day, with our eyes uplifted to the face of him whose smallest word was once copied down on waxen tablet as if it were the utterance of a god.

      I had always liked Cæsar.

      We resembled each other in many ways.

      We were both men of action.

      I felt sorry for him now, that he should be forced to live, even in the shape of marble, among such dull and inactive people as the Slow Movers.

      I told him so.

      “And yet, Julius,” said I, “called of men the Great Cæsar, what a fortunate thing it is that thou art not living now, for thou wouldst be overcome with shame at finding everybody reading my adventures while the book which thou wrotest concerning Gaul lies mouldy and dust-covered on the shelves of the libraries!”

      The following day, in passing that way again, and glancing up at great Cæsar’s face, I noticed that a smile had just started in the right corner of his mouth. So stolid had he become through his long residence among the Slow Movers that he had just begun to be amused by the remark I had made on the previous day.

      Thoughts of home now arose in my mind.

      The fact is that shortly after my interview with Antonius in his cavern by the sea, Bulger had commenced to show unmistakable signs of home-sickness. So I dispatched him with a note to the officer of my vessel to begin preparations at once for the return voyage.

      Bulger made haste to execute the commission.

      He proceeded to the foot of the marble staircase, and then by loud barking attracted the attention of the officer whom I had left in command.

      He sent a boat ashore and Bulger met it with my letter in his mouth.

      To tell the truth, I would have fain lingered for a week or so longer among the Slow Movers, but it was plain to be seen that they were growing restive at my presence.

      On the cheeks of many of them all signs of ruddy peach-bloom had disappeared.

      Day by day they grew more and more like their marble brethren.

      My quick movements so wearied their eyes that after a few hours’ stay in their midst I found myself surrounded by a company of deep sleepers.

      Nor dared I speak.

      For no matter how I softened my voice, or how slowly I uttered my words, they jarred upon the delicate ears of the Slow Movers, and signs of suffering gradually passed over their faces.

      My resolution was therefore quickly formed.

      With a snail’s pace I passed from group to group, from bower to bower, from grove to grove, saying in a soft and measured tone: “Fare——well! Fare——well!”

      Then I directed my steps toward the white temple by the sea, for I knew my boat’s crew were waiting for me at the foot of the marble staircase.

      As I passed in front of Great Cæsar’s statue I turned to wave a last adieu.

      What saw I, think you?

      Why, that same smile which had begun in the right corner of his mouth several days ago, had crossed over to the other side of his face and was just at the left corner of his mouth.

      On the right side, whence it had come, all was as stern and calm as when he sat enthroned at Rome, and ruled the world.

      Several hours later, as we were busy setting the sails of my good ship there fell upon my ear in a soft, echo-like tone, the word.

      “Fare!”

      The Slow Movers had begun to speak their adieu. The winds were favorable.

      The sails filled.

      As the sun went down, pouring a flood of golden light upon the beautiful marble staircase, the great white temple and the many snowy statues which gleamed so bright and fair amid the dark foliage of the trees and vines upon the terraces of that mysterious island I threw myself upon the deck with intent to keep my eyes fixed upon the lovely scene as long as possible.

      My good ship sailed away in deepest silence. For I had given orders that no one should speak above a whisper.

      Now the Sculptors’ Isle had faded to a mere speck in the horizon, and now, in the gathering shades of night, it was swallowed up, and lost forever!

      My heart grew heavy.

      Bulger nestled his head in my lap, with his loving eyes fixed full upon me.

      Sleep overcame us both.

      The sky was star-studded when we awoke.

      The cool night wind had refreshed me.

      I sprang up with the intention of going below. At that instant there came floating along on the evening breeze, like a mountain echo nearly spent, a soft mysterious sound.

      My ear caught it! It was:

      “W—e l—l!”

      The Slow Movers had finished speaking their adieu.