"'Two days before,' she continued, 'I had done his nails, here, for
this was his room. On the wall, near the window, he had written
something in the stone with his knife. See, it is still here.' "'Was it not Fate, that on this July midnight....' "At any other moment, that verse, traced in the stone of the window
through which the English officer had hurled himself, would have
killed me with overpowering emotion. But just then, another thought
was in my heart.
"'Tell me,' I said, controlling my voice as well as I could, 'when
Antinea holds one of us in her power, she shuts him up near her, does
she not? Nobody sees him any more?' The old woman shook her head.
"'She is not afraid that he will escape. The mountain is well guarded.
Antinea has only to strike her silver gong; he will be brought back to
her immediately.' "'But my companion. I have not see him since she sent for him....' "The Negress smiled comprehendingly.
"'If you have not seen him, it is because he prefers to remain near
her. Antinea does not force him to. Neither does she prevent him.' "I struck my fist violently upon the table.
"'Get along with you, old fool. And be quick about it!' "Rosita fled frightened, hardly taking time to collect her little instruments.
"'Was it not Fate, that on this July midnight....' "I obeyed the Negress's suggestion. Following the corridors, losing my way, set on the right road again by the Reverend Spardek, I pushed
open the door of the red marble hall. I entered.
"The freshness of the perfumed crypt did me good. No place can be so
sinister that it is not, as it were, purified by the murmur of running
water. The cascade, gurgling in the middle hall, comforted me. One day
before an attack I was lying with my section in deep grass, waiting
for the moment, the blast of the bugle, which would demand that we
leap forward into the hail of bullets. A stream was at my feet. I
listened to its fresh rippling. I admired the play of light and shade
in the transparent water, the little beasts, the little black fish,
the green grass, the yellow wrinkled sand.... The mystery of water
always has carried me out of myself.
"Here, in this magic hall, my thoughts were held by the dark
cascade. It felt friendly. It kept me from faltering in the midst of
these rigid evidences of so many monstrous sacrifices.... Number 26.
It was he all right. Lieutenant Douglas Kaine, born at Edinburgh,
September 21, 1862. Died at Ahaggar, July 16, 1890. Twenty-eight.
He wasn't even twenty-eight! His face was thin under the coat of
orichalch. His mouth sad and passionate. It was certainly he. Poor
youngster.--Edinburgh,--I knew Edinburgh, without ever having been
there. From the wall of the castle you can see the Pentland hills.
"Look a little lower down," said Stevenson's sweet Miss Flora to Anne
of Saint-Yves, "look a little lower down and you will see, in the fold
of the hill, a clump of trees and a curl of smoke that rises from
among them. That is Swanston Cottage, where my brother and I live with
my aunt. If it really pleases you to see it, I shall be glad."