Oh, this interminable avenue of stone gods … on either side the faces of solemn sphinxes…. I am in Egypt … I go up to offer sacrifice to the god Thoth … lines of sphinxes … statues of kings with their hands placed on their knees … then this great flight of steps…. Up, and up and up…. Are we going to heaven?… I will bow down to my God…. Horror! Huitzilopochtli…. This is not my God…. I sacrifice to Thoth…. To Isis…. Ah, you would make of me the victim…. Oh, foul priest, knife in hand … the stone of the sacrifice … you raise the obsidian knife … Again the chant of the priests … the light clash of the dancing-girls' anklets … drums … cymbals and death….
I am in the tomb … yes; fold my hands on my breast, for I have done with life … straight and white I lie, with cerements swathing my form … this is a king's tomb … these walls are painted with many colours … yonder are gods and kings and heroes walking in long files … here they sacrifice to their god … there they lead captive trains of prisoners…. A splendid tomb, but the roof crushes me down … oh, Heaven! can those pillars, those caryatides support the cyclopean architecture?… It will fall and crush me, like Samson…. Yes, I thirst! I am dead, but I thirst…. Dives in hell … give me….
… What! a woman's face?… I have seen that face before … those dark eyes, that smiling mouth … it is thou! Dolores! Oh, my heart's best love, I again find you,—in the tomb?… we have done with life … then we were divided; but Death, more merciful, has joined us again…. Place your cool white hand on my brow … it burns … it burns…. No, no! do not leave me … oh, I see you fade in the darkness like a vision … and this phantom which rises between us?… Oh, Xuarez! liar! thief! murderer!… thus do I slay thee!… So weak; so weary; I know nothing … where am I?… what am I?… whither have my visions fled?… I am dead! not in hell, nor heaven … but where? I know not … I am dead … you, Dolores … you, Xuarez … you all, dreams…. I lie here dead and still … in my ear the chant of a slave…. Could I only turn my head … ah! the slave rises … he bends over me…. Cocom!…
"Yes, Señor, it is Cocom," said a well-known voice, as a gentle hand skilfully adjusted the bandages.
"Cocom!" repeated Jack, in a weak voice. "Am I dead? Do I dream? Am I dead?"
"No, Señor Juan. You were nearly dead, and for days you have dreamed of many things. Now you are better, and will live."
"Still on earth?"
"Yes, Don Juan. Still do you live, thanks be to the gods. Teoyamiqui has not yet brought you to her kingdom. Now, lie you still, Señor. So! Drink this, and speak not; you are so weak."
Jack raised his head from the pillow, and greedily drank the contents of the cup held to his lips by Cocom. Then he closed his eyes, and fell into a refreshing sleep, while the old Indian sat quietly by the side of the couch, muttering some strange old song of a forgotten civilisation. Now and then a form would glide into the room and look at Jack sleeping in the bed, so still, so deathlike. Sometimes a man, more often a woman, and ever beside the couch sat the stolid Cocom, watching the face of his patient with intense interest.
How long he slept thus Jack did not know, but when he woke from a refreshing slumber all his delirium had departed. He felt weak, truly, but clear-headed and calm in his mind. Opening his eyes, he listened vaguely to the murmuring song of his attendant, and thought over the events which had preceded his illness. The entry into Acauhtzin; the dismissal of the deputation at the Palacio Nacional; the fight at the sea-gate; the interview in prison with Don Hypolito; and then utter blankness. He remembered fainting in the cell at Acauhtzin, and now he had wakened—where? With an effort he raised his head and looked round him.