The hangings of black leather were inscribed with strange and contrasted characters, fashioned in shapes of glittering gold, while from the aperture at the top, where the roof of the tent should have been placed, there arose, lurid folds, columns of smoke, winding upward to the far off ceiling of the cavern.
Near the tent of embroidered leather, arose a small, square and compact structure of ebony, in shape resembling a table, designed to serve the purposes of an altar.
On the top of the altar of ebony was laid an hour glass; a funeral urn, and a phial of glittering silver; a massive volume of time-eaten parchments; with an unbound scroll, falling to the very floor of the cavern.
Within the compass of a fathom’s length from the tent of leather, was erected the fire of oaken wood which threw its ruddy glare around the spot, and flung vivid though flickering glimpses of light into the distant recesses of the cavern.
And there in the lone cavern, beneath the frown of the Demon-Form, with the blaze of the oaken fire, disclosing their faces and figures in bold and strong relief, there, while the hours of that fearful night, dragged heavily on, watched and waited Aldarin and Ibrahim the Son of the Kings[7].
Ibrahim, calm, solemn and erect, stood beside the Altar of Ebony, his sable attire, his dark hued face, with the gray hair, the white eye-brows and the flowing beard disclosed in the light, while he gazed in wonder and awe upon the immensity of that cavern, where the last and most terrible scene in the Mortal Life of Aldarin, was to add another legend of horror to the teeming Archives of Albarone.
With slow and measured steps, Aldarin paced the pavement of the cavern, in front of the sable tent. The light of the flame revealed his face, pale and colorless, stamped with an expression, calm and immovable it is true, yet fraught with strange and mysterious meaning.
“It is a dark and gloomy place—dost not think so Ibrahim?” exclaimed the Scholar advancing to the side of the Arab-Prince. “Look around! Behold the flashes of flame-light falling along the floor of the dread cavern, giving a lurid glare to the ceiling as it arises above our heads, like an earth-hidden sky, or casting their ruddy glare over the face and form of yon dark figure of giant rock. Is’t not a dark and gloomy place, Ibrahim?”
“Here, along this gloomy cavern, might the warrior of a thousand battles walk and tremble as he walked, without the blush of shame for his coward fear. As I gaze around upon the dark mysteries of this funereal vault, methinks I behold the demons of the unreal world, clustering around me, laughing in my face, or mocking my very soul with their gestures of scorn!”
“Here will the last scene in the Mortal Life of Aldarin, startle the very gaze of yon dark dread face of stone. Tell me Ibrahim, how long hast thou waited in this solemn vault.”