“Must I then, unclose the darkest place in this seared bosom to thy gaze? Man, I tell thee—his form—the form of my brother shall live again!”
“Thy brother—Awful God!” whispered the Arabian in a tone, whose horror may not be described—“Thy brother then was thy last victim?”
“Pity me, Ibrahim, pity me!” shrieked Aldarin. “Swayed by two mingling and opposing motives—the one, ambition for the welfare of my child—the other, the all-absorbing desire for the Immortal Life on earth; but a few short days ago, I beheld approach the last moment of the Mystic Age of Toil. Then—then, I first learned the necessity of the fearful sacrifice, and—I drugged the bowl of death.”
“This is too horrible for belief!” muttered Ibrahim; “Now—now my soul is firm for the work of the night!”
“Was I to falter when the hour of fear and doom drew nigh?” shrieked Aldarin, as his slender form rose proudly erect, and his impassioned face shone in the full light of the flame. “Was I, I, who had strode on to the guerdon of all my toil, unfearing and undismayed, though the dead body of my wife lay in my path, though the hopes of my heart fell withered and dead around me, while the spirit of my love for her, plead and plead in vain for pity; was I, Aldarin, to spare the blow, when that blow would crown my earthly ambition, and complete my immortal toil? Ha—ha! The thought is vain!”
“Hadst thou no mercy?”
“In such a cause, I answer none. I tell thee man, had my brother pleaded for his life, and sprinkled my feet with his tears,—had he pleaded for his life in the calm, soft tones of childhood, the tones that brought back the memory of those days when our arms and hearts were interlocked—had he sprinkled my feet with such tears as wet this seared face, when I rescued him from the waters of the river that rolls without these walls, some thirty years ago—then even then, I could not have spared him! No, no, no! It was to be, and it was!”
“He shall rise from the dead, thou sayst? In what form shall he appear?”
“Fair, and young, and beautiful; youth shrined in his heart and power throned on his brow! His mind will be fresh with new-born vigor, yet Memory of the Past, shall never darken his bosom! The babe is not more unconscious of its pre-existence in another and a far-off world, than will be Julian my brother of the Past, with all its darkness and doom.”
“How dost thou know, that he will arise in this form?”