“Julian—oh, Julian—grasp this hand—aid me, oh Julian my brother!”
The figure of the Warrior slowly stooped and seized the other hand, and drawing it towards the staircase, wound the fingers round another piece of the carved work of the staircase.
“Ascend, Aldarin, brother of mine, ascend!” cried his deep toned and awful voice.
“Ascend, brother of mine, I would, but my strength fails—seize me, by the body, and drag me from this rock of terror—oh, seize me.”
The Warrior seized Aldarin by the shoulder, and dragged him slowly along the rock, but the flesh he clenched, crumbled in his grasp. Aldarin again trembled over the verge of the abyss—the blow of a single straw, might suffice to hurl him into the world below.
“Julian my brother. Ilmerine my wife, save me—oh, save me!”
The woman, dark-haired and beautiful, stooped, she slowly unwound the fingers of Aldarin from the ornament of the staircase. And as she unwound finger after finger, she looked upon his horror-stricken face and smiled, and pointed to the red-wound near her heart. He returned her smile with a ghastly grimace, he looked to the Warrior, and tightened the grasp of his other hand.
“Thou Julian, wilt save me—thou wilt not unwind my fingers, thou wilt hurl this beautiful demon aside.”
“Aldarin my brother!” said the Figure in a voice of awe, as kneeling on the lowest step of the staircase, he cast the glance of his full and burning eyes upon the livid visage of Aldarin, while for a moment he wound the folds of his robe yet closer around his warrior-form.—“Aldarin, my brother, I will save thee.”
He smiled—Aldarin returned his smile.