“Shall a princess come to her lover empty-handed? Do you watch beside him while I go. Ah, if your Miriam were here, I would not fear to have him choose between us!”
With these words, Semitzin stepped across the threshold of the crypt, and vanished in its depths. The Indian, still dizzy and faint, knelt on the rock without, bowed down by sinister forebodings.
Several minutes passed. “She has perished!” muttered Kamaiakan.
Freeman raised himself on one elbow, and gazed giddily about him. “What the deuce has happened?” he demanded, in a sluggish voice. “Is that you, professor?”
Suddenly, a rending and rushing sound burst from the cave. Following it, Semitzin appeared at the entrance, dragging a heavy metal box, which she grasped by a handle at one end. Immediately in her steps broke forth a great volume of water, boiling up as if from a caldron. It filled the cave, and poured like a cataract into the gorge. The foundations of the great deep seemed to be let loose.
Semitzin lifted from her face the woollen mask, or visor, which she had closed on entering the cave. She was panting from exertion, but neither her physical nor her mental faculties were abated. She spoke sharply and imperiously:
“Bring up the mule, and help me fasten the chest upon him. We must reach higher ground before the waters overtake us. And now——” She turned to Freeman, who by this time was sitting up and regarding her with stupefaction.
“Miriam!” was all he could utter.
She shook her head, and smiled. “I am she who loves you, and whom you will love. I give you life, and fortune, and myself. But come: can you mount and ride?”
“I can’t make this out,” he said, struggling, with her assistance, to his feet. “I have read fairy-tales, but this... Kamaiakan, too!”