Presently he found himself in a low, narrow vestibule illumined by the bright yet soft radiance of a suspended Star,—and here, coming close up with his guide and observing his dress and manner more attentively, he suddenly perceived a shining SOMETHING which the old man wore hanging from his neck and which flashed against the sable hue of his garment like a wandering moonbeam.
Stopping abruptly, he examined this ornament with straining, wistful gaze, . . and slowly, very slowly, recognized its fashion of construction,—it was a plain silver Cross—nothing more. Yet at sight of the sacred, strange, yet familiar Symbol, a chord seemed to snap in his brain,—tears rushed to his tired eyes, and with a sharp cry he fell on his knees, grasping his companion's robe wildly, as a drowning man grasps at a floating spar,—while the venerable Zuriel, startled at his action, stared down upon him in evident amazement and terror.
"Rescue! … rescue!" he cried, … "O thou blessed among men!—thou dost wear the Sign of Eternal Safety! … the Sign of the Way, the Truth, and the Life! … 'without the Way, there is no going, without the Truth there is no knowing, without the Life there is no living'! Now do I know thee for a saint in Al-Kyris,—for thou dost openly avow thyself a follower of the Divine Faith that fools despise, and selfish souls repudiate, . . ah, I do beseech thee, thou good and holy man, absolve me of my sin of Unbelief! Teach me! … help me! … and I will hear thy counsels with the meekness of a listening child! ..See you, I kneel! … I pray! … I, even I, am humiliated to the very dust of shame! I have no pride, . . I seek no glory, … I do entreat, even as I once rejected the blessing of the Cross, whereby I shall regain my lost love,—my despised pardon,—my vanished peace!"
And, with pathetic earnestness, he raised his hands toward the silver emblem, and touched it tenderly, reverently, … then as though unworthy, he bent his head low, and waited eagerly for a Name, . . a Name that he himself could not remember, . . a Name suggested by the Cross, but not declared. If that Name were once spoken in the form of a benediction, he felt instinctively that he would straightway be released from the mysterious spell of misery that bound his intelligence in such a grievous thrall. But not a word of consolation did his companion utter, . . on the contrary, he seemed agitated by the strangest surprise and alarm.
"Now may all the gods in Heaven defend thee, thou unhappy, desperate, distracted soul!" he said in trembling, affrighted accents. "Thou dost implore the blessing of a Faith unknown! … a Mystery predicted but not yet fulfilled…a Creed that shall not be declared to men for full FIVE THOUSAND YEARS!"
CHAPTER XXI.
THE CRIMSON RIVER.
At these unexpected words Theos sprang wildly to his feet. An awful darkness seemed to close in upon him,—and a chaotic confusion of memories began to whirl and drift through his mind like flotsam and jetsam tossed upon a storm-swept sea. The aged and shadowy-looking Zuriel stood motionless, watching him with something of timid pity and mild patience.
"FIVE THOUSAND YEARS!" he muttered hoarsely, pressing his hands into his aching brows, while his eyes again fixed themselves yearningly on the Cross.. "Five thousand years before…. before WHAT?"
He caught the old man's arm, and in spite of himself, a laugh, wild, discordant, and out of all keeping with his inward emotions, broke from his parched lips,—"Thou doting fool!" he cried almost furiously,—"Why dost thou mock me then with this false image of a hope unrealized? … Who gave thee leave to add more fuel to my flame of torment? … What means this symbol to thine eyes? Speak.. speak! What admonition does it hold for thee? … what promise? … what menace? … what warning? … what love? … Speak.. speak! O, shall I force confession from thy throat, or must I die unsatisfied and slain by speechless longing! What didst thou say? … FIVE THOUSAND YEARS? … Nay, by the gods, thou liest!"—and he pointed excitedly to the sacred Emblem,—"I tell thee that Holy Sign is as familiar to my suffering soul as the chiming of bells at sunset! … as well known to my sight as the unfolding of flowers in the fields of spring! … What shall be done or said of it, in five thousand years, that has not already been said and done?"