Dr. Kremlin looked up, his pale eyes full of a sudden fire and animation.
“Ay!—still it moves!” he responded with a touch of eager triumph in his tone—“Still it moves—and still it sounds! The music of the Earth, my friend!—the dominant note of all Nature’s melody! Hear it!—round, full, grand, and perfect!—one tone in the ascending scale of the planets,—the song of one Star,—our Star—as it rolls on its predestined way! Come!—come with me!” and he sprang up excitedly—“It is a night for work;—the heavens are clear as a mirror,—come and see my Dial of the Fates,—you have seen it before, I know, but there are new reflexes upon it now,—new lines of light and colour,—ah, my good El-Râmi, if you could solve my problem, you would be soon wiser than you are! Your gift of long life would be almost valueless compared to my proof of what is beyond life——”
“Yes—if the proof could be obtained—” interposed El-Râmi.
“It shall be obtained!” cried Kremlin wildly—“It shall! I will not die till the secret is won! I will wrench it out from the Holy of Holies—I will pluck it from the very thoughts of God!”
He trembled with the violence of his own emotions,—then passing his hand across his forehead, he relapsed into sudden calm, and, smiling gently, said again—
“Come!”
El-Râmi rose at once in obedience to this request,—and the old man preceded him to a high narrow door which looked like a slit in the wall, and which he unbarred and opened with an almost jealous care. A brisk puff of wind blew in their faces through the aperture, but this subsided into mere cool freshness of air as they entered and stood together within the great central chamber of the tower,—a lofty apartment, where the strange work of Kremlin’s life was displayed in all its marvellous complexity,—a work such as no human being had ever attempted before, or would be likely to attempt again.
X.
The singular object that at once caught and fixed the eye in fascinated amazement, and something of terror, was a huge disc, suspended between ceiling and floor by an apparently inextricable mesh and tangle of wires. It was made of some smooth glittering substance like crystal, and seemed from its great height and circumference to occupy nearly the whole of the lofty tower-room. It appeared to be lightly poised and balanced on a long steel rod,—a sort of gigantic needle which hung from the very top of the tower. The entire surface of the disc was a subdued blaze of light,—light which fluctuated in waves and lines, and zigzag patterns like a kaleidoscope, as the enormous thing circled round and round, as it did, with a sort of measured motion, and a sustained solemn buzzing sound. Here was the explanation of the mysterious noise that vibrated throughout the house,—it was simply the movement of this round shield-like mass among its wonderful network of rods and wires. Dr. Kremlin called it his “crystal” disc,—but it was utterly unlike ordinary crystal, for it not only shone with a transparent watery clearness, but possessed the scintillating lustre of a fine diamond cut into numerous prisms, so that El-Râmi shaded his eyes from the flash of it as he stood contemplating it in silence. It swirled round and round steadily; facing it, a large casement window, about the size of half the wall, was thrown open to the night, and through this could be seen a myriad sparkling stars. The wind blew in, but not fiercely now, for part of the wrath of the gale was past,—and the wash of the sea on the beach below had exactly the same tone in it as the monotonous hum of the disc as it moved. At one side of the open window a fine telescope mounted on a high stand pointed out towards the heavens,—there were numerous other scientific implements in the room, but it was impossible to take much notice of anything but the disc itself, with its majestic motion and the solemn sound to which it swung. Dr. Kremlin seemed to have almost forgotten El-Râmi’s presence,—going up to the window, he sat down on a low bench in the corner, and folding his arms across his breast gazed at his strange invention with a fixed, wondering, and appealing stare.
“How to unravel the meaning—how to decipher the message!” he muttered—“Sphinx of my brain, tell me, is there no answer? Shall the actual offspring of my thought refuse to clear up the riddle I propound? Nay, is it possible the creature should baffle the creator? See! the lines change again—the vibrations are altered,—the circle is ever the circle, but the reflexes differ,—how can one separate or classify them—how?”