“Come!” he repeated. They left the library, Dimitrius leading the way, and walked through the long corridor to the door of the laboratory. Gleams of gold and silver shone from the mysterious substance of which it was composed, and curious iridescent rays flashed suddenly across their eyes as if part of it had become transparent. “The sun’s flames have had power here,” remarked Dimitrius. “Almost they have pierced the metal.”
Answering to pressure in the usual manner, the portal opened and closed behind them as they entered. For a moment it was impossible to see anything, owing to the overwhelming brilliancy of the light which filled every part of the domed space—a light streaked here and there with gold and deep rose-colour. The enormous Wheel was revolving slowly—and beneath its rim, the canopied white stretcher was suspended over the dark water below, as it had been left four days previously. The prisoned victim had not stirred. For two or three minutes Dimitrius stood looking eagerly, his eyes peering through the waves of light that played upon his sense of vision almost as drowningly as the waves of the sea might have played upon his power of breathing. Vasho, shaken to pieces by his uncontrollable inward terrors, had fallen on his knees and hidden his face in his hands. Dimitrius roused him from this abject attitude.
“Get up, Vasho! Don’t play the fool!” he said, sternly. “What ails you? Are you afraid? Look before you, man!—there is no change in the outline of that figure—it is merely in a condition of suspended animation. If she were dead—understand me!—she would not be there at all! The stretcher would be empty! Come,—I want your help with these pulleys.”
Vasho, striving to steady his trembling limbs, went to his imperious master’s assistance as the pulleys were unlocked and released.
“Now, gently!” said Dimitrius. “Let the ropes go easy—and pull evenly!”
They worked together, and gradually—with a smooth, swaying, noiseless movement,—the canopied couch with its motionless occupant was swung away from the Wheel across the water and laid at their feet. The canopy itself sparkled all over as with millions of small diamonds,—and as they raised and turned it back, curled in their hands and twisted like a live thing. A still brighter luminance shone from end to end of the closely bound and swathed figure beneath it,—a figure rigid as stone, yet though so rigid, uncannily expressive of hidden life. Dimitrius knelt down beside it and began to unfasten the close wrappings in which it was so fast imprisoned, from the feet upwards, signing to Vasho to assist him. Each one of the glistening white silken bands was hot to the touch, and as it was unwound, cast out little sparks and pellets of fire. The widest of these was folded over and over across the breast, binding in the arms and hands, and as this was undone, the faintest stir of the body was perceptible. At last Dimitrius uncovered the face and head—and then—both he and Vasho sprang up and started back, amazed and awestruck. Never a lovelier thing could be found on earth than the creature which lay so passively before them,—a young girl of beauty so exquisite that it hardly seemed human. The goddess of a poet’s dream might be so imagined, but never a mere thing of flesh and blood. And as they stood, staring at the marvel, the alabaster whiteness of the flesh began to soften and flush with roseate hues,—a faint sigh parted the reddening lips, the small, childlike hands, hitherto lying limp on either side, were raised as though searching for something in the air,—and then, slowly, easefully, and with no start of surprise or fear, Diana awoke from her long trance and stretched herself lazily, smiled, sat up for a moment, her hair falling about her in an amber shower, and finally stepped from her couch and stood erect, a vision of such ethereal fairness and youthful queenliness that all unconscious of his own action, Dimitrius sank on his knees in a transport of admiration, whispering:
“My triumph! My work! My wonder of the world!”
She, meanwhile, with the questioning air of one whose surroundings are utterly unfamiliar, surveyed him in his kneeling attitude as though he were a stranger. Drawing herself up and pushing back the wealth of hair that fell about her, she spoke in the exquisitely musical voice that was all her own, though it seemed to have gained a richer sweetness.
“Why do you kneel?” she asked. “Are you my servant?”
For one flashing second he was tempted to answer: