In a few more days the icy waters of a polar sea covered the city of Theni; and in tears we witnessed the great dome of the temple of our gods sink beneath its surface. The next week great icebergs were floating across the plain and above the site of Theni. It grew intensely cold and the inner walls of our great upper hall were coated with frost crystals.
The wind shrieked; great waves striking the mountain side shook our pyramid. The sight was blotted out by a blizzard of snow and ice.
The guards are kept busy with spears and spades trying to keep the ventilators and the pinnacle area free of snow and ice so we can have air. Several have been blown from the top.
We made a mistake in the construction of our refuge. We should have shielded our ventilators to keep off the snow. It is a hard struggle for air. Tomorrow we must start work opening the passageway for light and air. Nefert says I should have built a ship and sailed away, as did the prophet and his people.
Nefert awake. It is dark and cold. The air is foul. I hear rushing waters. It comes in the ventilators above our heads. It is salty. We are being swallowed by the icy sea. I have found you! O! How cold! How cold!
I know not how long it has been, nor how many different habitations my soul has tenanted since our pyramid sank beneath the icy sea and, holding Nefert in my arms, I lost consciousness.
I am now in India, near the city of Bombay. A city presenting a magnificent front, but reeking with filth and disease, where, through the year, cholera daily claims its victims. It is the year 1790.