Chapter Ninety Three.
Devils or Angels.
Was I enduring the tortures of the future world? Were these its fiends that grinned and jibbered around me? See! they scatter and fall back! Some one approaches who can command them. Pluto himself? No; it is a woman—a woman here?—is it Proserpine? If a woman, surely she will have mercy upon me! Vain hope! There is no mercy in hell. Oh, my brain! Horror! horror!
There are women—these are women—they look not fiends! No, they are angels! Would they were angels of mercy!
But they are. See! one interferes with the fire. With her foot she dashes it back, scattering the fagots in furious haste. Who is she? If I were alive, I would call her Haj-Ewa; but dead, it must be her spirit below.
But there is another. Ha! another, younger and fairer. If they be angels, this must be the loveliest in heaven. It is the spirit of Maümee!
How comes she in this horrid place among fiends? It is not the abode for her. She was guilty of do crime that should send her here.
Where am I? Have I been dreaming? I was on fire just now—only my brain it was that was burning; my body was cold enough—where am I?
Who are you, that stand over me, pouring coolness upon my head? Are you not Haj-Ewa, the mad queen?