As soon as we were at anchor and the necessary formalities of the port had been complied with, Pharos’s servant, the man who had accompanied us from Pompeii and who had brought me on board in Naples, made his way ashore9, whence he returned in something less than an hour to inform us that he had arranged for a special train to convey us to our destination. We accordingly bade farewell to the yacht and were driven to the railway-station, a primitive10 building on the outskirts11 of the town. Here an engine and a single carriage awaited us. We took our places and five minutes later were steaming across the flat sandy plain that borders the Canal and separates it from the Bitter Lakes.
Ever since the storm, and the unpleasant insight it had afforded me into Pharos’s character, our relations had been somewhat strained. As the Fr?ulein Valerie had predicted, as soon as he recovered his self-possession, he hated me the more for having been a witness of his cowardice12. For the remainder of the voyage he scarcely put in an appearance on deck, but spent the greater portion of his time in his own cabin, though in what manner he occupied himself there I could not imagine.
Now that we were in our railway carriage, en route to Cairo, looking out upon that dreary13 landscape, with its dull expanse of water on one side, and the high bank of the Canal, with, occasionally, glimpses of the passing stations, on the other, we were brought into actual contact, and, in consequence, things improved somewhat. But even then we could scarcely have been described as a happy party. The Fr?ulein Valerie sat for the most part silent and preoccupied14, facing the engine in the right-hand corner; Pharos, wrapped in his heavy fur coat and rug, and with his inevitable15 companion cuddled up beside him, had taken his place opposite her. I sat in the farther corner, watching them both and dimly wondering at the strangeness of my position. At Ismailia another train awaited us, and when we and our luggage had been transshipped to it, we continued our journey, entering now on the region of the desert proper. The heat was almost unbearable16, and to make matters worse, as soon as darkness fell and the lamps were lighted, swarms17 of mosquitoes emerged from their hiding-places and descended19 upon us. The train rolled and jolted21 its way over the sandy plain, passed the battle-fields of Tel-el-Kebir and Kassassin, and still Pharos and the woman opposite him remained seated in the same position, he with his head thrown back, and the same death-like expression upon his face, and she staring out of the window, but, I am certain, seeing nothing of the country through which we were passing. It was long after midnight when we reached the capital. Once more the same obsequious22 servant was in attendance. A carriage, he informed us, awaited our arrival at the station door, and in it we were whirled off to the hotel, at which rooms had been engaged for us. However disagreeable Pharos might make himself, it was at least certain that to travel with him was to do so in luxury.
Of all the impressions I received that day, none struck me with greater force than the drive from the station to the hotel. I had expected to find a typical Eastern city; in place of it I was confronted with one that was almost Parisian, as far as its handsome houses and broad tree-shaded streets were concerned. Nor was our hotel behind it in point of interest. It proved to be a gigantic affair, elaborately decorated in the Egyptian fashion, and replete23, as the advertisements say, with every modern convenience. The owner himself met us at the entrance, and from the fact that he informed Pharos, with the greatest possible respect, that his old suite24 of rooms had been retained for him, I gathered that they were not strangers to each other.
“At last we are in Cairo, Mr. Forrester,” said the latter, with an ugly sneer25, when we had reached our sitting-room26, in which a meal had been prepared for us, “and the dream of your life is realised. I hasten to offer you my congratulations.”
In my own mind I had a doubt as to whether it was a matter of congratulation to me to be there in his company. I, however, made an appropriate reply, and then assisted the Fr?ulein Valerie to divest28 herself of her travelling cloak. When she had done so we sat down to our meal. The long railway journey had made us hungry, but, though I happened to know that he had tasted nothing for more than eight hours, Pharos would not join us. As soon as we had finished we bade each other good-night and retired29 to our various apartments.
On reaching my room I threw open my window and looked out. I could scarcely believe that I was in the place in which my father had taken such delight and where he had spent so many of the happiest hours of his life.
When I woke, my first thought was to study the city from my bedroom window. It was an exquisite30 morning, and the scene before me more than equalled it in beauty. From where I stood I looked away across the flat roofs of houses, over the crests31 of palm trees, into the blue distance beyond, where, to my delight, I could just discern the Pyramids peering up above the Nile. In the street below stalwart Arabs, donkey boys, and almost every variety of beggar could be seen, and while I watched, emblematical32 of the change in the administration of the country, a guard of Highlanders, with a piper playing at their head, marched by en route to the headquarters of the Army of Occupation.
As usual, Pharos did not put in an appearance when breakfast was served. Accordingly, the Fr?ulein and I sat down to it alone. When we had finished we made our way to the cool stone veranda33, where we seated ourselves, and I obtained permission to smoke a cigarette. That my companion had something upon her mind I was morally convinced. She appeared nervous and ill at ease, and I noticed that more than once, when I addressed some remark to her, she glanced eagerly at my face as if she hoped to obtain an opening for what she wanted to say, and then, finding that I was only commenting on the stateliness of some Arab passer-by, the beautiful peep of blue sky permitted us between two white buildings opposite, or the graceful34 foliage35 of a palm overhanging a neighbouring wall, she would heave a sigh and turn impatiently from me again.
“Mr. Forrester,” she said at last, when she could bear it no longer, “I intended to have spoken to you yesterday, but I was not vouchsafed36 an opportunity. You told me on board the yacht that there was nothing you would not do to help me. I have a favour to ask of you now. Will you grant it?”
Guessing from her earnestness what was coming, I hesitated before I replied.
“Would it not be better to leave it to my honour to do or not to do so after you have told me what it is?” I asked.
“No; you must give me your promise first,” she replied. “Believe me, I mean it when I say that your compliance37 with my request will make me a happier woman than I have been for some time past.” Here she blushed a rosy38 red, as though she thought she had said too much. “But it is possible my happiness does not weigh with you.”
“It weighs very heavily,” I replied. “It is on that account I can not give my promise blindfold39.”
On hearing this she seemed somewhat disappointed.
“I did not think you would refuse me,” she said, “since what I am going to ask of you is only for your own good. Mr. Forrester, you have seen something on board the yacht of the risk you run while you are associated with Pharos. You are now on land again and your own master. If you desire to please me, you will take the opportunity and go away. Every hour that you remain here only adds to your danger. The crisis will soon come, and then you will find that you have neglected my warning too long.”
“Forgive me,” I answered, this time as seriously as even she could desire, “if I say that I have not neglected your warning. Since you have so often pointed40 it out to me, and judging from what I have already seen of the character of the old gentleman in question, I can quite believe that he is capable of any villainy; but, if you will pardon my reminding you of it, I think you have heard my decision before. I am willing, nay41, even eager to go away, provided you will do the same. If, however, you decline, then I remain. More than that I will not, and less than that I can not, promise.”
“What you ask is impossible; it is out of the question,” she continued. “As I have told you so often before, Mr. Forrester, I am bound to him forever and by chains that no human power can break. What is more, even if I were to do as you wish, it would be useless. The instant he wanted me, if he were thousands of miles away and only breathed my name, I should forget your kindness, my freedom, his old cruelty — everything, in fact — and go back to him. Have you not seen enough of us to know that where he is concerned, I have no will of my own? Besides — but there, I can not tell you any more! Let it suffice that I can not do as you ask.”
Remembering the interview I had overheard that night on board the yacht, I did not know what to say. That Pharos had her under his influence I had, as she had said, seen enough to be convinced. And yet, regarded in the light of our sober, every-day life, how impossible it all seemed! I looked at the beautiful, fashionably-dressed woman seated by my side, playing with the silver handle of her Parisian parasol, and wondered if I could be dreaming, and whether I should presently waken to find myself in bed in my comfortable rooms in London once more, and my servant entering with my shaving-water.
“I think you are very cruel!” she said, when I returned no answer. “Surely you must be aware how much it adds to my unhappiness to know that another is being drawn42 into his toils43, and yet you refuse to do the one and only thing which can make my mind easier.”
“Fr?ulein,” I said, rising and standing44 before her, “the first time I saw you I knew that you were unhappy. I could see that the canker of some great sorrow was eating into your heart. I wished that I could help you, and Fate accordingly willed that I should make your acquaintance. Afterward45, by a terrible series of coincidences, I was brought into personal contact with your life. I found that my first impression was a correct one. You were miserable46, as, thank God! few human beings are. On the night that I dined with you in Naples you warned me of the risk I was running in associating with Pharos and implored47 me to save myself. When I knew that you were bound hand and foot to him, can you wonder that I declined? Since then I have been permitted further opportunities of seeing what your life with him is like. Once more you ask me to save myself, and once more I make you this answer. If you will accompany me, I will go; and if you do so, I swear to God that I will protect and shield you to the best of my ability. I have many influential48 friends who will count it an honour to take you into their families until something can be arranged, and with whom you will be safe. On the other hand, if you will not go, I pledge you my word that so long as you remain in this man’s company I will do so too. No argument will shake my determination and no entreaty49 move me from the position I have taken up.”
I searched her face for some sign of acquiescence50, but could find none. It was bloodless in its pallor, and yet so beautiful that at any other time and in any other place I should have been compelled by the love I felt for her — a love that I now knew to be stronger than life itself — to take her in my arms and tell her that she was the only woman in the wide world for me, that I would protect her, not only against Pharos, but against his master Apollyon himself. Now, however, such a confession51 was impossible. Situated52 as we were, hemmed53 in by dangers on every side, to speak of love to her would have been little better than an insult.
“What answer do you give me?” I said, seeing that she did not speak.
“Only that you are cruel,” she replied. “You know my misery54, and yet you add to it. Have I not told you that I should be a happier woman if you went?”
“You must forgive me for saying so, but I do not believe it,” I said, with a boldness and a vanity that surprised even myself. “No, Fr?ulein, do not let us play at cross-purposes. It is evident you are afraid of this man, and that you believe yourself to be in his power. I feel convinced it is not as bad as you say. Look at it in a matter-of-fact light and tell me how it can be so? Supposing you leave him now, and we fly, shall we say, to London. You are your own mistress and quite at liberty to go. At any rate, you are not his property to do with as he likes, so if he follows you and persists in annoying you, there are many ways of inducing him to refrain from doing so.”
She shook her head.
“Once more, I say, how little you know him, Mr. Forrester, and how poorly you estimate his powers! Since you have forced me to it, let me tell you that I have twice tried to do what you propose — once in St. Petersburg and once in Norway. He had terrified me, and I swore that I would rather die than see his face again. Almost starving, supporting myself as best I could by my music, I made my way to Moscow, thence to Kiev and Lemburg, and across the Carpathians to Buda-Pesth. Some old friends of my father’s, to whom I was ultimately forced to appeal, took me in. I remained with them a month, and during that time heard nothing either of or from Monsieur Pharos. Then, one night, when I sat alone in my bedroom, after my friends had retired to rest, a strange feeling that I was not alone in the room came over me — a feeling that something, I do not know what, was standing behind me, urging me to leave the house and to go out into the wood which adjoined it, to meet the man whom I feared more than poverty, more than starvation, more even than death itself. Unable to refuse, or even to argue with myself, I rose, drew a cloak about my shoulders and, descending55 the stairs, unbarred a door and went swiftly down the path toward the dark wood to which I have just referred. Incredible as it may seem, I had not been deceived. Pharos was there, seated on a fallen tree, waiting for me.”
“And the result?”
“The result was that I never returned to the house, nor have I any recollection of what happened at our interview. The next thing I remember was finding myself in Paris. Months afterward I learned that my friends had searched high and low for me in vain, and had at last come to the conclusion that my melancholy56 had induced me to make away with myself. I wrote to them to say that I was safe, and to ask their forgiveness, but my letter has never been answered. The next time was in Norway. While we were there a young Norwegian pianist came under the spoil of Pharos’s influence. But the load of misery he was called upon to bear was too much for him and he killed himself. In one of his cruel moments Pharos congratulated me on the success with which I had acted as his decoy. Realising the part I had unconsciously played, and knowing that escape in any other direction was impossible, I resolved to follow the wretched lad’s example. I arranged everything as carefully as a desperate woman could do. We were staying at the time near one of the deepest fjords, and if I could only reach the place unseen, I was prepared to throw myself over into the water five hundred feet below. Every preparation was made, and when I thought Pharos was asleep I crept from the house and made my way along the rough mountain path to the spot where I was going to say farewell to my wretched life for good and all. For days past I had been nerving myself for the deed. Reaching the spot I stood upon the brink58 gazing down into the depths below, thinking of my poor father, whom I expected soon to join, and wondering when my mangled59 body would be found. Then, lifting my arms above my head, I was about to let myself go, when a voice behind me ordered me to stop. I recognised it, and though I knew that before he could approach me it was possible for me to effect my purpose and place myself beyond even his power forever, I was unable to do as I desired.
“‘Come here,’ he said — and since you know him you can imagine how he would say it —‘this is the second time you have endeavoured to outwit me. First you sought refuge in flight, but I brought you back. Now you have tried suicide, but once more I have defeated you. Learn this, that as in life so even in death you are mine, to do with as I will.’ After that he led me back to the hotel, and from that time I have been convinced that nothing can release me from the chains that bind60 me.”
Once more I thought of the conversation I had overheard through the saloon skylight on board the yacht. What comfort to give her or what answer to make I did not know. I was still debating this in my mind when she rose and, offering some excuse, left me and went into the house. When she had gone, I seated myself in my chair again and tried to think out what she had told me. It seemed impossible that her story could be true, and yet I knew her well enough by this time to feel sure that she would not lie to me. But for such a man as Pharos to exist in this prosaic61 nineteenth century, and stranger still, for me, Cyril Forrester, who had always prided myself on my clearness of head, to believe in him, was absurd. That I was beginning to do so was, in a certain sense, only too true. I was resolved, however, that, happen what might in the future, I would keep my wits about me and endeavour to outwit him, not only for my own sake, but for that of the woman I loved, whom I could not induce to seek refuge in flight while she had the opportunity.
During the afternoon I saw nothing of Pharos. He kept himself closely shut up in his own apartment and was seen only by that same impassive man-servant I have elsewhere described. The day, however, was not destined62 to go by without my coming in contact with him. The Fr?ulein Valerie and I had spent the evening in the cool hall of the hotel, but being tired she had bidden me good-night and gone to her room at an early hour. Scarcely knowing what to do with myself, I was making my way upstairs to my room, when the door of Pharos’s apartment opened and to my surprise the old man emerged. He was dressed for going out — that is to say, he wore his long fur coat and curious cap. On seeing him I stepped back into the shadow of the doorway63, and was fortunate enough to be able to do so before he became aware of my presence. As soon as he had passed I went to the balustrading and watched him go down the stairs, wondering as I did so what was taking him from home at such a late hour. The more I thought of it the more inquisitive64 I became. A great temptation seized me to follow him and find out. Being unable to resist it, I went to my room, found my hat, slipped a revolver into my pocket, in case I might want it, and set off after him.
On reaching the great hall, I was just in time to see him step into a carriage, which had evidently been ordered for him beforehand. The driver cracked his whip, the horses started off, and, by the time I stood in the porch, the carriage was a good distance down the street.
“Has my friend gone?” I cried to the porter, as if I had hastened downstairs in the hope of seeing him before he left. “I had changed my mind and intended accompanying him. Call me a cab as quickly as you can.”
One of the neat little victorias which ply27 in the streets of Cairo was immediately forthcoming, and into it I sprang.
“Tell the man to follow the other carriage,” I said to the porter, “as fast as he can go.”
The porter said something in Arabic to the driver, and a moment later we were off in pursuit.
It was a beautiful night, and, after the heat of the day, the rush through the cool air was infinitely65 refreshing66. It was not until we had gone upward of a mile, and the first excitement of the chase had a little abated67, that the folly68 of what I was doing came home to me, but even then it did not induce me to turn back. Connected with Pharos as I was, I was determined69 if possible to find out something more about him and his doings before I permitted him to get a firmer hold upon me. If I could only discover his business on this particular night, it struck me, I might know how to deal with him. I accordingly pocketed my scruples70, and slipping my hand into my pocket to make sure that my revolver was there, I permitted my driver to proceed upon his way unhindered. By this time we had passed the Kasr-en-Nil barracks, and were rattling71 over the great Nile bridge. It was plain from this that whatever the errand might be that was taking him abroad, it at least had no connection with old Cairo.
Crossing the Island of Bulak, and leaving the caravan72 depot73 on our left, we headed away under the avenue of beautiful Lebbek-trees along the road to Gizeh. At first I thought it must be the Museum he was aiming for, but this idea was dispelled74 when we passed the great gates and turned sharp to the right hand. Holding my watch to the carriage-lamp, I discovered that it wanted only a few minutes to eleven o’clock.
Although still shaded with Lebbek-trees, the road no longer ran between human habitations, but far away on the right and left a few twinkling lights proclaimed the existence of Fellahin villages. Of foot-passengers we saw none, and save the occasional note of a night-bird, the howling of a dog in the far distance, and the rattle75 of our own wheels, scarcely a sound was to be heard. Gradually the road, which was raised several feet above the surrounding country, showed a tendency to ascend76, and just as I was beginning to wonder what sort of a Will-o’-the-wisp chase it was upon which I was being led, and what the upshot of it would be, it came to an abrupt77 standstill, and towering into the starlight above me, I saw two things which swept away all my doubts, and told me, as plainly as any words could speak, that we were at the end of our journey. We had reached the Pyramids of Gizeh. As soon as I understood this, I signed to my driver to pull up, and, making him understand as best I could that he was to await my return, descended and made my way toward the Pyramids on foot. Keeping my eye on Pharos, whom I could see ahead of me, and taking care not to allow him to become aware that he was being followed, I began the long pull up to the plateau on which the largest of these giant monuments is situated. Fortunately for me the sand not only prevented any sound from reaching him, but its colour enabled me to keep him well in sight. The road from the Mena House Hotel to the Great Pyramid is not a long one, but what it lacks in length it makes up in steepness. Never losing sight of Pharos for an instant, I ascended78 it. On arriving at the top, I noticed that he went straight forward to the base of the huge mass, and when he was sixty feet or so from it, called something in a loud voice. He had scarcely done so before a figure emerged from the shadow and approached him. Fearing they might see me, I laid myself down on the sand behind a large block of stone, whence I could watch them, remaining myself unseen.
As far as I could tell, the new-comer was undoubtedly79 an Arab, and from the way in which he towered above Pharos, must have been a man of gigantic stature80. For some minutes they remained in earnest conversation. Then, leaving the place where they had met, they went forward toward the great building, the side of which they presently commenced to climb. After a little they disappeared, and, feeling certain they had entered the Pyramid itself, I rose to my feet and determined to follow.
The Great Pyramid, as all the world, knows, is composed of enormous blocks of granite81, each about three feet high, and arranged after the fashion of enormous steps. The entrance to the passage which leads to the interior is on the thirteenth tier, and nearly fifty feet from the ground. With a feeling of awe82 which may be very well understood, when I reached it I paused before entering. I did not know on the threshold of what discovery I might be standing. And what was more, I reflected that if Pharos found me following him, my life would in all probability pay the forfeit83. My curiosity, however, was greater than my judgment84, and being determined, since I had come so far, not to go back without learning all there was to know, I hardened my heart, and, stooping down, entered the passage. When I say that it is less than four feet in height, and of but little more than the same width, and that for the first portion of the way the path slopes downward at an angle of twenty-six degrees, some vague idea may be obtained of the unpleasant place it is. But if I go on to add that the journey had to be undertaken in total darkness, without any sort of knowledge of what lay before me, or whether I should ever be able to find my way out again, the foolhardiness of the undertaking85 will be even more apparent. Step by step, and with a caution which I can scarcely exaggerate, I made my way down the incline, trying every inch before I put my weight upon it and feeling the walls carefully with either hand in order to make sure that no other passages branched off to right or left. After I had been advancing for what seemed an interminable period, but could not in reality have been more than five minutes. I found myself brought to a standstill by a solid wall of stone. For a moment I was at a loss how to proceed. Then I found that there was a turn in the passage, and the path, instead of continuing to descend20, was beginning to work upward, whereupon, still feeling my way as before, I continued my journey of exploration. The heat was stifling86, and more than once foul87 things, that only could have been bats, flapped against my face and hands and sent a cold shudder88 flying over me. Had I dared for a moment to think of the immense quantity of stone that towered above me, or what my fate would be had a stone fallen from its place and blocked the path behind me, I believe I should have been lost for good and all. But, frightened as I was, a greater terror was in store for me.
After I had been proceeding89 for some time along the passage, I found that it was growing gradually higher. The air was cooler, and raising my head cautiously in order not to bump it against the ceiling, I discovered that I was able to stand upright. I lifted my hand, first a few inches, and then to the full extent of my arm; but the roof was still beyond my reach. I moved a little to my right in order to ascertain90 if I could touch the wall, and then to the left. But once more only air rewarded me. It was evident that I had left the passage and was standing in some large apartment; but, since I knew nothing of the interior of the Pyramid, I could not understand what it was or where it could be situated. Feeling convinced in my own mind that I had missed my way, since I had neither heard nor seen anything of Pharos, I turned round and set off in what I considered must be the direction of the wall; but though I walked step by step, once more feeling every inch of the way with my foot before I put it down, I seemed to have covered fifty yards before my knuckles91 came in contact with it. Having located it, I fumbled92 my way along it in the hope that I might discover the doorway through which I had entered; but though I tried for some considerable time, no sort of success rewarded me. I paused and tried to remember which way I had been facing when I made the discovery that I was no longer in the passage. In the dark, however, one way seemed like another, and I had turned myself about so many times that it was impossible to tell which was the original direction. Oh, how bitterly I repented93 having ever left the hotel! For all I knew to the contrary I might have wandered into some subterranean94 chamber95 never visited by the Bedouins or tourists, whence my feeble cries for help would not be heard, and in which I might remain until death took pity on me and released me from my sufferings.
Fighting down the terror that had risen in my heart and threatened to annihilate96 me, I once more commenced my circuit of the walls, but again without success. I counted my steps backward and forward in the hope of locating my position. I went straight ahead on the chance of striking the doorway haphazard97, but it was always with the same unsatisfactory result. Against my better judgment I endeavoured to convince myself that I was really in no danger, but it was useless. At last my fortitude98 gave way, a clammy sweat broke out upon my forehead, and remembering that Pharos was in the building, I shouted aloud to him for help. My voice rang and echoed in that ghastly chamber till the reiteration99 of it well-nigh drove me mad. I listened, but no answer came. Once more I called, but with the same result. At last, thoroughly100 beside myself with terror, I began to run aimlessly about the room in the dark, beating myself against the walls and all the time shouting at the top of my voice for assistance. Only when I had no longer strength to move, or voice to continue my appeals, did I cease, and falling upon the ground rocked myself to and fro in silent agony. Times out of number I cursed myself and my senseless stupidity in having left the hotel to follow Pharos. I had sworn to protect the woman I loved, and yet on the first opportunity I had ruined everything by behaving in this thoughtless fashion.
Once more I sprang to my feet and once more I set off on my interminable search. This time I went more quietly to work, feeling my way carefully and making a mental note of every indentation in the walls. Being unsuccessful, I commenced again, and once more scored a failure. Then the horrible silence, the death-like atmosphere, the flapping of the bats in the darkness, and the thought of the history and age of the place in which I was imprisoned101, must have affected102 my brain, and for a space I believe I went mad. At any rate, I have a confused recollection of running round and round that loathsome103 place and of at last falling exhausted104 upon the ground, firmly believing my last hour had come. Then my senses left me and I became unconscious.
How long I remained in the condition I have just described I can not say. All I know is that when I opened my eyes I found the chamber bright with the light of torches, and no less a person than Pharos kneeling beside me. Behind him, but at a respectful distance, were a number of Arabs, and among them a man whose height could scarcely have been less than seven feet. This was evidently the individual who had met Pharos at the entrance to the Pyramid.
“Rise,” said Pharos, addressing me, “and let this be a warning to you never to attempt to spy on me again. Think not that I was unaware105 that you were following me, or that the mistake on your part in taking the wrong turning in the passage was not ordained106. The time has now gone by for me to speak to you in riddles107; our comedy is at an end, and for the future you are my property to do with as I please. You will have no will but my pleasure, no thought but to act as I shall tell you. Rise and follow me.”
Having said this, he made a sign to the torch-bearers, who immediately led the way toward the door which was now easy enough to find. Pharos followed them, and, more dead than alive, I came next, while the tall man I have mentioned brought up the rear. In this order we groped our way down the narrow passage. Then it was that I discovered the mistake I had made in entering. Whether by accident, or by the exercise of Pharos’s will, as he had desired me to believe, it was plain I had taken the wrong turning, and, instead of going on to the King’s Hall, where no doubt I should have found the man I was following, I had turned to the left and had entered the apartment popularly, but erroneously, called the Queen’s Chamber.
It would have been difficult to estimate the thankfulness I felt on reaching the open air once more. How sweet the cool night wind seemed after the close and suffocating109 atmosphere of the Pyramid I can not hope to make you understand. And yet, if I had only known, it would have been better for me, far better, had I never been found, and my life come to an end when I fell senseless upon the floor.
When we had left the passage and had clambered down to the sands once more, Pharos bade me follow him, and leading the way round the base of the Pyramid, conducted me down the hill toward the Sphinx.
For fully57 thirty years I had looked forward to the moment when I should stand before this stupendous monument and try to read its riddle108; but in my wildest dreams I had never thought to do so in such company. Looking down at me in the starlight, across the gulf110 of untold111 centuries, it seemed to smile disdainfully at my small woes112.
“To-night,” said Pharos, in that same extraordinary voice he had used a quarter of an hour before, when he bade me follow him, “you enter upon a new phase of your existence. Here, under the eyes of the Watcher of Harmachis, you shall learn something of the wisdom of the ancients.”
At a signal the tall man whom he had met at the foot of the Pyramid sprang forward and seized me by the arms from behind with a grip of iron. Then Pharos produced from his pocket a small case containing a bottle. From the latter he poured a few spoonfuls of some fluid into a silver cup, which he placed to my mouth.
“Drink,” he said.
At any other time I should have refused to comply with such a request; but on this occasion so completely had I fallen under his influence that I was powerless to disobey.
The opiate, or whatever it was, must have been a powerful one, for I had scarcely swallowed it before an attack of giddiness seized me. The outline of the Sphinx and the black bulk of the Great Pyramid beyond were merged18 in the general darkness. I could hear the wind of the desert singing in my ears and the voice of Pharos muttering something in an unknown tongue beside me. After that I sank down on the sand and presently became oblivious113 of everything.
How long I remained asleep I have no idea. All I know is, that with a suddenness that was almost startling, I found myself awake and standing in a crowded street. The sun shone brilliantly, and the air was soft and warm. Magnificent buildings, of an architecture that my studies had long since made me familiar with, lined it on either hand, while in the roadway were many chariots and gorgeously-furnished litters, before and beside which ran slaves, crying aloud in their masters’ names for room.
From the position of the sun in the sky, I gathered that it must be close upon midday. The crowd was momentarily increasing, and as I walked, marvelling114 at the beauty of the buildings, I was jostled to and fro and oftentimes called upon to stand aside. That something unusual had happened to account for this excitement was easily seen, but what it was, being a stranger, I had no idea. Sounds of wailing115 greeted me on every side, and in all the faces upon which I looked signs of overwhelming sorrow were to be seen.
Suddenly a murmur116 of astonishment117 and anger ran through the crowd, which separated hurriedly to right and left. A moment later a man came through the lane thus formed. He was short and curiously118 misshapen, and as he walked he covered his face with the sleeve of his robe, as though he were stricken with grief or shame.
Turning to a man who stood beside me, and who seemed even more excited than his neighbours, I inquired who the new-comer might be.
“Who art thou, stranger?” he answered, turning sharply on me. “And whence comest thou that thou knowest not Ptahmes, Chief of the King’s Magicians? Learn, then, that he hath fallen from his high estate, inasmuch as he made oath before Pharaoh that the first-born of the King should take no hurt from the spell this Israelitish sorcerer, Moses, hath cast upon the land. Now the child and all the first-born of Egypt are dead, and the heart of Pharaoh being hardened against his servant, he hath shamed him and driven him from before his face.”
As he finished speaking, the disgraced man withdrew his robe from his face, and I realised the astounding119 fact that Ptahmes the Magician and Pharos the Egyptian were not ancestor and descendant, but one and the same person.
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1
quaint
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| adj.古雅的，离奇有趣的，奇怪的 | |
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2
Mediterranean
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| adj.地中海的；地中海沿岸的 | |
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devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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artistic
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| adj.艺术(家)的，美术(家)的；善于艺术创作的 | |
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vociferous
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| adj.喧哗的，大叫大嚷的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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8
shipping
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| n.船运（发货，运输，乘船） | |
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ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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10
primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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outskirts
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| n.郊外，郊区 | |
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cowardice
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| n.胆小，怯懦 | |
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13
dreary
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| adj.令人沮丧的，沉闷的，单调乏味的 | |
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preoccupied
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| adj.全神贯注的，入神的；被抢先占有的；心事重重的v.占据（某人）思想，使对…全神贯注，使专心于( preoccupy的过去式) | |
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15
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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16
unbearable
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| adj.不能容忍的；忍受不住的 | |
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17
swarms
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| 蜂群，一大群( swarm的名词复数 ) | |
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merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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19
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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20
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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21
jolted
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| （使）摇动， （使）震惊( jolt的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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22
obsequious
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| adj.谄媚的，奉承的，顺从的 | |
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23
replete
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| adj.饱满的，塞满的；n.贮蜜蚁 | |
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24
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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25
sneer
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| v.轻蔑；嘲笑；n.嘲笑，讥讽的言语 | |
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26
sitting-room
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| n.（BrE）客厅，起居室 | |
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27
ply
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| v.(搬运工等)等候顾客，弯曲 | |
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28
divest
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| v.脱去，剥除 | |
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29
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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30
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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31
crests
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| v.到达山顶（或浪峰）( crest的第三人称单数 )；到达洪峰，达到顶点 | |
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32
emblematical
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| adj.标志的，象征的，典型的 | |
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33
veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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34
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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35
foliage
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| n.叶子，树叶，簇叶 | |
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36
vouchsafed
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| v.给予，赐予( vouchsafe的过去式和过去分词 )；允诺 | |
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compliance
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| n.顺从；服从；附和；屈从 | |
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38
rosy
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| adj.美好的，乐观的，玫瑰色的 | |
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39
blindfold
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| vt.蒙住…的眼睛；adj.盲目的；adv.盲目地；n.蒙眼的绷带[布等]； 障眼物，蒙蔽人的事物 | |
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40
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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41
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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42
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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43
toils
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| 网 | |
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44
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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45
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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46
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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47
implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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48
influential
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| adj.有影响的，有权势的 | |
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49
entreaty
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| n.恳求，哀求 | |
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50
acquiescence
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| n.默许；顺从 | |
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51
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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52
situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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53
hemmed
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| 缝…的褶边( hem的过去式和过去分词 )； 包围 | |
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54
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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55
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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56
melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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57
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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58
brink
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| n.(悬崖、河流等的)边缘，边沿 | |
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59
mangled
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| vt.乱砍（mangle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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60
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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61
prosaic
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| adj.单调的，无趣的 | |
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62
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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63
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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64
inquisitive
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| adj.求知欲强的，好奇的，好寻根究底的 | |
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65
infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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66
refreshing
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| adj.使精神振作的，使人清爽的，使人喜欢的 | |
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67
abated
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| 减少( abate的过去式和过去分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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68
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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69
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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70
scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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71
rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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72
caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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73
depot
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| n.仓库，储藏处；公共汽车站；火车站 | |
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74
dispelled
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| v.驱散，赶跑( dispel的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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75
rattle
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| v.飞奔，碰响；激怒；n.碰撞声；拨浪鼓 | |
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76
ascend
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| vi.渐渐上升，升高；vt.攀登，登上 | |
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77
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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78
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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79
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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80
stature
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| n.（高度）水平，（高度）境界，身高，身材 | |
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81
granite
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| adj.花岗岩，花岗石 | |
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82
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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83
forfeit
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| vt.丧失；n.罚金，罚款，没收物 | |
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84
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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85
undertaking
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| n.保证，许诺，事业 | |
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86
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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87
foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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88
shudder
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| v.战粟，震动，剧烈地摇晃；n.战粟，抖动 | |
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89
proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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90
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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91
knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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92
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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93
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
subterranean
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| adj.地下的，地表下的 | |
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95
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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96
annihilate
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| v.使无效；毁灭；取消 | |
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97
haphazard
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| adj.无计划的，随意的，杂乱无章的 | |
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98
fortitude
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| n.坚忍不拔；刚毅 | |
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99
reiteration
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| n. 重覆, 反覆, 重说 | |
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100
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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101
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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102
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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103
loathsome
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| adj.讨厌的，令人厌恶的 | |
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104
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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105
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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106
ordained
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| v.任命（某人）为牧师( ordain的过去式和过去分词 )；授予（某人）圣职；（上帝、法律等）命令；判定 | |
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107
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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108
riddle
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| n.谜，谜语，粗筛；vt.解谜，给…出谜，筛，检查，鉴定，非难，充满于；vi.出谜 | |
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109
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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110
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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111
untold
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| adj.数不清的，无数的 | |
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112
woes
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| 困境( woe的名词复数 )； 悲伤； 我好苦哇； 某人就要倒霉 | |
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113
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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114
marvelling
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| v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的现在分词 ) | |
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115
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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116
murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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117
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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118
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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astounding
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| adj.使人震惊的vt.使震惊，使大吃一惊astound的现在分词) | |
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