A Strange Story — Volume 08Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
Philosophy
A Strange Story — Volume 08
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
Thus adjured, silently, involuntarily, I passed from the Veiled Woman's
side, over the sere lines on the turf which had been traced by the
triangles of light long since extinguished, and towards the verge of the
circle. As I advanced, overhead rushed a dark cloud of wings,--birds
dislodged from the forest on fire, and screaming, in dissonant terror, as
they flew towards the farthermost mountains; close by my feet hissed and
glided the snakes, driven forth from their blazing coverts, and glancing
through the ring, unscared by its waning lamps; all undulating by me,
bright-eyed and hissing, all made innocuous by fear,--even the terrible
Death-adder, which I trampled on as I halted at the verge of the circle,
did not turn to bite, but crept harmless away. I halted at the gap
between the two dead lamps, and bowed my head to look again into the
crystal vessel. Were there, indeed, no lingering drops yet left, if but
to recruit the lamps for some priceless minutes more? As I thus stood,
right into the gap between the two dead lamps strode a gigantic Foot. All
the rest of the form was unseen; only, as volume after volume of smoke
poured on from the burning land behind, it seemed as if one great column
of vapour, eddying round, settled itself aloft from the circle, and that
out from that column strode the giant Foot. And, as strode the Foot, so
with it came, like the sound of its tread, a roll of muttered thunder.
I recoiled, with a cry that rang loud through the lurid air.
"Courage!" said the voice of Ayesha. "Trembling soul, yield not an inch
to the demon!"
At the charm, the wonderful charm, in the tone of the Veiled Woman's
voice, my will seemed to take a force more sublime than its own. I folded
my arms on my breast, and stood as if rooted to the spot, confronting the
column of smoke and the stride of the giant Foot. And the Foot halted,
mute.
Again, in the momentary hush of that suspense, I heard a voice,--it was
Margrave's.
"The last hour expires, the work is accomplished! Come! come! Aid me to
take the caldron from the fire; and quick!--or a drop may be wasted in
vapour--the Elixir of Life from the caldron!"
At that cry I receded, and the Foot advanced.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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