End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
I obeyed instantly. We threaded with light steps many corridors,
ascended several flights of stairs, and passed through long galleries;
at the end of one she unlocked a low portal; a rush of wind
extinguished our lamp; but, in lieu of it, we had the blessed
moon-beams and the open face of heaven. Then first Juliet spoke:—“You
are safe,” she said, “God bless you!— farewell!”
I seized her reluctant hand—“Dear friend,” I cried, “misguided victim,
do you not intend to escape with me? Have you not risked all in
facilitating my flight? and do you think, that I will permit you to
return, and suffer alone the effects of that miscreant’s rage? Never!”
“Do not fear for me,” replied the lovely girl mournfully, “and do not
imagine that without the consent of our chief you could be without
these walls. It is he that has saved you; he assigned to me the part of
leading you hither, because I am best acquainted with your motives for
coming here, and can best appreciate his mercy in permitting you to
depart.”
“And are you,” I cried, “the dupe of this man? He dreads me alive as an
enemy, and dead he fears my avengers. By favouring this clandestine
escape he preserves a shew of consistency to his followers; but mercy
is far from his heart. Do you forget his artifices, his cruelty, and
fraud? As I am free, so are you. Come, Juliet, the mother of our lost
Idris will welcome you, the noble Adrian will rejoice to receive you;
you will find peace and love, and better hopes than fanaticism can
afford. Come, and fear not; long before day we shall be at Versailles;
close the door on this abode of crime —come, sweet Juliet, from
hypocrisy and guilt to the society of the affectionate and good.”
I spoke hurriedly, but with fervour: and while with gentle violence I
drew her from the portal, some thought, some recollection of past
scenes of youth and happiness, made her listen and yield to me;
suddenly she broke away with a piercing shriek:—“My child, my child! he
has my child; my darling girl is my hostage.”
She darted from me into the passage; the gate closed between us—she was
left in the fangs of this man of crime, a prisoner, still to inhale the
pestilential atmosphere which adhered to his demoniac nature; the
unimpeded breeze played on my cheek, the moon shone graciously upon me,
my path was free. Glad to have escaped, yet melancholy in my very joy,
I retrod my steps to Versailles.
CHAPTER VI.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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