The Lost ContinentHyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Science
The Lost Continent
Hyne, Charles John Cutcliffe Wright
Atlantis (Legendary place) -- Fiction; Fantasy fiction; Lost continents -- Fiction; Science fiction
I knelt on the floor of the gallery, and found the air passage with my
hand, and then, putting my lips to it, whispered for Nais.
The answer came on the instant, muffled and quiet. “I knew my lord would
come for a farewell.”
“What the Empress said, has to be. You understand, my dear? It is for
Atlantis.”
“Have I reproached my lord, by word or glance?”
“I myself am bidden to place you in the hollow between the stones, and I
must do it.”
“Then my last sleep will be a sweet one. I could not ask to be touched
by pleasanter hands.”
“But it mayhap that a day will come when she whom you know of will be
suffered by the High Gods to live on this land of Atlantis no longer.”
“If my lord will cherish my poor memory when he is free again, I shall
be grateful. He might, if he chose, write them on the stones: Here was
buried a maid who died gladly for the good of Atlantis, even though she
knew that the man she so dearly loved was husband to her murderess.”
“You must not die,” I whispered. “My breast is near broken at the very
thought of it. And for respite, we must trust to the ancient knowledge,
which in its day has been sent out from the Ark of the Mysteries.”--I
took the green waxy ball in my fingers, and stretched them down the
crooked air-shaft to the full of my span.--“I have somewhat for you
here. Reach up and try to catch it from me.”
I heard the faint rustle of her arm as it swept against the masonry, and
then the ball was taken over into her grasp. Gods! what a thrill went
through me when the fingers of Nais touched mine! I could not see her,
because of the crookedness of the shaft, but that faint touch of her was
exquisite.
“I have it,” she whispered. “And what now, dear?”
“You will hide the thing in your garment, and when to-morrow the upper
stone closes down upon you and the light is gone, then you will take it
between your lips and let it dissolve as it will. Sleep will take you,
my darling, then, and the High Gods will watch over you, even though
centuries pass before you are roused.”
“If Deucalion does not wake me, I shall pray never again to open an eye.
And now go, my lord and my dear. They watch me here constantly, and I
would not have you harmed by being brought to notice.”
“Yes, I must go, my sweetheart. It will not do to have our scheme
spoiled by a foolish loitering. May the most High Gods attend your rest,
and if the sacrifice we make finds favour, may They grant us meeting
here again on earth before we meet--as we must--when our time is done,
and They take us up to Their own place.”
“Amen,” she whispered back, and then: “Kiss your fingers, dear, and
thrust them down to me.”
I did that, and for an instant felt her fondle them down the crook of
the airshaft out of sight, and then heard her withdraw her little hand
and kiss it fondly. Then again she kissed her own fingers and stretched
them up, and I took up the virtue of that parting kiss on my finger-tips
and pressed it sacredly to my lips.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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