"We had not waited above three minutes when I knew that the room was peopled--by whom I knew not, except that they came from that land from whose bourne, your greatest poet says, 'no traveller returns.' I looked at Abou. His face was as the face of the dead, except for his eyes. They burned like two coals of fire. He uttered some strange words, the meaning of which was unknown to me, and then I knew some mighty forces were being exerted in that old sheik's hut. My brain began to whirl, while a terrible power gripped me; but still I looked, and still I remembered. "'Spirit of Ilfra,' said Abou, 'are you here?' "No voice spoke that I could hear, and yet I realized that Abou had received his answer. "'Enter thy body then, spirit of my daughter, and tell me, if thou darest, the secret I have desired so long.' "I looked at the embalmed body. I saw the eyelids quiver, the mouth twitch, and then the body moved. "'Speak to me, my daughter, and tell me all,' said Abou. "I only heard one sound. My overtaxed nerves could bear no more; the living dead was too terrible for me, and I fell senseless to the ground. "When I awoke to consciousness, I found only Abou and Helfa there. The body of Ilfra had been removed, where, I know not, for I never saw it again; but Helfa was like unto that which he had been before. "'The secret is mine, son Herod,' said Abou, 'but it is not for you to learn yet. Be patient; when your spirit is prepared, the knowledge will come.'" Voltaire stopped abruptly. One of the young ladies gave a slight scream, and then he apologized for having no more to tell. "But has the knowledge come since?" asked a voice. I did not know who spoke, but it sounded like Gertrude Forrest's voice. I turned towards her, and saw her looking admiringly at this man whom I could not help fearing. His answer was a beaming smile and a few words, saying that knowledge should never be boasted of. That moment my jealousy, which had been allayed, now surged furiously in me, and I determined that that very night I would match the strength of my mind with the strength of his. CHAPTER V CHRISTMAS NIGHT--THE FORGING OF THE CHAIN "You have more than redeemed your promise, Voltaire," said Tom Temple, after a silence that was almost painful. "Certainly there is enough romance and mystery in your story to satisfy any one. What do you think of it, Justin?"--turning to me. "Mr. Voltaire used the word 'imagination' in his story," I replied, "and I think it would describe it very well. Still, it does not account for much after one has read Dumas' _Memoirs of a Physician_." "Am I to understand that you doubt the truth of my words?" asked Voltaire sharply. "I think your story is all it appears to be," I replied.