A Strange Manuscript Found in a Copper Cylinder, James De Mille [best classic romance novels .TXT] 📗

before us. For you and for me there is a fate⁠—inconceivable, abhorrent, tremendous!⁠—a fate of which I dare not speak or even think, and from which there is no escape whatever.”

As Almah said this she looked at me with an expression in which terror and anguish were striving with love. Her cheeks, which shortly before had flushed rosy red in sweet confusion, were now pallid, her lips ashen; her eyes were full of a wild despair. I looked at her in wonder, and could not say a word.

“Oh, Atam-or,” said she, “I am afraid of death!”

“Almah,” said I, “why will you speak of death? What is this fate which you fear so much?”

“It is this,” said she hurriedly and with a shudder, “you and I are singled out. I have been reserved for years until one should be found who might be joined with me. You came. I saw it all at once. I have known it⁠—dreaded it⁠—tried to fight against it. But it was of no use. Oh, Atam-or, our love means death; for the very fact that you love me and I love you seals our doom!”

“Our doom? What doom?”

“The sacrifice!” exclaimed Almah, with another shudder. In her voice and look there was a terrible meaning, which I could not fail to take. I understood it now, and my blood curdled in my veins. Almah clung to me despairingly.

“Do not leave me!” she cried⁠—“do not leave me! I have no one but you. The sacrifice, the sacrifice! It is our doom the great sacrifice⁠—at the end of the dark season. It is at the amir. We must go there to meet our doom.”

“The amir?” I asked; “what is that?”

“It is the metropolis,” said she.

I was utterly overwhelmed, yet still I tried to console her; but the attempt was vain.

“Oh!” she cried, “you will not understand. The sacrifice is but a part⁠—it is but the beginning. Death is terrible; yet it may be endured⁠—if there is only death. But oh!⁠—oh think!⁠—think of that which comes after⁠—the Mista Kosek!”

Now the full meaning flashed upon me, and I saw it all. In an instant there arose in my mind the awful sacrifice on the pyramid and the unutterable horror of the Mista Kosek. Oh, horror, horror, horror! Oh, hideous abomination and deed without a name! I could not speak. I caught her in my arms, and we both wept passionately.

The happiness of our love was now darkened by this tremendous cloud that lowered before us. The shock of this discovery was overpowering, and some time elapsed before I could rally from it. Though Almah’s love was sweet beyond expression, and though as the time passed I saw that every jom she regained more and more of her former health and strength, still I could not forget what had been revealed. We were happy with one another, yet our happiness was clouded, and amid the brightness of our love there was ever present the dread spectre of our appalling doom.

These feelings, however, grew fainter. Hope is ever ready to arise; and I began to think that these people, though given to evil ways, were after all kindhearted, and might listen to entreaty. Above all, there was the Kohen, so benevolent, so self-denying, so amiable, so sympathetic. I could not forget all that he had said during Almah’s illness, and it seemed more than probable that an appeal to his better nature might not be without effect. I said as much to Almah.

“The Kohen,” said she; “why, he can do nothing.”

“Why not? He is the chief man here, and ought to have great influence.”

“You don’t understand,” said she, with a sigh. “The Kohen is the lowest and least influential man in the city.”

“Why, who are influential if he is not?” I asked.

“The paupers,” said Almah.

“The paupers!” I exclaimed, in amazement.

“Yes,” said Almah. “Here among these people the paupers form the most honored, influential, and envied portion of the community.”

This was incomprehensible. Almah tried to explain, but to no purpose, and I determined to talk to the Kohen.

XV The Kohen Is Inexorable

I determined to talk to the Kohen, and try for myself whether he might not be accessible to pity. This greatest of cannibals might, indeed, have his little peculiarities, I thought, and who has not?⁠—yet at bottom he seemed full of tender and benevolent feeling; and as he evidently spent his whole time in the endeavor to make us happy, it seemed not unlikely that he might do something for our happiness in a case where our very existence was at stake.

The Kohen listened with deep attention as I stated my case. I did this fully and frankly. I talked of my love for Almah and of Almah’s love for me; our hope that we might be united so as to live happily in reciprocal affection; and I was going on to speak of the dread that was in my heart when he interrupted me:

“You speak of being united,” said he. “You talk strangely. Of course you mean that you wish to be separated.”

“Separated!” I exclaimed. “What do you mean? Of course we wish to be united.”

The Kohen stared at me as I said this with the look of one who was quite puzzled; and I then went on to speak of the fate that was before us, and to entreat his sympathy and his aid that we might be saved from so hideous a doom. To all these words the Kohen listened with an air of amazement, as though I were saying incomprehensible things.

“You have a gentle and an affectionate nature,” I said⁠—“a nature full of sympathy with others, and noble self-denial.”

“Of course,” said the Kohen, quickly, as though glad to get hold of something which he could understand, “of course we are all so, for we are so made. It is our nature. Who is there who is not self-denying? No one can help that.”

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