XXIII

THE TEMPLE OF TRUTH

Our preparations did not take us very long.  We put a change of clothing apiece and some spare boots into my Gladstone bag, also we took our revolvers and an express rifle each, together with a good supply of ammunition, a precaution to which, under Providence, we subsequently owed our lives over and over again.  The rest of our gear, together with our heavy rifles, we left behind us.

A few minutes before the appointed time we once more attended in Ayesha’s boudoir, and found her also ready, her dark cloak thrown over her winding-sheetlike wrappings.

“Are ye prepared for the great venture?” she said.

“We are,” I answered, “though for my part, Ayesha, I have no faith in it.”

“Ah, my Holly,” she said, “thou art of a truth like those old Jews—­of whom the memory vexes me so sorely—­unbelieving, and hard to accept that which they have not known.  But thou shalt see; for unless my mirror beyond lies,” and she pointed to the font of crystal water, “the path is yet open as it was of old time.  And now let us start upon the new life which shall end—­who knoweth where?”

“Ah,” I echoed, “who knoweth where?” and we passed down into the great central cave, and out into the light of day.  At the mouth of the cave we found a single litter with six bearers, all of them mutes, waiting, and with them I was relieved to see our old friend Billali, for whom I had conceived a sort of affection.  It appeared that, for reasons not necessary to explain at length, Ayesha had thought it best that, with the exception of herself, we should proceed on foot, and this we were nothing loth to do, after our long confinement in these caves, which, however suitable they might be for sarcophagi—­a singularly inappropriate word, by the way, for these particular tombs, which certainly did not consume the bodies given to their keeping—­were depressing habitations for breathing mortals like ourselves.  Either by accident or by the orders of She, the space in front of the cave where we had beheld that awful dance was perfectly clear of spectators.  Not a soul was to be seen, and consequently I do not believe that our departure was known to anybody, except perhaps the mutes who waited on She, and they were, of course, in the habit of keeping what they saw to themselves.

In a few minutes’ time we were stepping out sharply across the great cultivated plain or lake bed, framed like a vast emerald in its setting of frowning cliff, and had another opportunity of wondering at the extraordinary nature of the site chosen by these old people of Kor for their capital, and at the marvellous amount of labour, ingenuity, and engineering skill that must have been brought into requisition by the founders of the city to drain so huge a sheet of water, and to keep it clear of subsequent accumulations.  It is, indeed, so far as my experience goes, an unequalled instance of what man can do in the face of nature, for in my opinion such achievements as the Suez Canal or even the Mont Cenis Tunnel do not approach this ancient undertaking in magnitude and grandeur of conception.