CHAPTER XXI.

The crimson river.

At these unexpected words Theos sprang wildly to his feet.  An awful darkness seemed to close in upon him,—­and a chaotic confusion of memories began to whirl and drift through his mind like flotsam and jetsam tossed upon a storm-swept sea.  The aged and shadowy-looking Zuriel stood motionless, watching him with something of timid pity and mild patience.

“Five thousand years!” he muttered hoarsely, pressing his hands into his aching brows, while his eyes again fixed themselves yearningly on the Cross..  “Five thousand years before. ... before what?”

He caught the old man’s arm, and in spite of himself, a laugh, wild, discordant, and out of all keeping with his inward emotions, broke from his parched lips,—­“Thou doting fool!” he cried almost furiously,—­“Why dost thou mock me then with this false image of a hope unrealized? ...  Who gave thee leave to add more fuel to my flame of torment? ...  What means this symbol to thine eyes?  Speak.. speak!  What admonition does it hold for thee? ... what promise? ... what menace? ... what warning? ... what love? ...  Speak.. speak!  O, shall I force confession from thy throat, or must I die unsatisfied and slain by speechless longing!  What didst thou say? ...  Five thousand years? ...  Nay, by the gods, thou liest!”—­and he pointed excitedly to the sacred Emblem,—­“I tell thee that Holy Sign is as familiar to my suffering soul as the chiming of bells at sunset! ... as well known to my sight as the unfolding of flowers in the fields of spring! ...  What shall be done or said of it, in. five thousand years, that has not already been said and done?”

Zuriel regarded him more compassionately than ever, with a penetrating, mournful expression in his serious dark eyes.

“Alas, alas, my son! thou art most grievously distraught!” he said in troubled tones.  “Thy words but prove the dark disorder of thy wits,—­may Heaven soon heal thee of thy mental wound!  Restrain thy wild and wandering fancies? ... for surely thou canst not be familiar, as thou sayest with this silver Symbol, seeing that it is but the Talisman [Footnote:  The Cross was held in singular veneration in the Temple of Serapis, and by many tribes in the East, ages before the coming of Christ] or Badge of the Mystic Brethren of Al-Kyris, and has no signification whatsoever save for the Elect.  It was designed some twenty years ago by the inspired Chief of our Order, Khosrul, and such as are still his faithful disciples wear it as a record and constant reminder of his famous Prophecy.”

Theos heard, and a dull apathy stole over him,—­his recent excitement died out under a chilling weight of vague yet bitter disappointment.

“And this Prophecy?” he asked listlessly..  “What is its nature and whom doth it concern?”