kremlin meanwhile had reached his tower in time to secure a glimpse of the clearer portion of the sky before it clouded over again. opening the great window, he leaned out and anxiously surveyed the heavens. there was a little glitter of star-groups above his head, and immediately opposite an almost stirless heavy fleece of blackness, which he knew by its position hid from his sight the planet mars, the brilliant world he now sought to make the chief centre of his observations. he saw that heavy clouds were slowly rolling up from the south, and he was quite prepared for a fresh outbreak of storm and rain, but he was determined to take advantage, if possible, of even a few moments of temporary calm. and with this intention he fixed his gaze watchfully on the woolly-looking dark mass of vapour that concealed the desired star from his view, having first carefully covered the steadily revolving disc with its thick sable curtain. never surely was there a more weird and solemn-looking place than the tower-room as it now appeared; no light in it at all save a fitful side-gleam from the whirling edge of the disc,—all darkness and monotonous deep sound, with that patient solitary figure leaning at the sill of the wide-open window, gazing far upward at the pallid gleam of those few distant stars that truly did no more than make “darkness visible.” the aged scientist’s heart beat quickly; the weight of long years of labour and anxiety seemed to be lifted from his spirit, and it was with almost all the ardour of his young student days that he noted the gradual slow untwisting and dividing of those threads of storm-mist, that like a dark web, woven by the fates, veiled the “red planet” whose flashing signal might prove to be the key to a thousand hitherto unexplored mysteries. it was strange that just at this particular moment of vague suspense his thoughts should go wandering in a desultory wilful fashion back to his past,—and that the history of his bygone life seemed to arrange itself, as it were, in a pattern as definite as the wavy lines on his “light-maps” and with just as indefinite a meaning. he, who had lived that life, was as perplexed concerning its ultimate intention as he was concerning the ultimate meanings conveyed by the light-vibrations through air. he tried to keep his ideas centred on the scientific puzzle he was attempting to unravel,—he strove to think of every small fact that bore more or less on that one central object,—he repeated to himself the a b c of his art, concerning the vibrations of light on that first natural reflector, the human eye,—how, in receiving the impression of the colour red, for instance, the nerves of the eye are set quivering four hundred and eighty-two millions of millions of times; or, of the colour violet, seven hundred and seven millions of millions of times per second. how could he hope to catch the rapid flash of the “third ray” under these tremendous conditions? would it not vanish from the very face of the disc before he had time to track its circuit? but, though he strove to busy his brain with conjectures and calculations, he was forced, in spite of himself, to go on groping into the past; that wonderful past when he had been really young—young with a youth not born of el-râmi’s secret concoctions,—but youth as it is received fresh and perfect from the hand of divinity—the talisman which makes all the world an eden of roses without thorns. he saw himself as he used to be, a slim student, fair-haired and blue-eyed, absorbed in science, trying strange experiments, testing new chemical combinations, ferreting out the curious mysteries of atmospheric phenomena, and then being gradually led to consider the vast amount of apparently unnecessary light per second, that pours upon us from every radiating object in the firmament, bearing in mind the fact that our earth itself radiates through space, even though its glimmer be no more than that of a spark amid many huge fires. he remembered how he had pored over the strange but incontestable fact that two rays of light starting from the same point and travelling in the same direction frequently combine to produce darkness, by that principle which is known in the science of optics as the interference of the rays of light,—and how, in the midst of all this, his work had been suddenly interrupted and put a stop to by a power the stars in their courses cannot gainsay—love. yes—he had loved and been beloved,—this poor, gentle, dreamy man;—one winter in russia—one winter when the snows lay deep on the wild steppes and the wolves were howling for hunger in the gloom of the forests,—he had dreamed his dream, and wakened from it—broken-hearted. she whom he loved, a beautiful girl connected with the russian nobility, was associated, though he knew it not, with a secret society of nihilists, and was all at once arrested with several others and accused of being party to a plot for the assassination of the tsar. found guilty, she was sentenced to exile in siberia, but before the mandate could be carried out she died by her own hand, poisoned in her prison cell. kremlin, though not “suspect,” went almost mad with grief, and fled from russia never to set his foot on its accursëd soil again. people said that the excess of his sorrow, rage and despair had affected his brain, which was possible, as his manner and mode of living, and the peculiar grooves of study into which he fell, were undoubtedly strange and eccentric—and yet—tenderness for his dead love, self-murdered in her youth and beauty, kept him sensitively alive to human needs and human suffering,—there was no scorn or bitterness in his nature, and his faith in the unseen god was as great as el-râmi’s doubt. but, left as he was all alone in the world, he plunged into the obscure depths of science with greater zest than ever, striving to forget the dire agony of that brief love-drama, the fatal end of which had nearly closed his own career in madness and death. and so the years drifted on and on in work that every day grew more abstruse and perplexing, till he had suddenly, as it were, found himself old,—too old, as he told himself with nervous trembling, ever to complete what he had begun. then he had sent for el-râmi; el-râmi whom he had met and wondered at, during his travels in the east years ago ... and el-râmi, at his desire, by strange yet potent skill, had actually turned back time in its too rapid flight—and a new lease of life was vouchsafed to him;—he had leisure,—long, peaceful leisure in which to carry out his problems to perfection, if to carry them out were at all possible. for had not el-râmi said—“you cannot die, except by violence”?
and thus, like the “star-patterns,” all the fragments of his personal history came into his mind to-night as he waited at his tower-window, watching the black pavilion under which the world of mars swung round in its fiery orbit.
“why do i think of all these bygone things just now?” he asked himself wonderingly—“i who so seldom waste my time in looking back, my work being all for the future?”
as he murmured the words half aloud, a rift showed itself in the cloud he was observing,—a rift which widened gradually and broke up the dark mass by swift and ever swifter degrees. fold after fold of mist dissolved and dispersed itself along the sky, swept by the wings of the newly-arisen wind, and mars, angrily crimson and stormily brilliant, flashed forth a lurid fire ... in less time than imagination can depict, kremlin had noiselessly flung the black curtain back from his disc, ... and with his eyes riveted upon its gleaming pearly surface he waited ... scarcely breathing, ... every nerve in his body seeming to contract and grow rigid with expectation and something like dread. a pale light glistened on the huge disc ... it was gone! ... another flash, ... and this remained trembling in wavy lines and small revolving specks—now ... now ... the third!—and kremlin craned his head forward eagerly ... it came!—like a drop of human blood it fell, and raced more rapidly than quicksilver round and round the polished surface of the disc, paling in tint among the other innumerable silvery lines ... flashed again redly ... and ... disappeared! a cry of irrepressible disappointment broke from kremlin’s lips.
“impossible! ... my god! ... impossible!”
ay!—impossible surely to track such velocity of motion—impossible to fix the spot where first its dazzling blood-like hue fell, and where it at last vanished. and yet kremlin waited on in feverish expectancy,—his lips apart, his breath coming and going in quick uneasy gasps, his straining eyes fixed on that terrible, inscrutable creation of his own skill, that fearful mirror of the heavens which reflected so much and betrayed so little! ... heedless of the muttering roar of the wind which now suddenly assailed the tower, he stood, fascinated by the dazzling play of light that illumined the disc more brilliantly than usual. a dismal scream,—the cry of the cormorant perched on the roof above him, echoed faintly in his ears, but he scarcely heard it, so absorbed was he in his monstrous enigma; till—all at once, a blue shaft of lightning glared in at the window, its brief reflection transforming the disc for a second to an almost overwhelming splendour of glittering colour. the strong blaze dazzled kremlin’s eyes,—and as the answering thunder rattled through the sky he reluctantly moved from his position and went towards the window to shut it against the threatening storm. but when he reached it he saw that the planet mars was yet distinctly visible; the lightning and thunder came from that huge bank of clouds in the south he had before noticed,—clouds which were flying rapidly up, but had not yet entirely obscured the heavens. in eager and trembling haste he hurried back to the disc,—it seemed alive with light, and glistened from point to point like a huge jewel as it whirled and hummed its strange monotonous music,—and, shading his eyes, he remained close beside it, determined to watch it still, hoping against hope that another red flash like the one he had lately seen might crimson the quivering mass of silvery intersecting lines which he knew were not so much the light-vibrations of stars now as reflexes of the electricity pent up in the tempestuous atmosphere.
“patience ... patience!” he murmured aloud—“a moment more, and perhaps i shall see, ... i shall know ... i shall find what i have sought. ...”
the last words were yet trembling on his lips when a fearful forkëd tongue of red flame leaped from the clouds, descending obliquely like a colossal sword, ... it smote the tower, splitting its arched roof and rending its walls asunder,—and with the frightful boom and bellow of thunder that followed, echoing over land and sea for miles and miles there came another sound, ... a clanging jangle of chains and wires and ponderous metals, ... the mighty mass of the glittering star-dial swirled round unsteadily once ... twice ... quivered ... stopped ... and then ... slipping from its wondrous pendulum, hurled itself forward like a monster shield and fell! ... fell with an appalling crash and thud, bringing the roof down upon itself in a blinding shower of stones and dust and mortar. ... and then ... why, then nothing! nothing but dense blackness, muttering thunder, and the roaring of the wind.
outside, frantic with fear, karl shook and battered at the firmly-locked and bolted door of the tower. when that forked flash of lightning had struck the house, it had stretched him senseless in his kitchen,—he had, however, recovered after a few minutes’ unconsciousness, dazed and stunned, but otherwise unhurt, and, becoming gradually alive to the immediate dangers of the situation, he had, notwithstanding the fury of the gale and the deafening peals of thunder, rushed out of doors instinctively to look at the tower. one glance showed him what had happened,—it was split asunder, and showed dimly against the stormy night like a yawning ruin round which in time the ivy might twist and cling. breathless and mad with terror, he had rushed back to the house and up the stairs, and now stood impatiently clamouring outside the impenetrable portal whose firm interior fastenings resisted all his efforts. he called, he knocked, he kicked,—and then, exhausted with the vain attempt, stopped to listen. ... nothing! ... not a sound! he made a hollow of his hands and put his mouth to the keyhole.
“herr doctor! ... herr doctor!”
no answer,—except the stormy whistle of the blast.
“no help for it!” he thought desperately, tears of excitement and alarm gathering in his eyes—“i must call for assistance,—rouse the neighbours and break open the door by force.”
he ran downstairs and out of the house bareheaded, to be met by a sudden sweep of rain which fell in a straight unpremeditated way from the clouds in stinging torrents. heedless of wind and wet he sped along, making direct for some fishermen’s cottages whose inhabitants he knew and whom in a manner he was friendly with, and, having roused them up by shouts and cries, explained to them as briefly as possible what had happened. as soon as they understood the situation four stout fellows got ready to accompany him, and taking pickaxes, crowbars, boathooks, and any other such implements as were handy, they ran almost as quickly as karl himself to the scene of the catastrophe. their excitement was to the full as great as his, till they reached the top of the staircase and stood outside the mysterious door—there they hung back a moment hesitatingly.
“call him again”—one whispered to karl. “mebbe he’s in there safe and sound and did not hear ye at fust.”
to satisfy the man’s scruples karl obeyed, and called and called, and knocked and knocked again and yet again,—with the same result,—no answer, save the derisive yell of the gale.
“he be dead an’ gone for sure”—said a second man, with a slight pallor coming over his sea-tanned face—“well ... well! ... if so be as we must break down th’ door——”
“here, give me one of those things”—cried karl impatiently, and snatching a crowbar he began dealing heavy blows at the massive nail-studded oaken barrier. seeing him so much in earnest, his companions lost the touch of superstitious dread that had made them hesitate, and also set themselves to work with a will, and in a few minutes—minutes which to the anxious karl seemed ages,—the door was battered in, ... and they all rushed forward, ... but the fierce wind, tearing wildly around them, caught the flame of the lamp they carried and extinguished it, so that they were left in total darkness. but over their heads the split roof yawned, showing the black sky, and about their feet was a mass of fallen stones and dust and indistinguishable ruin. as quickly as possible they re-lit the lamp and, holding it aloft, looked tremblingly, and without speaking a word, at the havoc and confusion around them. at first little could be seen but heaped-up stones and bricks and mortar, but karl’s quick eyes roving eagerly about caught sight suddenly of something black under a heap of débris,—and quickly bending down over it he began with his hands to clear away the rubbish,—the other men, seeing what he was trying to do, aided him in his task, and in about twenty minutes’ time they succeeded in uncovering a black mass, huge and inanimate.
“what is it?” whispered one of the men—“it’s ... it’s not him?”
karl said nothing—he felt himself turning sick with dread, ... he touched that doubtful blackness—it was a thick cloth like a great pall—it concealed ... what? recklessly he pulled and tugged at it, getting his hands lacerated by a tangled mesh of wires and metals,—till, yielding at last to a strong jerk, it came away in weighty clinging folds, disclosing what to him seemed an enormous round stone, which, as the lamp-light flashed upon it, glistened mysteriously with a thousand curious hues. karl grasped its edge in an effort to lift it—his fingers came in contact with something moist and warm, and, snatching them away in a sort of vague horror, he saw that they were stained with blood.
“oh my god! my god!” he cried—“he is down there,—underneath this thing! ... help me to lift it, men!—lift it for heaven’s sake!—lift it, quick—quick!”
but, though they all dragged at it with a will, the work was not so easy—the great disc had fallen flat, and lay solemnly inert—and that oozing blood,—the blood of the too daring student of the stars who had designed its mystic proportions,—trickled from under it with sickening rapidity. at last, breathless and weary, they were about to give up the task in despair, when karl snatched from out the ruins the iron needle or pendulum on which the disc had originally swung, and, all unknowing what it was, thrust it cautiously under the body of the great stone to aid in getting a firmer hold of it, ... to his amazement and terror the huge round mass caught and clung to it, like warm sealing-wax to a piece of paper, and in an instant seemed to have magically dispensed with all its weight, for as, with his unassisted strength, he lifted the pendulum, the disc lifted itself lightly and easily with it! a cry of fear and wonder broke from all the men,—karl himself trembled in every limb, and big drops of cold sweat broke out on his forehead at what he deemed the devilish horror of this miracle. but as he, with no more difficulty than he would have experienced in heaving up a moderate-sized log of wood, raised the disc and flung it back and away from him shudderingly, pendulum and all, his eyes fell on what had lain beneath it, ... a crushed pulp of human flesh and streaming blood—and reverend silver hairs ... and with a groan that seemed to rend his very heart karl gave one upward sick stare at the reeling sky, and fainted, ... as unconscious for the time being as that indistinguishable mangled mass of perished mortality that once had been his master.
gently and with compassionate kindness, the rough fishers who stood by lifted him up and bore him out of the tower and down the stairs,—and, after a whispered consultation, carried him away from the house altogether to one of their own cottages, where they put him under the care of one of their own women. none of them could sleep any more that night; they stood in a group close by their humble habitations, watching the progress of the storm, and ever and anon casting awe-stricken glances at the shattered tower.
“the devil was in it”—said one of the men at last, as he lit his pipe and endeavoured to soothe his nerves by several puffs at that smoky consoler—“or else how would it rise up like that as light as a feather at the touch of an iron pole?”
“it must ’a weighed twenty stun at least”—murmured another man meditatively.
“what was it?” demanded a third—“i should ’a took it for a big grindstone if it hadn’t sparkled up so when the light fell on it.”
“well, it may stay where it is for all i care,” said the first speaker—“i wouldn’t touch it again for a hundred pound!”
“nor i.” “nor i.”
they were all agreed on that point.
“wotever he were a-doin’ on,”—said the fourth man gravely—“whether it were god’s work or the devil’s, it’s all over now. he’s done for, poor old chap! it’s an awful end—god rest his soul!”
the others lifted their caps and murmured “amen” with simple reverence. then they looked out at the dark wallowing trough of the sea.
“how the wind roars!” said the last speaker.
“ay, it do roar,” replied the man who was his mate in the boat when they went fishing; “and did ye hear a cormorant scream a while ago?”
“ay, ay! i heard it!” they were silent then, and turned in, after making inquiries concerning karl at the cottage where they had left him. he was still unconscious.
