The passing of Nika spoke strongly to Saronia. She had lived with her, served with her, felt the keen injustice of her nature, and now the end had come.
Had it been woman against woman, she would not have crushed the Roman; but it was not so. It was a woman in conflict with the goddess. Saronia had been powerless to help, and dared not question the vengeance of Hecate.
She sympathized with Lucius, her old master, always kind; pictured him returning to Ephesus, hastening to his home on the Coressian hill, expecting loving greeting, hearing the dreadful death of his only child from a broken-hearted wife. She saw the tears streaming down the face of the weather-beaten mariner, and watched the wrecked soul as it looked out through the lustreless eyes.
It was horrible to think of all this, and to dwell on the thought that question after question would arise in his mind why the Fates did not sooner bring him home that he mighthave saved her—fought for her, if need be; and, above all, why did not Saronia protect her against the power of the Roman, Proconsul though he was? He would revert back to the time when he saw her at the altar steps looking sweetly on him and his sailors when they came to pray.
All the agony of Lucius came before her, and her spirit was clouded with gloom.
She threw herself down, and buried her beautiful face, sighing as if her heart would rend in twain. She was a woman, not a goddess—a woman with sympathies keen enough to feel for others, even to the binding up of the broken-hearted and offering forgiveness to her most violent foe.
A mysterious link had suddenly snapped in her chain of destiny. What it was she could not divine.
The death of Nika moved her in a peculiar manner, such as nothing else had done since the deep of her being was broken up by the call of the great spirit to follow the goddess.
It was a dark chapter in her life's history, and she earnestly desired to know its hidden meaning; she would wait patiently until the time came when all should be revealed.
She arose, looked towards the sea, and saw in vision the white sails of the fleet of Lucius bringing him to port.
A storm crossed her face, as when the icy winds of winter furrow the waves and clouds swoop down to wed the foaming main. Her whole nature trembled like the shaken hull of a tempest-haunted ship. The spirit of Hecate was on her, and the voice of the terrible goddess rang out in her soul:
'Tell him the curse hath killed her! Say the gods are avenged!'
When the evening had come, Saronia retired and lay on a couch of black marble. The windows of the room were thrown open to admit what little breeze there was; the honeysuckle and jasmine climbed the walls like rival lovers, and breathed their perfume on the priestess.
She looked towards the Temple; the sun threw rays aslant the roof and pillars, and it shone resplendent in the dying day.
In the rear of it sprang up against the sky tall trees of cluster-pine and ash, further away rose the great mountains, and behind them the golden gates of the setting sun, and beyond all, soft clouds cradled in light floated like temple domes of a great spiritual city.
The soul of the priestess was drawn away towards the glorious vision, and for a while she had forgotten herself. Darkness had changed to light, and she longed to be beyond all the uncertainty of this troubled existence, and move into a sphere where hope might be lost in love—where she would see things as they are, see them with the truth of a risen soul, not as she now saw them, with a soul straining to gaze at spiritual beauty through a mass of corruption, a shroud of earthly mould.
Her spirit struggled to free itself, to spread out its pinions and soar into an element of its own; but the time had not yet arrived for the prisoner to be free—her prison was bolted with bars of brass.
As the shadows deepened on the floor of that sacred room, and the last flickering light of day played between her tresses, turning her silvery robes to gray, it was evident her mind was much agitated—influenced in a marked degree.
She took from her bosom the parchment Chios had given—the manuscript which taught the Christian creed—and, grasping it firmly with her right hand, walked towardsthe window, looking lovingly and long at the great Temple. She moved away, murmuring:
'I will see Chios. I will see him, and know more of his faith.'
Thus was this magnificent spirit besieged by contending forces. She stood like a mountain peak encircled with storm, like a beacon on a rock lashed by the fury of the maddening seas, like a ship in a valley of waves, rudderless, shroudless, with creaking timbers and sailless yards.
Her first thought was, under the cover of night, to fly to the studio of Chios. No, he would not be there. A better way suggested itself.
She stood erect, with face towards where the city lay, and, stretching out both hands, she threw a wave of will forward in search of Endora. It reached her at her mountain home.
The witch sprang to her feet, and the command of Saronia came to her: 'Come to the Temple to-morrow morn. Bring me a gift of roses.'
That night the priestess rested, slumbering till the sun arose and the mists on the mountains had cleared away. Then she awoke, and went forth to the morning service. As she passed by, many beasts were being sacrificed at the altar in front of the Temple, portions of the flesh and basins of blood were being carried within.
She stood beside the sacrifice in the midst of the Temple, heard the crackling wood as it slowly burned up the pieces, watched the smoke until it ascended, freely passing out through the aperture in the roof; then she knew the sacrifice was accepted of the goddess.
The omen at one time would have been to her one of great joy. Now another voice was echoing: 'Sacrifices and burnt-offerings I have no pleasure in. The true sacrifice is a broken and a contrite heart.'
As soon as she could, she turned from the Temple and sought the quiet of her room, sitting by the window where the sunlight kissed the roses and the breezes fanned her cheeks.
As the day advanced a message was brought to the priestess that a woman was without who wished to speak to her, and that she carried roses in her hand, an offering to Diana.
'Let her come to me,' said Saronia.
'Come within and seat thyself. I have much to say to thee, mother of Chios. I know I may trust thee. Thou wilt never betray?'
'No. By all that is left for my eternal salvation, I swear to be true!'
'Then hear me. Take this message to Chios. I must see him.'
'Thou knowest, lady, Chios is a Christian?'
'I do. Dost thou know aught of this sect, seeing thou movest abroad among the people?'
'O noble Saronia, 'tis a mighty God they serve.'
'What meanest thou?'
'I will tell thee. One day there came to my house the sons of Sceva; they came to cast out a spirit of evil from a tortured man.'
'Did they succeed?'
'No. Miserably failed! And I, by my power, tried by Hecate to draw him forth, but I could not.'
'By what process did they attempt this?'
'They invoked the name of the Jewish Christ, but the spirit rebelled against them, and disowned their power. They had made a cross, the symbol of that God, to carry out their plan, and when they had fled and I also looked back, I saw the cross all lit with glorious sheen in the hands of the man, and the spirit had come out of him. I fear this faith; Diana, Hecate are servants to it, and this Christ will prevail in Ephesus. I would this God would shield me from the curse, and I would lie at His feet in gratitude and joy.'
'Endora, thou speakest strange sayings. Art thou certain of all those things, or are they phantasies of the mind?'
'They are true, noble Saronia, as true as yonder Temple is the shrine of thy goddess; true as there is a central sun in the universe, around which all other suns revolve. And this Christ, they say, is the great spiritual orb, the grand Spirit of the whole around which every other intelligence moves, and to whom every spirit in the vast domains shall bow. It's a terrible thought, is it not?'
'Why?'
'Because, if this saying be true, Diana is no more. She is not supreme, and will fade away as the ages grow, dwindling into nothingness, and her teaching be but a beautiful story.'
'Ah! Endora, thou speakest wisely. Truly thou art acting a part in assuming the craft of a low-born fortune-teller. I see thou art skilled in words, and still hast the soul and wisdom of a priestess; as a diamond thou wilt sparkle, begrimed as thou art with the adverse circumstances of thy life. Thou hast interested me. It is well one should know what is propagated around her. Hast thou any more respecting this strange belief?'
'Only this: One day when on the mountain yonder two men were near. I hid, but close enough to listen.'
'Who were they?'
'One was Chios, the other his teacher, one of the chiefs of the Christians.'
'What did they say?'
'I heard the old man speak in prophecy, saying the time was not far away when the beautiful city beneath them should crumble to decay, the temples perish, and the altars be broken and buried deep in the earth, until men should seek for the glories and religion of Ephesus, but should search in vain—that the faith of the goddess should be but a broken note in the great hymn which the ages sing. More he said, but all of the same import.'
'What kind of man was this prophet?'
'He was mean in appearance, possessing an intellect like the mind of a god. His eyes were piercing, and his spirit consumed his flesh; his body was but a disguise. Surely within that frail and plainly-built structure there resided a soul which has circled around the central throne of the King of the universe. He is a messenger from Him, whoever He may be.'
'Endora—Myrtile may I call thee?—go! Be careful of the message to Chios. My life—everything depends on its safe delivery. Place it carefully, and speed away. The message demands action this day.'
Endora crept up the avenue of myrtles to the door of Chios, and timidly knocked at it.
'I have a message for thee.'
'From whom didst thou receive it?'
'From the High Priestess, Saronia.'
'What knowest thou of her? Thou mockest me.'
'No, I do not. Read it. Thou wilt see her in every line.'
He eagerly glanced at the message, and turned deadly pale.
'Come within, Endora.'
'Thou knowest my name. How so?'
'It matters little. I know thy name.'
As the old woman moved into the studio, a strange, weird light lit up her cold, sinister face, and she gazed around at the beauties displayed there.
'Sit down and rest. Dost thou know the contents of this message?'
'No.'
'Then I will tell thee. Saronia has trusted thee; I must. She cannot err; her judgment is good, and I abide by it.'
'Ah, ah!' laughed Endora. 'I am safe, noble Greek. Thou canst trust me. The High Priestess confides in me; Chios may do the same. Shall I swear?'
'No; but look into my eyes, and tell me thou wilt be true.'
As she gazed into his eyes a shudder passed through her, and for an instant she reeled as if drunken. Recovering herself, she said:
'Art thou satisfied?
He made no reply.
Endora cried:
'Speak—speak out straight from thy heart, or I will not receive thy secret!'
'Yes; I can trust thee,' replied Chios. 'Why, I do not know. I am safe in thine hands. Who art thou? What art thou?'
'I? I am a poor castaway, cast aside on the dung-heap like a broken lamp! I am a reptile doomed to crawl the earth like the meanest snake. I am Endora of Ephesus,the witch of Mount Pion! Who artthou? What a foolish question, when all know thee to be Chios the Greek, the great artist of this mighty city!... Thou art safe in the hands of Endora. Thou art son of some mother who cherished thy young life. Hast thou a mother?'
'No.'
'Where is she?'
'Dead.'
'Didst thou ever know her?'
Chios was silent, and his eyes looked far away.
'I have faint remembrance of her; she died when I was quite a child.'
'Didst thou love her?'
'Love her? Yes, passionately.'
'Is thy father alive?'
'I never knew him. But enough of this. Sufficient I trust thee in respect of this message. Speak to me on no other subject. It bids me meet the High Priestess to-night near the Sacred Grove, and she requests me to tell thee this and to command thee be there and stand sentinel, to give timely warning if strangers approach.
'Why or how Saronia confides thus in thee 'tis passing strange. But it must be right. Thou knowest all now. Go thy way. Do thy part for thy mistress, and I will do mine.'
'I will be there,' replied Endora, 'and, if necessary, die for thee.'
And she went out to the great road beyond the garden gate.
That night, with none to question her, Saronia passed out from the Temple towards the Sacred Grove of Hecate.
Arrived there, she offered sacrifice, and left the dying embers blackening the sacred altar. Perchance some priestess next day should secretly want proof of Saronia's visit. This done, she hastened to the meeting-place on the bank of the Cayster, where Chios awaited her, and, like a faithful hound, Endora stood guard a hundred paces off, the only access to the river's brink.
Saronia and Chios were safe. He spoke first.
'Why comest thou here, my love, and such a fearful night? How the winds search through the trees and tangle thy beautiful tresses!
'What hast thou to say? Thou runnest fearful risk. And yonder woman—canst thou really trust her?'
'Yes, trust her fully; she is safe. I have desired to see thee, Chios, and have dared everything. I would know more of this faith,' and her voice sank to a whisper. 'Since thou gavest me the parchment to read my mind ever reverts to the words of fire it contains. I would know their hidden meaning, trace them to their source, and plant them in my heart were I sure they were words of truth. Thou hast a noble teacher in the man who wrote them. Is it possible, Chios, I may meet him and learn fully? My brain, disorganized, reeling with doubt, will madden me to death. I cannot live without knowing the truth. Tell me, canst thou help me?'
'Saronia, what thou askest is a fearful thing. I wishthee every good, and would pour out my life to serve thee; but hast thou considered—hast thou counted the cost?
'Thou art the High Priestess of the Ephesian faith, steeped in the ways of Hecate, initiated into the mysteries of life and death, respected by thy followers, looked up to as a pattern for all the world to follow. Hast thou thought of the great sacrifice thou wilt make if perchance thou dost embrace the faith of the despised Nazarene? Consider what will become of thee—what thine end. Thou must fly the Temple, leave its altars, desert thy flock, be pursued until a merciful death blots out the life of the greatest, noblest woman in all Asia! Now, having told thee of this, I am ready to obey; but it shall never enter into thy mind, whatever befall thee, that Chios, who loves thee with a love that Heaven alone can understand, ever drew thee away from a faith which thou hast made thine own to one which perhaps thou mayest not understand.'
'Dearest Chios, I have thought much of this. Many hours have I dwelt on it. I am decided. Saronia will not embrace a new faith until it eclipses the old one. Then, for such a faith, if such there be, Saronia is prepared to die. To gain knowledge of the greatest truth is my mission on earth, and, gaining this, I rise a step nearer the Divine Presence.'
'Thou shalt meet Judah. When wilt thou come?'
'Not too soon, lest suspicion arise. Say, let one week pass, and I will be where thou wilt.'
'Then we meet on the side of Mount Pion at the cave of Endora.'
'Good; it shall be so, Chios.'
'Now let us go. I will see thee into the road leading to the Temple. Fear not detection. The night forbodes a gale. Already the winds whistle through the reeds, and the nodding trees answer to the outriders of the tempest.'
Suddenly a shriek went up, and was borne on the winds of night.
'What is that?' whispered Saronia. ''Tis like the cry of a parting life.'
'List!' said Chios. ''Tis some bird of evil shrieking the advent of storm.'
They had not long to wait ere another shriek, more deadly than the first, rose up towards the skies.
'Hide thee between the rushes, Saronia. I will see what it means. Stay until I return, whate'er betides.'
The priestess did as she was bidden, and Chios stole softly down the pathway until he saw Endora—the black form of the witch surrounded by the night—and at her feet lay the lifeless form of a man.
For a moment the Greek was terror-stricken, and when his breath had returned he gasped:
'Endora! Endora! what meaneth this?'
'I slew him,' replied she.
'Thou?'
'Yes, I slew him. See, my dagger reeks with blood!' and she held it aloft, pointing it upwards towards the heaven, looking like the statue of a night-fiend.
Then she spoke again:
'Had he a thousand lives, and my arm would not prove weary, I would take them all. Hear me, Chios: I stood guard for thee and Saronia. This dead man tracked her—knew her.'
'Knew her?' repeated Chios.
'Yes, recognised her—and thou. He came, as I have said, and was well-nigh upon you, when the form of Endora stood in the path. He spoke to me; he had lost the scent, did not know which way you had taken—this path or the one that branches off. He asked if I had seen a woman go this way towards the river. I answered "No.""Thou liest!" said he. "Thou knowest her whereabouts; thou knowest who she is—Saronia, the High Priestess, and Chios her lover. Speak out, hag, or I will wrest thy life from out thy vile carcase! Where is she?" Then said I: "Go thy way, man! I know not, and care less." He seized me by the throat, relaxed his hold, bade me speak, gripped it again, bruised me until I felt my life gurgling away. I knew I was not fit to die, and he—he should not murder me! He held me by the throat at arms' length, and shook me like a dog; but when he drew me towards him, I used my dagger and let out his life's blood—yes, the life-blood of a traitor!' And, turning her head from Chios, she murmured: 'The life-blood of—thy—father!'
'Endora! Endora! what hast thou done?'
'Nothing but saved my life and thine and that of the great Saronia, by killing a brute who would have had no mercy had he succeeded. I should have died, thou also, or both banished, and Saronia would have been in the power of this man, who had a passion for her.'
'He?'
'Yes, he.'
Chios stooped down, gently drawing back the mantle which had fallen over the dead man's face, when, to his horror, he discovered who the murdered man was.
Standing erect, he looked into the eyes of Endora.
'Woman, thou hast committed a frightful deed! Thou hast slain the High Priest of the Temple of Diana!'
She stood motionless, silent. Then, raising herself to her full height, she said:
'Chios, this may bring me death;' and she uttered a moan like the sighing of the doomed. 'Take thy dagger, plunge it into my heart! Do not let them torture me! Death from thine hand I would receive as a kiss of love! As for the death of this man, I repent not. I knew himwell before I slew. Were he a god, and I could kill, I would have done so!'
What was to be done? The first impulse of Chios was to call Saronia and tell her all. No; he dared not. She must be free from knowledge of the thing.
He took the dead body and drew it on one side, that Saronia might not perceive it.
Then, ordering Endora home, he went back to the priestess.
'What ails thee, Chios? Thou art agitated. Has aught occurred?'
'No; it must have been the wild bird's shriek. No being was about save Endora. Let us move away.'
And they walked up the pathway past the corpse, and as she passed she shuddered.
'Art thou cold, Saronia?'
'No; but by some strange intuition I feel the presence of the dead.'
'Banish the thought!' said he. ''Tis but the moaning winds which play upon thy soul.'
'Where is Endora, Chios?'
'Gone; I sent her home.'
They arrived at the confines of the grove through which Saronia must pass.
'One kiss, my love,' said the Greek—'one kiss from those sweet lips, and I go to feed upon the memories of Saronia. Do not forget next week at the home of Endora, on the Mountain of Pion. Good-night, dearest—good-night!'
She passed through the Sacred Grove, took with her her implements of sacrifice, and went within the walls which surrounded the Temple. Great gusts of wind came roaring through the pine-trees of the grove, rushed onwards, striking the sacred pile, shrieking and crying with many-soundingvoices around the marble pillars, until the mighty Temple was as a great harp on which the storm-winds played a solemn requiem for the dead priest.
Next morning some fishermen, who had come down the river Cayster in their boat of many colours and crooked prow, moored it near the spot where Chios and Saronia met the previous night. They lowered the sail, with long yard and streaming pendant, rolled it up carefully, placed it fore and aft across the thwarts, counted their fish, took them with their nets and gaily stepped on shore, singing as they went, with hearts as light as the morning breeze and hopes as bright as the sunlight. For had they not a good catch of golden mullet which would sell well?
They moved happily along the pathway, stooping and gathering the yellow flowers covered with silvery dew. There was plenty of time: the day had just begun, and they would easily gain the market for the early sale.
Suddenly the foremost of them saw the body of the High Priest. He stood aghast. By this time the others came up and stood around, horror-stricken at the sight.
'Who has done this?' said a stalwart Ionian, with curly hair and sparkling eyes.
'Great Jupiter!' cried another. 'Who has committed the foul deed?'
'A priest—a priest of rank!' exclaimed the third. 'See the insignia of office!'
For a moment they knew not what to do. Their positionwas critical. One suggested they might be suspected of the murder, and they had better get on board their boat and float lower down the stream, keeping silence.
Others were for going to the city and publishing the calamity, and this prevailed. And they hastened on, and made it known to the guard.
The news of the murder of the Chief Priest of the Temple burst like a thunder-cloud, and spread with great rapidity until Ephesus and its environs rang with the tidings. Messengers hastened along the coast from Teos and Claros to Priene, and over the Meander to the Carian Miletus, to Magnesia and Mysa through to Sardis and Smyrna, in hopes by spreading the news that the murderer, if fled the city, might be taken.
The Agora, Gymnasium, Odeum, Theatre—all the public places were closed. Silence seemed dropping from the heavens and casting out the joys of the people as they hung in groups and spoke in whispers.
As the day passed, the feeling of melancholy wore off, and intense excitement set in. The worshippers of Diana clamoured for instant action, and blamed those who held power for not already capturing the criminal.
Those of sounder judgment cast about for a motive for this deed, but they also were baffled. What business had the priest at night by the river side? Again, a thief had not killed him: everything of value remained upon his person; his jewels were untouched, even to the sacred Ephesian letters set in diamonds and rubies, and the sacred symbol of the shrine in gold and opals fell over his breast in sight of all. There was a great mystery about it. Some few dared to think within themselves that love and jealousy might clear it.
Then it was remembered a custom existed backwards in the years that when a new High Priest was intended to be,the new should slay the old and take his place. And this satisfied many, whilst others who had desired to persecute the Christians clearly saw their hands in the matter, and preached a general massacre.
At the Temple there was sore distress. Priests went to and fro with silent tread, and the great building resounded with cries and lamentations. The great Priestess Saronia wore on her face a death-like calmness.
She had heard of the fishermen finding the body, and remembered the shriek which arose on the gusty air. She dared not speak; it would sound her own death-knell. She could not confess her presence at the margin of the river that fatal night.
Her lips were sealed, her tongue silenced. But dark suspicions floated through her burning brain. Endora knew of this foul matter. Chios was innocent, but during his absence from her the woman must have told him all, and both held the secret.
All this was too horrible to Saronia. Wild, heaving waves of furious thought rushed through her soul, threatening to engulf her reason, but like a shivering barque she determined to struggle through the breakers to the open sea and know the end.
The Temple was desolate, the High Priest gone away for ever; but little did she know his death had saved her life, and the life of her beloved.
The stars were shining softly through the mists of a summer night; the moon had touched the western rim; the winds were sleeping low upon the pine-clad hills, and Nature, weary, lay in sweet repose.
On such a night, a week since the High Priest met his fate, Saronia went up the side of Pion to the cave of Endora.
Disguised as she was, Chios did not know her, and she might have passed by unknown had she not turned towards the place where he waited to receive her.
She entered, and sat down wearily. There was great anxiety in her eyes. Chios unfastened the cloak which enveloped her and let it fall back over her shoulders.
'What ails thee, Saronia?'
'What ails me? My heart is rending; I am weary. The soul truly never grows old, but the flesh tires. I am tired of all, and would I were at rest. The surges ever move towards the strand, sometimes gently like the breaking of the day; but with me always the waves beat ruthlessly around my imprisoned spirit, until now, like a drowning man clinging to the last vestige of his wrecked ship, I would fain let go my hold, and sink backwards into the seething waves which wait to engulf me.'
'Do not despair, Saronia.'
'No, I do not despair. I have ever sought to do the right and know the truth, and fear not the future.
'I must find the home best suited for this soul, as I have evolved it, but I feel I have no power to go forward, and I may as well cease my yearnings for light. Perchance more may be meted to me in the ages beyond. That I shall live again and move onwards I know. I know this: it is the jewel left me—it is the anchor of my soul. Break the cordage which fastens me to it, and I drift aimless, hopelessly.'
'Nay, nay, Saronia, do not talk in such a strain. What weighs so heavily on thee?'
'The death of the High Priest. Canst thou clear the mystery, Chios?'
He looked towards Endora. The woman stood leaning against the side of the cave, with eyes aglow, and burning with desire to speak. She stood forth, firmly erect, with head thrown back.
'I slew him, lady—slew him in self-defence; killed him to save the truest, noblest woman on earth, and the man who loveth her, Chios the Greek. He would have strangled me, would have wrenched thy whereabouts from me—did try—until his iron grip upon my throat well-nigh put out my life. Now listen, mighty priestess, and you cultured man of Ephesus. The man I slew killed my love and spirit's aspirations years ago—long ago. The dead priest, who rose to be the highest in Asia, wasmy husband—the husband of Endora!'
'Thy husband?' exclaimed Saronia.
'Yea, it is true. He left me to my fate. I followed him hither, watched his career, and saw the people of Ephesus fooled with his whining hypocrisy. He knew me not until the fated night. When he fell I stooped and whispered in his ear my name, butit was not Endora! Thou heard'st the second shriek? The whisper of my name caused it. He shattered my life and left me to die;but I did not die, neither will I for his death. My line of life is not broken. I wait events.'
Saronia was speechless, and Chios quivered like a leaf on a restless tree. Gathering strength, he staggered towards the door to breathe the air, and the two women were left alone.
Endora felt the power of the priestess, and dared not speak.
'Hast thou told Chios who thou art? Does he know thou art his mother, and by thine own hand thou hast slain his sire?'
'No, and the secret kills me. Oh that I could die, disappear from the gaze of my son! Thou canst fancy my bursting soul, how my heart aches to hear one loving word from my only child! No, no; this cannot be. Endora, Myrtile the false, accursed, bloodstained, must never be known to Chios, my son, my son! But when I am gone—it will not be long—when I have finished here, tell him—tell him all, and that to the last my longing soul yearned to behold his manly face. Tell him that a mother's instincts, a mother's love, deadened by the curse, still dwelt within me. Mighty Saronia, thou wilt be left to him. Give him the love which a mother could not reveal. As I have said, I shall soon be on my great journey—yea, before the leaves fall from the trees in autumn.
'Now to business. Intendest thou to deliver me to be weighed in the scales of justice?'
'No. I mourn over the fatal act. 'Twas done in self-defence. I will not interfere. Wert thou tried, no one would believe thee. I do. My betrayal of thee would rest a murder on my own soul. The Fates must rule. Go thy way, and render thine account in the great hereafter. The gods will judge thee, and mete out justice. Keep thycounsel. 'Tis better none should know who thou art. Should I outlive thee, I will tell him, and say, blackened as thou art, cursed and full of sin, there was yet a spark of the Divine in thee, a spark which anon shall fire and blaze and burn the dross, and leave thee pure and unsullied as the air in which the gods dwell.'
Chios returned within the cave. The women were silent, until the silence was broken by the footfall of a stranger. It was Judah the Christian.
'What a strange gathering!' murmured Chios, as he went forth to meet his friend.
Endora glided out like a panther, leaving the two men alone with the priestess.
Saronia drew her black cloak closely around her, covering her priestly robes.
Judah knew her. 'Lady of the Temple, thou art safe. Speak; I will not betray thee. Thou art not the first who came in this way. A young ruler in Judea came to my Master by night and learned of Him, and what thou wilt hear from me are the echoes of that Master's voice. Say on.'
Then answered Saronia. 'Behold in me a priestess of the goddess Diana, skilled in the mysteries of her faith, touching the fringe of knowledge as it emanates from my divine mistress, carrying with me a belief hoary with the ages. But a short time since it permeated every cranny of my being, leaving no room for doubt until I heard from Chios thou hadst won him to thy faith. Knowing Chios well, and observing his peace, the things thou hast told him now rise for hearing in my soul. Judah, if thou hast more of truth than I, then show it me! I have power—power to cast around us darkness—thick darkness—and anon fill this darkened cave with spirits of fire, so that it shall blaze with light! Believest thou this? I do not boast to show thispower, but to prove I seek not power, but truth and peace. Speak.'
Then said he: 'Thou hast no power here. Thou art shorn of thy strength. The presence of my God is too strong! Invoke thy goddess, or thy gods; they will be dumb to thee. I challenge thee, invoke thy spirits! Call them hither, they will be as dead men to thee!'
She arose, towering with majestic beauty, and, stretching forth her arms, whispered, with a voice full of command:
Spirits of the Temple Altar,Ye who guard the sacrifice,Ye whose pinions never wearyServing Hecate, Diana,Serving Luna, Queen of Heaven,Come ye, by my summons bidden,Light your torches deep in Hades,Wave your brightness in this darkness,Fill this place with light and splendour!
Spirits of the Temple Altar,Ye who guard the sacrifice,Ye whose pinions never wearyServing Hecate, Diana,Serving Luna, Queen of Heaven,Come ye, by my summons bidden,Light your torches deep in Hades,Wave your brightness in this darkness,Fill this place with light and splendour!
But Saronia was powerless. Her strength was gone, and she stood aghast. Looking first at Chios, then at Judah, she spoke not a word, and her eyes were filled with tears as she learned a greater than Diana was there, and the priestess was a broken reed.
It was then Judah spoke:
'Holy Father, by whose power the north was stretched over the empty space, whose o'ershadowing wings give shelter to unnumbered souls, whose mercy endureth for ever! Holy Son, reclining on the bosom of the Father when the morning stars sang together and the sons of God shouted for joy! Holy Spirit, dispensing peace! Holy Trinity, Great Eternal, Love illimitable—hear Thy servant, and show us Thy goodness!'
Then a Presence passed between them, and Saronia knew the Christ of God was there; but He entered not into her soul.
She saw by the smile of peace on the Christian's face that he recognised his God and was holding communion with Him. And the priestess hid her face, not daring to look upon that holy sight.
'Saronia,' said Judah, 'thy God stands by! Wilt thou worship?'
She raised her eyes upwards to the rugged roof of the cave, and, starting to her feet, cried:
'God of gods, if such Thou be—Spirit of the Mighty Ages—hail! I feel Thy power; it encircles me! I fear Thee, but I do not love. No, no! Saronia came not here to be captured or fascinated by fleeting spasm of fear! My mind is wrought to think and judge dispassionately. No show of power, no tinge of joy or veil of peace, will hold me off from the circle of my faith, which hath taught me knowledge deep and high, all glinting with flames of truth, strong as the moon gives when harvest-time is here. What I ask for is more light—sunlight—that may show me the truth with radiant splendour of a summer day. Canst thou, holy man, bestow this?'
For a moment the power of her mighty mind astounded Judah. Never before had he encountered such a being. He looked on her as she stood erect in all her loveliness, saying:
'Thou art a princess amongst spirits! The wisdom of man will not convince thee. Thou must be taught of God! Thy knowledge is great, Saronia; but listen. Many mighty spirits have wheeled and circled around the throne of the Eternal, dashing from their wings the heavenly sheen, the brilliancy brighter than a myriad suns, as they touched the halo of splendour which surrounds Jehovah. Many of them fell—fell, I say—like lightning from heaven, shorn of their radiance through dire rebellion. They knew the very source of truth, gazed upon the very ocean of it, andfell, carrying knowledge with them and a mighty power, by which they now work evil instead of good, leaving peace and love behind.
'Perchance thou hast been taught of them—filled thy pitcher at their polluted fountain. Wilt thou be satisfied with it, or rise and rise until thou ministereth to Deity? Thou, too, wilt be a rebel if thou closest thy gates against the truth. Thine eyes are clouded, and mercy waits with loving hands to take the veil away!
'Thou seekest light, and even now, although thou knowest it not, thou art on the very verge of the kingdom. And, mark well, when the set time comes, and thy vision is purified, the glory of God will surround thee like a mighty ocean without a shore. The index of my mind points that I should say good-bye. The seed which has been sown must die, and from it rise life and beauty to be crowned with a harvest of flowers. Farewell, mighty Saronia! Farewell, beloved Chios!'
And he passed out into the starlight, the angels of God guarding him in mighty phalanx, deep and broad like a river of glory.
Endora saw him leave, and a shudder passed over her as she trod the ground sanctified by the footsteps of the holy man.
'Where hast thou been, Endora?' said the priestess.
'Listening,' said the witch. 'I did my best not to play eavesdropper, but by an irresistible power I was drawn to the half-open door, and heard the words of Judah, and, on my soul, I would I were as pure as he!'
'Art thou also being tainted with this new faith, Endora?'
'No, no; but what may I expect from mine own? I am borne on the outer circle of it, accursed, knowing my fate. Who can blame me if I strike from my orbit like awandering star, with the hope of coming within the influence of some other God greater than Hecate? Perhaps He may take me to His care. Did I not hear Judah say the mercy of his God endureth for ever? If so, may I not taste of it? I will try, and ere to-morrow's sun will have arisen I will have burnt my charms, my books, my Ephesian spells, and stand out fearlessly, awaiting the passing by of the Great Spirit of that mighty God. Perchance, seeing a naked, starving soul, He may throw around me a garment of mercy, a mantle of love, and I may yet atone, and worship at His feet. There is a story told that He sheltered Magdalene—and why not me? Most noble priestess, I read thee well enough to know thy great mind, stored with the greater mysteries, is broad enough, high enough, deep enough to let a struggling spirit work out its best destiny. I know thou wilt consent that to Endora be allowed the fullest light she can get to lead on to something better than the cold doom which now awaits her. Say, noble priestess—say! I feel I am parting from thee. Some links in the mighty spell which binds me are already broken. Some great influence is at work moulding my soul to something good. I will let it work. I will be passive in the hands of this great Potter, and out of darkness—gross darkness and sin—He may bring forth a being clothed with radiant immortality. Already a new dawn upheaveth, and more peace than Endora hath experienced in a lifetime now broods over her.'
And she fell on the cold, stony floor, and lay at the feet of the priestess.
Saronia, the High Priestess, arose, looking lovingly towards Chios.
'Go thy way, dear Chios; leave this woman to me. No good can now come of thy presence. Our mission is accomplished. We have spoken with him we came to see.His words are graven on my heart, and will have due consideration; and greater than all he said is the fact that here before me lies this Endora, a marvel to my soul—a being steeped in sin, accursed of the goddess, moved upon by this mighty spiritual influence, talking of peace, and a dawn of love, mercy, and radiant life! This to me is far greater miracle than if Mount Pion had changed places with Coressus, or the deep blue sea rolled over the Ephesian plain, making the great Temple of Diana an island of marble in the midst of the waters.'
Chios and Saronia stood at the entrance of that lonely cave.
'Let me kiss thee, Saronia; let me place my hand upon thy head. I have been silent, knowing a greater than I was present. I knew thee too well to meddle with the workings of thy mind. We shall meet again shortly, shall we not, loved one?'
'Probably.'
'Thou wilt send by the hand of Endora?'
'Good-bye, Chios—good-bye! Take this flower of myrtle from me.'
She plucked it from her bosom, kissed its fragrant petals, and gave it to him.
The meeting with Chios and the Christian in the cave of the Ephesian sorceress had worked on the mind of the priestess. She was agitated like a ship cast in the way where two seas meet. Two great tides were bearing on her, which should carry her on its bosom. On the one hand, she had the traditions of the goddess, like a mighty river coursing down the ages, backed by a power which could command the living and the dead; on the other, she had presented to her a God of love, and the teachings which brought her dead mother to the Christ of God, permeated the soul of her lover, and gave peace to Endora, the accursed of Hecate.
Before her rose the great Temple, glistening white in the sunlight, rearing its majestic pillars skywards, throwing shadows to the west. She saw the train of priests move up the marble stairway and disappear within, and heard the hymn of morning rise on the trembling air.
In striking contrast before her stretched out a vision of the hated sect, the followers of the despised Nazarene, the little band of outcasts, who for fear of the people worshipped their God in the silent watches of the night, when the city was asleep—worshipped Him without gorgeous ritual or templed home, and standing ready, well knowing that as each day dawned the setting sun might cast its rays upon their lifeless bodies lying uncared for in the Ephesian arena.
All this floated before her, drifting by, dark and ominously, like the shadow of a great cloud on the face of the waters.
She saw herself a fugitive, hiding on the mountain-sidesof yonder snow-capped Tmolus, where many others of the Christians had already fled for safety from the cruel fate in store for them.
She saw herself a wanderer, an outcast, pursued to the death. Which should it be? High Priestess of Diana, clothed with mystery, strong in power, standing on the loftiest peak of fame, with a nation at her feet, and the issues of life and death in her hands; or a child in the new kingdom of love and peace?
A thousand spirit-voices sang chorus to her soul, bidding her beware, now flowing with soft cadence in winning measure and tones of entreaty, now rising in one vast tumultuous threatening as if they would break the earth asunder. She stood unawed, listening; then cried:
'Stand back! Saronia is a free spirit! What are ye? If I seek the truth, what spirit amongst you dare bar the way to a soul which floats upwards to the source of its being? Nay, none of you! Not even the son of the morning who fell from heaven!'
Day after day hung wearily on Saronia; she was of such nature as no half-measure would satisfy. She was awakening from the mist of ages. She had heard of a great spiritual life which was without alloy, where the spirit evolved more and more into the likeness of the great First Cause, and her mind broadened out to seek the fuller light.
When the nightingale sang to its mate and the sweet-scented flowers gave perfume in exchange for the earth-born dew, when the winds of the night lay cradled, when the voice of the toiler was still, and the sheen of the star of the west melted into the cold, gray sea, when the city slept on in the darkness, Saronia looked out to the mountains, themountains which sheltered the exiles, the fugitive followers of God.
'Twas death before death to the priestess; 'twas the death of the old faith, the birth of the new—the new one awakening the soul from its slumber, refining the spirit, remoulding her nature, and bringing together the Christ and His loved one.
The night-winds leapt from their slumbers, and shrieked like a soul in pain, trampled the flowers in their fury, flew round the pine-clad mountains, circled and circled again, till the girl was entombed in a whirlwind, a whirlwind with centre of calm.
Within that sanctuary, guarded by the angel of the covenant, stood Saronia, undismayed, determined, decided to serve the Son of Jehovah.
Her next step was to break away from the Temple service. Many methods came to her—one such as to leave the place without disturbance, to quietly move away; to flee; to live and breathe the fresh air, until hunted down to meet death in the arena of the great theatre of Ephesus. But to Saronia this was cowardly, and she resolved to meet her fate at once. Life to her was valueless save for the good she might do. But what greater good could she do than to openly witness for the new faith before the priests and priestesses of the great Temple of Diana, and receive the martyr's crown? It was a fitting prelude to the entrance into the great life—to the life which ended never.
She would call an assembly of the priests and priestesses, and tell them from her own lips the story of her new-born love. The time was fixed, and as it was no uncommon thing for the priests and priestesses to meet their chief in solemn assembly, no particular notice was taken of Saronia's action in calling such.
So, at eventide, when the worship for the day was over, and the sun had set, and the outer gates leading into the Temple were closed, the priests and priestesses gathered before the great altar, to listen to the voice of their beloved priestess.
The scene was one of solemn grandeur, as the priests with garments of many-coloured textures ranged themselves in crescent rows on the right of the altar as you enter the massive gates at the chief entrance. On the left of the altar, in the same manner, stood the priestesses, loveliest of the Ionian women, draped in white, yellow, rose-coloured, and azure garments, with here and there a robe of black, sacred to Hecate; whilst other maidens, flower-bearers, libation-carriers, and incense-girls, stood between the priests and priestesses, ready to place their offerings on the altar in honour of Diana.
All was ready, all were expectant, when the great High Priestess, Saronia, came forward in flowing robes of white, costly silk, and stood in all her magnificent beauty.
The offering to the goddess was soon made, but Saronia stood in silent meditation; neither had the soft cadences of sweet Ionian music from the costliest instruments any charm. Then, when their harmonies fell low and died in plaintive echoes, Saronia looked upwards through the open roof towards the circle of azure sky, until a calm, a radiant calm, o'erspread her face, making her seem like a visitant from the heavens.... During this brief pause a profound solemnity pervaded the assembly—a quietude in which even the rustle of a leaf would have seemed discord.
The people, spellbound by the force of her character and the beauty of the Priestess, held their breath and earnestly waited.
Then spoke Saronia to them, in a voice full of love and hope, saying: