by M. P. Shiel
hisclemency to a poor man like me. But the strange being!--he has takenthe _other_ stone from the _other_ cup--a thing of little value to anyman! Is Ul-Jabal mad or I?
'_June 21_.--Merciful Lord in Heaven! he has _not_ replaced it--not_it_--but another instead of it. To-day I actually opened the chalice,and saw. He has put a stone there, the same in size, in cut, inengraving, but different in colour, in quality, in value--a stone Ihave never seen before. How has he obtained it--whence? I must bracemyself to probe, to watch; I must turn myself into an eye to searchthis devil's-bosom. My life, this subtle, cunning Reason of mine, hangsin the balance.
'_June 22_.--Just now he offered me a cup of wine. I almost dashed itto the ground before him. But he looked steadfastly into my eye. Iflinched: and drank--drank.
'Years ago, when, as I remember, we were at Balbec, I saw him one daymake an almost tasteless preparation out of pure black nicotine, whichin mere wanton lust he afterwards gave to some of the dwellers by theCaspian to drink. But the fiend would surely never dream of giving tome that browse of hell--to me an aged man, and a thinker, a seer.
'_June 23_.--The mysterious, the unfathomable Ul-Jabal! Once again, asI lay in heavy trance at midnight, has he invaded, calm and noiselessas a spirit, the sanctity of my chamber. Serene on the swaying air,which, radiant with soft beams of vermil and violet light, rocked meinto variant visions of heaven, I reclined and regarded him unmoved.The man has replaced the valueless stone in the modern-made chalice,and has now stolen the false stone from the other, which _he himself_put there! In patience will I possess this my soul, and watch whatshall betide. My eyes shall know no slumber!
'_June 24_.--No more--no more shall I drink wine from the hand ofUl-Jabal. My knees totter beneath the weight of my lean body. Daggersof lambent fever race through my brain incessant. Some fibrillarytwitchings at the right angle of the mouth have also arrested myattention.
'_June 25_.--He has dared at open mid-day to enter my room. I watchedhim from an angle of the stairs pass along the corridor and open mydoor. But for the terrifying, death-boding thump, thump of my heart, Ishould have faced the traitor then, and told him that I knew all histreachery. Did I say that I had strange fibrillary twitchings at theright angle of my mouth, and a brain on fire? I have ceased to write mybook--the more the pity for the world, not for me.
'_June 26_.--Marvellous to tell, the traitor, Ul-Jabal, has now placed_another_ stone in the Edmundsbury chalice--also identical in nearlyevery respect with the original gem. This, then, was the object of hisentry into my room yesterday. So that he has first stolen the realstone and replaced it by another; then he has stolen this other andreplaced it by yet another; he has beside stolen the valueless stonefrom the modern chalice, and then replaced it. Surely a man gone rabid,a man gone dancing, foaming, raving mad!
'_June 28_.--I have now set myself to the task of recovering my jewel.It is here, and I shall find it. Life against life--and which is thebest life, mine or this accursed Ishmaelite's? If need be, I will domurder--I, with this withered hand--so that I get back the heritagewhich is mine.
'To-day, when I thought he was wandering in the park, I stole into hisroom, locking the door on the inside. I trembled exceedingly, knowingthat his eyes are in every place. I ransacked the chamber, dived amonghis clothes, but found no stone. One singular thing in a drawer I saw:a long, white beard, and a wig of long and snow-white hair. As I passedout of the chamber, lo, he stood face to face with me at the door inthe passage. My heart gave one bound, and then seemed wholly to ceaseits travail. Oh, I must be sick unto death, weaker than a bruised reed!When I woke from my swoon he was supporting me in his arms. "Now," hesaid, grinning down at me, "now you have at last delivered all into myhands." He left me, and I saw him go into his room and lock the doorupon himself. What is it I have delivered into the madman's hands?
'_July 1_.--Life against life--and his, the young, the stalwart, ratherthan mine, the mouldering, the sere. I love life. Not _yet_ am I readyto weigh anchor, and reeve halliard, and turn my prow over the waterypaths of the wine-brown Deeps. Oh no. Not yet. Let _him_ die. Many andmany are the days in which I shall yet see the light, walk, think. I amaverse to end the number of my years: there is even a feeling in me attimes that this worn body shall never, never taste of death. Thechalice predicts indeed that I and my house shall end when the stone islost--a mere fiction _at first_, an idler's dream _then_, butnow--now--that the prophecy has stood so long a part of the reality ofthings, and a fact among facts--no longer fiction, but Adamant, sternas the very word of God. Do I not feel hourly since it has gone how thesurges of life ebb, ebb ever lower in my heart? Nay, nay, but there ishope. I have here beside me an Arab blade of subtle Damascene steel,insinuous to pierce and to hew, with which in a street of Bethlehem Isaw a Syrian's head cleft open--a gallant stroke! The edges of this Ihave made bright and white for a nuptial of blood.
'_July 2_.--I spent the whole of the last night in searching every nookand crack of the house, using a powerful magnifying lens. At times Ithought Ul-Jabal was watching me, and would pounce out and murder me.Convulsive tremors shook my frame like earthquake. Ah me, I fear I amall too frail for this work. Yet dear is the love of life.
'_July 7_.--The last days I have passed in carefully searching thegrounds, with the lens as before. Ul-Jabal constantly found pretextsfor following me, and I am confident that every step I took was knownto him. No sign anywhere of the grass having been disturbed. Yet mylands are wide, and I cannot be sure. The burden of this mighty task isgreater than I can bear. I am weaker than a bruised reed. Shall I notslay my enemy, and make an end?
'_July_ 8.--Ul-Jabal has been in my chamber again! I watched himthrough a crack in the panelling. His form was hidden by the bed, but Icould see his hand reflected in the great mirror opposite the door.First, I cannot guess why, he moved to a point in front of the mirrorthe chair in which I sometimes sit. He then went to the box in whichlie my few garments--and opened it. Ah, I have the stone--safe--safe!He fears my cunning, ancient eyes, and has hidden it in the one placewhere I would be least likely to seek it--_in my own trunk_! And yet Idread, most intensely I dread, to look.
'_July_ 9.--The stone, alas, is not there! At the last moment he musthave changed his purpose. Could his wondrous sensitiveness of intuitionhave made him feel that my eyes were looking in on him?
'_July 10_.--In the dead of night I knew that a stealthy foot had gonepast my door. I rose and threw a mantle round me; I put on my head mycap of fur; I took the tempered blade in my hands; then crept out intothe dark, and followed. Ul-Jabal carried a small lantern which revealedhim to me. My feet were bare, but he wore felted slippers, which to myunfailing ear were not utterly noiseless. He descended the stairs tothe bottom of the house, while I crouched behind him in the deepestgloom of the corners and walls. At the bottom he walked into thepantry: there stopped, and turned the lantern full in the direction ofthe spot where I stood; but so agilely did I slide behind a pillar,that he could not have seen me. In the pantry he lifted the trap-door,and descended still further into the vaults beneath the house. Ah, thevaults,--the long, the tortuous, the darksome vaults,--how had Iforgotten them? Still I followed, rent by seismic shocks of terror. Ihad not forgotten the weapon: could I creep near enough, I felt that Imight plunge it into the marrow of his back. He opened the iron door ofthe first vault and passed in. If I could lock him in?--but he held thekey. On and on he wound his way, holding the lantern near the ground,his head bent down. The thought came to me _then_, that, had I but thecourage, one swift sweep, and all were over. I crept closer, closer.Suddenly he turned round, and made a quick step in my direction. I sawhis eyes, the murderous grin of his jaw. I know not if he sawme--thought forsook me. The weapon fell with clatter and clangor frommy grasp, and in panic fright I fled with extended arms and theheadlong swiftness of a stripling, through the black labyrinths of thecaverns, through the vacant corridors of the house, till I reached mychamber, the door of which I had time to fasten on myself before Idropped, gasping, pant
ing for very life, on the floor.
'_July 11_.--I had not the courage to see Ul-Jabal to-day. I haveremained locked in my chamber all the time without food or water. Mytongue cleaves to the roof of my mouth.
'_July 12_.--I took heart and crept downstairs. I met him in the study.He smiled on me, and I on him, as if nothing had happened between us.Oh, our old friendship, how it has turned into bitterest hate! I hadtaken the false stone from the Edmundsbury chalice and put it in thepocket of my brown gown, with the bold intention of showing it to him,and asking him if he knew aught of it. But when I faced him, my couragefailed again. We drank together and ate together as in the old days oflove.
'July l3.--I cannot think that I have not again imbibed somesoporiferous drug. A great heaviness of sleep weighed on my brain tilllate in the day. When I woke my thoughts were in wild distraction, anda most peculiar
