Yet Three Days

: The Doomsman

Esmay sat in the gardens at Arcadia House. It was the loveliest of

spring days, and there were blossoms everywhere--the vivid pink of the

Judas-tree, the white glory of the dogwood, and each Forsythia bush a

cascade of golden foam. It was all so beautiful, and in that same

measure it hurt so keenly. The girl flung herself face downward in the

grass, seeking to shut out from sight and hearing the world that mocked

her.<
r />


That same night Esmay went to Nanna and announced her intention of

paying another visit to the "House of Power."



"Our lord cannot be wholly unmindful of his children," she said, "and

light may come to us from the Shining One. Besides," and here her color

deepened, "it is where he lived, he who was my friend. If I could but

find some little thing that had been his--a glove or one of his books!

Now do be a good Nanna and help me in this."



But the practical Nanna shook her head. "That mad, old graybeard, who

considers it a contamination to even look upon a woman, is it likely

that he will invite you into his sanctuary and set himself to answer

your foolish questions? It is supposed to be sufficient grace for a

woman if the Shining One deigns to accept the gifts that she lays upon

his altar."



"Then we will go dressed as men. There is everything we can want in the

presses up-stairs, and I can steal the key of the wicket gate from out

of Kurt's very pocket. Now, Nanna, dear----"



And of course Nanna yielded, for she saw that her darling's heart was

set upon this thing. Quinton Edge was still absent in the Black Swan,

and it would be an easy matter to hoodwink old Kurt; he was always

fuddled with ale nowadays. To-morrow would be Friday, the day of the

weekly sacrifice; they could make the trial then.



It was hard upon noon of the following day when the two women drew near

to the temple of the Shining One. Nanna, clad in doublet and

small-clothes, swung jauntily along, one hand on dagger-hilt and

careless challenge in her snapping, black eyes, the picture of a

swaggering younker. But Esmay, at the last moment, could not bring

herself to don habiliments exclusively masculine. So she compromised by

wearing a round jacket with a rolling collar and tucking away her hair

under a boy's cap. A long rain-coat, for which the showery morning was

an excuse, completed her outward attire and concealed her petticoats

from casual view. Yet in any case her blushes had been spared, for they

met nobody on their way, and the open space in front of the temple was

deserted. Not a single worshiper had come to pay honor and tithe to the

Shining One; the altar was empty of offerings, and the priest himself

was absent from his accustomed post. Yet upon the ear fell the rumble

and clang of moving machinery, and the eye, piercing through the

half-lights of the archway, caught indefinite glimpses of the pulsing

mysteries of wheel and piston-rod that lay within the shadows.



"He must be within," said Nanna, leading the way. "Don't stumble around

like that. Here, take my hand."



Prostrate in front of the switch-board they found the priest, a mere

anatomy of a man, with his checks shrunken to the jaw, and his wasted

limbs no larger than those of a child. Yet he was alive and conscious,

the deep-set eyes glowing with suspicious fire as they turned upon his

unexpected guests.



"Starving," said Nanna, briefly, and proceeded to force a few drops of

wine from a pocket-flask between his lips, while Esmay ran for the

basket of food which had been brought along as an offertory in their

assumed character of worshippers. The stimulant acted powerfully, and

within the hour Prosper was so far restored as to be able to partake of

some solid food. Then he insisted upon getting to his feet, a gaunt and

terrible figure in his rusty cassock.



"I have my work to do," he reiterated, stubbornly. "I must be preparing

the harvest field for my lord's sickle, and already the time is ripe for

his appearing. Behold and believe!"



With a firm step he approached the switch-board and turned one of the

controlling levers. A flash of light, succeeded by a stream of crackling

sparks, leaped from the free end of a broken wire at the other end of

the building, and a pile of straw lying near it burst into flame. An

expert in electrical engineering would have understood that the broken

wire must be in proximity to a mass of metal, and that the powerful

current was being visibly hurled across the gap. Esmay uttered a cry,

and even Nanna shrank back. Prosper smiled.



"Who can abide the displeasure of the Shining One? Who can stand before

the flame of his wrath? A mighty and a terrible god, yet he would have

left his servant to starve before his altar--you have seen that for

yourselves. It is ten days now since even a woman has condescended to

kneel at his shrine and make her offerings of meat and drink. I, his

high-priest, may eat no common food, but how should the lord of heaven

and earth keep such trivial circumstances in mind? He had forgotten, and

so I must have died but for your opportune coming and pious gifts.



"One might argue that our lord employed you as the instruments of my

deliverance," continued the priest, musingly. "I might think it, but

that I know the Shining One of old. It is his pleasure to punish, not to

help; to slay and not to make alive. Never has he given aught of grace

to me who have served him faithfully for these threescore years. And

to-day, if I should sit with him upon the death-chair, he would consume

me as utterly as though I were the foulest-mouthed blasphemer in all

Doom. What think ye, in all honesty, of the Shining One? Is he a god to

be propitiated by sacrifice and offering, to be worshipped and

adored--supreme, almighty, everlasting? Or are we but blind fools,

trembling before a blind force that knows and sees and is nothing,

except as we, its lords and masters, may compel it to work our will?"



The muttering of thunder broke in upon the priest's last words. A

storm-cloud was driving in from the west, low-hanging and menacing. The

priest's face changed.



"He comes! he comes!" he continued, with fanatic intensity. "This is our

lord, in very truth, who now stands before us, calling upon his people

to turn to him ere it be too late. Yet three days, and Doom, Doom the

Mighty, is fallen, is fallen! He has said it--yet three days."



The two women stayed neither to see nor to listen further. Hand-in-hand

they gained the street and ran in the direction of the Citadel Square,

heedless of the rain that was now beginning to fall. Several blocks away

they paused, exhausted, compelled to seek shelter in a doorway from the

fury of the storm. Some one was already there--a man. He turned as they

entered, and Esmay saw that it was Ulick.



For several moments they stood side by side without exchanging a word,

and, indeed, no speech would have been audible amid the almost

continuous crashing of the thunder-peals. Then, as the first violence of

the storm expended itself, Esmay heard her name uttered, and realized

that Ulick was holding her hand in both his own.



"Don't!" she pleaded, and drew her hand away.



Ulick's face hardened. "I might have known it," he said, bitterly. "Yet

he who has been false to friendship may betray love as well."



"He is dead," she said, and Ulick started.



"Constans--dead!" he stammered.



"Hanged at the yard-arm of the Black Swan. But Quinton Edge still

lives."



"You loved him?" persisted Ulick, the sense of his injury still strong

within him.



The girl drew herself up proudly. "Yes, I loved him--that is for you and

all the world to know. But be comforted; he cared not a whit for me.

That, in the end, was made plain enough."



Ulick's fare was pale. "But he still stands between us?" he said.



"Yes," she answered, simply.



The rain had almost ceased; Esmay made a movement to depart.



"There is nothing--no way in which I can serve you?" he asked.



She shook her head. "Nothing. I am going back to Arcadia House, but I

shall have Nanna with me. There is nothing to fear."



He regarded her fixedly. "What can you do against Quinton Edge? He is

the master--our master."



"I do not know; I have not thought. But I can watch and I can wait."



"Waiting! If that were all----"



"No, no! it could not be." She colored hotly, and he stopped, abashed.



"You must go now," she went on, gently. "Ulick, dear Ulick, I am sending

you away, but, indeed, it is better so. And I shall remember--always."



He would have spoken again, but something in her face restrained him. He

bent and kissed her reverently, as a brother might, and went out. And

she, watching him go, found her vision suddenly blurred by a mist of

tears. For there is something in every woman's heart that pleads a true

man's cause, for all that she may not accept the gift he proffers.



Nanna had disappeared into the house some few minutes before; now she

returned from her journey of discovery, wearing an expression of gravity

quite new to her. "Come," she said, "I want to show you something."



She drew Esmay after her down the draughty passage that led to the

offices of the long-since-deserted dwelling-house. There was a large

apartment at the end of the passage--the kitchen, to judge from the

character of the fittings. The room had been formerly lighted by

electricity, and Nanna pointed out a lampwire whose free end was

dangling in close proximity to a lead water-pipe. Underneath was a small

heap of oil-soaked rags.



"You remember what we saw at the House of Power?" said Nanna,

significantly.



Esmay examined the wire carefully. At the broken end the insulating

fabric had been stripped off and the copper scraped clean and bright

with a knife-blade.



"I found this on a nail in the passage," went on Nanna, and held out a

bit of cloth that had been torn from a garment. It was of that peculiar

weave worn only by the priests of the Shining One.



Esmay looked at it with troubled eyes. "What does it mean?" she asked,

but Nanna only shook her head.



"Of course, I remember what happened at the temple," said Esmay,

hesitatingly. "We saw him turn a handle, and the wire a hundred feet

away spouted fire. If a hundred feet, why not half a mile?"



"It is a trap," asserted Nanna.



"But for what purpose?"



Nanna was not to be moved. "A trap," she persisted. "I do not

understand, but I can feel what it is just as do the wolverine and the

fox. Come away."



They walked down the street.



"What could Prosper hope to catch in such a snare--for whom could he have

set it?" asked Esmay, putting into audible language the question over which

both were puzzling. "Unless," she went on, thoughtfully--"unless this is

only one of many."



Nanna nodded. "Dozens, hundreds of them, and scattered all over the

city. It is the harvest-field of which he spoke."



As they passed a street corner that commanded a view of the Palace Road,

Nanna caught Esmay by the arm and bade her look. Towering head and

shoulders above the throng of idle men and gossiping women strode

Prosper, the priest, and as he went he proclaimed the woe that must

shortly come upon the city, a message to which none gave heed. But for

all their mocking he would not forbear, and long after he had passed out

of sight Esmay could distinguish the accents of his powerful voice

rising above the din that strove to drown it:



"Yet three days, and Doom the Mighty--is fallen, is fallen!"



More

;