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The Lost Continent-Part17_C.J.Cutcliffe Hyne(1865-1944)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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of no inconsiderable province) should see a woman child by the



wayside, and take it for adoption. That child the Gods in their

infinite wisdom fashioned into a scourge for Atlantis, and you who



have felt the weight of Phorenice's hand, know with what

completeness the High Gods can fashion their instruments.



"Yet, even as they set up, so can they throw down, and those

that shall debase Phorenice are even now appointed. The old rule



is to be re-established; but not till you who have sinned are

sufficiently chastened to cry to it for relief." He waved the



mysterious glowing Symbol before him. "See," he cried in his high

old quavering voice, "you know the unspeakable Power of which that



is the sign, and for which I am the mouthpiece. It is for you to

make decision now. Are the Gods to throw down this woman who has



scorned Them and so cruelly trodden on you? Or are you to be still

further purged of your pride before you are ripe for deliverance?"



The old priest broke off with a gesture, and his ragged white

beard sank on to his chest. Promptly a young man, skin clad and



carrying his weapon, elbowed up through the press of listeners, and

jumped on to the platform beside him. "Hear me, brethren!" he



bellowed, in his strong young voice. "We are done with tyrants.

Death may come, and we all of us here have shown how little we fear



it. But own rulers again we will not, and that is our final say.

My lord," he said, turning to the old man with a brave face, "I



know it is in your power to kill me by magic if you choose, but I

have said my say, and can stand the cost if needs be."



"I can kill you, but I will not," said Zaemon. "You have said

your silliness. Now go you to the ground again."



"We have free speech here. I will not go till I choose."

"Aye, but you will," said the old man, and turned on him with



a sudden tightening of the brows. There was no blow passed; even

the Symbol, which glowed like a star against the night, was not so



much as lifted in warning; but the young man tried to retort, and,

finding himself smitten with a sudden dumbness, turned with a spasm



of fear, and jumped back whence he had come. The crowd of them

thrilled expectantly, and when no further portent was given, they



began to shout that a miracle should be shown them, and then

perchance they would be persuaded back to the old allegiance.



The old man stooped and glowered at them in fury. "You dogs,"

he cried, "you empty-witted dogs! Do you ask that I should degrade



the powers of the Higher Mysteries by dancing them out before you

as though they were a mummers' show? Do you tickle yourselves that



you are to be tempted back to your allegiance? It is for you to

woo the Gods who are so offended. Come in humility, and I take it



upon myself to declare that you will receive fittingpardon and

relief. Remain stubborn, and the scourge, Phorenice, may torment



you into annihilation before she in turn is made to answer for the

evil she has put upon the land. There is the choice for you to



pick at."

The turmoil of voices rose again into the wetness of the



night, and weapons were upraised menacingly. It was clear that the

party for independence had by far the greater weight, both in



numbers and lustiness; and those who might, from sheer weariness of

strife, have been willing for surrender, withheld their word



through terror of the consequence. It was a fine comment on the

freedom of speech, about which these unruly fools had made their



boast, and, with a sly malice, I could not help whispering a word

on this to Nais as she stood at my elbow. But Nais clutched at my



hand, and implored me for caution. "Oh, be silent, my lord," she

whispered back, "or they will tear you in pieces. They are on fire



for mischief now."

"Yet a few hours back you were for killing me yourself," I



could not help reminding her.

She turned on me with a hot look. "A woman can change her



mind, my lord. But it becomes you little to remind her of her

fickleness."



A man in the press beside me wrenched round with an effort,

and stared at me searchingly through the darkness. "Oh!" he said.



"A shaved chin. Who are you, friend, that you should cut a beard

instead of curling it? I can see no wound on your face."



I answered him civilly enough that, with "freedom" for a

watchword, the fashion of my chin was a matter of mere private






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