Army and Navy Weekly — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ARMY AND NAVY their footsteps, wore away their patience and spirits. For though they had started on the proper course, they stood not one chance in a thousand of finding the goal they sought without the experienced Bhagwan Das to guide them through the labyrinthine maze that under- lay the monastery. A wonderful place it was! Centu- ries of toil must have been required to complete this herculean task—to turn the rugged mountain gorge into so imghty and extensive a stronghold: And what they saw of it was only the subterranean part, the por- tion beneath the great stone floor on which the monas- tery proper was built. Hour after hour they wandered through the network of passages and galleries, treading weather-worn flag- stones that might have been laid a thousand years be- fore, with strangely-carved walls of masonry to right and left of them, The corridors were awe-inspiring and depressing; there seemed to be no end to them, and they forked in all directions with bewildering multi- plicity. High overhead twinkled the tiny slits, now close together, now far apart, letting in a dim light and a supply of sweet and cooling air. But they found no outlet to the world above, nor could they stumble upon the subterranean river It was at a lower depth, they knew, and the aggravating part of it was that they were frequently near it. Sometimes they heard the sullen flow and gurgle of water be- neath their feet, sometimes to right of them, to left, or faintly in the rear—by which signs they judged that they had described more thau one circle in their aim- less travels, and might even be back in the vicinity of the Court of the Shrine. It was some comfort that they heard nothing to indicate that their foes were searching for them,and in time Hawksmoor acquiesced in Nigel’s opinion that Pershad Singh believed the fugitives to be still lurking in the mountains bordering the Lake of Dacca. At last, exhausted by hours of futile wandering, the weary men felt the hope that had sustained them sink- ’ ing low, felt their courage ebbing away. They pressed on gloomily and slowly, for the light was fading from the apertures overhead, and they could see but indis- tinctly. : : ‘¢The day is over and darkness 1s coming on,’’ said Hawksmoor. ‘‘As likely as not Bhagwan Das is wait- ing for us somewhere in this infernal place, but there is no hope of finding the passage by the river. I don’t know what we are going to do, Davenant. We are ut- terly lost—can’t find our way anywhere, And we can’t go much longer without food and drink.’’ ‘(And sleep,’’? added Nigel. ‘‘I’m drowsy, hungry and thirsty. Yes, it’s a_ bad scrape. We’re not even near the river now, for I don’t hear the flow of the current. What beastly luck we've had, Hawksmoor! This place is a regular death-trap; we might wander for weeks and never find the way ont of it.”’ ‘‘It may have been made for that very purpose,’’ Hawksmoor replied, ‘‘and I half believe it was. Things are pretty bad when I can’t see light through them, and I’ll confess, Davenant, that we stand more than a fair chance of starving to death in this black hole.”’ ‘“It’s a nice prospect,’’ Nigel said, bitterly. in years to come, perhaps, some reckless fool like our selves will find our whitened bones here. 1’d rather throw myself on the mercy of the priests——’’ He was interrupted by a cry from Hawksmoor, had just led the way to the left: ‘‘Look, look—a light !”’ Yes, it was a light—a silvery beam, only a few yards ahead, shining obliquely down into the gloomy passage, and revealing a row of green and mossy steps. It was not what they sought—the river would have been a more welcome find—but this promised at least a better who fate than starvation to the well-nigh despairing men. They hurried to the spot, looked at the square patch of misty blue sky that was visible overhead, and then, hearing not the slightest sound, they cautiously climbed up the steps. After poking their heads out first, they emerged fearlessly above ground. It was a beautiful scene that met their eyes. They were in the middle of a long, wide garden, evidently made hundreds of years before on the artificial cover- ing of the valley. Shrubs and trees grew in profusion, as high and as dense as in their native wilds, and flow- ers of every hue filled the air with perfume. Here and | there fountains threw silvery jets above the foliage, and walks paved with white marble led this way and that. . The sunset glow was just fading from thesky, giving 1085 place to twilight and the shadows of night. There was no sign of human presence—none of bird or beast. Along the length of the valley the gardens extended further than the eye could reach in both directions. On the left they were bounded by the outer wall of the monastery, steeply overhung by the mountain range in which was the tunnel. On the right stretched a lower wall of the same glistening red stone, evidevtly a part of the monastery itself. lt was battlemented and but- tressed with an occasional narrow slit of a window, and over the top of this also a mountain barrier thrust its hoary white peaks high into the dimming sky? ‘‘Well, what are we going to do next?”’ asked Nigel, when they had silently looked at their surroundings for several minutes. ‘We won’t go back into the cavern—that’s certain,”’ replied Hawksmoor. ‘‘We must give up the idea of get- ting help from Bhagwan Das, and depend on our own wits. Suppose we explore the gardens. I think it will be quite safe if we are careful, and we may pick up some valuable information.”’ Nigel-readily agreed to the proposition, and under cover of the sheltering twilight they made their way through the trees and shrubbery, avoiding the paved walks, and stopping now and then to listen. So they advanced for a quarter of a mile, andthen Hawks- moor suddenly laid an eager hand on his companion’s arm. | ‘¢TLook!’’ he whispered. ‘‘There, through the leaves! Good heavens, don’t you see?’’ CHAPTER XXVII. A SWIM IN THE DARK. Nigel’s face flushed under its dark stain as he gazed for a few seconds in the direction indicated, by his companion, ‘‘T see!’ he gasped, excitedly. Yes, it is Muriel Brabazon!’’ ‘‘Of course it is—I recognize her features,’’ replied Hawksmoor. ‘‘Be careful! Don’t try to get any nearer !”’ Both stood in silence for a few moments, staring through the parted foliage. Very close to the right lay the wall of the monastery, and ata height of thirty feet from the ground, jutting out from an arched door- way hung with curtains, was a small balcony of pol- ished red stone, and leaning against the carved para- pet was the graceful figure of a woman that could be none other than Matadeen Mir’s captive. Yes, it was Muriel Brabazon. The moon had risen even while the twilight lingered, and thesilvery beams shone on the girl’s lovely face—a face that had lost much of its rich coloring. Her chestnut hair drooped on her forehead and neck, and she wore a creamy gown of native silk, embroidered with jewels, and confined at her waist by a golden girdle. She was looking sadly and wistfully across the gardens, doubtless thinking of the distant friends whom she might never see again, and something in her expression, in her very attitude, suggested defiance—told that she was as far as ever from yielding to the demands of her captors. ‘‘Muriel, my darling!’? slipped half unconsciously, half alond, from Nigel’s lips. ‘‘So near, and yet so hopelessly out of reach!’’ he added. ‘‘It is maddening; I must do something!’’ ‘¢What would you do?’’? Hawksmoor asked, coldly. ‘(Give her a sign,’’ Nigel answered. ‘‘Let her know that we are here. It will put courage and hope into her heart—warn her to be ready to escape if the chance comes. And I am sure | can manage it without discov- ery. The room behind the balcony is likely empty, and I see no one up on the battlements.’’ ; ‘¢How do you propose to do it, Davenant?’?’ Nigel hurriedly explained the plan that had flashed into his mind, and, to his delight, his companion ap- proved of it. ‘*Gain the girl’s attention, if you can,”’ said Hawks- moor, ‘‘and then ask her if she can’t manage to get in- to the gardens to-night. Perhaps she can fashion some sort of a rope and lower herself from the balcony. The situation is desperate, Davenant, and this is the only chance we are likely to have, since Bhagwan Das has failed us.’’ ‘(Tt doesn’t vromise much, Hawksmoor; for even if Muriel succeeds in joining us——’’ ‘Then we will make another attempt to find the subterranean river and a boat. Or perhaps we will be able to scale the outer wall of the monastery.’’ ‘¢Can it really be her? 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