A. D. 2000

The shadow crept on; the sun was going down to its bed in the ocean, which spread out in every direction. On moved the shadow; it had reached a dense cluster of mountain-ivy, which completely hid the rock from view: the hour was 15:55 dial.

Seizing a large knife from his bundle of tools, the doctor sprang quickly to the spot, and with dispatch, cleared away the evergreen, exposing the solid rock of the cliffs. With his eyes upon his watch, he noted the passing moments.

“Sixteen dial!” he cried, and placed the point of his knife at the end of the shadow of the “Finger of God.”

Carefully marking the spot, he diligently searched for the letters mentioned in the communication. Not a trace of a letter was visible; the virgin rock lay bare, and undefiled by human hands. Above, below, and on either side, his search was equally unsuccessful, and as he communicated the result of his examination to Mollie and Marie, consternation seized upon them. Could it be that they had been deceived, and that the contents of the letter were false, and made for some purpose of alluring Junius Cobb to this spot? They looked at each other in bewilderment.

Suddenly the doctor exclaimed:

“Ah! It may be that!”

“What, doctor?” they both cried, excitedly.

But the doctor made no reply; he was climbing up the cliff, straight up from the knife-mark in the rock. With the celerity of a man intensely excited, he cut and slashed away the ivy, and threw it into the ravine; then, looking at his watch, he noted that twenty-five minutes had passed since the shadow of the rock had reached the point which he had marked. Noting the variation of the shadow from the vertical for these twenty-five minutes, he drew his knife slowly and carefully up the face of the cliff, from the mark which he had made to where the shadow of the “Finger of God” then rested, the knife describing the path of the shadow.

Turning to Mollie, who had been watching his movements in wonder, he said:

“If the instructions are correct, then will the characters ‘J. C.’ be found near the line which my knife has described; for the letter, if true, as I have remarked, was written a long time ago, and the ‘Finger of God’ was taller then than it is to-day, as the elements must have worn many inches from its top in the course of a great number of years; its shadow was higher up the cliff, at any particular hour of the day, at a remote period, than it is to-day. Now come and examine closely along the line I have described.”

With diligence and care, all three scanned the face of the rock, scraped away the mold, and sought to find the key to the mysterious cavern.

Suddenly Mollie gave a scream – an exultant scream – and cried:

“Here it is! Here it is! I have found them!”

Crowding about her, the other two saw before them the letters in the rock. Small, discolored, and covered with a green moss, it was a wonder they had been discovered at all. Yes, there they were, “J. C.” Leaning over, Dr. Town took his penknife and carefully dug the moss away from the point of the J, and exposed the hole mentioned in the letter.

There was no farce, no falsehood in the communication, after all; at least, not as regards the letters “J. C.” and the hole in the J. The decisive moment had arrived.

Putting the point of the steel rod, which he had brought along for the purpose, into the hole, the doctor drove it in to its full length. A creaking, cracking sound followed, and the rock in front of them sank into the side of the cliff, leaving exposed a doorway about six feet high by three in width. Involuntarily all started back as the yawning, dark passage was exposed, and a cry of alarm escaped the lips of Marie.

The opening had been made, but the interior was dark and unknown.

“I will go in,” said the doctor, “and explore the place; I will return, and inform you if it is safe.”

“Oh, I am not afraid,” returned Mollie; “certainly there can be nothing there to harm us.”

“Oh, but there may be!” broke in Marie.

“Go in, doctor; we will follow you,” not heeding Marie’s alarm.

Dr. Town lighted a lantern, and, followed by the girls, passed in through the opening. A passage of some fifteen feet in length hewed into the solid rock, led them into a large chamber with a high and arched roof. As the light of the lantern threw its rays about the room, its contents were plainly discernible by all.

The walls were draped with beautiful silks and plushes; chandeliers were suspended from the arched roof; costly chairs with embroidered cushions were upon every side; books and works of art lay upon the massive center-table and about the room. A thousand objects of beauty and richness adorned the large chamber.

As they walked across the room, a light cloud of dust rose at their feet as the carpet gave way in its rottenness. Reaching out her hand, Mollie took a book from the table, and was about to open it, when it fell to the floor in a mass of rotten fibre. A beautiful picture hanging on the wall, its oil coloring still fresh and its gilded frame yet bright and handsome, was accidentally struck by the doctor, and came tumbling to the ground, in a heap of decayed wood and canvas. The table, with all its beautiful ornaments, was but a phantom; for, as they endeavored to move it to one side, it fell to the floor in ruins. Time and nature had caused such decay that it seemed to need but the touch of man to change the vision of enchantment into a scene of ruin and chaos.

There was no moisture, no mold; but apparently a dry-rotting process had been at work for years, and the destructible articles of the chamber were ready to fall in pieces at the least shock.

From the first chamber opened a second, to the left, and here was found what appeared to have been a kitchen. Utensils of all kinds were scattered about as if left where they had been last used; dishes of finest china lay broken on the floor, where also lay the once beautiful sideboard, now fallen by its weight and rottenness; decay worse than was found in the first chamber pervaded the place. A large oil-stove in one corner, and glass bottles with seals upon them, gave evidence of the methods which had been pursued in this the culinary department of the establishment.

From this room a long passage opened to the right, and led deep into the cliff. With feelings of awe, not unmixed with terror on the part of Marie, the three moved forward. The light flashed upon the dark, rocky walls, and was absorbed in their dingy gray.

Moving cautiously forward, a dozen steps brought them to a third chamber, small and low. Mollie, who was close in rear of the doctor, glanced in as the light penetrated the darkness of the room. With a scream, she drew back, shuddering with fear, and clasped Marie in her arms:

“A skeleton!” she cried. “A coffin!”

The fear was contagious; Marie sank to the ground, trembling like a leaf, and, in her fall, dragged Mollie with her. There they lay, frightened, and with chattering teeth.

“Come, young ladies,” brusquely said the doctor, “there is nothing to be afraid of. Scared at a skeleton, eh? I thought you had more nerve,” to Mollie.

“But it was so sudden,” she gasped; “and it seems so terrible.”

“Well, there is nothing to fear,” as he assisted them to their feet.

“O Mollie! Let us go!” cried Marie.

“Stuff and nonsense!” broke in the doctor. “Let us fathom this mystery. We will go in.”

In the center of the chamber and on a high bier, covered with black velvet, which fell in great folds to the floor, lay a golden casket. It bore no ornamentation, save the beading of silver about its edges. Its top was of glass, and a wreath of the most exquisite flowers lay near the head. On the four corners of the great black pall were sprigs of immortelles, and at the head of the casket, a wreath of orange blossoms. The floor of the chamber was of slabs of white marble, skillfully laid and joined together.

At the side of the room, upon a low couch, lay the skeleton of a human being; the grinning skull was turned upon one side, with its yawning, eyeless sockets turned toward the casket in the center of the chamber.

The garments which had been worn in life, still clung about the form, and showed it to have been a man. Upon a small table, at the head of the couch, stood a bronze lamp, from which the oil had long since passed into vapor; a paper lay by its side, and at the foot of the couch stood an iron box.

Reverently they moved toward the casket, and, with feelings wrought up to the highest pitch, looked through the glass top. Again did the girls cry out in their wonder and awe; and the doctor, accustomed though he was to sights of death, pressed his hand to his head, and stared with eyes almost starting from their sockets.

Within the casket, upon the whitest silk, lay the form of a woman of wondrous beauty – a form of the most exquisite shape, a face of the rarest mold; hair of the fairest golden blonde, and hands and feet as delicate and small as a girl’s. Naked from her feet to her loins, and exposing a bust of wondrous form, she lay among the folds of the white silk lining. A swathing of bandages covered the abdomen, and the mouth was wrapped in cloth. By her side lay a golden saucer, and another, filled with a black substance, lay at her head.

Silently they stood and gazed upon the motionless form. Within her casket she lay in death before them, but such a death as none had ever seen before. The eyelids closed, the face as white as the driven snow, the hands folded upon her bosom, it seemed to all that sacrilege had been committed by intruding within the sacred precincts of her tomb.

The awe-inspiring silence was at last broken by the voice of the doctor, who had recovered himself, and whose thoughts had come back again to the duty of the present.

“This is a most remarkable discovery, ladies,” he slowly said; “but we should look for a further solution of the mystery. We can do nothing by standing here and gazing at this wondrous vision.”

Laying his hand on the pall near the head of the casket, the velvet fell in dust and rags to the floor, and the sprig of immortelles, striking the marble slab, became mashed and battered. Picking up the flowers, he examined them carefully.

“Why, they are made of gold and silver and precious stones,” he exclaimed, in astonishment.

Then they examined the three remaining sprigs, and the wreath of orange blossoms at the head of the casket; all were of the finest gold and silver, and diamonds were the petal-points of the flowers. Wondering much, the doctor then took those from the top of the casket, and found them, likewise, of the same precious materials. But in removing the last bunch of flowers, a discovery had been made. Where the wreath of golden flowers had lain, was now seen a silver plate, covered with engraved letters.

“Perhaps we have a clue to the identity of the beautiful woman who lies in this casket,” exclaimed the doctor, as he threw the rays of the light upon the plate on the top of the casket.

Crowding close to him, all three read the words cut in the silver plate:

“My Daughter: To God I trust thee; into His keeping I give thee. O Junius! If thou hast, in years past and numbered in the great cycle of time, loved, and loved with steadfast heart, then arise and rescue that love from oblivion; but – and search thy heart to its utmost depths – if such love has never been, or is past and gone, turn back again, and leave to eternal rest the being who lies entombed before you – my daughter, Marie Colchis.

“Within the second chamber are batteries and means of obtaining heat, and fluids of life-giving principles. Cause the chamber to be warmed, arrange the batteries for current, and prepare the nourishment which you will find in the glass jars. When all is ready, cover your nostrils well, break the top glass of the casket, quickly seize the form therein lying, and bear it to the second chamber.

“Once within the warmth of that room, tear off the bandages, and apply the poles of the battery to the heart, in front, and over the fifth rib, in the back. Let the current come with all its force. If it be God’s will, the form will shake, will quiver, open its eyes, will breathe, and become a living woman once again. Nourishment and care are all that will be required to complete the resurrection. Within the folds of the bandages over the heart lies a golden case containing a letter which is to be read by my daughter alone. Give it to her when she is recovered, and may God be with you.

“Jean Colchis.”

“Ah!” sighed Mollie, with tears in her eyes; “I see it all – I know it all!” Then, with all semblance of fear vanished from her heart, she cried:

“To work, doctor! To work!”

Dr. Town was a man quick to grasp a situation. He did not stop to wonder or ask questions. To be sure, he was very much surprised at what he saw, and at Mollie’s exclamation, but he was prepared to rescue a woman therein entombed – this from a knowledge of the contents of the letter found in the copper cylinder, and which Mollie had shown him. Wasting no time in speculation, the instructions engraved upon the tablet on the top of the casket were carefully followed out. Returning to the second chamber, they commenced their work. Oil was found in the sealed bottles, and put into the stove, whose asbestos wick would still perform its functions. The stove was soon aglow with a bright flame, and its warmth diffused about the chamber. The batteries were ready for adjustment, and only required the dropping of the carbons into the electropoion fluid. The bottles of beef extract and fluids of nourishment were opened, and their contents prepared upon the stove. Clothing from their own persons was prepared by the two girls, as none could be found about the place.

When all was ready, the doctor prepared to break the glass top of the casket.

“Remain here,” he said to them, “and I will bring her to you;” then, modestly: “and you shall strip off the bandages and cover her form; but leave bare her bosom and back.”

Having given his instructions, he proceeded to the chamber wherein Marie Colchis lay.

A moment of silence followed, then a crash was heard, and the doctor came staggering into the room with the drooping, lifeless form of Marie Colchis in his arms. Laying her upon a bed, which had been improvised from their wraps, he cried, as he turned away:

“Quick! Strip off the bandages, and tell me when you are ready!”

A moment later, when the girls had performed their work and had called upon him to come, he was by their side, and had adjusted the copper plates; then, pushing down the carbons into the batteries, he seized her hand and placed his finger on her pulse. As the current of electricity passed through her heart, there was a spasmodic contraction of the muscles of the body, a quivering of the flesh, a gasp, and her lovely bosom rose and fell as the air was inhaled and expelled; then the lips parted, and a low, deep sigh escaped, her eyes opened, and she lived.

“What is it?” she asked, in a quiet, weak voice.

“Hush! You must not speak; you are ill,” hastily said the doctor. “Drink this, and you will feel better,” and he put the cup of liquid to her lips.

Mechanically the girl obeyed the order, and drank the warm broth; then, closing her eyes, she became motionless, save a slight rising and falling of the bosom in breathing. Gently throwing aside her clothing, the doctor commenced a brisk rubbing of the legs, arms, and body along the spine. The heat of the fire, together with the friction of the rubbing, soon caused a free circulation of the blood, which had but barely moved through her arteries and veins for years. The color came slowly to her face, her breathing became stronger, she was receiving back the life which had been on the point of leaving her body. Once more the eyes opened, and she spoke, but in a stronger voice:

“Who are you? Where is my father?”

“Marie, dear girl,” cried Mollie, bending over her, while tears of joy fell from her eyes, “we are your friends, your dearest friends. You are ill now; do not speak or ask questions. All will be made known to you soon.”

Dressing her in warm clothing taken from their own bodies, they bore her to the litter which the doctor had ordered brought to the door of the cavern.

An hour later the whole party was en route to Noniva. The litter was strung between two mules, with a man on each side to steady it, while Mollie and Marie followed, mounted on their mules. The doctor led the way down the creek, across the country to the town. Mollie had the little gold case which had been found among the bandages, Marie the golden flowers, and the doctor carried the iron box in front of him on the saddle.

It was 2 dial the next day when the party reached Noniva, as they had been compelled to travel very slowly. A fear that the lipthalener had departed caused Mollie much uneasiness, for they should have been back at 20 dial. But, no; as they entered the town, they saw the San Francisco’s lights streaming over the waters. Captain Gordon had not found it in his heart to leave until the girls had joined the vessel.

Two days later, bidding a kind farewell to Captain Gordon and Dr. Town, the girls, with their charge, and the things brought from the cavern, left the deck of the cruiser in the Bay of San Francisco. Landing at Mission street dock, a drag was taken, and the home of Mollie’s aunt Lora soon reached.

The weeks followed, and by careful nursing from her two faithful attendants, Marie Colchis regained her health, strength and beauty.

The letter in the golden case had been read by all the girls, and long and earnest were the conversations which had followed. Marie learned of the resurrection of her lover, and of his entrance into the family of the President; she became fully informed concerning the period of time it was in the world’s history, and all the details attending her own lifeless sleep and miraculous return to the world of the living. It seemed but a day since she was with her father in the cavern on Guadalupe Island; it was but a moment that her thoughts had been away from her lover.

With all the fire and passion of her former life not decreased, but increased, by long years of patient waiting, she longed for the time when she could meet him, could see him, and hear his loved voice. She had been told of his apparent lack of interest, his seemingly moody ways, and his careworn and sad expression of countenance. She felt the cause; she knew it: he still loved his little girl-wife of Duke’s Lane.

And she? Ah, God! she worshiped him!

CHAPTER XX

It was the 10th of January when Cobb and Hugh returned from their visit to New England and reached the city of Washington.

Hugh was not at all pleased to find Marie gone; as for Cobb, it mattered not whether Mollie was there or not. To be sure, he admired the girl; loved her, but as a brother. All the passion which he had first thought to be in his heart for his friend’s sister had vanished into a simple brotherly regard.

“Hello!” cried a familiar voice as Hugh came from the executive mansion that evening.

“Hello, Lester!” exclaimed Hugh, extending his hand. “Glad to see you back, old man.”

“I can’t say that I’m glad to get back. The girls are gone, father says,” returned Hugh, in a woe-begone tone of voice.

“Yes,” laconically.

“Given us the slip, eh?”

“Looks very much that way.”

“Did she leave any word for you?”

“Yes; a short letter. Gone to visit her aunt in San Francisco, or some other seaport, I believe,” answered Lester, dubiously.

“Father says she went in a great hurry; don’t know the cause of her sudden departure. Looks funny, doesn’t it?” inquiringly.

“Very,” knowingly.

“Bad, eh?” with a scowl.

“Horrible!”

“Well, you hear me, young man; when your sister walks off on an unknown journey and to be gone an unknown time, she generally comes back and finds me on an equally unknown voyage, and having about as much idea when that voyage will end as a jackass knows about Sunday;” and he thrust his hands savagely into his coat-tail pockets, and assumed the air of a man perfectly indifferent as to what the world liked or disliked.

“And when your sister forgets that she has an affianced husband dodging about your father’s back door every night to catch but a moment’s happiness in her society, why – she’ll come back and find me off on a pleasure trip, somewhere,” and poor Lester faced the other, and mingled his disgust at the state of affairs with that of his friend.

“Let us clear out, and not come back until they have experienced the same disappointment as we do now – that is, if our absence will affect them that way,” with a dubious shake of his head.

“I’ll do it, Hugh! I’ll go to-morrow!” cried Lester, with an injured expression on his face.

“Then, it’s agreed. We’ll get Cobb and take the Orion and skip to – well, anywhere, so we don’t get back here under two months.” Hugh whistled an air of satisfaction at the thought of the misery he was going to bring to the heart of Marie Hathaway.

That evening Cobb was informed of Hugh’s intention of starting the next day in the Orion, and making a tour of the United States.

“Ah, Hugh; why say the United States? say the world! Let us go far, far away; to the north pole, for instance,” and Cobb looked his friend in the face, sadly, but yet with an anxious hope that his proposition would be accepted. “Yes, to the north pole,” he continued. “No living man has been there, even in this great age of progress, so you have informed me.”

“It is impossible, Junius. We cannot reach it,” returned Hugh.

“It is funny! I have seen your aërial ships, large and stanch; why can’t you go in one of them?”

“Yes, our aërial ships are large and stanch; but it would be foolhardy to attempt to reach the pole in one of them. We, of course, depend on their lightness to overcome gravitation; now, the lightest gas we can get is hydrogen, and this we use. With our vessels filled with this gas, we have no trouble in making from twenty to fifty, and even a hundred miles per hour, according to the wind. But here comes in the greatest factor in aërial navigation; how to make up the gas discharged in changing altitudes and lost by exudation through the skin of the balloon. In nearly every great city large quantities of hydrogen are kept in store for filling the balloons of such vessels as may arrive and require replenishment. So long as a vessel is kept within a day’s journey of one of these cities, it is easy to keep sufficient gas in the balloon, and thus to travel from point to point; but as there are no hydrogen works north of latitude fifty-four degrees fifteen minutes, and as the distance from there to the pole is over 2,200 miles, and the same distance back again, and as, again, the speed of an aërial ship depends upon the direction of the wind, and its velocity – the maximum speed in a perfectly tranquil atmosphere being only forty-five miles per hour – it will easily be seen that a period of one hundred hours, and perhaps very many more, would elapse ere the ship could return to the starting point. As a fact, the loss of hydrogen will be so great that, unless replenished, the vessel will lose its carrying power ere thirty hours have passed. Thus you see, Junius, it is impossible to use the aërial ship to reach the pole.”

“But can you not carry material to keep your supply of hydrogen up to the amount required?” asked Cobb, eagerly.

“No. The amount would be too great to manufacture in the time which would be at one’s command; besides, the apparatus would be too heavy for the balloon to carry.”

“Then, I understand that, if you could manufacture this gas in sufficient quantities on the ship, and by light apparatus, you could go anywhere?” Cobb spoke the words slowly, as if lost in some deep thought.

“Certainly,” replied Hugh. “But that is a discovery which I doubt much will ever be accomplished!”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?”

“Yes, I said perhaps,” returned Cobb, with a complaisant smile. Then, inquiringly: “Will you show me your finest aërial ship to-morrow?”

“Of course you will see it if we start to-morrow, as we have agreed.”

“But do not agree to start to-morrow. Show me your ship, as I have not seen them closely, and I will be ready to start soon after.”

“Well, if you wish it, Junius, I will do so; but I do not understand the reason for your request.”

“You will see,” quietly returned Cobb.