Part 29 (1/2)
”What has come back? What have you found? Are you mad, too, like Jacob?”
”What something told me when I was in the trance which afterwards I forgot, but now remember. And I have found the pa.s.sage which leads to where they hid the gold. It begins behind the crucifix, where no one ever thought of looking.”
This matter of the gold did not seem to interest Mr. Clifford. In his state all the wealth beneath the soil of Africa would not have appealed to him. Moreover, he hated the name of that accursed treasure, which was bringing them to such a miserable end.
”Where does the pa.s.sage run? Have you looked?” he asked.
”Not yet, but the voice in me said--I mean, I dreamed--that it goes down to the river-side. If you leant on me do you think that you could walk?”
”Not one inch,” he answered. ”Here where I am I shall die.”
”No, no, don't talk like that. We may be saved now that I have found a way. Oh, if only you could--if only you could walk, or if I had the strength to carry you!” and she wrung her hands and began to weep, so weak was she.
Her father looked at her searchingly. Then he said:
”Well, love, I cannot, so there's an end. But you can, and you had better go.”
”What! And leave you? Never.”
”Yes, and leave me. Look, there is but a little oil left and only a few candles. The biscuits are done and neither of us can swallow that biltong any more. I suppose that I am dying, and your health and strength are failing you quickly in this darkness; if you stop here you must soon follow me. And what is the alternative? The madman outside--that is, if you could find strength to pull down the wall, which I doubt. You had best go, Benita.”
But still she said she would not.
”Do you not see,” he added, ”that it is my only chance of life? If you go you may be able to bring me help before the end comes. Should there be a pa.s.sage the probability is that, although they know nothing of it, it finishes somewhere by the wall of the first enclosure where the Makalanga are. If so, you may find the Molimo, or if he is dead, Tamas or one of the others, and they will help us. Go, Benita, go at once.”
”I never thought of that,” she answered in a changed voice. ”Of course, it may be so, if the pa.s.sage goes down at all. Well, at least I can look and come back to tell you.”
Then Benita placed the remainder of the oil close by her father's side, so that he could refill the lamp, for the use of his hands still remained to him. Also, she set there such crumbs of biscuit as were left, some of the biltong, a flask of Hollands, and a pail of water.
This done, she put on her long cloak, filled one of its pockets with biltong, and the other with matches and three of the four remaining candles. The fourth she insisted on leaving beside her father's bed.
When everything was ready she knelt down at his side, kissed him, and from her heart put up a prayer that they might both live to meet again, although she knew well that this they could scarcely hope to do.
Had two people ever been in a more dreadful situation, she wondered, as she looked at her father lying there, whom she must leave to fight with Death alone in that awful place, while she went forth to meet him in the unknown bowels of the earth!
Mr. Clifford read her thoughts. ”Yes,” he said, ”it is a strange parting and a wild errand. But who knows? It may please Providence to take you through, and if not--why, our troubles will soon be over.”
Then once more they kissed, and not daring to try to speak, Benita tore herself away. Pa.s.sing into the pa.s.sage whereof the lower half of the crucifix formed the door, she paused for a moment to examine it and to place a fragment of rock in such fas.h.i.+on that it could not shut again behind her. Her idea was that it worked by aid of some spring, but now she saw that this was not so, as the whole ma.s.s hung upon three stone hinges beautifully concealed. The dust and corrosion of ages which had made this door so hard to open, by filling up the tiny s.p.a.ces between it and its framework, had also rendered these cracks utterly imperceptible to the eye. So accurately was it fas.h.i.+oned, indeed, that no one who did not know its secret would have discovered it if they searched for months or years.
Though at the time Benita took little note of such details, the pa.s.sage beyond and the stair descending from it showed the same perfect workmans.h.i.+p. Evidently this secret way dated not from the Portuguese period, but from that of the Phoenicians or other ancients, to whose treasure-chamber it was the approach, opening as it did from their holy of holies, to which none were admitted save the head priests. The pa.s.sage, which was about seven feet high by four wide, had been hewn out of the live rock of the mountain, for thousands of little marks left by the workmen's chisels were still discernible upon its walls. So it was with the stair, that had been but little used, and remained fresh as the day when it was finished.
Down the steps, candle in hand, flitted Benita, counting them as she went. The thirtieth brought her to a landing. Here it was that she saw the first traces of that treasure which they had suffered so much to find. Something glittered at her feet. She picked it up. It was a little bar of gold weighing two or three ounces that doubtless had been dropped there. Throwing it down again she looked in front of her, and to her dismay saw a door of wood with iron bolts. But the bolts had never been shot, and when she pulled at it the door creaked upon its rusty hinges and opened. She was on the threshold of the treasure-chamber!
It was square and of the size of a small room, packed on either side almost to the low, vaulted roof with small bags of raw hide, carelessly arranged. Quite near to the door one of these bags had slipped down and burst open. It was filled with gold, some in ingots and some in raw nuggets, for there they lay in a s.h.i.+ning, scattered heap. As she stooped to look it came into the mind of Benita that her father had said that in her trance she had told them that one of the bags of treasure was burst, and that the skin of which it had been made was black and red. Behold!
before her lay the burst bag, and the colour of the hide was black and red.
She s.h.i.+vered. The thing was uncanny, terrible. Uncanny was it also to see in the thick dust, which in the course of twenty or more of centuries had gathered on the floor, the mark of footprints, those of the last persons who had visited this place. There had been two of them, a man and a woman, and they were no savages, for they wore shoes. Benita placed her foot in the print left by that dead woman. It filled it exactly, it might have been her own. Perhaps, she thought to herself, that other Benita had descended here with her father, after the Portuguese had hidden away their wealth, that she might be shown where it was, and of what it consisted.
One more glance at all this priceless, misery-working gold, and on she went, she who was seeking the gold of life and liberty for herself and him who lay above. Supposing that the stairway ended there? She stopped, she looked round, but could see no other door. To see the better she halted and opened the gla.s.s of her lantern. Still she could perceive nothing, and her heart sank. Yet why did the candle flicker so fiercely?
And why was the air in this deep place so fresh? She walked forward a pace or two, then noticed suddenly that those footprints of the dead that she was following disappeared immediately in front of her, and she stopped.
It was but just in time. One step more and she would have fallen down the mouth of a deep pit. Once it had been covered with a stone, but this stone was removed, and had never been replaced. Look! there it stood against the wall of the chamber. Well was this for Benita, since her frail strength would not have sufficed to stir that ma.s.sive block, even if she had discovered its existence beneath the dust.