if any one had told me on the night that i first met pharos at the foot of cleopatra’s needle that within a very short space of time i should be driving from pompeii to naples alone with him, i believe i should have laughed that person to scorn. and what is perhaps stranger, seeing how intense my dislike for him had been less than two hours before, i was not only paying attention to what he said to me, but was actually deriving a certain measure of enjoyment from his society. in my time i have met some of the cleverest talkers in europe, men whose conversational powers are above the average, and to whom it is rightly enough considered a privilege to listen. pharos, however, equalled if he did not exceed them all. his range of topics was extraordinary, and his language as easy and graceful as it was free from the commonplace. upon every conceivable subject he had some information to impart, and in the cases of events in the world’s history, he did so with the same peculiar suggestion of being able to speak from the point of an eye-witness, or, at least, as one who had lived in the same period, that i had noticed when he conducted me through the ruins of pompeii that afternoon. the topography of the country through which we were passing he also had at his fingers’ ends. about every portion of the landscape he had some remark of interest to make, and when we had exhausted italy and proceeded to more distant countries, i found that he was equally conversant with the cities they contained. how long the drive lasted i can not say; but never in my experience of the high road between naples and pompeii had it seemed so short. reaching the castello del carmine we turned sharply to our right, passed up the corso garibaldi for some considerable distance, and eventually branched off to the left. after that, i have no further knowledge of our route. we traversed street after street, some of them so narrow that there was barely room for our carriage to pass along, until at last we reached a thoroughfare that not only contained better houses than the rest, but was considerably wider. before a large, old-fashioned residence the horses came to a standstill; a pair of exquisitely wrought-iron gates guarding a noble archway were thrown open, and through them we passed into the courtyard beyond. beautiful as many of the courtyards are in naples, i think this one eclipsed them all. the house surrounded it on three sides; on the fourth, and opposite that by which we had entered, was the garden, with its fountains, vista of palm trees, through which a peep of the waters of the bay could be obtained, and its luxuriant orange groves. in the soft light of evening a more picturesque picture could not have been desired.

the footman, having descended from the box, opened the door of the carriage, and when he had withdrawn the rug from his master’s knees, assisted him to alight. i followed, and we proceeded up the steps into the house. prepared as i was by the fact that both lady medenham and sir george legrath had informed me of pharos’s wealth, i could scarcely contain my surprise when the beauty of the house to which i was now introduced was revealed to me. the hall in which we stood was filled from floor to ceiling with works of art, carvings, paintings, statues, tapestry, the value of which i could the better appreciate when i was permitted an opportunity of examining them more closely.

“i make you welcome to my abode, mr. forrester,” said pharos, as i crossed the threshold. “you are not the first english artist who has honoured me with a visit, and i think, if you will glance round these walls, you will admit that you are in good company. see, here is a fra angelico, here a botticelli, here a perugino, to your right a giorgione — all your fellow-guests. at the foot of the stairs is a jan steen, half-way up a madonna by signorelli; the monk above is, as doubtless you can see for yourself, an andrea del sarto, who has found many admirers. but that is not all. if you will follow me, i think i can show you something which will have an equal interest for you, though perhaps in a somewhat different way.”

feeling as if i were walking in a dream, i followed him along the hall. presently he stopped and pointed to a large canvas.

“do you recognise it?” he inquired.

to my surprise it was neither more nor less than one of my own earlier works which had appeared in the academy about three years before and represented a fantastic subject. it had been purchased by a dealer, and after it had left my possession i had lost sight of it altogether. to find it here, in the home of the man who had come to play such an extraordinary part in my life, overwhelmed me with astonishment.

“you seem surprised at seeing it,” said pharos, as we stood before it. “if you will allow me i will relate to you the circumstances under which it came into my possession, and i think you will admit that they are highly interesting. it is now two years since the event occurred of which i am going to tell you. i was then in baden. it was the height of the season, and the city was crowded, not only with interesting foreigners — if you will permit the unintentional sarcasm — but with a large proportion of your own english aristocracy. among the latter was a certain nobleman to whom i was happily able to be of considerable service. he was one of life’s failures. in his earlier youth he had a literary tendency which, had the fates been propitious, might possibly have brought him some degree of fame; his accession to the title, however, and the wealth it carried with it, completely destroyed him. when i met him in baden he was as near ruined as a man of his position could be. he had with him one daughter, a paralytic, to whom he was devotedly attached. had it not been for her i am convinced he would have given up the struggle and have done what he afterward did — namely, have made away with himself. in the hope of retrieving his fortune and of distracting his mind he sought the assistance of the gaming-tables; but having neither luck nor, what is equally necessary, sufficient courage, eventually found himself face to face with ruin. it was then that i appeared upon the scene and managed to extricate him from his dilemma. as a token of his gratitude he made me a present of this picture, which up to that time had been one of his most treasured possessions.”

“and the man himself — what became of him?”

pharos smiled an evil smile.

“well, he was always unfortunate. on the self-same night that he made me the present to which i refer he experienced another run of ill luck.”

“and the result?”

“can you not guess? he returned to his lodgings to find that his daughter was dead, whereupon he wrote me a note, thanking me for the assistance i had rendered him, and blew his brains out at the back of the kursaal.”

on hearing this i recoiled a step from the picture. while it flattered my vanity to hear that the wretched man who had lost fame, fortune, and everything else should still have retained my work, i could not repress a feeling of horror at the thought that in so doing he had, unconsciously, it is true, been bringing me into connection with the very man who i had not the least doubt had brought about his ruin. as may be supposed, however, i said nothing to pharos on this score. for the time being we were flying a flag of truce, and having had one exhibition of his powers, i had no desire to experience a second. whether he read what was passing in my mind or not i can not say. at any rate, he changed the subject abruptly and led me away from my own work to another at the farther end of the hall. from this we passed into an anteroom, which, like the hall, was hung with pictures. it was a magnificent apartment in every way, but, as i soon discovered, was eclipsed by the larger room into which it opened. the latter could not have been less than eighty feet long by forty wide. the walls were decorated with exquisite pictures, and, if such a thing were possible, with still more exquisite china. all the appointments were in keeping. at the farther end was a grand piano, and seated near this, slowly fanning herself with a large ostrich-feather fan, was the woman i had seen first at the academy, then at medenham house, and earlier that very day in the piazza s. ferdinando. upon our entrance she rose, and once more i thought i discovered a frightened look in her face. in a second, however, it had passed and she had once more recovered her equanimity.

“valerie,” said monsieur pharos, “i have been fortunate enough to meet mr. forrester, who arrived in naples last night, and to induce him to dine with us this evening.”

while he was speaking i had been watching the face of the beautiful woman whose affecting story lady medenham had told me, and had noticed how white it had suddenly become. the reason of this i have since discovered, but i know that at the time it puzzled me more than a little.

“i bid you welcome, sir,” she said, in excellent english, but with no great degree of cordiality.

i made some suitable reply, and then pharos departed from the room, leaving us together. my companion once more seated herself, and, making an effort, began a conversation that was doubtless of a very polite, but to me entirely unsatisfactory, nature. presently she rose from her chair and went to the window, where she stood for some moments looking out into the fast-darkening street. then she turned to me, as she did so making a little gesture with her hands that was more expressive than any words.

“mr. forrester,” she said, speaking rapidly in a low voice, but with great earnestness, “have you taken leave of your senses that you come here? are you tired of your life that you thrust your head into the lion’s den in this foolish fashion?”

her words were so startling and her agitation so genuine that i could make neither head nor tail of it. i accordingly hastened to ask for an explanation.

“i can tell you nothing,” she said, “except that this place is fatal to you. oh, if i could only make you understand how fatal!”

her beauty and the agitation under which she was labouring exercised a most powerful effect upon me, which was increased rather than diminished when i reflected that it was being exerted on my behalf.

“i scarcely understand you,” i stammered, for i was quite carried away by her vehemence. “from what you say i gather that you believe me to be in a position of some danger, but i assure you such is not the case. i met monsieur pharos at pompeii this afternoon, and he was kind enough to ask me to dine with him this evening. surely, there can be nothing dangerous in that. if, however, my presence is in any way distasteful to you, i can easily make an excuse and take my departure.”

“you know it is not that,” she answered quickly and with a little stamp of her foot. “it is for your own sake i am imploring you to go. if you knew as much of this house as i do, you would not remain in it another minute.”

“my dear madame,” i said, “if you would only be more explicit, i should be the better able to understand you.”

“i can not be more explicit,” she answered; “such a thing is out of my power. but remember, if anything happens, i have warned you, and your fate will be upon your own head.”

“but ——” i cried, half rising from my seat.

“hush!” she answered. “there is not time for more. he is coming.”

a moment later pharos entered the room. he had discarded his heavy fur coat and was now dressed as i had seen him at medenham house — that is to say, he wore a tight-fitting black velvet coat buttoned high up round his throat and a skullcap of the same material. he had scarcely entered the room before dinner was announced.

“if you will take my ward,” he said, “i will follow you.”

i did as directed, and never while i live shall i forget the thrill that passed through me as i felt the pressure of her tiny hand upon my arm. lovely as i had always thought her, i had never seen her look more beautiful than on this particular evening. as i watched her proud and graceful carriage, i could well believe, as lady medenham had said, that she traced her descent from one of the oldest families in europe. there was something about her that i could not understand, though i tried repeatedly to analyze it — a vague, indescribable charm that made her different from all other women i had ever met.

the room in which we dined was a more sombre apartment than the others i had seen. the walls were hung with heavy tapestries, unrelieved by light or brilliant colour. the servants also struck me as remarkable. they were tall, elderly, dark-skinned, and, if the truth must be told, of somewhat saturnine appearance, and if i had been asked, i should have given my vote against their being italians. they did their duty noiselessly and well, but their presence grated upon me, very much as pharos’s had done on the first three occasions that i had met him. among other things, one singular circumstance arrested my attention. while the dinner was in every respect admirable, and would not have discredited the maison dorée, or the café de la paix, pharos did not partake of it. at the commencement of the meal a dish of fruit and a plate of small flat cakes were placed before him. he touched nothing else, save, when we had finished, to fill a wineglass with water and to pour into it a spoonful of some white powder, which he took from a small silver box standing before him. this he tossed off at one draught.

“you are evidently surprised,” he said, turning toward me, “at the frugality of my fare, but i can assure you that in my case eating has been reduced almost to a vanishing point. save a little fruit in the morning, and a glass of water in which i dissolve one of these powders, and a meal similar to that you now see me making in the evening, i take nothing else, and yet i am stronger than many men of half my age. if the matter interests you i will some day give you proof of that.”

to this speech i made some reply and then glanced at the fr?ulein valerie. her face was still deathly pale, and i could see by the way her hands trembled above her plate that the old fellow’s words had in some manner been the cause of it. had i known as much then as i do now i should no doubt have trembled myself. for the moment, however, i thought she must be ill, and should have said as much had my eyes not met hers and found them imploring me to take no notice of her agitation. i accordingly addressed myself to pharos on the subject of the journey from paris to naples, and thus permitted her time to recover her self-possession. the meal at an end, she rose and left the room, not, however, before she had thrown another look of entreaty at me, which, as i read it, seemed to say, “for pity’s sake remember where you are, and be careful what you say or do!”

the door had scarcely closed behind her before another on the other side of the room opened, and a servant entered carrying in his arms a monkey wrapped in a small rug, from which its evil-looking little face peered out at me as if it were wondering at my presence there. pharos noticed my surprise.

“let me make you acquainted with my second self,” he said, and then turning to the monkey continued, “pehtes, make your salutation.”

the monkey, however, finding himself in his master’s arms, snuggled himself down and paid no more attention to me, whereupon pharos pushed the decanters, which the servant had placed before him, toward me and invited me to fill my glass.

i thanked him, but declined.

“if you will permit me to say so, i think you are foolish,” he answered. “i have been often complimented on that wine, particularly by your countrymen.”

i wondered who the countrymen were who had sat at this table and what the reason could have been that had induced them to accept his hospitality. could legrath have been among the number, and, if so, what was the terrible connection between them? for terrible i knew it must have been, otherwise it would scarcely have made sir george, usually the most self-contained of men, betray such agitation when i inquired if he were acquainted with the name of pharos.

while these thoughts were passing through my mind i stole a glance at the old fellow as he sat at the head of the table, propped up with cushions, and with the monkey’s evil countenance peeping out from his hiding-place under the other’s coat. he was evidently in an expansive mood and as anxious as possible to make himself agreeable. the first horror of his presence had by this time left me, and, as i said at the commencement of this chapter, its place had been taken by a peculiar interest for which i found it well-nigh impossible to account.

“if you will not take any wine, perhaps you will let me offer you a cigarette,” he said, after i had declined his previous invitation. “i am not a smoker myself, but those who do enjoy the fragrant weed tell me the brand is excellent. it is grown on one of my own estates in turkey, and can be obtained nowhere else in the world.”

so saying he produced a small silver case from his pocket and handed it to me. i took one of the cigarettes it contained, lit it, and for the next two or three minutes sat back in my chair silently smoking. the tobacco was excellent. to have wasted a puff of that precious smoke in conversation would have been a sacrilege that i was determined not to commit. having finished one, i was easily persuaded to take another, and was compelled to declare the flavour to be even better than the first.

“i am delighted to see that you enjoy them,” said pharos.

“i have never smoked any tobacco like it,” i replied. “it seems hard that you should not enjoy it yourself.”

“i could not enjoy it in a happier way,” he answered, “than through my friends. i am amply compensated when i see the pleasure it gives them.”

after this philanthropic contribution to the conversation of the evening we were both silent again for some moments. my cigarette was half-finished, but the case, still nearly full, lay upon the table for me to help myself when i felt inclined. little by little the subtle intoxication of the weed was permeating my whole being; a gentle languor was stealing over me, and as a result my brain had never before seemed so bright or my capacity of enjoyment so keen as it did then.

“if you will not take wine we might adjourn to the drawing-room,” said pharos at last. “it is possible we may be able to induce my ward to give us some music, and as she is partial to the aroma of these cigarettes, i think i may assure you beforehand that she will willingly give you permission to smoke in her presence.”

accordingly, we sought the drawing-room, the same in which the beautiful hungarian had uttered her curious warning to me earlier in the evening. she was seated in the same chair that she had then occupied, and on entering, pharos, still carrying the monkey in his arms, crossed and patted her hand in a grand-fatherly fashion. kindly, however, as the action appeared to be, i noticed that she trembled beneath it.

“i have assured mr. forrester, my dear valerie,” he said, “that the odour of tobacco is not distasteful to you, and that you will permit him to smoke a cigarette in your presence. was i not right?”

“of course i will give permission,” she answered, but never had i heard her voice so cold and monotonous. it was as if she were repeating something under compulsion. at any other time i should have declined to avail myself of what i could not help thinking was permission grudgingly given; but since pharos insisted, and the fr?ulein begged me to do so, i at length consented and made a further raid upon the case. as soon as he had seen the cigarette lighted and myself comfortably seated, pharos installed himself in an armchair, while his ward wrapped the inevitable rug about his knees. having done this she took her violin from its case, and, when she had tuned it, took up her position and commenced to play. i had still the same feeling, however, that she was doing it under compulsion, but how that force was being exerted, and for what reason, was more than i could tell. once more the same gentle languor i had felt at the dinner-table began to steal over me and again my senses became abnormally acute. under the influence of the music, new ideas, new inspirations, new dreams of colour, crowded upon me thick and fast. in the humour in which i was then, i felt that there was nothing i could not do, no achievement of which i was not capable. what i had done in the past was as nothing compared with what i would do in the future. with this man’s help i would probe the very heart of wisdom and make myself conversant with her secrets. through half-closed eyes i could see the violinist standing before me, and it was as if her white hands were beckoning me along the road of fame. i turned from her to pharos, and found him still seated in his chair with his eyes fixed steadfastly upon me. then the cigarette came to an end, the music ceased, and with a choking sob the violinist, unable to control herself any longer, fled from the room. i sprang to my feet and hastened to open the door for her, but was too late. she was gone.

“mr. forrester,” said pharos, after we had been alone together for a few moments, “i am going to make a proposition to you which i shall be very much honoured if you can see your way to accept.”

“i shall be better able to tell you when i know what it is,” i answered.

“it is eminently simple,” he continued. “it is neither more nor less than this. i am the possessor of a steam-yacht — a comfortable craft, my friends tell me — and in her my ward and i start to-morrow for port said, en route for cairo.”

“for cairo?” i cried in amazement.

“for cairo,” he answered, with a smile. “and why not? cairo is a most delightful place, and i have important business in egypt. perhaps you can guess what that business is.”

“the mummy?” i answered at a hazard.

“exactly,” he replied, nodding his head; “the mummy. it is my intention to restore it to the tomb from which your father sto — from which, shall we say, your father removed it.”

“and your proposition?”

“is that you accompany us. the opportunity is one you should not let slip. you will have a chance of seeing the land of the pharaohs under the most favourable auspices, and the hints you should derive for future work should be invaluable to you. what do you say?”

to tell the truth i did not know what answer to give. i had all my life long had a craving to visit that mysterious country, and, as i have said elsewhere, i had quite made up my mind to do so at the end of the year. now an opportunity was afforded me of carrying out my intentions, and in a most luxurious fashion. i remembered the extraordinary interest pharos had lent to the ruins of pompeii that afternoon, and i felt sure that in egypt, since it was his native country, he would be able to do much more. but it was not the prospect of what i should learn from him so much as the knowledge that i should be for some weeks in the company of valerie de vocxqal that tempted me. the thought that i should be with her on board the yacht, and that i should be able to enjoy her society uninterruptedly in the mystic land which had played such an important part in my career, thrilled me to the centre of my being. that her life was a far from happy one i was quite convinced, and it was just possible, if i went with them, that i might be able to discover the seat of the trouble and perhaps be in a position to assist her.

“what have you to say to my plan?” inquired pharos. “does not the idea tempt you?”

“it tempts me exceedingly,” i answered; “but the fact of the matter is i had no intention of being absent so long from england.”

“england will be still there when you get back,” he continued with a laugh. “come, let it be decided that you will join us. i think i can promise that you will enjoy the trip.”

“i do not wish to appear discourteous,” i said, “but would it not be better for me to take till to-morrow morning to think it over?”

“it would be the most foolish policy possible,” he answered, “for in that case i feel convinced you would find some reason for not accepting my invitation, and by so doing would deprive yourself of a chance which, as i said just now, may never come again in your life. if valerie were here i feel sure she would add her voice to mine.”

the mention of his ward’s name decided me, and, with a recklessness that forces a sigh from me now, i gave my promise to accompany them.

“i am very glad to hear it,” said pharos. “i think you have decided wisely. we shall sail to-morrow evening at ten o’clock. my servants will call for your luggage and will convey it and you on board. you need not trouble yourself in any way.”

i thanked him, and then, finding that it was close upon eleven o’clock, took leave of him. that i was disappointed in not being permitted an opportunity of saying farewell to his ward i will not deny. i feared that she was offended with me for not having taken her advice earlier in the evening. i did not mention the matter, however, to pharos, but bade him good-night, and, declining his offer to send me home in his carriage, made my way into the hall and presently left the house. having crossed the courtyard, the ancient gate-keeper passed me out through a small door beside the gates. the night was exceedingly warm, and as i stepped into the street the moon was rising above the opposite house-tops. having made inquiries from pharos, i had no doubt of being able to make my way back to my hotel. accordingly, as soon as i had rewarded the concierge, and the gate had closed behind me, i set off down the pavement at a brisk pace. i had not gone very far, however, before a door opened in a garden wall, and a black figure stole forth and addressed me by my name. it was the fr?ulein valerie.

“mr. forrester,” she said, “i have come at great risk to meet you. you would not listen to me this evening, but i implore you to do so now. if you do not heed me and take my warning it may be too late.”

the moon shone full and fair upon her face, revealing her wonderful beauty and adding an ethereal charm to it which i had never noticed it possessed before.

“of what is it you would warn me, my dear lady?” i asked.

“i can not tell you,” she answered, “for i do not know myself. but of this i am certain, since he has interested himself in you and has declared his desire for your friendship, it can not be for your good. you do not know him as i do. you have no idea, it is impossible you should, of what he is. for your own sake, mr. forrester, draw back while you have time. have no more to do with him. shun his society, whatever it casts you. you smile! ah, if you only knew! i tell you this — it would be better, far better, for you to die than to fall into his power.”

i was touched by the earnestness with which she spoke, but more by the sadness of her face.

“fr?ulein,” i said, “you speak as if you had done that yourself.”

“i have,” she answered. “i am in his power, and, as a result, i am lost body and soul. it is for that reason i would save you. take warning by what i have said and leave naples to-night. never mind where you go — go to russia, to america, bury yourself in the wilds of siberia or kamchatka — but get beyond his reach.”

“it is too late,” i answered. “the die is cast, for i have promised to sail with him to egypt to-morrow.”

on hearing this she uttered a little cry and took a step away from me.

“you have promised to visit egypt with him?” she cried, as if she could scarcely believe she heard aright. “oh! mr. forrester, what can you be thinking of? i tell you it is fatal, suicidal! if you have any regard for your own safety you will get away to-night, this very moment, and never return to naples or see him again.”

in her agitation she clutched at my arm and held it tightly. i could feel that she was trembling violently. her touch, however, instead of effecting the purpose she had in view, decided me on a contrary course.

“fr?ulein,” i said in a voice i should not at any other time have recognised as my own, “you tell me that this man has you in his power? you warn me of the dangers i run by permitting myself to associate with him, and, having risked so much for me, you expect me to go away and leave you to his mercy. i fear you must have a very poor opinion of me.”

“i am only trying to save you,” she answered. “the first day i saw you i read disaster in your face, and from that moment i desired to prevent it.”

“but if you are so unhappy, why do you not attempt to save yourself?” i asked. “come, i will make a bargain with you. if i am to fly from this man, you must do so too. let us set off this moment. you are beyond the walls now. will you trust yourself to me? there is a steamer in the harbour sailing at midnight. let us board her and sail for genoa, thence anywhere you please. i have money, and i give you my word of honour as a gentleman that i will leave nothing undone to promote your safety and your happiness. let us start at once and in half an hour we shall be rid of him forever.”

as i said this i took her arm and endeavoured to lead her down the pavement, but she would not move.

“no, no,” she said in a frightened whisper. “you do not know what you are asking of me. such a thing is impossible — hopelessly impossible. however much i may desire to do so i can not escape. i am chained to him for life by a bond that is stronger than fetters of steel. i can not leave him. o god! i can not leave him!”

she fell back against the wall and once more covered her face with her hands, while her slender frame shook with convulsive sobs.

“so be it then,” i said; and as i did so i took off my hat. “if you will not leave him, i swear before god i will not go alone! it is settled, and i sail with him for egypt to-morrow.”

she did not attempt to dissuade me further, but, making her way to the door in the wall through which she had entered the street, opened it and disappeared within. i heard the bolts pushed to, and then i was in the street alone.

“the die is cast,” i said to myself. “whether good or evil, i accompany her to-morrow, and, once with her, i will not leave her until i am certain that she no longer requires my help.”

then i resumed my walk to my hotel.