in travelling either with pharos or in search of him it was necessary to accustom oneself to rapid movement. i was in london on june 7th, and had found him in naples three days later; had reached cairo in his company on the 18th of the same month, and was four hundred and fifty miles up the nile by the 27th. i had explored the mysteries of the great temple of ammon as no other englishman, i feel convinced, had ever done; had been taken seriously ill, recovered, returned to cairo, travelled thence to rejoin the yacht at port said; had crossed in her to constantinople, journeyed by the orient express to vienna, and on the morning of july 15th stood at the entrance to the teyn kirche in the wonderful old bohemian city of prague.

from this itinerary it will be seen that the grass was not allowed to grow under our feet. indeed, we had scarcely arrived in any one place before our remorseless leader hurried us away again. his anxiety to return to europe was as great as it had been to reach egypt. on land the trains could not travel fast enough; on board the yacht his one cry was, “push on, push on!” what this meant to a man like myself, who had lately come so perilously near death, i must leave you to imagine. indeed, looking back upon it now, i wonder that i emerged from it alive. looked at from another light, i believe i could not have done so but for pharos. callous as he had been to my sufferings hitherto, he could scarcely do enough for me now. his first inquiry in the morning was as to how i felt, and his last injunction at night was to the effect that if i felt any return of fever i was to communicate with him immediately. from this show of consideration on his part it would probably be argued that i should at least have felt some gratitude toward himself. the contrary, however, was the case. ever since he had announced the death of the arab to me my fear and dislike of him had been intensified rather than diminished. i was afraid of him very much in the same way as a man is afraid of a loathsome snake, and yet with that fear there was a peculiar fascination which i was powerless to resist.

we had reached constantinople early on thursday morning and had left for vienna at four o’clock in the afternoon. in the latter place we had remained only a few hours, had caught the next available train, and reached prague the following morning. what our next move would be i had not the least idea, nor did pharos enlighten me upon the subject. times out of number i made up my mind that i would speak to him about it and let him see that i was tired of so much travelling, and desired to return to england forthwith. but i could not leave valerie, and whenever i began to broach the subject my courage deserted me, and it did not require much self-persuasion to make me put the matter off for a more convenient opportunity.

of the fr?ulein valerie, up to the time of our arrival in the city there is little to tell. she had evidently been informed of my illness at karnak, for when i returned to the steamer she had arranged that everything should be in readiness for my reception. by the time we reached cairo again i was so far recovered as to be able to join her on deck, but by this time a curious change had come over her, she was more silent and much more reserved than heretofore, and when we reached the yacht spent most of her days in her own cabin, where i could hear her playing to herself such wild, sad music that to listen to it made me feel miserable for hours afterward. with pharos, however, it was entirely different. he, who had once been so morose, now was all smiles, while his inseparable companion, the monkey, pehtes, for whom i had conceived a dislike that was only second to that i entertained for his master, equalled if he did not excel him in the boisterousness of his humour.

at the commencement of this chapter i have said that on this particular morning, our first in prague, i was standing before the doors of the teyn kirche, beneath the story of the crucifixion as it is told there in stone. my reason for being there will be apparent directly. let it suffice that when i entered the sacred building i paused, thinking how beautiful it was, with the sunshine straggling in through those wonderful windows which in bygone days had looked down on the burial of tycho brahé, and had in all probability seen john of nepomuc standing in the pulpit. their light illumined the grotesque old organ with its multitude of time-stained pipes and dingy faded ornaments, and contrasted strangely with that of the lamps and candles burning before the various altars and shrines. of all the churches of europe there is not one that affects me so deeply as this famous old hussite building. with the exception, however, of myself and a kneeling figure near the entrance to the marian capelle, no worshippers were in the church. i stood for a moment looking round the building. its vague suggestion of sadness harmonised with my own feelings, and i wondered if, among all those who had worshipped inside its walls since the days when the german merchants had first erected it, there had ever been one who had so strange a story to tell as myself. at last, having screwed my courage to the sticking point, i made my way down the nave between the carved, worm-eaten pews, and approached the figure i have referred to above. though i could not see her face, i knew that it was valerie. her head was bent upon her hands and her shoulders shook with emotion. she must have heard my step upon the stones, for she suddenly looked up, and seeing me before her, rose from her knees and prepared to leave the pew. the sight of her unhappiness affected me keenly, and when she reached the spot where i was standing i could control myself no longer. for the last few weeks i had been hard put to it to keep my love within bounds, and now, under the influence of her grief, it got the better of me altogether. she must have known what was coming, for she stood before me with a troubled expression in her eyes.

“mr. forrester,” she began, “i did not expect to see you. how did you know that i was here?”

“because i followed you,” i answered unblushingly.

“you followed me?” she said.

“yes, and i am not ashamed to own it,” i replied. “surely you can understand why?”

“i am afraid i do not,” she answered, and as she did so she took a step away from me, as if she were afraid of what she was going to hear.

“in that case there is nothing left but for me to tell you,” i said, and approaching her i took possession of the slender hand which rested upon the back of the pew behind her. “i followed you, valerie, because i love you, and because i wished to guard you. unhappily we have both of us the best of reasons for knowing that we are in the power of a man who would stop at nothing to achieve any end he might have in view. did you hear me say, valerie, that i love you?”

from her beautiful face every speck of colour had vanished by this time; her bosom heaved tumultuously under the intensity of her emotion. no word, however, passed her lips. i still held her hand in mine, and it gave me courage to continue when i saw that she did not attempt to withdraw it.

“have you no answer for me?” i inquired, after the long pause which had followed my last speech. “i have told you that i love you. if it is not enough i will do so again. what better place could be found for such a confession than this beautiful old church, which has seen so many lovers and has held the secrets of so many lives. valerie, i believe i have loved you since the afternoon i first saw you. but since i have known you and have learnt your goodness that love has become doubly strong.”

“i can not hear you,” she cried, almost with a sob, “indeed, i can not. you do not know what you are saving. you have no idea of the pain you are causing me.”

“god knows i would not give you pain for anything,” i answered. “but now you must hear me. why should you not? you are a good woman, and i am, i trust, an honest man. why, therefore, should i not love you? tell me that.”

“because it is madness,” she answered in despair. “situated as we are we should be the last to think of such a thing. oh, mr. forrester, if only you had taken my advice, and had gone away from naples when i implored you to do so, this would not have happened.”

“if i have anything to be thankful for it is that,” i replied fervently. “i told you then that i would not leave you. nor shall i ever do so until i know that your life is safe. come, valerie, you have heard my confession, will you not be equally candid with me. you have always proved yourself my friend. is it possible you have nothing more than friendship to offer me?”

i knew the woman i was dealing with. her beautiful, straightforward nature was incapable of dissimulation.

“mr. forrester, even if what you hope is impossible, it would be unfair on my part to deceive you,” she said. “i love you, as you are worthy to be loved, but having said that i can say no more. you must go away and endeavour to forget that you ever saw so unhappy a person as myself.”

“never,” i answered, and then dropping on one knee and pressing her hand to my lips, i continued: “you have confessed, valerie, that you love me, and nothing can ever separate us now. come what may, i will not leave you. here, in this old church, by the cross on yonder altar, i swear it. as we are together in trouble, so will we be together in love, and may god’s blessing rest upon us both.”

“amen,” she answered solemnly.

she seated herself in a pew, and i took my place beside her.

“valerie,” i said, “i followed you this morning for two reasons. the first was to tell you of my love, and the second was to let you know that i have made up my mind on a certain course of action. at any risk we must escape from pharos, and since you have confessed that you love me we will go together.”

“it is useless,” she answered sorrowfully, “quite useless.”

“hush!” i said, as three people entered the church. “we can not talk here. let us find another place.”

with this we rose and left the building. proceeding into the street, i hailed a cab, and as soon as we had taken our places in it, bade the man drive us to the baumgarten. some of my pleasantest recollections of prague in days gone by were clustered round this park, but they were as nothing compared with the happiness i now enjoyed in visiting it in the company of the woman i loved. when we had found a seat in a secluded spot we resumed the conversation that had been interrupted in the church.

“you say that it is useless our thinking of making our escape from this man?” i said. “i tell you that it is not useless, and that at any hazard we must do so. we know now that we love each other. i know, at least, how much you are to me. is it possible, therefore, that you can believe i should allow you to remain in his power an instant longer than i can help? in my life i have not feared many men, but i confess that i fear pharos as i do the devil. since i have known him i have had several opportunities of testing his power. i have seen things, or he has made me believe i have seen things which, under any other circumstances, would seem incredible, and, if it is likely to have any weight with you, i do not mind owning that his power over me is growing greater every day. and that reminds me there is a question i have often desired to ask you. do you remember one night on board the yacht, when we were crossing from naples to port said, telling pharos that you could see a cave in which a mummy had once stood?”

she shook her head.

“i remember nothing of it,” she said. “but why do you ask me such strange questions?”

i took her hand before i answered. i could feel that she was trembling violently.

“because i want to prove to you the diabolical power the man possesses. you described a tomb from which the mummy had been taken. i have seen that tomb. it was the burial place of the magician, ptahmes, whose mummy once stood in my studio in london, which pharos stole from me, and which was the primary cause of my becoming associated with him. you described a subterranean hall with carved pillars and paintings on the walls, and a mummy lying upon a block of stone. i have seen that hall, those pillars, those carvings and paintings, and the mummy of ptahmes lying stretched out as you portrayed it. you mentioned a tent in the desert and a sick man lying on a bed inside it. i was that sick man, and it was to that tent that pharos conveyed me after i had spent the night in the ruins of the temple of ammon. the last incident has yet to take place, but, please god, if you will help me in my plan, we shall have done with him long before then.”

“you say you saw all the things i described. please do not think me stupid, but i do not understand how you could have done so.”

thereupon i told her all that had befallen me at the ruins of karnak. she listened with feverish interest.

“how is it that providence allows this man to live?” she cried when i had finished. “who is he and what is the terrible power he possesses? and what is to be the end of all his evil ways?”

“that is a problem which only the future can solve,” i answered. “for ourselves it is sufficient that we must get away from him and at once. nothing could be easier, he exercises no control over our movements. he does not attempt to detain us. we go in and out as we please, therefore all we have to do is to get into a train and be hundreds of miles away before he is even aware that we are outside the doors of the hotel. you are not afraid, valerie, to trust yourself and your happiness to me?”

“i would trust myself with you anywhere,” she answered, and as she said it she pressed my hand and looked into my face with her brave sweet eyes. “and for your sake i would do and bear anything.”

brave as her words were, however, a little sigh escaped her lips before she could prevent it.

“why do you sigh?” i asked. “have you any doubt as to the safety of our plan? if so tell me and i will change it.”

“i have no doubt as to the plan,” she answered. “all i fear is that it may be useless. i have already told you how i have twice tried to escape him, and how on each occasion he has brought me back.”

“he shall not do so this time,” i said with determination. “we will lay our plans with the greatest care, behave toward him as if we contemplated remaining for ever in his company, and then to-morrow morning we will catch the train for berlin, be in hamburg next day, and in london three days later. once there i have half a hundred friends who, when i tell them that you are hiding from a man who has treated you most cruelly, and that you are about to become my wife, will be only too proud to take you in. then we will be married as quickly as can be arranged, and as man and wife defy pharos to do his worst.”

she did her best to appear delighted with my plan, but i could see that she had no real faith in it. nor, if the truth must be told, was i in my own heart any too sanguine of success. i could not but remember the threat the man had held over me that night in the pyramid at gizeh: “for the future you are my property, to do with as i please. you will have no will but my pleasure, no thought but to act as i shall tell you.” however, we could but do our best, and i was determined it should not be my fault if our enterprise did not meet with success. not once but a hundred times we overhauled our plan, tried its weak spots, arranged our behaviour before pharos, and endeavoured to convince each other as far as possible that it could not fail. and if we did manage to outwit him how proud i should be to parade this glorious creature in london as my wife, and as i thought of the happiness the future might have in store for us, and remembered that it all depended on that diabolical individual pharos, i felt sick and giddy with anxiety to see the last of him.

not being anxious to arouse any suspicion in our ogre’s mind by a prolonged absence, we at last agreed that it was time for us to think of returning. accordingly, we left the park and, finding the cab which had been ordered to wait for us at the gates, drove back to the city. on reaching the hotel, we discovered pharos in the hall holding in his hand a letter which he had just finished reading as we entered. on seeing us his wrinkled old face lit up with a smile.

“my dear,” he said to valerie, placing his hand upon her arm in an affectionate manner, “a very great honour has been paid you. his majesty, the emperor king, as you are perhaps aware, arrived in the city yesterday, and to-night a state concert is to be given at the palace. invitations have been sent to us, and i have been approached in order to discover whether you will consent to play. not being able to find you, i answered that i felt sure you would accept his majesty’s command. was i right in so doing?”

doubtless, remembering the contract we had entered into together that morning to humour pharos as far as possible, valerie willingly gave her consent. though i did not let him see it, i for my part was not so pleased. he should have waited and have allowed her to accept or decline for herself, i thought. however, i held my peace, trusting that on the morrow we should be able to make our escape and so be done with him for good and all.

for the remainder of the day pharos exhibited the most complete good-humour. he was plainly looking forward to the evening. he had met franz josef on more than one occasion, he informed me, and remembered with gusto the compliments that had been paid him the last time about his ward’s playing.

“i am sure we shall both rejoice in her success, shall we not, my dear forrester?” he said, and as he did so he glanced slyly at me out of the corner of his eye. “as you can see for yourself, i have discovered your secret.”

“i looked nervously at him. what did he mean by this? was it possible that by that same adroit reasoning he had discovered our plan for escaping on the following day?

“i am afraid i do not quite understand,” i replied, with as much nonchalance as i could manage to throw into my voice. “pray what secret have you discovered?”

“that you love my ward,” he answered. “but why look so concerned? it does not require very great perceptive powers to see that her beauty has exercised considerable effect upon you. why should it not have done so? and where would be the harm? she is a most fascinating woman, and you, if you will permit me to tell you so to your face, are — what shall we say? — well, far from being an unprepossessing man. like a foolish guardian i have permitted you to be a good deal, perhaps too much, together, and the result even a child might have foreseen. you have learnt to love each other. no; do not be offended. i assure you there is no reason for it. i like you, and i promise you, if you continue to please me, i shall raise no objection. now what have you to say to me?”

“i do not know what to say,” i said, and it was the truth. “i had no idea you suspected anything of the kind.”

“i fear you do not give me the credit of being very sharp,” he replied. “and perhaps it is not to be wondered at. an old man’s wits can not hope to be as quick as those of the young. but there, we have talked enough on this subject, let us postpone consideration of it until another day.”

“with all my heart,” i answered. “but there is one question i had better ask you while i have the opportunity. i should be glad if you could tell me how long you are thinking of remaining in prague. when i left england i had no intention of being away from london more than a fortnight, and i have now trespassed on your hospitality for upward of two months. if you are going west within the next week or so, and will let me travel with you, i shall be only too glad to do so, otherwise i fear i shall be compelled to bid you good-bye and return to england alone.”

“you must not think of such a thing,” he answered, this time throwing a sharp glance at me from his sunken eyes. “neither valerie nor i could get on without you. besides, there is no need for you to worry. now that this rumour is afloat i have no intention of remaining here any longer than i can help.”

“to what rumour do you refer?” i inquired. “i have heard nothing.”

“that is what it is to be in love,” he replied. “you have not heard then that one of the most disastrous and terrible plagues of the last five hundred years has broken out on the shores of the bosphorus, and is spreading with alarming rapidity through turkey and the balkan states.”

“i have not heard a word about it,” i said, and as i did so i was conscious of a vague feeling of terror in my heart, that fear for a woman’s safety which comes some time or another to every man who loves. “is it only newspaper talk, or is it really as serious as your words imply?”

“it is very serious,” he answered. “see, here is a man with the evening paper. i will purchase one and read you the latest news.”

he did so, and searched the columns for what he wanted. though i was able to speak german, i was unable to read it; pharos accordingly translated for me.

“the outbreak of the plague which has caused so much alarm in turkey,” he read, “is, we regret having to inform our readers, increasing instead of diminishing, and to-day fresh cases to the number of seven hundred and thirty-three, have been notified. for the twenty-four hours ending at noon the death-rate has equalled eighty per cent. of those attacked. the malady has now penetrated into russia, and three deaths were registered as resulting from it in moscow, two in odessa, and one in kiev yesterday. the medical experts are still unable to assign a definite name to it, but incline to the belief that it is of asiatic origin, and will disappear with the break up of the present phenomenally hot weather.”

“i do not like the look of it at all,” he said when he had finished reading. “i have seen several of these outbreaks in my time, and i shall be very careful to keep well out of this one’s reach.”

“i agree with you,” i answered, and then bade him good-bye and went upstairs to my room, more than ever convinced that it behooved me to get the woman i loved out of the place without loss of time.

the concert at the palace that night was a brilliant success in every way, and never in her career had valerie looked more beautiful, or played so exquisitely as on that occasion. of the many handsome women present that evening, she was undoubtedly the queen. and when, after her performance, she was led up and presented to the emperor by count de schelyani, an old friend of her father’s, a murmur of such admiration ran through the room as those walls had seldom heard before. i, also, had the honour of being presented by the same nobleman, whereupon his majesty was kind enough to express his appreciation of my work. it was not until a late hour that we reached our hotel again. when we did pharos, whom the admiration valerie had excited seemed to have placed in a thoroughly good humour, congratulated us both upon our success, and then, to my delight, bade us good night and took himself off to his bed. as soon as i heard the door of his room close behind him, and not until then, i took valerie’s hand.

“i have made all the arrangements for our escape to-morrow,” i whispered, “or rather i should say to-day, since it is after midnight. the train for berlin via dresden, i have discovered, leaves here at a quarter past six. do you think you can manage to be ready so early?”

“of course i can,” she answered confidently. “you have only to tell me what you want and i will do it.”

“i have come to the conclusion,” i said, “that it will not do for us to leave by the city station. accordingly, i have arranged that a cab shall be waiting for us in the platz. we will enter it and drive down the line, board the train, and bid farewell to pharos for good and all.”

ten minutes later i had said good night to her and had retired to my room. the clocks of the city were striking two as i entered it. in four hours we should be leaving the house to catch the train which we hoped would bring us freedom. were we destined to succeed or not?