The Greatest Sci-Fi Books of Erle Cox. Erle Cox
form of a woman.
Minute after minute passed while Alan stood staring down through the crystal at the figure before him, as motionless as the figure itself. The only sound that passed his lips were the words that came as though torn from his soul: "My God! My God! How wonderful!" Through his brain raged a mad tornado of thoughts. He did not dare to let his mind dwell on the idea that flashed through it as he stood. It was mad, incredible, fantastic, beyond the realms of the most insane imaginings. His mind had perforce accepted the reality of every other part of the discovery, but was stopped by the vista that lay before it now. Long ago he had arrived at the certainty that the origin of the galleries in point of time could not be counted in thousands of years, but in millions. He had accepted the idea of the preservation of matter, organic and inorganic, but this–"No! No! a thousand times No!" The words came from his dry lips in a hoarse whisper. Yet as he uttered them, the wild thrill of hope that went through his heart seemed to give the lie to the words. He pressed his hands wildly to his eyes as though to shut out and crush down the hopes and the longings that were struggling for expression. His arms dropped heavily to his sides, and he looked once more at the wondrous form before him. As he did so, the certainty that this was no work of the craft of man came upon him with stunning force. He knew beyond all shadow of doubt that the glorious being before him was indeed human, and had lived. For the rest he dared not think.
She was lying with her head pillowed on a large white cushion, that was almost hidden by the masses of deep gold hair that surrounded her face, and flowed downwards across her shoulder and bosom, and veiled almost to her knees the sapphire-coloured covering that was thrown across her body. Her arms, bare to the shoulder, lay straight beside her. Where the heavy waves of her hair parted on her shoulders Alan saw that she was clothed in a robe of palest blue, that came almost to her throat. The lapse of time had moulded the delicate fabrics that covered her to every line and contour of her form. But it was the face surrounded by its surging golden cloud that held his gaze entranced. It was not merely beautiful; it was lovely, with a loveliness that was not earthly. The dark shade of her straight, delicate brows, and the long lashes that rested on her cheeks, formed a strange and wonderful contrast to her gleaming hair. From her low, broad forehead to the smooth, polished curves of her chin and throat each feature was perfect and faultless. The hand of Venus herself might have fashioned the curves of the sweet alluring lips, and her wayward son might have wrought for years to place that sweet, shadowy smile upon them. It was a face that all the gods in Olympus might have held council over, to blend all their wisdom, mystery, majesty, and beauty, and mould them into the still countenance of the woman who lay enthroned beneath the crystal canopy. Yet the face seemed veiled, because the drooped lids hid the eyes that would light it into life. Over all was a pallor, but it was not that of death. There was a faint trace of pink on the smooth white cheeks, and a deeper tone on the soft, curving lips. It seemed like a spark of life that a touch might either extinguish for ever or build into an immortal flame.
As his eyes wandered over the noble lines of her recumbent figure, Alan noticed that her body was worthy of the head it bore. Extended full length as she lay with her head slightly raised, she seemed far taller than the average woman, but perfectly proportioned. The sleeveless robe she wore was fastened on each shoulder with a plain, knotted ribbon of the same pale blue shade. About neither the throat nor the marble-white arms was any trace of jewel or ornament. There was no need for art to enhance the perfection of nature. The deep sapphire gold-fringed cover that trailed its lustrous folds to the floor on each side of the couch covered her body but little higher than her waist, and on it rested beside her the slender, delicate hands, and Alan's eyes, drinking in their white beauty, thought a man might well risk life and limb to press them to his lips but once.
It was long before he was able to rouse himself from the trance that had fallen upon him, to turn his attention to anything besides the figure before him, or to bring the tumult of his thoughts into orderly array. Even when, in a measure, he was able to control his mind to working conditions, and try to make a closer examination of his surroundings, he was drawn again and again from his work to stand transfixed before the glorious mystery beneath the crystal dome.
The dome itself was well worth attention. It appeared to be composed of the same remarkable substance as was the goblet in the art gallery that defied his efforts to destroy it. Its shape was that of a perfect hemisphere, and it was so fragile and delicate in appearance that it seemed as if the lightest touch would shatter it. Indeed so clear and limpid was it that it appeared as if a great bubble had floated down and settled on the gold rim that surrounded the couch. Inside the rim itself the pavement was uncarpeted, and the space showed an exquisite jewelled mosaic, more beautiful than any he had seen throughout his exploration.
Alan walked slowly round the dome, and on the opposite side from where he had first stood he found a short heavy lever that evidently controlled some mechanism attached to the rim. He refrained from touching it for a score of reasons that came to his mind. He also found in convenient positions four grips that had evidently been fitted for the purpose of lifting the dome from its setting.
When he was able to draw himself away from the enchanted spot he made a survey of the "temple," for "temple" it would always be to him, and as his eyes roamed round it, he admitted that the setting was truly worthy of the jewel. The builders seemed to have lavished on its interior decoration and fittings every refinement of the wonderful art they possessed. It was quite sixty feet long by thirty feet wide, and its walls rose to a height of twenty feet, so that the dome itself occupied comparatively little space. It appeared as if the craftsmen had taken the interior of a pearl shell and the pearl itself as the keynote of their scheme. The walls were a glorious blending of pinks and blues, with panels of flashing iridescent opal, and the rosy glow from the myriad of clustered lights on walls and ceiling warmed the whole into palpitating life. About the great room were set chests and cabinets of wonderful workmanship, but all built to harmonise with the general scheme. The floor was covered with a thick soft carpet of pearly whiteness, through which was worked a delicate pattern in pink, from the very palest to the deepest coral. There were soft, inviting lounges and great deep chairs to tempt his weary limbs, but worn out as he was with the varied emotions of the day Dundas could find no ease but in restless wandering about the enchanted chamber, ever and again pausing to gaze once more into the crystal canopy.
On one wall close to the curtained doorway Alan found a cabinet that contained what appeared to be a switchboard covered with tiny keys set in glittering rows. As he wandered restlessly from spot to spot he discovered that only this one of the many cabinets set about the place was open for inspection, or in any way revealed its contents. He tried them one after another, but no pulling or coaxing of doors or twisting of handles would satisfy his curiosity. At length he came on a large square table set at the far end of the chamber from the doorway, and on it rested a massive metal chest decorated with a wonderful design of interlaced figures in high relief. He looked it over idly. Doubtless it was sealed like the rest. On the front of it near the top was a knob formed like a grotesque face. He reached forward and turned the knob tentatively. There was a sharp click, and the whole front fell forward, disclosing the interior.
Here, at last, was something definite, perhaps some clue to the mystery. Previous experience had taught Alan for what to look, and eagerly he drew forth the flat case that he knew contained a book. As his eyes fell on its cover he gave a low cry of excitement, for blazoned across it in red enamel was a replica of the characters he had seen on the lintel of the "temple." With trembling hands he drew the volume from its case, and as he turned his excitement grew to a fever, for here it seemed as if his wildest dream would be realised. He turned from the book at last, and paced the chamber from end to end again and again, walking with wide, fixed eyes, like one drugged. Again he returned to the book, poring over each page with awed fascination. The first page showed the figure of the woman beneath the dome of crystal. Likeness, colour, and detail were perfect to the minutest point. Then came diagrams of the lever set in the rim, showing it moved from the perpendicular position to the horizontal. Then the figure again with the dome removed. The next picture showed two objects, one a flask filled with a vivid green fluid, and the other a curiously shaped syringe. A quick search through the chest revealed both of the pictured objects.
Alan handled them with delicate care and after replacing them returned his eyes to the book. The next leaf showed a picture of the right arm of the