LITMIR.BIZ

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terrible grip as of some giant hand—palm of iron and fingers of steel—set itself on my very vitals. The thought that even now my escape was known to my enemies, that the phantom Wind Eaters, armed with their nets and clubs, were flitting out of the streets of chief Ztwish-Ztwish’s village, charged to carry me back alive to a worse death than death itself, or slay me for having broken faith and set the face of honesty over my fraud and deceit, seemed to paralyze my limbs and rob me of the little strength I had left.

      Still on and ever onward I struggled, like one in the dull stupor of the wine cup. Fast! ah, too fast that streak of gray dawn lengthened and widened and the orb of day shot up through the morning shadows a messenger of light here and there, now weak and fitful, now stronger and farther reaching.

      I saw them, ay, I felt them, for in my dread of them they seemed to flash toward me and strike my half closed eyes, as if knocking at the windows of my soul and rousing me to move out of death’s harm.

      For a brief moment I halted as if expecting some fond, familiar voice to ring in my ears.

      It came.

      It was the gentle baroness, my mother! Gently, softly, sweetly, that well-known voice came floating on the morning air bidding me take heart, calling me by name just as in childhood’s days, and saying: “My baby! my boy! my son! my darling! Rouse thee! Press on! Press on quickly!” And then I took heart.

      The fearful clamp set on my breast relaxed its hold.

      I could feel my strength returning. But oh, so slowly, so slowly! Still, it was on its way back at last! I could feel my feet grow lighter. With some effort I quickened my pace almost to a run.

      On, on, I sped, now every instant giving me new strength, every motion sending the warm blood tingling to my fingers’ ends.

      The spell had been lifted! I was myself again!

      Swifter, and swifter my pace quickened until I flew along as in days of old, when with ease I left all comers far behind me!

      Methought I could almost hear the plash of the waves on the snow-white sands of that beautiful harbor where my good ship lay.

      On, and ever onward, I sped with a new and mysterious strength. I was astounded at my own deeds. I was almost afraid, so fast I was bounding along, lest again some demon of the air should touch my limbs and stay my course.

      But hark! Didn’t you hear that deep rumble?

      The sky is clear. It cannot have been the voice of the storm fiend.

      Ha! again, deeper and clearer than before, that hoarse, low, muttering rumble, half-roar, half-growl comes borne along on the wings of the awakened breeze.

      Lost! Lost! Lost!

      It is the cry of the pursuers, it is the voice of the enemy!

      Those children of the air are on my track. They follow me with leap and jump. What madness to think to outrun them. Let me halt and die like a man! Look how they bound along over the plain!

      Swift and noiseless are their steps, phantoms that they are!

      I halt. I turn. I grasp my fire-arm! Too late! A score of entangling nets envelope me! I struggle only to entwine myself the more, arms, hands, legs, feet, are twisted in wretched confusion.

      I sway, fall, roll over, wrapped ’round and ’round in that dreadful tangle!

      And now down upon my defenceless body comes a rain of sharp, stinging blows. Deep rumbling cries fill the air and keep time in a wild way with the showers of blows rained on my face and head and hands.

      As they continue they seem to increase in strength.

      The pain, bearable at first, now becomes excruciating.

      The light goes out of my eyes, swollen shut as they are beneath this cruel pelting.

      A thousand ringing sounds assail my ears.

      My brain reels—I am going—going—dying—

      When, hark again!

      You can not hear it! Your ears would not know it! But mine do! Mine do!

      ’Tis Bulger’s bark and I am saved! Faster and faster the Wind Eaters ply their clubs.

      I do not heed them. I do not feel them now, for nearer and nearer comes that joyous music.

      ’Tis here!

      I’m strong again. I rise half up—my lips move—I speak—I cry out: “Quick, good Bulger, or all is lost!” A single glance at the terrible plight of his little master tells him all. With a howl of rage, his dark eyes shooting flame, he throws himself upon the heels of the Wind Eaters. His sharp teeth pierce like needles!

      Crack!

      Again and again he sends his fangs through the skin of a Wind Eater.

      Crack! Crack!

      Their clubs cease swinging. A cry of horror goes up, as for the fourth time good Bulger’s teeth pierces the heel of a Wind Eater and sends his body with a loud report to vanish into thin air.

      They turn; they break away in wild dismay; they fly for their lives, casting away their clubs and abandoning their victim. I could see no more.

      It grew black, a vertigo seized me. I tried to free my hands to touch my loved Bulger, for death, I thought, had come!

      When life came back Bulger was licking my hands and face and whining piteously. He had gnawed the netting free from the limbs of his little master.

      With a cry of joy and a brust of tears, I caught that faithful, loving creature to my breast.

      At that instant, distant shouts came floating over the hills. They came from my sailing-master and his relief party.

      I could not answer. But Bulger raised his head and sent forth a few sharp barks to tell them where we were.

      In a short half hour they were at my side.

      AS I APPEARED THE DAY AFTER MY RESCUE BY BULGER.

      After my bruised face and hands had been bathed in cool water and I had swallowed a few mouthfuls of wine, I felt strong enough to get on my feet and move slowly forward.

      Bulger walked proudly by my side, pausing ever and anon to look me in the face, meaning to ask:

      “How goes it with thee, little master?” Once on shipboard, strengthened by good food and cheered by the comforts of my cabin, I was not long in getting my health back again. After a week’s rest, I gave orders to weigh anchor and turn our good ship’s head northward, for I was anxious, very anxious to see the elder baron and the gentle baroness, my mother, and tell them all about the wonderful things I had seen.

      CHAPTER VI.

       Table of Contents

      How the elder Baron and the Baroness received Bulger and me upon our return from our first voyage. I am decorated by the Emperor with the grand cross of the Crimson Cincture. The elder Baron presents me with a copy of an ancient Roman newspaper. I read of the murder of the beautiful Paula, and the banishment by Cæsar of the Seven Sculptors to a far-away island in the southern seas. I resolved to set out in search of the Island. My departure. Trouble with crew. My sailing-master loses his reason. I hear the cry, Land ho! It is the Sculptors’ Island. Description of it. I go ashore. Paula’s statue. Adventures on the Island. Bulger makes a wonderful discovery. Something about the strange people who inhabit the Island. Their habits, their pleasures, their characters. I am overtaken by an alarming melancholy. My awful dread at thought of becoming as one of the dwellers on the Sculptors’ Isle. I learn of the existence of Antonius. I seek him. Vain endeavor to grasp his hand. Our interview. The strange and moving history of the Seven Sculptors and their

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