"Are ye married?"
"Not so," replied Glaucus.
"Ho, lovers!--ha!--ha!--ha!" and the witch laughed so loud and so long that the caverns rang again.
The heart of Ione stood still at that strange mirth. Glaucus muttered a rapid counterspell to the omen--and the slave turned as pale as the cheek of the witch herself.
"Why dost thou laugh, old crone?" said Glaucus, somewhat sternly, as he concluded his invocation.
"Did I laugh?" said the hag, absently.
"She is in her dotage," whispered Glaucus: as he said this, he caught the eye of the hag fixed upon him with a malignant and vivid glare.
"Thou liest!" said she, abruptly.
"Thou art an uncourteous welcomer," returned Glaucus.
"Hush! provoke her not, dear Glaucus!" whispered Ione.
"I will tell thee why I laughed when I discovered ye were lovers," said the old woman. "It was because it is a pleasure to the old and withered to look upon young hearts like yours--and to know the time will come when you will loathe each other--loathe--loathe--ha!--ha!--ha!"
It was now Ione"s turn to pray against the unpleasing prophecy.
"The G.o.ds forbid!" said she. "Yet, poor woman, thou knowest little of love, or thou wouldst know that it never changes."
"Was I young once, think ye?" returned the hag, quickly; "and am I old, and hideous, and deathly now? Such as is the form, so is the heart."
With these words she sank again into a stillness profound and fearful, as if the cessation of life itself.
"Hast thou dwelt here long?" said Glaucus, after a pause, feeling uncomfortably oppressed beneath a silence so appalling.
"Ah, long!--yes."
"It is but a drear abode."
"Ha! thou mayst well say that--h.e.l.l is beneath us!" replied the hag, pointing her bony finger to the earth. "And I will tell thee a secret--the dim things below are preparing wrath for ye above--you, the young, and the thoughtless, and the beautiful."
"Thou utterest but evil words, ill becoming the hospitable," said Glaucus; "and in future I will brave the tempest rather than thy welcome."
"Thou wilt do well. None should ever seek me--save the wretched!"
"And why the wretched?" asked the Athenian.
"I am the witch of the mountain," replied the sorceress, with a ghastly grin; "my trade is to give hope to the hopeless: for the crossed in love I have philtres; for the avaricious, promises of treasure; for the malicious, potions of revenge; for the happy and the good, I have only what life has--curses! Trouble me no more.
With this the grim tenant of the cave relapsed into a silence so obstinate and sullen, that Glaucus in vain endeavored to draw her into farther conversation. She did not evince, by any alteration of her locked and rigid features, that she even heard him. Fortunately, however, the storm, which was brief as violent, began now to relax; the rain grew less and less fierce; and at last, as the clouds parted, the moon burst forth in the purple opening of heaven, and streamed clear and full into that desolate abode. Never had she shone, perhaps, on a group more worthy of the painter"s art. The young, the all-beautiful Ione, seated by that rude fire--her lover already forgetful of the presence of the hag, at her feet, gazing upward to her face, and whispering sweet words--the pale and affrighted slave at a little distance--and the ghastly hag resting her deadly eyes upon them; yet seemingly serene and fearless (for the companionship of love hath such power) were these beautiful beings, things of another sphere, in that dark and unholy cavern, with its gloomy quaintness of appurtenance. The fox regarded them from his corner with his keen and fiery eye: and as Glaucus now turned towards the witch, he perceived for the first time, just under her seat, the bright gaze and crested head of a large snake: whether it was that the vivid coloring of the Athenian"s cloak, thrown over the shoulders of Ione, attracted the reptile"s anger--its crest began to glow and rise, as if menacing and preparing itself to spring upon the Neapolitan--Glaucus caught quickly at one of the half-burned logs upon the hearth--and, as if enraged at the action, the snake came forth from its shelter, and with a loud hiss raised itself on end till its height nearly approached that of the Greek.
"Witch!" cried Glaucus, "command thy creature, or thou wilt see it dead."
"It has been despoiled of its venom!" said the witch, aroused at his threat; but ere the words had left her lip, the snake had sprung upon Glaucus; quick and watchful, the agile Greek leaped lightly aside, and struck so fell and dexterous a blow on the head of the snake, that it fell prostrate and writhing among the embers of the fire.
The hag sprung up, and stood confronting Glaucus with a face which would have befitted the fiercest of the Furies, so utterly dire and wrathful was its expression--yet even in horror and ghastliness preserving the outline and trace of beauty--and utterly free from that coa.r.s.e grotesque at which the imaginations of the North have sought the source of terror.
"Thou hast," said she, in a slow and steady voice--which belied the expression of her face, so much was it pa.s.sionless and calm--"thou hast had shelter under my roof, and warmth at my hearth; thou hast returned evil for good; thou hast smitten and haply slain the thing that loved me and was mine: nay, more, the creature, above all others, consecrated to G.o.ds and deemed venerable by man,--now hear thy punishment. By the moon, who is the guardian of the sorceress--by Orcus, who is the treasurer of wrath--I curse thee! and thou art cursed! May thy love be blasted--may thy name be blackened--may the infernals mark thee--may thy heart wither and scorch--may thy last hour recall to thee the prophet voice of the Saga of Vesuvius! And thou," she added, turning sharply towards Ione, and raising her right arm, when Glaucus burst impetuously on her speech:
"Hag!" cried he, "forbear! Me thou hast cursed, and I commit myself to the G.o.ds--I defy and scorn thee! but breathe but one word against yon maiden, and I will convert the oath on thy foul lips to thy dying groan.
Beware!"
"I have done," replied the hag, laughing wildly; "for in thy doom is she who loves thee accursed. And not the less, that I heard her lips breathe thy name, and know by what word to commend thee to the demons.
Glaucus--thou art doomed!" So saying, the witch turned from the Athenian, and kneeling down beside her wounded favorite, which she dragged from the hearth, she turned to them her face no more.
"O Glaucus!" said Ione, greatly terrified, "what have we done?--Let us hasten from this place; the storm has ceased. Good mistress, forgive him--recall thy words--he meant but to defend himself--accept this peace-offering to unsay the said": and Ione, stooping, placed her purse on the hag"s lap.
"Away!" said she, bitterly--"away! The oath once woven the Fates only can untie. Away!"
"Come, dearest!" said Glaucus, impatiently. "Thinkest thou that the G.o.ds above us or below hear the impotent ravings of dotage? Come!"
Long and loud rang the echoes of the cavern with the dread laugh of the Saga--she deigned no further reply.
The lovers breathed more freely when they gained the open air: yet the scene they had witnessed, the words and the laughter of the witch, still fearfully dwelt with Ione; and even Glaucus could not thoroughly shake off the impression they bequeathed. The storm had subsided--save, now and then, a low thunder muttered at the distance amidst the darker clouds, or a momentary flash of lightning affronted the sovereignty of the moon. With some difficulty they regained the road, where they found the vehicle already sufficiently repaired for their departure, and the carrucarius calling loudly upon Hercules to tell him where his charge had vanished.
Glaucus vainly endeavored to cheer the exhausted spirits of Ione; and scarce less vainly to recover the elastic tone of his own natural gaiety. They soon arrived before the gate of the city: as it opened to them, a litter borne by slaves impeded the way.
"It is too late for egress," cried the sentinel to the inmate of the litter.
"Not so," said a voice, which the lovers started to hear; it was a voice they well recognized. "I am bound to the villa of Marcus Polybius. I shall return shortly. I am Arbaces the Egyptian."
The scruples of him at the gate were removed, and the litter pa.s.sed close beside the carriage that bore the lovers.
"Arbaces, at this hour!--scarce recovered too, methinks!--Whither and for what can he leave the city?" said Glaucus.
"Alas!" replied Ione, bursting into tears, "my soul feels still more and more the omen of evil. Preserve us, O ye G.o.ds! or at least," she murmured inly, "preserve my Glaucus!"
Chapter X
THE LORD OF THE BURNING BELT AND HIS MINION. FATE WRITES HER PROPHECY IN RED LETTERS, BUT WHO SHALL READ THEM?
ARBACES had tarried only till the cessation of the tempest allowed him, under cover of night, to seek the Saga of Vesuvius. Borne by those of his trustier slaves in whom in all more secret expeditions he was accustomed to confide, he lay extended along his litter, and resigning his sanguine heart to the contemplation of vengeance gratified and love possessed. The slaves in so short a journey moved very little slower than the ordinary pace of mules; and Arbaces soon arrived at the commencement of a narrow path, which the lovers had not been fortunate enough to discover; but which, skirting the thick vines, led at once to the habitation of the witch. Here he rested the litter; and bidding his slaves conceal themselves and the vehicle among the vines from the observation of any chance pa.s.senger, he mounted alone, with steps still feeble but supported by a long staff, the drear and sharp ascent.
Not a drop of rain fell from the tranquil heaven; but the moisture dripped mournfully from the laden boughs of the vine, and now and then collected in tiny pools in the crevices and hollows of the rocky way.
"Strange pa.s.sions these for a philosopher," thought Arbaces, "that lead one like me just new from the bed of death, and lapped even in health amidst the roses of luxury, across such nocturnal paths as this; but Pa.s.sion and Vengeance treading to their goal can make an Elysium of a Tartarus." High, clear, and melancholy shone the moon above the road of that dark wayfarer, glossing herself in every pool that lay before him, and sleeping in shadow along the sloping mount. He saw before him the same light that had guided the steps of his intended victims, but, no longer contrasted by the blackened clouds, it shone less redly clear.
He paused, as at length he approached the mouth of the cavern, to recover breath; and then, with his wonted collected and stately mien, he crossed the unhallowed threshold.
The fox sprang up at the ingress of this newcomer, and by a long howl announced another visitor to his mistress.
The witch had resumed her seat, and her aspect of gravelike and grim repose. By her feet, upon a bed of dry weeds which half covered it, lay the wounded snake; but the quick eye of the Egyptian caught its scales glittering in the reflected light of the opposite fire, as it writhed--now contracting, now lengthening, its folds, in pain and unsated anger.