# Mirrikh, or, A Woman from Mars/Chapter 23

CHAPTER XXIII.
DESERTED.
“Maurice! Oh Maurice! Speak to me, Maurice! For God’s sake tell me this is real!”
He pushed Walla aside with a look of loathing, and raising himself to a sitting position spoke, for we had already torn off the bagging in which his body was swathed.
“George!”
“Oh Maurice!”
I am not ashamed to own it. I was crying like a child. I bent forward and would have flung my arms about him, when to my dismay he thrust me away too.
“No, no! Don’t do that!” he cried. “You musn’t do it! Where is she? I can’t see her. Where is she, George?”
I felt a shiver pass over me. Was he mad?
“Do you mean Walla? She is here, Maurice.”
The girl stood facing him; her lips tightly set, her face as livid as the face of a corpse.
“No, no! I don’t mean Walla at all. You know very well who I mean, George Wylde. You saw her in Mars, Mirrikh told me so. Where is she, I say?”
“I do not understand you,” I replied. “Try and pull yourself together, old fellow. Your mind is wandering. Doctor, for God’s sake do something. He is mad! Unless there is help we shall lose him again.”
“What can I do?” groaned the Doctor.
“I will call Padma!”
“To the mischief with Padma! We have had enough of him. Maurice, my dear boy, your mind is wandering a bit, and no wonder. You have had a fearful experience. Try——”
“Stop! Let me think! Do not speak to me until I speak to you.”
He buried his face in his hands and for several moments remained silent. I looked around to see if Walla had grown calmer. To my surprise I saw her gliding off into the darkness. Most sincerely did I pity the girl, but what ​could I do for her? She loved him, he had rejected her. Words were not necessary to convey to a mind so open to impression as hers the true state of Maurice De Veber’s heart.
Silently the Doctor and I stood contemplating him until at length the hands were removed.
I started back in amazement. What I saw the Doctor saw also; he uttered a quick exclamation of astonishment.
The whole appearance of Maurice’s face had changed.
It was Maurice and it was not Maurice.
Every feature was altered; every line had softened; there was an indescribable beauty about the countenance of my friend which was wholly unnatural. Even his voice was different; it was no longer the deep voice of Maurice, but pitched in a higher key.
“George Wylde!” he said almost stiffly; “I want to feel that you mean to stand by me whatever happens. I have passed through a wonderful experience, I am passing through the most wonderful part of it now, and I need all your help and sympathy.”
“And you shall have it, Maurice—you have it already, my dear boy.”
“And you, Doctor, are not to question me. Hear me, my friends: I do not know how long a time has elapsed since I parted from you, but of all that has happened during that time I have nothing to tell—absolutely nothing. Do you understand?”
His voice rose almost to a shriek as he spoke these last words. His whole frame trembled with emotion. Tears sprang to his eyes.
The Doctor behaved splendidly.
“There there! Don’t disturb yourself! No one is going to question you,” he answered. “Are you hungry? Would you not like something to eat?”
“I—I suppose so. I do not know. The thought of food nauseates me, and yet I suppose I had better take it. How long is it, George?”
“A month,” I answered gloomily.
“Only a month! It seems years! And you got back safely. I did not see you, old fellow, but Mirrikh did. A wonderful man that! Oh God, to come back to this dreary world again after the life I have been leading! It is horrible! Horrible! But that is not the worst.”
​“What can you mean?” I breathed.
“Which is the worst? To suffer yourself or drag those you love into torment?” he asked fiercely.
And as he spoke his face completely changed. Again he was Maurice—Maurice speaking in deadly earnest, if not in anger—then like a flash the face was transformed again, became as before, and over it spread a sad smile.
“Do not be angry with—with me,” he said. “I cannot help it. I am not fully master of myself.”
I was too deeply concerned for anger. Was he indeed mad? If not, then what did it all mean?
“You shall have food at once,” I said. “Meanwhile can you bear being left alone a moment?”
“Why certainly; but stay, I want to know where I am. What place is this? This is not the chamber from which I started on my journey to Mars?”
“No; it is not. Great changes have come to us since then, Maurice. Let me advise you not to question us now. Later on we will tell you——”
“No! No! Now! Tell me now!”
“Would you object to letting me feel your pulse, Maurice?” asked the Doctor.
He submitted quietly enough. The Doctor performed the operation and dropped the hand without comment.
“Why don’t you stand up?” he asked.
“Because I do not chose to.”
“Are you in pain?”
“Yes—no!”
“Which?”
“No—no?”
“I should like to see you walk a few steps.”
“But you won’t!” he flashed, and again that marvelous change of facial expression came and went.
The Doctor would have pressed him further, but he turned beseechingly to me.
“George, won’t you tell me?”
I told him all. I could not refuse.
He listened, making no comment until I had uttered the last word.
“Then our situation is desperate?”
“Most desperate.”
“Even if we escape from the cave there is no help for us?”
​“None, it would seem.”
“Yet Mirrikh promised,” he murmured, “and I shall trust him. Have no fear, George. We shall escape from this peril. We shall see New York again.”
“God grant it! But let me say a word in behalf of Walla, Maurice. Though humble enough and of another race than ours, the poor girl loves you. Be kind to her, Maurice. If you could have seen the devotion with which she watched over you; if——”
“Say no more! ” he interrupted. “I shall be kind, but if, as you say, she loves me, then she must learn to unlove. Of course you understand——”
“Of course, of course; but you wounded her feelings terribly.”
“Cannot you mend matters? I thought you were mad about the girl yourself.”
I shook my head.
“I have passed out of that state long ago, Maurice. I did not know myself.”
“No; but I know you, George; I know you better now than ever before. You need not explain further. The gas has done its work for you as well as for me.”
“It has! God knows it has.”
I thought then of that face and its heavenly beauty. It seemed as if a single word was whispered in my ear.
“Hope!”
I heard it! I positively declare I heard it. The voice was as real as was Maurice’s which followed, asking for something to eat.
And thus in sadness and mystery began the night of Maurice’s return; a night of horrors which will never cease to be present in my waking moments, or to disturb my dreams.
“I will go and fetch some rice,” said the Doctor. “Come Wylde, I have a word to say.”
I glanced at Maurice, but he made no objection and with the Doctor’s hand upon my arm I walked into the shadows. It was not until we were out of hearing that he spoke.
“I want you to prepare yourself for the worst,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that Maurice can’t live. It is useless for me to kick against the pricks any longer. I own that all this is wonderful, most mysterious; but there is something seriously ​wrong with our friend, physically. Did you ever hear of a man having a double pulse, George Wylde?”
“A double pulse! I am entirely at a loss to understand you. What in heaven’s name do you mean by a double pulse?”
“I mean precisely what I say. I was impressed to feel his pulse. I cannot tell you why, but so it was. There are two beats for every one.”
“Do you mean two beats together?”
“I mean two separate and distinct beats together and in the same second of time.”
“You must be mad, Doctor. Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“I never did—that I swear. Furthermore, I swear that I am not mad. Indeed I am strongly inclined to believe that I am the only thoroughly sane person in this cave.”
He spoke further in the same strain; he positively assured me of the truth of his marvelous statement, and reiterated his belief that there was something all wrong with Maurice’s heart, and that unless an immediate change came he could not long survive. After a moment I left him, and while he went on to fetch the rice I started to return.
I had not gone far before I perceived Walla coming toward me, springing from heaven knew where—the cave was full of turns and corners—she held up her hand warningly, and pointed in the direction of Maurice.
“What is it, Walla?” I asked kindly.
“What ails him? Is he going to die?” she murmured.
“I hope not. God grant that he may not.”
“Something is wrong?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I cannot explain. Something about his heart.”
“His heart! No! Not that! He is mad! He is talking gibberish! He must be mad for he drives me from him—I who would lay down my life to save his!”
She caught me by the hand and drew me to a place where a projecting point in the rock wall enabled us to watch Maurice unseen.
He was sitting just as we had left him. Although I thought myself prepared for anything I was certainly not prepared for what followed.
Maurice was talking in two languages. At one moment ​he spoke in English, the next and he seemed to answer himself in an unknown tongue; and the faint glow of the lamp striking full upon his face I saw those same wondrous changes come and go. When he spoke in English it was Maurice's face which was turned toward me, his deep voice which uttered the words; but when he suddenly broke out in what Walla called gibberish, the face grew almost feminine in its beauty and the voice changed to that of a woman. It is so! I swear it! It was a most marvelous thing to watch those transformations come and go.
“But what was he saying?
The first I heard was:
“For God’s sake tell me the worst. Can there never be a change?”
Strange words in that other voice followed.
“But what am I to do?”
Again the answer. Let me give something of this most peculiar conversation. The words spoken in the unknown tongue I must represent by dashes. I can do nothing else.
“I can never live so. I feel a sense of suffocation as though I was going to burst.”
“Will time make it easier?”
“No; I cannot rise. The weight holds me down.”
“I will try to walk if you insist upon it; but I know I shall fall.”
He tottered to his feet, and staggered a few steps, precisely as a man might walk who was bearing a heavy burden. It was painful to watch him. I should have spoken now but something appeared to restrain me. In a moment he seemed to give it up, and retreating to the stone bench, sank down panting.
“It is no use. I can’t do it. I can never walk this way!”
“Can we not return?”
“But what about my friends? I can never control myself. If I escape from this place and return to my own country they will put me into a lunatic asylum, for I cannot hope to make them understand.”
​“You say there is one who will understand me—do you mean George Wylde?”
“Shall I tell him?”
“I fear even him.”
At this point a hand was suddenly laid upon my arm. I looked around expecting to see Walla, but instead saw the Doctor. He was holding a bowl of rice and looking at me questioningly. To my surprise I perceived that Walla had again disappeared.
Strange creature! I never understood her. Sometimes now I find myself wondering if it was all her love for Maurice; if her father’s terrible fate had not left its mark upon the poor girl’s brain.
“What is it? What’s the matter?” demanded the Doctor.
“I was watching Maurice,” I said, hurriedly explaining.
“What did I tell you? We are not out of the woods with Maurice yet by a good deal.”
“But how do you account for it? By the way, did you meet Walla? She was here a second ago, but seems to have vanished again.”
“No; I saw nothing of her. As for accounting for Maurice’s present condition I don’t profess to be able to do it. You who lay claim to having taken a planetary journey yourself ought to understand better than I; but he seems to be sitting perfectly quiet. Weren’t you mistaken?”
“No, no! He has stopped talking. He hears us. It is no use now.”
Maurice ate the rice with no show of hunger. I make this statement particularly, for I want it understood that whatever may be said of his spirit, his physical body had received no nourishment for a full month—to this I am prepared to swear.
When we finished eating, the Doctor, with many a sigh, produced the pipe and the last remnant of the tobacco.
“There you are, old man,” he said. “I know you must be dying for a smoke. I have tried to keep your pipe from drying up the best I could.”
So far Maurice had maintained a gloomy silence, but to my infinite relief it was now my friend’s dear face at which I was looking, not the other one; that, beautiful though it was, I had almost come to fear.
​“Well, upon my word, Doctor, I believe I should enjoy a smoke,” he answered almost cheerfully.
He took the pipe and began to fill it, while the Doctor kept rattling away.
“Had a smoke since you left, Maurice?”
“Oh yes!”
“They smoke in Mars then.”
“Yes.”
“Can’t you relent and tell us something? George was kinder. He told me his experience.”
“I can tell you nothing, Doctor, but I would like to ask you one question and George another.”
“I’ll be forgiving then and answer. Fire away.”
“Do you believe that I have actually been to Mars?”
The Doctor hesitated.
“Why as to that, I hardly know what to say,” he replied. “Since you left us, Maurice, my mind has been in a curiously muddled state. So many strange things have been forced upon me that in spite of reason I have been obliged to waver in my utter disbelief in the spiritual. I know Wylde to be a man of positive and unimaginative character. I know that he would not wilfully deceive me, and I am willing to believe that he thinks he went to Mars. Further than that, there is my own experience, of which he has, perhaps, told you. I thought I went to Mars and said as much when I came to my senses. That is about where I stand. I am bound to admit also that the inhaling of the gas, be its nature what it may, produces effects altogether beyond the range of medical knowledge. I am entirely willing to believe, my dear fellow, that you honestly think you have visited the planet Mars. Indeed I will go a step further and admit that I haven’t a doubt that I, had I inhaled the gas would now entertain some such notion myself.”
“Then you do not believe that I have actually visited Mars?”
“No. I believe you have been in a condition wholly abnormal, your supposed experiences emanating from your own brain.”
“Good! Now we understand each other. Let me say that my experiences were as real to me as ever the experiences of any month of your life on earth have been to you. Now George, for your question. Do you believe that while I was absent I paid you a visit?”
​“I do,” I replied firmly. “I doubt no longer; I believe it all.”
“What is this? What is this?” cried the Doctor. “Something I have not heard?”
“Tell him, George.”
I related my experience with Walla in the courtyard at Psam-dagong; of course I did not tell the Doctor of the warning spoken against himself.
“And do you claim to have controlled Walla’s spirit at that time?” he asked of Maurice.
“Oh no!”
“What then?”
“I controlled her brain, her lips. I merely spoke through her physical organs. How her spirit was disposed of I know no more than you do.”
“And did you know what you were doing; were you conscious of speaking with George?”
“Certainly.”
“Supposing yourself to be in Mars at the time?”
“Not supposing—being in Mars at the time. Such things are common enough there. Mental telegraphy is there universally practiced and its operators as well recognized as an ordinary telegraph operator here. I desired to speak with George, and Mirrikh took me to one of those persons, that is all. The first thing I knew I was speaking with George and heard him speak to me.”
“But tell me, Maurice,” I said; “has the question of distance anything at all to do with it?”
“Nothing whatever. It is simply a question of spiritual influx. If you desire to speak with a person at a distance, you must have a medium or operator at each end of the line, and either know the person yourself or find some one who does know him. If I am en rapport with you, it would be just as easy for a professional human telegrapher to assist me to address you at a distance of ten million miles as ten; while for me to attempt to converse with one with whom I was not en rapport, would be impossible at a distance of ten feet”
“By Jove! It would be a deuced good idea if you could strike up a communication with Mirrikh and get from him a letter of safe conduct out of this infernal country!” exclaimed the Doctor. “Eh, Maurice? What do you think of that?”
​“I think it as unnecessary as it is under existing conditions impossible. Before we parted, Mr. Mirrikh promised that matter should be attended to, and rely upon it he will keep his word. By the way, George, he sent his warmest regards to you, and to you too, Doctor. He said that it was not likely he should ever return to earth again for a permanent stay, but if he did he should certainly look you up.”
“Then by Jove! I hope he won’t look me up!” growled the Doctor; “for my part I’ve seen quite enough of him.”
Maurice laughed; begging a match of me he proceeded to light the pipe.
“Ah, this is like old times,” he said, giving two or three preliminary puffs.
For ten or fifteen minutes we sat there chatting quite comfortably. Indeed Maurice was so much the old Maurice that I was just beginning to wonder if it would not come around all right, when all at once he was seized with a most violent fit of coughing and choking and the pipe dropped from his hand.
“Oh God! Oh! Oh! This is frightful!” he groaned. “Oh, I am suffocating! I’ve done it now! George! George! Help her! Help!”
He pressed his hand to his forehead, half arose, but instantly fell back again, his face deathly white.
Then relief came, and the Doctor felt that his efforts to increase the consumption of rice in this section of Thibet had been wasted. As he gasped and choked I saw that strange look creep over his face again, and with it came a change of speech, and Maurice began muttering wildly in the unknown tongue.
“Tobacco sick, by Jove!” cried the Doctor. “An old smoker too! Can’t account for it. What’s he mumbling about? What did he mean by upon calling you to help her?”
“Let us help him," I answered hastily. “Come Doctor, we must get him to my bed.”
“Which being of sand is a shade softer than the stone. All right, my boy. Maurice, you’ll have to walk now.”
But there was no Maurice to answer us so far as intelligence went. He kept on muttering strange words and wept, holding out his hands beseechingly. The Doctor took him on one side and I on the other and together we raised him up. It was painful to witness the struggle he made to walk. He would plant one foot forward and hold on to us ​desperately while he dragged the other to its proper position, talking all the while in that same unknown language. At last we succeeded in getting him to the place where I usually slept and laid him down. In a few moments he sank off to sleep.
Long the Doctor and I sat watching him, discussing his strange condition in all its bearings. The face turned toward us was in no sense Maurice’s; we studied it carefully and were both of the opinion that it was a face in which the feminine strongly predominated. I took occasion to feel not only of the pulse but also the heart several times. That the pulse had a double action was undeniable, and it was precisely the same with the heart. We could feel two distinct beats with each throb it gave. The Doctor made a most careful examination of the lungs also, but could detect no difference there.
“One thing is certain, George,” he said at last; “your friend has come back to us in a most remarkable condition. If he survives it will be a miracle. His whole internal organism seems to be deranged.”
“Suppose we call Padma in consultation?” I suggested. “He must be over his anger by this time. I’m sure he will not refuse.”
To this the Doctor agreed, and as he had been the offending party, it was decided that I should be the one to go and fetch the old lama, and I accordingly started down the cave in the darkness, expecting to see the light which the lamas always kept burning as soon as I rounded a certain angle, for between our quarters and those of the lamas the cave took a sharp turn.
Soon I caught the glimmer of the lamp and hurried forward more rapidly. I thought it a bit strange that I did not see Ni-fan-lu or one of the other lamas on guard, for one invariably watched while his companions slept, but not one of them was visible now.
How still it was! I believe the slightest sound would have caused me to start in terror, for the recollection of those unearthly visitants was still strong upon me. At last I reached the lamp, which rested upon a large flat stone around which the lamas usually lay at night, and to my astonishment could not discover a soul.
Like a flash the truth dawned upon me. I seized the lamp and hurried toward a small recess where Padma slept alone.
​This was also vacant. Back again into the open cave I flew, and flashed the lamp toward the corner where the lamas kept the bags and various belongings sent down the shute from Psam-dagong. Not a vestige of any of these articles remained.
“They have deserted us!” I murmured, striving to be calm; “they have deserted and Ah Schow has gone with them! It is long past midnight, and this must be the morning of the day they have been looking forward to. This is Padma’s revenge.”
With tottering steps I moved toward the cañon. The rawhide bridge over which the lamas had toiled so patiently was missing too, and I strained my eyes as I approached the mouth of the cave, expecting to see it laid across the rift.
Now the roar of the torrent greeted me. I could hear the water’s swash against the rocky walls as it went tumbling through the chasm. Then a splash of rain struck my face, and my ears caught another sound. It was the rushing of the wind through the cañon, and I knew that the storm was still raging above us. Ten steps more and I had reached the brink.
The bridge was there! Oh yes, it was there! I could see it
with hideous distinctness as I flashed the light across the rift.
At my feet was the iron peg driven into the rock, by which it had been fastened, but the bridge lay all in a heap on the other side of the cañon, close to the entrance of the passage. By what occult power it had been conveyed there, God alone could tell, but there it was, and who could question that over it the last lama had crossed, and then, doubtless by Padma’s direction, our escape had been cut off.
We were deserted. Left alone to face the horrors of the cave until Death should come to our relief!