# Drome/Chapter 19

Chapter 19
The Angel and Her Demon
"T shouldn't be a bit surprized," said Milton. "And a strange bridge, that, truly. It looks like a ruin, a ruin that has not fallen."
​It was a ruin indeed. So ruinous was it that I wondered how the mass could possibly remain intact. A short advance, however, and the mystery was solved. The hand of man had not builded that great arch across this dreadful chasm; nature had fashioned it, there in that region of everlasting darkness. It has, Rhodes said, a remarkable semblance to the celebrated Natural Bridge in Virginia.
A short space, and we stood upon it, gazing across. Its width here was about sixty feet. The surface, was, comparatively speaking, a smooth one, and it had a rather pronounced slope upward—a circumstance by no means conducive to security of footing. And a feature that I noticed with some unpleasant misgivings was the diminution of width at the farther end. Just how wide it was there we could not tell, what with the uncertain light that struggled to the spot; but we saw enough to know that that way which we should have to cross was a very narrow one indeed; and on either side the black chasm yawning to receive us. And just beyond, dim and ghostly as though seen in a dream, stupendous columns rose up and were involved in the darkness of the lofty cavern.
"What on earth arc those?" I queried. "It reminds one of a Grecian temple."
"Limestone pillars, no doubt," returned Milton.
"And it's there," I exclaimed, my voice, however, low and guarded, "that they are waiting for us! That is where those lights were."
"I suppose so."
"They'll wait until we get in that cursed narrow place, and then——"
"And then?"
"Well," I told him, "we had better say our prayers before we start across."
Rhodes laughed. I thought, though, that there was a touch of the sardonic in his laugh. Little wonder, forsooth, if 'twas so, for the thing was fraught with terrible possibilities.
"What," I asked, "are we to do?"
"Cross over—if we are permitted to do so."
If we should be permitted to do so!
I gazed into the black profundity of the chasm, and felt very sad.
"Holy Gorgons," I said, "haven't we got into a fine pickle, though?"
"I'll tell you what we'll do, Bill: you remain here, like Horatius at the bridge, while I explore along the ledge."
"I don't like it," I told him. "United we stand—well, you know the rest of it."
He was silent for some moments. Then: "I think that we can risk it. Bill."
"Very well," I acquiesced, shrugging my shoulders. "But I tell you that I don't like it at all."
The next moment, however, he had turned and was moving down the ledge. I stepped back to the wall (upon which two inscriptions were traced) and waited the result with such composure as I could summon.
At last Rhodes moved behind a projection in the wall. A moment, and the glow of his light had vanished. He was gone, and I was alone in that terrible place.
The blackness seemed to increase, the shadows to thicken about me and grow denser. But one sound broke the awful silence, which sound seemed to have a quality tangible, crushing—the growl of the water in the abysmal depths of the chasm. And even that sound, as I stood there listening, watching, waiting, seemed to change; it seemed to sink to a murmur. then a whisper, as though evil spirits were hushing it to lull my suspicions and even my very senses.
What was that? I started, and something shot through my very heart, chilling and sharp as the needle point of an icicle.
​Surely I had seen it. Yes! There it was again, dim but unmistakable, there by one of the great columns—a single point of light, an eye staring at me with a greenish fire.
Yes, there it was! Then of a sudden it was gone.
For a time I stood peering and waiting, the blood throbbing in my ears; but it was not seen again.
I turned and looked down the ledge, and I gave an exclamation that was one of relief and joy, for there was Rhodes just come into view around that projection in the wall.
"What," I asked as he drew near, "did you find down there?"
"We can't go down. The shelf is broken—nothing but sheer wall between. So it's across the bridge for us."
"We may never reach the other side."
And then I told him what I had seen.
"And," I asked, "didn't Grandfather Scranton say that the eyes of the demon burned with a greenish fire?"
Rhodes nodded.
"Of course, though," he said, "light has to reach them, or the eyes can't shine. In absolute darkness they would not do so."
"That eye shone, though ghostly, for the light that reaches that spot is dim. And so the angel at least—and heaven only knows what besides—is waiting there with her demon!"
"Yes, Bill; there can be no doubt that the eye which you saw belonged to a demon. The prospect is certainly a sinister one, I admit."
A silence ensued. Of a sudden Rhodes raised his voice and hallooed: "Hello there!"
The answer came almost on the instant: "Hello there—hello there—hello there—hello—hello!"
"'Tis only Echo, lovely Echo," smiled Milton Rhodes.
Again he raised his voice, and again the words were thrown back at him.
"Hear that, Bill?" he cried whilst the echoes were still sounding. "I heard it."
"That was no echo!"
"No," I said; "it was no echo!"
We waited, listening intently, but that sound which had come with the echoes was not heard again.
Rhodes drew his revolver and examined the weapon most carefully. He looked at me curiously, and then he said: "I have no desire, Bill, to disguise the fact that this crossing may prove a most, a most—Bill, it may prove——"
"You needn't tell me," said I. "I know very well what it may mean."
"But we can't turn back, Bill."
"No; we can't turn back."
He reached out his hand and grasped mine. And then, without another word, we started.
I had known some critical, terrible, horrible scenes in my life; but never anything like the suspense and mystery of those moments that now succeeded. What were we to see? What were we to meet? And, horror of horrors, it would be in that place where the bridge narrowed to a mere ribbon—the frightful depths yawning on each side, almost at our very feet.
Well, at last we reached it. My head began to swim, so terrible was the place, and I had to stop and get a grip upon my nerves. Rhodes too paused, and for some moments we stood there, so near to safety and yet—the mockery of it!—closer than ever to mystery and danger and perhaps horror unnamable.
"Now for it, Bill!" said Rhodes. "Keep your revolver ready for instant action!"
And we started across. The place was so narrow that we could not think of walking side by side. Rhodes was leading. And then it came—when we had taken eight or ​ten steps, when we had reached the most dangerous spot on that ribbon of rock.
Of a sudden a dark figure, straining at its leash, moved from behind one of the limestone pillars, and two eyes shone horribly in the light, burning with a greenish fire, and the strong rays were flashed back in the horrid gleam of teeth. And, beside that demoniac shape, a tall figure appeared, a figure clothed in white, the eyes wide and blazing, the face white as snow and framed in gleaming gold, which fell in masses about the shoulders—a figure majestic, indescribably lovely and dreadful.
It was the angel and her demon!