The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1920-01-30

the tunnel he had dropped the candle.
Presently, hoping against hope that It
| had fallen upon the floor Of the pas
sageway, rather than back into the
depths of the well, he rose upon all
tours and commenced & diligent search
for the little tallow cylinder, which
now seemed infinitely more precious
to him than all the fabulous wealth Of
the boarded ingots Of Opar.
| And when, at last, he found II, he
clasped It to him and sank back sob.
bling and exhausted. For many mins
utes he lay trembling and broken; but
finally he drew himself to a sitting
posture, and with the light he found
1t easier to regain control of his
nerves, and presently he was again
making his way along the tunnel i'm
search of an avenue Of escape. The
horrid cry that had come down to
him from above through the ancient
well-shaft still haunted him, so that
he trembled in terror at even the
sounds of his own cautious advance.
A long, dark corridor showed before
him, but before he had followed 1t far,
his candle burned down until 1t
scorched his fingers. With an oath he
dropped 1T to the floor, where 1t sput-
tered for moment and went out.
Slowly he CROPPED his way along,
feeling with his hands upon the tun-
nel's walls, and cautiously with his
| feet ahead of him upon the floor be-
fore he would take a single forward
| step. How long he crept on thus he
could not guess; but at last, feeling
that the tunnels length was inter
minable, and exhausted by his efforts,
by terror, and loss of sleep, he deter.
mined to lie down and rest before pro.
ceeding farther.
| When he awoke there was no change
in the surrounding blackness. He
might have slept second or day
he could not know; but that he had
| slept for some time was attested by
| the fact that he felt refreshed and
hungry.
| Again he commenced his cropping ad.
vance; but this time he had gone but
short distance when he emerged into
a room, which was lighted through an
| opening in the ceiling, from which
| flight of concrete steps led downward
| to the floor of the chamber
Above him, through the aperture,
Werper could see sunlight glancfng
| from massive columns, which were
twined about by clinging vines. He
listened; but he heard no sound.
Boldly he assembled the stairway, to
find himself in circular court. Just
before him stood stone altar stained
with rusty-brown discolorations. At
the time Werper gave no thought to
an explanation of these stains-later
their origin became all too hideously
| apparent to him.
Besides the opening in the floor, just
behind the altar, through which he
had entered the court from the SUBJ
terranean chamber below, the Belgian
discovered several doors leading from
the Enclosure upon the level of the
floor. Above, and circling the court
yard, was series of open balconies.
Werper felt relieved. He sighed, as
though great weight had been lifted
from his shoulders. He took a step
toward one of the exits, and then he
halted, wide-eyed in establishment and
terror, for almost at the same instant
dozen doors opened in the courtyard
wall and a horde of frightful men
rushed in upon him.
They were the priests of the Flam.
ing God of Opar-the same shaggy,
knotted, hideous little men who had
dragged Jane Clayton to the sacrificial
altar at this very spot years before.
Their long arms, their short and
crooked legs, their close-set, evil eyes,
and their low, receding foreheads gave
them bestial appearance that sent q
qualm of paralyzing fright through the
shaken nerves of the Belgian.
With a scream he turned to flee back
corridors and apartments from which
he had just emerged, but the frightful
men anticipated his intentions. They
blocked the way; they seized him, and
though he fell, groveling upon his
knees before them, begging for his life,
they bound him and hurled him to the
floor of the inner temple.
The priestesses came, ana with them
La, the high priestess. Werper was
raised and laid across the altar. Cold
sweat exuded from his every pore as
La raised the cruel, sacrificial knife
above him. The death chant fell upon,
his tortured ears. His staring eyes
wandered to the golden goblets from
which the hideous votaries would soon
quench their inhuman thirst in his
own, warm life-blood.
He wished that he might be granted
the brief respite of unconsciousness
before the final plunge of the keen
blade-and then there was frightful
roar that sounded almost in his ears.
The high priestess lowered her dagger.
Her eyes went wide in horror. The
priestesses, her votaresses, screamed
and fed madly toward the exits. The
priests roared out their rage and ter
ror according to the temper of their