But no help came. Instead the solid rock began to quake, and a faint greenish glow lit up the tunnel. Through her closed eyelids she saw the hellish radiance, and twisting her head beheld with starting eyes the monstrous Thing which was crawling up behind her. Lit with its own horrid light it came, a living stream of putrefaction, a tidal wave of darkness, filling the tunnel from wall to wall, writhing and quivering with abominable purpose.
Had she stayed and faced it, calling upon God for help, it is impossible to say what the outcome would have been, but it was more than mortal flesh could bear. With one shriek of pure terror she was on her feet and flying headlong up the passage. It was her dream come true.
Twice she caught her foot on the boulder-strewn floor and fell headlong, but each time she struggled up, numb with fear and regardless of her bruises.
When she reached the foot of the steps leading up to the crypt she was on the verge of collapse, her breath sobbing in her throat and her heart pounding chokingly, but with renewed hope she dragged herself up towards safety.
The altar-stone was down. She was trapped!
At the foot of the steps the horror was surging, swelling and crawling up. As it came, so the awful Personality which dwelt in the veil of darkness which was its substance mocked at her helplessness.
Frantically she beat upon the cruel, unyielding stone above her, until her little hands were bleeding. Then at last her strength failed utterly and she fell senseless on the upper step.
Nicholas Gaunt rose from his chair and flung a velvet cloth over the crystal.
“That, I think, is that, my friend,” he said calmly, but his voice exulted despite himself.
Simon Vaughan sat huddled up, his hands locked together, his features rigid. A thin stream of saliva ran down his chin. When he raised his great head there was horror in his eyes.
“She was so beautiful,” he said dully.
Gaunt laughed harshly, flinging himself upon the bed, and drew out his cigarette-case.
Chapter XV
When Tony went to bed that night his spirit was in a turmoil. He thought that once or twice during the day Valerie had looked at him with something more than mere friendship in her lovely eyes. He scarcely dared to hope, but the thought that she might conceivably return his love well-nigh intoxicated him.
She filled his mind utterly now. Everything else took second place: the great work he was engaged upon, the new philosophy of life he had accepted — all became dream-like and unreal. Was it indeed he, he asked himself incredulously, who had stood in that secret temple in far-off London, vowing to serve none other than the powers of darkness? It could not be. A slender, grey-eyed girl had come into his life, and at one touch had dispelled the murky shadows which clouded it. Her, and her only, would he serve… and she was light, not darkness.
Before going to sleep he toyed for a moment with the idea of visiting her in dream as he had done before, but he dismissed the thought as unworthy. Rigidly composing his mind, he fell into a troubled slumber.
Some hours later he awoke suddenly and sat bolt upright, staring into the darkness. Was it imagination, born of his anxious love, or had he indeed heard Valerie’s voice calling for help in accents of desperate terror?
His heart beat thunderously in his ears, and he trembled in every limb, but, steeling his will, he thrust his mind out from him into the night, feeling for her whereabouts. Her room was empty. Where was she? Desperately he cast around, using every trick he had learnt from Gaunt. Then he saw.
With a smothered cry he leapt out of bed, snatched up his torch, tore open the door, and rushed headlong towards the staircase. Down the stairs he flew, his bare feet padding on the stones. A moment’s struggle with the trap and he was winding down the spiral into the crypt. Darting between the squat pillars, his torch throwing a brilliant splash of light before him, he reached the altar. Precious seconds were wasted struggling with the hidden catch that secured the top, but soon he swung it upwards on its balanced pivot and flashed his lamp within.
There she lay, a pitiful little figure, one bare arm flung over her face, while one step below her the tide of annihilation writhed and crawled.
Too late to reach her. For perhaps one second his mind balked and his heart stopped beating. Let that dark horror but touch her for an instant and she was lost for ever.
In that dreadful moment his mind turned instinctively to the only god he knew — the Lord of Darkness — and as the wordless prayer was uttered power surged through his body, hanging limp over the altar-side. This monstrosity which threatened the very soul of the girl he loved was his, bound to his family by ties centuries old; his to command.
His lips parted and from them flowed the words of power — phrases he had not known he knew, rising from some forgotten ancestral memory. The very air throbbed as the mighty syllables crashed through it.
The tide was stayed. Slowly, reluctantly, the loathsome thing sank back, step by step, quivering with baffled rage.
Instantly Tony was over the altar-side, had gathered Valerie in his arms, and was back again in safety. He laid her gently down and lowered the altar-stone. As the catch clicked into place, so the tension which had upheld him during those awful moments was released, and he sank down beside the girl, trembling violently, and gripped by a dreadful nausea.
When he had recovered somewhat he turned to the girl and gently raised her head. She opened her eyes, dark with terror, and looked up at him. His torch, still burning, lay near by, and she could see his troubled face plainly in the dim light. As she recognized him, so the horror in her eyes faded, and tears came in its stead. Her arms crept about his neck and he bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips. She clung to him, crying softly like a child that has been badly frightened and finds refuge in its mother’s arms.
At last she grew quiet, and, holding his torch with difficulty, he picked her up and carried her back to the great hall. All was still — there seemed to be no one else awake in the building — so he took her to her own room and laid her on the bed. Then he fetched water and bathed her bruised hands.
Neither spoke a word. The terrible experience she had undergone had all but broken Valerie’s spirit, and Tony, with deep understanding, refrained from uttering the questions which crowded to his lips.
Day was breaking when he left her, kissing her gently on the brow, his reward a little smile so tender that, in spite of the gloomy circumstances, his heart burst into song within his breast. But as he made his way quietly to his own room the light died from his face and his brows drew together in a frown of dreadful fury, for he knew instinctively who was responsible for the night of terror which she had been through.
Valerie did not appear at the breakfast-table, and Hamilton was the first to comment on her absence. As he did so Gaunt looked across at his colleague and their eyes met. In an even voice the doctor said:
“Perhaps she is unwell.”
Tony, who had scarcely spoken until then, answered him.
“Yes,” said he, “she is having breakfast in her room, poor child. She had a ghastly experience last night.”
“Why, Tony, what on earth do you mean?” Hamilton’s anxious query fell into the gulf of silence which had opened in their midst. Vaughan looked as if his collar were about to suffocate him, and Gaunt turned deadly pale, clenching his hands beneath the table until the nails drew blood.