Fearing, whilst he hated the mysterious being thus strangely thrust into his most inmost secrets, Father Morris promised obedience, and the Mummy, his wild eyes flashing triumph, held out his hand to him. “Give me your hand,” said he, “and let us seal our compact.” Father Morris shuddered, for the words of the Mummy recalled those he had just employed, when this fearful apparition broke in upon him, and brought with them a train of thoughts he would now willingly have shaken off. He did not dare, however, to refuse, and reluctantly held out his hand: the Mummy seized it with an iron grasp, and an icy chill seemed to creep to Father Morris’s heart, as his hideous ally burst into one of his demon-like laughs and left him to his own meditations.
Unable to shake off the horror that oppressed him, for he felt as though he had entered into a compact with a fiend, the priest stood immoveable, gazing at the supernatural appearance of Cheops, as he stalked across the terrace. His gaunt figure (rendered more awful by the grave-clothes that bound it) was magnified in the moonbeams, which seemed to increase, rather than to mitigate the unearthly ugliness of the apparition they shone upon. The priest was fixed in a fearful trance: in imagination, he still felt the cold and iron grasp of the Mummy, whose eyes seemed as though they were still looking into his very soul, and whose solemn accents were even now scaring his faculties. At length, however, Father Morris recovered something of his self-possession, and fled from the spot (he scarcely knew in what direction) under the fear, at every turning, of again encountering the dreaded Mummy!
XIV
When the reverend father took refuge in his chamber after this fearful and memorable interview, he felt that strange mysterious sensation of something dreadful hanging over him, though he scarcely knew what, which so often weighs upon the mind when any great and unexpected change has taken place in our destiny. He threw himself upon a sofa, and endeavoured in vain to analyze his feelings. He was not superstitious; but there was something about the Mummy that inspired him with awe in spite of himself, and he felt that he was no longer his own master, for a supernatural power seemed to mingle with his designs, and control his actions: he endeavoured in vain to recur to the plans he had that morning arranged for gaining over partisans to the side of Rosabella; he could not govern his ideas; he could no longer direct them as he wished; one sole thought occupied his mind, one sole image floated before his senses. He held his head with his hands, he pressed them firmly against his ears, and closed his eyes, as though by shutting out external objects his mind could recover its tone. It was all in vain! the gaunt figure of the Mummy still seemed to stalk before his eyes, and his fiendish laugh still to ring in his ears. Father Morris rose from his couch and threw open his window; the cool evening breeze revived him, and restored his faculties. He now began to reason with himself.
“It is very strange,” said he; “but unaccountable though it may seem, the destinies of this fearful being are evidently interwoven with mine. His appearance here at this eventful moment, and his forcing himself upon my confidence, which a secret power superior to my own prevented the possibility of my refusing him, cannot surely be accidental. No, no—he is permitted to revisit this earth for some positive and definite purpose; perchance to counteract my plans, perchance to aid them. There is no vanity in the thought; for upon my destiny, at this moment, hangs that of a mighty empire, and I feel that I am but a blind instrument in the hands of Fate, condemned to work, mole-like, in the dark, uncertain whether I be not drawing destruction upon my head at the very moment when I fancy I am attaining the pinnacle of happiness and glory. However, I will not be wanting to myself; this strange agent may be sent to aid me, and it shall not be my fault if I do not avail myself of his assistance.”
The night was now far advanced, sleep had waved his leaden pinions over the inhabitants of the late noisy city, and no sound broke upon the stillness that spread around, save the great bell of the ancient cathedral of St. Paul’s, which tolled solemnly at lengthened intervals, to announce the death of the departed Queen. The contemplation of nature always soothes the mind, and Father Morris, as he gazed upon the quiet garden sleeping in the calm moonbeams, felt half his cares pass away, and refreshed by the cool breeze, which now blew keenly from the water, he closed his window and prepared to retire for the night; but what was his horror, on turning round, to find, stretched upon the couch he had so lately occupied, the dreaded Mummy!—his eyes fixed upon the brilliant constellation of Orion, and his lips murmuring an address to the deity he fancied it to represent.
“Yes, blessed Horus!” cried Cheops, as Father Morris gazed upon him with indescribable emotions; “thou wilt hear my prayer, for thou hast also been a stranger in a foreign land; forced even in thy mother’s arms to fly, pursued by all the fury of fell Typhon’s rage; thou knowest how to pity the unhappy! And thou too, bright Isis!” continued he, addressing the moon, “thou also hast known sorrow; when thy streaming tears occasioned the first overflowing of the Nile, and grief for the loss of Osiris rent thy bosom with despair—then becamest thou well fitted to be patroness of the wretched. O
