A Voyage Of Consolation by Sara Jeannette Duncan (best fiction books to read TXT) 📕

Thick Between Us. He Looked,  In The Light Of His Candle,  Like

Something Of Rembrandt'S Suspended For A Moment Before Us. Dicky Started

After Him,  And,  Presently,  Mrs. Portheris And I Were Regarding Each

Other With More Friendliness Than I Would Have Believed Possible Across

Our Flaring Dips In The Silence Of The Catacombs.

 

"Poor Old Gentleman," I Said; "I Hope Mr. Dod Will Overtake Him."

 

"So Do I,  Indeed," Said Mrs. Portheris. "I Fear We Have Been Very

Inconsiderate. But Young People Are Always So Impatient," She Added,  And

Put The Blame Where It Belonged.

 

I Did Not Retaliate With So Much As A Reproachful Glance. Even As A

Censor Mrs. Portheris Was So Eminently Companionable At The Moment. But

As We Waited For Dicky'S Return Neither Of Us Spoke Again. It Made Too

Much Noise. Minutes Passed,  I Don'T Know How Many,  But Enough For Us To

Look Cautiously Round To See If There Was Anything To Sit On. There

Wasn'T,  So Mrs. Portheris Took My Arm. We Were Not People To Lean On

Each Other In The Ordinary Vicissitudes Of Life,  And Even Under The

Circumstances I Was Aware That Mrs. Portheris Was A Great Deal To

Support,  But There Was Comfort In every Pound Of Her. At Last A Faint

Light Foreshadowed Itself In The Direction Of Dicky'S Disappearance,  And

Grew Stronger,  And Was Resolved Into A Candle And A Young Man,  And Mr.

Dod,  Very Much Paler Than When He Left,  Was With Us Again. Mrs.

Portheris And I Started Apart As If Scientifically Impelled,  And

Exclaimed Simultaneously,  "Where Is Brother Demetrius?"

 

"Nowhere In This Graveyard," Said Dicky. "He'S Well Upstairs By This

Time. Must Have Taken A Short Cut. I Lost Sight Of Him In about Two

Seconds."

 

"That Was Very Careless Of You,  Mr. Dod," Said Mrs. Portheris,  "Very

Careless Indeed. Now We Have No Option,  I Suppose,  But To Rejoin The

Others; And Where Are They?"

 

They Were Certainly Not Where They Had Been. Not A Trace Nor An

Echo--Not A Trace Nor An Echo--Of Anything,  Only Parallelograms Of

Darkness In every Direction,  And Our Little Circle Of Light Flickering

On The Tombs Of Anterus,  And Fabianus,  And Entychianus,  And

Epis--Martyr--And We Three Within It,  Looking At Each Other.

 

"If You Don'T Mind," Said Dicky,  "I Would Rather Not Go After Them. I

Think It'S A Waste Of Time. Personally I Am Quite Contented To Have

Rejoined You. At One Time I Thought I Shouldn'T Be Able To,  And The Idea

Was Trying."

 

"We Wouldn'T _Dream_ Of Letting You Go Again," Said Mrs. Portheris And I

Simultaneously. "But," Continued Mrs. Portheris,  "We Will All Go In

Search Of The Others. They Can'T Be Very Far Away. There Is Nothing So

Alarming As Standing Still."

 

We Proceeded Along The Passage In The Direction Of Our Last Glimpse Of

Our Friends And Relatives,  Passing A Number Of Most Interesting

Inscriptions,  Which We Felt We Had Not Time To Pause And Decipher,  And

Came Presently To A Divergence Which None Of Us Could Remember. Half Of

The Passage Went Down Three Steps,  And Turned Off To The Left Under An

Arch,  And The Other Half Climbed Two,  And Immediately Lost Itself In

Blackness Of Darkness. In Our Hesitation Dicky Suddenly Stooped To A

Trace Of Pink In The Stone Leading Upward,  And Picked It Up--Three Rose

Petals.

 

"That Settles It," He Exclaimed. "Isa--Miss Portheris Was Wearing A

Rose. I Gave It To Her Myself."

 

"Did You,  Indeed," Said Isabel'S Mamma Coldly. "My Dear Child,  How

Anxious She Will Be!"

 

"Oh,  I Should Think Not," I Said Hopefully. "I Am Sure She Can Trust Mr.

Dod To Take Care Of Himself--And Of Us,  Too,  For The Matter Of That."

 

"Mr. Dod!" Exclaimed Mrs. Portheris With Indignation. "My Poor Child'S

Anxiety Will Be For Her Mother."

 

And We Let It Go At That. But Dicky Put The Rose Petals In His Pocket

With The Toe-Bone,  And Hopefully Remarked That There Would Be No

Difficulty About Finding Her Now. I Mentioned That I Had Parents Also,

At That Moment,  Lost In The Catacombs,  But He Did Not Apologize.

 

The Midnight Of The Place,  As We Walked On,  Seemed To Deepen,  And Its

Silence To Grow More Profound. The Tombs Passed Us In Solemn Grey

Ranges,  One Above The Other--The Long Tombs Of The Grown-Up People,  And

The Shorter Ones Of The Children,  And The Very Little Ones Of The

Babies. The Air Held A Concentrated Dolor Of Funerals Sixteen Centuries

Old,  And The Four Dim Stone Walls Seemed To Have Crept Closer Together.

"I Think I Will Take Your Arm,  Mr. Dod," Said Mrs. Portheris,  And "I

Think I Will Take Your Other Arm,  Mr. Dod," Said I.

 

"Thank You," Replied Dicky,  "I Should Be Glad Of Both Of Yours," Which

May Look Ambiguous Now,  But We Quite Understood It At The Time. It Made

Rather Uncomfortable Walking In Places,  But Against That Overwhelming

Majority Of The Dead It Was Comforting To Feel Ourselves A Living Unit.

We Stumbled On,  Taking Only The Most Obvious Turnings,  And Presently The

Passage Widened Into Another Little Square Chamber. "More Bishops!"

Groaned Dicky,  Holding Up His Candle.

 

"Perhaps," I Replied Triumphantly,  "But Jonah,  Anyway," And I Pointed

Him Out On The Wall,  In Two Shades Of Brown,  A Good Deal Faded,  Being

Precipitated Into The Jaws Of A Green Whale With Paws And Horns And A

Smile,  Also A Curled Body And A Three-Forked Tail. The Wicked Deed Had

Two Accomplices Only,  Who Had Apparently Stopped Rowing To Do It.

Underneath Was A Companion Sketch Of The Restitution Of Jonah,  In

Perfect Order,  By The Whale,  Which Had,  Nevertheless,  Grown Considerably

Stouter In The Interval,  While An Amiable Stranger Reclined In an Arbor,

With His Hand Under His Head,  And Looked On.

 

"As A Child Your Intelligence Promised Well," Said Dicky; "That _Is_

Jonah,  Though Not Of The Revised Version. I Don'T Think Bible Stories

Ought To Be Illustrated,  Do You,  Mrs. Portheris? It Has Such A Bad

Effect On The Imagination."

 

"We Can Talk Of That At Another Time,  Mr. Dod. At Present I Wish To Be

Restored To My Daughter. Let Us Push On At Once. And Please Explain How

It Is That We Have Had To Walk So Far To Get To This Place,  Which Was

Only A Few Yards From Where We Were Standing When Brother Demetrius Left

Us!" Mrs. Portheris'S Words Were Commanding,  But Her Tone Was The Tone

Of Supplication.

 

"I'M Afraid I Can'T," Said Dicky,  "But For That Very Reason I Think We

Had Better Stay Where We Are. They Are Pretty Sure To Look For Us Here."

 

"I Cannot Possibly Wait To Be Looked For. I Must Be Restored To My

Daughter! You Must Make An Effort,  Mr. Dod. And,  Now That I Think Of It,

I Have Left The Key Of Our Boxes In The Drawer Of The Dressing-Table,

And The Key Of That Is In It,  And The Housemaid Has The Key Of The

Room. It Is Absolutely Necessary That I Should Go Back To The Hotel At

Once."

 

"My Dear Lady," Said Dicky,  "Don'T You Realize That We Are Lost?"

 

"Lost! Impossible! _Shout_,  Mr. Dod!"

 

Dicky Shouted,  And All The Early Christians Answered Him. There Are Said

To Be Seven Millions. Mrs. Portheris Grasped His Arm Convulsively.

 

"Don'T Do That Again," She Said,  "On Any Account. Let Us Go On!"

 

"Much Better Not," Protested Dicky.

 

"On! On!" Commanded Mrs. Portheris. There Was No Alternative. We Put

Dicky In The Middle Again,  And Cautiously Stepped Out. A Round Of Blue

Paper Under Our Chaperone'S Arm Caught The Eye Of Mr. Dod. "What Luck!"

He Exclaimed,  "You Have Brought The Liqueur With You,  Mrs. Portheris. I

Think We'D Better All Have Some,  If You Don'T Mind. I'Ve Been In Warmer

Cemeteries."

 

As She Undid The Bottle,  Mrs. Portheris Declared That She Already Felt

The Preliminary Ache Of Influenza. She Exhorted Us To Copious Draughts,

But It Was Much Too Nasty For More Than A Sip,  Though Warming To A

Degree.

 

"Better Take Very Little At A Time," Dicky Suggested,  But Mrs. Portheris

Reaffirmed Her Faith In The Virtues Of Eucalyptus,  And With Such Majesty

As Was Compatible With The Neck Of The Bottle,  Drank Deeply. Then We

Stumbled On. Presently Mrs. Portheris Yawned Widely Twice,  Thrice,  And

Again. "I Beg Your Pardon," Said She,  "I Don'T Seem Able To Help It."

 

"It'S The Example Of These Gaping Sepulchres," Dicky Replied. "Don'T

Apologize."

 

The Passages Grew Narrower And More Complex,  The Tombs More Irregular.

We Came To One That Partly Blocked The Path,  Tilted Against The Main

Wall Like A Separate Sarcophagus,  Though It Was Really Part Of The Solid

Rock. Looking Back,  A Wall Seemed To Have Risen Behind Us; It Was A

Distinctly Perplexing Moment,  Hard Upon The Nerves. The Tomb Was Empty,

Except For A Few Bones That Might Have Been Anything Huddled At The

Bottom,  And Mrs. Portheris Sat Down On The Lower End Of It. "I Really Do

Not Feel Able To Go Any Further," She Said; "The Ascent Is So

Perpendicular."

 

I Was Going To Protest That The Place Was As Level As A Street,  But

Dicky Forestalled Me. "Eucalyptus," He Said Soothingly,  "Often Has That

Effect."

 

"We Are Lost," Continued Mrs. Portheris Lugubriously,  "In The Catacombs.

We May As Well Make Up Our Minds To It. We Came Here This Morning At Ten

O'Clock,  And I Should Think,  I Should Think--Thish Mus' Be Minnight On

The Following Day."

 

"My Watch Has Run Down," Said Dicky,  "But You Are Probably Quite Right,

Mrs. Portheris."

 

"It Is Doubtful," Mrs. Portheris Went On,  Pulling Herself Together,

"Whether We Are Ever Found. There Are Nine Hundred Miles Of Catacombs.

Unless We Become Cannibals We Are Likely To Die Of Starvation. If We Do

Become Cannibals,  Mr. Dod," She Added,  Sternly Endeavouring To Look

Dicky In The Eye,  "I Hope You Will Remember What Ish Due To Ladies."

 

"I Will Offer Myself Up Gladly," Said He,  And I Could Not Help

Reflecting Upon The Comfort Of A Third Party With A Sense Of Humour

Under The Circumstances.

 

"Thass Right," Said Mrs. Portheris,  Nodding Approvingly,  And Much

Oftener Than Was Necessary. "Though There Isn'T Much On You--You Won'T

Go Very Far." Then After A Moment Of Gloomy Reflection She Blew Out Her

Candle,  And,  Before I Could Prevent It,  Mine Also. Dicky Hastily Put His

Out Of Reach.

 

"Three Candles At Once," She Said Virtuously,  "In A Room Of This Size!

It Is Wicked Extravagance,  Neither More Nor Less."

 

I Assure You You Would Have Laughed,  Even In The Catacombs,  And Dicky

And I Mutually Approached The Borders Of Hysteria In Our Misplaced

Mirth. Mrs. Portheris Smiled In Unison Somewhat Foolishly,  And We Saw

That Slumber Was Overtaking Her. Gradually And Unconsciously She Slipped

Down And Back,  And Presently Rested Comfortably In The Sepulchre Of Her

Selection,  Sound Asleep.

 

"She Is Right In It," Said Dicky,  Holding Up His Candle. "She'S A Lulu,"

He Added Disgustedly,  "With Her Eucalyptus."

 

This Was Disrespectful,  But Consider The Annoyance Of Losing A Third Of

Our Forces Against Seven Million Early Christian Ghosts. We Sat Down,

Dicky And I,  With Our Backs Against The Tomb Of Mrs. Portheris,  And When

Dicky Suggested That I Might Like Him To Hold My Hand For A Little While

I Made No Objection Whatever. We Decided That The Immediate Prospect,

Though Uncomfortable,  Was Not Alarming,  That We Had Been Wandering About

For Possibly An Hour,  Judging By The Dwindling Of Dicky'S Candle,  And

That Search Must Be Made For Us As Soon As Ever The Others Went Above

Ground And Heard From Brother Demetrius The Tale Of Our Abandonment. I

Said That If I Knew Anything About Momma'S Capacity For Underground

Walking,  The Other Party Would Have Gone Up Long Ago,  And That Search

For Us Was,  Therefore,  In all Likelihood,  Proceeding Now,  Though Perhaps

It Would Be Wiser,  In case We Might Want Them,  To Burn Only One Candle

At A Time. We Had Only To Listen Intently And We Would Hear The Voices

Of The Searchers. We Did Listen,  But All That We Heard Was A Faint Far

Distant Moan,  Which Dicky Tried To Make Me Believe Was The Wind In a

Ventilating Shaft. We Could Also Hear A Prolonged Thumping Very Close To

Us,  But That We Could Each Account For Personally. And Nothing More.

 

"Dicky," Said I After A Time,  "If It Weren'T For The Candle I Believe I

Should Be Frightened."

 

"It'S About The Most Parsimonious Style Of Candle I'Ve Ever Seen,"

Replied Dicky,  "But It Would Give A Little More Light If It Were

Trimmed." And He Opened His Pocket-Knife.

 

"Be Very Careful," I Begged,  And Dicky Said "Rather!"

 

"Did You Ever Notice," He Asked,  "That You Can Touch Flame All Right If

You Are Only Quick Enough? Now,  See Me Take The Top Off That Candle." If

Dicky Had A Fault It Was A Tendency To Boastfulness. He Took The Lighted

Wick Between His Thumb And His Knife-Blade,  And Skilfully Scooped The

Top Off. It Blazed For Two Seconds On