there is a doubt, I am with you. My belief is that unless you instantly exercise all the force of your will to throw off the glamor this man has cast over you, my dear boy, you are hopelessly lost.”
“No, George, no! It cannot be. I am favored as never man was favored before—I am going to Mars and I shall return.”
“Maurice! Maurice! Will nothing arouse you?”
“I don’t want to be aroused.”
“There is just the trouble. You”
“Stop, George! This is all old ground, there is no profit for either of us in treading it again. Good-bye, old friend. God bless you! Good-bye!”
He tore himself away, though I tried to stop him. The next I knew he was shaking hands with the Doctor and the man Mirrikh had hold of me.
The instant his hand touched mine it was as though I had experienced a powerful electric shock. Through my brain some subtle magnetic current seemed darting—the same sensations shot down my back and into my legs and feet. I would have sprung toward Maurice, but to my horror found myself rooted to the floor with my eyes fixed upon his eyes and my tongue helpless; I could no longer speak.
“Farewell, friend Wylde,” he said, pressing my hand warmly. “Pardon me for rendering you powerless to defeat our plans. I have left you your intelligence, however—you shall see us go!”
I tried to speak—to curse him. Oh God! how hard I tried—how utterly I failed!
“Do not fear!” he added. “I swear to you by God eternal that Maurice De Veber shall return!”
Still I struggled—struggled with all the strength of my will—still I failed.
Now he withdrew his hand and raised it theatrically; mine, released, falling helplessly to my side.
“Write!” he said, a rapt expression overspreading his countenance. “Write and let the world know! Farewell, my friend! Farewell!”
He moved toward the altar before which old Padma now knelt in silent prayer.
My eyes followed him; though helpless physically, my brain was unaltered in its activity.
An immeasurable passivity seemed to have settled over
