The quartet listened eagerly to the explanations given by our angel. Suddenly the leader addressed some question to Persephone, as Rhodes called her. And then we heard it!
"Drome," was her answer.
There it was, distinct, unmistakable, that mysterious word which had given us so many strange and wild thoughts and visions. Yes, there it was; and it was an answer, I thought, that by no means put the man's mind at ease.
Drome! Drome at last. But—what did it mean? Drome! There, we distinctly heard the angel pronounce the word again. Drome! If we could only have understood the words being spoken! But there was no mistaking, I thought, the manner of the angel. It was earliest, and yet, strangely enough, that Sibylline quality about her was now more pronounced than ever. But there was no mistaking her manner; she was endeavoring to reassure him, to al-lay, it seemed, some strange uneasiness or fear. I noticed, however, with some vague, sinister misgivings, that in this she was by no means as successful as she herself desired. Why did we see in the eyes of the leader, and in those of the others, so strange, so mysterious a look whenever those eyes were turned toward that spot where Milton Rhodes and I stood?
However, these gloomy thoughts were suddenly broken, but certainly not banished. With an acquiescent reply—at any rate, so I thought it—to the angel, the leader abruptly faced us. He placed his bow and arrow upon the ground, slipped the quiver from his back, drew his sword—it was double-bladed. I now noted—from its scabbard and deposited them, too, upon the ground. His companion was following suit, the two girls, who were now holding the lights, standing by motionless and silent.
The men advanced a few paces. Each placed his sword hand over his heart, uttered something in measured and sonorous tones and bowed low to us—a proceeding, I noted out of the corner of my eye, that not a little pleased our angel.
Chapter 23
That We only Knew the Secret
"Well," remarked Milton Rhodes, his expression one of the utmost gravity, "when in Drome, Bill, do as the Dromans do."
And we returned the bow of the Hypogeans, whereupon the men stepped back to their weapons, which they at once resumed, and the young woman, without moving from the spot, inclined her head to us in a most stately fashion. Bow again from Rhodes and myself.
This ceremony over—I hoped that we had done the thing handsomely—the angel turned to us and told us (in pantomime, of course) that we were now friends and that her heart was glad.
"Friends!" said I to myself. "You are no gladder, madam, than I am; but all the same I am going to be on my guard."
The girls moved to the angel and with touching tenderness examined her bleeding wrist, which the younger at once proceeded to bandage carefully. She had made to bathe the wound, but this the angel had not permitted—from which it was patent that there would be no access to water for some time yet.
Our Amalthea and her companions now held an earnest consultation. Again AA r e heard her pronounce that word Drome. And again we saw in the look and mien of the others doubt and uneasiness and something, I thought, besides. But this was for a few moments only. Either they acquiesced wholly in what the angel
