Page:The Best continental short stories of and the yearbook of the continental short story 1924-25.pdf/73

 chanting is the sound of Fame’s trumpet! That divine breath which lifts Fame’s locks and stirs her white robe makes drunken the hearts of men. Severus is nearing his goal. He is standing at the threshold of ancient secrets whose mystery he is about to solve. To him is granted the power to gain the friendship of those who mistrust, the craft to urge on the courage of hesitant lips, the wit to find the meaning of the silent tongue. Mouths which the fear of betraying old secrets has sealed for all others in the world will now bestow their favors upon him.

Severus is always safe, death never threatens him, on those travels of his. He is bold, and he will never be sacrificed upon the dark soil which yields its secrets to his searching mind. That soil knows that Severus is no stranger, knows that Severus is its loving friend. Severus inclines his head to drink deep at the bosom of that somber land. And, as to her helpless but beloved child, that somber land, old Africa, talks low to Severus, and lulls him with her tales. The thirst within him is quenched as he listens. He is at the goal. The veil of Time’s long night will be rent before his glance, the ancient earth is half persuaded to reveal the symbols of a divine antiquity.

Severus strains his ear, astonished to behold the fulfilment of his life’s desire. And yet there ascends from the depths of his soul the memory of Edith, of his life’s dearest love, of his beloved wife, and he feels the memory flowing all through his being and rising clear before his eyes.

“May God bless all things which he hath created! Lovely are Cassay and Kordofan! All is beautiful in the great Soudan, all is noble among the Kabyles, between the Mandé and the Mossy, all is marvelous in the Sahel country! Haach! Dierra, Agada, Ganna, Silla! Haach! Fassa!”

Severus hearkens. The veil is vanishing from the lost secrets. An old man who remembers the traditions of his ancestors is speaking. He repeats the very words they used. He has put wheat grains on his tongue. Never could one whisper more low and softly than he now whispers, as he mouths the wheat grains. Never can softer words be spoken in the assemblies of men than are the