Page:Weird Tales Volume 09 Issue 02 (1927-02).djvu/68

 Surely I had seen it. Yes! There it was again, dim but unmistakable, there by one of the great columns—a single point of light, an eye staring at me with a greenish fire.

Yes, there it was! Then of a sudden it was gone.

For a time I stood peering and waiting, the blood throbbing in my ears; but it was not seen again.

I turned and looked down the ledge, and I gave an exclamation that was one of relief and joy, for there was Rhodes just come into view around that projection in the wall.

"What," I asked as he drew near, "did you find down there?"

"We can't go down. The shelf is broken—nothing but sheer wall between. So it's across the bridge for us."

"We may never reach the other side."

And then I told him what I had seen.

"And," I asked, "didn't Grandfather Scranton say that the eyes of the demon burned with a greenish fire?"

Rhodes nodded.

"Of course, though," he said, "light has to reach them, or the eyes can't shine. In absolute darkness they would not do so."

"That eye shone, though ghostly, for the light that reaches that spot is dim. And so the angel at least—and heaven only knows what besides—is waiting there with her demon!"

"Yes, Bill; there can be no doubt that the eye which you saw belonged to a demon. The prospect is certainly a sinister one, I admit."

A silence ensued. Of a sudden Rhodes raised his voice and hallooed: "Hello there!"

The answer came almost on the instant: "Hello there—hello there—hello there—hello—hello!"

"'Tis only Echo, lovely Echo," smiled Milton Rhodes.

Again he raised his voice, and again the words were thrown back at him.

"Hear that, Bill?" he cried whilst the echoes were still sounding. "I heard it."

"That was no echo!"

"No," I said; "it was no echo!"

We waited, listening intently, but that sound which had come with the echoes was not heard again.

Rhodes drew his revolver and examined the weapon most carefully. He looked at me curiously, and then he said: "I have no desire, Bill, to disguise the fact that this crossing may prove a most, a most—Bill, it may prove"

"You needn't tell me," said I. "I know very well what it may mean."

"But we can't turn back, Bill."

"No; we can't turn back."

He reached out his hand and grasped mine. And then, without another word, we started.

I had known some critical, terrible, horrible scenes in my life; but never anything like the suspense and mystery of those moments that now succeeded. What were we to see? What were we to meet? And, horror of horrors, it would be in that place where the bridge narrowed to a mere ribbon—the frightful depths yawning on each side, almost at our very feet.

Well, at last we reached it. My head began to swim, so terrible was the place, and I had to stop and get a grip upon my nerves. Rhodes too paused, and for some moments we stood there, so near to safety and yet—the mockery of it!—closer than ever to mystery and danger and perhaps horror unnamable.

"Now for it, Bill!" said Rhodes. "Keep your revolver ready for instant action!"

And we started across. The place was so narrow that we could not think of walking side by side. Rhodes was leading. And then it came—when we had taken eight or