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Page 59
He struck upward, and the bell-note sounded on the ceiling; to the
right, and it came from the window; in my direction, and the tiny bell
seemed to ring beside my ear! I will honestly admit that I was
startled, but:
"Dyak magic," said Colin Camber; "one of nature's secrets not yet
discovered by conventional Western science. It was known to the
Egyptian priesthood, of course; hence the Vocal Memnon. It was known to
Madame Blavatsky, who employed an 'astral bell'; and it is known to
me."
He returned the little instrument to its place upon the cabinet.
"I wonder if the fact will strike you as significant," said he, "that
the note which you have just heard can only be produced between sunrise
and sunset?"
Without giving me time to reply:
"The most notable survival of black magic--that is, the scientific
employment of darkness against light--is to be met with in Haiti and
other islands of the West Indies."
"You are referring to Voodooism?" I said, slowly.
He nodded, replacing his pipe between his teeth.
"A subject, Mr. Knox, which I investigated exhaustively some years
ago."
I was watching him closely as he spoke, and a shadow, a strange shadow,
crept over his face, a look almost of exaltation--of mingled sorrow and
gladness which I find myself quite unable to describe.
"In the West Indies, Mr. Knox," he continued, in a strangely altered
voice, "I lost all and found all. Have you ever realized, sir, that
sorrow is the price we must pay for joy?"
I did not understand his question, and was still wondering about it
when I heard a gentle knock, the door opened, and a woman came in.
CHAPTER XIV
YSOLA CAMBER
I find it difficult, now, to recapture my first impression of that
meeting. About the woman, hesitating before me, there was something
unexpected, something wholly unfamiliar. She belonged to a type with
which I was not acquainted. Nor was it wonderful that she should strike
me in this fashion, since my wanderings, although fairly extensive, had
never included the West Indies, nor had I been to Spain; and this girl
--I could have sworn that she was under twenty--was one of those rare
beauties, a golden Spaniard.
That she was not purely Spanish I learned later.
She was small, and girlishly slight, with slender ankles and exquisite
little feet; indeed I think she had the tiniest feet of any woman I had
ever met. She wore a sort of white pinafore over her dress, and her
arms, which were bare because of the short sleeves of her frock, were
of a child-like roundness, whilst her creamy skin was touched with a
faint tinge of bronze, as though, I remember thinking, it had absorbed
and retained something of the Southern sunshine. She had the swaying
carriage which usually belongs to a tall woman, and her head and neck
were Grecian in poise.
Her hair, which was of a curious dull gold colour, presented a mass of
thick, tight curls, and her beauty was of that unusual character which
makes a Cleopatra a subject of deathless debate. What I mean to say is
this: whilst no man could have denied, for instance, that Val Beverley
was a charmingly pretty woman, nine critics out of ten must have failed
to classify this golden Spaniard correctly or justly. Her complexion
was peach-like in the Oriental sense, that strange hint of gold
underlying the delicate skin, and her dark blue eyes were shaded by
really wonderful silken lashes.
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