The dim figures
of his childhood's imagination gave place to definite forms. And each bore
the same face, each face the same grave goodness--that of the woman
destined for him by Heaven.
CHAPTER VII
THE SECOND GENERATION
Thus it came to pass that after more than a quarter of a century the gates
of the palace were thrown open, and strange feet crossed the threshold in
apparent peace and friendship.
A crowd of memories flooded Colonel Carmichael's mind as he followed the
guide along the narrow paths. There was a difference between his last
entry and this--a difference and an analogy whose bizarre completeness
came home to him more vividly with every moment. Then, too, he had been
led, but by a dark figure whose flaming torch had sprung through the
darkness like an unearthly spirit of destruction. Then, too, he had
followed--not, as now, old and saddened--but impetuously, and behind him
had raced no crowd of laughing pleasure-seekers, but men whose bloody
swords were clasped in hands greedy for the long-deferred vengeance. He
remembered clearly what they had felt. For a year they had been held at
bay by a skill and cunning which outmatched their most heroic efforts, and
now, at last, the hour of victory was theirs. He remembered how the thirst
for revenge had died down as they stormed the marble steps. No living
being barred their course. Stillness greeted them as they poured into the
mighty hall, and a chilly awe sank down upon their red-hot rage as they
searched an emptiness which seemed to defy them.
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