Behind me stands the
graven statue of a goddess with a calm and cruel face, in front of the
altar burns a fire, and on the altar white-robed priests are sacrificing
an infant which cries aloud."
"Pass on, pass on," Meyer said hurriedly, as though the horror of that
scene had leapt to his eyes. "Pass on two thousand seven hundred years
and tell me what you see."
Again there was a pause, while the spirit he had evoked in the body of
Benita lived through those ages. Then slowly she answered:
"Nothing, the place is black and desolate, only the dead sleep beneath
its floor."
"Wait till the living come again," he commanded; "then speak."
"They are here," she replied presently. "Tonsured monks, one of whom
fashions this crucifix, and their followers who bow before the Host upon
the altar. They come, they go--of whom shall I tell you?"
"Tell me of the Portuguese; of those who were driven here to die."
"I see them all," she answered, after a pause. "Two hundred and three of
them. They are ragged and wayworn and hungry. Among them is a beautiful
woman, a girl. She draws near to me, she enters into me. You must ask
her,"--this was spoken in a very faint voice--"I am I no more."
Mr. Clifford attempted to interrupt, but fiercely Meyer bade him to be
silent.
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