The Land of the Changing Sun. Will N. Harben

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      “See,” whispered Thorndyke, in the ear of his companion, “the walls are close to us, and are as perpendicular as those of the lake in which they found us.”

      Johnston said nothing. His attention was riveted to the walls of rock; the vessel was rising rapidly. An hour passed. The soft music had ceased, and the air seemed less dense and fresher. Then the waters suddenly parted over the roof and ran in crystal streams down the oval glass.

      They were on the surface, and the vessel was slowly gliding toward the shore which could not be seen owing to there now being no light except that inside the boat. Captain Tradmos entered, followed by two of his men holding black silken bandages.

      “We must blindfold you,” he said; “captives are not allowed to see the entrance to our kingdom.”

      Without a word they submitted.

      “This way,” said the captain kindly, and, holding to an arm of each, he piloted them out of the vessel to the shore. Then he led them through what they imagined to be a long stone corridor or arcade from the ringing echoes of their feet on the stone pavement. Presently they came to what seemed to be an elevator, for when they had entered it and sat down, they heard a metallic door slide back into its place, and they descended quickly.

      They could form no idea as to the distance they went down; but Thorndyke declared afterward that it was over ten thousand feet. When the elevator stopped Captain Tradmos led them out, and both of the captives were conscious of breathing the purest, most invigorating air they had ever inhaled. Instantly their strength returned, and they felt remarkably buoyant as they were led along over another pavement of polished stone.

      Tradmos laughed. “You like the atmosphere?”

      “I never heard of anything like it,” said Thorndyke. “It is so delightful I can almost taste it.”

      “It was that which made Alpha what it is—the most wonderful country in the universe,” said the officer. “There is much in store for you.”

      The ears of the two captives were greeted by a vague, indefinable hum, like and yet unlike that of a busy city. It was like many far-off sounds carefully muffled. Now and then they heard human voices, laughter, and singing in the distance, and the twanging of musical instruments.

      Then they knew that they were entering a building of some sort, for they heard a key turn in a lock and the humming sound in the distance was cut off. They felt a soft carpet under their feet, and the feet of their guards no longer clinked on the stones.

      When the bandages were removed they found themselves in a sumptuous chamber, alone with the captain. The brilliant light from a quaintly-shaped candelabrum, in the centre of the chamber, dazzled them, but in a few minutes their eyes had become accustomed to it.

      Tradmos seemed to be enjoying the looks of astonishment on their faces as they glanced at the different objects in the room.

      “It is night,” he said smilingly. “You need rest after your voyage. Lie down on the beds and sleep. To-morrow you will be conducted to the palace of the king.”

      With a bow he withdrew, and they heard a massive bolt slide into the socket of a door hidden behind a curtain. The two men gazed at each other without speaking, for a moment, and then they began to inspect the room.

      In alcoves half-veiled with silken curtains stood statues in gold and bronze. The walls and ceilings were decorated with pictures unlike any they had ever seen. Before one, the picture of an angel flying through a dark, star-filled sky, they both stood enchanted.

      “What is it?” asked Thorndyke, finding voice finally. “It is not done with brush or pencil; the features seem alive and, by Jove, you can actually see it breathe. Don't you see the clouds gliding by, and the wings moving?”

      “It is light—it is formed by light!” declared the other enthusiastically, and he ran to the wall, about six feet from the picture, and put his hand on a square metal box screwed to the wall.

      “I have it,” he said quickly, “come here!”

      The Englishman advanced curiously and examined the box.

      “Don't you see that tiny speck of light in the side towards the picture? Well, the view is thrown from this box on the wall, and it is the motion of the powerful light that gives apparent life to the angel. It is wonderful.”

      In a commodious alcove, in a glow of pink light from above, was a life-sized group of musicians—statues in colored metal of a Spanish girl playing a mandora, an Italian with a slender calascione, a Russian playing his jorbon, and an African playing a banjo. Luxurious couches hung by spiral springs from the ceiling to a convenient height from the floor, and here and there lay rugs of rare beauty and great ottomans of artistic designs and colors.

      “We ought to go to bed,” proposed Thorndyke; “we shall have plenty of time to see this Aladdin's land before we get away from it.”

      There were two large downy beds on quaintly wrought bedsteads of brass, but the two captives decided to sleep together.

      Thorndyke was the first to awaken. The lights in the candelabrum were out, but a gray light came in at the top and bottom of the window. He rose and drew the heavy curtain of one of the windows aside. He shrank back in astonishment.

Chapter III.

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      “What is it, Thorndyke? What are you looking at?” And the American slowly left the bed and approached his friend.

      Thorndyke only held the curtain further back and watched Johnston's face as he looked through the wide plate-glass window.

      “My gracious!” ejaculated the latter as he drew nearer. It was a wondrous scene. The building in which they were imprisoned stood on a gentle hill clad in luxuriant, smoothly-cut grass and ornamented with beautiful flowers and plants; and below lay a splendid city—a city built on undulating ground with innumerable grand structures of white marble, with turrets, domes and pinnacles of gold. Wide streets paved in polished stone and bordered with lush-green grass interspersed with statues and beds and mounds of strange plants and flowers stretched away in front of them till they were lost in the dim, misty distance. Parks filled with pavilions, pleasure-lakes, fountains and tortuous drives and walks, dotted the landscape in all directions.

      Thorndyke's breath had clouded the glass of the window, and he rubbed it with his handkerchief. As he did so the sash slowly, and without a particle of sound, slid to one side, disclosing a narrow balcony outside. It had a graceful balustrade, made of carved red-and-white mottled marble, and on the end of the balcony facing the city sat a great gold and silver jug, ten feet high, of rare design. The spout was formed by the body of a dragon with wings extended; the handle was a serpent with the extremity of its tail coiled around the neck of the jug.

      The air that came in at the window was fresh and dewy, and laden with the most entrancing odors. Thorndyke led the way out, treading very gently at first. Johnston followed him, too much surprised to make any comment. From this position, their view to the left round the corner of the building was widened, and new wonders appeared on every hand.

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