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Updated: June 2, 2025
It was a very strange light, consisting of brilliant and intermittent flashes, or globes of blue and lambent flame which seemed to leap from nowhere into nowhere, or sometimes to hang poised in mid air. "How odd they are," said the voice of Bastin behind me. "They remind me of those blue sparks which jump up from the wires of the tramways in London on a dark night. You know, don't you, Bickley?
"It was natural, Humphrey, that you should not believe. Hearken! In this temple a while ago I showed you a picture of myself and of a man who loved me and whom I loved, and of his death at Oro's hands. Did you note anything about that man?" "Bickley did," I answered. "Was he right?" "I think that he was right, since otherwise I should not have loved you, Humphrey."
Bastin felt that his opportunity had arrived, and was making ready to rise to the occasion. Also we felt, all three of us, that we were extremely shabby-looking objects, and though none of us said so, each did his best to improve his personal appearance. First of all Bickley cut Bastin's and my hair, after which I did him the same service.
"Some might be content to suffer for such as I," she answered with quiet sweetness. "Even Bastin and Bickley may be content to suffer in their own little ways." "You know that is not what I meant," I interrupted angrily, for I felt that she was throwing reflections on me. "No; you meant that you agreed with Bickley that I am not quite a woman, as you know women."
"You couldn't help that," said Bickley, "seeing that if you had stopped, by now you would have been wandering in religious light." "Still, I am not sure that I ought not to have stopped. I seem to have deserted a field that was open to me.
For instance, when he uses your mouth to advance his arguments. Bickley, but this is another matter. However, if I do not appear again you will know that I died in a good cause, and, I hope, try to recover my remains and give them decent burial. Also, you might inform the Bishop of how I came to my end, that is, if you ever get an opportunity, which is more than doubtful."
I wonder what Bastin's ideas of unpleasant conversation may be, thought I to myself, as I watched him depart already wool-gathering on some other subject, probably the heresy of one of those "early fathers" who occupied most of his thoughts. Bickley listened to my tale in sympathetic silence, as a doctor does to a patient.
"I haven't the slightest ambition to be a martyr," said Bickley. "No," shouted Bastin from a little distance, "I am quite aware of that, as you have often said so before. Therefore, if you become one, I am sorry to say that I do not see how you can expect any benefit. You would only be like a man who puts a sovereign into the offertory bag in mistake for a shilling.
"You should search the Scriptures, Bickley," I broke in, "and cultivate accuracy. It was fig-leaves that symbolised its arrival. The garments, which I think were of skin, developed later."
After making some further preparations and fidgeting about a little, Bickley announced that as we had now some proper paraffin lamps of the powerful sort which are known as "hurricane," he proposed by their aid to carry out further examinations in the cave. "I think I shall stop where I am," said Bastin, helping himself from the kettle to a fifth pannikin of tea.
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