



The Jewel of Seven Stars


by

Bram Stoker




To Eleanor and Constance Hoyt




Contents


     I  A Summons in the Night
    II  Strange Instructions
   III  The Watchers
    IV  The Second Attempt
     V  More Strange Instructions
    VI  Suspicions
   VII  The Traveller’s Loss
  VIII  The Finding of the Lamps
    IX  The Need of Knowledge
     X  The Valley of the Sorcerer
    XI  A Queen’s Tomb
   XII  The Magic Coffer
  XIII  Awaking From the Trance
   XIV  The Birth-Mark
    XV  The Purpose of Queen Tera
   XVI  The Cavern
  XVII  Doubts and Fears
 XVIII  The Lesson of the “Ka”
   XIX  The Great Experiment




Chapter I

A Summons in the Night


It all seemed so real that I could hardly imagine that it had ever
occurred before; and yet each episode came, not as a fresh step in the
logic of things, but as something expected. It is in such a wise that
memory plays its pranks for good or ill; for pleasure or pain; for weal
or woe. It is thus that life is bittersweet, and that which has been
done becomes eternal. Again, the light skiff, ceasing to shoot through the lazy water as when
the oars flashed and dripped, glided out of the fierce July sunlight
into the cool shade of the great drooping willow branches—I standing
up in the swaying boat, she sitting still and with deft fingers
guarding herself from stray twigs or the freedom of the resilience of
moving boughs. Again, the water looked golden-brown under the canopy
of translucent green; and the grassy bank was of emerald hue. Again,
we sat in the cool shade, with the myriad noises of nature both without
and within our bower merging into that drowsy hum in whose sufficing
environment the great world with its disturbing trouble, and its more
disturbing joys, can be effectually forgotten. Again, in that blissful
solitude the young girl lost the convention of her prim, narrow
upbringing, and told me in a natural, dreamy way of the loneliness of
her new life. With an undertone of sadness she made me feel how in that
spacious home each one of the household was isolated by the personal
magnificence of her father and herself; that there confidence had no
altar, and sympathy no shrine; and that there even her father’s face
was as distant as the old country life seemed now. Once more, the
wisdom of my manhood and the experience of my years laid themselves at
the girl’s feet. It was seemingly their own doing; for the individual
“I” had no say in the matter, but only just obeyed imperative orders. And once again the flying seconds multiplied themselves endlessly. For
it is in the arcana of dreams that existences merge and renew
themselves, change and yet keep the same—like the soul of a musician
in a fugue. And so memory swooned, again and again, in sleep. It seems that there is never to be any perfect rest. Even in Eden the
snake rears its head among the laden boughs of the Tree of Knowledge. The silence of the dreamless night is broken by the roar of the
avalanche; the hissing of sudden floods; the clanging of the engine
bell marking its sweep through a sleeping American town; the clanking
of distant paddles over the sea....  Whatever it is, it is breaking the
charm of my Eden. The canopy of greenery above us, starred with
diamond-points of light, seems to quiver in the ceaseless beat of
paddles; and the restless bell seems as though it would never cease....

All at once the gates of Sleep were thrown wide open, and my waking
ears took in the cause of the disturbing sounds. Waking existence is
prosaic enough—there was somebody knocking and ringing at someone’s
street door. I was pretty well accustomed in my Jermyn Street chambers to passing
sounds; usually I did not concern myself, sleeping or waking, with the
doings, however noisy, of my neighbours. But this noise was too
continuous, too insistent, too imperative to be ignored. There was
some active intelligence behind that ceaseless sound; and some stress
or need behind the intelligence. I was not altogether selfish, and at
the thought of someone’s need I was, without premeditation, out of bed. Instinctively I looked at my watch. It was just three o’clock; there
was a faint edging of grey round the green blind which darkened my
room. It was evident that the knocking and ringing were at the door of
our own house; and it was evident, too, that there was no one awake to
answer the call. I slipped on my dressing-gown and slippers, and went
down to the hall door. When I opened it there stood a dapper groom,
with one hand pressed unflinchingly on the electric bell whilst with
the other he raised a ceaseless clangour with the knocker. The instant
he saw me the noise ceased; one hand went up instinctively to the brim
of his hat, and the other produced a letter from his pocket. A neat
brougham was opposite the door, the horses were breathing heavily as
though they had come fast. A policeman, with his night lantern still
alight at his belt, stood by, attracted to the spot by the noise. “Beg pardon, sir, I’m sorry for disturbing you, but my orders was
imperative; I was not to lose a moment, but to knock and ring till
someone came. May I ask you, sir, if Mr. Malcolm Ross lives here?”

“I am Mr. Malcolm Ross.”

“Then this letter is for you, sir, and the bro’am is for you too, sir!”

I took, with a strange curiosity, the letter which he handed to me. As
a barrister I had had, of course, odd experiences now and then,
including sudden demands upon my time; but never anything like this. I
stepped back into the hall, closing the door to, but leaving it ajar;
then I switched on the electric light. The letter was directed in a
strange hand, a woman’s. It began at once without “dear sir” or any
such address:

“You said you would like to help me if I needed it; and I believe you
meant what you said. The time has come sooner than I expected. I am
in dreadful trouble, and do not know where to turn, or to whom to
apply. An attempt has, I fear, been made to murder my Father; though,
thank God, he still lives. But he is quite unconscious. The doctors
and police have been sent for; but there is no one here whom I can
depend on. Come at once if you are able to; and forgive me if you can. I suppose I shall realise later what I have done in asking such a
favour; but at present I cannot think. Come! Come at once! MARGARET
TRELAWNY.”

Pain and exultation struggled in my mind as I read; but the mastering
thought was that she was in trouble and had called on me—me! My
dreaming of her, then, was not altogether without a cause. I called
out to the groom:

“Wait! I shall be with you in a minute!”  Then I flew upstairs. A very few minutes sufficed to wash and dress; and we were soon driving
through the streets as fast as the horses could go. It was market
morning, and when we got out on Piccadilly there was an endless stream
of carts coming from the west; but for the rest the roadway was clear,
and we went quickly.