Craft then quickly broke the seals of the ozone bottles, while Hathaway placed the perforated vessel containing the stronetic acid at Cobb’s head.
Craft then placed all of the eight bottles of ozone in the case, and, wrapping his coat about his arm to cover the hole and prevent the escape of the ozone gas, scattered the contents on either side of the body, but not touching the door upon which Cobb lay. Taking his arm out, the door was fastened, and their attention was given to watching for the time when they should commence turning the small wheel at the side of the case.
Save a slight raising of his finger in token of recognition of their last farewell, Cobb had not moved since the closing of the door.
At 2:41 his chest was rising and falling in a regular manner, while a slight tremor of the case denoted his heavy breathing.
As their watches showed 2:51, Craft turned the wheel its first notch. From that moment on, not a word was spoken by either of them, nor a sound made, save the sharp click of the wheel as it turned onward toward the 45th division.
They watched their friend through the glass cover; the heaving of the chest became less and less, the breathing lower and lower, while a purple hue settled upon his body.
At thirty-six minutes past four, the last division of the wheel had been reached. Craft then took a spoonful of plaster, and, inserting his hand carefully inside of the case, pulled out the tube from Cobb’s mouth, and poured the half-liquid plaster into the hole in the cast.
Taking his hand out, the door was carefully fastened and cemented around its edges; the same thing was done around the edges of the lower door. They then put out the fire in the heater, and set the inside spring of the slab door of the pedestal.
Going to the case, Craft laid his hand upon it, and then, kneeling at its side, gave way to his grief, and the tears came thick and fast.
“Come, Craft,” said Hathaway, whose eyes were also filled to overflowing; “come, old boy; it is all over. We have performed our part, and, perhaps, are accessories to a man’s suicide. God be with him! he was a noble man, a true friend, and one we will never cease missing.”
Craft arose, and they passed out into the cool morning air. The marble door swung back upon its hinges, the inside catch gave a sharp sound as it closed upon the latch, and Junius Cobb was entombed alive.
Quickly applying the cement to the edges of this door, as they had done to the glass case inside, the two friends, seeing that it was perfectly set, descended the hill and passed out of sight.
CHAPTER VI
For nearly five years, Jean and Marie Colchis occupied the old house in Duke’s Lane.
The old man worked hard, and long hours were passed in arduous experiments. The ozone machine had performed its mission, and was a thing of the past. The hair on Colchis’ brows was whiter, the lines of care on his face deeper, and his gait slower.
Fortune had smiled upon him. Money had rolled in, and the interior of the dilapidated old building was in strange contrast with the exterior. The rooms were handsomely furnished: bric-a-brac, books, a piano, and a thousand and one little joujous dear to the feminine heart, gave evidence of the hand that had wrought this change – Marie Colchis.
The seventeen-year-old girl to whom Junius Cobb had bidden a tearful adieu, had become a highly educated woman of twenty-one. The beauty of her youth grew with her years. Her disposition was commensurate with her beauty. The solace of her father in his age, the pride of his heart, she became the one object for which he lived and labored.
Often and often had this sweet girl asked of her father some knowledge of Junius Cobb. When would he come? Was it known where he was? and did her father think that he still remembered his old friends in Duke’s Lane? Then, as her thoughts wandered to their last interview, with its sad parting, tears filled her eyes, and her bosom heaved and fell with deep, sorrowing emotion.
She still loved him; time had wrought no change. Her father saw it, knew it; and while a shade of sadness passed over his brow, he simply muttered:
“It must be done!”
Thus time passed.
A great invention was Colchis at work upon. It would astonish the world; it would make him famous for life; his wealth would become vast in the extreme. But none of these thoughts disturbed the calm equanimity of this great man.
He cared not for fame and honor, for his life was about run out. But wealth! Ah! that was another thing! He did want it; but for whom? Not himself? Who knows?
“They will want it, will want all I can give them,” he said to himself many times.
Later on, there came many visitors to the house in Duke’s Lane. They came singly, and sometimes in pairs. They remained awhile closeted with the old man, and then they went away. They were scientists sent by the government to report upon the invention of Jean Colchis.
One day, after a more lengthy visit than usual from one of these gentlemen, Colchis entered the little parlor where Marie sat reclining in a large chair, reading a book of poems.
Upon his approach, she quickly arose, and greeted him with warm affection.
“My daughter,” he commenced, as he led her to a chair and seated himself by her side, “we are going to leave Duke’s Lane. I believe the time has come when you should see more of the world; should mix in society, and take the place which your talents, beauty, and moral attainments give you by right. You are nearly twenty-one years old, highly educated, and exquisitely beautiful. You will make friends wherever you go, and you will have suitors by the score. With wealth, position, wit, and beauty, what more can you desire? Do not interrupt me, darling,” as his daughter was about to speak; “I know what you would say: that your heart is given to Junius Cobb, and that you want no other suitors. I have had fears, Marie, that Junius would never come back to us in this world – that, perhaps, he is dead.”
A cry of anguish burst from the poor girl’s lips:
“Oh! do not, do not say that! He is not dead! You know it, father! Oh! tell me he is not dead!” and she sank at her father’s feet, overcome with grief.
“O, God!” breathed the old man between his set teeth; “I fear it must be done!” Then, leaning over and stroking the golden locks of his daughter, he said:
“Marie, look up.”
Her eyes, glistening with tiny tear-crystals, were turned up to his.
“Look into my eyes, my child, and listen well to my words. Do you love Junius Cobb as fondly now as when you were a girl, on the night when he said good-bye and left you? Answer me as your heart dictates.”
“O, father! can you doubt it?” A heavenly look appeared in her eyes. “Would to God I could be with him in this life, or in death!” Her head fell upon her father’s bosom.
“Then, life without your lover is worse than death?” and her father fixed his eyes in a hoping, expecting, desiring expression upon his daughter.
“Yes!” burst from her lips; “a thousand times yes! for what is life without him? If I be not with him in death, then death is oblivion!”
“My noble, true-hearted daughter!” and he folded her to his heart. “Your lover is true to you – that I can swear. Await with patience, my child, till God wills your union. Now, once more listen to my words: it is my desire that you enter the world of life and fashion, rule my house as its mistress; entertain, make friends, and let no worry enter thy heart. Do this, and if at the end of four years more, you ask for Junius Cobb, your betrothed, he shall come to you. I swear to you, my daughter, that my words are true.”
“Father, I will do thy bidding.” She wept tears of hope as she sank into her chair.
Soon the world of fashion, the society of money and brains, began to chipper-chapper of the new Crœsus and his divine daughter, who had suddenly come into their midst.
The