The Shadow Girl by Ray Cummings

They went down a flight of stone steps to the ground. Alan found that the tower now was set in the midst of a garden of gloriously vivid blossoms. The air was redolent with their perfume. A brook of sunlit water flowed near by. There were cool bushes and shade trees, green and brown; cool green lawns of sward; little winding paths.

A garden of a few acres. It was all inclosed by a wall of masonry -- a wall some twenty or thirty feet high, looped and turreted. The figure of a man was on the top of the wall, over a gateway fairly near at hand. As they stepped from the tower his arm went up with a gesture of recognition.

Realization swept Alan. This garden, this wall, this pacing sentry -- all this we had seen on the television. We had witnessed then the tower's departure; by some vagary of Nature's laws the etheric waves carrying this image had come to us of 1945.

They passed through the gateway of the wall. The guard on its top called down something; and stared at Alan curiously as they passed through.

Beyond the wall a sylvan landscape was spread to Alan's gaze. The Space of Manhattan Island. He could still recognize it. A river behind him. Another river ahead a mile or so. The Hudson shimmering in its valley. He could see the cliffs of its further bank.

Near at hand the open country was dotted with trees, checkered with round patches of cultivated fields. There were figures working in the fields. And occasional habitations -- low, oval houses of green thatch.

A road of dull smooth white wound from this gateway over the countryside toward the river. Animals, strange of aspect, were slowly dragging carts.

A city was off there, along this nearer bank of the river -- a stretch of houses more closely set. City! It seemed some primitive village. All this -- primitive; as though here might be some lost Indian tribe of our early ages. The field workers, garbed in vivid colors. Their squat little carts, slow-moving with broad-horned oxen. The quiet village strung along the calm-flowing river. All picturesque and primitive.

But Alan knew it was not barbarism, but decadence. Civilization had reached its summit, and declined. Fallen back, to this.

Lea was in advance of Alan and San. She turned into a small gateway. They passed through a garden profuse with flowers. A low house stood here, half hidden by the verdure. An old man was at the doorway -- a stalwart old fellow with a furious white beard; a shaggy white mane of hair; a robe of sober gray, monklike with its rope about his bulging middle.

He greeted Lea and San with a gesture of affection. He stared open-mouthed at Alan. Lea explained to him swiftly. And then came relief to Alan. This old patriarch spoke what he doubtless called the ancient English. He said slowly, with a meticulous, careful intonation:

"I thank you for saving Lea from Wolf Turber."

"But we've got to locate them," Alan insisted. "How can we? With this cloak? Yes, it belongs to my sister."

"I will take you shortly to my instrument room," said the old man. "I have had Lentz, my assistant, preparing the Time-vision -- we cannot do it more quickly."

They had talked now for perhaps half an hour -- old Powl, as he was called, interpreting for Lea and San. He was their grandfather. It was he who had discovered the secret of this Time-traveling tower. He had built it; and had constructed also a series of instruments which he called Time-vision. He was, in this age of decadence, one of the few living scientists. And he was a language student as well -- he had trained himself in many of the dead languages of the past.

"My son," Powl said, "the father of Lea and San took my tower and once stopped in the year you call about 1925. He paused for just a moment, but when he returned here there was found a young man with him. A stowaway, as you would call it. That man was Wolf Turber."

It was all presently clear to Alan. Turber had come here; had stolen the secret of the tower and the Time-vision, and getting followers had built himself his Time-vehicle -- and departed.

"He said he was in love with Lea. But she was afraid of him -- his attentions were unwelcome. We told him so."

Like Nanette! "I understand," said Alan bitterly. "My sister -- "

"He has her now, you tell me. That is bad. You must get her back. And kill him."