The Chariot of the Flesh
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Title: The Chariot of the Flesh
Creator: Hedley Peek
Release date: January 25, 2015 [eBook #48080]
Language: English
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Credits: Produced by Al Haines
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CHARIOT OF THE FLESH ***
Produced by Al Haines.
*THE CHARIOT OF THE FLESH*
BY
*HEDLEY PEEK*
"Look on the Spirit as the rider! take
The Body for the chariot, and the Will
As charioteer! regard the mind as reins.
The senses as the steeds; and things of sense
The ways they trample on....
For whoso rides this chariot of the flesh,
The reins of mind well grasped, the charioteer
Faithful and firm--comes to his journey's end."
_The Secret of Death_.
LONDON
LAWRENCE & BULLEN, LTD.
1897
NEW YORK
LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.
1897
[All rights reserved]
RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,
LONDON & BUNGAY.
Dedicated
TO
REV. S. A. TIPPLE
FOR THIRTY YEARS MY FRIEND AND TEACHER
In our definitions we grope after the _spiritual_ by
describing it as invisible. The true meaning of _spiritual_
is _real_.--EMERSON.
*THE CHARIOT OF THE FLESH*
*PART I*
*CHAPTER I*
It is nearly eleven years since Alan Sydney left England, but I have
only recently been released from my promise of secrecy. So sacred to me
is the memory of our friendship, that, even now, I shrink from the task
of narrating his strange and curious history. A strong impulse,
however, urges me to break silence.
The village of Anstead, near which we both lived, is in Surrey, possibly
the best county in England to find mixed society. Here the
old-fashioned farmers, the labourers who have never travelled as far as
London, and a few country squires are mingled with, and influenced by,
retired London shopkeepers, merchant princes--with or without H's--and a
sprinkling of literary and scientific dabblers; these last are regarded
with suspicion by all, but especially by the retired Army and Navy
magnates.
Nobody seemed to know to which class Alan Sydney belonged, and strange
to say he was admitted, chiefly, I fancy, because he was an eccentric
bachelor, into all societies. As I am wealthy and have been a confirmed
idler from my youth, the same privilege has been granted to me; a
privilege of which, however, I am seldom inclined to take advantage.
I had known Alan Sydney for some years before we became at all intimate.
He fascinated, repelled and puzzled me. "Why," I would say to myself,
"is this man so confoundedly unlike other men?"
It is not easy to describe him, because, instead of having to portray an
identity, I seem rather obliged to describe a number of individualities
peeping out through one person. Often you would fancy when speaking to
him that you were in the presence of a fool, to be sharply awakened to
the unpleasant discovery that it was far more probable you were being
fooled yourself. You had hardly decided that he was a liar before you
were conscious that, if once able to get behind the outside spray of
speech with which he was purposely blinding you, it might be possible to
trust him more fully than other men. I usually left him with the
unpleasant impression that instead of treating me as a man, he had been
dissecting me as a mental or spiritual corpse. He seemed to have about
as much regard for the opinion any one formed of his character as a
surgeon would have of the views once entertained by his unconscious
subject. Yet it was difficult to tell why one felt these sensations, for
his manner was outwardly pleasant even at times jovial; and if there was
satire in what he said it was certainly quite impossible for a third
party to be conscious of it. I have heard him at a dinner-party make
some trivial remark in his quiet voice to one of the guests which would
cause the person addressed to flush up with annoyance and surprise as
though he had been detected in a crime or stung by the lash of a whip.
I have never been able to find out why he chose me as his only
confidant, but so it came about.
It was a warm summer evening, and after dinner it occurred to me that I
would stroll over and consult him about an old manuscript which I had
recently purchased. From something that he had once said it seemed
probable that he might be able to help me with the Old English, which
was more than usually difficult on account of the writer having been a
North-countryman. Alan Sydney was in the garden inhaling a cigarette, a
bad habit which he frequently denounced and perpetually practised.
Sitting down beside him I remarked on his inconsistency.
"Consistency," he replied, smiling, "if we may believe Bacon, Emerson,
and at least ten other original thinkers, is the quixotism of little
minds. Inhaling cigarettes is the last infirmity of habitual smokers.
The boy-child begins with a cigarette; in youth or manhood he drifts
into cigars and pipes; later on, if he should be unfortunate enough once
to try the experiment of inhaling, he reverts to his first love."
I turned the subject by handing to him the manuscript, which he looked
over for some time with evident interest. When asked if he could make
out the meaning of some of the Old English words he answered that he
could not, and that there was probably no one living who could.
"You think I am conceited in making such a remark, but in that you are
mistaken. It is simply that I am better acquainted with ignorance than
you are. Most of these early English provincialisms, if I may use the
term for want of a better, can only be guessed at. There are not
sufficient local manuscripts of similar date for comparison to be of
much service. If a word cannot be traced either to Anglo-Saxon,
Moeso-Gothic, or Scandinavian, you may safely translate it as you please
and defy criticism. But let us come in, it is getting chilly."
We entered the house together, passing on to his study. The home was
typical of the man. From outside it might easily have been mistaken for
a small farm-house. It had the appearance of age, though built by its
present owner. It was constructed after the model of the oldest
existing style of a Surrey cottage. The walls were supported by and
interlaced with massive oak beams, and the roof was entirely composed of
thin slabs of rough ironstone which had served a similar purpose for
many centuries, having been collected from various dilapidated and
condemned buildings. The greatest care had been taken in removing these
slabs not to destroy the moss and lichen attached to them, and a few
years after the house was finished, an antiquarian might easily have
been deceived, so perfectly had every detail, external and internal,
been studied.
This humble-looking abode cost probably as much as many of the
surrounding mansions, and was unquestionably far more comfortable.
I thought that I was well acquainted with the interior. How far this
idea was correct will shortly be seen.
We looked over the manuscript together for some time, and I was
surprised to find that many words I had considered provincial were known
to my friend; and it was not often that he had to own himself beaten.
The matter, however, was most uninteresting, being a homily on the Roman
faith.
Presently my companion leaned back in his chair, and seemed to be
looking fixedly on some spot on the wall opposite him. I followed the
direction of his eyes, but could see nothing likely to attract his
attention. I spoke, but he did not answer. The light was rather dim,
and it was not possible to see his face distinctly, as the shade from
the lamp screened it, but I felt certain that something was wrong. I
placed my hand upon his arm, but he took no notice, and this now
thoroughly alarmed me.
My first inclination was to ring the bell; my second to move the shade
from the lamp so as to be quite sure that I was not mistaken. Lifting
the screen, I let the light fall brightly on Sydney's face, and turned
to look more closely. For a moment his eyes still maintained their
fixed and vacant expression, then turned slowly toward the light. He
heaved a deep sigh, and then looked at me with a slightly dazed
expression.
"I am afraid you are not well," I said.
"It is nothing," he replied. "For the moment I felt faint, but the
sensation has passed."
Knowing something of fainting fits, and having noticed that he had never
changed colour nor shown any of the usual signs of faintness, I presumed
that he wished to deceive me, and began wondering what the attack could
have been.
"You are not satisfied," he continued. "However, let it pass now. Some
time I will explain."
Seeing that he wished to be alone, I said good-night.
"Can you come and dine with me to-morrow?" he asked. "I shall be alone,
and should be glad to have a quiet talk with you."
Accepting the invitation gladly, I went out into the warm summer night,
little thinking how much I was to learn before that door again closed
behind me.
*CHAPTER II*
On the following evening I dined with Alan Sydney for the first time.
It was one of his peculiarities not to ask acquaintances to his house;
his bachelorhood excused him from the necessity. I was therefore not a
little surprised to notice the dainty epicureanism of his meal. The
wines were such as it is an unexpected delight to find; the service a
thing to remember, but scarcely to hope to attain. Why have some men
this curious power of getting their slightest wish gratified, apparently
without effort? Money cannot purchase it, and ordinary mortals, whilst
they approach the semblance, miss the ease and quietude.
My host talked freely on many subjects, leaving me to suggest a topic,
and seeming equally at home whatever I might choose. Sport, philosophy,
science, history--I tried each subject, and seemed always the pupil of
an expert. At last I started on my pet hobby, Ancient Engravings.
"_Now_," I thought, "_it will be my turn_."
"I know little or nothing of the subject," he said.
I went off gaily, but even while preparing to air my wisdom, he would
apparently intercept my thought and take the very words out of my mouth.
"_This man must be deceiving me_," I mused. "_He has purposely led me
on to my favourite topic, to show that even in that he is my
superior!_."
My reverie was broken by his next remark--
"Why do you think me a liar?"
I turned round confused, protesting that of course I did nothing of the
kind.
"I often am guilty of what people call lying," he said, "but never
intentionally of deceiving a guest. That is why I so seldom indulge in
the pleasure of entertaining."
As he said this he rose, and we went together into his study.
"Come," he continued, "I have a surprise for you."
He went up to one of the book-cases, touched a concealed spring, and the
whole oak framework moved slowly round on a pivot, forming a doorway
through which we passed.
Having gone down a few steps into what I judged must be an underground
passage, we once more ascended into a large room, lined on every side
with crowded book-cases.
"You are surprised," he said, "to see so large a room in so small a
house. We are now in part of what are usually supposed to be my
farm-buildings. There are three rooms here which I use for different
purposes. I will show you the other two later on."
The library was lighted by a skylight arranged in such a way, that from
outside it would not be visible. My companion sat down on a comfortable
couch, and beckoning me to another, said--
"I must ask you to promise me that you will reveal nothing of what I am
now going to say, or anything which I may show you until you have my
permission. I have a strong opinion that for some reason or other the
time has not yet come when it would be advisable to make generally known
many facts which I have discovered belonging to a power which is lying
dormant in all men. The world, however, is progressing quickly, and the
responsibility must rest with you at some future time, when I am gone,
as to the wisdom of making known part or all of the knowledge which you
will gather from me."
Saying this, he got up, and going to one of the shelves in his
book-case, took down a volume.
"You may judge," he continued, "by the collection here, that at one time
I was an ardent lover of books. Now they have little interest for me:
but this volume will always have a special value, for it was from it
that I first gained the knowledge which has influenced my whole life.
"While travelling in France, and making, as was then my custom, a round
of any old book-stalls that came in my way, I noticed a small shop which
outwardly had little appearance of containing anything of interest to
the bibliomaniac. In the window there were various ancient curiosities,
but knowing that these antique dealers sometimes bought books which they
did not display, it seemed worth while to make an inquiry. I was well
rewarded, for the old man, after saying that he did not as a rule buy
books, told me that he had at various times picked up at sales a few
which he usually sent to be sold by auction in Paris. He had some by
him at the time, and amongst these a curious Latin manuscript. Though
evidently a seventeenth-century work, it was not dated. I thought at
first that it would probably prove of little value, until turning over
the leaves, I noticed that it was by no less celebrated a writer than
Descartes. This author's works were at the time little known to me, and
it never occurred to my mind that this volume could be anything more
valuable than a manuscript of one of his published works. However,
published or unpublished, it was certainly worth a thousand times more
than the dealer asked for it, so I took it back to my hotel well pleased
with my morning's work, and spent the whole afternoon reading. An
entirely new idea of existence seemed opening before me, and it appeared
incredible that a work of this description could have been known for two
hundred and fifty years without my having even heard a repetition of the
views found there. Then remembering that many of Descartes' works had,
owing to the opposition of the Romish Church, never been printed, I
decided to find out at once whether by any chance this might be one of
them. I sent immediately to Paris for a complete edition of Descartes,
which had recently been published, and soon found that this volume was
not among them. A little further inquiry satisfied me of the
authenticity of the MS., and that it was entirely unknown.
"You may remember that Descartes, in his 'Discourse on Method,'
published in 1637, says, 'It appears to me that I have discovered many
truths more useful and more important than all I had before learned, or
even expected to learn. I have essayed to expound the chief of these
discoveries in a treatise which certain considerations prevent me from
publishing.' Now we know that the chief consideration was his fear of
offending the Church, and every one who has read Descartes' published
works must observe through them a perpetual veiling of what he thought
to be true so as to avoid being brought in conflict with the religious
opinions of his day. Notice this passage from the work just mentioned.
'It may be believed without discredit to the miracle of creation, that
things purely material might in course of time have become such as we
observe them at present, and their end is much more easily conceived
when they are beheld coming in this manner gradually into existence,
than when they are only considered as produced at once in a finished and
perfect state.'
"He then applies this theory to man. He says that as yet he has not
sufficient knowledge to treat of this development, and is obliged to
remain satisfied with the supposition that God formed the body of man
wholly like to one of ours, but at first placed in it no rational soul.
Having gone thus far and apparently fearing to go further, he breaks off
suddenly and never satisfactorily returns to the subject in his
published works. But how different is his method when we turn to the
manuscript before me, which I fancy must have been his last work, as it
is unfinished! How much more lucid and complete we find his conclusions
here! There is no attempt to suppress his real view. I will give you
briefly a summary of the chief conclusions which interested me, and
which will be enough for the present purpose.
"'All things have slowly developed.'
"'Man is the most perfectly developed being of whose existence we are
conscious.'
"'The lower orders of life have a varying number of powers of perception
which we term senses.'
"'The higher orders of life have five.'
"'These senses diminish in power as they increase in number, being
relieved one by the other.'
"'No deterioration in sense-power is known to have taken place without
causing deterioration to the possessor unless at the same time
accompanied by the development of a new perceptive faculty.'
"'Man alone is credited with being an exception to this rule. He is
inferior in keenness of sense to the animals below him, yet superior in
power. It is also noticeable that the savage is in like manner superior
to the civilized man. It is therefore probable that man is really the
possessor of a sixth sense as yet imperfectly developed and unequally
distributed.'
"Briefly this is the key to the remarkable conclusions at which he
eventually arrives, and which are worked out with his usual mathematical
exactitude and care. He has fully satisfied me that this theory
explains most of the mysteries of life; but there is not time now to go
more fully into the matter."
"But," I said, "he appears to have forgotten entirely the importance of
intellect."
"There you are mistaken. He goes very fully into the matter and
anticipates Darwin. 'Intellect,' he writes, 'is not a means of
perception, but an organ for the arrangement and use of the senses, and
is to be found in all animal life though in a less developed form than
is noticeable in man.'"
"But," I interrupted, "is not that therefore the explanation; the higher
intellect of man needs a lower standard of sensitive faculty, and he is
thus enabled to produce from lesser gifts a greater gain?"
"I will," he answered, "as nearly as possible give you Descartes' answer
to this objection. 'To say that the more highly developed a being, the
less it will require its perceptive powers, and that therefore through
want of use they have gradually deteriorated, would lead us to this
_reductio ad absurdum:_--that in time man will become so perfectly
developed that his senses must continue deteriorating until at last he
will arrive at the perfection of an insensitive existence, with
intellect to place in order all things which he perceives while he is
unable to perceive anything.' Of course in endeavouring to give you his
argument in a few words--an argument which requires close and careful
reasoning, I do Descartes considerable injustice, but I hope on some
future occasion to be able to go more fully into the discussion. I have
said enough for my present purpose, and am not fond of argument unless
satisfied that my opponent agrees with me upon the primary ground of
discussion; much valuable time is otherwise wasted. For instance, if
you are speaking on the subject of the colour red to a man born blind
and his idea of red is some sound which resembles the blast of a
trumpet, you cannot possibly hope to arrive at any very satisfactory
conclusion. In the same way if man is unconscious of the power granted
him through the sixth; or, as for lack of a better term we may call it,
the spiritual sense, no argument on the subject would be of the least
value. It will suffice at present to say that the theory which
Descartes fully works out was to me personally a revelation; a
revelation, because it seemed but the perfected expression of my own
dormant thought. Having therefore carefully considered the advice which
the writer gives to those who are anxious to prove the value of this
partially developed power, namely, to use it, I started on a course of
experiments which, should you care to follow me, I will endeavour to
explain. You may thus be able to judge of the truth of the theory by
its results, which after all is by far the safer plan. Moreover, some
of my experiences may be of interest."
I expressed my anxiety to hear him further, and he continued--
"You must endeavour to realize clearly the work to which I had decided
to devote my energies and time. It was to cultivate and analyze every
perception or sensation which appeared to reach me through none of the
known organs of sense. The first conclusion arrived at was that I
imperfectly possessed the power to read other people's thoughts; that at
certain times and under certain conditions ideas were conveyed to me
through no recognized organ of perception. I therefore decided for the
time being to devote all my energy to following up this clue. It was not
long before the truth of my idea was confirmed beyond any possibility of
doubt; but the difficulty was, firstly, in being confident from whom the
impression came; and secondly, in discerning truth from imagination.
Many others have gone as far as this point on the road to discovery, but
few have persevered much further. The story of how my path was cleared
of these uncertainties is worth describing in detail.
"About this time I became engaged to be married to a girl of seventeen.
It may be owing to prejudice, but I still think she possessed remarkable
beauty. It is not easy to give a reason, but a girl seldom at that time
seemed lovely to me after she was out of her teens. She might be more
interesting intellectually; but owing to some peculiarity in my
character, her chief charm was too often brushed away somewhere about
the age of twenty.
"I first met Vera Soudin at her father's house in Scotland. I had gone
down to stay with a friend for grouse-shooting, and the members of her
family were practically our only neighbours, so that we saw a good deal
of each other. She was an only child, and must have found life rather
dull. Her father's thoughts were chiefly concentrated on sport; her
mother was an invalid, and a decidedly uninteresting woman. It is
hardly surprising that Vera found the change from previous solitude a
relief. She had a remarkably weak will, though probably few outside her
intimate friends were aware of the fact, for, as is often the case with
such characters, she possessed a strong vein of obstinacy, which people
mistook for firmness. As a matter of fact she was little more than a
mirror which reflected surrounding influences. On the other hand, I may
possibly possess a will of rather unusual power, more powerful,
unfortunately, over others than myself. I was unconscious how great my
influence over her really was, nor did I know that in cultivating her
acquaintance I was allowing myself to be swayed by my affections.
"I had decided to take this opportunity of practising and perfecting, if
possible, my power of thought-reading. It is curious how often we are
influenced by an unconscious motive, and how long we take to find out in
ourselves an emotion which is perfectly obvious to those around us.
"Whatever the effect of our intercourse may have been in other ways, it
certainly enabled me to make considerable advance in my particular
study. To begin with, being often alone with her, the difficulty of
deciding from whom the impression came was at these times necessarily
removed. I had, therefore, only to satisfy myself as to whether these
impressions were real or imaginary; and it was easy with a girl who had
not yet learned the trick of hiding, or feigning emotions, to discover
by her face whether I had rightly or wrongly interpreted something which
was passing through her mind. A question on the subject was usually
sufficient. It mattered little to me how trivial or unimportant the
thought might be; I felt satisfied that there was a difference between
the effect caused on my mind by a true or by an imaginary impression.
The difficulty lay in defining this subtle difference.
"Before I had known the girl a week I was able, as far as she was
concerned, to overcome this obstacle, and to tell with certainty
whenever any thought of hers passed involuntarily through my mind. In
the same way when meeting her at dinner, among other people, I was
equally certain that the impression was a correct one if it came from
her; and this knowledge was a great assistance, enabling me, as it were,
to take the first step towards localizing the direction from which
thought was transmitted.
"One evening after dinner I was sitting alone with Vera Soudin; her
mother had not been well enough to come down to dinner, and the other
men had retired to the billiard-room. The light from the candles was
overpowered by the brightness of the fire, and as she leant back, this
ruddy glow gave an additional attraction to the delicate beauty of her
face. I forgot for the moment all about my new power, and sat looking
at her without speaking, the whole force of my will unconsciously
exercised in a desire to gain her love. She sat silent, gazing at the
burning logs as though unconscious of my presence. Then I recognized an
inaudible voice speaking. I use the words 'voice' and 'speaking'
because as yet our language is too imperfect to express any sensations
connected with the sixth sense. The sentence was, however,
unmistakable.
"'_I love him._'
"I answered her aloud. 'Why do you?'
"Her face flushed and then lost all colour save what the firelight cast
there. 'Why do I what?' she stammered.
"I cared for her too much to press my advantage. 'I love you!' I said,
and getting up I went over and knelt by her side; then looking into her
eyes I saw an expression that I had never seen before.
"What man who has once been brought under this influence could ever
forget it--man's passion reflected upon woman's nature, the idealized
counterpart of his sensations revealed on the idol of worship? In a
moment such as this, reason is trampled under the feet of a hundred new
emotions, hurrying forward to find expression, and the man's action will
be determined by natural instincts, and not, as is more often the case,
by the training and habits which have moulded them. During such times
of intoxication we become for once natural; and as all men tend by
nature, if on a lower plane, to idiocy, if on a higher to madness, such
moments are best kept private. An observer missing the more delicate
atmosphere of pathos which ever surrounds a truly comic situation, is
apt to rest his own instability more on the stick of ridicule than the
crutch of pity.
"As, however, owing to the power which I have of reading other people's
thoughts of myself, my nature has become impervious to scorn; and as it
is better that you should have the opportunity of judging my actions
impartially, I will throw off reserve as far as possible.
"We remained much in the same attitude for an indefinite period of
sensations, which may probably have extended to thirty minutes, her
hands clasped in mine as we talked together. As far as I can remember,
the conversation rested principally with me, and her answers came back
chiefly in unspoken thoughts. I will endeavour to give you an idea of
what passed between us, audibly and inaudibly.
"'Beloved,' I said, 'is it possible that you can care for me? That what
I have longed for, dreamed of, and despaired of ever attaining, is at
last mine? I cannot realize it! I feel rather that I am in a trance,
surrounded by a confusing, yet delightful mist.'
"'_I love you_.'
"'Say it again out loud that I can hear.'
"'I love you.'
"'But why--tell me why?'
"'I don't know. Why do you love me? I cannot see that there can be
anything to love in me. I suppose it is only because I am pretty!'
"'Beauty is only a veil which the soul looks through; how perfect then
must be your soul, dearest!'
"Then came these unspoken words which puzzled me--
"'_What queer things men are!--but I like to hear him, and perhaps it is
true; but if so, how horrid most women must be!_' Then out loud--'_I
fancy you will soon get tired of me._'
"'Tired! It makes me mad when I think of ever having an opportunity of
getting tired--to have you with me always--to know that we can never be
parted--to feel that death itself will only bring us closer: I almost
wish that we could die now, for such great happiness makes me afraid
something may come. Oh, Vera! you will always love me?'
"'Of course, dear!'
"Then this thought followed--
"'_I wish he would not talk about death; I hate death, I don't want to
die. It is quite nice enough to be here having some one loving and
petting me, without thinking about the future. I wonder if he is going
to kiss me? I thought men always kissed girls when they proposed to
them!_'
"This was enough for me. I had been afraid to venture on what seemed so
great a liberty, but now I moved forward and was about to kiss her, when
to my surprise she drew away saying--
"'Oh, don't! You frighten me!'
"'Why, dearest, you cannot be afraid of me? Will you not let me have
just one when you know how I should prize it!'
"'No, I cannot really, not yet anyway; perhaps some day!'
"I was so afraid of offending her that I moved back, puzzled and
discomfited, when once again I was conscious she was thinking.
"'_How foolish he is!--it would have been much nicer to have been forced
to give him one; he is so strong he could easily have held me back in
the chair and made me do it._'
"This came as a whip for my inclinations, and I did as suggested under a
storm of protests which soon died down, for I now found her thoughts
were wandering between the condition of her hair and the probability of
some one coming in from the billiard-room.
"I think I have now described sufficiently our first moments of
happiness, but I will own that before we were eventually disturbed I had
begun to get not a little annoyed with my new power of perception, and
began to wonder if after all we had arrived at a sufficient state of
perfection to be always happily employed when using it.
"The next half-hour which I spent with Vera's father convinced me that
often it might be useful in the cause of humility.
"I asked to speak with him alone, a request that he readily granted,
though, if I interpreted his thoughts aright, he used strong language
internally. I felt horribly nervous, and at first he did nothing to help
me, but what was far worse, he kept on transmitting thoughts that made
me every moment more wretched and uncomfortable; they must have been
his, as I feel sure they would never otherwise have occurred to me as
being likely to proceed from the smiling old gentleman sitting opposite.
This is something of what I made out of them, but they were disjointed
and confused, for you must remember I had not as yet had an opportunity
of studying him as perfectly as his daughter.
"'_Confound it! I wish he had not been in such a hurry. I must delay
things in some way. I meant to make inquiries, but have been so busy.
Besides there is ... coming, and I quite fancy that when he sees her, he
... But after all, Sydney is an only son; I did find that out, and I
must not choke him off. I wonder how much longer he will stand there
like a fool and say nothing!_'
"You may well imagine that this kind of thing was hardly helpful to me.
I began at once to wonder who my rival might be. And here I may as well
mention that even now, when my thought-reading power has been developed
very nearly to perfection, I can seldom read the name of a person
passing through another's mind, unless that person is also known to me.
This is probably owing to the fact that in thinking of an acquaintance
we disregard usually the name and are conscious only of the
individuality, for in the few cases when I have had a name conveyed
distinctly, it has been where the person referred to was comparatively a
stranger to the one whose thoughts I was studying.
"The silence was eventually broken by Mr. Soudin.
"'You wish to speak to me. I hope that you know me well enough to be
certain that if there is any service I can do for you I shall be
delighted!'
"'It is more than an ordinary service,' I answered. 'I wish to take from
you your greatest treasure, and consequently you must excuse my
embarrassment in asking. I love your daughter, and would beg her from
you.'
"'_Young ass! Now he has once started he talks like a book bound in
morocco with gilt edges_,' was his thought. His words--'You have taken
me greatly by surprise, Mr. Sydney. I have always looked upon my
daughter as a child, and it would be quite impossible for me to think of
allowing her at present to be disturbed by any question of marriage.
Hers is a sweet and delicate nature, influenced as yet but by the dreams
of childhood. I trust that nothing you have said to her can possibly
have ruffled the calm of innocence.'
"At this point I should have been placed in a position of difficulty had
not his thoughts continued--
"'_I would stake twenty to one the young cub has been sitting spooning
for the last half-hour. I wonder how he will try to get out of it._'
"I did not, therefore, try at all, but quietly told him the fact,
ignoring, however, the details. His anger was so well assumed, that
whilst it lasted his thoughts almost followed his words, or else the
latter so upset me that I missed the accompanying reflections.
"'It was, he said, a most unpardonable action thus to take advantage of
an innocent child who, he felt quite certain, had not even realized the
very meaning of the situation, etc., etc.'
"At last he cooled down a little, and when this happened, his thoughts
and words became mixed up in my mind somewhat in the following manner.
'You must realize, Mr. Sydney, that in speaking to you in this manner, I
am actuated by no unfriendly feeling--_it would be unwise to go too
far_--Personally from what I have seen of you, there are few young men
whom I could welcome more cordially into my family--_If only I were
certain that he possessed a safe five thousand a year_--But she is too
young, and I am quite sure that you will agree with me when you think it
over in a calmer mood, that it would be unfair to bind my daughter to an
engagement before she is fairly out of the nursery--_That ought to
smooth him down and keep up the romance at the same time. I must have a
good talk with Vera and see what is best to be done. I feel certain
that I shall have indigestion to-night. It always upsets me having to
think and bother about things after dinner._'
"I eventually agreed not to see Vera for a week, and at the end of that
time I was to be granted another interview with her father for the
purpose of arriving at some plan for the future.
"My feelings were of a mixed character as I walked away from the house
over the crisp, frozen ground. I felt excited, but neither satisfied
nor happy. I had tasted the sweets of love, and a little of the acidity
of disenchantment. I began to meditate somewhat after this fashion.
How lovely she looked with that expression on her face as I knelt down
by her side and took her hands in mine. 'Is it possible that the
physiognomists are correct when they tell us that the eye never changes,
and that the eyelids alone work those miracles of varying expression;
that a few slight wrinkles can convey such a world of meaning, and have
often the power to change the destiny of thousands? Is it not more
probable that some subtle influence passes from eye to eye that no
scientist can detect, owing to the fact that as yet science confines its
observations only to those influences which are discernible by animal
sense organs? But, whatever the cause, the fact is most remarkable, and
one must needs have loved to realize the full significance of its
power.' However, I did not, after all, feel satisfied that I had
awakened quite the same feeling in Vera as that which I myself
experienced, and I began to think of another partially developed power
which Descartes attributes to this sixth sense, and to which I have not
hitherto referred.
"He maintains that the will-force is always unconsciously transmitted,
and that if this power were cultivated it would lead to surprising
results. We can now have no doubt that his theory is partially correct,
as it has been satisfactorily demonstrated through recent experiments in
hypnotism; but his views also convince me that the modern methods which
have been adopted for the transmission of this will-power are likely to
prove both dangerous and inadequate, as they are based on totally false
premises. As, however, I shall have occasion to go into all this matter
more fully later on, as well as to show you the light which Descartes
throws on theosophy, spiritualism, and many other modern mysteries, I
shall only refer now to the subject so far as I find it necessary in
order to make my story intelligible.
"The probability that this theory of transmitted will-power might have
been experimentally proved in my late interview with Vera sent a shock
of anxiety to my heart. What if after all she had been little better
than a semi-conscious mirror reflecting my newly-awakened sensations? I
argued, however, against my fear, that it could not be so, for I had
read in her thoughts sensations not only differing from my own, but even
foreign to a man's inclinations. Yet even as I recalled these instances
with relief, a passage from Descartes flashed through my mind which
brought a painful reaction.
"'It must not be supposed,' he writes, 'that the will-power, however
strong, can absolutely take possession of an alien mind. A person of
tender susceptibility cannot be induced to commit a murder, or a man of
brutal instinct be made, even for the time being, pure or lovable. That
part of the brain on which the will either of ourselves or others is
brought to bear, may be compared to a musical instrument on which this
force plays. A tune may be the same whether practised on a pipe or upon
a full organ, but there will be a considerable difference in the effect
produced, owing to the numerous variations, etc. of which the more
complex instrument is capable; so also on different natures a similar
impulse will produce totally different results. This difference of
effect is most noticeable in the actions of men and women who, if willed
by one influence, often act dissimilarly, singing, as it were, the same
melody to an accompanying music which flows forth from their complex
dispositions and sensibilities.'
"Having by this and similar reflections thoroughly unsettled my belief,
not only in the girl I loved, but in myself and in nearly everything
else, I went to bed wretched, and after tossing about for some hours, at
last fell into a troubled sleep, during which I had the following rather
curious dream.
"It seemed that I was walking hurriedly along a winding path, though for
what purpose, or whither, I thus hastened was hidden. On my left,
through its setting of ferns and pleasant flowers, there flowed a
stream, the waters of which cast back many fair reflections; yet so
great was my wish to gain some unknown object, that I was scarcely
conscious of the beauty around. As I turned a corner, however, I saw
across my path an object lying, and coming nearer found it to be a
woman; the face turned upwards bore all the traces of degradation which
dissipation and misery had engraved upon the image of one who in youth
might have been beautiful. My feelings, supersensitive to the slightest
coarseness, revolted at the spectacle before me, and crushing through
the undergrowth which grew beside my path, I strove to avoid getting in
closer contact with it, but I had not gone many paces forward before I
became hopelessly entangled. Then looking round I noticed an old man
standing near, who it seemed must have followed me unobserved. His hair
was of silvery whiteness, and though his face was lined with age, each
furrow seemed but the imprint of an habitual expression of kindliness.
He might have stood as a sculptor's model for love that has outlived
passion.
"'Why have you wandered from the path?' he said. 'It is not possible
for man to reach the place whither you are bound save by the way
appointed.'
"'But,' I answered, 'He who called me is pure, and in the footpath lies
that which is abhorrent both to my Master and to me.'
"'Who then is thy master?' he asked.
"Then I looked at him in surprise and said--
"'We have but one Master; He who ruleth all things, and is Father of
all.'
"'And it is one of His beloved children,' he said, 'from whom you turn
aside, and her weakness and your strength are of His ordering; and you
whom He has made on a different, though no higher plan, turn in pride
from your sister who has been placed in the path so that your strength
may support her weakness.'
"'Now,' I replied, 'you speak blasphemy, for God is not the Father of
sin, and what is sinful is unpleasing in His sight.'
"Then my companion, looking fixedly at me, said--
"'There is no sin. Viewed from the eye of wisdom and holiness there is
one law--Love; one path--Order; and one state--Happiness. Man is
permitted to dream of freedom, which he calls life; is allowed to dip
into the darkness, and, for the moment, to imagine discord exists, that
when he shall awaken his joy may be exceeding joyful. It has been left
to man to give names to nothing and to fight the phantoms of negation;
when his sleep shall be broken the former things will have passed away.
Follow me.'
"So we returned together to the path, and as we stood before the woman I
said, 'If this is but a dream, wherefore should I care what happens
either to the woman or myself?' Then it seemed that the man did not
answer, but I heard a voice singing. And the song was of love, and told
how the slumber of life could never be broken till the light of
unselfish love fell upon the sleeper.
"When the voice ceased, I turned and said to my companion--'What can I
do for the woman? Behold her, as she lies there. It seems impossible
for me to feel more than helpless compassion for such a one.'
"'Compassion and pity,' he answered, 'are words coined by man, and are
associated at best but with a gleam of love, and more often with nothing
but a selfish desire to hide pain from sight because it reminds man of
that which is hateful. Love will ever find a way to helpfulness.'
"'But,' I said to him, 'I cannot feel this love to one so degraded.'
"Then he bent over the woman, and touched her with his hand; and as I
looked down wondering, the degraded face seemed changed into the face of
the girl I loved. And in the horror of the revelation I awoke, thankful
to believe that it was but a dream! How many lessons, prophecies, and
warnings come to men, if they did but realize it, in certain forms
called dreams!
"When I got up on the following morning my mind was in that anxious and
restless condition in which it usually finds itself after being too
busily occupied during the hours of slumber. I felt depressed and
irritable, consequently my view of everything was one-sided. My
thoughts continually expressed themselves in doggerel verse instead of
moving along smoothly and quietly in prose. This, I have always
noticed, is a sign that my body requires some stimulating exercise.
Moreover, every picture that reached my mind had a dark and unpleasant
background. For instance, when my thoughts for relief turned to Vera's
face, I had scarcely begun to dwell with pleasure on the beauty of some
remembered expression before I became conscious that the woman of my
dream was grinning at me over the girl's shoulder.
"This way, I knew, led to madness; so conscious that the body, if
ill-used, becomes too often the master of the mind, I decided to give it
a day's pleasure, tempting it back thereby into a condition of happy
servitude.
"The result was in every way satisfactory. After two hours' walking
over the moors, I was able to laugh at my fears, and by lunch-time it
was even a trouble to recall them. At dinner nothing seemed more
important in life than perfect accuracy of aim, and my friends might
easily have mistaken me for a sportomaniac by my conversation. The only
thought I read that evening came, I believe, from my host, and took the
form of regret that he had not selected a better shot than myself for
the sake of the game returns which he intended to forward to _The
Field_, and considering the number of birds which my nerves had
succeeded in missing for me during the morning, I could not feel
surprised. My dreams during the night did not trouble me. I felt but a
momentary discomfiture even when the youth who was expected to fall in
love with Vera rose up with a whirr just under my feet, and in the
flurry of the moment I only succeeded in knocking a few feathers out of
his coat-tail.
"On the second day, therefore, after my proposal, I felt in a safe
mental condition to think rationally over the prospect before me, and as
I can always reason more quietly when walking and in the open air, I
went for a stroll by myself over the moors.
"The day was bright, and the wind blew softly from the south-west. I
felt that life was very good as I passed over the heather. Presently,
however, a wounded bird which was lying by the side of the footpath
upset my train of thought, and set me on a discussion of cruelty which I
began to argue out from both sides. The impression which I arrived at,
after wasting fully an hour, may be summed up as follows: that about an
equal amount can be urged for and against sport, and that there is
something wrong somewhere. Nearly every subject we approach seems beset
with like difficulty, owing to the fact that our life is not as yet
sufficiently under the rule of order to embrace, without causing
additional misery, the doctrine of perfection. For instance, war can
easily be shown to be unjustifiable, and socialism to be the only form
of perfect justice; but it is equally clear that the abolition of
armaments and the adoption of socialistic principles would lead to the
greatest misery that has ever been experienced on earth, if they should
be tried before men have learnt to control their evil passions without
the whip of legal and military chastisement. Birds of prey and moral
disease would quickly take the place of the fowling-pieces of modern
civilization, whilst the dream of Paradise would be found more to
resemble a nightmare, and the comparative peace of the past would be
transformed into a pandemonium of unbridled passions.
"At last, after a few more fruitless attempts, I managed to fix my mind
on the condition of my own prospects. Firstly, was I in love? And this
involved settling in my mind what love really meant. If not, what had
caused in me certain sensations never before experienced? Secondly, if
this love existed, was it returned? It is not necessary for you to
follow me through my subsequent confused circle of reasoning, as it led
to no satisfactory conclusion beyond a determination to watch for
further light, and in the meantime to follow the dictates of
inclination. It is always easy to do the latter, and unless a man's
nature inclines strongly to selfishness, it is often the wisest course
to adopt. Progress is often hindered by self-repression, and even more
by self-analysis.
"At the moment, inclination led me towards a figure which I saw in the
distance. On drawing nearer I felt certain that the form in question
was a familiar one, and soon recognized one of my London acquaintances,
Lord Vancome. Now if there was one man whom I thoroughly disliked
without apparent reason, it was Vancome. I had at that time a peculiar
eccentricity; there were a few people who possessed the power of
unconsciously torturing me in a way that defies description. He was one
of these. If we met in a room I felt my whole flesh creep, and on
shaking hands with him an absolute chill of horror passed through my
body. It was with great difficulty that I refrained from showing to
such persons marked expressions of dislike. When, therefore, I met him
thus unexpectedly, it seemed as though a blight had suddenly swept over
the hills, blurring the sunshine: the glow of life had vanished; the
beauty of love was forgotten.
"'Why, Sydney!' he called out, 'whoever expected to see you here?'
"I told him briefly how it came about, and that I was stopping with
Major Couson.
"'Oh!' he said, 'that's lucky! I am glad to find there is some sort of
society in the place. Mr. Soudin asked me down, and feeling a trifle
played out, I accepted; but I was already beginning to dread the idea of
being confined to the society of Heather Lodge for a fortnight. The
daughter's not a bad sort of girl, and devilish pretty, too!--but one
wants even more than that combined with the shooting, which is not
first-rate, to avoid being bored to death during a period of two weeks.'
"'Why are you not shooting?' I asked.
"'The old man's got a touch of the gout, so I was taking a look round.'
(Then before I could think of anything further to say his thought
flashed through me.) '_Damn the fellow! I wish he would go. The
girl's bound to turn up soon, and I don't want him fooling round._'
"'I must be going,' I said, looking at my watch. 'No doubt we shall meet
again before long.'
"He seemed relieved, and saying that he should look me up, held out his
hand. I took it, thanking God I had not a gun, and being now certain
that I was in love, went hurriedly on my way.
"I had been walking for perhaps ten minutes, when I saw Vera Soudin
coming towards me. She had evidently been to the village. What was to
be done? I had promised not to see her for a week, but it would be
ridiculous to pass without speaking. Besides, ought she not to be put on
her guard against Lord Vancome? And yet what right had I to do this?
As far as I knew there was nothing against his character. It is true
that I felt a mortal antipathy to him, but such feelings are hardly
regarded as evidence. Then I remembered that women are credited with
possessing far more accurate discrimination of character than men. This
thought comforted me, and having decided to discover her feelings with
regard to Vancome I went on towards her.
"When we met I noticed that she also felt embarrassed, but for some
reason possessed better control over herself. When I made some remark
about being so pleased to see her again, she put her hand to her lips,
and then, taking out a pocket-book, scribbled these words down--
"'I promised not to speak to you for a week.' 'But good gracious!' she
cried out, 'I also said I would not write, and now I have done both.
Well, as it is done, it can't be helped. But mind you don't tell, or
father would be angry, and you know it was all your fault.'
"'I did not know, dear, that you had promised,' I replied, 'and though I
also said I would not see you during the same time, it seemed absurd to
pass without speaking.'
"'Of course it's absurd, and father's no right to make us promise such
foolish things. But I don't mind, for we need not say anything about
it. Besides, as we have broken our promises it does not now matter what
we do.'
"'But,' I said, 'will it be right to go on breaking them further?'
"'Oh! what is done can't be mended.' And as she said this she looked
into my face with such a pathetic appeal that all ideas of right, wrong,
honour and dishonour got hopelessly mixed. 'You don't really love me,'
she continued, 'or you would not talk like that. You don't care how
wretched I feel!'
"What could I do? Tears were coming into her eyes. Not a mile away,
waiting in her path, stood one I hated. Could I let her go on
distrusting my love, to meet possible treachery?
"I gave up the contest without a struggle.
"We turned from the footpath, and crossing a strip of heather, descended
into a woody glen. Through this glen ran a merry bubbling stream, and
the soft moisture which it left along its edges had encouraged the
growth of deep soft moss to cover the otherwise barren stones. Choosing
a pleasant nook thus carpeted on which the sun shone brightly, we sat
and rested.
"A few birds were singing their farewell songs to Scotland before
retreating to a warmer country. My companion's face was slightly
flushed by the wind, and the colour seemed to give an additional depth
to the blue eyes which looked shyly forth from between her dark lashes.
Her fair hair, which was unusually soft and fine, had been blown by the
wind into a waving network of shining confusion round her ears, and over
her forehead. As she sat just above me, and I looked into her face, it
seemed impossible for God to make, or man to picture, aught more fair or
pure in earthly texture. Yet, so does my nature act and react, ever
tumbling from the sublime to the ridiculous, that I had hardly realized
the perfect human beauty before me when my mind began to drop down into
one of its most annoying analytical moods, tearing, as it were, all soft
and delicate covering from the face, and pointing mockingly to the
hollow skull beneath, the framework alike of beauty and ugliness. Not
that there is really anything ridiculous, or for the matter of that,
frightful about a skull; the comic part of the situation lay in the fact
that it was impossible for me vividly to realize this framework of the
beauty I had a moment before worshipped, without a shudder. I refer to
it now, because such sensations throw a valuable sidelight on love
itself.
"It is to be presumed that when we love a person, we fancy that we love,
not the body, not in fact the clothing of the individual, but the
personality; that there is something therein which attracts and draws
forth these sensations wholly apart from anything to do with simply
animal passion. There are, of course, some who deny this, but to reason
with such is, as said before, absolutely useless: to the purely animal
nature all must necessarily appear animal. Such men and women are
exceptions, yet though many are conscious of the strength of higher
love, how few seem to try to solve the mystery surrounding it, or to
draw a line between true and false sensations.
"For instance, here was I sitting at the feet of one who, as far as it
was possible to judge, possessed nothing really attractive except most
unusual physical beauty; one I judged to be lacking in will-power, to be
untruthful and vain, to be possessed of little information and still
less discernment. Yet, knowing all this, I loved her. You may think
that I deceived myself, and that what I really experienced was simply
animal fascination; but before my story is finished you will see that
you have judged wrongly. The truth of the matter is this; pure love is
no more drawn out by nobleness of character than it is by beauty of
form, but by a far more subtle attraction for which as yet we have no
name, and which reaches us through the medium of our imperfectly
developed sixth sense. Whatever comes to us through the ordinary
channels is merely passion or comradeship, though owing to our complex
nature, the former usually accompanies true spiritual love and is
hopelessly confused with it. This confusion has led to much misery and
to many senseless social and so-called moral laws which are quite
unsuited to the present condition of man's development, as they are
nearly all founded on the theory of animal instincts alone.
"I am sorry to be obliged so frequently to break the thread of my
narrative, but as I am about to deal with subjects which are outside the
range of ordinary experience, it is absolutely necessary that from the
commencement you should follow not only the course of events, but also
the working of my mind. If I simply confine myself to the story, it
might possibly interest you as the wild imagination of either a liar or
a madman; on the other hand, should you have patience to hear me to the
end, I hope to convince you that many things which seem incredible are
only so as long as we stand outside the door of discovery. There is
nothing more remarkable than the ease with which the public will swallow
yesterday's miracle, if only scientists will give it a name.
"For instance, look at a recent case--the Telephone. What do the public
understand about it? The electricians themselves have only discovered a
method by which they can produce certain effects, and know nearly as
little as the public of the servants they employ. Yet this miraculous
transmission of sound, once baptized, is admitted forthwith without
further questioning, into the circle of commonplace.
"You must not suppose that, though I have thus wandered from my subject,
any of these ideas occurred to me after my encounter with the imaginary
skull, for at that moment one of my companion's thoughts fortunately
deranged my own, and gave me fresh subject for reflection.
"'_I like him in some ways better, but he is certainly not nearly so
amusing._'
"'I am sorry you find me so dull,' I said, 'but looking at you has made
me speechless through admiration. However, I want you to tell me what
your father said about our engagement.'
"'Oh! only that I was too young to know my own mind, and that he wanted
me to promise that I would not speak or write to you for a week. What
nonsense! Too young to know my own mind, and I shall be eighteen next
June!'
"After which remarks these thoughts followed; and as I was busy
listening to them I remained silent.
"'_I wonder why father wished me not to say anything. Can it be to do
with...? But I like Alan much better, and ... is not likely to make
love to me, and of course I should not let him if he tried. Yet perhaps
he may. I have a good mind to see if I can make him just for the fun of
it, and when he does of course I will tell him I am engaged. It's
rather nice to have people make love to one. That's the worst of being
married, you can't have proposals afterwards, so it is only fair to get
as many as you can before. Besides, then I could say that I might have
been Lady ... if I had chosen._'
"Thought is quicker than speech, and probably the pause was hardly more
than thirty seconds before she continued aloud--
"'Why are you not shooting to-day?'
"'I wanted to think about you,' I answered, 'and so went for a walk
instead, and was lucky. But I met some one else on the moor, an
acquaintance of mine, who, I find, is staying with you.'
"'Oh! Lord Vancome! So you know him. Where did you meet him?' Then
silently, '_I wonder if he came out so as to walk back with me?_'
"'I met him wandering about, taking a prospective view of your father's
shooting,' I answered vaguely. 'But tell me what you think of him?'
"'Oh! he seems very nice and interesting, but I feel somehow frightened
of him.' Then, dropping her voice slightly--'Is he rather wicked?'
"'What makes you think so?' I asked, relieved to find that her woman's
instinct was not at fault.
"'I do not know; I suppose it's the way he looks at one, or something.'
Then her thought continued--'_Men are so foolish; they seem to fancy
girls are perfect fools and don't know anything!_'
"I felt it was not fair to follow these reflections further. One gets
hardened in time to seeing people's minds, as it were, naked, but at
first some revelations tend to lower our views of human nature. It is
not until we realize that our own unclothed sentiments would have a
similar disenchanting effect upon others that we grow more charitable.
If you wish fully to understand my meaning, try next time you are in
mixed society to fancy that not only your words, but also your thoughts
are audible to those around, and see if under such circumstances you
would care to meet any of those people again.
"I, therefore, not wishing to be disenchanted, here disturbed her
reflections with a kiss, and this action of mine started the usual train
of sentimental talk which is about as varied and interesting as the
soft, gentle, and monotonous sounds which the wood-pigeons make in
spring-time. Happy birds, to whom comes no questioning voice to break
their peace; who are conscious of no notes of absurdity mingling with
their monotonous strains, and who wake from each short spring-time of
love without remorse or disenchantment! Surely some men and women seem
more naturally fitted for such brief experiences than for the prolonged
and deeper sentiments of life-long devotion.
"'Life is too short,' cry such in the moment of awakened joy, for at
that moment eternity touches them. Yet how few natures have risen
sufficiently far above their transitory and animal instincts to remain
long in this spirit of self-negation. The first breath of egoism
disturbs it; passion degrades it; and before a year of the wished-for
eternity is expired, how many may be found secretly regarding the one
sane emotion of their lives as an experience of temporary, and yet
conventional madness.
"Yet we have no right to blame them so long as they live up to the best
instinct they possess, for growth is slow, and if we carry as yet more
beast in our body than angel in our spirit, the beast will have its way.
Growth or deterioration (for which alone we are responsible) depends
upon the rule we welcome, and to which side our will, consciously or
unconsciously, inclines us.
"During one of the pauses, as Vera and I sat together, I became
conscious of a new and remarkable clearness of mental vision such as I
had never before experienced (though I have spoken to a man temporarily
insane who graphically described similar sensations of increased mental
sight). It was as though from the normal condition of observing all
subjects through the medium of frosted glass, some power had for the
time removed the obstruction, enabling me to see every object in the
clear light of day. In this condition I fully realized the weakness of
Vera's character, and the misery that must necessarily follow. I also
felt that whether we married or did not marry, I, having once loved,
could only break this bond by selfishness. Then came this question, Was
I prepared to suffer all things for her sake?--for if not, it was far
better to cut my bonds at once. I looked at her, and a feeling of
intense pity filled my heart.
"'Poor little child!' I thought. 'God alone can see all the nightmare
of misery your nature must pass through before it comes forth in the
light of His pure love!' Then a voice seemed to whisper in my ear,
'Think of your own life. If you take up this burden you will be dragged
into the darkness; your nature will be lowered, your power for good
destroyed.' Then again I looked at the girl, and as I did so my spirit
cried and said, 'Even though I should be damned to walk for ever in
darkness, though God's light be hidden from me, yet will I never cut
this bond till we stand together before the face of our Father.' And it
seemed to me that there were many voices chanting softly, 'Amen.'
"Whilst listening to the sound an overpowering gloom settled upon me. I
remembered nothing more distinctly, though through the darkness many
indistinct pictures flashed before me and vanished ere they were printed
on my mind. At last I heard voices speaking, and opening my eyes, saw
Vera and Vancome bending over me. As far as I know, this was the first
time that I had fallen into a trance, or as doctors would call it, a
state of catalepsy.
"It appears that Vera, finding me insensible, had rushed out of the
glen, and seeing Vancome in the distance, had called to him for
assistance. They both appeared to think that I had fainted, and I did
not wish to undeceive them.
"But it is getting late, and as I have now reached the point in my story
which makes it necessary to explain an important discovery to which I
was led by this trance condition, it will be better to stop for this
evening."
"But," I interrupted, "before I go you will show me the other rooms you
spoke of."
"Not to-night," he replied, "for there are many things in them which
still require explanations for which at present you are hardly prepared.
But the next time we meet I hope to take you into one of them. When I
began this evening, I had no intention of going so fully into the
details of my story, but noticing that the method unconsciously adopted
did not weary you, it seemed better to give my experiences in the order
in which they occurred. This plan has led, and will probably still lead,
me to describe many so-called trivial reminiscences; but as a matter of
fact, nothing is trivial, and by striving to confine ourselves to more
important subjects, we often miss the tiny thread which might, if
followed, have led to some great discovery. When, however, I continue
my story, I hope to make it more interesting by illustrations."
As he said this he took both my hands. In a moment I was plunged in
darkness; the room, my companion, everything had vanished; but as I
still strained my eyes a faint revolving spark of light became visible.
This light increased until I found that I was in the presence of a young
girl, whom I had little difficulty in recognizing as the Vera of my
friend's story. She was standing in a listening attitude, as though
some one had called her, and was evidently unconscious of my presence.
As I lay watching she turned her face toward me. I shall never forget
the revelation of beauty and weakness depicted there; but more quickly
than the vision came it vanished, and I heard my host say--
"Good-night. Come again at the same time as soon as ever you feel
inclined."
Then I heard the door close, and found myself standing in the cool
evening air outside Alan Sydney's house.
When I got back to my room I was too excited to sleep. Was there, after
all, some incomprehensible meaning in life, a possibility of solving the
mystery of existence? I sat for some time thinking; then taking my pen,
began to write, and as I wrote it seemed that already my mind was under
the influence of a new power, for each sentence Sydney had used came
back to me without effort of memory, as if I were writing from some
inaudible dictation.
*CHAPTER III*
I felt annoyed the next morning to remember that I had accepted an
invitation to dine out that evening, and it would be therefore necessary
to postpone seeing Sydney until the following day. I was so interested
in what I had heard and seen that it hardly occurred to me to delay my
next visit longer than necessary, for he who evidently could read my
thoughts would not expect me to restrain my impatience with any feeling
of consideration for conventionalities.
My entertainment this evening was likely to be a stimulating contrast to
that of the previous night. Transon Hall, where I was to dine, may be
considered the centre of our circle of social exclusiveness. Into this
ring those who moved in inferior orbits at times penetrated, and at
times were excluded.
Sir James Folker, Baronet, M.P., J.P., M.F.H., etc., comes of one of the
oldest families in this semi-suburban part of Surrey; in fact, his
father lived here before him. Of course, in saying this I refer only to
the wealthy part of the community. We have plenty of small squires and
farmers whose ancestors have lived here for centuries, but as their
present representatives are nearly all too poor to entertain, such
impecunious hereditary grandeur is appreciated chiefly by their
respective families. Sir James is, however, a thoroughly good fellow,
well informed, of kindly disposition, and a true sportsman. If he is a
trifle overbearing, it is owing chiefly to education. His father was a
self-made man, and necessarily had a very exalted appreciation of the
dignity attaching to wealth and title. Even a snob, if snobbishness is
linked with every association of childhood, may be at heart a gentleman.
Life is not long enough to polish off the ugly advertisements which were
engraved upon him in youth.
I arrived at the house rather late, and you may fancy my surprise on
looking round the room to see Alan Sydney busily engaged in talking to
one of the guests.
"Well," I said, as soon as an opportunity occurred of speaking to him,
"suppose I had turned up at your house to-night?"
"If I had not known you were coming here," he replied, "I should have
warned you; but I quite expect to see you to-morrow. As you know, I am
not often away from home, but there is a reason for my being here
to-night."
At this moment we were disturbed by the general shuffle which takes
place at the announcement of dinner, and I found myself escorting a
stranger into the dining-room, who had just been introduced to me as
Miss Augusta Smith. My companion was neither young nor pretty, but I
noticed with relief that she had a bright and interesting face. We sat
exactly opposite Sydney, who had on his right Miss Folker, a
good-looking girl of about twenty-one, devoted to sport, and on his left
Lady Todman, a most energetic widow, whose object in life was to reform
the world by means of teetotalism.
Everything tended to my friend having a somewhat dull time of it, though
I noticed a look in his eyes which showed me he was in one of his more
lively moods. Lady Todman is not a woman of tact. If all around you
are drinking wine, it seems to me hardly good taste to begin a sermon on
the eleventh commandment, "Thou shalt not drink." But there are some
women whose consciences constrain them, and she was one of these.
"Don't you think," she said in a rather loud, penetrating voice, turning
to Sydney, as the butler was pouring some sherry into his glass, "that
drinking is the cause of much evil?"
Her companion tasted the sherry thoughtfully before he answered.
"Certainly, if the wine is not good. But let me assure you this wine is
very dry; you need have no fear of any ill effects from drinking it."
"Oh! I don't mean that," she replied; "I mean that nearly every crime
that is committed can be directly or indirectly traced to the use of
alcohol."
"You surprise me," he said. "Are you fond of travelling?"
"I don't now travel," she answered, evidently offended at what seemed an
obvious attempt to turn the conversation. "I find sufficient work near
at hand which my conscience will not allow me to neglect, and therefore
leave these pleasures for others."
"Let me urge you to go to Constantinople," said Sydney; "it is the best
place in which thoroughly to study the temperance question. Degradation
and misery have there reached such a perfection without the aid of drink
that after a month of such experience I can almost fancy any one weeping
tears of joy at the sight of an honest drunkard."
Seeing Lady Todman turning away in evident disgust, and wishing to know
what my friend really thought on the matter, I asked whether the Turks
might not possibly be even worse if they added to their other sins the
vice of intemperance.
"Drink," he replied, "does not alter a man's character; it simply
exposes it. That crime is generally associated with drunkenness is
true, but that it causes it is unusual, and it is frequently a
deterrent. The weakness in a man is sure to find vent through some
channel, and I would rather not picture some of the crimes that our
drunkards would probably have committed had not the absorption of this
attraction turned their thoughts in another direction. Among weak
natures and deformed characters we should expect to find both drunkards
and criminals of all kinds."
"I quite agree with you," said Miss Folker. "I don't believe that it is
any use trying to make people sober; our best whips always drink, don't
they, father? And nothing you could do would ever stop them."
Our host seemed to think this was an unfortunate remark, for I noticed
him glance at the butler as he replied, "If they do they soon have to
go, I know that."
"You misunderstand me," Sydney said, turning to Miss Folker. "I believe
there is great use in trying to make people sober, for weakness of any
kind encouraged leads to disease; but one does little service to the
cause of truth by telling lies."
"What would you do, then?" broke in Miss Smith, who had been listening
intently.
"With the habitual drunkard," replied Sydney, "there is only at present
one course open. He should be placed under restraint as a temporary
lunatic, which he is. But drunkenness is a mere stage in the growth of
mankind, and can only work itself out through the lessons of experience.
To try to prohibit drink is to hinder progress; to say that there is
more drunkenness now than formerly, is simply to say that the greater
part of our race is considered strong enough to face the temptation.
Give a savage as much spirit as he cares for, and he will kill himself
in a few months. Our forefathers, in much the same way, though with
more caution, used to lie nightly under the dinner-table; but now, among
those classes which can afford to drink as much as they like, only
persons with hereditary tendencies, or those who are unusually weak go
to this extreme either in private or public. They have partially
learned their lesson. Among the more ignorant there would be ten times
the drunkenness if their wages allowed it. If you consider a man,
though he starves his wife and children, cannot afford to get hopelessly
drunk more than about twice a week; and this is one of the reasons why
the poor have taken longer to learn by experience this lesson. But
they, too, are slowly improving under increased temptations."
"Well, Sydney," said our host, "you are the most extraordinary man. You
always seem to take a view of things from a reversed position."
"It is an excellent plan," Sydney replied, laughing, "now and then to
stand on your head; in that position you see the world from quite a new
aspect, for instead of your eyes being turned naturally to the earth
with only an occasional glimpse of the heavens above, your view for the
time is altered. It does not, however, do to keep in that attitude too
long, or the blood will flow to your brain."
"But," asked Miss Smith, "do you not think that such doctrines might be
very dangerous?"
"All truth is dangerous to those who wish for an excuse for weakness,"
he replied. "But there are many at the present time who want a little
light thrown on the subject; for the man who does any action, however
right in itself, feeling that thereby he may be throwing his influence
on the side of selfishness, must therein be damned. Alcohol is probably
one of our greatest gifts if rightly used, and being so, must of
necessity be a frightful curse if abused."
"Gift indeed!" sniffed Lady Todman, "when every doctor will tell you it
has no feeding property."
"That is quite true," Sydney continued. "It is not a food, and therein
lies its great charm for an age when people eat far too much for the
sedentary lives they live; but it prevents the waste of tissue, and
enables man to keep in health without half his time and two-thirds of
his energy being exhausted in the process of digestion. It is, however,
a so-called poison, and must be treated as such; but the poisons of
to-day will probably become the nutriment of the future. On the other
hand, sugar, a splendid food for savages and labourers, is little better
than a slow poison to those who neglect exercise. Some day we shall
have a new commandment--'Thou shalt not take sweet things.' Considering
the misery brought about in families through dyspepsia, I have a good
mind to try and start a new order of lemontotallers at once.
"If, however, you want a temperance sermon, you must go to the drunkard,
and as an antidote to what I have said, if you care to hear it, I will
tell you a story of a friend of mine who is now dead. He was a young
man of great ability, who had passed through the University, carrying
off some of its most coveted prizes. For some years having heard
nothing of him, I decided to look him up. I knew that he had been
ordained, and, retaining his fellowship, had accepted a quiet living in
the country, intending to spend his spare time in literary work. It had
surprised me that since then I had heard nothing from him, nor had any
book of his been published. I found him a hopeless wreck, and this, in
a few words, is what he told me.
"He had come down to the country for the purpose of having leisure to
study and write. For some time all went well. He had been brought up
not to take wine, and was one of the few teetotallers of his College.
His father had died from drink when Hamlin was a boy, and his mother had
done all in her power to keep her child from following in the same
course. 'I never,' he said, 'touched drink till I was ordained. My
curacy was in the West End of London, and as the time drew near for me
to preach my first sermon, I became hopelessly nervous, feeling that I
should break down, or losing all self-control, behave like a lunatic.
The thought horrified me. As I went over my sermon in private, my hand
shook so that I could not read the words. In despair I tried a remedy
many University men resort to when they have to read the lessons in
chapel. I took a small dose of brandy and tried the effect. It was
only about a tablespoonful, yet the result was miraculous. In a few
minutes I felt capable of preaching in St. Paul's. On the following
Sunday, having provided myself with a flask, I took a double dose in the
vestry before the sermon, and the result was equally successful. From
that day to this I have never preached without the aid of a stimulant.'
"For some time he confined his abuse of alcohol to this purpose, but
before he came into the country the habit had grown, and he took spirits
every evening, though not in large quantities. On being appointed
rector to a small parish, the loneliness of his life added to his
temptation.
"'I knew I was damned,' he said, 'but was helpless. Week by week, as I
got less effect from the usual amount, I increased it. At last I began
to feel the result. My interest in my work died down; the services in
the church became a hollow and hateful mockery. I felt languid, and
disinclined to take exercise, whilst my thoughts now always ran in one
direction, to the moment when again I could drink--drink and be
happy--feel the blood course freely through my veins, and my brain wake
from its now normal condition of torpor; for you must understand that I
never drank to what is called excess, that is to say, was never
obviously the worse for drink. One night, after having been sleeping
soundly for some hours, I woke oppressed with a feeling of nameless
horror. The perspiration poured down me, and yet I shivered; then it
seemed as if the very fiends of hell were tearing at my soul, mocking
me, shouting my ordination vows into my ears, bidding me look at the
damned souls in torture whom I had promised to watch over here, and had
neglected. Thus I lay for an hour in anguish unspeakable, and at last
got up, dressed, and went out into the cool night air. As I began to
feel better I vowed to God never again to touch a drop of alcohol.
"'On the following morning it seemed that, after all, the whole state of
my mind had been exaggerated, and was only probably due to indigestion.
I, however, kept my vow for a few days and became a wreck. Sunday was
drawing near. What should I do? I began my sermon after taking an
unusually large dose, and preached contentedly from a passage chosen to
strengthen my resolution during the night of misery--"Thy vows, O God,
are upon me." Only once since,' he concluded in a whisper, 'have I made
a vow, and that was after the first week spent with the real visible
fiends in hell, when the doctor came and found that the minister whom
all respected was suffering from _delirium tremens_!'"
There was a pause, and Lady Todman, who had been listening intently to
the story, which she evidently intended to retail with a little extra
colour at her next temperance meeting, asked what was the poor fellow's
end.
"I am glad to say," Sydney replied, "that the day after I left he
gathered up what little power was left him, and seeing that his life was
hopeless, faced death bravely."
"I hope he was truly penitent before the end," said Lady Todman.
"I think he showed that conclusively," replied Sydney, "when he shot
himself."
There was a moment's silence; and then, before anyone could continue the
subject, which had become depressing, he turned the drift of talk quite
naturally into a new channel, and was very soon keeping most of the
party laughing over some comical experiences in the hunting-field.
Though he made himself the hero for his own satire, we all knew him well
enough to be sure that he was speaking from observation, and not
personal experience.
"Well," I said, when the ladies had left us, and I had taken the
opportunity to move over next to him, "was it the temperance question
which brought you here to-night?"
"No," he replied, "it was not that; but a little private matter, which I
hope to be able to accomplish later on."
The conversation then became general, as is usually the case under the
friendly influence of tobacco.
We found only two ladies waiting for our arrival in the larger
drawing-room, the others had gone into a dimly-lighted and smaller
apartment adjoining. Lady Todman informed us, with a look of disgust,
that the others were tempting the devil to rap on a circular table, from
which we gathered that our hostess was indulging in her favourite
occupation of playing at spiritualism.
"You don't seem to approve of spiritualism, Lady Todman," I remarked,
rather hoping to draw Sydney into discussion with her on the subject.
"I certainly don't," she replied. "I consider it not only a great waste
of time, but also wicked."
"I am glad to find," said Sydney, "that in this case we can agree if I
may use the word dangerous instead of wicked, which is much the same
thing."
"But why dangerous?" asked Miss Smith, who was the other lady present.
"It is nothing but rubbish, and I don't see that people can do much harm
by unconsciously pushing a table about, and we cannot fancy that any one
would rap on purpose."
"Have you ever been present at one of these gatherings?" he replied.
And being answered in the negative, continued, "Is it wise to judge
without experience? There may be more than you fancy even in so
apparently childish a performance as table-turning."
Whilst he spoke we were roused by low, yet excited voices in the next
room, and he went toward the drawn curtains and quietly passed through,
followed by Miss Smith and myself.
The light was dim, and at first I had some difficulty in seeing
anything; but as my eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, I noticed
six ladies sitting round a table with their hands joined. One of these,
a girl of about twenty, was lying back in her chair apparently
unconscious, although her eyes were open. The others were watching her
with expressions either of alarm or interest.
"What shall we do?" said Lady Folker in a whisper; "she has gone off,
and I know that in my book it says if any one goes into a trance one
ought to be most careful unless an experienced spiritualist is with
you."
"If," said Sydney, "you would care to follow my instructions, we might
see something interesting without doing the young lady any further harm.
I once had a good deal of experience in these matters."
"Oh! how delightful!" said Miss Folker. "Tell us what we ought to do,
and let us see a real live ghost; that would be lovely!"
The instructions were quickly carried out; the insensible girl being
laid on a couch. All the rest were asked to go into the drawing-room,
and the curtains were then again drawn between the two rooms. After
some protest from the remainder of our party, including Lady Todman and
the men who had so far taken no part in the performance, the lights were
put out, and Alan Sydney brought a small shaded pink lamp from the inner
room, where the girl still lay unconscious, and placed it in our midst.
Hardly had he done this before the curtains were drawn quickly apart by
some invisible means, and we could see into the inner room.
Miss Halcome still lay on the couch, apparently sleeping, but with her
face turned from us. A soft light was falling upon her from above; as
we watched, the light appeared to take, as it were, form, till we
recognized that a woman clothed in white stood leaning over the girl.
Then the woman, taking one of the girl's white hands, raised her up and
led her into the centre of the inner room.
Miss Halcome moved at first as though walking in her sleep, with eyes
open, yet apparently unseeing. When they thus reached the centre, the
figure of the woman again began to fade till the girl stood alone before
us, still with that strange light falling upon her. She made a
beautiful picture, being one of those who possess a physical and purely
sensuous loveliness, which appeals especially to men of lower type. Her
hair and eyes were brown; her complexion clear, though rather dark; her
lips were full, prettily shaped, and of deep colour; as a rule her
cheeks carried, for my liking, too deep a rose tint, but they were now
more pale than usual.
As she stood there she lifted her arms towards us, and began to sing.
Her voice I had always considered to be her chief attraction, for not
only was it rich and tuneful, but unusually well trained. I had not
heard either song or tune before.
"Come to me, dearest, with a love
Eternal, strong as death;
Love that but lasts a transient life,
And fades with fading breath,
Can bring to this sad heart no joy,
No ecstasy divine;
Eternity is far too brief
To fill this heart of mine.
Though I should change, as all must change.
My soul shall ever be,
In youth or age, the soul you love
Through all eternity.
The beauty now that charms your eye,
This youthful form so fair,
Shall alter with each passing year.
Is it for these you care?
Go! face the truth! If all the grace
That earth alone can give,
Were turned from one you think you love,
What of that love would live?
A little space--say fifty years,
Or only five, may be,
And all that now you prize so much
Shall change to what you see.'"
The last few lines of the song almost died away, for at the commencement
of the last stanza a most extraordinary change began to take place in
the singer. The only way in which I can describe it is to compare her
to a waxen image that was being melted rapidly by the strong light
falling from above. Everything seemed to slip away downward and
disappear, except the skeleton, which stood with hollow eye-sockets and
moving jaw chattering out the last few words. There was a frightful
shriek, and at the same moment the curtains fell together.
We were all, Sydney excepted, far too horrified to move. He, however,
got up immediately and drew back the curtains. The room was just as we
had left it; Miss Halcome still lay on the sofa in exactly the attitude
he had placed her. Lady Todman was the first to speak.
"Just as I said, tempting the devil! And a nice fright he has given us
all. Not that I was frightened. I just shut my eyes and said my
prayers."
The poor old woman was simply shivering as she spoke, and we must
therefore excuse her, for it is possible she did not know what she was
saying.
"If any one wishes to talk about what we have seen," remarked Sydney,
"he should do so at once, before we bring Miss Halcome out of her
trance, as I am sure every one will agree with me that nothing of what
has occurred should be mentioned in her presence."
"Oh! for goodness' sake!" cried Lady Todman, whose chattering teeth
reminded me of the skeleton, "let's wake her up at once, or we shall be
having I don't know what next! It is quite sinful, it really is!"
As no one seemed inclined to do more than utter a few disjointed words
such as "Awful!" "Most remarkable!" etc., Sydney struck a match, and
lighting a powerful lamp held it in front of the girl's eyes.
At this she sneezed twice, and then sitting up said--
"What's the matter? Why did you all leave the table?"
Her companion, holding the lamp still near her eyes, then told her that
as she had gone into a trance the others had left the room, but he
mentioned nothing of any further experiences; and she, seeming none the
worse in any way, followed him into the outer room.
While looking round on the faces present I noticed that of a young man
who was a stranger to me. As the girl came forward a look of terror
passed over his features such as I had never seen before, and hope never
to see again. There was still more mystery, apparently, behind even the
late mysterious performance, and I began to wonder whether my friend's
motive for coming might not have something to do with the terrified face
before me.
Shortly after this, to every one's relief, the carriages began to be
announced. I asked Sydney if he were driving, and finding that he was
not, offered to take him with me.
"No," he replied, "let us both walk. I get too little exercise as it
is, and cannot afford to miss an opportunity."
I agreed, and sending the coachman home, we started together.
There is no time like night for walking, and as the south-west wind blew
softly against us, I felt as though it would have been pleasant to spend
hours in the open air. There was much that I wanted to say, but for a
few moments the delight of quiet night kept us both from speaking. At
last I broke the silence.
"Well, that was the most extraordinary experience," I remarked; "can you
throw any light upon it? Talk about the days of miracles being over!"
"The days of so-called miracles will never be over," replied my friend,
"till all have equal knowledge. A miracle is but a natural law, of
which most persons have hitherto been ignorant, brought into play at
length by one who is better informed than the majority."
"But you had nothing to do with the manifestation of to-night, had you?"
I asked.
"It was all my doing, with the exception of the first act, and even that
was ruled by my influence; but I will explain it to you, as by doing so
I shall save trouble later on. I told you that I had come to-night for
a reason, and that my object was an important one you may judge by my
using a power in public which I have seldom cared to exercise. No one,
however, suspects that I had anything to do with what happened beyond
being able to give them a little information; all the credit or
discredit will be with the performers at the table. Let me first
explain what I did, and then give you an idea of my motive.
"Before the ladies left us I exercised my will on Lady Folker and two
others to try table-turning that evening. It is a slightly dangerous
amusement that has recently revived; and is nothing else but a
convenient form of semi-mesmerism caused by the joining of hands. If,
which is unusual, no one tries to cheat or to fool the others present,
the persons will soon feel a tingling sensation in their arms and hands,
and lastly through their whole bodies; when the balance of will is
fairly even, nothing may happen for some time, but at last one
will-force must predominate the others, and quite unconsciously that
power influences all the rest, so that every hand moves by the order of
a semi-dormant will. Hence the moving and tilting of the table, the
message received, etc. Sometimes the motive-will, being partially
entranced, becomes a medium for the transmission of thoughts passing
through the mind of some absent friend, for under certain conditions
thought can be transferred, even as the sound of the voice through a
telephone; but this is too lengthy a matter to go into now.
"As a rule, however, one of the party being more susceptible than the
others, will before long become unconscious, or completely mesmerized.
This is, as you know, what happened to-night, and in this condition the
predominant will, whether the owner thereof be absent or present, gains
complete control, speaking through his or her voice, and in fact acting
the part of hypnotizer on a patient. Sometimes one of the party
present, and then another, will so act on the medium, and each one be
unconscious of doing so."
"I begin to see now," I said, "what happened. Your will acted on the
girl, and you made her do just what you wished. But how about the
skeleton?"
"You are mistaken," my friend answered, "and you forget about the
curtains going back of their own accord. I adopted a simpler method,
and one less harmful to the girl. Those at the table mesmerized her,
but I mesmerized all the others present; from the time the curtains had
been drawn till I myself threw them back not a single thing took place,
and the room was in silence with the exception of the shriek of horror
when I relaxed my power, and you saw, as you thought, the curtains fall
together."
"Do you mean to say that the girl had nothing to do with it, and that
she never moved?"
"She never stirred so much as a finger, but her condition assisted me in
a way that you will understand better when I explain the laws which
govern the transmission of will-force, for in her state what power she
possessed was added to my own."
"And you mean to say that during all this time we were staring like a
pack of fools at a blank curtain?" I demanded.
"I should hardly put it in that way myself," he replied. "It is true
that that is what your bodily eyes were doing to all appearances, but
your minds had a most impressive scene in front of them, which though it
reached them from a different channel than the eye, was none the less
vivid."
"But how did you convey the impression?" I asked.
"That," he replied, "requires what I fortunately possess, a vivid
imagination, and it was only necessary for me to call up the visions for
them to pass also before you; but it is exhausting work, as you will
find some day if you try it, for the mind must never wander for a
moment, and few people have learnt the art of perfect
self-concentration. It is also necessary that for the time being the
operator should be in a half-entranced state, or the pictures would be
meagre and unreal. This condition, which for the sake of convenience
may be called day-dreaming, requires much practice, but it is
nevertheless fairly easy to learn. I will before long show you the
method of acquiring the habit, so that you can judge for yourself of its
use."
"And now," I asked, "what was your motive for giving us such a terrible
experience? You succeeded in giving one young man, whose name I don't
know, such a scare that he will be some weeks before he gets over the
effects."
"I pray that he may never get over them," said Sydney. "If he should,
my work has failed. His name is William Jackson, and he is the only son
of the late Sir John Jackson. You may have heard of the father, as he
was fifteen years ago one of the most notorious and wealthy rakes in
London; in other words, having made a god of self, he had become a fiend
to others. Thus, as we carry our circumference with us, he raged at the
hell he created, whilst increasing its torments. It is only when we
fully realize the damnation of such lives that our hatred turns to pity.
Some whom I have known had good cause to hate his memory, as you will
hear in the story of my life. Too often have I in his case forgotten
that vengeance is not man's business, and that the law of retribution
never faileth. It is easy to forgive one who wrongs you, but how hard
when the injury is to one we love; when we see some weak loved spirit
driven further into the darkness, deeper into the thicket of pain, for
though we know that in the end, as Tennyson so finely expresses it,
'There shall be greater good because of evil, larger mercy through the
fall,' yet is the suffering present and it is hard to see those we love
in pain. William, however, takes far more after his mother than his
father. She is a good and noble woman, purified by suffering of which
she had in the latter days of her husband's life considerable
experience. It would be cruel not to try and save her from like misery
through her son, to whom she is devoted. He is a youth of good ability,
possessing even half-fledged genius; his nature is at present very
susceptible to kindness, and in many ways lovable, but he is cursed with
his father's passions, and should this get the upper hand, the finer
qualities of his disposition will drag him the more quickly down. If he
once came under the influence of a heartless animal nature, there would
practically be little hope of saving him."
"And one with that nature was there to-night?"
"Yes," he replied, "Miss Halcome is of all girls the least suited to be
his wife, yet he loved or fancied he loved her, and she has set her mind
on marrying him, though I believe she cares only for his wealth. But I
do not know that I should have interfered were it not that I possess
knowledge which makes the whole case most terrible. It is not fit that
any child should be born into the world cursed by a double descent from
such a man as Sir John Jackson."
"And are you certain that Miss Halcome is really his child?" I asked.
"Unfortunately I have too good reason to know," he replied; "but this is
where we part, and I have told you enough to throw some light upon this
evening; the rest of the explanation can be left till I reach that part
of my story where it would naturally come in."
*CHAPTER IV*
On the following evening, as soon as we had finished dinner, Sydney led
me, as on the previous occasion, through his study and into the library;
but we did not wait here, for going up to a curtain at one corner, he
pushed it aside, and opening a door led me into a room beyond. This
room did not seem to be lighted in any way from the outside, but an
electric light, the first I ever saw in a private house, cast a strong
glare over the apartment.
As soon as we entered, my companion touched a handle and a shade passed
over the light; the effect was pleasant and restful. Except in one
recess which was curtained off from the rest of the room, there were few
signs of comfort. I could not help fancying that I had suddenly entered
a scientific laboratory; the walls of the room were covered with
mechanical apparatus of various kinds, and with shelves that contained
rows of bottles, tubes, and other chemical appliances.
"This," said Sydney, "is my workshop, where for years I have been busy
trying experiments on nature by the assistance of knowledge gained
through the development of our sixth sense. There is no doubt whatever
that when men once begin to understand the uses of this latent power,
existence will be revolutionized entirely. The world as it is now will
cease to exist, and there will be a new heaven and a new earth. But,"
he continued after a pause, "I fear the time is not yet come; for so
awfully will man's power be increased, that unless our natures are at
the same time purified and perfected, existence here under such a
reversal of conditions would be in truth hell itself.
"Fortunately, however, the power of using this sense is greatly
dependent on the lives of the persons employing it. If a man has not
learned to curb his passions and keep his body under control, he will
make little progress, for the subjugation of the body is essential to
success. The weakness of my own nature has, alas! too often caused me
to break down at the very moment of seeming victory. If only a man were
perfectly unselfish, pure, and free from pride, he could without the aid
of science and without seeming effort control the forces of nature.
Such a One has been on earth, and we know the result. Such power may be
given when man has learnt to follow His example. But as man becomes
conscious of his new powers we may expect a terrible time of transition,
for with the possession of free will each added gift means added force
to evil as well as to good, even as I was saying last night with regard
to the gift of alcohol.
"People will soon find this out, if they have not already done so, with
regard to hypnotism. In the time that is coming no creed shall save a
man, for the wonders that shall be done on the earth shall deceive all
those who have not experienced the realization of things hoped for, the
evidence of things not seen; all those in fact who are not able to
distinguish truth from falsehood by the instinct of their own hearts.
It is doubtless for this reason that scientists have so long had their
eyes blinded. When the time shall come, and the people are ready, these
men shall lead, as they have ever led, the march of progress; yet they
must abandon pride if they hope to succeed.
"I perceive, however, that like many others, you are more anxious to
hear of the marvellous, or to see it, than to listen to the future
possible condition of things which probably will not take place in your
lifetime. If, therefore, you will lie down on the couch in that recess,
I will continue my story, though on a somewhat different plan from that
to which you are accustomed."
I lay down, and he drew the curtain that divided us from the rest of the
room, and sitting beside me, said,
"If I remember rightly, I left off last time when, having just recovered
from my first trance, I found Vera and Vancome standing over me. I felt
very little the worse for my experience, and seeing that I did not
appear likely to faint again, my companions went on their way to Heather
Lodge, leaving me to walk back home. During the evening I began to feel
nervous and distressed; a weight of anxiety seemed to be hanging over
me, none the less real because it was undefined. I went to bed early,
but instead of feeling better, the nervousness increased. On whatever
subject my thoughts turned, the unpleasant impression followed them,
haunting me and driving sleep far away. At last in despair I determined
on an experiment. I would try to think of nothing, and keep my eyes
steadily fixed on some imaginary spot just over my head. The room was
dark, but (as any one who has tried the experiment will know) if you
concentrate the eyes on one dark place for any length of time, that spot
will appear light. As I watched the light it revolved at first slowly,
and then with increasing rapidity. Though unknown to me at the time, the
method I had adopted is the simplest and easiest way of hypnotizing
oneself, and with a little patience most people could do it, for if the
light does not soon revolve it is easy to start it by moving the eye, as
it always follows; the great difficulty is to keep the mind from
wandering.
"When these revolutions had continued for some few moments, I became
about every alternate second, as it were, blind, seeing nothing, and my
mind also during the same period became a blank; then pictures
alternately flashed across the darkness, so rapidly that I could not
perfectly grasp them. But after a time I was able to see quite clearly,
and this is the picture which I saw."
Sydney stopped speaking, touched something, and the light was
extinguished; then as he placed his hand on mine, I found that I was
looking into a room which was lighted by a number of shaded candles. A
man of about thirty was standing with his back to a log fire, and a girl
was lying on a sofa near him. The girl was the same I had previously
recognized as Vera; the man I had little doubt was Lord Vancome. He was
speaking in a low tone, but every word was distinct.
"How cruel you are to me, Miss Soudin! The very softness of your voice
but adds to the bitterness of your words!" Then coming a little nearer
and speaking still lower; "Vera!--I must call you Vera, just to hear the
word--if you could but know for one moment what it is to be a man and to
see such loveliness, and yet not to be able to approach it; to have to
stand off and to be told that it belongs to another. If you could only
know, you would have pity before you send me from you for ever! How can
you be so cruel?"
"Oh, Lord Vancome!" said Vera, "I wish you would not talk like that; you
know I do not wish to be unkind, but you must remember I am engaged, and
it would be very wrong to let any one kiss me."
"Wrong! You dear innocent thing!" he answered; "how small is your
knowledge of the world! Do you think girls never let any but one man
kiss them? And what harm would it do? Do you fancy a kiss leaves any
mark behind that would betray us? No, the only mark will be upon my
life, a mark of brightness in the gloom!"
"Oh! but I really could not!" she replied; but even as she said the
words, her up-turned face, her eyes, her lips, denied them, and she knew
it; and the spirits of evil and of good knew it; and the man who stood
trembling with passion over her, knew and took advantage of it. As he
did so the scene vanished.
Sydney turned on the light, and then said--"That is what I saw; but what
I felt it is impossible to describe. The girl lying there listening to
the stage-learned sentimental drivel of a half-drunken blackguard--that
she could not see through it--that she was unable to distinguish the
laugh behind the scenes, or know that at some future date the details
exaggerated would be retailed to a club audience--that she should let
him even kiss her!
"I came-to from that trance little better than a madman, with one only
hope, that it might not be true; one determination to find out for
certain, and if so to be revenged--revenged on the man. My love for the
girl was unchanged, and I realized with something akin to horror that
nothing could alter it; that from the moment when I made my vow, her
fate and mine were woven together; and in this first vision of her
damnation I felt driven from the face of God, a thing accursed. I had
taken her sin upon me, as we must ever take the sins of those we truly
love; and I had then perhaps for the first time some faint idea of the
meaning of the word substitution, and could understand how one perfect
in love, and therefore perfect in holiness, must in a world like this
bear the sin and carry the sorrows of humanity.
"As every man born into the world becomes a unit, influenced by all that
preceded him and influencing all future life, so must each be a saviour
or destroyer through self-renunciation or through egotism. To One alone
can we give the title, the noblest and the grandest for us to conceive,
of the Saviour. He, who possessing fully the spirit of God's order and
of God's love, was ordained to reflect them once perfectly upon earth so
that He might show to the wanderers of all time the possibility of man's
nature, and the only path by which we may return to peace. Men waste
time in disputing if this Saviour was God. What know we of God but by
his attributes? Which of these attributes can we conceive bound down in
human form which was not manifest in the Christ? Could love exceed His
love, or meekness His humility, whose unselfishness asked no reward of
gratitude, and the exercise of whose power was ever restrained by the
hand of a far-seeing compassion? Is all we read true? Perhaps not; the
hand of imperfect devotion often, through want of insight, may have
touched and marred the picture, but the portrait remains, if somewhat
soiled through the fingers of adoration. On the other hand, if the
painter of our picture had no living model, a thing well nigh
impossible, then must he have been the Christ, for no soul can rise to a
sustained ideal beyond the possibility of his own nature.
"How wretched and partial a thing my love was, may be seen at once by
the bitter feeling of revenge that took possession of me. I fully
believe that at that moment I could have murdered my enemy in cold
blood. It is a humiliating reflection that there is virtually no crime
of which the best of us could not be guilty if the temptation were only
strong enough and the circumstances propitious.
"The next morning I walked to Heather Lodge, and asking to see Mr.
Soudin, was shown into his library. The old gentleman was sitting there
dressed for shooting, and did not seem very pleased to see me.
"'I must apologize,' I began, 'for coming up before the week is expired,
but I have good reason to believe that Lord Vancome is making love to
your daughter, and feel that it is impossible to let things go on as
they are. I must therefore ask you to release me from my promise and
allow me to have an interview with her at once.'
"I knew that to all appearance I was making a fool of myself, but being
desperate and unable to think of any better plan, I adopted the simplest
one of speaking the truth.
"'You must be mad, Mr. Sydney,' he replied. 'You insult, without any
possible grounds, both my daughter and my guest, and show yourself
unworthy of the position in my family which you wish to occupy.' Then
without speaking his thoughts continued--'_I hope he may be correct; if
so, that settles the business once for all, and I can get rid of him._'
"I felt so angry with the man before me that I lost all self-control.
'If you think that you can play fast and loose with me,' I answered,
'you are mistaken. I know your views perfectly well, and that you are
anxious that your daughter should, if possible, become Lady Vancome. If
you were told such a marriage would end miserably; that Lord Vancome is
thoroughly bad, it would not influence you. I will, therefore, keep
strictly to business, and for your daughter's sake give you information
which may possibly have some weight. Lord Vancome, never wealthy, is a
gambler, and, if report speaks truly, has nearly reached the end of his
resources. On the other hand, though it is not generally known, I have
an income of over twelve thousand pounds a year, derived from safe
investments. You can verify my statements without difficulty!'
"I saw my companion, when I came to the last part of my sentence,
metaphorically speaking, prick up his ears. He, however, sat a few
minutes silent, and I had to content myself with his thoughts, which
after all were far more important. And this is what I made of them--
"'_Twelve thousand pounds a year--safe securities--four per cent. at
most--three hundred thousand pounds capital--other fellow broke--wonder
if it's true--soon find out--getting tight myself---cannot live on a
broken Lord for son-in-law--good job, if it is true, I found it
out--must write at once to ... and make inquiries--wish this fellow was
broke and the other had his money--getting to hate Sydney--damned prig!
talking to me like that--what in the name of the devil am I to do?--the
beggar seems regularly to see into one!_'
"At this point I thought it well to keep up my advantage, so I said,
'That facts are as I stated, you can find out as soon as you please, but
one thing I wish you to understand; if I leave this house without an
opportunity of speaking to your daughter, when you have dismissed Lord
Vancome as unsuitable, you may find you have lost me also!'
"'Really, Mr. Sydney,' he replied, trying to force a smile, 'I am afraid
being in love does not agree with you; your nerves seem thoroughly upset
this morning. But I suppose we old people must put up with this kind of
thing, we were all young and foolish once. Many years ago I believe that
even I was jealous. There is, after all, no particular reason why you
should not see my daughter if you wish; but it is the tone you have
adopted which I object to. Money, my dear sir, money is a thing that,
where my child's happiness is at stake, would never cross my mind; it
must rest with her to decide, when she is a little older and knows her
own mind, what husband she will take. So long as he is a good man and
of gentle birth, I shall not interfere!'
"'Have I your permission, then,' I asked, 'to go and see her?'
"I saw he was about to consent when the thought crossed his mind that
very likely she was at the moment with Vancome, and he replied, getting
up, 'I will send her to you.'
"Soon after his departure Vera came into the room looking very pale and
nervous, and I saw that she was wondering what could have brought me up.
As I looked at her, my love, pity, and anger grew uncontrollable, and
entirely upset my mental balance.
"My animal nature got the upper hand, and I became, for the time being,
cruel. My very passion, as is often the case under such conditions, was
an incentive rather than a check, to that which, in the language of
hypocrisy, is termed 'religious anger,' but which is often little better
than the counter thrust of a wounded heart. I will, I thought, use my
power against this girl, and make her see herself even as she is.
"'Vera,' I began, 'I have got your father's permission to see you again
before the week is over. I find it impossible to keep away from you,
dearest, any longer. I want to hear from your lips once more that you
love me, and that you will be my wife.'
"'Why, of course I love you, dear,' she said, a look of relief coming
into her face as she came forward, evidently expecting that I should
take her in my arms and kiss her.
"I took both her hands in mine, and looked into the sweet face before
me. Was it possible that I might have been mistaken? That I was a
victim of delusion? As I stooped and kissed her forehead, I said--
"'Have you missed me much, dear? And did you find the hours hang
heavily?'
"'Oh, yes,' she replied, 'it has seemed such a long, long time. But
after all, you see, we have met once already. Have you quite got over
your fainting fit? Do you know that you don't look at all well. When I
came in I was quite afraid something had happened, you seemed so queer.'
"'What did you fancy could have happened?' I asked. 'Did you suppose
that in this short time I had fallen in love with some one else, and had
come to break the news to you? Now, tell me, are you jealous? Let us
hope not, because you know it would be unpleasant to have a jealous
wife. Should you be very angry if you knew that I had sometimes kissed
other girls?'
"'How can you be so horrid!' she answered, looking troubled and
perplexed. 'But you are only joking. Why, if you ever did such a thing,
I would never! never! never! speak to you again.'
"'Why?' I questioned. 'Do you think there is much harm in a simple
kiss? Do you fancy that men only kiss one woman in their lives?' I
stopped abruptly.
"She stood staring at me with a frightened look in her eyes, but whilst
I was watching she turned away; then her thoughts came quickly. '_Just
what he said about women--after all I did not kiss him. And how could I
help his kissing me? I wonder whether Alan knows any thing--Can he have
guessed? No, it is absurd! But somehow he frightens me, especially
when he looks in that queer way._'
"'Vera,' I said, 'sit down. I want to talk to you, to explain something
so that in future we may understand each other. You see you are going
to be my wife, and those who love should have as few secrets as
possible. Now I feel sure that you have something on your mind, and I
want you to tell it to me. Don't be afraid that I shall be angry.'
"'I don't know what you mean,' she answered. Her manner was half
defiant, half frightened.
"'Should you have wished me to be present, though unseen, in the
drawing-room last night, between ten and eleven?' I asked.
"She lost her presence of mind in a moment. A bright flush passed over
her face and left it deadly white.
"'How mean!' she cried. 'You were outside looking through the window.
I don't know what you think you saw. It is disgusting of you to have
done such a thing.'
"'I was in bed,' I replied.
"'Then what on earth do you mean?'
"'I mean this, that last night a gross insult was offered to one I love,
and that she accepted it, and what is more, accepted it willingly.'
"'Oh! I know you were looking. But I don't care if you did see, it was
not my fault. I tried to prevent him, but he would do it, and I hate
you now! Yes, I do! You are mean, and you tell lies!' Then she burst
into a flood of tears.
"'Vera,' I said, placing my arm round her, 'I have told you no lie. If
I tried to explain how I know all, yes, all that happened, far more than
could have been seen through any window, you would simply not understand
me. You say I spied upon you. How was it then that the shutters were
not closed, and the blinds and curtains drawn as usual?'
"'They were,' she replied. And then in the pause her thought continued.
'_I looked to see afterwards, and that is just what I can't understand.
Besides, he could not have been in the room either, for I examined
carefully after Vancome left, as I had an uncomfortable feeling at the
time that some one had been watching us._'
"'Cannot you understand,' I asked, 'that if we love a person very much
we may be conscious of what is happening to such a one, even though we
are not present?'
"'No,' she replied, 'I don't believe anything of the kind. You may
imagine things, or you may see them, or be told about them; but I won't
listen to another word. I hate you! and would not marry you now if you
were the only man on earth. I would rather marry Lord Vancome, so
there! And I will kiss him too, just to spite you, if for no other
reason. Whatever else he is, he is a man, and you are not! You are a
devil!'
"She got up, and before I could stop her, rushed out of the room. I
went to the window and looked out. In the distance I could see Soudin,
and Lord Vancome, with keepers and dogs starting for their day's
shooting. There was no fear of my being disturbed for some time, so I
sat down and reviewed the situation. Vera had defied me, and there
seemed little doubt that if left to herself, she would throw me over and
accept Vancome. That is to say, if he had any intention of going beyond
flirtation, which seemed doubtful. On the other hand, I felt satisfied
that when her father had verified my statements, I might fully rely on
having the paternal influence. The retreating figures of the two men
seemed to show conclusively that he already believed me; otherwise there
is little doubt that he would have seen me safely out of the house
before starting off for the day with my rival. I had therefore to
decide an important question. How far was I justified in influencing
this girl's will? Could I, in fact, excite a love which was not
spontaneously given? Should I not, in doing so, destroy the one thing
that gives to life an interest and meaning, namely, freedom of action,
without which man would be little better than an automaton?
"Whilst I sat thus musing over what may well seem to you a comparatively
trivial matter, a new light was cast upon the mystery of life, for as I
realized how unsatisfying such self-created love would be, I began to
see an interpretation which had not previously occurred to me in the
parable of man's fall. Was it not possible that the Creator of all
things, not fully satisfied with the loving obedience of those who
through their very nature were only able to do His bidding, decided to
create man, a being, who like Himself, should know by experience the
good of order, the evil of disorder, and therefore be capable of
discovering which path leads to pain, and which to happiness; one who in
the end should love him with the deep love that is a free offering of
the lesser nature to a greater which is akin to it?
"While thinking about these things it seemed clear, that if any man had
the power of partially influencing another's will, he must be careful
how it was employed. I began to wonder why it had been given to me, till
I remembered that after all it was but a developed form of that
influence which we see around us every day, and that the reception of
good, and the rejection of evil influence, is the necessary part of free
growth. As man therefore develops, we might naturally expect that he
would have to contend against stronger and more subtle forces. For
these reasons it seemed to me that we are as fully justified in using
any such powers, as we are in applying the more ordinary methods of
influence, provided that we do so unselfishly, and in no way permanently
overpower the general freedom of another. This latter restriction, as
you will see, is open to a very wide construction.
"I had, however, up to this time, seldom tried to exercise my will on
others, for though Descartes has given up a great part of his manuscript
to this subject, my time had been chiefly occupied in studying the
transmission of thought, which is, as it were, a first step to the
other. Until you can read the thoughts of those around you, it is
practically impossible to convey distinct impressions to another, unless
for the time being the person is in a trance condition, when it is
comparatively easy. The mind in this latter state being deprived of its
usual guiding forces, is peculiarly susceptible to any external
influence. It is probable that I should have been unsuccessful in the
attempt now made, had I not been working on one with whom I was already
familiar, and who was partially under my sway.
"I willed that she should come back to the room, having a strong desire
to tell me all that had happened on the previous evening, and the
feelings that had influenced her throughout. In a few minutes the door
opened and she entered; there was nothing in her appearance that would
have led any one to suppose she was acting under restraint, or had in
any way been mesmerized; her face was slightly flushed, and her eyes
showed traces of recent tears, but she was outwardly calm. Having
closed the door behind her, she came and stood before me.
"'Alan,' she said, 'I have been thinking that perhaps it will be better
to explain exactly what happened last night; you will then understand.'
"I said nothing, but continued to concentrate my will, urging her to
tell me all, not in the conventional manner of speech, but from her
soul.
"'I have, you see, a sort of liking,' she continued, 'for Lord Vancome,
a liking which is checked yet increased because I am afraid of him. I
don't understand the feeling, but it is nice to play with fire; as a
child I always loved to run my finger through the flame of a candle,
each time more slowly till at last it just burnt me a little; and then I
like, oh! you cannot know how I like to influence others!--to feel that
for the moment I can turn them this way or that; to realize that there
is some charm about me which holds them with a spell, and which they
cannot escape. If you could have seen his eyes last night as he
followed my every movement! I, only a country girl, and he a man used
to all the beautiful women of London. I do not love him, I do not love
you; in fact, I don't know what people mean by love, but I like people
to be attracted by me, and to make much of me; and--well, to lead them
on. Why should I not? Then he wanted to kiss me; he came nearer, I
refused to let him; I felt more frightened, but I liked the feeling;
would he or would he not? Then I looked up into his face in a way that I
felt sure would make him, intending all the while to refuse if he tried
to take advantage of that look. But he was too quick, and--and it was
nice to feel powerless, but it was not my fault, for I told him not to
do it.'
"'Vera,' I said, and my heart was very sad, 'can you not see, do you not
understand, that it is your will and not your words that matter? Men
and women are differently made, and the temptations of the latter come
chiefly from weakness and vanity; but tell me why it was you promised to
be my wife if you do not love me?'
"'Well,' she replied, 'I don't quite know; you see I don't love any one,
but I suppose I shall when we marry, and it would be nice to marry. It
would be lovely to have a wedding and presents, and to be made a lot of,
and to have people talking about me, and it's dreadfully dull at home;
besides, you are strong, and it is nice to feel that there is some one
to lean upon, some one to trust. But I hate you now, and I will tell
you why. You see into me, and I don't like it. I know you do, you see
my thoughts, and if when we are married I did anything which you would
not like, I should be afraid you might find it out. It would be better
to marry Lord Vancome, he is not a bit like that; though I would rather
trust you of the two in a difficulty.'
"I had become so interested in what she was saying that I had relaxed my
power over her, and was only reminded of the fact by her next remark.
"'I do not really know, Mr. Sydney, what induced me to come down and say
all this nonsense, for I have quite made up my mind, and it is no use
your asking me to reconsider the matter. After your insult I shall
never think of speaking to you again.'
"'I don't know that you have been asked to change your mind,' I replied,
altering my tone, and no longer striving in any way to affect her
judgment. 'You have wronged yourself, and would put the blame on me for
bringing the fact home to you. I can for the present think of nothing
to say, nothing to do; but remember, though you do not love me, I love
you, and love never changes; whatever may happen in the future, Vera, as
long as I live you will find me unchanged in two things---my desire for
your love, and my wish to help you.'
"'Thank you, Mr. Sydney,' she answered, making at the same time a little
mock curtsey; 'I do not think it at all likely that your valuable
assistance will be required, or that you will succeed in gaining my
love. Good-bye!'
"'Well,' I reflected, while walking back slowly over the moor, 'for one
possessed of exceptional powers it seems that I have made a pretty fair
mess of the whole thing.' And I began to understand how limited all
influence must be under such conditions. For, in the first place, I
wished for the love of a girl who was as yet incapable of understanding
the meaning of the word; and secondly, was trying to save a soul from
its own nature without destroying its freedom of action.
"I left Scotland on the following day and returned to my chambers in
London. Before doing so I wrote a note to Mr. Soudin saying that though
my feelings were still quite unchanged towards Vera, I felt it would be
better for both of us if we did not meet again just at present. I also
asked him in the event of his coming up to town, if he would call and
see me.
"In reply a most cordial letter arrived, saying that he expected to be
in London in the course of the following week, and that he would be sure
to call and look me up.
"When I had settled down once more in my own rooms, my thoughts turned
to Vancome. I hated him with a hatred that was almost madness. In
later life it is impossible to feel either the passions of love or
hatred as we feel them in our youth.
"I look back upon this period of my life with horror and contempt; but
it is none the less important that you should follow me through it, as
you will see what new temptations to evil every added power brings with
it. I determined, if Vancome had not already ruined himself completely,
to beggar him, flattering myself that in so doing I was but assisting
lagging Providence, getting out of the way a corrupt influence, making
myself an instrument of retribution to avenge the many whom he had
wronged. I set about my plan carefully and systematically, being aided
not a little by my increasing powers, and still more by an entire
disregard of expense. I very soon had a far more correct knowledge of
his affairs than he probably possessed himself, for few people in money
difficulties can bring themselves to face the unpleasant facts connected
with their position.
"When his father died he came into the title and property; the estate,
which was not entailed, had been heavily mortgaged, and since then every
year the burden had been increasing until it was very doubtful if at the
present time a forced sale of the property would cover his liabilities.
The mortgagees were pressing for a large sum of interest overdue, and
Vancome's solicitors had done all in their power to raise this money,
but as yet without success. I therefore called on a firm of rather
second-rate bill discounters, and had an interview with Mr. Marsden, the
senior partner, who had some interest in the mortgage.
"I have always adopted one method in dealing with business men, which
has proved on the whole successful. I will endeavour to describe it to
you briefly, as it may be of service. Each man's honesty lies on a
certain plane, and the types can for convenience be classified under
four heads.
"No. 1, which is rarely met with, may be called the natural inclination
level.
"No. 2, the advantageous moral level, which, except under severe
temptations, it is equally safe to trust.
"No. 3, the reflecting level.
"No. 4, the fear of detection level.
"More men set their honesty down on No. 3 platform than on all the rest
put together, and as Mr. Marsden was among the majority, it will be as
well, therefore, to explain more fully what is meant by the definition.
"This type is honest or dishonest simply through the way it is
approached. If you go to it in a meek and quiet spirit, carrying all
the guilelessness of your nature on your head, and all your cunning
wrapped in a napkin, it will meet you frankly, treat you moderately
fairly, and protect you with almost tender solicitude from the jaws of
any of the No. 4 type. This way of approach is, moreover, safest in
dealing with all business men, for if you come on one by mistake whose
honesty is altogether absent, such method will incite to greed, and your
wolf will be less careful to keep on his sheep-skin.
"I learned this lesson when quite a youth from the relation who has
since left me a great part of his fortune. He was one of the most
successful men in London, and when I asked if he would tell me the
secret of his power, he replied in his queer and enigmatical way--'I
have sucked in knowledge through every pore, and studied men always from
behind the mask of stupidity; those who wish to be thought wise must be
content to remain fools; for in the light of seeming wisdom, the bats
hang head downwards in their safe retreat indistinguishable from the
dirt around; but they flutter in the dull face of stupidity, and may
easily be knocked down and trampled upon. Nevertheless,' he continued,
winking at me, 'it is good sport sometimes to cast off the veil, and to
give these people a taste of your power; then the poor wretches will go
away blubbering that you have hurt them, and the world, knowing how
stupid you are, will say that you must have been mad.'
"Thus I went, carrying a helpless expression, to Mr. Marsden, and
letting him know that I was very wealthy, and at the same time anxious
to acquire the whole of Lord Vancome's property, I threw myself upon his
world-wide knowledge, and asked his advice.
"'I am delighted, Mr. Sydney, that you should have come to me,' he said,
rubbing his hands. 'There is fate in it; had you gone elsewhere, a large
price might have been asked. With my information, and if you leave
yourself in my hands, we can secure a bargain for you, a real bargain.'
Here he dropped his voice as if imparting a great secret. 'Lord Vancome
is pressed for money, and the mortgagees are threatening to foreclose.'
(All this of course I knew, but I thought it better to appear ignorant.)
'We must advance money--we must get his bills--press for
payment--threaten bankruptcy--pay off mortgagees--take estates.'
"I besought him not to trouble me with details, but whilst keeping my
name from appearing in the matter, act as he thought best. My
solicitors, I told him, would supply whatever funds were required. Then
once more calling his attention to the fact that I was entirely at his
mercy, and having read in his thoughts various ways by which he intended
to profit by the transaction, without fleecing me beyond the limit of
his conscience, I went away satisfied.
"On entering my rooms after this interview, I found Mr. Soudin waiting
to see me. He appeared in good spirits; told me he had been in London
the last three days; and I perceived from his thoughts, that he had
found out all he wished to know, and had quite decided to accept me as
his future son-in-law. It was just as well that he could not see into my
mind as clearly, for I had also discovered that he was in even worse
difficulties than Lord Vancome. Not contented with a comfortable income,
he had put some of his capital into an unlimited bank, which, if my
information proved correct, was about to fail.
"He seemed anxious for me to return with him to Scotland, and his wishes
evidently inclined towards an early marriage. Moreover, he suggested
the advisability of having the engagement publicly announced in the
papers. At this point it seemed necessary to inform him that at my last
interview with his daughter, we had quarrelled, though I did not mention
the cause; at the same time I told him that if Vera was willing, I had
not the slightest objection to his making our engagement public. He
pooh-poohed the idea of any objection coming from this quarter,
declaring that his daughter was devoted to me, and took his departure,
saying he would write to her and settle everything.
"The door had scarcely closed behind him, when a deadly faintness began
to steal over me. With some difficulty I managed to get into my
bed-room, and had hardly thrown myself on the bed before I lost
consciousness."
My companion paused for a moment.
"I have at last brought you to the point of my narrative," he continued,
rising, "where the chief interest may be said to begin. It has seemed
best to touch on many points which may have appeared of little or no
importance, and to leave out a few which you might have considered more
interesting. It is a far more difficult matter than you can well
understand, to deal in an intelligible manner with the forces brought
into play through an unrecognized sense; especially as we have at
present no names either for its effect upon the mind, or for the
subjects of which, through the medium of its power, we are for the first
time conscious. I propose, therefore, before continuing my story, to
show you a few experiments, and to throw as much light as possible on
the remarkable changes in our whole life, which a perfect knowledge of
this sixth sense would bring about."
"First," he continued, throwing back the curtain, "you, in your
condition, are permanently tied to what we call the body, and bound down
to its limitation. You can see only by the aid of light, and your
vision cannot pass through what we call opaque substances. The reason
why the animal eye is thus constructed must be obvious. Had it been
formed in such a way as to enable it to focus only on the object it
wished to observe, and were able to disregard any material obstruction
which lay in the way, an animal would dash into the intervening
material, even as a bird strikes itself against a clear sheet of glass.
"It was doubtless for this reason that nature mercifully deals but
seldom in transparent solids, allowing the eye only to penetrate matter
in its liquid or gaseous forms. But you must not for a moment suppose
that there is anything more miraculous in a vision which is constructed
in such a way that it can reverse the process, one form being as easily
developed as the other. Moreover, what we call solid, is only the term
for describing matter which in its present condition resists the
pressure of other material bodies to a certain extent. For as we know,
heat, electricity, sound, etc., can pass even through steel.
"Now, if you will come this way, I will show you an instrument which was
perfected by me some years ago, but which I no longer require to use; it
may possibly explain my meaning more fully.
"Here," said Sydney, pointing to a small instrument which looked like a
very delicate binocular telescope, "is an invention of lenses which
neutralizes the effect of the greater part of the services of the eye on
the brain. It is very imperfect, but it will do as an example. I will
focus it at twenty yards from here, and turn it in this direction. Now
what can you see?"
I looked through, and saw a servant in the dining-room removing some of
the things off the table.
"That is a wonderful invention," I said. "Why have you never made it
known?"
"Can you ask?" he replied. "Just fancy what misery such power would
cause in our present condition; what temptation it would be to evil;
what an aid it might give to cruelty. But I do not fancy it will ever
be required, for as soon as a man is fit to use the power, he will not
require the aid of any instrument. The powers of vision are slowly
changing from generation to generation, in the direction here indicated.
It is the same with regard to hearing. Ask any man who is acquainted
with the roar of London, if it strikes with the sense of confusing
sound. No, he is capable quite unconsciously of listening to a whisper,
or some soft strain of music, and being quite oblivious to the uproar
going on around. If we for one moment were able to hear, as people
fancy they do, all sounds in proportion to their magnitude, we should
that instant be struck deaf by the thunder of universal movement, the
tumult of unceasing vibration. But we hear only just as much as our
natures are fitted to make use of. With the aid of the sixth sense, we
hear just as much or just as little as we will."
He led me to another instrument. "Put your ear to that," he said. "It
is not a telephone, but it answers the purpose far better. Now
concentrate your thought on some distant sound you would like to hear."
I thought of my own hall clock, which has a peculiar, solemn,
old-fashioned tick. I could hear it distinctly, and even now there came
the familiar rattling sound, then slowly it chimed a quarter past
eleven.
"Try again," my companion said.
I thought of my cottage by the sea, and wished to hear the waves on the
beach as I hear them from my bedroom window. I listened, but could
distinguish nothing.
"There is no sound this time," I said.
"It is low tide," he replied, "and the sea is calm. You must will to be
upon the sand."
I did so, and in a moment the little wavelets seemed tumbling over my
feet, splashing and trickling back over the sand. It seemed impossible
that I could be thirty miles from the sea, and nearly a hundred from
that sandy beach; for the sea on nearly all our southern coasts,
breaking as it does on shingle, can give forth no such sweet sounds as
these.
*CHAPTER V*
In this way Alan Sydney gave me an idea of the limitations of our
present sense-organs, and how, by superior knowledge, they may be
altered and varied. I was able to feel things at a distance that I did
not touch, and touch things near me without being able to feel them.
"It is curious," he said to me at last, when he had been showing some
rather singular experiments with regard to perfumes, "that the sense of
smell has been allowed to die out so much through lack of cultivation.
I once taught a person to read quite easily by various scents. I made
an alphabet first of all, which he soon learned, and then by arranging
the perfumes in order he soon was able to read by this means quite
easily. But there is a still more curious fact that, notwithstanding
our present scientific knowledge, people talk of having five senses,
even as I have done to you for fear of confusing matters, for there is
no such thing as the sense of taste."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"Taste," he replied, "is simply the combined effect of two senses, touch
and smell. If a person loses his sense of smelling he can only taste by
feeling; he can detect oil from water, or alcohol from vinegar, sugar
from lemon, through the effect that any of these substances have on the
more delicate nerves of feeling which are connected with the palate.
But we will not waste time in discussing the matter. A few experiments
will prove it to any one who is doubtful. I only mention it to show why
I had not referred to taste as a means of perception."
He then took me to that part of the room fitted up as a chemical
laboratory.
"Now," he said, "I am going to show you some experiments that will
surprise you far more than anything which you have seen hitherto. But
as I do not wish you to look upon them from the marvellous side, it will
be well to explain some of the reasons why quite natural causes may lead
apparently to miraculous results. For instance, you look upon your body
as an inseparable condition of life upon earth. It is even a question
whether you do not really regard it as an essential part of yourself
instead of seeing it is nothing more important than a suit of clothes
well fitting and adapted to the present conditions and circumstances of
your spirit. This latter view, though professed by most people, is but
seldom really believed in. From the lowest to the highest every body is
formed in one way; the life, or spirit, by its force of attraction
drawing certain material elements to its aid for the purpose of growth
and development. As the spirit thus grows and develops, its needs, and
consequently its outward shape, alter. These elements, so gathered, we
call our bodies, and it is as easy to cast off these bodies and put them
on again as it is to take off or replace our clothes. If, however, the
experiment is tried with an imperfect knowledge it is attended with
great danger, probably with what we call loss of life. I will, however,
show you an experiment on an animal."
He whistled, and a small bird that I had not noticed, flew down from the
top of one of the cupboards and settled on his shoulder. It was a tame
robin. As my companion poured out a number of liquids from various
bottles into a glass dish, he told me that he had tamed it about six
months ago, and that it lived chiefly out of doors and found its own
food, but that it now nearly always slept in one of the rooms.
Taking it in his hands, he said--"As soon as its development in this
form is complete, it will die. If the body is injured in such a way as
to make it useless, it will find another; but there is a way of
temporarily causing a life to become dormant. If during that time I
dissolve the body into its gaseous particles, the life, on awaking to
consciousness, will draw these particles back into their previous
shape."
Whilst he was speaking he softly stroked the bird, and its head fell
back. When the little thing was mesmerized he laid it down, a heap of
ruffled feathers, beside the bowl.
"That condition of trance will last one minute," he said, as he placed
the body in the bowl.
A slight vapour rose from the liquid, and in a moment all sign of the
bird had disappeared. I looked into the pure watery fluid, but could
see nothing left there.
"It is over there," he said; pointing to the shelf above me, and there
the robin, without any sign of injury, stood pluming its feathers.
"I have shown you this," he continued, "not to convince you of the truth
of what I was saying, for of course any second-rate conjuror could
apparently bring about a similar result; but because this illustrates an
important law of nature, viz. that life, which is indestructible, is
everything, and the body merely a temporary convenience."
"But," I said, "do you mean to tell me that the life of a bird is
eternal?"
"Everything is eternal," he replied, "and everything is slowly
progressing towards perfection."
"Yet," I answered, "do you really think that heaven will be full of the
spirits of dead birds?"
He sat down and laughed. "For a reasonable man," he said, "you have
some of the most extraordinary, childlike views; but I ought not to
laugh, for after all how little do any of us know; but I will tell you
what I think.
"From the lowest life in the flower to the highest created spirit in the
universe, there is one law of growth; life meets life, uniting and
strengthening. As one atom joining apparently with others becomes what
we call a molecule, and these molecules continue to unite and form new
substances, even thus do lives join and mingle to form more perfect
life."
"Why," I exclaimed, "do you mean to say that my life is but the
amalgamation of countless other lives?"
"You do not," he replied, "express it quite in the way I should; but you
seem to understand me. What we call attraction, fascination, and love
are the forces that draw the kindred elements together, and Swedenborg
was, I fancy, not far wrong when he said, 'That the man and woman
spirits become one angel in death;' so will that angel also doubtless
meet another kindred spirit and unite. Fancy if we could look behind us
and see the millions of gathered lives that form our own. Truly no man
can harm another without stabbing himself, for the whole creation
groaneth and travaileth in pain together, waiting for the redemption of
the body. If," he continued, "you have never seen things in this light
before, go and read your Bible; it is all there though veiled in parable
from the eyes not ready yet to see: listen to the inspired words of men
in all ages, and of all centuries; they point to the same end: study
science, each new discovery is a continual verification of the eternity
of all things, and of continued progress through unity to power. But
come, let us return to the subject before us, so that I may get back as
soon as possible to my story. You do not mind spending the night here,
do you?"
I replied that I would rather spend it there than in bed, and he
continued--
"These chemical and mechanical appliances have as little interest to me
as the books in the adjoining room, for they were but stepping-stones
across a difficulty. I soon discovered that as my spiritual sense grew
and strengthened through use, what we term material aids became
unnecessary, and even a hindrance. It is well, however, that they were
not destroyed, for they may be useful as lesson books to you."
"Do you think," I asked, "that I shall ever attain to any of your
power?"
"No," he replied, "not in this life; perhaps in the next. You have, to
begin with, not sufficient of the feminine element in your character;
and, moreover, you have neither the youth nor the bodily strength to
make it safe for you to try. You would either die or become insane in
the attempt. The strain upon both mind and body in such a work as this
is terrible; and the cause of my success has been owing chiefly to the
careful following out of Descartes' instructions. He says, 'I have been
unable to verify my theory owing to bodily weakness. A man who wishes
to succeed must be strong, and in the flower of youth, but let him
beware of neglecting the body while he is developing his powers. A
diseased body can never be trusted, it tricks the mind, makes it more
difficult to distinguish falsehood from truth, and will even be the
cause of illusions fatal to success.'
"The plan I adopted from the first, was this; the moment my study was
engrossing me too completely, or there was any sign of mental strain, I
threw up the occupation, and instead of being idle, set my body at work.
I found riding the best of all pursuits, it exhausted me less than
walking, and at the same time freed my thoughts more completely.
Hunting, as you know, I have never neglected, and after days of work I
have found in the hunting-field new life. I often start jaded and worn
out, with the animal in me groaning and gnashing its teeth; a little
more and it would turn and rend me. I let it loose, it feels the cool
air, the soft and pleasant movement of the horse, which is its willing
servant. At sight of the hounds a trembling joy passes through both my
body and the beast; they rejoice and are glad, they feel the icy wind
dash by as the welcome cry of a find wakens them to their true life.
The danger of which my mind is dreamily conscious, stimulates them like
new wine, the sweat pours down, and carries the venom from their blood.
Hour after hour my body revels in delight; what folly it perpetrates so
as not to be out-distanced; how it plays with me, rules me, laughs at my
fears, and comes back after perhaps nine hours, like a tired dog, happy
and obedient, ready for its food and its kennel! For days after such a
treat it is my servant, faithful, refreshed, and purified. The mind
takes it in hand, sucks out its renewed strength, and rejoices.
"The man who shall dare to do what I have done, must fight thus, with,
not against, his body; must let it rule him at times, so that he may
rule it more completely. The reason why Britain keeps her greatness, is
owing more to her sportsmen than to her merchants, statesmen,
philosophers, or divines. But let us go and rest; I will send you to
sleep, and you shall see as in your dreams what I saw lying insensible
after Mr. Soudin left me in my room. It will save me the trouble of
talking, and at the same time be more interesting to you. But before
doing so, I will ring for some coffee."
Saying this he touched a bell, and in two or three minutes went to one
of the panels, slipped it aside, and brought out a tray of refreshments.
"I do not care," he said, "to let any one come in here, so I have a
lift, and if I wish to stop in this part of the house all day I can do
so undisturbed."
When we had finished our coffee, we both lay down on the couches in the
recess, and the following scenes came to me while resting.
The first picture was very beautiful. I looked out into a bright
moonlight night; some fleecy clouds were hanging across the sky, seen
through trees that were now nearly bare of foliage. There was a
pleasant sound of wind passing over the forest; the rustling of withered
leaves. I stood close by a footpath, and could hear steps approaching;
the crack of some withered branch trodden underfoot, the rustling of a
dress, the whispering of voices. In another moment two figures became
indistinctly visible; they were coming toward me. As they approached I
caught part of their conversation. The girl was speaking.
"I don't like it at all," she said; "I am frightened. Why could not we
be married in the ordinary way? It is horrid not having a proper
wedding."
"But, dearest," the man answered, "you see it is impossible. Your
father, you say, has told you that he will not hear of your marrying me
because he has got into his mind that I am poor, and he insists on your
marrying that fool Sydney, whom he thinks to be as rich as Croesus."
"But," questioned the girl, "could we not try to get his consent? Could
you not convince him that after all you are well off? I am sure he
would rather I married a lord, if only he did not think you were quite
poor. Besides, as he is rich, it would not really matter very much."
"It will be much easier, darling, to bring him round after the wedding,
when he sees there is no help for it. He will be as right as possible
when once it is all over, and I introduce his daughter to him as Lady
Vancome."
They were passing as he spoke, but it caused me no feeling of surprise
that as they came near they took no notice of me. I was conscious that
though present I was invisible, and though a witness, powerless to act.
I recognized them before they came near, and thought Vera's face more
ethereally lovely seen in this pale moonlight than it seemed possible
for an earthly face to be. The lower and weaker feature were in shadow,
the eyes that looked up to her companion were ennobled by a sadness
which added to their depth.
Vancome, who had his arm round the girl, was evidently somewhat
agitated. Cowardice and weakness were expressed in every feature. He
was more what people used to call handsome, than what in the present day
would be considered worthy of admiration.
The girl looked round into the wood, and visibly trembling, said--"I
don't like it at all. Suppose some one were to see us at the station,
what would they think? Oh, Frank, let us go back."
She stopped just opposite where I stood, and looking straight through
me, cried--"It is horrible here! There is something there!" And she
stretched out her arm and pointed to where I stood, and her hand seemed
to go into my heart and cut me as though her outstretched finger had
been a poignard.
The man turned, and they both stood facing me. "Don't be foolish!" he
said, looking, however, somewhat scared. "There is nothing but a light
patch where the moonlight falls through the opening in the trees."
"I thought for a moment," the girl replied, "that Alan Sydney was
standing quite close to us."
Vancome laughed. "I fancied you meant a ghost," he replied. "It would
be a new experience to see the spirit of a living man, who probably at
the same time is enjoying himself behind the scenes of some London
theatre. Take my word for it, Sydney's spirit is not likely to forsake
the limelight goddess to come wandering after the moonlight one. But we
shall miss our train if you stand looking for ghosts, and it will not
take us long now to get out of this wood if we walk quickly."
As they passed the girl said--"You are quite sure we shall have no
difficulty about the licence when we get to Liverpool?" But the man's
reply was lost in the distance, and the scene vanished.
Then there was, as it seemed, a long pause of darkness, till all of a
sudden I found myself in a brightly lighted room alone. I went to the
window and looked out upon a big city; the church clock struck the hour
of eight, and the streets were full of clerks and workpeople, evidently
on their way to business; a newsboy was shouting out,
"Post!"--"Mercury!"
While standing thus wondering, the door behind me opened, and some
persons entered the room. I tried to turn round and look at them, but
could not. The man, whom I recognized by his voice as Vancome,
said---"Yes, this will do very well, get some breakfast for two as soon
as possible. We shall not stop the night, as we leave this evening by
the nine o'clock boat for America."
While listening to these words I became conscious that I was asleep, and
that for some reason it was most important for me to get up at once. I
struggled to open my eyes, to turn, or do anything to rouse myself. At
last with a desperate effort I struck out my arm, and hitting it smartly
against some object, awoke.
"Well," said Sydney, "as we have had some rest, I will go on with my
story. You have just seen what passed whilst I lay unconscious in my
room; and it was a little after eight on the following morning that I
awoke with an effort similar to that which you have just experienced,
only of course the scenes affected me far more than they did you; and I
roused myself with the distinct intention of hastening to Liverpool, and
trying if possible to rescue the girl.
"While in the act of giving instructions for my things to be packed up,
Mr. Soudin in a great state of excitement dashed into the room. He had
just had a telegram from his wife, saying that Vera had on the afternoon
of the previous day walked over to see some friends. The carriage had
been sent to fetch her, but the coachman brought back word that she had
started to walk home about seven o'clock; and since that nothing had
been seen or heard of her.
"'I am going to the north at once,' he said. 'Will you come and help?'
"I replied that though anxious to help, I expected to be of more service
in taking steps independently.
"He tried to persuade me to alter my determination, but seeing that I
was fixed upon it, left to catch his train.
"'It is possible,' I said, 'that you may see Vera back to-morrow about
this time; and if she comes, deal kindly with her, and remember that
nothing which has happened will make any difference to my intentions.'
"'I believe,' he replied, 'either that you are mad, or know something of
this.'
"'I may be mad,' I answered, 'but don't forget.'
"I arrived at Liverpool later than I expected, and having no knowledge
of the town, thought it would be safer to discover which boat started at
nine, and watch that rather than risk hunting for the hotel. I,
however, drove first to the house of a friend of mine, Mrs. Freshfield,
who lived at Woolton, a suburb a few miles outside the city. I briefly
explained my position, also that of the girl, and her kindly heart was
soon roused to help me if possible.
"'Why don't you communicate with the police?' she said.
"'I shall,' I replied, 'as a last resource, but hope to be able to work
without their assistance, so as to avoid making any scandal.'
"She was also very anxious to know how the plot had been discovered,
but, not wishing to tell her, I excused myself on the ground of time,
and receiving her promise to wait for me at a certain place near the
docks from eight to nine, I left, and hurried back to the city to
complete my arrangements.
"It was now past five, and already growing dusk, as I went to a private
detective office, and requested to see the chief officer. When told
briefly the facts of the case, he seemed very doubtful whether the law
could help me if the girl was leaving of her own will.
"I replied that if so the law was iniquitous, which he seemed to think
very probable; at the same time the fact did not help us. But when I
pointed out that this was a case in which money was of no consequence,
and that if it should cost L5000 it must be done, he immediately altered
his tone.
"'You have come to the right place,' he said, his face visibly
brightening, 'for we act for the public, not for the Government, and
money can do pretty well anything. Are you prepared to swear, if
necessary, to an indictable offence against this man?'
"I told him I would swear anything rather than that harm should happen
to the girl.
"'You will not mind leaving a guarantee in the way of money?' he asked.
"I satisfied him on this point also.
"Finally it was arranged that if I could not get Vera away secretly, he
should be prepared to have Vancome arrested. He, however, warned me
that we were running a considerable risk, and let me fully understand
that he intended to deny all knowledge of my real motives.
"Having settled this matter, I went down to the docks, found out the
vessel and waited.
"It was a beautiful night, calm and clear, with a slight mist lying over
the Mersey. As I waited watching the vessels pass and repass, the moon
rose and lit up the broad expanse of water. The sands in the direction
of Waterloo were nearly covered, and looking westward the river spread
out as if to welcome the opening sea. I cursed the ocean as I thought
that it might so soon have been the means of bearing away one I loved
from every helping hand. I pictured Vera when she realized the truth,
looking out over the cruel waste of water, helpless, compromised, and
too weak to struggle against her fate; a fate which probably she would
only half comprehend or realize. Some passengers were already on the
steamer. She might even now be there. I walked across the
landing-stage to the vessel, but could see no sign of either of the
fugitives.
"The time passed; I grew anxious. Could there be some mistake? At
last, utterly unnerved, I sat down, and my heart cried out, 'Vera!
Vera! come, oh, come! that I may save you.'
"A hand touched me on the shoulder. I looked up, the girl was standing
over me; she had in her eyes a strange far-away look as though she were
walking in her sleep.
"'You called me,' she said, 'but I must not wait, for my husband told me
on no account to leave the berth until the ship had started.'
"I made no audible reply, but willing her to follow me, left the ship.
Passing across the bridge I saw my detective waiting.
"'Keep the money,' I whispered.
"He saluted, and we passed on, the girl still following close behind me.
I led the way to where Mrs. Freshfield had promised to wait, and found
her in a state of great excitement. When, however, she saw Vera a look
of relief passed over her face, and the kind-hearted woman went up, took
the girl in her arms and kissed her as if she had been a long-lost child
of her own.
"'Vera,' I said, bringing all my power to bear upon her, 'I want you to
go home with this lady at once; do you understand?'
"'Yes, go home,' she answered in a weary, uninterested voice.
"I took her hands in mine, bent over and kissed her. 'Forget,' I
whispered, 'all that has happened in the last thirty hours, and hate,
hate, hate Vancome.'
"I said good-bye to my friend, made her promise to take Vera to her home
at once, and left them.
"A frenzy of delight passed through me; for the moment I was mad.
Though I had touched no food for thirty hours, I did not experience any
feeling of hunger. I was hungry only for revenge. I would go back to
the ship, would see the man's look of baffled rage and anger; would
laugh at him, mock him, torture him. I began to run, and still in this
mood regained the landing-place, and pressing my way past a crowd of
people, who were leaving the vessel, went on board. Where was he? I
thought of nothing else, cared for nothing, but to look at his face, to
taunt him. I heard whistles blowing, shouts, the motion of the engine,
but cared for nothing. I would find him. If the worst came to the
worst it would be possible to get off at Queenstown. What did anything
matter now that Vera was safe!
"But with regard to Queenstown I was mistaken. Vancome had planned his
elopement some little time before, and with more forethought and care
than I should have expected of him. The vessel he had chosen was making
an experimental time journey, with special pilots on board, and did not
stop anywhere this side of the Atlantic.
"While I was thus frantically searching for the enemy, he was quietly
enjoying a cigar in the smoking-saloon, in the full confidence that Vera
was in hiding, according to instructions, in the state cabin, which he
had engaged. When his cigar was finished and the ship well on its way,
he walked over to the cabin with the intention of releasing his captive;
but finding she had already gone, and supposing that, the ship being in
motion, she had considered herself free, he sauntered quietly up the
ladder expecting to find her on deck. Thus it happened that we met at
last face to face.
"The moment I saw him my excitement left me, and I became calm and
collected. He evidently knew nothing as yet, and I enjoyed the pleasure
of playing with him before dealing the final blow. Besides, it would be
safer to keep him from knowing the worst till we were out of the Mersey
and in the open sea, for I thought that probably the river pilot would
leave before long, and my foe might get permission to accompany him on
shore, in which case the safety of my plans might be slightly
endangered. Assuming, therefore, a natural surprise, I said--
"'Well, who would have expected to meet you here?'
"He glared at me for a moment, then, feeling that it was necessary to
say something, answered, 'You cannot be more surprised than I am to see
you, for I thought you were in London. But you must excuse me a
moment.' He hurried forward, and I saw him looking intently across the
deck, scanning all the passengers with the evident expectation of seeing
Vera.
"I watched, with a smile on my face. Having satisfied himself that she
was not on deck, he came back to me, and I suggested that we should go
into the smoking-room.
"He thought for a moment, and then, evidently fancying that it would be
the safest plan to keep me out of the way of discovering anything for
the present, assented.
"The room was unoccupied, and we sat down opposite each other. He was
evidently debating as to which was the best course to pursue. He could
not keep Vera in hiding through the voyage, and therefore was certain to
be found out. I could hardly restrain my laughter at his view of the
position. What would he say when he discovered that her place had been
taken by me? This suggested an idea.
"'I suppose,' I said, 'you cannot help me? I came on board at the last
moment and have not yet engaged a berth. There is not a spare one in
your cabin?'
"'_Damned if there is!_' he thought; but he only said after a little
hesitation, 'No, it is occupied.'
"'Now look here,' I continued, 'you will never guess why I came here; it
is such fun, you will enjoy the situation, but you must keep it quiet.
I have run off with some one else's wife!' and I burst out in loud
laughter.
"He looked relieved, patted me on the back, and began to whistle. 'What
about the cabin?' he said, laughing.
"'Oh!' I replied (having in truth forgotten all about it), 'that was my
little joke.'
"'_Then,_' he thought, '_I need not mind about him now, and may as well
make a dean breast of it!_' 'I hope you have not run off with mine,' he
said. 'You see I cannot now quite approve of these actions, I am a
married man myself.'
"'A married man!' I exclaimed, trying to look more surprised than I
felt, at what I supposed was a lie.
"'Look at that,' he continued, and drew from his pocket a copy of a
marriage-licence dated that day at a registry office in Liverpool.
"It was--I could not be mistaken, the names and particulars were clear,
though Vera's age had been inaccurately stated as twenty-one. I can see
the paper distinctly at this moment, every cursed line. My brain reeled,
and shouting out,--'My lie is true. I have run away with some one else's
wife--your wife,' I fell forward on the floor insensible.
"On recovering I found that I had been placed in a cabin by myself, and
was under the doctor's hands. It required but little power of
thought-reading to discover that he regarded me as an escaped and rather
dangerous lunatic, an opinion which I felt to be not far from correct.
The position was ridiculous in the extreme. Following the dictates of
my partially-developed powers, I had formed an erroneous view; rescued a
girl against her will from her own husband, and was now taking a
needless voyage in her place to America. I wondered what Vancome
thought of it all, and had not long to wait before discovering, as he,
having obtained permission from the doctor, appeared later on in the
day.
"I hated him more than ever, but at the same time was anxious to discuss
matters.
"After closing the door, he sat down, saying, 'What in the devil's name
is the meaning of all this?'
"'Perhaps,' I said, 'you will tell me first of all what you have done,
then I will tell you what I have done, and possibly the meaning may
come.'
"'Firstly,' he exclaimed, 'will you explain how you can have run off
with my wife when you are here, and she is not? Where is she?'
"I felt aggravated, and therefore inclined to be aggravating. 'I left
her,' I answered, 'as you know is generally the end of man's
inconsistency in this case.'
"'This is ridiculous!' he replied, a dangerous light coming into his
eyes. 'If you don't take care you will tempt me too far!'
"I felt nothing would please me more than to get him to murder me, then
after he had been hanged Vera might go free.
"'I hope,' I said, 'you like your wedding trip, you coward. Who, half
drunken with the father's wine, made a stage-play scene for the benefit
of his child, when her very innocence should have protected her? Who
lied about his private property, when he was in reality a beggar and
will soon be a bankrupt? Who at last decided to marry in the hope of
living on his wife's fortune?'
"He had come nearer and was now standing over me; his hand was on my
throat; but for his natural cowardice he would have strangled me. His
eyes glared down with fiendish anger!
"'You devil!' he cried, 'for devil I believe you are! Curse you! Curse
you!'
"'I have still a trifle of news left, it may be a comfort for you to
reflect upon it,' I said. 'Mr. Soudin is as badly off as you are. I
heard the newsboy shouting that an unlimited bank has failed in which he
is considerably interested. Probably if your mortgagees are merciful he
may be bankrupt before you even now!'
"Vancome looked at me for a moment, then, seeming satisfied that as I
knew so much it might be safe to rely upon me even in this, sank back in
his chair. The last blow had tamed him. He was not only robbed of his
wife, but what to him seemed far worse, utterly ruined, with or without
her; cut off from his long-cherished hope of redeeming his fortune by
marriage. I felt toward him almost a sensation of pity.
"After a pause he muttered, 'I cannot believe it! Some one told me that
Soudin was very wealthy--a regular miser, rolling in gold! Look here,'
he continued, turning to me, but the anger had left his face. 'Tell me
plainly, how do you know all these things? How did you know we were
here? What have you done with Vera? And why in the name of fortune are
you travelling with me to America?'
"I should have been a good deal puzzled to reply to the last question,
and had no intention of answering the three others, so I remained
silent. At this moment the doctor entered, and I expressed a wish to
speak to him alone. Vancome left us evidently unwillingly.
"'I see from your manner,' I said to the doctor, 'that you believe me to
be insane. I must therefore try to convince you that this is not the
case, though you were quite justified in accepting the view you did. I
came on board this ship hoping to find out something of great
importance. During my search the vessel started. I then heard very bad
news, and having in my excitement not tasted food for many hours, I
fainted. Will you let the captain know, however, that I am well
provided with money, and willing to pay for the best accommodation
possible?'
"I took out my pocket-book and handed him a card, and at the same time
drawing out a roll of notes which represented over L2000. I had brought
this money with me for the purpose of bribery, for had I found it
necessary to resort to that expedient, ready cash would have been
required.
"The sight of the money had more effect in satisfying the doctor that he
had not to deal with an escaped lunatic than any words could have done;
but I noticed he was meditating on the probability of my being an
escaped thief instead. However, having apparently decided that such
matters were out of his line of business, and seeing a good chance of
being paid for his services, his manner changed, and he became the
friendly practitioner.
"I was soon supplied with a few requisites for the journey and also
moved to very comfortable quarters; but I was most anxious to get an
opportunity of returning at once to England. In the evening I consulted
the captain, but though I offered a large reward if he could put me on a
homebound vessel, he declined to stop the ship on her trial trip.
"Fortune nevertheless favoured me. We had been talking for some time,
and it was well on into the night. The sea was smooth, though a gentle
westerly breeze was blowing. The passengers had retired for the night.
"'How much did you say you were prepared to give?' he asked presently.
"I saw he was wavering, and doubled the sum.
"'Well,' he said looking out, 'if I am not mistaken, that is a
Southampton schooner in the distance. Will you swear to keep the matter
dark if I get you on board?'
"I assented.
"'Do you know any one on this vessel?' he then asked.
"'Only one man,' I replied, 'and he will be less surprised at my
disappearance than he was at my appearance. He believes I am a
magician.'
"'We will chance it,' he said. 'You are not a passenger, and the whole
business can be done in ten minutes.'
"He gave some instructions and signalling went on. Then he crossed to
one of the mates, with whom he had a private conversation, which led to
a boat being got ready. The schooner had tacked and was coming quickly
towards us.
"'It is all right,' the officer said. 'I know the Captain of this ship,
and my mate will explain to him that you are willing to pay L100 for
your trip to Southampton. He will keep the matter dark. Good-bye!'
"The steamer had slackened, and we glided noiselessly toward the sailing
ship. As the boat was lowered I handed the speaker a handful of notes.
In less than five minutes I was on board the schooner, and before the
week was out, in London."
*CHAPTER VI*
"I found among the letters waiting attention, one from Mr. Soudin,
thanking me most warmly for my action in saving his daughter from Lord
Vancome, to whom he referred in language that hardly bears repetition.
It was a diplomatic letter, striving to shield Vera as much as possible,
and endeavouring to make out that she had not only left home against her
will, but even hinting that she had been drugged, as he said that since
her return with Mrs. Freshfield she had been unable to give any account
of what had happened, and that she evidently looked upon Vancome with
absolute detestation. This satisfied me that the influence which I had
exercised had been successful, and the girl remembered nothing about the
marriage. It was also plain that her father had no idea of the truth.
You may well conceive that my position was both a painful and difficult
one. I decided to go at once to Scotland, and hoped that during the
journey I might be able to form some plans for future action.
"There was also a note from Mr. Marsden, saying that his scheme was
progressing favourably, and that he considered it would be better to
make Lord Vancome a bankrupt; he had got possession of all his bills,
and now only awaited instructions before taking final action.
"Without replying to either of the letters, I started for the North by
the night train, and slept nearly the whole time, instead of devoting it
to unravelling the entangled skein, which was probably the better plan,
for I was thoroughly tired. Consequently I arrived at Heather Lodge
refreshed, but without having the least idea of what course to pursue.
"Mr. Soudin had gone out, and I found Vera sitting alone, engaged in
reading a novel. She seemed pleased to see me, and we sat for some time
talking on trivial matters, which gave me an opportunity of reading her
thoughts, and thus finding out whether the memory of her journey to
Liverpool had returned. With some relief I soon discovered that, though
she had a dim remembrance of having intended to run away from home with
Vancome, and of a journey with some unknown lady, the intervening period
was still a blank; and, moreover, that she had been persuaded even this
remembrance was but a delusion owing to illness. After her return she
had suffered from a slight fever, brought on no doubt by the excitement;
and during recovery it was easy to make her believe that what
remembrance she retained was simply the effect of delirium. Though she
now disliked Vancome, it was not difficult to perceive that she had not
forgotten our former quarrel. Her father had apparently been urging her
strongly to accept my suit and had prevailed, but there was no sign that
she loved me; and this fact, considering the strange position in which
we were placed, ought to have caused me more relief than it did.
"I found it impossible to convince my heart that, considering the
circumstances, such a husband had any right over this girl; though at
the same time I fully realized how all hope of my marrying her was at an
end, and that my love must in future be unselfish, desiring neither any
return of affection nor other reward.
"You may think that from the time I became acquainted with the marriage,
it was my duty to stamp out all feeling of affection and accept this as
a sign that I had previously been mistaken in supposing our lives were
for all time to influence each other, or that I was still responsible
for the girl's future. In fact, considering her character, one so
placed might well, from a selfish point of view, have rejoiced in
regaining freedom from a burden that could only bring pain and trouble
through life. Such views have become the accepted canons of society,
and in most cases it would be foolish to fight against them. Marriage in
itself is a wise law fitted to the present condition of our lower animal
natures, and to tamper with it is not only a dangerous, but a retrograde
step. For it shadows forth the nobler union of souls, and in some few
cases may even bring a foretaste of future joy.
"On the other hand, it is equally false to assume that this legal or
so-called religious tie has any necessary spiritual significance; and
while at the present day the bond is often held too lightly, there are
some, who, conscious of nobler feelings and aspirations, regard wedlock
as a divine union of souls. This view, though correct as an ideal, finds
too seldom its realization; hence arises no little confusion of ideas
and much unnecessary trouble of heart. The scoffers ask, with the
Sadducees of old, which man's wife shall such a one be in the
resurrection, forgetting that the body is nothing, and that the passions
of the body are nothing but the trivialities of a transitory condition.
Such things are intended to seem important to us whilst on earth; and
bear an apparent significance out of all proportion to their spiritual
importance. Thus we live in a world full of heaven-sent delusions. No
observation of other lives can destroy them, for each man or woman must
learn the lesson by experience.
"Think of all that has been written and all that has been said about
love, and yet how year by year we see the same picture reproduced. When
first a girl attracts a youth, or may be a man of mature years, what are
his feelings? If only he can get her to consent to be his wife, he
believes that his whole existence must be changed to one of joy; that in
her company all other interests will be as nothing; that it must be
impossible to tire of her presence, to be a moment absent from her
without pain, that they will in fact continue lovers to the end. If he
looks round on his married acquaintances it is nothing to him that he
can find no such state of existence; others can never have felt as he
feels, for no one had like cause. He may be half conscious that he is
being tricked by his emotions, but he prefers not to question his mind
on the subject. Nature is too strong for reason, and having her work to
accomplish, fulfils her mission."
I was surprised to hear Sydney speaking in this way, and interrupted him
by asking if he did not believe in the possibility of an enduring and
true love on earth.
"Yes," he replied, "most certainly; but not in this fascination lasting.
True love can only be tested by those who have learned the lesson of
self-renunciation. If you wish to know whether you love or not, face
these questions--Is it for myself this possession is desired, or am I
striving only for the happiness of the one beloved? Should she change,
and the beauty, if there is beauty, turn to the most repulsive ugliness;
her apparent saintliness to sin; her affection to hatred, or her sanity
to madness, should I still love her? If you can truly say this, and
have sufficient imagination to realize fully the meaning of the change,
yours is love; and if in after times, when trial comes, your
self-confidence leaves you, such love may even then rest assured it is
eternal, because it is of God. But we see this devotion more often
exhibited in the passion of parent for child than in love between man
and wife. The reason of this being that the latter relationship begins
with the expectation of a love to be returned, and the former with a
ministry of tenderness which can at the time receive no active response.
It is ever owing to seemingly adverse circumstances that the finer
qualities of man's nature are drawn forth, and I have more reason to be
thankful for the misery and perplexity which my love for Vera brought
into my life than for all the hours of happiness which I have known.
Much, however, as we may appreciate these disguised blessings in
retrospect, it does not make them more agreeable to pass through; and
this time which I spent at Heather Lodge was perhaps, with one
exception, the most miserable period of my life.
"I felt that it was absolutely necessary to take the first opportunity
of letting Mr. Soudin know the truth. As soon as he returned, and I had
a chance of speaking to him alone, I started on the unpleasant task. He
listened patiently to the outline of the story till I came to the
marriage-licence, then turning livid with anger he lost all
self-control.
"'I don't believe it!' he said. 'It is outrageous--monstrous! Why, the
girl's not of age. He would have been bound to get my consent. You
must know that the thing's out of the question!'
"When I explained that the age had been altered, he grew still more
furious.
"'I'll have him up for perjury!' he cried. 'Get the marriage annulled,
for after all it was never consummated; the thing's preposterous. He
drugs the girl, gets her into his power, commits perjury, and hopes
thereby to live on me for the rest of his life; but he is mistaken; the
thing shall be put right at once!'
"As soon as he was a little calmer I tried to reason with him, and show
that it would be no easy matter to prove that Vera was not a consenting
party.
"'Had you not better,' I asked, 'go to Liverpool, and see the registrar
before whom the marriage took place, and also examine the signatures? A
prosecution for perjury might possibly fall upon your daughter if you
are not careful how you act.'
"At last he consented to take the course suggested, on the condition
that I did not leave until his return, and the following morning he
started for Liverpool.
"I was left practically alone with Vera, her mother being still confined
nearly all day to her room. I decided to let my powers, as far as
possible, lie dormant, and to watch her only as I should have done
before the development of my new sense; to see her as any other man
might, and endeavour to judge how much of her inner character was
obvious to those who came in contact with her in ordinary life.
"It is always easy thus to throw off a possession that has been recently
acquired, and it is often a relief to do so. My animal nature gained in
strength the moment it was released from the new spiritual bondage.
Moreover, my companion seemed conscious of a similar relief; I had never
seen her so bright and happy; she became at once a merry, playful child,
recklessly mischievous and fascinatingly coquettish.
"In the afternoon, the day after my arrival, we walked together over the
moors to a little village by the sea. Though the autumn was now far
advanced, it was one of those Indian summer days in which each act of
breathing becomes a separate joy, when every soft breath of wind helps
to intoxicate the brain. I felt as if with every mile I walked a year
of life dropped from me, till, when we reached the seashore, I had
arrived at boyhood and had cast away all care, all thoughts of the past.
"The girl beside me was no longer the wife of an enemy, but my
child-playfellow; our spirits acted and reacted upon each other. We
were alone with the seagulls and the waves. The cries of the former and
the music of the latter harmonized with the reckless exultation that
overwhelmed us. Barefooted we waded in the chilly water, or chased each
other over the warm sand with laughter and shouting. Among the rocks
and caves we hunted for curious sea-creatures, sadly missing our
childhood's buckets in which to place the captives. Near at hand was a
rocky basin, which became our aquarium; hither we brought, with mingling
sounds of exultation and fear, the wriggling captives, pride in each new
treasure demanding appreciation from the less fortunate.
"The clear pool was soon teeming with live creatures thus reluctantly
brought into close contact, and through the forest of delicate seaweed
we watched some fierce and deadly battles; whilst the more lymphatic
species lay around, allowing their bodies with equal complacency to be
made the stepping-stones to victory or the shelter from defeat.
"Thus in childish pleasure the hours went by, till, tired out with our
play, we sat down side by side to rest.
"'Whatever would people think if they could see us?' Vera said, covering
up her bare feet in the warm sand.
"It may have been her action, or something in the tone of her voice. In
a moment the happy, boyish feeling left me. The years began to hurry
back, the innocent pleasure to fade, and in its place the passion of
manhood came with overwhelming power, baffling and mocking me. I looked
at my companion--child-playmate no longer. Her face was flushed, her
uncovered head a mass of soft, light, waving curls; her eyes sparkled
with merry mischief, but beneath the mischief there was that look I had
surprised before, the reflection of my own feeling on the girl's nature;
but how differently did it affect me now! When first I had seen it,
Vera had promised to be my wife; now she was the wife of another. It
seemed almost incredible that a mere legal formality, such as her
marriage had been, could so entirely alter our relationship; but still
stranger how the knowledge of this alteration strengthened all the lower
passions of my nature, at the expense of the higher. Every feeling that
had hitherto been sanctified by love was now sacrilege against that
love. I made a desperate effort to regain the mastery over my weakness;
but, alas! I had kindled a new fire of temptation.
"Vera came close to me, and laying her hand on mine, said--'Alan, I
think that I will forgive you, after all. I like you better to-day than
ever before.'
"What had I done? My object having been to help this girl, my want of
success was pitiable. Having deprived her of the knowledge of her
marriage, and caused her to hate her husband, I was now bringing her
once more beneath the influence of a passion which could only end in
misery and degradation. Yet, as I looked at her, it seemed impossible to
withstand the temptation of taking her once more, if only once, into my
arms. She was waiting for my kiss of reconciliation; and more than
this, of the torrent of love long restrained. I was powerless, and
knowing that no strength of my own could save me, with one last cry for
help, I gave over the contest. At the same instant I was free.
"Of all the strange mysteries connected with our nature, nothing is more
remarkable than what is called the efficacy of prayer. As long as a man
fights against his temptations he but increases their force, especially
in such a contest as this. But should his will be really against the
temptation, a path is always open. Let him once acknowledge his own
weakness, and allow for a moment his spirit to cry for assistance, and
he will find himself lifted from the burden of the body, in a way that
those who have never experienced the sensation would think impossible.
One thing only is necessary, but that is essential: the cry must be an
honest desire of the heart, and not a weak prompting of habit.
"It is not that strength to resist the evil is sent as an answer to the
prayer, but that the temptation is utterly removed, the force of the
body being, as it were, for the time annihilated; so at least have I
ever found it, and so it proved in this case. I could look now at my
companion without fear, and love her with a love that I knew was
innocent. The very remembrance of my past thoughts filled me with a
wondering horror. Summoning all my strength of will, I strove to recall
to her mind the page which had been obliterated, and to bring back her
natural feeling towards Vancome, which had changed to hatred.
"Whilst doing this, I repeated the story, hoping thereby to assist her
memory, but, from a then unknown reason, I failed utterly, and the only
impression which she formed was that I had gone mad. When I tried to
take her hand in mine so as to gain more influence over her will, she
rose and left me.
"I could see her in the distance evidently getting ready to start for
home. I dared not follow her, knowing that had I done so, she would in
her fear have run bare-headed and bare-footed over the moor, rather than
let me come near her.
"She, however, seemed undecided in her mind, and for the first time that
day I began to be conscious of her thoughts. Seeing that I had made no
attempt to follow her, or to exhibit any further signs of insanity, the
sudden fear had evidently diminished, and she began to fancy that
probably I had only been fooling her for the pleasure of seeing if she
could be made to believe the story. At length, being satisfied that
this was the explanation, she began to walk slowly towards the place
where I was sitting, and then called to me, saying that it was time to
go back. I answered that I was quite ready, but that it seemed a pity
to go so soon. My voice still further reassuring her, she came and
looked over the rock, saying--
"'So you thought you could take me in with that rubbish, did you?'
"'Well,' I replied, 'that was my intention, but as it's evidently of no
use, I must give in. Your imagination is not so easily influenced as I
thought.'
"'I should think not,' she said. 'But you acted very well, and I really
thought for the moment you had gone mad. It was very nasty of you to
spoil our happy day in that manner. I suppose you did it in revenge.'
"'No, I did not, dear,' I answered. 'But come and sit down. We will
say no more about it.'
"She did as I asked her, protesting all the while that I was a brute;
but in five minutes I had managed to change the subject, and to get her
to take my hand. Then without speaking I willed her to sleep. Slowly
she leant further back; her head sank down, and in less than a minute
she was quite unconscious.
"There would, I now knew, be no difficulty in impressing on her mind
what had previously been obliterated, and moreover, there was plenty of
time to consider whether it might not be well to keep her still in
ignorance of some part of her experience with Vancome. But thinking the
matter over, I decided it would not under the circumstances be right to
interfere with the past. So I willed her to remember all, and to awake
with the same feelings towards her husband as those which she felt
before she left the ship; moreover, that she should not only understand
what course I had pursued, but my reason for pursuing it, and my
ignorance of the marriage.
"In her hypnotic condition she was able to answer my questions, and I
felt satisfied that when she recovered, she would be able clearly to
recall the past.
"Once more I laid my hand over her eyes, and bade her sleep, it being
easier and safer to recall the patient to a natural condition, from a
state of placid, rather than active, mesmerism. But on trying to rouse
her, I was again destined to failure. It was impossible to bring her
back to consciousness, or even to influence her now in any way. She lay
in one of those cataleptic trances, which no power then known could
break, and which form the chief danger connected with all such
experiments. Even now, though I should have little difficulty in
dealing with a case of this kind, I should be loath, except in
emergency, or where the life of the body was endangered, to recall the
spirit which is for the time free from its bodily trammels. But in
those days I was unable to do so.
"At length alarmed, I took her in my arms and carried her to the little
fishing village, where with some difficulty I managed to find a vehicle
to drive back to Heather Lodge. It is not necessary for me to go into
the details of the two anxious days which followed. During this time
all the efforts, not only of the local doctor, but of two consulting
physicians, had no effect in rousing Vera from her unnatural sleep. On
the third day, however, she awoke, and seemed little the worse for her
experience.
"Mr. Soudin had, in the meantime, returned in a state of the greatest
despondency, and as soon as the news of his daughter's recovery had
relieved my mind of an anxiety, which had made it impossible for me to
think of other matters, I had a long talk with him.
"His pride and reserve were broken, and I was relieved to find that he
intended to make a full confession of his present monetary difficulties.
In Liverpool his worst fears were realized. Not only had he seen Vera's
signature, but the registrar had told him that as far as it was possible
to judge, his daughter acted without the slightest constraint, and had
seemed perfectly reasonable and collected. 'She had given her age as
twenty-one, on oath, and had answered all his questions rationally. A
solicitor, when consulted, had given Mr. Soudin little hope of the
marriage being annulled, and had warned him that while the action would
probably lead to no good, it might possibly end in his daughter and
son-in-law being arrested for perjury. If, however, he continued, she
possessed means of her own, it might be wise to make an application to
have this money settled upon her.
"'Money!' cried Mr. Soudin, after repeating the lawyer's words, 'it is
little use troubling about that. Not only has she not a penny, but I may
as well tell you at once she never will have. I am ruined!' and saying
this he broke down, burying his face in his hands.
"'I knew this,' I replied, 'some time ago. You might as well have shown
sufficient confidence in me to mention it before; knowing that I should,
for your child's sake, have been only too glad to help you. But I
suppose it seemed safer to let the marriage take place first.'
"'It's all very well,' he gasped, still shaken with the sobs which he
could not suppress, 'for you to talk in that way now that the marriage
is impossible, and you are free to leave us all in our misery!
Generosity, I have found, is only to be trusted when the personal
interest of the giver is securely tied up with that of the recipient.'
"I felt inclined to retort that he, in common with most men, judged
others from the standpoint which he had adopted for personal usage, but
the abject misery of the man, and the fact that he was the father of
Vera, restrained me, and I said--
"'It is useless to talk of the past, which is irrevocable. The question
to decide is what can be done in the future.'
"'The workhouse is open,' he muttered, 'and I can hardly see how the
matter can interest you. Vancome is a beggar--we are all beggars. A
curse has come upon us since you first entered the house, and I
sometimes think that you brought it. You seem to possess some damnable
power which I neither understand nor wish any longer to experience. It
will be a relief to know that you have left the house.'
"'I feel sure you will later on regret such an accusation,' I answered,
'considering that you bought your bank shares before you ever saw me,
and that the bank has been insolvent for years. Moreover, as you know,
I did all in my power to prevent your daughter from marrying Lord
Vancome. I have, however, a proposition to make. It seems quite clear
that I cannot marry Vera, but there is no reason why I should not be
able to help her. She is now Lady Vancome, and though her husband is
penniless, the property which he once owned is in my hands, and will
before long be legally transferred to me. I have thought the matter
carefully over, and decided on certain conditions to settle these
estates upon your daughter for life. The income which she will derive
from them will be sufficient not only to enable her to keep up Vancome's
late home, but also to live there very comfortably.'
"My companion was staring at me in blank amazement, and at last he
said--'But to be candid, what are you to gain by this sacrifice? You
can hardly expect me to believe that you intend to hand over property
worth L100,000 for the benefit of a man you hate.'
"I did not reply for a moment; it was not the man's words but his
thoughts which made me mad with rage; for I saw that he had not only
placed the worst motive on my action, but that in his extremity he was
prepared to accept my offer even at the price of his daughter's honour.
"Seeing that I was silent, he continued--'Of course you will have to pay
Vancome an allowance for keeping out of the way.' Then a bright idea
seemed to strike him, and he continued--'Why not pay him a good round
sum to run off with some one else, and let us get a divorce? It is only
a matter of price, and desertion is as good a plea as cruelty.'
"'This may be your idea of what is best,' I said, 'but somehow it does
not appeal to me, nor would it fit in with my plans. I am going to
consult my lawyer; and if it should be necessary, so as to make it easy
for your daughter to protect herself, as well as the property, from her
husband, I may have to make Vancome an allowance. But should Vera
desire it, I shall place no obstacle in the way of his returning to his
old home; my only wish is to leave her independent. As soon as these
arrangements are made, I shall go abroad, and it is hardly probable you
will see me again for some years.'
"Having said this, and feeling it would be impossible to restrain my
temper any longer, I left the room. Had I remained with Mr. Soudin I
should most likely have read some of the plans which he doubtless then
was formulating, and so have been able to guard Vera more wisely, and
prevent much of the evil which followed.
"I felt utterly depressed and puzzled. Little as I had cared for or
believed in this man, the coarse selfishness of his nature, the want of
even natural affection nauseated me. Life itself, mankind, the Creator
of all things, seem degraded by the very existence of such a being. As
the unselfish love of a father for his child is the chosen illustration
of Godhead, so one in whom there is no sign of this love stands on the
outer edge of darkness; doubly damned by the chaos into which he has
wandered, and the reckless disregard of that one pure ray which might
have been his salvation.
"The next day, before leaving for London, I had a long talk with Vera.
She was now able to remember all that had passed during her absence from
home, and was evidently very nervous, wondering how I should receive her
after what had happened.
"'Mr. Sydney,' she began, 'I suppose you hate me, and perhaps your
hatred is deserved. I can only say that I am very sorry for acting
towards you in this way, and wish you good-bye.'
"'I am not angry with you, Vera,' I replied. 'We all must live to a
certain extent as our natures lead us. Tell me, do you love your
husband?'
"'I am not sure,' she answered; 'I suppose so, or I should not have
consented to run away with him; but you see it seems long ago, and as I
knew him for so short a time, it is difficult to be certain. It was
wrong of you to make me forget all about the marriage, but you thought
you were doing it for th
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