{"collection":"ritual-magic","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_48080/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_48080","id":"gutenberg_48080","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48080","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Occultism -- Fiction","Paranormal fiction"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n\n\n                       *THE CHARIOT OF THE FLESH*\n\n\n                                   BY\n\n                             *HEDLEY PEEK*\n\n\n\n\"Look on the Spirit as the rider! take\nThe Body for the chariot, and the Will\nAs charioteer! regard the mind as reins.\nThe senses as the steeds; and things of sense\nThe ways they trample on....\nFor whoso rides this chariot of the flesh,\nThe reins of mind well grasped, the charioteer\nFaithful and firm--comes to his journey's end.\"\n  _The Secret of Death_.\n\n\n\n                                 LONDON\n                        LAWRENCE & BULLEN, LTD.\n                                  1897\n\n                                NEW YORK\n                         LONGMANS, GREEN & CO.\n                                  1897\n\n                         [All rights reserved]\n\n\n\n\n                     RICHARD CLAY & SONS, LIMITED,\n                            LONDON & BUNGAY.\n\n\n\n\n                               Dedicated\n                                   TO\n                           REV. S. A. TIPPLE\n\n                 FOR THIRTY YEARS MY FRIEND AND TEACHER\n\n\n\nIn our definitions we grope after the _spiritual_ by\ndescribing it as invisible.  The true meaning of _spiritual_\nis _real_.--EMERSON.\n\n\n\n\n                       *THE CHARIOT OF THE FLESH*\n\n\n\n                                *PART I*\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER I*\n\n\nIt is nearly eleven years since Alan Sydney left England, but I have\nonly recently been released from my promise of secrecy.  So sacred to me\nis the memory of our friendship, that, even now, I shrink from the task\nof narrating his strange and curious history.  A strong impulse,\nhowever, urges me to break silence.\n\nThe village of Anstead, near which we both lived, is in Surrey, possibly\nthe best county in England to find mixed society.  Here the\nold-fashioned farmers, the labourers who have never travelled as far as\nLondon, and a few country squires are mingled with, and influenced by,\nretired London shopkeepers, merchant princes--with or without H's--and a\nsprinkling of literary and scientific dabblers; these last are regarded\nwith suspicion by all, but especially by the retired Army and Navy\nmagnates.\n\nNobody seemed to know to which class Alan Sydney belonged, and strange\nto say he was admitted, chiefly, I fancy, because he was an eccentric\nbachelor, into all societies.  As I am wealthy and have been a confirmed\nidler from my youth, the same privilege has been granted to me; a\nprivilege of which, however, I am seldom inclined to take advantage.\n\nI had known Alan Sydney for some years before we became at all intimate.\nHe fascinated, repelled and puzzled me.  \"Why,\" I would say to myself,\n\"is this man so confoundedly unlike other men?\"\n\nIt is not easy to describe him, because, instead of having to portray an\nidentity, I seem rather obliged to describe a number of individualities\npeeping out through one person.  Often you would fancy when speaking to\nhim that you were in the presence of a fool, to be sharply awakened to\nthe unpleasant discovery that it was far more probable you were being\nfooled yourself.  You had hardly decided that he was a liar before you\nwere conscious that, if once able to get behind the outside spray of\nspeech with which he was purposely blinding you, it might be possible to\ntrust him more fully than other men.  I usually left him with the\nunpleasant impression that instead of treating me as a man, he had been\ndissecting me as a mental or spiritual corpse.  He seemed to have about\nas much regard for the opinion any one formed of his character as a\nsurgeon would have of the views once entertained by his unconscious\nsubject. Yet it was difficult to tell why one felt these sensations, for\nhis manner was outwardly pleasant even at times jovial; and if there was\nsatire in what he said it was certainly quite impossible for a third\nparty to be conscious of it.  I have heard him at a dinner-party make\nsome trivial remark in his quiet voice to one of the guests which would\ncause the person addressed to flush up with annoyance and surprise as\nthough he had been detected in a crime or stung by the lash of a whip.\n\nI have never been able to find out why he chose me as his only\nconfidant, but so it came about.\n\nIt was a warm summer evening, and after dinner it occurred to me that I\nwould stroll over and consult him about an old manuscript which I had\nrecently purchased.  From something that he had once said it seemed\nprobable that he might be able to help me with the Old English, which\nwas more than usually difficult on account of the writer having been a\nNorth-countryman.  Alan Sydney was in the garden inhaling a cigarette, a\nbad habit which he frequently denounced and perpetually practised.\nSitting down beside him I remarked on his inconsistency.\n\n\"Consistency,\" he replied, smiling, \"if we may believe Bacon, Emerson,\nand at least ten other original thinkers, is the quixotism of little\nminds. Inhaling cigarettes is the last infirmity of habitual smokers.\nThe boy-child begins with a cigarette; in youth or manhood he drifts\ninto cigars and pipes; later on, if he should be unfortunate enough once\nto try the experiment of inhaling, he reverts to his first love.\"\n\nI turned the subject by handing to him the manuscript, which he looked\nover for some time with evident interest.  When asked if he could make\nout the meaning of some of the Old English words he answered that he\ncould not, and that there was probably no one living who could.\n\n\"You think I am conceited in making such a remark, but in that you are\nmistaken.  It is simply that I am better acquainted with ignorance than\nyou are.  Most of these early English provincialisms, if I may use the\nterm for want of a better, can only be guessed at.  There are not\nsufficient local manuscripts of similar date for comparison to be of\nmuch service. If a word cannot be traced either to Anglo-Saxon,\nMoeso-Gothic, or Scandinavian, you may safely translate it as you please\nand defy criticism.  But let us come in, it is getting chilly.\"\n\nWe entered the house together, passing on to his study.  The home was\ntypical of the man.  From outside it might easily have been mistaken for\na small farm-house.  It had the appearance of age, though built by its\npresent owner.  It was constructed after the model of the oldest\nexisting style of a Surrey cottage.  The walls were supported by and\ninterlaced with massive oak beams, and the roof was entirely composed of\nthin slabs of rough ironstone which had served a similar purpose for\nmany centuries, having been collected from various dilapidated and\ncondemned buildings.  The greatest care had been taken in removing these\nslabs not to destroy the moss and lichen attached to them, and a few\nyears after the house was finished, an antiquarian might easily have\nbeen deceived, so perfectly had every detail, external and internal,\nbeen studied.\n\nThis humble-looking abode cost probably as much as many of the\nsurrounding mansions, and was unquestionably far more comfortable.\n\nI thought that I was well acquainted with the interior.  How far this\nidea was correct will shortly be seen.\n\nWe looked over the manuscript together for some time, and I was\nsurprised to find that many words I had considered provincial were known\nto my friend; and it was not often that he had to own himself beaten.\nThe matter, however, was most uninteresting, being a homily on the Roman\nfaith.\n\nPresently my companion leaned back in his chair, and seemed to be\nlooking fixedly on some spot on the wall opposite him.  I followed the\ndirection of his eyes, but could see nothing likely to attract his\nattention.  I spoke, but he did not answer.  The light was rather dim,\nand it was not possible to see his face distinctly, as the shade from\nthe lamp screened it, but I felt certain that something was wrong.  I\nplaced my hand upon his arm, but he took no notice, and this now\nthoroughly alarmed me.\n\nMy first inclination was to ring the bell; my second to move the shade\nfrom the lamp so as to be quite sure that I was not mistaken.  Lifting\nthe screen, I let the light fall brightly on Sydney's face, and turned\nto look more closely.  For a moment his eyes still maintained their\nfixed and vacant expression, then turned slowly toward the light.  He\nheaved a deep sigh, and then looked at me with a slightly dazed\nexpression.\n\n\"I am afraid you are not well,\" I said.\n\n\"It is nothing,\" he replied.  \"For the moment I felt faint, but the\nsensation has passed.\"\n\nKnowing something of fainting fits, and having noticed that he had never\nchanged colour nor shown any of the usual signs of faintness, I presumed\nthat he wished to deceive me, and began wondering what the attack could\nhave been.\n\n\"You are not satisfied,\" he continued.  \"However, let it pass now.  Some\ntime I will explain.\"\n\nSeeing that he wished to be alone, I said good-night.\n\n\"Can you come and dine with me to-morrow?\" he asked.  \"I shall be alone,\nand should be glad to have a quiet talk with you.\"\n\nAccepting the invitation gladly, I went out into the warm summer night,\nlittle thinking how much I was to learn before that door again closed\nbehind me.\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER II*\n\n\nOn the following evening I dined with Alan Sydney for the first time.\nIt was one of his peculiarities not to ask acquaintances to his house;\nhis bachelorhood excused him from the necessity.  I was therefore not a\nlittle surprised to notice the dainty epicureanism of his meal.  The\nwines were such as it is an unexpected delight to find; the service a\nthing to remember, but scarcely to hope to attain.  Why have some men\nthis curious power of getting their slightest wish gratified, apparently\nwithout effort? Money cannot purchase it, and ordinary mortals, whilst\nthey approach the semblance, miss the ease and quietude.\n\nMy host talked freely on many subjects, leaving me to suggest a topic,\nand seeming equally at home whatever I might choose.  Sport, philosophy,\nscience, history--I tried each subject, and seemed always the pupil of\nan expert.  At last I started on my pet hobby, Ancient Engravings.\n\"_Now_,\" I thought, \"_it will be my turn_.\"\n\n\"I know little or nothing of the subject,\" he said.\n\nI went off gaily, but even while preparing to air my wisdom, he would\napparently intercept my thought and take the very words out of my mouth.\n\n\"_This man must be deceiving me_,\" I mused.  \"_He has purposely led me\non to my favourite topic, to show that even in that he is my\nsuperior!_.\"\n\nMy reverie was broken by his next remark--\n\n\"Why do you think me a liar?\"\n\nI turned round confused, protesting that of course I did nothing of the\nkind.\n\n\"I often am guilty of what people call lying,\" he said, \"but never\nintentionally of deceiving a guest. That is why I so seldom indulge in\nthe pleasure of entertaining.\"\n\nAs he said this he rose, and we went together into his study.\n\n\"Come,\" he continued, \"I have a surprise for you.\"\n\nHe went up to one of the book-cases, touched a concealed spring, and the\nwhole oak framework moved slowly round on a pivot, forming a doorway\nthrough which we passed.\n\nHaving gone down a few steps into what I judged must be an underground\npassage, we once more ascended into a large room, lined on every side\nwith crowded book-cases.\n\n\"You are surprised,\" he said, \"to see so large a room in so small a\nhouse.  We are now in part of what are usually supposed to be my\nfarm-buildings. There are three rooms here which I use for different\npurposes.  I will show you the other two later on.\"\n\nThe library was lighted by a skylight arranged in such a way, that from\noutside it would not be visible. My companion sat down on a comfortable\ncouch, and beckoning me to another, said--\n\n\"I must ask you to promise me that you will reveal nothing of what I am\nnow going to say, or anything which I may show you until you have my\npermission. I have a strong opinion that for some reason or other the\ntime has not yet come when it would be advisable to make generally known\nmany facts which I have discovered belonging to a power which is lying\ndormant in all men.  The world, however, is progressing quickly, and the\nresponsibility must rest with you at some future time, when I am gone,\nas to the wisdom of making known part or all of the knowledge which you\nwill gather from me.\"\n\nSaying this, he got up, and going to one of the shelves in his\nbook-case, took down a volume.\n\n\"You may judge,\" he continued, \"by the collection here, that at one time\nI was an ardent lover of books. Now they have little interest for me:\nbut this volume will always have a special value, for it was from it\nthat I first gained the knowledge which has influenced my whole life.\n\n\"While travelling in France, and making, as was then my custom, a round\nof any old book-stalls that came in my way, I noticed a small shop which\noutwardly had little appearance of containing anything of interest to\nthe bibliomaniac.  In the window there were various ancient curiosities,\nbut knowing that these antique dealers sometimes bought books which they\ndid not display, it seemed worth while to make an inquiry.  I was well\nrewarded, for the old man, after saying that he did not as a rule buy\nbooks, told me that he had at various times picked up at sales a few\nwhich he usually sent to be sold by auction in Paris.  He had some by\nhim at the time, and amongst these a curious Latin manuscript.  Though\nevidently a seventeenth-century work, it was not dated.  I thought at\nfirst that it would probably prove of little value, until turning over\nthe leaves, I noticed that it was by no less celebrated a writer than\nDescartes.  This author's works were at the time little known to me, and\nit never occurred to my mind that this volume could be anything more\nvaluable than a manuscript of one of his published works.  However,\npublished or unpublished, it was certainly worth a thousand times more\nthan the dealer asked for it, so I took it back to my hotel well pleased\nwith my morning's work, and spent the whole afternoon reading.  An\nentirely new idea of existence seemed opening before me, and it appeared\nincredible that a work of this description could have been known for two\nhundred and fifty years without my having even heard a repetition of the\nviews found there. Then remembering that many of Descartes' works had,\nowing to the opposition of the Romish Church, never been printed, I\ndecided to find out at once whether by any chance this might be one of\nthem. I sent immediately to Paris for a complete edition of Descartes,\nwhich had recently been published, and soon found that this volume was\nnot among them.  A little further inquiry satisfied me of the\nauthenticity of the MS., and that it was entirely unknown.\n\n\"You may remember that Descartes, in his 'Discourse on Method,'\npublished in 1637, says, 'It appears to me that I have discovered many\ntruths more useful and more important than all I had before learned, or\neven expected to learn.  I have essayed to expound the chief of these\ndiscoveries in a treatise which certain considerations prevent me from\npublishing.'  Now we know that the chief consideration was his fear of\noffending the Church, and every one who has read Descartes' published\nworks must observe through them a perpetual veiling of what he thought\nto be true so as to avoid being brought in conflict with the religious\nopinions of his day.  Notice this passage from the work just mentioned.\n'It may be believed without discredit to the miracle of creation, that\nthings purely material might in course of time have become such as we\nobserve them at present, and their end is much more easily conceived\nwhen they are beheld coming in this manner gradually into existence,\nthan when they are only considered as produced at once in a finished and\nperfect state.'\n\n\"He then applies this theory to man.  He says that as yet he has not\nsufficient knowledge to treat of this development, and is obliged to\nremain satisfied with the supposition that God formed the body of man\nwholly like to one of ours, but at first placed in it no rational soul.\nHaving gone thus far and apparently fearing to go further, he breaks off\nsuddenly and never satisfactorily returns to the subject in his\npublished works.  But how different is his method when we turn to the\nmanuscript before me, which I fancy must have been his last work, as it\nis unfinished! How much more lucid and complete we find his conclusions\nhere!  There is no attempt to suppress his real view.  I will give you\nbriefly a summary of the chief conclusions which interested me, and\nwhich will be enough for the present purpose.\n\n\"'All things have slowly developed.'\n\n\"'Man is the most perfectly developed being of whose existence we are\nconscious.'\n\n\"'The lower orders of life have a varying number of powers of perception\nwhich we term senses.'\n\n\"'The higher orders of life have five.'\n\n\"'These senses diminish in power as they increase in number, being\nrelieved one by the other.'\n\n\"'No deterioration in sense-power is known to have taken place without\ncausing deterioration to the possessor unless at the same time\naccompanied by the development of a new perceptive faculty.'\n\n\"'Man alone is credited with being an exception to this rule.  He is\ninferior in keenness of sense to the animals below him, yet superior in\npower.  It is also noticeable that the savage is in like manner superior\nto the civilized man.  It is therefore probable that man is really the\npossessor of a sixth sense as yet imperfectly developed and unequally\ndistributed.'\n\n\"Briefly this is the key to the remarkable conclusions at which he\neventually arrives, and which are worked out with his usual mathematical\nexactitude and care.  He has fully satisfied me that this theory\nexplains most of the mysteries of life; but there is not time now to go\nmore fully into the matter.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"he appears to have forgotten entirely the importance of\nintellect.\"\n\n\"There you are mistaken.  He goes very fully into the matter and\nanticipates Darwin.  'Intellect,' he writes, 'is not a means of\nperception, but an organ for the arrangement and use of the senses, and\nis to be found in all animal life though in a less developed form than\nis noticeable in man.'\"\n\n\"But,\" I interrupted, \"is not that therefore the explanation; the higher\nintellect of man needs a lower standard of sensitive faculty, and he is\nthus enabled to produce from lesser gifts a greater gain?\"\n\n\"I will,\" he answered, \"as nearly as possible give you Descartes' answer\nto this objection.  'To say that the more highly developed a being, the\nless it will require its perceptive powers, and that therefore through\nwant of use they have gradually deteriorated, would lead us to this\n_reductio ad absurdum:_--that in time man will become so perfectly\ndeveloped that his senses must continue deteriorating until at last he\nwill arrive at the perfection of an insensitive existence, with\nintellect to place in order all things which he perceives while he is\nunable to perceive anything.'  Of course in endeavouring to give you his\nargument in a few words--an argument which requires close and careful\nreasoning, I do Descartes considerable injustice, but I hope on some\nfuture occasion to be able to go more fully into the discussion.  I have\nsaid enough for my present purpose, and am not fond of argument unless\nsatisfied that my opponent agrees with me upon the primary ground of\ndiscussion; much valuable time is otherwise wasted.  For instance, if\nyou are speaking on the subject of the colour red to a man born blind\nand his idea of red is some sound which resembles the blast of a\ntrumpet, you cannot possibly hope to arrive at any very satisfactory\nconclusion.  In the same way if man is unconscious of the power granted\nhim through the sixth; or, as for lack of a better term we may call it,\nthe spiritual sense, no argument on the subject would be of the least\nvalue.  It will suffice at present to say that the theory which\nDescartes fully works out was to me personally a revelation; a\nrevelation, because it seemed but the perfected expression of my own\ndormant thought.  Having therefore carefully considered the advice which\nthe writer gives to those who are anxious to prove the value of this\npartially developed power, namely, to use it, I started on a course of\nexperiments which, should you care to follow me, I will endeavour to\nexplain.  You may thus be able to judge of the truth of the theory by\nits results, which after all is by far the safer plan.  Moreover, some\nof my experiences may be of interest.\"\n\nI expressed my anxiety to hear him further, and he continued--\n\n\"You must endeavour to realize clearly the work to which I had decided\nto devote my energies and time.  It was to cultivate and analyze every\nperception or sensation which appeared to reach me through none of the\nknown organs of sense.  The first conclusion arrived at was that I\nimperfectly possessed the power to read other people's thoughts; that at\ncertain times and under certain conditions ideas were conveyed to me\nthrough no recognized organ of perception.  I therefore decided for the\ntime being to devote all my energy to following up this clue. It was not\nlong before the truth of my idea was confirmed beyond any possibility of\ndoubt; but the difficulty was, firstly, in being confident from whom the\nimpression came; and secondly, in discerning truth from imagination.\nMany others have gone as far as this point on the road to discovery, but\nfew have persevered much further.  The story of how my path was cleared\nof these uncertainties is worth describing in detail.\n\n\"About this time I became engaged to be married to a girl of seventeen.\nIt may be owing to prejudice, but I still think she possessed remarkable\nbeauty. It is not easy to give a reason, but a girl seldom at that time\nseemed lovely to me after she was out of her teens.  She might be more\ninteresting intellectually; but owing to some peculiarity in my\ncharacter, her chief charm was too often brushed away somewhere about\nthe age of twenty.\n\n\"I first met Vera Soudin at her father's house in Scotland.  I had gone\ndown to stay with a friend for grouse-shooting, and the members of her\nfamily were practically our only neighbours, so that we saw a good deal\nof each other.  She was an only child, and must have found life rather\ndull.  Her father's thoughts were chiefly concentrated on sport; her\nmother was an invalid, and a decidedly uninteresting woman.  It is\nhardly surprising that Vera found the change from previous solitude a\nrelief.  She had a remarkably weak will, though probably few outside her\nintimate friends were aware of the fact, for, as is often the case with\nsuch characters, she possessed a strong vein of obstinacy, which people\nmistook for firmness. As a matter of fact she was little more than a\nmirror which reflected surrounding influences.  On the other hand, I may\npossibly possess a will of rather unusual power, more powerful,\nunfortunately, over others than myself.  I was unconscious how great my\ninfluence over her really was, nor did I know that in cultivating her\nacquaintance I was allowing myself to be swayed by my affections.\n\n\"I had decided to take this opportunity of practising and perfecting, if\npossible, my power of thought-reading. It is curious how often we are\ninfluenced by an unconscious motive, and how long we take to find out in\nourselves an emotion which is perfectly obvious to those around us.\n\n\"Whatever the effect of our intercourse may have been in other ways, it\ncertainly enabled me to make considerable advance in my particular\nstudy.  To begin with, being often alone with her, the difficulty of\ndeciding from whom the impression came was at these times necessarily\nremoved.  I had, therefore, only to satisfy myself as to whether these\nimpressions were real or imaginary; and it was easy with a girl who had\nnot yet learned the trick of hiding, or feigning emotions, to discover\nby her face whether I had rightly or wrongly interpreted something which\nwas passing through her mind.  A question on the subject was usually\nsufficient.  It mattered little to me how trivial or unimportant the\nthought might be; I felt satisfied that there was a difference between\nthe effect caused on my mind by a true or by an imaginary impression.\nThe difficulty lay in defining this subtle difference.\n\n\"Before I had known the girl a week I was able, as far as she was\nconcerned, to overcome this obstacle, and to tell with certainty\nwhenever any thought of hers passed involuntarily through my mind.  In\nthe same way when meeting her at dinner, among other people, I was\nequally certain that the impression was a correct one if it came from\nher; and this knowledge was a great assistance, enabling me, as it were,\nto take the first step towards localizing the direction from which\nthought was transmitted.\n\n\"One evening after dinner I was sitting alone with Vera Soudin; her\nmother had not been well enough to come down to dinner, and the other\nmen had retired to the billiard-room.  The light from the candles was\noverpowered by the brightness of the fire, and as she leant back, this\nruddy glow gave an additional attraction to the delicate beauty of her\nface.  I forgot for the moment all about my new power, and sat looking\nat her without speaking, the whole force of my will unconsciously\nexercised in a desire to gain her love.  She sat silent, gazing at the\nburning logs as though unconscious of my presence.  Then I recognized an\ninaudible voice speaking.  I use the words 'voice' and 'speaking'\nbecause as yet our language is too imperfect to express any sensations\nconnected with the sixth sense.  The sentence was, however,\nunmistakable.\n\n\"'_I love him._'\n\n\"I answered her aloud.  'Why do you?'\n\n\"Her face flushed and then lost all colour save what the firelight cast\nthere.  'Why do I what?' she stammered.\n\n\"I cared for her too much to press my advantage. 'I love you!' I said,\nand getting up I went over and knelt by her side; then looking into her\neyes I saw an expression that I had never seen before.\n\n\"What man who has once been brought under this influence could ever\nforget it--man's passion reflected upon woman's nature, the idealized\ncounterpart of his sensations revealed on the idol of worship?  In a\nmoment such as this, reason is trampled under the feet of a hundred new\nemotions, hurrying forward to find expression, and the man's action will\nbe determined by natural instincts, and not, as is more often the case,\nby the training and habits which have moulded them.  During such times\nof intoxication we become for once natural; and as all men tend by\nnature, if on a lower plane, to idiocy, if on a higher to madness, such\nmoments are best kept private.  An observer missing the more delicate\natmosphere of pathos which ever surrounds a truly comic situation, is\napt to rest his own instability more on the stick of ridicule than the\ncrutch of pity.\n\n\"As, however, owing to the power which I have of reading other people's\nthoughts of myself, my nature has become impervious to scorn; and as it\nis better that you should have the opportunity of judging my actions\nimpartially, I will throw off reserve as far as possible.\n\n\"We remained much in the same attitude for an indefinite period of\nsensations, which may probably have extended to thirty minutes, her\nhands clasped in mine as we talked together.  As far as I can remember,\nthe conversation rested principally with me, and her answers came back\nchiefly in unspoken thoughts.  I will endeavour to give you an idea of\nwhat passed between us, audibly and inaudibly.\n\n\"'Beloved,' I said, 'is it possible that you can care for me?  That what\nI have longed for, dreamed of, and despaired of ever attaining, is at\nlast mine?  I cannot realize it!  I feel rather that I am in a trance,\nsurrounded by a confusing, yet delightful mist.'\n\n\"'_I love you_.'\n\n\"'Say it again out loud that I can hear.'\n\n\"'I love you.'\n\n\"'But why--tell me why?'\n\n\"'I don't know.  Why do you love me?  I cannot see that there can be\nanything to love in me.  I suppose it is only because I am pretty!'\n\n\"'Beauty is only a veil which the soul looks through; how perfect then\nmust be your soul, dearest!'\n\n\"Then came these unspoken words which puzzled me--\n\n\"'_What queer things men are!--but I like to hear him, and perhaps it is\ntrue; but if so, how horrid most women must be!_'  Then out loud--'_I\nfancy you will soon get tired of me._'\n\n\"'Tired!  It makes me mad when I think of ever having an opportunity of\ngetting tired--to have you with me always--to know that we can never be\nparted--to feel that death itself will only bring us closer: I almost\nwish that we could die now, for such great happiness makes me afraid\nsomething may come.  Oh, Vera! you will always love me?'\n\n\"'Of course, dear!'\n\n\"Then this thought followed--\n\n\"'_I wish he would not talk about death; I hate death, I don't want to\ndie.  It is quite nice enough to be here having some one loving and\npetting me, without thinking about the future.  I wonder if he is going\nto kiss me? I thought men always kissed girls when they proposed to\nthem!_'\n\n\"This was enough for me.  I had been afraid to venture on what seemed so\ngreat a liberty, but now I moved forward and was about to kiss her, when\nto my surprise she drew away saying--\n\n\"'Oh, don't!  You frighten me!'\n\n\"'Why, dearest, you cannot be afraid of me? Will you not let me have\njust one when you know how I should prize it!'\n\n\"'No, I cannot really, not yet anyway; perhaps some day!'\n\n\"I was so afraid of offending her that I moved back, puzzled and\ndiscomfited, when once again I was conscious she was thinking.\n\n\"'_How foolish he is!--it would have been much nicer to have been forced\nto give him one; he is so strong he could easily have held me back in\nthe chair and made me do it._'\n\n\"This came as a whip for my inclinations, and I did as suggested under a\nstorm of protests which soon died down, for I now found her thoughts\nwere wandering between the condition of her hair and the probability of\nsome one coming in from the billiard-room.\n\n\"I think I have now described sufficiently our first moments of\nhappiness, but I will own that before we were eventually disturbed I had\nbegun to get not a little annoyed with my new power of perception, and\nbegan to wonder if after all we had arrived at a sufficient state of\nperfection to be always happily employed when using it.\n\n\"The next half-hour which I spent with Vera's father convinced me that\noften it might be useful in the cause of humility.\n\n\"I asked to speak with him alone, a request that he readily granted,\nthough, if I interpreted his thoughts aright, he used strong language\ninternally. I felt horribly nervous, and at first he did nothing to help\nme, but what was far worse, he kept on transmitting thoughts that made\nme every moment more wretched and uncomfortable; they must have been\nhis, as I feel sure they would never otherwise have occurred to me as\nbeing likely to proceed from the smiling old gentleman sitting opposite.\nThis is something of what I made out of them, but they were disjointed\nand confused, for you must remember I had not as yet had an opportunity\nof studying him as perfectly as his daughter.\n\n\"'_Confound it!  I wish he had not been in such a hurry.  I must delay\nthings in some way.  I meant to make inquiries, but have been so busy.\nBesides there is ... coming, and I quite fancy that when he sees her, he\n... But after all, Sydney is an only son; I did find that out, and I\nmust not choke him off.  I wonder how much longer he will stand there\nlike a fool and say nothing!_'\n\n\"You may well imagine that this kind of thing was hardly helpful to me.\nI began at once to wonder who my rival might be.  And here I may as well\nmention that even now, when my thought-reading power has been developed\nvery nearly to perfection, I can seldom read the name of a person\npassing through another's mind, unless that person is also known to me.\nThis is probably owing to the fact that in thinking of an acquaintance\nwe disregard usually the name and are conscious only of the\nindividuality, for in the few cases when I have had a name conveyed\ndistinctly, it has been where the person referred to was comparatively a\nstranger to the one whose thoughts I was studying.\n\n\"The silence was eventually broken by Mr. Soudin.\n\n\"'You wish to speak to me.  I hope that you know me well enough to be\ncertain that if there is any service I can do for you I shall be\ndelighted!'\n\n\"'It is more than an ordinary service,' I answered. 'I wish to take from\nyou your greatest treasure, and consequently you must excuse my\nembarrassment in asking.  I love your daughter, and would beg her from\nyou.'\n\n\"'_Young ass!  Now he has once started he talks like a book bound in\nmorocco with gilt edges_,' was his thought.  His words--'You have taken\nme greatly by surprise, Mr. Sydney.  I have always looked upon my\ndaughter as a child, and it would be quite impossible for me to think of\nallowing her at present to be disturbed by any question of marriage.\nHers is a sweet and delicate nature, influenced as yet but by the dreams\nof childhood.  I trust that nothing you have said to her can possibly\nhave ruffled the calm of innocence.'\n\n\"At this point I should have been placed in a position of difficulty had\nnot his thoughts continued--\n\n\"'_I would stake twenty to one the young cub has been sitting spooning\nfor the last half-hour.  I wonder how he will try to get out of it._'\n\n\"I did not, therefore, try at all, but quietly told him the fact,\nignoring, however, the details.  His anger was so well assumed, that\nwhilst it lasted his thoughts almost followed his words, or else the\nlatter so upset me that I missed the accompanying reflections.\n\n\"'It was, he said, a most unpardonable action thus to take advantage of\nan innocent child who, he felt quite certain, had not even realized the\nvery meaning of the situation, etc., etc.'\n\n\"At last he cooled down a little, and when this happened, his thoughts\nand words became mixed up in my mind somewhat in the following manner.\n'You must realize, Mr. Sydney, that in speaking to you in this manner, I\nam actuated by no unfriendly feeling--_it would be unwise to go too\nfar_--Personally from what I have seen of you, there are few young men\nwhom I could welcome more cordially into my family--_If only I were\ncertain that he possessed a safe five thousand a year_--But she is too\nyoung, and I am quite sure that you will agree with me when you think it\nover in a calmer mood, that it would be unfair to bind my daughter to an\nengagement before she is fairly out of the nursery--_That ought to\nsmooth him down and keep up the romance at the same time. I must have a\ngood talk with Vera and see what is best to be done.  I feel certain\nthat I shall have indigestion to-night.  It always upsets me having to\nthink and bother about things after dinner._'\n\n\"I eventually agreed not to see Vera for a week, and at the end of that\ntime I was to be granted another interview with her father for the\npurpose of arriving at some plan for the future.\n\n\"My feelings were of a mixed character as I walked away from the house\nover the crisp, frozen ground.  I felt excited, but neither satisfied\nnor happy.  I had tasted the sweets of love, and a little of the acidity\nof disenchantment.  I began to meditate somewhat after this fashion.\nHow lovely she looked with that expression on her face as I knelt down\nby her side and took her hands in mine.  'Is it possible that the\nphysiognomists are correct when they tell us that the eye never changes,\nand that the eyelids alone work those miracles of varying expression;\nthat a few slight wrinkles can convey such a world of meaning, and have\noften the power to change the destiny of thousands?  Is it not more\nprobable that some subtle influence passes from eye to eye that no\nscientist can detect, owing to the fact that as yet science confines its\nobservations only to those influences which are discernible by animal\nsense organs? But, whatever the cause, the fact is most remarkable, and\none must needs have loved to realize the full significance of its\npower.'  However, I did not, after all, feel satisfied that I had\nawakened quite the same feeling in Vera as that which I myself\nexperienced, and I began to think of another partially developed power\nwhich Descartes attributes to this sixth sense, and to which I have not\nhitherto referred.\n\n\"He maintains that the will-force is always unconsciously transmitted,\nand that if this power were cultivated it would lead to surprising\nresults.  We can now have no doubt that his theory is partially correct,\nas it has been satisfactorily demonstrated through recent experiments in\nhypnotism; but his views also convince me that the modern methods which\nhave been adopted for the transmission of this will-power are likely to\nprove both dangerous and inadequate, as they are based on totally false\npremises. As, however, I shall have occasion to go into all this matter\nmore fully later on, as well as to show you the light which Descartes\nthrows on theosophy, spiritualism, and many other modern mysteries, I\nshall only refer now to the subject so far as I find it necessary in\norder to make my story intelligible.\n\n\"The probability that this theory of transmitted will-power might have\nbeen experimentally proved in my late interview with Vera sent a shock\nof anxiety to my heart.  What if after all she had been little better\nthan a semi-conscious mirror reflecting my newly-awakened sensations?  I\nargued, however, against my fear, that it could not be so, for I had\nread in her thoughts sensations not only differing from my own, but even\nforeign to a man's inclinations. Yet even as I recalled these instances\nwith relief, a passage from Descartes flashed through my mind which\nbrought a painful reaction.\n\n\"'It must not be supposed,' he writes, 'that the will-power, however\nstrong, can absolutely take possession of an alien mind.  A person of\ntender susceptibility cannot be induced to commit a murder, or a man of\nbrutal instinct be made, even for the time being, pure or lovable.  That\npart of the brain on which the will either of ourselves or others is\nbrought to bear, may be compared to a musical instrument on which this\nforce plays.  A tune may be the same whether practised on a pipe or upon\na full organ, but there will be a considerable difference in the effect\nproduced, owing to the numerous variations, etc. of which the more\ncomplex instrument is capable; so also on different natures a similar\nimpulse will produce totally different results.  This difference of\neffect is most noticeable in the actions of men and women who, if willed\nby one influence, often act dissimilarly, singing, as it were, the same\nmelody to an accompanying music which flows forth from their complex\ndispositions and sensibilities.'\n\n\"Having by this and similar reflections thoroughly unsettled my belief,\nnot only in the girl I loved, but in myself and in nearly everything\nelse, I went to bed wretched, and after tossing about for some hours, at\nlast fell into a troubled sleep, during which I had the following rather\ncurious dream.\n\n\"It seemed that I was walking hurriedly along a winding path, though for\nwhat purpose, or whither, I thus hastened was hidden.  On my left,\nthrough its setting of ferns and pleasant flowers, there flowed a\nstream, the waters of which cast back many fair reflections; yet so\ngreat was my wish to gain some unknown object, that I was scarcely\nconscious of the beauty around.  As I turned a corner, however, I saw\nacross my path an object lying, and coming nearer found it to be a\nwoman; the face turned upwards bore all the traces of degradation which\ndissipation and misery had engraved upon the image of one who in youth\nmight have been beautiful.  My feelings, supersensitive to the slightest\ncoarseness, revolted at the spectacle before me, and crushing through\nthe undergrowth which grew beside my path, I strove to avoid getting in\ncloser contact with it, but I had not gone many paces forward before I\nbecame hopelessly entangled.  Then looking round I noticed an old man\nstanding near, who it seemed must have followed me unobserved.  His hair\nwas of silvery whiteness, and though his face was lined with age, each\nfurrow seemed but the imprint of an habitual expression of kindliness.\nHe might have stood as a sculptor's model for love that has outlived\npassion.\n\n\"'Why have you wandered from the path?' he said.  'It is not possible\nfor man to reach the place whither you are bound save by the way\nappointed.'\n\n\"'But,' I answered, 'He who called me is pure, and in the footpath lies\nthat which is abhorrent both to my Master and to me.'\n\n\"'Who then is thy master?' he asked.\n\n\"Then I looked at him in surprise and said--\n\n\"'We have but one Master; He who ruleth all things, and is Father of\nall.'\n\n\"'And it is one of His beloved children,' he said, 'from whom you turn\naside, and her weakness and your strength are of His ordering; and you\nwhom He has made on a different, though no higher plan, turn in pride\nfrom your sister who has been placed in the path so that your strength\nmay support her weakness.'\n\n\"'Now,' I replied, 'you speak blasphemy, for God is not the Father of\nsin, and what is sinful is unpleasing in His sight.'\n\n\"Then my companion, looking fixedly at me, said--\n\n\"'There is no sin.  Viewed from the eye of wisdom and holiness there is\none law--Love; one path--Order; and one state--Happiness.  Man is\npermitted to dream of freedom, which he calls life; is allowed to dip\ninto the darkness, and, for the moment, to imagine discord exists, that\nwhen he shall awaken his joy may be exceeding joyful.  It has been left\nto man to give names to nothing and to fight the phantoms of negation;\nwhen his sleep shall be broken the former things will have passed away.\nFollow me.'\n\n\"So we returned together to the path, and as we stood before the woman I\nsaid, 'If this is but a dream, wherefore should I care what happens\neither to the woman or myself?'  Then it seemed that the man did not\nanswer, but I heard a voice singing. And the song was of love, and told\nhow the slumber of life could never be broken till the light of\nunselfish love fell upon the sleeper.\n\n\"When the voice ceased, I turned and said to my companion--'What can I\ndo for the woman? Behold her, as she lies there.  It seems impossible\nfor me to feel more than helpless compassion for such a one.'\n\n\"'Compassion and pity,' he answered, 'are words coined by man, and are\nassociated at best but with a gleam of love, and more often with nothing\nbut a selfish desire to hide pain from sight because it reminds man of\nthat which is hateful.  Love will ever find a way to helpfulness.'\n\n\"'But,' I said to him, 'I cannot feel this love to one so degraded.'\n\n\"Then he bent over the woman, and touched her with his hand; and as I\nlooked down wondering, the degraded face seemed changed into the face of\nthe girl I loved.  And in the horror of the revelation I awoke, thankful\nto believe that it was but a dream! How many lessons, prophecies, and\nwarnings come to men, if they did but realize it, in certain forms\ncalled dreams!\n\n\"When I got up on the following morning my mind was in that anxious and\nrestless condition in which it usually finds itself after being too\nbusily occupied during the hours of slumber.  I felt depressed and\nirritable, consequently my view of everything was one-sided.  My\nthoughts continually expressed themselves in doggerel verse instead of\nmoving along smoothly and quietly in prose.  This, I have always\nnoticed, is a sign that my body requires some stimulating exercise.\nMoreover, every picture that reached my mind had a dark and unpleasant\nbackground. For instance, when my thoughts for relief turned to Vera's\nface, I had scarcely begun to dwell with pleasure on the beauty of some\nremembered expression before I became conscious that the woman of my\ndream was grinning at me over the girl's shoulder.\n\n\"This way, I knew, led to madness; so conscious that the body, if\nill-used, becomes too often the master of the mind, I decided to give it\na day's pleasure, tempting it back thereby into a condition of happy\nservitude.\n\n\"The result was in every way satisfactory.  After two hours' walking\nover the moors, I was able to laugh at my fears, and by lunch-time it\nwas even a trouble to recall them.  At dinner nothing seemed more\nimportant in life than perfect accuracy of aim, and my friends might\neasily have mistaken me for a sportomaniac by my conversation.  The only\nthought I read that evening came, I believe, from my host, and took the\nform of regret that he had not selected a better shot than myself for\nthe sake of the game returns which he intended to forward to _The\nField_, and considering the number of birds which my nerves had\nsucceeded in missing for me during the morning, I could not feel\nsurprised.  My dreams during the night did not trouble me.  I felt but a\nmomentary discomfiture even when the youth who was expected to fall in\nlove with Vera rose up with a whirr just under my feet, and in the\nflurry of the moment I only succeeded in knocking a few feathers out of\nhis coat-tail.\n\n\"On the second day, therefore, after my proposal, I felt in a safe\nmental condition to think rationally over the prospect before me, and as\nI can always reason more quietly when walking and in the open air, I\nwent for a stroll by myself over the moors.\n\n\"The day was bright, and the wind blew softly from the south-west.  I\nfelt that life was very good as I passed over the heather.  Presently,\nhowever, a wounded bird which was lying by the side of the footpath\nupset my train of thought, and set me on a discussion of cruelty which I\nbegan to argue out from both sides.  The impression which I arrived at,\nafter wasting fully an hour, may be summed up as follows: that about an\nequal amount can be urged for and against sport, and that there is\nsomething wrong somewhere.  Nearly every subject we approach seems beset\nwith like difficulty, owing to the fact that our life is not as yet\nsufficiently under the rule of order to embrace, without causing\nadditional misery, the doctrine of perfection.  For instance, war can\neasily be shown to be unjustifiable, and socialism to be the only form\nof perfect justice; but it is equally clear that the abolition of\narmaments and the adoption of socialistic principles would lead to the\ngreatest misery that has ever been experienced on earth, if they should\nbe tried before men have learnt to control their evil passions without\nthe whip of legal and military chastisement.  Birds of prey and moral\ndisease would quickly take the place of the fowling-pieces of modern\ncivilization, whilst the dream of Paradise would be found more to\nresemble a nightmare, and the comparative peace of the past would be\ntransformed into a pandemonium of unbridled passions.\n\n\"At last, after a few more fruitless attempts, I managed to fix my mind\non the condition of my own prospects.  Firstly, was I in love?  And this\ninvolved settling in my mind what love really meant.  If not, what had\ncaused in me certain sensations never before experienced?  Secondly, if\nthis love existed, was it returned?  It is not necessary for you to\nfollow me through my subsequent confused circle of reasoning, as it led\nto no satisfactory conclusion beyond a determination to watch for\nfurther light, and in the meantime to follow the dictates of\ninclination.  It is always easy to do the latter, and unless a man's\nnature inclines strongly to selfishness, it is often the wisest course\nto adopt.  Progress is often hindered by self-repression, and even more\nby self-analysis.\n\n\"At the moment, inclination led me towards a figure which I saw in the\ndistance.  On drawing nearer I felt certain that the form in question\nwas a familiar one, and soon recognized one of my London acquaintances,\nLord Vancome.  Now if there was one man whom I thoroughly disliked\nwithout apparent reason, it was Vancome.  I had at that time a peculiar\neccentricity; there were a few people who possessed the power of\nunconsciously torturing me in a way that defies description.  He was one\nof these. If we met in a room I felt my whole flesh creep, and on\nshaking hands with him an absolute chill of horror passed through my\nbody.  It was with great difficulty that I refrained from showing to\nsuch persons marked expressions of dislike.  When, therefore, I met him\nthus unexpectedly, it seemed as though a blight had suddenly swept over\nthe hills, blurring the sunshine: the glow of life had vanished; the\nbeauty of love was forgotten.\n\n\"'Why, Sydney!' he called out, 'whoever expected to see you here?'\n\n\"I told him briefly how it came about, and that I was stopping with\nMajor Couson.\n\n\"'Oh!' he said, 'that's lucky!  I am glad to find there is some sort of\nsociety in the place.  Mr. Soudin asked me down, and feeling a trifle\nplayed out, I accepted; but I was already beginning to dread the idea of\nbeing confined to the society of Heather Lodge for a fortnight.  The\ndaughter's not a bad sort of girl, and devilish pretty, too!--but one\nwants even more than that combined with the shooting, which is not\nfirst-rate, to avoid being bored to death during a period of two weeks.'\n\n\"'Why are you not shooting?' I asked.\n\n\"'The old man's got a touch of the gout, so I was taking a look round.'\n(Then before I could think of anything further to say his thought\nflashed through me.)  '_Damn the fellow!  I wish he would go.  The\ngirl's bound to turn up soon, and I don't want him fooling round._'\n\n\"'I must be going,' I said, looking at my watch. 'No doubt we shall meet\nagain before long.'\n\n\"He seemed relieved, and saying that he should look me up, held out his\nhand.  I took it, thanking God I had not a gun, and being now certain\nthat I was in love, went hurriedly on my way.\n\n\"I had been walking for perhaps ten minutes, when I saw Vera Soudin\ncoming towards me.  She had evidently been to the village.  What was to\nbe done? I had promised not to see her for a week, but it would be\nridiculous to pass without speaking. Besides, ought she not to be put on\nher guard against Lord Vancome?  And yet what right had I to do this?\nAs far as I knew there was nothing against his character.  It is true\nthat I felt a mortal antipathy to him, but such feelings are hardly\nregarded as evidence.  Then I remembered that women are credited with\npossessing far more accurate discrimination of character than men.  This\nthought comforted me, and having decided to discover her feelings with\nregard to Vancome I went on towards her.\n\n\"When we met I noticed that she also felt embarrassed, but for some\nreason possessed better control over herself.  When I made some remark\nabout being so pleased to see her again, she put her hand to her lips,\nand then, taking out a pocket-book, scribbled these words down--\n\n\"'I promised not to speak to you for a week.' 'But good gracious!' she\ncried out, 'I also said I would not write, and now I have done both.\nWell, as it is done, it can't be helped.  But mind you don't tell, or\nfather would be angry, and you know it was all your fault.'\n\n\"'I did not know, dear, that you had promised,' I replied, 'and though I\nalso said I would not see you during the same time, it seemed absurd to\npass without speaking.'\n\n\"'Of course it's absurd, and father's no right to make us promise such\nfoolish things.  But I don't mind, for we need not say anything about\nit.  Besides, as we have broken our promises it does not now matter what\nwe do.'\n\n\"'But,' I said, 'will it be right to go on breaking them further?'\n\n\"'Oh! what is done can't be mended.'  And as she said this she looked\ninto my face with such a pathetic appeal that all ideas of right, wrong,\nhonour and dishonour got hopelessly mixed.  'You don't really love me,'\nshe continued, 'or you would not talk like that.  You don't care how\nwretched I feel!'\n\n\"What could I do?  Tears were coming into her eyes.  Not a mile away,\nwaiting in her path, stood one I hated.  Could I let her go on\ndistrusting my love, to meet possible treachery?\n\n\"I gave up the contest without a struggle.\n\n\"We turned from the footpath, and crossing a strip of heather, descended\ninto a woody glen.  Through this glen ran a merry bubbling stream, and\nthe soft moisture which it left along its edges had encouraged the\ngrowth of deep soft moss to cover the otherwise barren stones.  Choosing\na pleasant nook thus carpeted on which the sun shone brightly, we sat\nand rested.\n\n\"A few birds were singing their farewell songs to Scotland before\nretreating to a warmer country.  My companion's face was slightly\nflushed by the wind, and the colour seemed to give an additional depth\nto the blue eyes which looked shyly forth from between her dark lashes.\nHer fair hair, which was unusually soft and fine, had been blown by the\nwind into a waving network of shining confusion round her ears, and over\nher forehead.  As she sat just above me, and I looked into her face, it\nseemed impossible for God to make, or man to picture, aught more fair or\npure in earthly texture.  Yet, so does my nature act and react, ever\ntumbling from the sublime to the ridiculous, that I had hardly realized\nthe perfect human beauty before me when my mind began to drop down into\none of its most annoying analytical moods, tearing, as it were, all soft\nand delicate covering from the face, and pointing mockingly to the\nhollow skull beneath, the framework alike of beauty and ugliness.  Not\nthat there is really anything ridiculous, or for the matter of that,\nfrightful about a skull; the comic part of the situation lay in the fact\nthat it was impossible for me vividly to realize this framework of the\nbeauty I had a moment before worshipped, without a shudder.  I refer to\nit now, because such sensations throw a valuable sidelight on love\nitself.\n\n\"It is to be presumed that when we love a person, we fancy that we love,\nnot the body, not in fact the clothing of the individual, but the\npersonality; that there is something therein which attracts and draws\nforth these sensations wholly apart from anything to do with simply\nanimal passion.  There are, of course, some who deny this, but to reason\nwith such is, as said before, absolutely useless: to the purely animal\nnature all must necessarily appear animal.  Such men and women are\nexceptions, yet though many are conscious of the strength of higher\nlove, how few seem to try to solve the mystery surrounding it, or to\ndraw a line between true and false sensations.\n\n\"For instance, here was I sitting at the feet of one who, as far as it\nwas possible to judge, possessed nothing really attractive except most\nunusual physical beauty; one I judged to be lacking in will-power, to be\nuntruthful and vain, to be possessed of little information and still\nless discernment.  Yet, knowing all this, I loved her.  You may think\nthat I deceived myself, and that what I really experienced was simply\nanimal fascination; but before my story is finished you will see that\nyou have judged wrongly. The truth of the matter is this; pure love is\nno more drawn out by nobleness of character than it is by beauty of\nform, but by a far more subtle attraction for which as yet we have no\nname, and which reaches us through the medium of our imperfectly\ndeveloped sixth sense.  Whatever comes to us through the ordinary\nchannels is merely passion or comradeship, though owing to our complex\nnature, the former usually accompanies true spiritual love and is\nhopelessly confused with it.  This confusion has led to much misery and\nto many senseless social and so-called moral laws which are quite\nunsuited to the present condition of man's development, as they are\nnearly all founded on the theory of animal instincts alone.\n\n\"I am sorry to be obliged so frequently to break the thread of my\nnarrative, but as I am about to deal with subjects which are outside the\nrange of ordinary experience, it is absolutely necessary that from the\ncommencement you should follow not only the course of events, but also\nthe working of my mind.  If I simply confine myself to the story, it\nmight possibly interest you as the wild imagination of either a liar or\na madman; on the other hand, should you have patience to hear me to the\nend, I hope to convince you that many things which seem incredible are\nonly so as long as we stand outside the door of discovery.  There is\nnothing more remarkable than the ease with which the public will swallow\nyesterday's miracle, if only scientists will give it a name.\n\n\"For instance, look at a recent case--the Telephone. What do the public\nunderstand about it? The electricians themselves have only discovered a\nmethod by which they can produce certain effects, and know nearly as\nlittle as the public of the servants they employ.  Yet this miraculous\ntransmission of sound, once baptized, is admitted forthwith without\nfurther questioning, into the circle of commonplace.\n\n\"You must not suppose that, though I have thus wandered from my subject,\nany of these ideas occurred to me after my encounter with the imaginary\nskull, for at that moment one of my companion's thoughts fortunately\nderanged my own, and gave me fresh subject for reflection.\n\n\"'_I like him in some ways better, but he is certainly not nearly so\namusing._'\n\n\"'I am sorry you find me so dull,' I said, 'but looking at you has made\nme speechless through admiration.  However, I want you to tell me what\nyour father said about our engagement.'\n\n\"'Oh! only that I was too young to know my own mind, and that he wanted\nme to promise that I would not speak or write to you for a week.  What\nnonsense!  Too young to know my own mind, and I shall be eighteen next\nJune!'\n\n\"After which remarks these thoughts followed; and as I was busy\nlistening to them I remained silent.\n\n\"'_I wonder why father wished me not to say anything. Can it be to do\nwith...?  But I like Alan much better, and ... is not likely to make\nlove to me, and of course I should not let him if he tried.  Yet perhaps\nhe may.  I have a good mind to see if I can make him just for the fun of\nit, and when he does of course I will tell him I am engaged.  It's\nrather nice to have people make love to one.  That's the worst of being\nmarried, you can't have proposals afterwards, so it is only fair to get\nas many as you can before.  Besides, then I could say that I might have\nbeen Lady ... if I had chosen._'\n\n\"Thought is quicker than speech, and probably the pause was hardly more\nthan thirty seconds before she continued aloud--\n\n\"'Why are you not shooting to-day?'\n\n\"'I wanted to think about you,' I answered, 'and so went for a walk\ninstead, and was lucky.  But I met some one else on the moor, an\nacquaintance of mine, who, I find, is staying with you.'\n\n\"'Oh!  Lord Vancome!  So you know him. Where did you meet him?'  Then\nsilently, '_I wonder if he came out so as to walk back with me?_'\n\n\"'I met him wandering about, taking a prospective view of your father's\nshooting,' I answered vaguely. 'But tell me what you think of him?'\n\n\"'Oh! he seems very nice and interesting, but I feel somehow frightened\nof him.'  Then, dropping her voice slightly--'Is he rather wicked?'\n\n\"'What makes you think so?' I asked, relieved to find that her woman's\ninstinct was not at fault.\n\n\"'I do not know; I suppose it's the way he looks at one, or something.'\nThen her thought continued--'_Men are so foolish; they seem to fancy\ngirls are perfect fools and don't know anything!_'\n\n\"I felt it was not fair to follow these reflections further.  One gets\nhardened in time to seeing people's minds, as it were, naked, but at\nfirst some revelations tend to lower our views of human nature.  It is\nnot until we realize that our own unclothed sentiments would have a\nsimilar disenchanting effect upon others that we grow more charitable.\nIf you wish fully to understand my meaning, try next time you are in\nmixed society to fancy that not only your words, but also your thoughts\nare audible to those around, and see if under such circumstances you\nwould care to meet any of those people again.\n\n\"I, therefore, not wishing to be disenchanted, here disturbed her\nreflections with a kiss, and this action of mine started the usual train\nof sentimental talk which is about as varied and interesting as the\nsoft, gentle, and monotonous sounds which the wood-pigeons make in\nspring-time.  Happy birds, to whom comes no questioning voice to break\ntheir peace; who are conscious of no notes of absurdity mingling with\ntheir monotonous strains, and who wake from each short spring-time of\nlove without remorse or disenchantment!  Surely some men and women seem\nmore naturally fitted for such brief experiences than for the prolonged\nand deeper sentiments of life-long devotion.\n\n\"'Life is too short,' cry such in the moment of awakened joy, for at\nthat moment eternity touches them.  Yet how few natures have risen\nsufficiently far above their transitory and animal instincts to remain\nlong in this spirit of self-negation.  The first breath of egoism\ndisturbs it; passion degrades it; and before a year of the wished-for\neternity is expired, how many may be found secretly regarding the one\nsane emotion of their lives as an experience of temporary, and yet\nconventional madness.\n\n\"Yet we have no right to blame them so long as they live up to the best\ninstinct they possess, for growth is slow, and if we carry as yet more\nbeast in our body than angel in our spirit, the beast will have its way.\nGrowth or deterioration (for which alone we are responsible) depends\nupon the rule we welcome, and to which side our will, consciously or\nunconsciously, inclines us.\n\n\"During one of the pauses, as Vera and I sat together, I became\nconscious of a new and remarkable clearness of mental vision such as I\nhad never before experienced (though I have spoken to a man temporarily\ninsane who graphically described similar sensations of increased mental\nsight).  It was as though from the normal condition of observing all\nsubjects through the medium of frosted glass, some power had for the\ntime removed the obstruction, enabling me to see every object in the\nclear light of day.  In this condition I fully realized the weakness of\nVera's character, and the misery that must necessarily follow.  I also\nfelt that whether we married or did not marry, I, having once loved,\ncould only break this bond by selfishness.  Then came this question, Was\nI prepared to suffer all things for her sake?--for if not, it was far\nbetter to cut my bonds at once.  I looked at her, and a feeling of\nintense pity filled my heart.\n\n\"'Poor little child!' I thought.  'God alone can see all the nightmare\nof misery your nature must pass through before it comes forth in the\nlight of His pure love!'  Then a voice seemed to whisper in my ear,\n'Think of your own life.  If you take up this burden you will be dragged\ninto the darkness; your nature will be lowered, your power for good\ndestroyed.'  Then again I looked at the girl, and as I did so my spirit\ncried and said, 'Even though I should be damned to walk for ever in\ndarkness, though God's light be hidden from me, yet will I never cut\nthis bond till we stand together before the face of our Father.'  And it\nseemed to me that there were many voices chanting softly, 'Amen.'\n\n\"Whilst listening to the sound an overpowering gloom settled upon me.  I\nremembered nothing more distinctly, though through the darkness many\nindistinct pictures flashed before me and vanished ere they were printed\non my mind.  At last I heard voices speaking, and opening my eyes, saw\nVera and Vancome bending over me.  As far as I know, this was the first\ntime that I had fallen into a trance, or as doctors would call it, a\nstate of catalepsy.\n\n\"It appears that Vera, finding me insensible, had rushed out of the\nglen, and seeing Vancome in the distance, had called to him for\nassistance.  They both appeared to think that I had fainted, and I did\nnot wish to undeceive them.\n\n\"But it is getting late, and as I have now reached the point in my story\nwhich makes it necessary to explain an important discovery to which I\nwas led by this trance condition, it will be better to stop for this\nevening.\"\n\n\"But,\" I interrupted, \"before I go you will show me the other rooms you\nspoke of.\"\n\n\"Not to-night,\" he replied, \"for there are many things in them which\nstill require explanations for which at present you are hardly prepared.\nBut the next time we meet I hope to take you into one of them.  When I\nbegan this evening, I had no intention of going so fully into the\ndetails of my story, but noticing that the method unconsciously adopted\ndid not weary you, it seemed better to give my experiences in the order\nin which they occurred. This plan has led, and will probably still lead,\nme to describe many so-called trivial reminiscences; but as a matter of\nfact, nothing is trivial, and by striving to confine ourselves to more\nimportant subjects, we often miss the tiny thread which might, if\nfollowed, have led to some great discovery.  When, however, I continue\nmy story, I hope to make it more interesting by illustrations.\"\n\nAs he said this he took both my hands.  In a moment I was plunged in\ndarkness; the room, my companion, everything had vanished; but as I\nstill strained my eyes a faint revolving spark of light became visible.\nThis light increased until I found that I was in the presence of a young\ngirl, whom I had little difficulty in recognizing as the Vera of my\nfriend's story.  She was standing in a listening attitude, as though\nsome one had called her, and was evidently unconscious of my presence.\nAs I lay watching she turned her face toward me.  I shall never forget\nthe revelation of beauty and weakness depicted there; but more quickly\nthan the vision came it vanished, and I heard my host say--\n\n\"Good-night.  Come again at the same time as soon as ever you feel\ninclined.\"\n\nThen I heard the door close, and found myself standing in the cool\nevening air outside Alan Sydney's house.\n\nWhen I got back to my room I was too excited to sleep.  Was there, after\nall, some incomprehensible meaning in life, a possibility of solving the\nmystery of existence?  I sat for some time thinking; then taking my pen,\nbegan to write, and as I wrote it seemed that already my mind was under\nthe influence of a new power, for each sentence Sydney had used came\nback to me without effort of memory, as if I were writing from some\ninaudible dictation.\n\n\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER III*\n\n\nI felt annoyed the next morning to remember that I had accepted an\ninvitation to dine out that evening, and it would be therefore necessary\nto postpone seeing Sydney until the following day.  I was so interested\nin what I had heard and seen that it hardly occurred to me to delay my\nnext visit longer than necessary, for he who evidently could read my\nthoughts would not expect me to restrain my impatience with any feeling\nof consideration for conventionalities.\n\nMy entertainment this evening was likely to be a stimulating contrast to\nthat of the previous night.  Transon Hall, where I was to dine, may be\nconsidered the centre of our circle of social exclusiveness.  Into this\nring those who moved in inferior orbits at times penetrated, and at\ntimes were excluded.\n\nSir James Folker, Baronet, M.P., J.P., M.F.H., etc., comes of one of the\noldest families in this semi-suburban part of Surrey; in fact, his\nfather lived here before him.  Of course, in saying this I refer only to\nthe wealthy part of the community.  We have plenty of small squires and\nfarmers whose ancestors have lived here for centuries, but as their\npresent representatives are nearly all too poor to entertain, such\nimpecunious hereditary grandeur is appreciated chiefly by their\nrespective families.  Sir James is, however, a thoroughly good fellow,\nwell informed, of kindly disposition, and a true sportsman.  If he is a\ntrifle overbearing, it is owing chiefly to education.  His father was a\nself-made man, and necessarily had a very exalted appreciation of the\ndignity attaching to wealth and title.  Even a snob, if snobbishness is\nlinked with every association of childhood, may be at heart a gentleman.\nLife is not long enough to polish off the ugly advertisements which were\nengraved upon him in youth.\n\nI arrived at the house rather late, and you may fancy my surprise on\nlooking round the room to see Alan Sydney busily engaged in talking to\none of the guests.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, as soon as an opportunity occurred of speaking to him,\n\"suppose I had turned up at your house to-night?\"\n\n\"If I had not known you were coming here,\" he replied, \"I should have\nwarned you; but I quite expect to see you to-morrow.  As you know, I am\nnot often away from home, but there is a reason for my being here\nto-night.\"\n\nAt this moment we were disturbed by the general shuffle which takes\nplace at the announcement of dinner, and I found myself escorting a\nstranger into the dining-room, who had just been introduced to me as\nMiss Augusta Smith.  My companion was neither young nor pretty, but I\nnoticed with relief that she had a bright and interesting face.  We sat\nexactly opposite Sydney, who had on his right Miss Folker, a\ngood-looking girl of about twenty-one, devoted to sport, and on his left\nLady Todman, a most energetic widow, whose object in life was to reform\nthe world by means of teetotalism.\n\nEverything tended to my friend having a somewhat dull time of it, though\nI noticed a look in his eyes which showed me he was in one of his more\nlively moods.  Lady Todman is not a woman of tact.  If all around you\nare drinking wine, it seems to me hardly good taste to begin a sermon on\nthe eleventh commandment, \"Thou shalt not drink.\"  But there are some\nwomen whose consciences constrain them, and she was one of these.\n\n\"Don't you think,\" she said in a rather loud, penetrating voice, turning\nto Sydney, as the butler was pouring some sherry into his glass, \"that\ndrinking is the cause of much evil?\"\n\nHer companion tasted the sherry thoughtfully before he answered.\n\"Certainly, if the wine is not good.  But let me assure you this wine is\nvery dry; you need have no fear of any ill effects from drinking it.\"\n\n\"Oh!  I don't mean that,\" she replied; \"I mean that nearly every crime\nthat is committed can be directly or indirectly traced to the use of\nalcohol.\"\n\n\"You surprise me,\" he said.  \"Are you fond of travelling?\"\n\n\"I don't now travel,\" she answered, evidently offended at what seemed an\nobvious attempt to turn the conversation.  \"I find sufficient work near\nat hand which my conscience will not allow me to neglect, and therefore\nleave these pleasures for others.\"\n\n\"Let me urge you to go to Constantinople,\" said Sydney; \"it is the best\nplace in which thoroughly to study the temperance question.  Degradation\nand misery have there reached such a perfection without the aid of drink\nthat after a month of such experience I can almost fancy any one weeping\ntears of joy at the sight of an honest drunkard.\"\n\nSeeing Lady Todman turning away in evident disgust, and wishing to know\nwhat my friend really thought on the matter, I asked whether the Turks\nmight not possibly be even worse if they added to their other sins the\nvice of intemperance.\n\n\"Drink,\" he replied, \"does not alter a man's character; it simply\nexposes it.  That crime is generally associated with drunkenness is\ntrue, but that it causes it is unusual, and it is frequently a\ndeterrent.  The weakness in a man is sure to find vent through some\nchannel, and I would rather not picture some of the crimes that our\ndrunkards would probably have committed had not the absorption of this\nattraction turned their thoughts in another direction.  Among weak\nnatures and deformed characters we should expect to find both drunkards\nand criminals of all kinds.\"\n\n\"I quite agree with you,\" said Miss Folker.  \"I don't believe that it is\nany use trying to make people sober; our best whips always drink, don't\nthey, father?  And nothing you could do would ever stop them.\"\n\nOur host seemed to think this was an unfortunate remark, for I noticed\nhim glance at the butler as he replied, \"If they do they soon have to\ngo, I know that.\"\n\n\"You misunderstand me,\" Sydney said, turning to Miss Folker.  \"I believe\nthere is great use in trying to make people sober, for weakness of any\nkind encouraged leads to disease; but one does little service to the\ncause of truth by telling lies.\"\n\n\"What would you do, then?\" broke in Miss Smith, who had been listening\nintently.\n\n\"With the habitual drunkard,\" replied Sydney, \"there is only at present\none course open.  He should be placed under restraint as a temporary\nlunatic, which he is.  But drunkenness is a mere stage in the growth of\nmankind, and can only work itself out through the lessons of experience.\nTo try to prohibit drink is to hinder progress; to say that there is\nmore drunkenness now than formerly, is simply to say that the greater\npart of our race is considered strong enough to face the temptation.\nGive a savage as much spirit as he cares for, and he will kill himself\nin a few months.  Our forefathers, in much the same way, though with\nmore caution, used to lie nightly under the dinner-table; but now, among\nthose classes which can afford to drink as much as they like, only\npersons with hereditary tendencies, or those who are unusually weak go\nto this extreme either in private or public.  They have partially\nlearned their lesson. Among the more ignorant there would be ten times\nthe drunkenness if their wages allowed it.  If you consider a man,\nthough he starves his wife and children, cannot afford to get hopelessly\ndrunk more than about twice a week; and this is one of the reasons why\nthe poor have taken longer to learn by experience this lesson.  But\nthey, too, are slowly improving under increased temptations.\"\n\n\"Well, Sydney,\" said our host, \"you are the most extraordinary man.  You\nalways seem to take a view of things from a reversed position.\"\n\n\"It is an excellent plan,\" Sydney replied, laughing, \"now and then to\nstand on your head; in that position you see the world from quite a new\naspect, for instead of your eyes being turned naturally to the earth\nwith only an occasional glimpse of the heavens above, your view for the\ntime is altered.  It does not, however, do to keep in that attitude too\nlong, or the blood will flow to your brain.\"\n\n\"But,\" asked Miss Smith, \"do you not think that such doctrines might be\nvery dangerous?\"\n\n\"All truth is dangerous to those who wish for an excuse for weakness,\"\nhe replied.  \"But there are many at the present time who want a little\nlight thrown on the subject; for the man who does any action, however\nright in itself, feeling that thereby he may be throwing his influence\non the side of selfishness, must therein be damned.  Alcohol is probably\none of our greatest gifts if rightly used, and being so, must of\nnecessity be a frightful curse if abused.\"\n\n\"Gift indeed!\" sniffed Lady Todman, \"when every doctor will tell you it\nhas no feeding property.\"\n\n\"That is quite true,\" Sydney continued.  \"It is not a food, and therein\nlies its great charm for an age when people eat far too much for the\nsedentary lives they live; but it prevents the waste of tissue, and\nenables man to keep in health without half his time and two-thirds of\nhis energy being exhausted in the process of digestion.  It is, however,\na so-called poison, and must be treated as such; but the poisons of\nto-day will probably become the nutriment of the future.  On the other\nhand, sugar, a splendid food for savages and labourers, is little better\nthan a slow poison to those who neglect exercise.  Some day we shall\nhave a new commandment--'Thou shalt not take sweet things.'  Considering\nthe misery brought about in families through dyspepsia, I have a good\nmind to try and start a new order of lemontotallers at once.\n\n\"If, however, you want a temperance sermon, you must go to the drunkard,\nand as an antidote to what I have said, if you care to hear it, I will\ntell you a story of a friend of mine who is now dead.  He was a young\nman of great ability, who had passed through the University, carrying\noff some of its most coveted prizes.  For some years having heard\nnothing of him, I decided to look him up.  I knew that he had been\nordained, and, retaining his fellowship, had accepted a quiet living in\nthe country, intending to spend his spare time in literary work.  It had\nsurprised me that since then I had heard nothing from him, nor had any\nbook of his been published.  I found him a hopeless wreck, and this, in\na few words, is what he told me.\n\n\"He had come down to the country for the purpose of having leisure to\nstudy and write.  For some time all went well.  He had been brought up\nnot to take wine, and was one of the few teetotallers of his College.\nHis father had died from drink when Hamlin was a boy, and his mother had\ndone all in her power to keep her child from following in the same\ncourse.  'I never,' he said, 'touched drink till I was ordained.  My\ncuracy was in the West End of London, and as the time drew near for me\nto preach my first sermon, I became hopelessly nervous, feeling that I\nshould break down, or losing all self-control, behave like a lunatic.\nThe thought horrified me.  As I went over my sermon in private, my hand\nshook so that I could not read the words.  In despair I tried a remedy\nmany University men resort to when they have to read the lessons in\nchapel.  I took a small dose of brandy and tried the effect.  It was\nonly about a tablespoonful, yet the result was miraculous.  In a few\nminutes I felt capable of preaching in St. Paul's.  On the following\nSunday, having provided myself with a flask, I took a double dose in the\nvestry before the sermon, and the result was equally successful.  From\nthat day to this I have never preached without the aid of a stimulant.'\n\n\"For some time he confined his abuse of alcohol to this purpose, but\nbefore he came into the country the habit had grown, and he took spirits\nevery evening, though not in large quantities.  On being appointed\nrector to a small parish, the loneliness of his life added to his\ntemptation.\n\n\"'I knew I was damned,' he said, 'but was helpless.  Week by week, as I\ngot less effect from the usual amount, I increased it.  At last I began\nto feel the result.  My interest in my work died down; the services in\nthe church became a hollow and hateful mockery.  I felt languid, and\ndisinclined to take exercise, whilst my thoughts now always ran in one\ndirection, to the moment when again I could drink--drink and be\nhappy--feel the blood course freely through my veins, and my brain wake\nfrom its now normal condition of torpor; for you must understand that I\nnever drank to what is called excess, that is to say, was never\nobviously the worse for drink. One night, after having been sleeping\nsoundly for some hours, I woke oppressed with a feeling of nameless\nhorror.  The perspiration poured down me, and yet I shivered; then it\nseemed as if the very fiends of hell were tearing at my soul, mocking\nme, shouting my ordination vows into my ears, bidding me look at the\ndamned souls in torture whom I had promised to watch over here, and had\nneglected. Thus I lay for an hour in anguish unspeakable, and at last\ngot up, dressed, and went out into the cool night air.  As I began to\nfeel better I vowed to God never again to touch a drop of alcohol.\n\n\"'On the following morning it seemed that, after all, the whole state of\nmy mind had been exaggerated, and was only probably due to indigestion.\nI, however, kept my vow for a few days and became a wreck.  Sunday was\ndrawing near.  What should I do?  I began my sermon after taking an\nunusually large dose, and preached contentedly from a passage chosen to\nstrengthen my resolution during the night of misery--\"Thy vows, O God,\nare upon me.\"  Only once since,' he concluded in a whisper, 'have I made\na vow, and that was after the first week spent with the real visible\nfiends in hell, when the doctor came and found that the minister whom\nall respected was suffering from _delirium tremens_!'\"\n\nThere was a pause, and Lady Todman, who had been listening intently to\nthe story, which she evidently intended to retail with a little extra\ncolour at her next temperance meeting, asked what was the poor fellow's\nend.\n\n\"I am glad to say,\" Sydney replied, \"that the day after I left he\ngathered up what little power was left him, and seeing that his life was\nhopeless, faced death bravely.\"\n\n\"I hope he was truly penitent before the end,\" said Lady Todman.\n\n\"I think he showed that conclusively,\" replied Sydney, \"when he shot\nhimself.\"\n\nThere was a moment's silence; and then, before anyone could continue the\nsubject, which had become depressing, he turned the drift of talk quite\nnaturally into a new channel, and was very soon keeping most of the\nparty laughing over some comical experiences in the hunting-field.\nThough he made himself the hero for his own satire, we all knew him well\nenough to be sure that he was speaking from observation, and not\npersonal experience.\n\n\"Well,\" I said, when the ladies had left us, and I had taken the\nopportunity to move over next to him, \"was it the temperance question\nwhich brought you here to-night?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"it was not that; but a little private matter, which I\nhope to be able to accomplish later on.\"\n\nThe conversation then became general, as is usually the case under the\nfriendly influence of tobacco.\n\nWe found only two ladies waiting for our arrival in the larger\ndrawing-room, the others had gone into a dimly-lighted and smaller\napartment adjoining. Lady Todman informed us, with a look of disgust,\nthat the others were tempting the devil to rap on a circular table, from\nwhich we gathered that our hostess was indulging in her favourite\noccupation of playing at spiritualism.\n\n\"You don't seem to approve of spiritualism, Lady Todman,\" I remarked,\nrather hoping to draw Sydney into discussion with her on the subject.\n\n\"I certainly don't,\" she replied.  \"I consider it not only a great waste\nof time, but also wicked.\"\n\n\"I am glad to find,\" said Sydney, \"that in this case we can agree if I\nmay use the word dangerous instead of wicked, which is much the same\nthing.\"\n\n\"But why dangerous?\" asked Miss Smith, who was the other lady present.\n\"It is nothing but rubbish, and I don't see that people can do much harm\nby unconsciously pushing a table about, and we cannot fancy that any one\nwould rap on purpose.\"\n\n\"Have you ever been present at one of these gatherings?\" he replied.\nAnd being answered in the negative, continued, \"Is it wise to judge\nwithout experience?  There may be more than you fancy even in so\napparently childish a performance as table-turning.\"\n\nWhilst he spoke we were roused by low, yet excited voices in the next\nroom, and he went toward the drawn curtains and quietly passed through,\nfollowed by Miss Smith and myself.\n\nThe light was dim, and at first I had some difficulty in seeing\nanything; but as my eyes became more accustomed to the gloom, I noticed\nsix ladies sitting round a table with their hands joined.  One of these,\na girl of about twenty, was lying back in her chair apparently\nunconscious, although her eyes were open.  The others were watching her\nwith expressions either of alarm or interest.\n\n\"What shall we do?\" said Lady Folker in a whisper; \"she has gone off,\nand I know that in my book it says if any one goes into a trance one\nought to be most careful unless an experienced spiritualist is with\nyou.\"\n\n\"If,\" said Sydney, \"you would care to follow my instructions, we might\nsee something interesting without doing the young lady any further harm.\nI once had a good deal of experience in these matters.\"\n\n\"Oh! how delightful!\" said Miss Folker.  \"Tell us what we ought to do,\nand let us see a real live ghost; that would be lovely!\"\n\nThe instructions were quickly carried out; the insensible girl being\nlaid on a couch.  All the rest were asked to go into the drawing-room,\nand the curtains were then again drawn between the two rooms.  After\nsome protest from the remainder of our party, including Lady Todman and\nthe men who had so far taken no part in the performance, the lights were\nput out, and Alan Sydney brought a small shaded pink lamp from the inner\nroom, where the girl still lay unconscious, and placed it in our midst.\nHardly had he done this before the curtains were drawn quickly apart by\nsome invisible means, and we could see into the inner room.\n\nMiss Halcome still lay on the couch, apparently sleeping, but with her\nface turned from us.  A soft light was falling upon her from above; as\nwe watched, the light appeared to take, as it were, form, till we\nrecognized that a woman clothed in white stood leaning over the girl.\nThen the woman, taking one of the girl's white hands, raised her up and\nled her into the centre of the inner room.\n\nMiss Halcome moved at first as though walking in her sleep, with eyes\nopen, yet apparently unseeing. When they thus reached the centre, the\nfigure of the woman again began to fade till the girl stood alone before\nus, still with that strange light falling upon her.  She made a\nbeautiful picture, being one of those who possess a physical and purely\nsensuous loveliness, which appeals especially to men of lower type.  Her\nhair and eyes were brown; her complexion clear, though rather dark; her\nlips were full, prettily shaped, and of deep colour; as a rule her\ncheeks carried, for my liking, too deep a rose tint, but they were now\nmore pale than usual.\n\nAs she stood there she lifted her arms towards us, and began to sing.\nHer voice I had always considered to be her chief attraction, for not\nonly was it rich and tuneful, but unusually well trained.  I had not\nheard either song or tune before.\n\n    \"Come to me, dearest, with a love\n      Eternal, strong as death;\n    Love that but lasts a transient life,\n      And fades with fading breath,\n\n    Can bring to this sad heart no joy,\n      No ecstasy divine;\n    Eternity is far too brief\n      To fill this heart of mine.\n\n    Though I should change, as all must change.\n      My soul shall ever be,\n    In youth or age, the soul you love\n      Through all eternity.\n\n    The beauty now that charms your eye,\n      This youthful form so fair,\n    Shall alter with each passing year.\n      Is it for these you care?\n\n    Go! face the truth!  If all the grace\n      That earth alone can give,\n    Were turned from one you think you love,\n      What of that love would live?\n\n    A little space--say fifty years,\n      Or only five, may be,\n    And all that now you prize so much\n      Shall change to what you see.'\"\n\n\nThe last few lines of the song almost died away, for at the commencement\nof the last stanza a most extraordinary change began to take place in\nthe singer.  The only way in which I can describe it is to compare her\nto a waxen image that was being melted rapidly by the strong light\nfalling from above. Everything seemed to slip away downward and\ndisappear, except the skeleton, which stood with hollow eye-sockets and\nmoving jaw chattering out the last few words.  There was a frightful\nshriek, and at the same moment the curtains fell together.\n\nWe were all, Sydney excepted, far too horrified to move.  He, however,\ngot up immediately and drew back the curtains.  The room was just as we\nhad left it; Miss Halcome still lay on the sofa in exactly the attitude\nhe had placed her.  Lady Todman was the first to speak.\n\n\"Just as I said, tempting the devil!  And a nice fright he has given us\nall.  Not that I was frightened. I just shut my eyes and said my\nprayers.\"\n\nThe poor old woman was simply shivering as she spoke, and we must\ntherefore excuse her, for it is possible she did not know what she was\nsaying.\n\n\"If any one wishes to talk about what we have seen,\" remarked Sydney,\n\"he should do so at once, before we bring Miss Halcome out of her\ntrance, as I am sure every one will agree with me that nothing of what\nhas occurred should be mentioned in her presence.\"\n\n\"Oh! for goodness' sake!\" cried Lady Todman, whose chattering teeth\nreminded me of the skeleton, \"let's wake her up at once, or we shall be\nhaving I don't know what next!  It is quite sinful, it really is!\"\n\nAs no one seemed inclined to do more than utter a few disjointed words\nsuch as \"Awful!\" \"Most remarkable!\" etc., Sydney struck a match, and\nlighting a powerful lamp held it in front of the girl's eyes.\n\nAt this she sneezed twice, and then sitting up said--\n\n\"What's the matter?  Why did you all leave the table?\"\n\nHer companion, holding the lamp still near her eyes, then told her that\nas she had gone into a trance the others had left the room, but he\nmentioned nothing of any further experiences; and she, seeming none the\nworse in any way, followed him into the outer room.\n\nWhile looking round on the faces present I noticed that of a young man\nwho was a stranger to me. As the girl came forward a look of terror\npassed over his features such as I had never seen before, and hope never\nto see again.  There was still more mystery, apparently, behind even the\nlate mysterious performance, and I began to wonder whether my friend's\nmotive for coming might not have something to do with the terrified face\nbefore me.\n\nShortly after this, to every one's relief, the carriages began to be\nannounced.  I asked Sydney if he were driving, and finding that he was\nnot, offered to take him with me.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"let us both walk.  I get too little exercise as it\nis, and cannot afford to miss an opportunity.\"\n\nI agreed, and sending the coachman home, we started together.\n\nThere is no time like night for walking, and as the south-west wind blew\nsoftly against us, I felt as though it would have been pleasant to spend\nhours in the open air.  There was much that I wanted to say, but for a\nfew moments the delight of quiet night kept us both from speaking.  At\nlast I broke the silence.\n\n\"Well, that was the most extraordinary experience,\" I remarked; \"can you\nthrow any light upon it?  Talk about the days of miracles being over!\"\n\n\"The days of so-called miracles will never be over,\" replied my friend,\n\"till all have equal knowledge.  A miracle is but a natural law, of\nwhich most persons have hitherto been ignorant, brought into play at\nlength by one who is better informed than the majority.\"\n\n\"But you had nothing to do with the manifestation of to-night, had you?\"\nI asked.\n\n\"It was all my doing, with the exception of the first act, and even that\nwas ruled by my influence; but I will explain it to you, as by doing so\nI shall save trouble later on.  I told you that I had come to-night for\na reason, and that my object was an important one you may judge by my\nusing a power in public which I have seldom cared to exercise.  No one,\nhowever, suspects that I had anything to do with what happened beyond\nbeing able to give them a little information; all the credit or\ndiscredit will be with the performers at the table.  Let me first\nexplain what I did, and then give you an idea of my motive.\n\n\"Before the ladies left us I exercised my will on Lady Folker and two\nothers to try table-turning that evening.  It is a slightly dangerous\namusement that has recently revived; and is nothing else but a\nconvenient form of semi-mesmerism caused by the joining of hands.  If,\nwhich is unusual, no one tries to cheat or to fool the others present,\nthe persons will soon feel a tingling sensation in their arms and hands,\nand lastly through their whole bodies; when the balance of will is\nfairly even, nothing may happen for some time, but at last one\nwill-force must predominate the others, and quite unconsciously that\npower influences all the rest, so that every hand moves by the order of\na semi-dormant will.  Hence the moving and tilting of the table, the\nmessage received, etc.  Sometimes the motive-will, being partially\nentranced, becomes a medium for the transmission of thoughts passing\nthrough the mind of some absent friend, for under certain conditions\nthought can be transferred, even as the sound of the voice through a\ntelephone; but this is too lengthy a matter to go into now.\n\n\"As a rule, however, one of the party being more susceptible than the\nothers, will before long become unconscious, or completely mesmerized.\nThis is, as you know, what happened to-night, and in this condition the\npredominant will, whether the owner thereof be absent or present, gains\ncomplete control, speaking through his or her voice, and in fact acting\nthe part of hypnotizer on a patient.  Sometimes one of the party\npresent, and then another, will so act on the medium, and each one be\nunconscious of doing so.\"\n\n\"I begin to see now,\" I said, \"what happened. Your will acted on the\ngirl, and you made her do just what you wished.  But how about the\nskeleton?\"\n\n\"You are mistaken,\" my friend answered, \"and you forget about the\ncurtains going back of their own accord.  I adopted a simpler method,\nand one less harmful to the girl.  Those at the table mesmerized her,\nbut I mesmerized all the others present; from the time the curtains had\nbeen drawn till I myself threw them back not a single thing took place,\nand the room was in silence with the exception of the shriek of horror\nwhen I relaxed my power, and you saw, as you thought, the curtains fall\ntogether.\"\n\n\"Do you mean to say that the girl had nothing to do with it, and that\nshe never moved?\"\n\n\"She never stirred so much as a finger, but her condition assisted me in\na way that you will understand better when I explain the laws which\ngovern the transmission of will-force, for in her state what power she\npossessed was added to my own.\"\n\n\"And you mean to say that during all this time we were staring like a\npack of fools at a blank curtain?\" I demanded.\n\n\"I should hardly put it in that way myself,\" he replied.  \"It is true\nthat that is what your bodily eyes were doing to all appearances, but\nyour minds had a most impressive scene in front of them, which though it\nreached them from a different channel than the eye, was none the less\nvivid.\"\n\n\"But how did you convey the impression?\" I asked.\n\n\"That,\" he replied, \"requires what I fortunately possess, a vivid\nimagination, and it was only necessary for me to call up the visions for\nthem to pass also before you; but it is exhausting work, as you will\nfind some day if you try it, for the mind must never wander for a\nmoment, and few people have learnt the art of perfect\nself-concentration.  It is also necessary that for the time being the\noperator should be in a half-entranced state, or the pictures would be\nmeagre and unreal.  This condition, which for the sake of convenience\nmay be called day-dreaming, requires much practice, but it is\nnevertheless fairly easy to learn.  I will before long show you the\nmethod of acquiring the habit, so that you can judge for yourself of its\nuse.\"\n\n\"And now,\" I asked, \"what was your motive for giving us such a terrible\nexperience?  You succeeded in giving one young man, whose name I don't\nknow, such a scare that he will be some weeks before he gets over the\neffects.\"\n\n\"I pray that he may never get over them,\" said Sydney.  \"If he should,\nmy work has failed.  His name is William Jackson, and he is the only son\nof the late Sir John Jackson.  You may have heard of the father, as he\nwas fifteen years ago one of the most notorious and wealthy rakes in\nLondon; in other words, having made a god of self, he had become a fiend\nto others.  Thus, as we carry our circumference with us, he raged at the\nhell he created, whilst increasing its torments.  It is only when we\nfully realize the damnation of such lives that our hatred turns to pity.\nSome whom I have known had good cause to hate his memory, as you will\nhear in the story of my life.  Too often have I in his case forgotten\nthat vengeance is not man's business, and that the law of retribution\nnever faileth.  It is easy to forgive one who wrongs you, but how hard\nwhen the injury is to one we love; when we see some weak loved spirit\ndriven further into the darkness, deeper into the thicket of pain, for\nthough we know that in the end, as Tennyson so finely expresses it,\n'There shall be greater good because of evil, larger mercy through the\nfall,' yet is the suffering present and it is hard to see those we love\nin pain.  William, however, takes far more after his mother than his\nfather.  She is a good and noble woman, purified by suffering of which\nshe had in the latter days of her husband's life considerable\nexperience.  It would be cruel not to try and save her from like misery\nthrough her son, to whom she is devoted.  He is a youth of good ability,\npossessing even half-fledged genius; his nature is at present very\nsusceptible to kindness, and in many ways lovable, but he is cursed with\nhis father's passions, and should this get the upper hand, the finer\nqualities of his disposition will drag him the more quickly down.  If he\nonce came under the influence of a heartless animal nature, there would\npractically be little hope of saving him.\"\n\n\"And one with that nature was there to-night?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"Miss Halcome is of all girls the least suited to be\nhis wife, yet he loved or fancied he loved her, and she has set her mind\non marrying him, though I believe she cares only for his wealth.  But I\ndo not know that I should have interfered were it not that I possess\nknowledge which makes the whole case most terrible.  It is not fit that\nany child should be born into the world cursed by a double descent from\nsuch a man as Sir John Jackson.\"\n\n\"And are you certain that Miss Halcome is really his child?\" I asked.\n\n\"Unfortunately I have too good reason to know,\" he replied; \"but this is\nwhere we part, and I have told you enough to throw some light upon this\nevening; the rest of the explanation can be left till I reach that part\nof my story where it would naturally come in.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER IV*\n\n\nOn the following evening, as soon as we had finished dinner, Sydney led\nme, as on the previous occasion, through his study and into the library;\nbut we did not wait here, for going up to a curtain at one corner, he\npushed it aside, and opening a door led me into a room beyond.  This\nroom did not seem to be lighted in any way from the outside, but an\nelectric light, the first I ever saw in a private house, cast a strong\nglare over the apartment.\n\nAs soon as we entered, my companion touched a handle and a shade passed\nover the light; the effect was pleasant and restful.  Except in one\nrecess which was curtained off from the rest of the room, there were few\nsigns of comfort.  I could not help fancying that I had suddenly entered\na scientific laboratory; the walls of the room were covered with\nmechanical apparatus of various kinds, and with shelves that contained\nrows of bottles, tubes, and other chemical appliances.\n\n\"This,\" said Sydney, \"is my workshop, where for years I have been busy\ntrying experiments on nature by the assistance of knowledge gained\nthrough the development of our sixth sense.  There is no doubt whatever\nthat when men once begin to understand the uses of this latent power,\nexistence will be revolutionized entirely.  The world as it is now will\ncease to exist, and there will be a new heaven and a new earth.  But,\"\nhe continued after a pause, \"I fear the time is not yet come; for so\nawfully will man's power be increased, that unless our natures are at\nthe same time purified and perfected, existence here under such a\nreversal of conditions would be in truth hell itself.\n\n\"Fortunately, however, the power of using this sense is greatly\ndependent on the lives of the persons employing it.  If a man has not\nlearned to curb his passions and keep his body under control, he will\nmake little progress, for the subjugation of the body is essential to\nsuccess.  The weakness of my own nature has, alas! too often caused me\nto break down at the very moment of seeming victory.  If only a man were\nperfectly unselfish, pure, and free from pride, he could without the aid\nof science and without seeming effort control the forces of nature.\nSuch a One has been on earth, and we know the result.  Such power may be\ngiven when man has learnt to follow His example.  But as man becomes\nconscious of his new powers we may expect a terrible time of transition,\nfor with the possession of free will each added gift means added force\nto evil as well as to good, even as I was saying last night with regard\nto the gift of alcohol.\n\n\"People will soon find this out, if they have not already done so, with\nregard to hypnotism.  In the time that is coming no creed shall save a\nman, for the wonders that shall be done on the earth shall deceive all\nthose who have not experienced the realization of things hoped for, the\nevidence of things not seen; all those in fact who are not able to\ndistinguish truth from falsehood by the instinct of their own hearts.\nIt is doubtless for this reason that scientists have so long had their\neyes blinded.  When the time shall come, and the people are ready, these\nmen shall lead, as they have ever led, the march of progress; yet they\nmust abandon pride if they hope to succeed.\n\n\"I perceive, however, that like many others, you are more anxious to\nhear of the marvellous, or to see it, than to listen to the future\npossible condition of things which probably will not take place in your\nlifetime.  If, therefore, you will lie down on the couch in that recess,\nI will continue my story, though on a somewhat different plan from that\nto which you are accustomed.\"\n\nI lay down, and he drew the curtain that divided us from the rest of the\nroom, and sitting beside me, said,\n\n\"If I remember rightly, I left off last time when, having just recovered\nfrom my first trance, I found Vera and Vancome standing over me.  I felt\nvery little the worse for my experience, and seeing that I did not\nappear likely to faint again, my companions went on their way to Heather\nLodge, leaving me to walk back home.  During the evening I began to feel\nnervous and distressed; a weight of anxiety seemed to be hanging over\nme, none the less real because it was undefined.  I went to bed early,\nbut instead of feeling better, the nervousness increased.  On whatever\nsubject my thoughts turned, the unpleasant impression followed them,\nhaunting me and driving sleep far away.  At last in despair I determined\non an experiment.  I would try to think of nothing, and keep my eyes\nsteadily fixed on some imaginary spot just over my head.  The room was\ndark, but (as any one who has tried the experiment will know) if you\nconcentrate the eyes on one dark place for any length of time, that spot\nwill appear light.  As I watched the light it revolved at first slowly,\nand then with increasing rapidity. Though unknown to me at the time, the\nmethod I had adopted is the simplest and easiest way of hypnotizing\noneself, and with a little patience most people could do it, for if the\nlight does not soon revolve it is easy to start it by moving the eye, as\nit always follows; the great difficulty is to keep the mind from\nwandering.\n\n\"When these revolutions had continued for some few moments, I became\nabout every alternate second, as it were, blind, seeing nothing, and my\nmind also during the same period became a blank; then pictures\nalternately flashed across the darkness, so rapidly that I could not\nperfectly grasp them.  But after a time I was able to see quite clearly,\nand this is the picture which I saw.\"\n\nSydney stopped speaking, touched something, and the light was\nextinguished; then as he placed his hand on mine, I found that I was\nlooking into a room which was lighted by a number of shaded candles.  A\nman of about thirty was standing with his back to a log fire, and a girl\nwas lying on a sofa near him.  The girl was the same I had previously\nrecognized as Vera; the man I had little doubt was Lord Vancome. He was\nspeaking in a low tone, but every word was distinct.\n\n\"How cruel you are to me, Miss Soudin!  The very softness of your voice\nbut adds to the bitterness of your words!\"  Then coming a little nearer\nand speaking still lower; \"Vera!--I must call you Vera, just to hear the\nword--if you could but know for one moment what it is to be a man and to\nsee such loveliness, and yet not to be able to approach it; to have to\nstand off and to be told that it belongs to another. If you could only\nknow, you would have pity before you send me from you for ever!  How can\nyou be so cruel?\"\n\n\"Oh, Lord Vancome!\" said Vera, \"I wish you would not talk like that; you\nknow I do not wish to be unkind, but you must remember I am engaged, and\nit would be very wrong to let any one kiss me.\"\n\n\"Wrong!  You dear innocent thing!\" he answered; \"how small is your\nknowledge of the world!  Do you think girls never let any but one man\nkiss them? And what harm would it do?  Do you fancy a kiss leaves any\nmark behind that would betray us?  No, the only mark will be upon my\nlife, a mark of brightness in the gloom!\"\n\n\"Oh! but I really could not!\" she replied; but even as she said the\nwords, her up-turned face, her eyes, her lips, denied them, and she knew\nit; and the spirits of evil and of good knew it; and the man who stood\ntrembling with passion over her, knew and took advantage of it.  As he\ndid so the scene vanished.\n\nSydney turned on the light, and then said--\"That is what I saw; but what\nI felt it is impossible to describe.  The girl lying there listening to\nthe stage-learned sentimental drivel of a half-drunken blackguard--that\nshe could not see through it--that she was unable to distinguish the\nlaugh behind the scenes, or know that at some future date the details\nexaggerated would be retailed to a club audience--that she should let\nhim even kiss her!\n\n\"I came-to from that trance little better than a madman, with one only\nhope, that it might not be true; one determination to find out for\ncertain, and if so to be revenged--revenged on the man.  My love for the\ngirl was unchanged, and I realized with something akin to horror that\nnothing could alter it; that from the moment when I made my vow, her\nfate and mine were woven together; and in this first vision of her\ndamnation I felt driven from the face of God, a thing accursed.  I had\ntaken her sin upon me, as we must ever take the sins of those we truly\nlove; and I had then perhaps for the first time some faint idea of the\nmeaning of the word substitution, and could understand how one perfect\nin love, and therefore perfect in holiness, must in a world like this\nbear the sin and carry the sorrows of humanity.\n\n\"As every man born into the world becomes a unit, influenced by all that\npreceded him and influencing all future life, so must each be a saviour\nor destroyer through self-renunciation or through egotism.  To One alone\ncan we give the title, the noblest and the grandest for us to conceive,\nof the Saviour.  He, who possessing fully the spirit of God's order and\nof God's love, was ordained to reflect them once perfectly upon earth so\nthat He might show to the wanderers of all time the possibility of man's\nnature, and the only path by which we may return to peace.  Men waste\ntime in disputing if this Saviour was God.  What know we of God but by\nhis attributes? Which of these attributes can we conceive bound down in\nhuman form which was not manifest in the Christ?  Could love exceed His\nlove, or meekness His humility, whose unselfishness asked no reward of\ngratitude, and the exercise of whose power was ever restrained by the\nhand of a far-seeing compassion?  Is all we read true?  Perhaps not; the\nhand of imperfect devotion often, through want of insight, may have\ntouched and marred the picture, but the portrait remains, if somewhat\nsoiled through the fingers of adoration.  On the other hand, if the\npainter of our picture had no living model, a thing well nigh\nimpossible, then must he have been the Christ, for no soul can rise to a\nsustained ideal beyond the possibility of his own nature.\n\n\"How wretched and partial a thing my love was, may be seen at once by\nthe bitter feeling of revenge that took possession of me.  I fully\nbelieve that at that moment I could have murdered my enemy in cold\nblood.  It is a humiliating reflection that there is virtually no crime\nof which the best of us could not be guilty if the temptation were only\nstrong enough and the circumstances propitious.\n\n\"The next morning I walked to Heather Lodge, and asking to see Mr.\nSoudin, was shown into his library.  The old gentleman was sitting there\ndressed for shooting, and did not seem very pleased to see me.\n\n\"'I must apologize,' I began, 'for coming up before the week is expired,\nbut I have good reason to believe that Lord Vancome is making love to\nyour daughter, and feel that it is impossible to let things go on as\nthey are.  I must therefore ask you to release me from my promise and\nallow me to have an interview with her at once.'\n\n\"I knew that to all appearance I was making a fool of myself, but being\ndesperate and unable to think of any better plan, I adopted the simplest\none of speaking the truth.\n\n\"'You must be mad, Mr. Sydney,' he replied.  'You insult, without any\npossible grounds, both my daughter and my guest, and show yourself\nunworthy of the position in my family which you wish to occupy.'  Then\nwithout speaking his thoughts continued--'_I hope he may be correct; if\nso, that settles the business once for all, and I can get rid of him._'\n\n\"I felt so angry with the man before me that I lost all self-control.\n'If you think that you can play fast and loose with me,' I answered,\n'you are mistaken.  I know your views perfectly well, and that you are\nanxious that your daughter should, if possible, become Lady Vancome.  If\nyou were told such a marriage would end miserably; that Lord Vancome is\nthoroughly bad, it would not influence you.  I will, therefore, keep\nstrictly to business, and for your daughter's sake give you information\nwhich may possibly have some weight.  Lord Vancome, never wealthy, is a\ngambler, and, if report speaks truly, has nearly reached the end of his\nresources.  On the other hand, though it is not generally known, I have\nan income of over twelve thousand pounds a year, derived from safe\ninvestments.  You can verify my statements without difficulty!'\n\n\"I saw my companion, when I came to the last part of my sentence,\nmetaphorically speaking, prick up his ears.  He, however, sat a few\nminutes silent, and I had to content myself with his thoughts, which\nafter all were far more important.  And this is what I made of them--\n\n\"'_Twelve thousand pounds a year--safe securities--four per cent. at\nmost--three hundred thousand pounds capital--other fellow broke--wonder\nif it's true--soon find out--getting tight myself---cannot live on a\nbroken Lord for son-in-law--good job, if it is true, I found it\nout--must write at once to ... and make inquiries--wish this fellow was\nbroke and the other had his money--getting to hate Sydney--damned prig!\ntalking to me like that--what in the name of the devil am I to do?--the\nbeggar seems regularly to see into one!_'\n\n\"At this point I thought it well to keep up my advantage, so I said,\n'That facts are as I stated, you can find out as soon as you please, but\none thing I wish you to understand; if I leave this house without an\nopportunity of speaking to your daughter, when you have dismissed Lord\nVancome as unsuitable, you may find you have lost me also!'\n\n\"'Really, Mr. Sydney,' he replied, trying to force a smile, 'I am afraid\nbeing in love does not agree with you; your nerves seem thoroughly upset\nthis morning. But I suppose we old people must put up with this kind of\nthing, we were all young and foolish once. Many years ago I believe that\neven I was jealous. There is, after all, no particular reason why you\nshould not see my daughter if you wish; but it is the tone you have\nadopted which I object to.  Money, my dear sir, money is a thing that,\nwhere my child's happiness is at stake, would never cross my mind; it\nmust rest with her to decide, when she is a little older and knows her\nown mind, what husband she will take.  So long as he is a good man and\nof gentle birth, I shall not interfere!'\n\n\"'Have I your permission, then,' I asked, 'to go and see her?'\n\n\"I saw he was about to consent when the thought crossed his mind that\nvery likely she was at the moment with Vancome, and he replied, getting\nup, 'I will send her to you.'\n\n\"Soon after his departure Vera came into the room looking very pale and\nnervous, and I saw that she was wondering what could have brought me up.\nAs I looked at her, my love, pity, and anger grew uncontrollable, and\nentirely upset my mental balance.\n\n\"My animal nature got the upper hand, and I became, for the time being,\ncruel.  My very passion, as is often the case under such conditions, was\nan incentive rather than a check, to that which, in the language of\nhypocrisy, is termed 'religious anger,' but which is often little better\nthan the counter thrust of a wounded heart.  I will, I thought, use my\npower against this girl, and make her see herself even as she is.\n\n\"'Vera,' I began, 'I have got your father's permission to see you again\nbefore the week is over.  I find it impossible to keep away from you,\ndearest, any longer.  I want to hear from your lips once more that you\nlove me, and that you will be my wife.'\n\n\"'Why, of course I love you, dear,' she said, a look of relief coming\ninto her face as she came forward, evidently expecting that I should\ntake her in my arms and kiss her.\n\n\"I took both her hands in mine, and looked into the sweet face before\nme.  Was it possible that I might have been mistaken?  That I was a\nvictim of delusion?  As I stooped and kissed her forehead, I said--\n\n\"'Have you missed me much, dear?  And did you find the hours hang\nheavily?'\n\n\"'Oh, yes,' she replied, 'it has seemed such a long, long time.  But\nafter all, you see, we have met once already.  Have you quite got over\nyour fainting fit? Do you know that you don't look at all well.  When I\ncame in I was quite afraid something had happened, you seemed so queer.'\n\n\"'What did you fancy could have happened?' I asked.  'Did you suppose\nthat in this short time I had fallen in love with some one else, and had\ncome to break the news to you?  Now, tell me, are you jealous? Let us\nhope not, because you know it would be unpleasant to have a jealous\nwife.  Should you be very angry if you knew that I had sometimes kissed\nother girls?'\n\n\"'How can you be so horrid!' she answered, looking troubled and\nperplexed.  'But you are only joking. Why, if you ever did such a thing,\nI would never! never! never! speak to you again.'\n\n\"'Why?' I questioned.  'Do you think there is much harm in a simple\nkiss?  Do you fancy that men only kiss one woman in their lives?'  I\nstopped abruptly.\n\n\"She stood staring at me with a frightened look in her eyes, but whilst\nI was watching she turned away; then her thoughts came quickly.  '_Just\nwhat he said about women--after all I did not kiss him.  And how could I\nhelp his kissing me?  I wonder whether Alan knows any thing--Can he have\nguessed?  No, it is absurd!  But somehow he frightens me, especially\nwhen he looks in that queer way._'\n\n\"'Vera,' I said, 'sit down.  I want to talk to you, to explain something\nso that in future we may understand each other.  You see you are going\nto be my wife, and those who love should have as few secrets as\npossible.  Now I feel sure that you have something on your mind, and I\nwant you to tell it to me.  Don't be afraid that I shall be angry.'\n\n\"'I don't know what you mean,' she answered. Her manner was half\ndefiant, half frightened.\n\n\"'Should you have wished me to be present, though unseen, in the\ndrawing-room last night, between ten and eleven?' I asked.\n\n\"She lost her presence of mind in a moment.  A bright flush passed over\nher face and left it deadly white.\n\n\"'How mean!' she cried.  'You were outside looking through the window.\nI don't know what you think you saw.  It is disgusting of you to have\ndone such a thing.'\n\n\"'I was in bed,' I replied.\n\n\"'Then what on earth do you mean?'\n\n\"'I mean this, that last night a gross insult was offered to one I love,\nand that she accepted it, and what is more, accepted it willingly.'\n\n\"'Oh!  I know you were looking.  But I don't care if you did see, it was\nnot my fault.  I tried to prevent him, but he would do it, and I hate\nyou now!  Yes, I do!  You are mean, and you tell lies!'  Then she burst\ninto a flood of tears.\n\n\"'Vera,' I said, placing my arm round her, 'I have told you no lie.  If\nI tried to explain how I know all, yes, all that happened, far more than\ncould have been seen through any window, you would simply not understand\nme.  You say I spied upon you.  How was it then that the shutters were\nnot closed, and the blinds and curtains drawn as usual?'\n\n\"'They were,' she replied.  And then in the pause her thought continued.\n'_I looked to see afterwards, and that is just what I can't understand.\nBesides, he could not have been in the room either, for I examined\ncarefully after Vancome left, as I had an uncomfortable feeling at the\ntime that some one had been watching us._'\n\n\"'Cannot you understand,' I asked, 'that if we love a person very much\nwe may be conscious of what is happening to such a one, even though we\nare not present?'\n\n\"'No,' she replied, 'I don't believe anything of the kind.  You may\nimagine things, or you may see them, or be told about them; but I won't\nlisten to another word.  I hate you! and would not marry you now if you\nwere the only man on earth.  I would rather marry Lord Vancome, so\nthere!  And I will kiss him too, just to spite you, if for no other\nreason.  Whatever else he is, he is a man, and you are not!  You are a\ndevil!'\n\n\"She got up, and before I could stop her, rushed out of the room.  I\nwent to the window and looked out.  In the distance I could see Soudin,\nand Lord Vancome, with keepers and dogs starting for their day's\nshooting.  There was no fear of my being disturbed for some time, so I\nsat down and reviewed the situation.  Vera had defied me, and there\nseemed little doubt that if left to herself, she would throw me over and\naccept Vancome.  That is to say, if he had any intention of going beyond\nflirtation, which seemed doubtful.  On the other hand, I felt satisfied\nthat when her father had verified my statements, I might fully rely on\nhaving the paternal influence.  The retreating figures of the two men\nseemed to show conclusively that he already believed me; otherwise there\nis little doubt that he would have seen me safely out of the house\nbefore starting off for the day with my rival.  I had therefore to\ndecide an important question.  How far was I justified in influencing\nthis girl's will?  Could I, in fact, excite a love which was not\nspontaneously given?  Should I not, in doing so, destroy the one thing\nthat gives to life an interest and meaning, namely, freedom of action,\nwithout which man would be little better than an automaton?\n\n\"Whilst I sat thus musing over what may well seem to you a comparatively\ntrivial matter, a new light was cast upon the mystery of life, for as I\nrealized how unsatisfying such self-created love would be, I began to\nsee an interpretation which had not previously occurred to me in the\nparable of man's fall.  Was it not possible that the Creator of all\nthings, not fully satisfied with the loving obedience of those who\nthrough their very nature were only able to do His bidding, decided to\ncreate man, a being, who like Himself, should know by experience the\ngood of order, the evil of disorder, and therefore be capable of\ndiscovering which path leads to pain, and which to happiness; one who in\nthe end should love him with the deep love that is a free offering of\nthe lesser nature to a greater which is akin to it?\n\n\"While thinking about these things it seemed clear, that if any man had\nthe power of partially influencing another's will, he must be careful\nhow it was employed. I began to wonder why it had been given to me, till\nI remembered that after all it was but a developed form of that\ninfluence which we see around us every day, and that the reception of\ngood, and the rejection of evil influence, is the necessary part of free\ngrowth. As man therefore develops, we might naturally expect that he\nwould have to contend against stronger and more subtle forces.  For\nthese reasons it seemed to me that we are as fully justified in using\nany such powers, as we are in applying the more ordinary methods of\ninfluence, provided that we do so unselfishly, and in no way permanently\noverpower the general freedom of another.  This latter restriction, as\nyou will see, is open to a very wide construction.\n\n\"I had, however, up to this time, seldom tried to exercise my will on\nothers, for though Descartes has given up a great part of his manuscript\nto this subject, my time had been chiefly occupied in studying the\ntransmission of thought, which is, as it were, a first step to the\nother.  Until you can read the thoughts of those around you, it is\npractically impossible to convey distinct impressions to another, unless\nfor the time being the person is in a trance condition, when it is\ncomparatively easy.  The mind in this latter state being deprived of its\nusual guiding forces, is peculiarly susceptible to any external\ninfluence.  It is probable that I should have been unsuccessful in the\nattempt now made, had I not been working on one with whom I was already\nfamiliar, and who was partially under my sway.\n\n\"I willed that she should come back to the room, having a strong desire\nto tell me all that had happened on the previous evening, and the\nfeelings that had influenced her throughout.  In a few minutes the door\nopened and she entered; there was nothing in her appearance that would\nhave led any one to suppose she was acting under restraint, or had in\nany way been mesmerized; her face was slightly flushed, and her eyes\nshowed traces of recent tears, but she was outwardly calm.  Having\nclosed the door behind her, she came and stood before me.\n\n\"'Alan,' she said, 'I have been thinking that perhaps it will be better\nto explain exactly what happened last night; you will then understand.'\n\n\"I said nothing, but continued to concentrate my will, urging her to\ntell me all, not in the conventional manner of speech, but from her\nsoul.\n\n\"'I have, you see, a sort of liking,' she continued, 'for Lord Vancome,\na liking which is checked yet increased because I am afraid of him.  I\ndon't understand the feeling, but it is nice to play with fire; as a\nchild I always loved to run my finger through the flame of a candle,\neach time more slowly till at last it just burnt me a little; and then I\nlike, oh! you cannot know how I like to influence others!--to feel that\nfor the moment I can turn them this way or that; to realize that there\nis some charm about me which holds them with a spell, and which they\ncannot escape.  If you could have seen his eyes last night as he\nfollowed my every movement!  I, only a country girl, and he a man used\nto all the beautiful women of London.  I do not love him, I do not love\nyou; in fact, I don't know what people mean by love, but I like people\nto be attracted by me, and to make much of me; and--well, to lead them\non.  Why should I not?  Then he wanted to kiss me; he came nearer, I\nrefused to let him; I felt more frightened, but I liked the feeling;\nwould he or would he not? Then I looked up into his face in a way that I\nfelt sure would make him, intending all the while to refuse if he tried\nto take advantage of that look. But he was too quick, and--and it was\nnice to feel powerless, but it was not my fault, for I told him not to\ndo it.'\n\n\"'Vera,' I said, and my heart was very sad, 'can you not see, do you not\nunderstand, that it is your will and not your words that matter?  Men\nand women are differently made, and the temptations of the latter come\nchiefly from weakness and vanity; but tell me why it was you promised to\nbe my wife if you do not love me?'\n\n\"'Well,' she replied, 'I don't quite know; you see I don't love any one,\nbut I suppose I shall when we marry, and it would be nice to marry.  It\nwould be lovely to have a wedding and presents, and to be made a lot of,\nand to have people talking about me, and it's dreadfully dull at home;\nbesides, you are strong, and it is nice to feel that there is some one\nto lean upon, some one to trust.  But I hate you now, and I will tell\nyou why.  You see into me, and I don't like it.  I know you do, you see\nmy thoughts, and if when we are married I did anything which you would\nnot like, I should be afraid you might find it out.  It would be better\nto marry Lord Vancome, he is not a bit like that; though I would rather\ntrust you of the two in a difficulty.'\n\n\"I had become so interested in what she was saying that I had relaxed my\npower over her, and was only reminded of the fact by her next remark.\n\n\"'I do not really know, Mr. Sydney, what induced me to come down and say\nall this nonsense, for I have quite made up my mind, and it is no use\nyour asking me to reconsider the matter.  After your insult I shall\nnever think of speaking to you again.'\n\n\"'I don't know that you have been asked to change your mind,' I replied,\naltering my tone, and no longer striving in any way to affect her\njudgment.  'You have wronged yourself, and would put the blame on me for\nbringing the fact home to you.  I can for the present think of nothing\nto say, nothing to do; but remember, though you do not love me, I love\nyou, and love never changes; whatever may happen in the future, Vera, as\nlong as I live you will find me unchanged in two things---my desire for\nyour love, and my wish to help you.'\n\n\"'Thank you, Mr. Sydney,' she answered, making at the same time a little\nmock curtsey; 'I do not think it at all likely that your valuable\nassistance will be required, or that you will succeed in gaining my\nlove.  Good-bye!'\n\n\"'Well,' I reflected, while walking back slowly over the moor, 'for one\npossessed of exceptional powers it seems that I have made a pretty fair\nmess of the whole thing.'  And I began to understand how limited all\ninfluence must be under such conditions. For, in the first place, I\nwished for the love of a girl who was as yet incapable of understanding\nthe meaning of the word; and secondly, was trying to save a soul from\nits own nature without destroying its freedom of action.\n\n\"I left Scotland on the following day and returned to my chambers in\nLondon.  Before doing so I wrote a note to Mr. Soudin saying that though\nmy feelings were still quite unchanged towards Vera, I felt it would be\nbetter for both of us if we did not meet again just at present.  I also\nasked him in the event of his coming up to town, if he would call and\nsee me.\n\n\"In reply a most cordial letter arrived, saying that he expected to be\nin London in the course of the following week, and that he would be sure\nto call and look me up.\n\n\"When I had settled down once more in my own rooms, my thoughts turned\nto Vancome.  I hated him with a hatred that was almost madness.  In\nlater life it is impossible to feel either the passions of love or\nhatred as we feel them in our youth.\n\n\"I look back upon this period of my life with horror and contempt; but\nit is none the less important that you should follow me through it, as\nyou will see what new temptations to evil every added power brings with\nit.  I determined, if Vancome had not already ruined himself completely,\nto beggar him, flattering myself that in so doing I was but assisting\nlagging Providence, getting out of the way a corrupt influence, making\nmyself an instrument of retribution to avenge the many whom he had\nwronged.  I set about my plan carefully and systematically, being aided\nnot a little by my increasing powers, and still more by an entire\ndisregard of expense.  I very soon had a far more correct knowledge of\nhis affairs than he probably possessed himself, for few people in money\ndifficulties can bring themselves to face the unpleasant facts connected\nwith their position.\n\n\"When his father died he came into the title and property; the estate,\nwhich was not entailed, had been heavily mortgaged, and since then every\nyear the burden had been increasing until it was very doubtful if at the\npresent time a forced sale of the property would cover his liabilities.\nThe mortgagees were pressing for a large sum of interest overdue, and\nVancome's solicitors had done all in their power to raise this money,\nbut as yet without success.  I therefore called on a firm of rather\nsecond-rate bill discounters, and had an interview with Mr. Marsden, the\nsenior partner, who had some interest in the mortgage.\n\n\"I have always adopted one method in dealing with business men, which\nhas proved on the whole successful.  I will endeavour to describe it to\nyou briefly, as it may be of service.  Each man's honesty lies on a\ncertain plane, and the types can for convenience be classified under\nfour heads.\n\n\"No. 1, which is rarely met with, may be called the natural inclination\nlevel.\n\n\"No. 2, the advantageous moral level, which, except under severe\ntemptations, it is equally safe to trust.\n\n\"No. 3, the reflecting level.\n\n\"No. 4, the fear of detection level.\n\n\"More men set their honesty down on No. 3 platform than on all the rest\nput together, and as Mr. Marsden was among the majority, it will be as\nwell, therefore, to explain more fully what is meant by the definition.\n\n\"This type is honest or dishonest simply through the way it is\napproached.  If you go to it in a meek and quiet spirit, carrying all\nthe guilelessness of your nature on your head, and all your cunning\nwrapped in a napkin, it will meet you frankly, treat you moderately\nfairly, and protect you with almost tender solicitude from the jaws of\nany of the No. 4 type. This way of approach is, moreover, safest in\ndealing with all business men, for if you come on one by mistake whose\nhonesty is altogether absent, such method will incite to greed, and your\nwolf will be less careful to keep on his sheep-skin.\n\n\"I learned this lesson when quite a youth from the relation who has\nsince left me a great part of his fortune.  He was one of the most\nsuccessful men in London, and when I asked if he would tell me the\nsecret of his power, he replied in his queer and enigmatical way--'I\nhave sucked in knowledge through every pore, and studied men always from\nbehind the mask of stupidity; those who wish to be thought wise must be\ncontent to remain fools; for in the light of seeming wisdom, the bats\nhang head downwards in their safe retreat indistinguishable from the\ndirt around; but they flutter in the dull face of stupidity, and may\neasily be knocked down and trampled upon.  Nevertheless,' he continued,\nwinking at me, 'it is good sport sometimes to cast off the veil, and to\ngive these people a taste of your power; then the poor wretches will go\naway blubbering that you have hurt them, and the world, knowing how\nstupid you are, will say that you must have been mad.'\n\n\"Thus I went, carrying a helpless expression, to Mr. Marsden, and\nletting him know that I was very wealthy, and at the same time anxious\nto acquire the whole of Lord Vancome's property, I threw myself upon his\nworld-wide knowledge, and asked his advice.\n\n\"'I am delighted, Mr. Sydney, that you should have come to me,' he said,\nrubbing his hands. 'There is fate in it; had you gone elsewhere, a large\nprice might have been asked.  With my information, and if you leave\nyourself in my hands, we can secure a bargain for you, a real bargain.'\nHere he dropped his voice as if imparting a great secret.  'Lord Vancome\nis pressed for money, and the mortgagees are threatening to foreclose.'\n(All this of course I knew, but I thought it better to appear ignorant.)\n'We must advance money--we must get his bills--press for\npayment--threaten bankruptcy--pay off mortgagees--take estates.'\n\n\"I besought him not to trouble me with details, but whilst keeping my\nname from appearing in the matter, act as he thought best.  My\nsolicitors, I told him, would supply whatever funds were required. Then\nonce more calling his attention to the fact that I was entirely at his\nmercy, and having read in his thoughts various ways by which he intended\nto profit by the transaction, without fleecing me beyond the limit of\nhis conscience, I went away satisfied.\n\n\"On entering my rooms after this interview, I found Mr. Soudin waiting\nto see me.  He appeared in good spirits; told me he had been in London\nthe last three days; and I perceived from his thoughts, that he had\nfound out all he wished to know, and had quite decided to accept me as\nhis future son-in-law. It was just as well that he could not see into my\nmind as clearly, for I had also discovered that he was in even worse\ndifficulties than Lord Vancome. Not contented with a comfortable income,\nhe had put some of his capital into an unlimited bank, which, if my\ninformation proved correct, was about to fail.\n\n\"He seemed anxious for me to return with him to Scotland, and his wishes\nevidently inclined towards an early marriage.  Moreover, he suggested\nthe advisability of having the engagement publicly announced in the\npapers.  At this point it seemed necessary to inform him that at my last\ninterview with his daughter, we had quarrelled, though I did not mention\nthe cause; at the same time I told him that if Vera was willing, I had\nnot the slightest objection to his making our engagement public.  He\npooh-poohed the idea of any objection coming from this quarter,\ndeclaring that his daughter was devoted to me, and took his departure,\nsaying he would write to her and settle everything.\n\n\"The door had scarcely closed behind him, when a deadly faintness began\nto steal over me.  With some difficulty I managed to get into my\nbed-room, and had hardly thrown myself on the bed before I lost\nconsciousness.\"\n\nMy companion paused for a moment.\n\n\"I have at last brought you to the point of my narrative,\" he continued,\nrising, \"where the chief interest may be said to begin.  It has seemed\nbest to touch on many points which may have appeared of little or no\nimportance, and to leave out a few which you might have considered more\ninteresting.  It is a far more difficult matter than you can well\nunderstand, to deal in an intelligible manner with the forces brought\ninto play through an unrecognized sense; especially as we have at\npresent no names either for its effect upon the mind, or for the\nsubjects of which, through the medium of its power, we are for the first\ntime conscious.  I propose, therefore, before continuing my story, to\nshow you a few experiments, and to throw as much light as possible on\nthe remarkable changes in our whole life, which a perfect knowledge of\nthis sixth sense would bring about.\"\n\n\"First,\" he continued, throwing back the curtain, \"you, in your\ncondition, are permanently tied to what we call the body, and bound down\nto its limitation.  You can see only by the aid of light, and your\nvision cannot pass through what we call opaque substances.  The reason\nwhy the animal eye is thus constructed must be obvious.  Had it been\nformed in such a way as to enable it to focus only on the object it\nwished to observe, and were able to disregard any material obstruction\nwhich lay in the way, an animal would dash into the intervening\nmaterial, even as a bird strikes itself against a clear sheet of glass.\n\n\"It was doubtless for this reason that nature mercifully deals but\nseldom in transparent solids, allowing the eye only to penetrate matter\nin its liquid or gaseous forms.  But you must not for a moment suppose\nthat there is anything more miraculous in a vision which is constructed\nin such a way that it can reverse the process, one form being as easily\ndeveloped as the other.  Moreover, what we call solid, is only the term\nfor describing matter which in its present condition resists the\npressure of other material bodies to a certain extent.  For as we know,\nheat, electricity, sound, etc., can pass even through steel.\n\n\"Now, if you will come this way, I will show you an instrument which was\nperfected by me some years ago, but which I no longer require to use; it\nmay possibly explain my meaning more fully.\n\n\"Here,\" said Sydney, pointing to a small instrument which looked like a\nvery delicate binocular telescope, \"is an invention of lenses which\nneutralizes the effect of the greater part of the services of the eye on\nthe brain.  It is very imperfect, but it will do as an example.  I will\nfocus it at twenty yards from here, and turn it in this direction.  Now\nwhat can you see?\"\n\nI looked through, and saw a servant in the dining-room removing some of\nthe things off the table.\n\n\"That is a wonderful invention,\" I said.  \"Why have you never made it\nknown?\"\n\n\"Can you ask?\" he replied.  \"Just fancy what misery such power would\ncause in our present condition; what temptation it would be to evil;\nwhat an aid it might give to cruelty.  But I do not fancy it will ever\nbe required, for as soon as a man is fit to use the power, he will not\nrequire the aid of any instrument.  The powers of vision are slowly\nchanging from generation to generation, in the direction here indicated.\nIt is the same with regard to hearing.  Ask any man who is acquainted\nwith the roar of London, if it strikes with the sense of confusing\nsound.  No, he is capable quite unconsciously of listening to a whisper,\nor some soft strain of music, and being quite oblivious to the uproar\ngoing on around.  If we for one moment were able to hear, as people\nfancy they do, all sounds in proportion to their magnitude, we should\nthat instant be struck deaf by the thunder of universal movement, the\ntumult of unceasing vibration.  But we hear only just as much as our\nnatures are fitted to make use of. With the aid of the sixth sense, we\nhear just as much or just as little as we will.\"\n\nHe led me to another instrument.  \"Put your ear to that,\" he said.  \"It\nis not a telephone, but it answers the purpose far better.  Now\nconcentrate your thought on some distant sound you would like to hear.\"\n\nI thought of my own hall clock, which has a peculiar, solemn,\nold-fashioned tick.  I could hear it distinctly, and even now there came\nthe familiar rattling sound, then slowly it chimed a quarter past\neleven.\n\n\"Try again,\" my companion said.\n\nI thought of my cottage by the sea, and wished to hear the waves on the\nbeach as I hear them from my bedroom window.  I listened, but could\ndistinguish nothing.\n\n\"There is no sound this time,\" I said.\n\n\"It is low tide,\" he replied, \"and the sea is calm. You must will to be\nupon the sand.\"\n\nI did so, and in a moment the little wavelets seemed tumbling over my\nfeet, splashing and trickling back over the sand.  It seemed impossible\nthat I could be thirty miles from the sea, and nearly a hundred from\nthat sandy beach; for the sea on nearly all our southern coasts,\nbreaking as it does on shingle, can give forth no such sweet sounds as\nthese.\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER V*\n\n\nIn this way Alan Sydney gave me an idea of the limitations of our\npresent sense-organs, and how, by superior knowledge, they may be\naltered and varied. I was able to feel things at a distance that I did\nnot touch, and touch things near me without being able to feel them.\n\n\"It is curious,\" he said to me at last, when he had been showing some\nrather singular experiments with regard to perfumes, \"that the sense of\nsmell has been allowed to die out so much through lack of cultivation.\nI once taught a person to read quite easily by various scents.  I made\nan alphabet first of all, which he soon learned, and then by arranging\nthe perfumes in order he soon was able to read by this means quite\neasily.  But there is a still more curious fact that, notwithstanding\nour present scientific knowledge, people talk of having five senses,\neven as I have done to you for fear of confusing matters, for there is\nno such thing as the sense of taste.\"\n\n\"What do you mean?\" I asked.\n\n\"Taste,\" he replied, \"is simply the combined effect of two senses, touch\nand smell.  If a person loses his sense of smelling he can only taste by\nfeeling; he can detect oil from water, or alcohol from vinegar, sugar\nfrom lemon, through the effect that any of these substances have on the\nmore delicate nerves of feeling which are connected with the palate.\nBut we will not waste time in discussing the matter.  A few experiments\nwill prove it to any one who is doubtful. I only mention it to show why\nI had not referred to taste as a means of perception.\"\n\nHe then took me to that part of the room fitted up as a chemical\nlaboratory.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"I am going to show you some experiments that will\nsurprise you far more than anything which you have seen hitherto.  But\nas I do not wish you to look upon them from the marvellous side, it will\nbe well to explain some of the reasons why quite natural causes may lead\napparently to miraculous results.  For instance, you look upon your body\nas an inseparable condition of life upon earth.  It is even a question\nwhether you do not really regard it as an essential part of yourself\ninstead of seeing it is nothing more important than a suit of clothes\nwell fitting and adapted to the present conditions and circumstances of\nyour spirit.  This latter view, though professed by most people, is but\nseldom really believed in.  From the lowest to the highest every body is\nformed in one way; the life, or spirit, by its force of attraction\ndrawing certain material elements to its aid for the purpose of growth\nand development.  As the spirit thus grows and develops, its needs, and\nconsequently its outward shape, alter.  These elements, so gathered, we\ncall our bodies, and it is as easy to cast off these bodies and put them\non again as it is to take off or replace our clothes.  If, however, the\nexperiment is tried with an imperfect knowledge it is attended with\ngreat danger, probably with what we call loss of life.  I will, however,\nshow you an experiment on an animal.\"\n\nHe whistled, and a small bird that I had not noticed, flew down from the\ntop of one of the cupboards and settled on his shoulder.  It was a tame\nrobin.  As my companion poured out a number of liquids from various\nbottles into a glass dish, he told me that he had tamed it about six\nmonths ago, and that it lived chiefly out of doors and found its own\nfood, but that it now nearly always slept in one of the rooms.\n\nTaking it in his hands, he said--\"As soon as its development in this\nform is complete, it will die.  If the body is injured in such a way as\nto make it useless, it will find another; but there is a way of\ntemporarily causing a life to become dormant.  If during that time I\ndissolve the body into its gaseous particles, the life, on awaking to\nconsciousness, will draw these particles back into their previous\nshape.\"\n\nWhilst he was speaking he softly stroked the bird, and its head fell\nback.  When the little thing was mesmerized he laid it down, a heap of\nruffled feathers, beside the bowl.\n\n\"That condition of trance will last one minute,\" he said, as he placed\nthe body in the bowl.\n\nA slight vapour rose from the liquid, and in a moment all sign of the\nbird had disappeared.  I looked into the pure watery fluid, but could\nsee nothing left there.\n\n\"It is over there,\" he said; pointing to the shelf above me, and there\nthe robin, without any sign of injury, stood pluming its feathers.\n\n\"I have shown you this,\" he continued, \"not to convince you of the truth\nof what I was saying, for of course any second-rate conjuror could\napparently bring about a similar result; but because this illustrates an\nimportant law of nature, viz. that life, which is indestructible, is\neverything, and the body merely a temporary convenience.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"do you mean to tell me that the life of a bird is\neternal?\"\n\n\"Everything is eternal,\" he replied, \"and everything is slowly\nprogressing towards perfection.\"\n\n\"Yet,\" I answered, \"do you really think that heaven will be full of the\nspirits of dead birds?\"\n\nHe sat down and laughed.  \"For a reasonable man,\" he said, \"you have\nsome of the most extraordinary, childlike views; but I ought not to\nlaugh, for after all how little do any of us know; but I will tell you\nwhat I think.\n\n\"From the lowest life in the flower to the highest created spirit in the\nuniverse, there is one law of growth; life meets life, uniting and\nstrengthening. As one atom joining apparently with others becomes what\nwe call a molecule, and these molecules continue to unite and form new\nsubstances, even thus do lives join and mingle to form more perfect\nlife.\"\n\n\"Why,\" I exclaimed, \"do you mean to say that my life is but the\namalgamation of countless other lives?\"\n\n\"You do not,\" he replied, \"express it quite in the way I should; but you\nseem to understand me. What we call attraction, fascination, and love\nare the forces that draw the kindred elements together, and Swedenborg\nwas, I fancy, not far wrong when he said, 'That the man and woman\nspirits become one angel in death;' so will that angel also doubtless\nmeet another kindred spirit and unite.  Fancy if we could look behind us\nand see the millions of gathered lives that form our own.  Truly no man\ncan harm another without stabbing himself, for the whole creation\ngroaneth and travaileth in pain together, waiting for the redemption of\nthe body.  If,\" he continued, \"you have never seen things in this light\nbefore, go and read your Bible; it is all there though veiled in parable\nfrom the eyes not ready yet to see: listen to the inspired words of men\nin all ages, and of all centuries; they point to the same end: study\nscience, each new discovery is a continual verification of the eternity\nof all things, and of continued progress through unity to power.  But\ncome, let us return to the subject before us, so that I may get back as\nsoon as possible to my story.  You do not mind spending the night here,\ndo you?\"\n\nI replied that I would rather spend it there than in bed, and he\ncontinued--\n\n\"These chemical and mechanical appliances have as little interest to me\nas the books in the adjoining room, for they were but stepping-stones\nacross a difficulty.  I soon discovered that as my spiritual sense grew\nand strengthened through use, what we term material aids became\nunnecessary, and even a hindrance.  It is well, however, that they were\nnot destroyed, for they may be useful as lesson books to you.\"\n\n\"Do you think,\" I asked, \"that I shall ever attain to any of your\npower?\"\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"not in this life; perhaps in the next.  You have, to\nbegin with, not sufficient of the feminine element in your character;\nand, moreover, you have neither the youth nor the bodily strength to\nmake it safe for you to try.  You would either die or become insane in\nthe attempt.  The strain upon both mind and body in such a work as this\nis terrible; and the cause of my success has been owing chiefly to the\ncareful following out of Descartes' instructions.  He says, 'I have been\nunable to verify my theory owing to bodily weakness.  A man who wishes\nto succeed must be strong, and in the flower of youth, but let him\nbeware of neglecting the body while he is developing his powers.  A\ndiseased body can never be trusted, it tricks the mind, makes it more\ndifficult to distinguish falsehood from truth, and will even be the\ncause of illusions fatal to success.'\n\n\"The plan I adopted from the first, was this; the moment my study was\nengrossing me too completely, or there was any sign of mental strain, I\nthrew up the occupation, and instead of being idle, set my body at work.\nI found riding the best of all pursuits, it exhausted me less than\nwalking, and at the same time freed my thoughts more completely.\nHunting, as you know, I have never neglected, and after days of work I\nhave found in the hunting-field new life.  I often start jaded and worn\nout, with the animal in me groaning and gnashing its teeth; a little\nmore and it would turn and rend me.  I let it loose, it feels the cool\nair, the soft and pleasant movement of the horse, which is its willing\nservant.  At sight of the hounds a trembling joy passes through both my\nbody and the beast; they rejoice and are glad, they feel the icy wind\ndash by as the welcome cry of a find wakens them to their true life.\nThe danger of which my mind is dreamily conscious, stimulates them like\nnew wine, the sweat pours down, and carries the venom from their blood.\nHour after hour my body revels in delight; what folly it perpetrates so\nas not to be out-distanced; how it plays with me, rules me, laughs at my\nfears, and comes back after perhaps nine hours, like a tired dog, happy\nand obedient, ready for its food and its kennel!  For days after such a\ntreat it is my servant, faithful, refreshed, and purified.  The mind\ntakes it in hand, sucks out its renewed strength, and rejoices.\n\n\"The man who shall dare to do what I have done, must fight thus, with,\nnot against, his body; must let it rule him at times, so that he may\nrule it more completely.  The reason why Britain keeps her greatness, is\nowing more to her sportsmen than to her merchants, statesmen,\nphilosophers, or divines.  But let us go and rest; I will send you to\nsleep, and you shall see as in your dreams what I saw lying insensible\nafter Mr. Soudin left me in my room.  It will save me the trouble of\ntalking, and at the same time be more interesting to you.  But before\ndoing so, I will ring for some coffee.\"\n\nSaying this he touched a bell, and in two or three minutes went to one\nof the panels, slipped it aside, and brought out a tray of refreshments.\n\n\"I do not care,\" he said, \"to let any one come in here, so I have a\nlift, and if I wish to stop in this part of the house all day I can do\nso undisturbed.\"\n\nWhen we had finished our coffee, we both lay down on the couches in the\nrecess, and the following scenes came to me while resting.\n\nThe first picture was very beautiful.  I looked out into a bright\nmoonlight night; some fleecy clouds were hanging across the sky, seen\nthrough trees that were now nearly bare of foliage.  There was a\npleasant sound of wind passing over the forest; the rustling of withered\nleaves.  I stood close by a footpath, and could hear steps approaching;\nthe crack of some withered branch trodden underfoot, the rustling of a\ndress, the whispering of voices.  In another moment two figures became\nindistinctly visible; they were coming toward me.  As they approached I\ncaught part of their conversation.  The girl was speaking.\n\n\"I don't like it at all,\" she said; \"I am frightened. Why could not we\nbe married in the ordinary way? It is horrid not having a proper\nwedding.\"\n\n\"But, dearest,\" the man answered, \"you see it is impossible.  Your\nfather, you say, has told you that he will not hear of your marrying me\nbecause he has got into his mind that I am poor, and he insists on your\nmarrying that fool Sydney, whom he thinks to be as rich as Croesus.\"\n\n\"But,\" questioned the girl, \"could we not try to get his consent?  Could\nyou not convince him that after all you are well off?  I am sure he\nwould rather I married a lord, if only he did not think you were quite\npoor.  Besides, as he is rich, it would not really matter very much.\"\n\n\"It will be much easier, darling, to bring him round after the wedding,\nwhen he sees there is no help for it.  He will be as right as possible\nwhen once it is all over, and I introduce his daughter to him as Lady\nVancome.\"\n\nThey were passing as he spoke, but it caused me no feeling of surprise\nthat as they came near they took no notice of me.  I was conscious that\nthough present I was invisible, and though a witness, powerless to act.\nI recognized them before they came near, and thought Vera's face more\nethereally lovely seen in this pale moonlight than it seemed possible\nfor an earthly face to be.  The lower and weaker feature were in shadow,\nthe eyes that looked up to her companion were ennobled by a sadness\nwhich added to their depth.\n\nVancome, who had his arm round the girl, was evidently somewhat\nagitated.  Cowardice and weakness were expressed in every feature.  He\nwas more what people used to call handsome, than what in the present day\nwould be considered worthy of admiration.\n\nThe girl looked round into the wood, and visibly trembling, said--\"I\ndon't like it at all.  Suppose some one were to see us at the station,\nwhat would they think?  Oh, Frank, let us go back.\"\n\nShe stopped just opposite where I stood, and looking straight through\nme, cried--\"It is horrible here! There is something there!\"  And she\nstretched out her arm and pointed to where I stood, and her hand seemed\nto go into my heart and cut me as though her outstretched finger had\nbeen a poignard.\n\nThe man turned, and they both stood facing me. \"Don't be foolish!\" he\nsaid, looking, however, somewhat scared.  \"There is nothing but a light\npatch where the moonlight falls through the opening in the trees.\"\n\n\"I thought for a moment,\" the girl replied, \"that Alan Sydney was\nstanding quite close to us.\"\n\nVancome laughed.  \"I fancied you meant a ghost,\" he replied.  \"It would\nbe a new experience to see the spirit of a living man, who probably at\nthe same time is enjoying himself behind the scenes of some London\ntheatre.  Take my word for it, Sydney's spirit is not likely to forsake\nthe limelight goddess to come wandering after the moonlight one.  But we\nshall miss our train if you stand looking for ghosts, and it will not\ntake us long now to get out of this wood if we walk quickly.\"\n\nAs they passed the girl said--\"You are quite sure we shall have no\ndifficulty about the licence when we get to Liverpool?\"  But the man's\nreply was lost in the distance, and the scene vanished.\n\nThen there was, as it seemed, a long pause of darkness, till all of a\nsudden I found myself in a brightly lighted room alone.  I went to the\nwindow and looked out upon a big city; the church clock struck the hour\nof eight, and the streets were full of clerks and workpeople, evidently\non their way to business; a newsboy was shouting out,\n\"Post!\"--\"Mercury!\"\n\nWhile standing thus wondering, the door behind me opened, and some\npersons entered the room.  I tried to turn round and look at them, but\ncould not. The man, whom I recognized by his voice as Vancome,\nsaid---\"Yes, this will do very well, get some breakfast for two as soon\nas possible.  We shall not stop the night, as we leave this evening by\nthe nine o'clock boat for America.\"\n\nWhile listening to these words I became conscious that I was asleep, and\nthat for some reason it was most important for me to get up at once.  I\nstruggled to open my eyes, to turn, or do anything to rouse myself.  At\nlast with a desperate effort I struck out my arm, and hitting it smartly\nagainst some object, awoke.\n\n\"Well,\" said Sydney, \"as we have had some rest, I will go on with my\nstory.  You have just seen what passed whilst I lay unconscious in my\nroom; and it was a little after eight on the following morning that I\nawoke with an effort similar to that which you have just experienced,\nonly of course the scenes affected me far more than they did you; and I\nroused myself with the distinct intention of hastening to Liverpool, and\ntrying if possible to rescue the girl.\n\n\"While in the act of giving instructions for my things to be packed up,\nMr. Soudin in a great state of excitement dashed into the room.  He had\njust had a telegram from his wife, saying that Vera had on the afternoon\nof the previous day walked over to see some friends.  The carriage had\nbeen sent to fetch her, but the coachman brought back word that she had\nstarted to walk home about seven o'clock; and since that nothing had\nbeen seen or heard of her.\n\n\"'I am going to the north at once,' he said.  'Will you come and help?'\n\n\"I replied that though anxious to help, I expected to be of more service\nin taking steps independently.\n\n\"He tried to persuade me to alter my determination, but seeing that I\nwas fixed upon it, left to catch his train.\n\n\"'It is possible,' I said, 'that you may see Vera back to-morrow about\nthis time; and if she comes, deal kindly with her, and remember that\nnothing which has happened will make any difference to my intentions.'\n\n\"'I believe,' he replied, 'either that you are mad, or know something of\nthis.'\n\n\"'I may be mad,' I answered, 'but don't forget.'\n\n\"I arrived at Liverpool later than I expected, and having no knowledge\nof the town, thought it would be safer to discover which boat started at\nnine, and watch that rather than risk hunting for the hotel.  I,\nhowever, drove first to the house of a friend of mine, Mrs. Freshfield,\nwho lived at Woolton, a suburb a few miles outside the city.  I briefly\nexplained my position, also that of the girl, and her kindly heart was\nsoon roused to help me if possible.\n\n\"'Why don't you communicate with the police?' she said.\n\n\"'I shall,' I replied, 'as a last resource, but hope to be able to work\nwithout their assistance, so as to avoid making any scandal.'\n\n\"She was also very anxious to know how the plot had been discovered,\nbut, not wishing to tell her, I excused myself on the ground of time,\nand receiving her promise to wait for me at a certain place near the\ndocks from eight to nine, I left, and hurried back to the city to\ncomplete my arrangements.\n\n\"It was now past five, and already growing dusk, as I went to a private\ndetective office, and requested to see the chief officer.  When told\nbriefly the facts of the case, he seemed very doubtful whether the law\ncould help me if the girl was leaving of her own will.\n\n\"I replied that if so the law was iniquitous, which he seemed to think\nvery probable; at the same time the fact did not help us.  But when I\npointed out that this was a case in which money was of no consequence,\nand that if it should cost L5000 it must be done, he immediately altered\nhis tone.\n\n\"'You have come to the right place,' he said, his face visibly\nbrightening, 'for we act for the public, not for the Government, and\nmoney can do pretty well anything.  Are you prepared to swear, if\nnecessary, to an indictable offence against this man?'\n\n\"I told him I would swear anything rather than that harm should happen\nto the girl.\n\n\"'You will not mind leaving a guarantee in the way of money?' he asked.\n\n\"I satisfied him on this point also.\n\n\"Finally it was arranged that if I could not get Vera away secretly, he\nshould be prepared to have Vancome arrested.  He, however, warned me\nthat we were running a considerable risk, and let me fully understand\nthat he intended to deny all knowledge of my real motives.\n\n\"Having settled this matter, I went down to the docks, found out the\nvessel and waited.\n\n\"It was a beautiful night, calm and clear, with a slight mist lying over\nthe Mersey.  As I waited watching the vessels pass and repass, the moon\nrose and lit up the broad expanse of water.  The sands in the direction\nof Waterloo were nearly covered, and looking westward the river spread\nout as if to welcome the opening sea.  I cursed the ocean as I thought\nthat it might so soon have been the means of bearing away one I loved\nfrom every helping hand. I pictured Vera when she realized the truth,\nlooking out over the cruel waste of water, helpless, compromised, and\ntoo weak to struggle against her fate; a fate which probably she would\nonly half comprehend or realize.  Some passengers were already on the\nsteamer.  She might even now be there.  I walked across the\nlanding-stage to the vessel, but could see no sign of either of the\nfugitives.\n\n\"The time passed; I grew anxious.  Could there be some mistake?  At\nlast, utterly unnerved, I sat down, and my heart cried out, 'Vera!\nVera! come, oh, come! that I may save you.'\n\n\"A hand touched me on the shoulder.  I looked up, the girl was standing\nover me; she had in her eyes a strange far-away look as though she were\nwalking in her sleep.\n\n\"'You called me,' she said, 'but I must not wait, for my husband told me\non no account to leave the berth until the ship had started.'\n\n\"I made no audible reply, but willing her to follow me, left the ship.\nPassing across the bridge I saw my detective waiting.\n\n\"'Keep the money,' I whispered.\n\n\"He saluted, and we passed on, the girl still following close behind me.\nI led the way to where Mrs. Freshfield had promised to wait, and found\nher in a state of great excitement.  When, however, she saw Vera a look\nof relief passed over her face, and the kind-hearted woman went up, took\nthe girl in her arms and kissed her as if she had been a long-lost child\nof her own.\n\n\"'Vera,' I said, bringing all my power to bear upon her, 'I want you to\ngo home with this lady at once; do you understand?'\n\n\"'Yes, go home,' she answered in a weary, uninterested voice.\n\n\"I took her hands in mine, bent over and kissed her.  'Forget,' I\nwhispered, 'all that has happened in the last thirty hours, and hate,\nhate, hate Vancome.'\n\n\"I said good-bye to my friend, made her promise to take Vera to her home\nat once, and left them.\n\n\"A frenzy of delight passed through me; for the moment I was mad.\nThough I had touched no food for thirty hours, I did not experience any\nfeeling of hunger.  I was hungry only for revenge.  I would go back to\nthe ship, would see the man's look of baffled rage and anger; would\nlaugh at him, mock him, torture him.  I began to run, and still in this\nmood regained the landing-place, and pressing my way past a crowd of\npeople, who were leaving the vessel, went on board.  Where was he?  I\nthought of nothing else, cared for nothing, but to look at his face, to\ntaunt him.  I heard whistles blowing, shouts, the motion of the engine,\nbut cared for nothing.  I would find him.  If the worst came to the\nworst it would be possible to get off at Queenstown.  What did anything\nmatter now that Vera was safe!\n\n\"But with regard to Queenstown I was mistaken. Vancome had planned his\nelopement some little time before, and with more forethought and care\nthan I should have expected of him.  The vessel he had chosen was making\nan experimental time journey, with special pilots on board, and did not\nstop anywhere this side of the Atlantic.\n\n\"While I was thus frantically searching for the enemy, he was quietly\nenjoying a cigar in the smoking-saloon, in the full confidence that Vera\nwas in hiding, according to instructions, in the state cabin, which he\nhad engaged.  When his cigar was finished and the ship well on its way,\nhe walked over to the cabin with the intention of releasing his captive;\nbut finding she had already gone, and supposing that, the ship being in\nmotion, she had considered herself free, he sauntered quietly up the\nladder expecting to find her on deck.  Thus it happened that we met at\nlast face to face.\n\n\"The moment I saw him my excitement left me, and I became calm and\ncollected.  He evidently knew nothing as yet, and I enjoyed the pleasure\nof playing with him before dealing the final blow. Besides, it would be\nsafer to keep him from knowing the worst till we were out of the Mersey\nand in the open sea, for I thought that probably the river pilot would\nleave before long, and my foe might get permission to accompany him on\nshore, in which case the safety of my plans might be slightly\nendangered.  Assuming, therefore, a natural surprise, I said--\n\n\"'Well, who would have expected to meet you here?'\n\n\"He glared at me for a moment, then, feeling that it was necessary to\nsay something, answered, 'You cannot be more surprised than I am to see\nyou, for I thought you were in London.  But you must excuse me a\nmoment.'  He hurried forward, and I saw him looking intently across the\ndeck, scanning all the passengers with the evident expectation of seeing\nVera.\n\n\"I watched, with a smile on my face.  Having satisfied himself that she\nwas not on deck, he came back to me, and I suggested that we should go\ninto the smoking-room.\n\n\"He thought for a moment, and then, evidently fancying that it would be\nthe safest plan to keep me out of the way of discovering anything for\nthe present, assented.\n\n\"The room was unoccupied, and we sat down opposite each other.  He was\nevidently debating as to which was the best course to pursue.  He could\nnot keep Vera in hiding through the voyage, and therefore was certain to\nbe found out.  I could hardly restrain my laughter at his view of the\nposition. What would he say when he discovered that her place had been\ntaken by me?  This suggested an idea.\n\n\"'I suppose,' I said, 'you cannot help me?  I came on board at the last\nmoment and have not yet engaged a berth.  There is not a spare one in\nyour cabin?'\n\n\"'_Damned if there is!_' he thought; but he only said after a little\nhesitation, 'No, it is occupied.'\n\n\"'Now look here,' I continued, 'you will never guess why I came here; it\nis such fun, you will enjoy the situation, but you must keep it quiet.\nI have run off with some one else's wife!' and I burst out in loud\nlaughter.\n\n\"He looked relieved, patted me on the back, and began to whistle.  'What\nabout the cabin?' he said, laughing.\n\n\"'Oh!' I replied (having in truth forgotten all about it), 'that was my\nlittle joke.'\n\n\"'_Then,_' he thought, '_I need not mind about him now, and may as well\nmake a dean breast of it!_'  'I hope you have not run off with mine,' he\nsaid.  'You see I cannot now quite approve of these actions, I am a\nmarried man myself.'\n\n\"'A married man!' I exclaimed, trying to look more surprised than I\nfelt, at what I supposed was a lie.\n\n\"'Look at that,' he continued, and drew from his pocket a copy of a\nmarriage-licence dated that day at a registry office in Liverpool.\n\n\"It was--I could not be mistaken, the names and particulars were clear,\nthough Vera's age had been inaccurately stated as twenty-one.  I can see\nthe paper distinctly at this moment, every cursed line. My brain reeled,\nand shouting out,--'My lie is true. I have run away with some one else's\nwife--your wife,' I fell forward on the floor insensible.\n\n\"On recovering I found that I had been placed in a cabin by myself, and\nwas under the doctor's hands. It required but little power of\nthought-reading to discover that he regarded me as an escaped and rather\ndangerous lunatic, an opinion which I felt to be not far from correct.\nThe position was ridiculous in the extreme.  Following the dictates of\nmy partially-developed powers, I had formed an erroneous view; rescued a\ngirl against her will from her own husband, and was now taking a\nneedless voyage in her place to America.  I wondered what Vancome\nthought of it all, and had not long to wait before discovering, as he,\nhaving obtained permission from the doctor, appeared later on in the\nday.\n\n\"I hated him more than ever, but at the same time was anxious to discuss\nmatters.\n\n\"After closing the door, he sat down, saying, 'What in the devil's name\nis the meaning of all this?'\n\n\"'Perhaps,' I said, 'you will tell me first of all what you have done,\nthen I will tell you what I have done, and possibly the meaning may\ncome.'\n\n\"'Firstly,' he exclaimed, 'will you explain how you can have run off\nwith my wife when you are here, and she is not?  Where is she?'\n\n\"I felt aggravated, and therefore inclined to be aggravating.  'I left\nher,' I answered, 'as you know is generally the end of man's\ninconsistency in this case.'\n\n\"'This is ridiculous!' he replied, a dangerous light coming into his\neyes.  'If you don't take care you will tempt me too far!'\n\n\"I felt nothing would please me more than to get him to murder me, then\nafter he had been hanged Vera might go free.\n\n\"'I hope,' I said, 'you like your wedding trip, you coward.  Who, half\ndrunken with the father's wine, made a stage-play scene for the benefit\nof his child, when her very innocence should have protected her?  Who\nlied about his private property, when he was in reality a beggar and\nwill soon be a bankrupt? Who at last decided to marry in the hope of\nliving on his wife's fortune?'\n\n\"He had come nearer and was now standing over me; his hand was on my\nthroat; but for his natural cowardice he would have strangled me.  His\neyes glared down with fiendish anger!\n\n\"'You devil!' he cried, 'for devil I believe you are! Curse you!  Curse\nyou!'\n\n\"'I have still a trifle of news left, it may be a comfort for you to\nreflect upon it,' I said.  'Mr. Soudin is as badly off as you are.  I\nheard the newsboy shouting that an unlimited bank has failed in which he\nis considerably interested.  Probably if your mortgagees are merciful he\nmay be bankrupt before you even now!'\n\n\"Vancome looked at me for a moment, then, seeming satisfied that as I\nknew so much it might be safe to rely upon me even in this, sank back in\nhis chair.  The last blow had tamed him.  He was not only robbed of his\nwife, but what to him seemed far worse, utterly ruined, with or without\nher; cut off from his long-cherished hope of redeeming his fortune by\nmarriage. I felt toward him almost a sensation of pity.\n\n\"After a pause he muttered, 'I cannot believe it! Some one told me that\nSoudin was very wealthy--a regular miser, rolling in gold!  Look here,'\nhe continued, turning to me, but the anger had left his face. 'Tell me\nplainly, how do you know all these things? How did you know we were\nhere?  What have you done with Vera?  And why in the name of fortune are\nyou travelling with me to America?'\n\n\"I should have been a good deal puzzled to reply to the last question,\nand had no intention of answering the three others, so I remained\nsilent.  At this moment the doctor entered, and I expressed a wish to\nspeak to him alone.  Vancome left us evidently unwillingly.\n\n\"'I see from your manner,' I said to the doctor, 'that you believe me to\nbe insane.  I must therefore try to convince you that this is not the\ncase, though you were quite justified in accepting the view you did. I\ncame on board this ship hoping to find out something of great\nimportance.  During my search the vessel started.  I then heard very bad\nnews, and having in my excitement not tasted food for many hours, I\nfainted.  Will you let the captain know, however, that I am well\nprovided with money, and willing to pay for the best accommodation\npossible?'\n\n\"I took out my pocket-book and handed him a card, and at the same time\ndrawing out a roll of notes which represented over L2000.  I had brought\nthis money with me for the purpose of bribery, for had I found it\nnecessary to resort to that expedient, ready cash would have been\nrequired.\n\n\"The sight of the money had more effect in satisfying the doctor that he\nhad not to deal with an escaped lunatic than any words could have done;\nbut I noticed he was meditating on the probability of my being an\nescaped thief instead.  However, having apparently decided that such\nmatters were out of his line of business, and seeing a good chance of\nbeing paid for his services, his manner changed, and he became the\nfriendly practitioner.\n\n\"I was soon supplied with a few requisites for the journey and also\nmoved to very comfortable quarters; but I was most anxious to get an\nopportunity of returning at once to England.  In the evening I consulted\nthe captain, but though I offered a large reward if he could put me on a\nhomebound vessel, he declined to stop the ship on her trial trip.\n\n\"Fortune nevertheless favoured me.  We had been talking for some time,\nand it was well on into the night.  The sea was smooth, though a gentle\nwesterly breeze was blowing.  The passengers had retired for the night.\n\n\"'How much did you say you were prepared to give?' he asked presently.\n\n\"I saw he was wavering, and doubled the sum.\n\n\"'Well,' he said looking out, 'if I am not mistaken, that is a\nSouthampton schooner in the distance. Will you swear to keep the matter\ndark if I get you on board?'\n\n\"I assented.\n\n\"'Do you know any one on this vessel?' he then asked.\n\n\"'Only one man,' I replied, 'and he will be less surprised at my\ndisappearance than he was at my appearance.  He believes I am a\nmagician.'\n\n\"'We will chance it,' he said.  'You are not a passenger, and the whole\nbusiness can be done in ten minutes.'\n\n\"He gave some instructions and signalling went on. Then he crossed to\none of the mates, with whom he had a private conversation, which led to\na boat being got ready.  The schooner had tacked and was coming quickly\ntowards us.\n\n\"'It is all right,' the officer said.  'I know the Captain of this ship,\nand my mate will explain to him that you are willing to pay L100 for\nyour trip to Southampton.  He will keep the matter dark.  Good-bye!'\n\n\"The steamer had slackened, and we glided noiselessly toward the sailing\nship.  As the boat was lowered I handed the speaker a handful of notes.\nIn less than five minutes I was on board the schooner, and before the\nweek was out, in London.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER VI*\n\n\n\"I found among the letters waiting attention, one from Mr. Soudin,\nthanking me most warmly for my action in saving his daughter from Lord\nVancome, to whom he referred in language that hardly bears repetition.\nIt was a diplomatic letter, striving to shield Vera as much as possible,\nand endeavouring to make out that she had not only left home against her\nwill, but even hinting that she had been drugged, as he said that since\nher return with Mrs. Freshfield she had been unable to give any account\nof what had happened, and that she evidently looked upon Vancome with\nabsolute detestation.  This satisfied me that the influence which I had\nexercised had been successful, and the girl remembered nothing about the\nmarriage.  It was also plain that her father had no idea of the truth.\nYou may well conceive that my position was both a painful and difficult\none. I decided to go at once to Scotland, and hoped that during the\njourney I might be able to form some plans for future action.\n\n\"There was also a note from Mr. Marsden, saying that his scheme was\nprogressing favourably, and that he considered it would be better to\nmake Lord Vancome a bankrupt; he had got possession of all his bills,\nand now only awaited instructions before taking final action.\n\n\"Without replying to either of the letters, I started for the North by\nthe night train, and slept nearly the whole time, instead of devoting it\nto unravelling the entangled skein, which was probably the better plan,\nfor I was thoroughly tired. Consequently I arrived at Heather Lodge\nrefreshed, but without having the least idea of what course to pursue.\n\n\"Mr. Soudin had gone out, and I found Vera sitting alone, engaged in\nreading a novel.  She seemed pleased to see me, and we sat for some time\ntalking on trivial matters, which gave me an opportunity of reading her\nthoughts, and thus finding out whether the memory of her journey to\nLiverpool had returned. With some relief I soon discovered that, though\nshe had a dim remembrance of having intended to run away from home with\nVancome, and of a journey with some unknown lady, the intervening period\nwas still a blank; and, moreover, that she had been persuaded even this\nremembrance was but a delusion owing to illness.  After her return she\nhad suffered from a slight fever, brought on no doubt by the excitement;\nand during recovery it was easy to make her believe that what\nremembrance she retained was simply the effect of delirium.  Though she\nnow disliked Vancome, it was not difficult to perceive that she had not\nforgotten our former quarrel.  Her father had apparently been urging her\nstrongly to accept my suit and had prevailed, but there was no sign that\nshe loved me; and this fact, considering the strange position in which\nwe were placed, ought to have caused me more relief than it did.\n\n\"I found it impossible to convince my heart that, considering the\ncircumstances, such a husband had any right over this girl; though at\nthe same time I fully realized how all hope of my marrying her was at an\nend, and that my love must in future be unselfish, desiring neither any\nreturn of affection nor other reward.\n\n\"You may think that from the time I became acquainted with the marriage,\nit was my duty to stamp out all feeling of affection and accept this as\na sign that I had previously been mistaken in supposing our lives were\nfor all time to influence each other, or that I was still responsible\nfor the girl's future.  In fact, considering her character, one so\nplaced might well, from a selfish point of view, have rejoiced in\nregaining freedom from a burden that could only bring pain and trouble\nthrough life.  Such views have become the accepted canons of society,\nand in most cases it would be foolish to fight against them. Marriage in\nitself is a wise law fitted to the present condition of our lower animal\nnatures, and to tamper with it is not only a dangerous, but a retrograde\nstep.  For it shadows forth the nobler union of souls, and in some few\ncases may even bring a foretaste of future joy.\n\n\"On the other hand, it is equally false to assume that this legal or\nso-called religious tie has any necessary spiritual significance; and\nwhile at the present day the bond is often held too lightly, there are\nsome, who, conscious of nobler feelings and aspirations, regard wedlock\nas a divine union of souls. This view, though correct as an ideal, finds\ntoo seldom its realization; hence arises no little confusion of ideas\nand much unnecessary trouble of heart.  The scoffers ask, with the\nSadducees of old, which man's wife shall such a one be in the\nresurrection, forgetting that the body is nothing, and that the passions\nof the body are nothing but the trivialities of a transitory condition.\nSuch things are intended to seem important to us whilst on earth; and\nbear an apparent significance out of all proportion to their spiritual\nimportance.  Thus we live in a world full of heaven-sent delusions.  No\nobservation of other lives can destroy them, for each man or woman must\nlearn the lesson by experience.\n\n\"Think of all that has been written and all that has been said about\nlove, and yet how year by year we see the same picture reproduced.  When\nfirst a girl attracts a youth, or may be a man of mature years, what are\nhis feelings?  If only he can get her to consent to be his wife, he\nbelieves that his whole existence must be changed to one of joy; that in\nher company all other interests will be as nothing; that it must be\nimpossible to tire of her presence, to be a moment absent from her\nwithout pain, that they will in fact continue lovers to the end. If he\nlooks round on his married acquaintances it is nothing to him that he\ncan find no such state of existence; others can never have felt as he\nfeels, for no one had like cause.  He may be half conscious that he is\nbeing tricked by his emotions, but he prefers not to question his mind\non the subject.  Nature is too strong for reason, and having her work to\naccomplish, fulfils her mission.\"\n\nI was surprised to hear Sydney speaking in this way, and interrupted him\nby asking if he did not believe in the possibility of an enduring and\ntrue love on earth.\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied, \"most certainly; but not in this fascination lasting.\nTrue love can only be tested by those who have learned the lesson of\nself-renunciation.  If you wish to know whether you love or not, face\nthese questions--Is it for myself this possession is desired, or am I\nstriving only for the happiness of the one beloved?  Should she change,\nand the beauty, if there is beauty, turn to the most repulsive ugliness;\nher apparent saintliness to sin; her affection to hatred, or her sanity\nto madness, should I still love her?  If you can truly say this, and\nhave sufficient imagination to realize fully the meaning of the change,\nyours is love; and if in after times, when trial comes, your\nself-confidence leaves you, such love may even then rest assured it is\neternal, because it is of God.  But we see this devotion more often\nexhibited in the passion of parent for child than in love between man\nand wife.  The reason of this being that the latter relationship begins\nwith the expectation of a love to be returned, and the former with a\nministry of tenderness which can at the time receive no active response.\nIt is ever owing to seemingly adverse circumstances that the finer\nqualities of man's nature are drawn forth, and I have more reason to be\nthankful for the misery and perplexity which my love for Vera brought\ninto my life than for all the hours of happiness which I have known.\nMuch, however, as we may appreciate these disguised blessings in\nretrospect, it does not make them more agreeable to pass through; and\nthis time which I spent at Heather Lodge was perhaps, with one\nexception, the most miserable period of my life.\n\n\"I felt that it was absolutely necessary to take the first opportunity\nof letting Mr. Soudin know the truth.  As soon as he returned, and I had\na chance of speaking to him alone, I started on the unpleasant task.  He\nlistened patiently to the outline of the story till I came to the\nmarriage-licence, then turning livid with anger he lost all\nself-control.\n\n\"'I don't believe it!' he said.  'It is outrageous--monstrous! Why, the\ngirl's not of age.  He would have been bound to get my consent.  You\nmust know that the thing's out of the question!'\n\n\"When I explained that the age had been altered, he grew still more\nfurious.\n\n\"'I'll have him up for perjury!' he cried.  'Get the marriage annulled,\nfor after all it was never consummated; the thing's preposterous.  He\ndrugs the girl, gets her into his power, commits perjury, and hopes\nthereby to live on me for the rest of his life; but he is mistaken; the\nthing shall be put right at once!'\n\n\"As soon as he was a little calmer I tried to reason with him, and show\nthat it would be no easy matter to prove that Vera was not a consenting\nparty.\n\n\"'Had you not better,' I asked, 'go to Liverpool, and see the registrar\nbefore whom the marriage took place, and also examine the signatures?  A\nprosecution for perjury might possibly fall upon your daughter if you\nare not careful how you act.'\n\n\"At last he consented to take the course suggested, on the condition\nthat I did not leave until his return, and the following morning he\nstarted for Liverpool.\n\n\"I was left practically alone with Vera, her mother being still confined\nnearly all day to her room.  I decided to let my powers, as far as\npossible, lie dormant, and to watch her only as I should have done\nbefore the development of my new sense; to see her as any other man\nmight, and endeavour to judge how much of her inner character was\nobvious to those who came in contact with her in ordinary life.\n\n\"It is always easy thus to throw off a possession that has been recently\nacquired, and it is often a relief to do so.  My animal nature gained in\nstrength the moment it was released from the new spiritual bondage.\nMoreover, my companion seemed conscious of a similar relief; I had never\nseen her so bright and happy; she became at once a merry, playful child,\nrecklessly mischievous and fascinatingly coquettish.\n\n\"In the afternoon, the day after my arrival, we walked together over the\nmoors to a little village by the sea.  Though the autumn was now far\nadvanced, it was one of those Indian summer days in which each act of\nbreathing becomes a separate joy, when every soft breath of wind helps\nto intoxicate the brain.  I felt as if with every mile I walked a year\nof life dropped from me, till, when we reached the seashore, I had\narrived at boyhood and had cast away all care, all thoughts of the past.\n\n\"The girl beside me was no longer the wife of an enemy, but my\nchild-playfellow; our spirits acted and reacted upon each other.  We\nwere alone with the seagulls and the waves.  The cries of the former and\nthe music of the latter harmonized with the reckless exultation that\noverwhelmed us.  Barefooted we waded in the chilly water, or chased each\nother over the warm sand with laughter and shouting.  Among the rocks\nand caves we hunted for curious sea-creatures, sadly missing our\nchildhood's buckets in which to place the captives.  Near at hand was a\nrocky basin, which became our aquarium; hither we brought, with mingling\nsounds of exultation and fear, the wriggling captives, pride in each new\ntreasure demanding appreciation from the less fortunate.\n\n\"The clear pool was soon teeming with live creatures thus reluctantly\nbrought into close contact, and through the forest of delicate seaweed\nwe watched some fierce and deadly battles; whilst the more lymphatic\nspecies lay around, allowing their bodies with equal complacency to be\nmade the stepping-stones to victory or the shelter from defeat.\n\n\"Thus in childish pleasure the hours went by, till, tired out with our\nplay, we sat down side by side to rest.\n\n\"'Whatever would people think if they could see us?' Vera said, covering\nup her bare feet in the warm sand.\n\n\"It may have been her action, or something in the tone of her voice.  In\na moment the happy, boyish feeling left me.  The years began to hurry\nback, the innocent pleasure to fade, and in its place the passion of\nmanhood came with overwhelming power, baffling and mocking me.  I looked\nat my companion--child-playmate no longer.  Her face was flushed, her\nuncovered head a mass of soft, light, waving curls; her eyes sparkled\nwith merry mischief, but beneath the mischief there was that look I had\nsurprised before, the reflection of my own feeling on the girl's nature;\nbut how differently did it affect me now!  When first I had seen it,\nVera had promised to be my wife; now she was the wife of another.  It\nseemed almost incredible that a mere legal formality, such as her\nmarriage had been, could so entirely alter our relationship; but still\nstranger how the knowledge of this alteration strengthened all the lower\npassions of my nature, at the expense of the higher.  Every feeling that\nhad hitherto been sanctified by love was now sacrilege against that\nlove.  I made a desperate effort to regain the mastery over my weakness;\nbut, alas!  I had kindled a new fire of temptation.\n\n\"Vera came close to me, and laying her hand on mine, said--'Alan, I\nthink that I will forgive you, after all.  I like you better to-day than\never before.'\n\n\"What had I done?  My object having been to help this girl, my want of\nsuccess was pitiable. Having deprived her of the knowledge of her\nmarriage, and caused her to hate her husband, I was now bringing her\nonce more beneath the influence of a passion which could only end in\nmisery and degradation. Yet, as I looked at her, it seemed impossible to\nwithstand the temptation of taking her once more, if only once, into my\narms.  She was waiting for my kiss of reconciliation; and more than\nthis, of the torrent of love long restrained.  I was powerless, and\nknowing that no strength of my own could save me, with one last cry for\nhelp, I gave over the contest.  At the same instant I was free.\n\n\"Of all the strange mysteries connected with our nature, nothing is more\nremarkable than what is called the efficacy of prayer.  As long as a man\nfights against his temptations he but increases their force, especially\nin such a contest as this.  But should his will be really against the\ntemptation, a path is always open.  Let him once acknowledge his own\nweakness, and allow for a moment his spirit to cry for assistance, and\nhe will find himself lifted from the burden of the body, in a way that\nthose who have never experienced the sensation would think impossible.\nOne thing only is necessary, but that is essential: the cry must be an\nhonest desire of the heart, and not a weak prompting of habit.\n\n\"It is not that strength to resist the evil is sent as an answer to the\nprayer, but that the temptation is utterly removed, the force of the\nbody being, as it were, for the time annihilated; so at least have I\never found it, and so it proved in this case.  I could look now at my\ncompanion without fear, and love her with a love that I knew was\ninnocent.  The very remembrance of my past thoughts filled me with a\nwondering horror.  Summoning all my strength of will, I strove to recall\nto her mind the page which had been obliterated, and to bring back her\nnatural feeling towards Vancome, which had changed to hatred.\n\n\"Whilst doing this, I repeated the story, hoping thereby to assist her\nmemory, but, from a then unknown reason, I failed utterly, and the only\nimpression which she formed was that I had gone mad.  When I tried to\ntake her hand in mine so as to gain more influence over her will, she\nrose and left me.\n\n\"I could see her in the distance evidently getting ready to start for\nhome.  I dared not follow her, knowing that had I done so, she would in\nher fear have run bare-headed and bare-footed over the moor, rather than\nlet me come near her.\n\n\"She, however, seemed undecided in her mind, and for the first time that\nday I began to be conscious of her thoughts.  Seeing that I had made no\nattempt to follow her, or to exhibit any further signs of insanity, the\nsudden fear had evidently diminished, and she began to fancy that\nprobably I had only been fooling her for the pleasure of seeing if she\ncould be made to believe the story.  At length, being satisfied that\nthis was the explanation, she began to walk slowly towards the place\nwhere I was sitting, and then called to me, saying that it was time to\ngo back.  I answered that I was quite ready, but that it seemed a pity\nto go so soon.  My voice still further reassuring her, she came and\nlooked over the rock, saying--\n\n\"'So you thought you could take me in with that rubbish, did you?'\n\n\"'Well,' I replied, 'that was my intention, but as it's evidently of no\nuse, I must give in.  Your imagination is not so easily influenced as I\nthought.'\n\n\"'I should think not,' she said.  'But you acted very well, and I really\nthought for the moment you had gone mad.  It was very nasty of you to\nspoil our happy day in that manner.  I suppose you did it in revenge.'\n\n\"'No, I did not, dear,' I answered.  'But come and sit down.  We will\nsay no more about it.'\n\n\"She did as I asked her, protesting all the while that I was a brute;\nbut in five minutes I had managed to change the subject, and to get her\nto take my hand.  Then without speaking I willed her to sleep. Slowly\nshe leant further back; her head sank down, and in less than a minute\nshe was quite unconscious.\n\n\"There would, I now knew, be no difficulty in impressing on her mind\nwhat had previously been obliterated, and moreover, there was plenty of\ntime to consider whether it might not be well to keep her still in\nignorance of some part of her experience with Vancome.  But thinking the\nmatter over, I decided it would not under the circumstances be right to\ninterfere with the past.  So I willed her to remember all, and to awake\nwith the same feelings towards her husband as those which she felt\nbefore she left the ship; moreover, that she should not only understand\nwhat course I had pursued, but my reason for pursuing it, and my\nignorance of the marriage.\n\n\"In her hypnotic condition she was able to answer my questions, and I\nfelt satisfied that when she recovered, she would be able clearly to\nrecall the past.\n\n\"Once more I laid my hand over her eyes, and bade her sleep, it being\neasier and safer to recall the patient to a natural condition, from a\nstate of placid, rather than active, mesmerism.  But on trying to rouse\nher, I was again destined to failure.  It was impossible to bring her\nback to consciousness, or even to influence her now in any way.  She lay\nin one of those cataleptic trances, which no power then known could\nbreak, and which form the chief danger connected with all such\nexperiments.  Even now, though I should have little difficulty in\ndealing with a case of this kind, I should be loath, except in\nemergency, or where the life of the body was endangered, to recall the\nspirit which is for the time free from its bodily trammels.  But in\nthose days I was unable to do so.\n\n\"At length alarmed, I took her in my arms and carried her to the little\nfishing village, where with some difficulty I managed to find a vehicle\nto drive back to Heather Lodge.  It is not necessary for me to go into\nthe details of the two anxious days which followed.  During this time\nall the efforts, not only of the local doctor, but of two consulting\nphysicians, had no effect in rousing Vera from her unnatural sleep.  On\nthe third day, however, she awoke, and seemed little the worse for her\nexperience.\n\n\"Mr. Soudin had, in the meantime, returned in a state of the greatest\ndespondency, and as soon as the news of his daughter's recovery had\nrelieved my mind of an anxiety, which had made it impossible for me to\nthink of other matters, I had a long talk with him.\n\n\"His pride and reserve were broken, and I was relieved to find that he\nintended to make a full confession of his present monetary difficulties.\nIn Liverpool his worst fears were realized.  Not only had he seen Vera's\nsignature, but the registrar had told him that as far as it was possible\nto judge, his daughter acted without the slightest constraint, and had\nseemed perfectly reasonable and collected.  'She had given her age as\ntwenty-one, on oath, and had answered all his questions rationally.  A\nsolicitor, when consulted, had given Mr. Soudin little hope of the\nmarriage being annulled, and had warned him that while the action would\nprobably lead to no good, it might possibly end in his daughter and\nson-in-law being arrested for perjury.  If, however, he continued, she\npossessed means of her own, it might be wise to make an application to\nhave this money settled upon her.\n\n\"'Money!' cried Mr. Soudin, after repeating the lawyer's words, 'it is\nlittle use troubling about that. Not only has she not a penny, but I may\nas well tell you at once she never will have.  I am ruined!' and saying\nthis he broke down, burying his face in his hands.\n\n\"'I knew this,' I replied, 'some time ago.  You might as well have shown\nsufficient confidence in me to mention it before; knowing that I should,\nfor your child's sake, have been only too glad to help you. But I\nsuppose it seemed safer to let the marriage take place first.'\n\n\"'It's all very well,' he gasped, still shaken with the sobs which he\ncould not suppress, 'for you to talk in that way now that the marriage\nis impossible, and you are free to leave us all in our misery!\nGenerosity, I have found, is only to be trusted when the personal\ninterest of the giver is securely tied up with that of the recipient.'\n\n\"I felt inclined to retort that he, in common with most men, judged\nothers from the standpoint which he had adopted for personal usage, but\nthe abject misery of the man, and the fact that he was the father of\nVera, restrained me, and I said--\n\n\"'It is useless to talk of the past, which is irrevocable.  The question\nto decide is what can be done in the future.'\n\n\"'The workhouse is open,' he muttered, 'and I can hardly see how the\nmatter can interest you. Vancome is a beggar--we are all beggars.  A\ncurse has come upon us since you first entered the house, and I\nsometimes think that you brought it.  You seem to possess some damnable\npower which I neither understand nor wish any longer to experience. It\nwill be a relief to know that you have left the house.'\n\n\"'I feel sure you will later on regret such an accusation,' I answered,\n'considering that you bought your bank shares before you ever saw me,\nand that the bank has been insolvent for years.  Moreover, as you know,\nI did all in my power to prevent your daughter from marrying Lord\nVancome.  I have, however, a proposition to make.  It seems quite clear\nthat I cannot marry Vera, but there is no reason why I should not be\nable to help her.  She is now Lady Vancome, and though her husband is\npenniless, the property which he once owned is in my hands, and will\nbefore long be legally transferred to me.  I have thought the matter\ncarefully over, and decided on certain conditions to settle these\nestates upon your daughter for life.  The income which she will derive\nfrom them will be sufficient not only to enable her to keep up Vancome's\nlate home, but also to live there very comfortably.'\n\n\"My companion was staring at me in blank amazement, and at last he\nsaid--'But to be candid, what are you to gain by this sacrifice?  You\ncan hardly expect me to believe that you intend to hand over property\nworth L100,000 for the benefit of a man you hate.'\n\n\"I did not reply for a moment; it was not the man's words but his\nthoughts which made me mad with rage; for I saw that he had not only\nplaced the worst motive on my action, but that in his extremity he was\nprepared to accept my offer even at the price of his daughter's honour.\n\n\"Seeing that I was silent, he continued--'Of course you will have to pay\nVancome an allowance for keeping out of the way.'  Then a bright idea\nseemed to strike him, and he continued--'Why not pay him a good round\nsum to run off with some one else, and let us get a divorce?  It is only\na matter of price, and desertion is as good a plea as cruelty.'\n\n\"'This may be your idea of what is best,' I said, 'but somehow it does\nnot appeal to me, nor would it fit in with my plans.  I am going to\nconsult my lawyer; and if it should be necessary, so as to make it easy\nfor your daughter to protect herself, as well as the property, from her\nhusband, I may have to make Vancome an allowance.  But should Vera\ndesire it, I shall place no obstacle in the way of his returning to his\nold home; my only wish is to leave her independent.  As soon as these\narrangements are made, I shall go abroad, and it is hardly probable you\nwill see me again for some years.'\n\n\"Having said this, and feeling it would be impossible to restrain my\ntemper any longer, I left the room.  Had I remained with Mr. Soudin I\nshould most likely have read some of the plans which he doubtless then\nwas formulating, and so have been able to guard Vera more wisely, and\nprevent much of the evil which followed.\n\n\"I felt utterly depressed and puzzled.  Little as I had cared for or\nbelieved in this man, the coarse selfishness of his nature, the want of\neven natural affection nauseated me.  Life itself, mankind, the Creator\nof all things, seem degraded by the very existence of such a being.  As\nthe unselfish love of a father for his child is the chosen illustration\nof Godhead, so one in whom there is no sign of this love stands on the\nouter edge of darkness; doubly damned by the chaos into which he has\nwandered, and the reckless disregard of that one pure ray which might\nhave been his salvation.\n\n\"The next day, before leaving for London, I had a long talk with Vera.\nShe was now able to remember all that had passed during her absence from\nhome, and was evidently very nervous, wondering how I should receive her\nafter what had happened.\n\n\"'Mr. Sydney,' she began, 'I suppose you hate me, and perhaps your\nhatred is deserved.  I can only say that I am very sorry for acting\ntowards you in this way, and wish you good-bye.'\n\n\"'I am not angry with you, Vera,' I replied.  'We all must live to a\ncertain extent as our natures lead us.  Tell me, do you love your\nhusband?'\n\n\"'I am not sure,' she answered; 'I suppose so, or I should not have\nconsented to run away with him; but you see it seems long ago, and as I\nknew him for so short a time, it is difficult to be certain.  It was\nwrong of you to make me forget all about the marriage, but you thought\nyou were doing it for the best.  How could you fancy that I should have\ngone with him if we had not been married first?'\n\n\"'I thought he might have deceived you in some way,' I said.  'But I\nacknowledge that my act was wrong, and ask your forgiveness.  I have\ndone all that is possible to make amends, but your father will explain\nabout these details; and remember I shall always be ready to help you in\nany way.  You will not forget, will you, that whatever happens I am your\nfriend, and if you send for me I will come at once?'\n\n\"I was placing all the restraint I could on my manner, but I felt sick\nand giddy with the strain. At no time before had I loved this girl as\nnow, when I had to leave her.  She seemed to be conscious of this, but\ndid not take the right way to help me, for coming nearer, and laying her\nhand on my arm, she said--\n\n\"'Alan, must you go?  I want you to be near me.  When you are by, I feel\nstronger and better, and oh! at times I am so lonely; the world seems so\ncold, so big, so evil, and I can trust you.  Do stop, any way, till my\nhusband comes back; that is the least you might do, considering that it\nwas through your action we were parted.'\n\n\"'I dare not!' I answered.  'If it is pain to part now, how much worse\nit would be for me then!  Can you not see also that it would be taking\nan unfair advantage of your husband?  What I did at first, was done\nignorantly, and it was necessary after that to undo as much of the evil\nas possible, but now I ought to go.'\n\n\"'Oh!  I don't know what I shall do!' she cried, and the tears began to\ncome into her eyes.\n\n\"I might have been excused for thinking that at last she loved me; but I\nwas not mistaken, I knew her nature too well.  Such a girl might weep\nupon her lover's neck, feeling for the moment as though her heart were\nbreaking; and the next week under other influence throw him over for\nsome one near at hand, with the most formal apology, and feeling hardly\na sensation of pain.  I felt sure that as soon as I had left, she would\nforget, but the knowledge did not bring, as perhaps it should have done,\nrelief; rather it added to my pain.  What hold could any one have upon\nsuch an undeveloped character? In all such cases we can only wait till\nthe spirit is born.  A flower is beautiful, we see it opening its\ndelicate coloured petals in the sunlight; the fairy butterfly is\nhovering near, bearing the germ of fruition, but it passes by, and we\nmust wait.  As some blossoms, once as beautiful as their more fortunate\nneighbours, fall to the ground, having apparently missed, though we know\nnot why, the purpose of their existence here, so some men and women live\nand die, having missed the object of their lives.  The angel of love\ntouches them not; he hovers near, they feel the breath from his wings,\nbut the birth of the spirit is reserved for a future seed-time, and the\nharvest is a failure.\n\n\"I left Scotland, and after making the money arrangements referred to,\nthrew my whole heart and mind into my work, trying to drown other\nthoughts by the interest which each added power brought.  Up to this\ntime, as you will have seen, my gift was a mixed blessing,\nhalf-developed, and therefore more likely to lead to evil than to good;\nbut now I began to make progress, to feel my feet a little; every week\nbrought new and startling discoveries, power which I had hardly dared to\nhope for; wisdom that humbled me to the dust.  But as the story of my\nyear's work abroad, and the events that happened to Vera during the same\nperiod in England will take me some time to relate, I shall leave them\ntill your next visit.  I have already tired you enough, we had better\nnow rest a few hours, and if you like I will send you to sleep by\ntelling a short fairy story.  It has been a habit of mine since boyhood\nto mentally talk myself into dream-land, and without doubt you will find\nmy tale have an equally soothing effect upon your own mind.\"\n\nSo I lay back, courting sleep, whilst Sydney told me this fairy story.\n\n\"In a world like, yet unlike, our own, might once have been found men\nfashioned as are the people of earth, save that they dwelt in profound\nsilence; they heard neither the sweet singing of birds, nor the roar of\ntheir mighty torrents, nor the sweet murmuring of the streams.\nCommunication of thought was carried from one to the other by the\nmovement of the lips, by the sense of touch, or by writing; for though\ntheir world was full of sound, they as yet had not the gift of hearing.\nThe time had not come when they should listen to the voices of the other\nspirits who wandered unseen in their midst, for the songs of the fairy\nfolk contained much of the wisdom which it was better for the deaf and\ndumb to discover for themselves through the lessons of life.  Yet at\ntimes, as the years rolled by, from every part of their world came\nmessages of growing superstitions, of a professed consciousness of\nsomething which their written language failed clearly to convey, and of\nimpressions which had been experienced, but which were outside the\nregion of science.  The wise men were greatly indignant at the growth of\nthis seeming folly; they challenged the dreamers to appear before them,\nand prove the truth of their statements.  Then one came forward, an old\nman, and he made signs to those around; and this was the\ninterpretation--\n\n\"'Behold! as I stood among the hills, the heavens grew black around me,\nand great drops of rain fell on either side; out of these dark clouds\nthere passed downwards to the earth a great fork-shaped flame which fell\non a lofty tree; as it touched the great branches they split asunder,\nfalling to the ground and leaving behind only a broken and shattered\ntrunk.'\n\n\"And the wise men answered, 'Though such things happen but seldom, and\nin but few parts of the world, there is nothing new in what you have\ntold us.'\n\n\"But the man continued, 'It is not of that I came to speak; wonderful as\nit seemeth to me, even though it may have happened in such manner\nbefore, and though you may have given the mystery a name. But when this\nflash had passed, I felt, yet I did not feel, something strike me; it\nwas as though I had received some mighty blow, yet nothing touched me,\nand my head throbbed with pain, and my thoughts became confused.'\n\n\"But the wise men laughing, replied, 'It seemeth to us that the\nconfusion of thought hath still continued.'\n\n\"Then the old man brought forth a piece of flat metal, and a great iron\nrod which he used for some work; and he began once more to address his\naudience.\n\n\"'Yet,' he said, 'I have felt this sensation before, but not so\nstrongly, even when I have struck these two, one against the other,' and\nhe thereupon hit the metal plate a great blow.  'It is there!' he cried;\n'once more I felt it pass through my brain.'\n\n\"Some of those present seemed also to feel a like sensation, and one\nrose up, addressing the assembly thus--\n\n\"'For many years reports of strange sensations have come to us from all\ncountries and people; moreover, these reports all bear a great\nresemblance to each other.  Is it not well that we should investigate\nthe matter more fully than we have done hitherto?'\n\n\"But the greater number of those present was opposed to him, answering,\nthat already these so-called impressions had been tested from time to\ntime by scientific research, and that it had been proved beyond question\nthat they were all founded on delusion, as they could not by any\npossibility have reached the brain through the sense of touch or sight\nor smell; and that, therefore, necessarily they did not reach it at all.\n\n\"So the man returned to his own place; but some of the common people,\nwho read the report and had known similar impressions, were strengthened\nin a belief, which was gaining ground year by year, namely, that the\nwise men might perhaps not know everything, and that the learned of the\nfuture might even laugh at the learned of to-day, as the latter now\nmocked their predecessors.\n\n\"So the years went by, and the reports of wonders became more numerous\nand more confusing.  Some said that they had language conveyed to them,\nwhich as yet they could hardly understand, and that this happened even\nwhen their eyes were closed and no person was near to them.  A few even\nbelieved that they could partially understand this language, and these\nwere placed under restraint as madmen.\n\n\"During all this turmoil, a child was born, which grew up fair and\nbeautiful to look upon.  None taught him, yet he became exceeding wise,\nthough his knowledge was not the knowledge of the savants.  He was born\nwith the power of hearing developed, and soon learned the fairy\nlanguage; and the bright spirits taught him more wisdom than was to be\nfound in all the books of his world.  But when he tried to convey to\nthose around the glory of sound, the sweetness of the fairies' songs,\nthe whispering melody of the leaves when the wind played with them, or\nthe ceaseless music of the waves, he found that there were no words in\nthe language capable of expressing his meaning, and had to try by\nparables to give even a faint idea of the inexpressible.\n\n\"Moreover, most of his companions mocked him, but a few listened, even\nthose who had some foretaste of his gift, and these believed that he was\na god.\n\n\"As his fame spread abroad, men came from the ends of the earth to\nlearn, if possible, the language that needed no signs, that passed\nmysteriously and invisibly from brain to brain.  He found it possible to\nawaken in a few of these the dormant sense which all possessed, and such\nwere able to work miracles among their fellows.\n\n\"And the savants stormed, and then when they found it impossible any\nlonger to ignore the new power, they themselves began to give names to\nthe mysteries; and having done this they were consoled, considering that\nthey had thereby exorcised the supernatural.\n\n\"But the waves beat no longer unheard upon the beach; and the birds are\nloved by many for their voices as well as for their plumage.  The mother\nhears her child's cry, and the lover the footstep of the beloved.\n\n\"Some, however, are still deaf, and others have not yet learned the\nlanguage which is breathed so sweetly in the music of the fairies'\nsongs.\"\n\n\n\n\n                               *PART II*\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER VII*\n\n\nIt was some weeks before Alan Sydney again returned to the story of his\nlife.  We often met, however, during this interval, both at his house\nand at mine. He seemed anxious to let me become better acquainted with\nhis views and strange philosophy before describing any more of his\nexperiences.  So interesting did I find these discussions that, though\nstill wishing to hear the conclusion of the tale, I did not press him to\ncontinue it.  One evening, however, our conversation led back to the\nsubject.  We had been for some time discussing Buddhism; I had pointed\nout that many of the conclusions at which he had arrived resembled in\ncertain ways the views professed by Eastern adepts.\n\n\"Truth is to be found in every faith,\" he replied, \"and these occult\nphilosophers have cultivated one side of knowledge which has been\noverlooked by European scientists.  At the same time any one who has\ntaken the trouble personally to examine the foundation on which the\nreports of marvellous powers possessed by certain Orientals are based\nwill, I feel sure, have arrived at the following conclusions--\n\n\"Firstly, the metaphysical knowledge of these men is far in advance of\ntheir physical power to make use of it.  In other words, they know many\nsecret laws of nature, but usually fail in manipulating these laws to\nany useful purpose, often to any purpose at all. The reason for this is\nobvious.  They have cultivated one part only of the sixth sense, and\nhave done even this at the expense both of body and mind; instead of\nperfecting every faculty and keeping their personality evenly balanced,\nthey have become deformed.  It is as if a man hitherto deaf and suddenly\nconscious of the sense of hearing, should shut himself tip in a dark\nroom and refuse to receive any impressions save those conveyed by sound;\nhe would probably make considerable progress in hearing, but he would\nnecessarily suffer deterioration in his other faculties.\n\n\"The knowledge and foretaste of power, which, through bodily and mental\nweakness, they can seldom exercise, have led many of the more\nunscrupulous seers to resort to trickery.  Now and again they are able\nto perform what men call a miracle, and probably every wonder that we\nread of has at one time or another been performed, more or less\naccidentally, by some Eastern ascetic, but knowing the powers that do\nexist, and being unable to control them at will, they too frequently,\neither for profit or fame, turn for assistance to the most barefaced\nimpostures.\n\n\"The spiritualists are not free from the same reproach.  It is safe to\nassume that as any one who possesses even a slight knowledge of how to\nmake use of the powers of a spiritual sense, will neither require money\nnor desire fame, all spiritualistic or theosophic exhibitions, which\nhave either of these ends in view, should be regarded with distrust.  At\nthe same time they should be interesting as exhibiting a craving on the\npart of the performer and also of his audience for manifestations of\nunrevealed yet partially conceived truths.\n\n\"Trickery is only powerful when it apes reality. The love of the\nmysterious is after all a craving for felt possibilities.  A conjurer,\nscoffing at the supernatural which he strives to imitate, would lose his\noccupation if he possessed sufficient eloquence to convince his audience\nthat there was no truth foreshadowed by means of his dexterity.  As the\ngirl-child loves to play with her doll because the maternal instinct\nlies undeveloped in her breast, so do men love to play with magic,\nforetasting therein a part of the power which some day shall be\nperfected.  They both know better, but for the moment prefer a true\nilluminating fancy to a false disillusionizing fact.  Yet when some\nmotive of self-interest provokes the deception, only harm can come; the\nparable is then turned into the lie, the prophet into the charlatan.\n\n\"Not long after my arrival in India I met a man who interested me\ngreatly.  Up to this time I had little knowledge of Buddhism, and the\noutcome which I had seen of this religion had given me so far an\nunfavourable impression.\n\n\"Mr. Kanwick was of Scotch descent, though he had been born in Calcutta,\nand lived in India the greater part of his life.  When we met he was a\nwealthy bachelor of about fifty-five years of age, with no occupation to\ntie him down.  His knowledge of Oriental subjects was well founded, for\nhe had spent most of his life in studying the manners, dialects, and\nreligions of Asia.\n\n\"He was at this time engaged in writing a book on the Vedic language and\nreligion, and I travelled with him in the East for many months, passing\nfrom one place to another.  We visited many of the countries in Central\nAsia, and whilst he was engaged in studying one of the oldest and purest\nforms of worship, I was busy perfecting a power which, even in the\nearliest times, the Vedic philosophers seemed to have reached after.\nWere I to describe the strange experiences through which we passed, how,\ndisguised, we found our way into sacred shrines never before visited by\nEuropeans, or the various dangers we encountered, in many of which we\nnarrowly escaped death, it would occupy all the time we are likely to\nhave together for the next six months.  Aided by the sixth sense, by\nfree use of our wealth, and by my companion's knowledge of the various\ndialects and customs of the people, we were able to overcome\ndifficulties which would have been impossibilities to ordinary\ntravellers.  One evening, however, we met with an experience which\nbrought my travels to an abrupt termination, and in which my companion\nlost his life.\n\n\"We had been staying a few days in a small town, and, having grown\nover-confident, we determined to visit a temple which was situated about\nfive miles away.  It was a foolhardy enterprise, for not only had no\nunbeliever ever been permitted to approach this place, but none save the\npriests of a special caste were allowed even to enter the sacred\nenclosure in which it had been built.  I must, however, tell you how we\ncame to find out this place, for it was so situated that but for an\naccident we might have lived for years in the neighbourhood without\nsuspecting its existence.\n\n\"The country here is of very curious formation. On either side of the\ncity perpendicular rocks rise out of the plain forming miniature\ntable-lands, some hardly larger than a tomb, some with room enough on\nthem for small farms, with well-marked natural boundaries, sheer\nprecipices varying from fifty to over three hundred feet.  The surface\nof these rocks is very irregular, and often thickly coated with soil in\nwhich grow many tropical trees.\n\n\"In a deep hollow on one of the largest and most wooded of these\nplateaus this temple has been built, but owing to its situation it is\nquite impossible to see any part of it until the top of the surrounding\nrock has been reached.\n\n\"Now we had as a guide a high-caste Brahmin named Hinma.  We had adopted\na method of paying him by results, which had proved so far highly\nsatisfactory; the more information he gave us, or the more interesting\nthe place to which he led us, the greater the number of rupees he\nreceived at the end of the month.  It so happened that for some weeks\npast the value of his services had been small, and when he received his\npay I saw that he was dissatisfied, and read this pass through his mind:\n\n\"'_If I only could show the temple at Aphar!  But it is forbidden.  I\ndare not even mention its existence; moreover, it would be absolutely\nimpossible for me, and still more for the foreigners, to get even a\ndistant sight of the place._'\n\n\"I answered his thought aloud.  'Why are you afraid to speak to me of\nthis temple?  Do you not yet know that we are the all-powerful to whom\nsilver is as nothing, and against whom none dare lift their hands?'\n\n\"'The Sahib is as a god among men,' he replied, 'but the god of this\ntemple is more powerful than he. Thou seest into the hidden thoughts of\nmen, but he sees all things, and his vengeance is terrible.  None save\nhis special servants may see his dwelling and live. Moreover to mention\nthe name thereof is to cause his anger!'\n\n\"So great was the man's fear of this deity that it took me an hour\nbefore I could get the information required, and then it was chiefly\nowing to the fact that his thoughts were less under his control than his\ntongue.\n\n\"I reported my discovery to Kanwick, and on the following morning,\nunaccompanied by our guide, we went to reconnoitre, and if possible to\ndevise some plan by which we might at least get a glimpse of this\nmysterious abode of the god.\n\n\"There was little difficulty in finding the rocky citadel which\nconcealed this temple.  We walked all round the foot of the precipice\nwhich cut it off from the plain.  The cliffs which rose above us varied\nfrom two hundred to three hundred feet in height, and I judged that the\nsurface on the top of them must extend over at least one hundred acres.\nBut it seemed absolutely impossible to reach the higher land, though we\nexamined the sides of the rock most carefully.  There was no indication\nof a path which even a goat could climb; whoever ascended or descended\nmust do so apparently by the aid of a rope or ladder let down from\nabove.  The plain on the side furthest from the town was thickly wooded,\nand not wishing to excite the curiosity of any one who might be watching\nus, we sat down in the shadow of some trees to talk the matter over.\nThe very mystery of the place tempted us the more to make some desperate\neffort to overcome the difficulty of exploration.\n\n\"We were sitting about two hundred yards from the cliff, by the side of\na stream which, we had noticed, flowed from a fissure in the rock.\nWhilst thus resting and talking, a strange thing happened.  The noisy\nstream which flowed at our feet suddenly became silent; we looked down\nin surprise to find that now only a little trickle of water passed over\nits rocky bed.  My companion jumped up in excitement and looked towards\nthe crevice from which the water came.  Signing to me to rise quietly,\nhe pointed to the cliff which we could see through a gap in the trees.\nFrom out the fissure in the rock which a few minutes before was filled\nwith water, we saw two men pass, clad in the yellow robes of mendicant\npriests.  As they came out of the channel and made their way into the\nwood, the water once more dashed out of the rock with more than usual\nforce, so that in another minute the stream at our feet was a roaring\ntorrent.\n\n\"'The key is in our hands if we can use it,' my friend said as soon as\nhe had satisfied himself that the priests were out of hearing.  'That is\nthe gateway, and no doubt the inhabitants have some arrangement inside\nby which they can for a short time divert the water into a reservoir,\nand thereby open the passage or close it at will.'\n\n\"'Yes,' I replied, 'but I cannot agree with you that we have the key;\nthey seem to keep that safely inside.  If we want to get through we must\nwait patiently until they open the door for their friends, and then take\nFrench leave.  Probably we shall soon wish we had kept outside.  What do\nyou think of doing?'\n\n\"'I shall get in at all risk,' he answered.  'It is too good an\nopportunity to lose; but let us go back now and make our plans, we can\ndo nothing more at present, and if we are noticed our presence may cause\nsuspicion.'\n\n\"During our evening meal we discussed the situation. I must own that I\ntried to persuade Kanwick to give up the idea of forcing an entrance\ninto these sacred precincts.  Cut off as we should be from all\npossibility of rescue, the idea seemed foolhardy in the extreme; but\nseeing that my friend had determined to go, I decided to share the risk.\n\n\"As soon as it was dark we agreed to start; and watch the entrance, as\nour only chance of slipping through the tunnel unobserved would be\nduring the night-time.\n\n\"We had been in our place of concealment about two hours, and it must\nhave been nearly twelve o'clock when we heard steps approach.  The\nnight, fortunately for our purposes, was dark, as the moon had not yet\nrisen.  It was impossible therefore for us to see anything, but I judged\nfrom the sound that the man, whoever he might be, was alone.  He passed\nabout a hundred yards from our hiding-place, and the noise of the stream\nmade it impossible for my companion to distinguish the footsteps.  Had I\nnot by this time been able to concentrate my sense of hearing on any\nparticular sound, I should have been equally helpless; as it was, we had\nthe advantage of being able to follow the stream without fear of\ndetection.\n\n\"When we came to the outskirts of the wood and were about ten yards from\nthe cliff, we paused.  I could see the figure of a man standing by the\nside of the crevice, and it seemed to me that he was groping for\nsomething on the surface of the rock.  In another moment the water began\nto sink, and the figure disappeared into the gully through which the\nstream had now ceased to flow.  We ran quickly to the spot, and with no\nlittle feeling of dread, began to follow the priest through the dark\nchannel.  Fortunately he had struck a light which he held before him, or\nwe certainly should either have been drowned or swept back into the\nplain, for instead of following the bed of the stream, he had turned up\na steep narrow passage to the right, and was now disappearing round a\nsharp turning.  The moment he was out of sight we hastened after him up\nthe incline, and were only just in time.  There was a rush of water\nbehind us, which in a moment rose to our knees; the path through which\nwe had entered was once more the bed of a boiling torrent, but for the\ntime being we were safe.  A few more steps and we were out of reach of\nthe water, standing in pitch darkness on the dry rock which formed the\nfootway of a winding tunnel.\n\n\"We waited a few moments, fearing to go further without a light, and\nthinking it safer to let our guide get some way ahead before we struck a\nmatch.  We had thus far accomplished our purpose successfully, but I\nfancy neither of us felt very comfortable.  To return was now\nimpossible, and if the other end of this tunnel should be closed we\nmight find ourselves like rats caught in a hole, and either be starved\nto death, or have to wait until we were found by the next party of\npriests, when our fate would probably be as bad or even worse.  I felt\nfor my pistol, and then by the light of a wax vesta we began to grope\nour way up the winding staircase which had been cut into the rock.  We\nmust have used about ten matches when a puff of wind extinguished the\none last lighted, and taking this as a sign that we were near the mouth\nof the tunnel, we decided to finish our journey in the dark.\n\n\"I was a little ahead of my companion, and had felt my way carefully\nover eight or ten more steps, when my hand touched the stem of a tree,\nand looking up I could see the stars above me through some thick\nfoliage.  I slipped aside into the underwood, and in a few moments\nKanwick was by my side. The wind blew freshly against our heated faces,\nand it was with no little feeling of pleasure we realized that our first\ngreat danger was past, and though we might be chained to a rock, we were\nat least chained outside, not inside.\n\n\"We waited for a short time, uncertain what course to pursue.  As we\nthus stood talking in whispers, the moon rose, flooding the scene around\nwith light.\n\n\"We were on the wooded side of a steep slope which evidently led up to\nthe precipitous edge of the cliff.  Some hundred feet below in a lovely\nglen, the bottom of which must have been nearly on a level with the\nsurrounding plain, a stream flowed, and in one part widened out into a\nsmall lake.  Out of the centre of this lake rose the snow-white marble\nwalls of the temple.  It is almost impossible to describe the beauty of\nthis building, so unlike is its style of architecture to anything else I\nhave ever seen.  It is quite circular, and has been built on arches\nwhich are supported by seventy square massive columns that rise out of\nthe lake.  On the top of these arches is what may be called the\nground-floor of the structure. Round the outside of this level platform,\nat equal distances apart, are seven hundred marble pillars, thirty feet\nin height, and carved so as to resemble the trunks of trees, very\nirregular in shape but of about equal girth.  Resting on these pillars\nis another platform, in the centre of which is also built a similar\nstructure of about half the size of the one on which it stands. This\nbuilding again supports a third, still smaller, on the roof of which\nrise fourteen columns in a circle. From the top of each of these spring\nthree boughs, one towards the centre, and one on either side, the side\nboughs meeting those from the adjacent columns, forming arches, and the\ncentre boughs joining together in a kind of open-work dome.  The details\nwere of course indistinct, seen in the moonlight, but the exquisite\nproportion of every part, which is after all the chief charm, was\nclearly visible; the surroundings added also a kind of spiritual beauty\nto the scene, for as the moon rose the surface of the lake was divided\nby a silver line of light, the tropical foliage around cast a fairyland\nof shadows on the water, and from the temple rose the soft sound of\nmusic, the first chord of which had broken the silence of night when the\nmoon's rays fell upon the marble dome.\n\n\"'The dream of my life is fulfilled,' my companion whispered as we\nlooked out on the lovely scene. 'This is without doubt the temple of the\nmoon, of which I once read an account in an old manuscript. It is\nreported to have been built by Zoroaster, and to have been kept in\nperfect repair up to the date when the manuscript was written.  But I\nhad supposed it to have been destroyed centuries ago, and there we see\nit to-day perfect in all its original loveliness.  No doubt its\npreservation is due to its inaccessible position, and the care with\nwhich it has been watched over by the priests.  Truly if the Oriental\npeople know nothing else, they know how to preserve a secret.  I am,\nhowever, inclined to think, from the dress of the priests we saw this\nmorning, that the followers of Buddha must have now taken possession of\nit; but in this borderland of many religions, all founded more or less\non Brahminism, we often find a combination of religious thoughts which\nmore resembles the earlier faith, and this may prove to be the centre of\nsome such creed; we shall doubtless soon have an opportunity of finding\nout.'\n\n\"Hardly had he finished speaking, when down the steps which led from the\ntemple to the lake, a procession of white-robed priests could be seen\nmoving slowly, and a long, curiously-shaped boat glided out from where\nit had been concealed by the trees.  In a few moments it had reached the\nsteps and the priests entered it.  Then through the night air rose the\nsound of singing which harmonized with the music as the boat slowly\nglided out of our sight behind the massive columns on which the temple\nwas built. Seven times the boat made a circle round the building, and\nthen, with the priests still on board, turned towards the trees beneath\nus and was once more hidden from sight; the music and singing stopped,\nand all was again in silence.\n\n\"'They are coming this way,' I said.  'What had we better do?'\n\n\"'Move further from the entrance,' Kanwick answered, 'and keep as quiet\nas possible.'\n\n\"We crept with little noise to a thicket about fifty paces from the\ntunnel, but as though guided by some superior power set on our\ndiscovery, the procession came straight on to where we lay concealed.\nWhen they had reached our hiding-place the priests spread out, forming a\ncircle round us, so that escape was impossible, and a voice spoke as\nfollows, in Persian--\n\n(\"I am quick at learning languages, and as Persian is by far the most\nuseful in this part of the East, I had taken some trouble to learn it in\nour travels, so I was able to understand what was said to us.)\n\n\"'Strangers, who have dared to enter the sacred enclosure in which rests\nthe shrine where the followers of the true religion worship, in the name\nof Brahm, the only god, ruler of heaven and earth, we command you to\ncome forth!  Should you have been led here by his divine ordinance, then\nare you blessed, and shall be welcome to his holy shrine.  Should\npresumptuous curiosity have brought you hither, your fate shall be even\nas the Almighty directs.'\n\n\"We both felt it would be useless to attempt flight, and folly to resort\nto force, so getting up, we went in the direction from which the voice\nproceeded.  There, standing just inside the ring of priests, was a tall\nand venerable-looking man; his hair and beard were white; his\ncomplexion, for a Persian, was strangely fair; his features showed\nnobility and strength; his expression purity and kindliness.  Simply\ntelling us to follow, he turned into a path that led along the side of\nthe hill, and which kept about the same level above the lake.  In a few\nminutes we came to the mouth of a cave, and entering it passed through a\nshort passage into a lofty cavern.  The sides of this cavern had been so\ncut away as to form a perfect circular chamber, the domed roof of which\nwas covered with mosaic of various-coloured marbles formed into strange\ndevices and pictures.  The floor on which we stood was the natural rock\nhighly polished.  From the golden altar in the centre of the cave a\nbright light cast various colours on the scene around, only upon the\nivory throne which stood opposite the entrance the rays fell very pure\nand white.  On all the other objects the colours were fitful, changing\nfrom time to time into every shade which can be seen in the rainbow.\n\n\"When we had all entered, the high priest who had bidden us follow him,\nhaving taken his seat upon the throne, spoke once more.\n\n\"'Followers of the Almighty, whom he has gathered together from all\nlands, and taught from all creeds the syllables of his holy word till\nthe time came for you to be drawn to his holy temple, behold a new thing\nhas come to pass.  For the first time without warning and without\nwelcome, whether through guile or led by the wisdom of the Highest, we\nhave two strange children of the Great Father in our midst.  As all who\nenter here by freedom of our will, and with full knowledge of the trial\nawaiting them, must pass an ordeal of light, so must these strangers, of\nwhom we know nothing, but who have been sent to us for some great\npurpose.  Are your minds with my mind?'\n\n\"And the priests standing round answered, 'We are all of one spirit,\neven of the spirit of the Highest, who speaketh by the lips of his\nservant.'\n\n\"Then the high priest turned to us and said, 'By some influence you have\nbeen drawn to the fountain of wisdom, but it must yet be seen if you are\nworthy to receive the knowledge which shall make you free. Having forced\nyour way into this sacred enclosure, it is now too late to retrace your\nsteps; you must go onward to a nobler life, or pass into that state\nwhich men call death.  But have no fear, the destinies of all men are\ndecreed.  Should you die it is but the sign that your new body awaits\nthe spirit.  Moreover, here death is robbed of pain, and the vision of\nthe holy temple shall purify your spirit in the life hereafter.'\n\n\"Then pointing to my companion, he bade him go to the altar, and\nstanding before it act even as his spirit directed.\n\n\"Kanwick stepped fearlessly up the marble steps. As he did so a great\nflame burst up, at the sight of which he shrank back, and in a moment\nthe cavern was in pitch darkness, but there was no sound.  Then in that\nawful stillness I knew all, for the thoughts of those around me spoke\neven as the thought of one man.  I knew that my friend was dead, and how\nhe had died, and why, and a great sorrow came over me. Yet hardly had I\ntime to think before the room was lighted as before, but there was no\nsign of the dead body.\n\n\"When bidden to walk up to the altar, though I felt no fear for my own\nsafety, my limbs trembled as they passed over a large black slab of\nmarble, for I knew that beneath this revolving stone at some unfathomed\ndepth lay the body of Kanwick.  There was a hidden meaning in the\npriest's words, 'It is too late to retrace your steps.'  When the fire\nagain burst forth, instead of moving back to avoid it, I threw myself\nacross the altar into the midst of the fire and immediately became\ninsensible.\n\n\"On recovering consciousness I found that I was lying in a small room\nbeautifully decorated; it was just such an apartment as you may find in\nany wealthy Persian's house.  I felt drowsy, and had some little\ndifficulty in recalling the scene in the cavern.  The clothing\npreviously worn by me had been removed, and I was now dressed in a red\nrobe, similar in fashion to that worn by the priests.  There was no\ntrace on my body of any effect from the fire, which had doubtless been\nextinguished at the moment I had thrown myself forward, and I now know\nthat my insensibility was caused by the powerful narcotic fumes which at\nthe moment the flame bursts forth, rise from the altar and make death to\nthe unsuccessful painless, even as the priest had promised.\n\n\"I was under the impression that my ordeal was now over, and that I\nshould be admitted at once into the priesthood, but this was not the\ncase.  I had been lying in this dreamy state for perhaps twenty minutes,\nwhen one of the Persian hangings was pushed aside, and a young girl\nentered the room.  She was a Circassian, very fair and beautifully\nformed; in her hand she carried a golden cup full of wine which she\nhanded to me, saying in Persian--\n\n\"'Drink, beloved of God, the wine of joy.'\n\n\"But as I held out my hand for the cup, and was about to drink it, being\nparched with thirst, a feeling of fear restrained me, and I placed it at\nmy side.\n\n\"What could this girl be doing here?  Might she not possess some\nknowledge that it would be worth my while to find out?  Her dress was\nbefitting a priestess of Venus, and strangely out of keeping with all\nthat I had observed before.  Unless I was greatly mistaken in my\njudgment of faces, the priests whom I had seen were men who had overcome\npassion, and whose thoughts were absorbed in striving after spiritual\npurity and perfection.  How came it then that this young girl should be\nin their midst, and why was she sent to me?\n\n\"'At whose bidding,' I asked, 'do you bring this cup of wine?'\n\n\"'It has been sent,' she replied, 'from the little temple where live the\ndaughters of the moon; the queen bade me bear it to thee as an offering\nof love, and she has appointed me to be thy servant, to minister to thy\nwants, and to obey thy will, even if I may find grace in thy sight.'\n\n\"I was very much perplexed.  As far as I could make out, this girl knew\nno more of the meaning of her visit than I did, and I was certain that\nno evil thought was in her heart.\n\n\"'What,' I said, 'if I reject the cup of joy and send thee back?'\n\n\"She hung her head, then kneeling down by my side and looking\nbeseechingly at me answered--\n\n\"'Thou wouldst not send me from thee; I will do whatsoever thou\ndesirest, and serve thee faithfully. As the moon reflects the glory of\nthe sun, so is it dark with me if I may not see thy face!--as the flower\nwithers without light, so must I droop if hidden from thy presence.  If\nthou but drink the cup which the queen offers, thou wilt then know the\njoy of love.'\n\n\"As she said this I suddenly became conscious that she was repeating a\nlesson, acting a part, the meaning of which she did not understand; and\nwith this knowledge, all danger which the temptation might have had for\nme was removed.  Beginning to have some idea of the truth, I looked\nstraight into her eyes and said--\n\n\"'Who taught you this lesson?  Who told you to say this to me?'\n\n\"Her part had been doubtless well prepared, but this question was not\none among those for which she had an answer ready, and after hesitating\na moment she spoke the truth.\n\n\"'The priest of temptation.'\n\n\"'And what would you have done had I drunk the wine and bidden you stay\nwith me?' I asked.\n\n\"'I should have stayed,' she answered simply, and her thoughts followed\nher words.\n\n\"Then I said, 'Return to him who sent you, and speak these words--\"He,\nto whom you sent me, said--there are forces spiritual and forces\nmaterial against which all must contend ere they reach the borderland of\nwisdom, but woe unto those who use the innocent children of the Highest\nas brands to kindle the slumbering embers of passion!\"'\n\n\"The girl would have pleaded with me again, but I silenced her, saying,\n'Go, and if he bid you to return, you may do so.'\n\n\"I was not long left in solitude, for in a few minutes a priest in\nyellow robes entered the room.  He was not one of those I had previously\nseen.  His face was clean-shaven, and he did not look to be much over\nforty years of age; his features were refined, but rather hard; his\nexpression noble, but cold.  He bowed down as he entered the room, and\nthen addressed me in these words--\n\n\"'Thou who art a god amongst the children of men, wiser than the wisest,\npure as are the waters in the lake of Gitem, in whom the spirit of the\nAlmighty is reflected as in the crystal mirror of Tor, we beseech thee\nto hear the prayer of thy servants.  We, the priests of the Most High,\nseeing that thou hast power beyond the sons of men, would offer thee\nworship in the temple.'\n\n\"As he spoke, two other priests entered, one bearing a yellow robe\nrichly embroidered with gold and covered with jewels, and the other a\ncrystal crown, from which proceeded a strange mysterious light which\nwould have cast round the head of the wearer a radiant halo.  As I\npictured the effect of one thus robed and crowned entering the temple, a\nscene, doubtless called up in the mind of one of the priests, at the\nsame moment flashed across my brain.  I saw men standing robed in white,\nand in the centre of these I seemed to lie, dressed in the kingly garb,\nand crowned with the shining crystal crown, but my forehead was covered\nwith the dew of death, and there was a look of pity on the faces of\nthose around.\n\n\"Then I realized that this was but a new temptation, and with some\nslight show of anger answered---\n\n\"'The fools of the earth desire to be clad in fine raiment, and to feel\nfor a moment the glory of earthly power, but to those who have once seen\nthe light which proceeds from true wisdom, riches and honour are as\ndust, the shouts of men as the hum of insects, and the kingdoms of earth\nas ant-heaps.  If there are among you men who have attained to even a\nslight knowledge in the mystery of life, take, I pray you, this message\nback to them from me: \"I would rather be a disciple at the feet of my\nMaster, than rule over a dominion of fools.  If there be none here\nworthy to teach me, then is the wisdom of which you boast but the froth\nof foolishness, and your power but the low cunning of the savage.\"'\n\n\"When I had finished speaking, the priest without answering turned, and\nfollowed by his two attendants left the room.  The curtain fell back\nover the entrance, and I was once more alone.\n\n\"After this food and coffee were brought me, and feeling tired I lay\ndown and slept through the rest of this eventful day.\n\n\"When I awoke a light was burning in the room, and sitting by my side\nwas the high priest himself. As I looked into this man's noble face I\nfelt certain that my trials were over.  It was impossible to believe\nthat he would descend to act the part of tempter; and in this view I was\ncorrect.\n\n\"'You have,' he said, 'passed through the three temptations which for\ncenturies have been used to try those who are admitted to the\nwhite-robed order of priesthood, the trials of perseverance, purity, and\nmeekness.  In future, as you are one of us, no secret may be kept from\nyou, and any special wisdom you possess should be freely taught to all.\nYour case is, however, one of unusual interest, as you are the first man\nwho has been admitted into our ranks without many years of careful\npreparation.  We have in various parts of the world disciples, whose\nbusiness it is to train those they may consider likely to become fitted\nfor the high calling, but it is not often that any of these converts\nattain to the highest order, which you have now reached.'\n\n\"'Tell me,' I said, 'to what creed you belong.'\n\n\"'To no creed,' he replied.  'In this temple at one time the followers\nof Zoroaster worshipped; then it fell into the hands of the Buddhists,\nand became one of their most sacred shrines.  But the wise, gathered\ntogether as they were here, soon learned to cast off the errors which\nspring up in a mixed community, and three hundred years ago one Zifanta\nbecame high priest.  He was a man possessed of unusual power, not such\nas the scattered mystics possess, which can only be employed at certain\ntimes, and under the most favourable circumstances.  He was able to\nleave the body at will, and to converse with the spirits of the dead,\nwhereby he acquired great wisdom and worked mighty miracles on earth.\nHe, moreover, changed the religion of his followers, bidding them to\nseek in every creed and among all people the truth which Brahm, the one\nand only God, whispers into the hearts of his faithful children, who are\nscattered over the face of the earth.  He preached against the\nsubjugation of the body after the manner employed by the Buddhist\nadepts, saying that the body should not be regarded as the enemy of the\nspirit, but rather for the time being as its helpmate. He affirmed that\nwithout the aid of matter the spirit on earth was powerless; for as the\nwing-feathers of a bird plucked from the pinions are scattered hither\nand thither by every fitful breeze, so is matter helpless without the\nforces of the spirit; but as a bird deprived of its plumage can no\nlonger leave the earth, and becomes the prey of any prowling beast, so\nthe spirit, when the body is injured or weakened, becomes a prey to\npassing delusions, and is unable to accomplish any noble work.\nTherefore, among our followers, have we many grades.  Had you fallen in\nthe second trial, preferring the love of woman to entire devotion to\nwisdom, the girl you saw might have become your wife, and you would have\njoined the order of disciples, who live where they will, and act for us\nin the outer world.'\n\n\"'But what,' I asked, 'if I had failed in the third trial?'\n\n\"'Any one who allows the crystal crown to be placed upon his head must\ndie, for without humility it is impossible to worship the Almighty, or\nto rule the powers of earth; and this trial is applied to all, whether\nthey fail in the second trial, or whether they succeed, for it is\nequally important for the disciple to be free from pride as it is for\nthe priest.'\n\n\"'But how did that girl come to be here?' I asked.\n\n\"'According to our doctrine,' he replied, 'men and women are equal in\nthe sight of Brahm, and without the female power no great progress can\nbe made; but here among those who are struggling after the higher life,\nthe priest and priestess live without carnal love, and for this cause it\nis essential to test all who are admitted to the white-robed order.  The\ngirl you saw is, however, a novice, one of those who are being trained,\nand it may be that she will go back into the world and marry one of the\ndisciples, or she may, after certain trials, be deemed worthy of the\nwhite robe of virginity.'\n\n\"'But,' I replied, 'does not this seem rather a careless, if not unholy,\nway of bringing a man and woman together, and thereby perhaps deciding\ntheir future life, even though they may be quite unfitted for each\nother?'\n\n\"'What do you fancy,' he answered, 'is the guiding influence that as a\nrule draws a man and woman together?  Sometimes, but rarely, spiritual\nattraction; more often animal fascination.  We do not, however, decide\nlightly, but after great care, and we believe that in our selection we\nare guided by higher power. So far the marriages which have taken place\nhave been greatly blessed.  It is a sign, probably, that this girl who\nwas rejected by you is destined to become a priestess, but at present\nshe knows not the meaning of love, and so it is impossible to say.\nInnocence is not regarded here, as it is too often in the world, as a\nsign of purity, for innocence is a negative, holiness a positive,\nquality.  But come, in a quarter of an hour the moon will rise, and it\nis time to go to the temple.'\n\n\"I followed my guide out of the house and through a grove of trees, till\nwe came to the edge of the lake. A boat was waiting which, when we had\nentered, carried us silently without any apparent means of progress, to\nthe temple steps, and after we had landed, as silently returned to its\nformer place.  When we had walked up the steps and passed between the\nmarble pillars, I saw that a wide-open colonnade extended round a\ncircular inner shrine, which was enclosed with a solid wall.  In this\nwall, and opposite the steps, was a beautiful carved archway, the\nentrance to which was closed with folding-doors of embossed silver.  As\nwe drew near, they opened; at the same moment the moon rose, and I heard\nagain those soft strains of music which had reached me the preceding\nnight whilst I lay watching from the hill.  I will try to give you some\nidea of the scene which was presented to me as I followed the high\npriest into the temple.\n\n\"At first the light was so dim that I found it difficult to distinguish\nobjects clearly; but as the moon rose higher, and my eyes became\naccustomed to the light, the full beauty of the building was disclosed.\nAlthough, from outside, the temple seemed divided into three floors, the\ndome of this inner shrine extended to the summit of the building.  The\nsecond and third double rows of columns, through which the moonlight now\npoured, supported the inner dome, and formed covered colonnades from\nwhich it was possible either to look down into the temple, or out upon\nthe lake and woods around.  As in the Taj of Agra, the walls were\ncovered with writing formed of crystals and other more or less precious\nstones, while the floor was covered with marble mosaic worked into\nvarious designs.  In the centre was a clear deep pool, from the surface\nof which rose seven thin columns of water, one rising fifty feet, and\nthe others which surrounded it about thirty, before they fell in light\nspray into the circular basin.  There were about a hundred persons\npresent, all robed in loose white tunics; some were standing, but the\ngreater number were reclining, or sitting upon tiers of broad marble\nsteps.\n\n\"With the exception of myself, there were only two present whose dress\nin any way distinguished them from the others; one was the high priest,\nwho wore round his waist a golden girdle set with what appeared to be\nprecious stones; and the other a woman who was standing near him, on\nwhose breast lay a jewel cut in the shape of a heart, from which\nproceeded a pale soft light.  The woman, whom I rightly judged to be the\nhigh priestess, must have been sixty years of age; she was tall and\nstill beautifully proportioned; her hair was silvery white, her\ncomplexion smooth and clear; but at the time I hardly noticed any of\nthese details, so absorbed had I become in watching the varying\nexpressions on her face.  She was standing in shadow, but the light from\nthe luminous jewel on her breast lit up her features so that they were\nclearly visible.\n\n\"I have never seen any other face so radiant with divine love, meekness,\nand purity, so full of gentle power and trustful calm.  A strong impulse\ncame over me, and rising from my seat I went and knelt down before her;\nas I did so she bent and kissed me on the forehead; then taking my hand,\nshe brought me to some steps which led to the central basin, and bade me\ngo down into the water.  The music ceased, the fountains stopped, and\nthen through the silence that followed she spoke aloud, so that all the\nassembly, who had risen, could hear.\n\n\"'Father of all, grant that as this water changes the blood-red robe of\nthy child into the garment of purity, so may Thy spirit purify his\nheart, changing fear to trust, passion to love, and pride to humility,\nuntil as a pure and crystal mirror he may reflect on earth Thy beauty\nand Thy light, even as yonder moon, now that the sun is hidden from our\neyes, reflects the glory which man may no longer behold.'\n\n\"From every side came the response, 'Grant this our prayer, O Father of\nall!'\n\n\"When I rose out of the water, I was almost dazzled by the lustrous\nwhiteness of my robe, which had somehow been robbed of its scarlet\ncolour; moreover, both my spirit and body seemed strengthened and\npurified.  Then the high priest came near and welcomed me in the name of\nall present, saying--\n\n\"'Child of the Most High, gladly do we, thy brothers and sisters,\nwelcome thee to our family of priesthood; may thy coming aid us in the\nendless search for truth; may thy power, added to our power, hasten the\nglorious time when the order of the universe shall no longer be arrested\nby man's blindness, but the will of the Almighty be performed on earth\neven as in the kingdoms that are around the earth.'\n\n\"As one by one the priests and priestesses came near to greet me, I\nnoticed that there appeared to be about an equal number of men and women\npresent; most of these were advanced in years, but among them were some\nwho could not have been much over twenty.  On the faces of all, whether\nold or young, fair or dark, the same calm expression of trust, purity,\npower, and meekness was stamped.\n\n\"The moon had now risen, and its light fell upon the temple floor; on\nthis spot two of the priests laid a thick rug and cushions on which one\nof the youngest girls lay down.  The music once more began to play, but\nnow very softly.  It was a strange and beautiful picture; the lovely\ngirl with her long dark hair falling over the white robe, lying thus in\nthe soft light; the priests and priestesses standing round in partial\nshadow; the noble proportions of the temple, the lace-work of arches and\npillars between which the moon's rays fell. But I had little time to\nthink of all these things, for in a moment I saw--but not, as I know\nnow, through the medium of the bodily eye--the spiritual form of the\ngirl rise from the body, and as the dew is drawn from the earth, pass\nupward and then vanish from sight.\n\n\"Ajar, the high priest, who was standing beside me, said, 'You are\nconscious that the spirit of Mintor the priestess has left her body for\na time, and passed to some other sphere?'\n\n\"And I answered, 'Yes, I saw it pass upward.'\n\n\"'It is confusing,' he replied, 'to use the word see, for the eye, which\nis an organ of the body, receives no impression from the spiritual form.\nThe spiritual perception we call _viam_, and the verb _view_ with us is\nused for all impressions which reach the mind independently of the\nbodily organs.  I am glad that you possess this gift so far developed,\nas there are but few present who have yet attained the power, except\nunder certain favourable conditions.  Those who are worthy to wear the\nwhite robe have each some special spiritual gift, but these gifts vary\ngreatly.  Some can converse with those at a distance; some _view_ what\nis passing in the world around; others, as in the case of Mintor, can\nleave the body and pass into the spirit-world. This is the most coveted\nof all gifts, as from those who possess it we can learn new wisdom.  The\nfounder of our faith had still a greater power.  He could, on leaving\nthe body, dissolve it into gaseous form, and his spirit, whithersoever\nit went, was able to draw from nature the needed material, and to take\nhuman form wherever or whenever it pleased; but since he left us, few\nhave been able to do this, and never with safety, for under certain\nconditions they lost the power, and having as it were no root upon the\nearth, their spirits were drawn to other spheres and returned no more.\nThe cause of this is, we know, physical weakness, and he who shall again\nsucceed must possess a body equally developed with his spirit; such a\none I believe you to be, and it is possible you may succeed, should you\nbe willing to undergo the training that is necessary.  But we expect to\nreceive from Mintor, when her spirit returns, some guidance on the\nmatter.'\n\n\"Having said this, he took me by the hand and led me up to the place\nwhere the body of the girl lay as though in deep sleep; then all those\npresent knelt down and seemed to be engaged in prayer.\n\n\"'The strength of the prayers of all present are with thee,' he\ncontinued.  'Kneel down and take both of Mintor's hands in thine; see\nwhether it may be possible for thy spirit to join hers in the life\nbeyond, for in the spirit kingdom only can that knowledge be received\nwhich can give power over the world of matter.'\n\n\"I did as bidden, and the light seemed to become more and more powerful,\nthen all grew dark, but through the darkness I heard a voice saying,\n'Come.'  A great pain passed over my body and I was free.\n\n\"It would be quite impossible for me to give you any true idea of the\nexquisite delight I experienced when now for the first time conscious of\nuntrammelled life.  No one would believe how much pain is inseparable\nfrom every movement of even the healthiest body until he has once been\nfreed from the burden. We gauge pain and pleasure simply by the\nsensations that are above or below the average of existence; when less\nthan usually burdened, we call life happy; if more than usually tried,\nwe call it painful.  As a bird confined from birth in a tiny cage is\nunconscious of its cramped suffering, so the spirit of man having no\nremembrance of freedom, regards its present house with toleration, and\nis even unwilling to be released. I could hardly feel surprised now that\nunselfishness is a necessary condition of spiritual growth, as the love\nof others could alone draw a free spirit back to its chains.\n\n\"Of what I passed through during this and similar experiences I shall\nnow say nothing.  After I am dead you will find a sealed paper, on the\ncover of which is written 'A spiritual autobiography.  If you feel it\nwise to open and read it, or even to publish part or all of it, you can\ndo so, for by that time you will have my influence to guide you, and I\nshall be able to judge better which course is the wisest for you to\ntake.'\n\n\"I shall not continue my story any further this evening, as you are\nanxious to ask me some questions, and it is already late.\"\n\n\"There is one thing,\" I replied, \"which I cannot understand, namely, the\ndeath of your companion. Considering the nobility and kindly disposition\nof these priests, the tests of worthiness seem almost cruel and\nbarbarous.\"\n\n\"Your feeling,\" Sydney answered, \"is very similar to that which I\nexperienced at the time, and though I have not dwelt on the subject for\nfear of interrupting the narrative, the death of my friend was not only\na deep grief to me, but also caused a shock from which it was some time\nbefore I could recover; but after my spiritual freedom in the temple I\nwas able to understand things better.  Life, which we prize so dearly,\nis looked upon by those who have the highest knowledge, not as a\npleasure, but as a necessary and painful lesson.  Death is an upward\nmovement into a more perfect condition; moreover, through the knowledge\nwhich these men possessed, they considered themselves but as merciful\ninstruments for saving pain.  The duration of life is not determined by\nan accident to the body, but solely by growth of the spirit.  When a man\nor woman has become fitted for another sphere, the outward growth must\nbe cast off. Sometimes this is done slowly, through disease; sometimes\nin a moment through what men call accident; but in either case the thing\nis inevitable.  If men only knew it, they could shorten or lengthen life\nby retarding or aiding the growth of the spirit, but in that way only.\"\n\n\"Do you,\" I asked, \"then imply that the more slowly a man learns his\nlesson the longer he lives?\"\n\n\"Sometimes,\" he answered, \"but there is another reason for death.  An\nevil bodily habit often retards the proper growth of the spirit, in\nwhich case the soul has to be re-incarnated.  How often do we see some\nman with a fine and noble disposition utterly ruined by one bodily vice,\nthat, though hateful to him, has become too powerful for his will.  The\nfight up to a certain point is useful, and often lasts many years, but a\ntime comes when the spirit begins to suffer, and then the end is near.\nI can often tell very nearly how much longer a man will live, by reading\nhis inmost thoughts.  From a superficial view, deterioration seems\nfrequently to set in long before the end; but this is owing to the fact\nthat we judge by outward signs.  As long as a man can cry from his soul,\nif only in his better moments, to be delivered, he is learning, if no\nother lesson, that of humility.\"\n\n\"Then there is one other question,\" I said.  \"Can it be right for one\nman to try to lead another into temptation?\"\n\n\"That is a very difficult question to answer,\" he replied, \"and one\nwhich I have spent many hours in discussing with Ajar the high priest.\nThere is much to be said on both sides.  Of course in a state of\nperfection it would be unnecessary, and one can easily picture a case in\nwhich as a lesser of two evils it might be justifiable; but I believe\nunder these circumstances it was a mistake, and the practice is now\ndiscontinued altogether, with many others which were relics of a past\nsuperstition.\"\n\n\"Does this community still exist?\" I asked.\n\n\"It does, and is likely to continue to do so,\" Sydney replied.  \"From\nthis centre flows forth the beginning of a new faith, which is slowly,\nunder many names, spreading over the earth.  It is from rumours of this\nhidden power that arise many of the mythical stories of Eastern magic;\nbut only those fitted to know the truth will ever be allowed to come\nnear the shrine, for the powers of the earth are nothing against the\npowers of the spirit.\"\n\n\"Do you not often miss the companionship which you must have found among\nthese people?\" I asked.\n\n\"I spend much of my time with them still,\" he answered.  \"Strange as it\nmay seem to you, who are for the present bound down by the limitation of\nspace, it is as easy for me to visit them as it is to come to your\nhouse.  Distance is unknown in the spirit-world, and even whilst man\nremains on earth, as soon as he is able to control his spiritual\nperceptions, the influence of the body becomes daily less noticeable.\nBut you will understand this better later on.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER VIII*\n\n\nWhen I next met Sydney after the conversation given in the previous\nchapter, he seemed to me far from well.  His face was pale, and his eyes\nshone with unnatural brightness.\n\n\"You are tired to-night,\" I said, when we were again sitting together in\nhis laboratory.  \"Do not trouble to go on with your story unless you\nfeel inclined to do so.\"\n\n\"I am not too tired to talk,\" he replied, \"but have been trying an\nexperiment which fatigues the body; I can rest while continuing the\naccount of my experiences.  It will, however, be necessary to pass\nrather briefly over the time spent at Aphar, which is the name given to\nthe rocky plateau on which the temple stands.  So much of my life was\nconnected with purely spiritual experiences, the full account of which\nyou will some day have the opportunity of reading, that it will be well\nto confine myself at present only to those matters which are necessary\nfor the full understanding of my subsequent life in England, and to the\npowers which during this time I developed and perfected.\n\n\"Each time that my spirit left the body and went, either by itself or in\ncompany with other spirits, into the world of unseen life which\nsurrounds us here I gained more and more knowledge, until at last it was\nconsidered safe for me to try that most difficult of all experiments,\nthe casting off for the time being of those materials which form the\nbody, in the hope of being able to recall similar elements at will in\nwhatever place the spirit might wish to regain its bodily form.  I think\nit highly probable, however, that I should not so soon have risked the\ndanger, had it not been for a certain knowledge gained during one of my\nhours of spiritual freedom.\n\n\"I should explain that in the trance condition, when the soul is free to\nwander untrammelled, and to come into communion with those who are\ninvisible to mortal eyes, it is also equally possible to visit those who\nstill live upon earth, though they will not be conscious of your\npresence, unless they also possess some of the powers of the sixth\nsense.\n\n\"I had a strong desire to see Vera again, and to find out if the\narrangements made for her future had worked satisfactorily.  It was not\nlong, therefore, before I took the opportunity of discovering this by\nthe aid of my new gift, and I was horrified at finding that not only\nwere things far from satisfactory, but that unless I could interfere, a\nstill more serious evil would probably arise.\n\n\"Now though in this state I could watch all that happened, I was\npowerless to act; but if I once dared risk death by destroying my body,\nit would be possible for me to draw the needed particles together in\nEngland or elsewhere; and it was the thought of Vera's danger that\nchiefly induced me to run the risk.  Before doing so, I laid the whole\ncase before the high priest, and he decided that the matter should be\nfully discussed in the temple on the following evening, and the opinion\nof those present taken; for it was to the interest of all that the\nexperiment should be successful, and even necessary, as he pointed out,\nthat I should be aided by whatever help they collectively might be able\nto offer.\n\n\"When we were gathered together, I stood up and briefly told my reasons\nfor wishing to again return to my own land.  It was not necessary to use\nmany words to such an audience.  Some were able to read my inmost\nthoughts; some to see the place and people I wished to visit; some even\nto recall every detail of my past life.  There was, however, not one\nthere who could foretell the future, not one who knew if I should return\nto them again, for even the higher spirits know not what shall be. One\nand only One can penetrate the dark cloud which hangs over futurity.\nThe greater the knowledge we have, the more easy do we find it to\nforecast the probable course of events.  The parent can prophesy to his\nchild, and the wise reveal to the foolish many things that seem hidden,\nfor nature moves by law; but neither man nor spirit is able to do more\nthan this.  Yet I realized that a feeling of confidence was in each\nheart, and that I should be aided by all the united power present.  For\nmyself, I cared little whether I failed or not: only my wish to help\nVera, and the hope that I might be of use to others, made me anxious to\nreturn to the body.\n\n\"A solemn silence followed, after which it was decided that I should not\ngo forth alone.  Two of those present were chosen to accompany me in\nspirit, while their bodies were entranced; and the others would remain\nin the temple watching us, that if it were possible to aid me in any\nway, assistance might be given.\n\n\"At last the moment arrived, and Luloor and Karman, the two who had been\nchosen to accompany me, lay down, and as their bodies seemed to pass\nfrom wakeful activity into deathlike slumber, I became conscious of\ntheir spiritual presences lingering over me, waiting for the time when I\nshould join them.  Not only were they present, but the temple was\nthronged with countless spirits ready to welcome me into the world of\nfreedom which lies so close, and yet so far away from our material\nearth.\n\n\"It is not possible to describe in language, nor would I do so even if\npossible, how the spirit may disperse these various chemical bonds which\nform its vesture here.  To one watching, the form seems to dissolve as\nthe various elements pass into the air, even as when by the influence of\nintense heat the solid metal becomes transformed into invisible gases.\n\n\"The views which many people, even though well educated, hold with\nregard to matter are most extraordinary.  Without acknowledging it, they\nconsider anything that is solid as on quite a distinct plane from that\nwhich is liquid or gaseous, and though they are well aware of the fact\nthat it requires but a comparatively slight alteration in temperature to\nturn this solid earth into a ball of gas, even this knowledge does not\nreally affect their unconscious prejudice.  So again with regard to the\nviews held about the body: though even a child can tell you that the\nbody is for ever changing, how few can realize when they meet some loved\nfriend who has been absent a few years that the hand they touch is not\nthe same they touched at parting; that the eye which looks into theirs\nis a strange one; and that not one single particle of the body before\nthem have they ever seen before!  The spirit alone remains.  How many\nbodies do we bury before the final funeral day comes round?  Why should\nwe care more for the last fragments than for the lesser fragments gone\nbefore?  We gather from the water, earth, and air, directly or\nindirectly, all our spirit's clothing.  We use these gifts a little\ntime, and then return them to the givers.  In man's present state the\nwill acts unconsciously, our animal instincts drawing slowly such\nparticles as they require.  With a higher knowledge the spirit acts more\ndirectly upon matter, ruling it, and with conscious power attracting or\nrepelling the elements at will; but there is no more violation of\nnatural law in such seeming miracles than there is in the machinery\nwhich can turn out in less than a second some work which in years gone\nby may have taken a man days of labour to accomplish.\n\n\"It is, of course, the same with the material covering of the body, save\nthat to gather together particles such as are required for clothing is\nfar simpler and easier than to draw those required for the more\ncomplicated formation of the human form.\n\n\"For instance, there were many present among the priests who could bring\ntogether any combinations of gaseous matters and convert them into\nwhatsoever they wished that had not life.  Thus even gold was considered\nhere of no value.  They could create the outer semblance of some of the\nlower forms of life, though in no case is it possible to give the spirit\nof life--even in its lowest form, such as is the plants, for this divine\ngift is eternal, and cometh and goeth by the will of the Creator alone.\n\n\"But to return to the scene in the temple.  As I stood in the midst of\nthe white-robed assembly of mortals, encircled by the countless host of\nspirit forms, the fear of destroying my one link to the earth passed\naway, and I began to free myself from the bondage of the body; not as I\nhad hitherto done, by quitting it, but by force of will and through\nknowledge taught me in the spirit-world.  I let the particles which\nformed it free, changing them into those few elementary substances from\nwhich, through a rearrangement of atoms, our complicated structure is\ncomposed.  Thus, while those around could still notice no change in the\napparently sleeping forms of Luloor and Karman, my body had become\ninvisible. The great experiment had so far proved successful, though it\nstill remained a matter of uncertainty whether I should be able to\nregain my material form.\n\n\"It had been arranged beforehand, in order better to dispel the anxiety\nof those who were watching, and to avoid any additional risk, that on\nthis first occasion my spirit should not wander far, but return soon and\nrecall, if possible, its material shape.  I believe that it was owing to\nthis precaution that I was successful, for not only was I able thus to\nreceive the aid of every member of the society, but the shorter the time\nthat the spirit is in freedom, the less difficult is it to return to a\nbodily existence.  It will suffice for the present to say that I\nsucceeded, and from that day continually made fresh experiments, staying\naway longer, and returning to the body at various places, each time at a\ngreater distance from the temple.\n\n\"At first my spirit was always accompanied by Luloor and Karman, but as\nI grew more confident, I began to dispense first with one and then with\nboth my companions.  At last, without difficulty I could take up a new\nform in any part of the world, and in one sense the limitations of time\nand space were partially removed.\n\n\"It has been necessary for me to dwell thus briefly on my life at Aphar\nto enable you to understand my further relations with Vera; but I have\npurposely avoided going into any unnecessary details, and do not intend\nto refer again to the matter at present. Indeed, if it had been possible\nto make myself intelligible without mentioning the subject, I should\nhave preferred it.  But it would have been hopeless otherwise to explain\nthe power which I acquired, and the entire alteration in my views of\nlife which dated from this time; for this experience changed and\nrevolutionized my character in such a way that it would have been\nimpossible for you to follow my further actions with any degree of\ncomprehension.\n\n\"I propose now to let you have an account of what was taking place in\nEngland during my absence, but I shall let Vera tell it to you herself,\nin her own words, or rather it shall seem to you that this is so. But\nremember that the girl will appear to you as she was at the time, not\nonly in appearance, but in thought and character.\"\n\nEven as Alan Sydney spoke I found myself in complete darkness; then I\nheard Vera's voice.\n\n\"I have come,\" she said, \"to tell you the story of my life after Alan\nleft me and went to India.\"\n\nAs she was speaking the light once more fell softly on the room; my late\ncompanion had gone, and I was alone save for the presence of the\nbeautiful girl, whose weak yet lovely face I have already endeavoured to\ndescribe.\n\n\n\n\n                               *PART III*\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER IX*\n\n\n\"Listen!\" Vera said, moving forward and sitting down on the couch beside\nme.  \"It is a strange experience.  My position, to begin with, was\nunusual and somewhat upsetting to a girl of only eighteen.  I was\nmarried to Lord Vancome, a man I did not even like, who had moreover\ndisappeared; while the man I admired and trusted had also left England,\nafter giving me a large fortune.  I was in possession of Somerville, my\nhusband's ancestral home, and of all his estates, neither of which had\nhe power to enter without my consent.  My father, whom I had always\nbelieved to be wealthy, would also soon be dependent upon my generosity.\n\n\"The day that Alan left, his lawyer arrived from London, and explained\nthe position to me.  Being married, I had become freed from all parental\ncontrol; the estates and money were tied up in such a manner that my\nhusband could not touch them; and, to my surprise, I found out from the\nconversation that a thousand pounds a year would be paid to Lord Vancome\nas long as he took no steps to interfere with my inclinations, but that\nshould he at any time take legal action to compel me to live with him,\nthis payment would be stopped.\n\n\"The lawyer also explained how, in the event of my husband taking this\nstep, which seemed very improbable, the law could be easily avoided by a\nperson who was, like myself, in possession of a large private fortune.\n\n\"Having made all these complicated details as plain as possible, and\nafter advising me to consult him before taking any important step, he\nasked to see my father.\n\n\"What passed at this interview I do not know, but from that day I was\ntreated by my parents in a way differing considerably from anything\nhitherto experienced.  I was flattered, petted, and allowed to do\nexactly what I pleased without comment or rebuke.\n\n\"We soon decided to leave Heather Lodge, and spend a short time in\nLondon, after which I had made up my mind to go with my parents and live\nat Somerville.  Nothing of importance happened during our stay in town.\nMy father was busily engaged in making arrangements with his creditors,\nwhilst I spent most of my time in the new delight of shopping on my own\naccount.\n\n\"Somerville had been bought, together with all the old pictures,\ntapestries, and furniture which had belonged to my husband's family, so\nthat I was spared the expense of furnishing a large house.  But there\nwere, nevertheless, opportunities for extravagance open even in this\ndirection, to say nothing of dress and jewellery, so that the days\npassed pleasantly.\n\n\"It was not till May that I first saw my new home, and even then I left\nLondon with regret.  My father had gone down two or three times to see\nthat everything was in order.  Servants had been engaged, and the place\nwas quite comfortable when we arrived.\n\n\"Somerville is a fine old house, but unfortunately the man who had\ndecided upon the position chose it with more regard to appearance than\nhealth.  In the park around, which covers about a thousand acres, there\nare hundreds of what modern builders would call 'eligible and imposing\nsites,' yet this perverse man placed his building in a hollow,\nsurrounded on three sides by rising ground, opening only to the south.\nThe slopes are covered with magnificent trees; a stream rushes down\nbehind the building and falls over a beautiful waterfall into a lake.\nThis expanse of water, the foliage and enclosing hills, make the\nsituation relaxing, and in summer time the air is very oppressive.\n\n\"I was, however, at first much too delighted with the place to think of\nthese defects.  We arrived on a beautiful evening, bright, yet cool; the\nsunset made a lovely background for the trees.  Through gaps in the dark\nfoliage the red light fell in patterns on the moss-covered stone roofing\nof the house, or was reflected from the surface of the lake.  The birds\nwere singing gaily, their song mingling pleasantly with the sound of\nfalling water.  There had been heavy rain, and the air was full of the\nsweet, yet bitter, smell of earth, decaying leaves, and spring flowers.\n\n\"The house, which had been built during the reign of Charles I., was a\nlong, low, stone building, with mullioned windows.  It gave the idea of\nbeing larger than it really was, but owing to its moderate proportions,\nthe rooms were very comfortable.  There was little oak to be seen in the\nhouse, the panelling and furniture throughout being of mahogany, which\nwas nearly black with age.  The walls were covered with tapestry,\npictures, armour, and many relics of bygone sport.\n\n\"While looking round I thought of my husband, and tried to picture him\nas a child playing in the old rooms.  For a moment I wished that he were\nthere and could tell me the stories connected with some of the relics.\n\n\"'Father,' I said, 'we shall, after all, have to ask Vancome down, if\nonly to learn something about my new family history.'\n\n\"A look of annoyance passed over my father's face, and he answered\ncrossly--\n\n\"'Nonsense, child!  I hope you will not think of such a thing!  There is\nan old housekeeper who has been here for goodness knows how many years;\nI kept her on that she might be useful.  Whatever you want to know Mrs.\nKing will no doubt be able to tell you.'  Then, apparently remembering\nthe altered position of affairs, his voice changed as he continued,\n'Well, dearest, and what do you think of your new home?  It is a lovely\nplace for a young girl to be mistress of, and if sensible she will be in\nno hurry to hand it over to any spendthrift master. Should you require a\nlittle knowledge or advice, who can give it you better than your father?\nIn me, little one, you will find a man who is willing to take the\ntrouble and responsibility off your hands, and at the same time leave\nyou free to do just as you choose.'\n\n\"This was not the first time that I had noticed how strongly my father\nwas opposed to the idea of any meeting taking place between my husband\nand myself. I am now inclined to fancy that the reason we left London at\nthe commencement of the season was owing more to his influence than to\nmy own inclination.  He had always been picturing to me the delights of\ncountry life in my new home; and it is quite possible that the fear of\nVancome returning to London had a good deal to do with his action.  Nor\ndid he confine himself to this course only.  Every story he could rake\nup which presented my husband in a vile or ridiculous light was repeated\nto me, and I have since found out that many of these reports were highly\ncoloured.  My mother, in a feeble way, backed him up.\n\n\"'Darling,' she said to me on the night of our arrival, when I went up\nto her room to kiss her before going to bed; 'what a lucky girl you are!\nMarriage is not by any means all that you young people think, even if by\nsome rare chance you do secure a good husband.  To be tied down to one\nman, and have to put up with all his little fads, jealousies, or\ntempers; never to be able to call a day your own, or to make friends of\none of the other sex without the possibility of a scene!  Well, most of\nus have to take the chance of this kind of life at the best, or go\nunprovided for; while you, owing to the generosity of Alan Sydney, have,\nwithout any of the disadvantages, everything you can desire--wealth,\nfreedom, and position.  With such a fortune the world is at your feet,\nif only you keep that scamp of a husband of yours at arm's-length.\nWithout your consent he can do nothing, but if you once allow him to get\na footing here again, good-bye to your happiness, your money, and your\npower.  Do not forget what I have said, dearest, and run away now, for I\nam very much done up after my journey.'\n\n\"As I lay in bed that night I thought over what my mother had said.  How\nchanged were these opinions now from those she had expressed a year ago!\nThen it seemed that marriage was the one aim of a girl's life; that love\nhad some meaning, though she had always told me that love and poverty\nnever long exist hand-in-hand.  But what glowing pictures she had\npainted of wealthy married life!  Now we had ascended to a higher plane\nstill, and I found the three degrees of comparison--first, love and\npoverty; then love and riches; and best of all, riches without love.  I\nwas, however, rather doubtful if this last stage would satisfy me for\nlong, though I failed to see any remedy.  Alas!  I loved the wrong man,\nand regretted deeply the folly which had persuaded me to throw him over\non that unlucky night.\n\n\"But it was useless to dwell on the past; so, trying to fancy that I was\nas fortunate as my parents seemed to think, I cried a little, and fell\nasleep, wondering what I was crying about.\n\n\"That night I had a most unpleasant dream.  I thought I heard a sound as\nof some one moving in the house, and though trembling with fear, I got\nout of bed and went to the door to listen.  Some one was evidently\ncoming along the landing which led to my room.  After trying the handle\nto make sure that my door was locked, I turned round with the intention\nof getting into bed, but found, much to my dismay, that I was no longer\nin my own room, but in the hall down-stairs.  In front of me on the\nfurther wall hung a picture--a portrait of myself.  The eyes seemed\nturned to me with a look of deep, pitiful interest.  While standing thus\nin wonder, the door behind me opened.  I turned, yet though the sound of\nfootsteps passed me and went on toward the picture, I could see no one.\n\n\"Then it seemed to me as though this invisible presence cut with a knife\nround the edges of the canvas, and the painting fell forward with its\nface on the floor, leaving a deep black hole through which the stars\ncould be seen to glimmer in the heaven, whilst at the same minute a gust\nof cold wind came into the room.\n\n\"But worse was to follow, for through this strange doorway into the\nouter night, three horrible winged creatures like bats entered with\nnoiseless flight, followed by a large owl.  These foul vampires\nfluttered around me, and as I fiercely fought at the winged brutes,\nstriving to drive them from me, the owl, which had settled on the\npicture-frame, sat blinking its eyes and rolling its head from side to\nside.  At last, utterly exhausted, I sank down upon the ground, and the\nhideous creatures fell upon me, biting through my thin covering, and\nstaining the white linen with my blood.\n\n\"Then through the dark opening a snow-white dove passed, as a streak of\nmoonlight, into the room and fluttered over me, and its soft eyes were\nturned to mine. No sooner, however, did the vampires become conscious of\nits presence, than leaving me with one accord they rose upward and tried\nto seize it.  Scarcely had their loathly forms, however, come in contact\nwith the white fluttering wings, than, as though struck by some flash of\nunseen lightning, they fell lifeless on my breast; and at the horror of\ntheir dead touch I awoke!  Yet even as I looked around my room the\nblinking eyes and nodding head of the owl seemed still before me.\n\n\"I sat up, listening, and stared into the darkness. The sound of\nfootsteps and the opening and shutting of doors could be distinctly\nheard.  It had doubtless been such sounds that had in some way\ninfluenced my dream.\n\n\"I was now wide-awake, and could distinguish my father's voice speaking\nto one of the servants, so all fear of the supernatural vanished.  I\nstruck a match, and drawing a warm wrapper over me went out on to the\nlanding to discover the cause of the disturbance. I had barely opened my\ndoor before a maid with blanched face came hurrying towards me.\n\n\"'Please, my lady,' she said, 'Mr. Soudin wants you in your mother's\nroom at once;' and not waiting for me to ask a question she hurried on.\n\n\"Frightened by the girl's expression, I ran down the passage, but on\nreaching my mother's door, hesitated.  It was partially opened, and I\ncould hear the sound of rambling speech.  Then for a moment there was\nsilence, but as I entered a piercing cry made me hasten forward.\n\n\"The fire cast a lurid light over the room, throwing shadows now here,\nnow there, upon the objects around. My father stood beside the bed, his\nface turned from me, as he held a glass in one hand and with the other\nsupported my mother, who was sitting up surrounded with pillows.  Her\nface was deadly pale, her eyes fixed as though upon some horrible\nvision.\n\n\"I am afraid that I never loved my parents, though it is not easy to say\nwhy, for in a certain sense they had always been kind to me.  They had\nfed, clothed, and educated, but never really made a companion of me.  My\nfather was always either engaged in business or pleasure, and my\npresence as a rule seemed to irritate him.  My mother had, almost before\nI can remember, given up interest in any one; she spent her time chiefly\nin reading novels, and gave as a reason for thus neglecting her duties\nthe bad health and excessive nervousness which made every movement or\nsound torture to her.  Before marriage she had been a recognized beauty,\nand for many years enjoyed the gaiety of social life; but at last she\nhad fallen under the influence of some preacher who had thoroughly\nfrightened her.  Then for a time she devoted herself to various\ncharitable undertakings, and found religious dissipation in attending\nconferences and comparing sensations with those who were similarly\naffected.  But this enthusiasm did not last.  Finally, she developed a\ndistinct form of hysteria, all her time being devoted either to her\nhealth or books, the latter romances either of religious or purely\nsensational emotion.\n\n\"As a child I had been left to nurses and governesses, seldom allowed to\nenter my mother's room, and whenever the opportunity occurred, it was\nquite apparent that I was there on sufferance, and that the sooner I\nleft the better it would be for every one concerned.  When old enough I\nwas sent to school, and as I was nearly seventeen when I left, you can\nfancy that my associations with home life were not strong.  But though\nmy love may have been weak, it did not prevent me from feeling both pity\nand terror as I looked on my mother.\n\n\"Up to this time I had never been brought face to face either with acute\nsuffering or death.  As I stood in helpless perplexity, her rambling\nwords still more alarmed me.\n\n\"'I see it all!' she cried.  'Damned! after all I am damned!--Look! the\nroad is broad, and hedged in on both sides with flowers--let me get out\nof it.--Ah! I cannot!--The thorns cut into my flesh, look--look!--did I\nnot say so?--The smoke is rising there in the distance;--it is coming\nthis way, a great cloud sweeping over me--suffocating me.'\n\n\"With a terrible cry she struggled violently for a moment with her\nhands, tearing wildly at her throat; then with an awful groan she fell\nback dead!\n\n\"I will not dwell upon what followed, or how my father, who had never\nseemed to care for her in life, now that she was gone referred to her as\nthe only bond which had bound him to earth.  He, however, soon grew\nresigned to what he called 'the mysterious dispensations of Providence.'\nI had, moreover, during the weeks that followed, to put up with what was\nto me an exceedingly painful form of retrospection on his part, which\nusually took place after dinner.\n\n\"'My dear,' he would begin, 'if only we could foresee the future, how\ndifferently should we act! Many a time have I felt peevish and irritable\nbecause your sainted mother was unable to fulfil those duties which her\nstation in life required.  It is true that at times I considered there\nwas little excuse for this neglect; but I have been chastened, greatly\nchastened for such suspicion.  A divine Providence has torn from me the\njewel which I failed to value, and I must now wander alone through this\nvalley of tears. But resignation, my child--resignation!  In vain do we\nkick against the pricks, and draw our sword to contend with fate.  Let\nus rather ponder on the lesson thus given us, that we may be purged from\nour evil ways!'\n\n\"This sort of talk would continue for some time; the more depressed he\nbecame, the more necessary he seemed to find it to continue filling up\nand emptying his glass, till at last the tears of emotion mingled with\nthe port, and he sank back in his easy chair, to meditate, I suppose,\nwith his eyes shut.\n\n\"During the day he seemed fairly cheerful, and spent much of his time\nwith the gamekeepers; for, as he explained to me, it was absolutely\nnecessary for the place to be properly kept up, so that when the\nshooting season came round, I might be able to entertain my friends.  No\ndoubt he meant his friends, but that was the way he put it.\n\n\"While he was thus busying himself with outdoor matters, I had the\nindoor arrangements to attend to, which threw me much in the way of Mrs.\nKing.  She was a dear old character; but had my father known her\nsentiments, it is probable that he would never have engaged her.\n\n\"She entirely refused to accept the present position of things, and\ntreated my separation from Vancome as a little temporary joke, which it\nwas her duty to bring to an end as speedily as possible.\n\n\"'My dear lady,' she said one day, after giving me a more than usually\nlong piece of family history, 'I shall be glad when Master Frank--my\nlord, I mean--comes back.  Such a nice young man as he is, too, and the\nprettiest child he was for miles round.  You should just have seen the\nway as every one did spoil him.  There were no resisting of his pretty\nways.  A bit larky, I know, but bless your heart, boys ain't worth much\nif they don't show spirit!  Pity it were his poor dear father and mother\nboth died afore he was a bit older; for though my lord, as was, did give\nhim a free hand, he wouldn't have let him gamble away the old place, so\nthat his wife, bless her, had to buy it back again--not he!'\n\n\"'But you don't think I am going to live with him again?' I said.  'It\nis true that in a foolish moment I married him, but then things were\ndifferent; I didn't know what he was like, and very likely you have no\nidea of what he is now.  You should hear of the way he goes on in\nLondon!  It is not the gambling I mind so much, though that is bad\nenough; but the actresses and ballet-girls with whom he associates--oh!\nit is simply awful!'\n\n\"'Oh! my poor, dear, innocent lady!--whoever can have gone a-talking to\nyou about such things!  But, bless your heart! you believe an old woman,\nthere ain't no real badness in Master Frank.  He always was a bit too\nfond perhaps of a pretty face, but then all of 'em is much the same.  It\nis the girl's fault, I reckon, nine times out of ten; and many's the day\nI've had to bustle off some young minx of a housemaid, or maybe even a\nscullery wench, for the way they'd carry on, and he no more than a boy\nof fifteen!  I ain't got any patience, that I haven't, with the girls of\nthe present day!  No self-respect, or keeping in their place.  Why, I've\neven heard 'em a'quarrelling as to which he were fondest of, and which\nhe had kissed last.  But I soon had the hussies out of the house in\nthose days!  And I got pretty careful about the choice of their\nsuccessors; they weren't overdone with good looks the next lot, I can\ntell you!  Well, you see, when a young man goes out like into the world,\nhe has got to sow his wild oats a bit afore he settles down; but you\ntake an old woman's word for it, the young lord's good at heart, and\nhappy you'll make me when I see the two of you together.  Ay! and when I\nhold the young lord that is to be in these arms, as I did his father\nnigh on twenty-seven years ago!'\n\n\"After this manner and, as I got to know her better, in an even more\nfamiliar strain, did the old housekeeper do her best to alter my\ndecision.  Her arguments might have lacked logic, but she was a clever\nold thing in her way, and the love which she really felt for her young\nlord was more powerful than her justification of his faults.  The\nstories of his childhood, picked doubtless out of many less attractive,\nwere always in his favour, and showed his bravery, affection, and\nbrightness.  What, however, influenced me more than anything else were\nher pictures of the romantic side of married life, which differed\nentirely from anything I had been led to fancy.  She would conclude a\nlong rambling discourse on the subject in this manner--\n\n\"'Ah! little can you know what a woman misses as never has a chance of\nbeing loved--never can turn her mind back to the joys which come\nflocking down on a bride.  Thanks be to heaven!  I knowed it, though it\nweren't for long.  But when I looks at an old maid, why I feels just fit\nto cry.  To have gone through life and not know nothing about it!  Never\nto have felt that there was one man as loved you, and would have done\nanything to call you his own--to feel each year as it goes by that your\nchance is getting less of waking out of this sort of half-and-half\nexistence, and beginning to live!  It is just this. A girl as isn't\nmarried ain't natural; and things as ain't natural ain't good in no\nways.  We was told to be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth,\nand they as can and don't, is to my mind going right dead against\nScripture!'\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER X*\n\n\n\"Two months passed, and it is probable that soon I might have tired of\nthe monotony of this existence, had not my school-friend, Amy Howell,\ncome to stay with me.  She was one of a large family, and her father, a\ncountry clergyman, having recently lost money, had now some difficulty\nin making both ends meet.\n\n\"At school we had been great friends; she was a year older than myself,\nand as great a contrast in appearance as in disposition.  Her short,\nblack, and rather coarse hair curled round a pretty forehead; she had a\ndark, clear complexion--the colour of cream in which a few drops of\ncoffee have been mixed; a bright, deep colour; full, pretty-shaped,\npouting lips, ever ready and ever seeming ready for kisses; while the\nnatural gaiety of her nature peeped through the thick lashes which\npartially concealed her large hazel eyes.\n\n\"She possessed a fortunate knack of always being able to make herself\nagreeable, and of appearing to take an interest in any subject that\nmight arise.  Her enemies called her insincere, a flatterer, and\ntime-server; but I cannot say that I ever noticed these faults myself.\nHer worst enemy could not have called her dull.\n\n\"She soon became a great favourite with my father, who found her a\nsympathetic listener to his woes whenever he felt disposed to air them.\nMrs. King could not speak too highly of her, and the servants were\nunanimous in their praise of her consideration and kindness.\n\n\"'It is surprising why people are ever nasty,' she said to me one day,\nwhen I was commenting on her popularity.  'It is so easy to make people\nlike you if you only try.  To be cross with others makes one cross with\noneself.  Now you, for instance, are always kind, and think what a happy\nlife you have!'\n\n\"'I don't know so much about my kindness,' I answered; 'any way, it's\nquite a different thing from yours.  Now look at the way you got over\nold Mrs. Scott yesterday; I simply can't bear the woman, with her\nconceited vulgarity!--and her patronizing manner puts all my bristles\nup.  I feel I could scratch her! While if she had been your lover\ninstead of an ugly old woman, you could hardly have appeared more\naffectionate!'\n\n\"'Well, perhaps I'm not quite so naturally truthful as you are, dear,'\nshe said.  'I do not like her myself, but why should we show it?  It's\nso nice to be liked; and you never know when it may be to your advantage\nto make a friend, and I'm sure it is never any good to make an enemy.\nShe might set some one against me whom I might really like.  Besides,\nthe truth is this--I cannot help it.  Whenever I see a person, male or\nfemale, young or old, a distinct inclination comes over me to purr.  I\nwant them to take notice of me, and stroke my back; so if they do not\nstart at once I'm obliged to rub softly against their feet, and let them\nknow I require a caress.  I read a book once about the transmigration of\nsouls, or something of that kind, which said that people have been\nanimals once.  It's rather a funny idea!  I like to fancy what each\nperson has passed through in a previous existence.  I think I must have\ndied an untimely death as a kitten, and have to work out the rest of the\npurring stage here.'\n\n\"'What do you think I looked like in the last stage?' I asked.\n\n\"'Oh, I think you were a fawn, and it is that which makes you shun that\nold spotted leopardess, so that you feel inclined to retire into the\nnext cover, you poor little timid thing, hiding away even from your\nhusband!'\n\n\"'Why, you don't think I'm afraid of him,' I asked, 'do you?'\n\n\"'Well, how can I tell?  If I had a husband I rather fancy I should be\nwanting to have him handy. Wouldn't I just make him wild about me!  Of\ncourse I know how you feel, and the way he has acted. No doubt you are\nquite right; but I should want to make him sorry that he couldn't take\nme in his arms; and shouldn't I just make him jealous!  Look at your\nposition.  Don't I wish that I had your chances! He can't come unless\nyou let him, so you can do as you please; ask a lot of nice people to\nthe house, and enjoy yourself.  I should flirt a little perhaps!  It's\nwrong; but you know I don't set up to be good, and I'm certain it would\nbe impossible for me to resist the temptation.  Then I'd take care to\nlet him know all about it.  Yes, dear, that would be the way to punish\nhim--drive him mad with jealousy!  You may be quite certain that he\nmanages to find out all about your doings, and I call it just pampering\nhim the way you go on.  He knows you're quite safe, no doubt.  Mr.\nSydney's gone to India; you are shut up with your father and your\nschool-friend, while he is free to enjoy himself, and knows that one day\nhe will be forgiven, and can well afford to wait.'\n\n\"'He is quite mistaken if he thinks that, I can tell you!' I answered\nrather angrily, being annoyed with the way she had put the case.\n\n\"'That may be,' she said, jumping up and giving me a kiss; 'but men are\nso conceited, dearest, and when he hears that you are moping here--they\nare sure to tell him you are moping, because women are always supposed\nto mope in the eyes of the male sex when deprived of their\ncompany--he'll believe it. Besides, think what people will say--that\nyour husband was tired of you in less than a week, and that you are\nwaiting here in solitude till he sees well to return. No, if I were you,\nhe and the world should see that you don't want him, and that there are\nplenty of people dying to fall in love with you.  Men never care for\nwhat they can have--at least, so it's said. But if you leave the thing\nto me, I'll answer for it we will bring him as a beggar to these gates\nbefore many months are over, and he will cry to be let in on any terms!'\n\n\"'But I won't have him on any terms,' I said. 'Nothing would induce me\nto live with him.'\n\n\"'Oh! that doesn't matter at all,' she replied, 'so long as we bring him\nto the door.  There is no fun shutting the portal to one who thinks the\nplace not worth an assault.  People never believe in the old maid's\ndesire for celibacy, unless she produces her proposals.  That is why I\nintend to make all my lovers propose by letter; then when I'm an old\nmaid, I shall have them framed and hung round the room, with photographs\nof the best-looking, and incomes of the wealthiest underneath.'\n\n\"I have given this conversation rather fully, as it may help you to\nunderstand my friend's character, and also how the changes in our manner\nof life, of which I am going to tell you, came about; for this talk, and\nmany on the same subject, no doubt influenced me more than I fancied at\nthe time.\n\n\"I was bitterly angry with my husband, and the fact that he had made no\nsign of wishing to see me aggravated the feeling.  I heard from my\nfather that he had returned, and pictured him enjoying his life in town.\nThe idea that he imagined that I was quietly waiting his coming, was\nunbearable, and after a little opposition, I eventually adopted the plan\nwhich Amy suggested.\n\n\"Somerville is about five miles from the Cathedral City of L----.  It is\na gay little place, owing chiefly to the barracks, which are situated\nabout a mile on our side of the town.  The large number of officers\nquartered there at this time favoured our plan.\n\n\"I left all the arrangements to Amy; her brain was better fitted for the\nwork, and she wasted no time in setting about her task.  She persuaded\nmy father it was absolutely necessary for his health, that he should\nhave some congenial company to assist him with the port, and to cheer\nhim up during his smoke.  She showed such pity for his lonely state\nthat, one evening when I happened to come into the room rather suddenly\nI found her kneeling at his side, and if I am not mistaken, she was even\nallowing him to give her a fatherly kiss.  I don't remember feeling\nenvious, but it vexed me, and she evidently noticed that I was annoyed,\nfor before we parted that night, she said--\n\n\"'Your poor old father seemed so overcome when I spoke of his lonely\nevenings, that I could not help showing a little sympathy; but I think\nI've worked it all right.  At first he said that he wanted no\nchange--that he was contented in his present position. That was just\nwhen you came in.  But when you left us alone together again, I tried\nanother plan.  I can see he does not like the idea of Lord Vancome\ncoming back here, so I pointed out that if you were deprived of all\nsociety you would perhaps get tired of this kind of life, and want to\nchange it.  He then questioned me about you, and I incidentally\nmentioned that you had recently complained of never seeing any one, and\nthat you had spoken on more than one occasion of your husband.  That\nroused him.  'She must have society,' he said, 'you're quite right, my\ndear.  I will see to it.  I will ask one or two of the young fellows\nover from the barracks.  There is Captain Frint, and Major Jackson, both\ncapital fellows.  I've played whist with them once or twice at the\nConservative Club in L----.'\n\n\"I told her that she was a bad girl, and that she had no right to have\nspoken about me in that way; but she only laughed and kissed me, saying\nI was a sweet, pretty little innocent, who would turn the heads of fifty\ncaptains.  Then she tripped off to her room, humming to herself--\n\n    'Where are you going, my pretty maid?'\n\n\n\"I fell asleep trying to answer the question.\n\n\"My father kept his word.  The next morning he said that if I had no\nobjection he was going to invite some friends over to dine, so that he\nmight have a little whist in the evening.  On the following Thursday\nevening they came: Colonel Collins, Major Jackson, and Captain Frint.\n\n\"As soon as Amy and I were alone together in the drawing-room, I asked\nher what she thought of the selection.\n\n\"'A 1,' she replied.  'The old Colonel seems a dull old boy, but Captain\nFrint will do for you splendidly as a start, while the Major shall be\ntaken in hand by your humble servant.  He looks a bit dangerous; it will\nbe safer, therefore, if I take the risk, as should he be troublesome, it\nis easier for me to slip out of his clutches, but as you live here it\nmight be awkward. Does the plan suit you?'\n\n\"'I don't know that I quite understand what you mean,' I replied; 'but I\ncertainly prefer Captain Frint to the Major, and as for the old Colonel,\nhe is quite impossible; he wouldn't make a bridegroom of eighty\njealous!'\n\n\"Thus in comparative innocence we set the ball rolling, which was to\ncarry both of us to the very border of destruction.\n\n\"The whist party did not come off that evening. Through the influence of\nthe younger men, it was turned into a card-game which could include six.\nWe played for money, and though the stakes were low I was rather\nuncomfortable about Amy, as I knew she could ill afford to lose even a\nsmall sum.  Fortune, however, favoured her, and she rose from the table\ntwo or three pounds richer for the night's play; while, chiefly owing to\nmy ignorance of the game, and a certain recklessness, I was a\nconsiderable loser.\n\n\"It was a bright moonlight night, and as my father and the Colonel\nseemed anxious to continue playing cards, we left them to try their luck\nat piquet, allowing ourselves to be persuaded by the younger men to go\nout for a stroll.  At first we kept close together, but Amy soon carried\nthe Major off to show him some view of the waterfall, and I found myself\nalone with Captain Frint.\n\n\"We walked for some time in silence; my companion seemed absorbed in\nthought, and I took the opportunity of studying his face carefully.  His\nskin, which was clear and pale, in this light looked unnaturally white.\nHis features were well formed, and finely cut, while the intensity of\nshadow added to the effect, giving his face a statuesque coldness and\nnobility; his head was uncovered, and I noticed from the first, how\nwell-shaped was its outline: his forehead, which was naturally broad,\nseemed even larger than it really was, as the hair had receded from the\ntemples.  The lower part of the face was disappointing, the jaw too\nsmall, the mouth and chin effeminate.\n\n\"I was thus taking stock of my companion, when he turned and our eyes\nmet.\n\n\"'How rude you will think me, Lady Vancome!' he said; 'the scene here is\nso like fairyland, that for a few moments I forgot my own existence,\nthough conscious of yours.  I'm rather given to these fits of\nabsent-mindedness, which are evidently caused by some defect of the\nbrain, for if anything interests me, my faculties go to sleep.  I was\njust wondering whether fancy was not the only reality, and science a\nvery dull fairy tale, for when our companions disappeared round the\ncorner, they left me in sole possession of the Garden of Eden.'\n\n\"'Had it not been for the inconvenient presence of Eve, whom you were\ndoubtless trying to forget.'  I said this thoughtlessly; then, seeing\nthe trap in which I had so easily been caught, I felt a hot blush pass\nover me as I continued--'But don't let me disturb you, Captain Frint.  I\nwould on no account interrupt your pleasant dream, and will join the\nothers.'\n\n\"'Don't go,' he said, putting out his hand as though to stop me.  'Eden\nwithout Eve was found too dull for Adam, and I should be deprived even\nof his occupation.  There are no beasts here to name.'\n\n\"'You can let loose your inventive faculty,' I said, 'and when you have\nfinished with the animals you can invent Eve.  You see, as fancy is the\nonly reality, there can be no difficulty in the matter.'\n\n\"'But even fancy,' he replied, 'requires inspiration, and if you leave\nme, its light will be extinguished. Don't you know that as it takes two\nto quarrel, it takes two for inspiration--the inspirer and the inspired?\nEven children don't care to play alone.  Do you not sometimes find it\ndull in this lovely home of yours?  But I forgot, you have a companion,\nand I should fancy a bright and lively one.  I suppose, however, that\nyour husband will soon be back now: I heard that he was suddenly called\naway to America shortly after your marriage.  It must have been very\nannoying to both of you!'\n\n\"What could I say?  It had never occurred to me before that sooner or\nlater it would be necessary to explain things.  It was quite evident\nthat whether I did so or not, people would soon hear of my husband's\nreturn to England.  It seemed therefore better to give my own version\nrather than allow some worse report to get about, so I answered--\n\n\"'I would rather not go into the matter, but perhaps I ought to say that\nmy marriage was a mistake, and that I think it very improbable that you\nwill ever see Lord Vancome here!'\n\n\"Captain Frint looked at me for a moment, evidently so taken aback that\nhe was unable to speak. It was quite plain that no report of the scandal\nhad hitherto reached him.  Then his manner changed: the half flippant\ntone in which he had before spoken was no longer noticeable as he said--\n\n\"'I am very sorry indeed.  I had no idea of your trouble, or of course\nshould not have referred to the subject.  I hope you will forgive me.'\n\n\"'There is nothing to forgive,' I said.  'You must have known some time,\nand now I shall feel more comfortable when we meet.  But do not let\nothers know what I have told you; for though it is sure to come out,\nthere is no occasion to make one's private affairs public while it is\npossible to keep them quiet.'\n\n\"'You may trust me,' he answered; 'and I shall always consider it a\nfavour to be allowed to help you at any time and in any way.  You have,\nI know, your father, but there are occasions perhaps when a younger man\nmight be of some service.  In any case I hope you will look upon me as\nyour friend.'\n\n\"As he was speaking I heard the sound of laughter, and Amy called out to\nknow where we were hiding. When she and her companion came up, she\nassured us that they had been looking all over the place to find us,\nwhich, considering that we had never moved from the terrace, seemed\nrather ridiculous.\n\n\"As I was never fond of sleeping alone, I had recently persuaded Amy to\nshare my room, and this gave us extra time for conversation.  As soon as\nthe maid had left us on this eventful evening, I asked Amy what she\nthought of the first result of her scheme.\n\n\"'Capital!' she replied, 'things could not be moving better.  Your\nfather has a companion who suits him, so have I, and from what I could\nsee you appear to be getting on fairly well.'\n\n\"When I told her what had passed, she laughed, saying that I was a born\nflirt with all my seeming artlessness, and that to arrive at the Adam\nand Eve stage the first evening was fairly good; but to end in private\nconfidence about my relations with my husband was even better.\n\n\"I asked her how she got on with the Major, saying that she seemed\npretty merry on her return.\n\n\"'Oh! he's just delightful!' she replied, 'but such a humbug!  He tried\nto talk in epigrams, but as he is not over good at it, and endeavours to\nmake them complimentary, the result was ludicrous.  This is the kind of\nthing, you know.'  And she mimicked his voice and rather affected drawl.\n'Nature is only natural when cultivated, and in your presence I feel\nthat woman is only cultivated when natural.--As a girl puts on reserve\nshe drops refinement.--The sound of gentle laughter is a sign of gentle\nbreeding; the suggestion of prudery the seal of plutocracy; the coyness\nof the lips shows a canker in the life.'  When he got to this point I\nthought it best to turn back. On our return journey he perpetrated the\nfollowing atrocity--'Two minus two is represented by the circle of\neternal content: two plus two by a right angle which some unkindly fate\nhas crossed.'\n\n\"'The great advantage of this kind of conversation is that you never\nhave any occasion to understand it unless you like; the worst of the\nhabit that it sometimes tempts the man to risk a remark which he dare\nnot produce without its swaddling-bands.  He must exhaust his brain\nterribly with the effort, and no doubt this is the reason that those who\ngo in for this kind of affectation often seem so terribly stupid.'\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER XI*\n\n\n\"During the following month we made many new acquaintances, but the\nMajor and Captain Frint were by far our most frequent visitors.  Either\nAmy got over her dislike to epigrams, or her companion, on becoming more\nfamiliar with her, dropped the affectation, for they seemed fast\nfriends.\n\n\"Captain Frint, on the other hand, while seeming anxious to be with me,\nwas strangely reserved, and the restraint which he obviously kept over\nhis feelings piqued and irritated me.  Whatever women may say to the\ncontrary, I fancy that they seldom like a man to show that he is able to\nkeep his admiration too completely under control.  It tends rather to\nawaken a distrust in the force of attraction, and we would rather that\nhe at times forgot himself sufficiently to enable us to rebuke and\nchastise him.\n\n\"From what I could gather, Amy had nothing to complain of in this\nrespect from her admirer; in fact she told me that there was some\ndifficulty in keeping him within reasonable bounds.  Her kitten-like\nnature probably encouraged him to show more familiarity than he might\notherwise have thought prudent.  As he was very wealthy I could not help\nwishing that Amy's attractions might prove strong enough to lead to a\nproposal before very long; and this scheme of mine seemed sufficient\njustification for the encouragement of intimacy between them.\n\n\"In following out this plan it was of course necessary that I should be\nthrown more often in the company of his friend than otherwise might have\nbeen considered prudent, for though accepting Amy's suggestion to a\ncertain extent, I had no intention of going beyond a little harmless\nflirtation.\n\n\"It had been arranged that on a certain day, we four, accompanied by my\nfather, should ride over to Hanston Castle, a ruin which was locally\nconsidered of great interest.  On the day fixed my father had an attack\nof gout which prevented his coming, but as I was now competent to act as\nchaperon, we did not think it necessary to alter our plans.\n\n\"It was a lovely summer morning on which our military escort arrived.\nWe had decided to start early and lunch at a small inn near the Castle;\nspend some little time wandering about, and return as soon as the air\nwas sufficiently cool to make riding pleasant.  We found it very hot\ngoing over, and I felt quite done up before we had come to the end of\nour twelve miles' ride.  Everything was in readiness for us at the inn,\nthanks to the forethought of our companions, who had sent over some\nprovisions beforehand.\n\n\"It was too hot, however, to enjoy even the excellent cold lunch\nprovided, but the iced champagne was like nectar after our exertion.  It\nmay be that without knowing it we all drank more freely than usual.\nPersonally, as we wandered round the old ruin afterwards, I felt\nconscious of more dreamy contentment than usual, and it struck me that\nAmy showed even more than her wonted spirits.\n\n\"But I was not able to criticize her for long as she challenged the\nMajor to a race, declaring that he could not catch her before she\nreached the flag-staff on the top of the Castle.  As neither Captain\nFrint nor I felt inclined for violent exertion of this kind, we wandered\non round the battlements till a shady corner tempted us to sit down and\nrest.\n\n\"Whether it was the wine or the exercise I do not know, but as I threw\nmyself down on the soft grass in this shady spot I felt a reckless\ndelight in existence never before known.  The place was absolutely\nsecluded; a massive, moss-covered wall rose above us on the left; on our\nright was the buttress round which we had just passed, while in the\nempty moat in front some magnificent trees were growing, the foliage of\nwhich provided us with welcome shade.\n\n\"My companion sat down beside me, and after offering a cigarette, which\nI accepted, lighted one himself.  For a few moments we smoked in\nsilence, then a desire came over me to make this man who had lately\nseemed so cold, acknowledge that he was my slave.  Not that I cared for\nhim, but rather because I was interested to know the meaning of his late\nbehaviour.  I felt convinced that he was fascinated by me, and yet since\nthe first evening of our acquaintance he had never said one word which\ncould justify me in this opinion.  Had it not been that whenever I\nturned in his direction I found that he was watching with that\nunmistakable look in his eyes which speaks so plainly, I might have\nimagined that I was wrong.\n\n\"Little by little I tried to draw him on to confession, guided by an\ninstinct which most women possess, and which requires neither study nor\nthought. Often this instinct guides by ways that would seem\ndiametrically opposed to the purpose, but which have, when followed out,\nthe desired effect; for it is by subtle and unstudied opposition that\nmen can most easily be overcome, and for this reason an artless girl,\noften without knowing it, exerts a power where the most skilful coquette\nwould utterly fail.  Nature in such cases, is a better teacher than\nexperience, and many girls are blamed for leading men on by artifice who\nhave never even thought on the subject.\n\n\"In the present case, however, I was not unconscious, though I allowed\nmy natural instinct to guide me, but for some little time with small\nsuccess; for though after each veiled attack my companion's face grew\npaler, and the look of repressed feeling was more plainly noticeable on\nhis features, yet he continued to talk on trivial subjects, and all\nattempts to turn the conversation into a personal channel were adroitly\nset aside, though with manifest effort on his part.\n\n\"Probably when nature planned men and women it failed to make allowance\nfor what are now called considerations of honour, and possibly this may\nhave been the cause of my difficulty.  Trusting, therefore, that it\nmight be more easy to arrive at the desired point by starting on another\npath, I said--\n\n\"'Are not men supposed to be more honourable than women?'\n\n\"'I do not know,' he replied; 'but as men have more temptations to\ndishonour, they have more opportunity of showing off the quality and\ngaining credit; yet I fancy that the great battles are lost or won more\noften in private than in public.  The noble deed that the world hears of\nis often the impulse of a moment--some unconscious act of heroism; there\nare many who can do great deeds under the inspiration of the hour, but\nhow few can safely meet temptation day by day successfully, in moments\nof weakness as well as in times of strength!  The day may come when the\nsword of honour is forgotten, and the man falls even before knowing that\nhe is in the presence of danger.'\n\n\"'You are very solemn and dull to-day.  What has happened?  Are you\nill?'  As I said this I put out my hand and just touched his arm.  'Can\nI not help you in any way?  Tell me, what has been disturbing you so\nmuch lately?  We are friends, you know, and friendship is a poor thing\nwhere there is no confidence.  Besides, if you remember, I have already\nconfided in you once.'\n\n\"He was trembling visibly, and looking up into his face, I knew that I\nhad conquered.\n\n\"'I cannot tell you this,' he said; 'do not ask me.'\n\n\"'Oh, very well!' I replied, pretending not to understand him.  'Of\ncourse a girl's sympathy is not likely to be any use to you.  It was\nabsurd of me to fancy that it might be, and very probably you think I am\nnot to be trusted.'\n\n\"'It is cruel of you to say that,' he replied.  'There is no one I would\nsooner trust.  There is no one whose sympathy I long for more.  But\ncannot you understand that there are some things that I may have no\nright to speak to you about--have no right to feel, perhaps; but our\nfeelings we cannot always control, though our words we can.'\n\n\"'Oh, I don't want you to make me your confidant about anything which\nyou consider I had better not hear,' I said, purposely still seeming to\nmisunderstand him.  'Of course I can quite see that you may have\nsomething on your conscience which it would not do for you to tell me.\nHowever, I am sorry.'\n\n\"'It is not that I've done anything that could not be told to a woman,'\nhe replied, getting up from the ground and standing over me.  'Oh! why\ncannot you understand that it is to you, and you only, that I may not\nspeak, because to tell you would be to make things worse, not better?'\n\n\"'Whatever are you talking about?' I cried.  'Tell me at once what you\nmean.  You have said either too much or too little, and I am justified\nin asking you to explain fully; or if you prefer to keep your secret\nfrom me, it must be at the cost of our friendship.'\n\n\"'Vera,' he said, bending over me, 'have you not seen--do you not know\nthat I love you?  Love you so deeply that, had it been possible, I\nshould long ago have torn myself away from the scene of temptation; but\noh! my love, I could not!  I have striven to hide my feelings so that\nyou might never know, and I, fool that I am! believed it was possible.\nAll I asked was to be near you, to worship you; and what is the result?\nYou will now despise and hate me.  Had you loved your husband it would\nhave been different, for till I knew that he had treated you badly--till\nI felt that you were in the sight of heaven not really his wife--I only\nadmired you, and thought what a fortunate man he must be.  But when you\ntrusted me with this sorrow, a new feeling sprang up--a fire that could\nnot be quenched.  Oh, I know how vile I must seem in thus taking\nadvantage of your confidence.  Have I not thought over it day and night,\nsaying to myself it is her very loneliness which should make the thought\nof love impossible!  But I deceived myself with that old and\noft-repeated deception of friendship, of self-renunciation, of living\nfor you.  Oh, Vera, I could not help it.  If you could only know how\nsweet, how lovely you are, you would forgive.'\n\n\"He knelt down and kissed me on the forehead; then, apparently losing\nall further power of control, before I could decide what to say or do,\nhe put his arm round me and kissed me on the lips and on the eyes.  I\nleapt up, terrified by his passion, and conscious of a strange mixture\nof anger and pride: anger that he should have dared thus to insult me;\npride that my beauty should so far overcome his reserve and honour.\n\n\"'Captain Frint!' I said, trembling so that I could hardly speak, 'I\nhate you--hate you!  I thought you were a man to be trusted.  I hope we\nshall never meet again.'\n\n\"He stood before me, looking on the ground.  His face was deadly pale;\nhis features were drawn and pinched as though he were suffering from\nacute bodily pain.\n\n\"'You are right,' he said at last, though in so low a tone that I could\nbarely catch the words.  'I am a brute--the vilest of men!  There is no\nexcuse, so I will not make things worse by speaking.  The only thing\nthat is possible I will do.  You shall not see me again after to-day.'\n\n\"As he spoke I could hear the strange sound which his parched lips made\nwhile he stammered out the words.  When he had finished, for a moment I\nthought he would have fainted, but after a pause he seemed to recover\nsomewhat, and continued--\n\n\"'Vera, you can never know how I have tried to be honourable, and though\nyou will not believe me, had I foreseen that this could have happened, I\nwould willingly have suffered the pain of parting from you before,\nrather than thus have given you cause for hating me.  Oh, to think that\nI, who worship you so, should have dared to profane those pure, sweet\nlips, have dared to offer you my cursed love!  Why is fate so cruel?  If\nwe had met a year ago, that which is now sin might have been so\ndifferent!  I cannot tell--I dare not even think of it--you might have\nloved me!  This law which now separates us would have come no longer\nlike the angel of death between us, and what is a curse would have\nproved a blessing! Hell, the eternity of which stretches before me,\nmight have been changed to the gate of heaven.  Why are things so\nordered that fate has made my love poison, and turned that which should\nhave been the greatest of earth's blessings into a curse?  I must never\nsee you again--must try even not to think of you.  To do the latter is\nimpossible, but the former I will do.'\n\n\"There was no mistake possible.  The words he spoke were not caused by\nan exaggerated impulse of the moment; still less was he acting a part.\nHe loved me, as I thought no one had ever done before, unselfishly yet\npassionately.  I felt certain that if I said nothing, he would keep his\nword, and that this would be the last time I should have an opportunity\nof speaking to him.  I did not like the idea of thus losing his\ncompanionship, but what was to be done? After thinking a minute, I\nsaid--\n\n\"'Captain Frint, I am very sorry that this should have happened.  I\nquite thought that you had too much respect for me to act in the way you\nhave done--even though you cared for me.  I suppose that what you\nsuggest is best, if you feel that your power of self-control is so weak\nthat you cannot see without insulting the girl you profess to love.\nThis being so, it is certainly imperative that you should go; but you\nmust remember that if you suddenly give up calling, and act in the way\nproposed, people will probably talk.  I can hardly think that you are so\nweak as, in the excitement of the moment, you fancy, and therefore if\nyou will promise faithfully never to forget yourself in this way again,\nI will forgive you this once, though mind, never again.  Come,' I\ncontinued, holding out my hand, 'let us be friends--mind, friends and\nnothing more.  You must get over this silly fancy.  There are plenty of\nnicer girls than I am, unmarried and waiting for you.  To one of these\nyou can express all those pretty sentiments without a prick of\nconscience.'\n\n\"'Thank you,' he said, 'I will promise not to forget, but can never hope\nto follow your advice.  Do you think it would be possible to change so\neasily?  You do not understand, and perhaps it is better you should not,\nhow deeply I feel; but your forgiveness is the more generous, as this\nvery depth of feeling is my only possible excuse.'\n\n\"We sat without speaking for a few minutes, and then he suggested that\nwe had better go and look for our companions.\n\n\"After wandering about for some little time we found them comfortably\nreclining against a buttress on one of the towers.  As we went up the\nwinding steps we could hear them talking about the view. Amy, I thought,\nhad evidently less occasion for a chaperon than had her qualified\nprotector; but I was more doubtful about this point after having seen\nher face, which was flushed and showed signs of an unusual, though\nsuppressed, excitement.  The Major has proposed, I thought.\n\n\"I had no opportunity of finding out if this surmise were correct till I\nwent up to our room that evening; and even then Amy, instead of\nanswering my question, at first persisted in hearing what Captain Frint\nhad been saying to me.\n\n\"'He looked like a ghost when you came up,' she said; 'whatever had you\nbeen doing to the poor man?'\n\n\"So I had to tell her, and was glad to find that she quite approved of\nmy action, saying that it would have been a great mistake if I had let\nhim go, and that it was only fair to punish him for his impertinence by\na little extra tantalization.\n\n\"'If he had gone,' she said, 'he would have soon forgotten and taken up\nwith some one else.  Now you can keep him miserable as long as you like,\nfor he is a safe man, you see, even as I told you.'\n\n\"I should have felt disposed to argue the point, for her way of speaking\nannoyed me, but at the moment I was too anxious to hear her experience,\nso I said that it was her turn now to explain.\n\n\"'There is not very much to tell,' she answered; 'you came up at rather\nan inconvenient moment. Our friend had been giving me a long discourse\non love, which rather perplexed me.  At last he became more personal,\nand was saying that he loved me to distraction, but that for some reason\nhe dared not at the moment ask my love in return--when we heard your\nfootsteps down below, and he at once changed the subject.'\n\n\"'I am sorry we came so soon,' I said.  'What did he mean, I wonder?'\n\n\"'That is the curious part of it,' said Amy.  And we spent half-an-hour\ntrying to make various guesses, but not one of them came near to the\nmark, as we discovered later on.\n\n\"As time passed, I grew more and more annoyed with my admirer.  He was\npolite, respectful, and reserved, but decidedly uninteresting, and\nevidently so afraid of falling again, and showing his love for me, that\nhe became stiff and formal the moment we were alone together.\n\n\"Why, I thought, cannot men be more reasonable? There surely is some\nline between frigidity and fire. Moreover, as I got over my alarm at his\nfirst outburst of affection, I began rather to desire some sign of my\ninfluence, and even tried now and again to break through his reserve by\nindirect reference to what had passed between us, but for some time\nwithout avail.\n\n\"This piqued me, and one evening when we were alone together, I was\nseized with a mad impulse to make him break his promise.\n\n\"'I am glad to see,' I began, 'that you have got over your difficulty so\neasily.  You know I told you at the time that you under-rated your\npower, and exaggerated your feeling.  Certainly there has been no sign\nlately of a repetition of your fault.  In fact I am inclined to think\nthat you are even rather tired of my company.'\n\n\"'You are mistaken,' he answered; 'there is one way, and one way only\nwhich I dare take.  If I were to go ever so little beyond it I might go\ntoo far and again offend you.  It is possible to be friendly with those\nwe care little for, and to be cold to those we love; but to be intimate\nwithout showing our true feeling with one we care for above all others\nis, I believe, impossible.  The strain would be too great. Some time or\nother the line would be crossed, the veil torn aside.'\n\n\"'But,' I asked, 'don't you think you are making a good deal out of a\nlittle?  Suppose you do like me, would it not be better to accept the\nposition and have done with it?  Face facts bravely.  I do not love you,\nand in any case cannot marry you; but there is no reason why we should\nnot be good friends. What more can you want?  It's no good being cross\nbecause you cannot have the impossible.  You are worse than the\nlove-sick maiden who fell in love with the man in the moon, for she was\ncontent to look at her idol, and you are not even satisfied with being\nable to talk to and see yours, but must needs sulk.'\n\n\"'You must know that it is not that,' he said.  'I am not cross, but I\nam afraid of myself.  You cannot know how ashamed I felt after that day\nin the Castle, and as you were so forgiving and allowed me to see you\nagain, it is doubly necessary for me to be on my guard.'\n\n\"'Well, you have been very good since,' I said, 'and as it is evident\nthat you are to be trusted, for the future you may be a little more\nnatural, and not quite so stiff and proper.  You may be quite certain\nthat I shall not for a moment allow you to go too far.  But I cannot see\nwhy a man and a girl cannot be friends without the ridiculous idea they\nare bound to fall in love.  I really believe it was nothing else than\nthis on your part, and you must make up your mind to get over it.  To\nhelp you to do this I am going to be quite open and frank with you.  I\nshall treat you as a companion whom I like, and you can forget I am a\ngirl, and treat me in the same way.'\n\n\"'I will try,' he said, 'but am rather doubtful of success.  If you were\nnot so pretty it would be easier.'\n\n\"'Pretty--Oh! rubbish!' I replied; 'whatever has that, even if it were\ntrue, got to do with the matter? You can make up your mind if you like,\nwith the help of that powerful imagination of yours, that I am as ugly\nas sin.  Don't you think you can?'\n\n\"I looked full in his face; for a moment his eyes met mine, then he\nturned away as I rattled on--\n\n\"'Don't you think it would be rather nice if you made up your mind to\ndismiss all this foolish nonsense about love, and were to try the\nexperiment of true friendship?  You could say to yourself, \"Here is a\ngirl that I like, who is willing to be friends with me, but nothing\nmore; I will show her what an unselfish friendship means.\"  If you will\ntry and do that, I, for my part, will forget all about the past, and be\nvery nice to you.  I shall be very strict, but at the same time\nendeavour not to take offence at little things, especially if I see you\nare trying to be good.  Now what do you say to that?'\n\n\"'Say?' he replied.  'Why, that you are far too good and noble to have\nanything to do with me. That if after what you have said I fail to show\nyou true friendship, I am unworthy to be called a man! But, Vera----'\nHe stopped, the word had evidently escaped him accidentally.\n\n\"'Well,' I broke in, 'I don't call that a very good beginning; but after\nall, there is no particular reason why friends should not call each\nother by their Christian names.'\n\n\"'I forgot,' he stammered, 'I so often think of you by that name that it\nslipped out by accident.'\n\n\"'Well, never mind, I promised not to be too strict,' I answered.  'But\nyou must take care not to forget when we are in public, because you see\npeople are so bad they cannot understand true friendship; but to show\nyou that I have forgiven you, I will just for once call you Albert.\nIt's rather a nice name, and seems to suit you.  I think men, when they\nhave been a long time away from home, must feel rather lonely if they\nnever hear their Christian name.  I suppose no one now calls you that,\ndo they?'\n\n\"'No,' he answered, 'and if you will sometimes, I shall be glad to think\nthat no one else ever would.'\n\n\"I put my hand up as if to cover his mouth, saying, 'Hush! you are\nalready on the verge of transgression. Now, in future, when you are\ntalking you must watch me very carefully.  If I put my hand to my lips\nyou will know that you have said something which is objected to.  If I\nam seriously angry, I shall put up both my hands.  Now don't forget!'\n\n\"The weeks of early summer passed quickly and pleasantly by.  It is true\nthat my conscience occasionally troubled me, for the agreement which I\nhad made with Captain Frint did not work out exactly as intended.  Our\nfriendship at times would have been open to misconception had some\nunseen observer been present.  I will do my companion the justice he\ndeserves, by saying at once that he seemed to strive against his love;\nmoreover, his conscience troubled him, I fancy, more than mine disturbed\nme, and after each outburst of demonstration he suffered apparently from\na deep fit of remorse, which struck me as rather amusing than otherwise.\n\n\"But familiarity bred contempt, and little by little we both got more\ncallous over what I tried to justify as playing at love-making.  It was\nsome time before I had any idea that this play was likely to become\nserious as far as my own feelings were concerned; but after a time a\nsuspicion arose in my mind which I tried to stifle, that some great\nchange had taken place in my heart.  I found that life had begun to\nassume a different aspect.  Time no longer hung heavily on my hands, but\nwas divided into about equal periods of depression and exultation.  My\nthoughts were running on one subject--the man who loved me.\n\n\"Then for the first time I began to realize the hopeless position in\nwhich we were placed, for though I believed that to live such a life as\nwe now enjoyed would continue to satisfy me, yet even this was\nmanifestly impossible; and I felt regret that we had drifted thus far\nupon a path which could only lead to the sorrow of parting.  Up to this\ntime any consideration for my companion's feelings in the matter had\nnever occurred to me; but now I understood, and was more sorry for him\nthan for myself.  I had come across his path, and perhaps ruined his\nlife.  He had struggled nobly against his passion, while I had refused\nto let him go, and without any intention of returning his devotion had\nkept him from escaping the temptation.  Now it seemed that I was being\nentangled in a like web, and it was impossible to see what would be the\nend of it all.\n\n\"Amy surprised me very much one morning by saying that she should be\nobliged to go home at the end of the week.  She expressed great regret\nat leaving, but at the same time gave a reason for her return which,\nthough unanswerable, was to me unsatisfactory. I felt convinced that she\nhad some further object in view, which she did not care to mention.  For\na few weeks past our talks had been less confidential, partly owing to\nthe fact that as I grew to care more for Captain Frint, I was less\nanxious to speak about him; and also that when we discussed the Major,\nwhile professing to have nothing further to communicate, Amy seemed\ndesirous of avoiding the subject.\n\n\"On the Monday after she left I heard that Major Jackson had gone home\non leave, and this seemed partially to explain her sudden change of\nplans.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER XII*\n\n\n\"I shall not attempt any explanation of a remarkable experience which\nhappened some little time after Amy left, but shall give you a brief\naccount of it.\n\n\"One lovely evening near the close of summer, sitting alone in the\ngarden, dreamily listening to the soft hum of the insects and the\ndistant murmur of the water, I was suddenly roused by the sound of a\nfootstep, and turning toward the direction from which the sound came, I\nsaw, greatly to my astonishment, Alan Sydney.\n\n\"At first sight I could hardly believe my senses, for though, after all,\nthere was nothing so very extraordinary in his having returned to\nEngland, yet I fancied that he had gone away for some years, and I had\nlately hardly ever even thought about him.\n\n\"He was much changed, though it is not easy to describe in what way the\nalteration struck me.  I had always been rather afraid of him, and I\nfelt the fear now even more strongly than in the past.  Yet his face, as\nhe came nearer, bore no expression of severity, but only kindliness and\npity.\n\n\"'You are surprised to see me, Vera,' he said; 'but you know I promised\nalways to help you, and have, therefore, come now.'\n\n\"'I am delighted to see you back,' I answered, holding out my hand to\nhim.  'But why did you not write?  My father will be delighted!  You\nmust come and see him at once.'\n\n\"'Not now,' he replied, 'I only came to talk to you, and must go\ndirectly.  Moreover, I do not wish you even to mention that you have\nseen me.'\n\n\"Saying this he sat down by my side, and I, wondering greatly why he had\ncome, said--\n\n\"'Oh!  I shall not hear of your going!  You must tell me all about your\ntravels.  But, first of all, what made you fancy that I required your\nhelp now? You have already done so much for me it is difficult to\nimagine what further assistance so lucky a girl can need.'\n\n\"'Perhaps,' he said, 'I have done too much.  It is often the case that\nthose who would help, by their very effort to do so, only hinder.  But\ntell me, are you happy?'\n\n\"As he said this he looked into my eyes, and there was something in his\nlook which seemed to open my heart so that I could see what I had never\nfully known before.  I tried to speak, but could not; then burying my\nface in my hands I wept.  He placed his hand upon my head, and at his\ntouch a feeling of rest and calm stole over me.\n\n\"Then he said--'Vera, why will you turn into the way of trouble?  I have\ntried again and again to save you, but it is impossible to help one who\nwilfully, or even heedlessly, chooses that road which can only lead to\nsorrow.  Every step taken over it has to be retrodden, and the smooth\npathway will then be overgrown with thorns; the light of passion will\nhave died out, and in weariness and darkness each step must be one of\nuncertainty and pain.  I know how you have endeavoured to blind your\neyes by false reasoning which can never help you, but the day of\nself-revelation always comes.  You would argue that it is not your fault\nif men fall in love with your beauty, and that, placed in your position,\nit is more than usually difficult to act.  But there is one thing that\ncan always guide us--if, leaving our own position out of the question,\nand, caring nothing about our own salvation or our own end, we think but\nof others--of how each action will affect their lives. \"Love and do as\nyou like,\" said one of earth's noblest men.  But it must be true love.\n\n\"There is a man who, in a limited sense, loves you, and whom, though in\na still more limited sense, you love.  He has tried nobly, considering\nhis weakness, to keep that love pure, and when he found that his lower\nnature rebelled against his higher, he was willing, even anxious, to\nsuffer the pain of separation rather than harm you.  How knowing this,\ndid you act?  Did you consider him?  Did you think--if I let him go on I\nshall be his eternal curse?  He is now honourable, but he will become\nmean.  Have you any idea what this implies to a man?  When he is with\nyou he may forget; but think of the solitary hours when he sees himself\nas he is, and knows that he is damning the girl he loves!  If there is\nany nobleness in his nature, he must conquer his passion, or destroy his\nconscience. And each day it becomes more difficult to do the\nformer--more imperative to do the latter.  And you, consciously or\nunconsciously, have taken the very course which makes the path most\ndifficult for him. Professing not to care for his love, you have\nwell-nigh made it a point of honour that he should not leave you, whilst\nunder the pretence of friendship you have taken every means to increase\nhis infatuation.  Already the infection of his feeling has influenced\nyour nature. What will be the end?  One of three things must happen.  He\nwill conquer either himself, or you, or the battle will destroy him.\nThere is no other way open if you continue to act as you are doing now.\nThe first would be the best, but whether it is now possible I doubt.\nEither of the other alternatives must lead to his utter misery and\nyours.  Do not blind your eyes, Vera!  You do not know how soon the\nfatal moment may come when it will be too late.  And remember, do not\nthink about yourself or your own safety--that will never help you.\nThink of the man who loves you, and save him.'\n\n\"He stopped speaking, and for a few moments I was so overcome by his\nwords that I did not move, but still sat with bent head, my face covered\nin my hands.  When I looked up he was no longer by me.\n\n\"It was growing dusk, and I could not see him. I called his name, but\nthere was no answer.  He had gone!  Shame prevented me from trying to\nfind him. No wonder, if he knew all this, that he wished to have nothing\nfurther to do with one so vile!\n\n\"It is surprising how hateful actions seem when placed in words, which,\nwhen only hid in the heart, trouble us little.  If there be a God who\ncan read the inmost thoughts, how great must be His love, or how\noverwhelming His contempt for us!\"\n\nAs Vera said this I found myself in darkness.  The vision had gone, and\nbeing very tired I slept.\n\n\n\n\n                               *PART IV*\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER XIII*\n\n\nI have already mentioned that Alan Sydney was fond of hunting, and it so\nhappened that a few days after the incidents related in the last chapter\nI overtook him riding to the meet.  Since hearing his experience in\nIndia, and seeing more of his remarkable power, it seemed strange to me\nthat a man with his advantages should still care for hunting, or even\ncontinue to live in the way he did at all.  I took this opportunity of\nasking him some questions on the subject.\n\n\"I will try to explain to you,\" he said, \"what seems, but is not, a\ncontradiction in my life.  One of the strongest powers which influences\ncharacter is association.  What a man once loves and cares for leaves\nhim very slowly, and even death, as we call it, namely, the change in\nour surroundings, does not destroy the tendency of the past.  No doubt\nit is owing to this that so often we see traces of the beast nature in\nman. Of all tendencies the desire to hunt, a necessary instinct of the\nlower creation, is most noticeable.  It was doubtless this instinct that\ninfluenced me when young, as it has influenced so many; and I have\nexplained to you before that I still find the sport of great service in\ntaming and controlling my body.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"your body must by this time be under such complete\ncontrol that it would seem unnecessary.\"\n\n\"There you are mistaken,\" he replied.  \"As long as the spirit is bound\nto earth it must be held more or less under the influence of animal\ninstincts and animal requirements, which, if not rightly regulated,\nwould react on the higher nature.  It is quite true that, if I wished,\nit would now be only too easy to quit this material prison; but I have\nwork to do here, and if my spirit once became free from earthly bonds it\nwould never be able to take them up again, or influence the world\nthrough material agencies. Moreover, every new power gives added\ninterest to each action of life; and I can assure you, that even in\nhunting there is ample opportunity for study, and even in some cases for\ngaining valuable experience.\"\n\n\"In what way do you mean?\" I asked.\n\n\"Firstly,\" he answered, \"there is the pleasure of watching man's\ninfluence over the lower orders of life.  Now it may seem strange to\nyou, but it is far more difficult to influence a beast than it is a man.\nThe power of will passes more reluctantly from me to my horse than it\ndoes from me to you; and long after I could make any man act in the way\nI wished, I was still unable perfectly to influence the will of a single\nlower animal.  Yet for all that, there are men who have little or no\npower over human beings, able to exercise quite unconsciously a\nremarkable influence over beasts.  This opens out a subject of great\ninterest, which is more easily studied while hunting than at any other\ntime.  I have for some years perfected my control over horses, but it\ndoes not in the least detract from my interest in watching the\nunconscious action of other minds on the animals which they fancy they\nguide only by bodily force. You will see that I ride, as others, with\nbit and bridle, because I do not wish to cause attention, but they are\nunnecessary.  This horse is absolutely untrained. I have never been upon\nits back before, and have good reason to know that it has never been\nhunted. I selected it simply because it has great bodily strength and\nendurance, together with the capacity, though not the training, for\nhunting.\"\n\nWe were in a lonely part of the country, and I asked Sydney to give me\nsome example of his power over this untrained horse.  He laid the reins\nupon its neck, and then told me to mention anything which I wished to\nsee the animal do.\n\n\"You can choose any likely or unlikely movement possible for a horse,\"\nhe said; \"only I should prefer that it did not roll.\"\n\nThere was a big six-barred gate at the right of us, and I said, \"Let him\njump that.\"\n\nI had scarcely spoken before the horse turned, faced the gate, and\ncleared the top bar by about two inches.\n\n\"Come back over the hedge,\" I said.  The horse did so.\n\n\"I should not care to jump into a hard road in that way with a loose\nrein,\" I remarked.\n\n\"No,\" Sydney replied, \"it would not be wise; for though if a horse jumps\nperfectly there is no danger, yet often on landing a tight rein is\nuseful.  If, however, you watch the riders out to-day, you will see that\ntwo-thirds of their horses would jump better if they were left to their\nown devices.  So many riders give the horse a check, not as he lands,\nbut while he is in the air; and this causes more accidents than most\npeople imagine.\"\n\nI then tried the horse in other ways, making it rear and kick, getting\nit to open the gate by lifting it with its teeth, and to do many other\ncurious movements, which showed that its entire body was absolutely\nunder the control of its rider's thought.\n\n\"With such a horse,\" I said, \"you could do anything in the\nhunting-field, but I have seldom noticed you much to the fore when out\nwith us, though of course every one knows that you ride well.\"\n\n\"I have two reasons,\" he answered, \"for not leading; as there would in\nthat case be no opportunity of studying others, and also, that it seems\nto me hardly fair.  There is no danger to me in facing any possible\nobstacle, however tricky or difficult, and I might lead others to follow\nwho, through no fault of their own, would very probably come to grief.\"\n\nWe had by this time overtaken two other riders, and our private\nconversation was at an end.\n\nI shall never forget that day.  We had a most brilliant run, and I kept\nclose to Sydney on purpose to watch his horse.  Now that I had a key to\nthe mystery, it was easy to notice the human instinct that guided its\nevery movement.  The country was difficult, or I should have found the\noccupation even more absorbing; as it was, much of my time was taken up\nin looking after my own animal, which unfortunately by no means always\ntook its jumps in the way I desired.\n\nWe had been galloping at a great pace for twenty-five minutes, and many\nof the riders were now far behind, when I noticed that we were\napproaching some fairly stiff rails, on the further side of which there\nwas a broad, deep ditch full of water.  If there is one obstacle to\nwhich I object more than another, it is a combination of this\ndescription.\n\nThree or four of the horses cleared it in safety, but a girl, riding\njust in front of Sydney, was unable to get her horse in hand.\nConsequently, instead of clearing the top rail the animal came with its\nfull weight into the obstruction, broke the top bar, and getting its\nlegs entangled in the lower timber, turned completely over into the\nwater.  So entirely were the horse's fore-legs fixed in the lower bars,\nthat the girl seemed in great danger of being drowned.\n\nIt is not easy to imagine a more awful position.  To be pressed down\nwith one's head beneath the water by a horse's weight, at the same time\nknowing that it is impossible to do anything to assist the animal in\nfreeing itself!\n\nSydney had taken in the position, and I saw his horse dash forward at\nfull speed.  When it came close to the broken rail, it swung quickly\nround, and striking the lower bars with a violent kick, sent the pieces\nflying in different directions.  It thus freed the struggling horse, and\nthen without a moment's pause plunged into the water.  Sydney was now\nable to seize the lady's bridle, and for a moment everything seemed in\nconfusion; then the rescuer's horse made a gallant plunge, reared up in\nthe water and fell backward between the broken rails.  The daring\nattempt was successful; the weight of the falling horse had given just\nthe impetus Sydney required to lift the other animal and to free its\nrider, and amid the cheers of those who had now gathered round, the lady\nwas borne in safety to the bank, terribly frightened, though uninjured.\n\nI hastened up to see if Sydney was hurt, but though his horse fell\nbackwards, it had not even bruised him, owing to the skilful way in\nwhich at the last moment he had slipped aside.  He now stood on the bank\nwith a piece of the girl's broken bridle in his hand, and the bits of\ntimber strewn round him.\n\nAs we rode home later in the day, he surprised me by saying--\n\n\"It was a foolish action, and I feel ashamed of having given way to the\nmomentary instinct which prompted it.\"\n\n\"What! saving the girl's life?\" I said.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"but the way I did it.  You can easily fancy that I\npossessed other and simpler means of saving her without attracting\nattention to myself. But it is very difficult at times to check the\ninclination which we all have for exciting bodily action.\"\n\n\"Well,\" I answered, \"I do not think, considering the power you possess,\nany one could accuse you of making a display of it.  Why, the breaking\nof the bars by your horse's feet was, I fancy, unnoticed by any one\nexcept myself.  Others probably thought they had given way under the\nstrain; while even your horse's rearing up and falling backwards would\nbe considered only a fortunate accident.\"\n\n\"That is quite true,\" he replied, \"I was not thinking of display, to\nwhich weakness my nature at present tends very slightly; but rather that\nfor the time being I allowed my body to do what my will could have\neffected better without its assistance.  However, this is its day out,\nand perhaps it was only fair.\"\n\nI have mentioned this incident to show that Sydney, even while he\npossessed faculties so remarkable that one might have expected his body\nto influence his mind no longer, at times still allowed the former to\nhold temporary sway.  He always impressed this point most strongly upon\nme, saying that those who profess most emphatically that they have the\npower to ignore material things, are, often, without knowing it, under\nthe most serious bodily servitude, the servitude of disease; and that\nthough it is quite true that the body should be brought into subjection\nto the spirit, this can only be done by keeping it always, as far as\npossible, in perfect action and health.\n\n\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER XIV*\n\n\nI was sitting alone in my study one morning about two days after our\nrun, busily engaged in writing an account of it, when I found that\nSydney was standing beside me.  I started up, his presence taking me by\nsurprise.\n\n\"I never heard you come in,\" I said.\n\n\"No,\" he answered, \"I have been at Aphar since we last met, and seeing\nthat you were alone I returned here instead of going to my house.  As we\nare neither of us busy to-day, I thought you might like to hear the\ncontinuation of my story.\"\n\nWe talked for some time about various subjects which led back eventually\nto the experiences which Vera had related to me.\n\n\"Tell me,\" I said, \"was the girl really present?  Or was this simply a\ndelusion which you threw over me?\"\n\n\"It is rather difficult to explain,\" he replied.  \"Vera was neither with\nyou in body nor in spirit, yet it was her past nature that spoke, called\nup by the force of my will, even as it was her past form that you saw. I\ncannot fully explain this even to you, for in common with others you\nhold a false estimation of what people call time.  Past, present, and\nfuture are convenient terms for men to use; but as a fact there are no\nsuch limitations, though it may be as difficult to comprehend this as it\nis to try and think of a universe that had no beginning and shall have\nno end.  Many people accept the truth of this latter mystery, but would\nlaugh at the possibility of the former; yet they are inseparably knit\ntogether.  It is this which makes what we call sinning so terrible; it\nis the inability to understand this mystery that has led to some of the\nrevolting views which are held in connection with the eternity of\npunishment and the indestructibility of Satan.  But to continue my\nstory.\n\n\"Though I made the strongest appeal possible, in the hope of saving Vera\nfrom the trouble which must follow if she still continued to allow her\nlower nature to rule her, I at the same time felt convinced that her\nmoral power was not sufficiently developed to withstand the temptation.\nImpressed as she was at the time, this feeling was too likely to be\ntransient. Future events proved that this view was correct. Whatever\nstruggle Vera may have made at first, the effect was not noticeable\nafter a few week's' time, and I knew that all my watchfulness would be\nrequired to prevent some great misfortune.  It would have been easy to\nremove Captain Frint out of the way of temptation, either by what you\nmight call hypnotism or in many other ways; but I was guided now by an\ninfluence which showed me that such actions can only delay the growth of\nnature.  Under certain circumstances they may be justifiable, but should\nbe employed only as a special opiate.  For as in certain cases\nchloroform may be used on the body to prevent pain, but when the cause\nof the evil is not removed, proves only a dangerous means of delaying\nits effects, so the temporary destruction of another's will-power can\nonly be right if employed in a special emergency.\n\n\"Though my chief interest was centred in Vera, I felt far more\ncompassion in this case for her lover. It was a sad sight to see the\nterrible battle that at this time raged in his heart.  One night while\nmy body lay entranced, I visited him in spirit.  How few of us suspect\nthe double nature which lies concealed behind the superficial manner of\nany man or woman we meet.  That proud bearing, that laughing face, that\nself-confident ease of manner, what may lie beneath each of these, those\nonly who read the heart can say.\n\n\"The man was on his bed; his face was deathly white and damp with the\ndew of agony.  He was speaking in that low, terrible accent of despair\nwhich some persons in moments of mental pain utter when alone, if they\nthink that none can hear them.  There is something very strange and\nweird in such soliloquy: as a rule we talk for effect, but in moments\nlike these the words follow the mind, disregarding all rules of\ncoherency or consistency.  Part of the cause of this confusion is that\nthe mind, acting more quickly than speech, leaves a sentence often\nunfinished.\n\n\"'Oh! that I might die!' he cried.  'Now--even now--I have no\npower--Vera, I shall harm you--you whom I love more than life--I have\nharmed you--I see it day by day--little actions show it--and, oh God! I\ndare not think of it--where is the end?--what can all this lead\nto?--misery!  Oh! my mother--you who taught me to love that which is\nnoble--to hate and scorn a weak and unmanly action--can you see me now?\nDo you watch me hour by hour, learning to despise and hate me?--Oh! that\nI could die and go to you--or if death is but the end--if there is no\nawakening, how peaceful to close one's eyes and know no more!  It will\nkill me--kill me--when every spark of good that once was in my heart is\ngone--But why not now?  I am going mad!--Things all seem confused--right\nand wrong--honour and dishonour--love and hate have no meaning--Vera,\nwhen I see you, I forget--I am happy--wildly, madly happy--yet I know\nnot why.  You belong to another, and I hate him.  Oh! we are\nfriends--only friends--and love is no earthly passion, but a communion\nof souls--What a farce--what folly!  Would a soul feel as I do?  it is a\nmockery--there is no soul anywhere--I doubt if there is a God.  We are\napes, dancing for the amusement of an audience of fiends!  Oh!  Vera,\nwhat have I said?  That there is no spirit in you--it is impossible--I\nam the fiend who would drive the pure angel of your spirit into hell!'\n\n\"Thus did the wretched man ramble on until, exhausted by the excitement\nof remorse, he lay down and fell into a troubled sleep.  While watching\nhim I was conscious of a spiritual presence beside me, and knew that\nthere had been another witness of his agony.  The spirit of a woman was\npresent, and I saw her, as it were, bending over him, and knew that it\nwas his mother.  What unending, untiring love was here!  That pure\naffection which Saint Paul tried to explain when writing to the\nCorinthians by the word [Greek: agape], which taketh not account of\nevil, but covering all things, believing all things, hoping all things,\nand enduring all things, never faileth!\n\n\"I felt deeply concerned about the fate of this man, after what I had\njust seen and heard.  His mental weakness, his morbid and excited\nrambling showed plainly that his mind was unhinged, and was beginning to\ngive way under the strain put upon it.  Moreover, to one who knew even\nas little as I did of the spirit world, the presence of his mother\nindicated some coming change in his existence, probably his death; for\nthough there are exceptions, it is not often that the spirits of the\ndead are allowed to watch over the living: and this is a loving order of\nProvidence, for as they cannot influence material things, their\nknowledge could only cause them useless suffering and be of little value\nto those they love.  Sometimes, however, for the purifying of the souls\nof the dead, they are permitted to witness the misery of the loved when\nit is the outcome of their own selfishness on earth.  And this is verily\nthe Gehenna, or place of purification spoken of, in which the worm dieth\nnot and the fire is not quenched.\"\n\nI stopped Sydney at this point to ask him a question.  \"You,\" I said,\n\"often mention passages from the Bible.  Tell me what you think about\nthis book.\"\n\n\"I think,\" he replied, \"that much of it is the word of God echoed on the\nmind of man, and that it is terribly neglected and sadly misunderstood.\nIt is so written that all who will, may understand it as far as their\nmind is at one with the author.  The purer, the wiser, the holier a man\nbecomes, the more will it continue to reveal, till it shall stand out at\nlast the miracle of miracles--the Book which contains all the mysteries\nof earth, yet is capable at the same time of concealing them from those\nwho are not yet ready to receive the knowledge; for it follows its own\nteaching, and casts not its pearls before swine.  To the beast nature it\ngives the bit, bridle, and lash, till they shall be guided by these to\nhigher ground and purer air; but to the unselfish and pure, it is the\ntrue revelation of the Word of God.  Of course it has had to go through\nthe treatment, which an uncivilized humanity bestows on all spiritual\ngifts--the curse of worship.  Once men had an elephant god, then a sun\nor moon god, and many have now a paper-and-ink god.  For the animal\nnature clings to matter, and to good solid matter that it understands.\nHence the extraordinary dislike which so-called believers in the Bible\nshow for anything which is called spiritualistic or scientific; whereas\nthe book they worship is, without exception, in the right interpretation\nof the word, the great book on spiritualism, and the most advanced\ntreatise ever written on the higher branches of a science, to which the\nworld at present is only feeling its way.  It is the funniest sight in\ncreation to see pigmy man getting angry, and struggling fiercely to\nprotect the Word of God from His works; but after all, though it does\nnot help the book, it may help its would-be protector, for he means\nkindly by his patronage, and cannot be expected to foresee with what\nreverence the greater wisdom of the future will hold the book of\nknowledge.\n\n\"But I had better continue my story now, and leave this subject, which\nopens out so many fields of thought, that there is no saying where we\nmay wander.\n\n\"I knew that Captain Frint had been invited, together with some other of\nMr. Soudin's friends, to stop at Somerville as soon as the shooting\ncommenced, and I looked forward to this time with considerable anxiety.\nVera would then be thrown much into her lover's society, and if she\nwished it, doubtless would be able often to attract him away from the\nsport, in which case they would be alone together. In the meantime I was\nwatching Amy Howell's actions, yet without feeling that I had the right\nto interfere.\n\n\"Much had passed between this girl and Major Jackson, toward the end of\nher stay at Somerville, of which Vera knew nothing.  The Major was, as\nyou have already heard, wealthy, but this money had only been left quite\nrecently, by an uncle who, up to this time, had given him a liberal\nallowance.  The story is not very interesting.  Sir Ralph Cane, after\nthe death of his widowed sister, adopted her only child, William\nJackson.  The boy was brought up with his bachelor uncle, and became the\npresumptive heir to his property. The uncle, however, had a perfect\nmania against marriage, and told his nephew that if ever he took a wife,\nhe must give up all hope of inheriting a fortune.  This restriction did\nnot trouble young Jackson at the time, nor in fact for many years; but\nwhile he was quartered with his regiment, in an out-of-the-way part of\nIreland, he met a young girl with whom he imagined he was desperately in\nlove, and married her privately.  When Mr. Hancock, the girl's father,\nwho was an unprincipled scoundrel, found that his daughter was married,\nand heard of the reason for secrecy, he commended the young Captain's\nprudence, and agreed to help him in every way to keep the marriage a\nsecret till Sir Ralph Cane's death.  As the old man was then\nseventy-six, he might have been expected to leave them free at any\nmoment; but he nevertheless kept them practically separated for ten\nyears.  They had only one child, a boy, who was born seven years after\nthe marriage, and was therefore at the time of which I am speaking,\nthree years old.  It is probable that if Major Jackson had not met Amy,\nhe would have sent for his wife, though he no longer cared for her; and\nthere is still less doubt that had his father-in-law been alive, he\nwould have been compelled to do this, whether he wished or not.  As it\nwas, he made no mention of his uncle's death in the letters he wrote to\nIreland, and his wife being in so out-of-the-way a part, had little\nchance of learning the news. Yet though the Major was infatuated, he had\nno intention of being prosecuted for bigamy, and after consideration\ndecided to put his version of the case before Amy, and chance the\nresult.  He had been working up to this point when Vera discovered him\nat the Castle (an account of which incident you have heard), and it was\nsome little time before he had another opportunity.  When Amy heard the\nnews she was not only much upset, but very angry.  In a way she cared\nfor this man, though his wealth was probably the chief attraction.  The\nthought of having to give up all her bright dreams of ease, and comfort,\nand return to her poverty-stricken home, was very bitter.  Major Jackson\nhad fully expected an outburst of indignation, and was, or appeared to\nbe, duly repentant for the way in which he had acted. He pretended that\nhe had no hope of getting her to consent to his plans, which were that\nhe should retire from the army, gather his wealth together, and with it\nand the girl he loved leave the country.  He persuaded her that his wife\nwould be sure to get a divorce, especially if he consented to make her a\nliberal allowance on this condition; that he would then be able to marry\nAmy, and she would be an honest woman, able to live in society without\nreproach. In fact, he talked much the usual nonsense, going only as far\ninto the regions of improbability as he thought safe.  For though the\ngirl was unprincipled, she was no fool.\n\n\"To make this unpleasant account as short as possible, he eventually\nsucceeded.  Amy decided to return home for the purpose of getting\ncertain things together which she might require, and he was ostensibly\nturning all his property into cash.  As a matter of fact he did no such\nthing, the idea being strongly impressed on his mind, that a few\nthousand pounds would probably last as long as the girl's attraction.\nVera had asked Amy to return as soon as possible, and as the Major had\nbeen invited for the shooting, they decided to meet at Somerville, and\ntake their departure together a few days afterwards.\n\n\"Nothing happened to upset these plans, and the party met, as had been\narranged, on the thirty-first of August.  It was not long before Jackson\nwas confirmed in his previous suspicion, that Frint and Vera were\nengaged in a dangerous flirtation, and the idea occurred to him, that it\nmight not be impossible to persuade these two to join him.  He had hired\na yacht, which was now lying ready at Southampton, and he would by no\nmeans have objected, under the circumstances, to the company of a\nfriend, who, being in a similar position, could not possibly reproach\nhim. He decided, however, to consult Amy before doing anything; and in\nthis he was wise, for while approving his plan, she gave him no little\nvaluable advice as to the method most likely to succeed.  In fact, she\nfinally concluded that as the matter required delicate handling, it\nwould be advisable for her to take the chief part of the task into her\nown hands.  Her decision led to the following conversation between this\nclever schemer and Captain Frint--\n\n\"'Do you not think,' she said in the course of a conversation, 'that\nmarriage is often a great mistake? That people would be much happier if\nonly they had courage to put an end to this relic of barbarism?'\n\n\"'It often seems so,' her companion answered, wondering not a little\nwhat this unmarried girl had in her mind; for it is more often that we\nhear these sentiments from those who have experienced the bond.  'But,'\nhe continued, 'we should require considerable alteration in the law and\nin public opinion before it would be wise to break through the custom.'\n\n\"'I don't know,' she said; 'public opinion will not change till the few,\nwho are brave enough to oppose it, act.  And the law is always a\nlaggard, leaning on the crutch of stupidity until someone kicks it.  Now\nlook at Vera.  She is tied down to a man for whom she cares nothing--a\nregular blackguard--bound to him by a mere legal act, and nothing more.\nYet on account of this meaningless bond she is destined to go through\nlife deprived of love, unprotected, and missing all the true joy of\nhome.  Now if I were a man and loved her, I should refuse to consider\nthat a farce like this had any right to keep us apart, and if the world\nchose to think differently, well, so much the worse for the world!'\n\n\"'But you do not,' he said, 'consider the girl, and the position in\nwhich she would be placed.  It is all very well for the man--he would\nlose little by such an action; but the woman's social life would be\nruined.'\n\n\"'I ought to consider the girl's side,' she said, 'and I do.  But men\nnever understand us.  Which do you think is better--to lose social life,\nas you call it, or real life?  To be able to go everywhere and care for\nnothing, or to remain at home and be happy?  But even the social\nquestion is only a matter of time if there is wealth.  There would\nprobably be a little scandal and then the world would forget all about\nit.'\n\n\"'I do not fancy,' he said, 'that you understand Lady Vancome.  I feel\ncertain that she would never consent to such a proposal even from a man\nshe loved.  And what is more, she would never allow herself to fall in\nlove.'\n\n\"'Oh, indeed!' Amy replied laughing.  'So you think, Captain Frint, that\ngirls are the same as men, and fall in love or out of it as prudence and\nconscience dictate.  Vera could no more help falling in love if the\nright person turned up than--well, than I could!  And what is more, she\nwould disregard conventionality and follow her inclination if, mind, I\nsay if, she did so at her lover's bidding; and so should I.'\n\n\"'You say that,' he replied, 'because you have not been tried; but I\nfeel quite certain that you would never do anything of the kind.'\n\n\"'Can you keep a secret?'\n\n\"'I fancy so.'\n\n\"'Will you promise me, on your word of honour, however much you\ndisapprove of what I am going to say, that you will not, directly or\nindirectly, act in opposition to me, or tell any one my secret?'\n\n\"'I promise.'\n\n\"She then told him what she intended to do; at the same time, by way of\njustifying her act, she libelled innocent Mrs. Jackson in a most\noutrageous manner.  These libels were entirely the result of\nimagination, as she knew nothing about her, and had not felt inclined to\ninquire.  Then, little by little, she drew the subject round, and\nwithout giving her companion a chance of remonstrating with her, spoke\nonce more of Vera.\n\n\"'I feel so sorry to leave her,' she said, 'and wish that she and you\nwere both coming, but of course you are far too proper a person to dare\nto think of such a step.'\n\n\"'I think,' he answered, 'that it is hardly necessary to go into my\nfeelings in the matter, as whatever I wished, you must know full well\nthat Vera--Lady Vancome, I mean--would never consent to do such a thing,\neven if she loved me, which is most improbable.'\n\n\"'It is nice to see such modesty,' Amy answered; 'but I know Vera pretty\nwell, better a good deal than you do, and have no hesitation in saying\nthat if she loves you, and I feel certain she does, you have only to ask\nher to come, and she will be delighted to follow you even to the other\nend of the world.  However, I have said enough.  If by any chance you\ntwo should care to join us, we should be most pleased.  We leave here in\nthree days from now, so you have not much time to think over your plans,\nbut should act at once.  I shall not refer again to the subject, but if\nyou decide on anything you can let me know.'\n\n\"Having said this, and thinking it better not to give her companion time\nto reply, she got up and left the room.\n\n\"That afternoon Vera and Captain Frint were alone together.  The girl\nwas leaning back on a comfortable wicker lounge in the cool fernery\nwhich opened out of the house.  The half-veiled sunlight which passed\nthrough the amber-tinted glass roof fell on her head, and lit up her\nsoft wavy hair till it shone like the natural silk in which the\nchrysalis lies hidden. Behind her on a rockery of porous stone, delicate\nmaidenhair and other semi-tropical ferns grew in luxuriant profusion,\ntheir roots entwined in the rockwork or twisted among the various mosses\nwhich covered it.  A toy rivulet wound in and out among the ferns, now\nand again escaping from its confined bed and trickling over the rocks.\nThis little watercourse was caught up at last by a miniature lake, and\nsoaking through the bed of porous stone which formed the roof of a\ngrotto, dropped down into a larger pool beneath, where gold and silver\nfish lay dreaming. The pleasant sound of water and the delicate scent\nfrom the flowers of an overhanging creeper made this favourite spot\nsuitable for quiet talk or half-dreamy rest.\n\n\"Vera, who was peculiarly sensitive to her surroundings, could hardly\nhave chosen a more unsuitable place had she known of the proposition\nthat was about to be made to her, and supposing she wished to refuse it.\nThough she did not know, she suspected that her companion had something\nimportant to say, for Amy had not neglected an opportunity in which to\nthrow out a few hints on the subject.\n\n\"'Vera,' Frint said almost as soon as the girl had made herself\ncomfortable, 'how lovely you look to-day!'  And as he said this he bent\nover and kissed her hair.\n\n\"She took no notice, and he kissed her forehead. She half raised one\nhand and he kissed her cheek. She put one finger on her lips, and he\ntouched it with his own.\n\n\"'You are very naughty to-day, Albert,' she said. 'You must sit down\nover there where you will be out of the way of temptation.'\n\n\"As he sat down he said, 'Vera, I have been thinking a good deal\nlately.'\n\n\"'I wish you would give up the bad habit,' she replied.  'It is a\nfoolish thing to do, and usually ends in making you grumpy and\nuninteresting.  Let us be children, and live in the present as long as\nwe can. Let us play, and be contented with our toys.  If a child once\nbegins to analyze his wooden horse, the interest vanishes, and he wants\na real live one.  If you persist in analyzing your game of love-making,\nyou will end in wanting me to run away with you.'\n\n\"'But,' he said, 'in this case it is so difficult to know where to draw\na line.'\n\n\"'Then don't try.  That is what I told you just now not to do,' she\nsaid.  'Why cannot you be contented?'\n\n\"'Because I love you, and want to have you always with me,' he answered.\n'Because I hate to see another man near you.  Oh, Vera! it is all very\nwell to talk about playing at love.  When I am with you it is all right,\nI am happy.  But when I leave you it is like going down to hell.  It\ncannot go on, it is killing me.  I must have you all in all or I must\ngo.  Tell me,' he said, 'do you not know some such feeling?  Is it to\nyou only a game of play?  Am I nothing more than a toy which at any\nmoment you could cast aside?  Oh, Vera! do you not in your heart love me\neven a little?'\n\n\"'You are quite interesting to-day, Albert,' she said.  'You play your\npart to perfection.  I will try to live up to you and play mine.  We\nwill pretend we are in earnest.  Yes, dearest, I love you.'\n\n\"He fell into her mood.  It would be easier in this way to say what he\nhad decided to tell her.\n\n\"'Then let us picture a position,' he said.  'Amy and Jackson have\ndecided, we will suppose, to run away together because, for some reason,\nthey are unable to be married.  And we will suppose that they are\nanxious for us to join them.  A yacht is waiting to carry them away from\nthis chilly land, and in some bright and sunny country they will live\ntogether, beyond the reproach of man, contented in their mutual love.\nNow the question is shall we go with them, dearest?  It is impossible\nthat we shall much longer be able to live as we are doing now.  People\nwill begin to talk, and then we shall be unable to see much of each\nother.  Do you love me enough to do this?  I know that I have no right\nto ask you.'\n\n\"When Frint looked up to see what effect his words had upon Vera, he was\nsurprised, and even frightened by the expression on her face.\n\n\"'Tell me,' she said, 'is this true?  Do you really mean what you say?'\n\n\"'It is true, dearest,' he answered.\n\n\"And then he told her the story, winding up by a passionate appeal that\nshe would come.  Though Vera had guessed something from Amy's words, and\nhad promised not to repeat anything which Frint might tell her, she had\nlittle expected the whole truth, and was perfectly overwhelmed by the\nsudden proposal.  Had she been allowed to think it out quietly, I feel\nconvinced that she would have refused to go; but her lover, having\nthrown all scruples to the wind, and seeing his fate in the balance, got\nup and knelt beside her, and placing his arm round her, overwhelmed all\nreason in a torrent of passionate language and endearments till the\nsmouldering embers which she had striven to smother burst out into a\nfire which she had no longer strength or inclination to control.\nCasting all thoughts of prudence, all fear of danger from her, she told\nhim of her love, and burying her head upon his breast swore that without\nhim she could not live, and would do whatsoever he desired.\n\n\"'I trust you, dearest,' she murmured, 'and would have no will but\nyours.  Where you bid me go I will go; with you is life and joy, without\nyou all is darkness, and I only seem to live.  What do I care about the\nworld, if you think that I am doing right?'\n\n\"I stood near them all the while, invisible to their eyes, and uncertain\nif I should reveal my presence. But some force restrained me; the time\nhad not yet come.\n\n\"As I stood again beside the man's bed that night, I knew why I had not\nbeen permitted to interfere. A higher power than mine ruled and ordered\nhis life. I have witnessed many terrible scenes.  No person able to see\ninto the inner lives of others can fail to do this, but neither before\nnor since have I been so moved to pity as on this occasion.  The man\nslept, and his dream-thought wandered at first to one subject and then\nanother.  But in every case his fevered brain pictured some terrible\nscene.  At last, as it were, the changing waves of painful thought\nconcentrated in a series of pictures.\n\n\"In the first of these he was sitting in a dimly-lighted room.  He was a\nboy once more, and his mother read to him pages from the Bible, but the\ntexts were disconnected.  'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall\nsee God.'  'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones, it were\nbetter that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were\ncast into the depths of the sea.'  'And the smoke of their torment\nascended up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day nor night.'\n'Blessed are the dead.'\n\n\"The scene changed.  Vera was beside him even as he had seen her that\nday in all her beauty. They were sitting together on the deck of a\nvessel; the sun shone brightly, the sea was calm, and the gulls floated\nover them, moving splashes of glistening white against the deep blue of\nthe sky.  Yet even as they thus sat dreaming of love, and surrounded by\ncalm and sunlight, he felt that they were sinking, and that no power\ncould save them. Slowly the blue line of water rose till it was on a\nlevel with the deck, but still the motion of the vessel held the water\nin check.  It rose to the bulwarks, and glistened in a dark steely line\nabove it.  Fear held them from moving, save that Vera threw her arm\naround him, pleading for a protection which none could give.  The line\nbroke in foaming torrents over the deck.  There was a moment of\nstruggle, and then darkness.  From the midst of the darkness he heard a\nvoice saying, 'Look up, for the hour of judgment is at hand.'  Then he\nlooked up, and behold hell lay open before him, the hell of human\ntradition in all the ghastly horror which man, in the deformity of his\nimagination, has conjured up out of his instinctive cruelty to make part\nof the creation of love.  There lay Vera, condemned to eternal torment.\nThe terrible anguish of her expression as I saw it through the medium of\nhis distorted brain haunts me even now.  Her white child-like arms\nthrown out in hopeless supplication, as she cried aloud to him in\npitiful tones to save her, or at least to come near in this awful\nsolitude of suffering; but he was unable to move or speak.  The terrible\nrealistic flames enveloped her; flames which none can quench, which\nviolate every law of nature save one, which neither purify nor set free\nnor stay corruption, but only cause the pain which is their note of\nwarning.  Nor was this all.  As if one torment that must necessarily\nabsorb all powers of feeling which we know on earth--nay, which merciful\nnature would stay at once by her opiate of insensibility--were not\nenough, other horrors of man's imagination were added which are too\nrevolting for words, yet which had all at one time been taught to this\nwretched man as essential parts of the Gospel of God, the good news of\nlove.  Had he not been mad such a picture must have been a revelation;\nif he, selfish as he was, could be thus overwhelmed with remorse and\nhorror, what of the Father, the Creator who for ever must watch his\nchild; who, being almighty was not bound; who being the Creator of all\nthings was the Creator of this!  As it was, the strain of anguish roused\nhim from his dreams.  He sat up in bed and cried aloud, 'My God!  My\nGod!  It is not too late!  I will save her!  Though I die--though I be\ndamned for ever!  Vera, oh, my love, I will save you from this!'\n\n\"And even as he spoke, I was conscious that we were surrounded by a\ngreat company, and that the sweet sound of spiritual praise that no\nearthly ear can hear passed on, for ever vibrating through the universe\nof God.  But the first chord was struck by a woman's love, for the\nmother now knew that her son was saved.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *CHAPTER XV*\n\n\n\"After breakfast on the following morning, Captain Frint found an\nopportunity of asking Vera not to say anything to either the Major or\nAmy of their plans, but to leave all to him.  He was standing in the\ngirl's sitting-room dressed for shooting, and had his companion been\nmore observant she might have noticed the strange fire which burned in\nhis eyes, and the suppressed excitement of his manner.\n\n\"'You are going out then, to-day,' she said.  'Well, perhaps it is\nbetter.  It might seem strange if you did not; and after all we shall\nsoon have as much time as we like together; so much that I expect you\nwill soon get tired of me.'\n\n\"He was unable to answer; but before leaving he bent over and kissed her\non the forehead.  Had she seen his face she must have known the\ntruth--for love, self-sacrifice, pain, and madness were written there.\n\n\"About two o'clock in the afternoon a mournful procession returned to\nSomerville.  Captain Frint was dead.  No fault or suspicion could rest\non any of the party, for the accident had happened in the sight of Mr.\nSoudin and four of the beaters.  The Captain, before getting over a\nstile, had placed his gun on the opposite side to avoid danger, and\nwhile leaning over to do this, some obstacle had caught the trigger, and\nthe contents of one of the barrels had entered his heart.\n\n\"Fortunately a messenger had been sent on to break the news, and when\nthe body arrived Vera was lying insensible on her bed; nor did any one\nsee her again for many days.  But at night, when all had gone to rest,\nshe got up, and taking a light, crept softly to the room where they had\nplaced the body of the man she loved.\n\n\"It lay upon the bed, the hands folded, the head raised as though in\nsleep upon the pillow.  The eyes were closed.  Never in life had that\nface looked so noble as it now appeared in death.  The lines of thought,\nof passion, of pain were gone: the expression of the mouth was that of a\ncontented child.  There was no smile on the lips; nor have I ever seen,\nnor should I like to see, that smile which we so often read of on the\nface of the dead.  When the spirit goes away and leaves the body, the\nfeatures no longer under control fall back into the natural position of\nperfect rest, which is only partially noticeable during the sleep of\ngrown-up people, but sometimes perfectly represented during the same\ncondition in childhood. I have seen a dead child, that, save for the\nwhiteness of the skin and lips, showed no change of expression other\nthan that which I had often noticed during slumber.\n\n\"As Vera looked upon her dead lover, the spirit of life, which is the\nspirit of true love, was for the first time born in her heart.  The\nAngel of Death was to her, as to so many, the winged messenger of God\nbearing the germ of eternity.  As some fair blossom, differing not in\nappearance from others, that have already been made fruitful, will for\nsome reason remain long barren, so many natures linger here, fair it may\nbe in form, but missing the pollen of fruition. To some it is borne by\nthe fairy butterfly of love; to others only by the death's-head moth of\nsuffering. Some, as the barren flowers, fall and die, having, perhaps,\nmade the earth more beautiful by their presence, yet leaving no fruit.\nTheir harvest-time is yet to come, but under other circumstances and\nbeneath other skies.\n\n\"It did not occur to Vera, as she bent over the dead man, that he had\ndied to save her.  She thought that an accident had separated them; that\nGod, in His anger, had punished their sin.\n\n\"'Oh! that I might have died instead of you!' she murmured.  'Oh, God!\nit was my sin--not his--my fault.  Why did you spare me and slay him?'\n\n\"Could she have looked upon the picture of herself there would have been\nno reason for answer; fear, anguish, and desolation were written on her\nface--what a contrast to the peaceful expression of the dead!  Her eyes\nwere strained with weeping, her swollen throat ached so that she could\nscarcely speak, and though she stood barefooted, and with only her thin\nnight garment to cover her, yet every limb burned as though with fever.\nHer beautiful hair hung in tangled tresses down her back, and waved in\nwild disorder round her forehead and neck.  As she knelt upon the bed\nand kissed the dear dead face, she seemed almost to cover the body with\na pall of golden silk.\n\n\"'I want you, Albert,' she whispered.  'Oh! come back--come back, my\nlove, my love!'  And when she had said this she fainted.\n\n\"I carried her back to her own room, for I did not wish that any one\nshould know her secret.  And having done this, I returned once more to\nwhere the dead lay, and bent over and kissed the face of the man who had\ndied to save from harm her whom we both loved.\n\n\"Captain Frint's death necessitated the breaking up of the shooting\nparty, and Amy and Major Jackson took the opportunity thus afforded of\ncarrying out their plans.  They left England in the yacht, and travelled\nfor some time together; but as is nearly always the case under such\ncircumstances, instead of finding happiness, they tasted the fruit of\nselfishness, which is pain and disgust.  It says a good deal for the\ngirl's cleverness that she was not left entirely destitute in some\nforeign country; for with a forethought which showed that she had not\naltogether overlooked the possibility of desertion, she, before leaving,\nmade her lover settle a considerable sum upon her.  When he eventually\nleft her in America, less than a year after the elopement, she was\nconsequently fairly well provided for.  She had one child, a girl, and\nnot caring to return to England, she settled in New York, and soon\nafterwards married a clever scoundrel, named Halcome, who, though at the\ntime badly off, succeeded eventually in making a moderate fortune.  At\nhis death, Amy returned with her only child to England, where she was\nsoon received into good society.\"\n\n\"The man she married was called Halcome,\" I said.  \"Was not that the\nname of the girl we met at Sir James Folker's dinner on the night of the\nspiritualistic performance?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied; \"she has always passed as Miss Halcome, for her\nmother, who is now dead, kept the secret of her birth even from the girl\nherself.\"\n\n\"Was the man whose face I noticed the Major's legitimate son?\"\n\n\"Yes.  After a life of horrible dissipation and vice, Major Jackson, by\nthis time Sir Henry Jackson, died, and his son came into the property.\nJackson acknowledged his wife soon after leaving Amy, and the awful life\nwhich he led this unfortunate woman has often made my heart bleed.  I\ninterfered on the evening to which you refer, partly in the hope of\nsaving her further trouble, and partly because I knew the terrible\nsecret of the young people's relationship.\"\n\n\"Is Miss Halcome like her mother in appearance?\" I asked.\n\n\"Yes; she bears a most remarkable resemblance both in manner and face to\nwhat Amy was at her age, though if you had seen Mrs. Halcome a few years\nback you would hardly have believed it possible; she had grown coarse,\nand stout, and lost all her good looks, for this style of girlish beauty\nwears badly. She, however, retained her bright and pleasant manner to\nthe end, though her temper in private was bad. Before Sir Henry's death\nshe was more than his match, and by threats of exposure she managed to\nextort a considerable sum of money from her former lover.  But she did\nit so discreetly that no breath of scandal was ever whispered against\nher.  She, moreover, never revealed to any one her maiden name, and her\nfamily have no idea that she returned to England.\"\n\n\"I am surprised that Jackson cared for any scandal after the life he had\nlived,\" I said.\n\n\"It would have been the last straw.  He was at the time seeking a\nvaluable Government appointment, and though his life was notoriously\nvile, this did not prevent him obtaining it; but a public scandal in\nCourt is quite a different thing.  The conscience of the people of\nBritain, who know only what the papers tell them, is more sensitive than\nthat of their rulers.  I am, however, glad to be able to close this\nunpleasant account; those chiefly interested are dead.  They sowed to\nthe flesh, and of the flesh they reaped corruption and pain.  But we\nmust not forget that they are still children of the great Father, loved\nby Him, though still wandering in the dark and fighting against the law\nof order and love which can alone bring happiness.  Let us hope that\nnow, when they have been freed from the bodies they degraded; their\nspirits, reclothed, may be purified through the pain which is bound to\nfollow them; for _whatsoever_ a man soweth, that shall he reap, and\nneither repentance, prayers, nor tears can alter the inevitable\nharvest.\"\n\n\"Do you not, then,\" I asked, \"believe in repentance and the forgiveness\nof sins?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" he replied.  \"Without repentance there can be no upward\nprogress, no hope of salvation; and the Father's forgiveness waits only\non our ability to receive it and become conscious of His love.  But\nthough the moment we receive our Saviour's lesson and accept the\nfatherhood of God we know that we are cleansed from all sin, it will not\nalter the inevitable law of retribution; we must suffer, either now or\nhereafter.  For every sin that we commit, we shall have to give account\nwhen the Day of Judgment comes--it may be to-day, or after many years.\nOf all the detestable doctrines that were ever taught, the creed that a\nman can sin and by repentance do away with the painful consequences of\nthat act is the most degrading and the most dangerous.  It is the\noutcome of a low animal instinct, which recognizes forgiveness as a\npurely material quality.  As soon as man is brought to understand that\nby every deed of cruelty, by every mean action, he is raising a lash for\nhis own back, and that as surely as it is raised so shall it fall--not\nbecause God wishes to hurt him, but because he is wilfully going out of\nGod's light--then, and not till then, will he learn to love order and\nstrive to follow its rule.  The intention which many persons cherish of\na future repentance is simply a contemptible form of selfish cowardice,\nand what is called repentance itself is often little or no better.  I\nhave more respect and hope for the man who dies cursing God as he has\nlived to curse Him, than for the blubbering, repentant sinner who,\nhaving by his selfishness fought all through life against his Maker, and\nhaving been the damnation of those who crossed his path, thinks to\npropitiate an angry deity by saying he is sorry.  Yes, he is\nsorry--sorry that he can sin no more, and that the whip is\nwaiting--sorry even, perhaps, that he ever sinned, for he has found out\nthat even in this life it did not pay.  But would he take the trouble to\nrepent if he knew that it made no difference to his future happiness or\nsorrow?  If this is so, he is no better than the dog which grovels on\nits back at the sight of an uplifted cane.  Which is the better animal,\nthe one which stands up to take the blow, or the one that lies at your\nfeet?  Does the wise master spare the coward and thrash the braver\nanimal?  No; if he hits at all he will hit both for their own good; and\nthe one on his back will probably get the worst of it; and so will the\nrepentant sinner.\n\n\"But come, we have wandered far enough out of the way, and I have by far\nthe pleasantest part of my story yet to tell.  I will go back to the\ntruly repentant sinner whom we left weeping, not for herself or for her\nown pain, but because she had harmed the man she loved, and God, as she\nthought, had punished him by death.\n\n\"I will pass over some months, during which little of importance\nhappened.  Mr. Soudin, always a weak man, and having now little to\noccupy his time, fell more and more into the habit of drinking.  He had\nfor years taken more than was good for him, but not in a way to cause\nremark, his head suffering less than his body.  But now, being much\nalone, he frequently overstepped the line of orthodox sobriety--a line\nwhich society draws in this case, as in all others, where its own\nconvenience is affected.\n\n\"Fortunately for Vera she had at last found a companion who was in every\nway worthy of her affection. Agnes Thomson was at this time about\nthirty, and had little physical beauty, though her eyes and expression\nredeemed her from plainness.  She possessed one of those natures which\nseem created from birth to minister to others, and are never so happy as\nwhen occupied in relieving distress, or in making the lives of those\naround them brighter.  When in the presence of such we are unconscious\nof effort, see no strain of renunciation; they minister to those around\nthem, as the bird feeds its young--because they want to. Such persons,\nthough often imposed on, are seldom appreciated at their true worth, on\naccount of the high quality of their natures.  I have even heard it\nsaid, 'Oh, there is no merit in such unselfishness--she cannot help it.'\nBut what an unconscious tribute to the soul is this!  And what has such\na spirit passed through before it so perfectly reflects its Maker!\n\n\"It was chiefly owing to my action that this girl went to Somerville.\nShe had broken down while looking after an orphanage in Manchester, and\nthe doctor had said that it was absolutely imperative that she should\ngive up all work for some time.  She dreaded the idea of parting from\nthe little children, and struggled as long as possible; but the body at\nlast gave in, and I was then able, by indirect influence, to bring her\nand Vera together.  As soon as Agnes came to live with the beautiful\nyoung girl, she loved her as she had loved her orphan children, and\nindeed as she would have loved any man, woman, or child, good or bad,\nfair or ugly.  She saw that her companion was suffering, and had little\ndifficulty in drawing from her the story of her life; and Agnes wept\nwith her, feeling all the time as if she had been in the young girl's\nplace.  When she came to think over it afterwards, what she called her\nconscience reproved her for not having even remonstrated.  How wrong it\nall was! And she felt that she ought to have given reproof. Fortunately\nshe never acted down to her conscience, which being an illuminated\nreflection from the creed of lesser minds, would only have retarded her\ninfluence. She taught her lessons, without knowing it, by the example of\nher own life.\n\n\"Two months after she came, Mr. Soudin was taken dangerously ill, and as\nhis body had of late exhausted all its power in trying to digest four\ntimes as much food as it required, and had also been drenched with\nalcohol, he sank rapidly from weakness, dying the common death of\nstarvation through excess of nourishment which so often takes the form\nof either diabetes, gout, or dropsy.  As the death of each man is felt\nthrough loss of sympathy, he was but little regretted, and even his\ndaughter, after the shock, was unwillingly conscious of relief.\n\n\"Thus Vera was left alone with her companion, whose bright influence day\nby day made itself felt, and revealed to her the lesson which is so hard\nto learn, that happiness on earth comes but by reflection. Pour out joy\non others, and it shall overwhelm you. Forget yourself in others, and\nthe tormentor strives in vain to harm you.  See good in all things, and\nhell cannot hold you.\n\n\"But it is time that I told you something of Vancome.  I had made him a\nfairly liberal allowance on condition that he did not try to interfere\nwith his wife's freedom.  As soon as he returned to England and the\nconditions were explained to him, he consulted his solicitor with the\nhope of being able to get hold of Vera and her fortune, but his adviser\ngave him little prospect of success, and he decided, at any rate for a\ntime, to accept the offer.  He was the more willing to do this owing to\nhis superstitious dread of some fiendish power which he believed me to\npossess.  It is a curious fact that evil natures always regard an\nexhibition of force incomprehensible to them as some eccentric trick of\nthe devil.  The most superstitious men will be found among those who\nprofess atheism. They scoff at the idea of God, while trembling at the\nshadow of Satan; and dread a dinner party of thirteen while denying the\nLast Supper.\n\n\"For a year Vancome followed much the same dissipated life as he had\ndone previously to his marriage. He gambled, at first with caution, for\nhe was no longer desperate, and for a time was successful, being thus\nenabled to indulge all his other extravagant tastes.  But about the time\nof Mr. Soudin's death his luck turned, and he began to lose heavily.\nOne night while playing piquet at the W---- Club he was caught cheating.\nHe had been suspected for some time, and a trap was laid into which he\nfell.  As there was no room for doubt he was expelled from the Club, and\nno longer dared to show himself in society.  His future, all the future\nthat he cared for, was ruined, while his title only assisted to\nadvertise his shame. For days the papers increased their circulation at\nhis expense, and the scandal in high life was placarded on every station\nand shouted through every town. His wife was commended for her\nforethought in having refused to live with him, while the more\nscurrilous papers exhausted their energy in raking up as many past\nscandals in his life as they could discover, feeling that there was\nlittle danger of an action for libel.\n\n\"It was during this outburst that I decided to see him.  I had no longer\nany bitter feelings towards this man, and though while feeling certain\nthat he would think at first I had come to gloat over his misery, I\nhoped to show that this was not the case, and that my desire was to help\nhim.  I found him sitting alone in his chambers; he had been drinking\nheavily for some time to drown his misery, and as I came in he looked up\nwith dull glazed eyes which at first showed no sign of recognition.  But\nsuddenly they changed; his face became livid with anger.\n\n\"'Fiend!' he cried.  'It is your doing--and so you have come to see the\nend of your work!  But you are mistaken--we will go down to hell\ntogether--you shall not escape me this time!'\n\n\"He took up a revolver which I had noticed lying on the table, and\npointed it at me.\n\n\"'There are five chambers,' he said, 'and one is enough for me--I can\nspare you the other four!'\n\n\"I looked him in the face for a moment, and then said, 'Vancome, you\ncannot kill me, and for the present you shall not kill yourself, for at\nthe moment you are not responsible for your actions.'\n\n\"'I will kill you!' he cried.  'Damn you!  I will!'  And he strove with\nall his might to pull the trigger, but was powerless.  His right hand\nsank slowly down till it lay by his side, and his revolver dropped\nbetween his fingers on to the rug at his feet.  He staggered back to his\nchair, and I went up to him, and placing my hand on his burning forehead\nmade him sleep.\n\n\"At this moment the door opened, and a young, showily-dressed girl\nentered.\n\n\"'Oh!' she cried.  'Goodness, what is the matter?'\n\n\"'Lord Vancome is ill,' I said, 'and will have to be carefully watched.\nIs there any one here who could look after him?'\n\n\"'Ill,' she laughed, and her laugh, as her speech, told her origin and\nlife.  'D. T. ay?  Well, I was a-thinking of cutting it just now--that\nsettles the business!'\n\n\"'Wait a moment.  Lord Vancome is not suffering from _delirium\ntremens_.'\n\n\"I said this, not because I wished for her services, but because there\nwere enough reports about already without her adding a false one.\n\n\"'Who are you?' I asked.\n\n\"'My!' she said.  'Well, you are a beauty!  Where do you hang out not to\nknow Totsey Ben of the ---- Theatre?'\n\n\"I was not previously aware of Totsey Ben's existence, but though she\ndid not give me the details in words, I now knew that she took a very\nminor part in a comic opera being played at that rather disreputable\ntheatre.  I could see also the vile and filthy slum in which she had\npassed her childhood, and many of the coarse and revolting experiences\nconnected with her early life before she blossomed out into a\nballet-girl. Nor were the visions connected with this transformation\nscene much more entrancing.\n\n\"This girl, and such as she, without refinement, possessing only the\ncoarse animal attractiveness, had been the chosen associates of Vera's\nhusband, a man who had been brought up surrounded with all the delicate\nassociations of noble birth and culture.  It takes many centuries to\ncreate a gentleman and refined taste; but sometimes only a few years to\nrevert to the lowest order of civilized brutishness.\n\n\"'Well,' I said to the girl, 'I do not fancy you would be of much use as\na nurse, so perhaps you might as well pack your things and go.'\n\n\"'I reckon you're about right,\" she answered. 'But before I clear out, I\nwill have my money or know why.'\n\n\"She went up to Vancome and shook him.\n\n\"'Leave him alone,' I said.  'Can you not see that he is ill?'\n\n\"'Ill!' she cried.  'I knows that there sort of illness!  Ain't a bad\nsort neither till you wakes up with a splitter!'  She took hold of a\nhalf empty whisky-decanter that was on the table, and putting the bottle\nto her mouth, took a draught of the raw spirit.\n\n\"'Girl,' I said, 'you shall have your money; it is dearly enough\nearned.'  And I laid some notes on the table.  Her manner immediately\nchanged.\n\n\"'Oh! you're a swell, are you?' she asked; and I was surprised at the\nextraordinary difference the new expression made in her face.  She\nlooked now what some men would call pretty, and her manner of speaking\nbecame less offensively vulgar.  'Sorry I made a row, but my temper's\nbeen tried simply awful these last few days.  I know how to behave, I\ndo!'  And she curtseyed to me with her cheek resting on her hand, which\nwas evidently part of the accomplishment taught her at the theatre.\n\n\"'Go and look in the glass,' I said.\n\n\"She took up the notes, and going to a long mirror, looked, expecting to\nsee the simpering expression called up for the occasion; but though\nthere is little hope of rousing such a one even by fear, I thought it\nbetter to give her one chance before she left.\n\n\"What she saw it is unnecessary to tell you.  I called up before her\nmind pictures of what her future life would probably be, as she sank\nlower and yet lower on the downward path.  She stood there motionless\nwith horror as the pictures changed from bad to worse, till at last she\nsaw the well-nigh unrecognizable image of herself as she lay in one of\nthe hospital wards: then with a shriek of fear she turned, looked at me\nfor one moment with terror-stricken eyes, and fled from the room.\n\n\"I sent for a trained nurse, and, with her assistance, watched over\nVancome till he recovered.  Before many days his dislike wore off, and\nin the depth of his misery and loneliness, he turned to me as a friend,\nthe only one now left to him.  When he had sufficiently recovered, I\npersuaded him to go abroad and travel.\n\n\"I saw him off.  When we parted he said to me--'I am very sorry to lose\nyou, and still more sorry for the way in which from the first I have\nacted.  It is no use going into the matter.  You are a strange being,\nSydney; it is hard to know what to make of you.  I used to think you\nwere the devil, and now am half inclined to fancy you are an angel.  But\nangel or devil, you are certainly not a man, for no man would have done\nall you have for nothing.  You never make use of an opportunity even if\nit is thrown in your way.  Now why did you not let me die?  You could\nthen have married Vera, and, as the books put it, lived happy ever\nafter.'\n\n\"'I will tell you why,' I said.  'There is no such thing as the\nhappiness you speak of.  You have tried to find it in one way; others\ntry to find it by other means, but they all fail.  No one who seeks for\nhappiness ever gains it.  It is the same with all. One man seeks fame;\nfor years he struggles through pain and weariness, till at last, maybe,\nit comes, and he finds the desired angel but a poor, thin,\nunsatisfactory phantom, pointing with one finger at death; and he laughs\nthat he could have wasted his youth and health in search of such a\nmiserable, mocking spectre.  The idea that wealth gives happiness is\nabout the most comical delusion that man suffers from.  There is one\nplane of enjoyment which is determined by the man himself; one delusion\nthat this plane can be altered by climbing the treadmill of prosperity.\nA man puts his foot on the step, and immediately descends to the same\nposition; and many continue to climb after happiness in this foolish\nmanner all their lives.  Unknowingly they may perhaps turn the mill of\ninvention and progress, and this is most likely the object of the\ndelusion. No, Vancome,' I concluded, for the boat was starting, 'try a\nnew way, and you shall yet turn cursing to blessing.  Good-bye.'\n\n\"This is the last time that he ever saw me; but I know that he\nremembered these parting words, and did not altogether live the rest of\nhis life in vain. Two years after this, whilst shooting in Africa, he\nwas attacked by cholera, and died.  During his short illness I never\nleft him.  When I came to his bedside he was insensible through the pain\nof the first attack. The case was quite hopeless; but I was able to save\nhim further suffering, and he never regained consciousness. His body was\nembalmed, sent to England, and buried in the family grave at Somerville.\n\n\"I had spent the greater part of these two years at Aphar.  Vera no\nlonger needed my help.  She was learning from her friend the joy of\nliving for others. Agnes still yearned after the little orphan children\nshe had left, and so contagious is true enthusiasm, that unconsciously\nshe infected Vera with the desire to help her in this work.  One day a\nsad case came under her notice.  One of the Canons of L---- Cathedral\nwas lunching at Somerville, and the conversation drifted to 'Workhouse\nManagement,' a pet subject of the Canon, who was on the Board of\nGuardians.\n\n\"'It is very fortunate,' Agnes said to him, 'that you who take a real\ninterest in the poor are on the Board; so often these matters are left\nin the hands of those who care for little but their own interest.'\n\n\"'I hope,' he replied, 'that I have been able to do something, but under\nthe present system the work is enough to make any man's heart bleed.\nFor the old people we can do something, but for the little children it\nis terrible.  Once let them get into the workhouse, and seven out of ten\nare ruined for life.'\n\n\"'I know,' said Agnes, tears coming into her eyes. 'It is terrible!\nHerded as they are together, without love, or personal sympathy, the\nevil which is always surrounding them works like leaven.  Do you know,\nVera,' she continued, turning to her friend, 'that the little things\nwhen they came to me at the Orphanage often did not know how to kiss.\nOh! it made my heart ache, trying to teach a little girl of seven to\nkiss me.'\n\n\"'Yet these are not the most painful cases, to my mind,' the Canon said.\n'Only last week two children, such dear little things, were brought in\nby the relieving officer.  Their mother, a widow, had for four years\nstruggled hard to support them, but work for which she was unfitted, at\nlast brought on consumption. When she died there was nothing for it but\nto bring them to the pauper school.  They will now have to be separated\nfrom each other.  The boy, who is a plucky little fellow of nine, has\nalways looked after his younger sister, and when he heard that she must\nbe taken from him I never saw such abject misery on a child's face.\n\"She sha'n't go,\" he said.  \"I promised mother to look after her--she\nsha'n't go!\"  And the two poor little lonely things clung together and\nhad to be separated when they fell asleep.  I would not let the officer\ntear them apart.'\n\n\"'It's shameful!' Vera said.  'Why do people let such things be?'\n\n\"'God only knows!' the clergyman answered. 'Because they are, I suppose,\ntoo selfish to care.  If they could only be made to see for themselves\nthe misery, it would not be tolerated; but they pay the poor-rate and\nthink no more about it.  Would that some voice could make them hear; the\nevil could so easily be remedied.'\n\n\"'It sha'n't happen in the case you have mentioned, any way,' Vera said;\n'shall it, Agnes?  We will have them here and look after them, poor\nlittle things.'  And Agnes, whose heart was too full for words, could\nonly answer by getting up and kissing her friend.\n\n\"Thus it came to pass that the work began, but no one with a heart can\nbegin such a work of love and stop.  I have known women fairly well off\nstart such an undertaking, and nearly starve themselves to death for the\nsake of the little ones.  There is always one more that must be saved;\nthe home is full, the money running out, but the sorrowful face pleads\ntoo strongly, and room must be found.  And so it was with Vera and\nAgnes.  Somerville could soon not contain its inmates.  A new home was\nbuilt in the park; fresh hands had to be employed.\n\n\"There was no danger for Vera now; in such work there is no time for\nweariness or sin.  Little hands drag the selfishness out of those who\ntend them; tiny lips satisfy the aching want of love.  Happiness that\nhas so long evaded pursuit, comes unsought and overwhelms the givers.\nFaith, never learned through doctrine, is discovered by the evidence of\na love-awakened heart when it first realizes that such as these little\nones are the angels who behold the Father's face; and that inasmuch as\nwe have done it unto one of the least of these, we have done it to our\nSaviour; and through Him found salvation.\"\n\n\n\n\n                                *PART V*\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER XVI*\n\n\nWhen I next went over to spend the evening with Sydney I reminded him\nthat there was a room in his house which he had promised some day to\nshow me.\n\n\"Be patient,\" he answered, \"you will see it before very long.\"\n\nMy companion was in more than usually good spirits.  He was in one of\nhis bright, amusing, and kindly satirical moods, and for some time he\nkept me in a state of nearly continual laughter by recounting his early\nexperiences with the sixth sense before he properly understood how to\nregulate this new power.\n\n\"During the next two hundred years,\" he said, \"the earth will be a\nlively place for those who are fond of observation.  If I am not much\nmistaken there will be great progress in the growth of spiritual\nscience, and as its professors will probably possess a very imperfect\nknowledge there may be some little confusion. Fancy how unpleasant it\nwill be to many people when their thoughts become common property, and\ntheir actions can no longer be done in secret.  When a cad, however\npolished, will appear as a cad; and children will be sent to school to\nundergo heart-training and not to learn deportment; when the future\nmembers of Parliament will have to study the art, not of elocution and\nsubterfuge, but of caring more for their constituents than for their own\ninterests; when the wife will no longer ask her husband why he returned\nso late, because she will know as well as he does; when the detective\nwill be banished into the region of history, and the judge require\nneither witness nor jury; when curiosity, the cause of so much vice,\nshall be exercised only in spiritual things, and men and women walk\nnaked yet unashamed both in body and spirit.\n\n\"Of course all this will come gradually, and future generations will\nfind no more inconvenience than would young children if the change took\nplace to-morrow.  All our so-called modesty and our deceit are unknown\nto them, being merely the outcome of training.  The child is open enough\nuntil by mental or physical smacks he learns to cover his body with\ngarments, and his thoughts with words most suitable to concealing them.\nWhen such clothing is transparent the man will become in this respect as\na little child.\n\n\"This will be the time of which Emerson speaks, when he says--'Every man\ntakes care that his neighbour shall not cheat him, but a day comes when\nhe begins to care that he do not cheat his neighbour. Then all goes\nwell; he has changed his market-cart into a chariot of the sun.  What a\nday dawns when we have taken to heart the doctrine of faith!  To prefer\nas a better investment being to doing, being to seeming, logic to rhythm\nand to display; the year to the day, the life to the year, character to\nperformance.'\n\n\"The desire to perform is the one great hindrance to progress.  So many\nwish to do, so few to be.  If we are great we cannot help doing great\nthings, and if we are small-minded no effort shall magnify our output.\nIt is for this reason that I give a limit of two hundred years for even\nthis partial development of a sense which is already latent in many.  In\nthe present rush of action growth is retarded, discovery thrown into the\nmelting-pot for gain, whereby its most valuable component parts escape\nin the form of invisible gases.  But come with me, and I will show you\nthe secret which is hidden behind that third door.\"\n\nWe passed as usual into the laboratory.\n\n\"Sit down, and while we smoke I will tell you a few things which it is\nas well you should know before we go further.\n\n\"I think,\" he continued, when we had settled ourselves comfortably, \"I\nhave already explained to you that, contrary to the general belief,\nWordsworth was quite right when he said--\n\n    'Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting;\n      The soul that rises with us, our life's Star,\n    Hath had elsewhere its setting,\n      And cometh from afar.'\n\n\n\"There are very many cases where it is necessary for certain reasons\nthat the spirit should be re-incarnated on this earth many times before\nthe earth-lesson is learned, and before it is able to unite with the\nfeminine element and thereby rise to more perfect existence.  Life, like\nmatter, is indestructible, but as atoms unite and reunite to form what\nwe call elements, and these again unite and reunite to form chemical\ncompounds, so life or spirit, which is one and the same thing, is ever\nbeing drawn together by attraction.\n\n\"Thus, for the sake of argument, we will say that the life of a flower\nunites with that of another flower, and rises thus to the animal kingdom\nwhere free existence is possible.  I use this expression only for\nconvenience, as no arbitrary line can be drawn between the two kingdoms.\nThen again, the lower animal life unites with its female element to form\nthe higher; and so on up to man.  This explains why the lower we go down\nin the scale the greater is the number of lives to be found on each\nlevel, for it requires millions to blend together before the higher\norders are reached.  This is why also in animals you see certain sides\nof characters which are all noticeable in man.  They are, as it were,\nthe bricks making ready for the future temple.  So the spirit of man is\nalso imperfect and one-sided lacking the feminine qualities to be found\nin woman.  A time comes, however, when two suitable natures meet, and\nafter death their spirits blend together even as Swedenborg has written,\nand they form what he calls one angel; that is to say, a still more\nperfect being.  And this joining together does not cease even then, but\nangel unites with angel and archangel with archangel up to God.  Thus\nnone can harm his neighbour without injuring part of his future self,\nfor all at last shall be one.\n\n\"This view is repellent to the carnal mind, as it destroys what he is\npleased to term his individuality; but this is only owing to the fact\nthat his mind at present is unable to comprehend unity with personality.\nAn interesting example of the confusion arising from this difficulty\nwill be obvious if you hear a deist and a trinitarian argue together.\"\n\n\"But,\" I said, \"I do not like the idea myself.  I wish to retain my own\nconsciousness, and have no desire to be merged in others.\"\n\n\"Do you not retain your own consciousness now?\" he asked.\n\n\"Undoubtedly.\"\n\n\"And yet,\" he continued, \"millions of lives have united to form that\nconsciousness.\"\n\n\"But I don't care about the past,\" I said, \"it is the future.  According\nto you, in my next existence I shall unite with some other spirit and\nlose half my own individuality.\"\n\n\"I do not think you will,\" he replied laughing, \"because you do not love\nas yet, and love only is the attraction which draws kindred spirits\ntogether. When they desire to unite, they will.  Till then they must\nremain incomplete.  But those who are thus joined together are conscious\nnot of loss, but of the most exquisite gain; and this union is\nforeshadowed by the joining together in marriage of man and woman here.\"\n\n\"But it cannot always be the spirits of husband and wife who are thus\nunited.\"\n\nSydney laughed.\n\n\"Hardly,\" he said.  \"Marriage is but a material convenience, and there\nare not many who have reached that state when the unity of souls becomes\ndesirable; but nevertheless there are those living whose marriage is a\nforetaste of a union which shall be made perfect through death.  But\noften the complement of a spirit is not on this earth, though they have\nmet in some previous existence.\"\n\n\"Do you know,\" I asked, \"to whose spirit yours will be united?\"\n\n\"I do,\" he answered; and the accent on the words drew my attention to\nhis face: there I read such depth of love and hope as I have never seen\nlight up the features of man or woman.  \"It was,\" he said, \"while in the\nspirit-world that I learnt much of what I have now told you.  But I\nlearnt more than this, for I was able to look into the past, and to see\nthe why and wherefore of many things that had previously puzzled me\nhere.  It was something that I had thus discovered which induced me to\nbuy the land and build this present house.  Beyond that panel, through\nwhich we are going, lies one of the secrets of my past. But I must\nexplain one more thing to you before we go.\n\n\"The higher the form of spirit life, the longer it usually takes for\nsouls to unite.  In the lower orders these changes may occur every few\nminutes; in the higher, centuries may intervene.\"\n\nSydney now got up, and motioning me to follow, went to a sliding panel,\ntouched a spring, and we passed together into a narrow passage.  After\ndescending some winding steps, which must have brought us to about\ntwenty-five feet below the level of the house, we passed through another\ndoor into a large covered courtyard which, except for its domed roof and\npolygonal shape, reminded me of one of the Pompeian houses.\n\n\"This,\" said my companion, \"is, as far as I know, the only perfect Roman\nhouse in Britain, and the history of its preservation is very\ninteresting.  The stone roofing of the courtyard is also curious,\nresembling as it does more the covering of one of the Roman tombs to be\nfound in St. Helena and Sta Costanza than the usual domestic style of\narchitecture. It was in this very court that centuries ago I first met\nthe girl I love, and have in many forms loved ever since.  It was in\nthat room beyond\"--he pointed to one of the smaller apartments which\ncould be seen through an open archway--\"that a scene took place the\neffects of which have been felt to the present time.\"\n\nAfter taking me over the building, which was in perfect preservation,\nand showing me the bath, kitchen and various rooms, he drew my attention\nto the mosaic floor and to various frescoes on the walls. The\nworkmanship was very beautiful, but the scenes depicted were coarse and\nsensual.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"that I have shown you one of the scenes of my life, we\nmay as well go up to the room above.  This place is cold, and if you\nwish to hear the story we shall find it more comfortable in our usual\nplace.\"\n\nAs soon as we had returned to the laboratory my companion began his\nstory of the past.\n\n\"It is unnecessary for me to give you a full picture of this district\nduring the close of the fourth century. At this time, as you will\nremember, the Romans had not been recalled, and many of the nobles had\nsettled down at various places in the southern counties, having built\nfor themselves houses more or less after the type then common in Italy.\nSome of these Roman villas have been discovered in recent years, though\nnone so well preserved as the specimen we have just examined.  This\nhouse was built by Valerius Marius, a celebrated warrior and huntsman.\nHe selected this spot when the times became more peaceful on account of\nthe abundance of game in the neighbouring forest.  The soldiers and\nslaves under him were for the time organized into an army of beaters,\nafter the manner of those days.  The wild boar and other beasts were\nthus driven from the forest into netted enclosures and slaughtered by\nhundreds.\n\n\"This man had never married, but he had one child, Viola, by a favourite\nslave, who, at this time, was a very beautiful girl of about sixteen.\nHe treated her as his own daughter, bringing her up in luxury, and\nletting her follow her heart's desire, which, considering that she was\nby nature little better than a lovely savage, was a dangerous\nexperiment.  Among her retinue of slaves was a fair Saxon boy, who, on\naccount of his good looks, had been bought for a high price when nine\nyears old to act as a page to the little girl.  Like many men engaged in\nactive pursuits, the father allowed these two children to grow up\ntogether, without realizing the changed condition which came by years,\nor that his baby girl was growing into a woman, and her little slave-boy\ninto a youth.  The female slaves who ministered to their mistress, while\nprobably conscious of the danger, had no wish to interfere and to rob\nthe girl and themselves of a bright and pleasant companion.\n\n\"Thus it came to pass that these two children were left much together,\nespecially during the hunting expeditions, and like two beautiful\nanimals they developed early.  The girl, partly owing to her sex and\npartly to her Southern blood, led the way in this as she did in all\nother matters.  The boy was her slave, and she never for one moment\nforgot to remind him of his servitude, whether they were at play\ntogether, or whether he were attending to the many duties she found for\nhim.  And the boy had loved her from the first with a childish devotion;\nthe beautiful little dark-eyed girl had been his queen from the first\nday when he had been brought, a little naked, fair-haired boy, and given\nto the maiden in the atrium or hall.  As she ran out of the tablinum\nbeyond on hearing her father's voice, his big blue eyes opened wide with\nastonishment.  Was this to be his mistress, this dainty little\nwhite-robed goddess?  And unbidden he knelt down before her, fully\npersuaded in his childish ignorance that he was in the presence of some\nelfish deity.  He would then and at any future time have died to save\nher, and though she often treated him brutally, even making the women\nslaves beat him unmercifully if he happened to cause her displeasure, no\nthought of anger ever entered his mind.  Was she not his mistress?  And\nwhy should she not do with him as she desired?\n\n\"According to custom, the owner of a slave gave him whatever name seemed\nmost suitable, and the maid, by reason of the colour of the child's\nhair, called her little servant Aureus.  As Viola grew older she was\nallowed on certain occasions to ride out with Aureus and meet her father\nat the end of one of the netted enclosures, so as to witness the final\nslaughter. Here, placed upon a small platform erected on one of the\ntrees, she could watch the wild boar and other animals as they were\ndriven further and further into the ambuscade.  She saw them rushing\nmadly at the netting and being slaughtered by the men who surrounded it\nwith their long boar-spears.  But the moment of true excitement came at\nthe end, when with a wild rush the maddened animals, who had so far\nescaped destruction, burst at last through the only opening possible and\nrushed into the open plain.  Here at least they had some little chance\nof escape, for though they were unable to return to the forest, they\nmight, if they could avoid the archers' arrows, find at last some\ndistant cover.  The footmen had done their work, and at this point the\nhorsemen galloped forth followed by the hounds, who had till now been\nkept in leash.  The plain was soon covered with flying huntsmen and\nhounds, racing after the maddened fugitives.  But exciting as this scene\nwas, Viola soon got tired of being only a spectator, and would often\nurge her father to allow her to follow the chase on horseback; but he,\nknowing the danger, had hitherto always refused.\n\n\"Now it so happened that among the slave girls was one named Myra, who\nhad recently been bought by Valerius Marius on account of her beauty.\nShe was ambitious, and hated her mistress on account of the high\nposition which she held through her father's love.  If, she thought, I\ncould but get rid of this girl I might rule here myself in her place.\n\n\"It was not long before she realized how dangerous the intimacy might\nsoon become between Aureus and Viola, and though she had no ill-will to\nthe former, she was quite willing to sacrifice him if only by so doing\nshe could also bring about the destruction of her mistress.  To\naccomplish her ends she decided to worm her way into their affections.\nAs she had seen much of life and no little of vice, she was able to\ninterest the girl with many stories connected with the past.  But she\ndid not find it easy to get an opportunity to talk in private with the\nboy. Viola seldom allowed him to leave her, and was evidently jealous if\nhe showed the least liking for any of the slave girls, more especially\nfor the new beauty.  Myra, however, was not to be easily defeated. She\nsaw at once that the boy was as yet a child, and that to accomplish her\nend speedily it would be necessary for her to awaken some youthful\npassion in his heart, which should ultimately bring about the ruin of\nher rival.\n\n\"Taking, therefore, an opportunity when for once Viola unaccompanied had\ngone with her father to visit some neighbouring Roman nobles, she drew\nthe boy aside and asked him to show her the surrounding country.\n\n\"'I have,' she said, 'not dared to go beyond the enclosure, fearing the\nwild beasts, but with you as companion I should not fear.'\n\n\"It was against the rules for any of the female slaves to go outside the\nboundary of the dwelling-place without permission, but Myra was at this\ntime in favour, and no one left behind would have dared to interfere\nwith her actions.  She was known to be vindictive, and, having the ear\nof her master, would have had little difficulty in revenging an insult.\n\n\"So Aureus consented, and they wandered out into the forest, following\nthe course of a small stream. At length they came to an opening in the\ntrees where the sun shone pleasantly upon a bank of ferns.  Here they\nsat and rested.  At their feet was a deep pool in which the boy had\noften bathed; and Myra, as she reclined on the bank, dabbled her bare\nlegs in the clear water to wash the dust from them.\n\n\"'Do you often come here with your mistress?' she asked.  'You seem\nalways with her.'\n\n\"'When we were children,' the boy said, 'we often stole out here in the\nsummer-time to bathe in the cool water.  But we do not bathe here now.'\n\n\"'Why not?' his companion asked.\n\n\"The boy looked up into her face with a comical, innocent expression.\n'I do not quite know,' he said. 'She is too old to bathe now, except in\nthe bath; only slave girls bathe out of doors when they are grown up.'\n\n\"'So you think it does not matter what we do?' she said.\n\n\"'You are different from the others,' he answered. 'You wear a tunic,\nand not an ordinary dress.'\n\n\"'You call this a tunic, do you?' she said, pointing to the thin garment\nwhich partially concealed the full sensuous beauty of her limbs.  'This\nis not much of a robe, this summer thing.  I might almost as well be\nwithout it.'\n\n\"'Do you feel cold?' he asked.\n\n\"'Feel me,' she said.\n\n\"The boy placed his hand upon her bare neck as she moved closer to him.\n'You are quite hot,' he said, 'your skin almost burns me.  But how soft\nand smooth it is!  Tell me, why are women so much more beautiful than\nmen?'\n\n\"'I don't think they are,' the girl answered.  'You, for instance, are\nmore beautiful than Viola.  Look at your arm;' and as she said this she\nlaid her dark hand upon his shoulder.  'How fair you are by the side of\nany of us!  Look at your hair;' and she ran her fingers through the\nbright soft waves of gold. 'Do you not think that it is more beautiful\nthan our long dark tresses?'\n\n\"'No, I do not,' he said.  'Viola's hair is beautiful, and so is yours;\nfar more beautiful than mine.'\n\n\"'There you are mistaken,' she said.  'You do not know.  Come and look.'\n\n\"The two bent forward over the still clear water. It was a pretty\npicture which they saw reflected; the young boy's fair sun-tanned face\nsurrounded with a bright halo of curls through which the sunlight\nplayed.  The girl bending over him, her dark tresses, which she had\nunbound, falling over his shoulders and covering them both as with a\ncloud; her breast, which hitherto looked brown against the white of her\ntunic, now by contrast with the deep shade of her hair was reflected\nback with the brilliancy of ivory.\n\n\"'You are beautiful,' was all the boy said.\n\n\"'_We_ are beautiful,' the girl corrected.  'Do you think,' she\ncontinued, 'that I am as lovely as your mistress?'\n\n\"'Oh dear, no!' the boy replied, with uncomplimentary frankness.  Then,\nfeeling that he had angered her, he went on, 'You see it is different.\nShe is so young, so delicate!'  And saying this he looked again into the\nwater, contrasting in his mind the tender budding grace of the maiden\nwith the reflection of developed womanhood before him.\n\n\"Myra laughed; but though it was not her desire to win the boy from his\ndevotion to Viola, there was beneath the laughter in her eyes an angry,\njealous light.\n\n\"'Ah! my pretty infant,' she cried, 'when you are older you will grow\nwiser.  So you love this little mistress of yours, do you?'\n\n\"'I worship her!' he said, slightly correcting the verb, and giving it,\nnot only a fuller, but more chastened meaning.\n\n\"'What is the difference,' she asked, 'between love and worship?'\n\n\"'You tell me,' he said; 'I am not good at explaining, I only feel.'\n\n\"They had moved back from the water, and were now once more lying on the\nsoft bank.\n\n\"'I don't think you know much about feeling, child,' she answered, 'and\nas for love, why you're a perfect baby!  We begin by worshipping; we go\non to loving; and we often end by hating!'\n\n\"'Then I don't want to get to loving,' he said, 'I like worshipping\nbest, especially if love leads to hatred; but I don't believe it!  I\nmight, perhaps, hate you, Myra, but I never could hate Viola.  However,\ntell me what love is, and I will tell you if I have ever loved.'\n\n\"'Have you ever kissed your mistress?' she asked.\n\n\"The boy looked surprised.  'The Roman nobles,' he answered, 'do not\nkiss their slaves.'\n\n\"The girl burst out laughing; this idea, from her point of view, was\nexceedingly comical, but she did not contradict him.  'I will tell you\nsome stories about love,' she said.\n\n\"Myra, being a Roman slave girl, and having passed through some\nconsiderable experience of what she termed love, it would be unnecessary\nand unedifying to follow her further.  Manners and customs change, and\nthe refinement of thought and language, notwithstanding many an ebb and\nflow, has enlarged its borders.  To describe therefore any such scene as\nthis truthfully, would be not only undesirable, but misleading.\n\n\"When Aureus returned to the villa late that evening, though he may not\nhave been intellectually much wiser, he had tasted of the fruit of the\ntree of knowledge, and knew more of evil than formerly; but it is\ndoubtful whether he or his teacher had any active consciousness of sin.\nThey were little better than half-educated savages, and their training\non the moral side had in one case been neglected, and in the other\nperverted.\n\n\"After Viola's return, she noticed a change in her fair slave.  He was\nas devoted as ever, but less bright and natural in manner.  When they\nwere alone together he would sit watching her every movement The\nsensation of being thus watched made her angry and uncomfortable.\n\n\"On one such occasion she turned to him and said crossly, 'I shall sell\nyou.  You're getting too old and dull to be any amusement.  What has\ncome to you of late?  Ah! it never struck me before. You're in love!'\n\n\"As she said this, the boy turned scarlet.  She had guessed part of the\ntruth, but not that he was in love with her.\n\n\"'Yes, I see it now--in love with that hateful slave Myra!' she\ncontinued, stamping her foot.  'I ought to have known!  They told me\nthat you and she had been out together in my absence.  I'll teach her to\ngo interfering with my slaves!  I'll let her know who rules here!'\n\n\"And the girl, raging with passion, bade Aureus to follow, and hurried\nback to the villa.  Going into one of the inner rooms, she told some of\nthe maidens to fetch Myra, who came reluctantly at her summons. The\nslight girl, absolute mistress of those around, drew up her haughty\nlittle figure, when she saw the beautiful slave enter, and at once\ndemanded by whose authority she had left the enclosure during her\nabsence.\n\n\"This was too great a strain on Myra's temper, and relying on the favour\nshown by her master, she became insolent, even taunting her mistress\nwith her illegitimate birth.\n\n\"'Who are you!' she cried, 'to rule over me! Daughter of a slave!  Soon\nshall you be turned from your high position, and be servant of my\nchildren. Who made you better than the others, that you dare to give\norders to me?'\n\n\"For a moment Viola stood speechless with anger, her face contracted\nwith rage; then turning to those round her, she cried--\n\n\"'Bind her, the insolent brute!  I'll teach her whether I am mistress or\nnot!'\n\n\"The slave-girls were nothing loth to see their haughty companion\nhumbled, for they were jealous of her beauty, and of the favour which\nhad hitherto been shown to her.  In a moment the wretched girl was\nseized, the grand tunic of which she had been so proud was taken from\nher, and her hands and feet tightly bound.\n\n\"'Now,' said Viola, 'bring the double-lashed whip.'\n\n\"When Myra heard this order, her pride vanished, and with tears and\nentreaties she began to cry to her mistress to spare her.  But Viola\nonly mocked at her terror.\n\n\"'Ah!' she cried, 'so the slave is beginning to recognize her mistress;\nand she shall do so with good reason before we let her go!'  Then,\nturning to Aureus, she said, 'Take the whip, and let me see that you use\nit like a man, or by the gods I will have you lashed and sold in the\npublic slave-market.'\n\n\"The boy, though he had often witnessed such scenes before, hesitated;\nhe had never been called upon to hit a woman, and the thought was\ninstinctively repugnant to him.  On the other hand, he had never\ndisobeyed his mistress, and her will was his law.  He lifted the whip\nand let it fall gently upon the prostrate woman, who was bound down upon\none of the raised stone seats.  Then Viola came up to him, and grinding\nher teeth with anger, she seized his arm.\n\n\"'If you do not hit her,' she hissed, 'hit her so that the blood shall\nflow forth freely, I will kill you both! Brute!' she cried; 'you love\nher--you dare to love her!'\n\n\"Then the boy did as his mistress told him, and a great curse entered\ninto his soul, for the brute nature was awakened, and he knew the\ndelight of cruelty; for the sister fiend of lust, with her horrible\nfascination, took, for the time, possession of him as he watched the\nwrithing body of his victim.  But the young girl Viola stood by more\ndamned than the slave who did her bidding, for a double curse fell upon\nher soul.\n\n\"On a lovely day towards the end of summer, Viola at last obtained her\nfather's consent to ride with the huntsmen, and Aureus, who was a\nskilful horseman, was told off to be her attendant, and made responsible\nfor her safety.\n\n\"It was late in the day before the wild beasts broke cover and the\nriders galloped over the plain in pursuit.  The girl selected for her\nquarry a hart which had been slightly wounded by one of the archers, and\nsoon she and her companion were urging their horses over the ground.\nThey were both well mounted, but the animals at that date were ill\nfitted for speed, and there seemed little chance of their overtaking the\nstag unless his wound exhausted him.  The girl, however, was far too\nexcited to consider possibilities, and they soon left the other huntsmen\nfar behind, the sound of the horns growing fainter and fainter.\n\n\"At last the hart came to a small wood, and disappeared among the\nundergrowth.\n\n\"'Had we not better return?' the boy asked.  'We shall find it no easy\nmatter to follow him further.'\n\n\"But the girl had no mind to give up the chase.  A few hounds had\nfollowed them, and she put them upon the track and began forcing her\nhorse through the dense thicket.  They had not far to go before once\nmore the open country could be seen through the willow-stems, and after\nwading a small stream they came in sight of the stag who had just been\ndriven from his place of concealment.  The hounds, now also emerging\nfrom the stream, gave tongue joyfully at view of their prey.\n\n\"Once more the chase commenced.  Forgetting time and place in the wild\nexcitement, the two continued their solitary run accompanied by three\nslow but keen-scented hounds.  Scrambling up the steep hills and wading\nthe many streams which came in their path, they at last discovered their\nquarry, who had taken refuge in a deep pool.  The boy and girl\ndismounted and rested for a moment to recover their breath.\n\n\"In the mean time the hounds plunged into the water; but powerful though\nthey were on land, resembling as they did in appearance a cross between\nthe modern bloodhound and boarhound, they were no match in the water\nagainst their horned antagonist. Aureus knew that, dangerous as was the\nundertaking to one not fully experienced, it would be necessary for him\nto go to their assistance.  Placing, therefore, his knife between his\nteeth, and throwing off his garment, he plunged into the water and swam\nout to the spot where the unequal contest was raging.  Waiting for a\nsuitable moment when the attention of the stag was engaged, he\napproached it cautiously from behind, and taking the dagger from between\nhis teeth, stabbed it to the heart.\n\n\"The girl, who was standing on the bank breathless with excitement, now\nthat she saw the stag was dead, gave a cry of delight, and called to\nAureus to push the body in front of him to the side of the pool so that\nshe might help him to drag it from the water. She then called the\nreluctant hounds to her, and watched impatiently the accomplishment of\nthe youth's difficult task.\n\n\"At length between them they managed to get the body on dry land, and at\nonce set to work, after the manner of the time with which they were so\nfamiliar, to break up the body; the girl blowing her horn, and the boy\npresenting her with the head and antlers. Nor did they forget to reward\nthe faithful hounds.\n\n\"They were reminded by the greed of these their followers that they also\nwere hungry, and having lighted a fire--for no huntsman ever went forth\nwithout providing materials for this contingency--they were soon busy\ncooking some of the choicest morsels on slips of wood over hot charcoal.\nThen, like two young savages, they feasted, drinking from a neighbouring\nstream.\n\n\"It was now growing dusk, and if they hoped to return that night there\nwas no time to spare.  At first by following the marks of their horses'\nfeet they had little difficulty in retracing their steps, but coming to\na wide stretch of heath they lost the track, and while endeavouring in\nvain to find it, darkness settled down.  As they were far from any\nlandmark known to them, and were, moreover, shut in by the surrounding\nhills, they at last gave up the attempt in despair, and decided to make\nthe best of the circumstances and spend the night in some sheltered\nspot.\n\n\"Having come to a suitable place they tied up their horses and crept\ntogether into a small hollow which was carpeted with bracken and roofed\nby sandstone rock.  It was a mild night, but Viola, thinly clad as she\nwas, felt the cold reaction which follows violent exercise, and nestled\nup closer and closer to her companion, who was far too accustomed to\nexposure to feel the least chilled by the night air. After a few moments\nof silence, the girl, raising herself a little, bent over and kissed the\nboy's lips.\n\n\"'There,' she said, 'that is a reward for your having been brave and\nkilled the stag!'\n\n\"But the boy trembled at her touch; it was the first time she had ever\nkissed him; it was the kindling of a new and fatal change in their\nrelationship: childhood had gone!\"\n\n\n\"As may be imagined, Myra's bitterness against her mistress was\nstrengthened rather than lessened by the cruel punishment.  She made\nbitter complaint to her master, but without success; as, though he was\nvexed at what he considered an excessive punishment, he made it a point\nin no way to interfere with his daughter in matters of this kind.  He\nknew too well that a divided rule would mean continued complaints; and,\nmoreover, he thought his fair slave had lately been getting somewhat out\nof hand, and that a little check was desirable.  So he only laughed,\ntelling her that she must learn to be an obedient girl, and do what her\nmistress told her.\n\n\"But Myra's day of revenge was nearer than she expected, and she soon\nbegan to suspect the altered relationship between Viola and Aureus.  She\nwas therefore content to wait her time, and during this interval she\nfeigned the most abject meekness and fawning servility to her young\ntyrant, avoiding at the same time all intercourse with the boy.\n\n\"Marius had been absent when these two returned home the morning after\nthe hunt.  It was usual in these days to continue the chase of fugitives\nas long as any chance of capture remained.  Moreover, there was much\nwork to be done in collecting the slain.  Owing to this their absence\ncaused no comment, the servants at the villa fancying that Viola had\nbeen with her father, while he was under the impression that the girl\nhad returned with her prize on the evening of the previous day.\n\n\"Viola was now often allowed to join the hunting parties, and she and\nher boy lover were thrown more than ever together.  It was a happy time\nfor both of them, living as they did only for the pleasure of the\nmoment, and disregarding all thought of the future. They were too young\nand reckless either to know or consider the consequences of their\npresent folly.  But nature moves in her own way, following her own laws,\nwhether her children regard them or not.  She has her own ends to\nfulfil, and is utterly callous of conventional restrictions; to her\nthere is neither king nor slave, neither queen nor serving-maid, but\nonly male and female, and she treats all alike, without respect of\npersons or regard to social convenience.  It is her children's fault,\nnot hers, if things turn out disastrously; if men make restrictions for\nthemselves which have no part in her plan of action and impose laws\nwhich interfere with her wider and more impartial scheme.\n\n\"The winter came and went, and many of the same spring flowers which now\nmake our lanes so beautiful at this time of the year, carpeted the open\nglades of the forest, and bordered the pure untainted streams.  The\ndelicate lacework of drooping ferns was reflected in the still pools,\nthen stocked with fish as yet unacquainted with guile; the May-fly\nrequired no second inspection, but might be devoured recklessly without\nfear of fatal results, while the wriggling worm which strayed too near\nthe bank, and turned over gently into the water, had not the chances of\nescape which he now enjoys.  No committee of taste would then lie round\nto study his movements for fear that a dangerous hook might be concealed\nsomewhere in his body.\n\n\"It was on a lovely evening shortly after the cuckoo's note had become\nonce more a familiar sound, that Viola and Aureus, returning from a\nramble in the wood, were met a few yards from the enclosure by Marius.\nAs the girl glanced up at her father, she was suddenly overwhelmed with\nterror.  She had seen anger often on his face before, but never when he\nhad looked at her, and never such deep anger as this.  What was the\nmeaning of it?\n\n\"With a haughty word he dismissed the slave, and telling his daughter to\nfollow, went on toward the forest.  For some time the silence was only\nbroken by the sound of their footsteps, and the sweet singing of the\nbirds.  At last the man stopped, and turning round, looked fixedly at\nhis daughter for a moment. Then, with a deep-drawn sob, half of anger\nand half of pain, he cried--\n\n\"'So it is true!  This which they have told me, and which I might have\nseen with my own eyes. My daughter, whom I have loved and honoured, has\ndemeaned herself even to the level of a slave--has become one of the\nvile!  You know your fate--the fate of the wanton.  Even though I have\nloved you, this past love shall not save you.  Were you not my own child\nI would even now sell you in the slave-market, that you might follow the\nvile calling you have chosen.  As it is, you shall die!'\n\n\"When Viola heard this she fell upon her knees before her father, and\nwith tears implored him to spare her life.  Then, in her terror, a\nthought crossed her mind.  She might yet save herself by a lie.  To hide\nher guilt she knew would be impossible, but she might throw all the\nblame upon another, and so save herself.\n\n\"Between sobs and lamentations she said--'Even though you kill me, yet\nam I innocent of evil.  How could I know, who am but a child, of the\nwickedness of men?  I went out to hunt in the forest, and the stag led\nme far from home, and when we slew it the darkness of night was falling,\nand there was none near save the slave whom you gave me as a servant.\nAnd behold, when we strove to return home, we could not find our way;\nand as we wandered helpless into the thick places of the forest, night\ncame on.'  Then Viola, having thrown all the blame upon Aureus, finished\nher story in these words--'Knowing not the harm that would follow, I hid\nthis thing in my heart; and though he, my destroyer, has since been\nhateful to me, yet dared I not show it lest the evil which had happened\nmight be suspected by any.'\n\n\"Then the father, willing if possible to save his child, was moved by\nher words and tears, though still unconvinced of her innocence.  And he\nsaid--\n\n\"'I will prove and see if these things be even as you say.'\n\n\"So they returned together to the house, and he led his daughter into an\ninner room, and commanded his servants to bring Aureus bound before him.\nThen having dismissed the slaves, he repeated to the boy the story which\nhis daughter had told; and when he had done this, he said--\n\n\"'If this be true, then shalt thou be crucified in the sight of all the\npeople; but if thou canst prove that this was no act of violence, I will\nsell thee as a slave, and the girl shall die!'\n\n\"The boy looked upon the pleading and terrified face of the one he\nloved, and lifting up his head, swore by the gods, saying--\n\n\"'It is true even as thy daughter has said.  I, and only I, am to\nblame.'\n\n\"Then the father turned to the girl and said--'And you hate him even as\nyou said?'\n\n\"And she, simulating anger, answered--'I hate him--I hate him!'\n\n\"But Marius, still doubting, replied, so that he might try her\nfurther--'Thou shalt this night then have thy revenge, even before the\nsun shall set.'\n\n\"Then he ordered that a cross of wood should be made ready.  When it was\nprepared and laid upon the ground, he commanded his daughter to come,\nand the boy was brought forth and laid upon the cross. But when one of\nthe servants was about to take a nail and with the heavy hammer drive it\ninto the boy's hand, Marius stayed him, saying--\n\n\"'She, who has thus been wronged, shall with her own hand take\nvengeance.'  Then he said to the girl who was standing by his\nside--'Go!'  And in a low voice he whispered, 'Then shall I know the\ntruth!'\n\n\"And Viola, though faint with terror and anguish, dare not hesitate, for\nshe knew that her refusal would be treated as a sign of guilt.  So with\ntrembling hands she nailed the lover who died to save her to the cross,\nand his blood stained her fingers and the white robe she wore.\n\n\"Then, even as the sun was setting, they lifted the cross on high, and\nthe glow of the evening light fell softly upon the boy's head.\n\n\"When Viola went to her room that night, she could not sleep.  The\nthought of her lover still suffering the tortures of his slow death was\ntoo horrible. She could no longer bear the anguish of remorse and\nself-contempt.\n\n\"'Better,' she cried, 'had I died ten thousand times than live this\nawful life!'\n\n\"She began to picture all the happy hours that they had spent together;\nshe thought of the love which the boy had always shown her.  It was\nimpossible that she should remain any longer in her room. Whatever the\nrisk she ran, whatever pain it might bring, she must see her lover again\nand ask him to forgive her.  Was it too late?  Was his suffering over?\nShe took up a short dagger, and moving softly, stole out of the house.\n\n\"There was a moon, but fortunately at the moment it was covered by\nclouds, and she passed into the open beyond the enclosure safely.  In\nthe gloom she could see the cross standing out against the hills beyond;\nand even as she looked the clouds passed by, and the moon shone\nbrightly, showing clearly the boy's drooping head and strained arms.\nWas he dead?  She hurried on until she came to the foot of the cross.\nThe boy slightly moved at the sound of her footstep, and turning his\nhead looked down at her.\n\n\"'Aureus!' she cried, 'Aureus! forgive me--forgive me!'\n\n\"The boy tried to speak, but for a moment he could not.  Then with a\ngreat effort he whispered, 'Viola, I love you!  I shall always love\nyou!'  And as he said the last word his head fell forward; his pain was\nover.\n\n\"But the girl, when she realized that he was dead, having kissed the\npoor wounded feet, knelt down before his lifeless body; then, baring her\nbreast, she drove the dagger into her heart.\"\n\n\n\"Soon after this Marius left the country, being summoned with several of\nthe Romans to Italy. But the story of these two being handed down, the\nvilla was looked upon as haunted by their dead spirits, and avoided as a\nplace accursed.\n\n\"Some time later, owing to the misfortune which attended a Saxon tribe\nthat had settled in this part, orders were given that the 'House of the\nGreat Curse,' as it was then called, should be domed over and covered\nwith sand, so that the evil spirits might be confined within.  In a few\nyears the grass grew on the little hillock, and long before the Norman\nConquest all history connected with the place had perished.\"\n\n\"And that,\" I said, \"is the ending of the story. It is a very sad one.\"\n\n\"It is rather,\" he answered; \"the first chapter of what may be called\nour intellectual history, is usually sad.  The fight between the spirit\nand beast nature must naturally bring about much evil; the animal is in\none sense far less repulsive than the savage, as the former lacks the\ningenuity with which the latter is able to enforce his brutal desires.\nFrom that day to the present time my spirit and the spirit of this girl\nhave been more or less interwoven together through many lives and under\nvarious names.  Both our natures have developed; though owing in a large\nmeasure to the incident just related, her growth has been retarded; had\nit not been for this, our spirits would probably have been united long\nbefore this, and have passed to a higher and nobler life together. But\nwe shall not now have long to wait,\" he continued; \"and I shall at last\nbe freed from these marks.\"\n\nAs he said this he held his hands palm upward for me to look at, and in\nthe centre of each was a small faint red spot.\n\n\"Those marks,\" he said, \"I have always borne. They are one of the\nstrange signs of the power with which the spirit, under certain\ncircumstances, affects the body, and their having endured for so long a\ntime shows how deeply this experience affected in some way the formation\nof my character.\"\n\n\"Tell me,\" I said, \"where Vera is now.  Is she still alive?\"\n\n\"Next time we meet,\" he answered, \"if all be well, I will show you the\ngirl as she is now--the girl whom you have heard of as Viola and\nVera--the girl whom I love!\"\n\n\"She can hardly be a girl now,\" I said.\n\n\"Wait,\" he replied, \"and see.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *CHAPTER XVII*\n\n\nAs Sydney was away from home, some weeks passed before I again had an\nopportunity of seeing him.  On hearing of his return I immediately\nwalked to his house and found him sitting in the garden.\n\n\"I am glad that you have come,\" he said, \"as this is the last day I\nshall spend here, and there is much still to tell before we part.\"\n\n\"Go!\" I exclaimed; \"you do not intend to leave altogether?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" he replied; \"and it will be many years before you will see me\nagain, so we must make the best of the short time that still remains.\nYou will stay the night?\"\n\nI assented.  The news of his coming departure was a greater blow than I\ncould have believed possible. Having lived for long alone, and become so\nself-concentrated, it had not occurred to me I could suffer such pain at\nparting from any one.  When we are young we experience these acute\nsensations; but time makes us callous, and after all, our friendship had\nlasted so short a time.\n\n\"You are sorry,\" he said.  \"We have become friends--a rare thing to\nhappen in later life--and we shall miss each other.  But it is better\nso.  Some day you will understand why we lose our idols.  It is not good\nfor man to be alone; but it is still worse for one nature to rest all\nits interest upon another.  The ivy clinging to the oak destroys the\nlife of its supporter, and sooner or later they fall together.\"\n\nFor some time we strolled up and down, talking of friendship.  There was\none thing noticeable in Sydney which distinguished him from most men.\nSuperficial observers would have called him egotistical, because if he\nthought a thing true he said so, without consideration for any of the\nforms of false modesty which are mistaken for meekness.  If he liked a\nperson he spoke to him just as he felt; and when better acquainted with\na subject than those with whom he was conversing, he said so openly.  If\nhe felt that he was stronger or wiser than his friend, he lacked the\naffectation of professing to disbelieve it.  Yet, instead of feeling\nthat this assumption was an impertinence, I liked him the better for it;\nit was so naturally done, so free from the very suspicion of conceit.\n\n\"You and I,\" he seemed to say, \"understand each other.  We both know\nenough to be conscious of our own littleness and our own ignorance.  We\nwill not place ourselves in the ridiculous position of students in\nprecedence.  The gap between the wisest man and the fool is too narrow\nfor partition.  It is hardly worth while for earthworms to wrangle over\nshades of complexion, or men over shades of intelligence. Let us rather\nget to business, and make the best of our opportunity for improvement.\"\n\nBut this manner of his was offensive to many. There are minds so small\nthat they are incapable of understanding a meekness that takes no\naccount of distinction in littleness.\n\nAfter dinner, Sydney abruptly turned a conversation upon the growth of\nspiritual life, in which I was much interested, and told me a short\nstory about one of the little children who had been rescued by Agnes,\nand taken to Somerville.\n\nI had no idea at the time how important a link in his history lay hidden\nin this pathetic tale.\n\n\"I promised,\" he said, \"that when next we met, you should see Vera as\nshe is, and to-night you shall do so, but first of all I will give you\nan account of a scene that happened six years ago.  You remember the\nhome for orphan children that Vera and Agnes started. For a few years it\ncontinued under their joint care, but then, owing to a reason which I\nwill explain later, the entire charge was thrown upon Agnes, and the\nhome has been for the last seven years, and is now, under her sole\nmanagement.  Six years ago I went to see her, and told her of a case\nwhich seemed in every way worthy of relief.  A young woman, who had been\nleft a widow a few months previously, was dying.  She had one child, a\nlittle girl about eighteen months old; this child would soon be totally\nunprovided for, as, though the mother had been well brought up, and was\nof gentle birth, her own and her husband's relations were dead.  Anxiety\non her baby's account was adding greatly to the poor woman's suffering.\nYou may fancy that Agnes required no urging in such a case, and she went\nwith me at once on this errand of mercy.  We found the mother and her\nchild in a small badly-furnished room in one of the poorest parts of\nManchester. Since her husband's death she had done a little dressmaking,\nand so kept her child and herself from starvation.  Notwithstanding the\nravages of disease, she was still a beautiful woman; and as she told\nAgnes her story, the mystery of sorrow bravely borne, and apparently\nmeaningless as far as this life was concerned, affected her listener\ndeeply.  Her parents had died when she was about seventeen; they had\nbeen fairly well off, having made a small fortune in Australia; her\nfather, however, during the closing years of his life had speculated\nrashly, and when he died a few months after his wife, the estate had to\nbe wound up in bankruptcy.  His only daughter Ellen managed after some\nlittle difficulty to get a situation as nursery-governess to the\nchildren of a wealthy Australian, who was about to sail with his family\nfor England. Ellen lived with these people for three years, and, from\nwhat she said, her life must have been far from happy.  Those who have\nrecently risen from an inferior social position are as a rule the most\noverbearing to any one whom they consider their subordinate; the value\nof wealth is so impressed upon them that they can hardly realize that\nthe governess in their pay is their social equal, or may be, as in this\ncase, their superior.  The torment that such persons inflict on a young,\nand sensitive nature is indescribable.  It is often bad enough to be\nruled over by those we respect, but to be slighted, or still worse\npatronized, by those whose instincts and habits revolt us is torture.\nSuch was this girl's life, until she met by accident her future husband;\nhe was a young journalist, who through hard work and ability had made\nhis way into a position which brought him in a precarious L300 a year.\nOn the prospect of this doubtful income they married, and the first two\nyears of their lives were passed happily.  But soon after the birth of\ntheir child, Harry Stanford broke down in health.  He had worked too\nhard.  Then the bitter struggle began: piece by piece the furniture had\nto be sold to buy food, and when he died his wife found herself once\nmore penniless, and debarred now from any chance of earning a living as\nshe had formerly done, by reason of her new tie.  Still, as long as her\nstrength lasted she had struggled bravely against poverty and\nmisfortune.\n\n\"'It is not,' she said, looking up at Agnes' face, 'that I fear to die.\nIt would be so sweet to lie down and rest--to know that all trouble and\npain were over, and that I could go to my husband!  But he has left me\nthis little one, the baby he loved so dearly and was so proud of.  What\nwill become of her when I go to him?  What will he say--our child--our\nchild! With no one to love or care for her--it is terrible!'\n\n\"And the poor woman broke into a paroxysm of weeping.\n\n\"'I cannot die,' she sobbed, 'I cannot!  Oh God! I see her growing up\nwithout love--people are cruel to her, and day by day, as she gets\nolder, she will miss more the care of a mother's watchfulness.  If\nanything should happen--if she should sink down through despair into the\ndepth of sin and misery!  I cannot leave her!'\n\n\"'Do not distress yourself, dear,' Agnes said; 'I will try and take your\nplace when you are gone--will try to be a mother to your little one.\nGive her to me--let me take her in my arms.'  She took the little one\nfrom its mother, and the child came not unwillingly. 'There, you see,'\nshe continued, 'the child trusts me--will you?'\n\n\"When the mother heard and understood, the drawn look of anxious pain\npassed from her face, and a radiant light of rest and peace took its\nplace.\n\n\"'Do you mean it?' she cried.  'Will you indeed take charge of my love,\nmy baby, when I am gone? Oh! you don't know, you cannot imagine what joy\nyou have given me!  Trust you!  Yes, indeed, no one can look into your\neyes and see you touch the child and not know that you can love; and you\nare sure to love her, the darling!  But how can I thank you--it is too\ngood to be true.'\n\n\"Though the child was getting near the age when children so often\ndevelop shyness, she nestled up and clung to Agnes as though she\nrecognized her touch. The little thing looked up into the sweet face\nbending over her, and seemed to find there something familiar. It put\nits baby hands to her cheeks and stroked them, then crowed and laughed\nwith pleasure.\n\n\"To those who knew the mystery which connected Agnes with this child\nthere was something strangely pathetic in the unconscious recognition,\nthe half-forgotten association.  The strange part lay chiefly in this,\nthat the child was more conscious than the woman.  The child\nremembered--the woman only felt at her heart a throb of reawakened love.\nAnd the mother who watched saw not the mysterious chain which bound\nthese two together, yet she saw what was enough for her, love in the one\nand contentment in the other, and she lay back and rested with a heart\nfull of such deep peace as she had never hoped again to know.  I saw her\nfold her hands, and knew that she was half praying, half speaking to her\nhusband. Even as she prayed his presence was beside her, and I then felt\ncertain that the end was near.\n\n\"'Agnes,' I said, 'give back the child to its mother, that for one\nmoment the three may be united.'\n\n\"She looked at me in surprise, wondering what I could mean, then placed\nthe little one in its mother's arms; and the child, conscious, as\nchildren often are, of the spirit world around them, felt the dual\npresence, and lifting up its tiny hands gave a little cry of joy. But\nthe cry broke the delicate thread which till now had held the mother\nbound to earth, and her spirit was free.  Then a strange thing happened,\nfor as the two spirits were drawn together they became aware of the\nmystery which connected me with the child they had loved, and an\nindescribable joy entered their souls and passed to my own like some\nstrain of joyful melody.\n\n\"The little child was taken by Agnes, after her mother's funeral, to\nSomerville.  And now, if you wish to do so, we will go and see Vera.\"\n\nWe went together into the library, and there, sitting by the fire with a\npicture-book on her lap, was a little girl about seven.  She sprang up\nas soon as she saw Sydney, and rushing up to him threw her arms around\nhis neck.  She was the most beautiful child I have ever seen; her skin\nhad the delicate purity of perfect health; her features were more finely\nmodelled than those which we generally see in children, but it was the\ndeep loveliness of her large dark-blue eyes which gave the chief\nattraction.  Her expression, and the firm outline of the lower part of\nher face, showed determination, faithfulness, and a deep capacity for\nlove and devotion.\n\n\"Come, Vera,\" Sydney said, \"I want to introduce you to a friend,\" and he\nled her to me.\n\nShe lifted up her face to be kissed, and I bent over her and touched her\nsoft waving curls with my lips. What did it all mean?  Could this be\nVera's child, or some one named after her?  There was a likeness to the\nface of the beautiful girl I had seen in my visions, but the child was\nnot only far more lovely, her expression showed greater purity,\nrefinement, and nobility.  During the short time she sat with us I was\nparticularly struck with her devotion to Sydney; she seemed ever trying\nto anticipate some want of his so as to fulfil it.\n\nWhen at last he said, \"You must go now, dear, and get to bed, as we\nshall have a long day's travelling to-morrow,\" she came and climbed on\nto his knee, and resting her head on his shoulder, said--\n\n\"Is it not lovely to think that we are going now to be together?  It is\ngood of you to take me; I hope I shall not be much trouble.\"\n\n\"I don't think so, dear,\" he answered; \"you might perhaps have been a\ntrouble once, but now it is different.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"I'm nearly grown up, am I not?\"\n\nHe kissed her, and as she tripped off he said to me, laughing, \"Well,\nwhat do you think of my nearly grown-up companion?\"\n\n\"She is a sweet child,\" I said.  \"How did she come to be called Vera?\nAnd when are you going to introduce me to Lady Vancome?\"\n\n\"So you don't even yet understand,\" he said, \"the mystery?  Listen while\nI explain.  When Vera Vancome had lived with the children whom she had\ngathered round her for three years, her whole nature became changed.\nThe new interest, the new love which grew up in her heart for the\nmotherless little ones drove out of her nature the desire for\nself-gratification which heretofore had been her curse; yet habit is so\nstrong, moulding as it does the brain and warping the will, that as long\nas the body lives, any tendency to an evil that has once been encouraged\nwill continue, though perhaps with weakened force; and until the spirit\nis set free by death from these self-made bonds; love, which should be a\nspontaneous pleasure, is still at times marred by effort, and loses\nthereby much of its usefulness and beauty.  When this is the case it\nbecomes necessary for the soul's final perfection on earth that it\nshould be born again into the body of a little child, which takes the\nform of the ennobled spirit.  Thenceforth it is free from the tendency\nto evil which the influence of past years had engraved on its former\nbody and mind.  In other words, when a soul outgrows its body, it is\ntime to cast off the old shell and take one more in conformity with a\nhigher development.  This may seem a strange thing to you, but it is a\ncommon experience of daily life, and accounts both for the inequality of\nhuman nature and also for the reason why we find but a small proportion\nof men or women seemingly fitted for a high state of spiritual life.  We\nsee many in the various transition stages, but few who have reached a\nfinal growth; the sixth form, as it were, of our earthly school, when\nthe scholars are ready to go forth into a wider universe of action and\nexperience.\n\n\"And thus it came about in Vera's case.  Her body, weakened by continual\nwork and the constant fight against her lower nature, was thereby made\nsensitive to the first attack of illness.  A child, who had lately come\nto the home, developed diphtheria.  The disease spread quickly among the\nother children; it was therefore necessary to isolate them, and Vera,\nmuch against Agnes' wish, determined to act as their nurse. While doing\nso she caught the disease.  It was a pathetic sight to see her, even\nafter she had taken the complaint, struggling to minister to the little\nones around.  She absolutely refused to be separated from them,\nnotwithstanding the earnest entreaties of the nurse and the express\norders of the doctor.\n\n\"One night while the nurse was sleeping, a little child who was very\nill, began crying in its delirium and calling Vera by name; until nearly\nunconscious herself, she got up, and tottering over to the child, began\nstroking its head, and trying to calm its fears. The little one soon\nceased its rambling and fell into a quiet sleep, but Vera still knelt by\nits side; she had lost consciousness of all around her.\n\n\"The nurse was roused some hours later by the crying of one of the\nchildren, and to her horror she found Lady Vancome still kneeling by the\nside of one of the cots.  She touched her, but she did not move. The\ntime had come--her new body awaited her.\n\n\"At the same hour a child was born.  Into the more perfect body, free\nnow from the evil tendency of a misspent past, her spirit entered.\"\n\n\"And the child?\" I said.\n\n\"Is the baby Agnes rescued; is the little girl you have just seen.  This\nis the divine order of life. Moved into the home which Vera founded,\nunder the protection of Agnes whom she loved, she learned the first\nlesson of her new life.  Thus, often do our deeds of mercy return to us\nagain.  We cast our bread upon the waters, and find it after many days.\nAnd thus, alas! do we also curse ourselves by acts of selfishness,\nreaping in future years the harvest of pain which we so thoughtlessly\nscattered in the past.\"\n\n\"Does Vera remember any of her previous life?\" I asked.\n\n\"Not as you call remembrance,\" he answered, \"though shadows flit across\nher mind at times.\"\n\n\"You have not told her about it, then?\"\n\n\"No, it would not be wise; she is going with me now to Aphar, where she\nwill become in time one of the priestesses.  As soon as her spirit can\nleave the body, she will begin to learn the mystery of the past, and it\nwill not be very many years, I expect, before we shall both leave this\nearth and go into the higher world which lies beyond and around us.\"\n\n\"Shall you never return here?\" I asked.\n\n\"When the time comes for us to leave we will come to you before we go,\nbut not till then.\"\n\n\"What will become of your house while you are away?\"\n\n\"Before to-morrow night you will know.\"\n\nThe next morning I said good-bye to Sydney and Vera.  As they drove away\nin the bright sunlight the child looked the personification of joy, but\nwhen my friend turned round to wave a last adieu, I knew that he was\nsorry: sorry because with the sensitiveness of his nature he knew my\npain, and felt that I should be very lonely when he had gone.\n\nThat evening while sitting in my study I noticed a brilliant light as\nthough some large building was on fire.  I hastened out; there could be\nno mistake, this light proceeded from the direction of Sydney's house:\nbefore I arrived on the scene, there was a slight explosion, and flames\nwere suddenly tossed high into the air.  When I reached the building it\nwas a ruin; only a few walls now stood to mark the spot where so many\ntreasures had been gathered together.\n\n\n\n\n                              *CONCLUSION*\n\n\nFor ten years I neither saw nor heard anything of Sydney or Vera, but\nthis did not surprise me.  I knew that they were both at Aphar, and that\nthe girl was learning the mysteries of spiritual power which should in\ntime enable her to gain at least some of the knowledge which the man,\nwho had loved and watched over her so long, possessed.  I was also\nconfident that some day I should see them again before their spirits\nwere united and passed away from earth.\n\nMy confidence was justified.\n\nI was sitting alone one evening when Sydney entered the room.  He was\nmuch changed.  His hair was quite white, his face more calm, more noble\nthan when we parted; but his expression told of such perfect happiness\nand contentment that even to look at him brought a feeling of peace.\n\n\"I have come at last, you see,\" he said, as he shook me warmly by the\nhand.\n\nI told him how delighted I was, and that I had looked forward for years\nto this meeting.  \"But where,\" I continued, \"is Vera?  Did you not bring\nher after all?\"\n\n\"Oh yes,\" he replied.\n\nEven as he spoke the door opened, and the girl stood before us.  I had\nbeen prepared for a good deal; I remembered the child, and felt quite\ncertain that as she grew up she would be very beautiful; but I had never\nconceived it possible that any human form could be so lovely as the one\nthat now stood before me.\n\nThe girl was clothed in a loose flowing robe of dazzling white, which\nwas fastened at the breast by a brooch in which shone a luminous\ntransparent stone similar to the one which Sydney had described as worn\nat Aphar by the high priestess; but notwithstanding the test of such a\ncontrast, her complexion looked more pure, more ethereal than it is\npossible to conceive in any setting.  It seemed as though alabaster had\nbeen faintly tinted with the pearly shade of the most delicate\nrose-leaf.  As she came forward each movement told of perfectly\ndeveloped bodily strength and graceful power, while the clear brightness\nof her deep blue eyes and the warm colour of her lips showed how health\nalone can give the true finish without which the most perfect beauty is\nmarred, or for the time partially lost.  Yet with all her charm of\nattraction she seemed as unconscious of the effect produced by her as\nthough she were still a little child.  She came up to me with both her\nhands held out, and taking one of mine into each of hers, looked up with\na bright smile into my face.\n\n\"Perhaps you think,\" she said, \"that I have forgotten you; but if so you\nare mistaken.  It is ten years ago, and I was only seven then, but Alan\nhas taken care to keep my memory fresh, and sometimes he has let me see\nyou.\"\n\n\"But why,\" I said, \"should you want to see me? You cannot possibly care\nabout such an old selfish being.\"\n\n\"Of course I care,\" she answered; \"are you not his friend?  And whom he\ncares for, I care for; whom he loves, I love.\"\n\nAs she said this she looked at Sydney, and I saw for the first time the\nexpression of true, pure, and perfect love.\n\nWe had talked for some time on various subjects, when Vera turned to me\nand said--\n\n\"You already know much of my past, a knowledge which has only recently\nbeen revealed to me.  But there is much still that you do not know\nbecause he who told you was the man who loved me.  Nor is it necessary\nfor me to bring before you further scenes of humiliation, when I\nwandered blindly in the path of disorder and pain, ever refusing the\nguiding light of love held out to me.  But,\" she continued, getting up\nand kneeling beside Sydney, \"before we go, before we enter into the\nglorious life of joy, to the threshold of which my love at length has\nguided me, I should like to give you some idea of my feeling toward the\nman who has thus through pain and trial, with no return save the basest\ningratitude, ever been faithful to one so unworthy of his devotion.\"\n\nAs she said this she looked up into the face of her lover, and drawing\nhim down to her, kissed him on the lips.\n\nFor a moment she seemed to forget my presence as she turned to Sydney,\nand cried, \"My beloved, who through the dark valley has been beside me;\nwho with the unselfishness of divine compassion has forgiven cruelty and\nunfaithfulness, thinking not of the worthlessness of the one beloved but\nonly feeling her weakness; whatsoever I am is thine, without thee there\ncan be no joy, no perfect completion, no future life, no eternal glory!\"\n\nBut Sydney stopped her.  \"Dearest,\" he said, \"it is enough.  The past is\ngone; through the weakness that once you had, came that strength which\nhas been our salvation.  Through selfishness has come self-renunciation;\nthrough sorrow, more exceeding joy; through doubt and perplexity,\neternal hope and trust.  If your growth has been dependent upon me, so\nhas my growth on you; each soul acting and reacting on the other from\nwithout.  And still shall it ever be, save that in future the influence\nshall be internal, not external, and the darkness shall have passed\naway.\"\n\nFor a few moments there was silence; then Vera turned to me and said,\n\"Would that you too could know this great joy.\"\n\n\"I have not lived to deserve it,\" I replied, \"yet it gives me the\ngreatest happiness to see you here.\"\n\n\"Deserved it,\" she replied, \"and how do I deserve it?  When first the\ntruth became known to me in vision after vision of my past, I thought I\nshould have died of shame and sorrow.  Before that I believed that I was\nmore or less worthy of Alan's love, but then it seemed impossible.\"\n\nShe buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"Hush!\" Sydney said.  \"Let us speak of brighter things.  No spirit can\nlook upon the past without wonder and shame.  Let us thank God that when\nits lessons are over, these things shall be wiped out and all things\nbecome new.\"\n\n\"Should you mind,\" I said, addressing Vera, \"letting me know something\nof your life since we last met?\"\n\n\"There is not much,\" she replied, \"that I may tell, but I will do my\nbest.  After leaving you we travelled together, seeing many places of\ninterest on the way; for you must remember that it was impossible for me\nto quit the body, and Alan would not leave me.  At length we came to the\nplateau of which you have already heard, and I was admitted through the\nsecret passage to the enclosure.  On arriving there I was taken alone\ninto the beautiful temple and dedicated to the service of the Almighty\nFather.  For eight years I lived with the priestess, who educated me in\nthe knowledge which comes to us through the spiritual sense.  But beside\nwhat she taught me I saw Alan often and learned many things from him.\nThese times were the most delightful, for though always happy, a new\nstrange joy filled my heart whenever I was brought into his presence.  I\nfelt somehow that I belonged to him, and when he left there was a void\nwhich nothing else could fill.\n\n\"Time passed very quickly, there was so much to do.  I was trained to\nperfect my body as well as my spirit, and to bring every faculty into\nobedience to my will.  At last I was admitted as priestess to the\ntemple, and then for the first time my spirit was allowed to go free,\nand to commune with the other spirits which surround us.  But though\nincreasing day by day in power, I knew as yet nothing of the past.  For\nsome time I was not allowed to go forth alone, but one day it was\ndecided that I should have no companion, but go whither I would and\nlearn whatsoever I desired.  And I desired greatly to know of my past,\nand what was the mysterious bond which bound me to the man I love.  Then\nwas my history revealed.  And it came to pass that after the visions, so\ngreat was my humiliation, so fearful did it seem to go back and face one\nwho had thus loved me and whom I had so grievously wronged, that my\nsoul, dreading to return to the body, waited: still longing for the\nsight of the beloved, while ashamed to meet him.  Then a spirit, more\nbeautiful than any I had yet seen, came near to me, and its thought\npassed to me in this wise:\n\n\"'Dost thou not know, frail spirit, who hath been permitted to visit the\nunseen world even though thy body is still on earth, that if thou\ntarriest here much longer, the earthly form will perish, and it will be\nimpossible for thee to finish thy work on earth save in some future\nstate?'\n\n\"And I answered, 'It is even so, yet dare I not return and meet one who\nhas been deeply wronged by me in the past.'\n\n\"Then the spirit spoke again.  'Yet he whom thou hast wronged hath borne\nwith thee all these many years, and hath not grown weary of his love.\nWhy shouldest thou fear even now when the past is over? Wouldest thou\nthen desire once more to be born again and bring to him even this\nfurther pain?  Hath he not waited long for thee in patience, and wilt\nthou at the moment of fulfilment cause him the needless suffering of\nhope delayed?  Forget thyself, child of earth, and think only of the\nsorrow that such an action would cause.  What is thy humiliation?  Tarry\nnot, but walk bravely in the path of duty.'\n\n\"Then seeing that selfishness was still holding me back, I came in haste\nto the temple.  It was night, and I knew that days had passed by since\nmy spirit had left its body entranced.  Might it not even now be too\nlate to return?  I looked down.  The light of the moon fell softly\nthrough the trellis-work of the arches.  A delicate strain of music\npassed with me as I moved, but from below only the soft plash of the\nfountain disturbed the silence of earth.  I saw the body my spirit had\nso long forsaken still reclining upon the cushions which had been laid\nover the mosaic floor.  Was I too late?  Had the trance stage passed on\nto death?\n\n\"Kneeling over my prostrate form I could distinguish the figure of a\nman, and knew that my lover still watched and waited.  Otherwise the\ntemple was deserted.  Then I heard Alan speak.\n\n\"'Vera, come back!  Would that it were possible for my spirit to come to\nyours, but it may not be. Can you not trust me?  Can you doubt my love?\nOh! before it is too late, return!  Must we again be parted even when it\nseemed that the time had at last arrived for our eternal union?'\n\n\"In a moment I had regained my bodily form.  I rose, dazed by my long\ntrance, and fell upon my knees before my lover who now stood over me,\nhis face radiant with joy.\n\n\"'Forgive me,' I cried, 'forgive me!'\"\n\nVera paused, and Sydney turned to me with a smile.\n\n\"Rather a difficult request, was it not?\"\n\nI looked at the exquisite face of the girl before me and said, \"Sydney,\nmysterious though it seems, God's wondrous wisdom must have been\nmanifested to you at such a moment.\"\n\n\"'Yes,\" he replied, \"if man never passed through darkness into light,\nthrough sin into holiness, God could never love us as he does, could\nnever feel the joy with which such a prayer must fill his soul.\"\n\nAfter talking for some little time longer we passed to the other room.\nVera had promised to sing to me before they went.  She sung the\nfollowing song; the music, the strange unearthly beauty of her voice,\nare beyond my words to describe.  I listened with closed eyes; earth,\nfor the moment, seemed to slip away from me, and the gates of heaven to\nbe thrown open.\n\n    When Love's fair flower uncloses,\n      And Pain has lost her hold,\n    When Grief for once reposes,\n      And Joy's bright wings unfold,\n    Listen!  Listen! as you pass along!\n    Sweetly, yet how softly, Hope breathes forth her song!\n      No longer drowned by tumult,\n        Her never silent voice\n      Shall whisper on for ever,\n        \"Rejoice! and still rejoice!\"\n\n    She sings to children sleeping;\n      She lies on Love's light breath,\n    Faith weaves her words with weeping,\n      To form the song of death.\n    Listen!  Listen! you will hear her say,\n    \"Joy shall last for ever, Grief must pass away.\"\n      The lost still linger near you,\n        Oh! lift with them your voice,\n      To swell our joyful chorus,\n        \"Rejoice! and still rejoice!\"\n\n    And as our souls grow nearer\n      Souls in the world above,\n    Ever the song grows clearer,\n      Till life is lost in love!\n    Waken!  Listen!  Still the same glad strain!\n    Deeper now and fuller! swells the glad refrain!\n      Till with the host of Heaven,\n        We also raise our voice,\n      And hear earth's distant echo,\n        \"Rejoice! and still rejoice!\"\n\n\nFor a few moments after the song was finished I sat overpowered with a\nfeeling of indescribable peace. When I looked up the room was empty, my\nfriends had gone.\n\n\n\n                                THE END\n\n\n\n            _Richard Clay & Sons, Limited, London & Bungay._","title":"The Chariot of the Flesh","tradition":"ritual-magic","translated_text":null,"word_count":88400}