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diff --git a/43594-0.txt b/43594-0.txt index fa91b1d..84d2697 100644 --- a/43594-0.txt +++ b/43594-0.txt @@ -1,38 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Bright Messenger, by Algernon Blackwood - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Bright Messenger - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: August 29, 2013 [EBook #43594] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43594 *** THE BRIGHT MESSENGER @@ -13721,361 +13687,4 @@ THE END End of Project Gutenberg's The Bright Messenger, by Algernon Blackwood -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - -***** This file should be named 43594-0.txt or 43594-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/5/9/43594/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Bright Messenger - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: August 29, 2013 [EBook #43594] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -THE BRIGHT MESSENGER - - - - - OTHER WORKS BY - ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - JULIUS LeVALLON - THE WAVE: An Egyptian Aftermath - TEN MINUTE STORIES - DAY AND NIGHT STORIES - THE PROMISE OF AIR - THE GARDEN OF SURVIVAL - THE LISTENER and Other Stories - THE EMPTY HOUSE and Other Stories - THE LOST VALLEY and Other Stories - JOHN SILENCE: Physician Extraordinary - - _With Violet Pearn_ - KARMA: A Reincarnation Play - - _With Wilfred Wilson_ - THE WOLVES OF GOD and other Fey Stories - - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - - - - THE BRIGHT MESSENGER - BY - ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - AUTHOR OF - "JULIUS LeVALLON," "THE WOLVES OF GOD," ETC. - - NEW YORK - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - 681 FIFTH AVENUE - - - - - Copyright 1922, by - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - _All Rights Reserved_ - - _Printed in the United States of America_ - - - - -To the Unstable - - - - -THE BRIGHT MESSENGER - -CHAPTER I - - -Edward Fillery, so far as may be possible to a man of normal passions -and emotions, took a detached view of life and human nature. At the age -of thirty-eight he still remained a spectator, a searching, critical, -analytical, yet chiefly, perhaps, a sympathetic spectator, before the -great performance whose stage is the planet and whose performers and -auditorium are humanity. - -Knowing himself outcast, an unwelcome deadhead at the play, he had yet -felt no bitterness against the parents whose fierce illicit passion had -deprived him of an honourable seat. The first shock of resentment over, -he had faced the situation with a tolerance which showed an unusual -charity, an exceptional understanding, in one so young. - -He was twenty when he learned the truth about himself. And it was his -wondering analysis as to why two loving humans could be so careless of -their offspring's welfare, when the rest of Nature took such pains in -the matter, that first betrayed, perhaps, his natural aptitude. He had -the innate gift of seeing things as they were, undisturbed by personal -emotion, while yet asking himself with scientific accuracy why and how -they came to be so. These were invaluable qualities in the line of -knowledge and research he chose for himself as psychologist and doctor. -The terms are somewhat loose. His longing was to probe the motives of -conduct in the first place, and, in the second, to correct the results -of wrong conduct by removing faulty motives. Psychiatrist and healer, -therefore, were his more accurate titles; psychiatrist and healer, in -due course, he became. - -His father, an engineer of ability and enterprise, prospecting in the -remoter parts of the Caucasus for copper, and making a comfortable -fortune in so doing, was carried off his feet suddenly by the beauty of -a Khaketian peasant girl, daughter of a shepherd in these lonely and -majestic mountains, whose intolerable grandeur may well intoxicate a -man to madness. A dangerous and disgraceful episode it seems to have -been between John Fillery, hitherto of steady moral fibre, and this -strange, lovely pagan girl, whose savage father hunted the pair of them -high and low for weeks before they finally eluded him in the azalea -valleys beyond Artvine. - -Great passion, possibly great love, born of this enchanted land whose -peaks touch heaven, while their lower turfy slopes are carpeted with -lilies, azaleas, rhododendrons, contributed to the birth of Edward, -who first saw the light in a secret chamber of a dirty Tiflis house, -above the Koura torrent. That same night, when the sun dipped beneath -the Black Sea waters two hundred miles to the westward, his mother had -looked for the last time upon her northern lover and her wild Caucasian -mountains. - -Edward, however, persisted, visible emblem of a few weeks' primal -passion in a primal land. Intense desire, born in this remote -wilderness of amazing loveliness, lent him, perhaps, a strain of -illicit, almost unearthly yearning, a secret nostalgia for some lost -vale of beauty that held fiercer sunshine, mightier winds and fairer -flowers than those he knew in this world. - -At the age of four he was brought to England; his Russian memories -faded, though not the birthright of his primitive blood. Settling in -London, his father increased his fortune as consulting engineer, but -did not marry. To the short vehement episode he had given of his very -best; he remained true to his gorgeous memory and his sin; the cream -of his life, its essence and its perfume, had been spent in those wild -wind-swept azalea valleys beyond Artvine. The azalea honey was in his -blood, the scent of the lilies in his brain; he still heard the Koura -and Rion foaming down towards ancient Colchis. Edward embodied for him -the spirit of these sweet, passionate memories. He loved the boy, he -cherished and he spoilt him. - -But Edward had stuff in him that rendered spoiling harmless. A -vigorous, independent youngster, he showed firmness and character -as a lad. To the delight of his father he knew his own mind early, -reading and studying on his own account, possessed at the same time -by a vehement love of nature and outdoor life that was far more than -the average English boy's inclination to open air and sport. There lay -some primal quality in his blood that was of ancient origin and leaned -towards wildness. There seemed almost, at the same time, a faunish -strain that turned away from life. - -As a tiny little fellow he had that strange touch of creative -imagination other children have also known--an invisible playmate. It -had no name, as it, apparently, had no sex. The boy's father could -trace it directly to no fairy tale read or heard; its origin in the -child's mind remained a mystery. But its characteristics were unusual, -even for such fanciful imaginings: too full-fledged to have been -created gradually by the boy's loneliness, it seemed half goblin and -half Nature-spirit; it replaced, at any rate, the little brothers and -sisters who were not there, and the father, led by his conscience, -possibly, to divine or half divine its origin, met the pretence with -sympathetic encouragement. - -It came usually with the wind, moreover, and went with the wind, and -wind accordingly excited the child. "Listen! Father!" he would exclaim -when no air was moving anywhere and the day was still as death. Then: -"Plop! So there you are!" as though it had dropped through empty space -and landed at his feet. "It came from a tremenjus height," the child -explained. "The wind's up _there_, you see, to-day." Which struck the -parent's mind as odd, because it proved later true. An upper wind, far -in the higher strata of air, came down an hour or so afterwards and -blew into a storm. - -Fire and flowers, too, were connected with this invisible playmate. -"_He'll_ make it burn, father," the child said convincingly, when the -chimney smoked and the coals refused to catch, and then became very -busy with his friend in the grate and about the hearth, just as though -he helped and superintended what was being invisibly accomplished. -"It's burning better, anyhow," agreed the father, astonished in spite -of himself as the coals began to glow and spurt their gassy flames. -"Well done; I am very much obliged to you and your little friend." - -"But it's the only thing he can do. He likes it. It's his work really, -don't you see--keeping up the heat in things." - -"Oh, it's his natural job, is it? I see, yes. But my thanks to him, all -the same." - -"Thank you very much," said grave Edward, aged five, addressing his -tiny friend among the fire-irons. "I'm much mobliged to you." - -Edward was a bit older when the flower incident took place--with the -geranium that no amount of care and coaxing seemed able to keep alive. -It had been dying slowly for some days, when Edward announced that he -saw its "inside" flitting about the plant, but unable to get back into -it. "It's got out, you see, and can't get back into its body again, so -it's dying." - -"Well, what in the world are we to do about it?" asked his father. - -"I'll ask," was the solemn reply. "Now I know!" he cried, delighted, -after asking his question of the empty air and listening for the -answer. "Of course. Now I see. Look, father, there it is--its spirit!" -He stood beside the flower and pointed to the earth in the pot. - -"Dear me, yes! Where d'you see it? I--don't see it quite." - -"He says I can pick it up and put it back and then the flower will -live." The child put out a hand as though picking up something that -moved quickly about the stem. - -"What's it look like?" asked his father quickly. - -"Oh, sort of trinangles and things with lines and corners," was the -reply, making a gesture as though he caught it and popped it back -into the red drooping blossoms. "There you are! Now you're alive -again. Thank you very much, please"--this last remark to the invisible -playmate who was superintending. - -"A sort of geometrical figure, was it?" inquired the father next day, -when, to his surprise, he found the geranium blooming in full health -and beauty once again. "That's what you saw, eh?" - -"It was its spirit, and it was shiny red, like fire," the child -replied. "It's heat. Without these things there'd be no flowers at all." - -"Who makes everything grow?" he asked suddenly, a moment later. - -"You mean _what_ makes them grow." - -"Who," he repeated with emphasis. "Who builds the bodies up and looks -after them?" - -"Ah! the structure, you mean, the form?" - -Edward nodded. His father had the feeling he was not being asked for -information, but was being cross-examined. A faint pressure, as of -uneasiness, touched him. - -"They develop automatically--that means naturally, under the laws of -nature," he replied. - -"And the laws--who keeps them working properly?" - -The father, with a mental gulp, replied that God did. - -"A beetle's body, for instance, or a daisy's or an elephant's?" -persisted the child undeceived by the theological evasion. "Or mine, or -a mountain's----?" - -John Fillery racked his brain for an answer, while Edward continued his -list to include sea-anemones, frost-patterns, fire, wind, moon, sun -and stars. All these forms to him were bodies apparently. - -"I know!" he exclaimed suddenly with intense conviction, clapping his -hands together and standing on his toes. - -"Do you, indeed! Then you know more than the rest of us." - -"_They do_, of course," came the positive announcement. "The other -kind! It's their work. Yours, for instance"--he turned to his playmate, -but so naturally and convincingly that a chill ran down his father's -spine as he watched--"is fire, isn't it? You showed me once. And water -stops you, but wind helps you ..." and he continued long after his -father had left the room. - -With advancing years, however, Edward either forgot his playmate or -kept its activities to himself. He no longer referred to it, at any -rate. His energies demanded a bigger field; he roamed the fields and -woods, climbed the hills, stayed out all night to see the sunrise, made -fires even when fires were not exactly needed, and hunted with Red -Indians and with what he called "Windy-Fire people" everywhere. He was -never in the house. He ran wild. Great open spaces, trees and flowers -were what he liked. The sea, on the other hand, alarmed him. Only wind -and fire comforted him and made him happy and full of life. He was a -playmate of wind and fire. Water, in large quantities at any rate, was -inimical. - -With concealed approval, masking a deep love fulfilled yet incomplete, -his father watched the growth of this fiercer strain that mere covert -shooting could not satisfy, nor ordinary sporting holidays appease. - -"England's too small for you, Edward, isn't it?" he asked once -tentatively, when the boy was about fifteen. - -"The English people, you mean, father?" - -"You find them dull, don't you? And the island a bit cramped--eh?" - -Edward waited without replying. He did not quite understand what his -indulgent father intended, or was leading up to. - -"You'd like to travel and see things and people for yourself, I mean?" - -He watched the boy without, as he thought, the latter noticing. The -answer pleased but puzzled him. - -"We're all much the same, aren't we?" said Edward. - -"Well--with differences--yes, we are. But still----" - -"It's only the same over and over again, isn't it?" Then, while his -father was thinking of this reply, and of what he should say to it, the -boy asked suddenly with arresting intensity: - -"Are we the only people--the only sort of beings, I mean? Just men -and women like us all over the world? No others of any sort--bigger, -for instance, or--more wild and wonderful?" Then he added, a thrust -of strange yearning in his face and eyes: "More beautiful?" He almost -whispered the last words. - -His father winced. He divined the origin of that strange inquiry. -Upon those immense and lonely mountains, distant in space and time -for him, imagination, rich and pagan, ran, he well knew, to vast and -mighty beings, superior to human, benignant and maleficent, akin to -the stimulating and exhilarating conception of the gods, and certainly -non-human. - -"Nothing, Edward, that we know of. Why should there be?" - -"Oh, I don't know, dad. I just wondered--sometimes. But, as you say, -we've not a scrap of evidence, of course." - -"Not a scrap," agreed his father. "Poetic legends ain't evidence." - -The mind ruled the heart in Edward; he had his father's brains, at any -rate; and all his powers and longings focused in a single line that -indicated plainly what his career should be. The Public Schools could -help him little; he went to Edinburgh to study medicine; he passed -eventually with all possible honours; and the day he brought home the -news his father, dying, told him the secret of his illegitimate birth. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The subsequent twenty years or so may be summarized. - -Alone in the world, of a loving, passionate nature, he deliberately set -all thought of marriage on one side as an impossibility, and directed -his entire energy into the acquirement of knowledge; reading, studying, -experimenting far outside the circle of the ordinary medical man. The -attitude of detachment he had adopted became a habit. He believed it -was now his nature. - -The more he learned of human frailty and human faculties, the greater -became the charity he felt towards his fellow-kind. In his own being, -it seemed, lay something big, sweet, simple, a generosity that longed -to share with others, a tolerance more ready to acquit than to condemn, -above all, a great gift of understanding sympathy that, doubtless, was -the explanation of his singular insight. Rarely he found it in him to -blame; forgiveness, based upon the increasing extent of his experience, -seemed his natural view of human mistakes and human infirmities. His -one desire, his one hope, was to serve the Race. - -Yet he himself remained aloof. He watched the Play but took no part in -it. This forgiveness, too, began at home. His grievance had not soured -or dejected him, his father's error presenting itself as a problem to -be pondered over, rather than a sin to blame. Some day, he promised -himself, he would go and see with his own eyes the Khaketian tribe -whence his blood was partially derived, whence his un-English yearnings -for a wilder scale of personal freedom amid an unstained, majestic -Nature were first stolen. The inherited picture of a Caucasian vale of -loveliness and liberty lay, indeed, very deep in his nature, emerging -always like a symbol when he was profoundly moved. At any crisis in his -life it rose beckoning, seductive, haunting beyond words.... Curious, -ill-defined emotions with it, that drove him towards another standard, -another state, to something, at any rate, he could neither name nor -visualize, yet that seemed to dwarf the only life he knew. About it -was a touch of strange unearthly radiance that dimmed existence as he -knew it. The shine went out of it. There was involved in this symbolic -"Valley" something wholly new both in colour, sound and outline, yet -that remained obstinately outside definition. - -First, however, he must work, develop himself, and broaden, deepen, -extend in every possible way the knowledge of his kind that seemed his -only love. - -He began in a very practical way, setting up his plate in a mean -quarter of the great metropolis, healing, helping, learning with his -heart as well as with his brain, observing life at closest quarters -from its beginning to its close, his sympathies becoming enriched the -more he saw, and his mind groping its way towards clearer insight the -more he read, thought, studied. His wealth made him independent; his -tastes were simple; his wants few. He observed the great Play from the -Pit and Gallery, from the Wings, from Behind the Scenes as well. - -Moving then, into the Stalls, into a wealthier neighbourhood, that -is, he repeated the experience among another class, finding, however, -little difference except in the greater artificiality of his types, -the larger proportion of mental and nervous ailments, of hysteria, -delusion, imaginary troubles, and the like. The infirmities due to -idleness, enflamed vanity and luxury offered a new field, though to him -a less attractive one. The farther from simplicity, from the raw facts -of living, the more complicated, yet the more trivial, the resulting -disabilities. These, however, were quite as real as those, and harder, -indeed, to cure. Idle imagination, fostered by opportunity and means, -yet forced by conventionality to wear infinite disguises, brought a -strange, if far from a noble, crop of disorders into his ken. Yet he -accepted them for serious treatment, whatever his private opinion may -have been, while his patience, tact and sympathy, backed by his insight -and great knowledge, brought him quick success. He was soon in a fair -way to become a fashionable doctor. - -But the field, he found, was restricted somewhat. His quest was -knowledge, not fame or money. He chose his cases where he could, -though actually refusing nothing. He specialized more and more with -afflictions of a mental kind. He was immensely successful in restoring -proportion out of disorder. He revealed people to themselves. He -taught them to recover lost hope and confidence. He used little -medicine, but stimulated the will towards a revival of fading vitality. -Auto-suggestion, rather than suggestion or hypnotism, was his method. -He healed. He began to be talked about. - -Then, suddenly, his house was sold, his plate was taken down, he -vanished. - -Human beings object to sudden changes whose secret they have not been -told and cannot easily guess; his abrupt disappearance caused talk and -rumours, led, of course, by those, chiefly disappointed women, who -had most reason to be grateful for past services. But, if the words -charlatan and quack were whispered, he did not hear them; he had taken -the post of assistant in a lunatic asylum in a northern town, because -the work promised him increase of knowledge and experience in his own -particular field. The talk he left behind him mattered as little as the -small pay attached to the humble duties he had accepted. - -London forgot him, but he did not forget what London had taught him. - -A new field opened, and in less than two years, opportunity, combined -with his undoubted qualifications, saw him Head of an establishment -where he could observe at first hand the facts and phenomena that -interested him most. Humane treatment, backed by profound insight into -the derangements of the poor human creatures under his charge, brought -the place into a fame it had never known before. He spent five years -there in profound study and experiment; he achieved new results and -published them. His _Experimental Psychology_ caused a sensation. His -name was known. He was an Authority. - -At this time he was well past thirty, a tall, dark, -distinguished-looking man, of appearance grave and even sombre; -imposing, too, with his quiet, piercing eyes, but sombre only until the -smile lit up his somewhat rugged face. It was a face that nobody could -lie to, but to that smile the suffering heart might tell its inmost -secrets with confidence, hope, trust, and without reserve. - -There followed several years abroad, in Paris, Rome, St. Petersburg, -Moscow; Vienna and Zurich he also visited to test there certain lines -of research and to meet personally their originators. - -This period was partly a holiday, partly an opportunity to know at -first hand the leaders in mental therapeutics, psychology and the -rest, and also that he might find time to digest and arrange his -own accumulation of knowledge with a view, later, to undertaking -the life-work to which his previous experience was but preliminary. -Fame had come to him unsought; his published works alone ensured his -going down to posterity as a careful but daring and original judge -of the human species and its possibilities. It was the supernormal -rather than the merely abnormal powers that attracted him. In the -subconscious, as, equally, in the superconscious, his deep experience -taught him, lay amazing powers of both moral and physical healing, -powers as yet but little understood, powers as limitless as they seemed -incredible, as mysterious in their operation as they were simple in -their accessibility. And auto-suggestion was the means of using them. -The great men whom he visited welcomed him with open arms, added to -his data, widened yet further his mental outlook. Sought by high and -low in many countries and in strangest cases, his experience grew and -multiplied, his assortment of unusual knowledge was far-reaching; till -he stood finally in wonder and amazement before the human being and its -unrealized powers, and his optimism concerning the future progress of -the race became more justified with every added fact. - -Yet, perhaps, his greatest achievement was the study of himself; it was -probably to this deep, intimate and honest research into his own being -that his success in helping others was primarily due. For in himself, -though mastered and co-ordinated by his steady will, rendered harmless -by his saving sense of humour and (as he believed) by the absence of -any harboured grievance against others--in his very own being lay all -those potential elements of disorder, those loose unravelled threads -of alien impulse and suppressed desire, which can make for dangerous -disintegration, and thus produce the disturbing results classed -generally under alienation and neurosis. - -The incongruous elements in him were the gift of nature; [Greek: gnôthi -seauton] was the saving attitude he brought to that gift, redeeming -it. This phrase, borrowed, he remembered with a smile, for the portal -of the ancient Mysteries, remained his watchword. He was able to -thank the fierce illicit love that furnished his body and his mental -make-up for a richer field of first-hand study than years of practice -among others could have supplied. He belonged by temperament to the -unstable. But--he was aware of it. He realized the two beings in him: -the reasoning, scientific man, and the speculative dreamer, visionary, -poet. The latter wondered, dreamed among a totally different set of -values far below and out of sight. This deeper portion of himself was -forever beating up for recognition, clamouring to be used, yet with -the strange shyness that reminded him of a loving woman who cannot be -certain her passion is returned. It hinted, threatened, wept and even -sulked. It rose like a flame, bringing its own light and wind, blessed -his whole being with some divine assurance, and then, because not -instantly accepted, it retired, leaving him empty, his mind coloured -with unearthly yearnings, with poignant regrets, yet perfumed as though -the fairness of Spring herself had lit upon his heart and kissed it -into blossom on her passage north. It presented its amazing pictures, -and withdrew. Elusive, as the half memory of some radiant dream, whose -wonder and sweetness have been intense to the point of almost pain, it -hovered, floating just out of reach. It lay waiting for that sincere -belief which would convince that its passion was returned. And a -fleeting picture of a wild Caucasian valley, steeped in sunshine and -flowers, was always the first sign of its awakening. - -Though not afraid of reason, it seemed somehow independent of the -latter's processes. It was his reason, however, he well knew that -dimmed the light in its grand, terrible eyes, causing it to withdraw -the instant he began to question. Precise, formal thinking shut the -engines off and damped the furnaces. His love, his passion, none the -less, were there, hiding with belief, until some bright messenger, -bringing glad tidings, should reveal the method of harmonious union -between reason and vision, between man's trivial normal faculties and -his astounding supernormal possibilities. - -"This element of feeling in our outlook on Nature is a satisfaction in -itself, but our plea for allowing it to operate in our interpretation -of Nature is that we get closer to some things through feeling than -we do through science. The tendency of feeling is always to see -things whole. We cannot, for our life's sake, and for the sake of our -philosophical reconstruction, afford to lose in scientific analysis -what the poets and artists and the lovers of Nature all see. It is -intuitively felt, rather than intellectually perceived, the vision of -things as totalities, root and all, all in all; neither fancifully, nor -mystically, but sympathetically in their wholeness." - -To these words of Professor T. Arthur Thomson's, he heartily -subscribed, applying their principle to his own particular field. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -The net result of his inquiries and research, when, at the age of -nearly forty, he established his own Private Home for unusual, -so-called hopeless cases in North-West London--it was free to all, and -as Spiritual Clinique he thought of it sometimes with a smile--may be -summed up in the single sentence that man is greater than he knows, and -that completer realization of his full possibilities lies accessible to -his subconscious and superconscious powers. Herein he saw, indeed, the -chief hope of progress for humanity. - -And it was to the failures, the diseased, the evil and the broken -that he owed chiefly his inspiring optimism, since it was largely in -collapse that occurred the sporadic upheaval of those super-normal -forces which, controlled, co-ordinated, led, must eventually bring -about the realization he foresaw. - -The purpose, however, of these notes is not to furnish a sensational -story of various patients whom he studied, healed, or failed to heal. -Its object is to give some details of one case in particular whose -outstanding peculiarities affected his theories and convictions, -leaving him open-minded still, but with a breath of awe in his heart -perhaps, before a possibility his previous knowledge had ruled entirely -out of court, even if--which is doubtful--he had ever considered it as -a possibility at all. - -He had realized early that the individual manifests but an -insignificant portion of his being in his ordinary existence, the -normal self being the tip of his consciousness only, yet whose fuller -expression rises readily to adequate evocation; and it was the study -of genius, of prodigies, so-called, and of certain faculties shown -sometimes in hysteria, that led him to believe these were small jets -from a sea of power that might, indeed ought, to be realizable at -will. The phenomena all pointed, he believed, to powers that seemed as -superior to cerebral functions as they were independent of these. - -Man's possible field of being, in other words, seemed capable of -indefinite extension. His heart glowed within him as he established, -step by step, these greater powers. He dared to foresee a time when the -limitations of separate personality would have been destroyed, and the -vast brotherhood of the race become literally realized, its practical -unity accomplished. - -The difficulties were endless and discouraging. The inventive powers of -the bigger self, its astonishing faculty for dramatizing its content in -every conceivable form, blocked everywhere the search for truth. - -It could, he found, also detach a portion of its content into a series -of separate personalities, each with its individual morals, talents, -tendencies, each with its distinct and separate memory. These fragments -it could project, so to speak, masquerading convincingly as separate -entities, using strange languages, offering detailed knowledge of -other conditions, distant in time and space, suggesting, indeed, to -the unwary that they were due to obsessing spirits, and leaving the -observer in wonder before the potential capacity of the central self -disgorging them. - -The human depths included, beyond mere telepathy and extended -telepathy, an expansion of consciousness so vast as to be, apparently, -limitless. The past, on rare occasions even the future, lay open; the -entire planetary memory, stored with rich and pregnant accumulated -experience, was accessible and shareable. New aspects of space and time -were equally involved. A vision of incredible grandeur opened gradually -before his eyes. - -The surface consciousness of to-day was really rather a trumpery -affair; the gross lethargy of the vast majority _vis à vis_ the -greater possibilities afflicted him. To this surface consciousness -alone was so-called evil possible--as ignorance. As "ugly is only -half-way to a thing," so evil is half-way to good. With the greater -powers must come greater knowledge, shared as by instantaneous wireless -over the entire planet, and misunderstanding, chief obstacle to -progress always, would be impossible. A huge unity, sense of oneness -must follow. Moral growth would accompany the increase of faculty. -And here and there, it seemed to him, the surface ice had thawed -already a little; the pressure of the great deeps below caused cracks -and fissures. Auto-suggestion, prototype of all suggestion, offered -mysterious hints of the way to reach the stupendous underworld, as the -Christian Scientists, the miraculous healers, the New Thought movement, -saints, prophets, poets, artists, were finding out. - -The subliminal, to state it shortly, might be the divine. This was the -hope, though not yet the actual belief, that haunted and inspired him. -Behind his personality lurked this strange gigantic dream, ever beating -to get through.... - -In his Private Home, helping, healing, using his great gifts of -sympathy and insight, he at the same time found the material for -intimate study and legitimate experiment he sought. The building -had been altered to suit his exact requirements; there were private -suites, each with its door and staircase to the street; one part of it -provided his own living quarters, shut off entirely from the patients' -side; in another, equally cut off and self-contained, yet within easy -communication of his own rooms, lived Paul Devonham, his valued young -assistant. There was a third private suite as well. The entire expenses -he defrayed himself. - -Here, then, for a year or two he worked indefatigably, with the measure -of success and failure he anticipated; here he dreamed his great dream -of the future of the race, in whose progress and infinite capacities -he hopefully believed. Work was his love, the advancement of humanity -his god. The war availed itself of his great powers, as also of his -ready-made establishment, both of which he gave without a thought of -self. New material came as well from the battlefields into his ken. - -The effect of the terrible five years upon him was in direct proportion -to his sincerity. His mind was not the type that shirks conclusions, -nor fears to look facts in the face. For really new knowledge he was -ever ready to yield all previous theories, to scrap all he had held -hitherto for probable. His mind was open, he sought only Truth. - -The war, above all the Peace, shook his optimism. If it did not wholly -shatter his belief in human progress, it proved such progress to be so -slow that his Utopia faded into remotest distance, and his dream of -perfectibility became the faintest possible star in his hitherto bright -sky of hope. - -He felt shocked and stupefied. The reaction was greater than at -first he realized. He had often pitied the mind that, aware only -of its surface consciousness, uninformed by thrill or shift of the -great powers below and above, lived unwarned of its own immenser -possibilities. To such, the evidence for extended human faculties must -seem explicable by fraud, illusion, derangement, to be classed as -abnormal rubbish worthy only of the alienist's attention as diseases. -To him such minds, though able, with big intellects among them, had -ever seemed a prejudiced, fossilized, prehistoric type. Restricted by -their very nature, violently resisting new ideas, they might be intense -within their actual scope, but, with vision denied them, they never -could be really great. - -One effect of the shock he had undergone will be evident by merely -stating that he now understood this type of mind a good deal better -than before. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -The war was over, though the benefits of the long anticipated peace -still kept provocatively, exasperatingly, out of reach, when, about the -middle of September, Dr. Fillery received a letter that interested him -deeply. - -The shattered world was still distraught, uneasy. Nervously eager to -resume its former activities, it was yet waiting for the word that -should give it the necessary confidence to begin. Doubt, insecurity, -uncertainty everywhere dominated human minds. Those who hoped for a -renewal of the easy, careless mood of pre-war days were dismayed to -find this was impossible; others who had allowed an optimistic idealism -to prophesy a New Age, looked about them bewilderingly and in vain for -signs of its fair birth. The latter, to whom, perhaps, Dr. Fillery -belonged, were more bitterly disappointed, more cruelly shocked, than -the former. The race, it seemed to many unshirking eyes, had leaped -back centuries at a single spring; the gulf of primal savagery which -had gaped wide open for five years, proving the Stone Age close beneath -the surface of so-called civilization, had not yet fully closed. Its -jaws still dripped blood, hatred, selfishness; the Race was still -dislocated by the convincing disproof of progress, horrified at the -fierce reality which had displaced the two-pence coloured dream it had -been complacently worshipping hitherto. Men in the mass undoubtedly -were savages still. - -To Dr. Fillery, an honest, though not a necessarily fundamental -pessimism, seemed justified. He believed in progress still, but as -his habit was, he faced the facts. His attitude lost something of its -original enthusiasm. Looking about him, he saw no big constructive -movement; the figure who more than any other was altering the face -of the world with his ideas as well as his armies, was avowedly -destructive only. He found himself a sobered and a saddened man. - -His Private Home, having accomplished splendid work, had just -discharged its last shell-shocked patient; it was now empty again, -the staff, carefully chosen and proved by long service, dismissed -on holidays, the building itself renovated and repaired against the -arrival later of new patients that were expected. - -Devonham, his assistant, away for a period of rest in Switzerland, -would be back in a week or two, and Dr. Fillery, before resuming his -normal work, found himself with little to do but watch the progress of -the cleaners, painters and carpenters at work. - -Into this brief time of leisure dropped the strange, perplexing letter -with an effect distinctly stimulating. It promised an unusual case, a -patient, if patient the case referred to could properly be called, a -young man "who if you decide after careful reflection to reject, can -be looked after only by the State, which means, of course, an Asylum -for the Insane. I know you are no longer head of the Establishment in -Liverpool, but that you confine yourself to private work along similar -lines, though upon a smaller scale, and that you welcome only cases -that have been given up as hopeless. I honour your courage and your -sympathy, I know your skill. So far as a cure is conceivable, this one -is hopeless certainly, but its unusual, indeed, its unique character, -entitles it, I believe, to be placed among your chosen few. Love, -sympathy, patience, combined with the closest observation, it urgently -demands, and these qualities, associated with unrivalled skill, you -must allow me, again, to think you alone possess among healers and -helpers of strange minds. - -"For over twenty years, in the solitudes of these Jura forests and -mountains, I have cared for him as best I could, and with a devotion a -child of my own might have expected. But now, my end not far away, I -cannot leave him behind me here uncared for, yet the alternative, the -impersonal and formal care of an Institute, must break my heart and -his. I turn to you. - -"My advanced age and growing infirmities, in these days of unkind -travel, prohibit my bringing him over. Can your great heart suggest a -means, since I feel sure you will not refuse the care of this strange -being whose nature and peculiarities indicate your especial care, and -yours alone? Is it too much to wonder if you yourself could come and -see him--here in the remote mountain châlet where I have tended and -cared for him ever since his mother died in bearing him over twenty -years ago? - -"I have taught him what seemed wise and best; I have guarded and -observed him; he knows little or nothing of an outside world of men and -women, and is ignorant of life in the ordinary meaning of the word. -What precisely he may be, to what stratum of consciousness he belongs, -what kind of being he is, I mean...." The last two lines were then -scored through, though left legible. "I feel with Arago, that he is -a rash man who pronounces the word 'impossible' anywhere outside the -sphere of pure mathematics." More sentences were here scored through. - -"Dare I say--to you, as master, teacher, great open-minded soul--that -to _human_ life, as we know it, he does not, perhaps, belong? - -"In writing--in this letter--I find it impossible to give you full -details. I had intended to set them down; my pen refuses; in the -plain English at my disposal--well, simply, it is not credible. But I -have kept full notes all these years, and the notes belong to you. I -enclose an imperfect painting I made of him some four years ago. I am -no artist; for background you must imagine what lay beyond my little -skill--the blazing glory of the immense wood-fires that he loves to -make upon the open mountain side, usually at dawn after a night of -prayer and singing, while waiting for the strange power he derives -(as we all do, indeed, at second or third hand), from the worship of -what is to him his mighty father, the life-giving sun. Wind, as the -'messengers' of the sun, he worships too.... Both sun and wind, that -is, produce an unusual state approaching ecstasy. - -"Counting upon you, I have hypnotized him, suggesting that he forget -all the immediate past (in fact to date), and telling him he will like -you in place of me--though with him it is an uncertain method. - -"I am now old in years. I have lived and loved, suffered and dreamed -like most of us; my hands have been warmed at the fires of life, of -which, let me add, I am not ignorant. You have known, I believe, -my serious, as also my lighter imaginative books; my occasional -correspondence with your colleague Paul Devonham has been of help and -guidance to me. We are not, therefore, wholly strangers. - -"The twenty years spent in these solitudes among simple peasant folk, -with a single object of devotion to fill my days, have been, I would -tell you, among the best of my long existence. My renouncement of the -world was no renouncement. I am enriched with wonder and experience -that amaze me, for the world holds possibilities few have ever dreamed -of, and that I myself, filled as I am with the memory of their -contemplation, can hardly credit even now. Perhaps in an earlier stage -of evolution, as Delboeuf believes, man was fully aware of _all_ that -went on within himself--a region since closed to us, owing to attention -being increasingly directed outwards. Into some such region I have had -a glimpse, it seems. I feel sometimes there was as much fact as fancy, -perhaps, in the wise old Hebrew who stated poetically--recently, too, -compared with the stretch of time my science deals with--'The Sons of -God took to themselves daughters of the children of men...." - -The letter here broke off, as though interrupted by something -unexpected and unusual; it was signed, indeed, "John Mason," but signed -in pencil and at the bottom of an unwritten blank sheet. It had not -all been written, either, at one time, or on the same day; there were -intervals, evidently, perhaps of hours, perhaps of days, between the -paragraphs. Dr. Fillery read, re-read, then read again the strange -epistle, coming each time to the same conclusion--the writer was dying -in the very act of forming the last sentences. Their incoherence, the -alteration in the style, were thus explained. He had felt the end of -life so close that he had written his signature, probably addressed the -envelope as well, knowing the page might never be filled up. It had not -been filled up. - -Something behind the phrases, behind the intensity of the actual -words, beyond the queer touches that revealed a mind betrayed by -solitude, the hints possibly of a deluded intelligence--there was -something that rang true and stimulated him more than ordinarily. The -reference to Devonham, too, was definite enough. Dr. Fillery remembered -vaguely a correspondence during recent crowded years with a man named -Mason, living away in Switzerland somewhere, and that Devonham had -asked him questions from time to time about what he called, with his -rough-and-ready and half-humorous classification, "pagan obsession," -"worshipper of fire and wind," referring it to the writer of the -letters, named John Mason. "Non-human delusion," he had also called it -sometimes. They had come to refer to it, he remembered, as "N. H." in -fact. - -He now looked up those Notes, for the mention of the books caused him -an uncomfortable feeling of neglected opportunity, and John Mason was -an honoured name. - -"You know, I believe ... my books," the writer said. Could this -be, he asked himself anxiously, John Mason, the eminent geologist? -Had Devonham not realized who he was? Must he blame his assistant, -whose jealous care and judgment saved him so many foolish, futile, -un-real cases, reserving what was significant and important only? - -The Notes established his mistakes and his assistant's--perhaps -intentional?--ignorance. The writer of this curious letter was -unquestionably the author of those fairy books for children, old -and young, whose daring speculations had suggested that other types -and races, ages even before the Neanderthal man, had dwelt side by -side with what is known as modern man upon this time-worn planet. -Behind the literary form of legend and fairy tale, however, lay a -curious conviction. Atlantis was of yesterday compared with earlier -civilizations, now extinct by fire and flood and general upheaval, -which once may have inhabited the globe. The present evolutionary -system, buttressed by Darwin and the rest, was but a little recent -insignificant series, trivial both in time and space, when set beside -the mightier systems that had come and gone. Their evidence he -found, not in clumsy fossils and footprints on cooled rocks, but in -the _minds_ of those who had followed and eventually survived them: -memories of Titan Wars and mighty beings, and gods and goddesses of -non-human kind, to whose different existence the physical conditions of -an over-heated planet presented no impossibility. The human species, -this trumpery, limited, self-satisfied super-animal man, was not the -only type of being. - -Yet John Mason, in his day, had held the chair at Edinburgh University, -his lectures embodied common-sense and knowledge, with acutest -imaginative insight. His earliest writings were the text-books of the -time. His name, when Edward Fillery was medical student there, still -hovered like well-loved incense above the old-town towers. - -The Notes now intrigued him. No blame attached to Devonham for having -missed the cue, Devonham could not know everything; geology was not in -his line of work and knowledge; and Mason was a common name. Rather -he blamed himself for not having been struck by the oddness of the -case--the Mason letters, the pagan obsession, worshipper of wind and -fire, the strange "N. H." - -"A competent indexer, at any rate," he said to himself with a smile, as -he turned up the details easily. - -These were very scanty. Devonham evidently had deemed the case of -questionable value. The letters from Mason, with the answers to them, -he could not find. - -The slight record was headed "_Mason_, John," followed by an -address "Chez Henri Petavel, peasant, Jura Mountains, Vaud, French -Switzerland," and details how to reach this apparently remote valley by -mule and carriage and foot-path. Name of Mason's protégé not given. - -"_Sex, male_; age--born 1895; parentage, couple of mystical -temperament, sincere, but suffering from marked delusions, believers in -Magic (various, but chiefly concerned with Nature and natural forces, -once known, forgotten to-day, of immense potency, accessible to certain -practices of logical but undetailed kind, able apparently to intensify -human consciousness). - -"_Subject_, of extremely quick intelligence, yet betrays ignorance of -human conditions; intelligence superior to human, though sometimes -inferior; long periods of quiescence, followed by immense, almost -super-human, activity and energy; worships fire and air, chiefly the -former, calling the sun his father and deity. - -"Abhors confined space; this shown by intense desire for heat, which, -together with free space (air), seem conditions of well-being. - -"Fears (as in claustrophobia) both water and solidity (anything -massive). - -"Has great physical power, yet indifferent to its use; women -irresistibly attracted to him, but his attitude towards other sex seems -one of gentleness and pity; love means nothing. Has, on the other hand, -extraordinarily high ideal of service. Is puzzled by quarrels and -differences of personal kind. Half-memories of vast system of myriad -workers, ruled by this ideal of harmonious service. Faithful, true, -honest; falseness or lies impossible ... lovable, pathetic, helpless -type----" - -The Notes broke off abruptly. - -Dr. Fillery, wondering a little that his subordinate's brief but -suggestive summary had never been brought to his notice before, turned -a moment to glance at the rough water-colour drawing he held in his -hand. He looked at it for some moments with absorption. The expression -of his face was enigmatical. He was more than surprised that Devonham -had not drawn his attention to the case in detail. Placing his hand so -as to hide the lower portion of the face, he examined the eyes, then -turned the portrait upside down, gazing at the eyes afresh. He seemed -lost in thought for a considerable time. A faint flush stole into his -cheek, and a careful observer might have noticed an increase of light -about the skin. He sighed once or twice, and presently, laying the -portrait down again, he turned back to the _dossier_ upon the table in -front of him. - -"Very accurate and careful," he said to himself with satisfaction as -he noticed the date Devonham had set against the entries--"June 20th, -1914." - -The war, therefore, had interrupted the correspondence. - -Devonham had made further notes of his own in the margin here and there: - -"Does this originate primarily from Mason's mind, communicated thence -to his protégé?" He agreed with his assistant's query. - -"If so, was it transferred to Mason's mind before that? By the father -or mother? The mother was, obviously, his--Mason's--great love. Yet the -father was his life friend. Mason's great passion was suppressed. He -never told it. It found no outlet." - -"Admirable," was the comment spoken below his breath. - -"Boy born as result of some 'magical' experiment intensely believed -(not stated in detail), during course of which father died suddenly. - -"Mason tended mother, then lived alone in remote place where all had -occurred. - -"Did Mason inherit entire content of parents' beliefs, dramatizing this -by force of unexpressed but passionate love? - -"Did not Mason's mind, thus charged, communicate whole business to the -young mind he has since formed, a plastic mind uninfluenced by normal -human surroundings and conditions of ordinary life? - -"Transfer of a sex-inspired mania?" - -Then followed another note, summarizing evidently Devonham's judgment: - -"Not worth F.'s investigation until examined further. N.B.--Look up -Mason first opportunity and judge at first hand." - -Dr. Fillery, glancing from the papers to the portrait, smiled a little -again as he signified approval. - -But the last entry interested him still more. It was dated July 13, -1914. - -"Mason reports boy's prophecy of great upheaval coming. Entire -race slips back into chaos of primitive life again. Entire Western -Civilization crumbles. Modern inventions and knowledge vanish. Nature -spirits reappear.... Desires return of all previous letters. These sent -by registered post." - -A few scattered notes on separate sheets of paper lay at the end of -the carefully typed _dossier_, but these were very incomplete, and -Devonham's handwriting, especially when in pencil, was not of the -clearest. - -"Non-human claim, though absurd, not traceable to any antecedent -causes given by letters. What is Mason's past mental and temperamental -history? Is he not, through the parents, the cause? Mania seems -harmless, both to subject and others. No suffering or unhappiness. -Therefore not a case for F., until further examined by self. Better see -Mason and his subject first. Wrote July 24th proposing visit." - -Dr. Fillery's eyes twinkled. His forehead relaxed. He looked back. He -remembered details. Devonham's holiday that year, he recalled, was -due on August 1st; he had intended going out mountain climbing in -Switzerland. - -The final note of all, also in half-legible writing, seemed to refer -to the treatment Mason had asked advice about, and the line Devonham -had suggested: - -"Natural life close to Nature cannot hurt him. But I advise watch him -with fire and with heights--heat, air! That is, he may decide his -physical body is irksome and seek to escape it. Teach him natural -history--botany, geology, insects, animals, even astronomy, but always -giving him reasons and explanations. _Above all_--let him meet girls of -his own age and fall in love. Fullest natural expression, but guarded -without his knowing it...." - -For a long time Dr. Fillery sat with the notes and papers before him, -thinking over what he had read. Devonham's advice was clever enough, -but without insight, sound and astute, yet lacking divination. - -The twinkle in his eyes, caused by the final entry, died away. His -face was grave, his manner preoccupied, intense. He gazed long at the -portrait in his hand.... It was dusk when he finally rose, replaced -the _dossier_, locked the cabinet, and went out into another room, and -thence into the hall. Taking his hat and stick, he left the house, -already composing in his mind the telegram instructing Devonham, while -apologizing for the interrupted holiday, to bring the subject of the -Notes to England with him. A telegraph girl met him on the very steps -of the house. He took the envelope from her, and opened it. He read the -message. It was dated Bâle, the day before: - - "Arriving end week with interesting patient. Details index - under Mason. Prepare private suite. - "DEVONHAM." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -It was, however, some two weeks later before Dr. Fillery was on his -way to the station to meet Devonham and his companion. A slight delay, -caused apparently by the necessity of buying an outfit, had intervened -and given time for an exchange of letters, but Devonham had contented -himself chiefly with telegrams. He did not wish his chief to know -too much about the case in advance. "Probably he regrets the Notes -already," thought the doctor, as the car made its way slowly across -crowded London. "He wants my first unbiased judgment; he's right, of -course, but it's too late for that now." - -The delay, however, had been of value. The Home was in working order -again, the staff returned, the private suite all ready for its -interesting occupant, whom in thought he had already named "N. H."; for -in the first place he did not know his name as yet, and in the second -he felt towards him a certain attitude of tolerant, half-humorous -scepticism. - -Cut off from his own kind for so many years, educated, perhaps -half-educated only, by too speculative and imaginative a mind, -equally warped by this long solitude, a mind unduly stretched by the -contemplation of immense geological perspectives, filled, too, with -heaven knows what strange stories of pantheistic Nature-feeling--"N. -H." might be distinctly interesting, but hardly all that Mason had -thought him. "Unique" was a word rarely justified; the peculiarities -would prove to be mere extravagances that had, of necessity, remained -uncorrected by the friction of intercourse with his own kind. The rest -was inheritance, equally unpruned; a mind living in a side-eddy, a -backwater with Nature.... - -At the same time Dr. Fillery admitted a certain anticipatory excitement -he could not wholly account for, an undercurrent of wonder he ascribed -to his Khaketian blood. - -He had written once only to his assistant, sending briefest -instructions to say the rooms would be ready, and that the young man -must believe he was an invited guest coming on a visit. "Let him expect -complete freedom of movement and occupation without the smallest idea -of restraint in any way. He is merely coming to stay for as long as -he pleases with a friend of Mason. Impress him with a sense of hearty -welcome." And Devonham, replying, had evidently understood the wisdom -of this method. "He is also greatly pleased with your name--the sound -of it," was stated in the one letter that he wrote, "and as names mean -a lot to him, so much the better. The sound of it gives him pleasure; -he keeps repeating it over to himself; he already likes you. My name he -does not care about, saying it quickly, sharply. But he trusts me. His -trust in anyone who shows him kindness is instantaneous and complete. -He invariably expects kindness, however, from everyone--gives it -himself equally--and is baffled and puzzled by any other treatment." - -So Devonham, with "N. H.", who attached importance to names and -expected kindness from people as a natural thing, would be in London -town within the hour. Straight from his forests and mountains for the -first time in his life, he would find himself in the heart of the -greatest accumulation of human beings on the planet, the first city of -the world, the final expression of civilization as known to the human -race. - -"'N. H.' in London town," thought Dr. Fillery, his mouth twitching -with the smile that began in his quiet eyes. "Bless the lad! We must -make him feel at home and happy. He shall indeed have kindness. He'll -need a woman's touch as well." He reflected a moment. "Women are a -great help in doubtful cases--the way a man reacts to them," he mused. -"Only they must be distinct in type to be of value." And his mind ran -quickly, comprehensively over the women of his acquaintance, pausing, -as it did so, upon two in particular--a certain Lady Gleeson, and -Iraida--sometimes called Nayan--Khilkoff, the daughter of his Russian -friend, the sculptor. - -His mind pondered for some moments the two he had selected. It was not -the first time he had made use of them. Their effect respectively upon -a man was invariably instinctive and illuminating. - -The two were radically different feminine types, as far removed from -one another as pole from pole, yet each essentially of her sex. Their -effect, respectively, upon such a youth must be of value, and might be -even illuminating to the point of revelation. Both, he felt sure, would -not be indifferent to the new personality. - -It was, however, of Nayan Khilkoff that he thought chiefly. Of that -rare, selfless, maternal type which men in all ages have called saint -or angel, she possessed that power which evoked in them all they could -feel of respect, of purity, of chivalry, that love, in a word, which -holds as a chief ingredient, worship. Her beauty, beyond their reach, -was of the stars; it was the unattainable in her they loved; her beauty -was of the soul. Nayan was spiritual, not as a result of painful effort -and laborious development, but born so. Her life, moreover, was one of -natural service. Personal love, exclusive devotion to an individual, -concentration of her being upon another single being--this seemed -impossible to her. She was at the same time an enigma: there was an -elusive flavour about her that made people a little in awe of her, a -flavour not of this earth, quite. She carried an impersonal attitude -almost to the point of seeming irresponsive to common human things and -interests. - -The other woman, Lady Gleeson, Angela her Christian name, was equally -a simple type, though her simplicity was that of the primitive female -who is still close to the Stone Age--a savage. She adorned herself to -capture men. She was the female spider that devours its mates. She -wanted slaves. To describe her as selfish were inadequate, for she was -unaware that any other ideal existed in life but that of obtaining -her own pleasure. There was instinct and emotion, but, of course, no -heart. Without morals, conscience or consideration, she was the animal -of prey that obeys the call of hunger in the most direct way possible, -regardless of consequences to herself or others. Her brain was quick, -her personality shallow. When talking she "rattled on." Devonham had -well said once: "You can hear her two thoughts clicking, both of them -in trousers!" Sir George, recently knighted, successful with large -concessions in China, was indulgent. The male splendour of the youth -was bound to stimulate her hunger, as his simplicity, his loneliness, -and in a sense his pathetic helplessness, would certainly evoke the -tenderness in Nayan. "He'll probably like her dear, ridiculous name, -too," Dr. Fillery felt, "the nickname they gave her because she's the -same to everybody, whichever way you take her--Nayan Khilkoff." Yet -her real name was more beautiful--Iraida. And, as he repeated it half -aloud, a soft light stole upon his face, shone in the deep clear eyes, -and touched even the corners of the rather grim mouth with another, a -tenderer expression, before the sternness quickly returned to it. - -"N. H." would meet, thus, two main types of female life. He, apparently -an exceedingly male being, would face the onslaught of passion and -heart, of lust and love, respectively; and it was his reactions to -these onslaughts that Fillery wished to observe. They would help his -diagnosis, they might guide his treatment. - -It was a warm and muggy afternoon, the twilight passing rapidly into -darkness now; one of those late autumn days when summer heat flits -back, but light is weak. The covered sky increased the clammy warmth, -which was damp, unhealthy, devitalizing. No wind stirred. The great -city was sticky and depressing. Yet people approved the heat, although -it tired them. "It shortens the winter, anyhow," was the general -verdict, when expressed at all. They referred unconsciously to the -general dread of strikes. - -London was hurried and confused. An air of feverish overcrowding -reigned in the great station, when he left the car and went in on foot. -No sign of order, system, direction, was visible. The scene might have -been a first rehearsal of some entirely new experiment. Grumbling and -complaint rose from all sides in an exasperated chorus. He tried to -ascertain how late the train was and on which platform it might be -expected, but no one knew for certain, and the grudging replies to -questions seemed to say, "You've no right to ask anything, and if you -keep on asking there will be a strike. So that's that!" - -He listened to the talk and watched the facial expressions and the -movements of the half-resigned and half-excited concourse of London -citizens. The clock was accurate, and everyone was kind to ladies; -stewed tea, stale cake with little stones in it, vile whisky and very -weak beer were obtainable at high prices. There were no matches. The -machine for supplying platform-tickets was broken. He saw men paying -more thought and attention to the comfort of their dogs than to their -own. The great, marvellous, stupid, splendid race was puzzled and -exasperated. Then, suddenly, the train pulled in, full of returned -exiles longing to be back again in "dear old England." - -"Thank God, it's come," sighed the crowd. "Good! We're English. Forgive -and forget!" and prepared to tip the porters handsomely and carry their -own baggage. - -The confusion that followed was equally characteristic, and equally -remarkable, displaying greatness side by side with its defects. There -was no system; all was muddled, yet all was safe. Anyone could claim -what luggage they liked, though no one did so, nor dreamed, it seemed, -of doing so. There was an air of decent honesty and trust. There were -ladies who discovered that all men are savages; there were men--and -women--who were savages. People shook hands warmly, smiled with honest -affection, said light, careless good-byes that hid genuine emotion; -helped one another with parcels, offered one another lifts. There -were few taxicabs, one perhaps to every thirty people. And in this -general scrimmage, Dr. Fillery, at first, could see no sign of his -expected arrivals; he walked from end to end of the platform littered -with luggage and thronged with bustling people, but nowhere could he -discover the familiar outline of Devonham, nor anyone who answered to -the strange picture that already stood forth sharply in his mind. - -"There's been a mistake somewhere," he said to himself; "I shall find -a telegram when I get back to the house explaining it"--when, suddenly -and without apparent cause, there stole upon him a curious lift of -freedom--a sharp sense of open spaces he was at a loss to understand. -It was accompanied by an increase of light. For a second it occurred -to him that the great enclosing roof had rolled back and blown away, -letting in air and some lost ray of sunshine. A lovely valley flitted -across his thought. Almost he was aware of flowers, of music, of -rhythmic movement. - -"Edward! there you are. I thought you hadn't come," he heard close -behind him, and, turning, saw the figure of Devonham, calm and alert as -usual. At his side stood a lean, virile outline of a young man, topping -Devonham by several inches, with broad but thin shoulders, figure -erect yet flexible, whose shining and inquiring eyes of blue were the -most striking feature in a boyish face, where strength, intensity and -radiant health combined in an unusual degree. - -"Here is our friend, LeVallon," added Devonham, but not before the -figure had stepped lightly and quickly forward, already staring at him -and shaking his outstretched hand. - -So this was "N. H.," and LeVallon was his name. The calm, searching -eyes held a touch of bewilderment in them, the eyes of an honest, -intelligent animal, thought Fillery quickly, adding in spite of -himself and almost simultaneously, "but of a divine animal." It was -a look he had never in his life before encountered in any human -eyes. Mason's water-colour sketch had caught something, at least, of -their innocence and question, of their odd directness and intensity, -something, too, of the golden fire in the hair. He wore a broad-brimmed -felt hat of Swiss pattern, a Bernese overcoat, a low, soft-collared -shirt, with blue tie to match. - -Buffeted and pushed by the frenzied travellers, they stood and faced -each other, shaking hands, eyes looking into eyes, two strangers, -doctor and patient possibly, but friends most certainly, both felt -instantly. They liked one another. Once again the scent of flowers -danced with light above the piled-up heaps of trunks, rugs, packages. A -cool wind from mountains seemed to blow across the dreadful station. - -"You've arrived safely," began Dr. Fillery, a little taken aback -perhaps. "Welcome! And not too tired, I hope----" when the other -interrupted him in a man's deep voice, full of pleasant timbre: - -"Fill-er-y," he said, making the "F" sound rather long, "I need you. To -see you makes me happy." - -"Tired," put in Devonham breathlessly, "good heavens, not he! But I am. -Now for a porter and the big luggage. Have you got a taxi?" - -"The car is here," said Fillery, letting go with a certain reluctance -the hand he held, and paying little attention to anything but the -figure before him who used such unexpected language. What was it? What -did it mean? Whence came this sudden sense of intensity, light, of -order, system, intelligence into the racial scene of muddled turmoil -all about him? There seemed an air of speeding up in thought and action -near him, compared to which the slow stupidity, unco-ordinated and -confused on all sides, became painful, gross, and even ludicrous. - -Someone bumped against him with violence, but quite needlessly, since -the simplest judgment of weight and distance could have avoided the -collision. In such ordinary small details he was aware of another, a -higher, standard close. A man on his left, trying to manage several -bundles, appeared vividly as of amazing incompetence, with his -miscalculation, his clumsy movement, his hopeless inability to judge -cause and effect. Yet he had two arms, ten fingers, two legs, broad -shoulders and deep chest. Misdirection of his great strength made it -impossible for him to manage the assortment of light parcels. Next -to him, however, stood a woman carrying a baby--there was no error -there. The panting engine just beyond them, again, set a standard of -contemptuous, impersonal intelligence that, obeying Nature's laws, -dwarfed the humans generally. But it was another, a quasi-spiritual -standard that had flashed to him above all. In some curious way -the competent "dead" machinery that obeyed the Law with faultless -efficiency, and the woman obeying instinct with equally unconscious -skill--these two energies were akin to the new standard he was now -startlingly aware of. - -He looked up, as though to trace this sudden new consciousness of -bright, quick, rapid competence--almost as of some immense power -building with consistent scheme and system--that had occurred to him; -and he met again the direct, yet slightly bewildered eyes that watched -him, watched him with confidence, sweetness, and with a questioning -intensity he found intriguing, captivating, and oddly stimulating. He -felt happiness. - -"By yer leave!" roared a porter, as they stepped aside just in time to -save being pushed by the laden truck--just in time to save himself, -that is, for the other, Fillery noticed, moved like a chamois on its -native rocks, so surely, lightly, swiftly was he poised. - -"This! Ah, you must excuse it," the doctor exclaimed with a smile of -apology almost, "we've not yet had time to settle down after the war, -you see." He pointed with a sweep of his hand to the roaring, dim-lit -cavern where confusion reigned supreme, the G.H.Q. of travel in the -biggest city of the Empire. - -"I've got a porter," cried Devonham, beckoning vigorously a little -further down the platform. "You wait there. I'll be along in a minute -with the stuff." He was hot, flustered, exhausted. - -"You struggle. It was like this all the way. Is there no knowledge?" -LeVallon asked in his deep, quiet tones. - -"We do," said Fillery. "With us life is always struggle. But there is -more system than appears. The confusion is chiefly on the surface." - -"It is dark and there is so little air," observed the other. "And they -all work against each other." - -Fillery laughed into the other's eyes; they laughed together; and it -seemed suddenly to the doctor that their beings somehow merged, so -that, for a second, he knew the entire content of his companion's -mind--as if there was nothing in LeVallon he did not understand. - -"You--are a builder," LeVallon said abruptly. But as he said it his -companion caught, on the wing as it were, another meaning. He became -curiously aware of the smallness, of the remote insignificance of the -little planet whereon this dialogue took place, yet at the same time of -its superb seductive loveliness. In him rose a feeling, as on wings, -that he was not chained in his familiar, daily personality, but that an -immense, delicious freedom lay within reach. He could be everywhere at -once. He could do everything. - -"Wait here while I help Devonham. Then we'll get into the car and be -off." He moved away, threading a path with difficulty. - -"I wait in peace. I am happy," was the reply. - -And with those few phrases, uttered in the quiet, deep voice, sounding -in his ears and in his very blood, the older man went towards the spot -where Devonham struggled with a porter, a pile of nondescript luggage -and a truck: "I wait in peace.... You struggle, you work against each -other.... It is dark, there is little air.... You are a builder...." - -But not these singular words alone remained alive in his mind; there -remained in his heart the sense of that vitality of open spaces, keen -air and brighter light he had experienced--and, with it, the security -of some higher, faultless standard. His brain, indeed, had recognized -a consciousness of swifter reactions, of surer movements, of more -intelligent co-ordination, compared to which the people about him -behaved like stupid, almost like half-witted beings, the one exception -being the instinctive action of the mother in carrying her baby, and -the other, the impersonal, accurate, competence of the dead machinery. - -But, more than this reasoned change, there burned suddenly in his heart -an inexplicable exhilaration and brightness, a wonder that he could -attribute only to another mode of life. His Khaketian blood, he knew, -might be responsible for part of it, but not for all. The invigorating -mountain wind, the sunlight, the rhythmic sound, the scent of wild -flowers, these were his own personal interpretations of a quickened -sense he could not analyse as yet. As he held the young man's hand, -as he gazed into his direct blue eyes, this sense had increased in -intensity. LeVallon had some marvellous quality or power that was new -to him, while yet not entirely unfamiliar. What was it? And how did the -youth perceive this sense in him so surely that he took its presence -for granted, accepted, even played upon it? He experienced, as it were, -a brilliant intensification of spirit. Some portion of him already knew -exactly what LeVallon was. - -Across the ugly turmoil and confusion of the huge dingy railway -terminus had moved wondrously some simple power that brought -in--Beauty. Some very deep and ancient conception had touched him and -gone its way again. The stupendous beauty of a simple, common day -appeared to him. His subconscious being, of course, was deeply stirred. -That was the truth, phrase it as he might. His heart was lifted as by -a primal wind at dawn upon some mountain top. The heaviness of the -day was gone. Fatigue, too, vanished. The "civilized" folk appeared -contemptible and stupid. Something direct from Nature herself poured -through him. And it was from the atmosphere of LeVallon this new -vitality issued radiating. - -He found a moment or two, while alone with Devonham, to exchange a few -hurried sentences. As they bent over bags and bundles he asked quick -questions. These questions and answers between the two experienced men -were brief but significant: - -"Yes, quiet as a lamb. Just be kind and sympathetic. You looked up the -Notes? Well, that can't be helped now, though I had rather you knew -nothing. My mistake, of course." - -"The content of his mind is accessible to me--telepathically--in any -case." - -"But at one remove more distant, because unexpressed." - -Fillery laughed. "Quite right. I admit it's a pity. But tell me more -about him--anything I ought to know--at once." - -"Quiet as a lamb, I told you," repeated the other, "and most of the -way over too. But puzzled--my God, Edward, his criticisms would make -a book." - -"Normal? Intelligent criticisms?" - -"Intelligent above ordinary. Normal--no." - -"Hysteria?" - -"Not a sign." - -"Health?" - -"Perfect, magnificent, as you see. He's less tired now than when we -started three days ago, whereas I'm fagged out, though in climbing -condition." - -"Origin of delusions--any indication?" - -Devonham looked up quickly. His eyes flashed a peculiarly searching -glance--something watchful in it perhaps. "No delusion at all of any -sort. As for origin of his ideas--the parents probably, but stimulated -and allowed unchecked growth by Mason. Affected by Nature beyond -anything _we_ know." - -"By Nature. Ah!" He checked himself. "And what peculiarities?" he -asked. - -"His terror of water, for instance. Crossing the Channel he was like a -frightened child. He hid from it, kept his hands over his eyes even, so -as not to see it." - -"Give any reason?" - -"All he said was 'It is unknown, an enemy, and can destroy me, I cannot -understand its secret ways. Fire and wind are not in it. I cannot work -with it.' No, it was not fear of drowning that he meant. He found -comfort, too, in the repetition of your name." - -"Appetite, pulse, temperature?" asked Fillery, after a brief pause. - -"First two very strong; temperature always slightly above normal." - -"Other peculiarities?" - -"He became rather excited before a lighted match once--tried to kneel, -almost, but I stopped it." - -"Fire?" - -"That's it. Instinct of worship presumably." - -The barrow was laden, the porter was asking where the car was. They -prepared to move back to the companion, whom Fillery had never failed -to observe carefully over his shoulder during this rapid conversation. -"N. H." had not moved the whole time: he stood quietly, looking about -him, a curious figure, aloof somehow from his surroundings, so tall -and straight and unconcerned he seemed, yet so poised, alert, virile, -vigorous. It was not his clothes that made him appear unusual, nor was -it his eyes and hair alone, though all three contributed their share. -Yet he seemed dressed up, his clothes irksome to him. He was uncommon, -an attractive figure, and many a pair of eyes, female eyes especially, -Fillery noticed, turned to examine him with undeniable curiosity. - -"And women?" the doctor asked quickly in a lowered voice, as they -followed the porter's barrow towards LeVallon, who already smiled at -their approach--the most engaging, trustful, welcoming smile that -Fillery had ever seen upon a human countenance. - -He lowered his head to catch the reply. But Devonham only laughed and -shrugged his shoulders. "All attracted," he mumbled in a half whisper, -"and eager to help him." - -"And he----?" - -"Gentle, astonished, but indifferent, oh, supremely indifferent." - -LeVallon came forward to meet them, and Fillery took his hand and led -him to the car. The luggage was bundled in, some behind and some on the -roof. Fillery and LeVallon sat side by side. The car started. - -"We shall get home in half an hour," the doctor mentioned, turning to -his companion. "We'll have a good dinner and then get to bed. You are -hungry, I know." - -"Thank you," was the reply, "thank you, dear Fillery. I want sleep -most. Will there be trees and air near me? And stars to see?" - -"Your windows open on to a garden with big trees, there will be plenty -of fresh air, and you will hear the sparrows chattering at dawn. But -London, of course, is not the country. Oh, we'll make you comfortable, -never fear." - -"Dear Fillery, I thank you," said LeVallon quietly, and without more -ado lay back among the soft cushions and closed his eyes. Hardly a -word was said the whole way out to the north-west suburb, and when -they arrived the "patient" was too overcome with sleep to wish to eat. -He went straight to his room, found a hot bath into which he tumbled -first, and then leaped into his bed and was sound asleep almost before -the door was closed. Upon a table beside the bed Dr. Fillery, with -his own hands, arranged bread, butter, eggs and a jug of milk in case -of need. Nurse Robbins, an experienced, tactful young woman, he put -in special charge. He thought of everything, divining his friend's -possible needs instinctively, noticing with his keen practised eye -several details for himself at the same time. The splendid physical -condition, frame-work, muscular development he noted--no freakish -bulky masses produced by gymnastic exercises, but the muscles laid -on flowingly, smooth and firm and ample, without a trace of fat, and -the whole in the most admirable proportion possible. The leanness -was deceptive; the body was of immense power. The quick, certain, -unerring movements he noticed too; perfect, swift co-ordination between -brain and physical response, no misdirection, no miscalculation, the -reactions extremely rapid. He thought with a smile of something between -deer and tiger. The poise and balance and accuracy conveyed intense joy -of living. Yet above and beyond these was something else he could not -name, something that stirred in him wonder, love, a touch of awe, and a -haunting suggestion of familiarity. - -He saw him into bed, he saw him actually asleep. The strong blue eyes -looked up into his own with their intense and innocent gaze for a -moment; he held the firm, dry muscular hand; ten seconds later the eyes -were closed in sleep, the grip of the powerful but slender fingers -relaxed. - -"Good night, my friend, and sleep deeply. To-morrow we'll see to -everything you need. Be happy here and comfortable with us, for you are -welcome and we love you." His voice trembled slightly. - -"Good night, dear Fill-er-y," the musical tones replied, and he was off. - -The windows were wide open. "N. H." had thrown aside the pyjamas and -blankets. On this cool, damp night of late autumn he covered his big, -warm, lithe body with a single sheet only. - -Fillery went out quietly, an expression of keen approval and enjoyment -on his face--not a smile exactly, but that look of deep content, -betraying a fine inner excitement of happiness, which is the mother of -all smiles. As he softly opened the door the draught blew through from -the open windows, stirring the white curtains by the bed. It came from -the big damp garden where the trees stood, already nearly leafless, -and where no flowers were. And yet a scent of flowers came faintly -with it. He caught an echo of faint sound like music. There was the -invigorating hint of forests too. It seemed a living wind that blew -into the house. - -Dr. Fillery paused a moment, sniffed with surprise and sharp enjoyment, -listened intently, then switched the light off and went out, closing -the door behind him. There was a flash of wonder in his eyes, and a -thrill of some remote inexplicable happiness ran through his nerves. -An instant of complete comprehension had been his, as if another -consciousness had, for that swift instant, identified itself with his -own. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Edward Fillery was glad that Paul Devonham, good friend and skillful -colleague, was his assistant; for Devonham, competent as himself in -knowledge and experience, found explanations for all things, and had -in his natural temperament a quality of sane judgment which corrected -extravagances. - -Devonham was agnostic, because reason ruled his life. Devoid of -imagination, he had no temptations. Speculative, within limits, he -might be, but he belonged not to the unstable. Not that he thought he -knew everything, but that he refused to base action on what he regarded -as unknown. A clue into the unknown he would follow up as keenly, -carefully, as Fillery himself, but he went step by step, with caution, -declining to move further until the last step was of hardened concrete. -To the powers of the subconscious self he set drastic limits, admitting -their existence of course, but attaching small value to their use or -development. His own deeper being had never stirred or wakened. Of -this under-sea, this vast background in himself, he remained placidly -uninformed. A comprehensive view of a problem--the flash of vision -he never knew--thus was perhaps denied him, but so far as he went he -was very safe and sure. And his chief was the first to appreciate his -value. He appreciated it particularly now, as the two men sat smoking -after their late dinner, discussing details of the new inmate of the -Home. - -Fillery, aware of the strong pull upon his own mixed blood, aware of -a half-wild instinctive sympathy towards "N. H.," almost of a natural -desire now, having seen him, to believe him "unique" in several ways, -and, therefore, conscious of a readiness to accept more than any -evidence yet justified--feeling these symptoms clearly, and remembering -vividly his experiences in the railway station, he was glad, for -truth's sake, that Devonham was there to clip extravagance before it -injured judgment. A weak man, aware of his own frailties, excels a -stronger one who thinks he has none at all. The two colleagues were a -powerful combination. - -"In your view, it's merely a case of a secondary--anyhow of a -divided--personality?" he asked, as soon as the other had recovered a -little from his journey, and was digesting his meal comfortably over a -pipe. "You have seen more of him than I have. Of insanity, at any rate, -there is no sign at all, I take it? His relations with his environment -are sound?" - -"None whatever." Devonham answered both questions at once. "Exactly." - -He took off his pince-nez, cleaned them with his handkerchief, and then -replaced them carefully. This gave him time to reflect, as though he -was not quite sure where to begin his story. - -"There are certainly indications," he went on slowly, "of a divided -personality, though of an unusual kind. The margin between the -two--between the normal and the secondary self--is so very slight. -It is not clearly defined, I mean. They sometimes merge and -interpenetrate. The frontier is almost indistinguishable." - -Fillery raised his eyebrows. - -"You feel uncertain which is the main self, and which the split-off -secondary personality?" he inquired, with surprise. - -Devonham nodded. "I'm extremely puzzled," he admitted. "LeVallon's -most marked self, the best defined, the richest, the most fully -developed, seems to me what _we_ should call his Secondary Self--this -'Nature-being' that worships wind and fire, is terrified by a large -body of water, is ignorant of human ways, probably also quite -_un_-moral, yet alive with a kind of instinctive wisdom we credit -usually to the animal kingdom--though far beyond anything animals can -claim----" - -"Briefly, what we mean by the term 'N. H.,'" suggested Fillery, not -anxious for too many details at the moment. - -"Exactly. And I propose we always refer to that aspect of him as -'N. H.,' the other, the normal ordinary man, being LeVallon, his -right name." He smiled faintly. - -"Agreed," replied his chief. "We shall always know then exactly which -one we're talking of at a given moment. Now," he went on, "to come -to the chief point, and before you give me details of what happened -abroad, let me hear your own main conclusion. What is LeVallon? What is -'N. H.'?" - -Devonham hesitated for some time. It was evident his respect for his -chief made him cautious. There was an eternal battle between these -two, keen though always good-natured, even humorous, the victory not -invariably perhaps with the assistant. Later evidence had often proved -Fillery's swifter imagination correct after all, or, alternately, shown -him to be wrong. They kept an accurate score of the points won and lost -by either. - -"You can always revise your conclusions later," Fillery reminded him -slyly. "Call it a preliminary conclusion for the moment. You've not had -time yet for a careful study, I know." - -But Devonham this time did not smile at the rally, and his chief -noticed it with secret approval. Here was something new, big, serious, -it seemed. Devonham, apparently, was already too interested to care who -scored or did not score. His Notes of 1914 indeed betrayed his genuine -zeal sufficiently. - -"LeVallon," he said at length--"to begin with him! I think -LeVallon--without any flavour of 'N. H.'--is a fine specimen of a -normal human being. His physique is magnificent, as you have seen, his -health and strength exceptional. The brain, so far as I have been able -to judge, functions quite normally. The intelligence, also normal, is -much above the average in quickness, receptivity of ideas, and judgment -based on these. The emotional development, however, puzzles me; the -emotions are not entirely normal. But"--he paused again, a grave -expression on his face--"to answer your question as well as my limited -observation of him, of LeVallon, allows--I repeat that I consider him a -normal young man, though with peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of his -own, as with most other normal young fellows who are individuals, that -is," he added quickly, "and not turned out in bundles cut to measure." - -"So much for LeVallon. Now what about 'N. H.'?" - -He repeated the question, fixing the assistant with his steady gaze. He -had noticed the confusion in the reply. - -"My dear Edward----" began Devonham, after a considerable pause. Then -he stuck fast, sighed, settled his glasses carefully upon his aquiline, -sharp nose, and relapsed into silence. His forehead became wrinkled, -his mouth much pursed. - -"Out with it, Paul! This isn't a Court of Law. I shan't behead you if -you're wrong." Yet Fillery, too, spoke gravely. - -The other kept his eyes down; his face still wore a puzzled look. -Fillery detected a new expression on the keen, thoughtful features, and -he was pleased to see it. - -"To give you the truth," resumed his assistant, "and all question -of who is right or who is wrong aside, I tell you frankly--I am not -sure. I confess myself up against it. It--er--gives me the creeps a -little----" He laughed awkwardly. That swift watchful look, as of a man -who plays a part, flashed and vanished. - -"Your feeling, anyhow?" insisted his friend. "Your general feeling?" - -"A general judgment based on general feeling," said the other in a -quiet tone, "has little value. It is based, necessarily, as you know, -upon intuition, which I temperamentally dislike. It has no facts to -go upon. I distrust generalizations." He took a deep breath, inhaled -a lot of smoke, exhaled it with relief, and made an effort. It went -against the grain in him to be caught without an explanation. - -"'N. H.' in my opinion, and so far as my limited observation of him----" - -Fillery allowed himself a laugh of amused impatience. "Leave out the -personal extras for once, and burn your bridges. Tell me finally what -you think about 'N. H.' We're not scoring points now." - -Thus faced with an alternative, Devonham found his sense of humour -again and forgot himself. It cost him an effort, but he obeyed the -bigger and less personal mind. - -"I really don't know exactly _what_ he is," he confessed again. "He -puzzles me completely. It _may_ be"--he shrugged his shoulders, -compelled by his temperament to hedge--"that he represents, as I first -thought, the content of his parents' minds, the subsequent addition of -Mason's mind included." - -"That's possible, usual and comprehensible enough," put in the doctor, -watching him with amused concentration, but with an inner excitement -scarcely concealed. - -"Or" resumed Devonham, "it _may_ be that through these----" - -"Through his mental inheritance from his parents and from Mason, -yes----" - -"----he taps the most primitive stores and layers of racial memory we -know. The world-memory, if I dare put it so, full proof being lacking, -is open to him----" - -"Through his subconscious powers, of course?" - -"That is your usual theory, isn't it? We have there, at any rate, -a working hypothesis, with a great mass of evidence--generally -speaking--behind it." - -"Don't be cynical, Paul. Is this 'N. H.' merely a Secondary -Personality, or is it the real central self? That's the whole point." - -"You jump ahead, as usual," replied Devonham, really smiling for the -first time, though his face instantly grew serious again. "Edward," he -went on, "I do not know, I cannot say, I dare not--dare not guess. 'N. -H.' is something entirely new to me, and I admit it." He seemed to find -his stride, to forget himself. "I feel far from cynical. 'N. H.,' in my -opinion, is exceptional. My notes suggested it long ago. He has, for -instance--at least, so it seems to me--peculiar powers." - -"Ah!" - -"Of suggestion, let us put it." - -"Of suggestion, yes. Get on with it, there's a good fellow. I felt -myself an extraordinary vitality about him. I noticed it at once at -Charing Cross." - -"I saw you did." Devonham looked hard at him. "You were humming to -yourself, you know." - -"I didn't know," was the surprised reply, "but I can well believe it. I -felt a curious pleasure and exhilaration." - -Devonham, shrugging his shoulders slightly, resumed: "During the -'LeVallon' periods he is ordinary, though unusually observant, -critical and intelligent; during the 'N. H.' periods he -becomes--er--super-normal. If you felt this--felt anything in the -station, it was because something in you--called up the 'N. H.' aspect." - -"It's quick of you to guess that," said Fillery, with quick -appreciation. "You noticed a change in me, well--but the other----? He -divined my 'foreign' blood, you think?" - -"It is enough that you responded and felt kinship. Put it that way. 'N. -H.' seems to me"--he took a deeper breath and gave a sort of gasp--"in -some ways--a unique--being--as I said before." - -"Tell me, if you can," said Fillery, lighting his own pipe and settling -back into his chair, "tell me a little about your first meeting with -him in the Jura Mountains, what happened and so forth. I remember, -of course, your Notes. After your telegram, I read 'em carefully." -He glanced round at his companion. "They were very honest, Paul, I -thought. Eh?" He was unable to refuse himself the pleasure of the -little dig. "Honest you always are," he added. "We couldn't work -together otherwise, could we?" - -Devonham, deep in his own thoughts, did not accept the challenge. He -turned in his chair, puffing at his pipe. - -"I can give you briefly what happened and how things went," he said. -"The place, then, first: an ordinary peasant châlet in a remote Jura -valley, difficult of access, situated among what they call the upper -pastures. I reached it by _diligence_ and mule late in the afternoon. -A peasant in a lower valley directed me, adding that 'le monsieur -anglais' was dead and buried two days before----" - -"Mason, that is?" - -The other nodded. "And adding that 'le fou'----" - -"LeVallon, of course?" - -"----would eat me alive at sight. He spoke with respect, however, even -awe. He hoped I had come to take him away. The countryside was afraid -of him. - -"The valley struck me as intolerably lonely, but of unusual beauty. Big -forests, great rocks, and tumbling streams among cliffs and pastures -made it exceptional. The châlet was simple, clean and comfortable. It -was really an ideal spot for a thinker or a student. The first thing I -noticed was a fire burning on a pile of rock in front of the building. -The sun was setting, and its last rays lit the entire little glen--a -mere gully between precipices and forest slopes--but especially lit up -the pile of rocks where the fire burned, so that I saw the smoke, blue, -red and yellow, and the figure kneeling before it. This figure was a -man, half naked, and of magnificent proportions. When I shouted----" - -"You _would_ shout, of course." Yet he did not say it critically. - -"----the figure rose and turned and came to meet me. It was LeVallon." - -Devonham paused a moment. Fillery's eyes were fixed upon him. - -"I admit," Devonham went on, conscious of the other's inquiring and -intent expression, "I was surprised a bit." He smiled his faint, -unwilling smile. "The figure made me start. I was aware of an emotion -I am not subject to--what I called just now the creeps. I thought, at -last, I had really seen a--a vision. He looked so huge, so wonderful, -so radiant. It was, of course, the effect of coloured smoke and -magnifying sunset, added to his semi-nakedness. To the waist he was -stripped. But, at first, his size, his splendour, a kind of radiance -borrowed from the sunlight and the fire, seemed to enlarge him beyond -human. He seemed to dominate, even to fill the little valley. - -"I stood still, uncertain of my feelings. There was, I think, a trace -of fear in me. I waited for him to come up to me. He did so. He -stretched out a hand. I took it. And what do you think he said?" - -Fillery, the inner excitement and delight increasing in him as he -listened, stared in silence. There was no lightness in him now. - -"'Are you Fillery?' That's what he said, and the first words he -uttered. 'Are you Fillery?' But spoken in a way I find difficult to -reproduce. He made the name sound like a rush of wind. 'F,' of course, -involves a draught of breath between the teeth, I know. But _he_ made -the name sound exactly like a gush of wind through branches--that's the -nearest I can get to it." - -"Well--and then?" - -"Don't be impatient, Edward. I try to be accurate. But really--what -happened next is a bit beyond any experience that we--I--have yet come -across. And, as to what I felt--well, I was tired, hungry, thirsty. I -wanted, normally, rest and food and drink. Yet all these were utterly -forgotten. For a moment or two--I admit it--I felt as if I had come -face to face with something not of this earth quite." He grinned. "A -touch of gooseflesh came to me for the first time in my life. The -fellow's size and radiance in the sunlight, the fact that he stood -there worshipping fire--always, to me, the most wonderful of natural -phenomena--his grandeur and nakedness--the way he pronounced your name -even--all this--er--upset my judgment for the moment." He paused again. -He hesitated. "A visual hallucination, due to fatigue, can be, of -course, very detailed sometimes," he added, a note of challenge in his -tone. - -Fillery watched his friend narrowly, as he stumbled among the -details of what he evidently found a difficult, almost an impossible -description. - -"Natural enough," he put in. "You'd hardly be human yourself if you -felt nothing at such a sight." - -"The loneliness, too, increased the effect," went on the other, "for -there was no one nearer than the peasants who had directed me a -thousand feet below, nor was there another building of any sort in -sight. Anyhow, it seemed, I managed my strange emotions all right, for -the young man took to me at once. He left the fire, if reluctantly, -singing to himself a sort of low chanting melody, with perhaps five or -six notes at most in it, and far from unmusical----" - -"He explained the fire? Was he actually worshipping, I mean?" - -"It was certainly worship, judging by the expression of his face and -his gestures of reverence and happiness. But I asked no questions. I -thought it best just to accept, or appear to accept, the whole thing as -natural. He said something about the Equinox, but I did not catch it -properly and did not ask. This had evidently been taught him. It was, -however, the 22nd of September, oddly enough, though the gales had not -yet come." - -"So you got into the châlet next?" asked the other, noticing the gaps, -the incoherence. - -"He put his coat on, sat down with me to a meal of bread and milk and -cheese--meat there seemed none in the building anywhere. This meal was, -if you understand me, obeying a mere habit automatically. He did just -what it had been his habit to do with Mason all these years. He got -the stuff himself--quickly, effectively, no fumbling anywhere--and, -from that moment, hardly spoke again until we left two days later. I -mean that literally. All he said, when I tried to make him talk, was, -'You are not Fillery,' or 'Take me to Fillery. I need him.' - -"I almost felt that I was living with some marvellously trained animal, -of extraordinary intelligence, gentle, docile, friendly, but unhappy -because it had lost its accustomed master. But on the other hand--I -admit it--I was conscious of a certain power in his personality beyond -me to explain. That, really, is the best description I can give you." - -"You mentioned the name of Mason?" asked Fillery, avoiding a dozen more -obvious and natural questions. - -"Several times. But his only reply was a smile, while he repeated the -name himself, adding your own after it: 'Mason Fillery, Mason Fillery,' -he would say, smiling with quiet happiness. 'I like Fillery!'" - -"The nights?" - -"Briefly--I was glad to see the dawn. We had separate rooms, my own -being the one probably where Mason had died a few days before. But it -was not that I minded in the least. It was the feeling--the knowledge -in fact--that my companion was up and about all night in the building -or out of doors. I heard him moving, singing quietly to himself, the -wooden veranda creaked beneath his tread. He was active all through the -darkness and cannot have slept at all. When I came down soon after dawn -he was running over the slopes a mile away, running towards the châlet, -too, with the speed and lightness of a deer. He had been to some -height, I think, to see the sun rise and probably to worship it----" - -"And your journey? You got him away easily?" - -"He was only too ready to leave, for it meant coming to _you_. I -arranged with the peasants below to have the châlet closed up, took -my charge to Neuchâtel, and thence to Berne, where I bought him an -outfit, and arrived in due course, as you know, at Charing Cross." - -"His first sight of cities, people, trains, steamers and the rest, I -take it. Any reactions?" - -"The troubles I anticipated did not materialize. He came like a lamb, -the most helpless and pathetic lamb I ever saw. He stared but asked no -questions. I think he was half dazed, even stupefied with it all." - -"Stupefied?" - -"An odd word to use, I know. I should have said perhaps 'automatic' -rather. He was so open to my suggestions, doing what my mind expected -him to do, but nothing more--ah! with one exception." - -Fillery meant to hear an account of that exception, though the other -would willingly have foregone its telling evidently. It was related, -Fillery felt sure, to the unusual powers Devonham had mentioned. - -"Oh, you shall hear it," said the latter quickly, "for what it's -worth. There's no need to exaggerate, of course." He told it rapidly, -accurately, no doubt, because his mind was honest, yet without comment -or expression in his voice and face. He supplied no atmosphere. - -"I had got him like a lamb, as I told you, to Paris, and it was during -the Customs examination the--er--little thing occurred. The man, -searching through his trunk, pulled out a packet of flat papers and -opened it. He looked them over with puzzled interest, turning them -upside down to examine them from every possible angle. Then he asked a -trifle unpleasantly what they were. I hadn't the smallest idea myself, -I had never seen them before; they were very carefully wrapped up. -LeVallon, whose sudden excitement increased the official's interest, -told him that they were star-and-weather maps. It doubtless was the -truth; he had made them with Mason; but they were queer-looking papers -to have at such a time, hidden away, too, at the bottom of the trunk; -and LeVallon's manner and expression did not help to disarm the man's -evident suspicion. He asked a number of pointed questions in a very -disagreeable way--who made them, for what purpose, how they were used, -and whether they were connected with aviation. I translated, of course. -I explained their innocence----" - -"LeVallon's excitement?" asked Fillery. "What form did it take? -Rudeness, anger, violence of any sort?" He was aware his friend would -have liked to shirk these details. - -"Nothing of the kind." He hesitated briefly, then went on. "He behaved, -rather, as though--well, as a devout Catholic might have behaved if his -crucifix or some holy relic were being mauled. The maps were sacred. -Symbols possibly. Heaven knows what! He tried to take them back. The -official, as a natural result, became still more suspicious and, of -course, offensive too. My explanations and expostulations were quite -useless, for he didn't even listen to them." - -Devonham was now approaching the part of the story he least wished -to describe. He played for time. He gave details of the ensuing -altercation. - -"What happened in the end?" Fillery at length interrupted. "What did -LeVallon do? There were no arrests, I take it?" he added with a smile. - -Paul coughed and fidgeted. He told the literal truth, however. - -"LeVallon, after listening for a long time to the conversation he could -not understand, suddenly took his fingers off the papers. The man's -dirty hand still held them tightly on the grimy counter. LeVallon -began--or--he suddenly began to breathe--well--heavily rather." - -"Rhythmically?" - -"Heavily," insisted the other. "In a curious way, anyhow," he added, -determined to keep strictly to the truth, "not unlike Heathcote when he -put himself automatically into trance and then told us what was going -on at the other end of England. You remember the case." He paused a -moment again, as if to recall exactly what had occurred. "It's not -easy to describe, Edward," he continued, looking up. "You remember that -huge draughty hall where they examine luggage at the Lyons Station. -I can't explain it. But that breathing somehow caught the draughts, -used them possibly, in any case increased them. A wind came through -the great hall. I can't explain it," he repeated, "I can only tell you -what happened. That wind most certainly came pouring steadily through, -for I felt it myself, and saw it blow upon the fluttering papers. The -heat in the _salle_ at the same moment seemed to grow intense. Not an -oppressive heat, though. Radiant heat, rather. It felt, I mean, like -a fierce sunlight. I looked up, almost expecting to see a great light -from which it came. It was then--at this very moment--the Frenchman -turned as if someone touched him." - -"_You_ felt anything, Paul?" - -"Yes," admitted the other slowly. - -Fillery waited. - -"A--what I must call--a thrill." His voice was lower now. - -"Of----?" his Chief persisted. - -Devonham waited a full ten seconds before reply. He again shrugged his -shoulders a little. Apparently he sought his words with honest care -that included also intense reluctance and disapproval: - -"Loveliness, romance, enchantment; but, above all, I think--power." He -ground out the confession slowly. "By power I mean a sort of confidence -and happiness." - -"Increase of vitality, call it. Intensification of your consciousness." - -"Possibly. A bigger perspective suddenly, a bigger scale of life; -something--er--a bit wild, but certainly--er--uncommonly stimulating. -The best word, I think, is liberty, perhaps. An immense and careless -sense of liberty." And Fillery, knowing the value of superlatives in -Devonham's cautious mind, felt satisfied. He asked quietly what the -official did next. - -"Stood stock still at first. Then his face changed; he smiled; he -looked up understandingly, sympathetically, at LeVallon. He spoke: 'My -father, too,' he said with admiration, 'had a big telescope. Monsieur -is an astronomer.' - -"'One of the greatest,' I added quickly; 'these charts are of infinite -value to France.' No sense of comedy touched me anywhere, the ludicrous -was absent. The man bowed, as carefully, respect in every gesture, he -replaced the maps, marked the trunk with his piece of chalk, and let us -go, helping in every way he could." - -Devonham drew a long breath, glad that he had relieved himself of his -unwelcome duty. He had told the literal truth. - -"Of course, of course," Fillery said, half to himself perhaps. -"A breath of bigger consciousness, his imagination touched, the -subconscious wakened, and intelligence the natural result." He turned -to his colleague. "Interesting, Paul, very," he added in a louder tone, -"and not easy to explain, I grant. The official we do not know, but -you, at any rate, are not a good subject for hypnotic suggestion!" - -For some time Devonham said nothing. Presently he spoke: - -"Fillery, I tell you--really I love the fellow. He's the most lovable -thing in human shape I ever saw. He gets into your heart so strangely. -We must heal him." - -The other sighed, quickly smothering it, yet not before Devonham had -noticed it. They did not look at one another for some seconds, and -there was a certain tenseness, a sense of deep emotion in the air that -each, possibly, sought to hide from the other. - -Devonham was the first to break the silence that had fallen between -them. - -"To be quite frank--it's LeVallon that appeals most to me," he said, -as if to himself, "whereas you, Edward, I believe, are more--more -interested in the other aspect of him. It's 'N. H.' that interests you." - -No challenge was intended, yet the glove was flung. Fillery said -nothing for a minute or two. Then he looked up, and their eyes met -across the smoke-laden atmosphere. It was close on midnight. The world -lay very still and hushed about the house. - -"It is," he said quietly, "a pathetic and inspiring case. He is -deserving of"--he chose his words slowly and with care--"our very -best," he concluded shortly. - -"And now," he added quickly, "you're tired out, and I ought to have let -you have a night's sleep before taxing you like this." He poured out -two glasses of whisky. "Let us drink anyhow to success and healing of -body, mind--and soul." - -"Body, mind and--nerves," said Devonham slowly, as he drank the toast. - -"The reason I had none of the trouble I anticipated," remarked -Devonham, as he sipped the reviving liquor, "is simple enough." - -"There are two periods, of course. I guessed that." - -"Exactly. There is the LeVallon period, when he is quiescent, normal, -very charming into the bargain, more like a good child or trained -animal or happy peasant, if you like it better, than a grown man. And -there is the 'N. H.' period, when he is--otherwise." - -"Ah!" - -"I arrived just at the transition moment, so to speak. It was during -the change I reached the châlet." - -"Precisely." Fillery looked up, smiled and nodded. - -"That's about the truth," repeated Devonham, putting his glass down. He -thought for a moment, then added slowly, "I think that fire of his, the -worship, singing--at the autumnal equinox--marked the change. 'N. H,' -at once after that, slipped back into the unconscious state. LeVallon -emerged. It was with LeVallon only or chiefly, _I_ had to deal. He -became so very quiet, dazed a little, half there, as we call it, and -almost entirely silent. He retained little, if any, memory of the 'N. -H.' period, although it lies, I think, just beneath the surface only. -The LeVallon personality, you see, is not very positive, is it? It -seems a quiet, negative state, a condition almost of rest, in fact." - -Fillery listening attentively, made no rejoinder. - -"We may expect," continued Devonham, "these alternating states, I -think. The frontier between them is, as I said, a narrow one. Indeed, -often they merge or interpenetrate. In my judgment, the main, important -part of his consciousness, that parent Self, is LeVallon--_not_ 'N. -H.'" The voice was slightly strident. - -"Ah!" - -It so happened that, in the act of exchanging these last words, they -both looked up toward the ceiling, where a moth buzzed round and round, -banging itself occasionally against the electric light. Whether it was -this that drew their sight upwards simultaneously, or whether it was -that some other sound in the stillness of the night had caught their -strained attention, is uncertain. The same thought, at any rate, was -in both minds at that instant, the same freight of meaning trailing -behind it invisibly across the air. Their hearts burned within them; -the two faces upward turned, the lips a little parted as when listening -is intense, the heads thrown back. For in the room above that ceiling, -asleep at this moment, lay the subject of their long discussion; only -a few inches of lath and plaster separated them from the strange being -who, dropping out of space, as it were, had come to make his home with -them. A being, lonely utterly in the world, unique in kind perhaps, his -nature as yet undecipherable, lay trustingly unconscious in that upper -chamber. The two men felt the gravity, the responsibility of their -charge. The same thought had vividly touched them both at the same -instant. - -A few minutes later they were still standing, facing one another. -They were of a height, but compared to Fillery's big frame and rugged -head, his friend's appearance was almost slight. Devonham, for all his -qualifications, looked painfully like a shopwalker. They exchanged this -steady gaze for a few seconds without speaking. Then the older man -said quietly: - -"Paul, I understand, and I respect your reticence. I think I can agree -with it." - -He placed a hand upon the other's shoulder, smiling gently, even -tenderly. - -"You have told me much, but you have not told me all! The chief -part--you have intentionally omitted." - -"For the present, at any rate," was the reply, given without flinching. - -"Your reasons are sound, your judgment perhaps right. I ask no -questions. What happened, what you saw, at the châlet; the 'peculiar -powers' you mentioned; all, in fact, that you think it wise to keep to -yourself for the moment, I leave there willingly." - -He spoke gravely, sincere emotion in the eyes and tone. It was in a -lower voice he added: - -"The responsibility, of course, is yours." - -Devonham returned the steady gaze, pondering his reply a moment. - -"I can--and do accept it," he answered. "You have read my thoughts -correctly as usual, Edward. I think you know quite enough already--what -with my Notes and Mason's letter--even too much. Besides, why -complicate it with an account of what were doubtless mere mental -pictures--hallucinations--on my part? This is a matter," he went on -slowly, "a case, we dare not trifle with; there may be strange and -terrible afflictions in it later; we must remain unbiased." The anxiety -deepened on his face. - -"True, true," murmured the other. "God bless the boy! May his own gods -bless him!" - -"In other words, it will need your clearest, soundest judgment, your -finest skill, your very best, as you said yourself just now." He used -a firmer, yet also a softer tone suddenly: "Edward, you know your own -mind, its contents, its suppressions, its origin; your refusal of the -love of women, your deep powerful dreams that you have suppressed and -put away. Promise me"--the voice and manner were very earnest--"that -you will not communicate these to him in any way, and that you will -keep your judgment absolutely unbiased and untainted." He looked at his -old friend and paused. "Only your purest judgment of what is to come -can help. You promise." - -Fillery sighed a scarcely noticeable sigh. "I promise you, Paul. You -are wise--and you are right," he said. "On the other hand, let me say -one thing to you in my turn. This theory of heredity and of mental -telepathic transference--the idea that all his mind's content is -derived from his parents and from Mason--we cannot, remember, force -this transference and interchange _too_ far. I ask only this: be fair -and open yourself with all that follows." - -Devonham raised his voice: "Nor can we, apparently, set limits to it, -Edward. But--to be fair and open-minded--I give my promise too." - -Thus, in the little downstairs room of a Private Home for Incurable -Mental Cases, _not_ a Lunatic Asylum, though sometimes perhaps next -door to it, these two men, deeply intrigued by a new "Case" that -passed their understanding, as it exceeded their knowledge, practice -and experience, swore to each other to observe carefully, to report -faithfully, and to experiment, if experiment proved necessary, with -honest and affectionate uprightness. - -Their views were, obviously, not the same. Devonham, temperamentally -opposed to radical innovations, believed it was a case of divided -personality--hundreds of such cases had passed through their hands. -Forced to accept extended telepathy--that all minds can on occasion -share one another's content, and that even a racial and a world-memory -can be tapped--he feared that his Chief might influence LeVallon, and -twist, thus, the phenomena to a special end. He knew Edward Fillery's -story. He feared, for the sake of truth, the mental transference. He -had, perhaps, other fears as well. - -Fillery, on the other hand, believing as much, and knowing more than -his colleague, saw in "N. H." a unique possibility. He was thrilled -and startled with a half-impossible hope. He felt as if someone ran -beside his life, bearing impossible glad tidings, an unexpected, -half-incredible figure, the tidings marvellously bright. He hoped, he -already wished to think, that "N. H." might shadow forth a promise of -some magical advance for the ultimate benefit of the Race.... - -The thinkers were crying on the housetops that progress was a myth, -that each wave of civilization at its height reached the same average -level without ever passing further. The menace to the present -civilization, already crumbling, was in full swing everywhere; -knowledge, culture, learning threatened in due course with the chaos -of destruction that has so far been the invariable rule. The one hope -of saving the world, cried religion, lay in substituting spiritual for -material values--a Utopian dream at best. The one chance, said science, -on the other hand, was that civilization to-day is continuous and not -isolated. - -The best hope, believed Fillery, the only hope, lay in raising the -individual by the drawing up into full consciousness of the limitless -powers now hidden and inactive in his deeper self--the so-called -subliminal faculties. With these greater powers must come also greater -moral development. - -Already, with his uncanny insight, derived from knowledge of himself, -he had piercingly divined in "N. H." a being, whatever he might be, -whose nature acted automatically and directly upon the subconscious -self in everybody. - -That bright messenger, running past his life, had looked, as with fire -and tempest, straight into his eyes. - - * * * * * - -It was long after one o'clock when the two men said good-night, and -went to their rooms. Devonham was soon in bed, though not soon asleep. -Exhausted physically though he was, his mind burned actively. His -recent memories were vivid. All he had purposely held back from -Fillery returned with power.... - -The uncertainty whether he had experienced hallucination, or had -actually, as by telepathic transfer from LeVallon, touched another -state of consciousness, kept sleep far away.... - -His brain was far too charged for easy slumber. He feared for his dear, -faithful friend, his colleague, the skilful, experienced, yet sorely -tempted mind--tempted by Nature and by natural weaknesses of birth and -origin--who now shared with him the care and healing of a Case that -troubled his being too deeply for slumber to come quickly. - -Yet he had done well to keep these memories from Edward Fillery. If -Fillery once knew what _he_ knew, his judgment and his scientific -diagnosis must be drawn hopelessly away from what he considered the -best treatment: the suppression of "N. H." and the making permanent of -"LeVallon."... - -He fell asleep eventually, towards dawn, dreaming impossible, radiant -dreams of a world he might have hoped for, yet could not, within the -limits of his little cautious, accurate mind, believe in. Dreams that -inspire, yet sadden, haunted his release from normal consciousness. -Someone had walked upon his life, leaving a growth of everlasting -flowers in their magical tread, though his mind--his stolid, cautious -mind--had no courage for the plucking.... - -And while he slept, as the hours slipped from west to east, his chief -and colleague, lying also sleepless, rose suddenly before the late -autumn dawn, and walked quietly along the corridor towards the Private -Suite where the new patient rested. His mind was quiet, yet his inner -mind alert. His thoughts, his hopes, his dreams, these lay, perhaps, -beyond human computation. He was calmer far than his assistant, though -more strangely tempted. - -It was just growing light, the corridor was cold. A cool, damp air came -through the open windows and the linoleum felt like ice against the -feet. The house lay dead and silent. Pausing a moment by a window, he -listened to the chattering of early sparrows. He felt chill and hungry, -unrested too, though far from sleepy. He was aware of London--bleak, -heavy, stolid London town. The troubles of modern life, of Labour, -Politics, Taxes, cost of living, all the common, daily things came in -with the cheerless morning air. - -He reached the door he sought, and very softly opened it. - -The radiance met him in the face, so that he almost gasped. The scent -of flowers, the sting of sharp, keen forest winds, the exhilaration of -some distant mountain-top. There was, actually, a tang of dawn, known -only to those who have tasted the heights at sunrise with the heart. -And into his heart, singing with happy confidence, rose a sense of -supreme joy and confidence that mastered all little earthly woes and -pains, and walked among the stars. - -The occupant of the bed lay very still. His shining hair was spread -upon the pillow. The splendid limbs were motionless. The chest and arms -were bare, the single covering sheet tossed off. The strange, wild face -wore happiness and peace upon its skin, the features very calm, the -mouth relaxed. It almost seemed a god lay sleeping there upon a little -human bed. - -How long he stood and stared he did not know, but suddenly, the light -increased. The curtains stirred about the bed. - -With a marvellous touch the separate details merged and quickened into -life. The room was changed. The occupant of the bed moved very swiftly, -as through the open window came the first touch of exhilarating light. -Gold stole across the lintel, breaking over the roofs of slates beyond. -The leafless elm trees shimmered faintly. The telegraph wires shone. -There was a running sparkle. It was dawn. - -The figure leaped, danced--no other word describes it--to the open -window where the light and air gushed in, spread wide its arms, lowered -its radiant head, began to sing in low, melodious rhythmic chant--and -Fillery, as silently as he had come, withdrew and closed the door -unseen. His heart moved strangely, but--his promise held him.... - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The following days it seemed to both Fillery and Devonham that their -discussion of the first night had been pitched in too intense, too -serious a key. Their patient was so commonplace again, so ordinary. He -made himself quite at home, seemed contented and uncurious, taking it -for granted he had come to stay for ever, apparently. - -Apart from his strange beauty, his size, virility and a general -impression he conveyed of immense energies he was too easy-going to -make use of, he might have passed for a peasant, a countryman to -whom city life was new; but an educated, or at least half-educated, -countryman. He was so big, yet never gauche. He was neither stupid -nor ill-informed; the garden interested him, he knew much about the -trees and flowers, birds and insects too. He discussed the weather, -prevailing wind, moisture, prospects of change and so forth with a -judgment based on what seemed a natural, instinctive knowledge. The -gardener looked on him with obvious respect. - -"Such nice manners and such a steady eye," Mrs. Soames, the matron, -mentioned, too, approvingly to Devonham. "But a lot in him he doesn't -understand himself, unless I'm wrong. Not much the matter with his -nerves, anyhow. Once he's married--unless I'm much mistaken--eh, sir?" - -He was quiet, talking little, and spent the morning over the books -Fillery had placed purposely in his sitting-room, books on simple -physics, natural history and astronomy. It was the latter that absorbed -him most; he pored over them by the hour. - -Fillery explained the situation so far as he thought wise. The young -man was honesty and simple innocence, but only vaguely interested in -the life of the great city he now experienced for the first time. He -had in his luggage a copy of the Will by which Mason had left him -everything, and he was pleased to know himself well provided for. Of -Mason, however, he had only a dim, uncertain, almost an impersonal -memory, as of someone encountered in a dream. - -"I suppose something's happened to me," he said to Fillery, his -language normal and quite ordinary again. He spoke with a slight -foreign accent. "There was somebody, of course, who looked after me and -lived with me, but I can't remember who or where it was. I was very -happy," he added, "and yet ... I miss something." - -Dr. Fillery, remembering his promise, did not press him. - -"It will all come back by degrees," he remarked in a sympathetic tone. -"In the meantime, you must make yourself at home here with us, for as -long as you like. You are quite free in every way. I want you to be -happy here." - -"I live with you always," was the reply. "There are things I want to -tell you, ask you too." He paused, looking thoughtful. "There was -someone I told all to once." - -"Come to me with everything. I'll help you always, so far as I can." He -placed a hand upon his knee. - -"There are feelings, big feelings I cannot reach quite, but that make -me feel different"--he smiled beautifully--"from--others." Quick as -lightning he had changed the sentence at the last word, substituting -"others" for "you." Had he been aware of a slight uneasy emotion in -his listener's heart? It had hardly betrayed itself by any visible -sign, yet he had instantly divined its presence. Such evidences of a -subtle, intimate, understanding were not lacking. Yet Fillery admirably -restrained himself. - -"There are bright places I have lost," he went on frankly, no sign of -shy reserve in him. "I feel confused, lost somewhere, as if I didn't -belong here. I feel"--he used an odd word--"doubled." His face shaded a -little. - -"Big overpowering London is bound to affect you," put in Fillery, -who had noticed the rapid discernment, "after living among woods and -mountains, as you have lived, for years. All will come right in a -little time; we must settle down a bit first----" - -"Woods and mountains," repeated the other, in a half-dreamy voice, -his eyes betraying an effort to follow thought elsewhere. "Of course, -yes--woods and mountains and hot living sunlight--and the winds----" - -His companion shifted the conversation a little. He suggested a line of -reading and study.... They talked also of such ordinary but necessary -things as providing a wardrobe, of food, exercise, companionship of -his own age, and so forth--all the commonplace details of ordinary -daily life, in fact. The exchange betrayed nothing of interest, nothing -unusual. They mentioned theatres, music, painting, and, beyond the -natural curiosity of youth that was ignorant of these, no detail was -revealed that need have attracted the attention of anybody, neither -of doctor, psychologist, nor student of human nature. With the single -exception that the past years had been obliterated from memory, though -much that had been acquired in them remained, there was not noticeable -peculiarity of any sort. Both language and point of view were normal. - -This was obviously LeVallon. The "N. H." personality scarcely cast a -shadow even. Yet "N. H.," the doctor was quick to see, lay ready and -waiting just below the surface. There was no doubt in _his_ mind which -was the central self and which its transient projection, the secondary -personality. Again, as he sat and talked, he had the odd impression -that someone with bright tidings ran swiftly past his life, perhaps -towards it. - -The swift messenger was certainly not LeVallon. LeVallon, indeed, was -but a shadow cast before this glad, bright visitant. Thus he felt, -at any rate. LeVallon was an empty simulacrum left behind while "N. -H." rested, or was active upon other things, things natural to him, -elsewhere. LeVallon was an arm, a limb, a feeler that "N. H." thrust -out. At Charing Cross, for instance, for a brief moment only, "N. -H." had peered across his shoulder, then withdrawn again. In the car -had sat by his side LeVallon. The being he now chatted with was also -LeVallon only. - -But in his own heart, deep down, hidden yet eager to break loose, lay -his own deeper self that burned within him. This, the important part -of him, yearned towards "N. H." And up rose the strange symbol that -always appeared when his deepest, perhaps his subliminal self was -stirred. That lost radiant valley in the haunted Caucasus shone close -and brimming over ... with light, with flowers, with splendid winds and -fire, symbols of a vaster, grander, happier life, though perhaps a life -not yet within the range of normal human consciousness.... The fiery -symbol flashed and passed. - -Curious thoughts and pictures rose flaming in his mind, persistent -ideas that bore no possible relation to his intellectual, reasoning -life. Passing across the background of his brain, as with waves of -heat and colour, they were correlated somewhere with harmonious sound. -Music, that is, came with them, as though inspiration brought its own -sound with it that made singing natural. They haunted him, these vague, -pleasurable phantasmagoria that were connected, he felt sure, with -music, as with childhood's lost imaginings. For a long time he searched -in vain for their source and origin. Then, suddenly, he remembered. -He heard his father's gruff, humorous voice: "There's not a scrap of -evidence, of course...." And, sharply, vividly, the buried memory gave -up its dead. His childish question went crashing through the air: "Are -we the only beings in the world?" - -"Nothing is ever lost," he reminded himself with a smile that Devonham -assuredly never saw. "Every seed must bear its fruit in time." - -And emotion surged through him from the remorseless records of his -underself. The childhood's love, with its correlative of deep, absolute -belief, returned upon him, linked on somehow to that old familiar -symbol he knew to mean his awakening subconscious being--a flowering -Caucasian vale of sun and wind. A belief, he realized, especially a -belief of childhood, remains for ever inexpugnable, eternal, prolific -seed of future harvests. - -The unstable in him betrayed its ineradicable, dangerous streak. There -rose upon him in a cloud strange notions that inflamed imagination -sweetly. Later reading, indeed, had laid flesh upon the skeleton of -the boyish notion, though derived in the first instance he certainly -knew not whence. The literature and tradition of the East, he recalled, -peopled the elements with conscious life, to which the world's -fairy-tales--remnant of lost knowledge possibly--added nerves and heart -and blood. In all human bodies, at any rate, dwelt not necessarily -always human spirits, human souls.... - -He checked himself with a smile he would have liked to call a chuckle, -but that yet held some inexplicable happiness at its heart. His -rugged, eager face, its expression bitten deeply by experience, turned -curiously young. There rushed through him the Eastern conception -of another system of life, another evolution, deathless, divine, -important, the Order of the _Devas_, a series of Nature Beings entirely -apart from human categories. They included many degrees, from fairies -to planetary spirits, the gods, so called; and their duties, work and -purposes were concerned, he remembered, with carrying out the Laws -of Nature, the busy tending of all forms and structures, from the -elaborately marvellous infusoria in a drop of stagnant water, the -growth of crystals, the upbuilding of flowers and trees, of insects, -animals, humans, to the guidance and guardianship of those vaster forms -of heavenly bodies, the stars, the planets and the mighty suns, whose -gigantic "bodies," inhabited by immenser consciousness, people empty -space.... A noble, useful, selfless work, God's messengers.... - -He checked himself again, as the rich, ancient notion flitted across -his stirring memory. - -"Delightful, picturesque conceptions of the planet's young, fair -ignorance!" he reminded himself, smiling as before. - -Whereupon rose, bursting through his momentary dream, with full-fledged -power, the great hope of his own reasoned, scientific Dream--that -man is greater than he knows, and that the progress of the Race was -demonstrable. - -For, to the subliminal powers of an awakened Race these Nature Beings -with their special faculties, must lie open and accessible. The -human and the non-human could unite! Nature must come back into the -hearts of men and win them again to simple, natural life with love, -with joy, with naked beauty. Death and disease must vanish, hope and -purity return. The Race must develop, grow, become in the true sense -_universal_. It could know God! - -The vision flashed upon him with extraordinary conviction, so that he -forgot for the moment how securely he belonged to the unstable. The -smile of happiness spread, as it were, over his entire being. He glowed -and pulsed with its delicious inward fire. Light filled his being for -an instant--an instant of intoxicating belief and certainty and vision. -The instant inspiration of a dream went lost and vanished. He had drawn -upon childhood and legendary reading for the substance of a moment's -happiness. He shook himself, so to speak. He remembered his patients -and his duties, his colleague too.... - -Nothing, meanwhile, occurred to arouse interest or attention. LeVallon -was quite docile, ordinary; he needed no watching; he slept well, ate -well, spent his leisure with his books and in the garden. He complained -often of the lack of sunlight, and sometimes he might be seen taking -some deep breaths of air into his lungs by the open window or on the -balcony. The phases of the moon, too, interested him, and he asked -once when the full moon would come and then, when Devonham told him, -he corrected the date the latter gave, proving him two hours wrong. -But, on the whole, there seemed little to differentiate him from the -usual young man whose physique had developed in advance of his mental -faculties; his knowledge in some respects certainly was backward, as in -the case of arrested development. He seemed an intelligent countryman, -but an unusually intelligent countryman, though all the time another -under-intelligence shone brightly, betraying itself in remarks and -judgments oddly phrased. - -Dr. Fillery took him, during the following day or two, to concerts, -theatres, cinemas. He enjoyed them all. Yet in the theatres he was -inclined to let his attention wander. The degree of alertness varied -oddly. His critical standard, moreover, was curiously exacting; he -demanded the real creative interpretation of a part, and was quick to -detect a lack of inspiration, of fine technique, of true conception in -a player. Reasons he failed to give, and argument seemed impossible to -him, but if voice or gesture or imaginative touch failed anywhere, he -lost interest in the performer from that moment. - -"He has poor breath," he remarked. "He only imitates. He is outside." -Or, "She pretends. She does not feel and know. Feeling--the feeling -that comes of fire--she has not felt." - -"She does not understand her part, you mean?" suggested Fillery. - -"She does not burn with it," was the reply. - -At concerts he behaved individually too. They bored as well as puzzled -him; the music hardly stirred him. He showed signs of distress at -anything classical, though Wagner, Debussy, the Russians, moved him and -produced excitement. - -"He," was his remark, with emphasis, "has _heard_. He gives me freedom. -I could fly and go away. He sets me free ..." and then he would say no -more, not even in reply to questions. He could not define the freedom -he referred to, nor could he say where he could go away _to_. But -his face lit up, he smiled his delightful smile, he looked happy. -"Stars," he added once in a tone of interest, in reply to repeated -questions, "stars, wind, fire, away from _this!_"--he tapped his head -and breast--"I feel more alive and real." - -"It's real and true, that music? That's what you feel?" - -"It's beyond this," he replied, again tapping his body. "_They have -heard._" - -The cinema interested him more. Yet its limits seemed to perplex him -more than its wonder thrilled him. He accepted it as a simple, natural, -universal thing. - -"They stay always on the sheet," he observed with evident surprise. -"And I hear nothing. They do not even sing. Sound and movement go -together!" - -"The speaking will come," explained Fillery. "Those are pictures -merely." - -"I understand. Yet sound is natural, isn't it? They ought to be heard." - -"Speech," agreed his companion, "is natural, but singing isn't." - -"Are they not alive enough to sing?" was the reply, spoken to himself -rather than to his neighbour, who was so attentive to his least -response. "Do they only sing when"--Fillery heard it and felt something -leap within him--"when they are paid or have an audience?" he finished -the sentence quickly. - -"No one sings naturally of their own accord--not in cities, at any -rate," was the reply. - -LeVallon laughed, as though he understood at once. - -"There is no sun and wind," he murmured. "Of course. They cannot." - -It was the cinemas that provided most material for observation, Fillery -found. There was in a cinema performance something that excited his -companion, but excited him more than the doctor felt he was justified -in encouraging. Obviously the other side of him, the "N. H." aspect, -came up to breathe under the stimulus of the rapid, world-embracing, -space-and-time destroying pictures on the screen. Concerts did not -stimulate him, it seemed, but rather puzzled him. He remained wholly -the commonplace LeVallon--with one exception: he drew involved patterns -on the edge of his programmes, patterns of a very complicated yet -accurate kind, as though he almost saw the sounds that poured into -his ears. And these ornamented programmes Dr. Fillery preserved. -Sound--music--seemed to belong to his interpretation of movement. About -the cinema, however, there seemed something almost familiar, something -he already knew and understood, the sound belonging to movement only -lacking. - -Apart from these small incidents, LeVallon showed nothing unusual, -nothing that a yokel untaught yet of natural intelligence might not -have shown. His language, perhaps, was singular, but, having been -educated by one mind only, and in a region of lonely forests and -mountains, remote from civilized life, there was nothing inexplicable -in the odd words he chose, nor in the peculiar--if subtle and -penetrating--phrases that he used. Invariably he recognized the -spontaneous, creative power as distinguished from the derivative that -merely imitated. - -He found ways of expressing himself almost immediately, both in speech -and writing, however, and with a perfection far beyond the reach of a -half-educated country lad; and this swift aptitude was puzzling until -its explanation suddenly was laid bare. He absorbed, his companion -realized at last, as by telepathy, the content of his own, of Fillery's -mind, acquiring the latter's mood, language, ideas, as though the two -formed one being. - -The discovery startled the doctor. Yet what startled him still more -was the further discovery, made a little later, that he himself could, -on occasions, become so identified with his patient that the slightest -shade of thought or feeling rose spontaneously in his own mind too. - -He remained, otherwise, almost entirely "LeVallon"; and, after a full -report made to Devonham, and the detailed discussion thereon that -followed, Dr. Fillery had no evidence to contradict the latter's -opinion: "LeVallon is the real true self. The other personality--'N. -H.' as we call it--is a mere digest and accumulation of material -supplied by his parents and by Mason." - -"Let us wait and see what happens when 'N. H.' appears and _does_ -something," Fillery was content to reply. - -"If," answered Devonham, with sceptical emphasis, "it ever does appear." - -"You think it won't?" asked Fillery. - -"With proper treatment," said Devonham decisively, "I see no reason -why 'N. H.' should not become happily merged in the parent self--in -LeVallon, and a permanent cure result." - -He put his glasses straight and stared at his chief, as much as to say -"You promised." - -"Perhaps," said Fillery. "But, in my judgment, 'LeVallon' is too slight -to count at all. I believe the whole, real, parent Self is 'N. H.,' -and the only life LeVallon has at all is that which peeps up through -him--from 'N. H.'" - -Fillery returned his serious look. - -"If 'N. H.' is the real self, and I am right," he added slowly, "you, -Paul, will have to revise your whole position." - -"I shall," returned Devonham. "But--you will allow this--it is a lot to -expect. I see no reason to believe in anything more than a subconscious -mind of unusual content, and possibly of unusual powers and extent," he -added with reluctance. - -"It is," said Fillery significantly, "a lot to expect--as you said just -now. I grant you that. Yet I feel it possible that----" he hesitated. - -Devonham looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted. He did not like the pause. -A sense of exasperation rose in him, as though he knew something of -what was coming. - -"Paul," went on his chief abruptly in a tone that dropped instinctively -to a lower key--almost a touch of awe lay behind it--"you admit no -deity, I know, but you admit purpose, design, intelligence." - -"Well," replied the other patiently, long experience having taught him -iron restraint, "it's a blundering, imperfect system, inadequately -organized--if you care to call that intelligence. It's of an extremely -intricate complexity. I admit that. Deity I consider an unnecessary -assumption." - -"The love and hate of atoms alone bowls you over," was the unexpected -comment. "The word 'Laws' explains nothing. A machine obeys the laws, -but intelligence conceived that machine--and a man repairs and keeps -it going. Who--what--keeps the daisy going, the crystal, the creative -thought in the imagination? An egg becomes a leaf-eating caterpillar, -which in turn becomes a honey-eating butterfly with wings. A yolk turns -into feathers. Is that accomplished without intelligence?" - -"Ask our new patient," interrupted Devonham, wiping his glasses with -unnecessary thoroughness. - -"Which?" - -Devonham startled, looked up without his glasses. It seemed the -question made him uneasy. Putting the glasses on suddenly, he stared at -his chief. - -"I see what you mean, Edward," he said earnestly, his interest deeply -captured. "Be careful. We know nothing, remember, nothing of life. -Don't jump ahead like this or take your dreams for reality. We have our -duty--in a case like this." - -Fillery smiled, as though to convey that he remembered his promise. - -"Humanity," he replied, "is a very small section of the universe. -Compared to the minuter forms of life, which _may_ be quite as -important, if not more so, the human section is even negligible; -while, compared to the possibility of greater forms----" He broke off -abruptly. "As you say, Paul, we know nothing of life after all, do we? -Nothing, less than nothing! We observe and classify a few results, -that's all. We must beware of narrow prejudice, at any rate--you and I." - -His eyes lost their light, his speech dried up, his ideas, dreams, -speculations returned to him unrewarded, unexpressed. With natures in -whom the subconscious never stirred, natures through whom its magical -fires cast no faintest upward gleam, intercourse was ever sterile, -unproductive. Such natures had no background. Even a fact, with them, -was detached from its true big life, its full significance, its divine -potentialities!... - -"We must beware of prejudice," he repeated quietly. "We seek truth -only." - -"We must beware," replied Devonham, as he shrugged his shoulders, -"of suggestion--of auto-suggestion above all. We must remember -how repressed desires dramatize themselves--especially," he added -significantly, "when aided by imagination. We seek only facts." On his -face appeared swiftly, before it vanished again, an expression of keen -anxiety, almost of affliction, yet tempered, as it were, by surprise -and wonder, by pity possibly, and certainly by affection. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -To Devonham, meanwhile, LeVallon's behaviour was polite and kind and -distant; he did not show distrust of any sort, but he betrayed a -certain diffidence, reserve and caution. Trust he felt; sympathy he did -not feel. To the amusement of Fillery, he suggested almost a kind of -mild contempt when dealing with him, and this amusement was increased -by the fact that it obviously annoyed Devonham, while it gratified -his chief. For towards Fillery, LeVallon behaved with an intimate and -understanding sympathy that proved his instantaneous affection based -upon mutual comprehension. It seemed that LeVallon and Fillery had -known one another always. - -It was doubtless, due to this innate sympathy between them that Edward -Fillery's rare gift of absorbing the content of another's mind, even to -the point of taking on that other's conditions, physical and emotional -at the same time, was so successful. By means of a highly developed -power of auto-suggestion, he had learned so to identify his own mind, -thought, feeling with those of a patient, that there resulted a kind of -merging by which he literally became that patient. He felt with him. -As a subject sees the pictures in the hypnotiser's mind, perceives -his thoughts, divines his slightest will, so Fillery, reversing the -process, could realize for the moment exactly what his patient was -thinking, feeling, desiring. It was of great use to him in his strange -practice. - -This gift, naturally, varied in degree, and was not invariably -successful. In some cases he only felt, the emotion alone being thus -transferred; in others he only saw what the patient saw, or thought -he saw, the accompanying emotion being omitted; in others again, as -in cases of vision at a distance, either of time or space, he had -been able to follow the "travelling sight" of his patient, whose -consciousness in trance was operating far away, and thus to check for -subsequent verification exactly what that patient saw. He had shared -strange experiences with others--with a man, for instance, in whom -sight was transferred to the tip of his index finger, so that he could -read a book by passing that finger along the printed line; with a -woman, again, in whom "exteriorized consciousness" manifested itself, -so that, if the air several inches from her face was pinched or struck, -the impact was received and an actual bruise produced upon her skin. - -This extension of consciousness, its seeds already in his nature, -he had trained and developed to a point where he could almost rely -upon auto-suggestion bringing about quickly the desired conditions. -Its success, however, as mentioned, was variable. With "N. H.," -especially now, this variableness was marked; sometimes it was so -easily accomplished as to seem natural and without a conscious effort, -while at other times it failed completely. Since it was in no sense an -attempt to transfer anything from his own mind to that of the patient, -Fillery felt that his promise to his colleague was not involved. - -The following scene describes the first time in which the process -took place with his new patient. Fillery himself wrote down the -words, supplied the detailed description, filled in the emotion and -psychology, but exactly as these occurred and as he felt them, both -when these took place, respectively, in his own consciousness and in -that of his patient. Part of the time he was present, part of it he -was not visibly so, being screened from observation, yet so placed -that he could note everything that happened. It is clear, however, -that his mind was so intimately _en rapport_ with the thoughts and -feelings of "N. H.," that he experienced in his own being all that -"N. H." experienced. The description was written immediately after -the occurrence, though some of it, the spoken language in particular, -was jotted down in his hiding place at the actual moment. - -The interlacing of the two minds, their interpenetration, as it were, -one occasionally dominating the other, is curious to trace and far from -difficult to disentangle. Similarly the interweaving of LeVallon and -"N. H." is noticeable. The description given by Devonham of the portion -of the occurrence he witnessed personally, or heard about from Nurse -Robbins and the attendants--this description reduces the whole thing -to the commonplace level of "a slight seizure accompanied by signs of -violence and moments of delirium due to excitement and fatigue, and -soon cured by sleep." - -The occurrence took place precisely at the period when the moon was at -the full. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The body I'm in and using is 22, as they call it, and from a man named -Mason, a geologist, I receive sums of money, regularly paid, with which -I live. They call it "live." A roof and walls protect me, who do not -need protection; my body, which it irks, is covered with wool and cloth -and stuff, fitting me as bark fits a tree and yet not part of me; my -feet, which love the touch of earth and yearn for it, are cased in dead -dried skin called leather; even my head and hair, which crave the sun -and wind, are covered with another piece of dead dried skin, shaped -like a shell, but an ugly shell, in which, were it shaped otherwise, -the wind and rustling leaves might sing with flowers. - -Before 22 I remember nothing--nothing definite, that is. I opened my -eyes in a soft, but not refreshing case standing on four iron legs, -and well off the ground, and covered with coarse white coverings piled -thickly on my body. It was a bed. Slabs of transparent stuff kept out -the living sunshine for which I hungered; thick solid walls shut off -the wind; no stars or moon showed overhead, because an enormous lid hid -every bit of sky. No dew, therefore, lay upon the sheets. I smelt no -earth, no leaves, no flowers. No single natural sound entered except -the chattering of dirty sparrows which had lost its freshness. I was in -a hospital. - -One comely figure alone gave me a little joy. It was soft and slim -and graceful, with a smell of fern and morning in its hair, though -that hair was lustreless and balled up in ugly lumps, with strips of -thin metal in it. They called it nurse and sister. It was the first -moving thing I saw when my eyes opened on my limited and enclosed -surroundings. My heart beat quicker, a flash of thin joy came up -in me. I had seen something similar before somewhere; it reminded -me, I mean, of something I had known elsewhere; though but a shabby, -lifeless, clumsy copy of this other glorious thing. Though not real, it -stirred this faint memory of reality, so that I caught at the skirts -of moonlight, stars and flowers reflected in a forest pool where my -companion played for long periods of happiness between our work. The -perfume and the eyes did that. I watched it for a bit, as it moved -away, came close and looked at me. When the eyes met mine, a wave of -life, but of little life, surged faintly through me. - -They were dim and pitiful, these eyes; mournful, unlit, unseeing. The -stars had set in them; dull shadows crowded. They were so small. They -were hungry too. They were unsatisfied. For some minutes it puzzled -me, then I understood. That was the word--unsatisfied. Ah, but I could -alter that! I could comfort, help, at any rate. My strength, though -horribly clipped and blocked, could manage a little thing like that! My -smaller rhythms I could put into it. - -The eyes, the smile, the whole soft comely bundle, so pitifully hungry -and unsatisfied, I rose and seized, pressing it close inside my own -great arms, and burying it all against my breast. I crushed it, but -very gently, as I might crush a sapling. My lips were amid the ferny -hair. I breathed upon it willingly, glad to help. - -It was a poor unfinished thing, I felt at once, soft and yielding where -it should have been resilient and elastic as fresh turf; the perfume -had no body, it faded instantly; there was so little life in it. - -But, as I held it in my big embrace, smothering its hunger as best I -could within my wave of being, this bundle, this poor pitiful bundle, -screamed and struggled to get free. It bit and scratched and uttered -sounds like those squeaks the less swift creatures make when the -swifter overtake them. - -I was too surprised to keep it to me; I relaxed my hold. The instant I -did so the figure, thus released, stood upright like a young birch the -wind sets free. The figure looked alive. The hair fell loose, untidily, -the puny face wore colour, the eyes had fire in them. I saw that fire. -It was a message. Memory stirred faintly in me. - -"Ah!" I cried. "I've helped you anyhow a little!" - -The scene that followed filled me with such trouble and bewilderment -that I cannot recall exactly what occurred. The figure seemed to -spit at me, yet not with grace and invitation. There was no sign of -gratitude. I was entirely misunderstood, it seemed. Bells rang, as the -figure rushed to the door and flung it open. It called aloud; similar, -though quite lifeless figures came in answer and filled the room. A -doctor--Devonham, they called him--followed them. I was most carefully -examined in a dozen curious ways that tickled my skin a little so -that I smiled. But I lay quite still and silent, watching the whole -performance with a confusion in my being that baffled my comprehending -what was going on. Most of the figures were frightened. - -Then the doctor gave place to Fillery, whose name has rhythm. - -To him I spoke at once: - -"I wished to comfort and revive her," I told him. "She is so starved. I -was most gentle. She brings a message only." - -He made no reply, but gazed at me with the corners of his mouth both -twitching, and in his eyes--ah, his eyes had more of the sun in them--a -flash of something that had known fire, at least, if it had not kept it. - -"My God! I worship thee," I murmured at the glimpse of the Power I must -own as Master and creator of my being. "Even when thou art playful, I -adore thee and obey." - -Then four other figures, shaped like the doctor but wholly mechanical, -a mere blind weight operating through them, held my arms and legs. Not -the least desire to move was in me luckily. I say "luckily," because, -had I wished it, I could have flung them through the roof, blown down -the little walls, caught up a dozen figures in my arms, and rushed -forth with them towards the Powers of Fire and Wind to which I belonged. - -Could I? I felt that I could. The sight of the true fire, small though -it was, in the comely figure's and the doctor's eyes, had set me in -touch again with my home and origin. This touch I had somehow lost; -I had been "ill," with what they called nervous disorder and injured -reason. The lost touch was now restored. But, luckily, as I said, there -was no desire in me to set free these other figures, to help them in -any way, after the reception my first kindly effort had experienced. I -lay quite still, held by these four grotesque and puny mechanisms. The -comely one, with the others similar to her, had withdrawn. I felt very -kindly towards them all, but especially towards the doctor, Fillery, -who had shown that he knew my deity and origin. None of them were worth -much trouble, anyhow. I felt that too. A mild, sweet-toned contempt was -in me. - -"Dangerous," was a word I caught them whispering as they went. I -laughed a little. The four faces over me made odd grimaces, tightening -their lips, and gripping my legs and arms with greater effort. The -doctor--Fillery--noticed it. - -"Easy, remember," he addressed the four. "There's really no need to -hold. It won't recur." I nodded. We understood one another. And, with a -smile at me, he left the room, saying he would come back after a short -interval. A link with my source, a brother as it were, went with him. I -was lonely.... - -I began to hum songs to myself, little fragments of a great natural -music I had once known but lost, and I noticed that the four figures, -as I sang, relaxed their grip of my limbs considerably. To tell the -truth, I forgot that they were holding me; their grip, anyhow, was -but a thread I could snap without the smallest effort. The songs -were happiness in me. Upon free leaping rhythms I careered with an -exhilarating rush of liberty; all about space I soared and sank; I -was picked up, flung far, riding the crest of immense waves of orderly -vibration that delighted me. I let myself go a bit, let my voice out, -I mean. No effort accompanied my singing. It was automatic, like -breathing almost. It was natural to me. These rhythmical sounds and the -patterns that they wove in space were the outlines of forms it was my -work to build. This expressed my nature. Only my power was blocked and -stifled in this confining body. The fire and air which were my tools I -could not control. I have forgotten--forgotten----! - -"Got a voice, ain't he?" observed one of the figures admiringly. - -"Lunies can do 'most anything they have a mind to." - -"Grand Opera isn't it." - -"Yes," mentioned the fourth, "but he'll lift the roof off presently. -We'd better stop him before there's any trouble." - -I stopped of myself, however: their remarks interested me. Also while I -had been singing, although I called it humming only, they had gradually -let go of me, and were now sitting down on my bed and staring with -quite pleasant faces. All their dim eight eyes were fixed on me. Their -forms were not built well. - -"Where did you get that from, Guv'nor?" asked the one who had spoken -first. "Can you give me the name of it?" - -The sound of his own voice was like the scratching of a pin after the -enormous rhythm that now ceased. - -"Ain't printed, is it?" he went on, as I stared, not understanding what -he meant. "I've got a sister at the Halls," he explained. "She'd make a -hit with that kind of thing. Gave me quite a twist inside to hear it," -he added, turning to the others. - -The others agreed solemnly with dull stupid faces. I lay and listened -to their talk. I longed to help them. I had forgotten how. - -"A bit churchy, I thought it," said one. "But, I confess, it stirred me -up." - -"Churchy or not, it's the stuff," insisted the first. - -"Oh, it's the stuff to give 'em, right enough." And they looked at me -admiringly again. "Where did you get it, if I may ask?" replied Number -One in a more respectful tone. His face looked quite polite. The lips -stretched, showing yellow teeth. It was his smile. But his eyes were -a little more real. Oh, where was my fire? I could have built the -outline better so that he was real and might express far more. I have -forgotten----! - -"I hear it," I told him, "because I'm in it. It's all about me. It -never stops. It's what we build with----" - -Number One seemed greatly interested. - -"Hear it, do you? Why, that's odd now. You see"--he looked at his -companions apologetically, as though he knew they would not believe -him--"my father was like that. He heard his music, he always used to -say, but we laughed at him. He was a composer by trade. Oh, his stuff -was printed too. Of course," he added, "there's musical talent in the -family," as though that explained everything. He turned to me again. -"Give us a little more, Mister--if you don't object, that is," he -added. And his face was soft as he said it. "Only gentle like--if you -don't mind." - -"Yes, keep it down a bit," another put in, looking anxiously in the -direction of the closed door. He patted the air with his open palm, -slowly, carefully, as though he patted an animal that might rise and -fly at him. - -I hummed again for them, but this time with my lips closed. The waves -of rhythm caught me up and away. I soared and flew and dropped and rose -again upon their huge coloured crests. Curtains and sheets of quiet -flame in palest gold flared shimmering through the sound, while winds -that were full of hurricanes and cyclones swept down to lift the fire -and dance with it in spirals. The perfume of great flowers rose. There -were flowers everywhere, and stars shone through it all like showers of -gold. Ah! I began to remember something. It was flowers and stars as -well as human forms we worked to build.... - -But I kept the fire from leaping into actual flame; the mighty winds -I held back. Even thus pent and checked, their powerful volume made -the atmosphere shake and pulse about us. Only I could not control them -now.... With an effort I came back, came down, as it were, and saw -the funny little faces staring at me with opened eyes and mouths, and -yellow teeth, pale gums, their skins gone whitish, their figures rigid -with their tense emotion. They were so poorly made, the patterns so -imperfect. The new respect in their manner was marked plainly. Suddenly -all four turned together towards the door. I stopped. The doctor had -returned. But it was Fillery again. I liked the feel of him. - -"He wanted to sing, sir, so we let him. It seemed to relieve him a -bit," they explained quickly and with an air of helpless apology. - -"Good, good," said the doctor. "Quite good. Any normal expression that -brings relief is good." He dismissed them. They went out, casting back -at me expressions of puzzled thanks and interest. The door closed -behind them. The doctor seated himself beside me and took my hand. I -liked his touch. His hand was alive, at any rate, although within my -own it felt rather like a dying branch or bunch of leaves I grasped. -The life, if thin, was real. - -"Where's the rest of it?" I asked him, meaning the music. "I used to -have it all. It's left me, gone away. What's cut it off?" - -"You're not cut off really," he said gently. "You can always get -into it again when you really need it." He gazed at me steadily for -a minute, then said in his quiet voice--a full, nice tone with wind -through a forest running in it: "Mason.... Dr. Mason...." - -He said no more, but watched me. The name stirred something in me I -could not get at quite. I could not reach down to it. I was troubled by -a memory I could not seize. - -"Mason," I repeated, returning his strong gaze. "What--who--was Mason? -And where?" I connected the name with a sense of liberty, also with -great winds and pools of fire, with great figures of golden skin and -radiant faces, with music, too, the music that had left me. - -"You've forgotten for the moment," came the deep running voice I liked. -"He looked after you for twenty years. He gave his life for you. He -loved you. He loved your mother. Your father was his friend." - -"Has he gone--gone back?" - -"He's dead." - -"I can get after him though," I said, for the name touched me with a -sense of lost companionship I wanted, though the reference to my father -and mother left me cold. "I can easily catch him up. When I move with -my wind and fire, the fastest things stand still." My own speed, once -I was free again, I knew outpaced easily the swiftest bird, outpaced -light itself. - -"Yes," agreed the doctor; "only he doesn't want that now. You can -always catch him up when the time comes. Besides, he's waiting for you -anyhow." - -I knew that was true. I sank back comforted upon the stuffy pillows and -lay silent. This tinkling chatter wearied me. It was like trickling -wind. I wanted the flood of hurricanes, the pulse of storms. My -building, shaping powers, my great companions--oh! where were they? - -"He taught you himself, taught you all you know," I heard the tinkling -go on again, "but he kept you away from life, thinking it was best. He -was afraid for you, afraid for others too. He kept you in the woods -and mountains where, as he believed, you could alone express yourself -and so be happy. A hundred times, in babyhood and early childhood, you -nearly died. He nursed you back to life. His own life he renounced. Now -he is dead. He has left you all his money." - -He paused. I said no word. Faint memories passed through my mind, but -nothing I could hold and seize. The money I did not understand at all, -except that it was necessary. - -"He thought at first that you could not possibly live to manhood. To -his surprise you survived everything--illness, accident, disaster of -every sort and kind. Then, as you grew up, he realized his mistake. -Instead of keeping you away from life, he ought to have introduced you -to it and explained it--as I and Devonham are now trying to do. You -could not live for ever alone in woods and mountains; when he was gone -there would be no one to look after you and guide you." - -The trickling of wind went on and on. I hardly listened to it. He -did it for his own pleasure, I suppose. It pleased and soothed him -possibly. Yet I remembered every syllable. It was a small detail to -keep fresh when my real memory covered the whole planet. - -"Before he died, he recognized his mistake and faced the position -boldly. It was some years before the end; he was hale and hearty -still, yet the end, he knew, was in sight. While the power was still -strong in him, therefore, he did the only thing left to him to do. He -used his great powers. He used suggestion. He hypnotized you, telling -you to forget--from the moment of his death, but not before--forget -everything---- It was only partially successful." - -The door opened, the comely figure glanced in, then vanished. - -"She wants more help from me," I interrupted the monotonous tinkling -instantly, for pity stirred in me again as I saw her eager, hungry and -unsatisfied little eyes. "Call her back. I feel quite willing. It is -one of the lower forms we made. I can improve it." - -Dr. Fillery, as he was called, looked at me steadily, his mouth -twitching at the corners as before, a flash of fire flitting through -his eyes. The fire made me like and trust him; the twitching, too, I -liked, for it meant he knew how absurd he was. Yet he was bigger than -the other figures. - -"You can't do that," he said, "you mustn't," and then laughed outright. -"It isn't done, you know--here." - -"Why not, sir?" I asked, using the terms the figures used. "I feel like -that." - -"Of course, you do. But all you feel can't be expressed except -at the proper times and places. The consent of the other party -always is involved," he went on slowly, "when it's a question of -expressing--anything you feel." - -This puzzled me, because in this particular instance the other party -had asked me with her eyes to comfort her. I told him this. He laughed -still more. Caught by the sound--it was just like wind passing among -tall grasses on a mountain ridge--I forgot what he was talking about -for the moment. The sound carried me away towards my own rhythms. - -"You've got such amazing insight," he went on tinkling to himself, for -I heard, although I did not listen. "You read the heart too easily, too -quickly. You must learn to hide your knowledge." The laughter which -ran with the words then ended, and I came back to the last thing I had -definitely listened to--"express, expressing," was the phrase he used. - -"You told me that self-expression is the purpose for which I'm -here----?" - -"I believe it is," he agreed, more solemnly. - -"Only sometimes, then?" - -"Exactly. If that expression involves another in pain or trouble or -discomfort----" - -"Ah! I have to choose, you mean. I have to know first what the other -feels about it." - -I began to understand better. It was a game. And all games delighted me. - -"You may put it roughly so, yes," he explained, "you're very quick. -I'll give you a rule to guide you," he went on. I listened with an -effort; this tinkling soon wearied me; I could not think long or much; -my way, it seemed, was feeling. "Ask yourself always how what you do -will affect another," Dr. Fillery concluded. "That's a safe rule for -you." - -"That is of children," I observed. We stared at each other a moment. -"Both sides keep it?" I asked. - -"Childish," he agreed, "it certainly is. Both sides, yes, keep it." - -I sighed, and the sigh seemed to rise from my very feet, passing -through my whole being. He looked at me most kindly then, asking why I -sighed. - -"I used to be free," I told him. "This is not liberty. And why are we -not all free together?" - -"It is liberty for two instead of only for one," he said, "and so, in -the long run, liberty for all." - -"So that's where they are," I remarked, but to myself and not to him. -"Not further than that." For what I had once known, but now, it seemed, -forgotten, was far beyond such a foolish little game. We had lived -without such tiny tricks. We lived openly and unafraid. We worked in -harmony. We lived. Yes--but who was "we"? That was the part I had -forgotten. - -"It's the growth and development of civilization," I heard the little -drift of wind go whistling thinly, "and it won't take you long to -become quite civilized at this rate, more civilized, indeed, than -most--with your swift intelligence and lightning insight." - -"Civilization," I repeated to myself. Then I looked at his eyes which -hid carefully in their depths somewhere that tiny cherished flame I -loved. "Your ways are really very simple," I said. "It's all easy -enough to learn. It is so small." - -"A man studying ants," he tinkled, "finds them small, but far from -simple. You may find complications later. If so, come to me." - -I promised him, and the fire gleamed faintly in his eyes a moment. "He -entrusted you to me. Your mother," he added softly, "was the woman he -loved." - -"Civilization," I repeated, for the word set going an odd new rhythm in -me that I rather liked, and that tired me less than the other things he -said. "What is it then? You are a Race, you told me." - -"A Race of human beings, of men and women developing----" - -"The comely ones?" - -"Are the women. Together we make up the Race." - -"And civilization?" - -"Is realizing that we are a community, learning, growing, all its -members living for the others as well as for themselves." - -Dr. Fillery told me then about men and women and sex, how children are -made, and what enormous and endless work was necessary merely to keep -them all alive and clothed and sheltered before they could accomplish -anything else of any sort at all. Half the labour of the majority was -simply to keep alive at all. It was an ugly little system he described. -Much I did not hear, because my thinking powers gave out. Some of it -gave me an awful feeling he called pain. The confusion and imperfection -seemed beyond repair, even beyond the worth of being part of it, of -belonging to it at all. Moreover, the making of children, without -which the whole thing must end, gave me spasms of irritation he called -laughter. Only the Comely Ones, and what he told me of them, made me -want to sing. - -"The men," I said, "but do they see that it is ugly and ludicrous -and----" - -"Comic," he helped me. - -"Do they know," I asked, taking his unknown words, "that it's comic?" - -"The glamour," he said, "conceals it from them. To the best among them -it is sacred even." - -"And the Comely Ones?" - -"It is their chief mission," he replied. "Always remember that. It's -sacred." He fixed his kind eyes gravely on my face. - -"Ah, worship, you mean," I said. "I understand." Again we stared for -some minutes. "Yet all are not comely, are they?" I asked presently. - -The fire again shone faintly in his eyes as he watched me a moment -without answering. It caught me away. I am not sure I heard his words, -but I think they ran like this: - -"That's just the point where civilization--so far--has always stopped." - -I remember he ceased tinkling then; our talk ceased too. I was -exhausted. He told me to remember what he had said, and to lie down and -rest. He rang the bell, and a man, one of the four who had held me, -came in. - -"Ask Nurse Robbins to come here a moment, please," he said. And a -moment later the Comely One entered softly and stood beside my bed. She -did not look at me. Dr. Fillery began again his little tinkling. "... -wishes to apologize to you most sincerely, nurse, for his mistake. He -meant no harm, believe me. There is no danger in him, nor will he ever -repeat it. His ignorance of our ways, I must ask you to believe----" - -"Oh, it's nothing, sir," she interrupted. "I've quite forgotten it -already. And usually he's as good as gold and perfectly quiet." She -blushed, glancing shyly at me with clear invitation. - -"It will not recur," repeated the Doctor positively. "He has promised -me. He is very, very sorry and ashamed." - -The nurse looked more boldly a moment. I saw her silver teeth. I saw -the hint of soft fire in her poor pitiful eyes, but far, far away and, -as she thought, safely hidden. - -"Pitiful one, I will not touch you," I said instantly. "I know that you -are sacred." - -I noticed at once that her sweet natural perfume increased about her -as I said the words, but her eyes were lowered, though she smiled a -little, and her little cheeks grew coloured. I saw her small teeth of -silvery marble again. Our work was visible. I liked it. - -"You have promised me," said Dr. Fillery, rising to go out. - -"I promise," I said, while the Comely One was arranging my pillows and -sheets with quick, clever hands, sometimes touching my cheek on purpose -as she did so. "I will not worship, unless it is commanded of me first. -The increased sweetness of her smell will tell me." - -But indeed already I had forgotten her, and I no longer realized who -it was that tripped about my bed, doing numerous little things to make -me comfortable. My friend, the understanding one, companion of my big -friend, Mason, who was dead, also had left the room. His twitching -mouth, his laughter, and his shining eyes were gone. I was aware that -the Comely One remained, doing all manner of little things about me and -my bed, unnecessary things, but my pity and my worship were not asked, -so I forgot her. My thinking had wearied me, and my feeling was not -touched. I began to hum softly to myself; my giant rhythms rose; I went -forth towards my Powers of Wind and Fire, full of my own natural joy. I -forgot the Race with its men, its women, its rules and games, its tiny -tricks, its civilization. I was free for a little with my own. - -One detail interfered a little with the rhythms, but only for a second -and very faintly even then. The Comely One's face grew dark. - -"He's gone off asleep--actually," I heard her mutter, as she left the -room with a fling of her little skirts, shutting the door behind her -with a bang. - -That bang was far away. I was already rising and falling in that -natural happy state which to me meant freedom. It is hard to tell -about, but that dear Fillery knows, I am sure, exactly what I know, -though he has forgotten it. He has known us somewhere, I feel. He -understands our service. But, like me, he has forgotten too. - -What really happened to me? Where did I go, what did I see and feel -when my rhythms took me off? - -Thinking is nowhere in it--I can tell him that. I am conscious of the -Sun. - -One difficulty is that my being here confuses me. Here I am already -caught, confined and straitened. I am within certain limits. I can only -move in three ways, three measurements, three dimensions. The space I -am in here allows only little rhythms; they are coarse and slow and -heavy, and beat against confining walls as it were, are thrown back, -cross and recross each other, so that while they themselves grow less, -their confusion grows greater. The forms and outlines I can build with -them are poor and clumsy and insignificant. Spirals I cannot make. Then -I forget. - -Into these small rhythms I cannot compress myself; the squeezing hurts. -Yet neither can I make them bigger to suit myself. I would break forth -towards the Sun. - -Thus I feel cramped, confused and crippled. It is almost impossible -to tell of my big rhythms, for it is an attempt to tell of one thing -in terms of another. How can I fix fire and wind upon the point of a -pin, for instance, and examine them through a magnifying-glass? The Sun -remains. What I experience, really, when I go off into my own freedom -is release. My rhythms are of the Sun. They are his messengers, they -are my law, they are my life and happiness. By means of them I fulfill -the purpose of my being. I work, so Fillery calls it. I build. - -That, at any rate, is literally true. My thinking stops at that -point, perhaps; but "I think" I mean by "release"--that I escape back -from being trapped by all these separate little individualities, -human beings each working on his own, for his own, and against all -the others--escape from this stifling tangle into the sweep of my -big rhythms which work together and in unison. I search for lost -companions, but do not find them--the golden skins and radiant faces, -the mighty figures and the splendid shapes. - -_They_ work without effort, however. That is another difference. - -I, too, work, only I work with them, and never against them. I can -draw upon them as they can draw upon me. We do draw on one another. We -know harmony. Service is our method and system. - -My dear Fillery also wants to know who "we" are. How can I tell him? -The moment I try to "think," I seem to forget. This forgetting, -indeed, is one of the limits against which I bang myself, so that I am -flung back upon the tangle of criss-cross, tiny rhythms which confuse -and obliterate the very thing he wants to know. Yet the Sun I never -forget--father of fire and wind. My companions are lost temporarily. -I am shut off from them. It seems I cannot have them and the Race at -the same time. I yearn and suffer to rejoin them. The service we all -know together is great joy. Of love, this love between two isolated -individuals the Race counts the best thing they have--we know nothing. - -Now, here is one thing I can understand quite clearly: - -I have watched and helped the Race, as he calls it, for countless ages. -Yet from outside it. Never till now have I been inside its limits with -it. And a dim sense of having watched it through a veil or curtain -comes to me. I can faintly recall that I tried to urge my big rhythms -in among its members, as great waves of heat or sound might be launched -upon an ant-heap. I used to try to force and project my vast rhythms -into their tiny ones, hoping to make these latter swell and rise and -grow--but never with success. Though a few members, here and there, -felt them and struggled to obey and use their splendid swing, the rest -did not seem to notice them at all.... Indeed, they objected to the -struggling efforts of the few who did feel them, for their own small -accustomed rhythms were interfered with. The few were generally broken -into little pieces and pushed violently out of the way. - -And this made me feel pitiful, I remember dimly; because these -smaller rhythms, though insignificant, were exquisite. They were of -extraordinary beauty. Could they only have been increased, the Race -that knew and used them must have changed my own which, though huge -and splendid of their kind, lacked the intense, perfect loveliness of -the smaller kind. - -The Race, had it accepted mine and mastered them, must have carried -themselves and me towards still mightier rhythms which I alone could -never reach. - -This, then, is clear to me, though very faint now. Fillery, who can -think for a long time, instead of like me for seconds only, will -understand what I mean. For if I tell him what "we" did, he may be able -to think out what "we" were. - -"Your work?" he asked me too. - -I'm not sure I know what he means by "work." We were incessantly -active, but not for ourselves. There was no effort. There was easy and -sure accomplishment--in the sense that nothing could stop or hinder -our fulfilling our own natures. Obstacles, indeed, helped our power -and made it greater, for everything feeds fire and opposition adds to -the pressure of wind. Our main activity was to make perfect forms. We -were form-builders. Apart from this, our "work" was to maintain and -keep active all rhythms less than our own, yet of our kind. I speak of -my own kind alone. We had no desire to be known outside our kind. We -worked and moved and built up swiftly, but out of sight--an endless -service. - -"You are the Powers behind what we call Nature, then?" the dear Fillery -asked me. "You operate behind growing things, even behind inanimate -things like trees and stones and flowers. Your big rhythms, as you call -them, are our Laws of Nature. Your own particular department, your own -elements evidently, were heat and air." - -I could not answer that. But, as he said it, I saw in his grey eyes the -flash of fire which so few of his Race possessed; and I felt vaguely -that he was one of the struggling members who was aware of the big -rhythms and who would be put away in little pieces later by the rest. -It made me pitiful. "Forget your own tiny rhythms," I said, "and come -over to us. But bring your tiny rhythms with you because they are so -exquisitely lovely. We shall increase them." - -He did not answer me. His mouth twitched at the corners, and he had an -attack of that irritation which, he says, is relieved and expressed by -laughter. Yet the face shone. - -The laughter, however, was a very quick, full, natural answer, all -the same. It was happy and enthusiastic. I saw that laughter made his -rhythms bigger at once. Then laughter was probably the means to use. It -was a sort of bridge. - -"Your instantaneous comprehension of our things puzzles me," he said. -"You grasp our affairs in all their relations so swiftly. Yet it is all -new to you." His voice and face made me wish to stroke and help him, he -was so dear and eager. "How do you manage it?" he asked point blank. -"Our things are surely foreign to your nature." - -"But they are of children," I told him. "They are small and so very -simple. There are no difficulties. Your language is block letters -because your self-expression, as you call it, is so limited. It all -comes to me at a glance. I and my kind can remember a million tiniest -details without effort." - -He did not laugh, but his face looked full of questions. I could not -help him further. "A scrap, probably, of what you've taught us," I -heard him mumble, though no further questions came. "Well," he went on -presently, while I lay and watched the pale fire slip in tiny waves -about his eyes, "remember this: since our alphabet is so easy to you, -follow it, stick to it, do not go outside it. There's a good rule that -will save trouble for others as well as for yourself." - -"I remember and I try. But it is not always easy. I get so cramped and -stiff and lifeless with it." - -"This sunless, chilly England, of course, cannot feed you," he said. -"The sense of beauty in our Race, too, is very poor." - -Once he suddenly looked up and fixed his eyes on my face. His manner -became very earnest. - -"Now, listen to me," he said. "I'm going to read you something; I want -you to tell me what you make of it. It's private; that is, I have no -right to show it to others, but as no one would understand it--with the -exception possibly of yourself--secrecy is not of importance." And his -mouth twitched a little. - -He drew a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket, and I saw they were -covered with fine writing. I laughed; this writing always made me -laugh--it was so laborious and slow. The writing I knew best, of -course, lay all over and inside the earth and skies. The privacy -also made me laugh, so strange seemed the idea to me, and so -impossible--this idea of secrecy. It was such an admission of ignorance. - -"I will understand it quickest by reading it," I said. "I take in a -page at once--in your block letters." - -But he preferred to read it out himself, so that he could note the -effect upon me, he explained, of definite passages. He saw that I -guessed his purpose, and we laughed together a moment. "When you tire -of listening," he said, "just tell me and I'll pause." I gave him my -hand to hold. "It helps me to stay here," I explained, and he nodded as -he grasped me in his warm firm clasp. - -"It's written by one who _may_ have known you and your big rhythms, -though I can't be sure," he added. "One of--er--my patients wrote it, -someone who believed she was in communication with a kind of immense -Nature-spirit." - -Then he began to read in his clear, windy voice: - -"'I sit and weave. I feel strange; as if I had so much consciousness -that words cannot explain it. The failure of others makes my work more -hard, but my own purposes never fail, I am associated with those who -need me. The universal doors are open to me. I compass Creation.'" - -But already I began to hum my songs, though to please him I kept -the music low, and he, dear Fillery, did not bid me stop, but only -tightened his grasp upon my hand. I listened with pleasure and -satisfaction. Therefore I hummed. - -"'I am silent, seeking no expression, needing no communication, -satisfied with the life that is in me. I do not even wish to be known -about----'" - -"That's where your Race," I put in, "is to me as children. All they do -must be shouted about so loud or they think it has not happened." - -"'I do not wish to be forced to obtrude myself,'" he went on. "'There -are hosts like me. We do not want that which does not belong to us. We -do not want that hindrance, that opposition which rouses an undesirable -consciousness; for without that opposition we could never have known of -disobedience. We are formless. The formless is the real. That cannot -die. It is eternal.'" - -Again he tightened his grasp, and this time also laid his eyes a moment -on my own, over the top of his paper, so that I kept my music back with -a great effort. For it was hard not to express myself when my own came -calling in this fashion. - -He continued reading aloud. He selected passages now, instead of going -straight through the pages. The words helped memory in me; flashes of -what I had forgotten came back in sheets of colour and waves of music; -the phrases built little spirals, as it were, between two states. Of -these two states, I now divined, he understood one perfectly--his own, -and the other--mine--partially. Yet he had a little of both, I knew, -in himself. With me it was similar, only the understood state was not -the same with us. To the Race, of course, what he read would have no -meaning. - -"The Comely One and the four figures," I said, "how they would turn -white and run if they could hear you, showing their yellow teeth and -dim eyes!" - -His face remained grave and eager, though I could see the laughter -running about beneath the tight brown skin as he went on reading his -little bits. - -"'We heard nothing of man, and were rarely even conscious of him, -although he benefited by our work in all that sustained and conditioned -him. The wise are silent, the foolish speak, and the children are thus -led astray, for wisdom is not knowledge, it is a realization of the -scheme and of one's own part in it.'" - -He took a firmer, broader grip of my hand as he read the next bit. I -felt the tremble of his excitement run into my wrist and arm. His voice -deepened and shook. It was like a little storm: - -"'Then, suddenly, we heard man's triumphant voice. We became conscious -of him as an evolving entity. Our Work had told. We had built his form -and processes so faithfully. We knew that when he reached his height we -must be submissive to his will.'" - -A gust of memory flashed by me as I heard. Those small but perfect, -exquisite, lovely rhythms! - -"Who called me here? Whose voice reached after me, bringing me into -this undesirable consciousness?" I cried aloud, as the memory went -tearing by, then vanished before I could recover it. At the same time -Fillery let go my hand, and the little bridge was snapped. I felt what -he called pain. It passed at once. I found his hand again, but the -bridge was not rebuilt. How white his skin had grown, I noticed, as I -looked up at his face. But the eyes shone grandly. "I shall find the -way," I said. "We shall go back together to our eternal home." - -He went on reading as though I had not interrupted, but I found it less -easy to listen now. - -I realized then that he was gone. He had left the room, though I had -not seen him go. I had been away. - -It was some days ago that this occurred. It was to-day, a few hours -ago, that I seized the Comely One and tried to comfort her, poor hungry -member of this little Race. - -But both occurrences help us--help dear Fillery and myself--to -understand how difficult it is to answer his questions and tell him -exactly what he wants to know. - -"How long, O Lord, how long!" I hear his yearning cry. "Yet other -beings cannot help us; they can only tell us what their own part is." - -After the door had clicked I knew release for a bit--release from a -state I partially understood and so found irksome, into another where -I felt at home and so found pleasurable. In the big rhythms my nature -expressed itself apparently. I rose, seeking my lost companions. -They--the Devonham and his busy little figures--called it sleep. It -may be "sleep." But I find there what I seek yet have forgotten, and -that with me were dear Fillery and another--a Comely One whom _he_ -brings--as though we belong together and have a common origin. But this -other Comely One--who is it? - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -About a week after the arrival of LeVallon in London, Dr. Fillery came -out of the Home one morning early, upon some uninteresting private -business. He had left "LeVallon" happy with his books and garden, -Devonham was with him to answer questions or direct his energies; the -other "cases" in the establishment were moving nicely towards a cure. - -The November air was clear and almost bright; no personal worries -troubled him. His mind felt free and light. - -It was one of those mornings when Nature slips, very close and sweet, -into the heart, so close and sweet that the mind wonders why people -quarrel and disagree, when it is so easy to forgive, and the planet -seems but a big, lovely, happy garden, evil an impossible nightmare, -and personal needs few and simple. - -He walked by cross roads towards Primrose Hill, entering Regent's Park -near the Zoo. An early white frost was rapidly melting in the sun. The -sky showed a faint tinge of blue. He saw floating sea-gulls. These, and -a faint breeze that stirred the yellowing last leaves of autumn, gave -his heart a sudden lift. - -And this lift was in the direction of a forbidden corner. He was aware -of some exquisite dawn-wind far away stirring a million flowers, -dew sparkled, streams splashed and murmured. A valley gleamed and -vanished, yet left across his mind its shining trail.... For this lift -of his heart made him soar into a region where it was only too easy -to override temptation. Fillery, however, though his invisible being -soared, kept both visible feet firmly on the ground. The surface -was slippery, being melted by the sun, but frost kept the earth hard -and frozen underneath. His balance never was in danger. He remained -detached and a spectator. - -She walked beside him nevertheless, a figure of purity and radiance, -perfumed, soft, delicious. She was so ignorant of life. That was her -wonder partly; for beauty was her accident and, while admirable, was -not a determining factor. Life, in its cruder sense, she did not know, -though moving through the thick of it. It neither touched nor soiled -her; she brushed its dirt and dust aside as though a non-conducting -atmosphere surrounded her. Her emotions, deep and searching, had -remained untorn. A quality of pristine innocence belonged to her, as -though, in the noisy clamour of ambitious civilized life, she remained -still aware of Eden. Her grace, her loveliness, her simplicity moved by -his side as naturally, it seemed to him, as air or perfume. - -"Iraida," he murmured to himself, with a smile of joy. "Nayan Khilkoff. -All the men worship and adore you, yet respect you too. They cannot -touch you. You remain aloof, unstained." And, remembering LeVallon's -remarks in cinema and theatre, he could have sung at this mere thought -of her. - -"Untouched by coarseness, something unearthly about your loveliness -of soul, a baby, a saint, and to all the men in Khilkoff's Studio, -a mother. Where do you really come from? Whence do you derive? Your -lovely soul can have no dealings with our common flesh. How many -young fellows have you saved already, how many floundering characters -redeemed! They crave your earthly, physical love. Instead you surprise -and disappoint and shock them into safety again--by giving to them -Love...!" - -And, as he half repeated his vivid thoughts aloud, he suddenly saw her -coming towards him from the ornamental water, and instantly, wondering -what he should say to her, his mind contracted. The thing in him that -sang went backward into silence. He put a brake upon himself. But he -watched her coming nearer, wondering what brought her so luckily into -Regent's Park, and all the way from Chelsea, at such an hour. She moved -so lightly, sweetly; she was so intangible and lovely. He feared her -eyes, her voice. - -They drew nearer. From looking to right and left, he raised his head. -She was close, quite close, a hundred yards away. That walk, that -swing, that poise of head and neck he could not mistake anywhere. His -whole being glowed, thrilled, and yet contracted as in pain. - -A sentence about the weather, about her own, her father's, health, -about his calling to see them shortly, rose to his lips. He turned his -eyes away, then again looked up. They were now not twenty yards apart; -in another moment he would have raised his hat, when, with a sensation -of cold disappointment in him, she went past in totally irresponsive -silence. It was a stranger--a shop girl, a charwoman, a bus-conductor's -wife--anybody but she whom he had thought. - -How could he have been so utterly mistaken? It amazed him. It was, -indeed, months since they had met, yet his knowledge of her appearance -was so accurate and detailed that such an error seemed incredible. He -had experienced, besides, the actual thrill. - -The phenomenon, however, was not new to him. Often had he experienced -it, much as others have. He knew, from this, that she was somewhere -near, coming deliciously, deliberately towards him, moving every minute -firmly nearer, from a point in great London town which she had left -just at the precise moment which would time her crossing his own path -later. They would meet presently, if not now. Fate had arranged all -details, and something in him was aware of it before it happened. - -The phenomenon, as a matter of fact, was repeated twice again in the -next half-hour: he saw her--on both occasions beyond the possibility -of question--coming towards him, yet each time it was a complete -stranger masquerading in her guise. - -It meant, he knew, that their two minds--hearts, too, he wondered, -with a sense of secret happiness, enjoyed intensely then instantly -suppressed--were wirelessing to one another across the vast city, and -that both transmitter and receiver, their physical bodies, would meet -shortly round the corner, or along the crowded street. Strong currents -of desiring thought, he knew, he hoped, he wondered, were trying to -shape the crude world nearer to the heart's desire, causing the various -intervening passers-by to assume the desirable form and outline in -advance. - -He reflected, following the habit of his eager mind; this wireless -discovery, after all, was the discovery of a universal principle in -Nature. It was common to all forms of life, a faint beginning of -that advance towards marvellous intercommunicating, semi-telepathic -brotherhood he had always hoped for, believed in.... Even plants, he -remembered, according to Bose.... - -Then, suddenly, half-way down Baker Street he found her close beside -him. - -She was dressed so becomingly, so naturally, that no particular detail -caught his eye, although she wore more colour than was usual in the -dull climate known to English people. There was a touch of fur and -there were flowers, but these were part of her appearance as a whole, -and the hat was so exactly right, though it was here that Englishwomen -generally went wrong, that he could not remember afterwards what it -was like. It was as suitable as natural hair. It looked as if she had -grown it. The shining eyes were what he chiefly noticed. They seemed to -increase the pale sunlight in the dingy street. - -She was so close that he caught her perfume almost before he recognized -her, and a sense of happiness invaded his whole being instantly, as he -took the slender hand emerging from a muff and held it for a moment. -The casual sentences he had half prepared fled like a flock of birds -surprised. Their eyes met.... And instantly the sun rose over a far -Khaketian valley; he was aware of joy, of peace, of deep contentment, -London obliterated, the entire world elsewhere. He knew the thrill, the -ecstasy of some long-forgotten dawn.... - -But in that brief second while he held her hand and gazed into her -eyes, there flashed before him a sudden apparition. With lightning -rapidity this picture darted past between them, paused for the tiniest -fraction of a second, and was gone again. So swiftly the figure shot -across that the very glance he gave her was intercepted, its angle -changed, its meaning altered. He started involuntarily, for he knew -that vision, the bright rushing messenger, someone who brought glad -tidings. And this time he recognized it--it was the figure of "N. H." - -The outward start, the slight wavering of the eyelids, both were -noticed, though not understood, much less interpreted by the young -woman facing him. - -"You are as much surprised as I am," he heard the pleasant, low-pitched -voice before his face. "I thought you were abroad. Father and I came -back from Sark only yesterday." - -"I haven't left town," he replied. "It was Devonham went to -Switzerland." - -He was thinking of her pleasant voice, and wondering how a mere voice -could soothe and bless and comfort in this way. The picture of the -flashing figure, too, preoccupied him. His various mind was ever busy -with several trains of thought at once, though all correlated. Why, he -was wondering, should that picture of "N. H." leave a sense of chill -upon his heart? Why had the first radiance of this meeting thus already -dimmed a little? Her nearness, too, confused him as of old, making -his manner a trifle brusque and not quite natural, until he found his -centre of control again. He looked quickly up and down the street, -moved aside to let some people pass, then turned to the girl again. -"Your holiday has done you good, Iraida," he said quietly; "I hope your -father enjoyed it too." - -"We both enjoyed ourselves," she answered, watching him, something of -a protective air about her. "I wish you had been with us, for that -would have made it perfect. I was thinking that only this morning--as I -walked across Hyde Park." - -"How nice of you! I believe I, too, was thinking of you both, as I -walked through Regent's Park." He smiled for the first time. - -"It's very odd," she went on, "though you can explain it probably," -she added, with a smile that met his own, increasing it, "or, at any -rate, Dr. Devonham could--but I've seen you several times this morning -already--in the last half-hour. I've seen you in other people in the -street, I mean. Yet I wasn't thinking of you at the actual moment, it's -two months since we've met, and I imagined you were abroad." - -"Odd, yes," he said, half shyly, half curtly. "It's an experience many -have, I believe." - -She gazed up at him. "It's very natural, I think, when people like each -other, Edward, and are in sympathy." - -"Yet it happens with people who don't like each other too," he -objected, and at the same moment was vexed that he had used the words. - -Iraida Khilkoff laughed. He had the feeling that she read his thoughts -as easily as if they were printed in red letters on his grey felt hat. - -"There must be _some_ bond between them, though," she remarked, "an -emotion, I mean, whatever it may be--even hatred." - -"Probably, Nayan," he agreed. "It's you now, not Devonham, that wants -to explain things. I think I must take you into the Firm, you could -take charge of the female patients with great success." - -Whereupon she looked up at him with such a grave mothering expression -that he was aware of her secret power, her central source of strength -in dealing with men. Her innocence and truth were an atmosphere about -her, protecting her as naturally and neatly as the clothes upon her -body. She believed in men. He felt like a child beside her. - -"I'm in the Firm already," she said, "for you made me a partner years -ago when I was so high," and her small gloved hand indicated the -stature of a little girl. "You taught me first." - -He remembered the bleak northern town where fifteen years ago he -had known her father as a patient for some minor ailment, and the -friendship that grew out of the relationship. He remembered the child -of nine or ten who sat on his knee and repeated to him the Russian -fairy tales her mother told her; he recalled the charm, the wonder, -the extraordinary power of belief. Her words brought back again that -flowered Caucasian valley in the sunlight and this, again, flashed upon -the screen the strange bright figure that had already once intercepted -their glance, as though it somehow came between them.... - -"You have one advantage over me," he rejoined presently, "for in my -Clinique the people know that they need treatment, whereas in the -Studio you catch your patients unawares. They do not know they're ill. -You heal them without their being aware that they need healing." - -"Yet some of our _habitués_ have found their way later to your -consulting-room," she reminded him. - -"Merely to finish what you had first begun--a sort of convalescence. -You work in the big, raw world, I in a mere specialized corner of it." - -He turned away, lest the power in her eyes overcome him. The traffic -thundered past, the people crowded, jostling them. He could have stood -there talking to her all day long, the London street forgotten or full -of flowers and Eden's trees and rippling summer streams. The pale -sunlight caught her face beside him and made it shine.... - -He longed to take her in his arms and fly through the dawn for ever, -for his clean mind saw her without clothing, her hair loose in the -wind, her white shape fleeing from him, yet beckoning across a gleaming -shoulder that he must overtake and capture her.... - -"I'm on my way to St. Dunstan's," he heard the musical voice. "A friend -of father's.... Come with me, will you?" And with her muff she touched -his arm, trying to make him turn her way. But just as he felt the touch -he saw the bright figure again. Swifter than himself and far more -powerful, it leaped dancing past and carried her away before his very -eyes. She waved her hand, her eyes faded like stars into the distance -of some unearthly spring--and she was gone. A pang of peculiar anguish -seized him, as the mental picture flashed with the speed of light and -vanished. For the figure seemed of elemental power, taking its own with -perfect ease.... - -He shook his head. "I'll come to see you to-morrow instead," he told -her. "I'll come to the Studio in the afternoon, if you'll both be in. -I'd like to bring a friend with me, if I may." - -"Good-bye then." She took his hand and kept it. "I shall expect you to -tell me all about this--friend. I knew you had something on your mind, -for your thoughts have been elsewhere all the time." - -"Julian LeVallon," he replied quickly. "He's staying with me -indefinitely." His face grew stern a moment about the mouth. "I think -he may need you," he added with abrupt significance. - -"Julian LeVallon," she repeated, the name sounding very musical the way -her slightly foreign accent touched it "And what nationality may that -be?" - -Dr. Fillery hesitated. "His parents, Nayan, I believe, were English," -he said. "He has lived all his life in the Jura Mountains, alone with -an old scholar, poet and geologist, who brought him up. Of our modern -life he knows little. I think you may----" He broke off. "His mother -died when he was born," he concluded. - -"And of women he knows nothing," she replied, understandingly, "so that -he will probably fall in love with the first he sees--with Nayan." - -"I hope so, Nayan, and he will be safe with you." - -She watched her companion's face for a minute or two with her clear -searching eyes. She smiled. But his own face wore a mask now; no figure -this time flashed between their deep understanding gaze. - -"A woman, you think, can teach and help him more than a man," she said, -without lowering her eyes. - -"Probably--perhaps, at any rate. The material, I must warn you at once, -is new and strange. I want him to meet you." - -"Then I _am_ in the Firm," was all she answered, "and you can't do -without me." She let go the hand she had held all this time, and turned -from him, looking once across her shoulder as he, too, went upon his -way. - -"About three o'clock we shall expect you--and Mr. Julian LeVallon," she -added. "The Prometheans are coming too, as of course you know, but that -won't matter. Father has let the Studio to them." - -"The more the merrier," he answered, raised his hat, and went on at a -rapid pace up Baker Street. - -But with him up the London street went a flock of thoughts, hopes, -fears and memories that were hard to disentangle. Lost, forgotten -dreams went with him too. He had known that one day he must be -"executed," yet with his own hands he had just slipped the noose -about his neck. Detachment from life, he realized, keeping aloof from -the emotions that touch one's fellow beings, can only be, after all, -a pose. In his case it was evidently a pose assumed for safety and -self-protection, an artificial attitude he wore to keep his heart -from error. His love, born of some far unearthly valley, undoubtedly -consumed him, while yet he said it nay.... - -He had himself suggested bringing together the girl and "N. H." There -had been no need to do this. Yet he had deliberately offered it, and -she had instantly accepted. Even while he said the words there was -a volcano of emotion in him, several motives fighting to combine. -The fear for himself, being selfish, he had set aside at once; there -was also the fear for her--the odd certainty in him that at last her -woman's nature would be waked; lastly, the fear for "N. H." himself. -And here he clashed with his promise to Devonham. Behind the simple -proposal lay these various threads of motive, emotion and qualification. - -Now, as he hurried along the street, they rushed to and fro about his -mind, each at its own speed and with its own impetuous strength. It -was the last one, however, the certainty that her mere presence must -evoke the "N. H." personality, banishing the commonplace LeVallon; it -was this that, in the end, perhaps troubled him most. An intuitive -conviction assured him that this was bound to be the result of their -meeting. LeVallon would sink down out of sight; "N. H." would emerge -triumphant and vital, bringing his elemental power with him. The girl -would summon him.... - -"I must tell Paul first," he decided. "I must consult his judgment. -Otherwise I'm breaking my promise. If Paul is against it, I will send -an excuse...." - -With this proviso, he dismissed the matter from his mind, noting only -how clearly it revealed his own keen desire to let LeVallon disappear -and "N. H." become active. He himself yearned for the interest, -stimulus and companionship of the strange new being that was "N. H." - -The other aspect of the problem he dismissed quickly too: he would -lose Nayan. Yes, but he had never possessed the right to hold her. -He was strong, indifferent, detached.... His life in any case was a -sacrifice upon the altar of a mistake with regard to which he had -not been consulted. His whole existence must be passed in worship -before this altar, unless he was to admit himself a failure. His ideal -possession of the girl, he consoled himself, need know no change. To -watch her womanhood, hitherto untouched by any man, to watch this -bloom and ripen at the bidding of another must mean pain. But he faced -the loss. And a curious sense of compensation lay in it somewhere--the -strange notion that she and he would share "N. H." in a sense between -them. He was already aware of a deep subtle kinship between the three -of them, a kinship hardly of this physical world. And, after all, the -interests of "N. H." must come first. He had chosen his life, accepted -it, at any rate; he must remain true to his high ideal. This strange -being, blown by the winds of chance into his keeping, must be his first -consideration. - -"LeVallon" needed no special help, neither from himself, nor from her, -nor from others. "LeVallon" was ordinary enough, if not commonplace, -his only interest being at those thin places in his being where the -submerged personality of "N. H." peeped through. Paul Devonham, he -felt convinced, was wrong in thinking "N. H." to be the transient -manifestation. - -It was the reverse that Dr. Fillery believed to be the truth. He saw -in "N. H." almost a new type of being altogether. In that physical -body warred two personalities certainly, but "N. H." was the important -one, and LeVallon merely the transient outer one, masquerading on -the surface merely, a kind of automatic and mechanical personality, -gleaned, picked up, trained and educated, as it were, by the few years -spent among the human herd. - -And this "N. H." needed help, the best, the wisest possible. Both male -and female help "N. H." demanded. He, Edward Fillery, could supply the -former, but the latter could be furnished only by some woman in whom -innocence, truth and a natural mother-love--the three deepest feminine -qualities--were happily combined. Nayan possessed them all. "N. H.," -the strange bright messenger, bringing perhaps glad tidings into life, -had need of her. - -And Fillery, as his thoughts ran down these sad and happy paths of -that lost valley in his blood, realized the meaning of the flashing -intuition that had pained yet gladdened him half an hour before with -its convincing symbolic picture. - -This private Eden secreted in his depths he revealed to no one, though -Paul, his intimate friend and keen assistant, divined its general -neighbourhood and geography to some extent. It was the girl who -invariably opened its ivory gates for him. They had but to meet and -talk a moment, when, with a sudden drift of wonder, beauty, wildness, -this Khaketian inheritance rose before him. Its sunny brilliance, its -flowers, its perfumes seduced and caught him away. The unearthly mood -stole over him. Thought took wings of imagination and soared beyond -the planet. He foresaw, easily, the effect she would produce upon -"LeVallon."... - -He came back to earth again at the door of the Home, smiling, as -so often before, at these brief wanderings in his secret Eden, yet -perfectly able to pigeon-hole the experience, each detail explained, -labelled, docketed, and therefore harmless.... - -He found Devonham in the study and at once told him of his suggestion -and its possible results, and his assistant, resting before lunch after -a long morning's work, looked up at him with his quick, observant air. -Noticing the light in the eyes, the softer expression about the mouth, -the general appearance of a strong and recent stimulus, he easily -divined their origin, and showed his pleasure in his face. He longed -for his old friend to be humanized and steadied by some deep romance. -There was a curious new watchful attitude also about him, though -cleverly concealed. - -"I'm glad the Khilkoffs are back in town," he said easily. "As for -LeVallon--he's been quiet and uninteresting all the morning. He -needs the human touch, as I already said, and the Studio atmosphere, -especially if the Prometheans are to be there, seems the very thing." - -"And Nayan----?" - -"Her influence is good for any man, young or old, and if LeVallon -worships at her shrine like the rest of 'em, so much the better. You -remember my Notes. Nothing will help towards his finding his real self -quicker than an abandoned passion--unreturned." - -"Unreturned?" - -"You can't think she will give to LeVallon what so many----?" - -"But may she not," the other interrupted, "stimulate 'N. H.' rather -than LeVallon?" - -Devonham was surprised--he had quickly divined the subconscious fear -and jealousy. For this detached, impersonal attitude he was not -prepared. Only the keenest observer could have noticed the sharp, -anxious watchfulness he hid so well. - -"Edward, there's only one thing I feel we--you rather--have to be -careful about. And the girl has nothing to do with _that_. In your -blood, remember, lies an unearthly spiritual vagrancy which you must -not, dare not, communicate to him, if you ever hope to see him cured." - -Devonham regarded him keenly as he said it. He was as earnest as his -chief, but the difference between the two men was fundamental, probably -unbridgeable as well. The affection, trust, respect each felt for the -other was sincere. Devonham, however, having never known a thought, a -feeling, much less an actual experience, outside the normal gamut of -humanity, regarded all such as pathogenic. Fillery, who had tasted the -amazing, dangerous sweetness of such experiences, in his own being, had -another standard. - -"You must not exaggerate," observed Fillery, slowly. "Your phrase, -though, is good. 'Spiritual vagrancy' is an apt description, I admit. -Yet to the 'spiritual,' if it exists, the whole universe lies open, -remember, too." - -They laughed together. Then, suddenly, Devonham rose, and a new -inexpressible uneasiness was in his face. He thrust his hands deep -into his trouser pockets, turned his eyes hard upon the floor, stood -with his legs apart. Abruptly turning, he came a full step closer. -"Edward," he said, furious with himself, and yet fiercely determined -to be honest, "I may as well tell you frankly--though explanation lies -beyond me--there's something in this--this case I don't quite like." -Behind his lowered eyelids his observation never failed. - -Quick as a flash, his companion took him up. "For yourself, for others, -or for himself?" he asked, while a secret touch of joy ran through him. - -"For myself perhaps," was the immediate rejoinder. "It's intolerable. -It's the panic sense he touches in me. I admit it frankly. I've -had--once or twice--the desire to turn and run. But what I mean -is--we've got to be uncommonly careful with him," he ended lamely. - -"LeVallon you refer to? Or 'N. H.'?" - -"'N. H.'" - -"The panic sense," repeated Fillery to himself more than to his friend. -"The old, old thing. I understand." - -"Also," Devonham went on presently, "I must tell you that since he came -here there's been a change in every patient in the building--without -exception." He looked over his shoulder as though he heard a sound. He -listened certainly, but his mind was sharply centred on his friend. - -"For the better, yes," said Fillery at once. "Increased vitality, I've -noticed too." - -"Precisely," whispered the other, still listening. - -There came a pause between them. - -"And when we have found the real, the central self," pursued Fillery -presently. "When we have found the essential being--what is it?" - -"Exactly," replied Devonham with extraordinary emphasis. "_What is -it?_" But even then he did not look up to meet the other's glance. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -The meeting with Dr. Fillery and his friends, the Khilkoffs, father -and daughter, had, for one reason or another, to be postponed for a -week, during which brief time even, no single day wasted, LeVallon's -education proceeded rapidly. He was exceedingly quick to learn the -usages of civilized society in a big city, adapting himself with -an ease born surely of quick intelligence to the requirements and -conventions of ordinary life. - -In his perception of the rights of others, particularly, he showed -a natural aptitude; he had good manners, that is, instinctively; in -certain houses where Fillery took him purposely, he behaved with -a courtesy and tact that belong usually to what England calls a -gentleman. Except to Fillery and Devonham, he talked little, but was -an excellent and sympathetic listener, a quality that helped him to -make his way. With Mrs. Soames, the stern and even forbidding matron, -he made such headway, that it was noticed with a surprise, including -laughter. He might have been her adopted son. - -"She's got a new pet," said Devonham, with a laugh. "Mason taught him -well. His aptitude for natural history is obvious; after a few years' -study he'll make a name for himself. The 'N. H.' side will disappear -now more and more, unless _you_ stimulate it for your own ends----" He -broke off, speaking lightly still, but with a carelessness some might -have guessed assumed. - -"You forget," put in his Chief, "I promised." - -Devonham looked at him shrewdly. "I doubt," he said, "whether you can -help yourself, Edward," the expression in his eyes for a moment almost -severe. - -Fillery remained thoughtful, making no immediate reply. - -"We must remember," he said presently, "that he's now in the quiescent -state. Nothing has again occurred to bring 'N. H.' uppermost again." - -Devonham turned upon his friend. "I see no reason why 'N. H.'"--he -spoke with emphasis--"should ever get uppermost again. In my opinion we -can make this quiescent state--LeVallon--the permanent one." - -"We can't keep him in a cage like Mrs. Soames's mice and parrot. Are -you, for instance, against my taking him to the Studio? Do you think -it's a mistake to let him meet the Prometheans?" - -"That's just where Mason went wrong," returned Devonham. "He kept him -in a cage. The boy met only a few peasants, trees, plants, animals and -birds. The sun, making him feel happy, became his deity. The rain he -hated. The wind inspired and invigorated him. If we now introduce the -human element wisely, I see no danger. If he can stand the Khi--the -Studio and the Prometheans, he can stand anything. He may be considered -cured." - -The door opened and a tall, radiant figure with bright eyes and untidy -shining hair came into the room, carrying an open book. - -"Mrs. Soames says I've nothing to do with stars," said a deep musical -voice, "and that I had better stick to animals and plants. She says -that star-gazing never was good for anyone except astronomers who warn -us about tides, eclipses and dangerous comets." - -He held out the big book, open at an enlarged stellar photograph. -"What, please, is a galaxy, a star that is suddenly brilliant, then -disappears in a few weeks, and a nebula?" - -Before either of the astonished men could answer, LeVallon turned to -Devonham, his face wearing the gravity and intense curiosity of a -child. "And, please, are _you_ the only sort of being in the universe? -Mrs. Soames says that the earth is the only inhabited place. Aren't -there other beings besides you anywhere? The Earth is such a little -planet, and the solar system, according to this book, is one of the -smallest too." - -"My dear fellow," Devonham said gently, "do not bother your head with -useless speculations. Our only valuable field of study is this planet, -for it is all we know or ever can know. Whether the universe holds -other beings or not, can be of no importance to us at present." - -LeVallon stared fixedly at him, saying nothing. Something of his -natural radiance dimmed a little. "Then what are all these things that -I remember I've forgotten?" he asked, his blue eyes troubled. - -"It will take you all your lifetime to understand beings like me, and -like yourself and like Dr. Fillery. Don't waste time speculating about -possible inhabitants in other stars." - -He spoke good-humouredly, but firmly, as one who laid down certain -definite lines to be followed, while Dr. Fillery, watching, made no -audible comment. Once long ago he had asked his own father a somewhat -similar question. - -"But I shall so soon get to the end of you," replied LeVallon, a -disappointed expression on his face. "I may speculate _then_?" he asked. - -"When you get to the end of me and of yourself and of Dr. Fillery--yes, -then you may speculate to your heart's content," said Devonham in a -kindly tone. "But it will take you longer than you think perhaps. -Besides, there are women, too, remember. You will find them more -complicated still." - -A curious look stole into the other's eager eyes. He turned suddenly -towards the older man who had his confidence so completely. There was -in the movement, in the incipient gesture that he made with his arms, -his hands, almost with his head and face as well, something of appeal -that set the doctor's nerves alert. And the change of voice--it was -lower now and more musical than before--increased the nameless message -that flashed to his brain and heart. There was a hint of song, of -chanting almost, in the tone. There was music in him. For the voice, -Fillery realized suddenly, brought in the over-tones, somewhat in the -way good teachers of singing and voice production know. There was the -depth, sonority, singing quality which means that the "harmonics" are -made audible, as with a violin played in perfect tune. The sound seemed -produced not by the vocal cords alone, but by the entire being, so to -speak. Yet, "LeVallon's" voice had not this rich power, he noticed. -Its appearance was a sign that "N. H." was stirring into activity and -utterance. - -"Women, yes," the young man repeated to himself. "Women--bring back -something. Their eyes make me remember----" he turned abruptly to the -open book upon the doctor's knee. "It's something to do with stars, -these memories," he went on eagerly, the voice resonant. "Stars, women, -memories ... where are they all gone to...? Why have I lost...? What is -it that...?" - -It seemed as if a veil passed from his face, a thin transparency -that dimmed the shining effect his hair and eyes and radiant health -produced. A far-away expression followed it. - -"'N. H.'!" Devonham quickly flashed the whispered warning. And in the -same instant, Fillery rose, holding out the open book. - -"Come, LeVallon," he said, putting a hand upon his shoulder, "we'll go -into my room for an hour, and I'll tell you all about the galaxies and -nebulæ. You shall ask as many questions as you like. Devonham is a very -busy man and has duties to attend to just now." - -He moved across to open the door, and LeVallon, his face changing more -and more, went with him; the light in his eyes increased; he smiled, -the far-away expression passed a little. - -"Dr. Devonham is quite right in what he says about useless -speculations," continued Fillery, as they went out arm in arm together, -"but we can play a bit with thought and imagination, for all that--you -and I. 'Let your thought wander like an insect which is allowed to fly -in the air, but is at the same time confined by a thread.' Come along, -we'll have an hour's play. We'll travel together among the golden -stars, eh?" - -"Play!" exclaimed the youth, looking up with flashing eyes. "Ah! in the -Spring we play! Our work with sap, roots, crystals, fire, all finished -out of sight, so that their results followed of their own accord." -He was talking at great speed in a low voice, a deep, rolling voice, -and half to himself. "Spring is our holiday, the forms made perfect -and ready for the power to rush through, and we rush with it, playing -everywhere----" - -"Spring is the wine of life, yes," put in Fillery, caught away -momentarily by something behind the words he listened to, as though a -rhythm swept him. "Creative life racing up and flooding into every form -and body everywhere. It brings wonder, joy--play, as you call it." - -"We--we build the way----" The youth broke off abruptly as they reached -the study door. Something flowed down and back in him, emptying face -and manner of a mood which had striven for utterance, then passed. He -returned to the previous talk about the stars again: - -"Who attends to them? Who looks after them?" he inquired, a deep, -peculiar interest in his manner, his eyes turning a little darker. - -"What we call the laws of Nature," was the reply, "which are, after -all, merely our 'descriptive formulæ summing up certain regularities -of recurrence,' the laws under which they were first set alight and -then sent whirling into space. Under these same laws they will all -eventually burn out and come to rest. They will be dead." - -"Dead," repeated the other, as though he did not understand. "They are -the children of the laws," he stated, rather than asked. "Are the laws -kind and faithful? They never tire?" - -Fillery explained with one-half of his nature, and still as to a -child. The other half of him lay under firm restraint according to his -promise. He outlined in general terms man's knowledge of the stars. -"The laws never tire," he said. - -"But the stars end! They burn out, stop, and die! You said so." - -The other replied with something judicious and cautious about time and -its immense duration. But he was startled. - -"And those who attend to the laws," came then the words that startled -him, "who keeps them working so that they do not tire?" - -It was something in the tone of voice perhaps that, once again, -produced in his listener the extraordinary sudden feeling that Humanity -was, after all, but an insignificant, a microscopic detail in the -Universe; that it was, say, a mere ant-heap in the colossal jungle -crowded with other minuter as well as immenser life of every sort and -kind, and, moreover, that "N. H." was aware of this "other life," or at -least of some vast section of it, and had been, if he were not still, -associated with it. The two letters by which he was designated acquired -a deeper meaning than before. - -A rich glow came into the young face, and into the eyes, growing ever -darker, a look of burning; the skin had the effect of radiating; the -breathing became of a sudden deep and rhythmical. The whole figure -seemed to grow larger, expanding as though it extended already and half -filled the room. Into the atmosphere about it poured, as though heat -and light rushed through it, a strange effect of power. - -"You'd like to visit them, perhaps--wouldn't you?" asked Fillery gently. - -"I feel----" began the other, then stopped short. - -"You feel it would interest you," the doctor helped--then saw his -mistake. - -"I feel," repeated the youth. The sentence was complete. "I am there." - -"Ah! when you feel you're there, you _are_ there?" - -The other nodded. - -He leaned forward. "_I_ know," he whispered as with sudden joy. "_You_ -help me to remember, Fillery." The voice, though whispering, was -strong; it vibrated full of over-tones and under-tones. The sound of -the "F" was like a wind in branches. "You wonderful, _you_ know too! -It is the same with flowers, with everything. We build with wind and -fire." He stopped, rubbing a hand across his forehead a moment. "Wind -and fire," he went on, but this time to himself, "my splendid mighty -ones...." Dropping his hand, he flashed an amazing look of enthusiasm -and power into his companion's face. The look held in concentrated -form something of the power that seemed pulsing and throbbing in his -atmosphere. "Help me to remember, dear Fillery," his voice rang out -aloud like singing. "Remember with me why we both are here. When we -remember we can go back where we belong." - -The glow went from his face and eyes as though an inner lamp had been -suddenly extinguished. The power left both voice and atmosphere. He -sank back in his chair, his great sensitive hands spread over the table -where the star charts lay, as through the open window came the crash -and clatter of an aeroplane tearing, like some violent, monstrous -insect, through the sunlight. - -A look of pain came into his eyes. "It goes again. I've lost it." - -"We were talking about the stars and the laws of Nature," said Fillery -quickly, though his voice was shaking, "when that noisy flying-machine -disturbed us." He leaned over, taking his companion's hand. His heart -was beating. He smelt the open spaces. The blood ran wildly in his -veins. It was with the utmost difficulty he found simple, common words -to use. "You must not ask too much at once. We will learn slowly--there -is so much we have to learn together." - -LeVallon's smile was beautiful, but it was the smile of "LeVallon" -again only. - -"Thank you, dear Fillery," he replied, and the talk continued as -between a tutor and his backward pupil.... But for some time afterwards -the "tutor's" mind and heart, while attending to LeVallon now, went -travelling, it seemed, with "N. H." There was this strange division -in his being ... for "N. H." appealed with power to a part of him, -perhaps the greatest, that had never yet found expression, much less -satisfaction. - -Many a talk together of this kind, with occasional semi-irruptions of -"N. H.," he had already enjoyed with his new patient, and LeVallon was -by now fairly well instructed in the general history of our little -world, briefly but picturesquely given. Evolution had been outlined -and explained, the rise of man sketched vividly, the great war, and -the planet's present state of chaos described in a way that furnished -a clear enough synopsis of where humanity now stood. LeVallon was -able to hold his own in conversation with others; he might pass for a -simple-minded but not ill-informed young man, and both Paul Devonham -and Edward Fillery, though each for different reasons, were, therefore, -well satisfied with the young human being entrusted to their care, a -human being to be eventually discharged from the Home, healed and cured -of extravagances, made harmonious with himself, able to make his own -way in the world alone. To Devonham it appeared already certain that, -within a reasonable time, LeVallon would find himself happily at home -among his fellow kind, a normal, even a gifted young man with a future -before him. "N. H." would disappear and be forgotten, absorbed back -into the parent Self. To his colleague, on the other hand, another -vision of his future opened. Sooner or later it was LeVallon that would -disappear and "N. H." remain in full control, a strange, possibly a -new type of being, not alone marvellously gifted, but who might even -throw light upon a vista of research and knowledge hitherto unknown to -humanity, and with benefits for the Race as yet beyond the reach of any -wildest prophecy. - -Both men, therefore, went gladly with him to the Khilkoff Studio -that early November afternoon, anxious to observe him, his conduct, -attitude, among the curious set of people to be found there on the -Prometheans' Society day, and to note any reactions he might show in -such a milieu. Each felt fully justified in doing so, though they would -have kept an ordinary "hysterical" patient safely from the place. -LeVallon, however, betrayed no trace of hysteria in any meaning of the -word, big or little; he was stable as a navvy, betraying no undesirable -reaction to the various well-known danger points. The visit might be -something of an experiment perhaps, but an experiment, a test, they -were justified in taking. Yet Devonham on no account would have allowed -his chief to go alone. He had insisted on accompanying them. - -And to both men, as they went towards Chelsea, their quiet companion -with them, came the feeling that the visit might possibly prove one -of them right, the other wrong. Fillery expected that Nayan Khilkoff -alone, to say nothing of the effect of the other queer folk who might -be present, must surely evoke the "N. H." personality now lying -quiescent and inactive below the threshold of LeVallon. The charm -and beauty of the girl he had never known to fail with any male, for -she had that in her which was bound to stimulate the highest in the -opposite sex. The excitement of the wild, questing, picturesque, if -unbalanced, minds who would fill the place, must also, though in quite -another way, affect the _real_ self of anyone who came in contact with -their fantastic and imaginative atmosphere. Attraction or repulsion -must certainly be felt. He expected at any rate a vital clue. - -"Ivan Khilkoff," he told LeVallon, as they went along in the car, "is -a Russian, a painter and sculptor of talent, a good-hearted and silent -sort of old fellow, who has remained very poor because he refuses to -advertise himself or commercialize his art, and because his work is -not the kind of thing the English buy. His daughter, Nayan, teaches -the piano and Russian. She is beautiful and sweet and pure, but of an -independent and rather impersonal character. She has never fallen in -love, for instance, though most men fall in love with her. I hope you -may like and understand each other." - -"Thank you," said LeVallon, listening attentively, but with no great -interest apparently. "I will try very much to like her and her father -too." - -"The Studio is a very big one, it is really two studios knocked into -one, their living rooms opening out of it. One half of the place, being -so large, they sometimes let out for meetings, dances and that sort of -thing, earning a little money in that way. It is rented this evening by -a Society called the Prometheans--a group of people whose inquisitive -temperaments lead them to believe, or half believe----" - -"To imagine, if not deliberately to manufacture," put in Devonham. - -"----to imagine, let us call it," continued the other with a -twinkle, "that there are other worlds, other powers, other states of -consciousness and knowledge open to them outside and beyond the present -ones we are familiar with." - -"They _know_ these?" asked LeVallon, looking up with signs of interest. -"They have experienced them?" - -"They know and experience," replied Fillery, "according to their -imaginations and desires, those with a touch of creative imagination -claiming the most definite results, those without it being merely -imitative. They report their experiences, that is, but cannot--or -rarely show the results to others. You will hear their talk and judge -accordingly. They are interesting enough in their way. They have, -at any rate, one thing of value--that they are open to new ideas. -Such people have existed in every age of the world's history, but -after an upheaval, such as the great war has been, they become more -active and more numerous, because the nervous system, reacting from -a tremendous strain, produces exaggeration. Any world is better -than an uncomfortable one in revolution, they think. They are, as -a rule, sincere and honest folk. They add a touch of colour to the -commonplace----" - -"Tuppence coloured," murmured Devonham below his breath. - -"And they believe so much in other worlds to conquer, other regions, -bigger states of consciousness, other powers," concluded Fillery, -ignoring the interruption, "that they are half in this world, half in -the next. Hence Dr. Devonham's name, the name by which he sometimes -laughs at them--of Half Breeds." - -LeVallon's eyes, he saw, were very big; his interest and attention were -excited. - -"They will probably welcome you with open arms," he added, "if you -care to join them. They consider themselves pioneers of a larger life. -They are not mere spiritualists--oh no! They are familiar with all the -newest theories, and realize that an alternative hypothesis can explain -all so-called psychic phenomena without dragging spirits in. It is in -exaggerating results they go mostly wrong." - -"Eccentrics," Devonham remarked, "out of the circle, and hysterical -to a man. They accomplish nothing. They are invariably dreamers, -usually of doubtful morals and honesty, and always unworthy of serious -attention. But they may amuse you for an hour." - -"We all find it difficult to believe what we have never experienced," -mentioned Fillery, turning to his colleague with a hearty laugh, in -which the latter readily joined, for their skirmishes usually brought -in laughter at the end. Just now, moreover, they were talking with a -purpose, and it was wise and good that LeVallon should listen and take -in what he could--hearing both sides. He watched and listened certainly -with open eyes and ears, as he sat between them on the wide front seat, -but saying, as usual, very little. - -The car turned down a narrow lane with slackening speed and slowed up -before a dingy building with faded Virginia creepers sprawling about -stained dirty walls. The neighbourhood was depressing, patched and -dishevelled, and almost bordering on a slum. The November light was -passing into early twilight. - -"You," said LeVallon abruptly, turning round and staring at Devonham, -"make everything seem unreal to me. I do not understand you. You know -so much. Why is so little real to you?" - -But Devonham, in the act of getting out of the car, made no reply, and -probably had not heard the words, or, if he had heard, thought them -more suitable for Fillery. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -The Prometheans were evidently in full attendance; possibly the rumour -had reached them that Dr. Fillery was coming. No one announced the -latter's arrival, there was no servant visible; the party hung up their -hats and coats in a passage, then walked into the lofty, dim-lit studio -which was already filled with people and the hum of many voices. - -At once, standing in a hesitating group beside the door, they were -observed by everyone in the room. All asked, it seemed, "Who is this -stranger they have brought?" Fillery caught the curious atmosphere -in that first moment, an instant whiff, as it were, of excitement, -interest, something picturesque, if possibly foolish, fantastic, too, -yet faintly stimulating, breathing along his extremely sensitive nerves. - -He glanced at his companions. Devonham, it struck him, looked more than -ever like a floor-walker come to supervise, say, a Department where -the sales and assistants were not satisfactory or--he laughed inwardly -as the simile occurred to him--a free-thinker entering a church -whose teaching he disapproved, even despised, and whose congregation -touched his contemptuous pity. "Who would ever guess," thought his -friend and colleague, "the sincerity and depth of knowledge in that -insignificant appearance? Paul hides his value well!" He noticed, in -his quick fashion, touched by humour, the hard challenging eyes, the -aquiline nose on which a pair of pince-nez balanced uneasily, the -narrow shoulders, the poorly fitting clothes. The heart, of course, -remained invisible. Yet suddenly he felt glad that Devonham was with -him. "Nothing unstable there," he reflected, "and stability combined -with competence is rare." This rapid judgment, it occurred to him, -was possibly a warning from his own subconscious being.... A red flag -signalled, flickered, vanished. - -He glanced next at LeVallon, towering above the other. LeVallon was -now well dressed in London clothes that suited him, though, for that -matter, any clothes must have looked well upon a male figure so -virile and upstanding. His great shoulders, his leanness, covered so -beautifully with muscle, his height, his colouring, his radiant air; -above all, his strange, big penetrating eyes, marked him as a figure -one would notice anywhere. He stood, somehow, alone, apart, though the -ingredients that contributed to this strange air of aloofness would be -hard to define. - -It was chiefly, perhaps, the poise of the great powerful frame that -helped towards this odd setting in isolation and independence. -Motionless, he gazed about him quietly, but it was the way he stood -that singled him out from other men. Even in his stillness there was -grace; neither hands nor feet, though it was difficult to describe -exactly how he placed them or used them, were separate from this poise -of perfect balance. To put it colloquially, he knew what to do with -his extremities. Self-consciousness, in sight of this ardent throng, -the first he had encountered at close, intimate quarters, was entirely -absent. - -This Fillery noticed instantly, but other impressions followed during -the few brief seconds while they waited by the door; and first, the odd -effect of tremendous power he managed to convey. Nothing could have -been less aggressive than the tentative, questioning, half inquiring, -half wondering attitude in which he stood, waiting to be introduced -to the buzzing throng of humans; yet there hung about him like an -atmosphere this potential strength, of confidence, of superiority, even -of beauty too, that not only contributed much to the aloofness already -mentioned, but also contrived to make the others, men and women, in the -crowded room--insignificant. Somehow they seemed pale and ineffective -against a larger grandeur, a scale entirely beyond their reach. - -"Gigantic" was the word that leaped into the mind, but another perhaps -leaped with it--"elemental." - -Fillery was aware of envy, oddly enough, of pride as well. His heart -warmed more than ever to him. Almost, he could have then and there -recalled his promise given to Devonham, cancelling it contemptuously -with a word of self-apology for his smallness and his lack of faith.... - -LeVallon, aware of a sympathetic mind occupied closely with himself, -turned in that moment, and their eyes met squarely; a smile of deep, -inner understanding passed swiftly between them over Devonham's -head and shoulders. In which moment, exactly, a short, bearded man, -detaching himself from the crowd, came forward and greeted them with -sincere pleasure in his voice and manner. He was broad-shouldered, -lean, his clothes hung loosely; his glance was keen but kindly. -Introductions followed, and Khilkoff's sharp eye rested for some -seconds with unconcealed admiration upon LeVallon, as he held his hand. -His discerning sculptor's glance seemed to appraise his stature and -proportions, while he bade him welcome to the Studio. His big head and -short neck, his mane of hair, the width of his face, with its squat -nose and high cheek-bones, the half ferocious eyes, the heavy jaw and -something sprawling about the mouth, gave him a leonine expression. And -his voice was not unlike a deep-toned growl, for all its cordiality. - -A stir, meanwhile, ran through the room, more heads turned in their -direction; they had long ago been observed; they were being now -examined. - -"Nayan," Khilkoff was saying, while he still held LeVallon's hand as -though its size and grip contented him, "had a late Russian lesson. -She will be here shortly, and very glad to make your acquaintance," -looking up at LeVallon, as the new-comer. His gruffness and brevity had -something pleasing in them. "To-day the Studio is not entirely mine," -he explained. "I want you to come when I'm alone. Some studies I made -in Sark this summer may interest you." He turned to Fillery. "That -lonely place was good for both of us," he said; "it gave me new life -and inspiration, and Nayan benefited immensely too. She looks more like -a nymph than ever." - -He shook hands with Devonham, smiling more grimly. "I'm surprised you, -too, have honoured us," he exclaimed with genuine surprise. "Come -to damn them all as usual, probably! Good! Your common-sense and -healthy criticism are needed in these days--cool, cleaning winds in an -over-heated conservatory." He broke off abruptly and looked down at -LeVallon's hand he was still holding. He examined it for a second with -care and admiration, then turned his eye upon the young man's figure. -He grunted. - -"When I know you better," he said, with a growl of earnest meaning, "I -shall ask a favour, a great favour, of you. So, beware!" - -"Thank you," replied LeVallon, and at the sound of his voice the -sculptor's interest deepened. A gleam shone in his eye. - -"You've begun some work," said Fillery, "and models are hard to come -by, I imagine." His eye never left LeVallon. - -Khilkoff chuckled. "Thought-reader!" he exclaimed. "If Povey heard -that, he'd make you join the Society at once--as honorary member or -vice-president. Anything to get you in. Dr. Fillery understands us all -_too_ well," he went on to LeVallon. "In Sark, that lonely island in -the sea, I began four figures--four elemental figures--of earth, air, -fire and water--a group, of course. The air figure, I've done----" - -"With Nayan as model," suggested Fillery, smiling. - -"One morning, yes, I caught her bathing from a rock, hair streaming in -the wind, no clothes on, white foam from the big breakers fluttering -about her, slim, shining, unconscious and half dancing, fierce sunlight -all over her. Ah"--he broke off--"here's Povey coming. I mustn't -monopolize you all. Devonham, you know most of 'em. Make yourselves at -home." He turned to LeVallon again, with a touch of something gentler, -almost of respect, thought Fillery, as he noticed the delicate change -of voice and manner quickly. "Come, Mr. LeVallon," he said courteously, -"I should like to show you the figure as I've done it. We'll go for a -moment into my own private rooms. But it's a model for fire I'm looking -for, as Fillery guessed. You may be interested." He led him off. -LeVallon went with evident content, and the advance of skirmishes that -were already approaching for introductions was temporarily defeated. - -For the three men standing by the door had formed a noticeable group, -and Khilkoff's presence added to their value. Dr. Fillery, known and -much respected, regarded with a touch of awe by many, had not come for -nothing, it was doubtless argued; his colleague, moreover, accompanied -him, and he, too, was known to the Society, though not much cultivated -by its members owing to his downright, critical way of talking. They -deemed him prejudiced, unsympathetic. It was the third member of the -group, LeVallon, who had quickly caught all eyes, and the attention -immediately paid to him by their host set the value of a special -and important guest upon him instantly. All watched him led away by -Khilkoff to the private quarters of the Studio, where none at first -presumed to follow them; but it was the eyes of the women that remained -glued to the open door where they had disappeared, waiting with careful -interest for their reappearance. In particular Lady Gleeson, the -"pretty Lady Gleeson," watched from the corner where she sat alone, -sipping some refreshment. - -Fillery and Devonham, having observed the signs about them, exchanged -a glance; their charge was safe for the moment, at any rate; they felt -relieved; yet it was for the entry of Nayan, the daughter, that both -waited with interest and impatience, as, meanwhile, the bolder ones -among the crowd came up one by one and captured them. - -"Oh, Dr. Fillery, I _am_ glad to see you here. I thought you were -always too busy for unscientific people like us. Yet, in a way, we're -all seekers, are we not? I've been reading your Physiology book, and I -_did_ so want to ask you about something in it. I wonder if you'd mind." - -He shook hands with a young-old woman, wearing bobbed hair and glasses, -and speaking with an intense, respectful, yet self-apologetic manner. - -"You've forgotten me, but I _quite_ understand. You see _so_ many -people. I'm Miss Lance. I sent you my little magazine, 'Simplicity,' -once, and you acknowledged it _so_ sweetly, though, of course, I -understood you had not the time to write for it." She continued for -several minutes, smiling up at him, her hands clasping and unclasping -themselves behind a back clothed with some glittering coloured material -that rather fascinated him by its sheen. She kept raising herself on -her toes and sinking back again in a series of jerky rhythms. - -He gave her his delightful smile. - -"Oh, Dr. Fillery!" she exclaimed, with pleasure, leading him to a -divan, upon which he let himself down in such a position that he could -observe the door from the street as well as the door where LeVallon had -disappeared. "This is really too good-natured of you. Your book set -me on fire simply"--her eyes wandering to the other door--"and what a -wonderful looking person you've brought with you----" - -"I fear it's not very easy reading," he interposed patiently. - -"To me it was too delightful for words," she rattled on, pleased by the -compliment implied. "I devour _all_ your books and always review them -myself in the magazine. I wouldn't trust them to anyone else. I simply -can't tell you how physiology stimulates me. Humanity needs imaginative -books, especially just now." She broke off with a deprecatory smile. "I -do what I can," she added, as he made no remark, "to make them known, -though in such a very small way, I fear." Her interest, however, was -divided, the two powerful attractions making her quite incoherent. -"Your friend," she ventured again, "he must be Eastern perhaps? Or is -that merely sunburn? He looks _most_ unusual." - -"Sunburn merely, Miss Lance. You must have a chat with him later." - -"Oh, thank you, _thank_ you, Dr. Fillery. I do so love unusual -people...." - -He listened gravely. He was gentle, while she confided to him her -little inner hopes and dreams about the "simple life." She introduced -adjectives she believed would sound correct, if spoken very quickly, -until, between the torrent of "psychical," "physiological" and once or -twice, "psychological," she became positively incoherent in a final -entanglement from which there was no issue but a convulsive gesture. -None the less, she was bathed in bliss. She monopolized the great man -for a whole ten minutes on a divan where everybody could see that they -talked earnestly, intimately, perhaps even intellectually, together -side by side. - -He observed the room, meanwhile, without her noticing it, scanning the -buzzing throng with interest. There was confusion somewhere, something -was lacking, no system prevailed; he was aware of a general sense of -waiting for a leader. All looked, he knew, for Nayan to appear. Without -her presence, there was no centre, for, though not a member of the -Society herself, she was the heart always of their gatherings, without -which they straggled somewhat aimlessly. And "heart," he remembered, -with a smile that Miss Lance took proudly for herself, was the -appropriate word. Nayan mothered them. They were but children, after -all.... - -"When you talk of a 'New Age,' what _exactly_ do you mean? I wish -you'd define the term for me," Devonham meanwhile was saying to an -interlocutor, not far away, while with a corner of his eye he watched -both Fillery and the private door. He still stood near the entrance, -looking more than ever like a disapproving floor-walker in a big -department store, and it was with H. Millington Povey that he talked, -the Honorary Secretary of the Society. The Secretary had aimed at -Fillery, but Miss Lance had been too quick for him. He was obliged -to put up with Devonham as second best, and his temper suffered -accordingly. He was in aggressive mood. - -Povey, facing him, was talking with almost violent zeal. A small, -thin, nervous man, on the verge of middle age, his head prematurely -bald, with wildish tufts of patchy hair, a thin, scraggy neck that -he lengthened and shortened between high hunched shoulders, Povey -resembled an eager vulture. His keen bright eyes, hooked nose, and -a habit of twisting head and neck apart from his body, which held -motionless, increased this likeness to a bird of prey. Possessed of -considerable powers of organization, he kept the Society together. It -was he who insisted upon some special "psychic gift" as a qualification -of membership; an applicant must prove this gift to a committee of -Povey's choosing, though these proofs were never circulated for general -reading in the Society's Reports. Talkers, dreamers, faddists were not -desired; a member must possess some definite abnormal power before he -could be elected. He must be clairvoyant or clairaudient, an automatic -writer, trance-painter, medium, ghost-seer, prophet, priest or king. - -Members, therefore, stated their special qualification to each -other without false modesty: "I'm a trance medium," for instance; -"Oh, really! _I_ see auras, of course"; while others had written -automatic poetry, spoken in trance--"inspirational speakers," that -is--photographed a spirit, appeared to someone at a distance, -or dreamed a prophetic dream that later had come true. Mediums, -spirit-photographers, and prophetic dreamers were, perhaps, the most -popular qualifications to offer, but there were many who remembered -past lives and not a few could leave their bodies consciously at will. - -Memberships cost two guineas, the hat was occasionally passed round -for special purposes, there was a monthly dinner in Soho, when members -stood up, like saved sinners at a revivalist meeting, and gave personal -testimony of conversion or related some new strange incident. The -Prometheans were full of stolen fire and life. - -Among them were ambitious souls who desired to start a new religion, -deeming the Church past hope. Others, like the water-dowsers and -telepathists, were humbler. There was an Inner Circle which sought to -revive the Mysteries, and gave very private performances of dramatic -and symbolic kind, based upon recovered secret knowledge, at the -solstices and equinoxes. New Thought members despised these, believing -nothing connected with the past had value; they looked ahead; "live -in the present," "do it now" was their watchword. Astrologers were -numerous too. These cast horoscopes, or, for a small fee, revealed -one's secret name, true colour, lucky number, day of the week and -month, and so forth. One lady had a tame "Elemental." Students of Magic -and Casters of Spells, wearers of talismans and intricate designs in -precious or inferior metal, according to taste and means, were well -represented, and one and all believed, of course, in spirits. - -None, however, belonged to any Sect of the day, whatever it might be; -they wore no labels; they were seekers, questers, inquirers whom no set -of rules or dogmas dared confine within fixed limits. An entirely open -mind and no prejudices, they prided themselves, distinguished them. - -"Define it in scientific terms, this New Age--I cannot," replied Povey -in his shrill voice, "for science deals only with the examination of -the known. Yet you only have to look round you at the world to-day to -see its obvious signs. Humanity is changing, new powers everywhere----" - -Devonham interrupted unkindly, before the other could assume he had -proved something by merely stating it: - -"What _are_ these signs, if I may ask?" he questioned sharply. "For if -you can name them, we can examine them--er--scientifically." He used -the word with malice, knowing it was ever on the Promethean lips. - -"There you are, at cross-purposes at once," declared Povey. "I -refer to hints, half-lights, intuitions, signs that only the most -sensitive among us, those with psychic divination, with spiritual -discernment--that only the privileged and those developed in advance -of the Race--can know. And, instantly you produce your microscope, as -though I offered you the muscles of a tadpole to dissect." - -They glared at one another. "We shall never get progress your way," -Povey fumed, withdrawing his head and neck between his shoulders. - -"Returning to the Middle Ages, on the other hand," mentioned Devonham, -"seems like advancing in a circle, doesn't it?" - -"Dr. Devonham," interrupted a pretty, fair-haired girl with an intense -manner, "forgive me for breaking up your interesting talk, but you -come so seldom, you know, and there's a lady here who is dying to be -introduced. She has just seen crimson flashing in your aura, and she -wants to ask--do you mind _very_ much?" She smiled so sweetly at him, -and at Mr. Povey, too, who was said to be engaged to her, though none -believed it, that annoyance was not possible. "She says she simply -_must_ ask you if you were feeling anger. Anger, you know, produces red -or crimson in one's visible atmosphere," she explained charmingly. She -led him off, forgetting, however, her purpose _en route_, since they -presently sat down side by side in a quiet corner and began to enjoy -what seemed an interesting tête-à-tête, while the aura-seeing lady -waited impatiently and observed them, without the aid of clairvoyance, -from a distance. - -"And _your_ qualifications for membership?" asked Devonham. "I wonder -if I may ask----?" - -"But you'd laugh at me, if I told you," she answered simply, fingering -a silver talisman that hung from her neck, a six-pointed star with -zodiacal signs traced round a rose, _rosa mystica_, evidently. "I'm so -afraid of doctors." - -Devonham shook his head decidedly, asserting vehemently his interest, -whereupon she told him her little private dream delightfully, without -pose or affectation, yet shyly and so sincerely that he proved his -assertion by a genuine interest. - -"And does that protect you among your daily troubles?" he asked, -pointing to her little silver talisman. He had already commented -sympathetically upon her account of saving her new puppies from -drowning, having dreamed the night before that she saw them gasping in -a pail of water, the cruel under-gardener looking on. "Do you wear it -always, or only on special occasions like this?" - -"Oh, Miss Milligan made that," she told him, blushing a little. "She's -rather poor. She earns her living by designing----" - -"Oh!" - -"But I don't mean _that_. She tells you your Sign and works it in metal -for you. I bought one. Mine is Pisces." She became earnest. "I was born -in Pisces, you see." - -"And what does Pisces do for you?" he inquired, remembering the -heightened colour. The sincerity of this Rose Mystica delighted him, -and he already anticipated her reply with interest. Here, he felt, was -the credulous, religious type in its naked purity, forced to believe in -something marvellous. - -"Well, if you wear your Sign next your skin it brings good luck--it -makes the things you want happen." The blush reappeared becomingly. She -did not lower her eyes. - -"Have your things happened then?" - -She hesitated. "Well, I've had an awfully good time ever since I wore -it----" - -"Proposals?" he asked gently. - -"Dr. Devonham!" she exclaimed. "How ever did you guess?" She looked -very charming in her innocent confusion. - -He laughed. "If you don't take it off at once," he told her solemnly, -"you may get another." - -"It was two in a single week," she confided a little tremulously. -"Fancy!" - -"The important thing, then," he suggested, "is to wear your talisman at -the right moment, and with the right person." - -But she corrected him promptly. - -"Oh, no. It brings the right moment and the right person together, -don't you see, and if the other person is a Pisces person, you -understand each other, of course, at once." - -"Would that I too were Pisces!" he exclaimed, seeing that she -was flattered by his interest. "I'm probably"--taking a sign at -random--"Scorpio." - -"No," she said with grave disappointment, "I'm afraid you're -Capricornus, you know. I can tell by your nose and eyes--and -cleverness. But--I wanted really to ask you," she went on half shyly, -"if I might----" She stuck fast. - -"You want to know," he said, glancing at her with quick understanding, -"who _he_ is." He pointed to the door. "Isn't that it?" - -She nodded her head, while a divine little blush spread over her face. -Devonham became more interested. "Why?" he asked. "Did he impress you -so?" - -"_Rather_," she replied with emphasis, and there was something in -her earnestness curiously convincing. A sincere impression had been -registered. - -"His appearance, you mean?" - -She nodded again; the blush deepened; but it was not, he saw, an -ordinary blush. The sensitive young girl had awe in her. "He's a friend -of Dr. Fillery's," he told her; "a young man who's lived in the wilds -all his life. But, tell me--why are you so interested? Did he make any -particular impression on you?" - -He watched her. His own thoughts dropped back suddenly to a strange -memory of woods and mountains ... a sunset, a blazing fire ... a hint -of panic. - -"Yes," she said, her tone lower, "he did." - -"Something _very_ definite?" - -She made no answer. - -"What did you see?" he persisted gently. From woods and mountains, -memory stepped back to a railway station and a customs official.... - -Her manner, obviously truthful, had deep wonder, mystery, even worship -in it. He was aware of a nervous reaction he disliked, almost a chill. -He listened for her next words with an interest he could hardly account -for. - -"Wings," she replied, an odd hush in her voice. "I thought of wings. He -seemed to carry me off the earth with great rushing wings, as the wind -blows a leaf. It was too lovely: I felt like a dancing flame. I thought -he was----" - -"What?" Something in his mind held its breath a moment. - -"You _won't_ laugh, Dr. Devonham, will you? I thought--for a -second--of--an angel." Her voice died away. - -For a second the part of his mood that held its breath struggled -between anger and laughter. A moment's confusion in him there certainly -was. - -"That makes two in the room," he said gently, recovering himself. He -smiled. But she did not hear the playful compliment; she did not see -the smile. "You've a delightful, poetic little soul," he added under -his breath, watching the big earnest eyes whose rapt expression met his -own so honestly. Having made her confession she was still engrossed, -absorbed, he saw, in her own emotion.... So this was the picture that -LeVallon, by his mere appearance alone, left upon an impressionable -young girl, an impression, he realized, that was profound and true -and absolute, whatever value her own individual interpretation of it -might have. Her mention of space, wind, fire, speed, he noticed in -particular--"off the earth ... rushing wind ... dancing flame ... an -angel!" - -It was easy, of course, to jeer. Yet, somehow, he did not jeer at all. - -She relapsed into silence, which proved how great had been the -emotional discharge accompanying the confession, temporarily exhausting -her. Dr. Devonham keenly registered the small, important details. - -"Entertaining an angel unawares in a Chelsea Studio," he said, -laughingly; then reminding her presently that there was a lady who -was "dying to be introduced" to him, made his escape, and for the -next ten minutes found himself listening to a disquisition on auras -which described "visible atmospheres whose colour changes with emotion -... radioactivity ... the halo worn by saints" ... the effect of -light noticed about very good people and of blackness that the wicked -emanated, and ending up with the "radiant atmosphere that shone round -the figure of Christ and was believed to show the most lovely and -complicated geometrical designs." - -"God geometrizes--you, doubtless, know the ancient saying?" Mrs. Towzer -said it like a challenge. - -"I have heard it," admitted her listener shortly, his first opportunity -of making himself audible. "Plato said some other fine things too----" - -"I felt sure you were feeling cross just now," the lady went on, -"because I saw lines and arrows of crimson darting and flashing through -your aura while you were talking to Mr. Povey. He _is_ very annoying -sometimes, isn't he? I often wonder where all our subscriptions go to. -I never could understand a balance-sheet. Can you?" - -But Devonham, having noticed Dr. Fillery moving across the room, did -not answer, even if he heard the question. Fillery, he saw, was now -standing near the door where Khilkoff and LeVallon had disappeared to -see the sculpture, an oddly rapt expression on his face. He was talking -with a member called Father Collins. The buzz of voices, the incessant -kaleidoscope of colour and moving figures, made the atmosphere a little -electric. Extricating himself with a neat excuse, he crossed towards -his colleague, but the latter was already surrounded before he reached -him. A forest of coloured scarves, odd coiffures, gleaming talismans, -intervened; he saw men's faces of intense, eager, preoccupied -expression, old and young, long hair and bald; there was a new perfume -in the air, incense evidently; tea, coffee, lemonade were being served, -with stronger drink for the few who liked it, and cigarettes were -everywhere. The note everywhere was _exalté_ rather. - -Out of the excited throng his eyes then by chance, apparently, picked -up the figure of Lady Gleeson, smoking her cigarette alone in a big -armchair, a half-empty glass of wine-cup beside her. She caught his -attention instantly, this "pretty Lady Gleeson," although personally -he found neither title nor adjective justified. The dark hair framed -a very white skin. The face was shallow, trivial, yet with a direct -intensity in the shining eyes that won for her the reputation of being -attractive to certain men. Her smile added to the notoriety she loved, -a curious smile that lifted the lip oddly, showing the little pointed -teeth. To him, it seemed somehow a face that had been over-kissed; -everything had been kissed out of it; the mouth, the lips, were worn -and barren in an appearance otherwise still young. She was very -expensively dressed, and deemed her legs of such symmetry that it -were a shame to hide them; clad in tight silk stockings, and looking -like strips of polished steel, they were now visible almost to the -knee, where the edge of the skirt, neatly trimmed in fur, cut them off -sharply. Some wag in the Society, paraphrasing the syllables of her -name, wittily if unkindly, had christened her _fille de joie_. When she -heard it she was rather pleased than otherwise. - -Lady Gleeson, too, he saw now, was watching the private door. The same -moment, as so often occurred between himself and his colleague at some -significant point in time and space, he was aware of Fillery's eye upon -his own across the intervening heads and shoulders. Fillery, also, had -noticed that Lady Gleeson watched that door. His changed position in -the room was partly explained. - -A slightly cynical smile touched Dr. Devonham's lips, but vanished -again quickly, as he approached the lady, bowed politely, and asked -if he might bring her some refreshment. He was too discerning to say -"more" refreshment. But she dotted every i, she had no half tones. - -"Thanks, kind Dr. Devonham," she said in a decided tone, her voice -thin, a trifle husky, yet not entirely unmusical. It held a strange -throaty quality. "It's so absurdly light," she added, holding out the -glass she first emptied. "The mystics don't hold with anything strong -apparently. But I'm tired, and you discovered it. That's clever of you. -It'll do me good." - -He, malevolently, assured her that it would. - -"Who's your friend?" she asked point blank, with an air that meant -to have a proper answer, as he brought the glass and took a chair -near her. "He looks unusual. More like a hurdle-race champion than a -visionary." A sneer lurked in the voice. She fixed her determined clear -grey eyes upon his, eyes sparkling with interest, curiosity in life, -desire, the last-named quality of unmistakable kind. "I think I should -like to know him perhaps." It was mentioned as a favour to the other. - -Devonham, who disliked and disapproved of all these people -collectively, felt angry suddenly with Fillery for having brought -LeVallon among them. It was after all a foolish experiment; the -atmosphere was dangerous for anyone of unstable, possibly of hysterical -temperament. He had vengeance to discharge. He answered with deliberate -malice, leading her on that he might watch her reactions. She was so -transparently sincere. - -"I hardly think Mr. LeVallon would interest you," he said lightly. "He -is neither modern nor educated. He has spent his life in the backwoods, -and knows nothing but plants and stars and weather and--animals. You -would find him dull." - -"No man with a face and figure like that can be dull," she said -quickly, her eyes alight. - -He glanced at her rings, the jewelry round her neck, her expensive -gown that would keep a patient for a year or two. He remembered her -millionaire South African husband who was her foolish slave. She lived, -he knew, entirely for her own small, selfish pleasure. Although he -meant to use her, his gorge rose. He produced his happiest smile. - -"You are a keen observer, Lady Gleeson," he remarked. "He doesn't look -quite ordinary, I admit." After a pause he added, "It's a curious -thing, but Mr. LeVallon doesn't care for the charms that we other men -succumb to so easily. He seems indifferent. What he wants is knowledge -only.... Apparently he's more interested in stars than in girls." - -"Rubbish," she rejoined. "He hasn't met any in his woods, that's all." - -Her directness rather disconcerted him. At the same time, it charmed -him a little, though he did not know it. His dislike of the woman, -however, remained. The idle, self-centred rich annoyed him. They were -so useless. The fabulous jewelry hanging upon such trash now stirred -his bile. He was conscious of the lust for pleasure in her. - -"Yet, after all, he's rather an interesting fellow perhaps," he told -her, as with an air of sudden enthusiasm. "Do you know he talks of -rather wonderful things, too. Mere dreams, of course, yet, for all -that, out of the ordinary. He has vague memories, it seems, of another -state of existence altogether. He speaks sometimes of--of marvellous -women, compared to whom our women here, our little dressed-up dolls, -seem commonplace and insignificant." And, to his keen enjoyment, Lady -Gleeson took the bait with open mouth. She recrossed her shapely -legs. She wriggled a little in her chair. Her be-ringed fingers began -fidgeting along the priceless necklace. - -"Just what I should expect," she replied in her throaty voice, "from a -young man who looks as he does." - -She began to play her own cards then, mentioning that her husband -was interested in Dr. Fillery's Clinique. Devonham, however, at once -headed her off. He described the work of the Home with enthusiasm. -"It's fortunate that Dr. Fillery is rich," he observed carelessly, -"and can follow out his own ideas exactly as he likes. I, personally, -should never have joined him had he been dependent upon the mere -philanthropist." - -"How wise of you," she returned. "And I should never have joined this -mad Society but for the chance of coming across unusual people. Now, -your Mr. LeVallon is one. You may introduce him to me," she repeated as -an ultimatum. - -Her directness was the one thing he admired in her. At her own level, -she was real. He was aware of the semi-erotic atmosphere about these -Meetings and realized that Lady Gleeson came in search of excitement, -also that she was too sincere to hide it. She wore her insignia -unconcealed. Her talisman was of base metal, the one cheap thing -she wore, yet real. This foolish woman, after all, might be of use -unwittingly. She might capture LeVallon, if only for a moment, before -Nayan Khilkoff enchanted him with that wondrous sweetness to which no -man could remain indifferent. For he had long ago divined the natural, -unspoken passion between his Chief and the daughter of his host, and -with his whole heart he desired to advance it. - -"My husband, too, would like to meet him, I'm sure," he heard her -saying, while he smiled at the reappearance of the gilded bait. "My -husband, you know, is interested in spirit photography and Dr. Frood's -unconscious theories." - -He rose, without even a smile. "I'll try and find him at once," he -said, "and bring him to you. I only hope," he added as an afterthought, -"that Miss Khilkoff hasn't monopolized him already----" - -"She hasn't come," Lady Gleeson betrayed herself. Instinctively she -knew her rival, he saw, with an inward chuckle, as he rose to fetch the -desired male. - -He found him the centre of a little group just inside the door leading -into the sculptor's private studio, where Khilkoff had evidently been -showing his new group of elemental figures. Fillery, a few feet away, -observing everything at close range, was still talking eagerly with -Father Collins. LeVallon and Kempster, the pacifist, were in the -middle of an earnest talk, of which Devonham caught an interesting -fragment. Kempster's qualification for membership was an occasional -display of telepathy. He was a neat little man exceedingly well -dressed, over-dressed in fact, for his tailor's dummy appearance -betrayed that he thought too much about his personal appearance. -LeVallon, towering over him like some flaming giant, spoke quietly, -but with rare good sense, it seemed. Fillery's condensed education -had worked wonders on his mind. Devonham was astonished. About the -pair others had collected, listening, sometimes interjecting opinions -of their own, many women among them leaning against the furniture or -sitting on cushions and movable, dump-like divans on the floor. It was -a picturesque little scene. But LeVallon somehow dwarfed the others. - -"I really think," Kempster was saying, "we might now become a -comfortable little third-rate Power--like Spain, for instance--enjoy -ourselves a bit, live on our splendid past, and take the sun in ease." -He looked about him with a self-satisfied smirk, as though he had -himself played a fine rôle in the splendid past. - -LeVallon's reply surprised him perhaps, but it surprised Devonham -still more. The real, the central self, LeVallon, he thought with -satisfaction, was waking and developing. His choice of words was odd -too. - -"No, no! _You_--the English are the leaders of the world; the -best quality is in you. If _you_ give up, the world goes down and -backwards." The deep, musical tones vibrated through the little room. -The speaker, though so quiet, had the air of a powerful athlete, ready -to strike. His pose was admirable. Faces turned up and stared. There -was a murmur of approval. - -"We're so tired of that talk," replied Kempster, no whit disconcerted -by the evident signs of his unpopularity. "Each race should take its -turn. We've borne the white man's burden long enough. Why not drop it, -and let another nation do its bit? We've earned a rest, I think." -His precise, high voice was persuasive. He was a good public speaker, -wholly impervious to another point of view. But the resonant tones of -LeVallon's rejoinder seemed to bury him, voice, exquisite clothes and -all. - -"There _is_ no other--unless you hand it back to weaker shoulders. No -other race has the qualities of generosity, of big careless courage of -the unselfish kind required. Above all, you alone have the chivalry." - -Two things Devonham noted as he heard: behind the natural resonance -in the big voice lay a curious deepness that made him think of -thunder, a volume of sound suppressed, potential, roaring, which, if -let loose, might overwhelm, submerge. It belonged to an earnestness -as yet unsuspected in him, a strength of conviction based on a great -purpose that was evidently subconscious in him, as though he served it, -belonged to it, without realizing that he did so. He stood there like -some new young prophet, proclaiming a message not entirely his own. -Also he said "you" in place of the natural "we." - -Devonham listened attentively. Here, too, at any rate, was an exchange -of ideas above the "psychic" level he so disliked. - -LeVallon, he noticed at once, showed no evidence of emotion, though his -eyes shone brightly and his voice was earnest. - -"America----" began Kempster, but was knocked down by a fact before he -could continue. - -"Has deliberately made itself a Province again. America saw the ideal, -then drew back, afraid. It is once more provincial, cut off from the -planet, a big island again, concerned with local affairs of its own. -Your Democracy has failed." - -"As it always must," put in Kempster, glad perhaps to shift the point, -when he found no ready answer. "The wider the circle from which -statesmen are drawn, the lower the level of ability. We should be -patriotic for ideas, not for places. The success of one country means -the downfall of another. That's not spiritual...." He continued at -high speed, but Devonham missed the words. He was too preoccupied with -the other's language, penetration, point of view. LeVallon had, indeed, -progressed. There was nothing of the alternative personality in this, -nothing of the wild, strange, nature-being whom he called "N. H." - -"Patriotism, of course, is vulgar rubbish," he heard Kempster finishing -his tirade. "It is local, provincial. The world is a whole." - -But LeVallon did not let him escape so easily. It was admirable really. -This half-educated countryman from the woods and mountains had a clear, -concentrated mind. He had risen too. Whence came his comprehensive -outlook? - -"Chivalry--you call it sporting instinct--is the first essential of -a race that is to lead the world. It is a topmost quality. Your race -has it. It has come down even into your play. It is instinctive in you -more than any other. And chivalry is unselfish. It is divine. You have -conquered the sun. The hot races all obey you." - -The thunder broke through the strange but simple words which, in -that voice, and with that quiet earnestness, carried some weight of -meaning in them that print cannot convey. The women gazed at him with -unconcealed, if not with understanding admiration. "Lead us, inspire -us, at any rate!" their eyes said plainly; "but love us, O love us, -passionately, above all!" - -Devonham, hardly able to believe his ears and eyes, turned to see if -Fillery had heard the scrap of talk. Judging by the expression on his -face, he had not heard it. Father Collins seemed saying things that -held his attention too closely. Yet Fillery, for all his apparent -absorption, had heard it, though he read it otherwise than his somewhat -literal colleague. It was, nevertheless, an interesting revelation -to him, since it proved to him again how unreal "LeVallon" was; how -easily, quickly this educated simulacrum caught up, assimilated and -reproduced as his own, yet honestly, whatever was in the air at the -moment. For the words he had spoken were not his own, but Fillery's. -They lay, or something like them lay, unuttered in Fillery's mind just -at that very moment. Yet, even while listening attentively to Father -Collins, his close interest in LeVallon was so keen, so watchful, that -another portion of his mind was listening to this second conversation, -even taking part in it inaudibly. LeVallon caught his language from the -air.... - -Devonham made his opportunity, leading LeVallon off to be introduced to -Lady Gleeson, who still sat waiting for them on the divan in the outer -studio. - -As they made their way through the buzzing throng into the larger -room, Devonham guessed suddenly that Lady Gleeson must somehow have -heard in advance that LeVallon would be present; her flair for new men -was singular; the sexual instinct, unduly developed, seemed aware of -its prey anywhere within a big radius. He owed his friend a hint of -guidance possibly. "A little woman," he explained as they crossed over, -"who has a weakness for big men and will probably pay you compliments. -She comes here to amuse herself with what she calls 'the freaks.' -Sometimes she lends her great house for the meetings. Her husband's a -millionaire." To which the other, in his deep, quiet voice, replied: -"Thank you, Dr. Devonham." - -"She's known as 'the pretty Lady Gleeson.'" - -"That?" exclaimed the other, looking towards her. - -"Hush!" his companion warned him. - -As they approached, Lady Gleeson, waiting with keen impatience, saw -them coming and made her preparations. The frown of annoyance at the -long delay was replaced by a smile of welcome that lifted the upper lip -on one side only, showing the white even teeth with odd effect. She -stared at LeVallon, thought Devonham, as a wolf eyes its prey. Deftly -lowering her dress--betraying thereby that she knew it was too high, -and a detail now best omitted from the picture--she half rose from -her seat as they came up. The instinctive art of deference, though -instantly corrected, did not escape Paul Devonham's too observant eye. - -"You were kind enough to say I might introduce my friend," murmured he. -"Mr. LeVallon is new to our big London, and a stranger among all these -people." - -LeVallon bowed in his calm, dignified fashion, saying no word, but -Lady Gleeson put her hand out, and, finding his own, shook it with her -air of brilliant welcome. Determination lay in her smile and in her -gesture, in her voice as well, as she said familiarly at once: "But, -Mr. LeVallon, how tall _are_ you, really? You seem to me a perfect -giant." She made room for him beside her on the divan. "Everybody here -looks undersized beside you!" She became intense. - -"I am six feet and three inches," he replied literally, but without -expression in his face. There was no smile. He was examining her as -frankly as she examined him. Devonham was examining the pair of them. -The lack of interest, the cold indifference in LeVallon, he reflected, -must put the young woman on her mettle, accustomed as she was to quick -submission in her victims. - -LeVallon, however, did not accept the offered seat; perhaps he had not -noticed the invitation. He showed no interest, though polite and gentle. - -"He towers over all of us," Devonham put in, to help an awkward pause. -Yet he meant it more than literally; the empty prettiness of the -shallow little face before him, the triviality of Miss Rosa Mystica, -the cheapness of Povey, Kempster, Mrs. Towzer, the foolish air of -otherworldly expectancy in the whole room, of deliberate exaggeration, -of eyes big with wonder for sensation as story followed story--all this -came upon him with its note of poverty and tawdriness as he used the -words. - -Something in the atmosphere of LeVallon had this effect--whence did it -come? he questioned, puzzled--of dwarfing all about him. - -"All London, remember, isn't like this," he heard Lady Gleeson saying, -a dangerous purr audible in the throaty voice. "Do sit down here -and tell me what you think about it. I feel you don't belong here -quite, do you know? London cramps you, doesn't it? And you find the -women dull and insipid?" She deliberately made more room, patting the -cushions invitingly with a flashing hand, that alone, thought Devonham -contemptuously, could have endowed at least two big Cliniques. "Tell me -about yourself, Mr. LeVallon. I'm dying to hear about your life in the -woods and mountains. Do talk to me. I _am_ so bored!" - -What followed surprised Devonham more than any of the three perhaps. He -ascribed it to what Fillery had called the "natural gentleman," while -Lady Gleeson, doubtless, ascribed it to her own personal witchery. - -With that easy grace of his he sat down instantly beside her on the low -divan, his height and big frame contriving the awkward movement without -a sign of clumsiness. His indifference was obvious--to Devonham, but -the vain eyes of the woman did not notice it. - -"That's better," she again welcomed him with a happy laugh. She edged -closer a little. "Now, do make yourself comfortable"--she arranged -the cushions again--"and please tell me about your wild life in the -forests, or wherever it was. You know a lot about the stars, I hear." -She devoured his face and figure with her shining eyes. - -The upper lip was lifted for a second above a gleaming tooth. Devonham -had the feeling she was about to eat him, licking her lips already in -anticipation. He himself would be dismissed, he well knew, in another -moment, for Lady Gleeson would not tolerate a third person at the meal. -Before he was sent about his business, however, he had the good fortune -to hear LeVallon's opening answer to the foolish invitation. Amazement -filled him. He wished Fillery could have heard it with him, seen the -play of expression on the faces too--the bewilderment of sensational -hunger for something new in Lady Gleeson's staring eyes, arrested -instantaneously; the calm, cold look of power, yet power tempered by -a touch of pity, in LeVallon's glance, a glance that was only barely -aware of her proximity. He smiled as he spoke, and the smile increased -his natural radiance. He looked extraordinarily handsome, yet with a -new touch of strangeness that held even the cautious doctor momentarily -almost spellbound. - -"Stars--yes, but I rarely see them here in London, and they seem so far -away. They comfort me. They bring me--they and women bring me--nearest -to a condition that is gone from me. I have lost it." He looked -straight into her face, so that she blinked and screwed up her eyes, -while her breathing came more rapidly. "But stars and women," he went -on, his voice vibrating with music in spite of its quietness, "remind -me that it is recoverable. Both give me this sweet message. I read it -in stars and in the eyes of women. And it is true because no words -convey it. For women cannot express themselves, I see; and stars, too, -are silent--here." - -The same soft thunder as before sounded below the gently spoken words; -Lady Gleeson was trembling a little; she made a movement by means of -which she shifted herself yet nearer to her companion in what seemed a -natural and unconscious way. It was doubtless his proximity rather than -his words that stirred her. Her face was set, though the lips quivered -a trifle and the voice was less shrill than usual as she spoke, holding -out her empty glass. - -"Thank you, Dr. Devonham," she said icily. - -The determined gesture, a toss of the head, with the glare of sharp -impatience in the eyes, he could not ignore; yet he accepted his curt -dismissal slowly enough to catch her murmured words to LeVallon: - -"How wonderful! How wonderful you are! And what sort of women...?" -followed him as he moved away. In his heart rose again an -uncomfortable memory of a Jura valley blazing in the sunset, and of a -half-naked figure worshipping before a great wood fire on the rocks.... -He fancied he caught, too, in the voice, a suggestion of a lilt, a -chanting resonance, that increased his uneasiness further. One thing -was certain: it was not quite the ordinary "LeVallon" that answered the -silly woman. The reaction was of a different kind. Was, then, the other -self awake and stirring? Was it "N. H." after all, as his colleague -claimed? - -Allowing a considerable interval to pass, he returned with a glass--of -lemonade--reaching the divan in its dim-lit corner just in time to see -a flashing hand withdrawn quickly from LeVallon's arm, and to intercept -a glance that told him the intrigue evidently had not developed -altogether according to Lady Gleeson's plan, although her air was one -of confidence and keenest self-satisfaction. LeVallon sat like a marble -figure, cold, indifferent, looking straight before him, listening, if -only with half an ear, to a stream of words whose import it was not -difficult to guess. - -This Devonham's practised eye read in the flashing look she shot at -him, and in the quick way she thanked him. - -"Coffee, dear Dr. Devonham, I asked for." - -Her move was so quick, his desire to watch them a moment longer -together so keen, that for an instant he appeared to hesitate. It -was more than appearance; he did hesitate--an instant merely, yet -long enough for Lady Gleeson to shoot at him a second swift glance of -concentrated virulence, and also long enough for LeVallon to spring -lightly to his feet, take the glass from his hand and vanish in the -direction of the refreshment table before anything could prevent. "I -will get your coffee for you," still sounded in the air, so quickly -was the adroit manoeuvre executed. LeVallon had cleverly escaped. - -"How stupid of me," said Devonham quickly, referring to the pretended -mistake. Lady Gleeson made no reply. Her inward fury betrayed itself, -however, in the tight-set lips and the hard glitter of her brilliant -little eyes. "He won't be a moment," the other added. "Do you find -him interesting? He's not very talkative as a rule, but perhaps with -you----" He hardly knew what words he used. - -The look she gave him stopped him, so intense was the bitterness in -the eyes. His interruption, then, must indeed have been worse--or -better?--timed than he had imagined. She made no pretence of speaking. -Turning her glance in the direction whence the coffee must presently -appear, she waited, and Devonham might have been a dummy for all the -sign she gave of his being there. He had made an enemy for life, he -felt, a feeling confirmed by what almost immediately then followed. -Neither the coffee nor its bearer came that evening to pretty Lady -Gleeson in the way she had desired. She laid the blame at Devonham's -door. - -For at that moment, as he stood before her, secretly enjoying her anger -a little, yet feeling foolish, perhaps, as well, a chord sounded on -the piano, and a hush passed instantly over the entire room. Someone -was about to sing. Nayan Khilkoff had come in, unnoticed, by the door -of the private room. Her singing invariably formed a part of these -entertainments. The song, too, was the one invariably asked for, its -music written by herself. - -All talk and movement stopped at the sound of the little prelude, as -though a tap had been turned off. Even Devonham, most unmusical of men, -prepared to listen with enjoyment. He tried to see Nayan at the piano, -but too many people came between. He saw, instead, LeVallon standing -close at his side, the cup of coffee in his hand. He had that instant -returned. - -"For Lady Gleeson. Will you pass it to her? Who's going to sing?" he -whispered all in the same breath. And Devonham told him, as he bent -down to give the cup. "Nayan Khilkoff. Hush! It's a lovely song. I know -it--'The Vagrant's Epitaph.'" - -They stood motionless to listen, as the pure voice of the girl, -singing very simply but with the sweetness and truth of sincere -feeling, filled the room. Every word, too, was clearly audible: - - "Change was his mistress; Chance his counsellor. - Love could not hold him; Duty forged no chain. - The wide seas and the mountains called him, - And grey dawns saw his camp-fires in the rain. - - "Sweet hands might tremble!--aye, but he must go. - Revel might hold him for a little space; - But, turning past the laughter and the lamps, - His eyes must ever catch the luring Face. - - "Dear eyes might question! Yea, and melt again; - Rare lips a-quiver, silently implore; - But he must ever turn his furtive head, - And hear that other summons at the door. - - "Change was his mistress; Chance his counsellor. - The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail. - Why tarries he to-day?... And yesternight - Adventure lit her stars without avail." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Lady Gleeson, owing to an outraged vanity and jealousy she was unable -to control, missed the final scene, for before the song was actually -finished she was gone. Being near a passage that was draped only by a -curtain, she slipped out easily, flung herself into a luxurious motor, -and vanished into the bleak autumn night. - -She had seen enough. Her little heart raged with selfish fury. What -followed was told her later by word of mouth. - -Never could she forgive herself that she had left the studio before the -thing had happened. She blamed Devonham for that too. - -For LeVallon, it appears, having passed the cup of coffee to her -through a third person--in itself an insult of indifference and -neglect--stood absorbed in the words and music of the song. Being head -and shoulders above the throng, he easily saw the girl at the piano. No -one, unless it was Fillery, a few yards away, watched him as closely as -did Devonham and Lady Gleeson, though all three for different reasons. -It was Devonham, however, who made the most accurate note of what he -saw, though Fillery's memory was possibly the truer, since his own -inner being supplied the fuller and more sympathetic interpretation. - -LeVallon, tall and poised, stood there like a great figure shaped in -bronze. He was very calm. His bright hair seemed to rise a little; -his eyes, steady and wondering, gazed fixedly; his features, though -set, were mobile in the sense that any instant they might leap into -the alive and fluid expression of some strong emotion. His whole -being, in a word, stood at attention, alert for instant action of some -uncontrollable, perhaps terrific kind. "He seemed like a glowing -pillar of metal that must burst into flame the very next instant," as a -Member told Lady Gleeson later. - -Devonham watched him. LeVallon seemed transfixed. He stared above -the intervening tousled heads. He drew a series of deep breaths that -squared his shoulders and made his chest expand. His very muscles -ached apparently for instant action. An intensity of wondering joy -and admiration that lit his face made the eyes shine like stars. He -watched the singing girl as a tiger watches the keeper who brings its -long-expected food. The instant the bar is up, it springs, it leaps, it -carries off, devours. Only, in this case, there were no bars. Nor was -the wild desire for nourishment of a carnal kind. It was companionship, -it was intercourse with his own that he desired so intensely. - -"He divines the motherhood in her," thought Fillery, watching closely, -pain and happiness mingled in his heart. "The protective, selfless, -upbuilding power lies close to Nature." And as this flashed across him -he caught a glimpse by chance of its exact opposite--in Lady Gleeson's -peering, glittering eyes--the destructive lust, the selfish passion, -the bird of prey. - -"_The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail_," the song in that soft -true voice drew to its close. LeVallon was trembling. - -"Good Heavens!" thought Devonham. "Is it 'N. H.'? Is it 'N. H.,' after -all, waking--rising to take possession?" He, too, trembled. - -It was here that Lady Gleeson, close, intuitive observer of her -escaping prey, rose up and slipped away, her going hardly noticed by -the half-entranced, half-dreaming hearts about her, each intent upon -its own small heaven of neat desire. She went as unobtrusively as an -animal that is aware of untoward conditions and surroundings, showing -her teeth, feeling her claws, yet knowing herself helpless. Not even -Devonham, his mind ever keenly alert, observed her going. Fillery, -alone, conscious of LeVallon's eyes across the room, took note of it. -She left, her violent little will intent upon vengeance of a later -victory that she still promised herself with concentrated passion. - -Yet Devonham, though he failed to notice the slim animal of prey in -exit, noticed this--that the face he watched so closely changed quickly -even as he watched, and that the new expression, growing upon it as -heat grows upon metal set in a flame, was an expression he had seen -before. He had seen it in that lonely mountain valley where a setting -sun poured gold upon a burning pyre, upon a dancing, chanting figure, -upon a human face he now watched in this ridiculous little Chelsea -studio. The sharpness of the air, the very perfume, stole over him as -he stared, perplexed, excited and uneasy. That strange, wild, innocent -and tender face, that power, that infinite yearning! LeVallon had -disappeared. It was "N. H." that stood and watched the singer at the -little modern piano. - -Then with the end of the song came the rush, the bustle of applause, -the confusion of many people rising, trotting forward, all talking -at once, all moving towards the singer--when LeVallon, hitherto -motionless as a statue, suddenly leaped past and through them like a -vehement wind through a whirl of crackling dead leaves. Only his deft, -skilful movement, of poise and perfect balance combined with accurate -swiftness, could have managed it without bruised bodies and angry -cries. There was no clumsiness, no visible effort, no appearance of -undue speed. He seemed to move quietly, though he moved like fire. In -a moment he was by the piano, and Nayan, in the act of rising from her -stool, gazed straight up into his great lighted eyes. - -It was singular how all made way for him, drew back, looked on. -Confusion threatened. Emotion surged like a rising sea. Without a -leader there might easily have been tumult; even a scene. But Fillery -was there. His figure intervened at once. - -"Nayan," he said in a steady voice, "this is my friend, Mr. LeVallon. -He wants to thank you." - -But, before she could answer, LeVallon, his hand upon her arm, said -quickly, yet so quietly that few heard the actual words, perhaps--his -voice resonant, his eyes alight with joy: "You are here too--with me, -with Fillery. We are all exiles together. But you know the way out--the -way back! You remember!..." - -She stared with delicious wonder into his eyes as he went on: - -"O star and woman! Your voice is wind and fire. Come!" And he tried to -seize her. "We wilt go back together. We work here in vain!..." His -arms were round her; almost their faces touched. - -The girl rose instantly, took a step towards him, then hung back; the -stool fell over with a crash; a hubbub of voices rose in the room -behind; Povey, Kempster, a dozen Members with them, pressed up; the -women, with half-shocked, half-frightened eyes, gaped and gasped over -the forest of intervening male shoulders. A universal shuffle followed. -The confusion was absurd and futile. Both male and female stood aghast -and stupid before what they saw, for behind the mere words and gestures -there was something that filled the little scene with a strange shaking -power, touching the panic sense. - -LeVallon lifted her across his shoulders. - -The beautiful girl was radiant, the man wore the sudden semblance of -a god. Their very stature increased. They stood alone. Yet Fillery, -close by, stood with them. There seemed a magic circle none dared cross -about the three. Something immense, unearthly, had come into the room, -bursting its little space. Even Devonham, breaking with vehemence -through the human ring, came to a sudden halt. - -In a voice of thunder--though it was not actually loud--LeVallon cried: - -"Their little personal loves! They cannot understand!" He bore Nayan -in his arms as wind might lift a loose flower and whirl it aloft. -"Come back with me, come home! The Sun forgets us here, the Wind is -silent. There is no Fire. Our work, our service calls us." He turned to -Fillery. "You too. Come!" - -His voice boomed like a thundering wind against the astonished -frightened faces staring at him. It rose to a cry of intense emotion: -"We are in little exile here! In our wrong place, cut off from the -service of our gods! We will go back!" He started, with the girl flung -across his frame. He took one stride. The others shuffled back with one -accord. - -"_The other summons at the door._ But, Edward!--you--you too!" - -It was Nayan's voice, as the girl clung willingly to the great neck -and arms, the voice of the girl all loved and worshipped and thought -wonderful beyond temptation; it was this familiar sound that ran -through the bewildered, startled throng like an electric shock. They -could not believe their eyes, their ears. They stood transfixed. - -Within their circle stood LeVallon, holding the girl, almost embracing -her, while she lay helpless with happiness upon his huge enfolding -arms. He paused, looked round at Fillery a moment. None dared approach. -The men gazed, wondering, and with faculties arrested; the women -stared, stock still, with beating hearts. All felt a lifting, splendid -wonder they could not understand. Devonham, mute and motionless before -an inexplicable thing, found himself bereft of judgment. Analysis and -precedent, for once, both failed. He looked round in vain for Khilkoff. - -Fillery alone seemed master of himself, a look of suffering and joy -shone in his face; one hand lay steady upon LeVallon's arm. - -Within the little circle these three figures formed a definite -group, filling the beholders, for the first time in their so-called -"psychic" experience, with the thrill of something utterly beyond their -ken--something genuine at last. For there seemed about the group, -though emanating, as with shining power, from the figure of LeVallon -chiefly, some radiating force, some elemental vigour they could not -comprehend. Its presence made the scene possible, even right. - -"Edward--you too! What is it, O, what is it? There are flowers--great -winds! I see the fire----!" - -A searching tenderness in her tone broke almost beyond the limits of -the known human voice. - -There swept over the onlookers a wave of incredible emotion then, as -they saw LeVallon move towards them, as though he would pass through -them and escape. He seemed in that moment stupendous, irresistible. -He looked divine. The girl lay in his arms like some young radiant -child. He did not kiss her, no sign of a caress was seen; he did no -ordinary, human thing. His towering figure, carrying his burden almost -negligently, came out of the circle "like a tide" towards them, as one -described it later--or as a poem that appeared later in "Simplicity" -began: - - "With his hair of wind - And his eyes of fire - And his face of infinite desire ..." - -He swept nearer. They stirred again in a confused and troubled shuffle, -opening a way. They shrank back farther. They shivered, like crying -shingle a vast wave draws back. Only Fillery stood still, making no -sign or movement; upon his face that look of joy and pain--wild joy and -searching pain--no one, perhaps, but Devonham understood. - -"Wind and fire!" boomed LeVallon's tremendous voice. "We return to our -divine, eternal service. O Wind and Fire! We come back at last!" An -immense rhythm swept across the room. - -Then it was, without announcement of word or action, that Nayan, -suddenly leaping from the great enfolding arms, stood upright between -the two figures, one hand outstretched towards--Fillery. - -At which moment, emerging apparently from nowhere, Khilkoff appeared -upon the scene. During the music he had left the studio to find certain -sketches he wished to show to LeVallon; he had witnessed nothing, -therefore, of what had just occurred. He now stood still, staring -in sheer surprise. The people in a ring, gazing with excited, rapt -expression into the circle they thus formed, looked like an audience -watching some performance that dazed and stupefied them, in which -Fillery, LeVallon and Nayan--his own daughter--were the players. He -took it for an impromptu charade, perhaps, something spontaneously -arranged during his absence. Yet he was obviously staggered. - -As he entered, the girl had just leaped from the arms that held her, -and run towards Fillery, who stood erect and motionless in the centre -of the circle; and LeVallon's wild splendid cry in that instant shook -its grand music across the vaulted room. So well acted, so dramatic, -so real was the scene thus interrupted that Khilkoff stood staring in -silence, thinking chiefly, as he said afterwards, that the young man's -pose and attitude were exactly--magnificently--what he wanted for the -figure of Fire and Wind in his elemental group. - -This enthusiastic thought, with the attempt to engrave it permanently -in his memory, filled his mind completely for an instant, when there -broke in upon it again that resonant voice, half cry, half chant, -vibrating with depth and music, yet quiet too: - -"Wind and Fire! My Wind and Fire! O Sun--your messengers are come for -us!... Oh, come with power and take us with you!..." Its rhythm was -gigantic. - -So extraordinary was the volume, yet the sweetness, too, in the voice, -though its actual loudness was not great--so arresting was its quality, -that Khilkoff, as he put it afterwards, thought he heard an entirely -new sound, a sound his ears had never known before. He, like the rest -of the astonished audience, was caught spell-bound. But for an instant -only. For at once there followed another voice, releasing the momentary -spell, and, with the accompanying action, warned him that what he saw -was no mere game of acting. This was real. - -"_I hear that other summons at the door!..._" - -Her hands were outstretched, her eyes alight with yearning, she was -oblivious of everyone but Fillery, LeVallon and herself. - -And her father, then, breaking through the crowding figures, packed -shoulder to shoulder nearest to him, entered the circle. His mind -was confused, perhaps, for vague ideas of some undesirable hypnotic -influence, of some foolish experiment that had become too real, passed -through it. He knew one thing only--this scene, whether real or acted, -pretence or sincere, must be stopped. The look on his daughter's -face--entirely new and strange to him--was all the evidence he needed. -He shouldered his way through like an angry bear, making inarticulate -noises, growling. - -But, before he reached the actors, before Nayan reached Fillery's -side, and while the voice of the girl and of LeVallon still seemed -to echo simultaneously in the air, a new thing happened that changed -the scene completely. In these few brief seconds, indeed, so much -was concentrated, and with such rapidity, that it was small wonder -the reports of individual witnesses differed afterwards, almost as -if each one had seen a separate detail of the crowded picture. Its -incredibility, too, bewildered minds accustomed to imagined dreams -rather than to real action. - -LeVallon, at any rate, all agreed, turned with that ease and swiftness -peculiarly his own, caught Nayan again into the air, and with one arm -swung her back across his shoulder. He moved, then, so irresistibly, -with a great striding rush in the direction of the door into the -street, and so rapidly, that the onlookers once more drew back -instinctively pell mell, tumbling over each other in their frightened -haste. - -This, all agreed, had happened. One second they saw LeVallon carrying -the girl off, the next--a flash of intense and vivid brilliance entered -the big studio, flooding all detail with a blaze of violent light. -There was a loud report, there was a violent shock. - -"The Messengers! Our Messengers!..." The thunder of LeVallon's cry was -audible. - -The same instant this dazzling splendour, so sparkling it was almost -painful, became eclipsed again. There was complete obliteration. -Darkness descended like a blow. An inky blackness reigned. No single -thing was visible. There came a terrific splitting sound. - -The effect of overwhelming sudden blackness was natural enough. In -every mind danced still the vivid memory of that last amazing picture -they had seen: Khilkoff, with alarmed face, breaking violently into -the circle where his daughter, Nayan, swinging from those giant -shoulders, looked back imploringly at Dr. Fillery, who stood motionless -as though carved in stone, a smile of curious happiness yet pain -upon his features. Yet the figure of LeVallon dominated. His radiant -beauty, his air of superb strength, his ease, his power, his wild -swiftness. Something unearthly glowed about him. He looked a god. The -extraordinary idea flashed into Fillery's mind that some big energy as -of inter-stellar spaces lay about him, as though great Sirius called -down along his light-years of distance into the little tumbled Chelsea -room. - -This was the picture, set one instant in dazzling violet brilliance, -then drowned in blackness, that still hung shining with intense reality -before every mind. - -The following confusion had a moment of real and troubling panic; women -screamed, some fell upon their knees; men called for light; various -cries were heard; there was a general roar: - -"To the door, all men to the door! He's controlled! There's an -Elemental in him!" It was Povey's shrill tones that pierced. - -"Strike a match!" shouted Kempster. "The electric light has fused. Stay -where you are. Don't move--everybody." - -"Lightning," the clear voice of Devonham was heard. "Keep your heads. -It's only a thunderstorm!" - -Matches were struck, extinguished, lit again; a patch of dim light -shone here and there upon a throng of huddled people; someone found a -candle that shed a flickering glare upon the walls and ceiling, but -only made the shadows chiefly visible. It was an unreal, fantastic -scene. - -A moment later there descended a hurricane gust of wind against the -building, with splintering glass as though from a hail of bullets, that -extinguished candle and matches, and plunged the scene again into total -darkness. A terrific clap of thunder, followed immediately by a rushing -sound of rain that poured in a flood upon the floor, completed the -scene of terror and confusion. The huge north window had blown in. - -The consternation was, for some moments, dangerous, for true panic may -become an unmanageable thing, and this panic was unquestionably real. -The superstitious thread that lies in every human being, stretched and -shivered, beginning to weave its swift, ominous pattern. The elements -dominated the human too completely just then even for the sense of -wonder that was usually so active in the Society's mental make-up -to assert itself intelligently. Most of them lost their heads. All -associated that picture of LeVallon and the girl with this terrific -demonstration of overpowering elemental violence. Povey's startled cry -had given them the lead. The human touch thus added the flavour of -something both personal and supernatural. - -Some stood screaming, whimpering, unable to move; some were numb; -others cried for help; not a few remained on their knees; the name -of God was audible here and there; many collapsed and several women -fainted. To one and all came the realization of that panic fear which -dislocates and paralyses. This was a manifestation of elemental power -that had intelligence somewhere driving too suggestively behind it.... - -It was Devonham and Khilkoff who kept their heads and saved the -situation. The sudden storm was, indeed, of extreme violence and -ferocity; the force of the wind, with the nearness of the terrible -lightning and the consequent volume of the overwhelming thunder, were -certainly bewildering. But a thunderstorm, they began to realize, was a -thunderstorm. - -"Everyone stay exactly where he is," suddenly shouted Khilkoff -through the darkness. His voice brought comfort. "I'll light candles -in the inner studio." He did so a moment later; the faint light was -reassuring; a pause in the storm came to his assistance, the wind -had passed, the rain had ceased, there was no more lightning. With a -whispered word to Devonham, he disappeared through the door into the -passage: "You look after 'em; I must find my girl." - -"One by one, now," called Devonham. "Take careful steps! Avoid the -broken glass!" - -Voices answered from dark corners, as the inner room began to fill; -all saw the candle light and came to it by degrees. "Povey, Kempster, -Imson, Father Collins! Each man bring a lady with him. It's only a -thunderstorm. Keep your heads!" - -The smaller room filled gradually, people with white faces and staring -eyes coming, singly or in couples, within the pale radiance of the -flickering candle light. Feet splashed through pools of water; the -furniture, the clothing, were soaked; the heat in the air, despite the -great broken window, was stifling. One or two women were helped, some -were carried; there were cries and exclamations, a noise of splintered -glass being trodden on or kicked aside; drinks were brought for -those who had fainted; order was restored bit by bit. The collective -consciousness resumed gradually its comforting sway. The herd found -strength in contact. A single cry--in a woman's voice--"Pan was among -us!..." was instantly smothered, drowned in a chorus of "Hush! Hush!" -as though a mere name might bring a repetition of a terror none could -bear again. - -The entire scene had lasted perhaps five minutes, possibly less. The -violent storm that had hung low over London, accumulating probably -for hours, had dissipated itself in a single prodigious explosion, -and was gone. Through the gaping north window, torn and shattered, -shone the stars. More candles were brought and lighted, food and drink -followed, a few cuts from broken glass were attended to, and calm in a -measure came back to the battered and shaken yet thrilled and delighted -Prometheans. - -But all eyes looked for a couple who were not there; a hundred heads -turned searching, for in every heart lay one chief question. Yet, -oddly enough, none asked aloud; the names of Nayan and LeVallon -were not spoken audibly; some touch of awe, it seemed, clung to a -memory still burning in each individual mind; it was an awe that none -would willingly revive just then. The whole occurrence had been too -devastating, too sudden; it all had been too real. - -There was little talk, nor was there the whispered discussion even that -might have been expected; individual recovery was slow and hesitating. -What had happened lay still too close for the comfort of detailed -comparison or analysis by word of mouth. With common accord the matter -was avoided. Discussions must wait. It would fill many days with wonder -afterwards.... - -It was with a sense of general relief, therefore, that the throng of -guests, bedraggled somewhat in appearance, eyes still bright with -traces of uncommon excitement, their breath uneven and their attitude -still nervous, saw the door into the passage open and frame the figure -of their returning host. He held a lighted candle. His bearded face -looked grim, but his slow deep voice was quiet and reassuring--he -smiled, his words were commonplace. - -"You must excuse my daughter," he said firmly, "but she sends her -excuses, and begs to be forgiven for not coming to bid you all -good-night. The lightning--the electricity--has upset her. I have -advised her to go to bed." - -A sigh of relief from everybody came in answer. They were only too glad -to take the hint and go. - -"The little impromptu act we had prepared for you we cannot give now," -he added, anticipating questions. "The storm prevented the second part. -We must give it another time instead." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Khilkoff, Edward Fillery and Paul Devonham, between them, it seems, -were wise in their generation. The story spread that the scene in -the Studio had been nothing but a bit of inspired impromptu acting, -to which the coincidence of the storm had lent a touch of unexpected -conviction where, otherwise, all would have ended in a laugh and a -round or two of amused applause. - -The spreading of an undesirable story, thus, was to a great extent -prevented, its discussion remaining confined, chiefly, among the few -startled witnesses. Yet the Prometheans, of course, knew a supernatural -occurrence when they saw one. They were not to be so easily deprived -of their treasured privilege. Thrilled to their marrows, individually -and collectively, they committed their versions to writing, drew up -reports, compared notes and, generally, made the feast last as long as -possible. It was, moreover, a semi-sacred feast for them. Its value -increased portentously. It bound the Society together with fresh life. -It attracted many new members. Povey and his committee increased the -subscription and announced an entrance fee in addition. - -The various accounts offered by the Members, curious as these were, may -be left aside for the moment, since the version of the occurrence as -given by Edward Fillery comes first in interest. His report, however, -was made only to himself; he mentioned it in full to no one, not even -to Paul Devonham. He felt unable to share it with any living being. -Only one result of his conclusions he shared openly enough with his -assistant: he withdrew his promise. - -Upon certain details, the two men agreed with interest--that everybody -in the room, men and women, were on the _qui vive_ the moment LeVallon -made his entrance. His appearance struck a note. All were aware of an -unusual presence. Interest and curiosity rose like a vapour, heads all -turned one way as though the same wind blew them, there was a buzz and -murmur of whispered voices, as though the figure of LeVallon woke into -response the same taut wire in every heart. "Who on earth is that? What -is he?" was legible in a hundred questioning eyes. All, in a word, were -aware of something unaccustomed. - -Upon this detail--and in support of the Society's claim to special -"psychic" perception, it must be mentioned--Fillery and Devonham were -at one. But another detail, too, found them in agreement. It was not -the tempest that caused the panic; it was LeVallon himself. Something -about LeVallon had produced the abrupt and singular sense of panic -terror. - -Fillery was glad; he was satisfied, at any rate. The transient, unreal -personality called "LeVallon" had disappeared and, as he believed, -for ever; a surface apparition after all, it had been educated, -superimposed, the result of imitation and quick learning, a phantom -masquerading as an intelligent human being. It was merely an acquired -surface-self, a physical, almost an automatic intelligence. The deep -nature underneath had now broken out. It was the sudden irruption of -"N. H." that touched the subconscious self of everyone in the room with -its strange authentic shock. "N. H." was in full possession. - -Towards this real Self he felt attraction, yearning, even love. He -had felt this from the very beginning. Why, or what it was, he did -not pretend to know as yet. Towards "N. H." he reacted as towards -his own son, as to a comrade, ancient friend, proved intimate and -natural playmate even. The strange tie was difficult to describe. In -himself, though faint by comparison, lay something akin in sympathy and -understanding.... They belonged together in the same unknown region. -The girl, of course, belonged there too, but more completely, more -absolutely, even than himself. He foresaw the risks, the dangers. His -heart, with a leap of joy, accepted the responsibilities. - -Unlike Devonham, he had not come that afternoon to scoff; his smile -at the vagaries of what his assistant called "hysterical psychics" -had no bitterness, no contempt. If their excesses were pathogenic -often, he believed with Lombroso that genius and hysteria draw upon -a common origin sometimes, also that, from among this unstable -material, there emerged on occasions hints of undeniable value. To -the want of balance was chiefly due the ineffectiveness of these -hints. This class, dissatisfied with present things, kicking over the -traces which herd together the dull normal crowd into the safe but -uninteresting commonplace, but kicking, of course, too wildly, alone -offered hints of powers that might one day, obedient to laws at present -unknown, become of value to the race. They were temperamentally open -to occasional, if misguided, inspiration, and all inspiration, the -evidence overwhelmingly showed, is due to an intense, but hidden mental -activity. The hidden nine-tenths of the self peeped out here and there -periodically. These people were, at heart, alert to new ideas. The herd -instinct was weak in them. They were individuals. - -Fillery had not come to scoff. His chief purpose on this particular -occasion had been to observe any reactions produced in LeVallon by -the atmosphere of these unbalanced yet questing minds, and by the -introduction to a girl, whose beauty, physical and moral, he considered -far far above the standard of other women. Iraida Khilkoff, as he saw -her, rose head and shoulders, like some magical flower in a fairy-tale, -beyond her feminine kind. - -His hopes had in both respects proved justified. LeVallon was gone. "N. -H." had swept up commandingly into full possession. - -If it is the attitude of mind that interprets details in a given -scene, it is the heart that determines their selection. Devonham saw -collective hallucination, delusion, humbug--useless and undesirable -weeds, where his chief saw strange imperfect growths that might one -day become flowers in a marvellous garden. That this garden blossomed -upon the sunny slopes of a lost Caucasian valley had a significance he -did not shirk. Always he was honest with himself. It was this symbolic -valley he longed to people. Its radiant loveliness stirred a forgotten -music in his heart, he watched golden bees sipping that wild azalea -honey, of which even the natives may not rob them without the dangerous -delight of exaltation; his nostrils caught the delicious perfumes, his -cheek felt the touch of happy winds ... as he stood by the door with -Devonham and LeVallon, looking round the crowded Chelsea studio. - -Aware of this association stirring in his blood, he believed he had -himself well in hand; he knew already in advance that a spirit moved -upon the face of those waters that were his inmost self; he had that -intuitive divination which anticipates a change of spiritual weather. -The wind was rising, the atmosphere lay prepared, already the flowers -bent their heads one way. All his powers of self-control might well -be called upon before the entertainment ended. Glancing a moment at -LeVallon, tall, erect and poised beside him, he was conscious--it -was an instant of vivid self-revelation--that he steadied himself in -doing so. He borrowed, as it were, something of that poise, that calm -simplicity, that potential energy, that modest confidence. Some latent -power breathed through the great stalwart figure by his side; the -strength was not his own; LeVallon emanated this power unconsciously. - -Khilkoff, as described, had then led the youth away to see the -sculpture, Devonham was captured by a Member, and Fillery found himself -alone. He looked about him, noticing here and there individuals whom he -knew. Lady Gleeson he saw at once on her divan in the corner, with her -cigarette, her jewels, her glass, her background of millions through -which an indulgent husband floated like a shadow. His eye rested on her -a second only, then passed in search of something less insignificant. -Miss Lance, who had heard of his books and dared to pretend knowledge -of them, monopolised him for ten minutes. A little tactful kindness -managed her easily, while he watched the door where LeVallon had -disappeared with Khilkoff, and through which Nayan might any moment now -enter. Already his thoughts framed these two together in a picture; his -heart saw them playing hand in hand among the flowers of the Hidden -Valley, one flying, the other following, a radiance of sunny fire and a -speed of lifting winds about them both, yet he himself, oddly enough, -not far away. He, too, was somehow with them. While listening with his -mind to what Miss Lance was saying, his heart went out playing with -this splendid pair.... He would not lose her finally, it seemed; some -subtle kinship held them together in this trinity. The heart in him -played wild against the mind. - -He caught Devonham's eye upon him, and a sudden smile that Miss Lance -fortunately appropriated to herself, ran over his too thoughtful -face. For Devonham's attitude towards the case, his original Notes, -his obvious concealment of experiences in the Jura Mountains, flashed -across him with a flavour of something half comic, half pathetic. "With -all that knowledge, with all the accumulation of data, Paul stops short -of Wonder!" he thought to himself, his eyes fixed solemnly upon Miss -Lance's face. He remembered Coleridge: "All knowledge begins and ends -with wonder, but the first wonder is the child of ignorance, while -the second wonder is the parent of adoration." A thousand years, and -the dear fellow will still regard adoration as hysteria! He chuckled -audibly, to his companion's surprise, since the moment was not -appropriate for chuckling. - -Making his peace with his neighbour, he presently left her for a -position nearer to the door, Father Collins providing the opportunity. - -Father Collins, as he was called, half affectionately, half in awe, as -of a parent with a cane, was an individual. He had been evangelical, -high church, Anglican, Roman Catholic, in turn, and finally Buddhist. -Believing in reincarnation, he did not look for progress in humanity; -the planet resembled a form at school--individuals passed into it and -out of it, but the average of the form remained the same. The fifth -form was always the fifth form. Earth's history showed no advance as -a whole, though individuals did. He looked forward, therefore, to no -Utopia, nor shared the pessimism of the thinkers who despaired of -progress. - -A man of intense convictions, yet open mind, he was not ashamed -to move. Before the Buddhist phase, he had been icily agnostic. -He thought, but also he felt. He had vision and intuition; he had -investigated for himself. His mind was of the imaginative-scientific -order. Buddhism, his latest phase, attracted him because it was "a -scientific, logical system rather than a religion based on revelation." -He belonged eminently to the unstable. He found no resting place. He -came to the meetings of the Society to listen rather than to talk. His -net was far flung, catching anything and everything in the way of new -ideas, experiments, theories, beliefs, especially powers. He tested -for himself, then accepted or discarded. The more extravagant the -theory, the greater its appeal to him. Behind a grim, even a repulsive -ugliness, he hid a heart of milk and honey. In his face was nobility, -yet something slovenly ran through it like a streak. - -He loved his kind and longed to help them to the light. Although a -rolling stone, spiritually, his naked sincerity won respect. He was -composed, however, of several personalities, and hence, since these -often clashed, he was accused of insincerity too. The essay that -lost him his pulpit and parish, "The Ever-moving Truth, or Proof -Impossible," was the poignant confession of an honest intellect where -faith and unbelief came face to face with facts. The Bishop, naturally, -preferred the room of "Father" Collins to his company. - -"I should like you to meet my friend," Fillery mentioned, after some -preliminary talk. "He would interest you. You might help him possibly." -He mentioned a few essential details. "Perhaps you will call one -day--you know my address--and make his acquaintance. His mind, owing to -his lonely and isolated youth, is _tabula rasa_. For the same reason, a -primitive Nature is his Deity." - -Father Collins raised his bushy dark eyebrows. - -"I took note of him the moment he came in," he replied. "I was -wondering who he was--and what! I'll come one day with pleasure. The -innocence on his face surprised me. Is he--may I ask it--friend or -patient?" - -"Both." - -"I see," said the other, without hesitation. He added: "You are -experimenting?" - -"Studying. I should value the help--the view of a religious -temperament." - -Father Collins looked grim to ugliness. The touch of nobility appeared. - -"I know your ideals, Dr. Fillery; I know your work," he said gruffly. -"In you lies more true religion than in a thousand bishops. I should -trust your treatment of an unusual case. If," he added slowly, "I can -help him, so much the better." He then looked up suddenly, his manner -as if galvanized: "Unless _he_ can perhaps help us." - -The words struck Fillery on the raw, as it were. They startled him. He -stared into the other's eyes. "What makes you think that? What do you -mean exactly?" - -Father Collins returned his gaze unflinchingly. He made an odd reply. -"Your friend," he said, "looks to me--like a man who--might start a new -religion--Nature for instance--back to Nature being, in my opinion, -always a possible solution of over-civilization and its degeneracy." -The streak of something slovenly crept into the nobility, smudging it, -so to speak, with a blur. - -Dr. Fillery, for a moment, waited, listening with his heart. - -"And find a million followers at once," continued the other, as though -he had not noticed. "His voice, his manner, his stature, his face, but -above all--something he brings with him. Whatever his nature, he's a -natural leader. And a sincere, unselfish leader is what people are -asking for nowadays." - -His black bushy eyebrows dropped, darkening the grim, clean-shaven -face. "You noticed, of course--_you_--the women's eyes?" he mentioned. -"It isn't, you know, so much what a man says, nor entirely his -looks, that excite favour or disfavour with women. It's something he -emanates--unconsciously. They can't analyze it, but they never fail to -recognize it." - -Fillery moved sideways a little, so that he could watch the inner -studio better. The discernment of his companion was somewhat -unexpected. It disconcerted him. All his knowledge, all his experience -clustered about his mind as thick as bees, yet he felt unable to -select the item he needed. The sunshine upon his Inner Valley burned a -brighter fire. He saw the flowers glow. The wind ran sweet and magical. -He began to watch himself more closely. - -"LeVallon is an interesting being," he admitted finally, "but you make -big deductions surely. A mind like yours," he added, "must have its -reasons?" - -"Power," replied the other promptly; "power. 'The earlier generations,' -said Emerson, 'saw God face to face; _we_ through their eyes. Why -should not we also enjoy an original relation to Nature?' Your friend -has this original relation, I feel; he stands close--terribly close--to -Nature. He brings open spaces even into this bargain sale----" He drew -a deep breath. "There is a power about him----" - -"Perhaps," interrupted the other. - -"Not of this earth." - -"You mean that literally?" - -"Not of this earth quite--not of humanity, so to speak," repeated -Father Collins half irritably, as though his intelligence had been -insulted. "That's the best way I can describe how it strikes me. Ask -one of the women. Ask Nayan, for instance. Whatever he is, your friend -is elemental." - -Like a shock of fire the unusual words ran deep into Fillery's heart, -but, at that same instant a stirring of the figures beyond the door -caught his attention. His main interest revived. The inner door of the -private studio, he thought, had opened. - -"Elemental!" he repeated, his interest torn in two directions -simultaneously. He looked at his companion keenly, searchingly. "You--a -man like you--does not use such words----" He kept an eye upon the -inner studio. - -"Without meaning," the other caught him up at once. "No. I mean it. Nor -do I use such words idly to a man--Fillery--like you." He stopped. "He -has what you have," came the quick blunt statement; "only in your case -it's indirect, while in his it's direct--essential." - -They looked at each other. Two minds, packed with knowledge and -softened with experience of their kind, though from different points -of view, met each other fairly. A bridge existed. It was crossed. Few -words were necessary, it seemed. Each understood the other. - -"Elemental," repeated Fillery, his pulse quickening half painfully. - -At which instant he knew the inner door _had_ opened. Nayan had -come in. The same instant almost she had gone out again. So quick, -indeed, was the interval between her appearance and disappearance, -that Fillery's version of what he then witnessed in those few seconds -might have been ascribed by a third person who saw it with him to his -imagination largely. Imaginative, at any rate, the version was; whether -it was on that account unreal is another matter. The swift, tiny scene, -however, no one witnessed but himself. Even Devonham, unusually alert -with professional anxiety, missed it; as did also the watchful Lady -Gleeson, whom jealousy made clairvoyante almost. Khilkoff and LeVallon, -standing sideways to the door, were equally unaware that it had opened, -then quickly closed again. None saw, apparently, the radiant, lovely -outline. - -It was a curtained door leading out of the far end of the inner studio -into a passage which had an exit to the street; Fillery was so placed -that he could see it over his companion's shoulder; Khilkoff, LeVallon -and the little group about them stood in his direct line of sight -against the dark background of the curtain. The light in this far -corner was so dim that Fillery was not aware the curtained door had -swung open until he actually saw the figure of Nayan Khilkoff framed -suddenly in the clear space, the white passage wall behind her. She -wore gloves, hat and furs, having come, evidently, straight from the -street. Ten seconds, perhaps twenty, she stood there, gazing with a -sudden fixed intensity at LeVallon, whose figure, almost close enough -for touch, was sideways to her, the face in profile. - -She stopped abruptly as though a shock ran through her. She remained -motionless. She stared, an expression in her eyes as of life -momentarily arrested by wild, glorious, intense surprise. The lips were -parted; one gloved hand still held the swinging curtained door. To -Fillery it seemed as if a flame leaped into her eyes. The entire face -lit up. She seemed spellbound with delight. - -This leap of light was the first sign he witnessed. The same second her -eyes lifted a fraction of an inch, changed their focus, and, gazing -past LeVallon, looked straight across the room into his own. - -In his mind at that instant still rang the singular words of Father -Collins; in his heart still hung the picture of the flowered valley: it -was across this atmosphere the eyes of the girl flashed their message -like a stroke of lightning. It came as a cry, almost a call for help, -an audible message whose syllables fled down the valley, yearning -sweet, yet a tone of poignant farewell within the following wind. -It was a moment of delicious joy, of exquisite pain, of a blissful, -searching dream beyond this world.... - -He stood spellbound himself a moment. The look in the girl's big -eloquent eyes threatened a cherished dream that lay too close to his -own life. He was aware of collapse, of ruin; that old peculiar anguish -seized him. He remembered her words in Baker Street a few days before: -"Please bring your friend"--the accompanying pain they caused. And now -he caught the echo on that following wind along the distant valley. The -cry in her eyes came to him: - -"Why--O why--do you bring this to me? It must take your place. It must -put out--You!" - -The reasoning and the inspirational self in him knew this momentary -confusion, as the cry fled down the wind. - - "O follow, follow - Through the caverns hollow - As the song floats, thou pursue - Where the wild bee never flew...." - -The curtained door swung to again; the face and figure were no longer -there; Nayan had withdrawn quickly, noticed by none but himself. She -had gone up to make herself ready for her father's guests; in a few -minutes she would come down again to play hostess as her custom was.... -It was so ordinary. It was so dislocating.... For at that moment it -seemed as if all the feminine forces of the universe, whatever these -may be, focused in her, and poured against him their concentrated -stream to allure, enchant, subdue. He trembled. He remembered -Devonham's admission of the panic sense. - -"It's the air," said a voice beside him, "all this tobacco smoke and -scent, and no ventilation." - -Father Collins was speaking, only he had completely forgotten that -Father Collins was in the world. The steadying hand upon his arm made -him realize that he had swayed a moment. - -"The perfume chiefly," the voice continued. "All this cheap nasty stuff -these women use. It's enough to sicken any healthy man. Nobody knows -his own smell, they say." He laughed a little. - -Collins was tactful. He talked on easily of nothing in particular, so -that his companion might let the occasion slip, or comment on it, as he -wished. - -"Worse than incense." Fillery gave him the clue perhaps intentionally, -certainly with gratitude. He made an effort. He found control. "It -intoxicates the imagination, doesn't it?" That note of sweet farewell -still hung with enchanting sadness in his brain. He still saw those -yearning eyes. He heard that cry. And yet the conflict in his nature -bewildered him--as though he found two persons in him, one weeping -while the other sang. - -Father Collins smiled, and Fillery then knew that he, too, had seen the -girl framed in the doorway, intercepted the glance as well. No shadow -of resentment crossed his heart as he heard him add: "She, too, perhaps -belongs elsewhere." The phrase, however, brought to his own personal -dream the conviction of another understanding mind. "As you yourself -do, too," was added in a thrilling whisper suddenly. - -Fillery turned with a start to meet his eye. "But _where_?" - -"That is _your_ problem," said Father Collins promptly. "You are the -expert--even though you think--mistakenly--that your heart is robbed." -His voice held the sympathy and tenderness of a woman taught by -suffering. The nobility was in his face again, untarnished now. His -words, his tone, his manner caught Fillery in amazement. It did not -surprise him that Father Collins had been quick enough to understand, -but it did surprise him that a man so entangled in one formal creed -after another, so netted by the conventional thought of various -religious Systems, and therefore stuffed with old, rigid, commonplace -ideas--it did, indeed surprise him to feel this sudden atmosphere of -vision and prophecy that abruptly shone about him. The extravagant, -fantastic side of the man he had forgotten. - -"Where?" he repeated, gazing at him. "Where, indeed?" - -"Where the wild bee never flew ... perhaps!" - -Father Collins's eyebrows shot up as though worked by artificial -springs. His eyes, changing extraordinarily, turned very keen. -He seemed several persons at once. He looked like--contradictory -description--a spiritual Jesuit. The ugly mouth--thank Heaven, thought -Fillery--showed lines of hidden humour. His sanity, at any rate, was -unquestioned. Father Collins watched the planet with his soul, not with -his brain alone. But which of his many personalities was now in the -ascendancy, no man, least of all himself, could tell. His companion, -the expert in him automatically aware of the simultaneous irruption and -disruption, waited almost professionally for any outburst that might -follow. "Arcades ambo," he reflected, making a stern attempt to keep -his balance. - -"The subconscious, remember, doesn't explain everything," came -the words. "Not everything," he added with emphasis. "As with -heredity"--he looked keenly half humorously, half sympathetically at -the doctor--"there are gaps and lapses. The recent upheaval has been -more than an inter-tribal war. It was a planetary event. It has shaken -our nature fundamentally, radically. The human mind has been shocked, -broken, dislocated. The prevalent hysteria is not an ordinary hysteria, -nor are the new powers--perhaps--quite ordinary either." - -"Mental history repeats itself," Fillery put in, now more master of -himself again. "Unbalance has always followed upheaval. The removal -of known, familiar foundations always lets in extravagance of wildest -dissatisfaction, search and question." - -"Upheaval of this kind," rejoined the other gravely, "there has never -been since human beings walked the earth. Our fabulous old world -trembles in the balance." And, as he said it, the dreamer shone in the -light below the big, black eyebrows, noticed quickly by his companion. -"Old ideals have been smashed beyond recovery. The gods men knew have -been killed, like Tommy, in the trenches. The past is likewise dead, -its dreams of progress buried with it by a Black Maria. The human mind -and heart stand everywhere empty and bereft, while their hungry and -unanswered questions search the stars for something new." - -"Well, well," said Fillery gently, half stirred, half amused by the -odd language. "You may be right. But mental history has always shown -a desire for something new after each separate collapse. Signs and -wonders are a recurrent hunger, remember. In the days of Abraham, of -Paul, of Moses it was the same." - -"Questions to-day," replied the other, "are based on an immense -accumulated knowledge unknown to Moses or to Abraham's time. The -phenomenon, I grant you, is the same, but--the shock, the dislocation, -the shattering upheaval comes in the twentieth century upon minds -grounded in deep scientific wisdom. It was formerly a shock to the -superstitious ignorance of intuitive feeling merely. To-day it is -organized scientific knowledge that meets the earthquake." - -"You mentioned gaps and lapses," said Fillery, deeply interested, but -still half professionally, perhaps, in spite of his preoccupations. -"You think, perhaps, those gaps----?" One eye watched the inner studio. -The unstable in him gained more and more the upper hand. - -"I mean," replied Father Collins, now fairly launched upon his secret -hobby, evidently his qualification for membership in the Society, -"I mean, Edward Fillery, that the time is ripe, if ever, for a new -revelation. If Man is the only type of being in the universe, well and -good. We see his finish plainly, for the war has shown that progress -is a myth. Man remains, in spite of all conceivable scientific -knowledge, a savage, of low degree, irredeemable, and intellect, as a -reconstructive force, but of small account." - -"It seems so, I admit." - -"But if"--Father Collins said it as calmly as though he spoke of -some new food or hygienic treatment merely--"if mankind is not the -only life in the universe, if, for instance, there exist--and why -not?--other evolutionary systems besides our own somewhat trumpery -type--other schemes and other beings--perhaps parallel, perhaps quite -different--perhaps in more direct contact with the sources of life--a -purer emanation, so to say----" - -He hesitated, realizing perhaps that in speaking to a man of Edward -Fillery's standing he must choose his words, or at least present his -case convincingly, while aware that his inability to do so made him -only more extravagant and incoherent. - -"Yes, quite so," Fillery helped him, noting all the time the suppressed -intensity, the half-concealed conviction of an _idée fixe_ behind the -calmness, while the balance of his own attention remained concentrated -on the group about LeVallon. "If, as you suggest, there _are_ other -types of life----" He spoke encouragingly. He had noticed the slovenly -streak spread and widen, breaking down, as it were, the structure of -the face. He was aware also of the increasing insecurity in himself. - -"Now is the moment," cried the other; "now is the time for their -appearance." - -He turned as though he had hit a target unexpectedly. - -"Now," he repeated, "is the opportunity for their manifestation. The -human mind lies open everywhere. It is blank, receptive, ready. On all -sides it waits ready and inviting. The gaps are provided. If there is -any other life, it should break through and come among us--_now_!" - -Fillery, startled, withdrew for the first time his attention from that -inner room. With keen eyes he gazed at his companion. With an abrupt, -unpleasant shock it occurred to him that all he heard was borrowed, -filched, stolen out of his own mind. Before words came to him, the -other spoke: - -"Your friend," he mentioned quietly, but with intentional significance, -"and patient." - -"LeVallon!" - -But it was at this moment that Nayan Khilkoff, entering again without -her hat and furs, had moved straight to the piano, seated herself, and -began to sing. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -To retail the following scene as Dr. Fillery saw it in detail is not -necessary, the sequence of acts, of physical events being already -known. The reactions of his heart and mind, however, have importance. -What he felt, thought, hoped and feared, what he believed as well, his -point of view in a word, remain essential. - -Edward Fillery, being what he was, witnessed it from his own individual -angle; his mind, with his heredity, his soul, with its mysterious -background, these held the glasses to his eyes, adjusting, as with a -Zeiss instrument, each eye separately. In his case the analyst and -thinker checked the unstable dreamer with acute exactitude. This was -his special gift. He studied himself best while studying others. His -sight, moreover, was exceptionally keen, his glasses of consummate -workmanship. He saw, it seems, considerably beyond the normal range. He -believed, at least, that he did so. - -He saw, for instance, that the girl, while her fingers ran over the -keys before she sang, searched the room and found LeVallon in a second. -Following her rapid glance, he took in the picture that she also -saw--LeVallon, coffee cup in hand, before Lady Gleeson languishing -on the divan, and Devonham just beside them. LeVallon was obviously -unaware of Lady Gleeson's presence; he had forgotten her existence. -Devonham, a floor-walker with nothing particular to do at the moment, -looked uncomfortable and ill at ease, scared a little, fearing a scene, -a possible outbreak even. The meaning of the group was easily read. The -girl herself, undoubtedly, read it clearly too. - -This flashed upon the cinema screen, and Fillery divined it without the -help of tedious letterpress. - -The same instant he was aware that the girl and LeVallon looked for -the first time straight into each other's faces, and that both seemed -simultaneously caught into the air as though a star had lifted them. -Not even a question lay in their clear eyes. It was an instantaneous -understanding, so complete and perfect that the expression of happy -surprise was too convincing to be missed even by the slow-witted -Lady Gleeson. Vanity usually delays intelligence, and her vanity was -abnormal. But she saw the expression on the two faces, and interpreted -it aright. Fillery noticed that she squirmed; she would presently, he -felt positive, disappear. Before the singing ended he had seen her -slink away. - -The song began. He had heard it before, "The Vagrant's Epitaph," -sung by the same clear, sweet voice, had felt his heart stirred by -the true simple feeling she put into it. He knew every word and -every bar; the music was her own. He loved it. Both words and music -awoke in him invariably a picture of his own lost valley, a physical -desire to be over the hills and far away with the homeless liberty -of winds and stars and waters, and at the same time, its spiritual -equivalent--a yearning that the Race should discover the immense fair -region of its greater hidden self and enjoy its new powers without -restraint. All this was familiar to him. But now, as she sang, there -came another, deeper meaning that sublimated the essential spirit of -it, lifting it out of the known ditch of space and time. Never yet -had he heard such yearning passion, such untold desire in her voice. -The physical vagrancy changed subtly, exquisitely, to a symbol of a -vaster meaning--a spiritual vagrancy that suddenly captured him in -bitter pain. "Love could not hold him, Duty forged no chain"--as he -listened to the sweetness, struck him between the joints of armour he -had not realized before was so insecurely bound about him. The anguish -of lonely souls, alien among their kind, hungry for companionship -they might not find, unclothed, uncared for, desired of none and -understanding none--this rose tumultuously in his blood. "The wide -seas and the mountains called him ..." the words and music pierced -him like a flame. "Revel might hold him for a little space ..."--her -voice made it sound like a description of man's brief moment on the -whirling planet, tasting adventure with men and women, playing a moment -with love and hope and fear, till, "turning past the laughter and the -lamps," he heard that "other summons at the door." - -This bigger version, this deeper meaning, caught at him with power -as he heard the song in the sweet, familiar voice, and realized in -a flash that what he felt faintly LeVallon felt terrifically. His -own detachment was a pose, a shadow, at best a bodiless yearning; in -LeVallon it was a reality of consuming fire. Also it was an explanation -of the girl's own singular aloofness from the world of admiring men. -Both belonged, as Father Collins put it, "elsewhere." - -He watched them. LeVallon's eyes, he saw, remained fixed and motionless -on the singer; her own did not leave the notes for a single moment; -the words and music poured into the room like a shower of dancing -silver. The personality of the girl flowed out with them to meet the -newly-found companion they addressed. An extraordinary thing then -happened: to Fillery it almost seemed that there formed then and there -between them a new vehicle--as it were, a body--that gave expression to -their own great secret. Something in each of them, unable to manifest -through their minds, their brains, their earthly bodies, formed for -itself an elastic subtle vehicle, using the sound, the words, the -feeling for this purpose--and as literally as a human spirit uses the -familiar physical body for its manifestation. - -The experience was amazing, but it was real. He watched it carefully. -In the room about him, formed on the waves of this sweet singing, -shaped by feeling that found normally no other expression, inspired -by emotions, yearnings, desires alien to their normal kind, these two -created between them a new vehicle or body that could and did express -all this. - -They heard that "other summons at the door...." And they were off. - -Yet he, too, heard the summons, and in the depths of his being he -answered to it. His essential weakness, wearing the guise of strength, -rose naked.... - -These thoughts and feelings lay unexpressed, perhaps--too deep -actually, too remote from any experience he had yet known, to find -actual words, even in his mind. What did find expression, in thought -at any rate, was that, before his very eyes, he witnessed the -transfiguring change come over Nayan. Like some flower that has been -growing in the shade, then meets the flood of sunshine for the first -time, she knew a fresh tide of life sweep over her entire being. She -seemed to blossom, breaking almost into flower and fruit before his -very eyes, as though sun and wind brought her into a sudden bloom of -exquisite maturity. He was aware of rich, deep purple, the faint gold -of fruits and flowers, the creamy softness of a rose, the amber of wild -grapes bathed in sparkling dew. The luscious promise of the Spring -matured about her whole presentment into full summer glory. And it was -the sun and wind of LeVallon's enigmatic, stimulating presence close to -her that caused the miracle. The essential flower of her life poured -forth to meet his own, as he had always felt it must. LeVallon's was -the mighty wind that lifted her, was the sun in whose heat she basked, -expanded, soared. She experienced a strange increase of her natural -vitality and being. Her consciousness knew an abrupt intensification. - -The signs, in that brief moment, were as clear to Fillery's divining -heart as though he read them in black printed letters on a page of -whitest paper. He knew the cipher and the code. He watched the signals -flash. They had not even spoken, yet the relationship was established -beyond doubt. He witnessed the first exchange; the wireless message of -joy and sympathy that flashed he intercepted. - -Through his extremely rapid mind, as he watched, poured memories, -reflections, judgments in concentrated form, yet calmly, steadily, -though against a background of deep and troubled emotion. There seemed -actually a disruption of his personality. Father Collins, standing -beside him, divined nothing, he believed, of his agitation, standing, -mere figure of a man, listening to the music with attentive pleasure; -at least, he gave no outward sign.... - -The song drew to its close. Once Nayan raised her eyes, instantly -finding those of LeVallon across the room, then shifting again for a -fleeting second with a rapidly changing focus to his own. He met them -without a quiver; he caught again her tender, searching question; he -sent no answer back. - -In his own heart burned, however, a score of questions that beat -against his soul for answers. What was it that each had found thus -intuitively within the other? Was it her maternal instinct only that -was reached as with all other men hitherto, was it at last the woman in -her that leaped towards its own divine, creative sun, or was it that -hidden, nameless aspect of her which had never yet found a vehicle for -manifestation among her own kind and had therefore remained hitherto -unexpressed--bodiless? - -The answer to this he found easily enough. No jealousy stirred; pain -for himself had been long ago uprooted. Yet pain of a kind he felt. -Would LeVallon injure, drag her down, bring suffering, perhaps of -an atrocious sort, into her hitherto so innocent life? Was she yet -qualified to withstand the fierce fire, the rushing wind, that the full -force of his strange nature must bring to bear upon her? - -His questions went prophesying, flying like swift birds to such great -distances that no audible answers could return. His pain, at any -rate, chiefly was for her. He divined that she was frightened, yet -exhilarated, before the unexpected apparition of an unusual presence. -Accustomed to smaller jets of admiration from smaller men, this deep -flood overwhelmed her. This motionless figure watching her among -the shadows, listening to her singing, devouring her beauty with an -innocence, power, worship she had never yet encountered--could she, -Fillery asked himself, withstand its elemental flood and not be broken -by its waves? - -For at the back of all his questions, haunting his prophecies, filling -his hopes and fears with substance, stood one outstanding certainty: - -The motionless figure in the shadows was not LeVallon. It was "N. H." - -The thing he had expected had now happened. Instinctively he turned to -find his colleague. - -For what followed, Fillery, of course, was as unprepared as anyone. -In some way, difficult to describe, the whole thing had a strangely -natural, almost an inevitable touch. The exaggeration that others felt -he was not conscious of. He never, for a single moment, lost his head. -The wonder of the elemental violence appealed and stimulated without -once touching the sense of fear, much less of panic, in him. - -Searching for Devonham's familiar figure, he found it in the seat that -Lady Gleeson had vacated shortly before, but the face turned away -towards the inner room, so that it was not possible to catch his eye. -It was an attentive, critical, almost anxious expression his chief -surprised, and while a faint smile perhaps flitted across his own -mouth, he became aware that Father Collins--he had again completely -forgotten his proximity--was staring with a curious intentness at him. -The same instant the song came to an end. Into the brief pause of a -second before the applause burst forth, Father Collins's voice was -suddenly audible in his ear: - -"LeVallon's gone," Fillery was saying to himself, "'N. H.' is in -control," when his neighbour's words broke in. The two sentences were -simultaneously in his mind: - -"A man in _his own place_ is the Ruler of his Fate!" - -And Fillery's astonishment was only equalled by the fact that the grim -face was soft with sympathy, and that in the eyes shone moisture that -was close to tears. Before he could reply, however, the applause burst -forth, making an uproar against which no voice could possibly contend. -The subsequent events, following so swiftly, made rejoinder equally out -of the question, nor did he see Father Collins again that evening. - -These Fillery witnessed much as already described through Devonham's -eyes. The storm, the panic took place as told. Yet a detail here and -there belong to Fillery's version, for they were a part of his own -being. He had, for instance, a warning that something was about to -happen, although warning seems not quite the faithful word. He saw -the Valley for one fleeting second, the three familiar figures, Nayan, -"N. H.," himself, flying through the bright sunshine before a wind that -stirred a million flowers. In the farthest possible background of his -mind it shone an instant. The shutter dropped again, it vanished. - -Yet enough to set him on the alert. Into the air about him, into his -heart as well, fell an exhilarating and immense refreshment. It rose, -as it were, from the most deeply submerged portion of his own hidden -being, now stirred, even actually summoned, into activity. - -The shutter meanwhile rose and fell and rose again; the Valley -reappeared and vanished, then reappeared again. - -For the truth came smashing against him--smashing his being open, and -bursting the doors of his carefully instructed, carefully guarded -nature. The doors flung from their hinges and a blinding light poured -in and flooded the strangest possible hidden corners. - -He saw what followed with an accuracy of observation impossible -to anyone else, with an intimate sympathy the others could not -feel--because he himself took part in the entire scene. But the scene, -for him, was not the Chelsea studio with its tobacco smoke and perfume, -it was the Caucasian valley whence his own blood derived. Clean, -fragrant winds swept past him across mighty space. The walls melted -into distances of forest and mountain peaks, the ceiling was a dome of -stainless blue, the floor ran deep in flowers. A drenching sunshine of -crystal purity bathed the world. It was across bright emerald turf that -he saw "N. H." dance forward like a wind of power, cry with a joyful -resonant voice to the radiant girl who stood laughing, half hiding, yet -at the same time beckoning, that she should fly with him. He caught and -lifted her, her hair, the whiteness of her skin flashing in the sun -like some marvellous bird in the act of taking wing, for before he had -touched her she leapt through the air to meet his outstretched arms. -Yet one hand, one silvery arm, waved towards himself, towards Fillery; -their fingers met and clasped; the three of them, three dancing, free -and joyful figures, fled like the wind across the enormous mountains, -but fled, he knew beyond all question--_home_. - -He saw this in the space of those few seconds in which Nayan was -swung over the youth's shoulders beside the piano. The two scenes ran -parallel, as it were, before his eyes, outer and inner sight keeping -equal pace together. His balance and judgment here were never once -disturbed. In the studio: he had just introduced LeVallon to the girl -and the latter had caught her up. In the valley: she had leapt into his -arms and the three of them were off. - -It was this inner interpretation, keeping always level pace with what -was happening outwardly, that furnished Fillery with the hint of an -astounding explanation. The figure in the valley, it flashed to him, -was, of course, "N. H." in all his natural splendour, but a figure -unknown surely to all records of humanity as such. Here danced and sang -a happy radiant being, by whom the limitations of the human species -were not experienced, even if the species were familiar to him at all. -A being from another system, another evolution, an elemental being, -whose ideal, development, mode of existence, were not those of men and -women. "N. H." was not a human being, a human soul, a human spirit. He -belonged elsewhere and otherwise. Under the guise of LeVallon he had -drifted in. He inhabited LeVallon's frame. - -In the Studio, at this instant, Fillery heard him using the singular -words already noted, and in the Studio they sounded, indeed, senseless, -foolish, even mad. It was, he realized, an attempt to stammer in human -language some meaning that lay beyond, outside it. In the Valley, -however, and at the same moment, they sounded natural and true. The -evolutionary system to which "N. H." belonged, from which he had -in some as yet unknown manner passed into humanity, but to which, -though almost entirely forgotten, he yearned with his whole being -to return--this other system had, it seemed, its own conditions, -its own methods of advance, its ideals and its duties. Were, then, -its inhabitants--this flashed upon him in the delicious wind and -sunshine--the workers in what men call the natural kingdoms, the -builders of form and structure, the directing powers that expressed -themselves through the elemental energies everywhere behind the laws of -Nature? Was this their tireless and wondrous service in the planet, in -the universe itself? - -"N. H." called the girl to service, not to personal love. Alone, cut -off from his own kind, alien and derelict amid the conditions of a -humanity strange, perhaps unknown to him, he sought companionship -where he could. Drawn instinctively to the more impersonal types, such -as Fillery and the girl, he felt there the nearest approach to what -he recognized as his own kind; their ideal of selfless service was a -beacon that he understood; he would return to his own kingdom, carrying -them both with him. From somewhere, at any rate, this all flashed into -his too willing mind.... - -At which second precisely in Fillery's valley-vision, Khilkoff entered, -and--yet before he could take action--the lightning struck and the -sudden explosion of the ferocious storm blackened out both the outer -and the inner scene. - -The shock of elemental violence, the astounding revelation as well -that an entirely new type had possibly come within his ken, this, -combined with the emotional disturbance caused by the change produced -in Nayan, seemed enough to upset the equilibrium of even the most -balanced mind. The darkness added its touch of helplessness besides. -Yet Fillery never for a moment lost his head. Two natures in him, cause -of his radical instability, merged for a moment in amazing harmony. The -panic now dominating all about him seemed so small a thing compared -to the shattering discovery life had just offered to him. Across it, -finding his way past kneeling women and shrieking girls, drenched to -the skin by the flood of entering rain, moving over splintered glass, -he found the figure he sought, as though by some instinctive sympathy. -They came together in the darkness. Their hands met easily. A moment -later they were in the street, and "N. H.'s" instinctive terror amid -the sheets of falling water, an element hostile to his own natural -fire, made it a simple matter to get him home--in Lady Gleeson's motor -car. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -When relative order had been restored, Devonham realized, of course, -that his colleague had cleverly spirited away their "patient"; also -that the sculptor had carried off his daughter. Relieved to escape -from the atmosphere of what he considered collective hysteria, he -had borrowed mackintosh and umbrella, and declining several offers -of a lift, had walked the four miles to his house in the rain and -wind. The exercise helped to work off the emotion in him; his mind -cleared healthily; personal bias gave way to honest and unprejudiced -reflection; there was much that interested him deeply, at the same time -puzzled and bewildered him beyond anything he had yet experienced. He -reached the house with a mind steady if unsatisfied; but the emotions -caused by prejudice had gone. His main anxiety centred about his chief. - -He was glad to notice a light in an upper window, for it meant, he -hoped, that LeVallon was now safely home. While his latchkey sought its -hole, however, this light was extinguished, and when the door opened, -it was Fillery himself who greeted him, a finger on his lips. - -"Quietly!" he whispered. "I've just got him to bed and put his light -out. He's asleep already." Paul noticed his manner instantly--its -happiness. There was a glow of mysterious joy and wonder in his -atmosphere that made the other hostile at once. - -They went together towards that inner room where so often together -they had already talked both moon and sun to bed. Cold food lay on the -table, and while they satisfied their hunger, the rain outside poured -down with a steady drenching sound. The wind had dropped. The suburb -lay silent and deserted. It was long past midnight. The house was -very still, only the occasional step of a night-nurse audible in the -passages and rooms upstairs. They would not be disturbed. - -"You got him home all right, then?" Paul asked presently, keeping his -voice low. - -He had been observing his friend closely; the evident pleasure and -satisfaction in the face annoyed him; the light in the eyes at the -same time profoundly troubled him. Not only did he love his chief for -himself, he set high value on his work as well. It would be deplorable, -a tragedy, if judgment were destroyed by personal bias and desire. He -felt uneasy and distressed. - -Fillery nodded, then gave an account of what had happened, but -obviously an account of outward events merely; he did not wish, -evidently, to argue or explain. The strong, rugged face was lit up, -the eyes were shining; some inner enthusiasm pervaded his whole being. -Evidently he felt very sure of something--something that both pleased -and stimulated him. - -His account of what had happened was brief enough, little more than a -statement of the facts. - -Finding himself close to LeVallon when the darkness came, he had kept -hold of him and hurried him out of the house at once. The sudden -blackness, it seemed, had made LeVallon quiet again, though he kept -asking excitedly for the girl. When assured that he would soon see her, -he became obedient as a lamb. The absence of light apparently had a -calming influence. They found, of course, no taxis, but commandeered -the first available private car, Fillery using the authoritative -influence of his name. And it was Lady Gleeson's car, Lady Gleeson -herself inside it. She had thought things over, put two and two -together, and had come back. Her car might be of use. It was. For the -rain was falling in sheets and bucketfuls, the road had become a river -of water, and Fillery's automobile, ordered for an hour later, had not -put in an appearance. It was the rain that saved the situation.... - -An exasperated expression crossed Devonham's face as he heard this -detail emphasized. He had meant to listen without interruption. The -enigmatical reference to the rain proved too much for him. - -"Why 'the rain'? What d'you mean exactly, Edward?" - -"Water," was the reply, made in a significant tone that further annoyed -his listener's sense of judgment. "You remember the Channel, surely! -Water and fire mutually destroy each other. They are hostile elements." - -There was a look almost of amusement on his face as he said it. -Devonham kept a tight hold upon his tongue. It was not impatience or -surprise he felt, though both were strong; it was perhaps sorrow. - -"And so Lady Gleeson drove you home?" - -He waited with devouring interest for further details. The throng of -questions, criticisms and emotions surging in him he repressed with -admirable restraint. - -Lady Gleeson, yes, had driven the party home. Fillery made her sit on -the back seat alone, while he occupied the front one, LeVallon beside -him, but as far back among the deep cushions as possible. The doctor -held his hand. At any other time, Devonham could have laughed; but he -saw no comedy now. Lady Gleeson, it seemed, was awed by the seriousness -of the "Chief," whom, even at the best of times, she feared a little. -Her vanity, however, persuaded her evidently that she was somehow the -centre of interest. - -Yet Devonham, as he listened, had difficulty in persuading himself that -he was in the twentieth century, and that the man who spoke was his -colleague and a man of the day as well. - -"LeVallon talked little, and that little to himself or to me. He seemed -unaware that a third person was present at all. Though quiet enough, -there was suppressed vehemence still about him. He said various things: -that '_she_ belonged to us,' for instance; that he 'knew his own'; that -_she_ was 'filled with fire in exile'; and that he would 'take her -back.' Also that I, too, must go with them both. He often mentioned -the sun, saying more than once that the sun had 'sent its messengers.' -Obviously, it was not the ordinary sun he referred to, but some source -of central heat and fire he seems aware of----" - -"You, I suppose, Edward," put in his listener quickly, "said nothing to -encourage all this? Nothing that could suggest or stimulate?" - -Fillery ignored, even if he noticed, the tone of the question. "I kept -silence rather. I said very little. I let him talk. I had to keep an -eye on the woman, too." - -"You certainly had your hands full--a dual personality and a -nymphomaniac." - -"She helped me, without knowing it. All he said about the girl, she -evidently took to herself. When he begged me to keep the water out, she -drew the window up the last half-inch.... The water frightened him; she -was sympathetic, and her sympathy seemed to reach him, though I doubt -if he was aware of her presence at all until the last minute almost----" - -"And 'at the last minute'?" - -"She leaned forward suddenly and took both his hands. I had let go -of the one I held and was just about to open the door, when I heard -her say excitedly that I must let her come and see him, or that he -must call on her; she was sure she could help him; he must tell her -everything.... I turned to look.... LeVallon, startled into what I -believe was his first consciousness of her presence, stared into her -eyes, and leaned forward among his cushions a little, so that their -faces were close together. Before I could interfere, she had flung -her bare arms about his neck and kissed him. She then sat back again, -turning to me, and repeating again and again that he needed a woman's -care and that she must help and mother him. She was excited, but she -knew what she was saying. She showed neither shame nor the least -confusion. She tasted--of course with her it cannot last--a bigger -world. She was most determined." - -"_His_ reaction?" inquired Devonham, amused in spite of his graver -emotions of uneasiness and exasperation. - -"None whatever. I scarcely think he realized he had been kissed. His -interest was so entirely elsewhere. I saw his face a moment among the -white ermine, the bare arms and jewels that enveloped him." Fillery -frowned faintly. "The car had almost stopped. Lady Gleeson was leaning -back again. He looked at me, and his voice was intense and eager: 'Dear -Fillery,' he said, 'we have found each other, I have found her. She -knows, she remembers the way back. Here we can do so little.' - -"Lady Gleeson, however, had interpreted the words in another way. - -"'I'll come to-morrow to see you,' she said at once intensely. 'You -_must_ let me come,'--the last words addressed to me, of course." - -The two men looked at one another a moment in silence, and for the -first time during the conversation they exchanged a smile.... - -"I got him to bed," Fillery concluded. "In ten minutes he was sound -asleep." And his eyes indicated the room overhead. - -He leaned back, and quietly began to fill his pipe. The account was -over. - -As though a great spring suddenly released him, Paul Devonham stood up. -His untidy hair hung wild, his glasses were crooked on his big nose, -his tie askew. His whole manner bristled with accumulated challenge and -disagreement. - -"_Who?_" he cried. "_Who?_ Edward, I ask you?" - -His colleague, yet knowing exactly what he meant, looked up -questioningly. He looked him full in the face. - -"Hush!" he said quietly. "You'll wake him." - -He gazed with happy penetrating eyes at his companion. "Paul," he added -gently, "do you really mean it? Have you still the faintest doubt?" - -The moment had drama in it of unusual kind. The conflict between these -two honest and unselfish minds was vital. The moment, too, was chosen, -the place as well--this small, quiet room in a commonplace suburb of -the greatest city on the planet, drenched by earthly rain and battered -by earthly wind from the heart of an equinoctial storm; the mighty -universe outside, breaking with wondrous, incredible impossibilities -upon a mind that listened and a mind that could not hear; and upstairs, -separated from them by a few carpenter's boards, an assortment of -"souls," either derelict and ruined, or gifted supernormally, masters -of space and time perhaps, yet all waiting to be healed by the best -knowledge known to the race--and one among them, about whom the -conflict raged ... sound asleep ... while wind and water stormed, while -lightning fires lit the distant horizons, while the great sun lay -hidden, and darkness crept soundlessly to and fro.... - -"Have you still the slightest doubt, Paul?" repeated Fillery. "You know -the evidence. You have an open mind." - -Then Devonham, still standing over his Chief, let out the storm that -had accumulated in him over-long. He talked like a book. He talked like -several books. It seemed almost that he distrusted his own personal -judgment. - -"Edward," he began solemnly--not knowing that he quoted--"you, above -all men, understand the lower recesses of the human heart, that gloomy, -gigantic oubliette in which our million ancestors writhe together -inextricably, and each man's planetary past is buried alive----" - -Fillery nodded quietly his acquiescence. - -"You, of all men, know our packed, limitless subterranean life," -Devonham went on, "and its impenetrable depths. You understand -telepathy, 'extended telepathy' as well, and how a given mind may tap -not only forgotten individual memories, but memories of his family, his -race, even planetary memories into the bargain, the memory, in fact, of -every being that ever lived, right down to Adam, if you will----" - -"Agreed," murmured the other, listening patiently, while he puffed his -pipe and heard the rain and wind. "I know all that. I know it, at any -rate, as a possible theory." - -"You also know," continued Devonham in a slightly less strident -tone, "your own--forgive me, Edward--your own idiosyncrasies, your -weaknesses, your dynamic accumulated repressions, your strange physical -heritage and spiritual--I repeat the phrase--your spiritual vagrancies -towards--towards----" He broke off suddenly, unable to find the words -he wanted. - -"I'm illegitimate, born of a pagan passion," mentioned the other -calmly. "In that sense, if you like, I have in me a 'complex' against -the race, against humanity--as such." - -He smiled patiently, and it was the patience, the evident conviction of -superiority that exasperated his cautious, accurate colleague. - -"If I love humanity, I also tolerate it perhaps, for I try to heal it," -added Fillery. "But, believe me, Paul, I do not lose my scientific -judgment." - -"Edward," burst out the other, "how can you think it possible, -then--that _he_ is other than the result of tendencies transmitted by -his mad parents, or acquired from Mason, who taught him all he knows, -or--if you will--that he has these hysterical faculties--supernormal -as we may call them--which tap some racial, even, if you will, some -planetary past----" - -He again broke off, unable to express his whole thought, his entire -emotion, in a few words. - -"I accept all that," said Fillery, still calmly, quietly, "but perhaps -now--in the interest of truth"--his tone was grave, his words obviously -chosen carefully--"if now I feel it necessary to go beyond it! My -strange heritage," he added, "is even possibly a help and guide. How," -he asked, a trace of passion for the first time visible in his manner, -"shall we venture--how decide--for we are not wholly ignorant, you and -I--between what is possible and impossible? Is this trivial planet, -then," he asked, his voice rising suddenly, ominously perhaps, "our -sole criterion? Dare we not venture--beyond--a little? The scientific -mind should be the last to dogmatize as to the possibilities of this -life of ours...." - -The authority of chief, the old tie of respectful and affectionate -friendship, the admiring wonder that pertained to a daring speculator -who had often proved himself right in face of violent opposition--all -these affected Devonham. He did not weaken, but for an instant he knew, -perhaps, the existence of a vast, incredible horizon in his friend's -mind, though one he dared not contemplate. Possibly, he understood in -this passing moment a huger world, a new outlook that scorned limit, -though yet an outlook that his accurate, smaller spirit shrank from. - -He found, at any rate, his own words futile. "You remember," he -offered--"'We need only suppose the continuity of our own consciousness -with a mother sea, to allow for exceptional waves occasionally pouring -over the dam.'" - -"Good, yes," said Fillery. "But that 'mother sea,' what may it not -include? Dare we set limits to it?" - -And, as he said it, Fillery, emotion visible in him, rose suddenly from -his chair. He stood up and faced his colleague. - -"Let us come to the point," he said in a clear, steady voice. "It all -lies--doesn't it?--in that question you asked----" - -"_Who?_" came at once from Devonham's lips, as he stood, looking oddly -stiff and rigid opposite his Chief. There was a touch of defiance in -his tone. "_Who?_" He repeated his original question. - -No pause intervened. Fillery's reply came sharp and firm: - -"'N. H.,'" he said. - -An interval of silence followed, then, between the two men, as they -looked into each other's eyes. Fillery waited for his assistant to -speak, but no word came. - -"LeVallon," the older man continued, "is the transient, acquired -personality. It does not interest us. There is no real LeVallon. The -sole reality is--'N. H.'" - -He spoke with the earnestness of deep conviction. There was still no -reply or comment from the other. - -"Paul," he continued, steadying his voice and placing a hand upon -his colleague's shoulder, "I am going to ask you to--consider our -arrangement--cancelled. I must----" - -Then, before he could finish what he had to say, the other had said it -for him: - -"Edward, I give you back your promise." - -He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly, but there was no -unpleasant, no antagonistic touch now either in voice or manner. There -was, rather, a graver earnestness than there had been hitherto, a hint -of reluctant acquiescence, but also there was an emotion that included -certainly affection. No such fundamental disagreement had ever come -between them during all their years of work together. "You understand," -he added slowly, "what you are doing--what is involved." His tone -almost suggested that he spoke to a patient, a loved patient, but one -over whom he had no control. He sighed. - -"I belong, Paul, myself to the unstable--if that is what you mean," -said his old friend gently, "and with all of danger, or of wonder, it -involves." - -The faint movement of the shoulders again was noticeable. "We need not -put it that way, Edward," was the quiet rejoinder; "for that, if true, -can only help your insight, your understanding, and your judgment." -He hesitated a moment or two, searching his mind carefully for words. -Fillery waited. "But it involves--I think"--he went on presently in a -firmer voice--"_his_ fate as well. He must become permanently--one or -other." - -No pause followed. There was a smile of curious happiness on Fillery's -face as he instantly answered in a tone of absolute conviction: - -"There lies the root of our disagreement, Paul. There is no 'other.' I -am positive for once. There is only one, and that one is--'N. H.'" - -"Umph!" his friend grunted. Behind the exclamation hid an attitude -confirmed, as though he had come suddenly to a big decision. - -"You see, Paul--I _know_." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -It was not long after the scene in the Studio that the Prometheans -foregathered at dinner in the back room of the small French restaurant -in Soho and discussed the event. The prices were moderate, conditions -free and easy. It was a favourite haunt of Members. - -To-night, moreover, there was likely to be a good attendance. The word -had gone out. - -The Studio scene had, of course, been the subject of much discussion -already. The night of its occurrence it had been talked over till dawn -in more than one flat, and during the following days the Society, as a -whole, thought of little else. Those who had not been present had to be -informed, and those who had witnessed it found it an absorbing topic of -speculation. The first words that passed when one member met another in -the street was: "What _did_ you make of that storm? Wasn't it amazing? -Did your solar plexus vibrate? Mine did! And the light, the colour, -the vibrations--weren't they terrific? What do you think _he_ is?" It -was rumoured that the Secretary was asking for individual reports. -Excitement and interest were general, though the accounts of individual -witnesses differed extraordinarily. It seemed impossible that all had -seen and heard the same thing. - -The back room was pleasantly filled to-night, for it was somehow -known that Millington Povey, and possibly Father Collins, too, were -coming. Miss Milligan, the astrologist, was there early, arriving with -Mrs. Towzer, who saw auras and had already, it was rumoured, painted -automatically a strange rendering of "forces" that were visible to her -clairvoyantly during the occurrence. Miss Lance, in shining beads and -a glittering scarf, arrived on their heels, an account of the scene in -her pocket--to be published in her magazine "Simplicity" after she had -modified it according to what she picked up from hearing other, and -better, descriptions. - -Kempster, immaculate as ever, ordering his food as he ordered his -clothes, like a connoisseur, was one of the first to establish himself -in a comfortable seat. He knew how to look after himself, and was -already eating in his neat dainty way while the others still stood -about studying the big white _menu_ with its illegible hieroglyphics in -smudged violet ink. He supplemented his meals with special patent foods -of vegetarian kind he brought with him. He had dried bananas in one -pocket and spirit photographs in another, and he was invariably pulling -out the wrong thing. Meat he avoided. "A man is what he eats," he held, -and animal blood was fatal to psychic development. To eat pig or cow -was to absorb undesirable characteristics. - -Next to him sat Lattimer, a lanky man of thirty, with loose clothes, -long hair, and eyes of strange intensity. Known as "occultist and -alchemist," he was also a chemist of some repute. His life was ruled by -a master-desire and a master-fear: the former, that he might one day -project his double consciously; the latter, that in his next earthly -incarnation he might be--the prospect made him shudder--a woman. He -sought to keep his thought as concrete as possible, the male quality. - -He believed that the nervous centre of the physical body which -controlled all such unearthly, if not definitely "spiritual," impulses, -was the solar plexus. For him it was _the_ important portion of his -anatomy, the seat of intuition. Brain came second. - -"The fellow," he declared emphatically, "stirred my solar plexus, my -_kundalini_--that's all I know." He referred, as all understood, to the -latent power the _yogis_ claim lies coiled, but only rarely manifested, -in that great nervous centre. - -His statement, he knew, would meet with general approval and -understanding. It was the literal Kempster who spoiled his opening: - -"Paul Devonham," said the latter, "thinks it's merely a secondary -personality that emerged. I had a long argument with him about it----" - -"Never argue with the once-born," declared Povey flatly, producing -his pet sentence. "It's waste of time. Only older souls, with -the experience of many earthly lives stored in their beings, are -knowledgeable." He filled his glass and poured out for others, Lattimer -and Mrs. Towzer alone declining, though for different reasons. - -"It destroys the 'sight,'" explained the former. "Alcohol sets up -coarse vibrations that ruin clairvoyance." - -"I decided to deny myself till the war is over," was Mrs. Towzer's -reason, and when Povey reminded her of the armistice, she mentioned -that Turkey hadn't "signed yet." - -"I think his soul----" began Miss Lance. - -"If he _has_ a soul," put in Povey, electrically. - -"--is hardly in his body at all," concluded Miss Lance, less -convincingly than originally intended. - -"It was love at first sight. His sign is Fire and hers is Air," Miss -Milligan said. "That's certain. _Of course_ they came together." - -"A clear case of memory, at any rate," insisted Kempster. "Two old -souls meeting again for the first time for thousands of years, -probably. Love at first sight, or hate, for that matter, is always -memory, isn't it?" He disliked the astrology explanation; it was not -mysterious enough, too mathematical and exact to please him. - -"Secondary personalities _are_ invariably memories of former selves, of -course," agreed young Dickson, the theosophist, who was on the verge -now of becoming a psycho-analyst and had already discarded Freud for -Jung. "If not memories of past lives, then they're desires suppressed -in this one." - -"The less you think, the more you know," suggested Miss Lance. She -distrusted intellect and believed that another faculty, called instinct -or intuition, according to which word first occurred to her, was the -way to knowledge. She was about to quote Bergson upside down, when -Povey, foreseeing an interval of boredom, took command: - -"One thing we know, at any rate," he began judiciously; "we aren't the -only beings in the universe. There are non-human intelligences, both -vast and small. The old world-wide legends can't be built on nothing. -In every age of history--the reports are universal--we have pretty good -evidence for other forms of life than humans----" - -"Though never yet in human _form_," put in Lattimer, yet -sympathetically. "Their bodies, I mean, aren't human," he added. - -"Exactly. That's true. But the gods, the fauns, the satyrs, the -elemental beings, as we call 'em--sylphs, undines, gnomes and -salamanders--to say nothing of fairies et hoc genus omne--there must -be _some_ reasonable foundation for their persistence through all the -ages." - -"They all belong to the _Deva_ Evolution," Dickson mentioned with -conviction. "In the East it's been known and recognized for centuries, -hasn't it? Another evolutionary system that runs parallel to ours. -From planetary spirits down to elementals, they're concerned with the -building up of form in the various kingdoms----" - -"Yes, yes," Povey interrupted impatiently. Dickson was stealing what he -had meant to say himself and to say, he flattered himself, far better. -"We know all _that_, of course. They stand behind what we call the laws -of nature, non-human activities and intelligences of every grade and -kind. They work for humanity in a way, are in other space and time, -deathless, of course, yet--in some strange way, always eager to cross -the gulf fixed between the two and so find a soul. They are impersonal -in a sense, as impersonal as, say, wind and fire through which some of -them operate as bodies." - -He paused and looked about him, noting the interested attention he -awaked. - -"There _may_ be times," he went on, "there probably _are_ certain -occasions, when the gulf is more crossable than others." He laid down -his knife and fork as a sympathetic murmur proved that the point he was -leading up to was favourably understood already. "We have had this war, -for instance," he stated, his voice taking on a more significant and -mysterious tone. "Dislodged by the huge upheaval, man's soul is on the -march again." He paused once more. "_They_," he concluded, lowering his -voice still more, and emphasizing the pronoun, "are possibly already -among us! Who knows?" - -He glanced round. "We do; we know," was the expression on most faces. -All knew precisely what he meant and to whom he referred, at any rate. - -"You might get him to come and lecture to us," said Dickson, the first -to break the pause. "You might ask Dr. Fillery. _You_ know him." - -"That's an idea----" began the Secretary, when there was a commotion -near the door. His face showed annoyance. - -It was the arrival of Toogood that at this moment disturbed the -atmosphere and robbed Povey of the effect he aimed at. It provided -Kempster, however, with an idea at the same time. "Here's a -psychometrist!" he exclaimed, making room for him. "He might get a bit -of his hair or clothing and psychometrize it. He might tell us about -his past, if not exactly _what_ he is." - -The suggestion, however, found no seconder, for it seemed that the new -arrival was not particularly welcomed. Judging by the glances, the -varying shades of greeting, too, he was not fully trusted, perhaps, -this broad, fleshy man of thirty-five, with complexion blotchy, an -over-sensual mouth and eyes a trifle shifty. His claim to membership -was two-fold: he remembered past lives, and had the strange power of -psychometry. An archæologist by trade, his gift of psychometry--by -which he claimed to hold an object and tell its past, its pedigree, -its history--was of great use to him in his calling. Without further -trouble he could tell whether such an object was genuine or sham. -Dealers in antiquities offered him big fees--but "No, no; I cannot -prostitute my powers, you see"--and he remained poor accordingly. - -In his past lives he had been either a famous Pharaoh, or -Cleopatra--according to his audience of the moment and its male or -female character--but usually Cleopatra, because, on the whole, there -was more money and less risk in her. He lectured--for a fee. Lately, -however, he had been Pharaoh, having got into grave trouble over the -Cleopatra claim, even to the point of being threatened with expulsion -from the Society. His attitude during the war, besides, had been -unsatisfactory--it was felt he had selfishly protected himself on the -grounds of being physically unfit. Apart from archæology, too, his -chief preoccupation, derived from past lives of course, was sex, in the -form of other men's wives, his own wife and children being, naturally, -very recent and somewhat negligible ties. - -His gift of psychometry, none the less, was considered proved--in spite -of the backward and indifferent dealers. His mind was quick and not -unsubtle. He became now au fait with the trend of the conversation in -a very few seconds, but he had not been present at the Studio when the -occurrence all discussed had taken place. - -"Hair would be best," he advised tentatively, sipping his -whisky-and-soda. He had already dined. "It's a part of himself, you -see. Better than mere clothing, I mean. It's extremely vital, hair. It -grows after death." - -"If I can get it for you, I will," said Povey. "He may be lecturing for -us before long. I'll try." - -"With psychometry and a good photograph," Kempster suggested, "a time -exposure, if possible, we ought to get _some_ evidence, at any rate. -It's first-hand evidence we want, of course, isn't it? What do you -think of this, for instance, I wonder?" He turned to Lattimer, drawing -something from his pocket and showing it. "It's a time exposure at -night of a haunted tree. You'll notice a queer sort of elemental form -_inside_ the trunk and branches. Oh!" He replaced the shrivelled banana -in his pocket, and drew out the photograph without a smile. "This," he -explained, waving it, "is what I meant." They fell to discussing it. - -Meanwhile, Povey, anxious to resume his lecture, made an effort -to recover his command of the group-atmosphere which Toogood had -disturbed. The latter had a "personal magnetism" which made the women -like him in spite of their distrust. - -"I was just saying," he resumed, patting the elbow of the -psychometrist, "that this strange event we've been discussing--you -weren't present, I believe, at the time, but, of course, you've heard -about it--has features which seem to point to something radically new, -or at least of very rare occurrence. As Lattimer mentioned, a human -body has never yet, so far as we know, been occupied, obsessed, by -a non-human entity, but that, after all, is no reason why it should -not ever happen. What is a body, anyhow? What is an entity, too?" -Povey's thought was wandering, evidently; the thread of his first -discourse was broken; he floundered. "Man, anyway, is more than a mere -chemical machine," he went on, "a crystallization of the primitive -nebulæ, though the instrument he uses, the body he works through, is -undoubtedly thus describable. Now, we know there are all kinds of -non-human intelligences busy on our planet, in the Universe itself as -well. Why, then, I ask, should not one of these----?" - -He paused, unable to find himself, his confusion obvious. He was as -glad of the interruption that was then provided by the arrival of Imson -as his audience was. Toogood certainly was not sorry; he need find no -immediate answer. He sipped his drink and made mental notes. - -Imson arrived in a rough brown ulster with the collar turned up about -his ears, a low flannel shirt, not strictly clean, lying loosely round -his neck. His colourless face was of somewhat flabby texture, due -probably to his diet, but its simple, honest expression was attractive, -the smile engaging. The touch of foolishness might have been childlike -innocence, even saintliness some thought, and though he was well over -forty, the unlined skin made him look more like thirty. He enjoyed a -physiognomy not unlike that of a horse or sheep. His big, brown eyes -stared wide open at the world, expecting wonder and finding it. His -hobby was inspirational poems. One lay in his breast pocket now. He -burned to read it aloud. - -Pat Imson's ideal was an odd one--detachment; the desire to avoid all -ties that must bring him back to future incarnations on the earth, to -eschew making fresh Karma, in a word. He considered himself an "old -soul," and was rather weary of it all--of existence and development, -that is. To take no part in life meant to escape from those tangles -for whose unravelling the law of rebirth dragged the soul back again -and again. To sow no Causes was to have no harvest of Effects to reap -with toil and perspiration. Action, of course, there must be, but -"indifference to results of action" was the secret. Imson, none the -less, was always entangled with wives and children. Having divorced one -wife, and been divorced by another, he had recently married a third; -a flock of children streamed behind him; he was a good father, if a -strange husband. - -"It's old Karma I have to work off," he would explain, referring to -the wives. "If I avoid the experience I shall only have to come back -again. There's no good shirking old Karma." He gave this explanation to -the wives themselves, not only to his friends. "Face it and it's done -with, worked off, you see." That is, it had to be done nicely, kindly, -generously. - -An entire absence of the sense of humour was, of course, his natural -gift, yet a certain quaint wisdom helped to fill the dangerous vacuum. -He was known usually as "Pat." - -"Come on, Pat," said Povey, making room for him at his side. "How's -Karma? We're just talking about LeVallon and the Studio business. What -do you make of it? You were there, weren't you?" The others listened, -attentively, for Imson had a reputation for "seeing true." - -"I saw it, yes," replied Imson, ordering his dinner with -indifference--soup, fried potatoes, salad, cheese and coffee--but -declining the offered wine. The group waited for his next remark, but -none was forthcoming. He sat crumbling his bread into the soup and -stirring the mixture with his spoon. - -"Did you see the light about him, Mr. Imson?" asked Miss Lance. "The -brilliant aura of golden yellow that he wore? _I_ thought--it sounds -exaggerated, I know--but to me it seemed even brighter than the -lightning. Did you notice it?" - -"Well," said Imson slowly, putting his spoon down. "I'm not often -clairvoyant, you know. I did notice, however, a sort of radiance about -him. But with hair like that, it's difficult to be certain----" - -"Full of lovely patterns," said Mrs. Towzer. "Geometrical patterns." - -"Like astrological designs," mentioned Miss Milligan. "He's Leo, of -course--fire." - -"Almost as though he brought or caused the lightning--as if it actually -emanated out of his atmosphere somehow," claimed Miss Lance, for it was -_her_ conversation after all. - -"I saw nothing of that," replied Imson quietly. "No, I can't say I saw -anything _exactly_ like that." He added honestly, with his engaging -smile that had earned for him in some quarters the nickname of "The -Sheep": "I was looking at Nayan, you see, most of the time." - -A smile flickered round the table, for rumour had it that the girl had -once seemed to him as possible "Karma." - -"So was I," put in Kempster with kindly intention, though his -sympathy was evidently not needed. Imson was too simple even to -feel embarrassment. "She came to life suddenly for the first time -since I've known her. It was amazing." To which Imson, busy over his -salad-dressing, made no reply. - -Povey, lighting his pipe and puffing out thick clouds of smoke, -was cleverer. "LeVallon's effect upon her, whatever it was, seemed -instantaneous," he informed the table. "I never saw a clearer case of -two souls coming together in a flash." - -"As I said just now," Kempster quickly mentioned. - -"They are similar," said Imson, looking up, while the group waited -expectantly. - -"Similar," repeated Kempster. "Ah!" - -"It was the surprise in her face that struck me most," observed Povey -quickly, making an internal note of Imson's adjective, but knowing -that indirect methods would draw him out better than point-blank -questions. "LeVallon showed it too. It was an unexpected recognition -on both sides. They are 'similar,' as you say; both at the same stage -of development, whatever that stage may be. The expression on both -faces----" - -"Escape," exclaimed Imson, giving at last the kernel of what he had to -say. And the effect upon the group was electrical. A visible thrill ran -round the Soho table. - -"The very word," exclaimed Povey and Miss Lance together. "Escape!" But -neither of them knew exactly what they meant, nor what Imson himself -meant. - -"LeVallon has, of course, already escaped," the latter went on quietly. -"He is no longer caught by causes and effects as we are here. He's got -out of it all long ago--if he was ever in it at all." - -"If he ever was in it at all," said Povey quickly. "You noticed that -too. You're very discerning, Pat." - -"Clairvoyant," mentioned Miss Lance. - -"I've seen them in dreams like that," returned Imson calmly. "I often -see them, of course." He referred to his qualification for membership. -"The great figures I see in dream have just that unearthly expression." - -"Unearthly," said Mrs. Towzer with excitement. - -"Non-human," mentioned Kempster suggestively. - -"Not of this world, anyhow," suggested Miss Lance mysteriously. - -"Divine?" inquired Miss Milligan below her breath. - -"Really," murmured Toogood, "I must get a bit of his hair and -psychometrize it at once." He was sipping a second glass of whisky. - -Imson looked round at each face in turn, apparently seeing nothing that -need increase his attachment to the planet by way of fresh Karma. - -"The _Deva_ world," he said briefly, after a pause. "Probably he's come -to take Nayan off with him. She--I always said so--has a strong strain -of the elemental kingdom in her. She may be his _Devi_. LeVallon, I'm -sure, is here for the first time. He's one of the non-human evolution. -He's slipped in. A _Deva_ himself probably." It was as though he said -that the waiter was Swiss or French, or that the proprietor's daughter -had Italian blood in her. - -Povey looked round him with an air of triumph. - -"Ah!" he announced, as who should say, "You all thought my version a -bit wild, but here's confirmation from an unbiased witness." - -"Oh, well, I can't be certain," Imson reminded the group. If he -deceived them enough to change their lives in any respect, it involved -fresh Karma for himself. Care was indicated. "I can't be positive, can -I?" he hedged. "Only--I must say--the great deva-figures I've seen in -dream have exactly that look and expression." - -"That's interesting, Pat," Povey put in, "because, before you came, I -was suggesting a similar explanation for his air of immense potential -power. The elemental atmosphere he brought--we all noticed it, of -course." - -"Elemental _is_ the only word," Miss Lance inserted. "A great Nature -Being." She was thinking of her magazine. "He struck me as being so -close to Nature that he seemed literally part of it." - -"That would explain the lightning and the strange cry he gave about -'messengers,'" replied Imson, wiping the oil from his chin and -sprinkling his _petit suisse_ with powdered sugar. "It's quite likely -enough." - -"I wish you'd jot down what you think--a little report of what you saw -and felt," the Secretary mentioned. "It would be of great value. I -thought of making a collection of the different versions and accounts." - -"They might be published some day," thought Miss Lance. "Let's all," -she added aloud with emphasis. - -Imson nodded agreement, making no audible reply, while the conversation -ran on, gathering impetus as it went, growing wilder possibly, but also -more picturesque. A man in the street, listening behind a curtain, -must have deemed the talkers suffering from delusion, mad; a good -psychologist, on the other hand, similarly screened, and knowing the -antecedent facts, the Studio scene, at any rate, must have been struck -by one outstanding detail--the effect, namely, upon one and all of the -person they discussed. They had seen him for an hour or so among a -crowd, a young man whose name they hardly knew; only a few had spoken -to him; there had been, it seemed, neither time nor opportunity for -him to produce upon one and all the impression he undoubtedly had -produced. For in every mind, upon every heart, LeVallon's mere presence -had evidently graven an unforgettable image, scored an undecipherable -hieroglyph. Each felt, it seemed, the hint of a personality their -knowledge could not explain, nor any earthly explanation satisfy. -The consciousness in each one, perhaps, had been quickened. Hence, -possibly, the extravagance of their conversation. Yet, since all -reported differently, collective hysteria seemed discounted. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile, as the talk continued, and the wings of imaginative -speculation fanned the thick tobacco smoke, others had dropped in, both -male and female members, and the group now filled the little room to -the walls. The same magnet drew them all, in each heart burned the same -huge question mark: Who--what--is this LeVallon? What was the meaning -of the scene in Khilkoff's Studio? - -Here, too, was a curious and significant fact about the gathering--the -amount of knowledge, true or otherwise, they had managed to collect -about LeVallon. One way or another, no one could say exactly how, the -Society had picked up an astonishing array of detail they now shared -together. It was known where he had spent his youth, also how, and -with whom, as well as something of the different views about him held -by Dr. Devonham and Edward Fillery. To such temperaments as theirs the -strange, the unusual, came automatically perhaps, percolating into -their minds as though a collective power of thought-reading operated. -Garbled, fanciful, askew, their information may have been, but a great -deal of it was not far wrong. - -Imson, for instance, provided an account of LeVallon's birth, to which -all listened spellbound. He evaded all questions as to how he knew of -it. "His parents," he assured the room, "practised the old forgotten -magic; his father, at any rate, was an expert, if not an initiate, with -all the rites and formulæ of ancient times in his memory. LeVallon -was born as the result of an experiment, its origins dating back so -far that they concerned life upon another planet, I believe, a planet -nearer to the sun. The tremendous winds and heat were vehicles of -deity, you see--_there_." - -"The parents, you mean, had former lives upon another planet?" asked -someone in a hushed tone. "Or he himself?" - -"The parents--and Mason. Mason was involved in the experiment that -resulted in the birth of LeVallon here to-day." - -"The experiment--what was it exactly?" inquired Lattimer, while Toogood -surreptitiously made notes on his rather dirty cuff. - -Imson shrugged his shoulders very slightly. - -"Some of it came to me in sleep," he mentioned, producing a paper from -his pocket and beginning to read it aloud before anyone could stop him. - - "When the sun was younger, and moon and stars - Were thrilled with my human birth, - And the winds fled shouting the wondrous news - As they circled the sea and the earth, - - "From the fight for money and worldly fame - I drew one magical soul - Who came to me over the star-lit sea - As the needle turns to the Pole. - - "Conceived in the hour the stars foretold, - This son of the winds I bore, - And I taught him the secrets of----" - -"Yes," interrupted Povey audaciously, "but the experiment you were -telling us about----?" - -A murmur of approving voices helped him. - -"Oh, the experiment, yes, well--all I know is," he went on with -conviction, calmly replacing the poem in his pocket, "that it concerned -an old rite, involving the evocation of some elemental being or -nature-spirit the three of them had already evoked millions of years -before, but had not banished again. The experiment they made to-day -was to restore it to its proper sphere. In order to do so, they had -to evoke it again, and, of course"--he glanced round, as though all -present were familiar with the formula of magical practices--"it could -come only through the channel of a human system." - -"Of course, yes," murmured a dozen voices, while eyes grew bigger and a -pin dropping must have been audible. - -"Well"--Imson spoke very slowly now, each word clear as a bell--"the -father, who was officiating, failed. He could not stand the strain. His -heart stopped beating. He died--just when _it_ was there, he dropped -dead." - -"What happened to _it_?" asked Povey, too interested to care that he -no longer led the room. "You said it could only use a human system as -channel----" - -"It did so," explained Imson. - -The information produced a pause of several seconds. Some of the -members, like Toogood, though openly, were making pencil notes upon -cuffs or backs of envelopes. - -"But the channel was neither Mason nor the woman." The effect of this -negative information was as nothing compared to the startling interest -produced by the speaker's next words: "It took the easiest channel, the -line of least resistance--the unborn body of the child." - -Povey, seizing his opportunity, leaped into the silence: - -"Whose body, now full grown, and named LeVallon, came to the Studio!" -he exclaimed, looking round at the group, as though he had himself -given the explanation all had just listened to. "A human body tenanted -by a nature-spirit, one of the form-builders--a _Deva_...." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -For all the wildness of the talk, this group of the Unstable was a -coherent and consistent entity, using a language each item in it -understood. They knew what they were after. Alcohol, coffee, tobacco, -underfeeding, these helped or hindered, respectively, the expression of -an ideal that, nevertheless, was common to them all; and if the minds -represented were unbalanced, or merely speculative, poetic, one genuine -quest and sympathy bound all together into a coherent, and who shall -say unintelligent or valueless, unit. The unstable enjoyed an extreme -sensitiveness to varied experience, with flexible adaptability to all -possible new conditions, whereas the stable, with their rigid mental -organizations, remained uninformed, stagnant, even fossilized. - -In other rooms about the great lamp-lit city sat, doubtless, other -similar groups at the very same moment, discussing the shibboleths -of other faiths, of other dreams, of other ideas, systems, notions, -philosophies, all interpretative of the earth in which little humanity -dwells, cut off and isolated, apparently, from the rest of the -stupendous universe. A listener, screened from view, a listener not in -sympathy with the particular group he observed, and puzzled, therefore, -by the language used, must have deemed he listened to harmless, -if boring, madness. For each group uses its own language, and the -lowest common denominator, though plainly printed in the world's old -scriptures, has not yet become adopted by the world at large. - -Into this particular group, a little later in the evening, and when the -wings of imagination had increased their sweep a trifle dangerously -perhaps--into the room, like the arrival of a policeman rather, dropped -Father Collins. He came rarely to the Prometheans' restaurant. There -was a general sense of drawing breath as he appeared. A pause followed. -Something of the cold street air came with him. He wore his big black -felt hat, his shabby opera cloak, and clutched firmly--he had no -gloves on--the heavy gnarled stick he had cut for his collection in -a Cingalese forest years ago, when he was studying with a Buddhist -priest. The folds of his voluminous cloak, as he took it off, sent the -hanging smoke-clouds in a whirl. His personality stirred the mental -atmosphere as well. The women looked up and stared, respectful welcome -in their eyes; several of the men rose to shake hands; there was a -general shuffling of chairs. - -"Bring another _moulin à vent_ and a clean glass," Povey said at once -to the hovering waiter. - -"It's raw and bitter in the street and a fog coming down thickly," -mentioned Father Collins. He exhaled noisily and with comfortable -relief, as he squeezed himself towards the chair Povey placed for -him and looked round genially, nodding and shaking hands with those -he knew. "But you're warm and cosy enough in here"--he sat down with -unexpected heaviness, and smiled at everybody--"and well fed, too, I'll -be bound." - -"'The body must be comfortable before the mind can enjoy itself,'" -said Phillipps, an untidy member who disliked asceticism. "Starvation -produces hallucination, not vision." His glance took in the unused -glasses. His qualification was a vision of an uncle at the moment -of death, and the uncle had left him money. He had written a wordy -pamphlet describing it. - -"I'll have an omelette, then, I think," Father Collins told the waiter, -as the red wine arrived. "And some fried potatoes. A bit of cheese to -follow, and coffee, yes." He filled his glass. He had not come to argue -or to preach, and Phillipps's challenge passed unnoticed. Phillipps, -who had been leading the talk of late, resented the new arrival, but -felt his annoyance modify as he saw his own glass generously filled. -Povey, too, accepted a glass, while saying with a false vehemence, "No, -no," his finger against the rim. - -A change stole over the room, for the new personality was not -negligible; he brought his atmosphere with him. The wild talk, it -was felt now, would not be quite suitable. Father Collins had the -reputation of being something of a scholar; they were not quite sure of -him; none knew him very intimately; he had a rumoured past as well that -lent a flavour of respect. One story had it that "dabbling in magic" -had lost him his position in the Church. Yet he was deemed an asset to -the Society. - -Whatever it was, the key changed sharply. Imson's eyes and ears grew -wider, the hand of Miss Lance went instinctively to her hair and combs, -Miss Milligan sought through her mind for a remark at once instructive -and uncommon, Mrs. Towzer looked past him searchingly lest his aura -escape her before she caught its colour, and Kempster, smoothing his -immaculate coat, had an air of being in his present surroundings merely -by chance. Toogood, quickly scanning his notes, wondered whether, if -called upon, he was to be Pharaoh or Cleopatra. One and all, that is, -took on a soberer gait. This semi-clerical visit complicated. The -presence of Father Collins was a compliment. What he had to say--about -LeVallon and the Studio scene--was, anyhow, assured of breathless -interest. - -Povey led off. "We were just talking over the other night," he -observed, "the night at the Studio, you remember. The storm and so -on. It was a singular occurrence, though, of course, we needn't, we -_mustn't_ exaggerate it." And while he thus, as Secretary, set the -note, Father Collins sipped his wine and beamed upon the group. He made -no comment. "You were there, weren't you?" continued Povey, sipping -his own comforting glass. "I think I saw you. Fillery, you may have -noticed," he added, "brought--a friend." - -"LeVallon, yes," said the other in a tone that startled them. "A most -unusual fellow, wasn't he?" He was attacking the omelette now. "A Greek -God, if ever I saw one," he added. And the silence in the crowded room -became abruptly noticeable. Miss Milligan, feeling her zodiacal garter -slipping, waited to pull it up. Imson's brown eyes grew wider. Kempster -held his breath. Toogood borrowed a cigar and waited for someone to -offer him a match before he lit it. - -"Delicious," added Father Collins. "Cooked to a turn." The omelette -slid about his plate. - -But the silence continued, and he realized the position suddenly. -Emptying his glass and casually refilling it, he turned and faced the -eager group about him. - -"You want to know what _I_ thought about it all," he said. "You've -been discussing LeVallon, Nayan and the rest, I see." He looked round -as though he were in the lost pulpit that was his right. After a pause -he asked point blank: "And what do _you_ all think of it? How did -it strike you all? For myself, I confess"--he took another sip and -paused--"I am full of wonder and question," he finished abruptly. - -It was Imson, the fearless, wondering Pat Imson, who first found his -tongue. - -"We think," he ventured, "LeVallon is probably of _Deva_ origin." - -The others, while admiring his courage, seemed unsympathetic suddenly. -Such phraseology, probably meaningless to the respected guest, was out -of place. Eyes were cast down, or looked generally elsewhere. Povey, -remembering that the Society was not solely Eastern, glared at the -speaker. Father Collins, however, was not perturbed. - -"Possibly," he remarked with a courteous smile. "The origin of us -all is doubtful and confused. We know not whence we come, of course, -and all that. Nor can we ever tell exactly who our neighbour is, or -what. LeVallon," he went on, "since you all ask me"--he looked round -again--"is--for me--an undecipherable being. I am," he added, his -words falling into open mouths and extended eyes and ears, "somewhat -puzzled. But more--I am enormously stimulated and intrigued." - -All gazed at him. Father Collins was in his element. The rapt silence -that met him was precisely what he had a right to expect from his lost -pulpit. He had come, probably, merely to listen and to watch. The -opportunity provided by a respectful audience was too much for him. An -inspiration tempted him. - -"I am inclined to believe," he resumed suddenly in a simple tone, "that -he is--a Messenger." - -The sentence might have dropped from Sirius upon a listening planet. -The babble that followed must, to an ordinary man, have seemed -confusion. Everyone spoke with a rush into his neighbour's ear. All -bubbled. "I always thought so, I told you so, that was exactly what I -meant just now"--and so on. All found their tongues, at any rate, if -Povey, as Secretary, led the turmoil: - -"Something outside our normal evolution, you mean?" he asked -judiciously. "Such a conception is possible, of course." - -"A Messenger!" ran on the babel of male and female voices. - -It was here that Father Collins failed. The "unstable" in him came -suddenly uppermost. The "ecstatic" in his being took the reins. The -wondering and expectant audience suited him. The red wine helped as -well. When he said "Messenger" he had meant merely someone who brought -a message. The expression of nobility merged more and more in the -slovenly aspect. Like a priest in the pulpit, whom none can answer and -to whom all must listen, he had his text, though that text had been -suggested actually by the conversation he had just heard. He had not -brought it with him. It occurred to him merely then and there. His -mind reflected, in a word, the collective idea that was in the air -about him, and he proceeded to sum it up and give expression to it. -This was his gift, his fatal gift--a ready sensitiveness, a plausible -exposition. He caught the prevailing mood, the collective notion, -then dramatized it. Before he left the pulpit he invariably, however, -convinced himself that what he had said in it was true, inspired, a -revelation--for that moment. - -"A Messenger," he announced, thrusting his glass aside with an -impatient gesture as though noticing for the first time that it was -there. "A Messenger," he repeated, the automatic emphasis in his voice -already persuading him that he believed what he was about to say, -"sent among us from who knows what distant sphere"--he drew himself up -and looked about him--"and for who can guess on what mysterious and -splendid mission." - -His eye swept his audience, his hand removed the glass yet farther -lest, it impede free gesture. It was, however, as Povey noticed, empty -now. "We, of course," he went on impressively, lowering his voice, -"_we_, a mere handful in the world, but alert and watchful, all of -us--we know that some great new teaching is expected"--he threw out -another challenging glance--"but none of us can know whence it may come -nor in what way it shall manifest." His voice dropped dramatically. -"Whether as a thief in the night, or with a blare of trumpets, none -of us can tell. But--we expect it and are ready. To _us_, therefore, -perhaps, as to the twelve fishermen of old, may be entrusted the -privilege of accepting it, the work of spreading it among a hostile and -unbelieving world, even perhaps the final sacrifice of--of suffering -for it." - -He paused, quickly took in the general effect of his words, picked up -here and there a hint of question, and realized that he had begun on -too exalted a note. Detecting this breath of caution in the collective -mind that was his inspiration, he instantly shifted his key. - -"LeVallon," he resumed, instinctively emphasizing the conviction -in his voice so that the change of key might be less noticeable, -"undoubtedly--believes himself to be--some such divine Messenger...." -It was consummate hedging. - -The sermon needs no full report. The audience, without realizing -it, witnessed what is known as an "inspirational address," where a -speaker, naturally gifted with a certain facile eloquence, gathers -his inspiration, takes his changing cues as well, from the collective -mind that listens to him. Father Collins, quite honestly doubtless, -altered his key automatically. He no longer said that LeVallon _was_ -a Messenger, but that he "believed himself" to be one. Like Balaam, -he said things he had not at first thought of saying. He talked for -some ten minutes without stopping. He said "all sorts of things," -according to the expression of critical doubt, of wonder, of question, -of rejection or acceptance, on the particular face he gazed at. At -regular intervals he inserted, with considerable effect, his favourite -sentence: "A man in his _own_ place is the Ruler of his Fate." - -He developed his idea that LeVallon "believed himself to be such and -such ..." but declared that the conception had been put into the youth -during his life of exile in the mountains--the Society had already -acquired this information and extended it--and had "_felt himself -into_" the rôle until he had become its actual embodiment. - -"He does not think, he does not reason," he explained. "He feels--he -_feels with_. Now, to 'feel with' anything is to become it in the end. -It is the only way of true knowledge, of course, of true understanding. -If I want to understand, say, an Arab, I must _feel with_ that Arab to -the point--for the moment--of actually becoming him. And this strange -youth has spent his time, his best years, mark you--his creative years, -_feeling with_ the elemental forces of Nature until he has actually -becomes--at moments--one with them." - -He paused again and stared about him. He saw faces shocked, astonished, -startled, but not hostile. He continued rapidly: "There lies the -danger. One may get caught, get stuck. Lose the desire to return to -one's normal self. Which means, of course, remaining out of relation -with one's environment--mad. Only a man in his _own_ place is the ruler -of his luck...." - -He noticed suddenly the look of disappointment on several faces. He -swiftly hedged. - -"On the other hand," he went on, making his voice and manner more -impressive than before, "it may be--who can say indeed?--it may be that -he is in relation with another environment altogether, a much vaster -environment, an extended environment of which the rest of humanity is -unaware. The privilege of tasting something of an extended environment -some of us here already enjoy. What we all know as _human_ activities -are doubtless but a fragment of life--the conscious phenomena merely of -some larger whole of which we are aware in fleeting seconds only--by -mood, by hint, by suggestive hauntings, so to speak--by faint shadows -of unfamiliar, nameless shape cast across our daily life from some -intenser sun we normally cannot see! LeVallon may be, as some of us -think and hope, a Messenger to show us the way into a yet farther field -of consciousness.... - -"It is a fine, a noble, an inspiring hope, at any rate," he assured the -room. "Unless some such Messenger comes into the world, showing us how -to extend our knowledge, we can get no farther; we shall never know -more than we know now; we shall only go on multiplying our channels for -observing the same old things...." - -He closed his little address finally on a word as to what attitude -should be adopted to any new experience of amazing and incredible kind. -To a Society such as the one he had the honour of belonging to was left -the guidance of the perverse and ignorant generations outside of it, -"the lethargic and unresponsive majority," as he styled them. - -"We must not resist," he declared bravely. "We must accept with -confidence, above all without fear." He leaned back in his chair, -somewhat exhausted, for the source of his inspiration was evidently -weakening. His words came less spontaneously, less easily; he -hesitated, sighed, looked from face to face for help he did not find. -His glass was empty. "We're here," he concluded lamely, "without being -consulted, and we may safely leave to the Powers that brought us here -the results of such acceptance." - -"Quite so," agreed Povey, sighing audibly. "Denial will get us -nowhere." He filled up Father Collins's glass and his own. "I think -most of us are ready enough to accept any new experience that comes, -and to accept it without fear." He drained his own glass and looked -about him. "But the point is--how did LeVallon produce the effect upon -us all--the effect he did produce? He may be non-human, or he may be -merely mad. He may, as Imson says, come to us by some godless chance -from another evolutionary system--of which, mind you, we have as yet -no positive knowledge--or he may be a Messenger, as Father Collins -suggests, from some divine source, bringing new teaching. But, in the -name of Magic, how did he manage it? In other words--what is he?" - -For Povey could be very ruthless when he chose. It was this -ruthlessness, perhaps, that made him such an efficient secretary. The -note of extravagance in his language had possibly another inspiration. - -An awkward pause, at any rate, followed his remarks. Father Collins had -comforted and blessed the group. Povey introduced cold water rather. - -"There's this--and there's that," remarked Miss Milligan, tactfully. - -"Those among us," added Miss Lance with sympathy, "who have The Sight, -know at least what they have seen. Still, I think we are indebted to -Father Collins for--his guidance." - -"If we knew exactly what he is," mentioned Mrs. Towzer, referring to -LeVallon, "we should know exactly where we are." - -They got up to go. There was a fumbling among crowded hat-pegs. - -"What is he?" offered Kempster. "He certainly made us all sit up and -take notice." - -"No mere earthly figure," suggested Imson, "could have produced the -effect _he_ did. In my poem--it came to me in sleep----" - -Father Collins held his glass unsteadily to the light. "A Messenger," -he interrupted with authority, "would affect us all differently, -remember." - -The talk continued in this fashion for a considerable time, while all -searched for wraps and coats. The waiter brought the bill amid general -confusion, but no one noticed him. All were otherwise engaged. Povey -paid it finally, putting it down to the Entertainment Account. - -"Remember," he said, as they stood in a group on the restaurant steps, -each wondering who would provide a lift home, "remember, we have all -got to write out an account of what we saw and heard at the Studio. -These reports will be valuable. They will appear in our 'Psychic -Bulletin' first. Then I'll have them bound into a volume. And I shall -try and get LeVallon to give us a lecture too. Tickets will be extra, -of course, but each member can bring a friend. I'll let you all know -the date in due course." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -While the Prometheans thus, individually and collectively fermenting, -floundered between old and new interpretations of a strange occurrence, -in another part of London something was happening, of its kind so -real, so interesting, that one and all would eagerly have renounced a -favourite shibboleth or pet desire to witness it. Kempster would have -eaten a raw beefsteak, Lattimer have agreed to rebirth as a woman, Mrs. -Towzer have swallowed whisky neat, and even Toogood have written a -signed confession that his "psychometry," was intelligent guesswork. - -It is the destiny, however, of such students of the wonderful to -receive their data invariably at second or third hand; the data may -deal with genuine occurrences, but the student seems never himself -present at the time. From books, from reports, from accounts of someone -who knew an actual witness, the student generally receives the version -he then proceeds to study and elaborate. - -In this particular instance, moreover, no version ever reached their -ears at all, either at second or third hand, because the only witness -of what happened was Edward Fillery, and he mentioned it to no one. Its -reality, its interpretation likewise, remained authoritative only for -that expert, if unstable, mind that experienced the one and divined the -other. - -His conversation with Devonham over, and the latter having retired to -his room, Fillery paid a last visit to the patient who was now his -private care, instead of merely an inmate of the institution that was -half a Home and half a Spiritual Clinique. The figure lay sleeping -quietly, the lean, muscular body bare to the wind that blew upon it -from the open window. Graceful, motionless, both pillow and coverings -rejected, "N. H." breathed the calm, regular breath of deepest slumber. -The light from the door just touched the face and folded hands, the -features wore no expression of any kind, the hair, drawn back from the -forehead and temples, almost seemed to shine. - -Through the window came the rustle of the tossing branches, but the -night air, though damp, was neither raw nor biting, and Fillery did not -replace the sheets upon the great sleeping body. He withdrew as softly -as he entered. Knowing he would not close an eye that night, he left -the house silently and walked out into the deserted streets.... - -The rain had ceased, but the wet wind rushed in gusts against him, the -soft blows and heavy moisture acting as balm to his somewhat tired -nerves. As with great elemental hands, the windy darkness stroked him, -soothing away the intense excitement he had felt, muting a thousand -eager questions. They stroked his brain into a gentler silence -gradually. "Don't think, don't think," night whispered all about him, -"but feel, feel, feel. What you want to know will come to you by -feeling now." He obeyed instinctively. Down the long, empty streets he -passed, swinging his stick, tapping the lampposts, noting how steady -their light held in the wind, noting the tossing trees in little -gardens, noting occasionally rifts of moonlight between the racing -clouds, but relinquishing all attempt to think. - -He counted the steps between the lamp-posts as he swung along, leaving -the kerb at each crossing with his left foot, taking the new one with -his right, planting each boot safely in the centre of each paving -stone, establishing, in a word, a sort of rhythm as he moved. He -did so, however, without being consciously aware of it. He was not -aware, indeed, of anything but that he swung along with this pleasant -rhythmical stride that rested his body, though the exercise was -vigorous. - -And the night laid her deep peace upon him as he went.... - -The streets grew narrower, twisted, turned and ran uphill; the houses -became larger, spaced farther apart, less numerous, their gardens -bigger, with groups of trees instead of isolated specimens. He emerged -suddenly upon the open heath, tasting a newer, sweeter air. The huge -city lay below him now, but the rough, shouting wind drowned its -distant roar completely. For a time he stood and watched its twinkling -lights across the vapours that hung between, then turned towards the -little pond. He knew it well. Its waves flew dancing happily. The -familiar outline of Jack Straw's Castle loomed beyond. The square -enclosure of the anti-aircraft gun rattled with a metallic sound in the -wind.... - -He had been walking for the best part of two hours now, thinking -nothing but feeling only, and his surface-consciousness, perhaps, lay -still, inactive. The mind was quiescent certainly, his being subdued -and lulled by the rhythmic movement which had gained upon his entire -system. The sails of his ship hung idly, becalmed above the profound -deeps below. It was these deeps, the mysterious and inexhaustible -region below the surface, that now began to stir. There stole upon him -a dim prophetic sense as of horizons lifting and letting in new light. -He glanced about him. The moon was brighter certainly, the flying scud -was thinning, though the dawn was still some hours away. But it was not -the light of moon or sun or stars he looked for; it was no outer light. - -The little waves fell splashing at his feet. He watched them for a long -time, keeping very still; his heart, his mind, his nerves, his muscles, -all were very still.... He became aware that new big powers were alert -and close, hovering above the world, feathering the Race like wings of -mighty birds. The waters were being troubled.... - -He turned and walked slowly, but ever with the same pleasant rhythm -that was in him, to the pine trees, where he paused a minute, listening -to the branches shaking and singing, then retraced his steps along the -ridge, every yard of which, though blurred in darkness, he knew and -recognized. Below, on his left lay London, on his right stretched the -familiar country, though now invisible, past Hendon with its Welsh -Harp, Wembley, and on towards Harrow, whose church steeple would catch -the sunrise before very long. He reached the little pond again and -heard its small waves rushing and tumbling in the south-west wind. He -stood and watched them, listening to their musical wash and gurgle. - -The waters, yes, were being troubled.... Despite the buffeting wind, -the world lay even stiller now about him; no single human being had he -seen; even stiller than before, too, lay heart and mind within him; -the latter held no single picture. He was aware, yes, of horizons -lifting, of great powers alert and close; the interior light increased. -He felt, but he did not think. Into the empty chamber of his being, -swept and garnished, flashed suddenly, then, as in picture form, the -memory of "N. H." All that he knew about him came at once: Paul's -notes and journey, the London scenes and talks, his own observations, -deductions, questionings, his dreams, and fears and yearnings, his hope -and wonder--all came in a clapping instant, complete and simultaneous. -Into his opened subconscious being floated the power and the presence -of that bright messenger who brought glad tidings to his life. - -"N. H." stood beside him, whispering with lips that were the darkness, -and with words that were the wind. It was the power and presence -of "N. H." that lifted the horizon and let in light. His body lay -sleeping miles away in that bed against an open window. This was his -real presence. Without words, as without thought, understanding came. -The appeal of "N. H." was direct to the subliminal mind; it was the -hidden nine-tenths he stimulated; hence came the intensification of -consciousness in all who had to do with him. And it operated now. -Fillery was aware of defying time and space, as though there were no -limits to his being. Faith lights fires.... Perception wandered down -those dusky by-ways _behind_ the mind that lead through trackless -depths where the massed heritage of the world-soul, lit sometimes by a -flashing light, reveal incredible, incalculable things. One of those -flashes came now. Through the fissures, as it were, of his unstable -being rose the marvellous, uncanny gleam. His eyes were opened and he -saw. - -The label, he realized, was incorrect, inadequate--"N. H." was a -misnomer; more than human, both different to and greater than, came -nearer to the truth. A being from other conditions certainly, belonging -to another order; an order whose work was unremitting service rendered -with joy and faithfulness; a hierarchy whose service included the -entire universe, the stars and suns and nebulæ, earth with her frail -humanity but an insignificant fraction of it all.... - -He came, of course, from that central sea of energy whence all life, -pushing irresistibly outwards into form, first arises. Like human -beings, he came thence undoubtedly, but more directly than they, in -more intimate relations, therefore, with the elemental powers that -build up form and shape the destinies of matter. One only of a mighty -host of varying degrees and powers, his services lay interwoven with -the very heart and processes of Nature herself. The energies of heat -and air, essentials of all life everywhere, were his handmaidens; he -worked with fire and wind; in the forms he helped to build he set -enthusiasm and energy aglow.... - -From stars and fire-mist he came now into humanity, using the limited -instrument of a human mechanism, a mechanism he must learn to master -without breaking it. A human brain and nerves confined him. He could -deal with essences only, those essential, buried, semi-elemental -powers that lie ever waiting below the threshold of all human -consciousness, linking men, did they but know it, direct with the sea -of universal life which is inexhaustible, independent of space and -time. The fraction of his nature which had manifested as a transient -surface-personality--LeVallon--was gone for ever, merged in the real -self below. - -His origin was already forgotten; no memory of it lay in his present -brain; he must suffer training, education, and he turned instinctively -to those whose ideal, like his own, was one of impersonal service. To -a woman he turned, and to a man. His recognition, guided by Nature, -was sure and accurate. It must take time and patience, sympathy and -love, faith, belief and trust, and the labour must be borne by one -man chiefly--by Fillery, into whose life had come this strange bright -messenger carrying glad tidings ... to prove at last that man was -greater than he knew, that the hope for Humanity, for the deteriorating -Race, for crumbling Civilization, lay in drawing out into full -practical consciousness the divine powers concealed below the threshold -of every single man and woman.... - -But how, in what practical manner, what instrument could they use? -The human mechanism, the brain, the mind, afforded inadequate means -of manifestation; new wines into old skins meant disaster; knowledge, -power beyond the experience of the Race needed a better instrument than -the one the Race had painfully evolved for present uses. New powers -of unknown kinds, as already in those rare cases when the supernormal -forces emerged, could only strain the machinery and cause disorder. A -new order of consciousness required another, a different equipment. -And the idea flashed into him, as in the Studio when he watched "N. -H." and the girl--Father Collins had divined its possibility as -well--the idea of a group consciousness, a collective group-soul. -What a single individual might not be able to resist at first without -disaster, many--a group in harmony--two or three gathered together in -unison--these might provide the way, the means, the instrument--the -body. - -"The personal merged in the impersonal," he exclaimed to the night -about him, already aware that words, expression, failed even at this -early stage of understanding. "Beauty, Art! Where words, form, colour -end, we shall construct, while yet using these as far as they go, a new -vehicle, a new----" - -"Good evenin'," said a gruff voice. "Good evenin', sir," it added more -respectfully, after a second's inspection. "Turned out quite fine after -the storm." - -Aware of the policeman suddenly, Fillery started and turned round -abruptly. Evidently he had uttered his thoughts aloud, probably had -cried and shouted them. He could think of nothing in the world to say. - -"It was a terrible storm. I hardly ever see the likes of it." The man -was looking at him still with doubtful curiosity. - -"Extraordinary, yes." Dr. Fillery managed to find a few natural words. -It was an early hour in the morning to be out, and his position by the -pond, he now realized, might have suggested an undesirable intention. -"It made sleep impossible, and I came out to--to take a walk. I'm a -doctor, Dr. Fillery--the Fillery Home." - -"Yes, sir," said the man, apparently satisfied. He looked at the sky. -"All blown away again," he remarked, "and the moon that nice and -bright----" - -Fillery offered something in reply, then moved away. The moon, he -noticed, was indeed nice and bright now; the heavy lower vapours all -had vanished, and thin cirrus clouds at a great height moved slowly -before an upper wind; the stars shone clearly, and a faint line of -colour gave a hint of dawn not far away. - -He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half-past four. - -"It's impossible, impossible," he thought to himself, the pictures -he had been seeing still hanging before his eyes. "It was all -feeling--merely feeling. My blood, my heritage asserting themselves -upon an over-tired system! Too much repression evidently. I must find -an outlet. My Caucasian Valley again!" - -He walked rapidly. His mind began to work, and thinking made -an effort to replace feeling. He watched himself. His everyday -surface-consciousness partially resumed its sway. The policeman, of -course, had interrupted the flow and inrush of another state just at -the moment when a flash of direct knowledge was about to blaze. It -concerned "N. H.," his new patient. In another moment he would have -known exactly what and who he was, whence he came, the purpose and the -powers that attended him. The policeman--and inner laughter ran through -him at this juxtaposition of the practical and the transcendental--had -interfered with an interesting expansion of his being. An extension -of consciousness, perhaps a touch of cosmic consciousness, was on the -way. The first faint quiver of its coming, magical with wondrous joy, -had touched him. Its cause, its origin, he knew not, yet he could trace -both to the effect produced upon him by "N. H." Of that he was sure. -This effect his reasoning mind, with busy analysis and criticism, -had hitherto partially suppressed, even at its first manifestation -in Charing Cross Station. To-night, criticism silent and analysis -inactive, it had found an outlet, his own deep inner stillness had been -its opportunity. Then came the practical, honest, simple policeman, -the censor, who received so much a week to keep people in the way they -ought to follow, the safe, broad way.... - -He smiled, as he walked rapidly along the deserted streets. He knew so -well the method and process of these abnormal states in others. As he -swung along, not tired now, but rested, rather, and invigorated, the -rhythm of motion established itself again. "N. H." a Nature Spirit! A -Nature Being! Another order of life entering humanity for the first -time, that humanity for whose welfare it--or was it he?--had worked, -with hosts of similar beings, during incalculable ages.... - -He smiled, remembering the policeman again. There was always a -policeman, or a censor. Oh, the exits beyond safe normal states of -being, the exits into extended fields of consciousness, into an outer -life which the majority, led by the best minds of the day, deny with an -oath--these were well guarded! His smile, as he thought of it, ran from -his lips and settled in the eyes, lingering a moment there before it -died away.... - -How quiet, yet unfamiliar, the suburb of the huge city lay about him -in pale half-light. The Studio scene, how distant it seemed now in -space and time; it had happened weeks ago in another city somewhere. -Devonham, his cautious, experienced assistant, how far away! He -belonged to another age. The Prometheans were part of a dream in -childhood, a dream of pantomime or harlequinade whose extravagance -yet conveyed symbolic meaning. Two figures alone retained a reality -that refused to be dismissed--a mysterious, enigmatic youth, a radiant -girl--with perhaps a third--a broken priest.... - -The rhythm, meanwhile, gained upon him, and, as it did so, thinking -once more withdrew and feeling stole back softly. His being became more -harmonized, more one with itself, more open to inspiration.... "N. H.," -whose work was service, service everywhere, not merely in that tiny -corner of the universe called Humanity.... "N. H.," who could neither -age nor die.... What was the hidden link that bound them? Had they not -served and played together in some lost Caucasian valley, leaped with -the sun's hot fire, flown in the winds of dawn ... sung, laughed and -danced at their service, with a radiant sylph-like girl who had at -last enticed them into the confinement of a limited human form?... Did -not that valley symbolize, indeed, another state of existence, another -order of consciousness altogether that lay beyond any known present -experience or description...? - -The dawn, meanwhile, grew nearer and a pallid light ran down the -dreadful streets.... He reached at length the foot of the hill upon -whose shoulder his own house stood. The familiar sights stirred more -familiar currents of feeling, and these in turn sought words.... - -The crowding houses, with their tight-shut windows, followed and -pressed after as he climbed. They swarmed behind him. How choked and -airless it all was. He thought of the heavy-footed routine of the -thousands who occupied these pretentious buildings. Here lived a -section of the greatest city on the planet, almost a separate little -town, with marked characteristics, atmosphere, tastes and habits. -How many, he wondered, behind those walls knew yearning, belief, -imagination beyond the ruck and routine of familiar narrow thought? -Rows upon rows, with their stunted, manufactured trees, hideous -conservatories, bulging porches, ornamented windows--his wings beat -against them all with the burning desire to set their inmates free. -They caged themselves in deliberately. A few thousand years ago these -people lived in mud huts, before that in caves, before that again in -trees. Now they were "civilized." They dwelt in these cages. Oh, that -he might tear away the thick dead bricks, and let in light and dew and -stars, and the brave, free winds of heaven! Waken the deeper powers -they carried unwittingly about with them through all their tedious -sufferings! Teach them that they were greater than they knew! - -The yearning was deep and true in him, as the houses followed and -tried to bar his way. Many of the occupiers, he knew, would welcome -help, would gaze with happy, astonished eyes at the wonder of their -own greater selves set free. Not all, of course, were wingless. Yet -the majority, he felt, were otherwise. They peered at him from behind -thick curtains, hostile, sceptical, contented with their lot, averse -to change. Mode, custom, habit chained them to the floor. He was -aware of a collective obstinate grin of smug complacency, of dull -resistance. Though a part of the community, of the race, of the world, -of the universe itself, they denied their mighty brotherhood, and -clung tenaciously to their idea of living apart, cut off and separate. -They belonged to leagues, societies, clubs and circles, but the bigger -oneness of the race they did not know. Of greater powers in themselves -they had no faintest inkling. At the first sign of these, they would -shuffle, sneer and turn away, grow frightened even. - -The yearning to show them a bigger field of consciousness, to help them -towards a realization of their buried powers, to let them out of their -separate cages, beat through his being with a passionate sincerity.... -In a hundred thousand years perhaps! Perhaps in a million! He knew the -slow gait that Nature loved. The trend of an Age is not to be stemmed -by one man, nor by twelve, who see over the horizon. The futility of -trying pained him. Yet, if no one ever tried! Oh, for a few swift -strokes of awful sacrifice--then freedom! - -The words came back to him, and with them, from the same source, came -others: "I sit and I weave.... I sit and I weave."... Whose, then, was -this divine, eternal patience?... - -There could be, it seemed, no hurried growth, no instant escape, no -sudden leap to heaven. Slowly, slowly, the Ages turned the wheel. "Nor -can other beings help," he remembered; "they can only tell what their -own part is."... And as his clear mind saw the present Civilization -like all its wonderful predecessors, tottering before his very eyes, -threatening in its collapse, the extinction of knowledge so slowly, -painfully, laboriously acquired, the deep heart in him rose as on wings -of wind and fire, questing the stars above. There was this strange -clash in him, as though two great divisions in his being struggled. A -way of escape seemed just within his reach, only a little beyond the -horizon of his actual knowledge. It fluttered marvellously; golden, -alight, inviting. Its coming glory brushed his insight. It was simple, -it was divine. There seemed a faint knocking against the doors of his -mental and spiritual understanding.... - -"'N. H.'!" he cried, "Bright Messenger!" - -He paused a moment and stood still. A new sound lay suddenly in the -night. It came, apparently, from far away, almost from the air above -him. He listened. No, after all it was only steps. They came nearer. -A pedestrian, muffled to the ears, went past, and the steps died away -on the resounding pavement round the corner. Yet the sound continued, -and was not the echo of the steps just gone. It was, moreover, he now -felt convinced, in the air above him. It was continuous. It reminded -him of the musical droning hum that a big bell leaves behind it, while -a suggestion of rhythm, almost of melody, ran faintly through it too. - -Somebody's lines--was it Shelley's?--ran faintly in his mind, yet it -was not his mind now that surged and rose to the new great rhythm: - - "'Tis the deep music of the rolling world - Kindling within the strings of the waved air - Æolian modulations.... - Clear, icy, keen awakening tones - That pierce the sense - And live within the soul...." - -He listened. It was a simple, natural, happy sound--simple as running -water, natural as wind, happy as the song of birds.... - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -He became, again, vividly aware of the power and presence of "N. H." - -He was not far from his house now on the shoulder of the hill. He -turned his eyes upwards, where the three-quarter moon sailed above -transparent cirrus clouds that scarcely dimmed her light. Like dappled -sands of silver, they sifted her soft shining, moving slowly across the -heavens before an upper wind. The sound continued. - -For a moment or two, in the pale light of dawn, he watched and -listened, then lowered his gaze, caught his breath sharply, and stood -stock still. He stared in front of him. Next, turning slowly, he stared -right and left. He stared behind as well. - -Yes, it was true. The lines and rows of crowding houses trembled, -disappeared. The heavy buildings dissolved before his very eyes. The -solid walls and roofs were gone, the chimneys, railings, doors and -porches vanished. There were no more conservatories. There were no -lamp-posts. The streets themselves had melted. He gazed in amazement -and delight. The entire hill lay bare and open to the sky. - -Across the rising upland swept a keen fresh morning wind. Yet bare -they were not, this rising upland and this hill. As far as he could -see, the landscape flowed waist-deep in flowers, whose fragrance lay -upon the air; dew trembled, shimmering on a million petals of blue and -gold, of orange, purple, violet; the very atmosphere seemed painted. -Flowering trees, both singly and in groves, waved in the breeze, birds -sang in chorus, there was a murmur of streams and falling waters. Yet -that other sound rose too, rose from the entire hill and all upon it, -a continuous gentle rhythm, as though, he felt, the actual scenery -poured forth its being in spontaneous, natural expression of sound as -well as of form and colour. It was the simplest, happiest music he had -ever heard. - -Unable to deal with the rapture of delight that swept upon him, he -stood stock still among the blossoms to his waist. Eyes, ears and -nostrils were inadequate to report a beauty which, simple though it -was, overbore nerves and senses accustomed to a lesser scale. Horizons -indeed had lifted, the joy and confidence of fuller life poured in. -His own being grew immense, stretched, widened, deepened, till it -seemed to include all space. He was everywhere, or rather everything -was happening somewhere in him all at once.... In place of the heavy -suburb lay this garden of primal beauty, while yet, in a sense, the -suburb itself remained as well. Only--it had flowered ... revealing the -subconscious soul the bricks and pavements hid.... Its potential self -had blossomed into loveliness and wonder. - -The sound drew nearer. He was aware of movement. Figures were -approaching; they were coming in his direction, coming towards him over -the crest of the hill, nearer and nearer. Concealed by the forest of -tall flowers, he watched them come. Yet as Presences he perceived them, -rather than as figures, already borrowing power from them, as sails -borrow from a rising wind. His consciousness expanded marvellously to -let them in. - -Their stature was conveyed to him, chiefly, at first, by the fact that -these flowers, though rising to his own waist, did not cover the feet -of them, yet that the flowers in the immediate line of their advance -still swayed and nodded, as though no weight had lain upon their -brilliance. The footsteps were of wind, the figures light as air; they -shone; their radiant presences lit the acres. Their own atmosphere, -too, came with them, as though the landscape moved and travelled with -and in their being, as though the flowers, the natural beauty, emanated -from them. The landscape _was_ their atmosphere. They created, brought -it with them. It seemed that they "expressed" the landscape and "were" -the scenery, with all its multitudinous forms. - -They approached with a great and easy speed that was not measurable. -Over the crest of the living, sunlit hill they poured, with their bulk, -their speed, their majesty, their sweet brimming joy. Fillery stood -motionless watching them, his own joy touched with awed confusion, till -wonder and worship mastered the final trace of fear. - -Though he perceived these figures first as they topped the skyline, he -was aware that great space also stretched behind them, and that this -immense perspective was in some way appropriate to their appearance. -Born of a greater space than his "mind" could understand, they -flowed towards him across that windy crest and at the same time from -infinitely far beyond it. Above the continuous humming sound, he heard -their music too, faint but mighty, filling the air with deep vibrations -that seemed the natural expression of their joyful beings. Each figure -was a chord, yet all combining in a single harmony that had volume -without loudness. It seemed to him that their sound and colour and -movement wove a new pattern upon space, a new outline, form or growth, -perhaps a flower, a tree, perhaps a planet.... They were creative. They -expressed themselves naturally in a million forms. - -He heard, he saw. He knew no other words to use. But the "hearing" was, -rather, some kind of intimate possession so that his whole being filled -and overbrimmed; and the "sight" was greater than the customary little -irritation of the optic nerve--it involved another term of space. He -could describe the sight more readily than the hearing. The apparent -contradiction of distance and proximity, of vast size yet intimacy, -made him tremble in his hiding-place. - -His "sight," at any rate, perceived the approaching figures all round, -all over, all at once, as they poured like a wave across the hill from -far beyond its visible crest. For into this space below the horizon he -saw as well, though, normally speaking, it was out of sight. Nor did he -see one side only; he saw the backs of the towering forms as easily as -the portion facing him; he saw behind them. It was not as with ordinary -objects refracting light, the back and underneath and further edges -invisible. All sides were visible at once. The space beyond, moreover, -whence the mighty outlines issued, was of such immensity that he could -think only of interstellar regions. Not to the little planet, then, did -these magnificent shapes belong. They were of the Universe. The symbol -of his valley, he knew suddenly, belonged here too. - -Silent with wonder, motionless with worship, he watched the singing -flood of what he felt to be immense, non-human nature-life pour past -him. The procession lasted for hours, yet was over in a minute's flash. -All categories his mind knew hitherto were useless. The faces, in their -power, their majesty, the splendour even of their extent, were both -appalling, yet infinitely tender. They were filled with stars, blue -distance, flowers, spirals of fire, space and air, interwoven too, -with shining geometrical designs whose intricate patterns merged in a -central harmony. They brought their own winds with them. - -Yet of features precisely, he was not aware. Each face was, rather, -an immense expression, but an expression that was permanent and could -not change. These were immutable, eternal faces. He borrowed from -human terms the only words that offered, while aware that he falsely -introduced the personal into that which was essentially impersonal. - -There stole over him a strange certainty that what he worshipped was -the grandeur of joyful service working through unalterable law--the -great compassion of some untiring service that was deathless.... He -stood _within_ the Universe, face to face with its elemental builders, -guardians, its constructive artizans, the impersonal angelic powers -... the region, the state, he now felt convinced, to which "N. H." -belonged, and whence, by some inexplicable chance, he had come to -occupy a human body.... And the sounds--the flash came to him with -lightning conviction--were those essential rhythms which are the -kernels of all visible, manifested forms.... - - * * * * * - -He was not aware that he was moving, that he had left the spot where he -had stood--so long, yet for a single second only--and had now reached -the corner of a street again. The flowers were gone, and the trees and -groves gone with them; no waters rippled past; there was no shining -hill. The moon, the stars, the breaking dawn remained, but he saw -windows, walls and villas once again, while his feet echoed on dead -stone pavements.... - -Yet the figures had not wholly gone. Before a house, where he now -paused a moment, the towering, flowing outlines were still faintly -visible. Their singing still audible, their shapes still gently -luminous, they stood grouped about an open window of the second story. -In the front garden a big plane tree stirred its leafless branches; the -tree and figures interpenetrated. Slowly then, the outlines grew dim -and shadowy, indistinguishable almost from the objects in the twilight -near them. Chimneys, walls and roofs stole in upon the great shapes -with foreign, grosser details that obscured their harmony, confused -their proportion, as with two sets of values. The eye refused to focus -both at once. A roof, a chimney obtruded, while sight struggled, -fluttered, then ended in confusion. The figures faded and melted out. -They merged with the tree, the reddening sky, the murky air close -to the house which a street lamp made visible. Suddenly they were -lost--they were no longer there. - -But the rhythmical sound, though fainter, still continued--and Fillery -looked up. - -It was a sound, he realized in a flash, evocative and summoning. Type -called to type, brother to brother, across the universe. The house -before him was his own, and the open window through which the music -issued was the bedroom of "N. H." - -He stood transfixed. Both sides of his complex nature operated -simultaneously. His mind worked more clearly--the entire history -of the "case" in that upstairs room passed through it: he was a -doctor. But his speculative, emotional aspect, the dreamer in him, so -greatly daring, all that poetic, transcendental, half-mystical part -which classed him, he well knew, with the unstable; all this, long -and dangerously repressed, worked with opposite, if equal pressure. -From the subconscious rose violent hands as of wind and fire, -lovely, fashioning, divine, tearing away the lid of the reasoning -surface-consciousness that confined, confused them. - -To disentangle, to define these separate functions, were a difficult -problem even for the most competent psychiatrist. Creative imaginative -powers, hitherto merely fumbling, half denied as well, now stretched -their wings and soared. With them came a blinding clarity of sight -that enabled him to focus a vast field of detail with extraordinary -rapidity. Horizons had lifted, perspective deepened and lit up. In a -few brief seconds, before his front door opened, a hundred details -flashed towards a focus and shone concentrated: - -The Vision, of course--the Figures had now melted into the night--had -no objective reality. Suppressed passion had created them, forbidden -yearnings had passed the Censor and dramatized a dream, set aside yet -never explained, that heredity was responsible for. Both were born -of his lost radiant valley. His Note Books held a thousand similar -cases.... - -But the speculative dreamer flashed coloured lights against this common -white. The prism blazed. From the inter-stellar spaces came these -radiant figures, from Sirius, immense and splendid sun, from Aldebaran -among the happy Hyades, from awful Betelgeuse, whose volume fills a -Martian orbit. Their dazzling, giant grandeur was of stellar origin. -Yet, equally, they came from the dreadful back gardens of those sordid -houses. Nature was Nature everywhere, in the nebulæ as in the stifled -plane tree of a city court. That he saw them as "figures" was but his -own private, personal interpretation of a prophecy the whole Universe -announced. They were not figures necessarily; they were Powers. And "N. -H." was of their kind. - -He suddenly remembered the small, troubled earth whereon he lived--a -neglected corner of the universe that was in distress and cried -frantically for help.... Alcyone caught it in her golden arms perhaps; -Sirius thundered against its little ears.... - -He found his latchkey and fumblingly inserted it, but, even while he -did so, the state of the planet at the moment poured into his mind with -swift, concentrated detail; he remembered the wireless excitement of -the instant--and smiled. Not that way would it come. The new order was -of a spiritual kind. It would steal into men's hearts, not splutter -along the waves of ether, as the "dead" are said to splutter to the -"living." The great impulse, the mighty invitation Nature sent out to -return to simple, natural life, would come, without "phenomena" from -_within_.... He remembered Relativity--that space is local, space and -time not separate entities. He understood. He had just experienced -it. Another, a fourth dimension! Space as a whole was annihilated! He -smiled. - -His latchkey turned. - -The transmutation of metals flashed past him--all substance one. His -latchkey was upside down. He turned it round and reinserted it, and the -results of advanced psychology rushed at him, as though the sun rushed -over the horizon of some Eastern clime, covering all with the light of -a new, fair dawn. - -In a few seconds this accumulation of recent knowledge and discovery -flooded his state of singular receptiveness--as thinker and as poet. -The Age was crumbling, civilization passing like its predecessors. The -little planet lay certainly in distress. No true help lay within it; -its reservoirs were empty. No adequate constructive men or powers were -anywhere in sight. It was exhausted, dying. Unless new help, powers -from a new, an inexhaustible source, came quickly ... a new vehicle for -their expression.... - -And wonder took him by the throat ... as the key turned in the lock -with its familiar grating sound, and the door, without actual pressure -on his part, swung open. - -Paul Devonham, a look of bright terror in his eyes, stood on the -threshold. - - * * * * * - -The expression, not only of the face but of the whole person, he had -seen once only in another human countenance--a climber, who had slipped -by his very side and dropped backward into empty space. The look of -helpless bewilderment as hands and feet lost final touch with solidity, -the air of terrible yet childlike amazement with which he began his -descent of a thousand feet through a gulf of air--the shock marked the -face in a single second with what he now saw in his colleague's eyes. -Only, with Devonham--Fillery felt sure of his diagnosis--the lost hold -was mental. - -His outward control, however, was admirable. Devonham's voice, -apart from a certain tenseness in it, was quiet enough: "I've been -telephoning everywhere.... There's been a--a crisis----" - -"Violence?" - -But the other shook his head. "It's all beyond me quite," he said, -with a wry smile. "The first outbreak was nothing--nothing compared to -this." The continuous sound of humming which filled the hall, making -the air vibrate oddly, grew louder. Devonham seized his friend's arm. - -"Listen!" he whispered. "You hear that?" - -"I heard it outside in the street," Fillery said. "What is it?" - -Devonham glared at him. "God knows," he said, "I don't. He's been doing -it, on and off, for a couple of hours. It began the moment you left, it -seems. They're all about him--these vibrations, I mean. He does it with -his whole body somehow. And"--he hesitated--"there's meaning in it of -some kind. Results, I mean," he jerked out with an effort. - -"Visible?" came the gentle question. - -Devonham started. "How did you know?" There was a thrust of intense -curiosity in the eyes. - -"I've had a similar experience myself, Paul. You opened the front door -in the middle of it. The figures----" - -"You saw figures?" Devonham looked thunderstruck. In his heart was -obviously a touch of panic. - -As the two men stood gazing into each other's eyes a moment silently, -the sound about them increased again, rising and falling, its great -separate rhythmical waves almost distinguishable. In Fillery's mind -rose patterns, outlines, forms of flowers, spirals, circles.... - -"He knows you're in the house," said Devonham in a curious voice, -relieved apparently no answer came to his question. "Better come -upstairs at once and see him." But he did not turn to lead the way. -"That's not auditory hallucination, Edward, whatever else it is!" He -was still clinging to the rock, but the rock was crumbling beneath his -desperate touch. Space yawned below him. - -"Visual," suggested Fillery, as though he held out a feeble hand to the -man whose whole weight already hung unsupported before the plunge. His -friend spoke no word; but his expression made words unnecessary: "We -must face the facts," it said plainly, "wherever these may lead. No -shirking, no prejudice of mine or yours must interfere. There must be -no faltering now." - -So plainly was his passion for truth and knowledge legible in the -expression of the shocked but honest mind, that Fillery felt compassion -overpower the first attitude of privacy he had meant to take. This time -he must share. The honesty of the other won his confidence too fully -for him to hold back anything. There was no doubt in his mind that he -read his colleague's state aright. - -"A moment, Paul," he said in a low voice, "before we go upstairs," and -he put his hand out, oddly enough meeting Devonham's hand already -stretched to meet it. He drew him aside into a corner of the hall, -while the waves of sound surged round and over them like a sea. "Let -me first tell you," he went on, his voice trembling slightly, "my own -experience." It seemed to him that any moment he must see the birth of -a new form, an outline, a "body" dance across before his very eyes. - -"Neither auditory nor visual," murmured Devonham, burning to hear -what was coming, yet at the same time shrinking from it by the laws -of his personality. "Hallucination of any kind, there is absolutely -none. There's nothing transferred from your mind to his. This thing is -real--original." - -Fillery tightened his grip a second on the hand he held. - -"Paul," he said gravely, yet unable to hide the joy of recent ecstasy -in his eyes, "it is also--new!" - -The low syllables seemed borne away and lifted beyond their reach by an -immense vibration that swept softly past them. And so actual was this -invisible wave that behind it lay the trough, the ebb, that awaits, as -in the sea, the next advancing crest. Into this ebb, as it were, both -men dropped simultaneously the same significant syllables: their lips -uttered together: - -"N. H." The wave of sound seemed to take their voices and increase -them. It was the older man who added: "Coming into full possession." - -The two stood waiting, listening, their heads turned sideways, their -bodies motionless, while the soft rhythmical uproar rose and fell about -them. No sign escaped them for some minutes; no words, it seemed, -occurred to either of them. - -Through the transom over the front door stole the grey light of the -late autumn dawn; the hall furniture was visible, chairs, hat-rack, -wooden chests that held the motor rugs. A china bowl filled with -visiting cards gleamed white beside it. Soon the milkman, uttering -his comic earthly cry, would clatter down the area staircase, and the -servants would be up. As yet, however, but for the big soft sound, the -house was perfectly still. This part of it, almost a separate wing, was -completely cut off from the main building. No one had been disturbed. - -Fillery moved his head and looked at his companion. The expression of -both face and figure arrested him. He had taken off his dinner jacket, -and the old loose golfing coat he wore hung askew; he had one hand in -a pocket of it, the other thrust deep into his trousers. His glasses -hung down across his crumpled shirt-front, his black tie made an untidy -cross. He looked, thought Fillery, whose sense of the ludicrous became -always specially alert in his gravest moments, like an unhappy curate -who had presided over some strenuous and worrying social gathering -in the local town hall. Only one detail denied this picture--the -expression of something mysterious and awed in the sheet-white face. -He was listening with sharp dislike yet eager interest. His repugnance -betrayed itself in the tightened lips, the set of the angular -shoulders; the panic was written in the glistening eyes. There were -things in his face he could never, never tell. The struggle in him was -natural to his type of mind: he had experienced something himself, and -a personal experience opens new vistas in sympathy and understanding. -But--the experience ran contrary to every tenet of theory and practice -he had ever known. The moment of new birth was painful. This was his -colleague's diagnosis. - -Fillery then suddenly realized that the gulf between them was without a -bridge. To tell his own experience became at once utterly impossible. -He saw this clearly. He could not speak of it to his assistant. It was, -after all, incommunicable. The bridge of terms, language, feeling, did -not exist between them. And, again, up flashed for a second his sense -of the comic, this time in an odd touch of memory--Povey's favourite -sentence: "Never argue with the once-born!" Only to older souls was -expression possible. - -For the first time then his diagnosis wavered oddly. Why, for -instance, did Paul persist in that curious, watchful stare...? - -Devonham, conscious of his chief's eyes and mind upon him, looked up. -Somewhere in his expression was a glare, but nothing revealed his state -of mind better than the fact that he stupidly contradicted himself: - -"You're putting all this into him, Edward," a touch of anger, perhaps -of fear, in the intense whispering voice. "The hysteria of the studio -upset him, of course. If you'd left him alone, as you promised, he'd -have always stayed LeVallon. He'd be cured by now." Then, as Fillery -made no reply or comment, he added, but this time only the anxiety of -the doctor in his tone: "Hadn't you better go up to him at once? He's -your patient, not mine, remember!" - -The other took his arm. "Not yet," he said quietly. "He's best alone -for the moment." He smiled, and it was the smile that invariably won -him the confidence of even the most obstinate and difficult patient. -He was completely master of himself again. "Besides, Paul," he went on -gently. "I want to hear what you have to tell me. Some of it--if not -all. I want your Report. It is of value. I must have that first, you -know." - -They sat on the bottom stair together, while Devonham told briefly what -had happened. He was glad to tell it, too. It was a relief to become -the mere accurate observer again. - -"I can summarize it for you in two words," he said: "light and sound. -The sound, at first, seemed wind--wind rising, wind outside. With the -light, was perceptible heat. The two seemed correlated. When the sound -increased, the heat increased too. Then the sound became methodical, -rhythmical--it became almost musical. As it did so the light became -coloured. Both"--he looked across at the ghostly hat-rack in the -hall--"were produced--by him." - -"Items, please, Paul. I want an itemized account." - -Devonham fumbled in the big pockets of his coat and eventually lit -a cigarette, though he did not in the least want to smoke. That -watchful, penetrating stare persisted, none the less. Amid the anxiety -were items of carelessness that almost seemed assumed. - -"Mrs. Soames sent Nurse Robbins to fetch me," he resumed, his voice -harshly, as it seemed, cutting across the waves of pleasant sound that -poured down the empty stairs behind them and filled the hall with -resonant vibrations. "I went in, turned them both out, and closed -the door. The room was filled with a soft, white light, rather pale -in tint, that seemed to emanate from nowhere. I could trace it to -no source. It was equally diffused, I mean, yet a kind of wave-like -vibration ran through it in faint curves and circles. There was a -sound, a sound like wind. A wind was in the room, moaning and sighing -inside the walls--a perfectly natural and ordinary sound, if it had -been outside. The light moved and quivered. It lay in sheets. Its -movement, I noticed, was in direct relation to the wind: the louder -the volume of sound, the greater the movement of the air--the brighter -became the light, and vice versa. I could not take notes at the actual -moment, but my memory"--a slight grimace by way of a smile indicated -that forgetting was impossible--"is accurate, as you know." - -Fillery did not interrupt, either by word or gesture. - -"The increase of light was accompanied by colour, and the increase of -sound led into a measure--not actual bars, and never melody, but a -distinct measure that involved rhythm. It was musical, as I said. The -colour--I'm coming to that--then took on a very faint tinge of gold -or orange, a little red in it sometimes, flame colour almost. The air -was luminous--it was radiant. At one time I half expected to see fire. -For there was heat as well. Not an unpleasant heat, but a comforting, -stimulating, agreeable heat like--I was going to say, like the heat -of a bright coal fire on a winter's day, but I think the better term -is sunlight. I had an impression this heat must burst presently into -actual flame. It never did so. The sheets of coloured light rose and -fell with the volume of the sound. There were curves and waves and -rising columns like spirals, but anything approaching a definite -outline, form, or shape"--he broke off for a second--"figures," he -announced abruptly, almost challengingly, staring at the white china -bowl in front of him, "I could _not_ swear to." - -He turned suddenly and stared at his chief with an expression half -of question, half of challenge; then seemed to change his mind, -shrugging his shoulders a very little. But Fillery made no sign. He -did not answer. He laid one hand, however, upon the banisters, as -though preliminary to getting to his feet. The sound about them had -been gradually growing less, the vibrations were smaller, its waves -perceptibly decreasing. - -Devonham finished his account in a lower voice, speaking rapidly, as -though the words burnt his tongue: - -"The sound, I had already discovered, issued from himself. He was lying -on his back, the eyes wide open, the expression peaceful, even happy. -The lips were closed. He was humming, continuously humming. Yet the -sound came in some way I cannot describe, and could not examine or -ascertain, from his whole body. I detected no vibration of the body. It -lay half naked, only a corner of the sheet upon it. It lay quite still. -The cause of the light and heat, the cause of the movement of air I -have called wind--I could not ascertain. They came _through_ him, as it -were." A slight shiver ran across his body, noticed by his companion, -but eliciting no comment from him. "I--I took his pulse," concluded -Devonham, sinking his voice now to a whisper, though a very clear one; -"it was very rapid and extraordinarily strong. He seemed entirely -unconscious of my presence. I also"--again the faint shiver was -perceptible--"felt his heart. It was--I have never felt such perfect -action, such power--it was beating like an engine, like an engine. And -the sense of vitality, of life in the room everywhere was--electrical. -I could have sworn it was packed to the walls with--with others." -Devonham never ceased to watch his companion keenly while he spoke. - -Fillery then put his first question. - -"And the effect upon yourself?" he asked quietly. "I mean--any -emotional disturbance? Anything, for instance, like what you _saw_ in -the Jura forests?" He did not look at his colleague; he stood up; the -sound about them had now ceased almost entirely and only faint, dying -fragments of it reached them. "Roughly speaking," he added, making a -half movement to go upstairs. He understood the inner struggle going -on; he wished to make it easy for him. For the complete account he did -not press him. - -Devonham rose too; he walked over to the china bowl, took up a card, -read it and let it fall again. The sun was over the horizon now, and -a pallid light showed objects clearly. It showed the whiteness of the -thin, tired face. He turned and walked slowly back across the hall. The -first cart went clattering noisily down the street. At the same moment -a final sound from the room upstairs came floating down into the chill -early air. - -"My interest, of course," began Devonham, his hands in his pockets, -his body rigid, as he looked up into his companion's eyes, "was -very concentrated, my mind intensely active." He paused, then added -cautiously: "I may confess, however--I must admit, that is, a certain -increase of--of--well, a general sense of well-being, let me call it. -The heat, you see. A feeling of peace, if you like it better--beyond -the--fear," he blurted out finally, changing his hands from his coat to -his trouser pockets, as though the new position protected him better -from attack. "Also--I somehow expected--any moment--to see outlines, -forms, something new!" He stared frankly into the eyes of the man who, -from the step above him, returned his gaze with equal frankness. "And -_you_--Edward?" he asked with great suddenness. - -"Joy? Could you describe it as joy?" His companion ignored the -reference to new forms. He also ignored the sudden question. "Any -increase of----?" - -"Vitality, you want to say. The word joy is meaningless, as you know." - -"An intensification of consciousness in any way?" - -But Devonham had reached his limit of possible confession. He did not -reply for a moment. He took a step forward and stood beside Fillery on -the stairs. His manner had abruptly changed. It was as though he had -come to a conclusion suddenly. His reply, when it came, was no reply at -all: - -"Heat and light are favourable, of course, to life," he remarked. "You -remember Joaquin Mueller: 'the optic nerve, under the action of light, -acts as a stimulus to the organs of the imagination and fancy.'" - -Fillery smiled as he took his arm and they went quietly upstairs -together. The quoting was a sign of returning confidence. He said -something to himself about the absence of light, but so low it was -under his breath almost, and even if his companion heard it, he made no -comment: "There was no moon at all to-night till well past three, and -even then her light was of the faintest...." - -No sound was now audible. They entered a room that was filled with -silence and with peace. A faint ray of morning sunlight showed the form -of the patient sleeping calmly, the body entirely uncovered. There was -an expression of quiet happiness upon the face whose perfect health -suggested perhaps radiance. But there was a change as well, though -indescribable--there was power. He did not stir as they approached the -bed. The breathing was regular and very deep. - -Standing beside him a moment, Fillery sniffed the air, then smiled. -There was a perfume of wild flowers. There was, in spite of the cool -morning air, a pleasant warmth. - -"You notice--anything?" he whispered, turning to his colleague. - -Devonham likewise sniffed the air. "The window's wide open," was the -low rejoinder. "There are conservatories at the back of every house all -down the row." - -And they left the room on tiptoe, closing the door behind them very -softly. Upon Devonham's face lay a curious expression, half anxiety, -half pain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Dr. Fillery, lying on a couch in his patient's bedroom, snatched some -four to five hours' sleep, though, if "snatched," it was certainly -enjoyed--a deep, dreamless, reposeful slumber. He woke, refreshed in -mind and body, and the first thing he saw, even before he had time -to stretch a limb or move his head, was two great blue eyes gazing -into his own across the room. They belonged, it first struck him, to -some strange being that had followed him out of sleep--he had not yet -recovered full consciousness and the effects of sleep still hovered; -then an earlier phrase recurred: to some divine great animal. - -"N. H.," in his bed in the opposite corner, lay gazing at him. He -returned the gaze. Into the blue eyes came at once a look of happy -recognition, of contentment, almost a smile. Then they closed again in -sleep. - -The room was full of morning sunshine. Fillery rose quietly, and -performed his toilet in his own quarters, but on returning after a -hurried breakfast, the patient still slept soundly. He slept on for -hours, he slept the morning through; but for the obvious evidences of -perfect normal health, it might have been a state of coma. The body did -not even change its position once. - -He left Devonham in charge, and was on his way to visit some of the -other cases, when Nurse Robbins stood before him. Miss Khilkoff had -"called to inquire after Mr. LeVallon," and was waiting downstairs in -case Dr. Fillery could also see her. - -He glanced at her pretty slim figure and delicate complexion, her hair, -fine, plentiful and shiny, her dark eyes with a twinkle in them. She -was an attractive, intelligent, experienced, young woman, tactful too, -and of great use with extra sensitive patients. She was, of course, -already hopelessly in love with her present "case." His "singing," -so she called it to Mrs. Soames, had excited her "like a glass of -wine--some music makes you feel like that--so that you could love -everybody in the world." She already called him Master. - -"Please say I will be down at once," said Dr. Fillery, watching her for -the first time with interest as he remembered these details Paul had -told him. The girl, it now struck him, was intensely alive. There was -a gain, an increase, in her appearance somewhere. He recalled also the -matron's remark--she was not usually loquacious with her nurses--that -"he's no ordinary case, and I've seen a good few, haven't I? The way he -understands animals and flowers alone proves that!" - -Dr. Fillery went downstairs. - -His first rapid survey of the girl, exhaustive for all its -quickness--he knew her so well--showed him that no outward signs -of excitement were visible. Calm, poised, gentle as ever, the same -generous tenderness in the eyes, the same sweet firmness in the mouth, -the familiar steadiness that was the result of an inner surety--all -were there as though the wild scene of the night before had never been. -Yet all those were heightened. Her beauty had curiously increased. - -"Come into my study," he said, taking her hand and leading the way. "We -shan't be disturbed there. Besides, it's ours, isn't it? We mustn't -forget that you are a member of the Firm." - -He was aware of her soft beauty invading, penetrating him, aware, too, -somehow, that she was in her most impersonal mood. But for all that, -her nature could not hide itself, nor could signs of a certain, subtle -change she had undergone fail to obtrude themselves. In a single night, -it seemed, she had blossomed into a wondrous ripe maturity; like some -strange flower that opens to the darkness, the bud had burst suddenly -into full, sweet bloom, whose coming only moon and stars had witnessed. -There was moonlight now in her dark mysterious eyes as she glanced at -him; there was the gold of stars in her tender, yet curious smile, as -she answered in her low voice--"Of course, I always _was_ a partner in -the Firm"--there was the grace and rhythm of a wild flower swaying in -the wind, as she passed before him into the quiet room and sank into -his own swinging armchair at the desk. But there was something else as -well. - -A detail of his recent Vision slid past his inner sight again while -he watched her.... "I thought--I felt sure--you would come," he said. -He looked at her admiringly, but peace strong in his heart. "The -ordeal," he went on in a curious voice, "would have been too much -for most women, but you"--he smiled, and the sympathy in his voice -increased--"you, I see, have only gained from it. You've mastered, -conquered it. I wonder"--looking away from her almost as if speaking to -himself--"have you wholly understood it?" - -He realized vividly in that moment what she, as a young, unmarried -girl, had suffered before the eyes of all those prying eyes and -gossiping tongues. His admiration deepened. - -She did not take up his words, however. "I've come to inquire," she -said simply in an even voice, "for father and myself. He wanted to know -if you got home all right, and how Julian LeVallon is." The tone, the -heightened colour in the cheek, as she spoke the name no one had yet -used, explained, partly at least, to the experienced man who listened, -the secret of her sudden blossoming. Also she used her father, though -unconsciously, perhaps. "He was afraid the electricity--the lightning -even--had"--she hesitated, smiled a little, then added, as though she -herself knew otherwise--"done something to him." - -Fillery laughed with her then. "As it has done to you," he thought, but -did not speak the words. The need of formula was past. He thanked her, -adding that it was sweet yet right that she had come herself, instead -of writing or telephoning. "And you may set your--your father's mind at -rest, for all goes well. The electricity, of course," he added, on his -own behalf as well as hers, "was--more than most of us could manage. -Electricity explains everything except itself, doesn't it?" - -He was inwardly examining her with an intense and accurate observation. -She seemed the same, yet different. The sudden flowering into beauty -was simply enough explained. It was another change he now became more -and more aware of. In this way a ship, grown familiar during the long -voyage, changes on coming into port. The decks and staircases look -different when the vessel lies motionless at the dock. It becomes half -recognizable, half strange. Gone is the old familiarity, gone also -one's own former angle of vision. It is difficult to find one's way -about her. Soon she will set sail again, but in another direction, and -with new passengers using her decks, her corners, hatchways ... telling -their secrets of love and hate with that recklessness the open sea and -sky make easy.... And now with the girl before him--he couldn't quite -find his way about her as of old ... it was the same familiar ship, yet -it was otherwise, and he, a new passenger, acknowledged the freedom of -sea and sky. - -"And you--Iraida?" he asked. "It was brave of you to come." - -She liked evidently the use of her real name, for she smiled, aware all -the time of his intent observation, aware probably also of his hidden -pain, yet no sign of awkwardness in her; to this man she could talk -openly, or, on the contrary, conceal her thoughts, sure of his tact and -judgment. He would never intrude unwisely. - -"It was natural, Edward," she observed frankly in return. - -"Yes, I suppose it was. Natural is exactly the right word. You have -perhaps found yourself at last," and again he used her real name, -"Iraida." - -"It feels like that," she replied slowly. She paused. "I have found, at -least, something definite that I have to do. I feel that I--must care -for him." Her eyes, as she said it, were untroubled. - -The well-known Nayan flashed back a moment in the words; he -recognized--to use his simile--a familiar corner of the deck where he -had sat and talked for hours beneath the quiet stars--to someone who -understood, yet remained ever impersonal. And the person he talked with -came over suddenly and stood beside him and took his hand between her -own soft gloved ones: - -"You told me, Edward, he would need a woman to help him. That's what -you mean by 'natural'--isn't it? And I am she, perhaps." - -"I think you are," came in a level tone. - -"I know it," she said suddenly, both her eyes looking down upon his -face. "Yes, I suppose I know it." - -"Because _you_--need him," his voice, equally secure, made answer. - -Still keeping his hand tight between her own, her dark eyes still -searching his, she made no sign that his blunt statement was accepted, -much less admitted. Instead she asked a question he was not prepared -for: "You would like that, Edward? You wish it?" - -She was so close against his chair that her fur-trimmed coat brushed -his shoulder; yet, though with eyes and touch and physical presence she -was so near, he felt that she herself had gone far, far away into some -other place. He drew his hand free. "Iraida," he said quietly, "I wish -the best--for him--and for you. And I believe this is the best--for him -and you." He put his patient first. He was aware that the girl, for all -her outer calmness, trembled. - -"It is," she said, her voice as quiet as his own; and after a moment's -hesitation, she went back to her seat again. "If you think I can be of -use," she added. "I'm ready." - -A little pause fell between them, during which Dr. Fillery touched an -electric bell beside his chair. Nurse Robbins appeared with what seemed -miraculous swiftness. "Still sleeping quietly, sir, and pulse normal -again," she replied in answer to a question, then vanished as suddenly -as she had come. He looked into the girl's eyes across the room. "A -competent, reliable nurse," he remarked, "and, as you saw, a pretty -woman." He glanced out of the window. "She is unmarried." He mentioned -it apparently to the sky. - -The quick mind took in his meaning instantly. "All women will be drawn -to him irresistibly, of course," she said. "But it is not _that_." - -"No, no, of course it is not that," he agreed at once. "I should like -you to see him, though not, however, just yet----" He went on after a -moment's reflection, and speaking slowly: "I should like you to wait -a little. It's best. There _has_ been a--a certain disturbance in his -being----" - -"It's his first experience," she began, "of beauty----" - -"Of beauty in women, yes," he finished for her. "It is. We must avoid -anything in the nature of a violent shock----" - -"He has asked for me?" she interrupted again, in her quiet way. - -He shook his head. "And we cannot be sure that it was you--as _you_--he -sought and is affected by. The call he hears is, perhaps, hardly the -call that sounds in most men's ears, I mean." - -The hint of warning guidance was audible in his voice, as well as -visible in his eyes and manner. The laughter they both betrayed, a -grave and curious laughter perhaps, was brief, yet enough to conceal -stranger emotions that rose like dumb, gazing figures almost before -their eyes. Yet if she knew inner turmoil, emotion of any troubling -sort, she concealed it perfectly. - -"I am glad," the girl said presently. "Oh, I am really glad. I think I -understand, Edward." And, even while he sat silent for a bit, watching -her with an ever-growing admiration that at the same time marvelled, -he saw the wonder of great questions riding through her face. The -recollection of what she had suffered publicly in the Studio a few -hours before came into his mind again. In these questions, perhaps, lay -the only signs of the hidden storm below the surface. - -"Are there--are there such things as Nature-Beings, Edward?" she asked -abruptly. "We know this is his first experience. Are there then----?" - -He was prepared a little for this kind of question by her eyes. "We -have no evidence, of course," he replied; "not a scrap of evidence for -anything of the sort. There are people, however, so close to Nature, so -intimate with her, that we may say they are--strangely, inexplicably -akin." - -"Has he a soul--a human soul like ours?" she asked point blank. - -"He is perhaps--not--quite--like us. That may be your task, Iraida," he -added enigmatically. He watched her more closely than she knew. - -She appeared to ponder his words for a few minutes; then she asked -abruptly: "And when do you think I ought to come and see him? You will -let me know?" - -"I will let you know. A few days perhaps, perhaps a week, perhaps -longer. Some education, I think, is necessary first." He gazed at her -thoughtfully, and she returned his look, her dark eyes filled with the -wonder that was both of a child and of a woman, and yet with a security -of something that was of neither. "It will be a--a great effort to -you," he ventured with significant and sympathetic understanding, -"after--what happened. It is brave and generous of you----" He broke -off. - -She nodded, but at once afterwards shook her head. She rose then to go, -but Dr. Fillery stopped her. He rose too. - -"Nayan, I now want _your_ help," he said with more emotion than he had -yet shown. "My responsibility, as you may guess, is not light--and----" - -"And he is in your sole charge, you mean." She had willingly resumed -her seat, and made herself comfortable with a cushion he arranged for -her. He was aware chiefly of her eyes, for in them glowed light and -fire he had never seen there before--but still in their depths. - -"Well--yes, partly," he replied, lighting a cigarette, "though Paul is -ready with help and sympathy whenever needed. But the charge, as you -call it, is not mine alone: it is ours." - -"Ours!" She started, though almost imperceptibly, as she repeated his -word. - -"Subconsciously," he said in a firm voice, "we three are similar. We -are together. We obey half instinctively the unknown laws of"--he -hesitated a moment--"of some unknown state of being." He added then a -singular sentence, though so low it seemed almost to himself: "Had we -been man and wife, Iraida, our child must have been--like him." - -"Yes," she said, leaning forward a little in her chair, increased -warmth, yet no blush, upon her skin. "Yes, Edward, we three are somehow -together in this, aren't we? Oh, I feel it. It pours over me like a -great wind, a wind with heat in it." Her hands clasped her knee, as -they gazed at one another for a moment's silence. "I feel it," she -repeated presently. "I'm sure of it, quite sure." - -She stretched out a spirit hand, as it were, for an instant across the -impersonal barrier between them, but he did not take it, pretending he -did not see it. - -"Ours, Nayan," he emphasized, again using the name that belonged to -everyone. "Therefore, you see, I want you to tell me--if you will--what -you felt, experienced, perceived--in the Studio last night." After -watching her a little, he qualified: "Another day, if you would like -to think it over. But some time, without fail. For my part, I will -confess--though I think you already know it--that I brought him there -on purpose----" - -"To see my effect upon him, Edward." - -"But in _his_ interest, and in the interest of my possible future -treatment. His effect upon yourself was not my motive. You believe -that." - -"I know, I know. And I will tell you gladly. Indeed, I want to." - -He was aware, as she said it, that it would be a satisfaction to -her to talk; she would welcome the relief of confession; she could -speak to him as doctor now, as professional man, as healer, and this, -too, without betraying the impersonal attitude she evidently wore -and had adopted possibly--he wondered?--in self-protection. "Tell me -exactly what it is you would like to know, please, Edward," she added, -and instinctively moved to the sofa, so that he might occupy the -professional swinging chair at the desk. - -"What you saw, Nayan," he began, accepting the change of position -without comment, because he knew it helped her. "What you saw is of -value, I think, first." - -He had all his usual self-control again, for he was now on his -throne, his seat of power; his inner attitude changed subtly; he was -examining two patients--the girl and himself. She sat before him -demure, obedient, honest, very sweet but very strong; if her perfume -reached him he did not notice it, the appeal of her loveliness went -past him, he did not see her eyes. He had a very comely and intelligent -young woman facing him, and the glow, as it were, of an intense inner -activity, strongly suppressed, was the chief quality in her that he -noted. But his new attitude made other things, too, stand out sharply: -he realized there was confusion in her own mind and heart. Her being -was not wholly at one with itself. This impersonal rôle meant safety -until she was sure of herself; and so far she had been entirely and -admirably non-committal. No girl, he remembered, could look back upon -what she had experienced in the Studio, upon what she had herself -said and done, before a crowd of onlookers too, without deep feelings -of a mixed and even violent kind. That scene with a young man she had -never seen before must bring painful memories; if it was love at first -sight the memories must be more painful still. But was it a case of -this sudden, rapturous love? What, indeed, were her feelings? What at -any rate was her dominant feeling? She had felt his appeal beyond all -question, but was it as Nayan or as Iraida that she felt it? - -She was non-committal and impersonal, conscious that therein safety -lay--until, having become one with herself, harmonious, she could -feel absolutely sure. One hint only had she dropped--it was Nayan -speaking--that her mothering, maternal instinct was needed and that she -must obey its prompting. She must "care" for him.... - -Dr. Fillery, meanwhile, though he might easily have probed and made -discoveries without her knowing that he did so, was not the man to use -his powers now. Unless she gave of her own free will, he would not ask. -He would close eyes and ears even to any chance betrayal or unconscious -revelation. - -"When you first looked in, for instance? You had just come in from -the street, I think. You opened the door on your way upstairs. Do you -remember?" - -She remembered perfectly. "I wanted to see who was there. You, I think, -were chiefly in my thoughts--I was wondering if you had come." Her -voice was even, her eyes quite steady; she chose her next words slowly: -"I saw--to my intense surprise--a figure of light." - -"Shining, you mean? A shining figure?" - -She nodded her head, as one little hand put back a straying wisp of -dark hair from her forehead. "A figure like flame," she agreed. "I -saw it quite clearly. I saw everything else quite clearly too--the -inner room, various people standing about, the piano, the thick smoke, -everything as usual. I saw you. You were in the big outer room beyond, -but your face was very distinct. You were staring--staring straight at -me." - -"True," put in Dr. Fillery; "I saw you in the doorway plainly." - -"In the foreground, by itself apart somehow, though surrounded -by people, was this shining, radiant outline. I thought it was a -Vision--the first thing of that sort I had ever seen in my life." - -"That was your very first impression--even before you had time to -think?" - -"Yes." - -"It struck you as unusual?" - -"I cannot say more than that. I knew by the light it was unusual. Then -it moved--talking to Povey or Kempster or someone--and I realized in -a flash who it was. I knew it must be your friend, the man you had -promised to bring--Ju----" - -"And then----?" he asked quickly, before she could pronounce the name. - -"And then----" - -She stopped, and her eyes looked away from him, not in the sense -that they moved but that their focus changed as though she looked at -something else, at something within herself, no longer, therefore, -at the face in front of her. He waited; he understood that she was -searching among deep, strange, seething memories; he let her search; -and, watching closely, he presently saw the sight return into her eyes -from its inward plunge. - -"And when you knew who it was," he asked very quietly, "were you still -surprised? Did he look as you expected him to look, for instance?" - -"I had expected nothing, you see, Edward, because I had not been -consciously thinking about his coming. No mental picture was present -in me at all. But the moment I realized who it was, the light seemed -to go--I just saw a young man standing there, with his head turned -sideways to me. The light, I suppose, lasted for a second only--that -first second. As to how he looked? Well, he looked, not only bigger--he -_is_ bigger than most men," she went on, "but he looked"--her voice -hushed instinctively a little on the adjective--"different." - -Her companion made a gesture of agreement, waiting in silence for what -was to follow. - -"He looked so extraordinary, so wonderful," she resumed, gazing -steadily into his eyes, "that I--I can hardly put it into words, -Edward, unless I use childish language." She broke off and sighed, -and something, he fancied, in her wavered for a second, though it was -certainly neither the voice nor the eyes. A faint trembling again -perhaps ran through her body. Her account was so deliberately truthful -that it impressed him more than he quite understood. He was aware of -pathos in her, of some vague trouble very poignant yet inexplicable. A -breath of awe, it seemed, entered the room and moved between them. - -"The childish words are probably the best, the right ones," he told her -gently. - -"An angel," she said instantly in a hushed tone, "I thought of an -angel. There is no other word I can find. But somehow a helpless one. -An angel--out of place." - -He looked hard at her, his manner encouraging though grave; he said no -word; he did not smile. - -"Someone not of this earth quite," she added. "Not a man, at any rate." - -Still more gently, he then asked her what she felt. - -"At first I couldn't move," she went on, her voice normal again. "I -must have stood there ten minutes fully, perhaps longer"--her listener -did not correct the statement--"when I suddenly recovered and looked -about for you, Edward, but could not see you. I needed you, but could -not find you. I remember feeling somehow that I had lost you. I tried -to call for you--in my heart. There was no answer.... Then--then I -closed the door quietly and went upstairs to change from my street -clothes." - -She paused and passed a hand slowly across her forehead. Dr. Fillery -asked casually a curious question: - -"Do you remember _how_ you got upstairs, Nayan?" - -Her hand dropped instantly; she started. "It's very odd you should ask -me that, Edward," she said, gazing at him with a slightly rising colour -in her face, an increase of fire glowing in her eyes; "very odd indeed. -I was just trying to think how I could describe it to you. No. Actually -I do not remember how I got upstairs. All I know is--I was suddenly in -my room." A new intensity appeared in voice and manner. "It seemed to -me I flew--or that--something--carried me." - -"Yes, Nayan, yes. It's quite natural you should have felt like that." - -"Is it? I remember so little of what I actually felt. I wonder--I -wonder," she went on softly, with an air almost of talking to herself, -"if it will ever come back again--what I felt then----" - -"Such moments of subliminal excitement," Dr. Fillery reminded her -gently, "have the effect of obliterating memory sometimes----" - -"Excitement," she caught him up. "Yes, I suppose it was excitement. But -it was more, much more, than that. Stimulated--I think that's the word -really. I felt caught away somewhere, caught away, caught up--as if -into the rest of myself--into the whole of myself. I became vast"--she -smiled curiously--"if you know what I mean--in several places at once, -perhaps, is better. It was an immense feeling--no, I mean a feeling of -immensity----" - -"Happy?" His voice was low. - -Her eyes answered even before her words, as the memory came back a -little in response to his cautious suggestion. - -"A new feeling altogether," she replied, returning his clear gaze -with her frank, innocent eyes that had grown still more brilliant. -"A feeling I have never known before." She talked more rapidly now, -leaning forward a little in her chair. "I felt in the open air somehow, -with flowers, trees, hot burning sunshine and sweet winds rushing to -and fro. It was something bigger than happiness--a sort of intoxicating -joy, I think. It was liberty, but of an enormous spiritual kind. I -wanted to dance--I believe I did dance--yes, I'm sure I did, and with -hardly anything on my body. I wanted to sing--I sang downstairs, of -course----" - -"I heard," he put in briefly. He did not add that she had never sung -like that before. - -"The moment I came into the room, yes, I remember I went straight -to the piano without a word to anyone." She reflected a moment. "I -suppose I had to. There was something new in me I could only express by -music--rhythm, that is, not language." - -"It was natural," Dr. Fillery said again. "Quite natural, I think." - -"Yes, Edward, I suppose it was," she answered, then sank back in her -chair, as though she had told him all there was to tell. - -Dr. Fillery smoked in silence for a few minutes, then rose and touched -the bell as before, and, as before, Nurse Robbins appeared with the -same miraculous speed. There was a brief colloquy at the door; the -woman was gone again, and the doctor turned back into the room with -a look of satisfaction on his face. All, apparently, was going well -upstairs. He did not sit down, however; he stood looking out of the -window at the drab wintry sky of motionless clouds, his back to his -companion. It was midday, but the light, while making all things -visible, was not light; there was no shine, no touch of radiance, -no hint of sparkle beneath the canopy of sullen cloud. The English -winter's day was visible, no more than that. Yet it was not the English -day, nor the clouds, nor the bleak dead atmosphere he looked at. In a -single second his sight travelled far, far away, covering an enormous -interval in space and time, in condition too. He saw a radiant world of -sun-drenched flowers "tossing with random airs of an unearthly wind"; -he saw a foam of forest leaves shaking and dancing against a deep blue -sky; he say a valley whose streams and emerald turf knew not the touch -of human feet.... The familiar symbols he saw, but inflamed with new -meaning. - -"Thank you, Edward, thank you"--she was just behind him, her hands upon -his shoulders. "You understand everything in the world!" she added, -"and out of it," but too low for him to hear. - -He came back with an effort, turning towards her. They were standing -level now and very close, eyes looking into eyes. He felt her breath -upon his face, her perfume rose about him, her lips were moving just in -front of him--yet, for a second, he did not know who she was. It was as -though _she_ had not come with him out of that valley, not come back -with him.... An insatiable longing seized him--to return and find her, -stay with her. The ache of an intolerable yearning was in his heart, -yet a sudden flash of understanding that brought a bigger, almost an -unearthly joy in its train. At the call of some service, some duty, -some help to be rendered to humanity, the three of them together--he, -"N. H.," the girl--were in temporary exile from their rightful home. -The scent of wild flowers rose about him. He suddenly remembered, -recognized, and gave a little start. He had left her behind in the -valley--Iraida; it was Nayan who now stood before him. - -He uttered a dry little laugh. "You startled me, Nayan. I was thinking. -I didn't hear you." She had just thanked him for something--oh, -yes--because he had left her alone for a moment, giving her time to -collect herself after the long cross-examination. - -He took both her hands in his. - -"_Our_ patient then--isn't it?" he asked in a firm voice, looking deep -into her luminous eyes. He saw no fire in them now. - -"I'll do all I can, Edward." - -She returned the pressure of his hands. His keen insight, operating -in spite of himself, had read her clearly. It was mother, child and -woman he had always known. The three, however, were already in process -of disentanglement. For the first time during their long acquaintance, -what now stood so close before him was--the woman. Yet behind the woman -like an enveloping shadow stood the mother too. And behind both, again, -stood another wild, gigantic, lovely possibility. Was it, then, the -child that he had left playing in the radiant valley?... The child, he -knew, was his always, always, even if the woman was another's.... He -laughed softly. These, after all, were but transitory states in human, -earthly evolution, concerned with play, with a production of bodies and -so forth.... - -He had lost himself in her deep eyes. Her gaze lay all over him, over -his entire being, like a warm soft covering that blessed and healed. -She was so close that it seemed he drew her breath in with his own. She -made a movement then, a tiny gesture. He let go the hands his own had -held so long. He turned from the window and from her. He was trembling. - -"What came later," he resumed in his calm, almost in his professional -voice, "you probably do not remember?" He went towards his desk. "We -need not talk about that. No doubt, in your mind, it all remains a -blurred impression----" - -She interrupted, following him across the room. "What happened, -Edward," she said very quietly in her lowest tone, "_I know_. It -was all told to me. But my memory, as you say, is so faint as to be -worthless really. What I do remember is this"--she tapped her open -palm with two fingers slowly, as she spoke the words--"light, heat, a -smell of flowers and a rushing wind that lifted me into some kind of -exhilarating liberty where I felt--the intense joy of knowing myself -somehow free--and greater, oh, far greater--than I am--now." Then she -suddenly whispered again too low for him to catch--"angelic." A smile, -as of glory, rippled across her face. - -His voice, coming quickly, was cool, its tone measured: - -"And you will come to see him the moment I let you know," he -interrupted abruptly. "It may be a few days, it may be a week. The -instant it seems wise----" He was entirely practical again. - -She went to the door with him. "I'll come, of course," she answered, as -he opened the door. - -"I'll let myself out, Edward--please. I know the way. There's no good -being a partner if one doesn't know the way out----" She laughed. - -"And in, remember!" he called down the little passage after her, as, -with a smile and a wave of the hand, she was gone. - -He went back to his desk, drew a piece of paper towards him, and jotted -a few notes down in briefest fashion. The expression on his rugged face -was enigmatical perhaps, but the sternness at least was clear to read, -and it was this, combining with an extraordinary tenderness, that drew -out its nobility: - -"Intensification of consciousness, involving increased activity of -every centre; hearing, sight, touch and smell, all affected. Slight -exteriorization of consciousness also took place. No signs of split or -divided personality, but an increase of coherence rather. The central -self active--aware of greater powers in time and space, hence sense -of joy, heat, light, sound, motion. Distinct subliminal up-rush, -followed by customary loss of memory later. Her _whole_ being, together -with neglected tracts as yet untouched by experience--her _entire_ -being--reached simultaneously. Knew herself for the first time a -woman--but something more as well. Unearthly complex, visible. - -"Appeal made direct to subconscious self. Unfavourable reactions--none. -Favourable reactions--increased physical and mental strength...." - -He laid down his pencil as with a gesture of impatience at its -uselessness, and sat back in the chair, thinking. - -The effect "N. H." had upon other people was here again confirmed. -That, at least, seemed reasonably clear. Vitality was increased; heart -and mind caught up an extra gear; thought leaped, if extravagantly, -towards speculation; emotion deepened, if ecstatically, towards -belief. All the normal reactions of the system were speeded up and -strengthened. Consciousness was intensified. - -More than this--with some it was extended, and subliminal powers were -set free. In his own experience this had been the case; the sight, -hearing, even a mild degree of divination, had opened in his being. It -had, similarly, taken place with Devonham, an unlikely subject, who -fought against acknowledging it. Father Collins, too, he suspected--he -recalled his behaviour and strange language--had known also a temporary -extension of faculty outside the normal field. He remembered, again, -the Customs official, Charing Cross Station, and a dozen other minor -instances.... Indications as yet were slight, he realized, but they -were valuable. - -Such abnormal experiences, moreover, each one interpreted, -respectively, in the terms of his own individual being, of his own -temperament, his own personal shibboleths. The law governing unusual -experience operated invariably. - -Was not his own particular "vision" easily explained? It might indeed, -had it happened earlier, have found a place in his own book of Advanced -Psychology. He reflected rapidly: He believed the industrial system lay -at the root of Civilization's crumbling, and that man must return to -Nature--therefore his yearnings dramatized themselves in personified -representations of the beauty of Nature. - -He could trace every detail of his Vision to some intense but -unrealized yearning, to some deep hope, desire, dream, as yet -unfulfilled. Always these yearnings and wishes unfulfilled! - -Colour, form and sound again--he used them one and all in his treatment -of special cases, and felt hurt by the ignorant scoffing and denial of -his brother doctors. Hence their present dramatization. - -His immense belief, again, in the results upon the Race when once the -subliminal powers should have reached the stage where they could be -used at will for practical purposes--this, in its turn, led him to -hope, perhaps to believe, that this strange "Case" might prove to be -some fabulous bright messenger who brought glad tidings.... All, all -was explicable enough! - -A smile stole over his face; he began to laugh quietly to himself.... - -Yes, he could explain all, trace all to something or other in his -being, yet--he knew that the real explanation ... well--his cleverest -intellectual explanation and analysis were worthless after all. For -here lay something utterly beyond his knowledge and experience.... - -The note of another searcher recurred to him. - -"Each human being has within himself that restless creative phantasy -which is ever engaged in assuaging the harshness of reality.... Whoever -gives himself unsparingly and carefully to self-observation will -realize that there dwells within him something which would gladly hide -up and cover all that is difficult and questionable in life, and thus -procure an easy and free path. Insanity grants the upper hand to this -something. When once it is uppermost, reality is more or less quickly -driven out." - -But he knew quite well that although he belonged to what he called the -"Unstable," the "something" which Jung referred to had by no means -obtained "the upper hand." The vista opening to his inner sight led -towards a new reality.... Ah! If he could only persuade Paul Devonham -to see what _he_ saw...! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Lady Gleeson had heard from a Promethean what had transpired in the -studio after she had left, and her interest was immensely stimulated. -These details she had not known when she had driven her hero home, and -had felt so strangely drawn to him that she had kissed him in front of -Dr. Fillery as though she caressed a prisoner under the eyes of the -warder. - -She made her little plans accordingly. It was some days, however, -before they bore fruit. The telephone at last rang. It was Dr. Fillery. -The nerves in her quivered with anticipation. - -Devonham, it appeared, had been away, and her "kind letters and -presents," he regretted to find, had remained unanswered and -unacknowledged. Mr. LeVallon had been in the country, too, with his -colleague, and letters had not been forwarded. Oh, it would "do him -good to see people." It would be delightful if she could spare a moment -to look in. Perhaps for a cup of tea to-morrow? No, to-morrow she -was engaged. The next day then. The next day it was. In the morning -arrived a brief letter from Mr. LeVallon himself: "You will come to tea -to-morrow. I thank you.--JULIAN LeVALLON." - -Yet there was something both in Dr. Fillery's voice, as in this -enigmatic letter, that she did not like. She felt puzzled somewhere. -The excitement of a novel intrigue with this unusual youth, none the -less, was stimulating. She decided to go to tea. She put off a couple -of engagements in order to be free. - -A servant let her in. She went upstairs. There was no sign of Dr. -Fillery nor, thank heaven, of Devonham either. Tea, she saw, was laid -for two in the private sitting-room. LeVallon, seated in an arm-chair -by the open window, looked "magnificent and overpowering," as she -called it. He rose at once to greet her. "Thank you," he said in his -great voice. "I am glad to see you." He said it perfectly, as though it -had been taught him. He took her hand. Her ravishing smile, perhaps, he -did not notice. His face, at any rate, was grave. - -His height, his broad shoulders, his inexperienced eyes and manner -again delighted Lady Gleeson. - -The effect upon her receptive temperament, at any rate, was -instantaneous. That he showed no cordiality, did not smile, and that -his manner was constrained, meant nothing to her--or meant what she -wished it to mean. He was somewhat overcome, of course, she reflected, -that she was here at all. She began at once. Sitting composedly on the -edge of the table, so that her pretty silk stockings were visible to -the extent she thought just right, she dangled her slim legs and looked -him straight in the eyes. She was full of confidence. Her attitude said -plainly: "I'm taking a lot of trouble, but you're worth it." - -"Mr. LeVallon," she purred in a teasing yet determined voice, "why do -you ignore me?" There was an air of finality about the words. She meant -to know. - -LeVallon met her eyes with a look of puzzled surprise, but did not -answer. He stood in front of her. He looked really magnificent, a -perfect study of the athlete in repose. He might have been a fine Greek -statue. - -"Why," she repeated, her lip quivering slightly, "do you ignore me? I -want the truth," she added. She was delighted to see how taken aback he -was. "You don't dislike me." It was not a question. - -Into his eyes stole an expression she could not exactly fathom. She -judged, however, that he felt awkward, foolish. Her interest doubtless -robbed him of any _savoir faire_ he might possess. This talk face to -face was a little too much for any young man, but for a simple country -youth it was, of course, more than disconcerting. - -"I'm Lady Gleeson," she informed him, smiling precisely in the way -she knew had troubled so many other men. "Angela," she added softly. -"You've had my books and flowers and letters. Yet you continue to -ignore me. Why, please?" With a different smile and a pathetic, -childish, voice: "Have I offended you somehow? Do I displease you?" - -LeVallon stared at her as though he was not quite certain who she -actually was, yet as though he ought to know, and that her words now -reminded him. He stared at her with what she called his "awkward and -confused" expression, but which Fillery, had he been present, would -have recognized as due to his desire to help a pitiful and hungry -creature--that, in a word, his instinct for service had been a little -stirred. - -The scene was certainly curious and unusual. - -LeVallon, with his great strength and dignity, yet something tender, -pathetic in his bearing, stood staring at her. Lady Gleeson, brimming -with a sense of easy victory, sat on the table-edge, her pretty legs -well forward, knowing herself divinely gowned. She had her victim, -surely, at a disadvantage. She felt at the same time a faint uneasiness -she could not understand. She concealed it, however. - -"I suffer here," he said suddenly in a quiet tone. - -She gave a start. It was the phrase he had used before. She thrilled. -She hitched her skirt a fraction higher. - -"Julian, poor boy," she said--then stared at him. "How innocent you -are!" She said it with apparent impulse, though her little frenzied -mind was busy calculating. There came a pause. He said nothing. He was, -apparently, quite innocent, extraordinarily, exasperatingly innocent. - -In a low voice, smiling shyly, she added--as though it cost her a great -effort: - -"You do not recognize what is yours." - -"You are sacred!" he replied with startling directness, as though he -suddenly understood, yet was stupidly perplexed. "You already have your -man." - -Lady Gleeson gulped down a spasm of laughter. How slow these countrymen -could be! Yet she must not shock him. He was suffering, besides. This -yokel from the woods and mountains needed a little coaxing. It was -natural enough. She must explain and teach, it seemed. Well--he was -worth the trouble. His beauty was mastering her already. She loved, in -particular, his innocence, his shyness, his obvious respect. She almost -felt herself a magnanimous woman. - -"My man!" she mentioned. "Oh, he's finished with me long ago. He's -bored. He has gone elsewhere. I am alone"--she added with an impromptu -inspiration--"and free to choose." - -"It must be pain and loneliness to you." - -LeVallon looked, she thought, embarrassed. He was struggling with -himself, of course. She left the table and came up close to him. She -stood on tiptoe, so that her breath might touch his face. Her eyes -shone with fire. Her voice trembled a little. It was very low. - -"I choose--_you_," she whispered. She cast down her shining eyes. Her -lips took on a prim, inviting turn. She knew she was irresistible like -that. She stood back a step, as if expecting some tumultuous onslaught. -She waited. - -But the onslaught did not come. LeVallon, towering above her, merely -stared. His arms hung motionless. There was, indeed, expression in his -face, but it was not the expression that she expected, longed for, -deemed her due. It puzzled her, as something entirely new. - -"Me!" he repeated, in an even tone. He gazed at her in a peculiar way. -Was it appraisement? Was it halting wonder at his marvellous good -fortune? Was it that he hesitated, judging her? He seemed, she thought -once for an instant, curiously indifferent. Something in his voice -startled her. - -The moment's pause, at any rate, was afflicting. Her spirit burned -within her. Only her supreme belief in herself prevented a premature -explosion. Yet something troubled her as well. A tremor ran through -her. LeVallon, she remembered, was--LeVallon. - -His own thought and feeling lay hidden from her blunt perception since -she read no signs unless they were painfully obvious. But in his -mind--in his feeling, rather, since he did not think--ran evidently -the sudden knowledge of what her meaning was. He understood. But also, -perhaps he remembered what Fillery had told him. - -For a long time he kept silent, the emotions in him apparently at -grips. Was he suddenly going to carry her away as he had done to that -"little Russian poseuse"? She watched him. He was intensely busy with -what occupied his mind, for though he did not speak, his lips were -moving. She watched him, impatience and wonder in her, impatience -at his slowness, wonder as to what he would do and say when at last -his simple mind had decided. And again the odd touch of fear stole -over her. Something warned her. This young man thrilled her, but he -certainly was strange. This was, indeed, a new experience. Whatever -was he thinking about? What in the world was he going to say? His lips -were still moving. There was a light in his face. She imagined the very -words, could almost read them, hear them. There! Then she heard them, -heard some at any rate distinctly: "You are an animal. Yet you walk -upright...." - -The scene that followed went like lightning. - -Before Lady Gleeson could move or speak, however, he also said another -thing that for one pulsing second, and for the first time in her life, -made her own utter worthlessness become appallingly clear to her. -It explained the touch of fear. Even her one true thing, her animal -passion, was a trumpery affair: - -"There is nothing in you I can work with," he said with gentle, pitying -sympathy. "Nothing I can use." - -Then Lady Gleeson blazed. Vanity instantly restored self-confidence. It -seemed impossible to believe her ears. - -What had he done? What had he said that caused the explosion? He -watched her abrupt, spasmodic movements with amazement. They were so -ugly, so unrhythmical. Their violence was so wasteful. - -"You insult me!" she cried, making these violent movements of her whole -body that, to him, were unintelligible. "How dare you? You----" The -breath choked her. - -"Cad," he helped her, so suddenly that another mind not far away might -almost have dropped the word purposely into his own. "I am so pained," -he added, "so pained." He gazed at her as though he longed to help. -"For you, I know, are valuable to him who holds you sacred--to--your -husband." - -Lady Gleeson simply could not credit her ears. This neat, though -unintentional, way of transferring the epithet to her who deserved it, -left her speechless. Her fury increased with her inability to express -it. She could have struck him, killed him on the spot. Her face changed -from white to crimson like some toy with a trick of light inside it. -She seemed to emit sparks. She was transfixed. And the shiver that ran -through her was, perhaps, for once, both sexual and spiritual at once. - -"You insult me," she cried again helplessly. "You insult me!" - -"If there was something in you I could work with--help----" he began, -his face showing a tender sympathy that enraged her even more. He -started suddenly, looking closer into her blazing eyes. "Ah," he said -quickly below his breath, "the fire--the little fire!" His expression -altered. But Lady Gleeson, full of her grievance, did not catch the -words, it seemed. - -"--In my tenderest, my most womanly feelings," she choked on, yet -noticing the altered expression on his face. "How _dare you_?" Her -voice became shrill and staccato. Then suddenly--mistaking the look -in his eyes for shame--she added: "You shall apologize. You shall -apologize at once!" She screamed the words. They were the only ones -that her outraged feelings found. - -"You show yourself, my fire," he was saying softly in his deep resonant -voice. "Oh, I see and worship now; I understand a little." - -His look astonished her even in the middle of her anger--the pity, -kindness, gentleness in it. The bewilderment she did not notice. It was -the evident desire to be of service to her, to help and comfort, that -infuriated her. The superiority was more than she could stand. - -"And on your knees," she yelped; "on your knees, too!" - -Drawing herself up, she pointed to the carpet with an air of some -tragedy queen to whom a lost self-respect came slowly back. "Down -there!" she added, as the gleaming buckle on her shoe indicated the -spot. She did not forget to show her pretty stockings as well. - -The picture was comic in the extreme, yet with a pathetic twist about -it that, had she possessed a single grain of humour, must have made -her feel foolish and shamed until she died, for his kneeling position -rendered her insignificance so obvious it was painful in the extreme. -LeVallon clasped his hands; his face, wearing a dignity and tenderness -that emphasized its singular innocence and beauty, gazed up into her -trivial prettiness, as she sat on the edge of the table behind her, -glaring down at him with angry but still hungry eyes. - -"I should have helped and worshipped," his deep voice thrilled. "I am -ashamed. Always--you are sacred, wonderful. I did not recognize your -presence calling me. I did not hear nor understand. I am ashamed." - -The strange words she did not comprehend, even if she heard them -properly. For one moment she knew a dreadful feeling that they were -not addressed to her at all, but the sense of returning triumph, the -burning desire to extract from him the last ounce of humiliation, to -make him suffer as much as in her power lay, these emotions deadened -any perceptions of a subtler kind. He was kneeling at her feet, -stammering his abject apology, and the sight was wine and food to her. -Though she could have crushed him with her foot, she could equally -have flung herself in utter abandonment before his glorious crouching -strength. She adored the scene. He looked magnificent on his knees. He -was. She believed she, too, looked magnificent. - -"You apologize to me," she said in a trembling voice, tense with -mingled passions. - -"Oh, with what sadness for my mistake you cannot know," was his strange -reply. His voice rang with sincerity, his eyes held a yearning that -almost lent him radiance. Yet it was the sense of power he gave that -thrilled Lady Gleeson most. For she could not understand it. Again a -passing hint of something remote, incalculable, touched her sense of -awe. She shivered slightly. LeVallon did not move. - -Appeased, yet puzzled, she lowered her face, now pale and intense with -eagerness, towards his own, hardly conscious that she did so, while the -faint idea again went past her that he addressed his astonishing words -elsewhere. Blind vanity at once dismissed the notion, though the shock -of its brief disthroning had been painful. She found satisfaction for -her wounded soul. A man who had scorned her, now squirmed before her -beauty on his knees, desiring her--but too late. - -"You have _some_ manhood, after all!" she exclaimed, still fierce, the -upper lip just revealing the shining little teeth. Her power at last -had touched him. He suffered. And she was glad. - -"I worship," he repeated, looking through her this time, if not -actually past her. "You are sacred, the source of all my life and -power." His pain, his worship, the aching passion in him made her -forget the insult. Upon that face upturned so close to hers, she now -breathed softly. - -"I'll try," she said more calmly. "I'll try and forgive you--just this -once." The suffering in his eyes, so close against her own, dawned -more and more on her. "There, now," she added impulsively, "perhaps I -will forgive you--altogether!" - -It was a moment of immense and queenly generosity. She felt sublime. - -LeVallon, however, made no rejoinder; one might have thought he had not -heard; only his head sank lower a little before her. - -She had him at her mercy now; the rapt and wonderful expression in -his eyes delighted her. She bent slightly nearer and made as though -to kiss him, when a new idea flashed suddenly through her mind. This -forgiveness was a shade too quick, too easy. Oh, she knew men. She was -not without experience. - -She acted with instant decision upon her new idea, as though delay -might tempt her to yield too soon. She straightened up with a sudden -jerk, touched his cheek with her hand, then, with a swinging swish of -her skirts, but without a single further word, she swept across the -room. She went out, throwing him a last glance just before she closed -the door. At his kneeling figure and upturned face she flung this last -glance of murderous fascination. - -But LeVallon did not move or turn his head; he made no sign; his -attitude remained precisely as before, face upturned, hands clasped, -his expression rapt and grave as ever. His voice continued: - -"I worship you for ever. I did not know you in that little shape. O -wondrous central fire, teach me to be aware of you with awe, with joy, -with love, even in the smallest things. O perfect flame behind all -form...." - -For a long time his deep tones poured their resonant vibration through -the room. There came an answering music, low, faint, continuous, a -long, deep rhythm running in it. There was a scent of flowers, of open -space, a fragrance of a mountain top. The sounds, the perfume, the -touch of cool refreshing wind rose round him, increasing with every -minute, till it seemed as though some energy informed them. At the -centre he knelt steadily, light glowing faintly in his face and on his -skin. A vortex of energy swept round him. He drew upon it. His own -energy was increased and multiplied. He seemed to grow more radiant.... - -A few minutes later the door opened softly and Dr. Fillery looked in, -hesitated for a second, then advanced into the room. He paused before -the kneeling figure. It was noticeable that he was not startled and -that his face wore no expression of surprise. A smile indeed lay on his -lips. He noticed the scent of flowers, a sweetness in the air as after -rain; he felt the immense vitality, the exhilaration, the peace and -power too. He had made no sound, but the other, aware of his presence, -rose to his feet. - -"I disturbed you," said Fillery. "I'm sorry. Shall I go?" - -"I was worshipping," replied "N. H." "No, do not go. There was a -little flash"--he looked about him for an instant as if slightly -bewildered--"a little sign--something I might have helped--but it has -gone again. Then I worshipped, asking for more power. _You_ notice it?" -he asked, with a radiant smile. - -"I notice it," said Fillery, smiling back. He paused a moment. His -eye took in the tea-things and saw they were untouched; he felt the -tea-pot. It was still warm. "Come," he said happily; "we'll have some -tea together. I'll send for a fresh brew." He rang the bell, then -arranged the chairs a little differently. "Your visitor?" he asked. -"You are expecting someone?" - -"N. H." looked round him suddenly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "but--she has -gone!" - -His surprise was comical, but the expression on the face changed in his -rapid way at once. "I remember now. Your Lady Gleeson came," he added, -a touch of gentle sadness in his voice, "I gave her pain. You had told -me. I forgot----" - -"You did well," Fillery commented with smiling approval as though the -entire scene was known to him, "you did very well. It is a pity, only, -that she left too soon. If she had stayed for your worship--your wind -and fire might have helped----" - -"N. H." shook his head. "There is nothing I can work with," he replied. -"She is empty. She destroys only. Why," he added, "does she walk -upright?" - -But Lady Gleeson held very different views upon the recent scene. -This magnificent young male she had put in his place, but she had not -finished with him. No such being had entered her life before. She was -woman enough to see he was unusual. But he was magnificent as well, -and, secretly, she loved his grand indifference. - -She left the house, however, with but an uncertain feeling that the -honours were with her. Two days without a word, a sign, from her would -bring him begging to her little feet. - -But the "begging" did not come. The bell was silent, the post brought -no humble, passionate, abandoned letter. She fumed. She waited. Her -husband, recently returned to London and immensely preoccupied with his -concessions, her maid too, were aware that Lady Gleeson was impatient. -The third, the fourth day came, but still no letter. - -Whereupon it occurred to her that she had possibly gone too far. Having -left him on his knees, he was, perhaps, still kneeling in his heart, -even prostrate with shame and disappointment. Afraid to write, afraid -to call, he knew not what to do. She had evidently administered too -severe a lesson. Her callers, meanwhile, convinced her that she was -irresistible. There was no woman like her in the world. She had, of -course, been too harsh and cruel with this magnificent and innocent -youth from the woods and mountains.... - -Thus it was that, on the fourth day, feeling magnanimous and generous, -big-hearted too, she wrote to him. It would be foolish, in any case, to -lose him altogether merely for a moment's pride: - - "DEAR MR. LeVALLON,--I feel I must send you a tiny - word to let you know that I really have forgiven you. You - behaved, you know, in a way that no man of my acquaintance - has ever done before. But I feel sure now you did not really - mean it. Your forest and mountain gods have not taught you to - understand civilized women. So--I forgive. - - "Please forget it all, as I have forgotten it.--Yours, - "ANGELA GLEESON. - - "P. S.--And you may come and see me soon." - -To which, two days later, came the reply: - - "DEAR LADY GLEESON,--I thank you. - "JULIAN LeVALLON." - -Within an hour of its receipt, she wrote: - - "DEAR JULIAN,--I am so glad you understand. I knew you - would. You may come and see me. I will prove to you that you - are really forgiven. There is no need to feel embarrassed. I - am interested in you and can help you. Believe me, you need a - woman's guidance. All--_all_ I have, is yours. - - "I shall be at home this afternoon--alone--from 4 to 7 o'clock. - I shall expect you. My love to you and your grand wild - gods!--Yours, - "ANGELA. - - "P. S.--I want you to tell me more about your gods. Will you?" - -She sent it by special messenger, "Reply" underlined on the envelope. -He did not appear at the appointed hour, but the next morning she -received his letter. It came by ordinary post. The writing on the -envelope was not his. Either Devonham or Fillery had addressed it. And -a twinge of unaccustomed emotion troubled her. Intuition, it seems, -survives even in the coarsest, most degraded feminine nature, ruins of -some divine prerogative perhaps. Lady Gleeson, at any rate, flinched -uneasily before she opened the long expected missive: - - "DEAR LADY GLEESON,--Be sure that you are always - under the protection of the gods even if you do not know them. - They are impersonal. They come to you through passion but not - through that love of the naked body which is lust. I can - work with passion because it is creative, but not with lust, - for it is destructive only. Your suffering is the youth and - ignorance of the young uncreative animal. I can strive with - young animals and can help them. But I cannot work with them. I - beg you, listen. I love in you the fire, though it is faint and - piti-ful. - "JULIAN." - -Lady Gleeson read this letter in front of the looking-glass, then -stared at her reflection in the mirror. - -She was dazed. But in spite of the language she thought "silly," -she caught the blunt refusal of her generous offer. She understood. -Yet, unable to believe it, she looked at her reflection again--then, -impulsively, went downstairs to see her husband. - -It really was more than she could bear. The man was mad, but that did -not excuse him. - -"He is a beast," she informed her husband, tearing up the letter -angrily before his eyes in the library, while he watched her with a -slavish admiration that increased her fury. "He is nothing but an -animal," she added. "He's a--a----" - -"Who?" came the question, as though it had been asked before. For Sir -George wore a stolid and a patient expression on his kindly face. - -"That man LeVallon," she told him. "One of Dr. Fillery's cases I tried -to--to help. Now he's written to me----" - -George looked up with infinite patience and desire in his kindly gaze. - -"Cut him out," he said dryly, as though he was accustomed to such -scenes. "Let him rip. Why bother, anyway, with 'patients'?" - -And he crossed the room to comfort her, knowing that presently the -reaction must make him seem more desirable than he really was.... - -"Never in my house again," she sighed, as he approached her lovingly, -his fingers in his close brown beard. "He is simply a beast--an -animal!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -It was, perhaps, some cosmic humour in the silent, beautiful stars -which planned that Nayan's visit should follow upon the very heels of -Lady Gleeson's call. Those vast Intelligences who note the fall of -even a feather, watching and guarding the Race so closely that they -may be said in human terms to love it, arranged the details possibly, -enjoying the result with their careless, sunny laughter. At any rate, -Dr. Fillery quickly sent her word, and she came. To lust "N. H." had -not reacted. How would it be with love? - -The beautiful girl entered the room slowly, shyly, as though, certain -of herself, she was not quite certain what she was about to meet. -Fillery had told her she could help, that she was needed; therefore she -came. There was no thought of self in her. Her first visit to Julian -LeVallon after his behaviour in the Studio had no selfish motive in -it. Her self-confidence, however, went only to a certain point; in -the interview with Fillery she had easily controlled herself; she was -not so sure that her self-control would be adequate now. Though calm -outwardly, an inexpressible turmoil surged within. - -She remembered his strength, virility and admiration--as a woman; his -ingenuous, childlike innocence, an odd appealing helplessness in it -somewhere, touched the mother in her. That she divined this latter was, -perhaps, the secret of her power over men. Independent of all they had -to offer, she touched the highest in them by making them feel they had -need of the highest in herself. She obtained thus, without desiring -it, the influence that Lady Gleeson, her antithesis, lacked. They -called her Nayan the Impersonal. The impersonal in her, nevertheless, -that which had withstood the cunning onslaught of every type of male -successfully, had received a fundamental shock. Both her modesty and -dignity had been assailed, and in public. Others, women among them, had -witnessed her apparent yielding to LeVallon's violence and seen her -carried in his arms; they had noted her obvious willingness, had heard -her sympathetic cry. She knew quite well what the women thought--Lady -Gleeson had written a little note of sympathy--the men as well, and yet -she came at Fillery's call to visit, perhaps to help, the offender who -had caused it all. - -As she opened the door every nerve she possessed was tingling. The -mother in her yearned, but the woman in her sent the blood rushing from -her heart in pride, in resentment, in something of anger as well. How -had he dared to seize her in that awful way? The outrage and the love -both tore at her. Yet Nayan was not the kind to shirk self-revelation -when it came. She brought some hidden secret with her, although as yet -herself uncertain what that secret was. - -Fillery met her on the threshold with his sweet tact and sympathy -as usual. He had an authoritative and paternal air that helped and -comforted her, and, as she took his hand at once, the look she gave him -was more kind and tender than she knew. The last trace of self, at any -rate, went out of her as she felt his touch. - -"Here I am," she said; "you sent for me. I promised you." - -He replied in a low tone: "There's no need to refer to anything, of -course. Assume--I suggest--that he has forgotten all that happened, and -you--have forgotten too." - -He was aware of nothing but her eyes. The softness, the delicate -perfume, the perfect voice, even the fur and flowers--all were summed -up in her eyes alone. In those eyes he could have lost himself perhaps -for ever. - -He led her into the room, a certain abruptness in his manner. - -"I shall leave you alone," he whispered, using his professional voice. -"It is best that he should see you quite alone. I shall not be far -away, but you will find him perfectly quiet. He understands that you -are"--his tone changed upon the adjective--"sacred." - -"Sacred," she murmured to herself, repeating the word, "sacred." - -They smiled. And the door closed behind her. Across the room rose the -tall figure of the man she had come to see, dressed in dark blue, a low -white shirt open at the neck, a blue tie that matched the strong, clear -eyes, the wondrous hair crowning the whole like a flame. The slant of -wintry sunlight by chance just caught the great figure as it rose, -lightly, easily, as though it floated up out of the floor before her. - -And, as by magic, the last uncertainty in her disappeared; she -knew herself akin to this radiant shape of blue and gold; knew -also--mysteriously--in a way entirely beyond her to explain--knew why -Edward Fillery was dear to her. Was it that something in the three of -them pertained to a common origin? The conviction, half thought, half -feeling, rose in her as she looked into the blue eyes facing her and -took the outstretched hand. - -"You strange lost being! No one will understand you--here...." - -The words flashed through her mind of their own accord, instantly, -spontaneously, yet were almost forgotten the same second in the surge -of more commonplace feeling that rose after. Only the "here" proved -their origin not entirely forgotten. It was the selfless, mothering -instinct that now dominated, but the division in her being had, none -the less, been indicated as by a white piercing light that searched her -inmost nature. That added "here" laid bare, she felt, some part of her -which, with all other men, was clothed and covered away. - -Realized though dimly, this troubled her clear mind, as she took the -chair he offered, the conviction that she must tend and care for, -even love this strange youth, as though he were in exile and none but -herself could understand him. She heard the deep resonant voice in the -air in front of her: - -"I am not lost now," he said, with his radiant smile, and as if he -perceived her thought from the expression in her face. "I wished to -take you away--to take you back. I wish it still." - -He stood gazing down at her. The deep tones, the shining eyes, -the towering stature with its quiet strength--these, added to the -directness of the language, confused her for a moment. The words were -so entirely unexpected. Fillery had led her to suppose otherwise. Yet -before the blazing innocence in his face and manner, her composure at -once returned. She found no words at first. She smiled up into his -eyes, then pointed to a chair. Seated he would be more manageable, she -felt. His upright stature was so overpowering. - -"You had forgotten----" he went on, obeying her wish and sitting down, -"but I could not know that you had forgotten. I apologize"--the word -sounded oddly on his lips, as though learned recently--"for making you -suffer." - -"Forgotten!" - -A swift intuition, due to some as yet undecipherable kinship, told -her that the word bore no reference to the Studio scene. Some larger -meaning, scaled to an immenser map, came with it. An unrealized emotion -stirred faintly in her as she heard. Her first sight of him as a figure -of light returned. - -"But that is all forgiven now," she replied calmly in her firm, gentle -voice. "We need not speak of it. You understand now"--she ended -lamely--"that it is not possible----" - -He listened intently, gravely, as though with a certain effort, his -head bent forward to catch every syllable. And as he bent, peering, -listening, he might have been some other-worldly being staring down -through a window in the sky into the small confusions of earth's -affairs. - -"Yes," he said, the moment she stopped speaking, "I understand now. I -shall never make you suffer again. Only--I could not know that you had -forgotten--so completely." - -"Forgotten?" she again repeated in spite of herself, for the way he -uttered the word again stirred that nameless, deep emotion in her. -Their attitudes respectively were changing. She no longer felt that she -could "mother" this great figure before her. - -"Where we belong," he answered in his great quiet voice. "_There_," he -added, in a way that made it the counterpart of her own spontaneous and -intuitive "here." "It is so easy. I had forgotten too. But Fillery, -dear Fillery, helps me to remember, and the stars and flowers and -wind, these help me too. And then you--when I saw _you_ I suddenly -remembered more. I was so happy. I remembered what I had left to come -among men and women. I knew that Fillery and you belonged 'there' with -me. You, both, had come down for a little time, come down 'here,' but -had remained too long. You had become almost as men and women are. I -remembered everything when I saw your eyes. I was so happy in a moment, -as I looked at you, that I felt I must go back, go home. The central -fire called me, called us all three. I wanted to escape and take -you with me. I knew by your eyes that you were ready. You called to -Fillery. We were off." - -He paused a moment, while she listened in breathless silence. - -"Then, suddenly, you refused. You resisted. Something prevented. The -Messengers were there when suddenly"--an expression of yearning pain -clouded his great eyes a moment--"you forgot again. I forgot too, -forgot everything. The darkness came. It was cold. My enemy, the water, -caught me." - -He stopped, and passed his hands across his forehead, sighing, his eyes -fixed upon vacancy as with an intense effort to recover something. "And -I still forget," he went on, the yearning now transferred from the -eyes to the lowered voice. "I can remember nothing again. All, all is -gone from me." The light in his face actually grew dimmer as he slowly -uttered the words. He leaned back in his big arm-chair. Again, it -occurred to her, it was as if he drew back from that window in the sky. - -A curious hollow, empty of life, seemed to drop into the room between -them as his voice ceased. - -While he had been speaking, the girl watched and listened with intense -interest and curiosity. She remembered he was a "patient," yet no touch -of uneasiness or nervousness was in her. His strange words, meaningless -as they might seem, woke deep echoes of some dim buried recognition in -her. It amazed and troubled her. This young man, this sinner against -the conventions whom she had come to comfort and forgive, held the -reins already. What had happened, what was happening, and how did he -contrive it? She was aware of a clear, divining knowledge in him, a -power, a directness she could not fathom. He seemed to read her inside -out. It was more than uncanny; it was spiritual. It mastered her. - -During his speech he remained very still, without gesture, without -change of expression in his face; he made no movement; only his voice -deepened and grew rhythmical. And a power emanated from him she hardly -dared resist, much less deny. His voice, his words, reached depths in -her she scarcely knew herself. He was so strong, so humble, so simple, -yet so strangely peaceful. And--suddenly she realized it--so far -beyond her, yet akin. She became aware that the figure seated in the -chair, watching her, talking, was but a fraction of his whole self. He -was--the word occurred to her--immense. Was she, too, immense? - -More than troubled, she was profoundly stimulated. The mothering -instinct in her for the first time seemed to fail a little. The woman -in her trembled, not quite sure of itself. But, besides these two, -there was another part of her that listened and felt joy--a white, -radiant joy which, if she allowed, must become ecstasy. Whence came -this hint of unearthly rapture? Again there rose before her the two -significant words: "There" and "Here." - -"I do not quite understand," she replied, after a moment's pause, -looking into his eyes steadily, her voice firm, her young face very -sweet; "I do not fully understand, perhaps. But I sympathize." Then she -added suddenly, with a little smile: "But, at any rate, I did not come -to make you apologize--Julian. Please be sure of that. I came to see if -I might be of any use--if there was anything I might do to make----" - -His quick interruption transfixed her. - -"You came," he said in a distinct, low tone, "because you love me and -wish me to love you. But we do love already, you, dear Fillery, and -I--only our love is in that great Service where we all three belong. It -is not of this--it is not _here_----" making an impatient gesture with -his hand to indicate his general surroundings. - -He broke off instantly, noticing the expression in her face. - -She had realized suddenly, as he spoke, the blind fury of reproduction -that sweeps helpless men and women everywhere into union, then flings -them aside exhausted, useless, its purpose accomplished. Though herself -never yet caught by it, the vivid realization made her turn from life -with pity and revulsion. Yet--were these thoughts her own? Whence did -they come, if not? And what was this new blind thing straining in -her mind for utterance, bursting upwards like a flame, threatening -to split it asunder even in its efforts to escape? "What are these -words we use?" darted across her. "What do they mean? What is it we're -talking about _really_? I don't know quite. Yet it's real, yes, real -and true. Only it's beyond our words. It's something I know, but have -forgotten...." That was _his_ word again: "Forgotten"! While they used -words together, something in her went stumbling, groping, thrusting -towards a great shining revelation for which no words existed. And a -strange, deep anguish seized her suddenly. - -"Oh!" he cried, "I make you suffer again. The fire leaves you. You -are white. I--I will apologize"--he slipped on to his knees before -her--"but you do not understand. It was not your sacredness I spoke -of." Already on his knees before her, but level with her face owing -to his great stature, gazing into her eyes with an expression of deep -tenderness, humility, almost suffering, he added: "It was our other -love, I meant, our great happy service, the thing we have forgotten. -You came, I thought, to help me to remember _that_. The way home--I saw -you knew." The light streamed back into his face and eyes. - -The tumult and confusion in the girl were natural enough. Her -resourcefulness, however, did not fail her at this curious and awkward -moment. His words, his conduct were more than she could fathom, yet -behind both she divined a source of remote inspiration she had never -known before in any "man." The beauty and innocence on the face -arrested her faculties for a second. That nameless emotion stirred -again. A glimmer of some faint, distant light, whose origin she could -not guess, passed flickering across her inner tumult. Some faculty she -could not name, at any rate, blew suddenly to white heat in her. This -youth on his knees before her had spoken truth. Without knowing it even -herself, she had given him her love, a virgin love, a woman's love -hitherto unawakened in her by any other man, but a love not of this -earth quite--because of him who summoned it into sudden flower. - -Yet at the same time he denied the need of it! He spoke of some -marvellous great shining Service that was different from the love of -man and woman. - -This too, as some forgotten, lost ideal, she knew was also true. - -Her mind, her heart, her experience, her deepest womanly nature, these, -she realized in a glowing instant of extraordinary divination, were at -variance in her. She trembled; she knew not what to do or say or think. -And again, it came to her, that the visible shape before her was but -the insignificant fraction of a being whose true life spread actively -and unconfined through infinite space. - -She then did something that was prompted, though she did not know it -thus, by her singleness of heart, her purity of soul and body, her -unique and natural instinct to be of use, of service, to others--the -accumulated practice and effort of her entire life provided the action -along a natural line of least resistance: she bent down and put her arm -and hand round his great shoulder. She lowered her face. She kissed him -most tenderly, with a mother's love, a woman's secret passion perhaps, -but yet with something else as well she could not name--an unearthly -yearning for a greater Ideal than anything she had yet known on earth -among humanity.... It was the invisible she kissed. - -And LeVallon, she realized with immense relief, justified her action, -for he did not return the kiss. At the same time she had known quite -well it would be thus. That kiss trembled, echoed, in her own greater -unrealized self as well. - -"What is it," she whispered, a mysterious passion surging up in her as -she raised him to his feet, "that you remember and wish to recover--for -us all? Can you tell me? What is this great, happy, deathless service -that we have forgotten?" Her voice trembled a little. An immense sense -of joy, of liberty, shook out its sunlit wings. - -His expression, as he rose, was something between that of a child and a -faithful yearning animal, but of a "divine animal," though she did not -know the phrase. Its purity, its sweetness, its power--it was the power -she noticed chiefly--were superb. - -"I cannot tell, I cannot remember," his voice said softly, for all its -resonant, virile depth. "It is some state we all have come from--into -this. We are strangers here. This brain and intellect, this coarse, -thick feeling, this selfishness, this want of harmony and working -together--all this is new and strange to us. It is of blind and -clumsy children. This love of one single person for one other single -person--it is so pitiful. We three have come into this for a time, a -little time. It is pain and misery. It is prison. Each one works only -for himself. There is no joy. They know nothing of our great Service. -We cannot show them. Let us go back----" - -Another pause fell between them, another of those singular hollows she -had felt before. But this time the hollow was not empty. It was brimmed -with surging life. The gulf between her earthly state and another that -was nameless, a gulf usually unbridgeable, the fixed gulf, as an old -book has it, which may not be crossed without danger to the Race, for -whose protection it exists--this childhood simile occurred to her. And -a sense of awe stirred in her being. It was the realization that this -gulf or hollow now brimmed with life, that it could be crossed, that -she might step over into another place--the sense of awe rose thence, -yet came certainly neither from the woman nor the mother in her. - -"I am of another place," LeVallon went on, plucking the thought naked -from her inmost being. "For I am come here recently, and the purpose -of my coming is hidden from me, and memory is dark. But it is not -entirely dark. Sometimes I half remember. Stars, flowers, fire, wind, -women--here and there--bring light into the darkness. Oh," he cried -suddenly, "how wonderful they are--how wonderful you are--on that -account to me!" - -The voice held a strange, evoking power perhaps. A thousand yearnings -she had all her life suppressed because they interfered with her -duty--as she conceived it--here and now, fluttered like rising flames -within her as she listened. His voice now increased in volume and -rhythm, though still quiet and low-pitched; it was as if a great wind -poured behind it with tremendous vibrations, through it, lifting her -out of a limited, cramped, everyday self. A delicious warmth of happy -comfort, of acceptance, of enthusiasm glowed in her. And LeVallon's -face, she saw, had become radiant, almost as though it emanated light. -This light entered her being and brought joy again. - -"Joy!" he said, reading her thought and feeling. "Joy!" - -"Joy! Another place!" she heard herself repeating, her eyes now fixed -upon his own. - -She felt lighter, caught up and away a little, lifted above the solid -earth; as if it was heat that lightened, and wind that bore her -upwards. Everything in her became intensified. - -"Another state, another place"--her voice seemed to borrow something of -the rhythm in his own, though she did not notice it--"but not away from -earth, this beautiful earth?" With a happy smile she added, "I love the -dear kind earth, I love it." - -The light on his face increased: - -"The earth we love and serve," he said, "is beautiful, but here"--he -looked about him round the room, at the trees waving through the -window, at the misty sky above draping the pale light of the sun--"here -I am on the surface only. There is confusion and struggle. Everything -quarrels against everything else. It is discord and disorder. There is -no harmony. Here, on the surface, everything is separate. There is no -working together. It is all pain, each little part fighting for itself. -Here--I am outside--there is no joy." - -It was the phrase "I am outside" that flashed something more of his -meaning into her. His full meaning lay beyond actual words perhaps; -but this phrase fell like a shock into that inmost self which she had -deliberately put away. - -"_You are from inside_, yes," she exclaimed, marvelling afterwards that -she had said it; "within--nearer to the centre----!" - -And he took the abrupt interruption as though they both understood and -spoke of the same one thing together, having found a language born of -similar great yearnings and of forgotten knowledge, times, states, -conditions, places. - -"I come," he said, his voice, his bright smile alive with the pressure -of untold desire, "from another place that is--yes--inside, nearer to -the centre. I have forgotten almost everything. I remember only that -there was harmony, love, work and happiness all combined in the perfect -liberty of our great service. We served the earth. We helped the life -upon it. There was no end, no broken fragments, no failure." The voice -touched chanting. "There was no death." - -He rose suddenly and came over to her side, and instinctively the girl -stood up. What she felt and thought as she heard the strange language -he used, she hardly knew herself. She only knew in that moment an -immense desire to help her kind, an intensification of that great ideal -of impersonal service which had always been the keynote of her life. -This became vividly stimulated in her. It rose like a dominating, -overmastering passion. The sense of ineffectual impotence, of inability -to accomplish anything of value against the stolid odds life set -against her, the uselessness of her efforts with the majority, in a -word, seemed brushed away, as though greater powers of limitless extent -were now at last within her reach. This blazed in her like fire. It -shone in her big dark eyes that looked straight into his as they stood -facing one another. - -"And that service," he went on in his deep vibrating, half-singing -tone, "I see in dear Fillery and in you. I know my own kind. We three, -at least, belong. I know my own." The voice seemed to shake her like a -wind. - -At the last two words her soul leaped within her. It seemed quite -natural that his great arm should take her breast and shoulder and that -his lips should touch her cheek and hair. For there was worship in both -gestures. - -"Our greater service," she whispered, trembling, "tell me of that. What -is it?" His touch against her was like the breath of fire. - -Her womanly instincts, so-called, her maternal love, her feminine -impulses deserted her. She was aware solely at that moment of the -proximity of a being who called her to a higher, to, at any rate, a -different state, to something beyond the impoverished conditions of -humanity as she had hitherto experienced it, to something she had ever -yearned and longed for without knowing what it was. An extraordinary -sense of enormous liberty swept over her again. - -His voice broke and the rhythm failed. - -"I cannot tell you," he replied mournfully, the light fading a little -from his eyes and face. "I have forgotten. That other place is hidden -from me. I am in exile," he added slowly, "but with you and--Fillery." -His blue eyes filled with moisture; the expression of troubled -loneliness was one she had never seen before on any human face. "I -suffer," he added gently. "We all suffer." - -And, at the sight of it, the yearning to help, to comfort, to fulfil -her rôle as mother, returned confusingly, and rose in her like a tide. -He was so big and strong and splendid. He was so helpless. It was, -perhaps, the innocence in the great blue eyes that conquered her--for -the first time in her life. - -But behind, beside the mother in her, stirred also the natural woman. -And beyond this again, rose the accumulated power of the entire Race. -The instinct of all the women of the planet since the world began drove -at her. Not easily may an individual escape the deep slavery of the -herd. - -The young girl wavered and hesitated. Caught by so many emotions that -whirled her as in a vortex, the direction of the resultant impetus hung -doubtful for some time. During the half hour's talk, she had entered -deeper water than she had ever dared or known before. Life hitherto, -so far as men were concerned, had been a simple and an easy thing that -she had mastered without difficulty. Her real self lay still unscarred -within her. Freely she had given the mothering care and sympathy that -were so strong in her, the more freely because the men who asked of her -were children, one and all, children who needed her, but from whom she -asked nothing in return. If they fell in love, as they usually did, she -knew exactly how to lift their emotion in a way that saved them pain -while it left herself untouched. None reached her real being, which -thus remained unscathed, for none offered the lifting glory that she -craved. - -Here, for the first time facing her, stood a being of another type; and -that unscathed self in her went trembling at the knowledge. Here was -a power she could not play with, could not dominate, but a power that -could play with her as easily as the hurricane with the flying leaf. It -was not his words, his strange beauty, his great strength that mastered -her, though these brought their contribution doubtless. The power she -felt emanated unconsciously from him, and was used unconsciously. It -was all about him. She realized herself a child before him, and this -realization sweetened, though it confused her being. He so easily -touched depths in her she had hardly recognized herself. He could so -easily lift her to terrific heights.... Various sides of her became -dominant in turn.... - -The inmost tumult of a good woman's heart is not given to men to read, -perhaps, but the final impetus resulting from the whirlpool tossed her -at length in a very definite direction. She found her feet again. The -determining factor that decided the issue of the struggle was a small -and very human one. He appealed to the woman in her, yet what stirred -the woman was the vital and afflicting factor that--he did not need her. - -He wished to help, to lift her towards some impersonal ideal that -remained his secret. He wished to _give_--he could give--while she, for -her part, had nothing that he needed. Indeed, he asked for nothing. He -was as independent of her as she was independent of these other men. - -And the woman, now faced for the first time with this entirely new -situation, decided automatically--that he should learn to need her. He -must. Though she had nothing that he wanted from her, she must on that -very account give all. The sacrifice which stands ready for the fire -in every true feminine heart was lighted there and then. She had found -her master and her god. Half measures were not possible to her. She -stood naked at the altar. But in her sacrifice he, too, the priest, the -deity, the master, he also should find love. - -Such is the woman's power, however, to conceal from herself the truth, -that she did not recognize at first what this decision was. She -disguised it from her own heart, yet quite honestly. She loved him and -gave him all she had to give for ever and ever: even though he did -not ask nor need her love. This she grasped. Her rôle must be one of -selfless sacrifice. But the deliberate purpose behind her real decision -she disguised from herself with complete success. It lay there none the -less, strong, vital, very simple. She would teach him love. - -Alone of all men, Edward Fillery could have drawn up this motive from -its inmost hiding place in her deep subconscious being, and have made -it clear to her. Dr. Fillery, had he been present, would have discerned -it in her, as, indeed, he did discern it later. He had, for that -matter, already felt its prophecy with a sinking heart when he planned -bringing them together: Iraida might suffer at LeVallon's hands. - -But Fillery, apparently, was not present, and Nayan Khilkoff remained -unaware of self-deception. LeVallon "needs your care and sympathy; you -can help him," she remembered. This she believed, and Love did the rest. - -So intricate, so complex were the emotions in her that she realized -one thing only--she must give all without thought of self. "When -half gods go the gods arrive" sang in her heart. She was a woman, -one of a mighty and innumerable multitude, and collective instinct -urged her irresistibly. But it hid at the same time with lovely -care the imperishable desire and intention that the arriving god -should--_must_--love her in return. - -The youth stood facing her while this tumult surged within her heart -and mind. Outwardly calm, she still gazed into the clear blue eyes that -shone with moisture as he repeated, half to himself and half to her: - -"We are in exile here; we suffer. We have forgotten." - -His hands were stretched towards her, and she took them in her own and -held them a moment. - -"But you and I," he went on, "you and I and Fillery--shall remember -again--soon. We shall know why we are here. We shall do our happy work -together here. We shall then return--escape." - -His deep tones filled the air. At the sound of the other name a breath -of sadness, of disappointment, touched her coldly. The familiar name -had faded. It was, as always, dear. But its potency had dimmed.... - -The sun was down and a soft dusk covered all. A faint wind rustled in -the garden trees through the open window. - -"Fillery," she murmured, "Edward Fillery!---- He loved me. He has loved -me always." - -The little words--they sounded little for the first time--she uttered -almost in a whisper that went lost against the figure of LeVallon -towering above her through the twilight. - -"We are together," his great voice caught her whisper in the immense -vibration, drowning it. "The love of our happy impersonal service -brings us all together. We have forgotten, but we shall remember soon." - -It seemed to her that he shone now in the dusky air. Light came about -his face and shoulders. An immense vitality poured into her through his -hands. The sense of strange kinship was overpowering. She felt, though -not in terms of size or physical strength, a pigmy before him, while -yet another thing rose in gigantic and limitless glory as from some -inner heart he quickened in her. This sense of exaltation, of delirious -joy that tempted sweetly, came upon her. He _must_ love her, need her -in the end.... - -"Julian," she murmured softly, drawn irresistibly closer. "The gods -have brought you to me." Her feet went nearer of their own accord, but -there was no movement, no answering pressure, in the hands she held. -"You shall never know loneliness again, never while I am here. The -gods--your gods--have brought us together." - -"_Our_ gods," she heard his answer, "are the same." The words -trembled against her actual breast, so close she was now leaning -against him. "Even if lost, it is they who sent us here. I know their -messengers----" - -He broke off, standing back from her, dropping her hands, or, rather, -drawing his own away. - -"Hark!" he cried. The voice deep and full, yet without loudness, -thrilled her. She watched him with terror and amazement, as he turned -to the open window, throwing his arms out suddenly to the darkening -sky against which the trees loomed still and shapeless. His figure was -wrapped in a faint radiance as of silvery moonlight. She was aware of -heat about her, a comforting, inspiring warmth that pervaded her whole -being, as from within. The same moment the bulk of the big tree shook -and trembled, and a steady wind came pouring into the room. It seemed -to her the wind, the heat, poured through that tree. - -And the inner heart in her grew clear an instant. This wind, this heat, -increased her being marvellously. The exaltation in her swept out and -free. She saw him, dropped from alien skies upon the little teeming -earth. The sense of his remoteness from the life about them, of her own -remoteness too, flashed over her like wind and fire. An immense ideal -blazed, then vanished. It flamed beyond her grasp. It beckoned with -imperishable loveliness, then faded instantly. Wind caught it up once -more. With the fire an overpowering joy rose in her. - -"Julian!" she cried aloud. "Son of Wind and Fire!" - -At the words, which had come to her instinctively, he turned with -a sudden gesture she could not quite interpret, while there broke -upon his face a smile, strange and lovely, that caught up the effect -of light about him and seemed to focus in his brilliant eyes. His -happiness was beyond all question, his admiration, wonder too; yet the -quality she chiefly looked and expected--was _not_ there. - -She chilled. The joy, she was acutely conscious, was not a personal joy. - -"You," he said gently, happily, emphasizing the word, "you are not -pitiful," and the rustle of the shaking trees outside the window merged -their voice in his and carried it outward into space. It was as if the -wind itself had spoken. Across the garden dusk there shot a sudden -effect of light, as though a flame had flickered somewhere in the sky, -then passed back into the growing night. There was a scent of flowers -in the air. "You," he cried, with an exultation that carried her again -beyond herself. "You are not pitiful." - -"Julian----!" she stammered, longing for his arms. She half drew away. -The blood flowed down and back in her. "Not pitiful!" she repeated -faintly. - -For it was to her suddenly as if that sighing wind that entered the -room from the outer sky had borne him away from her. That wind was a -messenger. It came from that distant state, that other region where -he belonged, a state, a region compared to which the beings of earth -were trumpery and tinsel-dressed. It came to remind him of his home -and origin. The little earth, the myriad confused figures struggling -together on its surface, he saw as "pitiful." From that window in the -sky whence he looked down he watched them...! - -She knew the feeling in him, knew it, because some part of her, though -faint and deeply hidden, was akin. Yet she was not wholly "pitiful." -He had discerned in her this faint, hidden strain of vaster life, had -stirred and strengthened it by his words, his presence. Yet it was not -vital enough in her to stand alone. When wind and fire, his elements, -breathed forth from it, she was afraid. - -"You are not pitiful," he had said, yet pitiful, for all that, she -knew herself to be. On that breath of sighing wind he swept away from -her, far, far away where, as yet, she could not follow. And her dream -of personal love swept with it. Some ineffable hint of a divine, -impersonal glory she had known went with him from her heart. The -personal was too strong in her. It was human love she desired both to -give and ask. - -Unspoken words flared through her heart and being: "Julian, you have -no soul, no human soul. But I will give you one, for I will teach you -love----" - -He turned upon her like a hurricane of windy fire. - -"Soul!" he cried, catching the word out of her naked heart. "Oh, be not -caught with that pitiful delusion. It is this idea of soul that binds -you hopelessly to selfish ends and broken purposes. This thing you call -soul is but the dream of human vanity and egoism. It is worse than -love. Both bind you endlessly to limited desires and blind ambitions. -They are of children." - -He rose, like some pillar of whirling flame and wind, beside her. - -"Come out with me," he cried, "come back! You teach me to remember! -Our elemental home calls sweetly to us, our elemental service waits. -We belong to those vast Powers. They are eternal. They know no binding -and they have no death. Their only law is service, that mighty service -which builds up the universe. The stars are with us, the nebulæ and -the central fires are their throne and altar. The soul you dream of in -your little circle is but an idle dream of the Race that ties your feet -lest you should fly and soar. The personal has bandaged all your eyes. -Nayan, come back with me. You once worked with me there--you, I and -Fillery together." - -His voice, though low, had that which was terrific in it. The volume of -its sound appalled her. Its low vibrations shook her heart. - -"Soul," she said very softly, courage sure in her, but tears close in -her burning eyes, "is my only hope. I live for it. I am ready to die -for it. It is my life!" - -He gazed at her a moment with a tenderness and sympathy she hardly -understood, for their origin lay hidden beyond her comprehension. She -knew one thing only--that he looked adorable and glorious, a being -brought by the wise powers of life, whatever these might be, into the -keeping of her love and care. The mother and the woman merged in her. -His redemption lay within her gentle hands, if it lay at the same time -upon an altar that was her awful sacrifice. - -"Son of wind and fire!" she cried, though emotion made her voice -dwindle to a breathless whisper. "You called to my love, yet my love is -personal. I have nothing else to give you. Julian, come back! O stay -with me. Your wind and fire frighten, for they take you away. Service -I know, but your service--O what is it? For it leaves the bed, the -hearthstone cold----" - -She stopped abruptly, wondering suddenly at her own words. What was -this rhythm that had caught her mind and heart into an unknown, a -daring form of speech? - -But the wind ran again through the open window fluttering the curtains -and the skirts about her feet. It sighed and whispered. It was no -earthly wind. She saw him once again go from her on its quiet wings. -He left her side, he left her heart. And an icy realization of _his_ -loneliness, his exile, stirred in her.... For a moment, as she looked -up into his shining face silhouetted in the dusk against the window, -there rose tumultuously in her that maternal feeling which had held all -men safely at a distance hitherto. Like a wave, it mastered her. She -longed to take him in her arms, to shield him from a world that was not -his, to bless and comfort him with all she had to give, to have the -right to brush that wondrous hair, to open those lids at dawn and close -them with a kiss at night. This ancient passion rose in her, bringing, -though she did not recognize it, the great woman in its train. She -walked up to him with both hands outstretched: - -"All my nights," she said, with no reddening of the cheek, "are as our -wedding night!" - -He heard, he saw, but the words held no meaning for him. - -"Julian! Stay with me--stay here!" She put her arms about him. - -"And forget----!" he cried, an inexpressible longing in his voice. He -bent, none the less, beneath the pressure of her clinging arms; he -lowered his face to hers. - -"I will teach you love," she murmured, her cheek against his own. "You -do not know how sweet, how wonderful it is. All your strange wisdom -you shall show me, and I will learn willingly, if only I may teach -you--love." - -"You would teach me to forget," he said in a voice of curious pain, -"just as you--are forgetting now." - -He gently unclasped her hands from about his neck, and went over to the -open window, while she sank into a chair, watching him. She again heard -the wind, but again no common, earthly wind, go singing past the walls. - -"But _I_ will teach you to remember," he said, his great figure half -turning towards her again, his voice sounding as though it were in that -sighing breath of wind that passed and died away into the silence of -the sky. - -The strange difficulty, the immensity, of her self-appointed task, grew -suddenly crystal clear in her mind. Amid the whirling, aching pain -and yearning that she felt it stood forth sharp and definite. It was -imperious. She loved, and she must teach _him_ love. This was the one -thing needful in his case. Her own deep, selfless heart would guide her. - -There was pain in her, but there was no fear. Above the conventions she -felt herself, naked and unashamed. The sense of a new immense liberty -he had brought lifted her into a region where she could be natural -without offence. He had flung wide the gates of life, setting free -those strange, ultimate powers which had lain hidden and unrealized -hitherto, and with them was quickened, too, that mysterious and awful -hint which, beckoning ever towards some vaster life, had made the world -as she found it unsatisfactory, pale, of meagre value. - -As the strange drift of wind passed off into the sky, she moved across -the room and stood beside him, its dying chant still humming in her -ears. That song of the wind, she understood, was symbolic of what she -had to fight, for his being, though linked to a divine service she -could not understand, lay in Nature and apart from human things: - -"Think, Julian," she murmured, her face against his shoulder so -that the sweet perfume as of flowers he exhaled came over her -intoxicatingly, "think what we could do together for the world--for all -these little striving ignorant troubled people in it--for everybody! -You and I together working, helping, lifting them all up----!" - -He made no movement, and she took his great arm and drew it round her -neck, placing the hand against her cheek. He looked down at her then, -his eyes peering into her face. - -"That," he said in a deep, gentle voice that vibrated through her -whole body, "yes, that we will do. It is the service--the service of -our gods. It is why I called you. From the first I saw it in you, and -in----" - -Before he could speak the name she kissed his lips, pulling his head -lower in order to reach them: "Think, Julian," she whispered, his eyes -so close to hers that they seemed to burn them, "think what our child -might be!" - -The wind came back across the tossing trees with a rush of singing. Her -hair fluttered across their two faces, as it entered the room, drove -round the inner walls, then, with a cry, flew out again into the empty -sky. She felt as if the wind had answered her, for other answer there -came none. Far away in the spaces of that darkening sky the wind rushed -sailing, sailing with its impersonal song of power and of triumph.... -She did not remember any further spoken words. She remembered only, as -she went homewards down the street, that Julian had opened the door -upon some unspoken understanding that she had lost him because she -dared not follow recklessly where he led, and that the steady draught, -it seemed, had driven forcibly behind her--as though the wind had blown -her out. - -It was only much later she realized that the figure who had then -overtaken her, supported, comforted with kind ordinary words she hardly -understood at the moment and yet vaguely welcomed, finally leaving her -at the door of her father's house in Chelsea, was the figure of Edward -Fillery. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -As upon a former occasion some twenty-four hours before, "N. H." seemed -hardly aware that his visitor had left, though this time there was -the vital difference--that what was of value had not gone at all. The -essence of the girl, it seemed, was still with him. It remained. The -physical presence was to him apparently the least of all. - -He returned to his place at the open window of the darkening room, -while night, with her cooler airs, passed over the world on tiptoe. -He drew deep breaths, opened his arms, and seemed to shake himself, -as though glad to be free of recent little awkward and unnatural -gestures that had irked him. There was happiness in his face. "She is -a builder, though she has forgotten," ran his thought with pleasure, -"and I can work with her. Like Fillery, she builds up, constructs; we -are all three in the same service, and the gods are glad. I love her -... yes ... but she"--his thoughts grew troubled and confused--"she -speaks of another love that is a tight and binding little thing ... -that catches and confines. It is for one person only ... one person for -one other.... For two ... only for two persons!... What is its meaning -then?" - -Of her words and acts he had understood evidently a small part only; -much that she had said and done he had not comprehended, although in it -somewhere there had certainly lain a sweet, faint, troubling pleasure -that was new to him. - -His thought wavered, flickered out and vanished. For a long time he -leaned against the window with his images, thinking with his heart, -for when alone and not stirred by the thinking of others close to -him, he became of a curious childlike innocence, knowing nothing. His -"thinking" with others present seemed but a reflection of _their_ -thinking. The way he caught up the racial thinking, appearing swiftly -intelligent at the time (as with Fillery's mind), passed the instant -he was alone. He became open, then, to bigger rhythms that the little -busy thinkers checked and interrupted. But this greater flow of images, -of rhythms, this thinking with the heart--what was it, and with what -things did it deal? He did not know. He had forgotten. To his present -brain it was alien. He grasped only that it was concerned with the -rhythms of fire and wind apparently, though hardly, perhaps, of that -crude form in which men know them, but of an inner, subtler, more -vital heat and air which lie in and behind all forms and help to shape -them--and of Intelligences which use these as their vehicles, their -instruments, their bodies. - -In his "images" he was aware of these Intelligences, perceived them -with his entire being, shared their activities and nature: behind all -so-called forms and shapes, whether of people, flowers, minerals, -of insects or of stars, of a bird, a butterfly or a nebula, but -also of those _mental_ shapes which are born of thought and mood -and heart--this host of Intelligences, great and small, all delving -together, building, constructing, involved in a vast impersonal service -which was deathless. This seemed the mighty call that thundered through -him, fire and wind merely the agencies with which he, in particular, -knew instinctively his duties lay. - -For his work, these images taught him, was to increase life by making -the "body" it used as perfect as he could. The more perfect the form, -the instrument, the greater the power manifesting through it. A poor, -imperfect form stopped the flow of this manifesting life, as though -a current were held up and delayed. For instance, his own form, his -present body, now irked, delayed and hampered him, although he knew -not how or why or whence he had come to be using it at this moment on -the earth. The instinctive desire to escape from it lay in him, and -also the instinctive recognition that two others, similarly caught and -imprisoned, must escape with him.... - -The images, the rhythms, poured through him in a mighty flood, as he -leaned by the open window, his great figure, his whole nature too, -merging in the space, the wind, the darkness of the soft-moving night -beyond.... Yet darkness troubled him too; it always seemed unfamiliar, -new, something he had never been accustomed to. In darkness he became -quiet, very gentle, feeling his way, as it were, uneasily. - -He was aware, however, that Fillery was near, though not, perhaps, -that he was actually in the room, seated somewhere among the shadows, -watching him. He felt him close in the same way he felt the girl still -close, whether distance between them in space was actually great -or small. The essential in all three was similar, their yearnings, -hopes, intentions, purposes were akin; their longing for some service, -immense, satisfying, it seemed, connected them. The voice, however, did -not startle when it sounded behind him from an apparently empty room: - -"The love she spoke of you do not understand, of course. Perhaps you do -not need it...." - -The voice, as well as the feeling that lay behind, hardly disturbed -the images and rhythms in their wondrous flow. Rather, they seemed a -part of them. "N. H." turned. He saw Dr. Fillery distinctly, sitting -motionless among the shadows by the wall. - -"It is, for you, a new relationship, and seems small, cramping and -unnecessary----" - -"What is it?" "N. H." asked. "What is this love she seeks to hold me -with, saying that I need it? Dear Fillery," he added, moving nearer, -"will you tell me what it is? I found it sweet and pleasant, yet I fear -it." - -"It is," was the reply, "in its best form, the highest quality _we_ -know----" - -"Ah! I felt the fire in it," interrupted "N. H." smiling. "I smelt the -flowers." His smile seemed faintly luminous across the gloom. - -"Because it was the best," replied the other gently. "In its best -form it means, sometimes, the complete sacrifice of one being for the -welfare of another. There is no self in it at all." He felt the eyes of -his companion fixed upon him in the darkness of the quiet room; he felt -likewise that he was bewildered and perplexed. "As, for instance, the -mother for her child," he went on. "That is the purest form of it we -know." - -"One being feels it for _one_ other only," "N. H." repeated apparently -ignoring the reference to maternal love. "Each wants the other for -himself _alone_! Each lives for the other only, the rest excluded! It -is always two and two. Is that what she means?" - -"She would not like it if you had the same feeling for another--woman," -Fillery explained. "She would feel jealousy--which means she would -grudge sharing you with another. She would resent it, afraid of losing -you." - -"Two and two, and two and two," the words floated through the shadows. -The ideal seemed to shock and hurt him; he could not understand it. -"She asks for the whole of me--all to herself. It is lower than -insects, flowers even. It is against Nature. So small, so separate----" - -"But Nature," interrupted Dr. Fillery, after an interval of silence -between them, "is not concerned with what we call love. She is -indifferent to it. Her purpose is merely the continuance of the Race, -and she accomplishes this by making men and women attractive to one -another. This, too," he explained, "we call love, though it is love in -its weakest, least enduring form." - -"That," replied "N. H.," "I know and understand. She builds the best -form she can." - -"And once the form is built," agreed the other, "and Nature's aim -fulfilled, this kind of love usually fades out and dies. It is a -physical thing entirely, like the two atoms we read about together a -few days ago which rush together automatically to produce a third -thing." He lowered his voice suddenly. "There was a great teacher -once," he went on, "who told us that we should love everybody, -everybody, and that in the real life there was no marriage, as we call -it, nor giving in marriage." - -It seemed that, as he said the words, the darkness lifted, and a faint -perfume of flowers floated through the air. - -"N. H." made no comment or reply. He sat still, listening. - -"I love her," he whispered suddenly. "I love her in _that_ way--because -I want everybody else to love her too--as I do, and as you do. But I do -not want her for myself alone. Do you? You do not, of course. I feel -you are as I am. You are happy that I love her." - -"There is morality," said Fillery presently in a low voice, glad at -that moment of the darkness. "There is what we call morality." - -"Tell me, dear Fillery, what that is. Is it bigger than your 'love'?" - -Dr. Fillery explained briefly, while his companion listened intently, -making no comment. It was evidently as strange and new to him as -human love. "We have invented it," he added at the end, "to protect -ourselves, our mothers, our families, our children. It is, you see, -a set of rules devised for the welfare of the Race. For though a few -among us do not need such rules, the majority do. It is, in a word, the -acknowledgment of the rights of others." - -"It had to be invented!" exclaimed "N. H.," with a sigh that seemed to -trouble the darkness as with the sadness of something he could scarcely -believe. "And these rules are needed still! Is the Race at that stage -only? It does not move, then?" - -Into the atmosphere, as the low-spoken words were audible, stole -again that mysterious sense of the insignificance of earth and all -its manifold activities, human and otherwise, and with it, too, a -remarkable breath of some larger reality, starry-bright, that lay -shining just beyond all known horizons. Fillery shivered in spite of -himself. It seemed to him for an instant that the great figure looming -opposite through the darkness extended, spread, gathering into its -increased proportions the sky, the trees, the darkened space outside; -that it no longer sat there quite alone. He recalled his colleague's -startling admission--the touch of panic terror. - -"Slowly, if at all," he said louder, though wondering why he raised his -voice. "Yet there is _some_ progress." - -He had the feeling it would be better to turn on the light, as though -this conversation and the strange sensations it produced in him would -be impossible in a full blaze. He made a movement, indeed, to find the -switch. It was the sound of his companion's voice that made him pause, -for the words came at him as though a wave of heat moved through the -air. He knew intuitively that the other's intense inner activity had -increased. He let his hand drop. He listened. Their thoughts, he was -convinced, had mingled and been mutually shared again. There was a -faint sound like music behind it. - -"We have worked such a little time as yet," fell the words into the -silence. "If only--oh! if only I could remember more!" - -"A little time!" thought Fillery to himself, knowing that the other -meant the millions of years Nature had used to evoke her myriad forms. -"Try to remember," he added in a whisper. - -"What I do remember, I cannot even tell," was the reply, the voice -strangely deepening. "No words come to me." He paused a moment, then -went on: "I am of the first, the oldest. I know that. The earth was hot -and burning--burning, burning still. It was soft with heat when I was -summoned from--from other work just completed. With a vast host I came. -Our Service summoned us. We began at the beginning. I am of the oldest. -The earth was still hot--burning, burning----" - -The voice failed suddenly. - -"I cannot remember. Dear Fillery, I cannot remember. It hurts me. My -head pains. Our work--our service--yes, there _is_ progress. The ages, -as you call them--but it is such a little time as yet----" The voice -trailed off, the figure lost its suggestion of sudden vastness, the -darkness emptied. "I am of the oldest--_that_ I remember only...." It -ceased as though it drifted out upon the passing wind outside. - -"Then you have been working," said Fillery, his voice still almost -a whisper, "you and your great host, for thousands of years--in the -service of this planet----" He broke off, unable to find his words, it -seemed. - -"Since the beginning," came the steady answer. "Years I do not know. -Since the beginning. Yet we have only just begun--oh!" he cried, "I -cannot remember! It is impossible! It all goes lost among my words, -and in this darkness I am confused and entangled with your own little -thinking. I suffer with it." Then suddenly: "My eyes are hot and wet, -dear Fillery. What happens to them?" He stood up, putting both hands to -his face. Fillery stood up too. He trembled. - -"Don't try," he said soothingly; "do not try to remember any more. It -will come back to you soon, but it won't come back by any deliberate -effort." - -He comforted him as best he could, realizing that the curious dialogue -had lasted long enough. But he did not produce a disconcerting blaze -by turning the light on suddenly; he led his companion gently to the -door, so that the darkness might pass more gradually. The lights in the -corridor were shaded and inoffensive. It was only in the bedroom that -he noticed the bright tears, as "N. H.," examining them with curious -interest in the mirror, exclaimed more to himself than to Fillery: "She -had them too. I saw them in her eyes when she spoke to me of love, the -love she will teach me because she said I needed it." - -"Tears," said Fillery, his voice shaking. "They come from feeling pain." - -"It is a little thing," returned "N. H.," smiling at himself, then -turning to his friend, his great blue eyes shining wonderfully through -their moisture. "Then she felt what I felt--we felt together. When she -comes to-morrow I will show her these tears and she will be glad I -love. And she will bring tears of her own, and you will have some too, -and we shall all love together. It is not difficult, is it?" - -"Not very," agreed Fillery, smiling in his turn; "it is not very -difficult." He was again trembling. - -"She will be happy that we all love." - -"I--hope so." - - * * * * * - -It was curious how easily tears came to the eyes of this strange being, -and for causes so different that they were not easy to explain. He did -not cry; it was merely that the hot tears welled up. - -Even with Devonham once it happened too. The lesson in natural history -was over. Devonham had just sketched the outline of the various -kingdoms, with the animal kingdom and man's position in it, according -to present evolutionary knowledge, and had then said something about -the earth's place in the solar system, and the probable relation of -this system to the universe at large--an admirable bird's-eye view, as -it were, without a hint of speculative imagination in it anywhere--when -"N. H.," after intent listening in irresponsive silence, asked abruptly: - -"What does it believe?" Then, as Devonham stared at him, a little -puzzled at first, he repeated: "That is what the Race _knows_. But what -does it _believe_?" - -"Believe," said Devonham, "believe. Ah! you mean what is its religion, -its faith, its speculations!"--and proceeded to give the briefest -possible answer he felt consistent with his duty. The less his pupil's -mind was troubled with such matters, the better, in his opinion. - -"And their God?" the young man inquired abruptly, as soon as the -recital was over. He had listened closely, as he always did, but -without a sign of interest, merely waiting for the end, much as a child -who is bored by a poor fairy tale, yet wishes to know exactly how it -is all going to finish. "They _know_ Him?" He leaned forward. - -Devonham, not quite liking the form of the question, nor the more eager -manner accompanying it, hesitated a moment, thinking perhaps what he -ought to say. He did not want this mind, now opening, to be filled -with ideas that could be of no use to it, nor help in its formation; -least of all did he desire it to be choked and troubled with the dead -theology of man-made notions concerning a tumbling personal Deity. -Creeds, moreover, were a matter of faith, of auto-suggestion as he -called it, being obviously divorced from any process of reason. He -had, nevertheless, a question to answer and a duty to perform. His -hesitation passed in compromise. He was, as has been seen, too sincere, -too honest, to possess much sense of humour. - -"The Race," he said, "or rather that portion of it into which you have -been born, believes--on paper"--he emphasized the qualification--"in -a paternal god; but its real god, the god it worships, is Knowledge. -Not a Knowledge that exists for its own sake," he went on blandly, -"but that brings possessions, power, comfort and a million needless -accessories into life. That god it worships, as you see, with energy -and zeal. Knowledge and work that shall result in acquisition, in -pleasure, that is the god of the Race on this side of the planet where -you find yourself." - -"And the God on paper?" asked "N. H.," making no comment, though he had -listened attentively and had understood. "The God that is written about -on paper, and believed in on paper?" - -"The printed account of this god," replied Devonham, "describes an -omnipotent and perfect Being who has existed always. He created the -planet and everything upon it, but created it so imperfectly that he -had to send later a smaller god to show how much better he _might_ -have created us. In doing this, he offered us an extremely difficult -and laborious method of improvement, a method of escaping from his own -mistake, but a method so painful and unrealizable that it is contrary -to our very natures--as he made them first." He almost smacked his lips -as he said it. - -"The big God, the first one," asked "N. H." at once. "Have they seen -and known Him? Have they complained?" - -"No," said Devonham, "they have not. Those who believe in him accept -things as he made them." - -"And the smaller lesser God--how did He arrive?" came the odd question. - -"He was born like you and me, but without a father. No male had his -mother ever known." - -"He was recognized as a god?" The pupil showed interest, but no -emotion, much less excitement. - -"By a few. The rest, afraid because he told them their possessions were -worthless, killed him quickly." - -"And the few?" - -"They obeyed his teaching, or tried to, and believed that they would -live afterwards for ever and ever in happiness----" - -"And the others? The many?" - -"The others, according to the few, would live afterwards for ever and -ever--in pain." - -"It is a demon story," said "N. H.," smiling. - -"It is printed, believed, taught," replied Devonham, "by an immense -organization to millions of people----" - -"Free?" inquired his pupil. - -"The teachers are paid, but very little----" - -"The teachers believe it, though?" - -"Y-yes--at least some of them--probably," replied Devonham, after brief -consideration. - -"And the millions--do they worship this God?" - -"They do, on paper, yes. They worship the first big God. They go once -or twice a week into special buildings, dressed in their best clothes -as for a party, and pray and sing and tell him he is wonderful and they -themselves are miserable and worthless, and then ask him in abject -humility for all sorts of things they want." - -"Do they get them?" - -"They ask for different things, you see. One wants fine weather for his -holidays, another wants rain for his crops. The prayers in which they -ask are printed by the Government." - -"They ask for this planet only?" - -"This planet conceives itself alone inhabited. There are no other -living beings anywhere. The Earth is the centre of the universe, the -only globe worth consideration." - -Although "N. H." asked these quick questions, his interest was -obviously not much engaged, the first sharp attention having passed. -Then he looked fixedly at Devonham and said, with a sudden curious -smile: "What you say is always dead. I understand the sounds you use, -but the meaning cannot get into me--inside, I mean. But I thank you for -the sound." - -There was a moment's pause, during which Devonham, accustomed to -strange remarks and comments from his pupil, betrayed no sign of -annoyance or displeasure. He waited to see if any further questions -would be forthcoming. He was observing a phenomenon; his attitude was -scientific. - -"But, in sending this lesser God," resumed "N. H." presently, "how did -the big One excuse himself?" - -"He didn't. He told the Race it was so worthless that nothing else -could save it. He looked on while the lesser God was killed. He is very -proud about it, and claims the thanks and worship of the Race because -of it." - -"The lesser God--poor lesser God!" observed "N. H." "He was bigger than -the other." He thought a moment. "How pitiful," he added. - -"Much bigger," agreed Devonham, pleased with his pupil's acumen, his -voice, even his manner, changing a little as he continued. "For then -came the wonder of it all. The lesser God's teachings were so new and -beautiful that the position of the other became untenable. The Race -disowned him. It worshipped the lesser one in his place." - -"Tell me, tell me, please," said "N. H.," as though he noticed and -understood the change of tone at once. "I listen. The dear Fillery -spoke to me of a great Teacher. I feel a kind, deep joy move in me. -Tell me, please." - -Again Devonham hesitated a moment, for he recognized signs that made -him ill at ease a little, because he did not understand them. Following -a scientific textbook with his pupil was well and good, but he had -no desire to trespass on what he considered as Fillery's territory. -"N. H." was his pupil, not his patient. He had already gone too far, -he realized. After a moment's reflection, however, he decided it was -wiser to let the talk run out its natural course, instead of ending it -abruptly. He was as thorough as he was sincere, and whatever his own -theories and prejudices might be in this particular case, he would not -shirk an issue, nor treat it with the smallest dishonesty. He put the -glasses straight on his big nose. - -"The new teachings," he said, "were so beautiful that, if faithfully -practised by everybody, the world would soon become a very different -place to what it is." - -"Did the Race practise them?" came the question in a voice that held a -note of softness, almost of wonder. - -"No." - -"Why not?" - -"They were too difficult and painful and uncomfortable. The new God, -moreover, only came here 2,000 years ago, whereas men have existed on -earth for at least 400,000." - -"N. H." asked abruptly what the teachings were, and Devonham, growing -more and more uneasy as he noted the signs of increasing intensity -and disturbance in his pupil, recited, if somewhat imperfectly, the -main points of the Sermon on the Mount. As he did so "N. H." began -to murmur quietly to himself, his eyes grew large and bright, his -face lit up, his whole body trembled. He began that deep, rhythmical -breathing which seemed to affect the atmosphere about him so that his -physical appearance increased and spread. The skin took on something of -radiance, as though an intense inner happiness shone through it. Then, -suddenly, to Devonham's horror, he began to hum. - -Though a normal, ordinary sound enough, it reminded him of that other -sound he had once shared with Fillery, when he sat on the stairs, -staring at a china bowl filled with visiting cards, while the dawn -broke after a night of exhaustion and bewilderment. That sound, -of course, he had long since explained and argued away--it was an -auditory hallucination conveyed to his mind by LeVallon, who originated -it. Interesting and curious, it was far from inexplicable. It was -disquieting, however, for it touched in him a vague sense of alarm, as -though it paved the way for that odd panic terror he had been amazed to -discover hidden away deeply in some unrealized corner of his being. - -This humming he now listened to, though normal and ordinary -enough--there were no big vibrations with it, for one thing--was -too suggestive of that other sound for him to approve of it. His -mind rapidly sought some way of stopping it. A command, above all -an impatient, harsh command, was out of the question, yet a request -seemed equally not the right way. He fumbled in his mind to find the -wise, proper words. He stretched his hand out, as though to lay it -quietly upon his companion's shoulder--but realized suddenly he could -not--almost he dared not--touch him. - -The same instant "N. H." rose. He pushed his chair back and stood up. - -Devonham, justly proud of his equable temperament and steady nerves, -admits that only a great effort of self-control enabled him to sit -quietly and listen. He listened, watched, and made mental notes to the -best of his ability, but he was frightened a little. The outburst was -so sudden. He is not sure that his report of what he heard, made later -to Fillery, was a verbatim, accurate one: - -"Justice we know," cried "N. H." in his half-chanting voice that seemed -to boom with resonance, "but this--this mercy, gentle kindness, -beauty--this unknown loveliness--we did not know it!" He went to the -open window, and threw his arms wide, as though he invoked the sun. -"Dimly we heard of it. We strive, we strive, we weave and build and -fashion while the whirl of centuries flies on. This lesser God--he -came among us, too, making our service sweeter, though we did not -understand. Our work grew wiser and more careful, we built lovelier -forms, and knew not why we did so. His mighty rhythms touched us with -their power and happy light. Oh, my great messengers of wind and fire, -bring me the memory I have lost! Oh, where, where----?" - -He shook himself, as though his clothes, perhaps his body even, irked -him. It was a curious coincidence, thought Devonham, as he watched and -listened, too surprised and puzzled to interfere either by word or act, -that a cloud, at that very moment, passed from the face of the sun, and -a gust of wind shook all the branches of the lime trees in the garden. -"N. H." stood drenched in the white clear sunshine. His flaming hair -was lifted by the wind. - -"Behind, beyond the Suns He dwells and burns for ever. Oh, the mercy, -kindness, the strange beauty of this personal love--what is it? These -have been promised to _us_ too----!" - -He broke off abruptly, bowed his great head and shoulders, and sank -upon his knees in an attitude of worship. Then, stretching his arms out -to the sky, the face raised into the flood of sunlight, while his voice -became lower, softer, almost hushed, he spoke again: - -"Our faithful service, while the circles swallow the suns, shall lift -us too! You, who sent me here to help this little, dying Race, oh, help -me to remember----!" - -His passion was a moving sight; the words, broken through with -fragments of his chanting, singing, had the blood of some infinite, -intolerable yearning in them. - -Devonham, meanwhile, having heard outbursts of this strange kind before -with others, had recovered something of his equanimity. He felt more -sure of himself again. The touch of fear had left him. He went over to -the window. The attack, as he deemed it, was passing. A thick cloud hid -the sun again. "There, there," he said soothingly, laying both hands -upon the other's shoulders, then taking the arms to help him rise. "I -told you His teachings were very beautiful--that the world would become -a kind of heaven if people lived them." His voice seemed not his own; -beside the volume and music of the other's it had a thin, rasping, ugly -sound. - -"N. H." was on his feet, gazing down into his face; to Devonham's -amazement there were tears in the eyes that met his own. - -"And many people _do_ live them--try to, rather," he added gently. -"There are thousands who really worship this lesser God to-day. You -can't go far wrong yourself if you take Him as your model an----" - -"How He must have suffered!" came the astonishing interruption, the -voice quiet and more natural again. "There was no way of telling what -he knew. He had no words, of course. You are all so difficult, so -caged, so--dead!" - -Devonham smiled. "He used parables." He paused a moment, then went on -"Men have existed on the planet, science tells us, for at least 400,000 -years, whereas _He_ came here only 2,000 years ago----" - -"Came _here_," interrupted the pupil, as though the earth were but one -of a thousand places visited, a hint of contempt and pity somewhere -in his tone and gesture. "We made His way ready then! We prepared, we -built! It was for that our work went on and on so faithfully." - -He broke off.... - -Devonham experienced a curious sensation as he heard. In that instant -it seemed to him that he was conscious of the movement of the earth -through space. He was aware that the planet on which he stood was -rushing forward at eighteen miles a second through the sky. He felt -himself carried forward with it. - -"What was His name?" he heard "N. H." asking. It was as though he was -aware of the enormous interval in space traversed by the rolling earth -between the first and last words of the sudden question. It trailed -through an immense distance towards him, after him, yet at the same -time ever with him. - -"His name--oh--Jesus Christ, we call him," wondering at the same moment -why he used the pronoun "we." - -"Jesus--Christ!" - -"N. H." repeated the name with such intensity and power that the sound, -borne by deep vibrations, seemed to surge and circle forth into space -while the earth rushed irresistibly onwards. A faintly imaginative idea -occurred to Devonham for the first time in his life--it was as though -the earth herself had opened her green lips and uttered the great -name. With this came also the amazing and disconcerting conviction -that Nature and humans were expressions of one and the same big simple -energy, and that while their forms, their bodies, differed, the life -manifesting through them was identical, though its degree might vary. -For an instant this was of such overpowering conviction as to be merely -obvious. - -It passed as quickly as it came, though he still was dimly conscious -that he had travelled with the earth through another huge stretch of -space. Then this sense of movement also passed. He looked up. "N. -H." was in his chair again at the table, reading quietly his book -on natural history. But in his eyes the moisture of tears was still -visible. - -Devonham adjusted his glasses, blew his nose, went quickly to another -room to jot down his notes of the talk, the reactions, the general -description, and in doing so dismissed from his mind the slight uneasy -effects of what had been a "curious hallucination," caused evidently by -an "unexplained stimulation" of the motor centres in the brain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -The full account of "N. H.," with all he said and did, his effect upon -others, his general activities in a word, it is impossible to compress -intelligibly into the compass of these notes. A complete report Edward -Fillery indeed accumulated, but its publication, he realized, must -await that leisure for which his busy life provided little opportunity. -His eyes, mental and physical, were never off his "patient," and -"N. H.," aware of it, leaped out to meet the observant sympathy, giving -all he could, concealing nothing, yet debarred, it seemed, by the rigid -limitations of his own mental and physical machinery, as similarly -by that of his hearers, from contributing more than suggestive and -tantalizing hints. Of the use of parable he, obviously, had no -knowledge. - -His relations with others, perhaps, offered the most significant -comments on his personality. Fillery was at some pains to collect -these. The reactions were various, yet one and all showed this in -common, a curious verdict but unanimous: that his effect, namely, was -greatest when he was not there. Not in his actual presence, which -promised rather than fulfilled, was his power so dominating upon -mind and imagination as after the door was closed and he was gone. -The withdrawal of his physical self, its absence--as Fillery had -himself experienced one night on Hampstead Heath as well as on other -occasions--brought his real presence closer. - -It was Nayan who first drew attention to this remarkable -characteristic. She spoke about him often now with Dr. Fillery, for as -the weeks passed and she realized the uselessness, the impossibility, -of the plan she had proposed to herself, she found relief in talking -frankly about him to her older friend. - -"Always, always after I leave him," she confessed, "a profound and -searching melancholy gets hold of me, poignant as death, yet an -extraordinary unrealized beauty behind it somewhere. It steals into my -very blood and bones. I feel an intense dissatisfaction with the world, -with people as they are, and a burning scorn for all that is small, -unworthy, petty, mean--and yet a hopelessness of ever attaining to that -something which _he_ knows and lives so easily." She sighed, gazing -into his eyes a moment. "Or of ever making others see it," she added. - -"And that 'something,'" he asked, "can you define it?" - -She shook her head. "It's in me, within reach even, but--the word he -used is the only one--forgotten." - -"Perhaps--has it ever occurred to you?--that he simply cannot describe -it. There are no words, no means at his disposal--no human terms?" - -"Perhaps," she murmured. - -"Desirable, though?" he urged her gently. - -She clasped her hands, smiling. "Heavenly," she murmured, closing her -eyes a moment as though to try and recall it. "Yet when I'm with him," -she went on, "he never _quite_ realizes for me the state of wonder and -delight his presence promises. His personality suggests rather than -fulfils." She paused, a wistful, pained expression in her dark eyes. -"The failure," she added quickly, lest she seem to belittle him of -whom she spoke, "of course lies in myself. I refuse, you see--I can't -say why, though I feel it's wise--to let myself be dominated by that -strange, lost part of me he stimulates." - -"True," interposed Dr. Fillery. "I understand. Yet to have felt this -even is a sign----" - -"That he stirs the deepest, highest in me? This hint of divine beauty -in the unrealized under-self?" - -He nodded. There was an odd touch of sadness in their talk. "I've -watched him with many types of people," he went on thoughtfully, -almost as though thinking aloud in his rapid way, "I've talked with him -on many subjects. The meanness, jealousy, insignificance of the Race -shocks and amazes him. He cannot understand it. He asked me once 'But -is no one _born_ noble? To be splendid is such an effort with them!' -Splendour of conduct, he noticed, is a calculated, rarely a spontaneous -splendour. The general resistance to new ideas also puzzles him. 'They -fear a rhythm they have never felt before,' as he put it. 'To adopt -a new rhythm, they think, must somehow injure them.' That the Race -respects a man because he possesses much equally bewilders him. 'No -one serves willingly or naturally,' he observed, 'or unless someone -else receives money for drawing attention loudly to it.' Any notion -of reward, of advertisement, in its widest meaning, is foreign to his -nature." - -He broke off. Another pause fell between them, the girl the first to -break it: - -"He suffers," she said in a low voice. "Here--he suffers," and her -face yearned with the love and help she longed to pour out beyond all -thought of self or compensation, and at the same time with the pain of -its inevitable frustration; and, watching her, Dr. Fillery understood -that this very yearning was another proof of the curious impetus, the -intensification of being, that "N. H." caused in everyone. Yet he -winced, as though anticipating the question she at once then put to him: - -"You are afraid for him, Edward?" her eyes calmly, searchingly on his. -"His future troubles you?" - -He turned to her with abrupt intensity. "If _you_, Iraida, could not -enchain him----" He broke off. He shrugged his shoulders. - -"I have no power," she confessed. "An insatiable longing burns like a -fire in him. Nothing he finds here on earth, among men and women, can -satisfy it." A faint blush stole up her neck and touched her cheeks. -"He is different. _I_ have no power to keep him here." Her voice sank -suddenly to a whisper, as though a breath of awe passed into her. "He -is here now at this very moment, I believe. He is with us as we talk -together. I feel him." Almost a visible thrill passed through her. "And -close, so very close--to _you_." - -Dr. Fillery made no sign by word or gesture, but something in his very -silence gave assent. - -"And not alone," she added, still under her breath. It seemed she -looked about her, though she did not actually move or turn her head. -"Others--of his kind, Edward--come with him. They are always with -him--I think sometimes." Her whisper was fainter still. - -"You feel that too!" He said it abruptly, his voice louder and almost -challenging. Then he added incongruously, as though saying it to -himself this time, "That's what I mean. I've known it for a long -time----" - -He looked at the girl sharply with unconcealed admiration. "It does not -frighten you?" he asked, and in reply she said the very thing he felt -sure she would say, hoping for it even while he shrank: - -"Escape," he heard in a low, clear voice, half a question, half an -exclamation, and saw the blood leave her face. - -The instinctive "Hush!" that rose to his lips he did not utter. The -sense of loss, of searching pain, the word implied he did not show. -Instead, he spoke in his natural, everyday tone again: - -"The body irks him, of course, and he may try to rid himself of it. Its -limitations to him are a prison, for his true consciousness he finds -outside it. The explanation," he added to himself, "of many a case of -suicidal mania probably. I've often wondered----" - -He took her hand, aware by the pallor of her face what her feelings -were. "Death, you see, Nayan, has no meaning for him, as it has for us -who think consciousness out of the body impossible, and he is puzzled -by our dread of it. 'We,' he said once, 'have nothing that decays. We -may be stationary, or advance, or retreat, but we can never end.' He -derives--oh, I'm convinced of it--from another order. Here--amongst -us--he is inarticulate, unable to express himself, hopeless, helpless, -in prison. Oh, if only----" - -"He loves _you_," she said quickly, releasing her hand. "I suppose he -realizes the eternal part of you and identifies himself with that. In -you, Edward, lies something very close to what he is, akin--he needs it -terribly, just as you----" She became confused. - -"Love, as we understand it," he interrupted, his voice shaking a -little, "he does not, cannot know, for he serves another law, another -order of being." - -"That's how I feel it too." - -She shivered slightly, but she did not turn away, and her eyes kept all -their frankness. - -"Our humanity," she murmured, "writes upon his heart in ink that -quickly fades----" - -"And leaves no trace," he caught her up hurriedly. "His one idea is -to help, to render service. It is as natural to him as for water to -run down hill. He seeks instinctively to become one with the person -he seeks to aid. As with us an embrace is an attempt at union, -so he seeks, by some law of his own being, to become identified -with those whom he would help. And he helps by intensifying their -consciousness--somewhat as heat and air increase ordinary physical -vitality. Only, first there must be something for him to work on. -Energy, even bad, vicious, wrongly used, he can work on. Mere emptiness -prevents him. You remember Lady Gleeson----" - -"We--most of us--are too empty," she put in with quiet resignation. -"Our sense of that divine beauty is too faint----" - -"Rather," came the quick correction, "he stands too close to us. His -effect is too concentrated. The power at such close quarters disturbs -and overbalances." - -"That's why, then, I always feel it strongest when he's left." - -He glanced at her keenly. - -"In his presence," she explained, "it's always as though I saw only a -part of him, even of his physical appearance, out of the corner of my -eye, as it were, and sometimes----" She hesitated. He did not help her -this time. "As if those others, many others, similar to himself, but -invisible, crowding space about us, were intensely active." Her voice -hushed again. "He brings them with him--as now. I feel it, Edward, now. -I feel them close." She looked round the empty room, peering through -the window into the quiet evening sky. Dr. Fillery also turned away. -He sighed again. "Have you noticed, too," he went on presently, yet -half as if following his own thoughts, and a trifle incongruously, "the -speed and lightness his very movements convey, and how he goes down the -street with that curious air of drawing things after him, along with -him, as trains and motors draw the loose leaves and dust----" - -"Whirling," her quick whisper startled him a little, as she turned -abruptly from the window and gazed straight at him. He smiled, -instantly recovering himself. "A good word, yes--whirling--but in the -plural. As though there were vortices about him." - -It was her turn to smile. "That might one day carry him away," she -exclaimed. They smiled together then, they even laughed, but somewhere -in their laughter, like the lengthening shadows of the spring day -outside, lay an incommunicable sadness neither of them could wholly -understand. - -"Yet the craving for beauty," she said suddenly, "that he leaves behind -in me"--her voice wavered--"an intolerable yearning that nothing can -satisfy--nothing--here. An infinite desire, it seems, for--for----" - -Dr. Fillery took her hand again gently, looking down steadily into -the clear eyes that sought his own, and the light glistening in their -moisture was similar, he fancied for a moment, to the fire in another -pair of shining eyes that never failed to stir the unearthly dreams in -him. - -"It lies beyond any words of ours," he said softly. "Don't struggle -to express it, Iraida. To the flower, the star, we are wise to leave -their own expression in their own particular field, for we cannot -better it." - -A sound of rising wind, distant yet ominous, went past the window, -as for a moment then the girl came closer till she was almost in his -arms, and though he did not accept her, equally he did not shrink from -the idea of acceptance--for the first time since they had known one -another. There was a smell of flowers; almost in that wailing wind he -was aware of music. - -"Together," he heard her whisper, while a faint shiver--was it of -joy or terror?--ran through her nerves. "All of us--when the time -comes--together." She made an abrupt movement. "Just as we are together -now! Listen!" she exclaimed. - -"We call it wind," she whispered. "But of course--really--it's -behind--beyond--inside--isn't it?" - -Dr. Fillery, holding her closely, made no answer. Then he laughed, -let go her hands, and said in his natural tone again, breaking an -undesirable spell intentionally, though with a strong effort: "We are -in space and time, remember. Iraida. Let us obey them happily until -another certain and practical thing is shown us." - -The faint sound that had been rising about them in the air died down -again. - -They looked into each other's eyes, then drew apart, though with a -movement so slight it was scarcely perceptible. It was Nayan and Dr. -Fillery once more, but not before the former had apparently picked out -the very thought that had lain, though unexpressed, in the latter's -deepest mind--its sudden rising the cause of his deliberate change of -attitude. For she had phrased it, given expression to it, though from -an angle very different to his own. And her own word, "escape," used -earlier in the conversation, had deliberately linked on with it, as of -intentional purpose. - -"He must go back. The time is coming when he must go back. We are not -ready for him here--not yet." - -Somewhat in this fashion, though without any actual words, had the -idea appeared in letters of fire that leaped and flickered through -a mist of anguish, of loss, of loneliness, rising out of the depths -within him. He knew whence they came, he divined their origin at once, -and the sound, though faint and distant at first, confirmed him. -Swiftly behind them, moreover, born of no discoverable antecedents, it -seemed, rose simultaneously the phrase that Father Collins loved: "A -Being in his own place is the ruler of his fate." Father Collins, for -all his faults and strangeness, was a personality, a consciousness, -that might prove of value. His extraordinarily swift receptiveness, -his undoubted telepathic powers, his fluid, sensitive, protean -comprehension of possibilities outside the human walls, above the -earthly ceiling, so to speak.... Value suddenly attached itself to -Father Collins, as though the name had been dropped purposely into his -mind by someone. He was surprised to find this thought in him. It was -not for the first time, however, Dr. Fillery remembered. - - * * * * * - -In Nayan's father, again, an artist, though not a particularly -subtle one perhaps, lay a deep admiration, almost a love, he could -not explain. "There's something about him in a sense immeasurable, -something not only untamed but untamable," he phrased it. "His -gentleness conceals it as a summer's day conceals a thunderstorm. To -me it's almost like an incarnation of the primal forces at work in the -hearts of my own people"--he grew sad--"and as dangerous probably." -He was speaking to his daughter, who repeated the words later to Dr. -Fillery. The study of Fire in the elemental group had failed. "He's -too big, too vast, too formless, to get into any shape or outline _my_ -tools can manage, even by suggestion. He dominates the others--Earth, -Air, Water--and dwarfs them." - -"But fire ought to," she put in. "It's the most powerful and splendid, -the most terrific of them all. Isn't it? It regenerates. It purifies. I -love fire----" - -Her father smiled in his beard, noticing the softness in her manner, -rather than in her voice. The awakening in her he had long since -understood sympathetically, if more profoundly than she knew, and -welcomed. - -"He won't hurt you, child. He won't harm Nayushka any more than a -summer's day can hurt her. I see him thus sometimes," he mumbled on -half to himself, though she heard and stored the words in her memory; -"as an entire day, a landscape even, I often see him. A stretch of -being rather than a point; a rushing stream rather than a single -isolated wave harnessed and confined in definite form--as _we_ -understand being here," he added curiously. "No, he'll neither harm nor -help you," he went on; "nor any of us for that matter. A dozen nations, -a planet, a star he might help or harm"--he laughed aloud suddenly in -a startled way at his own language--"but an individual never!" And he -abruptly took her in his arms and kissed her, drying her tears with his -own rough handkerchief. "Not even a fire-worshipper," he added with -gruff tenderness, "like you!" - -"There's more of divinity in fire than in any other earthly thing -we know," she replied as he held her, "for it takes into itself the -sweetest essence of all it touches." She looked up at him with a smile. -"That's why you can't get it into your marble perhaps." To which her -father made the significant rejoinder: "And because none of us has the -least conception what 'divine' and 'divinity' really mean, though we're -always using the words! It's odd, anyhow," he finished reflectively, -"that I can model the fellow better from memory than when he's standing -there before my eyes. At close quarters he confuses me with too many -terrific unanswerable questions." - -To multiply the verdicts and impressions Fillery jotted down is -unnecessary. In his own way he collected; in his own way he wrote them -down. About "N. H.," all agreed in their various ways of expressing it, -was that vital suggestion of agelessness, of deathlessness, of what men -call eternal youth: the vigorous grace of limbs and movements, the -deep simple joy of confidence and power. None could picture him tired, -or even wearing out, yet ever with a faint hint of painful conflict due -to immense potentialities--"a day compressed into a single minute," -as Khilkoff phrased it--straining, but vainly, to express themselves -through a limited form that was inadequate to their use. A storm of -passionate hope and wonder seemed ever ready to tear forth from behind -the calm of the great quiet eyes, those green-blue changing eyes, -which none could imagine lightless or unlamping; and about his whole -presentment a surplus of easy, overflowing energy from an inexhaustible -source pressing its gifts down into him spontaneously, fire and wind -its messengers; yet that the human machinery using these--mind, body, -nerves--was ill adapted to their full expression. To every individual -having to do with him was given a push, a drive, an impetus that -stimulated that individual's chief characteristic, intensifying it. - -This to imaginative and discerning sight. But even upon ordinary folk, -aware only of the surface things that deliberately hit them, was left -a startling impression as of someone waving a strange, unaccustomed -banner that made them halt and stare before passing on--uncomfortably. -He had that nameless quality, apart from looks or voice or manner, -which arrested attention and drew the eyes of the soul, wonderingly, -perhaps uneasily, upon itself. He left a mark. Something defined him -from all others, leaving him silhouetted in the mind, and those who -had looked into his eyes could not forget that they had done so. Up -rose at once the great unanswerable questions that, lying ever at -the back of daily life, the majority find it most comfortable to -leave undisturbed--but rose in red ink or italics. He started into an -awareness of greater life. And the effect remained, was greatest even, -after he had passed on. - - * * * * * - -It was, of course, Father Collins, a frequent caller now at the Home, -betraying his vehement interest in long talks with Dr. Fillery and in -what interviews with "N. H." the latter permitted him--it was this -protean being whose mind, amid wildest speculations, formed the most -positive conclusions. The Prometheans, he believed, were not far wrong -in their instinctive collective judgment. "N. H." was not a human -being; the occupant of that magnificent body was not a human spirit -like the rest of us. - -"Nor is he the only one walking the streets to-day," he affirmed -mysteriously. "In shops and theatres, trains and buses, tucked in -among the best families," he laughed, although in earnest, "and even -in suburbia I have come across other human bodies similarly inhabited. -What they are and where they come from exactly, we cannot know, but -their presence among us is indubitable." - -"You mean you recognize them?" inquired Dr. Fillery calmly. - -"One unmistakable sign they possess in common--they are invariably -inarticulate, helpless, lost. The brain, the five senses, the human -organs--all they have to work through--are useless to express the -knowledge and powers natural to them. Electricity might as well try to -manifest itself through a gas-pipe, or music through a stone. One and -all, too, possess strange glimmerings of another state where they are -happy and at home, something of the glory à la Wordsworth, a Golden -Age idea almost, a state compared to which humanity seems a tin-pot -business, yet a state of which no single descriptive terms occur to -them." - -"Of which, however, they can tell us nothing?" - -"Memory, of course, is lost. Their present brain can have no records, -can it? Only those of us who have perhaps at some time, in some earlier -existence possibly, shared such a state can have any idea of what -they're driving at." - -He glanced at Fillery with a significant raising of his bushy eyebrows. - -"There have been no phenomena, I'm glad to say," put in the doctor, -aware some comment was due from him, "no physical phenomena, I mean." - -"Nor could there be," pursued the other, delighted. "He has not got the -apparatus. With all such beings, their power, rather than perceived, is -_felt_. Sex, as with us, they also cannot know, for they are neither -male nor female." He paused, as the other did not help him. "Enigmas -they must always be to us. We may borrow from the East and call them -_devas_, or class them among nature spirits of legend and the rest, but -we can, at any rate, welcome them, and perhaps even learn from them." - -"Learn from them?" echoed Fillery sharply. - -"They are essentially _natural_, you see, whereas we are artificial, -and becoming more so with every century, though we call it -civilization. If we lived closer to nature we might get better results, -I mean. Primitive man, I'm convinced, did get certain results, but he -was a poor instrument. Modern man, in some ways, is a better, finer -instrument to work through, only he is blind to the existence of any -beings but himself. A bridge, however, might be built, I feel. 'N. H.' -seems to me in close touch with these curious beings, if"--he lowered -his voice--"he is not actually one of them. The wind and fire he talks -about are, of course, not what _we_ mean. It is heat and rhythm, in -some more essential form, he refers to. If 'N. H.' is some sort of -nature spirit, or nature-being, he is of a humble type, concerned with -humble duties in the universe----" - -"There are, you think, then, higher, bigger kinds?" inquired the -listener, his face and manner showing neither approval nor disapproval. - -Father Collins raised his hands and face and shoulders, even his -eyebrows. His spirits rose as well. - -"If they exist at all--and the assumption explains plausibly the -amazing intelligence behind all natural phenomena--they include -every grade, of course, from the insignificant fairies, so called, -builders of simple forms, to the immense planetary spirits and -vast Intelligences who guide and guard the welfare of the greater -happenings." His eyes shone, his tone matched in enthusiasm his -gestures. "A stupendous and magnificent hierarchy," he cried, "but -all, all under God, of course, who maketh his angels spirits and his -ministers a flaming fire. Ah, think of it," he went on, becoming -lyrical almost as wonder fired him, "think of it now especially in the -spring! The vast abundance and insurgence of life pouring up on all -sides into forms and bodies, and all led, directed, fashioned by this -host of invisible, yet not unknowable, Intelligences! Think of the -prolific architecture, the delicacy, the grandeur, the inspiring beauty -that are involved...!" - -"You said just now a bridge might be built," Dr. Fillery interrupted, -while the other paused a second for breath. - -Father Collins, nailed down to a positive statement, hesitated and -looked about him. But the hesitation passed at once. - -"It is the question merely," he went on more composedly, "of providing -the apparatus, the means of manifestation, the instrument, the--body. -Isn't it? Our evolution and theirs are two separate--different things." - -"I suppose so. No force can express itself without a proper apparatus." - -"Certain of these Intelligences are so immense that only a series of -events, long centuries, a period of history, as we call it, can provide -the means, the body indeed, through which they can express themselves. -An entire civilization may be the 'body' used by an archetypal power. -Others, again--like 'N. H.' probably--since I notice that it is usually -the artist, the artistic temperament _he_ affects most--require beauty -for their expression--beauty of form and outline, of sound, of colour." - -He paused for effect, but no comment came. - -"Our response to beauty, our thrill, our lift of delight and wonder -before any manifestation of beauty--these are due only to our -perception, though usually unrecognized except by artists, of the -particular Intelligence thus trying to express itself----" - -Dr. Fillery suddenly leaned forward, listening with a new expression -on his face. He betrayed, however, no sign of what he thought of his -voluble visitor. An idea, none the less, had struck him like a flash -between the eyes of the mind. - -"You mean," he interposed patiently, "that just as your fairies use -form and colour to express themselves in nature, we might use beauty of -a mental order to--to----" - -"To build a body of expression, yes, an instrument in a collective -sense, through which 'N. H.' might express whatever of knowledge, -wisdom and power he has----" - -"Will you explain yourself a little more definitely?" - -Father Collins beamed. He continued with an air of intense conviction: - -"The Artist is ever an instrument merely, and for the most part an -unconscious one; only the greatest artist is a conscious instrument. No -man is an artist at all until he transcends both nature and himself; -that is, until he interprets both nature and himself in the unknown -terms of that greater Power whence himself and nature emanate. He is -aware of the majestic source, aware that the universe, in bulk and in -detail, is an expression of it, itself a limited instrument; but aware, -further--and here he proves himself great artist--of the stupendous, -lovely, central Power whose message stammers, broken and partial, -through the inadequate instruments of ephemeral appearances. - -"He creates, using beauty in form, sound, colour, a better and more -perfect instrument, provides this central Power with a means of fuller -expression. - -"The message no longer stammers, halts, suggests; it flows, it pours, -it sings. He has fashioned a vehicle for its passage. His art has -created a body it can use. He has transcended both nature and himself. -The picture, poem, harmony that has become the body for this revelation -is alone great art." - -"Exactly," came the patient comment that was asked for. - -"One thing is certain: only human knowledge, expressed in human terms, -can come through a human brain. No mind, no intellect, can convey a -message that transcends human experience and reason. Art, however, can. -It can supply the vehicle, the body. But, even here, the great artist -cannot communicate the secret of his Vision; he cannot talk about it, -tell it to others. He can only _show_ the result." - -"Results," interrupted Dr. Fillery in a curious tone; "what results, -exactly, would you look for?" There was a burning in his eyes. His skin -was tingling. - -"What else but a widening, deepening, heightening of our present -consciousness," came the instant reply. "An extension of faculty, of -course, making entirely new knowledge available. A group of great -artists, each contributing his special vision, respectively, of form, -colour, words, proportion, could together create a 'body' to express a -Power transcending the accumulated wisdom of the world. The race could -be uplifted, taught, redeemed." - -"You have already given some attention to this strange idea?" suggested -his listener, watching closely the working of the other's face. "You -have perhaps even experimented---- A ceremonial of some sort, you mean? -A performance, a ritual--or what?" - -Father Collins lowered his voice, becoming more earnest, more -impressive: - -"Beauty, the arts," he whispered, "can alone provide a vehicle for -the expression of those Intelligences which are the cosmic powers. -A performance of some sort--possibly--since there must be sound and -movement. A bridge between us, between our evolution and their own, -might, I believe, be thus constructed. Art is only great when it -provides a true form for the expression of an eternal cosmic power. By -combining--we might provide a means for their manifestation----" - -"A body of thought, as it were, through which our 'N. H.' might become -articulate? Is that your idea?" - -Behind the question lay something new, it seemed, as though, while -listening to the exposition of an odd mystical conception, his mind -had been busy with a preoccupation, privately but simultaneously, of -his own. "In what way precisely do you suggest the arts might combine -to provide this 'body'?" he asked, a faint tremor noticeable in the -lowered voice. - -"That," replied Father Collins promptly, never at a loss, "we should -have to think about. Inspiration will come to us--probably through -_him_. Ceremonial, of course, has always been an attempt in this -direction, only it has left the world so long that people no longer -know how to construct a real one. The ceremonials of to-day are ugly, -vulgar, false. The words, music, colour, gestures--everything must -combine in perfect harmony and proportion to be efficacious. It is a -forgotten method." - -"And results--how would they come?" - -"The new wisdom and knowledge that result are suddenly there _in_ the -members of the group. The Power has expressed itself. Not through the -brain, of course, but, rather, that the new ideas, having been _acted_ -out, are suddenly there. There has been an extension of consciousness. -A group consciousness has been formed, and----" - -"And there you are!" Dr. Fillery, moving his foot unperceived, had -touched a bell beneath the table. The foot, however, groped and -fumbled, as though unsure of itself. - -"You learn to swim--by swimming, not by talking about it." Father -Collins was prepared to talk on for another hour. "If we can devise the -means--and I feel sure we can--we shall have formed a bridge between -the two evolutions----" - -Nurse Robbins entered with apologies. A case upstairs demanded the -doctor's instant attendance. Dr. Devonham was engaged. - -"One thing," insisted Father Collins, as they shook hands and he got up -to go, "one thing only you would have to fear." He was very earnest. -Evidently the signs of struggle, of fierce conflict in the other's -face he did not notice. - -"And that is?" A hand was on the door. - -"If successful--if we provide this means of expression for him--we -provide also the means of losing him." - -"Death?" He opened the door with rough, unnecessary violence. - -"Escape. He would no longer need the body he now uses. He would -_remember_--and be gone. In his place you would have--LeVallon again -only. I'm afraid," he added, "that he already _is_ remembering----!" - -His final words, as Nurse Robbins deftly hastened his departure in -the hall, were a promise to communicate the results of his further -reflections, and a suggestion that his cottage by the river would be a -quiet spot in which to talk the matter over again. - -But Dr. Fillery, having thanked Nurse Robbins for her prompt attendance -to his bell, returned to the room and sat for some time in a strange -confusion of anxious thoughts. A singular idea took shape in him--that -Father Collins had again robbed his mind of its unspoken content. That -sensitive receptive nature had first perceived, then given form to the -vague, incoherent dreams that lurked in the innermost recesses of his -hidden self. - -Yet, if that were so----and if "N. H." already was "remembering"----! - -A wave of shadow crept upon him, darkening his hope, his enthusiasm, -his very life. For another part of him knew quite well the value to be -attributed to what Father Collins had said. - -Instinctively his mind sought for Devonham. But it did not occur to him -at the moment to wonder why this was so. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -Spring had come with her sweet torment of delight, her promises, her -passion, and London lay washed and perfumed beneath April's eager sun. -An immense, persuasive glamour was in the sky. The whole earth caught -up a swifter gear, as the magic of rich creative life poured out of -"dead" soil into flower, insect, bird and animal. The prodigious stream -omitted no single form; every "body" pulsed and blossomed at full -strength. The hidden powers in each seed emerged. And it was from the -inanimate body of the earth this flood of increased vitality rose. - -Into Edward Fillery, strolling before breakfast over the wet lawn of -the enclosed garden, the tide of new life rose likewise. It was very -early, the flush of dawn still near enough for the freshness of the new -day to be everywhere. The greater part of the huge city was asleep. -He was alone with the first birds, the dew, the pearl and gold of the -sun's slanting rays. He saw the slates and chimneys glisten. Spring, -like a visible presence, was passing across the town, bringing the -amazing message that all obey yet no man understands. - - "This is its touch upon the blossomed rose, - The fashion of its hand shaped lotus-leaves; - In dark soil and the silence of the seeds - The robe of spring it weaves. - - "It maketh and unmaketh, mending all; - What it hath wrought is better than had been; - Slow grows the splendid pattern that it plans, - Its wistful hands between." - -The lines came to his memory, while upon his mind fell lovely and -wonderful impressions. It was as though the subconsciousness of -the earth herself emerged with the spring, producing new life, new -splendour everywhere. Out of a single patch of soil the various roots -drew material they then fashioned into such different and complicated -outlines as daisy, lily, rose, and a hundred types of tree. From the -same bit of soil emerged these intricate patterns and designs, these -different forms. At this very moment, while his feet left dark tracks -across the silvery lawn, the process was going steadily forward all -over England. Beneath those very feet up rushed the power into all -conceivable bodies. Colour, music, form, marvellously organized, making -no mistakes, were turning the world into a vast, delicious garden. - -Form, colour, sound! From his own hidden region rose again the flaming -hope and prophecy. He stooped and picked a daisy, examining with rapt -attention its perfect little body. Who, what made this astonishing -thing, that was yet among the humbler forms? What intelligence devised -its elaborate outline, guarded, cared for, tended it, ensured its -growth and welfare? He gazed at its white rays tipped with crimson, -its several hundred florets, its composite design. The spring life had -been pouring through it until he picked it. Through the huge mass of -earth's body its tiny roots had drawn the life it needed. This power -was now cut off. It would die. The process, as with everything else, -was "automatic and unintelligent!" It seemed an incredible explanation. -The old familiar question troubled him, but he saw it abruptly now from -a new angle. - -"We built it," came a voice so close that it seemed behind him, for -when at first he turned, startled, and yet not startled, he saw no -figure standing; "we who work in darkness, yet who never die, the -Hidden Ones who build and weave inside and out of sight. You have -destroyed our work of ages...." - -A pang of sudden regret and anguish seized him. He stood still and -stared in the direction whence he thought the voice had come, but -no form, no outline, no body that could have produced a sound, a -voice, was visible. A blackbird flew with its shrill whistle over the -enclosing wall, and the gardener, up unusually early, was now moving -slowly past the elms at the far end, some two hundred yards away. The -old man, he remembered, had been telling him only the day before that -the life in his plants this year had been prodigious and successful -beyond his whole experience. It puzzled him. Something of reverence, of -superstition almost, had lain in the man's voice and eyes. - -"Who are you?" whispered Fillery, still holding the "dead" broken -flower in his hand and staring about him. He was aware that the sound -from which the voice had come, detaching itself, as it were, into -articulate syllables out of a general continuous volume, had not -ceased. It was all about him, softly murmuring. Was it in himself -perhaps? An intense inner activity, like the pressure of an enveloping -tide, that was also in space, in the soil, the body of the planet, rose -in him too. And it seemed to him that his mind was suddenly in process -of being shaped and fashioned into a new "body of understanding"; a new -instrument of understanding. - - "This is its work upon the things ye see: - The unseen things are more; men's hearts and minds, - The thoughts of peoples and their ways and wills, - These, too, the great Law binds." - -"I know," he exclaimed, this time with acceptance that omitted the -doubt he had first felt. "I know who you are" ... and even as he said -the words, there dropped into him, it seemed, some knowledge, some -hint, some wonder that lay, he well knew, outside all human experience. -It was as though some cosmic power brushed gently against and through -his being, but a power so alien to known human categories that to -attempt its expression in human terms--language, reason, imagination -even--were to mutilate it. Yet, even for its partial, broken -manifestation, human terms were alone available, since without these it -must remain unperceived, he himself unaware of its existence. - -He _was_, however, aware of its presence, its existence. All that -was left to him therefore was his own personal interpretation. -Herein, evidently, lay the truth for him; this was the meaning of his -"acceptance." It was, in some way, a renewal of that other vision he -called the Flower Hill and Flower Music experience. - -"I know you," he repeated, his voice merging curiously in the general -underlying murmur of the morning. "You belong to the bodiless, the -deathless ones who work and build and weave eternally. Form, sound, -colour are your instruments, the elements your tools. You wove this -flower," he fingered the dying daisy, "as you also shaped this -body"--he tapped his breast--"and--you built as well this mind----" - -He stopped dead. Two things arrested him: the feeling that the ideas -were not primarily his own, but derived from a source outside himself; -and a sudden intensification of the flaming hope and prophecy that -burst up as with new meaning into the words "mind" and "body." - -The broken body of the flower slipped from his fingers and fell upon -the body of the earth. He looked down at its now empty form through -which no life flowed, and his eye passed then to his own body beating -with intense activity, and thence to the bodies of the trees, the -darting birds, the gigantic sun now peering magnificently along the -heavens. Body! A body was a form through which life expressed itself, a -vehicle of expression by means of which life manifested, an instrument -it used. But a body of thought was a true phrase too. And with the -words, shaped automatically in his brain, a new light flashed and -flooded him with its waves. - -"A body of thought, a mental body"--the phrase went humming and -flowing strangely through him. A body of thought! Father Collins, he -remembered, had used some such wild language, only it had seemed empty -words without intelligible meaning. Whence came the intense new meaning -that so suddenly attached itself to the familiar phrase? Whence came -the thrilling deep conviction that new, greater knowledge was hovering -near, and that for its expression a new body must be devised? And -what was this new knowledge, this new power? Whence came the amazing -certainty in him that a new way was being shown to him, a means of -progress for humanity that must otherwise flounder always to its -average level of growth, development, then invariably collapse again? - -"_We_ built it," ran past him through the air again, or rose perhaps -from the stirred depths of his own subconscious being, or again, -dropped from a hidden rushing star. "The more perfect and adequate -the form, the greater the flow of life, of knowledge, of power it can -express. No mind, no intellect, can convey a message that transcends -human experience. Yet there is a way." - -The new knowledge was there, if only the new vehicle suited to its -expression could be devised.... - -The stream of life pouring through him became more and more intense; -some power of perception seemed growing into white heat within him; -transcending the limited senses; becoming incandescent. This tide of -sound, inaudible to ordinary ears, was the music which is inseparable -from the rhythm that underlies all forms, the music of the earth's -manifold activities now pouring in vibrations huge and tiny all round -and through him. He turned instinctively. - -"You...!" exclaimed the doctor in him, as though rebuke, reproval -stirred. "You here...!" - -It seemed to him that the figure of "N. H.," embodying as it were a ray -of sunlight, stood beside him. - -"We," came the answer, with a smile that took the sparkling sunlight -through the very face. "We are all about you," added the voice with -a rhythm that swamped all denial, all objection, bringing an exultant -exhilaration in their place. "We come from what always seems to -you a Valley of sun and flowers, where we work and play behind the -appearances you call the world." - -"The world," repeated Fillery. "The universe as well." - -The voice, the illusion of actual words, both died away, merging in -some perplexing fashion into another appearance, perhaps equally an -illusion so far as the senses were concerned--the phenomenon men call -sight. Instead of hearing, that is, he now suddenly saw. Something in -the arrangement of light caught his attention, holding it. The deep, -central self in him, that which interprets and de-codes the reports the -senses bring, employed another mode. - -The figure of "N. H." still was definite enough in form indeed, yet -at the same time taking the rays into itself as though it were a body -of light. There was no transparency, of course, nor was this clear -radiance seen by Fillery for the first time, but rather that his -natural shining was caught up and intensified by the morning sunshine. -A body of light, none the less, seemed a true description of what -Fillery now saw. This sunshine filled the air, the space all round -him, the entire lawn and garden shone in a sparkling flood of dancing -brilliance. It blazed. The figure of "N. H." was merely a portion of -this blazing. As a focus, but one of many, he now thought of it. And -about each focus was the toss and fling of lovely, ever-rising spirals. - -Across the main stream came then another pulsing movement, hardly -discernible at first, and similar to an under-swell that moves the -sea against the wave--so that the eye perceives it only when not -looking for it. This contrary motion, it soon became apparent, went in -numerous, almost countless directions, so that, within and below its -complicated wave-tracery, he was aware of yet other motions, crossing -and interlacing at various speeds, until the space about him seemed -to whirl with myriad rhythms, yet without the least confusion. These -rhythms were of a hundred different magnitudes, from the very tiny to -the gigantic, and while the smallest were of a radiant brilliance that -made the sunshine pale, the larger ones seemed distant, their light -of an intenser quality, though of a quality he had never seen before. -These were strangely diffused, these bigger ones--"distant" was the -word that occurred to him, although that inner brilliance which occurs -in dreams, in imaginative moments, the nameless glow that colours -mental vision, described them better. Moreover they wore colours the -human eye had never seen, while the smallest rhythms were lit with the -familiar colours of the prism. - -He stood absorbed, fascinated, drinking in the amazing spectacle, as -though the glowing spirals of fire communicated to his inmost being a -heat and glory of creative power. He was aware of the creative stream -of spring in his own heart, pouring from the body of the earth on which -he stood, drenching mind, nerves and even muscles with concentrated -life. His subconscious being rose and stretched its wings. All, all -was possible. A sensation of divine deathlessness possessed him. The -limitations of his ordinary human faculties and powers were overborne, -so that he felt he could never again face the mournful prison that -caged him in. The meaning of escape became plain to him. - -He saw the invisible building Intelligences at work. - -He was aware then suddenly of purpose, of intention. The seeming welter -of the waves of coloured light, of the immense and tiny rhythms, the -intricate streams of vibrating, pulsing, throbbing movements were, he -now perceived, marvellously co-ordinated. There was a focus, a vortex, -towards which all rushed with a power so prodigious that a sense of -terror touched him. He suddenly became conscious of a pattern forming -before his eyes, hanging in empty space, shining, soft with light and -beauty. It became, he saw, a geometric design. An idea of crystals, -frost-forms, a spider's web hung with glistening dewdrops shot across -his memory. The spirals whirled and sang about it. - -This outline, he next perceived, was the focus to which the light, -heat, colour all contributed their particular touch and quality. It -glowed now in the centre of the vortex. So overwhelming, however, was -the sense of the stupendous power involved that, as he phrased it -afterwards, it seemed he watched the formation of some mighty sun. It -was the whirling of those billion-miled sheets of incandescent fires -that attend the birth of a nebula he watched. The power, at any rate, -was gigantic. - -He stood trembling before a revelation that left him lost, shelterless, -bereft of any help that his little self might summon--when, suddenly, -with an emotion of strange tenderness, he saw the great rhythms become -completely dominated by the very smallest of all. The same instant -the pattern grew sharply outlined, perfect in every detail, as though -the focus of powerful glasses cleared--and the pattern hung a moment -exquisitely fashioned in space beneath his eyes before it sank slowly -to the ground. It remained in an upright position on the grass at his -feet--a daisy, growing in the earth, alive, its tiny delicate face -taking the sunlight and the morning wind. - -With a shock he then realized another thing: it was the very daisy he -had broken, uprooted, killed a few minutes before. - -He stooped, one hand outstretched as though to finger its wee white -petals, but found instead that he was listening--listening to a sweet -faint music that rose from the surface of the lawn, from grass and -flowers, running in waves and circles, like the vibrations of gentle -wind across a thousand strings. It was similar, though less in volume, -to the sound he had heard in the presence of "N. H." He rose slowly to -an upright position, dazed, bewildered, yet rapt with the wonder of the -whole experience. - -"N. H.!" he heard his voice exclaim, its sound merging in the growing -volume of music all about him. "N. H.!" he cried again. "This is your -work, your service...!" - -But he could not see him; his figure was no longer differentiated from -the ever-moving sea of light that filled space wherever he looked. The -same play of brilliance shone and glistened everywhere, whirling, ever -shifting as in vortices of intricate geometrical designs, dancing, -interpenetrating, and with a magnificence of colour that caught -his breath away. There were remarkable flashings, and two of these -flashings blazed suddenly together, forming an immense physiognomy, an -expression, rather, as of a mighty face. The same instant there were -a hundred of these mighty brilliant visages that pierced through the -sea of whirling colour and gazed upon him, close, terrific, with a -power and beauty that left thought without even a ghost of language to -describe them. Their glory lay beyond all earthly terms. He recognized -them. These mighty outlines he had seen before. - -His mind then made an effort; he tried to think; memory and reason -strove with emotion and sensation. The forms, the faces, the powers at -once grew fainter. They faded slowly. The whirling vortices withdrew in -some extraordinary way, the colour paled, the sound grew thinner, ever -more distant, the great weaving designs dissolved. The lovely spirals -all were gone. He saw the garden trees again, the flower beds. Space -emptied, showing the morning sunshine on roofs and chimney-pots. - -"We have rebuilt, remade it," he heard faintly, but he heard also the -roar and boom of the gigantic rhythms as they withdrew, not spatially, -so much as from his consciousness that was now contracting once more, -till only the fainter sounds of the smaller singing patterns, the -Flower Music as he had come to call it, reached his ears. Words and -music, like voices known in dreams, seemed interwoven. He remembered -the huge faces, with their bright confidence and glory, rising through -the sunlight, peering as through a mirror at him, radiant and of -imperishable beauty. The words, perhaps, he attached himself, his own -interpretations of their ringing motions. - -The sounds died away. He reeled. The expansion and subsequent -contraction of consciousness had been too rapid, the whole experience -too intense. He swayed, unsure of his own identity. He remembered -vaguely that tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, that -the destruction of a lovely form had caused him a peculiar anguish, -and that its recreation produced an intolerable joy, bringing tears of -happiness. An arm caught him as he swayed. The accents of a voice he -knew were audible close beside him. But at first he did not understand -the words, feeling only a dull pain they caused. - -"Their imperishable beauty! Their divine loveliness!" he stammered, -recognizing the face and voice. He flung his arms wide, gazing into -the now empty air above the London garden. "The great service they -eternally fulfil--oh, that we all might----" He made a gesture towards -the other houses with their sightless, shuttered windows. - -"I know, I know," came in the familiar tones. "But come in now, come -in, Edward, with me. I beg you--before it is too late." Paul Devonham's -voice shook so that it was hardly recognizable. The skin of his face -was white. He wore a haggard look. - -"Too late!" repeated the other; "it is always too late. The world will -never see. Their eyes are blinded." An intolerable emotion swept him. -He stared suddenly at his colleague, an immense surprise in him. "But -you, Paul!" he exclaimed. "You understand! Even you----!" - -Devonham led him slowly into the house. There was protection in his -manner, in voice and gesture there was deep affection, respect as -well, but behind and through these flickered the signs of another -unmistakable emotion that Fillery at first could hardly credit--of -pity, was it? Of something at any rate he dared not contemplate. - -"Even I," came in quick, low tones, "even I, Edward, understand. -You forget. I was once alone with him"--the voice sank to a rapid -whisper--"in the mountain valley." Devonham's expression was curious. -He raised his tone again. "But--not now, not now, I beg of you. Not -yet, at any rate. You will be cast out, judged insane, your work -destroyed, your career ruined, your reputation----" His excitement -betrayed itself in his bright eyes and unusual gestures. He was shaken -to the core. Fillery turned upon him. They were in the corridor now. He -flung his arm free of the restraining hand. - -"You know!" he cried, "yet would keep silent!" His voice choked. -"You saw what I saw: new sources open, the offer made, the channels -accessible at our very door, yet you would refuse----" - -"Not one in ten million," came the hard rejoinder, "would believe." -The voice trembled. "We have no proof. Their laws of manifestation -are unknown to us, and such glimpses are but glimpses--useless and -dangerous." He whispered suddenly: "Besides--what are they? What, after -all, are we dealing with?" - -"We can experiment," interrupted his companion quickly. - -"How? Of what possible value?" - -"You felt what I felt? In your own being you experienced the revelation -too, and yet you use such words! New forces, new faculties, Beings from -another order of incalculable powers to ennoble, to bless, to inspire! -The creation of higher forms through which new, greater life and -knowledge, shall manifest!" - -He could hardly find the words he sought, so bright was the hope and -wonder in his heart still. "Think--at a time like this--what humanity -might gain. _Creative_ powers, Paul, creative! Acting directly on -the subconscious selves of everybody, intensifying every individual, -whether he understands and believes or not! The gods, Paul--and nothing -less---- You saw the daisy----" - -Devonham seized both of his companion's hands, as he heard the torrent -of wild, incoherent words: "You'll have the entire world against you," -he interrupted. "Why seek crucifixion for a dream?" Then, as his hands -were again flung off, he turned, a finger suddenly on his lips. "Hush, -hush, Edward!" he whispered. "The house is sleeping still. You'll wake -them all." - -There was a new, strange authority about him. Dr. Fillery controlled -himself. They went upstairs on tiptoe. - -"Listen!" murmured Devonham, as they reached the first-floor landing. -"That's what woke me first and led me to his room, but only to find it -empty. He was already gone. I saw him join you on the lawn. I watched -from the open window. Then--I lost him.... Listen!" He was trembling -like a child. - -The sound still echoed faintly, distant, rising and falling, sweet and -very lovely, and hardly to be distinguished from the musical hum of -wind that sighs and whispers across the strings of an æolian harp. To -one man came incredible sensations as they paused a moment. Dim though -the landing was, there still seemed a tender luminous glow pervading it. - -"They're everywhere," murmured Fillery, "everywhere and always about -us, though in different space. Through and behind and inside everything -that happens, helping, building, constructing ceaselessly. Oh, Paul, -how can you doubt and question value? Behind every single form and -body, physical or mental, they operate divinely----" - -"Mental! Edward, for God's sake----" - -Devonham stepped nearer to him with such abruptness that his companion -stopped. The pallor of the assistant's face so close arrested his -words a moment. They held their breath, listening together side by -side. The sounds grew fainter, died away in the stillness of the early -morning, then ceased altogether. It was not the first time they had -listened thus to the strange music, nor was it the first time that -Fillery entered the room alone. As once before, his colleague remained -outside, watching, waiting, half seduced, it seemed, yet vehemently -against a sympathetic attitude. He watched his chief go in, he saw the -expression on his face. Upon his own, behind a mild expectancy, lay a -look of pain. - -"Empty!" He heard the startled exclamation. - -And instantly Devonham was at his side, a firm hand upon his arm, his -eyes taking in an unused bed, a window opened wide, a glow of light -and heat the early sunshine could not possibly explain. The perfume, -as of flowers in the air, he noted too, and a sense of lightness, -freshness, sweetness about the atmosphere that produced happiness, -exhilaration. The room throbbed, as it were, with invisible waves of -some communicable power even he could not deny. But of "N. H.," the -recent occupant, there was no sign. - -"In the garden still. I lost sight of him somehow. I told you." - -Fillery crossed quickly to the window, his colleague with him, looking -out upon a lawn and paths that held no figure anywhere. The gardener -was not in sight. Only the birds were visible among the daisies. The -quiet sunlight lay as usual upon leaves and flowers waving in the -breeze. "He came in," Fillery went on rapidly under his breath. "He -must have slipped back when----" - -The sound of steps and voices behind them in the corridor brought both -men round with a quick movement, as Nurse Robbins, her arm linked in -that of "N. H.," stood in the open doorway. Her face was radiant, her -eyes alight, her breath came unevenly, and one might have thought her -caught midway in some ecstatic dance that still left its joy and bliss -stamped on her pretty face. Only she looked more than pretty; there -was beauty, a fairy loveliness about her that betrayed an intense -experience of some inner kind. - -At the sight of the two doctors she rapidly composed herself, leading -her companion quietly into the room. "He was upstairs, sir," she said -respectfully but breathlessly somewhat, and addressing herself, Fillery -noticed, to Devonham and not to himself. "He was going from room to -room, talking to the patients--er--singing to them. It was the singing -woke me----" - -"Upstairs!" exclaimed Devonham. "He has been up there!" - -She broke off as Fillery came forward and took "N. H." by the hands, -dismissing her with a gesture she was quick to understand. Devonham -went with her hurriedly, intent upon a personal inspection at once. - -"Your service called you," said Fillery quietly, the moment they were -alone. "I understand!" Through the contact of the hands waves of power -entered him, it seemed. About the face was light, as though fire glowed -behind the very skin and eyes, producing the effect almost of a halo. - -"They came for me, and I must go." The voice was deep and wonderful, -with prolonged vibrations. "I have found my own. I must return where my -service needs me, for here I can do so little." - -"To your own place where you are ruler of your fate," the other said -slowly. "Here you----" - -"Here," came the quick interruption, while the voice lost its -resonance, fading as it were in sadness, "here I--die." Even the -radiance of his face, although he smiled, dimmed a little on that final -word. "I can help where I belong--not here." The light returned, the -music came back into the amazing voice. - -"The daisy," whispered Fillery, joy rising in him strangely. - -"Nature," floated through the air like music, "is my place. With human -beings I cannot work. It is too much, and I only should destroy. They -are not ready yet, for our great rhythms injure them, and they cannot -understand." - -Trembling with emotions he could neither define nor control, Fillery -led him to the window. - -"Even in this little back-garden of a London house," he murmured, -"among, so to speak, the humble buttercups and daisies of our life! The -creative Intelligences at work, building, ever building the best forms -they can. You re-make a broken daisy"--his voice rose, as the great -shining face so close lit with its flaming smile--"you re-make as well -our broken minds. In the subconscious hides our creative power that you -stimulate. It is with that and that alone you work. It hides in all of -us, though the artist alone perceives or can use it. It is with that -you work----" - -"With you, dear Fillery, I can work, for you help me to remember. You -feel the big rhythms that we bring." - -Dr. Fillery started, peered about him, listened hard. Was it the -trees, shaking in the morning wind, that rustled? Was it a voice? The -dancing leaves reflected the sunshine from a thousand facets. The sound -accompanied, rather than interrupted, his own speech. He turned back to -"N. H." with passionate enthusiasm. - -"Using beauty--the artists--the creative powers of the Race," he went -on, "we shall create together a new body, a new vehicle, through which -your powers can express themselves. The intellect cannot serve you ... -it is the creative imagination of those who know beauty that you seek. -You are inarticulate in this wretched body. We shall make a new one----" - -"They have come for me and I must go----" - -"We will work together. Oh, stay--stay with me----!" - -"I have found the way. I have remembered. I must go back----" - -The wind died down, the leaves stopped rustling, the sunshine seemed -to pale as though a cloud passed over the sky. The words he had heard -resolved themselves into the morning sounds, the singing of the birds. -Had they been words at all? Bewilderment, like a pain, rushed over him. -He knew himself suddenly imprisoned, caught. - -"I have remembered," he heard in quiet tones, but the voice dead, no -resonance, no music in it. And across the room he saw suddenly Paul -Devonham just inside the door, returned from his inspection. Beside him -stood--LeVallon. - -An extraordinary reaction instantly took place in him. A lid was -raised, a shutter lifted, a wall fell flat. He hardly knew how to -describe it. Was it due to the look of anxiety, of tenderness, of -affectionate, of protective care he saw plainly upon his colleague's -face? He could not say. He only knew for certain in that instant that -Paul Devonham's main preoccupation was with--himself; that the latter -regarded him exactly as he regarded any other--yes, that was the only -word--any other patient; that he looked after him, tended, guarded, -cared for him--and that this watchful, experienced observation had been -going on now for a long, long time. - -The authority in his manner became abruptly clear as day. Devonham -watched over him; also he watched him. For days, for weeks, this had -been his attitude. For the first time, in this instant, as he saw him -lead away LeVallon into his own room and close the door, Fillery now -perceived this. He experienced a violent revulsion of mind. In a flash -a hundred details of the recent past occurred to him, chief among -them the fact that, more and more, the control of the Home and its -occupants had been taken over, Fillery himself only too willing, by his -assistant. A moment of appalling doubt rose like a black cloud.... - -He heard Paul telling LeVallon to begin his breakfast, just as the door -closed, and he noted the authoritative tone of voice. The next minute -he and his colleague were alone together. - -"Paul," said the chief quickly, but with a calm assurance that -anticipated a favourable answer, "_they_, at any rate, are all right?" - -Devonham nodded his head. "No harm done," he replied briefly. "In fact, -as you know, he rather stimulates them than otherwise." - -"I know." - -He felt, for the first time in their years of close relationship, a -breath of suspicion enter him. There was a look upon his colleague's -face he could not quite define. It baffled him. - -"Of course, I know----" - -He stopped, for the undecipherable look had strengthened suddenly. He -thought of a gaoler. - -"Paul," he said quickly, "what's the matter? What's wrong with you?" - -He drew back a pace or two and watched him. - -"With me--nothing, Edward. Nothing at all." The tone was grave with -anxiety, yet had this new authority in it. - -A feeling of intolerable insecurity came upon him, a sensation as -though he balanced on air, yet its cause, its origin, easily explained: -the support of his colleague's mind was taken from him. Paul's attitude -was clear as day to him. He _was_ a gaoler.... He recalled again the -recent detail, brightly significant--that Nurse Robbins had turned to -Paul, rather than to himself. - -"With--_me_, then--you think?" His voice hardly sounded like his own. -He looked about him for support, found an arm-chair, sat down in it. -"You're strange, Paul, very strange," he whispered. "What do you mean -by 'there's something wrong with _me_'?" - -Devonham's expression cleared slightly and a kindly, sympathetic -smile appeared, then vanished. The grave look that Fillery disliked -reappeared. - -"What d'you mean, Paul Devonham?" came the repetition, in a louder, -more challenging voice. "You're watching me--as though I were"--he -laughed without a trace of mirth--"a patient." He leaned forward. -"Paul, you've been watching me for a long time. Out with it, now. What -is it?" - -Devonham, who had kept silent, drew some papers from his pocket, a -bundle of rolled sheets. - -"Of course," he said gently, "I always watch you. For that's how I -learn. I learn from you, Edward, more than from anybody I know." - -But Dr. Fillery, his eyes fixed upon the sheaf of papers, had -recognized them. His own writing was visible along the uneven edges. -They were the description he had set down of his adventure on Flower -Hill, of the scenes between "N. H." and Lady Gleeson, between "N. H." -and Nayan, the autobiographical description with "N. H." and Nurse -Robbins soon after his arrival, when Fillery had so amazingly found his -own mind--as he believed--identified with his patient's. - -Devonham snapped off the elastic band that held the sheaf together. -"Edward, I've read them. We have no secrets, of course. I've read them -carefully. Every word--my dear fellow." - -"Yes, yes," replied the other, while something in him wavered horribly. -"I'm glad. They were meant for you to read, for of course we have no -secrets. I--I do not expect you to agree. We have never quite seen eye -to eye--have we?" His voice shook. "You terrible iconoclast," he added, -betraying thus the nature of the fear that changed his voice, then -recognizing with vexation that he had done so. "You believe nothing. -You never will believe anything. You cannot understand. With joy you -would destroy what I and others believe--wouldn't you, Paul----?" - -The deep sadness, the gravity on the face in front of him stopped the -tirade. - -"I would save you, Edward," came the earnest, gentle words, -"from yourself. The powers of auto-suggestion, as we know in our -practice--don't we?--are limitless. If you call that destroying----" - -From the adjoining room the clatter of knives and forks was audible. -Dr. Fillery listened a moment with a smile. - -"Paul," he asked, his voice firm and sure again, "is your chief patient -in that room," indicating the door with his head, "or--in this?" - -"In this," was the reply. "A wise man is always his own patient and -'Physician, heal thyself' his motto." He sat down beside his chief. -His manner changed; there was affection, deep solicitude, something -of passionate entreaty even in voice and eyes and gestures. "There -are features here," he said in lowered tones, "Edward, we have not -understood, perhaps even we can never understand; but we have not, I -think, sufficiently guarded against one thing--auto-suggestion. The -rôle it plays in life is immense, incalculable; it is in everything -we do and think, above all in everything we believe. It is peculiarly -powerful and active in--er--unusual things----" - -"The sound--the sounds--you've heard them yourself," broke in his -companion. - -Devonham shrugged his thin shoulders. "He sings--in a peculiar way." As -an aside, he said it, returning to his main sermon instantly. "Let us -leave details out," he cried; "it is the principle that concerns us. -Edward, your complex against humanity lies hard and rigid in you still. -It has never found that full recognition by yourself which can resolve -it. Your work, your noble work, is but a partial expression. The kernel -of this old complex in you remains unrelieved, undischarged--because -still unrecognized. And, further, you are continually adding to the -repression which"--even Devonham paused a second before using such a -word to such a man--"is poisoning you, Edward, poisoning you, I repeat." - -"You saw--you saw the rebuilding of--the daisy"--an odd whisper of -insecurity ran through the quiet words, a statement rather than a -question--"you realize, at any rate, that chance has brought us into -contact with Powers, creative Powers, of a new order----" - -"Let us omit all details just now," interrupted the other, a troubled, -indecipherable look on his face. "The undoubted telepathy between your -mind and mine nullifies any such----" - -"----powers of which we all have some faint counterpart, at any rate, -in our subliminal selves." Fillery had not heard the interruption. -"Powers by means of which we may build for the Race new forms, -new mental bodies, new vehicles for life, for God, to manifest -through--more perfect, more receptive----" - -Devonham had suddenly seized both his hands and was leaning closer to -him. Something compelling, authoritative, peculiarly convincing for a -moment had its undeniable effect, again stopping the flow of hurried, -passionate, eager words. - -"There is one new form, new body," and the intensity in voice and eyes -drove the meaning deep, deep into his listener's mind and heart. "I -wish to see you build. One, and one only--physical, mental, spiritual. -But you cannot build it, Edward--alone!" - -"Paul!" The other held up a warning hand; the expression in his eyes -was warning too. Their effect upon Devonham, however, was nil. He was -talking with a purpose nothing could alter. - -"She is still waiting for you," he went on with determination, "and -already you have kept her waiting--overlong." In the tone, in the hard -clear eyes as well, lay a suggestion almost of tears. - -He opened the door into the breakfast-room, but Fillery caught his -arm and stopped him. They could hear Nurse Robbins speaking, as she -attended as usual to her patient's wants. Coffee was being poured out. -There was a sound of knives and plates and cups. - -"One minute, Paul, one minute before we go in." He drew him aside. "And -what, _Doctor_ Devonham, may I ask, would you prescribe?" There was a -curious mixture of gentle sarcasm, of pity, of patient tolerance, yet -at the same time of sincere, even anxious, interest in the question. -The face and manner betrayed that he waited for the answer with -something more than curiosity. - -There was no hesitancy in Devonham. He judged the moment ripe, perhaps; -he was aware that his words would be listened to, appreciated, -understood certainly, and possibly, obeyed. - -"Expression," he said convincingly, but in a lowered voice. "The -fullest expression, everywhere and always. Let it all come. Accept the -lot, believe the lot, welcome the lot, and thus"--he could not conceal -the note of passionate entreaty, of deep affection--"avoid every atom -of _repression_. In the end--in the long run--your own best judgment -_must_ prevail." - -They smiled into each other's eyes for a moment in silence, while, -instinctively and automatically, their hands joined in a steady clasp. - -"Bless you, old fellow," murmured the chief. "As if I didn't know! It's -the treatment you've been trying on me for weeks and months. As if I -hadn't noticed!" - -As they entered the breakfast-room, Nurse Robbins, with flushed face -and sparkling eyes, was pouring out the coffee, leaning close over her -patient's shoulder as she did so. Fresh roses were in her cheeks as -well as on the table. - -"This is its touch upon the blossomed maid," whispered Fillery, with -the quick hint of humour that belongs only to the sane. At the same -time the light remark was produced, he well knew, by a part of himself -that sought to remain veiled from recognition. Any other triviality -would have done as well to cloak the sharp pain that swept him, and -to lead his listener astray. For in that instant, as they entered, he -saw at the table not "N. H.," but LeVallon--the backward, ignorant, -commonplace LeVallon, an empty, untaught personality, yet so receptive -that anything--_anything_--could be transferred to him by a strong, -vivid mind, a mind, for instance, like his own.... - -The sight, for a swift instant, was intolerable and devastating. He -balanced again on air that gave him no support. He wavered, almost -swayed. "N. H.," in that horrible and painful second, did not exist, -and never had existed. The unstable mind, he comforted himself, -experiences dislocating extremes of attitude ... for, at the same time -as he saw himself shaking and wavering without solid support, he saw -the figure of Paul Devonham, big, important, authoritative, dominating -the uncertainties of life with calm, steady power. - -In a fraction of a second all this came and went. He sat down beside -LeVallon, his eyes still twinkling with his trivial little joke. - -"'N. H.,'" he whispered to Devonham quickly, "has--escaped at last." - -"LeVallon," came the whispered reply as quickly, "is cured at last." -And, to conceal an intolerable rush of pain, of loss, of loneliness -that threatened tears, he pointed to the dropped eyes and blushing -cheeks of the pretty nurse across the table. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -To Edward Fillery, the deep pain of frustration baffling all his mental -processes, the end had come with a strange, bewildering swiftness. He -knew there had been a prolonged dislocation of his being, possibly, -even a partial loss of memory with regard to much that went on about -him, but he could not, did not, admit that no value or reality had -attached to his experiences. The central self in him had projected a -limb, an arm, that, feeling its way across the confining wall of the -prison house, groping towards an unbelievably wonderful revelation of -new possibilities, had abruptly now withdrawn again. The dissociation -in his personality was over. He was, in other words, no longer aware -of "N. H." Like Devonham, he now did not "perceive" "N. H.," but only -LeVallon. But, unlike Devonham, he _had_ perceived him.... - -He had met half-way a mighty and magnificent Vision. Its truth and -beauty remained for him enduring. The revelation had come and gone. -That its close was sudden, simple, undramatic, above all untheatrical, -satisfied him. "N. H." had "escaped," leaving the commonplace -LeVallon in his place. But, at least, he had known "N. H." - -His whole being, an odd, sweet, happy pain in him, yearned ever to -the glorious memory of it all. The melancholy, the peculiar shyness -he felt, were not without an indefinite pleasure. His nature still -vibrated to those haunting and inspiring rhythms, but his normal, -earthly faculties, he flattered himself, were in no sense permanently -disorganized. Professionally, he still cared for LeVallon, disenchanted -dust though he might be, compared to "N. H." ... He approved of -Devonham's proposal to take him for a few days to the sea. He also -approved of Paul's advice that he should accept Father Collins' -invitation to spend a day or two at his country cottage. The Khilkoffs -would be there, father and daughter. The Home, in charge of an -assistant, could be reached in a few hours in case of need. The magic -of Devonham's wise, controlling touch lay in every detail, it seemed.... - -He saw the trio--for Nurse Robbins was of the party--off to Seaford. -"The final touches to his cure," Paul mentioned slyly, with a smile, as -the guard whistled. But of whose cure he did not explain. "He'll bathe -in the sea," he added, the reference obvious this time. "And--when -we return--I shall be best man. I've already promised!" There was a -triumph of skilled wisdom in both sentences. - -"The time isn't ripe yet, Edward, for too magnificent ideas. And -your ideas have been a shade too magnificent, perhaps." He talked on -lightly, even carelessly. And, as usual, there was purpose, meaning, -"treatment"--his friend easily discerned it now--in every detail of his -attitude. - -Fillery laughed. Through his mind ran Povey's sentence, "Never argue -with the once-born!" but aloud he said, "At any rate, I've no idea that -I'm Emperor of Japan or--or the Archangel Gabriel!" And the other, -pleased and satisfied that a touch of humour showed itself, shook hands -firmly, affectionately, through the window as the train moved off. -LeVallon raised his hat to his chief and smiled--an ordinary smile.... - - * * * * * - -With the speed and incongruity of a dream these few days slipped by, -their happenings vivid enough, yet all set to a curiously small scale, -a cramped perspective, blurred a little as by a fading light. Only -one thing retained its brilliance, its intense reality, its place in -the bigger scale, its vast perspective remaining unchanged. The same -immense sweet rhythm swept Iraida and himself inevitably together. Some -deep obsession that hitherto prevented had been withdrawn. - -She had called that very morning--Paul's touch visible here again, he -believed, though he had not asked. He looked on and smiled. After the -ordeal of breakfast with Devonham and LeVallon her visit was announced. -It was Paul, after a little talk downstairs, who showed her in. With -the radiance of a spring wild-flower opening to the early sunshine, -her unexpected visit to his study seemed clothed. Unexpected, yes, but -surely inevitable as well. With the sweet morning wind through the -open window, it seemed, she came to him, the letter of invitation from -Father Collins in her hand. His own lay among his correspondence, still -untouched. Her perfume rose about him as she explained something he -hardly heard or followed. - -"You'll come, Edward, won't you? You'll come too." - -"Of course," he answered. But it was a song he heard, and no dull -spoken words. She ran dancing towards him through a million flowers; -her hair flew loose along the scented winds; her white limbs glowed -with fire. He danced to meet her. It was in the Valley that he caught -her hands and met her eyes. "It's happened," he heard himself saying. -"It's happened at last--just as you said it must. _Escape!_ He has -escaped!" - -"But we shall follow after--when the time comes, Edward." - -"Where the wild bee never flew!"... - -"When the time comes," she repeated. - -Her voice, her smile, her eyes brought him back sharply into the little -room. The furniture showed up again. The Valley faded. He noticed -suddenly that for the first time she wore no flowers in her dress as -usual. - -"Iraida!" he exclaimed. "Then--you knew!" - -She bent her head, smiling divinely. She took both his hands in hers. -At her touch every obstacle between them melted. His own private, -personal inhibition he saw as the trivial barriers a little child -might raise. His complex against humanity, as Paul called it, had -disappeared. Their minds, their beings, their natures became most -strangely one, he felt, and yet quite naturally. There was nothing -they did not share. - -"With the first dawn," he heard her say in a low voice. "Never--never -again," he seemed to hear, "shall we destroy his--their--work of ages." - -"A flower," he whispered, "has no need to wear a flower!" He was -convinced that she too had shared an experience similar to his own, -perhaps had even seen the bright, marvellous Deva faces peering, -shining.... He did not ask. She said no more. Life flowed between them -in an untroubled stream.... - - * * * * * - -Like the flow of a stream, indeed, things went past him, yet with -incidents and bits of conversation thus picked out with vivid -sharpness. The dissociation of his being was still noticeable here and -there, he supposed. The swell after the storm took time to settle down. -Slowly, however, the waves that had been projected, leaping to heaven, -returned to the safe, quiet dead level of the normal calm.... The -depths lay still once more. And his melancholy passed a little, lifted. -He knew, at any rate, those depths were now accessible. - -"I've seen over the wall a moment," he said to himself. "Paul is both -right and wrong. What I've seen lies too far ahead of the Race to be -intelligible or of use. I should be cast out, crucified, my other, -simpler work destroyed. To control rhythms so powerful, so different to -anything we now know, is not yet possible. They would shatter, rather -than construct." He smiled sadly, yet with resignation. There was pain -and humour in his eyes. "I should be regarded as a Promethean merely, -an extremist Promethean, and probably be locked up for contravening -some County Council bye-law or offending Church and State. That's -where he, perhaps, is right--Paul!" He thought of him with affection -and pity, with understanding love. "How wise and faithful, how patient -and how skilled--within his limits. The stable are the useful; the -stable are the leaders; the stable rule the world. People with steady -if unvisioned eyes like Paul, with money like Lady Gleeson.... But, -oh!"--he sighed--"how slow, ye gods! how slow!" ... - - * * * * * - -The visit was a strange one. Nayan sat between him and her father in -the motor. It was not far from London, the ancient little house among -the trees where Father Collins secreted himself from time to time upon -occasional "retreats." - -Within the grounds it might have been the centre of the New Forest, -but for the sound of tramcar bells that sometimes came jangling -faintly through the thick screen of leaves. There were old-world paved -courtyards with sweet playing fountains, miniature lawns, tangles of -flowers, small sunken gardens with birds of cut box and yew, stone -nymphs, and a shaggy, moss-grown Pan, whose hand that once held the -pipes had broken off. Suburbia lay outside, yet, by walking wisely, it -was possible to move among these delights for half an hour, great trees -ever rustling overhead, and a clear small stream winding peacefully in -and out with gentle lapping murmurs. Nature here lay undisturbed as it -had lain for centuries. - -The little ancient house, moreover, seemed to have grown up with the -green things out of the soil, so naturally, it all belonged together. -The garden ran indoors, it seemed, through open doors and windows. -Butterflies floated from courtyard into drawing-room and out again, -leaves blew through dining-room windows, scurrying to another little -bit of lawn; the sun and wind, even the fountains' spray, found the -walls no obstacle as though unaware of them. Bees murmured, swallows -hung below the eaves. It was, indeed, a healing spot, a natural -retreat.... - -"I really believe the river rises in your library," exclaimed Fillery, -after a tour of inspection with his host, "and my bedroom is in the -heart of that big chestnut across the lawn. Do my feet touch carpet, -grass, or bark when I get out of bed in the morning?" - -"I've learnt more here," began Father Collins, "than at all the -conferences and learned meetings I ever attended...." - -The group of four stood in the twilight by the playing fountain where -the dignified stone Pan watched the paved little court, listening to -the splash of the water and the wind droning among the leaves. The lap -of the winding stream came faintly to them. The stillness cast a spell -about them, dropping a screen against the outer world. - -"Hark!" said Father Collins, holding a curved hand to his ear. "You -hear the music...?" - - "'Why, in the leafy greenwood lone - Sit you, rustic Pan, and drone - On a dulcet resonant reed?'" - -He paused, peering across to the stone figure as for an answer. All -stood listening, waiting, only wind and water breaking the silence. -The bats were now flitting; overhead hung the saffron arch of fading -sunset. In a deep ringing voice, very gruff and very low, Father -Collins gave the answer: - - "'So that yonder cows may feed - Up the dewy mountain passes, - Gathering the feathered grasses.' - -"That's Pan's work," he said, laughing pleasantly, "Pan and all his -splendid hierarchy. Always at work, though invisibly, with music, -colour, beauty!..." - -It was scraps like this that stood out in Fillery's memory, adding to -his conviction that Paul had enlisted even this strange priest in his -deep-laid plan.... - -"Each man is saturated with certain ideas, thoughts, phrases in a -line of his own. These constitute his groove. To go outside it makes -him feel homeless and uncomfortable. Accustomed to its measurements -and safe within them, he interprets all he hears, reads, observes, -according to his particular familiar shibboleths, to which, as to -a standard of infallible criticism, he brings slavishly all that -is offered for the consideration of his judgment. A new Idea stands -little chance of being comprehended, much less adopted. Tell him new -things about the stars, the Stock Exchange, the Stigmata--up crops -his Standard of approval or disapproval. He cannot help himself. His -judgment, based upon the limited content of his groove, operates -automatically. He condemns. An entirely new idea is barely glanced at -before it is rejected for the rubbish heap. How, then, can progress -come swiftly to a Race composed of such individuals? Mass-judgment, -herd-opinion governs everything. He who has original ideas is outcast, -and dwells lonely as the moon. How slow, ye Gods! How slow!" ... - -Only Fillery could not remember, could not be certain, whether it was -his host or himself that used the words. Father Collins, as usual, -was saying "all sorts of things," but addressed himself surely, to -old Khilkoff most of the time, the Russian, half angry, half amused, -growling out his comments and replies as he sat smoking heavily and -enjoying the peaceful night scene in his own fashion.... - -It was odd, none the less, how much that the wild priest gabbled -coincided with his own, with Fillery's, thoughts at the moment. A -peculiar melancholy, a mood of shyness never known before, lay still -upon him. The beauty of the silent girl beside him overpowered him -a little; too wonderful to hold, to own, she seemed. Yet they were -deliciously, uncannily akin. All his former self-created denials and -suppressions, hesitations and refusals had vanished. "N. H."--He -wondered?--had provided him with the fullest expression he had ever -known. A boundless relief poured over him. He was aware of wholesome -desire rising behind his old high admiration and respect.... - -He watched her once standing close to Pan's broken outline among the -shadows, touching the mossy arm with white fingers, and he imagined for -an instant that she held the vanished pipes. - -"After an experience with Other Beings," Father Collins's endless drone -floated to him, "shyness, they say, is felt. Silence descends upon the -whole nature" ... to which, a little later, came the growling comment -with its foreign accent: "Talk may be pleasurable--sometimes--but it is -profitable rarely...." - -The talk flowed past and over him, occasional phrases, like islands -rising out of a stream, inviting his attention momentarily to land and -listen.... The girl, he now saw, no longer stood beside the broken -stone figure. She was wandering idly towards the farther garden and the -trees. - -He burned to rise and go to her, but something held him. What was it? -What could it be? Some strange hard little obstacle prevented. Then, -suddenly, he knew what it was that stopped him: he was waiting for that -familiar pet sentence. Once he heard that, the impetus to move, the -power to overcome his strange shyness, the certainty that his whole -being was at last one with itself again, would come to him. It made him -laugh inwardly while he recognized the validity of the detail--final -symptoms of the obstructing inhibitions, of the obstinate original -complex. - -The outline of the girl was lost now, merged in the shadows beyond. -He stirred, but could not get up to go. A fury of impatience burned -in him. Father Collins, he felt, dawdled outrageously. He was -talking--jawing, Fillery called it--about extraordinary experiences. -"Gradually, as consciousness more and more often extends, the organs -to record such extensions will be formed, you see.... If our inventive -faculties were turned inwards, instead of outwards for gain and comfort -as they now are, we might know the gods...." - -The sculptor's growl, though the words were this time inaudible, had a -bite in them. The other voice poured on like thick, slow oil: - -"What, anyhow, is it, then, that urges us on in spite of all obstacles, -denials, failures...?" - -Then came something that seemed leading up to the pet sentence that -was the signal he waited for--nearer to it, at any rate: - -"... It's childish, surely, to go on merely seeking more of what we -have already. We should seek something new...." - -A call, it seemed, came to him on the wind from the dark trees. But -still he could not move. - -But, at last, out of a prolonged jumble of the two voices, one -growling, the other high pitched, came the signal he somehow waited -for. Even now, however, the speaker delayed it as long as possible. He -was doing it, of course, on purpose. This was intentional, obviously. - -"... Yes, but a thing out of its right place is without power, -life, means of expression--robbed of its context which alone gives -it meaning--robbed, so to speak, of its arms and legs--_without a -body_...." - -There, at least, was the definite proof that Father Collins was doing -this of deliberate, set purpose! - -"Go on! Yes, but, for God's sake, say it! I want to be off!" Fillery -believed he shrieked the words, but apparently they were inaudible. -They remained unnoticed, at any rate. - -"... Hence the value of order, tidiness, you see. Often a misplaced -thing is invisible until replaced where it belongs. It is, as we say, -lost. No movement is meaningless, no walk without purpose. All your -movements tend towards your proper place...." - -A breeze blew the fountain spray aside so that its splashing ceased for -a brief second. From the rustling leaves beyond came a faint murmur -as of distant piping. But--into the second's pause had leaped the pet -sentence: - -"Only a being in his _own_ place is the ruler of his fate." - -The signal! He was aware that the Russian cleared his throat and -spat unmusically, aware also that Father Collins, a queer smile just -discernible on his face in the gloom, turned his head with a gesture -that might well have been an understanding nod. Both sound and gesture, -however, were already behind him. He was released. He was across the -paved courtyard, past the fountain, past the stone figure of the silent -old rough god--and off! - -And as he went, finding his way instinctively among the dark trees, -that pet sentence went with him like a clarion call, as though sweet -piping music played it everywhere about him. A thousand memories shut -down with a final snap. In the stage of his mind came a black-out upon -a host of inhibitions. There was an immense and glorious sense of -relief as though bitter knots were suddenly disentangled, and some iron -kernel of resistance that had weighted him for years flowed freely at -last in a stream of happy molten gold.... - -He found her easily. Where the trees thinned at the farther edge he -saw her figure, long before he came up with her, outlined against the -fading saffron. He saw her turn. He saw her arms outstretched. He came -up with her the same minute, and they stood in silence for a long time, -watching the darkness bend and sink upon the landscape. - -For, here, at this one edge of the tiny estate, the real open country -showed. Beyond them, in the twilight, lay the silent fields like a -gigantic brown and yellow carpet whose shaken folds still seemed to -tremble and run on beneath the growing moon. Along a farther ridge the -trees and hedges passed in a ragged procession of strange figures, -defined sharply against the sky--witches, queens and goblins on the -prowl, the ancient fairyland of the English countryside. - -They still stood silent, side by side, touching almost, their heat and -perfume and atmosphere intermingling, looking out across the quiet -scene. He was aware that her mind stole into his most sweetly, and that -without knowing it his hand had found her own, and that, presently, she -leaned a little against him. Their eyes, their mental sight as well, -saw the same things, he knew. The first stars peeped out, and they -looked up at them as one being looks, together. - -"The wonder that you saw--in him," he heard himself saying. It was a -statement, not a question. - -"Was yourself, of course," her voice, like his own, in the rustle of -the leaves, came softly. It continued his own thought rather than -replied to it. "The part you've held down and hidden away all these -years." - -Her divination came to him with staggering effect. "You always knew -then?" - -"Always. The first day we met you took me into the firm." - -He was aware that everything about him pulsed and throbbed with life, -intelligence in every stick and stone. Angelic beings marched on -their wondrous business through the sky. A mighty host pursued their -endless service with a network of huge and tiny rhythms. The spirals of -creative fire soared and danced.... - -The moon emerged, sailing, sailing, as though no wind could stop her -lovely flight. She fled the stars themselves. The clouds turned round -to look at her, as, clearing their hair, she passed onwards with her -radiant smile. Heading into the bare bosom of the sky, she blazed in -her triumph of loneliness, her icy prow set towards some far, unknown, -unearthly goal, which is the reason why men love her so. - -"And my theories--our theories?" he murmured into the ear against his -lips. "The way that has been shown to us?" - -Both arms were now about her, and he held her so close that her words -were but a warm perfumed breath to cover his face as her hair was -covering his eyes. - -"We shall follow it together ... dear." - -It was as if some angel, stepping down the sky, came near enough to -fold them in a great rhythm of fire and wind. Bright, mighty faces in a -crowd rose round them, and, through her hair, he saw familiar visible -outlines of all the common things melt out, showing for one gorgeous -instant the flashings and whirlings that was the workshop of Their -deathless service. - -"Look! Look!" he whispered, pointing from the darkening earth to the -stars and sailing moon above. "They're everywhere! You can see them -too? The bright messengers?" - -For answer, she came yet closer against his side, holding him more -tightly to her, lifting her lips to his, so that in her very eyes he -saw the marvellous fire shine and flash. "We shall build together, you -and I," she whispered very softly, "and with Their help, the sweetest -and most perfect body ever known...." - -But behind the magic of her words and voice, behind their meaning -and the steadying, understanding sympathy he easily divined, he -heard another sound, familiar as a dream, yet fraught with some -haunting significance he already was forgetting--almost _had_ -entirely forgotten. From the centre of the earth it seemed to rise, -a magnificent, deep, stupendous rhythm that created, at least, the -impression of a voice: - -"I weave and I weave...!" rolled forth, as though the planet uttered. -He stood waiting, transfixed, listening intently. - -"You heard?" he whispered. - -"Everything," she said, tight in his arms at once again, her lips on -his. "The very beating of your heart--your inmost thoughts as well." - - -THE END - - - - - Transcriber's Note: - - Punctuation has been standardised. Hyphenation and spelling has been - retained as in the original publication except as follows: - - Page 30 - Khilkoff, the daugher of his _changed to_ - Khilkoff, the daughter of his - - Page 38 - Butt puzzled--my God _changed to_ - But puzzled--my God - - Page 59 - sets limits to it, Edward _changed to_ - set limits to it, Edward - - Page 70 - Le Vallon was quite docile _changed to_ - LeVallon was quite docile - - Page 72 - Yets its limits seemed _changed to_ - Yet its limits seemed - - Page 105 - according to Bosé.... _changed to_ - according to Bose.... - - Page 153 - reaching the divan in its dimlit _changed to_ - reaching the divan in its dim-lit - - Page 157 - went as unobstrusively as an animal _changed to_ - went as unobtrusively as an animal - - Page 185 - was too convicing to be missed _changed to_ - was too convincing to be missed - - Page 282 - with amazemnt. They were so _changed to_ - with amazement. They were so - - Page 299 - Le Vallon went on, plucking the _changed to_ - LeVallon went on, plucking the - - all her life suppressed (because _changed to_ - all her life suppressed because - - Page 302 - young girl wavered and hestitated _changed to_ - young girl wavered and hesitated - - Page 339 - planetary spirits and vast Intelligenes _changed to_ - planetary spirits and vast Intelligences - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Bright Messenger, by Algernon Blackwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - -***** This file should be named 43594-8.txt or 43594-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/5/9/43594/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Bright Messenger - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: August 29, 2013 [EBook #43594] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 43594 ***</div> <div class="cover-image"> <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="804" alt="Cover" /> @@ -14218,382 +14180,6 @@ planetary spirits and vast Intelligenes <i>changed to</i><br /> planetary spirits and vast <a href="#intelligences">Intelligences</a></p> </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Bright Messenger, by Algernon Blackwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - -***** This file should be named 43594-h.htm or 43594-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/5/9/43594/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org - - -Title: The Bright Messenger - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: August 29, 2013 [EBook #43594] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - - - - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - - - - -THE BRIGHT MESSENGER - - - - - OTHER WORKS BY - ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - JULIUS LeVALLON - THE WAVE: An Egyptian Aftermath - TEN MINUTE STORIES - DAY AND NIGHT STORIES - THE PROMISE OF AIR - THE GARDEN OF SURVIVAL - THE LISTENER and Other Stories - THE EMPTY HOUSE and Other Stories - THE LOST VALLEY and Other Stories - JOHN SILENCE: Physician Extraordinary - - _With Violet Pearn_ - KARMA: A Reincarnation Play - - _With Wilfred Wilson_ - THE WOLVES OF GOD and other Fey Stories - - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - - - - THE BRIGHT MESSENGER - BY - ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - AUTHOR OF - "JULIUS LeVALLON," "THE WOLVES OF GOD," ETC. - - NEW YORK - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - 681 FIFTH AVENUE - - - - - Copyright 1922, by - E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY - - _All Rights Reserved_ - - _Printed in the United States of America_ - - - - -To the Unstable - - - - -THE BRIGHT MESSENGER - -CHAPTER I - - -Edward Fillery, so far as may be possible to a man of normal passions -and emotions, took a detached view of life and human nature. At the age -of thirty-eight he still remained a spectator, a searching, critical, -analytical, yet chiefly, perhaps, a sympathetic spectator, before the -great performance whose stage is the planet and whose performers and -auditorium are humanity. - -Knowing himself outcast, an unwelcome deadhead at the play, he had yet -felt no bitterness against the parents whose fierce illicit passion had -deprived him of an honourable seat. The first shock of resentment over, -he had faced the situation with a tolerance which showed an unusual -charity, an exceptional understanding, in one so young. - -He was twenty when he learned the truth about himself. And it was his -wondering analysis as to why two loving humans could be so careless of -their offspring's welfare, when the rest of Nature took such pains in -the matter, that first betrayed, perhaps, his natural aptitude. He had -the innate gift of seeing things as they were, undisturbed by personal -emotion, while yet asking himself with scientific accuracy why and how -they came to be so. These were invaluable qualities in the line of -knowledge and research he chose for himself as psychologist and doctor. -The terms are somewhat loose. His longing was to probe the motives of -conduct in the first place, and, in the second, to correct the results -of wrong conduct by removing faulty motives. Psychiatrist and healer, -therefore, were his more accurate titles; psychiatrist and healer, in -due course, he became. - -His father, an engineer of ability and enterprise, prospecting in the -remoter parts of the Caucasus for copper, and making a comfortable -fortune in so doing, was carried off his feet suddenly by the beauty of -a Khaketian peasant girl, daughter of a shepherd in these lonely and -majestic mountains, whose intolerable grandeur may well intoxicate a -man to madness. A dangerous and disgraceful episode it seems to have -been between John Fillery, hitherto of steady moral fibre, and this -strange, lovely pagan girl, whose savage father hunted the pair of them -high and low for weeks before they finally eluded him in the azalea -valleys beyond Artvine. - -Great passion, possibly great love, born of this enchanted land whose -peaks touch heaven, while their lower turfy slopes are carpeted with -lilies, azaleas, rhododendrons, contributed to the birth of Edward, -who first saw the light in a secret chamber of a dirty Tiflis house, -above the Koura torrent. That same night, when the sun dipped beneath -the Black Sea waters two hundred miles to the westward, his mother had -looked for the last time upon her northern lover and her wild Caucasian -mountains. - -Edward, however, persisted, visible emblem of a few weeks' primal -passion in a primal land. Intense desire, born in this remote -wilderness of amazing loveliness, lent him, perhaps, a strain of -illicit, almost unearthly yearning, a secret nostalgia for some lost -vale of beauty that held fiercer sunshine, mightier winds and fairer -flowers than those he knew in this world. - -At the age of four he was brought to England; his Russian memories -faded, though not the birthright of his primitive blood. Settling in -London, his father increased his fortune as consulting engineer, but -did not marry. To the short vehement episode he had given of his very -best; he remained true to his gorgeous memory and his sin; the cream -of his life, its essence and its perfume, had been spent in those wild -wind-swept azalea valleys beyond Artvine. The azalea honey was in his -blood, the scent of the lilies in his brain; he still heard the Koura -and Rion foaming down towards ancient Colchis. Edward embodied for him -the spirit of these sweet, passionate memories. He loved the boy, he -cherished and he spoilt him. - -But Edward had stuff in him that rendered spoiling harmless. A -vigorous, independent youngster, he showed firmness and character -as a lad. To the delight of his father he knew his own mind early, -reading and studying on his own account, possessed at the same time -by a vehement love of nature and outdoor life that was far more than -the average English boy's inclination to open air and sport. There lay -some primal quality in his blood that was of ancient origin and leaned -towards wildness. There seemed almost, at the same time, a faunish -strain that turned away from life. - -As a tiny little fellow he had that strange touch of creative -imagination other children have also known--an invisible playmate. It -had no name, as it, apparently, had no sex. The boy's father could -trace it directly to no fairy tale read or heard; its origin in the -child's mind remained a mystery. But its characteristics were unusual, -even for such fanciful imaginings: too full-fledged to have been -created gradually by the boy's loneliness, it seemed half goblin and -half Nature-spirit; it replaced, at any rate, the little brothers and -sisters who were not there, and the father, led by his conscience, -possibly, to divine or half divine its origin, met the pretence with -sympathetic encouragement. - -It came usually with the wind, moreover, and went with the wind, and -wind accordingly excited the child. "Listen! Father!" he would exclaim -when no air was moving anywhere and the day was still as death. Then: -"Plop! So there you are!" as though it had dropped through empty space -and landed at his feet. "It came from a tremenjus height," the child -explained. "The wind's up _there_, you see, to-day." Which struck the -parent's mind as odd, because it proved later true. An upper wind, far -in the higher strata of air, came down an hour or so afterwards and -blew into a storm. - -Fire and flowers, too, were connected with this invisible playmate. -"_He'll_ make it burn, father," the child said convincingly, when the -chimney smoked and the coals refused to catch, and then became very -busy with his friend in the grate and about the hearth, just as though -he helped and superintended what was being invisibly accomplished. -"It's burning better, anyhow," agreed the father, astonished in spite -of himself as the coals began to glow and spurt their gassy flames. -"Well done; I am very much obliged to you and your little friend." - -"But it's the only thing he can do. He likes it. It's his work really, -don't you see--keeping up the heat in things." - -"Oh, it's his natural job, is it? I see, yes. But my thanks to him, all -the same." - -"Thank you very much," said grave Edward, aged five, addressing his -tiny friend among the fire-irons. "I'm much mobliged to you." - -Edward was a bit older when the flower incident took place--with the -geranium that no amount of care and coaxing seemed able to keep alive. -It had been dying slowly for some days, when Edward announced that he -saw its "inside" flitting about the plant, but unable to get back into -it. "It's got out, you see, and can't get back into its body again, so -it's dying." - -"Well, what in the world are we to do about it?" asked his father. - -"I'll ask," was the solemn reply. "Now I know!" he cried, delighted, -after asking his question of the empty air and listening for the -answer. "Of course. Now I see. Look, father, there it is--its spirit!" -He stood beside the flower and pointed to the earth in the pot. - -"Dear me, yes! Where d'you see it? I--don't see it quite." - -"He says I can pick it up and put it back and then the flower will -live." The child put out a hand as though picking up something that -moved quickly about the stem. - -"What's it look like?" asked his father quickly. - -"Oh, sort of trinangles and things with lines and corners," was the -reply, making a gesture as though he caught it and popped it back -into the red drooping blossoms. "There you are! Now you're alive -again. Thank you very much, please"--this last remark to the invisible -playmate who was superintending. - -"A sort of geometrical figure, was it?" inquired the father next day, -when, to his surprise, he found the geranium blooming in full health -and beauty once again. "That's what you saw, eh?" - -"It was its spirit, and it was shiny red, like fire," the child -replied. "It's heat. Without these things there'd be no flowers at all." - -"Who makes everything grow?" he asked suddenly, a moment later. - -"You mean _what_ makes them grow." - -"Who," he repeated with emphasis. "Who builds the bodies up and looks -after them?" - -"Ah! the structure, you mean, the form?" - -Edward nodded. His father had the feeling he was not being asked for -information, but was being cross-examined. A faint pressure, as of -uneasiness, touched him. - -"They develop automatically--that means naturally, under the laws of -nature," he replied. - -"And the laws--who keeps them working properly?" - -The father, with a mental gulp, replied that God did. - -"A beetle's body, for instance, or a daisy's or an elephant's?" -persisted the child undeceived by the theological evasion. "Or mine, or -a mountain's----?" - -John Fillery racked his brain for an answer, while Edward continued his -list to include sea-anemones, frost-patterns, fire, wind, moon, sun -and stars. All these forms to him were bodies apparently. - -"I know!" he exclaimed suddenly with intense conviction, clapping his -hands together and standing on his toes. - -"Do you, indeed! Then you know more than the rest of us." - -"_They do_, of course," came the positive announcement. "The other -kind! It's their work. Yours, for instance"--he turned to his playmate, -but so naturally and convincingly that a chill ran down his father's -spine as he watched--"is fire, isn't it? You showed me once. And water -stops you, but wind helps you ..." and he continued long after his -father had left the room. - -With advancing years, however, Edward either forgot his playmate or -kept its activities to himself. He no longer referred to it, at any -rate. His energies demanded a bigger field; he roamed the fields and -woods, climbed the hills, stayed out all night to see the sunrise, made -fires even when fires were not exactly needed, and hunted with Red -Indians and with what he called "Windy-Fire people" everywhere. He was -never in the house. He ran wild. Great open spaces, trees and flowers -were what he liked. The sea, on the other hand, alarmed him. Only wind -and fire comforted him and made him happy and full of life. He was a -playmate of wind and fire. Water, in large quantities at any rate, was -inimical. - -With concealed approval, masking a deep love fulfilled yet incomplete, -his father watched the growth of this fiercer strain that mere covert -shooting could not satisfy, nor ordinary sporting holidays appease. - -"England's too small for you, Edward, isn't it?" he asked once -tentatively, when the boy was about fifteen. - -"The English people, you mean, father?" - -"You find them dull, don't you? And the island a bit cramped--eh?" - -Edward waited without replying. He did not quite understand what his -indulgent father intended, or was leading up to. - -"You'd like to travel and see things and people for yourself, I mean?" - -He watched the boy without, as he thought, the latter noticing. The -answer pleased but puzzled him. - -"We're all much the same, aren't we?" said Edward. - -"Well--with differences--yes, we are. But still----" - -"It's only the same over and over again, isn't it?" Then, while his -father was thinking of this reply, and of what he should say to it, the -boy asked suddenly with arresting intensity: - -"Are we the only people--the only sort of beings, I mean? Just men -and women like us all over the world? No others of any sort--bigger, -for instance, or--more wild and wonderful?" Then he added, a thrust -of strange yearning in his face and eyes: "More beautiful?" He almost -whispered the last words. - -His father winced. He divined the origin of that strange inquiry. -Upon those immense and lonely mountains, distant in space and time -for him, imagination, rich and pagan, ran, he well knew, to vast and -mighty beings, superior to human, benignant and maleficent, akin to -the stimulating and exhilarating conception of the gods, and certainly -non-human. - -"Nothing, Edward, that we know of. Why should there be?" - -"Oh, I don't know, dad. I just wondered--sometimes. But, as you say, -we've not a scrap of evidence, of course." - -"Not a scrap," agreed his father. "Poetic legends ain't evidence." - -The mind ruled the heart in Edward; he had his father's brains, at any -rate; and all his powers and longings focused in a single line that -indicated plainly what his career should be. The Public Schools could -help him little; he went to Edinburgh to study medicine; he passed -eventually with all possible honours; and the day he brought home the -news his father, dying, told him the secret of his illegitimate birth. - - - - -CHAPTER II - - -The subsequent twenty years or so may be summarized. - -Alone in the world, of a loving, passionate nature, he deliberately set -all thought of marriage on one side as an impossibility, and directed -his entire energy into the acquirement of knowledge; reading, studying, -experimenting far outside the circle of the ordinary medical man. The -attitude of detachment he had adopted became a habit. He believed it -was now his nature. - -The more he learned of human frailty and human faculties, the greater -became the charity he felt towards his fellow-kind. In his own being, -it seemed, lay something big, sweet, simple, a generosity that longed -to share with others, a tolerance more ready to acquit than to condemn, -above all, a great gift of understanding sympathy that, doubtless, was -the explanation of his singular insight. Rarely he found it in him to -blame; forgiveness, based upon the increasing extent of his experience, -seemed his natural view of human mistakes and human infirmities. His -one desire, his one hope, was to serve the Race. - -Yet he himself remained aloof. He watched the Play but took no part in -it. This forgiveness, too, began at home. His grievance had not soured -or dejected him, his father's error presenting itself as a problem to -be pondered over, rather than a sin to blame. Some day, he promised -himself, he would go and see with his own eyes the Khaketian tribe -whence his blood was partially derived, whence his un-English yearnings -for a wilder scale of personal freedom amid an unstained, majestic -Nature were first stolen. The inherited picture of a Caucasian vale of -loveliness and liberty lay, indeed, very deep in his nature, emerging -always like a symbol when he was profoundly moved. At any crisis in his -life it rose beckoning, seductive, haunting beyond words.... Curious, -ill-defined emotions with it, that drove him towards another standard, -another state, to something, at any rate, he could neither name nor -visualize, yet that seemed to dwarf the only life he knew. About it -was a touch of strange unearthly radiance that dimmed existence as he -knew it. The shine went out of it. There was involved in this symbolic -"Valley" something wholly new both in colour, sound and outline, yet -that remained obstinately outside definition. - -First, however, he must work, develop himself, and broaden, deepen, -extend in every possible way the knowledge of his kind that seemed his -only love. - -He began in a very practical way, setting up his plate in a mean -quarter of the great metropolis, healing, helping, learning with his -heart as well as with his brain, observing life at closest quarters -from its beginning to its close, his sympathies becoming enriched the -more he saw, and his mind groping its way towards clearer insight the -more he read, thought, studied. His wealth made him independent; his -tastes were simple; his wants few. He observed the great Play from the -Pit and Gallery, from the Wings, from Behind the Scenes as well. - -Moving then, into the Stalls, into a wealthier neighbourhood, that -is, he repeated the experience among another class, finding, however, -little difference except in the greater artificiality of his types, -the larger proportion of mental and nervous ailments, of hysteria, -delusion, imaginary troubles, and the like. The infirmities due to -idleness, enflamed vanity and luxury offered a new field, though to him -a less attractive one. The farther from simplicity, from the raw facts -of living, the more complicated, yet the more trivial, the resulting -disabilities. These, however, were quite as real as those, and harder, -indeed, to cure. Idle imagination, fostered by opportunity and means, -yet forced by conventionality to wear infinite disguises, brought a -strange, if far from a noble, crop of disorders into his ken. Yet he -accepted them for serious treatment, whatever his private opinion may -have been, while his patience, tact and sympathy, backed by his insight -and great knowledge, brought him quick success. He was soon in a fair -way to become a fashionable doctor. - -But the field, he found, was restricted somewhat. His quest was -knowledge, not fame or money. He chose his cases where he could, -though actually refusing nothing. He specialized more and more with -afflictions of a mental kind. He was immensely successful in restoring -proportion out of disorder. He revealed people to themselves. He -taught them to recover lost hope and confidence. He used little -medicine, but stimulated the will towards a revival of fading vitality. -Auto-suggestion, rather than suggestion or hypnotism, was his method. -He healed. He began to be talked about. - -Then, suddenly, his house was sold, his plate was taken down, he -vanished. - -Human beings object to sudden changes whose secret they have not been -told and cannot easily guess; his abrupt disappearance caused talk and -rumours, led, of course, by those, chiefly disappointed women, who -had most reason to be grateful for past services. But, if the words -charlatan and quack were whispered, he did not hear them; he had taken -the post of assistant in a lunatic asylum in a northern town, because -the work promised him increase of knowledge and experience in his own -particular field. The talk he left behind him mattered as little as the -small pay attached to the humble duties he had accepted. - -London forgot him, but he did not forget what London had taught him. - -A new field opened, and in less than two years, opportunity, combined -with his undoubted qualifications, saw him Head of an establishment -where he could observe at first hand the facts and phenomena that -interested him most. Humane treatment, backed by profound insight into -the derangements of the poor human creatures under his charge, brought -the place into a fame it had never known before. He spent five years -there in profound study and experiment; he achieved new results and -published them. His _Experimental Psychology_ caused a sensation. His -name was known. He was an Authority. - -At this time he was well past thirty, a tall, dark, -distinguished-looking man, of appearance grave and even sombre; -imposing, too, with his quiet, piercing eyes, but sombre only until the -smile lit up his somewhat rugged face. It was a face that nobody could -lie to, but to that smile the suffering heart might tell its inmost -secrets with confidence, hope, trust, and without reserve. - -There followed several years abroad, in Paris, Rome, St. Petersburg, -Moscow; Vienna and Zurich he also visited to test there certain lines -of research and to meet personally their originators. - -This period was partly a holiday, partly an opportunity to know at -first hand the leaders in mental therapeutics, psychology and the -rest, and also that he might find time to digest and arrange his -own accumulation of knowledge with a view, later, to undertaking -the life-work to which his previous experience was but preliminary. -Fame had come to him unsought; his published works alone ensured his -going down to posterity as a careful but daring and original judge -of the human species and its possibilities. It was the supernormal -rather than the merely abnormal powers that attracted him. In the -subconscious, as, equally, in the superconscious, his deep experience -taught him, lay amazing powers of both moral and physical healing, -powers as yet but little understood, powers as limitless as they seemed -incredible, as mysterious in their operation as they were simple in -their accessibility. And auto-suggestion was the means of using them. -The great men whom he visited welcomed him with open arms, added to -his data, widened yet further his mental outlook. Sought by high and -low in many countries and in strangest cases, his experience grew and -multiplied, his assortment of unusual knowledge was far-reaching; till -he stood finally in wonder and amazement before the human being and its -unrealized powers, and his optimism concerning the future progress of -the race became more justified with every added fact. - -Yet, perhaps, his greatest achievement was the study of himself; it was -probably to this deep, intimate and honest research into his own being -that his success in helping others was primarily due. For in himself, -though mastered and co-ordinated by his steady will, rendered harmless -by his saving sense of humour and (as he believed) by the absence of -any harboured grievance against others--in his very own being lay all -those potential elements of disorder, those loose unravelled threads -of alien impulse and suppressed desire, which can make for dangerous -disintegration, and thus produce the disturbing results classed -generally under alienation and neurosis. - -The incongruous elements in him were the gift of nature; [Greek: gnothi -seauton] was the saving attitude he brought to that gift, redeeming -it. This phrase, borrowed, he remembered with a smile, for the portal -of the ancient Mysteries, remained his watchword. He was able to -thank the fierce illicit love that furnished his body and his mental -make-up for a richer field of first-hand study than years of practice -among others could have supplied. He belonged by temperament to the -unstable. But--he was aware of it. He realized the two beings in him: -the reasoning, scientific man, and the speculative dreamer, visionary, -poet. The latter wondered, dreamed among a totally different set of -values far below and out of sight. This deeper portion of himself was -forever beating up for recognition, clamouring to be used, yet with -the strange shyness that reminded him of a loving woman who cannot be -certain her passion is returned. It hinted, threatened, wept and even -sulked. It rose like a flame, bringing its own light and wind, blessed -his whole being with some divine assurance, and then, because not -instantly accepted, it retired, leaving him empty, his mind coloured -with unearthly yearnings, with poignant regrets, yet perfumed as though -the fairness of Spring herself had lit upon his heart and kissed it -into blossom on her passage north. It presented its amazing pictures, -and withdrew. Elusive, as the half memory of some radiant dream, whose -wonder and sweetness have been intense to the point of almost pain, it -hovered, floating just out of reach. It lay waiting for that sincere -belief which would convince that its passion was returned. And a -fleeting picture of a wild Caucasian valley, steeped in sunshine and -flowers, was always the first sign of its awakening. - -Though not afraid of reason, it seemed somehow independent of the -latter's processes. It was his reason, however, he well knew that -dimmed the light in its grand, terrible eyes, causing it to withdraw -the instant he began to question. Precise, formal thinking shut the -engines off and damped the furnaces. His love, his passion, none the -less, were there, hiding with belief, until some bright messenger, -bringing glad tidings, should reveal the method of harmonious union -between reason and vision, between man's trivial normal faculties and -his astounding supernormal possibilities. - -"This element of feeling in our outlook on Nature is a satisfaction in -itself, but our plea for allowing it to operate in our interpretation -of Nature is that we get closer to some things through feeling than -we do through science. The tendency of feeling is always to see -things whole. We cannot, for our life's sake, and for the sake of our -philosophical reconstruction, afford to lose in scientific analysis -what the poets and artists and the lovers of Nature all see. It is -intuitively felt, rather than intellectually perceived, the vision of -things as totalities, root and all, all in all; neither fancifully, nor -mystically, but sympathetically in their wholeness." - -To these words of Professor T. Arthur Thomson's, he heartily -subscribed, applying their principle to his own particular field. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - -The net result of his inquiries and research, when, at the age of -nearly forty, he established his own Private Home for unusual, -so-called hopeless cases in North-West London--it was free to all, and -as Spiritual Clinique he thought of it sometimes with a smile--may be -summed up in the single sentence that man is greater than he knows, and -that completer realization of his full possibilities lies accessible to -his subconscious and superconscious powers. Herein he saw, indeed, the -chief hope of progress for humanity. - -And it was to the failures, the diseased, the evil and the broken -that he owed chiefly his inspiring optimism, since it was largely in -collapse that occurred the sporadic upheaval of those super-normal -forces which, controlled, co-ordinated, led, must eventually bring -about the realization he foresaw. - -The purpose, however, of these notes is not to furnish a sensational -story of various patients whom he studied, healed, or failed to heal. -Its object is to give some details of one case in particular whose -outstanding peculiarities affected his theories and convictions, -leaving him open-minded still, but with a breath of awe in his heart -perhaps, before a possibility his previous knowledge had ruled entirely -out of court, even if--which is doubtful--he had ever considered it as -a possibility at all. - -He had realized early that the individual manifests but an -insignificant portion of his being in his ordinary existence, the -normal self being the tip of his consciousness only, yet whose fuller -expression rises readily to adequate evocation; and it was the study -of genius, of prodigies, so-called, and of certain faculties shown -sometimes in hysteria, that led him to believe these were small jets -from a sea of power that might, indeed ought, to be realizable at -will. The phenomena all pointed, he believed, to powers that seemed as -superior to cerebral functions as they were independent of these. - -Man's possible field of being, in other words, seemed capable of -indefinite extension. His heart glowed within him as he established, -step by step, these greater powers. He dared to foresee a time when the -limitations of separate personality would have been destroyed, and the -vast brotherhood of the race become literally realized, its practical -unity accomplished. - -The difficulties were endless and discouraging. The inventive powers of -the bigger self, its astonishing faculty for dramatizing its content in -every conceivable form, blocked everywhere the search for truth. - -It could, he found, also detach a portion of its content into a series -of separate personalities, each with its individual morals, talents, -tendencies, each with its distinct and separate memory. These fragments -it could project, so to speak, masquerading convincingly as separate -entities, using strange languages, offering detailed knowledge of -other conditions, distant in time and space, suggesting, indeed, to -the unwary that they were due to obsessing spirits, and leaving the -observer in wonder before the potential capacity of the central self -disgorging them. - -The human depths included, beyond mere telepathy and extended -telepathy, an expansion of consciousness so vast as to be, apparently, -limitless. The past, on rare occasions even the future, lay open; the -entire planetary memory, stored with rich and pregnant accumulated -experience, was accessible and shareable. New aspects of space and time -were equally involved. A vision of incredible grandeur opened gradually -before his eyes. - -The surface consciousness of to-day was really rather a trumpery -affair; the gross lethargy of the vast majority _vis a vis_ the -greater possibilities afflicted him. To this surface consciousness -alone was so-called evil possible--as ignorance. As "ugly is only -half-way to a thing," so evil is half-way to good. With the greater -powers must come greater knowledge, shared as by instantaneous wireless -over the entire planet, and misunderstanding, chief obstacle to -progress always, would be impossible. A huge unity, sense of oneness -must follow. Moral growth would accompany the increase of faculty. -And here and there, it seemed to him, the surface ice had thawed -already a little; the pressure of the great deeps below caused cracks -and fissures. Auto-suggestion, prototype of all suggestion, offered -mysterious hints of the way to reach the stupendous underworld, as the -Christian Scientists, the miraculous healers, the New Thought movement, -saints, prophets, poets, artists, were finding out. - -The subliminal, to state it shortly, might be the divine. This was the -hope, though not yet the actual belief, that haunted and inspired him. -Behind his personality lurked this strange gigantic dream, ever beating -to get through.... - -In his Private Home, helping, healing, using his great gifts of -sympathy and insight, he at the same time found the material for -intimate study and legitimate experiment he sought. The building -had been altered to suit his exact requirements; there were private -suites, each with its door and staircase to the street; one part of it -provided his own living quarters, shut off entirely from the patients' -side; in another, equally cut off and self-contained, yet within easy -communication of his own rooms, lived Paul Devonham, his valued young -assistant. There was a third private suite as well. The entire expenses -he defrayed himself. - -Here, then, for a year or two he worked indefatigably, with the measure -of success and failure he anticipated; here he dreamed his great dream -of the future of the race, in whose progress and infinite capacities -he hopefully believed. Work was his love, the advancement of humanity -his god. The war availed itself of his great powers, as also of his -ready-made establishment, both of which he gave without a thought of -self. New material came as well from the battlefields into his ken. - -The effect of the terrible five years upon him was in direct proportion -to his sincerity. His mind was not the type that shirks conclusions, -nor fears to look facts in the face. For really new knowledge he was -ever ready to yield all previous theories, to scrap all he had held -hitherto for probable. His mind was open, he sought only Truth. - -The war, above all the Peace, shook his optimism. If it did not wholly -shatter his belief in human progress, it proved such progress to be so -slow that his Utopia faded into remotest distance, and his dream of -perfectibility became the faintest possible star in his hitherto bright -sky of hope. - -He felt shocked and stupefied. The reaction was greater than at -first he realized. He had often pitied the mind that, aware only -of its surface consciousness, uninformed by thrill or shift of the -great powers below and above, lived unwarned of its own immenser -possibilities. To such, the evidence for extended human faculties must -seem explicable by fraud, illusion, derangement, to be classed as -abnormal rubbish worthy only of the alienist's attention as diseases. -To him such minds, though able, with big intellects among them, had -ever seemed a prejudiced, fossilized, prehistoric type. Restricted by -their very nature, violently resisting new ideas, they might be intense -within their actual scope, but, with vision denied them, they never -could be really great. - -One effect of the shock he had undergone will be evident by merely -stating that he now understood this type of mind a good deal better -than before. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - -The war was over, though the benefits of the long anticipated peace -still kept provocatively, exasperatingly, out of reach, when, about the -middle of September, Dr. Fillery received a letter that interested him -deeply. - -The shattered world was still distraught, uneasy. Nervously eager to -resume its former activities, it was yet waiting for the word that -should give it the necessary confidence to begin. Doubt, insecurity, -uncertainty everywhere dominated human minds. Those who hoped for a -renewal of the easy, careless mood of pre-war days were dismayed to -find this was impossible; others who had allowed an optimistic idealism -to prophesy a New Age, looked about them bewilderingly and in vain for -signs of its fair birth. The latter, to whom, perhaps, Dr. Fillery -belonged, were more bitterly disappointed, more cruelly shocked, than -the former. The race, it seemed to many unshirking eyes, had leaped -back centuries at a single spring; the gulf of primal savagery which -had gaped wide open for five years, proving the Stone Age close beneath -the surface of so-called civilization, had not yet fully closed. Its -jaws still dripped blood, hatred, selfishness; the Race was still -dislocated by the convincing disproof of progress, horrified at the -fierce reality which had displaced the two-pence coloured dream it had -been complacently worshipping hitherto. Men in the mass undoubtedly -were savages still. - -To Dr. Fillery, an honest, though not a necessarily fundamental -pessimism, seemed justified. He believed in progress still, but as -his habit was, he faced the facts. His attitude lost something of its -original enthusiasm. Looking about him, he saw no big constructive -movement; the figure who more than any other was altering the face -of the world with his ideas as well as his armies, was avowedly -destructive only. He found himself a sobered and a saddened man. - -His Private Home, having accomplished splendid work, had just -discharged its last shell-shocked patient; it was now empty again, -the staff, carefully chosen and proved by long service, dismissed -on holidays, the building itself renovated and repaired against the -arrival later of new patients that were expected. - -Devonham, his assistant, away for a period of rest in Switzerland, -would be back in a week or two, and Dr. Fillery, before resuming his -normal work, found himself with little to do but watch the progress of -the cleaners, painters and carpenters at work. - -Into this brief time of leisure dropped the strange, perplexing letter -with an effect distinctly stimulating. It promised an unusual case, a -patient, if patient the case referred to could properly be called, a -young man "who if you decide after careful reflection to reject, can -be looked after only by the State, which means, of course, an Asylum -for the Insane. I know you are no longer head of the Establishment in -Liverpool, but that you confine yourself to private work along similar -lines, though upon a smaller scale, and that you welcome only cases -that have been given up as hopeless. I honour your courage and your -sympathy, I know your skill. So far as a cure is conceivable, this one -is hopeless certainly, but its unusual, indeed, its unique character, -entitles it, I believe, to be placed among your chosen few. Love, -sympathy, patience, combined with the closest observation, it urgently -demands, and these qualities, associated with unrivalled skill, you -must allow me, again, to think you alone possess among healers and -helpers of strange minds. - -"For over twenty years, in the solitudes of these Jura forests and -mountains, I have cared for him as best I could, and with a devotion a -child of my own might have expected. But now, my end not far away, I -cannot leave him behind me here uncared for, yet the alternative, the -impersonal and formal care of an Institute, must break my heart and -his. I turn to you. - -"My advanced age and growing infirmities, in these days of unkind -travel, prohibit my bringing him over. Can your great heart suggest a -means, since I feel sure you will not refuse the care of this strange -being whose nature and peculiarities indicate your especial care, and -yours alone? Is it too much to wonder if you yourself could come and -see him--here in the remote mountain chalet where I have tended and -cared for him ever since his mother died in bearing him over twenty -years ago? - -"I have taught him what seemed wise and best; I have guarded and -observed him; he knows little or nothing of an outside world of men and -women, and is ignorant of life in the ordinary meaning of the word. -What precisely he may be, to what stratum of consciousness he belongs, -what kind of being he is, I mean...." The last two lines were then -scored through, though left legible. "I feel with Arago, that he is -a rash man who pronounces the word 'impossible' anywhere outside the -sphere of pure mathematics." More sentences were here scored through. - -"Dare I say--to you, as master, teacher, great open-minded soul--that -to _human_ life, as we know it, he does not, perhaps, belong? - -"In writing--in this letter--I find it impossible to give you full -details. I had intended to set them down; my pen refuses; in the -plain English at my disposal--well, simply, it is not credible. But I -have kept full notes all these years, and the notes belong to you. I -enclose an imperfect painting I made of him some four years ago. I am -no artist; for background you must imagine what lay beyond my little -skill--the blazing glory of the immense wood-fires that he loves to -make upon the open mountain side, usually at dawn after a night of -prayer and singing, while waiting for the strange power he derives -(as we all do, indeed, at second or third hand), from the worship of -what is to him his mighty father, the life-giving sun. Wind, as the -'messengers' of the sun, he worships too.... Both sun and wind, that -is, produce an unusual state approaching ecstasy. - -"Counting upon you, I have hypnotized him, suggesting that he forget -all the immediate past (in fact to date), and telling him he will like -you in place of me--though with him it is an uncertain method. - -"I am now old in years. I have lived and loved, suffered and dreamed -like most of us; my hands have been warmed at the fires of life, of -which, let me add, I am not ignorant. You have known, I believe, -my serious, as also my lighter imaginative books; my occasional -correspondence with your colleague Paul Devonham has been of help and -guidance to me. We are not, therefore, wholly strangers. - -"The twenty years spent in these solitudes among simple peasant folk, -with a single object of devotion to fill my days, have been, I would -tell you, among the best of my long existence. My renouncement of the -world was no renouncement. I am enriched with wonder and experience -that amaze me, for the world holds possibilities few have ever dreamed -of, and that I myself, filled as I am with the memory of their -contemplation, can hardly credit even now. Perhaps in an earlier stage -of evolution, as Delboeuf believes, man was fully aware of _all_ that -went on within himself--a region since closed to us, owing to attention -being increasingly directed outwards. Into some such region I have had -a glimpse, it seems. I feel sometimes there was as much fact as fancy, -perhaps, in the wise old Hebrew who stated poetically--recently, too, -compared with the stretch of time my science deals with--'The Sons of -God took to themselves daughters of the children of men...." - -The letter here broke off, as though interrupted by something -unexpected and unusual; it was signed, indeed, "John Mason," but signed -in pencil and at the bottom of an unwritten blank sheet. It had not -all been written, either, at one time, or on the same day; there were -intervals, evidently, perhaps of hours, perhaps of days, between the -paragraphs. Dr. Fillery read, re-read, then read again the strange -epistle, coming each time to the same conclusion--the writer was dying -in the very act of forming the last sentences. Their incoherence, the -alteration in the style, were thus explained. He had felt the end of -life so close that he had written his signature, probably addressed the -envelope as well, knowing the page might never be filled up. It had not -been filled up. - -Something behind the phrases, behind the intensity of the actual -words, beyond the queer touches that revealed a mind betrayed by -solitude, the hints possibly of a deluded intelligence--there was -something that rang true and stimulated him more than ordinarily. The -reference to Devonham, too, was definite enough. Dr. Fillery remembered -vaguely a correspondence during recent crowded years with a man named -Mason, living away in Switzerland somewhere, and that Devonham had -asked him questions from time to time about what he called, with his -rough-and-ready and half-humorous classification, "pagan obsession," -"worshipper of fire and wind," referring it to the writer of the -letters, named John Mason. "Non-human delusion," he had also called it -sometimes. They had come to refer to it, he remembered, as "N. H." in -fact. - -He now looked up those Notes, for the mention of the books caused him -an uncomfortable feeling of neglected opportunity, and John Mason was -an honoured name. - -"You know, I believe ... my books," the writer said. Could this -be, he asked himself anxiously, John Mason, the eminent geologist? -Had Devonham not realized who he was? Must he blame his assistant, -whose jealous care and judgment saved him so many foolish, futile, -un-real cases, reserving what was significant and important only? - -The Notes established his mistakes and his assistant's--perhaps -intentional?--ignorance. The writer of this curious letter was -unquestionably the author of those fairy books for children, old -and young, whose daring speculations had suggested that other types -and races, ages even before the Neanderthal man, had dwelt side by -side with what is known as modern man upon this time-worn planet. -Behind the literary form of legend and fairy tale, however, lay a -curious conviction. Atlantis was of yesterday compared with earlier -civilizations, now extinct by fire and flood and general upheaval, -which once may have inhabited the globe. The present evolutionary -system, buttressed by Darwin and the rest, was but a little recent -insignificant series, trivial both in time and space, when set beside -the mightier systems that had come and gone. Their evidence he -found, not in clumsy fossils and footprints on cooled rocks, but in -the _minds_ of those who had followed and eventually survived them: -memories of Titan Wars and mighty beings, and gods and goddesses of -non-human kind, to whose different existence the physical conditions of -an over-heated planet presented no impossibility. The human species, -this trumpery, limited, self-satisfied super-animal man, was not the -only type of being. - -Yet John Mason, in his day, had held the chair at Edinburgh University, -his lectures embodied common-sense and knowledge, with acutest -imaginative insight. His earliest writings were the text-books of the -time. His name, when Edward Fillery was medical student there, still -hovered like well-loved incense above the old-town towers. - -The Notes now intrigued him. No blame attached to Devonham for having -missed the cue, Devonham could not know everything; geology was not in -his line of work and knowledge; and Mason was a common name. Rather -he blamed himself for not having been struck by the oddness of the -case--the Mason letters, the pagan obsession, worshipper of wind and -fire, the strange "N. H." - -"A competent indexer, at any rate," he said to himself with a smile, as -he turned up the details easily. - -These were very scanty. Devonham evidently had deemed the case of -questionable value. The letters from Mason, with the answers to them, -he could not find. - -The slight record was headed "_Mason_, John," followed by an -address "Chez Henri Petavel, peasant, Jura Mountains, Vaud, French -Switzerland," and details how to reach this apparently remote valley by -mule and carriage and foot-path. Name of Mason's protege not given. - -"_Sex, male_; age--born 1895; parentage, couple of mystical -temperament, sincere, but suffering from marked delusions, believers in -Magic (various, but chiefly concerned with Nature and natural forces, -once known, forgotten to-day, of immense potency, accessible to certain -practices of logical but undetailed kind, able apparently to intensify -human consciousness). - -"_Subject_, of extremely quick intelligence, yet betrays ignorance of -human conditions; intelligence superior to human, though sometimes -inferior; long periods of quiescence, followed by immense, almost -super-human, activity and energy; worships fire and air, chiefly the -former, calling the sun his father and deity. - -"Abhors confined space; this shown by intense desire for heat, which, -together with free space (air), seem conditions of well-being. - -"Fears (as in claustrophobia) both water and solidity (anything -massive). - -"Has great physical power, yet indifferent to its use; women -irresistibly attracted to him, but his attitude towards other sex seems -one of gentleness and pity; love means nothing. Has, on the other hand, -extraordinarily high ideal of service. Is puzzled by quarrels and -differences of personal kind. Half-memories of vast system of myriad -workers, ruled by this ideal of harmonious service. Faithful, true, -honest; falseness or lies impossible ... lovable, pathetic, helpless -type----" - -The Notes broke off abruptly. - -Dr. Fillery, wondering a little that his subordinate's brief but -suggestive summary had never been brought to his notice before, turned -a moment to glance at the rough water-colour drawing he held in his -hand. He looked at it for some moments with absorption. The expression -of his face was enigmatical. He was more than surprised that Devonham -had not drawn his attention to the case in detail. Placing his hand so -as to hide the lower portion of the face, he examined the eyes, then -turned the portrait upside down, gazing at the eyes afresh. He seemed -lost in thought for a considerable time. A faint flush stole into his -cheek, and a careful observer might have noticed an increase of light -about the skin. He sighed once or twice, and presently, laying the -portrait down again, he turned back to the _dossier_ upon the table in -front of him. - -"Very accurate and careful," he said to himself with satisfaction as -he noticed the date Devonham had set against the entries--"June 20th, -1914." - -The war, therefore, had interrupted the correspondence. - -Devonham had made further notes of his own in the margin here and there: - -"Does this originate primarily from Mason's mind, communicated thence -to his protege?" He agreed with his assistant's query. - -"If so, was it transferred to Mason's mind before that? By the father -or mother? The mother was, obviously, his--Mason's--great love. Yet the -father was his life friend. Mason's great passion was suppressed. He -never told it. It found no outlet." - -"Admirable," was the comment spoken below his breath. - -"Boy born as result of some 'magical' experiment intensely believed -(not stated in detail), during course of which father died suddenly. - -"Mason tended mother, then lived alone in remote place where all had -occurred. - -"Did Mason inherit entire content of parents' beliefs, dramatizing this -by force of unexpressed but passionate love? - -"Did not Mason's mind, thus charged, communicate whole business to the -young mind he has since formed, a plastic mind uninfluenced by normal -human surroundings and conditions of ordinary life? - -"Transfer of a sex-inspired mania?" - -Then followed another note, summarizing evidently Devonham's judgment: - -"Not worth F.'s investigation until examined further. N.B.--Look up -Mason first opportunity and judge at first hand." - -Dr. Fillery, glancing from the papers to the portrait, smiled a little -again as he signified approval. - -But the last entry interested him still more. It was dated July 13, -1914. - -"Mason reports boy's prophecy of great upheaval coming. Entire -race slips back into chaos of primitive life again. Entire Western -Civilization crumbles. Modern inventions and knowledge vanish. Nature -spirits reappear.... Desires return of all previous letters. These sent -by registered post." - -A few scattered notes on separate sheets of paper lay at the end of -the carefully typed _dossier_, but these were very incomplete, and -Devonham's handwriting, especially when in pencil, was not of the -clearest. - -"Non-human claim, though absurd, not traceable to any antecedent -causes given by letters. What is Mason's past mental and temperamental -history? Is he not, through the parents, the cause? Mania seems -harmless, both to subject and others. No suffering or unhappiness. -Therefore not a case for F., until further examined by self. Better see -Mason and his subject first. Wrote July 24th proposing visit." - -Dr. Fillery's eyes twinkled. His forehead relaxed. He looked back. He -remembered details. Devonham's holiday that year, he recalled, was -due on August 1st; he had intended going out mountain climbing in -Switzerland. - -The final note of all, also in half-legible writing, seemed to refer -to the treatment Mason had asked advice about, and the line Devonham -had suggested: - -"Natural life close to Nature cannot hurt him. But I advise watch him -with fire and with heights--heat, air! That is, he may decide his -physical body is irksome and seek to escape it. Teach him natural -history--botany, geology, insects, animals, even astronomy, but always -giving him reasons and explanations. _Above all_--let him meet girls of -his own age and fall in love. Fullest natural expression, but guarded -without his knowing it...." - -For a long time Dr. Fillery sat with the notes and papers before him, -thinking over what he had read. Devonham's advice was clever enough, -but without insight, sound and astute, yet lacking divination. - -The twinkle in his eyes, caused by the final entry, died away. His -face was grave, his manner preoccupied, intense. He gazed long at the -portrait in his hand.... It was dusk when he finally rose, replaced -the _dossier_, locked the cabinet, and went out into another room, and -thence into the hall. Taking his hat and stick, he left the house, -already composing in his mind the telegram instructing Devonham, while -apologizing for the interrupted holiday, to bring the subject of the -Notes to England with him. A telegraph girl met him on the very steps -of the house. He took the envelope from her, and opened it. He read the -message. It was dated Bale, the day before: - - "Arriving end week with interesting patient. Details index - under Mason. Prepare private suite. - "DEVONHAM." - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -It was, however, some two weeks later before Dr. Fillery was on his -way to the station to meet Devonham and his companion. A slight delay, -caused apparently by the necessity of buying an outfit, had intervened -and given time for an exchange of letters, but Devonham had contented -himself chiefly with telegrams. He did not wish his chief to know -too much about the case in advance. "Probably he regrets the Notes -already," thought the doctor, as the car made its way slowly across -crowded London. "He wants my first unbiased judgment; he's right, of -course, but it's too late for that now." - -The delay, however, had been of value. The Home was in working order -again, the staff returned, the private suite all ready for its -interesting occupant, whom in thought he had already named "N. H."; for -in the first place he did not know his name as yet, and in the second -he felt towards him a certain attitude of tolerant, half-humorous -scepticism. - -Cut off from his own kind for so many years, educated, perhaps -half-educated only, by too speculative and imaginative a mind, -equally warped by this long solitude, a mind unduly stretched by the -contemplation of immense geological perspectives, filled, too, with -heaven knows what strange stories of pantheistic Nature-feeling--"N. -H." might be distinctly interesting, but hardly all that Mason had -thought him. "Unique" was a word rarely justified; the peculiarities -would prove to be mere extravagances that had, of necessity, remained -uncorrected by the friction of intercourse with his own kind. The rest -was inheritance, equally unpruned; a mind living in a side-eddy, a -backwater with Nature.... - -At the same time Dr. Fillery admitted a certain anticipatory excitement -he could not wholly account for, an undercurrent of wonder he ascribed -to his Khaketian blood. - -He had written once only to his assistant, sending briefest -instructions to say the rooms would be ready, and that the young man -must believe he was an invited guest coming on a visit. "Let him expect -complete freedom of movement and occupation without the smallest idea -of restraint in any way. He is merely coming to stay for as long as -he pleases with a friend of Mason. Impress him with a sense of hearty -welcome." And Devonham, replying, had evidently understood the wisdom -of this method. "He is also greatly pleased with your name--the sound -of it," was stated in the one letter that he wrote, "and as names mean -a lot to him, so much the better. The sound of it gives him pleasure; -he keeps repeating it over to himself; he already likes you. My name he -does not care about, saying it quickly, sharply. But he trusts me. His -trust in anyone who shows him kindness is instantaneous and complete. -He invariably expects kindness, however, from everyone--gives it -himself equally--and is baffled and puzzled by any other treatment." - -So Devonham, with "N. H.", who attached importance to names and -expected kindness from people as a natural thing, would be in London -town within the hour. Straight from his forests and mountains for the -first time in his life, he would find himself in the heart of the -greatest accumulation of human beings on the planet, the first city of -the world, the final expression of civilization as known to the human -race. - -"'N. H.' in London town," thought Dr. Fillery, his mouth twitching -with the smile that began in his quiet eyes. "Bless the lad! We must -make him feel at home and happy. He shall indeed have kindness. He'll -need a woman's touch as well." He reflected a moment. "Women are a -great help in doubtful cases--the way a man reacts to them," he mused. -"Only they must be distinct in type to be of value." And his mind ran -quickly, comprehensively over the women of his acquaintance, pausing, -as it did so, upon two in particular--a certain Lady Gleeson, and -Iraida--sometimes called Nayan--Khilkoff, the daughter of his Russian -friend, the sculptor. - -His mind pondered for some moments the two he had selected. It was not -the first time he had made use of them. Their effect respectively upon -a man was invariably instinctive and illuminating. - -The two were radically different feminine types, as far removed from -one another as pole from pole, yet each essentially of her sex. Their -effect, respectively, upon such a youth must be of value, and might be -even illuminating to the point of revelation. Both, he felt sure, would -not be indifferent to the new personality. - -It was, however, of Nayan Khilkoff that he thought chiefly. Of that -rare, selfless, maternal type which men in all ages have called saint -or angel, she possessed that power which evoked in them all they could -feel of respect, of purity, of chivalry, that love, in a word, which -holds as a chief ingredient, worship. Her beauty, beyond their reach, -was of the stars; it was the unattainable in her they loved; her beauty -was of the soul. Nayan was spiritual, not as a result of painful effort -and laborious development, but born so. Her life, moreover, was one of -natural service. Personal love, exclusive devotion to an individual, -concentration of her being upon another single being--this seemed -impossible to her. She was at the same time an enigma: there was an -elusive flavour about her that made people a little in awe of her, a -flavour not of this earth, quite. She carried an impersonal attitude -almost to the point of seeming irresponsive to common human things and -interests. - -The other woman, Lady Gleeson, Angela her Christian name, was equally -a simple type, though her simplicity was that of the primitive female -who is still close to the Stone Age--a savage. She adorned herself to -capture men. She was the female spider that devours its mates. She -wanted slaves. To describe her as selfish were inadequate, for she was -unaware that any other ideal existed in life but that of obtaining -her own pleasure. There was instinct and emotion, but, of course, no -heart. Without morals, conscience or consideration, she was the animal -of prey that obeys the call of hunger in the most direct way possible, -regardless of consequences to herself or others. Her brain was quick, -her personality shallow. When talking she "rattled on." Devonham had -well said once: "You can hear her two thoughts clicking, both of them -in trousers!" Sir George, recently knighted, successful with large -concessions in China, was indulgent. The male splendour of the youth -was bound to stimulate her hunger, as his simplicity, his loneliness, -and in a sense his pathetic helplessness, would certainly evoke the -tenderness in Nayan. "He'll probably like her dear, ridiculous name, -too," Dr. Fillery felt, "the nickname they gave her because she's the -same to everybody, whichever way you take her--Nayan Khilkoff." Yet -her real name was more beautiful--Iraida. And, as he repeated it half -aloud, a soft light stole upon his face, shone in the deep clear eyes, -and touched even the corners of the rather grim mouth with another, a -tenderer expression, before the sternness quickly returned to it. - -"N. H." would meet, thus, two main types of female life. He, apparently -an exceedingly male being, would face the onslaught of passion and -heart, of lust and love, respectively; and it was his reactions to -these onslaughts that Fillery wished to observe. They would help his -diagnosis, they might guide his treatment. - -It was a warm and muggy afternoon, the twilight passing rapidly into -darkness now; one of those late autumn days when summer heat flits -back, but light is weak. The covered sky increased the clammy warmth, -which was damp, unhealthy, devitalizing. No wind stirred. The great -city was sticky and depressing. Yet people approved the heat, although -it tired them. "It shortens the winter, anyhow," was the general -verdict, when expressed at all. They referred unconsciously to the -general dread of strikes. - -London was hurried and confused. An air of feverish overcrowding -reigned in the great station, when he left the car and went in on foot. -No sign of order, system, direction, was visible. The scene might have -been a first rehearsal of some entirely new experiment. Grumbling and -complaint rose from all sides in an exasperated chorus. He tried to -ascertain how late the train was and on which platform it might be -expected, but no one knew for certain, and the grudging replies to -questions seemed to say, "You've no right to ask anything, and if you -keep on asking there will be a strike. So that's that!" - -He listened to the talk and watched the facial expressions and the -movements of the half-resigned and half-excited concourse of London -citizens. The clock was accurate, and everyone was kind to ladies; -stewed tea, stale cake with little stones in it, vile whisky and very -weak beer were obtainable at high prices. There were no matches. The -machine for supplying platform-tickets was broken. He saw men paying -more thought and attention to the comfort of their dogs than to their -own. The great, marvellous, stupid, splendid race was puzzled and -exasperated. Then, suddenly, the train pulled in, full of returned -exiles longing to be back again in "dear old England." - -"Thank God, it's come," sighed the crowd. "Good! We're English. Forgive -and forget!" and prepared to tip the porters handsomely and carry their -own baggage. - -The confusion that followed was equally characteristic, and equally -remarkable, displaying greatness side by side with its defects. There -was no system; all was muddled, yet all was safe. Anyone could claim -what luggage they liked, though no one did so, nor dreamed, it seemed, -of doing so. There was an air of decent honesty and trust. There were -ladies who discovered that all men are savages; there were men--and -women--who were savages. People shook hands warmly, smiled with honest -affection, said light, careless good-byes that hid genuine emotion; -helped one another with parcels, offered one another lifts. There -were few taxicabs, one perhaps to every thirty people. And in this -general scrimmage, Dr. Fillery, at first, could see no sign of his -expected arrivals; he walked from end to end of the platform littered -with luggage and thronged with bustling people, but nowhere could he -discover the familiar outline of Devonham, nor anyone who answered to -the strange picture that already stood forth sharply in his mind. - -"There's been a mistake somewhere," he said to himself; "I shall find -a telegram when I get back to the house explaining it"--when, suddenly -and without apparent cause, there stole upon him a curious lift of -freedom--a sharp sense of open spaces he was at a loss to understand. -It was accompanied by an increase of light. For a second it occurred -to him that the great enclosing roof had rolled back and blown away, -letting in air and some lost ray of sunshine. A lovely valley flitted -across his thought. Almost he was aware of flowers, of music, of -rhythmic movement. - -"Edward! there you are. I thought you hadn't come," he heard close -behind him, and, turning, saw the figure of Devonham, calm and alert as -usual. At his side stood a lean, virile outline of a young man, topping -Devonham by several inches, with broad but thin shoulders, figure -erect yet flexible, whose shining and inquiring eyes of blue were the -most striking feature in a boyish face, where strength, intensity and -radiant health combined in an unusual degree. - -"Here is our friend, LeVallon," added Devonham, but not before the -figure had stepped lightly and quickly forward, already staring at him -and shaking his outstretched hand. - -So this was "N. H.," and LeVallon was his name. The calm, searching -eyes held a touch of bewilderment in them, the eyes of an honest, -intelligent animal, thought Fillery quickly, adding in spite of -himself and almost simultaneously, "but of a divine animal." It was -a look he had never in his life before encountered in any human -eyes. Mason's water-colour sketch had caught something, at least, of -their innocence and question, of their odd directness and intensity, -something, too, of the golden fire in the hair. He wore a broad-brimmed -felt hat of Swiss pattern, a Bernese overcoat, a low, soft-collared -shirt, with blue tie to match. - -Buffeted and pushed by the frenzied travellers, they stood and faced -each other, shaking hands, eyes looking into eyes, two strangers, -doctor and patient possibly, but friends most certainly, both felt -instantly. They liked one another. Once again the scent of flowers -danced with light above the piled-up heaps of trunks, rugs, packages. A -cool wind from mountains seemed to blow across the dreadful station. - -"You've arrived safely," began Dr. Fillery, a little taken aback -perhaps. "Welcome! And not too tired, I hope----" when the other -interrupted him in a man's deep voice, full of pleasant timbre: - -"Fill-er-y," he said, making the "F" sound rather long, "I need you. To -see you makes me happy." - -"Tired," put in Devonham breathlessly, "good heavens, not he! But I am. -Now for a porter and the big luggage. Have you got a taxi?" - -"The car is here," said Fillery, letting go with a certain reluctance -the hand he held, and paying little attention to anything but the -figure before him who used such unexpected language. What was it? What -did it mean? Whence came this sudden sense of intensity, light, of -order, system, intelligence into the racial scene of muddled turmoil -all about him? There seemed an air of speeding up in thought and action -near him, compared to which the slow stupidity, unco-ordinated and -confused on all sides, became painful, gross, and even ludicrous. - -Someone bumped against him with violence, but quite needlessly, since -the simplest judgment of weight and distance could have avoided the -collision. In such ordinary small details he was aware of another, a -higher, standard close. A man on his left, trying to manage several -bundles, appeared vividly as of amazing incompetence, with his -miscalculation, his clumsy movement, his hopeless inability to judge -cause and effect. Yet he had two arms, ten fingers, two legs, broad -shoulders and deep chest. Misdirection of his great strength made it -impossible for him to manage the assortment of light parcels. Next -to him, however, stood a woman carrying a baby--there was no error -there. The panting engine just beyond them, again, set a standard of -contemptuous, impersonal intelligence that, obeying Nature's laws, -dwarfed the humans generally. But it was another, a quasi-spiritual -standard that had flashed to him above all. In some curious way -the competent "dead" machinery that obeyed the Law with faultless -efficiency, and the woman obeying instinct with equally unconscious -skill--these two energies were akin to the new standard he was now -startlingly aware of. - -He looked up, as though to trace this sudden new consciousness of -bright, quick, rapid competence--almost as of some immense power -building with consistent scheme and system--that had occurred to him; -and he met again the direct, yet slightly bewildered eyes that watched -him, watched him with confidence, sweetness, and with a questioning -intensity he found intriguing, captivating, and oddly stimulating. He -felt happiness. - -"By yer leave!" roared a porter, as they stepped aside just in time to -save being pushed by the laden truck--just in time to save himself, -that is, for the other, Fillery noticed, moved like a chamois on its -native rocks, so surely, lightly, swiftly was he poised. - -"This! Ah, you must excuse it," the doctor exclaimed with a smile of -apology almost, "we've not yet had time to settle down after the war, -you see." He pointed with a sweep of his hand to the roaring, dim-lit -cavern where confusion reigned supreme, the G.H.Q. of travel in the -biggest city of the Empire. - -"I've got a porter," cried Devonham, beckoning vigorously a little -further down the platform. "You wait there. I'll be along in a minute -with the stuff." He was hot, flustered, exhausted. - -"You struggle. It was like this all the way. Is there no knowledge?" -LeVallon asked in his deep, quiet tones. - -"We do," said Fillery. "With us life is always struggle. But there is -more system than appears. The confusion is chiefly on the surface." - -"It is dark and there is so little air," observed the other. "And they -all work against each other." - -Fillery laughed into the other's eyes; they laughed together; and it -seemed suddenly to the doctor that their beings somehow merged, so -that, for a second, he knew the entire content of his companion's -mind--as if there was nothing in LeVallon he did not understand. - -"You--are a builder," LeVallon said abruptly. But as he said it his -companion caught, on the wing as it were, another meaning. He became -curiously aware of the smallness, of the remote insignificance of the -little planet whereon this dialogue took place, yet at the same time of -its superb seductive loveliness. In him rose a feeling, as on wings, -that he was not chained in his familiar, daily personality, but that an -immense, delicious freedom lay within reach. He could be everywhere at -once. He could do everything. - -"Wait here while I help Devonham. Then we'll get into the car and be -off." He moved away, threading a path with difficulty. - -"I wait in peace. I am happy," was the reply. - -And with those few phrases, uttered in the quiet, deep voice, sounding -in his ears and in his very blood, the older man went towards the spot -where Devonham struggled with a porter, a pile of nondescript luggage -and a truck: "I wait in peace.... You struggle, you work against each -other.... It is dark, there is little air.... You are a builder...." - -But not these singular words alone remained alive in his mind; there -remained in his heart the sense of that vitality of open spaces, keen -air and brighter light he had experienced--and, with it, the security -of some higher, faultless standard. His brain, indeed, had recognized -a consciousness of swifter reactions, of surer movements, of more -intelligent co-ordination, compared to which the people about him -behaved like stupid, almost like half-witted beings, the one exception -being the instinctive action of the mother in carrying her baby, and -the other, the impersonal, accurate, competence of the dead machinery. - -But, more than this reasoned change, there burned suddenly in his heart -an inexplicable exhilaration and brightness, a wonder that he could -attribute only to another mode of life. His Khaketian blood, he knew, -might be responsible for part of it, but not for all. The invigorating -mountain wind, the sunlight, the rhythmic sound, the scent of wild -flowers, these were his own personal interpretations of a quickened -sense he could not analyse as yet. As he held the young man's hand, -as he gazed into his direct blue eyes, this sense had increased in -intensity. LeVallon had some marvellous quality or power that was new -to him, while yet not entirely unfamiliar. What was it? And how did the -youth perceive this sense in him so surely that he took its presence -for granted, accepted, even played upon it? He experienced, as it were, -a brilliant intensification of spirit. Some portion of him already knew -exactly what LeVallon was. - -Across the ugly turmoil and confusion of the huge dingy railway -terminus had moved wondrously some simple power that brought -in--Beauty. Some very deep and ancient conception had touched him and -gone its way again. The stupendous beauty of a simple, common day -appeared to him. His subconscious being, of course, was deeply stirred. -That was the truth, phrase it as he might. His heart was lifted as by -a primal wind at dawn upon some mountain top. The heaviness of the -day was gone. Fatigue, too, vanished. The "civilized" folk appeared -contemptible and stupid. Something direct from Nature herself poured -through him. And it was from the atmosphere of LeVallon this new -vitality issued radiating. - -He found a moment or two, while alone with Devonham, to exchange a few -hurried sentences. As they bent over bags and bundles he asked quick -questions. These questions and answers between the two experienced men -were brief but significant: - -"Yes, quiet as a lamb. Just be kind and sympathetic. You looked up the -Notes? Well, that can't be helped now, though I had rather you knew -nothing. My mistake, of course." - -"The content of his mind is accessible to me--telepathically--in any -case." - -"But at one remove more distant, because unexpressed." - -Fillery laughed. "Quite right. I admit it's a pity. But tell me more -about him--anything I ought to know--at once." - -"Quiet as a lamb, I told you," repeated the other, "and most of the -way over too. But puzzled--my God, Edward, his criticisms would make -a book." - -"Normal? Intelligent criticisms?" - -"Intelligent above ordinary. Normal--no." - -"Hysteria?" - -"Not a sign." - -"Health?" - -"Perfect, magnificent, as you see. He's less tired now than when we -started three days ago, whereas I'm fagged out, though in climbing -condition." - -"Origin of delusions--any indication?" - -Devonham looked up quickly. His eyes flashed a peculiarly searching -glance--something watchful in it perhaps. "No delusion at all of any -sort. As for origin of his ideas--the parents probably, but stimulated -and allowed unchecked growth by Mason. Affected by Nature beyond -anything _we_ know." - -"By Nature. Ah!" He checked himself. "And what peculiarities?" he -asked. - -"His terror of water, for instance. Crossing the Channel he was like a -frightened child. He hid from it, kept his hands over his eyes even, so -as not to see it." - -"Give any reason?" - -"All he said was 'It is unknown, an enemy, and can destroy me, I cannot -understand its secret ways. Fire and wind are not in it. I cannot work -with it.' No, it was not fear of drowning that he meant. He found -comfort, too, in the repetition of your name." - -"Appetite, pulse, temperature?" asked Fillery, after a brief pause. - -"First two very strong; temperature always slightly above normal." - -"Other peculiarities?" - -"He became rather excited before a lighted match once--tried to kneel, -almost, but I stopped it." - -"Fire?" - -"That's it. Instinct of worship presumably." - -The barrow was laden, the porter was asking where the car was. They -prepared to move back to the companion, whom Fillery had never failed -to observe carefully over his shoulder during this rapid conversation. -"N. H." had not moved the whole time: he stood quietly, looking about -him, a curious figure, aloof somehow from his surroundings, so tall -and straight and unconcerned he seemed, yet so poised, alert, virile, -vigorous. It was not his clothes that made him appear unusual, nor was -it his eyes and hair alone, though all three contributed their share. -Yet he seemed dressed up, his clothes irksome to him. He was uncommon, -an attractive figure, and many a pair of eyes, female eyes especially, -Fillery noticed, turned to examine him with undeniable curiosity. - -"And women?" the doctor asked quickly in a lowered voice, as they -followed the porter's barrow towards LeVallon, who already smiled at -their approach--the most engaging, trustful, welcoming smile that -Fillery had ever seen upon a human countenance. - -He lowered his head to catch the reply. But Devonham only laughed and -shrugged his shoulders. "All attracted," he mumbled in a half whisper, -"and eager to help him." - -"And he----?" - -"Gentle, astonished, but indifferent, oh, supremely indifferent." - -LeVallon came forward to meet them, and Fillery took his hand and led -him to the car. The luggage was bundled in, some behind and some on the -roof. Fillery and LeVallon sat side by side. The car started. - -"We shall get home in half an hour," the doctor mentioned, turning to -his companion. "We'll have a good dinner and then get to bed. You are -hungry, I know." - -"Thank you," was the reply, "thank you, dear Fillery. I want sleep -most. Will there be trees and air near me? And stars to see?" - -"Your windows open on to a garden with big trees, there will be plenty -of fresh air, and you will hear the sparrows chattering at dawn. But -London, of course, is not the country. Oh, we'll make you comfortable, -never fear." - -"Dear Fillery, I thank you," said LeVallon quietly, and without more -ado lay back among the soft cushions and closed his eyes. Hardly a -word was said the whole way out to the north-west suburb, and when -they arrived the "patient" was too overcome with sleep to wish to eat. -He went straight to his room, found a hot bath into which he tumbled -first, and then leaped into his bed and was sound asleep almost before -the door was closed. Upon a table beside the bed Dr. Fillery, with -his own hands, arranged bread, butter, eggs and a jug of milk in case -of need. Nurse Robbins, an experienced, tactful young woman, he put -in special charge. He thought of everything, divining his friend's -possible needs instinctively, noticing with his keen practised eye -several details for himself at the same time. The splendid physical -condition, frame-work, muscular development he noted--no freakish -bulky masses produced by gymnastic exercises, but the muscles laid -on flowingly, smooth and firm and ample, without a trace of fat, and -the whole in the most admirable proportion possible. The leanness -was deceptive; the body was of immense power. The quick, certain, -unerring movements he noticed too; perfect, swift co-ordination between -brain and physical response, no misdirection, no miscalculation, the -reactions extremely rapid. He thought with a smile of something between -deer and tiger. The poise and balance and accuracy conveyed intense joy -of living. Yet above and beyond these was something else he could not -name, something that stirred in him wonder, love, a touch of awe, and a -haunting suggestion of familiarity. - -He saw him into bed, he saw him actually asleep. The strong blue eyes -looked up into his own with their intense and innocent gaze for a -moment; he held the firm, dry muscular hand; ten seconds later the eyes -were closed in sleep, the grip of the powerful but slender fingers -relaxed. - -"Good night, my friend, and sleep deeply. To-morrow we'll see to -everything you need. Be happy here and comfortable with us, for you are -welcome and we love you." His voice trembled slightly. - -"Good night, dear Fill-er-y," the musical tones replied, and he was off. - -The windows were wide open. "N. H." had thrown aside the pyjamas and -blankets. On this cool, damp night of late autumn he covered his big, -warm, lithe body with a single sheet only. - -Fillery went out quietly, an expression of keen approval and enjoyment -on his face--not a smile exactly, but that look of deep content, -betraying a fine inner excitement of happiness, which is the mother of -all smiles. As he softly opened the door the draught blew through from -the open windows, stirring the white curtains by the bed. It came from -the big damp garden where the trees stood, already nearly leafless, -and where no flowers were. And yet a scent of flowers came faintly -with it. He caught an echo of faint sound like music. There was the -invigorating hint of forests too. It seemed a living wind that blew -into the house. - -Dr. Fillery paused a moment, sniffed with surprise and sharp enjoyment, -listened intently, then switched the light off and went out, closing -the door behind him. There was a flash of wonder in his eyes, and a -thrill of some remote inexplicable happiness ran through his nerves. -An instant of complete comprehension had been his, as if another -consciousness had, for that swift instant, identified itself with his -own. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - -Edward Fillery was glad that Paul Devonham, good friend and skillful -colleague, was his assistant; for Devonham, competent as himself in -knowledge and experience, found explanations for all things, and had -in his natural temperament a quality of sane judgment which corrected -extravagances. - -Devonham was agnostic, because reason ruled his life. Devoid of -imagination, he had no temptations. Speculative, within limits, he -might be, but he belonged not to the unstable. Not that he thought he -knew everything, but that he refused to base action on what he regarded -as unknown. A clue into the unknown he would follow up as keenly, -carefully, as Fillery himself, but he went step by step, with caution, -declining to move further until the last step was of hardened concrete. -To the powers of the subconscious self he set drastic limits, admitting -their existence of course, but attaching small value to their use or -development. His own deeper being had never stirred or wakened. Of -this under-sea, this vast background in himself, he remained placidly -uninformed. A comprehensive view of a problem--the flash of vision -he never knew--thus was perhaps denied him, but so far as he went he -was very safe and sure. And his chief was the first to appreciate his -value. He appreciated it particularly now, as the two men sat smoking -after their late dinner, discussing details of the new inmate of the -Home. - -Fillery, aware of the strong pull upon his own mixed blood, aware of -a half-wild instinctive sympathy towards "N. H.," almost of a natural -desire now, having seen him, to believe him "unique" in several ways, -and, therefore, conscious of a readiness to accept more than any -evidence yet justified--feeling these symptoms clearly, and remembering -vividly his experiences in the railway station, he was glad, for -truth's sake, that Devonham was there to clip extravagance before it -injured judgment. A weak man, aware of his own frailties, excels a -stronger one who thinks he has none at all. The two colleagues were a -powerful combination. - -"In your view, it's merely a case of a secondary--anyhow of a -divided--personality?" he asked, as soon as the other had recovered a -little from his journey, and was digesting his meal comfortably over a -pipe. "You have seen more of him than I have. Of insanity, at any rate, -there is no sign at all, I take it? His relations with his environment -are sound?" - -"None whatever." Devonham answered both questions at once. "Exactly." - -He took off his pince-nez, cleaned them with his handkerchief, and then -replaced them carefully. This gave him time to reflect, as though he -was not quite sure where to begin his story. - -"There are certainly indications," he went on slowly, "of a divided -personality, though of an unusual kind. The margin between the -two--between the normal and the secondary self--is so very slight. -It is not clearly defined, I mean. They sometimes merge and -interpenetrate. The frontier is almost indistinguishable." - -Fillery raised his eyebrows. - -"You feel uncertain which is the main self, and which the split-off -secondary personality?" he inquired, with surprise. - -Devonham nodded. "I'm extremely puzzled," he admitted. "LeVallon's -most marked self, the best defined, the richest, the most fully -developed, seems to me what _we_ should call his Secondary Self--this -'Nature-being' that worships wind and fire, is terrified by a large -body of water, is ignorant of human ways, probably also quite -_un_-moral, yet alive with a kind of instinctive wisdom we credit -usually to the animal kingdom--though far beyond anything animals can -claim----" - -"Briefly, what we mean by the term 'N. H.,'" suggested Fillery, not -anxious for too many details at the moment. - -"Exactly. And I propose we always refer to that aspect of him as -'N. H.,' the other, the normal ordinary man, being LeVallon, his -right name." He smiled faintly. - -"Agreed," replied his chief. "We shall always know then exactly which -one we're talking of at a given moment. Now," he went on, "to come -to the chief point, and before you give me details of what happened -abroad, let me hear your own main conclusion. What is LeVallon? What is -'N. H.'?" - -Devonham hesitated for some time. It was evident his respect for his -chief made him cautious. There was an eternal battle between these -two, keen though always good-natured, even humorous, the victory not -invariably perhaps with the assistant. Later evidence had often proved -Fillery's swifter imagination correct after all, or, alternately, shown -him to be wrong. They kept an accurate score of the points won and lost -by either. - -"You can always revise your conclusions later," Fillery reminded him -slyly. "Call it a preliminary conclusion for the moment. You've not had -time yet for a careful study, I know." - -But Devonham this time did not smile at the rally, and his chief -noticed it with secret approval. Here was something new, big, serious, -it seemed. Devonham, apparently, was already too interested to care who -scored or did not score. His Notes of 1914 indeed betrayed his genuine -zeal sufficiently. - -"LeVallon," he said at length--"to begin with him! I think -LeVallon--without any flavour of 'N. H.'--is a fine specimen of a -normal human being. His physique is magnificent, as you have seen, his -health and strength exceptional. The brain, so far as I have been able -to judge, functions quite normally. The intelligence, also normal, is -much above the average in quickness, receptivity of ideas, and judgment -based on these. The emotional development, however, puzzles me; the -emotions are not entirely normal. But"--he paused again, a grave -expression on his face--"to answer your question as well as my limited -observation of him, of LeVallon, allows--I repeat that I consider him a -normal young man, though with peculiarities and idiosyncrasies of his -own, as with most other normal young fellows who are individuals, that -is," he added quickly, "and not turned out in bundles cut to measure." - -"So much for LeVallon. Now what about 'N. H.'?" - -He repeated the question, fixing the assistant with his steady gaze. He -had noticed the confusion in the reply. - -"My dear Edward----" began Devonham, after a considerable pause. Then -he stuck fast, sighed, settled his glasses carefully upon his aquiline, -sharp nose, and relapsed into silence. His forehead became wrinkled, -his mouth much pursed. - -"Out with it, Paul! This isn't a Court of Law. I shan't behead you if -you're wrong." Yet Fillery, too, spoke gravely. - -The other kept his eyes down; his face still wore a puzzled look. -Fillery detected a new expression on the keen, thoughtful features, and -he was pleased to see it. - -"To give you the truth," resumed his assistant, "and all question -of who is right or who is wrong aside, I tell you frankly--I am not -sure. I confess myself up against it. It--er--gives me the creeps a -little----" He laughed awkwardly. That swift watchful look, as of a man -who plays a part, flashed and vanished. - -"Your feeling, anyhow?" insisted his friend. "Your general feeling?" - -"A general judgment based on general feeling," said the other in a -quiet tone, "has little value. It is based, necessarily, as you know, -upon intuition, which I temperamentally dislike. It has no facts to -go upon. I distrust generalizations." He took a deep breath, inhaled -a lot of smoke, exhaled it with relief, and made an effort. It went -against the grain in him to be caught without an explanation. - -"'N. H.' in my opinion, and so far as my limited observation of him----" - -Fillery allowed himself a laugh of amused impatience. "Leave out the -personal extras for once, and burn your bridges. Tell me finally what -you think about 'N. H.' We're not scoring points now." - -Thus faced with an alternative, Devonham found his sense of humour -again and forgot himself. It cost him an effort, but he obeyed the -bigger and less personal mind. - -"I really don't know exactly _what_ he is," he confessed again. "He -puzzles me completely. It _may_ be"--he shrugged his shoulders, -compelled by his temperament to hedge--"that he represents, as I first -thought, the content of his parents' minds, the subsequent addition of -Mason's mind included." - -"That's possible, usual and comprehensible enough," put in the doctor, -watching him with amused concentration, but with an inner excitement -scarcely concealed. - -"Or" resumed Devonham, "it _may_ be that through these----" - -"Through his mental inheritance from his parents and from Mason, -yes----" - -"----he taps the most primitive stores and layers of racial memory we -know. The world-memory, if I dare put it so, full proof being lacking, -is open to him----" - -"Through his subconscious powers, of course?" - -"That is your usual theory, isn't it? We have there, at any rate, -a working hypothesis, with a great mass of evidence--generally -speaking--behind it." - -"Don't be cynical, Paul. Is this 'N. H.' merely a Secondary -Personality, or is it the real central self? That's the whole point." - -"You jump ahead, as usual," replied Devonham, really smiling for the -first time, though his face instantly grew serious again. "Edward," he -went on, "I do not know, I cannot say, I dare not--dare not guess. 'N. -H.' is something entirely new to me, and I admit it." He seemed to find -his stride, to forget himself. "I feel far from cynical. 'N. H.,' in my -opinion, is exceptional. My notes suggested it long ago. He has, for -instance--at least, so it seems to me--peculiar powers." - -"Ah!" - -"Of suggestion, let us put it." - -"Of suggestion, yes. Get on with it, there's a good fellow. I felt -myself an extraordinary vitality about him. I noticed it at once at -Charing Cross." - -"I saw you did." Devonham looked hard at him. "You were humming to -yourself, you know." - -"I didn't know," was the surprised reply, "but I can well believe it. I -felt a curious pleasure and exhilaration." - -Devonham, shrugging his shoulders slightly, resumed: "During the -'LeVallon' periods he is ordinary, though unusually observant, -critical and intelligent; during the 'N. H.' periods he -becomes--er--super-normal. If you felt this--felt anything in the -station, it was because something in you--called up the 'N. H.' aspect." - -"It's quick of you to guess that," said Fillery, with quick -appreciation. "You noticed a change in me, well--but the other----? He -divined my 'foreign' blood, you think?" - -"It is enough that you responded and felt kinship. Put it that way. 'N. -H.' seems to me"--he took a deeper breath and gave a sort of gasp--"in -some ways--a unique--being--as I said before." - -"Tell me, if you can," said Fillery, lighting his own pipe and settling -back into his chair, "tell me a little about your first meeting with -him in the Jura Mountains, what happened and so forth. I remember, -of course, your Notes. After your telegram, I read 'em carefully." -He glanced round at his companion. "They were very honest, Paul, I -thought. Eh?" He was unable to refuse himself the pleasure of the -little dig. "Honest you always are," he added. "We couldn't work -together otherwise, could we?" - -Devonham, deep in his own thoughts, did not accept the challenge. He -turned in his chair, puffing at his pipe. - -"I can give you briefly what happened and how things went," he said. -"The place, then, first: an ordinary peasant chalet in a remote Jura -valley, difficult of access, situated among what they call the upper -pastures. I reached it by _diligence_ and mule late in the afternoon. -A peasant in a lower valley directed me, adding that 'le monsieur -anglais' was dead and buried two days before----" - -"Mason, that is?" - -The other nodded. "And adding that 'le fou'----" - -"LeVallon, of course?" - -"----would eat me alive at sight. He spoke with respect, however, even -awe. He hoped I had come to take him away. The countryside was afraid -of him. - -"The valley struck me as intolerably lonely, but of unusual beauty. Big -forests, great rocks, and tumbling streams among cliffs and pastures -made it exceptional. The chalet was simple, clean and comfortable. It -was really an ideal spot for a thinker or a student. The first thing I -noticed was a fire burning on a pile of rock in front of the building. -The sun was setting, and its last rays lit the entire little glen--a -mere gully between precipices and forest slopes--but especially lit up -the pile of rocks where the fire burned, so that I saw the smoke, blue, -red and yellow, and the figure kneeling before it. This figure was a -man, half naked, and of magnificent proportions. When I shouted----" - -"You _would_ shout, of course." Yet he did not say it critically. - -"----the figure rose and turned and came to meet me. It was LeVallon." - -Devonham paused a moment. Fillery's eyes were fixed upon him. - -"I admit," Devonham went on, conscious of the other's inquiring and -intent expression, "I was surprised a bit." He smiled his faint, -unwilling smile. "The figure made me start. I was aware of an emotion -I am not subject to--what I called just now the creeps. I thought, at -last, I had really seen a--a vision. He looked so huge, so wonderful, -so radiant. It was, of course, the effect of coloured smoke and -magnifying sunset, added to his semi-nakedness. To the waist he was -stripped. But, at first, his size, his splendour, a kind of radiance -borrowed from the sunlight and the fire, seemed to enlarge him beyond -human. He seemed to dominate, even to fill the little valley. - -"I stood still, uncertain of my feelings. There was, I think, a trace -of fear in me. I waited for him to come up to me. He did so. He -stretched out a hand. I took it. And what do you think he said?" - -Fillery, the inner excitement and delight increasing in him as he -listened, stared in silence. There was no lightness in him now. - -"'Are you Fillery?' That's what he said, and the first words he -uttered. 'Are you Fillery?' But spoken in a way I find difficult to -reproduce. He made the name sound like a rush of wind. 'F,' of course, -involves a draught of breath between the teeth, I know. But _he_ made -the name sound exactly like a gush of wind through branches--that's the -nearest I can get to it." - -"Well--and then?" - -"Don't be impatient, Edward. I try to be accurate. But really--what -happened next is a bit beyond any experience that we--I--have yet come -across. And, as to what I felt--well, I was tired, hungry, thirsty. I -wanted, normally, rest and food and drink. Yet all these were utterly -forgotten. For a moment or two--I admit it--I felt as if I had come -face to face with something not of this earth quite." He grinned. "A -touch of gooseflesh came to me for the first time in my life. The -fellow's size and radiance in the sunlight, the fact that he stood -there worshipping fire--always, to me, the most wonderful of natural -phenomena--his grandeur and nakedness--the way he pronounced your name -even--all this--er--upset my judgment for the moment." He paused again. -He hesitated. "A visual hallucination, due to fatigue, can be, of -course, very detailed sometimes," he added, a note of challenge in his -tone. - -Fillery watched his friend narrowly, as he stumbled among the -details of what he evidently found a difficult, almost an impossible -description. - -"Natural enough," he put in. "You'd hardly be human yourself if you -felt nothing at such a sight." - -"The loneliness, too, increased the effect," went on the other, "for -there was no one nearer than the peasants who had directed me a -thousand feet below, nor was there another building of any sort in -sight. Anyhow, it seemed, I managed my strange emotions all right, for -the young man took to me at once. He left the fire, if reluctantly, -singing to himself a sort of low chanting melody, with perhaps five or -six notes at most in it, and far from unmusical----" - -"He explained the fire? Was he actually worshipping, I mean?" - -"It was certainly worship, judging by the expression of his face and -his gestures of reverence and happiness. But I asked no questions. I -thought it best just to accept, or appear to accept, the whole thing as -natural. He said something about the Equinox, but I did not catch it -properly and did not ask. This had evidently been taught him. It was, -however, the 22nd of September, oddly enough, though the gales had not -yet come." - -"So you got into the chalet next?" asked the other, noticing the gaps, -the incoherence. - -"He put his coat on, sat down with me to a meal of bread and milk and -cheese--meat there seemed none in the building anywhere. This meal was, -if you understand me, obeying a mere habit automatically. He did just -what it had been his habit to do with Mason all these years. He got -the stuff himself--quickly, effectively, no fumbling anywhere--and, -from that moment, hardly spoke again until we left two days later. I -mean that literally. All he said, when I tried to make him talk, was, -'You are not Fillery,' or 'Take me to Fillery. I need him.' - -"I almost felt that I was living with some marvellously trained animal, -of extraordinary intelligence, gentle, docile, friendly, but unhappy -because it had lost its accustomed master. But on the other hand--I -admit it--I was conscious of a certain power in his personality beyond -me to explain. That, really, is the best description I can give you." - -"You mentioned the name of Mason?" asked Fillery, avoiding a dozen more -obvious and natural questions. - -"Several times. But his only reply was a smile, while he repeated the -name himself, adding your own after it: 'Mason Fillery, Mason Fillery,' -he would say, smiling with quiet happiness. 'I like Fillery!'" - -"The nights?" - -"Briefly--I was glad to see the dawn. We had separate rooms, my own -being the one probably where Mason had died a few days before. But it -was not that I minded in the least. It was the feeling--the knowledge -in fact--that my companion was up and about all night in the building -or out of doors. I heard him moving, singing quietly to himself, the -wooden veranda creaked beneath his tread. He was active all through the -darkness and cannot have slept at all. When I came down soon after dawn -he was running over the slopes a mile away, running towards the chalet, -too, with the speed and lightness of a deer. He had been to some -height, I think, to see the sun rise and probably to worship it----" - -"And your journey? You got him away easily?" - -"He was only too ready to leave, for it meant coming to _you_. I -arranged with the peasants below to have the chalet closed up, took -my charge to Neuchatel, and thence to Berne, where I bought him an -outfit, and arrived in due course, as you know, at Charing Cross." - -"His first sight of cities, people, trains, steamers and the rest, I -take it. Any reactions?" - -"The troubles I anticipated did not materialize. He came like a lamb, -the most helpless and pathetic lamb I ever saw. He stared but asked no -questions. I think he was half dazed, even stupefied with it all." - -"Stupefied?" - -"An odd word to use, I know. I should have said perhaps 'automatic' -rather. He was so open to my suggestions, doing what my mind expected -him to do, but nothing more--ah! with one exception." - -Fillery meant to hear an account of that exception, though the other -would willingly have foregone its telling evidently. It was related, -Fillery felt sure, to the unusual powers Devonham had mentioned. - -"Oh, you shall hear it," said the latter quickly, "for what it's -worth. There's no need to exaggerate, of course." He told it rapidly, -accurately, no doubt, because his mind was honest, yet without comment -or expression in his voice and face. He supplied no atmosphere. - -"I had got him like a lamb, as I told you, to Paris, and it was during -the Customs examination the--er--little thing occurred. The man, -searching through his trunk, pulled out a packet of flat papers and -opened it. He looked them over with puzzled interest, turning them -upside down to examine them from every possible angle. Then he asked a -trifle unpleasantly what they were. I hadn't the smallest idea myself, -I had never seen them before; they were very carefully wrapped up. -LeVallon, whose sudden excitement increased the official's interest, -told him that they were star-and-weather maps. It doubtless was the -truth; he had made them with Mason; but they were queer-looking papers -to have at such a time, hidden away, too, at the bottom of the trunk; -and LeVallon's manner and expression did not help to disarm the man's -evident suspicion. He asked a number of pointed questions in a very -disagreeable way--who made them, for what purpose, how they were used, -and whether they were connected with aviation. I translated, of course. -I explained their innocence----" - -"LeVallon's excitement?" asked Fillery. "What form did it take? -Rudeness, anger, violence of any sort?" He was aware his friend would -have liked to shirk these details. - -"Nothing of the kind." He hesitated briefly, then went on. "He behaved, -rather, as though--well, as a devout Catholic might have behaved if his -crucifix or some holy relic were being mauled. The maps were sacred. -Symbols possibly. Heaven knows what! He tried to take them back. The -official, as a natural result, became still more suspicious and, of -course, offensive too. My explanations and expostulations were quite -useless, for he didn't even listen to them." - -Devonham was now approaching the part of the story he least wished -to describe. He played for time. He gave details of the ensuing -altercation. - -"What happened in the end?" Fillery at length interrupted. "What did -LeVallon do? There were no arrests, I take it?" he added with a smile. - -Paul coughed and fidgeted. He told the literal truth, however. - -"LeVallon, after listening for a long time to the conversation he could -not understand, suddenly took his fingers off the papers. The man's -dirty hand still held them tightly on the grimy counter. LeVallon -began--or--he suddenly began to breathe--well--heavily rather." - -"Rhythmically?" - -"Heavily," insisted the other. "In a curious way, anyhow," he added, -determined to keep strictly to the truth, "not unlike Heathcote when he -put himself automatically into trance and then told us what was going -on at the other end of England. You remember the case." He paused a -moment again, as if to recall exactly what had occurred. "It's not -easy to describe, Edward," he continued, looking up. "You remember that -huge draughty hall where they examine luggage at the Lyons Station. -I can't explain it. But that breathing somehow caught the draughts, -used them possibly, in any case increased them. A wind came through -the great hall. I can't explain it," he repeated, "I can only tell you -what happened. That wind most certainly came pouring steadily through, -for I felt it myself, and saw it blow upon the fluttering papers. The -heat in the _salle_ at the same moment seemed to grow intense. Not an -oppressive heat, though. Radiant heat, rather. It felt, I mean, like -a fierce sunlight. I looked up, almost expecting to see a great light -from which it came. It was then--at this very moment--the Frenchman -turned as if someone touched him." - -"_You_ felt anything, Paul?" - -"Yes," admitted the other slowly. - -Fillery waited. - -"A--what I must call--a thrill." His voice was lower now. - -"Of----?" his Chief persisted. - -Devonham waited a full ten seconds before reply. He again shrugged his -shoulders a little. Apparently he sought his words with honest care -that included also intense reluctance and disapproval: - -"Loveliness, romance, enchantment; but, above all, I think--power." He -ground out the confession slowly. "By power I mean a sort of confidence -and happiness." - -"Increase of vitality, call it. Intensification of your consciousness." - -"Possibly. A bigger perspective suddenly, a bigger scale of life; -something--er--a bit wild, but certainly--er--uncommonly stimulating. -The best word, I think, is liberty, perhaps. An immense and careless -sense of liberty." And Fillery, knowing the value of superlatives in -Devonham's cautious mind, felt satisfied. He asked quietly what the -official did next. - -"Stood stock still at first. Then his face changed; he smiled; he -looked up understandingly, sympathetically, at LeVallon. He spoke: 'My -father, too,' he said with admiration, 'had a big telescope. Monsieur -is an astronomer.' - -"'One of the greatest,' I added quickly; 'these charts are of infinite -value to France.' No sense of comedy touched me anywhere, the ludicrous -was absent. The man bowed, as carefully, respect in every gesture, he -replaced the maps, marked the trunk with his piece of chalk, and let us -go, helping in every way he could." - -Devonham drew a long breath, glad that he had relieved himself of his -unwelcome duty. He had told the literal truth. - -"Of course, of course," Fillery said, half to himself perhaps. -"A breath of bigger consciousness, his imagination touched, the -subconscious wakened, and intelligence the natural result." He turned -to his colleague. "Interesting, Paul, very," he added in a louder tone, -"and not easy to explain, I grant. The official we do not know, but -you, at any rate, are not a good subject for hypnotic suggestion!" - -For some time Devonham said nothing. Presently he spoke: - -"Fillery, I tell you--really I love the fellow. He's the most lovable -thing in human shape I ever saw. He gets into your heart so strangely. -We must heal him." - -The other sighed, quickly smothering it, yet not before Devonham had -noticed it. They did not look at one another for some seconds, and -there was a certain tenseness, a sense of deep emotion in the air that -each, possibly, sought to hide from the other. - -Devonham was the first to break the silence that had fallen between -them. - -"To be quite frank--it's LeVallon that appeals most to me," he said, -as if to himself, "whereas you, Edward, I believe, are more--more -interested in the other aspect of him. It's 'N. H.' that interests you." - -No challenge was intended, yet the glove was flung. Fillery said -nothing for a minute or two. Then he looked up, and their eyes met -across the smoke-laden atmosphere. It was close on midnight. The world -lay very still and hushed about the house. - -"It is," he said quietly, "a pathetic and inspiring case. He is -deserving of"--he chose his words slowly and with care--"our very -best," he concluded shortly. - -"And now," he added quickly, "you're tired out, and I ought to have let -you have a night's sleep before taxing you like this." He poured out -two glasses of whisky. "Let us drink anyhow to success and healing of -body, mind--and soul." - -"Body, mind and--nerves," said Devonham slowly, as he drank the toast. - -"The reason I had none of the trouble I anticipated," remarked -Devonham, as he sipped the reviving liquor, "is simple enough." - -"There are two periods, of course. I guessed that." - -"Exactly. There is the LeVallon period, when he is quiescent, normal, -very charming into the bargain, more like a good child or trained -animal or happy peasant, if you like it better, than a grown man. And -there is the 'N. H.' period, when he is--otherwise." - -"Ah!" - -"I arrived just at the transition moment, so to speak. It was during -the change I reached the chalet." - -"Precisely." Fillery looked up, smiled and nodded. - -"That's about the truth," repeated Devonham, putting his glass down. He -thought for a moment, then added slowly, "I think that fire of his, the -worship, singing--at the autumnal equinox--marked the change. 'N. H,' -at once after that, slipped back into the unconscious state. LeVallon -emerged. It was with LeVallon only or chiefly, _I_ had to deal. He -became so very quiet, dazed a little, half there, as we call it, and -almost entirely silent. He retained little, if any, memory of the 'N. -H.' period, although it lies, I think, just beneath the surface only. -The LeVallon personality, you see, is not very positive, is it? It -seems a quiet, negative state, a condition almost of rest, in fact." - -Fillery listening attentively, made no rejoinder. - -"We may expect," continued Devonham, "these alternating states, I -think. The frontier between them is, as I said, a narrow one. Indeed, -often they merge or interpenetrate. In my judgment, the main, important -part of his consciousness, that parent Self, is LeVallon--_not_ 'N. -H.'" The voice was slightly strident. - -"Ah!" - -It so happened that, in the act of exchanging these last words, they -both looked up toward the ceiling, where a moth buzzed round and round, -banging itself occasionally against the electric light. Whether it was -this that drew their sight upwards simultaneously, or whether it was -that some other sound in the stillness of the night had caught their -strained attention, is uncertain. The same thought, at any rate, was -in both minds at that instant, the same freight of meaning trailing -behind it invisibly across the air. Their hearts burned within them; -the two faces upward turned, the lips a little parted as when listening -is intense, the heads thrown back. For in the room above that ceiling, -asleep at this moment, lay the subject of their long discussion; only -a few inches of lath and plaster separated them from the strange being -who, dropping out of space, as it were, had come to make his home with -them. A being, lonely utterly in the world, unique in kind perhaps, his -nature as yet undecipherable, lay trustingly unconscious in that upper -chamber. The two men felt the gravity, the responsibility of their -charge. The same thought had vividly touched them both at the same -instant. - -A few minutes later they were still standing, facing one another. -They were of a height, but compared to Fillery's big frame and rugged -head, his friend's appearance was almost slight. Devonham, for all his -qualifications, looked painfully like a shopwalker. They exchanged this -steady gaze for a few seconds without speaking. Then the older man -said quietly: - -"Paul, I understand, and I respect your reticence. I think I can agree -with it." - -He placed a hand upon the other's shoulder, smiling gently, even -tenderly. - -"You have told me much, but you have not told me all! The chief -part--you have intentionally omitted." - -"For the present, at any rate," was the reply, given without flinching. - -"Your reasons are sound, your judgment perhaps right. I ask no -questions. What happened, what you saw, at the chalet; the 'peculiar -powers' you mentioned; all, in fact, that you think it wise to keep to -yourself for the moment, I leave there willingly." - -He spoke gravely, sincere emotion in the eyes and tone. It was in a -lower voice he added: - -"The responsibility, of course, is yours." - -Devonham returned the steady gaze, pondering his reply a moment. - -"I can--and do accept it," he answered. "You have read my thoughts -correctly as usual, Edward. I think you know quite enough already--what -with my Notes and Mason's letter--even too much. Besides, why -complicate it with an account of what were doubtless mere mental -pictures--hallucinations--on my part? This is a matter," he went on -slowly, "a case, we dare not trifle with; there may be strange and -terrible afflictions in it later; we must remain unbiased." The anxiety -deepened on his face. - -"True, true," murmured the other. "God bless the boy! May his own gods -bless him!" - -"In other words, it will need your clearest, soundest judgment, your -finest skill, your very best, as you said yourself just now." He used -a firmer, yet also a softer tone suddenly: "Edward, you know your own -mind, its contents, its suppressions, its origin; your refusal of the -love of women, your deep powerful dreams that you have suppressed and -put away. Promise me"--the voice and manner were very earnest--"that -you will not communicate these to him in any way, and that you will -keep your judgment absolutely unbiased and untainted." He looked at his -old friend and paused. "Only your purest judgment of what is to come -can help. You promise." - -Fillery sighed a scarcely noticeable sigh. "I promise you, Paul. You -are wise--and you are right," he said. "On the other hand, let me say -one thing to you in my turn. This theory of heredity and of mental -telepathic transference--the idea that all his mind's content is -derived from his parents and from Mason--we cannot, remember, force -this transference and interchange _too_ far. I ask only this: be fair -and open yourself with all that follows." - -Devonham raised his voice: "Nor can we, apparently, set limits to it, -Edward. But--to be fair and open-minded--I give my promise too." - -Thus, in the little downstairs room of a Private Home for Incurable -Mental Cases, _not_ a Lunatic Asylum, though sometimes perhaps next -door to it, these two men, deeply intrigued by a new "Case" that -passed their understanding, as it exceeded their knowledge, practice -and experience, swore to each other to observe carefully, to report -faithfully, and to experiment, if experiment proved necessary, with -honest and affectionate uprightness. - -Their views were, obviously, not the same. Devonham, temperamentally -opposed to radical innovations, believed it was a case of divided -personality--hundreds of such cases had passed through their hands. -Forced to accept extended telepathy--that all minds can on occasion -share one another's content, and that even a racial and a world-memory -can be tapped--he feared that his Chief might influence LeVallon, and -twist, thus, the phenomena to a special end. He knew Edward Fillery's -story. He feared, for the sake of truth, the mental transference. He -had, perhaps, other fears as well. - -Fillery, on the other hand, believing as much, and knowing more than -his colleague, saw in "N. H." a unique possibility. He was thrilled -and startled with a half-impossible hope. He felt as if someone ran -beside his life, bearing impossible glad tidings, an unexpected, -half-incredible figure, the tidings marvellously bright. He hoped, he -already wished to think, that "N. H." might shadow forth a promise of -some magical advance for the ultimate benefit of the Race.... - -The thinkers were crying on the housetops that progress was a myth, -that each wave of civilization at its height reached the same average -level without ever passing further. The menace to the present -civilization, already crumbling, was in full swing everywhere; -knowledge, culture, learning threatened in due course with the chaos -of destruction that has so far been the invariable rule. The one hope -of saving the world, cried religion, lay in substituting spiritual for -material values--a Utopian dream at best. The one chance, said science, -on the other hand, was that civilization to-day is continuous and not -isolated. - -The best hope, believed Fillery, the only hope, lay in raising the -individual by the drawing up into full consciousness of the limitless -powers now hidden and inactive in his deeper self--the so-called -subliminal faculties. With these greater powers must come also greater -moral development. - -Already, with his uncanny insight, derived from knowledge of himself, -he had piercingly divined in "N. H." a being, whatever he might be, -whose nature acted automatically and directly upon the subconscious -self in everybody. - -That bright messenger, running past his life, had looked, as with fire -and tempest, straight into his eyes. - - * * * * * - -It was long after one o'clock when the two men said good-night, and -went to their rooms. Devonham was soon in bed, though not soon asleep. -Exhausted physically though he was, his mind burned actively. His -recent memories were vivid. All he had purposely held back from -Fillery returned with power.... - -The uncertainty whether he had experienced hallucination, or had -actually, as by telepathic transfer from LeVallon, touched another -state of consciousness, kept sleep far away.... - -His brain was far too charged for easy slumber. He feared for his dear, -faithful friend, his colleague, the skilful, experienced, yet sorely -tempted mind--tempted by Nature and by natural weaknesses of birth and -origin--who now shared with him the care and healing of a Case that -troubled his being too deeply for slumber to come quickly. - -Yet he had done well to keep these memories from Edward Fillery. If -Fillery once knew what _he_ knew, his judgment and his scientific -diagnosis must be drawn hopelessly away from what he considered the -best treatment: the suppression of "N. H." and the making permanent of -"LeVallon."... - -He fell asleep eventually, towards dawn, dreaming impossible, radiant -dreams of a world he might have hoped for, yet could not, within the -limits of his little cautious, accurate mind, believe in. Dreams that -inspire, yet sadden, haunted his release from normal consciousness. -Someone had walked upon his life, leaving a growth of everlasting -flowers in their magical tread, though his mind--his stolid, cautious -mind--had no courage for the plucking.... - -And while he slept, as the hours slipped from west to east, his chief -and colleague, lying also sleepless, rose suddenly before the late -autumn dawn, and walked quietly along the corridor towards the Private -Suite where the new patient rested. His mind was quiet, yet his inner -mind alert. His thoughts, his hopes, his dreams, these lay, perhaps, -beyond human computation. He was calmer far than his assistant, though -more strangely tempted. - -It was just growing light, the corridor was cold. A cool, damp air came -through the open windows and the linoleum felt like ice against the -feet. The house lay dead and silent. Pausing a moment by a window, he -listened to the chattering of early sparrows. He felt chill and hungry, -unrested too, though far from sleepy. He was aware of London--bleak, -heavy, stolid London town. The troubles of modern life, of Labour, -Politics, Taxes, cost of living, all the common, daily things came in -with the cheerless morning air. - -He reached the door he sought, and very softly opened it. - -The radiance met him in the face, so that he almost gasped. The scent -of flowers, the sting of sharp, keen forest winds, the exhilaration of -some distant mountain-top. There was, actually, a tang of dawn, known -only to those who have tasted the heights at sunrise with the heart. -And into his heart, singing with happy confidence, rose a sense of -supreme joy and confidence that mastered all little earthly woes and -pains, and walked among the stars. - -The occupant of the bed lay very still. His shining hair was spread -upon the pillow. The splendid limbs were motionless. The chest and arms -were bare, the single covering sheet tossed off. The strange, wild face -wore happiness and peace upon its skin, the features very calm, the -mouth relaxed. It almost seemed a god lay sleeping there upon a little -human bed. - -How long he stood and stared he did not know, but suddenly, the light -increased. The curtains stirred about the bed. - -With a marvellous touch the separate details merged and quickened into -life. The room was changed. The occupant of the bed moved very swiftly, -as through the open window came the first touch of exhilarating light. -Gold stole across the lintel, breaking over the roofs of slates beyond. -The leafless elm trees shimmered faintly. The telegraph wires shone. -There was a running sparkle. It was dawn. - -The figure leaped, danced--no other word describes it--to the open -window where the light and air gushed in, spread wide its arms, lowered -its radiant head, began to sing in low, melodious rhythmic chant--and -Fillery, as silently as he had come, withdrew and closed the door -unseen. His heart moved strangely, but--his promise held him.... - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -The following days it seemed to both Fillery and Devonham that their -discussion of the first night had been pitched in too intense, too -serious a key. Their patient was so commonplace again, so ordinary. He -made himself quite at home, seemed contented and uncurious, taking it -for granted he had come to stay for ever, apparently. - -Apart from his strange beauty, his size, virility and a general -impression he conveyed of immense energies he was too easy-going to -make use of, he might have passed for a peasant, a countryman to -whom city life was new; but an educated, or at least half-educated, -countryman. He was so big, yet never gauche. He was neither stupid -nor ill-informed; the garden interested him, he knew much about the -trees and flowers, birds and insects too. He discussed the weather, -prevailing wind, moisture, prospects of change and so forth with a -judgment based on what seemed a natural, instinctive knowledge. The -gardener looked on him with obvious respect. - -"Such nice manners and such a steady eye," Mrs. Soames, the matron, -mentioned, too, approvingly to Devonham. "But a lot in him he doesn't -understand himself, unless I'm wrong. Not much the matter with his -nerves, anyhow. Once he's married--unless I'm much mistaken--eh, sir?" - -He was quiet, talking little, and spent the morning over the books -Fillery had placed purposely in his sitting-room, books on simple -physics, natural history and astronomy. It was the latter that absorbed -him most; he pored over them by the hour. - -Fillery explained the situation so far as he thought wise. The young -man was honesty and simple innocence, but only vaguely interested in -the life of the great city he now experienced for the first time. He -had in his luggage a copy of the Will by which Mason had left him -everything, and he was pleased to know himself well provided for. Of -Mason, however, he had only a dim, uncertain, almost an impersonal -memory, as of someone encountered in a dream. - -"I suppose something's happened to me," he said to Fillery, his -language normal and quite ordinary again. He spoke with a slight -foreign accent. "There was somebody, of course, who looked after me and -lived with me, but I can't remember who or where it was. I was very -happy," he added, "and yet ... I miss something." - -Dr. Fillery, remembering his promise, did not press him. - -"It will all come back by degrees," he remarked in a sympathetic tone. -"In the meantime, you must make yourself at home here with us, for as -long as you like. You are quite free in every way. I want you to be -happy here." - -"I live with you always," was the reply. "There are things I want to -tell you, ask you too." He paused, looking thoughtful. "There was -someone I told all to once." - -"Come to me with everything. I'll help you always, so far as I can." He -placed a hand upon his knee. - -"There are feelings, big feelings I cannot reach quite, but that make -me feel different"--he smiled beautifully--"from--others." Quick as -lightning he had changed the sentence at the last word, substituting -"others" for "you." Had he been aware of a slight uneasy emotion in -his listener's heart? It had hardly betrayed itself by any visible -sign, yet he had instantly divined its presence. Such evidences of a -subtle, intimate, understanding were not lacking. Yet Fillery admirably -restrained himself. - -"There are bright places I have lost," he went on frankly, no sign of -shy reserve in him. "I feel confused, lost somewhere, as if I didn't -belong here. I feel"--he used an odd word--"doubled." His face shaded a -little. - -"Big overpowering London is bound to affect you," put in Fillery, -who had noticed the rapid discernment, "after living among woods and -mountains, as you have lived, for years. All will come right in a -little time; we must settle down a bit first----" - -"Woods and mountains," repeated the other, in a half-dreamy voice, -his eyes betraying an effort to follow thought elsewhere. "Of course, -yes--woods and mountains and hot living sunlight--and the winds----" - -His companion shifted the conversation a little. He suggested a line of -reading and study.... They talked also of such ordinary but necessary -things as providing a wardrobe, of food, exercise, companionship of -his own age, and so forth--all the commonplace details of ordinary -daily life, in fact. The exchange betrayed nothing of interest, nothing -unusual. They mentioned theatres, music, painting, and, beyond the -natural curiosity of youth that was ignorant of these, no detail was -revealed that need have attracted the attention of anybody, neither -of doctor, psychologist, nor student of human nature. With the single -exception that the past years had been obliterated from memory, though -much that had been acquired in them remained, there was not noticeable -peculiarity of any sort. Both language and point of view were normal. - -This was obviously LeVallon. The "N. H." personality scarcely cast a -shadow even. Yet "N. H.," the doctor was quick to see, lay ready and -waiting just below the surface. There was no doubt in _his_ mind which -was the central self and which its transient projection, the secondary -personality. Again, as he sat and talked, he had the odd impression -that someone with bright tidings ran swiftly past his life, perhaps -towards it. - -The swift messenger was certainly not LeVallon. LeVallon, indeed, was -but a shadow cast before this glad, bright visitant. Thus he felt, -at any rate. LeVallon was an empty simulacrum left behind while "N. -H." rested, or was active upon other things, things natural to him, -elsewhere. LeVallon was an arm, a limb, a feeler that "N. H." thrust -out. At Charing Cross, for instance, for a brief moment only, "N. -H." had peered across his shoulder, then withdrawn again. In the car -had sat by his side LeVallon. The being he now chatted with was also -LeVallon only. - -But in his own heart, deep down, hidden yet eager to break loose, lay -his own deeper self that burned within him. This, the important part -of him, yearned towards "N. H." And up rose the strange symbol that -always appeared when his deepest, perhaps his subliminal self was -stirred. That lost radiant valley in the haunted Caucasus shone close -and brimming over ... with light, with flowers, with splendid winds and -fire, symbols of a vaster, grander, happier life, though perhaps a life -not yet within the range of normal human consciousness.... The fiery -symbol flashed and passed. - -Curious thoughts and pictures rose flaming in his mind, persistent -ideas that bore no possible relation to his intellectual, reasoning -life. Passing across the background of his brain, as with waves of -heat and colour, they were correlated somewhere with harmonious sound. -Music, that is, came with them, as though inspiration brought its own -sound with it that made singing natural. They haunted him, these vague, -pleasurable phantasmagoria that were connected, he felt sure, with -music, as with childhood's lost imaginings. For a long time he searched -in vain for their source and origin. Then, suddenly, he remembered. -He heard his father's gruff, humorous voice: "There's not a scrap of -evidence, of course...." And, sharply, vividly, the buried memory gave -up its dead. His childish question went crashing through the air: "Are -we the only beings in the world?" - -"Nothing is ever lost," he reminded himself with a smile that Devonham -assuredly never saw. "Every seed must bear its fruit in time." - -And emotion surged through him from the remorseless records of his -underself. The childhood's love, with its correlative of deep, absolute -belief, returned upon him, linked on somehow to that old familiar -symbol he knew to mean his awakening subconscious being--a flowering -Caucasian vale of sun and wind. A belief, he realized, especially a -belief of childhood, remains for ever inexpugnable, eternal, prolific -seed of future harvests. - -The unstable in him betrayed its ineradicable, dangerous streak. There -rose upon him in a cloud strange notions that inflamed imagination -sweetly. Later reading, indeed, had laid flesh upon the skeleton of -the boyish notion, though derived in the first instance he certainly -knew not whence. The literature and tradition of the East, he recalled, -peopled the elements with conscious life, to which the world's -fairy-tales--remnant of lost knowledge possibly--added nerves and heart -and blood. In all human bodies, at any rate, dwelt not necessarily -always human spirits, human souls.... - -He checked himself with a smile he would have liked to call a chuckle, -but that yet held some inexplicable happiness at its heart. His -rugged, eager face, its expression bitten deeply by experience, turned -curiously young. There rushed through him the Eastern conception -of another system of life, another evolution, deathless, divine, -important, the Order of the _Devas_, a series of Nature Beings entirely -apart from human categories. They included many degrees, from fairies -to planetary spirits, the gods, so called; and their duties, work and -purposes were concerned, he remembered, with carrying out the Laws -of Nature, the busy tending of all forms and structures, from the -elaborately marvellous infusoria in a drop of stagnant water, the -growth of crystals, the upbuilding of flowers and trees, of insects, -animals, humans, to the guidance and guardianship of those vaster forms -of heavenly bodies, the stars, the planets and the mighty suns, whose -gigantic "bodies," inhabited by immenser consciousness, people empty -space.... A noble, useful, selfless work, God's messengers.... - -He checked himself again, as the rich, ancient notion flitted across -his stirring memory. - -"Delightful, picturesque conceptions of the planet's young, fair -ignorance!" he reminded himself, smiling as before. - -Whereupon rose, bursting through his momentary dream, with full-fledged -power, the great hope of his own reasoned, scientific Dream--that -man is greater than he knows, and that the progress of the Race was -demonstrable. - -For, to the subliminal powers of an awakened Race these Nature Beings -with their special faculties, must lie open and accessible. The -human and the non-human could unite! Nature must come back into the -hearts of men and win them again to simple, natural life with love, -with joy, with naked beauty. Death and disease must vanish, hope and -purity return. The Race must develop, grow, become in the true sense -_universal_. It could know God! - -The vision flashed upon him with extraordinary conviction, so that he -forgot for the moment how securely he belonged to the unstable. The -smile of happiness spread, as it were, over his entire being. He glowed -and pulsed with its delicious inward fire. Light filled his being for -an instant--an instant of intoxicating belief and certainty and vision. -The instant inspiration of a dream went lost and vanished. He had drawn -upon childhood and legendary reading for the substance of a moment's -happiness. He shook himself, so to speak. He remembered his patients -and his duties, his colleague too.... - -Nothing, meanwhile, occurred to arouse interest or attention. LeVallon -was quite docile, ordinary; he needed no watching; he slept well, ate -well, spent his leisure with his books and in the garden. He complained -often of the lack of sunlight, and sometimes he might be seen taking -some deep breaths of air into his lungs by the open window or on the -balcony. The phases of the moon, too, interested him, and he asked -once when the full moon would come and then, when Devonham told him, -he corrected the date the latter gave, proving him two hours wrong. -But, on the whole, there seemed little to differentiate him from the -usual young man whose physique had developed in advance of his mental -faculties; his knowledge in some respects certainly was backward, as in -the case of arrested development. He seemed an intelligent countryman, -but an unusually intelligent countryman, though all the time another -under-intelligence shone brightly, betraying itself in remarks and -judgments oddly phrased. - -Dr. Fillery took him, during the following day or two, to concerts, -theatres, cinemas. He enjoyed them all. Yet in the theatres he was -inclined to let his attention wander. The degree of alertness varied -oddly. His critical standard, moreover, was curiously exacting; he -demanded the real creative interpretation of a part, and was quick to -detect a lack of inspiration, of fine technique, of true conception in -a player. Reasons he failed to give, and argument seemed impossible to -him, but if voice or gesture or imaginative touch failed anywhere, he -lost interest in the performer from that moment. - -"He has poor breath," he remarked. "He only imitates. He is outside." -Or, "She pretends. She does not feel and know. Feeling--the feeling -that comes of fire--she has not felt." - -"She does not understand her part, you mean?" suggested Fillery. - -"She does not burn with it," was the reply. - -At concerts he behaved individually too. They bored as well as puzzled -him; the music hardly stirred him. He showed signs of distress at -anything classical, though Wagner, Debussy, the Russians, moved him and -produced excitement. - -"He," was his remark, with emphasis, "has _heard_. He gives me freedom. -I could fly and go away. He sets me free ..." and then he would say no -more, not even in reply to questions. He could not define the freedom -he referred to, nor could he say where he could go away _to_. But -his face lit up, he smiled his delightful smile, he looked happy. -"Stars," he added once in a tone of interest, in reply to repeated -questions, "stars, wind, fire, away from _this!_"--he tapped his head -and breast--"I feel more alive and real." - -"It's real and true, that music? That's what you feel?" - -"It's beyond this," he replied, again tapping his body. "_They have -heard._" - -The cinema interested him more. Yet its limits seemed to perplex him -more than its wonder thrilled him. He accepted it as a simple, natural, -universal thing. - -"They stay always on the sheet," he observed with evident surprise. -"And I hear nothing. They do not even sing. Sound and movement go -together!" - -"The speaking will come," explained Fillery. "Those are pictures -merely." - -"I understand. Yet sound is natural, isn't it? They ought to be heard." - -"Speech," agreed his companion, "is natural, but singing isn't." - -"Are they not alive enough to sing?" was the reply, spoken to himself -rather than to his neighbour, who was so attentive to his least -response. "Do they only sing when"--Fillery heard it and felt something -leap within him--"when they are paid or have an audience?" he finished -the sentence quickly. - -"No one sings naturally of their own accord--not in cities, at any -rate," was the reply. - -LeVallon laughed, as though he understood at once. - -"There is no sun and wind," he murmured. "Of course. They cannot." - -It was the cinemas that provided most material for observation, Fillery -found. There was in a cinema performance something that excited his -companion, but excited him more than the doctor felt he was justified -in encouraging. Obviously the other side of him, the "N. H." aspect, -came up to breathe under the stimulus of the rapid, world-embracing, -space-and-time destroying pictures on the screen. Concerts did not -stimulate him, it seemed, but rather puzzled him. He remained wholly -the commonplace LeVallon--with one exception: he drew involved patterns -on the edge of his programmes, patterns of a very complicated yet -accurate kind, as though he almost saw the sounds that poured into -his ears. And these ornamented programmes Dr. Fillery preserved. -Sound--music--seemed to belong to his interpretation of movement. About -the cinema, however, there seemed something almost familiar, something -he already knew and understood, the sound belonging to movement only -lacking. - -Apart from these small incidents, LeVallon showed nothing unusual, -nothing that a yokel untaught yet of natural intelligence might not -have shown. His language, perhaps, was singular, but, having been -educated by one mind only, and in a region of lonely forests and -mountains, remote from civilized life, there was nothing inexplicable -in the odd words he chose, nor in the peculiar--if subtle and -penetrating--phrases that he used. Invariably he recognized the -spontaneous, creative power as distinguished from the derivative that -merely imitated. - -He found ways of expressing himself almost immediately, both in speech -and writing, however, and with a perfection far beyond the reach of a -half-educated country lad; and this swift aptitude was puzzling until -its explanation suddenly was laid bare. He absorbed, his companion -realized at last, as by telepathy, the content of his own, of Fillery's -mind, acquiring the latter's mood, language, ideas, as though the two -formed one being. - -The discovery startled the doctor. Yet what startled him still more -was the further discovery, made a little later, that he himself could, -on occasions, become so identified with his patient that the slightest -shade of thought or feeling rose spontaneously in his own mind too. - -He remained, otherwise, almost entirely "LeVallon"; and, after a full -report made to Devonham, and the detailed discussion thereon that -followed, Dr. Fillery had no evidence to contradict the latter's -opinion: "LeVallon is the real true self. The other personality--'N. -H.' as we call it--is a mere digest and accumulation of material -supplied by his parents and by Mason." - -"Let us wait and see what happens when 'N. H.' appears and _does_ -something," Fillery was content to reply. - -"If," answered Devonham, with sceptical emphasis, "it ever does appear." - -"You think it won't?" asked Fillery. - -"With proper treatment," said Devonham decisively, "I see no reason -why 'N. H.' should not become happily merged in the parent self--in -LeVallon, and a permanent cure result." - -He put his glasses straight and stared at his chief, as much as to say -"You promised." - -"Perhaps," said Fillery. "But, in my judgment, 'LeVallon' is too slight -to count at all. I believe the whole, real, parent Self is 'N. H.,' -and the only life LeVallon has at all is that which peeps up through -him--from 'N. H.'" - -Fillery returned his serious look. - -"If 'N. H.' is the real self, and I am right," he added slowly, "you, -Paul, will have to revise your whole position." - -"I shall," returned Devonham. "But--you will allow this--it is a lot to -expect. I see no reason to believe in anything more than a subconscious -mind of unusual content, and possibly of unusual powers and extent," he -added with reluctance. - -"It is," said Fillery significantly, "a lot to expect--as you said just -now. I grant you that. Yet I feel it possible that----" he hesitated. - -Devonham looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted. He did not like the pause. -A sense of exasperation rose in him, as though he knew something of -what was coming. - -"Paul," went on his chief abruptly in a tone that dropped instinctively -to a lower key--almost a touch of awe lay behind it--"you admit no -deity, I know, but you admit purpose, design, intelligence." - -"Well," replied the other patiently, long experience having taught him -iron restraint, "it's a blundering, imperfect system, inadequately -organized--if you care to call that intelligence. It's of an extremely -intricate complexity. I admit that. Deity I consider an unnecessary -assumption." - -"The love and hate of atoms alone bowls you over," was the unexpected -comment. "The word 'Laws' explains nothing. A machine obeys the laws, -but intelligence conceived that machine--and a man repairs and keeps -it going. Who--what--keeps the daisy going, the crystal, the creative -thought in the imagination? An egg becomes a leaf-eating caterpillar, -which in turn becomes a honey-eating butterfly with wings. A yolk turns -into feathers. Is that accomplished without intelligence?" - -"Ask our new patient," interrupted Devonham, wiping his glasses with -unnecessary thoroughness. - -"Which?" - -Devonham startled, looked up without his glasses. It seemed the -question made him uneasy. Putting the glasses on suddenly, he stared at -his chief. - -"I see what you mean, Edward," he said earnestly, his interest deeply -captured. "Be careful. We know nothing, remember, nothing of life. -Don't jump ahead like this or take your dreams for reality. We have our -duty--in a case like this." - -Fillery smiled, as though to convey that he remembered his promise. - -"Humanity," he replied, "is a very small section of the universe. -Compared to the minuter forms of life, which _may_ be quite as -important, if not more so, the human section is even negligible; -while, compared to the possibility of greater forms----" He broke off -abruptly. "As you say, Paul, we know nothing of life after all, do we? -Nothing, less than nothing! We observe and classify a few results, -that's all. We must beware of narrow prejudice, at any rate--you and I." - -His eyes lost their light, his speech dried up, his ideas, dreams, -speculations returned to him unrewarded, unexpressed. With natures in -whom the subconscious never stirred, natures through whom its magical -fires cast no faintest upward gleam, intercourse was ever sterile, -unproductive. Such natures had no background. Even a fact, with them, -was detached from its true big life, its full significance, its divine -potentialities!... - -"We must beware of prejudice," he repeated quietly. "We seek truth -only." - -"We must beware," replied Devonham, as he shrugged his shoulders, -"of suggestion--of auto-suggestion above all. We must remember -how repressed desires dramatize themselves--especially," he added -significantly, "when aided by imagination. We seek only facts." On his -face appeared swiftly, before it vanished again, an expression of keen -anxiety, almost of affliction, yet tempered, as it were, by surprise -and wonder, by pity possibly, and certainly by affection. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -To Devonham, meanwhile, LeVallon's behaviour was polite and kind and -distant; he did not show distrust of any sort, but he betrayed a -certain diffidence, reserve and caution. Trust he felt; sympathy he did -not feel. To the amusement of Fillery, he suggested almost a kind of -mild contempt when dealing with him, and this amusement was increased -by the fact that it obviously annoyed Devonham, while it gratified -his chief. For towards Fillery, LeVallon behaved with an intimate and -understanding sympathy that proved his instantaneous affection based -upon mutual comprehension. It seemed that LeVallon and Fillery had -known one another always. - -It was doubtless, due to this innate sympathy between them that Edward -Fillery's rare gift of absorbing the content of another's mind, even to -the point of taking on that other's conditions, physical and emotional -at the same time, was so successful. By means of a highly developed -power of auto-suggestion, he had learned so to identify his own mind, -thought, feeling with those of a patient, that there resulted a kind of -merging by which he literally became that patient. He felt with him. -As a subject sees the pictures in the hypnotiser's mind, perceives -his thoughts, divines his slightest will, so Fillery, reversing the -process, could realize for the moment exactly what his patient was -thinking, feeling, desiring. It was of great use to him in his strange -practice. - -This gift, naturally, varied in degree, and was not invariably -successful. In some cases he only felt, the emotion alone being thus -transferred; in others he only saw what the patient saw, or thought -he saw, the accompanying emotion being omitted; in others again, as -in cases of vision at a distance, either of time or space, he had -been able to follow the "travelling sight" of his patient, whose -consciousness in trance was operating far away, and thus to check for -subsequent verification exactly what that patient saw. He had shared -strange experiences with others--with a man, for instance, in whom -sight was transferred to the tip of his index finger, so that he could -read a book by passing that finger along the printed line; with a -woman, again, in whom "exteriorized consciousness" manifested itself, -so that, if the air several inches from her face was pinched or struck, -the impact was received and an actual bruise produced upon her skin. - -This extension of consciousness, its seeds already in his nature, -he had trained and developed to a point where he could almost rely -upon auto-suggestion bringing about quickly the desired conditions. -Its success, however, as mentioned, was variable. With "N. H.," -especially now, this variableness was marked; sometimes it was so -easily accomplished as to seem natural and without a conscious effort, -while at other times it failed completely. Since it was in no sense an -attempt to transfer anything from his own mind to that of the patient, -Fillery felt that his promise to his colleague was not involved. - -The following scene describes the first time in which the process -took place with his new patient. Fillery himself wrote down the -words, supplied the detailed description, filled in the emotion and -psychology, but exactly as these occurred and as he felt them, both -when these took place, respectively, in his own consciousness and in -that of his patient. Part of the time he was present, part of it he -was not visibly so, being screened from observation, yet so placed -that he could note everything that happened. It is clear, however, -that his mind was so intimately _en rapport_ with the thoughts and -feelings of "N. H.," that he experienced in his own being all that -"N. H." experienced. The description was written immediately after -the occurrence, though some of it, the spoken language in particular, -was jotted down in his hiding place at the actual moment. - -The interlacing of the two minds, their interpenetration, as it were, -one occasionally dominating the other, is curious to trace and far from -difficult to disentangle. Similarly the interweaving of LeVallon and -"N. H." is noticeable. The description given by Devonham of the portion -of the occurrence he witnessed personally, or heard about from Nurse -Robbins and the attendants--this description reduces the whole thing -to the commonplace level of "a slight seizure accompanied by signs of -violence and moments of delirium due to excitement and fatigue, and -soon cured by sleep." - -The occurrence took place precisely at the period when the moon was at -the full. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - -The body I'm in and using is 22, as they call it, and from a man named -Mason, a geologist, I receive sums of money, regularly paid, with which -I live. They call it "live." A roof and walls protect me, who do not -need protection; my body, which it irks, is covered with wool and cloth -and stuff, fitting me as bark fits a tree and yet not part of me; my -feet, which love the touch of earth and yearn for it, are cased in dead -dried skin called leather; even my head and hair, which crave the sun -and wind, are covered with another piece of dead dried skin, shaped -like a shell, but an ugly shell, in which, were it shaped otherwise, -the wind and rustling leaves might sing with flowers. - -Before 22 I remember nothing--nothing definite, that is. I opened my -eyes in a soft, but not refreshing case standing on four iron legs, -and well off the ground, and covered with coarse white coverings piled -thickly on my body. It was a bed. Slabs of transparent stuff kept out -the living sunshine for which I hungered; thick solid walls shut off -the wind; no stars or moon showed overhead, because an enormous lid hid -every bit of sky. No dew, therefore, lay upon the sheets. I smelt no -earth, no leaves, no flowers. No single natural sound entered except -the chattering of dirty sparrows which had lost its freshness. I was in -a hospital. - -One comely figure alone gave me a little joy. It was soft and slim -and graceful, with a smell of fern and morning in its hair, though -that hair was lustreless and balled up in ugly lumps, with strips of -thin metal in it. They called it nurse and sister. It was the first -moving thing I saw when my eyes opened on my limited and enclosed -surroundings. My heart beat quicker, a flash of thin joy came up -in me. I had seen something similar before somewhere; it reminded -me, I mean, of something I had known elsewhere; though but a shabby, -lifeless, clumsy copy of this other glorious thing. Though not real, it -stirred this faint memory of reality, so that I caught at the skirts -of moonlight, stars and flowers reflected in a forest pool where my -companion played for long periods of happiness between our work. The -perfume and the eyes did that. I watched it for a bit, as it moved -away, came close and looked at me. When the eyes met mine, a wave of -life, but of little life, surged faintly through me. - -They were dim and pitiful, these eyes; mournful, unlit, unseeing. The -stars had set in them; dull shadows crowded. They were so small. They -were hungry too. They were unsatisfied. For some minutes it puzzled -me, then I understood. That was the word--unsatisfied. Ah, but I could -alter that! I could comfort, help, at any rate. My strength, though -horribly clipped and blocked, could manage a little thing like that! My -smaller rhythms I could put into it. - -The eyes, the smile, the whole soft comely bundle, so pitifully hungry -and unsatisfied, I rose and seized, pressing it close inside my own -great arms, and burying it all against my breast. I crushed it, but -very gently, as I might crush a sapling. My lips were amid the ferny -hair. I breathed upon it willingly, glad to help. - -It was a poor unfinished thing, I felt at once, soft and yielding where -it should have been resilient and elastic as fresh turf; the perfume -had no body, it faded instantly; there was so little life in it. - -But, as I held it in my big embrace, smothering its hunger as best I -could within my wave of being, this bundle, this poor pitiful bundle, -screamed and struggled to get free. It bit and scratched and uttered -sounds like those squeaks the less swift creatures make when the -swifter overtake them. - -I was too surprised to keep it to me; I relaxed my hold. The instant I -did so the figure, thus released, stood upright like a young birch the -wind sets free. The figure looked alive. The hair fell loose, untidily, -the puny face wore colour, the eyes had fire in them. I saw that fire. -It was a message. Memory stirred faintly in me. - -"Ah!" I cried. "I've helped you anyhow a little!" - -The scene that followed filled me with such trouble and bewilderment -that I cannot recall exactly what occurred. The figure seemed to -spit at me, yet not with grace and invitation. There was no sign of -gratitude. I was entirely misunderstood, it seemed. Bells rang, as the -figure rushed to the door and flung it open. It called aloud; similar, -though quite lifeless figures came in answer and filled the room. A -doctor--Devonham, they called him--followed them. I was most carefully -examined in a dozen curious ways that tickled my skin a little so -that I smiled. But I lay quite still and silent, watching the whole -performance with a confusion in my being that baffled my comprehending -what was going on. Most of the figures were frightened. - -Then the doctor gave place to Fillery, whose name has rhythm. - -To him I spoke at once: - -"I wished to comfort and revive her," I told him. "She is so starved. I -was most gentle. She brings a message only." - -He made no reply, but gazed at me with the corners of his mouth both -twitching, and in his eyes--ah, his eyes had more of the sun in them--a -flash of something that had known fire, at least, if it had not kept it. - -"My God! I worship thee," I murmured at the glimpse of the Power I must -own as Master and creator of my being. "Even when thou art playful, I -adore thee and obey." - -Then four other figures, shaped like the doctor but wholly mechanical, -a mere blind weight operating through them, held my arms and legs. Not -the least desire to move was in me luckily. I say "luckily," because, -had I wished it, I could have flung them through the roof, blown down -the little walls, caught up a dozen figures in my arms, and rushed -forth with them towards the Powers of Fire and Wind to which I belonged. - -Could I? I felt that I could. The sight of the true fire, small though -it was, in the comely figure's and the doctor's eyes, had set me in -touch again with my home and origin. This touch I had somehow lost; -I had been "ill," with what they called nervous disorder and injured -reason. The lost touch was now restored. But, luckily, as I said, there -was no desire in me to set free these other figures, to help them in -any way, after the reception my first kindly effort had experienced. I -lay quite still, held by these four grotesque and puny mechanisms. The -comely one, with the others similar to her, had withdrawn. I felt very -kindly towards them all, but especially towards the doctor, Fillery, -who had shown that he knew my deity and origin. None of them were worth -much trouble, anyhow. I felt that too. A mild, sweet-toned contempt was -in me. - -"Dangerous," was a word I caught them whispering as they went. I -laughed a little. The four faces over me made odd grimaces, tightening -their lips, and gripping my legs and arms with greater effort. The -doctor--Fillery--noticed it. - -"Easy, remember," he addressed the four. "There's really no need to -hold. It won't recur." I nodded. We understood one another. And, with a -smile at me, he left the room, saying he would come back after a short -interval. A link with my source, a brother as it were, went with him. I -was lonely.... - -I began to hum songs to myself, little fragments of a great natural -music I had once known but lost, and I noticed that the four figures, -as I sang, relaxed their grip of my limbs considerably. To tell the -truth, I forgot that they were holding me; their grip, anyhow, was -but a thread I could snap without the smallest effort. The songs -were happiness in me. Upon free leaping rhythms I careered with an -exhilarating rush of liberty; all about space I soared and sank; I -was picked up, flung far, riding the crest of immense waves of orderly -vibration that delighted me. I let myself go a bit, let my voice out, -I mean. No effort accompanied my singing. It was automatic, like -breathing almost. It was natural to me. These rhythmical sounds and the -patterns that they wove in space were the outlines of forms it was my -work to build. This expressed my nature. Only my power was blocked and -stifled in this confining body. The fire and air which were my tools I -could not control. I have forgotten--forgotten----! - -"Got a voice, ain't he?" observed one of the figures admiringly. - -"Lunies can do 'most anything they have a mind to." - -"Grand Opera isn't it." - -"Yes," mentioned the fourth, "but he'll lift the roof off presently. -We'd better stop him before there's any trouble." - -I stopped of myself, however: their remarks interested me. Also while I -had been singing, although I called it humming only, they had gradually -let go of me, and were now sitting down on my bed and staring with -quite pleasant faces. All their dim eight eyes were fixed on me. Their -forms were not built well. - -"Where did you get that from, Guv'nor?" asked the one who had spoken -first. "Can you give me the name of it?" - -The sound of his own voice was like the scratching of a pin after the -enormous rhythm that now ceased. - -"Ain't printed, is it?" he went on, as I stared, not understanding what -he meant. "I've got a sister at the Halls," he explained. "She'd make a -hit with that kind of thing. Gave me quite a twist inside to hear it," -he added, turning to the others. - -The others agreed solemnly with dull stupid faces. I lay and listened -to their talk. I longed to help them. I had forgotten how. - -"A bit churchy, I thought it," said one. "But, I confess, it stirred me -up." - -"Churchy or not, it's the stuff," insisted the first. - -"Oh, it's the stuff to give 'em, right enough." And they looked at me -admiringly again. "Where did you get it, if I may ask?" replied Number -One in a more respectful tone. His face looked quite polite. The lips -stretched, showing yellow teeth. It was his smile. But his eyes were -a little more real. Oh, where was my fire? I could have built the -outline better so that he was real and might express far more. I have -forgotten----! - -"I hear it," I told him, "because I'm in it. It's all about me. It -never stops. It's what we build with----" - -Number One seemed greatly interested. - -"Hear it, do you? Why, that's odd now. You see"--he looked at his -companions apologetically, as though he knew they would not believe -him--"my father was like that. He heard his music, he always used to -say, but we laughed at him. He was a composer by trade. Oh, his stuff -was printed too. Of course," he added, "there's musical talent in the -family," as though that explained everything. He turned to me again. -"Give us a little more, Mister--if you don't object, that is," he -added. And his face was soft as he said it. "Only gentle like--if you -don't mind." - -"Yes, keep it down a bit," another put in, looking anxiously in the -direction of the closed door. He patted the air with his open palm, -slowly, carefully, as though he patted an animal that might rise and -fly at him. - -I hummed again for them, but this time with my lips closed. The waves -of rhythm caught me up and away. I soared and flew and dropped and rose -again upon their huge coloured crests. Curtains and sheets of quiet -flame in palest gold flared shimmering through the sound, while winds -that were full of hurricanes and cyclones swept down to lift the fire -and dance with it in spirals. The perfume of great flowers rose. There -were flowers everywhere, and stars shone through it all like showers of -gold. Ah! I began to remember something. It was flowers and stars as -well as human forms we worked to build.... - -But I kept the fire from leaping into actual flame; the mighty winds -I held back. Even thus pent and checked, their powerful volume made -the atmosphere shake and pulse about us. Only I could not control them -now.... With an effort I came back, came down, as it were, and saw -the funny little faces staring at me with opened eyes and mouths, and -yellow teeth, pale gums, their skins gone whitish, their figures rigid -with their tense emotion. They were so poorly made, the patterns so -imperfect. The new respect in their manner was marked plainly. Suddenly -all four turned together towards the door. I stopped. The doctor had -returned. But it was Fillery again. I liked the feel of him. - -"He wanted to sing, sir, so we let him. It seemed to relieve him a -bit," they explained quickly and with an air of helpless apology. - -"Good, good," said the doctor. "Quite good. Any normal expression that -brings relief is good." He dismissed them. They went out, casting back -at me expressions of puzzled thanks and interest. The door closed -behind them. The doctor seated himself beside me and took my hand. I -liked his touch. His hand was alive, at any rate, although within my -own it felt rather like a dying branch or bunch of leaves I grasped. -The life, if thin, was real. - -"Where's the rest of it?" I asked him, meaning the music. "I used to -have it all. It's left me, gone away. What's cut it off?" - -"You're not cut off really," he said gently. "You can always get -into it again when you really need it." He gazed at me steadily for -a minute, then said in his quiet voice--a full, nice tone with wind -through a forest running in it: "Mason.... Dr. Mason...." - -He said no more, but watched me. The name stirred something in me I -could not get at quite. I could not reach down to it. I was troubled by -a memory I could not seize. - -"Mason," I repeated, returning his strong gaze. "What--who--was Mason? -And where?" I connected the name with a sense of liberty, also with -great winds and pools of fire, with great figures of golden skin and -radiant faces, with music, too, the music that had left me. - -"You've forgotten for the moment," came the deep running voice I liked. -"He looked after you for twenty years. He gave his life for you. He -loved you. He loved your mother. Your father was his friend." - -"Has he gone--gone back?" - -"He's dead." - -"I can get after him though," I said, for the name touched me with a -sense of lost companionship I wanted, though the reference to my father -and mother left me cold. "I can easily catch him up. When I move with -my wind and fire, the fastest things stand still." My own speed, once -I was free again, I knew outpaced easily the swiftest bird, outpaced -light itself. - -"Yes," agreed the doctor; "only he doesn't want that now. You can -always catch him up when the time comes. Besides, he's waiting for you -anyhow." - -I knew that was true. I sank back comforted upon the stuffy pillows and -lay silent. This tinkling chatter wearied me. It was like trickling -wind. I wanted the flood of hurricanes, the pulse of storms. My -building, shaping powers, my great companions--oh! where were they? - -"He taught you himself, taught you all you know," I heard the tinkling -go on again, "but he kept you away from life, thinking it was best. He -was afraid for you, afraid for others too. He kept you in the woods -and mountains where, as he believed, you could alone express yourself -and so be happy. A hundred times, in babyhood and early childhood, you -nearly died. He nursed you back to life. His own life he renounced. Now -he is dead. He has left you all his money." - -He paused. I said no word. Faint memories passed through my mind, but -nothing I could hold and seize. The money I did not understand at all, -except that it was necessary. - -"He thought at first that you could not possibly live to manhood. To -his surprise you survived everything--illness, accident, disaster of -every sort and kind. Then, as you grew up, he realized his mistake. -Instead of keeping you away from life, he ought to have introduced you -to it and explained it--as I and Devonham are now trying to do. You -could not live for ever alone in woods and mountains; when he was gone -there would be no one to look after you and guide you." - -The trickling of wind went on and on. I hardly listened to it. He -did it for his own pleasure, I suppose. It pleased and soothed him -possibly. Yet I remembered every syllable. It was a small detail to -keep fresh when my real memory covered the whole planet. - -"Before he died, he recognized his mistake and faced the position -boldly. It was some years before the end; he was hale and hearty -still, yet the end, he knew, was in sight. While the power was still -strong in him, therefore, he did the only thing left to him to do. He -used his great powers. He used suggestion. He hypnotized you, telling -you to forget--from the moment of his death, but not before--forget -everything---- It was only partially successful." - -The door opened, the comely figure glanced in, then vanished. - -"She wants more help from me," I interrupted the monotonous tinkling -instantly, for pity stirred in me again as I saw her eager, hungry and -unsatisfied little eyes. "Call her back. I feel quite willing. It is -one of the lower forms we made. I can improve it." - -Dr. Fillery, as he was called, looked at me steadily, his mouth -twitching at the corners as before, a flash of fire flitting through -his eyes. The fire made me like and trust him; the twitching, too, I -liked, for it meant he knew how absurd he was. Yet he was bigger than -the other figures. - -"You can't do that," he said, "you mustn't," and then laughed outright. -"It isn't done, you know--here." - -"Why not, sir?" I asked, using the terms the figures used. "I feel like -that." - -"Of course, you do. But all you feel can't be expressed except -at the proper times and places. The consent of the other party -always is involved," he went on slowly, "when it's a question of -expressing--anything you feel." - -This puzzled me, because in this particular instance the other party -had asked me with her eyes to comfort her. I told him this. He laughed -still more. Caught by the sound--it was just like wind passing among -tall grasses on a mountain ridge--I forgot what he was talking about -for the moment. The sound carried me away towards my own rhythms. - -"You've got such amazing insight," he went on tinkling to himself, for -I heard, although I did not listen. "You read the heart too easily, too -quickly. You must learn to hide your knowledge." The laughter which -ran with the words then ended, and I came back to the last thing I had -definitely listened to--"express, expressing," was the phrase he used. - -"You told me that self-expression is the purpose for which I'm -here----?" - -"I believe it is," he agreed, more solemnly. - -"Only sometimes, then?" - -"Exactly. If that expression involves another in pain or trouble or -discomfort----" - -"Ah! I have to choose, you mean. I have to know first what the other -feels about it." - -I began to understand better. It was a game. And all games delighted me. - -"You may put it roughly so, yes," he explained, "you're very quick. -I'll give you a rule to guide you," he went on. I listened with an -effort; this tinkling soon wearied me; I could not think long or much; -my way, it seemed, was feeling. "Ask yourself always how what you do -will affect another," Dr. Fillery concluded. "That's a safe rule for -you." - -"That is of children," I observed. We stared at each other a moment. -"Both sides keep it?" I asked. - -"Childish," he agreed, "it certainly is. Both sides, yes, keep it." - -I sighed, and the sigh seemed to rise from my very feet, passing -through my whole being. He looked at me most kindly then, asking why I -sighed. - -"I used to be free," I told him. "This is not liberty. And why are we -not all free together?" - -"It is liberty for two instead of only for one," he said, "and so, in -the long run, liberty for all." - -"So that's where they are," I remarked, but to myself and not to him. -"Not further than that." For what I had once known, but now, it seemed, -forgotten, was far beyond such a foolish little game. We had lived -without such tiny tricks. We lived openly and unafraid. We worked in -harmony. We lived. Yes--but who was "we"? That was the part I had -forgotten. - -"It's the growth and development of civilization," I heard the little -drift of wind go whistling thinly, "and it won't take you long to -become quite civilized at this rate, more civilized, indeed, than -most--with your swift intelligence and lightning insight." - -"Civilization," I repeated to myself. Then I looked at his eyes which -hid carefully in their depths somewhere that tiny cherished flame I -loved. "Your ways are really very simple," I said. "It's all easy -enough to learn. It is so small." - -"A man studying ants," he tinkled, "finds them small, but far from -simple. You may find complications later. If so, come to me." - -I promised him, and the fire gleamed faintly in his eyes a moment. "He -entrusted you to me. Your mother," he added softly, "was the woman he -loved." - -"Civilization," I repeated, for the word set going an odd new rhythm in -me that I rather liked, and that tired me less than the other things he -said. "What is it then? You are a Race, you told me." - -"A Race of human beings, of men and women developing----" - -"The comely ones?" - -"Are the women. Together we make up the Race." - -"And civilization?" - -"Is realizing that we are a community, learning, growing, all its -members living for the others as well as for themselves." - -Dr. Fillery told me then about men and women and sex, how children are -made, and what enormous and endless work was necessary merely to keep -them all alive and clothed and sheltered before they could accomplish -anything else of any sort at all. Half the labour of the majority was -simply to keep alive at all. It was an ugly little system he described. -Much I did not hear, because my thinking powers gave out. Some of it -gave me an awful feeling he called pain. The confusion and imperfection -seemed beyond repair, even beyond the worth of being part of it, of -belonging to it at all. Moreover, the making of children, without -which the whole thing must end, gave me spasms of irritation he called -laughter. Only the Comely Ones, and what he told me of them, made me -want to sing. - -"The men," I said, "but do they see that it is ugly and ludicrous -and----" - -"Comic," he helped me. - -"Do they know," I asked, taking his unknown words, "that it's comic?" - -"The glamour," he said, "conceals it from them. To the best among them -it is sacred even." - -"And the Comely Ones?" - -"It is their chief mission," he replied. "Always remember that. It's -sacred." He fixed his kind eyes gravely on my face. - -"Ah, worship, you mean," I said. "I understand." Again we stared for -some minutes. "Yet all are not comely, are they?" I asked presently. - -The fire again shone faintly in his eyes as he watched me a moment -without answering. It caught me away. I am not sure I heard his words, -but I think they ran like this: - -"That's just the point where civilization--so far--has always stopped." - -I remember he ceased tinkling then; our talk ceased too. I was -exhausted. He told me to remember what he had said, and to lie down and -rest. He rang the bell, and a man, one of the four who had held me, -came in. - -"Ask Nurse Robbins to come here a moment, please," he said. And a -moment later the Comely One entered softly and stood beside my bed. She -did not look at me. Dr. Fillery began again his little tinkling. "... -wishes to apologize to you most sincerely, nurse, for his mistake. He -meant no harm, believe me. There is no danger in him, nor will he ever -repeat it. His ignorance of our ways, I must ask you to believe----" - -"Oh, it's nothing, sir," she interrupted. "I've quite forgotten it -already. And usually he's as good as gold and perfectly quiet." She -blushed, glancing shyly at me with clear invitation. - -"It will not recur," repeated the Doctor positively. "He has promised -me. He is very, very sorry and ashamed." - -The nurse looked more boldly a moment. I saw her silver teeth. I saw -the hint of soft fire in her poor pitiful eyes, but far, far away and, -as she thought, safely hidden. - -"Pitiful one, I will not touch you," I said instantly. "I know that you -are sacred." - -I noticed at once that her sweet natural perfume increased about her -as I said the words, but her eyes were lowered, though she smiled a -little, and her little cheeks grew coloured. I saw her small teeth of -silvery marble again. Our work was visible. I liked it. - -"You have promised me," said Dr. Fillery, rising to go out. - -"I promise," I said, while the Comely One was arranging my pillows and -sheets with quick, clever hands, sometimes touching my cheek on purpose -as she did so. "I will not worship, unless it is commanded of me first. -The increased sweetness of her smell will tell me." - -But indeed already I had forgotten her, and I no longer realized who -it was that tripped about my bed, doing numerous little things to make -me comfortable. My friend, the understanding one, companion of my big -friend, Mason, who was dead, also had left the room. His twitching -mouth, his laughter, and his shining eyes were gone. I was aware that -the Comely One remained, doing all manner of little things about me and -my bed, unnecessary things, but my pity and my worship were not asked, -so I forgot her. My thinking had wearied me, and my feeling was not -touched. I began to hum softly to myself; my giant rhythms rose; I went -forth towards my Powers of Wind and Fire, full of my own natural joy. I -forgot the Race with its men, its women, its rules and games, its tiny -tricks, its civilization. I was free for a little with my own. - -One detail interfered a little with the rhythms, but only for a second -and very faintly even then. The Comely One's face grew dark. - -"He's gone off asleep--actually," I heard her mutter, as she left the -room with a fling of her little skirts, shutting the door behind her -with a bang. - -That bang was far away. I was already rising and falling in that -natural happy state which to me meant freedom. It is hard to tell -about, but that dear Fillery knows, I am sure, exactly what I know, -though he has forgotten it. He has known us somewhere, I feel. He -understands our service. But, like me, he has forgotten too. - -What really happened to me? Where did I go, what did I see and feel -when my rhythms took me off? - -Thinking is nowhere in it--I can tell him that. I am conscious of the -Sun. - -One difficulty is that my being here confuses me. Here I am already -caught, confined and straitened. I am within certain limits. I can only -move in three ways, three measurements, three dimensions. The space I -am in here allows only little rhythms; they are coarse and slow and -heavy, and beat against confining walls as it were, are thrown back, -cross and recross each other, so that while they themselves grow less, -their confusion grows greater. The forms and outlines I can build with -them are poor and clumsy and insignificant. Spirals I cannot make. Then -I forget. - -Into these small rhythms I cannot compress myself; the squeezing hurts. -Yet neither can I make them bigger to suit myself. I would break forth -towards the Sun. - -Thus I feel cramped, confused and crippled. It is almost impossible -to tell of my big rhythms, for it is an attempt to tell of one thing -in terms of another. How can I fix fire and wind upon the point of a -pin, for instance, and examine them through a magnifying-glass? The Sun -remains. What I experience, really, when I go off into my own freedom -is release. My rhythms are of the Sun. They are his messengers, they -are my law, they are my life and happiness. By means of them I fulfill -the purpose of my being. I work, so Fillery calls it. I build. - -That, at any rate, is literally true. My thinking stops at that -point, perhaps; but "I think" I mean by "release"--that I escape back -from being trapped by all these separate little individualities, -human beings each working on his own, for his own, and against all -the others--escape from this stifling tangle into the sweep of my -big rhythms which work together and in unison. I search for lost -companions, but do not find them--the golden skins and radiant faces, -the mighty figures and the splendid shapes. - -_They_ work without effort, however. That is another difference. - -I, too, work, only I work with them, and never against them. I can -draw upon them as they can draw upon me. We do draw on one another. We -know harmony. Service is our method and system. - -My dear Fillery also wants to know who "we" are. How can I tell him? -The moment I try to "think," I seem to forget. This forgetting, -indeed, is one of the limits against which I bang myself, so that I am -flung back upon the tangle of criss-cross, tiny rhythms which confuse -and obliterate the very thing he wants to know. Yet the Sun I never -forget--father of fire and wind. My companions are lost temporarily. -I am shut off from them. It seems I cannot have them and the Race at -the same time. I yearn and suffer to rejoin them. The service we all -know together is great joy. Of love, this love between two isolated -individuals the Race counts the best thing they have--we know nothing. - -Now, here is one thing I can understand quite clearly: - -I have watched and helped the Race, as he calls it, for countless ages. -Yet from outside it. Never till now have I been inside its limits with -it. And a dim sense of having watched it through a veil or curtain -comes to me. I can faintly recall that I tried to urge my big rhythms -in among its members, as great waves of heat or sound might be launched -upon an ant-heap. I used to try to force and project my vast rhythms -into their tiny ones, hoping to make these latter swell and rise and -grow--but never with success. Though a few members, here and there, -felt them and struggled to obey and use their splendid swing, the rest -did not seem to notice them at all.... Indeed, they objected to the -struggling efforts of the few who did feel them, for their own small -accustomed rhythms were interfered with. The few were generally broken -into little pieces and pushed violently out of the way. - -And this made me feel pitiful, I remember dimly; because these -smaller rhythms, though insignificant, were exquisite. They were of -extraordinary beauty. Could they only have been increased, the Race -that knew and used them must have changed my own which, though huge -and splendid of their kind, lacked the intense, perfect loveliness of -the smaller kind. - -The Race, had it accepted mine and mastered them, must have carried -themselves and me towards still mightier rhythms which I alone could -never reach. - -This, then, is clear to me, though very faint now. Fillery, who can -think for a long time, instead of like me for seconds only, will -understand what I mean. For if I tell him what "we" did, he may be able -to think out what "we" were. - -"Your work?" he asked me too. - -I'm not sure I know what he means by "work." We were incessantly -active, but not for ourselves. There was no effort. There was easy and -sure accomplishment--in the sense that nothing could stop or hinder -our fulfilling our own natures. Obstacles, indeed, helped our power -and made it greater, for everything feeds fire and opposition adds to -the pressure of wind. Our main activity was to make perfect forms. We -were form-builders. Apart from this, our "work" was to maintain and -keep active all rhythms less than our own, yet of our kind. I speak of -my own kind alone. We had no desire to be known outside our kind. We -worked and moved and built up swiftly, but out of sight--an endless -service. - -"You are the Powers behind what we call Nature, then?" the dear Fillery -asked me. "You operate behind growing things, even behind inanimate -things like trees and stones and flowers. Your big rhythms, as you call -them, are our Laws of Nature. Your own particular department, your own -elements evidently, were heat and air." - -I could not answer that. But, as he said it, I saw in his grey eyes the -flash of fire which so few of his Race possessed; and I felt vaguely -that he was one of the struggling members who was aware of the big -rhythms and who would be put away in little pieces later by the rest. -It made me pitiful. "Forget your own tiny rhythms," I said, "and come -over to us. But bring your tiny rhythms with you because they are so -exquisitely lovely. We shall increase them." - -He did not answer me. His mouth twitched at the corners, and he had an -attack of that irritation which, he says, is relieved and expressed by -laughter. Yet the face shone. - -The laughter, however, was a very quick, full, natural answer, all -the same. It was happy and enthusiastic. I saw that laughter made his -rhythms bigger at once. Then laughter was probably the means to use. It -was a sort of bridge. - -"Your instantaneous comprehension of our things puzzles me," he said. -"You grasp our affairs in all their relations so swiftly. Yet it is all -new to you." His voice and face made me wish to stroke and help him, he -was so dear and eager. "How do you manage it?" he asked point blank. -"Our things are surely foreign to your nature." - -"But they are of children," I told him. "They are small and so very -simple. There are no difficulties. Your language is block letters -because your self-expression, as you call it, is so limited. It all -comes to me at a glance. I and my kind can remember a million tiniest -details without effort." - -He did not laugh, but his face looked full of questions. I could not -help him further. "A scrap, probably, of what you've taught us," I -heard him mumble, though no further questions came. "Well," he went on -presently, while I lay and watched the pale fire slip in tiny waves -about his eyes, "remember this: since our alphabet is so easy to you, -follow it, stick to it, do not go outside it. There's a good rule that -will save trouble for others as well as for yourself." - -"I remember and I try. But it is not always easy. I get so cramped and -stiff and lifeless with it." - -"This sunless, chilly England, of course, cannot feed you," he said. -"The sense of beauty in our Race, too, is very poor." - -Once he suddenly looked up and fixed his eyes on my face. His manner -became very earnest. - -"Now, listen to me," he said. "I'm going to read you something; I want -you to tell me what you make of it. It's private; that is, I have no -right to show it to others, but as no one would understand it--with the -exception possibly of yourself--secrecy is not of importance." And his -mouth twitched a little. - -He drew a sheaf of papers from an inner pocket, and I saw they were -covered with fine writing. I laughed; this writing always made me -laugh--it was so laborious and slow. The writing I knew best, of -course, lay all over and inside the earth and skies. The privacy -also made me laugh, so strange seemed the idea to me, and so -impossible--this idea of secrecy. It was such an admission of ignorance. - -"I will understand it quickest by reading it," I said. "I take in a -page at once--in your block letters." - -But he preferred to read it out himself, so that he could note the -effect upon me, he explained, of definite passages. He saw that I -guessed his purpose, and we laughed together a moment. "When you tire -of listening," he said, "just tell me and I'll pause." I gave him my -hand to hold. "It helps me to stay here," I explained, and he nodded as -he grasped me in his warm firm clasp. - -"It's written by one who _may_ have known you and your big rhythms, -though I can't be sure," he added. "One of--er--my patients wrote it, -someone who believed she was in communication with a kind of immense -Nature-spirit." - -Then he began to read in his clear, windy voice: - -"'I sit and weave. I feel strange; as if I had so much consciousness -that words cannot explain it. The failure of others makes my work more -hard, but my own purposes never fail, I am associated with those who -need me. The universal doors are open to me. I compass Creation.'" - -But already I began to hum my songs, though to please him I kept -the music low, and he, dear Fillery, did not bid me stop, but only -tightened his grasp upon my hand. I listened with pleasure and -satisfaction. Therefore I hummed. - -"'I am silent, seeking no expression, needing no communication, -satisfied with the life that is in me. I do not even wish to be known -about----'" - -"That's where your Race," I put in, "is to me as children. All they do -must be shouted about so loud or they think it has not happened." - -"'I do not wish to be forced to obtrude myself,'" he went on. "'There -are hosts like me. We do not want that which does not belong to us. We -do not want that hindrance, that opposition which rouses an undesirable -consciousness; for without that opposition we could never have known of -disobedience. We are formless. The formless is the real. That cannot -die. It is eternal.'" - -Again he tightened his grasp, and this time also laid his eyes a moment -on my own, over the top of his paper, so that I kept my music back with -a great effort. For it was hard not to express myself when my own came -calling in this fashion. - -He continued reading aloud. He selected passages now, instead of going -straight through the pages. The words helped memory in me; flashes of -what I had forgotten came back in sheets of colour and waves of music; -the phrases built little spirals, as it were, between two states. Of -these two states, I now divined, he understood one perfectly--his own, -and the other--mine--partially. Yet he had a little of both, I knew, -in himself. With me it was similar, only the understood state was not -the same with us. To the Race, of course, what he read would have no -meaning. - -"The Comely One and the four figures," I said, "how they would turn -white and run if they could hear you, showing their yellow teeth and -dim eyes!" - -His face remained grave and eager, though I could see the laughter -running about beneath the tight brown skin as he went on reading his -little bits. - -"'We heard nothing of man, and were rarely even conscious of him, -although he benefited by our work in all that sustained and conditioned -him. The wise are silent, the foolish speak, and the children are thus -led astray, for wisdom is not knowledge, it is a realization of the -scheme and of one's own part in it.'" - -He took a firmer, broader grip of my hand as he read the next bit. I -felt the tremble of his excitement run into my wrist and arm. His voice -deepened and shook. It was like a little storm: - -"'Then, suddenly, we heard man's triumphant voice. We became conscious -of him as an evolving entity. Our Work had told. We had built his form -and processes so faithfully. We knew that when he reached his height we -must be submissive to his will.'" - -A gust of memory flashed by me as I heard. Those small but perfect, -exquisite, lovely rhythms! - -"Who called me here? Whose voice reached after me, bringing me into -this undesirable consciousness?" I cried aloud, as the memory went -tearing by, then vanished before I could recover it. At the same time -Fillery let go my hand, and the little bridge was snapped. I felt what -he called pain. It passed at once. I found his hand again, but the -bridge was not rebuilt. How white his skin had grown, I noticed, as I -looked up at his face. But the eyes shone grandly. "I shall find the -way," I said. "We shall go back together to our eternal home." - -He went on reading as though I had not interrupted, but I found it less -easy to listen now. - -I realized then that he was gone. He had left the room, though I had -not seen him go. I had been away. - -It was some days ago that this occurred. It was to-day, a few hours -ago, that I seized the Comely One and tried to comfort her, poor hungry -member of this little Race. - -But both occurrences help us--help dear Fillery and myself--to -understand how difficult it is to answer his questions and tell him -exactly what he wants to know. - -"How long, O Lord, how long!" I hear his yearning cry. "Yet other -beings cannot help us; they can only tell us what their own part is." - -After the door had clicked I knew release for a bit--release from a -state I partially understood and so found irksome, into another where -I felt at home and so found pleasurable. In the big rhythms my nature -expressed itself apparently. I rose, seeking my lost companions. -They--the Devonham and his busy little figures--called it sleep. It -may be "sleep." But I find there what I seek yet have forgotten, and -that with me were dear Fillery and another--a Comely One whom _he_ -brings--as though we belong together and have a common origin. But this -other Comely One--who is it? - - - - -CHAPTER X - - -About a week after the arrival of LeVallon in London, Dr. Fillery came -out of the Home one morning early, upon some uninteresting private -business. He had left "LeVallon" happy with his books and garden, -Devonham was with him to answer questions or direct his energies; the -other "cases" in the establishment were moving nicely towards a cure. - -The November air was clear and almost bright; no personal worries -troubled him. His mind felt free and light. - -It was one of those mornings when Nature slips, very close and sweet, -into the heart, so close and sweet that the mind wonders why people -quarrel and disagree, when it is so easy to forgive, and the planet -seems but a big, lovely, happy garden, evil an impossible nightmare, -and personal needs few and simple. - -He walked by cross roads towards Primrose Hill, entering Regent's Park -near the Zoo. An early white frost was rapidly melting in the sun. The -sky showed a faint tinge of blue. He saw floating sea-gulls. These, and -a faint breeze that stirred the yellowing last leaves of autumn, gave -his heart a sudden lift. - -And this lift was in the direction of a forbidden corner. He was aware -of some exquisite dawn-wind far away stirring a million flowers, -dew sparkled, streams splashed and murmured. A valley gleamed and -vanished, yet left across his mind its shining trail.... For this lift -of his heart made him soar into a region where it was only too easy -to override temptation. Fillery, however, though his invisible being -soared, kept both visible feet firmly on the ground. The surface -was slippery, being melted by the sun, but frost kept the earth hard -and frozen underneath. His balance never was in danger. He remained -detached and a spectator. - -She walked beside him nevertheless, a figure of purity and radiance, -perfumed, soft, delicious. She was so ignorant of life. That was her -wonder partly; for beauty was her accident and, while admirable, was -not a determining factor. Life, in its cruder sense, she did not know, -though moving through the thick of it. It neither touched nor soiled -her; she brushed its dirt and dust aside as though a non-conducting -atmosphere surrounded her. Her emotions, deep and searching, had -remained untorn. A quality of pristine innocence belonged to her, as -though, in the noisy clamour of ambitious civilized life, she remained -still aware of Eden. Her grace, her loveliness, her simplicity moved by -his side as naturally, it seemed to him, as air or perfume. - -"Iraida," he murmured to himself, with a smile of joy. "Nayan Khilkoff. -All the men worship and adore you, yet respect you too. They cannot -touch you. You remain aloof, unstained." And, remembering LeVallon's -remarks in cinema and theatre, he could have sung at this mere thought -of her. - -"Untouched by coarseness, something unearthly about your loveliness -of soul, a baby, a saint, and to all the men in Khilkoff's Studio, -a mother. Where do you really come from? Whence do you derive? Your -lovely soul can have no dealings with our common flesh. How many -young fellows have you saved already, how many floundering characters -redeemed! They crave your earthly, physical love. Instead you surprise -and disappoint and shock them into safety again--by giving to them -Love...!" - -And, as he half repeated his vivid thoughts aloud, he suddenly saw her -coming towards him from the ornamental water, and instantly, wondering -what he should say to her, his mind contracted. The thing in him that -sang went backward into silence. He put a brake upon himself. But he -watched her coming nearer, wondering what brought her so luckily into -Regent's Park, and all the way from Chelsea, at such an hour. She moved -so lightly, sweetly; she was so intangible and lovely. He feared her -eyes, her voice. - -They drew nearer. From looking to right and left, he raised his head. -She was close, quite close, a hundred yards away. That walk, that -swing, that poise of head and neck he could not mistake anywhere. His -whole being glowed, thrilled, and yet contracted as in pain. - -A sentence about the weather, about her own, her father's, health, -about his calling to see them shortly, rose to his lips. He turned his -eyes away, then again looked up. They were now not twenty yards apart; -in another moment he would have raised his hat, when, with a sensation -of cold disappointment in him, she went past in totally irresponsive -silence. It was a stranger--a shop girl, a charwoman, a bus-conductor's -wife--anybody but she whom he had thought. - -How could he have been so utterly mistaken? It amazed him. It was, -indeed, months since they had met, yet his knowledge of her appearance -was so accurate and detailed that such an error seemed incredible. He -had experienced, besides, the actual thrill. - -The phenomenon, however, was not new to him. Often had he experienced -it, much as others have. He knew, from this, that she was somewhere -near, coming deliciously, deliberately towards him, moving every minute -firmly nearer, from a point in great London town which she had left -just at the precise moment which would time her crossing his own path -later. They would meet presently, if not now. Fate had arranged all -details, and something in him was aware of it before it happened. - -The phenomenon, as a matter of fact, was repeated twice again in the -next half-hour: he saw her--on both occasions beyond the possibility -of question--coming towards him, yet each time it was a complete -stranger masquerading in her guise. - -It meant, he knew, that their two minds--hearts, too, he wondered, -with a sense of secret happiness, enjoyed intensely then instantly -suppressed--were wirelessing to one another across the vast city, and -that both transmitter and receiver, their physical bodies, would meet -shortly round the corner, or along the crowded street. Strong currents -of desiring thought, he knew, he hoped, he wondered, were trying to -shape the crude world nearer to the heart's desire, causing the various -intervening passers-by to assume the desirable form and outline in -advance. - -He reflected, following the habit of his eager mind; this wireless -discovery, after all, was the discovery of a universal principle in -Nature. It was common to all forms of life, a faint beginning of -that advance towards marvellous intercommunicating, semi-telepathic -brotherhood he had always hoped for, believed in.... Even plants, he -remembered, according to Bose.... - -Then, suddenly, half-way down Baker Street he found her close beside -him. - -She was dressed so becomingly, so naturally, that no particular detail -caught his eye, although she wore more colour than was usual in the -dull climate known to English people. There was a touch of fur and -there were flowers, but these were part of her appearance as a whole, -and the hat was so exactly right, though it was here that Englishwomen -generally went wrong, that he could not remember afterwards what it -was like. It was as suitable as natural hair. It looked as if she had -grown it. The shining eyes were what he chiefly noticed. They seemed to -increase the pale sunlight in the dingy street. - -She was so close that he caught her perfume almost before he recognized -her, and a sense of happiness invaded his whole being instantly, as he -took the slender hand emerging from a muff and held it for a moment. -The casual sentences he had half prepared fled like a flock of birds -surprised. Their eyes met.... And instantly the sun rose over a far -Khaketian valley; he was aware of joy, of peace, of deep contentment, -London obliterated, the entire world elsewhere. He knew the thrill, the -ecstasy of some long-forgotten dawn.... - -But in that brief second while he held her hand and gazed into her -eyes, there flashed before him a sudden apparition. With lightning -rapidity this picture darted past between them, paused for the tiniest -fraction of a second, and was gone again. So swiftly the figure shot -across that the very glance he gave her was intercepted, its angle -changed, its meaning altered. He started involuntarily, for he knew -that vision, the bright rushing messenger, someone who brought glad -tidings. And this time he recognized it--it was the figure of "N. H." - -The outward start, the slight wavering of the eyelids, both were -noticed, though not understood, much less interpreted by the young -woman facing him. - -"You are as much surprised as I am," he heard the pleasant, low-pitched -voice before his face. "I thought you were abroad. Father and I came -back from Sark only yesterday." - -"I haven't left town," he replied. "It was Devonham went to -Switzerland." - -He was thinking of her pleasant voice, and wondering how a mere voice -could soothe and bless and comfort in this way. The picture of the -flashing figure, too, preoccupied him. His various mind was ever busy -with several trains of thought at once, though all correlated. Why, he -was wondering, should that picture of "N. H." leave a sense of chill -upon his heart? Why had the first radiance of this meeting thus already -dimmed a little? Her nearness, too, confused him as of old, making -his manner a trifle brusque and not quite natural, until he found his -centre of control again. He looked quickly up and down the street, -moved aside to let some people pass, then turned to the girl again. -"Your holiday has done you good, Iraida," he said quietly; "I hope your -father enjoyed it too." - -"We both enjoyed ourselves," she answered, watching him, something of -a protective air about her. "I wish you had been with us, for that -would have made it perfect. I was thinking that only this morning--as I -walked across Hyde Park." - -"How nice of you! I believe I, too, was thinking of you both, as I -walked through Regent's Park." He smiled for the first time. - -"It's very odd," she went on, "though you can explain it probably," -she added, with a smile that met his own, increasing it, "or, at any -rate, Dr. Devonham could--but I've seen you several times this morning -already--in the last half-hour. I've seen you in other people in the -street, I mean. Yet I wasn't thinking of you at the actual moment, it's -two months since we've met, and I imagined you were abroad." - -"Odd, yes," he said, half shyly, half curtly. "It's an experience many -have, I believe." - -She gazed up at him. "It's very natural, I think, when people like each -other, Edward, and are in sympathy." - -"Yet it happens with people who don't like each other too," he -objected, and at the same moment was vexed that he had used the words. - -Iraida Khilkoff laughed. He had the feeling that she read his thoughts -as easily as if they were printed in red letters on his grey felt hat. - -"There must be _some_ bond between them, though," she remarked, "an -emotion, I mean, whatever it may be--even hatred." - -"Probably, Nayan," he agreed. "It's you now, not Devonham, that wants -to explain things. I think I must take you into the Firm, you could -take charge of the female patients with great success." - -Whereupon she looked up at him with such a grave mothering expression -that he was aware of her secret power, her central source of strength -in dealing with men. Her innocence and truth were an atmosphere about -her, protecting her as naturally and neatly as the clothes upon her -body. She believed in men. He felt like a child beside her. - -"I'm in the Firm already," she said, "for you made me a partner years -ago when I was so high," and her small gloved hand indicated the -stature of a little girl. "You taught me first." - -He remembered the bleak northern town where fifteen years ago he -had known her father as a patient for some minor ailment, and the -friendship that grew out of the relationship. He remembered the child -of nine or ten who sat on his knee and repeated to him the Russian -fairy tales her mother told her; he recalled the charm, the wonder, -the extraordinary power of belief. Her words brought back again that -flowered Caucasian valley in the sunlight and this, again, flashed upon -the screen the strange bright figure that had already once intercepted -their glance, as though it somehow came between them.... - -"You have one advantage over me," he rejoined presently, "for in my -Clinique the people know that they need treatment, whereas in the -Studio you catch your patients unawares. They do not know they're ill. -You heal them without their being aware that they need healing." - -"Yet some of our _habitues_ have found their way later to your -consulting-room," she reminded him. - -"Merely to finish what you had first begun--a sort of convalescence. -You work in the big, raw world, I in a mere specialized corner of it." - -He turned away, lest the power in her eyes overcome him. The traffic -thundered past, the people crowded, jostling them. He could have stood -there talking to her all day long, the London street forgotten or full -of flowers and Eden's trees and rippling summer streams. The pale -sunlight caught her face beside him and made it shine.... - -He longed to take her in his arms and fly through the dawn for ever, -for his clean mind saw her without clothing, her hair loose in the -wind, her white shape fleeing from him, yet beckoning across a gleaming -shoulder that he must overtake and capture her.... - -"I'm on my way to St. Dunstan's," he heard the musical voice. "A friend -of father's.... Come with me, will you?" And with her muff she touched -his arm, trying to make him turn her way. But just as he felt the touch -he saw the bright figure again. Swifter than himself and far more -powerful, it leaped dancing past and carried her away before his very -eyes. She waved her hand, her eyes faded like stars into the distance -of some unearthly spring--and she was gone. A pang of peculiar anguish -seized him, as the mental picture flashed with the speed of light and -vanished. For the figure seemed of elemental power, taking its own with -perfect ease.... - -He shook his head. "I'll come to see you to-morrow instead," he told -her. "I'll come to the Studio in the afternoon, if you'll both be in. -I'd like to bring a friend with me, if I may." - -"Good-bye then." She took his hand and kept it. "I shall expect you to -tell me all about this--friend. I knew you had something on your mind, -for your thoughts have been elsewhere all the time." - -"Julian LeVallon," he replied quickly. "He's staying with me -indefinitely." His face grew stern a moment about the mouth. "I think -he may need you," he added with abrupt significance. - -"Julian LeVallon," she repeated, the name sounding very musical the way -her slightly foreign accent touched it "And what nationality may that -be?" - -Dr. Fillery hesitated. "His parents, Nayan, I believe, were English," -he said. "He has lived all his life in the Jura Mountains, alone with -an old scholar, poet and geologist, who brought him up. Of our modern -life he knows little. I think you may----" He broke off. "His mother -died when he was born," he concluded. - -"And of women he knows nothing," she replied, understandingly, "so that -he will probably fall in love with the first he sees--with Nayan." - -"I hope so, Nayan, and he will be safe with you." - -She watched her companion's face for a minute or two with her clear -searching eyes. She smiled. But his own face wore a mask now; no figure -this time flashed between their deep understanding gaze. - -"A woman, you think, can teach and help him more than a man," she said, -without lowering her eyes. - -"Probably--perhaps, at any rate. The material, I must warn you at once, -is new and strange. I want him to meet you." - -"Then I _am_ in the Firm," was all she answered, "and you can't do -without me." She let go the hand she had held all this time, and turned -from him, looking once across her shoulder as he, too, went upon his -way. - -"About three o'clock we shall expect you--and Mr. Julian LeVallon," she -added. "The Prometheans are coming too, as of course you know, but that -won't matter. Father has let the Studio to them." - -"The more the merrier," he answered, raised his hat, and went on at a -rapid pace up Baker Street. - -But with him up the London street went a flock of thoughts, hopes, -fears and memories that were hard to disentangle. Lost, forgotten -dreams went with him too. He had known that one day he must be -"executed," yet with his own hands he had just slipped the noose -about his neck. Detachment from life, he realized, keeping aloof from -the emotions that touch one's fellow beings, can only be, after all, -a pose. In his case it was evidently a pose assumed for safety and -self-protection, an artificial attitude he wore to keep his heart -from error. His love, born of some far unearthly valley, undoubtedly -consumed him, while yet he said it nay.... - -He had himself suggested bringing together the girl and "N. H." There -had been no need to do this. Yet he had deliberately offered it, and -she had instantly accepted. Even while he said the words there was -a volcano of emotion in him, several motives fighting to combine. -The fear for himself, being selfish, he had set aside at once; there -was also the fear for her--the odd certainty in him that at last her -woman's nature would be waked; lastly, the fear for "N. H." himself. -And here he clashed with his promise to Devonham. Behind the simple -proposal lay these various threads of motive, emotion and qualification. - -Now, as he hurried along the street, they rushed to and fro about his -mind, each at its own speed and with its own impetuous strength. It -was the last one, however, the certainty that her mere presence must -evoke the "N. H." personality, banishing the commonplace LeVallon; it -was this that, in the end, perhaps troubled him most. An intuitive -conviction assured him that this was bound to be the result of their -meeting. LeVallon would sink down out of sight; "N. H." would emerge -triumphant and vital, bringing his elemental power with him. The girl -would summon him.... - -"I must tell Paul first," he decided. "I must consult his judgment. -Otherwise I'm breaking my promise. If Paul is against it, I will send -an excuse...." - -With this proviso, he dismissed the matter from his mind, noting only -how clearly it revealed his own keen desire to let LeVallon disappear -and "N. H." become active. He himself yearned for the interest, -stimulus and companionship of the strange new being that was "N. H." - -The other aspect of the problem he dismissed quickly too: he would -lose Nayan. Yes, but he had never possessed the right to hold her. -He was strong, indifferent, detached.... His life in any case was a -sacrifice upon the altar of a mistake with regard to which he had -not been consulted. His whole existence must be passed in worship -before this altar, unless he was to admit himself a failure. His ideal -possession of the girl, he consoled himself, need know no change. To -watch her womanhood, hitherto untouched by any man, to watch this -bloom and ripen at the bidding of another must mean pain. But he faced -the loss. And a curious sense of compensation lay in it somewhere--the -strange notion that she and he would share "N. H." in a sense between -them. He was already aware of a deep subtle kinship between the three -of them, a kinship hardly of this physical world. And, after all, the -interests of "N. H." must come first. He had chosen his life, accepted -it, at any rate; he must remain true to his high ideal. This strange -being, blown by the winds of chance into his keeping, must be his first -consideration. - -"LeVallon" needed no special help, neither from himself, nor from her, -nor from others. "LeVallon" was ordinary enough, if not commonplace, -his only interest being at those thin places in his being where the -submerged personality of "N. H." peeped through. Paul Devonham, he -felt convinced, was wrong in thinking "N. H." to be the transient -manifestation. - -It was the reverse that Dr. Fillery believed to be the truth. He saw -in "N. H." almost a new type of being altogether. In that physical -body warred two personalities certainly, but "N. H." was the important -one, and LeVallon merely the transient outer one, masquerading on -the surface merely, a kind of automatic and mechanical personality, -gleaned, picked up, trained and educated, as it were, by the few years -spent among the human herd. - -And this "N. H." needed help, the best, the wisest possible. Both male -and female help "N. H." demanded. He, Edward Fillery, could supply the -former, but the latter could be furnished only by some woman in whom -innocence, truth and a natural mother-love--the three deepest feminine -qualities--were happily combined. Nayan possessed them all. "N. H.," -the strange bright messenger, bringing perhaps glad tidings into life, -had need of her. - -And Fillery, as his thoughts ran down these sad and happy paths of -that lost valley in his blood, realized the meaning of the flashing -intuition that had pained yet gladdened him half an hour before with -its convincing symbolic picture. - -This private Eden secreted in his depths he revealed to no one, though -Paul, his intimate friend and keen assistant, divined its general -neighbourhood and geography to some extent. It was the girl who -invariably opened its ivory gates for him. They had but to meet and -talk a moment, when, with a sudden drift of wonder, beauty, wildness, -this Khaketian inheritance rose before him. Its sunny brilliance, its -flowers, its perfumes seduced and caught him away. The unearthly mood -stole over him. Thought took wings of imagination and soared beyond -the planet. He foresaw, easily, the effect she would produce upon -"LeVallon."... - -He came back to earth again at the door of the Home, smiling, as -so often before, at these brief wanderings in his secret Eden, yet -perfectly able to pigeon-hole the experience, each detail explained, -labelled, docketed, and therefore harmless.... - -He found Devonham in the study and at once told him of his suggestion -and its possible results, and his assistant, resting before lunch after -a long morning's work, looked up at him with his quick, observant air. -Noticing the light in the eyes, the softer expression about the mouth, -the general appearance of a strong and recent stimulus, he easily -divined their origin, and showed his pleasure in his face. He longed -for his old friend to be humanized and steadied by some deep romance. -There was a curious new watchful attitude also about him, though -cleverly concealed. - -"I'm glad the Khilkoffs are back in town," he said easily. "As for -LeVallon--he's been quiet and uninteresting all the morning. He -needs the human touch, as I already said, and the Studio atmosphere, -especially if the Prometheans are to be there, seems the very thing." - -"And Nayan----?" - -"Her influence is good for any man, young or old, and if LeVallon -worships at her shrine like the rest of 'em, so much the better. You -remember my Notes. Nothing will help towards his finding his real self -quicker than an abandoned passion--unreturned." - -"Unreturned?" - -"You can't think she will give to LeVallon what so many----?" - -"But may she not," the other interrupted, "stimulate 'N. H.' rather -than LeVallon?" - -Devonham was surprised--he had quickly divined the subconscious fear -and jealousy. For this detached, impersonal attitude he was not -prepared. Only the keenest observer could have noticed the sharp, -anxious watchfulness he hid so well. - -"Edward, there's only one thing I feel we--you rather--have to be -careful about. And the girl has nothing to do with _that_. In your -blood, remember, lies an unearthly spiritual vagrancy which you must -not, dare not, communicate to him, if you ever hope to see him cured." - -Devonham regarded him keenly as he said it. He was as earnest as his -chief, but the difference between the two men was fundamental, probably -unbridgeable as well. The affection, trust, respect each felt for the -other was sincere. Devonham, however, having never known a thought, a -feeling, much less an actual experience, outside the normal gamut of -humanity, regarded all such as pathogenic. Fillery, who had tasted the -amazing, dangerous sweetness of such experiences, in his own being, had -another standard. - -"You must not exaggerate," observed Fillery, slowly. "Your phrase, -though, is good. 'Spiritual vagrancy' is an apt description, I admit. -Yet to the 'spiritual,' if it exists, the whole universe lies open, -remember, too." - -They laughed together. Then, suddenly, Devonham rose, and a new -inexpressible uneasiness was in his face. He thrust his hands deep -into his trouser pockets, turned his eyes hard upon the floor, stood -with his legs apart. Abruptly turning, he came a full step closer. -"Edward," he said, furious with himself, and yet fiercely determined -to be honest, "I may as well tell you frankly--though explanation lies -beyond me--there's something in this--this case I don't quite like." -Behind his lowered eyelids his observation never failed. - -Quick as a flash, his companion took him up. "For yourself, for others, -or for himself?" he asked, while a secret touch of joy ran through him. - -"For myself perhaps," was the immediate rejoinder. "It's intolerable. -It's the panic sense he touches in me. I admit it frankly. I've -had--once or twice--the desire to turn and run. But what I mean -is--we've got to be uncommonly careful with him," he ended lamely. - -"LeVallon you refer to? Or 'N. H.'?" - -"'N. H.'" - -"The panic sense," repeated Fillery to himself more than to his friend. -"The old, old thing. I understand." - -"Also," Devonham went on presently, "I must tell you that since he came -here there's been a change in every patient in the building--without -exception." He looked over his shoulder as though he heard a sound. He -listened certainly, but his mind was sharply centred on his friend. - -"For the better, yes," said Fillery at once. "Increased vitality, I've -noticed too." - -"Precisely," whispered the other, still listening. - -There came a pause between them. - -"And when we have found the real, the central self," pursued Fillery -presently. "When we have found the essential being--what is it?" - -"Exactly," replied Devonham with extraordinary emphasis. "_What is -it?_" But even then he did not look up to meet the other's glance. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -The meeting with Dr. Fillery and his friends, the Khilkoffs, father -and daughter, had, for one reason or another, to be postponed for a -week, during which brief time even, no single day wasted, LeVallon's -education proceeded rapidly. He was exceedingly quick to learn the -usages of civilized society in a big city, adapting himself with -an ease born surely of quick intelligence to the requirements and -conventions of ordinary life. - -In his perception of the rights of others, particularly, he showed -a natural aptitude; he had good manners, that is, instinctively; in -certain houses where Fillery took him purposely, he behaved with -a courtesy and tact that belong usually to what England calls a -gentleman. Except to Fillery and Devonham, he talked little, but was -an excellent and sympathetic listener, a quality that helped him to -make his way. With Mrs. Soames, the stern and even forbidding matron, -he made such headway, that it was noticed with a surprise, including -laughter. He might have been her adopted son. - -"She's got a new pet," said Devonham, with a laugh. "Mason taught him -well. His aptitude for natural history is obvious; after a few years' -study he'll make a name for himself. The 'N. H.' side will disappear -now more and more, unless _you_ stimulate it for your own ends----" He -broke off, speaking lightly still, but with a carelessness some might -have guessed assumed. - -"You forget," put in his Chief, "I promised." - -Devonham looked at him shrewdly. "I doubt," he said, "whether you can -help yourself, Edward," the expression in his eyes for a moment almost -severe. - -Fillery remained thoughtful, making no immediate reply. - -"We must remember," he said presently, "that he's now in the quiescent -state. Nothing has again occurred to bring 'N. H.' uppermost again." - -Devonham turned upon his friend. "I see no reason why 'N. H.'"--he -spoke with emphasis--"should ever get uppermost again. In my opinion we -can make this quiescent state--LeVallon--the permanent one." - -"We can't keep him in a cage like Mrs. Soames's mice and parrot. Are -you, for instance, against my taking him to the Studio? Do you think -it's a mistake to let him meet the Prometheans?" - -"That's just where Mason went wrong," returned Devonham. "He kept him -in a cage. The boy met only a few peasants, trees, plants, animals and -birds. The sun, making him feel happy, became his deity. The rain he -hated. The wind inspired and invigorated him. If we now introduce the -human element wisely, I see no danger. If he can stand the Khi--the -Studio and the Prometheans, he can stand anything. He may be considered -cured." - -The door opened and a tall, radiant figure with bright eyes and untidy -shining hair came into the room, carrying an open book. - -"Mrs. Soames says I've nothing to do with stars," said a deep musical -voice, "and that I had better stick to animals and plants. She says -that star-gazing never was good for anyone except astronomers who warn -us about tides, eclipses and dangerous comets." - -He held out the big book, open at an enlarged stellar photograph. -"What, please, is a galaxy, a star that is suddenly brilliant, then -disappears in a few weeks, and a nebula?" - -Before either of the astonished men could answer, LeVallon turned to -Devonham, his face wearing the gravity and intense curiosity of a -child. "And, please, are _you_ the only sort of being in the universe? -Mrs. Soames says that the earth is the only inhabited place. Aren't -there other beings besides you anywhere? The Earth is such a little -planet, and the solar system, according to this book, is one of the -smallest too." - -"My dear fellow," Devonham said gently, "do not bother your head with -useless speculations. Our only valuable field of study is this planet, -for it is all we know or ever can know. Whether the universe holds -other beings or not, can be of no importance to us at present." - -LeVallon stared fixedly at him, saying nothing. Something of his -natural radiance dimmed a little. "Then what are all these things that -I remember I've forgotten?" he asked, his blue eyes troubled. - -"It will take you all your lifetime to understand beings like me, and -like yourself and like Dr. Fillery. Don't waste time speculating about -possible inhabitants in other stars." - -He spoke good-humouredly, but firmly, as one who laid down certain -definite lines to be followed, while Dr. Fillery, watching, made no -audible comment. Once long ago he had asked his own father a somewhat -similar question. - -"But I shall so soon get to the end of you," replied LeVallon, a -disappointed expression on his face. "I may speculate _then_?" he asked. - -"When you get to the end of me and of yourself and of Dr. Fillery--yes, -then you may speculate to your heart's content," said Devonham in a -kindly tone. "But it will take you longer than you think perhaps. -Besides, there are women, too, remember. You will find them more -complicated still." - -A curious look stole into the other's eager eyes. He turned suddenly -towards the older man who had his confidence so completely. There was -in the movement, in the incipient gesture that he made with his arms, -his hands, almost with his head and face as well, something of appeal -that set the doctor's nerves alert. And the change of voice--it was -lower now and more musical than before--increased the nameless message -that flashed to his brain and heart. There was a hint of song, of -chanting almost, in the tone. There was music in him. For the voice, -Fillery realized suddenly, brought in the over-tones, somewhat in the -way good teachers of singing and voice production know. There was the -depth, sonority, singing quality which means that the "harmonics" are -made audible, as with a violin played in perfect tune. The sound seemed -produced not by the vocal cords alone, but by the entire being, so to -speak. Yet, "LeVallon's" voice had not this rich power, he noticed. -Its appearance was a sign that "N. H." was stirring into activity and -utterance. - -"Women, yes," the young man repeated to himself. "Women--bring back -something. Their eyes make me remember----" he turned abruptly to the -open book upon the doctor's knee. "It's something to do with stars, -these memories," he went on eagerly, the voice resonant. "Stars, women, -memories ... where are they all gone to...? Why have I lost...? What is -it that...?" - -It seemed as if a veil passed from his face, a thin transparency -that dimmed the shining effect his hair and eyes and radiant health -produced. A far-away expression followed it. - -"'N. H.'!" Devonham quickly flashed the whispered warning. And in the -same instant, Fillery rose, holding out the open book. - -"Come, LeVallon," he said, putting a hand upon his shoulder, "we'll go -into my room for an hour, and I'll tell you all about the galaxies and -nebulae. You shall ask as many questions as you like. Devonham is a very -busy man and has duties to attend to just now." - -He moved across to open the door, and LeVallon, his face changing more -and more, went with him; the light in his eyes increased; he smiled, -the far-away expression passed a little. - -"Dr. Devonham is quite right in what he says about useless -speculations," continued Fillery, as they went out arm in arm together, -"but we can play a bit with thought and imagination, for all that--you -and I. 'Let your thought wander like an insect which is allowed to fly -in the air, but is at the same time confined by a thread.' Come along, -we'll have an hour's play. We'll travel together among the golden -stars, eh?" - -"Play!" exclaimed the youth, looking up with flashing eyes. "Ah! in the -Spring we play! Our work with sap, roots, crystals, fire, all finished -out of sight, so that their results followed of their own accord." -He was talking at great speed in a low voice, a deep, rolling voice, -and half to himself. "Spring is our holiday, the forms made perfect -and ready for the power to rush through, and we rush with it, playing -everywhere----" - -"Spring is the wine of life, yes," put in Fillery, caught away -momentarily by something behind the words he listened to, as though a -rhythm swept him. "Creative life racing up and flooding into every form -and body everywhere. It brings wonder, joy--play, as you call it." - -"We--we build the way----" The youth broke off abruptly as they reached -the study door. Something flowed down and back in him, emptying face -and manner of a mood which had striven for utterance, then passed. He -returned to the previous talk about the stars again: - -"Who attends to them? Who looks after them?" he inquired, a deep, -peculiar interest in his manner, his eyes turning a little darker. - -"What we call the laws of Nature," was the reply, "which are, after -all, merely our 'descriptive formulae summing up certain regularities -of recurrence,' the laws under which they were first set alight and -then sent whirling into space. Under these same laws they will all -eventually burn out and come to rest. They will be dead." - -"Dead," repeated the other, as though he did not understand. "They are -the children of the laws," he stated, rather than asked. "Are the laws -kind and faithful? They never tire?" - -Fillery explained with one-half of his nature, and still as to a -child. The other half of him lay under firm restraint according to his -promise. He outlined in general terms man's knowledge of the stars. -"The laws never tire," he said. - -"But the stars end! They burn out, stop, and die! You said so." - -The other replied with something judicious and cautious about time and -its immense duration. But he was startled. - -"And those who attend to the laws," came then the words that startled -him, "who keeps them working so that they do not tire?" - -It was something in the tone of voice perhaps that, once again, -produced in his listener the extraordinary sudden feeling that Humanity -was, after all, but an insignificant, a microscopic detail in the -Universe; that it was, say, a mere ant-heap in the colossal jungle -crowded with other minuter as well as immenser life of every sort and -kind, and, moreover, that "N. H." was aware of this "other life," or at -least of some vast section of it, and had been, if he were not still, -associated with it. The two letters by which he was designated acquired -a deeper meaning than before. - -A rich glow came into the young face, and into the eyes, growing ever -darker, a look of burning; the skin had the effect of radiating; the -breathing became of a sudden deep and rhythmical. The whole figure -seemed to grow larger, expanding as though it extended already and half -filled the room. Into the atmosphere about it poured, as though heat -and light rushed through it, a strange effect of power. - -"You'd like to visit them, perhaps--wouldn't you?" asked Fillery gently. - -"I feel----" began the other, then stopped short. - -"You feel it would interest you," the doctor helped--then saw his -mistake. - -"I feel," repeated the youth. The sentence was complete. "I am there." - -"Ah! when you feel you're there, you _are_ there?" - -The other nodded. - -He leaned forward. "_I_ know," he whispered as with sudden joy. "_You_ -help me to remember, Fillery." The voice, though whispering, was -strong; it vibrated full of over-tones and under-tones. The sound of -the "F" was like a wind in branches. "You wonderful, _you_ know too! -It is the same with flowers, with everything. We build with wind and -fire." He stopped, rubbing a hand across his forehead a moment. "Wind -and fire," he went on, but this time to himself, "my splendid mighty -ones...." Dropping his hand, he flashed an amazing look of enthusiasm -and power into his companion's face. The look held in concentrated -form something of the power that seemed pulsing and throbbing in his -atmosphere. "Help me to remember, dear Fillery," his voice rang out -aloud like singing. "Remember with me why we both are here. When we -remember we can go back where we belong." - -The glow went from his face and eyes as though an inner lamp had been -suddenly extinguished. The power left both voice and atmosphere. He -sank back in his chair, his great sensitive hands spread over the table -where the star charts lay, as through the open window came the crash -and clatter of an aeroplane tearing, like some violent, monstrous -insect, through the sunlight. - -A look of pain came into his eyes. "It goes again. I've lost it." - -"We were talking about the stars and the laws of Nature," said Fillery -quickly, though his voice was shaking, "when that noisy flying-machine -disturbed us." He leaned over, taking his companion's hand. His heart -was beating. He smelt the open spaces. The blood ran wildly in his -veins. It was with the utmost difficulty he found simple, common words -to use. "You must not ask too much at once. We will learn slowly--there -is so much we have to learn together." - -LeVallon's smile was beautiful, but it was the smile of "LeVallon" -again only. - -"Thank you, dear Fillery," he replied, and the talk continued as -between a tutor and his backward pupil.... But for some time afterwards -the "tutor's" mind and heart, while attending to LeVallon now, went -travelling, it seemed, with "N. H." There was this strange division -in his being ... for "N. H." appealed with power to a part of him, -perhaps the greatest, that had never yet found expression, much less -satisfaction. - -Many a talk together of this kind, with occasional semi-irruptions of -"N. H.," he had already enjoyed with his new patient, and LeVallon was -by now fairly well instructed in the general history of our little -world, briefly but picturesquely given. Evolution had been outlined -and explained, the rise of man sketched vividly, the great war, and -the planet's present state of chaos described in a way that furnished -a clear enough synopsis of where humanity now stood. LeVallon was -able to hold his own in conversation with others; he might pass for a -simple-minded but not ill-informed young man, and both Paul Devonham -and Edward Fillery, though each for different reasons, were, therefore, -well satisfied with the young human being entrusted to their care, a -human being to be eventually discharged from the Home, healed and cured -of extravagances, made harmonious with himself, able to make his own -way in the world alone. To Devonham it appeared already certain that, -within a reasonable time, LeVallon would find himself happily at home -among his fellow kind, a normal, even a gifted young man with a future -before him. "N. H." would disappear and be forgotten, absorbed back -into the parent Self. To his colleague, on the other hand, another -vision of his future opened. Sooner or later it was LeVallon that would -disappear and "N. H." remain in full control, a strange, possibly a -new type of being, not alone marvellously gifted, but who might even -throw light upon a vista of research and knowledge hitherto unknown to -humanity, and with benefits for the Race as yet beyond the reach of any -wildest prophecy. - -Both men, therefore, went gladly with him to the Khilkoff Studio -that early November afternoon, anxious to observe him, his conduct, -attitude, among the curious set of people to be found there on the -Prometheans' Society day, and to note any reactions he might show in -such a milieu. Each felt fully justified in doing so, though they would -have kept an ordinary "hysterical" patient safely from the place. -LeVallon, however, betrayed no trace of hysteria in any meaning of the -word, big or little; he was stable as a navvy, betraying no undesirable -reaction to the various well-known danger points. The visit might be -something of an experiment perhaps, but an experiment, a test, they -were justified in taking. Yet Devonham on no account would have allowed -his chief to go alone. He had insisted on accompanying them. - -And to both men, as they went towards Chelsea, their quiet companion -with them, came the feeling that the visit might possibly prove one -of them right, the other wrong. Fillery expected that Nayan Khilkoff -alone, to say nothing of the effect of the other queer folk who might -be present, must surely evoke the "N. H." personality now lying -quiescent and inactive below the threshold of LeVallon. The charm -and beauty of the girl he had never known to fail with any male, for -she had that in her which was bound to stimulate the highest in the -opposite sex. The excitement of the wild, questing, picturesque, if -unbalanced, minds who would fill the place, must also, though in quite -another way, affect the _real_ self of anyone who came in contact with -their fantastic and imaginative atmosphere. Attraction or repulsion -must certainly be felt. He expected at any rate a vital clue. - -"Ivan Khilkoff," he told LeVallon, as they went along in the car, "is -a Russian, a painter and sculptor of talent, a good-hearted and silent -sort of old fellow, who has remained very poor because he refuses to -advertise himself or commercialize his art, and because his work is -not the kind of thing the English buy. His daughter, Nayan, teaches -the piano and Russian. She is beautiful and sweet and pure, but of an -independent and rather impersonal character. She has never fallen in -love, for instance, though most men fall in love with her. I hope you -may like and understand each other." - -"Thank you," said LeVallon, listening attentively, but with no great -interest apparently. "I will try very much to like her and her father -too." - -"The Studio is a very big one, it is really two studios knocked into -one, their living rooms opening out of it. One half of the place, being -so large, they sometimes let out for meetings, dances and that sort of -thing, earning a little money in that way. It is rented this evening by -a Society called the Prometheans--a group of people whose inquisitive -temperaments lead them to believe, or half believe----" - -"To imagine, if not deliberately to manufacture," put in Devonham. - -"----to imagine, let us call it," continued the other with a -twinkle, "that there are other worlds, other powers, other states of -consciousness and knowledge open to them outside and beyond the present -ones we are familiar with." - -"They _know_ these?" asked LeVallon, looking up with signs of interest. -"They have experienced them?" - -"They know and experience," replied Fillery, "according to their -imaginations and desires, those with a touch of creative imagination -claiming the most definite results, those without it being merely -imitative. They report their experiences, that is, but cannot--or -rarely show the results to others. You will hear their talk and judge -accordingly. They are interesting enough in their way. They have, -at any rate, one thing of value--that they are open to new ideas. -Such people have existed in every age of the world's history, but -after an upheaval, such as the great war has been, they become more -active and more numerous, because the nervous system, reacting from -a tremendous strain, produces exaggeration. Any world is better -than an uncomfortable one in revolution, they think. They are, as -a rule, sincere and honest folk. They add a touch of colour to the -commonplace----" - -"Tuppence coloured," murmured Devonham below his breath. - -"And they believe so much in other worlds to conquer, other regions, -bigger states of consciousness, other powers," concluded Fillery, -ignoring the interruption, "that they are half in this world, half in -the next. Hence Dr. Devonham's name, the name by which he sometimes -laughs at them--of Half Breeds." - -LeVallon's eyes, he saw, were very big; his interest and attention were -excited. - -"They will probably welcome you with open arms," he added, "if you -care to join them. They consider themselves pioneers of a larger life. -They are not mere spiritualists--oh no! They are familiar with all the -newest theories, and realize that an alternative hypothesis can explain -all so-called psychic phenomena without dragging spirits in. It is in -exaggerating results they go mostly wrong." - -"Eccentrics," Devonham remarked, "out of the circle, and hysterical -to a man. They accomplish nothing. They are invariably dreamers, -usually of doubtful morals and honesty, and always unworthy of serious -attention. But they may amuse you for an hour." - -"We all find it difficult to believe what we have never experienced," -mentioned Fillery, turning to his colleague with a hearty laugh, in -which the latter readily joined, for their skirmishes usually brought -in laughter at the end. Just now, moreover, they were talking with a -purpose, and it was wise and good that LeVallon should listen and take -in what he could--hearing both sides. He watched and listened certainly -with open eyes and ears, as he sat between them on the wide front seat, -but saying, as usual, very little. - -The car turned down a narrow lane with slackening speed and slowed up -before a dingy building with faded Virginia creepers sprawling about -stained dirty walls. The neighbourhood was depressing, patched and -dishevelled, and almost bordering on a slum. The November light was -passing into early twilight. - -"You," said LeVallon abruptly, turning round and staring at Devonham, -"make everything seem unreal to me. I do not understand you. You know -so much. Why is so little real to you?" - -But Devonham, in the act of getting out of the car, made no reply, and -probably had not heard the words, or, if he had heard, thought them -more suitable for Fillery. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -The Prometheans were evidently in full attendance; possibly the rumour -had reached them that Dr. Fillery was coming. No one announced the -latter's arrival, there was no servant visible; the party hung up their -hats and coats in a passage, then walked into the lofty, dim-lit studio -which was already filled with people and the hum of many voices. - -At once, standing in a hesitating group beside the door, they were -observed by everyone in the room. All asked, it seemed, "Who is this -stranger they have brought?" Fillery caught the curious atmosphere -in that first moment, an instant whiff, as it were, of excitement, -interest, something picturesque, if possibly foolish, fantastic, too, -yet faintly stimulating, breathing along his extremely sensitive nerves. - -He glanced at his companions. Devonham, it struck him, looked more than -ever like a floor-walker come to supervise, say, a Department where -the sales and assistants were not satisfactory or--he laughed inwardly -as the simile occurred to him--a free-thinker entering a church -whose teaching he disapproved, even despised, and whose congregation -touched his contemptuous pity. "Who would ever guess," thought his -friend and colleague, "the sincerity and depth of knowledge in that -insignificant appearance? Paul hides his value well!" He noticed, in -his quick fashion, touched by humour, the hard challenging eyes, the -aquiline nose on which a pair of pince-nez balanced uneasily, the -narrow shoulders, the poorly fitting clothes. The heart, of course, -remained invisible. Yet suddenly he felt glad that Devonham was with -him. "Nothing unstable there," he reflected, "and stability combined -with competence is rare." This rapid judgment, it occurred to him, -was possibly a warning from his own subconscious being.... A red flag -signalled, flickered, vanished. - -He glanced next at LeVallon, towering above the other. LeVallon was -now well dressed in London clothes that suited him, though, for that -matter, any clothes must have looked well upon a male figure so -virile and upstanding. His great shoulders, his leanness, covered so -beautifully with muscle, his height, his colouring, his radiant air; -above all, his strange, big penetrating eyes, marked him as a figure -one would notice anywhere. He stood, somehow, alone, apart, though the -ingredients that contributed to this strange air of aloofness would be -hard to define. - -It was chiefly, perhaps, the poise of the great powerful frame that -helped towards this odd setting in isolation and independence. -Motionless, he gazed about him quietly, but it was the way he stood -that singled him out from other men. Even in his stillness there was -grace; neither hands nor feet, though it was difficult to describe -exactly how he placed them or used them, were separate from this poise -of perfect balance. To put it colloquially, he knew what to do with -his extremities. Self-consciousness, in sight of this ardent throng, -the first he had encountered at close, intimate quarters, was entirely -absent. - -This Fillery noticed instantly, but other impressions followed during -the few brief seconds while they waited by the door; and first, the odd -effect of tremendous power he managed to convey. Nothing could have -been less aggressive than the tentative, questioning, half inquiring, -half wondering attitude in which he stood, waiting to be introduced -to the buzzing throng of humans; yet there hung about him like an -atmosphere this potential strength, of confidence, of superiority, even -of beauty too, that not only contributed much to the aloofness already -mentioned, but also contrived to make the others, men and women, in the -crowded room--insignificant. Somehow they seemed pale and ineffective -against a larger grandeur, a scale entirely beyond their reach. - -"Gigantic" was the word that leaped into the mind, but another perhaps -leaped with it--"elemental." - -Fillery was aware of envy, oddly enough, of pride as well. His heart -warmed more than ever to him. Almost, he could have then and there -recalled his promise given to Devonham, cancelling it contemptuously -with a word of self-apology for his smallness and his lack of faith.... - -LeVallon, aware of a sympathetic mind occupied closely with himself, -turned in that moment, and their eyes met squarely; a smile of deep, -inner understanding passed swiftly between them over Devonham's -head and shoulders. In which moment, exactly, a short, bearded man, -detaching himself from the crowd, came forward and greeted them with -sincere pleasure in his voice and manner. He was broad-shouldered, -lean, his clothes hung loosely; his glance was keen but kindly. -Introductions followed, and Khilkoff's sharp eye rested for some -seconds with unconcealed admiration upon LeVallon, as he held his hand. -His discerning sculptor's glance seemed to appraise his stature and -proportions, while he bade him welcome to the Studio. His big head and -short neck, his mane of hair, the width of his face, with its squat -nose and high cheek-bones, the half ferocious eyes, the heavy jaw and -something sprawling about the mouth, gave him a leonine expression. And -his voice was not unlike a deep-toned growl, for all its cordiality. - -A stir, meanwhile, ran through the room, more heads turned in their -direction; they had long ago been observed; they were being now -examined. - -"Nayan," Khilkoff was saying, while he still held LeVallon's hand as -though its size and grip contented him, "had a late Russian lesson. -She will be here shortly, and very glad to make your acquaintance," -looking up at LeVallon, as the new-comer. His gruffness and brevity had -something pleasing in them. "To-day the Studio is not entirely mine," -he explained. "I want you to come when I'm alone. Some studies I made -in Sark this summer may interest you." He turned to Fillery. "That -lonely place was good for both of us," he said; "it gave me new life -and inspiration, and Nayan benefited immensely too. She looks more like -a nymph than ever." - -He shook hands with Devonham, smiling more grimly. "I'm surprised you, -too, have honoured us," he exclaimed with genuine surprise. "Come -to damn them all as usual, probably! Good! Your common-sense and -healthy criticism are needed in these days--cool, cleaning winds in an -over-heated conservatory." He broke off abruptly and looked down at -LeVallon's hand he was still holding. He examined it for a second with -care and admiration, then turned his eye upon the young man's figure. -He grunted. - -"When I know you better," he said, with a growl of earnest meaning, "I -shall ask a favour, a great favour, of you. So, beware!" - -"Thank you," replied LeVallon, and at the sound of his voice the -sculptor's interest deepened. A gleam shone in his eye. - -"You've begun some work," said Fillery, "and models are hard to come -by, I imagine." His eye never left LeVallon. - -Khilkoff chuckled. "Thought-reader!" he exclaimed. "If Povey heard -that, he'd make you join the Society at once--as honorary member or -vice-president. Anything to get you in. Dr. Fillery understands us all -_too_ well," he went on to LeVallon. "In Sark, that lonely island in -the sea, I began four figures--four elemental figures--of earth, air, -fire and water--a group, of course. The air figure, I've done----" - -"With Nayan as model," suggested Fillery, smiling. - -"One morning, yes, I caught her bathing from a rock, hair streaming in -the wind, no clothes on, white foam from the big breakers fluttering -about her, slim, shining, unconscious and half dancing, fierce sunlight -all over her. Ah"--he broke off--"here's Povey coming. I mustn't -monopolize you all. Devonham, you know most of 'em. Make yourselves at -home." He turned to LeVallon again, with a touch of something gentler, -almost of respect, thought Fillery, as he noticed the delicate change -of voice and manner quickly. "Come, Mr. LeVallon," he said courteously, -"I should like to show you the figure as I've done it. We'll go for a -moment into my own private rooms. But it's a model for fire I'm looking -for, as Fillery guessed. You may be interested." He led him off. -LeVallon went with evident content, and the advance of skirmishes that -were already approaching for introductions was temporarily defeated. - -For the three men standing by the door had formed a noticeable group, -and Khilkoff's presence added to their value. Dr. Fillery, known and -much respected, regarded with a touch of awe by many, had not come for -nothing, it was doubtless argued; his colleague, moreover, accompanied -him, and he, too, was known to the Society, though not much cultivated -by its members owing to his downright, critical way of talking. They -deemed him prejudiced, unsympathetic. It was the third member of the -group, LeVallon, who had quickly caught all eyes, and the attention -immediately paid to him by their host set the value of a special -and important guest upon him instantly. All watched him led away by -Khilkoff to the private quarters of the Studio, where none at first -presumed to follow them; but it was the eyes of the women that remained -glued to the open door where they had disappeared, waiting with careful -interest for their reappearance. In particular Lady Gleeson, the -"pretty Lady Gleeson," watched from the corner where she sat alone, -sipping some refreshment. - -Fillery and Devonham, having observed the signs about them, exchanged -a glance; their charge was safe for the moment, at any rate; they felt -relieved; yet it was for the entry of Nayan, the daughter, that both -waited with interest and impatience, as, meanwhile, the bolder ones -among the crowd came up one by one and captured them. - -"Oh, Dr. Fillery, I _am_ glad to see you here. I thought you were -always too busy for unscientific people like us. Yet, in a way, we're -all seekers, are we not? I've been reading your Physiology book, and I -_did_ so want to ask you about something in it. I wonder if you'd mind." - -He shook hands with a young-old woman, wearing bobbed hair and glasses, -and speaking with an intense, respectful, yet self-apologetic manner. - -"You've forgotten me, but I _quite_ understand. You see _so_ many -people. I'm Miss Lance. I sent you my little magazine, 'Simplicity,' -once, and you acknowledged it _so_ sweetly, though, of course, I -understood you had not the time to write for it." She continued for -several minutes, smiling up at him, her hands clasping and unclasping -themselves behind a back clothed with some glittering coloured material -that rather fascinated him by its sheen. She kept raising herself on -her toes and sinking back again in a series of jerky rhythms. - -He gave her his delightful smile. - -"Oh, Dr. Fillery!" she exclaimed, with pleasure, leading him to a -divan, upon which he let himself down in such a position that he could -observe the door from the street as well as the door where LeVallon had -disappeared. "This is really too good-natured of you. Your book set -me on fire simply"--her eyes wandering to the other door--"and what a -wonderful looking person you've brought with you----" - -"I fear it's not very easy reading," he interposed patiently. - -"To me it was too delightful for words," she rattled on, pleased by the -compliment implied. "I devour _all_ your books and always review them -myself in the magazine. I wouldn't trust them to anyone else. I simply -can't tell you how physiology stimulates me. Humanity needs imaginative -books, especially just now." She broke off with a deprecatory smile. "I -do what I can," she added, as he made no remark, "to make them known, -though in such a very small way, I fear." Her interest, however, was -divided, the two powerful attractions making her quite incoherent. -"Your friend," she ventured again, "he must be Eastern perhaps? Or is -that merely sunburn? He looks _most_ unusual." - -"Sunburn merely, Miss Lance. You must have a chat with him later." - -"Oh, thank you, _thank_ you, Dr. Fillery. I do so love unusual -people...." - -He listened gravely. He was gentle, while she confided to him her -little inner hopes and dreams about the "simple life." She introduced -adjectives she believed would sound correct, if spoken very quickly, -until, between the torrent of "psychical," "physiological" and once or -twice, "psychological," she became positively incoherent in a final -entanglement from which there was no issue but a convulsive gesture. -None the less, she was bathed in bliss. She monopolized the great man -for a whole ten minutes on a divan where everybody could see that they -talked earnestly, intimately, perhaps even intellectually, together -side by side. - -He observed the room, meanwhile, without her noticing it, scanning the -buzzing throng with interest. There was confusion somewhere, something -was lacking, no system prevailed; he was aware of a general sense of -waiting for a leader. All looked, he knew, for Nayan to appear. Without -her presence, there was no centre, for, though not a member of the -Society herself, she was the heart always of their gatherings, without -which they straggled somewhat aimlessly. And "heart," he remembered, -with a smile that Miss Lance took proudly for herself, was the -appropriate word. Nayan mothered them. They were but children, after -all.... - -"When you talk of a 'New Age,' what _exactly_ do you mean? I wish -you'd define the term for me," Devonham meanwhile was saying to an -interlocutor, not far away, while with a corner of his eye he watched -both Fillery and the private door. He still stood near the entrance, -looking more than ever like a disapproving floor-walker in a big -department store, and it was with H. Millington Povey that he talked, -the Honorary Secretary of the Society. The Secretary had aimed at -Fillery, but Miss Lance had been too quick for him. He was obliged -to put up with Devonham as second best, and his temper suffered -accordingly. He was in aggressive mood. - -Povey, facing him, was talking with almost violent zeal. A small, -thin, nervous man, on the verge of middle age, his head prematurely -bald, with wildish tufts of patchy hair, a thin, scraggy neck that -he lengthened and shortened between high hunched shoulders, Povey -resembled an eager vulture. His keen bright eyes, hooked nose, and -a habit of twisting head and neck apart from his body, which held -motionless, increased this likeness to a bird of prey. Possessed of -considerable powers of organization, he kept the Society together. It -was he who insisted upon some special "psychic gift" as a qualification -of membership; an applicant must prove this gift to a committee of -Povey's choosing, though these proofs were never circulated for general -reading in the Society's Reports. Talkers, dreamers, faddists were not -desired; a member must possess some definite abnormal power before he -could be elected. He must be clairvoyant or clairaudient, an automatic -writer, trance-painter, medium, ghost-seer, prophet, priest or king. - -Members, therefore, stated their special qualification to each -other without false modesty: "I'm a trance medium," for instance; -"Oh, really! _I_ see auras, of course"; while others had written -automatic poetry, spoken in trance--"inspirational speakers," that -is--photographed a spirit, appeared to someone at a distance, -or dreamed a prophetic dream that later had come true. Mediums, -spirit-photographers, and prophetic dreamers were, perhaps, the most -popular qualifications to offer, but there were many who remembered -past lives and not a few could leave their bodies consciously at will. - -Memberships cost two guineas, the hat was occasionally passed round -for special purposes, there was a monthly dinner in Soho, when members -stood up, like saved sinners at a revivalist meeting, and gave personal -testimony of conversion or related some new strange incident. The -Prometheans were full of stolen fire and life. - -Among them were ambitious souls who desired to start a new religion, -deeming the Church past hope. Others, like the water-dowsers and -telepathists, were humbler. There was an Inner Circle which sought to -revive the Mysteries, and gave very private performances of dramatic -and symbolic kind, based upon recovered secret knowledge, at the -solstices and equinoxes. New Thought members despised these, believing -nothing connected with the past had value; they looked ahead; "live -in the present," "do it now" was their watchword. Astrologers were -numerous too. These cast horoscopes, or, for a small fee, revealed -one's secret name, true colour, lucky number, day of the week and -month, and so forth. One lady had a tame "Elemental." Students of Magic -and Casters of Spells, wearers of talismans and intricate designs in -precious or inferior metal, according to taste and means, were well -represented, and one and all believed, of course, in spirits. - -None, however, belonged to any Sect of the day, whatever it might be; -they wore no labels; they were seekers, questers, inquirers whom no set -of rules or dogmas dared confine within fixed limits. An entirely open -mind and no prejudices, they prided themselves, distinguished them. - -"Define it in scientific terms, this New Age--I cannot," replied Povey -in his shrill voice, "for science deals only with the examination of -the known. Yet you only have to look round you at the world to-day to -see its obvious signs. Humanity is changing, new powers everywhere----" - -Devonham interrupted unkindly, before the other could assume he had -proved something by merely stating it: - -"What _are_ these signs, if I may ask?" he questioned sharply. "For if -you can name them, we can examine them--er--scientifically." He used -the word with malice, knowing it was ever on the Promethean lips. - -"There you are, at cross-purposes at once," declared Povey. "I -refer to hints, half-lights, intuitions, signs that only the most -sensitive among us, those with psychic divination, with spiritual -discernment--that only the privileged and those developed in advance -of the Race--can know. And, instantly you produce your microscope, as -though I offered you the muscles of a tadpole to dissect." - -They glared at one another. "We shall never get progress your way," -Povey fumed, withdrawing his head and neck between his shoulders. - -"Returning to the Middle Ages, on the other hand," mentioned Devonham, -"seems like advancing in a circle, doesn't it?" - -"Dr. Devonham," interrupted a pretty, fair-haired girl with an intense -manner, "forgive me for breaking up your interesting talk, but you -come so seldom, you know, and there's a lady here who is dying to be -introduced. She has just seen crimson flashing in your aura, and she -wants to ask--do you mind _very_ much?" She smiled so sweetly at him, -and at Mr. Povey, too, who was said to be engaged to her, though none -believed it, that annoyance was not possible. "She says she simply -_must_ ask you if you were feeling anger. Anger, you know, produces red -or crimson in one's visible atmosphere," she explained charmingly. She -led him off, forgetting, however, her purpose _en route_, since they -presently sat down side by side in a quiet corner and began to enjoy -what seemed an interesting tete-a-tete, while the aura-seeing lady -waited impatiently and observed them, without the aid of clairvoyance, -from a distance. - -"And _your_ qualifications for membership?" asked Devonham. "I wonder -if I may ask----?" - -"But you'd laugh at me, if I told you," she answered simply, fingering -a silver talisman that hung from her neck, a six-pointed star with -zodiacal signs traced round a rose, _rosa mystica_, evidently. "I'm so -afraid of doctors." - -Devonham shook his head decidedly, asserting vehemently his interest, -whereupon she told him her little private dream delightfully, without -pose or affectation, yet shyly and so sincerely that he proved his -assertion by a genuine interest. - -"And does that protect you among your daily troubles?" he asked, -pointing to her little silver talisman. He had already commented -sympathetically upon her account of saving her new puppies from -drowning, having dreamed the night before that she saw them gasping in -a pail of water, the cruel under-gardener looking on. "Do you wear it -always, or only on special occasions like this?" - -"Oh, Miss Milligan made that," she told him, blushing a little. "She's -rather poor. She earns her living by designing----" - -"Oh!" - -"But I don't mean _that_. She tells you your Sign and works it in metal -for you. I bought one. Mine is Pisces." She became earnest. "I was born -in Pisces, you see." - -"And what does Pisces do for you?" he inquired, remembering the -heightened colour. The sincerity of this Rose Mystica delighted him, -and he already anticipated her reply with interest. Here, he felt, was -the credulous, religious type in its naked purity, forced to believe in -something marvellous. - -"Well, if you wear your Sign next your skin it brings good luck--it -makes the things you want happen." The blush reappeared becomingly. She -did not lower her eyes. - -"Have your things happened then?" - -She hesitated. "Well, I've had an awfully good time ever since I wore -it----" - -"Proposals?" he asked gently. - -"Dr. Devonham!" she exclaimed. "How ever did you guess?" She looked -very charming in her innocent confusion. - -He laughed. "If you don't take it off at once," he told her solemnly, -"you may get another." - -"It was two in a single week," she confided a little tremulously. -"Fancy!" - -"The important thing, then," he suggested, "is to wear your talisman at -the right moment, and with the right person." - -But she corrected him promptly. - -"Oh, no. It brings the right moment and the right person together, -don't you see, and if the other person is a Pisces person, you -understand each other, of course, at once." - -"Would that I too were Pisces!" he exclaimed, seeing that she -was flattered by his interest. "I'm probably"--taking a sign at -random--"Scorpio." - -"No," she said with grave disappointment, "I'm afraid you're -Capricornus, you know. I can tell by your nose and eyes--and -cleverness. But--I wanted really to ask you," she went on half shyly, -"if I might----" She stuck fast. - -"You want to know," he said, glancing at her with quick understanding, -"who _he_ is." He pointed to the door. "Isn't that it?" - -She nodded her head, while a divine little blush spread over her face. -Devonham became more interested. "Why?" he asked. "Did he impress you -so?" - -"_Rather_," she replied with emphasis, and there was something in -her earnestness curiously convincing. A sincere impression had been -registered. - -"His appearance, you mean?" - -She nodded again; the blush deepened; but it was not, he saw, an -ordinary blush. The sensitive young girl had awe in her. "He's a friend -of Dr. Fillery's," he told her; "a young man who's lived in the wilds -all his life. But, tell me--why are you so interested? Did he make any -particular impression on you?" - -He watched her. His own thoughts dropped back suddenly to a strange -memory of woods and mountains ... a sunset, a blazing fire ... a hint -of panic. - -"Yes," she said, her tone lower, "he did." - -"Something _very_ definite?" - -She made no answer. - -"What did you see?" he persisted gently. From woods and mountains, -memory stepped back to a railway station and a customs official.... - -Her manner, obviously truthful, had deep wonder, mystery, even worship -in it. He was aware of a nervous reaction he disliked, almost a chill. -He listened for her next words with an interest he could hardly account -for. - -"Wings," she replied, an odd hush in her voice. "I thought of wings. He -seemed to carry me off the earth with great rushing wings, as the wind -blows a leaf. It was too lovely: I felt like a dancing flame. I thought -he was----" - -"What?" Something in his mind held its breath a moment. - -"You _won't_ laugh, Dr. Devonham, will you? I thought--for a -second--of--an angel." Her voice died away. - -For a second the part of his mood that held its breath struggled -between anger and laughter. A moment's confusion in him there certainly -was. - -"That makes two in the room," he said gently, recovering himself. He -smiled. But she did not hear the playful compliment; she did not see -the smile. "You've a delightful, poetic little soul," he added under -his breath, watching the big earnest eyes whose rapt expression met his -own so honestly. Having made her confession she was still engrossed, -absorbed, he saw, in her own emotion.... So this was the picture that -LeVallon, by his mere appearance alone, left upon an impressionable -young girl, an impression, he realized, that was profound and true -and absolute, whatever value her own individual interpretation of it -might have. Her mention of space, wind, fire, speed, he noticed in -particular--"off the earth ... rushing wind ... dancing flame ... an -angel!" - -It was easy, of course, to jeer. Yet, somehow, he did not jeer at all. - -She relapsed into silence, which proved how great had been the -emotional discharge accompanying the confession, temporarily exhausting -her. Dr. Devonham keenly registered the small, important details. - -"Entertaining an angel unawares in a Chelsea Studio," he said, -laughingly; then reminding her presently that there was a lady who -was "dying to be introduced" to him, made his escape, and for the -next ten minutes found himself listening to a disquisition on auras -which described "visible atmospheres whose colour changes with emotion -... radioactivity ... the halo worn by saints" ... the effect of -light noticed about very good people and of blackness that the wicked -emanated, and ending up with the "radiant atmosphere that shone round -the figure of Christ and was believed to show the most lovely and -complicated geometrical designs." - -"God geometrizes--you, doubtless, know the ancient saying?" Mrs. Towzer -said it like a challenge. - -"I have heard it," admitted her listener shortly, his first opportunity -of making himself audible. "Plato said some other fine things too----" - -"I felt sure you were feeling cross just now," the lady went on, -"because I saw lines and arrows of crimson darting and flashing through -your aura while you were talking to Mr. Povey. He _is_ very annoying -sometimes, isn't he? I often wonder where all our subscriptions go to. -I never could understand a balance-sheet. Can you?" - -But Devonham, having noticed Dr. Fillery moving across the room, did -not answer, even if he heard the question. Fillery, he saw, was now -standing near the door where Khilkoff and LeVallon had disappeared to -see the sculpture, an oddly rapt expression on his face. He was talking -with a member called Father Collins. The buzz of voices, the incessant -kaleidoscope of colour and moving figures, made the atmosphere a little -electric. Extricating himself with a neat excuse, he crossed towards -his colleague, but the latter was already surrounded before he reached -him. A forest of coloured scarves, odd coiffures, gleaming talismans, -intervened; he saw men's faces of intense, eager, preoccupied -expression, old and young, long hair and bald; there was a new perfume -in the air, incense evidently; tea, coffee, lemonade were being served, -with stronger drink for the few who liked it, and cigarettes were -everywhere. The note everywhere was _exalte_ rather. - -Out of the excited throng his eyes then by chance, apparently, picked -up the figure of Lady Gleeson, smoking her cigarette alone in a big -armchair, a half-empty glass of wine-cup beside her. She caught his -attention instantly, this "pretty Lady Gleeson," although personally -he found neither title nor adjective justified. The dark hair framed -a very white skin. The face was shallow, trivial, yet with a direct -intensity in the shining eyes that won for her the reputation of being -attractive to certain men. Her smile added to the notoriety she loved, -a curious smile that lifted the lip oddly, showing the little pointed -teeth. To him, it seemed somehow a face that had been over-kissed; -everything had been kissed out of it; the mouth, the lips, were worn -and barren in an appearance otherwise still young. She was very -expensively dressed, and deemed her legs of such symmetry that it -were a shame to hide them; clad in tight silk stockings, and looking -like strips of polished steel, they were now visible almost to the -knee, where the edge of the skirt, neatly trimmed in fur, cut them off -sharply. Some wag in the Society, paraphrasing the syllables of her -name, wittily if unkindly, had christened her _fille de joie_. When she -heard it she was rather pleased than otherwise. - -Lady Gleeson, too, he saw now, was watching the private door. The same -moment, as so often occurred between himself and his colleague at some -significant point in time and space, he was aware of Fillery's eye upon -his own across the intervening heads and shoulders. Fillery, also, had -noticed that Lady Gleeson watched that door. His changed position in -the room was partly explained. - -A slightly cynical smile touched Dr. Devonham's lips, but vanished -again quickly, as he approached the lady, bowed politely, and asked -if he might bring her some refreshment. He was too discerning to say -"more" refreshment. But she dotted every i, she had no half tones. - -"Thanks, kind Dr. Devonham," she said in a decided tone, her voice -thin, a trifle husky, yet not entirely unmusical. It held a strange -throaty quality. "It's so absurdly light," she added, holding out the -glass she first emptied. "The mystics don't hold with anything strong -apparently. But I'm tired, and you discovered it. That's clever of you. -It'll do me good." - -He, malevolently, assured her that it would. - -"Who's your friend?" she asked point blank, with an air that meant -to have a proper answer, as he brought the glass and took a chair -near her. "He looks unusual. More like a hurdle-race champion than a -visionary." A sneer lurked in the voice. She fixed her determined clear -grey eyes upon his, eyes sparkling with interest, curiosity in life, -desire, the last-named quality of unmistakable kind. "I think I should -like to know him perhaps." It was mentioned as a favour to the other. - -Devonham, who disliked and disapproved of all these people -collectively, felt angry suddenly with Fillery for having brought -LeVallon among them. It was after all a foolish experiment; the -atmosphere was dangerous for anyone of unstable, possibly of hysterical -temperament. He had vengeance to discharge. He answered with deliberate -malice, leading her on that he might watch her reactions. She was so -transparently sincere. - -"I hardly think Mr. LeVallon would interest you," he said lightly. "He -is neither modern nor educated. He has spent his life in the backwoods, -and knows nothing but plants and stars and weather and--animals. You -would find him dull." - -"No man with a face and figure like that can be dull," she said -quickly, her eyes alight. - -He glanced at her rings, the jewelry round her neck, her expensive -gown that would keep a patient for a year or two. He remembered her -millionaire South African husband who was her foolish slave. She lived, -he knew, entirely for her own small, selfish pleasure. Although he -meant to use her, his gorge rose. He produced his happiest smile. - -"You are a keen observer, Lady Gleeson," he remarked. "He doesn't look -quite ordinary, I admit." After a pause he added, "It's a curious -thing, but Mr. LeVallon doesn't care for the charms that we other men -succumb to so easily. He seems indifferent. What he wants is knowledge -only.... Apparently he's more interested in stars than in girls." - -"Rubbish," she rejoined. "He hasn't met any in his woods, that's all." - -Her directness rather disconcerted him. At the same time, it charmed -him a little, though he did not know it. His dislike of the woman, -however, remained. The idle, self-centred rich annoyed him. They were -so useless. The fabulous jewelry hanging upon such trash now stirred -his bile. He was conscious of the lust for pleasure in her. - -"Yet, after all, he's rather an interesting fellow perhaps," he told -her, as with an air of sudden enthusiasm. "Do you know he talks of -rather wonderful things, too. Mere dreams, of course, yet, for all -that, out of the ordinary. He has vague memories, it seems, of another -state of existence altogether. He speaks sometimes of--of marvellous -women, compared to whom our women here, our little dressed-up dolls, -seem commonplace and insignificant." And, to his keen enjoyment, Lady -Gleeson took the bait with open mouth. She recrossed her shapely -legs. She wriggled a little in her chair. Her be-ringed fingers began -fidgeting along the priceless necklace. - -"Just what I should expect," she replied in her throaty voice, "from a -young man who looks as he does." - -She began to play her own cards then, mentioning that her husband -was interested in Dr. Fillery's Clinique. Devonham, however, at once -headed her off. He described the work of the Home with enthusiasm. -"It's fortunate that Dr. Fillery is rich," he observed carelessly, -"and can follow out his own ideas exactly as he likes. I, personally, -should never have joined him had he been dependent upon the mere -philanthropist." - -"How wise of you," she returned. "And I should never have joined this -mad Society but for the chance of coming across unusual people. Now, -your Mr. LeVallon is one. You may introduce him to me," she repeated as -an ultimatum. - -Her directness was the one thing he admired in her. At her own level, -she was real. He was aware of the semi-erotic atmosphere about these -Meetings and realized that Lady Gleeson came in search of excitement, -also that she was too sincere to hide it. She wore her insignia -unconcealed. Her talisman was of base metal, the one cheap thing -she wore, yet real. This foolish woman, after all, might be of use -unwittingly. She might capture LeVallon, if only for a moment, before -Nayan Khilkoff enchanted him with that wondrous sweetness to which no -man could remain indifferent. For he had long ago divined the natural, -unspoken passion between his Chief and the daughter of his host, and -with his whole heart he desired to advance it. - -"My husband, too, would like to meet him, I'm sure," he heard her -saying, while he smiled at the reappearance of the gilded bait. "My -husband, you know, is interested in spirit photography and Dr. Frood's -unconscious theories." - -He rose, without even a smile. "I'll try and find him at once," he -said, "and bring him to you. I only hope," he added as an afterthought, -"that Miss Khilkoff hasn't monopolized him already----" - -"She hasn't come," Lady Gleeson betrayed herself. Instinctively she -knew her rival, he saw, with an inward chuckle, as he rose to fetch the -desired male. - -He found him the centre of a little group just inside the door leading -into the sculptor's private studio, where Khilkoff had evidently been -showing his new group of elemental figures. Fillery, a few feet away, -observing everything at close range, was still talking eagerly with -Father Collins. LeVallon and Kempster, the pacifist, were in the -middle of an earnest talk, of which Devonham caught an interesting -fragment. Kempster's qualification for membership was an occasional -display of telepathy. He was a neat little man exceedingly well -dressed, over-dressed in fact, for his tailor's dummy appearance -betrayed that he thought too much about his personal appearance. -LeVallon, towering over him like some flaming giant, spoke quietly, -but with rare good sense, it seemed. Fillery's condensed education -had worked wonders on his mind. Devonham was astonished. About the -pair others had collected, listening, sometimes interjecting opinions -of their own, many women among them leaning against the furniture or -sitting on cushions and movable, dump-like divans on the floor. It was -a picturesque little scene. But LeVallon somehow dwarfed the others. - -"I really think," Kempster was saying, "we might now become a -comfortable little third-rate Power--like Spain, for instance--enjoy -ourselves a bit, live on our splendid past, and take the sun in ease." -He looked about him with a self-satisfied smirk, as though he had -himself played a fine role in the splendid past. - -LeVallon's reply surprised him perhaps, but it surprised Devonham -still more. The real, the central self, LeVallon, he thought with -satisfaction, was waking and developing. His choice of words was odd -too. - -"No, no! _You_--the English are the leaders of the world; the -best quality is in you. If _you_ give up, the world goes down and -backwards." The deep, musical tones vibrated through the little room. -The speaker, though so quiet, had the air of a powerful athlete, ready -to strike. His pose was admirable. Faces turned up and stared. There -was a murmur of approval. - -"We're so tired of that talk," replied Kempster, no whit disconcerted -by the evident signs of his unpopularity. "Each race should take its -turn. We've borne the white man's burden long enough. Why not drop it, -and let another nation do its bit? We've earned a rest, I think." -His precise, high voice was persuasive. He was a good public speaker, -wholly impervious to another point of view. But the resonant tones of -LeVallon's rejoinder seemed to bury him, voice, exquisite clothes and -all. - -"There _is_ no other--unless you hand it back to weaker shoulders. No -other race has the qualities of generosity, of big careless courage of -the unselfish kind required. Above all, you alone have the chivalry." - -Two things Devonham noted as he heard: behind the natural resonance -in the big voice lay a curious deepness that made him think of -thunder, a volume of sound suppressed, potential, roaring, which, if -let loose, might overwhelm, submerge. It belonged to an earnestness -as yet unsuspected in him, a strength of conviction based on a great -purpose that was evidently subconscious in him, as though he served it, -belonged to it, without realizing that he did so. He stood there like -some new young prophet, proclaiming a message not entirely his own. -Also he said "you" in place of the natural "we." - -Devonham listened attentively. Here, too, at any rate, was an exchange -of ideas above the "psychic" level he so disliked. - -LeVallon, he noticed at once, showed no evidence of emotion, though his -eyes shone brightly and his voice was earnest. - -"America----" began Kempster, but was knocked down by a fact before he -could continue. - -"Has deliberately made itself a Province again. America saw the ideal, -then drew back, afraid. It is once more provincial, cut off from the -planet, a big island again, concerned with local affairs of its own. -Your Democracy has failed." - -"As it always must," put in Kempster, glad perhaps to shift the point, -when he found no ready answer. "The wider the circle from which -statesmen are drawn, the lower the level of ability. We should be -patriotic for ideas, not for places. The success of one country means -the downfall of another. That's not spiritual...." He continued at -high speed, but Devonham missed the words. He was too preoccupied with -the other's language, penetration, point of view. LeVallon had, indeed, -progressed. There was nothing of the alternative personality in this, -nothing of the wild, strange, nature-being whom he called "N. H." - -"Patriotism, of course, is vulgar rubbish," he heard Kempster finishing -his tirade. "It is local, provincial. The world is a whole." - -But LeVallon did not let him escape so easily. It was admirable really. -This half-educated countryman from the woods and mountains had a clear, -concentrated mind. He had risen too. Whence came his comprehensive -outlook? - -"Chivalry--you call it sporting instinct--is the first essential of -a race that is to lead the world. It is a topmost quality. Your race -has it. It has come down even into your play. It is instinctive in you -more than any other. And chivalry is unselfish. It is divine. You have -conquered the sun. The hot races all obey you." - -The thunder broke through the strange but simple words which, in -that voice, and with that quiet earnestness, carried some weight of -meaning in them that print cannot convey. The women gazed at him with -unconcealed, if not with understanding admiration. "Lead us, inspire -us, at any rate!" their eyes said plainly; "but love us, O love us, -passionately, above all!" - -Devonham, hardly able to believe his ears and eyes, turned to see if -Fillery had heard the scrap of talk. Judging by the expression on his -face, he had not heard it. Father Collins seemed saying things that -held his attention too closely. Yet Fillery, for all his apparent -absorption, had heard it, though he read it otherwise than his somewhat -literal colleague. It was, nevertheless, an interesting revelation -to him, since it proved to him again how unreal "LeVallon" was; how -easily, quickly this educated simulacrum caught up, assimilated and -reproduced as his own, yet honestly, whatever was in the air at the -moment. For the words he had spoken were not his own, but Fillery's. -They lay, or something like them lay, unuttered in Fillery's mind just -at that very moment. Yet, even while listening attentively to Father -Collins, his close interest in LeVallon was so keen, so watchful, that -another portion of his mind was listening to this second conversation, -even taking part in it inaudibly. LeVallon caught his language from the -air.... - -Devonham made his opportunity, leading LeVallon off to be introduced to -Lady Gleeson, who still sat waiting for them on the divan in the outer -studio. - -As they made their way through the buzzing throng into the larger -room, Devonham guessed suddenly that Lady Gleeson must somehow have -heard in advance that LeVallon would be present; her flair for new men -was singular; the sexual instinct, unduly developed, seemed aware of -its prey anywhere within a big radius. He owed his friend a hint of -guidance possibly. "A little woman," he explained as they crossed over, -"who has a weakness for big men and will probably pay you compliments. -She comes here to amuse herself with what she calls 'the freaks.' -Sometimes she lends her great house for the meetings. Her husband's a -millionaire." To which the other, in his deep, quiet voice, replied: -"Thank you, Dr. Devonham." - -"She's known as 'the pretty Lady Gleeson.'" - -"That?" exclaimed the other, looking towards her. - -"Hush!" his companion warned him. - -As they approached, Lady Gleeson, waiting with keen impatience, saw -them coming and made her preparations. The frown of annoyance at the -long delay was replaced by a smile of welcome that lifted the upper lip -on one side only, showing the white even teeth with odd effect. She -stared at LeVallon, thought Devonham, as a wolf eyes its prey. Deftly -lowering her dress--betraying thereby that she knew it was too high, -and a detail now best omitted from the picture--she half rose from -her seat as they came up. The instinctive art of deference, though -instantly corrected, did not escape Paul Devonham's too observant eye. - -"You were kind enough to say I might introduce my friend," murmured he. -"Mr. LeVallon is new to our big London, and a stranger among all these -people." - -LeVallon bowed in his calm, dignified fashion, saying no word, but -Lady Gleeson put her hand out, and, finding his own, shook it with her -air of brilliant welcome. Determination lay in her smile and in her -gesture, in her voice as well, as she said familiarly at once: "But, -Mr. LeVallon, how tall _are_ you, really? You seem to me a perfect -giant." She made room for him beside her on the divan. "Everybody here -looks undersized beside you!" She became intense. - -"I am six feet and three inches," he replied literally, but without -expression in his face. There was no smile. He was examining her as -frankly as she examined him. Devonham was examining the pair of them. -The lack of interest, the cold indifference in LeVallon, he reflected, -must put the young woman on her mettle, accustomed as she was to quick -submission in her victims. - -LeVallon, however, did not accept the offered seat; perhaps he had not -noticed the invitation. He showed no interest, though polite and gentle. - -"He towers over all of us," Devonham put in, to help an awkward pause. -Yet he meant it more than literally; the empty prettiness of the -shallow little face before him, the triviality of Miss Rosa Mystica, -the cheapness of Povey, Kempster, Mrs. Towzer, the foolish air of -otherworldly expectancy in the whole room, of deliberate exaggeration, -of eyes big with wonder for sensation as story followed story--all this -came upon him with its note of poverty and tawdriness as he used the -words. - -Something in the atmosphere of LeVallon had this effect--whence did it -come? he questioned, puzzled--of dwarfing all about him. - -"All London, remember, isn't like this," he heard Lady Gleeson saying, -a dangerous purr audible in the throaty voice. "Do sit down here -and tell me what you think about it. I feel you don't belong here -quite, do you know? London cramps you, doesn't it? And you find the -women dull and insipid?" She deliberately made more room, patting the -cushions invitingly with a flashing hand, that alone, thought Devonham -contemptuously, could have endowed at least two big Cliniques. "Tell me -about yourself, Mr. LeVallon. I'm dying to hear about your life in the -woods and mountains. Do talk to me. I _am_ so bored!" - -What followed surprised Devonham more than any of the three perhaps. He -ascribed it to what Fillery had called the "natural gentleman," while -Lady Gleeson, doubtless, ascribed it to her own personal witchery. - -With that easy grace of his he sat down instantly beside her on the low -divan, his height and big frame contriving the awkward movement without -a sign of clumsiness. His indifference was obvious--to Devonham, but -the vain eyes of the woman did not notice it. - -"That's better," she again welcomed him with a happy laugh. She edged -closer a little. "Now, do make yourself comfortable"--she arranged -the cushions again--"and please tell me about your wild life in the -forests, or wherever it was. You know a lot about the stars, I hear." -She devoured his face and figure with her shining eyes. - -The upper lip was lifted for a second above a gleaming tooth. Devonham -had the feeling she was about to eat him, licking her lips already in -anticipation. He himself would be dismissed, he well knew, in another -moment, for Lady Gleeson would not tolerate a third person at the meal. -Before he was sent about his business, however, he had the good fortune -to hear LeVallon's opening answer to the foolish invitation. Amazement -filled him. He wished Fillery could have heard it with him, seen the -play of expression on the faces too--the bewilderment of sensational -hunger for something new in Lady Gleeson's staring eyes, arrested -instantaneously; the calm, cold look of power, yet power tempered by -a touch of pity, in LeVallon's glance, a glance that was only barely -aware of her proximity. He smiled as he spoke, and the smile increased -his natural radiance. He looked extraordinarily handsome, yet with a -new touch of strangeness that held even the cautious doctor momentarily -almost spellbound. - -"Stars--yes, but I rarely see them here in London, and they seem so far -away. They comfort me. They bring me--they and women bring me--nearest -to a condition that is gone from me. I have lost it." He looked -straight into her face, so that she blinked and screwed up her eyes, -while her breathing came more rapidly. "But stars and women," he went -on, his voice vibrating with music in spite of its quietness, "remind -me that it is recoverable. Both give me this sweet message. I read it -in stars and in the eyes of women. And it is true because no words -convey it. For women cannot express themselves, I see; and stars, too, -are silent--here." - -The same soft thunder as before sounded below the gently spoken words; -Lady Gleeson was trembling a little; she made a movement by means of -which she shifted herself yet nearer to her companion in what seemed a -natural and unconscious way. It was doubtless his proximity rather than -his words that stirred her. Her face was set, though the lips quivered -a trifle and the voice was less shrill than usual as she spoke, holding -out her empty glass. - -"Thank you, Dr. Devonham," she said icily. - -The determined gesture, a toss of the head, with the glare of sharp -impatience in the eyes, he could not ignore; yet he accepted his curt -dismissal slowly enough to catch her murmured words to LeVallon: - -"How wonderful! How wonderful you are! And what sort of women...?" -followed him as he moved away. In his heart rose again an -uncomfortable memory of a Jura valley blazing in the sunset, and of a -half-naked figure worshipping before a great wood fire on the rocks.... -He fancied he caught, too, in the voice, a suggestion of a lilt, a -chanting resonance, that increased his uneasiness further. One thing -was certain: it was not quite the ordinary "LeVallon" that answered the -silly woman. The reaction was of a different kind. Was, then, the other -self awake and stirring? Was it "N. H." after all, as his colleague -claimed? - -Allowing a considerable interval to pass, he returned with a glass--of -lemonade--reaching the divan in its dim-lit corner just in time to see -a flashing hand withdrawn quickly from LeVallon's arm, and to intercept -a glance that told him the intrigue evidently had not developed -altogether according to Lady Gleeson's plan, although her air was one -of confidence and keenest self-satisfaction. LeVallon sat like a marble -figure, cold, indifferent, looking straight before him, listening, if -only with half an ear, to a stream of words whose import it was not -difficult to guess. - -This Devonham's practised eye read in the flashing look she shot at -him, and in the quick way she thanked him. - -"Coffee, dear Dr. Devonham, I asked for." - -Her move was so quick, his desire to watch them a moment longer -together so keen, that for an instant he appeared to hesitate. It -was more than appearance; he did hesitate--an instant merely, yet -long enough for Lady Gleeson to shoot at him a second swift glance of -concentrated virulence, and also long enough for LeVallon to spring -lightly to his feet, take the glass from his hand and vanish in the -direction of the refreshment table before anything could prevent. "I -will get your coffee for you," still sounded in the air, so quickly -was the adroit manoeuvre executed. LeVallon had cleverly escaped. - -"How stupid of me," said Devonham quickly, referring to the pretended -mistake. Lady Gleeson made no reply. Her inward fury betrayed itself, -however, in the tight-set lips and the hard glitter of her brilliant -little eyes. "He won't be a moment," the other added. "Do you find -him interesting? He's not very talkative as a rule, but perhaps with -you----" He hardly knew what words he used. - -The look she gave him stopped him, so intense was the bitterness in -the eyes. His interruption, then, must indeed have been worse--or -better?--timed than he had imagined. She made no pretence of speaking. -Turning her glance in the direction whence the coffee must presently -appear, she waited, and Devonham might have been a dummy for all the -sign she gave of his being there. He had made an enemy for life, he -felt, a feeling confirmed by what almost immediately then followed. -Neither the coffee nor its bearer came that evening to pretty Lady -Gleeson in the way she had desired. She laid the blame at Devonham's -door. - -For at that moment, as he stood before her, secretly enjoying her anger -a little, yet feeling foolish, perhaps, as well, a chord sounded on -the piano, and a hush passed instantly over the entire room. Someone -was about to sing. Nayan Khilkoff had come in, unnoticed, by the door -of the private room. Her singing invariably formed a part of these -entertainments. The song, too, was the one invariably asked for, its -music written by herself. - -All talk and movement stopped at the sound of the little prelude, as -though a tap had been turned off. Even Devonham, most unmusical of men, -prepared to listen with enjoyment. He tried to see Nayan at the piano, -but too many people came between. He saw, instead, LeVallon standing -close at his side, the cup of coffee in his hand. He had that instant -returned. - -"For Lady Gleeson. Will you pass it to her? Who's going to sing?" he -whispered all in the same breath. And Devonham told him, as he bent -down to give the cup. "Nayan Khilkoff. Hush! It's a lovely song. I know -it--'The Vagrant's Epitaph.'" - -They stood motionless to listen, as the pure voice of the girl, -singing very simply but with the sweetness and truth of sincere -feeling, filled the room. Every word, too, was clearly audible: - - "Change was his mistress; Chance his counsellor. - Love could not hold him; Duty forged no chain. - The wide seas and the mountains called him, - And grey dawns saw his camp-fires in the rain. - - "Sweet hands might tremble!--aye, but he must go. - Revel might hold him for a little space; - But, turning past the laughter and the lamps, - His eyes must ever catch the luring Face. - - "Dear eyes might question! Yea, and melt again; - Rare lips a-quiver, silently implore; - But he must ever turn his furtive head, - And hear that other summons at the door. - - "Change was his mistress; Chance his counsellor. - The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail. - Why tarries he to-day?... And yesternight - Adventure lit her stars without avail." - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - -Lady Gleeson, owing to an outraged vanity and jealousy she was unable -to control, missed the final scene, for before the song was actually -finished she was gone. Being near a passage that was draped only by a -curtain, she slipped out easily, flung herself into a luxurious motor, -and vanished into the bleak autumn night. - -She had seen enough. Her little heart raged with selfish fury. What -followed was told her later by word of mouth. - -Never could she forgive herself that she had left the studio before the -thing had happened. She blamed Devonham for that too. - -For LeVallon, it appears, having passed the cup of coffee to her -through a third person--in itself an insult of indifference and -neglect--stood absorbed in the words and music of the song. Being head -and shoulders above the throng, he easily saw the girl at the piano. No -one, unless it was Fillery, a few yards away, watched him as closely as -did Devonham and Lady Gleeson, though all three for different reasons. -It was Devonham, however, who made the most accurate note of what he -saw, though Fillery's memory was possibly the truer, since his own -inner being supplied the fuller and more sympathetic interpretation. - -LeVallon, tall and poised, stood there like a great figure shaped in -bronze. He was very calm. His bright hair seemed to rise a little; -his eyes, steady and wondering, gazed fixedly; his features, though -set, were mobile in the sense that any instant they might leap into -the alive and fluid expression of some strong emotion. His whole -being, in a word, stood at attention, alert for instant action of some -uncontrollable, perhaps terrific kind. "He seemed like a glowing -pillar of metal that must burst into flame the very next instant," as a -Member told Lady Gleeson later. - -Devonham watched him. LeVallon seemed transfixed. He stared above -the intervening tousled heads. He drew a series of deep breaths that -squared his shoulders and made his chest expand. His very muscles -ached apparently for instant action. An intensity of wondering joy -and admiration that lit his face made the eyes shine like stars. He -watched the singing girl as a tiger watches the keeper who brings its -long-expected food. The instant the bar is up, it springs, it leaps, it -carries off, devours. Only, in this case, there were no bars. Nor was -the wild desire for nourishment of a carnal kind. It was companionship, -it was intercourse with his own that he desired so intensely. - -"He divines the motherhood in her," thought Fillery, watching closely, -pain and happiness mingled in his heart. "The protective, selfless, -upbuilding power lies close to Nature." And as this flashed across him -he caught a glimpse by chance of its exact opposite--in Lady Gleeson's -peering, glittering eyes--the destructive lust, the selfish passion, -the bird of prey. - -"_The dark firs knew his whistle up the trail_," the song in that soft -true voice drew to its close. LeVallon was trembling. - -"Good Heavens!" thought Devonham. "Is it 'N. H.'? Is it 'N. H.,' after -all, waking--rising to take possession?" He, too, trembled. - -It was here that Lady Gleeson, close, intuitive observer of her -escaping prey, rose up and slipped away, her going hardly noticed by -the half-entranced, half-dreaming hearts about her, each intent upon -its own small heaven of neat desire. She went as unobtrusively as an -animal that is aware of untoward conditions and surroundings, showing -her teeth, feeling her claws, yet knowing herself helpless. Not even -Devonham, his mind ever keenly alert, observed her going. Fillery, -alone, conscious of LeVallon's eyes across the room, took note of it. -She left, her violent little will intent upon vengeance of a later -victory that she still promised herself with concentrated passion. - -Yet Devonham, though he failed to notice the slim animal of prey in -exit, noticed this--that the face he watched so closely changed quickly -even as he watched, and that the new expression, growing upon it as -heat grows upon metal set in a flame, was an expression he had seen -before. He had seen it in that lonely mountain valley where a setting -sun poured gold upon a burning pyre, upon a dancing, chanting figure, -upon a human face he now watched in this ridiculous little Chelsea -studio. The sharpness of the air, the very perfume, stole over him as -he stared, perplexed, excited and uneasy. That strange, wild, innocent -and tender face, that power, that infinite yearning! LeVallon had -disappeared. It was "N. H." that stood and watched the singer at the -little modern piano. - -Then with the end of the song came the rush, the bustle of applause, -the confusion of many people rising, trotting forward, all talking -at once, all moving towards the singer--when LeVallon, hitherto -motionless as a statue, suddenly leaped past and through them like a -vehement wind through a whirl of crackling dead leaves. Only his deft, -skilful movement, of poise and perfect balance combined with accurate -swiftness, could have managed it without bruised bodies and angry -cries. There was no clumsiness, no visible effort, no appearance of -undue speed. He seemed to move quietly, though he moved like fire. In -a moment he was by the piano, and Nayan, in the act of rising from her -stool, gazed straight up into his great lighted eyes. - -It was singular how all made way for him, drew back, looked on. -Confusion threatened. Emotion surged like a rising sea. Without a -leader there might easily have been tumult; even a scene. But Fillery -was there. His figure intervened at once. - -"Nayan," he said in a steady voice, "this is my friend, Mr. LeVallon. -He wants to thank you." - -But, before she could answer, LeVallon, his hand upon her arm, said -quickly, yet so quietly that few heard the actual words, perhaps--his -voice resonant, his eyes alight with joy: "You are here too--with me, -with Fillery. We are all exiles together. But you know the way out--the -way back! You remember!..." - -She stared with delicious wonder into his eyes as he went on: - -"O star and woman! Your voice is wind and fire. Come!" And he tried to -seize her. "We wilt go back together. We work here in vain!..." His -arms were round her; almost their faces touched. - -The girl rose instantly, took a step towards him, then hung back; the -stool fell over with a crash; a hubbub of voices rose in the room -behind; Povey, Kempster, a dozen Members with them, pressed up; the -women, with half-shocked, half-frightened eyes, gaped and gasped over -the forest of intervening male shoulders. A universal shuffle followed. -The confusion was absurd and futile. Both male and female stood aghast -and stupid before what they saw, for behind the mere words and gestures -there was something that filled the little scene with a strange shaking -power, touching the panic sense. - -LeVallon lifted her across his shoulders. - -The beautiful girl was radiant, the man wore the sudden semblance of -a god. Their very stature increased. They stood alone. Yet Fillery, -close by, stood with them. There seemed a magic circle none dared cross -about the three. Something immense, unearthly, had come into the room, -bursting its little space. Even Devonham, breaking with vehemence -through the human ring, came to a sudden halt. - -In a voice of thunder--though it was not actually loud--LeVallon cried: - -"Their little personal loves! They cannot understand!" He bore Nayan -in his arms as wind might lift a loose flower and whirl it aloft. -"Come back with me, come home! The Sun forgets us here, the Wind is -silent. There is no Fire. Our work, our service calls us." He turned to -Fillery. "You too. Come!" - -His voice boomed like a thundering wind against the astonished -frightened faces staring at him. It rose to a cry of intense emotion: -"We are in little exile here! In our wrong place, cut off from the -service of our gods! We will go back!" He started, with the girl flung -across his frame. He took one stride. The others shuffled back with one -accord. - -"_The other summons at the door._ But, Edward!--you--you too!" - -It was Nayan's voice, as the girl clung willingly to the great neck -and arms, the voice of the girl all loved and worshipped and thought -wonderful beyond temptation; it was this familiar sound that ran -through the bewildered, startled throng like an electric shock. They -could not believe their eyes, their ears. They stood transfixed. - -Within their circle stood LeVallon, holding the girl, almost embracing -her, while she lay helpless with happiness upon his huge enfolding -arms. He paused, looked round at Fillery a moment. None dared approach. -The men gazed, wondering, and with faculties arrested; the women -stared, stock still, with beating hearts. All felt a lifting, splendid -wonder they could not understand. Devonham, mute and motionless before -an inexplicable thing, found himself bereft of judgment. Analysis and -precedent, for once, both failed. He looked round in vain for Khilkoff. - -Fillery alone seemed master of himself, a look of suffering and joy -shone in his face; one hand lay steady upon LeVallon's arm. - -Within the little circle these three figures formed a definite -group, filling the beholders, for the first time in their so-called -"psychic" experience, with the thrill of something utterly beyond their -ken--something genuine at last. For there seemed about the group, -though emanating, as with shining power, from the figure of LeVallon -chiefly, some radiating force, some elemental vigour they could not -comprehend. Its presence made the scene possible, even right. - -"Edward--you too! What is it, O, what is it? There are flowers--great -winds! I see the fire----!" - -A searching tenderness in her tone broke almost beyond the limits of -the known human voice. - -There swept over the onlookers a wave of incredible emotion then, as -they saw LeVallon move towards them, as though he would pass through -them and escape. He seemed in that moment stupendous, irresistible. -He looked divine. The girl lay in his arms like some young radiant -child. He did not kiss her, no sign of a caress was seen; he did no -ordinary, human thing. His towering figure, carrying his burden almost -negligently, came out of the circle "like a tide" towards them, as one -described it later--or as a poem that appeared later in "Simplicity" -began: - - "With his hair of wind - And his eyes of fire - And his face of infinite desire ..." - -He swept nearer. They stirred again in a confused and troubled shuffle, -opening a way. They shrank back farther. They shivered, like crying -shingle a vast wave draws back. Only Fillery stood still, making no -sign or movement; upon his face that look of joy and pain--wild joy and -searching pain--no one, perhaps, but Devonham understood. - -"Wind and fire!" boomed LeVallon's tremendous voice. "We return to our -divine, eternal service. O Wind and Fire! We come back at last!" An -immense rhythm swept across the room. - -Then it was, without announcement of word or action, that Nayan, -suddenly leaping from the great enfolding arms, stood upright between -the two figures, one hand outstretched towards--Fillery. - -At which moment, emerging apparently from nowhere, Khilkoff appeared -upon the scene. During the music he had left the studio to find certain -sketches he wished to show to LeVallon; he had witnessed nothing, -therefore, of what had just occurred. He now stood still, staring -in sheer surprise. The people in a ring, gazing with excited, rapt -expression into the circle they thus formed, looked like an audience -watching some performance that dazed and stupefied them, in which -Fillery, LeVallon and Nayan--his own daughter--were the players. He -took it for an impromptu charade, perhaps, something spontaneously -arranged during his absence. Yet he was obviously staggered. - -As he entered, the girl had just leaped from the arms that held her, -and run towards Fillery, who stood erect and motionless in the centre -of the circle; and LeVallon's wild splendid cry in that instant shook -its grand music across the vaulted room. So well acted, so dramatic, -so real was the scene thus interrupted that Khilkoff stood staring in -silence, thinking chiefly, as he said afterwards, that the young man's -pose and attitude were exactly--magnificently--what he wanted for the -figure of Fire and Wind in his elemental group. - -This enthusiastic thought, with the attempt to engrave it permanently -in his memory, filled his mind completely for an instant, when there -broke in upon it again that resonant voice, half cry, half chant, -vibrating with depth and music, yet quiet too: - -"Wind and Fire! My Wind and Fire! O Sun--your messengers are come for -us!... Oh, come with power and take us with you!..." Its rhythm was -gigantic. - -So extraordinary was the volume, yet the sweetness, too, in the voice, -though its actual loudness was not great--so arresting was its quality, -that Khilkoff, as he put it afterwards, thought he heard an entirely -new sound, a sound his ears had never known before. He, like the rest -of the astonished audience, was caught spell-bound. But for an instant -only. For at once there followed another voice, releasing the momentary -spell, and, with the accompanying action, warned him that what he saw -was no mere game of acting. This was real. - -"_I hear that other summons at the door!..._" - -Her hands were outstretched, her eyes alight with yearning, she was -oblivious of everyone but Fillery, LeVallon and herself. - -And her father, then, breaking through the crowding figures, packed -shoulder to shoulder nearest to him, entered the circle. His mind -was confused, perhaps, for vague ideas of some undesirable hypnotic -influence, of some foolish experiment that had become too real, passed -through it. He knew one thing only--this scene, whether real or acted, -pretence or sincere, must be stopped. The look on his daughter's -face--entirely new and strange to him--was all the evidence he needed. -He shouldered his way through like an angry bear, making inarticulate -noises, growling. - -But, before he reached the actors, before Nayan reached Fillery's -side, and while the voice of the girl and of LeVallon still seemed -to echo simultaneously in the air, a new thing happened that changed -the scene completely. In these few brief seconds, indeed, so much -was concentrated, and with such rapidity, that it was small wonder -the reports of individual witnesses differed afterwards, almost as -if each one had seen a separate detail of the crowded picture. Its -incredibility, too, bewildered minds accustomed to imagined dreams -rather than to real action. - -LeVallon, at any rate, all agreed, turned with that ease and swiftness -peculiarly his own, caught Nayan again into the air, and with one arm -swung her back across his shoulder. He moved, then, so irresistibly, -with a great striding rush in the direction of the door into the -street, and so rapidly, that the onlookers once more drew back -instinctively pell mell, tumbling over each other in their frightened -haste. - -This, all agreed, had happened. One second they saw LeVallon carrying -the girl off, the next--a flash of intense and vivid brilliance entered -the big studio, flooding all detail with a blaze of violent light. -There was a loud report, there was a violent shock. - -"The Messengers! Our Messengers!..." The thunder of LeVallon's cry was -audible. - -The same instant this dazzling splendour, so sparkling it was almost -painful, became eclipsed again. There was complete obliteration. -Darkness descended like a blow. An inky blackness reigned. No single -thing was visible. There came a terrific splitting sound. - -The effect of overwhelming sudden blackness was natural enough. In -every mind danced still the vivid memory of that last amazing picture -they had seen: Khilkoff, with alarmed face, breaking violently into -the circle where his daughter, Nayan, swinging from those giant -shoulders, looked back imploringly at Dr. Fillery, who stood motionless -as though carved in stone, a smile of curious happiness yet pain -upon his features. Yet the figure of LeVallon dominated. His radiant -beauty, his air of superb strength, his ease, his power, his wild -swiftness. Something unearthly glowed about him. He looked a god. The -extraordinary idea flashed into Fillery's mind that some big energy as -of inter-stellar spaces lay about him, as though great Sirius called -down along his light-years of distance into the little tumbled Chelsea -room. - -This was the picture, set one instant in dazzling violet brilliance, -then drowned in blackness, that still hung shining with intense reality -before every mind. - -The following confusion had a moment of real and troubling panic; women -screamed, some fell upon their knees; men called for light; various -cries were heard; there was a general roar: - -"To the door, all men to the door! He's controlled! There's an -Elemental in him!" It was Povey's shrill tones that pierced. - -"Strike a match!" shouted Kempster. "The electric light has fused. Stay -where you are. Don't move--everybody." - -"Lightning," the clear voice of Devonham was heard. "Keep your heads. -It's only a thunderstorm!" - -Matches were struck, extinguished, lit again; a patch of dim light -shone here and there upon a throng of huddled people; someone found a -candle that shed a flickering glare upon the walls and ceiling, but -only made the shadows chiefly visible. It was an unreal, fantastic -scene. - -A moment later there descended a hurricane gust of wind against the -building, with splintering glass as though from a hail of bullets, that -extinguished candle and matches, and plunged the scene again into total -darkness. A terrific clap of thunder, followed immediately by a rushing -sound of rain that poured in a flood upon the floor, completed the -scene of terror and confusion. The huge north window had blown in. - -The consternation was, for some moments, dangerous, for true panic may -become an unmanageable thing, and this panic was unquestionably real. -The superstitious thread that lies in every human being, stretched and -shivered, beginning to weave its swift, ominous pattern. The elements -dominated the human too completely just then even for the sense of -wonder that was usually so active in the Society's mental make-up -to assert itself intelligently. Most of them lost their heads. All -associated that picture of LeVallon and the girl with this terrific -demonstration of overpowering elemental violence. Povey's startled cry -had given them the lead. The human touch thus added the flavour of -something both personal and supernatural. - -Some stood screaming, whimpering, unable to move; some were numb; -others cried for help; not a few remained on their knees; the name -of God was audible here and there; many collapsed and several women -fainted. To one and all came the realization of that panic fear which -dislocates and paralyses. This was a manifestation of elemental power -that had intelligence somewhere driving too suggestively behind it.... - -It was Devonham and Khilkoff who kept their heads and saved the -situation. The sudden storm was, indeed, of extreme violence and -ferocity; the force of the wind, with the nearness of the terrible -lightning and the consequent volume of the overwhelming thunder, were -certainly bewildering. But a thunderstorm, they began to realize, was a -thunderstorm. - -"Everyone stay exactly where he is," suddenly shouted Khilkoff -through the darkness. His voice brought comfort. "I'll light candles -in the inner studio." He did so a moment later; the faint light was -reassuring; a pause in the storm came to his assistance, the wind -had passed, the rain had ceased, there was no more lightning. With a -whispered word to Devonham, he disappeared through the door into the -passage: "You look after 'em; I must find my girl." - -"One by one, now," called Devonham. "Take careful steps! Avoid the -broken glass!" - -Voices answered from dark corners, as the inner room began to fill; -all saw the candle light and came to it by degrees. "Povey, Kempster, -Imson, Father Collins! Each man bring a lady with him. It's only a -thunderstorm. Keep your heads!" - -The smaller room filled gradually, people with white faces and staring -eyes coming, singly or in couples, within the pale radiance of the -flickering candle light. Feet splashed through pools of water; the -furniture, the clothing, were soaked; the heat in the air, despite the -great broken window, was stifling. One or two women were helped, some -were carried; there were cries and exclamations, a noise of splintered -glass being trodden on or kicked aside; drinks were brought for -those who had fainted; order was restored bit by bit. The collective -consciousness resumed gradually its comforting sway. The herd found -strength in contact. A single cry--in a woman's voice--"Pan was among -us!..." was instantly smothered, drowned in a chorus of "Hush! Hush!" -as though a mere name might bring a repetition of a terror none could -bear again. - -The entire scene had lasted perhaps five minutes, possibly less. The -violent storm that had hung low over London, accumulating probably -for hours, had dissipated itself in a single prodigious explosion, -and was gone. Through the gaping north window, torn and shattered, -shone the stars. More candles were brought and lighted, food and drink -followed, a few cuts from broken glass were attended to, and calm in a -measure came back to the battered and shaken yet thrilled and delighted -Prometheans. - -But all eyes looked for a couple who were not there; a hundred heads -turned searching, for in every heart lay one chief question. Yet, -oddly enough, none asked aloud; the names of Nayan and LeVallon -were not spoken audibly; some touch of awe, it seemed, clung to a -memory still burning in each individual mind; it was an awe that none -would willingly revive just then. The whole occurrence had been too -devastating, too sudden; it all had been too real. - -There was little talk, nor was there the whispered discussion even that -might have been expected; individual recovery was slow and hesitating. -What had happened lay still too close for the comfort of detailed -comparison or analysis by word of mouth. With common accord the matter -was avoided. Discussions must wait. It would fill many days with wonder -afterwards.... - -It was with a sense of general relief, therefore, that the throng of -guests, bedraggled somewhat in appearance, eyes still bright with -traces of uncommon excitement, their breath uneven and their attitude -still nervous, saw the door into the passage open and frame the figure -of their returning host. He held a lighted candle. His bearded face -looked grim, but his slow deep voice was quiet and reassuring--he -smiled, his words were commonplace. - -"You must excuse my daughter," he said firmly, "but she sends her -excuses, and begs to be forgiven for not coming to bid you all -good-night. The lightning--the electricity--has upset her. I have -advised her to go to bed." - -A sigh of relief from everybody came in answer. They were only too glad -to take the hint and go. - -"The little impromptu act we had prepared for you we cannot give now," -he added, anticipating questions. "The storm prevented the second part. -We must give it another time instead." - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - -Khilkoff, Edward Fillery and Paul Devonham, between them, it seems, -were wise in their generation. The story spread that the scene in -the Studio had been nothing but a bit of inspired impromptu acting, -to which the coincidence of the storm had lent a touch of unexpected -conviction where, otherwise, all would have ended in a laugh and a -round or two of amused applause. - -The spreading of an undesirable story, thus, was to a great extent -prevented, its discussion remaining confined, chiefly, among the few -startled witnesses. Yet the Prometheans, of course, knew a supernatural -occurrence when they saw one. They were not to be so easily deprived -of their treasured privilege. Thrilled to their marrows, individually -and collectively, they committed their versions to writing, drew up -reports, compared notes and, generally, made the feast last as long as -possible. It was, moreover, a semi-sacred feast for them. Its value -increased portentously. It bound the Society together with fresh life. -It attracted many new members. Povey and his committee increased the -subscription and announced an entrance fee in addition. - -The various accounts offered by the Members, curious as these were, may -be left aside for the moment, since the version of the occurrence as -given by Edward Fillery comes first in interest. His report, however, -was made only to himself; he mentioned it in full to no one, not even -to Paul Devonham. He felt unable to share it with any living being. -Only one result of his conclusions he shared openly enough with his -assistant: he withdrew his promise. - -Upon certain details, the two men agreed with interest--that everybody -in the room, men and women, were on the _qui vive_ the moment LeVallon -made his entrance. His appearance struck a note. All were aware of an -unusual presence. Interest and curiosity rose like a vapour, heads all -turned one way as though the same wind blew them, there was a buzz and -murmur of whispered voices, as though the figure of LeVallon woke into -response the same taut wire in every heart. "Who on earth is that? What -is he?" was legible in a hundred questioning eyes. All, in a word, were -aware of something unaccustomed. - -Upon this detail--and in support of the Society's claim to special -"psychic" perception, it must be mentioned--Fillery and Devonham were -at one. But another detail, too, found them in agreement. It was not -the tempest that caused the panic; it was LeVallon himself. Something -about LeVallon had produced the abrupt and singular sense of panic -terror. - -Fillery was glad; he was satisfied, at any rate. The transient, unreal -personality called "LeVallon" had disappeared and, as he believed, -for ever; a surface apparition after all, it had been educated, -superimposed, the result of imitation and quick learning, a phantom -masquerading as an intelligent human being. It was merely an acquired -surface-self, a physical, almost an automatic intelligence. The deep -nature underneath had now broken out. It was the sudden irruption of -"N. H." that touched the subconscious self of everyone in the room with -its strange authentic shock. "N. H." was in full possession. - -Towards this real Self he felt attraction, yearning, even love. He -had felt this from the very beginning. Why, or what it was, he did -not pretend to know as yet. Towards "N. H." he reacted as towards -his own son, as to a comrade, ancient friend, proved intimate and -natural playmate even. The strange tie was difficult to describe. In -himself, though faint by comparison, lay something akin in sympathy and -understanding.... They belonged together in the same unknown region. -The girl, of course, belonged there too, but more completely, more -absolutely, even than himself. He foresaw the risks, the dangers. His -heart, with a leap of joy, accepted the responsibilities. - -Unlike Devonham, he had not come that afternoon to scoff; his smile -at the vagaries of what his assistant called "hysterical psychics" -had no bitterness, no contempt. If their excesses were pathogenic -often, he believed with Lombroso that genius and hysteria draw upon -a common origin sometimes, also that, from among this unstable -material, there emerged on occasions hints of undeniable value. To -the want of balance was chiefly due the ineffectiveness of these -hints. This class, dissatisfied with present things, kicking over the -traces which herd together the dull normal crowd into the safe but -uninteresting commonplace, but kicking, of course, too wildly, alone -offered hints of powers that might one day, obedient to laws at present -unknown, become of value to the race. They were temperamentally open -to occasional, if misguided, inspiration, and all inspiration, the -evidence overwhelmingly showed, is due to an intense, but hidden mental -activity. The hidden nine-tenths of the self peeped out here and there -periodically. These people were, at heart, alert to new ideas. The herd -instinct was weak in them. They were individuals. - -Fillery had not come to scoff. His chief purpose on this particular -occasion had been to observe any reactions produced in LeVallon by -the atmosphere of these unbalanced yet questing minds, and by the -introduction to a girl, whose beauty, physical and moral, he considered -far far above the standard of other women. Iraida Khilkoff, as he saw -her, rose head and shoulders, like some magical flower in a fairy-tale, -beyond her feminine kind. - -His hopes had in both respects proved justified. LeVallon was gone. "N. -H." had swept up commandingly into full possession. - -If it is the attitude of mind that interprets details in a given -scene, it is the heart that determines their selection. Devonham saw -collective hallucination, delusion, humbug--useless and undesirable -weeds, where his chief saw strange imperfect growths that might one -day become flowers in a marvellous garden. That this garden blossomed -upon the sunny slopes of a lost Caucasian valley had a significance he -did not shirk. Always he was honest with himself. It was this symbolic -valley he longed to people. Its radiant loveliness stirred a forgotten -music in his heart, he watched golden bees sipping that wild azalea -honey, of which even the natives may not rob them without the dangerous -delight of exaltation; his nostrils caught the delicious perfumes, his -cheek felt the touch of happy winds ... as he stood by the door with -Devonham and LeVallon, looking round the crowded Chelsea studio. - -Aware of this association stirring in his blood, he believed he had -himself well in hand; he knew already in advance that a spirit moved -upon the face of those waters that were his inmost self; he had that -intuitive divination which anticipates a change of spiritual weather. -The wind was rising, the atmosphere lay prepared, already the flowers -bent their heads one way. All his powers of self-control might well -be called upon before the entertainment ended. Glancing a moment at -LeVallon, tall, erect and poised beside him, he was conscious--it -was an instant of vivid self-revelation--that he steadied himself in -doing so. He borrowed, as it were, something of that poise, that calm -simplicity, that potential energy, that modest confidence. Some latent -power breathed through the great stalwart figure by his side; the -strength was not his own; LeVallon emanated this power unconsciously. - -Khilkoff, as described, had then led the youth away to see the -sculpture, Devonham was captured by a Member, and Fillery found himself -alone. He looked about him, noticing here and there individuals whom he -knew. Lady Gleeson he saw at once on her divan in the corner, with her -cigarette, her jewels, her glass, her background of millions through -which an indulgent husband floated like a shadow. His eye rested on her -a second only, then passed in search of something less insignificant. -Miss Lance, who had heard of his books and dared to pretend knowledge -of them, monopolised him for ten minutes. A little tactful kindness -managed her easily, while he watched the door where LeVallon had -disappeared with Khilkoff, and through which Nayan might any moment now -enter. Already his thoughts framed these two together in a picture; his -heart saw them playing hand in hand among the flowers of the Hidden -Valley, one flying, the other following, a radiance of sunny fire and a -speed of lifting winds about them both, yet he himself, oddly enough, -not far away. He, too, was somehow with them. While listening with his -mind to what Miss Lance was saying, his heart went out playing with -this splendid pair.... He would not lose her finally, it seemed; some -subtle kinship held them together in this trinity. The heart in him -played wild against the mind. - -He caught Devonham's eye upon him, and a sudden smile that Miss Lance -fortunately appropriated to herself, ran over his too thoughtful -face. For Devonham's attitude towards the case, his original Notes, -his obvious concealment of experiences in the Jura Mountains, flashed -across him with a flavour of something half comic, half pathetic. "With -all that knowledge, with all the accumulation of data, Paul stops short -of Wonder!" he thought to himself, his eyes fixed solemnly upon Miss -Lance's face. He remembered Coleridge: "All knowledge begins and ends -with wonder, but the first wonder is the child of ignorance, while -the second wonder is the parent of adoration." A thousand years, and -the dear fellow will still regard adoration as hysteria! He chuckled -audibly, to his companion's surprise, since the moment was not -appropriate for chuckling. - -Making his peace with his neighbour, he presently left her for a -position nearer to the door, Father Collins providing the opportunity. - -Father Collins, as he was called, half affectionately, half in awe, as -of a parent with a cane, was an individual. He had been evangelical, -high church, Anglican, Roman Catholic, in turn, and finally Buddhist. -Believing in reincarnation, he did not look for progress in humanity; -the planet resembled a form at school--individuals passed into it and -out of it, but the average of the form remained the same. The fifth -form was always the fifth form. Earth's history showed no advance as -a whole, though individuals did. He looked forward, therefore, to no -Utopia, nor shared the pessimism of the thinkers who despaired of -progress. - -A man of intense convictions, yet open mind, he was not ashamed -to move. Before the Buddhist phase, he had been icily agnostic. -He thought, but also he felt. He had vision and intuition; he had -investigated for himself. His mind was of the imaginative-scientific -order. Buddhism, his latest phase, attracted him because it was "a -scientific, logical system rather than a religion based on revelation." -He belonged eminently to the unstable. He found no resting place. He -came to the meetings of the Society to listen rather than to talk. His -net was far flung, catching anything and everything in the way of new -ideas, experiments, theories, beliefs, especially powers. He tested -for himself, then accepted or discarded. The more extravagant the -theory, the greater its appeal to him. Behind a grim, even a repulsive -ugliness, he hid a heart of milk and honey. In his face was nobility, -yet something slovenly ran through it like a streak. - -He loved his kind and longed to help them to the light. Although a -rolling stone, spiritually, his naked sincerity won respect. He was -composed, however, of several personalities, and hence, since these -often clashed, he was accused of insincerity too. The essay that -lost him his pulpit and parish, "The Ever-moving Truth, or Proof -Impossible," was the poignant confession of an honest intellect where -faith and unbelief came face to face with facts. The Bishop, naturally, -preferred the room of "Father" Collins to his company. - -"I should like you to meet my friend," Fillery mentioned, after some -preliminary talk. "He would interest you. You might help him possibly." -He mentioned a few essential details. "Perhaps you will call one -day--you know my address--and make his acquaintance. His mind, owing to -his lonely and isolated youth, is _tabula rasa_. For the same reason, a -primitive Nature is his Deity." - -Father Collins raised his bushy dark eyebrows. - -"I took note of him the moment he came in," he replied. "I was -wondering who he was--and what! I'll come one day with pleasure. The -innocence on his face surprised me. Is he--may I ask it--friend or -patient?" - -"Both." - -"I see," said the other, without hesitation. He added: "You are -experimenting?" - -"Studying. I should value the help--the view of a religious -temperament." - -Father Collins looked grim to ugliness. The touch of nobility appeared. - -"I know your ideals, Dr. Fillery; I know your work," he said gruffly. -"In you lies more true religion than in a thousand bishops. I should -trust your treatment of an unusual case. If," he added slowly, "I can -help him, so much the better." He then looked up suddenly, his manner -as if galvanized: "Unless _he_ can perhaps help us." - -The words struck Fillery on the raw, as it were. They startled him. He -stared into the other's eyes. "What makes you think that? What do you -mean exactly?" - -Father Collins returned his gaze unflinchingly. He made an odd reply. -"Your friend," he said, "looks to me--like a man who--might start a new -religion--Nature for instance--back to Nature being, in my opinion, -always a possible solution of over-civilization and its degeneracy." -The streak of something slovenly crept into the nobility, smudging it, -so to speak, with a blur. - -Dr. Fillery, for a moment, waited, listening with his heart. - -"And find a million followers at once," continued the other, as though -he had not noticed. "His voice, his manner, his stature, his face, but -above all--something he brings with him. Whatever his nature, he's a -natural leader. And a sincere, unselfish leader is what people are -asking for nowadays." - -His black bushy eyebrows dropped, darkening the grim, clean-shaven -face. "You noticed, of course--_you_--the women's eyes?" he mentioned. -"It isn't, you know, so much what a man says, nor entirely his -looks, that excite favour or disfavour with women. It's something he -emanates--unconsciously. They can't analyze it, but they never fail to -recognize it." - -Fillery moved sideways a little, so that he could watch the inner -studio better. The discernment of his companion was somewhat -unexpected. It disconcerted him. All his knowledge, all his experience -clustered about his mind as thick as bees, yet he felt unable to -select the item he needed. The sunshine upon his Inner Valley burned a -brighter fire. He saw the flowers glow. The wind ran sweet and magical. -He began to watch himself more closely. - -"LeVallon is an interesting being," he admitted finally, "but you make -big deductions surely. A mind like yours," he added, "must have its -reasons?" - -"Power," replied the other promptly; "power. 'The earlier generations,' -said Emerson, 'saw God face to face; _we_ through their eyes. Why -should not we also enjoy an original relation to Nature?' Your friend -has this original relation, I feel; he stands close--terribly close--to -Nature. He brings open spaces even into this bargain sale----" He drew -a deep breath. "There is a power about him----" - -"Perhaps," interrupted the other. - -"Not of this earth." - -"You mean that literally?" - -"Not of this earth quite--not of humanity, so to speak," repeated -Father Collins half irritably, as though his intelligence had been -insulted. "That's the best way I can describe how it strikes me. Ask -one of the women. Ask Nayan, for instance. Whatever he is, your friend -is elemental." - -Like a shock of fire the unusual words ran deep into Fillery's heart, -but, at that same instant a stirring of the figures beyond the door -caught his attention. His main interest revived. The inner door of the -private studio, he thought, had opened. - -"Elemental!" he repeated, his interest torn in two directions -simultaneously. He looked at his companion keenly, searchingly. "You--a -man like you--does not use such words----" He kept an eye upon the -inner studio. - -"Without meaning," the other caught him up at once. "No. I mean it. Nor -do I use such words idly to a man--Fillery--like you." He stopped. "He -has what you have," came the quick blunt statement; "only in your case -it's indirect, while in his it's direct--essential." - -They looked at each other. Two minds, packed with knowledge and -softened with experience of their kind, though from different points -of view, met each other fairly. A bridge existed. It was crossed. Few -words were necessary, it seemed. Each understood the other. - -"Elemental," repeated Fillery, his pulse quickening half painfully. - -At which instant he knew the inner door _had_ opened. Nayan had -come in. The same instant almost she had gone out again. So quick, -indeed, was the interval between her appearance and disappearance, -that Fillery's version of what he then witnessed in those few seconds -might have been ascribed by a third person who saw it with him to his -imagination largely. Imaginative, at any rate, the version was; whether -it was on that account unreal is another matter. The swift, tiny scene, -however, no one witnessed but himself. Even Devonham, unusually alert -with professional anxiety, missed it; as did also the watchful Lady -Gleeson, whom jealousy made clairvoyante almost. Khilkoff and LeVallon, -standing sideways to the door, were equally unaware that it had opened, -then quickly closed again. None saw, apparently, the radiant, lovely -outline. - -It was a curtained door leading out of the far end of the inner studio -into a passage which had an exit to the street; Fillery was so placed -that he could see it over his companion's shoulder; Khilkoff, LeVallon -and the little group about them stood in his direct line of sight -against the dark background of the curtain. The light in this far -corner was so dim that Fillery was not aware the curtained door had -swung open until he actually saw the figure of Nayan Khilkoff framed -suddenly in the clear space, the white passage wall behind her. She -wore gloves, hat and furs, having come, evidently, straight from the -street. Ten seconds, perhaps twenty, she stood there, gazing with a -sudden fixed intensity at LeVallon, whose figure, almost close enough -for touch, was sideways to her, the face in profile. - -She stopped abruptly as though a shock ran through her. She remained -motionless. She stared, an expression in her eyes as of life -momentarily arrested by wild, glorious, intense surprise. The lips were -parted; one gloved hand still held the swinging curtained door. To -Fillery it seemed as if a flame leaped into her eyes. The entire face -lit up. She seemed spellbound with delight. - -This leap of light was the first sign he witnessed. The same second her -eyes lifted a fraction of an inch, changed their focus, and, gazing -past LeVallon, looked straight across the room into his own. - -In his mind at that instant still rang the singular words of Father -Collins; in his heart still hung the picture of the flowered valley: it -was across this atmosphere the eyes of the girl flashed their message -like a stroke of lightning. It came as a cry, almost a call for help, -an audible message whose syllables fled down the valley, yearning -sweet, yet a tone of poignant farewell within the following wind. -It was a moment of delicious joy, of exquisite pain, of a blissful, -searching dream beyond this world.... - -He stood spellbound himself a moment. The look in the girl's big -eloquent eyes threatened a cherished dream that lay too close to his -own life. He was aware of collapse, of ruin; that old peculiar anguish -seized him. He remembered her words in Baker Street a few days before: -"Please bring your friend"--the accompanying pain they caused. And now -he caught the echo on that following wind along the distant valley. The -cry in her eyes came to him: - -"Why--O why--do you bring this to me? It must take your place. It must -put out--You!" - -The reasoning and the inspirational self in him knew this momentary -confusion, as the cry fled down the wind. - - "O follow, follow - Through the caverns hollow - As the song floats, thou pursue - Where the wild bee never flew...." - -The curtained door swung to again; the face and figure were no longer -there; Nayan had withdrawn quickly, noticed by none but himself. She -had gone up to make herself ready for her father's guests; in a few -minutes she would come down again to play hostess as her custom was.... -It was so ordinary. It was so dislocating.... For at that moment it -seemed as if all the feminine forces of the universe, whatever these -may be, focused in her, and poured against him their concentrated -stream to allure, enchant, subdue. He trembled. He remembered -Devonham's admission of the panic sense. - -"It's the air," said a voice beside him, "all this tobacco smoke and -scent, and no ventilation." - -Father Collins was speaking, only he had completely forgotten that -Father Collins was in the world. The steadying hand upon his arm made -him realize that he had swayed a moment. - -"The perfume chiefly," the voice continued. "All this cheap nasty stuff -these women use. It's enough to sicken any healthy man. Nobody knows -his own smell, they say." He laughed a little. - -Collins was tactful. He talked on easily of nothing in particular, so -that his companion might let the occasion slip, or comment on it, as he -wished. - -"Worse than incense." Fillery gave him the clue perhaps intentionally, -certainly with gratitude. He made an effort. He found control. "It -intoxicates the imagination, doesn't it?" That note of sweet farewell -still hung with enchanting sadness in his brain. He still saw those -yearning eyes. He heard that cry. And yet the conflict in his nature -bewildered him--as though he found two persons in him, one weeping -while the other sang. - -Father Collins smiled, and Fillery then knew that he, too, had seen the -girl framed in the doorway, intercepted the glance as well. No shadow -of resentment crossed his heart as he heard him add: "She, too, perhaps -belongs elsewhere." The phrase, however, brought to his own personal -dream the conviction of another understanding mind. "As you yourself -do, too," was added in a thrilling whisper suddenly. - -Fillery turned with a start to meet his eye. "But _where_?" - -"That is _your_ problem," said Father Collins promptly. "You are the -expert--even though you think--mistakenly--that your heart is robbed." -His voice held the sympathy and tenderness of a woman taught by -suffering. The nobility was in his face again, untarnished now. His -words, his tone, his manner caught Fillery in amazement. It did not -surprise him that Father Collins had been quick enough to understand, -but it did surprise him that a man so entangled in one formal creed -after another, so netted by the conventional thought of various -religious Systems, and therefore stuffed with old, rigid, commonplace -ideas--it did, indeed surprise him to feel this sudden atmosphere of -vision and prophecy that abruptly shone about him. The extravagant, -fantastic side of the man he had forgotten. - -"Where?" he repeated, gazing at him. "Where, indeed?" - -"Where the wild bee never flew ... perhaps!" - -Father Collins's eyebrows shot up as though worked by artificial -springs. His eyes, changing extraordinarily, turned very keen. -He seemed several persons at once. He looked like--contradictory -description--a spiritual Jesuit. The ugly mouth--thank Heaven, thought -Fillery--showed lines of hidden humour. His sanity, at any rate, was -unquestioned. Father Collins watched the planet with his soul, not with -his brain alone. But which of his many personalities was now in the -ascendancy, no man, least of all himself, could tell. His companion, -the expert in him automatically aware of the simultaneous irruption and -disruption, waited almost professionally for any outburst that might -follow. "Arcades ambo," he reflected, making a stern attempt to keep -his balance. - -"The subconscious, remember, doesn't explain everything," came -the words. "Not everything," he added with emphasis. "As with -heredity"--he looked keenly half humorously, half sympathetically at -the doctor--"there are gaps and lapses. The recent upheaval has been -more than an inter-tribal war. It was a planetary event. It has shaken -our nature fundamentally, radically. The human mind has been shocked, -broken, dislocated. The prevalent hysteria is not an ordinary hysteria, -nor are the new powers--perhaps--quite ordinary either." - -"Mental history repeats itself," Fillery put in, now more master of -himself again. "Unbalance has always followed upheaval. The removal -of known, familiar foundations always lets in extravagance of wildest -dissatisfaction, search and question." - -"Upheaval of this kind," rejoined the other gravely, "there has never -been since human beings walked the earth. Our fabulous old world -trembles in the balance." And, as he said it, the dreamer shone in the -light below the big, black eyebrows, noticed quickly by his companion. -"Old ideals have been smashed beyond recovery. The gods men knew have -been killed, like Tommy, in the trenches. The past is likewise dead, -its dreams of progress buried with it by a Black Maria. The human mind -and heart stand everywhere empty and bereft, while their hungry and -unanswered questions search the stars for something new." - -"Well, well," said Fillery gently, half stirred, half amused by the -odd language. "You may be right. But mental history has always shown -a desire for something new after each separate collapse. Signs and -wonders are a recurrent hunger, remember. In the days of Abraham, of -Paul, of Moses it was the same." - -"Questions to-day," replied the other, "are based on an immense -accumulated knowledge unknown to Moses or to Abraham's time. The -phenomenon, I grant you, is the same, but--the shock, the dislocation, -the shattering upheaval comes in the twentieth century upon minds -grounded in deep scientific wisdom. It was formerly a shock to the -superstitious ignorance of intuitive feeling merely. To-day it is -organized scientific knowledge that meets the earthquake." - -"You mentioned gaps and lapses," said Fillery, deeply interested, but -still half professionally, perhaps, in spite of his preoccupations. -"You think, perhaps, those gaps----?" One eye watched the inner studio. -The unstable in him gained more and more the upper hand. - -"I mean," replied Father Collins, now fairly launched upon his secret -hobby, evidently his qualification for membership in the Society, -"I mean, Edward Fillery, that the time is ripe, if ever, for a new -revelation. If Man is the only type of being in the universe, well and -good. We see his finish plainly, for the war has shown that progress -is a myth. Man remains, in spite of all conceivable scientific -knowledge, a savage, of low degree, irredeemable, and intellect, as a -reconstructive force, but of small account." - -"It seems so, I admit." - -"But if"--Father Collins said it as calmly as though he spoke of -some new food or hygienic treatment merely--"if mankind is not the -only life in the universe, if, for instance, there exist--and why -not?--other evolutionary systems besides our own somewhat trumpery -type--other schemes and other beings--perhaps parallel, perhaps quite -different--perhaps in more direct contact with the sources of life--a -purer emanation, so to say----" - -He hesitated, realizing perhaps that in speaking to a man of Edward -Fillery's standing he must choose his words, or at least present his -case convincingly, while aware that his inability to do so made him -only more extravagant and incoherent. - -"Yes, quite so," Fillery helped him, noting all the time the suppressed -intensity, the half-concealed conviction of an _idee fixe_ behind the -calmness, while the balance of his own attention remained concentrated -on the group about LeVallon. "If, as you suggest, there _are_ other -types of life----" He spoke encouragingly. He had noticed the slovenly -streak spread and widen, breaking down, as it were, the structure of -the face. He was aware also of the increasing insecurity in himself. - -"Now is the moment," cried the other; "now is the time for their -appearance." - -He turned as though he had hit a target unexpectedly. - -"Now," he repeated, "is the opportunity for their manifestation. The -human mind lies open everywhere. It is blank, receptive, ready. On all -sides it waits ready and inviting. The gaps are provided. If there is -any other life, it should break through and come among us--_now_!" - -Fillery, startled, withdrew for the first time his attention from that -inner room. With keen eyes he gazed at his companion. With an abrupt, -unpleasant shock it occurred to him that all he heard was borrowed, -filched, stolen out of his own mind. Before words came to him, the -other spoke: - -"Your friend," he mentioned quietly, but with intentional significance, -"and patient." - -"LeVallon!" - -But it was at this moment that Nayan Khilkoff, entering again without -her hat and furs, had moved straight to the piano, seated herself, and -began to sing. - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - -To retail the following scene as Dr. Fillery saw it in detail is not -necessary, the sequence of acts, of physical events being already -known. The reactions of his heart and mind, however, have importance. -What he felt, thought, hoped and feared, what he believed as well, his -point of view in a word, remain essential. - -Edward Fillery, being what he was, witnessed it from his own individual -angle; his mind, with his heredity, his soul, with its mysterious -background, these held the glasses to his eyes, adjusting, as with a -Zeiss instrument, each eye separately. In his case the analyst and -thinker checked the unstable dreamer with acute exactitude. This was -his special gift. He studied himself best while studying others. His -sight, moreover, was exceptionally keen, his glasses of consummate -workmanship. He saw, it seems, considerably beyond the normal range. He -believed, at least, that he did so. - -He saw, for instance, that the girl, while her fingers ran over the -keys before she sang, searched the room and found LeVallon in a second. -Following her rapid glance, he took in the picture that she also -saw--LeVallon, coffee cup in hand, before Lady Gleeson languishing -on the divan, and Devonham just beside them. LeVallon was obviously -unaware of Lady Gleeson's presence; he had forgotten her existence. -Devonham, a floor-walker with nothing particular to do at the moment, -looked uncomfortable and ill at ease, scared a little, fearing a scene, -a possible outbreak even. The meaning of the group was easily read. The -girl herself, undoubtedly, read it clearly too. - -This flashed upon the cinema screen, and Fillery divined it without the -help of tedious letterpress. - -The same instant he was aware that the girl and LeVallon looked for -the first time straight into each other's faces, and that both seemed -simultaneously caught into the air as though a star had lifted them. -Not even a question lay in their clear eyes. It was an instantaneous -understanding, so complete and perfect that the expression of happy -surprise was too convincing to be missed even by the slow-witted -Lady Gleeson. Vanity usually delays intelligence, and her vanity was -abnormal. But she saw the expression on the two faces, and interpreted -it aright. Fillery noticed that she squirmed; she would presently, he -felt positive, disappear. Before the singing ended he had seen her -slink away. - -The song began. He had heard it before, "The Vagrant's Epitaph," -sung by the same clear, sweet voice, had felt his heart stirred by -the true simple feeling she put into it. He knew every word and -every bar; the music was her own. He loved it. Both words and music -awoke in him invariably a picture of his own lost valley, a physical -desire to be over the hills and far away with the homeless liberty -of winds and stars and waters, and at the same time, its spiritual -equivalent--a yearning that the Race should discover the immense fair -region of its greater hidden self and enjoy its new powers without -restraint. All this was familiar to him. But now, as she sang, there -came another, deeper meaning that sublimated the essential spirit of -it, lifting it out of the known ditch of space and time. Never yet -had he heard such yearning passion, such untold desire in her voice. -The physical vagrancy changed subtly, exquisitely, to a symbol of a -vaster meaning--a spiritual vagrancy that suddenly captured him in -bitter pain. "Love could not hold him, Duty forged no chain"--as he -listened to the sweetness, struck him between the joints of armour he -had not realized before was so insecurely bound about him. The anguish -of lonely souls, alien among their kind, hungry for companionship -they might not find, unclothed, uncared for, desired of none and -understanding none--this rose tumultuously in his blood. "The wide -seas and the mountains called him ..." the words and music pierced -him like a flame. "Revel might hold him for a little space ..."--her -voice made it sound like a description of man's brief moment on the -whirling planet, tasting adventure with men and women, playing a moment -with love and hope and fear, till, "turning past the laughter and the -lamps," he heard that "other summons at the door." - -This bigger version, this deeper meaning, caught at him with power -as he heard the song in the sweet, familiar voice, and realized in -a flash that what he felt faintly LeVallon felt terrifically. His -own detachment was a pose, a shadow, at best a bodiless yearning; in -LeVallon it was a reality of consuming fire. Also it was an explanation -of the girl's own singular aloofness from the world of admiring men. -Both belonged, as Father Collins put it, "elsewhere." - -He watched them. LeVallon's eyes, he saw, remained fixed and motionless -on the singer; her own did not leave the notes for a single moment; -the words and music poured into the room like a shower of dancing -silver. The personality of the girl flowed out with them to meet the -newly-found companion they addressed. An extraordinary thing then -happened: to Fillery it almost seemed that there formed then and there -between them a new vehicle--as it were, a body--that gave expression to -their own great secret. Something in each of them, unable to manifest -through their minds, their brains, their earthly bodies, formed for -itself an elastic subtle vehicle, using the sound, the words, the -feeling for this purpose--and as literally as a human spirit uses the -familiar physical body for its manifestation. - -The experience was amazing, but it was real. He watched it carefully. -In the room about him, formed on the waves of this sweet singing, -shaped by feeling that found normally no other expression, inspired -by emotions, yearnings, desires alien to their normal kind, these two -created between them a new vehicle or body that could and did express -all this. - -They heard that "other summons at the door...." And they were off. - -Yet he, too, heard the summons, and in the depths of his being he -answered to it. His essential weakness, wearing the guise of strength, -rose naked.... - -These thoughts and feelings lay unexpressed, perhaps--too deep -actually, too remote from any experience he had yet known, to find -actual words, even in his mind. What did find expression, in thought -at any rate, was that, before his very eyes, he witnessed the -transfiguring change come over Nayan. Like some flower that has been -growing in the shade, then meets the flood of sunshine for the first -time, she knew a fresh tide of life sweep over her entire being. She -seemed to blossom, breaking almost into flower and fruit before his -very eyes, as though sun and wind brought her into a sudden bloom of -exquisite maturity. He was aware of rich, deep purple, the faint gold -of fruits and flowers, the creamy softness of a rose, the amber of wild -grapes bathed in sparkling dew. The luscious promise of the Spring -matured about her whole presentment into full summer glory. And it was -the sun and wind of LeVallon's enigmatic, stimulating presence close to -her that caused the miracle. The essential flower of her life poured -forth to meet his own, as he had always felt it must. LeVallon's was -the mighty wind that lifted her, was the sun in whose heat she basked, -expanded, soared. She experienced a strange increase of her natural -vitality and being. Her consciousness knew an abrupt intensification. - -The signs, in that brief moment, were as clear to Fillery's divining -heart as though he read them in black printed letters on a page of -whitest paper. He knew the cipher and the code. He watched the signals -flash. They had not even spoken, yet the relationship was established -beyond doubt. He witnessed the first exchange; the wireless message of -joy and sympathy that flashed he intercepted. - -Through his extremely rapid mind, as he watched, poured memories, -reflections, judgments in concentrated form, yet calmly, steadily, -though against a background of deep and troubled emotion. There seemed -actually a disruption of his personality. Father Collins, standing -beside him, divined nothing, he believed, of his agitation, standing, -mere figure of a man, listening to the music with attentive pleasure; -at least, he gave no outward sign.... - -The song drew to its close. Once Nayan raised her eyes, instantly -finding those of LeVallon across the room, then shifting again for a -fleeting second with a rapidly changing focus to his own. He met them -without a quiver; he caught again her tender, searching question; he -sent no answer back. - -In his own heart burned, however, a score of questions that beat -against his soul for answers. What was it that each had found thus -intuitively within the other? Was it her maternal instinct only that -was reached as with all other men hitherto, was it at last the woman in -her that leaped towards its own divine, creative sun, or was it that -hidden, nameless aspect of her which had never yet found a vehicle for -manifestation among her own kind and had therefore remained hitherto -unexpressed--bodiless? - -The answer to this he found easily enough. No jealousy stirred; pain -for himself had been long ago uprooted. Yet pain of a kind he felt. -Would LeVallon injure, drag her down, bring suffering, perhaps of -an atrocious sort, into her hitherto so innocent life? Was she yet -qualified to withstand the fierce fire, the rushing wind, that the full -force of his strange nature must bring to bear upon her? - -His questions went prophesying, flying like swift birds to such great -distances that no audible answers could return. His pain, at any -rate, chiefly was for her. He divined that she was frightened, yet -exhilarated, before the unexpected apparition of an unusual presence. -Accustomed to smaller jets of admiration from smaller men, this deep -flood overwhelmed her. This motionless figure watching her among -the shadows, listening to her singing, devouring her beauty with an -innocence, power, worship she had never yet encountered--could she, -Fillery asked himself, withstand its elemental flood and not be broken -by its waves? - -For at the back of all his questions, haunting his prophecies, filling -his hopes and fears with substance, stood one outstanding certainty: - -The motionless figure in the shadows was not LeVallon. It was "N. H." - -The thing he had expected had now happened. Instinctively he turned to -find his colleague. - -For what followed, Fillery, of course, was as unprepared as anyone. -In some way, difficult to describe, the whole thing had a strangely -natural, almost an inevitable touch. The exaggeration that others felt -he was not conscious of. He never, for a single moment, lost his head. -The wonder of the elemental violence appealed and stimulated without -once touching the sense of fear, much less of panic, in him. - -Searching for Devonham's familiar figure, he found it in the seat that -Lady Gleeson had vacated shortly before, but the face turned away -towards the inner room, so that it was not possible to catch his eye. -It was an attentive, critical, almost anxious expression his chief -surprised, and while a faint smile perhaps flitted across his own -mouth, he became aware that Father Collins--he had again completely -forgotten his proximity--was staring with a curious intentness at him. -The same instant the song came to an end. Into the brief pause of a -second before the applause burst forth, Father Collins's voice was -suddenly audible in his ear: - -"LeVallon's gone," Fillery was saying to himself, "'N. H.' is in -control," when his neighbour's words broke in. The two sentences were -simultaneously in his mind: - -"A man in _his own place_ is the Ruler of his Fate!" - -And Fillery's astonishment was only equalled by the fact that the grim -face was soft with sympathy, and that in the eyes shone moisture that -was close to tears. Before he could reply, however, the applause burst -forth, making an uproar against which no voice could possibly contend. -The subsequent events, following so swiftly, made rejoinder equally out -of the question, nor did he see Father Collins again that evening. - -These Fillery witnessed much as already described through Devonham's -eyes. The storm, the panic took place as told. Yet a detail here and -there belong to Fillery's version, for they were a part of his own -being. He had, for instance, a warning that something was about to -happen, although warning seems not quite the faithful word. He saw -the Valley for one fleeting second, the three familiar figures, Nayan, -"N. H.," himself, flying through the bright sunshine before a wind that -stirred a million flowers. In the farthest possible background of his -mind it shone an instant. The shutter dropped again, it vanished. - -Yet enough to set him on the alert. Into the air about him, into his -heart as well, fell an exhilarating and immense refreshment. It rose, -as it were, from the most deeply submerged portion of his own hidden -being, now stirred, even actually summoned, into activity. - -The shutter meanwhile rose and fell and rose again; the Valley -reappeared and vanished, then reappeared again. - -For the truth came smashing against him--smashing his being open, and -bursting the doors of his carefully instructed, carefully guarded -nature. The doors flung from their hinges and a blinding light poured -in and flooded the strangest possible hidden corners. - -He saw what followed with an accuracy of observation impossible -to anyone else, with an intimate sympathy the others could not -feel--because he himself took part in the entire scene. But the scene, -for him, was not the Chelsea studio with its tobacco smoke and perfume, -it was the Caucasian valley whence his own blood derived. Clean, -fragrant winds swept past him across mighty space. The walls melted -into distances of forest and mountain peaks, the ceiling was a dome of -stainless blue, the floor ran deep in flowers. A drenching sunshine of -crystal purity bathed the world. It was across bright emerald turf that -he saw "N. H." dance forward like a wind of power, cry with a joyful -resonant voice to the radiant girl who stood laughing, half hiding, yet -at the same time beckoning, that she should fly with him. He caught and -lifted her, her hair, the whiteness of her skin flashing in the sun -like some marvellous bird in the act of taking wing, for before he had -touched her she leapt through the air to meet his outstretched arms. -Yet one hand, one silvery arm, waved towards himself, towards Fillery; -their fingers met and clasped; the three of them, three dancing, free -and joyful figures, fled like the wind across the enormous mountains, -but fled, he knew beyond all question--_home_. - -He saw this in the space of those few seconds in which Nayan was -swung over the youth's shoulders beside the piano. The two scenes ran -parallel, as it were, before his eyes, outer and inner sight keeping -equal pace together. His balance and judgment here were never once -disturbed. In the studio: he had just introduced LeVallon to the girl -and the latter had caught her up. In the valley: she had leapt into his -arms and the three of them were off. - -It was this inner interpretation, keeping always level pace with what -was happening outwardly, that furnished Fillery with the hint of an -astounding explanation. The figure in the valley, it flashed to him, -was, of course, "N. H." in all his natural splendour, but a figure -unknown surely to all records of humanity as such. Here danced and sang -a happy radiant being, by whom the limitations of the human species -were not experienced, even if the species were familiar to him at all. -A being from another system, another evolution, an elemental being, -whose ideal, development, mode of existence, were not those of men and -women. "N. H." was not a human being, a human soul, a human spirit. He -belonged elsewhere and otherwise. Under the guise of LeVallon he had -drifted in. He inhabited LeVallon's frame. - -In the Studio, at this instant, Fillery heard him using the singular -words already noted, and in the Studio they sounded, indeed, senseless, -foolish, even mad. It was, he realized, an attempt to stammer in human -language some meaning that lay beyond, outside it. In the Valley, -however, and at the same moment, they sounded natural and true. The -evolutionary system to which "N. H." belonged, from which he had -in some as yet unknown manner passed into humanity, but to which, -though almost entirely forgotten, he yearned with his whole being -to return--this other system had, it seemed, its own conditions, -its own methods of advance, its ideals and its duties. Were, then, -its inhabitants--this flashed upon him in the delicious wind and -sunshine--the workers in what men call the natural kingdoms, the -builders of form and structure, the directing powers that expressed -themselves through the elemental energies everywhere behind the laws of -Nature? Was this their tireless and wondrous service in the planet, in -the universe itself? - -"N. H." called the girl to service, not to personal love. Alone, cut -off from his own kind, alien and derelict amid the conditions of a -humanity strange, perhaps unknown to him, he sought companionship -where he could. Drawn instinctively to the more impersonal types, such -as Fillery and the girl, he felt there the nearest approach to what -he recognized as his own kind; their ideal of selfless service was a -beacon that he understood; he would return to his own kingdom, carrying -them both with him. From somewhere, at any rate, this all flashed into -his too willing mind.... - -At which second precisely in Fillery's valley-vision, Khilkoff entered, -and--yet before he could take action--the lightning struck and the -sudden explosion of the ferocious storm blackened out both the outer -and the inner scene. - -The shock of elemental violence, the astounding revelation as well -that an entirely new type had possibly come within his ken, this, -combined with the emotional disturbance caused by the change produced -in Nayan, seemed enough to upset the equilibrium of even the most -balanced mind. The darkness added its touch of helplessness besides. -Yet Fillery never for a moment lost his head. Two natures in him, cause -of his radical instability, merged for a moment in amazing harmony. The -panic now dominating all about him seemed so small a thing compared -to the shattering discovery life had just offered to him. Across it, -finding his way past kneeling women and shrieking girls, drenched to -the skin by the flood of entering rain, moving over splintered glass, -he found the figure he sought, as though by some instinctive sympathy. -They came together in the darkness. Their hands met easily. A moment -later they were in the street, and "N. H.'s" instinctive terror amid -the sheets of falling water, an element hostile to his own natural -fire, made it a simple matter to get him home--in Lady Gleeson's motor -car. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -When relative order had been restored, Devonham realized, of course, -that his colleague had cleverly spirited away their "patient"; also -that the sculptor had carried off his daughter. Relieved to escape -from the atmosphere of what he considered collective hysteria, he -had borrowed mackintosh and umbrella, and declining several offers -of a lift, had walked the four miles to his house in the rain and -wind. The exercise helped to work off the emotion in him; his mind -cleared healthily; personal bias gave way to honest and unprejudiced -reflection; there was much that interested him deeply, at the same time -puzzled and bewildered him beyond anything he had yet experienced. He -reached the house with a mind steady if unsatisfied; but the emotions -caused by prejudice had gone. His main anxiety centred about his chief. - -He was glad to notice a light in an upper window, for it meant, he -hoped, that LeVallon was now safely home. While his latchkey sought its -hole, however, this light was extinguished, and when the door opened, -it was Fillery himself who greeted him, a finger on his lips. - -"Quietly!" he whispered. "I've just got him to bed and put his light -out. He's asleep already." Paul noticed his manner instantly--its -happiness. There was a glow of mysterious joy and wonder in his -atmosphere that made the other hostile at once. - -They went together towards that inner room where so often together -they had already talked both moon and sun to bed. Cold food lay on the -table, and while they satisfied their hunger, the rain outside poured -down with a steady drenching sound. The wind had dropped. The suburb -lay silent and deserted. It was long past midnight. The house was -very still, only the occasional step of a night-nurse audible in the -passages and rooms upstairs. They would not be disturbed. - -"You got him home all right, then?" Paul asked presently, keeping his -voice low. - -He had been observing his friend closely; the evident pleasure and -satisfaction in the face annoyed him; the light in the eyes at the -same time profoundly troubled him. Not only did he love his chief for -himself, he set high value on his work as well. It would be deplorable, -a tragedy, if judgment were destroyed by personal bias and desire. He -felt uneasy and distressed. - -Fillery nodded, then gave an account of what had happened, but -obviously an account of outward events merely; he did not wish, -evidently, to argue or explain. The strong, rugged face was lit up, -the eyes were shining; some inner enthusiasm pervaded his whole being. -Evidently he felt very sure of something--something that both pleased -and stimulated him. - -His account of what had happened was brief enough, little more than a -statement of the facts. - -Finding himself close to LeVallon when the darkness came, he had kept -hold of him and hurried him out of the house at once. The sudden -blackness, it seemed, had made LeVallon quiet again, though he kept -asking excitedly for the girl. When assured that he would soon see her, -he became obedient as a lamb. The absence of light apparently had a -calming influence. They found, of course, no taxis, but commandeered -the first available private car, Fillery using the authoritative -influence of his name. And it was Lady Gleeson's car, Lady Gleeson -herself inside it. She had thought things over, put two and two -together, and had come back. Her car might be of use. It was. For the -rain was falling in sheets and bucketfuls, the road had become a river -of water, and Fillery's automobile, ordered for an hour later, had not -put in an appearance. It was the rain that saved the situation.... - -An exasperated expression crossed Devonham's face as he heard this -detail emphasized. He had meant to listen without interruption. The -enigmatical reference to the rain proved too much for him. - -"Why 'the rain'? What d'you mean exactly, Edward?" - -"Water," was the reply, made in a significant tone that further annoyed -his listener's sense of judgment. "You remember the Channel, surely! -Water and fire mutually destroy each other. They are hostile elements." - -There was a look almost of amusement on his face as he said it. -Devonham kept a tight hold upon his tongue. It was not impatience or -surprise he felt, though both were strong; it was perhaps sorrow. - -"And so Lady Gleeson drove you home?" - -He waited with devouring interest for further details. The throng of -questions, criticisms and emotions surging in him he repressed with -admirable restraint. - -Lady Gleeson, yes, had driven the party home. Fillery made her sit on -the back seat alone, while he occupied the front one, LeVallon beside -him, but as far back among the deep cushions as possible. The doctor -held his hand. At any other time, Devonham could have laughed; but he -saw no comedy now. Lady Gleeson, it seemed, was awed by the seriousness -of the "Chief," whom, even at the best of times, she feared a little. -Her vanity, however, persuaded her evidently that she was somehow the -centre of interest. - -Yet Devonham, as he listened, had difficulty in persuading himself that -he was in the twentieth century, and that the man who spoke was his -colleague and a man of the day as well. - -"LeVallon talked little, and that little to himself or to me. He seemed -unaware that a third person was present at all. Though quiet enough, -there was suppressed vehemence still about him. He said various things: -that '_she_ belonged to us,' for instance; that he 'knew his own'; that -_she_ was 'filled with fire in exile'; and that he would 'take her -back.' Also that I, too, must go with them both. He often mentioned -the sun, saying more than once that the sun had 'sent its messengers.' -Obviously, it was not the ordinary sun he referred to, but some source -of central heat and fire he seems aware of----" - -"You, I suppose, Edward," put in his listener quickly, "said nothing to -encourage all this? Nothing that could suggest or stimulate?" - -Fillery ignored, even if he noticed, the tone of the question. "I kept -silence rather. I said very little. I let him talk. I had to keep an -eye on the woman, too." - -"You certainly had your hands full--a dual personality and a -nymphomaniac." - -"She helped me, without knowing it. All he said about the girl, she -evidently took to herself. When he begged me to keep the water out, she -drew the window up the last half-inch.... The water frightened him; she -was sympathetic, and her sympathy seemed to reach him, though I doubt -if he was aware of her presence at all until the last minute almost----" - -"And 'at the last minute'?" - -"She leaned forward suddenly and took both his hands. I had let go -of the one I held and was just about to open the door, when I heard -her say excitedly that I must let her come and see him, or that he -must call on her; she was sure she could help him; he must tell her -everything.... I turned to look.... LeVallon, startled into what I -believe was his first consciousness of her presence, stared into her -eyes, and leaned forward among his cushions a little, so that their -faces were close together. Before I could interfere, she had flung -her bare arms about his neck and kissed him. She then sat back again, -turning to me, and repeating again and again that he needed a woman's -care and that she must help and mother him. She was excited, but she -knew what she was saying. She showed neither shame nor the least -confusion. She tasted--of course with her it cannot last--a bigger -world. She was most determined." - -"_His_ reaction?" inquired Devonham, amused in spite of his graver -emotions of uneasiness and exasperation. - -"None whatever. I scarcely think he realized he had been kissed. His -interest was so entirely elsewhere. I saw his face a moment among the -white ermine, the bare arms and jewels that enveloped him." Fillery -frowned faintly. "The car had almost stopped. Lady Gleeson was leaning -back again. He looked at me, and his voice was intense and eager: 'Dear -Fillery,' he said, 'we have found each other, I have found her. She -knows, she remembers the way back. Here we can do so little.' - -"Lady Gleeson, however, had interpreted the words in another way. - -"'I'll come to-morrow to see you,' she said at once intensely. 'You -_must_ let me come,'--the last words addressed to me, of course." - -The two men looked at one another a moment in silence, and for the -first time during the conversation they exchanged a smile.... - -"I got him to bed," Fillery concluded. "In ten minutes he was sound -asleep." And his eyes indicated the room overhead. - -He leaned back, and quietly began to fill his pipe. The account was -over. - -As though a great spring suddenly released him, Paul Devonham stood up. -His untidy hair hung wild, his glasses were crooked on his big nose, -his tie askew. His whole manner bristled with accumulated challenge and -disagreement. - -"_Who?_" he cried. "_Who?_ Edward, I ask you?" - -His colleague, yet knowing exactly what he meant, looked up -questioningly. He looked him full in the face. - -"Hush!" he said quietly. "You'll wake him." - -He gazed with happy penetrating eyes at his companion. "Paul," he added -gently, "do you really mean it? Have you still the faintest doubt?" - -The moment had drama in it of unusual kind. The conflict between these -two honest and unselfish minds was vital. The moment, too, was chosen, -the place as well--this small, quiet room in a commonplace suburb of -the greatest city on the planet, drenched by earthly rain and battered -by earthly wind from the heart of an equinoctial storm; the mighty -universe outside, breaking with wondrous, incredible impossibilities -upon a mind that listened and a mind that could not hear; and upstairs, -separated from them by a few carpenter's boards, an assortment of -"souls," either derelict and ruined, or gifted supernormally, masters -of space and time perhaps, yet all waiting to be healed by the best -knowledge known to the race--and one among them, about whom the -conflict raged ... sound asleep ... while wind and water stormed, while -lightning fires lit the distant horizons, while the great sun lay -hidden, and darkness crept soundlessly to and fro.... - -"Have you still the slightest doubt, Paul?" repeated Fillery. "You know -the evidence. You have an open mind." - -Then Devonham, still standing over his Chief, let out the storm that -had accumulated in him over-long. He talked like a book. He talked like -several books. It seemed almost that he distrusted his own personal -judgment. - -"Edward," he began solemnly--not knowing that he quoted--"you, above -all men, understand the lower recesses of the human heart, that gloomy, -gigantic oubliette in which our million ancestors writhe together -inextricably, and each man's planetary past is buried alive----" - -Fillery nodded quietly his acquiescence. - -"You, of all men, know our packed, limitless subterranean life," -Devonham went on, "and its impenetrable depths. You understand -telepathy, 'extended telepathy' as well, and how a given mind may tap -not only forgotten individual memories, but memories of his family, his -race, even planetary memories into the bargain, the memory, in fact, of -every being that ever lived, right down to Adam, if you will----" - -"Agreed," murmured the other, listening patiently, while he puffed his -pipe and heard the rain and wind. "I know all that. I know it, at any -rate, as a possible theory." - -"You also know," continued Devonham in a slightly less strident -tone, "your own--forgive me, Edward--your own idiosyncrasies, your -weaknesses, your dynamic accumulated repressions, your strange physical -heritage and spiritual--I repeat the phrase--your spiritual vagrancies -towards--towards----" He broke off suddenly, unable to find the words -he wanted. - -"I'm illegitimate, born of a pagan passion," mentioned the other -calmly. "In that sense, if you like, I have in me a 'complex' against -the race, against humanity--as such." - -He smiled patiently, and it was the patience, the evident conviction of -superiority that exasperated his cautious, accurate colleague. - -"If I love humanity, I also tolerate it perhaps, for I try to heal it," -added Fillery. "But, believe me, Paul, I do not lose my scientific -judgment." - -"Edward," burst out the other, "how can you think it possible, -then--that _he_ is other than the result of tendencies transmitted by -his mad parents, or acquired from Mason, who taught him all he knows, -or--if you will--that he has these hysterical faculties--supernormal -as we may call them--which tap some racial, even, if you will, some -planetary past----" - -He again broke off, unable to express his whole thought, his entire -emotion, in a few words. - -"I accept all that," said Fillery, still calmly, quietly, "but perhaps -now--in the interest of truth"--his tone was grave, his words obviously -chosen carefully--"if now I feel it necessary to go beyond it! My -strange heritage," he added, "is even possibly a help and guide. How," -he asked, a trace of passion for the first time visible in his manner, -"shall we venture--how decide--for we are not wholly ignorant, you and -I--between what is possible and impossible? Is this trivial planet, -then," he asked, his voice rising suddenly, ominously perhaps, "our -sole criterion? Dare we not venture--beyond--a little? The scientific -mind should be the last to dogmatize as to the possibilities of this -life of ours...." - -The authority of chief, the old tie of respectful and affectionate -friendship, the admiring wonder that pertained to a daring speculator -who had often proved himself right in face of violent opposition--all -these affected Devonham. He did not weaken, but for an instant he knew, -perhaps, the existence of a vast, incredible horizon in his friend's -mind, though one he dared not contemplate. Possibly, he understood in -this passing moment a huger world, a new outlook that scorned limit, -though yet an outlook that his accurate, smaller spirit shrank from. - -He found, at any rate, his own words futile. "You remember," he -offered--"'We need only suppose the continuity of our own consciousness -with a mother sea, to allow for exceptional waves occasionally pouring -over the dam.'" - -"Good, yes," said Fillery. "But that 'mother sea,' what may it not -include? Dare we set limits to it?" - -And, as he said it, Fillery, emotion visible in him, rose suddenly from -his chair. He stood up and faced his colleague. - -"Let us come to the point," he said in a clear, steady voice. "It all -lies--doesn't it?--in that question you asked----" - -"_Who?_" came at once from Devonham's lips, as he stood, looking oddly -stiff and rigid opposite his Chief. There was a touch of defiance in -his tone. "_Who?_" He repeated his original question. - -No pause intervened. Fillery's reply came sharp and firm: - -"'N. H.,'" he said. - -An interval of silence followed, then, between the two men, as they -looked into each other's eyes. Fillery waited for his assistant to -speak, but no word came. - -"LeVallon," the older man continued, "is the transient, acquired -personality. It does not interest us. There is no real LeVallon. The -sole reality is--'N. H.'" - -He spoke with the earnestness of deep conviction. There was still no -reply or comment from the other. - -"Paul," he continued, steadying his voice and placing a hand upon -his colleague's shoulder, "I am going to ask you to--consider our -arrangement--cancelled. I must----" - -Then, before he could finish what he had to say, the other had said it -for him: - -"Edward, I give you back your promise." - -He shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly, but there was no -unpleasant, no antagonistic touch now either in voice or manner. There -was, rather, a graver earnestness than there had been hitherto, a hint -of reluctant acquiescence, but also there was an emotion that included -certainly affection. No such fundamental disagreement had ever come -between them during all their years of work together. "You understand," -he added slowly, "what you are doing--what is involved." His tone -almost suggested that he spoke to a patient, a loved patient, but one -over whom he had no control. He sighed. - -"I belong, Paul, myself to the unstable--if that is what you mean," -said his old friend gently, "and with all of danger, or of wonder, it -involves." - -The faint movement of the shoulders again was noticeable. "We need not -put it that way, Edward," was the quiet rejoinder; "for that, if true, -can only help your insight, your understanding, and your judgment." -He hesitated a moment or two, searching his mind carefully for words. -Fillery waited. "But it involves--I think"--he went on presently in a -firmer voice--"_his_ fate as well. He must become permanently--one or -other." - -No pause followed. There was a smile of curious happiness on Fillery's -face as he instantly answered in a tone of absolute conviction: - -"There lies the root of our disagreement, Paul. There is no 'other.' I -am positive for once. There is only one, and that one is--'N. H.'" - -"Umph!" his friend grunted. Behind the exclamation hid an attitude -confirmed, as though he had come suddenly to a big decision. - -"You see, Paul--I _know_." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - -It was not long after the scene in the Studio that the Prometheans -foregathered at dinner in the back room of the small French restaurant -in Soho and discussed the event. The prices were moderate, conditions -free and easy. It was a favourite haunt of Members. - -To-night, moreover, there was likely to be a good attendance. The word -had gone out. - -The Studio scene had, of course, been the subject of much discussion -already. The night of its occurrence it had been talked over till dawn -in more than one flat, and during the following days the Society, as a -whole, thought of little else. Those who had not been present had to be -informed, and those who had witnessed it found it an absorbing topic of -speculation. The first words that passed when one member met another in -the street was: "What _did_ you make of that storm? Wasn't it amazing? -Did your solar plexus vibrate? Mine did! And the light, the colour, -the vibrations--weren't they terrific? What do you think _he_ is?" It -was rumoured that the Secretary was asking for individual reports. -Excitement and interest were general, though the accounts of individual -witnesses differed extraordinarily. It seemed impossible that all had -seen and heard the same thing. - -The back room was pleasantly filled to-night, for it was somehow -known that Millington Povey, and possibly Father Collins, too, were -coming. Miss Milligan, the astrologist, was there early, arriving with -Mrs. Towzer, who saw auras and had already, it was rumoured, painted -automatically a strange rendering of "forces" that were visible to her -clairvoyantly during the occurrence. Miss Lance, in shining beads and -a glittering scarf, arrived on their heels, an account of the scene in -her pocket--to be published in her magazine "Simplicity" after she had -modified it according to what she picked up from hearing other, and -better, descriptions. - -Kempster, immaculate as ever, ordering his food as he ordered his -clothes, like a connoisseur, was one of the first to establish himself -in a comfortable seat. He knew how to look after himself, and was -already eating in his neat dainty way while the others still stood -about studying the big white _menu_ with its illegible hieroglyphics in -smudged violet ink. He supplemented his meals with special patent foods -of vegetarian kind he brought with him. He had dried bananas in one -pocket and spirit photographs in another, and he was invariably pulling -out the wrong thing. Meat he avoided. "A man is what he eats," he held, -and animal blood was fatal to psychic development. To eat pig or cow -was to absorb undesirable characteristics. - -Next to him sat Lattimer, a lanky man of thirty, with loose clothes, -long hair, and eyes of strange intensity. Known as "occultist and -alchemist," he was also a chemist of some repute. His life was ruled by -a master-desire and a master-fear: the former, that he might one day -project his double consciously; the latter, that in his next earthly -incarnation he might be--the prospect made him shudder--a woman. He -sought to keep his thought as concrete as possible, the male quality. - -He believed that the nervous centre of the physical body which -controlled all such unearthly, if not definitely "spiritual," impulses, -was the solar plexus. For him it was _the_ important portion of his -anatomy, the seat of intuition. Brain came second. - -"The fellow," he declared emphatically, "stirred my solar plexus, my -_kundalini_--that's all I know." He referred, as all understood, to the -latent power the _yogis_ claim lies coiled, but only rarely manifested, -in that great nervous centre. - -His statement, he knew, would meet with general approval and -understanding. It was the literal Kempster who spoiled his opening: - -"Paul Devonham," said the latter, "thinks it's merely a secondary -personality that emerged. I had a long argument with him about it----" - -"Never argue with the once-born," declared Povey flatly, producing -his pet sentence. "It's waste of time. Only older souls, with -the experience of many earthly lives stored in their beings, are -knowledgeable." He filled his glass and poured out for others, Lattimer -and Mrs. Towzer alone declining, though for different reasons. - -"It destroys the 'sight,'" explained the former. "Alcohol sets up -coarse vibrations that ruin clairvoyance." - -"I decided to deny myself till the war is over," was Mrs. Towzer's -reason, and when Povey reminded her of the armistice, she mentioned -that Turkey hadn't "signed yet." - -"I think his soul----" began Miss Lance. - -"If he _has_ a soul," put in Povey, electrically. - -"--is hardly in his body at all," concluded Miss Lance, less -convincingly than originally intended. - -"It was love at first sight. His sign is Fire and hers is Air," Miss -Milligan said. "That's certain. _Of course_ they came together." - -"A clear case of memory, at any rate," insisted Kempster. "Two old -souls meeting again for the first time for thousands of years, -probably. Love at first sight, or hate, for that matter, is always -memory, isn't it?" He disliked the astrology explanation; it was not -mysterious enough, too mathematical and exact to please him. - -"Secondary personalities _are_ invariably memories of former selves, of -course," agreed young Dickson, the theosophist, who was on the verge -now of becoming a psycho-analyst and had already discarded Freud for -Jung. "If not memories of past lives, then they're desires suppressed -in this one." - -"The less you think, the more you know," suggested Miss Lance. She -distrusted intellect and believed that another faculty, called instinct -or intuition, according to which word first occurred to her, was the -way to knowledge. She was about to quote Bergson upside down, when -Povey, foreseeing an interval of boredom, took command: - -"One thing we know, at any rate," he began judiciously; "we aren't the -only beings in the universe. There are non-human intelligences, both -vast and small. The old world-wide legends can't be built on nothing. -In every age of history--the reports are universal--we have pretty good -evidence for other forms of life than humans----" - -"Though never yet in human _form_," put in Lattimer, yet -sympathetically. "Their bodies, I mean, aren't human," he added. - -"Exactly. That's true. But the gods, the fauns, the satyrs, the -elemental beings, as we call 'em--sylphs, undines, gnomes and -salamanders--to say nothing of fairies et hoc genus omne--there must -be _some_ reasonable foundation for their persistence through all the -ages." - -"They all belong to the _Deva_ Evolution," Dickson mentioned with -conviction. "In the East it's been known and recognized for centuries, -hasn't it? Another evolutionary system that runs parallel to ours. -From planetary spirits down to elementals, they're concerned with the -building up of form in the various kingdoms----" - -"Yes, yes," Povey interrupted impatiently. Dickson was stealing what he -had meant to say himself and to say, he flattered himself, far better. -"We know all _that_, of course. They stand behind what we call the laws -of nature, non-human activities and intelligences of every grade and -kind. They work for humanity in a way, are in other space and time, -deathless, of course, yet--in some strange way, always eager to cross -the gulf fixed between the two and so find a soul. They are impersonal -in a sense, as impersonal as, say, wind and fire through which some of -them operate as bodies." - -He paused and looked about him, noting the interested attention he -awaked. - -"There _may_ be times," he went on, "there probably _are_ certain -occasions, when the gulf is more crossable than others." He laid down -his knife and fork as a sympathetic murmur proved that the point he was -leading up to was favourably understood already. "We have had this war, -for instance," he stated, his voice taking on a more significant and -mysterious tone. "Dislodged by the huge upheaval, man's soul is on the -march again." He paused once more. "_They_," he concluded, lowering his -voice still more, and emphasizing the pronoun, "are possibly already -among us! Who knows?" - -He glanced round. "We do; we know," was the expression on most faces. -All knew precisely what he meant and to whom he referred, at any rate. - -"You might get him to come and lecture to us," said Dickson, the first -to break the pause. "You might ask Dr. Fillery. _You_ know him." - -"That's an idea----" began the Secretary, when there was a commotion -near the door. His face showed annoyance. - -It was the arrival of Toogood that at this moment disturbed the -atmosphere and robbed Povey of the effect he aimed at. It provided -Kempster, however, with an idea at the same time. "Here's a -psychometrist!" he exclaimed, making room for him. "He might get a bit -of his hair or clothing and psychometrize it. He might tell us about -his past, if not exactly _what_ he is." - -The suggestion, however, found no seconder, for it seemed that the new -arrival was not particularly welcomed. Judging by the glances, the -varying shades of greeting, too, he was not fully trusted, perhaps, -this broad, fleshy man of thirty-five, with complexion blotchy, an -over-sensual mouth and eyes a trifle shifty. His claim to membership -was two-fold: he remembered past lives, and had the strange power of -psychometry. An archaeologist by trade, his gift of psychometry--by -which he claimed to hold an object and tell its past, its pedigree, -its history--was of great use to him in his calling. Without further -trouble he could tell whether such an object was genuine or sham. -Dealers in antiquities offered him big fees--but "No, no; I cannot -prostitute my powers, you see"--and he remained poor accordingly. - -In his past lives he had been either a famous Pharaoh, or -Cleopatra--according to his audience of the moment and its male or -female character--but usually Cleopatra, because, on the whole, there -was more money and less risk in her. He lectured--for a fee. Lately, -however, he had been Pharaoh, having got into grave trouble over the -Cleopatra claim, even to the point of being threatened with expulsion -from the Society. His attitude during the war, besides, had been -unsatisfactory--it was felt he had selfishly protected himself on the -grounds of being physically unfit. Apart from archaeology, too, his -chief preoccupation, derived from past lives of course, was sex, in the -form of other men's wives, his own wife and children being, naturally, -very recent and somewhat negligible ties. - -His gift of psychometry, none the less, was considered proved--in spite -of the backward and indifferent dealers. His mind was quick and not -unsubtle. He became now au fait with the trend of the conversation in -a very few seconds, but he had not been present at the Studio when the -occurrence all discussed had taken place. - -"Hair would be best," he advised tentatively, sipping his -whisky-and-soda. He had already dined. "It's a part of himself, you -see. Better than mere clothing, I mean. It's extremely vital, hair. It -grows after death." - -"If I can get it for you, I will," said Povey. "He may be lecturing for -us before long. I'll try." - -"With psychometry and a good photograph," Kempster suggested, "a time -exposure, if possible, we ought to get _some_ evidence, at any rate. -It's first-hand evidence we want, of course, isn't it? What do you -think of this, for instance, I wonder?" He turned to Lattimer, drawing -something from his pocket and showing it. "It's a time exposure at -night of a haunted tree. You'll notice a queer sort of elemental form -_inside_ the trunk and branches. Oh!" He replaced the shrivelled banana -in his pocket, and drew out the photograph without a smile. "This," he -explained, waving it, "is what I meant." They fell to discussing it. - -Meanwhile, Povey, anxious to resume his lecture, made an effort -to recover his command of the group-atmosphere which Toogood had -disturbed. The latter had a "personal magnetism" which made the women -like him in spite of their distrust. - -"I was just saying," he resumed, patting the elbow of the -psychometrist, "that this strange event we've been discussing--you -weren't present, I believe, at the time, but, of course, you've heard -about it--has features which seem to point to something radically new, -or at least of very rare occurrence. As Lattimer mentioned, a human -body has never yet, so far as we know, been occupied, obsessed, by -a non-human entity, but that, after all, is no reason why it should -not ever happen. What is a body, anyhow? What is an entity, too?" -Povey's thought was wandering, evidently; the thread of his first -discourse was broken; he floundered. "Man, anyway, is more than a mere -chemical machine," he went on, "a crystallization of the primitive -nebulae, though the instrument he uses, the body he works through, is -undoubtedly thus describable. Now, we know there are all kinds of -non-human intelligences busy on our planet, in the Universe itself as -well. Why, then, I ask, should not one of these----?" - -He paused, unable to find himself, his confusion obvious. He was as -glad of the interruption that was then provided by the arrival of Imson -as his audience was. Toogood certainly was not sorry; he need find no -immediate answer. He sipped his drink and made mental notes. - -Imson arrived in a rough brown ulster with the collar turned up about -his ears, a low flannel shirt, not strictly clean, lying loosely round -his neck. His colourless face was of somewhat flabby texture, due -probably to his diet, but its simple, honest expression was attractive, -the smile engaging. The touch of foolishness might have been childlike -innocence, even saintliness some thought, and though he was well over -forty, the unlined skin made him look more like thirty. He enjoyed a -physiognomy not unlike that of a horse or sheep. His big, brown eyes -stared wide open at the world, expecting wonder and finding it. His -hobby was inspirational poems. One lay in his breast pocket now. He -burned to read it aloud. - -Pat Imson's ideal was an odd one--detachment; the desire to avoid all -ties that must bring him back to future incarnations on the earth, to -eschew making fresh Karma, in a word. He considered himself an "old -soul," and was rather weary of it all--of existence and development, -that is. To take no part in life meant to escape from those tangles -for whose unravelling the law of rebirth dragged the soul back again -and again. To sow no Causes was to have no harvest of Effects to reap -with toil and perspiration. Action, of course, there must be, but -"indifference to results of action" was the secret. Imson, none the -less, was always entangled with wives and children. Having divorced one -wife, and been divorced by another, he had recently married a third; -a flock of children streamed behind him; he was a good father, if a -strange husband. - -"It's old Karma I have to work off," he would explain, referring to -the wives. "If I avoid the experience I shall only have to come back -again. There's no good shirking old Karma." He gave this explanation to -the wives themselves, not only to his friends. "Face it and it's done -with, worked off, you see." That is, it had to be done nicely, kindly, -generously. - -An entire absence of the sense of humour was, of course, his natural -gift, yet a certain quaint wisdom helped to fill the dangerous vacuum. -He was known usually as "Pat." - -"Come on, Pat," said Povey, making room for him at his side. "How's -Karma? We're just talking about LeVallon and the Studio business. What -do you make of it? You were there, weren't you?" The others listened, -attentively, for Imson had a reputation for "seeing true." - -"I saw it, yes," replied Imson, ordering his dinner with -indifference--soup, fried potatoes, salad, cheese and coffee--but -declining the offered wine. The group waited for his next remark, but -none was forthcoming. He sat crumbling his bread into the soup and -stirring the mixture with his spoon. - -"Did you see the light about him, Mr. Imson?" asked Miss Lance. "The -brilliant aura of golden yellow that he wore? _I_ thought--it sounds -exaggerated, I know--but to me it seemed even brighter than the -lightning. Did you notice it?" - -"Well," said Imson slowly, putting his spoon down. "I'm not often -clairvoyant, you know. I did notice, however, a sort of radiance about -him. But with hair like that, it's difficult to be certain----" - -"Full of lovely patterns," said Mrs. Towzer. "Geometrical patterns." - -"Like astrological designs," mentioned Miss Milligan. "He's Leo, of -course--fire." - -"Almost as though he brought or caused the lightning--as if it actually -emanated out of his atmosphere somehow," claimed Miss Lance, for it was -_her_ conversation after all. - -"I saw nothing of that," replied Imson quietly. "No, I can't say I saw -anything _exactly_ like that." He added honestly, with his engaging -smile that had earned for him in some quarters the nickname of "The -Sheep": "I was looking at Nayan, you see, most of the time." - -A smile flickered round the table, for rumour had it that the girl had -once seemed to him as possible "Karma." - -"So was I," put in Kempster with kindly intention, though his -sympathy was evidently not needed. Imson was too simple even to -feel embarrassment. "She came to life suddenly for the first time -since I've known her. It was amazing." To which Imson, busy over his -salad-dressing, made no reply. - -Povey, lighting his pipe and puffing out thick clouds of smoke, -was cleverer. "LeVallon's effect upon her, whatever it was, seemed -instantaneous," he informed the table. "I never saw a clearer case of -two souls coming together in a flash." - -"As I said just now," Kempster quickly mentioned. - -"They are similar," said Imson, looking up, while the group waited -expectantly. - -"Similar," repeated Kempster. "Ah!" - -"It was the surprise in her face that struck me most," observed Povey -quickly, making an internal note of Imson's adjective, but knowing -that indirect methods would draw him out better than point-blank -questions. "LeVallon showed it too. It was an unexpected recognition -on both sides. They are 'similar,' as you say; both at the same stage -of development, whatever that stage may be. The expression on both -faces----" - -"Escape," exclaimed Imson, giving at last the kernel of what he had to -say. And the effect upon the group was electrical. A visible thrill ran -round the Soho table. - -"The very word," exclaimed Povey and Miss Lance together. "Escape!" But -neither of them knew exactly what they meant, nor what Imson himself -meant. - -"LeVallon has, of course, already escaped," the latter went on quietly. -"He is no longer caught by causes and effects as we are here. He's got -out of it all long ago--if he was ever in it at all." - -"If he ever was in it at all," said Povey quickly. "You noticed that -too. You're very discerning, Pat." - -"Clairvoyant," mentioned Miss Lance. - -"I've seen them in dreams like that," returned Imson calmly. "I often -see them, of course." He referred to his qualification for membership. -"The great figures I see in dream have just that unearthly expression." - -"Unearthly," said Mrs. Towzer with excitement. - -"Non-human," mentioned Kempster suggestively. - -"Not of this world, anyhow," suggested Miss Lance mysteriously. - -"Divine?" inquired Miss Milligan below her breath. - -"Really," murmured Toogood, "I must get a bit of his hair and -psychometrize it at once." He was sipping a second glass of whisky. - -Imson looked round at each face in turn, apparently seeing nothing that -need increase his attachment to the planet by way of fresh Karma. - -"The _Deva_ world," he said briefly, after a pause. "Probably he's come -to take Nayan off with him. She--I always said so--has a strong strain -of the elemental kingdom in her. She may be his _Devi_. LeVallon, I'm -sure, is here for the first time. He's one of the non-human evolution. -He's slipped in. A _Deva_ himself probably." It was as though he said -that the waiter was Swiss or French, or that the proprietor's daughter -had Italian blood in her. - -Povey looked round him with an air of triumph. - -"Ah!" he announced, as who should say, "You all thought my version a -bit wild, but here's confirmation from an unbiased witness." - -"Oh, well, I can't be certain," Imson reminded the group. If he -deceived them enough to change their lives in any respect, it involved -fresh Karma for himself. Care was indicated. "I can't be positive, can -I?" he hedged. "Only--I must say--the great deva-figures I've seen in -dream have exactly that look and expression." - -"That's interesting, Pat," Povey put in, "because, before you came, I -was suggesting a similar explanation for his air of immense potential -power. The elemental atmosphere he brought--we all noticed it, of -course." - -"Elemental _is_ the only word," Miss Lance inserted. "A great Nature -Being." She was thinking of her magazine. "He struck me as being so -close to Nature that he seemed literally part of it." - -"That would explain the lightning and the strange cry he gave about -'messengers,'" replied Imson, wiping the oil from his chin and -sprinkling his _petit suisse_ with powdered sugar. "It's quite likely -enough." - -"I wish you'd jot down what you think--a little report of what you saw -and felt," the Secretary mentioned. "It would be of great value. I -thought of making a collection of the different versions and accounts." - -"They might be published some day," thought Miss Lance. "Let's all," -she added aloud with emphasis. - -Imson nodded agreement, making no audible reply, while the conversation -ran on, gathering impetus as it went, growing wilder possibly, but also -more picturesque. A man in the street, listening behind a curtain, -must have deemed the talkers suffering from delusion, mad; a good -psychologist, on the other hand, similarly screened, and knowing the -antecedent facts, the Studio scene, at any rate, must have been struck -by one outstanding detail--the effect, namely, upon one and all of the -person they discussed. They had seen him for an hour or so among a -crowd, a young man whose name they hardly knew; only a few had spoken -to him; there had been, it seemed, neither time nor opportunity for -him to produce upon one and all the impression he undoubtedly had -produced. For in every mind, upon every heart, LeVallon's mere presence -had evidently graven an unforgettable image, scored an undecipherable -hieroglyph. Each felt, it seemed, the hint of a personality their -knowledge could not explain, nor any earthly explanation satisfy. -The consciousness in each one, perhaps, had been quickened. Hence, -possibly, the extravagance of their conversation. Yet, since all -reported differently, collective hysteria seemed discounted. - - * * * * * - -Meanwhile, as the talk continued, and the wings of imaginative -speculation fanned the thick tobacco smoke, others had dropped in, both -male and female members, and the group now filled the little room to -the walls. The same magnet drew them all, in each heart burned the same -huge question mark: Who--what--is this LeVallon? What was the meaning -of the scene in Khilkoff's Studio? - -Here, too, was a curious and significant fact about the gathering--the -amount of knowledge, true or otherwise, they had managed to collect -about LeVallon. One way or another, no one could say exactly how, the -Society had picked up an astonishing array of detail they now shared -together. It was known where he had spent his youth, also how, and -with whom, as well as something of the different views about him held -by Dr. Devonham and Edward Fillery. To such temperaments as theirs the -strange, the unusual, came automatically perhaps, percolating into -their minds as though a collective power of thought-reading operated. -Garbled, fanciful, askew, their information may have been, but a great -deal of it was not far wrong. - -Imson, for instance, provided an account of LeVallon's birth, to which -all listened spellbound. He evaded all questions as to how he knew of -it. "His parents," he assured the room, "practised the old forgotten -magic; his father, at any rate, was an expert, if not an initiate, with -all the rites and formulae of ancient times in his memory. LeVallon -was born as the result of an experiment, its origins dating back so -far that they concerned life upon another planet, I believe, a planet -nearer to the sun. The tremendous winds and heat were vehicles of -deity, you see--_there_." - -"The parents, you mean, had former lives upon another planet?" asked -someone in a hushed tone. "Or he himself?" - -"The parents--and Mason. Mason was involved in the experiment that -resulted in the birth of LeVallon here to-day." - -"The experiment--what was it exactly?" inquired Lattimer, while Toogood -surreptitiously made notes on his rather dirty cuff. - -Imson shrugged his shoulders very slightly. - -"Some of it came to me in sleep," he mentioned, producing a paper from -his pocket and beginning to read it aloud before anyone could stop him. - - "When the sun was younger, and moon and stars - Were thrilled with my human birth, - And the winds fled shouting the wondrous news - As they circled the sea and the earth, - - "From the fight for money and worldly fame - I drew one magical soul - Who came to me over the star-lit sea - As the needle turns to the Pole. - - "Conceived in the hour the stars foretold, - This son of the winds I bore, - And I taught him the secrets of----" - -"Yes," interrupted Povey audaciously, "but the experiment you were -telling us about----?" - -A murmur of approving voices helped him. - -"Oh, the experiment, yes, well--all I know is," he went on with -conviction, calmly replacing the poem in his pocket, "that it concerned -an old rite, involving the evocation of some elemental being or -nature-spirit the three of them had already evoked millions of years -before, but had not banished again. The experiment they made to-day -was to restore it to its proper sphere. In order to do so, they had -to evoke it again, and, of course"--he glanced round, as though all -present were familiar with the formula of magical practices--"it could -come only through the channel of a human system." - -"Of course, yes," murmured a dozen voices, while eyes grew bigger and a -pin dropping must have been audible. - -"Well"--Imson spoke very slowly now, each word clear as a bell--"the -father, who was officiating, failed. He could not stand the strain. His -heart stopped beating. He died--just when _it_ was there, he dropped -dead." - -"What happened to _it_?" asked Povey, too interested to care that he -no longer led the room. "You said it could only use a human system as -channel----" - -"It did so," explained Imson. - -The information produced a pause of several seconds. Some of the -members, like Toogood, though openly, were making pencil notes upon -cuffs or backs of envelopes. - -"But the channel was neither Mason nor the woman." The effect of this -negative information was as nothing compared to the startling interest -produced by the speaker's next words: "It took the easiest channel, the -line of least resistance--the unborn body of the child." - -Povey, seizing his opportunity, leaped into the silence: - -"Whose body, now full grown, and named LeVallon, came to the Studio!" -he exclaimed, looking round at the group, as though he had himself -given the explanation all had just listened to. "A human body tenanted -by a nature-spirit, one of the form-builders--a _Deva_...." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - -For all the wildness of the talk, this group of the Unstable was a -coherent and consistent entity, using a language each item in it -understood. They knew what they were after. Alcohol, coffee, tobacco, -underfeeding, these helped or hindered, respectively, the expression of -an ideal that, nevertheless, was common to them all; and if the minds -represented were unbalanced, or merely speculative, poetic, one genuine -quest and sympathy bound all together into a coherent, and who shall -say unintelligent or valueless, unit. The unstable enjoyed an extreme -sensitiveness to varied experience, with flexible adaptability to all -possible new conditions, whereas the stable, with their rigid mental -organizations, remained uninformed, stagnant, even fossilized. - -In other rooms about the great lamp-lit city sat, doubtless, other -similar groups at the very same moment, discussing the shibboleths -of other faiths, of other dreams, of other ideas, systems, notions, -philosophies, all interpretative of the earth in which little humanity -dwells, cut off and isolated, apparently, from the rest of the -stupendous universe. A listener, screened from view, a listener not in -sympathy with the particular group he observed, and puzzled, therefore, -by the language used, must have deemed he listened to harmless, -if boring, madness. For each group uses its own language, and the -lowest common denominator, though plainly printed in the world's old -scriptures, has not yet become adopted by the world at large. - -Into this particular group, a little later in the evening, and when the -wings of imagination had increased their sweep a trifle dangerously -perhaps--into the room, like the arrival of a policeman rather, dropped -Father Collins. He came rarely to the Prometheans' restaurant. There -was a general sense of drawing breath as he appeared. A pause followed. -Something of the cold street air came with him. He wore his big black -felt hat, his shabby opera cloak, and clutched firmly--he had no -gloves on--the heavy gnarled stick he had cut for his collection in -a Cingalese forest years ago, when he was studying with a Buddhist -priest. The folds of his voluminous cloak, as he took it off, sent the -hanging smoke-clouds in a whirl. His personality stirred the mental -atmosphere as well. The women looked up and stared, respectful welcome -in their eyes; several of the men rose to shake hands; there was a -general shuffling of chairs. - -"Bring another _moulin a vent_ and a clean glass," Povey said at once -to the hovering waiter. - -"It's raw and bitter in the street and a fog coming down thickly," -mentioned Father Collins. He exhaled noisily and with comfortable -relief, as he squeezed himself towards the chair Povey placed for -him and looked round genially, nodding and shaking hands with those -he knew. "But you're warm and cosy enough in here"--he sat down with -unexpected heaviness, and smiled at everybody--"and well fed, too, I'll -be bound." - -"'The body must be comfortable before the mind can enjoy itself,'" -said Phillipps, an untidy member who disliked asceticism. "Starvation -produces hallucination, not vision." His glance took in the unused -glasses. His qualification was a vision of an uncle at the moment -of death, and the uncle had left him money. He had written a wordy -pamphlet describing it. - -"I'll have an omelette, then, I think," Father Collins told the waiter, -as the red wine arrived. "And some fried potatoes. A bit of cheese to -follow, and coffee, yes." He filled his glass. He had not come to argue -or to preach, and Phillipps's challenge passed unnoticed. Phillipps, -who had been leading the talk of late, resented the new arrival, but -felt his annoyance modify as he saw his own glass generously filled. -Povey, too, accepted a glass, while saying with a false vehemence, "No, -no," his finger against the rim. - -A change stole over the room, for the new personality was not -negligible; he brought his atmosphere with him. The wild talk, it -was felt now, would not be quite suitable. Father Collins had the -reputation of being something of a scholar; they were not quite sure of -him; none knew him very intimately; he had a rumoured past as well that -lent a flavour of respect. One story had it that "dabbling in magic" -had lost him his position in the Church. Yet he was deemed an asset to -the Society. - -Whatever it was, the key changed sharply. Imson's eyes and ears grew -wider, the hand of Miss Lance went instinctively to her hair and combs, -Miss Milligan sought through her mind for a remark at once instructive -and uncommon, Mrs. Towzer looked past him searchingly lest his aura -escape her before she caught its colour, and Kempster, smoothing his -immaculate coat, had an air of being in his present surroundings merely -by chance. Toogood, quickly scanning his notes, wondered whether, if -called upon, he was to be Pharaoh or Cleopatra. One and all, that is, -took on a soberer gait. This semi-clerical visit complicated. The -presence of Father Collins was a compliment. What he had to say--about -LeVallon and the Studio scene--was, anyhow, assured of breathless -interest. - -Povey led off. "We were just talking over the other night," he -observed, "the night at the Studio, you remember. The storm and so -on. It was a singular occurrence, though, of course, we needn't, we -_mustn't_ exaggerate it." And while he thus, as Secretary, set the -note, Father Collins sipped his wine and beamed upon the group. He made -no comment. "You were there, weren't you?" continued Povey, sipping -his own comforting glass. "I think I saw you. Fillery, you may have -noticed," he added, "brought--a friend." - -"LeVallon, yes," said the other in a tone that startled them. "A most -unusual fellow, wasn't he?" He was attacking the omelette now. "A Greek -God, if ever I saw one," he added. And the silence in the crowded room -became abruptly noticeable. Miss Milligan, feeling her zodiacal garter -slipping, waited to pull it up. Imson's brown eyes grew wider. Kempster -held his breath. Toogood borrowed a cigar and waited for someone to -offer him a match before he lit it. - -"Delicious," added Father Collins. "Cooked to a turn." The omelette -slid about his plate. - -But the silence continued, and he realized the position suddenly. -Emptying his glass and casually refilling it, he turned and faced the -eager group about him. - -"You want to know what _I_ thought about it all," he said. "You've -been discussing LeVallon, Nayan and the rest, I see." He looked round -as though he were in the lost pulpit that was his right. After a pause -he asked point blank: "And what do _you_ all think of it? How did -it strike you all? For myself, I confess"--he took another sip and -paused--"I am full of wonder and question," he finished abruptly. - -It was Imson, the fearless, wondering Pat Imson, who first found his -tongue. - -"We think," he ventured, "LeVallon is probably of _Deva_ origin." - -The others, while admiring his courage, seemed unsympathetic suddenly. -Such phraseology, probably meaningless to the respected guest, was out -of place. Eyes were cast down, or looked generally elsewhere. Povey, -remembering that the Society was not solely Eastern, glared at the -speaker. Father Collins, however, was not perturbed. - -"Possibly," he remarked with a courteous smile. "The origin of us -all is doubtful and confused. We know not whence we come, of course, -and all that. Nor can we ever tell exactly who our neighbour is, or -what. LeVallon," he went on, "since you all ask me"--he looked round -again--"is--for me--an undecipherable being. I am," he added, his -words falling into open mouths and extended eyes and ears, "somewhat -puzzled. But more--I am enormously stimulated and intrigued." - -All gazed at him. Father Collins was in his element. The rapt silence -that met him was precisely what he had a right to expect from his lost -pulpit. He had come, probably, merely to listen and to watch. The -opportunity provided by a respectful audience was too much for him. An -inspiration tempted him. - -"I am inclined to believe," he resumed suddenly in a simple tone, "that -he is--a Messenger." - -The sentence might have dropped from Sirius upon a listening planet. -The babble that followed must, to an ordinary man, have seemed -confusion. Everyone spoke with a rush into his neighbour's ear. All -bubbled. "I always thought so, I told you so, that was exactly what I -meant just now"--and so on. All found their tongues, at any rate, if -Povey, as Secretary, led the turmoil: - -"Something outside our normal evolution, you mean?" he asked -judiciously. "Such a conception is possible, of course." - -"A Messenger!" ran on the babel of male and female voices. - -It was here that Father Collins failed. The "unstable" in him came -suddenly uppermost. The "ecstatic" in his being took the reins. The -wondering and expectant audience suited him. The red wine helped as -well. When he said "Messenger" he had meant merely someone who brought -a message. The expression of nobility merged more and more in the -slovenly aspect. Like a priest in the pulpit, whom none can answer and -to whom all must listen, he had his text, though that text had been -suggested actually by the conversation he had just heard. He had not -brought it with him. It occurred to him merely then and there. His -mind reflected, in a word, the collective idea that was in the air -about him, and he proceeded to sum it up and give expression to it. -This was his gift, his fatal gift--a ready sensitiveness, a plausible -exposition. He caught the prevailing mood, the collective notion, -then dramatized it. Before he left the pulpit he invariably, however, -convinced himself that what he had said in it was true, inspired, a -revelation--for that moment. - -"A Messenger," he announced, thrusting his glass aside with an -impatient gesture as though noticing for the first time that it was -there. "A Messenger," he repeated, the automatic emphasis in his voice -already persuading him that he believed what he was about to say, -"sent among us from who knows what distant sphere"--he drew himself up -and looked about him--"and for who can guess on what mysterious and -splendid mission." - -His eye swept his audience, his hand removed the glass yet farther -lest, it impede free gesture. It was, however, as Povey noticed, empty -now. "We, of course," he went on impressively, lowering his voice, -"_we_, a mere handful in the world, but alert and watchful, all of -us--we know that some great new teaching is expected"--he threw out -another challenging glance--"but none of us can know whence it may come -nor in what way it shall manifest." His voice dropped dramatically. -"Whether as a thief in the night, or with a blare of trumpets, none -of us can tell. But--we expect it and are ready. To _us_, therefore, -perhaps, as to the twelve fishermen of old, may be entrusted the -privilege of accepting it, the work of spreading it among a hostile and -unbelieving world, even perhaps the final sacrifice of--of suffering -for it." - -He paused, quickly took in the general effect of his words, picked up -here and there a hint of question, and realized that he had begun on -too exalted a note. Detecting this breath of caution in the collective -mind that was his inspiration, he instantly shifted his key. - -"LeVallon," he resumed, instinctively emphasizing the conviction -in his voice so that the change of key might be less noticeable, -"undoubtedly--believes himself to be--some such divine Messenger...." -It was consummate hedging. - -The sermon needs no full report. The audience, without realizing -it, witnessed what is known as an "inspirational address," where a -speaker, naturally gifted with a certain facile eloquence, gathers -his inspiration, takes his changing cues as well, from the collective -mind that listens to him. Father Collins, quite honestly doubtless, -altered his key automatically. He no longer said that LeVallon _was_ -a Messenger, but that he "believed himself" to be one. Like Balaam, -he said things he had not at first thought of saying. He talked for -some ten minutes without stopping. He said "all sorts of things," -according to the expression of critical doubt, of wonder, of question, -of rejection or acceptance, on the particular face he gazed at. At -regular intervals he inserted, with considerable effect, his favourite -sentence: "A man in his _own_ place is the Ruler of his Fate." - -He developed his idea that LeVallon "believed himself to be such and -such ..." but declared that the conception had been put into the youth -during his life of exile in the mountains--the Society had already -acquired this information and extended it--and had "_felt himself -into_" the role until he had become its actual embodiment. - -"He does not think, he does not reason," he explained. "He feels--he -_feels with_. Now, to 'feel with' anything is to become it in the end. -It is the only way of true knowledge, of course, of true understanding. -If I want to understand, say, an Arab, I must _feel with_ that Arab to -the point--for the moment--of actually becoming him. And this strange -youth has spent his time, his best years, mark you--his creative years, -_feeling with_ the elemental forces of Nature until he has actually -becomes--at moments--one with them." - -He paused again and stared about him. He saw faces shocked, astonished, -startled, but not hostile. He continued rapidly: "There lies the -danger. One may get caught, get stuck. Lose the desire to return to -one's normal self. Which means, of course, remaining out of relation -with one's environment--mad. Only a man in his _own_ place is the ruler -of his luck...." - -He noticed suddenly the look of disappointment on several faces. He -swiftly hedged. - -"On the other hand," he went on, making his voice and manner more -impressive than before, "it may be--who can say indeed?--it may be that -he is in relation with another environment altogether, a much vaster -environment, an extended environment of which the rest of humanity is -unaware. The privilege of tasting something of an extended environment -some of us here already enjoy. What we all know as _human_ activities -are doubtless but a fragment of life--the conscious phenomena merely of -some larger whole of which we are aware in fleeting seconds only--by -mood, by hint, by suggestive hauntings, so to speak--by faint shadows -of unfamiliar, nameless shape cast across our daily life from some -intenser sun we normally cannot see! LeVallon may be, as some of us -think and hope, a Messenger to show us the way into a yet farther field -of consciousness.... - -"It is a fine, a noble, an inspiring hope, at any rate," he assured the -room. "Unless some such Messenger comes into the world, showing us how -to extend our knowledge, we can get no farther; we shall never know -more than we know now; we shall only go on multiplying our channels for -observing the same old things...." - -He closed his little address finally on a word as to what attitude -should be adopted to any new experience of amazing and incredible kind. -To a Society such as the one he had the honour of belonging to was left -the guidance of the perverse and ignorant generations outside of it, -"the lethargic and unresponsive majority," as he styled them. - -"We must not resist," he declared bravely. "We must accept with -confidence, above all without fear." He leaned back in his chair, -somewhat exhausted, for the source of his inspiration was evidently -weakening. His words came less spontaneously, less easily; he -hesitated, sighed, looked from face to face for help he did not find. -His glass was empty. "We're here," he concluded lamely, "without being -consulted, and we may safely leave to the Powers that brought us here -the results of such acceptance." - -"Quite so," agreed Povey, sighing audibly. "Denial will get us -nowhere." He filled up Father Collins's glass and his own. "I think -most of us are ready enough to accept any new experience that comes, -and to accept it without fear." He drained his own glass and looked -about him. "But the point is--how did LeVallon produce the effect upon -us all--the effect he did produce? He may be non-human, or he may be -merely mad. He may, as Imson says, come to us by some godless chance -from another evolutionary system--of which, mind you, we have as yet -no positive knowledge--or he may be a Messenger, as Father Collins -suggests, from some divine source, bringing new teaching. But, in the -name of Magic, how did he manage it? In other words--what is he?" - -For Povey could be very ruthless when he chose. It was this -ruthlessness, perhaps, that made him such an efficient secretary. The -note of extravagance in his language had possibly another inspiration. - -An awkward pause, at any rate, followed his remarks. Father Collins had -comforted and blessed the group. Povey introduced cold water rather. - -"There's this--and there's that," remarked Miss Milligan, tactfully. - -"Those among us," added Miss Lance with sympathy, "who have The Sight, -know at least what they have seen. Still, I think we are indebted to -Father Collins for--his guidance." - -"If we knew exactly what he is," mentioned Mrs. Towzer, referring to -LeVallon, "we should know exactly where we are." - -They got up to go. There was a fumbling among crowded hat-pegs. - -"What is he?" offered Kempster. "He certainly made us all sit up and -take notice." - -"No mere earthly figure," suggested Imson, "could have produced the -effect _he_ did. In my poem--it came to me in sleep----" - -Father Collins held his glass unsteadily to the light. "A Messenger," -he interrupted with authority, "would affect us all differently, -remember." - -The talk continued in this fashion for a considerable time, while all -searched for wraps and coats. The waiter brought the bill amid general -confusion, but no one noticed him. All were otherwise engaged. Povey -paid it finally, putting it down to the Entertainment Account. - -"Remember," he said, as they stood in a group on the restaurant steps, -each wondering who would provide a lift home, "remember, we have all -got to write out an account of what we saw and heard at the Studio. -These reports will be valuable. They will appear in our 'Psychic -Bulletin' first. Then I'll have them bound into a volume. And I shall -try and get LeVallon to give us a lecture too. Tickets will be extra, -of course, but each member can bring a friend. I'll let you all know -the date in due course." - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -While the Prometheans thus, individually and collectively fermenting, -floundered between old and new interpretations of a strange occurrence, -in another part of London something was happening, of its kind so -real, so interesting, that one and all would eagerly have renounced a -favourite shibboleth or pet desire to witness it. Kempster would have -eaten a raw beefsteak, Lattimer have agreed to rebirth as a woman, Mrs. -Towzer have swallowed whisky neat, and even Toogood have written a -signed confession that his "psychometry," was intelligent guesswork. - -It is the destiny, however, of such students of the wonderful to -receive their data invariably at second or third hand; the data may -deal with genuine occurrences, but the student seems never himself -present at the time. From books, from reports, from accounts of someone -who knew an actual witness, the student generally receives the version -he then proceeds to study and elaborate. - -In this particular instance, moreover, no version ever reached their -ears at all, either at second or third hand, because the only witness -of what happened was Edward Fillery, and he mentioned it to no one. Its -reality, its interpretation likewise, remained authoritative only for -that expert, if unstable, mind that experienced the one and divined the -other. - -His conversation with Devonham over, and the latter having retired to -his room, Fillery paid a last visit to the patient who was now his -private care, instead of merely an inmate of the institution that was -half a Home and half a Spiritual Clinique. The figure lay sleeping -quietly, the lean, muscular body bare to the wind that blew upon it -from the open window. Graceful, motionless, both pillow and coverings -rejected, "N. H." breathed the calm, regular breath of deepest slumber. -The light from the door just touched the face and folded hands, the -features wore no expression of any kind, the hair, drawn back from the -forehead and temples, almost seemed to shine. - -Through the window came the rustle of the tossing branches, but the -night air, though damp, was neither raw nor biting, and Fillery did not -replace the sheets upon the great sleeping body. He withdrew as softly -as he entered. Knowing he would not close an eye that night, he left -the house silently and walked out into the deserted streets.... - -The rain had ceased, but the wet wind rushed in gusts against him, the -soft blows and heavy moisture acting as balm to his somewhat tired -nerves. As with great elemental hands, the windy darkness stroked him, -soothing away the intense excitement he had felt, muting a thousand -eager questions. They stroked his brain into a gentler silence -gradually. "Don't think, don't think," night whispered all about him, -"but feel, feel, feel. What you want to know will come to you by -feeling now." He obeyed instinctively. Down the long, empty streets he -passed, swinging his stick, tapping the lampposts, noting how steady -their light held in the wind, noting the tossing trees in little -gardens, noting occasionally rifts of moonlight between the racing -clouds, but relinquishing all attempt to think. - -He counted the steps between the lamp-posts as he swung along, leaving -the kerb at each crossing with his left foot, taking the new one with -his right, planting each boot safely in the centre of each paving -stone, establishing, in a word, a sort of rhythm as he moved. He -did so, however, without being consciously aware of it. He was not -aware, indeed, of anything but that he swung along with this pleasant -rhythmical stride that rested his body, though the exercise was -vigorous. - -And the night laid her deep peace upon him as he went.... - -The streets grew narrower, twisted, turned and ran uphill; the houses -became larger, spaced farther apart, less numerous, their gardens -bigger, with groups of trees instead of isolated specimens. He emerged -suddenly upon the open heath, tasting a newer, sweeter air. The huge -city lay below him now, but the rough, shouting wind drowned its -distant roar completely. For a time he stood and watched its twinkling -lights across the vapours that hung between, then turned towards the -little pond. He knew it well. Its waves flew dancing happily. The -familiar outline of Jack Straw's Castle loomed beyond. The square -enclosure of the anti-aircraft gun rattled with a metallic sound in the -wind.... - -He had been walking for the best part of two hours now, thinking -nothing but feeling only, and his surface-consciousness, perhaps, lay -still, inactive. The mind was quiescent certainly, his being subdued -and lulled by the rhythmic movement which had gained upon his entire -system. The sails of his ship hung idly, becalmed above the profound -deeps below. It was these deeps, the mysterious and inexhaustible -region below the surface, that now began to stir. There stole upon him -a dim prophetic sense as of horizons lifting and letting in new light. -He glanced about him. The moon was brighter certainly, the flying scud -was thinning, though the dawn was still some hours away. But it was not -the light of moon or sun or stars he looked for; it was no outer light. - -The little waves fell splashing at his feet. He watched them for a long -time, keeping very still; his heart, his mind, his nerves, his muscles, -all were very still.... He became aware that new big powers were alert -and close, hovering above the world, feathering the Race like wings of -mighty birds. The waters were being troubled.... - -He turned and walked slowly, but ever with the same pleasant rhythm -that was in him, to the pine trees, where he paused a minute, listening -to the branches shaking and singing, then retraced his steps along the -ridge, every yard of which, though blurred in darkness, he knew and -recognized. Below, on his left lay London, on his right stretched the -familiar country, though now invisible, past Hendon with its Welsh -Harp, Wembley, and on towards Harrow, whose church steeple would catch -the sunrise before very long. He reached the little pond again and -heard its small waves rushing and tumbling in the south-west wind. He -stood and watched them, listening to their musical wash and gurgle. - -The waters, yes, were being troubled.... Despite the buffeting wind, -the world lay even stiller now about him; no single human being had he -seen; even stiller than before, too, lay heart and mind within him; -the latter held no single picture. He was aware, yes, of horizons -lifting, of great powers alert and close; the interior light increased. -He felt, but he did not think. Into the empty chamber of his being, -swept and garnished, flashed suddenly, then, as in picture form, the -memory of "N. H." All that he knew about him came at once: Paul's -notes and journey, the London scenes and talks, his own observations, -deductions, questionings, his dreams, and fears and yearnings, his hope -and wonder--all came in a clapping instant, complete and simultaneous. -Into his opened subconscious being floated the power and the presence -of that bright messenger who brought glad tidings to his life. - -"N. H." stood beside him, whispering with lips that were the darkness, -and with words that were the wind. It was the power and presence -of "N. H." that lifted the horizon and let in light. His body lay -sleeping miles away in that bed against an open window. This was his -real presence. Without words, as without thought, understanding came. -The appeal of "N. H." was direct to the subliminal mind; it was the -hidden nine-tenths he stimulated; hence came the intensification of -consciousness in all who had to do with him. And it operated now. -Fillery was aware of defying time and space, as though there were no -limits to his being. Faith lights fires.... Perception wandered down -those dusky by-ways _behind_ the mind that lead through trackless -depths where the massed heritage of the world-soul, lit sometimes by a -flashing light, reveal incredible, incalculable things. One of those -flashes came now. Through the fissures, as it were, of his unstable -being rose the marvellous, uncanny gleam. His eyes were opened and he -saw. - -The label, he realized, was incorrect, inadequate--"N. H." was a -misnomer; more than human, both different to and greater than, came -nearer to the truth. A being from other conditions certainly, belonging -to another order; an order whose work was unremitting service rendered -with joy and faithfulness; a hierarchy whose service included the -entire universe, the stars and suns and nebulae, earth with her frail -humanity but an insignificant fraction of it all.... - -He came, of course, from that central sea of energy whence all life, -pushing irresistibly outwards into form, first arises. Like human -beings, he came thence undoubtedly, but more directly than they, in -more intimate relations, therefore, with the elemental powers that -build up form and shape the destinies of matter. One only of a mighty -host of varying degrees and powers, his services lay interwoven with -the very heart and processes of Nature herself. The energies of heat -and air, essentials of all life everywhere, were his handmaidens; he -worked with fire and wind; in the forms he helped to build he set -enthusiasm and energy aglow.... - -From stars and fire-mist he came now into humanity, using the limited -instrument of a human mechanism, a mechanism he must learn to master -without breaking it. A human brain and nerves confined him. He could -deal with essences only, those essential, buried, semi-elemental -powers that lie ever waiting below the threshold of all human -consciousness, linking men, did they but know it, direct with the sea -of universal life which is inexhaustible, independent of space and -time. The fraction of his nature which had manifested as a transient -surface-personality--LeVallon--was gone for ever, merged in the real -self below. - -His origin was already forgotten; no memory of it lay in his present -brain; he must suffer training, education, and he turned instinctively -to those whose ideal, like his own, was one of impersonal service. To -a woman he turned, and to a man. His recognition, guided by Nature, -was sure and accurate. It must take time and patience, sympathy and -love, faith, belief and trust, and the labour must be borne by one -man chiefly--by Fillery, into whose life had come this strange bright -messenger carrying glad tidings ... to prove at last that man was -greater than he knew, that the hope for Humanity, for the deteriorating -Race, for crumbling Civilization, lay in drawing out into full -practical consciousness the divine powers concealed below the threshold -of every single man and woman.... - -But how, in what practical manner, what instrument could they use? -The human mechanism, the brain, the mind, afforded inadequate means -of manifestation; new wines into old skins meant disaster; knowledge, -power beyond the experience of the Race needed a better instrument than -the one the Race had painfully evolved for present uses. New powers -of unknown kinds, as already in those rare cases when the supernormal -forces emerged, could only strain the machinery and cause disorder. A -new order of consciousness required another, a different equipment. -And the idea flashed into him, as in the Studio when he watched "N. -H." and the girl--Father Collins had divined its possibility as -well--the idea of a group consciousness, a collective group-soul. -What a single individual might not be able to resist at first without -disaster, many--a group in harmony--two or three gathered together in -unison--these might provide the way, the means, the instrument--the -body. - -"The personal merged in the impersonal," he exclaimed to the night -about him, already aware that words, expression, failed even at this -early stage of understanding. "Beauty, Art! Where words, form, colour -end, we shall construct, while yet using these as far as they go, a new -vehicle, a new----" - -"Good evenin'," said a gruff voice. "Good evenin', sir," it added more -respectfully, after a second's inspection. "Turned out quite fine after -the storm." - -Aware of the policeman suddenly, Fillery started and turned round -abruptly. Evidently he had uttered his thoughts aloud, probably had -cried and shouted them. He could think of nothing in the world to say. - -"It was a terrible storm. I hardly ever see the likes of it." The man -was looking at him still with doubtful curiosity. - -"Extraordinary, yes." Dr. Fillery managed to find a few natural words. -It was an early hour in the morning to be out, and his position by the -pond, he now realized, might have suggested an undesirable intention. -"It made sleep impossible, and I came out to--to take a walk. I'm a -doctor, Dr. Fillery--the Fillery Home." - -"Yes, sir," said the man, apparently satisfied. He looked at the sky. -"All blown away again," he remarked, "and the moon that nice and -bright----" - -Fillery offered something in reply, then moved away. The moon, he -noticed, was indeed nice and bright now; the heavy lower vapours all -had vanished, and thin cirrus clouds at a great height moved slowly -before an upper wind; the stars shone clearly, and a faint line of -colour gave a hint of dawn not far away. - -He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half-past four. - -"It's impossible, impossible," he thought to himself, the pictures -he had been seeing still hanging before his eyes. "It was all -feeling--merely feeling. My blood, my heritage asserting themselves -upon an over-tired system! Too much repression evidently. I must find -an outlet. My Caucasian Valley again!" - -He walked rapidly. His mind began to work, and thinking made -an effort to replace feeling. He watched himself. His everyday -surface-consciousness partially resumed its sway. The policeman, of -course, had interrupted the flow and inrush of another state just at -the moment when a flash of direct knowledge was about to blaze. It -concerned "N. H.," his new patient. In another moment he would have -known exactly what and who he was, whence he came, the purpose and the -powers that attended him. The policeman--and inner laughter ran through -him at this juxtaposition of the practical and the transcendental--had -interfered with an interesting expansion of his being. An extension -of consciousness, perhaps a touch of cosmic consciousness, was on the -way. The first faint quiver of its coming, magical with wondrous joy, -had touched him. Its cause, its origin, he knew not, yet he could trace -both to the effect produced upon him by "N. H." Of that he was sure. -This effect his reasoning mind, with busy analysis and criticism, -had hitherto partially suppressed, even at its first manifestation -in Charing Cross Station. To-night, criticism silent and analysis -inactive, it had found an outlet, his own deep inner stillness had been -its opportunity. Then came the practical, honest, simple policeman, -the censor, who received so much a week to keep people in the way they -ought to follow, the safe, broad way.... - -He smiled, as he walked rapidly along the deserted streets. He knew so -well the method and process of these abnormal states in others. As he -swung along, not tired now, but rested, rather, and invigorated, the -rhythm of motion established itself again. "N. H." a Nature Spirit! A -Nature Being! Another order of life entering humanity for the first -time, that humanity for whose welfare it--or was it he?--had worked, -with hosts of similar beings, during incalculable ages.... - -He smiled, remembering the policeman again. There was always a -policeman, or a censor. Oh, the exits beyond safe normal states of -being, the exits into extended fields of consciousness, into an outer -life which the majority, led by the best minds of the day, deny with an -oath--these were well guarded! His smile, as he thought of it, ran from -his lips and settled in the eyes, lingering a moment there before it -died away.... - -How quiet, yet unfamiliar, the suburb of the huge city lay about him -in pale half-light. The Studio scene, how distant it seemed now in -space and time; it had happened weeks ago in another city somewhere. -Devonham, his cautious, experienced assistant, how far away! He -belonged to another age. The Prometheans were part of a dream in -childhood, a dream of pantomime or harlequinade whose extravagance -yet conveyed symbolic meaning. Two figures alone retained a reality -that refused to be dismissed--a mysterious, enigmatic youth, a radiant -girl--with perhaps a third--a broken priest.... - -The rhythm, meanwhile, gained upon him, and, as it did so, thinking -once more withdrew and feeling stole back softly. His being became more -harmonized, more one with itself, more open to inspiration.... "N. H.," -whose work was service, service everywhere, not merely in that tiny -corner of the universe called Humanity.... "N. H.," who could neither -age nor die.... What was the hidden link that bound them? Had they not -served and played together in some lost Caucasian valley, leaped with -the sun's hot fire, flown in the winds of dawn ... sung, laughed and -danced at their service, with a radiant sylph-like girl who had at -last enticed them into the confinement of a limited human form?... Did -not that valley symbolize, indeed, another state of existence, another -order of consciousness altogether that lay beyond any known present -experience or description...? - -The dawn, meanwhile, grew nearer and a pallid light ran down the -dreadful streets.... He reached at length the foot of the hill upon -whose shoulder his own house stood. The familiar sights stirred more -familiar currents of feeling, and these in turn sought words.... - -The crowding houses, with their tight-shut windows, followed and -pressed after as he climbed. They swarmed behind him. How choked and -airless it all was. He thought of the heavy-footed routine of the -thousands who occupied these pretentious buildings. Here lived a -section of the greatest city on the planet, almost a separate little -town, with marked characteristics, atmosphere, tastes and habits. -How many, he wondered, behind those walls knew yearning, belief, -imagination beyond the ruck and routine of familiar narrow thought? -Rows upon rows, with their stunted, manufactured trees, hideous -conservatories, bulging porches, ornamented windows--his wings beat -against them all with the burning desire to set their inmates free. -They caged themselves in deliberately. A few thousand years ago these -people lived in mud huts, before that in caves, before that again in -trees. Now they were "civilized." They dwelt in these cages. Oh, that -he might tear away the thick dead bricks, and let in light and dew and -stars, and the brave, free winds of heaven! Waken the deeper powers -they carried unwittingly about with them through all their tedious -sufferings! Teach them that they were greater than they knew! - -The yearning was deep and true in him, as the houses followed and -tried to bar his way. Many of the occupiers, he knew, would welcome -help, would gaze with happy, astonished eyes at the wonder of their -own greater selves set free. Not all, of course, were wingless. Yet -the majority, he felt, were otherwise. They peered at him from behind -thick curtains, hostile, sceptical, contented with their lot, averse -to change. Mode, custom, habit chained them to the floor. He was -aware of a collective obstinate grin of smug complacency, of dull -resistance. Though a part of the community, of the race, of the world, -of the universe itself, they denied their mighty brotherhood, and -clung tenaciously to their idea of living apart, cut off and separate. -They belonged to leagues, societies, clubs and circles, but the bigger -oneness of the race they did not know. Of greater powers in themselves -they had no faintest inkling. At the first sign of these, they would -shuffle, sneer and turn away, grow frightened even. - -The yearning to show them a bigger field of consciousness, to help them -towards a realization of their buried powers, to let them out of their -separate cages, beat through his being with a passionate sincerity.... -In a hundred thousand years perhaps! Perhaps in a million! He knew the -slow gait that Nature loved. The trend of an Age is not to be stemmed -by one man, nor by twelve, who see over the horizon. The futility of -trying pained him. Yet, if no one ever tried! Oh, for a few swift -strokes of awful sacrifice--then freedom! - -The words came back to him, and with them, from the same source, came -others: "I sit and I weave.... I sit and I weave."... Whose, then, was -this divine, eternal patience?... - -There could be, it seemed, no hurried growth, no instant escape, no -sudden leap to heaven. Slowly, slowly, the Ages turned the wheel. "Nor -can other beings help," he remembered; "they can only tell what their -own part is."... And as his clear mind saw the present Civilization -like all its wonderful predecessors, tottering before his very eyes, -threatening in its collapse, the extinction of knowledge so slowly, -painfully, laboriously acquired, the deep heart in him rose as on wings -of wind and fire, questing the stars above. There was this strange -clash in him, as though two great divisions in his being struggled. A -way of escape seemed just within his reach, only a little beyond the -horizon of his actual knowledge. It fluttered marvellously; golden, -alight, inviting. Its coming glory brushed his insight. It was simple, -it was divine. There seemed a faint knocking against the doors of his -mental and spiritual understanding.... - -"'N. H.'!" he cried, "Bright Messenger!" - -He paused a moment and stood still. A new sound lay suddenly in the -night. It came, apparently, from far away, almost from the air above -him. He listened. No, after all it was only steps. They came nearer. -A pedestrian, muffled to the ears, went past, and the steps died away -on the resounding pavement round the corner. Yet the sound continued, -and was not the echo of the steps just gone. It was, moreover, he now -felt convinced, in the air above him. It was continuous. It reminded -him of the musical droning hum that a big bell leaves behind it, while -a suggestion of rhythm, almost of melody, ran faintly through it too. - -Somebody's lines--was it Shelley's?--ran faintly in his mind, yet it -was not his mind now that surged and rose to the new great rhythm: - - "'Tis the deep music of the rolling world - Kindling within the strings of the waved air - Aeolian modulations.... - Clear, icy, keen awakening tones - That pierce the sense - And live within the soul...." - -He listened. It was a simple, natural, happy sound--simple as running -water, natural as wind, happy as the song of birds.... - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - -He became, again, vividly aware of the power and presence of "N. H." - -He was not far from his house now on the shoulder of the hill. He -turned his eyes upwards, where the three-quarter moon sailed above -transparent cirrus clouds that scarcely dimmed her light. Like dappled -sands of silver, they sifted her soft shining, moving slowly across the -heavens before an upper wind. The sound continued. - -For a moment or two, in the pale light of dawn, he watched and -listened, then lowered his gaze, caught his breath sharply, and stood -stock still. He stared in front of him. Next, turning slowly, he stared -right and left. He stared behind as well. - -Yes, it was true. The lines and rows of crowding houses trembled, -disappeared. The heavy buildings dissolved before his very eyes. The -solid walls and roofs were gone, the chimneys, railings, doors and -porches vanished. There were no more conservatories. There were no -lamp-posts. The streets themselves had melted. He gazed in amazement -and delight. The entire hill lay bare and open to the sky. - -Across the rising upland swept a keen fresh morning wind. Yet bare -they were not, this rising upland and this hill. As far as he could -see, the landscape flowed waist-deep in flowers, whose fragrance lay -upon the air; dew trembled, shimmering on a million petals of blue and -gold, of orange, purple, violet; the very atmosphere seemed painted. -Flowering trees, both singly and in groves, waved in the breeze, birds -sang in chorus, there was a murmur of streams and falling waters. Yet -that other sound rose too, rose from the entire hill and all upon it, -a continuous gentle rhythm, as though, he felt, the actual scenery -poured forth its being in spontaneous, natural expression of sound as -well as of form and colour. It was the simplest, happiest music he had -ever heard. - -Unable to deal with the rapture of delight that swept upon him, he -stood stock still among the blossoms to his waist. Eyes, ears and -nostrils were inadequate to report a beauty which, simple though it -was, overbore nerves and senses accustomed to a lesser scale. Horizons -indeed had lifted, the joy and confidence of fuller life poured in. -His own being grew immense, stretched, widened, deepened, till it -seemed to include all space. He was everywhere, or rather everything -was happening somewhere in him all at once.... In place of the heavy -suburb lay this garden of primal beauty, while yet, in a sense, the -suburb itself remained as well. Only--it had flowered ... revealing the -subconscious soul the bricks and pavements hid.... Its potential self -had blossomed into loveliness and wonder. - -The sound drew nearer. He was aware of movement. Figures were -approaching; they were coming in his direction, coming towards him over -the crest of the hill, nearer and nearer. Concealed by the forest of -tall flowers, he watched them come. Yet as Presences he perceived them, -rather than as figures, already borrowing power from them, as sails -borrow from a rising wind. His consciousness expanded marvellously to -let them in. - -Their stature was conveyed to him, chiefly, at first, by the fact that -these flowers, though rising to his own waist, did not cover the feet -of them, yet that the flowers in the immediate line of their advance -still swayed and nodded, as though no weight had lain upon their -brilliance. The footsteps were of wind, the figures light as air; they -shone; their radiant presences lit the acres. Their own atmosphere, -too, came with them, as though the landscape moved and travelled with -and in their being, as though the flowers, the natural beauty, emanated -from them. The landscape _was_ their atmosphere. They created, brought -it with them. It seemed that they "expressed" the landscape and "were" -the scenery, with all its multitudinous forms. - -They approached with a great and easy speed that was not measurable. -Over the crest of the living, sunlit hill they poured, with their bulk, -their speed, their majesty, their sweet brimming joy. Fillery stood -motionless watching them, his own joy touched with awed confusion, till -wonder and worship mastered the final trace of fear. - -Though he perceived these figures first as they topped the skyline, he -was aware that great space also stretched behind them, and that this -immense perspective was in some way appropriate to their appearance. -Born of a greater space than his "mind" could understand, they -flowed towards him across that windy crest and at the same time from -infinitely far beyond it. Above the continuous humming sound, he heard -their music too, faint but mighty, filling the air with deep vibrations -that seemed the natural expression of their joyful beings. Each figure -was a chord, yet all combining in a single harmony that had volume -without loudness. It seemed to him that their sound and colour and -movement wove a new pattern upon space, a new outline, form or growth, -perhaps a flower, a tree, perhaps a planet.... They were creative. They -expressed themselves naturally in a million forms. - -He heard, he saw. He knew no other words to use. But the "hearing" was, -rather, some kind of intimate possession so that his whole being filled -and overbrimmed; and the "sight" was greater than the customary little -irritation of the optic nerve--it involved another term of space. He -could describe the sight more readily than the hearing. The apparent -contradiction of distance and proximity, of vast size yet intimacy, -made him tremble in his hiding-place. - -His "sight," at any rate, perceived the approaching figures all round, -all over, all at once, as they poured like a wave across the hill from -far beyond its visible crest. For into this space below the horizon he -saw as well, though, normally speaking, it was out of sight. Nor did he -see one side only; he saw the backs of the towering forms as easily as -the portion facing him; he saw behind them. It was not as with ordinary -objects refracting light, the back and underneath and further edges -invisible. All sides were visible at once. The space beyond, moreover, -whence the mighty outlines issued, was of such immensity that he could -think only of interstellar regions. Not to the little planet, then, did -these magnificent shapes belong. They were of the Universe. The symbol -of his valley, he knew suddenly, belonged here too. - -Silent with wonder, motionless with worship, he watched the singing -flood of what he felt to be immense, non-human nature-life pour past -him. The procession lasted for hours, yet was over in a minute's flash. -All categories his mind knew hitherto were useless. The faces, in their -power, their majesty, the splendour even of their extent, were both -appalling, yet infinitely tender. They were filled with stars, blue -distance, flowers, spirals of fire, space and air, interwoven too, -with shining geometrical designs whose intricate patterns merged in a -central harmony. They brought their own winds with them. - -Yet of features precisely, he was not aware. Each face was, rather, -an immense expression, but an expression that was permanent and could -not change. These were immutable, eternal faces. He borrowed from -human terms the only words that offered, while aware that he falsely -introduced the personal into that which was essentially impersonal. - -There stole over him a strange certainty that what he worshipped was -the grandeur of joyful service working through unalterable law--the -great compassion of some untiring service that was deathless.... He -stood _within_ the Universe, face to face with its elemental builders, -guardians, its constructive artizans, the impersonal angelic powers -... the region, the state, he now felt convinced, to which "N. H." -belonged, and whence, by some inexplicable chance, he had come to -occupy a human body.... And the sounds--the flash came to him with -lightning conviction--were those essential rhythms which are the -kernels of all visible, manifested forms.... - - * * * * * - -He was not aware that he was moving, that he had left the spot where he -had stood--so long, yet for a single second only--and had now reached -the corner of a street again. The flowers were gone, and the trees and -groves gone with them; no waters rippled past; there was no shining -hill. The moon, the stars, the breaking dawn remained, but he saw -windows, walls and villas once again, while his feet echoed on dead -stone pavements.... - -Yet the figures had not wholly gone. Before a house, where he now -paused a moment, the towering, flowing outlines were still faintly -visible. Their singing still audible, their shapes still gently -luminous, they stood grouped about an open window of the second story. -In the front garden a big plane tree stirred its leafless branches; the -tree and figures interpenetrated. Slowly then, the outlines grew dim -and shadowy, indistinguishable almost from the objects in the twilight -near them. Chimneys, walls and roofs stole in upon the great shapes -with foreign, grosser details that obscured their harmony, confused -their proportion, as with two sets of values. The eye refused to focus -both at once. A roof, a chimney obtruded, while sight struggled, -fluttered, then ended in confusion. The figures faded and melted out. -They merged with the tree, the reddening sky, the murky air close -to the house which a street lamp made visible. Suddenly they were -lost--they were no longer there. - -But the rhythmical sound, though fainter, still continued--and Fillery -looked up. - -It was a sound, he realized in a flash, evocative and summoning. Type -called to type, brother to brother, across the universe. The house -before him was his own, and the open window through which the music -issued was the bedroom of "N. H." - -He stood transfixed. Both sides of his complex nature operated -simultaneously. His mind worked more clearly--the entire history -of the "case" in that upstairs room passed through it: he was a -doctor. But his speculative, emotional aspect, the dreamer in him, so -greatly daring, all that poetic, transcendental, half-mystical part -which classed him, he well knew, with the unstable; all this, long -and dangerously repressed, worked with opposite, if equal pressure. -From the subconscious rose violent hands as of wind and fire, -lovely, fashioning, divine, tearing away the lid of the reasoning -surface-consciousness that confined, confused them. - -To disentangle, to define these separate functions, were a difficult -problem even for the most competent psychiatrist. Creative imaginative -powers, hitherto merely fumbling, half denied as well, now stretched -their wings and soared. With them came a blinding clarity of sight -that enabled him to focus a vast field of detail with extraordinary -rapidity. Horizons had lifted, perspective deepened and lit up. In a -few brief seconds, before his front door opened, a hundred details -flashed towards a focus and shone concentrated: - -The Vision, of course--the Figures had now melted into the night--had -no objective reality. Suppressed passion had created them, forbidden -yearnings had passed the Censor and dramatized a dream, set aside yet -never explained, that heredity was responsible for. Both were born -of his lost radiant valley. His Note Books held a thousand similar -cases.... - -But the speculative dreamer flashed coloured lights against this common -white. The prism blazed. From the inter-stellar spaces came these -radiant figures, from Sirius, immense and splendid sun, from Aldebaran -among the happy Hyades, from awful Betelgeuse, whose volume fills a -Martian orbit. Their dazzling, giant grandeur was of stellar origin. -Yet, equally, they came from the dreadful back gardens of those sordid -houses. Nature was Nature everywhere, in the nebulae as in the stifled -plane tree of a city court. That he saw them as "figures" was but his -own private, personal interpretation of a prophecy the whole Universe -announced. They were not figures necessarily; they were Powers. And "N. -H." was of their kind. - -He suddenly remembered the small, troubled earth whereon he lived--a -neglected corner of the universe that was in distress and cried -frantically for help.... Alcyone caught it in her golden arms perhaps; -Sirius thundered against its little ears.... - -He found his latchkey and fumblingly inserted it, but, even while he -did so, the state of the planet at the moment poured into his mind with -swift, concentrated detail; he remembered the wireless excitement of -the instant--and smiled. Not that way would it come. The new order was -of a spiritual kind. It would steal into men's hearts, not splutter -along the waves of ether, as the "dead" are said to splutter to the -"living." The great impulse, the mighty invitation Nature sent out to -return to simple, natural life, would come, without "phenomena" from -_within_.... He remembered Relativity--that space is local, space and -time not separate entities. He understood. He had just experienced -it. Another, a fourth dimension! Space as a whole was annihilated! He -smiled. - -His latchkey turned. - -The transmutation of metals flashed past him--all substance one. His -latchkey was upside down. He turned it round and reinserted it, and the -results of advanced psychology rushed at him, as though the sun rushed -over the horizon of some Eastern clime, covering all with the light of -a new, fair dawn. - -In a few seconds this accumulation of recent knowledge and discovery -flooded his state of singular receptiveness--as thinker and as poet. -The Age was crumbling, civilization passing like its predecessors. The -little planet lay certainly in distress. No true help lay within it; -its reservoirs were empty. No adequate constructive men or powers were -anywhere in sight. It was exhausted, dying. Unless new help, powers -from a new, an inexhaustible source, came quickly ... a new vehicle for -their expression.... - -And wonder took him by the throat ... as the key turned in the lock -with its familiar grating sound, and the door, without actual pressure -on his part, swung open. - -Paul Devonham, a look of bright terror in his eyes, stood on the -threshold. - - * * * * * - -The expression, not only of the face but of the whole person, he had -seen once only in another human countenance--a climber, who had slipped -by his very side and dropped backward into empty space. The look of -helpless bewilderment as hands and feet lost final touch with solidity, -the air of terrible yet childlike amazement with which he began his -descent of a thousand feet through a gulf of air--the shock marked the -face in a single second with what he now saw in his colleague's eyes. -Only, with Devonham--Fillery felt sure of his diagnosis--the lost hold -was mental. - -His outward control, however, was admirable. Devonham's voice, -apart from a certain tenseness in it, was quiet enough: "I've been -telephoning everywhere.... There's been a--a crisis----" - -"Violence?" - -But the other shook his head. "It's all beyond me quite," he said, -with a wry smile. "The first outbreak was nothing--nothing compared to -this." The continuous sound of humming which filled the hall, making -the air vibrate oddly, grew louder. Devonham seized his friend's arm. - -"Listen!" he whispered. "You hear that?" - -"I heard it outside in the street," Fillery said. "What is it?" - -Devonham glared at him. "God knows," he said, "I don't. He's been doing -it, on and off, for a couple of hours. It began the moment you left, it -seems. They're all about him--these vibrations, I mean. He does it with -his whole body somehow. And"--he hesitated--"there's meaning in it of -some kind. Results, I mean," he jerked out with an effort. - -"Visible?" came the gentle question. - -Devonham started. "How did you know?" There was a thrust of intense -curiosity in the eyes. - -"I've had a similar experience myself, Paul. You opened the front door -in the middle of it. The figures----" - -"You saw figures?" Devonham looked thunderstruck. In his heart was -obviously a touch of panic. - -As the two men stood gazing into each other's eyes a moment silently, -the sound about them increased again, rising and falling, its great -separate rhythmical waves almost distinguishable. In Fillery's mind -rose patterns, outlines, forms of flowers, spirals, circles.... - -"He knows you're in the house," said Devonham in a curious voice, -relieved apparently no answer came to his question. "Better come -upstairs at once and see him." But he did not turn to lead the way. -"That's not auditory hallucination, Edward, whatever else it is!" He -was still clinging to the rock, but the rock was crumbling beneath his -desperate touch. Space yawned below him. - -"Visual," suggested Fillery, as though he held out a feeble hand to the -man whose whole weight already hung unsupported before the plunge. His -friend spoke no word; but his expression made words unnecessary: "We -must face the facts," it said plainly, "wherever these may lead. No -shirking, no prejudice of mine or yours must interfere. There must be -no faltering now." - -So plainly was his passion for truth and knowledge legible in the -expression of the shocked but honest mind, that Fillery felt compassion -overpower the first attitude of privacy he had meant to take. This time -he must share. The honesty of the other won his confidence too fully -for him to hold back anything. There was no doubt in his mind that he -read his colleague's state aright. - -"A moment, Paul," he said in a low voice, "before we go upstairs," and -he put his hand out, oddly enough meeting Devonham's hand already -stretched to meet it. He drew him aside into a corner of the hall, -while the waves of sound surged round and over them like a sea. "Let -me first tell you," he went on, his voice trembling slightly, "my own -experience." It seemed to him that any moment he must see the birth of -a new form, an outline, a "body" dance across before his very eyes. - -"Neither auditory nor visual," murmured Devonham, burning to hear -what was coming, yet at the same time shrinking from it by the laws -of his personality. "Hallucination of any kind, there is absolutely -none. There's nothing transferred from your mind to his. This thing is -real--original." - -Fillery tightened his grip a second on the hand he held. - -"Paul," he said gravely, yet unable to hide the joy of recent ecstasy -in his eyes, "it is also--new!" - -The low syllables seemed borne away and lifted beyond their reach by an -immense vibration that swept softly past them. And so actual was this -invisible wave that behind it lay the trough, the ebb, that awaits, as -in the sea, the next advancing crest. Into this ebb, as it were, both -men dropped simultaneously the same significant syllables: their lips -uttered together: - -"N. H." The wave of sound seemed to take their voices and increase -them. It was the older man who added: "Coming into full possession." - -The two stood waiting, listening, their heads turned sideways, their -bodies motionless, while the soft rhythmical uproar rose and fell about -them. No sign escaped them for some minutes; no words, it seemed, -occurred to either of them. - -Through the transom over the front door stole the grey light of the -late autumn dawn; the hall furniture was visible, chairs, hat-rack, -wooden chests that held the motor rugs. A china bowl filled with -visiting cards gleamed white beside it. Soon the milkman, uttering -his comic earthly cry, would clatter down the area staircase, and the -servants would be up. As yet, however, but for the big soft sound, the -house was perfectly still. This part of it, almost a separate wing, was -completely cut off from the main building. No one had been disturbed. - -Fillery moved his head and looked at his companion. The expression of -both face and figure arrested him. He had taken off his dinner jacket, -and the old loose golfing coat he wore hung askew; he had one hand in -a pocket of it, the other thrust deep into his trousers. His glasses -hung down across his crumpled shirt-front, his black tie made an untidy -cross. He looked, thought Fillery, whose sense of the ludicrous became -always specially alert in his gravest moments, like an unhappy curate -who had presided over some strenuous and worrying social gathering -in the local town hall. Only one detail denied this picture--the -expression of something mysterious and awed in the sheet-white face. -He was listening with sharp dislike yet eager interest. His repugnance -betrayed itself in the tightened lips, the set of the angular -shoulders; the panic was written in the glistening eyes. There were -things in his face he could never, never tell. The struggle in him was -natural to his type of mind: he had experienced something himself, and -a personal experience opens new vistas in sympathy and understanding. -But--the experience ran contrary to every tenet of theory and practice -he had ever known. The moment of new birth was painful. This was his -colleague's diagnosis. - -Fillery then suddenly realized that the gulf between them was without a -bridge. To tell his own experience became at once utterly impossible. -He saw this clearly. He could not speak of it to his assistant. It was, -after all, incommunicable. The bridge of terms, language, feeling, did -not exist between them. And, again, up flashed for a second his sense -of the comic, this time in an odd touch of memory--Povey's favourite -sentence: "Never argue with the once-born!" Only to older souls was -expression possible. - -For the first time then his diagnosis wavered oddly. Why, for -instance, did Paul persist in that curious, watchful stare...? - -Devonham, conscious of his chief's eyes and mind upon him, looked up. -Somewhere in his expression was a glare, but nothing revealed his state -of mind better than the fact that he stupidly contradicted himself: - -"You're putting all this into him, Edward," a touch of anger, perhaps -of fear, in the intense whispering voice. "The hysteria of the studio -upset him, of course. If you'd left him alone, as you promised, he'd -have always stayed LeVallon. He'd be cured by now." Then, as Fillery -made no reply or comment, he added, but this time only the anxiety of -the doctor in his tone: "Hadn't you better go up to him at once? He's -your patient, not mine, remember!" - -The other took his arm. "Not yet," he said quietly. "He's best alone -for the moment." He smiled, and it was the smile that invariably won -him the confidence of even the most obstinate and difficult patient. -He was completely master of himself again. "Besides, Paul," he went on -gently. "I want to hear what you have to tell me. Some of it--if not -all. I want your Report. It is of value. I must have that first, you -know." - -They sat on the bottom stair together, while Devonham told briefly what -had happened. He was glad to tell it, too. It was a relief to become -the mere accurate observer again. - -"I can summarize it for you in two words," he said: "light and sound. -The sound, at first, seemed wind--wind rising, wind outside. With the -light, was perceptible heat. The two seemed correlated. When the sound -increased, the heat increased too. Then the sound became methodical, -rhythmical--it became almost musical. As it did so the light became -coloured. Both"--he looked across at the ghostly hat-rack in the -hall--"were produced--by him." - -"Items, please, Paul. I want an itemized account." - -Devonham fumbled in the big pockets of his coat and eventually lit -a cigarette, though he did not in the least want to smoke. That -watchful, penetrating stare persisted, none the less. Amid the anxiety -were items of carelessness that almost seemed assumed. - -"Mrs. Soames sent Nurse Robbins to fetch me," he resumed, his voice -harshly, as it seemed, cutting across the waves of pleasant sound that -poured down the empty stairs behind them and filled the hall with -resonant vibrations. "I went in, turned them both out, and closed -the door. The room was filled with a soft, white light, rather pale -in tint, that seemed to emanate from nowhere. I could trace it to -no source. It was equally diffused, I mean, yet a kind of wave-like -vibration ran through it in faint curves and circles. There was a -sound, a sound like wind. A wind was in the room, moaning and sighing -inside the walls--a perfectly natural and ordinary sound, if it had -been outside. The light moved and quivered. It lay in sheets. Its -movement, I noticed, was in direct relation to the wind: the louder -the volume of sound, the greater the movement of the air--the brighter -became the light, and vice versa. I could not take notes at the actual -moment, but my memory"--a slight grimace by way of a smile indicated -that forgetting was impossible--"is accurate, as you know." - -Fillery did not interrupt, either by word or gesture. - -"The increase of light was accompanied by colour, and the increase of -sound led into a measure--not actual bars, and never melody, but a -distinct measure that involved rhythm. It was musical, as I said. The -colour--I'm coming to that--then took on a very faint tinge of gold -or orange, a little red in it sometimes, flame colour almost. The air -was luminous--it was radiant. At one time I half expected to see fire. -For there was heat as well. Not an unpleasant heat, but a comforting, -stimulating, agreeable heat like--I was going to say, like the heat -of a bright coal fire on a winter's day, but I think the better term -is sunlight. I had an impression this heat must burst presently into -actual flame. It never did so. The sheets of coloured light rose and -fell with the volume of the sound. There were curves and waves and -rising columns like spirals, but anything approaching a definite -outline, form, or shape"--he broke off for a second--"figures," he -announced abruptly, almost challengingly, staring at the white china -bowl in front of him, "I could _not_ swear to." - -He turned suddenly and stared at his chief with an expression half -of question, half of challenge; then seemed to change his mind, -shrugging his shoulders a very little. But Fillery made no sign. He -did not answer. He laid one hand, however, upon the banisters, as -though preliminary to getting to his feet. The sound about them had -been gradually growing less, the vibrations were smaller, its waves -perceptibly decreasing. - -Devonham finished his account in a lower voice, speaking rapidly, as -though the words burnt his tongue: - -"The sound, I had already discovered, issued from himself. He was lying -on his back, the eyes wide open, the expression peaceful, even happy. -The lips were closed. He was humming, continuously humming. Yet the -sound came in some way I cannot describe, and could not examine or -ascertain, from his whole body. I detected no vibration of the body. It -lay half naked, only a corner of the sheet upon it. It lay quite still. -The cause of the light and heat, the cause of the movement of air I -have called wind--I could not ascertain. They came _through_ him, as it -were." A slight shiver ran across his body, noticed by his companion, -but eliciting no comment from him. "I--I took his pulse," concluded -Devonham, sinking his voice now to a whisper, though a very clear one; -"it was very rapid and extraordinarily strong. He seemed entirely -unconscious of my presence. I also"--again the faint shiver was -perceptible--"felt his heart. It was--I have never felt such perfect -action, such power--it was beating like an engine, like an engine. And -the sense of vitality, of life in the room everywhere was--electrical. -I could have sworn it was packed to the walls with--with others." -Devonham never ceased to watch his companion keenly while he spoke. - -Fillery then put his first question. - -"And the effect upon yourself?" he asked quietly. "I mean--any -emotional disturbance? Anything, for instance, like what you _saw_ in -the Jura forests?" He did not look at his colleague; he stood up; the -sound about them had now ceased almost entirely and only faint, dying -fragments of it reached them. "Roughly speaking," he added, making a -half movement to go upstairs. He understood the inner struggle going -on; he wished to make it easy for him. For the complete account he did -not press him. - -Devonham rose too; he walked over to the china bowl, took up a card, -read it and let it fall again. The sun was over the horizon now, and -a pallid light showed objects clearly. It showed the whiteness of the -thin, tired face. He turned and walked slowly back across the hall. The -first cart went clattering noisily down the street. At the same moment -a final sound from the room upstairs came floating down into the chill -early air. - -"My interest, of course," began Devonham, his hands in his pockets, -his body rigid, as he looked up into his companion's eyes, "was -very concentrated, my mind intensely active." He paused, then added -cautiously: "I may confess, however--I must admit, that is, a certain -increase of--of--well, a general sense of well-being, let me call it. -The heat, you see. A feeling of peace, if you like it better--beyond -the--fear," he blurted out finally, changing his hands from his coat to -his trouser pockets, as though the new position protected him better -from attack. "Also--I somehow expected--any moment--to see outlines, -forms, something new!" He stared frankly into the eyes of the man who, -from the step above him, returned his gaze with equal frankness. "And -_you_--Edward?" he asked with great suddenness. - -"Joy? Could you describe it as joy?" His companion ignored the -reference to new forms. He also ignored the sudden question. "Any -increase of----?" - -"Vitality, you want to say. The word joy is meaningless, as you know." - -"An intensification of consciousness in any way?" - -But Devonham had reached his limit of possible confession. He did not -reply for a moment. He took a step forward and stood beside Fillery on -the stairs. His manner had abruptly changed. It was as though he had -come to a conclusion suddenly. His reply, when it came, was no reply at -all: - -"Heat and light are favourable, of course, to life," he remarked. "You -remember Joaquin Mueller: 'the optic nerve, under the action of light, -acts as a stimulus to the organs of the imagination and fancy.'" - -Fillery smiled as he took his arm and they went quietly upstairs -together. The quoting was a sign of returning confidence. He said -something to himself about the absence of light, but so low it was -under his breath almost, and even if his companion heard it, he made no -comment: "There was no moon at all to-night till well past three, and -even then her light was of the faintest...." - -No sound was now audible. They entered a room that was filled with -silence and with peace. A faint ray of morning sunlight showed the form -of the patient sleeping calmly, the body entirely uncovered. There was -an expression of quiet happiness upon the face whose perfect health -suggested perhaps radiance. But there was a change as well, though -indescribable--there was power. He did not stir as they approached the -bed. The breathing was regular and very deep. - -Standing beside him a moment, Fillery sniffed the air, then smiled. -There was a perfume of wild flowers. There was, in spite of the cool -morning air, a pleasant warmth. - -"You notice--anything?" he whispered, turning to his colleague. - -Devonham likewise sniffed the air. "The window's wide open," was the -low rejoinder. "There are conservatories at the back of every house all -down the row." - -And they left the room on tiptoe, closing the door behind them very -softly. Upon Devonham's face lay a curious expression, half anxiety, -half pain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - -Dr. Fillery, lying on a couch in his patient's bedroom, snatched some -four to five hours' sleep, though, if "snatched," it was certainly -enjoyed--a deep, dreamless, reposeful slumber. He woke, refreshed in -mind and body, and the first thing he saw, even before he had time -to stretch a limb or move his head, was two great blue eyes gazing -into his own across the room. They belonged, it first struck him, to -some strange being that had followed him out of sleep--he had not yet -recovered full consciousness and the effects of sleep still hovered; -then an earlier phrase recurred: to some divine great animal. - -"N. H.," in his bed in the opposite corner, lay gazing at him. He -returned the gaze. Into the blue eyes came at once a look of happy -recognition, of contentment, almost a smile. Then they closed again in -sleep. - -The room was full of morning sunshine. Fillery rose quietly, and -performed his toilet in his own quarters, but on returning after a -hurried breakfast, the patient still slept soundly. He slept on for -hours, he slept the morning through; but for the obvious evidences of -perfect normal health, it might have been a state of coma. The body did -not even change its position once. - -He left Devonham in charge, and was on his way to visit some of the -other cases, when Nurse Robbins stood before him. Miss Khilkoff had -"called to inquire after Mr. LeVallon," and was waiting downstairs in -case Dr. Fillery could also see her. - -He glanced at her pretty slim figure and delicate complexion, her hair, -fine, plentiful and shiny, her dark eyes with a twinkle in them. She -was an attractive, intelligent, experienced, young woman, tactful too, -and of great use with extra sensitive patients. She was, of course, -already hopelessly in love with her present "case." His "singing," -so she called it to Mrs. Soames, had excited her "like a glass of -wine--some music makes you feel like that--so that you could love -everybody in the world." She already called him Master. - -"Please say I will be down at once," said Dr. Fillery, watching her for -the first time with interest as he remembered these details Paul had -told him. The girl, it now struck him, was intensely alive. There was -a gain, an increase, in her appearance somewhere. He recalled also the -matron's remark--she was not usually loquacious with her nurses--that -"he's no ordinary case, and I've seen a good few, haven't I? The way he -understands animals and flowers alone proves that!" - -Dr. Fillery went downstairs. - -His first rapid survey of the girl, exhaustive for all its -quickness--he knew her so well--showed him that no outward signs -of excitement were visible. Calm, poised, gentle as ever, the same -generous tenderness in the eyes, the same sweet firmness in the mouth, -the familiar steadiness that was the result of an inner surety--all -were there as though the wild scene of the night before had never been. -Yet all those were heightened. Her beauty had curiously increased. - -"Come into my study," he said, taking her hand and leading the way. "We -shan't be disturbed there. Besides, it's ours, isn't it? We mustn't -forget that you are a member of the Firm." - -He was aware of her soft beauty invading, penetrating him, aware, too, -somehow, that she was in her most impersonal mood. But for all that, -her nature could not hide itself, nor could signs of a certain, subtle -change she had undergone fail to obtrude themselves. In a single night, -it seemed, she had blossomed into a wondrous ripe maturity; like some -strange flower that opens to the darkness, the bud had burst suddenly -into full, sweet bloom, whose coming only moon and stars had witnessed. -There was moonlight now in her dark mysterious eyes as she glanced at -him; there was the gold of stars in her tender, yet curious smile, as -she answered in her low voice--"Of course, I always _was_ a partner in -the Firm"--there was the grace and rhythm of a wild flower swaying in -the wind, as she passed before him into the quiet room and sank into -his own swinging armchair at the desk. But there was something else as -well. - -A detail of his recent Vision slid past his inner sight again while -he watched her.... "I thought--I felt sure--you would come," he said. -He looked at her admiringly, but peace strong in his heart. "The -ordeal," he went on in a curious voice, "would have been too much -for most women, but you"--he smiled, and the sympathy in his voice -increased--"you, I see, have only gained from it. You've mastered, -conquered it. I wonder"--looking away from her almost as if speaking to -himself--"have you wholly understood it?" - -He realized vividly in that moment what she, as a young, unmarried -girl, had suffered before the eyes of all those prying eyes and -gossiping tongues. His admiration deepened. - -She did not take up his words, however. "I've come to inquire," she -said simply in an even voice, "for father and myself. He wanted to know -if you got home all right, and how Julian LeVallon is." The tone, the -heightened colour in the cheek, as she spoke the name no one had yet -used, explained, partly at least, to the experienced man who listened, -the secret of her sudden blossoming. Also she used her father, though -unconsciously, perhaps. "He was afraid the electricity--the lightning -even--had"--she hesitated, smiled a little, then added, as though she -herself knew otherwise--"done something to him." - -Fillery laughed with her then. "As it has done to you," he thought, but -did not speak the words. The need of formula was past. He thanked her, -adding that it was sweet yet right that she had come herself, instead -of writing or telephoning. "And you may set your--your father's mind at -rest, for all goes well. The electricity, of course," he added, on his -own behalf as well as hers, "was--more than most of us could manage. -Electricity explains everything except itself, doesn't it?" - -He was inwardly examining her with an intense and accurate observation. -She seemed the same, yet different. The sudden flowering into beauty -was simply enough explained. It was another change he now became more -and more aware of. In this way a ship, grown familiar during the long -voyage, changes on coming into port. The decks and staircases look -different when the vessel lies motionless at the dock. It becomes half -recognizable, half strange. Gone is the old familiarity, gone also -one's own former angle of vision. It is difficult to find one's way -about her. Soon she will set sail again, but in another direction, and -with new passengers using her decks, her corners, hatchways ... telling -their secrets of love and hate with that recklessness the open sea and -sky make easy.... And now with the girl before him--he couldn't quite -find his way about her as of old ... it was the same familiar ship, yet -it was otherwise, and he, a new passenger, acknowledged the freedom of -sea and sky. - -"And you--Iraida?" he asked. "It was brave of you to come." - -She liked evidently the use of her real name, for she smiled, aware all -the time of his intent observation, aware probably also of his hidden -pain, yet no sign of awkwardness in her; to this man she could talk -openly, or, on the contrary, conceal her thoughts, sure of his tact and -judgment. He would never intrude unwisely. - -"It was natural, Edward," she observed frankly in return. - -"Yes, I suppose it was. Natural is exactly the right word. You have -perhaps found yourself at last," and again he used her real name, -"Iraida." - -"It feels like that," she replied slowly. She paused. "I have found, at -least, something definite that I have to do. I feel that I--must care -for him." Her eyes, as she said it, were untroubled. - -The well-known Nayan flashed back a moment in the words; he -recognized--to use his simile--a familiar corner of the deck where he -had sat and talked for hours beneath the quiet stars--to someone who -understood, yet remained ever impersonal. And the person he talked with -came over suddenly and stood beside him and took his hand between her -own soft gloved ones: - -"You told me, Edward, he would need a woman to help him. That's what -you mean by 'natural'--isn't it? And I am she, perhaps." - -"I think you are," came in a level tone. - -"I know it," she said suddenly, both her eyes looking down upon his -face. "Yes, I suppose I know it." - -"Because _you_--need him," his voice, equally secure, made answer. - -Still keeping his hand tight between her own, her dark eyes still -searching his, she made no sign that his blunt statement was accepted, -much less admitted. Instead she asked a question he was not prepared -for: "You would like that, Edward? You wish it?" - -She was so close against his chair that her fur-trimmed coat brushed -his shoulder; yet, though with eyes and touch and physical presence she -was so near, he felt that she herself had gone far, far away into some -other place. He drew his hand free. "Iraida," he said quietly, "I wish -the best--for him--and for you. And I believe this is the best--for him -and you." He put his patient first. He was aware that the girl, for all -her outer calmness, trembled. - -"It is," she said, her voice as quiet as his own; and after a moment's -hesitation, she went back to her seat again. "If you think I can be of -use," she added. "I'm ready." - -A little pause fell between them, during which Dr. Fillery touched an -electric bell beside his chair. Nurse Robbins appeared with what seemed -miraculous swiftness. "Still sleeping quietly, sir, and pulse normal -again," she replied in answer to a question, then vanished as suddenly -as she had come. He looked into the girl's eyes across the room. "A -competent, reliable nurse," he remarked, "and, as you saw, a pretty -woman." He glanced out of the window. "She is unmarried." He mentioned -it apparently to the sky. - -The quick mind took in his meaning instantly. "All women will be drawn -to him irresistibly, of course," she said. "But it is not _that_." - -"No, no, of course it is not that," he agreed at once. "I should like -you to see him, though not, however, just yet----" He went on after a -moment's reflection, and speaking slowly: "I should like you to wait -a little. It's best. There _has_ been a--a certain disturbance in his -being----" - -"It's his first experience," she began, "of beauty----" - -"Of beauty in women, yes," he finished for her. "It is. We must avoid -anything in the nature of a violent shock----" - -"He has asked for me?" she interrupted again, in her quiet way. - -He shook his head. "And we cannot be sure that it was you--as _you_--he -sought and is affected by. The call he hears is, perhaps, hardly the -call that sounds in most men's ears, I mean." - -The hint of warning guidance was audible in his voice, as well as -visible in his eyes and manner. The laughter they both betrayed, a -grave and curious laughter perhaps, was brief, yet enough to conceal -stranger emotions that rose like dumb, gazing figures almost before -their eyes. Yet if she knew inner turmoil, emotion of any troubling -sort, she concealed it perfectly. - -"I am glad," the girl said presently. "Oh, I am really glad. I think I -understand, Edward." And, even while he sat silent for a bit, watching -her with an ever-growing admiration that at the same time marvelled, -he saw the wonder of great questions riding through her face. The -recollection of what she had suffered publicly in the Studio a few -hours before came into his mind again. In these questions, perhaps, lay -the only signs of the hidden storm below the surface. - -"Are there--are there such things as Nature-Beings, Edward?" she asked -abruptly. "We know this is his first experience. Are there then----?" - -He was prepared a little for this kind of question by her eyes. "We -have no evidence, of course," he replied; "not a scrap of evidence for -anything of the sort. There are people, however, so close to Nature, so -intimate with her, that we may say they are--strangely, inexplicably -akin." - -"Has he a soul--a human soul like ours?" she asked point blank. - -"He is perhaps--not--quite--like us. That may be your task, Iraida," he -added enigmatically. He watched her more closely than she knew. - -She appeared to ponder his words for a few minutes; then she asked -abruptly: "And when do you think I ought to come and see him? You will -let me know?" - -"I will let you know. A few days perhaps, perhaps a week, perhaps -longer. Some education, I think, is necessary first." He gazed at her -thoughtfully, and she returned his look, her dark eyes filled with the -wonder that was both of a child and of a woman, and yet with a security -of something that was of neither. "It will be a--a great effort to -you," he ventured with significant and sympathetic understanding, -"after--what happened. It is brave and generous of you----" He broke -off. - -She nodded, but at once afterwards shook her head. She rose then to go, -but Dr. Fillery stopped her. He rose too. - -"Nayan, I now want _your_ help," he said with more emotion than he had -yet shown. "My responsibility, as you may guess, is not light--and----" - -"And he is in your sole charge, you mean." She had willingly resumed -her seat, and made herself comfortable with a cushion he arranged for -her. He was aware chiefly of her eyes, for in them glowed light and -fire he had never seen there before--but still in their depths. - -"Well--yes, partly," he replied, lighting a cigarette, "though Paul is -ready with help and sympathy whenever needed. But the charge, as you -call it, is not mine alone: it is ours." - -"Ours!" She started, though almost imperceptibly, as she repeated his -word. - -"Subconsciously," he said in a firm voice, "we three are similar. We -are together. We obey half instinctively the unknown laws of"--he -hesitated a moment--"of some unknown state of being." He added then a -singular sentence, though so low it seemed almost to himself: "Had we -been man and wife, Iraida, our child must have been--like him." - -"Yes," she said, leaning forward a little in her chair, increased -warmth, yet no blush, upon her skin. "Yes, Edward, we three are somehow -together in this, aren't we? Oh, I feel it. It pours over me like a -great wind, a wind with heat in it." Her hands clasped her knee, as -they gazed at one another for a moment's silence. "I feel it," she -repeated presently. "I'm sure of it, quite sure." - -She stretched out a spirit hand, as it were, for an instant across the -impersonal barrier between them, but he did not take it, pretending he -did not see it. - -"Ours, Nayan," he emphasized, again using the name that belonged to -everyone. "Therefore, you see, I want you to tell me--if you will--what -you felt, experienced, perceived--in the Studio last night." After -watching her a little, he qualified: "Another day, if you would like -to think it over. But some time, without fail. For my part, I will -confess--though I think you already know it--that I brought him there -on purpose----" - -"To see my effect upon him, Edward." - -"But in _his_ interest, and in the interest of my possible future -treatment. His effect upon yourself was not my motive. You believe -that." - -"I know, I know. And I will tell you gladly. Indeed, I want to." - -He was aware, as she said it, that it would be a satisfaction to -her to talk; she would welcome the relief of confession; she could -speak to him as doctor now, as professional man, as healer, and this, -too, without betraying the impersonal attitude she evidently wore -and had adopted possibly--he wondered?--in self-protection. "Tell me -exactly what it is you would like to know, please, Edward," she added, -and instinctively moved to the sofa, so that he might occupy the -professional swinging chair at the desk. - -"What you saw, Nayan," he began, accepting the change of position -without comment, because he knew it helped her. "What you saw is of -value, I think, first." - -He had all his usual self-control again, for he was now on his -throne, his seat of power; his inner attitude changed subtly; he was -examining two patients--the girl and himself. She sat before him -demure, obedient, honest, very sweet but very strong; if her perfume -reached him he did not notice it, the appeal of her loveliness went -past him, he did not see her eyes. He had a very comely and intelligent -young woman facing him, and the glow, as it were, of an intense inner -activity, strongly suppressed, was the chief quality in her that he -noted. But his new attitude made other things, too, stand out sharply: -he realized there was confusion in her own mind and heart. Her being -was not wholly at one with itself. This impersonal role meant safety -until she was sure of herself; and so far she had been entirely and -admirably non-committal. No girl, he remembered, could look back upon -what she had experienced in the Studio, upon what she had herself -said and done, before a crowd of onlookers too, without deep feelings -of a mixed and even violent kind. That scene with a young man she had -never seen before must bring painful memories; if it was love at first -sight the memories must be more painful still. But was it a case of -this sudden, rapturous love? What, indeed, were her feelings? What at -any rate was her dominant feeling? She had felt his appeal beyond all -question, but was it as Nayan or as Iraida that she felt it? - -She was non-committal and impersonal, conscious that therein safety -lay--until, having become one with herself, harmonious, she could -feel absolutely sure. One hint only had she dropped--it was Nayan -speaking--that her mothering, maternal instinct was needed and that she -must obey its prompting. She must "care" for him.... - -Dr. Fillery, meanwhile, though he might easily have probed and made -discoveries without her knowing that he did so, was not the man to use -his powers now. Unless she gave of her own free will, he would not ask. -He would close eyes and ears even to any chance betrayal or unconscious -revelation. - -"When you first looked in, for instance? You had just come in from -the street, I think. You opened the door on your way upstairs. Do you -remember?" - -She remembered perfectly. "I wanted to see who was there. You, I think, -were chiefly in my thoughts--I was wondering if you had come." Her -voice was even, her eyes quite steady; she chose her next words slowly: -"I saw--to my intense surprise--a figure of light." - -"Shining, you mean? A shining figure?" - -She nodded her head, as one little hand put back a straying wisp of -dark hair from her forehead. "A figure like flame," she agreed. "I -saw it quite clearly. I saw everything else quite clearly too--the -inner room, various people standing about, the piano, the thick smoke, -everything as usual. I saw you. You were in the big outer room beyond, -but your face was very distinct. You were staring--staring straight at -me." - -"True," put in Dr. Fillery; "I saw you in the doorway plainly." - -"In the foreground, by itself apart somehow, though surrounded -by people, was this shining, radiant outline. I thought it was a -Vision--the first thing of that sort I had ever seen in my life." - -"That was your very first impression--even before you had time to -think?" - -"Yes." - -"It struck you as unusual?" - -"I cannot say more than that. I knew by the light it was unusual. Then -it moved--talking to Povey or Kempster or someone--and I realized in -a flash who it was. I knew it must be your friend, the man you had -promised to bring--Ju----" - -"And then----?" he asked quickly, before she could pronounce the name. - -"And then----" - -She stopped, and her eyes looked away from him, not in the sense -that they moved but that their focus changed as though she looked at -something else, at something within herself, no longer, therefore, -at the face in front of her. He waited; he understood that she was -searching among deep, strange, seething memories; he let her search; -and, watching closely, he presently saw the sight return into her eyes -from its inward plunge. - -"And when you knew who it was," he asked very quietly, "were you still -surprised? Did he look as you expected him to look, for instance?" - -"I had expected nothing, you see, Edward, because I had not been -consciously thinking about his coming. No mental picture was present -in me at all. But the moment I realized who it was, the light seemed -to go--I just saw a young man standing there, with his head turned -sideways to me. The light, I suppose, lasted for a second only--that -first second. As to how he looked? Well, he looked, not only bigger--he -_is_ bigger than most men," she went on, "but he looked"--her voice -hushed instinctively a little on the adjective--"different." - -Her companion made a gesture of agreement, waiting in silence for what -was to follow. - -"He looked so extraordinary, so wonderful," she resumed, gazing -steadily into his eyes, "that I--I can hardly put it into words, -Edward, unless I use childish language." She broke off and sighed, -and something, he fancied, in her wavered for a second, though it was -certainly neither the voice nor the eyes. A faint trembling again -perhaps ran through her body. Her account was so deliberately truthful -that it impressed him more than he quite understood. He was aware of -pathos in her, of some vague trouble very poignant yet inexplicable. A -breath of awe, it seemed, entered the room and moved between them. - -"The childish words are probably the best, the right ones," he told her -gently. - -"An angel," she said instantly in a hushed tone, "I thought of an -angel. There is no other word I can find. But somehow a helpless one. -An angel--out of place." - -He looked hard at her, his manner encouraging though grave; he said no -word; he did not smile. - -"Someone not of this earth quite," she added. "Not a man, at any rate." - -Still more gently, he then asked her what she felt. - -"At first I couldn't move," she went on, her voice normal again. "I -must have stood there ten minutes fully, perhaps longer"--her listener -did not correct the statement--"when I suddenly recovered and looked -about for you, Edward, but could not see you. I needed you, but could -not find you. I remember feeling somehow that I had lost you. I tried -to call for you--in my heart. There was no answer.... Then--then I -closed the door quietly and went upstairs to change from my street -clothes." - -She paused and passed a hand slowly across her forehead. Dr. Fillery -asked casually a curious question: - -"Do you remember _how_ you got upstairs, Nayan?" - -Her hand dropped instantly; she started. "It's very odd you should ask -me that, Edward," she said, gazing at him with a slightly rising colour -in her face, an increase of fire glowing in her eyes; "very odd indeed. -I was just trying to think how I could describe it to you. No. Actually -I do not remember how I got upstairs. All I know is--I was suddenly in -my room." A new intensity appeared in voice and manner. "It seemed to -me I flew--or that--something--carried me." - -"Yes, Nayan, yes. It's quite natural you should have felt like that." - -"Is it? I remember so little of what I actually felt. I wonder--I -wonder," she went on softly, with an air almost of talking to herself, -"if it will ever come back again--what I felt then----" - -"Such moments of subliminal excitement," Dr. Fillery reminded her -gently, "have the effect of obliterating memory sometimes----" - -"Excitement," she caught him up. "Yes, I suppose it was excitement. But -it was more, much more, than that. Stimulated--I think that's the word -really. I felt caught away somewhere, caught away, caught up--as if -into the rest of myself--into the whole of myself. I became vast"--she -smiled curiously--"if you know what I mean--in several places at once, -perhaps, is better. It was an immense feeling--no, I mean a feeling of -immensity----" - -"Happy?" His voice was low. - -Her eyes answered even before her words, as the memory came back a -little in response to his cautious suggestion. - -"A new feeling altogether," she replied, returning his clear gaze -with her frank, innocent eyes that had grown still more brilliant. -"A feeling I have never known before." She talked more rapidly now, -leaning forward a little in her chair. "I felt in the open air somehow, -with flowers, trees, hot burning sunshine and sweet winds rushing to -and fro. It was something bigger than happiness--a sort of intoxicating -joy, I think. It was liberty, but of an enormous spiritual kind. I -wanted to dance--I believe I did dance--yes, I'm sure I did, and with -hardly anything on my body. I wanted to sing--I sang downstairs, of -course----" - -"I heard," he put in briefly. He did not add that she had never sung -like that before. - -"The moment I came into the room, yes, I remember I went straight -to the piano without a word to anyone." She reflected a moment. "I -suppose I had to. There was something new in me I could only express by -music--rhythm, that is, not language." - -"It was natural," Dr. Fillery said again. "Quite natural, I think." - -"Yes, Edward, I suppose it was," she answered, then sank back in her -chair, as though she had told him all there was to tell. - -Dr. Fillery smoked in silence for a few minutes, then rose and touched -the bell as before, and, as before, Nurse Robbins appeared with the -same miraculous speed. There was a brief colloquy at the door; the -woman was gone again, and the doctor turned back into the room with -a look of satisfaction on his face. All, apparently, was going well -upstairs. He did not sit down, however; he stood looking out of the -window at the drab wintry sky of motionless clouds, his back to his -companion. It was midday, but the light, while making all things -visible, was not light; there was no shine, no touch of radiance, -no hint of sparkle beneath the canopy of sullen cloud. The English -winter's day was visible, no more than that. Yet it was not the English -day, nor the clouds, nor the bleak dead atmosphere he looked at. In a -single second his sight travelled far, far away, covering an enormous -interval in space and time, in condition too. He saw a radiant world of -sun-drenched flowers "tossing with random airs of an unearthly wind"; -he saw a foam of forest leaves shaking and dancing against a deep blue -sky; he say a valley whose streams and emerald turf knew not the touch -of human feet.... The familiar symbols he saw, but inflamed with new -meaning. - -"Thank you, Edward, thank you"--she was just behind him, her hands upon -his shoulders. "You understand everything in the world!" she added, -"and out of it," but too low for him to hear. - -He came back with an effort, turning towards her. They were standing -level now and very close, eyes looking into eyes. He felt her breath -upon his face, her perfume rose about him, her lips were moving just in -front of him--yet, for a second, he did not know who she was. It was as -though _she_ had not come with him out of that valley, not come back -with him.... An insatiable longing seized him--to return and find her, -stay with her. The ache of an intolerable yearning was in his heart, -yet a sudden flash of understanding that brought a bigger, almost an -unearthly joy in its train. At the call of some service, some duty, -some help to be rendered to humanity, the three of them together--he, -"N. H.," the girl--were in temporary exile from their rightful home. -The scent of wild flowers rose about him. He suddenly remembered, -recognized, and gave a little start. He had left her behind in the -valley--Iraida; it was Nayan who now stood before him. - -He uttered a dry little laugh. "You startled me, Nayan. I was thinking. -I didn't hear you." She had just thanked him for something--oh, -yes--because he had left her alone for a moment, giving her time to -collect herself after the long cross-examination. - -He took both her hands in his. - -"_Our_ patient then--isn't it?" he asked in a firm voice, looking deep -into her luminous eyes. He saw no fire in them now. - -"I'll do all I can, Edward." - -She returned the pressure of his hands. His keen insight, operating -in spite of himself, had read her clearly. It was mother, child and -woman he had always known. The three, however, were already in process -of disentanglement. For the first time during their long acquaintance, -what now stood so close before him was--the woman. Yet behind the woman -like an enveloping shadow stood the mother too. And behind both, again, -stood another wild, gigantic, lovely possibility. Was it, then, the -child that he had left playing in the radiant valley?... The child, he -knew, was his always, always, even if the woman was another's.... He -laughed softly. These, after all, were but transitory states in human, -earthly evolution, concerned with play, with a production of bodies and -so forth.... - -He had lost himself in her deep eyes. Her gaze lay all over him, over -his entire being, like a warm soft covering that blessed and healed. -She was so close that it seemed he drew her breath in with his own. She -made a movement then, a tiny gesture. He let go the hands his own had -held so long. He turned from the window and from her. He was trembling. - -"What came later," he resumed in his calm, almost in his professional -voice, "you probably do not remember?" He went towards his desk. "We -need not talk about that. No doubt, in your mind, it all remains a -blurred impression----" - -She interrupted, following him across the room. "What happened, -Edward," she said very quietly in her lowest tone, "_I know_. It -was all told to me. But my memory, as you say, is so faint as to be -worthless really. What I do remember is this"--she tapped her open -palm with two fingers slowly, as she spoke the words--"light, heat, a -smell of flowers and a rushing wind that lifted me into some kind of -exhilarating liberty where I felt--the intense joy of knowing myself -somehow free--and greater, oh, far greater--than I am--now." Then she -suddenly whispered again too low for him to catch--"angelic." A smile, -as of glory, rippled across her face. - -His voice, coming quickly, was cool, its tone measured: - -"And you will come to see him the moment I let you know," he -interrupted abruptly. "It may be a few days, it may be a week. The -instant it seems wise----" He was entirely practical again. - -She went to the door with him. "I'll come, of course," she answered, as -he opened the door. - -"I'll let myself out, Edward--please. I know the way. There's no good -being a partner if one doesn't know the way out----" She laughed. - -"And in, remember!" he called down the little passage after her, as, -with a smile and a wave of the hand, she was gone. - -He went back to his desk, drew a piece of paper towards him, and jotted -a few notes down in briefest fashion. The expression on his rugged face -was enigmatical perhaps, but the sternness at least was clear to read, -and it was this, combining with an extraordinary tenderness, that drew -out its nobility: - -"Intensification of consciousness, involving increased activity of -every centre; hearing, sight, touch and smell, all affected. Slight -exteriorization of consciousness also took place. No signs of split or -divided personality, but an increase of coherence rather. The central -self active--aware of greater powers in time and space, hence sense -of joy, heat, light, sound, motion. Distinct subliminal up-rush, -followed by customary loss of memory later. Her _whole_ being, together -with neglected tracts as yet untouched by experience--her _entire_ -being--reached simultaneously. Knew herself for the first time a -woman--but something more as well. Unearthly complex, visible. - -"Appeal made direct to subconscious self. Unfavourable reactions--none. -Favourable reactions--increased physical and mental strength...." - -He laid down his pencil as with a gesture of impatience at its -uselessness, and sat back in the chair, thinking. - -The effect "N. H." had upon other people was here again confirmed. -That, at least, seemed reasonably clear. Vitality was increased; heart -and mind caught up an extra gear; thought leaped, if extravagantly, -towards speculation; emotion deepened, if ecstatically, towards -belief. All the normal reactions of the system were speeded up and -strengthened. Consciousness was intensified. - -More than this--with some it was extended, and subliminal powers were -set free. In his own experience this had been the case; the sight, -hearing, even a mild degree of divination, had opened in his being. It -had, similarly, taken place with Devonham, an unlikely subject, who -fought against acknowledging it. Father Collins, too, he suspected--he -recalled his behaviour and strange language--had known also a temporary -extension of faculty outside the normal field. He remembered, again, -the Customs official, Charing Cross Station, and a dozen other minor -instances.... Indications as yet were slight, he realized, but they -were valuable. - -Such abnormal experiences, moreover, each one interpreted, -respectively, in the terms of his own individual being, of his own -temperament, his own personal shibboleths. The law governing unusual -experience operated invariably. - -Was not his own particular "vision" easily explained? It might indeed, -had it happened earlier, have found a place in his own book of Advanced -Psychology. He reflected rapidly: He believed the industrial system lay -at the root of Civilization's crumbling, and that man must return to -Nature--therefore his yearnings dramatized themselves in personified -representations of the beauty of Nature. - -He could trace every detail of his Vision to some intense but -unrealized yearning, to some deep hope, desire, dream, as yet -unfulfilled. Always these yearnings and wishes unfulfilled! - -Colour, form and sound again--he used them one and all in his treatment -of special cases, and felt hurt by the ignorant scoffing and denial of -his brother doctors. Hence their present dramatization. - -His immense belief, again, in the results upon the Race when once the -subliminal powers should have reached the stage where they could be -used at will for practical purposes--this, in its turn, led him to -hope, perhaps to believe, that this strange "Case" might prove to be -some fabulous bright messenger who brought glad tidings.... All, all -was explicable enough! - -A smile stole over his face; he began to laugh quietly to himself.... - -Yes, he could explain all, trace all to something or other in his -being, yet--he knew that the real explanation ... well--his cleverest -intellectual explanation and analysis were worthless after all. For -here lay something utterly beyond his knowledge and experience.... - -The note of another searcher recurred to him. - -"Each human being has within himself that restless creative phantasy -which is ever engaged in assuaging the harshness of reality.... Whoever -gives himself unsparingly and carefully to self-observation will -realize that there dwells within him something which would gladly hide -up and cover all that is difficult and questionable in life, and thus -procure an easy and free path. Insanity grants the upper hand to this -something. When once it is uppermost, reality is more or less quickly -driven out." - -But he knew quite well that although he belonged to what he called the -"Unstable," the "something" which Jung referred to had by no means -obtained "the upper hand." The vista opening to his inner sight led -towards a new reality.... Ah! If he could only persuade Paul Devonham -to see what _he_ saw...! - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - - -Lady Gleeson had heard from a Promethean what had transpired in the -studio after she had left, and her interest was immensely stimulated. -These details she had not known when she had driven her hero home, and -had felt so strangely drawn to him that she had kissed him in front of -Dr. Fillery as though she caressed a prisoner under the eyes of the -warder. - -She made her little plans accordingly. It was some days, however, -before they bore fruit. The telephone at last rang. It was Dr. Fillery. -The nerves in her quivered with anticipation. - -Devonham, it appeared, had been away, and her "kind letters and -presents," he regretted to find, had remained unanswered and -unacknowledged. Mr. LeVallon had been in the country, too, with his -colleague, and letters had not been forwarded. Oh, it would "do him -good to see people." It would be delightful if she could spare a moment -to look in. Perhaps for a cup of tea to-morrow? No, to-morrow she -was engaged. The next day then. The next day it was. In the morning -arrived a brief letter from Mr. LeVallon himself: "You will come to tea -to-morrow. I thank you.--JULIAN LeVALLON." - -Yet there was something both in Dr. Fillery's voice, as in this -enigmatic letter, that she did not like. She felt puzzled somewhere. -The excitement of a novel intrigue with this unusual youth, none the -less, was stimulating. She decided to go to tea. She put off a couple -of engagements in order to be free. - -A servant let her in. She went upstairs. There was no sign of Dr. -Fillery nor, thank heaven, of Devonham either. Tea, she saw, was laid -for two in the private sitting-room. LeVallon, seated in an arm-chair -by the open window, looked "magnificent and overpowering," as she -called it. He rose at once to greet her. "Thank you," he said in his -great voice. "I am glad to see you." He said it perfectly, as though it -had been taught him. He took her hand. Her ravishing smile, perhaps, he -did not notice. His face, at any rate, was grave. - -His height, his broad shoulders, his inexperienced eyes and manner -again delighted Lady Gleeson. - -The effect upon her receptive temperament, at any rate, was -instantaneous. That he showed no cordiality, did not smile, and that -his manner was constrained, meant nothing to her--or meant what she -wished it to mean. He was somewhat overcome, of course, she reflected, -that she was here at all. She began at once. Sitting composedly on the -edge of the table, so that her pretty silk stockings were visible to -the extent she thought just right, she dangled her slim legs and looked -him straight in the eyes. She was full of confidence. Her attitude said -plainly: "I'm taking a lot of trouble, but you're worth it." - -"Mr. LeVallon," she purred in a teasing yet determined voice, "why do -you ignore me?" There was an air of finality about the words. She meant -to know. - -LeVallon met her eyes with a look of puzzled surprise, but did not -answer. He stood in front of her. He looked really magnificent, a -perfect study of the athlete in repose. He might have been a fine Greek -statue. - -"Why," she repeated, her lip quivering slightly, "do you ignore me? I -want the truth," she added. She was delighted to see how taken aback he -was. "You don't dislike me." It was not a question. - -Into his eyes stole an expression she could not exactly fathom. She -judged, however, that he felt awkward, foolish. Her interest doubtless -robbed him of any _savoir faire_ he might possess. This talk face to -face was a little too much for any young man, but for a simple country -youth it was, of course, more than disconcerting. - -"I'm Lady Gleeson," she informed him, smiling precisely in the way -she knew had troubled so many other men. "Angela," she added softly. -"You've had my books and flowers and letters. Yet you continue to -ignore me. Why, please?" With a different smile and a pathetic, -childish, voice: "Have I offended you somehow? Do I displease you?" - -LeVallon stared at her as though he was not quite certain who she -actually was, yet as though he ought to know, and that her words now -reminded him. He stared at her with what she called his "awkward and -confused" expression, but which Fillery, had he been present, would -have recognized as due to his desire to help a pitiful and hungry -creature--that, in a word, his instinct for service had been a little -stirred. - -The scene was certainly curious and unusual. - -LeVallon, with his great strength and dignity, yet something tender, -pathetic in his bearing, stood staring at her. Lady Gleeson, brimming -with a sense of easy victory, sat on the table-edge, her pretty legs -well forward, knowing herself divinely gowned. She had her victim, -surely, at a disadvantage. She felt at the same time a faint uneasiness -she could not understand. She concealed it, however. - -"I suffer here," he said suddenly in a quiet tone. - -She gave a start. It was the phrase he had used before. She thrilled. -She hitched her skirt a fraction higher. - -"Julian, poor boy," she said--then stared at him. "How innocent you -are!" She said it with apparent impulse, though her little frenzied -mind was busy calculating. There came a pause. He said nothing. He was, -apparently, quite innocent, extraordinarily, exasperatingly innocent. - -In a low voice, smiling shyly, she added--as though it cost her a great -effort: - -"You do not recognize what is yours." - -"You are sacred!" he replied with startling directness, as though he -suddenly understood, yet was stupidly perplexed. "You already have your -man." - -Lady Gleeson gulped down a spasm of laughter. How slow these countrymen -could be! Yet she must not shock him. He was suffering, besides. This -yokel from the woods and mountains needed a little coaxing. It was -natural enough. She must explain and teach, it seemed. Well--he was -worth the trouble. His beauty was mastering her already. She loved, in -particular, his innocence, his shyness, his obvious respect. She almost -felt herself a magnanimous woman. - -"My man!" she mentioned. "Oh, he's finished with me long ago. He's -bored. He has gone elsewhere. I am alone"--she added with an impromptu -inspiration--"and free to choose." - -"It must be pain and loneliness to you." - -LeVallon looked, she thought, embarrassed. He was struggling with -himself, of course. She left the table and came up close to him. She -stood on tiptoe, so that her breath might touch his face. Her eyes -shone with fire. Her voice trembled a little. It was very low. - -"I choose--_you_," she whispered. She cast down her shining eyes. Her -lips took on a prim, inviting turn. She knew she was irresistible like -that. She stood back a step, as if expecting some tumultuous onslaught. -She waited. - -But the onslaught did not come. LeVallon, towering above her, merely -stared. His arms hung motionless. There was, indeed, expression in his -face, but it was not the expression that she expected, longed for, -deemed her due. It puzzled her, as something entirely new. - -"Me!" he repeated, in an even tone. He gazed at her in a peculiar way. -Was it appraisement? Was it halting wonder at his marvellous good -fortune? Was it that he hesitated, judging her? He seemed, she thought -once for an instant, curiously indifferent. Something in his voice -startled her. - -The moment's pause, at any rate, was afflicting. Her spirit burned -within her. Only her supreme belief in herself prevented a premature -explosion. Yet something troubled her as well. A tremor ran through -her. LeVallon, she remembered, was--LeVallon. - -His own thought and feeling lay hidden from her blunt perception since -she read no signs unless they were painfully obvious. But in his -mind--in his feeling, rather, since he did not think--ran evidently -the sudden knowledge of what her meaning was. He understood. But also, -perhaps he remembered what Fillery had told him. - -For a long time he kept silent, the emotions in him apparently at -grips. Was he suddenly going to carry her away as he had done to that -"little Russian poseuse"? She watched him. He was intensely busy with -what occupied his mind, for though he did not speak, his lips were -moving. She watched him, impatience and wonder in her, impatience -at his slowness, wonder as to what he would do and say when at last -his simple mind had decided. And again the odd touch of fear stole -over her. Something warned her. This young man thrilled her, but he -certainly was strange. This was, indeed, a new experience. Whatever -was he thinking about? What in the world was he going to say? His lips -were still moving. There was a light in his face. She imagined the very -words, could almost read them, hear them. There! Then she heard them, -heard some at any rate distinctly: "You are an animal. Yet you walk -upright...." - -The scene that followed went like lightning. - -Before Lady Gleeson could move or speak, however, he also said another -thing that for one pulsing second, and for the first time in her life, -made her own utter worthlessness become appallingly clear to her. -It explained the touch of fear. Even her one true thing, her animal -passion, was a trumpery affair: - -"There is nothing in you I can work with," he said with gentle, pitying -sympathy. "Nothing I can use." - -Then Lady Gleeson blazed. Vanity instantly restored self-confidence. It -seemed impossible to believe her ears. - -What had he done? What had he said that caused the explosion? He -watched her abrupt, spasmodic movements with amazement. They were so -ugly, so unrhythmical. Their violence was so wasteful. - -"You insult me!" she cried, making these violent movements of her whole -body that, to him, were unintelligible. "How dare you? You----" The -breath choked her. - -"Cad," he helped her, so suddenly that another mind not far away might -almost have dropped the word purposely into his own. "I am so pained," -he added, "so pained." He gazed at her as though he longed to help. -"For you, I know, are valuable to him who holds you sacred--to--your -husband." - -Lady Gleeson simply could not credit her ears. This neat, though -unintentional, way of transferring the epithet to her who deserved it, -left her speechless. Her fury increased with her inability to express -it. She could have struck him, killed him on the spot. Her face changed -from white to crimson like some toy with a trick of light inside it. -She seemed to emit sparks. She was transfixed. And the shiver that ran -through her was, perhaps, for once, both sexual and spiritual at once. - -"You insult me," she cried again helplessly. "You insult me!" - -"If there was something in you I could work with--help----" he began, -his face showing a tender sympathy that enraged her even more. He -started suddenly, looking closer into her blazing eyes. "Ah," he said -quickly below his breath, "the fire--the little fire!" His expression -altered. But Lady Gleeson, full of her grievance, did not catch the -words, it seemed. - -"--In my tenderest, my most womanly feelings," she choked on, yet -noticing the altered expression on his face. "How _dare you_?" Her -voice became shrill and staccato. Then suddenly--mistaking the look -in his eyes for shame--she added: "You shall apologize. You shall -apologize at once!" She screamed the words. They were the only ones -that her outraged feelings found. - -"You show yourself, my fire," he was saying softly in his deep resonant -voice. "Oh, I see and worship now; I understand a little." - -His look astonished her even in the middle of her anger--the pity, -kindness, gentleness in it. The bewilderment she did not notice. It was -the evident desire to be of service to her, to help and comfort, that -infuriated her. The superiority was more than she could stand. - -"And on your knees," she yelped; "on your knees, too!" - -Drawing herself up, she pointed to the carpet with an air of some -tragedy queen to whom a lost self-respect came slowly back. "Down -there!" she added, as the gleaming buckle on her shoe indicated the -spot. She did not forget to show her pretty stockings as well. - -The picture was comic in the extreme, yet with a pathetic twist about -it that, had she possessed a single grain of humour, must have made -her feel foolish and shamed until she died, for his kneeling position -rendered her insignificance so obvious it was painful in the extreme. -LeVallon clasped his hands; his face, wearing a dignity and tenderness -that emphasized its singular innocence and beauty, gazed up into her -trivial prettiness, as she sat on the edge of the table behind her, -glaring down at him with angry but still hungry eyes. - -"I should have helped and worshipped," his deep voice thrilled. "I am -ashamed. Always--you are sacred, wonderful. I did not recognize your -presence calling me. I did not hear nor understand. I am ashamed." - -The strange words she did not comprehend, even if she heard them -properly. For one moment she knew a dreadful feeling that they were -not addressed to her at all, but the sense of returning triumph, the -burning desire to extract from him the last ounce of humiliation, to -make him suffer as much as in her power lay, these emotions deadened -any perceptions of a subtler kind. He was kneeling at her feet, -stammering his abject apology, and the sight was wine and food to her. -Though she could have crushed him with her foot, she could equally -have flung herself in utter abandonment before his glorious crouching -strength. She adored the scene. He looked magnificent on his knees. He -was. She believed she, too, looked magnificent. - -"You apologize to me," she said in a trembling voice, tense with -mingled passions. - -"Oh, with what sadness for my mistake you cannot know," was his strange -reply. His voice rang with sincerity, his eyes held a yearning that -almost lent him radiance. Yet it was the sense of power he gave that -thrilled Lady Gleeson most. For she could not understand it. Again a -passing hint of something remote, incalculable, touched her sense of -awe. She shivered slightly. LeVallon did not move. - -Appeased, yet puzzled, she lowered her face, now pale and intense with -eagerness, towards his own, hardly conscious that she did so, while the -faint idea again went past her that he addressed his astonishing words -elsewhere. Blind vanity at once dismissed the notion, though the shock -of its brief disthroning had been painful. She found satisfaction for -her wounded soul. A man who had scorned her, now squirmed before her -beauty on his knees, desiring her--but too late. - -"You have _some_ manhood, after all!" she exclaimed, still fierce, the -upper lip just revealing the shining little teeth. Her power at last -had touched him. He suffered. And she was glad. - -"I worship," he repeated, looking through her this time, if not -actually past her. "You are sacred, the source of all my life and -power." His pain, his worship, the aching passion in him made her -forget the insult. Upon that face upturned so close to hers, she now -breathed softly. - -"I'll try," she said more calmly. "I'll try and forgive you--just this -once." The suffering in his eyes, so close against her own, dawned -more and more on her. "There, now," she added impulsively, "perhaps I -will forgive you--altogether!" - -It was a moment of immense and queenly generosity. She felt sublime. - -LeVallon, however, made no rejoinder; one might have thought he had not -heard; only his head sank lower a little before her. - -She had him at her mercy now; the rapt and wonderful expression in -his eyes delighted her. She bent slightly nearer and made as though -to kiss him, when a new idea flashed suddenly through her mind. This -forgiveness was a shade too quick, too easy. Oh, she knew men. She was -not without experience. - -She acted with instant decision upon her new idea, as though delay -might tempt her to yield too soon. She straightened up with a sudden -jerk, touched his cheek with her hand, then, with a swinging swish of -her skirts, but without a single further word, she swept across the -room. She went out, throwing him a last glance just before she closed -the door. At his kneeling figure and upturned face she flung this last -glance of murderous fascination. - -But LeVallon did not move or turn his head; he made no sign; his -attitude remained precisely as before, face upturned, hands clasped, -his expression rapt and grave as ever. His voice continued: - -"I worship you for ever. I did not know you in that little shape. O -wondrous central fire, teach me to be aware of you with awe, with joy, -with love, even in the smallest things. O perfect flame behind all -form...." - -For a long time his deep tones poured their resonant vibration through -the room. There came an answering music, low, faint, continuous, a -long, deep rhythm running in it. There was a scent of flowers, of open -space, a fragrance of a mountain top. The sounds, the perfume, the -touch of cool refreshing wind rose round him, increasing with every -minute, till it seemed as though some energy informed them. At the -centre he knelt steadily, light glowing faintly in his face and on his -skin. A vortex of energy swept round him. He drew upon it. His own -energy was increased and multiplied. He seemed to grow more radiant.... - -A few minutes later the door opened softly and Dr. Fillery looked in, -hesitated for a second, then advanced into the room. He paused before -the kneeling figure. It was noticeable that he was not startled and -that his face wore no expression of surprise. A smile indeed lay on his -lips. He noticed the scent of flowers, a sweetness in the air as after -rain; he felt the immense vitality, the exhilaration, the peace and -power too. He had made no sound, but the other, aware of his presence, -rose to his feet. - -"I disturbed you," said Fillery. "I'm sorry. Shall I go?" - -"I was worshipping," replied "N. H." "No, do not go. There was a -little flash"--he looked about him for an instant as if slightly -bewildered--"a little sign--something I might have helped--but it has -gone again. Then I worshipped, asking for more power. _You_ notice it?" -he asked, with a radiant smile. - -"I notice it," said Fillery, smiling back. He paused a moment. His -eye took in the tea-things and saw they were untouched; he felt the -tea-pot. It was still warm. "Come," he said happily; "we'll have some -tea together. I'll send for a fresh brew." He rang the bell, then -arranged the chairs a little differently. "Your visitor?" he asked. -"You are expecting someone?" - -"N. H." looked round him suddenly. "Oh!" he exclaimed, "but--she has -gone!" - -His surprise was comical, but the expression on the face changed in his -rapid way at once. "I remember now. Your Lady Gleeson came," he added, -a touch of gentle sadness in his voice, "I gave her pain. You had told -me. I forgot----" - -"You did well," Fillery commented with smiling approval as though the -entire scene was known to him, "you did very well. It is a pity, only, -that she left too soon. If she had stayed for your worship--your wind -and fire might have helped----" - -"N. H." shook his head. "There is nothing I can work with," he replied. -"She is empty. She destroys only. Why," he added, "does she walk -upright?" - -But Lady Gleeson held very different views upon the recent scene. -This magnificent young male she had put in his place, but she had not -finished with him. No such being had entered her life before. She was -woman enough to see he was unusual. But he was magnificent as well, -and, secretly, she loved his grand indifference. - -She left the house, however, with but an uncertain feeling that the -honours were with her. Two days without a word, a sign, from her would -bring him begging to her little feet. - -But the "begging" did not come. The bell was silent, the post brought -no humble, passionate, abandoned letter. She fumed. She waited. Her -husband, recently returned to London and immensely preoccupied with his -concessions, her maid too, were aware that Lady Gleeson was impatient. -The third, the fourth day came, but still no letter. - -Whereupon it occurred to her that she had possibly gone too far. Having -left him on his knees, he was, perhaps, still kneeling in his heart, -even prostrate with shame and disappointment. Afraid to write, afraid -to call, he knew not what to do. She had evidently administered too -severe a lesson. Her callers, meanwhile, convinced her that she was -irresistible. There was no woman like her in the world. She had, of -course, been too harsh and cruel with this magnificent and innocent -youth from the woods and mountains.... - -Thus it was that, on the fourth day, feeling magnanimous and generous, -big-hearted too, she wrote to him. It would be foolish, in any case, to -lose him altogether merely for a moment's pride: - - "DEAR MR. LeVALLON,--I feel I must send you a tiny - word to let you know that I really have forgiven you. You - behaved, you know, in a way that no man of my acquaintance - has ever done before. But I feel sure now you did not really - mean it. Your forest and mountain gods have not taught you to - understand civilized women. So--I forgive. - - "Please forget it all, as I have forgotten it.--Yours, - "ANGELA GLEESON. - - "P. S.--And you may come and see me soon." - -To which, two days later, came the reply: - - "DEAR LADY GLEESON,--I thank you. - "JULIAN LeVALLON." - -Within an hour of its receipt, she wrote: - - "DEAR JULIAN,--I am so glad you understand. I knew you - would. You may come and see me. I will prove to you that you - are really forgiven. There is no need to feel embarrassed. I - am interested in you and can help you. Believe me, you need a - woman's guidance. All--_all_ I have, is yours. - - "I shall be at home this afternoon--alone--from 4 to 7 o'clock. - I shall expect you. My love to you and your grand wild - gods!--Yours, - "ANGELA. - - "P. S.--I want you to tell me more about your gods. Will you?" - -She sent it by special messenger, "Reply" underlined on the envelope. -He did not appear at the appointed hour, but the next morning she -received his letter. It came by ordinary post. The writing on the -envelope was not his. Either Devonham or Fillery had addressed it. And -a twinge of unaccustomed emotion troubled her. Intuition, it seems, -survives even in the coarsest, most degraded feminine nature, ruins of -some divine prerogative perhaps. Lady Gleeson, at any rate, flinched -uneasily before she opened the long expected missive: - - "DEAR LADY GLEESON,--Be sure that you are always - under the protection of the gods even if you do not know them. - They are impersonal. They come to you through passion but not - through that love of the naked body which is lust. I can - work with passion because it is creative, but not with lust, - for it is destructive only. Your suffering is the youth and - ignorance of the young uncreative animal. I can strive with - young animals and can help them. But I cannot work with them. I - beg you, listen. I love in you the fire, though it is faint and - piti-ful. - "JULIAN." - -Lady Gleeson read this letter in front of the looking-glass, then -stared at her reflection in the mirror. - -She was dazed. But in spite of the language she thought "silly," -she caught the blunt refusal of her generous offer. She understood. -Yet, unable to believe it, she looked at her reflection again--then, -impulsively, went downstairs to see her husband. - -It really was more than she could bear. The man was mad, but that did -not excuse him. - -"He is a beast," she informed her husband, tearing up the letter -angrily before his eyes in the library, while he watched her with a -slavish admiration that increased her fury. "He is nothing but an -animal," she added. "He's a--a----" - -"Who?" came the question, as though it had been asked before. For Sir -George wore a stolid and a patient expression on his kindly face. - -"That man LeVallon," she told him. "One of Dr. Fillery's cases I tried -to--to help. Now he's written to me----" - -George looked up with infinite patience and desire in his kindly gaze. - -"Cut him out," he said dryly, as though he was accustomed to such -scenes. "Let him rip. Why bother, anyway, with 'patients'?" - -And he crossed the room to comfort her, knowing that presently the -reaction must make him seem more desirable than he really was.... - -"Never in my house again," she sighed, as he approached her lovingly, -his fingers in his close brown beard. "He is simply a beast--an -animal!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - -It was, perhaps, some cosmic humour in the silent, beautiful stars -which planned that Nayan's visit should follow upon the very heels of -Lady Gleeson's call. Those vast Intelligences who note the fall of -even a feather, watching and guarding the Race so closely that they -may be said in human terms to love it, arranged the details possibly, -enjoying the result with their careless, sunny laughter. At any rate, -Dr. Fillery quickly sent her word, and she came. To lust "N. H." had -not reacted. How would it be with love? - -The beautiful girl entered the room slowly, shyly, as though, certain -of herself, she was not quite certain what she was about to meet. -Fillery had told her she could help, that she was needed; therefore she -came. There was no thought of self in her. Her first visit to Julian -LeVallon after his behaviour in the Studio had no selfish motive in -it. Her self-confidence, however, went only to a certain point; in -the interview with Fillery she had easily controlled herself; she was -not so sure that her self-control would be adequate now. Though calm -outwardly, an inexpressible turmoil surged within. - -She remembered his strength, virility and admiration--as a woman; his -ingenuous, childlike innocence, an odd appealing helplessness in it -somewhere, touched the mother in her. That she divined this latter was, -perhaps, the secret of her power over men. Independent of all they had -to offer, she touched the highest in them by making them feel they had -need of the highest in herself. She obtained thus, without desiring -it, the influence that Lady Gleeson, her antithesis, lacked. They -called her Nayan the Impersonal. The impersonal in her, nevertheless, -that which had withstood the cunning onslaught of every type of male -successfully, had received a fundamental shock. Both her modesty and -dignity had been assailed, and in public. Others, women among them, had -witnessed her apparent yielding to LeVallon's violence and seen her -carried in his arms; they had noted her obvious willingness, had heard -her sympathetic cry. She knew quite well what the women thought--Lady -Gleeson had written a little note of sympathy--the men as well, and yet -she came at Fillery's call to visit, perhaps to help, the offender who -had caused it all. - -As she opened the door every nerve she possessed was tingling. The -mother in her yearned, but the woman in her sent the blood rushing from -her heart in pride, in resentment, in something of anger as well. How -had he dared to seize her in that awful way? The outrage and the love -both tore at her. Yet Nayan was not the kind to shirk self-revelation -when it came. She brought some hidden secret with her, although as yet -herself uncertain what that secret was. - -Fillery met her on the threshold with his sweet tact and sympathy -as usual. He had an authoritative and paternal air that helped and -comforted her, and, as she took his hand at once, the look she gave him -was more kind and tender than she knew. The last trace of self, at any -rate, went out of her as she felt his touch. - -"Here I am," she said; "you sent for me. I promised you." - -He replied in a low tone: "There's no need to refer to anything, of -course. Assume--I suggest--that he has forgotten all that happened, and -you--have forgotten too." - -He was aware of nothing but her eyes. The softness, the delicate -perfume, the perfect voice, even the fur and flowers--all were summed -up in her eyes alone. In those eyes he could have lost himself perhaps -for ever. - -He led her into the room, a certain abruptness in his manner. - -"I shall leave you alone," he whispered, using his professional voice. -"It is best that he should see you quite alone. I shall not be far -away, but you will find him perfectly quiet. He understands that you -are"--his tone changed upon the adjective--"sacred." - -"Sacred," she murmured to herself, repeating the word, "sacred." - -They smiled. And the door closed behind her. Across the room rose the -tall figure of the man she had come to see, dressed in dark blue, a low -white shirt open at the neck, a blue tie that matched the strong, clear -eyes, the wondrous hair crowning the whole like a flame. The slant of -wintry sunlight by chance just caught the great figure as it rose, -lightly, easily, as though it floated up out of the floor before her. - -And, as by magic, the last uncertainty in her disappeared; she -knew herself akin to this radiant shape of blue and gold; knew -also--mysteriously--in a way entirely beyond her to explain--knew why -Edward Fillery was dear to her. Was it that something in the three of -them pertained to a common origin? The conviction, half thought, half -feeling, rose in her as she looked into the blue eyes facing her and -took the outstretched hand. - -"You strange lost being! No one will understand you--here...." - -The words flashed through her mind of their own accord, instantly, -spontaneously, yet were almost forgotten the same second in the surge -of more commonplace feeling that rose after. Only the "here" proved -their origin not entirely forgotten. It was the selfless, mothering -instinct that now dominated, but the division in her being had, none -the less, been indicated as by a white piercing light that searched her -inmost nature. That added "here" laid bare, she felt, some part of her -which, with all other men, was clothed and covered away. - -Realized though dimly, this troubled her clear mind, as she took the -chair he offered, the conviction that she must tend and care for, -even love this strange youth, as though he were in exile and none but -herself could understand him. She heard the deep resonant voice in the -air in front of her: - -"I am not lost now," he said, with his radiant smile, and as if he -perceived her thought from the expression in her face. "I wished to -take you away--to take you back. I wish it still." - -He stood gazing down at her. The deep tones, the shining eyes, -the towering stature with its quiet strength--these, added to the -directness of the language, confused her for a moment. The words were -so entirely unexpected. Fillery had led her to suppose otherwise. Yet -before the blazing innocence in his face and manner, her composure at -once returned. She found no words at first. She smiled up into his -eyes, then pointed to a chair. Seated he would be more manageable, she -felt. His upright stature was so overpowering. - -"You had forgotten----" he went on, obeying her wish and sitting down, -"but I could not know that you had forgotten. I apologize"--the word -sounded oddly on his lips, as though learned recently--"for making you -suffer." - -"Forgotten!" - -A swift intuition, due to some as yet undecipherable kinship, told -her that the word bore no reference to the Studio scene. Some larger -meaning, scaled to an immenser map, came with it. An unrealized emotion -stirred faintly in her as she heard. Her first sight of him as a figure -of light returned. - -"But that is all forgiven now," she replied calmly in her firm, gentle -voice. "We need not speak of it. You understand now"--she ended -lamely--"that it is not possible----" - -He listened intently, gravely, as though with a certain effort, his -head bent forward to catch every syllable. And as he bent, peering, -listening, he might have been some other-worldly being staring down -through a window in the sky into the small confusions of earth's -affairs. - -"Yes," he said, the moment she stopped speaking, "I understand now. I -shall never make you suffer again. Only--I could not know that you had -forgotten--so completely." - -"Forgotten?" she again repeated in spite of herself, for the way he -uttered the word again stirred that nameless, deep emotion in her. -Their attitudes respectively were changing. She no longer felt that she -could "mother" this great figure before her. - -"Where we belong," he answered in his great quiet voice. "_There_," he -added, in a way that made it the counterpart of her own spontaneous and -intuitive "here." "It is so easy. I had forgotten too. But Fillery, -dear Fillery, helps me to remember, and the stars and flowers and -wind, these help me too. And then you--when I saw _you_ I suddenly -remembered more. I was so happy. I remembered what I had left to come -among men and women. I knew that Fillery and you belonged 'there' with -me. You, both, had come down for a little time, come down 'here,' but -had remained too long. You had become almost as men and women are. I -remembered everything when I saw your eyes. I was so happy in a moment, -as I looked at you, that I felt I must go back, go home. The central -fire called me, called us all three. I wanted to escape and take -you with me. I knew by your eyes that you were ready. You called to -Fillery. We were off." - -He paused a moment, while she listened in breathless silence. - -"Then, suddenly, you refused. You resisted. Something prevented. The -Messengers were there when suddenly"--an expression of yearning pain -clouded his great eyes a moment--"you forgot again. I forgot too, -forgot everything. The darkness came. It was cold. My enemy, the water, -caught me." - -He stopped, and passed his hands across his forehead, sighing, his eyes -fixed upon vacancy as with an intense effort to recover something. "And -I still forget," he went on, the yearning now transferred from the -eyes to the lowered voice. "I can remember nothing again. All, all is -gone from me." The light in his face actually grew dimmer as he slowly -uttered the words. He leaned back in his big arm-chair. Again, it -occurred to her, it was as if he drew back from that window in the sky. - -A curious hollow, empty of life, seemed to drop into the room between -them as his voice ceased. - -While he had been speaking, the girl watched and listened with intense -interest and curiosity. She remembered he was a "patient," yet no touch -of uneasiness or nervousness was in her. His strange words, meaningless -as they might seem, woke deep echoes of some dim buried recognition in -her. It amazed and troubled her. This young man, this sinner against -the conventions whom she had come to comfort and forgive, held the -reins already. What had happened, what was happening, and how did he -contrive it? She was aware of a clear, divining knowledge in him, a -power, a directness she could not fathom. He seemed to read her inside -out. It was more than uncanny; it was spiritual. It mastered her. - -During his speech he remained very still, without gesture, without -change of expression in his face; he made no movement; only his voice -deepened and grew rhythmical. And a power emanated from him she hardly -dared resist, much less deny. His voice, his words, reached depths in -her she scarcely knew herself. He was so strong, so humble, so simple, -yet so strangely peaceful. And--suddenly she realized it--so far -beyond her, yet akin. She became aware that the figure seated in the -chair, watching her, talking, was but a fraction of his whole self. He -was--the word occurred to her--immense. Was she, too, immense? - -More than troubled, she was profoundly stimulated. The mothering -instinct in her for the first time seemed to fail a little. The woman -in her trembled, not quite sure of itself. But, besides these two, -there was another part of her that listened and felt joy--a white, -radiant joy which, if she allowed, must become ecstasy. Whence came -this hint of unearthly rapture? Again there rose before her the two -significant words: "There" and "Here." - -"I do not quite understand," she replied, after a moment's pause, -looking into his eyes steadily, her voice firm, her young face very -sweet; "I do not fully understand, perhaps. But I sympathize." Then she -added suddenly, with a little smile: "But, at any rate, I did not come -to make you apologize--Julian. Please be sure of that. I came to see if -I might be of any use--if there was anything I might do to make----" - -His quick interruption transfixed her. - -"You came," he said in a distinct, low tone, "because you love me and -wish me to love you. But we do love already, you, dear Fillery, and -I--only our love is in that great Service where we all three belong. It -is not of this--it is not _here_----" making an impatient gesture with -his hand to indicate his general surroundings. - -He broke off instantly, noticing the expression in her face. - -She had realized suddenly, as he spoke, the blind fury of reproduction -that sweeps helpless men and women everywhere into union, then flings -them aside exhausted, useless, its purpose accomplished. Though herself -never yet caught by it, the vivid realization made her turn from life -with pity and revulsion. Yet--were these thoughts her own? Whence did -they come, if not? And what was this new blind thing straining in -her mind for utterance, bursting upwards like a flame, threatening -to split it asunder even in its efforts to escape? "What are these -words we use?" darted across her. "What do they mean? What is it we're -talking about _really_? I don't know quite. Yet it's real, yes, real -and true. Only it's beyond our words. It's something I know, but have -forgotten...." That was _his_ word again: "Forgotten"! While they used -words together, something in her went stumbling, groping, thrusting -towards a great shining revelation for which no words existed. And a -strange, deep anguish seized her suddenly. - -"Oh!" he cried, "I make you suffer again. The fire leaves you. You -are white. I--I will apologize"--he slipped on to his knees before -her--"but you do not understand. It was not your sacredness I spoke -of." Already on his knees before her, but level with her face owing -to his great stature, gazing into her eyes with an expression of deep -tenderness, humility, almost suffering, he added: "It was our other -love, I meant, our great happy service, the thing we have forgotten. -You came, I thought, to help me to remember _that_. The way home--I saw -you knew." The light streamed back into his face and eyes. - -The tumult and confusion in the girl were natural enough. Her -resourcefulness, however, did not fail her at this curious and awkward -moment. His words, his conduct were more than she could fathom, yet -behind both she divined a source of remote inspiration she had never -known before in any "man." The beauty and innocence on the face -arrested her faculties for a second. That nameless emotion stirred -again. A glimmer of some faint, distant light, whose origin she could -not guess, passed flickering across her inner tumult. Some faculty she -could not name, at any rate, blew suddenly to white heat in her. This -youth on his knees before her had spoken truth. Without knowing it even -herself, she had given him her love, a virgin love, a woman's love -hitherto unawakened in her by any other man, but a love not of this -earth quite--because of him who summoned it into sudden flower. - -Yet at the same time he denied the need of it! He spoke of some -marvellous great shining Service that was different from the love of -man and woman. - -This too, as some forgotten, lost ideal, she knew was also true. - -Her mind, her heart, her experience, her deepest womanly nature, these, -she realized in a glowing instant of extraordinary divination, were at -variance in her. She trembled; she knew not what to do or say or think. -And again, it came to her, that the visible shape before her was but -the insignificant fraction of a being whose true life spread actively -and unconfined through infinite space. - -She then did something that was prompted, though she did not know it -thus, by her singleness of heart, her purity of soul and body, her -unique and natural instinct to be of use, of service, to others--the -accumulated practice and effort of her entire life provided the action -along a natural line of least resistance: she bent down and put her arm -and hand round his great shoulder. She lowered her face. She kissed him -most tenderly, with a mother's love, a woman's secret passion perhaps, -but yet with something else as well she could not name--an unearthly -yearning for a greater Ideal than anything she had yet known on earth -among humanity.... It was the invisible she kissed. - -And LeVallon, she realized with immense relief, justified her action, -for he did not return the kiss. At the same time she had known quite -well it would be thus. That kiss trembled, echoed, in her own greater -unrealized self as well. - -"What is it," she whispered, a mysterious passion surging up in her as -she raised him to his feet, "that you remember and wish to recover--for -us all? Can you tell me? What is this great, happy, deathless service -that we have forgotten?" Her voice trembled a little. An immense sense -of joy, of liberty, shook out its sunlit wings. - -His expression, as he rose, was something between that of a child and a -faithful yearning animal, but of a "divine animal," though she did not -know the phrase. Its purity, its sweetness, its power--it was the power -she noticed chiefly--were superb. - -"I cannot tell, I cannot remember," his voice said softly, for all its -resonant, virile depth. "It is some state we all have come from--into -this. We are strangers here. This brain and intellect, this coarse, -thick feeling, this selfishness, this want of harmony and working -together--all this is new and strange to us. It is of blind and -clumsy children. This love of one single person for one other single -person--it is so pitiful. We three have come into this for a time, a -little time. It is pain and misery. It is prison. Each one works only -for himself. There is no joy. They know nothing of our great Service. -We cannot show them. Let us go back----" - -Another pause fell between them, another of those singular hollows she -had felt before. But this time the hollow was not empty. It was brimmed -with surging life. The gulf between her earthly state and another that -was nameless, a gulf usually unbridgeable, the fixed gulf, as an old -book has it, which may not be crossed without danger to the Race, for -whose protection it exists--this childhood simile occurred to her. And -a sense of awe stirred in her being. It was the realization that this -gulf or hollow now brimmed with life, that it could be crossed, that -she might step over into another place--the sense of awe rose thence, -yet came certainly neither from the woman nor the mother in her. - -"I am of another place," LeVallon went on, plucking the thought naked -from her inmost being. "For I am come here recently, and the purpose -of my coming is hidden from me, and memory is dark. But it is not -entirely dark. Sometimes I half remember. Stars, flowers, fire, wind, -women--here and there--bring light into the darkness. Oh," he cried -suddenly, "how wonderful they are--how wonderful you are--on that -account to me!" - -The voice held a strange, evoking power perhaps. A thousand yearnings -she had all her life suppressed because they interfered with her -duty--as she conceived it--here and now, fluttered like rising flames -within her as she listened. His voice now increased in volume and -rhythm, though still quiet and low-pitched; it was as if a great wind -poured behind it with tremendous vibrations, through it, lifting her -out of a limited, cramped, everyday self. A delicious warmth of happy -comfort, of acceptance, of enthusiasm glowed in her. And LeVallon's -face, she saw, had become radiant, almost as though it emanated light. -This light entered her being and brought joy again. - -"Joy!" he said, reading her thought and feeling. "Joy!" - -"Joy! Another place!" she heard herself repeating, her eyes now fixed -upon his own. - -She felt lighter, caught up and away a little, lifted above the solid -earth; as if it was heat that lightened, and wind that bore her -upwards. Everything in her became intensified. - -"Another state, another place"--her voice seemed to borrow something of -the rhythm in his own, though she did not notice it--"but not away from -earth, this beautiful earth?" With a happy smile she added, "I love the -dear kind earth, I love it." - -The light on his face increased: - -"The earth we love and serve," he said, "is beautiful, but here"--he -looked about him round the room, at the trees waving through the -window, at the misty sky above draping the pale light of the sun--"here -I am on the surface only. There is confusion and struggle. Everything -quarrels against everything else. It is discord and disorder. There is -no harmony. Here, on the surface, everything is separate. There is no -working together. It is all pain, each little part fighting for itself. -Here--I am outside--there is no joy." - -It was the phrase "I am outside" that flashed something more of his -meaning into her. His full meaning lay beyond actual words perhaps; -but this phrase fell like a shock into that inmost self which she had -deliberately put away. - -"_You are from inside_, yes," she exclaimed, marvelling afterwards that -she had said it; "within--nearer to the centre----!" - -And he took the abrupt interruption as though they both understood and -spoke of the same one thing together, having found a language born of -similar great yearnings and of forgotten knowledge, times, states, -conditions, places. - -"I come," he said, his voice, his bright smile alive with the pressure -of untold desire, "from another place that is--yes--inside, nearer to -the centre. I have forgotten almost everything. I remember only that -there was harmony, love, work and happiness all combined in the perfect -liberty of our great service. We served the earth. We helped the life -upon it. There was no end, no broken fragments, no failure." The voice -touched chanting. "There was no death." - -He rose suddenly and came over to her side, and instinctively the girl -stood up. What she felt and thought as she heard the strange language -he used, she hardly knew herself. She only knew in that moment an -immense desire to help her kind, an intensification of that great ideal -of impersonal service which had always been the keynote of her life. -This became vividly stimulated in her. It rose like a dominating, -overmastering passion. The sense of ineffectual impotence, of inability -to accomplish anything of value against the stolid odds life set -against her, the uselessness of her efforts with the majority, in a -word, seemed brushed away, as though greater powers of limitless extent -were now at last within her reach. This blazed in her like fire. It -shone in her big dark eyes that looked straight into his as they stood -facing one another. - -"And that service," he went on in his deep vibrating, half-singing -tone, "I see in dear Fillery and in you. I know my own kind. We three, -at least, belong. I know my own." The voice seemed to shake her like a -wind. - -At the last two words her soul leaped within her. It seemed quite -natural that his great arm should take her breast and shoulder and that -his lips should touch her cheek and hair. For there was worship in both -gestures. - -"Our greater service," she whispered, trembling, "tell me of that. What -is it?" His touch against her was like the breath of fire. - -Her womanly instincts, so-called, her maternal love, her feminine -impulses deserted her. She was aware solely at that moment of the -proximity of a being who called her to a higher, to, at any rate, a -different state, to something beyond the impoverished conditions of -humanity as she had hitherto experienced it, to something she had ever -yearned and longed for without knowing what it was. An extraordinary -sense of enormous liberty swept over her again. - -His voice broke and the rhythm failed. - -"I cannot tell you," he replied mournfully, the light fading a little -from his eyes and face. "I have forgotten. That other place is hidden -from me. I am in exile," he added slowly, "but with you and--Fillery." -His blue eyes filled with moisture; the expression of troubled -loneliness was one she had never seen before on any human face. "I -suffer," he added gently. "We all suffer." - -And, at the sight of it, the yearning to help, to comfort, to fulfil -her role as mother, returned confusingly, and rose in her like a tide. -He was so big and strong and splendid. He was so helpless. It was, -perhaps, the innocence in the great blue eyes that conquered her--for -the first time in her life. - -But behind, beside the mother in her, stirred also the natural woman. -And beyond this again, rose the accumulated power of the entire Race. -The instinct of all the women of the planet since the world began drove -at her. Not easily may an individual escape the deep slavery of the -herd. - -The young girl wavered and hesitated. Caught by so many emotions that -whirled her as in a vortex, the direction of the resultant impetus hung -doubtful for some time. During the half hour's talk, she had entered -deeper water than she had ever dared or known before. Life hitherto, -so far as men were concerned, had been a simple and an easy thing that -she had mastered without difficulty. Her real self lay still unscarred -within her. Freely she had given the mothering care and sympathy that -were so strong in her, the more freely because the men who asked of her -were children, one and all, children who needed her, but from whom she -asked nothing in return. If they fell in love, as they usually did, she -knew exactly how to lift their emotion in a way that saved them pain -while it left herself untouched. None reached her real being, which -thus remained unscathed, for none offered the lifting glory that she -craved. - -Here, for the first time facing her, stood a being of another type; and -that unscathed self in her went trembling at the knowledge. Here was -a power she could not play with, could not dominate, but a power that -could play with her as easily as the hurricane with the flying leaf. It -was not his words, his strange beauty, his great strength that mastered -her, though these brought their contribution doubtless. The power she -felt emanated unconsciously from him, and was used unconsciously. It -was all about him. She realized herself a child before him, and this -realization sweetened, though it confused her being. He so easily -touched depths in her she had hardly recognized herself. He could so -easily lift her to terrific heights.... Various sides of her became -dominant in turn.... - -The inmost tumult of a good woman's heart is not given to men to read, -perhaps, but the final impetus resulting from the whirlpool tossed her -at length in a very definite direction. She found her feet again. The -determining factor that decided the issue of the struggle was a small -and very human one. He appealed to the woman in her, yet what stirred -the woman was the vital and afflicting factor that--he did not need her. - -He wished to help, to lift her towards some impersonal ideal that -remained his secret. He wished to _give_--he could give--while she, for -her part, had nothing that he needed. Indeed, he asked for nothing. He -was as independent of her as she was independent of these other men. - -And the woman, now faced for the first time with this entirely new -situation, decided automatically--that he should learn to need her. He -must. Though she had nothing that he wanted from her, she must on that -very account give all. The sacrifice which stands ready for the fire -in every true feminine heart was lighted there and then. She had found -her master and her god. Half measures were not possible to her. She -stood naked at the altar. But in her sacrifice he, too, the priest, the -deity, the master, he also should find love. - -Such is the woman's power, however, to conceal from herself the truth, -that she did not recognize at first what this decision was. She -disguised it from her own heart, yet quite honestly. She loved him and -gave him all she had to give for ever and ever: even though he did -not ask nor need her love. This she grasped. Her role must be one of -selfless sacrifice. But the deliberate purpose behind her real decision -she disguised from herself with complete success. It lay there none the -less, strong, vital, very simple. She would teach him love. - -Alone of all men, Edward Fillery could have drawn up this motive from -its inmost hiding place in her deep subconscious being, and have made -it clear to her. Dr. Fillery, had he been present, would have discerned -it in her, as, indeed, he did discern it later. He had, for that -matter, already felt its prophecy with a sinking heart when he planned -bringing them together: Iraida might suffer at LeVallon's hands. - -But Fillery, apparently, was not present, and Nayan Khilkoff remained -unaware of self-deception. LeVallon "needs your care and sympathy; you -can help him," she remembered. This she believed, and Love did the rest. - -So intricate, so complex were the emotions in her that she realized -one thing only--she must give all without thought of self. "When -half gods go the gods arrive" sang in her heart. She was a woman, -one of a mighty and innumerable multitude, and collective instinct -urged her irresistibly. But it hid at the same time with lovely -care the imperishable desire and intention that the arriving god -should--_must_--love her in return. - -The youth stood facing her while this tumult surged within her heart -and mind. Outwardly calm, she still gazed into the clear blue eyes that -shone with moisture as he repeated, half to himself and half to her: - -"We are in exile here; we suffer. We have forgotten." - -His hands were stretched towards her, and she took them in her own and -held them a moment. - -"But you and I," he went on, "you and I and Fillery--shall remember -again--soon. We shall know why we are here. We shall do our happy work -together here. We shall then return--escape." - -His deep tones filled the air. At the sound of the other name a breath -of sadness, of disappointment, touched her coldly. The familiar name -had faded. It was, as always, dear. But its potency had dimmed.... - -The sun was down and a soft dusk covered all. A faint wind rustled in -the garden trees through the open window. - -"Fillery," she murmured, "Edward Fillery!---- He loved me. He has loved -me always." - -The little words--they sounded little for the first time--she uttered -almost in a whisper that went lost against the figure of LeVallon -towering above her through the twilight. - -"We are together," his great voice caught her whisper in the immense -vibration, drowning it. "The love of our happy impersonal service -brings us all together. We have forgotten, but we shall remember soon." - -It seemed to her that he shone now in the dusky air. Light came about -his face and shoulders. An immense vitality poured into her through his -hands. The sense of strange kinship was overpowering. She felt, though -not in terms of size or physical strength, a pigmy before him, while -yet another thing rose in gigantic and limitless glory as from some -inner heart he quickened in her. This sense of exaltation, of delirious -joy that tempted sweetly, came upon her. He _must_ love her, need her -in the end.... - -"Julian," she murmured softly, drawn irresistibly closer. "The gods -have brought you to me." Her feet went nearer of their own accord, but -there was no movement, no answering pressure, in the hands she held. -"You shall never know loneliness again, never while I am here. The -gods--your gods--have brought us together." - -"_Our_ gods," she heard his answer, "are the same." The words -trembled against her actual breast, so close she was now leaning -against him. "Even if lost, it is they who sent us here. I know their -messengers----" - -He broke off, standing back from her, dropping her hands, or, rather, -drawing his own away. - -"Hark!" he cried. The voice deep and full, yet without loudness, -thrilled her. She watched him with terror and amazement, as he turned -to the open window, throwing his arms out suddenly to the darkening -sky against which the trees loomed still and shapeless. His figure was -wrapped in a faint radiance as of silvery moonlight. She was aware of -heat about her, a comforting, inspiring warmth that pervaded her whole -being, as from within. The same moment the bulk of the big tree shook -and trembled, and a steady wind came pouring into the room. It seemed -to her the wind, the heat, poured through that tree. - -And the inner heart in her grew clear an instant. This wind, this heat, -increased her being marvellously. The exaltation in her swept out and -free. She saw him, dropped from alien skies upon the little teeming -earth. The sense of his remoteness from the life about them, of her own -remoteness too, flashed over her like wind and fire. An immense ideal -blazed, then vanished. It flamed beyond her grasp. It beckoned with -imperishable loveliness, then faded instantly. Wind caught it up once -more. With the fire an overpowering joy rose in her. - -"Julian!" she cried aloud. "Son of Wind and Fire!" - -At the words, which had come to her instinctively, he turned with -a sudden gesture she could not quite interpret, while there broke -upon his face a smile, strange and lovely, that caught up the effect -of light about him and seemed to focus in his brilliant eyes. His -happiness was beyond all question, his admiration, wonder too; yet the -quality she chiefly looked and expected--was _not_ there. - -She chilled. The joy, she was acutely conscious, was not a personal joy. - -"You," he said gently, happily, emphasizing the word, "you are not -pitiful," and the rustle of the shaking trees outside the window merged -their voice in his and carried it outward into space. It was as if the -wind itself had spoken. Across the garden dusk there shot a sudden -effect of light, as though a flame had flickered somewhere in the sky, -then passed back into the growing night. There was a scent of flowers -in the air. "You," he cried, with an exultation that carried her again -beyond herself. "You are not pitiful." - -"Julian----!" she stammered, longing for his arms. She half drew away. -The blood flowed down and back in her. "Not pitiful!" she repeated -faintly. - -For it was to her suddenly as if that sighing wind that entered the -room from the outer sky had borne him away from her. That wind was a -messenger. It came from that distant state, that other region where -he belonged, a state, a region compared to which the beings of earth -were trumpery and tinsel-dressed. It came to remind him of his home -and origin. The little earth, the myriad confused figures struggling -together on its surface, he saw as "pitiful." From that window in the -sky whence he looked down he watched them...! - -She knew the feeling in him, knew it, because some part of her, though -faint and deeply hidden, was akin. Yet she was not wholly "pitiful." -He had discerned in her this faint, hidden strain of vaster life, had -stirred and strengthened it by his words, his presence. Yet it was not -vital enough in her to stand alone. When wind and fire, his elements, -breathed forth from it, she was afraid. - -"You are not pitiful," he had said, yet pitiful, for all that, she -knew herself to be. On that breath of sighing wind he swept away from -her, far, far away where, as yet, she could not follow. And her dream -of personal love swept with it. Some ineffable hint of a divine, -impersonal glory she had known went with him from her heart. The -personal was too strong in her. It was human love she desired both to -give and ask. - -Unspoken words flared through her heart and being: "Julian, you have -no soul, no human soul. But I will give you one, for I will teach you -love----" - -He turned upon her like a hurricane of windy fire. - -"Soul!" he cried, catching the word out of her naked heart. "Oh, be not -caught with that pitiful delusion. It is this idea of soul that binds -you hopelessly to selfish ends and broken purposes. This thing you call -soul is but the dream of human vanity and egoism. It is worse than -love. Both bind you endlessly to limited desires and blind ambitions. -They are of children." - -He rose, like some pillar of whirling flame and wind, beside her. - -"Come out with me," he cried, "come back! You teach me to remember! -Our elemental home calls sweetly to us, our elemental service waits. -We belong to those vast Powers. They are eternal. They know no binding -and they have no death. Their only law is service, that mighty service -which builds up the universe. The stars are with us, the nebulae and -the central fires are their throne and altar. The soul you dream of in -your little circle is but an idle dream of the Race that ties your feet -lest you should fly and soar. The personal has bandaged all your eyes. -Nayan, come back with me. You once worked with me there--you, I and -Fillery together." - -His voice, though low, had that which was terrific in it. The volume of -its sound appalled her. Its low vibrations shook her heart. - -"Soul," she said very softly, courage sure in her, but tears close in -her burning eyes, "is my only hope. I live for it. I am ready to die -for it. It is my life!" - -He gazed at her a moment with a tenderness and sympathy she hardly -understood, for their origin lay hidden beyond her comprehension. She -knew one thing only--that he looked adorable and glorious, a being -brought by the wise powers of life, whatever these might be, into the -keeping of her love and care. The mother and the woman merged in her. -His redemption lay within her gentle hands, if it lay at the same time -upon an altar that was her awful sacrifice. - -"Son of wind and fire!" she cried, though emotion made her voice -dwindle to a breathless whisper. "You called to my love, yet my love is -personal. I have nothing else to give you. Julian, come back! O stay -with me. Your wind and fire frighten, for they take you away. Service -I know, but your service--O what is it? For it leaves the bed, the -hearthstone cold----" - -She stopped abruptly, wondering suddenly at her own words. What was -this rhythm that had caught her mind and heart into an unknown, a -daring form of speech? - -But the wind ran again through the open window fluttering the curtains -and the skirts about her feet. It sighed and whispered. It was no -earthly wind. She saw him once again go from her on its quiet wings. -He left her side, he left her heart. And an icy realization of _his_ -loneliness, his exile, stirred in her.... For a moment, as she looked -up into his shining face silhouetted in the dusk against the window, -there rose tumultuously in her that maternal feeling which had held all -men safely at a distance hitherto. Like a wave, it mastered her. She -longed to take him in her arms, to shield him from a world that was not -his, to bless and comfort him with all she had to give, to have the -right to brush that wondrous hair, to open those lids at dawn and close -them with a kiss at night. This ancient passion rose in her, bringing, -though she did not recognize it, the great woman in its train. She -walked up to him with both hands outstretched: - -"All my nights," she said, with no reddening of the cheek, "are as our -wedding night!" - -He heard, he saw, but the words held no meaning for him. - -"Julian! Stay with me--stay here!" She put her arms about him. - -"And forget----!" he cried, an inexpressible longing in his voice. He -bent, none the less, beneath the pressure of her clinging arms; he -lowered his face to hers. - -"I will teach you love," she murmured, her cheek against his own. "You -do not know how sweet, how wonderful it is. All your strange wisdom -you shall show me, and I will learn willingly, if only I may teach -you--love." - -"You would teach me to forget," he said in a voice of curious pain, -"just as you--are forgetting now." - -He gently unclasped her hands from about his neck, and went over to the -open window, while she sank into a chair, watching him. She again heard -the wind, but again no common, earthly wind, go singing past the walls. - -"But _I_ will teach you to remember," he said, his great figure half -turning towards her again, his voice sounding as though it were in that -sighing breath of wind that passed and died away into the silence of -the sky. - -The strange difficulty, the immensity, of her self-appointed task, grew -suddenly crystal clear in her mind. Amid the whirling, aching pain -and yearning that she felt it stood forth sharp and definite. It was -imperious. She loved, and she must teach _him_ love. This was the one -thing needful in his case. Her own deep, selfless heart would guide her. - -There was pain in her, but there was no fear. Above the conventions she -felt herself, naked and unashamed. The sense of a new immense liberty -he had brought lifted her into a region where she could be natural -without offence. He had flung wide the gates of life, setting free -those strange, ultimate powers which had lain hidden and unrealized -hitherto, and with them was quickened, too, that mysterious and awful -hint which, beckoning ever towards some vaster life, had made the world -as she found it unsatisfactory, pale, of meagre value. - -As the strange drift of wind passed off into the sky, she moved across -the room and stood beside him, its dying chant still humming in her -ears. That song of the wind, she understood, was symbolic of what she -had to fight, for his being, though linked to a divine service she -could not understand, lay in Nature and apart from human things: - -"Think, Julian," she murmured, her face against his shoulder so -that the sweet perfume as of flowers he exhaled came over her -intoxicatingly, "think what we could do together for the world--for all -these little striving ignorant troubled people in it--for everybody! -You and I together working, helping, lifting them all up----!" - -He made no movement, and she took his great arm and drew it round her -neck, placing the hand against her cheek. He looked down at her then, -his eyes peering into her face. - -"That," he said in a deep, gentle voice that vibrated through her -whole body, "yes, that we will do. It is the service--the service of -our gods. It is why I called you. From the first I saw it in you, and -in----" - -Before he could speak the name she kissed his lips, pulling his head -lower in order to reach them: "Think, Julian," she whispered, his eyes -so close to hers that they seemed to burn them, "think what our child -might be!" - -The wind came back across the tossing trees with a rush of singing. Her -hair fluttered across their two faces, as it entered the room, drove -round the inner walls, then, with a cry, flew out again into the empty -sky. She felt as if the wind had answered her, for other answer there -came none. Far away in the spaces of that darkening sky the wind rushed -sailing, sailing with its impersonal song of power and of triumph.... -She did not remember any further spoken words. She remembered only, as -she went homewards down the street, that Julian had opened the door -upon some unspoken understanding that she had lost him because she -dared not follow recklessly where he led, and that the steady draught, -it seemed, had driven forcibly behind her--as though the wind had blown -her out. - -It was only much later she realized that the figure who had then -overtaken her, supported, comforted with kind ordinary words she hardly -understood at the moment and yet vaguely welcomed, finally leaving her -at the door of her father's house in Chelsea, was the figure of Edward -Fillery. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - -As upon a former occasion some twenty-four hours before, "N. H." seemed -hardly aware that his visitor had left, though this time there was -the vital difference--that what was of value had not gone at all. The -essence of the girl, it seemed, was still with him. It remained. The -physical presence was to him apparently the least of all. - -He returned to his place at the open window of the darkening room, -while night, with her cooler airs, passed over the world on tiptoe. -He drew deep breaths, opened his arms, and seemed to shake himself, -as though glad to be free of recent little awkward and unnatural -gestures that had irked him. There was happiness in his face. "She is -a builder, though she has forgotten," ran his thought with pleasure, -"and I can work with her. Like Fillery, she builds up, constructs; we -are all three in the same service, and the gods are glad. I love her -... yes ... but she"--his thoughts grew troubled and confused--"she -speaks of another love that is a tight and binding little thing ... -that catches and confines. It is for one person only ... one person for -one other.... For two ... only for two persons!... What is its meaning -then?" - -Of her words and acts he had understood evidently a small part only; -much that she had said and done he had not comprehended, although in it -somewhere there had certainly lain a sweet, faint, troubling pleasure -that was new to him. - -His thought wavered, flickered out and vanished. For a long time he -leaned against the window with his images, thinking with his heart, -for when alone and not stirred by the thinking of others close to -him, he became of a curious childlike innocence, knowing nothing. His -"thinking" with others present seemed but a reflection of _their_ -thinking. The way he caught up the racial thinking, appearing swiftly -intelligent at the time (as with Fillery's mind), passed the instant -he was alone. He became open, then, to bigger rhythms that the little -busy thinkers checked and interrupted. But this greater flow of images, -of rhythms, this thinking with the heart--what was it, and with what -things did it deal? He did not know. He had forgotten. To his present -brain it was alien. He grasped only that it was concerned with the -rhythms of fire and wind apparently, though hardly, perhaps, of that -crude form in which men know them, but of an inner, subtler, more -vital heat and air which lie in and behind all forms and help to shape -them--and of Intelligences which use these as their vehicles, their -instruments, their bodies. - -In his "images" he was aware of these Intelligences, perceived them -with his entire being, shared their activities and nature: behind all -so-called forms and shapes, whether of people, flowers, minerals, -of insects or of stars, of a bird, a butterfly or a nebula, but -also of those _mental_ shapes which are born of thought and mood -and heart--this host of Intelligences, great and small, all delving -together, building, constructing, involved in a vast impersonal service -which was deathless. This seemed the mighty call that thundered through -him, fire and wind merely the agencies with which he, in particular, -knew instinctively his duties lay. - -For his work, these images taught him, was to increase life by making -the "body" it used as perfect as he could. The more perfect the form, -the instrument, the greater the power manifesting through it. A poor, -imperfect form stopped the flow of this manifesting life, as though -a current were held up and delayed. For instance, his own form, his -present body, now irked, delayed and hampered him, although he knew -not how or why or whence he had come to be using it at this moment on -the earth. The instinctive desire to escape from it lay in him, and -also the instinctive recognition that two others, similarly caught and -imprisoned, must escape with him.... - -The images, the rhythms, poured through him in a mighty flood, as he -leaned by the open window, his great figure, his whole nature too, -merging in the space, the wind, the darkness of the soft-moving night -beyond.... Yet darkness troubled him too; it always seemed unfamiliar, -new, something he had never been accustomed to. In darkness he became -quiet, very gentle, feeling his way, as it were, uneasily. - -He was aware, however, that Fillery was near, though not, perhaps, -that he was actually in the room, seated somewhere among the shadows, -watching him. He felt him close in the same way he felt the girl still -close, whether distance between them in space was actually great -or small. The essential in all three was similar, their yearnings, -hopes, intentions, purposes were akin; their longing for some service, -immense, satisfying, it seemed, connected them. The voice, however, did -not startle when it sounded behind him from an apparently empty room: - -"The love she spoke of you do not understand, of course. Perhaps you do -not need it...." - -The voice, as well as the feeling that lay behind, hardly disturbed -the images and rhythms in their wondrous flow. Rather, they seemed a -part of them. "N. H." turned. He saw Dr. Fillery distinctly, sitting -motionless among the shadows by the wall. - -"It is, for you, a new relationship, and seems small, cramping and -unnecessary----" - -"What is it?" "N. H." asked. "What is this love she seeks to hold me -with, saying that I need it? Dear Fillery," he added, moving nearer, -"will you tell me what it is? I found it sweet and pleasant, yet I fear -it." - -"It is," was the reply, "in its best form, the highest quality _we_ -know----" - -"Ah! I felt the fire in it," interrupted "N. H." smiling. "I smelt the -flowers." His smile seemed faintly luminous across the gloom. - -"Because it was the best," replied the other gently. "In its best -form it means, sometimes, the complete sacrifice of one being for the -welfare of another. There is no self in it at all." He felt the eyes of -his companion fixed upon him in the darkness of the quiet room; he felt -likewise that he was bewildered and perplexed. "As, for instance, the -mother for her child," he went on. "That is the purest form of it we -know." - -"One being feels it for _one_ other only," "N. H." repeated apparently -ignoring the reference to maternal love. "Each wants the other for -himself _alone_! Each lives for the other only, the rest excluded! It -is always two and two. Is that what she means?" - -"She would not like it if you had the same feeling for another--woman," -Fillery explained. "She would feel jealousy--which means she would -grudge sharing you with another. She would resent it, afraid of losing -you." - -"Two and two, and two and two," the words floated through the shadows. -The ideal seemed to shock and hurt him; he could not understand it. -"She asks for the whole of me--all to herself. It is lower than -insects, flowers even. It is against Nature. So small, so separate----" - -"But Nature," interrupted Dr. Fillery, after an interval of silence -between them, "is not concerned with what we call love. She is -indifferent to it. Her purpose is merely the continuance of the Race, -and she accomplishes this by making men and women attractive to one -another. This, too," he explained, "we call love, though it is love in -its weakest, least enduring form." - -"That," replied "N. H.," "I know and understand. She builds the best -form she can." - -"And once the form is built," agreed the other, "and Nature's aim -fulfilled, this kind of love usually fades out and dies. It is a -physical thing entirely, like the two atoms we read about together a -few days ago which rush together automatically to produce a third -thing." He lowered his voice suddenly. "There was a great teacher -once," he went on, "who told us that we should love everybody, -everybody, and that in the real life there was no marriage, as we call -it, nor giving in marriage." - -It seemed that, as he said the words, the darkness lifted, and a faint -perfume of flowers floated through the air. - -"N. H." made no comment or reply. He sat still, listening. - -"I love her," he whispered suddenly. "I love her in _that_ way--because -I want everybody else to love her too--as I do, and as you do. But I do -not want her for myself alone. Do you? You do not, of course. I feel -you are as I am. You are happy that I love her." - -"There is morality," said Fillery presently in a low voice, glad at -that moment of the darkness. "There is what we call morality." - -"Tell me, dear Fillery, what that is. Is it bigger than your 'love'?" - -Dr. Fillery explained briefly, while his companion listened intently, -making no comment. It was evidently as strange and new to him as -human love. "We have invented it," he added at the end, "to protect -ourselves, our mothers, our families, our children. It is, you see, -a set of rules devised for the welfare of the Race. For though a few -among us do not need such rules, the majority do. It is, in a word, the -acknowledgment of the rights of others." - -"It had to be invented!" exclaimed "N. H.," with a sigh that seemed to -trouble the darkness as with the sadness of something he could scarcely -believe. "And these rules are needed still! Is the Race at that stage -only? It does not move, then?" - -Into the atmosphere, as the low-spoken words were audible, stole -again that mysterious sense of the insignificance of earth and all -its manifold activities, human and otherwise, and with it, too, a -remarkable breath of some larger reality, starry-bright, that lay -shining just beyond all known horizons. Fillery shivered in spite of -himself. It seemed to him for an instant that the great figure looming -opposite through the darkness extended, spread, gathering into its -increased proportions the sky, the trees, the darkened space outside; -that it no longer sat there quite alone. He recalled his colleague's -startling admission--the touch of panic terror. - -"Slowly, if at all," he said louder, though wondering why he raised his -voice. "Yet there is _some_ progress." - -He had the feeling it would be better to turn on the light, as though -this conversation and the strange sensations it produced in him would -be impossible in a full blaze. He made a movement, indeed, to find the -switch. It was the sound of his companion's voice that made him pause, -for the words came at him as though a wave of heat moved through the -air. He knew intuitively that the other's intense inner activity had -increased. He let his hand drop. He listened. Their thoughts, he was -convinced, had mingled and been mutually shared again. There was a -faint sound like music behind it. - -"We have worked such a little time as yet," fell the words into the -silence. "If only--oh! if only I could remember more!" - -"A little time!" thought Fillery to himself, knowing that the other -meant the millions of years Nature had used to evoke her myriad forms. -"Try to remember," he added in a whisper. - -"What I do remember, I cannot even tell," was the reply, the voice -strangely deepening. "No words come to me." He paused a moment, then -went on: "I am of the first, the oldest. I know that. The earth was hot -and burning--burning, burning still. It was soft with heat when I was -summoned from--from other work just completed. With a vast host I came. -Our Service summoned us. We began at the beginning. I am of the oldest. -The earth was still hot--burning, burning----" - -The voice failed suddenly. - -"I cannot remember. Dear Fillery, I cannot remember. It hurts me. My -head pains. Our work--our service--yes, there _is_ progress. The ages, -as you call them--but it is such a little time as yet----" The voice -trailed off, the figure lost its suggestion of sudden vastness, the -darkness emptied. "I am of the oldest--_that_ I remember only...." It -ceased as though it drifted out upon the passing wind outside. - -"Then you have been working," said Fillery, his voice still almost -a whisper, "you and your great host, for thousands of years--in the -service of this planet----" He broke off, unable to find his words, it -seemed. - -"Since the beginning," came the steady answer. "Years I do not know. -Since the beginning. Yet we have only just begun--oh!" he cried, "I -cannot remember! It is impossible! It all goes lost among my words, -and in this darkness I am confused and entangled with your own little -thinking. I suffer with it." Then suddenly: "My eyes are hot and wet, -dear Fillery. What happens to them?" He stood up, putting both hands to -his face. Fillery stood up too. He trembled. - -"Don't try," he said soothingly; "do not try to remember any more. It -will come back to you soon, but it won't come back by any deliberate -effort." - -He comforted him as best he could, realizing that the curious dialogue -had lasted long enough. But he did not produce a disconcerting blaze -by turning the light on suddenly; he led his companion gently to the -door, so that the darkness might pass more gradually. The lights in the -corridor were shaded and inoffensive. It was only in the bedroom that -he noticed the bright tears, as "N. H.," examining them with curious -interest in the mirror, exclaimed more to himself than to Fillery: "She -had them too. I saw them in her eyes when she spoke to me of love, the -love she will teach me because she said I needed it." - -"Tears," said Fillery, his voice shaking. "They come from feeling pain." - -"It is a little thing," returned "N. H.," smiling at himself, then -turning to his friend, his great blue eyes shining wonderfully through -their moisture. "Then she felt what I felt--we felt together. When she -comes to-morrow I will show her these tears and she will be glad I -love. And she will bring tears of her own, and you will have some too, -and we shall all love together. It is not difficult, is it?" - -"Not very," agreed Fillery, smiling in his turn; "it is not very -difficult." He was again trembling. - -"She will be happy that we all love." - -"I--hope so." - - * * * * * - -It was curious how easily tears came to the eyes of this strange being, -and for causes so different that they were not easy to explain. He did -not cry; it was merely that the hot tears welled up. - -Even with Devonham once it happened too. The lesson in natural history -was over. Devonham had just sketched the outline of the various -kingdoms, with the animal kingdom and man's position in it, according -to present evolutionary knowledge, and had then said something about -the earth's place in the solar system, and the probable relation of -this system to the universe at large--an admirable bird's-eye view, as -it were, without a hint of speculative imagination in it anywhere--when -"N. H.," after intent listening in irresponsive silence, asked abruptly: - -"What does it believe?" Then, as Devonham stared at him, a little -puzzled at first, he repeated: "That is what the Race _knows_. But what -does it _believe_?" - -"Believe," said Devonham, "believe. Ah! you mean what is its religion, -its faith, its speculations!"--and proceeded to give the briefest -possible answer he felt consistent with his duty. The less his pupil's -mind was troubled with such matters, the better, in his opinion. - -"And their God?" the young man inquired abruptly, as soon as the -recital was over. He had listened closely, as he always did, but -without a sign of interest, merely waiting for the end, much as a child -who is bored by a poor fairy tale, yet wishes to know exactly how it -is all going to finish. "They _know_ Him?" He leaned forward. - -Devonham, not quite liking the form of the question, nor the more eager -manner accompanying it, hesitated a moment, thinking perhaps what he -ought to say. He did not want this mind, now opening, to be filled -with ideas that could be of no use to it, nor help in its formation; -least of all did he desire it to be choked and troubled with the dead -theology of man-made notions concerning a tumbling personal Deity. -Creeds, moreover, were a matter of faith, of auto-suggestion as he -called it, being obviously divorced from any process of reason. He -had, nevertheless, a question to answer and a duty to perform. His -hesitation passed in compromise. He was, as has been seen, too sincere, -too honest, to possess much sense of humour. - -"The Race," he said, "or rather that portion of it into which you have -been born, believes--on paper"--he emphasized the qualification--"in -a paternal god; but its real god, the god it worships, is Knowledge. -Not a Knowledge that exists for its own sake," he went on blandly, -"but that brings possessions, power, comfort and a million needless -accessories into life. That god it worships, as you see, with energy -and zeal. Knowledge and work that shall result in acquisition, in -pleasure, that is the god of the Race on this side of the planet where -you find yourself." - -"And the God on paper?" asked "N. H.," making no comment, though he had -listened attentively and had understood. "The God that is written about -on paper, and believed in on paper?" - -"The printed account of this god," replied Devonham, "describes an -omnipotent and perfect Being who has existed always. He created the -planet and everything upon it, but created it so imperfectly that he -had to send later a smaller god to show how much better he _might_ -have created us. In doing this, he offered us an extremely difficult -and laborious method of improvement, a method of escaping from his own -mistake, but a method so painful and unrealizable that it is contrary -to our very natures--as he made them first." He almost smacked his lips -as he said it. - -"The big God, the first one," asked "N. H." at once. "Have they seen -and known Him? Have they complained?" - -"No," said Devonham, "they have not. Those who believe in him accept -things as he made them." - -"And the smaller lesser God--how did He arrive?" came the odd question. - -"He was born like you and me, but without a father. No male had his -mother ever known." - -"He was recognized as a god?" The pupil showed interest, but no -emotion, much less excitement. - -"By a few. The rest, afraid because he told them their possessions were -worthless, killed him quickly." - -"And the few?" - -"They obeyed his teaching, or tried to, and believed that they would -live afterwards for ever and ever in happiness----" - -"And the others? The many?" - -"The others, according to the few, would live afterwards for ever and -ever--in pain." - -"It is a demon story," said "N. H.," smiling. - -"It is printed, believed, taught," replied Devonham, "by an immense -organization to millions of people----" - -"Free?" inquired his pupil. - -"The teachers are paid, but very little----" - -"The teachers believe it, though?" - -"Y-yes--at least some of them--probably," replied Devonham, after brief -consideration. - -"And the millions--do they worship this God?" - -"They do, on paper, yes. They worship the first big God. They go once -or twice a week into special buildings, dressed in their best clothes -as for a party, and pray and sing and tell him he is wonderful and they -themselves are miserable and worthless, and then ask him in abject -humility for all sorts of things they want." - -"Do they get them?" - -"They ask for different things, you see. One wants fine weather for his -holidays, another wants rain for his crops. The prayers in which they -ask are printed by the Government." - -"They ask for this planet only?" - -"This planet conceives itself alone inhabited. There are no other -living beings anywhere. The Earth is the centre of the universe, the -only globe worth consideration." - -Although "N. H." asked these quick questions, his interest was -obviously not much engaged, the first sharp attention having passed. -Then he looked fixedly at Devonham and said, with a sudden curious -smile: "What you say is always dead. I understand the sounds you use, -but the meaning cannot get into me--inside, I mean. But I thank you for -the sound." - -There was a moment's pause, during which Devonham, accustomed to -strange remarks and comments from his pupil, betrayed no sign of -annoyance or displeasure. He waited to see if any further questions -would be forthcoming. He was observing a phenomenon; his attitude was -scientific. - -"But, in sending this lesser God," resumed "N. H." presently, "how did -the big One excuse himself?" - -"He didn't. He told the Race it was so worthless that nothing else -could save it. He looked on while the lesser God was killed. He is very -proud about it, and claims the thanks and worship of the Race because -of it." - -"The lesser God--poor lesser God!" observed "N. H." "He was bigger than -the other." He thought a moment. "How pitiful," he added. - -"Much bigger," agreed Devonham, pleased with his pupil's acumen, his -voice, even his manner, changing a little as he continued. "For then -came the wonder of it all. The lesser God's teachings were so new and -beautiful that the position of the other became untenable. The Race -disowned him. It worshipped the lesser one in his place." - -"Tell me, tell me, please," said "N. H.," as though he noticed and -understood the change of tone at once. "I listen. The dear Fillery -spoke to me of a great Teacher. I feel a kind, deep joy move in me. -Tell me, please." - -Again Devonham hesitated a moment, for he recognized signs that made -him ill at ease a little, because he did not understand them. Following -a scientific textbook with his pupil was well and good, but he had -no desire to trespass on what he considered as Fillery's territory. -"N. H." was his pupil, not his patient. He had already gone too far, -he realized. After a moment's reflection, however, he decided it was -wiser to let the talk run out its natural course, instead of ending it -abruptly. He was as thorough as he was sincere, and whatever his own -theories and prejudices might be in this particular case, he would not -shirk an issue, nor treat it with the smallest dishonesty. He put the -glasses straight on his big nose. - -"The new teachings," he said, "were so beautiful that, if faithfully -practised by everybody, the world would soon become a very different -place to what it is." - -"Did the Race practise them?" came the question in a voice that held a -note of softness, almost of wonder. - -"No." - -"Why not?" - -"They were too difficult and painful and uncomfortable. The new God, -moreover, only came here 2,000 years ago, whereas men have existed on -earth for at least 400,000." - -"N. H." asked abruptly what the teachings were, and Devonham, growing -more and more uneasy as he noted the signs of increasing intensity -and disturbance in his pupil, recited, if somewhat imperfectly, the -main points of the Sermon on the Mount. As he did so "N. H." began -to murmur quietly to himself, his eyes grew large and bright, his -face lit up, his whole body trembled. He began that deep, rhythmical -breathing which seemed to affect the atmosphere about him so that his -physical appearance increased and spread. The skin took on something of -radiance, as though an intense inner happiness shone through it. Then, -suddenly, to Devonham's horror, he began to hum. - -Though a normal, ordinary sound enough, it reminded him of that other -sound he had once shared with Fillery, when he sat on the stairs, -staring at a china bowl filled with visiting cards, while the dawn -broke after a night of exhaustion and bewilderment. That sound, -of course, he had long since explained and argued away--it was an -auditory hallucination conveyed to his mind by LeVallon, who originated -it. Interesting and curious, it was far from inexplicable. It was -disquieting, however, for it touched in him a vague sense of alarm, as -though it paved the way for that odd panic terror he had been amazed to -discover hidden away deeply in some unrealized corner of his being. - -This humming he now listened to, though normal and ordinary -enough--there were no big vibrations with it, for one thing--was -too suggestive of that other sound for him to approve of it. His -mind rapidly sought some way of stopping it. A command, above all -an impatient, harsh command, was out of the question, yet a request -seemed equally not the right way. He fumbled in his mind to find the -wise, proper words. He stretched his hand out, as though to lay it -quietly upon his companion's shoulder--but realized suddenly he could -not--almost he dared not--touch him. - -The same instant "N. H." rose. He pushed his chair back and stood up. - -Devonham, justly proud of his equable temperament and steady nerves, -admits that only a great effort of self-control enabled him to sit -quietly and listen. He listened, watched, and made mental notes to the -best of his ability, but he was frightened a little. The outburst was -so sudden. He is not sure that his report of what he heard, made later -to Fillery, was a verbatim, accurate one: - -"Justice we know," cried "N. H." in his half-chanting voice that seemed -to boom with resonance, "but this--this mercy, gentle kindness, -beauty--this unknown loveliness--we did not know it!" He went to the -open window, and threw his arms wide, as though he invoked the sun. -"Dimly we heard of it. We strive, we strive, we weave and build and -fashion while the whirl of centuries flies on. This lesser God--he -came among us, too, making our service sweeter, though we did not -understand. Our work grew wiser and more careful, we built lovelier -forms, and knew not why we did so. His mighty rhythms touched us with -their power and happy light. Oh, my great messengers of wind and fire, -bring me the memory I have lost! Oh, where, where----?" - -He shook himself, as though his clothes, perhaps his body even, irked -him. It was a curious coincidence, thought Devonham, as he watched and -listened, too surprised and puzzled to interfere either by word or act, -that a cloud, at that very moment, passed from the face of the sun, and -a gust of wind shook all the branches of the lime trees in the garden. -"N. H." stood drenched in the white clear sunshine. His flaming hair -was lifted by the wind. - -"Behind, beyond the Suns He dwells and burns for ever. Oh, the mercy, -kindness, the strange beauty of this personal love--what is it? These -have been promised to _us_ too----!" - -He broke off abruptly, bowed his great head and shoulders, and sank -upon his knees in an attitude of worship. Then, stretching his arms out -to the sky, the face raised into the flood of sunlight, while his voice -became lower, softer, almost hushed, he spoke again: - -"Our faithful service, while the circles swallow the suns, shall lift -us too! You, who sent me here to help this little, dying Race, oh, help -me to remember----!" - -His passion was a moving sight; the words, broken through with -fragments of his chanting, singing, had the blood of some infinite, -intolerable yearning in them. - -Devonham, meanwhile, having heard outbursts of this strange kind before -with others, had recovered something of his equanimity. He felt more -sure of himself again. The touch of fear had left him. He went over to -the window. The attack, as he deemed it, was passing. A thick cloud hid -the sun again. "There, there," he said soothingly, laying both hands -upon the other's shoulders, then taking the arms to help him rise. "I -told you His teachings were very beautiful--that the world would become -a kind of heaven if people lived them." His voice seemed not his own; -beside the volume and music of the other's it had a thin, rasping, ugly -sound. - -"N. H." was on his feet, gazing down into his face; to Devonham's -amazement there were tears in the eyes that met his own. - -"And many people _do_ live them--try to, rather," he added gently. -"There are thousands who really worship this lesser God to-day. You -can't go far wrong yourself if you take Him as your model an----" - -"How He must have suffered!" came the astonishing interruption, the -voice quiet and more natural again. "There was no way of telling what -he knew. He had no words, of course. You are all so difficult, so -caged, so--dead!" - -Devonham smiled. "He used parables." He paused a moment, then went on -"Men have existed on the planet, science tells us, for at least 400,000 -years, whereas _He_ came here only 2,000 years ago----" - -"Came _here_," interrupted the pupil, as though the earth were but one -of a thousand places visited, a hint of contempt and pity somewhere -in his tone and gesture. "We made His way ready then! We prepared, we -built! It was for that our work went on and on so faithfully." - -He broke off.... - -Devonham experienced a curious sensation as he heard. In that instant -it seemed to him that he was conscious of the movement of the earth -through space. He was aware that the planet on which he stood was -rushing forward at eighteen miles a second through the sky. He felt -himself carried forward with it. - -"What was His name?" he heard "N. H." asking. It was as though he was -aware of the enormous interval in space traversed by the rolling earth -between the first and last words of the sudden question. It trailed -through an immense distance towards him, after him, yet at the same -time ever with him. - -"His name--oh--Jesus Christ, we call him," wondering at the same moment -why he used the pronoun "we." - -"Jesus--Christ!" - -"N. H." repeated the name with such intensity and power that the sound, -borne by deep vibrations, seemed to surge and circle forth into space -while the earth rushed irresistibly onwards. A faintly imaginative idea -occurred to Devonham for the first time in his life--it was as though -the earth herself had opened her green lips and uttered the great -name. With this came also the amazing and disconcerting conviction -that Nature and humans were expressions of one and the same big simple -energy, and that while their forms, their bodies, differed, the life -manifesting through them was identical, though its degree might vary. -For an instant this was of such overpowering conviction as to be merely -obvious. - -It passed as quickly as it came, though he still was dimly conscious -that he had travelled with the earth through another huge stretch of -space. Then this sense of movement also passed. He looked up. "N. -H." was in his chair again at the table, reading quietly his book -on natural history. But in his eyes the moisture of tears was still -visible. - -Devonham adjusted his glasses, blew his nose, went quickly to another -room to jot down his notes of the talk, the reactions, the general -description, and in doing so dismissed from his mind the slight uneasy -effects of what had been a "curious hallucination," caused evidently by -an "unexplained stimulation" of the motor centres in the brain. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - -The full account of "N. H.," with all he said and did, his effect upon -others, his general activities in a word, it is impossible to compress -intelligibly into the compass of these notes. A complete report Edward -Fillery indeed accumulated, but its publication, he realized, must -await that leisure for which his busy life provided little opportunity. -His eyes, mental and physical, were never off his "patient," and -"N. H.," aware of it, leaped out to meet the observant sympathy, giving -all he could, concealing nothing, yet debarred, it seemed, by the rigid -limitations of his own mental and physical machinery, as similarly -by that of his hearers, from contributing more than suggestive and -tantalizing hints. Of the use of parable he, obviously, had no -knowledge. - -His relations with others, perhaps, offered the most significant -comments on his personality. Fillery was at some pains to collect -these. The reactions were various, yet one and all showed this in -common, a curious verdict but unanimous: that his effect, namely, was -greatest when he was not there. Not in his actual presence, which -promised rather than fulfilled, was his power so dominating upon -mind and imagination as after the door was closed and he was gone. -The withdrawal of his physical self, its absence--as Fillery had -himself experienced one night on Hampstead Heath as well as on other -occasions--brought his real presence closer. - -It was Nayan who first drew attention to this remarkable -characteristic. She spoke about him often now with Dr. Fillery, for as -the weeks passed and she realized the uselessness, the impossibility, -of the plan she had proposed to herself, she found relief in talking -frankly about him to her older friend. - -"Always, always after I leave him," she confessed, "a profound and -searching melancholy gets hold of me, poignant as death, yet an -extraordinary unrealized beauty behind it somewhere. It steals into my -very blood and bones. I feel an intense dissatisfaction with the world, -with people as they are, and a burning scorn for all that is small, -unworthy, petty, mean--and yet a hopelessness of ever attaining to that -something which _he_ knows and lives so easily." She sighed, gazing -into his eyes a moment. "Or of ever making others see it," she added. - -"And that 'something,'" he asked, "can you define it?" - -She shook her head. "It's in me, within reach even, but--the word he -used is the only one--forgotten." - -"Perhaps--has it ever occurred to you?--that he simply cannot describe -it. There are no words, no means at his disposal--no human terms?" - -"Perhaps," she murmured. - -"Desirable, though?" he urged her gently. - -She clasped her hands, smiling. "Heavenly," she murmured, closing her -eyes a moment as though to try and recall it. "Yet when I'm with him," -she went on, "he never _quite_ realizes for me the state of wonder and -delight his presence promises. His personality suggests rather than -fulfils." She paused, a wistful, pained expression in her dark eyes. -"The failure," she added quickly, lest she seem to belittle him of -whom she spoke, "of course lies in myself. I refuse, you see--I can't -say why, though I feel it's wise--to let myself be dominated by that -strange, lost part of me he stimulates." - -"True," interposed Dr. Fillery. "I understand. Yet to have felt this -even is a sign----" - -"That he stirs the deepest, highest in me? This hint of divine beauty -in the unrealized under-self?" - -He nodded. There was an odd touch of sadness in their talk. "I've -watched him with many types of people," he went on thoughtfully, -almost as though thinking aloud in his rapid way, "I've talked with him -on many subjects. The meanness, jealousy, insignificance of the Race -shocks and amazes him. He cannot understand it. He asked me once 'But -is no one _born_ noble? To be splendid is such an effort with them!' -Splendour of conduct, he noticed, is a calculated, rarely a spontaneous -splendour. The general resistance to new ideas also puzzles him. 'They -fear a rhythm they have never felt before,' as he put it. 'To adopt -a new rhythm, they think, must somehow injure them.' That the Race -respects a man because he possesses much equally bewilders him. 'No -one serves willingly or naturally,' he observed, 'or unless someone -else receives money for drawing attention loudly to it.' Any notion -of reward, of advertisement, in its widest meaning, is foreign to his -nature." - -He broke off. Another pause fell between them, the girl the first to -break it: - -"He suffers," she said in a low voice. "Here--he suffers," and her -face yearned with the love and help she longed to pour out beyond all -thought of self or compensation, and at the same time with the pain of -its inevitable frustration; and, watching her, Dr. Fillery understood -that this very yearning was another proof of the curious impetus, the -intensification of being, that "N. H." caused in everyone. Yet he -winced, as though anticipating the question she at once then put to him: - -"You are afraid for him, Edward?" her eyes calmly, searchingly on his. -"His future troubles you?" - -He turned to her with abrupt intensity. "If _you_, Iraida, could not -enchain him----" He broke off. He shrugged his shoulders. - -"I have no power," she confessed. "An insatiable longing burns like a -fire in him. Nothing he finds here on earth, among men and women, can -satisfy it." A faint blush stole up her neck and touched her cheeks. -"He is different. _I_ have no power to keep him here." Her voice sank -suddenly to a whisper, as though a breath of awe passed into her. "He -is here now at this very moment, I believe. He is with us as we talk -together. I feel him." Almost a visible thrill passed through her. "And -close, so very close--to _you_." - -Dr. Fillery made no sign by word or gesture, but something in his very -silence gave assent. - -"And not alone," she added, still under her breath. It seemed she -looked about her, though she did not actually move or turn her head. -"Others--of his kind, Edward--come with him. They are always with -him--I think sometimes." Her whisper was fainter still. - -"You feel that too!" He said it abruptly, his voice louder and almost -challenging. Then he added incongruously, as though saying it to -himself this time, "That's what I mean. I've known it for a long -time----" - -He looked at the girl sharply with unconcealed admiration. "It does not -frighten you?" he asked, and in reply she said the very thing he felt -sure she would say, hoping for it even while he shrank: - -"Escape," he heard in a low, clear voice, half a question, half an -exclamation, and saw the blood leave her face. - -The instinctive "Hush!" that rose to his lips he did not utter. The -sense of loss, of searching pain, the word implied he did not show. -Instead, he spoke in his natural, everyday tone again: - -"The body irks him, of course, and he may try to rid himself of it. Its -limitations to him are a prison, for his true consciousness he finds -outside it. The explanation," he added to himself, "of many a case of -suicidal mania probably. I've often wondered----" - -He took her hand, aware by the pallor of her face what her feelings -were. "Death, you see, Nayan, has no meaning for him, as it has for us -who think consciousness out of the body impossible, and he is puzzled -by our dread of it. 'We,' he said once, 'have nothing that decays. We -may be stationary, or advance, or retreat, but we can never end.' He -derives--oh, I'm convinced of it--from another order. Here--amongst -us--he is inarticulate, unable to express himself, hopeless, helpless, -in prison. Oh, if only----" - -"He loves _you_," she said quickly, releasing her hand. "I suppose he -realizes the eternal part of you and identifies himself with that. In -you, Edward, lies something very close to what he is, akin--he needs it -terribly, just as you----" She became confused. - -"Love, as we understand it," he interrupted, his voice shaking a -little, "he does not, cannot know, for he serves another law, another -order of being." - -"That's how I feel it too." - -She shivered slightly, but she did not turn away, and her eyes kept all -their frankness. - -"Our humanity," she murmured, "writes upon his heart in ink that -quickly fades----" - -"And leaves no trace," he caught her up hurriedly. "His one idea is -to help, to render service. It is as natural to him as for water to -run down hill. He seeks instinctively to become one with the person -he seeks to aid. As with us an embrace is an attempt at union, -so he seeks, by some law of his own being, to become identified -with those whom he would help. And he helps by intensifying their -consciousness--somewhat as heat and air increase ordinary physical -vitality. Only, first there must be something for him to work on. -Energy, even bad, vicious, wrongly used, he can work on. Mere emptiness -prevents him. You remember Lady Gleeson----" - -"We--most of us--are too empty," she put in with quiet resignation. -"Our sense of that divine beauty is too faint----" - -"Rather," came the quick correction, "he stands too close to us. His -effect is too concentrated. The power at such close quarters disturbs -and overbalances." - -"That's why, then, I always feel it strongest when he's left." - -He glanced at her keenly. - -"In his presence," she explained, "it's always as though I saw only a -part of him, even of his physical appearance, out of the corner of my -eye, as it were, and sometimes----" She hesitated. He did not help her -this time. "As if those others, many others, similar to himself, but -invisible, crowding space about us, were intensely active." Her voice -hushed again. "He brings them with him--as now. I feel it, Edward, now. -I feel them close." She looked round the empty room, peering through -the window into the quiet evening sky. Dr. Fillery also turned away. -He sighed again. "Have you noticed, too," he went on presently, yet -half as if following his own thoughts, and a trifle incongruously, "the -speed and lightness his very movements convey, and how he goes down the -street with that curious air of drawing things after him, along with -him, as trains and motors draw the loose leaves and dust----" - -"Whirling," her quick whisper startled him a little, as she turned -abruptly from the window and gazed straight at him. He smiled, -instantly recovering himself. "A good word, yes--whirling--but in the -plural. As though there were vortices about him." - -It was her turn to smile. "That might one day carry him away," she -exclaimed. They smiled together then, they even laughed, but somewhere -in their laughter, like the lengthening shadows of the spring day -outside, lay an incommunicable sadness neither of them could wholly -understand. - -"Yet the craving for beauty," she said suddenly, "that he leaves behind -in me"--her voice wavered--"an intolerable yearning that nothing can -satisfy--nothing--here. An infinite desire, it seems, for--for----" - -Dr. Fillery took her hand again gently, looking down steadily into -the clear eyes that sought his own, and the light glistening in their -moisture was similar, he fancied for a moment, to the fire in another -pair of shining eyes that never failed to stir the unearthly dreams in -him. - -"It lies beyond any words of ours," he said softly. "Don't struggle -to express it, Iraida. To the flower, the star, we are wise to leave -their own expression in their own particular field, for we cannot -better it." - -A sound of rising wind, distant yet ominous, went past the window, -as for a moment then the girl came closer till she was almost in his -arms, and though he did not accept her, equally he did not shrink from -the idea of acceptance--for the first time since they had known one -another. There was a smell of flowers; almost in that wailing wind he -was aware of music. - -"Together," he heard her whisper, while a faint shiver--was it of -joy or terror?--ran through her nerves. "All of us--when the time -comes--together." She made an abrupt movement. "Just as we are together -now! Listen!" she exclaimed. - -"We call it wind," she whispered. "But of course--really--it's -behind--beyond--inside--isn't it?" - -Dr. Fillery, holding her closely, made no answer. Then he laughed, -let go her hands, and said in his natural tone again, breaking an -undesirable spell intentionally, though with a strong effort: "We are -in space and time, remember. Iraida. Let us obey them happily until -another certain and practical thing is shown us." - -The faint sound that had been rising about them in the air died down -again. - -They looked into each other's eyes, then drew apart, though with a -movement so slight it was scarcely perceptible. It was Nayan and Dr. -Fillery once more, but not before the former had apparently picked out -the very thought that had lain, though unexpressed, in the latter's -deepest mind--its sudden rising the cause of his deliberate change of -attitude. For she had phrased it, given expression to it, though from -an angle very different to his own. And her own word, "escape," used -earlier in the conversation, had deliberately linked on with it, as of -intentional purpose. - -"He must go back. The time is coming when he must go back. We are not -ready for him here--not yet." - -Somewhat in this fashion, though without any actual words, had the -idea appeared in letters of fire that leaped and flickered through -a mist of anguish, of loss, of loneliness, rising out of the depths -within him. He knew whence they came, he divined their origin at once, -and the sound, though faint and distant at first, confirmed him. -Swiftly behind them, moreover, born of no discoverable antecedents, it -seemed, rose simultaneously the phrase that Father Collins loved: "A -Being in his own place is the ruler of his fate." Father Collins, for -all his faults and strangeness, was a personality, a consciousness, -that might prove of value. His extraordinarily swift receptiveness, -his undoubted telepathic powers, his fluid, sensitive, protean -comprehension of possibilities outside the human walls, above the -earthly ceiling, so to speak.... Value suddenly attached itself to -Father Collins, as though the name had been dropped purposely into his -mind by someone. He was surprised to find this thought in him. It was -not for the first time, however, Dr. Fillery remembered. - - * * * * * - -In Nayan's father, again, an artist, though not a particularly -subtle one perhaps, lay a deep admiration, almost a love, he could -not explain. "There's something about him in a sense immeasurable, -something not only untamed but untamable," he phrased it. "His -gentleness conceals it as a summer's day conceals a thunderstorm. To -me it's almost like an incarnation of the primal forces at work in the -hearts of my own people"--he grew sad--"and as dangerous probably." -He was speaking to his daughter, who repeated the words later to Dr. -Fillery. The study of Fire in the elemental group had failed. "He's -too big, too vast, too formless, to get into any shape or outline _my_ -tools can manage, even by suggestion. He dominates the others--Earth, -Air, Water--and dwarfs them." - -"But fire ought to," she put in. "It's the most powerful and splendid, -the most terrific of them all. Isn't it? It regenerates. It purifies. I -love fire----" - -Her father smiled in his beard, noticing the softness in her manner, -rather than in her voice. The awakening in her he had long since -understood sympathetically, if more profoundly than she knew, and -welcomed. - -"He won't hurt you, child. He won't harm Nayushka any more than a -summer's day can hurt her. I see him thus sometimes," he mumbled on -half to himself, though she heard and stored the words in her memory; -"as an entire day, a landscape even, I often see him. A stretch of -being rather than a point; a rushing stream rather than a single -isolated wave harnessed and confined in definite form--as _we_ -understand being here," he added curiously. "No, he'll neither harm nor -help you," he went on; "nor any of us for that matter. A dozen nations, -a planet, a star he might help or harm"--he laughed aloud suddenly in -a startled way at his own language--"but an individual never!" And he -abruptly took her in his arms and kissed her, drying her tears with his -own rough handkerchief. "Not even a fire-worshipper," he added with -gruff tenderness, "like you!" - -"There's more of divinity in fire than in any other earthly thing -we know," she replied as he held her, "for it takes into itself the -sweetest essence of all it touches." She looked up at him with a smile. -"That's why you can't get it into your marble perhaps." To which her -father made the significant rejoinder: "And because none of us has the -least conception what 'divine' and 'divinity' really mean, though we're -always using the words! It's odd, anyhow," he finished reflectively, -"that I can model the fellow better from memory than when he's standing -there before my eyes. At close quarters he confuses me with too many -terrific unanswerable questions." - -To multiply the verdicts and impressions Fillery jotted down is -unnecessary. In his own way he collected; in his own way he wrote them -down. About "N. H.," all agreed in their various ways of expressing it, -was that vital suggestion of agelessness, of deathlessness, of what men -call eternal youth: the vigorous grace of limbs and movements, the -deep simple joy of confidence and power. None could picture him tired, -or even wearing out, yet ever with a faint hint of painful conflict due -to immense potentialities--"a day compressed into a single minute," -as Khilkoff phrased it--straining, but vainly, to express themselves -through a limited form that was inadequate to their use. A storm of -passionate hope and wonder seemed ever ready to tear forth from behind -the calm of the great quiet eyes, those green-blue changing eyes, -which none could imagine lightless or unlamping; and about his whole -presentment a surplus of easy, overflowing energy from an inexhaustible -source pressing its gifts down into him spontaneously, fire and wind -its messengers; yet that the human machinery using these--mind, body, -nerves--was ill adapted to their full expression. To every individual -having to do with him was given a push, a drive, an impetus that -stimulated that individual's chief characteristic, intensifying it. - -This to imaginative and discerning sight. But even upon ordinary folk, -aware only of the surface things that deliberately hit them, was left -a startling impression as of someone waving a strange, unaccustomed -banner that made them halt and stare before passing on--uncomfortably. -He had that nameless quality, apart from looks or voice or manner, -which arrested attention and drew the eyes of the soul, wonderingly, -perhaps uneasily, upon itself. He left a mark. Something defined him -from all others, leaving him silhouetted in the mind, and those who -had looked into his eyes could not forget that they had done so. Up -rose at once the great unanswerable questions that, lying ever at -the back of daily life, the majority find it most comfortable to -leave undisturbed--but rose in red ink or italics. He started into an -awareness of greater life. And the effect remained, was greatest even, -after he had passed on. - - * * * * * - -It was, of course, Father Collins, a frequent caller now at the Home, -betraying his vehement interest in long talks with Dr. Fillery and in -what interviews with "N. H." the latter permitted him--it was this -protean being whose mind, amid wildest speculations, formed the most -positive conclusions. The Prometheans, he believed, were not far wrong -in their instinctive collective judgment. "N. H." was not a human -being; the occupant of that magnificent body was not a human spirit -like the rest of us. - -"Nor is he the only one walking the streets to-day," he affirmed -mysteriously. "In shops and theatres, trains and buses, tucked in -among the best families," he laughed, although in earnest, "and even -in suburbia I have come across other human bodies similarly inhabited. -What they are and where they come from exactly, we cannot know, but -their presence among us is indubitable." - -"You mean you recognize them?" inquired Dr. Fillery calmly. - -"One unmistakable sign they possess in common--they are invariably -inarticulate, helpless, lost. The brain, the five senses, the human -organs--all they have to work through--are useless to express the -knowledge and powers natural to them. Electricity might as well try to -manifest itself through a gas-pipe, or music through a stone. One and -all, too, possess strange glimmerings of another state where they are -happy and at home, something of the glory a la Wordsworth, a Golden -Age idea almost, a state compared to which humanity seems a tin-pot -business, yet a state of which no single descriptive terms occur to -them." - -"Of which, however, they can tell us nothing?" - -"Memory, of course, is lost. Their present brain can have no records, -can it? Only those of us who have perhaps at some time, in some earlier -existence possibly, shared such a state can have any idea of what -they're driving at." - -He glanced at Fillery with a significant raising of his bushy eyebrows. - -"There have been no phenomena, I'm glad to say," put in the doctor, -aware some comment was due from him, "no physical phenomena, I mean." - -"Nor could there be," pursued the other, delighted. "He has not got the -apparatus. With all such beings, their power, rather than perceived, is -_felt_. Sex, as with us, they also cannot know, for they are neither -male nor female." He paused, as the other did not help him. "Enigmas -they must always be to us. We may borrow from the East and call them -_devas_, or class them among nature spirits of legend and the rest, but -we can, at any rate, welcome them, and perhaps even learn from them." - -"Learn from them?" echoed Fillery sharply. - -"They are essentially _natural_, you see, whereas we are artificial, -and becoming more so with every century, though we call it -civilization. If we lived closer to nature we might get better results, -I mean. Primitive man, I'm convinced, did get certain results, but he -was a poor instrument. Modern man, in some ways, is a better, finer -instrument to work through, only he is blind to the existence of any -beings but himself. A bridge, however, might be built, I feel. 'N. H.' -seems to me in close touch with these curious beings, if"--he lowered -his voice--"he is not actually one of them. The wind and fire he talks -about are, of course, not what _we_ mean. It is heat and rhythm, in -some more essential form, he refers to. If 'N. H.' is some sort of -nature spirit, or nature-being, he is of a humble type, concerned with -humble duties in the universe----" - -"There are, you think, then, higher, bigger kinds?" inquired the -listener, his face and manner showing neither approval nor disapproval. - -Father Collins raised his hands and face and shoulders, even his -eyebrows. His spirits rose as well. - -"If they exist at all--and the assumption explains plausibly the -amazing intelligence behind all natural phenomena--they include -every grade, of course, from the insignificant fairies, so called, -builders of simple forms, to the immense planetary spirits and -vast Intelligences who guide and guard the welfare of the greater -happenings." His eyes shone, his tone matched in enthusiasm his -gestures. "A stupendous and magnificent hierarchy," he cried, "but -all, all under God, of course, who maketh his angels spirits and his -ministers a flaming fire. Ah, think of it," he went on, becoming -lyrical almost as wonder fired him, "think of it now especially in the -spring! The vast abundance and insurgence of life pouring up on all -sides into forms and bodies, and all led, directed, fashioned by this -host of invisible, yet not unknowable, Intelligences! Think of the -prolific architecture, the delicacy, the grandeur, the inspiring beauty -that are involved...!" - -"You said just now a bridge might be built," Dr. Fillery interrupted, -while the other paused a second for breath. - -Father Collins, nailed down to a positive statement, hesitated and -looked about him. But the hesitation passed at once. - -"It is the question merely," he went on more composedly, "of providing -the apparatus, the means of manifestation, the instrument, the--body. -Isn't it? Our evolution and theirs are two separate--different things." - -"I suppose so. No force can express itself without a proper apparatus." - -"Certain of these Intelligences are so immense that only a series of -events, long centuries, a period of history, as we call it, can provide -the means, the body indeed, through which they can express themselves. -An entire civilization may be the 'body' used by an archetypal power. -Others, again--like 'N. H.' probably--since I notice that it is usually -the artist, the artistic temperament _he_ affects most--require beauty -for their expression--beauty of form and outline, of sound, of colour." - -He paused for effect, but no comment came. - -"Our response to beauty, our thrill, our lift of delight and wonder -before any manifestation of beauty--these are due only to our -perception, though usually unrecognized except by artists, of the -particular Intelligence thus trying to express itself----" - -Dr. Fillery suddenly leaned forward, listening with a new expression -on his face. He betrayed, however, no sign of what he thought of his -voluble visitor. An idea, none the less, had struck him like a flash -between the eyes of the mind. - -"You mean," he interposed patiently, "that just as your fairies use -form and colour to express themselves in nature, we might use beauty of -a mental order to--to----" - -"To build a body of expression, yes, an instrument in a collective -sense, through which 'N. H.' might express whatever of knowledge, -wisdom and power he has----" - -"Will you explain yourself a little more definitely?" - -Father Collins beamed. He continued with an air of intense conviction: - -"The Artist is ever an instrument merely, and for the most part an -unconscious one; only the greatest artist is a conscious instrument. No -man is an artist at all until he transcends both nature and himself; -that is, until he interprets both nature and himself in the unknown -terms of that greater Power whence himself and nature emanate. He is -aware of the majestic source, aware that the universe, in bulk and in -detail, is an expression of it, itself a limited instrument; but aware, -further--and here he proves himself great artist--of the stupendous, -lovely, central Power whose message stammers, broken and partial, -through the inadequate instruments of ephemeral appearances. - -"He creates, using beauty in form, sound, colour, a better and more -perfect instrument, provides this central Power with a means of fuller -expression. - -"The message no longer stammers, halts, suggests; it flows, it pours, -it sings. He has fashioned a vehicle for its passage. His art has -created a body it can use. He has transcended both nature and himself. -The picture, poem, harmony that has become the body for this revelation -is alone great art." - -"Exactly," came the patient comment that was asked for. - -"One thing is certain: only human knowledge, expressed in human terms, -can come through a human brain. No mind, no intellect, can convey a -message that transcends human experience and reason. Art, however, can. -It can supply the vehicle, the body. But, even here, the great artist -cannot communicate the secret of his Vision; he cannot talk about it, -tell it to others. He can only _show_ the result." - -"Results," interrupted Dr. Fillery in a curious tone; "what results, -exactly, would you look for?" There was a burning in his eyes. His skin -was tingling. - -"What else but a widening, deepening, heightening of our present -consciousness," came the instant reply. "An extension of faculty, of -course, making entirely new knowledge available. A group of great -artists, each contributing his special vision, respectively, of form, -colour, words, proportion, could together create a 'body' to express a -Power transcending the accumulated wisdom of the world. The race could -be uplifted, taught, redeemed." - -"You have already given some attention to this strange idea?" suggested -his listener, watching closely the working of the other's face. "You -have perhaps even experimented---- A ceremonial of some sort, you mean? -A performance, a ritual--or what?" - -Father Collins lowered his voice, becoming more earnest, more -impressive: - -"Beauty, the arts," he whispered, "can alone provide a vehicle for -the expression of those Intelligences which are the cosmic powers. -A performance of some sort--possibly--since there must be sound and -movement. A bridge between us, between our evolution and their own, -might, I believe, be thus constructed. Art is only great when it -provides a true form for the expression of an eternal cosmic power. By -combining--we might provide a means for their manifestation----" - -"A body of thought, as it were, through which our 'N. H.' might become -articulate? Is that your idea?" - -Behind the question lay something new, it seemed, as though, while -listening to the exposition of an odd mystical conception, his mind -had been busy with a preoccupation, privately but simultaneously, of -his own. "In what way precisely do you suggest the arts might combine -to provide this 'body'?" he asked, a faint tremor noticeable in the -lowered voice. - -"That," replied Father Collins promptly, never at a loss, "we should -have to think about. Inspiration will come to us--probably through -_him_. Ceremonial, of course, has always been an attempt in this -direction, only it has left the world so long that people no longer -know how to construct a real one. The ceremonials of to-day are ugly, -vulgar, false. The words, music, colour, gestures--everything must -combine in perfect harmony and proportion to be efficacious. It is a -forgotten method." - -"And results--how would they come?" - -"The new wisdom and knowledge that result are suddenly there _in_ the -members of the group. The Power has expressed itself. Not through the -brain, of course, but, rather, that the new ideas, having been _acted_ -out, are suddenly there. There has been an extension of consciousness. -A group consciousness has been formed, and----" - -"And there you are!" Dr. Fillery, moving his foot unperceived, had -touched a bell beneath the table. The foot, however, groped and -fumbled, as though unsure of itself. - -"You learn to swim--by swimming, not by talking about it." Father -Collins was prepared to talk on for another hour. "If we can devise the -means--and I feel sure we can--we shall have formed a bridge between -the two evolutions----" - -Nurse Robbins entered with apologies. A case upstairs demanded the -doctor's instant attendance. Dr. Devonham was engaged. - -"One thing," insisted Father Collins, as they shook hands and he got up -to go, "one thing only you would have to fear." He was very earnest. -Evidently the signs of struggle, of fierce conflict in the other's -face he did not notice. - -"And that is?" A hand was on the door. - -"If successful--if we provide this means of expression for him--we -provide also the means of losing him." - -"Death?" He opened the door with rough, unnecessary violence. - -"Escape. He would no longer need the body he now uses. He would -_remember_--and be gone. In his place you would have--LeVallon again -only. I'm afraid," he added, "that he already _is_ remembering----!" - -His final words, as Nurse Robbins deftly hastened his departure in -the hall, were a promise to communicate the results of his further -reflections, and a suggestion that his cottage by the river would be a -quiet spot in which to talk the matter over again. - -But Dr. Fillery, having thanked Nurse Robbins for her prompt attendance -to his bell, returned to the room and sat for some time in a strange -confusion of anxious thoughts. A singular idea took shape in him--that -Father Collins had again robbed his mind of its unspoken content. That -sensitive receptive nature had first perceived, then given form to the -vague, incoherent dreams that lurked in the innermost recesses of his -hidden self. - -Yet, if that were so----and if "N. H." already was "remembering"----! - -A wave of shadow crept upon him, darkening his hope, his enthusiasm, -his very life. For another part of him knew quite well the value to be -attributed to what Father Collins had said. - -Instinctively his mind sought for Devonham. But it did not occur to him -at the moment to wonder why this was so. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - -Spring had come with her sweet torment of delight, her promises, her -passion, and London lay washed and perfumed beneath April's eager sun. -An immense, persuasive glamour was in the sky. The whole earth caught -up a swifter gear, as the magic of rich creative life poured out of -"dead" soil into flower, insect, bird and animal. The prodigious stream -omitted no single form; every "body" pulsed and blossomed at full -strength. The hidden powers in each seed emerged. And it was from the -inanimate body of the earth this flood of increased vitality rose. - -Into Edward Fillery, strolling before breakfast over the wet lawn of -the enclosed garden, the tide of new life rose likewise. It was very -early, the flush of dawn still near enough for the freshness of the new -day to be everywhere. The greater part of the huge city was asleep. -He was alone with the first birds, the dew, the pearl and gold of the -sun's slanting rays. He saw the slates and chimneys glisten. Spring, -like a visible presence, was passing across the town, bringing the -amazing message that all obey yet no man understands. - - "This is its touch upon the blossomed rose, - The fashion of its hand shaped lotus-leaves; - In dark soil and the silence of the seeds - The robe of spring it weaves. - - "It maketh and unmaketh, mending all; - What it hath wrought is better than had been; - Slow grows the splendid pattern that it plans, - Its wistful hands between." - -The lines came to his memory, while upon his mind fell lovely and -wonderful impressions. It was as though the subconsciousness of -the earth herself emerged with the spring, producing new life, new -splendour everywhere. Out of a single patch of soil the various roots -drew material they then fashioned into such different and complicated -outlines as daisy, lily, rose, and a hundred types of tree. From the -same bit of soil emerged these intricate patterns and designs, these -different forms. At this very moment, while his feet left dark tracks -across the silvery lawn, the process was going steadily forward all -over England. Beneath those very feet up rushed the power into all -conceivable bodies. Colour, music, form, marvellously organized, making -no mistakes, were turning the world into a vast, delicious garden. - -Form, colour, sound! From his own hidden region rose again the flaming -hope and prophecy. He stooped and picked a daisy, examining with rapt -attention its perfect little body. Who, what made this astonishing -thing, that was yet among the humbler forms? What intelligence devised -its elaborate outline, guarded, cared for, tended it, ensured its -growth and welfare? He gazed at its white rays tipped with crimson, -its several hundred florets, its composite design. The spring life had -been pouring through it until he picked it. Through the huge mass of -earth's body its tiny roots had drawn the life it needed. This power -was now cut off. It would die. The process, as with everything else, -was "automatic and unintelligent!" It seemed an incredible explanation. -The old familiar question troubled him, but he saw it abruptly now from -a new angle. - -"We built it," came a voice so close that it seemed behind him, for -when at first he turned, startled, and yet not startled, he saw no -figure standing; "we who work in darkness, yet who never die, the -Hidden Ones who build and weave inside and out of sight. You have -destroyed our work of ages...." - -A pang of sudden regret and anguish seized him. He stood still and -stared in the direction whence he thought the voice had come, but -no form, no outline, no body that could have produced a sound, a -voice, was visible. A blackbird flew with its shrill whistle over the -enclosing wall, and the gardener, up unusually early, was now moving -slowly past the elms at the far end, some two hundred yards away. The -old man, he remembered, had been telling him only the day before that -the life in his plants this year had been prodigious and successful -beyond his whole experience. It puzzled him. Something of reverence, of -superstition almost, had lain in the man's voice and eyes. - -"Who are you?" whispered Fillery, still holding the "dead" broken -flower in his hand and staring about him. He was aware that the sound -from which the voice had come, detaching itself, as it were, into -articulate syllables out of a general continuous volume, had not -ceased. It was all about him, softly murmuring. Was it in himself -perhaps? An intense inner activity, like the pressure of an enveloping -tide, that was also in space, in the soil, the body of the planet, rose -in him too. And it seemed to him that his mind was suddenly in process -of being shaped and fashioned into a new "body of understanding"; a new -instrument of understanding. - - "This is its work upon the things ye see: - The unseen things are more; men's hearts and minds, - The thoughts of peoples and their ways and wills, - These, too, the great Law binds." - -"I know," he exclaimed, this time with acceptance that omitted the -doubt he had first felt. "I know who you are" ... and even as he said -the words, there dropped into him, it seemed, some knowledge, some -hint, some wonder that lay, he well knew, outside all human experience. -It was as though some cosmic power brushed gently against and through -his being, but a power so alien to known human categories that to -attempt its expression in human terms--language, reason, imagination -even--were to mutilate it. Yet, even for its partial, broken -manifestation, human terms were alone available, since without these it -must remain unperceived, he himself unaware of its existence. - -He _was_, however, aware of its presence, its existence. All that -was left to him therefore was his own personal interpretation. -Herein, evidently, lay the truth for him; this was the meaning of his -"acceptance." It was, in some way, a renewal of that other vision he -called the Flower Hill and Flower Music experience. - -"I know you," he repeated, his voice merging curiously in the general -underlying murmur of the morning. "You belong to the bodiless, the -deathless ones who work and build and weave eternally. Form, sound, -colour are your instruments, the elements your tools. You wove this -flower," he fingered the dying daisy, "as you also shaped this -body"--he tapped his breast--"and--you built as well this mind----" - -He stopped dead. Two things arrested him: the feeling that the ideas -were not primarily his own, but derived from a source outside himself; -and a sudden intensification of the flaming hope and prophecy that -burst up as with new meaning into the words "mind" and "body." - -The broken body of the flower slipped from his fingers and fell upon -the body of the earth. He looked down at its now empty form through -which no life flowed, and his eye passed then to his own body beating -with intense activity, and thence to the bodies of the trees, the -darting birds, the gigantic sun now peering magnificently along the -heavens. Body! A body was a form through which life expressed itself, a -vehicle of expression by means of which life manifested, an instrument -it used. But a body of thought was a true phrase too. And with the -words, shaped automatically in his brain, a new light flashed and -flooded him with its waves. - -"A body of thought, a mental body"--the phrase went humming and -flowing strangely through him. A body of thought! Father Collins, he -remembered, had used some such wild language, only it had seemed empty -words without intelligible meaning. Whence came the intense new meaning -that so suddenly attached itself to the familiar phrase? Whence came -the thrilling deep conviction that new, greater knowledge was hovering -near, and that for its expression a new body must be devised? And -what was this new knowledge, this new power? Whence came the amazing -certainty in him that a new way was being shown to him, a means of -progress for humanity that must otherwise flounder always to its -average level of growth, development, then invariably collapse again? - -"_We_ built it," ran past him through the air again, or rose perhaps -from the stirred depths of his own subconscious being, or again, -dropped from a hidden rushing star. "The more perfect and adequate -the form, the greater the flow of life, of knowledge, of power it can -express. No mind, no intellect, can convey a message that transcends -human experience. Yet there is a way." - -The new knowledge was there, if only the new vehicle suited to its -expression could be devised.... - -The stream of life pouring through him became more and more intense; -some power of perception seemed growing into white heat within him; -transcending the limited senses; becoming incandescent. This tide of -sound, inaudible to ordinary ears, was the music which is inseparable -from the rhythm that underlies all forms, the music of the earth's -manifold activities now pouring in vibrations huge and tiny all round -and through him. He turned instinctively. - -"You...!" exclaimed the doctor in him, as though rebuke, reproval -stirred. "You here...!" - -It seemed to him that the figure of "N. H.," embodying as it were a ray -of sunlight, stood beside him. - -"We," came the answer, with a smile that took the sparkling sunlight -through the very face. "We are all about you," added the voice with -a rhythm that swamped all denial, all objection, bringing an exultant -exhilaration in their place. "We come from what always seems to -you a Valley of sun and flowers, where we work and play behind the -appearances you call the world." - -"The world," repeated Fillery. "The universe as well." - -The voice, the illusion of actual words, both died away, merging in -some perplexing fashion into another appearance, perhaps equally an -illusion so far as the senses were concerned--the phenomenon men call -sight. Instead of hearing, that is, he now suddenly saw. Something in -the arrangement of light caught his attention, holding it. The deep, -central self in him, that which interprets and de-codes the reports the -senses bring, employed another mode. - -The figure of "N. H." still was definite enough in form indeed, yet -at the same time taking the rays into itself as though it were a body -of light. There was no transparency, of course, nor was this clear -radiance seen by Fillery for the first time, but rather that his -natural shining was caught up and intensified by the morning sunshine. -A body of light, none the less, seemed a true description of what -Fillery now saw. This sunshine filled the air, the space all round -him, the entire lawn and garden shone in a sparkling flood of dancing -brilliance. It blazed. The figure of "N. H." was merely a portion of -this blazing. As a focus, but one of many, he now thought of it. And -about each focus was the toss and fling of lovely, ever-rising spirals. - -Across the main stream came then another pulsing movement, hardly -discernible at first, and similar to an under-swell that moves the -sea against the wave--so that the eye perceives it only when not -looking for it. This contrary motion, it soon became apparent, went in -numerous, almost countless directions, so that, within and below its -complicated wave-tracery, he was aware of yet other motions, crossing -and interlacing at various speeds, until the space about him seemed -to whirl with myriad rhythms, yet without the least confusion. These -rhythms were of a hundred different magnitudes, from the very tiny to -the gigantic, and while the smallest were of a radiant brilliance that -made the sunshine pale, the larger ones seemed distant, their light -of an intenser quality, though of a quality he had never seen before. -These were strangely diffused, these bigger ones--"distant" was the -word that occurred to him, although that inner brilliance which occurs -in dreams, in imaginative moments, the nameless glow that colours -mental vision, described them better. Moreover they wore colours the -human eye had never seen, while the smallest rhythms were lit with the -familiar colours of the prism. - -He stood absorbed, fascinated, drinking in the amazing spectacle, as -though the glowing spirals of fire communicated to his inmost being a -heat and glory of creative power. He was aware of the creative stream -of spring in his own heart, pouring from the body of the earth on which -he stood, drenching mind, nerves and even muscles with concentrated -life. His subconscious being rose and stretched its wings. All, all -was possible. A sensation of divine deathlessness possessed him. The -limitations of his ordinary human faculties and powers were overborne, -so that he felt he could never again face the mournful prison that -caged him in. The meaning of escape became plain to him. - -He saw the invisible building Intelligences at work. - -He was aware then suddenly of purpose, of intention. The seeming welter -of the waves of coloured light, of the immense and tiny rhythms, the -intricate streams of vibrating, pulsing, throbbing movements were, he -now perceived, marvellously co-ordinated. There was a focus, a vortex, -towards which all rushed with a power so prodigious that a sense of -terror touched him. He suddenly became conscious of a pattern forming -before his eyes, hanging in empty space, shining, soft with light and -beauty. It became, he saw, a geometric design. An idea of crystals, -frost-forms, a spider's web hung with glistening dewdrops shot across -his memory. The spirals whirled and sang about it. - -This outline, he next perceived, was the focus to which the light, -heat, colour all contributed their particular touch and quality. It -glowed now in the centre of the vortex. So overwhelming, however, was -the sense of the stupendous power involved that, as he phrased it -afterwards, it seemed he watched the formation of some mighty sun. It -was the whirling of those billion-miled sheets of incandescent fires -that attend the birth of a nebula he watched. The power, at any rate, -was gigantic. - -He stood trembling before a revelation that left him lost, shelterless, -bereft of any help that his little self might summon--when, suddenly, -with an emotion of strange tenderness, he saw the great rhythms become -completely dominated by the very smallest of all. The same instant -the pattern grew sharply outlined, perfect in every detail, as though -the focus of powerful glasses cleared--and the pattern hung a moment -exquisitely fashioned in space beneath his eyes before it sank slowly -to the ground. It remained in an upright position on the grass at his -feet--a daisy, growing in the earth, alive, its tiny delicate face -taking the sunlight and the morning wind. - -With a shock he then realized another thing: it was the very daisy he -had broken, uprooted, killed a few minutes before. - -He stooped, one hand outstretched as though to finger its wee white -petals, but found instead that he was listening--listening to a sweet -faint music that rose from the surface of the lawn, from grass and -flowers, running in waves and circles, like the vibrations of gentle -wind across a thousand strings. It was similar, though less in volume, -to the sound he had heard in the presence of "N. H." He rose slowly to -an upright position, dazed, bewildered, yet rapt with the wonder of the -whole experience. - -"N. H.!" he heard his voice exclaim, its sound merging in the growing -volume of music all about him. "N. H.!" he cried again. "This is your -work, your service...!" - -But he could not see him; his figure was no longer differentiated from -the ever-moving sea of light that filled space wherever he looked. The -same play of brilliance shone and glistened everywhere, whirling, ever -shifting as in vortices of intricate geometrical designs, dancing, -interpenetrating, and with a magnificence of colour that caught -his breath away. There were remarkable flashings, and two of these -flashings blazed suddenly together, forming an immense physiognomy, an -expression, rather, as of a mighty face. The same instant there were -a hundred of these mighty brilliant visages that pierced through the -sea of whirling colour and gazed upon him, close, terrific, with a -power and beauty that left thought without even a ghost of language to -describe them. Their glory lay beyond all earthly terms. He recognized -them. These mighty outlines he had seen before. - -His mind then made an effort; he tried to think; memory and reason -strove with emotion and sensation. The forms, the faces, the powers at -once grew fainter. They faded slowly. The whirling vortices withdrew in -some extraordinary way, the colour paled, the sound grew thinner, ever -more distant, the great weaving designs dissolved. The lovely spirals -all were gone. He saw the garden trees again, the flower beds. Space -emptied, showing the morning sunshine on roofs and chimney-pots. - -"We have rebuilt, remade it," he heard faintly, but he heard also the -roar and boom of the gigantic rhythms as they withdrew, not spatially, -so much as from his consciousness that was now contracting once more, -till only the fainter sounds of the smaller singing patterns, the -Flower Music as he had come to call it, reached his ears. Words and -music, like voices known in dreams, seemed interwoven. He remembered -the huge faces, with their bright confidence and glory, rising through -the sunlight, peering as through a mirror at him, radiant and of -imperishable beauty. The words, perhaps, he attached himself, his own -interpretations of their ringing motions. - -The sounds died away. He reeled. The expansion and subsequent -contraction of consciousness had been too rapid, the whole experience -too intense. He swayed, unsure of his own identity. He remembered -vaguely that tears filled his eyes and rolled down his cheeks, that -the destruction of a lovely form had caused him a peculiar anguish, -and that its recreation produced an intolerable joy, bringing tears of -happiness. An arm caught him as he swayed. The accents of a voice he -knew were audible close beside him. But at first he did not understand -the words, feeling only a dull pain they caused. - -"Their imperishable beauty! Their divine loveliness!" he stammered, -recognizing the face and voice. He flung his arms wide, gazing into -the now empty air above the London garden. "The great service they -eternally fulfil--oh, that we all might----" He made a gesture towards -the other houses with their sightless, shuttered windows. - -"I know, I know," came in the familiar tones. "But come in now, come -in, Edward, with me. I beg you--before it is too late." Paul Devonham's -voice shook so that it was hardly recognizable. The skin of his face -was white. He wore a haggard look. - -"Too late!" repeated the other; "it is always too late. The world will -never see. Their eyes are blinded." An intolerable emotion swept him. -He stared suddenly at his colleague, an immense surprise in him. "But -you, Paul!" he exclaimed. "You understand! Even you----!" - -Devonham led him slowly into the house. There was protection in his -manner, in voice and gesture there was deep affection, respect as -well, but behind and through these flickered the signs of another -unmistakable emotion that Fillery at first could hardly credit--of -pity, was it? Of something at any rate he dared not contemplate. - -"Even I," came in quick, low tones, "even I, Edward, understand. -You forget. I was once alone with him"--the voice sank to a rapid -whisper--"in the mountain valley." Devonham's expression was curious. -He raised his tone again. "But--not now, not now, I beg of you. Not -yet, at any rate. You will be cast out, judged insane, your work -destroyed, your career ruined, your reputation----" His excitement -betrayed itself in his bright eyes and unusual gestures. He was shaken -to the core. Fillery turned upon him. They were in the corridor now. He -flung his arm free of the restraining hand. - -"You know!" he cried, "yet would keep silent!" His voice choked. -"You saw what I saw: new sources open, the offer made, the channels -accessible at our very door, yet you would refuse----" - -"Not one in ten million," came the hard rejoinder, "would believe." -The voice trembled. "We have no proof. Their laws of manifestation -are unknown to us, and such glimpses are but glimpses--useless and -dangerous." He whispered suddenly: "Besides--what are they? What, after -all, are we dealing with?" - -"We can experiment," interrupted his companion quickly. - -"How? Of what possible value?" - -"You felt what I felt? In your own being you experienced the revelation -too, and yet you use such words! New forces, new faculties, Beings from -another order of incalculable powers to ennoble, to bless, to inspire! -The creation of higher forms through which new, greater life and -knowledge, shall manifest!" - -He could hardly find the words he sought, so bright was the hope and -wonder in his heart still. "Think--at a time like this--what humanity -might gain. _Creative_ powers, Paul, creative! Acting directly on -the subconscious selves of everybody, intensifying every individual, -whether he understands and believes or not! The gods, Paul--and nothing -less---- You saw the daisy----" - -Devonham seized both of his companion's hands, as he heard the torrent -of wild, incoherent words: "You'll have the entire world against you," -he interrupted. "Why seek crucifixion for a dream?" Then, as his hands -were again flung off, he turned, a finger suddenly on his lips. "Hush, -hush, Edward!" he whispered. "The house is sleeping still. You'll wake -them all." - -There was a new, strange authority about him. Dr. Fillery controlled -himself. They went upstairs on tiptoe. - -"Listen!" murmured Devonham, as they reached the first-floor landing. -"That's what woke me first and led me to his room, but only to find it -empty. He was already gone. I saw him join you on the lawn. I watched -from the open window. Then--I lost him.... Listen!" He was trembling -like a child. - -The sound still echoed faintly, distant, rising and falling, sweet and -very lovely, and hardly to be distinguished from the musical hum of -wind that sighs and whispers across the strings of an aeolian harp. To -one man came incredible sensations as they paused a moment. Dim though -the landing was, there still seemed a tender luminous glow pervading it. - -"They're everywhere," murmured Fillery, "everywhere and always about -us, though in different space. Through and behind and inside everything -that happens, helping, building, constructing ceaselessly. Oh, Paul, -how can you doubt and question value? Behind every single form and -body, physical or mental, they operate divinely----" - -"Mental! Edward, for God's sake----" - -Devonham stepped nearer to him with such abruptness that his companion -stopped. The pallor of the assistant's face so close arrested his -words a moment. They held their breath, listening together side by -side. The sounds grew fainter, died away in the stillness of the early -morning, then ceased altogether. It was not the first time they had -listened thus to the strange music, nor was it the first time that -Fillery entered the room alone. As once before, his colleague remained -outside, watching, waiting, half seduced, it seemed, yet vehemently -against a sympathetic attitude. He watched his chief go in, he saw the -expression on his face. Upon his own, behind a mild expectancy, lay a -look of pain. - -"Empty!" He heard the startled exclamation. - -And instantly Devonham was at his side, a firm hand upon his arm, his -eyes taking in an unused bed, a window opened wide, a glow of light -and heat the early sunshine could not possibly explain. The perfume, -as of flowers in the air, he noted too, and a sense of lightness, -freshness, sweetness about the atmosphere that produced happiness, -exhilaration. The room throbbed, as it were, with invisible waves of -some communicable power even he could not deny. But of "N. H.," the -recent occupant, there was no sign. - -"In the garden still. I lost sight of him somehow. I told you." - -Fillery crossed quickly to the window, his colleague with him, looking -out upon a lawn and paths that held no figure anywhere. The gardener -was not in sight. Only the birds were visible among the daisies. The -quiet sunlight lay as usual upon leaves and flowers waving in the -breeze. "He came in," Fillery went on rapidly under his breath. "He -must have slipped back when----" - -The sound of steps and voices behind them in the corridor brought both -men round with a quick movement, as Nurse Robbins, her arm linked in -that of "N. H.," stood in the open doorway. Her face was radiant, her -eyes alight, her breath came unevenly, and one might have thought her -caught midway in some ecstatic dance that still left its joy and bliss -stamped on her pretty face. Only she looked more than pretty; there -was beauty, a fairy loveliness about her that betrayed an intense -experience of some inner kind. - -At the sight of the two doctors she rapidly composed herself, leading -her companion quietly into the room. "He was upstairs, sir," she said -respectfully but breathlessly somewhat, and addressing herself, Fillery -noticed, to Devonham and not to himself. "He was going from room to -room, talking to the patients--er--singing to them. It was the singing -woke me----" - -"Upstairs!" exclaimed Devonham. "He has been up there!" - -She broke off as Fillery came forward and took "N. H." by the hands, -dismissing her with a gesture she was quick to understand. Devonham -went with her hurriedly, intent upon a personal inspection at once. - -"Your service called you," said Fillery quietly, the moment they were -alone. "I understand!" Through the contact of the hands waves of power -entered him, it seemed. About the face was light, as though fire glowed -behind the very skin and eyes, producing the effect almost of a halo. - -"They came for me, and I must go." The voice was deep and wonderful, -with prolonged vibrations. "I have found my own. I must return where my -service needs me, for here I can do so little." - -"To your own place where you are ruler of your fate," the other said -slowly. "Here you----" - -"Here," came the quick interruption, while the voice lost its -resonance, fading as it were in sadness, "here I--die." Even the -radiance of his face, although he smiled, dimmed a little on that final -word. "I can help where I belong--not here." The light returned, the -music came back into the amazing voice. - -"The daisy," whispered Fillery, joy rising in him strangely. - -"Nature," floated through the air like music, "is my place. With human -beings I cannot work. It is too much, and I only should destroy. They -are not ready yet, for our great rhythms injure them, and they cannot -understand." - -Trembling with emotions he could neither define nor control, Fillery -led him to the window. - -"Even in this little back-garden of a London house," he murmured, -"among, so to speak, the humble buttercups and daisies of our life! The -creative Intelligences at work, building, ever building the best forms -they can. You re-make a broken daisy"--his voice rose, as the great -shining face so close lit with its flaming smile--"you re-make as well -our broken minds. In the subconscious hides our creative power that you -stimulate. It is with that and that alone you work. It hides in all of -us, though the artist alone perceives or can use it. It is with that -you work----" - -"With you, dear Fillery, I can work, for you help me to remember. You -feel the big rhythms that we bring." - -Dr. Fillery started, peered about him, listened hard. Was it the -trees, shaking in the morning wind, that rustled? Was it a voice? The -dancing leaves reflected the sunshine from a thousand facets. The sound -accompanied, rather than interrupted, his own speech. He turned back to -"N. H." with passionate enthusiasm. - -"Using beauty--the artists--the creative powers of the Race," he went -on, "we shall create together a new body, a new vehicle, through which -your powers can express themselves. The intellect cannot serve you ... -it is the creative imagination of those who know beauty that you seek. -You are inarticulate in this wretched body. We shall make a new one----" - -"They have come for me and I must go----" - -"We will work together. Oh, stay--stay with me----!" - -"I have found the way. I have remembered. I must go back----" - -The wind died down, the leaves stopped rustling, the sunshine seemed -to pale as though a cloud passed over the sky. The words he had heard -resolved themselves into the morning sounds, the singing of the birds. -Had they been words at all? Bewilderment, like a pain, rushed over him. -He knew himself suddenly imprisoned, caught. - -"I have remembered," he heard in quiet tones, but the voice dead, no -resonance, no music in it. And across the room he saw suddenly Paul -Devonham just inside the door, returned from his inspection. Beside him -stood--LeVallon. - -An extraordinary reaction instantly took place in him. A lid was -raised, a shutter lifted, a wall fell flat. He hardly knew how to -describe it. Was it due to the look of anxiety, of tenderness, of -affectionate, of protective care he saw plainly upon his colleague's -face? He could not say. He only knew for certain in that instant that -Paul Devonham's main preoccupation was with--himself; that the latter -regarded him exactly as he regarded any other--yes, that was the only -word--any other patient; that he looked after him, tended, guarded, -cared for him--and that this watchful, experienced observation had been -going on now for a long, long time. - -The authority in his manner became abruptly clear as day. Devonham -watched over him; also he watched him. For days, for weeks, this had -been his attitude. For the first time, in this instant, as he saw him -lead away LeVallon into his own room and close the door, Fillery now -perceived this. He experienced a violent revulsion of mind. In a flash -a hundred details of the recent past occurred to him, chief among -them the fact that, more and more, the control of the Home and its -occupants had been taken over, Fillery himself only too willing, by his -assistant. A moment of appalling doubt rose like a black cloud.... - -He heard Paul telling LeVallon to begin his breakfast, just as the door -closed, and he noted the authoritative tone of voice. The next minute -he and his colleague were alone together. - -"Paul," said the chief quickly, but with a calm assurance that -anticipated a favourable answer, "_they_, at any rate, are all right?" - -Devonham nodded his head. "No harm done," he replied briefly. "In fact, -as you know, he rather stimulates them than otherwise." - -"I know." - -He felt, for the first time in their years of close relationship, a -breath of suspicion enter him. There was a look upon his colleague's -face he could not quite define. It baffled him. - -"Of course, I know----" - -He stopped, for the undecipherable look had strengthened suddenly. He -thought of a gaoler. - -"Paul," he said quickly, "what's the matter? What's wrong with you?" - -He drew back a pace or two and watched him. - -"With me--nothing, Edward. Nothing at all." The tone was grave with -anxiety, yet had this new authority in it. - -A feeling of intolerable insecurity came upon him, a sensation as -though he balanced on air, yet its cause, its origin, easily explained: -the support of his colleague's mind was taken from him. Paul's attitude -was clear as day to him. He _was_ a gaoler.... He recalled again the -recent detail, brightly significant--that Nurse Robbins had turned to -Paul, rather than to himself. - -"With--_me_, then--you think?" His voice hardly sounded like his own. -He looked about him for support, found an arm-chair, sat down in it. -"You're strange, Paul, very strange," he whispered. "What do you mean -by 'there's something wrong with _me_'?" - -Devonham's expression cleared slightly and a kindly, sympathetic -smile appeared, then vanished. The grave look that Fillery disliked -reappeared. - -"What d'you mean, Paul Devonham?" came the repetition, in a louder, -more challenging voice. "You're watching me--as though I were"--he -laughed without a trace of mirth--"a patient." He leaned forward. -"Paul, you've been watching me for a long time. Out with it, now. What -is it?" - -Devonham, who had kept silent, drew some papers from his pocket, a -bundle of rolled sheets. - -"Of course," he said gently, "I always watch you. For that's how I -learn. I learn from you, Edward, more than from anybody I know." - -But Dr. Fillery, his eyes fixed upon the sheaf of papers, had -recognized them. His own writing was visible along the uneven edges. -They were the description he had set down of his adventure on Flower -Hill, of the scenes between "N. H." and Lady Gleeson, between "N. H." -and Nayan, the autobiographical description with "N. H." and Nurse -Robbins soon after his arrival, when Fillery had so amazingly found his -own mind--as he believed--identified with his patient's. - -Devonham snapped off the elastic band that held the sheaf together. -"Edward, I've read them. We have no secrets, of course. I've read them -carefully. Every word--my dear fellow." - -"Yes, yes," replied the other, while something in him wavered horribly. -"I'm glad. They were meant for you to read, for of course we have no -secrets. I--I do not expect you to agree. We have never quite seen eye -to eye--have we?" His voice shook. "You terrible iconoclast," he added, -betraying thus the nature of the fear that changed his voice, then -recognizing with vexation that he had done so. "You believe nothing. -You never will believe anything. You cannot understand. With joy you -would destroy what I and others believe--wouldn't you, Paul----?" - -The deep sadness, the gravity on the face in front of him stopped the -tirade. - -"I would save you, Edward," came the earnest, gentle words, -"from yourself. The powers of auto-suggestion, as we know in our -practice--don't we?--are limitless. If you call that destroying----" - -From the adjoining room the clatter of knives and forks was audible. -Dr. Fillery listened a moment with a smile. - -"Paul," he asked, his voice firm and sure again, "is your chief patient -in that room," indicating the door with his head, "or--in this?" - -"In this," was the reply. "A wise man is always his own patient and -'Physician, heal thyself' his motto." He sat down beside his chief. -His manner changed; there was affection, deep solicitude, something -of passionate entreaty even in voice and eyes and gestures. "There -are features here," he said in lowered tones, "Edward, we have not -understood, perhaps even we can never understand; but we have not, I -think, sufficiently guarded against one thing--auto-suggestion. The -role it plays in life is immense, incalculable; it is in everything -we do and think, above all in everything we believe. It is peculiarly -powerful and active in--er--unusual things----" - -"The sound--the sounds--you've heard them yourself," broke in his -companion. - -Devonham shrugged his thin shoulders. "He sings--in a peculiar way." As -an aside, he said it, returning to his main sermon instantly. "Let us -leave details out," he cried; "it is the principle that concerns us. -Edward, your complex against humanity lies hard and rigid in you still. -It has never found that full recognition by yourself which can resolve -it. Your work, your noble work, is but a partial expression. The kernel -of this old complex in you remains unrelieved, undischarged--because -still unrecognized. And, further, you are continually adding to the -repression which"--even Devonham paused a second before using such a -word to such a man--"is poisoning you, Edward, poisoning you, I repeat." - -"You saw--you saw the rebuilding of--the daisy"--an odd whisper of -insecurity ran through the quiet words, a statement rather than a -question--"you realize, at any rate, that chance has brought us into -contact with Powers, creative Powers, of a new order----" - -"Let us omit all details just now," interrupted the other, a troubled, -indecipherable look on his face. "The undoubted telepathy between your -mind and mine nullifies any such----" - -"----powers of which we all have some faint counterpart, at any rate, -in our subliminal selves." Fillery had not heard the interruption. -"Powers by means of which we may build for the Race new forms, -new mental bodies, new vehicles for life, for God, to manifest -through--more perfect, more receptive----" - -Devonham had suddenly seized both his hands and was leaning closer to -him. Something compelling, authoritative, peculiarly convincing for a -moment had its undeniable effect, again stopping the flow of hurried, -passionate, eager words. - -"There is one new form, new body," and the intensity in voice and eyes -drove the meaning deep, deep into his listener's mind and heart. "I -wish to see you build. One, and one only--physical, mental, spiritual. -But you cannot build it, Edward--alone!" - -"Paul!" The other held up a warning hand; the expression in his eyes -was warning too. Their effect upon Devonham, however, was nil. He was -talking with a purpose nothing could alter. - -"She is still waiting for you," he went on with determination, "and -already you have kept her waiting--overlong." In the tone, in the hard -clear eyes as well, lay a suggestion almost of tears. - -He opened the door into the breakfast-room, but Fillery caught his -arm and stopped him. They could hear Nurse Robbins speaking, as she -attended as usual to her patient's wants. Coffee was being poured out. -There was a sound of knives and plates and cups. - -"One minute, Paul, one minute before we go in." He drew him aside. "And -what, _Doctor_ Devonham, may I ask, would you prescribe?" There was a -curious mixture of gentle sarcasm, of pity, of patient tolerance, yet -at the same time of sincere, even anxious, interest in the question. -The face and manner betrayed that he waited for the answer with -something more than curiosity. - -There was no hesitancy in Devonham. He judged the moment ripe, perhaps; -he was aware that his words would be listened to, appreciated, -understood certainly, and possibly, obeyed. - -"Expression," he said convincingly, but in a lowered voice. "The -fullest expression, everywhere and always. Let it all come. Accept the -lot, believe the lot, welcome the lot, and thus"--he could not conceal -the note of passionate entreaty, of deep affection--"avoid every atom -of _repression_. In the end--in the long run--your own best judgment -_must_ prevail." - -They smiled into each other's eyes for a moment in silence, while, -instinctively and automatically, their hands joined in a steady clasp. - -"Bless you, old fellow," murmured the chief. "As if I didn't know! It's -the treatment you've been trying on me for weeks and months. As if I -hadn't noticed!" - -As they entered the breakfast-room, Nurse Robbins, with flushed face -and sparkling eyes, was pouring out the coffee, leaning close over her -patient's shoulder as she did so. Fresh roses were in her cheeks as -well as on the table. - -"This is its touch upon the blossomed maid," whispered Fillery, with -the quick hint of humour that belongs only to the sane. At the same -time the light remark was produced, he well knew, by a part of himself -that sought to remain veiled from recognition. Any other triviality -would have done as well to cloak the sharp pain that swept him, and -to lead his listener astray. For in that instant, as they entered, he -saw at the table not "N. H.," but LeVallon--the backward, ignorant, -commonplace LeVallon, an empty, untaught personality, yet so receptive -that anything--_anything_--could be transferred to him by a strong, -vivid mind, a mind, for instance, like his own.... - -The sight, for a swift instant, was intolerable and devastating. He -balanced again on air that gave him no support. He wavered, almost -swayed. "N. H.," in that horrible and painful second, did not exist, -and never had existed. The unstable mind, he comforted himself, -experiences dislocating extremes of attitude ... for, at the same time -as he saw himself shaking and wavering without solid support, he saw -the figure of Paul Devonham, big, important, authoritative, dominating -the uncertainties of life with calm, steady power. - -In a fraction of a second all this came and went. He sat down beside -LeVallon, his eyes still twinkling with his trivial little joke. - -"'N. H.,'" he whispered to Devonham quickly, "has--escaped at last." - -"LeVallon," came the whispered reply as quickly, "is cured at last." -And, to conceal an intolerable rush of pain, of loss, of loneliness -that threatened tears, he pointed to the dropped eyes and blushing -cheeks of the pretty nurse across the table. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - -To Edward Fillery, the deep pain of frustration baffling all his mental -processes, the end had come with a strange, bewildering swiftness. He -knew there had been a prolonged dislocation of his being, possibly, -even a partial loss of memory with regard to much that went on about -him, but he could not, did not, admit that no value or reality had -attached to his experiences. The central self in him had projected a -limb, an arm, that, feeling its way across the confining wall of the -prison house, groping towards an unbelievably wonderful revelation of -new possibilities, had abruptly now withdrawn again. The dissociation -in his personality was over. He was, in other words, no longer aware -of "N. H." Like Devonham, he now did not "perceive" "N. H.," but only -LeVallon. But, unlike Devonham, he _had_ perceived him.... - -He had met half-way a mighty and magnificent Vision. Its truth and -beauty remained for him enduring. The revelation had come and gone. -That its close was sudden, simple, undramatic, above all untheatrical, -satisfied him. "N. H." had "escaped," leaving the commonplace -LeVallon in his place. But, at least, he had known "N. H." - -His whole being, an odd, sweet, happy pain in him, yearned ever to -the glorious memory of it all. The melancholy, the peculiar shyness -he felt, were not without an indefinite pleasure. His nature still -vibrated to those haunting and inspiring rhythms, but his normal, -earthly faculties, he flattered himself, were in no sense permanently -disorganized. Professionally, he still cared for LeVallon, disenchanted -dust though he might be, compared to "N. H." ... He approved of -Devonham's proposal to take him for a few days to the sea. He also -approved of Paul's advice that he should accept Father Collins' -invitation to spend a day or two at his country cottage. The Khilkoffs -would be there, father and daughter. The Home, in charge of an -assistant, could be reached in a few hours in case of need. The magic -of Devonham's wise, controlling touch lay in every detail, it seemed.... - -He saw the trio--for Nurse Robbins was of the party--off to Seaford. -"The final touches to his cure," Paul mentioned slyly, with a smile, as -the guard whistled. But of whose cure he did not explain. "He'll bathe -in the sea," he added, the reference obvious this time. "And--when -we return--I shall be best man. I've already promised!" There was a -triumph of skilled wisdom in both sentences. - -"The time isn't ripe yet, Edward, for too magnificent ideas. And -your ideas have been a shade too magnificent, perhaps." He talked on -lightly, even carelessly. And, as usual, there was purpose, meaning, -"treatment"--his friend easily discerned it now--in every detail of his -attitude. - -Fillery laughed. Through his mind ran Povey's sentence, "Never argue -with the once-born!" but aloud he said, "At any rate, I've no idea that -I'm Emperor of Japan or--or the Archangel Gabriel!" And the other, -pleased and satisfied that a touch of humour showed itself, shook hands -firmly, affectionately, through the window as the train moved off. -LeVallon raised his hat to his chief and smiled--an ordinary smile.... - - * * * * * - -With the speed and incongruity of a dream these few days slipped by, -their happenings vivid enough, yet all set to a curiously small scale, -a cramped perspective, blurred a little as by a fading light. Only -one thing retained its brilliance, its intense reality, its place in -the bigger scale, its vast perspective remaining unchanged. The same -immense sweet rhythm swept Iraida and himself inevitably together. Some -deep obsession that hitherto prevented had been withdrawn. - -She had called that very morning--Paul's touch visible here again, he -believed, though he had not asked. He looked on and smiled. After the -ordeal of breakfast with Devonham and LeVallon her visit was announced. -It was Paul, after a little talk downstairs, who showed her in. With -the radiance of a spring wild-flower opening to the early sunshine, -her unexpected visit to his study seemed clothed. Unexpected, yes, but -surely inevitable as well. With the sweet morning wind through the -open window, it seemed, she came to him, the letter of invitation from -Father Collins in her hand. His own lay among his correspondence, still -untouched. Her perfume rose about him as she explained something he -hardly heard or followed. - -"You'll come, Edward, won't you? You'll come too." - -"Of course," he answered. But it was a song he heard, and no dull -spoken words. She ran dancing towards him through a million flowers; -her hair flew loose along the scented winds; her white limbs glowed -with fire. He danced to meet her. It was in the Valley that he caught -her hands and met her eyes. "It's happened," he heard himself saying. -"It's happened at last--just as you said it must. _Escape!_ He has -escaped!" - -"But we shall follow after--when the time comes, Edward." - -"Where the wild bee never flew!"... - -"When the time comes," she repeated. - -Her voice, her smile, her eyes brought him back sharply into the little -room. The furniture showed up again. The Valley faded. He noticed -suddenly that for the first time she wore no flowers in her dress as -usual. - -"Iraida!" he exclaimed. "Then--you knew!" - -She bent her head, smiling divinely. She took both his hands in hers. -At her touch every obstacle between them melted. His own private, -personal inhibition he saw as the trivial barriers a little child -might raise. His complex against humanity, as Paul called it, had -disappeared. Their minds, their beings, their natures became most -strangely one, he felt, and yet quite naturally. There was nothing -they did not share. - -"With the first dawn," he heard her say in a low voice. "Never--never -again," he seemed to hear, "shall we destroy his--their--work of ages." - -"A flower," he whispered, "has no need to wear a flower!" He was -convinced that she too had shared an experience similar to his own, -perhaps had even seen the bright, marvellous Deva faces peering, -shining.... He did not ask. She said no more. Life flowed between them -in an untroubled stream.... - - * * * * * - -Like the flow of a stream, indeed, things went past him, yet with -incidents and bits of conversation thus picked out with vivid -sharpness. The dissociation of his being was still noticeable here and -there, he supposed. The swell after the storm took time to settle down. -Slowly, however, the waves that had been projected, leaping to heaven, -returned to the safe, quiet dead level of the normal calm.... The -depths lay still once more. And his melancholy passed a little, lifted. -He knew, at any rate, those depths were now accessible. - -"I've seen over the wall a moment," he said to himself. "Paul is both -right and wrong. What I've seen lies too far ahead of the Race to be -intelligible or of use. I should be cast out, crucified, my other, -simpler work destroyed. To control rhythms so powerful, so different to -anything we now know, is not yet possible. They would shatter, rather -than construct." He smiled sadly, yet with resignation. There was pain -and humour in his eyes. "I should be regarded as a Promethean merely, -an extremist Promethean, and probably be locked up for contravening -some County Council bye-law or offending Church and State. That's -where he, perhaps, is right--Paul!" He thought of him with affection -and pity, with understanding love. "How wise and faithful, how patient -and how skilled--within his limits. The stable are the useful; the -stable are the leaders; the stable rule the world. People with steady -if unvisioned eyes like Paul, with money like Lady Gleeson.... But, -oh!"--he sighed--"how slow, ye gods! how slow!" ... - - * * * * * - -The visit was a strange one. Nayan sat between him and her father in -the motor. It was not far from London, the ancient little house among -the trees where Father Collins secreted himself from time to time upon -occasional "retreats." - -Within the grounds it might have been the centre of the New Forest, -but for the sound of tramcar bells that sometimes came jangling -faintly through the thick screen of leaves. There were old-world paved -courtyards with sweet playing fountains, miniature lawns, tangles of -flowers, small sunken gardens with birds of cut box and yew, stone -nymphs, and a shaggy, moss-grown Pan, whose hand that once held the -pipes had broken off. Suburbia lay outside, yet, by walking wisely, it -was possible to move among these delights for half an hour, great trees -ever rustling overhead, and a clear small stream winding peacefully in -and out with gentle lapping murmurs. Nature here lay undisturbed as it -had lain for centuries. - -The little ancient house, moreover, seemed to have grown up with the -green things out of the soil, so naturally, it all belonged together. -The garden ran indoors, it seemed, through open doors and windows. -Butterflies floated from courtyard into drawing-room and out again, -leaves blew through dining-room windows, scurrying to another little -bit of lawn; the sun and wind, even the fountains' spray, found the -walls no obstacle as though unaware of them. Bees murmured, swallows -hung below the eaves. It was, indeed, a healing spot, a natural -retreat.... - -"I really believe the river rises in your library," exclaimed Fillery, -after a tour of inspection with his host, "and my bedroom is in the -heart of that big chestnut across the lawn. Do my feet touch carpet, -grass, or bark when I get out of bed in the morning?" - -"I've learnt more here," began Father Collins, "than at all the -conferences and learned meetings I ever attended...." - -The group of four stood in the twilight by the playing fountain where -the dignified stone Pan watched the paved little court, listening to -the splash of the water and the wind droning among the leaves. The lap -of the winding stream came faintly to them. The stillness cast a spell -about them, dropping a screen against the outer world. - -"Hark!" said Father Collins, holding a curved hand to his ear. "You -hear the music...?" - - "'Why, in the leafy greenwood lone - Sit you, rustic Pan, and drone - On a dulcet resonant reed?'" - -He paused, peering across to the stone figure as for an answer. All -stood listening, waiting, only wind and water breaking the silence. -The bats were now flitting; overhead hung the saffron arch of fading -sunset. In a deep ringing voice, very gruff and very low, Father -Collins gave the answer: - - "'So that yonder cows may feed - Up the dewy mountain passes, - Gathering the feathered grasses.' - -"That's Pan's work," he said, laughing pleasantly, "Pan and all his -splendid hierarchy. Always at work, though invisibly, with music, -colour, beauty!..." - -It was scraps like this that stood out in Fillery's memory, adding to -his conviction that Paul had enlisted even this strange priest in his -deep-laid plan.... - -"Each man is saturated with certain ideas, thoughts, phrases in a -line of his own. These constitute his groove. To go outside it makes -him feel homeless and uncomfortable. Accustomed to its measurements -and safe within them, he interprets all he hears, reads, observes, -according to his particular familiar shibboleths, to which, as to -a standard of infallible criticism, he brings slavishly all that -is offered for the consideration of his judgment. A new Idea stands -little chance of being comprehended, much less adopted. Tell him new -things about the stars, the Stock Exchange, the Stigmata--up crops -his Standard of approval or disapproval. He cannot help himself. His -judgment, based upon the limited content of his groove, operates -automatically. He condemns. An entirely new idea is barely glanced at -before it is rejected for the rubbish heap. How, then, can progress -come swiftly to a Race composed of such individuals? Mass-judgment, -herd-opinion governs everything. He who has original ideas is outcast, -and dwells lonely as the moon. How slow, ye Gods! How slow!" ... - -Only Fillery could not remember, could not be certain, whether it was -his host or himself that used the words. Father Collins, as usual, -was saying "all sorts of things," but addressed himself surely, to -old Khilkoff most of the time, the Russian, half angry, half amused, -growling out his comments and replies as he sat smoking heavily and -enjoying the peaceful night scene in his own fashion.... - -It was odd, none the less, how much that the wild priest gabbled -coincided with his own, with Fillery's, thoughts at the moment. A -peculiar melancholy, a mood of shyness never known before, lay still -upon him. The beauty of the silent girl beside him overpowered him -a little; too wonderful to hold, to own, she seemed. Yet they were -deliciously, uncannily akin. All his former self-created denials and -suppressions, hesitations and refusals had vanished. "N. H."--He -wondered?--had provided him with the fullest expression he had ever -known. A boundless relief poured over him. He was aware of wholesome -desire rising behind his old high admiration and respect.... - -He watched her once standing close to Pan's broken outline among the -shadows, touching the mossy arm with white fingers, and he imagined for -an instant that she held the vanished pipes. - -"After an experience with Other Beings," Father Collins's endless drone -floated to him, "shyness, they say, is felt. Silence descends upon the -whole nature" ... to which, a little later, came the growling comment -with its foreign accent: "Talk may be pleasurable--sometimes--but it is -profitable rarely...." - -The talk flowed past and over him, occasional phrases, like islands -rising out of a stream, inviting his attention momentarily to land and -listen.... The girl, he now saw, no longer stood beside the broken -stone figure. She was wandering idly towards the farther garden and the -trees. - -He burned to rise and go to her, but something held him. What was it? -What could it be? Some strange hard little obstacle prevented. Then, -suddenly, he knew what it was that stopped him: he was waiting for that -familiar pet sentence. Once he heard that, the impetus to move, the -power to overcome his strange shyness, the certainty that his whole -being was at last one with itself again, would come to him. It made him -laugh inwardly while he recognized the validity of the detail--final -symptoms of the obstructing inhibitions, of the obstinate original -complex. - -The outline of the girl was lost now, merged in the shadows beyond. -He stirred, but could not get up to go. A fury of impatience burned -in him. Father Collins, he felt, dawdled outrageously. He was -talking--jawing, Fillery called it--about extraordinary experiences. -"Gradually, as consciousness more and more often extends, the organs -to record such extensions will be formed, you see.... If our inventive -faculties were turned inwards, instead of outwards for gain and comfort -as they now are, we might know the gods...." - -The sculptor's growl, though the words were this time inaudible, had a -bite in them. The other voice poured on like thick, slow oil: - -"What, anyhow, is it, then, that urges us on in spite of all obstacles, -denials, failures...?" - -Then came something that seemed leading up to the pet sentence that -was the signal he waited for--nearer to it, at any rate: - -"... It's childish, surely, to go on merely seeking more of what we -have already. We should seek something new...." - -A call, it seemed, came to him on the wind from the dark trees. But -still he could not move. - -But, at last, out of a prolonged jumble of the two voices, one -growling, the other high pitched, came the signal he somehow waited -for. Even now, however, the speaker delayed it as long as possible. He -was doing it, of course, on purpose. This was intentional, obviously. - -"... Yes, but a thing out of its right place is without power, -life, means of expression--robbed of its context which alone gives -it meaning--robbed, so to speak, of its arms and legs--_without a -body_...." - -There, at least, was the definite proof that Father Collins was doing -this of deliberate, set purpose! - -"Go on! Yes, but, for God's sake, say it! I want to be off!" Fillery -believed he shrieked the words, but apparently they were inaudible. -They remained unnoticed, at any rate. - -"... Hence the value of order, tidiness, you see. Often a misplaced -thing is invisible until replaced where it belongs. It is, as we say, -lost. No movement is meaningless, no walk without purpose. All your -movements tend towards your proper place...." - -A breeze blew the fountain spray aside so that its splashing ceased for -a brief second. From the rustling leaves beyond came a faint murmur -as of distant piping. But--into the second's pause had leaped the pet -sentence: - -"Only a being in his _own_ place is the ruler of his fate." - -The signal! He was aware that the Russian cleared his throat and -spat unmusically, aware also that Father Collins, a queer smile just -discernible on his face in the gloom, turned his head with a gesture -that might well have been an understanding nod. Both sound and gesture, -however, were already behind him. He was released. He was across the -paved courtyard, past the fountain, past the stone figure of the silent -old rough god--and off! - -And as he went, finding his way instinctively among the dark trees, -that pet sentence went with him like a clarion call, as though sweet -piping music played it everywhere about him. A thousand memories shut -down with a final snap. In the stage of his mind came a black-out upon -a host of inhibitions. There was an immense and glorious sense of -relief as though bitter knots were suddenly disentangled, and some iron -kernel of resistance that had weighted him for years flowed freely at -last in a stream of happy molten gold.... - -He found her easily. Where the trees thinned at the farther edge he -saw her figure, long before he came up with her, outlined against the -fading saffron. He saw her turn. He saw her arms outstretched. He came -up with her the same minute, and they stood in silence for a long time, -watching the darkness bend and sink upon the landscape. - -For, here, at this one edge of the tiny estate, the real open country -showed. Beyond them, in the twilight, lay the silent fields like a -gigantic brown and yellow carpet whose shaken folds still seemed to -tremble and run on beneath the growing moon. Along a farther ridge the -trees and hedges passed in a ragged procession of strange figures, -defined sharply against the sky--witches, queens and goblins on the -prowl, the ancient fairyland of the English countryside. - -They still stood silent, side by side, touching almost, their heat and -perfume and atmosphere intermingling, looking out across the quiet -scene. He was aware that her mind stole into his most sweetly, and that -without knowing it his hand had found her own, and that, presently, she -leaned a little against him. Their eyes, their mental sight as well, -saw the same things, he knew. The first stars peeped out, and they -looked up at them as one being looks, together. - -"The wonder that you saw--in him," he heard himself saying. It was a -statement, not a question. - -"Was yourself, of course," her voice, like his own, in the rustle of -the leaves, came softly. It continued his own thought rather than -replied to it. "The part you've held down and hidden away all these -years." - -Her divination came to him with staggering effect. "You always knew -then?" - -"Always. The first day we met you took me into the firm." - -He was aware that everything about him pulsed and throbbed with life, -intelligence in every stick and stone. Angelic beings marched on -their wondrous business through the sky. A mighty host pursued their -endless service with a network of huge and tiny rhythms. The spirals of -creative fire soared and danced.... - -The moon emerged, sailing, sailing, as though no wind could stop her -lovely flight. She fled the stars themselves. The clouds turned round -to look at her, as, clearing their hair, she passed onwards with her -radiant smile. Heading into the bare bosom of the sky, she blazed in -her triumph of loneliness, her icy prow set towards some far, unknown, -unearthly goal, which is the reason why men love her so. - -"And my theories--our theories?" he murmured into the ear against his -lips. "The way that has been shown to us?" - -Both arms were now about her, and he held her so close that her words -were but a warm perfumed breath to cover his face as her hair was -covering his eyes. - -"We shall follow it together ... dear." - -It was as if some angel, stepping down the sky, came near enough to -fold them in a great rhythm of fire and wind. Bright, mighty faces in a -crowd rose round them, and, through her hair, he saw familiar visible -outlines of all the common things melt out, showing for one gorgeous -instant the flashings and whirlings that was the workshop of Their -deathless service. - -"Look! Look!" he whispered, pointing from the darkening earth to the -stars and sailing moon above. "They're everywhere! You can see them -too? The bright messengers?" - -For answer, she came yet closer against his side, holding him more -tightly to her, lifting her lips to his, so that in her very eyes he -saw the marvellous fire shine and flash. "We shall build together, you -and I," she whispered very softly, "and with Their help, the sweetest -and most perfect body ever known...." - -But behind the magic of her words and voice, behind their meaning -and the steadying, understanding sympathy he easily divined, he -heard another sound, familiar as a dream, yet fraught with some -haunting significance he already was forgetting--almost _had_ -entirely forgotten. From the centre of the earth it seemed to rise, -a magnificent, deep, stupendous rhythm that created, at least, the -impression of a voice: - -"I weave and I weave...!" rolled forth, as though the planet uttered. -He stood waiting, transfixed, listening intently. - -"You heard?" he whispered. - -"Everything," she said, tight in his arms at once again, her lips on -his. "The very beating of your heart--your inmost thoughts as well." - - -THE END - - - - - Transcriber's Note: - - Punctuation has been standardised. Hyphenation and spelling has been - retained as in the original publication except as follows: - - Page 30 - Khilkoff, the daugher of his _changed to_ - Khilkoff, the daughter of his - - Page 38 - Butt puzzled--my God _changed to_ - But puzzled--my God - - Page 59 - sets limits to it, Edward _changed to_ - set limits to it, Edward - - Page 70 - Le Vallon was quite docile _changed to_ - LeVallon was quite docile - - Page 72 - Yets its limits seemed _changed to_ - Yet its limits seemed - - Page 105 - according to Bose.... _changed to_ - according to Bose.... - - Page 153 - reaching the divan in its dimlit _changed to_ - reaching the divan in its dim-lit - - Page 157 - went as unobstrusively as an animal _changed to_ - went as unobtrusively as an animal - - Page 185 - was too convicing to be missed _changed to_ - was too convincing to be missed - - Page 282 - with amazemnt. They were so _changed to_ - with amazement. They were so - - Page 299 - Le Vallon went on, plucking the _changed to_ - LeVallon went on, plucking the - - all her life suppressed (because _changed to_ - all her life suppressed because - - Page 302 - young girl wavered and hestitated _changed to_ - young girl wavered and hesitated - - Page 339 - planetary spirits and vast Intelligenes _changed to_ - planetary spirits and vast Intelligences - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's The Bright Messenger, by Algernon Blackwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BRIGHT MESSENGER *** - -***** This file should be named 43594.txt or 43594.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/5/9/43594/ - -Produced by The Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions -will be renamed. - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no -one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation -(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without -permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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