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diff --git a/43816-0.txt b/43816-0.txt index 6f9350f..568b260 100644 --- a/43816-0.txt +++ b/43816-0.txt @@ -1,38 +1,4 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Incredible Adventures, 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/license - - -Title: Incredible Adventures - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: September 26, 2013 [EBook #43816] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -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 43816 *** INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES @@ -11011,366 +10977,4 @@ retained as in the original publication except as follows. 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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/license - - -Title: Incredible Adventures - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: September 26, 2013 [EBook #43816] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -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.) - - - - - - - - - -INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - LONDON · BOMBAY · CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK · BOSTON · CHICAGO - DALLAS · SAN FRANCISCO - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. - TORONTO - - - - - INCREDIBLE - ADVENTURES - - BY - ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - AUTHOR OF 'JIMBO,' 'JOHN SILENCE,' - 'THE CENTAUR,' 'A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND,' ETC. - - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON - 1914 - - - COPYRIGHT - - - - -TO - -M. S.-K. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE REGENERATION OF LORD ERNIE 3 - - THE SACRIFICE 95 - - THE DAMNED 131 - - A DESCENT INTO EGYPT 241 - - WAYFARERS 339 - - - - -THE REGENERATION OF LORD ERNIE - - -I - -John Hendricks was bear-leading at the time. He had originally studied -for Holy Orders, but had abandoned the Church later for private reasons -connected with his faith, and had taken to teaching and tutoring -instead. He was an honest, upstanding fellow of five-and-thirty, -incorruptible, intelligent in a simple, straightforward way. He played -games with his head, more than most Englishmen do, but he went through -life without much calculation. He had qualities that made boys like -and respect him; he won their confidence. Poor, proud, ambitious, -he realised that fate offered him a chance when the Secretary of -State for Scotland asked him if he would give up his other pupils -for a year and take his son, Lord Ernie, round the world upon an -educational trip that might make a man of him. For Lord Ernie was the -only son, and the Marquess's influence was naturally great. To have -deposited a regenerated Lord Ernie at the castle gates might have -guaranteed Hendricks' future. After leaving Eton prematurely the lad -had come under Hendricks' charge for a time, and with such excellent -results--'I'd simply swear by that chap, you know,' the boy used -to say--that his father, considerably impressed, and rather as a -last resort, had made this proposition. And Hendricks, without much -calculation, had accepted it. He liked 'Bindy' for himself. It was -in his heart to 'make a man of him,' if possible. They had now been -round the world together and had come up from Brindisi to the Italian -Lakes, and so into Switzerland. It was middle October. With a week or -two to spare they were making leisurely for the ancestral halls in -Aberdeenshire. - -The nine months' travel, Hendricks realised with keen disappointment, -had accomplished, however, very little. The job had been exhausting, -and he had conscientiously done his best. Lord Ernie liked him -thoroughly, admiring his vigour with a smile of tolerant good-nature -through his ceaseless cigarette smoke. They were almost like two boys -together. 'You _are_ a chap and a half, Mr. Hendricks. You really -ought to be in the Cabinet with my father.' Hendricks would deliver -up his useless parcel at the castle gates, pocket the thanks and the -hard-earned fee, and go back to his arduous life of teaching and -writing in dingy lodgings. It was a pity, even on the lowest grounds. -The tutor, truth to tell, felt undeniably depressed. Hopeful by nature, -optimistic, too, as men of action usually are, he cast about him, even -at the last hour, for something that might stir the boy to life, wake -him up, put zest and energy into him. But there was only Paris now -between them and the end; and Paris certainly could not be relied upon -for help. Bindy's desire for Paris even was not strong enough to count. -No desire in him was ever strong. There lay the crux of the problem in -a word--Lord Ernie was without desire which is life. - -Tall, well-built, handsome, he was yet such a feeble creature, without -the energy to be either wild or vicious. Languid, yet certainly not -decadent, life ran slowly, flabbily in him. He took to nothing. The -first impression he made was fine--then nothing. His only tastes, if -tastes they could be called, were out-of-door tastes: he was vaguely -interested in flying, yet not enough to master the mechanism of it; -he liked motoring at high speed, being driven, not driving himself; -and he loved to wander about in woods, making fires like a Red Indian, -provided they lit easily, yet even this, not for the poetry of the -thing nor for any love of adventure, but just 'because.' 'I like fire, -you know; like to watch it burn.' Heat seemed to give him curious -satisfaction, perhaps because the heat of life, he realised, was -deficient in his six-foot body. It was significant, this love of fire -in him, though no one could discover why. As a child he had a dangerous -delight in fireworks--anything to do with fire. He would watch a candle -flame as though he were a fire-worshipper, but had never been known to -make a single remark of interest about it. In a wood, as mentioned, the -first thing he did was to gather sticks--though the resulting fire was -never part of any purpose. He had no purpose. There was no wind or fire -of life in the lad at all. The fine body was inert. - -Hendricks did wrong, of course, in going where he did--to this little -desolate village in the Jura Mountains--though it was the first time -all these trying months he had allowed himself a personal desire. But -from Domo Dossola the Simplon Express would pass Lausanne, and from -Lausanne to the Jura was but a step--all on the way home, moreover. -And what prompted him was merely a sentimental desire to revisit the -place where ten years before he had fallen violently in love with the -pretty daughter of the Pasteur, M. Leysin, in whose house he lodged. -He had gone there to learn French. The very slight detour seemed -pardonable. - -His spiritless charge was easily persuaded. - -'We might go home by Pontarlier instead of Bâle, and get a glimpse -of the Jura,' he suggested. 'The line slides along its frontiers -a bit, and then goes bang across it. We might even stop off a -night on the way--if you cared about it. I know a curious old -village--Villaret--where I went at your age to pick up French.' - -'Top-hole,' replied Lord Ernie listlessly. 'All on the way to Paris, -ain't it?' - -'Of course. You see there's a fortnight before we need get home.' - -'So there is, yes. Let's go.' He felt it was almost his own idea, and -that he decided it. - -'If you'd _really_ like it.' - -'Oh, yes. Why not? I'm sick of cities.' He flicked some dust off his -coat sleeve with an immaculate silk handkerchief, then lit a cigarette. -'Just as you like,' he added with a drawl and a smile. 'I'm ready for -anything.' There was no keenness, no personal desire, no choice in -reality at all; flabby good-nature merely. - -A suggestion was invariably enough, as though the boy had no will of -his own, his opposition rarely more than negative sulking that soon -flattened out because it was forgotten. Indeed, no sign of positive -life lay in him anywhere--no vitality, aggression, coherence of desire -and will; vacuous rather than imbecile; unable to go forward upon any -definite line of his own, as though all wheels had slipped their cogs; -a pasty soul that took good enough impressions, yet never mastered them -for permanent use. Nothing stuck. He would never make a politician, -much less a statesman. The family title would be borne by a nincompoop. -Yet all the machinery was there, one felt--if only it could be driven, -made to go. It was sad. Lord Ernie was heir to great estates, with a -name and position that might influence thousands. - -And Hendricks had been a good selection, with his virility and gentle, -understanding firmness. He understood the problem. 'You'll do what no -one else could,' the anxious father told him, 'for he worships you, -and you can sting without hurting him. You'll put life and interest -into him if anybody in this world can. I have great hopes of this -tour. I shall always be in your debt, Mr. Hendricks.' And Hendricks -had accepted the onerous duty in his big, high-minded way. He was -conscientious to the backbone. This little side-trip was his sole -deflection, if such it can be called even. 'Life, light and cheerful -influences,' had been his instructions, 'nothing dull or melancholy; -an occasional fling, if he wants it--I'd welcome a fling as a good -sign--and as much intercourse with decent people, and stimulating -sight-seeing as you can manage--or can stand,' the Marquess added with -a smile. 'Only you won't overtax the lad, will you? Above all, let him -think _he_ chooses and decides, when possible.' - -Villaret, however, hardly complied with these conditions; there was -melancholy in it; Hendricks' mind--whose reflexes the spongy nature of -the empty lad absorbed too easily--would be in a minor key. Yet a night -could work no harm. Whence came, he wondered, the fleeting notion -that it might do good? Was it, perhaps, that Leysin, the vigorous old -Pasteur, might contribute something? Leysin had been a considerable -force in his own development, he remembered; they had corresponded a -little since; Leysin was out of the common, certainly, restless energy -in him as of the sea. Hendricks found difficulty in sorting out his -thoughts and motives, but Leysin was in them somewhere--this idea that -his energetic personality might help. His vitalising effect, at least, -would counteract the melancholy. - -For Villaret lay huddled upon unstimulating slopes, the robe of gloomy -pine-woods sweeping down towards its poverty from bleak heights and -desolate gorges. The peasants were morose, ill-living folk. It was -a dark untaught corner in a range of otherwise fairy mountains, a -backwater the sun had neglected to clean out. Superstitions, Hendricks -remembered, of incredible kind still lingered there; a touch of the -sinister hovered about the composite mind of its inhabitants. The -Pasteur fought strenuously this blackness in their lives and thoughts; -in the village itself with more or less success--though even there -the drinking and habits of living were utterly unsweetened--but on -the heights, among the somewhat arid pastures, the mountain men -remained untamed, turbulent, even menacing. Hendricks knew this of -old, though he had never understood too well. But he remembered how -the English boys at _la cure_ were forbidden to climb in certain -directions, because the life in these scattered châlets was somehow -loose and violent. There was danger there, the danger, however, never -definitely stated. Those lonely ridges lay cursed beneath dark skies. -He remembered, too, the savage dogs, the difficulty of approach, the -aggressive attitude towards the plucky Pasteur's visits to these remote -upland _pâturages_. They did not lie in his parish: Leysin made his -occasional visits as man and missionary; for extraordinary rumours, -Hendricks recalled, were rife, of some queer worship of their own these -lawless peasants kept alive in their distant, windy territory, planted -there first, the story had it, by some renegade priest whose name was -now forgotten. - -Hendricks himself had no personal experiences. He had been too deeply -in love to trouble about outside things, however strange. But Marston's -case had never quite left his memory--Marston, who climbed up by -unlawful ways, stayed away two whole days and nights, and came back -suddenly with his air of being broken, shattered, appallingly used up, -his face so lined and strained it seemed aged by twenty years, and yet -with a singular new life in him, so vehement, loud, and reckless, it -was like a kind of sober intoxication. He was packed off to England -before he could relate anything. But he had suffered shocks. His white, -passionate face, his boisterous new vigour, the way M. Leysin screened -his view of the heights as he put him personally into the Paris -train--almost as though he feared the boy would see the hills and make -another dash for them!--made up an unforgettable picture in the mind. - -Moreover, between the sodden village and that string of evil -châlets that lay in their dark line upon the heights there had -been links. Exactly of what nature he never knew, for love made -all else uninteresting; only, he remembered swarthy, dark-faced -messengers descending into the sleepy hamlet from time to time, big, -mountain-limbed fellows with wind in their hair and fire in their eyes; -that their visits produced commotion and excitement of difficult kinds; -that wild orgies invariably followed in their wake; and that, when the -messengers went back, they did not go alone. There was life up there, -whereas the village was moribund. And none who went ever cared to -return. Cudrefin, the young giant _vigneron_, taken in this way, from -the very side of his sweetheart too, came back two years later as a -messenger himself. He did not even ask for the girl, who had meanwhile -married another. 'There's life up there with us,' he told the drunken -loafers in the 'Guillaume Tell,' 'wind and fire to make you spin to the -devil--or to heaven!' He was enthusiasm personified. In the village -he had been merely drinking himself stupidly to death. Vaguely, too, -Hendricks remembered visits of police from the neighbouring town, -some of them on horseback, all armed, and that once even soldiers -accompanied them, and on another occasion a bishop, or whatever the -church dignitary was called, had arrived suddenly and promised radical -assistance of a spiritual kind that had never materialised--oh, and -many other details that now trooped back with suggestions time had -certainly not made smaller. For the love had passed along its way and -gone, and he was free now to the invasion of other memories, dwarfed at -the time by that dominating, sweet passion. - -Yet all the tutor wanted now, this chance week in late October, was -to see again the corner of the mossy forest where he had known that -marvellous thing, first love; renew his link with Leysin who had taught -him much; and see if, perchance, this man's stalwart, virile energy -might possibly overflow with benefit into his listless charge. The -expenses he meant to pay out of his own pocket. Those wild pagans on -the heights--even if they still existed--there was no need to mention. -Lord Ernie knew little French, and certainly no word of _patois_. For -one night, or even two, the risk was negligible. - -Was there, indeed, risk at all of any sort? Was not this vague -uneasiness he felt merely conscience faintly pricking? He could not -feel that he was doing wrong. At worst, the youth might feel depression -for a few hours--speedily curable by taking the train. - -Something, nevertheless, did gnaw at him in subconscious fashion, -producing a sense of apprehension; and he came to the conclusion that -this memory of the mountain tribe was the cause of it--a revival of -forgotten boyhood's awe. He glanced across at the figure of Bindy -lounging upon the hotel lawn in an easy-chair, full in the sunshine, -a newspaper at his feet. Reclining there, he looked so big and -strong and handsome, yet in reality was but a painted lath without -resistance, much less attack, in all his many inches. And suddenly -the tutor recalled another thing, the link, however, undiscoverable, -and it was this: that the boy's mother, a Canadian, had suffered once -severely from a winter in Quebec, where the Marquess had first made -her acquaintance. Frost had robbed her, if he remembered rightly, of -a foot--with the result, at any rate, that she had a wholesome terror -of the cold. She sought heat and sun instinctively--fire. Also, that -asthma had been her sore affliction--sheer inability to take a full, -deep breath. This deficiency of heat and air, therefore, were in her -mind. And he knew that Bindy's birth had been an anxious time, the -anxiety justified, moreover, since she had yielded up her life for him. - -And so the singular thought flashed through him suddenly as he watched -the reclining, languid boy, Cudrefin's descriptive phrase oddly singing -in his head-- - -'Heat and fire, fire and wind--why, it's the very thing he lacks! And -he's always after them. I wonder----!' - - -II - -The lumbering yellow diligence brought them up from the Lake shore, a -long two hours, deposited them at the opening of the village street, -and went its grinding, toiling way towards the frontier. They arrived -in a blur of rain. It was evening. Lowering clouds drew night before -her time upon the world, obscuring the distant summits of the Oberland, -but lights twinkled here and there in the nearer landscape, mapping -the gloom with signals. The village was very still. Above and below -it, however, two big winds were at work, with curious results. For a -lower wind from the east in gusty draughts drove the body of the lake -into quick white horses which shone like wings against the deep _basses -Alpes_, while a westerly current swept the heights immediately above -the village. There was this odd division of two weathers, presaging a -change. A narrow line of clear bright sky showed up the Jura outline -finely towards the north, stars peeping sharply through the pale moist -spaces. Hurrying vapours, driven by the upper westerly wind, concealed -them thinly. They flashed and vanished. The entire ridge, five thousand -feet in the air, had an appearance of moving through the sky. Between -these opposing winds at different levels the village itself lay -motionless, while the world slid past, as it were, in two directions. - -'The earth seems turning round,' remarked Lord Ernie. He had been -reading a novel all day in train and steamer, and smoking endless -cigarettes in the diligence, his companion and himself its only -occupants. He seemed suddenly to have waked up. 'What is it?' he asked -with interest. - -Hendricks explained the queer effect of the two contrary winds. Columns -of peat smoke rose in thin straight lines from the blur of houses, -untouched by the careering currents above and below. The winds whirled -round them. - -Lord Ernie listened attentively to the explanation. - -'I feel as if I were spinning with it--like a top,' he observed, -putting his hand to his head a moment. 'And what are those lights up -there?' - -He pointed to the distant ridge, where fires were blazing as though -stars had fallen and set fire to the trees. Several were visible, at -regular intervals. The sharp summits of the limestone mountains cut -hard into the clear spaces of northern sky thousands of feet above. - -'Oh, the peasants burning wood and stuff, I suppose,' the tutor told -him. - -The youth turned an instant, standing still to examine them with a -shading hand. - -'People live up there?' he asked. There was surprise in his voice, and -his body stiffened oddly as he spoke. - -'In mountain châlets, yes,' replied the other a trifle impatiently, -noticing his attitude. 'Come along now,' he added, 'let's get to our -rooms in the carpenter's house before the rain comes down. You can -see the windows twinkling over there,' and he pointed to a building -near the church. 'The storm will catch us.' They moved quickly down -the deserted street together in the deepening gloom, passing little -gardens, doors of open barns, straggling manure heaps, and courtyards -of cobbled stones where the occasional figure of a man was seen. But -Lord Ernie lingered behind, half loitering. Once or twice, to the -other's increasing annoyance, he paused, standing still to watch the -heights through openings between the tumble-down old houses. Half a -dozen big drops of rain splashed heavily on the road. - -'Hurry up!' cried Hendricks, looking back, 'or we shall be caught. -It's the mountain wind--the _coup de joran_. You can hear it coming!' -For the lad was peering across a low wall in an attitude of fixed -attention. He made a gesture with one hand, as though he signalled -towards the ridges where the fires blazed. Hendricks called pretty -sharply to him then. It was possible, of course, that he misinterpreted -the movement; it _may_ merely have been that he passed his fingers -through his hair, across his eyes, or used the palm to focus sight, for -his hat was off and the light was quite uncertain. Only Hendricks did -not like the lingering or the gesture. He put authority into his tone -at once. 'Come along, will you; come along, Bindy!' he called. - -The answer filled him with amazement. - -'All right, all right. I'll follow in a moment. I like this.' - -The tutor went back a few steps towards him. The tone startled him. - -'Like what?' he asked. - -And Lord Ernie turned towards him with another face. There was -fighting in it. There was resolution. - -'This, of course,' the boy answered steadily, but with excitement shut -down behind, as he waved one arm towards the mountains. 'I've dreamed -this sort of thing; I've known it somewhere. We've seen nothing like it -all our stupid trip.' The flash in his brown eyes passed then, as he -added more quietly, but with firmness: 'Don't wait for me; I'll follow.' - -Hendricks stood still in his tracks. There was a decision in the voice -and manner that arrested him. The confidence, the positive statement, -the eager desire, the hint of energy--all this was new. He had never -encouraged the boy's habit of vivid dreaming, deeming the narration -unwise. It flashed across him suddenly now that the 'deficiency' might -be only on the surface. Energy and life hid, perhaps, subconsciously in -him. Did the dreams betray an activity he knew not how to carry through -and correlate with his everyday, external world? And were these dreams -evidence of deep, hidden desire--a clue, possibly, to the energy he -sought and needed, the exact kind of energy that might set the inert -machinery in motion and drive it? - -He hesitated an instant, waiting in the road. He was on the verge of -understanding something that yet just evaded him. Bindy's childish, -instinctive love of fire, his passion for air, for rushing wind, for -oceans of limitless---- - -There came at that moment a deep roaring in the mountains. Far away, -but rapidly approaching, the ominous booming of it filled the air. -The westerly wind descended by the deep gorges, shaking the forests, -shouting as it came. Clouds of white dust spiralled into the sky off -the upper roads, spread into sheets like snow, and swept downwards -with incredible velocity. The air turned suddenly cooler. More big -drops of rain splashed and thudded on the roofs and road. There was a -feeling of something violent and instantaneous about to happen, a sense -almost of attack. The _joran_ tore headlong down into the valley. - -'Come on, man,' he cried at the top of his voice. 'That's the _joran_! -I know it of old! It's terrific. Run!' And he caught the lad, still -lingering, by the arm. - -But Lord Ernie shook himself free with an excitement almost violent. - -'I've been up there with those great fires,' he shouted. 'I know the -whole blessed thing. But where was it? Where?' His face was white, eyes -shining, manner strangely agitated. 'Big, naked fellows who dance like -wind, and rushing women of fire, and----' - -Two things happened then, interrupting the boy's wild language. The -_joran_ reached the village and struck it; the houses shook, the trees -bent double, and the cloud of limestone dust, painting the darkness -white, swept on between Hendricks and the boy with extraordinary force, -even separating them. There was a clatter of falling tiles, of banging -doors and windows, and then a burst of icy rain that fell like iron -shot on everything, raising actual spray. The air was in an instant -thick. Everything drove past, roared, trembled. And, secondly--just -in that brief instant when man and boy were separated--there shot -between them with shadowy swiftness the figure of a man, hatless, -with flying hair, who vanished with running strides into the darkness -of the village street beyond--all so rapidly that sight could focus -the manner neither of his coming nor of his going. Hendricks caught -a glimpse of a swarthy, elemental type of face, the swing of great -shoulders, the leap of big loose limbs--something rushing and elastic -in the whole appearance--but nothing he could claim for definite -detail. The figure swept through the dust and wind like an animal--and -was gone. It was, indeed, only the contrast of Lord Ernie's whitened -skin, of his graceful, half-elegant outline, that enabled him to recall -the details that he did. The weather-beaten visage seemed to storm -away. Bindy's delicate aristocratic face shone so pale and eager. -But that a real man had passed was indubitable, for the boy made a -flurried movement as though to follow. Hendricks caught his arm with a -determined grip and pulled him back. - -'Who was that? Who was it?' Lord Ernie cried breathlessly, resisting -with all his strength, but vainly. - -'Some mountain fellow, of course. Nothing to do with us.' And he -dragged the boy after him down the road. For a second both seemed to -have lost their heads. Hendricks certainly felt a gust of something -strike him into momentary consternation that was half alarm. - -'From up there, where the fires are?' asked the boy, shouting above the -wind and rain. - -'Yes, yes, I suppose so. Come along. We shall be soused. Are you mad?' -For Bindy still held back with all his weight, trying to turn round and -see. Hendricks used more force. There was almost a scuffle in the road. - -'All right, I'm coming. I only wanted to look a second. You needn't -drag my arm out.' He ceased resistance, and they lurched forward -together. 'But what a chap he was! He went like the wind. Did you see -the light streaming out of him--like fire?' - -'Like what?' shouted Hendricks, as they dashed now through the driving -tempest. - -'Fire!' bawled the boy. 'It lit me up as he passed--fire that lights -but does not burn, and wind that blows the world along----' - -'Button your coat and run!' interrupted the other, hurrying his pace, -and pulling the lad forcibly after him. - -'Don't twist! You're hurting! I can run as well as you!' came back, -with an energy Bindy had never shown before in his life. He was -breathless, panting, charged with excitement still. 'It touched me as -he passed--fire that lights but doesn't burn, and wind that blows the -heart to flame--let me go, will you? Let go my hand.' - -He dashed free and away. The torrential rain came down in sheets now -from a windless sky, for the _joran_ was already miles beyond them, -tearing across the angry lake. They reached the carpenter's house, -where their lodging was, soaked to the skin. They dried themselves, and -ate the light supper of soup and omelette prepared for them--ate it in -their dressing-gowns. Lord Ernie went to bed with a hot-water bottle -of rough stone. He declared with decision that he felt no chill. His -excitement had somewhat passed. - -'But, I say, Mr. Hendricks,' he remarked, as he settled down with his -novel and a cigarette, calmed and normal again, 'this _is_ a place and -a half, isn't it? It stirs me all up. I suppose it's the storm. What do -_you_ think?' - -'Electrical state of the air, yes,' replied the tutor briefly. - -Soon afterwards he closed the shutters on the weather side, said -good-night, and went into his own room to unpack. The singular phrase -Bindy had used kept singing through his head: 'Fire that lights but -doesn't burn, and wind that blows the heart to flame'--the first -time he had said 'blows the world along.' Where on earth had the boy -got hold of such queer words? He still saw the figure of that wild -mountain fellow who had passed between them with the dust and wind -and rain. There was confusion in the picture, or rather in his memory -of it, perhaps. But it seemed to him, looking back now, that the man -in passing had paused a second--the briefest second merely--and had -spoken, or, at any rate, had stared closely a moment into Bindy's face, -and that some communication had been between them in that moment of -elemental violence. - - -III - -Pasteur Leysin Hendricks remembered very well. Even now in his old age -he was a vigorous personality, but in his youth he had been almost -revolutionary; wild enough, too, it was rumoured, until he had turned -to God of his own accord as offering a larger field for his strenuous -vitality. The little man was possessed of tireless life, a born leader -of forlorn hopes, attack his _métier_, and heavy odds the conditions -that he loved. Before settling down in this isolated spot--_pasteur de -l'église indépendente_ in a protestant Canton--he had been a missionary -in remote pagan lands. His horizon was a big one, he had seen strange -things. An uncouth being, with a large head upon a thin and wiry body -supported by steely bowed legs, he had that courage which makes itself -known in advance of any proof. Hendricks slipped over to _la cure_ -about nine o'clock and found him in his study. Lord Ernie was asleep; -at least his light was out, no sound or movement audible from his room. -The _joran_ had swept the heavens of clouds. Stars shone brilliantly. -The fires still blazed faintly upon the heights. - -The visit was not unexpected, for Hendricks had already sent a message -to announce himself, and the moment he sat down, met the Pasteur's eye, -heard his voice, and observed his slight imperious gestures, he passed -under the influence of a personality stronger than his own. Something -in Leysin's atmosphere stretched him, lifting his horizon. He had -come chiefly--he now realised it--to borrow help and explanation with -regard to Lord Ernie; the events of two hours before had impressed him -more than he quite cared to own, and he wished to talk about it. But, -somehow, he found it difficult to state his case; no opening presented -itself; or, rather, the Pasteur's mind, intent upon something of his -own, was too preoccupied. In reply to a question presently, the tutor -gave a brief outline of his present duties, but omitted the scene of -excitement in the village street, for as he watched the furrowed face -in the light of the study lamp, he realised both anxiety and spiritual -high pressure at work below the surface there. He hesitated to intrude -his own affairs at first. They discussed, nevertheless, the psychology -of the boy, and the unfavourable chances of regeneration, while the old -man's face lit up and flashed from time to time, until at length the -truth came out, and Hendricks understood his friend's preoccupation. - -'What you're attempting with an individual,' Leysin exclaimed with -ardour, 'is precisely what I'm attempting with a crowd. And it's -difficult. For poor sinners make poor saints, and the lukewarm I will -spue out of my mouth.' He made an abrupt, resentful gesture to signify -his disgust and weariness, perhaps his contempt as well. 'Cut it down! -Why cumbereth it the ground?' - -'A hard, uncharitable doctrine,' began the tutor, realising that -he must discuss the Parish before he could introduce Bindy's case -effectively. 'You mean, of course, that there's no material to work on?' - -'No energy to direct,' was the emphatic reply. 'My sheep here are--real -sheep; mere negative, drink-sodden loafers without desire. Hospital -cases! I could work with tigers and wild beasts, but who ever trained a -slug?' - -'Your proper place is on the heights,' suggested Hendricks, -interrupting at a venture. 'There's scope enough up there, or used to -be. Have they died out, those wild men of the mountains?' And hit by -chance the target in the bull's-eye. - -The old man's face turned younger as he answered quickly. - -'Men like that,' he exclaimed, 'do not die off. They breed and -multiply.' He leaned forward across the table, his manner eager, -fervent, almost impetuous with suppressed desire for action. 'There's -evil thinking up there,' he said suggestively, 'but, by heaven, it's -alive; it's positive, ambitious, constructive. With violent feeling and -strong desire to work on, there's hope of some result. Upon vehement -impulses like that, pagan or anything else, a man can work with a -will. Those are the tigers; down here I have the slugs!' - -He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back into his chair. Hendricks -watched him, thinking of the stories told about his missionary days -among savage and barbarian tribes. - -'Born of the vital landscape, I suppose?' he asked. 'Wind and frost and -blazing sun. Their wild energy, I mean, is due to----' - -A gesture from the old man stopped him. 'You know who started them -upon their wild performances,' he said gravely in a lower voice; 'you -know how that ambitious renegade priest from the Valais chose them -for his nucleus, then died before he could lead them out, trained and -competent, upon his strange campaign? You heard the story when you were -with me as a boy----?' - -'I remember Marston,' put in the other, uncommonly interested, -'Marston--the boy who----' He stopped because he hardly knew how -to continue. There was a minute's silence. But it was not an empty -silence, though no word broke it. Leysin's face was a study. - -'Ah, Marston, yes,' he said slowly, without looking up; 'you remember -him. But that is at my door, too, I suppose. His father was ignorant -and obstinate; I might have saved him otherwise.' He seemed talking to -himself rather than to his listener. Pain showed in the lines about -the rugged mouth. 'There was no one, you see, who knew how to direct -the great life that woke in the lad. He took it back with him, and -turned it loose into all manner of useless enterprises, and the doctors -mistook his abrupt and fierce ambitions for--for the hysteria which -they called the vestibule of lunacy.... Yet small characters may have -big ideas.... They didn't understand, of course.... It was sad, sad, -sad.' He hid his face in his hands a moment. - -'Marston went wrong, then, in the end?' for the other's manner -suggested disaster of some kind. Hendricks asked it in a whisper. -Leysin uncovered his face, looped his neck with one finger, and pointed -to the ceiling. - -'Hanged himself!' murmured Hendricks, shocked. - -The Pasteur nodded, but there was impatience, half anger in his tone. - -'They checked it, kept it in. Of course, it tore him!' - -The two men looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and something -in the younger of them shrank. This was all beyond his ken a little. An -odd hint of bleak and cruel reality was in the air, making him shiver -along nerves that were normally inactive. The uneasiness he felt about -Lord Ernie became alarm. His conscience pricked him. - -'More than he could assimilate,' continued Leysin. 'It broke him. Yet, -had outlets been provided, had he been taught how to use it, this -elemental energy drawn direct from Nature----' He broke off abruptly, -struck perhaps by the expression in his listener's eyes. 'It seems -incredible, doesn't it, in the twentieth century? I know.' - -'Evil?' asked Hendricks, stammering rather. - -'Why evil?' was the impatient reply. 'How can any force be evil? That's -merely a question of direction.' - -'And the priest who discovered these forces and taught their use, -then----?' - -'Was genuinely spiritual and followed the truth in his own way. He -was not necessarily evil.' The little Pasteur spoke with vehemence. -'You talk like the religion-primers in the kindergarten,' he went on. -'Listen. This man, sick and weary of his lukewarm flock, sought vital, -stalwart systems who might be clean enough to use the elemental powers -he had discovered how to attract. Only the bias of the users could -make it "evil" by wrong use. His idea was big and even holy--to train -a corps that might regenerate the world. And he chose unreasoning, -unintellectual types with a purpose--primitive, giant men who could -assimilate the force without risk of being shattered. Under his -direction he intended they should prove as effective as the twelve -disciples of old who were fisher-folk. And, had he gone on----' - -'He, too, failed then?' asked the other, whose tangled thoughts -struggled with incredulity and belief as he heard this strange new -thing. 'He died, you mean?' - -'_Maison de santé_,' was the laconic reply, 'strait-waistcoats, padded -cells, and the rest; but still alive, I'm told. It was more than he -could manage.' - -It was a startling story, even in this brief outline, deep suggestion -in it. The tutor's sense of being out of his depth increased. After -nine months with a lifeless, devitalised human being, this was--well, -he seemed to have fallen in his sleep from a comfortable bed into a -raging mountain torrent. Strong currents rushed through and over him. -The lonely, peaceful village outside, sleeping beneath the stars, -heightened the contrast. - -'Suppressed or misdirected energy again, I suppose,' he said in a low -tone, respecting his companion's emotion. 'And these mountain men,' he -asked abruptly, 'do they still keep up their--practices?' - -'Their ceremonies, yes,' corrected the other, master of himself again. -'Turbulent moments of nature, storms and the like, stir them to clumsy -rehearsals of once vital rituals--not entirely ineffective, even in -their incompleteness, but dangerous for that very reason. This _joran_, -for instance, invariably communicates something of its atmospherical -energy to themselves. They light their fires as of old. They blunder -through what they remember of _his_ ceremonies. With the glasses you -may see them in their dozens, men and women, leaping and dancing. It's -an amazing sight, great beauty in it, impossible to witness even from a -distance without feeling the desire to take part in it. Even my people -feel it--the only time they ever get alive,'--he jerked his big head -contemptuously towards the street--'or feel desire to act. And some one -from the heights--a messenger perhaps--will be down later, this very -evening probably, on the hunt----' - -'On the hunt?' Hendricks asked it half below his breath. He felt a -touch of awe as he heard this experienced, genuinely religious man -speak with conviction of such curious things. 'On the hunt?' he -repeated more eagerly. - -'Messengers do come down,' was the reply. 'A living belief always -seeks to increase, to grow, to add to itself. Where there's conviction -there's always propaganda.' - -'Ah, converts----?' - -Leysin shrugged his big black shoulders. 'Desire to add to their -number--desire to _save_,' he said. 'The energy they absorb overflows, -that's all.' - -The Englishman debated several questions vaguely in his mind; only -his mind, being disturbed, could not hold the balance exactly true. -Leysin's influence, as of old, was upon him. A possibility, remote, -seductive, dangerous, began to beckon to him, but from somewhere just -outside his reasoning mind. - -'And they always know when one of their kind is near,' the voice -slipped in between his tumbling thoughts, 'as though they get it -instinctively from these universal elements they worship. They select -their recruits with marvellous judgment and precision. No messenger -ever goes back alone; nor has a recruit ever been known to return to -the lazy squalor of the conditions whence he escaped.' - -The younger man sat upright in his chair, suddenly alert, and the -gesture that he made unconsciously might have been read by a keen -psychiatrist as evidence of mental self-defence. He felt the forbidden -impulse in him gathering force, and tried to call a halt. At any rate, -he called upon the other man to be explicit. He enquired point-blank -what this religion of the heights might be. What were these elements -these people worshipped? In what did their wild ceremonies consist? - -And Leysin, breaking bounds, let his speech burst forth in a stream of -explanation, learned of actual knowledge, as he claimed, and uttered -with a vehement conviction that produced an undeniable effect upon his -astonished listener. Told by no dreamer, but by a righteous man who -lived, not merely preached his certain faith, Hendricks, before the -half was heard, forgot what age and land he dwelt in. Whole blocks -of conventional belief crumbled and fell away. Brick walls erected -by routine to mark narrow paths of proper conduct--safe, moral, -advisable conduct--thawed and vanished. Through the ruins, scrambling -at him from huge horizons never recognised before, came all manner -of marvellous possibilities. The little confinement of modern thought -appalled him suddenly. Leysin spoke slowly, said little, was not even -speculative. It was no mere magic of words that made the dim-lit study -swim these deep waters beyond the ripple of pert creeds, but rather the -overwhelming sense of sure conviction driving behind the statements. -The little man had witnessed curious things, yes, in his missionary -days, and that he had found truth in them in place of ignorant nonsense -was remarkable enough. That silly superstitions prevalent among older -nations could be signs really of their former greatness, linked -mightily close to natural forces, was a startling notion, but it paved -the way in Hendricks' receptive mind just then for the belief that -certain so-called elements might be worshipped--known intimately, that -is--to the uplifting advantage of the worshippers. And what elements -more suitable for adoring imitation than wind and fire? For in a -human body the first signs of what men term life are heat which is -combustion, and breath which is a measure of wind. Life means fire, -drawn first from the sun, and breathing, borrowed from the omnipresent -air; there might credibly be ways of assaulting these elements and -taking heaven by storm; of seizing from their inexhaustible stores an -abnormal measure, of straining this huge raw supply into effective -energy for human use--vitality. Living with fire and wind in their most -active moments; closely imitating their movements, following in their -footsteps, understanding their 'laws of being,' going _identically_ -with them--there lay a hint of the method. It was once, when men were -primitively close to Nature, instinctual knowledge. The ceremony was -the teaching. The Powers of fire, the Principalities of air, existed; -and humanity _could_ know their qualities by the ritual of imitation, -could actually absorb the fierce enthusiasm of flame and the tireless -energy of wind. Such transference was conceivable. - -Leysin, at any rate, somehow made it so. His description of what -he had personally witnessed, both in wilder lands and here in this -little mountain range of middle Europe, had a reality in it that was -upsetting to the last degree. 'There is nothing more difficult to -believe,' he said, 'yet more certainly true, than the effect of these -singular elemental rites.' He laughed a short dry laugh. 'The mediaeval -superstition that a witch could raise a storm is but a remnant of -a once completely efficacious system,' he concluded, 'though how -that strange being, the Valais priest, rediscovered the process and -introduced it here, I have never been able to ascertain. That he did -so results have proved. At any rate, it lets in life, life moreover in -astonishing abundance; though, whether for destruction or regeneration, -depends, obviously, upon the use the recipient puts it to. That's where -direction comes in.' - -The beckoning impulse in the tutor's bewildered thoughts drew closer. -The moment for communicating it had come at last. Without more ado he -took the opening. He told his companion the incident in the village -street, the boy's abrupt excitement, his new-found energy, the curious -words he used, the independence and vitality of his attitude. He told -also of his parentage, of his mother's disabilities, his craving for -rushing air in abundance, his love of fire for its own sake, of his -magnificent physical machinery, yet of his uselessness. - -And Leysin, as he listened, seemed built on wires. Searching questions -shot forth like blows into the other's mind. The Pasteur's sudden -increase of enthusiasm was infectious. He leaped intuitively to the -thing in Hendricks' thought. He understood the beckoning. - -The tutor answered the questions as best he could, aware of the end -in view with trepidation and a kind of mental breathlessness. Yes, -unquestionably, Bindy _had_ exchanged communication of some sort with -the man, though his excitement had been evident even sooner. - -'And you saw this man yourself?' Leysin pressed him. - -'Indubitably--a tall and hurrying figure in the dusk.' - -'He brought energy with him? The boy felt it and responded?' - -Hendricks nodded. 'Became quite unmanageable for some minutes,' he -replied. - -'He assimilated it though? There was no distress exactly?' Leysin asked -sharply. - -'None--that I could see. Pleasurable excitement, something aggressive, -a rather wild enthusiasm. His will began to act. He used that curious -phrase about wind and fire. He turned alive. He wanted to follow the -man----' - -'And the face--how would you describe it? Did it bring terror, I mean, -or confidence?' - -'Dark and splendid,' answered the other as truthfully as he could. 'In -a certain sense, rushing, tempestuous, yet stern rather.' - -'A face like the heights,' suggested Leysin impatiently, 'a windy, -fiery aspect in it, eh?' - -'The man swept past like the spirit of a storm in imaginative -poetry----' began the tutor, hunting through his thoughts for adequate -description, then stopped as he saw that his companion had risen from -his chair and begun to pace the floor. - -The Pasteur paused a moment beside him, hands thrust deep into his -pockets, head bent down, and shoulders forward. For twenty seconds he -stared into his visitor's face intently, as though he would force into -him the thought in his own mind. His features seemed working visibly, -yet behind a mask of strong control. - -'Don't you see what it is? Don't you see?' he said in a lower, deeper -tone. '_They knew._ Even from a distance they were aware of his coming. -He is one of themselves.' And he straightened up again. 'He belongs to -them.' - -'One of them? One of the wind-and-fire lot?' the tutor stammered. - -The restless little man returned to his chair opposite, full of -suppressed and vigorous movement, as though he were strung on springs. - -'He's _of_ them,' he continued, 'but in a peculiar and particular -sense. More than merely a possible recruit, his empty organism would -provide the very link they need, the perfect conduit.' He watched his -companion's face with careful keenness. 'In the country where I first -experienced this marvellous thing,' he added significantly, 'he would -have been set apart as the offering, the sacrifice, as they call it -there. The tribe would have chosen him with honour. He would have been -the special bait to attract.' - -'Death?' whispered the other. - -But Leysin shook his head. 'In the end, perhaps,' he replied darkly, -'for the vessel might be torn and shattered. But at first charged to -the brim and crammed with energy--with transformed vitality they could -draw into themselves through him. A monster, if you will, but to them a -deity; and superhuman, in our little sense, most certainly.' - -Then Hendricks faltered inwardly and turned away. No words came to him -at the moment. In silence the minds of the two men, one a religious, -the other a secular teacher, and each with a burden of responsibility -to the race, kept pace together without speech. The religious, -however, outstripped the pedagogue. What he next said seemed a little -disconnected with what had preceded it, although Hendricks caught the -drift easily enough--and shuddered. - -'An organism needing heat,' observed Leysin calmly, 'can absorb without -danger what would destroy a normal person. Alcohol, again, neither -injures nor intoxicates--up to a given point--the system that really -requires it.' - -The tutor, perplexed and sorely tempted, felt that he drifted with a -tide he found it difficult to stem. - -'Up to a point,' he repeated. 'That's true, of course.' - -'Up to a given point,' echoed the other, with significance that made -his voice sound solemn. 'Then rescue--in the nick of time.' - -He waited two full minutes and more for an answer; then, as none was -audible, he said another thing. His eyes were so intent upon the -tutor's that the latter raised his own unwillingly, and understood thus -all that lay behind the pregnant little sentence. - -'With a number it would not be possible, but with an individual it -could be done. Brim the empty vessel first. Then rescue--in the nick -of time! Regeneration!' - - -IV - -In the Englishman's mind there came a crash, as though something -fell. There was dust, confusion, noise. Moral platitudes shouted -at conventional admonitions. Warnings laughed and copy-book maxims -shrivelled up. Above the lot, rising with a touch of grandeur, stood -the pulpit figure of the little Pasteur, his big face shining clear -through all the turmoil, strength and vision in the flaming eyes--a -commanding outline with spiritual audacity in his heart. And Hendricks -saw then that the man himself was standing erect in the centre of -the room, one finger raised to command attention--listening. Some -considerable interval must have passed while he struggled with his -inner confusion. - -Leysin stood, intently listening, his big head throwing a grotesque -shadow on wall and ceiling. - -'Hark!' he exclaimed, half whispering. 'Do you hear that? Listen.' - -A deep sound, confused and roaring, passed across the night, far away, -and slightly booming. It entered the little room so that the air seemed -to tremble a moment. To Hendricks it held something ominous. - -'The wind,' he whispered, as the noise died off into the distance; 'yet -a moment ago the night was still enough. The stars were shining.' There -was tense excitement in the room just then. It showed in Leysin's face, -which had gone white as a cloth. Hendricks himself felt extraordinarily -stirred. - -'Not wind, but human voices,' the older man said quickly. 'It's -shouting. Listen!' and his eyes ran round the room, coming to rest -finally in a corner where his hat and cloak hung from a nail. A gesture -accompanied the look. He wanted to be out. The tutor half rose to take -his leave. 'You have duties to-night elsewhere,' he stammered. 'I'm -forgetting.' His own instinct was to get away himself with Bindy by the -first early diligence. He was afraid of yielding. - -'Hush!' whispered Leysin peremptorily. 'Listen!' - -He opened the window at the top, and through the crack, where the stars -peeped brightly, there came, louder than before, the uproar of human -voices floating through the night from far away. The air of the great -pine forests came in with it. Hendricks listened intently a moment. He -positively jumped to feel a hand upon his arm. Leysin's big head was -thrust close up into his face. - -'That's the commotion in the village,' he whispered. 'A messenger has -come and gone; some one has gone back with him. To-night I shall be -needed--down here, but to-morrow night when the great ritual takes -place--up there----!' - -Hendricks tried to push him away so as not to hear the words; but the -little man seemed immovable as a rock. The impulse remained probably -in the mind without making the muscles work. For the tutor, sorely -tempted, longed to dare, yet faltered in his will. - -'----if you felt like taking the risk,' the words continued -seductively, 'we might place the empty vessel near enough to let it -fill, then rescue it, charged with energy, in the nick of time.' And -the Pasteur's eyes were aglow with enthusiasm, his voice even trembling -at the thought of high adventure to save another's soul. - -'Watch merely?' Hendricks heard his own voice whisper, hardly aware -that he was saying it, 'without taking part?' He said it thickly, -stupidly, a man wavering and unsure of himself. 'It would be an -experience,' he stammered. 'I've never----' - -'Merely watch, yes; look on; let him see,' interrupted the other with -eagerness. 'We must be very careful. It's worth trying--a last resort.' - -They still stood close together. Hendricks felt the little man's breath -on his face as he peered up at him. - -'I admit the chance,' he began weakly. - -'There is no chance,' was the vigorous reply, 'there is only -Providence. You have been guided.' - -'But as to risk and failure, what of them? What's involved?' he asked, -recklessness increasing in him. - -'New wine in old bottles,' was the answer. 'But here, you tell me, the -vessel is not damaged, but merely empty. The machinery is all right. If -he merely watches, as from a little distance----' - -'Yes, yes, the machinery _is_ there, I agree. The boy has breeding, -health, and all the physical qualities--good blood and nerves and -muscles. It's only that life refuses to stay and drive them.' His heart -beat with violence even as he said it; he felt the energy and zeal from -the older man pour into him. He was realising in himself on a smaller -scale what might take place with the boy in large. But still he shrank. -Leysin for the moment said no more. His spiritual discernment was equal -to his boldness. Having planted the seed, he left it to grow or die. -The decision was not for him. - - * * * * * - -In the light of the single lamp the two men sat facing each other, -listening, waiting, while Leysin talked occasionally, but in the -main kept silence. Some time passed, though how long the tutor could -not say. In his mind was wild confusion. How could he justify such -a mad proposal? Yet how could he refuse the opening, preposterous -though it seemed? The enticement was very great; temptation rushed -upon him. Striving to recall his normal world, he found it difficult. -The face of the old Marquess seemed a mere lifeless picture on a -wall--it watched but could not interfere. Here was an opportunity to -take or leave. He fought the battle in terms of naked souls, while -the ordinary four-cornered morality hid its face awhile. He heard -himself explaining, delaying, hedging, half-toying with the problem. -But the redemption of a soul was at stake, and he tried to forget the -environment and conditions of modern thought and belief. Sentences -flashed at him out of the battle: 'I must take him back worse than -when I started, or--what? A violent being like Marston, or a redeemed, -converted system with new energy? It's a chance, and my last.' -Moreover, odd, half-comic detail--there was the support of the Church, -of a protestant clergyman whose fundamental beliefs were similar to the -evangelical persuasions of the boy's family. Conversion, as demoniacal -possession, were both traditions of the blood. After all, the old -Marquess might understand and approve. 'You took the opening God set in -your way in His wisdom. You showed faith and courage. Far be it from me -to condemn you.' The picture on the wall looked down at him and spoke -the words. - -The wild hypothesis of the intrepid little missionary-pasteur swept him -with an effect like hypnotism. Then, suddenly, something in him seemed -to decide finally for itself. He flung himself, morality and all, upon -this vigorous other personality. He leaned across the table, his face -close to the lamp. His voice shook as he spoke. - -'Would _you_?' he asked--then knew the question foolish, and that such -a man would shrink from nothing where the redemption of a soul was at -stake; knew also that the question was proof that his own decision was -already made. - -There was something grotesque almost in the torrent of colloquial -French Leysin proceeded to pour forth, while the other sat listening in -amazement, half ashamed and half exhilarated. He looked at the stalwart -figure, the wiry bowed legs as he paced the floor, the shortness of the -coat-sleeves and the absence of shirt-cuffs round the powerful lean -wrists. It was a great fighting man he watched, a man afraid of nothing -in heaven or earth, prepared to lead a forlorn hope into a hostile -unknown land. And the sight, combined with what he heard, set the seal -upon his half-hearted decision. He would take the risk and go. - -'Pfui!' exclaimed the little Pasteur as though it might have been an -oath, his loud whisper breaking through into a guttural sound, 'pfui! -Bah! Would that _my_ people had machinery like that so that I could use -it! I've no material to work on, no force to direct, nothing but heavy, -sodden clay. Jelly!' he cried, 'negative, useless, lukewarm stuff at -best.' He lowered his voice suddenly, so as to listen at the same time. -'I might as well be a baker kneading dough,' he continued. 'They drink -and yield and drink again; they never attack and drive; they're not -worth labouring to save.' He struck the wooden table with his fist, -making the lamp rattle, while his listener started and drew back. 'What -good can weak souls, though spotless, be to God? The best have long -ago gone up to them,' and he jerked his leonine old head towards the -mountains. 'Where there's _life_ there's hope,' he stamped his foot as -he said it, 'but the lukewarm--pfui!--I will spue them out of my mouth!' - -He paused by the window a moment, listened attentively, then resumed -his pacing to and fro. Clearly, he longed for action. Indifference, -half-heartedness had no place in his composition. And Hendricks felt -his own slower blood take fire as he listened. - -'Ah!' cried Leysin louder, 'what a battle I could fight up there for -God, could I but live among them, stem the flow of their dark strong -vitality, then twist it round and up, up, up!' And he jerked his finger -skywards. 'It's the great sinners we want, not the meek-faced saints. -There's energy enough among those devils to bring a whole Canton to the -great Footstool, could I but direct it.' He paused a moment, standing -over his astonished visitor. 'Bring the boy up with you, and let him -drink his fill. And pray, pray, I say, that he become a violent sinner -first in order that later there shall be something worth offering to -God. Over one _sinner_ that repenteth----' - -A rapid, nervous knocking interrupted the flow of words, and the figure -of a woman stood upon the threshold. With the opening of the door came -also again the roaring from the night outside. Hendricks saw the tall, -somewhat dishevelled outline of the wife--he remembered her vaguely, -though she could hardly see him now in his darker corner--and recalled -the fact that she had been sent out to Leysin in his missionary days, -a worthy, illiterate, but adoring woman. She wore a shawl, her hair was -untidy, her eyes fixed and staring. Her husband's sturdy little figure, -as he rose, stood level with her chin. - -'You hear it, Jules?' she whispered thickly. 'The _joran_ has brought -them down. You'll be needed in the village.' She said it anxiously, -though Hendricks understood the _patois_ with difficulty. They talked -excitedly together a moment in the doorway, their outlines blocked -against the corridor where a single oil lamp flickered. She warned, -urging something; he expostulated. Fragments reached Hendricks in his -corner. Clearly the woman worshipped her husband like a king, yet -feared for his safety. He, for his part, comforted her, scolded a -little, argued, told her to 'believe in God and go back to bed.' - -'They'll take you too, and you'll never return. It's not your parish -anyhow ...' a touch of anguish in her tone. - -But Leysin was impatient to be off. He led her down the passage. 'My -parish is wherever I can help. I belong to God. Nothing can harm me but -to leave undone the work He gives me.' The steps went farther away as -he guided her to the stairs. Outside the roar of voices rose and fell. -Wind brought the drifting sound, wind carried it away. It was like the -thunder of the sea. - -And the Englishman, using the little scene as a flashlight upon his own -attitude, saw it for an instant as God might have seen it. Leysin's -point of view was high, scanning a very wide horizon. His eye being -single, the whole body was full of light. The risk, it suddenly seemed, -was--nothing; to shirk it, indeed, the merest cowardice. - -He went up and seized the Pasteur's hand. - -'To-morrow,' he said, a trifle shakily perhaps, yet looking straight -into his eyes. 'If we stay over--I'll bring the lad with me--provided -he comes willingly.' - -'You will stay over,' interrupted the other with decision. 'Come to -supper at seven. Come in mountain boots. Use persuasion, but not force. -He shall see it from a distance--without taking part.' - -'From a distance--yes,' the tutor repeated, 'but without taking part.' - -'I know the signs,' the Pasteur broke in significantly. 'We can rescue -him in the nick of time--charged with energy and life, yet before the -danger gets----' - -A sudden clangour of bells drowned the whispering voice, cutting the -sentence in the middle. It was like an alarm of fire. Leysin sprang -sharply round. - -'The signal!' he cried; 'the signal from the church. Some one's been -taken. I must go at once--I shall be needed.' He had his hat and cloak -on in a moment, was through the passage and into the street, Hendricks -following at his heels. The whole place seemed alive. Yet the roadway -was deserted, and no lights showed at the windows of the houses. Only -from the farther end of the village, where stood the cabaret, came a -roar of voices, shouting, crying, singing. The impression was that the -population was centred there. Far in the starry sky a line of fires -blazed upon the heights, throwing a lurid reflection above the deep -black valley. Excitement filled the night. - -'But how extraordinary!' exclaimed Hendricks, hurrying to overtake his -alert companion; 'what life there is about! Everything's on the rush.' -They went faster, almost running. 'I feel the waves of it beating even -here.' He followed breathlessly. - -'A messenger has come--and gone,' replied Leysin in a sharp, decided -voice. 'What you feel here is but the overflow. This is the aftermath. -I must work down here with my people----' - -'I'll work with you,' began the other. But Leysin stopped him. - -'Keep yourself for to-morrow night--up there,' he said with grave -authority, pointing to the fiery line upon the heights, and at the same -time quickening his pace along the street. 'At the moment,' he cried, -looking back, 'your place is yonder.' He jerked his head towards the -carpenter's house among the vineyards. The next minute he was gone. - - -V - -And Hendricks, accredited tutor to a sprig of nobility in the twentieth -century, asked himself suddenly how such things could possibly be. The -adventure took on abruptly a touch of nightmare. Only the light in -the sky above the cabaret windows, and the roar of voices where men -drank and sang, brought home the reality of it all. With a shudder of -apprehension he glanced at the lurid glare upon the mountains. He was -committed now; not because he had merely promised, but because he had -definitely made up his mind. - -Lighting a match, he saw by his watch that the visit had lasted over -two hours. It was after eleven. He hurried, letting himself in with -the big house-key, and going on tiptoe up the granite stairs. In his -mind rose a picture of the boy as he had known him all these weary, -sight-seeing months--the mild brown eyes, the facile indolence, the -pliant, watery emotions of the listless creature, but behind him now, -like storm clouds, the hopes, desires, fears the Pasteur's talk had -conjured up. The yearning to save stirred strongly in his heart, and -more and more of the little man's reckless spiritual audacity came -with it. His own affection for the lad was genuine, but impatience -and adventure pushed eagerly through the tenderness. If only, oh, if -only he could put life into that great six-foot, big-boned frame! -Some energy as of fire and wind into that inert machinery of mind and -body! The idea was utterly incredible, but surely no harm could come -of trying the experiment. There _were_ the huge and elemental forces, -of course, in Nature, and if ... A sound in the bedroom, as he crept -softly past the door, caught his attention, and he paused a moment to -listen. Lord Ernie was not asleep, then, after all. He wondered why the -sound got somehow at his heart. There was shuffling behind the door; -there was a voice, too--or was it voices? He knocked. - -'Who is it?' came at once, in a tone he hardly recognised. And, as he -answered, 'It's I, Mr. Hendricks; let me in,' there followed a renewal -of the shuffling, but without the sound of voices, and the door flew -open--it was not even locked. Lord Ernie stood before him, dressed to -go out. In the faint starlight the tall ungainly figure filled the -doorway, erect and huge, the shoulders squared, the trunk no longer -drooping. The listlessness was gone. He stood upright, limbs straight -and alert; the sagging limp had vanished from the knees. He looked, in -this semi-darkness, like another person, almost monstrous. And the -tutor drew back instinctively, catching an instant at his breath. - -'But, my dear boy! why aren't you asleep?' he stammered. He glanced -half nervously about him. 'I heard you talking, surely?' He fumbled for -a match; but, before he found it, the other had turned on the electric -switch. The light flared out. There was no one else in the room. 'Is -anything wrong with you? What's the matter?' - -But the boy answered quietly, though in a deeper voice than Hendricks -had ever known in him before: - -'I'm all right; only I couldn't sleep. I've been watching those fires -on the mountains. I--I wanted to go out and see.' - -He still held the field-glasses in his hand, swinging them vigorously -by the strap. The room was littered with clothes, just unpacked, -the heavy shooting boots in the middle of the floor; and Hendricks, -noticing these signs, felt a wave of excitement sweep through him, -caught somehow from the presence of the boy. There was a sense of -vitality in the room--as though a rush of active movement had just -passed through it. Both windows stood wide open, and the roar of voices -was clearly audible. Lord Ernie turned his head to listen. - -'That's only the village people drinking and shouting,' said Hendricks, -closely watching each movement that he made. 'It's perfectly natural, -Bindy, that you feel too excited to sleep. We're in the mountains. -The air stimulates tremendously--it makes the heart beat faster.' He -decided not to press the lad with questions. - -'But I never felt like this in the Rockies or the Himalayas,' came the -swift rejoinder, as he moved to the window and looked out. 'There was -nothing in India or Japan like _that_!' He swept his hand towards -the wooded heights that towered above the village so close. He talked -volubly. 'All those things we saw out there were sham--done on purpose -for tourists. Up there it's real. I've been watching through the -glasses till--I felt I simply must go out and join it. You can see men -dancing round the fires, and big, rushing women. Oh, Mr. Hendricks, -isn't it all glorious--all too glorious and ripping for words!' And his -brown eyes shone like lamps. - -'You mean that it's spontaneous, natural?' the other guided him, -welcoming the new enthusiasm, yet still bewildered by the startling -change. It was not mere nerves he saw. There was nothing morbid in it. - -'They're doing it, I mean, because they have to,' came the decided -answer, 'and because they feel it. They're not just copying the world.' -He put his hand upon the other's arm. There was dry heat in it that -Hendricks felt even through his clothes. 'And that's what _I_ want,' -the boy went on, raising his voice; 'what I've always wanted without -knowing it--real things that can make me alive. I've often had it in my -dreams, you know, but now I've found it.' - -'But I didn't know. You never told me of those dreams.' - -The boy's cheeks flushed, so that the colour and the fire in his eyes -made him positively splendid. He answered slowly, as out of some part -he had hitherto kept deliberately concealed. - -'Because I never could get hold of it in words. It sounded so silly -even to myself, and I thought Father would train it all away and -laugh at it. It's awfully far down in me, but it's so real I knew -it must come out one day, and that I should find it. Oh, I say, -Mr. Hendricks,' and he lowered his voice, leaning out across the -window-sill suddenly, '_that_ fills me up and feeds me'--he pointed -to the heights--'and gives me life. The life I've seen till now was -only a kind of show. It starved me. I want to go up there and feel it -pouring through my blood.' He filled his lungs with the strong mountain -air, and paused while he exhaled it slowly, as though tasting it with -delight and understanding. Then he burst out again, 'I vote we go. Will -you come with me? What d'you say. Eh?' - -They stared at each other hard a moment. Something as primitive and -irresistible as love passed through the air between them. With a great -effort the older man kept the balance true. - -'Not to-night, not now,' he said firmly. 'It's too late. To-morrow, if -you like--with pleasure.' - -'But to-morrow _night_,' cried the boy with a rush, 'when the fires are -blazing and the wind is loose. Not in the stupid daylight.' - -'All right. To-morrow night. And my old friend, Monsieur Leysin, shall -be our guide. He knows the way, and he knows the people too.' - -Lord Ernie seized his hands with enthusiasm. His vigour was so -disconcerting that it seemed to affect his physical appearance. The -body grew almost visibly; his very clothes hung on him differently; -he was no longer a nonentity yawning beneath an ancient pedigree and -title; he was an aggressive personality. The boy in him rushed into -manhood, as it were, while still retaining boyish speech and gesture. -It was uncanny. 'We'll go more than once, I vote; go again and again. -This _is_ a place and a half. It's _my_ place with a vengeance----!' - -'Not exactly the kind of place your father would wish you to linger -in,' his tutor interrupted. 'But we might stay a day or two--especially -as you like it so.' - -'It's far better than the towns and the rotten embassies; better -than fifty Simlas and Bombays and filthy Cairos,' cried the other -eagerly. 'It's just the thing I need, and when I get home I'll show 'em -something. I'll prove it. Why, they simply won't know me!' He laughed, -and his face shone with a kind of vivid radiance in the glare of the -electric light. The transformation was more than curious. Waiting a -moment to see if more would follow, Hendricks moved slowly then towards -the door, with the remark that it was advisable now to go to bed since -they would be up late the following night--when he noticed for the -first time that the pillow and sheets were crumpled and that the bed -had already been lain in. The first suspicion flashed back upon him -with new certainty. - -Lord Ernie was already taking off his heavy coat, preparatory to -undressing. He looked up quickly at the altered tone of voice. - -'Bindy,' the tutor said with a touch of gravity, 'you _were_ alone just -now--weren't you--of course?' - -The other sat up from stooping over his boots. With his hands resting -on the bed behind him, he looked straight into his companion's eyes. -Lying was not among his faults. He answered slowly after a decided -interval. - -'I--I was asleep,' he whispered, evidently trying to be accurate, -yet hesitating how to describe the thing he had to say, 'and had a -dream--one of my real, vivid dreams when something happens. Only, this -time, it was more real than ever before. It was'--he paused, searching -for words, then added--'sweet and awful.' - -And Hendricks repeated the surprising sentence. 'Sweet and awful, -Bindy! What in the world do you mean, boy?' - -Lord Ernie seemed puzzled himself by the choice of words he used. - -'I don't know exactly,' he went on honestly, 'only I mean that it was -awfully real and splendid, a bit of my own life somewhere--somewhere -else--where it lies hidden away behind a lot of days and months that -choke it up. I can never get at it except in woods and places, quite -alone, hearing the wind or making fires, or--in sleep.' He hid his face -in his hands a moment, then looked up with a hint of censure in his -eyes. 'Why didn't you tell me that such things _were_ done? You never -told me,' he repeated. - -'I didn't know it myself until this evening. Leysin----' - -'I thought you knew everything,' Lord Ernie broke in in that same -half-chiding tone. - -'Monsieur Leysin told me to-night for the first time,' said Hendricks -firmly, 'that such people and such practices existed. Till now I had -never dreamed that such superstitions survived anywhere in the world -at all.' He resented the reproach. But he was also aware that the boy -resented his authority. For the first time his ascendency seemed in -question; his voice, his eye, his manner did not quell as formerly. -'So you mean, when you say "sweet and awful," that it was very real to -you?' he asked. He insisted now with purpose. 'Is that it, Bindy?' - -The other replied eagerly enough. 'Yes, that's it, I think--partly. -This time it was more than dreaming. It was real. I got there. I -remembered. That's what I meant. And after I woke up the thing still -went on. The man seemed still in the room beside the bed, calling me to -get up and go with him----' - -'Man! What man?' The tutor leant upon the back of a chair to steady -himself. The wind just then went past the open windows with a singing -rush. - -'The dark man who passed us in the village, and who pointed to the -fires on the heights. He came with the wind, you remember. He pulled my -coat.' - -The boy stood up as he said it. He came across the naked boarding, his -step light and dancing. 'Fire that heats but does not burn, and wind -that blows the heart alight, or something--I forget now exactly. _You_ -heard it too.' He whispered the words with excitement, raising his arms -and knees as in the opening movements of a dance. - -Hendricks kept his own excitement down, but with a distinctly conscious -effort. - -'I heard nothing of the kind,' he said calmly. 'I was only thinking of -getting home dry. You say,' he asked with decision, 'that you _heard_ -those words?' - -Lord Ernie stood back a little. It was not that he wished to conceal, -but that he felt uncertain how to express himself. 'In the street,' he -said, 'I heard nothing; the words rose up in my own head, as it were. -But in the dream, and afterwards too, when I was wide awake, I heard -them out loud, clearly: Fire that heats but does not burn, and wind -that blows the heart to flame--that's how it was.' - -'In French, Bindy? You heard it in French?' - -'Oh, it was no language at all. The eyes said it--both times.' He -spoke as naturally as though it was the Durbah he described again. -Only this new aggressive certainty was in his voice and manner. -'Mr. Hendricks,' he went on eagerly, '_you_ understand what I mean, -don't you? When certain people look at one, words start up in the -mind as though one heard them spoken. I heard the words in my head, -I suppose; only they seemed so familiar, as though I'd known them -before--always----' - -'Of course, Bindy, I understand. But this man--tell me--did he stay on -after you woke up? And how did he go?' He looked round at the barely -furnished room for hiding-places. 'It was really the dream you carried -on after waking, wasn't it?' - -Then Bindy laughed, but inwardly, as to himself. There was the faintest -possible hint of derision in his voice. 'No doubt,' he said; 'only it -was one of my big, real dreams. And how he went I can't explain at -all, for I didn't see. You knocked at the door; I turned, and found -myself standing in the room, dressed to go out. There was a rush of -wind outside the window--and when I looked he was no longer there. -The same minute you came in. It was all as quick as that. I suppose I -dressed--in my sleep.' - -They stood for several minutes, staring at each other without speaking. -The tutor hesitated between several courses of action, unable, for the -life of him, to decide upon any particular one. His instinct on the -whole was to stop nothing, but to encourage all possible expression, -while keeping rigorous watch and guard. Repression, it seemed to him -just then, was the least desirable line to take. Somewhere there was -truth in the affair. He felt out of his depth, his authority impaired, -and under these temporary disadvantages he might so easily make a -grave mistake, injuring instead of helping. While Lord Ernie finished -his undressing he leaned out of the window, taking great draughts of -the keen night air, watching the blazing fires and listening to the -roar of voices, now dying down into the distance. - -And the voice of his thinking whispered to him, 'Let it all come out. -Repress nothing. Let him have the entire adventure. If it's nonsense -it can't injure, and if it's true it's inevitable.' He drew his head -in and moved towards the door. 'Then it's settled,' he said quietly, -as though nothing unusual had happened; 'we'll go up there to-morrow -night--with Monsieur Leysin to show us the way. And you'll go to sleep -now, won't you? For to-morrow we may be up very late. Promise me, -Bindy.' - -'I'm dead tired,' came the answer from the sheets. 'I certainly shan't -dream any more, if that's what you mean. I promise.' - -Hendricks turned the light out and went softly from the room. He could -always trust the boy. - -'Good-night, Bindy,' he said. - -'Good-night,' came the drowsy reply. - -Upstairs he lingered a long time over his own undressing, listening, -waiting, watching for the least sound below. But nothing happened. -Once, for his own peace of mind, he stole stealthily downstairs to the -boy's door; then, reassured by the heavy breathing that was distinctly -audible, he went up finally and got into bed himself. The night was -very still now. It was cool, and the stars were brilliant over lake and -forest and mountain. No voices broke the silence. He only heard the -tinkle of the little streams beyond the vineyards. And by midnight he -was sound asleep. - - -VI - -And next day broke as soft and brilliant as though October had stolen -it from June; the Alps gleamed through an almost summery haze across -the lake; the air held no hint of coming winter; and the Jura mountains -wore the true blue of memory in Hendricks' mind. Patches of red and -yellow splashed the great pine-woods here and there where beech and ash -put autumn in the vast dark carpet. - -The tutor woke clear-headed and refreshed. All that had happened the -night before seemed out of proportion and unreasonable. There had -been exaggerated emotion in it: in himself, because he returned to a -place still charged with potent memories of youth; and in Lord Ernie, -because the lad was overwrought by the electrical disturbance of the -atmosphere. The nearness of the ancestral halls, which they both -disliked, had emphasised it; the ominous, wild weather had favoured -it; and the coincidence of these pagan rites of superstitious peasants -had focused it all into a melodramatic form with an added touch of the -supernatural that was highly picturesque and--dangerously suggestive. -Hendricks recovered his common sense; judgment asserted itself again. - -Yet, for all that, certain things remained authentic. The effect -upon the boy was not illusion, nor his words about fire and wind -mere meaningless invention. There hid some undivined and significant -correspondence between the gaps in his deficient nature and these two -turbulent elements. The talk with Leysin, as the conduct of his wife, -remained authentic; those facts were too steady to be dismissed, the -Pasteur too genuinely in earnest to be catalogued in dream. Neither -daylight nor common sense could dissipate their actuality. Truth lay -somewhere in it all. - -Thus the day, for the tutor, was a battle that shifted with varying -fortune between doubt and certainty. In the morning his mind was -decided: the wild experiment was unjustifiable; in the afternoon, -as the sunshine grew faint and melancholy, it became 'interesting, -for what harm could come of it?' but towards evening, when shadows -lengthened across the purple forests and the trees stood motionless in -the calm and windless air, the adventure seemed, as it had seemed the -night before, not only justifiable, but right and necessary. It only -became inevitable, however, when, after tea together on the balcony, -Lord Ernie, mentioning the subject for the first time that day, asked -pointedly what time the Pasteur expected them to supper; then, noticing -the flash of hesitancy in his companion's eyes, added in his strange -deep voice, 'You promised we should go.' Withdrawal after that was out -of the question. To retract would have meant, for one thing, final loss -of the boy's confidence--a possibility not to be contemplated for a -moment. - -Until this moment no word of the preceding night had passed the lips -of either. Lord Ernie had been quiet and preoccupied, silent rather, -but never listless. He was peaceful, perhaps subdued a little, yet with -a suppressed energy in his bearing that Hendricks watched with secret -satisfaction. The tutor, closely observant, detected nothing out of -gear; life stirred strongly in him; there was purpose, interest, will; -there was desire; but there was nothing to cause alarm. - -Availing himself then of the lad's absorption in his own affairs, he -wandered forth alone upon his sentimental tour of inspection. No ghost -of emotion rose to stalk beside him. That early tragedy, he now saw -clearly, had been no more than youthful explosion of mere physical -passion, wholesome and natural, but due chiefly to propinquity. His -thoughts ran idly on; and he was even congratulating himself upon -escape and freedom when, abruptly, he remembered a phrase Bindy had -used the night before, and stumbled suddenly upon a clue when least -expecting it. - -He came to a sudden halt. The significance of it crashed through his -mind and startled him. 'There are big rushing women ...' It was the -first reference to the other sex, as evidence of their attraction -for him, Hendricks had ever known to pass his lips. Hitherto, though -twenty years of age, the lad had never spoken of women as though he was -aware of their terrible magic. He had not discovered them as females, -necessary to every healthy male. It was not purity, of course, but -ignorance: he had felt nothing. Something had now awakened sex in him, -so that he knew himself a man, and naked. And it had revolutionised the -world for him. This new life came from the roots, transforming listless -indifference into positive desire; the will woke out of sleep, and -all the currents of his system took aggressive form. For all energy, -intellectual, emotional, or spiritual, is fundamentally one: it is -primarily sexual. - -Hendricks paused in his sentimental walk, marvelling that he had not -realised sooner this simple truth. It brought a certain logical meaning -even into the pagan rites upon the mountains, these ancient rites -which symbolised the marriage of the two tremendous elements of wind -and fire, heat and air. And the lad's quiet, busy mood that morning -confirmed his simple discovery. It involved restraint and purpose. Lord -Ernie was alive. Hendricks would take home with him to those ancestral -halls a vessel bursting with energy--creative energy. It was admirable -that he should witness--from a safe distance--this primitive ceremony -of crude pagan origin. It was the very thing. And the tutor hurried -back to the house among the vineyards, aware that his responsibility -had increased, but persuaded more than ever that his course was -justified. - - * * * * * - -The sky held calm and cloudless through the day, the forests brooding -beneath the hazy autumn sunshine. Indications that the second hurricane -lay brewing among the heights were not wanting, however, to experienced -eyes. Almost a preternatural silence reigned; there was a warm -heaviness in the placid atmosphere; the surface of the lake was patched -and streaky; the extreme clarity of the air an ominous omen. Distant -objects were too close. Towards sunset, moreover, the streaks and -patches vanished as though sucked below, while thin strips of tenuous -cloud appeared from nowhere above the northern cliffs. They moved with -great rapidity at an enormous height, touched with a lurid brilliance -as the sun sank out of sight; and when Hendricks strolled over with -Lord Ernie to _la cure_ for supper there came a sudden rush of heated -wind that set the branches sharply rattling, then died away as abruptly -as it rose. - -They seemed reflected, too, these disturbances, in the human -atmospheres about the supper table--there was suppression of various -emotions, emotions presaging violence. Lord Ernie was exhilarated, -Hendricks uneasy and preoccupied, the Pasteur grave and thoughtful. In -Hendricks was another feeling as well--that he had lightly summoned -a storm which might carry him off his feet. The boy's excitement -increased it, as wind-puffs fan a starting fire. His own judgment -had somewhere played him false, betraying him into this incredible -adventure. And yet he could not stop it. The Pasteur's influence was -over him perhaps. He was ashamed to turn back. He was committed. The -unusual circumstances found the weakness in his character. - -For somewhere in the preposterous superstition there lay a big -forgotten truth. He could not believe it, and yet he did believe it. -The world had forgotten how to live truly close to Nature. - -A desultory conversation was carried on, chiefly between the two men, -while the boy ate hungrily, and Mme. Leysin watched her husband with -anxiety as she served the simple meal. - -'So you are coming with us, and you like to come?' the Pasteur observed -quietly, Hendricks translating. - -Lord Ernie replied with a gesture of unmistakable enthusiasm. - -'A wild lot of men and women,' Leysin went on, keeping his eye hard -upon him, 'with an interesting worship of their own copied from very -ancient times. They live on the heights, and mix little with us valley -folk. You shall see their ceremonies to-night.' - -'They get the wind and fire into themselves, don't they?' asked the boy -keenly, and somewhat to the distress of the translator who rendered it, -'They get into wind and fire.' - -'They worship wind and fire,' Leysin replied, 'and they do it by means -of a wonderful dance that somehow imitates the leap of flame and the -headlong rush of wind. If you copy the movements and gestures of a -person you discover the emotion that causes them. You share it. Their -idea is, apparently, that by imitating the movements they invite or -attract the force--draw these elemental powers into their systems, so -that in the end----' - -He stopped suddenly, catching the tutor's eye. Lord Ernie seemed -to understand without translation; he had laid down his knife and -fork, and was leaning forward across the table, listening with deep -absorption. His expression was alert with a new intelligence that was -almost cunning. An acute sensibility seemed to have awakened in him. - -'As with laughing, I suppose?' he said in an undertone to Hendricks -quickly. 'If you imitate a laugher, you laugh yourself in the end and -feel all the jolly excitement of laughter. Is that what he means?' - -The tutor nodded with assumed indifference. 'Imitation is always -infectious,' he said lightly; 'but, of course, you will not imitate -these wild people yourself, Bindy. We'll just look on from a distance.' - -'From a distance!' repeated the boy, obviously disappointed. 'What's -the good of that?' A look of obstinacy passed across his altered face. - -Hendricks met his eyes squarely. 'At a circus,' he said firmly, 'you -just watch. You don't imitate the clown, do you?' - -'If you look on long enough, you do,' was the rather dogged reply. - -'Well, take the Russian dancers we saw in Moscow,' the other insisted -patiently; 'you felt the power and beauty without jumping up and -whirling in your stall?' - -Bindy half glared at him. There was almost contempt in his quiet -answer: 'But your mind whirled with them. And later your body would -too; otherwise it's given you nothing.' He paused a second. 'I can -only get the fun of riding by being on a horse's back and doing his -movements exactly with him--not by watching him.' - -Hendricks smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He did not wish to -discourage the enthusiasm lying behind this analysis. The uneasiness in -him grew apace. He said something rapidly in French, using an undertone -and laughter to confuse the actual words. - -'Of course we must not interfere with their ceremonies,' put in the -Pasteur with decision. 'It's sacred to them. We can hide among the -trees and watch. You would not leave your seat in church to imitate the -priest, would you?' He glanced smilingly at the eager youth before him. - -'If he did something real, I would.' It was said with a bright flash in -the eyes. 'Anything real I'd copy like a shot. Only, I never find it.' - -The reply was disconcerting rather: and Hendricks, as he hurriedly -translated, made a clatter with his knife and fork, for something in -him rose to meet the truth behind the curious words. From that moment, -as though catching a little of the boy's exhilaration, he passed under -a kind of spell perhaps. It was, in spite of the exaggeration, oddly -stimulating. This dull little meal at the village _cure_ masked an -accumulating vehemence, eager to break loose. He heard the old father's -voice: 'Well done, Hendricks! You have accomplished wonders!' He would -take back the boy--alive.... - -Yet all the time there were streaks and patches on his soul as upon -the surface of the lake that afternoon. There were signs of terror. He -felt himself letting go, an increasing recklessness, a yielding up more -and more of his own authority to that of this triumphant boy. Bindy -understood the meaning of it all and felt secure; Hendricks faltered, -hesitated, stood on the defensive. Yet, ever less and less. Already he -accepted the other's guidance. Already Lord Ernie's leadership was in -the ascendant. Conviction invariably holds dominion over doubt. - -They ate little. It was near the end of the meal when the wind, falling -from a clear and starlit sky, struck its first violent blow, dropping -with the force of an explosion that shook the wooden house, and passing -with a roar towards the distant lake. The oil lamp, suspended from the -ceiling, trembled; the Pasteur looked apprehensively at the shuttered -windows; and Lord Ernie, with startling abruptness, stood up. His eyes -were shining. His voice was brisk, alert, and deep. - -'The wind, the wind!' he cried. 'Think what it'll be up there! We -shall feel it on our bodies!' His enthusiasm was like a rush of air -across the table. 'And the fire!' he went on. 'The flames will lick all -over, and tear about the sky. I feel wild and full of them already! -How splendid!' And the flame of the little lamp leaped higher in the -chimney as he said it. - -'The violence of the _coup de joran_ is extraordinary,' explained -Leysin as he got up to turn down the wick, 'and the second -outburst----' The rest of his sentence was drowned by the noise of -Hendricks' voice telling the boy to sit down and finish his supper. -And at the same moment the Pasteur's wife came in as though a stroke -of wind drove behind her down the passage. The door slammed in the -draught. There was a momentary confusion in the room above which her -voice rose shrill and frightened. - -'The fires are alight, Jules,' she whispered in her half-intelligible -_patois_, 'the forest is burning all along the upper ridge.' Her face -was pale and her speech came stumbling. She lowered her lips to her -husband's ear. 'They'll be looking out for recruits to-night. Is it -necessary, is it right for you to go?' She glanced uneasily at the -English visitors. 'You know the danger----' - -He stopped her with a gesture. 'Those who look on at life accomplish -nothing,' he answered impatiently. 'One must act, always act. Chances -are sent to be taken, not stared at.' He rose, pushing past her into -the passage, and as he did so she gave him one swift comprehensive -look of tenderness and admiration, then hurried after him to find his -hat and cloak. Willingly she would have kept him at home that night, -yet gladly, in another sense, she saw him go. She fumbled in her -movements, ready to laugh or cry or pray. Hendricks saw her pain and -understood. It was singular how the woman's attitude intensified his -own misgivings; her behaviour, the mere expression of her face alone, -made the adventure so absolutely real. - -Three minutes later they were in the village street. Hendricks and Lord -Ernie, the latter impatient in the road beyond, saw her tall figure -stoop to embrace him. 'I shall pray all night: I shall watch from my -window for your return. God, who speaks from the whirlwind, and whose -pathway is the fire, will go with you. Remember the younger men; it is -ever the younger men that they seek to take...!' Her words were half -hysterical. The kiss was given and taken; the open doorway framed her -outline a moment; then the buttress of the church blotted her out, and -they were off. - - -VII - -And at once the curious confusion of strong wind was upon them. Gusts -howled about the corners of the shuttered houses and tore noisily -across the open yards. Dust whirled with the rapidity as of some -spectral white machinery. A tile came clattering down about their feet, -while overhead the roofs had an air of shifting, toppling, bending. -The entire village seemed scooped up and shaken, then dropped upon the -earth again in tottering fashion. - -'This way,' gasped the little Pasteur, blown sideways like a sail; -'follow me closely.' Almost arm-in-arm at first they hurried down the -deserted street, past lampless windows and tight-fastened doors, and -soon were beyond the cabaret in that open stretch between the village -and the forest where the wind had unobstructed way. Far above them ran -the fiery mountain ridge. They saw the glare reflected in the sky as -the tempest first swept them all three together, then separated them in -the same moment. They seemed to spin or whirl. 'It's far worse than I -expected,' shouted their guide; 'here! Give me your hand!' then found, -once disentangled from his flapping cloak, that no one stood beside -him. For each of them it was a single fight to reach the shelter of the -woods, where the actual ascent began. An instant the Pasteur seemed to -hesitate. He glanced back at the lighted window of _la cure_ across the -fields, at the line of fire in the sky, at the figure disappearing in -the blackness immediately ahead. 'Where's the boy?' he shouted. 'Don't -let him get too far in front. Keep close. Wait till I come!' They -staggered back against each other. 'Look how easily he's slipped ahead -already!' - -'This howling wind----' Hendricks shouted, as they advanced side by -side, pushing their shoulders against the storm. - -The rest of the sentence vanished into space. Leysin shoved him -forward, pointing to where, some twenty yards in front, the figure of -Lord Ernie, head down, was battling eagerly with the hurricane. Already -he stood near to the shelter of the trees waving his arms with energy -towards the summits where the fire blazed. He was calling something at -the top of his voice, urging them to hurry. His voice rushed down upon -them with a pelt of wind. - -'Don't let him get away from us,' bawled Leysin, holding his hands -cup-wise to his mouth. 'Keep him in reach. He may see, but must not -take part....' A blow full in the face that smote him like the flat -of a great sword clapped the sentence short. 'That's _your_ part. He -won't obey me!' Hendricks heard it as they plunged across the windswept -reach, panting, struggling, forcing their bodies sideways like -two-legged crabs against the terrific force of the descending _joran_. -They reached the protection of the forest wall without further attempt -at speech. Here there was sudden peace and silence, for the tall, dense -trees received the tempest's impact like a cushion, stopping it. They -paused a moment to recover breath. - -But although the first exhaustion speedily passed, that original -confusion of strong wind remained--in Hendricks' mind at least,--for -wind violent enough to be battled with has a scattering effect on -thought and blows the very blood about. Something in him snapped its -cables and blew out to sea. His breath drew in an impetuous quality -from the tempest each time he filled his lungs. There was agitation in -him that caused an odd exaggeration of the emotions. The boy, as they -came up, leaped down from a boulder he had climbed. He opened his arms, -making of his cloak a kind of sail that filled and flapped. - -'At last!' he cried, impatient, almost vexed. 'I thought you were never -coming. The wind blew me along. We shall be late----' - -The tutor caught his arm with vigour. 'You keep by us, Ernest; d'you -hear now? No rushing ahead like that. Leysin's the guide, not you.' He -even shook him. But as he did so he was aware that he himself resisted -something that he did not really want to resist, something that urged -him forcibly; a little more and he would yield to it with pleasure, -with abandon, finally with recklessness. A reaction of panic fear ran -over him. - -'It was the wind, I tell you,' cried the boy, flinging himself free -with a hint of insolence in his voice, 'for it's alive. I mean to see -everything. The wind's our leader and the fire's our guide.' He made a -movement to start on again. - -'You'll obey me,' thundered Hendricks, 'or else you'll go home. D'you -understand?' - -With exasperation, yet with uneasy delight, he noted the words Bindy -made use of. It was in him that he might almost have uttered them -himself. He stepped already into an entirely new world. Exhilaration -caught him even now. Putting the brake on was mere pretence. He seized -the lad by both shoulders and pushed him to the rear, then placed -himself next, so that Leysin moved in front and led the way. The -procession started, diving into the comparative shelter of the forest. -'Don't let him pass you,' he heard in rapid French; 'guide him, that's -all. The power's already in his blood. Keep yourself in hand as well, -and follow me closely.' The roar of the storm above them carried the -words clean off the world. - -Here in the forest they moved, it seemed, along the floor of an -ocean whose surface raged with dreadful violence; any moment one or -other of them might be caught up to that surface and whirled off to -destruction. For the procession was not one with itself. The darkness, -the difficulty of hearing what each said, the feeling, too, that each -climbed for himself, made everything seem at sixes and sevens. And the -tutor, this secret exultation growing in his heart, denied the anxiety -that kept it pace, and battled with his turbulent emotions, a divided -personality. His power over the boy, he realised, had gravely weakened. -A little time ago they had seemed somehow equal. Now, however, a -complete reversal of their relative positions had taken place. The boy -was sure of himself. While Leysin led at a steady mountaineer's pace -on his wiry, short, bowed legs, Hendricks, a yard or two behind him, -stumbled a good deal in the darkness, Lord Ernie forever on his heels, -eager to push past. But Bindy never stumbled. There was no flagging -in his muscles. He moved so lightly and with so sure a tread that he -almost seemed to dance, and often he stopped aside to leap a boulder or -to run along a fallen trunk. Path there was none. Occasional gusts of -wind rushed gustily down into these depths of forest where they moved, -and now, from time to time, as they rose nearer to the line of fire on -the ridge, an increasing glare lit up the knuckled roots or glimmered -on the bramble thickets and heavy beds of moss. It was astonishing -how the little Pasteur never missed his way. Periods of thick silence -alternated with moments when the storm swept down through gullies among -the trees, reverberating like thunder in the hollows. - -Slowly they advanced, buffeted, driven, pushed, the wildness of some -Walpurgis night growing upon all three. In the tutor's mind was this -strange lift of increasing recklessness, the old proportion gone, the -spiritual aspect of it troubling him to the point of sheer distress. He -followed Leysin as blindly with his body as he followed this new Bindy -eagerly with his mind. For this languid boy, now dancing to the tune -of flooding life at his very heels, seemed magical in the true sense: -energy created as by a wizard out of nothing. From lips that ordinarily -sighed in listless boredom poured now a ceaseless stream of questions -and ejaculations, ringing with enthusiasm. How long would it take to -reach the fiery ridge? Why did they go so slowly? Would they arrive -too late? Would their intrusion be welcomed or understood? Already one -great change was effected--accepted by Hendricks, too--that the rôle -of mere spectator was impossible. The answers Hendricks gave, indeed, -grew more and more encouraging and sympathetic. He, too, was impatient -with their leader's crawling pace. Some elemental spell of wind and -fire urged him towards the open ridge. The pull became irresistible. -He despised the Pasteur's caution, denied his wisdom, wholly rejected -now the spirit of compromise and prudence. And once, as the hurricane -brought down a flying burst of voices, he caught himself leaping upon a -big grey boulder in their path. He leaped at the very moment that the -boy behind him leaped, yet hardly realised that he did so; his feet -danced without a conscious order from his brain. They met together on -the rounded top, stumbled, clutched one another frantically, then slid -with waving arms and flying cloaks down the slippery surface of damp -moss--laughing wildly. - -'Fool!' cried Hendricks, saving himself. 'What in the world----?' - -'_You_ called,' laughed Bindy, picking himself up and dropping back to -his place in the rear again. 'It's the wind, not me; it's in our feet. -Half the time you're shouting and jumping yourself!' - -And it was a few minutes after this that Lord Ernie suddenly forged -ahead. He slipped in front as silently as a shadow before a moving -candle in a room. Passing the tutor at a moment when his feet were -entangled among roots and stones, he easily overtook the Pasteur and -found himself in the lead. He never stumbled; there seemed steel -springs in his legs. - -From Leysin, too breathless to interfere, came a cry of warning. 'Stop -him! Take his hand!' his tired voice instantly smothered by the roaring -skies. He turned to catch Hendricks by the cloak. 'You see _that_!' he -shouted in alarm. 'For the love of God, don't lose sight of him! He -must see, but not take part--remember----!' - -And Hendricks yelled after the vanishing figure, 'Bindy, go slow, go -slow! Keep in touch with us.' But he quickened his pace instantly, as -though to overtake the boy. He passed his companion the same minute, -and was out of sight. 'I'll wait for you,' came back the boy's shrill -answer through the thinning trees. And a flare of light fell with it -from the sky, for the final climb of a steep five hundred feet had now -begun, and overhead the naked ridge ran east and west with its line of -blazing fires. Boulders and rocky ground replaced the pines and spruces. - -'But you'll never find the way,' shouted Leysin, while a deep -trumpeting roar of the storm beyond muffled the remainder of the -sentence. - -Hendricks heard the next words close beside him from a clump of -shadows. He was in touching distance of the excited boy. - -'The fires and the singing guide me. Only a fool could miss the way.' - -'But you _are_ a----' - -He swallowed the unuttered word. A new, extraordinary respect was -suddenly in him. That tall, virile figure, instinct with life, -springing so cleverly through the choking darkness, guiding with -decision and intelligence, almost infallible--it was no fool that led -them thus. He hurried after till his very sinews ached. His eyes, -troubled and confused, strained through the trees to find him. But -these same trees now fled past him in a torrent. - -'Bindy, Bindy!' he cried, at the top of his voice, yet not with -the imperious tone the situation called for. The sentence dropped -into a lull of wind. Instead of command there was entreaty, almost -supplication, in it. 'Wait for me, I'm coming. We'll see the glorious -thing together!' - -And then suddenly the forest lay behind him, with a belt of open -pasture-land in front below the actual ridge. He felt the first great -draught of heat, as a line of furnaces burst their doors with a mighty -roar and turned the sky into a blaze of golden daylight. There was a -crackling as of musketry. The flare shot up and burned the air about -him, and the voices of a multitude, as yet invisible, drove through it -like projectiles on the wind. This was the first impression, wholesale -and terrific, that met him as he paused an instant on the edge of the -sheltering forest and looked forward. Leysin and Lord Ernie seemed -to leave his mind, forgotten in this first attack of splendour, but -forgotten, as it were, the first with contempt, the latter with an -overwhelming regret. For the Pasteur's mistake in that instant seemed -obvious. In half measures lay the fatal error, and in compromise the -danger. Bindy all along had known the better way and followed it. The -lukewarm was the worthless. - -'Bindy, boy, where are you? I'm coming ...' and stepping on to the -grassy strip of ground, soft to his feet, he met a wind that fell upon -his body with a shower of blows from all directions at once and beat -him to his knees. He dropped, it seemed, into the cover of a sheltering -rock, for there followed then a moment of sudden and delicious -stillness in which the weary muscles recovered themselves and thought -grew slightly steadier. Crouched thus close to the earth he no longer -offered a target to the hurricane's attack. He peered upwards, making a -screen of his hands. - -The ridge, some fifty feet above him, he saw, ran in a generous -platform along the mountain crest; it was wide and flat; between the -enormous fires of piled-up wood that stretched for half a mile coiled a -medley of dense smoke and tearing sparks. No human beings were visible, -and yet he was aware of crowding life quite near. On hands and knees, -crawling painfully, he then slowly retreated again into the shelter of -the forest he had sought to leave. He stood up. The awful blaze was -veiled by the roof of branches once more. But, as he rose, seizing a -sapling to steady himself by, two hands caught him with violence from -behind, and a familiar voice came shouting against his ear. Leysin, -panting, dishevelled and half broken with the speed, stood beside him. - -'The boy! Where is he? We're just in time!' He roared the words to -make them carry above the din. 'Hurry, hurry! I'll follow.... My older -legs.... See, for the love of God, that he is not taken.... I warned -you!' - -And for a second, as he heard, Hendricks caught at the vanished sense -of responsibility again. He saw the face of the old Marquess watching -him among the tree trunks. He heard his voice, amazed, reproachful, -furious: 'It was criminal of you, criminal----!' - -'Where is the boy--_your_ boy?' again broke in the shout of the Pasteur -with a slap of hurricane, as he staggered against the tutor, half -collapsing, and trying to point the direction. 'Watch him, find him for -the love of heaven before it is too late--before they see him...!' - -The tutor's normal and responsible self dived out of sight again as he -heard the cry of weakness and alarm. It seemed the wind got under him, -lifting him bodily from his feet. He did not pause to think. Like a man -midway in a whirling prize-fight, he felt dazed but confident, only -conscious of one thing--that he must hold out to the end, take part in -all the splendid fighting--_win_. The lust of the arena, the pride of -youth and battle, the impetuous recklessness of the charge in primitive -war caught at his heart, brimming it with headlong courage. To play -the game for all it might be worth seemed shouted everywhere about -him, as the abandon of wind and fire rushed through him like a storm. -He felt lifted above all possibility of little failure. The Marquess -with his conventional traditions, the Pasteur with his considerations -of half-way safety, both vanished utterly; safety, indeed, both for -himself and for the boy in his charge lay in unconditional surrender. -This was no time for little thought-out actions. It was all or nothing! - -'God bless the whirlwind and the fire!' he shouted, opening wide his -arms. - -But his voice was inaudible amid the uproar, and the forward movement -of his body remained at first only in the brain. He turned to push the -old man aside, even to strike him down if necessary. 'Lukewarm yourself -and a coward!' rose in his throat, yet found no utterance, for in that -moment a tall, slim figure, swift as a shadow, steady as a hawk, shot -hard across the open space between the forest and the ridge. In the -direction of the blazing platform it disappeared against a curtain of -thick smoke, emerged for one second in a storm of light, then vanished -finally behind a ruin of loose rocks. And Hendricks, his eyes wounded -by heat and wind, his muscles paralysed, understood that the boy -deliberately invited capture. The multitude that hid behind the smoke -and fire, feeding the blazing heaps with eager hands, had become aware -of him, and presently would appear to claim him. They would take him -to themselves. Already answering flares ran east and west along the -desolate ridge. - -'I'll join you! I'm coming! Wait for me!' he tried to cry. The uproar -smothered it. - - -VIII - -And this uproar, he now perceived, was composed entirely of wind and -fire. Here, on the roof of the hills beneath a starry sky, these two -great elements expressed their nature with unhampered freedom, for -there was neither rain to modify the one, nor solid obstacle to check -the other. Their voices merged in a single sound--the hollow boom of -wind and the deep, resounding clap of flame. The splitting crackle -of burning branches imitated the high, shrill whistle of the tearing -gusts that, javelin-like, flew to and fro in darts of swifter sound. -But one shout rose from the summit, no human cry distinguishable in it, -nor amid the thousand lines of skeleton wood that pierced the golden -background was any human outline visible. Fire and wind encouraged one -another to madness, manifesting in prodigious splendour by themselves. - -Then, suddenly, before a gigantic canter of the wind, the driving smoke -rolled upwards like a curtain, and the flames, ceasing their wild -flapping, soared steadily in gothic windows of living gold towards the -stars. In towering rows between columns of black night they transformed -the empty space between them into a colossal temple aisle. They -tapered aloft symmetrically into vanishing crests. And Hendricks stood -upright. Rising so that his shoulders topped the edge of the boulder, -and utterly contemptuous of Leysin's hand that sought with violence to -drag him into shelter, he gazed as one who sees a vision. For at first -he could only stand and stare, aware of sensation but not of thought. -An enormous, overpowering conviction blew his whole being to white -heat. Here was a supply of elemental power that human beings--empty, -needy, starved, deficient human beings--could use. His love for the boy -leaped headlong at the skirts of this terrific salvation. A majestic -possibility stormed through him. - -Yet it was no nightmare wonder that met his staring and half-shielded -eyes, although some touch of awful dream seemed in it, set, moreover, -to a scale that scantier minds might deem distortion. The heat from -some thirty fires, placed at regular intervals, made midnight quiver -with immense vibrations. Of varying, yet calculated size, these -towering heaps emitted notes of measured and alternating depth, until -the roar along the entire line produced a definite scale almost of -melody, the near ones shrilly singing, those more distant booming with -mountainous pedal notes. The consonance was monstrous, yet conformed to -some magnificent diapason. This chord of fire-music paced the starlit -sky, directed, but never overmastered, by the wind that measured it -somehow into meaning. Repeated in quick succession, the notes now -crashing in a mass, now singing alone in solitary beauty, the effect -suggested an idea of ordered sequence, of gigantic rhythm. It seemed, -indeed, as though some controlling agency, mastering excess, coerced -both raging elements to express through this stupendous dance some -definite idea. Here, as it were, was the alphabet of some natural, -undifferentiated language, a language of sight and sound, predating -speech, symbolical in the ultimate, deific sense. Some Lord of Fire -and some Lord of Air were in command. Harnessed and regulated, these -formless cohorts of energy that men call stupidly mere flame and wind, -obeyed a higher power that had invoked them, yet a power that, by -understanding their laws of being, held them most admirably in control. - -This, at least, seems a hint of the explanation that flashed into -Hendricks as he stared in amazed bewilderment from the shelter of the -nearest boulder. He read a sentence in some natural, forgotten script. -He watched a primitive ritual that once invoked the gods. He was aware -of rhythm, and he was aware of system, though as yet he did not see the -hand that wrote this marvellous sentence on the night. For still the -human element remained invisible. He only realised--in dim, blundering -fashion--that he witnessed a revelation of those two powers which, in -large, lie at the foundations of the Universe, and, in little, are the -basic essentials of human existence--the powers behind heat and air. -Fragments of that talk with Leysin stammered back across his mind, like -letters in some stupendous word he dared not reconstruct entire. He -shuddered and grew wise. Realms of forgotten being opened their doors -before his dazzled sight. Vision fluttered into far, piercing vistas -of ancient wonder, haunting and half-remembered, then lost its way -in blindness that was pain. For a moment, it seemed, he was aware of -majestic Presences behind the turmoil, shadowy but mighty, charged with -a vague potentiality as of immense algebraical formulae, symbolical -and beyond full comprehension, yet willing and able to be used for -practical results. He _felt_ the elements as nerves of a living -Universe.... Yet thinking was not really in him anywhere; feeling was -all he knew. The world he moved in, as the script he read, belonged -to conditions too utterly remote for reason to recover a single clue -to their intelligible reconstruction. Glory, clean and strong as of -primitive star-worship, passed between what he saw and all that he -had ever known before. The curtain of conventional belief was rent in -twain. The terrific thing was true.... - -For an unmeasured interval the tutor, oblivious of time and actual -place, stood on the brink of this majestic pageant, staring with -breathless awe, while the swaying of the entire scenery increased, like -the sway of an ocean lifted to the sky by many winds. Then, suddenly, -in one of those temporary lulls that passed between the beat of the -great notes, his searching eyes discovered a new thing. The focus -of his sight was altered, and he realised at last the source of the -directing and the controlling power. Behind the fires and beyond the -smoke he recognised the disc-like, shining ovals that upon this little -earth stand in the image of the one, eternal Likeness. He saw the human -faces, symbols of spiritual dominion over all lesser orders, each one -possessed of belief, intelligence and will. Singly so feeble, together -so invincible, this assemblage, unscorched by the fire and by the wind -unmoved, seemed to him impressive beyond all possible words. And a -further inkling of the truth flashed on him as he stared: that a group -of humans, a crowd, combining upon a given object with concentrated -purpose, possessed of that terrific power, certain faith, may know -in themselves the energy to move great mountains, and therefore that -lesser energy to guide the fluid forces of the elements. And a sense -of cosmic exultation leaped into his being. For a moment he knew a -touch of almost frenzy. Proud joy rose in him like a splendour of -omnipotence. Humanity, it seemed to him, here came into a grand but -long neglected corner of its kingdom as originally planned by Heaven. -Into the hands of a weakling and deficient boy the guidance had been -given. - -Motionless beneath the stars, lit by the glare till they shone -like idols of yellow stone, and magnified by the sheets of flying, -intolerable light the wind chased to and fro, these rows of faces -appeared at first as a single line of undifferentiated fire against the -background of the night. The eyes were all cast down in prayer, each -mind focused steadily upon one clear idea--the control and assimilation -of two elemental powers. The crowd was one; feeling was one; desire, -command and certain faith were one. The controlling power that resulted -was irresistible. - -Then came a remarkable, concerted movement. With one accord the eyes -all opened, blazing with reflected fire. A hundred human countenances -rose in a single shining line. The men stood upright. Swarthy faces, -tanned by sun and wind, heads uncovered, hair and beards tossing in -the air, turned all one way. Mouths opened too. There came a roar that -even the hurricane could not drown--a word of command, it seemed, -that sprang into the pulses of the dancing elements and reduced their -turmoil to a wave of steadier movement. And at the same moment a -hundred bodies, naked above the waist, arms outstretched and hands with -the palms held upwards, swayed forwards through the smoke and fire. -They came towards the spot where, half concealed from view, the tutor -crouched and watched. - -And Hendricks, thinking himself discovered, first quailed, then rose -to meet them. No power to resist was in him. It was, rather, willing -response that he experienced. He stepped out from the shelter of the -boulder and entered the brilliant glare. Hatless himself, shoulders -squared, cloak, flying in the wind, he took three strides towards the -advancing battalion--then, undecided, paused. For the line, he saw, -disregarded him as though he were not there at all. It was not _him_ -the worshippers sought. The entire troop swept past to a point some -fifty feet below where the end of the ridge broke out of the thinning -trees. Beautiful as a curving wave of flame, the figures streamed -across the narrow, open space with a drilled precision as of some -battle line, and Hendricks, with a sense of wild, secret triumph, saw -them pause at the brink of the platformed ridge, form up their serried -ranks yet closer, then open two hundred arms to welcome some one whom -the darkness should immediately deliver. Simultaneously, from the -covering trees, the tall, slim shadow of Lord Ernie darted out into the -light. - -'Magnificent!' cried Hendricks, but his voice was smothered instantly -in a mightier sound, and his movement forward seemed ineffective -stumbling. The hundred voices thundered out a single note. Like a -deer the boy leaped; like a tongue of flame he flew to join his own; -and instantly was surrounded, borne shoulder-high upon those upturned -palms, swept back in triumph towards the procession of enormous fires. -Wrapped by smoke and sparks, lifted by wind, he became part of the -monstrous rhythm that turned that mountain ridge alive. He stood -upright upon the platform of interlacing arms; he swayed with their -movements as a thing of wind and fire that flew. The shining faces -vanished then, turned all towards the blazing piles so that the boy had -the appearance of standing on a wall of living black. His outline was -visible a moment against the sky, firelight between his wide-stretched -legs, streaming from his hair and horizontal arms, issuing almost, as -it seemed, from his very body. The next second he leaped to the ground, -ran forward--appallingly close--between two heaped-up fires, flung both -hands heavenwards, and--knelt. - -And Hendricks, sympathetically following the boy's performance as -though his own mind and body took part in it, experienced then a -singular result: it seemed the heart in him began to roar. This -was no rustle of excited blood that the little cavern of his skull -increased, but a deeper sound that proclaimed the kinship of his -entire being with the ritual. His own nature had begun to answer. From -that moment he perceived the spectacle, not with the senses of sight -and hearing, separately, but with his entire body--synthetically. He -became a part of this assembly that was itself one single instrument: -a cosmic sounding-board for the rhythmical expression of impersonal -Nature Powers. Leysin, he dimly realised, fixed in his churchy tenets, -remained outside, apart, and compromising; Hendricks accepted and went -with. All little customary feelings dipped utterly away, lost, false, -denied, even as a unit in a crowd loses its normal characteristics -in the greater mood that sways the whole. The fire no longer burned -him, for he was the fire; nor did he stagger against the furious wind, -because the wind was in his heart. He moved all over, alive in every -point and corner. With his skin he breathed, his bones and tissue ran -with glorious heat. He cried aloud. He praised. 'I am the whirlwind and -I am the fire! Fire that lights but does not burn, and wind that blows -the heart to flame!' His body sang it, or rather the elements sang it -through his body; for the sound of his voice was not audible, and it -was wind and fire that thundered forth his feeling in their crashing -rhythm. - - -IX - -And so it was that he no longer saw this thing pictorially, nor in the -little detached reports the individual senses brought, but knew it in -himself complete, as a man knows love and passion. Memory afterwards -translated these vast central feelings into pictures, but the pictures -touched reality without containing it. Like a vision it happened all -at once, as a room or landscape happens, and what happens all at once, -coming through a synthesis of the senses, is not properly describable -later. To instantaneous knowledge mere sequence is a falsehood. The -sequence first comes in with the telling afterwards. That kneeling -form, he understood, was the empty vessel to which conventional life -had hitherto denied the heat and air it craved. The breath of life -now poured at full tide into it, the fire of deity lit its heart of -touchwood, wind blew into desire; and later flame would burst forth in -action, consuming opposition. He must let it fill to the brim. It was -not salvation, but creation. Then thought went out, extinguished by a -puff of something greater.... - -For beyond the smoke and sparks, beyond the space the men had occupied, -a new and gentler movement, lyrical with bird-like beauty, ran suddenly -along the ridge. What Hendricks had taken for branches heaped in rows -for the burning, stirred marvellously throughout their whole collective -mass, stirred sweetly, too, and with an exquisite loveliness. The -entire line rose gracefully into the air with a whirr as of sweeping -birds. There was a soft and undulating motion as though a draught of -flowing wind turned faintly visible, yet with an increasing brilliance, -like shining lilies of flame that now flocked forward in a troop, -bending deliciously all one way. And in the same second these tall -lilies of fire revealed themselves as figures, naked above the waist, -hair streaming on the wind, eyes alight and bare arms waving. Above the -men's deep pedal bass their voices rose with clear, shrill sweetness on -the storm. The band swept forwards swift as wind towards the kneeling -boy. The long line curved about him foldingly. The women took him as -the south wind takes a bird. - -There may have been--indeed, there was--an interval, for Hendricks -caught, again and again repeated, the boy's great cry of passionate -delight above the tumult. Ringing and virile it rose to heaven, clear -as a fine-wrought bell. And instantaneously the knitted figures of -flame disentangled themselves again, the mass unfolded like an opening -flower, and, as by a military word of command, dissolved itself once -more into a long thin line of running fire. The women advanced, and the -waiting men flowed forward in a stream to meet them. This interweaving -of the figures was as easily accomplished as the mingling of light -and heavy threads upon some living loom. Hands joining hands, all -singing, these naked worshippers of fire and wind passed in and out -among the blazing piles with a headlong precision that was torrential -and yet orderly. The speed increased; the faces flashed and vanished, -then flashed and passed again; each woman between two men, each man -between two women, and Lord Ernie, radiantly alive, between two girls -of rich, o'erflowing beauty. Their movements were undulating, like -the undulations of fire, yet with sudden, unexpected upward leaps as -when fire is partnered abruptly by a cantering wind. For the women were -fire, and the men were wind. The imitative dance was in full swing. The -marvellous wind and fire ritual unrolled its old-world magic. - -It was awe-inspiring certainly, but for Hendricks, as he watched, the -terror of big conflagrations was wholly absent: rather, he felt the -sense of deep security that rhythmic movement causes. Bathed in a sea -of elemental power, he burned to share the pagan splendour and the -rush of primitive delight. It seemed he had a cosmic body in which -new centres stirred to life, linking him on to this source of natural -forces. Through these centres he drew the chaotic energy into nerves -and blood and muscle, into the very substance of his thought, indeed, -transmuting them into the magic of the will. Abundant and inexhaustible -vigour filled the air, pouring freely into whatever empty receptacle -lay at hand. Sheets of flame, whole separate fragments of it, torn at -the edges, raced, loudly, hungrily flapping on vehement gusts of wind; -curved as they flew; leaped, twisted, flashed and vanished. And the -figures closely copied them. The women tossed their bodies aloft, then -dipped suddenly to the earth, invisible, till the rushing men urged -them into view again with wild impetuous swing, so that the entire line -stretched and contracted like an immense elastic band of life, now -knotted, now dissolved. - -Yet, while of raging and terrific beauty, there was never that mad -abandon which is disorder; but rather a kind of sacred natural revel -that prohibited mere licence. There was even a singular austerity in -it that betrayed a definite ritual and not mere reckless pageantry. -No walls could possibly have contained it. In cathedral, temple, or -measured space, however grand, it could only have seemed exaggerated -and apostate; here, beneath the open sky, it was beautiful and true. -For overhead the stars burned clear and steady, the constellations -watching it from their immovable towers--a representation of their own -leisured and hierarchic dance in swifter miniature. And indeed this -relationship it bore to a universal rhythm was the key, it seemed, to -its deep significance; for the close imitation of natural movements -seduced the colossal powers of fire and wind to swell human emotions -till they became mould and vessel for this elemental manifestation -in men and women. Golden yellow in the blaze, the limbs of the women -flashed and passed; their hair flew dark a moment across gleaming -breasts; and their waving arms tossed in ever-shifting patterns through -the driving smoke. The fires boiled and roared, scattering torrents of -showering sparks like stars; and amid it all the slim, white shoulders -of the boy, his clothes torn from him, his eyes ablaze, and his lips -opened to the singing as though he had known it always, drove to and -fro on the crest of the ritual like some flying figure of wind and fire -incarnate. - -All of which, instantaneously yet in sequence, Hendricks witnessed, -painted upon the wild night sky. A volcanic energy poured through -him too. He knew a golden enthusiasm of immeasurable strength, of -unconquerable hope, of irresistible delight. Wind set his feet to -dancing, and fire swept across his face without a trace of burning. - -Nature was part of him. He had stepped inside. No obstacle existed that -could withstand for a single second the torrential energy that fired -his heart and blood. There was lightning in his veins. He could sweep -aside life's difficult barriers with the ease of a tornado, and shake -the rubbish of doubt and care from the years with earthquake shocks. -Empires he could mould, and play with nations, drive men and women -before him like a flock of sheep, shatter convention, and dislocate the -machinery time has foisted upon natural energies. He knew in himself -the omnipotence of the lesser elemental deities. Yet, as sympathetic -observer, he can but have felt a tithe of what Lord Ernie felt. - -'We are the whirlwind and we are the fire!' he cried aloud with the -rushing worshippers. 'We are unconquerable and immense! We destroy the -lukewarm and absorb the weak! For we can make evil into good by bending -it all one way!...' - -The roar swept thunderingly past him, catching at his voice and body. -He felt himself snatched forward by the wind. The fire licked sweetly -at him. It was the final abandonment. He plunged recklessly towards the -surge of dancers.... - - -X - -What stopped him he did not know. Some hard and steely thing pricked -sharply into him. An opposing power, fierce as a sword, stabbed at his -heart--and he heard a little sound quite close beside him, a sound that -pierced the babel, reaching his consciousness as from far away. - -'Keep still! Cling tight to this old rock! Hold yourself in, or else -they'll have you too!' - -It was as if some insect scratched within his ear. His arm, that same -instant, was violently seized. He came down with a crash. He had been -half in the air. He had been dancing. - -'Turn your eyes away, away! Take hold of this big tree!' The voice -cried furiously, but with a petty human passion in it that marred the -world. There was an intolerable revulsion in him as he heard it. He -felt himself dragged forcibly backwards. He lost his balance, stumbling -among loose stones. - -'Loose me! Let me go!' he shouted, struggling like a wild animal, yet -vainly, against the inflexible grip that held him. 'I am one with the -fire that lights but does not burn. I am the wind that blows the worlds -along! Damnation take you.... Let me free!...' - -Confusion caught him, smothering speech and blinding sight. He fell -backwards, away from the heat and wind. He was furious, but furious -with he knew not whom or what. The interference had destroyed the -rhythm, broken it into fragments. Violent impulses clashed through -him without the will to choose or guide them. For power had deserted -him and flowed elsewhere. He stood no longer in the stream of energy. -He was emptied. And at first he could not tell whether his instinct -was to return himself, to rescue his precious boy, or--to crush the -interfering object out of existence with what was left to him of raging -anger. He turned, stood up, and flung the Pasteur aside with violence. -He raised his feet to stamp and kill ... when a phrase with meaning -darted suddenly across his wild confusion and recalled him to some -fragment of truer responsibility and life. - -'... There'll be only violence in him--reckless violence instead of -strength--destructive. Save him before it is too late!' - -'It _is_ too late,' he roared in answer. 'What devil hinders me?' - -But his roar was feeble, and his ironed boots refused the stamping. -Power slipped wholly out of him. The rhythm poured past, instead of -through him. Interference had destroyed the circuit. More glimmerings -of responsibility came back. He stooped like a drunken man and helped -the other to his feet. The rapidity of the change was curious, proving -that the spell had been put upon him from without. It was not, as with -the boy, mere development of pre-existing tendencies. - -'Help me,' he implored suddenly instead, 'help me! There has been -madness in me. For God's sake, help me to get him out!' It seemed the -face of the old Marquess, stern and terrible, broke an instant through -the smoky air, black with reproach and anger. And, with a violent -effort of the will, Hendricks turned round to face the elemental orgy, -bent on rescue. But this time the heat was intolerable and drove him -back. The hair, hitherto untouched, now singed upon his head. Fire -licked his very breath away. He bent double, covering his face with -arms and cloak. - -'Pray!' shouted Leysin, dropping to his knees. 'It is the only way. My -God is higher than this. Pray, pray!' - -And, automatically, Hendricks fell upon his knees beside him, though -to pray he knew not how. For no real faith was in him as in the other, -and his eye was far from single. The fast fading grandeur of what he -had experienced still left its pagan tumult in his blood. The pretence -of prayer could only have been blasphemy. He watched instead, letting -the other invoke his mighty Deity alone, that Deity he had served -unflinchingly all his life with faith and fasting, and with belief -beyond assault. - -It was an impressive picture, fraught with passionate drama. On his -knees behind a sheltering boulder, a blackened pine-tree tossing -scorched branches above his head, this righteous man prayed to his God, -sure of his triumphant answer. Hendricks watched with an admiration -that made him realise his own insignificance. The eyes were closed, -the leonine big head set firm upon the diminutive body, the face now -lit by flame, now veiled by smoke, the strong hands clasped together -and upraised. He envied him. He recognised, too, that the elements -themselves, with all their chaos of might and terror, were after all -but servants of the Vastness which dips the butterflies in colour -and puts down upon the breasts of little robins. And, because the -Pasteur's life had been always prayer in action, his little human will -invoked the Will of Greatness, merged with it, used it, and directed -it steadily against the commotion of these unleashed elements. Certain -of himself and of his God, the Pasteur never doubted. His prayer set -instantly in action those forces which balance suns and keep the stars -afloat. - -Thus, trembling with terror that made him wholly ineffective, Hendricks -watched, and, as he watched, became aware of the amazing change. For -it seemed as if a stream of power, steady and in opposition to the -tumult, now poured audaciously against the elemental rhythm, altering -its direction, modifying gradually its stupendous impetus. There were -pauses in the huge vibrations: they wavered, broke, and fled. They knew -confusion, as when the prow of a steel-nosed vessel drives against -the tide. The tide is vaster, but the steel is--different. The whole -sky shivered, as this new entering force, so small, so soft, yet of -such incalculable energy, began at once its overmastering effect. -Signs of violence or rout, or of anything disordered, had no part in -it; excess before it slipped into willing harness; there was light -that sponged away all glare, as when morning sunshine cleans a forest -of its shadows. Some little whispering power sang marvellously as of -old across the desolate big mountains, 'Peace! Be still!' turning -the monstrous turbulence into obedient sweetness. And upon his face -and hands Hendricks felt faint, delicate touches of some refreshing -softness that he could not understand. - -Yet not instantly was this harmony restored; at first there was the -stress of vehement opposition. The night of wind and fire drove roaring -through the sky. There were bursts of triumphant tumult, but convulsion -in them and no true steadiness as before. The human figures hitherto -had danced with that fluid appearance which belongs to fire, and with -that instantaneous rush which is of wind, the men increasing the women, -and the women answering with joy; limbs and faces had melted into each -other till the circular ritual looked like a glowing wheel of flame -rotating audibly. But slowly now the speed of the wheel decreased; -the single utterance was marred by the crying of many voices, all at -different pitch, discordant, inharmonious, dismayed. The fires somehow -dwindled; there came pauses in the wind; and Hendricks became aware of -a curious hissing noise, as more and more of these odd soft touches -found his face and hands. Here and there, he saw, a figure stumbled, -fell, then gathered itself clumsily together again with a frightened -shout, breaking violently out of the circle. More and more these -figures blundered and dropped out; and although they returned again, -so that the dance apparently increased, these were but moments in the -final violence of the dispersing hurricane. The rejected ones dashed -back wildly into the wrong places; men and women no longer stood -alternate, but in groups together, falsely related. The entire movement -was dislocated; the ceremony grew rapidly incoherent; meaning forsook -it. The composite instrument that had transmuted the elemental forces -into human, emotional storage was imperfect, broken, out of tune. The -disarray turned rout. - -And then it was, while Leysin continued without ceasing his burning and -successful prayer, that his companion, conscious of returning harmony, -rose to his feet, aware suddenly that he could also help. A portion of -the powers he had absorbed still worked in him, but in a new direction. -He felt confident and unafraid. He did not stumble. With unerring tread -he advanced towards the lessening fires, feeling as he did so the cold -soft touches multiply with a rush upon his skin. From all sides they -came by hundreds, like messengers of help. - -'Ernest!' he cried aloud, and his voice, though little raised, carried -resonantly above the dying turmoil; 'Ernest! Come back to us. Your -father calls you!' - -And from threescore faces hurrying in confusion through the smoke, -one paused and turned. It stood apart, hovering as though in air, -while the mob of disordered figures rushed in a body along the ridge. -Plunging like frightened cattle below the farther edge, then vanishing -into thick darkness, they left behind them this one solitary face. A -final dying flame licked out at it; a rush of smoke drove past to hide -it; there was a high, wild scream--and the figure shot forward with a -headlong leap and fell with a crash at Hendricks' feet. Lord Ernie, -blackened by smoke and scorched by fire, lay safe outside the danger -zone. - -And Hendricks knelt beside him. Remorse and shame made him powerless -to do more as he pulled the torn clothing over the neck and chest -and heard his own heart begging for forgiveness. He realised his own -weakness and faithlessness. A great temptation had found him wanting.... - -It was owing to Leysin that the rescue was complete. The Pasteur was -instantly by his side. - -'Saved as by water,' he cried, as he folded his cloak about the -prostrate body, and then raised the head and shoulders; 'saved by His -ministers of rain. For His miracles are love, and work through natural -laws.' - -He made a sign to Hendricks. Carrying the boy between them, they -scrambled down the slope into the shelter of the trees below. The cold, -soft touches were then explained. The _joran_ had dropped as suddenly -as it rose, and the torrential rain that invariably follows now poured -in rivers from the sky. Water, drenching the fires and padding the -savage wind, had stopped the dancers midway in their frenzied ritual. -It was the element they dreaded, for it was hostile. Rain soused the -mountain ridge, extinguishing the last embers of the numerous fires. -It rushed in rivulets between their feet. The heated earth gave out a -hissing steam, and the only sound in the spaces where wind and fire had -boomed and thundered a little while before was now the splash of water -and the drip of quenching drops. - -In the cover of the sheltering trees the body stirred, lifted its head, -and sat up slowly. The eyes opened. - -'I'm cold. I'm frightened,' whispered a shivering voice. 'Where am I?' - -Only the pelt and thud of the rain sounded behind the quavering words. - -'Where are the others? Have I been away? Hendricks--Mr. Hendricks--is -that you----?' - -He stared about him, his face now a mere luminous disc in the thick -darkness. No breath of wind was loose. They spoke to him till he -answered with assurance, groping to find their hands with his own, his -words confused and strange with hidden meaning for a time. 'I'm all -right now,' he kept repeating. 'I know exactly. It was one of my big -dreams ... I suppose I fell asleep ... and the rain woke me. Great -heavens! What a night to be out.' And then he clambered vigorously to -his feet with a sudden movement of great energy again, saying that -hunger was in him and he must eat. There was no complaint of heat or -cold, of burning or of bruises. The boy recovered marvellously. In ten -minutes, breaking away from all support, he led, as they descended -through the dripping forest in the gloom and chill of very early -morning. It was the others who called to him for guidance in the -tangled woods. Lord Ernie was in the lead. Throughout the difficult -woods he was ever in front, and singing: - -'Fire that lights but does not burn! And wind that blows the heart to -flame! They both are in me now for ever and ever! Oh, praise the Lord -of Fire and the Lord of Wind...!' - -And this voice, now near, now distant, sounding through the dripping -forest on their homeward journey, was an experience weird and -unforgettable for those other two. Leysin, it seemed, had one sentence -only which he kept repeating to himself--'Heaven grant he may direct it -all for good. For they have filled him to the brim, and he is become an -instrument of power.' - -But Hendricks, though he understood the risk, felt only confidence. -Lord Ernie's regeneration had begun. - -Soaked and bedraggled, all three, they reached the village about two -o'clock. The boy, utterly unmanageable, said an emphatic No to spirits, -soup, or medical appliances. His skin, indeed, showed no signs of -burning, nor was there the smallest symptom of cold or fever in him. -'I'm a perfect furnace,' he laughed; 'I feel health and strength -personified.' And the brightness of his eyes, his radiant colour, the -vigour of his voice and manner--both in some way astonishing--made all -pretence of assistance unnecessary and absurd. 'It's like a new birth,' -he cried to Hendricks, as he almost cantered beside him down the road -to their house, 'and, by Jove, I'll wake 'em up at home and make the -world go round. I know a hundred schemes. I tell you, sir, I'm simply -bursting! For the first time I'm alive!' - -And an hour later, when the tutor peeped in upon him, the boy was -calmly sleeping. The candle-light, shaded carefully with one hand, fell -upon the face. There were new lines and a new expression in it. Will -and purpose showed in the stern set of the lips and jaw. It was the -face of a man, and of a man one would not lightly trifle with. Purpose, -will, and power were established on their thrones. To such a man the -entire world might one day bow the head. - -'If only it will last,' thought Hendricks, as, shaken, bewildered, and -more than a little awed, he tiptoed out of the room again and went -to bed. But through his dreams, sheeted in flame and veiled in angry -smoke, the face of the old Marquess glowered upon him from a heavy sky -above ancestral towers. - - -XI - -From the obituary notices of the 9th Marquess of Oakham the following -selections have their interest: He succeeded to his father, then in -the Cabinet as Minister for Foreign Affairs, at the age of twenty-one. -His career was brief but singular, the early magnificence of the -younger Pitt offering a standard of comparison, though by no means a -parallel, to his short record of astonishing achievement. His effect -upon the world, first as Chief of the Government Labour Department and -subsequently as Home Secretary, and Minister of War, is described as -shattering, even cataclysmic. His public life lasted five years. He -died at the age of twenty-nine. His personality was revolutionary and -overwhelming. - -For, judging by these extracts, he was a 'Napoleonic figure whose -personal influence combined the impetus of Mirabeau and the dominance -of Alexander. His authority held an incalculable element, precisely -described as uncanny. His spirit was puissant, elemental, his activity -irresistible.' Yet, according to another journal, 'he was, properly -speaking, neither intellectual, astute, nor diplomatic, and possessed -as little subtlety as might be expected of a miner whose psychology was -called upon to explain the Trinity. In no sense was he Statesman, and -even less strategist, yet his name swept Europe, changed the map of -the Nearer East, its mere whisper among the Chancelleries convulsing -men's counsels with an influence almost menacing.' - -His enthusiasm appears to have been amazing. 'Some stupendous and -untiring energy drove through him, paralysing attack, and rendering the -bitterest and most skilful opposition nugatory. His hand was imperious, -upsetting with a touch the chessboards set by the most able statecraft, -and his voice was heard with a kind of reverence in every capital.' - -The brevity of his astonishing career called for universal comment, as -did the hypnotising effect of his singular ascendency. 'In five short -years of power he achieved his sway. He rushed upon the world, he shook -it, he retired,' as one journal picturesquely phrased it. 'The manner -of his ending, moreover--a stroke of lightning,--seemed in keeping -with his life. There was neither lingering, delay, nor warning. Of -distinguished stock, noble, yet ordinary enough in all but name, his -power is unexplained by heredity; his family furnished no approach to -greatness, as history supplied no parallel to his dynamic intensity. -Nor, we are informed, among his near of kin, does any inherit his -volcanic energy.' - -The world, however, was apparently well relieved of his tumultuous -presence, for his influence was generally surveyed as 'destructive -rather than constructive.' He was unmarried, and the title went to a -nephew. - -The cheaper journals abounded, of course, in details of his personal -and private life that were freely copied into the foreign press, and -supply curious material for the student of human nature and the -psychologist. The amazing revelations no doubt were picturesquely -exaggerated, yet the sub-stratum of truth in them all was generally -admitted. No contradictions, at any rate, appeared. They read -like the story of some primitive, wild giant let loose upon the -world--primitive, because his specific brain power was admittedly of -no high order; wild, because he was in favour of fierce, spontaneous -action, and his mere presence, on occasions, could stir a nation, -not alone a crowd, to vehement, terrific methods. His energy seemed -inexhaustible, his fire inextinguishable. - -Legends were rife, even before he died, among the peasantry of his -Scotch estates, that he was in league with the devil. His habit of -keeping enormous fires in his private rooms, fires that burned day and -night from January to December, and in open hearths widened to thrice -their natural size, stimulated the growth of this particular myth among -those of his personal environment. All manner of stories raged. But -it was his strange custom out-of-doors that provided the diabolical -suggestion. For, 'behind a specially walled-in space on an open ridge, -denuded of pines, in a distant part of the estate, a series of gigantic -heaps of wood, all ready to ignite, were--it was said--kept in a state -of constant preparedness. And on stormy nights, especially when winds -were high, and invariably at the period of the equinoctial tempests, -his lordship would himself light these tremendous bonfires, and spend -the nocturnal hours in their blazing presence, communing, the stories -variously relate, with the witches at their Sabbath, or with hordes -of fire-spirits, who emerged from the Bottomless Pit in order to feed -his soul with their unquenchable supplies. From these nightly orgies, -it seems clear, at any rate, he returned at dawn with a splendour of -energy that no one could resist, and with a mien whose grandeur invited -worship rather than inspired alarm.' - -His biography, it was further stated, would be written by Sir John -Hendricks, Bt., who began life as Private Secretary to his father, the -8th Marquess, but whose rapid rise to position was due to his intimate -association as trusted friend and adviser to the subject of these -obituary notices. The biography, however, had not appeared, within five -years of Lord Oakham's sudden death, and curiosity is only further -stimulated by the suggestive whisper that it never will, and never can -appear. - - - - -THE SACRIFICE - - -I - -Limasson was a religious man, though of what depth and quality -were unknown, since no trial of ultimate severity had yet tested -him. An adherent of no particular creed, he yet had his gods; and -his self-discipline was probably more rigorous than his friends -conjectured. He was so reserved. Few guessed, perhaps, the desires -conquered, the passions regulated, the inner tendencies trained -and schooled--not by denying their expression, but by transmuting -them alchemically into nobler channels. He had in him the makings -of an enthusiastic devotee, and might have become such but for two -limitations that prevented. He loved his wealth, labouring to increase -it to the neglect of other interests; and, secondly, instead of -following up one steady line of search, he scattered himself upon many -picturesque theories, like an actor who wants to play all parts rather -than concentrate on one. And the more picturesque the part, the more -he was attracted. Thus, though he did his duty unshrinkingly and with -a touch of love, he accused himself sometimes of merely gratifying a -sensuous taste in spiritual sensations. There was this unbalance in him -that argued want of depth. - -As for his gods--in the end he discovered their reality by first -doubting, then denying their existence. - -It was this denial and doubt that restored them to their thrones, -converting his dilettante skirmishes into genuine, deep belief; and the -proof came to him one summer in early June when he was making ready to -leave town for his annual month among the mountains. - -With Limasson mountains, in some inexplicable sense, were a passion -almost, and climbing so deep a pleasure that the ordinary scrambler -hardly understood it. Grave as a kind of worship it was to him; the -preparations for an ascent, the ascent itself in particular, involved a -concentration that seemed symbolical as of a ritual. He not only loved -the heights, the massive grandeur, the splendour of vast proportions -blocked in space, but loved them with a respect that held a touch -of awe. The emotion mountains stirred in him, one might say, was of -that profound, incalculable kind that held kinship with his religious -feelings, half realised though these were. His gods had their invisible -thrones somewhere among the grim, forbidding heights. He prepared -himself for this annual mountaineering with the same earnestness that a -holy man might approach a solemn festival of his church. - -And the impetus of his mind was running with big momentum in this -direction, when there fell upon him, almost on the eve of starting, a -swift series of disasters that shook his being to its last foundations, -and left him stunned among the ruins. To describe these is unnecessary. -People said, 'One thing after another like that! What appalling luck! -Poor wretch!' then wondered, with the curiosity of children, how in the -world he would take it. Due to no apparent fault of his own, these -disasters were so sudden that life seemed in a moment shattered, and -his interest in existence almost ceased. People shook their heads and -thought of the emergency exit. But Limasson was too vital a man to -dream of annihilation. Upon him it had a different effect--he turned -and questioned what he called his gods. They did not answer or explain. -For the first time in his life he doubted. A hair's breadth beyond lay -definite denial. - -The ruin in which he sat, however, was not material; no man of his -age, possessed of courage and a working scheme of life, would permit -disaster of a material order to overwhelm him. It was collapse of a -mental, spiritual kind, an assault upon the roots of character and -temperament. Moral duties laid suddenly upon him threatened to crush. -His _personal_ existence was assailed, and apparently must end. He must -spend the remainder of his life caring for others who were nothing to -him. No outlet showed, no way of escape, so diabolically complete was -the combination of events that rushed his inner trenches. His faith -was shaken. A man can but endure so much, and remain human. For him -the saturation point seemed reached. He experienced the spiritual -equivalent of that physical numbness which supervenes when pain has -touched the limit of endurance. He laughed, grew callous, then mocked -his silent gods. - -It is said that upon this state of blank negation there follows -sometimes a condition of lucidity which mirrors with crystal -clearness the forces driving behind life at a given moment, a kind of -clairvoyance that brings explanation and therefore peace. Limasson -looked for this in vain. There was the doubt that questioned, there -was the sneer that mocked the silence into which his questions fell; -but there was neither answer nor explanation, and certainly not peace. -There was no relief. In this tumult of revolt he did none of the -things his friends suggested or expected; he merely followed the line -of least resistance. He yielded to the impetus that was upon him when -the catastrophe came. To their indignant amazement he went out to his -mountains. - -All marvelled that at such a time he could adopt so trivial a line of -action, neglecting duties that seemed paramount; they disapproved. Yet -in reality he was taking no definite action at all, but merely drifting -with the momentum that had been acquired just before. He was bewildered -with so much pain, confused with suffering, stunned with the crash that -flung him helpless amid undeserved calamity. He turned to the mountains -as a child to its mother, instinctively. Mountains had never failed -to bring him consolation, comfort, peace. Their grandeur restored -proportion whenever disorder threatened life. No calculation, properly -speaking, was in his move at all; but a blind desire for a violent -physical reaction such as climbing brings. And the instinct was more -wholesome than he knew. - -In the high upland valley among lonely peaks whither Limasson then -went, he found in some measure the proportion he had lost. He -studiously avoided thinking; he lived in his muscles recklessly. The -region with its little Inn was familiar to him; peak after peak he -attacked, sometimes with, but more often without a guide, until his -reputation as a sane climber, a laurelled member of all the foreign -Alpine Clubs, was seriously in danger. That he overdid it physically -is beyond question, but that the mountains breathed into him some -portion of their enormous calm and deep endurance is also true. His -gods, meanwhile, he neglected utterly for the first time in his life. -If he thought of them at all, it was as tinsel figures imagination had -created, figures upon a stage that merely decorated life for those -whom pretty pictures pleased. Only--he had left the theatre and their -make-believe no longer hypnotised his mind. He realised their impotence -and disowned them. This attitude, however, was subconscious; he lent to -it no substance, either of thought or speech. He ignored rather than -challenged their existence. - -And it was somewhat in this frame of mind--thinking little, feeling -even less--that he came out into the hotel vestibule after dinner one -evening, and took mechanically the bundle of letters the porter handed -to him. They had no possible interest for him; in a corner where the -big steam-heater mitigated the chilliness of the hall, he idly sorted -them. The score or so of other guests, chiefly expert climbing men, -were trailing out in twos and threes from the dining-room; but he felt -as little interest in them as in his letters: no conversation could -alter facts, no written phrases change his circumstances. At random, -then, he opened a business letter with a typewritten address--it -would probably be impersonal, less of a mockery, therefore, than the -others with their tiresome sham condolences. And, in a sense, it was -impersonal; sympathy from a solicitor's office is mere formula, a few -extra ticks upon the universal keyboard of a Remington. But as he -read it, Limasson made a discovery that startled him into acute and -bitter sensation. He had imagined the limit of bearable suffering and -disaster already reached. Now, in a few dozen words, his error was -proved convincingly. The fresh blow was dislocating. - -This culminating news of additional catastrophe disclosed within him -entirely new reaches of pain, of biting, resentful fury. Limasson -experienced a momentary stopping of the heart as he took it in, a -dizziness, a violent sensation of revolt whose impotence induced almost -physical nausea. He felt like--death. - -'Must I suffer all things?' flashed through his arrested intelligence -in letters of fire. - -There was a sullen rage in him, a dazed bewilderment, but no positive -suffering as yet. His emotion was too sickening to include the smaller -pains of disappointment; it was primitive, blind anger that he knew. -He read the letter calmly, even to the neat paragraph of machine-made -sympathy at the last, then placed it in his inner pocket. No outward -sign of disturbance was upon him; his breath came slowly; he reached -over to the table for a match, holding it at arm's length lest the -sulphur fumes should sting his nostrils. - -And in that moment he made his second discovery. The fact that further -suffering was still possible included also the fact that some touch of -resignation had been left in him, and therefore some vestige of belief -as well. Now, as he felt the crackling sheet of stiff paper in his -pocket, watched the sulphur die, and saw the wood ignite, this remnant -faded utterly away. Like the blackened end of the match, it shrivelled -and dropped off. It vanished. Savagely, yet with an external calmness -that enabled him to light his pipe with untrembling hand, he addressed -his futile deities. And once more in fiery letters there flashed -across the darkness of his passionate thought: - -'Even this you demand of me--this cruel, ultimate sacrifice?' - -And he rejected them, bag and baggage; for they were a mockery and a -lie. With contempt he repudiated them for ever. The stage of doubt -had passed. He denied his gods. Yet, with a smile upon his lips; for -what were they after all but the puppets his religious fancy had -imagined? They never had existed. Was it, then, merely the picturesque, -sensational aspect of his devotional temperament that had created them? -That side of his nature, in any case, was dead now, killed by a single -devastating blow. The gods went with it. - -Surveying what remained of his life, it seemed to him like a city that -an earthquake has reduced to ruins. The inhabitants think no worse -thing could happen. Then comes the fire. - - * * * * * - -Two lines of thought, it seems, then developed parallel in him -and simultaneously, for while underneath he stormed against this -culminating blow, his upper mind dealt calmly with the project of a -great expedition he would make at dawn. He had engaged no guide. As -an experienced mountaineer, he knew the district well; his name was -tolerably familiar, and in half an hour he could have settled all -details, and retired to bed with instructions to be called at two. But, -instead, he sat there waiting, unable to stir, a human volcano that any -moment might break forth into violence. He smoked his pipe as quietly -as though nothing had happened, while through the blazing depths of him -ran ever this one self-repeating statement: 'Even this you demand of -me, this cruel, ultimate sacrifice!...' His self-control, dynamically -estimated, just then must have been very great and, thus repressed, the -store of potential energy accumulated enormously. - -With thought concentrated largely upon this final blow, Limasson had -not noticed the people who streamed out of the _salle à manger_ and -scattered themselves in groups about the hall. Some individual, now and -again, approached his chair with the idea of conversation, then, seeing -his absorption, turned away. Even when a climber whom he slightly knew -reached across him with a word of apology for the matches, Limasson -made no response, for he did not see him. He noticed nothing. In -particular he did not notice two men who, from an opposite corner, had -for some time been observing him. He now looked up--by chance?--and was -vaguely aware that they were discussing him. He met their eyes across -the hall, and started. - -For at first he thought he knew them. Possibly he had seen them about -in the hotel--they seemed familiar--yet he certainly had never spoken -with them. Aware of his mistake, he turned his glance elsewhere, -though still vividly conscious of their attention. One was a clergyman -or a priest; his face wore an air of gravity touched by sadness, a -sternness about the lips counteracted by a kindling beauty in the -eyes that betrayed enthusiasm nobly regulated. There was a suggestion -of stateliness in the man that made the impression very sharp. His -clothing emphasised it. He wore a dark tweed suit that was strict in -its simplicity. There was austerity in him somewhere. - -His companion, perhaps by contrast, seemed inconsiderable in his -conventional evening dress. A good deal younger than his friend, -his hair, always a tell-tale detail, was a trifle long; the thin -fingers that flourished a cigarette wore rings; the face, though -picturesque, was flippant, and his entire attitude conveyed a -certain insignificance. Gesture, that faultless language which -challenges counterfeit, betrayed unbalance somewhere. The impression -he produced, however, was shadowy compared to the sharpness of the -other. 'Theatrical' was the word in Limasson's mind, as he turned his -glance elsewhere. But as he looked away he fidgeted. The interior -darkness caused by the dreadful letter rose about him. It engulfed him. -Dizziness came with it.... - -Far away the blackness was fringed with light, and through this light, -stepping with speed and carelessness as from gigantic distance, the two -men, suddenly grown large, came at him. Limasson, in self-protection, -turned to meet them. Conversation he did not desire. Somehow he had -expected this attack. - -Yet the instant they began to speak--it was the priest who opened -fire--it was all so natural and easy that he almost welcomed the -diversion. A phrase by way of introduction--and he was speaking of -the summits. Something in Limasson's mind turned over. The man was a -serious climber, one of his own species. The sufferer felt a certain -relief as he heard the invitation, and realised, though dully, the -compliment involved. - -'If you felt inclined to join us--if you would honour us with your -company,' the man was saying quietly, adding something then about 'your -great experience' and 'invaluable advice and judgment.' - -Limasson looked up, trying hard to concentrate and understand. - -'The Tour du Néant?' he repeated, mentioning the peak proposed. Rarely -attempted, never conquered, and with an ominous record of disaster, it -happened to be the very summit he had meant to attack himself next day. - -'You have engaged guides?' He knew the question foolish. - -'No guide will try it,' the priest answered, smiling, while his -companion added with a flourish, 'but we--we need no guide--if _you_ -will come.' - -'You are unattached, I believe? You are alone?' the priest enquired, -moving a little in front of his friend, as though to keep him in the -background. - -'Yes,' replied Limasson. 'I am quite alone.' - -He was listening attentively, but with only part of his mind. He -realised the flattery of the invitation. Yet it was like flattery -addressed to some one else. He felt himself so indifferent, so--dead. -These men wanted his skilful body, his experienced mind; and it was his -body and mind that talked with them, and finally agreed to go. Many a -time expeditions had been planned in just this way, but to-night he -felt there was a difference. Mind and body signed the agreement, but -his soul, listening elsewhere and looking on, was silent. With his -rejected gods it had left him, though hovering close still. It did not -interfere; it did not warn; it even approved; it sang to him from great -distance that this expedition cloaked another. He was bewildered by the -clashing of his higher and his lower mind. - -'At one in the morning, then, if that will suit you ...' the older man -concluded. - -'I'll see to the provisions,' exclaimed the younger enthusiastically, -'and I shall take my telephoto for the summit. The porters can come as -far as the Great Tower. We're over six thousand feet here already, you -see, so ...' and his voice died away in the distance as his companion -led him off. - -Limasson saw him go with relief. But for the other man he would have -declined the invitation. At heart he was indifferent enough. What -decided him really was the coincidence that the Tour du Néant was the -very peak he had intended to attack himself _alone_, and the curious -feeling that this expedition cloaked another somehow--almost that these -men had a hidden motive. But he dismissed the idea--it was not worth -thinking about. A moment later he followed them to bed. So careless -was he of the affairs of the world, so dead to mundane interests, that -he tore up his other letters and tossed them into a corner of the -room--unread. - - -II - -Once in his chilly bedroom he realised that his upper mind had -permitted him to do a foolish thing; he had drifted like a schoolboy -into an unwise situation. He had pledged himself to an expedition with -two strangers, an expedition for which normally he would have chosen -his companions with the utmost caution. Moreover, he was guide; they -looked to him for safety, while yet it was they who had arranged and -planned it. But who were these men with whom he proposed to run grave -bodily risks? He knew them as little as they knew him. Whence came, -he wondered, the curious idea that this climb was really planned by -another who was no one of them? - -The thought slipped idly across his mind; going out by one door, it -came back, however, quickly by another. He did not think about it more -than to note its passage through the disorder that passed with him just -then for thinking. Indeed, there was nothing in the whole world for -which he cared a single brass farthing. As he undressed for bed, he -said to himself: 'I shall be called at one ... but why am I going with -these two on this wild plan?... And who made the plan?'... - -It seemed to have settled itself. It came about so naturally and -easily, so quickly. He probed no deeper. He didn't care. And for the -first time he omitted the little ritual, half prayer, half adoration, -it had always been his custom to offer to his deities upon retiring to -rest. He no longer recognised them. - -How utterly broken his life was! How blank and terrible and lonely! He -felt cold, and piled his overcoats upon the bed, as though his mental -isolation involved a physical effect as well. Switching off the light -by the door, he was in the act of crossing the floor in the darkness -when a sound beneath the window caught his ear. Outside there were -voices talking. The roar of falling water made them indistinct, yet he -was sure they were voices, and that one of them he knew. He stopped -still to listen. He heard his own name uttered--'John Limasson.' They -ceased. He stood a moment shivering on the boards, then crawled into -bed beneath the heavy clothing. But in the act of settling down, they -began again. He raised himself again hurriedly to listen. What little -wind there was passed in that moment down the valley, carrying off the -roar of falling water; and into the moment's space of silence dropped -fragments of definite sentences: - -'They are close, you say--close down upon the world?' It was the voice -of the priest surely. - -'For days they have been passing,' was the answer--a rough, deep tone -that might have been a peasant's, and a kind of fear in it, 'for all my -flocks are scattered.' - -'The signs are sure? You know them?' - -'Tumult,' was the answer in much lower tones. 'There has been tumult in -the mountains....' - -There was a break then as though the voices sank too low to be heard. -Two broken fragments came next, end of a question--beginning of an -answer. - -'... the opportunity of a lifetime?' - -'... if he goes of his own free will, success is sure. For acceptance -is ...' - -And the wind, returning, bore back the sound of the falling water, so -that Limasson heard no more.... - -An indefinable emotion stirred in him as he turned over to sleep. He -stuffed his ears lest he should hear more. He was aware of a sinking of -the heart that was inexplicable. What in the world were they talking -about, these two? What was the meaning of these disjointed phrases? -There lay behind them a grave significance almost solemn. That 'tumult -in the mountains' was somehow ominous, its suggestion terrible and -mighty. He felt disturbed, uncomfortable, the first emotion that -had stirred in him for days. The numbness melted before its faint -awakening. Conscience was in it--he felt vague prickings--but it was -deeper far than conscience. Somewhere out of sight, in a region life -had as yet not plumbed, the words sank down and vibrated like pedal -notes. They rumbled away into the night of undecipherable things. And, -though explanation failed him, he felt they had reference somehow -to the morrow's expedition: how, what, wherefore, he knew not; his -name had been spoken--then these curious sentences; that was all. Yet -to-morrow's expedition, what was it but an expedition of impersonal -kind, not even planned by himself? Merely his own plan taken and -altered by others--made over? His personal business, his personal life, -were not really in it at all. - -The thought startled him a moment. He had no personal life...! - -Struggling with sleep, his brain played the endless game of -disentanglement without winning a single point, while the under-mind in -him looked on and smiled--because it _knew_. Then, suddenly, a great -peace fell over him. Exhaustion brought it perhaps. He fell asleep; and -next moment, it seemed, he was aware of a thundering at the door and an -unwelcome growling voice, '_'s ist bald ein Uhr, Herr! Aufstehen!_' - -Rising at such an hour, unless the heart be in it, is a sordid and -depressing business; Limasson dressed without enthusiasm, conscious -that thought and feeling were exactly where he had left them on going -to sleep. The same confusion and bewilderment were in him; also the -same deep solemn emotion stirred by the whispering voices. Only long -habit enabled him to attend to detail, and ensured that nothing was -forgotten. He felt heavy and oppressed, a kind of anxiety about him; -the routine of preparation he followed gravely, utterly untouched -by the customary joy; it was mechanical. Yet through it ran the old -familiar sense of ritual, due to the practice of so many years, -that cleansing of mind and body for a big Ascent--like initiatory -rites that once had been as important to him as those of some priest -who approached the worship of his deity in the temples of ancient -time. He performed the ceremony with the same care as though no -ghost of vanished faith still watched him, beckoning from the air as -formerly.... His knapsack carefully packed, he took his ice-axe from -beside the bed, turned out the light, and went down the creaking wooden -stairs in stockinged feet, lest his heavy boots should waken the other -sleepers. And in his head still rang the phrase he had fallen asleep -on--as though just uttered: - -'The signs are sure; for days they have been passing--close down upon -the world. The flocks are scattered. There has been tumult--tumult in -the mountains.' The other fragments he had forgotten. But who were -'they'? And why did the word bring a chill of awe into his blood? - -And as the words rolled through him Limasson felt tumult in his -thoughts and feelings too. There had been tumult in his life, and -all his joys were scattered--joys that hitherto had fed his days. -The signs were sure. Something was close down upon his little -world--passing--sweeping. He felt a touch of terror. - -Outside in the fresh darkness of very early morning the strangers stood -waiting for him. Rather, they seemed to arrive in the same instant as -himself, equally punctual. The clock in the church tower sounded one. -They exchanged low greetings, remarked that the weather promised to -hold good, and started off in single file over soaking meadows towards -the first belt of forest. The porter--mere peasant, unfamiliar of -face and not connected with the hotel--led the way with a hurricane -lantern. The air was marvellously sweet and fragrant. In the sky -overhead the stars shone in their thousands. Only the noise of falling -water from the heights, and the regular thud of their heavy boots broke -the stillness. And, black against the sky, towered the enormous pyramid -of the Tour du Néant they meant to conquer. - -Perhaps the most delightful portion of a big ascent is the beginning in -the scented darkness while the thrill of possible conquest lies still -far off. The hours stretch themselves queerly; last night's sunset -might be days ago; sunrise and the brilliance coming seem in another -week, part of dim futurity like children's holidays. It is difficult to -realise that this biting cold before the dawn, and the blazing heat to -come, both belong to the same to-day. - -There were no sounds as they toiled slowly up the zigzag path through -the first fifteen hundred feet of pine-woods; no one spoke; the clink -of nails and ice-axe points against the stones was all they heard. For -the roar of water was felt rather than heard; it beat against the ears -and the skin of the whole body at once. The deeper notes were below -them now in the sleeping valley; the shriller ones sounded far above, -where streams just born out of ponderous snow-beds tinkled sharply.... - -The change came delicately. The stars turned a shade less brilliant, -a softness in them as of human eyes that say farewell. Between the -highest branches the sky grew visible. A sighing air smoothed all their -crests one way; moss, earth, and open spaces brought keen perfumes; and -the little human procession, leaving the forest, stepped out into the -vastness of the world above the tree-line. They paused while the porter -stooped to put his lantern out. In the eastern sky was colour. The -peaks and crags rushed closer. - -Was it the Dawn? Limasson turned his eyes from the height of sky -where the summits pierced a path for the coming day, to the faces of -his companions, pale and wan in the early twilight. How small, how -insignificant they seemed amid this hungry emptiness of desolation. The -stupendous cliffs fled past them, led by headstrong peaks crowned with -eternal snows. Thin lines of cloud, trailing half way up precipice and -ridge, seemed like the swish of movement--as though he caught the earth -turning as she raced through space. The four of them, timid riders on -the gigantic saddle, clung for their lives against her titan ribs, -while currents of some majestic life swept up at them from every side. -He drew deep draughts of the rarefied air into his lungs. It was very -cold. Avoiding the pallid, insignificant faces of his companions, he -pretended interest in the porter's operations; he stared fixedly on the -ground. It seemed twenty minutes before the flame was extinguished, and -the lantern fastened to the pack behind. This Dawn was unlike any he -had seen before. - -For, in reality, all the while, Limasson was trying to bring order -out of the extraordinary thoughts and feelings that had possessed him -during the slow forest ascent, and the task was not crowned with much -success. The Plan, made by others, had taken charge of him, he felt; -and he had thrown the reins of personal will and interest loosely upon -its steady gait. He had abandoned himself carelessly to what might -come. Knowing that he was leader of the expedition, he yet had suffered -the porter to go first, taking his own place as it was appointed to -him, behind the younger man, but before the priest. In this order, they -had plodded, as only experienced climbers plod, for hours without a -rest, until half way up a change had taken place. He had wished it, -and instantly it was effected. The priest moved past him, while his -companion dropped to the rear--the companion who forever stumbled -in his speed, whereas the older man climbed surely, confidently. -And thereafter Limasson walked more easily--as though the relative -positions of the three were of importance somehow. The steep ascent of -smothering darkness through the woods became less arduous. He was glad -to have the younger man behind him. - -For the impression had strengthened as they climbed in silence that -this ascent pertained to some significant Ceremony, and the idea had -grown insistently, almost stealthily, upon him. The movements of -himself and his companions, especially the positions each occupied -relatively to the other, established some kind of intimacy that -resembled speech, suggesting even question and answer. And the entire -performance, while occupying hours by his watch, it seemed to him more -than once, had been in reality briefer than the flash of a passing -thought, so that he saw it within himself--pictorially. He thought of a -picture worked in colours upon a strip of elastic. Some one pulled the -strip, and the picture stretched. Or some one released it again, and -the picture flew back, reduced to a mere stationary speck. All happened -in a single speck of time. - -And the little change of position, apparently so trivial, gave point to -this singular notion working in his under-mind--that this ascent was a -ritual and a ceremony as in older days, its significance approaching -revelation, however, for the first time--now. Without language, this -stole over him; no words could quite describe it. For it came to him -that these three formed a unit, himself being in some fashion yet the -acknowledged principal, the leader. The labouring porter had no place -in it, for this first toiling through the darkness was a preparation, -and when the actual climb began, he would disappear, while Limasson -himself went first. This idea that they took part together in a -Ceremony established itself firmly in him, with the added wonder that, -though so often done, he performed it now for the first time with full -comprehension, knowledge, truth. Empty of personal desire, indifferent -to an ascent that formerly would have thrilled his heart with ambition -and delight, he understood that climbing had ever been a ritual for -his soul and of his soul, and that power must result from its sincere -accomplishment. It was a symbolical ascent. - -In words this did not come to him. He felt it, never criticising. That -is, he neither rejected nor accepted. It stole most sweetly, grandly, -over him. It floated into him while he climbed, yet so convincingly -that he had felt his relative position must be changed. The younger -man held too prominent a post, or at least a wrong one--in advance. -Then, after the change, effected mysteriously as though all recognised -it, this line of certainty increased, and there came upon him the big, -strange knowledge that all of life is a Ceremony on a giant scale, and -that by performing the movements accurately, with sincere fidelity, -there may come--knowledge. There was gravity in him from that moment. - -This ran in his mind with certainty. Though his thought assumed no form -of little phrases, his brain yet furnished detailed statements that -clinched the marvellous thing with simile and incident which daily -life might apprehend: That knowledge arises from action; that to do -the thing invites the teaching and explains it. Action, moreover, is -symbolical; a group of men, a family, an entire nation, engaged in -those daily movements which are the working out of their destiny, -perform a Ceremony which is in direct relation somewhere to the -pattern of greater happenings which are the teachings of the Gods. Let -the body imitate, reproduce--in a bedroom, in a wood--anywhere--the -movements of the stars, and the meaning of those stars shall sink -down into the heart. The movements constitute a script, a language. -To mimic the gestures of a stranger is to understand his mood, his -point of view--to establish a grave and solemn intimacy. Temples are -everywhere, for the entire earth is a temple, and the body, House of -Royalty, is the biggest temple of them all. To ascertain the pattern -its movements trace in daily life, _could_ be to determine the relation -of that particular ceremony to the Cosmos, and so learn power. The -entire system of Pythagoras, he realised, could be taught without a -single word--by movements; and in everyday life even the commonest -act and vulgarest movement are part of some big Ceremony--a message -from the Gods. Ceremony, in a word, is three-dimensional language, and -action, therefore, is the language of the Gods. The Gods he had denied -were speaking to him ... passing with tumult close across his broken -life.... Their passage it was, indeed, that had caused the breaking! - -In this cryptic, condensed fashion the great fact came over him--that -he and these other two, here and now, took part in some great Ceremony -of whose ultimate object as yet he was in ignorance. The impact with -which it dropped upon his mind was tremendous. He realised it most -fully when he stepped from the darkness of the forest and entered the -expanse of glimmering, early light; up till this moment his mind was -being prepared only, whereas now he knew. The innate desire to worship -which all along had been his, the momentum his religious temperament -had acquired during forty years, the yearning to have proof, in a word, -that the Gods he once acknowledged were really true, swept back upon -him with that violent reaction which denial had aroused. - -He wavered where he stood.... - -Looking about him, then, while the others rearranged burdens the -returning porter now discarded, he perceived the astonishing beauty -of the time and place, feeling it soak into him as by the very -pores of his skin. From all sides this beauty rushed upon him. Some -radiant, wingéd sense of wonder sped past him through the silent -air. A thrill of ecstasy ran down every nerve. The hair of his head -stood up. It was far from unfamiliar to him, this sight of the upper -mountain world awakening from its sleep of the summer night, but never -before had he stood shuddering thus at its exquisite cold glory, -nor felt its significance as now, so mysteriously _within himself_. -Some transcendent power that held sublimity was passing across this -huge desolate plateau, far more majestic than the mere sunrise among -mountains he had so often witnessed. There was Movement. He understood -why he had seen his companions insignificant. Again he shivered and -looked about him, touched by a solemnity that held deep awe. - -Personal life, indeed, was wrecked, destroyed, but something greater -was on the way. His fragile alliance with a spiritual world was -strengthened. He realised his own past insolence. He became afraid. - - -III - -The treeless plateau, littered with enormous boulders, stretched for -miles to right and left, grey in the dusk of very early morning. Behind -him dropped thick guardian pine-woods into the sleeping valley that -still detained the darkness of the night. Here and there lay patches -of deep snow, gleaming faintly through thin rising mist; singing -streams of icy water spread everywhere among the stones, soaking the -coarse rough grass that was the only sign of vegetation. No life was -visible; nothing stirred; nor anywhere was movement, but of the quiet -trailing mist and of his own breath that drifted past his face like -smoke. Yet through the splendid stillness there _was_ movement; that -sense of absolute movement which results in stillness--it was owing -to the stillness that he became aware of it--so vast, indeed, that -only immobility could express it. Thus, on the calmest day in summer, -may the headlong rushing of the earth through space seem more real -than when the tempest shakes the trees and water on its surface; or -great machinery turn with such vertiginous velocity that it appears -steady to the deceived function of the eye. For it was not through the -eye that this solemn Movement made itself known, but rather through -a massive sensation that owned his entire body as its organ. Within -the league-long amphitheatre of enormous peaks and precipices that -enclosed the plateau, piling themselves upon the horizon, Limasson felt -the outline of a Ceremony extended. The pulses of its grandeur poured -into him where he stood. Its vast design was knowable because they -themselves had traced--were even then tracing--its earthly counterpart -in little. And the awe in him increased. - -'This light is false. We have an hour yet before the true dawn,' he -heard the younger man say lightly. 'The summits still are ghostly. Let -us enjoy the sensation, and see what we can make of it.' - -And Limasson, looking up startled from his reverie, saw that the -far-away heights and towers indeed were heavy with shadow, faint still -with the light of stars. It seemed to him they bowed their awful heads -and that their stupendous shoulders lowered. They drew together, -shutting out the world. - -'True,' said his companion, 'and the upper snows still wear the -spectral shine of night. But let us now move faster, for we travel very -light. The sensations you propose will but delay and weaken us.' - -He handed a share of the burdens to his companion and to Limasson. -Slowly they all moved forward, and the mountains shut them in. - -And two things Limasson noted then, as he shouldered his heavier pack -and led the way: first, that he suddenly knew their destination though -its purpose still lay hidden; and, secondly, that the porter's leaving -before the ascent proper began signified finally that ordinary climbing -was not their real objective. Also--the dawn was a lifting of inner -veils from off his mind, rather than a brightening of the visible earth -due to the nearing sun. Thick darkness, indeed, draped this enormous, -lonely amphitheatre where they moved. - -'You lead us well,' said the priest a few feet behind him, as he -picked his way unfalteringly among the boulders and the streams. - -'Strange that I do so,' replied Limasson in a low tone, 'for the way is -new to me, and the darkness grows instead of lessening.' The language -seemed hardly of his choosing. He spoke and walked as in a dream. - -Far in the rear the voice of the younger man called plaintively after -them: - -'You go so fast, I can't keep up with you,' and again he stumbled and -dropped his ice-axe among the rocks. He seemed for ever stooping to -drink the icy water, or clambering off the trail to test the patches of -snow as to quality and depth. 'You're missing all the excitement,' he -cried repeatedly. 'There are a hundred pleasures and sensations by the -way.' - -They paused a moment for him to overtake them; he came up panting and -exhausted, making remarks about the fading stars, the wind upon the -heights, new routes he longed to try up dangerous couloirs, about -everything, it seemed, except the work in hand. There was eagerness in -him, the kind of excitement that saps energy and wastes the nervous -force, threatening a probable collapse before the arduous object is -attained. - -'Keep to the thing in hand,' replied the priest sternly. 'We are not -really going fast; it is you who are scattering yourself to no purpose. -It wears us all. We must husband our resources,' and he pointed -significantly to the pyramid of the Tour du Néant that gleamed above -them at an incredible altitude. - -'We are here to amuse ourselves; life is a pleasure, a sensation, or it -is nothing,' grumbled his companion; but there was a gravity in the -tone of the older man that discouraged argument and made resistance -difficult. The other arranged his pack for the tenth time, twisting -his axe through an ingenious scheme of straps and string, and fell -silently into line behind his leaders. Limasson moved on again ... and -the darkness at length began to lift. Far overhead, at first, the snowy -summits shone with a hue less spectral; a delicate pink spread softly -from the east; there was a freshening of the chilly wind; then suddenly -the highest peak that topped the others by a thousand feet of soaring -rock, stepped sharply into sight, half golden and half rose. At the -same instant, the vast Movement of the entire scene slowed down; there -came one or two terrific gusts of wind in quick succession; a roar like -an avalanche of falling stones boomed distantly--and Limasson stopped -dead and held his breath. - -For something blocked the way before him, something he knew he could -not pass. Gigantic and unformed, it seemed part of the architecture -of the desolate waste about him, while yet it bulked there, enormous -in the trembling dawn, as belonging neither to plain nor mountain. -Suddenly it was there, where a moment before had been mere emptiness of -air. Its massive outline shifted into visibility as though it had risen -from the ground. He stood stock still. A cold that was not of this -world turned him rigid in his tracks. A few yards behind him the priest -had halted too. Farther in the rear they heard the stumbling tread of -the younger man, and the faint calling of his voice--a feeble broken -sound as of a man whom sudden fear distressed to helplessness. - -'We're off the track, and I've lost my way,' the words came on the -still air. 'My axe is gone ... let us put on the rope!... Hark! Do you -hear that roar?' And then a sound as though he came slowly groping on -his hands and knees. - -'You have exhausted yourself too soon,' the priest answered sternly. -'Stay where you are and rest, for we go no farther. This is the place -we sought.' - -There was in his tone a kind of ultimate solemnity that for a moment -turned Limasson's attention from the great obstacle that blocked his -farther way. The darkness lifted veil by veil, not gradually, but by a -series of leaps as when some one inexpertly turns a wick. He perceived -then that not a single Grandeur loomed in front, but that others of -similar kind, some huger than the first, stood all about him, forming -an enclosing circle that hemmed him in. - -Then, with a start, he recovered himself. Equilibrium and common sense -returned. The trick that sight had played upon him, assisted by the -rarefied atmosphere of the heights and by the witchery of dawn, was no -uncommon one, after all. The long straining of the eyes to pick the way -in an uncertain light so easily deceives perspective. Delusion ever -follows abrupt change of focus. These shadowy encircling forms were but -the rampart of still distant precipices whose giant walls framed the -tremendous amphitheatre to the sky. - -Their closeness was a mere gesture of the dusk and distance. - -The shock of the discovery produced an instant's unsteadiness in him -that brought bewilderment. He straightened up, raised his head, and -looked about him. The cliffs, it seemed to him, shifted back instantly -to their accustomed places; as though after all they _had_ been close; -there was a reeling among the topmost crags; they balanced fearfully, -then stood still against a sky already faintly crimson. The roar he -heard, that might well have seemed the tumult of their hurrying speed, -was in reality but the wind of dawn that rushed against their ribs, -beating the echoes out with angry wings. And the lines of trailing -mist, streaking the air like proofs of rapid motion, merely coiled and -floated in the empty spaces. - -He turned to the priest, who had moved up beside him. - -'How strange,' he said, 'is this beginning of new light. My sight went -all astray for a passing moment. I thought the mountains stood right -across my path. And when I looked up just now it seemed they all ran -back.' His voice was small and lost in the great listening air. - -The man looked fixedly at him. He had removed his slouch hat, hot -with the long ascent, and as he answered, a long thin shadow flitted -across his features. A breadth of darkness dropped about them. It -was as though a mask were forming. The face that now was covered had -been--naked. He was so long in answering that Limasson heard his mind -sharpening the sentence like a pencil. - -He spoke very slowly. '_They_ move perhaps even as Their powers move, -and Their minutes are our years. Their passage ever is in tumult. There -is disorder then among the affairs of men; there is confusion in their -minds. There may be ruin and disaster, but out of the wreckage shall -issue strong, fresh growth. For like a sea, They pass.' - -There was in his mien a grandeur that seemed borrowed marvellously -from the mountains. His voice was grave and deep; he made no sign -or gesture; and in his manner was a curious steadiness that breathed -through the language a kind of sacred prophecy. - -Long, thundering gusts of wind passed distantly across the precipices -as he spoke. The same moment, expecting apparently no rejoinder to his -strange utterance, he stooped and began to unpack his knapsack. The -change from the sacerdotal language to this commonplace and practical -detail was singularly bewildering. - -'It is the time to rest,' he added, 'and the time to eat. Let us -prepare.' And he drew out several small packets and laid them in a -row upon the ground. Awe deepened over Limasson as he watched, and -with it a great wonder too. For the words seemed ominous, as though -this man, upon the floor of some vast Temple, said: 'Let us prepare a -sacrifice...!' There flashed into him, out of depths that had hitherto -concealed it, a lightning clue that hinted at explanation of the entire -strange proceeding--of the abrupt meeting with the strangers, the -impulsive acceptance of their project for the great ascent, their grave -behaviour as though it were a Ceremonial of immense design, his change -of position, the bewildering tricks of sight, and the solemn language, -finally, of the older man that corroborated what he himself had deemed -at first illusion. In a flying second of time this all swept through -him--and with it the sharp desire to turn aside, retreat, to run away. - -Noting the movement, or perhaps divining the emotion prompting it, the -priest looked up quickly. In his tone was a coldness that seemed as -though this scene of wintry desolation uttered words: - -'You have come too far to think of turning back. It is not possible. -You stand now at the gates of birth--and death. All that might hinder, -you have so bravely cast aside. Be brave now to the end.' - -And, as Limasson heard the words, there dropped suddenly into him a new -and awful insight into humanity, a power that unerringly discovered -the spiritual necessities of others, and therefore of himself. With -a shock he realised that the younger man who had accompanied them -with increasing difficulty as they climbed higher and higher--was -but a shadow of reality. Like the porter, he was but an encumbrance -who impeded progress. And he turned his eyes to search the desolate -landscape. - -'You will not find him,' said his companion, 'for he is gone. Never, -unless you weakly call, shall you see him again, nor desire to hear his -voice.' And Limasson realised that in his heart he had all the while -disapproved of the man, disliked him for his theatrical fondness of -sensation and effect, more, that he had even hated and despised him. -Starvation might crawl upon him where he had fallen and eat his life -away before he would stir a finger to save him. It was with the older -man he now had dreadful business in hand. - -'I am glad,' he answered, 'for in the end he must have proved my -death--our death!' - -And they drew closer round the little circle of food the priest had -laid upon the rocky ground, an intimate understanding linking them -together in a sympathy that completed Limasson's bewilderment. There -was bread, he saw, and there was salt; there was also a little flask -of deep red wine. In the centre of the circle was a miniature fire of -sticks the priest had collected from the bushes of wild rhododendron. -The smoke rose upwards in a thin blue line. It did not even quiver, so -profound was the surrounding stillness of the mountain air, but far -away among the precipices ran the boom of falling water, and behind it -again, the muffled roar as of peaks and snow-fields that swept with a -rolling thunder through the heavens. - -'They are passing,' the priest said in a low voice, 'and They know -that you are here. You have now the opportunity of a lifetime; for, if -you yield acceptance of your own free will, success is sure. You stand -before the gates of birth and death. They offer you life.' - -'Yet ... I denied Them!' He murmured it below his breath. - -'Denial is evocation. You called to them, and They have come. The -sacrifice of your little personal life is all They ask. Be brave--and -yield it.' - -He took the bread as he spoke, and, breaking it in three pieces, he -placed one before Limasson, one before himself, and the third he laid -upon the flame which first blackened and then consumed it. - -'Eat it and understand,' he said, 'for it is the nourishment that shall -revive your fading life.' - -Next, with the salt, he did the same. Then, raising the flask of wine, -he put it to his lips, offering it afterwards to his companion. When -both had drunk there still remained the greater part of the contents. -He lifted the vessel with both hands reverently towards the sky. He -stood upright. - -'The blood of your personal life I offer to Them in your name. By -the renunciation which seems to you as death shall you pass through -the gates of birth to the life of freedom beyond. For the ultimate -sacrifice that They ask of you is--this.' - -And bending low before the distant heights, he poured the wine upon the -rocky ground. - -For a period of time Limasson found no means of measuring, so terrible -were the emotions in his heart, the priest remained in this attitude of -worship and obeisance. The tumult in the mountains ceased. An absolute -hush dropped down upon the world. There seemed a pause in the inner -history of the universe itself. All waited--till he rose again. And, -when he did so, the mask that had for hours now been spreading across -his features, was accomplished. The eyes gazed sternly down into his -own. Limasson looked--and recognised. He stood face to face with the -man whom he knew best of all others in the world ... himself. - -There had been death. There had also been that recovery of splendour -which is birth and resurrection. - -And the sun that moment, with the sudden surprise that mountains only -know, rushed clear above the heights, bathing the landscape and the -standing figure with a stainless glory. Into the vast Temple where he -knelt, as into that greater inner Temple which is mankind's true House -of Royalty, there poured the completing Presence which is--Light. - -'For in this way, and in this way only, shall you pass from death to -life,' sang a chanting voice he recognised also now for the first time -as indubitably his own. - -It was marvellous. But the birth of light is ever marvellous. It -was anguish; but the pangs of resurrection since time began have -been accomplished by the sweetness of fierce pain. For the majority -still lie in the pre-natal stage, unborn, unconscious of a definite -spiritual existence. In the womb they grope and stifle, depending -ever upon another. Denial is ever the call to life, a protest against -continued darkness for deliverance. Yet birth is the ruin of all that -has hitherto been depended on. There comes then that standing alone -which at first seems desolate isolation. The tumult of destruction -precedes release. - -Limasson rose to his feet, stood with difficulty upright, looked about -him from the figure so close now at his side to the snowy summit of -that Tour du Néant he would never climb. The roar and thunder of -_Their_ passage was resumed. It seemed the mountains reeled. - -'They are passing,' sang the voice that was beside him and within him -too, 'but They have known you, and your offering is accepted. When -They come close upon the world there is ever wreckage and disaster in -the affairs of men. They bring disorder and confusion into the mind, a -confusion that seems final, a disorder that seems to threaten death. -For there is tumult in Their Presence, and apparent chaos that seems -the abandonment of order. Out of this vast ruin, then, there issues -life in new design. The dislocation is its entrance, the dishevelment -its strength. There has been birth....' - -The sunlight dazzled his eyes. That distant roar, like a wind, came -close and swept his face. An icy air, as from a passing star, breathed -over him. - -'Are you prepared?' he heard. - -He knelt again. Without a sign of hesitation or reluctance, he bared -his chest to the sun and wind. The flash came swiftly, instantly, -descending into his heart with unerring aim. He saw the gleam in the -air, he felt the fiery impact of the blow, he even saw the stream gush -forth and sink into the rocky ground, far redder than the wine.... - - * * * * * - -He gasped for breath a moment, staggered, reeled, collapsed ... and -within the moment, so quickly did all happen, he was aware of hands -that supported him and helped him to his feet. But he was too weak to -stand. They carried him up to bed. The porter, and the man who had -reached across him for the matches five minutes before, intending -conversation, stood, one at his feet and the other at his head. As he -passed through the vestibule of the hotel, he saw the people staring, -and in his hand he crumpled up the unopened letters he had received so -short a time ago. - -'I really think--I can manage alone,' he thanked them. 'If you will set -me down I can walk. I felt dizzy for a moment.' - -'The heat in the hall----' the gentleman began in a quiet, sympathetic -voice. - -They left him standing on the stairs, watching a moment to see that he -had quite recovered. Limasson walked up the two flights to his room -without faltering. The momentary dizziness had passed. He felt quite -himself again, strong, confident, able to stand alone, able to move -forward, able to _climb_. - - - - -THE DAMNED - - -I - -'I'm over forty, Frances, and rather set in my ways,' I said -good-naturedly, ready to yield if she insisted that our going together -on the visit involved her happiness. 'My work is rather heavy just now -too, as you know. The question is, _could_ I work there--with a lot of -unassorted people in the house?' - -'Mabel doesn't mention any other people, Bill,' was my sister's -rejoinder. 'I gather she's alone--as well as lonely.' - -By the way she looked sideways out of the window at nothing, it was -obvious she was disappointed, but to my surprise she did not urge -the point; and as I glanced at Mrs. Franklyn's invitation lying -upon her sloping lap, the neat, childish handwriting conjured up a -mental picture of the banker's widow, with her timid, insignificant -personality, her pale grey eyes and her expression as of a backward -child. I thought, too, of the roomy country mansion her late husband -had altered to suit his particular needs, and of my visit to it a few -years ago when its barren spaciousness suggested a wing of Kensington -Museum fitted up temporarily as a place to eat and sleep in. Comparing -it mentally with the poky Chelsea flat where I and my sister kept -impecunious house, I realised other points as well. Unworthy details -flashed across me to entice: the fine library, the organ, the quiet -work-room I should have, perfect service, the delicious cup of early -tea, and hot baths at any moment of the day--without a geyser! - -'It's a longish visit, a month--isn't it?' I hedged, smiling at the -details that seduced me, and ashamed of my man's selfishness, yet -knowing that Frances expected it of me. 'There _are_ points about it, I -admit. If you're set on my going with you, I could manage it all right.' - -I spoke at length in this way because my sister made no answer. I saw -her tired eyes gazing into the dreariness of Oakley Street and felt -a pang strike through me. After a pause, in which again she said no -word, I added: 'So, when you write the letter, you might hint, perhaps, -that I usually work all the morning, and--er--am not a very lively -visitor! Then she'll understand, you see.' And I half-rose to return to -my diminutive study, where I was slaving, just then, at an absorbing -article on Comparative Æsthetic Values in the Blind and Deaf. - -But Frances did not move. She kept her grey eyes upon Oakley Street -where the evening mist from the river drew mournful perspectives into -view. It was late October. We heard the omnibuses thundering across the -bridge. The monotony of that broad, characterless street seemed more -than usually depressing. Even in June sunshine it was dead, but with -autumn its melancholy soaked into every house between King's Road and -the Embankment. It washed thought into the past, instead of inviting -it hopefully towards the future. For me, its easy width was an avenue -through which nameless slums across the river sent creeping messages -of depression, and I always regarded it as Winter's main entrance into -London--fog, slush, gloom trooped down it every November, waving their -forbidding banners till March came to rout them. Its one claim upon my -love was that the south wind swept sometimes unobstructed up it, soft -with suggestions of the sea. These lugubrious thoughts I naturally -kept to myself, though I never ceased to regret the little flat whose -cheapness had seduced us. Now, as I watched my sister's impassive face, -I realised that perhaps she, too, felt as I felt, yet, brave woman, -without betraying it. - -'And, look here, Fanny,' I said, putting a hand upon her shoulder as I -crossed the room, 'it would be the very thing for you. You're worn out -with catering and housekeeping. Mabel is your oldest friend, besides, -and you've hardly seen her since _he_ died----' - -'She's been abroad for a year, Bill, and only just came back,' my -sister interposed. 'She came back rather unexpectedly, though I never -thought she would go _there_ to live----' She stopped abruptly. -Clearly, she was only speaking half her mind. 'Probably,' she went on, -'Mabel wants to pick up old links again.' - -'Naturally,' I put in, 'yourself chief among them.' The veiled -reference to the house I let pass. It involved discussing the dead man -for one thing. - -'I feel _I_ ought to go anyhow,' she resumed, 'and of course it -would be jollier if you came too. You'd get in such a muddle here by -yourself, and eat wrong things, and forget to air the rooms, and--oh, -everything!' She looked up laughing. 'Only,' she added, 'there's the -British Museum----?' - -'But there's a big library there,' I answered, 'and all the books of -reference I could possibly want. It was of you I was thinking. You -could take up your painting again; you always sell half of what you -paint. It would be a splendid rest too, and Sussex is a jolly country -to walk in. By all means, Fanny, I advise----' - -Our eyes met, as I stammered in my attempts to avoid expressing the -thought that hid in both our minds. My sister had a weakness for -dabbling in the various 'new' theories of the day, and Mabel, who -before her marriage had belonged to foolish societies for investigating -the future life to the neglect of the present one, had fostered this -undesirable tendency. Her amiable, impressionable temperament was -open to every psychic wind that blew. I deplored, detested the whole -business. But even more than this I abhorred the later influence that -Mr. Franklyn had steeped his wife in, capturing her body and soul in -his sombre doctrines. I had dreaded lest my sister also might be caught. - -'Now that she is alone again----' - -I stopped short. Our eyes now made pretence impossible, for the truth -had slipped out inevitably, stupidly, although unexpressed in definite -language. We laughed, turning our faces a moment to look at other -things in the room. Frances picked up a book and examined its cover -as though she had made an important discovery, while I took my case -out and lit a cigarette I did not want to smoke. We left the matter -there. I went out of the room before further explanation could cause -tension. Disagreements grow into discord from such tiny things--wrong -adjectives, or a chance inflection of the voice. Frances had a right to -her views of life as much as I had. At least, I reflected comfortably, -we had separated upon an agreement this time, recognised mutually, -though not actually stated. - -And this point of meeting was, oddly enough, our way of regarding some -one who was dead. For we had both disliked the husband with a great -dislike, and during his three years' married life had only been to the -house once--for a week-end visit; arriving late on Saturday, we had -left after an early breakfast on Monday morning. Ascribing my sister's -dislike to a natural jealousy at losing her old friend, I said merely -that he displeased me. Yet we both knew that the real emotion lay -much deeper. Frances, loyal, honourable creature, had kept silence; -and beyond saying that house and grounds--he altered one and laid out -the other--distressed her as an expression of his personality somehow -("distressed" was the word she used), no further explanation had passed -her lips. - -Our dislike of his personality was easily accounted for--up to a point, -since both of us shared the artist's point of view that a creed, cut -to measure and carefully dried, was an ugly thing, and that a dogma to -which believers must subscribe or perish everlastingly was a barbarism -resting upon cruelty. But while my own dislike was purely due to an -abstract worship of Beauty, my sister's had another twist in it, for -with her 'new' tendencies, she believed that all religions were an -aspect of truth and that no one, even the lowest wretch, could escape -'heaven' in the long run. - -Samuel Franklyn, the rich banker, was a man universally respected -and admired, and the marriage, though Mabel was fifteen years his -junior, won general applause; his bride was an heiress in her own -right--breweries--and the story of her conversion at a revivalist -meeting where Samuel Franklyn had spoken fervidly of heaven, and -terrifyingly of sin, hell and damnation, even contained a touch of -genuine romance. She was a brand snatched from the burning; his -detailed eloquence had frightened her into heaven; salvation came in -the nick of time; his words had plucked her from the edge of that -lake of fire and brimstone where their worm dieth not and the fire is -not quenched. She regarded him as a hero, sighed her relief upon his -saintly shoulder, and accepted the peace he offered her with a grateful -resignation. - -For her husband was a 'religious man' who successfully combined great -riches with the glamour of winning souls. He was a portly figure, -though tall, with masterful, big hands, the fingers rather thick -and red; and his dignity, that just escaped being pompous, held in -it something that was implacable. A convinced assurance, almost -remorseless, gleamed in his eyes when he preached especially, and his -threats of hell fire must have scared souls stronger than the timid, -receptive Mabel whom he married. He clad himself in long frock-coats -that buttoned unevenly, big square boots, and trousers that invariably -bagged at the knee and were a little short; he wore low collars, spats -occasionally, and a tall black hat that was not of silk. His voice was -alternately hard and unctuous; and he regarded theatres, ball-rooms -and race-courses as the vestibule of that brimstone lake of whose -geography he was as positive as of his great banking offices in the -City. A philanthropist up to the hilt, however, no one ever doubted his -complete sincerity; his convictions were ingrained, his faith borne out -by his life--as witness his name upon so many admirable Societies, -as treasurer, patron, or heading the donation list. He bulked large -in the world of doing good, a broad and stately stone in the rampart -against evil. And his heart was genuinely kind and soft for others--who -believed as he did. - -Yet, in spite of this true sympathy with suffering and his desire to -help, he was narrow as a telegraph wire and unbending as a church -pillar; he was intensely selfish; intolerant as an officer of the -Inquisition, his bourgeois soul constructed a revolting scheme of -heaven that was reproduced in miniature in all he did and planned. -Faith was the _sine qua non_ of salvation, and by 'faith' he meant -belief in his own particular view of things--'which faith, except -every one do keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he shall perish -everlastingly.' All the world but his own small, exclusive sect must be -damned eternally--a pity, but alas, inevitable. _He_ was right. - -Yet he prayed without ceasing, and gave heavily to the poor--the -only thing he could not give being big ideas to his provincial and -suburban deity. Pettier than an insect, and more obstinate than a mule, -he had also the superior, sleek humility of a 'chosen one.' He was -churchwarden too. He read the Lessons in a 'place of worship,' either -chilly or overheated, where neither organ, vestments, nor lighted -candles were permitted, but where the odour of hair-wash on the boys' -heads in the back rows pervaded the entire building. - -This portrait of the banker, who accumulated riches both on earth and -in heaven, may possibly be overdrawn, however, because Frances and -I were 'artistic temperaments' that viewed the type with a dislike -and distrust amounting to contempt. The majority considered Samuel -Franklyn a worthy man and a good citizen. The majority, doubtless, -held the saner view. A few years more, and he certainly would have been -made a baronet. He relieved much suffering in the world, as assuredly -as he caused many souls the agonies of torturing fear by his emphasis -upon damnation. Had there been one point of beauty in him, we might -have been more lenient; only we found it not, and, I admit, took little -pains to search. I shall never forget the look of dour forgiveness with -which he heard our excuses for missing Morning Prayers that Sunday -morning of our single visit to The Towers. My sister learned that -a change was made soon afterwards, prayers being 'conducted' after -breakfast instead of before. - -The Towers stood solemnly upon a Sussex hill amid park-like modern -grounds, but the house cannot better be described--it would be so -wearisome for one thing--than by saying that it was a cross between -an overgrown, pretentious Norwood villa and one of those saturnine -Institutes for cripples the train passes as it slinks ashamed through -South London into Surrey. It was 'wealthily' furnished and at -first sight imposing, but on closer acquaintance revealed a meagre -personality, barren and austere. One looked for Rules and Regulations -on the walls, all signed By Order. The place was a prison that shut out -'the world.' There was, of course, no billiard-room, no smoking-room, -no room for play of any kind, and the great hall at the back, once a -chapel which might have been used for dancing, theatricals, or other -innocent amusements, was consecrated in his day to meetings of various -kinds, chiefly brigades, temperance or missionary societies. There was -a harmonium at one end--on the level floor--a raised dais or platform -at the other, and a gallery above for the servants, gardeners and -coachmen. It was heated with hot-water pipes, and hung with Doré's -pictures, though these latter were soon removed and stored out of sight -in the attics as being too unspiritual. In polished, shiny wood, it was -a representation in miniature of that poky exclusive Heaven he took -about with him, externalising it in all he did and planned, even in the -grounds about the house. - -Changes in The Towers, Frances told me, had been made during Mabel's -year of widowhood abroad--an organ put into the big hall, the library -made liveable and recatalogued--when it was permissible to suppose she -had found her soul again and returned to her normal, healthy views of -life, which included enjoyment and play, literature, music and the -arts, without, however, a touch of that trivial thoughtlessness usually -termed worldliness. Mrs. Franklyn, as I remembered her, was a quiet -little woman, shallow, perhaps, and easily influenced, but sincere as -a dog and thorough in her faithful friendships. Her tastes at heart -were catholic, and that heart was simple and unimaginative. That she -took up with the various movements of the day was sign merely that she -was searching in her limited way for a belief that should bring her -peace. She was, in fact, a very ordinary woman, her calibre a little -less than that of Frances. I knew they used to discuss all kinds of -theories together, but as these discussions never resulted in action, -I had come to regard her as harmless. Still, I was not sorry when she -married, and I did not welcome now a renewal of the former intimacy. -The philanthropist had given her no children, or she would have made a -good and sensible mother. No doubt she would marry again. - -'Mabel mentions that she's been alone at The Towers since the end of -August,' Frances told me at tea-time; 'and I'm sure she feels out of it -and lonely. It would be a kindness to go. Besides, I always liked her.' - -I agreed. I had recovered from my attack of selfishness. I expressed my -pleasure. - -'You've written to accept,' I said, half statement and half question. - -Frances nodded. 'I thanked for you,' she added quietly, 'explaining -that you were not free at the moment, but that later, if not -inconvenient, you might come down for a bit and join me.' - -I stared. Frances sometimes had this independent way of deciding -things. I was convicted, and punished into the bargain. - -Of course there followed argument and explanation, as between brother -and sister who were affectionate, but the recording of our talk -could be of little interest. It was arranged thus, Frances and I -both satisfied. Two days later she departed for The Towers, leaving -me alone in the flat with everything planned for my comfort and good -behaviour--she was rather a tyrant in her quiet way--and her last words -as I saw her off from Charing Cross rang in my head for a long time -after she was gone: - -'I'll write and let you know, Bill. Eat properly, mind, and let me know -if anything goes wrong.' - -She waved her small gloved hand, nodded her head till the feather -brushed the window, and was gone. - - -II - -After the note announcing her safe arrival a week of silence passed, -and then a letter came; there were various suggestions for my welfare, -and the rest was the usual rambling information and description Frances -loved, generously italicised. - -'... and we are quite alone,' she went on in her enormous handwriting -that seemed such a waste of space and labour, 'though some others -are coming presently, I believe. You could work here to your heart's -content. Mabel _quite_ understands, and says she would love to have -you when you feel free to come. She has changed a bit--back to her old -natural self: she never mentions _him_. The place has changed too in -certain ways: it has more cheerfulness, I think. _She_ has put it in, -this cheerfulness, spaded it in, if you know what I mean; but it lies -about uneasily and is not natural--quite. The organ is a beauty. She -must be very rich now, but she's as gentle and sweet as ever. Do you -know, Bill, I think he must have _frightened_ her into marrying him. -I get the impression she was afraid of him.' This last sentence was -inked out, but I read it through the scratching; the letters being too -big to hide. 'He had an inflexible will beneath all that oily kindness -which passed for spiritual. He was a real personality, I mean. I'm -sure he'd have sent you and me cheerfully to the stake in another -century--_for our own good_. Isn't it odd she never speaks of him, even -to me?' This, again, was stroked through, though without the intention -to obliterate--merely because it was repetition, probably. 'The only -reminder of him in the house now is a big copy of the presentation -portrait that stands on the stairs of the Multitechnic Institute at -Peckham--you know--that life-size one with his fat hand sprinkled -with rings resting on a thick Bible and the other slipped between -the buttons of a tight frock-coat. It hangs in the dining-room and -rather dominates our meals. I wish Mabel would take it down. I think -she'd like to, if she _dared_. There's not a single photograph of him -anywhere, even in her own room. Mrs. Marsh is here--you remember her, -_his_ housekeeper, the wife of the man who got penal servitude for -killing a baby or something,--_you_ said she robbed him and justified -her stealing because the story of the unjust steward was in the Bible! -How we laughed over that! _She's_ just the same too, gliding about all -over the house and turning up when least expected.' - -Other reminiscences filled the next two sides of the letter, and -ran, without a trace of punctuation, into instructions about a -Salamander stove for heating my work-room in the flat; these were -followed by things I was to tell the cook, and by requests for several -articles she had forgotten and would like sent after her, two of -them blouses, with descriptions so lengthy and contradictory that -I sighed as I read them--'unless you come down soon, in which case -perhaps you wouldn't mind bringing them; _not_ the mauve one I wear -in the evening sometimes, but the pale blue one with lace round the -collar and the crinkly front. They're in the cupboard--or the drawer, -I'm not sure which--of my bedroom. _Ask Annie_ if you're in doubt. -Thanks most _awfully_. Send a telegram, remember, and we'll meet -you in the motor _any time_. I don't quite know if I shall stay the -whole month--_alone_. It all depends....' And she closed the letter, -the italicised words increasing recklessly towards the end, with a -repetition that Mabel would love to have me 'for myself,' as also to -have a 'man in the house,' and that I only had to telegraph the day -and the train.... This letter, coming by the second post, interrupted -me in a moment of absorbing work, and, having read it through to make -sure there was nothing requiring instant attention, I threw it aside -and went on with my notes and reading. Within five minutes, however, it -was back at me again. That restless thing called 'between the lines' -fluttered about my mind. My interest in the Balkan States--political -article that had been 'ordered'--faded. Somewhere, somehow I felt -disquieted, disturbed. At first I persisted in my work, forcing myself -to concentrate, but soon found that a layer of new impressions floated -between the article and my attention. It was like a shadow, though a -shadow that dissolved upon inspection. Once or twice I glanced up, -expecting to find some one in the room, that the door had opened -unobserved and Annie was waiting for instructions. I heard the 'buses -thundering across the bridge. I was aware of Oakley Street. Montenegro -and the blue Adriatic melted into the October haze along that -depressing Embankment that aped a river bank, and sentences from the -letter flashed before my eyes and stung me. Picking it up and reading -it through more carefully, I rang the bell and told Annie to find the -blouses and pack them for the post, showing her finally the written -description, and resenting the superior smile with which she at once -interrupted, '_I_ know them, sir,' and disappeared. - -But it was not the blouses: it was that exasperating thing 'between the -lines' that put an end to my work with its elusive teasing nuisance. -The first sharp impression is alone of value in such a case, for -once analysis begins the imagination constructs all kinds of false -interpretation. The more I thought, the more I grew fuddled. The -letter, it seemed to me, wanted to say another thing; instead the -eight sheets _conveyed_ it merely. It came to the edge of disclosure, -then halted. There was something on the writer's mind, and I felt -uneasy. Studying the sentences brought, however, no revelation, but -increased confusion only; for while the uneasiness remained, the first -clear hint had vanished. In the end I closed my books and went out to -look up another matter at the British Museum Library. Perhaps I should -discover it that way--by turning the mind in a totally new direction. I -lunched at the Express Dairy in Oxford Street close by, and telephoned -to Annie that I would be home to tea at five. - -And at tea, tired physically and mentally after breathing the exhausted -air of the Rotunda for five hours, my mind suddenly delivered up its -original impression, vivid and clear-cut; no proof accompanied the -revelation; it was mere presentiment, but convincing. Frances was -disturbed in her mind, her orderly, sensible, housekeeping mind; she -was uneasy, even perhaps afraid; something in the house distressed -her, and she had need of me. Unless I went down, her time of rest and -change, her quite necessary holiday, in fact, would be spoilt. She was -too unselfish to say this, but it ran everywhere between the lines. I -saw it clearly now. Mrs. Franklyn, moreover--and that meant Frances -too--would like a 'man in the house.' It was a disagreeable phrase, a -suggestive way of hinting something she dared not state definitely. The -two women in that great, lonely barrack of a house were afraid. - -My sense of duty, affection, unselfishness, whatever the composite -emotion may be termed, was stirred; also my vanity. I acted quickly, -lest reflection should warp clear, decent judgment. 'Annie,' I said, -when she answered the bell, 'you need not send those blouses by the -post. I'll take them down to-morrow when I go. I shall be away a week -or two, possibly longer.' And, having looked up a train, I hastened out -to telegraph before I could change my fickle mind. - -But no desire came that night to change my mind. I was doing the right, -the necessary thing. I was even in something of a hurry to get down to -The Towers as soon as possible. I chose an early afternoon train. - - -III - -A telegram had told me to come to a town ten miles from the house, so -I was saved the crawling train to the local station, and travelled -down by an express. As soon as we left London the fog cleared off, -and an autumn sun, though without heat in it, painted the landscape -with golden browns and yellows. My spirits rose as I lay back in the -luxurious motor and sped between the woods and hedges. Oddly enough, -my anxiety of overnight had disappeared. It was due, no doubt, to that -exaggeration of detail which reflection in loneliness brings. Frances -and I had not been separated for over a year, and her letters from -The Towers told so little. It had seemed unnatural to be deprived -of those intimate particulars of mood and feeling I was accustomed -to. We had such confidence in one another, and our affection was so -deep. Though she was but five years younger than myself, I regarded -her as a child. My attitude was fatherly. In return, she certainly -mothered me with a solicitude that never cloyed. I felt no desire to -marry while she was still alive. She painted in water-colours with -a reasonable success, and kept house for me; I wrote, reviewed books -and lectured on æsthetics; we were a humdrum couple of quasi-artists, -well satisfied with life, and all I feared for her was that she might -become a suffragette or be taken captive by one of these wild theories -that caught her imagination sometimes, and that Mabel, for one, had -fostered. As for myself, no doubt she deemed me a trifle solid or -stolid--I forget which word she preferred--but on the whole there was -just sufficient difference of opinion to make intercourse suggestive -without monotony, and certainly without quarrelling. Drawing in deep -draughts of the stinging autumn air, I felt happy and exhilarated. It -was like going for a holiday, with comfort at the end of the journey -instead of bargaining for centimes. - -But my heart sank noticeably the moment the house came into view. The -long drive, lined with hostile monkey trees and formal wellingtonias -that were solemn and sedate, was mere extension of the miniature -approach to a thousand semi-detached suburban 'residences'; and -the appearance of The Towers, as we turned the corner with a rush, -suggested a commonplace climax to a story that had begun interestingly, -almost thrillingly. A villa had escaped from the shadow of the Crystal -Palace, thumped its way down by night, grown suddenly monstrous in -a shower of rich rain, and settled itself insolently to stay. Ivy -climbed about the opulent red-brick walls, but climbed neatly and -with disfiguring effect, sham as on a prison or--the simile made me -smile--an orphan asylum. There was no hint of the comely roughness of -untidy ivy on a ruin. Clipped, trained and precise it was, as on a -brand-new protestant church. I swear there was not a bird's nest nor -a single earwig in it anywhere. About the porch it was particularly -thick, smothering a seventeenth-century lamp with a contrast that was -quite horrible. Extensive glass-houses spread away on the farther side -of the house; the numerous towers to which the building owed its name -seemed made to hold school bells; and the window-sills, thick with -potted flowers, made me think of the desolate suburbs of Brighton -or Bexhill. In a commanding position upon the crest of a hill, it -overlooked miles of undulating, wooded country southwards to the Downs, -but behind it, to the north, thick banks of ilex, holly and privet -protected it from the cleaner and more stimulating winds. Hence, though -highly placed, it was shut in. Three years had passed since I last set -eyes upon it, but the unsightly memory I had retained was justified by -the reality. The place was deplorable. - -It is my habit to express my opinions audibly sometimes, when -impressions are strong enough to warrant it; but now I only sighed -'Oh, dear,' as I extricated my legs from many rugs and went into the -house. A tall parlour-maid, with the bearing of a grenadier, received -me, and standing behind her was Mrs. Marsh, the housekeeper, whom I -remembered because her untidy back hair had suggested to me that it -had been burnt. I went at once to my room, my hostess already dressing -for dinner, but Frances came in to see me just as I was struggling -with my black tie that had got tangled like a bootlace. She fastened -it for me in a neat, effective bow, and while I held my chin up for -the operation, staring blankly at the ceiling, the impression came--I -wondered, was it her touch that caused it?--that something in her -trembled. Shrinking perhaps is the truer word. Nothing in her face or -manner betrayed it, nor in her pleasant, easy talk while she tidied my -things and scolded my slovenly packing, as her habit was, questioning -me about the servants at the flat. The blouses, though right, were -crumpled, and my scolding was deserved. There was no impatience even. -Yet somehow or other the suggestion of a shrinking reserve and holding -back reached my mind. She had been lonely, of course, but it was more -than that; she was glad that I had come, yet for some reason unstated -she could have wished that I had stayed away. We discussed the news -that had accumulated during our brief separation, and in doing so the -impression, at best exceedingly slight, was forgotten. My chamber was -large and beautifully furnished; the hall and dining-room of our flat -would have gone into it with a good remainder; yet it was not a place -I could settle down in for work. It conveyed the idea of impermanence, -making me feel transient as in a hotel bedroom. This, of course, was -the fact. But some rooms convey a settled, lasting hospitality even -in a hotel; this one did not; and as I was accustomed to work in the -room I slept in, at least when visiting, a slight frown must have crept -between my eyes. - -'Mabel has fitted a work-room for you just out of the library,' said -the clairvoyant Frances. 'No one will disturb you there, and you'll -have fifteen thousand books all catalogued within easy reach. There's a -private staircase too. You can breakfast in your room and slip down in -your dressing-gown if you want to.' She laughed. My spirits took a turn -upwards as absurdly as they had gone down. - -'And how are _you_?' I asked, giving her a belated kiss. 'It's jolly -to be together again. I did feel rather lost without you, I'll admit.' - -'That's natural,' she laughed. 'I'm so glad.' - -She looked well and had country colour in her cheeks. She informed me -that she was eating and sleeping well, going out for little walks with -Mabel, painting bits of scenery again, and enjoying a complete change -and rest; and yet, for all her brave description, the words somehow did -not quite ring true. Those last words in particular did not ring true. -There lay in her manner, just out of sight, I felt, this suggestion of -the exact reverse--of unrest, shrinking, almost of anxiety. Certain -small strings in her seemed over-tight. 'Keyed-up' was the slang -expression that crossed my mind. I looked rather searchingly into her -face as she was telling me this. - -'Only--the evenings,' she added, noticing my query, yet rather avoiding -my eyes, 'the evenings are--well, rather heavy sometimes, and I find it -difficult to keep awake.' - -'The strong air after London makes you drowsy,' I suggested, 'and you -like to get early to bed.' - -Frances turned and looked at me for a moment steadily. 'On the -contrary, Bill, I dislike going to bed--here. And Mabel goes so -early.' She said it lightly enough, fingering the disorder upon my -dressing-table in such a stupid way that I saw her mind was working in -another direction altogether. She looked up suddenly with a kind of -nervousness from the brush and scissors. 'Billy,' she said abruptly, -lowering her voice, 'isn't it odd, but I _hate_ sleeping alone here? -I can't make it out quite; I've never felt such a thing before in my -life. Do you--think it's all nonsense?' And she laughed, with her lips -but not with her eyes; there was a note of defiance in her I failed to -understand. - -'Nothing a nature like yours feels strongly is nonsense, Frances,' I -replied soothingly. - -But I, too, answered with my lips only, for another part of my mind -was working elsewhere, and among uncomfortable things. A touch of -bewilderment passed over me. I was not certain how best to continue. If -I laughed she would tell me no more, yet if I took her too seriously -the strings would tighten further. Instinctively, then, this flashed -rapidly across me: that something of what she felt, I had also felt, -though interpreting it differently. Vague it was, as the coming of -rain or storm that announce themselves hours in advance with their -hint of faint, unsettling excitement in the air. I had been but a -short hour in the house,--big, comfortable, luxurious house,--but had -experienced this sense of being unsettled, unfixed, fluctuating--a kind -of impermanence that transient lodgers in hotels must feel, but that a -guest in a friend's home ought not to feel, be the visit short or long. -To Frances, an impressionable woman, the feeling had come in the terms -of alarm. She disliked sleeping alone, while yet she longed to sleep. -The precise idea in my mind evaded capture, merely brushing through -me, three-quarters out of sight; I realised only that we both felt the -same thing, and that neither of us could get at it clearly. Degrees of -unrest we felt, but the actual thing did not disclose itself. It did -not happen. - -I felt strangely at sea for a moment. Frances would interpret -hesitation as endorsement, and encouragement might be the last thing -that could help her. - -'Sleeping in a strange house,' I answered at length, 'is often -difficult at first, and one feels lonely. After fifteen months in -our tiny flat one feels lost and uncared-for in a big house. It's an -uncomfortable feeling--I know it well. And this _is_ a barrack, isn't -it? The masses of furniture only make it worse. One feels in storage -somewhere underground--the furniture doesn't furnish. One must never -yield to fancies, though----' - -Frances looked away towards the windows; she seemed disappointed a -little. - -'After our thickly-populated Chelsea,' I went on quickly, 'it seems -isolated here.' - -But she did not turn back, and clearly I was saying the wrong thing. -A wave of pity rushed suddenly over me. Was she really frightened, -perhaps? She was imaginative, I knew, but never moody; common sense was -strong in her, though she had her times of hypersensitiveness. I caught -the echo of some unreasoning, big alarm in her. She stood there, gazing -across my balcony towards the sea of wooded country that spread dim -and vague in the obscurity of the dusk. The deepening shadows entered -the room, I fancied, from the grounds below. Following her abstracted -gaze a moment, I experienced a curious sharp desire to leave, to -escape. Out yonder was wind and space and freedom. This enormous -building was oppressive, silent, still. Great catacombs occurred to me, -things beneath the ground, imprisonment and capture. I believe I even -shuddered a little. - -I touched her shoulder. She turned round slowly, and we looked with a -certain deliberation into each other's eyes. - -'Fanny,' I asked, more gravely than I intended, 'you are not -frightened, are you? Nothing has happened, has it?' - -She replied with emphasis, 'Of course not! How could it--I mean, why -should I?' She stammered, as though the wrong sentence flustered her a -second. 'It's simply--that I have this ter--this dislike of sleeping -alone.' - -Naturally, my first thought was how easy it would be to cut our visit -short. But I did not say this. Had it been a true solution, Frances -would have said it for me long ago. - -'Wouldn't Mabel double-up with you?' I said instead, 'or give you an -adjoining room, so that you could leave the door between you open? -There's space enough, heaven knows.' - -And then, as the gong sounded in the hall below for dinner, she said, -as with an effort, this thing: - -'Mabel did ask me--on the third night--after I had told her. But I -declined.' - -'You'd rather be alone than with her?' I asked, with a certain relief. - -Her reply was so gravely given, a child would have known there was more -behind it: 'Not that; but that she did not really want it.' - -I had a moment's intuition and acted on it impulsively. 'She feels it -too, perhaps, but wishes to face it by herself--and get over it?' - -My sister bowed her head, and the gesture made me realise of a sudden -how grave and solemn our talk had grown, as though some portentous -thing were under discussion. It had come of itself--indefinite as a -gradual change of temperature. Yet neither of us knew its nature, for -apparently neither of us could state it plainly. Nothing happened, even -in our words. - -'That _was_ my impression,' she said, '--that if she yields to it she -encourages it. And a habit forms so easily. Just think,' she added -with a faint smile that was the first sign of lightness she had yet -betrayed, 'what a nuisance it would be--everywhere--if everybody was -afraid of being alone--like that.' - -I snatched readily at the chance. We laughed a little, though it was a -quiet kind of laughter that seemed wrong. I took her arm and led her -towards the door. - -'Disastrous, in fact,' I agreed. - -She raised her voice to its normal pitch again, as I had done. 'No -doubt it will pass,' she said, 'now that you have come. Of course, -it's chiefly my imagination.' Her tone was lighter, though nothing -could convince me that the matter itself was light--just then. 'And in -any case,' tightening her grip on my arm as we passed into the bright -enormous corridor and caught sight of Mrs. Franklyn waiting in the -cheerless hall below, 'I'm _very_ glad you're here, Bill, and Mabel, I -know, is too.' - -'If it doesn't pass,' I just had time to whisper with a feeble attempt -at jollity, 'I'll come at night and snore outside your door. After that -you'll be so glad to get rid of me that you won't mind being alone.' - -'That's a bargain,' said Frances. - -I shook my hostess by the hand, made a banal remark about the long -interval since last we met, and walked behind them into the great -dining-room, dimly lit by candles, wondering in my heart how long my -sister and I should stay, and why in the world we had ever left our -cosy little flat to enter this desolation of riches and false luxury -at all. The unsightly picture of the late Samuel Franklyn, Esq., -stared down upon me from the farther end of the room above the mighty -mantelpiece. He looked, I thought, like some pompous Heavenly Butler -who denied to all the world, and to us in particular, the right of -entry without presentation cards signed by his hand as proof that we -belonged to his own exclusive set. The majority, to his deep grief, -and in spite of all his prayers on their behalf, must burn and 'perish -everlastingly.' - - -IV - -With the instinct of the healthy bachelor I always try to make myself a -nest in the place I live in, be it for long or short. Whether visiting, -in lodging-house, or in hotel, the first essential is this nest--one's -own things built into the walls as a bird builds in its feathers. It -may look desolate and uncomfortable enough to others, because the -central detail is neither bed nor wardrobe, sofa nor arm-chair, but -a good solid writing-table that does not wriggle, and that has wide -elbow-room. And The Towers is vividly described for me by the single -fact that I could not 'nest' there. I took several days to discover -this, but the first impression of impermanence was truer than I knew. -The feathers of the mind refused here to lie one way. They ruffled, -pointed and grew wild. - -Luxurious furniture does not mean comfort; I might as well have tried -to settle down in the sofa and arm-chair department of a big shop. My -bedroom was easily managed; it was the private work-room, prepared -especially for my reception, that made me feel alien and outcast. -Externally, it was all one could desire: an ante-chamber to the great -library, with not one, but two generous oak tables, to say nothing -of smaller ones against the walls with capacious drawers. There were -reading-desks, mechanical devices for holding books, perfect light, -quiet as in a church, and no approach but across the huge adjoining -room. Yet it did not invite. - -'I hope you'll be able to work here,' said my little hostess the next -morning, as she took me in--her only visit to it while I stayed in the -house--and showed me the ten-volume Catalogue. 'It's absolutely quiet -and no one will disturb you.' - -'If you can't, Bill, you're not much good,' laughed Frances, who was on -her arm. 'Even I could write in a study like this!' - -I glanced with pleasure at the ample tables, the sheets of thick -blotting-paper, the rulers, sealing-wax, paper-knives, and all the -other immaculate paraphernalia. 'It's perfect,' I answered with a -secret thrill, yet feeling a little foolish. This was for Gibbon or -Carlyle, rather than for my pot-boiling insignificancies. 'If I can't -write masterpieces here, it's certainly not _your_ fault,' and I turned -with gratitude to Mrs. Franklyn. She was looking straight at me, and -there was a question in her small pale eyes I did not understand. Was -she noting the effect upon me, I wondered? - -'You'll write here--perhaps a story about the house,' she said; -'Thompson will bring you anything you want; you only have to ring.' -She pointed to the electric bell on the central table, the wire -running neatly down the leg. 'No one has ever worked here before, and -the library has been hardly used since it was put in. So there's no -previous atmosphere to affect your imagination--er--adversely.' - -We laughed. 'Bill isn't that sort,' said my sister; while I wished -they would go out and leave me to arrange my little nest and set to -work. - -I thought, of course, it was the huge listening library that made me -feel so inconsiderable--the fifteen thousand silent, staring books, the -solemn aisles, the deep, eloquent shelves. But when the women had gone -and I was alone, the beginning of the truth crept over me, and I felt -that first hint of disconsolateness which later became an imperative -No. The mind shut down, images ceased to rise and flow. I read, made -copious notes, but I wrote no single line at The Towers. Nothing -completed itself there. Nothing happened. - -The morning sunshine poured into the library through ten long narrow -windows; birds were singing; the autumn air, rich with a faint aroma -of November melancholy that stung the imagination pleasantly, filled -my ante-chamber. I looked out upon the undulating wooded landscape, -hemmed in by the sweep of distant Downs, and I tasted a whiff of the -sea. Rooks cawed as they floated above the elms, and there were lazy -cows in the nearer meadows. A dozen times I tried to make my nest and -settle down to work, and a dozen times, like a turning fastidious dog -upon a hearth-rug, I rearranged my chair and books and papers. The -temptation of the Catalogue and shelves, of course, was accountable -for much, yet not, I felt, for all. That was a manageable seduction. -My work, moreover, was not of the creative kind that requires -absolute absorption; it was the mere readable presentation of data -I had accumulated. My note-books were charged with facts ready to -tabulate--facts, too, that interested me keenly. A mere effort of -the will was necessary, and concentration of no difficult kind. Yet, -somehow, it seemed beyond me: something for ever pushed the facts into -disorder ... and in the end I sat in the sunshine, dipping into a dozen -books selected from the shelves outside, vexed with myself and only -half-enjoying it. I felt restless. I wanted to be elsewhere. - -And even while I read, attention wandered. Frances, Mabel, her late -husband, the house and grounds, each in turn and sometimes all -together, rose uninvited into the stream of thought, hindering any -consecutive flow of work. In disconnected fashion came these pictures -that interrupted concentration, yet presenting themselves as broken -fragments of a bigger thing my mind already groped for unconsciously. -They fluttered round this hidden thing of which they were aspects, -fugitive interpretations, no one of them bringing complete revelation. -There was no adjective, such as pleasant or unpleasant, that I could -attach to what I felt, beyond that the result was unsettling. Vague as -the atmosphere of a dream, it yet persisted, and I could not dissipate -it. Isolated words or phrases in the lines I read sent questions -scouring across my mind, sure sign that the deeper part of me was -restless and ill at ease. - -Rather trivial questions too--half-foolish interrogations, as of a -puzzled or curious child: Why was my sister afraid to sleep alone, and -why did her friend feel a similar repugnance, yet seek to conquer it? -Why was the solid luxury of the house without comfort, its shelter -without the sense of permanence? Why had Mrs. Franklyn asked _us_ to -come, artists, unbelieving vagabonds, types at the farthest possible -remove from the saved sheep of her husband's household? Had a reaction -set in against the hysteria of her conversion? I had seen no signs -of religious fervour in her; her atmosphere was that of an ordinary, -high-minded woman, yet a woman of the world. Lifeless, though, a -little, perhaps, now that I came to think about it: she had made no -definite impression upon me of any kind. And my thoughts ran vaguely -after this fragile clue. - -Closing my book, I let them run. For, with this chance reflection -came the discovery that I could not _see_ her clearly--could not -feel her soul, her personality. Her face, her small pale eyes, her -dress and body and walk, all these stood before me like a photograph; -but her Self evaded me. She seemed not there, lifeless, empty, a -shadow--nothing. The picture was disagreeable, and I put it by. -Instantly she melted out, as though light thought had conjured up a -phantom that had no real existence. And at that very moment, singularly -enough, my eye caught sight of her moving past the window, going -silently along the gravel path. I watched her, a sudden new sensation -gripping me. 'There goes a prisoner,' my thought instantly ran, 'one -who wishes to escape, but cannot.' - -What brought the outlandish notion, heaven only knows. The house was -of her own choice, she was twice an heiress, and the world lay open -at her feet. Yet she stayed--unhappy, frightened, caught. All this -flashed over me, and made a sharp impression even before I had time to -dismiss it as absurd. But a moment later explanation offered itself, -though it seemed as far-fetched as the original impression. My mind, -being logical, was obliged to provide something, apparently. For Mrs. -Franklyn, while dressed to go out, with thick walking-boots, a pointed -stick, and a motor-cap tied on with a veil as for the windy lanes, was -obviously content to go no farther than the little garden paths. The -costume was a sham and a pretence. It was this, and her lithe, quick -movements that suggested a caged creature--a creature tamed by fear -and cruelty that cloaked themselves in kindness--pacing up and down, -unable to realise why it got no farther, but always met the same bars -in exactly the same place. The mind in her was barred. - -I watched her go along the paths and down the steps from one terrace -to another, until the laurels hid her altogether; and into this mere -imagining of a moment came a hint of something slightly disagreeable, -for which my mind, search as it would, found no explanation at all. -I remembered then certain other little things. They dropped into the -picture of their own accord. In a mind not deliberately hunting for -clues, pieces of a puzzle sometimes come together in this way, bringing -revelation, so that for a second there flashed across me, vanishing -instantly again before I could consider it, a large, distressing -thought that I can only describe vaguely as a Shadow. Dark and ugly, -oppressive certainly it might be described, with something torn and -dreadful about the edges that suggested pain and strife and terror. -The interior of a prison with two rows of occupied condemned cells, -seen years ago in New York, sprang to memory after it--the connection -between the two impossible to surmise even. But the 'certain other -little things' mentioned above were these: that Mrs. Franklyn, in last -night's dinner talk, had always referred to 'this house,' but never -called it 'home'; and had emphasised unnecessarily, for a well-bred -woman, our 'great kindness' in coming down to stay so long with her. -Another time, in answer to my futile compliment about the 'stately -rooms,' she said quietly, 'It is an enormous house for so small a -party; but I stay here very little, and only till I get it straight -again.' The three of us were going up the great staircase to bed as -this was said, and, not knowing quite her meaning, I dropped the -subject. It edged delicate ground, I felt. Frances added no word of -her own. It now occurred to me abruptly that 'stay' was the word made -use of, when 'live' would have been more natural. How insignificant to -recall! Yet why did they suggest themselves just at this moment?... -And, on going to Frances's room to make sure she was not nervous or -lonely, I realised abruptly, that Mrs. Franklyn, of course, had talked -with _her_ in a confidential sense that I, as a mere visiting brother, -could not share. Frances had told me nothing. I might easily have -wormed it out of her, had I not felt that for us to discuss further our -hostess and her house merely because we were under the roof together, -was not quite nice or loyal. - -'I'll call you, Bill, if I'm scared,' she had laughed as we parted, -my room being just across the big corridor from her own. I had fallen -asleep, thinking what in the world was meant by 'getting it straight -again.' - -And now in my ante-chamber to the library, on the second morning, -sitting among piles of foolscap and sheets of spotless blotting-paper, -all useless to me, these slight hints came back and helped to frame -the big, vague Shadow I have mentioned. Up to the neck in this Shadow, -almost drowned, yet just treading water, stood the figure of my hostess -in her walking costume. Frances and I seemed swimming to her aid. The -Shadow was large enough to include both house and grounds, but farther -than that I could not see.... Dismissing it, I fell to reading my -purloined book again. Before I turned another page, however, another -startling detail leaped out at me: the figure of Mrs. Franklyn in the -Shadow was not living. It floated helplessly, like a doll or puppet -that has no life in it. It was both pathetic and dreadful. - -Any one who sits in reverie thus, of course, may see similar ridiculous -pictures when the will no longer guides construction. The incongruities -of dreams are thus explained. I merely record the picture as it came. -That it remained by me for several days, just as vivid dreams do, is -neither here nor there. I did not allow myself to dwell upon it. The -curious thing, perhaps, is that from this moment I date my inclination, -though not yet my desire, to leave. I purposely say 'to leave.' I -cannot quite remember when the word changed to that aggressive, frantic -thing which is escape. - - -V - -We were left delightfully to ourselves in this pretentious country -mansion with the soul of a villa. Frances took up her painting again, -and, the weather being propitious, spent hours out of doors, sketching -flowers, trees and nooks of woodland, garden, even the house itself -where bits of it peered suggestively across the orchards. Mrs. Franklyn -seemed always busy about something or other, and never interfered -with us except to propose motoring, tea in another part of the lawn, -and so forth. She flitted everywhere, preoccupied, yet apparently -doing nothing. The house engulfed her rather. No visitors called. For -one thing, she was not supposed to be back from abroad yet; and for -another, I think, the neighbourhood--her husband's neighbourhood--was -puzzled by her sudden cessation from good works. Brigades and -temperance societies did not ask to hold their meetings in the big -hall, and the vicar arranged the school-treats in another's field -without explanation. The full-length portrait in the dining-room, and -the presence of the housekeeper with the 'burnt' back-hair, indeed, -were the only reminders of the man who once had lived here. Mrs. Marsh -retained her place in silence, well-paid sinecure as it doubtless -was, yet with no hint of that suppressed disapproval one might have -expected from her. Indeed there was nothing positive to disapprove, -since nothing 'worldly' entered grounds or building. In her master's -lifetime she had been another 'brand snatched from the burning,' and it -had then been her custom to give vociferous 'testimony' at the revival -meetings where he adorned the platform and led in streams of prayer. I -saw her sometimes on the stairs, hovering, wandering, half-watching and -half-listening, and the idea came to me once that this woman somehow -formed a link with the departed influence of her bigoted employer. She, -alone among us, _belonged_ to the house, and looked at home there. When -I saw her talking--oh, with such correct and respectful mien--to Mrs. -Franklyn, I had the feeling that for all her unaggressive attitude, -she yet exerted some influence that sought to make her mistress stay -in the building for ever--live there. She would prevent her escape, -prevent her 'getting it straight again,' thwart somehow her will to -freedom, if she could. The idea in me was of the most fleeting kind. -But another time, when I came down late at night to get a book from the -library ante-chamber, and found her sitting in the hall--alone--the -impression left upon me was the reverse of fleeting. I can never forget -the vivid, disagreeable effect it produced upon me. What was she doing -there at half-past eleven at night, all alone in the darkness? She was -sitting upright, stiff, in a big chair below the clock. It gave me a -turn. It was so incongruous and odd. She rose quietly as I turned the -corner of the stairs, and asked me respectfully, her eyes cast down -as usual, whether I had finished with the library, so that she might -lock up. There was no more to it than that; but the picture stayed with -me--unpleasantly. - -These various impressions came to me at odd moments, of course, and -not in a single sequence as I now relate them. I was hard at work -before three days were past, not writing, as explained, but reading, -making notes, and gathering material from the library for future use. -It was in chance moments that these curious flashes came, catching me -unawares with a touch of surprise that sometimes made me start. For -they proved that my under-mind was still conscious of the Shadow, and -that far away out of sight lay the cause of it that left me with a -vague unrest, unsettled, seeking to 'nest' in a place that did not want -me. Only when this deeper part knows harmony, perhaps, can good brain -work result, and my inability to write was thus explained. Certainly, I -was always seeking for something here I could not find--an explanation -that continually evaded me. Nothing but these trivial hints offered -themselves. Lumped together, however, they had the effect of defining -the Shadow a little. I became more and more aware of its very real -existence. And, if I have made little mention of Frances and my hostess -in this connection, it is because they contributed at first little or -nothing towards the discovery of what this story tries to tell. Our -life was wholly external, normal, quiet, and uneventful; conversation -banal--Mrs. Franklyn's conversation in particular. They said nothing -that suggested revelation. Both were in this Shadow, and both knew -that they were in it, but neither betrayed by word or act a hint of -interpretation. They talked privately, no doubt, but of that I can -report no details. - -And so it was that, after ten days of a very commonplace visit, I -found myself looking straight into the face of a Strangeness that -defied capture at close quarters. 'There's something here that never -happens,' were the words that rose in my mind, 'and that's why none -of us can speak of it.' And as I looked out of the window and watched -the vulgar blackbirds, with toes turned in, boring out their worms, I -realised sharply that even they, as indeed everything large and small -in the house and grounds, shared this strangeness, and were twisted out -of normal appearance because of it. Life, as expressed in the entire -place, was crumpled, dwarfed, emasculated. God's meanings here were -crippled, His love of joy was stunted. Nothing in the garden danced -or sang. There was hate in it. 'The Shadow,' my thought hurried on to -completion, 'is a manifestation of hate; and hate is the Devil.' And -then I sat back frightened in my chair, for I knew that I had partly -found the truth. - -Leaving my books I went out into the open. The sky was overcast, -yet the day by no means gloomy, for a soft, diffused light oozed -through the clouds and turned all things warm and almost summery. -But I saw the grounds now in their nakedness because I understood. -Hate means strife, and the two together weave the robe that terror -wears. Having no so-called religious beliefs myself, nor belonging -to any set of dogmas called a creed, I could stand outside these -feelings and observe. Yet they soaked into me sufficiently for me -to grasp sympathetically what others, with more cabined souls (I -flattered myself), might feel. That picture in the dining-room stalked -everywhere, hid behind every tree, peered down upon me from the peaked -ugliness of the bourgeois towers, and left the impress of its powerful -hand upon every bed of flowers. 'You must not do this, you must not do -that,' went past me through the air. 'You must not leave these narrow -paths,' said the rigid iron railings of black. 'You shall not walk -here,' was written on the lawns. 'Keep to the steps,' 'Don't pick the -flowers; make no noise of laughter, singing, dancing,' was placarded -all over the rose-garden, and 'Trespassers will be--not prosecuted -but--_destroyed_' hung from the crest of monkey-tree and holly. -Guarding the ends of each artificial terrace stood gaunt, implacable -policemen, warders, gaolers. 'Come with us,' they chanted, 'or be -damned eternally.' - -I remember feeling quite pleased with myself that I had discovered -this obvious explanation of the prison-feeling the place breathed out. -That the posthumous influence of heavy old Samuel Franklyn might be an -inadequate solution did not occur to me. By 'getting the place straight -again,' his widow, of course, meant forgetting the glamour of fear and -foreboding his depressing creed had temporarily forced upon her; and -Frances, delicately-minded being, did not speak of it because it was -the influence of the man her friend had loved. I felt lighter; a load -was lifted from me. 'To trace the unfamiliar to the familiar,' came -back a sentence I had read somewhere, 'is to understand.' It was a real -relief. I could talk with Frances now, even with my hostess, no danger -of treading clumsily. For the key was in my hands. I might even help to -dissipate the Shadow, 'to get it straight again.' It seemed, perhaps, -our long invitation was explained! - -I went into the house laughing--at myself a little. 'Perhaps after all -the artist's outlook, with no hard and fast dogmas, is as narrow as the -others! How small humanity is! And why is there no possible and true -combination of _all_ outlooks?' - -The feeling of 'unsettling' was very strong in me just then, in spite -of my big discovery which was to clear everything up. And at that -moment I ran into Frances on the stairs, with a portfolio of sketches -under her arm. - -It came across me then abruptly that, although she had worked a great -deal since we came, she had shown me nothing. It struck me suddenly as -odd, unnatural. The way she tried to pass me now confirmed my new-born -suspicion that--well, that her results were hardly what they ought to -be. - -'Stand and deliver!' I laughed, stepping in front of her. 'I've seen -nothing you've done since you've been here, and as a rule you show me -all your things. I believe they are atrocious and degrading!' Then my -laughter froze. - -She made a sly gesture to slip past me, and I almost decided to let her -go, for the expression that flashed across her face shocked me. She -looked uncomfortable and ashamed; the colour came and went a moment -in her cheeks, making me think of a child detected in some secret -naughtiness. It was almost fear. - -'It's because they're not finished then?' I said, dropping the tone -of banter, 'or because they're too good for me to understand?' For my -criticism of painting, she told me, was crude and ignorant sometimes. -'But you'll let me see them later, won't you?' - -Frances, however, did not take the way of escape I offered. She changed -her mind. She drew the portfolio from beneath her arm instead. 'You can -see them if you _really_ want to, Bill,' she said quietly, and her tone -reminded me of a nurse who says to a boy just grown out of childhood, -'you are old enough now to look upon horror and ugliness--only I don't -advise it.' - -'I do want to,' I said, and made to go downstairs with her. But, -instead, she said in the same low voice as before, 'Come up to my room, -we shall be undisturbed there.' So I guessed that she had been on her -way to show the paintings to our hostess, but did not care for us all -three to see them together. My mind worked furiously. - -'Mabel asked me to do them,' she explained in a tone of submissive -horror, once the door was shut, 'in fact, she begged it of me. You know -how persistent she is in her quiet way. I--er--had to.' - -She flushed and opened the portfolio on the little table by the -window, standing behind me as I turned the sketches over--sketches of -the grounds and trees and garden. In the first moment of inspection, -however, I did not take in clearly why my sister's sense of modesty had -been offended. For my attention flashed a second elsewhere. Another -bit of the puzzle had dropped into place, defining still further the -nature of what I called 'the Shadow.' Mrs. Franklyn, I now remembered, -had suggested to me in the library that I might perhaps write something -about the place, and I had taken it for one of her banal sentences -and paid no further attention. I realised now that it was said in -earnest. She wanted our interpretations, as expressed in our respective -'talents,' painting and writing. Her invitation _was_ explained. She -left us to ourselves on purpose. - -'I should like to tear them up,' Frances was whispering behind me with -a shudder, 'only I promised----' She hesitated a moment. - -'Promised not to?' I asked with a queer feeling of distress, my eyes -glued to the papers. - -'Promised always to show them to her first,' she finished so low I -barely caught it. - -I have no intuitive, immediate grasp of the value of paintings; results -come to me slowly, and though every one believes his own judgment to -be good, I dare not claim that mine is worth more than that of any -other layman. Frances had too often convicted me of gross ignorance and -error. I can only say that I examined these sketches with a feeling of -amazement that contained revulsion, if not actually horror and disgust. -They were outrageous. I felt hot for my sister, and it was a relief to -know she had moved across the room on some pretence or other, and did -not examine them with me. Her talent, of course, is mediocre, yet she -has her moments of inspiration--moments, that is to say, when a view -of Beauty not normally her own flames divinely through her. And these -interpretations struck me forcibly as being thus 'inspired'--not her -own. They were uncommonly well done; they were also atrocious. The -meaning in them, however, was never more than hinted. There the unholy -skill and power came in: they suggested so abominably, leaving most -to the imagination. To find such significance in a bourgeois villa -garden, and to interpret it with such delicate yet legible certainty, -was a kind of symbolism that was sinister, even diabolical. The -delicacy was her own, but the point of view was another's. And the word -that rose in my mind was not the gross description of 'impure,' but the -more fundamental qualification--'un-pure.' - -In silence I turned the sketches over one by one, as a boy hurries -through the pages of an evil book lest he be caught. - -'What does Mabel do with them?' I asked presently in a low tone, as I -neared the end. 'Does she keep them?' - -'She makes notes about them in a book and then destroys them,' was the -reply from the end of the room. I heard a sigh of relief. 'I'm glad -you've seen them, Bill. I wanted you to--but was afraid to show them. -You understand?' - -'I understand,' was my reply, though it was not a question intended -to be answered. All I understood really was that Mabel's mind was as -sweet and pure as my sister's, and that she had some good reason for -what she did. She destroyed the sketches, but first made notes! It -was an interpretation of the place she sought. Brother-like, I felt -resentment, though, that Frances should waste her time and talent, when -she might be doing work that she could sell. Naturally, I felt other -things as well.... - -'Mabel pays me five guineas for each one,' I heard. 'Absolutely -insists.' - -I stared at her stupidly a moment, bereft of speech or wit. - -'I must either accept, or go away,' she went on calmly, but a little -white. 'I've tried everything. There was a scene the third day I was -here--when I showed her my first result. I wanted to write to you, but -hesitated----' - -'It's unintentional, then, on your part--forgive my asking it, Frances, -dear?' I blundered, hardly knowing what to think or say. 'Between the -lines' of her letter came back to me. 'I mean, you make the sketches in -your ordinary way and--the result comes out of itself, so to speak?' - -She nodded, throwing her hands out like a Frenchman. 'We needn't keep -the money for ourselves, Bill. We can give it away, but--I must either -accept or leave,' and she repeated the shrugging gesture. She sat down -on the chair facing me, staring helplessly at the carpet. - -'You say there was a scene?' I went on presently. 'She insisted?' - -'She begged me to continue,' my sister replied very quietly. 'She -thinks--that is, she has an idea or theory that there's something about -the place--something she can't get at quite.' Frances stammered badly. -She knew I did not encourage her wild theories. - -'Something she feels--yes,' I helped her, more than curious. - -'Oh, you know what I mean, Bill,' she said desperately. 'That the place -is saturated with some influence that she is herself too positive or -too stupid to interpret. She's trying to make herself negative and -receptive, as she calls it, but can't, of course, succeed. Haven't you -noticed how dull and impersonal and insipid she seems, as though she -had no personality? She thinks impressions will come to her that way. -But they don't----' - -'Naturally.' - -'So she's trying me--us--what she calls the sensitive and -impressionable artistic temperament. She says that until she is sure -exactly what this influence is, she can't fight it, turn it out, "get -the house straight," as she phrases it.' - -Remembering my own singular impressions, I felt more lenient than I -might otherwise have done. I tried to keep impatience out of my voice. - -'And this influence, what--whose is it?' - -We used the pronoun that followed in the same breath, for I answered my -own question at the same moment as she did: - -'_His._' Our heads nodded involuntarily towards the floor, the -dining-room being directly underneath. - -And my heart sank, my curiosity died away on the instant, I felt bored. -A commonplace haunted house was the last thing in the world to amuse -or interest me. The mere thought exasperated, with its suggestions of -imagination, overwrought nerves, hysteria, and the rest. Mingled with -my other feelings was certainly disappointment. To see a figure or feel -a 'presence,' and report from day to day strange incidents to each -other would be a form of weariness I could never tolerate. - -'But really, Frances,' I said firmly, after a moment's pause, 'it's too -far-fetched, this explanation. A curse, you know, belongs to the ghost -stories of early Victorian days.' And only my positive conviction that -there _was_ something after all worth discovering, and that it most -certainly was _not_ this, prevented my suggesting that we terminate -our visit forthwith, or as soon as we decently could. 'This is not -a haunted house, whatever it is,' I concluded somewhat vehemently, -bringing my hand down upon her odious portfolio. - -My sister's reply revived my curiosity sharply. - -'I was waiting for you to say that. Mabel says exactly the same. _He_ -is in it--but it's something more than that alone, something far bigger -and more complicated.' Her sentence seemed to indicate the sketches, -and though I caught the inference I did not take it up, having no -desire to discuss them with her just then, indeed, if ever. - -I merely stared at her and listened. Questions, I felt sure, would be -of little use. It was better she should say her thought in her own way. - -'He is one influence, the most recent,' she went on slowly, and -always very calmly, 'but there are others--deeper layers, as it -were--underneath. If his were the only one, something would happen. But -nothing ever does happen. The others hinder and prevent--as though each -were struggling to predominate.' - -I had felt it already myself. The idea was rather horrible. I shivered. - -'That's what is so ugly about it--that nothing ever happens,' she said. -'There is this endless anticipation--always on the dry edge of a result -that never materialises. It is torture. Mabel is at her wits' end, you -see. And when she begged me--what I felt about my sketches--I mean----' -She stammered badly as before. - -I stopped her. I had judged too hastily. That queer symbolism in her -paintings, pagan and yet not innocent, was, I understood, the result -of mixture. I did not pretend to understand, but at least I could be -patient. I consequently held my peace. We did talk on a little longer, -but it was more general talk that avoided successfully our hostess, -the paintings, wild theories, and _him_--until at length the emotion -Frances had hitherto so successfully kept under burst vehemently forth -again. It had hidden between her calm sentences, as it had hidden -between the lines of her letter. It swept her now from head to foot, -packed tight in the thing she then said. - -'Then, Bill, if it is not an ordinary haunted house,' she asked, '_what -is it_?' - -The words were commonplace enough. The emotion was in the tone of her -voice that trembled; in the gesture she made, leaning forward and -clasping both hands upon her knees, and in the slight blanching of her -cheeks as her brave eyes asked the question and searched my own with -anxiety that bordered upon panic. In that moment she put herself under -my protection. I winced. - -'And why,' she added, lowering her voice to a still and furtive -whisper, 'does nothing ever happen? If only,'--this with great -emphasis--'something _would_ happen--break this awful tension--bring -relief. It's the waiting I cannot stand.' And she shivered all over as -she said it, a touch of wildness in her eyes. - -I would have given much to have made a true and satisfactory answer. -My mind searched frantically for a moment, but in vain. There lay no -sufficient answer in me. I felt what she felt, though with differences. -No conclusive explanation lay within reach. Nothing happened. Eager -as I was to shoot the entire business into the rubbish heap where -ignorance and superstition discharge their poisonous weeds, I could -not honestly accomplish this. To treat Frances as a child, and merely -'explain away' would be to strain her confidence in my protection, so -affectionately claimed. It would further be dishonest to myself--weak, -besides--to deny that I had also felt the strain and tension even as -she did. While my mind continued searching, I returned her stare in -silence; and Frances then, with more honesty and insight than my own, -gave suddenly the answer herself--an answer whose truth and adequacy, -so far as they went, I could not readily gainsay: - -'I think, Bill, because it is too big to happen here--to happen -anywhere, indeed, all at once--and too awful!' - -To have tossed the sentence aside as nonsense, argued it away, proved -that it was really meaningless, would have been easy--at any other time -or in any other place; and, had the past week brought me none of the -vivid impressions it had brought me, this is doubtless what I should -have done. My narrowness again was proved. We understand in others only -what we have in ourselves. But her explanation, in a measure, I knew -was true. It hinted at the strife and struggle that my notion of a -Shadow had seemed to cover thinly. - -'Perhaps,' I murmured lamely, waiting in vain for her to say more. 'But -you said just now that you felt the thing was "in layers," as it were. -Do you mean each one--each influence--fighting for the upper hand?' - -I used her phraseology to conceal my own poverty. Terminology, after -all, was nothing, provided we could reach the idea itself. - -Her eyes said yes. She had her clear conception, arrived at -independently, as was her way. And, unlike her sex, she kept it clear, -unsmothered by too many words. - -'One set of influences gets at me, another gets at you. It's according -to our temperaments, I think.' She glanced significantly at the vile -portfolio. 'Sometimes they are mixed--and therefore false. There has -always been in me, more than in you, the pagan thing, perhaps, though -never, thank God, like _that_.' - -The frank confession of course invited my own, as it was meant to do. -Yet it was difficult to find the words. - -'What I have felt in this place, Frances, I honestly can hardly tell -you, because--er--my impressions have not arranged themselves in any -definite form I can describe. The strife, the agony of vainly-sought -escape, and the unrest--a sort of prison atmosphere--this I have felt -at different times and with varying degrees of strength. But I find, -as yet, no final label to attach. I couldn't say pagan, Christian, or -anything like that, I mean, as you do. As with the blind and deaf, you -may have an intensification of certain senses denied to me, or even -another sense altogether in embryo----' - -'Perhaps,' she stopped me, anxious to keep to the point, 'you feel it -as Mabel does. She feels the whole thing _complete_.' - -'That also is possible,' I said very slowly. I was thinking behind my -words. Her odd remark that it was 'big and awful' came back upon me as -true. A vast sensation of distress and discomfort swept me suddenly. -Pity was in it, and a fierce contempt, a savage, bitter anger as well. -Fury against some sham authority was part of it. - -'Frances,' I said, caught unawares, and dropping all pretence, 'what in -the world can it be?' I looked hard at her. For some minutes neither of -us spoke. - -'Have _you_ felt no desire to interpret it?' she asked presently. - -'Mabel did suggest my writing something about the house,' was my reply, -'but I've felt nothing imperative. That sort of writing is not my line, -you know. My only feeling,' I added, noticing that she waited for more, -'is the impulse to explain, discover, get it out of me somehow, and so -get rid of it. Not by writing, though--as yet.' And again I repeated my -former question: 'What in the world do you think it is?' My voice had -become involuntarily hushed. There was awe in it. - -Her answer, given with slow emphasis, brought back all my reserve: the -phraseology provoked me rather:-- - -'Whatever it is, Bill, it is not of God.' - -I got up to go downstairs. I believe I shrugged my shoulders, 'Would -you like to leave, Frances? Shall we go back to town?' I suggested -this at the door, and hearing no immediate reply, I turned back to -look. Frances was sitting with her head bowed over and buried in her -hands. The attitude horribly suggested tears. No woman, I realised, can -keep back the pressure of strong emotion as long as Frances had done, -without ending in a fluid collapse. I waited a moment uneasily, longing -to comfort, yet afraid to act--and in this way discovered the existence -of the appalling emotion in myself, hitherto but half guessed. At all -costs a scene must be prevented: it would involve such exaggeration and -over-statement. Brutally, such is the weakness of the ordinary man, I -turned the handle to go out, but my sister then raised her head. The -sunlight caught her face, framed untidily in its auburn hair, and I saw -her wonderful expression with a start. Pity, tenderness and sympathy -shone in it like a flame. It was undeniable. There shone through all -her features the imperishable love and yearning to sacrifice self for -others which I have seen in only one type of human being. It was the -great mother look. - -'We must stay by Mabel and help her get it straight,' she whispered, -making the decision for us both. - -I murmured agreement. Abashed and half ashamed, I stole softly from -the room and went out into the grounds. And the first thing clearly -realised when alone was this: that the long scene between us was -without definite result. The exchange of confidence was really nothing -but hints and vague suggestion. We had decided to stay, but it was -a negative decision not to leave rather than a positive action. All -our words and questions, our guesses, inferences, explanations, our -most subtle allusions and insinuations, even the odious paintings -themselves, were without definite result. Nothing had happened. - - -VI - -And instinctively, once alone, I made for the places where she had -painted her extraordinary pictures; I tried to see what she had seen. -Perhaps, now that she had opened my mind to another view, I should -be sensitive to some similar interpretation--and possibly by way of -literary expression. If I were to write about the place, I asked -myself, how should I treat it? I deliberately invited an interpretation -in the way that came easiest to me--writing. - -But in this case there came no such revelation. Looking closely at -the trees and flowers, the bits of lawn and terrace, the rose-garden -and corner of the house where the flaming creeper hung so thickly, I -discovered nothing of the odious, unpure thing her colour and grouping -had unconsciously revealed. At first, that is, I discovered nothing. -The reality stood there, commonplace and ugly, side by side with her -distorted version of it that lay in my mind. It seemed incredible. I -tried to force it, but in vain. My imagination, ploughed less deeply -than hers, or to another pattern, grew different seed. Where I saw the -gross soul of an overgrown suburban garden, inspired by the spirit of -a vulgar, rich revivalist who loved to preach damnation, she saw this -rush of pagan liberty and joy, this strange licence of primitive flesh -which, tainted by the other, produced the adulterated, vile result. - -Certain things, however, gradually then became apparent, forcing -themselves upon me, willy nilly. They came slowly, but overwhelmingly. -Not that facts had changed, or natural details altered in the -grounds--this was impossible--but that I noticed for the first time -various aspects I had not noticed before--trivial enough, yet for me, -just then, significant. Some I remembered from previous days; others -I saw now as I wandered to and fro, uneasy, uncomfortable,--almost, -it seemed, watched by some one who took note of my impressions. The -details were so foolish, the total result so formidable. I was half -aware that others tried hard to make me see. It was deliberate. My -sister's phrase, 'one layer got at me, another gets at you,' flashed, -undesired, upon me. - -For I saw, as with the eyes of a child, what I can only call a goblin -garden--house, grounds, trees, and flowers belonged to a goblin world -that children enter through the pages of their fairy tales. And what -made me first aware of it was the whisper of the wind behind me, so -that I turned with a sudden start, feeling that something had moved -closer. An old ash tree, ugly and ungainly, had been artificially -trained to form an arbour at one end of the terrace that was a tennis -lawn, and the leaves of it now went rustling together, swishing as -they rose and fell. I looked at the ash tree, and felt as though I had -passed that moment between doors into this goblin garden that crouched -behind the real one. Below, at a deeper layer perhaps, lay hidden the -one my sister had entered. - -To deal with my own, however, I call it goblin, because an odd -aspect of the quaint in it yet never quite achieved the picturesque. -Grotesque, probably, is the truer word, for everywhere I noticed, and -for the first time, this slight alteration of the natural due either -to the exaggeration of some detail, or to its suppression, generally, -I think, to the latter. Life everywhere appeared to me as blocked -from the full delivery of its sweet and lovely message. Some counter -influence stopped it--suppression; or sent it awry--exaggeration. The -house itself, mere expression, of course, of a narrow, limited mind, -was sheer ugliness; it required no further explanation. With the -grounds and garden, so far as shape and general plan were concerned, -this was also true; but that trees and flowers and other natural -details should share the same deficiency perplexed my logical soul, and -even dismayed it. I stood and stared, then moved about, and stood and -stared again. Everywhere was this mockery of a sinister, unfinished -aspect. I sought in vain to recover my normal point of view. My mind -had found this goblin garden and wandered to and fro in it, unable to -escape. - -The change was in myself, of course, and so trivial were the details -which illustrated it, that they sound absurd, thus mentioned one by -one. For me, they proved it, is all I can affirm. The goblin touch -lay plainly everywhere: in the forms of the trees, planted at neat -intervals along the lawns; in this twisted ash that rustled just behind -me; in the shadow of the gloomy wellingtonias, whose sweeping skirts -obscured the grass; but especially, I noticed, in the tops and crests -of them. For here, the delicate, graceful curves of last year's growth -seemed to shrink back into themselves. None of them pointed upwards. -Their life had failed and turned aside just when it should have -become triumphant. The character of a tree reveals itself chiefly at -the extremities, and it was precisely here that they all drooped and -achieved this hint of goblin distortion--in the growth, that is, of the -last few years. What ought to have been fairy, joyful, natural, was -instead uncomely to the verge of the grotesque. Spontaneous expression -was arrested. My mind perceived a goblin garden, and was caught in it. -The place grimaced at me. - -With the flowers it was similar, though far more difficult to detect in -detail for description. I saw the smaller vegetable growth as impish, -half-malicious. Even the terraces sloped ill, as though their ends -had sagged since they had been so lavishly constructed; their varying -angles gave a queerly bewildering aspect to their sequence that was -unpleasant to the eye. One might wander among their deceptive lengths -and get lost--lost among open terraces!--with the house quite close -at hand. Unhomely seemed the entire garden, unable to give repose, -restlessness in it everywhere, almost strife, and discord certainly. - -Moreover, the garden grew into the house, the house into the garden, -and in both was this idea of resistance to the natural--the spirit -that says No to joy. All over it I was aware of the effort to achieve -another end, the struggle to burst forth and escape into free, -spontaneous expression that should be happy and natural, yet the effort -for ever frustrated by the weight of this dark shadow that rendered it -abortive. Life crawled aside into a channel that was a cul-de-sac, then -turned horribly upon itself. Instead of blossom and fruit, there were -weeds. This approach of life I was conscious of--then dismal failure. -There was no fulfilment. Nothing happened. - -And so, through this singular mood, I came a little nearer to -understand the unpure thing that had stammered out into expression -through my sister's talent. For the unpure is merely negative; it -has no existence; it is but the cramped expression of what is true, -stammering its way brokenly over false boundaries that seek to limit -and confine. Great, full expression of anything is pure, whereas -here was only the incomplete, unfinished, and therefore ugly. There -was strife and pain and desire to escape. I found myself shrinking -from house and grounds as one shrinks from the touch of the mentally -arrested, those in whom life has turned awry. There was almost -mutilation in it. - -Past items, too, now flocked to confirm this feeling that I walked, -liberty captured and half-maimed, in a monstrous garden. I remembered -days of rain that refreshed the countryside, but left these grounds, -cracked with the summer heat, unsatisfied and thirsty; and how the big -winds, that cleaned the woods and fields elsewhere, crawled here with -difficulty through the dense foliage that protected The Towers from -the North and West and East. They were ineffective, sluggish currents. -There was no real wind. Nothing happened. I began to realise--far more -clearly than in my sister's fanciful explanation about 'layers'--that -here were many contrary influences at work, mutually destructive of one -another. House and grounds were not haunted merely; they were the arena -of past thinking and feeling, perhaps of terrible, impure beliefs, -each striving to suppress the others, yet no one of them achieving -supremacy because no one of them was strong enough, no one of them was -true. Each, moreover, tried to win me over, though only one was able -to reach my mind at all. For some obscure reason--possibly because my -temperament had a natural bias towards the grotesque--it was the goblin -layer. With me, it was the line of least resistance.... - -In my own thoughts this 'goblin garden' revealed, of course, merely my -personal interpretation. I felt now objectively what long ago my mind -had felt subjectively. My work, essential sign of spontaneous life -with me, had stopped dead; production had become impossible. I stood -now considerably closer to the cause of this sterility. The Cause, -rather, turned bolder, had stepped insolently nearer. Nothing happened -anywhere; house, garden, mind alike were barren, abortive, torn by the -strife of frustrate impulse, ugly, hateful, sinful. Yet behind it all -was still the desire of life--desire to escape--accomplish. Hope--an -intolerable hope--I became startlingly aware--crowned torture. - -And, realising this, though in some part of me where Reason lost her -hold, there rose upon me then another and a darker thing that caught -me by the throat and made me shrink with a sense of revulsion that -touched actual loathing. I knew instantly whence it came, this wave -of abhorrence and disgust, for even while I saw red and felt revolt -rise in me, it seemed that I grew partially aware of the layer next -below the goblin. I perceived the existence of this deeper stratum. One -opened the way for the other, as it were. There were so many, yet all -inter-related; to admit one was to clear the way for all. If I lingered -I should be caught--horribly. They struggled with such violence for -supremacy among themselves, however, that this latest uprising was -instantly smothered and crushed back, though not before a glimpse had -been revealed to me, and the redness in my thoughts transferred itself -to colour my surroundings thickly and appallingly--with blood. This -lurid aspect drenched the garden, smeared the terraces, lent to the -very soil a tinge as of sacrificial rites, that choked the breath in -me, while it seemed to fix me to the earth my feet so longed to leave. -It was so revolting that at the same time I felt a dreadful curiosity -as of fascination--I wished to stay. Between these contrary impulses I -think I actually reeled a moment, transfixed by a fascination of the -Awful. Through the lighter goblin veil I felt myself sinking down, -down, down into this turgid layer that was so much more violent and so -much more ancient. The upper layer, indeed, seemed fairy by comparison -with this terror born of the lust for blood, thick with the anguish of -human sacrificial victims. - -_Upper!_ Then I was already sinking; my feet were caught; I was -actually in it! What atavistic strain, hidden deep within me, had -been touched into vile response, giving this flash of intuitive -comprehension, I cannot say. The coatings laid on by civilisation are -probably thin enough in all of us. I made a supreme effort. The sun -and wind came back. I could almost swear I opened my eyes. Something -very atrocious surged back into the depths, carrying with it a thought -of tangled woods, of big stones standing in a circle, motionless white -figures, the one form bound with ropes, and the ghastly gleam of the -knife. Like smoke upon a battlefield, it rolled away.... - -I was standing on the gravel path below the second terrace when the -familiar goblin garden danced back again, doubly grotesque now, doubly -mocking, yet, by way of contrast, almost welcome. My glimpse into -the depths was momentary, it seems, and had passed utterly away. The -common world rushed back with a sense of glad relief, yet ominous now -for ever, I felt, for the knowledge of what its past had built upon. -In street, in theatre, in the festivities of friends, in music-room or -playing-field, even indeed in church--how could the memory of what I -had seen and felt not leave its hideous trace? The very structure of my -Thought, it seemed to me, was stained. What has been thought by others -can never be obliterated until ... - -With a start my reverie broke and fled, scattered by a violent sound -that I recognised for the first time in my life as wholly desirable. -The returning motor meant that my hostess was back. Yet, so urgent -had been my temporary obsession, that my first presentation of her -was--well, not as I knew her now. Floating along with a face of -anguished torture I saw Mabel, a mere effigy captured by others' -thinking, pass down into those depths of fire and blood that only just -had closed beneath my feet. She dipped away. She vanished, her fading -eyes turned to the last towards some saviour who had failed her. And -that strange intolerable hope was in her face. - -The mystery of the place was pretty thick about me just then. It was -the fall of dusk, and the ghost of slanting sunshine was as unreal -as though badly painted. The garden stood at attention all about -me. I cannot explain it, but I can tell it, I think, exactly as it -happened, for it remains vivid in me for ever--that, for the first -time, something _almost happened_, myself apparently the combining link -through which it pressed towards delivery. - -I had already turned towards the house. In my mind were pictures--not -actual thoughts--of the motor, tea on the verandah, my sister, -Mabel--when there came behind me this tumultuous, awful rush--as I left -the garden. The ugliness, the pain, the striving to escape, the whole -negative and suppressed agony that _was_ the Place, focused that second -into a concentrated effort to produce a result. It was a blinding -tempest of long-frustrate desire that heaved at me, surging appallingly -behind me like an anguished mob. I was in the act of crossing the -frontier into my normal self again, when it came, catching fearfully at -my skirts. I might use an entire dictionary of descriptive adjectives -yet come no nearer to it than this--the conception of a huge assemblage -determined to escape with me, or to snatch me back among themselves. My -legs trembled for an instant, and I caught my breath--then turned and -ran as fast as possible up the ugly terraces. - -At the same instant, as though the clanging of an iron gate cut short -the unfinished phrase, I _thought_ the beginning of an awful thing: - -'The Damned ...' - -Like this it rushed after me from that goblin garden that had sought to -keep me: - -'The Damned!' - -For there was sound in it. I know full well it was subjective, not -actually heard at all; yet somehow sound was in it--a great volume, -roaring and booming thunderously, far away, and below me. The sentence -dipped back into the depths that gave it birth, unfinished. Its -completion was prevented. As usual, nothing happened. But it drove -behind me like a hurricane as I ran towards the house, and the sound of -it I can only liken to those terrible undertones you may hear standing -beside Niagara. They lie behind the mere crash of the falling flood, -within it somehow, not audible to all--felt rather than definitely -heard. - -It seemed to echo back from the surface of those sagging terraces as I -flew across their sloping ends, for it was somehow underneath them. It -was in the rustle of the wind that stirred the skirts of the drooping -wellingtonias. The beds of formal flowers passed it on to the creepers, -red as blood, that crept over the unsightly building. Into the -structure of the vulgar and forbidding house it sank away; The Towers -took it home. The uncomely doors and windows seemed almost like mouths -that had uttered the words themselves, and on the upper floors at that -very moment I saw two maids in the act of closing them again. - -And on the verandah, as I arrived breathless, and shaken in my soul, -Frances and Mabel, standing by the tea-table, looked up to greet me. -In the faces of both were clearly legible the signs of shock. They -watched me coming, yet so full of their own distress that they hardly -noticed the state in which I came. In the face of my hostess, however, -I read another and a bigger thing than in the face of Frances. Mabel -_knew_. She had experienced what I had experienced. She had heard that -awful sentence I had heard, but heard it not for the first time; heard -it, moreover, I verily believe, complete and to its dreadful end. - -'Bill, did you hear that curious noise just now?' Frances asked it -sharply before I could say a word. Her manner was confused; she looked -straight at me; and there was a tremor in her voice she could not hide. - -'There's wind about,' I said, 'wind in the trees and sweeping round the -walls. It's risen rather suddenly.' My voice faltered rather. - -'No. It wasn't wind,' she insisted, with a significance meant for me -alone, but badly hidden. 'It was more like distant thunder, we thought. -How you ran too!' she added. 'What a pace you came across the terraces!' - -I knew instantly from the way she said it that they both had already -heard the sound before and were anxious to know if I had heard it, and -how. My interpretation was what they sought. - -'It was a curiously deep sound, I admit. It may have been big guns at -sea,' I suggested, 'forts or cruisers practising. The coast isn't so -very far, and with the wind in the right direction----' - -The expression on Mabel's face stopped me dead. - -'Like huge doors closing,' she said softly in her colourless voice, -'enormous metal doors shutting against a mass of people clamouring -to get out.' The gravity, the note of hopelessness in her tones, was -shocking. - -Frances had gone into the house the instant Mabel began to speak. 'I'm -cold,' she had said; 'I think I'll get a shawl.' Mabel and I were -alone. I believe it was the first time we had been really alone since -I arrived. She looked up from the teacups, fixing her pallid eyes on -mine. She had made a question of the sentence. - -'You hear it like that?' I asked innocently. I purposely used the -present tense. - -She changed her stare from one eye to the other; it was absolutely -expressionless. My sister's step sounded on the floor of the room -behind us. - -'If only----' Mabel began, then stopped, and my own feelings leaping -out instinctively completed the sentence I felt was in her mind: - -'----something would happen.' - -She instantly corrected me. I had caught her thought, yet somehow -phrased it wrongly. - -'We could escape!' She lowered her tone a little, saying it hurriedly. -The 'we' amazed and horrified me; but something in her voice and manner -struck me utterly dumb. There was ice and terror in it. It was a dying -woman speaking--a lost and hopeless soul. - -In that atrocious moment I hardly noticed what was said exactly, but I -remember that my sister returned with a grey shawl about her shoulders, -and that Mabel said, in her ordinary voice again, 'It _is_ chilly, yes; -let's have tea inside,' and that two maids, one of them the grenadier, -speedily carried the loaded trays into the morning-room and put a match -to the logs in the great open fireplace. It was, after all, foolish -to risk the sharp evening air, for dusk was falling steadily, and even -the sunshine of the day just fading could not turn autumn into summer. -I was the last to come in. Just as I left the verandah a large black -bird swooped down in front of me past the pillars; it dropped from -overhead, swerved abruptly to one side as it caught sight of me, and -flapped heavily towards the shrubberies on the left of the terraces, -where it disappeared into the gloom. It flew very low, very close. And -it startled me, I think because in some way it seemed like my Shadow -materialised--as though the dark horror that was rising everywhere from -house and garden, then settling back so thickly yet so imperceptibly -upon us all, were incarnated in that whirring creature that passed -between the daylight and the coming night. - -I stood a moment, wondering if it would appear again, before I -followed the others indoors, and as I was in the act of closing the -windows after me, I caught a glimpse of a figure on the lawn. It was -some distance away, on the other side of the shrubberies, in fact -where the bird had vanished. But in spite of the twilight that half -magnified, half obscured it, the identity was unmistakable. I knew the -housekeeper's stiff walk too well to be deceived. 'Mrs. Marsh taking -the air,' I said to myself. I felt the necessity of saying it, and I -wondered why she was doing so at this particular hour. If I had other -thoughts they were so vague, and so quickly and utterly suppressed, -that I cannot recall them sufficiently to relate them here. - -And, once indoors, it was to be expected that there would come -explanation, discussion, conversation, at any rate, regarding the -singular noise and its cause, some uttered evidence of the mood that -had been strong enough to drive us all inside. Yet there was none. Each -of us purposely, and with various skill, ignored it. We talked little, -and when we did it was of anything in the world but that. Personally, -I experienced a touch of that same bewilderment which had come over -me during my first talk with Frances on the evening of my arrival, -for I recall now the acute tension, and the hope, yet dread, that one -or other of us must sooner or later introduce the subject. It did not -happen, however; no reference was made to it even remotely. It was the -presence of Mabel, I felt positive, that prohibited. As soon might we -have discussed Death in the bedroom of a dying woman. - -The only scrap of conversation I remember, where all was ordinary and -commonplace, was when Mabel spoke casually to the grenadier asking -why Mrs. Marsh had omitted to do something or other--what it was I -forget--and that the maid replied respectfully that 'Mrs. Marsh was -very sorry, but her 'and still pained her.' I enquired, though so -casually that I scarcely know what prompted the words, whether she -had injured herself severely, and the reply, 'She upset a lamp and -burnt herself,' was said in a tone that made me feel my curiosity was -indiscreet, 'but she always has an excuse for not doing things she -ought to do.' The little bit of conversation remained with me, and I -remember particularly the quick way Frances interrupted and turned the -talk upon the delinquencies of servants in general, telling incidents -of her own at our flat with a volubility that perhaps seemed forced, -and that certainly did not encourage general talk as it may have been -intended to do. We lapsed into silence immediately she finished. - -But for all our care and all our calculated silence, each knew that -something had, in these last moments, come very close; it had brushed -us in passing; it had retired; and I am inclined to think now that the -large dark thing I saw, riding the dusk, probably bird of prey, was in -some sense a symbol of it in my mind--that actually there had been no -bird at all, I mean, but that my mood of apprehension and dismay had -formed the vivid picture in my thoughts. It had swept past us, it had -retreated, but it was now, at this moment, in hiding very close. And it -was watching us. - - * * * * * - -Perhaps, too, it was mere coincidence that I encountered Mrs. Marsh, -_his_ housekeeper, several times that evening in the short interval -between tea and dinner, and that on each occasion the sight of this -gaunt, half-saturnine woman fed my prejudice against her. Once, on my -way to the telephone, I ran into her just where the passage is somewhat -jammed by a square table carrying the Chinese gong, a grandfather's -clock and a box of croquet mallets. We both gave way, then both -advanced, then again gave way--simultaneously. It seemed impossible to -pass. We stepped with decision to the same side, finally colliding in -the middle, while saying those futile little things, half apology, half -excuse, that are inevitable at such times. In the end she stood upright -against the wall for me to pass, taking her place against the very door -I wished to open. It was ludicrous. - -'Excuse me--I was just going in--to telephone,' I explained. And she -sidled off, murmuring apologies, but opening the door for me while she -did so. Our hands met a moment on the handle. There was a second's -awkwardness--it was so stupid. I remembered her injury, and by way of -something to say, I enquired after it. She thanked me; it was entirely -healed now, but it might have been much worse; and there was something -about the 'mercy of the Lord' that I didn't quite catch. While -telephoning, however--a London call, and my attention focused on it--I -realised sharply that this was the first time I had spoken with her; -also, that I had--touched her. - -It happened to be a Sunday, and the lines were clear. I got my -connection quickly, and the incident was forgotten while my thoughts -went up to London. On my way upstairs, then, the woman came back into -my mind, so that I recalled other things about her--how she seemed all -over the house, in unlikely places often; how I had caught her sitting -in the hall alone that night; how she was for ever coming and going -with her lugubrious visage and that untidy hair at the back that had -made me laugh three years ago with the idea that it looked singed or -burnt; and how the impression on my first arrival at The Towers was -that this woman somehow kept alive, though its evidence was outwardly -suppressed, the influence of her late employer and of his sombre -teachings. Somewhere with her was associated the idea of punishment, -vindictiveness, revenge. I remembered again suddenly my odd notion that -she sought to keep her present mistress here, a prisoner in this bleak -and comfortless house, and that really, in spite of her obsequious -silence, she was intensely opposed to the change of thought that had -reclaimed Mabel to a happier view of life. - -All this in a passing second flashed in review before me, and I -discovered, or at any rate reconstructed, the real Mrs. Marsh. She -was decidedly in the Shadow. More, she stood in the forefront of it, -stealthily leading an assault, as it were, against The Towers and -its occupants, as though, consciously or unconsciously, she laboured -incessantly to this hateful end. - -I can only judge that some state of nervousness in me permitted the -series of insignificant thoughts to assume this dramatic shape, and -that what had gone before prepared the way and led her up at the head -of so formidable a procession. I relate it exactly as it came to me. -My nerves were doubtless somewhat on edge by now. Otherwise I should -hardly have been a prey to the exaggeration at all. I seemed open to so -many strange impressions. - -Nothing else, perhaps, can explain my ridiculous conversation with -her, when, for the third time that evening, I came suddenly upon the -woman half-way down the stairs, standing by an open window as if in -the act of listening. She was dressed in black, a black shawl over her -square shoulders and black gloves on her big, broad hands. Two black -objects, prayer-books apparently, she clasped, and on her head she -wore a bonnet with shaking beads of jet. At first I did not know her, -as I came running down upon her from the landing; it was only when she -stood aside to let me pass that I saw her profile against the tapestry -and recognised Mrs. Marsh. And to catch her on the front stairs, -dressed like this, struck me as incongruous--impertinent. I paused -in my dangerous descent. Through the opened window came the sound of -bells--church bells--a sound more depressing to me than superstition, -and as nauseating. Though the action was ill-judged, I obeyed the -sudden prompting--was it a secret desire to attack, perhaps?--and spoke -to her. - -'Been to church, I suppose, Mrs. Marsh?' I said. 'Or just going, -perhaps?' - -Her face, as she looked up a second to reply, was like an iron doll -that moved its lips and turned its eyes, but made no other imitation of -life at all. - -'Some of us still goes, sir,' she said unctuously. - -It was respectful enough, yet the implied judgment of the rest of the -world made me almost angry. A deferential insolence lay behind the -affected meekness. - -'For those who believe no doubt it _is_ helpful,' I smiled. 'True -religion brings peace and happiness, I'm sure--joy, Mrs. Marsh, -JOY!' I found keen satisfaction in the emphasis. - -She looked at me like a knife. I cannot describe the implacable thing -that shone in her fixed, stern eyes, nor the shadow of felt darkness -that stole across her face. She glittered. I felt hate in her. I -knew--she knew too--who was in the thoughts of us both at that moment. - -She replied softly, never forgetting her place for an instant: - -'There is joy, sir--in 'eaven--over one sinner that repenteth, and -in church there goes up prayer to Gawd for those 'oo--well, for the -others, sir, 'oo----' - -She cut short her sentence thus. The gloom about her as she said it was -like the gloom about a hearse, a tomb, a darkness of great hopeless -dungeons. My tongue ran on of itself with a kind of bitter satisfaction: - -'We must believe there are _no_ others, Mrs. Marsh. Salvation, -you know, would be such a failure if there were. No merciful, -all-foreseeing God could ever have devised such a fearful plan----' - -Her voice, interrupting me, seemed to rise out of the bowels of the -earth: - -'They rejected the salvation when it was hoffered to them, sir, on -earth.' - -'But you wouldn't have them tortured for ever because of one mistake -in ignorance,' I said, fixing her with my eye. 'Come now, would you, -Mrs. Marsh? No God worth worshipping could permit such cruelty. Think a -moment what it means.' - -She stared at me, a curious expression in her stupid eyes. It seemed -to me as though the 'woman' in her revolted, while yet she dared not -suffer her grim belief to trip. That is, she would willingly have had -it otherwise but for a terror that prevented. - -'We may pray for them, sir, and we do--we _may_ 'ope.' She dropped her -eyes to the carpet. - -'Good, good!' I put in cheerfully, sorry now that I had spoken at all. -'That's more hopeful, at any rate, isn't it?' - -She murmured something about Abraham's bosom, and the 'time of -salvation not being for ever,' as I tried to pass her. Then a half -gesture that she made stopped me. There was something more she wished -to say--to ask. She looked up furtively. In her eyes I saw the 'woman' -peering out through fear. - -'Per'aps, sir,' she faltered, as though lightning must strike her dead, -'per'aps, would you think, a drop of cold water, given in His name, -might moisten----?' - -But I stopped her, for the foolish talk had lasted long enough. - -'Of course,' I exclaimed, 'of course. For God is love, remember, and -love means charity, tolerance, sympathy, and sparing others pain,' and -I hurried past her, determined to end the outrageous conversation -for which yet I knew myself entirely to blame. Behind me, she stood -stock-still for several minutes, half bewildered, half alarmed, as -I suspected. I caught the fragment of another sentence, one word of -it, rather--'punishment'--but the rest escaped me. Her arrogance and -condescending tolerance exasperated me, while I was at the same time -secretly pleased that I might have touched some string of remorse or -sympathy in her after all. Her belief was iron; she dared not let it -go; yet somewhere underneath there lurked the germ of a wholesome -revulsion. She would help 'them'--if she dared. Her question proved it. - -Half ashamed of myself, I turned and crossed the hall quickly lest I -should be tempted to say more, and in me was a disagreeable sensation -as though I had just left the Incurable Ward of some great hospital. -A reaction caught me as of nausea. Ugh! I wanted such people cleansed -by fire. They seemed to me as centres of contamination whose vicious -thoughts flowed out to stain God's glorious world. I saw myself, -Frances, Mabel too especially, on the rack, while that odious figure -of cruelty and darkness stood over us and ordered the awful handles -turned in order that we might be 'saved'--forced, that is, to think and -believe exactly as _she_ thought and believed. - -I found relief for my somewhat childish indignation by letting myself -loose upon the organ then. The flood of Bach and Beethoven brought back -the sense of proportion. It proved, however, at the same time that -there _had_ been this growth of distortion in me, and that it had been -provided apparently by my closer contact--for the first time--with that -funereal personality, the woman who, like her master, believed that -all holding views of God that differed from her own, must be damned -eternally. It gave me, moreover, some faint clue perhaps, though a clue -I was unequal to following up, to the nature of the strife and terror -and frustrate influence in the house. That housekeeper had to do with -it. She kept it alive. Her thought was like a spell she waved above her -mistress's head. - - -VII - -That night I was wakened by a hurried tapping at my door, and before -I could answer, Frances stood beside my bed. She had switched on the -light as she came in. Her hair fell straggling over her dressing-gown. -Her face was deathly pale, its expression so distraught it was almost -haggard. The eyes were very wide. She looked almost like another woman. - -She was whispering at a great pace: 'Bill, Bill, wake up, quick!' - -'I _am_ awake. What is it?' I whispered too. I was startled. - -'Listen!' was all she said. Her eyes stared into vacancy. - -There was not a sound in the great house. The wind had dropped, and all -was still. Only the tapping seemed to continue endlessly in my brain. -The clock on the mantelpiece pointed to half-past two. - -'I heard nothing, Frances. What is it?' I rubbed my eyes; I had been -very deeply asleep. - -'Listen!' she repeated very softly, holding up one finger and turning -her eyes towards the door she had left ajar. Her usual calmness had -deserted her. She was in the grip of some distressing terror. - -For a full minute we held our breath and listened. Then her eyes rolled -round again and met my own, and her skin went even whiter than before. - -'It woke me,' she said beneath her breath, and moving a step nearer to -my bed. 'It was the Noise.' Even her whisper trembled. - -'The Noise!' The word repeated itself dully of its own accord. I would -rather it had been anything in the world but that--earthquake, foreign -cannon, collapse of the house above our heads! 'The noise, Frances! Are -you _sure_?' I was playing really for a little time. - -'It was like thunder. At first I thought it _was_ thunder. But a minute -later it came again--from underground. It's appalling.' She muttered -the words, her voice not properly under control. - -There was a pause of perhaps a minute, and then we both spoke at once. -We said foolish, obvious things that neither of us believed in for a -second. The roof had fallen in, there were burglars downstairs, the -safes had been blown open. It was to comfort each other as children do -that we said these things; also it was to gain further time. - -'There's some one in the house, of course,' I heard my voice say -finally, as I sprang out of bed and hurried into dressing-gown and -slippers. 'Don't be alarmed. I'll go down and see,' and from the -drawer I took a pistol it was my habit to carry everywhere with me. I -loaded it carefully while Frances stood stock-still beside the bed and -watched. I moved towards the open door. - -'You stay here, Frances,' I whispered, the beating of my heart making -the words uneven, 'while I go down and make a search. Lock yourself in, -girl. Nothing can happen to you. It was downstairs, you said?' - -'Underneath,' she answered faintly, pointing through the floor. - -She moved suddenly between me and the door. - -'Listen! Hark!' she said, the eyes in her face quite fixed; 'it's -coming again,' and she turned her head to catch the slightest sound. I -stood there watching her, and while I watched her, shook. But nothing -stirred. From the halls below rose only the whirr and quiet ticking of -the numerous clocks. The blind by the open window behind us flapped out -a little into the room as the draught caught it. - -'I'll come with you, Bill--to the next floor,' she broke the silence. -'Then I'll stay with Mabel--till you come up again.' The blind sank -down with a long sigh as she said it. - -The question jumped to my lips before I could repress it: - -'Mabel is awake. She heard it too?' - -I hardly know why horror caught me at her answer. All was so vague and -terrible as we stood there playing the great game of this sinister -house where nothing ever happened. - -'We met in the passage. She was on her way to me.' - -What shook in me, shook inwardly. Frances, I mean, did not see it. I -had the feeling just then that the Noise was upon us, that any second -it would boom and roar about our ears. But the deep silence held. I -only heard my sister's little whisper coming across the room in answer -to my question: - -'Then what is Mabel doing now?' - -And her reply proved that she was yielding at last beneath the dreadful -tension, for she spoke at once, unable longer to keep up the pretence. -With a kind of relief, as it were, she said it out, looking helplessly -at me like a child: - -'She is weeping and gna----' - -My expression must have stopped her. I believe I clapped both hands -upon her mouth, though when I realised things clearly again, I found -they were covering my own ears instead. It was a moment of unutterable -horror. The revulsion I felt was actually physical. It would have given -me pleasure to fire off all the five chambers of my pistol into the air -above my head; the sound--a definite, wholesome sound that explained -itself--would have been a positive relief. Other feelings, though, -were in me too, all over me, rushing to and fro. It was vain to seek -their disentanglement; it was impossible. I confess that I experienced, -among them, a touch of paralysing fear--though for a moment only; -it passed as sharply as it came, leaving me with a violent flush of -blood to the face such as bursts of anger bring, followed abruptly -by an icy perspiration over the entire body. Yet I may honestly avow -that it was not ordinary personal fear I felt, nor any common dread -of physical injury. It was, rather, a vast, impersonal shrinking--a -sympathetic shrinking--from the agony and terror that countless others, -somewhere, somehow, felt for themselves. The first sensation of a -prison overwhelmed me in that instant, of bitter strife and frenzied -suffering, and the fiery torture of the yearning to escape that was yet -hopelessly uttered.... It was of incredible power. It was real. The -vain, intolerable hope swept over me. - -I mastered myself, though hardly knowing how, and took my sister's -hand. It was as cold as ice, as I led her firmly to the door and -out into the passage. Apparently she noticed nothing of my so near -collapse, for I caught her whisper as we went. 'You _are_ brave, Bill; -splendidly brave.' - -The upper corridors of the great sleeping house were brightly lit; -on her way to me she had turned on every electric switch her hand -could reach; and as we passed the final flight of stairs to the -floor below, I heard a door shut softly and knew that Mabel had been -listening--waiting for us. I led my sister up to it. She knocked, and -the door was opened cautiously an inch or so. The room was pitch black. -I caught no glimpse of Mabel standing there. Frances turned to me with -a hurried whisper, 'Billy, you _will_ be careful, won't you?' and went -in. I just had time to answer that I would not be long, and Frances -to reply, 'You'll find us here----' when the door closed and cut her -sentence short before its end. - - * * * * * - -But it was not alone the closing door that took the final words. -Frances--by the way she disappeared I knew it--had made a swift and -violent movement into the darkness that was as though she sprang. -She leaped upon that other woman who stood back among the shadows, -for, simultaneously with the clipping of the sentence, another sound -was also stopped--stifled, smothered, choked back lest I should also -hear it. Yet not in time. I heard it--a hard and horrible sound that -explained both the leap and the abrupt cessation of the whispered words. - -I stood irresolute a moment. It was as though all the bones had been -withdrawn from my body, so that I must sink and fall. That sound -plucked them out, and plucked out my self-possession with them. I am -not sure that it was a sound I had ever heard before, though children, -I half remembered, made it sometimes in blind rages when they knew -not what they did. In a grown-up person certainly I had never known -it. I associated it with animals rather--horribly. In the history of -the world, no doubt, it has been common enough, alas, but fortunately -to-day there can be but few who know it, or would recognise it even -when heard. The bones shot back into my body the same instant, but -red-hot and burning; the brief instant of irresolution passed; I was -torn between the desire to break down the door and enter, and to -run--run for my life from a thing I dared not face. - -Out of the horrid tumult, then, I adopted neither course. Without -reflection, certainly without analysis of what was best to do for -my sister, myself or Mabel, I took up my action where it had been -interrupted. I turned from the awful door and moved slowly towards the -head of the stairs. But that dreadful little sound came with me. I -believe my own teeth chattered. It seemed all over the house--in the -empty halls that opened into the long passages towards the music-room, -and even in the grounds outside the building. From the lawns and barren -garden, from the ugly terraces themselves, it rose into the night, and -behind it came a curious driving sound, incomplete, unfinished, as of -wailing for deliverance, the wailing of desperate souls in anguish, the -dull and dry beseeching of hopeless spirits in prison. - -That I could have taken the little sound from the bedroom where I -actually heard it, and spread it thus over the entire house and -grounds, is evidence, perhaps, of the state my nerves were in. The -wailing assuredly was in my mind alone. But the longer I hesitated, the -more difficult became my task, and, gathering up my dressing-gown, -lest I should trip in the darkness, I passed slowly down the staircase -into the hall below. I carried neither candle nor matches; every switch -in room and corridor was known to me. The covering of darkness was -indeed rather comforting than otherwise, for if it prevented seeing, -it also prevented being seen. The heavy pistol, knocking against my -thigh as I moved, made me feel I was carrying a child's toy, foolishly. -I experienced in every nerve that primitive vast dread which is the -Thrill of darkness. Merely the child in me was comforted by that pistol. - -The night was not entirely black; the iron bars across the glass -front door were visible, and, equally, I discerned the big, stiff -wooden chairs in the hall, the gaping fireplace, the upright pillars -supporting the staircase, the round table in the centre with its books -and flower-vases, and the basket that held visitors' cards. There, too, -was the stick and umbrella stand and the shelf with railway guides, -directory, and telegraph forms. Clocks ticked everywhere with sounds -like quiet footfalls. Light fell here and there in patches from the -floor above. I stood a moment in the hall, letting my eyes grow more -accustomed to the gloom, while deciding on a plan of search. I made -out the ivy trailing outside over one of the big windows ... and then -the tall clock by the front door made a grating noise deep down inside -its body--it was the Presentation clock, large and hideous, given by -the congregation of his church--and, dreading the booming strike it -seemed to threaten, I made a quick decision. If others beside myself -were about in the night, the sound of that striking might cover their -approach. - -So I tiptoed to the right, where the passage led towards the -dining-room. In the other direction were the morning- and drawing-room, -both little used, and various other rooms beyond that had been _his_, -generally now kept locked. I thought of my sister, waiting upstairs with -that frightened woman for my return. I went quickly, yet stealthily. - -And, to my surprise, the door of the dining-room was open. It had been -opened. I paused on the threshold, staring about me. I think I fully -expected to see a figure blocked in the shadows against the heavy -sideboard, or looming on the other side beneath his portrait. But the -room was empty; I _felt_ it empty. Through the wide bow-windows that -gave on to the verandah came an uncertain glimmer that even shone -reflected in the polished surface of the dinner-table, and again I -perceived the stiff outline of chairs, waiting tenantless all round it, -two larger ones with high carved backs at either end. The monkey-trees -on the upper terrace, too, were visible outside against the sky, and -the solemn crests of the wellingtonias on the terraces below. The -enormous clock on the mantelpiece ticked very slowly, as though its -machinery were running down, and I made out the pale round patch that -was its face. Resisting my first inclination to turn the lights up--my -hand had gone so far as to finger the friendly knob--I crossed the room -so carefully that no single board creaked, nor a single chair, as I -rested a hand upon its back, moved on the parquet flooring. I turned -neither to the right nor left, nor did I once look back. - -I went towards the long corridor, filled with priceless _objets d'art_, -that led through various antechambers into the spacious music-room, -and only at the mouth of this corridor did I next halt a moment in -uncertainty. For this long corridor, lit faintly by high windows -on the left from the verandah, was very narrow, owing to the mass -of shelves and fancy tables it contained. It was not that I feared -to knock over precious things as I went, but that, because of its -ungenerous width, there would be no room to pass another person--if I -met one. And the certainty had suddenly come upon me that somewhere -in this corridor another person at this actual moment stood. Here, -somehow, amid all this dead atmosphere of furniture and impersonal -emptiness, lay the hint of a living human presence; and with such -conviction did it come upon me, that my hand instinctively gripped the -pistol in my pocket before I could even think. Either some one had -passed along this corridor just before me, or some one lay waiting -at its farther end--withdrawn or flattened into one of the little -recesses, to let me pass. It was the person who had opened the door. -And the blood ran from my heart as I realised it. - -It was not courage that sent me on, but rather a strong impulsion from -behind that made it impossible to retreat: the feeling that a throng -pressed at my back, drawing nearer and nearer; that I was already half -surrounded, swept, dragged, coaxed into a vast prison-house where there -was wailing and gnashing of teeth, where their worm dieth not and their -fire is not quenched. I can neither explain nor justify the storm of -irrational emotion that swept me as I stood in that moment, staring -down the length of the silent corridor towards the music-room at the -far end, I can only repeat that no personal bravery sent me down it, -but that the negative emotion of fear was swamped in this vast sea of -pity and commiseration for others that surged upon me. - -My senses, at least, were no whit confused; if anything, my brain -registered impressions with keener accuracy than usual. I noticed, for -instance, that the two swinging doors of baize that cut the corridor -into definite lengths, making little rooms of the spaces between them, -were both wide open--in the dim light no mean achievement. Also that -the fronds of a palm plant, some ten feet in front of me, still stirred -gently from the air of some one who had recently gone past them. The -long green leaves waved to and fro like hands. Then I went stealthily -forward down the narrow space, proud even that I had this command of -myself, and so carefully that my feet made no sound upon the Japanese -matting on the floor. - -It was a journey that seemed timeless. I have no idea how fast or slow -I went, but I remember that I deliberately examined articles on each -side of me, peering with particular closeness into the recesses of wall -and window. I passed the first baize doors, and the passage beyond -them widened out to hold shelves of books; there were sofas and small -reading-tables against the wall. It narrowed again presently, as I -entered the second stretch. The windows here were higher and smaller, -and marble statuettes of classical subjects lined the walls, watching -me like figures of the dead. Their white and shining faces saw me, yet -made no sign. I passed next between the second baize doors. They, too, -had been fastened back with hooks against the wall. Thus all doors were -open--had been recently opened. - -And so, at length, I found myself in the final widening of the corridor -which formed an ante-chamber to the music-room itself. It had been -used formerly to hold the overflow of meetings. No door separated it -from the great hall beyond, but heavy curtains hung usually to close -it off, and these curtains were invariably drawn. They now stood wide. -And here--I can merely state the impression that came upon me--I knew -myself at last surrounded. The throng that pressed behind me, also -surged in front: facing me in the big room, and waiting for my entry, -stood a multitude; on either side of me, in the very air above my -head, the vast assemblage paused upon my coming. The pause, however, -was momentary, for instantly the deep, tumultuous movement was resumed -that yet was silent as a cavern underground. I felt the agony that -was in it, the passionate striving, the awful struggle to escape. The -semi-darkness held beseeching faces that fought to press themselves -upon my vision, yearning yet hopeless eyes, lips scorched and dry, -mouths that opened to implore but found no craved delivery in actual -words, and a fury of misery and hate that made the life in me stop -dead, frozen by the horror of vain pity. That intolerable, vain Hope -was everywhere. - -And the multitude, it came to me, was not a single multitude, but many; -for, as soon as one huge division pressed too close upon the edge of -escape, it was dragged back by another and prevented. The wild host was -divided against itself. Here dwelt the Shadow I had 'imagined' weeks -ago, and in it struggled armies of lost souls as in the depths of some -bottomless pit whence there is no escape. The layers mingled, fighting -against themselves in endless torture. It was in this great Shadow I -had clairvoyantly seen Mabel, but about its fearful mouth, I now was -certain, hovered another figure of darkness, a figure who sought to -keep it in existence, since to her thought were due those lampless -depths of woe without escape.... Towards me the multitudes now surged. - - * * * * * - -It was a sound and a movement that brought me back into myself. The -great clock at the farther end of the room just then struck the hour -of three. That was the sound. And the movement--? I was aware that a -figure was passing across the distant centre of the floor. Instantly I -dropped back into the arena of my little human terror. My hand again -clutched stupidly at the pistol butt. I drew back into the folds of the -heavy curtain. And the figure advanced. - -I remember every detail. At first it seemed to me enormous--this -advancing shadow--far beyond human scale; but as it came nearer, I -measured it, though not consciously, by the organ pipes that gleamed in -faint colours, just above its gradual soft approach. It passed them, -already half-way across the great room. I saw then that its stature was -that of ordinary men. The prolonged booming of the clock died away. I -heard the footfall, shuffling upon the polished boards. I heard another -sound--a voice, low and monotonous, droning as in prayer. The figure -was speaking. It was a woman. And she carried in both hands before her -a small object that faintly shimmered--a glass of water. And then I -recognised her. - -There was still an instant's time before she reached me, and I made use -of it. I shrank back, flattening myself against the wall. Her voice -ceased a moment, as she turned and carefully drew the curtains together -behind her, closing them with one hand. Oblivious of my presence, -though she actually touched my dressing-gown with the hand that pulled -the cords, she resumed her dreadful, solemn march, disappearing at -length down the long vista of the corridor like a shadow. But as she -passed me, her voice began again, so that I heard each word distinctly -as she uttered it, her head aloft, her figure upright, as though she -moved at the head of a procession: - -'A drop of cold water, given in His name, shall moisten their burning -tongues.' - -It was repeated monotonously over and over again, droning down into the -distance as she went, until at length both voice and figure faded into -the shadows at the farther end. - -For a time, I have no means of measuring precisely, I stood in that -dark corner, pressing my back against the wall, and would have drawn -the curtains down to hide me had I dared to stretch an arm out. The -dread that presently the woman would return passed gradually away. I -realised that the air had emptied, the crowd her presence had stirred -into activity had retreated; I was alone in the gloomy under-spaces of -the odious building.... Then I remembered suddenly again the terrified -women waiting for me on that upper landing; and realised that my skin -was wet and freezing cold after a profuse perspiration. I prepared to -retrace my steps. I remember the effort it cost me to leave the support -of the wall and covering darkness of my corner, and step out into the -grey light of the corridor. At first I sidled, then, finding this -mode of walking impossible, turned my face boldly and walked quickly, -regardless that my dressing-gown set the precious objects shaking as I -passed. A wind that sighed mournfully against the high, small windows -seemed to have got inside the corridor as well; it felt so cold; and -every moment I dreaded to see the outline of the woman's figure as she -waited in recess or angle against the wall for me to pass. - -Was there another thing I dreaded even more? I cannot say. I only know -that the first baize doors had swung-to behind me, and the second ones -were close at hand, when the great dim thunder caught me, pouring up -with prodigious volume so that it seemed to roll out from another -world. It shook the very bowels of the building. I was closer to it -than that other time, when it had followed me from the goblin garden. -There was strength and hardness in it, as of metal reverberation. Some -touch of numbness, almost of paralysis, must surely have been upon me -that I felt no actual terror, for I remember even turning and standing -still to hear it better. 'That is the Noise,' my thought ran stupidly, -and I think I whispered it aloud; '_the Doors are closing_.' - -The wind outside against the windows was audible, so it cannot have -been really loud, yet to me it was the biggest, deepest sound I have -ever heard, but so far away, with such awful remoteness in it, that I -had to doubt my own ears at the same time. It seemed underground--the -rumbling of earthquake gates that shut remorselessly within the rocky -Earth--stupendous ultimate thunder. _They_ were shut off from help -again. The doors had closed. - -I felt a storm of pity, an agony of bitter, futile hate sweep through -me. My memory of the figure changed then. The Woman with the glass of -cooling water had stepped down from Heaven; but the Man--or was it -Men?--who smeared this terrible layer of belief and Thought upon the -world!... - -I crossed the dining-room--it was fancy, of course, that held my -eyes from glancing at the portrait for fear I should see it smiling -approval--and so finally reached the hall, where the light from the -floor above seemed now quite bright in comparison. All the doors I -closed carefully behind me; but first I had to open them. The woman had -closed every one. Up the stairs, then, I actually ran, two steps at a -time. My sister was standing outside Mabel's door. By her face I knew -that she had also heard. There was no need to ask. I quickly made my -mind up. - -'There's nothing,' I said, and detailed briefly my tour of search. 'All -is quiet and undisturbed downstairs.' May God forgive me! - -She beckoned to me, closing the door softly behind her. My heart beat -violently a moment, then stood still. - -'Mabel,' she said aloud. - -It was like the sentence of a judge, that one short word. - -I tried to push past her and go in, but she stopped me with her arm. -She was wholly mistress of herself, I saw. - -'Hush!' she said in a lower voice. 'I've got her round again with -brandy. She's sleeping quietly now. We won't disturb her.' - -She drew me farther out into the landing, and as she did so, the clock -in the hall below struck half-past three. I had stood, then, thirty -minutes in the corridor below. 'You've been such a long time,' she said -simply. 'I feared for you,' and she took my hand in her own that was -cold and clammy. - - -VIII - -And then, while that dreadful house stood listening about us in the -early hours of this chill morning upon the edge of winter, she told -me, with laconic brevity, things about Mabel that I heard as from a -distance. There was nothing so unusual or tremendous in the short -recital, nothing indeed I might not have already guessed for myself. It -was the time and scene, the inference, too, that made it so afflicting: -the idea that Mabel believed herself so utterly and hopelessly -lost--beyond recovery _damned_. - -That she had loved him with so passionate a devotion that she had given -her soul into his keeping, this certainly I had not divined--probably -because I had never thought about it one way or the other. He had -'converted' her, I knew, but that she had subscribed whole-heartedly -to that most cruel and ugly of his dogmas--this was new to me, and -came with a certain shock as I heard it. In love, of course, the -weaker nature is receptive to all manner of suggestion. This man had -'suggested' his pet brimstone lake so vividly that she had listened -and believed. He had frightened her into heaven; and his heaven, a -definite locality in the skies, had its foretaste here on earth in -miniature--The Towers, house and garden. Into his dolorous scheme of a -handful saved and millions damned, his enclosure, as it were, of sheep -and goats, he had swept her before she was aware of it. Her mind no -longer was her own. And it was Mrs. Marsh who kept the thought-stream -open, though tempered, as she deemed, with that touch of craven, -superstitious mercy. - -But what I found it difficult to understand, and still more difficult -to accept, was that, during her year abroad, she had been so haunted -with a secret dread of that hideous after-death that she had finally -revolted and tried to recover that clearer state of mind she had -enjoyed before the religious bully had stunned her--yet had tried -in vain. She had returned to The Towers to find her soul again, only -to realise that it was lost eternally. The cleaner state of mind lay -then beyond recovery. In the reaction that followed the removal of his -terrible 'suggestion,' she felt the crumbling of all that he had taught -her, but searched in vain for the peace and beauty his teachings had -destroyed. Nothing came to replace these. She was empty, desolate, -hopeless; craving her former joy and carelessness, she found only hate -and diabolical calculation. This man, whom she had loved to the point -of losing her soul for him, had bequeathed to her one black and fiery -thing--the terror of the damned. His thinking wrapped her in this iron -garment that held her fast. - -All this Frances told me, far more briefly than I have here repeated -it. In her eyes and gestures and laconic sentences lay the conviction -of great beating issues and of menacing drama my own description fails -to recapture. It was all so incongruous and remote from the world I -lived in that more than once a smile, though a smile of pity, fluttered -to my lips; but a glimpse of my face in the mirror showed rather the -leer of a grimace. There was no real laughter anywhere that night. -The entire adventure seemed so incredible, here, in this twentieth -century--but yet delusion, that feeble word, did not occur once in -the comments my mind suggested though did not utter. I remembered -that forbidding Shadow too; my sister's water-colours; the vanished -personality of our hostess; the inexplicable, thundering Noise, and the -figure of Mrs. Marsh in her midnight ritual that was so childish yet so -horrible. I shivered in spite of my own 'emancipated' cast of mind. - -'There _is_ no Mabel,' were the words with which my sister sent another -shower of ice down my spine. 'He has killed her in his lake of fire and -brimstone.' - -I stared at her blankly, as in a nightmare where nothing true or -possible ever happened. - -'He killed her in his lake of fire and brimstone,' she repeated more -faintly. - -A desperate effort was in me to say the strong, sensible thing which -should destroy the oppressive horror that grew so stiflingly about us -both, but again the mirror drew the attempted smile into the merest -grin, betraying the distortion that was everywhere in the place. - -'You mean,' I stammered beneath my breath, 'that her faith has gone, -but that the terror has remained?' I asked it, dully groping. I moved -out of the line of the reflection in the glass. - -She bowed her head as though beneath a weight; her skin was the pallor -of grey ashes. - -'You mean,' I said louder, 'that she has lost her--mind?' - -'She is terror incarnate,' was the whispered answer. 'Mabel has lost -her soul. Her soul is--there!' She pointed horribly below. 'She is -seeking it...?' - -The word 'soul' stung me into something of my normal self again. - -'But her terror, poor thing, is not--cannot be--transferable to _us_!' -I exclaimed more vehemently. 'It certainly is not convertible into -feelings, sights and--even sounds!' - -She interrupted me quickly, almost impatiently, speaking with that -conviction by which she conquered me so easily that night. - -'It is her terror that has revived "the Others." It has brought her -into touch with them. They are loose and driving after her. Her -efforts at resistance have given them also hope--that escape, after -all, _is_ possible. Day and night they strive.' - -'Escape! Others!' The anger fast rising in me dropped of its own accord -at the moment of birth. It shrank into a shuddering beyond my control. -In that moment, I think, I would have believed in the possibility of -anything and everything she might tell me. To argue or contradict -seemed equally futile. - -'His strong belief, as also the beliefs of others who have preceded -him,' she replied, so sure of herself that I actually turned to look -over my shoulder, 'have left their shadow like a thick deposit over -the house and grounds. To them, poor souls imprisoned by thought, it -was hopeless as granite walls--until her resistance, her effort to -dissipate it--let in light. Now, in their thousands, they are flocking -to this little light, seeking escape. Her own escape, don't you see, -may release them all!' - -It took my breath away. Had his predecessors, former occupants of this -house, also preached damnation of all the world but their own exclusive -sect? Was this the explanation of her obscure talk of 'layers,' each -striving against the other for domination? And if men are spirits, -and these spirits survive, could strong Thought thus determine their -condition even afterwards? - -So many questions flooded into me that I selected no one of them, but -stared in uncomfortable silence, bewildered, out of my depth, and -acutely, painfully distressed. There was so odd a mixture of possible -truth and incredible, unacceptable explanation in it all; so much -confirmed, yet so much left darker than before. What she said did, -indeed, offer a quasi-interpretation of my own series of abominable -sensations--strife, agony, pity, hate, escape--but so far-fetched that -only the deep conviction in her voice and attitude made it tolerable -for a second even. I found myself in a curious state of mind. I could -neither think clearly nor say a word to refute her amazing statements, -whispered there beside me in the shivering hours of the early morning -with only a wall between ourselves and--Mabel. Close behind her words -I remember this singular thing, however--that an atmosphere as of the -Inquisition seemed to rise and stir about the room, beating awful wings -of black above my head. - -Abruptly, then, a moment's common-sense returned to me. I faced her. - -'And the Noise?' I said aloud, more firmly, 'the roar of the closing -doors? We have _all_ heard that! Is that subjective too?' - -Frances looked sideways about her in a queer fashion that made my -flesh creep again. I spoke brusquely, almost angrily. I repeated the -question, and waited with anxiety for her reply. - -'What noise?' she asked, with the frank expression of an innocent -child. 'What closing doors?' - -But her face turned from grey to white, and I saw that drops of -perspiration glistened on her forehead. She caught at the back of -a chair to steady herself, then glanced about her again with that -sidelong look that made my blood run cold. I understood suddenly then. -She did not take in what I said. I knew now. She was listening--for -something else. - -And the discovery revived in me a far stronger emotion than any mere -desire for immediate explanation. Not only did I not insist upon an -answer, but I was actually terrified lest she _would_ answer. More, -I felt in me a terror lest I should be moved to describe my own -experiences below-stairs, thus increasing their reality and so the -reality of all. She might even explain them too! - -Still listening intently, she raised her head and looked me in the -eyes. Her lips opened to speak. The words came to me from a great -distance, it seemed, and her voice had a sound like a stone that drops -into a deep well, its fate though hidden, known. - -'We are in it with her, too, Bill. We are in it with her. Our -interpretations vary--because we are--in parts of it only. Mabel is in -it--_all_.' - -The desire for violence came over me. If only she would say a definite -thing in plain King's English! If only I could find it in me to give -utterance to what shouted so loud within me! If only--the same old -cry--something would happen! For all this elliptic talk that dazed my -mind left obscurity everywhere. Her atrocious meaning, none the less, -flashed through me, though vanishing before it wholly divulged itself. - -It brought a certain reaction with it. I found my tongue. Whether I -actually believed what I said is more than I can swear to; that it -seemed to me wise at the moment is all I remember. My mind was in a -state of obscure perception less than that of normal consciousness. - -'Yes, Frances, I believe that what you say is the truth, and that we -are in it with her'--I meant to say it with loud, hostile emphasis, -but instead I whispered it lest she should hear the trembling of my -voice--'and for that reason, my dear sister, we leave to-morrow, you -and I--to-day, rather, since it is long past midnight--we leave this -house of the damned. We go back to London.' - -Frances looked up, her face distraught almost beyond recognition. -But it was not my words that caused the tumult in her heart. It was -a sound--the sound she had been listening for--so faint I barely -caught it myself, and had she not pointed I could never have known -the direction whence it came. Small and terrible it rose again in the -stillness of the night, the sound of gnashing teeth. And behind it came -another--the tread of stealthy footsteps. Both were just outside the -door. - -The room swung round me for a second. My first instinct to prevent my -sister going out--she had dashed past me frantically to the door--gave -place to another when I saw the expression in her eyes. I followed her -lead instead; it was surer than my own. The pistol in my pocket swung -uselessly against my thigh. I was flustered beyond belief and ashamed -that I was so. - -'Keep close to me, Frances,' I said huskily, as the door swung wide and -a shaft of light fell upon a figure moving rapidly. Mabel was going -down the corridor. Beyond her, in the shadows on the staircase, a -second figure stood beckoning, scarcely visible. - -'Before they get her! Quick!' was screamed into my ears, and our arms -were about her in the same moment. It was a horrible scene. Not that -Mabel struggled in the least, but that she collapsed as we caught her -and fell with her dead weight, as of a corpse, limp, against us. And -her teeth began again. They continued, even beneath the hand that -Frances clapped upon her lips.... - -We carried her back into her own bedroom, where she lay down peacefully -enough. It was so soon over.... The rapidity of the whole thing robbed -it of reality almost. It had the swiftness of something remembered -rather than of something witnessed. She slept again so quickly that it -was almost as if we had caught her sleep-walking. I cannot say. I asked -no questions at the time; I have asked none since; and my help was -needed as little as the protection of my pistol. Frances was strangely -competent and collected.... I lingered for some time uselessly by the -door, till at length, looking up with a sigh, she made a sign for me to -go. - -'I shall wait in your room next door,' I whispered, 'till you come.' -But, though going out, I waited in the corridor instead, so as to hear -the faintest call for help. In that dark corridor upstairs I waited, -but not long. It may have been fifteen minutes when Frances reappeared, -locking the door softly behind her. Leaning over the banisters, I saw -her. - -'I'll go in again about six o'clock,' she whispered, 'as soon as it -gets light. She is sound asleep now. Please don't wait. If anything -happens I'll call--you might leave your door ajar, perhaps.' And she -came up, looking like a ghost. - -But I saw her first safely into bed, and the rest of the night I spent -in an armchair close to my opened door, listening for the slightest -sound. Soon after five o'clock I heard Frances fumbling with the key, -and, peering over the railing again, I waited till she reappeared and -went back into her own room. She closed her door. Evidently she was -satisfied that all was well. - -Then, and then only, did I go to bed myself, but not to sleep. I could -not get the scene out of my mind, especially that odious detail of it -which I hoped and believed my sister had not seen--the still, dark -figure of the housekeeper waiting on the stairs below--waiting, of -course, for Mabel. - - -IX - -It seems I became a mere spectator after that; my sister's lead was -so assured for one thing, and, for another, the responsibility of -leaving Mabel alone--Frances laid it bodily upon my shoulders--was a -little more than I cared about. Moreover, when we all three met later -in the day, things went on so exactly as before, so absolutely without -friction or distress, that to present a sudden, obvious excuse for -cutting our visit short seemed ill-judged. And on the lowest grounds it -would have been desertion. At any rate, it was beyond my powers, and -Frances was quite firm that _she_ must stay. We therefore did stay. -Things that happen in the night always seem exaggerated and distorted -when the sun shines brightly next morning; no one can reconstruct the -terror of a nightmare afterwards, nor comprehend why it seemed so -overwhelming at the time. - -I slept till ten o'clock, and when I rang for breakfast, a note from -my sister lay upon the tray, its message of counsel couched in a calm -and comforting strain. Mabel, she assured me, was herself again and -remembered nothing of what had happened; there was no need of any -violent measures; I was to treat her exactly as if I knew nothing. -'And, if you don't mind, Bill, let us leave the matter unmentioned -between ourselves as well. Discussion exaggerates; such things are best -not talked about. I'm sorry I disturbed you so unnecessarily; I was -stupidly excited. Please forget all the things I said at the moment.' -She had written 'nonsense' first instead of 'things,' then scratched -it out. She wished to convey that hysteria had been abroad in the -night, and I readily gulped the explanation down, though it could not -satisfy me in the smallest degree. - -There was another week of our visit still, and we stayed it out to the -end without disaster. My desire to leave at times became that frantic -thing, desire to escape; but I controlled it, kept silent, watched -and wondered. Nothing happened. As before, and everywhere, there was -no sequence of development, no connection between cause and effect; -and climax, none whatever. The thing swayed up and down, backwards -and forwards like a great loose curtain in the wind, and I could only -vaguely surmise what caused the draught or why there was a curtain at -all. A novelist might mould the queer material into coherent sequence -that would be interesting but could not be true. It remains, therefore, -not a story but a history. Nothing happened. - -Perhaps my intense dislike of the fall of darkness was due wholly -to my stirred imagination, and perhaps my anger when I learned that -Frances now occupied a bed in our hostess's room was unreasonable. -Nerves were unquestionably on edge. I was for ever on the look-out -for some event that should make escape imperative, but yet that never -presented itself. I slept lightly, left my door ajar to catch the -slightest sound, even made stealthy tours of the house below-stairs -while everybody dreamed in their beds. But I discovered nothing; the -doors were always locked; I neither saw the housekeeper again in -unreasonable times and places, nor heard a footstep in the passages -and halls. The Noise was never once repeated. That horrible, ultimate -thunder, my intensest dread of all, lay withdrawn into the abyss -whence it had twice arisen. And though in my thoughts it was sternly -denied existence, the great black reason for the fact afflicted me -unbelievably. Since Mabel's fruitless effort to escape, the Doors kept -closed remorselessly. She had failed; _they_ gave up hope. For this -was the explanation that haunted the region of my mind where feelings -stir and hint before they clothe themselves in actual language. Only I -firmly kept it there; it never knew expression. - -But, if my ears were open, my eyes were opened too, and it were idle -to pretend that I did not notice a hundred details that were capable -of sinister interpretation had I been weak enough to yield. Some -protective barrier had fallen into ruins round me, so that Terror -stalked behind the general collapse, feeling for me through all the -gaping fissures. Much of this, I admit, must have been merely the -elaboration of those sensations I had first vaguely felt, before -subsequent events and my talks with Frances had dramatised them into -living thoughts. I therefore leave them unmentioned in this history, -just as my mind left them unmentioned in that interminable final week. - -Our life went on precisely as before--Mabel unreal and outwardly so -still; Frances, secretive, anxious, tactful to the point of slyness, -and keen to save to the point of self-forgetfulness. There were the -same stupid meals, the same wearisome long evenings, the stifling -ugliness of house and grounds, the Shadow settling in so thickly that -it seemed almost a visible, tangible thing. I came to feel the only -friendly things in all this hostile, cruel place were the robins that -hopped boldly over the monstrous terraces and even up to the windows of -the unsightly house itself. The robins alone knew joy; they danced, -believing no evil thing was possible in all God's radiant world. -They believed in everybody; _their_ god's plan of life had no room -in it for hell, damnation and lakes of brimstone. I came to love the -little birds. Had Samuel Franklyn known them, he might have preached a -different sermon, bequeathing love in place of terror!... - -Most of my time I spent writing; but it was a pretence at best, and -rather a dangerous one besides. For it stirred the mind to production, -with the result that other things came pouring in as well. With -reading it was the same. In the end I found an aggressive, deliberate -resistance to be the only way of feasible defence. To walk far afield -was out of the question, for it meant leaving my sister too long alone, -so that my exercise was confined to nearer home. My saunters in the -grounds, however, never surprised the goblin garden again. It was close -at hand, but I seemed unable to get wholly into it. Too many things -assailed my mind for any one to hold exclusive possession, perhaps. - -Indeed, all the interpretations, all the 'layers,' to use my sister's -phrase, slipped in by turns and lodged there for a time. They came day -and night, and though my reason denied them entrance they held their -own as by a kind of squatters' right. They stirred moods already in -me, that is, and did not introduce entirely new ones; for every mind -conceals ancestral deposits that have been cultivated in turn along the -whole line of its descent. Any day a chance shower may cause this one -or that to blossom. Thus it came to me, at any rate. After darkness the -Inquisition paced the empty corridors and set up ghastly apparatus in -the dismal halls; and once, in the library, there swept over me that -easy and delicious conviction that by confessing my wickedness I could -resume it later, since Confession is expression, and expression brings -relief and leaves one ready to accumulate again. And in such mood I -felt bitter and unforgiving towards all others who thought differently. -Another time it was a Pagan thing that assaulted me--so trivial yet -oh, so significant at the time--when I dreamed that a herd of centaurs -rolled up with a great stamping of hoofs round the house to destroy it, -and then woke to hear the horses tramping across the field below the -lawns; they neighed ominously and their noisy panting was audible as if -it were just outside my windows. - -But the tree episode, I think, was the most curious of all--except, -perhaps, the incident with the children which I shall mention in a -moment--for its closeness to reality was so unforgettable. Outside the -east window of my room stood a giant wellingtonia on the lawn, its -head rising level with the upper sash. It grew some twenty feet away, -planted on the highest terrace, and I often saw it when closing my -curtains for the night, noticing how it drew its heavy skirts about -it, and how the light from other windows threw glimmering streaks and -patches that turned it into the semblance of a towering, solemn image. -It stood there then so strikingly, somehow like a great old-world idol, -that it claimed attention. Its appearance was curiously formidable. -Its branches rustled without visibly moving and it had a certain -portentous, forbidding air, so grand and dark and monstrous in the -night that I was always glad when my curtains shut it out. Yet, once in -bed, I had never thought about it one way or the other, and by day had -certainly never sought it out. - -One night, then, as I went to bed and closed this window against a -cutting easterly wind, I saw--that there were two of these trees. A -brother wellingtonia rose mysteriously beside it, equally huge, equally -towering, equally monstrous. The menacing pair of them faced me there -upon the lawn. But in this new arrival lay a strange suggestion that -frightened me before I could argue it away. Exact counterpart of its -giant companion, it revealed also that gross, odious quality that all -my sister's paintings held. I got the odd impression that the rest of -these trees, stretching away dimly in a troop over the farther lawns, -were similar, and that, led by this enormous pair, they had all moved -boldly closer to my windows. At the same moment a blind was drawn down -over an upper room; the second tree disappeared into the surrounding -darkness. It was, of course, this chance light that had brought it -into the field of vision, but when the black shutter dropped over it, -hiding it from view, the manner of its vanishing produced the queer -effect that it had slipped into its companion--almost that it had been -an emanation of the one I so disliked, and not really a tree at all! In -this way the garden turned vehicle for expressing what lay behind it -all!... - -The behaviour of the doors, the little, ordinary doors, seems scarcely -worth mention at all, their queer way of opening and shutting of their -own accord; for this was accountable in a hundred natural ways, and to -tell the truth, I never caught one in the act of moving. Indeed, only -after frequent repetitions did the detail force itself upon me, when, -having noticed one, I noticed all. It produced, however, the unpleasant -impression of a continual coming and going in the house, as though, -screened cleverly and purposely from actual sight, some one in the -building held constant invisible intercourse with--others. - -Upon detailed descriptions of these uncertain incidents I do not -venture, individually so trivial, but taken all together so impressive -and so insolent. But the episode of the children, mentioned above, was -different. And I give it because it showed how vividly the intuitive -child-mind received the impression--one impression, at any rate--of -what was in the air. It may be told in a very few words. I believe -they were the coachman's children, and that the man had been in Mr. -Franklyn's service; but of neither point am I quite positive. I heard -screaming in the rose-garden that runs along the stable walls--it -was one afternoon not far from the tea-hour--and on hurrying up I -found a little girl of nine or ten fastened with ropes to a rustic -seat, and two other children--boys, one about twelve and one much -younger--gathering sticks beneath the climbing rose-trees. The girl -was white and frightened, but the others were laughing and talking -among themselves so busily while they picked that they did not notice -my abrupt arrival. Some game, I understood, was in progress, but a -game that had become too serious for the happiness of the prisoner, -for there was a fear in the girl's eyes that was a very genuine fear -indeed. I unfastened her at once; the ropes were so loosely and -clumsily knotted that they had not hurt her skin; it was not that which -made her pale. She collapsed a moment upon the bench, then picked up -her tiny skirts and dived away at full speed into the safety of the -stable-yard. There was no response to my brief comforting, but she ran -as though for her life, and I divined that some horrid boys' cruelty -had been afoot. It was probably mere thoughtlessness, as cruelty with -children usually is, but something in me decided to discover exactly -what it was. - -And the boys, not one whit alarmed at my intervention, merely laughed -shyly when I explained that their prisoner had escaped, and told me -frankly what their 'gime' had been. There was no vestige of shame in -them, nor any idea, of course, that they aped a monstrous reality. -That it was mere pretence was neither here nor there. To them, though -make-believe, it was a make-believe of something that was right and -natural and in no sense cruel. Grown-ups did it too. It was necessary -for her good. - -'We was going to burn her up, sir,' the older one informed me, -answering my 'Why?' with the explanation, 'Because she wouldn't believe -what we wanted 'er to believe.' - -And, game though it was, the feeling of reality about the little -episode was so arresting, so terrific in some way, that only with -difficulty did I confine my admonitions on this occasion to mere -words. The boys slunk off, frightened in their turn, yet not, I felt, -convinced that they had erred in principle. It was their inheritance. -They had breathed it in with the atmosphere of their bringing-up. They -would renew the salutary torture when they could--till she 'believed' -as they did. - -I went back into the house, afflicted with a passion of mingled pity -and distress impossible to describe, yet on my short way across the -garden was attacked by other moods in turn, each more real and bitter -than its predecessor. I received the whole series, as it were, at once. -I felt like a diver rising to the surface through layers of water at -different temperatures, though here the natural order was reversed, -and the cooler strata were uppermost, the heated ones below. Thus, I -was caught by the goblin touch of the willows that fringed the field; -by the sensuous curving of the twisted ash that formed a gateway to -the little grove of sapling oaks where fauns and satyrs lurked to play -in the moonlight before Pagan altars; and by the cloaking darkness, -next, of the copse of stunted pines, close gathered each to each, where -hooded figures stalked behind an awful cross. The episode with the -children seemed to have opened me like a knife. The whole Place rushed -at me. - -I suspect this synthesis of many moods produced in me that climax of -loathing and disgust which made me feel the limit of bearable emotion -had been reached, so that I made straight to find Frances in order to -convince her that at any rate _I_ must leave. For, although this was -our last day in the house, and we had arranged to go next day, the -dread was in me that she would still find some persuasive reason for -staying on. And an unexpected incident then made my dread unnecessary. -The front door was open and a cab stood in the drive; a tall, elderly -man was gravely talking in the hall with the parlour-maid we called the -Grenadier. He held a piece of paper in his hand. 'I have called to see -the house,' I heard him say, as I ran up the stairs to Frances, who was -peering like an inquisitive child over the banisters.... - -'Yes,' she told me with a sigh, I know not whether of resignation -or relief, 'the house is to be let or sold. Mabel has decided. Some -Society or other, I believe----' - -I was overjoyed: this made our leaving right and possible. 'You never -told me, Frances!' - -'Mabel only heard of it a few days ago. She told me herself this -morning. It is a chance, she says. Alone she cannot get it "straight."' - -'Defeat?' I asked, watching her closely. - -'She thinks she has found a way out. It's not a family, you see, it's a -Society, a sort of Community--they go in for thought----' - -'A Community!' I gasped. 'You mean religious?' - -She shook her head. 'Not exactly,' she said smiling, 'but some kind of -association of men and women who want a headquarters in the country--a -place where they can write and meditate--_think_--mature their plans -and all the rest--I don't know exactly what.' - -'Utopian dreamers?' I asked, yet feeling an immense relief come over -me as I heard. But I asked in ignorance, not cynically. Frances would -know. She knew all this kind of thing. - -'No, not that exactly,' she smiled. 'Their teachings are grand and -simple--old as the world too, really--the basis of every religion -before men's mind perverted them with their manufactured creeds----' - -Footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of voices, interrupted our odd -impromptu conversation, as the Grenadier came up, followed by the -tall, grave gentleman who was being shown over the house. My sister -drew me along the corridor towards her room, where she went in and -closed the door behind me, yet not before I had stolen a good look at -the caller--long enough, at least, for his face and general appearance -to have made a definite impression on me. For something strong and -peaceful emanated from his presence; he moved with such quiet dignity; -the glance of his eyes was so steady and reassuring, that my mind -labelled him instantly as a type of man one would turn to in an -emergency and not be disappointed. I had seen him but for a passing -moment, but I had seen him twice, and the way he walked down the -passage, looking competently about him, conveyed the same impression -as when I saw him standing at the door--fearless, tolerant, wise. 'A -sincere and kindly character,' I judged instantly, 'a man whom some big -kind of love has trained in sweetness towards the world; no hate in him -anywhere.' A great deal, no doubt, to read in so brief a glance! Yet -his voice confirmed my intuition, a deep and very gentle voice, great -firmness in it too. - -'Have I become suddenly sensitive to people's atmospheres in this -extraordinary fashion?' I asked myself, smiling, as I stood in the room -and heard the door close behind me. 'Have I developed some clairvoyant -faculty here?' At any other time I should have mocked. - -And I sat down and faced my sister, feeling strangely comforted and at -peace for the first time since I had stepped beneath The Towers' roof a -month ago. Frances, I then saw, was smiling a little as she watched me. - -'You know him?' I asked. - -'You felt it too?' was her question in reply. 'No,' she added, 'I don't -know him--beyond the fact that he is a leader in the Movement and has -devoted years and money to its objects. Mabel felt the same thing in -him that you have felt--and jumped at it.' - -'But you've seen him before?' I urged, for the certainty was in me that -he was no stranger to her. - -She shook her head. 'He called one day early this week, when you were -out. Mabel saw him. I believe----' she hesitated a moment, as though -expecting me to stop her with my usual impatience of such subjects--'I -believe he has explained everything to her--the beliefs he embodies, -she declares, are her salvation--might be, rather, if she could adopt -them.' - -'Conversion again!' For I remembered her riches, and how gladly a -Society would gobble them. - -'The layers I told you about,' she continued calmly, shrugging her -shoulders slightly--'the deposits that are left behind by strong -thinking and _real_ belief--but especially by ugly, hateful belief, -because, you see--there's more vital passion in that sort----' - -'Frances, I don't understand a bit,' I said out loud, but said it a -little humbly, for the impression the man had left was still strong -upon me and I was grateful for the steady sense of peace and comfort he -had somehow introduced. The horrors had been so dreadful. My nerves, -doubtless, were more than a little overstrained. Absurd as it must -sound, I classed him in my mind with the robins, the happy, confiding -robins who believed in everybody and thought no evil! I laughed a -moment at my ridiculous idea, and my sister, encouraged by this sign of -patience in me, continued more fluently. - -'Of course you don't understand, Bill? Why should you? You've never -thought about such things. Needing no creed yourself, you think all -creeds are rubbish.' - -'I'm open to conviction--I'm tolerant,' I interrupted. - -'You're as narrow as Sam Franklyn, and as crammed with prejudice,' she -answered, knowing that she had me at her mercy. - -'Then, pray, what may be his, or his Society's beliefs?' I asked, -feeling no desire to argue, 'and how are they going to prove your -Mabel's salvation? Can they bring beauty into all this aggressive hate -and ugliness?' - -'Certain hope and peace,' she said, 'that peace which is understanding, -and that understanding which explains _all_ creeds and therefore -tolerates them.' - -'Toleration! The one word a religious man loathes above all others! His -pet word is damnation----' - -'Tolerates them,' she repeated patiently, unperturbed by my explosion, -'because it includes them all.' - -'Fine, if true,' I admitted, 'very fine. But how, pray, does it include -them all?' - -'Because the key-word, the motto, of their Society is, "There is -no religion higher than Truth," and it has no single dogma of any -kind. Above all,' she went on, 'because it claims that no individual -can be "lost." It teaches universal salvation. To damn outsiders is -uncivilised, childish, impure. Some take longer than others--it's -according to the way they think and live--but all find peace, through -development, in the end. What the creeds call a hopeless soul, it -regards as a soul having further to go. There is no damnation----' - -'Well, well,' I exclaimed, feeling that she rode her hobby-horse too -wildly, too roughly over me, 'but what is the bearing of all this upon -this dreadful place, and upon Mabel? I'll admit that there is this -atmosphere--this--er--inexplicable horror in the house and grounds, and -that if not of damnation exactly, it is certainly damnable. I'm not too -prejudiced to deny _that_, for I've felt it myself.' - -To my relief she was brief. She made her statement, leaving me to take -it or reject it as I would. - -'The thought and belief its former occupants--have left behind. For -there has been coincidence here, a coincidence that must be rare. The -site on which this modern house now stands was Roman, before that -Early Britain, with burial mounds, before that again, Druid--the Druid -stones still lie in that copse below the field, the Tumuli among the -ilexes behind the drive. The older building Sam Franklyn altered and -practically pulled down was a monastery; he changed the chapel into a -meeting hall, which is now the music room; but, before he came here, -the house was occupied by Manetti, a violent Catholic without tolerance -or vision; and in the interval between these two, Julius Weinbaum had -it, Hebrew of most rigid orthodox type imaginable--so they all have -left their----' - -'Even so,' I repeated, yet interested to hear the rest, 'what of it?' - -'Simply this,' said Frances with conviction, 'that each in turn has -left his layer of concentrated thinking and belief behind him; because -each believed intensely, absolutely, beyond the least weakening of any -doubt--the kind of strong belief and thinking that is rare anywhere -to-day, the kind that wills, impregnates objects, saturates the -atmosphere, haunts, in a word. And each, believing he was utterly and -finally right, damned with equally positive conviction the rest of the -world. One and all preached that implicitly if not explicitly. It's -the root of every creed. Last of the bigoted, grim series came Samuel -Franklyn.' - -I listened in amazement that increased as she went on. Up to this point -her explanation was so admirable. It was, indeed, a pretty study in -psychology if it were true. - -'Then why does nothing ever happen?' I enquired mildly. 'A place so -thickly haunted ought to produce a crop of no ordinary results!' - -'There lies the proof,' she went on in a lowered voice, 'the proof -of the horror and the ugly reality. The thought and belief of each -occupant in turn kept all the others under. They gave no sign of life -at the time. But the results of thinking never die. They crop out again -the moment there's an opening. And, with the return of Mabel in her -negative state, believing nothing positive herself, the place for the -first time found itself free to reproduce its buried stores. Damnation, -hell-fire, and the rest--the most permanent and vital thought of all -those creeds, since it was applied to the majority of the world--broke -loose again, for there was no restraint to hold it back. Each sought -to obtain its former supremacy. None conquered. There results a -pandemonium of hate and fear, of striving to escape, of agonised, -bitter warring to find safety, peace--salvation. The place is saturated -by that appalling stream of thinking--the terror of the damned. It -concentrated upon Mabel, whose negative attitude furnished the channel -of deliverance. You and I, according to our sympathy with her, were -similarly involved. Nothing happened, because no one layer could ever -gain the supremacy.' - -I was so interested--I dare not say amused--that I stared in silence -while she paused a moment, afraid that she would draw rein and end the -fairy tale too soon. - -'The beliefs of this man, of his Society rather, vigorously thought and -therefore vigorously given out here, will put the whole place straight. -It will act as a solvent. These vitriolic layers actively denied, will -fuse and disappear in the stream of gentle, tolerant sympathy which is -love. For each member, worthy of the name, loves the world, and all -creeds go into the melting-pot; Mabel, too, if she joins them out of -real conviction, will find salvation----' - -'Thinking, I know, is of the first importance,' I objected, 'but don't -you, perhaps, exaggerate the power of feeling and emotion which in -religion are _au fond_ always hysterical?' - -'What _is_ the world,' she told me, 'but thinking and feeling? An -individual's world is entirely what that individual thinks and -believes--interpretation. There is no other. And unless he really -thinks and really believes, he has no permanent world at all. I grant -that few people think, and still fewer believe, and that most take -ready-made suits and make them do. Only the strong make their own -things; the lesser fry, Mabel among them, are merely swept up into what -has been manufactured for them. They get along somehow. You and I have -made for ourselves, Mabel has not. She is a nonentity, and when her -belief is taken from her, she goes with it.' - -It was not in me just then to criticise the evasion, or pick out the -sophistry from the truth. I merely waited for her to continue. - -'None of us have Truth, my dear Frances,' I ventured presently, seeing -that she kept silent. - -'Precisely,' she answered, 'but most of us have beliefs. And what one -believes and thinks affects the world at large. Consider the legacy of -hatred and cruelty involved in the doctrines men have built into their -creeds where the _sine qua non_ of salvation is absolute acceptance of -one particular set of views or else perishing everlastingly--for only -by repudiating history can they disavow it----' - -'You're not quite accurate,' I put in. 'Not all the creeds teach -damnation, do they? Franklyn did, of course, but the others are a bit -modernised now surely?' - -'Trying to get out of it,' she admitted, 'perhaps they are, but -damnation of unbelievers--of most of the world, that is--is their -rather favourite idea if you talk with them.' - -'I never have.' - -She smiled. 'But I have,' she said significantly, 'So, if you consider -what the various occupants of this house have so strongly held and -thought and believed, you need not be surprised that the influence -they have left behind them should be a dark and dreadful legacy. For -thought, you know, does leave----' - -The opening of the door, to my great relief, interrupted her, as the -Grenadier led in the visitor to see the room. He bowed to both of us -with a brief word of apology, looked round him, and withdrew, and with -his departure the conversation between us came naturally to an end. I -followed him out. Neither of us in any case, I think, cared to argue -further. - - * * * * * - -And, so far as I am aware, the curious history of The Towers ends -here too. There was no climax in the story sense. Nothing ever really -happened. We left next morning for London. I only know that the Society -in question took the house and have since occupied it to their entire -satisfaction, and that Mabel, who became a member shortly afterwards, -now stays there frequently when in need of repose from the arduous and -unselfish labours she took upon herself under its aegis. She dined with -us only the other night, here in our tiny Chelsea flat, and a jollier, -saner, more interesting and happy guest I could hardly wish for. She -was vital--in the best sense; the lay-figure had come to life. I found -it difficult to believe she was the same woman whose fearful effigy -had floated down those dreary corridors and almost disappeared in the -depths of that atrocious Shadow. - -What her beliefs were now I was wise enough to leave unquestioned, -and Frances, to my great relief, kept the conversation well away from -such inappropriate topics. It was clear, however, that the woman had -in herself some secret source of joy, that she was now an aggressive, -positive force, sure of herself, and apparently afraid of nothing in -heaven or hell. She radiated something very like hope and courage about -her, and talked as though the world were a glorious place and everybody -in it kind and beautiful. Her optimism was certainly infectious. - -The Towers were mentioned only in passing. The name of Marsh came -up--not _the_ Marsh, it so happened, but a name in some book that was -being discussed--and I was unable to restrain myself. Curiosity was too -strong. I threw out a casual enquiry Mabel could leave unanswered if -she wished. But there was no desire to avoid it. Her reply was frank -and smiling. - -'Would you believe it? She married,' Mabel told me, though obviously -surprised that I remembered the housekeeper at all; 'and is happy as -the day is long. She's found her right niche in life. A sergeant----' - -'The army!' I ejaculated. - -'Salvation Army,' she explained merrily. - -Frances exchanged a glance with me. I laughed too, for the information -took me by surprise. I cannot say why exactly, but I expected at least -to hear that the woman had met some dreadful end, not impossibly by -burning. - -'And The Towers, now called the Rest House,' Mabel chattered on, 'seems -to me the most peaceful and delightful spot in England----' - -'Really,' I said politely. - -'When I lived there in the old days--while you were there, perhaps, -though I won't be sure,' Mabel went on, 'the story got abroad that it -was haunted. Wasn't it odd? A less likely place for a ghost I've never -seen. Why, it had no atmosphere at all.' She said this to Frances, -glancing up at me with a smile that apparently had no hidden meaning. -'Did _you_ notice anything queer about it when you were there?' - -This was plainly addressed to me. - -'I found it--er--difficult to settle down to anything,' I said, after -an instant's hesitation. 'I couldn't work there----' - -'But I thought you wrote that wonderful book on the Deaf and Blind -while you stayed with me,' she asked innocently. - -I stammered a little. 'Oh no, not then. I only made a few notes--er--at -The Towers. My mind, oddly enough, refused to produce at all down -there. But--why do you ask? Did anything--was anything _supposed_ to -happen there?' - -She looked searchingly into my eyes a moment before she answered: - -'Not that I know of,' she said simply. - - - - -A DESCENT INTO EGYPT - - -I - -He was an accomplished, versatile man whom some called brilliant. -Behind his talents lay a wealth of material that right selection could -have lifted into genuine distinction. He did too many things, however, -to excel in one, for a restless curiosity kept him ever on the move. -George Isley was an able man. His short career in diplomacy proved it; -yet, when he abandoned this for travel and exploration, no one thought -it a pity. He would do big things in any line. He was merely finding -himself. - -Among the rolling stones of humanity a few acquire moss of considerable -value. They are not necessarily shiftless; they travel light; the -comfortable pockets in the game of life that attract the majority are -too small to retain them; they are in and out again in a moment. The -world says, 'What a pity! They stick to nothing!' but the fact is -that, like questing wild birds, they seek the nest they need. It is a -question of values. They judge swiftly, change their line of flight, -are gone, not even hearing the comment that they might have 'retired -with a pension.' - -And to this homeless, questing type George Isley certainly belonged. He -was by no means shiftless. He merely sought with insatiable yearning -that soft particular nest where he could settle down in permanently. -And to an accompaniment of sighs and regrets from his friends he found -it; he found it, however, not in the present, but by retiring from the -world 'without a pension,' unclothed with honours and distinctions. -He withdrew from the present and slipped softly back into a mighty -Past where he belonged. Why; how; obeying what strange instincts--this -remains unknown, deep secret of an inner life that found no -resting-place in modern things. Such instincts are not disclosable -in twentieth-century language, nor are the details of such a journey -properly describable at all. Except by the few--poets, prophets, -psychiatrists and the like--such experiences are dismissed with the -neat museum label--'queer.' - -So, equally, must the recorder of this experience share the honour of -that little label--he who by chance witnessed certain external and -visible signs of this inner and spiritual journey. There remains, -nevertheless, the amazing reality of the experience; and to the -recorder alone was some clue of interpretation possible, perhaps, -because in himself also lay the lure, though less imperative, of a -similar journey. At any rate the interpretation may be offered to the -handful who realise that trains and motors are not the only means of -travel left to our progressive race. - -In his younger days I knew George Isley intimately. I know him now. -But the George Isley I knew of old, the arresting personality with -whom I travelled, climbed, explored, is no longer with us. He is not -here. He disappeared--gradually--into the past. There is no George -Isley. And that such an individuality could vanish, while still his -outer semblance walks the familiar streets, normal apparently, and not -yet fifty in the number of his years, seems a tale, though difficult, -well worth the telling. For I witnessed the slow submergence. It was -very gradual. I cannot pretend to understand the entire significance -of it. There was something questionable and sinister in the business -that offered hints of astonishing possibilities. Were there a corps -of spiritual police, the matter might be partially cleared up, but -since none of the churches have yet organised anything effective -of this sort, one can only fall back upon variants of the blessed -'Mesopotamia,' and whisper of derangement, and the like. Such labels, -of course, explain as little as most other _clichés_ in life. That -well-groomed, soldierly figure strolling down Piccadilly, watching -the Races, dining out--there is no derangement there. The face is not -melancholy, the eye not wild; the gestures are quiet and the speech -controlled. Yet the eye is empty, the face expressionless. Vacancy -reigns there, provocative and significant. If not unduly noticeable, it -is because the majority in life neither expect, nor offer, more. - -At closer quarters you may think questioning things, or you may -think--nothing; probably the latter. You may wonder why something -continually expected does not make its appearance; and you may watch -for the evidence of 'personality' the general presentment of the man -has led you to expect. Disappointed, therefore, you may certainly be; -but I defy you to discover the smallest hint of mental disorder, and -of derangement or nervous affliction, absolutely nothing. Before long, -perhaps, you may feel you are talking with a dummy, some well-trained -automaton, a nonentity devoid of spontaneous life; and afterwards -you may find that memory fades rapidly away, as though no impression -of any kind has really been made at all. All this, yes; but nothing -pathological. A few may be stimulated by this startling discrepancy -between promise and performance, but most, accustomed to accept face -values, would say, 'a pleasant fellow, but nothing in him much ...' and -an hour later forget him altogether. - -For the truth is as you, perhaps, divined. You have been sitting beside -no one, you have been talking to, looking at, listening to--no one. -The intercourse has conveyed nothing that can waken human response -in you, good, bad or indifferent. There is no George Isley. And the -discovery, if you make it, will not even cause you to creep with the -uncanniness of the experience, because the exterior is so wholly -pleasing. George Isley to-day is a picture with no meaning in it that -charms merely by the harmonious colouring of an inoffensive subject. He -moves undiscovered in the little world of society to which he was born, -secure in the groove first habit has made comfortably automatic for -him. No one guesses; none, that is, but the few who knew him intimately -in early life. And his wandering existence has scattered these; they -have forgotten what he was. So perfect, indeed, is he in the manners -of the commonplace fashionable man, that no woman in his 'set' is -aware that he differs from the type she is accustomed to. He turns a -compliment with the accepted language of her text-book, motors, golfs -and gambles in the regulation manner of his particular world. He is an -admirable, perfect automaton. He is nothing. He is a human shell. - - -II - -The name of George Isley had been before the public for some years -when, after a considerable interval, we met again in a hotel in -Egypt, I for my health, he for I knew not what--at first. But I soon -discovered: archaeology and excavation had taken hold of him, though -he had gone so quietly about it that no one seemed to have heard. I -was not sure that he was glad to see me, for he had first withdrawn, -annoyed, it seemed, at being discovered, but later, as though after -consideration, had made tentative advances. He welcomed me with a -curious gesture of the entire body that seemed to shake himself free -from something that had made him forget my identity. There was pathos -somewhere in his attitude, almost as though he asked for sympathy. -'I've been out here, off and on, for the last three years,' he told -me, after describing something of what he had been doing. 'I find it -the most repaying hobby in the world. It leads to a reconstruction--an -imaginative reconstruction, of course, I mean--of an enormous thing the -world had entirely lost. A very gorgeous, stimulating hobby, believe -me, and a very entic--' he quickly changed the word--'exacting one -indeed.' - -I remember looking him up and down with astonishment. There was a -change in him, a lack; a note was missing in his enthusiasm, a colour -in the voice, a quality in his manner. The ingredients were not mixed -quite as of old. I did not bother him with questions, but I noted -thus at the very first a subtle alteration. Another facet of the man -presented itself. Something that had been independent and aggressive -was replaced by a certain emptiness that invited sympathy. Even in his -physical appearance the change was manifested--this odd suggestion of -lessening. I looked again more closely. Lessening was the word. He had -somehow dwindled. It was startling, vaguely unpleasant too. - -The entire subject, as usual, was at his finger-tips; he knew all the -important men; and had spent money freely on his hobby. I laughed, -reminding him of his remark that Egypt had no attractions for him, -owing to the organised advertisement of its somewhat theatrical charms. -Admitting his error with a gesture, he brushed the objection easily -aside. His manner, and a certain glow that rose about his atmosphere as -he answered, increased my first astonishment. His voice was significant -and suggestive. 'Come out with me,' he said in a low tone, 'and see -how little the tourists matter, how inappreciable the excavation is -compared to what remains to be done, how gigantic'--he emphasised -the word impressively--'the scope for discovery remains.' He made a -movement with his head and shoulders that conveyed a sense of the -prodigious, for he was of massive build, his cast of features stern, -and his eyes, set deep into the face, shone past me with a sombre gleam -in them I did not quite account for. It was the voice, however, that -brought the mystery in. It vibrated somewhere below the actual sound -of it. 'Egypt,' he continued--and so gravely that at first I made the -mistake of thinking he chose the curious words on purpose to produce -a theatrical effect--'that has enriched her blood with the pageant of -so many civilisations, that has devoured Persians, Greeks and Romans, -Saracens and Mamelukes, a dozen conquests and invasions besides,--what -can mere tourists or explorers matter to her? The excavators scratch -their skin and dig up mummies; and as for tourists!'--he laughed -contemptuously--'flies that settle for a moment on her covered face, to -vanish at the first signs of heat! Egypt is not even aware of them. The -real Egypt lies underground in darkness. Tourists must have light, to -be seen as well as to see. And the diggers----!' - -He paused, smiling with something between pity and contempt I did not -quite appreciate, for, personally, I felt a great respect for the -tireless excavators. And then he added, with a touch of feeling in -his tone as though he had a grievance against them, and had not also -'dug' himself, 'Men who uncover the dead, restore the temples, and -reconstruct a skeleton, thinking they have read its beating heart....' -He shrugged his great shoulders, and the rest of the sentence may -have been but the protest of a man in defence of his own hobby, but -that there seemed an undue earnestness and gravity about it that made -me wonder more than ever. He went on to speak of the strangeness of -the land as a mere ribbon of vegetation along the ancient river, the -rest all ruins, desert, sun-drenched wilderness of death, yet so -breakingly alive with wonder, power and a certain disquieting sense of -deathlessness. There seemed, for him, a revelation of unusual spiritual -kind in this land where the Past survived so potently. He spoke almost -as though it obliterated the Present. - -Indeed, the hint of something solemn behind his words made it difficult -for me to keep up the conversation, and the pause that presently came I -filled in with some word of questioning surprise, which yet, I think, -was chiefly in concurrence. I was aware of some big belief in him, -some enveloping emotion that escaped my grasp. Yet, though I did not -understand, his great mood swept me.... His voice lowered, then, as -he went on to mention temples, tombs and deities, details of his own -discoveries and of their effect upon him, but to this I listened with -half an ear, because in the unusual language he had first made use of -I detected this other thing that stirred my curiosity more--stirred it -uncomfortably. - -'Then the spell,' I asked, remembering the effect of Egypt upon myself -two years before, 'has worked upon you as upon most others, only with -greater power?' - -He looked hard at me a moment, signs of trouble showing themselves -faintly in his rugged, interesting face. I think he wanted to say more -than he could bring himself to confess. He hesitated. - -'I'm only glad,' he replied after a pause, 'it didn't get hold of me -earlier in life. It would have absorbed me. I should have lost all -other interests. Now,'--that curious look of helplessness, of asking -sympathy, flitted like a shadow through his eyes--'now that I'm on the -decline ... it matters less.' - -On the decline! I cannot imagine by what blundering I missed this -chance he never offered again; somehow or other the singular phrase -passed unnoticed at the moment, and only came upon me with its full -significance later when it was too awkward to refer to it. He tested my -readiness to help, to sympathise, to share his inner life. I missed the -clue. For, at the moment, a more practical consideration interested me -in his language. Being of those who regretted that he had not excelled -by devoting his powers to a single object, I shrugged my shoulders. -He caught my meaning instantly. Oh, he was glad to talk. He felt the -possibility of my sympathy underneath, I think. - -'No, no, you take me wrongly there,' he said with gravity. 'What -I mean--and I ought to know if any one does!--is that while most -countries give, others take away. Egypt changes you. No one can live -here and remain exactly what he was before.' - -This puzzled me. It startled, too, again. His manner was so earnest. -'And Egypt, you mean, is one of the countries that take away?' I asked. -The strange idea unsettled my thoughts a little. - -'First takes away from you,' he replied, 'but in the end takes _you_ -away. Some lands enrich you,' he went on, seeing that I listened, -'while others impoverish. From India, Greece, Italy, all ancient -lands, you return with memories you can use. From Egypt you return -with--nothing. Its splendour stupefies; it's useless. There is a change -in your inmost being, an emptiness, an unaccountable yearning, but you -find nothing that can fill the lack you're conscious of. Nothing comes -to replace what has gone. You have been drained.' - -I stared; but I nodded a general acquiescence. Of a sensitive, artistic -temperament this was certainly true, though by no means the superficial -and generally accepted verdict. The majority imagine that Egypt has -filled them to the brim. I took his deeper reading of the facts. I was -aware of an odd fascination in his idea. - -'Modern Egypt,' he continued, 'is, after all, but a trick of -civilisation,' and there was a kind of breathlessness in his measured -tone, 'but ancient Egypt lies waiting, hiding, underneath. Though dead, -she is amazingly alive. And you feel her touching you. She takes from -you. She enriches herself. You return from Egypt--less than you were -before.' - -What came over my mind is hard to say. Some touch of visionary -imagination burned its flaming path across my mind. I thought of some -old Grecian hero speaking of his delicious battle with the gods--battle -in which he knew he must be worsted, but yet in which he delighted -because at death his spirit would join their glorious company beyond -this world. I was aware, that is to say, of resignation as well as -resistance in him. He already felt the effortless peace which follows -upon long, unequal battling, as of a man who has fought the rapids with -a strain beyond his strength, then sinks back and goes with the awful -mass of water smoothly and indifferently--over the quiet fall. - -Yet, it was not so much his words which clothed picturesquely an -undeniable truth, as the force of conviction that drove behind them, -shrouding my mind with mystery and darkness. His eyes, so steadily -holding mine, were lit, I admit, yet they were calm and sane as those -of a doctor discussing the symptoms of that daily battle to which we -all finally succumb. This analogy occurred to me. - -'There _is_'--I stammered a little, faltering in my speech--'an -incalculable element in the country ... somewhere, I confess. You put -it--rather strongly, though, don't you?' - -He answered quietly, moving his eyes from my face towards the window -that framed the serene and exquisite sky towards the Nile. - -'The real, invisible Egypt,' he murmured, 'I do find rather--strong. -I find it difficult to deal with. You see,' and he turned towards me, -smiling like a tired child, 'I think the truth is that Egypt deals -with me.' - -'It draws----' I began, then started as he interrupted me at once. - -'Into the Past.' He uttered the little word in a way beyond me to -describe. There came a flood of glory with it, a sense of peace and -beauty, of battles over and of rest attained. No saint could have -brimmed 'Heaven' with as much passionately enticing meaning. He went -willingly, prolonging the struggle merely to enjoy the greater relief -and joy of the consummation. - -For again he spoke as though a struggle were in progress in his being. -I got the impression that he somewhere wanted help. I understood -the pathetic quality I had vaguely discerned already. His character -naturally was so strong and independent. It now seemed weaker, as -though certain fibres had been drawn out. And I understood then that -the spell of Egypt, so lightly chattered about in its sensational -aspect, so rarely known in its naked power, the nameless, creeping -influence that begins deep below the surface and thence sends delicate -tendrils outwards, was in his blood. I, in my untaught ignorance, had -felt it too; it is undeniable; one is aware of unaccountable, queer -things in Egypt; even the utterly prosaic feel them. Dead Egypt is -marvellously alive.... - -I glanced past him out of the big windows where the desert glimmered -in its featureless expanse of yellow leagues, two monstrous pyramids -signalling from across the Nile, and for a moment--inexplicably, it -seemed to me afterwards--I lost sight of my companion's stalwart -figure that was yet so close before my eyes. He had risen from his -chair; he was standing near me; yet my sight missed him altogether. -Something, dim as a shadow, faint as a breath of air, rose up and bore -my thoughts away, obliterating vision too. I forgot for a moment who -I was; identity slipped from me. Thought, sight, feeling, all sank -away into the emptiness of those sun-baked sands, sank, as it were, -into nothingness, caught away from the Present, enticed, absorbed.... -And when I looked back again to answer him, or rather to ask what -his curious words could mean--he was no longer there. More than -surprised--for there was something of shock in the disappearance--I -turned to search. I had not seen him go. He had stolen from my side so -softly, slipped away silently, mysteriously, and--so easily. I remember -that a faint shiver ran down my back as I realised that I was alone. - -Was it that, momentarily, I had caught a reflex of his state of mind? -Had my sympathy induced in myself an echo of what he experienced in -full--a going backwards, a loss of present vigour, the enticing, subtle -draw of those immeasurable sands that hide the living dead from the -interruptions of the careless living...? - -I sat down to reflect and, incidentally, to watch the magnificence of -the sunset; and the thing he had said returned upon me with insistent -power, ringing like distant bells within my mind. His talk of the -tombs and temples passed, but this remained. It stimulated oddly. His -talk, I remembered, had always excited curiosity in this way. Some -countries give, while others take away. What did he mean precisely? -What had Egypt taken away from him? And I realised more definitely -that something in him was missing, something he possessed in former -years that was now no longer there. He had grown shadowy already in -my thoughts. The mind searched keenly, but in vain ... and after some -time I left my chair and moved over to another window, aware that a -vague discomfort stirred within me that involved uneasiness--for him. -I felt pity. But behind the pity was an eager, absorbing curiosity as -well. He seemed receding curiously into misty distance, and the strong -desire leaped in me to overtake, to travel with him into some vanished -splendour that he had rediscovered. The feeling was a most remarkable -one, for it included yearning--the yearning for some nameless, -forgotten loveliness the world has lost. It was in me too. - -At the approach of twilight the mind loves to harbour shadows. The -room, empty of guests, was dark behind me; darkness, too, was creeping -across the desert like a veil, deepening the serenity of its grim, -unfeatured face. It turned pale with distance; the whole great sheet -of it went rustling into night. The first stars peeped and twinkled, -hanging loosely in the air as though they could be plucked like golden -berries; and the sun was already below the Libyan horizon, where gold -and crimson faded through violet into blue. I stood watching this -mysterious Egyptian dusk, while an eerie glamour seemed to bring the -incredible within uneasy reach of the half-faltering senses.... And -suddenly the truth dropped into me. Over George Isley, over his mind -and energies, over his thoughts and over his emotions too, a kind of -darkness was also slowly creeping. Something in him had dimmed, yet not -with age; it had gone out. Some inner night, stealing over the Present, -obliterated it. And yet he looked towards the dawn. Like the Egyptian -monuments his eyes turned--eastwards. - -And so it came to me that what he had lost was personal ambition. He -was glad, he said, that these Egyptian studies had not caught him -earlier in life; the language he made use of was peculiar: 'Now I am on -the decline it matters less.' A slight foundation, no doubt, to build -conviction on, and yet I felt sure that I was partly right. He was -fascinated, but fascinated against his will. The Present in him battled -against the Past. Still fighting, he had yet lost hope. The desire -_not_ to change was now no longer in him.... - -I turned away from the window so as not to see that grey, encroaching -desert, for the discovery produced a certain agitation in me. Egypt -seemed suddenly a living entity of enormous power. She stirred about -me. She was stirring now. This flat and motionless land pretending -it had no movement, was actually busy with a million gestures that -came creeping round the heart. She was reducing him. Already from -the complex texture of his personality she had drawn one vital -thread that in its relation to the general woof was of central -importance--ambition. The mind chose the simile; but in my heart where -thought fluttered in singular distress, another suggested itself as -truer. 'Thread' changed to 'artery.' I turned quickly and went up to my -room where I could be alone. The idea was somewhere ghastly. - - -III - -Yet, while dressing for dinner, the idea exfoliated as only a living -thing exfoliates. I saw in George Isley this great question mark -that had not been there formerly. All have, of course, some question -mark, and carry it about, though with most it rarely becomes visible -until the end. With him it was plainly visible in his atmosphere at -the hey-day of his life. He wore it like a fine curved scimitar above -his head. So full of life, he yet seemed willingly dead. For, though -imagination sought every possible explanation, I got no further than -the somewhat negative result--that a certain energy, wholly unconnected -with mere physical health, had been withdrawn. It was more than -ambition, I think, for it included intention, desire, self-confidence -as well. It was life itself. He was no longer in the Present. He was no -longer _here_. - -'Some countries give while others take away.... I find Egypt -difficult to deal with. I find it ...' and then that simple, -uncomplex adjective--'strong.' In memory and experience the entire -globe was mapped for him; it remained for Egypt, then, to teach him -this marvellous new thing. But not Egypt of to-day; it was vanished -Egypt that had robbed him of his strength. He had described it -as underground, hidden, waiting.... I was again aware of a faint -shuddering--as though something crept secretly from my inmost heart to -share the experience with him, and as though my sympathy involved a -willing consent that this should be so. With sympathy there must always -be a shedding of the personal self; each time I felt this sympathy, it -seemed that something left me. I thought in circles, arriving at no -definite point where I could rest and say 'that's it; I understand.' -The giving attitude of a country was easily comprehensible; but this -idea of robbery, of deprivation baffled me. An obscure alarm took hold -of me--for myself as well as for him. - -At dinner, where he invited me to his table, the impression passed off -a good deal, however, and I convicted myself of a woman's exaggeration; -yet, as we talked of many a day's adventure together in other lands, it -struck me that we oddly left the present out. We ignored to-day. His -thoughts, as it were, went most easily backwards. And each adventure -led, as by its own natural weight and impetus, towards one thing--the -enormous glory of a vanished age. Ancient Egypt was 'home' in this -mysterious game life played with death. The specific gravity of his -being, to say nothing for the moment of my own, had shifted lower, -farther off, backwards and below, or as he put it--underground. The -sinking sensation I experienced was of a literal kind.... - -And so I found myself wondering what had led him to this particular -hotel. I had come out with an affected organ the specialist promised -me would heal in the marvellous air of Helouan, but it was queer that -my companion also should have chosen it. Its _clientèle_ was mostly -invalid, German and Russian invalid at that. The Management set its -face against the lighter, gayer side of life that hotels in Egypt -usually encourage eagerly. It was a true rest-house, a place of repose -and leisure, a place where one could remain undiscovered and unknown. -No English patronised it. One might easily--the idea came unbidden, -suddenly--hide in it. - -'Then you're doing nothing just now,' I asked, 'in the way of digging? -No big expeditions or excavating at the moment?' - -'I'm recuperating,' he answered carelessly. 'I've have had two years up -at the Valley of the Kings, and overdid it rather. But I'm by way of -working at a little thing near here across the Nile.' And he pointed in -the direction of Sakkhâra, where the huge Memphian cemetery stretches -underground from the Dachûr Pyramids to the Gizeh monsters, four miles -lower down. 'There's a matter of a hundred years in that alone!' - -'You must have accumulated a mass of interesting material. I suppose -later you'll make use of it--a book or----' - -His expression stopped me--that strange look in the eyes that had -stirred my first uneasiness. It was as if something struggled up a -moment, looked bleakly out upon the present, then sank away again. - -'More,' he answered listlessly, 'than I can ever use. It's much more -likely to use me.' He said it hurriedly, looking over his shoulder as -though some one might be listening, then smiled significantly, bringing -his eyes back upon my own again. I told him that he was far too modest. -'If all the excavators thought like that,' I added, 'we ignorant ones -should suffer.' I laughed, but the laughter was only on my lips. - -He shook his head indifferently. 'They do their best; they do wonders,' -he replied, making an indescribable gesture as though he withdrew -willingly from the topic altogether, yet could not quite achieve it. 'I -know their books; I know the writers too--of various nationalities.' -He paused a moment, and his eyes turned grave. 'I cannot understand -quite--how they do it,' he added half below his breath. - -'The labour, you mean? The strain of the climate, and so forth?' I -said this purposely, for I knew quite well he meant another thing. The -way he looked into my face, however, disturbed me so that I believe I -visibly started. Something very deep in me sat up alertly listening, -almost on guard. - -'I mean,' he replied, 'that they must have uncommon powers of -resistance.' - -There! He had used the very word that had been hiding in me! 'It -puzzles me,' he went on, 'for, with one exception, they are not unusual -men. In the way of gifts--oh yes. It's in the way of resistance and -protection that I mean. Self-protection,' he added with emphasis. - -It was the way he said 'resistance' and 'self-protection' that sent -a touch of cold through me. I learned later that he himself had made -surprising discoveries in these two years, penetrating closer to the -secret life of ancient sacerdotal Egypt than any of his predecessors or -co-labourers--then, inexplicably, had ceased. But this was told to me -afterwards and by others. At the moment I was only conscious of this -odd embarrassment. I did not understand, yet felt that he touched upon -something intimately personal to himself. He paused, expecting me to -speak. - -'Egypt, perhaps, merely pours through them,' I ventured. 'They give -out mechanically, hardly realising how much they give. They report -facts devoid of interpretation. Whereas with you it's the actual -spirit of the past that is discovered and laid bare. You live it. You -feel old Egypt and disclose her. That divining faculty was always -yours--uncannily, I used to think.' - -The flash of his sombre eyes betrayed that my aim was singularly good. -It seemed a third had silently joined our little table in the corner. -Something intruded, evoked by the power of what our conversation -skirted but ever left unmentioned. It was huge and shadowy; it was -also watchful. Egypt came gliding, floating up beside us. I saw her -reflected in his face and gaze. The desert slipped in through walls and -ceiling, rising from beneath our feet, settling about us, listening, -peering, waiting. The strange obsession was sudden and complete. The -gigantic scale of her swam in among the very pillars, arches, and -windows of that modern dining-room. I felt against my skin the touch -of chilly air that sunlight never reaches, stealing from beneath the -granite monoliths. Behind it came the stifling breath of the heated -tombs, of the Serapeum, of the chambers and corridors in the pyramids. -There was a rustling as of myriad footsteps far away, and as of sand -the busy winds go shifting through the ages. And in startling contrast -to this impression of prodigious size, Isley himself wore suddenly an -air of strangely dwindling. For a second he shrank visibly before my -very eyes. He was receding. His outline seemed to retreat and lessen, -as though he stood to the waist in what appeared like flowing mist, -only his head and shoulders still above the ground. Far, far away I saw -him. - -It was a vivid inner picture that I somehow transferred objectively. It -was a dramatised sensation, of course. His former phrase 'now that I am -declining' flashed back upon me with sharp discomfort. Again, perhaps, -his state of mind was reflected into me by some emotional telepathy. I -waited, conscious of an almost sensible oppression that would not lift. -It seemed an age before he spoke, and when he did there was the tremor -of feeling in his voice he sought nevertheless to repress. I kept my -eyes on the table for some reason. But I listened intently. - -'It's you that have the divining faculty, not I,' he said, an -odd note of distance even in his tone, yet a resonance as though -it rose up between reverberating walls. 'There _is_, I believe, -something here that resents too close inquiry, or rather that resists -discovery--almost--takes offence.' - -I looked up quickly, then looked down again. It was such a startling -thing to hear on the lips of a modern Englishman. He spoke lightly, -but the expression of his face belied the careless tone. There was no -mockery in those earnest eyes, and in the hushed voice was a little -creeping sound that gave me once again the touch of goose-flesh. The -only word I can find is 'subterranean': all that was mental in him had -sunk, so that he seemed speaking underground, head and shoulders alone -visible. The effect was almost ghastly. - -'Such extraordinary obstacles are put in one's way,' he went on, -'when the prying gets too close to the--reality; physical, external -obstacles, I mean. Either that, or--the mind loses its assimilative -faculties. One or other happens--' his voice died down into a -whisper--'and discovery ceases of its own accord.' - -The same minute, then, he suddenly raised himself like a man emerging -from a tomb; he leaned across the table; he made an effort of some -violent internal kind, on the verge, I fully believe, of a pregnant -personal statement. There was confession in his attitude; I think he -was about to speak of his work at Thebes and the reason for its abrupt -cessation. For I had the feeling of one about to hear a weighty secret, -the responsibility unwelcome. This uncomfortable emotion rose in me, as -I raised my eyes to his somewhat unwillingly, only to find that I was -wholly at fault. It was not me he was looking at. He was staring past -me in the direction of the wide, unshuttered windows. The expression -of yearning was visible in his eyes again. Something had stopped his -utterance. - -And instinctively I turned and saw what he saw. So far as external -details were concerned, at least, I saw it. - -Across the glare and glitter of the uncompromising modern dining-room, -past crowded tables, and over the heads of Germans feeding -unpicturesquely, I saw--the moon. Her reddish disc, hanging unreal -and enormous, lifted the spread sheet of desert till it floated off -the surface of the world. The great window faced the east, where the -Arabian desert breaks into a ruin of gorges, cliffs, and flat-topped -ridges; it looked unfriendly, ominous, with danger in it; unlike the -serener sand-dunes of the Libyan desert, there lay both menace and -seduction behind its flood of shadows. And the moonlight emphasised -this aspect: its ghostly desolation, its cruelty, its bleak hostility, -turning it murderous. For no river sweetens this Arabian desert; -instead of sandy softness, it has fangs of limestone rock, sharp and -aggressive. Across it, just visible in the moonlight as a thread of -paler grey, the old camel-trail to Suez beckoned faintly. And it was -this that he was looking at so intently. - -It was, I know, a theatrical stage-like glimpse, yet in it a -seductiveness most potent. 'Come out,' it seemed to whisper, 'and -taste my awful beauty. Come out and lose yourself, and die. Come out -and follow my moonlit trail into the Past ... where there is peace and -immobility and silence. My kingdom is unchanging underground. Come -down, come softly, come through sandy corridors below this tinsel of -your modern world. Come back, come down into my golden past....' - -A poignant desire stole through my heart on moonlit feet; I was -personally conscious of a keen yearning to slip away in unresisting -obedience. For it was uncommonly impressive, this sudden, haunting -glimpse of the world outside. The hairy foreigners, uncouthly garbed, -all busily eating in full electric light, provided a sensational -contrast of emphatically distressing kind. A touch of what is called -unearthly hovered about that distance through the window. There was -weirdness in it. Egypt looked in upon us. Egypt watched and listened, -beckoning through the moonlit windows of the heart to come and find -her. Mind and imagination might flounder as they pleased, but something -of this kind happened undeniably, whether expression in language fails -to hold the truth or not. And George Isley, aware of being seen, looked -straight into the awful visage--fascinated. - -Over the bronze of his skin there stole a shade of grey. My own feeling -of enticement grew--the desire to go out into the moonlight, to leave -my kind and wander blindly through the desert, to see the gorges in -their shining silver, and taste the keenness of the cool, sharp air. -Further than this with me it did not go, but that my companion felt the -bigger, deeper draw behind this surface glamour, I have no reasonable -doubt. For a moment, indeed, I thought he meant to leave the table; he -had half risen in his chair; it seemed he struggled and resisted--and -then his big frame subsided again; he sat back; he looked, in the -attitude his body took, less impressive, smaller, actually shrunken -into the proportions of some minuter scale. It was as though something -in that second had been drawn out of him, decreasing even his physical -appearance. The voice, when he spoke presently with a touch of -resignation, held a lifeless quality as though deprived of virile -timbre. - -'It's always there,' he whispered, half collapsing back into his chair, -'it's always watching, waiting, listening. Almost like a monster of the -fables, isn't it? It makes no movement of its own, you see. It's far -too strong for that. It just hangs there, half in the air and half upon -the earth--a gigantic web. Its prey flies into it. That's Egypt all -over. D'you feel like that too, or does it seem to you just imaginative -rubbish? To me it seems that she just waits her time; she gets you -quicker that way; in the end you're bound to go.' - -'There's power certainly,' I said after a moment's pause to collect my -wits, my distress increased by the morbidness of his simile. 'For some -minds there may be a kind of terror too--for weak temperaments that are -all imagination.' My thoughts were scattered, and I could not readily -find good words. 'There is startling grandeur in a sight like that, -for instance,' and I pointed to the window. 'You feel drawn--as if you -simply _had_ to go.' My mind still buzzed with his curious words, 'In -the end you're bound to go.' It betrayed his heart and soul. 'I suppose -a fly does feel drawn,' I added, 'or a moth to the destroying flame. Or -is it just unconscious on their part?' - -He jerked his big head significantly. 'Well, well,' he answered, -'but the fly isn't necessarily weak, or the moth misguided. -Over-adventurous, perhaps, yet both obedient to the laws of their -respective beings. They get warnings too--only, when the moth wants -to know too much, the fire stops it. Both flame and spider enrich -themselves by understanding the natures of their prey; and fly and moth -return again and again until this is accomplished.' - -Yet George Isley was as sane as the head waiter who, noticing our -interest in the window, came up just then and enquired whether we felt -a draught and would prefer it closed. Isley, I realised, was struggling -to express a passionate state of soul for which, owing to its rarity, -no adequate expression lies at hand. There is a language of the mind, -but there is none as yet of the spirit. I felt ill at ease. All this -was so foreign to the wholesome, strenuous personality of the man as I -remembered it. - -'But, my dear fellow,' I stammered, 'aren't you giving poor old Egypt -a bad name she hardly deserves? I feel only the amazing strength and -beauty of it; awe, if you like, but none of this resentment you so -mysteriously hint at.' - -'You understand, for all that,' he answered quietly; and again he -seemed on the verge of some significant confession that might ease his -soul. My uncomfortable emotion grew. Certainly he was at high pressure -somewhere. 'And, if necessary, you could help. Your sympathy, I mean, -_is_ a help already.' He said it half to himself and in a suddenly -lowered tone again. - -'A help!' I gasped. 'My sympathy! Of course, if----' - -'A witness,' he murmured, not looking at me, 'some one who understands, -yet does not think me mad.' - -There was such appeal in his voice that I felt ready and eager to -do anything to help him. Our eyes met, and my own tried to express -this willingness in me; but what I said I hardly know, for a cloud -of confusion was on my mind, and my speech went fumbling like a -schoolboy's. I was more than disconcerted. Through this bewilderment, -then, I just caught the tail-end of another sentence in which the -words 'relief it is to have ... some one to hold to ... when the -disappearance comes ...' sounded like voices heard in dream. But I -missed the complete phrase and shrank from asking him to repeat it. - -Some sympathetic answer struggled to my lips, though what it was I know -not. The thing I murmured, however, seemed apparently well chosen. He -leaned across and laid his big hand a moment on my own with eloquent -pressure. It was cold as ice. A look of gratitude passed over his -sunburned features. He sighed. And we left the table then and passed -into the inner smoking-room for coffee--a room whose windows gave upon -columned terraces that allowed no view of the encircling desert. He -led the conversation into channels less personal and, thank heaven, -less intensely emotional and mysterious. What we talked about I now -forget; it was interesting but in another key altogether. His old charm -and power worked; the respect I had always felt for his character -and gifts returned in force, but it was the pity I now experienced -that remained chiefly in my mind. For this change in him became more -and more noticeable. He was less impressive, less convincing, less -suggestive. His talk, though so knowledgeable, lacked that spiritual -quality that drives home. He was uncannily less _real_. And I went up -to bed, uneasy and disturbed. 'It is not age,' I said to myself, 'and -assuredly it is not death he fears, although he spoke of disappearance. -It is mental--in the deepest sense. It is what religious people would -call soul. Something is happening to his soul.' - - -IV - -And this word 'soul' remained with me to the end. Egypt was taking his -soul away into the Past. What was of value in him went willingly; the -rest, some lesser aspect of his mind and character, resisted, holding -to the present. A struggle, therefore, was involved. But this was being -gradually obliterated too. - -How I arrived gaily at this monstrous conclusion seems to me now a -mystery; but the truth is that from a conversation one brings away a -general idea that is larger than the words actually heard and spoken. -I have reported, naturally, but a fragment of what passed between -us in language, and of what was suggested--by gesture, expression, -silence--merely perhaps a hint. I can only assert that this troubling -verdict remained a conviction in my mind. It came upstairs with me; -it watched and listened by my side. That mysterious Third evoked in -our conversation was bigger than either of us separately; it might -be called the spirit of ancient Egypt, or it might be called with -equal generalisation, the Past. This Third, at any rate, stood by me, -whispering this astounding thing. I went out on to my little balcony -to smoke a pipe and enjoy the comforting presence of the stars before -turning in. It came out with me. It was everywhere. I heard the barking -of dogs, the monotonous beating of a distant drum towards Bedraschien, -the sing-song voices of the natives in their booths and down the -dim-lit streets. I was aware of this invisible Third behind all these -familiar sounds. The enormous night-sky, drowned in stars, conveyed -it too. It was in the breath of chilly wind that whispered round the -walls, and it brooded everywhere above the sleepless desert. I was -alone as little as though George Isley stood beside me in person--and -at that moment a moving figure caught my eye below. My window was on -the sixth story, but there was no mistaking the tall and soldierly -bearing of the man who was strolling past the hotel. George Isley was -going slowly out into the desert. - -There was actually nothing unusual in the sight. It was only ten -o'clock; but for doctor's orders I might have been doing the same -myself. Yet, as I leaned over the dizzy ledge and watched him, a chill -struck through me, and a feeling nothing could justify, nor pages of -writing describe, rose up and mastered me. His words at dinner came -back with curious force. Egypt lay round him, motionless, a vast grey -web. His feet were caught in it. It quivered. The silvery meshes in -the moonlight announced the fact from Memphis up to Thebes, across the -Nile, from underground Sakkhâra to the Valley of the Kings. A tremor -ran over the entire desert, and again, as in the dining-room, the -leagues of sand went rustling. It seemed to me that I caught him in the -act of disappearing. - -I realised in that moment the haunting power of this mysterious still -atmosphere which is Egypt, and some magical emanation of its mighty -past broke over me suddenly like a wave. Perhaps in that moment I felt -what he himself felt; the withdrawing suction of the huge spent wave -swept something out of me into the past with it. An indescribable -yearning drew something living from my heart, something that longed -with a kind of burning, searching sweetness for a glory of spiritual -passion that was gone. The pain and happiness of it were more poignant -than may be told, and my present personality--some vital portion of it, -at any rate--wilted before the power of its enticement. - -I stood there, motionless as stone, and stared. Erect and steady, -knowing resistance vain, eager to go yet striving to remain, and half -with an air of floating off the ground, he went towards the pale grey -thread which was the track to Suez and the far Red Sea. There came -upon me this strange, deep sense of pity, pathos, sympathy that was -beyond all explanation, and mysterious as a pain in dreams. For a -sense of his awful loneliness stole into me, a loneliness nothing on -this earth could possibly relieve. Robbed of the Present, he sought -this chimera of his soul, an unreal Past. Not even the calm majesty -of this exquisite Egyptian night could soothe the dream away; the -peace and silence were marvellous, the sweet perfume of the desert air -intoxicating; but all these intensified it only. - -And though at a loss to explain my own emotion, its poignancy was so -real that a sigh escaped me and I felt that tears lay not too far away. -I watched him, yet felt I had no right to watch. Softly I drew back -from the window with the sensation of eavesdropping upon his privacy; -but before I did so I had seen his outline melt away into the dim world -of sand that began at the very walls of the hotel. He wore a cloak of -green that reached down almost to his heels, and its colour blended -with the silvery surface of the desert's dark sea-tint. This sheen -first draped and then concealed him. It covered him with a fold of its -mysterious garment that, without seam or binding, veiled Egypt for a -thousand leagues. The desert took him. Egypt caught him in her web. He -was gone. - - * * * * * - -Sleep for me just then seemed out of the question. The change in _him_ -made me feel less sure of myself. To see him thus invertebrate shocked -me. I was aware that I had nerves. - -For a long time I sat smoking by the window, my body weary, but my -imagination irritatingly stimulated. The big sign-lights of the hotel -went out; window after window closed below me; the electric standards -in the streets were already extinguished; and Helouan looked like a -child's white blocks scattered in ruin upon the nursery carpet. It -seemed so wee upon the vast expanse. It lay in a twinkling pattern, -like a cluster of glow-worms dropped into a negligible crease of the -tremendous desert. It peeped up at the stars, a little frightened. - -The night was very still. There hung an enormous brooding beauty -everywhere, a hint of the sinister in it that only the brilliance of -the blazing stars relieved. Nothing really slept. Grouped here and -there at intervals about this dun-coloured world stood the everlasting -watchers in solemn, tireless guardianship--the soaring Pyramids, the -Sphinx, the grim Colossi, the empty temples, the long-deserted tombs. -The mind was aware of them, stationed like sentries through the night. -'This is Egypt; you are actually in Egypt,' whispered the silence. -'Eight thousand years of history lie fluttering outside your window. -_She_ lies there underground, sleepless, mighty, deathless, not to be -trifled with. Beware! Or she will change you too!' - -My imagination offered this hint: Egypt _is_ difficult to realise. It -remains outside the mind, a fabulous, half-legendary idea. So many -enormous elements together refuse to be assimilated; the heart pauses, -asking for time and breath; the senses reel a little; and in the end -a mental torpor akin to stupefaction creeps upon the brain. With a -sigh the struggle is abandoned and the mind surrenders to Egypt on her -own terms. Alone the diggers and archaeologists, confined to definite -facts, offer successful resistance. My friend's use of the words -'resistance' and 'protection' became clearer to me. While logic halted, -intuition fluttered round this clue to the solution of the influences -at work. George Isley realised Egypt more than most--but as she had -been. - -And I recalled its first effect upon myself, and how my mind had been -unable to cope with the memory of it afterwards. There had come to -its summons a colossal medley, a gigantic, coloured blur that merely -bewildered. Only lesser points lodged comfortably in the heart. I saw a -chaotic vision: sands drenched in dazzling light, vast granite aisles, -stupendous figures that stared unblinking at the sun, a shining river -and a shadowy desert, both endless as the sky, mountainous pyramids -and gigantic monoliths, armies of heads, of paws, of faces--all set to -a scale of size that was prodigious. The items stunned; the composite -effect was too unwieldy to be grasped. Something that blazed with -splendour rolled before the eyes, too close to be seen distinctly--at -the same time very distant--unrealised. - -Then, with the passing of the weeks, it slowly stirred to life. It had -attacked unseen; its grip was quite tremendous; yet it could be neither -told, nor painted, nor described. It flamed up unexpectedly--in the -foggy London streets, at the Club, in the theatre. A sound recalled the -street-cries of the Arabs, a breath of scented air brought back the -heated sand beyond the palm groves. Up rose the huge Egyptian glamour, -transforming common things; it had lain buried all this time in deep -recesses of the heart that are inaccessible to ordinary daily life. And -there hid in it something of uneasiness that was inexplicable; awe, a -hint of cold eternity, a touch of something unchanging and terrific, -something sublime made lovely yet unearthly with shadowy time and -distance. The melancholy of the Nile and the grandeur of a hundred -battered temples dropped some unutterable beauty upon the heart. Up -swept the desert air, the luminous pale shadows, the naked desolation -that yet brims with sharp vitality. An Arab on his donkey tripped in -colour across the mind, melting off into tiny perspective, strangely -vivid. A string of camels stood in silhouette against the crimson -sky. Great winds, great blazing spaces, great solemn nights, great -days of golden splendour rose from the pavement or the theatre-stall, -and London, dim-lit England, the whole of modern life, indeed, seemed -suddenly reduced to a paltry insignificance that produced an aching -longing for the pageantry of those millions of vanished souls. Egypt -rolled through the heart for a moment--and was gone. - -I remembered that some such fantastic experience had been mine. Put it -as one may, the fact remains that for certain temperaments Egypt can -rob the Present of some thread of interest that was formerly there. -The memory became for me an integral part of personality; something in -me yearned for its curious and awful beauty. He who has drunk of the -Nile shall return to drink of it again.... And if for myself this was -possible, what might not happen to a character of George Isley's type? -Some glimmer of comprehension came to me. The ancient, buried, hidden -Egypt had cast her net about his soul. Grown shadowy in the Present, -his life was being transferred into some golden, reconstructed Past, -where it was real. Some countries give, while others take away. And -George Isley was worth robbing.... - -Disturbed by these singular reflections, I moved away from the open -window, closing it. But the closing did not exclude the presence of -the Third. The biting night air followed me in. I drew the mosquito -curtains round the bed, but the light I left still burning; and, lying -there, I jotted down upon a scrap of paper this curious impression -as best I could, only to find that it escaped easily between the -words. Such visionary and spiritual perceptions are too elusive to -be trapped in language. Reading it over after an interval of years, -it is difficult to recall with what intense meaning, what uncanny -emotion, I wrote those faded lines in pencil. Their rhetoric seems -cheap, their content much exaggerated; yet at the time truth burned -in every syllable. Egypt, which since time began has suffered robbery -with violence at the hands of all the world, now takes her vengeance, -choosing her individual prey. Her time has come. Behind a modern -mask she lies in wait, intensely active, sure of her hidden power. -Prostitute of dead empires, she lies now at peace beneath the same -old stars, her loveliness unimpaired, bejewelled with the beaten gold -of ages, her breasts uncovered, and her grand limbs flashing in the -sun. Her shoulders of alabaster are lifted above the sand-drifts; she -surveys the little figures of to-day. She takes her choice.... - -That night I did not dream, but neither did the whole of me lie down in -sleep. During the long dark hours I was aware of that picture endlessly -repeating itself, the picture of George Isley stealing out into the -moonlight desert. The night so swiftly dropped her hood about him; -so mysteriously he merged into the unchanging thing which cloaks the -past. It lifted. Some huge shadowy hand, gloved softly yet of granite, -stretched over the leagues to take him. He disappeared. - -They say the desert is motionless and has no gestures! That night I -saw it moving, hurrying. It went tearing after him. You understand my -meaning? No! Well, when excited it produces this strange impression, -and the terrible moment is--when you surrender helplessly--you desire -it shall swallow you. You let it come. George Isley spoke of a web. It -is, at any rate, some central power that conceals itself behind the -surface glamour folk call the spell of Egypt. Its home is not apparent. -It dwells with ancient Egypt--underground. Behind the stillness of hot -windless days, behind the peace of calm, gigantic nights, it lurks -unrealised, monstrous and irresistible. My mind grasped it as little as -the fact that our solar system with all its retinue of satellites and -planets rushes annually many million miles towards a star in Hercules, -while yet that constellation appears no closer than it did six thousand -years ago. But the clue dropped into me. George Isley, with his entire -retinue of thought and life and feeling, was being similarly drawn. And -I, a minor satellite, had become aware of the horrifying pull. It was -magnificent.... And I fell asleep on the crest of this enormous wave. - - -V - -The next few days passed idly; weeks passed too, I think; hidden -away in this cosmopolitan hotel we lived apart, unnoticed. There -was the feeling that time went what pace it pleased, now fast, now -slow, now standing still. The similarity of the brilliant days, set -between wondrous dawns and sunsets, left the impression that it was -really one long, endless day without divisions. The mind's machinery -of measurement suffered dislocation. Time went backwards; dates were -forgotten; the month, the time of year, the century itself went down -into undifferentiated life. - -The Present certainly slipped away curiously. Newspapers and politics -became unimportant, news uninteresting, English life so remote as -to be unreal, European affairs shadowy. The stream of life ran in -another direction altogether--backwards. The names and faces of -friends appeared through mist. People arrived as though dropped from -the skies. They suddenly were there; one saw them in the dining-room, -as though they had just slipped in from an outer world that once was -real--somewhere. Of course, a steamer sailed four times a week, and -the journey took five days, but these things were merely known, not -realised. The fact that here it was summer, whereas over there winter -reigned, helped to make the distance not quite thinkable. We looked at -the desert and made plans. 'We will do this, we will do that; we must -go there, we'll visit such and such a place ...' yet nothing happened. -It always was to-morrow or yesterday, and we shared the discovery of -Alice that there was no real 'to-day.' For our thinking made everything -happen. That was enough. It _had_ happened. It was the reality of -dreams. Egypt was a dream-world that made the heart live backwards. - -It came about, thus, that for the next few weeks I watched a fading -life, myself alert and sympathetic, yet unable somehow to intrude and -help. Noticing various little things by which George Isley betrayed -the progress of the unequal struggle, I found my assistance negatived -by the fact that I was in similar case myself. What he experienced in -large and finally, I, too, experienced in little and for the moment. -For I seemed also caught upon the fringe of the invisible web. My -feelings were entangled sufficiently for me to understand.... And the -decline of his being was terrible to watch. His character went with it; -I saw his talents fade, his personality dwindle, his very soul dissolve -before the insidious and invading influence. He hardly struggled. I -thought of those abominable insects that paralyse the motor systems -of their victims and then devour them at their leisure--alive. The -incredible adventure was literally true, but, being spiritual, may not -be told in the terms of a detective story. This version must remain -an individual rendering--an aspect of _one_ possible version. All who -know the real Egypt, that Egypt which has nothing to do with dams and -Nationalists and the external welfare of the falaheen, will understand. -The pilfering of her ancient dead she suffers still; she, in revenge, -preys at her leisure on the living. - -The occasions when he betrayed himself were ordinary enough; it was -the glimpse they afforded of what was in progress beneath his calm -exterior that made them interesting. Once, I remember, we had lunched -together at Mena, and, after visiting certain excavations beyond -the Gizeh pyramids, we made our way homewards by way of the Sphinx. -It was dusk, and the main army of tourists had retired, though some -few dozen sight-seers still moved about to the cries of donkey-boys -and baksheesh. The vast head and shoulders suddenly emerged, riding -undrowned above the sea of sand. Dark and monstrous in the fading -light, it loomed, as ever, a being of non-human lineage; no amount of -familiarity could depreciate its grandeur, its impressive setting, -the lost expression of the countenance that is too huge to focus as a -face. A thousand visits leave its power undiminished. It has intruded -upon our earth from some uncommon world. George Isley and myself both -turned aside to acknowledge the presence of this alien, uncomfortable -thing. We did not linger, but we slackened pace. It was the obvious, -inevitable thing to do. He pointed then, with a suddenness that made me -start. He indicated the tourists standing round. - -'See,' he said, in a lowered tone, 'day and night you'll always find a -crowd obedient to that thing. But notice their behaviour. People don't -do that before any other ruin in the world I've ever seen.' He referred -to the attempts of individuals to creep away alone and stare into the -stupendous visage by themselves. At different points in the deep sandy -basin were men and women, standing solitary, lying, crouching, apart -from the main company where the dragomen mouthed their exposition with -impertinent glibness. - -'The desire to be alone,' he went on, half to himself, as we paused a -moment, 'the sense of worship which insists on privacy.' - -It _was_ significant, for no amount of advertising could dwarf the -impressiveness of the inscrutable visage into whose eyes of stone -the silent humans gazed. Not even the red-coat, standing inside one -gigantic ear, could introduce the commonplace. But my companion's words -let another thing into the spectacle, a less exalted thing, dropping a -hint of horror about that sandy cup: It became easy, for a moment, to -imagine these tourists worshipping--against their will; to picture the -monster noticing that they were there; that it might slowly turn its -awful head; that the sand might visibly trickle from a stirring paw; -that, in a word, they might be taken--changed. - -'Come,' he whispered in a dropping tone, interrupting my fancies as -though he half divined them, 'it is getting late, and to be alone with -the thing is intolerable to me just now. But you notice, don't you,' -he added, as he took my arm to hurry me away, 'how little the tourists -matter? Instead of injuring the effect, they increase it. It uses -_them_.' - -And again a slight sensation of chill, communicated possibly by his -nervous touch, or possibly by his earnest way of saying these curious -words, passed through me. Some part of me remained behind in that -hollow trough of sand, prostrate before an immensity that symbolised -the past. A curious, wild yearning caught me momentarily, an intense -desire to understand exactly why that terror stood there, its actual -meaning long ago to the hearts that set it waiting for the sun, what -definite rôle it played, what souls it stirred and why, in that -system of towering belief and faith whose indestructible emblem it -still remained. The past stood grouped so solemnly about its menacing -presentment. I was distinctly aware of this spiritual suction backwards -that my companion yielded to so gladly, yet against his normal, modern -self. For it made the past appear magnificently desirable, and loosened -all the rivets of the present. It bodied forth three main ingredients -of this deep Egyptian spell--size, mystery, and immobility. - -Yet, to my relief, the cheaper aspect of this Egyptian glamour left him -cold. He remained unmoved by the commonplace mysterious; he told no -mummy stories, nor ever hinted at the supernatural quality that leaps -to the mind of the majority. There was no play in him. The influence -was grave and vital. And, although I knew he held strong views with -regard to the impiety of disturbing the dead, he never in my hearing -attached any possible revengeful character to the energy of an outraged -past. The current tales of this description he ignored; they were for -superstitious minds or children; the deities that claimed his soul were -of a grander order altogether. He lived, if it may be so expressed, -already in a world his heart had reconstructed or remembered; it drew -him in another direction altogether; with the modern, sensational view -of life his spirit held no traffic any longer; he was living backwards. -I saw his figure receding mournfully, yet never sentimentally, into -the spacious, golden atmosphere of recaptured days. The enormous -soul of buried Egypt drew him down. The dwindling of his physical -appearance was, of course, a mental interpretation of my own; but -another, stranger interpretation of a spiritual kind moved parallel -with it--marvellous and horrible. For, as he diminished outwardly -and in his modern, present aspect, he grew within--gigantic. The size -of Egypt entered into him. Huge proportions now began to accompany -any presentment of his personality to my inner vision. He towered. -These two qualities of the land already obsessed him--magnitude and -immobility. - -And that awe which modern life ignores contemptuously woke in my heart. -I almost feared his presence at certain times. For one aspect of the -Egyptian spell is explained by sheer size and bulk. Disdainful of -mere speed to-day, the heart is still uncomfortable with magnitude; -and in Egypt there is size that may easily appal, for every detail -shunts it laboriously upon the mind. It elbows out the present. The -desert's vastness is not made comprehensible by mileage, and the -sources of the Nile are so distant that they exist less on the map -than in the imagination. The effort to realise suffers paralysis; they -might equally be in the moon or Saturn. The undecorated magnificence -of the desert remains unknown, just as the proportions of pyramid and -temple, of pylons and Colossi approach the edge of the mind yet never -enter in. All stand outside, clothed in this prodigious measurement -of the past. And the old beliefs not only share this titanic effect -upon the consciousness, but carry it stages further. The entire scale -haunts with uncomfortable immensity, so that the majority run back with -relief to the measurable details of a more manageable scale. Express -trains, flying machines, Atlantic liners--these produce no unpleasant -stretching of the faculties compared to the influence of the Karnak -pylons, the pyramids, or the interior of the Serapeum. - -Close behind this magnitude, moreover, steps the monstrous. It is -revealed not in sand and stone alone, in queer effects of light and -shadow, of glittering sunsets and of magical dusks, but in the very -aspect of the bird and animal life. The heavy-headed buffaloes betray -it equally with the vultures, the myriad kites, the grotesqueness of -the mouthing camels. The rude, enormous scenery has it everywhere. -There is nothing lyrical in this land of passionate mirages. Uncouth -immensity notes the little human flittings. The days roll by in a tide -of golden splendour; one goes helplessly with the flood; but it is an -irresistible flood that sweeps backwards and below. The silent-footed -natives in their coloured robes move before a curtain, and behind -that curtain dwells the soul of ancient Egypt--the Reality, as George -Isley called it--watching, with sleepless eyes of grey infinity. Then, -sometimes the curtain stirs and lifts an edge; an invisible hand creeps -forth; the soul is touched. And some one disappears. - - -VI - -The process of disintegration must have been at work a long time before -I appeared upon the scene; the changes went forward with such rapidity. - -It was his third year in Egypt, two of which had been spent without -interruption in company with an Egyptologist named Moleson, in the -neighbourhood of Thebes. I soon discovered that this region was for -him the centre of attraction, or as he put it, of the web. Not Luxor, -of course, nor the images of reconstructed Karnak; but that stretch -of grim, forbidding mountains where royalty, earthly and spiritual, -sought eternal peace for the physical remains. There, amid surroundings -of superb desolation, great priests and mighty kings had thought -themselves secure from sacrilegious touch. In caverns underground they -kept their faithful tryst with centuries, guarded by the silence of -magnificent gloom. There they waited, communing with passing ages in -their sleep, till Ra, their glad divinity, should summon them to the -fulfilment of their ancient dream. And there, in the Valley of the -Tombs of the Kings, their dream was shattered, their lovely prophecies -derided, and their glory dimmed by the impious desecration of the -curious. - -That George Isley and his companion had spent their time, not merely -digging and deciphering like their practical confrères, but engaged in -some strange experiments of recovery and reconstruction, was matter -for open comment among the fraternity. That incredible things had -happened there was the big story of two Egyptian seasons at least. -I heard this later only--tales of utterly incredible kind, that the -desolate vale of rock was seen repeopled on moonlit nights, that the -smoke of unaccustomed fires rose to cap the flat-topped peaks, that -the pageantry of some forgotten worship had been seen to issue from -the openings of these hills, and that sounds of chanting, sonorous and -marvellously sweet, had been heard to echo from those bleak, repellent -precipices. The tales apparently were grossly exaggerated; wandering -Bedouins brought them in; the guides and dragomen repeated them with -mysterious additions; till they filtered down through the native -servants in the hotels and reached the tourists with highly picturesque -embroidery. They reached the authorities too. The only accurate fact -I gathered at the time, however, was that they had abruptly ceased. -George Isley and Moleson, moreover, had parted company. And Moleson, -I heard, was the originator of the business. He was, at this time, -unknown to me; his arresting book on 'A Modern Reconstruction of -Sun-worship in Ancient Egypt' being my only link with his unusual mind. -Apparently he regarded the sun as the deity of the scientific religion -of the future which would replace the various anthropomorphic gods of -childish creeds. He discussed the possibility of the zodiacal signs -being some kind of Celestial Intelligences. Belief blazed on every -page. Men's life is heat, derived solely from the sun, and men were, -therefore, part of the sun in the sense that a Christian is part of -his personal deity. And absorption was the end. His description of -'sun-worship ceremonials' conveyed an amazing reality and beauty. This -singular book, however, was all I knew of him until he came to visit us -in Helouan, though I easily discerned that his influence somehow was -the original cause of the change in my companion. - -At Thebes, then, was the active centre of the influence that drew -my friend away from modern things. It was there, I easily guessed, -that 'obstacles' had been placed in the way of these men's too -close enquiry. In that haunted and oppressive valley, where profane -and reverent come to actual grips, where modern curiosity is most -busily organised, and even tourists are aware of a masked hostility -that dogs the prying of the least imaginative mind--there, in the -neighbourhood of the hundred-gated city, had Egypt set the headquarters -of her irreconcilable enmity. And it was there, amid the ruins of -her loveliest past, that George Isley had spent his years of magical -reconstruction and met the influence that now dominated his entire life. - -And though no definite avowal of the struggle betrayed itself in -speech between us, I remember fragments of conversation, even at this -stage, that proved his willing surrender of the present. We spoke of -fear once, though with the indirectness of connection I have mentioned. -I urged that the mind, once it is forewarned, can remain master of -itself and prevent a thing from happening. - -'But that does not make the thing unreal,' he objected. - -'The mind can deny it,' I said. 'It then becomes unreal.' - -He shook his head. 'One does not deny an unreality. Denial is a -childish act of self-protection against something you expect to -happen.' He caught my eye a moment. 'You deny what you are afraid -of,' he said. 'Fear invites.' And he smiled uneasily. 'You know it -must get you in the end.' And, both of us being aware secretly to -what our talk referred, it seemed bold-blooded and improper; for -actually we discussed the psychology of his disappearance. Yet, while I -disliked it, there was a fascination about the subject that compelled -attraction.... 'Once fear gets in,' he added presently, 'confidence is -undermined, the structure of life is threatened, and you--go gladly. -The foundation of everything is belief. A man is what he believes about -himself; and in Egypt you can believe things that elsewhere you would -not even think about. It attacks the essentials.' He sighed, yet with -a curious pleasure; and a smile of resignation and relief passed over -his rugged features and was gone again. The luxury of abandonment lay -already in him. - -'But even belief,' I protested, 'must be founded on some experience or -other.' It seemed ghastly to speak of his spiritual malady behind the -mask of indirect allusion. My excuse was that he so obviously talked -willingly. - -He agreed instantly. 'Experience of one kind or another,' he said -darkly, 'there always is. Talk with the men who live out here; ask -any one who thinks, or who has the imagination which divines. You'll -get only one reply, phrase it how they may. Even the tourists and -the little commonplace officials feel it. And it's not the climate, -it's not nerves, it's not any definite tendency that they can name or -lay their finger on. Nor is it mere orientalising of the mind. It's -something that first takes you from your common life, and that later -takes common life from you. You willingly resign an unremunerative -Present. There are no half-measures either--once the gates are open.' - -There was so much undeniable truth in this that I found no corrective -by way of strong rejoinder. All my attempts, indeed, were futile in -this way. He meant to go; my words could not stop him. He wanted -a witness,--he dreaded the loneliness of going--but he brooked no -interference. The contradictory position involved a perplexing state -of heart and mind in both of us. The atmosphere of this majestic land, -to-day so trifling, yesterday so immense, most certainly induced a -lifting of the spiritual horizon that revealed amazing possibilities. - - -VII - -It was in the windless days of a perfect December that Moleson, the -Egyptologist, found us out and paid a flying visit to Helouan. His -duties took him up and down the land, but his time seemed largely at -his own disposal. He lingered on. His coming introduced a new element -I was not quite able to estimate; though, speaking generally, the -effect of his presence upon my companion was to emphasise the latter's -alteration. It underlined the change, and drew attention to it. The -new arrival, I gathered, was not altogether welcome. 'I should never -have expected to find you _here_,' laughed Moleson when they met, and -whether he referred to Helouan or to the hotel was not quite clear. I -got the impression he meant both; I remembered my fancy that it was a -good hotel to hide in. George Isley had betrayed a slight involuntary -start when the visiting card was brought to him at tea-time. I think he -had wished to escape from his former co-worker. Moleson had found him -out. 'I heard you had a friend with you and were contemplating further -exper--work,' he added. He changed the word 'experiment' quickly to the -other. - -'The former, as you see, is true, but not the latter,' replied my -companion dryly, and in his manner was a touch of opposition that -might have been hostility. Their intimacy, I saw, was close and of -old standing. In all they said and did and looked, there was an -undercurrent of other meaning that just escaped me. They were up to -something--they _had_ been up to something; but Isley would have -withdrawn if he could! - -Moleson was an ambitious and energetic personality, absorbed in his -profession, alive to the poetical as well as to the practical value -of archaeology, and he made at first a wholly delightful impression -upon me. An instinctive _flair_ for his subject had early in life -brought him success and a measure of fame as well. His knowledge was -accurate and scholarly, his mind saturated in the lore of a vanished -civilisation. Behind an exterior that was quietly careless, I divined -a passionate and complex nature, and I watched him with interest as -the man for whom the olden sun-worship of unscientific days held -some beauty of reality and truth. Much in his strange book that -had bewildered me now seemed intelligible when I saw the author. I -cannot explain this more closely. Something about him somehow made it -possible. Though modern to the finger-tips and thoroughly equipped with -all the tendencies of the day, there seemed to hide in him another self -that held aloof with a dignified detachment from the interests in which -his 'educated' mind was centred. He read living secrets beneath museum -labels, I might put it. He stepped out of the days of the Pharaohs if -ever man did, and I realised early in our acquaintance that this was -the man who had exceptional powers of 'resistance and self-protection,' -and was, in his particular branch of work, 'unusual.' In manner he -was light and gay, his sense of humour strong, with a way of treating -everything as though laughter was the sanest attitude towards life. -There is, however, the laughter that hides--other things. Moleson, as -I gathered from many clues of talk and manner and silence, was a deep -and singular being. His experiences in Egypt, if any, he had survived -admirably. There were at least two Molesons. I felt him more than -double----multiple. - -In appearance tall, thin, and fleshless, with a dried-up skin and -features withered as a mummy's, he said laughingly that Nature had -picked him physically for his 'job'; and, indeed, one could see him -worming his way down narrow tunnels into the sandy tombs, and writhing -along sunless passages of suffocating heat without too much personal -inconvenience. Something sinuous, almost fluid in his mind expressed -itself in his body too. He might go in any direction without causing -surprise. He might go backwards or forwards. He might go in two -directions at once. - -And my first impression of the man deepened before many days were past. -There was irresponsibility in him, insincerity somewhere, almost want -of heart. His morality was certainly not to-day's, and the mind in him -was slippery. I think the modern world, to which he was unattached, -confused and irritated him. A sense of insecurity came with him. -His interest in George Isley was the interest in a psychological -'specimen.' I remembered how in his book he described the selection -of individuals for certain functions of that marvellous worship, and -the odd idea flashed through me--well, that Isley exactly suited some -purpose of his re-creating energies. The man was keenly observant from -top to toe, but not with his sight alone; he seemed to be aware of -motives and emotions before he noticed the acts or gestures that these -caused. I felt that he took me in as well. Certainly he eyed me up and -down by means of this inner observation that seemed automatic with him. - -Moleson was not staying in our hotel; he had chosen one where social -life was more abundant; but he came up frequently to lunch and dine, -and sometimes spent the evening in Isley's rooms, amusing us with -his skill upon the piano, singing Arab songs, and chanting phrases -from the ancient Egyptian rituals to rhythms of his own invention. -The old Egyptian music, both in harmony and melody, was far more -developed than I had realised, the use of sound having been of radical -importance in their ceremonies. The chanting in particular he did with -extraordinary effect, though whether its success lay in his sonorous -voice, his peculiar increasing of the vowel sounds, or in anything -deeper, I cannot pretend to say. The result at any rate was of a unique -description. It brought buried Egypt to the surface; the gigantic -Presence entered sensibly into the room. It came, huge and gorgeous, -rolling upon the mind the instant he began, and something in it was -both terrible and oppressive. The repose of eternity lay in the sound. -Invariably, after a few moments of that transforming music, I saw the -Valley of the Kings, the deserted temples, titanic faces of stone, -great effigies coifed with zodiacal signs, but above all--the twin -Colossi. - -I mentioned this latter detail. - -'Curious _you_ should feel that too--curious you should say it, I -mean,' Moleson replied, not looking at me, yet with an air as if I had -said something he expected. 'To me the Memnon figures express Egypt -better than all the other monuments put together. Like the desert, they -are featureless. They sum her up, as it were, yet leave the message -unuttered. For, you see, they cannot.' He laughed a little in his -throat. 'They have neither eyes nor lips nor nose; their features are -gone.' - -'Yet they tell the secret--to those who care to listen,' put in Isley -in a scarcely noticeable voice. 'Just because they have no words. They -still sing at dawn,' he added in a louder, almost a challenging tone. -It startled me. - -Moleson turned round at him, opened his lips to speak, hesitated, -stopped. He said nothing for a moment. I cannot describe what it was -in the lightning glance they exchanged that put me on the alert for -something other than was obvious. My nerves quivered suddenly, and -a breath of colder air stole in among us. Moleson swung round to me -again. 'I almost think,' he said, laughing when I complimented him -upon the music, 'that I must have been a priest of Aton-Ra in an -earlier existence, for all this comes to my finger-tips as if it were -instinctive knowledge. Plotinus, remember, lived a few miles away at -Alexandria with his great idea that knowledge is recollection,' he -said, with a kind of cynical amusement. 'In those days, at any rate,' -he added more significantly, 'worship was real and ceremonials actually -expressed great ideas and teaching. There was power in them.' Two of -the Molesons spoke in that contradictory utterance. - -I saw that Isley was fidgeting where he sat, betraying by certain -gestures that uneasiness was in him. He hid his face a moment in his -hands; he sighed; he made a movement--as though to prevent something -coming. But Moleson resisted his attempt to change the conversation, -though the key shifted a little of its own accord. There were numerous -occasions like this when I was aware that both men skirted something -that had happened, something that Moleson wished to resume, but that -Isley seemed anxious to postpone. - -I found myself studying Moleson's personality, yet never getting beyond -a certain point. Shrewd, subtle, with an acute rather than a large -intelligence, he was cynical as well as insincere, and yet I cannot -describe by what means I arrived at two other conclusions as well about -him: first, that this insincerity and want of heart had not been so -always; and, secondly, that he sought social diversion with deliberate -and un-ordinary purpose. I could well believe that the first was -Egypt's mark upon him, and the second an effort at resistance and -self-protection. - -'If it wasn't for the gaiety,' he remarked once in a flippant way -that thinly hid significance, 'a man out here would go under in a -year. Social life gets rather reckless--exaggerated--people do things -they would never dream of doing at home. Perhaps you've noticed it,' -he added, looking suddenly at me; 'Cairo and the rest--they plunge -at it as though driven--a sort of excess about it somewhere.' I -nodded agreement. The way he said it was unpleasant rather. 'It's -an antidote,' he said, a sub-acid flavour in his tone. 'I used to -loathe society myself. But now I find gaiety--a certain irresponsible -excitement--of importance. Egypt gets on the nerves after a bit. The -moral fibre fails. The will grows weak.' And he glanced covertly at -Isley as with a desire to point his meaning. 'It's the clash between -the ugly present and the majestic past, perhaps.' He smiled. - -Isley shrugged his shoulders, making no reply; and the other went on -to tell stories of friends and acquaintances whom Egypt had adversely -affected: Barton, the Oxford man, school teacher, who had insisted -in living in a tent until the Government relieved him of his job. He -took to his tent, roamed the desert, drawn irresistibly, practical -considerations of the present of no avail. This yearning took him, -though he could never define the exact attraction. In the end his -mental balance was disturbed. 'But now he's all right again; I saw -him in London only this year; he can't say what he felt or why he -did it. Only--he's different.' Of John Lattin, too, he spoke, whom -agarophobia caught so terribly in Upper Egypt; of Malahide, upon -whom some fascination of the Nile induced suicidal mania and attempts -at drowning; of Jim Moleson, a cousin (who had camped at Thebes with -himself and Isley), whom megalomania of a most singular type attacked -suddenly in a sandy waste--all radically cured as soon as they left -Egypt, yet, one and all, changed and made otherwise in their very souls. - -He talked in a loose, disjointed way, and though much he said -was fantastic, as if meant to challenge opposition, there was -impressiveness about it somewhere, due, I think, to a kind of -cumulative emotion he produced. - -'The monuments do not impress merely by their bulk, but by their -majestic symmetry,' I remember him saying. 'Look at the choice of -form alone--the Pyramids, for instance. No other shape was possible: -dome, square, spires, all would have been hideously inadequate. The -wedge-shaped mass, immense foundations and pointed apex were the _mot -juste_ in outline. Do you think people without greatness in themselves -chose that form? There was no unbalance in the minds that conceived the -harmonious and magnificent structures of the temples. There was stately -grandeur in their consciousness that could only be born of truth and -knowledge. The power in their images is a direct expression of eternal -and essential things they knew.' - -We listened in silence. He was off upon his hobby. But behind -the careless tone and laughing questions there was this lurking -passionateness that made me feel uncomfortable. He was edging up, I -felt, towards some climax that meant life and death to himself and -Isley. I could not fathom it. My sympathy let me in a little, yet not -enough to understand completely. Isley, I saw, was also uneasy, though -for reasons that equally evaded me. - -'One can almost believe,' he continued, 'that something still hangs -about in the atmosphere from those olden times.' He half closed his -eyes, but I caught the gleam in them. 'It affects the mind through the -imagination. With some it changes the point of view. It takes the soul -back with it to former, quite different, conditions, that must have -been almost another kind of consciousness.' - -He paused an instant and looked up at us. 'The _intensity_ of belief in -those days,' he resumed, since neither of us accepted the challenge, -'was amazing--something quite unknown anywhere in the world to-day. It -was so sure, so positive; no mere speculative theories, I mean;--as -though something in the climate, the exact position beneath the stars, -the "attitude" of this particular stretch of earth in relation to -the sun--thinned the veil between humanity--and other things. Their -hierarchies of gods, you know, were not mere idols; animals, birds, -monsters, and what-not, all typified spiritual forces and powers -that influenced their daily life. But the strong thing is--they -_knew_. People who were scientific as they were did not swallow -foolish superstitions. They made colours that could last six thousand -years, even in the open air; and without instruments they measured -accurately--an enormously difficult and involved calculation--the -precession of the equinoxes. You've been to Denderah?'--he suddenly -glanced again at me. 'No! Well, the minds that realised the zodiacal -signs could hardly believe, you know, that Hathor was a cow!' - -Isley coughed. He was about to interrupt, but before he could find -words, Moleson was off again, some new quality in his tone and manner -that was almost aggressive. The hints he offered seemed more than -hints. There was a strange conviction in his heart. I think he was -skirting a bigger thing that he and his companion knew, yet that -his real object was to see in how far I was open to attack--how far -my sympathy might be with them. I became aware that he and George -Isley shared this bigger thing. It was based, I felt, on some certain -knowledge that experiment had brought them. - -'Think of the grand teaching of Aknahton, that young Pharaoh who -regenerated the entire land and brought it to its immense prosperity. -He taught the worship of the sun, but not of the visible sun. The -deity had neither form nor shape. The great disk of glory was but -the manifestation, each beneficent ray ending in a hand that blessed -the world. It was a god of everlasting energy, love and power, yet -men could know it at first hand in their daily lives, worshipping it -at dawn and sunset with passionate devotion. No anthropomorphic idol -masqueraded in _that_!' - -An extraordinary glow was about him as he said it. The same minute he -lowered his voice, shifting the key perceptibly. He kept looking up at -me through half-closed eyelids. - -'And another thing they wonderfully knew,' he almost whispered, 'was -that, with the precession of their deity across the equinoctial -changes, there came new powers down into the world of men. Each -cycle--each zodiacal sign--brought its special powers which they -quickly typified in the monstrous effigies we label to-day in our dull -museums. Each sign took some two thousand years to traverse. Each -sign, moreover, involved a change in human consciousness. There was -this relation between the heavens and the human heart. All that they -knew. While the sun crawled through the sign of Taurus, it was the Bull -they worshipped; with Aries, it was the ram that coifed their granite -symbols. Then came, as you remember, with Pisces the great New Arrival, -when already they sank from their grand zenith, and the Fish was taken -as the emblem of the changing powers which the Christ embodied. For -the human soul, they held, echoed the changes in the immense journey -of the original deity, who is its source, across the Zodiac, and the -truth of "As above, so Below" remains the key to all manifested life. -And to-day the sun, just entering Aquarius, new powers are close upon -the world. The old--that which has been for two thousand years--again -is crumbling, passing, dying. New powers and a new consciousness are -knocking at our doors. It is a time of change. It is also'--he leaned -forward so that his eyes came close before me--'the time to make the -change. The soul can choose its own conditions. It can----' - -A sudden crash smothered the rest of the sentence. A chair had fallen -with a clatter upon the wooden floor where the carpet left it bare. -Whether Isley in rising had stumbled against it, or whether he had -purposely knocked it over, I could not say. I only knew that he had -abruptly risen and as abruptly sat down again. A curious feeling came -to me that the sign was somehow prearranged. It was so sudden. His -voice, too, was forced, I thought. - -'Yes, but we can do without all that, Moleson,' he interrupted with -acute abruptness. 'Suppose we have a tune instead.' - - -VIII - -It was after dinner in his private room, and he had sat very silent in -his corner until this sudden outburst. Moleson got up quietly without -a word and moved over to the piano. I saw--or was it imagination -merely?--a new expression slide upon his withered face. He meant -mischief somewhere. - -From that instant--from the moment he rose and walked over the -thick carpet--he fascinated me. The atmosphere his talk and stories -had brought remained. His lean fingers ran over the keys, and at -first he played fragments from popular musical comedies that were -pleasant enough, but made no demand upon the attention. I heard them -without listening. I was thinking of another thing--his walk. For -the way he moved across those few feet of carpet had power in it. He -looked different; he seemed another man; he was changed. I saw him -curiously--as I sometimes now saw Isley too--bigger. In some manner -that was both enchanting and oppressive, his presence from that moment -drew my imagination as by an air of authority it held. - -I left my seat in the far corner and dropped into a chair beside the -window, nearer to the piano. Isley, I then noticed, had also turned -to watch him. But it was George Isley not quite as he was now. I felt -rather than saw the change. Both men had subtly altered. They seemed -extended, their outlines shadowy. - -Isley, alert and anxious, glanced up at the player, his mind of earlier -years--for the expression of his face was plain--following the light -music, yet with difficulty that involved effort, almost struggle. -'Play that again, will you?' I heard him say from time to time. He -was trying to take hold of it, to climb back to a condition where that -music had linked him to the present, to seize a mental structure that -was gone, to grip hold tightly of it--only to find that it was too far -forgotten and too fragile. It would not bear him. I am sure of it, and -I can swear I divined his mood. He fought to realise himself as he had -been, but in vain. In his dim corner opposite I watched him closely. -The big black Blüthner blocked itself between us. Above it swayed -the outline, lean and half shadowy, of Moleson as he played. A faint -whisper floated through the room. 'You are in Egypt.' Nowhere else -could this queer feeling of presentiment, of anticipation, have gained -a footing so easily. I was aware of intense emotion in all three of us. -The least reminder of To-day seemed ugly. I longed for some ancient -forgotten splendour that was lost. - -The scene fixed my attention very steadily, for I was aware of -something deliberate and calculated on Moleson's part. The thing -was well considered in his mind, intention only half concealed. It -was Egypt he interpreted by sound, expressing what in him was true, -then observing its effect, as he led us cleverly towards--the past. -Beginning with the present, he played persuasively, with penetration, -with insistent meaning too. He had that touch which conjured up real -atmosphere, and, at first, that atmosphere termed modern. He rendered -vividly the note of London, passing from the jingles of musical -comedy, nervous rag-times and sensuous Tango dances, into the higher -strains of concert rooms and 'cultured' circles. Yet not too abruptly. -Most dexterously he shifted the level, and with it our emotion. I -recognised, as in a parody, various ultra-modern thrills: the tumult -of Strauss, the pagan sweetness of primitive Debussy, the weirdness -and ecstasy of metaphysical Scriabin. The composite note of To-day in -both extremes, he brought into this private sitting-room of the desert -hotel, while George Isley, listening keenly, fidgeted in his chair. - -'"Après-midi d'un Faune,"' said Moleson dreamily, answering the -question as to what he played. 'Debussy's, you know. And the thing -before it was from "Til Eulenspiegel"--Strauss, of course.' - -He drawled, swaying slowly with the rhythm, and leaving pauses between -the words. His attention was not wholly on his listener, and in the -voice was a quality that increased my uneasy apprehension. I felt -distress for Isley somewhere. Something, it seemed, was coming; Moleson -brought it. Unconsciously in his walk, it now appeared consciously in -his music; and it came from what was underground in him. A charm, a -subtle change, stole oddly over the room. It stole over my heart as -well. Some power of estimating left me, as though my mind were slipping -backwards and losing familiar, common standards. - -'The true modern note in it, isn't there?' he drawled; 'cleverness, I -think--intellectual--surface ingenuity--no depth or permanence--just -the sensational brilliance of To-day.' He turned and stared at me -fixedly an instant. 'Nothing _everlasting_,' he added impressively. 'It -tells everything it knows--because it's small enough----' - -And the room turned pettier as he said it; another, bigger shadow -draped its little walls. Through the open windows came a stealthy -gesture of eternity. The atmosphere stretched visibly. Moleson was -playing a marvellous fragment from Scriabin's 'Prometheus.' It sounded -thin and shallow. This modern music, all of it, was out of place and -trivial. It was almost ridiculous. The scale of our emotion changed -insensibly into a deeper thing that has no name in dictionaries, being -of another age. And I glanced at the windows where stone columns framed -dim sections of great Egypt listening outside. There was no moon; only -deep draughts of stars blazed, hanging in the sky. I thought with awe -of the mysterious knowledge that vanished people had of these stars, -and of the Sun's huge journey through the Zodiac.... - -And, with astonishing suddenness as of dream, there rose a pictured -image against that starlit sky. Lifted into the air, between heaven and -earth, I saw float swiftly past a panorama of the stately temples, led -by Denderah, Edfu, Abou Simbel. It paused, it hovered, it disappeared. -Leaving incalculable solemnity behind it in the air, it vanished, and -to see so vast a thing move at that easy yet unhasting speed unhinged -some sense of measurement in me. It was, of course, I assured myself, -mere memory objectified owing to something that the music summoned, -yet the apprehension rose in me that the whole of Egypt presently -would stream past in similar fashion--Egypt as she was in the zenith -of her unrecoverable past. Behind the tinkling of the modern piano -passed the rustling of a multitude, the tramping of countless feet on -sand.... It was singularly vivid. It arrested in me something that -normally went flowing.... And when I turned my head towards the room to -call attention to my strange experience, the eyes of Moleson, I saw, -were laid upon my own. He stared at me. The light in them transfixed -me, and I understood that the illusion was due in some manner to his -evocation. Isley rose at the same moment from his chair. The thing I -had vaguely been expecting had shifted closer. And the same moment the -musician abruptly changed his key. - -'You may like this better,' he murmured, half to himself, but in tones -he somehow made echoing. 'It's more suited to the place.' There was a -resonance in the voice as though it emerged from hollows underground. -'The other seems almost sacrilegious--here.' And his voice drawled -off in the rhythm of slower modulations that he played. It had grown -muffled. There was an impression, too, that he did not strike the -piano, but that the music issued from himself. - -'Place! What place?' asked Isley quickly. His head turned sharply as he -spoke. His tone, in its remoteness, made me tremble. - -The musician laughed to himself. 'I meant that this hotel seems really -an impertinence,' he murmured, leaning down upon the notes he played -upon so softly and so well; 'and that it's but the thinnest kind of -pretence--when you come to think of it. We are in the desert really. -The Colossi are outside, and all the emptied temples. Or ought to be,' -he added, raising his tone abruptly with a glance at me. - -He straightened up and stared out into the starry sky past George -Isley's shoulders. - -'That,' he exclaimed with betraying vehemence, 'is where we are and -what we play to!' His voice suddenly increased; there was a roar in it. -'That,' he repeated, 'is the thing that takes our hearts away.' The -volume of intonation was astonishing. - -For the way he uttered the monosyllable suddenly revealed the man -beneath the outer sheath of cynicism and laughter, explained his -heartlessness, his secret stream of life. He, too, was soul and body -in the past. 'That' revealed more than pages of descriptive phrases. -His heart lived in the temple aisles, his mind unearthed forgotten -knowledge; his soul had clothed itself anew in the seductive glory -of antiquity: he dwelt with a quickening magic of existence in the -reconstructed splendour of what most term only ruins. He and George -Isley together had revivified a power that enticed them backwards; -but whereas the latter struggled still, the former had already made -his permanent home there. The faculty in me that saw the vision of -streaming temples saw also this--remorselessly definite. Moleson -himself sat naked at that piano. I saw him clearly then. He no longer -masqueraded behind his sneers and laughter. He, too, had long ago -surrendered, lost himself, gone out, and from the place his soul now -dwelt in he watched George Isley sinking down to join him. He lived in -ancient, subterranean Egypt. This great hotel stood precariously on the -merest upper crust of desert. A thousand tombs, a hundred temples lay -outside, within reach almost of our very voices. Moleson was merged -with 'that.' - -This intuition flashed upon me like the picture in the sky; and both -were true. - -And, meanwhile, this other thing he played had a surge of power in it -impossible to describe. It was sombre, huge and solemn. It conveyed the -power that his walk conveyed. There was distance in it, but a distance -not of space alone. A remoteness of time breathed through it with that -strange sadness and melancholy yearning that enormous interval brings. -It marched, but very far away; it held refrains that assumed the -rhythms of a multitude the centuries muted; it sang, but the singing -was underground in passages that fine sand muffled. Lost, wandering -winds sighed through it, booming. The contrast, after the modern, -cheaper music, was dislocating. Yet the change had been quite naturally -effected. - -'It would sound empty and monotonous elsewhere--in London, for -instance,' I heard Moleson drawling, as he swayed to and fro, 'but here -it is big and splendid--true. You hear what I mean,' he added gravely. -'You understand?' - -'What is it?' asked Isley thickly, before I could say a word. 'I forget -exactly. It has tears in it--more than I can bear.' The end of his -sentence died away in his throat. - -Moleson did not look at him as he answered. He looked at me. - -'You surely ought to know,' he replied, the voice rising and falling as -though the rhythm forced it. 'You have heard it all before--that chant -from the ritual we----' - -Isley sprang up and stopped him. I did not hear the sentence -complete. An extraordinary thought blazed into me that the voices -of both men were not quite their own. I fancied--wild, impossible -as it sounds--that I heard the twin Colossi singing to each other -in the dawn. Stupendous ideas sprang past me, leaping. It seemed as -though eternal symbols of the cosmos, discovered and worshipped in -this ancient land, leaped into awful life. My consciousness became -enveloping. I had the distressing feeling that ages slipped out of -place and took me with them; they dominated me; they rushed me off my -feet like water. I was drawn backwards. I, too, was changing--being -changed. - -'I remember,' said Isley softly, a reverence of worship in his voice. -But there was anguish in it too, and pity; he let the present go -completely from him; the last strands severed with a wrench of pain. I -imagined I heard his soul pass weeping far away--below. - -'I'll sing it,' murmured Moleson, 'for the voice is necessary. The -sound and rhythm are utterly divine!' - - -IX - -And forthwith his voice began a series of long-drawn cadences that -seemed somehow the root-sounds of every tongue that ever was. A spell -came over me I could touch and feel. A web encompassed me; my arms and -feet became entangled; a veil of fine threads wove across my eyes. The -enthralling power of the rhythm produced some magical movement in the -soul. I was aware of life everywhere about me, far and near, in the -dwellings of the dead, as also in the corridors of the iron hills. -Thebes stood erect, and Memphis teemed upon the river banks. For the -modern world fell, swaying, at this sound that restored the past, and -in this past both men before me lived and had their being. The storm -of present life passed o'er their heads, while they dwelt underground, -obliterated, gone. Upon the wave of sound they went down into their -recovered kingdom. - -I shivered, moved vigorously, half rose up, then instantly sank back -again, resigned and helpless. For I entered by their side, it seemed, -the conditions of their strange captivity. My thoughts, my feelings, -my point of view were transplanted to another centre. Consciousness -shifted in me. I saw things from another's point of view--antiquity's. - -The present forgotten but the past supreme, I lost Reality. Our -room became a pin-point picture seen in a drop of water, while this -subterranean world, replacing it, turned immense. My heart took on the -gigantic, leisured stride of what had been. Proportions grew; size -captured me; and magnitude, turned monstrous, swept mere measurement -away. Some hand of golden sunshine picked me up and set me in the -quivering web beside those other two. I heard the rustle of the -settling threads; I heard the shuffling of the feet in sand; I heard -the whispers in the dwellings of the dead. Behind the monotony of -this sacerdotal music I heard them in their dim carved chambers. The -ancient galleries were awake. The Life of unremembered ages stirred in -multitudes about me. - -The reality of so incredible an experience evaporates through the -stream of language. I can only affirm this singular proof--that the -deepest, most satisfying knowledge the Present could offer seemed -insignificant beside some stalwart majesty of the Past that utterly -usurped it. This modern room, holding a piano and two figures -of To-day, appeared as a paltry miniature pinned against a vast -transparent curtain, whose foreground was thick with symbols of temple, -sphinx and pyramid, but whose background of stupendous hanging grey -slid off towards a splendour where the cities of the Dead shook off -their sand and thronged space to its ultimate horizons.... The stars, -the entire universe, vibrating and alive, became involved in it. Long -periods of time slipped past me. I seemed living ages ago.... I was -living backwards.... - -The size and eternity of Egypt took me easily. There was an -overwhelming grandeur in it that elbowed out all present standards. The -whole place towered and stood up. The desert reared, the very horizons -lifted; majestic figures of granite rose above the hotel, great faces -hovered and drove past; huge arms reached up to pluck the stars and -set them in the ceilings of the labyrinthine tombs. The colossal -meaning of the ancient land emerged through all its ruined details ... -reconstructed--burningly alive.... - -It became at length unbearable. I longed for the droning sounds to -cease, for the rhythm to lessen its prodigious sweep. My heart cried -out for the gold of the sunlight on the desert, for the sweet air by -the river's banks, for the violet lights upon the hills at dawn. And I -resisted, I made an effort to return. - -'Your chant is horrible. For God's sake, let's have an Arab song--or -the music of To-day!' - -The effort was intense, the result was--nothing. I swear I used these -words. I heard the actual sound of my voice, if no one else did, for -I remember that it was pitiful in the way great space devoured it, -making of its appreciable volume the merest whisper as of some bird or -insect cry. But the figure that I took for Moleson, instead of answer -or acknowledgment, merely grew and grew as things grow in a fairy tale. -I hardly know; I certainly cannot say. That dwindling part of me which -offered comments on the entire occurrence noted this extraordinary -effect as though it happened naturally--that Moleson himself was -marvellously increasing. - -The entire spell became operative all at once. I experienced both the -delight of complete abandonment and the terror of letting go what _had_ -seemed real. I understood Moleson's sham laughter, and the subtle -resignation of George Isley. And an amazing thought flashed birdlike -across my changing consciousness--that this resurrection into the -Past, this rebirth of the spirit which they sought, involved taking -upon themselves the guise of these ancient symbols each in turn. As -the embryo assumes each evolutionary stage below it before the human -semblance is attained, so the souls of those two adventurers took upon -themselves the various emblems of that intense belief. The devout -worshipper takes on the qualities of his deity. They wore the entire -series of the old-world gods so potently that I perceived them, and -even objectified them by my senses. The present was their pre-natal -stage; to enter the past they were being born again. - -But it was not Moleson's semblance alone that took on this awful -change. Both faces, scaled to the measure of Egypt's outstanding -quality of size, became in this little modern room distressingly -immense. Distorting mirrors can suggest no simile, for the symmetry of -proportion was not injured. I lost their human physiognomies. I saw -their thoughts, their feelings, their augmented, altered hearts, the -thing that Egypt put there while she stole their love from modern life. -There grew an awful stateliness upon them that was huge, mysterious, -and motionless as stone. - -For Moleson's narrow face at first turned hawk-like in the semblance -of the sinister deity, Horus, only stretched to tower above the -toy-scaled piano; it was keen and sly and monstrous after prey, while -a swiftness of the sunrise leaped from both the brilliant eyes. George -Isley, equally immense of outline, was in general presentment more -magnificent, a breadth of the Sphinx about his spreading shoulders, -and in his countenance an inscrutable power of calm temple images. -These were the first signs of obsession; but others followed. In rapid -series, like lantern-slides upon a screen, the ancient symbols flashed -one after another across these two extended human faces and were gone. -Disentanglement became impossible. The successive signatures seemed -almost superimposed as in a composite photograph, each appearing and -vanished before recognition was even possible, while I interpreted the -inner alchemy by means of outer tokens familiar to my senses. Egypt, -possessing them, expressed herself thus marvellously in their physical -aspect, using the symbols of her intense, regenerative power.... - -The changes merged with such swiftness into one another that I did not -seize the half of them--till, finally, the procession culminated in -a single one that remained fixed awfully upon them both. The entire -series merged. I was aware of this single masterful image which summed -up all the others in sublime repose. The gigantic thing rose up in -this incredible statue form. The spirit of Egypt synthesised in this -monstrous symbol, obliterated them both. I saw the seated figures of -the grim Colossi, dipped in sand, night over them, waiting for the -dawn.... - - -X - -I made a violent effort, then, at self-assertion--an effort to focus my -mind upon the present. And, searching for Moleson and George Isley, its -nearest details, I was aware that I could not find them. The familiar -figures of my two companions were not discoverable. - -I saw it as plainly as I also saw that ludicrous, wee piano--for a -moment. But the moment remained; the Eternity of Egypt stayed. For -that lonely and terrific pair had stooped their shoulders and bowed -their awful heads. They were in the room. They imaged forth the power -of the everlasting Past through the little structures of two human -worshippers. Room, walls, and ceiling fled away. Sand and the open sky -replaced them. - -The two of them rose side by side before my bursting eyes. I knew -not where to look. Like some child who confronts its giants upon the -nursery floor, I turned to stone, unable to think or move. I stared. -Sight wrenched itself to find the men familiar to it, but found -instead this symbolising vision. I could not see them properly. Their -faces were spread with hugeness, their features lost in some uncommon -magnitude, their shoulders, necks, and arms grown vast upon the air. As -with the desert, there was physiognomy yet no personal expression, the -human thing all drowned within the mass of battered stone. I discovered -neither cheeks nor mouth nor jaw, but ruined eyes and lips of broken -granite. Huge, motionless, mysterious, Egypt informed them and took -them to herself. And between us, curiously presented in some false -perspective, I saw the little symbol of To-day--the Blüthner piano. It -was appalling. I knew a second of majestic horror. I blenched. Hot and -cold gushed through me. Strength left me, power of speech and movement -too, as in a moment of complete paralysis. - -The spell, moreover, was not within the room alone; it was outside and -everywhere. The Past stood massed about the very walls of the hotel. -Distance, as well as time, stepped nearer. That chanting summoned the -gigantic items in all their ancient splendour. The shadowy concourse -grouped itself upon the sand about us, and I was aware that the great -army shifted noiselessly into place; that pyramids soared and towered; -that deities of stone stood by; that temples ranged themselves in -reconstructed beauty, grave as the night of time whence they emerged; -and that the outline of the Sphinx, motionless but aggressive, piled -its dim bulk upon the atmosphere. Immensity answered to immensity.... -There were vast intervals of time and there were reaches of enormous -distance, yet all happened in a moment, and all happened within a -little space. It was now and here. Eternity whispered in every second -as in every grain of sand. Yet, while aware of so many stupendous -details all at once, I was really aware of one thing only--that the -spirit of ancient Egypt faced me in these two terrific figures, and -that my consciousness, stretched painfully yet gloriously, included -all, as She also unquestionably included them--and me. - -For it seemed I shared the likeness of my two companions. Some lesser -symbol, though of similar kind, obsessed me too. I tried to move, but -my feet were set in stone; my arms lay fixed; my body was embedded in -the rock. Sand beat sharply upon my outer surface, urged upwards in -little flurries by a chilly wind. There was nothing felt: I _heard_ the -rattle of the scattering grains against my hardened body.... - -And we waited for the dawn; for the resurrection of that unchanging -deity who was the source and inspiration of all our glorious life.... -The air grew keen and fresh. In the distance a line of sky turned from -pink to violet and gold; a delicate rose next flushed the desert; a -few pale stars hung fainting overhead; and the wind that brought the -sunrise was already stirring. The whole land paused upon the coming of -its mighty God.... - -Into the pause there rose a curious sound for which we had been -waiting. For it came familiarly, as though expected. I could have sworn -at first that it was George Isley who sang, answering his companion. -There beat behind its great volume the same note and rhythm, only so -prodigiously increased that, while Moleson's chant had waked it, it -now was independent and apart. The resonant vibrations of what he -sang had reached down into the places where it slept. _They_ uttered -synchronously. Egypt spoke. There was in it the deep muttering as of a -thousand drums, as though the desert uttered in prodigious syllables. I -listened while my heart of stone stood still. There were two voices in -the sky. _They_ spoke tremendously with each other in the dawn: - -'So easily we still remain possessors of the land.... While the -centuries roar past us and are gone.' - -Soft with power the syllables rolled forth, yet with a booming depth as -though caverns underground produced them. - -'Our silence is disturbed. Pass on with the multitude towards the -East.... Still in the dawn we sing the old-world wisdom.... They shall -hear our speech, yet shall not hear it with their ears of flesh. At -dawn our words go forth, searching the distances of sand and time -across the sunlight.... At dusk they return, as upon eagles' wings, -entering again our lips of stone.... Each century one syllable, yet no -sentence yet complete. While our lips are broken with the utterance....' - -It seemed that hours and months and years went past me while I -listened in my sandy bed. The fragments died far away, then sounded -very close again. It was as though mountain peaks sang to one another -above clouds. Wind caught the muffled roar away. Wind brought it -back.... Then, in a hollow pause that lasted years, conveying -marvellously the passage of long periods, I heard the utterance more -clearly. The leisured roll of the great voice swept through me like a -flood: - -'We wait and watch and listen in our loneliness. We do not close our -eyes. The moon and stars sail past us, and our river finds the sea. We -bring Eternity upon your broken lives.... We see you build your little -lines of steel across our territory behind the thin white smoke. We -hear the whistle of your messengers of iron through the air.... The -nations rise and pass. The empires flutter westwards and are gone.... -The sun grows older and the stars turn pale.... Winds shift the line -of the horizons, and our River moves its bed. But we, everlasting and -unchangeable, remain. Of water, sand and fire is our essential being, -yet built within the universal air.... There is no pause in life, there -is no break in death. The changes bring no end. The sun returns.... -There is eternal resurrection.... But our kingdom is underground in -shadow, unrealised of your little day.... Come, come! The temples still -are crowded, and our Desert blesses you. Our River takes your feet. Our -sand shall purify, and the fire of our God shall burn you sweetly into -wisdom.... Come, then, and worship, for the time draws near. It is the -dawn....' - -The voices died down into depths that the sand of ages muffled, while -the flaming dawn of the East rushed up the sky. Sunrise, the great -symbol of life's endless resurrection, was at hand. About me, in -immense but shadowy array, stood the whole of ancient Egypt, hanging -breathlessly upon the moment of adoration. No longer stern and terrible -in the splendour of their long neglect, the effigies rose erect with -passionate glory, a forest of stately stone. Their granite lips were -parted and their ancient eyes were wide. All faced the east. And the -sun drew nearer to the rim of the attentive Desert. - - -XI - -Emotion there seemed none, in the sense that _I_ knew feeling. I knew, -if anything, the ultimate secrets of two primitive sensations--joy and -awe.... The dawn grew swiftly brighter. There was gold, as though the -sands of Nubia spilt their brilliance on each shining detail; there was -glory, as though the retreating tide of stars spilt their light foam -upon the world; and there was passion, as though the beliefs of all the -ages floated back with abandonment into the--Sun. Ruined Egypt merged -into a single temple of elemental vastness whose floor was the empty -desert, but whose walls rose to the stars. - -Abruptly, then, chanting and rhythm ceased; they dipped below. Sand -muffled them. And the Sun looked down upon its ancient world.... - -A radiant warmth poured through me. I found that I could move my limbs -again. A sense of triumphant life ran through my stony frame. For one -passing second I heard the shower of gritty particles upon my surface -like sand blown upwards by a gust of wind, but this time I could _feel_ -the sting of it upon my skin. It passed. The drenching heat bathed me -from head to foot, while stony insensibility gave place with returning -consciousness to flesh and blood. The sun had risen.... I was alive, -but I was--changed. - -It seemed I opened my eyes. An immense relief was in me. I turned; I -drew a deep, refreshing breath; I stretched one leg upon a thick, green -carpet. Something had left me; another thing had returned. I sat up, -conscious of welcome release, of freedom, of escape. - -There was some violent, disorganising break. I found myself; I found -Moleson; I found George Isley too. He had got shifted in that room -without my being aware of it. Isley had risen. He came upon me like a -blow. I saw him move his arms. Fire flashed from below his hands; and I -realised then that he was turning on the electric lights. They emerged -from different points along the walls, in the alcove, beneath the -ceiling, by the writing-table; and one had just that minute blazed into -my eyes from a bracket close above me. I was back again in the Present -among modern things. - -But, while most of the details presented themselves gradually to my -recovered senses, Isley returned with this curious effect of speed -and distance--like a blow upon the mind. From great height and from -prodigious size--he dropped. I seemed to find him rushing at me. -Moleson was simply 'there'; there was no speed or sudden change in him -as with the other. Motionless at the piano, his long thin hands lay -down upon the keys yet did not strike them. But Isley came back like -lightning into the little room, signs of the monstrous obsession still -about his altering features. There was battle and worship mingled in -his deep-set eyes. His mouth, though set, was smiling. With a shudder I -positively saw the vastness slipping from his face as shadows from a -stretch of broken cliff. There was this awful mingling of proportions. -The colossal power that had resumed his being drew slowly inwards. -There was collapse in him. And upon the sunburned cheek of his rugged -face I saw a tear. - -Poignant revulsion caught me then for a moment. The present showed -itself in rags. The reduction of scale was painful. I yearned for -the splendour that was gone, yet still seemed so hauntingly almost -within reach. The cheapness of the hotel room, the glaring ugliness of -its tinsel decoration, the baseness of ideals where utility instead -of beauty, gain instead of worship, governed life--this, with the -dwindled aspect of my companions to the insignificance of marionettes, -brought a hungry pain that was at first intolerable. In the glare -of light I noticed the small round face of the portable clock upon -the mantelpiece, showing half-past eleven. Moleson had been two -hours at the piano. And this measuring faculty of my mind completed -the disillusionment. I was, indeed, back among present things. The -mechanical spirit of To-day imprisoned me again. - -For a considerable interval we neither moved nor spoke; the sudden -change left the emotions in confusion; we had leaped from a height, -from the top of the pyramid, from a star--and the crash of landing -scattered thought. I stole a glance at Isley, wondering vaguely why -he was there at all; the look of resignation had replaced the power -in his face; the tear was brushed away. There was no struggle in him -now, no sign of resistance; there was abandonment only; he seemed -insignificant. The real George Isley was elsewhere: he himself had not -returned. - -By jerks, as it were, and by awkward stages, then, we all three came -back to common things again. I found that we were talking ordinarily, -asking each other questions, answering, lighting cigarettes, and all -the rest. Moleson played some commonplace chords upon the piano, while -he leaned back listlessly in his chair, putting in sentences now and -again and chatting idly to whichever of us would listen. And Isley came -slowly across the room towards me, holding out cigarettes. His dark -brown face had shadows on it. He looked exhausted, worn, like some -soldier broken in the wars. - -'You liked it?' I heard his thin voice asking. There was no interest, -no expression; it was not the real Isley who spoke; it was the little -part of him that had come back. He smiled like a marvellous automaton. - -Mechanically I took the cigarette he offered me, thinking confusedly -what answer I could make. - -'It's irresistible,' I murmured; 'I understand that it's easier to go.' - -'Sweeter as well,' he whispered with a sigh, 'and very wonderful!' - - -XII - -The hand that lit my cigarette, I saw, was trembling. A desire to do -something violent woke in me suddenly--to move energetically, to push -or drive something away. - -'What was it?' I asked abruptly, in a louder, half-challenging -voice, intended for the man at the piano. 'Such a performance--upon -others--without first asking their permission--seems to me -unpermissible--it's----' - -And it was Moleson who replied. He ignored the end of my sentence as -though he had not heard it. He strolled over to our side, taking a -cigarette and pressing it carefully into shape between his long thin -fingers. - -'You may well ask,' he answered quietly; 'but it's not so easy to -tell. We discovered it'--he nodded towards Isley--'two years ago in -the "Valley." It lay beside a Priest, a very important personage, -apparently, and was part of the Ritual he used in the worship of the -sun. In the Museum now--you can see it any day at the Boulak--it is -simply labelled "Hymn to Ra." The period was Aknahton's.' - -'The words, yes,' put in Isley, who was listening closely. - -'The words?' repeated Moleson in a curious tone. 'There _are_ no words. -It's all really a manipulation of the vowel sounds. And the rhythm, or -chanting, or whatever you like to call it, I--I invented myself. The -Egyptians did not write their music, you see.' He suddenly searched my -face a moment with questioning eyes. 'Any words you heard,' he said, -'or thought you heard, were merely your own interpretation.' - -I stared at him, making no rejoinder. - -'They made use of what they called a "root-language" in their rituals,' -he went on, 'and it consisted entirely of vowel sounds. There were no -consonants. For vowel sounds, you see, run on for ever without end or -beginning, whereas consonants interrupt their flow and break it up and -limit it. A consonant has no sound of its own at all. Real language is -continuous.' - -We stood a moment, smoking in silence. I understood then that this -thing Moleson had done was based on definite knowledge. He had -rendered some fragment of an ancient Ritual he and Isley had unearthed -together, and while he knew its effect upon the latter, he chanced it -on myself. Not otherwise, I feel, could it have influenced me in the -extraordinary way it did. In the faith and poetry of a nation lies its -soul-life, and the gigantic faith of Egypt blazed behind the rhythm -of that long, monotonous chant. There were blood and heart and nerves -in it. Millions had heard it sung; millions had wept and prayed and -yearned; it was ensouled by the passion of that marvellous civilisation -that loved the godhead of the Sun, and that now hid, waiting but still -alive, below the ground. The majestic faith of ancient Egypt poured up -with it--that tremendous, burning elaboration of the after-life and of -Eternity that was the pivot of those spacious days. For centuries vast -multitudes, led by their royal priests, had uttered this very form and -ritual--believed it, lived it, felt it. The rising of the sun remained -its climax. Its spiritual power still clung to the great ruined -symbols. The faith of a buried civilisation had burned back into the -present and into our hearts as well. - -And a curious respect for the man who was able to produce this effect -upon two modern minds crept over me, and mingled with the repulsion -that I felt. I looked furtively at his withered, dried-up features. He -wore some vague and shadowy impress still of what had just been in him. -There was a stony appearance in his shrunken cheeks. He looked smaller. -I saw him lessened. I thought of him as he had been so short a time -before, imprisoned in his great stone captors that had obsessed him.... - -'There's tremendous power in it,--an awful power,' I stammered, more -to break the oppressive pause than for any desire in me to speak with -him. 'It brings back Egypt in some extraordinary way--ancient Egypt, I -mean--brings it close--into the heart.' My words ran on of their own -accord almost. I spoke with a hush, unwittingly. There was awe in me. -Isley had moved away towards the window, leaving me face to face with -this strange incarnation of another age. - -'It must,' he replied, deep light still glowing in his eyes, 'for the -soul of the old days is in it. No one, I think, can hear it and remain -the same. It expresses, you see, the essential passion and beauty -of that gorgeous worship, that splendid faith, that reasonable and -intelligent worship of the sun, the only scientific belief the world -has ever known. Its popular form, of course, was largely superstitious, -but the sacerdotal form--the form used by the priests, that is--who -understood the relationship between colour, sound and symbol, was----' - -He broke off suddenly, as though he had been speaking to himself. We -sat down. George Isley leaned out of the window with his back to us, -watching the desert in the moonless night. - -'You have tried its effect before upon--others?' I asked point-blank. - -'Upon myself,' he answered shortly. - -'Upon others?' I insisted. - -He hesitated an instant. - -'Upon one other--yes,' he admitted. - -'Intentionally?' And something quivered in me as I asked it. - -He shrugged his shoulders slightly. 'I'm merely a speculative -archaeologist,' he smiled, 'and--and an imaginative Egyptologist. My -bounden duty is to reconstruct the past so that it lives for others.' - -An impulse rose in me to take him by the throat. - -'You know perfectly well, of course, the magical effect it's -sure--likely at least--to have?' - -He stared steadily at me through the cigarette smoke. To this day I -cannot think exactly what it was in this man that made me shudder. - -'I'm sure of nothing,' he replied smoothly, 'but I consider it quite -legitimate to try. Magical--the word you used--has no meaning for -me. If such a thing exists, it is merely scientific--undiscovered or -forgotten knowledge.' An insolent, aggressive light shone in his eyes -as he spoke; his manner was almost truculent. 'You refer, I take it, -to--our friend--rather than to yourself?' - -And with difficulty I met his singular stare. From his whole person -something still emanated that was forbidding, yet overmasteringly -persuasive. It brought back the notion of that invisible Web, that dim -gauze curtain, that motionless Influence lying waiting at the centre -for its prey, those monstrous and mysterious Items standing, alert -and watchful, through the centuries. 'You mean,' he added lower, 'his -altered attitude to life--his going?' - -To hear him use the words, the very phrase, struck me with sudden -chill. Before I could answer, however, and certainly before I could -master the touch of horror that rushed over me, I heard him continuing -in a whisper. It seemed again that he spoke to himself as much as he -spoke to me. - -'The soul, I suppose, has the right to choose its own conditions and -surroundings. To pass elsewhere involves translation, not extinction.' -He smoked a moment in silence, then said another curious thing, looking -up into my face with an expression of intense earnestness. Something -genuine in him again replaced the pose of cynicism. 'The soul is -eternal and can take its place anywhere, regardless of mere duration. -What is there in the vulgar and superficial Present that should hold -it so exclusively; and where can it find to-day the belief, the faith, -the beauty that are the very essence of its life--where in the rush -and scatter of this tawdry age can it make its home? Shall it flutter -for ever in a valley of dry bones, when a living Past lies ready and -waiting with loveliness, strength, and glory?' He moved closer; he -touched my arm; I felt his breath upon my face. 'Come with us,' he -whispered awfully; 'come back with us! Withdraw your life from the -rubbish of this futile ugliness! Come back and worship with us in the -spirit of the Past. Take up the old, old splendour, the glory, the -immense conceptions, the wondrous certainty, the ineffable knowledge of -essentials. It all lies about you still; it's calling, ever calling; -it's very close; it draws you day and night--calling, calling, -calling....' - -His voice died off curiously into distance on the word; I can hear it -to this day, and the soft, droning quality in the intense yet fading -tone: 'Calling, calling, calling.' But his eyes turned wicked. I felt -the sinister power of the man. I was aware of madness in his thought -and mind. The Past he sought to glorify I saw black, as with the -forbidding Egyptian darkness of a plague. It was not beauty but Death -that I heard calling, calling, calling. - -'It's real,' he went on, hardly aware that I shrank, 'and not a dream. -These ruined symbols still remain in touch with that which was. They -are potent to-day as they were six thousand years ago. The amazing -life of those days brims behind them. They are not mere masses of -oppressive stone; they express in visible form great powers that still -are--_knowable_.' He lowered his head, peered up into my face, and -whispered. Something secret passed into his eyes. - -'I saw you change,' came the words below his breath, 'as you saw the -change in us. But only worship can produce that change. The soul -assumes the qualities of the deity it worships. The powers of its deity -possess it and transform it into its own likeness. You also felt it. -_You_ also were possessed. I saw the stone-faced deity upon your own.' - -I seemed to shake myself as a dog shakes water from its body. I stood -up. I remember that I stretched my hands out as though to push him from -me and expel some creeping influence from my mind. I remember another -thing as well. But for the reality of the sequel, and but for the -matter-of-fact result still facing me to-day in the disappearance of -George Isley--the loss to the present time of all George Isley _was_--I -might have found subject for laughter in what I saw. Comedy was in it -certainly. Yet it was both ghastly and terrific. Deep horror crept -below the aspect of the ludicrous, for the apparent mimicry cloaked -truth. It was appalling because it was real. - -In the large mirror that reflected the room behind me I saw myself -and Moleson; I saw Isley too in the background by the open window. -And the attitude of all three was the attitude of hieroglyphics come -to life. My arms indeed were stretched, but not stretched, as I had -thought, in mere self-defence. They were stretched--unnaturally. The -forearms made those strange obtuse angles that the old carved granite -wears, the palms of the hands held upwards, the heads thrown back, -the legs advanced, the bodies stiffened into postures that expressed -forgotten, ancient minds. The physical conformation of all three was -monstrous; and yet reverence and truth dictated even the uncouthness -of the gestures. Something in all three of us inspired the forms our -bodies had assumed. Our attitudes expressed buried yearnings, emotions, -tendencies--whatever they may be termed--that the spirit of the Past -evoked. - -I saw the reflected picture but for a moment. I dropped my arms, aware -of foolishness in my way of standing. Moleson moved forward with his -long, significant stride, and at the same instant Isley came up quickly -and joined us from his place by the open window. We looked into each -other's faces without a word. There was this little pause that lasted -perhaps ten seconds. But in that pause I felt the entire world slide -past me. I heard the centuries rush by at headlong speed. The present -dipped away. Existence was no longer in a line that stretched two ways; -it was a circle in which ourselves, together with Past and Future, -stood motionless at the centre, all details equally accessible at once. -The three of us were falling, falling backwards.... - -'Come!' said the voice of Moleson solemnly, but with the sweetness as -of a child anticipating joy. 'Come! Let us go together, for the boat -of Ra has crossed the Underworld. The darkness has been conquered. Let -us go out together and find the dawn. Listen! It is calling, calling, -calling....' - - -XIII - -I was aware of rushing, but it was the soul in me that rushed. It -experienced dizzy, unutterable alterations. Thousands of emotions, -intense and varied, poured through me at lightning speed, each -satisfyingly known, yet gone before its name appeared. The life of many -centuries tore headlong back with me, and, as in drowning, this epitome -of existence shot in a few seconds the steep slopes the Past had so -laboriously built up. The changes flashed and passed. I wept and prayed -and worshipped; I loved and suffered; I battled, lost and won. Down the -gigantic scale of ages that telescoped thus into a few brief moments, -the soul in me went sliding backwards towards a motionless, reposeful -Past. - -I remember foolish details that interrupted the immense descent--I put -on coat and hat; I remember some one's words, strangely sounding as -when some bird wakes up and sings at midnight--'We'll take the little -door; the front one's locked by now'; and I have a vague recollection -of the outline of the great hotel, with its colonnades and terraces, -fading behind me through the air. But these details merely flickered -and disappeared, as though I fell earthwards from a star and passed -feathers or blown leaves upon the way. There was no friction as my -soul dropped backwards into time; the flight was easy and silent as a -dream. I felt myself sucked down into gulfs whose emptiness offered -no resistance ... until at last the appalling speed decreased of its -own accord, and the dizzy flight became a kind of gentle floating. -It changed imperceptibly into a gliding motion, as though the angle -altered. My feet, quite naturally, were on the ground, moving through -something soft that clung to them and rustled while it clung. - -I looked up and saw the bright armies of the stars. In front of me I -recognised the flat-topped, shadowy ridges; on both sides lay the open -expanses of familiar wilderness; and beside me, one on either hand, -moved two figures who were my companions. We were in the desert, but -it was the desert of thousands of years ago. My companions, moreover, -though familiar to some part of me, seemed strangers or half known. -Their names I strove in vain to capture; Mosely, Ilson, sounded in my -head, mingled together falsely. And when I stole a glance at them, I -saw dark lines of mannikins unfilled with substance, and was aware -of the grotesque gestures of living hieroglyphics. It seemed for an -instant that their arms were bound behind their backs impossibly, and -that their heads turned sharply across their lineal shoulders. - -But for a moment only; for at a second glance I saw them solid and -compact; their names came back to me; our arms were linked together as -we walked. We had already covered a great distance, for my limbs were -aching and my breath was short. The air was cold, the silence absolute. -It seemed, in this faint light, that the desert flowed beneath our -feet, rather than that we advanced by taking steps. Cliffs with hooded -tops moved past us, boulders glided, mounds of sand slid by. And then I -heard a voice upon my left that was surely Moleson speaking: - -'Towards Enet our feet are set,' he half sang, half murmured, 'towards -Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e]. There, in the House of Birth, we shall dedicate -our hearts and lives anew.' - -And the language, no less than the musical intonation of his voice, -enraptured me. For I understood he spoke of Denderah, in whose majestic -temple recent hands had painted with deathless colours the symbols of -our cosmic relationships with the zodiacal signs. And Denderah was our -great seat of worship of the goddess Hathor, the Egyptian Aphrodite, -bringer of love and joy. The falcon-headed Horus was her husband, from -whom, in his home at Edfu, we imbibed swift kinds of power. And--it was -the time of the New Year, the great feast when the forces of the living -earth turn upwards into happy growth. - -We were on foot across the desert towards Denderah, and this sand we -trod was the sand of thousands of years ago. - -The paralysis of time and distance involved some amazing lightness of -the spirit that, I suppose, touched ecstasy. There was intoxication -in the soul. I was not divided from the stars, nor separate from this -desert that rushed with us. The unhampered wind blew freshly from my -nerves and skin, and the Nile, glimmering faintly on our right, lay -with its lapping waves in both my hands. I knew the life of Egypt, for -it was in me, over me, round me. I was a part of it. We went happily, -like birds to meet the sunrise. There were no pits of measured time and -interval that could detain us. We flowed, yet were at rest; we were -endlessly alive; present and future alike were inconceivable; we were -in the Kingdom of the Past. - -The Pyramids were just a-building, and the army of Obelisks looked -about them, proud of their first balance; Thebes swung her hundred -gates upon the world. New, shining Memphis glittered with myriad -reflections into waters that the tears of Isis sweetened, and the -cliffs of Abou Simbel were still innocent of their gigantic progeny. -Alone, the Sphinx, linking timelessness with time, brooded unguessed -and underived upon an alien world. We marched within antiquity towards -Denderah.... - -How long we marched, how fast, how far we went, I can remember as -little as the marvellous speech that passed across me while my two -companions spoke together. I only remember that suddenly a wave -of pain disturbed my wondrous happiness and caused my calm, which -had seemed beyond all reach of break, to fall away. I heard their -voices abruptly with a kind of terror. A sensation of fear, of loss, -of nightmare bewilderment came over me like cold wind. What _they_ -lived naturally, true to their inmost hearts, _I_ lived merely by -means of a temperamental sympathy. And the stage had come at which -my powers failed. Exhaustion overtook me. I wilted. The strain--the -abnormal backwards stretch of consciousness that was put upon me by -another--gave way and broke. I heard their voices faint and horrible. -My joy was extinguished. A glare of horror fell upon the desert and -the stars seemed evil. An anguishing desire for the safe and wholesome -Present usurped all this mad yearning to obtain the Past. My feet fell -out of step. The rushing of the desert paused. I unlinked my arms. We -stopped all three. - -The actual spot is to this day well known to me. I found it afterwards, -I even photographed it. It lies actually not far from Helouan--a few -miles at most beyond the Solitary Palm, where slopes of undulating -sand mark the opening of a strange, enticing valley called the Wadi -Gerraui. And it is enticing because it beckons and leads on. Here, amid -torn gorges of a limestone wilderness, there is suddenly soft yellow -sand that flows and draws the feet onward. It slips away with one too -easily; always the next ridge and basin must be seen, each time a -little farther. It has the quality of decoying. The cliffs say, No; but -this streaming sand invites. In its flowing curves of gold there is -enchantment. - -And it was here upon its very lips we stopped, the rhythm of our steps -broken, our hearts no longer one. My temporary rapture vanished. I -was aware of fear. For the Present rushed upon me with attack in it, -and I felt that my mind was arrested close upon the edge of madness. -Something cleared and lifted in my brain. - -The soul, indeed, could 'choose its dwelling-place'; but to live -elsewhere completely was the choice of madness, and to live divorced -from all the sweet wholesome business of To-day involved an exile -that was worse than madness. It was death. My heart burned for George -Isley. I remembered the tear upon his cheek. The agony of his struggle -I shared suddenly with him. Yet with him was the reality, with me -a sympathetic reflection merely. _He_ was already too far gone to -fight.... - -I shall never forget the desolation of that strange scene beneath the -morning stars. The desert lay down and watched us. We stood upon the -brink of a little broken ridge, looking into the valley of golden sand. -This sand gleamed soft and wonderful in the starlight some twenty feet -below. The descent was easy--but I would not move. I refused to advance -another step. I saw my companions in the mysterious half-light beside -me peering over the edge, Moleson in front a little. - -And I turned to him, sure of the part I meant to play, yet conscious -painfully of my helplessness. My personality seemed a straw in -mid-stream that spun in a futile effort to arrest the flood that bore -it. There was vivid human conflict in the moment's silence. It was an -eddy that paused in the great body of the tide. And then I spoke. Oh, -I was ashamed of the insignificance of my voice and the weakness of my -little personality. - -'Moleson, we go no farther with you. We have already come too far. We -now turn back.' - -Behind my words were a paltry thirty years. His answer drove sixty -centuries against me. For his voice was like the wind that passed -whispering down the stream of yellow sand below us. He smiled. - -'Our feet are set towards Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e]. There is no turning -back. Listen! It is calling, calling, calling!' - -'We will go home,' I cried, in a tone I vainly strove to make -imperative. - -'Our home is there,' he sang, pointing with one long thin arm towards -the brightening east, 'for the Temple calls us and the River takes our -feet. We shall be in the House of Birth to meet the sunrise----' - -'You lie,' I cried again, 'you speak the lies of madness, and this Past -you seek is the House of Death. It is the kingdom of the underworld.' - -The words tore wildly, impotently out of me. I seized George Isley's -arm. - -'Come back with me,' I pleaded vehemently, my heart aching with a -nameless pain for him. 'We'll retrace our steps. Come home with me! -Come back! Listen! The Present calls you sweetly!' - -His arm slipped horribly out of my grasp that had seemed to hold it so -tightly. Moleson, already below us in the yellow sand, looked small -with distance. He was gliding rapidly farther with uncanny swiftness. -The diminution of his form was ghastly. It was like a doll's. And his -voice rose up, faint as with the distance of great gulfs of space. - -'Calling ... calling.... You hear it for ever calling ...' - -It died away with the wind along that sandy valley, and the Past swept -in a flood across the brightening sky. I swayed as though a storm was -at my back. I reeled. Almost I went too--over the crumbling edge into -the sand. - -'Come back with me! Come home!' I cried more faintly. 'The Present -alone is real. There is work, ambition, duty. There is beauty too--the -beauty of good living! And there is love! There is--a woman ... -calling, calling...!' - -That other voice took up the word below me. I heard the faint refrain -sing down the sandy walls. The wild, sweet pang in it was marvellous. - -'Our feet are set for Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e]. It is calling, calling...!' - -My voice fell into nothingness. George Isley was below me now, his -outline tiny against the sheet of yellow sand. And the sand was moving. -The desert rushed again. The human figures receded swiftly into the -Past they had reconstructed with the creative yearning of their souls. - -I stood alone upon the edge of crumbling limestone, helplessly watching -them. It was amazing what I witnessed, while the shafts of crimson dawn -rose up the sky. The enormous desert turned alive to the horizon with -gold and blue and silver. The purple shadows melted into grey. The -flat-topped ridges shone. Huge messengers of light flashed everywhere -at once. The radiance of sunrise dazzled my outer sight. - -But if my eyes were blinded, my inner sight was focused the more -clearly upon what followed. I witnessed the disappearance of George -Isley. There was a dreadful magic in the picture. The pair of them, -small and distant below me in that little sandy hollow, stood out -sharply defined as in a miniature. I saw their outlines neat and -terrible like some ghastly inset against the enormous scenery. Though -so close to me in actual space, they were centuries away in time. And a -dim, vast shadow was about them that was not mere shadow of the ridges. -It encompassed them; it moved, crawling over the sand, obliterating -them. Within it, like insects lost in amber, they became visibly -imprisoned, dwindled in size, borne deep away, absorbed. - -And then I recognised the outline. Once more, but this time recumbent -and spread flat upon the desert's face, I knew the monstrous shapes of -the twin obsessing symbols. The spirit of ancient Egypt lay over all -the land, tremendous in the dawn. The sunrise summoned her. She lay -prostrate before the deity. The shadows of the towering Colossi lay -prostrate too. The little humans, with their worshipping and conquered -hearts, lay deep within them. - -George Isley I saw clearest. The distinctness, the reality were -appalling. He was naked, robbed, undressed. I saw him a skeleton, -picked clean to the very bones as by an acid. His life lay hid in the -being of that mighty Past. Egypt had absorbed him. He was gone.... - - * * * * * - -I closed my eyes, but I could not keep them closed. They opened of -their own accord. The three of us were nearing the great hotel that -rose yellow, with shuttered windows, in the early sunshine. A wind -blew briskly from the north across the Mokattam Hills. There were soft -cannon-ball clouds dotted about the sky, and across the Nile, where the -mist lay in a line of white, I saw the tops of the Pyramids gleaming -like mountain peaks of gold. A string of camels, laden with white -stone, went past us. I heard the crying of the natives in the streets -of Helouan, and as we went up the steps the donkeys arrived and camped -in the sandy road beside their _bersim_ till the tourists claimed them. - -'Good morning,' cried Abdullah, the man who owned them. 'You all -go Sakkhâra to-day, or Memphis? Beat'ful day to-day, and vair good -donkeys!' - -Moleson went up to his room without a word, and Isley did the same. -I thought he staggered a moment as he turned the passage corner from -my sight. His face wore a look of vacancy that some call peace. There -was radiance in it. It made me shudder. Aching in mind and body, and -no word spoken, I followed their example. I went upstairs to bed, and -slept a dreamless sleep till after sunset.... - - -XIV - -And I woke with a lost, unhappy feeling that a withdrawing tide had -left me on the shore, alone and desolate. My first instinct was for my -friend, George Isley. And I noticed a square, white envelope with my -name upon it in his writing. - -Before I opened it I knew quite well what words would be inside: - -'We are going up to Thebes,' the note informed me simply. 'We leave -by the night train. If you care to----' But the last four words were -scratched out again, though not so thickly that I could not read them. -Then came the address of the Egyptologist's house and the signature, -very firmly traced, 'Yours ever, GEORGE ISLEY.' I glanced at -my watch and saw that it was after seven o'clock. The night train left -at half-past six. They had already started.... - -The pain of feeling forsaken, left behind, was deep and bitter, for -myself; but what I felt for him, old friend and comrade, was even more -intense, since it was hopeless. Fear and conventional emotion had -stopped me at the very gates of an amazing possibility--some state of -consciousness that, _realising_ the Past, might doff the Present, and -by slipping out of Time, experience Eternity. That was the seduction -I had escaped by the uninspired resistance of my pettier soul. Yet, -he, my friend, yielding in order to conquer, had obtained an awful -prize--ah, I understood the picture's other side as well, with an -unutterable poignancy of pity--the prize of immobility which is sheer -stagnation, the imagined bliss which is a false escape, the dream of -finding beauty away from present things. From that dream the awakening -must be rude indeed. Clutching at vanished stars, he had clutched the -oldest illusion in the world. To me it seemed the negation of life that -had betrayed him. The pity of it burned me like a flame. - -But I did not 'care to follow' him and his companion. I waited at -Helouan for his return, filling the empty days with yet emptier -explanations. I felt as a man who sees what he loves sinking down -into clear, deep water, still within visible reach, yet gone beyond -recovery. Moleson had taken him back to Thebes; and Egypt, monstrous -effigy of the Past, had caught her prey. - -The rest, moreover, is easily told. Moleson I never saw again. To this -day I have never seen him, though his subsequent books are known to -me, with the banal fact that he is numbered with those energetic and -deluded enthusiasts who start a new religion, obtain notoriety, a few -hysterical followers and--oblivion. - -George Isley, however, returned to Helouan after a fortnight's absence. -I saw him, knew him, talked and had my meals with him. We even did -slight expeditions together. He was gentle and delightful as a woman -who has loved a wonderful ideal and attained to it--in memory. All -roughness was gone out of him; he was smooth and polished as a crystal -surface that reflects whatever is near enough to ask a picture. -Yet his appearance shocked me inexpressibly: there was nothing in -him--_nothing_. It was the representation of George Isley that came -back from Thebes; the outer simulacra; the shell that walks the London -streets to-day. I met no vestige of the man I used to know. George -Isley had disappeared. - -With this marvellous automaton I lived another month. The horror of -him kept me company in the hotel where he moved among the cosmopolitan -humanity as a ghost that visits the sunlight yet has its home elsewhere. - -This empty image of George Isley lived with me in our Helouan -hotel until the winds of early March informed his physical frame -that discomfort was in the air, and that he might as well move -elsewhere--elsewhere happening to be northwards. - -And he left just as he stayed--automatically. His brain obeyed -the conventional stimuli to which his nerves, and consequently his -muscles, were accustomed. It sounds so foolish. But he took his ticket -automatically; he gave the natural and adequate reasons automatically; -he chose his ship and landing-place in the same way that ordinary -people chose these things; he said good-bye like any other man who -leaves casual acquaintances and 'hopes' to meet them again; he lived, -that is to say, entirely in his brain. His heart, his emotions, his -temperament and personality, that nameless sum-total for which the -great sympathetic nervous system is accountable--all this, his soul, -had gone elsewhere. This once vigorous, gifted being had become a -normal, comfortable man that everybody could understand--a commonplace -nonentity. He was precisely what the majority expected him to -be--ordinary; a good fellow; a man of the world; he was 'delightful.' -He merely reflected daily life without partaking of it. To the majority -it was hardly noticeable; 'very pleasant' was a general verdict. His -ambition, his restlessness, his zeal had gone; that tireless zest whose -driving power is yearning had taken flight, leaving behind it physical -energy without spiritual desire. His soul had found its nest and flown -to it. He lived in the chimera of the Past, serene, indifferent, -detached. I saw him immense, a shadowy, majestic figure, standing--ah, -not moving!--in a repose that was satisfying because it _could_ not -change. The size, the mystery, the immobility that caged him in seemed -to me--terrible. For I dared not intrude upon his awful privacy, and -intimacy between us there was none. Of his experiences at Thebes I -asked no single question--it was somehow not possible or legitimate; -he, equally, vouchsafed no word of explanation--it was uncommunicable -to a dweller in the Present. Between us was this barrier we both -respected. He peered at modern life, incurious, listless, apathetic, -through a dim, gauze curtain. He was behind it. - -People round us were going to Sakkhâra and the Pyramids, to see -the Sphinx by moonlight, to dream at Edfu and at Denderah. Others -described their journeys to Assouan, Khartoum and Abou Simbel, and -gave details of their encampments in the desert. Wind, wind, wind! The -winds of Egypt blew and sang and sighed. From the White Nile came the -travellers, and from the Blue Nile, from the Fayum, and from nameless -excavations without end. They talked and wrote their books. They had -the magpie knowledge of the present. The Egyptologists, big and little, -read the writing on the wall and put the hieroglyphs and papyri into -modern language. Alone George Isley _knew_ the secret. He lived it. - -And the high passionate calm, the lofty beauty, the glamour and -enchantment that are the spell of this thrice-haunted land, were in -_my_ soul as well--sufficiently for me to interpret his condition. I -could not leave, yet having left I could not stay away. I yearned for -the Egypt that he knew. No word I uttered; speech could not approach -it. We wandered by the Nile together, and through the groves of palms -that once were Memphis. The sandy wastes beyond the Pyramids knew our -footsteps; the Mokattam Ridges, purple at evening and golden in the -dawn, held our passing shadows as we silently went by. At no single -dawn or sunset was he to be found indoors, and it became my habit -to accompany him--the joy of worship in his soul was marvellous. -The great, still skies of Egypt watched us, the hanging stars, the -gigantic dome of blue; we felt together that burning southern wind; the -golden sweetness of the sun lay in our blood as we saw the great boats -take the northern breeze upstream. Immensity was everywhere and this -golden magic of the sun.... - -But it was in the Desert especially, where only sun and wind observe -the faint signalling of Time, where space is nothing because it is not -divided, and where no detail reminds the heart that the world is called -To-Day--it was in the desert this curtain hung most visibly between us, -he on that side, I on this. It was transparent. He was with a multitude -no man can number. Towering to the moon, yet spreading backwards -towards his burning source of life, drawn out by the sun and by the -crystal air into some vast interior magnitude, the spirit of George -Isley hung beside me, close yet far away, in the haze of olden days. - -And, sometimes, he moved. I was aware of gestures. His head was -raised to listen. One arm swung shadowy across the sea of broken -ridges. From leagues away a line of sand rose slowly. There was a -rustling. Another--an enormous--arm emerged to meet his own, and two -stupendous figures drew together. Poised above Time, yet throned upon -the centuries, They knew eternity. So easily they remained possessors -of the land. Facing the east, they waited for the dawn. And their -marvellously forgotten singing poured across the world.... - - - - -WAYFARERS - - -I missed the train at Evian, and, after infinite trouble, discovered a -motor that would take me, ice-axe and all, to Geneva. By hurrying, the -connection might be just possible. I telegraphed to Haddon to meet me -at the station, and lay back comfortably, dreaming of the precipices of -Haute Savoie. We made good time; the roads were excellent, traffic of -the slightest, when--crash! There was an instant's excruciating pain, -the sun went out like a snuffed candle, and I fell into something as -soft as a bed of flowers and as yielding to my weight as warm water.... - -It was _very_ warm. There was a perfume of flowers. My eyes opened, -focused vividly upon a detailed picture for a moment, then closed -again. There was no context--at least, none that I could recall--for -the scene, though familiar as home, brought nothing that I definitely -remembered. Broken away from any sequence, unattached to any past, -unaware even of my own identity, I simply saw this picture as a camera -snaps it off from the world, a scene apart, with meaning only for those -who knew the context: - -The warm, soft thing I lay in was a bed--big, deep, comfortable; and -the perfume came from flowers that stood beside it on a little table. -It was in a stately, ancient chamber, with lofty ceiling and immense -open fireplace of stone; old-fashioned pictures--familiar portraits -and engravings I knew intimately--hung upon the walls; the floor was -bare, with dignified, carved furniture of oak and mahogany, huge chairs -and massive cupboards. And there were latticed windows set within deep -embrasures of grey stone, where clambering roses patterned the sunshine -that cast their moving shadows on the polished boards. With the perfume -of the flowers there mingled, too, that delicate, elusive odour of -age--of wood, of musty tapestries in spacious halls and corridors, and -of chambers long unopened to the sun and air. - -By the door that stood ajar far away at the end of the room--very far -away it seemed--an old lady, wearing a little cap of silk embroidery, -was whispering to a man of stern, uncompromising figure, who, as he -listened, bent down to her with a grave and even solemn face. A wide -stone corridor was just visible through the crack of the open door -behind her. - -The picture flashed, and vanished. The numerous details I took in -because they were well known to me already. That I could not supply the -context was merely a trick of the mind, the kind of trick that dreams -play. Darkness swamped vision again. I sank back into the warm, soft, -comfortable bed of delicious oblivion. There was not the slightest -desire to know; sleep and soft forgetfulness were all I craved. - -But a little later--or was it a very great deal later?--when I opened -my eyes again, there was a thin trail of memory. I remembered my name -and age. I remembered vaguely, as though from some unpleasant dream, -that I was on the way to meet a climbing friend in the Alps of Haute -Savoie, and that there was need to hurry and be very active. Something -had gone wrong, it seemed. There had been a stupid, violent disaster, -pain in it somewhere, an accident. Where were my belongings? Where, for -instance, was my precious ice-axe--tried old instrument on which my -life and safety depended? A rush of jumbled questions poured across my -mind. The effort to sort them hurt atrociously.... - -A figure stood beside my bed. It was the same old lady I had seen a -moment ago--or was it a month ago, even last year perhaps? And this -time she was alone. Yet, though familiar to me as my own right hand, I -could not for the life of me attract her name. Searching for it brought -the pain again. Instead, I asked an easier question; it seemed the most -important somehow, though a feeling of shame came with it, as though I -knew I was talking nonsense: - -'My ice-axe--is it safe? It should have stood any ordinary strain. It's -ash....' My voice failed absurdly, caught away by a whisper half-way -down my throat. What _was_ I talking about? There was vile confusion -somewhere. - -She smiled tenderly, sweetly, as she placed her small, cool hand -upon my forehead. Her touch calmed me as it always did, and the pain -retreated a little. - -'All your things are safe,' she answered, in a voice so soft beneath -the distant ceiling it was like a bird's note singing in the sky. 'And -_you_ are also safe. There is no danger now. The bullet has been taken -out and all is going well. Only you must be patient, and lie very -still, and rest.' And then she added the morsel of delicious comfort -she knew quite well I waited for: 'Marion is near you all day long, -and most of the night besides. She rarely leaves you. She is in and out -all day.' - -I stared, thirsting for more. Memory put certain pieces in their place -again. I heard them click together as they joined. But they only tried -to join. There were several pieces missing. They must have been lost in -the disaster. The pattern was too ridiculous. - -'I ought to tel--telegraph----' I began, seizing at a fragment that -poked its end up, then plunged out of sight again before I could read -more of it. The pieces fell apart; they would not hold together without -these missing fragments. Anger flamed up in me. - -'They're badly made,' I said, with a petulance I was secretly ashamed -of; 'you have chosen the wrong pieces! I'm not a child--to be -treated----' A shock of heat tore through me, led by a point of iron, -with blasting pain. - -'Sleep, my poor dear Félix, sleep,' she murmured soothingly, while her -tiny hand stroked my forehead, just in time to prevent that pointed, -hot thing entering my heart. 'Sleep again now, and a little later you -shall tell me their names, and I will send on horseback quickly----' - -'Telegraph----' I tried to say, but the word went lost before I could -pronounce it. It was a nonsense word, caught up from dreams. Thought -fluttered and went out. - -'I will send,' she whispered, 'in the quickest possible way. You shall -explain to Marion. Sleep first a little longer; promise me to lie quite -still and sleep. When you wake again, she will come to you at once.' - -She sat down gently on the edge of the enormous bed, so that I saw her -outline against the window where the roses clambered to come in. She -bent over me--or was it a rose that bent in the wind across the stone -embrasure? I saw her clear blue eyes--or was it two raindrops upon a -withered rose-leaf that mirrored the summer sky? - -'Thank you,' my voice murmured with intense relief, as everything sank -away and the old-world garden seemed to enter by the latticed windows. -For there was a power in her way that made obedience sweet, and her -little hand, besides, cushioned the attack of that cruel iron point so -that I hardly felt its entrance. Before the fierce heat could reach me, -darkness again put out the world.... - -Then, after a prodigious interval, my eyes once more opened to the -stately, old-world chamber that I knew so well; and this time I found -myself alone. In my brain was a stinging, splitting sensation, as -though Memory shook her pieces together with angry violence, pieces, -moreover, made of clashing metal. A degrading nausea almost vanquished -me. Against my feet was a heated metal body, too heavy for me to move, -and bandages were tight round my neck and the back of my head. Dimly, -it came back to me that hands had been about me hours ago, soft, -ministering hands that I loved. Their perfume lingered still. Faces -and names fled in swift procession past me, yet without my making any -attempt to bid them stay. I asked myself no questions. Effort of any -sort was utterly beyond me. I lay and watched and waited, helpless and -strangely weak. - -One or two things alone were clear. They came, too, without the effort -to think them: - -There had been a disaster; they had carried me into the nearest house; -and--the mountain heights, so keenly longed for, were suddenly denied -me. I was being cared for by kind people somewhere far from the world's -high routes. They were familiar people, yet for the moment I had lost -the name. But it was the bitterness of losing my holiday climbing -that chiefly savaged me, so that strong desire returned upon itself -unfulfilled. And, knowing the danger of frustrated yearnings, and the -curious states of mind they may engender, my tumbling brain registered -a decision automatically: - -'Keep careful watch upon yourself,' it whispered. - -For I saw the peaks that towered above the world, and felt the wind -rise from the hidden valleys. The perfume of lonely ridges came to me, -and I saw the snow against the blue-black sky. Yet I could not reach -them. I lay, instead, broken and useless upon my back, in a soft, -deep, comfortable bed. And I loathed the thought. A dull and evil fury -rose within me. Where was Haddon? He would get me out of it if any one -could. And where was my dear, old trusted ice-axe? Above all, who were -these gentle, old-world people who cared for me?... And, with this last -thought, came some fairy touch of sweetness so delicious that I was -conscious of sudden resignation--more, even of delight and joy. - -This joy and anger ran races for possession of my mind, and I knew not -which to follow: both seemed real, and both seemed true. The cruel -confusion was an added torture. Two sets of places and people seemed to -mingle. - -'Keep a careful watch upon yourself,' repeated the automatic caution. - -Then, with returning, blissful darkness, came another thing--a tiny -point of wonder, where light entered in. I thought of a woman.... -It was a vehement, commanding thought; and though at first it was -very close and real--as much of To-day as Haddon and my precious -ice-axe--the next second it was leagues away in another world -somewhere. Yet, before the confusion twisted it all askew, I knew her; -I remembered clearly even where she lived; that I knew her husband, -too--had stayed with them in--in Scotland--yes, in Scotland. Yet no -word in this life had ever crossed my lips, for she was not free to -come. Neither of us, with eyes or lips or gesture, had ever betrayed -a hint to the other of our deeply hidden secret. And, although for me -she was _the_ woman, my great yearning--long, long ago it was, in early -youth--had been sternly put aside and buried with all the vigour nature -gave me. Her husband was my friend as well. - -Only, now, the shock had somehow strained the prison bars, and the -yearning escaped for a moment full-fledged, and vehement with passion -long denied. The inhibition was destroyed. The knowledge swept -deliciously upon me that we had the right to be together, because we -always _were_ together. I had the right to ask for her. - -My mind was certainly a mere field of confused, ungoverned images. No -thinking was possible, for it hurt too vilely. But this one memory -stood out with violence. I distinctly remember that I called to her -to come, and that she had the right to come because my need was so -peremptory. To the one most loved of all this life had brought me, yet -to whom I had never spoken because she was in another's keeping, I -called for help, and called, I verily believe, aloud: - -'Please come!' Then, close upon its heels, the automatic warning -again: 'Keep close watch upon yourself...!' - -It was as though one great yearning had loosed the other that was even -greater, and had set it free. - -Disappearing consciousness then followed the cry for an incalculable -distance. Down into subterraneans within myself that were positively -frightening it plunged away. But the cry was real; the yearning appeal -held authority in it as of command. Love gave the right, supplied the -power as well. For it seemed to me a tiny answer came, but from so far -away that it was scarcely audible. And names were nowhere in it, either -in answer or appeal. - -'I am always here. I have never, never left you!' - - * * * * * - -The unconsciousness that followed was not complete, apparently. -There was a memory of effort in it, of struggle, and, as it were, of -searching. Some one was trying to get at me. I tossed in a troubled -sea upon a piece of wreckage that another swimmer also fought to -reach. Huge waves of transparent green now brought this figure nearer, -now concealed it, but it came steadily on, holding out a rope. My -exhaustion was too great for me to respond, yet this swimmer swept up -nearer, brought by enormous rollers that threatened to engulf us both. -The rope was for my safety, too. I saw hands outstretched. In the deep -water I saw the outline of the body, and once I even saw the face. But -for a second, merely. The wave that bore it crashed with a horrible -roar that smothered us both and swept me from my piece of wreckage. In -the violent flood of water the rope whipped against my feeble hands. -I grasped it. A sense of divine security at once came over me--an -intolerable sweetness of utter bliss and comfort, then blackness and -suffocation as of the grave. The white-hot point of iron struck me. It -beat audibly against my heart. I heard the knocking. The pain brought -me up to the surface, and the knocking of my dreams was in reality a -knocking on the door. Some one was gently tapping. - -Such was the confusion of images in my pain-racked mind, that I -expected to see the old lady enter, bringing ropes and ice-axes, and -followed by Haddon, my mountaineering friend; for I thought that I had -fallen down a deep crevasse and had waited hours for help in the cold, -blue darkness of the ice. I was too weak to answer, and the knocking -for that matter was not repeated. I did not even hear the opening of -the door, so softly did she move into the room. I only knew that before -I actually saw her, this wave of intolerable sweetness drenched me once -again with bliss and peace and comfort, my pain retreated, and I closed -my eyes, knowing I should feel that cool and soothing hand upon my -forehead. - -The same minute I did feel it. There was a perfume of old gardens in -the air. I opened my eyes to look the gratitude I could not utter, and -saw, close against me--not the old lady, but the young and lovely face -my worship had long made familiar. With lips that smiled their yearning -and eyes of brown that held tears of sympathy, she sat down beside me -on the bed. The warmth and fragrance of her atmosphere enveloped me. I -sank away into a garden where spring melts magically into summer. Her -arms were round my neck. Her face dropped down, so that I felt her hair -upon my cheek and eyes. And then, whispering my name twice over, she -kissed me on the lips. - -'Marion,' I murmured. - -'Hush! Mother sends you this,' she answered softly. 'You are to take it -all; she made it with her own hands. But _I_ bring it to you. You must -be quite obedient, please.' - -She tried to rise, but I held her against my breast. - -'Kiss me again and I'll promise obedience always,' I strove to say. -But my voice refused so long a sentence, and anyhow her lips were on -my own before I could have finished it. Slowly, very carefully, she -disentangled herself, and my arms sank back upon the coverlet. I sighed -in happiness. A moment longer she stood beside my bed, gazing down with -love and deep anxiety into my face. - -'And when all is eaten, all, mind, _all_,' she smiled, 'you are to -sleep until the doctor comes this afternoon. You are much better. Soon -you shall get up. Only, remember,' shaking her finger with a sweet -pretence of looking stern, 'I shall exact complete obedience. You must -yield your will utterly to mine. You are in my heart, and my heart must -be kept very warm and happy.' - -Her eyes were tender as her mother's, and I loved the authority and -strength that were so real in her. I remembered how it was this -strength that had sealed the contract her beauty first drew up for me -to sign. She bent down once more to arrange my pillows. - -'What happened to--to the motor?' I asked hesitatingly, for my thoughts -_would_ not regulate themselves. The mind presented such incongruous -fragments. - -'The--what?' she asked, evidently puzzled. The word seemed strange to -her. 'What is that?' she repeated, anxiety in her eyes. - -I made an effort to tell her, but I could not. Explanation was -suddenly impossible. The whole idea dived away out of sight. It utterly -evaded me. I had again invented a word that was without meaning. I was -talking nonsense. In its place my dream came up. I tried to tell her -how I had dreamed of climbing dangerous heights with a stranger, and -had spoken another language with him than my own--English, was it?--at -any rate, not my native French. - -'Darling,' she whispered close into my ear, 'the bad dreams will not -come back. You are safe here, quite safe.' She put her little hand like -a flower on my forehead and drew it softly down the cheek. 'Your wound -is already healing. They took the bullet out four days ago. I have -got it,' she added with a touch of shy embarrassment, and kissed me -tenderly upon my eyes. - -'How long have you been away from me?' I asked, feeling exhaustion -coming back. - -'Never once for more than ten minutes,' was the reply. 'I watched with -you all night. Only this morning, while mother took my place, I slept a -little. But, hush!' she said, with dear authority again; 'you are not -to talk so much. You must eat what I have brought, then sleep again. -You must rest and sleep. Good-bye, good-bye, my love. I shall come back -in an hour, and I shall always be within reach of your dear voice.' - -Her tall, slim figure, dressed in the grey I loved, crossed silently to -the door. She gave me one more look--there was all the tenderness of -passionate love in it--and then was gone. - -I followed instructions meekly, and when a delicious sleep stole over -me soon afterwards, I had forgotten utterly the ugly dream that I -was climbing dangerous heights with another man, forgotten as well -everything else, except that it seemed so many days since my love had -come to me, and that my bullet wound would after all be healed in time -for our wedding on the day so long, so eagerly waited for. - -And when, several hours later, her mother came in with the doctor--his -face less grave and solemn this time--the news that I might get up next -day and lie a little in the garden, did more to heal me than a thousand -bandages or twice that quantity of medical instructions. - -I watched them as they stood a moment by the open door. They went out -very slowly together, speaking in whispers. But the only thing I caught -was the mother's voice, talking brokenly of the great wars. Napoleon, -the doctor was saying in a low, hushed tone, was in full retreat from -Moscow, though the news had only just come through. They passed into -the corridor then, and there was a sound of weeping as the old lady -murmured something about her son and the cruelty of Heaven. 'Both will -be taken from me,' she was sobbing softly, while he stooped to comfort -her; 'one in marriage, and the other in death.' They closed the door -then, and I heard no more. - - -I - -Convalescence seemed to follow very quickly then, for I was utterly -obedient as I had promised, and never spoke of what could excite me -to my own detriment--the wars and my own unfortunate part in them. We -talked instead of our love, our already too-long engagement, and of the -sweet dream of happiness that life held waiting for us in the future. -And, indeed, I was sufficiently weary of the world to prefer repose to -much activity, for my body was almost incessantly in pain, and this old -garden where we lay between high walls of stone, aloof from the busy -world and very peaceful, was far more to my taste just then than wars -and fighting. - -The orchards were in blossom, and the winds of spring showered their -rain of petals upon the long, new grass. We lay, half in sunshine, half -in shade, beneath the poplars that lined the avenue towards the lake, -and behind us rose the ancient grey stone towers where the jackdaws -nested in the ivy and the pigeons cooed and fluttered from the woods -beyond. - -There was loveliness everywhere, but there was sadness too, for though -we both knew that the wars had taken her brother whence there is no -return, and that only her aged, failing mother's life stood between -ourselves and the stately property, there hid a sadness yet deeper -than either of these thoughts in both our hearts. And it was, I think, -the sadness that comes with spring. For spring, with her lavish, -short-lived promises of eternal beauty, is ever a symbol of passing -human happiness, incomplete and always unfulfilled. Promises made on -earth are playthings, after all, for children. Even while we make them -so solemnly, we seem to know they are not meant to hold. They are made, -as spring is made, with a glory of soft, radiant blossoms that pass -away before there is time to realise them. And yet they come again with -the return of spring, as unashamed and glorious as if Time had utterly -forgotten. - -And this sadness was in her too. I mean it was part of her and she was -part of it. Not that our love could change to pass or die, but that -its sweet, so-long-desired accomplishment must hold away, and, like the -spring, must melt and vanish before it had been fully known. I did not -speak of it. I well understood that the depression of a broken body can -influence the spirit with its poisonous melancholy, but it must have -betrayed itself in my words and gestures, even in my manner too. At any -rate, she was aware of it. I think, if truth be told, she felt it too. -It seemed so painfully inevitable. - -My recovery, meanwhile, was rapid, and from spending an hour or two in -the garden, I soon came to spend the entire day. For the spring came on -with a rush, and the warmth increased deliciously. While the cuckoos -called to one another in the great beech-woods behind the château, -we sat and talked and sometimes had our simple meals or coffee there -together, and I particularly recall the occasion when solid food was -first permitted me and she gave me a delicate young _bondelle_, fresh -caught that very morning in the lake. There were leaves of sweet, crisp -lettuce with it, and she picked the bones out for me with her own white -hands. - -The day was radiant, with a sky of cloudless blue, soft airs stirred -the poplar crests; the little waves fell on the pebbly beach not fifty -metres away, and the orchard floor was carpeted with flowers that -seemed to have caught from heaven's stars the patterns of their yellow -blossoms. The bees droned peacefully among the fruit trees; the air was -full of musical deep hummings. My former vigour stirred delightfully -in my blood, and I knew no pain, beyond occasional dull twinges in the -head that came with a rush of temporary darkness over my mind. The -scar was healed, however, and the hair had grown over it again. This -temporary darkness alarmed her more than it alarmed me. There were -grave complications, apparently, that I did not know of. - -But the deep-lying sadness in me seemed independent of the glorious -weather, due to causes so intangible, so far off that I never could -dispel them by arguing them away. For I could not discover what they -actually were. There was a vague, distressing sense of restlessness -that I ought to have been elsewhere and otherwise, that we were -together for a few days only, and that these few days I had snatched -unlawfully from stern, imperative duties. These duties were immediate, -but neglected. In a sense I had no right to this springtide of bliss -her presence brought me. I was playing truant somehow, somewhere. It -was _not_ my absence from the regiment; that I know. It was infinitely -deeper, set to some enormous scale that vaguely frightened me, while it -deepened the sweetness of the stolen joy. - -Like a child, I sought to pin the sunny hours against the sky and -make them stay. They passed with such a mocking swiftness, snatched -momentarily from some big oblivion. The twilights swallowed our days -together before they had been properly tasted, and on looking back, -each afternoon of happiness seemed to have been a mere moment in a -flying dream. And I must have somehow betrayed the aching mood, for -Marion turned of a sudden and gazed into my face with yearning and -anxiety in the sweet brown eyes. - -'What is it, dearest?' I asked, 'and why do your eyes bring questions?' - -'You sighed,' she answered, smiling a little sadly; 'and sighed so -deeply. You are in pain again. The darkness, perhaps, is over you?' -And her hand stole out to meet my own. 'You are in pain?' - -'Not physical pain,' I said, 'and not _the_ darkness either. I see -_you_ clearly,' and would have told her more, as I carried her soft -fingers to my lips, had I not divined from the expression in her eyes -that she read my heart and knew all my strange, mysterious forebodings -in herself. - -'I know,' she whispered before I could find speech, 'for I feel it too. -It is the shadow of separation that oppresses you--yet of no common, -measurable separation you can understand. Is it not that?' - -Leaning over then, I took her close into my arms, since words in that -moment were mere foolishness. I held her so that she could not get -away; but even while I did so it was like trying to hold the spring, or -fasten the flying hour with a fierce desire. All slipped from me, and -my arms caught at the sunshine and the wind. - -'We have both felt it all these weeks,' she said bravely, as soon as -I had released her, 'and we both have struggled to conceal it. But -now----' she hesitated for a second, and with so exquisite a tenderness -that I would have caught her to me again but for my anxiety to hear her -further words--'now that you are well, we may speak plainly to each -other, and so lessen our pain by sharing it.' And then she added, still -more softly: 'You feel there is "something" that shall take you from -me--yet what it is you cannot discover nor divine. Tell me, Félix--all -your thought, that I in turn may tell you mine.' - -Her voice floated about me in the sunny air. I stared at her, striving -to focus the dear face more clearly for my sight. A shower of apple -blossoms fell about us, and her words seemed floating past me like -those passing petals of white. They drifted away. I followed them -with difficulty and confusion. With the wind, I fancied, a veil of -indefinable change slipped across her face and eyes. - -'Yet nothing that could alter feeling,' I answered; for she had -expressed my own thought completely. 'Nor anything that either of us -can control. Only--perhaps, that everything must fade and pass away, -just as this glory of the spring must fade and pass away----' - -'Yet leaving its sweetness in us,' she caught me up passionately, 'and -to come again, my beloved, to come again in every subsequent life, -each time with an added sweetness in it too!' Her little face showed -suddenly the courage of a lion in its eyes. Her heart was ever braver -than my own, a vigorous, fighting soul. She spoke of lives, I prattled -of days and hours merely. - -A touch of shame stole over me. But that delicate, swift change in her -spread too. With a thrill of ominous warning I noticed how it rose and -grew about her. From within, outwards, it seemed to pass--like a shadow -of great blue distance. Shadow was somewhere in it, so that she dimmed -a little before my very eyes. The dreadful yearning searched and shook -me, for I could not understand it, try as I would. She seemed going -from me--drifting like her words and like the apple blossoms. - -'But when we shall no longer be here to know it,' I made answer -quickly, yet as calmly as I could, 'and when we shall have passed to -some other place--to other conditions--where we shall not recognise the -joy and wonder. When barriers of mist shall have rolled between us--our -love and passion so made-over that we shall not know each other'--the -words rushed out feverishly, half beyond control--'and perhaps shall -not even dare to speak to each other of our deep desire----' - -I broke off abruptly, conscious that I was speaking out of some -unfamiliar place where I floundered, helpless among strange conditions. -I was saying things I hardly understood myself. Her bigger, deeper mood -spoke through me, perhaps. - -Her darling face came back again; she moved close within reach once -more. - -'Hush, hush!' she whispered, terror and love both battling in her -eyes. 'It is the truth, perhaps, but you must not say such things. To -speak them brings them closer. A chain is about our hearts, a chain -of fashioning lives without number, but do not seek to draw upon -it with anxiety or fear. To do so can only cause the pain of wrong -entanglement, and interrupt the natural running of the iron links.' And -she placed her hand swiftly upon my mouth, as though divining that the -bleak attack of anguish was again upon me with its throbbing rush of -darkness. - -But for once I was disobedient and resisted. The physical pain, I -realised vividly, was linked closely with this spiritual torture. -One caused the other somehow. The disordered brain received, though -brokenly, some hints of darker and unusual knowledge. It had stammered -forth in me, but through her it flowed easily and clear. I saw the -change move more swiftly then across her face. Some ancient look passed -into both her eyes. - -And it was inevitable; I must speak out, regardless of mere bodily -well-being. - -'We shall have to face them some day,' I cried, although the effort -hurt abominably, 'then why not now?' And I drew her hand down and -kissed it passionately over and over again. 'We are not children, to -hide our faces among shadows and pretend we are invisible. At least -we have the Present--the Moment that is here and now. We stand side -by side in the heart of this deep spring day. This sunshine and these -flowers, this wind across the lake, this sky of blue and this singing -of the birds--all, all are ours _now_. Let us use the moment that Time -gives, and so strengthen the chain you speak of that shall bring us -again together times without number. We shall then, perhaps, remember. -Oh, my heart, think what that would mean--to remember!' - -Exhaustion caught me, and I sank back among my cushions. But Marion -rose up suddenly and stood beside me. And as she did so, another Sky -dropped softly down upon us both, and I smelt again the incense of old, -old gardens that brought long-forgotten perfumes, incredibly sweet, but -with it an ache of far-off, passionate remembrance that was pain. This -great ache of distance swept over me like a wave. - -I know not what grand change then was wrought upon her beauty, so that -I saw her defiant and erect, commanding Fate because she understood -it. She towered over me, but it was her soul that towered. The rush of -internal darkness in me blotted out all else. The familiar, present sky -grew dim, the sunshine faded, the lake and flowers and poplars dipped -away. Conditions a thousand times more vivid took their place. She -stood out, clear and shining in the glory of an undressed soul, brave -and confident with an eternal love that separation strengthened but -could never, never change. The deep sadness I abruptly realised, was -very little removed from joy--because, somehow, it was the condition of -joy. I could not explain it more than that. - -And her voice, when she spoke, was firm with a note of steel in it; -intense, yet devoid of the wasting anger that passion brings. She was -determined beyond Death itself, upon a foundation sure and lasting -as the stars. The heart in her was calm, because she _knew_. She was -magnificent. - -'We are together--always,' she said, her voice rich with the knowledge -of some unfathomable experience, 'for separation is temporary merely, -forging new links in the ancient chain of lives that binds our hearts -eternally together.' She looked like one who has conquered the -adversity Time brings, by accepting it. 'You speak of the Present as -though our souls were already fitted now to bid it stay, needing no -further fashioning. Looking only to the Future, you forget our ample -Past that has made us what we are. Yet our Past is here and now, beside -us at this very moment. Into the hollow cups of weeks and months, of -years and centuries, Time pours its flood beneath our eyes. Time is -our schoolroom.... Are you so soon afraid? Does not separation achieve -that which companionship never could accomplish? And how shall we dare -eternity together if we cannot be strong in separation first?' - -I listened while a flood of memories broke up through film upon film -and layer upon layer that had long covered them. - -'This Present that we seem to hold between our hands,' she went on in -that earnest, distant voice, '_is_ our moment of sweet remembrance that -you speak of, of renewal, perhaps, too, of reconciliation--a fleeting -instant when we may kiss again and say good-bye, but with strengthened -hope and courage revived. But we may not stay together finally--we -_cannot_--until long discipline and pain shall have perfected sympathy -and schooled our love by searching, difficult tests, that it may last -for ever.' - -I stretched my arms out dumbly to take her in. Her face shone down upon -me, bathed in an older, fiercer sunlight. The change in her seemed -in an instant then complete. Some big, soft wind blew both of us ten -thousand miles away. The centuries gathered us back together. - -'Look, rather, to the Past,' she whispered grandly, 'where first we -knew the sweet opening of our love. Remember, if you can, how the pain -and separation have made it so worth while to continue. And be braver -thence.' - -She turned her eyes more fully upon my own, so that their light -persuaded me utterly away with her. An immense new happiness broke -over me. I listened, and with the stirrings of an ampler courage. It -seemed I followed her down an interminable vista of remembrance till -I was happy with her among the flowers and fields of our earliest -pre-existence. - -Her voice came to me with the singing of birds and the hum of summer -insects. - -'Have you so soon forgotten,' she sighed, 'when we knew together the -perfume of the hanging Babylonian Gardens, or when the Hesperides were -so soft to us in the dawn of the world? And do you not remember,' -with a little rise of passion in her voice, 'the sweet plantations of -Chaldea, and how we tasted the odour of many a drooping flower in the -gardens of Alcinous and Adonis, when the bees of olden time picked -out the honey for our eating? It is the fragrance of those first hours -we knew together that still lies in our hearts to-day, sweetening our -love to this apparent suddenness. Hence comes the full, deep happiness -we gather so easily To-day.... The breast of every ancient forest is -torn with storms and lightning ... that's why it is so soft and full of -little gardens. You have forgotten too easily the glades of Lebanon, -where we whispered our earliest secrets while the big winds drove their -chariots down those earlier skies....' - -There rose an indescribable tempest of remembrance in my heart as I -strove to bring the pictures into focus; but words failed me, and the -hand I eagerly stretched out to touch her own, met only sunshine and -the rain of apple blossoms. - -'The myrrh and frankincense,' she continued in a sighing voice that -seemed to come with the wind from invisible caverns in the sky, 'the -grapes and pomegranates--have they all passed from you, with the train -of apes and peacocks, the tigers and the ibis, and the hordes of -dark-faced slaves? And this little sun that plays so lightly here upon -our woods of beech and pine--does it bring back nothing of the old-time -scorching when the olive slopes, the figs and ripening cornfields -heard our vows and watched our love mature?... Our spread encampment -in the Desert--do not these sands upon our little beach revive its -lonely majesty for you, and have you forgotten the gleaming towers of -Semiramis ... or, in Sardis, those strange lilies that first tempted -our souls to their divine disclosure...?' - -Conscious of a violent struggle between pain and joy, both too deep for -me to understand, I rose to seize her in my arms. But the effort dimmed -the flying pictures. The wind that bore her voice down the stupendous -vista fled back into the caverns whence it came. And the pain caught -me in a vice of agony so searching that I could not move a muscle. -My tongue lay dry against my lips. I could not frame a word of any -sentence.... - -Her voice presently came back to me, but fainter, like a whisper from -the stars. The light dimmed everywhere; I saw no more the vivid, -shining scenery she had summoned. A mournful dusk instead crept down -upon the world she had momentarily revived. - -'... we may not stay together,' I heard her little whisper, 'until long -discipline shall have perfected sympathy, and schooled our love to -last. For this love of ours _is_ for ever, and the pain that tries it -is the furnace that fashions precious stones....' - -Again I stretched my arms out. Her face shone a moment longer in that -forgotten fiercer sunlight, then faded very swiftly. The change, like a -veil, passed over it. From the place of prodigious distance where she -had been, she swept down towards me with such dizzy speed. As she was -To-day I saw her again, more and more. - -'Pain and separation, then, are welcome,' I tried to stammer, 'and we -will desire them'--but my thought got no further into expression than -the first two words. Aching blotted out coherent utterance. - -She bent down very close against my face. Her fragrance was about -my lips. But her voice ran off like a faint thrill of music, far, -far away. I caught the final words, dying away as wind dies in high -branches of a wood. And they reached me this time through the droning -of bees and of waves that murmured close at hand upon the shore. - -'... for our love is of the soul, and our souls are moulded in -Eternity. It is not yet, it is not now, our perfect consummation. Nor -shall our next time of meeting know it. We shall not even speak.... For -I shall not be free....' was what I heard. She paused. - -'You mean we shall not know each other?' I cried, in an anguish of -spirit that mastered the lesser physical pain. - -I barely caught her answer: - -'My discipline then will be in another's keeping--yet only that I may -come back to you ... more perfect ... in the end....' - -The bees and waves then cushioned her whisper with their humming. The -trail of a deeper silence led them far away. The rush of temporary -darkness passed and lifted. I opened my eyes. My love sat close beside -me in the shadow of the poplars. One hand held both my own, while with -the other she arranged my pillows and stroked my aching head. The world -dropped back into a tiny scale once more. - -'You have had the pain again,' Marion murmured anxiously, 'but it is -better now. It is passing.' She kissed my cheek. 'You must come in....' - -But I would not let her go. I held her to me with all the strength that -was in me. 'I had it, but it's gone again. An awful darkness came with -it,' I whispered in the little ear that was so close against my mouth. -'I've been dreaming,' I told her, as memory dipped away, 'dreaming of -you and me--together somewhere--in old gardens, or forests--where the -sun was----' - -But she would not let me finish. I think, in any case, I could not -have said more, for thought evaded me, and any language of coherent -description was in the same instant beyond my power. Exhaustion came -upon me, that vile, compelling nausea with it. - -'The sun here is too strong for you, dear love,' I heard her saying, -'and you must rest more. We have been doing too much these last few -days. You must have more repose.' She rose to help me move indoors. - -'I have been unconscious then?' I asked, in the feeble whisper that was -all I could manage. - -'For a little while. You slept, while I watched over you.' - -'But I was away from you! Oh, how could you let me sleep, when our time -together is so short?' - -She soothed me instantly in the way she knew we both loved so. I clung -to her until she released herself again. - -'Not away from me,' she smiled, 'for I was with you in your dreaming.' - -'Of course, of course you were'; but already I knew not exactly why I -said it, nor caught the deep meaning that struggled up into my words -from such unfathomable distance. - -'Come,' she added, with her sweet authority again, 'we must go in now. -Give me your arm, and I will send out for the cushions. Lean on me. I -am going to put you back to bed.' - -'But I shall sleep again,' I said petulantly, 'and we shall be -separated.' - -'We shall dream together,' she replied, as she helped me slowly and -painfully towards the old grey walls of the château. - - -II - -Half an hour later I slept deeply, peacefully, upon my bed in the big -stately chamber where the roses watched beside the latticed windows. - -And to say I dreamed again is not correct, for it can only be expressed -by saying that I saw and knew. The figures round the bed were actual, -and in life. Nothing could be more real than the whisper of the -doctor's voice--that solemn, grave-faced man who was so tall--as he -said, sternly yet brokenly, to some one: 'You must say good-bye; and -you had better say it _now_.' Nor could anything be more definite and -sure, more charged with the actuality of living, than the figure of -Marion, as she stooped over me to obey the terrible command. For I saw -her face float down towards me like a star, and a shower of pale spring -blossoms rained upon me with her hair. The perfume of old, old gardens -rose about me as she slipped to her knees beside the bed and kissed my -lips--so softly it was like the breath of wind from lake and orchard, -and so lingeringly it was as though the blossoms lay upon my mouth and -grew into flowers that she planted there. - -'Good-bye, my love; be brave. It is only separation.' - -'It is death,' I tried to say, but could only feebly stir my lips -against her own. - -I drew her breath of flowers into my mouth ... and there came then the -darkness which is final. - - * * * * * - -The voices grew louder. I heard a man struggling with an unfamiliar -language. Turning restlessly, I opened my eyes--upon a little, stuffy -room, with white walls whereon no pictures hung. It was very hot. -A woman was standing beside the bed, and the bed was very short. I -stretched, and my feet kicked against the boarding at the end. - -'Yes, he _is_ awake,' the woman said in French. 'Will you come in? The -doctor said you might see him when he woke. I think he'll know you.' -She spoke in French. I just knew enough to understand. - -And of course I knew him. It was Haddon. I heard him thanking her for -all her kindness, as he blundered in. His French, if anything, was -worse than my own. I felt inclined to laugh. I did laugh. - -'By Jove! old man, this is bad luck, isn't it? You've had a narrow -shave. This good lady telegraphed----' - -'Have you got my ice-axe? Is it all right?' I asked. I remembered -clearly the motor accident--everything. - -'The ice-axe is right enough,' he laughed, looking cheerfully at the -woman, 'but what about yourself? Feel bad still? Any pain, I mean?' - -'Oh, I feel all right,' I answered, searching for the pain of broken -bones, but finding none. 'What happened? I was stunned, I suppose?' - -'Bit stunned, yes,' said Haddon. 'You got a nasty knock on the head, it -seems. The point of the axe ran into you, or something.' - -'Was that all?' - -He nodded. 'But I'm afraid it's knocked our climbing on the head. -Shocking bad luck, isn't it?' - -'I telegraphed last night,' the kind woman was explaining. - -'But I couldn't get here till this morning,' Haddon said. 'The telegram -didn't find me till midnight, you see.' And he turned to thank the -woman in his voluble, dreadful French. She kept a little pension on -the shores of the lake. It was the nearest house, and they had carried -me in there and got the doctor to me all within the hour. It proved -slight enough, apart from the shock. It was not even concussion. I had -merely been stunned. Sleep had cured me, as it seemed. - -'Jolly little place,' said Haddon, as he moved me that afternoon to -Geneva, whence, after a few days' rest, we went on into the Alps of -Haute Savoie, 'and lucky the old body was so kind and quick. Odd, -wasn't it?' He glanced at me. - -Something in his voice betrayed he hid another thought. I saw nothing -'odd' in it at all, only very tiresome. - -'What's its name?' I asked, taking a shot at a venture. - -He hesitated a second. Haddon, the climber, was not skilled in the -delicacies of tact. - -'Don't know its present name,' he answered, looking away from me across -the lake, 'but it stands on the site of an old château--destroyed a -hundred years ago--the Château de Bellerive.' - -And then I understood my old friend's absurd confusion. For Bellerive -chanced also to be the name of a married woman I knew in Scotland--at -least, it was her maiden name, and she was of French extraction. - - -THE END - -_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. - - - - -By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - -_Crown 8vo. 6s. each._ - - -A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND - -(THE BOOK THAT 'UNCLE PAUL' WROTE) - - _WESTMINSTER GAZETTE._--"A book which every lover of Mr. - Blackwood's unique work will hail with enthusiasm and close with - satisfaction." - - _SPECTATOR._--"A romance of unfaltering beauty. The streak of - genius in it is unmistakable. It has the madness of dreams, the - wildness, and the largeness." - - -THE EDUCATION OF UNCLE PAUL - - _GUARDIAN._--"Rare and exquisite book.... 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Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Daily Chronicle._--"This novel is one of Mr. Hewlett's finest.... - One must confess that English fiction is as great now as ever it - was. One swells with pride to think that modern men can write so - well." - - _Morning Post._--"The novel is full of fascination and interest." - - _World._--"Considered as a work of deliberate, delicate, highly - finished art, Mr. Maurice Hewlett has probably done nothing better - than this his latest book." - - _Guardian._--"A powerful piece of work well told." - - - - -Three Books by James Stephens - - -HERE ARE LADIES. - -Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - - _Daily Chronicle._--"Work admirably representative of the writer's - genius. The subtle and humorous criticism of life, the deep yet - simple philosophy wrought into apothegms after the manner of Blake - and Lavater, which added such lustre to _The Crock of Gold_." - - _Times._--"A story may have many and diverse effects upon its - reader. It may leave him smiling, laughing, frowning (perhaps - weeping), angry, perplexed, exalted, afraid. The bits of stories in - _Here are Ladies_, the sketches, essays, snapshots, call them what - you will, will leave him for the most part happy and hungry--for - more." - - _Daily Graphic._--"One might go on quoting, and perhaps quoting to - more persuasive effect; but for ourselves we need no persuading - that Mr. Stephens' humour is to our liking, his writing entrancing - to us, his originality beyond question." - - -THE CROCK OF GOLD. - -Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - - _Times._--"It is crammed full of life and beauty ... this - delicious, fantastical, amorphous, inspired medley of - topsy-turvydom." - - _Punch._--"A fairy fantasy, elvish, grotesque, realistic, - allegorical, humorous, satirical, idealistic, and poetical by turns - ... and very beautiful." - - _Pall Mall Gazette._--"A wise, beautiful, and humorous book.... If - you could have given Sterne a soul and made him a poet he might - have produced _The Crock of Gold_." - - -THE CHARWOMAN'S DAUGHTER. - -Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Punch._--"A little gem.... It is a very long time indeed since we - read such a human, satisfying book. Every page contains some happy - phrase or illuminating piece of character-drawing." - - _Evening Standard._--"Will give many honest English men and women - delight of a kind very few novelists give them to-day." - - _Daily News and Leader._--"Mary is surely one of the most gracious - figures of girlhood in modern fiction. She is made out of music and - flowers.... A wholly delightful and buoyant book." - - - - -RECENT FICTION - - -THE INSIDE OF THE CUP. - -By WINSTON CHURCHILL. With Illustrations. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Daily Chronicle._--"Calculated to arouse much thought and great - argument among those who read it.... One's feeling about the whole - story is that it is in some way magnificent, with many a fine and - noble personality coming into it, both men and women." - - _Times._--"Mr. Churchill has written a fine and moving book." - - _Truth._--"This brilliant novel.... In a word, _The Inside of - the Cup_ is a sign of the times, and a book for the times which - everyone should read." - - _World._--"It is a work which can be argued over _ad infinitum_, - and it is one which is as finely conceived as it is admirably - worked out.... This is a book for clergy and laity alike to read, - mark, and learn." - - -A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND. (THE BOOK THAT "UNCLE PAUL" WROTE.) - -By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Globe._--"A story in many ways the most beautiful of all Mr. - Blackwood's remarkable achievements, and one which leaves behind it - a bright, ineffaceable memory, and a desire to acquire something of - its joyousness." - - _Westminster Gazette._--"A book which every lover of Mr. - Blackwood's unique work will hail with enthusiasm and close with - satisfaction." - - _Daily Express._--"A supremely beautiful book. Every now and again - one reads a book that gives one complete joy, and then analysis - and summary become impossible, and all the reviewer can do is to - express his gratitude, and to implore his readers to buy or borrow - the book and read it for themselves." - - _Country Life._--"Mr. Algernon Blackwood has now produced the - eagerly anticipated 'book that "Uncle Paul" wrote,' and it is - the finest he has yet given us ... this delicate and exquisite - phantasy." - - -THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY. - -By EDITH WHARTON. Extra crown 8vo 6_s._ - - _Daily Graphic._--"It only remains to ask if Mrs. Wharton has made - the narrative interesting. She has made it enthralling. We watch - Undine with a fearful fascination.... Most brilliant novel." - - _Daily Express._--"Mrs. Wharton writes with splendid force and - humour. Her book grips, from the beginning to the end." - - _Standard._--"We read this book of close on 600 pages at a sitting. - Mrs. Wharton's literary skill is of a high order. Her prose is a - delight to read, and her manner captivates us." - - _Globe._--"Mrs. Wharton has written a fine novel, or rather, she - has not so much written a fine novel as handled finely a big theme. - It is surely too late in the day to say that no other woman who - writes in English writes so well." - - -A LAD OF KENT. - -By HERBERT HARRISON. Illustrated. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Athenæum._--"Mr. Harrison supplies full measure of adventures, - both serious and comic, deftly intermingled, and he introduces to - us a variegated crowd of most life-like and interesting personages - who play vivid parts in a vivid and convincing manner.... We - congratulate the author on an excellent and stirring tale of a most - interesting epoch." - - _Globe._--"A fine story, grave and gay by turns, and always - interesting." - - _The Times._--"What lends a special flavour and character to the - tale is its continual variety.... A tale which will appeal alike - to the manhood in almost any boy and to the spirit of boyhood - persistent in most men." - - -BEHIND THE SCENES IN THE SCHOOLROOM. BEING THE EXPERIENCES OF A -YOUNG GOVERNESS. - -By FLORENCE MONTGOMERY, Author of "Misunderstood." Extra crown 8vo. -6_s._ - - _Daily Chronicle._--"Full of the charm of _Misunderstood_." - - _Daily Telegraph._--"Miss Montgomery is thoroughly interested in - her subject, and writes a thoughtful, individual story." - - _Liverpool Daily Post._--"Miss Montgomery's simple charm of diction - and of construction is too well known to the majority of readers to - require comment, and it will be sufficient to say of her present - story that it is just as attractive as _Misunderstood_, and - contains exactly the same qualities." - - _Review of Reviews._--"A picture of the ups and downs of the life - of a governess and the troubles of her little charges, intermingled - with a pleasantly romantic love story." - - -JOAN'S GREEN YEAR: LETTERS FROM THE MANOR FARM TO HER BROTHER IN -INDIA. - -By E. L. DOON. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Bookman._--"The story told in this series of letters has the - supreme merits of simplicity and naturalness, and the letters also - abound in pleasant anecdotes and in happy turns of phrase. We - congratulate Miss Doon upon a very likeable piece of work." - - _Westminster Gazette._--"It touches many interests, and has points - in it which will appeal to almost every reader." - - _T. P.'s Weekly._--"There is real love of the country and - understanding of it in every page." - - _Birmingham Post._--"The book is written with great taste and - charm, and breathes a delightful sense of quiet humour, sanity of - outlook, and a fine spirit of camaraderie." - - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - -_R. Clay and Sons, Ltd., Brunswick St., S.E._ - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - -Punctuations has been standardised. Spelling and hyphenation have been -retained as in the original publication except as follows. - - Macron represented by [=o] and [=e] in Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e] - - Page 131 - and rather sot in my ways _changed to_ - and rather set in my ways - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Incredible Adventures, by Algernon Blackwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 43816-8.txt or 43816-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/8/1/43816/ - -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/license - - -Title: Incredible Adventures - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: September 26, 2013 [EBook #43816] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -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 43816 ***</div> <div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="500" height="806" alt="Cover" /> @@ -11264,387 +11226,6 @@ and rather sot in my ways <i>changed to</i><br /> and rather <a href="#set">set</a> in my ways</p> </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Incredible Adventures, by Algernon Blackwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 43816-h.htm or 43816-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/8/1/43816/ - -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/license - - -Title: Incredible Adventures - -Author: Algernon Blackwood - -Release Date: September 26, 2013 [EBook #43816] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ASCII - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - - - - -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.) - - - - - - - - - -INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA - MELBOURNE - - THE MACMILLAN COMPANY - NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO - DALLAS SAN FRANCISCO - - THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. - TORONTO - - - - - INCREDIBLE - ADVENTURES - - BY - ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - AUTHOR OF 'JIMBO,' 'JOHN SILENCE,' - 'THE CENTAUR,' 'A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND,' ETC. - - - MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED - ST. MARTIN'S STREET, LONDON - 1914 - - - COPYRIGHT - - - - -TO - -M. S.-K. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE REGENERATION OF LORD ERNIE 3 - - THE SACRIFICE 95 - - THE DAMNED 131 - - A DESCENT INTO EGYPT 241 - - WAYFARERS 339 - - - - -THE REGENERATION OF LORD ERNIE - - -I - -John Hendricks was bear-leading at the time. He had originally studied -for Holy Orders, but had abandoned the Church later for private reasons -connected with his faith, and had taken to teaching and tutoring -instead. He was an honest, upstanding fellow of five-and-thirty, -incorruptible, intelligent in a simple, straightforward way. He played -games with his head, more than most Englishmen do, but he went through -life without much calculation. He had qualities that made boys like -and respect him; he won their confidence. Poor, proud, ambitious, -he realised that fate offered him a chance when the Secretary of -State for Scotland asked him if he would give up his other pupils -for a year and take his son, Lord Ernie, round the world upon an -educational trip that might make a man of him. For Lord Ernie was the -only son, and the Marquess's influence was naturally great. To have -deposited a regenerated Lord Ernie at the castle gates might have -guaranteed Hendricks' future. After leaving Eton prematurely the lad -had come under Hendricks' charge for a time, and with such excellent -results--'I'd simply swear by that chap, you know,' the boy used -to say--that his father, considerably impressed, and rather as a -last resort, had made this proposition. And Hendricks, without much -calculation, had accepted it. He liked 'Bindy' for himself. It was -in his heart to 'make a man of him,' if possible. They had now been -round the world together and had come up from Brindisi to the Italian -Lakes, and so into Switzerland. It was middle October. With a week or -two to spare they were making leisurely for the ancestral halls in -Aberdeenshire. - -The nine months' travel, Hendricks realised with keen disappointment, -had accomplished, however, very little. The job had been exhausting, -and he had conscientiously done his best. Lord Ernie liked him -thoroughly, admiring his vigour with a smile of tolerant good-nature -through his ceaseless cigarette smoke. They were almost like two boys -together. 'You _are_ a chap and a half, Mr. Hendricks. You really -ought to be in the Cabinet with my father.' Hendricks would deliver -up his useless parcel at the castle gates, pocket the thanks and the -hard-earned fee, and go back to his arduous life of teaching and -writing in dingy lodgings. It was a pity, even on the lowest grounds. -The tutor, truth to tell, felt undeniably depressed. Hopeful by nature, -optimistic, too, as men of action usually are, he cast about him, even -at the last hour, for something that might stir the boy to life, wake -him up, put zest and energy into him. But there was only Paris now -between them and the end; and Paris certainly could not be relied upon -for help. Bindy's desire for Paris even was not strong enough to count. -No desire in him was ever strong. There lay the crux of the problem in -a word--Lord Ernie was without desire which is life. - -Tall, well-built, handsome, he was yet such a feeble creature, without -the energy to be either wild or vicious. Languid, yet certainly not -decadent, life ran slowly, flabbily in him. He took to nothing. The -first impression he made was fine--then nothing. His only tastes, if -tastes they could be called, were out-of-door tastes: he was vaguely -interested in flying, yet not enough to master the mechanism of it; -he liked motoring at high speed, being driven, not driving himself; -and he loved to wander about in woods, making fires like a Red Indian, -provided they lit easily, yet even this, not for the poetry of the -thing nor for any love of adventure, but just 'because.' 'I like fire, -you know; like to watch it burn.' Heat seemed to give him curious -satisfaction, perhaps because the heat of life, he realised, was -deficient in his six-foot body. It was significant, this love of fire -in him, though no one could discover why. As a child he had a dangerous -delight in fireworks--anything to do with fire. He would watch a candle -flame as though he were a fire-worshipper, but had never been known to -make a single remark of interest about it. In a wood, as mentioned, the -first thing he did was to gather sticks--though the resulting fire was -never part of any purpose. He had no purpose. There was no wind or fire -of life in the lad at all. The fine body was inert. - -Hendricks did wrong, of course, in going where he did--to this little -desolate village in the Jura Mountains--though it was the first time -all these trying months he had allowed himself a personal desire. But -from Domo Dossola the Simplon Express would pass Lausanne, and from -Lausanne to the Jura was but a step--all on the way home, moreover. -And what prompted him was merely a sentimental desire to revisit the -place where ten years before he had fallen violently in love with the -pretty daughter of the Pasteur, M. Leysin, in whose house he lodged. -He had gone there to learn French. The very slight detour seemed -pardonable. - -His spiritless charge was easily persuaded. - -'We might go home by Pontarlier instead of Bale, and get a glimpse -of the Jura,' he suggested. 'The line slides along its frontiers -a bit, and then goes bang across it. We might even stop off a -night on the way--if you cared about it. I know a curious old -village--Villaret--where I went at your age to pick up French.' - -'Top-hole,' replied Lord Ernie listlessly. 'All on the way to Paris, -ain't it?' - -'Of course. You see there's a fortnight before we need get home.' - -'So there is, yes. Let's go.' He felt it was almost his own idea, and -that he decided it. - -'If you'd _really_ like it.' - -'Oh, yes. Why not? I'm sick of cities.' He flicked some dust off his -coat sleeve with an immaculate silk handkerchief, then lit a cigarette. -'Just as you like,' he added with a drawl and a smile. 'I'm ready for -anything.' There was no keenness, no personal desire, no choice in -reality at all; flabby good-nature merely. - -A suggestion was invariably enough, as though the boy had no will of -his own, his opposition rarely more than negative sulking that soon -flattened out because it was forgotten. Indeed, no sign of positive -life lay in him anywhere--no vitality, aggression, coherence of desire -and will; vacuous rather than imbecile; unable to go forward upon any -definite line of his own, as though all wheels had slipped their cogs; -a pasty soul that took good enough impressions, yet never mastered them -for permanent use. Nothing stuck. He would never make a politician, -much less a statesman. The family title would be borne by a nincompoop. -Yet all the machinery was there, one felt--if only it could be driven, -made to go. It was sad. Lord Ernie was heir to great estates, with a -name and position that might influence thousands. - -And Hendricks had been a good selection, with his virility and gentle, -understanding firmness. He understood the problem. 'You'll do what no -one else could,' the anxious father told him, 'for he worships you, -and you can sting without hurting him. You'll put life and interest -into him if anybody in this world can. I have great hopes of this -tour. I shall always be in your debt, Mr. Hendricks.' And Hendricks -had accepted the onerous duty in his big, high-minded way. He was -conscientious to the backbone. This little side-trip was his sole -deflection, if such it can be called even. 'Life, light and cheerful -influences,' had been his instructions, 'nothing dull or melancholy; -an occasional fling, if he wants it--I'd welcome a fling as a good -sign--and as much intercourse with decent people, and stimulating -sight-seeing as you can manage--or can stand,' the Marquess added with -a smile. 'Only you won't overtax the lad, will you? Above all, let him -think _he_ chooses and decides, when possible.' - -Villaret, however, hardly complied with these conditions; there was -melancholy in it; Hendricks' mind--whose reflexes the spongy nature of -the empty lad absorbed too easily--would be in a minor key. Yet a night -could work no harm. Whence came, he wondered, the fleeting notion -that it might do good? Was it, perhaps, that Leysin, the vigorous old -Pasteur, might contribute something? Leysin had been a considerable -force in his own development, he remembered; they had corresponded a -little since; Leysin was out of the common, certainly, restless energy -in him as of the sea. Hendricks found difficulty in sorting out his -thoughts and motives, but Leysin was in them somewhere--this idea that -his energetic personality might help. His vitalising effect, at least, -would counteract the melancholy. - -For Villaret lay huddled upon unstimulating slopes, the robe of gloomy -pine-woods sweeping down towards its poverty from bleak heights and -desolate gorges. The peasants were morose, ill-living folk. It was -a dark untaught corner in a range of otherwise fairy mountains, a -backwater the sun had neglected to clean out. Superstitions, Hendricks -remembered, of incredible kind still lingered there; a touch of the -sinister hovered about the composite mind of its inhabitants. The -Pasteur fought strenuously this blackness in their lives and thoughts; -in the village itself with more or less success--though even there -the drinking and habits of living were utterly unsweetened--but on -the heights, among the somewhat arid pastures, the mountain men -remained untamed, turbulent, even menacing. Hendricks knew this of -old, though he had never understood too well. But he remembered how -the English boys at _la cure_ were forbidden to climb in certain -directions, because the life in these scattered chalets was somehow -loose and violent. There was danger there, the danger, however, never -definitely stated. Those lonely ridges lay cursed beneath dark skies. -He remembered, too, the savage dogs, the difficulty of approach, the -aggressive attitude towards the plucky Pasteur's visits to these remote -upland _paturages_. They did not lie in his parish: Leysin made his -occasional visits as man and missionary; for extraordinary rumours, -Hendricks recalled, were rife, of some queer worship of their own these -lawless peasants kept alive in their distant, windy territory, planted -there first, the story had it, by some renegade priest whose name was -now forgotten. - -Hendricks himself had no personal experiences. He had been too deeply -in love to trouble about outside things, however strange. But Marston's -case had never quite left his memory--Marston, who climbed up by -unlawful ways, stayed away two whole days and nights, and came back -suddenly with his air of being broken, shattered, appallingly used up, -his face so lined and strained it seemed aged by twenty years, and yet -with a singular new life in him, so vehement, loud, and reckless, it -was like a kind of sober intoxication. He was packed off to England -before he could relate anything. But he had suffered shocks. His white, -passionate face, his boisterous new vigour, the way M. Leysin screened -his view of the heights as he put him personally into the Paris -train--almost as though he feared the boy would see the hills and make -another dash for them!--made up an unforgettable picture in the mind. - -Moreover, between the sodden village and that string of evil -chalets that lay in their dark line upon the heights there had -been links. Exactly of what nature he never knew, for love made -all else uninteresting; only, he remembered swarthy, dark-faced -messengers descending into the sleepy hamlet from time to time, big, -mountain-limbed fellows with wind in their hair and fire in their eyes; -that their visits produced commotion and excitement of difficult kinds; -that wild orgies invariably followed in their wake; and that, when the -messengers went back, they did not go alone. There was life up there, -whereas the village was moribund. And none who went ever cared to -return. Cudrefin, the young giant _vigneron_, taken in this way, from -the very side of his sweetheart too, came back two years later as a -messenger himself. He did not even ask for the girl, who had meanwhile -married another. 'There's life up there with us,' he told the drunken -loafers in the 'Guillaume Tell,' 'wind and fire to make you spin to the -devil--or to heaven!' He was enthusiasm personified. In the village -he had been merely drinking himself stupidly to death. Vaguely, too, -Hendricks remembered visits of police from the neighbouring town, -some of them on horseback, all armed, and that once even soldiers -accompanied them, and on another occasion a bishop, or whatever the -church dignitary was called, had arrived suddenly and promised radical -assistance of a spiritual kind that had never materialised--oh, and -many other details that now trooped back with suggestions time had -certainly not made smaller. For the love had passed along its way and -gone, and he was free now to the invasion of other memories, dwarfed at -the time by that dominating, sweet passion. - -Yet all the tutor wanted now, this chance week in late October, was -to see again the corner of the mossy forest where he had known that -marvellous thing, first love; renew his link with Leysin who had taught -him much; and see if, perchance, this man's stalwart, virile energy -might possibly overflow with benefit into his listless charge. The -expenses he meant to pay out of his own pocket. Those wild pagans on -the heights--even if they still existed--there was no need to mention. -Lord Ernie knew little French, and certainly no word of _patois_. For -one night, or even two, the risk was negligible. - -Was there, indeed, risk at all of any sort? Was not this vague -uneasiness he felt merely conscience faintly pricking? He could not -feel that he was doing wrong. At worst, the youth might feel depression -for a few hours--speedily curable by taking the train. - -Something, nevertheless, did gnaw at him in subconscious fashion, -producing a sense of apprehension; and he came to the conclusion that -this memory of the mountain tribe was the cause of it--a revival of -forgotten boyhood's awe. He glanced across at the figure of Bindy -lounging upon the hotel lawn in an easy-chair, full in the sunshine, -a newspaper at his feet. Reclining there, he looked so big and -strong and handsome, yet in reality was but a painted lath without -resistance, much less attack, in all his many inches. And suddenly -the tutor recalled another thing, the link, however, undiscoverable, -and it was this: that the boy's mother, a Canadian, had suffered once -severely from a winter in Quebec, where the Marquess had first made -her acquaintance. Frost had robbed her, if he remembered rightly, of -a foot--with the result, at any rate, that she had a wholesome terror -of the cold. She sought heat and sun instinctively--fire. Also, that -asthma had been her sore affliction--sheer inability to take a full, -deep breath. This deficiency of heat and air, therefore, were in her -mind. And he knew that Bindy's birth had been an anxious time, the -anxiety justified, moreover, since she had yielded up her life for him. - -And so the singular thought flashed through him suddenly as he watched -the reclining, languid boy, Cudrefin's descriptive phrase oddly singing -in his head-- - -'Heat and fire, fire and wind--why, it's the very thing he lacks! And -he's always after them. I wonder----!' - - -II - -The lumbering yellow diligence brought them up from the Lake shore, a -long two hours, deposited them at the opening of the village street, -and went its grinding, toiling way towards the frontier. They arrived -in a blur of rain. It was evening. Lowering clouds drew night before -her time upon the world, obscuring the distant summits of the Oberland, -but lights twinkled here and there in the nearer landscape, mapping -the gloom with signals. The village was very still. Above and below -it, however, two big winds were at work, with curious results. For a -lower wind from the east in gusty draughts drove the body of the lake -into quick white horses which shone like wings against the deep _basses -Alpes_, while a westerly current swept the heights immediately above -the village. There was this odd division of two weathers, presaging a -change. A narrow line of clear bright sky showed up the Jura outline -finely towards the north, stars peeping sharply through the pale moist -spaces. Hurrying vapours, driven by the upper westerly wind, concealed -them thinly. They flashed and vanished. The entire ridge, five thousand -feet in the air, had an appearance of moving through the sky. Between -these opposing winds at different levels the village itself lay -motionless, while the world slid past, as it were, in two directions. - -'The earth seems turning round,' remarked Lord Ernie. He had been -reading a novel all day in train and steamer, and smoking endless -cigarettes in the diligence, his companion and himself its only -occupants. He seemed suddenly to have waked up. 'What is it?' he asked -with interest. - -Hendricks explained the queer effect of the two contrary winds. Columns -of peat smoke rose in thin straight lines from the blur of houses, -untouched by the careering currents above and below. The winds whirled -round them. - -Lord Ernie listened attentively to the explanation. - -'I feel as if I were spinning with it--like a top,' he observed, -putting his hand to his head a moment. 'And what are those lights up -there?' - -He pointed to the distant ridge, where fires were blazing as though -stars had fallen and set fire to the trees. Several were visible, at -regular intervals. The sharp summits of the limestone mountains cut -hard into the clear spaces of northern sky thousands of feet above. - -'Oh, the peasants burning wood and stuff, I suppose,' the tutor told -him. - -The youth turned an instant, standing still to examine them with a -shading hand. - -'People live up there?' he asked. There was surprise in his voice, and -his body stiffened oddly as he spoke. - -'In mountain chalets, yes,' replied the other a trifle impatiently, -noticing his attitude. 'Come along now,' he added, 'let's get to our -rooms in the carpenter's house before the rain comes down. You can -see the windows twinkling over there,' and he pointed to a building -near the church. 'The storm will catch us.' They moved quickly down -the deserted street together in the deepening gloom, passing little -gardens, doors of open barns, straggling manure heaps, and courtyards -of cobbled stones where the occasional figure of a man was seen. But -Lord Ernie lingered behind, half loitering. Once or twice, to the -other's increasing annoyance, he paused, standing still to watch the -heights through openings between the tumble-down old houses. Half a -dozen big drops of rain splashed heavily on the road. - -'Hurry up!' cried Hendricks, looking back, 'or we shall be caught. -It's the mountain wind--the _coup de joran_. You can hear it coming!' -For the lad was peering across a low wall in an attitude of fixed -attention. He made a gesture with one hand, as though he signalled -towards the ridges where the fires blazed. Hendricks called pretty -sharply to him then. It was possible, of course, that he misinterpreted -the movement; it _may_ merely have been that he passed his fingers -through his hair, across his eyes, or used the palm to focus sight, for -his hat was off and the light was quite uncertain. Only Hendricks did -not like the lingering or the gesture. He put authority into his tone -at once. 'Come along, will you; come along, Bindy!' he called. - -The answer filled him with amazement. - -'All right, all right. I'll follow in a moment. I like this.' - -The tutor went back a few steps towards him. The tone startled him. - -'Like what?' he asked. - -And Lord Ernie turned towards him with another face. There was -fighting in it. There was resolution. - -'This, of course,' the boy answered steadily, but with excitement shut -down behind, as he waved one arm towards the mountains. 'I've dreamed -this sort of thing; I've known it somewhere. We've seen nothing like it -all our stupid trip.' The flash in his brown eyes passed then, as he -added more quietly, but with firmness: 'Don't wait for me; I'll follow.' - -Hendricks stood still in his tracks. There was a decision in the voice -and manner that arrested him. The confidence, the positive statement, -the eager desire, the hint of energy--all this was new. He had never -encouraged the boy's habit of vivid dreaming, deeming the narration -unwise. It flashed across him suddenly now that the 'deficiency' might -be only on the surface. Energy and life hid, perhaps, subconsciously in -him. Did the dreams betray an activity he knew not how to carry through -and correlate with his everyday, external world? And were these dreams -evidence of deep, hidden desire--a clue, possibly, to the energy he -sought and needed, the exact kind of energy that might set the inert -machinery in motion and drive it? - -He hesitated an instant, waiting in the road. He was on the verge of -understanding something that yet just evaded him. Bindy's childish, -instinctive love of fire, his passion for air, for rushing wind, for -oceans of limitless---- - -There came at that moment a deep roaring in the mountains. Far away, -but rapidly approaching, the ominous booming of it filled the air. -The westerly wind descended by the deep gorges, shaking the forests, -shouting as it came. Clouds of white dust spiralled into the sky off -the upper roads, spread into sheets like snow, and swept downwards -with incredible velocity. The air turned suddenly cooler. More big -drops of rain splashed and thudded on the roofs and road. There was a -feeling of something violent and instantaneous about to happen, a sense -almost of attack. The _joran_ tore headlong down into the valley. - -'Come on, man,' he cried at the top of his voice. 'That's the _joran_! -I know it of old! It's terrific. Run!' And he caught the lad, still -lingering, by the arm. - -But Lord Ernie shook himself free with an excitement almost violent. - -'I've been up there with those great fires,' he shouted. 'I know the -whole blessed thing. But where was it? Where?' His face was white, eyes -shining, manner strangely agitated. 'Big, naked fellows who dance like -wind, and rushing women of fire, and----' - -Two things happened then, interrupting the boy's wild language. The -_joran_ reached the village and struck it; the houses shook, the trees -bent double, and the cloud of limestone dust, painting the darkness -white, swept on between Hendricks and the boy with extraordinary force, -even separating them. There was a clatter of falling tiles, of banging -doors and windows, and then a burst of icy rain that fell like iron -shot on everything, raising actual spray. The air was in an instant -thick. Everything drove past, roared, trembled. And, secondly--just -in that brief instant when man and boy were separated--there shot -between them with shadowy swiftness the figure of a man, hatless, -with flying hair, who vanished with running strides into the darkness -of the village street beyond--all so rapidly that sight could focus -the manner neither of his coming nor of his going. Hendricks caught -a glimpse of a swarthy, elemental type of face, the swing of great -shoulders, the leap of big loose limbs--something rushing and elastic -in the whole appearance--but nothing he could claim for definite -detail. The figure swept through the dust and wind like an animal--and -was gone. It was, indeed, only the contrast of Lord Ernie's whitened -skin, of his graceful, half-elegant outline, that enabled him to recall -the details that he did. The weather-beaten visage seemed to storm -away. Bindy's delicate aristocratic face shone so pale and eager. -But that a real man had passed was indubitable, for the boy made a -flurried movement as though to follow. Hendricks caught his arm with a -determined grip and pulled him back. - -'Who was that? Who was it?' Lord Ernie cried breathlessly, resisting -with all his strength, but vainly. - -'Some mountain fellow, of course. Nothing to do with us.' And he -dragged the boy after him down the road. For a second both seemed to -have lost their heads. Hendricks certainly felt a gust of something -strike him into momentary consternation that was half alarm. - -'From up there, where the fires are?' asked the boy, shouting above the -wind and rain. - -'Yes, yes, I suppose so. Come along. We shall be soused. Are you mad?' -For Bindy still held back with all his weight, trying to turn round and -see. Hendricks used more force. There was almost a scuffle in the road. - -'All right, I'm coming. I only wanted to look a second. You needn't -drag my arm out.' He ceased resistance, and they lurched forward -together. 'But what a chap he was! He went like the wind. Did you see -the light streaming out of him--like fire?' - -'Like what?' shouted Hendricks, as they dashed now through the driving -tempest. - -'Fire!' bawled the boy. 'It lit me up as he passed--fire that lights -but does not burn, and wind that blows the world along----' - -'Button your coat and run!' interrupted the other, hurrying his pace, -and pulling the lad forcibly after him. - -'Don't twist! You're hurting! I can run as well as you!' came back, -with an energy Bindy had never shown before in his life. He was -breathless, panting, charged with excitement still. 'It touched me as -he passed--fire that lights but doesn't burn, and wind that blows the -heart to flame--let me go, will you? Let go my hand.' - -He dashed free and away. The torrential rain came down in sheets now -from a windless sky, for the _joran_ was already miles beyond them, -tearing across the angry lake. They reached the carpenter's house, -where their lodging was, soaked to the skin. They dried themselves, and -ate the light supper of soup and omelette prepared for them--ate it in -their dressing-gowns. Lord Ernie went to bed with a hot-water bottle -of rough stone. He declared with decision that he felt no chill. His -excitement had somewhat passed. - -'But, I say, Mr. Hendricks,' he remarked, as he settled down with his -novel and a cigarette, calmed and normal again, 'this _is_ a place and -a half, isn't it? It stirs me all up. I suppose it's the storm. What do -_you_ think?' - -'Electrical state of the air, yes,' replied the tutor briefly. - -Soon afterwards he closed the shutters on the weather side, said -good-night, and went into his own room to unpack. The singular phrase -Bindy had used kept singing through his head: 'Fire that lights but -doesn't burn, and wind that blows the heart to flame'--the first -time he had said 'blows the world along.' Where on earth had the boy -got hold of such queer words? He still saw the figure of that wild -mountain fellow who had passed between them with the dust and wind -and rain. There was confusion in the picture, or rather in his memory -of it, perhaps. But it seemed to him, looking back now, that the man -in passing had paused a second--the briefest second merely--and had -spoken, or, at any rate, had stared closely a moment into Bindy's face, -and that some communication had been between them in that moment of -elemental violence. - - -III - -Pasteur Leysin Hendricks remembered very well. Even now in his old age -he was a vigorous personality, but in his youth he had been almost -revolutionary; wild enough, too, it was rumoured, until he had turned -to God of his own accord as offering a larger field for his strenuous -vitality. The little man was possessed of tireless life, a born leader -of forlorn hopes, attack his _metier_, and heavy odds the conditions -that he loved. Before settling down in this isolated spot--_pasteur de -l'eglise independente_ in a protestant Canton--he had been a missionary -in remote pagan lands. His horizon was a big one, he had seen strange -things. An uncouth being, with a large head upon a thin and wiry body -supported by steely bowed legs, he had that courage which makes itself -known in advance of any proof. Hendricks slipped over to _la cure_ -about nine o'clock and found him in his study. Lord Ernie was asleep; -at least his light was out, no sound or movement audible from his room. -The _joran_ had swept the heavens of clouds. Stars shone brilliantly. -The fires still blazed faintly upon the heights. - -The visit was not unexpected, for Hendricks had already sent a message -to announce himself, and the moment he sat down, met the Pasteur's eye, -heard his voice, and observed his slight imperious gestures, he passed -under the influence of a personality stronger than his own. Something -in Leysin's atmosphere stretched him, lifting his horizon. He had -come chiefly--he now realised it--to borrow help and explanation with -regard to Lord Ernie; the events of two hours before had impressed him -more than he quite cared to own, and he wished to talk about it. But, -somehow, he found it difficult to state his case; no opening presented -itself; or, rather, the Pasteur's mind, intent upon something of his -own, was too preoccupied. In reply to a question presently, the tutor -gave a brief outline of his present duties, but omitted the scene of -excitement in the village street, for as he watched the furrowed face -in the light of the study lamp, he realised both anxiety and spiritual -high pressure at work below the surface there. He hesitated to intrude -his own affairs at first. They discussed, nevertheless, the psychology -of the boy, and the unfavourable chances of regeneration, while the old -man's face lit up and flashed from time to time, until at length the -truth came out, and Hendricks understood his friend's preoccupation. - -'What you're attempting with an individual,' Leysin exclaimed with -ardour, 'is precisely what I'm attempting with a crowd. And it's -difficult. For poor sinners make poor saints, and the lukewarm I will -spue out of my mouth.' He made an abrupt, resentful gesture to signify -his disgust and weariness, perhaps his contempt as well. 'Cut it down! -Why cumbereth it the ground?' - -'A hard, uncharitable doctrine,' began the tutor, realising that -he must discuss the Parish before he could introduce Bindy's case -effectively. 'You mean, of course, that there's no material to work on?' - -'No energy to direct,' was the emphatic reply. 'My sheep here are--real -sheep; mere negative, drink-sodden loafers without desire. Hospital -cases! I could work with tigers and wild beasts, but who ever trained a -slug?' - -'Your proper place is on the heights,' suggested Hendricks, -interrupting at a venture. 'There's scope enough up there, or used to -be. Have they died out, those wild men of the mountains?' And hit by -chance the target in the bull's-eye. - -The old man's face turned younger as he answered quickly. - -'Men like that,' he exclaimed, 'do not die off. They breed and -multiply.' He leaned forward across the table, his manner eager, -fervent, almost impetuous with suppressed desire for action. 'There's -evil thinking up there,' he said suggestively, 'but, by heaven, it's -alive; it's positive, ambitious, constructive. With violent feeling and -strong desire to work on, there's hope of some result. Upon vehement -impulses like that, pagan or anything else, a man can work with a -will. Those are the tigers; down here I have the slugs!' - -He shrugged his shoulders and leaned back into his chair. Hendricks -watched him, thinking of the stories told about his missionary days -among savage and barbarian tribes. - -'Born of the vital landscape, I suppose?' he asked. 'Wind and frost and -blazing sun. Their wild energy, I mean, is due to----' - -A gesture from the old man stopped him. 'You know who started them -upon their wild performances,' he said gravely in a lower voice; 'you -know how that ambitious renegade priest from the Valais chose them -for his nucleus, then died before he could lead them out, trained and -competent, upon his strange campaign? You heard the story when you were -with me as a boy----?' - -'I remember Marston,' put in the other, uncommonly interested, -'Marston--the boy who----' He stopped because he hardly knew how -to continue. There was a minute's silence. But it was not an empty -silence, though no word broke it. Leysin's face was a study. - -'Ah, Marston, yes,' he said slowly, without looking up; 'you remember -him. But that is at my door, too, I suppose. His father was ignorant -and obstinate; I might have saved him otherwise.' He seemed talking to -himself rather than to his listener. Pain showed in the lines about -the rugged mouth. 'There was no one, you see, who knew how to direct -the great life that woke in the lad. He took it back with him, and -turned it loose into all manner of useless enterprises, and the doctors -mistook his abrupt and fierce ambitions for--for the hysteria which -they called the vestibule of lunacy.... Yet small characters may have -big ideas.... They didn't understand, of course.... It was sad, sad, -sad.' He hid his face in his hands a moment. - -'Marston went wrong, then, in the end?' for the other's manner -suggested disaster of some kind. Hendricks asked it in a whisper. -Leysin uncovered his face, looped his neck with one finger, and pointed -to the ceiling. - -'Hanged himself!' murmured Hendricks, shocked. - -The Pasteur nodded, but there was impatience, half anger in his tone. - -'They checked it, kept it in. Of course, it tore him!' - -The two men looked into each other's eyes for a moment, and something -in the younger of them shrank. This was all beyond his ken a little. An -odd hint of bleak and cruel reality was in the air, making him shiver -along nerves that were normally inactive. The uneasiness he felt about -Lord Ernie became alarm. His conscience pricked him. - -'More than he could assimilate,' continued Leysin. 'It broke him. Yet, -had outlets been provided, had he been taught how to use it, this -elemental energy drawn direct from Nature----' He broke off abruptly, -struck perhaps by the expression in his listener's eyes. 'It seems -incredible, doesn't it, in the twentieth century? I know.' - -'Evil?' asked Hendricks, stammering rather. - -'Why evil?' was the impatient reply. 'How can any force be evil? That's -merely a question of direction.' - -'And the priest who discovered these forces and taught their use, -then----?' - -'Was genuinely spiritual and followed the truth in his own way. He -was not necessarily evil.' The little Pasteur spoke with vehemence. -'You talk like the religion-primers in the kindergarten,' he went on. -'Listen. This man, sick and weary of his lukewarm flock, sought vital, -stalwart systems who might be clean enough to use the elemental powers -he had discovered how to attract. Only the bias of the users could -make it "evil" by wrong use. His idea was big and even holy--to train -a corps that might regenerate the world. And he chose unreasoning, -unintellectual types with a purpose--primitive, giant men who could -assimilate the force without risk of being shattered. Under his -direction he intended they should prove as effective as the twelve -disciples of old who were fisher-folk. And, had he gone on----' - -'He, too, failed then?' asked the other, whose tangled thoughts -struggled with incredulity and belief as he heard this strange new -thing. 'He died, you mean?' - -'_Maison de sante_,' was the laconic reply, 'strait-waistcoats, padded -cells, and the rest; but still alive, I'm told. It was more than he -could manage.' - -It was a startling story, even in this brief outline, deep suggestion -in it. The tutor's sense of being out of his depth increased. After -nine months with a lifeless, devitalised human being, this was--well, -he seemed to have fallen in his sleep from a comfortable bed into a -raging mountain torrent. Strong currents rushed through and over him. -The lonely, peaceful village outside, sleeping beneath the stars, -heightened the contrast. - -'Suppressed or misdirected energy again, I suppose,' he said in a low -tone, respecting his companion's emotion. 'And these mountain men,' he -asked abruptly, 'do they still keep up their--practices?' - -'Their ceremonies, yes,' corrected the other, master of himself again. -'Turbulent moments of nature, storms and the like, stir them to clumsy -rehearsals of once vital rituals--not entirely ineffective, even in -their incompleteness, but dangerous for that very reason. This _joran_, -for instance, invariably communicates something of its atmospherical -energy to themselves. They light their fires as of old. They blunder -through what they remember of _his_ ceremonies. With the glasses you -may see them in their dozens, men and women, leaping and dancing. It's -an amazing sight, great beauty in it, impossible to witness even from a -distance without feeling the desire to take part in it. Even my people -feel it--the only time they ever get alive,'--he jerked his big head -contemptuously towards the street--'or feel desire to act. And some one -from the heights--a messenger perhaps--will be down later, this very -evening probably, on the hunt----' - -'On the hunt?' Hendricks asked it half below his breath. He felt a -touch of awe as he heard this experienced, genuinely religious man -speak with conviction of such curious things. 'On the hunt?' he -repeated more eagerly. - -'Messengers do come down,' was the reply. 'A living belief always -seeks to increase, to grow, to add to itself. Where there's conviction -there's always propaganda.' - -'Ah, converts----?' - -Leysin shrugged his big black shoulders. 'Desire to add to their -number--desire to _save_,' he said. 'The energy they absorb overflows, -that's all.' - -The Englishman debated several questions vaguely in his mind; only -his mind, being disturbed, could not hold the balance exactly true. -Leysin's influence, as of old, was upon him. A possibility, remote, -seductive, dangerous, began to beckon to him, but from somewhere just -outside his reasoning mind. - -'And they always know when one of their kind is near,' the voice -slipped in between his tumbling thoughts, 'as though they get it -instinctively from these universal elements they worship. They select -their recruits with marvellous judgment and precision. No messenger -ever goes back alone; nor has a recruit ever been known to return to -the lazy squalor of the conditions whence he escaped.' - -The younger man sat upright in his chair, suddenly alert, and the -gesture that he made unconsciously might have been read by a keen -psychiatrist as evidence of mental self-defence. He felt the forbidden -impulse in him gathering force, and tried to call a halt. At any rate, -he called upon the other man to be explicit. He enquired point-blank -what this religion of the heights might be. What were these elements -these people worshipped? In what did their wild ceremonies consist? - -And Leysin, breaking bounds, let his speech burst forth in a stream of -explanation, learned of actual knowledge, as he claimed, and uttered -with a vehement conviction that produced an undeniable effect upon his -astonished listener. Told by no dreamer, but by a righteous man who -lived, not merely preached his certain faith, Hendricks, before the -half was heard, forgot what age and land he dwelt in. Whole blocks -of conventional belief crumbled and fell away. Brick walls erected -by routine to mark narrow paths of proper conduct--safe, moral, -advisable conduct--thawed and vanished. Through the ruins, scrambling -at him from huge horizons never recognised before, came all manner -of marvellous possibilities. The little confinement of modern thought -appalled him suddenly. Leysin spoke slowly, said little, was not even -speculative. It was no mere magic of words that made the dim-lit study -swim these deep waters beyond the ripple of pert creeds, but rather the -overwhelming sense of sure conviction driving behind the statements. -The little man had witnessed curious things, yes, in his missionary -days, and that he had found truth in them in place of ignorant nonsense -was remarkable enough. That silly superstitions prevalent among older -nations could be signs really of their former greatness, linked -mightily close to natural forces, was a startling notion, but it paved -the way in Hendricks' receptive mind just then for the belief that -certain so-called elements might be worshipped--known intimately, that -is--to the uplifting advantage of the worshippers. And what elements -more suitable for adoring imitation than wind and fire? For in a -human body the first signs of what men term life are heat which is -combustion, and breath which is a measure of wind. Life means fire, -drawn first from the sun, and breathing, borrowed from the omnipresent -air; there might credibly be ways of assaulting these elements and -taking heaven by storm; of seizing from their inexhaustible stores an -abnormal measure, of straining this huge raw supply into effective -energy for human use--vitality. Living with fire and wind in their most -active moments; closely imitating their movements, following in their -footsteps, understanding their 'laws of being,' going _identically_ -with them--there lay a hint of the method. It was once, when men were -primitively close to Nature, instinctual knowledge. The ceremony was -the teaching. The Powers of fire, the Principalities of air, existed; -and humanity _could_ know their qualities by the ritual of imitation, -could actually absorb the fierce enthusiasm of flame and the tireless -energy of wind. Such transference was conceivable. - -Leysin, at any rate, somehow made it so. His description of what -he had personally witnessed, both in wilder lands and here in this -little mountain range of middle Europe, had a reality in it that was -upsetting to the last degree. 'There is nothing more difficult to -believe,' he said, 'yet more certainly true, than the effect of these -singular elemental rites.' He laughed a short dry laugh. 'The mediaeval -superstition that a witch could raise a storm is but a remnant of -a once completely efficacious system,' he concluded, 'though how -that strange being, the Valais priest, rediscovered the process and -introduced it here, I have never been able to ascertain. That he did -so results have proved. At any rate, it lets in life, life moreover in -astonishing abundance; though, whether for destruction or regeneration, -depends, obviously, upon the use the recipient puts it to. That's where -direction comes in.' - -The beckoning impulse in the tutor's bewildered thoughts drew closer. -The moment for communicating it had come at last. Without more ado he -took the opening. He told his companion the incident in the village -street, the boy's abrupt excitement, his new-found energy, the curious -words he used, the independence and vitality of his attitude. He told -also of his parentage, of his mother's disabilities, his craving for -rushing air in abundance, his love of fire for its own sake, of his -magnificent physical machinery, yet of his uselessness. - -And Leysin, as he listened, seemed built on wires. Searching questions -shot forth like blows into the other's mind. The Pasteur's sudden -increase of enthusiasm was infectious. He leaped intuitively to the -thing in Hendricks' thought. He understood the beckoning. - -The tutor answered the questions as best he could, aware of the end -in view with trepidation and a kind of mental breathlessness. Yes, -unquestionably, Bindy _had_ exchanged communication of some sort with -the man, though his excitement had been evident even sooner. - -'And you saw this man yourself?' Leysin pressed him. - -'Indubitably--a tall and hurrying figure in the dusk.' - -'He brought energy with him? The boy felt it and responded?' - -Hendricks nodded. 'Became quite unmanageable for some minutes,' he -replied. - -'He assimilated it though? There was no distress exactly?' Leysin asked -sharply. - -'None--that I could see. Pleasurable excitement, something aggressive, -a rather wild enthusiasm. His will began to act. He used that curious -phrase about wind and fire. He turned alive. He wanted to follow the -man----' - -'And the face--how would you describe it? Did it bring terror, I mean, -or confidence?' - -'Dark and splendid,' answered the other as truthfully as he could. 'In -a certain sense, rushing, tempestuous, yet stern rather.' - -'A face like the heights,' suggested Leysin impatiently, 'a windy, -fiery aspect in it, eh?' - -'The man swept past like the spirit of a storm in imaginative -poetry----' began the tutor, hunting through his thoughts for adequate -description, then stopped as he saw that his companion had risen from -his chair and begun to pace the floor. - -The Pasteur paused a moment beside him, hands thrust deep into his -pockets, head bent down, and shoulders forward. For twenty seconds he -stared into his visitor's face intently, as though he would force into -him the thought in his own mind. His features seemed working visibly, -yet behind a mask of strong control. - -'Don't you see what it is? Don't you see?' he said in a lower, deeper -tone. '_They knew._ Even from a distance they were aware of his coming. -He is one of themselves.' And he straightened up again. 'He belongs to -them.' - -'One of them? One of the wind-and-fire lot?' the tutor stammered. - -The restless little man returned to his chair opposite, full of -suppressed and vigorous movement, as though he were strung on springs. - -'He's _of_ them,' he continued, 'but in a peculiar and particular -sense. More than merely a possible recruit, his empty organism would -provide the very link they need, the perfect conduit.' He watched his -companion's face with careful keenness. 'In the country where I first -experienced this marvellous thing,' he added significantly, 'he would -have been set apart as the offering, the sacrifice, as they call it -there. The tribe would have chosen him with honour. He would have been -the special bait to attract.' - -'Death?' whispered the other. - -But Leysin shook his head. 'In the end, perhaps,' he replied darkly, -'for the vessel might be torn and shattered. But at first charged to -the brim and crammed with energy--with transformed vitality they could -draw into themselves through him. A monster, if you will, but to them a -deity; and superhuman, in our little sense, most certainly.' - -Then Hendricks faltered inwardly and turned away. No words came to him -at the moment. In silence the minds of the two men, one a religious, -the other a secular teacher, and each with a burden of responsibility -to the race, kept pace together without speech. The religious, -however, outstripped the pedagogue. What he next said seemed a little -disconnected with what had preceded it, although Hendricks caught the -drift easily enough--and shuddered. - -'An organism needing heat,' observed Leysin calmly, 'can absorb without -danger what would destroy a normal person. Alcohol, again, neither -injures nor intoxicates--up to a given point--the system that really -requires it.' - -The tutor, perplexed and sorely tempted, felt that he drifted with a -tide he found it difficult to stem. - -'Up to a point,' he repeated. 'That's true, of course.' - -'Up to a given point,' echoed the other, with significance that made -his voice sound solemn. 'Then rescue--in the nick of time.' - -He waited two full minutes and more for an answer; then, as none was -audible, he said another thing. His eyes were so intent upon the -tutor's that the latter raised his own unwillingly, and understood thus -all that lay behind the pregnant little sentence. - -'With a number it would not be possible, but with an individual it -could be done. Brim the empty vessel first. Then rescue--in the nick -of time! Regeneration!' - - -IV - -In the Englishman's mind there came a crash, as though something -fell. There was dust, confusion, noise. Moral platitudes shouted -at conventional admonitions. Warnings laughed and copy-book maxims -shrivelled up. Above the lot, rising with a touch of grandeur, stood -the pulpit figure of the little Pasteur, his big face shining clear -through all the turmoil, strength and vision in the flaming eyes--a -commanding outline with spiritual audacity in his heart. And Hendricks -saw then that the man himself was standing erect in the centre of -the room, one finger raised to command attention--listening. Some -considerable interval must have passed while he struggled with his -inner confusion. - -Leysin stood, intently listening, his big head throwing a grotesque -shadow on wall and ceiling. - -'Hark!' he exclaimed, half whispering. 'Do you hear that? Listen.' - -A deep sound, confused and roaring, passed across the night, far away, -and slightly booming. It entered the little room so that the air seemed -to tremble a moment. To Hendricks it held something ominous. - -'The wind,' he whispered, as the noise died off into the distance; 'yet -a moment ago the night was still enough. The stars were shining.' There -was tense excitement in the room just then. It showed in Leysin's face, -which had gone white as a cloth. Hendricks himself felt extraordinarily -stirred. - -'Not wind, but human voices,' the older man said quickly. 'It's -shouting. Listen!' and his eyes ran round the room, coming to rest -finally in a corner where his hat and cloak hung from a nail. A gesture -accompanied the look. He wanted to be out. The tutor half rose to take -his leave. 'You have duties to-night elsewhere,' he stammered. 'I'm -forgetting.' His own instinct was to get away himself with Bindy by the -first early diligence. He was afraid of yielding. - -'Hush!' whispered Leysin peremptorily. 'Listen!' - -He opened the window at the top, and through the crack, where the stars -peeped brightly, there came, louder than before, the uproar of human -voices floating through the night from far away. The air of the great -pine forests came in with it. Hendricks listened intently a moment. He -positively jumped to feel a hand upon his arm. Leysin's big head was -thrust close up into his face. - -'That's the commotion in the village,' he whispered. 'A messenger has -come and gone; some one has gone back with him. To-night I shall be -needed--down here, but to-morrow night when the great ritual takes -place--up there----!' - -Hendricks tried to push him away so as not to hear the words; but the -little man seemed immovable as a rock. The impulse remained probably -in the mind without making the muscles work. For the tutor, sorely -tempted, longed to dare, yet faltered in his will. - -'----if you felt like taking the risk,' the words continued -seductively, 'we might place the empty vessel near enough to let it -fill, then rescue it, charged with energy, in the nick of time.' And -the Pasteur's eyes were aglow with enthusiasm, his voice even trembling -at the thought of high adventure to save another's soul. - -'Watch merely?' Hendricks heard his own voice whisper, hardly aware -that he was saying it, 'without taking part?' He said it thickly, -stupidly, a man wavering and unsure of himself. 'It would be an -experience,' he stammered. 'I've never----' - -'Merely watch, yes; look on; let him see,' interrupted the other with -eagerness. 'We must be very careful. It's worth trying--a last resort.' - -They still stood close together. Hendricks felt the little man's breath -on his face as he peered up at him. - -'I admit the chance,' he began weakly. - -'There is no chance,' was the vigorous reply, 'there is only -Providence. You have been guided.' - -'But as to risk and failure, what of them? What's involved?' he asked, -recklessness increasing in him. - -'New wine in old bottles,' was the answer. 'But here, you tell me, the -vessel is not damaged, but merely empty. The machinery is all right. If -he merely watches, as from a little distance----' - -'Yes, yes, the machinery _is_ there, I agree. The boy has breeding, -health, and all the physical qualities--good blood and nerves and -muscles. It's only that life refuses to stay and drive them.' His heart -beat with violence even as he said it; he felt the energy and zeal from -the older man pour into him. He was realising in himself on a smaller -scale what might take place with the boy in large. But still he shrank. -Leysin for the moment said no more. His spiritual discernment was equal -to his boldness. Having planted the seed, he left it to grow or die. -The decision was not for him. - - * * * * * - -In the light of the single lamp the two men sat facing each other, -listening, waiting, while Leysin talked occasionally, but in the -main kept silence. Some time passed, though how long the tutor could -not say. In his mind was wild confusion. How could he justify such -a mad proposal? Yet how could he refuse the opening, preposterous -though it seemed? The enticement was very great; temptation rushed -upon him. Striving to recall his normal world, he found it difficult. -The face of the old Marquess seemed a mere lifeless picture on a -wall--it watched but could not interfere. Here was an opportunity to -take or leave. He fought the battle in terms of naked souls, while -the ordinary four-cornered morality hid its face awhile. He heard -himself explaining, delaying, hedging, half-toying with the problem. -But the redemption of a soul was at stake, and he tried to forget the -environment and conditions of modern thought and belief. Sentences -flashed at him out of the battle: 'I must take him back worse than -when I started, or--what? A violent being like Marston, or a redeemed, -converted system with new energy? It's a chance, and my last.' -Moreover, odd, half-comic detail--there was the support of the Church, -of a protestant clergyman whose fundamental beliefs were similar to the -evangelical persuasions of the boy's family. Conversion, as demoniacal -possession, were both traditions of the blood. After all, the old -Marquess might understand and approve. 'You took the opening God set in -your way in His wisdom. You showed faith and courage. Far be it from me -to condemn you.' The picture on the wall looked down at him and spoke -the words. - -The wild hypothesis of the intrepid little missionary-pasteur swept him -with an effect like hypnotism. Then, suddenly, something in him seemed -to decide finally for itself. He flung himself, morality and all, upon -this vigorous other personality. He leaned across the table, his face -close to the lamp. His voice shook as he spoke. - -'Would _you_?' he asked--then knew the question foolish, and that such -a man would shrink from nothing where the redemption of a soul was at -stake; knew also that the question was proof that his own decision was -already made. - -There was something grotesque almost in the torrent of colloquial -French Leysin proceeded to pour forth, while the other sat listening in -amazement, half ashamed and half exhilarated. He looked at the stalwart -figure, the wiry bowed legs as he paced the floor, the shortness of the -coat-sleeves and the absence of shirt-cuffs round the powerful lean -wrists. It was a great fighting man he watched, a man afraid of nothing -in heaven or earth, prepared to lead a forlorn hope into a hostile -unknown land. And the sight, combined with what he heard, set the seal -upon his half-hearted decision. He would take the risk and go. - -'Pfui!' exclaimed the little Pasteur as though it might have been an -oath, his loud whisper breaking through into a guttural sound, 'pfui! -Bah! Would that _my_ people had machinery like that so that I could use -it! I've no material to work on, no force to direct, nothing but heavy, -sodden clay. Jelly!' he cried, 'negative, useless, lukewarm stuff at -best.' He lowered his voice suddenly, so as to listen at the same time. -'I might as well be a baker kneading dough,' he continued. 'They drink -and yield and drink again; they never attack and drive; they're not -worth labouring to save.' He struck the wooden table with his fist, -making the lamp rattle, while his listener started and drew back. 'What -good can weak souls, though spotless, be to God? The best have long -ago gone up to them,' and he jerked his leonine old head towards the -mountains. 'Where there's _life_ there's hope,' he stamped his foot as -he said it, 'but the lukewarm--pfui!--I will spue them out of my mouth!' - -He paused by the window a moment, listened attentively, then resumed -his pacing to and fro. Clearly, he longed for action. Indifference, -half-heartedness had no place in his composition. And Hendricks felt -his own slower blood take fire as he listened. - -'Ah!' cried Leysin louder, 'what a battle I could fight up there for -God, could I but live among them, stem the flow of their dark strong -vitality, then twist it round and up, up, up!' And he jerked his finger -skywards. 'It's the great sinners we want, not the meek-faced saints. -There's energy enough among those devils to bring a whole Canton to the -great Footstool, could I but direct it.' He paused a moment, standing -over his astonished visitor. 'Bring the boy up with you, and let him -drink his fill. And pray, pray, I say, that he become a violent sinner -first in order that later there shall be something worth offering to -God. Over one _sinner_ that repenteth----' - -A rapid, nervous knocking interrupted the flow of words, and the figure -of a woman stood upon the threshold. With the opening of the door came -also again the roaring from the night outside. Hendricks saw the tall, -somewhat dishevelled outline of the wife--he remembered her vaguely, -though she could hardly see him now in his darker corner--and recalled -the fact that she had been sent out to Leysin in his missionary days, -a worthy, illiterate, but adoring woman. She wore a shawl, her hair was -untidy, her eyes fixed and staring. Her husband's sturdy little figure, -as he rose, stood level with her chin. - -'You hear it, Jules?' she whispered thickly. 'The _joran_ has brought -them down. You'll be needed in the village.' She said it anxiously, -though Hendricks understood the _patois_ with difficulty. They talked -excitedly together a moment in the doorway, their outlines blocked -against the corridor where a single oil lamp flickered. She warned, -urging something; he expostulated. Fragments reached Hendricks in his -corner. Clearly the woman worshipped her husband like a king, yet -feared for his safety. He, for his part, comforted her, scolded a -little, argued, told her to 'believe in God and go back to bed.' - -'They'll take you too, and you'll never return. It's not your parish -anyhow ...' a touch of anguish in her tone. - -But Leysin was impatient to be off. He led her down the passage. 'My -parish is wherever I can help. I belong to God. Nothing can harm me but -to leave undone the work He gives me.' The steps went farther away as -he guided her to the stairs. Outside the roar of voices rose and fell. -Wind brought the drifting sound, wind carried it away. It was like the -thunder of the sea. - -And the Englishman, using the little scene as a flashlight upon his own -attitude, saw it for an instant as God might have seen it. Leysin's -point of view was high, scanning a very wide horizon. His eye being -single, the whole body was full of light. The risk, it suddenly seemed, -was--nothing; to shirk it, indeed, the merest cowardice. - -He went up and seized the Pasteur's hand. - -'To-morrow,' he said, a trifle shakily perhaps, yet looking straight -into his eyes. 'If we stay over--I'll bring the lad with me--provided -he comes willingly.' - -'You will stay over,' interrupted the other with decision. 'Come to -supper at seven. Come in mountain boots. Use persuasion, but not force. -He shall see it from a distance--without taking part.' - -'From a distance--yes,' the tutor repeated, 'but without taking part.' - -'I know the signs,' the Pasteur broke in significantly. 'We can rescue -him in the nick of time--charged with energy and life, yet before the -danger gets----' - -A sudden clangour of bells drowned the whispering voice, cutting the -sentence in the middle. It was like an alarm of fire. Leysin sprang -sharply round. - -'The signal!' he cried; 'the signal from the church. Some one's been -taken. I must go at once--I shall be needed.' He had his hat and cloak -on in a moment, was through the passage and into the street, Hendricks -following at his heels. The whole place seemed alive. Yet the roadway -was deserted, and no lights showed at the windows of the houses. Only -from the farther end of the village, where stood the cabaret, came a -roar of voices, shouting, crying, singing. The impression was that the -population was centred there. Far in the starry sky a line of fires -blazed upon the heights, throwing a lurid reflection above the deep -black valley. Excitement filled the night. - -'But how extraordinary!' exclaimed Hendricks, hurrying to overtake his -alert companion; 'what life there is about! Everything's on the rush.' -They went faster, almost running. 'I feel the waves of it beating even -here.' He followed breathlessly. - -'A messenger has come--and gone,' replied Leysin in a sharp, decided -voice. 'What you feel here is but the overflow. This is the aftermath. -I must work down here with my people----' - -'I'll work with you,' began the other. But Leysin stopped him. - -'Keep yourself for to-morrow night--up there,' he said with grave -authority, pointing to the fiery line upon the heights, and at the same -time quickening his pace along the street. 'At the moment,' he cried, -looking back, 'your place is yonder.' He jerked his head towards the -carpenter's house among the vineyards. The next minute he was gone. - - -V - -And Hendricks, accredited tutor to a sprig of nobility in the twentieth -century, asked himself suddenly how such things could possibly be. The -adventure took on abruptly a touch of nightmare. Only the light in -the sky above the cabaret windows, and the roar of voices where men -drank and sang, brought home the reality of it all. With a shudder of -apprehension he glanced at the lurid glare upon the mountains. He was -committed now; not because he had merely promised, but because he had -definitely made up his mind. - -Lighting a match, he saw by his watch that the visit had lasted over -two hours. It was after eleven. He hurried, letting himself in with -the big house-key, and going on tiptoe up the granite stairs. In his -mind rose a picture of the boy as he had known him all these weary, -sight-seeing months--the mild brown eyes, the facile indolence, the -pliant, watery emotions of the listless creature, but behind him now, -like storm clouds, the hopes, desires, fears the Pasteur's talk had -conjured up. The yearning to save stirred strongly in his heart, and -more and more of the little man's reckless spiritual audacity came -with it. His own affection for the lad was genuine, but impatience -and adventure pushed eagerly through the tenderness. If only, oh, if -only he could put life into that great six-foot, big-boned frame! -Some energy as of fire and wind into that inert machinery of mind and -body! The idea was utterly incredible, but surely no harm could come -of trying the experiment. There _were_ the huge and elemental forces, -of course, in Nature, and if ... A sound in the bedroom, as he crept -softly past the door, caught his attention, and he paused a moment to -listen. Lord Ernie was not asleep, then, after all. He wondered why the -sound got somehow at his heart. There was shuffling behind the door; -there was a voice, too--or was it voices? He knocked. - -'Who is it?' came at once, in a tone he hardly recognised. And, as he -answered, 'It's I, Mr. Hendricks; let me in,' there followed a renewal -of the shuffling, but without the sound of voices, and the door flew -open--it was not even locked. Lord Ernie stood before him, dressed to -go out. In the faint starlight the tall ungainly figure filled the -doorway, erect and huge, the shoulders squared, the trunk no longer -drooping. The listlessness was gone. He stood upright, limbs straight -and alert; the sagging limp had vanished from the knees. He looked, in -this semi-darkness, like another person, almost monstrous. And the -tutor drew back instinctively, catching an instant at his breath. - -'But, my dear boy! why aren't you asleep?' he stammered. He glanced -half nervously about him. 'I heard you talking, surely?' He fumbled for -a match; but, before he found it, the other had turned on the electric -switch. The light flared out. There was no one else in the room. 'Is -anything wrong with you? What's the matter?' - -But the boy answered quietly, though in a deeper voice than Hendricks -had ever known in him before: - -'I'm all right; only I couldn't sleep. I've been watching those fires -on the mountains. I--I wanted to go out and see.' - -He still held the field-glasses in his hand, swinging them vigorously -by the strap. The room was littered with clothes, just unpacked, -the heavy shooting boots in the middle of the floor; and Hendricks, -noticing these signs, felt a wave of excitement sweep through him, -caught somehow from the presence of the boy. There was a sense of -vitality in the room--as though a rush of active movement had just -passed through it. Both windows stood wide open, and the roar of voices -was clearly audible. Lord Ernie turned his head to listen. - -'That's only the village people drinking and shouting,' said Hendricks, -closely watching each movement that he made. 'It's perfectly natural, -Bindy, that you feel too excited to sleep. We're in the mountains. -The air stimulates tremendously--it makes the heart beat faster.' He -decided not to press the lad with questions. - -'But I never felt like this in the Rockies or the Himalayas,' came the -swift rejoinder, as he moved to the window and looked out. 'There was -nothing in India or Japan like _that_!' He swept his hand towards -the wooded heights that towered above the village so close. He talked -volubly. 'All those things we saw out there were sham--done on purpose -for tourists. Up there it's real. I've been watching through the -glasses till--I felt I simply must go out and join it. You can see men -dancing round the fires, and big, rushing women. Oh, Mr. Hendricks, -isn't it all glorious--all too glorious and ripping for words!' And his -brown eyes shone like lamps. - -'You mean that it's spontaneous, natural?' the other guided him, -welcoming the new enthusiasm, yet still bewildered by the startling -change. It was not mere nerves he saw. There was nothing morbid in it. - -'They're doing it, I mean, because they have to,' came the decided -answer, 'and because they feel it. They're not just copying the world.' -He put his hand upon the other's arm. There was dry heat in it that -Hendricks felt even through his clothes. 'And that's what _I_ want,' -the boy went on, raising his voice; 'what I've always wanted without -knowing it--real things that can make me alive. I've often had it in my -dreams, you know, but now I've found it.' - -'But I didn't know. You never told me of those dreams.' - -The boy's cheeks flushed, so that the colour and the fire in his eyes -made him positively splendid. He answered slowly, as out of some part -he had hitherto kept deliberately concealed. - -'Because I never could get hold of it in words. It sounded so silly -even to myself, and I thought Father would train it all away and -laugh at it. It's awfully far down in me, but it's so real I knew -it must come out one day, and that I should find it. Oh, I say, -Mr. Hendricks,' and he lowered his voice, leaning out across the -window-sill suddenly, '_that_ fills me up and feeds me'--he pointed -to the heights--'and gives me life. The life I've seen till now was -only a kind of show. It starved me. I want to go up there and feel it -pouring through my blood.' He filled his lungs with the strong mountain -air, and paused while he exhaled it slowly, as though tasting it with -delight and understanding. Then he burst out again, 'I vote we go. Will -you come with me? What d'you say. Eh?' - -They stared at each other hard a moment. Something as primitive and -irresistible as love passed through the air between them. With a great -effort the older man kept the balance true. - -'Not to-night, not now,' he said firmly. 'It's too late. To-morrow, if -you like--with pleasure.' - -'But to-morrow _night_,' cried the boy with a rush, 'when the fires are -blazing and the wind is loose. Not in the stupid daylight.' - -'All right. To-morrow night. And my old friend, Monsieur Leysin, shall -be our guide. He knows the way, and he knows the people too.' - -Lord Ernie seized his hands with enthusiasm. His vigour was so -disconcerting that it seemed to affect his physical appearance. The -body grew almost visibly; his very clothes hung on him differently; -he was no longer a nonentity yawning beneath an ancient pedigree and -title; he was an aggressive personality. The boy in him rushed into -manhood, as it were, while still retaining boyish speech and gesture. -It was uncanny. 'We'll go more than once, I vote; go again and again. -This _is_ a place and a half. It's _my_ place with a vengeance----!' - -'Not exactly the kind of place your father would wish you to linger -in,' his tutor interrupted. 'But we might stay a day or two--especially -as you like it so.' - -'It's far better than the towns and the rotten embassies; better -than fifty Simlas and Bombays and filthy Cairos,' cried the other -eagerly. 'It's just the thing I need, and when I get home I'll show 'em -something. I'll prove it. Why, they simply won't know me!' He laughed, -and his face shone with a kind of vivid radiance in the glare of the -electric light. The transformation was more than curious. Waiting a -moment to see if more would follow, Hendricks moved slowly then towards -the door, with the remark that it was advisable now to go to bed since -they would be up late the following night--when he noticed for the -first time that the pillow and sheets were crumpled and that the bed -had already been lain in. The first suspicion flashed back upon him -with new certainty. - -Lord Ernie was already taking off his heavy coat, preparatory to -undressing. He looked up quickly at the altered tone of voice. - -'Bindy,' the tutor said with a touch of gravity, 'you _were_ alone just -now--weren't you--of course?' - -The other sat up from stooping over his boots. With his hands resting -on the bed behind him, he looked straight into his companion's eyes. -Lying was not among his faults. He answered slowly after a decided -interval. - -'I--I was asleep,' he whispered, evidently trying to be accurate, -yet hesitating how to describe the thing he had to say, 'and had a -dream--one of my real, vivid dreams when something happens. Only, this -time, it was more real than ever before. It was'--he paused, searching -for words, then added--'sweet and awful.' - -And Hendricks repeated the surprising sentence. 'Sweet and awful, -Bindy! What in the world do you mean, boy?' - -Lord Ernie seemed puzzled himself by the choice of words he used. - -'I don't know exactly,' he went on honestly, 'only I mean that it was -awfully real and splendid, a bit of my own life somewhere--somewhere -else--where it lies hidden away behind a lot of days and months that -choke it up. I can never get at it except in woods and places, quite -alone, hearing the wind or making fires, or--in sleep.' He hid his face -in his hands a moment, then looked up with a hint of censure in his -eyes. 'Why didn't you tell me that such things _were_ done? You never -told me,' he repeated. - -'I didn't know it myself until this evening. Leysin----' - -'I thought you knew everything,' Lord Ernie broke in in that same -half-chiding tone. - -'Monsieur Leysin told me to-night for the first time,' said Hendricks -firmly, 'that such people and such practices existed. Till now I had -never dreamed that such superstitions survived anywhere in the world -at all.' He resented the reproach. But he was also aware that the boy -resented his authority. For the first time his ascendency seemed in -question; his voice, his eye, his manner did not quell as formerly. -'So you mean, when you say "sweet and awful," that it was very real to -you?' he asked. He insisted now with purpose. 'Is that it, Bindy?' - -The other replied eagerly enough. 'Yes, that's it, I think--partly. -This time it was more than dreaming. It was real. I got there. I -remembered. That's what I meant. And after I woke up the thing still -went on. The man seemed still in the room beside the bed, calling me to -get up and go with him----' - -'Man! What man?' The tutor leant upon the back of a chair to steady -himself. The wind just then went past the open windows with a singing -rush. - -'The dark man who passed us in the village, and who pointed to the -fires on the heights. He came with the wind, you remember. He pulled my -coat.' - -The boy stood up as he said it. He came across the naked boarding, his -step light and dancing. 'Fire that heats but does not burn, and wind -that blows the heart alight, or something--I forget now exactly. _You_ -heard it too.' He whispered the words with excitement, raising his arms -and knees as in the opening movements of a dance. - -Hendricks kept his own excitement down, but with a distinctly conscious -effort. - -'I heard nothing of the kind,' he said calmly. 'I was only thinking of -getting home dry. You say,' he asked with decision, 'that you _heard_ -those words?' - -Lord Ernie stood back a little. It was not that he wished to conceal, -but that he felt uncertain how to express himself. 'In the street,' he -said, 'I heard nothing; the words rose up in my own head, as it were. -But in the dream, and afterwards too, when I was wide awake, I heard -them out loud, clearly: Fire that heats but does not burn, and wind -that blows the heart to flame--that's how it was.' - -'In French, Bindy? You heard it in French?' - -'Oh, it was no language at all. The eyes said it--both times.' He -spoke as naturally as though it was the Durbah he described again. -Only this new aggressive certainty was in his voice and manner. -'Mr. Hendricks,' he went on eagerly, '_you_ understand what I mean, -don't you? When certain people look at one, words start up in the -mind as though one heard them spoken. I heard the words in my head, -I suppose; only they seemed so familiar, as though I'd known them -before--always----' - -'Of course, Bindy, I understand. But this man--tell me--did he stay on -after you woke up? And how did he go?' He looked round at the barely -furnished room for hiding-places. 'It was really the dream you carried -on after waking, wasn't it?' - -Then Bindy laughed, but inwardly, as to himself. There was the faintest -possible hint of derision in his voice. 'No doubt,' he said; 'only it -was one of my big, real dreams. And how he went I can't explain at -all, for I didn't see. You knocked at the door; I turned, and found -myself standing in the room, dressed to go out. There was a rush of -wind outside the window--and when I looked he was no longer there. -The same minute you came in. It was all as quick as that. I suppose I -dressed--in my sleep.' - -They stood for several minutes, staring at each other without speaking. -The tutor hesitated between several courses of action, unable, for the -life of him, to decide upon any particular one. His instinct on the -whole was to stop nothing, but to encourage all possible expression, -while keeping rigorous watch and guard. Repression, it seemed to him -just then, was the least desirable line to take. Somewhere there was -truth in the affair. He felt out of his depth, his authority impaired, -and under these temporary disadvantages he might so easily make a -grave mistake, injuring instead of helping. While Lord Ernie finished -his undressing he leaned out of the window, taking great draughts of -the keen night air, watching the blazing fires and listening to the -roar of voices, now dying down into the distance. - -And the voice of his thinking whispered to him, 'Let it all come out. -Repress nothing. Let him have the entire adventure. If it's nonsense -it can't injure, and if it's true it's inevitable.' He drew his head -in and moved towards the door. 'Then it's settled,' he said quietly, -as though nothing unusual had happened; 'we'll go up there to-morrow -night--with Monsieur Leysin to show us the way. And you'll go to sleep -now, won't you? For to-morrow we may be up very late. Promise me, -Bindy.' - -'I'm dead tired,' came the answer from the sheets. 'I certainly shan't -dream any more, if that's what you mean. I promise.' - -Hendricks turned the light out and went softly from the room. He could -always trust the boy. - -'Good-night, Bindy,' he said. - -'Good-night,' came the drowsy reply. - -Upstairs he lingered a long time over his own undressing, listening, -waiting, watching for the least sound below. But nothing happened. -Once, for his own peace of mind, he stole stealthily downstairs to the -boy's door; then, reassured by the heavy breathing that was distinctly -audible, he went up finally and got into bed himself. The night was -very still now. It was cool, and the stars were brilliant over lake and -forest and mountain. No voices broke the silence. He only heard the -tinkle of the little streams beyond the vineyards. And by midnight he -was sound asleep. - - -VI - -And next day broke as soft and brilliant as though October had stolen -it from June; the Alps gleamed through an almost summery haze across -the lake; the air held no hint of coming winter; and the Jura mountains -wore the true blue of memory in Hendricks' mind. Patches of red and -yellow splashed the great pine-woods here and there where beech and ash -put autumn in the vast dark carpet. - -The tutor woke clear-headed and refreshed. All that had happened the -night before seemed out of proportion and unreasonable. There had -been exaggerated emotion in it: in himself, because he returned to a -place still charged with potent memories of youth; and in Lord Ernie, -because the lad was overwrought by the electrical disturbance of the -atmosphere. The nearness of the ancestral halls, which they both -disliked, had emphasised it; the ominous, wild weather had favoured -it; and the coincidence of these pagan rites of superstitious peasants -had focused it all into a melodramatic form with an added touch of the -supernatural that was highly picturesque and--dangerously suggestive. -Hendricks recovered his common sense; judgment asserted itself again. - -Yet, for all that, certain things remained authentic. The effect -upon the boy was not illusion, nor his words about fire and wind -mere meaningless invention. There hid some undivined and significant -correspondence between the gaps in his deficient nature and these two -turbulent elements. The talk with Leysin, as the conduct of his wife, -remained authentic; those facts were too steady to be dismissed, the -Pasteur too genuinely in earnest to be catalogued in dream. Neither -daylight nor common sense could dissipate their actuality. Truth lay -somewhere in it all. - -Thus the day, for the tutor, was a battle that shifted with varying -fortune between doubt and certainty. In the morning his mind was -decided: the wild experiment was unjustifiable; in the afternoon, -as the sunshine grew faint and melancholy, it became 'interesting, -for what harm could come of it?' but towards evening, when shadows -lengthened across the purple forests and the trees stood motionless in -the calm and windless air, the adventure seemed, as it had seemed the -night before, not only justifiable, but right and necessary. It only -became inevitable, however, when, after tea together on the balcony, -Lord Ernie, mentioning the subject for the first time that day, asked -pointedly what time the Pasteur expected them to supper; then, noticing -the flash of hesitancy in his companion's eyes, added in his strange -deep voice, 'You promised we should go.' Withdrawal after that was out -of the question. To retract would have meant, for one thing, final loss -of the boy's confidence--a possibility not to be contemplated for a -moment. - -Until this moment no word of the preceding night had passed the lips -of either. Lord Ernie had been quiet and preoccupied, silent rather, -but never listless. He was peaceful, perhaps subdued a little, yet with -a suppressed energy in his bearing that Hendricks watched with secret -satisfaction. The tutor, closely observant, detected nothing out of -gear; life stirred strongly in him; there was purpose, interest, will; -there was desire; but there was nothing to cause alarm. - -Availing himself then of the lad's absorption in his own affairs, he -wandered forth alone upon his sentimental tour of inspection. No ghost -of emotion rose to stalk beside him. That early tragedy, he now saw -clearly, had been no more than youthful explosion of mere physical -passion, wholesome and natural, but due chiefly to propinquity. His -thoughts ran idly on; and he was even congratulating himself upon -escape and freedom when, abruptly, he remembered a phrase Bindy had -used the night before, and stumbled suddenly upon a clue when least -expecting it. - -He came to a sudden halt. The significance of it crashed through his -mind and startled him. 'There are big rushing women ...' It was the -first reference to the other sex, as evidence of their attraction -for him, Hendricks had ever known to pass his lips. Hitherto, though -twenty years of age, the lad had never spoken of women as though he was -aware of their terrible magic. He had not discovered them as females, -necessary to every healthy male. It was not purity, of course, but -ignorance: he had felt nothing. Something had now awakened sex in him, -so that he knew himself a man, and naked. And it had revolutionised the -world for him. This new life came from the roots, transforming listless -indifference into positive desire; the will woke out of sleep, and -all the currents of his system took aggressive form. For all energy, -intellectual, emotional, or spiritual, is fundamentally one: it is -primarily sexual. - -Hendricks paused in his sentimental walk, marvelling that he had not -realised sooner this simple truth. It brought a certain logical meaning -even into the pagan rites upon the mountains, these ancient rites -which symbolised the marriage of the two tremendous elements of wind -and fire, heat and air. And the lad's quiet, busy mood that morning -confirmed his simple discovery. It involved restraint and purpose. Lord -Ernie was alive. Hendricks would take home with him to those ancestral -halls a vessel bursting with energy--creative energy. It was admirable -that he should witness--from a safe distance--this primitive ceremony -of crude pagan origin. It was the very thing. And the tutor hurried -back to the house among the vineyards, aware that his responsibility -had increased, but persuaded more than ever that his course was -justified. - - * * * * * - -The sky held calm and cloudless through the day, the forests brooding -beneath the hazy autumn sunshine. Indications that the second hurricane -lay brewing among the heights were not wanting, however, to experienced -eyes. Almost a preternatural silence reigned; there was a warm -heaviness in the placid atmosphere; the surface of the lake was patched -and streaky; the extreme clarity of the air an ominous omen. Distant -objects were too close. Towards sunset, moreover, the streaks and -patches vanished as though sucked below, while thin strips of tenuous -cloud appeared from nowhere above the northern cliffs. They moved with -great rapidity at an enormous height, touched with a lurid brilliance -as the sun sank out of sight; and when Hendricks strolled over with -Lord Ernie to _la cure_ for supper there came a sudden rush of heated -wind that set the branches sharply rattling, then died away as abruptly -as it rose. - -They seemed reflected, too, these disturbances, in the human -atmospheres about the supper table--there was suppression of various -emotions, emotions presaging violence. Lord Ernie was exhilarated, -Hendricks uneasy and preoccupied, the Pasteur grave and thoughtful. In -Hendricks was another feeling as well--that he had lightly summoned -a storm which might carry him off his feet. The boy's excitement -increased it, as wind-puffs fan a starting fire. His own judgment -had somewhere played him false, betraying him into this incredible -adventure. And yet he could not stop it. The Pasteur's influence was -over him perhaps. He was ashamed to turn back. He was committed. The -unusual circumstances found the weakness in his character. - -For somewhere in the preposterous superstition there lay a big -forgotten truth. He could not believe it, and yet he did believe it. -The world had forgotten how to live truly close to Nature. - -A desultory conversation was carried on, chiefly between the two men, -while the boy ate hungrily, and Mme. Leysin watched her husband with -anxiety as she served the simple meal. - -'So you are coming with us, and you like to come?' the Pasteur observed -quietly, Hendricks translating. - -Lord Ernie replied with a gesture of unmistakable enthusiasm. - -'A wild lot of men and women,' Leysin went on, keeping his eye hard -upon him, 'with an interesting worship of their own copied from very -ancient times. They live on the heights, and mix little with us valley -folk. You shall see their ceremonies to-night.' - -'They get the wind and fire into themselves, don't they?' asked the boy -keenly, and somewhat to the distress of the translator who rendered it, -'They get into wind and fire.' - -'They worship wind and fire,' Leysin replied, 'and they do it by means -of a wonderful dance that somehow imitates the leap of flame and the -headlong rush of wind. If you copy the movements and gestures of a -person you discover the emotion that causes them. You share it. Their -idea is, apparently, that by imitating the movements they invite or -attract the force--draw these elemental powers into their systems, so -that in the end----' - -He stopped suddenly, catching the tutor's eye. Lord Ernie seemed -to understand without translation; he had laid down his knife and -fork, and was leaning forward across the table, listening with deep -absorption. His expression was alert with a new intelligence that was -almost cunning. An acute sensibility seemed to have awakened in him. - -'As with laughing, I suppose?' he said in an undertone to Hendricks -quickly. 'If you imitate a laugher, you laugh yourself in the end and -feel all the jolly excitement of laughter. Is that what he means?' - -The tutor nodded with assumed indifference. 'Imitation is always -infectious,' he said lightly; 'but, of course, you will not imitate -these wild people yourself, Bindy. We'll just look on from a distance.' - -'From a distance!' repeated the boy, obviously disappointed. 'What's -the good of that?' A look of obstinacy passed across his altered face. - -Hendricks met his eyes squarely. 'At a circus,' he said firmly, 'you -just watch. You don't imitate the clown, do you?' - -'If you look on long enough, you do,' was the rather dogged reply. - -'Well, take the Russian dancers we saw in Moscow,' the other insisted -patiently; 'you felt the power and beauty without jumping up and -whirling in your stall?' - -Bindy half glared at him. There was almost contempt in his quiet -answer: 'But your mind whirled with them. And later your body would -too; otherwise it's given you nothing.' He paused a second. 'I can -only get the fun of riding by being on a horse's back and doing his -movements exactly with him--not by watching him.' - -Hendricks smiled and shrugged his shoulders. He did not wish to -discourage the enthusiasm lying behind this analysis. The uneasiness in -him grew apace. He said something rapidly in French, using an undertone -and laughter to confuse the actual words. - -'Of course we must not interfere with their ceremonies,' put in the -Pasteur with decision. 'It's sacred to them. We can hide among the -trees and watch. You would not leave your seat in church to imitate the -priest, would you?' He glanced smilingly at the eager youth before him. - -'If he did something real, I would.' It was said with a bright flash in -the eyes. 'Anything real I'd copy like a shot. Only, I never find it.' - -The reply was disconcerting rather: and Hendricks, as he hurriedly -translated, made a clatter with his knife and fork, for something in -him rose to meet the truth behind the curious words. From that moment, -as though catching a little of the boy's exhilaration, he passed under -a kind of spell perhaps. It was, in spite of the exaggeration, oddly -stimulating. This dull little meal at the village _cure_ masked an -accumulating vehemence, eager to break loose. He heard the old father's -voice: 'Well done, Hendricks! You have accomplished wonders!' He would -take back the boy--alive.... - -Yet all the time there were streaks and patches on his soul as upon -the surface of the lake that afternoon. There were signs of terror. He -felt himself letting go, an increasing recklessness, a yielding up more -and more of his own authority to that of this triumphant boy. Bindy -understood the meaning of it all and felt secure; Hendricks faltered, -hesitated, stood on the defensive. Yet, ever less and less. Already he -accepted the other's guidance. Already Lord Ernie's leadership was in -the ascendant. Conviction invariably holds dominion over doubt. - -They ate little. It was near the end of the meal when the wind, falling -from a clear and starlit sky, struck its first violent blow, dropping -with the force of an explosion that shook the wooden house, and passing -with a roar towards the distant lake. The oil lamp, suspended from the -ceiling, trembled; the Pasteur looked apprehensively at the shuttered -windows; and Lord Ernie, with startling abruptness, stood up. His eyes -were shining. His voice was brisk, alert, and deep. - -'The wind, the wind!' he cried. 'Think what it'll be up there! We -shall feel it on our bodies!' His enthusiasm was like a rush of air -across the table. 'And the fire!' he went on. 'The flames will lick all -over, and tear about the sky. I feel wild and full of them already! -How splendid!' And the flame of the little lamp leaped higher in the -chimney as he said it. - -'The violence of the _coup de joran_ is extraordinary,' explained -Leysin as he got up to turn down the wick, 'and the second -outburst----' The rest of his sentence was drowned by the noise of -Hendricks' voice telling the boy to sit down and finish his supper. -And at the same moment the Pasteur's wife came in as though a stroke -of wind drove behind her down the passage. The door slammed in the -draught. There was a momentary confusion in the room above which her -voice rose shrill and frightened. - -'The fires are alight, Jules,' she whispered in her half-intelligible -_patois_, 'the forest is burning all along the upper ridge.' Her face -was pale and her speech came stumbling. She lowered her lips to her -husband's ear. 'They'll be looking out for recruits to-night. Is it -necessary, is it right for you to go?' She glanced uneasily at the -English visitors. 'You know the danger----' - -He stopped her with a gesture. 'Those who look on at life accomplish -nothing,' he answered impatiently. 'One must act, always act. Chances -are sent to be taken, not stared at.' He rose, pushing past her into -the passage, and as he did so she gave him one swift comprehensive -look of tenderness and admiration, then hurried after him to find his -hat and cloak. Willingly she would have kept him at home that night, -yet gladly, in another sense, she saw him go. She fumbled in her -movements, ready to laugh or cry or pray. Hendricks saw her pain and -understood. It was singular how the woman's attitude intensified his -own misgivings; her behaviour, the mere expression of her face alone, -made the adventure so absolutely real. - -Three minutes later they were in the village street. Hendricks and Lord -Ernie, the latter impatient in the road beyond, saw her tall figure -stoop to embrace him. 'I shall pray all night: I shall watch from my -window for your return. God, who speaks from the whirlwind, and whose -pathway is the fire, will go with you. Remember the younger men; it is -ever the younger men that they seek to take...!' Her words were half -hysterical. The kiss was given and taken; the open doorway framed her -outline a moment; then the buttress of the church blotted her out, and -they were off. - - -VII - -And at once the curious confusion of strong wind was upon them. Gusts -howled about the corners of the shuttered houses and tore noisily -across the open yards. Dust whirled with the rapidity as of some -spectral white machinery. A tile came clattering down about their feet, -while overhead the roofs had an air of shifting, toppling, bending. -The entire village seemed scooped up and shaken, then dropped upon the -earth again in tottering fashion. - -'This way,' gasped the little Pasteur, blown sideways like a sail; -'follow me closely.' Almost arm-in-arm at first they hurried down the -deserted street, past lampless windows and tight-fastened doors, and -soon were beyond the cabaret in that open stretch between the village -and the forest where the wind had unobstructed way. Far above them ran -the fiery mountain ridge. They saw the glare reflected in the sky as -the tempest first swept them all three together, then separated them in -the same moment. They seemed to spin or whirl. 'It's far worse than I -expected,' shouted their guide; 'here! Give me your hand!' then found, -once disentangled from his flapping cloak, that no one stood beside -him. For each of them it was a single fight to reach the shelter of the -woods, where the actual ascent began. An instant the Pasteur seemed to -hesitate. He glanced back at the lighted window of _la cure_ across the -fields, at the line of fire in the sky, at the figure disappearing in -the blackness immediately ahead. 'Where's the boy?' he shouted. 'Don't -let him get too far in front. Keep close. Wait till I come!' They -staggered back against each other. 'Look how easily he's slipped ahead -already!' - -'This howling wind----' Hendricks shouted, as they advanced side by -side, pushing their shoulders against the storm. - -The rest of the sentence vanished into space. Leysin shoved him -forward, pointing to where, some twenty yards in front, the figure of -Lord Ernie, head down, was battling eagerly with the hurricane. Already -he stood near to the shelter of the trees waving his arms with energy -towards the summits where the fire blazed. He was calling something at -the top of his voice, urging them to hurry. His voice rushed down upon -them with a pelt of wind. - -'Don't let him get away from us,' bawled Leysin, holding his hands -cup-wise to his mouth. 'Keep him in reach. He may see, but must not -take part....' A blow full in the face that smote him like the flat -of a great sword clapped the sentence short. 'That's _your_ part. He -won't obey me!' Hendricks heard it as they plunged across the windswept -reach, panting, struggling, forcing their bodies sideways like -two-legged crabs against the terrific force of the descending _joran_. -They reached the protection of the forest wall without further attempt -at speech. Here there was sudden peace and silence, for the tall, dense -trees received the tempest's impact like a cushion, stopping it. They -paused a moment to recover breath. - -But although the first exhaustion speedily passed, that original -confusion of strong wind remained--in Hendricks' mind at least,--for -wind violent enough to be battled with has a scattering effect on -thought and blows the very blood about. Something in him snapped its -cables and blew out to sea. His breath drew in an impetuous quality -from the tempest each time he filled his lungs. There was agitation in -him that caused an odd exaggeration of the emotions. The boy, as they -came up, leaped down from a boulder he had climbed. He opened his arms, -making of his cloak a kind of sail that filled and flapped. - -'At last!' he cried, impatient, almost vexed. 'I thought you were never -coming. The wind blew me along. We shall be late----' - -The tutor caught his arm with vigour. 'You keep by us, Ernest; d'you -hear now? No rushing ahead like that. Leysin's the guide, not you.' He -even shook him. But as he did so he was aware that he himself resisted -something that he did not really want to resist, something that urged -him forcibly; a little more and he would yield to it with pleasure, -with abandon, finally with recklessness. A reaction of panic fear ran -over him. - -'It was the wind, I tell you,' cried the boy, flinging himself free -with a hint of insolence in his voice, 'for it's alive. I mean to see -everything. The wind's our leader and the fire's our guide.' He made a -movement to start on again. - -'You'll obey me,' thundered Hendricks, 'or else you'll go home. D'you -understand?' - -With exasperation, yet with uneasy delight, he noted the words Bindy -made use of. It was in him that he might almost have uttered them -himself. He stepped already into an entirely new world. Exhilaration -caught him even now. Putting the brake on was mere pretence. He seized -the lad by both shoulders and pushed him to the rear, then placed -himself next, so that Leysin moved in front and led the way. The -procession started, diving into the comparative shelter of the forest. -'Don't let him pass you,' he heard in rapid French; 'guide him, that's -all. The power's already in his blood. Keep yourself in hand as well, -and follow me closely.' The roar of the storm above them carried the -words clean off the world. - -Here in the forest they moved, it seemed, along the floor of an -ocean whose surface raged with dreadful violence; any moment one or -other of them might be caught up to that surface and whirled off to -destruction. For the procession was not one with itself. The darkness, -the difficulty of hearing what each said, the feeling, too, that each -climbed for himself, made everything seem at sixes and sevens. And the -tutor, this secret exultation growing in his heart, denied the anxiety -that kept it pace, and battled with his turbulent emotions, a divided -personality. His power over the boy, he realised, had gravely weakened. -A little time ago they had seemed somehow equal. Now, however, a -complete reversal of their relative positions had taken place. The boy -was sure of himself. While Leysin led at a steady mountaineer's pace -on his wiry, short, bowed legs, Hendricks, a yard or two behind him, -stumbled a good deal in the darkness, Lord Ernie forever on his heels, -eager to push past. But Bindy never stumbled. There was no flagging -in his muscles. He moved so lightly and with so sure a tread that he -almost seemed to dance, and often he stopped aside to leap a boulder or -to run along a fallen trunk. Path there was none. Occasional gusts of -wind rushed gustily down into these depths of forest where they moved, -and now, from time to time, as they rose nearer to the line of fire on -the ridge, an increasing glare lit up the knuckled roots or glimmered -on the bramble thickets and heavy beds of moss. It was astonishing -how the little Pasteur never missed his way. Periods of thick silence -alternated with moments when the storm swept down through gullies among -the trees, reverberating like thunder in the hollows. - -Slowly they advanced, buffeted, driven, pushed, the wildness of some -Walpurgis night growing upon all three. In the tutor's mind was this -strange lift of increasing recklessness, the old proportion gone, the -spiritual aspect of it troubling him to the point of sheer distress. He -followed Leysin as blindly with his body as he followed this new Bindy -eagerly with his mind. For this languid boy, now dancing to the tune -of flooding life at his very heels, seemed magical in the true sense: -energy created as by a wizard out of nothing. From lips that ordinarily -sighed in listless boredom poured now a ceaseless stream of questions -and ejaculations, ringing with enthusiasm. How long would it take to -reach the fiery ridge? Why did they go so slowly? Would they arrive -too late? Would their intrusion be welcomed or understood? Already one -great change was effected--accepted by Hendricks, too--that the role -of mere spectator was impossible. The answers Hendricks gave, indeed, -grew more and more encouraging and sympathetic. He, too, was impatient -with their leader's crawling pace. Some elemental spell of wind and -fire urged him towards the open ridge. The pull became irresistible. -He despised the Pasteur's caution, denied his wisdom, wholly rejected -now the spirit of compromise and prudence. And once, as the hurricane -brought down a flying burst of voices, he caught himself leaping upon a -big grey boulder in their path. He leaped at the very moment that the -boy behind him leaped, yet hardly realised that he did so; his feet -danced without a conscious order from his brain. They met together on -the rounded top, stumbled, clutched one another frantically, then slid -with waving arms and flying cloaks down the slippery surface of damp -moss--laughing wildly. - -'Fool!' cried Hendricks, saving himself. 'What in the world----?' - -'_You_ called,' laughed Bindy, picking himself up and dropping back to -his place in the rear again. 'It's the wind, not me; it's in our feet. -Half the time you're shouting and jumping yourself!' - -And it was a few minutes after this that Lord Ernie suddenly forged -ahead. He slipped in front as silently as a shadow before a moving -candle in a room. Passing the tutor at a moment when his feet were -entangled among roots and stones, he easily overtook the Pasteur and -found himself in the lead. He never stumbled; there seemed steel -springs in his legs. - -From Leysin, too breathless to interfere, came a cry of warning. 'Stop -him! Take his hand!' his tired voice instantly smothered by the roaring -skies. He turned to catch Hendricks by the cloak. 'You see _that_!' he -shouted in alarm. 'For the love of God, don't lose sight of him! He -must see, but not take part--remember----!' - -And Hendricks yelled after the vanishing figure, 'Bindy, go slow, go -slow! Keep in touch with us.' But he quickened his pace instantly, as -though to overtake the boy. He passed his companion the same minute, -and was out of sight. 'I'll wait for you,' came back the boy's shrill -answer through the thinning trees. And a flare of light fell with it -from the sky, for the final climb of a steep five hundred feet had now -begun, and overhead the naked ridge ran east and west with its line of -blazing fires. Boulders and rocky ground replaced the pines and spruces. - -'But you'll never find the way,' shouted Leysin, while a deep -trumpeting roar of the storm beyond muffled the remainder of the -sentence. - -Hendricks heard the next words close beside him from a clump of -shadows. He was in touching distance of the excited boy. - -'The fires and the singing guide me. Only a fool could miss the way.' - -'But you _are_ a----' - -He swallowed the unuttered word. A new, extraordinary respect was -suddenly in him. That tall, virile figure, instinct with life, -springing so cleverly through the choking darkness, guiding with -decision and intelligence, almost infallible--it was no fool that led -them thus. He hurried after till his very sinews ached. His eyes, -troubled and confused, strained through the trees to find him. But -these same trees now fled past him in a torrent. - -'Bindy, Bindy!' he cried, at the top of his voice, yet not with -the imperious tone the situation called for. The sentence dropped -into a lull of wind. Instead of command there was entreaty, almost -supplication, in it. 'Wait for me, I'm coming. We'll see the glorious -thing together!' - -And then suddenly the forest lay behind him, with a belt of open -pasture-land in front below the actual ridge. He felt the first great -draught of heat, as a line of furnaces burst their doors with a mighty -roar and turned the sky into a blaze of golden daylight. There was a -crackling as of musketry. The flare shot up and burned the air about -him, and the voices of a multitude, as yet invisible, drove through it -like projectiles on the wind. This was the first impression, wholesale -and terrific, that met him as he paused an instant on the edge of the -sheltering forest and looked forward. Leysin and Lord Ernie seemed -to leave his mind, forgotten in this first attack of splendour, but -forgotten, as it were, the first with contempt, the latter with an -overwhelming regret. For the Pasteur's mistake in that instant seemed -obvious. In half measures lay the fatal error, and in compromise the -danger. Bindy all along had known the better way and followed it. The -lukewarm was the worthless. - -'Bindy, boy, where are you? I'm coming ...' and stepping on to the -grassy strip of ground, soft to his feet, he met a wind that fell upon -his body with a shower of blows from all directions at once and beat -him to his knees. He dropped, it seemed, into the cover of a sheltering -rock, for there followed then a moment of sudden and delicious -stillness in which the weary muscles recovered themselves and thought -grew slightly steadier. Crouched thus close to the earth he no longer -offered a target to the hurricane's attack. He peered upwards, making a -screen of his hands. - -The ridge, some fifty feet above him, he saw, ran in a generous -platform along the mountain crest; it was wide and flat; between the -enormous fires of piled-up wood that stretched for half a mile coiled a -medley of dense smoke and tearing sparks. No human beings were visible, -and yet he was aware of crowding life quite near. On hands and knees, -crawling painfully, he then slowly retreated again into the shelter of -the forest he had sought to leave. He stood up. The awful blaze was -veiled by the roof of branches once more. But, as he rose, seizing a -sapling to steady himself by, two hands caught him with violence from -behind, and a familiar voice came shouting against his ear. Leysin, -panting, dishevelled and half broken with the speed, stood beside him. - -'The boy! Where is he? We're just in time!' He roared the words to -make them carry above the din. 'Hurry, hurry! I'll follow.... My older -legs.... See, for the love of God, that he is not taken.... I warned -you!' - -And for a second, as he heard, Hendricks caught at the vanished sense -of responsibility again. He saw the face of the old Marquess watching -him among the tree trunks. He heard his voice, amazed, reproachful, -furious: 'It was criminal of you, criminal----!' - -'Where is the boy--_your_ boy?' again broke in the shout of the Pasteur -with a slap of hurricane, as he staggered against the tutor, half -collapsing, and trying to point the direction. 'Watch him, find him for -the love of heaven before it is too late--before they see him...!' - -The tutor's normal and responsible self dived out of sight again as he -heard the cry of weakness and alarm. It seemed the wind got under him, -lifting him bodily from his feet. He did not pause to think. Like a man -midway in a whirling prize-fight, he felt dazed but confident, only -conscious of one thing--that he must hold out to the end, take part in -all the splendid fighting--_win_. The lust of the arena, the pride of -youth and battle, the impetuous recklessness of the charge in primitive -war caught at his heart, brimming it with headlong courage. To play -the game for all it might be worth seemed shouted everywhere about -him, as the abandon of wind and fire rushed through him like a storm. -He felt lifted above all possibility of little failure. The Marquess -with his conventional traditions, the Pasteur with his considerations -of half-way safety, both vanished utterly; safety, indeed, both for -himself and for the boy in his charge lay in unconditional surrender. -This was no time for little thought-out actions. It was all or nothing! - -'God bless the whirlwind and the fire!' he shouted, opening wide his -arms. - -But his voice was inaudible amid the uproar, and the forward movement -of his body remained at first only in the brain. He turned to push the -old man aside, even to strike him down if necessary. 'Lukewarm yourself -and a coward!' rose in his throat, yet found no utterance, for in that -moment a tall, slim figure, swift as a shadow, steady as a hawk, shot -hard across the open space between the forest and the ridge. In the -direction of the blazing platform it disappeared against a curtain of -thick smoke, emerged for one second in a storm of light, then vanished -finally behind a ruin of loose rocks. And Hendricks, his eyes wounded -by heat and wind, his muscles paralysed, understood that the boy -deliberately invited capture. The multitude that hid behind the smoke -and fire, feeding the blazing heaps with eager hands, had become aware -of him, and presently would appear to claim him. They would take him -to themselves. Already answering flares ran east and west along the -desolate ridge. - -'I'll join you! I'm coming! Wait for me!' he tried to cry. The uproar -smothered it. - - -VIII - -And this uproar, he now perceived, was composed entirely of wind and -fire. Here, on the roof of the hills beneath a starry sky, these two -great elements expressed their nature with unhampered freedom, for -there was neither rain to modify the one, nor solid obstacle to check -the other. Their voices merged in a single sound--the hollow boom of -wind and the deep, resounding clap of flame. The splitting crackle -of burning branches imitated the high, shrill whistle of the tearing -gusts that, javelin-like, flew to and fro in darts of swifter sound. -But one shout rose from the summit, no human cry distinguishable in it, -nor amid the thousand lines of skeleton wood that pierced the golden -background was any human outline visible. Fire and wind encouraged one -another to madness, manifesting in prodigious splendour by themselves. - -Then, suddenly, before a gigantic canter of the wind, the driving smoke -rolled upwards like a curtain, and the flames, ceasing their wild -flapping, soared steadily in gothic windows of living gold towards the -stars. In towering rows between columns of black night they transformed -the empty space between them into a colossal temple aisle. They -tapered aloft symmetrically into vanishing crests. And Hendricks stood -upright. Rising so that his shoulders topped the edge of the boulder, -and utterly contemptuous of Leysin's hand that sought with violence to -drag him into shelter, he gazed as one who sees a vision. For at first -he could only stand and stare, aware of sensation but not of thought. -An enormous, overpowering conviction blew his whole being to white -heat. Here was a supply of elemental power that human beings--empty, -needy, starved, deficient human beings--could use. His love for the boy -leaped headlong at the skirts of this terrific salvation. A majestic -possibility stormed through him. - -Yet it was no nightmare wonder that met his staring and half-shielded -eyes, although some touch of awful dream seemed in it, set, moreover, -to a scale that scantier minds might deem distortion. The heat from -some thirty fires, placed at regular intervals, made midnight quiver -with immense vibrations. Of varying, yet calculated size, these -towering heaps emitted notes of measured and alternating depth, until -the roar along the entire line produced a definite scale almost of -melody, the near ones shrilly singing, those more distant booming with -mountainous pedal notes. The consonance was monstrous, yet conformed to -some magnificent diapason. This chord of fire-music paced the starlit -sky, directed, but never overmastered, by the wind that measured it -somehow into meaning. Repeated in quick succession, the notes now -crashing in a mass, now singing alone in solitary beauty, the effect -suggested an idea of ordered sequence, of gigantic rhythm. It seemed, -indeed, as though some controlling agency, mastering excess, coerced -both raging elements to express through this stupendous dance some -definite idea. Here, as it were, was the alphabet of some natural, -undifferentiated language, a language of sight and sound, predating -speech, symbolical in the ultimate, deific sense. Some Lord of Fire -and some Lord of Air were in command. Harnessed and regulated, these -formless cohorts of energy that men call stupidly mere flame and wind, -obeyed a higher power that had invoked them, yet a power that, by -understanding their laws of being, held them most admirably in control. - -This, at least, seems a hint of the explanation that flashed into -Hendricks as he stared in amazed bewilderment from the shelter of the -nearest boulder. He read a sentence in some natural, forgotten script. -He watched a primitive ritual that once invoked the gods. He was aware -of rhythm, and he was aware of system, though as yet he did not see the -hand that wrote this marvellous sentence on the night. For still the -human element remained invisible. He only realised--in dim, blundering -fashion--that he witnessed a revelation of those two powers which, in -large, lie at the foundations of the Universe, and, in little, are the -basic essentials of human existence--the powers behind heat and air. -Fragments of that talk with Leysin stammered back across his mind, like -letters in some stupendous word he dared not reconstruct entire. He -shuddered and grew wise. Realms of forgotten being opened their doors -before his dazzled sight. Vision fluttered into far, piercing vistas -of ancient wonder, haunting and half-remembered, then lost its way -in blindness that was pain. For a moment, it seemed, he was aware of -majestic Presences behind the turmoil, shadowy but mighty, charged with -a vague potentiality as of immense algebraical formulae, symbolical -and beyond full comprehension, yet willing and able to be used for -practical results. He _felt_ the elements as nerves of a living -Universe.... Yet thinking was not really in him anywhere; feeling was -all he knew. The world he moved in, as the script he read, belonged -to conditions too utterly remote for reason to recover a single clue -to their intelligible reconstruction. Glory, clean and strong as of -primitive star-worship, passed between what he saw and all that he -had ever known before. The curtain of conventional belief was rent in -twain. The terrific thing was true.... - -For an unmeasured interval the tutor, oblivious of time and actual -place, stood on the brink of this majestic pageant, staring with -breathless awe, while the swaying of the entire scenery increased, like -the sway of an ocean lifted to the sky by many winds. Then, suddenly, -in one of those temporary lulls that passed between the beat of the -great notes, his searching eyes discovered a new thing. The focus -of his sight was altered, and he realised at last the source of the -directing and the controlling power. Behind the fires and beyond the -smoke he recognised the disc-like, shining ovals that upon this little -earth stand in the image of the one, eternal Likeness. He saw the human -faces, symbols of spiritual dominion over all lesser orders, each one -possessed of belief, intelligence and will. Singly so feeble, together -so invincible, this assemblage, unscorched by the fire and by the wind -unmoved, seemed to him impressive beyond all possible words. And a -further inkling of the truth flashed on him as he stared: that a group -of humans, a crowd, combining upon a given object with concentrated -purpose, possessed of that terrific power, certain faith, may know -in themselves the energy to move great mountains, and therefore that -lesser energy to guide the fluid forces of the elements. And a sense -of cosmic exultation leaped into his being. For a moment he knew a -touch of almost frenzy. Proud joy rose in him like a splendour of -omnipotence. Humanity, it seemed to him, here came into a grand but -long neglected corner of its kingdom as originally planned by Heaven. -Into the hands of a weakling and deficient boy the guidance had been -given. - -Motionless beneath the stars, lit by the glare till they shone -like idols of yellow stone, and magnified by the sheets of flying, -intolerable light the wind chased to and fro, these rows of faces -appeared at first as a single line of undifferentiated fire against the -background of the night. The eyes were all cast down in prayer, each -mind focused steadily upon one clear idea--the control and assimilation -of two elemental powers. The crowd was one; feeling was one; desire, -command and certain faith were one. The controlling power that resulted -was irresistible. - -Then came a remarkable, concerted movement. With one accord the eyes -all opened, blazing with reflected fire. A hundred human countenances -rose in a single shining line. The men stood upright. Swarthy faces, -tanned by sun and wind, heads uncovered, hair and beards tossing in -the air, turned all one way. Mouths opened too. There came a roar that -even the hurricane could not drown--a word of command, it seemed, -that sprang into the pulses of the dancing elements and reduced their -turmoil to a wave of steadier movement. And at the same moment a -hundred bodies, naked above the waist, arms outstretched and hands with -the palms held upwards, swayed forwards through the smoke and fire. -They came towards the spot where, half concealed from view, the tutor -crouched and watched. - -And Hendricks, thinking himself discovered, first quailed, then rose -to meet them. No power to resist was in him. It was, rather, willing -response that he experienced. He stepped out from the shelter of the -boulder and entered the brilliant glare. Hatless himself, shoulders -squared, cloak, flying in the wind, he took three strides towards the -advancing battalion--then, undecided, paused. For the line, he saw, -disregarded him as though he were not there at all. It was not _him_ -the worshippers sought. The entire troop swept past to a point some -fifty feet below where the end of the ridge broke out of the thinning -trees. Beautiful as a curving wave of flame, the figures streamed -across the narrow, open space with a drilled precision as of some -battle line, and Hendricks, with a sense of wild, secret triumph, saw -them pause at the brink of the platformed ridge, form up their serried -ranks yet closer, then open two hundred arms to welcome some one whom -the darkness should immediately deliver. Simultaneously, from the -covering trees, the tall, slim shadow of Lord Ernie darted out into the -light. - -'Magnificent!' cried Hendricks, but his voice was smothered instantly -in a mightier sound, and his movement forward seemed ineffective -stumbling. The hundred voices thundered out a single note. Like a -deer the boy leaped; like a tongue of flame he flew to join his own; -and instantly was surrounded, borne shoulder-high upon those upturned -palms, swept back in triumph towards the procession of enormous fires. -Wrapped by smoke and sparks, lifted by wind, he became part of the -monstrous rhythm that turned that mountain ridge alive. He stood -upright upon the platform of interlacing arms; he swayed with their -movements as a thing of wind and fire that flew. The shining faces -vanished then, turned all towards the blazing piles so that the boy had -the appearance of standing on a wall of living black. His outline was -visible a moment against the sky, firelight between his wide-stretched -legs, streaming from his hair and horizontal arms, issuing almost, as -it seemed, from his very body. The next second he leaped to the ground, -ran forward--appallingly close--between two heaped-up fires, flung both -hands heavenwards, and--knelt. - -And Hendricks, sympathetically following the boy's performance as -though his own mind and body took part in it, experienced then a -singular result: it seemed the heart in him began to roar. This -was no rustle of excited blood that the little cavern of his skull -increased, but a deeper sound that proclaimed the kinship of his -entire being with the ritual. His own nature had begun to answer. From -that moment he perceived the spectacle, not with the senses of sight -and hearing, separately, but with his entire body--synthetically. He -became a part of this assembly that was itself one single instrument: -a cosmic sounding-board for the rhythmical expression of impersonal -Nature Powers. Leysin, he dimly realised, fixed in his churchy tenets, -remained outside, apart, and compromising; Hendricks accepted and went -with. All little customary feelings dipped utterly away, lost, false, -denied, even as a unit in a crowd loses its normal characteristics -in the greater mood that sways the whole. The fire no longer burned -him, for he was the fire; nor did he stagger against the furious wind, -because the wind was in his heart. He moved all over, alive in every -point and corner. With his skin he breathed, his bones and tissue ran -with glorious heat. He cried aloud. He praised. 'I am the whirlwind and -I am the fire! Fire that lights but does not burn, and wind that blows -the heart to flame!' His body sang it, or rather the elements sang it -through his body; for the sound of his voice was not audible, and it -was wind and fire that thundered forth his feeling in their crashing -rhythm. - - -IX - -And so it was that he no longer saw this thing pictorially, nor in the -little detached reports the individual senses brought, but knew it in -himself complete, as a man knows love and passion. Memory afterwards -translated these vast central feelings into pictures, but the pictures -touched reality without containing it. Like a vision it happened all -at once, as a room or landscape happens, and what happens all at once, -coming through a synthesis of the senses, is not properly describable -later. To instantaneous knowledge mere sequence is a falsehood. The -sequence first comes in with the telling afterwards. That kneeling -form, he understood, was the empty vessel to which conventional life -had hitherto denied the heat and air it craved. The breath of life -now poured at full tide into it, the fire of deity lit its heart of -touchwood, wind blew into desire; and later flame would burst forth in -action, consuming opposition. He must let it fill to the brim. It was -not salvation, but creation. Then thought went out, extinguished by a -puff of something greater.... - -For beyond the smoke and sparks, beyond the space the men had occupied, -a new and gentler movement, lyrical with bird-like beauty, ran suddenly -along the ridge. What Hendricks had taken for branches heaped in rows -for the burning, stirred marvellously throughout their whole collective -mass, stirred sweetly, too, and with an exquisite loveliness. The -entire line rose gracefully into the air with a whirr as of sweeping -birds. There was a soft and undulating motion as though a draught of -flowing wind turned faintly visible, yet with an increasing brilliance, -like shining lilies of flame that now flocked forward in a troop, -bending deliciously all one way. And in the same second these tall -lilies of fire revealed themselves as figures, naked above the waist, -hair streaming on the wind, eyes alight and bare arms waving. Above the -men's deep pedal bass their voices rose with clear, shrill sweetness on -the storm. The band swept forwards swift as wind towards the kneeling -boy. The long line curved about him foldingly. The women took him as -the south wind takes a bird. - -There may have been--indeed, there was--an interval, for Hendricks -caught, again and again repeated, the boy's great cry of passionate -delight above the tumult. Ringing and virile it rose to heaven, clear -as a fine-wrought bell. And instantaneously the knitted figures of -flame disentangled themselves again, the mass unfolded like an opening -flower, and, as by a military word of command, dissolved itself once -more into a long thin line of running fire. The women advanced, and the -waiting men flowed forward in a stream to meet them. This interweaving -of the figures was as easily accomplished as the mingling of light -and heavy threads upon some living loom. Hands joining hands, all -singing, these naked worshippers of fire and wind passed in and out -among the blazing piles with a headlong precision that was torrential -and yet orderly. The speed increased; the faces flashed and vanished, -then flashed and passed again; each woman between two men, each man -between two women, and Lord Ernie, radiantly alive, between two girls -of rich, o'erflowing beauty. Their movements were undulating, like -the undulations of fire, yet with sudden, unexpected upward leaps as -when fire is partnered abruptly by a cantering wind. For the women were -fire, and the men were wind. The imitative dance was in full swing. The -marvellous wind and fire ritual unrolled its old-world magic. - -It was awe-inspiring certainly, but for Hendricks, as he watched, the -terror of big conflagrations was wholly absent: rather, he felt the -sense of deep security that rhythmic movement causes. Bathed in a sea -of elemental power, he burned to share the pagan splendour and the -rush of primitive delight. It seemed he had a cosmic body in which -new centres stirred to life, linking him on to this source of natural -forces. Through these centres he drew the chaotic energy into nerves -and blood and muscle, into the very substance of his thought, indeed, -transmuting them into the magic of the will. Abundant and inexhaustible -vigour filled the air, pouring freely into whatever empty receptacle -lay at hand. Sheets of flame, whole separate fragments of it, torn at -the edges, raced, loudly, hungrily flapping on vehement gusts of wind; -curved as they flew; leaped, twisted, flashed and vanished. And the -figures closely copied them. The women tossed their bodies aloft, then -dipped suddenly to the earth, invisible, till the rushing men urged -them into view again with wild impetuous swing, so that the entire line -stretched and contracted like an immense elastic band of life, now -knotted, now dissolved. - -Yet, while of raging and terrific beauty, there was never that mad -abandon which is disorder; but rather a kind of sacred natural revel -that prohibited mere licence. There was even a singular austerity in -it that betrayed a definite ritual and not mere reckless pageantry. -No walls could possibly have contained it. In cathedral, temple, or -measured space, however grand, it could only have seemed exaggerated -and apostate; here, beneath the open sky, it was beautiful and true. -For overhead the stars burned clear and steady, the constellations -watching it from their immovable towers--a representation of their own -leisured and hierarchic dance in swifter miniature. And indeed this -relationship it bore to a universal rhythm was the key, it seemed, to -its deep significance; for the close imitation of natural movements -seduced the colossal powers of fire and wind to swell human emotions -till they became mould and vessel for this elemental manifestation -in men and women. Golden yellow in the blaze, the limbs of the women -flashed and passed; their hair flew dark a moment across gleaming -breasts; and their waving arms tossed in ever-shifting patterns through -the driving smoke. The fires boiled and roared, scattering torrents of -showering sparks like stars; and amid it all the slim, white shoulders -of the boy, his clothes torn from him, his eyes ablaze, and his lips -opened to the singing as though he had known it always, drove to and -fro on the crest of the ritual like some flying figure of wind and fire -incarnate. - -All of which, instantaneously yet in sequence, Hendricks witnessed, -painted upon the wild night sky. A volcanic energy poured through -him too. He knew a golden enthusiasm of immeasurable strength, of -unconquerable hope, of irresistible delight. Wind set his feet to -dancing, and fire swept across his face without a trace of burning. - -Nature was part of him. He had stepped inside. No obstacle existed that -could withstand for a single second the torrential energy that fired -his heart and blood. There was lightning in his veins. He could sweep -aside life's difficult barriers with the ease of a tornado, and shake -the rubbish of doubt and care from the years with earthquake shocks. -Empires he could mould, and play with nations, drive men and women -before him like a flock of sheep, shatter convention, and dislocate the -machinery time has foisted upon natural energies. He knew in himself -the omnipotence of the lesser elemental deities. Yet, as sympathetic -observer, he can but have felt a tithe of what Lord Ernie felt. - -'We are the whirlwind and we are the fire!' he cried aloud with the -rushing worshippers. 'We are unconquerable and immense! We destroy the -lukewarm and absorb the weak! For we can make evil into good by bending -it all one way!...' - -The roar swept thunderingly past him, catching at his voice and body. -He felt himself snatched forward by the wind. The fire licked sweetly -at him. It was the final abandonment. He plunged recklessly towards the -surge of dancers.... - - -X - -What stopped him he did not know. Some hard and steely thing pricked -sharply into him. An opposing power, fierce as a sword, stabbed at his -heart--and he heard a little sound quite close beside him, a sound that -pierced the babel, reaching his consciousness as from far away. - -'Keep still! Cling tight to this old rock! Hold yourself in, or else -they'll have you too!' - -It was as if some insect scratched within his ear. His arm, that same -instant, was violently seized. He came down with a crash. He had been -half in the air. He had been dancing. - -'Turn your eyes away, away! Take hold of this big tree!' The voice -cried furiously, but with a petty human passion in it that marred the -world. There was an intolerable revulsion in him as he heard it. He -felt himself dragged forcibly backwards. He lost his balance, stumbling -among loose stones. - -'Loose me! Let me go!' he shouted, struggling like a wild animal, yet -vainly, against the inflexible grip that held him. 'I am one with the -fire that lights but does not burn. I am the wind that blows the worlds -along! Damnation take you.... Let me free!...' - -Confusion caught him, smothering speech and blinding sight. He fell -backwards, away from the heat and wind. He was furious, but furious -with he knew not whom or what. The interference had destroyed the -rhythm, broken it into fragments. Violent impulses clashed through -him without the will to choose or guide them. For power had deserted -him and flowed elsewhere. He stood no longer in the stream of energy. -He was emptied. And at first he could not tell whether his instinct -was to return himself, to rescue his precious boy, or--to crush the -interfering object out of existence with what was left to him of raging -anger. He turned, stood up, and flung the Pasteur aside with violence. -He raised his feet to stamp and kill ... when a phrase with meaning -darted suddenly across his wild confusion and recalled him to some -fragment of truer responsibility and life. - -'... There'll be only violence in him--reckless violence instead of -strength--destructive. Save him before it is too late!' - -'It _is_ too late,' he roared in answer. 'What devil hinders me?' - -But his roar was feeble, and his ironed boots refused the stamping. -Power slipped wholly out of him. The rhythm poured past, instead of -through him. Interference had destroyed the circuit. More glimmerings -of responsibility came back. He stooped like a drunken man and helped -the other to his feet. The rapidity of the change was curious, proving -that the spell had been put upon him from without. It was not, as with -the boy, mere development of pre-existing tendencies. - -'Help me,' he implored suddenly instead, 'help me! There has been -madness in me. For God's sake, help me to get him out!' It seemed the -face of the old Marquess, stern and terrible, broke an instant through -the smoky air, black with reproach and anger. And, with a violent -effort of the will, Hendricks turned round to face the elemental orgy, -bent on rescue. But this time the heat was intolerable and drove him -back. The hair, hitherto untouched, now singed upon his head. Fire -licked his very breath away. He bent double, covering his face with -arms and cloak. - -'Pray!' shouted Leysin, dropping to his knees. 'It is the only way. My -God is higher than this. Pray, pray!' - -And, automatically, Hendricks fell upon his knees beside him, though -to pray he knew not how. For no real faith was in him as in the other, -and his eye was far from single. The fast fading grandeur of what he -had experienced still left its pagan tumult in his blood. The pretence -of prayer could only have been blasphemy. He watched instead, letting -the other invoke his mighty Deity alone, that Deity he had served -unflinchingly all his life with faith and fasting, and with belief -beyond assault. - -It was an impressive picture, fraught with passionate drama. On his -knees behind a sheltering boulder, a blackened pine-tree tossing -scorched branches above his head, this righteous man prayed to his God, -sure of his triumphant answer. Hendricks watched with an admiration -that made him realise his own insignificance. The eyes were closed, -the leonine big head set firm upon the diminutive body, the face now -lit by flame, now veiled by smoke, the strong hands clasped together -and upraised. He envied him. He recognised, too, that the elements -themselves, with all their chaos of might and terror, were after all -but servants of the Vastness which dips the butterflies in colour -and puts down upon the breasts of little robins. And, because the -Pasteur's life had been always prayer in action, his little human will -invoked the Will of Greatness, merged with it, used it, and directed -it steadily against the commotion of these unleashed elements. Certain -of himself and of his God, the Pasteur never doubted. His prayer set -instantly in action those forces which balance suns and keep the stars -afloat. - -Thus, trembling with terror that made him wholly ineffective, Hendricks -watched, and, as he watched, became aware of the amazing change. For -it seemed as if a stream of power, steady and in opposition to the -tumult, now poured audaciously against the elemental rhythm, altering -its direction, modifying gradually its stupendous impetus. There were -pauses in the huge vibrations: they wavered, broke, and fled. They knew -confusion, as when the prow of a steel-nosed vessel drives against -the tide. The tide is vaster, but the steel is--different. The whole -sky shivered, as this new entering force, so small, so soft, yet of -such incalculable energy, began at once its overmastering effect. -Signs of violence or rout, or of anything disordered, had no part in -it; excess before it slipped into willing harness; there was light -that sponged away all glare, as when morning sunshine cleans a forest -of its shadows. Some little whispering power sang marvellously as of -old across the desolate big mountains, 'Peace! Be still!' turning -the monstrous turbulence into obedient sweetness. And upon his face -and hands Hendricks felt faint, delicate touches of some refreshing -softness that he could not understand. - -Yet not instantly was this harmony restored; at first there was the -stress of vehement opposition. The night of wind and fire drove roaring -through the sky. There were bursts of triumphant tumult, but convulsion -in them and no true steadiness as before. The human figures hitherto -had danced with that fluid appearance which belongs to fire, and with -that instantaneous rush which is of wind, the men increasing the women, -and the women answering with joy; limbs and faces had melted into each -other till the circular ritual looked like a glowing wheel of flame -rotating audibly. But slowly now the speed of the wheel decreased; -the single utterance was marred by the crying of many voices, all at -different pitch, discordant, inharmonious, dismayed. The fires somehow -dwindled; there came pauses in the wind; and Hendricks became aware of -a curious hissing noise, as more and more of these odd soft touches -found his face and hands. Here and there, he saw, a figure stumbled, -fell, then gathered itself clumsily together again with a frightened -shout, breaking violently out of the circle. More and more these -figures blundered and dropped out; and although they returned again, -so that the dance apparently increased, these were but moments in the -final violence of the dispersing hurricane. The rejected ones dashed -back wildly into the wrong places; men and women no longer stood -alternate, but in groups together, falsely related. The entire movement -was dislocated; the ceremony grew rapidly incoherent; meaning forsook -it. The composite instrument that had transmuted the elemental forces -into human, emotional storage was imperfect, broken, out of tune. The -disarray turned rout. - -And then it was, while Leysin continued without ceasing his burning and -successful prayer, that his companion, conscious of returning harmony, -rose to his feet, aware suddenly that he could also help. A portion of -the powers he had absorbed still worked in him, but in a new direction. -He felt confident and unafraid. He did not stumble. With unerring tread -he advanced towards the lessening fires, feeling as he did so the cold -soft touches multiply with a rush upon his skin. From all sides they -came by hundreds, like messengers of help. - -'Ernest!' he cried aloud, and his voice, though little raised, carried -resonantly above the dying turmoil; 'Ernest! Come back to us. Your -father calls you!' - -And from threescore faces hurrying in confusion through the smoke, -one paused and turned. It stood apart, hovering as though in air, -while the mob of disordered figures rushed in a body along the ridge. -Plunging like frightened cattle below the farther edge, then vanishing -into thick darkness, they left behind them this one solitary face. A -final dying flame licked out at it; a rush of smoke drove past to hide -it; there was a high, wild scream--and the figure shot forward with a -headlong leap and fell with a crash at Hendricks' feet. Lord Ernie, -blackened by smoke and scorched by fire, lay safe outside the danger -zone. - -And Hendricks knelt beside him. Remorse and shame made him powerless -to do more as he pulled the torn clothing over the neck and chest -and heard his own heart begging for forgiveness. He realised his own -weakness and faithlessness. A great temptation had found him wanting.... - -It was owing to Leysin that the rescue was complete. The Pasteur was -instantly by his side. - -'Saved as by water,' he cried, as he folded his cloak about the -prostrate body, and then raised the head and shoulders; 'saved by His -ministers of rain. For His miracles are love, and work through natural -laws.' - -He made a sign to Hendricks. Carrying the boy between them, they -scrambled down the slope into the shelter of the trees below. The cold, -soft touches were then explained. The _joran_ had dropped as suddenly -as it rose, and the torrential rain that invariably follows now poured -in rivers from the sky. Water, drenching the fires and padding the -savage wind, had stopped the dancers midway in their frenzied ritual. -It was the element they dreaded, for it was hostile. Rain soused the -mountain ridge, extinguishing the last embers of the numerous fires. -It rushed in rivulets between their feet. The heated earth gave out a -hissing steam, and the only sound in the spaces where wind and fire had -boomed and thundered a little while before was now the splash of water -and the drip of quenching drops. - -In the cover of the sheltering trees the body stirred, lifted its head, -and sat up slowly. The eyes opened. - -'I'm cold. I'm frightened,' whispered a shivering voice. 'Where am I?' - -Only the pelt and thud of the rain sounded behind the quavering words. - -'Where are the others? Have I been away? Hendricks--Mr. Hendricks--is -that you----?' - -He stared about him, his face now a mere luminous disc in the thick -darkness. No breath of wind was loose. They spoke to him till he -answered with assurance, groping to find their hands with his own, his -words confused and strange with hidden meaning for a time. 'I'm all -right now,' he kept repeating. 'I know exactly. It was one of my big -dreams ... I suppose I fell asleep ... and the rain woke me. Great -heavens! What a night to be out.' And then he clambered vigorously to -his feet with a sudden movement of great energy again, saying that -hunger was in him and he must eat. There was no complaint of heat or -cold, of burning or of bruises. The boy recovered marvellously. In ten -minutes, breaking away from all support, he led, as they descended -through the dripping forest in the gloom and chill of very early -morning. It was the others who called to him for guidance in the -tangled woods. Lord Ernie was in the lead. Throughout the difficult -woods he was ever in front, and singing: - -'Fire that lights but does not burn! And wind that blows the heart to -flame! They both are in me now for ever and ever! Oh, praise the Lord -of Fire and the Lord of Wind...!' - -And this voice, now near, now distant, sounding through the dripping -forest on their homeward journey, was an experience weird and -unforgettable for those other two. Leysin, it seemed, had one sentence -only which he kept repeating to himself--'Heaven grant he may direct it -all for good. For they have filled him to the brim, and he is become an -instrument of power.' - -But Hendricks, though he understood the risk, felt only confidence. -Lord Ernie's regeneration had begun. - -Soaked and bedraggled, all three, they reached the village about two -o'clock. The boy, utterly unmanageable, said an emphatic No to spirits, -soup, or medical appliances. His skin, indeed, showed no signs of -burning, nor was there the smallest symptom of cold or fever in him. -'I'm a perfect furnace,' he laughed; 'I feel health and strength -personified.' And the brightness of his eyes, his radiant colour, the -vigour of his voice and manner--both in some way astonishing--made all -pretence of assistance unnecessary and absurd. 'It's like a new birth,' -he cried to Hendricks, as he almost cantered beside him down the road -to their house, 'and, by Jove, I'll wake 'em up at home and make the -world go round. I know a hundred schemes. I tell you, sir, I'm simply -bursting! For the first time I'm alive!' - -And an hour later, when the tutor peeped in upon him, the boy was -calmly sleeping. The candle-light, shaded carefully with one hand, fell -upon the face. There were new lines and a new expression in it. Will -and purpose showed in the stern set of the lips and jaw. It was the -face of a man, and of a man one would not lightly trifle with. Purpose, -will, and power were established on their thrones. To such a man the -entire world might one day bow the head. - -'If only it will last,' thought Hendricks, as, shaken, bewildered, and -more than a little awed, he tiptoed out of the room again and went -to bed. But through his dreams, sheeted in flame and veiled in angry -smoke, the face of the old Marquess glowered upon him from a heavy sky -above ancestral towers. - - -XI - -From the obituary notices of the 9th Marquess of Oakham the following -selections have their interest: He succeeded to his father, then in -the Cabinet as Minister for Foreign Affairs, at the age of twenty-one. -His career was brief but singular, the early magnificence of the -younger Pitt offering a standard of comparison, though by no means a -parallel, to his short record of astonishing achievement. His effect -upon the world, first as Chief of the Government Labour Department and -subsequently as Home Secretary, and Minister of War, is described as -shattering, even cataclysmic. His public life lasted five years. He -died at the age of twenty-nine. His personality was revolutionary and -overwhelming. - -For, judging by these extracts, he was a 'Napoleonic figure whose -personal influence combined the impetus of Mirabeau and the dominance -of Alexander. His authority held an incalculable element, precisely -described as uncanny. His spirit was puissant, elemental, his activity -irresistible.' Yet, according to another journal, 'he was, properly -speaking, neither intellectual, astute, nor diplomatic, and possessed -as little subtlety as might be expected of a miner whose psychology was -called upon to explain the Trinity. In no sense was he Statesman, and -even less strategist, yet his name swept Europe, changed the map of -the Nearer East, its mere whisper among the Chancelleries convulsing -men's counsels with an influence almost menacing.' - -His enthusiasm appears to have been amazing. 'Some stupendous and -untiring energy drove through him, paralysing attack, and rendering the -bitterest and most skilful opposition nugatory. His hand was imperious, -upsetting with a touch the chessboards set by the most able statecraft, -and his voice was heard with a kind of reverence in every capital.' - -The brevity of his astonishing career called for universal comment, as -did the hypnotising effect of his singular ascendency. 'In five short -years of power he achieved his sway. He rushed upon the world, he shook -it, he retired,' as one journal picturesquely phrased it. 'The manner -of his ending, moreover--a stroke of lightning,--seemed in keeping -with his life. There was neither lingering, delay, nor warning. Of -distinguished stock, noble, yet ordinary enough in all but name, his -power is unexplained by heredity; his family furnished no approach to -greatness, as history supplied no parallel to his dynamic intensity. -Nor, we are informed, among his near of kin, does any inherit his -volcanic energy.' - -The world, however, was apparently well relieved of his tumultuous -presence, for his influence was generally surveyed as 'destructive -rather than constructive.' He was unmarried, and the title went to a -nephew. - -The cheaper journals abounded, of course, in details of his personal -and private life that were freely copied into the foreign press, and -supply curious material for the student of human nature and the -psychologist. The amazing revelations no doubt were picturesquely -exaggerated, yet the sub-stratum of truth in them all was generally -admitted. No contradictions, at any rate, appeared. They read -like the story of some primitive, wild giant let loose upon the -world--primitive, because his specific brain power was admittedly of -no high order; wild, because he was in favour of fierce, spontaneous -action, and his mere presence, on occasions, could stir a nation, -not alone a crowd, to vehement, terrific methods. His energy seemed -inexhaustible, his fire inextinguishable. - -Legends were rife, even before he died, among the peasantry of his -Scotch estates, that he was in league with the devil. His habit of -keeping enormous fires in his private rooms, fires that burned day and -night from January to December, and in open hearths widened to thrice -their natural size, stimulated the growth of this particular myth among -those of his personal environment. All manner of stories raged. But -it was his strange custom out-of-doors that provided the diabolical -suggestion. For, 'behind a specially walled-in space on an open ridge, -denuded of pines, in a distant part of the estate, a series of gigantic -heaps of wood, all ready to ignite, were--it was said--kept in a state -of constant preparedness. And on stormy nights, especially when winds -were high, and invariably at the period of the equinoctial tempests, -his lordship would himself light these tremendous bonfires, and spend -the nocturnal hours in their blazing presence, communing, the stories -variously relate, with the witches at their Sabbath, or with hordes -of fire-spirits, who emerged from the Bottomless Pit in order to feed -his soul with their unquenchable supplies. From these nightly orgies, -it seems clear, at any rate, he returned at dawn with a splendour of -energy that no one could resist, and with a mien whose grandeur invited -worship rather than inspired alarm.' - -His biography, it was further stated, would be written by Sir John -Hendricks, Bt., who began life as Private Secretary to his father, the -8th Marquess, but whose rapid rise to position was due to his intimate -association as trusted friend and adviser to the subject of these -obituary notices. The biography, however, had not appeared, within five -years of Lord Oakham's sudden death, and curiosity is only further -stimulated by the suggestive whisper that it never will, and never can -appear. - - - - -THE SACRIFICE - - -I - -Limasson was a religious man, though of what depth and quality -were unknown, since no trial of ultimate severity had yet tested -him. An adherent of no particular creed, he yet had his gods; and -his self-discipline was probably more rigorous than his friends -conjectured. He was so reserved. Few guessed, perhaps, the desires -conquered, the passions regulated, the inner tendencies trained -and schooled--not by denying their expression, but by transmuting -them alchemically into nobler channels. He had in him the makings -of an enthusiastic devotee, and might have become such but for two -limitations that prevented. He loved his wealth, labouring to increase -it to the neglect of other interests; and, secondly, instead of -following up one steady line of search, he scattered himself upon many -picturesque theories, like an actor who wants to play all parts rather -than concentrate on one. And the more picturesque the part, the more -he was attracted. Thus, though he did his duty unshrinkingly and with -a touch of love, he accused himself sometimes of merely gratifying a -sensuous taste in spiritual sensations. There was this unbalance in him -that argued want of depth. - -As for his gods--in the end he discovered their reality by first -doubting, then denying their existence. - -It was this denial and doubt that restored them to their thrones, -converting his dilettante skirmishes into genuine, deep belief; and the -proof came to him one summer in early June when he was making ready to -leave town for his annual month among the mountains. - -With Limasson mountains, in some inexplicable sense, were a passion -almost, and climbing so deep a pleasure that the ordinary scrambler -hardly understood it. Grave as a kind of worship it was to him; the -preparations for an ascent, the ascent itself in particular, involved a -concentration that seemed symbolical as of a ritual. He not only loved -the heights, the massive grandeur, the splendour of vast proportions -blocked in space, but loved them with a respect that held a touch -of awe. The emotion mountains stirred in him, one might say, was of -that profound, incalculable kind that held kinship with his religious -feelings, half realised though these were. His gods had their invisible -thrones somewhere among the grim, forbidding heights. He prepared -himself for this annual mountaineering with the same earnestness that a -holy man might approach a solemn festival of his church. - -And the impetus of his mind was running with big momentum in this -direction, when there fell upon him, almost on the eve of starting, a -swift series of disasters that shook his being to its last foundations, -and left him stunned among the ruins. To describe these is unnecessary. -People said, 'One thing after another like that! What appalling luck! -Poor wretch!' then wondered, with the curiosity of children, how in the -world he would take it. Due to no apparent fault of his own, these -disasters were so sudden that life seemed in a moment shattered, and -his interest in existence almost ceased. People shook their heads and -thought of the emergency exit. But Limasson was too vital a man to -dream of annihilation. Upon him it had a different effect--he turned -and questioned what he called his gods. They did not answer or explain. -For the first time in his life he doubted. A hair's breadth beyond lay -definite denial. - -The ruin in which he sat, however, was not material; no man of his -age, possessed of courage and a working scheme of life, would permit -disaster of a material order to overwhelm him. It was collapse of a -mental, spiritual kind, an assault upon the roots of character and -temperament. Moral duties laid suddenly upon him threatened to crush. -His _personal_ existence was assailed, and apparently must end. He must -spend the remainder of his life caring for others who were nothing to -him. No outlet showed, no way of escape, so diabolically complete was -the combination of events that rushed his inner trenches. His faith -was shaken. A man can but endure so much, and remain human. For him -the saturation point seemed reached. He experienced the spiritual -equivalent of that physical numbness which supervenes when pain has -touched the limit of endurance. He laughed, grew callous, then mocked -his silent gods. - -It is said that upon this state of blank negation there follows -sometimes a condition of lucidity which mirrors with crystal -clearness the forces driving behind life at a given moment, a kind of -clairvoyance that brings explanation and therefore peace. Limasson -looked for this in vain. There was the doubt that questioned, there -was the sneer that mocked the silence into which his questions fell; -but there was neither answer nor explanation, and certainly not peace. -There was no relief. In this tumult of revolt he did none of the -things his friends suggested or expected; he merely followed the line -of least resistance. He yielded to the impetus that was upon him when -the catastrophe came. To their indignant amazement he went out to his -mountains. - -All marvelled that at such a time he could adopt so trivial a line of -action, neglecting duties that seemed paramount; they disapproved. Yet -in reality he was taking no definite action at all, but merely drifting -with the momentum that had been acquired just before. He was bewildered -with so much pain, confused with suffering, stunned with the crash that -flung him helpless amid undeserved calamity. He turned to the mountains -as a child to its mother, instinctively. Mountains had never failed -to bring him consolation, comfort, peace. Their grandeur restored -proportion whenever disorder threatened life. No calculation, properly -speaking, was in his move at all; but a blind desire for a violent -physical reaction such as climbing brings. And the instinct was more -wholesome than he knew. - -In the high upland valley among lonely peaks whither Limasson then -went, he found in some measure the proportion he had lost. He -studiously avoided thinking; he lived in his muscles recklessly. The -region with its little Inn was familiar to him; peak after peak he -attacked, sometimes with, but more often without a guide, until his -reputation as a sane climber, a laurelled member of all the foreign -Alpine Clubs, was seriously in danger. That he overdid it physically -is beyond question, but that the mountains breathed into him some -portion of their enormous calm and deep endurance is also true. His -gods, meanwhile, he neglected utterly for the first time in his life. -If he thought of them at all, it was as tinsel figures imagination had -created, figures upon a stage that merely decorated life for those -whom pretty pictures pleased. Only--he had left the theatre and their -make-believe no longer hypnotised his mind. He realised their impotence -and disowned them. This attitude, however, was subconscious; he lent to -it no substance, either of thought or speech. He ignored rather than -challenged their existence. - -And it was somewhat in this frame of mind--thinking little, feeling -even less--that he came out into the hotel vestibule after dinner one -evening, and took mechanically the bundle of letters the porter handed -to him. They had no possible interest for him; in a corner where the -big steam-heater mitigated the chilliness of the hall, he idly sorted -them. The score or so of other guests, chiefly expert climbing men, -were trailing out in twos and threes from the dining-room; but he felt -as little interest in them as in his letters: no conversation could -alter facts, no written phrases change his circumstances. At random, -then, he opened a business letter with a typewritten address--it -would probably be impersonal, less of a mockery, therefore, than the -others with their tiresome sham condolences. And, in a sense, it was -impersonal; sympathy from a solicitor's office is mere formula, a few -extra ticks upon the universal keyboard of a Remington. But as he -read it, Limasson made a discovery that startled him into acute and -bitter sensation. He had imagined the limit of bearable suffering and -disaster already reached. Now, in a few dozen words, his error was -proved convincingly. The fresh blow was dislocating. - -This culminating news of additional catastrophe disclosed within him -entirely new reaches of pain, of biting, resentful fury. Limasson -experienced a momentary stopping of the heart as he took it in, a -dizziness, a violent sensation of revolt whose impotence induced almost -physical nausea. He felt like--death. - -'Must I suffer all things?' flashed through his arrested intelligence -in letters of fire. - -There was a sullen rage in him, a dazed bewilderment, but no positive -suffering as yet. His emotion was too sickening to include the smaller -pains of disappointment; it was primitive, blind anger that he knew. -He read the letter calmly, even to the neat paragraph of machine-made -sympathy at the last, then placed it in his inner pocket. No outward -sign of disturbance was upon him; his breath came slowly; he reached -over to the table for a match, holding it at arm's length lest the -sulphur fumes should sting his nostrils. - -And in that moment he made his second discovery. The fact that further -suffering was still possible included also the fact that some touch of -resignation had been left in him, and therefore some vestige of belief -as well. Now, as he felt the crackling sheet of stiff paper in his -pocket, watched the sulphur die, and saw the wood ignite, this remnant -faded utterly away. Like the blackened end of the match, it shrivelled -and dropped off. It vanished. Savagely, yet with an external calmness -that enabled him to light his pipe with untrembling hand, he addressed -his futile deities. And once more in fiery letters there flashed -across the darkness of his passionate thought: - -'Even this you demand of me--this cruel, ultimate sacrifice?' - -And he rejected them, bag and baggage; for they were a mockery and a -lie. With contempt he repudiated them for ever. The stage of doubt -had passed. He denied his gods. Yet, with a smile upon his lips; for -what were they after all but the puppets his religious fancy had -imagined? They never had existed. Was it, then, merely the picturesque, -sensational aspect of his devotional temperament that had created them? -That side of his nature, in any case, was dead now, killed by a single -devastating blow. The gods went with it. - -Surveying what remained of his life, it seemed to him like a city that -an earthquake has reduced to ruins. The inhabitants think no worse -thing could happen. Then comes the fire. - - * * * * * - -Two lines of thought, it seems, then developed parallel in him -and simultaneously, for while underneath he stormed against this -culminating blow, his upper mind dealt calmly with the project of a -great expedition he would make at dawn. He had engaged no guide. As -an experienced mountaineer, he knew the district well; his name was -tolerably familiar, and in half an hour he could have settled all -details, and retired to bed with instructions to be called at two. But, -instead, he sat there waiting, unable to stir, a human volcano that any -moment might break forth into violence. He smoked his pipe as quietly -as though nothing had happened, while through the blazing depths of him -ran ever this one self-repeating statement: 'Even this you demand of -me, this cruel, ultimate sacrifice!...' His self-control, dynamically -estimated, just then must have been very great and, thus repressed, the -store of potential energy accumulated enormously. - -With thought concentrated largely upon this final blow, Limasson had -not noticed the people who streamed out of the _salle a manger_ and -scattered themselves in groups about the hall. Some individual, now and -again, approached his chair with the idea of conversation, then, seeing -his absorption, turned away. Even when a climber whom he slightly knew -reached across him with a word of apology for the matches, Limasson -made no response, for he did not see him. He noticed nothing. In -particular he did not notice two men who, from an opposite corner, had -for some time been observing him. He now looked up--by chance?--and was -vaguely aware that they were discussing him. He met their eyes across -the hall, and started. - -For at first he thought he knew them. Possibly he had seen them about -in the hotel--they seemed familiar--yet he certainly had never spoken -with them. Aware of his mistake, he turned his glance elsewhere, -though still vividly conscious of their attention. One was a clergyman -or a priest; his face wore an air of gravity touched by sadness, a -sternness about the lips counteracted by a kindling beauty in the -eyes that betrayed enthusiasm nobly regulated. There was a suggestion -of stateliness in the man that made the impression very sharp. His -clothing emphasised it. He wore a dark tweed suit that was strict in -its simplicity. There was austerity in him somewhere. - -His companion, perhaps by contrast, seemed inconsiderable in his -conventional evening dress. A good deal younger than his friend, -his hair, always a tell-tale detail, was a trifle long; the thin -fingers that flourished a cigarette wore rings; the face, though -picturesque, was flippant, and his entire attitude conveyed a -certain insignificance. Gesture, that faultless language which -challenges counterfeit, betrayed unbalance somewhere. The impression -he produced, however, was shadowy compared to the sharpness of the -other. 'Theatrical' was the word in Limasson's mind, as he turned his -glance elsewhere. But as he looked away he fidgeted. The interior -darkness caused by the dreadful letter rose about him. It engulfed him. -Dizziness came with it.... - -Far away the blackness was fringed with light, and through this light, -stepping with speed and carelessness as from gigantic distance, the two -men, suddenly grown large, came at him. Limasson, in self-protection, -turned to meet them. Conversation he did not desire. Somehow he had -expected this attack. - -Yet the instant they began to speak--it was the priest who opened -fire--it was all so natural and easy that he almost welcomed the -diversion. A phrase by way of introduction--and he was speaking of -the summits. Something in Limasson's mind turned over. The man was a -serious climber, one of his own species. The sufferer felt a certain -relief as he heard the invitation, and realised, though dully, the -compliment involved. - -'If you felt inclined to join us--if you would honour us with your -company,' the man was saying quietly, adding something then about 'your -great experience' and 'invaluable advice and judgment.' - -Limasson looked up, trying hard to concentrate and understand. - -'The Tour du Neant?' he repeated, mentioning the peak proposed. Rarely -attempted, never conquered, and with an ominous record of disaster, it -happened to be the very summit he had meant to attack himself next day. - -'You have engaged guides?' He knew the question foolish. - -'No guide will try it,' the priest answered, smiling, while his -companion added with a flourish, 'but we--we need no guide--if _you_ -will come.' - -'You are unattached, I believe? You are alone?' the priest enquired, -moving a little in front of his friend, as though to keep him in the -background. - -'Yes,' replied Limasson. 'I am quite alone.' - -He was listening attentively, but with only part of his mind. He -realised the flattery of the invitation. Yet it was like flattery -addressed to some one else. He felt himself so indifferent, so--dead. -These men wanted his skilful body, his experienced mind; and it was his -body and mind that talked with them, and finally agreed to go. Many a -time expeditions had been planned in just this way, but to-night he -felt there was a difference. Mind and body signed the agreement, but -his soul, listening elsewhere and looking on, was silent. With his -rejected gods it had left him, though hovering close still. It did not -interfere; it did not warn; it even approved; it sang to him from great -distance that this expedition cloaked another. He was bewildered by the -clashing of his higher and his lower mind. - -'At one in the morning, then, if that will suit you ...' the older man -concluded. - -'I'll see to the provisions,' exclaimed the younger enthusiastically, -'and I shall take my telephoto for the summit. The porters can come as -far as the Great Tower. We're over six thousand feet here already, you -see, so ...' and his voice died away in the distance as his companion -led him off. - -Limasson saw him go with relief. But for the other man he would have -declined the invitation. At heart he was indifferent enough. What -decided him really was the coincidence that the Tour du Neant was the -very peak he had intended to attack himself _alone_, and the curious -feeling that this expedition cloaked another somehow--almost that these -men had a hidden motive. But he dismissed the idea--it was not worth -thinking about. A moment later he followed them to bed. So careless -was he of the affairs of the world, so dead to mundane interests, that -he tore up his other letters and tossed them into a corner of the -room--unread. - - -II - -Once in his chilly bedroom he realised that his upper mind had -permitted him to do a foolish thing; he had drifted like a schoolboy -into an unwise situation. He had pledged himself to an expedition with -two strangers, an expedition for which normally he would have chosen -his companions with the utmost caution. Moreover, he was guide; they -looked to him for safety, while yet it was they who had arranged and -planned it. But who were these men with whom he proposed to run grave -bodily risks? He knew them as little as they knew him. Whence came, -he wondered, the curious idea that this climb was really planned by -another who was no one of them? - -The thought slipped idly across his mind; going out by one door, it -came back, however, quickly by another. He did not think about it more -than to note its passage through the disorder that passed with him just -then for thinking. Indeed, there was nothing in the whole world for -which he cared a single brass farthing. As he undressed for bed, he -said to himself: 'I shall be called at one ... but why am I going with -these two on this wild plan?... And who made the plan?'... - -It seemed to have settled itself. It came about so naturally and -easily, so quickly. He probed no deeper. He didn't care. And for the -first time he omitted the little ritual, half prayer, half adoration, -it had always been his custom to offer to his deities upon retiring to -rest. He no longer recognised them. - -How utterly broken his life was! How blank and terrible and lonely! He -felt cold, and piled his overcoats upon the bed, as though his mental -isolation involved a physical effect as well. Switching off the light -by the door, he was in the act of crossing the floor in the darkness -when a sound beneath the window caught his ear. Outside there were -voices talking. The roar of falling water made them indistinct, yet he -was sure they were voices, and that one of them he knew. He stopped -still to listen. He heard his own name uttered--'John Limasson.' They -ceased. He stood a moment shivering on the boards, then crawled into -bed beneath the heavy clothing. But in the act of settling down, they -began again. He raised himself again hurriedly to listen. What little -wind there was passed in that moment down the valley, carrying off the -roar of falling water; and into the moment's space of silence dropped -fragments of definite sentences: - -'They are close, you say--close down upon the world?' It was the voice -of the priest surely. - -'For days they have been passing,' was the answer--a rough, deep tone -that might have been a peasant's, and a kind of fear in it, 'for all my -flocks are scattered.' - -'The signs are sure? You know them?' - -'Tumult,' was the answer in much lower tones. 'There has been tumult in -the mountains....' - -There was a break then as though the voices sank too low to be heard. -Two broken fragments came next, end of a question--beginning of an -answer. - -'... the opportunity of a lifetime?' - -'... if he goes of his own free will, success is sure. For acceptance -is ...' - -And the wind, returning, bore back the sound of the falling water, so -that Limasson heard no more.... - -An indefinable emotion stirred in him as he turned over to sleep. He -stuffed his ears lest he should hear more. He was aware of a sinking of -the heart that was inexplicable. What in the world were they talking -about, these two? What was the meaning of these disjointed phrases? -There lay behind them a grave significance almost solemn. That 'tumult -in the mountains' was somehow ominous, its suggestion terrible and -mighty. He felt disturbed, uncomfortable, the first emotion that -had stirred in him for days. The numbness melted before its faint -awakening. Conscience was in it--he felt vague prickings--but it was -deeper far than conscience. Somewhere out of sight, in a region life -had as yet not plumbed, the words sank down and vibrated like pedal -notes. They rumbled away into the night of undecipherable things. And, -though explanation failed him, he felt they had reference somehow -to the morrow's expedition: how, what, wherefore, he knew not; his -name had been spoken--then these curious sentences; that was all. Yet -to-morrow's expedition, what was it but an expedition of impersonal -kind, not even planned by himself? Merely his own plan taken and -altered by others--made over? His personal business, his personal life, -were not really in it at all. - -The thought startled him a moment. He had no personal life...! - -Struggling with sleep, his brain played the endless game of -disentanglement without winning a single point, while the under-mind in -him looked on and smiled--because it _knew_. Then, suddenly, a great -peace fell over him. Exhaustion brought it perhaps. He fell asleep; and -next moment, it seemed, he was aware of a thundering at the door and an -unwelcome growling voice, '_'s ist bald ein Uhr, Herr! Aufstehen!_' - -Rising at such an hour, unless the heart be in it, is a sordid and -depressing business; Limasson dressed without enthusiasm, conscious -that thought and feeling were exactly where he had left them on going -to sleep. The same confusion and bewilderment were in him; also the -same deep solemn emotion stirred by the whispering voices. Only long -habit enabled him to attend to detail, and ensured that nothing was -forgotten. He felt heavy and oppressed, a kind of anxiety about him; -the routine of preparation he followed gravely, utterly untouched -by the customary joy; it was mechanical. Yet through it ran the old -familiar sense of ritual, due to the practice of so many years, -that cleansing of mind and body for a big Ascent--like initiatory -rites that once had been as important to him as those of some priest -who approached the worship of his deity in the temples of ancient -time. He performed the ceremony with the same care as though no -ghost of vanished faith still watched him, beckoning from the air as -formerly.... His knapsack carefully packed, he took his ice-axe from -beside the bed, turned out the light, and went down the creaking wooden -stairs in stockinged feet, lest his heavy boots should waken the other -sleepers. And in his head still rang the phrase he had fallen asleep -on--as though just uttered: - -'The signs are sure; for days they have been passing--close down upon -the world. The flocks are scattered. There has been tumult--tumult in -the mountains.' The other fragments he had forgotten. But who were -'they'? And why did the word bring a chill of awe into his blood? - -And as the words rolled through him Limasson felt tumult in his -thoughts and feelings too. There had been tumult in his life, and -all his joys were scattered--joys that hitherto had fed his days. -The signs were sure. Something was close down upon his little -world--passing--sweeping. He felt a touch of terror. - -Outside in the fresh darkness of very early morning the strangers stood -waiting for him. Rather, they seemed to arrive in the same instant as -himself, equally punctual. The clock in the church tower sounded one. -They exchanged low greetings, remarked that the weather promised to -hold good, and started off in single file over soaking meadows towards -the first belt of forest. The porter--mere peasant, unfamiliar of -face and not connected with the hotel--led the way with a hurricane -lantern. The air was marvellously sweet and fragrant. In the sky -overhead the stars shone in their thousands. Only the noise of falling -water from the heights, and the regular thud of their heavy boots broke -the stillness. And, black against the sky, towered the enormous pyramid -of the Tour du Neant they meant to conquer. - -Perhaps the most delightful portion of a big ascent is the beginning in -the scented darkness while the thrill of possible conquest lies still -far off. The hours stretch themselves queerly; last night's sunset -might be days ago; sunrise and the brilliance coming seem in another -week, part of dim futurity like children's holidays. It is difficult to -realise that this biting cold before the dawn, and the blazing heat to -come, both belong to the same to-day. - -There were no sounds as they toiled slowly up the zigzag path through -the first fifteen hundred feet of pine-woods; no one spoke; the clink -of nails and ice-axe points against the stones was all they heard. For -the roar of water was felt rather than heard; it beat against the ears -and the skin of the whole body at once. The deeper notes were below -them now in the sleeping valley; the shriller ones sounded far above, -where streams just born out of ponderous snow-beds tinkled sharply.... - -The change came delicately. The stars turned a shade less brilliant, -a softness in them as of human eyes that say farewell. Between the -highest branches the sky grew visible. A sighing air smoothed all their -crests one way; moss, earth, and open spaces brought keen perfumes; and -the little human procession, leaving the forest, stepped out into the -vastness of the world above the tree-line. They paused while the porter -stooped to put his lantern out. In the eastern sky was colour. The -peaks and crags rushed closer. - -Was it the Dawn? Limasson turned his eyes from the height of sky -where the summits pierced a path for the coming day, to the faces of -his companions, pale and wan in the early twilight. How small, how -insignificant they seemed amid this hungry emptiness of desolation. The -stupendous cliffs fled past them, led by headstrong peaks crowned with -eternal snows. Thin lines of cloud, trailing half way up precipice and -ridge, seemed like the swish of movement--as though he caught the earth -turning as she raced through space. The four of them, timid riders on -the gigantic saddle, clung for their lives against her titan ribs, -while currents of some majestic life swept up at them from every side. -He drew deep draughts of the rarefied air into his lungs. It was very -cold. Avoiding the pallid, insignificant faces of his companions, he -pretended interest in the porter's operations; he stared fixedly on the -ground. It seemed twenty minutes before the flame was extinguished, and -the lantern fastened to the pack behind. This Dawn was unlike any he -had seen before. - -For, in reality, all the while, Limasson was trying to bring order -out of the extraordinary thoughts and feelings that had possessed him -during the slow forest ascent, and the task was not crowned with much -success. The Plan, made by others, had taken charge of him, he felt; -and he had thrown the reins of personal will and interest loosely upon -its steady gait. He had abandoned himself carelessly to what might -come. Knowing that he was leader of the expedition, he yet had suffered -the porter to go first, taking his own place as it was appointed to -him, behind the younger man, but before the priest. In this order, they -had plodded, as only experienced climbers plod, for hours without a -rest, until half way up a change had taken place. He had wished it, -and instantly it was effected. The priest moved past him, while his -companion dropped to the rear--the companion who forever stumbled -in his speed, whereas the older man climbed surely, confidently. -And thereafter Limasson walked more easily--as though the relative -positions of the three were of importance somehow. The steep ascent of -smothering darkness through the woods became less arduous. He was glad -to have the younger man behind him. - -For the impression had strengthened as they climbed in silence that -this ascent pertained to some significant Ceremony, and the idea had -grown insistently, almost stealthily, upon him. The movements of -himself and his companions, especially the positions each occupied -relatively to the other, established some kind of intimacy that -resembled speech, suggesting even question and answer. And the entire -performance, while occupying hours by his watch, it seemed to him more -than once, had been in reality briefer than the flash of a passing -thought, so that he saw it within himself--pictorially. He thought of a -picture worked in colours upon a strip of elastic. Some one pulled the -strip, and the picture stretched. Or some one released it again, and -the picture flew back, reduced to a mere stationary speck. All happened -in a single speck of time. - -And the little change of position, apparently so trivial, gave point to -this singular notion working in his under-mind--that this ascent was a -ritual and a ceremony as in older days, its significance approaching -revelation, however, for the first time--now. Without language, this -stole over him; no words could quite describe it. For it came to him -that these three formed a unit, himself being in some fashion yet the -acknowledged principal, the leader. The labouring porter had no place -in it, for this first toiling through the darkness was a preparation, -and when the actual climb began, he would disappear, while Limasson -himself went first. This idea that they took part together in a -Ceremony established itself firmly in him, with the added wonder that, -though so often done, he performed it now for the first time with full -comprehension, knowledge, truth. Empty of personal desire, indifferent -to an ascent that formerly would have thrilled his heart with ambition -and delight, he understood that climbing had ever been a ritual for -his soul and of his soul, and that power must result from its sincere -accomplishment. It was a symbolical ascent. - -In words this did not come to him. He felt it, never criticising. That -is, he neither rejected nor accepted. It stole most sweetly, grandly, -over him. It floated into him while he climbed, yet so convincingly -that he had felt his relative position must be changed. The younger -man held too prominent a post, or at least a wrong one--in advance. -Then, after the change, effected mysteriously as though all recognised -it, this line of certainty increased, and there came upon him the big, -strange knowledge that all of life is a Ceremony on a giant scale, and -that by performing the movements accurately, with sincere fidelity, -there may come--knowledge. There was gravity in him from that moment. - -This ran in his mind with certainty. Though his thought assumed no form -of little phrases, his brain yet furnished detailed statements that -clinched the marvellous thing with simile and incident which daily -life might apprehend: That knowledge arises from action; that to do -the thing invites the teaching and explains it. Action, moreover, is -symbolical; a group of men, a family, an entire nation, engaged in -those daily movements which are the working out of their destiny, -perform a Ceremony which is in direct relation somewhere to the -pattern of greater happenings which are the teachings of the Gods. Let -the body imitate, reproduce--in a bedroom, in a wood--anywhere--the -movements of the stars, and the meaning of those stars shall sink -down into the heart. The movements constitute a script, a language. -To mimic the gestures of a stranger is to understand his mood, his -point of view--to establish a grave and solemn intimacy. Temples are -everywhere, for the entire earth is a temple, and the body, House of -Royalty, is the biggest temple of them all. To ascertain the pattern -its movements trace in daily life, _could_ be to determine the relation -of that particular ceremony to the Cosmos, and so learn power. The -entire system of Pythagoras, he realised, could be taught without a -single word--by movements; and in everyday life even the commonest -act and vulgarest movement are part of some big Ceremony--a message -from the Gods. Ceremony, in a word, is three-dimensional language, and -action, therefore, is the language of the Gods. The Gods he had denied -were speaking to him ... passing with tumult close across his broken -life.... Their passage it was, indeed, that had caused the breaking! - -In this cryptic, condensed fashion the great fact came over him--that -he and these other two, here and now, took part in some great Ceremony -of whose ultimate object as yet he was in ignorance. The impact with -which it dropped upon his mind was tremendous. He realised it most -fully when he stepped from the darkness of the forest and entered the -expanse of glimmering, early light; up till this moment his mind was -being prepared only, whereas now he knew. The innate desire to worship -which all along had been his, the momentum his religious temperament -had acquired during forty years, the yearning to have proof, in a word, -that the Gods he once acknowledged were really true, swept back upon -him with that violent reaction which denial had aroused. - -He wavered where he stood.... - -Looking about him, then, while the others rearranged burdens the -returning porter now discarded, he perceived the astonishing beauty -of the time and place, feeling it soak into him as by the very -pores of his skin. From all sides this beauty rushed upon him. Some -radiant, winged sense of wonder sped past him through the silent -air. A thrill of ecstasy ran down every nerve. The hair of his head -stood up. It was far from unfamiliar to him, this sight of the upper -mountain world awakening from its sleep of the summer night, but never -before had he stood shuddering thus at its exquisite cold glory, -nor felt its significance as now, so mysteriously _within himself_. -Some transcendent power that held sublimity was passing across this -huge desolate plateau, far more majestic than the mere sunrise among -mountains he had so often witnessed. There was Movement. He understood -why he had seen his companions insignificant. Again he shivered and -looked about him, touched by a solemnity that held deep awe. - -Personal life, indeed, was wrecked, destroyed, but something greater -was on the way. His fragile alliance with a spiritual world was -strengthened. He realised his own past insolence. He became afraid. - - -III - -The treeless plateau, littered with enormous boulders, stretched for -miles to right and left, grey in the dusk of very early morning. Behind -him dropped thick guardian pine-woods into the sleeping valley that -still detained the darkness of the night. Here and there lay patches -of deep snow, gleaming faintly through thin rising mist; singing -streams of icy water spread everywhere among the stones, soaking the -coarse rough grass that was the only sign of vegetation. No life was -visible; nothing stirred; nor anywhere was movement, but of the quiet -trailing mist and of his own breath that drifted past his face like -smoke. Yet through the splendid stillness there _was_ movement; that -sense of absolute movement which results in stillness--it was owing -to the stillness that he became aware of it--so vast, indeed, that -only immobility could express it. Thus, on the calmest day in summer, -may the headlong rushing of the earth through space seem more real -than when the tempest shakes the trees and water on its surface; or -great machinery turn with such vertiginous velocity that it appears -steady to the deceived function of the eye. For it was not through the -eye that this solemn Movement made itself known, but rather through -a massive sensation that owned his entire body as its organ. Within -the league-long amphitheatre of enormous peaks and precipices that -enclosed the plateau, piling themselves upon the horizon, Limasson felt -the outline of a Ceremony extended. The pulses of its grandeur poured -into him where he stood. Its vast design was knowable because they -themselves had traced--were even then tracing--its earthly counterpart -in little. And the awe in him increased. - -'This light is false. We have an hour yet before the true dawn,' he -heard the younger man say lightly. 'The summits still are ghostly. Let -us enjoy the sensation, and see what we can make of it.' - -And Limasson, looking up startled from his reverie, saw that the -far-away heights and towers indeed were heavy with shadow, faint still -with the light of stars. It seemed to him they bowed their awful heads -and that their stupendous shoulders lowered. They drew together, -shutting out the world. - -'True,' said his companion, 'and the upper snows still wear the -spectral shine of night. But let us now move faster, for we travel very -light. The sensations you propose will but delay and weaken us.' - -He handed a share of the burdens to his companion and to Limasson. -Slowly they all moved forward, and the mountains shut them in. - -And two things Limasson noted then, as he shouldered his heavier pack -and led the way: first, that he suddenly knew their destination though -its purpose still lay hidden; and, secondly, that the porter's leaving -before the ascent proper began signified finally that ordinary climbing -was not their real objective. Also--the dawn was a lifting of inner -veils from off his mind, rather than a brightening of the visible earth -due to the nearing sun. Thick darkness, indeed, draped this enormous, -lonely amphitheatre where they moved. - -'You lead us well,' said the priest a few feet behind him, as he -picked his way unfalteringly among the boulders and the streams. - -'Strange that I do so,' replied Limasson in a low tone, 'for the way is -new to me, and the darkness grows instead of lessening.' The language -seemed hardly of his choosing. He spoke and walked as in a dream. - -Far in the rear the voice of the younger man called plaintively after -them: - -'You go so fast, I can't keep up with you,' and again he stumbled and -dropped his ice-axe among the rocks. He seemed for ever stooping to -drink the icy water, or clambering off the trail to test the patches of -snow as to quality and depth. 'You're missing all the excitement,' he -cried repeatedly. 'There are a hundred pleasures and sensations by the -way.' - -They paused a moment for him to overtake them; he came up panting and -exhausted, making remarks about the fading stars, the wind upon the -heights, new routes he longed to try up dangerous couloirs, about -everything, it seemed, except the work in hand. There was eagerness in -him, the kind of excitement that saps energy and wastes the nervous -force, threatening a probable collapse before the arduous object is -attained. - -'Keep to the thing in hand,' replied the priest sternly. 'We are not -really going fast; it is you who are scattering yourself to no purpose. -It wears us all. We must husband our resources,' and he pointed -significantly to the pyramid of the Tour du Neant that gleamed above -them at an incredible altitude. - -'We are here to amuse ourselves; life is a pleasure, a sensation, or it -is nothing,' grumbled his companion; but there was a gravity in the -tone of the older man that discouraged argument and made resistance -difficult. The other arranged his pack for the tenth time, twisting -his axe through an ingenious scheme of straps and string, and fell -silently into line behind his leaders. Limasson moved on again ... and -the darkness at length began to lift. Far overhead, at first, the snowy -summits shone with a hue less spectral; a delicate pink spread softly -from the east; there was a freshening of the chilly wind; then suddenly -the highest peak that topped the others by a thousand feet of soaring -rock, stepped sharply into sight, half golden and half rose. At the -same instant, the vast Movement of the entire scene slowed down; there -came one or two terrific gusts of wind in quick succession; a roar like -an avalanche of falling stones boomed distantly--and Limasson stopped -dead and held his breath. - -For something blocked the way before him, something he knew he could -not pass. Gigantic and unformed, it seemed part of the architecture -of the desolate waste about him, while yet it bulked there, enormous -in the trembling dawn, as belonging neither to plain nor mountain. -Suddenly it was there, where a moment before had been mere emptiness of -air. Its massive outline shifted into visibility as though it had risen -from the ground. He stood stock still. A cold that was not of this -world turned him rigid in his tracks. A few yards behind him the priest -had halted too. Farther in the rear they heard the stumbling tread of -the younger man, and the faint calling of his voice--a feeble broken -sound as of a man whom sudden fear distressed to helplessness. - -'We're off the track, and I've lost my way,' the words came on the -still air. 'My axe is gone ... let us put on the rope!... Hark! Do you -hear that roar?' And then a sound as though he came slowly groping on -his hands and knees. - -'You have exhausted yourself too soon,' the priest answered sternly. -'Stay where you are and rest, for we go no farther. This is the place -we sought.' - -There was in his tone a kind of ultimate solemnity that for a moment -turned Limasson's attention from the great obstacle that blocked his -farther way. The darkness lifted veil by veil, not gradually, but by a -series of leaps as when some one inexpertly turns a wick. He perceived -then that not a single Grandeur loomed in front, but that others of -similar kind, some huger than the first, stood all about him, forming -an enclosing circle that hemmed him in. - -Then, with a start, he recovered himself. Equilibrium and common sense -returned. The trick that sight had played upon him, assisted by the -rarefied atmosphere of the heights and by the witchery of dawn, was no -uncommon one, after all. The long straining of the eyes to pick the way -in an uncertain light so easily deceives perspective. Delusion ever -follows abrupt change of focus. These shadowy encircling forms were but -the rampart of still distant precipices whose giant walls framed the -tremendous amphitheatre to the sky. - -Their closeness was a mere gesture of the dusk and distance. - -The shock of the discovery produced an instant's unsteadiness in him -that brought bewilderment. He straightened up, raised his head, and -looked about him. The cliffs, it seemed to him, shifted back instantly -to their accustomed places; as though after all they _had_ been close; -there was a reeling among the topmost crags; they balanced fearfully, -then stood still against a sky already faintly crimson. The roar he -heard, that might well have seemed the tumult of their hurrying speed, -was in reality but the wind of dawn that rushed against their ribs, -beating the echoes out with angry wings. And the lines of trailing -mist, streaking the air like proofs of rapid motion, merely coiled and -floated in the empty spaces. - -He turned to the priest, who had moved up beside him. - -'How strange,' he said, 'is this beginning of new light. My sight went -all astray for a passing moment. I thought the mountains stood right -across my path. And when I looked up just now it seemed they all ran -back.' His voice was small and lost in the great listening air. - -The man looked fixedly at him. He had removed his slouch hat, hot -with the long ascent, and as he answered, a long thin shadow flitted -across his features. A breadth of darkness dropped about them. It -was as though a mask were forming. The face that now was covered had -been--naked. He was so long in answering that Limasson heard his mind -sharpening the sentence like a pencil. - -He spoke very slowly. '_They_ move perhaps even as Their powers move, -and Their minutes are our years. Their passage ever is in tumult. There -is disorder then among the affairs of men; there is confusion in their -minds. There may be ruin and disaster, but out of the wreckage shall -issue strong, fresh growth. For like a sea, They pass.' - -There was in his mien a grandeur that seemed borrowed marvellously -from the mountains. His voice was grave and deep; he made no sign -or gesture; and in his manner was a curious steadiness that breathed -through the language a kind of sacred prophecy. - -Long, thundering gusts of wind passed distantly across the precipices -as he spoke. The same moment, expecting apparently no rejoinder to his -strange utterance, he stooped and began to unpack his knapsack. The -change from the sacerdotal language to this commonplace and practical -detail was singularly bewildering. - -'It is the time to rest,' he added, 'and the time to eat. Let us -prepare.' And he drew out several small packets and laid them in a -row upon the ground. Awe deepened over Limasson as he watched, and -with it a great wonder too. For the words seemed ominous, as though -this man, upon the floor of some vast Temple, said: 'Let us prepare a -sacrifice...!' There flashed into him, out of depths that had hitherto -concealed it, a lightning clue that hinted at explanation of the entire -strange proceeding--of the abrupt meeting with the strangers, the -impulsive acceptance of their project for the great ascent, their grave -behaviour as though it were a Ceremonial of immense design, his change -of position, the bewildering tricks of sight, and the solemn language, -finally, of the older man that corroborated what he himself had deemed -at first illusion. In a flying second of time this all swept through -him--and with it the sharp desire to turn aside, retreat, to run away. - -Noting the movement, or perhaps divining the emotion prompting it, the -priest looked up quickly. In his tone was a coldness that seemed as -though this scene of wintry desolation uttered words: - -'You have come too far to think of turning back. It is not possible. -You stand now at the gates of birth--and death. All that might hinder, -you have so bravely cast aside. Be brave now to the end.' - -And, as Limasson heard the words, there dropped suddenly into him a new -and awful insight into humanity, a power that unerringly discovered -the spiritual necessities of others, and therefore of himself. With -a shock he realised that the younger man who had accompanied them -with increasing difficulty as they climbed higher and higher--was -but a shadow of reality. Like the porter, he was but an encumbrance -who impeded progress. And he turned his eyes to search the desolate -landscape. - -'You will not find him,' said his companion, 'for he is gone. Never, -unless you weakly call, shall you see him again, nor desire to hear his -voice.' And Limasson realised that in his heart he had all the while -disapproved of the man, disliked him for his theatrical fondness of -sensation and effect, more, that he had even hated and despised him. -Starvation might crawl upon him where he had fallen and eat his life -away before he would stir a finger to save him. It was with the older -man he now had dreadful business in hand. - -'I am glad,' he answered, 'for in the end he must have proved my -death--our death!' - -And they drew closer round the little circle of food the priest had -laid upon the rocky ground, an intimate understanding linking them -together in a sympathy that completed Limasson's bewilderment. There -was bread, he saw, and there was salt; there was also a little flask -of deep red wine. In the centre of the circle was a miniature fire of -sticks the priest had collected from the bushes of wild rhododendron. -The smoke rose upwards in a thin blue line. It did not even quiver, so -profound was the surrounding stillness of the mountain air, but far -away among the precipices ran the boom of falling water, and behind it -again, the muffled roar as of peaks and snow-fields that swept with a -rolling thunder through the heavens. - -'They are passing,' the priest said in a low voice, 'and They know -that you are here. You have now the opportunity of a lifetime; for, if -you yield acceptance of your own free will, success is sure. You stand -before the gates of birth and death. They offer you life.' - -'Yet ... I denied Them!' He murmured it below his breath. - -'Denial is evocation. You called to them, and They have come. The -sacrifice of your little personal life is all They ask. Be brave--and -yield it.' - -He took the bread as he spoke, and, breaking it in three pieces, he -placed one before Limasson, one before himself, and the third he laid -upon the flame which first blackened and then consumed it. - -'Eat it and understand,' he said, 'for it is the nourishment that shall -revive your fading life.' - -Next, with the salt, he did the same. Then, raising the flask of wine, -he put it to his lips, offering it afterwards to his companion. When -both had drunk there still remained the greater part of the contents. -He lifted the vessel with both hands reverently towards the sky. He -stood upright. - -'The blood of your personal life I offer to Them in your name. By -the renunciation which seems to you as death shall you pass through -the gates of birth to the life of freedom beyond. For the ultimate -sacrifice that They ask of you is--this.' - -And bending low before the distant heights, he poured the wine upon the -rocky ground. - -For a period of time Limasson found no means of measuring, so terrible -were the emotions in his heart, the priest remained in this attitude of -worship and obeisance. The tumult in the mountains ceased. An absolute -hush dropped down upon the world. There seemed a pause in the inner -history of the universe itself. All waited--till he rose again. And, -when he did so, the mask that had for hours now been spreading across -his features, was accomplished. The eyes gazed sternly down into his -own. Limasson looked--and recognised. He stood face to face with the -man whom he knew best of all others in the world ... himself. - -There had been death. There had also been that recovery of splendour -which is birth and resurrection. - -And the sun that moment, with the sudden surprise that mountains only -know, rushed clear above the heights, bathing the landscape and the -standing figure with a stainless glory. Into the vast Temple where he -knelt, as into that greater inner Temple which is mankind's true House -of Royalty, there poured the completing Presence which is--Light. - -'For in this way, and in this way only, shall you pass from death to -life,' sang a chanting voice he recognised also now for the first time -as indubitably his own. - -It was marvellous. But the birth of light is ever marvellous. It -was anguish; but the pangs of resurrection since time began have -been accomplished by the sweetness of fierce pain. For the majority -still lie in the pre-natal stage, unborn, unconscious of a definite -spiritual existence. In the womb they grope and stifle, depending -ever upon another. Denial is ever the call to life, a protest against -continued darkness for deliverance. Yet birth is the ruin of all that -has hitherto been depended on. There comes then that standing alone -which at first seems desolate isolation. The tumult of destruction -precedes release. - -Limasson rose to his feet, stood with difficulty upright, looked about -him from the figure so close now at his side to the snowy summit of -that Tour du Neant he would never climb. The roar and thunder of -_Their_ passage was resumed. It seemed the mountains reeled. - -'They are passing,' sang the voice that was beside him and within him -too, 'but They have known you, and your offering is accepted. When -They come close upon the world there is ever wreckage and disaster in -the affairs of men. They bring disorder and confusion into the mind, a -confusion that seems final, a disorder that seems to threaten death. -For there is tumult in Their Presence, and apparent chaos that seems -the abandonment of order. Out of this vast ruin, then, there issues -life in new design. The dislocation is its entrance, the dishevelment -its strength. There has been birth....' - -The sunlight dazzled his eyes. That distant roar, like a wind, came -close and swept his face. An icy air, as from a passing star, breathed -over him. - -'Are you prepared?' he heard. - -He knelt again. Without a sign of hesitation or reluctance, he bared -his chest to the sun and wind. The flash came swiftly, instantly, -descending into his heart with unerring aim. He saw the gleam in the -air, he felt the fiery impact of the blow, he even saw the stream gush -forth and sink into the rocky ground, far redder than the wine.... - - * * * * * - -He gasped for breath a moment, staggered, reeled, collapsed ... and -within the moment, so quickly did all happen, he was aware of hands -that supported him and helped him to his feet. But he was too weak to -stand. They carried him up to bed. The porter, and the man who had -reached across him for the matches five minutes before, intending -conversation, stood, one at his feet and the other at his head. As he -passed through the vestibule of the hotel, he saw the people staring, -and in his hand he crumpled up the unopened letters he had received so -short a time ago. - -'I really think--I can manage alone,' he thanked them. 'If you will set -me down I can walk. I felt dizzy for a moment.' - -'The heat in the hall----' the gentleman began in a quiet, sympathetic -voice. - -They left him standing on the stairs, watching a moment to see that he -had quite recovered. Limasson walked up the two flights to his room -without faltering. The momentary dizziness had passed. He felt quite -himself again, strong, confident, able to stand alone, able to move -forward, able to _climb_. - - - - -THE DAMNED - - -I - -'I'm over forty, Frances, and rather set in my ways,' I said -good-naturedly, ready to yield if she insisted that our going together -on the visit involved her happiness. 'My work is rather heavy just now -too, as you know. The question is, _could_ I work there--with a lot of -unassorted people in the house?' - -'Mabel doesn't mention any other people, Bill,' was my sister's -rejoinder. 'I gather she's alone--as well as lonely.' - -By the way she looked sideways out of the window at nothing, it was -obvious she was disappointed, but to my surprise she did not urge -the point; and as I glanced at Mrs. Franklyn's invitation lying -upon her sloping lap, the neat, childish handwriting conjured up a -mental picture of the banker's widow, with her timid, insignificant -personality, her pale grey eyes and her expression as of a backward -child. I thought, too, of the roomy country mansion her late husband -had altered to suit his particular needs, and of my visit to it a few -years ago when its barren spaciousness suggested a wing of Kensington -Museum fitted up temporarily as a place to eat and sleep in. Comparing -it mentally with the poky Chelsea flat where I and my sister kept -impecunious house, I realised other points as well. Unworthy details -flashed across me to entice: the fine library, the organ, the quiet -work-room I should have, perfect service, the delicious cup of early -tea, and hot baths at any moment of the day--without a geyser! - -'It's a longish visit, a month--isn't it?' I hedged, smiling at the -details that seduced me, and ashamed of my man's selfishness, yet -knowing that Frances expected it of me. 'There _are_ points about it, I -admit. If you're set on my going with you, I could manage it all right.' - -I spoke at length in this way because my sister made no answer. I saw -her tired eyes gazing into the dreariness of Oakley Street and felt -a pang strike through me. After a pause, in which again she said no -word, I added: 'So, when you write the letter, you might hint, perhaps, -that I usually work all the morning, and--er--am not a very lively -visitor! Then she'll understand, you see.' And I half-rose to return to -my diminutive study, where I was slaving, just then, at an absorbing -article on Comparative Aesthetic Values in the Blind and Deaf. - -But Frances did not move. She kept her grey eyes upon Oakley Street -where the evening mist from the river drew mournful perspectives into -view. It was late October. We heard the omnibuses thundering across the -bridge. The monotony of that broad, characterless street seemed more -than usually depressing. Even in June sunshine it was dead, but with -autumn its melancholy soaked into every house between King's Road and -the Embankment. It washed thought into the past, instead of inviting -it hopefully towards the future. For me, its easy width was an avenue -through which nameless slums across the river sent creeping messages -of depression, and I always regarded it as Winter's main entrance into -London--fog, slush, gloom trooped down it every November, waving their -forbidding banners till March came to rout them. Its one claim upon my -love was that the south wind swept sometimes unobstructed up it, soft -with suggestions of the sea. These lugubrious thoughts I naturally -kept to myself, though I never ceased to regret the little flat whose -cheapness had seduced us. Now, as I watched my sister's impassive face, -I realised that perhaps she, too, felt as I felt, yet, brave woman, -without betraying it. - -'And, look here, Fanny,' I said, putting a hand upon her shoulder as I -crossed the room, 'it would be the very thing for you. You're worn out -with catering and housekeeping. Mabel is your oldest friend, besides, -and you've hardly seen her since _he_ died----' - -'She's been abroad for a year, Bill, and only just came back,' my -sister interposed. 'She came back rather unexpectedly, though I never -thought she would go _there_ to live----' She stopped abruptly. -Clearly, she was only speaking half her mind. 'Probably,' she went on, -'Mabel wants to pick up old links again.' - -'Naturally,' I put in, 'yourself chief among them.' The veiled -reference to the house I let pass. It involved discussing the dead man -for one thing. - -'I feel _I_ ought to go anyhow,' she resumed, 'and of course it -would be jollier if you came too. You'd get in such a muddle here by -yourself, and eat wrong things, and forget to air the rooms, and--oh, -everything!' She looked up laughing. 'Only,' she added, 'there's the -British Museum----?' - -'But there's a big library there,' I answered, 'and all the books of -reference I could possibly want. It was of you I was thinking. You -could take up your painting again; you always sell half of what you -paint. It would be a splendid rest too, and Sussex is a jolly country -to walk in. By all means, Fanny, I advise----' - -Our eyes met, as I stammered in my attempts to avoid expressing the -thought that hid in both our minds. My sister had a weakness for -dabbling in the various 'new' theories of the day, and Mabel, who -before her marriage had belonged to foolish societies for investigating -the future life to the neglect of the present one, had fostered this -undesirable tendency. Her amiable, impressionable temperament was -open to every psychic wind that blew. I deplored, detested the whole -business. But even more than this I abhorred the later influence that -Mr. Franklyn had steeped his wife in, capturing her body and soul in -his sombre doctrines. I had dreaded lest my sister also might be caught. - -'Now that she is alone again----' - -I stopped short. Our eyes now made pretence impossible, for the truth -had slipped out inevitably, stupidly, although unexpressed in definite -language. We laughed, turning our faces a moment to look at other -things in the room. Frances picked up a book and examined its cover -as though she had made an important discovery, while I took my case -out and lit a cigarette I did not want to smoke. We left the matter -there. I went out of the room before further explanation could cause -tension. Disagreements grow into discord from such tiny things--wrong -adjectives, or a chance inflection of the voice. Frances had a right to -her views of life as much as I had. At least, I reflected comfortably, -we had separated upon an agreement this time, recognised mutually, -though not actually stated. - -And this point of meeting was, oddly enough, our way of regarding some -one who was dead. For we had both disliked the husband with a great -dislike, and during his three years' married life had only been to the -house once--for a week-end visit; arriving late on Saturday, we had -left after an early breakfast on Monday morning. Ascribing my sister's -dislike to a natural jealousy at losing her old friend, I said merely -that he displeased me. Yet we both knew that the real emotion lay -much deeper. Frances, loyal, honourable creature, had kept silence; -and beyond saying that house and grounds--he altered one and laid out -the other--distressed her as an expression of his personality somehow -("distressed" was the word she used), no further explanation had passed -her lips. - -Our dislike of his personality was easily accounted for--up to a point, -since both of us shared the artist's point of view that a creed, cut -to measure and carefully dried, was an ugly thing, and that a dogma to -which believers must subscribe or perish everlastingly was a barbarism -resting upon cruelty. But while my own dislike was purely due to an -abstract worship of Beauty, my sister's had another twist in it, for -with her 'new' tendencies, she believed that all religions were an -aspect of truth and that no one, even the lowest wretch, could escape -'heaven' in the long run. - -Samuel Franklyn, the rich banker, was a man universally respected -and admired, and the marriage, though Mabel was fifteen years his -junior, won general applause; his bride was an heiress in her own -right--breweries--and the story of her conversion at a revivalist -meeting where Samuel Franklyn had spoken fervidly of heaven, and -terrifyingly of sin, hell and damnation, even contained a touch of -genuine romance. She was a brand snatched from the burning; his -detailed eloquence had frightened her into heaven; salvation came in -the nick of time; his words had plucked her from the edge of that -lake of fire and brimstone where their worm dieth not and the fire is -not quenched. She regarded him as a hero, sighed her relief upon his -saintly shoulder, and accepted the peace he offered her with a grateful -resignation. - -For her husband was a 'religious man' who successfully combined great -riches with the glamour of winning souls. He was a portly figure, -though tall, with masterful, big hands, the fingers rather thick -and red; and his dignity, that just escaped being pompous, held in -it something that was implacable. A convinced assurance, almost -remorseless, gleamed in his eyes when he preached especially, and his -threats of hell fire must have scared souls stronger than the timid, -receptive Mabel whom he married. He clad himself in long frock-coats -that buttoned unevenly, big square boots, and trousers that invariably -bagged at the knee and were a little short; he wore low collars, spats -occasionally, and a tall black hat that was not of silk. His voice was -alternately hard and unctuous; and he regarded theatres, ball-rooms -and race-courses as the vestibule of that brimstone lake of whose -geography he was as positive as of his great banking offices in the -City. A philanthropist up to the hilt, however, no one ever doubted his -complete sincerity; his convictions were ingrained, his faith borne out -by his life--as witness his name upon so many admirable Societies, -as treasurer, patron, or heading the donation list. He bulked large -in the world of doing good, a broad and stately stone in the rampart -against evil. And his heart was genuinely kind and soft for others--who -believed as he did. - -Yet, in spite of this true sympathy with suffering and his desire to -help, he was narrow as a telegraph wire and unbending as a church -pillar; he was intensely selfish; intolerant as an officer of the -Inquisition, his bourgeois soul constructed a revolting scheme of -heaven that was reproduced in miniature in all he did and planned. -Faith was the _sine qua non_ of salvation, and by 'faith' he meant -belief in his own particular view of things--'which faith, except -every one do keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he shall perish -everlastingly.' All the world but his own small, exclusive sect must be -damned eternally--a pity, but alas, inevitable. _He_ was right. - -Yet he prayed without ceasing, and gave heavily to the poor--the -only thing he could not give being big ideas to his provincial and -suburban deity. Pettier than an insect, and more obstinate than a mule, -he had also the superior, sleek humility of a 'chosen one.' He was -churchwarden too. He read the Lessons in a 'place of worship,' either -chilly or overheated, where neither organ, vestments, nor lighted -candles were permitted, but where the odour of hair-wash on the boys' -heads in the back rows pervaded the entire building. - -This portrait of the banker, who accumulated riches both on earth and -in heaven, may possibly be overdrawn, however, because Frances and -I were 'artistic temperaments' that viewed the type with a dislike -and distrust amounting to contempt. The majority considered Samuel -Franklyn a worthy man and a good citizen. The majority, doubtless, -held the saner view. A few years more, and he certainly would have been -made a baronet. He relieved much suffering in the world, as assuredly -as he caused many souls the agonies of torturing fear by his emphasis -upon damnation. Had there been one point of beauty in him, we might -have been more lenient; only we found it not, and, I admit, took little -pains to search. I shall never forget the look of dour forgiveness with -which he heard our excuses for missing Morning Prayers that Sunday -morning of our single visit to The Towers. My sister learned that -a change was made soon afterwards, prayers being 'conducted' after -breakfast instead of before. - -The Towers stood solemnly upon a Sussex hill amid park-like modern -grounds, but the house cannot better be described--it would be so -wearisome for one thing--than by saying that it was a cross between -an overgrown, pretentious Norwood villa and one of those saturnine -Institutes for cripples the train passes as it slinks ashamed through -South London into Surrey. It was 'wealthily' furnished and at -first sight imposing, but on closer acquaintance revealed a meagre -personality, barren and austere. One looked for Rules and Regulations -on the walls, all signed By Order. The place was a prison that shut out -'the world.' There was, of course, no billiard-room, no smoking-room, -no room for play of any kind, and the great hall at the back, once a -chapel which might have been used for dancing, theatricals, or other -innocent amusements, was consecrated in his day to meetings of various -kinds, chiefly brigades, temperance or missionary societies. There was -a harmonium at one end--on the level floor--a raised dais or platform -at the other, and a gallery above for the servants, gardeners and -coachmen. It was heated with hot-water pipes, and hung with Dore's -pictures, though these latter were soon removed and stored out of sight -in the attics as being too unspiritual. In polished, shiny wood, it was -a representation in miniature of that poky exclusive Heaven he took -about with him, externalising it in all he did and planned, even in the -grounds about the house. - -Changes in The Towers, Frances told me, had been made during Mabel's -year of widowhood abroad--an organ put into the big hall, the library -made liveable and recatalogued--when it was permissible to suppose she -had found her soul again and returned to her normal, healthy views of -life, which included enjoyment and play, literature, music and the -arts, without, however, a touch of that trivial thoughtlessness usually -termed worldliness. Mrs. Franklyn, as I remembered her, was a quiet -little woman, shallow, perhaps, and easily influenced, but sincere as -a dog and thorough in her faithful friendships. Her tastes at heart -were catholic, and that heart was simple and unimaginative. That she -took up with the various movements of the day was sign merely that she -was searching in her limited way for a belief that should bring her -peace. She was, in fact, a very ordinary woman, her calibre a little -less than that of Frances. I knew they used to discuss all kinds of -theories together, but as these discussions never resulted in action, -I had come to regard her as harmless. Still, I was not sorry when she -married, and I did not welcome now a renewal of the former intimacy. -The philanthropist had given her no children, or she would have made a -good and sensible mother. No doubt she would marry again. - -'Mabel mentions that she's been alone at The Towers since the end of -August,' Frances told me at tea-time; 'and I'm sure she feels out of it -and lonely. It would be a kindness to go. Besides, I always liked her.' - -I agreed. I had recovered from my attack of selfishness. I expressed my -pleasure. - -'You've written to accept,' I said, half statement and half question. - -Frances nodded. 'I thanked for you,' she added quietly, 'explaining -that you were not free at the moment, but that later, if not -inconvenient, you might come down for a bit and join me.' - -I stared. Frances sometimes had this independent way of deciding -things. I was convicted, and punished into the bargain. - -Of course there followed argument and explanation, as between brother -and sister who were affectionate, but the recording of our talk -could be of little interest. It was arranged thus, Frances and I -both satisfied. Two days later she departed for The Towers, leaving -me alone in the flat with everything planned for my comfort and good -behaviour--she was rather a tyrant in her quiet way--and her last words -as I saw her off from Charing Cross rang in my head for a long time -after she was gone: - -'I'll write and let you know, Bill. Eat properly, mind, and let me know -if anything goes wrong.' - -She waved her small gloved hand, nodded her head till the feather -brushed the window, and was gone. - - -II - -After the note announcing her safe arrival a week of silence passed, -and then a letter came; there were various suggestions for my welfare, -and the rest was the usual rambling information and description Frances -loved, generously italicised. - -'... and we are quite alone,' she went on in her enormous handwriting -that seemed such a waste of space and labour, 'though some others -are coming presently, I believe. You could work here to your heart's -content. Mabel _quite_ understands, and says she would love to have -you when you feel free to come. She has changed a bit--back to her old -natural self: she never mentions _him_. The place has changed too in -certain ways: it has more cheerfulness, I think. _She_ has put it in, -this cheerfulness, spaded it in, if you know what I mean; but it lies -about uneasily and is not natural--quite. The organ is a beauty. She -must be very rich now, but she's as gentle and sweet as ever. Do you -know, Bill, I think he must have _frightened_ her into marrying him. -I get the impression she was afraid of him.' This last sentence was -inked out, but I read it through the scratching; the letters being too -big to hide. 'He had an inflexible will beneath all that oily kindness -which passed for spiritual. He was a real personality, I mean. I'm -sure he'd have sent you and me cheerfully to the stake in another -century--_for our own good_. Isn't it odd she never speaks of him, even -to me?' This, again, was stroked through, though without the intention -to obliterate--merely because it was repetition, probably. 'The only -reminder of him in the house now is a big copy of the presentation -portrait that stands on the stairs of the Multitechnic Institute at -Peckham--you know--that life-size one with his fat hand sprinkled -with rings resting on a thick Bible and the other slipped between -the buttons of a tight frock-coat. It hangs in the dining-room and -rather dominates our meals. I wish Mabel would take it down. I think -she'd like to, if she _dared_. There's not a single photograph of him -anywhere, even in her own room. Mrs. Marsh is here--you remember her, -_his_ housekeeper, the wife of the man who got penal servitude for -killing a baby or something,--_you_ said she robbed him and justified -her stealing because the story of the unjust steward was in the Bible! -How we laughed over that! _She's_ just the same too, gliding about all -over the house and turning up when least expected.' - -Other reminiscences filled the next two sides of the letter, and -ran, without a trace of punctuation, into instructions about a -Salamander stove for heating my work-room in the flat; these were -followed by things I was to tell the cook, and by requests for several -articles she had forgotten and would like sent after her, two of -them blouses, with descriptions so lengthy and contradictory that -I sighed as I read them--'unless you come down soon, in which case -perhaps you wouldn't mind bringing them; _not_ the mauve one I wear -in the evening sometimes, but the pale blue one with lace round the -collar and the crinkly front. They're in the cupboard--or the drawer, -I'm not sure which--of my bedroom. _Ask Annie_ if you're in doubt. -Thanks most _awfully_. Send a telegram, remember, and we'll meet -you in the motor _any time_. I don't quite know if I shall stay the -whole month--_alone_. It all depends....' And she closed the letter, -the italicised words increasing recklessly towards the end, with a -repetition that Mabel would love to have me 'for myself,' as also to -have a 'man in the house,' and that I only had to telegraph the day -and the train.... This letter, coming by the second post, interrupted -me in a moment of absorbing work, and, having read it through to make -sure there was nothing requiring instant attention, I threw it aside -and went on with my notes and reading. Within five minutes, however, it -was back at me again. That restless thing called 'between the lines' -fluttered about my mind. My interest in the Balkan States--political -article that had been 'ordered'--faded. Somewhere, somehow I felt -disquieted, disturbed. At first I persisted in my work, forcing myself -to concentrate, but soon found that a layer of new impressions floated -between the article and my attention. It was like a shadow, though a -shadow that dissolved upon inspection. Once or twice I glanced up, -expecting to find some one in the room, that the door had opened -unobserved and Annie was waiting for instructions. I heard the 'buses -thundering across the bridge. I was aware of Oakley Street. Montenegro -and the blue Adriatic melted into the October haze along that -depressing Embankment that aped a river bank, and sentences from the -letter flashed before my eyes and stung me. Picking it up and reading -it through more carefully, I rang the bell and told Annie to find the -blouses and pack them for the post, showing her finally the written -description, and resenting the superior smile with which she at once -interrupted, '_I_ know them, sir,' and disappeared. - -But it was not the blouses: it was that exasperating thing 'between the -lines' that put an end to my work with its elusive teasing nuisance. -The first sharp impression is alone of value in such a case, for -once analysis begins the imagination constructs all kinds of false -interpretation. The more I thought, the more I grew fuddled. The -letter, it seemed to me, wanted to say another thing; instead the -eight sheets _conveyed_ it merely. It came to the edge of disclosure, -then halted. There was something on the writer's mind, and I felt -uneasy. Studying the sentences brought, however, no revelation, but -increased confusion only; for while the uneasiness remained, the first -clear hint had vanished. In the end I closed my books and went out to -look up another matter at the British Museum Library. Perhaps I should -discover it that way--by turning the mind in a totally new direction. I -lunched at the Express Dairy in Oxford Street close by, and telephoned -to Annie that I would be home to tea at five. - -And at tea, tired physically and mentally after breathing the exhausted -air of the Rotunda for five hours, my mind suddenly delivered up its -original impression, vivid and clear-cut; no proof accompanied the -revelation; it was mere presentiment, but convincing. Frances was -disturbed in her mind, her orderly, sensible, housekeeping mind; she -was uneasy, even perhaps afraid; something in the house distressed -her, and she had need of me. Unless I went down, her time of rest and -change, her quite necessary holiday, in fact, would be spoilt. She was -too unselfish to say this, but it ran everywhere between the lines. I -saw it clearly now. Mrs. Franklyn, moreover--and that meant Frances -too--would like a 'man in the house.' It was a disagreeable phrase, a -suggestive way of hinting something she dared not state definitely. The -two women in that great, lonely barrack of a house were afraid. - -My sense of duty, affection, unselfishness, whatever the composite -emotion may be termed, was stirred; also my vanity. I acted quickly, -lest reflection should warp clear, decent judgment. 'Annie,' I said, -when she answered the bell, 'you need not send those blouses by the -post. I'll take them down to-morrow when I go. I shall be away a week -or two, possibly longer.' And, having looked up a train, I hastened out -to telegraph before I could change my fickle mind. - -But no desire came that night to change my mind. I was doing the right, -the necessary thing. I was even in something of a hurry to get down to -The Towers as soon as possible. I chose an early afternoon train. - - -III - -A telegram had told me to come to a town ten miles from the house, so -I was saved the crawling train to the local station, and travelled -down by an express. As soon as we left London the fog cleared off, -and an autumn sun, though without heat in it, painted the landscape -with golden browns and yellows. My spirits rose as I lay back in the -luxurious motor and sped between the woods and hedges. Oddly enough, -my anxiety of overnight had disappeared. It was due, no doubt, to that -exaggeration of detail which reflection in loneliness brings. Frances -and I had not been separated for over a year, and her letters from -The Towers told so little. It had seemed unnatural to be deprived -of those intimate particulars of mood and feeling I was accustomed -to. We had such confidence in one another, and our affection was so -deep. Though she was but five years younger than myself, I regarded -her as a child. My attitude was fatherly. In return, she certainly -mothered me with a solicitude that never cloyed. I felt no desire to -marry while she was still alive. She painted in water-colours with -a reasonable success, and kept house for me; I wrote, reviewed books -and lectured on aesthetics; we were a humdrum couple of quasi-artists, -well satisfied with life, and all I feared for her was that she might -become a suffragette or be taken captive by one of these wild theories -that caught her imagination sometimes, and that Mabel, for one, had -fostered. As for myself, no doubt she deemed me a trifle solid or -stolid--I forget which word she preferred--but on the whole there was -just sufficient difference of opinion to make intercourse suggestive -without monotony, and certainly without quarrelling. Drawing in deep -draughts of the stinging autumn air, I felt happy and exhilarated. It -was like going for a holiday, with comfort at the end of the journey -instead of bargaining for centimes. - -But my heart sank noticeably the moment the house came into view. The -long drive, lined with hostile monkey trees and formal wellingtonias -that were solemn and sedate, was mere extension of the miniature -approach to a thousand semi-detached suburban 'residences'; and -the appearance of The Towers, as we turned the corner with a rush, -suggested a commonplace climax to a story that had begun interestingly, -almost thrillingly. A villa had escaped from the shadow of the Crystal -Palace, thumped its way down by night, grown suddenly monstrous in -a shower of rich rain, and settled itself insolently to stay. Ivy -climbed about the opulent red-brick walls, but climbed neatly and -with disfiguring effect, sham as on a prison or--the simile made me -smile--an orphan asylum. There was no hint of the comely roughness of -untidy ivy on a ruin. Clipped, trained and precise it was, as on a -brand-new protestant church. I swear there was not a bird's nest nor -a single earwig in it anywhere. About the porch it was particularly -thick, smothering a seventeenth-century lamp with a contrast that was -quite horrible. Extensive glass-houses spread away on the farther side -of the house; the numerous towers to which the building owed its name -seemed made to hold school bells; and the window-sills, thick with -potted flowers, made me think of the desolate suburbs of Brighton -or Bexhill. In a commanding position upon the crest of a hill, it -overlooked miles of undulating, wooded country southwards to the Downs, -but behind it, to the north, thick banks of ilex, holly and privet -protected it from the cleaner and more stimulating winds. Hence, though -highly placed, it was shut in. Three years had passed since I last set -eyes upon it, but the unsightly memory I had retained was justified by -the reality. The place was deplorable. - -It is my habit to express my opinions audibly sometimes, when -impressions are strong enough to warrant it; but now I only sighed -'Oh, dear,' as I extricated my legs from many rugs and went into the -house. A tall parlour-maid, with the bearing of a grenadier, received -me, and standing behind her was Mrs. Marsh, the housekeeper, whom I -remembered because her untidy back hair had suggested to me that it -had been burnt. I went at once to my room, my hostess already dressing -for dinner, but Frances came in to see me just as I was struggling -with my black tie that had got tangled like a bootlace. She fastened -it for me in a neat, effective bow, and while I held my chin up for -the operation, staring blankly at the ceiling, the impression came--I -wondered, was it her touch that caused it?--that something in her -trembled. Shrinking perhaps is the truer word. Nothing in her face or -manner betrayed it, nor in her pleasant, easy talk while she tidied my -things and scolded my slovenly packing, as her habit was, questioning -me about the servants at the flat. The blouses, though right, were -crumpled, and my scolding was deserved. There was no impatience even. -Yet somehow or other the suggestion of a shrinking reserve and holding -back reached my mind. She had been lonely, of course, but it was more -than that; she was glad that I had come, yet for some reason unstated -she could have wished that I had stayed away. We discussed the news -that had accumulated during our brief separation, and in doing so the -impression, at best exceedingly slight, was forgotten. My chamber was -large and beautifully furnished; the hall and dining-room of our flat -would have gone into it with a good remainder; yet it was not a place -I could settle down in for work. It conveyed the idea of impermanence, -making me feel transient as in a hotel bedroom. This, of course, was -the fact. But some rooms convey a settled, lasting hospitality even -in a hotel; this one did not; and as I was accustomed to work in the -room I slept in, at least when visiting, a slight frown must have crept -between my eyes. - -'Mabel has fitted a work-room for you just out of the library,' said -the clairvoyant Frances. 'No one will disturb you there, and you'll -have fifteen thousand books all catalogued within easy reach. There's a -private staircase too. You can breakfast in your room and slip down in -your dressing-gown if you want to.' She laughed. My spirits took a turn -upwards as absurdly as they had gone down. - -'And how are _you_?' I asked, giving her a belated kiss. 'It's jolly -to be together again. I did feel rather lost without you, I'll admit.' - -'That's natural,' she laughed. 'I'm so glad.' - -She looked well and had country colour in her cheeks. She informed me -that she was eating and sleeping well, going out for little walks with -Mabel, painting bits of scenery again, and enjoying a complete change -and rest; and yet, for all her brave description, the words somehow did -not quite ring true. Those last words in particular did not ring true. -There lay in her manner, just out of sight, I felt, this suggestion of -the exact reverse--of unrest, shrinking, almost of anxiety. Certain -small strings in her seemed over-tight. 'Keyed-up' was the slang -expression that crossed my mind. I looked rather searchingly into her -face as she was telling me this. - -'Only--the evenings,' she added, noticing my query, yet rather avoiding -my eyes, 'the evenings are--well, rather heavy sometimes, and I find it -difficult to keep awake.' - -'The strong air after London makes you drowsy,' I suggested, 'and you -like to get early to bed.' - -Frances turned and looked at me for a moment steadily. 'On the -contrary, Bill, I dislike going to bed--here. And Mabel goes so -early.' She said it lightly enough, fingering the disorder upon my -dressing-table in such a stupid way that I saw her mind was working in -another direction altogether. She looked up suddenly with a kind of -nervousness from the brush and scissors. 'Billy,' she said abruptly, -lowering her voice, 'isn't it odd, but I _hate_ sleeping alone here? -I can't make it out quite; I've never felt such a thing before in my -life. Do you--think it's all nonsense?' And she laughed, with her lips -but not with her eyes; there was a note of defiance in her I failed to -understand. - -'Nothing a nature like yours feels strongly is nonsense, Frances,' I -replied soothingly. - -But I, too, answered with my lips only, for another part of my mind -was working elsewhere, and among uncomfortable things. A touch of -bewilderment passed over me. I was not certain how best to continue. If -I laughed she would tell me no more, yet if I took her too seriously -the strings would tighten further. Instinctively, then, this flashed -rapidly across me: that something of what she felt, I had also felt, -though interpreting it differently. Vague it was, as the coming of -rain or storm that announce themselves hours in advance with their -hint of faint, unsettling excitement in the air. I had been but a -short hour in the house,--big, comfortable, luxurious house,--but had -experienced this sense of being unsettled, unfixed, fluctuating--a kind -of impermanence that transient lodgers in hotels must feel, but that a -guest in a friend's home ought not to feel, be the visit short or long. -To Frances, an impressionable woman, the feeling had come in the terms -of alarm. She disliked sleeping alone, while yet she longed to sleep. -The precise idea in my mind evaded capture, merely brushing through -me, three-quarters out of sight; I realised only that we both felt the -same thing, and that neither of us could get at it clearly. Degrees of -unrest we felt, but the actual thing did not disclose itself. It did -not happen. - -I felt strangely at sea for a moment. Frances would interpret -hesitation as endorsement, and encouragement might be the last thing -that could help her. - -'Sleeping in a strange house,' I answered at length, 'is often -difficult at first, and one feels lonely. After fifteen months in -our tiny flat one feels lost and uncared-for in a big house. It's an -uncomfortable feeling--I know it well. And this _is_ a barrack, isn't -it? The masses of furniture only make it worse. One feels in storage -somewhere underground--the furniture doesn't furnish. One must never -yield to fancies, though----' - -Frances looked away towards the windows; she seemed disappointed a -little. - -'After our thickly-populated Chelsea,' I went on quickly, 'it seems -isolated here.' - -But she did not turn back, and clearly I was saying the wrong thing. -A wave of pity rushed suddenly over me. Was she really frightened, -perhaps? She was imaginative, I knew, but never moody; common sense was -strong in her, though she had her times of hypersensitiveness. I caught -the echo of some unreasoning, big alarm in her. She stood there, gazing -across my balcony towards the sea of wooded country that spread dim -and vague in the obscurity of the dusk. The deepening shadows entered -the room, I fancied, from the grounds below. Following her abstracted -gaze a moment, I experienced a curious sharp desire to leave, to -escape. Out yonder was wind and space and freedom. This enormous -building was oppressive, silent, still. Great catacombs occurred to me, -things beneath the ground, imprisonment and capture. I believe I even -shuddered a little. - -I touched her shoulder. She turned round slowly, and we looked with a -certain deliberation into each other's eyes. - -'Fanny,' I asked, more gravely than I intended, 'you are not -frightened, are you? Nothing has happened, has it?' - -She replied with emphasis, 'Of course not! How could it--I mean, why -should I?' She stammered, as though the wrong sentence flustered her a -second. 'It's simply--that I have this ter--this dislike of sleeping -alone.' - -Naturally, my first thought was how easy it would be to cut our visit -short. But I did not say this. Had it been a true solution, Frances -would have said it for me long ago. - -'Wouldn't Mabel double-up with you?' I said instead, 'or give you an -adjoining room, so that you could leave the door between you open? -There's space enough, heaven knows.' - -And then, as the gong sounded in the hall below for dinner, she said, -as with an effort, this thing: - -'Mabel did ask me--on the third night--after I had told her. But I -declined.' - -'You'd rather be alone than with her?' I asked, with a certain relief. - -Her reply was so gravely given, a child would have known there was more -behind it: 'Not that; but that she did not really want it.' - -I had a moment's intuition and acted on it impulsively. 'She feels it -too, perhaps, but wishes to face it by herself--and get over it?' - -My sister bowed her head, and the gesture made me realise of a sudden -how grave and solemn our talk had grown, as though some portentous -thing were under discussion. It had come of itself--indefinite as a -gradual change of temperature. Yet neither of us knew its nature, for -apparently neither of us could state it plainly. Nothing happened, even -in our words. - -'That _was_ my impression,' she said, '--that if she yields to it she -encourages it. And a habit forms so easily. Just think,' she added -with a faint smile that was the first sign of lightness she had yet -betrayed, 'what a nuisance it would be--everywhere--if everybody was -afraid of being alone--like that.' - -I snatched readily at the chance. We laughed a little, though it was a -quiet kind of laughter that seemed wrong. I took her arm and led her -towards the door. - -'Disastrous, in fact,' I agreed. - -She raised her voice to its normal pitch again, as I had done. 'No -doubt it will pass,' she said, 'now that you have come. Of course, -it's chiefly my imagination.' Her tone was lighter, though nothing -could convince me that the matter itself was light--just then. 'And in -any case,' tightening her grip on my arm as we passed into the bright -enormous corridor and caught sight of Mrs. Franklyn waiting in the -cheerless hall below, 'I'm _very_ glad you're here, Bill, and Mabel, I -know, is too.' - -'If it doesn't pass,' I just had time to whisper with a feeble attempt -at jollity, 'I'll come at night and snore outside your door. After that -you'll be so glad to get rid of me that you won't mind being alone.' - -'That's a bargain,' said Frances. - -I shook my hostess by the hand, made a banal remark about the long -interval since last we met, and walked behind them into the great -dining-room, dimly lit by candles, wondering in my heart how long my -sister and I should stay, and why in the world we had ever left our -cosy little flat to enter this desolation of riches and false luxury -at all. The unsightly picture of the late Samuel Franklyn, Esq., -stared down upon me from the farther end of the room above the mighty -mantelpiece. He looked, I thought, like some pompous Heavenly Butler -who denied to all the world, and to us in particular, the right of -entry without presentation cards signed by his hand as proof that we -belonged to his own exclusive set. The majority, to his deep grief, -and in spite of all his prayers on their behalf, must burn and 'perish -everlastingly.' - - -IV - -With the instinct of the healthy bachelor I always try to make myself a -nest in the place I live in, be it for long or short. Whether visiting, -in lodging-house, or in hotel, the first essential is this nest--one's -own things built into the walls as a bird builds in its feathers. It -may look desolate and uncomfortable enough to others, because the -central detail is neither bed nor wardrobe, sofa nor arm-chair, but -a good solid writing-table that does not wriggle, and that has wide -elbow-room. And The Towers is vividly described for me by the single -fact that I could not 'nest' there. I took several days to discover -this, but the first impression of impermanence was truer than I knew. -The feathers of the mind refused here to lie one way. They ruffled, -pointed and grew wild. - -Luxurious furniture does not mean comfort; I might as well have tried -to settle down in the sofa and arm-chair department of a big shop. My -bedroom was easily managed; it was the private work-room, prepared -especially for my reception, that made me feel alien and outcast. -Externally, it was all one could desire: an ante-chamber to the great -library, with not one, but two generous oak tables, to say nothing -of smaller ones against the walls with capacious drawers. There were -reading-desks, mechanical devices for holding books, perfect light, -quiet as in a church, and no approach but across the huge adjoining -room. Yet it did not invite. - -'I hope you'll be able to work here,' said my little hostess the next -morning, as she took me in--her only visit to it while I stayed in the -house--and showed me the ten-volume Catalogue. 'It's absolutely quiet -and no one will disturb you.' - -'If you can't, Bill, you're not much good,' laughed Frances, who was on -her arm. 'Even I could write in a study like this!' - -I glanced with pleasure at the ample tables, the sheets of thick -blotting-paper, the rulers, sealing-wax, paper-knives, and all the -other immaculate paraphernalia. 'It's perfect,' I answered with a -secret thrill, yet feeling a little foolish. This was for Gibbon or -Carlyle, rather than for my pot-boiling insignificancies. 'If I can't -write masterpieces here, it's certainly not _your_ fault,' and I turned -with gratitude to Mrs. Franklyn. She was looking straight at me, and -there was a question in her small pale eyes I did not understand. Was -she noting the effect upon me, I wondered? - -'You'll write here--perhaps a story about the house,' she said; -'Thompson will bring you anything you want; you only have to ring.' -She pointed to the electric bell on the central table, the wire -running neatly down the leg. 'No one has ever worked here before, and -the library has been hardly used since it was put in. So there's no -previous atmosphere to affect your imagination--er--adversely.' - -We laughed. 'Bill isn't that sort,' said my sister; while I wished -they would go out and leave me to arrange my little nest and set to -work. - -I thought, of course, it was the huge listening library that made me -feel so inconsiderable--the fifteen thousand silent, staring books, the -solemn aisles, the deep, eloquent shelves. But when the women had gone -and I was alone, the beginning of the truth crept over me, and I felt -that first hint of disconsolateness which later became an imperative -No. The mind shut down, images ceased to rise and flow. I read, made -copious notes, but I wrote no single line at The Towers. Nothing -completed itself there. Nothing happened. - -The morning sunshine poured into the library through ten long narrow -windows; birds were singing; the autumn air, rich with a faint aroma -of November melancholy that stung the imagination pleasantly, filled -my ante-chamber. I looked out upon the undulating wooded landscape, -hemmed in by the sweep of distant Downs, and I tasted a whiff of the -sea. Rooks cawed as they floated above the elms, and there were lazy -cows in the nearer meadows. A dozen times I tried to make my nest and -settle down to work, and a dozen times, like a turning fastidious dog -upon a hearth-rug, I rearranged my chair and books and papers. The -temptation of the Catalogue and shelves, of course, was accountable -for much, yet not, I felt, for all. That was a manageable seduction. -My work, moreover, was not of the creative kind that requires -absolute absorption; it was the mere readable presentation of data -I had accumulated. My note-books were charged with facts ready to -tabulate--facts, too, that interested me keenly. A mere effort of -the will was necessary, and concentration of no difficult kind. Yet, -somehow, it seemed beyond me: something for ever pushed the facts into -disorder ... and in the end I sat in the sunshine, dipping into a dozen -books selected from the shelves outside, vexed with myself and only -half-enjoying it. I felt restless. I wanted to be elsewhere. - -And even while I read, attention wandered. Frances, Mabel, her late -husband, the house and grounds, each in turn and sometimes all -together, rose uninvited into the stream of thought, hindering any -consecutive flow of work. In disconnected fashion came these pictures -that interrupted concentration, yet presenting themselves as broken -fragments of a bigger thing my mind already groped for unconsciously. -They fluttered round this hidden thing of which they were aspects, -fugitive interpretations, no one of them bringing complete revelation. -There was no adjective, such as pleasant or unpleasant, that I could -attach to what I felt, beyond that the result was unsettling. Vague as -the atmosphere of a dream, it yet persisted, and I could not dissipate -it. Isolated words or phrases in the lines I read sent questions -scouring across my mind, sure sign that the deeper part of me was -restless and ill at ease. - -Rather trivial questions too--half-foolish interrogations, as of a -puzzled or curious child: Why was my sister afraid to sleep alone, and -why did her friend feel a similar repugnance, yet seek to conquer it? -Why was the solid luxury of the house without comfort, its shelter -without the sense of permanence? Why had Mrs. Franklyn asked _us_ to -come, artists, unbelieving vagabonds, types at the farthest possible -remove from the saved sheep of her husband's household? Had a reaction -set in against the hysteria of her conversion? I had seen no signs -of religious fervour in her; her atmosphere was that of an ordinary, -high-minded woman, yet a woman of the world. Lifeless, though, a -little, perhaps, now that I came to think about it: she had made no -definite impression upon me of any kind. And my thoughts ran vaguely -after this fragile clue. - -Closing my book, I let them run. For, with this chance reflection -came the discovery that I could not _see_ her clearly--could not -feel her soul, her personality. Her face, her small pale eyes, her -dress and body and walk, all these stood before me like a photograph; -but her Self evaded me. She seemed not there, lifeless, empty, a -shadow--nothing. The picture was disagreeable, and I put it by. -Instantly she melted out, as though light thought had conjured up a -phantom that had no real existence. And at that very moment, singularly -enough, my eye caught sight of her moving past the window, going -silently along the gravel path. I watched her, a sudden new sensation -gripping me. 'There goes a prisoner,' my thought instantly ran, 'one -who wishes to escape, but cannot.' - -What brought the outlandish notion, heaven only knows. The house was -of her own choice, she was twice an heiress, and the world lay open -at her feet. Yet she stayed--unhappy, frightened, caught. All this -flashed over me, and made a sharp impression even before I had time to -dismiss it as absurd. But a moment later explanation offered itself, -though it seemed as far-fetched as the original impression. My mind, -being logical, was obliged to provide something, apparently. For Mrs. -Franklyn, while dressed to go out, with thick walking-boots, a pointed -stick, and a motor-cap tied on with a veil as for the windy lanes, was -obviously content to go no farther than the little garden paths. The -costume was a sham and a pretence. It was this, and her lithe, quick -movements that suggested a caged creature--a creature tamed by fear -and cruelty that cloaked themselves in kindness--pacing up and down, -unable to realise why it got no farther, but always met the same bars -in exactly the same place. The mind in her was barred. - -I watched her go along the paths and down the steps from one terrace -to another, until the laurels hid her altogether; and into this mere -imagining of a moment came a hint of something slightly disagreeable, -for which my mind, search as it would, found no explanation at all. -I remembered then certain other little things. They dropped into the -picture of their own accord. In a mind not deliberately hunting for -clues, pieces of a puzzle sometimes come together in this way, bringing -revelation, so that for a second there flashed across me, vanishing -instantly again before I could consider it, a large, distressing -thought that I can only describe vaguely as a Shadow. Dark and ugly, -oppressive certainly it might be described, with something torn and -dreadful about the edges that suggested pain and strife and terror. -The interior of a prison with two rows of occupied condemned cells, -seen years ago in New York, sprang to memory after it--the connection -between the two impossible to surmise even. But the 'certain other -little things' mentioned above were these: that Mrs. Franklyn, in last -night's dinner talk, had always referred to 'this house,' but never -called it 'home'; and had emphasised unnecessarily, for a well-bred -woman, our 'great kindness' in coming down to stay so long with her. -Another time, in answer to my futile compliment about the 'stately -rooms,' she said quietly, 'It is an enormous house for so small a -party; but I stay here very little, and only till I get it straight -again.' The three of us were going up the great staircase to bed as -this was said, and, not knowing quite her meaning, I dropped the -subject. It edged delicate ground, I felt. Frances added no word of -her own. It now occurred to me abruptly that 'stay' was the word made -use of, when 'live' would have been more natural. How insignificant to -recall! Yet why did they suggest themselves just at this moment?... -And, on going to Frances's room to make sure she was not nervous or -lonely, I realised abruptly, that Mrs. Franklyn, of course, had talked -with _her_ in a confidential sense that I, as a mere visiting brother, -could not share. Frances had told me nothing. I might easily have -wormed it out of her, had I not felt that for us to discuss further our -hostess and her house merely because we were under the roof together, -was not quite nice or loyal. - -'I'll call you, Bill, if I'm scared,' she had laughed as we parted, -my room being just across the big corridor from her own. I had fallen -asleep, thinking what in the world was meant by 'getting it straight -again.' - -And now in my ante-chamber to the library, on the second morning, -sitting among piles of foolscap and sheets of spotless blotting-paper, -all useless to me, these slight hints came back and helped to frame -the big, vague Shadow I have mentioned. Up to the neck in this Shadow, -almost drowned, yet just treading water, stood the figure of my hostess -in her walking costume. Frances and I seemed swimming to her aid. The -Shadow was large enough to include both house and grounds, but farther -than that I could not see.... Dismissing it, I fell to reading my -purloined book again. Before I turned another page, however, another -startling detail leaped out at me: the figure of Mrs. Franklyn in the -Shadow was not living. It floated helplessly, like a doll or puppet -that has no life in it. It was both pathetic and dreadful. - -Any one who sits in reverie thus, of course, may see similar ridiculous -pictures when the will no longer guides construction. The incongruities -of dreams are thus explained. I merely record the picture as it came. -That it remained by me for several days, just as vivid dreams do, is -neither here nor there. I did not allow myself to dwell upon it. The -curious thing, perhaps, is that from this moment I date my inclination, -though not yet my desire, to leave. I purposely say 'to leave.' I -cannot quite remember when the word changed to that aggressive, frantic -thing which is escape. - - -V - -We were left delightfully to ourselves in this pretentious country -mansion with the soul of a villa. Frances took up her painting again, -and, the weather being propitious, spent hours out of doors, sketching -flowers, trees and nooks of woodland, garden, even the house itself -where bits of it peered suggestively across the orchards. Mrs. Franklyn -seemed always busy about something or other, and never interfered -with us except to propose motoring, tea in another part of the lawn, -and so forth. She flitted everywhere, preoccupied, yet apparently -doing nothing. The house engulfed her rather. No visitors called. For -one thing, she was not supposed to be back from abroad yet; and for -another, I think, the neighbourhood--her husband's neighbourhood--was -puzzled by her sudden cessation from good works. Brigades and -temperance societies did not ask to hold their meetings in the big -hall, and the vicar arranged the school-treats in another's field -without explanation. The full-length portrait in the dining-room, and -the presence of the housekeeper with the 'burnt' back-hair, indeed, -were the only reminders of the man who once had lived here. Mrs. Marsh -retained her place in silence, well-paid sinecure as it doubtless -was, yet with no hint of that suppressed disapproval one might have -expected from her. Indeed there was nothing positive to disapprove, -since nothing 'worldly' entered grounds or building. In her master's -lifetime she had been another 'brand snatched from the burning,' and it -had then been her custom to give vociferous 'testimony' at the revival -meetings where he adorned the platform and led in streams of prayer. I -saw her sometimes on the stairs, hovering, wandering, half-watching and -half-listening, and the idea came to me once that this woman somehow -formed a link with the departed influence of her bigoted employer. She, -alone among us, _belonged_ to the house, and looked at home there. When -I saw her talking--oh, with such correct and respectful mien--to Mrs. -Franklyn, I had the feeling that for all her unaggressive attitude, -she yet exerted some influence that sought to make her mistress stay -in the building for ever--live there. She would prevent her escape, -prevent her 'getting it straight again,' thwart somehow her will to -freedom, if she could. The idea in me was of the most fleeting kind. -But another time, when I came down late at night to get a book from the -library ante-chamber, and found her sitting in the hall--alone--the -impression left upon me was the reverse of fleeting. I can never forget -the vivid, disagreeable effect it produced upon me. What was she doing -there at half-past eleven at night, all alone in the darkness? She was -sitting upright, stiff, in a big chair below the clock. It gave me a -turn. It was so incongruous and odd. She rose quietly as I turned the -corner of the stairs, and asked me respectfully, her eyes cast down -as usual, whether I had finished with the library, so that she might -lock up. There was no more to it than that; but the picture stayed with -me--unpleasantly. - -These various impressions came to me at odd moments, of course, and -not in a single sequence as I now relate them. I was hard at work -before three days were past, not writing, as explained, but reading, -making notes, and gathering material from the library for future use. -It was in chance moments that these curious flashes came, catching me -unawares with a touch of surprise that sometimes made me start. For -they proved that my under-mind was still conscious of the Shadow, and -that far away out of sight lay the cause of it that left me with a -vague unrest, unsettled, seeking to 'nest' in a place that did not want -me. Only when this deeper part knows harmony, perhaps, can good brain -work result, and my inability to write was thus explained. Certainly, I -was always seeking for something here I could not find--an explanation -that continually evaded me. Nothing but these trivial hints offered -themselves. Lumped together, however, they had the effect of defining -the Shadow a little. I became more and more aware of its very real -existence. And, if I have made little mention of Frances and my hostess -in this connection, it is because they contributed at first little or -nothing towards the discovery of what this story tries to tell. Our -life was wholly external, normal, quiet, and uneventful; conversation -banal--Mrs. Franklyn's conversation in particular. They said nothing -that suggested revelation. Both were in this Shadow, and both knew -that they were in it, but neither betrayed by word or act a hint of -interpretation. They talked privately, no doubt, but of that I can -report no details. - -And so it was that, after ten days of a very commonplace visit, I -found myself looking straight into the face of a Strangeness that -defied capture at close quarters. 'There's something here that never -happens,' were the words that rose in my mind, 'and that's why none -of us can speak of it.' And as I looked out of the window and watched -the vulgar blackbirds, with toes turned in, boring out their worms, I -realised sharply that even they, as indeed everything large and small -in the house and grounds, shared this strangeness, and were twisted out -of normal appearance because of it. Life, as expressed in the entire -place, was crumpled, dwarfed, emasculated. God's meanings here were -crippled, His love of joy was stunted. Nothing in the garden danced -or sang. There was hate in it. 'The Shadow,' my thought hurried on to -completion, 'is a manifestation of hate; and hate is the Devil.' And -then I sat back frightened in my chair, for I knew that I had partly -found the truth. - -Leaving my books I went out into the open. The sky was overcast, -yet the day by no means gloomy, for a soft, diffused light oozed -through the clouds and turned all things warm and almost summery. -But I saw the grounds now in their nakedness because I understood. -Hate means strife, and the two together weave the robe that terror -wears. Having no so-called religious beliefs myself, nor belonging -to any set of dogmas called a creed, I could stand outside these -feelings and observe. Yet they soaked into me sufficiently for me -to grasp sympathetically what others, with more cabined souls (I -flattered myself), might feel. That picture in the dining-room stalked -everywhere, hid behind every tree, peered down upon me from the peaked -ugliness of the bourgeois towers, and left the impress of its powerful -hand upon every bed of flowers. 'You must not do this, you must not do -that,' went past me through the air. 'You must not leave these narrow -paths,' said the rigid iron railings of black. 'You shall not walk -here,' was written on the lawns. 'Keep to the steps,' 'Don't pick the -flowers; make no noise of laughter, singing, dancing,' was placarded -all over the rose-garden, and 'Trespassers will be--not prosecuted -but--_destroyed_' hung from the crest of monkey-tree and holly. -Guarding the ends of each artificial terrace stood gaunt, implacable -policemen, warders, gaolers. 'Come with us,' they chanted, 'or be -damned eternally.' - -I remember feeling quite pleased with myself that I had discovered -this obvious explanation of the prison-feeling the place breathed out. -That the posthumous influence of heavy old Samuel Franklyn might be an -inadequate solution did not occur to me. By 'getting the place straight -again,' his widow, of course, meant forgetting the glamour of fear and -foreboding his depressing creed had temporarily forced upon her; and -Frances, delicately-minded being, did not speak of it because it was -the influence of the man her friend had loved. I felt lighter; a load -was lifted from me. 'To trace the unfamiliar to the familiar,' came -back a sentence I had read somewhere, 'is to understand.' It was a real -relief. I could talk with Frances now, even with my hostess, no danger -of treading clumsily. For the key was in my hands. I might even help to -dissipate the Shadow, 'to get it straight again.' It seemed, perhaps, -our long invitation was explained! - -I went into the house laughing--at myself a little. 'Perhaps after all -the artist's outlook, with no hard and fast dogmas, is as narrow as the -others! How small humanity is! And why is there no possible and true -combination of _all_ outlooks?' - -The feeling of 'unsettling' was very strong in me just then, in spite -of my big discovery which was to clear everything up. And at that -moment I ran into Frances on the stairs, with a portfolio of sketches -under her arm. - -It came across me then abruptly that, although she had worked a great -deal since we came, she had shown me nothing. It struck me suddenly as -odd, unnatural. The way she tried to pass me now confirmed my new-born -suspicion that--well, that her results were hardly what they ought to -be. - -'Stand and deliver!' I laughed, stepping in front of her. 'I've seen -nothing you've done since you've been here, and as a rule you show me -all your things. I believe they are atrocious and degrading!' Then my -laughter froze. - -She made a sly gesture to slip past me, and I almost decided to let her -go, for the expression that flashed across her face shocked me. She -looked uncomfortable and ashamed; the colour came and went a moment -in her cheeks, making me think of a child detected in some secret -naughtiness. It was almost fear. - -'It's because they're not finished then?' I said, dropping the tone -of banter, 'or because they're too good for me to understand?' For my -criticism of painting, she told me, was crude and ignorant sometimes. -'But you'll let me see them later, won't you?' - -Frances, however, did not take the way of escape I offered. She changed -her mind. She drew the portfolio from beneath her arm instead. 'You can -see them if you _really_ want to, Bill,' she said quietly, and her tone -reminded me of a nurse who says to a boy just grown out of childhood, -'you are old enough now to look upon horror and ugliness--only I don't -advise it.' - -'I do want to,' I said, and made to go downstairs with her. But, -instead, she said in the same low voice as before, 'Come up to my room, -we shall be undisturbed there.' So I guessed that she had been on her -way to show the paintings to our hostess, but did not care for us all -three to see them together. My mind worked furiously. - -'Mabel asked me to do them,' she explained in a tone of submissive -horror, once the door was shut, 'in fact, she begged it of me. You know -how persistent she is in her quiet way. I--er--had to.' - -She flushed and opened the portfolio on the little table by the -window, standing behind me as I turned the sketches over--sketches of -the grounds and trees and garden. In the first moment of inspection, -however, I did not take in clearly why my sister's sense of modesty had -been offended. For my attention flashed a second elsewhere. Another -bit of the puzzle had dropped into place, defining still further the -nature of what I called 'the Shadow.' Mrs. Franklyn, I now remembered, -had suggested to me in the library that I might perhaps write something -about the place, and I had taken it for one of her banal sentences -and paid no further attention. I realised now that it was said in -earnest. She wanted our interpretations, as expressed in our respective -'talents,' painting and writing. Her invitation _was_ explained. She -left us to ourselves on purpose. - -'I should like to tear them up,' Frances was whispering behind me with -a shudder, 'only I promised----' She hesitated a moment. - -'Promised not to?' I asked with a queer feeling of distress, my eyes -glued to the papers. - -'Promised always to show them to her first,' she finished so low I -barely caught it. - -I have no intuitive, immediate grasp of the value of paintings; results -come to me slowly, and though every one believes his own judgment to -be good, I dare not claim that mine is worth more than that of any -other layman. Frances had too often convicted me of gross ignorance and -error. I can only say that I examined these sketches with a feeling of -amazement that contained revulsion, if not actually horror and disgust. -They were outrageous. I felt hot for my sister, and it was a relief to -know she had moved across the room on some pretence or other, and did -not examine them with me. Her talent, of course, is mediocre, yet she -has her moments of inspiration--moments, that is to say, when a view -of Beauty not normally her own flames divinely through her. And these -interpretations struck me forcibly as being thus 'inspired'--not her -own. They were uncommonly well done; they were also atrocious. The -meaning in them, however, was never more than hinted. There the unholy -skill and power came in: they suggested so abominably, leaving most -to the imagination. To find such significance in a bourgeois villa -garden, and to interpret it with such delicate yet legible certainty, -was a kind of symbolism that was sinister, even diabolical. The -delicacy was her own, but the point of view was another's. And the word -that rose in my mind was not the gross description of 'impure,' but the -more fundamental qualification--'un-pure.' - -In silence I turned the sketches over one by one, as a boy hurries -through the pages of an evil book lest he be caught. - -'What does Mabel do with them?' I asked presently in a low tone, as I -neared the end. 'Does she keep them?' - -'She makes notes about them in a book and then destroys them,' was the -reply from the end of the room. I heard a sigh of relief. 'I'm glad -you've seen them, Bill. I wanted you to--but was afraid to show them. -You understand?' - -'I understand,' was my reply, though it was not a question intended -to be answered. All I understood really was that Mabel's mind was as -sweet and pure as my sister's, and that she had some good reason for -what she did. She destroyed the sketches, but first made notes! It -was an interpretation of the place she sought. Brother-like, I felt -resentment, though, that Frances should waste her time and talent, when -she might be doing work that she could sell. Naturally, I felt other -things as well.... - -'Mabel pays me five guineas for each one,' I heard. 'Absolutely -insists.' - -I stared at her stupidly a moment, bereft of speech or wit. - -'I must either accept, or go away,' she went on calmly, but a little -white. 'I've tried everything. There was a scene the third day I was -here--when I showed her my first result. I wanted to write to you, but -hesitated----' - -'It's unintentional, then, on your part--forgive my asking it, Frances, -dear?' I blundered, hardly knowing what to think or say. 'Between the -lines' of her letter came back to me. 'I mean, you make the sketches in -your ordinary way and--the result comes out of itself, so to speak?' - -She nodded, throwing her hands out like a Frenchman. 'We needn't keep -the money for ourselves, Bill. We can give it away, but--I must either -accept or leave,' and she repeated the shrugging gesture. She sat down -on the chair facing me, staring helplessly at the carpet. - -'You say there was a scene?' I went on presently. 'She insisted?' - -'She begged me to continue,' my sister replied very quietly. 'She -thinks--that is, she has an idea or theory that there's something about -the place--something she can't get at quite.' Frances stammered badly. -She knew I did not encourage her wild theories. - -'Something she feels--yes,' I helped her, more than curious. - -'Oh, you know what I mean, Bill,' she said desperately. 'That the place -is saturated with some influence that she is herself too positive or -too stupid to interpret. She's trying to make herself negative and -receptive, as she calls it, but can't, of course, succeed. Haven't you -noticed how dull and impersonal and insipid she seems, as though she -had no personality? She thinks impressions will come to her that way. -But they don't----' - -'Naturally.' - -'So she's trying me--us--what she calls the sensitive and -impressionable artistic temperament. She says that until she is sure -exactly what this influence is, she can't fight it, turn it out, "get -the house straight," as she phrases it.' - -Remembering my own singular impressions, I felt more lenient than I -might otherwise have done. I tried to keep impatience out of my voice. - -'And this influence, what--whose is it?' - -We used the pronoun that followed in the same breath, for I answered my -own question at the same moment as she did: - -'_His._' Our heads nodded involuntarily towards the floor, the -dining-room being directly underneath. - -And my heart sank, my curiosity died away on the instant, I felt bored. -A commonplace haunted house was the last thing in the world to amuse -or interest me. The mere thought exasperated, with its suggestions of -imagination, overwrought nerves, hysteria, and the rest. Mingled with -my other feelings was certainly disappointment. To see a figure or feel -a 'presence,' and report from day to day strange incidents to each -other would be a form of weariness I could never tolerate. - -'But really, Frances,' I said firmly, after a moment's pause, 'it's too -far-fetched, this explanation. A curse, you know, belongs to the ghost -stories of early Victorian days.' And only my positive conviction that -there _was_ something after all worth discovering, and that it most -certainly was _not_ this, prevented my suggesting that we terminate -our visit forthwith, or as soon as we decently could. 'This is not -a haunted house, whatever it is,' I concluded somewhat vehemently, -bringing my hand down upon her odious portfolio. - -My sister's reply revived my curiosity sharply. - -'I was waiting for you to say that. Mabel says exactly the same. _He_ -is in it--but it's something more than that alone, something far bigger -and more complicated.' Her sentence seemed to indicate the sketches, -and though I caught the inference I did not take it up, having no -desire to discuss them with her just then, indeed, if ever. - -I merely stared at her and listened. Questions, I felt sure, would be -of little use. It was better she should say her thought in her own way. - -'He is one influence, the most recent,' she went on slowly, and -always very calmly, 'but there are others--deeper layers, as it -were--underneath. If his were the only one, something would happen. But -nothing ever does happen. The others hinder and prevent--as though each -were struggling to predominate.' - -I had felt it already myself. The idea was rather horrible. I shivered. - -'That's what is so ugly about it--that nothing ever happens,' she said. -'There is this endless anticipation--always on the dry edge of a result -that never materialises. It is torture. Mabel is at her wits' end, you -see. And when she begged me--what I felt about my sketches--I mean----' -She stammered badly as before. - -I stopped her. I had judged too hastily. That queer symbolism in her -paintings, pagan and yet not innocent, was, I understood, the result -of mixture. I did not pretend to understand, but at least I could be -patient. I consequently held my peace. We did talk on a little longer, -but it was more general talk that avoided successfully our hostess, -the paintings, wild theories, and _him_--until at length the emotion -Frances had hitherto so successfully kept under burst vehemently forth -again. It had hidden between her calm sentences, as it had hidden -between the lines of her letter. It swept her now from head to foot, -packed tight in the thing she then said. - -'Then, Bill, if it is not an ordinary haunted house,' she asked, '_what -is it_?' - -The words were commonplace enough. The emotion was in the tone of her -voice that trembled; in the gesture she made, leaning forward and -clasping both hands upon her knees, and in the slight blanching of her -cheeks as her brave eyes asked the question and searched my own with -anxiety that bordered upon panic. In that moment she put herself under -my protection. I winced. - -'And why,' she added, lowering her voice to a still and furtive -whisper, 'does nothing ever happen? If only,'--this with great -emphasis--'something _would_ happen--break this awful tension--bring -relief. It's the waiting I cannot stand.' And she shivered all over as -she said it, a touch of wildness in her eyes. - -I would have given much to have made a true and satisfactory answer. -My mind searched frantically for a moment, but in vain. There lay no -sufficient answer in me. I felt what she felt, though with differences. -No conclusive explanation lay within reach. Nothing happened. Eager -as I was to shoot the entire business into the rubbish heap where -ignorance and superstition discharge their poisonous weeds, I could -not honestly accomplish this. To treat Frances as a child, and merely -'explain away' would be to strain her confidence in my protection, so -affectionately claimed. It would further be dishonest to myself--weak, -besides--to deny that I had also felt the strain and tension even as -she did. While my mind continued searching, I returned her stare in -silence; and Frances then, with more honesty and insight than my own, -gave suddenly the answer herself--an answer whose truth and adequacy, -so far as they went, I could not readily gainsay: - -'I think, Bill, because it is too big to happen here--to happen -anywhere, indeed, all at once--and too awful!' - -To have tossed the sentence aside as nonsense, argued it away, proved -that it was really meaningless, would have been easy--at any other time -or in any other place; and, had the past week brought me none of the -vivid impressions it had brought me, this is doubtless what I should -have done. My narrowness again was proved. We understand in others only -what we have in ourselves. But her explanation, in a measure, I knew -was true. It hinted at the strife and struggle that my notion of a -Shadow had seemed to cover thinly. - -'Perhaps,' I murmured lamely, waiting in vain for her to say more. 'But -you said just now that you felt the thing was "in layers," as it were. -Do you mean each one--each influence--fighting for the upper hand?' - -I used her phraseology to conceal my own poverty. Terminology, after -all, was nothing, provided we could reach the idea itself. - -Her eyes said yes. She had her clear conception, arrived at -independently, as was her way. And, unlike her sex, she kept it clear, -unsmothered by too many words. - -'One set of influences gets at me, another gets at you. It's according -to our temperaments, I think.' She glanced significantly at the vile -portfolio. 'Sometimes they are mixed--and therefore false. There has -always been in me, more than in you, the pagan thing, perhaps, though -never, thank God, like _that_.' - -The frank confession of course invited my own, as it was meant to do. -Yet it was difficult to find the words. - -'What I have felt in this place, Frances, I honestly can hardly tell -you, because--er--my impressions have not arranged themselves in any -definite form I can describe. The strife, the agony of vainly-sought -escape, and the unrest--a sort of prison atmosphere--this I have felt -at different times and with varying degrees of strength. But I find, -as yet, no final label to attach. I couldn't say pagan, Christian, or -anything like that, I mean, as you do. As with the blind and deaf, you -may have an intensification of certain senses denied to me, or even -another sense altogether in embryo----' - -'Perhaps,' she stopped me, anxious to keep to the point, 'you feel it -as Mabel does. She feels the whole thing _complete_.' - -'That also is possible,' I said very slowly. I was thinking behind my -words. Her odd remark that it was 'big and awful' came back upon me as -true. A vast sensation of distress and discomfort swept me suddenly. -Pity was in it, and a fierce contempt, a savage, bitter anger as well. -Fury against some sham authority was part of it. - -'Frances,' I said, caught unawares, and dropping all pretence, 'what in -the world can it be?' I looked hard at her. For some minutes neither of -us spoke. - -'Have _you_ felt no desire to interpret it?' she asked presently. - -'Mabel did suggest my writing something about the house,' was my reply, -'but I've felt nothing imperative. That sort of writing is not my line, -you know. My only feeling,' I added, noticing that she waited for more, -'is the impulse to explain, discover, get it out of me somehow, and so -get rid of it. Not by writing, though--as yet.' And again I repeated my -former question: 'What in the world do you think it is?' My voice had -become involuntarily hushed. There was awe in it. - -Her answer, given with slow emphasis, brought back all my reserve: the -phraseology provoked me rather:-- - -'Whatever it is, Bill, it is not of God.' - -I got up to go downstairs. I believe I shrugged my shoulders, 'Would -you like to leave, Frances? Shall we go back to town?' I suggested -this at the door, and hearing no immediate reply, I turned back to -look. Frances was sitting with her head bowed over and buried in her -hands. The attitude horribly suggested tears. No woman, I realised, can -keep back the pressure of strong emotion as long as Frances had done, -without ending in a fluid collapse. I waited a moment uneasily, longing -to comfort, yet afraid to act--and in this way discovered the existence -of the appalling emotion in myself, hitherto but half guessed. At all -costs a scene must be prevented: it would involve such exaggeration and -over-statement. Brutally, such is the weakness of the ordinary man, I -turned the handle to go out, but my sister then raised her head. The -sunlight caught her face, framed untidily in its auburn hair, and I saw -her wonderful expression with a start. Pity, tenderness and sympathy -shone in it like a flame. It was undeniable. There shone through all -her features the imperishable love and yearning to sacrifice self for -others which I have seen in only one type of human being. It was the -great mother look. - -'We must stay by Mabel and help her get it straight,' she whispered, -making the decision for us both. - -I murmured agreement. Abashed and half ashamed, I stole softly from -the room and went out into the grounds. And the first thing clearly -realised when alone was this: that the long scene between us was -without definite result. The exchange of confidence was really nothing -but hints and vague suggestion. We had decided to stay, but it was -a negative decision not to leave rather than a positive action. All -our words and questions, our guesses, inferences, explanations, our -most subtle allusions and insinuations, even the odious paintings -themselves, were without definite result. Nothing had happened. - - -VI - -And instinctively, once alone, I made for the places where she had -painted her extraordinary pictures; I tried to see what she had seen. -Perhaps, now that she had opened my mind to another view, I should -be sensitive to some similar interpretation--and possibly by way of -literary expression. If I were to write about the place, I asked -myself, how should I treat it? I deliberately invited an interpretation -in the way that came easiest to me--writing. - -But in this case there came no such revelation. Looking closely at -the trees and flowers, the bits of lawn and terrace, the rose-garden -and corner of the house where the flaming creeper hung so thickly, I -discovered nothing of the odious, unpure thing her colour and grouping -had unconsciously revealed. At first, that is, I discovered nothing. -The reality stood there, commonplace and ugly, side by side with her -distorted version of it that lay in my mind. It seemed incredible. I -tried to force it, but in vain. My imagination, ploughed less deeply -than hers, or to another pattern, grew different seed. Where I saw the -gross soul of an overgrown suburban garden, inspired by the spirit of -a vulgar, rich revivalist who loved to preach damnation, she saw this -rush of pagan liberty and joy, this strange licence of primitive flesh -which, tainted by the other, produced the adulterated, vile result. - -Certain things, however, gradually then became apparent, forcing -themselves upon me, willy nilly. They came slowly, but overwhelmingly. -Not that facts had changed, or natural details altered in the -grounds--this was impossible--but that I noticed for the first time -various aspects I had not noticed before--trivial enough, yet for me, -just then, significant. Some I remembered from previous days; others -I saw now as I wandered to and fro, uneasy, uncomfortable,--almost, -it seemed, watched by some one who took note of my impressions. The -details were so foolish, the total result so formidable. I was half -aware that others tried hard to make me see. It was deliberate. My -sister's phrase, 'one layer got at me, another gets at you,' flashed, -undesired, upon me. - -For I saw, as with the eyes of a child, what I can only call a goblin -garden--house, grounds, trees, and flowers belonged to a goblin world -that children enter through the pages of their fairy tales. And what -made me first aware of it was the whisper of the wind behind me, so -that I turned with a sudden start, feeling that something had moved -closer. An old ash tree, ugly and ungainly, had been artificially -trained to form an arbour at one end of the terrace that was a tennis -lawn, and the leaves of it now went rustling together, swishing as -they rose and fell. I looked at the ash tree, and felt as though I had -passed that moment between doors into this goblin garden that crouched -behind the real one. Below, at a deeper layer perhaps, lay hidden the -one my sister had entered. - -To deal with my own, however, I call it goblin, because an odd -aspect of the quaint in it yet never quite achieved the picturesque. -Grotesque, probably, is the truer word, for everywhere I noticed, and -for the first time, this slight alteration of the natural due either -to the exaggeration of some detail, or to its suppression, generally, -I think, to the latter. Life everywhere appeared to me as blocked -from the full delivery of its sweet and lovely message. Some counter -influence stopped it--suppression; or sent it awry--exaggeration. The -house itself, mere expression, of course, of a narrow, limited mind, -was sheer ugliness; it required no further explanation. With the -grounds and garden, so far as shape and general plan were concerned, -this was also true; but that trees and flowers and other natural -details should share the same deficiency perplexed my logical soul, and -even dismayed it. I stood and stared, then moved about, and stood and -stared again. Everywhere was this mockery of a sinister, unfinished -aspect. I sought in vain to recover my normal point of view. My mind -had found this goblin garden and wandered to and fro in it, unable to -escape. - -The change was in myself, of course, and so trivial were the details -which illustrated it, that they sound absurd, thus mentioned one by -one. For me, they proved it, is all I can affirm. The goblin touch -lay plainly everywhere: in the forms of the trees, planted at neat -intervals along the lawns; in this twisted ash that rustled just behind -me; in the shadow of the gloomy wellingtonias, whose sweeping skirts -obscured the grass; but especially, I noticed, in the tops and crests -of them. For here, the delicate, graceful curves of last year's growth -seemed to shrink back into themselves. None of them pointed upwards. -Their life had failed and turned aside just when it should have -become triumphant. The character of a tree reveals itself chiefly at -the extremities, and it was precisely here that they all drooped and -achieved this hint of goblin distortion--in the growth, that is, of the -last few years. What ought to have been fairy, joyful, natural, was -instead uncomely to the verge of the grotesque. Spontaneous expression -was arrested. My mind perceived a goblin garden, and was caught in it. -The place grimaced at me. - -With the flowers it was similar, though far more difficult to detect in -detail for description. I saw the smaller vegetable growth as impish, -half-malicious. Even the terraces sloped ill, as though their ends -had sagged since they had been so lavishly constructed; their varying -angles gave a queerly bewildering aspect to their sequence that was -unpleasant to the eye. One might wander among their deceptive lengths -and get lost--lost among open terraces!--with the house quite close -at hand. Unhomely seemed the entire garden, unable to give repose, -restlessness in it everywhere, almost strife, and discord certainly. - -Moreover, the garden grew into the house, the house into the garden, -and in both was this idea of resistance to the natural--the spirit -that says No to joy. All over it I was aware of the effort to achieve -another end, the struggle to burst forth and escape into free, -spontaneous expression that should be happy and natural, yet the effort -for ever frustrated by the weight of this dark shadow that rendered it -abortive. Life crawled aside into a channel that was a cul-de-sac, then -turned horribly upon itself. Instead of blossom and fruit, there were -weeds. This approach of life I was conscious of--then dismal failure. -There was no fulfilment. Nothing happened. - -And so, through this singular mood, I came a little nearer to -understand the unpure thing that had stammered out into expression -through my sister's talent. For the unpure is merely negative; it -has no existence; it is but the cramped expression of what is true, -stammering its way brokenly over false boundaries that seek to limit -and confine. Great, full expression of anything is pure, whereas -here was only the incomplete, unfinished, and therefore ugly. There -was strife and pain and desire to escape. I found myself shrinking -from house and grounds as one shrinks from the touch of the mentally -arrested, those in whom life has turned awry. There was almost -mutilation in it. - -Past items, too, now flocked to confirm this feeling that I walked, -liberty captured and half-maimed, in a monstrous garden. I remembered -days of rain that refreshed the countryside, but left these grounds, -cracked with the summer heat, unsatisfied and thirsty; and how the big -winds, that cleaned the woods and fields elsewhere, crawled here with -difficulty through the dense foliage that protected The Towers from -the North and West and East. They were ineffective, sluggish currents. -There was no real wind. Nothing happened. I began to realise--far more -clearly than in my sister's fanciful explanation about 'layers'--that -here were many contrary influences at work, mutually destructive of one -another. House and grounds were not haunted merely; they were the arena -of past thinking and feeling, perhaps of terrible, impure beliefs, -each striving to suppress the others, yet no one of them achieving -supremacy because no one of them was strong enough, no one of them was -true. Each, moreover, tried to win me over, though only one was able -to reach my mind at all. For some obscure reason--possibly because my -temperament had a natural bias towards the grotesque--it was the goblin -layer. With me, it was the line of least resistance.... - -In my own thoughts this 'goblin garden' revealed, of course, merely my -personal interpretation. I felt now objectively what long ago my mind -had felt subjectively. My work, essential sign of spontaneous life -with me, had stopped dead; production had become impossible. I stood -now considerably closer to the cause of this sterility. The Cause, -rather, turned bolder, had stepped insolently nearer. Nothing happened -anywhere; house, garden, mind alike were barren, abortive, torn by the -strife of frustrate impulse, ugly, hateful, sinful. Yet behind it all -was still the desire of life--desire to escape--accomplish. Hope--an -intolerable hope--I became startlingly aware--crowned torture. - -And, realising this, though in some part of me where Reason lost her -hold, there rose upon me then another and a darker thing that caught -me by the throat and made me shrink with a sense of revulsion that -touched actual loathing. I knew instantly whence it came, this wave -of abhorrence and disgust, for even while I saw red and felt revolt -rise in me, it seemed that I grew partially aware of the layer next -below the goblin. I perceived the existence of this deeper stratum. One -opened the way for the other, as it were. There were so many, yet all -inter-related; to admit one was to clear the way for all. If I lingered -I should be caught--horribly. They struggled with such violence for -supremacy among themselves, however, that this latest uprising was -instantly smothered and crushed back, though not before a glimpse had -been revealed to me, and the redness in my thoughts transferred itself -to colour my surroundings thickly and appallingly--with blood. This -lurid aspect drenched the garden, smeared the terraces, lent to the -very soil a tinge as of sacrificial rites, that choked the breath in -me, while it seemed to fix me to the earth my feet so longed to leave. -It was so revolting that at the same time I felt a dreadful curiosity -as of fascination--I wished to stay. Between these contrary impulses I -think I actually reeled a moment, transfixed by a fascination of the -Awful. Through the lighter goblin veil I felt myself sinking down, -down, down into this turgid layer that was so much more violent and so -much more ancient. The upper layer, indeed, seemed fairy by comparison -with this terror born of the lust for blood, thick with the anguish of -human sacrificial victims. - -_Upper!_ Then I was already sinking; my feet were caught; I was -actually in it! What atavistic strain, hidden deep within me, had -been touched into vile response, giving this flash of intuitive -comprehension, I cannot say. The coatings laid on by civilisation are -probably thin enough in all of us. I made a supreme effort. The sun -and wind came back. I could almost swear I opened my eyes. Something -very atrocious surged back into the depths, carrying with it a thought -of tangled woods, of big stones standing in a circle, motionless white -figures, the one form bound with ropes, and the ghastly gleam of the -knife. Like smoke upon a battlefield, it rolled away.... - -I was standing on the gravel path below the second terrace when the -familiar goblin garden danced back again, doubly grotesque now, doubly -mocking, yet, by way of contrast, almost welcome. My glimpse into -the depths was momentary, it seems, and had passed utterly away. The -common world rushed back with a sense of glad relief, yet ominous now -for ever, I felt, for the knowledge of what its past had built upon. -In street, in theatre, in the festivities of friends, in music-room or -playing-field, even indeed in church--how could the memory of what I -had seen and felt not leave its hideous trace? The very structure of my -Thought, it seemed to me, was stained. What has been thought by others -can never be obliterated until ... - -With a start my reverie broke and fled, scattered by a violent sound -that I recognised for the first time in my life as wholly desirable. -The returning motor meant that my hostess was back. Yet, so urgent -had been my temporary obsession, that my first presentation of her -was--well, not as I knew her now. Floating along with a face of -anguished torture I saw Mabel, a mere effigy captured by others' -thinking, pass down into those depths of fire and blood that only just -had closed beneath my feet. She dipped away. She vanished, her fading -eyes turned to the last towards some saviour who had failed her. And -that strange intolerable hope was in her face. - -The mystery of the place was pretty thick about me just then. It was -the fall of dusk, and the ghost of slanting sunshine was as unreal -as though badly painted. The garden stood at attention all about -me. I cannot explain it, but I can tell it, I think, exactly as it -happened, for it remains vivid in me for ever--that, for the first -time, something _almost happened_, myself apparently the combining link -through which it pressed towards delivery. - -I had already turned towards the house. In my mind were pictures--not -actual thoughts--of the motor, tea on the verandah, my sister, -Mabel--when there came behind me this tumultuous, awful rush--as I left -the garden. The ugliness, the pain, the striving to escape, the whole -negative and suppressed agony that _was_ the Place, focused that second -into a concentrated effort to produce a result. It was a blinding -tempest of long-frustrate desire that heaved at me, surging appallingly -behind me like an anguished mob. I was in the act of crossing the -frontier into my normal self again, when it came, catching fearfully at -my skirts. I might use an entire dictionary of descriptive adjectives -yet come no nearer to it than this--the conception of a huge assemblage -determined to escape with me, or to snatch me back among themselves. My -legs trembled for an instant, and I caught my breath--then turned and -ran as fast as possible up the ugly terraces. - -At the same instant, as though the clanging of an iron gate cut short -the unfinished phrase, I _thought_ the beginning of an awful thing: - -'The Damned ...' - -Like this it rushed after me from that goblin garden that had sought to -keep me: - -'The Damned!' - -For there was sound in it. I know full well it was subjective, not -actually heard at all; yet somehow sound was in it--a great volume, -roaring and booming thunderously, far away, and below me. The sentence -dipped back into the depths that gave it birth, unfinished. Its -completion was prevented. As usual, nothing happened. But it drove -behind me like a hurricane as I ran towards the house, and the sound of -it I can only liken to those terrible undertones you may hear standing -beside Niagara. They lie behind the mere crash of the falling flood, -within it somehow, not audible to all--felt rather than definitely -heard. - -It seemed to echo back from the surface of those sagging terraces as I -flew across their sloping ends, for it was somehow underneath them. It -was in the rustle of the wind that stirred the skirts of the drooping -wellingtonias. The beds of formal flowers passed it on to the creepers, -red as blood, that crept over the unsightly building. Into the -structure of the vulgar and forbidding house it sank away; The Towers -took it home. The uncomely doors and windows seemed almost like mouths -that had uttered the words themselves, and on the upper floors at that -very moment I saw two maids in the act of closing them again. - -And on the verandah, as I arrived breathless, and shaken in my soul, -Frances and Mabel, standing by the tea-table, looked up to greet me. -In the faces of both were clearly legible the signs of shock. They -watched me coming, yet so full of their own distress that they hardly -noticed the state in which I came. In the face of my hostess, however, -I read another and a bigger thing than in the face of Frances. Mabel -_knew_. She had experienced what I had experienced. She had heard that -awful sentence I had heard, but heard it not for the first time; heard -it, moreover, I verily believe, complete and to its dreadful end. - -'Bill, did you hear that curious noise just now?' Frances asked it -sharply before I could say a word. Her manner was confused; she looked -straight at me; and there was a tremor in her voice she could not hide. - -'There's wind about,' I said, 'wind in the trees and sweeping round the -walls. It's risen rather suddenly.' My voice faltered rather. - -'No. It wasn't wind,' she insisted, with a significance meant for me -alone, but badly hidden. 'It was more like distant thunder, we thought. -How you ran too!' she added. 'What a pace you came across the terraces!' - -I knew instantly from the way she said it that they both had already -heard the sound before and were anxious to know if I had heard it, and -how. My interpretation was what they sought. - -'It was a curiously deep sound, I admit. It may have been big guns at -sea,' I suggested, 'forts or cruisers practising. The coast isn't so -very far, and with the wind in the right direction----' - -The expression on Mabel's face stopped me dead. - -'Like huge doors closing,' she said softly in her colourless voice, -'enormous metal doors shutting against a mass of people clamouring -to get out.' The gravity, the note of hopelessness in her tones, was -shocking. - -Frances had gone into the house the instant Mabel began to speak. 'I'm -cold,' she had said; 'I think I'll get a shawl.' Mabel and I were -alone. I believe it was the first time we had been really alone since -I arrived. She looked up from the teacups, fixing her pallid eyes on -mine. She had made a question of the sentence. - -'You hear it like that?' I asked innocently. I purposely used the -present tense. - -She changed her stare from one eye to the other; it was absolutely -expressionless. My sister's step sounded on the floor of the room -behind us. - -'If only----' Mabel began, then stopped, and my own feelings leaping -out instinctively completed the sentence I felt was in her mind: - -'----something would happen.' - -She instantly corrected me. I had caught her thought, yet somehow -phrased it wrongly. - -'We could escape!' She lowered her tone a little, saying it hurriedly. -The 'we' amazed and horrified me; but something in her voice and manner -struck me utterly dumb. There was ice and terror in it. It was a dying -woman speaking--a lost and hopeless soul. - -In that atrocious moment I hardly noticed what was said exactly, but I -remember that my sister returned with a grey shawl about her shoulders, -and that Mabel said, in her ordinary voice again, 'It _is_ chilly, yes; -let's have tea inside,' and that two maids, one of them the grenadier, -speedily carried the loaded trays into the morning-room and put a match -to the logs in the great open fireplace. It was, after all, foolish -to risk the sharp evening air, for dusk was falling steadily, and even -the sunshine of the day just fading could not turn autumn into summer. -I was the last to come in. Just as I left the verandah a large black -bird swooped down in front of me past the pillars; it dropped from -overhead, swerved abruptly to one side as it caught sight of me, and -flapped heavily towards the shrubberies on the left of the terraces, -where it disappeared into the gloom. It flew very low, very close. And -it startled me, I think because in some way it seemed like my Shadow -materialised--as though the dark horror that was rising everywhere from -house and garden, then settling back so thickly yet so imperceptibly -upon us all, were incarnated in that whirring creature that passed -between the daylight and the coming night. - -I stood a moment, wondering if it would appear again, before I -followed the others indoors, and as I was in the act of closing the -windows after me, I caught a glimpse of a figure on the lawn. It was -some distance away, on the other side of the shrubberies, in fact -where the bird had vanished. But in spite of the twilight that half -magnified, half obscured it, the identity was unmistakable. I knew the -housekeeper's stiff walk too well to be deceived. 'Mrs. Marsh taking -the air,' I said to myself. I felt the necessity of saying it, and I -wondered why she was doing so at this particular hour. If I had other -thoughts they were so vague, and so quickly and utterly suppressed, -that I cannot recall them sufficiently to relate them here. - -And, once indoors, it was to be expected that there would come -explanation, discussion, conversation, at any rate, regarding the -singular noise and its cause, some uttered evidence of the mood that -had been strong enough to drive us all inside. Yet there was none. Each -of us purposely, and with various skill, ignored it. We talked little, -and when we did it was of anything in the world but that. Personally, -I experienced a touch of that same bewilderment which had come over -me during my first talk with Frances on the evening of my arrival, -for I recall now the acute tension, and the hope, yet dread, that one -or other of us must sooner or later introduce the subject. It did not -happen, however; no reference was made to it even remotely. It was the -presence of Mabel, I felt positive, that prohibited. As soon might we -have discussed Death in the bedroom of a dying woman. - -The only scrap of conversation I remember, where all was ordinary and -commonplace, was when Mabel spoke casually to the grenadier asking -why Mrs. Marsh had omitted to do something or other--what it was I -forget--and that the maid replied respectfully that 'Mrs. Marsh was -very sorry, but her 'and still pained her.' I enquired, though so -casually that I scarcely know what prompted the words, whether she -had injured herself severely, and the reply, 'She upset a lamp and -burnt herself,' was said in a tone that made me feel my curiosity was -indiscreet, 'but she always has an excuse for not doing things she -ought to do.' The little bit of conversation remained with me, and I -remember particularly the quick way Frances interrupted and turned the -talk upon the delinquencies of servants in general, telling incidents -of her own at our flat with a volubility that perhaps seemed forced, -and that certainly did not encourage general talk as it may have been -intended to do. We lapsed into silence immediately she finished. - -But for all our care and all our calculated silence, each knew that -something had, in these last moments, come very close; it had brushed -us in passing; it had retired; and I am inclined to think now that the -large dark thing I saw, riding the dusk, probably bird of prey, was in -some sense a symbol of it in my mind--that actually there had been no -bird at all, I mean, but that my mood of apprehension and dismay had -formed the vivid picture in my thoughts. It had swept past us, it had -retreated, but it was now, at this moment, in hiding very close. And it -was watching us. - - * * * * * - -Perhaps, too, it was mere coincidence that I encountered Mrs. Marsh, -_his_ housekeeper, several times that evening in the short interval -between tea and dinner, and that on each occasion the sight of this -gaunt, half-saturnine woman fed my prejudice against her. Once, on my -way to the telephone, I ran into her just where the passage is somewhat -jammed by a square table carrying the Chinese gong, a grandfather's -clock and a box of croquet mallets. We both gave way, then both -advanced, then again gave way--simultaneously. It seemed impossible to -pass. We stepped with decision to the same side, finally colliding in -the middle, while saying those futile little things, half apology, half -excuse, that are inevitable at such times. In the end she stood upright -against the wall for me to pass, taking her place against the very door -I wished to open. It was ludicrous. - -'Excuse me--I was just going in--to telephone,' I explained. And she -sidled off, murmuring apologies, but opening the door for me while she -did so. Our hands met a moment on the handle. There was a second's -awkwardness--it was so stupid. I remembered her injury, and by way of -something to say, I enquired after it. She thanked me; it was entirely -healed now, but it might have been much worse; and there was something -about the 'mercy of the Lord' that I didn't quite catch. While -telephoning, however--a London call, and my attention focused on it--I -realised sharply that this was the first time I had spoken with her; -also, that I had--touched her. - -It happened to be a Sunday, and the lines were clear. I got my -connection quickly, and the incident was forgotten while my thoughts -went up to London. On my way upstairs, then, the woman came back into -my mind, so that I recalled other things about her--how she seemed all -over the house, in unlikely places often; how I had caught her sitting -in the hall alone that night; how she was for ever coming and going -with her lugubrious visage and that untidy hair at the back that had -made me laugh three years ago with the idea that it looked singed or -burnt; and how the impression on my first arrival at The Towers was -that this woman somehow kept alive, though its evidence was outwardly -suppressed, the influence of her late employer and of his sombre -teachings. Somewhere with her was associated the idea of punishment, -vindictiveness, revenge. I remembered again suddenly my odd notion that -she sought to keep her present mistress here, a prisoner in this bleak -and comfortless house, and that really, in spite of her obsequious -silence, she was intensely opposed to the change of thought that had -reclaimed Mabel to a happier view of life. - -All this in a passing second flashed in review before me, and I -discovered, or at any rate reconstructed, the real Mrs. Marsh. She -was decidedly in the Shadow. More, she stood in the forefront of it, -stealthily leading an assault, as it were, against The Towers and -its occupants, as though, consciously or unconsciously, she laboured -incessantly to this hateful end. - -I can only judge that some state of nervousness in me permitted the -series of insignificant thoughts to assume this dramatic shape, and -that what had gone before prepared the way and led her up at the head -of so formidable a procession. I relate it exactly as it came to me. -My nerves were doubtless somewhat on edge by now. Otherwise I should -hardly have been a prey to the exaggeration at all. I seemed open to so -many strange impressions. - -Nothing else, perhaps, can explain my ridiculous conversation with -her, when, for the third time that evening, I came suddenly upon the -woman half-way down the stairs, standing by an open window as if in -the act of listening. She was dressed in black, a black shawl over her -square shoulders and black gloves on her big, broad hands. Two black -objects, prayer-books apparently, she clasped, and on her head she -wore a bonnet with shaking beads of jet. At first I did not know her, -as I came running down upon her from the landing; it was only when she -stood aside to let me pass that I saw her profile against the tapestry -and recognised Mrs. Marsh. And to catch her on the front stairs, -dressed like this, struck me as incongruous--impertinent. I paused -in my dangerous descent. Through the opened window came the sound of -bells--church bells--a sound more depressing to me than superstition, -and as nauseating. Though the action was ill-judged, I obeyed the -sudden prompting--was it a secret desire to attack, perhaps?--and spoke -to her. - -'Been to church, I suppose, Mrs. Marsh?' I said. 'Or just going, -perhaps?' - -Her face, as she looked up a second to reply, was like an iron doll -that moved its lips and turned its eyes, but made no other imitation of -life at all. - -'Some of us still goes, sir,' she said unctuously. - -It was respectful enough, yet the implied judgment of the rest of the -world made me almost angry. A deferential insolence lay behind the -affected meekness. - -'For those who believe no doubt it _is_ helpful,' I smiled. 'True -religion brings peace and happiness, I'm sure--joy, Mrs. Marsh, -JOY!' I found keen satisfaction in the emphasis. - -She looked at me like a knife. I cannot describe the implacable thing -that shone in her fixed, stern eyes, nor the shadow of felt darkness -that stole across her face. She glittered. I felt hate in her. I -knew--she knew too--who was in the thoughts of us both at that moment. - -She replied softly, never forgetting her place for an instant: - -'There is joy, sir--in 'eaven--over one sinner that repenteth, and -in church there goes up prayer to Gawd for those 'oo--well, for the -others, sir, 'oo----' - -She cut short her sentence thus. The gloom about her as she said it was -like the gloom about a hearse, a tomb, a darkness of great hopeless -dungeons. My tongue ran on of itself with a kind of bitter satisfaction: - -'We must believe there are _no_ others, Mrs. Marsh. Salvation, -you know, would be such a failure if there were. No merciful, -all-foreseeing God could ever have devised such a fearful plan----' - -Her voice, interrupting me, seemed to rise out of the bowels of the -earth: - -'They rejected the salvation when it was hoffered to them, sir, on -earth.' - -'But you wouldn't have them tortured for ever because of one mistake -in ignorance,' I said, fixing her with my eye. 'Come now, would you, -Mrs. Marsh? No God worth worshipping could permit such cruelty. Think a -moment what it means.' - -She stared at me, a curious expression in her stupid eyes. It seemed -to me as though the 'woman' in her revolted, while yet she dared not -suffer her grim belief to trip. That is, she would willingly have had -it otherwise but for a terror that prevented. - -'We may pray for them, sir, and we do--we _may_ 'ope.' She dropped her -eyes to the carpet. - -'Good, good!' I put in cheerfully, sorry now that I had spoken at all. -'That's more hopeful, at any rate, isn't it?' - -She murmured something about Abraham's bosom, and the 'time of -salvation not being for ever,' as I tried to pass her. Then a half -gesture that she made stopped me. There was something more she wished -to say--to ask. She looked up furtively. In her eyes I saw the 'woman' -peering out through fear. - -'Per'aps, sir,' she faltered, as though lightning must strike her dead, -'per'aps, would you think, a drop of cold water, given in His name, -might moisten----?' - -But I stopped her, for the foolish talk had lasted long enough. - -'Of course,' I exclaimed, 'of course. For God is love, remember, and -love means charity, tolerance, sympathy, and sparing others pain,' and -I hurried past her, determined to end the outrageous conversation -for which yet I knew myself entirely to blame. Behind me, she stood -stock-still for several minutes, half bewildered, half alarmed, as -I suspected. I caught the fragment of another sentence, one word of -it, rather--'punishment'--but the rest escaped me. Her arrogance and -condescending tolerance exasperated me, while I was at the same time -secretly pleased that I might have touched some string of remorse or -sympathy in her after all. Her belief was iron; she dared not let it -go; yet somewhere underneath there lurked the germ of a wholesome -revulsion. She would help 'them'--if she dared. Her question proved it. - -Half ashamed of myself, I turned and crossed the hall quickly lest I -should be tempted to say more, and in me was a disagreeable sensation -as though I had just left the Incurable Ward of some great hospital. -A reaction caught me as of nausea. Ugh! I wanted such people cleansed -by fire. They seemed to me as centres of contamination whose vicious -thoughts flowed out to stain God's glorious world. I saw myself, -Frances, Mabel too especially, on the rack, while that odious figure -of cruelty and darkness stood over us and ordered the awful handles -turned in order that we might be 'saved'--forced, that is, to think and -believe exactly as _she_ thought and believed. - -I found relief for my somewhat childish indignation by letting myself -loose upon the organ then. The flood of Bach and Beethoven brought back -the sense of proportion. It proved, however, at the same time that -there _had_ been this growth of distortion in me, and that it had been -provided apparently by my closer contact--for the first time--with that -funereal personality, the woman who, like her master, believed that -all holding views of God that differed from her own, must be damned -eternally. It gave me, moreover, some faint clue perhaps, though a clue -I was unequal to following up, to the nature of the strife and terror -and frustrate influence in the house. That housekeeper had to do with -it. She kept it alive. Her thought was like a spell she waved above her -mistress's head. - - -VII - -That night I was wakened by a hurried tapping at my door, and before -I could answer, Frances stood beside my bed. She had switched on the -light as she came in. Her hair fell straggling over her dressing-gown. -Her face was deathly pale, its expression so distraught it was almost -haggard. The eyes were very wide. She looked almost like another woman. - -She was whispering at a great pace: 'Bill, Bill, wake up, quick!' - -'I _am_ awake. What is it?' I whispered too. I was startled. - -'Listen!' was all she said. Her eyes stared into vacancy. - -There was not a sound in the great house. The wind had dropped, and all -was still. Only the tapping seemed to continue endlessly in my brain. -The clock on the mantelpiece pointed to half-past two. - -'I heard nothing, Frances. What is it?' I rubbed my eyes; I had been -very deeply asleep. - -'Listen!' she repeated very softly, holding up one finger and turning -her eyes towards the door she had left ajar. Her usual calmness had -deserted her. She was in the grip of some distressing terror. - -For a full minute we held our breath and listened. Then her eyes rolled -round again and met my own, and her skin went even whiter than before. - -'It woke me,' she said beneath her breath, and moving a step nearer to -my bed. 'It was the Noise.' Even her whisper trembled. - -'The Noise!' The word repeated itself dully of its own accord. I would -rather it had been anything in the world but that--earthquake, foreign -cannon, collapse of the house above our heads! 'The noise, Frances! Are -you _sure_?' I was playing really for a little time. - -'It was like thunder. At first I thought it _was_ thunder. But a minute -later it came again--from underground. It's appalling.' She muttered -the words, her voice not properly under control. - -There was a pause of perhaps a minute, and then we both spoke at once. -We said foolish, obvious things that neither of us believed in for a -second. The roof had fallen in, there were burglars downstairs, the -safes had been blown open. It was to comfort each other as children do -that we said these things; also it was to gain further time. - -'There's some one in the house, of course,' I heard my voice say -finally, as I sprang out of bed and hurried into dressing-gown and -slippers. 'Don't be alarmed. I'll go down and see,' and from the -drawer I took a pistol it was my habit to carry everywhere with me. I -loaded it carefully while Frances stood stock-still beside the bed and -watched. I moved towards the open door. - -'You stay here, Frances,' I whispered, the beating of my heart making -the words uneven, 'while I go down and make a search. Lock yourself in, -girl. Nothing can happen to you. It was downstairs, you said?' - -'Underneath,' she answered faintly, pointing through the floor. - -She moved suddenly between me and the door. - -'Listen! Hark!' she said, the eyes in her face quite fixed; 'it's -coming again,' and she turned her head to catch the slightest sound. I -stood there watching her, and while I watched her, shook. But nothing -stirred. From the halls below rose only the whirr and quiet ticking of -the numerous clocks. The blind by the open window behind us flapped out -a little into the room as the draught caught it. - -'I'll come with you, Bill--to the next floor,' she broke the silence. -'Then I'll stay with Mabel--till you come up again.' The blind sank -down with a long sigh as she said it. - -The question jumped to my lips before I could repress it: - -'Mabel is awake. She heard it too?' - -I hardly know why horror caught me at her answer. All was so vague and -terrible as we stood there playing the great game of this sinister -house where nothing ever happened. - -'We met in the passage. She was on her way to me.' - -What shook in me, shook inwardly. Frances, I mean, did not see it. I -had the feeling just then that the Noise was upon us, that any second -it would boom and roar about our ears. But the deep silence held. I -only heard my sister's little whisper coming across the room in answer -to my question: - -'Then what is Mabel doing now?' - -And her reply proved that she was yielding at last beneath the dreadful -tension, for she spoke at once, unable longer to keep up the pretence. -With a kind of relief, as it were, she said it out, looking helplessly -at me like a child: - -'She is weeping and gna----' - -My expression must have stopped her. I believe I clapped both hands -upon her mouth, though when I realised things clearly again, I found -they were covering my own ears instead. It was a moment of unutterable -horror. The revulsion I felt was actually physical. It would have given -me pleasure to fire off all the five chambers of my pistol into the air -above my head; the sound--a definite, wholesome sound that explained -itself--would have been a positive relief. Other feelings, though, -were in me too, all over me, rushing to and fro. It was vain to seek -their disentanglement; it was impossible. I confess that I experienced, -among them, a touch of paralysing fear--though for a moment only; -it passed as sharply as it came, leaving me with a violent flush of -blood to the face such as bursts of anger bring, followed abruptly -by an icy perspiration over the entire body. Yet I may honestly avow -that it was not ordinary personal fear I felt, nor any common dread -of physical injury. It was, rather, a vast, impersonal shrinking--a -sympathetic shrinking--from the agony and terror that countless others, -somewhere, somehow, felt for themselves. The first sensation of a -prison overwhelmed me in that instant, of bitter strife and frenzied -suffering, and the fiery torture of the yearning to escape that was yet -hopelessly uttered.... It was of incredible power. It was real. The -vain, intolerable hope swept over me. - -I mastered myself, though hardly knowing how, and took my sister's -hand. It was as cold as ice, as I led her firmly to the door and -out into the passage. Apparently she noticed nothing of my so near -collapse, for I caught her whisper as we went. 'You _are_ brave, Bill; -splendidly brave.' - -The upper corridors of the great sleeping house were brightly lit; -on her way to me she had turned on every electric switch her hand -could reach; and as we passed the final flight of stairs to the -floor below, I heard a door shut softly and knew that Mabel had been -listening--waiting for us. I led my sister up to it. She knocked, and -the door was opened cautiously an inch or so. The room was pitch black. -I caught no glimpse of Mabel standing there. Frances turned to me with -a hurried whisper, 'Billy, you _will_ be careful, won't you?' and went -in. I just had time to answer that I would not be long, and Frances -to reply, 'You'll find us here----' when the door closed and cut her -sentence short before its end. - - * * * * * - -But it was not alone the closing door that took the final words. -Frances--by the way she disappeared I knew it--had made a swift and -violent movement into the darkness that was as though she sprang. -She leaped upon that other woman who stood back among the shadows, -for, simultaneously with the clipping of the sentence, another sound -was also stopped--stifled, smothered, choked back lest I should also -hear it. Yet not in time. I heard it--a hard and horrible sound that -explained both the leap and the abrupt cessation of the whispered words. - -I stood irresolute a moment. It was as though all the bones had been -withdrawn from my body, so that I must sink and fall. That sound -plucked them out, and plucked out my self-possession with them. I am -not sure that it was a sound I had ever heard before, though children, -I half remembered, made it sometimes in blind rages when they knew -not what they did. In a grown-up person certainly I had never known -it. I associated it with animals rather--horribly. In the history of -the world, no doubt, it has been common enough, alas, but fortunately -to-day there can be but few who know it, or would recognise it even -when heard. The bones shot back into my body the same instant, but -red-hot and burning; the brief instant of irresolution passed; I was -torn between the desire to break down the door and enter, and to -run--run for my life from a thing I dared not face. - -Out of the horrid tumult, then, I adopted neither course. Without -reflection, certainly without analysis of what was best to do for -my sister, myself or Mabel, I took up my action where it had been -interrupted. I turned from the awful door and moved slowly towards the -head of the stairs. But that dreadful little sound came with me. I -believe my own teeth chattered. It seemed all over the house--in the -empty halls that opened into the long passages towards the music-room, -and even in the grounds outside the building. From the lawns and barren -garden, from the ugly terraces themselves, it rose into the night, and -behind it came a curious driving sound, incomplete, unfinished, as of -wailing for deliverance, the wailing of desperate souls in anguish, the -dull and dry beseeching of hopeless spirits in prison. - -That I could have taken the little sound from the bedroom where I -actually heard it, and spread it thus over the entire house and -grounds, is evidence, perhaps, of the state my nerves were in. The -wailing assuredly was in my mind alone. But the longer I hesitated, the -more difficult became my task, and, gathering up my dressing-gown, -lest I should trip in the darkness, I passed slowly down the staircase -into the hall below. I carried neither candle nor matches; every switch -in room and corridor was known to me. The covering of darkness was -indeed rather comforting than otherwise, for if it prevented seeing, -it also prevented being seen. The heavy pistol, knocking against my -thigh as I moved, made me feel I was carrying a child's toy, foolishly. -I experienced in every nerve that primitive vast dread which is the -Thrill of darkness. Merely the child in me was comforted by that pistol. - -The night was not entirely black; the iron bars across the glass -front door were visible, and, equally, I discerned the big, stiff -wooden chairs in the hall, the gaping fireplace, the upright pillars -supporting the staircase, the round table in the centre with its books -and flower-vases, and the basket that held visitors' cards. There, too, -was the stick and umbrella stand and the shelf with railway guides, -directory, and telegraph forms. Clocks ticked everywhere with sounds -like quiet footfalls. Light fell here and there in patches from the -floor above. I stood a moment in the hall, letting my eyes grow more -accustomed to the gloom, while deciding on a plan of search. I made -out the ivy trailing outside over one of the big windows ... and then -the tall clock by the front door made a grating noise deep down inside -its body--it was the Presentation clock, large and hideous, given by -the congregation of his church--and, dreading the booming strike it -seemed to threaten, I made a quick decision. If others beside myself -were about in the night, the sound of that striking might cover their -approach. - -So I tiptoed to the right, where the passage led towards the -dining-room. In the other direction were the morning- and drawing-room, -both little used, and various other rooms beyond that had been _his_, -generally now kept locked. I thought of my sister, waiting upstairs with -that frightened woman for my return. I went quickly, yet stealthily. - -And, to my surprise, the door of the dining-room was open. It had been -opened. I paused on the threshold, staring about me. I think I fully -expected to see a figure blocked in the shadows against the heavy -sideboard, or looming on the other side beneath his portrait. But the -room was empty; I _felt_ it empty. Through the wide bow-windows that -gave on to the verandah came an uncertain glimmer that even shone -reflected in the polished surface of the dinner-table, and again I -perceived the stiff outline of chairs, waiting tenantless all round it, -two larger ones with high carved backs at either end. The monkey-trees -on the upper terrace, too, were visible outside against the sky, and -the solemn crests of the wellingtonias on the terraces below. The -enormous clock on the mantelpiece ticked very slowly, as though its -machinery were running down, and I made out the pale round patch that -was its face. Resisting my first inclination to turn the lights up--my -hand had gone so far as to finger the friendly knob--I crossed the room -so carefully that no single board creaked, nor a single chair, as I -rested a hand upon its back, moved on the parquet flooring. I turned -neither to the right nor left, nor did I once look back. - -I went towards the long corridor, filled with priceless _objets d'art_, -that led through various antechambers into the spacious music-room, -and only at the mouth of this corridor did I next halt a moment in -uncertainty. For this long corridor, lit faintly by high windows -on the left from the verandah, was very narrow, owing to the mass -of shelves and fancy tables it contained. It was not that I feared -to knock over precious things as I went, but that, because of its -ungenerous width, there would be no room to pass another person--if I -met one. And the certainty had suddenly come upon me that somewhere -in this corridor another person at this actual moment stood. Here, -somehow, amid all this dead atmosphere of furniture and impersonal -emptiness, lay the hint of a living human presence; and with such -conviction did it come upon me, that my hand instinctively gripped the -pistol in my pocket before I could even think. Either some one had -passed along this corridor just before me, or some one lay waiting -at its farther end--withdrawn or flattened into one of the little -recesses, to let me pass. It was the person who had opened the door. -And the blood ran from my heart as I realised it. - -It was not courage that sent me on, but rather a strong impulsion from -behind that made it impossible to retreat: the feeling that a throng -pressed at my back, drawing nearer and nearer; that I was already half -surrounded, swept, dragged, coaxed into a vast prison-house where there -was wailing and gnashing of teeth, where their worm dieth not and their -fire is not quenched. I can neither explain nor justify the storm of -irrational emotion that swept me as I stood in that moment, staring -down the length of the silent corridor towards the music-room at the -far end, I can only repeat that no personal bravery sent me down it, -but that the negative emotion of fear was swamped in this vast sea of -pity and commiseration for others that surged upon me. - -My senses, at least, were no whit confused; if anything, my brain -registered impressions with keener accuracy than usual. I noticed, for -instance, that the two swinging doors of baize that cut the corridor -into definite lengths, making little rooms of the spaces between them, -were both wide open--in the dim light no mean achievement. Also that -the fronds of a palm plant, some ten feet in front of me, still stirred -gently from the air of some one who had recently gone past them. The -long green leaves waved to and fro like hands. Then I went stealthily -forward down the narrow space, proud even that I had this command of -myself, and so carefully that my feet made no sound upon the Japanese -matting on the floor. - -It was a journey that seemed timeless. I have no idea how fast or slow -I went, but I remember that I deliberately examined articles on each -side of me, peering with particular closeness into the recesses of wall -and window. I passed the first baize doors, and the passage beyond -them widened out to hold shelves of books; there were sofas and small -reading-tables against the wall. It narrowed again presently, as I -entered the second stretch. The windows here were higher and smaller, -and marble statuettes of classical subjects lined the walls, watching -me like figures of the dead. Their white and shining faces saw me, yet -made no sign. I passed next between the second baize doors. They, too, -had been fastened back with hooks against the wall. Thus all doors were -open--had been recently opened. - -And so, at length, I found myself in the final widening of the corridor -which formed an ante-chamber to the music-room itself. It had been -used formerly to hold the overflow of meetings. No door separated it -from the great hall beyond, but heavy curtains hung usually to close -it off, and these curtains were invariably drawn. They now stood wide. -And here--I can merely state the impression that came upon me--I knew -myself at last surrounded. The throng that pressed behind me, also -surged in front: facing me in the big room, and waiting for my entry, -stood a multitude; on either side of me, in the very air above my -head, the vast assemblage paused upon my coming. The pause, however, -was momentary, for instantly the deep, tumultuous movement was resumed -that yet was silent as a cavern underground. I felt the agony that -was in it, the passionate striving, the awful struggle to escape. The -semi-darkness held beseeching faces that fought to press themselves -upon my vision, yearning yet hopeless eyes, lips scorched and dry, -mouths that opened to implore but found no craved delivery in actual -words, and a fury of misery and hate that made the life in me stop -dead, frozen by the horror of vain pity. That intolerable, vain Hope -was everywhere. - -And the multitude, it came to me, was not a single multitude, but many; -for, as soon as one huge division pressed too close upon the edge of -escape, it was dragged back by another and prevented. The wild host was -divided against itself. Here dwelt the Shadow I had 'imagined' weeks -ago, and in it struggled armies of lost souls as in the depths of some -bottomless pit whence there is no escape. The layers mingled, fighting -against themselves in endless torture. It was in this great Shadow I -had clairvoyantly seen Mabel, but about its fearful mouth, I now was -certain, hovered another figure of darkness, a figure who sought to -keep it in existence, since to her thought were due those lampless -depths of woe without escape.... Towards me the multitudes now surged. - - * * * * * - -It was a sound and a movement that brought me back into myself. The -great clock at the farther end of the room just then struck the hour -of three. That was the sound. And the movement--? I was aware that a -figure was passing across the distant centre of the floor. Instantly I -dropped back into the arena of my little human terror. My hand again -clutched stupidly at the pistol butt. I drew back into the folds of the -heavy curtain. And the figure advanced. - -I remember every detail. At first it seemed to me enormous--this -advancing shadow--far beyond human scale; but as it came nearer, I -measured it, though not consciously, by the organ pipes that gleamed in -faint colours, just above its gradual soft approach. It passed them, -already half-way across the great room. I saw then that its stature was -that of ordinary men. The prolonged booming of the clock died away. I -heard the footfall, shuffling upon the polished boards. I heard another -sound--a voice, low and monotonous, droning as in prayer. The figure -was speaking. It was a woman. And she carried in both hands before her -a small object that faintly shimmered--a glass of water. And then I -recognised her. - -There was still an instant's time before she reached me, and I made use -of it. I shrank back, flattening myself against the wall. Her voice -ceased a moment, as she turned and carefully drew the curtains together -behind her, closing them with one hand. Oblivious of my presence, -though she actually touched my dressing-gown with the hand that pulled -the cords, she resumed her dreadful, solemn march, disappearing at -length down the long vista of the corridor like a shadow. But as she -passed me, her voice began again, so that I heard each word distinctly -as she uttered it, her head aloft, her figure upright, as though she -moved at the head of a procession: - -'A drop of cold water, given in His name, shall moisten their burning -tongues.' - -It was repeated monotonously over and over again, droning down into the -distance as she went, until at length both voice and figure faded into -the shadows at the farther end. - -For a time, I have no means of measuring precisely, I stood in that -dark corner, pressing my back against the wall, and would have drawn -the curtains down to hide me had I dared to stretch an arm out. The -dread that presently the woman would return passed gradually away. I -realised that the air had emptied, the crowd her presence had stirred -into activity had retreated; I was alone in the gloomy under-spaces of -the odious building.... Then I remembered suddenly again the terrified -women waiting for me on that upper landing; and realised that my skin -was wet and freezing cold after a profuse perspiration. I prepared to -retrace my steps. I remember the effort it cost me to leave the support -of the wall and covering darkness of my corner, and step out into the -grey light of the corridor. At first I sidled, then, finding this -mode of walking impossible, turned my face boldly and walked quickly, -regardless that my dressing-gown set the precious objects shaking as I -passed. A wind that sighed mournfully against the high, small windows -seemed to have got inside the corridor as well; it felt so cold; and -every moment I dreaded to see the outline of the woman's figure as she -waited in recess or angle against the wall for me to pass. - -Was there another thing I dreaded even more? I cannot say. I only know -that the first baize doors had swung-to behind me, and the second ones -were close at hand, when the great dim thunder caught me, pouring up -with prodigious volume so that it seemed to roll out from another -world. It shook the very bowels of the building. I was closer to it -than that other time, when it had followed me from the goblin garden. -There was strength and hardness in it, as of metal reverberation. Some -touch of numbness, almost of paralysis, must surely have been upon me -that I felt no actual terror, for I remember even turning and standing -still to hear it better. 'That is the Noise,' my thought ran stupidly, -and I think I whispered it aloud; '_the Doors are closing_.' - -The wind outside against the windows was audible, so it cannot have -been really loud, yet to me it was the biggest, deepest sound I have -ever heard, but so far away, with such awful remoteness in it, that I -had to doubt my own ears at the same time. It seemed underground--the -rumbling of earthquake gates that shut remorselessly within the rocky -Earth--stupendous ultimate thunder. _They_ were shut off from help -again. The doors had closed. - -I felt a storm of pity, an agony of bitter, futile hate sweep through -me. My memory of the figure changed then. The Woman with the glass of -cooling water had stepped down from Heaven; but the Man--or was it -Men?--who smeared this terrible layer of belief and Thought upon the -world!... - -I crossed the dining-room--it was fancy, of course, that held my -eyes from glancing at the portrait for fear I should see it smiling -approval--and so finally reached the hall, where the light from the -floor above seemed now quite bright in comparison. All the doors I -closed carefully behind me; but first I had to open them. The woman had -closed every one. Up the stairs, then, I actually ran, two steps at a -time. My sister was standing outside Mabel's door. By her face I knew -that she had also heard. There was no need to ask. I quickly made my -mind up. - -'There's nothing,' I said, and detailed briefly my tour of search. 'All -is quiet and undisturbed downstairs.' May God forgive me! - -She beckoned to me, closing the door softly behind her. My heart beat -violently a moment, then stood still. - -'Mabel,' she said aloud. - -It was like the sentence of a judge, that one short word. - -I tried to push past her and go in, but she stopped me with her arm. -She was wholly mistress of herself, I saw. - -'Hush!' she said in a lower voice. 'I've got her round again with -brandy. She's sleeping quietly now. We won't disturb her.' - -She drew me farther out into the landing, and as she did so, the clock -in the hall below struck half-past three. I had stood, then, thirty -minutes in the corridor below. 'You've been such a long time,' she said -simply. 'I feared for you,' and she took my hand in her own that was -cold and clammy. - - -VIII - -And then, while that dreadful house stood listening about us in the -early hours of this chill morning upon the edge of winter, she told -me, with laconic brevity, things about Mabel that I heard as from a -distance. There was nothing so unusual or tremendous in the short -recital, nothing indeed I might not have already guessed for myself. It -was the time and scene, the inference, too, that made it so afflicting: -the idea that Mabel believed herself so utterly and hopelessly -lost--beyond recovery _damned_. - -That she had loved him with so passionate a devotion that she had given -her soul into his keeping, this certainly I had not divined--probably -because I had never thought about it one way or the other. He had -'converted' her, I knew, but that she had subscribed whole-heartedly -to that most cruel and ugly of his dogmas--this was new to me, and -came with a certain shock as I heard it. In love, of course, the -weaker nature is receptive to all manner of suggestion. This man had -'suggested' his pet brimstone lake so vividly that she had listened -and believed. He had frightened her into heaven; and his heaven, a -definite locality in the skies, had its foretaste here on earth in -miniature--The Towers, house and garden. Into his dolorous scheme of a -handful saved and millions damned, his enclosure, as it were, of sheep -and goats, he had swept her before she was aware of it. Her mind no -longer was her own. And it was Mrs. Marsh who kept the thought-stream -open, though tempered, as she deemed, with that touch of craven, -superstitious mercy. - -But what I found it difficult to understand, and still more difficult -to accept, was that, during her year abroad, she had been so haunted -with a secret dread of that hideous after-death that she had finally -revolted and tried to recover that clearer state of mind she had -enjoyed before the religious bully had stunned her--yet had tried -in vain. She had returned to The Towers to find her soul again, only -to realise that it was lost eternally. The cleaner state of mind lay -then beyond recovery. In the reaction that followed the removal of his -terrible 'suggestion,' she felt the crumbling of all that he had taught -her, but searched in vain for the peace and beauty his teachings had -destroyed. Nothing came to replace these. She was empty, desolate, -hopeless; craving her former joy and carelessness, she found only hate -and diabolical calculation. This man, whom she had loved to the point -of losing her soul for him, had bequeathed to her one black and fiery -thing--the terror of the damned. His thinking wrapped her in this iron -garment that held her fast. - -All this Frances told me, far more briefly than I have here repeated -it. In her eyes and gestures and laconic sentences lay the conviction -of great beating issues and of menacing drama my own description fails -to recapture. It was all so incongruous and remote from the world I -lived in that more than once a smile, though a smile of pity, fluttered -to my lips; but a glimpse of my face in the mirror showed rather the -leer of a grimace. There was no real laughter anywhere that night. -The entire adventure seemed so incredible, here, in this twentieth -century--but yet delusion, that feeble word, did not occur once in -the comments my mind suggested though did not utter. I remembered -that forbidding Shadow too; my sister's water-colours; the vanished -personality of our hostess; the inexplicable, thundering Noise, and the -figure of Mrs. Marsh in her midnight ritual that was so childish yet so -horrible. I shivered in spite of my own 'emancipated' cast of mind. - -'There _is_ no Mabel,' were the words with which my sister sent another -shower of ice down my spine. 'He has killed her in his lake of fire and -brimstone.' - -I stared at her blankly, as in a nightmare where nothing true or -possible ever happened. - -'He killed her in his lake of fire and brimstone,' she repeated more -faintly. - -A desperate effort was in me to say the strong, sensible thing which -should destroy the oppressive horror that grew so stiflingly about us -both, but again the mirror drew the attempted smile into the merest -grin, betraying the distortion that was everywhere in the place. - -'You mean,' I stammered beneath my breath, 'that her faith has gone, -but that the terror has remained?' I asked it, dully groping. I moved -out of the line of the reflection in the glass. - -She bowed her head as though beneath a weight; her skin was the pallor -of grey ashes. - -'You mean,' I said louder, 'that she has lost her--mind?' - -'She is terror incarnate,' was the whispered answer. 'Mabel has lost -her soul. Her soul is--there!' She pointed horribly below. 'She is -seeking it...?' - -The word 'soul' stung me into something of my normal self again. - -'But her terror, poor thing, is not--cannot be--transferable to _us_!' -I exclaimed more vehemently. 'It certainly is not convertible into -feelings, sights and--even sounds!' - -She interrupted me quickly, almost impatiently, speaking with that -conviction by which she conquered me so easily that night. - -'It is her terror that has revived "the Others." It has brought her -into touch with them. They are loose and driving after her. Her -efforts at resistance have given them also hope--that escape, after -all, _is_ possible. Day and night they strive.' - -'Escape! Others!' The anger fast rising in me dropped of its own accord -at the moment of birth. It shrank into a shuddering beyond my control. -In that moment, I think, I would have believed in the possibility of -anything and everything she might tell me. To argue or contradict -seemed equally futile. - -'His strong belief, as also the beliefs of others who have preceded -him,' she replied, so sure of herself that I actually turned to look -over my shoulder, 'have left their shadow like a thick deposit over -the house and grounds. To them, poor souls imprisoned by thought, it -was hopeless as granite walls--until her resistance, her effort to -dissipate it--let in light. Now, in their thousands, they are flocking -to this little light, seeking escape. Her own escape, don't you see, -may release them all!' - -It took my breath away. Had his predecessors, former occupants of this -house, also preached damnation of all the world but their own exclusive -sect? Was this the explanation of her obscure talk of 'layers,' each -striving against the other for domination? And if men are spirits, -and these spirits survive, could strong Thought thus determine their -condition even afterwards? - -So many questions flooded into me that I selected no one of them, but -stared in uncomfortable silence, bewildered, out of my depth, and -acutely, painfully distressed. There was so odd a mixture of possible -truth and incredible, unacceptable explanation in it all; so much -confirmed, yet so much left darker than before. What she said did, -indeed, offer a quasi-interpretation of my own series of abominable -sensations--strife, agony, pity, hate, escape--but so far-fetched that -only the deep conviction in her voice and attitude made it tolerable -for a second even. I found myself in a curious state of mind. I could -neither think clearly nor say a word to refute her amazing statements, -whispered there beside me in the shivering hours of the early morning -with only a wall between ourselves and--Mabel. Close behind her words -I remember this singular thing, however--that an atmosphere as of the -Inquisition seemed to rise and stir about the room, beating awful wings -of black above my head. - -Abruptly, then, a moment's common-sense returned to me. I faced her. - -'And the Noise?' I said aloud, more firmly, 'the roar of the closing -doors? We have _all_ heard that! Is that subjective too?' - -Frances looked sideways about her in a queer fashion that made my -flesh creep again. I spoke brusquely, almost angrily. I repeated the -question, and waited with anxiety for her reply. - -'What noise?' she asked, with the frank expression of an innocent -child. 'What closing doors?' - -But her face turned from grey to white, and I saw that drops of -perspiration glistened on her forehead. She caught at the back of -a chair to steady herself, then glanced about her again with that -sidelong look that made my blood run cold. I understood suddenly then. -She did not take in what I said. I knew now. She was listening--for -something else. - -And the discovery revived in me a far stronger emotion than any mere -desire for immediate explanation. Not only did I not insist upon an -answer, but I was actually terrified lest she _would_ answer. More, -I felt in me a terror lest I should be moved to describe my own -experiences below-stairs, thus increasing their reality and so the -reality of all. She might even explain them too! - -Still listening intently, she raised her head and looked me in the -eyes. Her lips opened to speak. The words came to me from a great -distance, it seemed, and her voice had a sound like a stone that drops -into a deep well, its fate though hidden, known. - -'We are in it with her, too, Bill. We are in it with her. Our -interpretations vary--because we are--in parts of it only. Mabel is in -it--_all_.' - -The desire for violence came over me. If only she would say a definite -thing in plain King's English! If only I could find it in me to give -utterance to what shouted so loud within me! If only--the same old -cry--something would happen! For all this elliptic talk that dazed my -mind left obscurity everywhere. Her atrocious meaning, none the less, -flashed through me, though vanishing before it wholly divulged itself. - -It brought a certain reaction with it. I found my tongue. Whether I -actually believed what I said is more than I can swear to; that it -seemed to me wise at the moment is all I remember. My mind was in a -state of obscure perception less than that of normal consciousness. - -'Yes, Frances, I believe that what you say is the truth, and that we -are in it with her'--I meant to say it with loud, hostile emphasis, -but instead I whispered it lest she should hear the trembling of my -voice--'and for that reason, my dear sister, we leave to-morrow, you -and I--to-day, rather, since it is long past midnight--we leave this -house of the damned. We go back to London.' - -Frances looked up, her face distraught almost beyond recognition. -But it was not my words that caused the tumult in her heart. It was -a sound--the sound she had been listening for--so faint I barely -caught it myself, and had she not pointed I could never have known -the direction whence it came. Small and terrible it rose again in the -stillness of the night, the sound of gnashing teeth. And behind it came -another--the tread of stealthy footsteps. Both were just outside the -door. - -The room swung round me for a second. My first instinct to prevent my -sister going out--she had dashed past me frantically to the door--gave -place to another when I saw the expression in her eyes. I followed her -lead instead; it was surer than my own. The pistol in my pocket swung -uselessly against my thigh. I was flustered beyond belief and ashamed -that I was so. - -'Keep close to me, Frances,' I said huskily, as the door swung wide and -a shaft of light fell upon a figure moving rapidly. Mabel was going -down the corridor. Beyond her, in the shadows on the staircase, a -second figure stood beckoning, scarcely visible. - -'Before they get her! Quick!' was screamed into my ears, and our arms -were about her in the same moment. It was a horrible scene. Not that -Mabel struggled in the least, but that she collapsed as we caught her -and fell with her dead weight, as of a corpse, limp, against us. And -her teeth began again. They continued, even beneath the hand that -Frances clapped upon her lips.... - -We carried her back into her own bedroom, where she lay down peacefully -enough. It was so soon over.... The rapidity of the whole thing robbed -it of reality almost. It had the swiftness of something remembered -rather than of something witnessed. She slept again so quickly that it -was almost as if we had caught her sleep-walking. I cannot say. I asked -no questions at the time; I have asked none since; and my help was -needed as little as the protection of my pistol. Frances was strangely -competent and collected.... I lingered for some time uselessly by the -door, till at length, looking up with a sigh, she made a sign for me to -go. - -'I shall wait in your room next door,' I whispered, 'till you come.' -But, though going out, I waited in the corridor instead, so as to hear -the faintest call for help. In that dark corridor upstairs I waited, -but not long. It may have been fifteen minutes when Frances reappeared, -locking the door softly behind her. Leaning over the banisters, I saw -her. - -'I'll go in again about six o'clock,' she whispered, 'as soon as it -gets light. She is sound asleep now. Please don't wait. If anything -happens I'll call--you might leave your door ajar, perhaps.' And she -came up, looking like a ghost. - -But I saw her first safely into bed, and the rest of the night I spent -in an armchair close to my opened door, listening for the slightest -sound. Soon after five o'clock I heard Frances fumbling with the key, -and, peering over the railing again, I waited till she reappeared and -went back into her own room. She closed her door. Evidently she was -satisfied that all was well. - -Then, and then only, did I go to bed myself, but not to sleep. I could -not get the scene out of my mind, especially that odious detail of it -which I hoped and believed my sister had not seen--the still, dark -figure of the housekeeper waiting on the stairs below--waiting, of -course, for Mabel. - - -IX - -It seems I became a mere spectator after that; my sister's lead was -so assured for one thing, and, for another, the responsibility of -leaving Mabel alone--Frances laid it bodily upon my shoulders--was a -little more than I cared about. Moreover, when we all three met later -in the day, things went on so exactly as before, so absolutely without -friction or distress, that to present a sudden, obvious excuse for -cutting our visit short seemed ill-judged. And on the lowest grounds it -would have been desertion. At any rate, it was beyond my powers, and -Frances was quite firm that _she_ must stay. We therefore did stay. -Things that happen in the night always seem exaggerated and distorted -when the sun shines brightly next morning; no one can reconstruct the -terror of a nightmare afterwards, nor comprehend why it seemed so -overwhelming at the time. - -I slept till ten o'clock, and when I rang for breakfast, a note from -my sister lay upon the tray, its message of counsel couched in a calm -and comforting strain. Mabel, she assured me, was herself again and -remembered nothing of what had happened; there was no need of any -violent measures; I was to treat her exactly as if I knew nothing. -'And, if you don't mind, Bill, let us leave the matter unmentioned -between ourselves as well. Discussion exaggerates; such things are best -not talked about. I'm sorry I disturbed you so unnecessarily; I was -stupidly excited. Please forget all the things I said at the moment.' -She had written 'nonsense' first instead of 'things,' then scratched -it out. She wished to convey that hysteria had been abroad in the -night, and I readily gulped the explanation down, though it could not -satisfy me in the smallest degree. - -There was another week of our visit still, and we stayed it out to the -end without disaster. My desire to leave at times became that frantic -thing, desire to escape; but I controlled it, kept silent, watched -and wondered. Nothing happened. As before, and everywhere, there was -no sequence of development, no connection between cause and effect; -and climax, none whatever. The thing swayed up and down, backwards -and forwards like a great loose curtain in the wind, and I could only -vaguely surmise what caused the draught or why there was a curtain at -all. A novelist might mould the queer material into coherent sequence -that would be interesting but could not be true. It remains, therefore, -not a story but a history. Nothing happened. - -Perhaps my intense dislike of the fall of darkness was due wholly -to my stirred imagination, and perhaps my anger when I learned that -Frances now occupied a bed in our hostess's room was unreasonable. -Nerves were unquestionably on edge. I was for ever on the look-out -for some event that should make escape imperative, but yet that never -presented itself. I slept lightly, left my door ajar to catch the -slightest sound, even made stealthy tours of the house below-stairs -while everybody dreamed in their beds. But I discovered nothing; the -doors were always locked; I neither saw the housekeeper again in -unreasonable times and places, nor heard a footstep in the passages -and halls. The Noise was never once repeated. That horrible, ultimate -thunder, my intensest dread of all, lay withdrawn into the abyss -whence it had twice arisen. And though in my thoughts it was sternly -denied existence, the great black reason for the fact afflicted me -unbelievably. Since Mabel's fruitless effort to escape, the Doors kept -closed remorselessly. She had failed; _they_ gave up hope. For this -was the explanation that haunted the region of my mind where feelings -stir and hint before they clothe themselves in actual language. Only I -firmly kept it there; it never knew expression. - -But, if my ears were open, my eyes were opened too, and it were idle -to pretend that I did not notice a hundred details that were capable -of sinister interpretation had I been weak enough to yield. Some -protective barrier had fallen into ruins round me, so that Terror -stalked behind the general collapse, feeling for me through all the -gaping fissures. Much of this, I admit, must have been merely the -elaboration of those sensations I had first vaguely felt, before -subsequent events and my talks with Frances had dramatised them into -living thoughts. I therefore leave them unmentioned in this history, -just as my mind left them unmentioned in that interminable final week. - -Our life went on precisely as before--Mabel unreal and outwardly so -still; Frances, secretive, anxious, tactful to the point of slyness, -and keen to save to the point of self-forgetfulness. There were the -same stupid meals, the same wearisome long evenings, the stifling -ugliness of house and grounds, the Shadow settling in so thickly that -it seemed almost a visible, tangible thing. I came to feel the only -friendly things in all this hostile, cruel place were the robins that -hopped boldly over the monstrous terraces and even up to the windows of -the unsightly house itself. The robins alone knew joy; they danced, -believing no evil thing was possible in all God's radiant world. -They believed in everybody; _their_ god's plan of life had no room -in it for hell, damnation and lakes of brimstone. I came to love the -little birds. Had Samuel Franklyn known them, he might have preached a -different sermon, bequeathing love in place of terror!... - -Most of my time I spent writing; but it was a pretence at best, and -rather a dangerous one besides. For it stirred the mind to production, -with the result that other things came pouring in as well. With -reading it was the same. In the end I found an aggressive, deliberate -resistance to be the only way of feasible defence. To walk far afield -was out of the question, for it meant leaving my sister too long alone, -so that my exercise was confined to nearer home. My saunters in the -grounds, however, never surprised the goblin garden again. It was close -at hand, but I seemed unable to get wholly into it. Too many things -assailed my mind for any one to hold exclusive possession, perhaps. - -Indeed, all the interpretations, all the 'layers,' to use my sister's -phrase, slipped in by turns and lodged there for a time. They came day -and night, and though my reason denied them entrance they held their -own as by a kind of squatters' right. They stirred moods already in -me, that is, and did not introduce entirely new ones; for every mind -conceals ancestral deposits that have been cultivated in turn along the -whole line of its descent. Any day a chance shower may cause this one -or that to blossom. Thus it came to me, at any rate. After darkness the -Inquisition paced the empty corridors and set up ghastly apparatus in -the dismal halls; and once, in the library, there swept over me that -easy and delicious conviction that by confessing my wickedness I could -resume it later, since Confession is expression, and expression brings -relief and leaves one ready to accumulate again. And in such mood I -felt bitter and unforgiving towards all others who thought differently. -Another time it was a Pagan thing that assaulted me--so trivial yet -oh, so significant at the time--when I dreamed that a herd of centaurs -rolled up with a great stamping of hoofs round the house to destroy it, -and then woke to hear the horses tramping across the field below the -lawns; they neighed ominously and their noisy panting was audible as if -it were just outside my windows. - -But the tree episode, I think, was the most curious of all--except, -perhaps, the incident with the children which I shall mention in a -moment--for its closeness to reality was so unforgettable. Outside the -east window of my room stood a giant wellingtonia on the lawn, its -head rising level with the upper sash. It grew some twenty feet away, -planted on the highest terrace, and I often saw it when closing my -curtains for the night, noticing how it drew its heavy skirts about -it, and how the light from other windows threw glimmering streaks and -patches that turned it into the semblance of a towering, solemn image. -It stood there then so strikingly, somehow like a great old-world idol, -that it claimed attention. Its appearance was curiously formidable. -Its branches rustled without visibly moving and it had a certain -portentous, forbidding air, so grand and dark and monstrous in the -night that I was always glad when my curtains shut it out. Yet, once in -bed, I had never thought about it one way or the other, and by day had -certainly never sought it out. - -One night, then, as I went to bed and closed this window against a -cutting easterly wind, I saw--that there were two of these trees. A -brother wellingtonia rose mysteriously beside it, equally huge, equally -towering, equally monstrous. The menacing pair of them faced me there -upon the lawn. But in this new arrival lay a strange suggestion that -frightened me before I could argue it away. Exact counterpart of its -giant companion, it revealed also that gross, odious quality that all -my sister's paintings held. I got the odd impression that the rest of -these trees, stretching away dimly in a troop over the farther lawns, -were similar, and that, led by this enormous pair, they had all moved -boldly closer to my windows. At the same moment a blind was drawn down -over an upper room; the second tree disappeared into the surrounding -darkness. It was, of course, this chance light that had brought it -into the field of vision, but when the black shutter dropped over it, -hiding it from view, the manner of its vanishing produced the queer -effect that it had slipped into its companion--almost that it had been -an emanation of the one I so disliked, and not really a tree at all! In -this way the garden turned vehicle for expressing what lay behind it -all!... - -The behaviour of the doors, the little, ordinary doors, seems scarcely -worth mention at all, their queer way of opening and shutting of their -own accord; for this was accountable in a hundred natural ways, and to -tell the truth, I never caught one in the act of moving. Indeed, only -after frequent repetitions did the detail force itself upon me, when, -having noticed one, I noticed all. It produced, however, the unpleasant -impression of a continual coming and going in the house, as though, -screened cleverly and purposely from actual sight, some one in the -building held constant invisible intercourse with--others. - -Upon detailed descriptions of these uncertain incidents I do not -venture, individually so trivial, but taken all together so impressive -and so insolent. But the episode of the children, mentioned above, was -different. And I give it because it showed how vividly the intuitive -child-mind received the impression--one impression, at any rate--of -what was in the air. It may be told in a very few words. I believe -they were the coachman's children, and that the man had been in Mr. -Franklyn's service; but of neither point am I quite positive. I heard -screaming in the rose-garden that runs along the stable walls--it -was one afternoon not far from the tea-hour--and on hurrying up I -found a little girl of nine or ten fastened with ropes to a rustic -seat, and two other children--boys, one about twelve and one much -younger--gathering sticks beneath the climbing rose-trees. The girl -was white and frightened, but the others were laughing and talking -among themselves so busily while they picked that they did not notice -my abrupt arrival. Some game, I understood, was in progress, but a -game that had become too serious for the happiness of the prisoner, -for there was a fear in the girl's eyes that was a very genuine fear -indeed. I unfastened her at once; the ropes were so loosely and -clumsily knotted that they had not hurt her skin; it was not that which -made her pale. She collapsed a moment upon the bench, then picked up -her tiny skirts and dived away at full speed into the safety of the -stable-yard. There was no response to my brief comforting, but she ran -as though for her life, and I divined that some horrid boys' cruelty -had been afoot. It was probably mere thoughtlessness, as cruelty with -children usually is, but something in me decided to discover exactly -what it was. - -And the boys, not one whit alarmed at my intervention, merely laughed -shyly when I explained that their prisoner had escaped, and told me -frankly what their 'gime' had been. There was no vestige of shame in -them, nor any idea, of course, that they aped a monstrous reality. -That it was mere pretence was neither here nor there. To them, though -make-believe, it was a make-believe of something that was right and -natural and in no sense cruel. Grown-ups did it too. It was necessary -for her good. - -'We was going to burn her up, sir,' the older one informed me, -answering my 'Why?' with the explanation, 'Because she wouldn't believe -what we wanted 'er to believe.' - -And, game though it was, the feeling of reality about the little -episode was so arresting, so terrific in some way, that only with -difficulty did I confine my admonitions on this occasion to mere -words. The boys slunk off, frightened in their turn, yet not, I felt, -convinced that they had erred in principle. It was their inheritance. -They had breathed it in with the atmosphere of their bringing-up. They -would renew the salutary torture when they could--till she 'believed' -as they did. - -I went back into the house, afflicted with a passion of mingled pity -and distress impossible to describe, yet on my short way across the -garden was attacked by other moods in turn, each more real and bitter -than its predecessor. I received the whole series, as it were, at once. -I felt like a diver rising to the surface through layers of water at -different temperatures, though here the natural order was reversed, -and the cooler strata were uppermost, the heated ones below. Thus, I -was caught by the goblin touch of the willows that fringed the field; -by the sensuous curving of the twisted ash that formed a gateway to -the little grove of sapling oaks where fauns and satyrs lurked to play -in the moonlight before Pagan altars; and by the cloaking darkness, -next, of the copse of stunted pines, close gathered each to each, where -hooded figures stalked behind an awful cross. The episode with the -children seemed to have opened me like a knife. The whole Place rushed -at me. - -I suspect this synthesis of many moods produced in me that climax of -loathing and disgust which made me feel the limit of bearable emotion -had been reached, so that I made straight to find Frances in order to -convince her that at any rate _I_ must leave. For, although this was -our last day in the house, and we had arranged to go next day, the -dread was in me that she would still find some persuasive reason for -staying on. And an unexpected incident then made my dread unnecessary. -The front door was open and a cab stood in the drive; a tall, elderly -man was gravely talking in the hall with the parlour-maid we called the -Grenadier. He held a piece of paper in his hand. 'I have called to see -the house,' I heard him say, as I ran up the stairs to Frances, who was -peering like an inquisitive child over the banisters.... - -'Yes,' she told me with a sigh, I know not whether of resignation -or relief, 'the house is to be let or sold. Mabel has decided. Some -Society or other, I believe----' - -I was overjoyed: this made our leaving right and possible. 'You never -told me, Frances!' - -'Mabel only heard of it a few days ago. She told me herself this -morning. It is a chance, she says. Alone she cannot get it "straight."' - -'Defeat?' I asked, watching her closely. - -'She thinks she has found a way out. It's not a family, you see, it's a -Society, a sort of Community--they go in for thought----' - -'A Community!' I gasped. 'You mean religious?' - -She shook her head. 'Not exactly,' she said smiling, 'but some kind of -association of men and women who want a headquarters in the country--a -place where they can write and meditate--_think_--mature their plans -and all the rest--I don't know exactly what.' - -'Utopian dreamers?' I asked, yet feeling an immense relief come over -me as I heard. But I asked in ignorance, not cynically. Frances would -know. She knew all this kind of thing. - -'No, not that exactly,' she smiled. 'Their teachings are grand and -simple--old as the world too, really--the basis of every religion -before men's mind perverted them with their manufactured creeds----' - -Footsteps on the stairs, and the sound of voices, interrupted our odd -impromptu conversation, as the Grenadier came up, followed by the -tall, grave gentleman who was being shown over the house. My sister -drew me along the corridor towards her room, where she went in and -closed the door behind me, yet not before I had stolen a good look at -the caller--long enough, at least, for his face and general appearance -to have made a definite impression on me. For something strong and -peaceful emanated from his presence; he moved with such quiet dignity; -the glance of his eyes was so steady and reassuring, that my mind -labelled him instantly as a type of man one would turn to in an -emergency and not be disappointed. I had seen him but for a passing -moment, but I had seen him twice, and the way he walked down the -passage, looking competently about him, conveyed the same impression -as when I saw him standing at the door--fearless, tolerant, wise. 'A -sincere and kindly character,' I judged instantly, 'a man whom some big -kind of love has trained in sweetness towards the world; no hate in him -anywhere.' A great deal, no doubt, to read in so brief a glance! Yet -his voice confirmed my intuition, a deep and very gentle voice, great -firmness in it too. - -'Have I become suddenly sensitive to people's atmospheres in this -extraordinary fashion?' I asked myself, smiling, as I stood in the room -and heard the door close behind me. 'Have I developed some clairvoyant -faculty here?' At any other time I should have mocked. - -And I sat down and faced my sister, feeling strangely comforted and at -peace for the first time since I had stepped beneath The Towers' roof a -month ago. Frances, I then saw, was smiling a little as she watched me. - -'You know him?' I asked. - -'You felt it too?' was her question in reply. 'No,' she added, 'I don't -know him--beyond the fact that he is a leader in the Movement and has -devoted years and money to its objects. Mabel felt the same thing in -him that you have felt--and jumped at it.' - -'But you've seen him before?' I urged, for the certainty was in me that -he was no stranger to her. - -She shook her head. 'He called one day early this week, when you were -out. Mabel saw him. I believe----' she hesitated a moment, as though -expecting me to stop her with my usual impatience of such subjects--'I -believe he has explained everything to her--the beliefs he embodies, -she declares, are her salvation--might be, rather, if she could adopt -them.' - -'Conversion again!' For I remembered her riches, and how gladly a -Society would gobble them. - -'The layers I told you about,' she continued calmly, shrugging her -shoulders slightly--'the deposits that are left behind by strong -thinking and _real_ belief--but especially by ugly, hateful belief, -because, you see--there's more vital passion in that sort----' - -'Frances, I don't understand a bit,' I said out loud, but said it a -little humbly, for the impression the man had left was still strong -upon me and I was grateful for the steady sense of peace and comfort he -had somehow introduced. The horrors had been so dreadful. My nerves, -doubtless, were more than a little overstrained. Absurd as it must -sound, I classed him in my mind with the robins, the happy, confiding -robins who believed in everybody and thought no evil! I laughed a -moment at my ridiculous idea, and my sister, encouraged by this sign of -patience in me, continued more fluently. - -'Of course you don't understand, Bill? Why should you? You've never -thought about such things. Needing no creed yourself, you think all -creeds are rubbish.' - -'I'm open to conviction--I'm tolerant,' I interrupted. - -'You're as narrow as Sam Franklyn, and as crammed with prejudice,' she -answered, knowing that she had me at her mercy. - -'Then, pray, what may be his, or his Society's beliefs?' I asked, -feeling no desire to argue, 'and how are they going to prove your -Mabel's salvation? Can they bring beauty into all this aggressive hate -and ugliness?' - -'Certain hope and peace,' she said, 'that peace which is understanding, -and that understanding which explains _all_ creeds and therefore -tolerates them.' - -'Toleration! The one word a religious man loathes above all others! His -pet word is damnation----' - -'Tolerates them,' she repeated patiently, unperturbed by my explosion, -'because it includes them all.' - -'Fine, if true,' I admitted, 'very fine. But how, pray, does it include -them all?' - -'Because the key-word, the motto, of their Society is, "There is -no religion higher than Truth," and it has no single dogma of any -kind. Above all,' she went on, 'because it claims that no individual -can be "lost." It teaches universal salvation. To damn outsiders is -uncivilised, childish, impure. Some take longer than others--it's -according to the way they think and live--but all find peace, through -development, in the end. What the creeds call a hopeless soul, it -regards as a soul having further to go. There is no damnation----' - -'Well, well,' I exclaimed, feeling that she rode her hobby-horse too -wildly, too roughly over me, 'but what is the bearing of all this upon -this dreadful place, and upon Mabel? I'll admit that there is this -atmosphere--this--er--inexplicable horror in the house and grounds, and -that if not of damnation exactly, it is certainly damnable. I'm not too -prejudiced to deny _that_, for I've felt it myself.' - -To my relief she was brief. She made her statement, leaving me to take -it or reject it as I would. - -'The thought and belief its former occupants--have left behind. For -there has been coincidence here, a coincidence that must be rare. The -site on which this modern house now stands was Roman, before that -Early Britain, with burial mounds, before that again, Druid--the Druid -stones still lie in that copse below the field, the Tumuli among the -ilexes behind the drive. The older building Sam Franklyn altered and -practically pulled down was a monastery; he changed the chapel into a -meeting hall, which is now the music room; but, before he came here, -the house was occupied by Manetti, a violent Catholic without tolerance -or vision; and in the interval between these two, Julius Weinbaum had -it, Hebrew of most rigid orthodox type imaginable--so they all have -left their----' - -'Even so,' I repeated, yet interested to hear the rest, 'what of it?' - -'Simply this,' said Frances with conviction, 'that each in turn has -left his layer of concentrated thinking and belief behind him; because -each believed intensely, absolutely, beyond the least weakening of any -doubt--the kind of strong belief and thinking that is rare anywhere -to-day, the kind that wills, impregnates objects, saturates the -atmosphere, haunts, in a word. And each, believing he was utterly and -finally right, damned with equally positive conviction the rest of the -world. One and all preached that implicitly if not explicitly. It's -the root of every creed. Last of the bigoted, grim series came Samuel -Franklyn.' - -I listened in amazement that increased as she went on. Up to this point -her explanation was so admirable. It was, indeed, a pretty study in -psychology if it were true. - -'Then why does nothing ever happen?' I enquired mildly. 'A place so -thickly haunted ought to produce a crop of no ordinary results!' - -'There lies the proof,' she went on in a lowered voice, 'the proof -of the horror and the ugly reality. The thought and belief of each -occupant in turn kept all the others under. They gave no sign of life -at the time. But the results of thinking never die. They crop out again -the moment there's an opening. And, with the return of Mabel in her -negative state, believing nothing positive herself, the place for the -first time found itself free to reproduce its buried stores. Damnation, -hell-fire, and the rest--the most permanent and vital thought of all -those creeds, since it was applied to the majority of the world--broke -loose again, for there was no restraint to hold it back. Each sought -to obtain its former supremacy. None conquered. There results a -pandemonium of hate and fear, of striving to escape, of agonised, -bitter warring to find safety, peace--salvation. The place is saturated -by that appalling stream of thinking--the terror of the damned. It -concentrated upon Mabel, whose negative attitude furnished the channel -of deliverance. You and I, according to our sympathy with her, were -similarly involved. Nothing happened, because no one layer could ever -gain the supremacy.' - -I was so interested--I dare not say amused--that I stared in silence -while she paused a moment, afraid that she would draw rein and end the -fairy tale too soon. - -'The beliefs of this man, of his Society rather, vigorously thought and -therefore vigorously given out here, will put the whole place straight. -It will act as a solvent. These vitriolic layers actively denied, will -fuse and disappear in the stream of gentle, tolerant sympathy which is -love. For each member, worthy of the name, loves the world, and all -creeds go into the melting-pot; Mabel, too, if she joins them out of -real conviction, will find salvation----' - -'Thinking, I know, is of the first importance,' I objected, 'but don't -you, perhaps, exaggerate the power of feeling and emotion which in -religion are _au fond_ always hysterical?' - -'What _is_ the world,' she told me, 'but thinking and feeling? An -individual's world is entirely what that individual thinks and -believes--interpretation. There is no other. And unless he really -thinks and really believes, he has no permanent world at all. I grant -that few people think, and still fewer believe, and that most take -ready-made suits and make them do. Only the strong make their own -things; the lesser fry, Mabel among them, are merely swept up into what -has been manufactured for them. They get along somehow. You and I have -made for ourselves, Mabel has not. She is a nonentity, and when her -belief is taken from her, she goes with it.' - -It was not in me just then to criticise the evasion, or pick out the -sophistry from the truth. I merely waited for her to continue. - -'None of us have Truth, my dear Frances,' I ventured presently, seeing -that she kept silent. - -'Precisely,' she answered, 'but most of us have beliefs. And what one -believes and thinks affects the world at large. Consider the legacy of -hatred and cruelty involved in the doctrines men have built into their -creeds where the _sine qua non_ of salvation is absolute acceptance of -one particular set of views or else perishing everlastingly--for only -by repudiating history can they disavow it----' - -'You're not quite accurate,' I put in. 'Not all the creeds teach -damnation, do they? Franklyn did, of course, but the others are a bit -modernised now surely?' - -'Trying to get out of it,' she admitted, 'perhaps they are, but -damnation of unbelievers--of most of the world, that is--is their -rather favourite idea if you talk with them.' - -'I never have.' - -She smiled. 'But I have,' she said significantly, 'So, if you consider -what the various occupants of this house have so strongly held and -thought and believed, you need not be surprised that the influence -they have left behind them should be a dark and dreadful legacy. For -thought, you know, does leave----' - -The opening of the door, to my great relief, interrupted her, as the -Grenadier led in the visitor to see the room. He bowed to both of us -with a brief word of apology, looked round him, and withdrew, and with -his departure the conversation between us came naturally to an end. I -followed him out. Neither of us in any case, I think, cared to argue -further. - - * * * * * - -And, so far as I am aware, the curious history of The Towers ends -here too. There was no climax in the story sense. Nothing ever really -happened. We left next morning for London. I only know that the Society -in question took the house and have since occupied it to their entire -satisfaction, and that Mabel, who became a member shortly afterwards, -now stays there frequently when in need of repose from the arduous and -unselfish labours she took upon herself under its aegis. She dined with -us only the other night, here in our tiny Chelsea flat, and a jollier, -saner, more interesting and happy guest I could hardly wish for. She -was vital--in the best sense; the lay-figure had come to life. I found -it difficult to believe she was the same woman whose fearful effigy -had floated down those dreary corridors and almost disappeared in the -depths of that atrocious Shadow. - -What her beliefs were now I was wise enough to leave unquestioned, -and Frances, to my great relief, kept the conversation well away from -such inappropriate topics. It was clear, however, that the woman had -in herself some secret source of joy, that she was now an aggressive, -positive force, sure of herself, and apparently afraid of nothing in -heaven or hell. She radiated something very like hope and courage about -her, and talked as though the world were a glorious place and everybody -in it kind and beautiful. Her optimism was certainly infectious. - -The Towers were mentioned only in passing. The name of Marsh came -up--not _the_ Marsh, it so happened, but a name in some book that was -being discussed--and I was unable to restrain myself. Curiosity was too -strong. I threw out a casual enquiry Mabel could leave unanswered if -she wished. But there was no desire to avoid it. Her reply was frank -and smiling. - -'Would you believe it? She married,' Mabel told me, though obviously -surprised that I remembered the housekeeper at all; 'and is happy as -the day is long. She's found her right niche in life. A sergeant----' - -'The army!' I ejaculated. - -'Salvation Army,' she explained merrily. - -Frances exchanged a glance with me. I laughed too, for the information -took me by surprise. I cannot say why exactly, but I expected at least -to hear that the woman had met some dreadful end, not impossibly by -burning. - -'And The Towers, now called the Rest House,' Mabel chattered on, 'seems -to me the most peaceful and delightful spot in England----' - -'Really,' I said politely. - -'When I lived there in the old days--while you were there, perhaps, -though I won't be sure,' Mabel went on, 'the story got abroad that it -was haunted. Wasn't it odd? A less likely place for a ghost I've never -seen. Why, it had no atmosphere at all.' She said this to Frances, -glancing up at me with a smile that apparently had no hidden meaning. -'Did _you_ notice anything queer about it when you were there?' - -This was plainly addressed to me. - -'I found it--er--difficult to settle down to anything,' I said, after -an instant's hesitation. 'I couldn't work there----' - -'But I thought you wrote that wonderful book on the Deaf and Blind -while you stayed with me,' she asked innocently. - -I stammered a little. 'Oh no, not then. I only made a few notes--er--at -The Towers. My mind, oddly enough, refused to produce at all down -there. But--why do you ask? Did anything--was anything _supposed_ to -happen there?' - -She looked searchingly into my eyes a moment before she answered: - -'Not that I know of,' she said simply. - - - - -A DESCENT INTO EGYPT - - -I - -He was an accomplished, versatile man whom some called brilliant. -Behind his talents lay a wealth of material that right selection could -have lifted into genuine distinction. He did too many things, however, -to excel in one, for a restless curiosity kept him ever on the move. -George Isley was an able man. His short career in diplomacy proved it; -yet, when he abandoned this for travel and exploration, no one thought -it a pity. He would do big things in any line. He was merely finding -himself. - -Among the rolling stones of humanity a few acquire moss of considerable -value. They are not necessarily shiftless; they travel light; the -comfortable pockets in the game of life that attract the majority are -too small to retain them; they are in and out again in a moment. The -world says, 'What a pity! They stick to nothing!' but the fact is -that, like questing wild birds, they seek the nest they need. It is a -question of values. They judge swiftly, change their line of flight, -are gone, not even hearing the comment that they might have 'retired -with a pension.' - -And to this homeless, questing type George Isley certainly belonged. He -was by no means shiftless. He merely sought with insatiable yearning -that soft particular nest where he could settle down in permanently. -And to an accompaniment of sighs and regrets from his friends he found -it; he found it, however, not in the present, but by retiring from the -world 'without a pension,' unclothed with honours and distinctions. -He withdrew from the present and slipped softly back into a mighty -Past where he belonged. Why; how; obeying what strange instincts--this -remains unknown, deep secret of an inner life that found no -resting-place in modern things. Such instincts are not disclosable -in twentieth-century language, nor are the details of such a journey -properly describable at all. Except by the few--poets, prophets, -psychiatrists and the like--such experiences are dismissed with the -neat museum label--'queer.' - -So, equally, must the recorder of this experience share the honour of -that little label--he who by chance witnessed certain external and -visible signs of this inner and spiritual journey. There remains, -nevertheless, the amazing reality of the experience; and to the -recorder alone was some clue of interpretation possible, perhaps, -because in himself also lay the lure, though less imperative, of a -similar journey. At any rate the interpretation may be offered to the -handful who realise that trains and motors are not the only means of -travel left to our progressive race. - -In his younger days I knew George Isley intimately. I know him now. -But the George Isley I knew of old, the arresting personality with -whom I travelled, climbed, explored, is no longer with us. He is not -here. He disappeared--gradually--into the past. There is no George -Isley. And that such an individuality could vanish, while still his -outer semblance walks the familiar streets, normal apparently, and not -yet fifty in the number of his years, seems a tale, though difficult, -well worth the telling. For I witnessed the slow submergence. It was -very gradual. I cannot pretend to understand the entire significance -of it. There was something questionable and sinister in the business -that offered hints of astonishing possibilities. Were there a corps -of spiritual police, the matter might be partially cleared up, but -since none of the churches have yet organised anything effective -of this sort, one can only fall back upon variants of the blessed -'Mesopotamia,' and whisper of derangement, and the like. Such labels, -of course, explain as little as most other _cliches_ in life. That -well-groomed, soldierly figure strolling down Piccadilly, watching -the Races, dining out--there is no derangement there. The face is not -melancholy, the eye not wild; the gestures are quiet and the speech -controlled. Yet the eye is empty, the face expressionless. Vacancy -reigns there, provocative and significant. If not unduly noticeable, it -is because the majority in life neither expect, nor offer, more. - -At closer quarters you may think questioning things, or you may -think--nothing; probably the latter. You may wonder why something -continually expected does not make its appearance; and you may watch -for the evidence of 'personality' the general presentment of the man -has led you to expect. Disappointed, therefore, you may certainly be; -but I defy you to discover the smallest hint of mental disorder, and -of derangement or nervous affliction, absolutely nothing. Before long, -perhaps, you may feel you are talking with a dummy, some well-trained -automaton, a nonentity devoid of spontaneous life; and afterwards -you may find that memory fades rapidly away, as though no impression -of any kind has really been made at all. All this, yes; but nothing -pathological. A few may be stimulated by this startling discrepancy -between promise and performance, but most, accustomed to accept face -values, would say, 'a pleasant fellow, but nothing in him much ...' and -an hour later forget him altogether. - -For the truth is as you, perhaps, divined. You have been sitting beside -no one, you have been talking to, looking at, listening to--no one. -The intercourse has conveyed nothing that can waken human response -in you, good, bad or indifferent. There is no George Isley. And the -discovery, if you make it, will not even cause you to creep with the -uncanniness of the experience, because the exterior is so wholly -pleasing. George Isley to-day is a picture with no meaning in it that -charms merely by the harmonious colouring of an inoffensive subject. He -moves undiscovered in the little world of society to which he was born, -secure in the groove first habit has made comfortably automatic for -him. No one guesses; none, that is, but the few who knew him intimately -in early life. And his wandering existence has scattered these; they -have forgotten what he was. So perfect, indeed, is he in the manners -of the commonplace fashionable man, that no woman in his 'set' is -aware that he differs from the type she is accustomed to. He turns a -compliment with the accepted language of her text-book, motors, golfs -and gambles in the regulation manner of his particular world. He is an -admirable, perfect automaton. He is nothing. He is a human shell. - - -II - -The name of George Isley had been before the public for some years -when, after a considerable interval, we met again in a hotel in -Egypt, I for my health, he for I knew not what--at first. But I soon -discovered: archaeology and excavation had taken hold of him, though -he had gone so quietly about it that no one seemed to have heard. I -was not sure that he was glad to see me, for he had first withdrawn, -annoyed, it seemed, at being discovered, but later, as though after -consideration, had made tentative advances. He welcomed me with a -curious gesture of the entire body that seemed to shake himself free -from something that had made him forget my identity. There was pathos -somewhere in his attitude, almost as though he asked for sympathy. -'I've been out here, off and on, for the last three years,' he told -me, after describing something of what he had been doing. 'I find it -the most repaying hobby in the world. It leads to a reconstruction--an -imaginative reconstruction, of course, I mean--of an enormous thing the -world had entirely lost. A very gorgeous, stimulating hobby, believe -me, and a very entic--' he quickly changed the word--'exacting one -indeed.' - -I remember looking him up and down with astonishment. There was a -change in him, a lack; a note was missing in his enthusiasm, a colour -in the voice, a quality in his manner. The ingredients were not mixed -quite as of old. I did not bother him with questions, but I noted -thus at the very first a subtle alteration. Another facet of the man -presented itself. Something that had been independent and aggressive -was replaced by a certain emptiness that invited sympathy. Even in his -physical appearance the change was manifested--this odd suggestion of -lessening. I looked again more closely. Lessening was the word. He had -somehow dwindled. It was startling, vaguely unpleasant too. - -The entire subject, as usual, was at his finger-tips; he knew all the -important men; and had spent money freely on his hobby. I laughed, -reminding him of his remark that Egypt had no attractions for him, -owing to the organised advertisement of its somewhat theatrical charms. -Admitting his error with a gesture, he brushed the objection easily -aside. His manner, and a certain glow that rose about his atmosphere as -he answered, increased my first astonishment. His voice was significant -and suggestive. 'Come out with me,' he said in a low tone, 'and see -how little the tourists matter, how inappreciable the excavation is -compared to what remains to be done, how gigantic'--he emphasised -the word impressively--'the scope for discovery remains.' He made a -movement with his head and shoulders that conveyed a sense of the -prodigious, for he was of massive build, his cast of features stern, -and his eyes, set deep into the face, shone past me with a sombre gleam -in them I did not quite account for. It was the voice, however, that -brought the mystery in. It vibrated somewhere below the actual sound -of it. 'Egypt,' he continued--and so gravely that at first I made the -mistake of thinking he chose the curious words on purpose to produce -a theatrical effect--'that has enriched her blood with the pageant of -so many civilisations, that has devoured Persians, Greeks and Romans, -Saracens and Mamelukes, a dozen conquests and invasions besides,--what -can mere tourists or explorers matter to her? The excavators scratch -their skin and dig up mummies; and as for tourists!'--he laughed -contemptuously--'flies that settle for a moment on her covered face, to -vanish at the first signs of heat! Egypt is not even aware of them. The -real Egypt lies underground in darkness. Tourists must have light, to -be seen as well as to see. And the diggers----!' - -He paused, smiling with something between pity and contempt I did not -quite appreciate, for, personally, I felt a great respect for the -tireless excavators. And then he added, with a touch of feeling in -his tone as though he had a grievance against them, and had not also -'dug' himself, 'Men who uncover the dead, restore the temples, and -reconstruct a skeleton, thinking they have read its beating heart....' -He shrugged his great shoulders, and the rest of the sentence may -have been but the protest of a man in defence of his own hobby, but -that there seemed an undue earnestness and gravity about it that made -me wonder more than ever. He went on to speak of the strangeness of -the land as a mere ribbon of vegetation along the ancient river, the -rest all ruins, desert, sun-drenched wilderness of death, yet so -breakingly alive with wonder, power and a certain disquieting sense of -deathlessness. There seemed, for him, a revelation of unusual spiritual -kind in this land where the Past survived so potently. He spoke almost -as though it obliterated the Present. - -Indeed, the hint of something solemn behind his words made it difficult -for me to keep up the conversation, and the pause that presently came I -filled in with some word of questioning surprise, which yet, I think, -was chiefly in concurrence. I was aware of some big belief in him, -some enveloping emotion that escaped my grasp. Yet, though I did not -understand, his great mood swept me.... His voice lowered, then, as -he went on to mention temples, tombs and deities, details of his own -discoveries and of their effect upon him, but to this I listened with -half an ear, because in the unusual language he had first made use of -I detected this other thing that stirred my curiosity more--stirred it -uncomfortably. - -'Then the spell,' I asked, remembering the effect of Egypt upon myself -two years before, 'has worked upon you as upon most others, only with -greater power?' - -He looked hard at me a moment, signs of trouble showing themselves -faintly in his rugged, interesting face. I think he wanted to say more -than he could bring himself to confess. He hesitated. - -'I'm only glad,' he replied after a pause, 'it didn't get hold of me -earlier in life. It would have absorbed me. I should have lost all -other interests. Now,'--that curious look of helplessness, of asking -sympathy, flitted like a shadow through his eyes--'now that I'm on the -decline ... it matters less.' - -On the decline! I cannot imagine by what blundering I missed this -chance he never offered again; somehow or other the singular phrase -passed unnoticed at the moment, and only came upon me with its full -significance later when it was too awkward to refer to it. He tested my -readiness to help, to sympathise, to share his inner life. I missed the -clue. For, at the moment, a more practical consideration interested me -in his language. Being of those who regretted that he had not excelled -by devoting his powers to a single object, I shrugged my shoulders. -He caught my meaning instantly. Oh, he was glad to talk. He felt the -possibility of my sympathy underneath, I think. - -'No, no, you take me wrongly there,' he said with gravity. 'What -I mean--and I ought to know if any one does!--is that while most -countries give, others take away. Egypt changes you. No one can live -here and remain exactly what he was before.' - -This puzzled me. It startled, too, again. His manner was so earnest. -'And Egypt, you mean, is one of the countries that take away?' I asked. -The strange idea unsettled my thoughts a little. - -'First takes away from you,' he replied, 'but in the end takes _you_ -away. Some lands enrich you,' he went on, seeing that I listened, -'while others impoverish. From India, Greece, Italy, all ancient -lands, you return with memories you can use. From Egypt you return -with--nothing. Its splendour stupefies; it's useless. There is a change -in your inmost being, an emptiness, an unaccountable yearning, but you -find nothing that can fill the lack you're conscious of. Nothing comes -to replace what has gone. You have been drained.' - -I stared; but I nodded a general acquiescence. Of a sensitive, artistic -temperament this was certainly true, though by no means the superficial -and generally accepted verdict. The majority imagine that Egypt has -filled them to the brim. I took his deeper reading of the facts. I was -aware of an odd fascination in his idea. - -'Modern Egypt,' he continued, 'is, after all, but a trick of -civilisation,' and there was a kind of breathlessness in his measured -tone, 'but ancient Egypt lies waiting, hiding, underneath. Though dead, -she is amazingly alive. And you feel her touching you. She takes from -you. She enriches herself. You return from Egypt--less than you were -before.' - -What came over my mind is hard to say. Some touch of visionary -imagination burned its flaming path across my mind. I thought of some -old Grecian hero speaking of his delicious battle with the gods--battle -in which he knew he must be worsted, but yet in which he delighted -because at death his spirit would join their glorious company beyond -this world. I was aware, that is to say, of resignation as well as -resistance in him. He already felt the effortless peace which follows -upon long, unequal battling, as of a man who has fought the rapids with -a strain beyond his strength, then sinks back and goes with the awful -mass of water smoothly and indifferently--over the quiet fall. - -Yet, it was not so much his words which clothed picturesquely an -undeniable truth, as the force of conviction that drove behind them, -shrouding my mind with mystery and darkness. His eyes, so steadily -holding mine, were lit, I admit, yet they were calm and sane as those -of a doctor discussing the symptoms of that daily battle to which we -all finally succumb. This analogy occurred to me. - -'There _is_'--I stammered a little, faltering in my speech--'an -incalculable element in the country ... somewhere, I confess. You put -it--rather strongly, though, don't you?' - -He answered quietly, moving his eyes from my face towards the window -that framed the serene and exquisite sky towards the Nile. - -'The real, invisible Egypt,' he murmured, 'I do find rather--strong. -I find it difficult to deal with. You see,' and he turned towards me, -smiling like a tired child, 'I think the truth is that Egypt deals -with me.' - -'It draws----' I began, then started as he interrupted me at once. - -'Into the Past.' He uttered the little word in a way beyond me to -describe. There came a flood of glory with it, a sense of peace and -beauty, of battles over and of rest attained. No saint could have -brimmed 'Heaven' with as much passionately enticing meaning. He went -willingly, prolonging the struggle merely to enjoy the greater relief -and joy of the consummation. - -For again he spoke as though a struggle were in progress in his being. -I got the impression that he somewhere wanted help. I understood -the pathetic quality I had vaguely discerned already. His character -naturally was so strong and independent. It now seemed weaker, as -though certain fibres had been drawn out. And I understood then that -the spell of Egypt, so lightly chattered about in its sensational -aspect, so rarely known in its naked power, the nameless, creeping -influence that begins deep below the surface and thence sends delicate -tendrils outwards, was in his blood. I, in my untaught ignorance, had -felt it too; it is undeniable; one is aware of unaccountable, queer -things in Egypt; even the utterly prosaic feel them. Dead Egypt is -marvellously alive.... - -I glanced past him out of the big windows where the desert glimmered -in its featureless expanse of yellow leagues, two monstrous pyramids -signalling from across the Nile, and for a moment--inexplicably, it -seemed to me afterwards--I lost sight of my companion's stalwart -figure that was yet so close before my eyes. He had risen from his -chair; he was standing near me; yet my sight missed him altogether. -Something, dim as a shadow, faint as a breath of air, rose up and bore -my thoughts away, obliterating vision too. I forgot for a moment who -I was; identity slipped from me. Thought, sight, feeling, all sank -away into the emptiness of those sun-baked sands, sank, as it were, -into nothingness, caught away from the Present, enticed, absorbed.... -And when I looked back again to answer him, or rather to ask what -his curious words could mean--he was no longer there. More than -surprised--for there was something of shock in the disappearance--I -turned to search. I had not seen him go. He had stolen from my side so -softly, slipped away silently, mysteriously, and--so easily. I remember -that a faint shiver ran down my back as I realised that I was alone. - -Was it that, momentarily, I had caught a reflex of his state of mind? -Had my sympathy induced in myself an echo of what he experienced in -full--a going backwards, a loss of present vigour, the enticing, subtle -draw of those immeasurable sands that hide the living dead from the -interruptions of the careless living...? - -I sat down to reflect and, incidentally, to watch the magnificence of -the sunset; and the thing he had said returned upon me with insistent -power, ringing like distant bells within my mind. His talk of the -tombs and temples passed, but this remained. It stimulated oddly. His -talk, I remembered, had always excited curiosity in this way. Some -countries give, while others take away. What did he mean precisely? -What had Egypt taken away from him? And I realised more definitely -that something in him was missing, something he possessed in former -years that was now no longer there. He had grown shadowy already in -my thoughts. The mind searched keenly, but in vain ... and after some -time I left my chair and moved over to another window, aware that a -vague discomfort stirred within me that involved uneasiness--for him. -I felt pity. But behind the pity was an eager, absorbing curiosity as -well. He seemed receding curiously into misty distance, and the strong -desire leaped in me to overtake, to travel with him into some vanished -splendour that he had rediscovered. The feeling was a most remarkable -one, for it included yearning--the yearning for some nameless, -forgotten loveliness the world has lost. It was in me too. - -At the approach of twilight the mind loves to harbour shadows. The -room, empty of guests, was dark behind me; darkness, too, was creeping -across the desert like a veil, deepening the serenity of its grim, -unfeatured face. It turned pale with distance; the whole great sheet -of it went rustling into night. The first stars peeped and twinkled, -hanging loosely in the air as though they could be plucked like golden -berries; and the sun was already below the Libyan horizon, where gold -and crimson faded through violet into blue. I stood watching this -mysterious Egyptian dusk, while an eerie glamour seemed to bring the -incredible within uneasy reach of the half-faltering senses.... And -suddenly the truth dropped into me. Over George Isley, over his mind -and energies, over his thoughts and over his emotions too, a kind of -darkness was also slowly creeping. Something in him had dimmed, yet not -with age; it had gone out. Some inner night, stealing over the Present, -obliterated it. And yet he looked towards the dawn. Like the Egyptian -monuments his eyes turned--eastwards. - -And so it came to me that what he had lost was personal ambition. He -was glad, he said, that these Egyptian studies had not caught him -earlier in life; the language he made use of was peculiar: 'Now I am on -the decline it matters less.' A slight foundation, no doubt, to build -conviction on, and yet I felt sure that I was partly right. He was -fascinated, but fascinated against his will. The Present in him battled -against the Past. Still fighting, he had yet lost hope. The desire -_not_ to change was now no longer in him.... - -I turned away from the window so as not to see that grey, encroaching -desert, for the discovery produced a certain agitation in me. Egypt -seemed suddenly a living entity of enormous power. She stirred about -me. She was stirring now. This flat and motionless land pretending -it had no movement, was actually busy with a million gestures that -came creeping round the heart. She was reducing him. Already from -the complex texture of his personality she had drawn one vital -thread that in its relation to the general woof was of central -importance--ambition. The mind chose the simile; but in my heart where -thought fluttered in singular distress, another suggested itself as -truer. 'Thread' changed to 'artery.' I turned quickly and went up to my -room where I could be alone. The idea was somewhere ghastly. - - -III - -Yet, while dressing for dinner, the idea exfoliated as only a living -thing exfoliates. I saw in George Isley this great question mark -that had not been there formerly. All have, of course, some question -mark, and carry it about, though with most it rarely becomes visible -until the end. With him it was plainly visible in his atmosphere at -the hey-day of his life. He wore it like a fine curved scimitar above -his head. So full of life, he yet seemed willingly dead. For, though -imagination sought every possible explanation, I got no further than -the somewhat negative result--that a certain energy, wholly unconnected -with mere physical health, had been withdrawn. It was more than -ambition, I think, for it included intention, desire, self-confidence -as well. It was life itself. He was no longer in the Present. He was no -longer _here_. - -'Some countries give while others take away.... I find Egypt -difficult to deal with. I find it ...' and then that simple, -uncomplex adjective--'strong.' In memory and experience the entire -globe was mapped for him; it remained for Egypt, then, to teach him -this marvellous new thing. But not Egypt of to-day; it was vanished -Egypt that had robbed him of his strength. He had described it -as underground, hidden, waiting.... I was again aware of a faint -shuddering--as though something crept secretly from my inmost heart to -share the experience with him, and as though my sympathy involved a -willing consent that this should be so. With sympathy there must always -be a shedding of the personal self; each time I felt this sympathy, it -seemed that something left me. I thought in circles, arriving at no -definite point where I could rest and say 'that's it; I understand.' -The giving attitude of a country was easily comprehensible; but this -idea of robbery, of deprivation baffled me. An obscure alarm took hold -of me--for myself as well as for him. - -At dinner, where he invited me to his table, the impression passed off -a good deal, however, and I convicted myself of a woman's exaggeration; -yet, as we talked of many a day's adventure together in other lands, it -struck me that we oddly left the present out. We ignored to-day. His -thoughts, as it were, went most easily backwards. And each adventure -led, as by its own natural weight and impetus, towards one thing--the -enormous glory of a vanished age. Ancient Egypt was 'home' in this -mysterious game life played with death. The specific gravity of his -being, to say nothing for the moment of my own, had shifted lower, -farther off, backwards and below, or as he put it--underground. The -sinking sensation I experienced was of a literal kind.... - -And so I found myself wondering what had led him to this particular -hotel. I had come out with an affected organ the specialist promised -me would heal in the marvellous air of Helouan, but it was queer that -my companion also should have chosen it. Its _clientele_ was mostly -invalid, German and Russian invalid at that. The Management set its -face against the lighter, gayer side of life that hotels in Egypt -usually encourage eagerly. It was a true rest-house, a place of repose -and leisure, a place where one could remain undiscovered and unknown. -No English patronised it. One might easily--the idea came unbidden, -suddenly--hide in it. - -'Then you're doing nothing just now,' I asked, 'in the way of digging? -No big expeditions or excavating at the moment?' - -'I'm recuperating,' he answered carelessly. 'I've have had two years up -at the Valley of the Kings, and overdid it rather. But I'm by way of -working at a little thing near here across the Nile.' And he pointed in -the direction of Sakkhara, where the huge Memphian cemetery stretches -underground from the Dachur Pyramids to the Gizeh monsters, four miles -lower down. 'There's a matter of a hundred years in that alone!' - -'You must have accumulated a mass of interesting material. I suppose -later you'll make use of it--a book or----' - -His expression stopped me--that strange look in the eyes that had -stirred my first uneasiness. It was as if something struggled up a -moment, looked bleakly out upon the present, then sank away again. - -'More,' he answered listlessly, 'than I can ever use. It's much more -likely to use me.' He said it hurriedly, looking over his shoulder as -though some one might be listening, then smiled significantly, bringing -his eyes back upon my own again. I told him that he was far too modest. -'If all the excavators thought like that,' I added, 'we ignorant ones -should suffer.' I laughed, but the laughter was only on my lips. - -He shook his head indifferently. 'They do their best; they do wonders,' -he replied, making an indescribable gesture as though he withdrew -willingly from the topic altogether, yet could not quite achieve it. 'I -know their books; I know the writers too--of various nationalities.' -He paused a moment, and his eyes turned grave. 'I cannot understand -quite--how they do it,' he added half below his breath. - -'The labour, you mean? The strain of the climate, and so forth?' I -said this purposely, for I knew quite well he meant another thing. The -way he looked into my face, however, disturbed me so that I believe I -visibly started. Something very deep in me sat up alertly listening, -almost on guard. - -'I mean,' he replied, 'that they must have uncommon powers of -resistance.' - -There! He had used the very word that had been hiding in me! 'It -puzzles me,' he went on, 'for, with one exception, they are not unusual -men. In the way of gifts--oh yes. It's in the way of resistance and -protection that I mean. Self-protection,' he added with emphasis. - -It was the way he said 'resistance' and 'self-protection' that sent -a touch of cold through me. I learned later that he himself had made -surprising discoveries in these two years, penetrating closer to the -secret life of ancient sacerdotal Egypt than any of his predecessors or -co-labourers--then, inexplicably, had ceased. But this was told to me -afterwards and by others. At the moment I was only conscious of this -odd embarrassment. I did not understand, yet felt that he touched upon -something intimately personal to himself. He paused, expecting me to -speak. - -'Egypt, perhaps, merely pours through them,' I ventured. 'They give -out mechanically, hardly realising how much they give. They report -facts devoid of interpretation. Whereas with you it's the actual -spirit of the past that is discovered and laid bare. You live it. You -feel old Egypt and disclose her. That divining faculty was always -yours--uncannily, I used to think.' - -The flash of his sombre eyes betrayed that my aim was singularly good. -It seemed a third had silently joined our little table in the corner. -Something intruded, evoked by the power of what our conversation -skirted but ever left unmentioned. It was huge and shadowy; it was -also watchful. Egypt came gliding, floating up beside us. I saw her -reflected in his face and gaze. The desert slipped in through walls and -ceiling, rising from beneath our feet, settling about us, listening, -peering, waiting. The strange obsession was sudden and complete. The -gigantic scale of her swam in among the very pillars, arches, and -windows of that modern dining-room. I felt against my skin the touch -of chilly air that sunlight never reaches, stealing from beneath the -granite monoliths. Behind it came the stifling breath of the heated -tombs, of the Serapeum, of the chambers and corridors in the pyramids. -There was a rustling as of myriad footsteps far away, and as of sand -the busy winds go shifting through the ages. And in startling contrast -to this impression of prodigious size, Isley himself wore suddenly an -air of strangely dwindling. For a second he shrank visibly before my -very eyes. He was receding. His outline seemed to retreat and lessen, -as though he stood to the waist in what appeared like flowing mist, -only his head and shoulders still above the ground. Far, far away I saw -him. - -It was a vivid inner picture that I somehow transferred objectively. It -was a dramatised sensation, of course. His former phrase 'now that I am -declining' flashed back upon me with sharp discomfort. Again, perhaps, -his state of mind was reflected into me by some emotional telepathy. I -waited, conscious of an almost sensible oppression that would not lift. -It seemed an age before he spoke, and when he did there was the tremor -of feeling in his voice he sought nevertheless to repress. I kept my -eyes on the table for some reason. But I listened intently. - -'It's you that have the divining faculty, not I,' he said, an -odd note of distance even in his tone, yet a resonance as though -it rose up between reverberating walls. 'There _is_, I believe, -something here that resents too close inquiry, or rather that resists -discovery--almost--takes offence.' - -I looked up quickly, then looked down again. It was such a startling -thing to hear on the lips of a modern Englishman. He spoke lightly, -but the expression of his face belied the careless tone. There was no -mockery in those earnest eyes, and in the hushed voice was a little -creeping sound that gave me once again the touch of goose-flesh. The -only word I can find is 'subterranean': all that was mental in him had -sunk, so that he seemed speaking underground, head and shoulders alone -visible. The effect was almost ghastly. - -'Such extraordinary obstacles are put in one's way,' he went on, -'when the prying gets too close to the--reality; physical, external -obstacles, I mean. Either that, or--the mind loses its assimilative -faculties. One or other happens--' his voice died down into a -whisper--'and discovery ceases of its own accord.' - -The same minute, then, he suddenly raised himself like a man emerging -from a tomb; he leaned across the table; he made an effort of some -violent internal kind, on the verge, I fully believe, of a pregnant -personal statement. There was confession in his attitude; I think he -was about to speak of his work at Thebes and the reason for its abrupt -cessation. For I had the feeling of one about to hear a weighty secret, -the responsibility unwelcome. This uncomfortable emotion rose in me, as -I raised my eyes to his somewhat unwillingly, only to find that I was -wholly at fault. It was not me he was looking at. He was staring past -me in the direction of the wide, unshuttered windows. The expression -of yearning was visible in his eyes again. Something had stopped his -utterance. - -And instinctively I turned and saw what he saw. So far as external -details were concerned, at least, I saw it. - -Across the glare and glitter of the uncompromising modern dining-room, -past crowded tables, and over the heads of Germans feeding -unpicturesquely, I saw--the moon. Her reddish disc, hanging unreal -and enormous, lifted the spread sheet of desert till it floated off -the surface of the world. The great window faced the east, where the -Arabian desert breaks into a ruin of gorges, cliffs, and flat-topped -ridges; it looked unfriendly, ominous, with danger in it; unlike the -serener sand-dunes of the Libyan desert, there lay both menace and -seduction behind its flood of shadows. And the moonlight emphasised -this aspect: its ghostly desolation, its cruelty, its bleak hostility, -turning it murderous. For no river sweetens this Arabian desert; -instead of sandy softness, it has fangs of limestone rock, sharp and -aggressive. Across it, just visible in the moonlight as a thread of -paler grey, the old camel-trail to Suez beckoned faintly. And it was -this that he was looking at so intently. - -It was, I know, a theatrical stage-like glimpse, yet in it a -seductiveness most potent. 'Come out,' it seemed to whisper, 'and -taste my awful beauty. Come out and lose yourself, and die. Come out -and follow my moonlit trail into the Past ... where there is peace and -immobility and silence. My kingdom is unchanging underground. Come -down, come softly, come through sandy corridors below this tinsel of -your modern world. Come back, come down into my golden past....' - -A poignant desire stole through my heart on moonlit feet; I was -personally conscious of a keen yearning to slip away in unresisting -obedience. For it was uncommonly impressive, this sudden, haunting -glimpse of the world outside. The hairy foreigners, uncouthly garbed, -all busily eating in full electric light, provided a sensational -contrast of emphatically distressing kind. A touch of what is called -unearthly hovered about that distance through the window. There was -weirdness in it. Egypt looked in upon us. Egypt watched and listened, -beckoning through the moonlit windows of the heart to come and find -her. Mind and imagination might flounder as they pleased, but something -of this kind happened undeniably, whether expression in language fails -to hold the truth or not. And George Isley, aware of being seen, looked -straight into the awful visage--fascinated. - -Over the bronze of his skin there stole a shade of grey. My own feeling -of enticement grew--the desire to go out into the moonlight, to leave -my kind and wander blindly through the desert, to see the gorges in -their shining silver, and taste the keenness of the cool, sharp air. -Further than this with me it did not go, but that my companion felt the -bigger, deeper draw behind this surface glamour, I have no reasonable -doubt. For a moment, indeed, I thought he meant to leave the table; he -had half risen in his chair; it seemed he struggled and resisted--and -then his big frame subsided again; he sat back; he looked, in the -attitude his body took, less impressive, smaller, actually shrunken -into the proportions of some minuter scale. It was as though something -in that second had been drawn out of him, decreasing even his physical -appearance. The voice, when he spoke presently with a touch of -resignation, held a lifeless quality as though deprived of virile -timbre. - -'It's always there,' he whispered, half collapsing back into his chair, -'it's always watching, waiting, listening. Almost like a monster of the -fables, isn't it? It makes no movement of its own, you see. It's far -too strong for that. It just hangs there, half in the air and half upon -the earth--a gigantic web. Its prey flies into it. That's Egypt all -over. D'you feel like that too, or does it seem to you just imaginative -rubbish? To me it seems that she just waits her time; she gets you -quicker that way; in the end you're bound to go.' - -'There's power certainly,' I said after a moment's pause to collect my -wits, my distress increased by the morbidness of his simile. 'For some -minds there may be a kind of terror too--for weak temperaments that are -all imagination.' My thoughts were scattered, and I could not readily -find good words. 'There is startling grandeur in a sight like that, -for instance,' and I pointed to the window. 'You feel drawn--as if you -simply _had_ to go.' My mind still buzzed with his curious words, 'In -the end you're bound to go.' It betrayed his heart and soul. 'I suppose -a fly does feel drawn,' I added, 'or a moth to the destroying flame. Or -is it just unconscious on their part?' - -He jerked his big head significantly. 'Well, well,' he answered, -'but the fly isn't necessarily weak, or the moth misguided. -Over-adventurous, perhaps, yet both obedient to the laws of their -respective beings. They get warnings too--only, when the moth wants -to know too much, the fire stops it. Both flame and spider enrich -themselves by understanding the natures of their prey; and fly and moth -return again and again until this is accomplished.' - -Yet George Isley was as sane as the head waiter who, noticing our -interest in the window, came up just then and enquired whether we felt -a draught and would prefer it closed. Isley, I realised, was struggling -to express a passionate state of soul for which, owing to its rarity, -no adequate expression lies at hand. There is a language of the mind, -but there is none as yet of the spirit. I felt ill at ease. All this -was so foreign to the wholesome, strenuous personality of the man as I -remembered it. - -'But, my dear fellow,' I stammered, 'aren't you giving poor old Egypt -a bad name she hardly deserves? I feel only the amazing strength and -beauty of it; awe, if you like, but none of this resentment you so -mysteriously hint at.' - -'You understand, for all that,' he answered quietly; and again he -seemed on the verge of some significant confession that might ease his -soul. My uncomfortable emotion grew. Certainly he was at high pressure -somewhere. 'And, if necessary, you could help. Your sympathy, I mean, -_is_ a help already.' He said it half to himself and in a suddenly -lowered tone again. - -'A help!' I gasped. 'My sympathy! Of course, if----' - -'A witness,' he murmured, not looking at me, 'some one who understands, -yet does not think me mad.' - -There was such appeal in his voice that I felt ready and eager to -do anything to help him. Our eyes met, and my own tried to express -this willingness in me; but what I said I hardly know, for a cloud -of confusion was on my mind, and my speech went fumbling like a -schoolboy's. I was more than disconcerted. Through this bewilderment, -then, I just caught the tail-end of another sentence in which the -words 'relief it is to have ... some one to hold to ... when the -disappearance comes ...' sounded like voices heard in dream. But I -missed the complete phrase and shrank from asking him to repeat it. - -Some sympathetic answer struggled to my lips, though what it was I know -not. The thing I murmured, however, seemed apparently well chosen. He -leaned across and laid his big hand a moment on my own with eloquent -pressure. It was cold as ice. A look of gratitude passed over his -sunburned features. He sighed. And we left the table then and passed -into the inner smoking-room for coffee--a room whose windows gave upon -columned terraces that allowed no view of the encircling desert. He -led the conversation into channels less personal and, thank heaven, -less intensely emotional and mysterious. What we talked about I now -forget; it was interesting but in another key altogether. His old charm -and power worked; the respect I had always felt for his character -and gifts returned in force, but it was the pity I now experienced -that remained chiefly in my mind. For this change in him became more -and more noticeable. He was less impressive, less convincing, less -suggestive. His talk, though so knowledgeable, lacked that spiritual -quality that drives home. He was uncannily less _real_. And I went up -to bed, uneasy and disturbed. 'It is not age,' I said to myself, 'and -assuredly it is not death he fears, although he spoke of disappearance. -It is mental--in the deepest sense. It is what religious people would -call soul. Something is happening to his soul.' - - -IV - -And this word 'soul' remained with me to the end. Egypt was taking his -soul away into the Past. What was of value in him went willingly; the -rest, some lesser aspect of his mind and character, resisted, holding -to the present. A struggle, therefore, was involved. But this was being -gradually obliterated too. - -How I arrived gaily at this monstrous conclusion seems to me now a -mystery; but the truth is that from a conversation one brings away a -general idea that is larger than the words actually heard and spoken. -I have reported, naturally, but a fragment of what passed between -us in language, and of what was suggested--by gesture, expression, -silence--merely perhaps a hint. I can only assert that this troubling -verdict remained a conviction in my mind. It came upstairs with me; -it watched and listened by my side. That mysterious Third evoked in -our conversation was bigger than either of us separately; it might -be called the spirit of ancient Egypt, or it might be called with -equal generalisation, the Past. This Third, at any rate, stood by me, -whispering this astounding thing. I went out on to my little balcony -to smoke a pipe and enjoy the comforting presence of the stars before -turning in. It came out with me. It was everywhere. I heard the barking -of dogs, the monotonous beating of a distant drum towards Bedraschien, -the sing-song voices of the natives in their booths and down the -dim-lit streets. I was aware of this invisible Third behind all these -familiar sounds. The enormous night-sky, drowned in stars, conveyed -it too. It was in the breath of chilly wind that whispered round the -walls, and it brooded everywhere above the sleepless desert. I was -alone as little as though George Isley stood beside me in person--and -at that moment a moving figure caught my eye below. My window was on -the sixth story, but there was no mistaking the tall and soldierly -bearing of the man who was strolling past the hotel. George Isley was -going slowly out into the desert. - -There was actually nothing unusual in the sight. It was only ten -o'clock; but for doctor's orders I might have been doing the same -myself. Yet, as I leaned over the dizzy ledge and watched him, a chill -struck through me, and a feeling nothing could justify, nor pages of -writing describe, rose up and mastered me. His words at dinner came -back with curious force. Egypt lay round him, motionless, a vast grey -web. His feet were caught in it. It quivered. The silvery meshes in -the moonlight announced the fact from Memphis up to Thebes, across the -Nile, from underground Sakkhara to the Valley of the Kings. A tremor -ran over the entire desert, and again, as in the dining-room, the -leagues of sand went rustling. It seemed to me that I caught him in the -act of disappearing. - -I realised in that moment the haunting power of this mysterious still -atmosphere which is Egypt, and some magical emanation of its mighty -past broke over me suddenly like a wave. Perhaps in that moment I felt -what he himself felt; the withdrawing suction of the huge spent wave -swept something out of me into the past with it. An indescribable -yearning drew something living from my heart, something that longed -with a kind of burning, searching sweetness for a glory of spiritual -passion that was gone. The pain and happiness of it were more poignant -than may be told, and my present personality--some vital portion of it, -at any rate--wilted before the power of its enticement. - -I stood there, motionless as stone, and stared. Erect and steady, -knowing resistance vain, eager to go yet striving to remain, and half -with an air of floating off the ground, he went towards the pale grey -thread which was the track to Suez and the far Red Sea. There came -upon me this strange, deep sense of pity, pathos, sympathy that was -beyond all explanation, and mysterious as a pain in dreams. For a -sense of his awful loneliness stole into me, a loneliness nothing on -this earth could possibly relieve. Robbed of the Present, he sought -this chimera of his soul, an unreal Past. Not even the calm majesty -of this exquisite Egyptian night could soothe the dream away; the -peace and silence were marvellous, the sweet perfume of the desert air -intoxicating; but all these intensified it only. - -And though at a loss to explain my own emotion, its poignancy was so -real that a sigh escaped me and I felt that tears lay not too far away. -I watched him, yet felt I had no right to watch. Softly I drew back -from the window with the sensation of eavesdropping upon his privacy; -but before I did so I had seen his outline melt away into the dim world -of sand that began at the very walls of the hotel. He wore a cloak of -green that reached down almost to his heels, and its colour blended -with the silvery surface of the desert's dark sea-tint. This sheen -first draped and then concealed him. It covered him with a fold of its -mysterious garment that, without seam or binding, veiled Egypt for a -thousand leagues. The desert took him. Egypt caught him in her web. He -was gone. - - * * * * * - -Sleep for me just then seemed out of the question. The change in _him_ -made me feel less sure of myself. To see him thus invertebrate shocked -me. I was aware that I had nerves. - -For a long time I sat smoking by the window, my body weary, but my -imagination irritatingly stimulated. The big sign-lights of the hotel -went out; window after window closed below me; the electric standards -in the streets were already extinguished; and Helouan looked like a -child's white blocks scattered in ruin upon the nursery carpet. It -seemed so wee upon the vast expanse. It lay in a twinkling pattern, -like a cluster of glow-worms dropped into a negligible crease of the -tremendous desert. It peeped up at the stars, a little frightened. - -The night was very still. There hung an enormous brooding beauty -everywhere, a hint of the sinister in it that only the brilliance of -the blazing stars relieved. Nothing really slept. Grouped here and -there at intervals about this dun-coloured world stood the everlasting -watchers in solemn, tireless guardianship--the soaring Pyramids, the -Sphinx, the grim Colossi, the empty temples, the long-deserted tombs. -The mind was aware of them, stationed like sentries through the night. -'This is Egypt; you are actually in Egypt,' whispered the silence. -'Eight thousand years of history lie fluttering outside your window. -_She_ lies there underground, sleepless, mighty, deathless, not to be -trifled with. Beware! Or she will change you too!' - -My imagination offered this hint: Egypt _is_ difficult to realise. It -remains outside the mind, a fabulous, half-legendary idea. So many -enormous elements together refuse to be assimilated; the heart pauses, -asking for time and breath; the senses reel a little; and in the end -a mental torpor akin to stupefaction creeps upon the brain. With a -sigh the struggle is abandoned and the mind surrenders to Egypt on her -own terms. Alone the diggers and archaeologists, confined to definite -facts, offer successful resistance. My friend's use of the words -'resistance' and 'protection' became clearer to me. While logic halted, -intuition fluttered round this clue to the solution of the influences -at work. George Isley realised Egypt more than most--but as she had -been. - -And I recalled its first effect upon myself, and how my mind had been -unable to cope with the memory of it afterwards. There had come to -its summons a colossal medley, a gigantic, coloured blur that merely -bewildered. Only lesser points lodged comfortably in the heart. I saw a -chaotic vision: sands drenched in dazzling light, vast granite aisles, -stupendous figures that stared unblinking at the sun, a shining river -and a shadowy desert, both endless as the sky, mountainous pyramids -and gigantic monoliths, armies of heads, of paws, of faces--all set to -a scale of size that was prodigious. The items stunned; the composite -effect was too unwieldy to be grasped. Something that blazed with -splendour rolled before the eyes, too close to be seen distinctly--at -the same time very distant--unrealised. - -Then, with the passing of the weeks, it slowly stirred to life. It had -attacked unseen; its grip was quite tremendous; yet it could be neither -told, nor painted, nor described. It flamed up unexpectedly--in the -foggy London streets, at the Club, in the theatre. A sound recalled the -street-cries of the Arabs, a breath of scented air brought back the -heated sand beyond the palm groves. Up rose the huge Egyptian glamour, -transforming common things; it had lain buried all this time in deep -recesses of the heart that are inaccessible to ordinary daily life. And -there hid in it something of uneasiness that was inexplicable; awe, a -hint of cold eternity, a touch of something unchanging and terrific, -something sublime made lovely yet unearthly with shadowy time and -distance. The melancholy of the Nile and the grandeur of a hundred -battered temples dropped some unutterable beauty upon the heart. Up -swept the desert air, the luminous pale shadows, the naked desolation -that yet brims with sharp vitality. An Arab on his donkey tripped in -colour across the mind, melting off into tiny perspective, strangely -vivid. A string of camels stood in silhouette against the crimson -sky. Great winds, great blazing spaces, great solemn nights, great -days of golden splendour rose from the pavement or the theatre-stall, -and London, dim-lit England, the whole of modern life, indeed, seemed -suddenly reduced to a paltry insignificance that produced an aching -longing for the pageantry of those millions of vanished souls. Egypt -rolled through the heart for a moment--and was gone. - -I remembered that some such fantastic experience had been mine. Put it -as one may, the fact remains that for certain temperaments Egypt can -rob the Present of some thread of interest that was formerly there. -The memory became for me an integral part of personality; something in -me yearned for its curious and awful beauty. He who has drunk of the -Nile shall return to drink of it again.... And if for myself this was -possible, what might not happen to a character of George Isley's type? -Some glimmer of comprehension came to me. The ancient, buried, hidden -Egypt had cast her net about his soul. Grown shadowy in the Present, -his life was being transferred into some golden, reconstructed Past, -where it was real. Some countries give, while others take away. And -George Isley was worth robbing.... - -Disturbed by these singular reflections, I moved away from the open -window, closing it. But the closing did not exclude the presence of -the Third. The biting night air followed me in. I drew the mosquito -curtains round the bed, but the light I left still burning; and, lying -there, I jotted down upon a scrap of paper this curious impression -as best I could, only to find that it escaped easily between the -words. Such visionary and spiritual perceptions are too elusive to -be trapped in language. Reading it over after an interval of years, -it is difficult to recall with what intense meaning, what uncanny -emotion, I wrote those faded lines in pencil. Their rhetoric seems -cheap, their content much exaggerated; yet at the time truth burned -in every syllable. Egypt, which since time began has suffered robbery -with violence at the hands of all the world, now takes her vengeance, -choosing her individual prey. Her time has come. Behind a modern -mask she lies in wait, intensely active, sure of her hidden power. -Prostitute of dead empires, she lies now at peace beneath the same -old stars, her loveliness unimpaired, bejewelled with the beaten gold -of ages, her breasts uncovered, and her grand limbs flashing in the -sun. Her shoulders of alabaster are lifted above the sand-drifts; she -surveys the little figures of to-day. She takes her choice.... - -That night I did not dream, but neither did the whole of me lie down in -sleep. During the long dark hours I was aware of that picture endlessly -repeating itself, the picture of George Isley stealing out into the -moonlight desert. The night so swiftly dropped her hood about him; -so mysteriously he merged into the unchanging thing which cloaks the -past. It lifted. Some huge shadowy hand, gloved softly yet of granite, -stretched over the leagues to take him. He disappeared. - -They say the desert is motionless and has no gestures! That night I -saw it moving, hurrying. It went tearing after him. You understand my -meaning? No! Well, when excited it produces this strange impression, -and the terrible moment is--when you surrender helplessly--you desire -it shall swallow you. You let it come. George Isley spoke of a web. It -is, at any rate, some central power that conceals itself behind the -surface glamour folk call the spell of Egypt. Its home is not apparent. -It dwells with ancient Egypt--underground. Behind the stillness of hot -windless days, behind the peace of calm, gigantic nights, it lurks -unrealised, monstrous and irresistible. My mind grasped it as little as -the fact that our solar system with all its retinue of satellites and -planets rushes annually many million miles towards a star in Hercules, -while yet that constellation appears no closer than it did six thousand -years ago. But the clue dropped into me. George Isley, with his entire -retinue of thought and life and feeling, was being similarly drawn. And -I, a minor satellite, had become aware of the horrifying pull. It was -magnificent.... And I fell asleep on the crest of this enormous wave. - - -V - -The next few days passed idly; weeks passed too, I think; hidden -away in this cosmopolitan hotel we lived apart, unnoticed. There -was the feeling that time went what pace it pleased, now fast, now -slow, now standing still. The similarity of the brilliant days, set -between wondrous dawns and sunsets, left the impression that it was -really one long, endless day without divisions. The mind's machinery -of measurement suffered dislocation. Time went backwards; dates were -forgotten; the month, the time of year, the century itself went down -into undifferentiated life. - -The Present certainly slipped away curiously. Newspapers and politics -became unimportant, news uninteresting, English life so remote as -to be unreal, European affairs shadowy. The stream of life ran in -another direction altogether--backwards. The names and faces of -friends appeared through mist. People arrived as though dropped from -the skies. They suddenly were there; one saw them in the dining-room, -as though they had just slipped in from an outer world that once was -real--somewhere. Of course, a steamer sailed four times a week, and -the journey took five days, but these things were merely known, not -realised. The fact that here it was summer, whereas over there winter -reigned, helped to make the distance not quite thinkable. We looked at -the desert and made plans. 'We will do this, we will do that; we must -go there, we'll visit such and such a place ...' yet nothing happened. -It always was to-morrow or yesterday, and we shared the discovery of -Alice that there was no real 'to-day.' For our thinking made everything -happen. That was enough. It _had_ happened. It was the reality of -dreams. Egypt was a dream-world that made the heart live backwards. - -It came about, thus, that for the next few weeks I watched a fading -life, myself alert and sympathetic, yet unable somehow to intrude and -help. Noticing various little things by which George Isley betrayed -the progress of the unequal struggle, I found my assistance negatived -by the fact that I was in similar case myself. What he experienced in -large and finally, I, too, experienced in little and for the moment. -For I seemed also caught upon the fringe of the invisible web. My -feelings were entangled sufficiently for me to understand.... And the -decline of his being was terrible to watch. His character went with it; -I saw his talents fade, his personality dwindle, his very soul dissolve -before the insidious and invading influence. He hardly struggled. I -thought of those abominable insects that paralyse the motor systems -of their victims and then devour them at their leisure--alive. The -incredible adventure was literally true, but, being spiritual, may not -be told in the terms of a detective story. This version must remain -an individual rendering--an aspect of _one_ possible version. All who -know the real Egypt, that Egypt which has nothing to do with dams and -Nationalists and the external welfare of the falaheen, will understand. -The pilfering of her ancient dead she suffers still; she, in revenge, -preys at her leisure on the living. - -The occasions when he betrayed himself were ordinary enough; it was -the glimpse they afforded of what was in progress beneath his calm -exterior that made them interesting. Once, I remember, we had lunched -together at Mena, and, after visiting certain excavations beyond -the Gizeh pyramids, we made our way homewards by way of the Sphinx. -It was dusk, and the main army of tourists had retired, though some -few dozen sight-seers still moved about to the cries of donkey-boys -and baksheesh. The vast head and shoulders suddenly emerged, riding -undrowned above the sea of sand. Dark and monstrous in the fading -light, it loomed, as ever, a being of non-human lineage; no amount of -familiarity could depreciate its grandeur, its impressive setting, -the lost expression of the countenance that is too huge to focus as a -face. A thousand visits leave its power undiminished. It has intruded -upon our earth from some uncommon world. George Isley and myself both -turned aside to acknowledge the presence of this alien, uncomfortable -thing. We did not linger, but we slackened pace. It was the obvious, -inevitable thing to do. He pointed then, with a suddenness that made me -start. He indicated the tourists standing round. - -'See,' he said, in a lowered tone, 'day and night you'll always find a -crowd obedient to that thing. But notice their behaviour. People don't -do that before any other ruin in the world I've ever seen.' He referred -to the attempts of individuals to creep away alone and stare into the -stupendous visage by themselves. At different points in the deep sandy -basin were men and women, standing solitary, lying, crouching, apart -from the main company where the dragomen mouthed their exposition with -impertinent glibness. - -'The desire to be alone,' he went on, half to himself, as we paused a -moment, 'the sense of worship which insists on privacy.' - -It _was_ significant, for no amount of advertising could dwarf the -impressiveness of the inscrutable visage into whose eyes of stone -the silent humans gazed. Not even the red-coat, standing inside one -gigantic ear, could introduce the commonplace. But my companion's words -let another thing into the spectacle, a less exalted thing, dropping a -hint of horror about that sandy cup: It became easy, for a moment, to -imagine these tourists worshipping--against their will; to picture the -monster noticing that they were there; that it might slowly turn its -awful head; that the sand might visibly trickle from a stirring paw; -that, in a word, they might be taken--changed. - -'Come,' he whispered in a dropping tone, interrupting my fancies as -though he half divined them, 'it is getting late, and to be alone with -the thing is intolerable to me just now. But you notice, don't you,' -he added, as he took my arm to hurry me away, 'how little the tourists -matter? Instead of injuring the effect, they increase it. It uses -_them_.' - -And again a slight sensation of chill, communicated possibly by his -nervous touch, or possibly by his earnest way of saying these curious -words, passed through me. Some part of me remained behind in that -hollow trough of sand, prostrate before an immensity that symbolised -the past. A curious, wild yearning caught me momentarily, an intense -desire to understand exactly why that terror stood there, its actual -meaning long ago to the hearts that set it waiting for the sun, what -definite role it played, what souls it stirred and why, in that -system of towering belief and faith whose indestructible emblem it -still remained. The past stood grouped so solemnly about its menacing -presentment. I was distinctly aware of this spiritual suction backwards -that my companion yielded to so gladly, yet against his normal, modern -self. For it made the past appear magnificently desirable, and loosened -all the rivets of the present. It bodied forth three main ingredients -of this deep Egyptian spell--size, mystery, and immobility. - -Yet, to my relief, the cheaper aspect of this Egyptian glamour left him -cold. He remained unmoved by the commonplace mysterious; he told no -mummy stories, nor ever hinted at the supernatural quality that leaps -to the mind of the majority. There was no play in him. The influence -was grave and vital. And, although I knew he held strong views with -regard to the impiety of disturbing the dead, he never in my hearing -attached any possible revengeful character to the energy of an outraged -past. The current tales of this description he ignored; they were for -superstitious minds or children; the deities that claimed his soul were -of a grander order altogether. He lived, if it may be so expressed, -already in a world his heart had reconstructed or remembered; it drew -him in another direction altogether; with the modern, sensational view -of life his spirit held no traffic any longer; he was living backwards. -I saw his figure receding mournfully, yet never sentimentally, into -the spacious, golden atmosphere of recaptured days. The enormous -soul of buried Egypt drew him down. The dwindling of his physical -appearance was, of course, a mental interpretation of my own; but -another, stranger interpretation of a spiritual kind moved parallel -with it--marvellous and horrible. For, as he diminished outwardly -and in his modern, present aspect, he grew within--gigantic. The size -of Egypt entered into him. Huge proportions now began to accompany -any presentment of his personality to my inner vision. He towered. -These two qualities of the land already obsessed him--magnitude and -immobility. - -And that awe which modern life ignores contemptuously woke in my heart. -I almost feared his presence at certain times. For one aspect of the -Egyptian spell is explained by sheer size and bulk. Disdainful of -mere speed to-day, the heart is still uncomfortable with magnitude; -and in Egypt there is size that may easily appal, for every detail -shunts it laboriously upon the mind. It elbows out the present. The -desert's vastness is not made comprehensible by mileage, and the -sources of the Nile are so distant that they exist less on the map -than in the imagination. The effort to realise suffers paralysis; they -might equally be in the moon or Saturn. The undecorated magnificence -of the desert remains unknown, just as the proportions of pyramid and -temple, of pylons and Colossi approach the edge of the mind yet never -enter in. All stand outside, clothed in this prodigious measurement -of the past. And the old beliefs not only share this titanic effect -upon the consciousness, but carry it stages further. The entire scale -haunts with uncomfortable immensity, so that the majority run back with -relief to the measurable details of a more manageable scale. Express -trains, flying machines, Atlantic liners--these produce no unpleasant -stretching of the faculties compared to the influence of the Karnak -pylons, the pyramids, or the interior of the Serapeum. - -Close behind this magnitude, moreover, steps the monstrous. It is -revealed not in sand and stone alone, in queer effects of light and -shadow, of glittering sunsets and of magical dusks, but in the very -aspect of the bird and animal life. The heavy-headed buffaloes betray -it equally with the vultures, the myriad kites, the grotesqueness of -the mouthing camels. The rude, enormous scenery has it everywhere. -There is nothing lyrical in this land of passionate mirages. Uncouth -immensity notes the little human flittings. The days roll by in a tide -of golden splendour; one goes helplessly with the flood; but it is an -irresistible flood that sweeps backwards and below. The silent-footed -natives in their coloured robes move before a curtain, and behind -that curtain dwells the soul of ancient Egypt--the Reality, as George -Isley called it--watching, with sleepless eyes of grey infinity. Then, -sometimes the curtain stirs and lifts an edge; an invisible hand creeps -forth; the soul is touched. And some one disappears. - - -VI - -The process of disintegration must have been at work a long time before -I appeared upon the scene; the changes went forward with such rapidity. - -It was his third year in Egypt, two of which had been spent without -interruption in company with an Egyptologist named Moleson, in the -neighbourhood of Thebes. I soon discovered that this region was for -him the centre of attraction, or as he put it, of the web. Not Luxor, -of course, nor the images of reconstructed Karnak; but that stretch -of grim, forbidding mountains where royalty, earthly and spiritual, -sought eternal peace for the physical remains. There, amid surroundings -of superb desolation, great priests and mighty kings had thought -themselves secure from sacrilegious touch. In caverns underground they -kept their faithful tryst with centuries, guarded by the silence of -magnificent gloom. There they waited, communing with passing ages in -their sleep, till Ra, their glad divinity, should summon them to the -fulfilment of their ancient dream. And there, in the Valley of the -Tombs of the Kings, their dream was shattered, their lovely prophecies -derided, and their glory dimmed by the impious desecration of the -curious. - -That George Isley and his companion had spent their time, not merely -digging and deciphering like their practical confreres, but engaged in -some strange experiments of recovery and reconstruction, was matter -for open comment among the fraternity. That incredible things had -happened there was the big story of two Egyptian seasons at least. -I heard this later only--tales of utterly incredible kind, that the -desolate vale of rock was seen repeopled on moonlit nights, that the -smoke of unaccustomed fires rose to cap the flat-topped peaks, that -the pageantry of some forgotten worship had been seen to issue from -the openings of these hills, and that sounds of chanting, sonorous and -marvellously sweet, had been heard to echo from those bleak, repellent -precipices. The tales apparently were grossly exaggerated; wandering -Bedouins brought them in; the guides and dragomen repeated them with -mysterious additions; till they filtered down through the native -servants in the hotels and reached the tourists with highly picturesque -embroidery. They reached the authorities too. The only accurate fact -I gathered at the time, however, was that they had abruptly ceased. -George Isley and Moleson, moreover, had parted company. And Moleson, -I heard, was the originator of the business. He was, at this time, -unknown to me; his arresting book on 'A Modern Reconstruction of -Sun-worship in Ancient Egypt' being my only link with his unusual mind. -Apparently he regarded the sun as the deity of the scientific religion -of the future which would replace the various anthropomorphic gods of -childish creeds. He discussed the possibility of the zodiacal signs -being some kind of Celestial Intelligences. Belief blazed on every -page. Men's life is heat, derived solely from the sun, and men were, -therefore, part of the sun in the sense that a Christian is part of -his personal deity. And absorption was the end. His description of -'sun-worship ceremonials' conveyed an amazing reality and beauty. This -singular book, however, was all I knew of him until he came to visit us -in Helouan, though I easily discerned that his influence somehow was -the original cause of the change in my companion. - -At Thebes, then, was the active centre of the influence that drew -my friend away from modern things. It was there, I easily guessed, -that 'obstacles' had been placed in the way of these men's too -close enquiry. In that haunted and oppressive valley, where profane -and reverent come to actual grips, where modern curiosity is most -busily organised, and even tourists are aware of a masked hostility -that dogs the prying of the least imaginative mind--there, in the -neighbourhood of the hundred-gated city, had Egypt set the headquarters -of her irreconcilable enmity. And it was there, amid the ruins of -her loveliest past, that George Isley had spent his years of magical -reconstruction and met the influence that now dominated his entire life. - -And though no definite avowal of the struggle betrayed itself in -speech between us, I remember fragments of conversation, even at this -stage, that proved his willing surrender of the present. We spoke of -fear once, though with the indirectness of connection I have mentioned. -I urged that the mind, once it is forewarned, can remain master of -itself and prevent a thing from happening. - -'But that does not make the thing unreal,' he objected. - -'The mind can deny it,' I said. 'It then becomes unreal.' - -He shook his head. 'One does not deny an unreality. Denial is a -childish act of self-protection against something you expect to -happen.' He caught my eye a moment. 'You deny what you are afraid -of,' he said. 'Fear invites.' And he smiled uneasily. 'You know it -must get you in the end.' And, both of us being aware secretly to -what our talk referred, it seemed bold-blooded and improper; for -actually we discussed the psychology of his disappearance. Yet, while I -disliked it, there was a fascination about the subject that compelled -attraction.... 'Once fear gets in,' he added presently, 'confidence is -undermined, the structure of life is threatened, and you--go gladly. -The foundation of everything is belief. A man is what he believes about -himself; and in Egypt you can believe things that elsewhere you would -not even think about. It attacks the essentials.' He sighed, yet with -a curious pleasure; and a smile of resignation and relief passed over -his rugged features and was gone again. The luxury of abandonment lay -already in him. - -'But even belief,' I protested, 'must be founded on some experience or -other.' It seemed ghastly to speak of his spiritual malady behind the -mask of indirect allusion. My excuse was that he so obviously talked -willingly. - -He agreed instantly. 'Experience of one kind or another,' he said -darkly, 'there always is. Talk with the men who live out here; ask -any one who thinks, or who has the imagination which divines. You'll -get only one reply, phrase it how they may. Even the tourists and -the little commonplace officials feel it. And it's not the climate, -it's not nerves, it's not any definite tendency that they can name or -lay their finger on. Nor is it mere orientalising of the mind. It's -something that first takes you from your common life, and that later -takes common life from you. You willingly resign an unremunerative -Present. There are no half-measures either--once the gates are open.' - -There was so much undeniable truth in this that I found no corrective -by way of strong rejoinder. All my attempts, indeed, were futile in -this way. He meant to go; my words could not stop him. He wanted -a witness,--he dreaded the loneliness of going--but he brooked no -interference. The contradictory position involved a perplexing state -of heart and mind in both of us. The atmosphere of this majestic land, -to-day so trifling, yesterday so immense, most certainly induced a -lifting of the spiritual horizon that revealed amazing possibilities. - - -VII - -It was in the windless days of a perfect December that Moleson, the -Egyptologist, found us out and paid a flying visit to Helouan. His -duties took him up and down the land, but his time seemed largely at -his own disposal. He lingered on. His coming introduced a new element -I was not quite able to estimate; though, speaking generally, the -effect of his presence upon my companion was to emphasise the latter's -alteration. It underlined the change, and drew attention to it. The -new arrival, I gathered, was not altogether welcome. 'I should never -have expected to find you _here_,' laughed Moleson when they met, and -whether he referred to Helouan or to the hotel was not quite clear. I -got the impression he meant both; I remembered my fancy that it was a -good hotel to hide in. George Isley had betrayed a slight involuntary -start when the visiting card was brought to him at tea-time. I think he -had wished to escape from his former co-worker. Moleson had found him -out. 'I heard you had a friend with you and were contemplating further -exper--work,' he added. He changed the word 'experiment' quickly to the -other. - -'The former, as you see, is true, but not the latter,' replied my -companion dryly, and in his manner was a touch of opposition that -might have been hostility. Their intimacy, I saw, was close and of -old standing. In all they said and did and looked, there was an -undercurrent of other meaning that just escaped me. They were up to -something--they _had_ been up to something; but Isley would have -withdrawn if he could! - -Moleson was an ambitious and energetic personality, absorbed in his -profession, alive to the poetical as well as to the practical value -of archaeology, and he made at first a wholly delightful impression -upon me. An instinctive _flair_ for his subject had early in life -brought him success and a measure of fame as well. His knowledge was -accurate and scholarly, his mind saturated in the lore of a vanished -civilisation. Behind an exterior that was quietly careless, I divined -a passionate and complex nature, and I watched him with interest as -the man for whom the olden sun-worship of unscientific days held -some beauty of reality and truth. Much in his strange book that -had bewildered me now seemed intelligible when I saw the author. I -cannot explain this more closely. Something about him somehow made it -possible. Though modern to the finger-tips and thoroughly equipped with -all the tendencies of the day, there seemed to hide in him another self -that held aloof with a dignified detachment from the interests in which -his 'educated' mind was centred. He read living secrets beneath museum -labels, I might put it. He stepped out of the days of the Pharaohs if -ever man did, and I realised early in our acquaintance that this was -the man who had exceptional powers of 'resistance and self-protection,' -and was, in his particular branch of work, 'unusual.' In manner he -was light and gay, his sense of humour strong, with a way of treating -everything as though laughter was the sanest attitude towards life. -There is, however, the laughter that hides--other things. Moleson, as -I gathered from many clues of talk and manner and silence, was a deep -and singular being. His experiences in Egypt, if any, he had survived -admirably. There were at least two Molesons. I felt him more than -double----multiple. - -In appearance tall, thin, and fleshless, with a dried-up skin and -features withered as a mummy's, he said laughingly that Nature had -picked him physically for his 'job'; and, indeed, one could see him -worming his way down narrow tunnels into the sandy tombs, and writhing -along sunless passages of suffocating heat without too much personal -inconvenience. Something sinuous, almost fluid in his mind expressed -itself in his body too. He might go in any direction without causing -surprise. He might go backwards or forwards. He might go in two -directions at once. - -And my first impression of the man deepened before many days were past. -There was irresponsibility in him, insincerity somewhere, almost want -of heart. His morality was certainly not to-day's, and the mind in him -was slippery. I think the modern world, to which he was unattached, -confused and irritated him. A sense of insecurity came with him. -His interest in George Isley was the interest in a psychological -'specimen.' I remembered how in his book he described the selection -of individuals for certain functions of that marvellous worship, and -the odd idea flashed through me--well, that Isley exactly suited some -purpose of his re-creating energies. The man was keenly observant from -top to toe, but not with his sight alone; he seemed to be aware of -motives and emotions before he noticed the acts or gestures that these -caused. I felt that he took me in as well. Certainly he eyed me up and -down by means of this inner observation that seemed automatic with him. - -Moleson was not staying in our hotel; he had chosen one where social -life was more abundant; but he came up frequently to lunch and dine, -and sometimes spent the evening in Isley's rooms, amusing us with -his skill upon the piano, singing Arab songs, and chanting phrases -from the ancient Egyptian rituals to rhythms of his own invention. -The old Egyptian music, both in harmony and melody, was far more -developed than I had realised, the use of sound having been of radical -importance in their ceremonies. The chanting in particular he did with -extraordinary effect, though whether its success lay in his sonorous -voice, his peculiar increasing of the vowel sounds, or in anything -deeper, I cannot pretend to say. The result at any rate was of a unique -description. It brought buried Egypt to the surface; the gigantic -Presence entered sensibly into the room. It came, huge and gorgeous, -rolling upon the mind the instant he began, and something in it was -both terrible and oppressive. The repose of eternity lay in the sound. -Invariably, after a few moments of that transforming music, I saw the -Valley of the Kings, the deserted temples, titanic faces of stone, -great effigies coifed with zodiacal signs, but above all--the twin -Colossi. - -I mentioned this latter detail. - -'Curious _you_ should feel that too--curious you should say it, I -mean,' Moleson replied, not looking at me, yet with an air as if I had -said something he expected. 'To me the Memnon figures express Egypt -better than all the other monuments put together. Like the desert, they -are featureless. They sum her up, as it were, yet leave the message -unuttered. For, you see, they cannot.' He laughed a little in his -throat. 'They have neither eyes nor lips nor nose; their features are -gone.' - -'Yet they tell the secret--to those who care to listen,' put in Isley -in a scarcely noticeable voice. 'Just because they have no words. They -still sing at dawn,' he added in a louder, almost a challenging tone. -It startled me. - -Moleson turned round at him, opened his lips to speak, hesitated, -stopped. He said nothing for a moment. I cannot describe what it was -in the lightning glance they exchanged that put me on the alert for -something other than was obvious. My nerves quivered suddenly, and -a breath of colder air stole in among us. Moleson swung round to me -again. 'I almost think,' he said, laughing when I complimented him -upon the music, 'that I must have been a priest of Aton-Ra in an -earlier existence, for all this comes to my finger-tips as if it were -instinctive knowledge. Plotinus, remember, lived a few miles away at -Alexandria with his great idea that knowledge is recollection,' he -said, with a kind of cynical amusement. 'In those days, at any rate,' -he added more significantly, 'worship was real and ceremonials actually -expressed great ideas and teaching. There was power in them.' Two of -the Molesons spoke in that contradictory utterance. - -I saw that Isley was fidgeting where he sat, betraying by certain -gestures that uneasiness was in him. He hid his face a moment in his -hands; he sighed; he made a movement--as though to prevent something -coming. But Moleson resisted his attempt to change the conversation, -though the key shifted a little of its own accord. There were numerous -occasions like this when I was aware that both men skirted something -that had happened, something that Moleson wished to resume, but that -Isley seemed anxious to postpone. - -I found myself studying Moleson's personality, yet never getting beyond -a certain point. Shrewd, subtle, with an acute rather than a large -intelligence, he was cynical as well as insincere, and yet I cannot -describe by what means I arrived at two other conclusions as well about -him: first, that this insincerity and want of heart had not been so -always; and, secondly, that he sought social diversion with deliberate -and un-ordinary purpose. I could well believe that the first was -Egypt's mark upon him, and the second an effort at resistance and -self-protection. - -'If it wasn't for the gaiety,' he remarked once in a flippant way -that thinly hid significance, 'a man out here would go under in a -year. Social life gets rather reckless--exaggerated--people do things -they would never dream of doing at home. Perhaps you've noticed it,' -he added, looking suddenly at me; 'Cairo and the rest--they plunge -at it as though driven--a sort of excess about it somewhere.' I -nodded agreement. The way he said it was unpleasant rather. 'It's -an antidote,' he said, a sub-acid flavour in his tone. 'I used to -loathe society myself. But now I find gaiety--a certain irresponsible -excitement--of importance. Egypt gets on the nerves after a bit. The -moral fibre fails. The will grows weak.' And he glanced covertly at -Isley as with a desire to point his meaning. 'It's the clash between -the ugly present and the majestic past, perhaps.' He smiled. - -Isley shrugged his shoulders, making no reply; and the other went on -to tell stories of friends and acquaintances whom Egypt had adversely -affected: Barton, the Oxford man, school teacher, who had insisted -in living in a tent until the Government relieved him of his job. He -took to his tent, roamed the desert, drawn irresistibly, practical -considerations of the present of no avail. This yearning took him, -though he could never define the exact attraction. In the end his -mental balance was disturbed. 'But now he's all right again; I saw -him in London only this year; he can't say what he felt or why he -did it. Only--he's different.' Of John Lattin, too, he spoke, whom -agarophobia caught so terribly in Upper Egypt; of Malahide, upon -whom some fascination of the Nile induced suicidal mania and attempts -at drowning; of Jim Moleson, a cousin (who had camped at Thebes with -himself and Isley), whom megalomania of a most singular type attacked -suddenly in a sandy waste--all radically cured as soon as they left -Egypt, yet, one and all, changed and made otherwise in their very souls. - -He talked in a loose, disjointed way, and though much he said -was fantastic, as if meant to challenge opposition, there was -impressiveness about it somewhere, due, I think, to a kind of -cumulative emotion he produced. - -'The monuments do not impress merely by their bulk, but by their -majestic symmetry,' I remember him saying. 'Look at the choice of -form alone--the Pyramids, for instance. No other shape was possible: -dome, square, spires, all would have been hideously inadequate. The -wedge-shaped mass, immense foundations and pointed apex were the _mot -juste_ in outline. Do you think people without greatness in themselves -chose that form? There was no unbalance in the minds that conceived the -harmonious and magnificent structures of the temples. There was stately -grandeur in their consciousness that could only be born of truth and -knowledge. The power in their images is a direct expression of eternal -and essential things they knew.' - -We listened in silence. He was off upon his hobby. But behind -the careless tone and laughing questions there was this lurking -passionateness that made me feel uncomfortable. He was edging up, I -felt, towards some climax that meant life and death to himself and -Isley. I could not fathom it. My sympathy let me in a little, yet not -enough to understand completely. Isley, I saw, was also uneasy, though -for reasons that equally evaded me. - -'One can almost believe,' he continued, 'that something still hangs -about in the atmosphere from those olden times.' He half closed his -eyes, but I caught the gleam in them. 'It affects the mind through the -imagination. With some it changes the point of view. It takes the soul -back with it to former, quite different, conditions, that must have -been almost another kind of consciousness.' - -He paused an instant and looked up at us. 'The _intensity_ of belief in -those days,' he resumed, since neither of us accepted the challenge, -'was amazing--something quite unknown anywhere in the world to-day. It -was so sure, so positive; no mere speculative theories, I mean;--as -though something in the climate, the exact position beneath the stars, -the "attitude" of this particular stretch of earth in relation to -the sun--thinned the veil between humanity--and other things. Their -hierarchies of gods, you know, were not mere idols; animals, birds, -monsters, and what-not, all typified spiritual forces and powers -that influenced their daily life. But the strong thing is--they -_knew_. People who were scientific as they were did not swallow -foolish superstitions. They made colours that could last six thousand -years, even in the open air; and without instruments they measured -accurately--an enormously difficult and involved calculation--the -precession of the equinoxes. You've been to Denderah?'--he suddenly -glanced again at me. 'No! Well, the minds that realised the zodiacal -signs could hardly believe, you know, that Hathor was a cow!' - -Isley coughed. He was about to interrupt, but before he could find -words, Moleson was off again, some new quality in his tone and manner -that was almost aggressive. The hints he offered seemed more than -hints. There was a strange conviction in his heart. I think he was -skirting a bigger thing that he and his companion knew, yet that -his real object was to see in how far I was open to attack--how far -my sympathy might be with them. I became aware that he and George -Isley shared this bigger thing. It was based, I felt, on some certain -knowledge that experiment had brought them. - -'Think of the grand teaching of Aknahton, that young Pharaoh who -regenerated the entire land and brought it to its immense prosperity. -He taught the worship of the sun, but not of the visible sun. The -deity had neither form nor shape. The great disk of glory was but -the manifestation, each beneficent ray ending in a hand that blessed -the world. It was a god of everlasting energy, love and power, yet -men could know it at first hand in their daily lives, worshipping it -at dawn and sunset with passionate devotion. No anthropomorphic idol -masqueraded in _that_!' - -An extraordinary glow was about him as he said it. The same minute he -lowered his voice, shifting the key perceptibly. He kept looking up at -me through half-closed eyelids. - -'And another thing they wonderfully knew,' he almost whispered, 'was -that, with the precession of their deity across the equinoctial -changes, there came new powers down into the world of men. Each -cycle--each zodiacal sign--brought its special powers which they -quickly typified in the monstrous effigies we label to-day in our dull -museums. Each sign took some two thousand years to traverse. Each -sign, moreover, involved a change in human consciousness. There was -this relation between the heavens and the human heart. All that they -knew. While the sun crawled through the sign of Taurus, it was the Bull -they worshipped; with Aries, it was the ram that coifed their granite -symbols. Then came, as you remember, with Pisces the great New Arrival, -when already they sank from their grand zenith, and the Fish was taken -as the emblem of the changing powers which the Christ embodied. For -the human soul, they held, echoed the changes in the immense journey -of the original deity, who is its source, across the Zodiac, and the -truth of "As above, so Below" remains the key to all manifested life. -And to-day the sun, just entering Aquarius, new powers are close upon -the world. The old--that which has been for two thousand years--again -is crumbling, passing, dying. New powers and a new consciousness are -knocking at our doors. It is a time of change. It is also'--he leaned -forward so that his eyes came close before me--'the time to make the -change. The soul can choose its own conditions. It can----' - -A sudden crash smothered the rest of the sentence. A chair had fallen -with a clatter upon the wooden floor where the carpet left it bare. -Whether Isley in rising had stumbled against it, or whether he had -purposely knocked it over, I could not say. I only knew that he had -abruptly risen and as abruptly sat down again. A curious feeling came -to me that the sign was somehow prearranged. It was so sudden. His -voice, too, was forced, I thought. - -'Yes, but we can do without all that, Moleson,' he interrupted with -acute abruptness. 'Suppose we have a tune instead.' - - -VIII - -It was after dinner in his private room, and he had sat very silent in -his corner until this sudden outburst. Moleson got up quietly without -a word and moved over to the piano. I saw--or was it imagination -merely?--a new expression slide upon his withered face. He meant -mischief somewhere. - -From that instant--from the moment he rose and walked over the -thick carpet--he fascinated me. The atmosphere his talk and stories -had brought remained. His lean fingers ran over the keys, and at -first he played fragments from popular musical comedies that were -pleasant enough, but made no demand upon the attention. I heard them -without listening. I was thinking of another thing--his walk. For -the way he moved across those few feet of carpet had power in it. He -looked different; he seemed another man; he was changed. I saw him -curiously--as I sometimes now saw Isley too--bigger. In some manner -that was both enchanting and oppressive, his presence from that moment -drew my imagination as by an air of authority it held. - -I left my seat in the far corner and dropped into a chair beside the -window, nearer to the piano. Isley, I then noticed, had also turned -to watch him. But it was George Isley not quite as he was now. I felt -rather than saw the change. Both men had subtly altered. They seemed -extended, their outlines shadowy. - -Isley, alert and anxious, glanced up at the player, his mind of earlier -years--for the expression of his face was plain--following the light -music, yet with difficulty that involved effort, almost struggle. -'Play that again, will you?' I heard him say from time to time. He -was trying to take hold of it, to climb back to a condition where that -music had linked him to the present, to seize a mental structure that -was gone, to grip hold tightly of it--only to find that it was too far -forgotten and too fragile. It would not bear him. I am sure of it, and -I can swear I divined his mood. He fought to realise himself as he had -been, but in vain. In his dim corner opposite I watched him closely. -The big black Bluthner blocked itself between us. Above it swayed -the outline, lean and half shadowy, of Moleson as he played. A faint -whisper floated through the room. 'You are in Egypt.' Nowhere else -could this queer feeling of presentiment, of anticipation, have gained -a footing so easily. I was aware of intense emotion in all three of us. -The least reminder of To-day seemed ugly. I longed for some ancient -forgotten splendour that was lost. - -The scene fixed my attention very steadily, for I was aware of -something deliberate and calculated on Moleson's part. The thing -was well considered in his mind, intention only half concealed. It -was Egypt he interpreted by sound, expressing what in him was true, -then observing its effect, as he led us cleverly towards--the past. -Beginning with the present, he played persuasively, with penetration, -with insistent meaning too. He had that touch which conjured up real -atmosphere, and, at first, that atmosphere termed modern. He rendered -vividly the note of London, passing from the jingles of musical -comedy, nervous rag-times and sensuous Tango dances, into the higher -strains of concert rooms and 'cultured' circles. Yet not too abruptly. -Most dexterously he shifted the level, and with it our emotion. I -recognised, as in a parody, various ultra-modern thrills: the tumult -of Strauss, the pagan sweetness of primitive Debussy, the weirdness -and ecstasy of metaphysical Scriabin. The composite note of To-day in -both extremes, he brought into this private sitting-room of the desert -hotel, while George Isley, listening keenly, fidgeted in his chair. - -'"Apres-midi d'un Faune,"' said Moleson dreamily, answering the -question as to what he played. 'Debussy's, you know. And the thing -before it was from "Til Eulenspiegel"--Strauss, of course.' - -He drawled, swaying slowly with the rhythm, and leaving pauses between -the words. His attention was not wholly on his listener, and in the -voice was a quality that increased my uneasy apprehension. I felt -distress for Isley somewhere. Something, it seemed, was coming; Moleson -brought it. Unconsciously in his walk, it now appeared consciously in -his music; and it came from what was underground in him. A charm, a -subtle change, stole oddly over the room. It stole over my heart as -well. Some power of estimating left me, as though my mind were slipping -backwards and losing familiar, common standards. - -'The true modern note in it, isn't there?' he drawled; 'cleverness, I -think--intellectual--surface ingenuity--no depth or permanence--just -the sensational brilliance of To-day.' He turned and stared at me -fixedly an instant. 'Nothing _everlasting_,' he added impressively. 'It -tells everything it knows--because it's small enough----' - -And the room turned pettier as he said it; another, bigger shadow -draped its little walls. Through the open windows came a stealthy -gesture of eternity. The atmosphere stretched visibly. Moleson was -playing a marvellous fragment from Scriabin's 'Prometheus.' It sounded -thin and shallow. This modern music, all of it, was out of place and -trivial. It was almost ridiculous. The scale of our emotion changed -insensibly into a deeper thing that has no name in dictionaries, being -of another age. And I glanced at the windows where stone columns framed -dim sections of great Egypt listening outside. There was no moon; only -deep draughts of stars blazed, hanging in the sky. I thought with awe -of the mysterious knowledge that vanished people had of these stars, -and of the Sun's huge journey through the Zodiac.... - -And, with astonishing suddenness as of dream, there rose a pictured -image against that starlit sky. Lifted into the air, between heaven and -earth, I saw float swiftly past a panorama of the stately temples, led -by Denderah, Edfu, Abou Simbel. It paused, it hovered, it disappeared. -Leaving incalculable solemnity behind it in the air, it vanished, and -to see so vast a thing move at that easy yet unhasting speed unhinged -some sense of measurement in me. It was, of course, I assured myself, -mere memory objectified owing to something that the music summoned, -yet the apprehension rose in me that the whole of Egypt presently -would stream past in similar fashion--Egypt as she was in the zenith -of her unrecoverable past. Behind the tinkling of the modern piano -passed the rustling of a multitude, the tramping of countless feet on -sand.... It was singularly vivid. It arrested in me something that -normally went flowing.... And when I turned my head towards the room to -call attention to my strange experience, the eyes of Moleson, I saw, -were laid upon my own. He stared at me. The light in them transfixed -me, and I understood that the illusion was due in some manner to his -evocation. Isley rose at the same moment from his chair. The thing I -had vaguely been expecting had shifted closer. And the same moment the -musician abruptly changed his key. - -'You may like this better,' he murmured, half to himself, but in tones -he somehow made echoing. 'It's more suited to the place.' There was a -resonance in the voice as though it emerged from hollows underground. -'The other seems almost sacrilegious--here.' And his voice drawled -off in the rhythm of slower modulations that he played. It had grown -muffled. There was an impression, too, that he did not strike the -piano, but that the music issued from himself. - -'Place! What place?' asked Isley quickly. His head turned sharply as he -spoke. His tone, in its remoteness, made me tremble. - -The musician laughed to himself. 'I meant that this hotel seems really -an impertinence,' he murmured, leaning down upon the notes he played -upon so softly and so well; 'and that it's but the thinnest kind of -pretence--when you come to think of it. We are in the desert really. -The Colossi are outside, and all the emptied temples. Or ought to be,' -he added, raising his tone abruptly with a glance at me. - -He straightened up and stared out into the starry sky past George -Isley's shoulders. - -'That,' he exclaimed with betraying vehemence, 'is where we are and -what we play to!' His voice suddenly increased; there was a roar in it. -'That,' he repeated, 'is the thing that takes our hearts away.' The -volume of intonation was astonishing. - -For the way he uttered the monosyllable suddenly revealed the man -beneath the outer sheath of cynicism and laughter, explained his -heartlessness, his secret stream of life. He, too, was soul and body -in the past. 'That' revealed more than pages of descriptive phrases. -His heart lived in the temple aisles, his mind unearthed forgotten -knowledge; his soul had clothed itself anew in the seductive glory -of antiquity: he dwelt with a quickening magic of existence in the -reconstructed splendour of what most term only ruins. He and George -Isley together had revivified a power that enticed them backwards; -but whereas the latter struggled still, the former had already made -his permanent home there. The faculty in me that saw the vision of -streaming temples saw also this--remorselessly definite. Moleson -himself sat naked at that piano. I saw him clearly then. He no longer -masqueraded behind his sneers and laughter. He, too, had long ago -surrendered, lost himself, gone out, and from the place his soul now -dwelt in he watched George Isley sinking down to join him. He lived in -ancient, subterranean Egypt. This great hotel stood precariously on the -merest upper crust of desert. A thousand tombs, a hundred temples lay -outside, within reach almost of our very voices. Moleson was merged -with 'that.' - -This intuition flashed upon me like the picture in the sky; and both -were true. - -And, meanwhile, this other thing he played had a surge of power in it -impossible to describe. It was sombre, huge and solemn. It conveyed the -power that his walk conveyed. There was distance in it, but a distance -not of space alone. A remoteness of time breathed through it with that -strange sadness and melancholy yearning that enormous interval brings. -It marched, but very far away; it held refrains that assumed the -rhythms of a multitude the centuries muted; it sang, but the singing -was underground in passages that fine sand muffled. Lost, wandering -winds sighed through it, booming. The contrast, after the modern, -cheaper music, was dislocating. Yet the change had been quite naturally -effected. - -'It would sound empty and monotonous elsewhere--in London, for -instance,' I heard Moleson drawling, as he swayed to and fro, 'but here -it is big and splendid--true. You hear what I mean,' he added gravely. -'You understand?' - -'What is it?' asked Isley thickly, before I could say a word. 'I forget -exactly. It has tears in it--more than I can bear.' The end of his -sentence died away in his throat. - -Moleson did not look at him as he answered. He looked at me. - -'You surely ought to know,' he replied, the voice rising and falling as -though the rhythm forced it. 'You have heard it all before--that chant -from the ritual we----' - -Isley sprang up and stopped him. I did not hear the sentence -complete. An extraordinary thought blazed into me that the voices -of both men were not quite their own. I fancied--wild, impossible -as it sounds--that I heard the twin Colossi singing to each other -in the dawn. Stupendous ideas sprang past me, leaping. It seemed as -though eternal symbols of the cosmos, discovered and worshipped in -this ancient land, leaped into awful life. My consciousness became -enveloping. I had the distressing feeling that ages slipped out of -place and took me with them; they dominated me; they rushed me off my -feet like water. I was drawn backwards. I, too, was changing--being -changed. - -'I remember,' said Isley softly, a reverence of worship in his voice. -But there was anguish in it too, and pity; he let the present go -completely from him; the last strands severed with a wrench of pain. I -imagined I heard his soul pass weeping far away--below. - -'I'll sing it,' murmured Moleson, 'for the voice is necessary. The -sound and rhythm are utterly divine!' - - -IX - -And forthwith his voice began a series of long-drawn cadences that -seemed somehow the root-sounds of every tongue that ever was. A spell -came over me I could touch and feel. A web encompassed me; my arms and -feet became entangled; a veil of fine threads wove across my eyes. The -enthralling power of the rhythm produced some magical movement in the -soul. I was aware of life everywhere about me, far and near, in the -dwellings of the dead, as also in the corridors of the iron hills. -Thebes stood erect, and Memphis teemed upon the river banks. For the -modern world fell, swaying, at this sound that restored the past, and -in this past both men before me lived and had their being. The storm -of present life passed o'er their heads, while they dwelt underground, -obliterated, gone. Upon the wave of sound they went down into their -recovered kingdom. - -I shivered, moved vigorously, half rose up, then instantly sank back -again, resigned and helpless. For I entered by their side, it seemed, -the conditions of their strange captivity. My thoughts, my feelings, -my point of view were transplanted to another centre. Consciousness -shifted in me. I saw things from another's point of view--antiquity's. - -The present forgotten but the past supreme, I lost Reality. Our -room became a pin-point picture seen in a drop of water, while this -subterranean world, replacing it, turned immense. My heart took on the -gigantic, leisured stride of what had been. Proportions grew; size -captured me; and magnitude, turned monstrous, swept mere measurement -away. Some hand of golden sunshine picked me up and set me in the -quivering web beside those other two. I heard the rustle of the -settling threads; I heard the shuffling of the feet in sand; I heard -the whispers in the dwellings of the dead. Behind the monotony of -this sacerdotal music I heard them in their dim carved chambers. The -ancient galleries were awake. The Life of unremembered ages stirred in -multitudes about me. - -The reality of so incredible an experience evaporates through the -stream of language. I can only affirm this singular proof--that the -deepest, most satisfying knowledge the Present could offer seemed -insignificant beside some stalwart majesty of the Past that utterly -usurped it. This modern room, holding a piano and two figures -of To-day, appeared as a paltry miniature pinned against a vast -transparent curtain, whose foreground was thick with symbols of temple, -sphinx and pyramid, but whose background of stupendous hanging grey -slid off towards a splendour where the cities of the Dead shook off -their sand and thronged space to its ultimate horizons.... The stars, -the entire universe, vibrating and alive, became involved in it. Long -periods of time slipped past me. I seemed living ages ago.... I was -living backwards.... - -The size and eternity of Egypt took me easily. There was an -overwhelming grandeur in it that elbowed out all present standards. The -whole place towered and stood up. The desert reared, the very horizons -lifted; majestic figures of granite rose above the hotel, great faces -hovered and drove past; huge arms reached up to pluck the stars and -set them in the ceilings of the labyrinthine tombs. The colossal -meaning of the ancient land emerged through all its ruined details ... -reconstructed--burningly alive.... - -It became at length unbearable. I longed for the droning sounds to -cease, for the rhythm to lessen its prodigious sweep. My heart cried -out for the gold of the sunlight on the desert, for the sweet air by -the river's banks, for the violet lights upon the hills at dawn. And I -resisted, I made an effort to return. - -'Your chant is horrible. For God's sake, let's have an Arab song--or -the music of To-day!' - -The effort was intense, the result was--nothing. I swear I used these -words. I heard the actual sound of my voice, if no one else did, for -I remember that it was pitiful in the way great space devoured it, -making of its appreciable volume the merest whisper as of some bird or -insect cry. But the figure that I took for Moleson, instead of answer -or acknowledgment, merely grew and grew as things grow in a fairy tale. -I hardly know; I certainly cannot say. That dwindling part of me which -offered comments on the entire occurrence noted this extraordinary -effect as though it happened naturally--that Moleson himself was -marvellously increasing. - -The entire spell became operative all at once. I experienced both the -delight of complete abandonment and the terror of letting go what _had_ -seemed real. I understood Moleson's sham laughter, and the subtle -resignation of George Isley. And an amazing thought flashed birdlike -across my changing consciousness--that this resurrection into the -Past, this rebirth of the spirit which they sought, involved taking -upon themselves the guise of these ancient symbols each in turn. As -the embryo assumes each evolutionary stage below it before the human -semblance is attained, so the souls of those two adventurers took upon -themselves the various emblems of that intense belief. The devout -worshipper takes on the qualities of his deity. They wore the entire -series of the old-world gods so potently that I perceived them, and -even objectified them by my senses. The present was their pre-natal -stage; to enter the past they were being born again. - -But it was not Moleson's semblance alone that took on this awful -change. Both faces, scaled to the measure of Egypt's outstanding -quality of size, became in this little modern room distressingly -immense. Distorting mirrors can suggest no simile, for the symmetry of -proportion was not injured. I lost their human physiognomies. I saw -their thoughts, their feelings, their augmented, altered hearts, the -thing that Egypt put there while she stole their love from modern life. -There grew an awful stateliness upon them that was huge, mysterious, -and motionless as stone. - -For Moleson's narrow face at first turned hawk-like in the semblance -of the sinister deity, Horus, only stretched to tower above the -toy-scaled piano; it was keen and sly and monstrous after prey, while -a swiftness of the sunrise leaped from both the brilliant eyes. George -Isley, equally immense of outline, was in general presentment more -magnificent, a breadth of the Sphinx about his spreading shoulders, -and in his countenance an inscrutable power of calm temple images. -These were the first signs of obsession; but others followed. In rapid -series, like lantern-slides upon a screen, the ancient symbols flashed -one after another across these two extended human faces and were gone. -Disentanglement became impossible. The successive signatures seemed -almost superimposed as in a composite photograph, each appearing and -vanished before recognition was even possible, while I interpreted the -inner alchemy by means of outer tokens familiar to my senses. Egypt, -possessing them, expressed herself thus marvellously in their physical -aspect, using the symbols of her intense, regenerative power.... - -The changes merged with such swiftness into one another that I did not -seize the half of them--till, finally, the procession culminated in -a single one that remained fixed awfully upon them both. The entire -series merged. I was aware of this single masterful image which summed -up all the others in sublime repose. The gigantic thing rose up in -this incredible statue form. The spirit of Egypt synthesised in this -monstrous symbol, obliterated them both. I saw the seated figures of -the grim Colossi, dipped in sand, night over them, waiting for the -dawn.... - - -X - -I made a violent effort, then, at self-assertion--an effort to focus my -mind upon the present. And, searching for Moleson and George Isley, its -nearest details, I was aware that I could not find them. The familiar -figures of my two companions were not discoverable. - -I saw it as plainly as I also saw that ludicrous, wee piano--for a -moment. But the moment remained; the Eternity of Egypt stayed. For -that lonely and terrific pair had stooped their shoulders and bowed -their awful heads. They were in the room. They imaged forth the power -of the everlasting Past through the little structures of two human -worshippers. Room, walls, and ceiling fled away. Sand and the open sky -replaced them. - -The two of them rose side by side before my bursting eyes. I knew -not where to look. Like some child who confronts its giants upon the -nursery floor, I turned to stone, unable to think or move. I stared. -Sight wrenched itself to find the men familiar to it, but found -instead this symbolising vision. I could not see them properly. Their -faces were spread with hugeness, their features lost in some uncommon -magnitude, their shoulders, necks, and arms grown vast upon the air. As -with the desert, there was physiognomy yet no personal expression, the -human thing all drowned within the mass of battered stone. I discovered -neither cheeks nor mouth nor jaw, but ruined eyes and lips of broken -granite. Huge, motionless, mysterious, Egypt informed them and took -them to herself. And between us, curiously presented in some false -perspective, I saw the little symbol of To-day--the Bluthner piano. It -was appalling. I knew a second of majestic horror. I blenched. Hot and -cold gushed through me. Strength left me, power of speech and movement -too, as in a moment of complete paralysis. - -The spell, moreover, was not within the room alone; it was outside and -everywhere. The Past stood massed about the very walls of the hotel. -Distance, as well as time, stepped nearer. That chanting summoned the -gigantic items in all their ancient splendour. The shadowy concourse -grouped itself upon the sand about us, and I was aware that the great -army shifted noiselessly into place; that pyramids soared and towered; -that deities of stone stood by; that temples ranged themselves in -reconstructed beauty, grave as the night of time whence they emerged; -and that the outline of the Sphinx, motionless but aggressive, piled -its dim bulk upon the atmosphere. Immensity answered to immensity.... -There were vast intervals of time and there were reaches of enormous -distance, yet all happened in a moment, and all happened within a -little space. It was now and here. Eternity whispered in every second -as in every grain of sand. Yet, while aware of so many stupendous -details all at once, I was really aware of one thing only--that the -spirit of ancient Egypt faced me in these two terrific figures, and -that my consciousness, stretched painfully yet gloriously, included -all, as She also unquestionably included them--and me. - -For it seemed I shared the likeness of my two companions. Some lesser -symbol, though of similar kind, obsessed me too. I tried to move, but -my feet were set in stone; my arms lay fixed; my body was embedded in -the rock. Sand beat sharply upon my outer surface, urged upwards in -little flurries by a chilly wind. There was nothing felt: I _heard_ the -rattle of the scattering grains against my hardened body.... - -And we waited for the dawn; for the resurrection of that unchanging -deity who was the source and inspiration of all our glorious life.... -The air grew keen and fresh. In the distance a line of sky turned from -pink to violet and gold; a delicate rose next flushed the desert; a -few pale stars hung fainting overhead; and the wind that brought the -sunrise was already stirring. The whole land paused upon the coming of -its mighty God.... - -Into the pause there rose a curious sound for which we had been -waiting. For it came familiarly, as though expected. I could have sworn -at first that it was George Isley who sang, answering his companion. -There beat behind its great volume the same note and rhythm, only so -prodigiously increased that, while Moleson's chant had waked it, it -now was independent and apart. The resonant vibrations of what he -sang had reached down into the places where it slept. _They_ uttered -synchronously. Egypt spoke. There was in it the deep muttering as of a -thousand drums, as though the desert uttered in prodigious syllables. I -listened while my heart of stone stood still. There were two voices in -the sky. _They_ spoke tremendously with each other in the dawn: - -'So easily we still remain possessors of the land.... While the -centuries roar past us and are gone.' - -Soft with power the syllables rolled forth, yet with a booming depth as -though caverns underground produced them. - -'Our silence is disturbed. Pass on with the multitude towards the -East.... Still in the dawn we sing the old-world wisdom.... They shall -hear our speech, yet shall not hear it with their ears of flesh. At -dawn our words go forth, searching the distances of sand and time -across the sunlight.... At dusk they return, as upon eagles' wings, -entering again our lips of stone.... Each century one syllable, yet no -sentence yet complete. While our lips are broken with the utterance....' - -It seemed that hours and months and years went past me while I -listened in my sandy bed. The fragments died far away, then sounded -very close again. It was as though mountain peaks sang to one another -above clouds. Wind caught the muffled roar away. Wind brought it -back.... Then, in a hollow pause that lasted years, conveying -marvellously the passage of long periods, I heard the utterance more -clearly. The leisured roll of the great voice swept through me like a -flood: - -'We wait and watch and listen in our loneliness. We do not close our -eyes. The moon and stars sail past us, and our river finds the sea. We -bring Eternity upon your broken lives.... We see you build your little -lines of steel across our territory behind the thin white smoke. We -hear the whistle of your messengers of iron through the air.... The -nations rise and pass. The empires flutter westwards and are gone.... -The sun grows older and the stars turn pale.... Winds shift the line -of the horizons, and our River moves its bed. But we, everlasting and -unchangeable, remain. Of water, sand and fire is our essential being, -yet built within the universal air.... There is no pause in life, there -is no break in death. The changes bring no end. The sun returns.... -There is eternal resurrection.... But our kingdom is underground in -shadow, unrealised of your little day.... Come, come! The temples still -are crowded, and our Desert blesses you. Our River takes your feet. Our -sand shall purify, and the fire of our God shall burn you sweetly into -wisdom.... Come, then, and worship, for the time draws near. It is the -dawn....' - -The voices died down into depths that the sand of ages muffled, while -the flaming dawn of the East rushed up the sky. Sunrise, the great -symbol of life's endless resurrection, was at hand. About me, in -immense but shadowy array, stood the whole of ancient Egypt, hanging -breathlessly upon the moment of adoration. No longer stern and terrible -in the splendour of their long neglect, the effigies rose erect with -passionate glory, a forest of stately stone. Their granite lips were -parted and their ancient eyes were wide. All faced the east. And the -sun drew nearer to the rim of the attentive Desert. - - -XI - -Emotion there seemed none, in the sense that _I_ knew feeling. I knew, -if anything, the ultimate secrets of two primitive sensations--joy and -awe.... The dawn grew swiftly brighter. There was gold, as though the -sands of Nubia spilt their brilliance on each shining detail; there was -glory, as though the retreating tide of stars spilt their light foam -upon the world; and there was passion, as though the beliefs of all the -ages floated back with abandonment into the--Sun. Ruined Egypt merged -into a single temple of elemental vastness whose floor was the empty -desert, but whose walls rose to the stars. - -Abruptly, then, chanting and rhythm ceased; they dipped below. Sand -muffled them. And the Sun looked down upon its ancient world.... - -A radiant warmth poured through me. I found that I could move my limbs -again. A sense of triumphant life ran through my stony frame. For one -passing second I heard the shower of gritty particles upon my surface -like sand blown upwards by a gust of wind, but this time I could _feel_ -the sting of it upon my skin. It passed. The drenching heat bathed me -from head to foot, while stony insensibility gave place with returning -consciousness to flesh and blood. The sun had risen.... I was alive, -but I was--changed. - -It seemed I opened my eyes. An immense relief was in me. I turned; I -drew a deep, refreshing breath; I stretched one leg upon a thick, green -carpet. Something had left me; another thing had returned. I sat up, -conscious of welcome release, of freedom, of escape. - -There was some violent, disorganising break. I found myself; I found -Moleson; I found George Isley too. He had got shifted in that room -without my being aware of it. Isley had risen. He came upon me like a -blow. I saw him move his arms. Fire flashed from below his hands; and I -realised then that he was turning on the electric lights. They emerged -from different points along the walls, in the alcove, beneath the -ceiling, by the writing-table; and one had just that minute blazed into -my eyes from a bracket close above me. I was back again in the Present -among modern things. - -But, while most of the details presented themselves gradually to my -recovered senses, Isley returned with this curious effect of speed -and distance--like a blow upon the mind. From great height and from -prodigious size--he dropped. I seemed to find him rushing at me. -Moleson was simply 'there'; there was no speed or sudden change in him -as with the other. Motionless at the piano, his long thin hands lay -down upon the keys yet did not strike them. But Isley came back like -lightning into the little room, signs of the monstrous obsession still -about his altering features. There was battle and worship mingled in -his deep-set eyes. His mouth, though set, was smiling. With a shudder I -positively saw the vastness slipping from his face as shadows from a -stretch of broken cliff. There was this awful mingling of proportions. -The colossal power that had resumed his being drew slowly inwards. -There was collapse in him. And upon the sunburned cheek of his rugged -face I saw a tear. - -Poignant revulsion caught me then for a moment. The present showed -itself in rags. The reduction of scale was painful. I yearned for -the splendour that was gone, yet still seemed so hauntingly almost -within reach. The cheapness of the hotel room, the glaring ugliness of -its tinsel decoration, the baseness of ideals where utility instead -of beauty, gain instead of worship, governed life--this, with the -dwindled aspect of my companions to the insignificance of marionettes, -brought a hungry pain that was at first intolerable. In the glare -of light I noticed the small round face of the portable clock upon -the mantelpiece, showing half-past eleven. Moleson had been two -hours at the piano. And this measuring faculty of my mind completed -the disillusionment. I was, indeed, back among present things. The -mechanical spirit of To-day imprisoned me again. - -For a considerable interval we neither moved nor spoke; the sudden -change left the emotions in confusion; we had leaped from a height, -from the top of the pyramid, from a star--and the crash of landing -scattered thought. I stole a glance at Isley, wondering vaguely why -he was there at all; the look of resignation had replaced the power -in his face; the tear was brushed away. There was no struggle in him -now, no sign of resistance; there was abandonment only; he seemed -insignificant. The real George Isley was elsewhere: he himself had not -returned. - -By jerks, as it were, and by awkward stages, then, we all three came -back to common things again. I found that we were talking ordinarily, -asking each other questions, answering, lighting cigarettes, and all -the rest. Moleson played some commonplace chords upon the piano, while -he leaned back listlessly in his chair, putting in sentences now and -again and chatting idly to whichever of us would listen. And Isley came -slowly across the room towards me, holding out cigarettes. His dark -brown face had shadows on it. He looked exhausted, worn, like some -soldier broken in the wars. - -'You liked it?' I heard his thin voice asking. There was no interest, -no expression; it was not the real Isley who spoke; it was the little -part of him that had come back. He smiled like a marvellous automaton. - -Mechanically I took the cigarette he offered me, thinking confusedly -what answer I could make. - -'It's irresistible,' I murmured; 'I understand that it's easier to go.' - -'Sweeter as well,' he whispered with a sigh, 'and very wonderful!' - - -XII - -The hand that lit my cigarette, I saw, was trembling. A desire to do -something violent woke in me suddenly--to move energetically, to push -or drive something away. - -'What was it?' I asked abruptly, in a louder, half-challenging -voice, intended for the man at the piano. 'Such a performance--upon -others--without first asking their permission--seems to me -unpermissible--it's----' - -And it was Moleson who replied. He ignored the end of my sentence as -though he had not heard it. He strolled over to our side, taking a -cigarette and pressing it carefully into shape between his long thin -fingers. - -'You may well ask,' he answered quietly; 'but it's not so easy to -tell. We discovered it'--he nodded towards Isley--'two years ago in -the "Valley." It lay beside a Priest, a very important personage, -apparently, and was part of the Ritual he used in the worship of the -sun. In the Museum now--you can see it any day at the Boulak--it is -simply labelled "Hymn to Ra." The period was Aknahton's.' - -'The words, yes,' put in Isley, who was listening closely. - -'The words?' repeated Moleson in a curious tone. 'There _are_ no words. -It's all really a manipulation of the vowel sounds. And the rhythm, or -chanting, or whatever you like to call it, I--I invented myself. The -Egyptians did not write their music, you see.' He suddenly searched my -face a moment with questioning eyes. 'Any words you heard,' he said, -'or thought you heard, were merely your own interpretation.' - -I stared at him, making no rejoinder. - -'They made use of what they called a "root-language" in their rituals,' -he went on, 'and it consisted entirely of vowel sounds. There were no -consonants. For vowel sounds, you see, run on for ever without end or -beginning, whereas consonants interrupt their flow and break it up and -limit it. A consonant has no sound of its own at all. Real language is -continuous.' - -We stood a moment, smoking in silence. I understood then that this -thing Moleson had done was based on definite knowledge. He had -rendered some fragment of an ancient Ritual he and Isley had unearthed -together, and while he knew its effect upon the latter, he chanced it -on myself. Not otherwise, I feel, could it have influenced me in the -extraordinary way it did. In the faith and poetry of a nation lies its -soul-life, and the gigantic faith of Egypt blazed behind the rhythm -of that long, monotonous chant. There were blood and heart and nerves -in it. Millions had heard it sung; millions had wept and prayed and -yearned; it was ensouled by the passion of that marvellous civilisation -that loved the godhead of the Sun, and that now hid, waiting but still -alive, below the ground. The majestic faith of ancient Egypt poured up -with it--that tremendous, burning elaboration of the after-life and of -Eternity that was the pivot of those spacious days. For centuries vast -multitudes, led by their royal priests, had uttered this very form and -ritual--believed it, lived it, felt it. The rising of the sun remained -its climax. Its spiritual power still clung to the great ruined -symbols. The faith of a buried civilisation had burned back into the -present and into our hearts as well. - -And a curious respect for the man who was able to produce this effect -upon two modern minds crept over me, and mingled with the repulsion -that I felt. I looked furtively at his withered, dried-up features. He -wore some vague and shadowy impress still of what had just been in him. -There was a stony appearance in his shrunken cheeks. He looked smaller. -I saw him lessened. I thought of him as he had been so short a time -before, imprisoned in his great stone captors that had obsessed him.... - -'There's tremendous power in it,--an awful power,' I stammered, more -to break the oppressive pause than for any desire in me to speak with -him. 'It brings back Egypt in some extraordinary way--ancient Egypt, I -mean--brings it close--into the heart.' My words ran on of their own -accord almost. I spoke with a hush, unwittingly. There was awe in me. -Isley had moved away towards the window, leaving me face to face with -this strange incarnation of another age. - -'It must,' he replied, deep light still glowing in his eyes, 'for the -soul of the old days is in it. No one, I think, can hear it and remain -the same. It expresses, you see, the essential passion and beauty -of that gorgeous worship, that splendid faith, that reasonable and -intelligent worship of the sun, the only scientific belief the world -has ever known. Its popular form, of course, was largely superstitious, -but the sacerdotal form--the form used by the priests, that is--who -understood the relationship between colour, sound and symbol, was----' - -He broke off suddenly, as though he had been speaking to himself. We -sat down. George Isley leaned out of the window with his back to us, -watching the desert in the moonless night. - -'You have tried its effect before upon--others?' I asked point-blank. - -'Upon myself,' he answered shortly. - -'Upon others?' I insisted. - -He hesitated an instant. - -'Upon one other--yes,' he admitted. - -'Intentionally?' And something quivered in me as I asked it. - -He shrugged his shoulders slightly. 'I'm merely a speculative -archaeologist,' he smiled, 'and--and an imaginative Egyptologist. My -bounden duty is to reconstruct the past so that it lives for others.' - -An impulse rose in me to take him by the throat. - -'You know perfectly well, of course, the magical effect it's -sure--likely at least--to have?' - -He stared steadily at me through the cigarette smoke. To this day I -cannot think exactly what it was in this man that made me shudder. - -'I'm sure of nothing,' he replied smoothly, 'but I consider it quite -legitimate to try. Magical--the word you used--has no meaning for -me. If such a thing exists, it is merely scientific--undiscovered or -forgotten knowledge.' An insolent, aggressive light shone in his eyes -as he spoke; his manner was almost truculent. 'You refer, I take it, -to--our friend--rather than to yourself?' - -And with difficulty I met his singular stare. From his whole person -something still emanated that was forbidding, yet overmasteringly -persuasive. It brought back the notion of that invisible Web, that dim -gauze curtain, that motionless Influence lying waiting at the centre -for its prey, those monstrous and mysterious Items standing, alert -and watchful, through the centuries. 'You mean,' he added lower, 'his -altered attitude to life--his going?' - -To hear him use the words, the very phrase, struck me with sudden -chill. Before I could answer, however, and certainly before I could -master the touch of horror that rushed over me, I heard him continuing -in a whisper. It seemed again that he spoke to himself as much as he -spoke to me. - -'The soul, I suppose, has the right to choose its own conditions and -surroundings. To pass elsewhere involves translation, not extinction.' -He smoked a moment in silence, then said another curious thing, looking -up into my face with an expression of intense earnestness. Something -genuine in him again replaced the pose of cynicism. 'The soul is -eternal and can take its place anywhere, regardless of mere duration. -What is there in the vulgar and superficial Present that should hold -it so exclusively; and where can it find to-day the belief, the faith, -the beauty that are the very essence of its life--where in the rush -and scatter of this tawdry age can it make its home? Shall it flutter -for ever in a valley of dry bones, when a living Past lies ready and -waiting with loveliness, strength, and glory?' He moved closer; he -touched my arm; I felt his breath upon my face. 'Come with us,' he -whispered awfully; 'come back with us! Withdraw your life from the -rubbish of this futile ugliness! Come back and worship with us in the -spirit of the Past. Take up the old, old splendour, the glory, the -immense conceptions, the wondrous certainty, the ineffable knowledge of -essentials. It all lies about you still; it's calling, ever calling; -it's very close; it draws you day and night--calling, calling, -calling....' - -His voice died off curiously into distance on the word; I can hear it -to this day, and the soft, droning quality in the intense yet fading -tone: 'Calling, calling, calling.' But his eyes turned wicked. I felt -the sinister power of the man. I was aware of madness in his thought -and mind. The Past he sought to glorify I saw black, as with the -forbidding Egyptian darkness of a plague. It was not beauty but Death -that I heard calling, calling, calling. - -'It's real,' he went on, hardly aware that I shrank, 'and not a dream. -These ruined symbols still remain in touch with that which was. They -are potent to-day as they were six thousand years ago. The amazing -life of those days brims behind them. They are not mere masses of -oppressive stone; they express in visible form great powers that still -are--_knowable_.' He lowered his head, peered up into my face, and -whispered. Something secret passed into his eyes. - -'I saw you change,' came the words below his breath, 'as you saw the -change in us. But only worship can produce that change. The soul -assumes the qualities of the deity it worships. The powers of its deity -possess it and transform it into its own likeness. You also felt it. -_You_ also were possessed. I saw the stone-faced deity upon your own.' - -I seemed to shake myself as a dog shakes water from its body. I stood -up. I remember that I stretched my hands out as though to push him from -me and expel some creeping influence from my mind. I remember another -thing as well. But for the reality of the sequel, and but for the -matter-of-fact result still facing me to-day in the disappearance of -George Isley--the loss to the present time of all George Isley _was_--I -might have found subject for laughter in what I saw. Comedy was in it -certainly. Yet it was both ghastly and terrific. Deep horror crept -below the aspect of the ludicrous, for the apparent mimicry cloaked -truth. It was appalling because it was real. - -In the large mirror that reflected the room behind me I saw myself -and Moleson; I saw Isley too in the background by the open window. -And the attitude of all three was the attitude of hieroglyphics come -to life. My arms indeed were stretched, but not stretched, as I had -thought, in mere self-defence. They were stretched--unnaturally. The -forearms made those strange obtuse angles that the old carved granite -wears, the palms of the hands held upwards, the heads thrown back, -the legs advanced, the bodies stiffened into postures that expressed -forgotten, ancient minds. The physical conformation of all three was -monstrous; and yet reverence and truth dictated even the uncouthness -of the gestures. Something in all three of us inspired the forms our -bodies had assumed. Our attitudes expressed buried yearnings, emotions, -tendencies--whatever they may be termed--that the spirit of the Past -evoked. - -I saw the reflected picture but for a moment. I dropped my arms, aware -of foolishness in my way of standing. Moleson moved forward with his -long, significant stride, and at the same instant Isley came up quickly -and joined us from his place by the open window. We looked into each -other's faces without a word. There was this little pause that lasted -perhaps ten seconds. But in that pause I felt the entire world slide -past me. I heard the centuries rush by at headlong speed. The present -dipped away. Existence was no longer in a line that stretched two ways; -it was a circle in which ourselves, together with Past and Future, -stood motionless at the centre, all details equally accessible at once. -The three of us were falling, falling backwards.... - -'Come!' said the voice of Moleson solemnly, but with the sweetness as -of a child anticipating joy. 'Come! Let us go together, for the boat -of Ra has crossed the Underworld. The darkness has been conquered. Let -us go out together and find the dawn. Listen! It is calling, calling, -calling....' - - -XIII - -I was aware of rushing, but it was the soul in me that rushed. It -experienced dizzy, unutterable alterations. Thousands of emotions, -intense and varied, poured through me at lightning speed, each -satisfyingly known, yet gone before its name appeared. The life of many -centuries tore headlong back with me, and, as in drowning, this epitome -of existence shot in a few seconds the steep slopes the Past had so -laboriously built up. The changes flashed and passed. I wept and prayed -and worshipped; I loved and suffered; I battled, lost and won. Down the -gigantic scale of ages that telescoped thus into a few brief moments, -the soul in me went sliding backwards towards a motionless, reposeful -Past. - -I remember foolish details that interrupted the immense descent--I put -on coat and hat; I remember some one's words, strangely sounding as -when some bird wakes up and sings at midnight--'We'll take the little -door; the front one's locked by now'; and I have a vague recollection -of the outline of the great hotel, with its colonnades and terraces, -fading behind me through the air. But these details merely flickered -and disappeared, as though I fell earthwards from a star and passed -feathers or blown leaves upon the way. There was no friction as my -soul dropped backwards into time; the flight was easy and silent as a -dream. I felt myself sucked down into gulfs whose emptiness offered -no resistance ... until at last the appalling speed decreased of its -own accord, and the dizzy flight became a kind of gentle floating. -It changed imperceptibly into a gliding motion, as though the angle -altered. My feet, quite naturally, were on the ground, moving through -something soft that clung to them and rustled while it clung. - -I looked up and saw the bright armies of the stars. In front of me I -recognised the flat-topped, shadowy ridges; on both sides lay the open -expanses of familiar wilderness; and beside me, one on either hand, -moved two figures who were my companions. We were in the desert, but -it was the desert of thousands of years ago. My companions, moreover, -though familiar to some part of me, seemed strangers or half known. -Their names I strove in vain to capture; Mosely, Ilson, sounded in my -head, mingled together falsely. And when I stole a glance at them, I -saw dark lines of mannikins unfilled with substance, and was aware -of the grotesque gestures of living hieroglyphics. It seemed for an -instant that their arms were bound behind their backs impossibly, and -that their heads turned sharply across their lineal shoulders. - -But for a moment only; for at a second glance I saw them solid and -compact; their names came back to me; our arms were linked together as -we walked. We had already covered a great distance, for my limbs were -aching and my breath was short. The air was cold, the silence absolute. -It seemed, in this faint light, that the desert flowed beneath our -feet, rather than that we advanced by taking steps. Cliffs with hooded -tops moved past us, boulders glided, mounds of sand slid by. And then I -heard a voice upon my left that was surely Moleson speaking: - -'Towards Enet our feet are set,' he half sang, half murmured, 'towards -Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e]. There, in the House of Birth, we shall dedicate -our hearts and lives anew.' - -And the language, no less than the musical intonation of his voice, -enraptured me. For I understood he spoke of Denderah, in whose majestic -temple recent hands had painted with deathless colours the symbols of -our cosmic relationships with the zodiacal signs. And Denderah was our -great seat of worship of the goddess Hathor, the Egyptian Aphrodite, -bringer of love and joy. The falcon-headed Horus was her husband, from -whom, in his home at Edfu, we imbibed swift kinds of power. And--it was -the time of the New Year, the great feast when the forces of the living -earth turn upwards into happy growth. - -We were on foot across the desert towards Denderah, and this sand we -trod was the sand of thousands of years ago. - -The paralysis of time and distance involved some amazing lightness of -the spirit that, I suppose, touched ecstasy. There was intoxication -in the soul. I was not divided from the stars, nor separate from this -desert that rushed with us. The unhampered wind blew freshly from my -nerves and skin, and the Nile, glimmering faintly on our right, lay -with its lapping waves in both my hands. I knew the life of Egypt, for -it was in me, over me, round me. I was a part of it. We went happily, -like birds to meet the sunrise. There were no pits of measured time and -interval that could detain us. We flowed, yet were at rest; we were -endlessly alive; present and future alike were inconceivable; we were -in the Kingdom of the Past. - -The Pyramids were just a-building, and the army of Obelisks looked -about them, proud of their first balance; Thebes swung her hundred -gates upon the world. New, shining Memphis glittered with myriad -reflections into waters that the tears of Isis sweetened, and the -cliffs of Abou Simbel were still innocent of their gigantic progeny. -Alone, the Sphinx, linking timelessness with time, brooded unguessed -and underived upon an alien world. We marched within antiquity towards -Denderah.... - -How long we marched, how fast, how far we went, I can remember as -little as the marvellous speech that passed across me while my two -companions spoke together. I only remember that suddenly a wave -of pain disturbed my wondrous happiness and caused my calm, which -had seemed beyond all reach of break, to fall away. I heard their -voices abruptly with a kind of terror. A sensation of fear, of loss, -of nightmare bewilderment came over me like cold wind. What _they_ -lived naturally, true to their inmost hearts, _I_ lived merely by -means of a temperamental sympathy. And the stage had come at which -my powers failed. Exhaustion overtook me. I wilted. The strain--the -abnormal backwards stretch of consciousness that was put upon me by -another--gave way and broke. I heard their voices faint and horrible. -My joy was extinguished. A glare of horror fell upon the desert and -the stars seemed evil. An anguishing desire for the safe and wholesome -Present usurped all this mad yearning to obtain the Past. My feet fell -out of step. The rushing of the desert paused. I unlinked my arms. We -stopped all three. - -The actual spot is to this day well known to me. I found it afterwards, -I even photographed it. It lies actually not far from Helouan--a few -miles at most beyond the Solitary Palm, where slopes of undulating -sand mark the opening of a strange, enticing valley called the Wadi -Gerraui. And it is enticing because it beckons and leads on. Here, amid -torn gorges of a limestone wilderness, there is suddenly soft yellow -sand that flows and draws the feet onward. It slips away with one too -easily; always the next ridge and basin must be seen, each time a -little farther. It has the quality of decoying. The cliffs say, No; but -this streaming sand invites. In its flowing curves of gold there is -enchantment. - -And it was here upon its very lips we stopped, the rhythm of our steps -broken, our hearts no longer one. My temporary rapture vanished. I -was aware of fear. For the Present rushed upon me with attack in it, -and I felt that my mind was arrested close upon the edge of madness. -Something cleared and lifted in my brain. - -The soul, indeed, could 'choose its dwelling-place'; but to live -elsewhere completely was the choice of madness, and to live divorced -from all the sweet wholesome business of To-day involved an exile -that was worse than madness. It was death. My heart burned for George -Isley. I remembered the tear upon his cheek. The agony of his struggle -I shared suddenly with him. Yet with him was the reality, with me -a sympathetic reflection merely. _He_ was already too far gone to -fight.... - -I shall never forget the desolation of that strange scene beneath the -morning stars. The desert lay down and watched us. We stood upon the -brink of a little broken ridge, looking into the valley of golden sand. -This sand gleamed soft and wonderful in the starlight some twenty feet -below. The descent was easy--but I would not move. I refused to advance -another step. I saw my companions in the mysterious half-light beside -me peering over the edge, Moleson in front a little. - -And I turned to him, sure of the part I meant to play, yet conscious -painfully of my helplessness. My personality seemed a straw in -mid-stream that spun in a futile effort to arrest the flood that bore -it. There was vivid human conflict in the moment's silence. It was an -eddy that paused in the great body of the tide. And then I spoke. Oh, -I was ashamed of the insignificance of my voice and the weakness of my -little personality. - -'Moleson, we go no farther with you. We have already come too far. We -now turn back.' - -Behind my words were a paltry thirty years. His answer drove sixty -centuries against me. For his voice was like the wind that passed -whispering down the stream of yellow sand below us. He smiled. - -'Our feet are set towards Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e]. There is no turning -back. Listen! It is calling, calling, calling!' - -'We will go home,' I cried, in a tone I vainly strove to make -imperative. - -'Our home is there,' he sang, pointing with one long thin arm towards -the brightening east, 'for the Temple calls us and the River takes our -feet. We shall be in the House of Birth to meet the sunrise----' - -'You lie,' I cried again, 'you speak the lies of madness, and this Past -you seek is the House of Death. It is the kingdom of the underworld.' - -The words tore wildly, impotently out of me. I seized George Isley's -arm. - -'Come back with me,' I pleaded vehemently, my heart aching with a -nameless pain for him. 'We'll retrace our steps. Come home with me! -Come back! Listen! The Present calls you sweetly!' - -His arm slipped horribly out of my grasp that had seemed to hold it so -tightly. Moleson, already below us in the yellow sand, looked small -with distance. He was gliding rapidly farther with uncanny swiftness. -The diminution of his form was ghastly. It was like a doll's. And his -voice rose up, faint as with the distance of great gulfs of space. - -'Calling ... calling.... You hear it for ever calling ...' - -It died away with the wind along that sandy valley, and the Past swept -in a flood across the brightening sky. I swayed as though a storm was -at my back. I reeled. Almost I went too--over the crumbling edge into -the sand. - -'Come back with me! Come home!' I cried more faintly. 'The Present -alone is real. There is work, ambition, duty. There is beauty too--the -beauty of good living! And there is love! There is--a woman ... -calling, calling...!' - -That other voice took up the word below me. I heard the faint refrain -sing down the sandy walls. The wild, sweet pang in it was marvellous. - -'Our feet are set for Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e]. It is calling, calling...!' - -My voice fell into nothingness. George Isley was below me now, his -outline tiny against the sheet of yellow sand. And the sand was moving. -The desert rushed again. The human figures receded swiftly into the -Past they had reconstructed with the creative yearning of their souls. - -I stood alone upon the edge of crumbling limestone, helplessly watching -them. It was amazing what I witnessed, while the shafts of crimson dawn -rose up the sky. The enormous desert turned alive to the horizon with -gold and blue and silver. The purple shadows melted into grey. The -flat-topped ridges shone. Huge messengers of light flashed everywhere -at once. The radiance of sunrise dazzled my outer sight. - -But if my eyes were blinded, my inner sight was focused the more -clearly upon what followed. I witnessed the disappearance of George -Isley. There was a dreadful magic in the picture. The pair of them, -small and distant below me in that little sandy hollow, stood out -sharply defined as in a miniature. I saw their outlines neat and -terrible like some ghastly inset against the enormous scenery. Though -so close to me in actual space, they were centuries away in time. And a -dim, vast shadow was about them that was not mere shadow of the ridges. -It encompassed them; it moved, crawling over the sand, obliterating -them. Within it, like insects lost in amber, they became visibly -imprisoned, dwindled in size, borne deep away, absorbed. - -And then I recognised the outline. Once more, but this time recumbent -and spread flat upon the desert's face, I knew the monstrous shapes of -the twin obsessing symbols. The spirit of ancient Egypt lay over all -the land, tremendous in the dawn. The sunrise summoned her. She lay -prostrate before the deity. The shadows of the towering Colossi lay -prostrate too. The little humans, with their worshipping and conquered -hearts, lay deep within them. - -George Isley I saw clearest. The distinctness, the reality were -appalling. He was naked, robbed, undressed. I saw him a skeleton, -picked clean to the very bones as by an acid. His life lay hid in the -being of that mighty Past. Egypt had absorbed him. He was gone.... - - * * * * * - -I closed my eyes, but I could not keep them closed. They opened of -their own accord. The three of us were nearing the great hotel that -rose yellow, with shuttered windows, in the early sunshine. A wind -blew briskly from the north across the Mokattam Hills. There were soft -cannon-ball clouds dotted about the sky, and across the Nile, where the -mist lay in a line of white, I saw the tops of the Pyramids gleaming -like mountain peaks of gold. A string of camels, laden with white -stone, went past us. I heard the crying of the natives in the streets -of Helouan, and as we went up the steps the donkeys arrived and camped -in the sandy road beside their _bersim_ till the tourists claimed them. - -'Good morning,' cried Abdullah, the man who owned them. 'You all -go Sakkhara to-day, or Memphis? Beat'ful day to-day, and vair good -donkeys!' - -Moleson went up to his room without a word, and Isley did the same. -I thought he staggered a moment as he turned the passage corner from -my sight. His face wore a look of vacancy that some call peace. There -was radiance in it. It made me shudder. Aching in mind and body, and -no word spoken, I followed their example. I went upstairs to bed, and -slept a dreamless sleep till after sunset.... - - -XIV - -And I woke with a lost, unhappy feeling that a withdrawing tide had -left me on the shore, alone and desolate. My first instinct was for my -friend, George Isley. And I noticed a square, white envelope with my -name upon it in his writing. - -Before I opened it I knew quite well what words would be inside: - -'We are going up to Thebes,' the note informed me simply. 'We leave -by the night train. If you care to----' But the last four words were -scratched out again, though not so thickly that I could not read them. -Then came the address of the Egyptologist's house and the signature, -very firmly traced, 'Yours ever, GEORGE ISLEY.' I glanced at -my watch and saw that it was after seven o'clock. The night train left -at half-past six. They had already started.... - -The pain of feeling forsaken, left behind, was deep and bitter, for -myself; but what I felt for him, old friend and comrade, was even more -intense, since it was hopeless. Fear and conventional emotion had -stopped me at the very gates of an amazing possibility--some state of -consciousness that, _realising_ the Past, might doff the Present, and -by slipping out of Time, experience Eternity. That was the seduction -I had escaped by the uninspired resistance of my pettier soul. Yet, -he, my friend, yielding in order to conquer, had obtained an awful -prize--ah, I understood the picture's other side as well, with an -unutterable poignancy of pity--the prize of immobility which is sheer -stagnation, the imagined bliss which is a false escape, the dream of -finding beauty away from present things. From that dream the awakening -must be rude indeed. Clutching at vanished stars, he had clutched the -oldest illusion in the world. To me it seemed the negation of life that -had betrayed him. The pity of it burned me like a flame. - -But I did not 'care to follow' him and his companion. I waited at -Helouan for his return, filling the empty days with yet emptier -explanations. I felt as a man who sees what he loves sinking down -into clear, deep water, still within visible reach, yet gone beyond -recovery. Moleson had taken him back to Thebes; and Egypt, monstrous -effigy of the Past, had caught her prey. - -The rest, moreover, is easily told. Moleson I never saw again. To this -day I have never seen him, though his subsequent books are known to -me, with the banal fact that he is numbered with those energetic and -deluded enthusiasts who start a new religion, obtain notoriety, a few -hysterical followers and--oblivion. - -George Isley, however, returned to Helouan after a fortnight's absence. -I saw him, knew him, talked and had my meals with him. We even did -slight expeditions together. He was gentle and delightful as a woman -who has loved a wonderful ideal and attained to it--in memory. All -roughness was gone out of him; he was smooth and polished as a crystal -surface that reflects whatever is near enough to ask a picture. -Yet his appearance shocked me inexpressibly: there was nothing in -him--_nothing_. It was the representation of George Isley that came -back from Thebes; the outer simulacra; the shell that walks the London -streets to-day. I met no vestige of the man I used to know. George -Isley had disappeared. - -With this marvellous automaton I lived another month. The horror of -him kept me company in the hotel where he moved among the cosmopolitan -humanity as a ghost that visits the sunlight yet has its home elsewhere. - -This empty image of George Isley lived with me in our Helouan -hotel until the winds of early March informed his physical frame -that discomfort was in the air, and that he might as well move -elsewhere--elsewhere happening to be northwards. - -And he left just as he stayed--automatically. His brain obeyed -the conventional stimuli to which his nerves, and consequently his -muscles, were accustomed. It sounds so foolish. But he took his ticket -automatically; he gave the natural and adequate reasons automatically; -he chose his ship and landing-place in the same way that ordinary -people chose these things; he said good-bye like any other man who -leaves casual acquaintances and 'hopes' to meet them again; he lived, -that is to say, entirely in his brain. His heart, his emotions, his -temperament and personality, that nameless sum-total for which the -great sympathetic nervous system is accountable--all this, his soul, -had gone elsewhere. This once vigorous, gifted being had become a -normal, comfortable man that everybody could understand--a commonplace -nonentity. He was precisely what the majority expected him to -be--ordinary; a good fellow; a man of the world; he was 'delightful.' -He merely reflected daily life without partaking of it. To the majority -it was hardly noticeable; 'very pleasant' was a general verdict. His -ambition, his restlessness, his zeal had gone; that tireless zest whose -driving power is yearning had taken flight, leaving behind it physical -energy without spiritual desire. His soul had found its nest and flown -to it. He lived in the chimera of the Past, serene, indifferent, -detached. I saw him immense, a shadowy, majestic figure, standing--ah, -not moving!--in a repose that was satisfying because it _could_ not -change. The size, the mystery, the immobility that caged him in seemed -to me--terrible. For I dared not intrude upon his awful privacy, and -intimacy between us there was none. Of his experiences at Thebes I -asked no single question--it was somehow not possible or legitimate; -he, equally, vouchsafed no word of explanation--it was uncommunicable -to a dweller in the Present. Between us was this barrier we both -respected. He peered at modern life, incurious, listless, apathetic, -through a dim, gauze curtain. He was behind it. - -People round us were going to Sakkhara and the Pyramids, to see -the Sphinx by moonlight, to dream at Edfu and at Denderah. Others -described their journeys to Assouan, Khartoum and Abou Simbel, and -gave details of their encampments in the desert. Wind, wind, wind! The -winds of Egypt blew and sang and sighed. From the White Nile came the -travellers, and from the Blue Nile, from the Fayum, and from nameless -excavations without end. They talked and wrote their books. They had -the magpie knowledge of the present. The Egyptologists, big and little, -read the writing on the wall and put the hieroglyphs and papyri into -modern language. Alone George Isley _knew_ the secret. He lived it. - -And the high passionate calm, the lofty beauty, the glamour and -enchantment that are the spell of this thrice-haunted land, were in -_my_ soul as well--sufficiently for me to interpret his condition. I -could not leave, yet having left I could not stay away. I yearned for -the Egypt that he knew. No word I uttered; speech could not approach -it. We wandered by the Nile together, and through the groves of palms -that once were Memphis. The sandy wastes beyond the Pyramids knew our -footsteps; the Mokattam Ridges, purple at evening and golden in the -dawn, held our passing shadows as we silently went by. At no single -dawn or sunset was he to be found indoors, and it became my habit -to accompany him--the joy of worship in his soul was marvellous. -The great, still skies of Egypt watched us, the hanging stars, the -gigantic dome of blue; we felt together that burning southern wind; the -golden sweetness of the sun lay in our blood as we saw the great boats -take the northern breeze upstream. Immensity was everywhere and this -golden magic of the sun.... - -But it was in the Desert especially, where only sun and wind observe -the faint signalling of Time, where space is nothing because it is not -divided, and where no detail reminds the heart that the world is called -To-Day--it was in the desert this curtain hung most visibly between us, -he on that side, I on this. It was transparent. He was with a multitude -no man can number. Towering to the moon, yet spreading backwards -towards his burning source of life, drawn out by the sun and by the -crystal air into some vast interior magnitude, the spirit of George -Isley hung beside me, close yet far away, in the haze of olden days. - -And, sometimes, he moved. I was aware of gestures. His head was -raised to listen. One arm swung shadowy across the sea of broken -ridges. From leagues away a line of sand rose slowly. There was a -rustling. Another--an enormous--arm emerged to meet his own, and two -stupendous figures drew together. Poised above Time, yet throned upon -the centuries, They knew eternity. So easily they remained possessors -of the land. Facing the east, they waited for the dawn. And their -marvellously forgotten singing poured across the world.... - - - - -WAYFARERS - - -I missed the train at Evian, and, after infinite trouble, discovered a -motor that would take me, ice-axe and all, to Geneva. By hurrying, the -connection might be just possible. I telegraphed to Haddon to meet me -at the station, and lay back comfortably, dreaming of the precipices of -Haute Savoie. We made good time; the roads were excellent, traffic of -the slightest, when--crash! There was an instant's excruciating pain, -the sun went out like a snuffed candle, and I fell into something as -soft as a bed of flowers and as yielding to my weight as warm water.... - -It was _very_ warm. There was a perfume of flowers. My eyes opened, -focused vividly upon a detailed picture for a moment, then closed -again. There was no context--at least, none that I could recall--for -the scene, though familiar as home, brought nothing that I definitely -remembered. Broken away from any sequence, unattached to any past, -unaware even of my own identity, I simply saw this picture as a camera -snaps it off from the world, a scene apart, with meaning only for those -who knew the context: - -The warm, soft thing I lay in was a bed--big, deep, comfortable; and -the perfume came from flowers that stood beside it on a little table. -It was in a stately, ancient chamber, with lofty ceiling and immense -open fireplace of stone; old-fashioned pictures--familiar portraits -and engravings I knew intimately--hung upon the walls; the floor was -bare, with dignified, carved furniture of oak and mahogany, huge chairs -and massive cupboards. And there were latticed windows set within deep -embrasures of grey stone, where clambering roses patterned the sunshine -that cast their moving shadows on the polished boards. With the perfume -of the flowers there mingled, too, that delicate, elusive odour of -age--of wood, of musty tapestries in spacious halls and corridors, and -of chambers long unopened to the sun and air. - -By the door that stood ajar far away at the end of the room--very far -away it seemed--an old lady, wearing a little cap of silk embroidery, -was whispering to a man of stern, uncompromising figure, who, as he -listened, bent down to her with a grave and even solemn face. A wide -stone corridor was just visible through the crack of the open door -behind her. - -The picture flashed, and vanished. The numerous details I took in -because they were well known to me already. That I could not supply the -context was merely a trick of the mind, the kind of trick that dreams -play. Darkness swamped vision again. I sank back into the warm, soft, -comfortable bed of delicious oblivion. There was not the slightest -desire to know; sleep and soft forgetfulness were all I craved. - -But a little later--or was it a very great deal later?--when I opened -my eyes again, there was a thin trail of memory. I remembered my name -and age. I remembered vaguely, as though from some unpleasant dream, -that I was on the way to meet a climbing friend in the Alps of Haute -Savoie, and that there was need to hurry and be very active. Something -had gone wrong, it seemed. There had been a stupid, violent disaster, -pain in it somewhere, an accident. Where were my belongings? Where, for -instance, was my precious ice-axe--tried old instrument on which my -life and safety depended? A rush of jumbled questions poured across my -mind. The effort to sort them hurt atrociously.... - -A figure stood beside my bed. It was the same old lady I had seen a -moment ago--or was it a month ago, even last year perhaps? And this -time she was alone. Yet, though familiar to me as my own right hand, I -could not for the life of me attract her name. Searching for it brought -the pain again. Instead, I asked an easier question; it seemed the most -important somehow, though a feeling of shame came with it, as though I -knew I was talking nonsense: - -'My ice-axe--is it safe? It should have stood any ordinary strain. It's -ash....' My voice failed absurdly, caught away by a whisper half-way -down my throat. What _was_ I talking about? There was vile confusion -somewhere. - -She smiled tenderly, sweetly, as she placed her small, cool hand -upon my forehead. Her touch calmed me as it always did, and the pain -retreated a little. - -'All your things are safe,' she answered, in a voice so soft beneath -the distant ceiling it was like a bird's note singing in the sky. 'And -_you_ are also safe. There is no danger now. The bullet has been taken -out and all is going well. Only you must be patient, and lie very -still, and rest.' And then she added the morsel of delicious comfort -she knew quite well I waited for: 'Marion is near you all day long, -and most of the night besides. She rarely leaves you. She is in and out -all day.' - -I stared, thirsting for more. Memory put certain pieces in their place -again. I heard them click together as they joined. But they only tried -to join. There were several pieces missing. They must have been lost in -the disaster. The pattern was too ridiculous. - -'I ought to tel--telegraph----' I began, seizing at a fragment that -poked its end up, then plunged out of sight again before I could read -more of it. The pieces fell apart; they would not hold together without -these missing fragments. Anger flamed up in me. - -'They're badly made,' I said, with a petulance I was secretly ashamed -of; 'you have chosen the wrong pieces! I'm not a child--to be -treated----' A shock of heat tore through me, led by a point of iron, -with blasting pain. - -'Sleep, my poor dear Felix, sleep,' she murmured soothingly, while her -tiny hand stroked my forehead, just in time to prevent that pointed, -hot thing entering my heart. 'Sleep again now, and a little later you -shall tell me their names, and I will send on horseback quickly----' - -'Telegraph----' I tried to say, but the word went lost before I could -pronounce it. It was a nonsense word, caught up from dreams. Thought -fluttered and went out. - -'I will send,' she whispered, 'in the quickest possible way. You shall -explain to Marion. Sleep first a little longer; promise me to lie quite -still and sleep. When you wake again, she will come to you at once.' - -She sat down gently on the edge of the enormous bed, so that I saw her -outline against the window where the roses clambered to come in. She -bent over me--or was it a rose that bent in the wind across the stone -embrasure? I saw her clear blue eyes--or was it two raindrops upon a -withered rose-leaf that mirrored the summer sky? - -'Thank you,' my voice murmured with intense relief, as everything sank -away and the old-world garden seemed to enter by the latticed windows. -For there was a power in her way that made obedience sweet, and her -little hand, besides, cushioned the attack of that cruel iron point so -that I hardly felt its entrance. Before the fierce heat could reach me, -darkness again put out the world.... - -Then, after a prodigious interval, my eyes once more opened to the -stately, old-world chamber that I knew so well; and this time I found -myself alone. In my brain was a stinging, splitting sensation, as -though Memory shook her pieces together with angry violence, pieces, -moreover, made of clashing metal. A degrading nausea almost vanquished -me. Against my feet was a heated metal body, too heavy for me to move, -and bandages were tight round my neck and the back of my head. Dimly, -it came back to me that hands had been about me hours ago, soft, -ministering hands that I loved. Their perfume lingered still. Faces -and names fled in swift procession past me, yet without my making any -attempt to bid them stay. I asked myself no questions. Effort of any -sort was utterly beyond me. I lay and watched and waited, helpless and -strangely weak. - -One or two things alone were clear. They came, too, without the effort -to think them: - -There had been a disaster; they had carried me into the nearest house; -and--the mountain heights, so keenly longed for, were suddenly denied -me. I was being cared for by kind people somewhere far from the world's -high routes. They were familiar people, yet for the moment I had lost -the name. But it was the bitterness of losing my holiday climbing -that chiefly savaged me, so that strong desire returned upon itself -unfulfilled. And, knowing the danger of frustrated yearnings, and the -curious states of mind they may engender, my tumbling brain registered -a decision automatically: - -'Keep careful watch upon yourself,' it whispered. - -For I saw the peaks that towered above the world, and felt the wind -rise from the hidden valleys. The perfume of lonely ridges came to me, -and I saw the snow against the blue-black sky. Yet I could not reach -them. I lay, instead, broken and useless upon my back, in a soft, -deep, comfortable bed. And I loathed the thought. A dull and evil fury -rose within me. Where was Haddon? He would get me out of it if any one -could. And where was my dear, old trusted ice-axe? Above all, who were -these gentle, old-world people who cared for me?... And, with this last -thought, came some fairy touch of sweetness so delicious that I was -conscious of sudden resignation--more, even of delight and joy. - -This joy and anger ran races for possession of my mind, and I knew not -which to follow: both seemed real, and both seemed true. The cruel -confusion was an added torture. Two sets of places and people seemed to -mingle. - -'Keep a careful watch upon yourself,' repeated the automatic caution. - -Then, with returning, blissful darkness, came another thing--a tiny -point of wonder, where light entered in. I thought of a woman.... -It was a vehement, commanding thought; and though at first it was -very close and real--as much of To-day as Haddon and my precious -ice-axe--the next second it was leagues away in another world -somewhere. Yet, before the confusion twisted it all askew, I knew her; -I remembered clearly even where she lived; that I knew her husband, -too--had stayed with them in--in Scotland--yes, in Scotland. Yet no -word in this life had ever crossed my lips, for she was not free to -come. Neither of us, with eyes or lips or gesture, had ever betrayed -a hint to the other of our deeply hidden secret. And, although for me -she was _the_ woman, my great yearning--long, long ago it was, in early -youth--had been sternly put aside and buried with all the vigour nature -gave me. Her husband was my friend as well. - -Only, now, the shock had somehow strained the prison bars, and the -yearning escaped for a moment full-fledged, and vehement with passion -long denied. The inhibition was destroyed. The knowledge swept -deliciously upon me that we had the right to be together, because we -always _were_ together. I had the right to ask for her. - -My mind was certainly a mere field of confused, ungoverned images. No -thinking was possible, for it hurt too vilely. But this one memory -stood out with violence. I distinctly remember that I called to her -to come, and that she had the right to come because my need was so -peremptory. To the one most loved of all this life had brought me, yet -to whom I had never spoken because she was in another's keeping, I -called for help, and called, I verily believe, aloud: - -'Please come!' Then, close upon its heels, the automatic warning -again: 'Keep close watch upon yourself...!' - -It was as though one great yearning had loosed the other that was even -greater, and had set it free. - -Disappearing consciousness then followed the cry for an incalculable -distance. Down into subterraneans within myself that were positively -frightening it plunged away. But the cry was real; the yearning appeal -held authority in it as of command. Love gave the right, supplied the -power as well. For it seemed to me a tiny answer came, but from so far -away that it was scarcely audible. And names were nowhere in it, either -in answer or appeal. - -'I am always here. I have never, never left you!' - - * * * * * - -The unconsciousness that followed was not complete, apparently. -There was a memory of effort in it, of struggle, and, as it were, of -searching. Some one was trying to get at me. I tossed in a troubled -sea upon a piece of wreckage that another swimmer also fought to -reach. Huge waves of transparent green now brought this figure nearer, -now concealed it, but it came steadily on, holding out a rope. My -exhaustion was too great for me to respond, yet this swimmer swept up -nearer, brought by enormous rollers that threatened to engulf us both. -The rope was for my safety, too. I saw hands outstretched. In the deep -water I saw the outline of the body, and once I even saw the face. But -for a second, merely. The wave that bore it crashed with a horrible -roar that smothered us both and swept me from my piece of wreckage. In -the violent flood of water the rope whipped against my feeble hands. -I grasped it. A sense of divine security at once came over me--an -intolerable sweetness of utter bliss and comfort, then blackness and -suffocation as of the grave. The white-hot point of iron struck me. It -beat audibly against my heart. I heard the knocking. The pain brought -me up to the surface, and the knocking of my dreams was in reality a -knocking on the door. Some one was gently tapping. - -Such was the confusion of images in my pain-racked mind, that I -expected to see the old lady enter, bringing ropes and ice-axes, and -followed by Haddon, my mountaineering friend; for I thought that I had -fallen down a deep crevasse and had waited hours for help in the cold, -blue darkness of the ice. I was too weak to answer, and the knocking -for that matter was not repeated. I did not even hear the opening of -the door, so softly did she move into the room. I only knew that before -I actually saw her, this wave of intolerable sweetness drenched me once -again with bliss and peace and comfort, my pain retreated, and I closed -my eyes, knowing I should feel that cool and soothing hand upon my -forehead. - -The same minute I did feel it. There was a perfume of old gardens in -the air. I opened my eyes to look the gratitude I could not utter, and -saw, close against me--not the old lady, but the young and lovely face -my worship had long made familiar. With lips that smiled their yearning -and eyes of brown that held tears of sympathy, she sat down beside me -on the bed. The warmth and fragrance of her atmosphere enveloped me. I -sank away into a garden where spring melts magically into summer. Her -arms were round my neck. Her face dropped down, so that I felt her hair -upon my cheek and eyes. And then, whispering my name twice over, she -kissed me on the lips. - -'Marion,' I murmured. - -'Hush! Mother sends you this,' she answered softly. 'You are to take it -all; she made it with her own hands. But _I_ bring it to you. You must -be quite obedient, please.' - -She tried to rise, but I held her against my breast. - -'Kiss me again and I'll promise obedience always,' I strove to say. -But my voice refused so long a sentence, and anyhow her lips were on -my own before I could have finished it. Slowly, very carefully, she -disentangled herself, and my arms sank back upon the coverlet. I sighed -in happiness. A moment longer she stood beside my bed, gazing down with -love and deep anxiety into my face. - -'And when all is eaten, all, mind, _all_,' she smiled, 'you are to -sleep until the doctor comes this afternoon. You are much better. Soon -you shall get up. Only, remember,' shaking her finger with a sweet -pretence of looking stern, 'I shall exact complete obedience. You must -yield your will utterly to mine. You are in my heart, and my heart must -be kept very warm and happy.' - -Her eyes were tender as her mother's, and I loved the authority and -strength that were so real in her. I remembered how it was this -strength that had sealed the contract her beauty first drew up for me -to sign. She bent down once more to arrange my pillows. - -'What happened to--to the motor?' I asked hesitatingly, for my thoughts -_would_ not regulate themselves. The mind presented such incongruous -fragments. - -'The--what?' she asked, evidently puzzled. The word seemed strange to -her. 'What is that?' she repeated, anxiety in her eyes. - -I made an effort to tell her, but I could not. Explanation was -suddenly impossible. The whole idea dived away out of sight. It utterly -evaded me. I had again invented a word that was without meaning. I was -talking nonsense. In its place my dream came up. I tried to tell her -how I had dreamed of climbing dangerous heights with a stranger, and -had spoken another language with him than my own--English, was it?--at -any rate, not my native French. - -'Darling,' she whispered close into my ear, 'the bad dreams will not -come back. You are safe here, quite safe.' She put her little hand like -a flower on my forehead and drew it softly down the cheek. 'Your wound -is already healing. They took the bullet out four days ago. I have -got it,' she added with a touch of shy embarrassment, and kissed me -tenderly upon my eyes. - -'How long have you been away from me?' I asked, feeling exhaustion -coming back. - -'Never once for more than ten minutes,' was the reply. 'I watched with -you all night. Only this morning, while mother took my place, I slept a -little. But, hush!' she said, with dear authority again; 'you are not -to talk so much. You must eat what I have brought, then sleep again. -You must rest and sleep. Good-bye, good-bye, my love. I shall come back -in an hour, and I shall always be within reach of your dear voice.' - -Her tall, slim figure, dressed in the grey I loved, crossed silently to -the door. She gave me one more look--there was all the tenderness of -passionate love in it--and then was gone. - -I followed instructions meekly, and when a delicious sleep stole over -me soon afterwards, I had forgotten utterly the ugly dream that I -was climbing dangerous heights with another man, forgotten as well -everything else, except that it seemed so many days since my love had -come to me, and that my bullet wound would after all be healed in time -for our wedding on the day so long, so eagerly waited for. - -And when, several hours later, her mother came in with the doctor--his -face less grave and solemn this time--the news that I might get up next -day and lie a little in the garden, did more to heal me than a thousand -bandages or twice that quantity of medical instructions. - -I watched them as they stood a moment by the open door. They went out -very slowly together, speaking in whispers. But the only thing I caught -was the mother's voice, talking brokenly of the great wars. Napoleon, -the doctor was saying in a low, hushed tone, was in full retreat from -Moscow, though the news had only just come through. They passed into -the corridor then, and there was a sound of weeping as the old lady -murmured something about her son and the cruelty of Heaven. 'Both will -be taken from me,' she was sobbing softly, while he stooped to comfort -her; 'one in marriage, and the other in death.' They closed the door -then, and I heard no more. - - -I - -Convalescence seemed to follow very quickly then, for I was utterly -obedient as I had promised, and never spoke of what could excite me -to my own detriment--the wars and my own unfortunate part in them. We -talked instead of our love, our already too-long engagement, and of the -sweet dream of happiness that life held waiting for us in the future. -And, indeed, I was sufficiently weary of the world to prefer repose to -much activity, for my body was almost incessantly in pain, and this old -garden where we lay between high walls of stone, aloof from the busy -world and very peaceful, was far more to my taste just then than wars -and fighting. - -The orchards were in blossom, and the winds of spring showered their -rain of petals upon the long, new grass. We lay, half in sunshine, half -in shade, beneath the poplars that lined the avenue towards the lake, -and behind us rose the ancient grey stone towers where the jackdaws -nested in the ivy and the pigeons cooed and fluttered from the woods -beyond. - -There was loveliness everywhere, but there was sadness too, for though -we both knew that the wars had taken her brother whence there is no -return, and that only her aged, failing mother's life stood between -ourselves and the stately property, there hid a sadness yet deeper -than either of these thoughts in both our hearts. And it was, I think, -the sadness that comes with spring. For spring, with her lavish, -short-lived promises of eternal beauty, is ever a symbol of passing -human happiness, incomplete and always unfulfilled. Promises made on -earth are playthings, after all, for children. Even while we make them -so solemnly, we seem to know they are not meant to hold. They are made, -as spring is made, with a glory of soft, radiant blossoms that pass -away before there is time to realise them. And yet they come again with -the return of spring, as unashamed and glorious as if Time had utterly -forgotten. - -And this sadness was in her too. I mean it was part of her and she was -part of it. Not that our love could change to pass or die, but that -its sweet, so-long-desired accomplishment must hold away, and, like the -spring, must melt and vanish before it had been fully known. I did not -speak of it. I well understood that the depression of a broken body can -influence the spirit with its poisonous melancholy, but it must have -betrayed itself in my words and gestures, even in my manner too. At any -rate, she was aware of it. I think, if truth be told, she felt it too. -It seemed so painfully inevitable. - -My recovery, meanwhile, was rapid, and from spending an hour or two in -the garden, I soon came to spend the entire day. For the spring came on -with a rush, and the warmth increased deliciously. While the cuckoos -called to one another in the great beech-woods behind the chateau, -we sat and talked and sometimes had our simple meals or coffee there -together, and I particularly recall the occasion when solid food was -first permitted me and she gave me a delicate young _bondelle_, fresh -caught that very morning in the lake. There were leaves of sweet, crisp -lettuce with it, and she picked the bones out for me with her own white -hands. - -The day was radiant, with a sky of cloudless blue, soft airs stirred -the poplar crests; the little waves fell on the pebbly beach not fifty -metres away, and the orchard floor was carpeted with flowers that -seemed to have caught from heaven's stars the patterns of their yellow -blossoms. The bees droned peacefully among the fruit trees; the air was -full of musical deep hummings. My former vigour stirred delightfully -in my blood, and I knew no pain, beyond occasional dull twinges in the -head that came with a rush of temporary darkness over my mind. The -scar was healed, however, and the hair had grown over it again. This -temporary darkness alarmed her more than it alarmed me. There were -grave complications, apparently, that I did not know of. - -But the deep-lying sadness in me seemed independent of the glorious -weather, due to causes so intangible, so far off that I never could -dispel them by arguing them away. For I could not discover what they -actually were. There was a vague, distressing sense of restlessness -that I ought to have been elsewhere and otherwise, that we were -together for a few days only, and that these few days I had snatched -unlawfully from stern, imperative duties. These duties were immediate, -but neglected. In a sense I had no right to this springtide of bliss -her presence brought me. I was playing truant somehow, somewhere. It -was _not_ my absence from the regiment; that I know. It was infinitely -deeper, set to some enormous scale that vaguely frightened me, while it -deepened the sweetness of the stolen joy. - -Like a child, I sought to pin the sunny hours against the sky and -make them stay. They passed with such a mocking swiftness, snatched -momentarily from some big oblivion. The twilights swallowed our days -together before they had been properly tasted, and on looking back, -each afternoon of happiness seemed to have been a mere moment in a -flying dream. And I must have somehow betrayed the aching mood, for -Marion turned of a sudden and gazed into my face with yearning and -anxiety in the sweet brown eyes. - -'What is it, dearest?' I asked, 'and why do your eyes bring questions?' - -'You sighed,' she answered, smiling a little sadly; 'and sighed so -deeply. You are in pain again. The darkness, perhaps, is over you?' -And her hand stole out to meet my own. 'You are in pain?' - -'Not physical pain,' I said, 'and not _the_ darkness either. I see -_you_ clearly,' and would have told her more, as I carried her soft -fingers to my lips, had I not divined from the expression in her eyes -that she read my heart and knew all my strange, mysterious forebodings -in herself. - -'I know,' she whispered before I could find speech, 'for I feel it too. -It is the shadow of separation that oppresses you--yet of no common, -measurable separation you can understand. Is it not that?' - -Leaning over then, I took her close into my arms, since words in that -moment were mere foolishness. I held her so that she could not get -away; but even while I did so it was like trying to hold the spring, or -fasten the flying hour with a fierce desire. All slipped from me, and -my arms caught at the sunshine and the wind. - -'We have both felt it all these weeks,' she said bravely, as soon as -I had released her, 'and we both have struggled to conceal it. But -now----' she hesitated for a second, and with so exquisite a tenderness -that I would have caught her to me again but for my anxiety to hear her -further words--'now that you are well, we may speak plainly to each -other, and so lessen our pain by sharing it.' And then she added, still -more softly: 'You feel there is "something" that shall take you from -me--yet what it is you cannot discover nor divine. Tell me, Felix--all -your thought, that I in turn may tell you mine.' - -Her voice floated about me in the sunny air. I stared at her, striving -to focus the dear face more clearly for my sight. A shower of apple -blossoms fell about us, and her words seemed floating past me like -those passing petals of white. They drifted away. I followed them -with difficulty and confusion. With the wind, I fancied, a veil of -indefinable change slipped across her face and eyes. - -'Yet nothing that could alter feeling,' I answered; for she had -expressed my own thought completely. 'Nor anything that either of us -can control. Only--perhaps, that everything must fade and pass away, -just as this glory of the spring must fade and pass away----' - -'Yet leaving its sweetness in us,' she caught me up passionately, 'and -to come again, my beloved, to come again in every subsequent life, -each time with an added sweetness in it too!' Her little face showed -suddenly the courage of a lion in its eyes. Her heart was ever braver -than my own, a vigorous, fighting soul. She spoke of lives, I prattled -of days and hours merely. - -A touch of shame stole over me. But that delicate, swift change in her -spread too. With a thrill of ominous warning I noticed how it rose and -grew about her. From within, outwards, it seemed to pass--like a shadow -of great blue distance. Shadow was somewhere in it, so that she dimmed -a little before my very eyes. The dreadful yearning searched and shook -me, for I could not understand it, try as I would. She seemed going -from me--drifting like her words and like the apple blossoms. - -'But when we shall no longer be here to know it,' I made answer -quickly, yet as calmly as I could, 'and when we shall have passed to -some other place--to other conditions--where we shall not recognise the -joy and wonder. When barriers of mist shall have rolled between us--our -love and passion so made-over that we shall not know each other'--the -words rushed out feverishly, half beyond control--'and perhaps shall -not even dare to speak to each other of our deep desire----' - -I broke off abruptly, conscious that I was speaking out of some -unfamiliar place where I floundered, helpless among strange conditions. -I was saying things I hardly understood myself. Her bigger, deeper mood -spoke through me, perhaps. - -Her darling face came back again; she moved close within reach once -more. - -'Hush, hush!' she whispered, terror and love both battling in her -eyes. 'It is the truth, perhaps, but you must not say such things. To -speak them brings them closer. A chain is about our hearts, a chain -of fashioning lives without number, but do not seek to draw upon -it with anxiety or fear. To do so can only cause the pain of wrong -entanglement, and interrupt the natural running of the iron links.' And -she placed her hand swiftly upon my mouth, as though divining that the -bleak attack of anguish was again upon me with its throbbing rush of -darkness. - -But for once I was disobedient and resisted. The physical pain, I -realised vividly, was linked closely with this spiritual torture. -One caused the other somehow. The disordered brain received, though -brokenly, some hints of darker and unusual knowledge. It had stammered -forth in me, but through her it flowed easily and clear. I saw the -change move more swiftly then across her face. Some ancient look passed -into both her eyes. - -And it was inevitable; I must speak out, regardless of mere bodily -well-being. - -'We shall have to face them some day,' I cried, although the effort -hurt abominably, 'then why not now?' And I drew her hand down and -kissed it passionately over and over again. 'We are not children, to -hide our faces among shadows and pretend we are invisible. At least -we have the Present--the Moment that is here and now. We stand side -by side in the heart of this deep spring day. This sunshine and these -flowers, this wind across the lake, this sky of blue and this singing -of the birds--all, all are ours _now_. Let us use the moment that Time -gives, and so strengthen the chain you speak of that shall bring us -again together times without number. We shall then, perhaps, remember. -Oh, my heart, think what that would mean--to remember!' - -Exhaustion caught me, and I sank back among my cushions. But Marion -rose up suddenly and stood beside me. And as she did so, another Sky -dropped softly down upon us both, and I smelt again the incense of old, -old gardens that brought long-forgotten perfumes, incredibly sweet, but -with it an ache of far-off, passionate remembrance that was pain. This -great ache of distance swept over me like a wave. - -I know not what grand change then was wrought upon her beauty, so that -I saw her defiant and erect, commanding Fate because she understood -it. She towered over me, but it was her soul that towered. The rush of -internal darkness in me blotted out all else. The familiar, present sky -grew dim, the sunshine faded, the lake and flowers and poplars dipped -away. Conditions a thousand times more vivid took their place. She -stood out, clear and shining in the glory of an undressed soul, brave -and confident with an eternal love that separation strengthened but -could never, never change. The deep sadness I abruptly realised, was -very little removed from joy--because, somehow, it was the condition of -joy. I could not explain it more than that. - -And her voice, when she spoke, was firm with a note of steel in it; -intense, yet devoid of the wasting anger that passion brings. She was -determined beyond Death itself, upon a foundation sure and lasting -as the stars. The heart in her was calm, because she _knew_. She was -magnificent. - -'We are together--always,' she said, her voice rich with the knowledge -of some unfathomable experience, 'for separation is temporary merely, -forging new links in the ancient chain of lives that binds our hearts -eternally together.' She looked like one who has conquered the -adversity Time brings, by accepting it. 'You speak of the Present as -though our souls were already fitted now to bid it stay, needing no -further fashioning. Looking only to the Future, you forget our ample -Past that has made us what we are. Yet our Past is here and now, beside -us at this very moment. Into the hollow cups of weeks and months, of -years and centuries, Time pours its flood beneath our eyes. Time is -our schoolroom.... Are you so soon afraid? Does not separation achieve -that which companionship never could accomplish? And how shall we dare -eternity together if we cannot be strong in separation first?' - -I listened while a flood of memories broke up through film upon film -and layer upon layer that had long covered them. - -'This Present that we seem to hold between our hands,' she went on in -that earnest, distant voice, '_is_ our moment of sweet remembrance that -you speak of, of renewal, perhaps, too, of reconciliation--a fleeting -instant when we may kiss again and say good-bye, but with strengthened -hope and courage revived. But we may not stay together finally--we -_cannot_--until long discipline and pain shall have perfected sympathy -and schooled our love by searching, difficult tests, that it may last -for ever.' - -I stretched my arms out dumbly to take her in. Her face shone down upon -me, bathed in an older, fiercer sunlight. The change in her seemed -in an instant then complete. Some big, soft wind blew both of us ten -thousand miles away. The centuries gathered us back together. - -'Look, rather, to the Past,' she whispered grandly, 'where first we -knew the sweet opening of our love. Remember, if you can, how the pain -and separation have made it so worth while to continue. And be braver -thence.' - -She turned her eyes more fully upon my own, so that their light -persuaded me utterly away with her. An immense new happiness broke -over me. I listened, and with the stirrings of an ampler courage. It -seemed I followed her down an interminable vista of remembrance till -I was happy with her among the flowers and fields of our earliest -pre-existence. - -Her voice came to me with the singing of birds and the hum of summer -insects. - -'Have you so soon forgotten,' she sighed, 'when we knew together the -perfume of the hanging Babylonian Gardens, or when the Hesperides were -so soft to us in the dawn of the world? And do you not remember,' -with a little rise of passion in her voice, 'the sweet plantations of -Chaldea, and how we tasted the odour of many a drooping flower in the -gardens of Alcinous and Adonis, when the bees of olden time picked -out the honey for our eating? It is the fragrance of those first hours -we knew together that still lies in our hearts to-day, sweetening our -love to this apparent suddenness. Hence comes the full, deep happiness -we gather so easily To-day.... The breast of every ancient forest is -torn with storms and lightning ... that's why it is so soft and full of -little gardens. You have forgotten too easily the glades of Lebanon, -where we whispered our earliest secrets while the big winds drove their -chariots down those earlier skies....' - -There rose an indescribable tempest of remembrance in my heart as I -strove to bring the pictures into focus; but words failed me, and the -hand I eagerly stretched out to touch her own, met only sunshine and -the rain of apple blossoms. - -'The myrrh and frankincense,' she continued in a sighing voice that -seemed to come with the wind from invisible caverns in the sky, 'the -grapes and pomegranates--have they all passed from you, with the train -of apes and peacocks, the tigers and the ibis, and the hordes of -dark-faced slaves? And this little sun that plays so lightly here upon -our woods of beech and pine--does it bring back nothing of the old-time -scorching when the olive slopes, the figs and ripening cornfields -heard our vows and watched our love mature?... Our spread encampment -in the Desert--do not these sands upon our little beach revive its -lonely majesty for you, and have you forgotten the gleaming towers of -Semiramis ... or, in Sardis, those strange lilies that first tempted -our souls to their divine disclosure...?' - -Conscious of a violent struggle between pain and joy, both too deep for -me to understand, I rose to seize her in my arms. But the effort dimmed -the flying pictures. The wind that bore her voice down the stupendous -vista fled back into the caverns whence it came. And the pain caught -me in a vice of agony so searching that I could not move a muscle. -My tongue lay dry against my lips. I could not frame a word of any -sentence.... - -Her voice presently came back to me, but fainter, like a whisper from -the stars. The light dimmed everywhere; I saw no more the vivid, -shining scenery she had summoned. A mournful dusk instead crept down -upon the world she had momentarily revived. - -'... we may not stay together,' I heard her little whisper, 'until long -discipline shall have perfected sympathy, and schooled our love to -last. For this love of ours _is_ for ever, and the pain that tries it -is the furnace that fashions precious stones....' - -Again I stretched my arms out. Her face shone a moment longer in that -forgotten fiercer sunlight, then faded very swiftly. The change, like a -veil, passed over it. From the place of prodigious distance where she -had been, she swept down towards me with such dizzy speed. As she was -To-day I saw her again, more and more. - -'Pain and separation, then, are welcome,' I tried to stammer, 'and we -will desire them'--but my thought got no further into expression than -the first two words. Aching blotted out coherent utterance. - -She bent down very close against my face. Her fragrance was about -my lips. But her voice ran off like a faint thrill of music, far, -far away. I caught the final words, dying away as wind dies in high -branches of a wood. And they reached me this time through the droning -of bees and of waves that murmured close at hand upon the shore. - -'... for our love is of the soul, and our souls are moulded in -Eternity. It is not yet, it is not now, our perfect consummation. Nor -shall our next time of meeting know it. We shall not even speak.... For -I shall not be free....' was what I heard. She paused. - -'You mean we shall not know each other?' I cried, in an anguish of -spirit that mastered the lesser physical pain. - -I barely caught her answer: - -'My discipline then will be in another's keeping--yet only that I may -come back to you ... more perfect ... in the end....' - -The bees and waves then cushioned her whisper with their humming. The -trail of a deeper silence led them far away. The rush of temporary -darkness passed and lifted. I opened my eyes. My love sat close beside -me in the shadow of the poplars. One hand held both my own, while with -the other she arranged my pillows and stroked my aching head. The world -dropped back into a tiny scale once more. - -'You have had the pain again,' Marion murmured anxiously, 'but it is -better now. It is passing.' She kissed my cheek. 'You must come in....' - -But I would not let her go. I held her to me with all the strength that -was in me. 'I had it, but it's gone again. An awful darkness came with -it,' I whispered in the little ear that was so close against my mouth. -'I've been dreaming,' I told her, as memory dipped away, 'dreaming of -you and me--together somewhere--in old gardens, or forests--where the -sun was----' - -But she would not let me finish. I think, in any case, I could not -have said more, for thought evaded me, and any language of coherent -description was in the same instant beyond my power. Exhaustion came -upon me, that vile, compelling nausea with it. - -'The sun here is too strong for you, dear love,' I heard her saying, -'and you must rest more. We have been doing too much these last few -days. You must have more repose.' She rose to help me move indoors. - -'I have been unconscious then?' I asked, in the feeble whisper that was -all I could manage. - -'For a little while. You slept, while I watched over you.' - -'But I was away from you! Oh, how could you let me sleep, when our time -together is so short?' - -She soothed me instantly in the way she knew we both loved so. I clung -to her until she released herself again. - -'Not away from me,' she smiled, 'for I was with you in your dreaming.' - -'Of course, of course you were'; but already I knew not exactly why I -said it, nor caught the deep meaning that struggled up into my words -from such unfathomable distance. - -'Come,' she added, with her sweet authority again, 'we must go in now. -Give me your arm, and I will send out for the cushions. Lean on me. I -am going to put you back to bed.' - -'But I shall sleep again,' I said petulantly, 'and we shall be -separated.' - -'We shall dream together,' she replied, as she helped me slowly and -painfully towards the old grey walls of the chateau. - - -II - -Half an hour later I slept deeply, peacefully, upon my bed in the big -stately chamber where the roses watched beside the latticed windows. - -And to say I dreamed again is not correct, for it can only be expressed -by saying that I saw and knew. The figures round the bed were actual, -and in life. Nothing could be more real than the whisper of the -doctor's voice--that solemn, grave-faced man who was so tall--as he -said, sternly yet brokenly, to some one: 'You must say good-bye; and -you had better say it _now_.' Nor could anything be more definite and -sure, more charged with the actuality of living, than the figure of -Marion, as she stooped over me to obey the terrible command. For I saw -her face float down towards me like a star, and a shower of pale spring -blossoms rained upon me with her hair. The perfume of old, old gardens -rose about me as she slipped to her knees beside the bed and kissed my -lips--so softly it was like the breath of wind from lake and orchard, -and so lingeringly it was as though the blossoms lay upon my mouth and -grew into flowers that she planted there. - -'Good-bye, my love; be brave. It is only separation.' - -'It is death,' I tried to say, but could only feebly stir my lips -against her own. - -I drew her breath of flowers into my mouth ... and there came then the -darkness which is final. - - * * * * * - -The voices grew louder. I heard a man struggling with an unfamiliar -language. Turning restlessly, I opened my eyes--upon a little, stuffy -room, with white walls whereon no pictures hung. It was very hot. -A woman was standing beside the bed, and the bed was very short. I -stretched, and my feet kicked against the boarding at the end. - -'Yes, he _is_ awake,' the woman said in French. 'Will you come in? The -doctor said you might see him when he woke. I think he'll know you.' -She spoke in French. I just knew enough to understand. - -And of course I knew him. It was Haddon. I heard him thanking her for -all her kindness, as he blundered in. His French, if anything, was -worse than my own. I felt inclined to laugh. I did laugh. - -'By Jove! old man, this is bad luck, isn't it? You've had a narrow -shave. This good lady telegraphed----' - -'Have you got my ice-axe? Is it all right?' I asked. I remembered -clearly the motor accident--everything. - -'The ice-axe is right enough,' he laughed, looking cheerfully at the -woman, 'but what about yourself? Feel bad still? Any pain, I mean?' - -'Oh, I feel all right,' I answered, searching for the pain of broken -bones, but finding none. 'What happened? I was stunned, I suppose?' - -'Bit stunned, yes,' said Haddon. 'You got a nasty knock on the head, it -seems. The point of the axe ran into you, or something.' - -'Was that all?' - -He nodded. 'But I'm afraid it's knocked our climbing on the head. -Shocking bad luck, isn't it?' - -'I telegraphed last night,' the kind woman was explaining. - -'But I couldn't get here till this morning,' Haddon said. 'The telegram -didn't find me till midnight, you see.' And he turned to thank the -woman in his voluble, dreadful French. She kept a little pension on -the shores of the lake. It was the nearest house, and they had carried -me in there and got the doctor to me all within the hour. It proved -slight enough, apart from the shock. It was not even concussion. I had -merely been stunned. Sleep had cured me, as it seemed. - -'Jolly little place,' said Haddon, as he moved me that afternoon to -Geneva, whence, after a few days' rest, we went on into the Alps of -Haute Savoie, 'and lucky the old body was so kind and quick. Odd, -wasn't it?' He glanced at me. - -Something in his voice betrayed he hid another thought. I saw nothing -'odd' in it at all, only very tiresome. - -'What's its name?' I asked, taking a shot at a venture. - -He hesitated a second. Haddon, the climber, was not skilled in the -delicacies of tact. - -'Don't know its present name,' he answered, looking away from me across -the lake, 'but it stands on the site of an old chateau--destroyed a -hundred years ago--the Chateau de Bellerive.' - -And then I understood my old friend's absurd confusion. For Bellerive -chanced also to be the name of a married woman I knew in Scotland--at -least, it was her maiden name, and she was of French extraction. - - -THE END - -_Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, _Edinburgh_. - - - - -By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - -_Crown 8vo. 6s. each._ - - -A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND - -(THE BOOK THAT 'UNCLE PAUL' WROTE) - - _WESTMINSTER GAZETTE._--"A book which every lover of Mr. - Blackwood's unique work will hail with enthusiasm and close with - satisfaction." - - _SPECTATOR._--"A romance of unfaltering beauty. The streak of - genius in it is unmistakable. It has the madness of dreams, the - wildness, and the largeness." - - -THE EDUCATION OF UNCLE PAUL - - _GUARDIAN._--"Rare and exquisite book.... It is all of a strange - loveliness, and, despite its aerial quality, of real sincerity. - _The Education of Uncle Paul_ is a book to puzzle the 'average - reader' and rejoice the elect." - - _TIMES._--"Wholly delightful book." - - -THE CENTAUR - - _STANDARD._--"Mr. Blackwood in _The Centaur_ has written a book - of complete, consistent beauty.... _The Centaur_ is not only Mr. - Blackwood's best work; it is also a book that will to the O'Malleys - of the world be a gift that they can never too highly acknowledge." - - _PALL MALL GAZETTE._--"It is a book of strange wonders: there is - greatness in the conception, there is power in the execution, while - the literary excellence is of the finest quality, the arresting - phrase checking and holding the attention in every chapter." - - -THE HUMAN CHORD - - _DAILY NEWS._--"There is a rush and a splendour about the whole - narrative that sweeps the reader from his feet.... _The Human - Chord_ is a book to haunt and to inspire." - - _DAILY TELEGRAPH._--"The author has had, one may say, a stupendous - idea, and he has carried it out with all the zeal and all the - talent which is in him.... It is a wonderful tale." - - -PAN'S GARDEN - -A VOLUME OF NATURE STORIES - - _DAILY GRAPHIC._--"They reveal Mr. Blackwood once again as the - possessor of a unique talent among present-day writers." - - _SPECTATOR._--"The stories are never merely grim or horrible, but - enthralling in their power of imagination and delightful in their - picturesque and carefully chosen language." - - _Crown 8vo. 3s. 6d. net. Pott 8vo. 7d. net._ - - -JIMBO: A FANTASY - - _DAILY CHRONICLE._--"_Jimbo_ is a delicious book, and one that - should be read by all who long at times to escape from this - working-day world into the region of haunting and half-remembered - things." - - _DAILY EXPRESS._--"_Jimbo_ is a perfect thing, a dainty - masterpiece. We have never read a book quite like it. We have - rarely read a book that has given us such unqualified delight." - - _Pott 8vo. 7d. net._ - - -JOHN SILENCE - - _OBSERVER._--"Not since the days of Poe have we read anything in - his peculiar genre fit to be compared with this remarkable book." - - _WORLD._--"No one should miss a book of such singular ingenuity and - power; but no nervous person can be advised to read it except at a - considerable interval before going to bed." - - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - - - - -NEW BOOK BY H. G. WELLS - - THE WIFE OF SIR ISAAC HARMAN - -_Extra crown 8vo. 6s._ - - -NEW BOOK BY JAMES STEPHENS - -Author of "The Crock of Gold" - - THE DEMI-GODS - -_Crown 8vo. 5s. net._ - - -NEW VOLUME of stories by ALGERNON BLACKWOOD - - INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES - -_Extra crown 8vo. 6s._ - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LIMITED. - - - - -RECENT FICTION - - -A CHANGED MAN, THE WAITING SUPPER, AND OTHER TALES, CONCLUDING -WITH THE ROMANTIC ADVENTURES OF A MILKMAID. - -By THOMAS HARDY. Extra crown 8vo. 6s. - - _Daily Graphic._--"In all these stories there is a uniformity of - high achievement, a clearness of conception, and a perfection in - achievement which it is difficult to discover in the pages of any - other living author." - - _Times._--"There is not a page in the collection that does not bear - the unmistakable imprint of Mr. Hardy's personality; and for those - who have acquired the complete Wessex Edition of the works there - could not be a more characteristic and delightful makeweight." - - _Daily Chronicle_.--"Most readers will be astonished that so - delightful a tale as _The Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid_ - has been hitherto uncollected.... The whole book is alive and - treasurable." - - _Evening Standard._--"Decidedly no edition of Mr. Hardy could have - vaunted itself complete had it lacked these minor novels." - - _Daily News._--"There has been no such a collection of short - stories since _Life's Little Ironies_ appeared." - - _Pall Mall Gazette._--"These local tales, which Mr. Hardy has made - into 'minor novels,' must be of endless interest for those who - appreciate the fuller products of his art." - - _Standard._--"In every one of them there is the glimpse and glint - of supreme genius.... They put us out of conceit with the best - flights of newer talent." - - _Guardian._--"Stories such as no other living author could write." - - _Globe._--"If this book will add nothing to the greatness of Thomas - Hardy, it will with equal certainty take nothing away.... As - certain to be welcomed by students of the art of Thomas Hardy as by - readers who will be glad of it for the stories it contains." - - -WAITING. - -By GERALD O'DONOVAN. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Pall Mall Gazette._--"The story is full of life and action and - character, and the humour is not wanting. It brings the Ireland of - to-day closer to us, and throws fresh light on the national spirit." - - _The Times._--"To consider this book simply as a piece of fiction - just now is almost impossible; it is one more contribution to the - hydra-headed Irish question. It is like a flaming brand flung into - the middle of a roaring bonfire. Mr. O'Donovan's whole mind and - heart have gone into the writing of his story. It is no less clear - that it is the outcome of direct experience." - - _Daily News._--"Waiting is full of charming sketches of Irish - character, a real tenderness for Irish religion, and a keen sense - of the difference between clericalism and Catholicism." - - _Daily Mail._--"The power and quiet beauty of Mr. O'Donovan's - Father Ralph are more than sustained in his new novel." - - -FATHER RALPH. - -By GERALD O'DONOVAN. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Times._--"Written in deadly earnest and with extraordinarily - intimate knowledge.... A marvellous picture of Irish life on the - religious side, in all its phases and varieties." - - _Daily Chronicle._--"In several respects one of the most important - novels published in these days." - - _Westminster Gazette._--"A clearly conceived and intensely - interesting novel.... _Father Ralph_ is indeed an impressive work." - - _Daily News._--"It takes both courage and conviction to write a - novel like this. It takes also a burden of experience to write it - so well." - - _Pall Mall Gazette._--"A book of absorbing and poignant interest." - - -THE WORLD SET FREE: A STORY OF MANKIND. - -By H. G. WELLS. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Daily Mail._--"With a vigour and audacity of imagination which - no other writer of our day can equal, Mr. H. G. Wells has - described what the world will be like in the middle of the present - century.... A book which must make a very great impression." - - _Daily News._--"It is as startling as anything Mr. Wells has ever - written. It contains one of the most sensational chapters in the - literature of anticipation." - - _Times._--"Once more, with his brilliant imagination, Mr. Wells - has projected the possibilities of a scientific development down - through society at large to the individual, and never has he done - so more convincingly or with greater ingenuity." - - -BENDISH: A STUDY IN PRODIGALITY. - -By MAURICE HEWLETT. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Daily Chronicle._--"This novel is one of Mr. Hewlett's finest.... - One must confess that English fiction is as great now as ever it - was. One swells with pride to think that modern men can write so - well." - - _Morning Post._--"The novel is full of fascination and interest." - - _World._--"Considered as a work of deliberate, delicate, highly - finished art, Mr. Maurice Hewlett has probably done nothing better - than this his latest book." - - _Guardian._--"A powerful piece of work well told." - - - - -Three Books by James Stephens - - -HERE ARE LADIES. - -Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - - _Daily Chronicle._--"Work admirably representative of the writer's - genius. The subtle and humorous criticism of life, the deep yet - simple philosophy wrought into apothegms after the manner of Blake - and Lavater, which added such lustre to _The Crock of Gold_." - - _Times._--"A story may have many and diverse effects upon its - reader. It may leave him smiling, laughing, frowning (perhaps - weeping), angry, perplexed, exalted, afraid. The bits of stories in - _Here are Ladies_, the sketches, essays, snapshots, call them what - you will, will leave him for the most part happy and hungry--for - more." - - _Daily Graphic._--"One might go on quoting, and perhaps quoting to - more persuasive effect; but for ourselves we need no persuading - that Mr. Stephens' humour is to our liking, his writing entrancing - to us, his originality beyond question." - - -THE CROCK OF GOLD. - -Crown 8vo. 5_s._ net. - - _Times._--"It is crammed full of life and beauty ... this - delicious, fantastical, amorphous, inspired medley of - topsy-turvydom." - - _Punch._--"A fairy fantasy, elvish, grotesque, realistic, - allegorical, humorous, satirical, idealistic, and poetical by turns - ... and very beautiful." - - _Pall Mall Gazette._--"A wise, beautiful, and humorous book.... If - you could have given Sterne a soul and made him a poet he might - have produced _The Crock of Gold_." - - -THE CHARWOMAN'S DAUGHTER. - -Crown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ net. - - _Punch._--"A little gem.... It is a very long time indeed since we - read such a human, satisfying book. Every page contains some happy - phrase or illuminating piece of character-drawing." - - _Evening Standard._--"Will give many honest English men and women - delight of a kind very few novelists give them to-day." - - _Daily News and Leader._--"Mary is surely one of the most gracious - figures of girlhood in modern fiction. She is made out of music and - flowers.... A wholly delightful and buoyant book." - - - - -RECENT FICTION - - -THE INSIDE OF THE CUP. - -By WINSTON CHURCHILL. With Illustrations. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Daily Chronicle._--"Calculated to arouse much thought and great - argument among those who read it.... One's feeling about the whole - story is that it is in some way magnificent, with many a fine and - noble personality coming into it, both men and women." - - _Times._--"Mr. Churchill has written a fine and moving book." - - _Truth._--"This brilliant novel.... In a word, _The Inside of - the Cup_ is a sign of the times, and a book for the times which - everyone should read." - - _World._--"It is a work which can be argued over _ad infinitum_, - and it is one which is as finely conceived as it is admirably - worked out.... This is a book for clergy and laity alike to read, - mark, and learn." - - -A PRISONER IN FAIRYLAND. (THE BOOK THAT "UNCLE PAUL" WROTE.) - -By ALGERNON BLACKWOOD. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Globe._--"A story in many ways the most beautiful of all Mr. - Blackwood's remarkable achievements, and one which leaves behind it - a bright, ineffaceable memory, and a desire to acquire something of - its joyousness." - - _Westminster Gazette._--"A book which every lover of Mr. - Blackwood's unique work will hail with enthusiasm and close with - satisfaction." - - _Daily Express._--"A supremely beautiful book. Every now and again - one reads a book that gives one complete joy, and then analysis - and summary become impossible, and all the reviewer can do is to - express his gratitude, and to implore his readers to buy or borrow - the book and read it for themselves." - - _Country Life._--"Mr. Algernon Blackwood has now produced the - eagerly anticipated 'book that "Uncle Paul" wrote,' and it is - the finest he has yet given us ... this delicate and exquisite - phantasy." - - -THE CUSTOM OF THE COUNTRY. - -By EDITH WHARTON. Extra crown 8vo 6_s._ - - _Daily Graphic._--"It only remains to ask if Mrs. Wharton has made - the narrative interesting. She has made it enthralling. We watch - Undine with a fearful fascination.... Most brilliant novel." - - _Daily Express._--"Mrs. Wharton writes with splendid force and - humour. Her book grips, from the beginning to the end." - - _Standard._--"We read this book of close on 600 pages at a sitting. - Mrs. Wharton's literary skill is of a high order. Her prose is a - delight to read, and her manner captivates us." - - _Globe._--"Mrs. Wharton has written a fine novel, or rather, she - has not so much written a fine novel as handled finely a big theme. - It is surely too late in the day to say that no other woman who - writes in English writes so well." - - -A LAD OF KENT. - -By HERBERT HARRISON. Illustrated. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Athenaeum._--"Mr. Harrison supplies full measure of adventures, - both serious and comic, deftly intermingled, and he introduces to - us a variegated crowd of most life-like and interesting personages - who play vivid parts in a vivid and convincing manner.... We - congratulate the author on an excellent and stirring tale of a most - interesting epoch." - - _Globe._--"A fine story, grave and gay by turns, and always - interesting." - - _The Times._--"What lends a special flavour and character to the - tale is its continual variety.... A tale which will appeal alike - to the manhood in almost any boy and to the spirit of boyhood - persistent in most men." - - -BEHIND THE SCENES IN THE SCHOOLROOM. BEING THE EXPERIENCES OF A -YOUNG GOVERNESS. - -By FLORENCE MONTGOMERY, Author of "Misunderstood." Extra crown 8vo. -6_s._ - - _Daily Chronicle._--"Full of the charm of _Misunderstood_." - - _Daily Telegraph._--"Miss Montgomery is thoroughly interested in - her subject, and writes a thoughtful, individual story." - - _Liverpool Daily Post._--"Miss Montgomery's simple charm of diction - and of construction is too well known to the majority of readers to - require comment, and it will be sufficient to say of her present - story that it is just as attractive as _Misunderstood_, and - contains exactly the same qualities." - - _Review of Reviews._--"A picture of the ups and downs of the life - of a governess and the troubles of her little charges, intermingled - with a pleasantly romantic love story." - - -JOAN'S GREEN YEAR: LETTERS FROM THE MANOR FARM TO HER BROTHER IN -INDIA. - -By E. L. DOON. Extra crown 8vo. 6_s._ - - _Bookman._--"The story told in this series of letters has the - supreme merits of simplicity and naturalness, and the letters also - abound in pleasant anecdotes and in happy turns of phrase. We - congratulate Miss Doon upon a very likeable piece of work." - - _Westminster Gazette._--"It touches many interests, and has points - in it which will appeal to almost every reader." - - _T. P.'s Weekly._--"There is real love of the country and - understanding of it in every page." - - _Birmingham Post._--"The book is written with great taste and - charm, and breathes a delightful sense of quiet humour, sanity of - outlook, and a fine spirit of camaraderie." - - -LONDON: MACMILLAN AND CO., LTD. - -_R. Clay and Sons, Ltd., Brunswick St., S.E._ - - - - -Transcriber's Note: - -Punctuations has been standardised. Spelling and hyphenation have been -retained as in the original publication except as follows. - - Macron represented by [=o] and [=e] in Enet-te-nt[=o]r[=e] - - Page 131 - and rather sot in my ways _changed to_ - and rather set in my ways - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Incredible Adventures, by Algernon Blackwood - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK INCREDIBLE ADVENTURES *** - -***** This file should be named 43816.txt or 43816.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/8/1/43816/ - -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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