Front matter (continued 4)

"It is not possible to describe in language, nor would I do so even if possible, how the spirit may disperse these various chemical bonds which form its vesture here. To one watching, the form seems to dissolve as the various elements pass into the air, even as when by the influence of intense heat the solid metal becomes transformed into invisible gases.

"The views which many people, even though well educated, hold with regard to matter are most extraordinary. Without acknowledging it, they consider anything that is solid as on quite a distinct plane from that which is liquid or gaseous, and though they are well aware of the fact that it requires but a comparatively slight alteration in temperature to turn this solid earth into a ball of gas, even this knowledge does not really affect their unconscious prejudice. So again with regard to the views held about the body: though even a child can tell you that the body is for ever changing, how few can realize when they meet some loved friend who has been absent a few years that the hand they touch is not the same they touched at parting; that the eye which looks into theirs is a strange one; and that not one single particle of the body before them have they ever seen before! The spirit alone remains. How many bodies do we bury before the final funeral day comes round? Why should we care more for the last fragments than for the lesser fragments gone before? We gather from the water, earth, and air, directly or indirectly, all our spirit's clothing. We use these gifts a little time, and then return them to the givers. In man's present state the will acts unconsciously, our animal instincts drawing slowly such particles as they require. With a higher knowledge the spirit acts more directly upon matter, ruling it, and with conscious power attracting or repelling the elements at will; but there is no more violation of natural law in such seeming miracles than there is in the machinery which can turn out in less than a second some work which in years gone by may have taken a man days of labour to accomplish.

"It is, of course, the same with the material covering of the body, save that to gather together particles such as are required for clothing is far simpler and easier than to draw those required for the more complicated formation of the human form.

"For instance, there were many present among the priests who could bring together any combinations of gaseous matters and convert them into whatsoever they wished that had not life. Thus even gold was considered here of no value. They could create the outer semblance of some of the lower forms of life, though in no case is it possible to give the spirit of life--even in its lowest form, such as is the plants, for this divine gift is eternal, and cometh and goeth by the will of the Creator alone.

"But to return to the scene in the temple. As I stood in the midst of the white-robed assembly of mortals, encircled by the countless host of spirit forms, the fear of destroying my one link to the earth passed away, and I began to free myself from the bondage of the body; not as I had hitherto done, by quitting it, but by force of will and through knowledge taught me in the spirit-world. I let the particles which formed it free, changing them into those few elementary substances from which, through a rearrangement of atoms, our complicated structure is composed. Thus, while those around could still notice no change in the apparently sleeping forms of Luloor and Karman, my body had become invisible. The great experiment had so far proved successful, though it still remained a matter of uncertainty whether I should be able to regain my material form.

"It had been arranged beforehand, in order better to dispel the anxiety of those who were watching, and to avoid any additional risk, that on this first occasion my spirit should not wander far, but return soon and recall, if possible, its material shape. I believe that it was owing to this precaution that I was successful, for not only was I able thus to receive the aid of every member of the society, but the shorter the time that the spirit is in freedom, the less difficult is it to return to a bodily existence. It will suffice for the present to say that I succeeded, and from that day continually made fresh experiments, staying away longer, and returning to the body at various places, each time at a greater distance from the temple.

"At first my spirit was always accompanied by Luloor and Karman, but as I grew more confident, I began to dispense first with one and then with both my companions. At last, without difficulty I could take up a new form in any part of the world, and in one sense the limitations of time and space were partially removed.

"It has been necessary for me to dwell thus briefly on my life at Aphar to enable you to understand my further relations with Vera; but I have purposely avoided going into any unnecessary details, and do not intend to refer again to the matter at present. Indeed, if it had been possible to make myself intelligible without mentioning the subject, I should have preferred it. But it would have been hopeless otherwise to explain the power which I acquired, and the entire alteration in my views of life which dated from this time; for this experience changed and revolutionized my character in such a way that it would have been impossible for you to follow my further actions with any degree of comprehension.

"I propose now to let you have an account of what was taking place in England during my absence, but I shall let Vera tell it to you herself, in her own words, or rather it shall seem to you that this is so. But remember that the girl will appear to you as she was at the time, not only in appearance, but in thought and character."

Even as Alan Sydney spoke I found myself in complete darkness; then I heard Vera's voice.

"I have come," she said, "to tell you the story of my life after Alan left me and went to India."

As she was speaking the light once more fell softly on the room; my late companion had gone, and I was alone save for the presence of the beautiful girl, whose weak yet lovely face I have already endeavoured to describe.

PART III

CHAPTER IX

"Listen!" Vera said, moving forward and sitting down on the couch beside me. "It is a strange experience. My position, to begin with, was unusual and somewhat upsetting to a girl of only eighteen. I was married to Lord Vancome, a man I did not even like, who had moreover disappeared; while the man I admired and trusted had also left England, after giving me a large fortune. I was in possession of Somerville, my husband's ancestral home, and of all his estates, neither of which had he power to enter without my consent. My father, whom I had always believed to be wealthy, would also soon be dependent upon my generosity.

"The day that Alan left, his lawyer arrived from London, and explained the position to me. Being married, I had become freed from all parental control; the estates and money were tied up in such a manner that my husband could not touch them; and, to my surprise, I found out from the conversation that a thousand pounds a year would be paid to Lord Vancome as long as he took no steps to interfere with my inclinations, but that should he at any time take legal action to compel me to live with him, this payment would be stopped.

"The lawyer also explained how, in the event of my husband taking this step, which seemed very improbable, the law could be easily avoided by a person who was, like myself, in possession of a large private fortune.

"Having made all these complicated details as plain as possible, and after advising me to consult him before taking any important step, he asked to see my father.

"What passed at this interview I do not know, but from that day I was treated by my parents in a way differing considerably from anything hitherto experienced. I was flattered, petted, and allowed to do exactly what I pleased without comment or rebuke.

"We soon decided to leave Heather Lodge, and spend a short time in London, after which I had made up my mind to go with my parents and live at Somerville. Nothing of importance happened during our stay in town. My father was busily engaged in making arrangements with his creditors, whilst I spent most of my time in the new delight of shopping on my own account.

"Somerville had been bought, together with all the old pictures, tapestries, and furniture which had belonged to my husband's family, so that I was spared the expense of furnishing a large house. But there were, nevertheless, opportunities for extravagance open even in this direction, to say nothing of dress and jewellery, so that the days passed pleasantly.

"It was not till May that I first saw my new home, and even then I left London with regret. My father had gone down two or three times to see that everything was in order. Servants had been engaged, and the place was quite comfortable when we arrived.

"Somerville is a fine old house, but unfortunately the man who had decided upon the position chose it with more regard to appearance than health. In the park around, which covers about a thousand acres, there are hundreds of what modern builders would call 'eligible and imposing sites,' yet this perverse man placed his building in a hollow, surrounded on three sides by rising ground, opening only to the south. The slopes are covered with magnificent trees; a stream rushes down behind the building and falls over a beautiful waterfall into a lake. This expanse of water, the foliage and enclosing hills, make the situation relaxing, and in summer time the air is very oppressive.

"I was, however, at first much too delighted with the place to think of these defects. We arrived on a beautiful evening, bright, yet cool; the sunset made a lovely background for the trees. Through gaps in the dark foliage the red light fell in patterns on the moss-covered stone roofing of the house, or was reflected from the surface of the lake. The birds were singing gaily, their song mingling pleasantly with the sound of falling water. There had been heavy rain, and the air was full of the sweet, yet bitter, smell of earth, decaying leaves, and spring flowers.

"The house, which had been built during the reign of Charles I., was a long, low, stone building, with mullioned windows. It gave the idea of being larger than it really was, but owing to its moderate proportions, the rooms were very comfortable. There was little oak to be seen in the house, the panelling and furniture throughout being of mahogany, which was nearly black with age. The walls were covered with tapestry, pictures, armour, and many relics of bygone sport.

"While looking round I thought of my husband, and tried to picture him as a child playing in the old rooms. For a moment I wished that he were there and could tell me the stories connected with some of the relics.

"'Father,' I said, 'we shall, after all, have to ask Vancome down, if only to learn something about my new family history.'

"A look of annoyance passed over my father's face, and he answered crossly--

"'Nonsense, child! I hope you will not think of such a thing! There is an old housekeeper who has been here for goodness knows how many years; I kept her on that she might be useful. Whatever you want to know Mrs. King will no doubt be able to tell you.' Then, apparently remembering the altered position of affairs, his voice changed as he continued, 'Well, dearest, and what do you think of your new home? It is a lovely place for a young girl to be mistress of, and if sensible she will be in no hurry to hand it over to any spendthrift master. Should you require a little knowledge or advice, who can give it you better than your father? In me, little one, you will find a man who is willing to take the trouble and responsibility off your hands, and at the same time leave you free to do just as you choose.'

"This was not the first time that I had noticed how strongly my father was opposed to the idea of any meeting taking place between my husband and myself. I am now inclined to fancy that the reason we left London at the commencement of the season was owing more to his influence than to my own inclination. He had always been picturing to me the delights of country life in my new home; and it is quite possible that the fear of Vancome returning to London had a good deal to do with his action. Nor did he confine himself to this course only. Every story he could rake up which presented my husband in a vile or ridiculous light was repeated to me, and I have since found out that many of these reports were highly coloured. My mother, in a feeble way, backed him up.

"'Darling,' she said to me on the night of our arrival, when I went up to her room to kiss her before going to bed; 'what a lucky girl you are! Marriage is not by any means all that you young people think, even if by some rare chance you do secure a good husband. To be tied down to one man, and have to put up with all his little fads, jealousies, or tempers; never to be able to call a day your own, or to make friends of one of the other sex without the possibility of a scene! Well, most of us have to take the chance of this kind of life at the best, or go unprovided for; while you, owing to the generosity of Alan Sydney, have, without any of the disadvantages, everything you can desire--wealth, freedom, and position. With such a fortune the world is at your feet, if only you keep that scamp of a husband of yours at arm's-length. Without your consent he can do nothing, but if you once allow him to get a footing here again, good-bye to your happiness, your money, and your power. Do not forget what I have said, dearest, and run away now, for I am very much done up after my journey.'

"As I lay in bed that night I thought over what my mother had said. How changed were these opinions now from those she had expressed a year ago! Then it seemed that marriage was the one aim of a girl's life; that love had some meaning, though she had always told me that love and poverty never long exist hand-in-hand. But what glowing pictures she had painted of wealthy married life! Now we had ascended to a higher plane still, and I found the three degrees of comparison--first, love and poverty; then love and riches; and best of all, riches without love. I was, however, rather doubtful if this last stage would satisfy me for long, though I failed to see any remedy. Alas! I loved the wrong man, and regretted deeply the folly which had persuaded me to throw him over on that unlucky night.

"But it was useless to dwell on the past; so, trying to fancy that I was as fortunate as my parents seemed to think, I cried a little, and fell asleep, wondering what I was crying about.

"That night I had a most unpleasant dream. I thought I heard a sound as of some one moving in the house, and though trembling with fear, I got out of bed and went to the door to listen. Some one was evidently coming along the landing which led to my room. After trying the handle to make sure that my door was locked, I turned round with the intention of getting into bed, but found, much to my dismay, that I was no longer in my own room, but in the hall down-stairs. In front of me on the further wall hung a picture--a portrait of myself. The eyes seemed turned to me with a look of deep, pitiful interest. While standing thus in wonder, the door behind me opened. I turned, yet though the sound of footsteps passed me and went on toward the picture, I could see no one.

"Then it seemed to me as though this invisible presence cut with a knife round the edges of the canvas, and the painting fell forward with its face on the floor, leaving a deep black hole through which the stars could be seen to glimmer in the heaven, whilst at the same minute a gust of cold wind came into the room.

"But worse was to follow, for through this strange doorway into the outer night, three horrible winged creatures like bats entered with noiseless flight, followed by a large owl. These foul vampires fluttered around me, and as I fiercely fought at the winged brutes, striving to drive them from me, the owl, which had settled on the picture-frame, sat blinking its eyes and rolling its head from side to side. At last, utterly exhausted, I sank down upon the ground, and the hideous creatures fell upon me, biting through my thin covering, and staining the white linen with my blood.

"Then through the dark opening a snow-white dove passed, as a streak of moonlight, into the room and fluttered over me, and its soft eyes were turned to mine. No sooner, however, did the vampires become conscious of its presence, than leaving me with one accord they rose upward and tried to seize it. Scarcely had their loathly forms, however, come in contact with the white fluttering wings, than, as though struck by some flash of unseen lightning, they fell lifeless on my breast; and at the horror of their dead touch I awoke! Yet even as I looked around my room the blinking eyes and nodding head of the owl seemed still before me.

"I sat up, listening, and stared into the darkness. The sound of footsteps and the opening and shutting of doors could be distinctly heard. It had doubtless been such sounds that had in some way influenced my dream.

"I was now wide-awake, and could distinguish my father's voice speaking to one of the servants, so all fear of the supernatural vanished. I struck a match, and drawing a warm wrapper over me went out on to the landing to discover the cause of the disturbance. I had barely opened my door before a maid with blanched face came hurrying towards me.

"'Please, my lady,' she said, 'Mr. Soudin wants you in your mother's room at once;' and not waiting for me to ask a question she hurried on.

"Frightened by the girl's expression, I ran down the passage, but on reaching my mother's door, hesitated. It was partially opened, and I could hear the sound of rambling speech. Then for a moment there was silence, but as I entered a piercing cry made me hasten forward.

"The fire cast a lurid light over the room, throwing shadows now here, now there, upon the objects around. My father stood beside the bed, his face turned from me, as he held a glass in one hand and with the other supported my mother, who was sitting up surrounded with pillows. Her face was deadly pale, her eyes fixed as though upon some horrible vision.

"I am afraid that I never loved my parents, though it is not easy to say why, for in a certain sense they had always been kind to me. They had fed, clothed, and educated, but never really made a companion of me. My father was always either engaged in business or pleasure, and my presence as a rule seemed to irritate him. My mother had, almost before I can remember, given up interest in any one; she spent her time chiefly in reading novels, and gave as a reason for thus neglecting her duties the bad health and excessive nervousness which made every movement or sound torture to her. Before marriage she had been a recognized beauty, and for many years enjoyed the gaiety of social life; but at last she had fallen under the influence of some preacher who had thoroughly frightened her. Then for a time she devoted herself to various charitable undertakings, and found religious dissipation in attending conferences and comparing sensations with those who were similarly affected. But this enthusiasm did not last. Finally, she developed a distinct form of hysteria, all her time being devoted either to her health or books, the latter romances either of religious or purely sensational emotion.

"As a child I had been left to nurses and governesses, seldom allowed to enter my mother's room, and whenever the opportunity occurred, it was quite apparent that I was there on sufferance, and that the sooner I left the better it would be for every one concerned. When old enough I was sent to school, and as I was nearly seventeen when I left, you can fancy that my associations with home life were not strong. But though my love may have been weak, it did not prevent me from feeling both pity and terror as I looked on my mother.

"Up to this time I had never been brought face to face either with acute suffering or death. As I stood in helpless perplexity, her rambling words still more alarmed me.

"'I see it all!' she cried. 'Damned! after all I am damned!--Look! the road is broad, and hedged in on both sides with flowers--let me get out of it.--Ah! I cannot!--The thorns cut into my flesh, look--look!--did I not say so?--The smoke is rising there in the distance;--it is coming this way, a great cloud sweeping over me--suffocating me.'

"With a terrible cry she struggled violently for a moment with her hands, tearing wildly at her throat; then with an awful groan she fell back dead!

"I will not dwell upon what followed, or how my father, who had never seemed to care for her in life, now that she was gone referred to her as the only bond which had bound him to earth. He, however, soon grew resigned to what he called 'the mysterious dispensations of Providence.' I had, moreover, during the weeks that followed, to put up with what was to me an exceedingly painful form of retrospection on his part, which usually took place after dinner.

"'My dear,' he would begin, 'if only we could foresee the future, how differently should we act! Many a time have I felt peevish and irritable because your sainted mother was unable to fulfil those duties which her station in life required. It is true that at times I considered there was little excuse for this neglect; but I have been chastened, greatly chastened for such suspicion. A divine Providence has torn from me the jewel which I failed to value, and I must now wander alone through this valley of tears. But resignation, my child--resignation! In vain do we kick against the pricks, and draw our sword to contend with fate. Let us rather ponder on the lesson thus given us, that we may be purged from our evil ways!'

"This sort of talk would continue for some time; the more depressed he became, the more necessary he seemed to find it to continue filling up and emptying his glass, till at last the tears of emotion mingled with the port, and he sank back in his easy chair, to meditate, I suppose, with his eyes shut.

"During the day he seemed fairly cheerful, and spent much of his time with the gamekeepers; for, as he explained to me, it was absolutely necessary for the place to be properly kept up, so that when the shooting season came round, I might be able to entertain my friends. No doubt he meant his friends, but that was the way he put it.

"While he was thus busying himself with outdoor matters, I had the indoor arrangements to attend to, which threw me much in the way of Mrs. King. She was a dear old character; but had my father known her sentiments, it is probable that he would never have engaged her.

"She entirely refused to accept the present position of things, and treated my separation from Vancome as a little temporary joke, which it was her duty to bring to an end as speedily as possible.

"'My dear lady,' she said one day, after giving me a more than usually long piece of family history, 'I shall be glad when Master Frank--my lord, I mean--comes back. Such a nice young man as he is, too, and the prettiest child he was for miles round. You should just have seen the way as every one did spoil him. There were no resisting of his pretty ways. A bit larky, I know, but bless your heart, boys ain't worth much if they don't show spirit! Pity it were his poor dear father and mother both died afore he was a bit older; for though my lord, as was, did give him a free hand, he wouldn't have let him gamble away the old place, so that his wife, bless her, had to buy it back again--not he!'

"'But you don't think I am going to live with him again?' I said. 'It is true that in a foolish moment I married him, but then things were different; I didn't know what he was like, and very likely you have no idea of what he is now. You should hear of the way he goes on in London! It is not the gambling I mind so much, though that is bad enough; but the actresses and ballet-girls with whom he associates--oh! it is simply awful!'

"'Oh! my poor, dear, innocent lady!--whoever can have gone a-talking to you about such things! But, bless your heart! you believe an old woman, there ain't no real badness in Master Frank. He always was a bit too fond perhaps of a pretty face, but then all of 'em is much the same. It is the girl's fault, I reckon, nine times out of ten; and many's the day I've had to bustle off some young minx of a housemaid, or maybe even a scullery wench, for the way they'd carry on, and he no more than a boy of fifteen! I ain't got any patience, that I haven't, with the girls of the present day! No self-respect, or keeping in their place. Why, I've even heard 'em a'quarrelling as to which he were fondest of, and which he had kissed last. But I soon had the hussies out of the house in those days! And I got pretty careful about the choice of their successors; they weren't overdone with good looks the next lot, I can tell you! Well, you see, when a young man goes out like into the world, he has got to sow his wild oats a bit afore he settles down; but you take an old woman's word for it, the young lord's good at heart, and happy you'll make me when I see the two of you together. Ay! and when I hold the young lord that is to be in these arms, as I did his father nigh on twenty-seven years ago!'

"After this manner and, as I got to know her better, in an even more familiar strain, did the old housekeeper do her best to alter my decision. Her arguments might have lacked logic, but she was a clever old thing in her way, and the love which she really felt for her young lord was more powerful than her justification of his faults. The stories of his childhood, picked doubtless out of many less attractive, were always in his favour, and showed his bravery, affection, and brightness. What, however, influenced me more than anything else were her pictures of the romantic side of married life, which differed entirely from anything I had been led to fancy. She would conclude a long rambling discourse on the subject in this manner--

"'Ah! little can you know what a woman misses as never has a chance of being loved--never can turn her mind back to the joys which come flocking down on a bride. Thanks be to heaven! I knowed it, though it weren't for long. But when I looks at an old maid, why I feels just fit to cry. To have gone through life and not know nothing about it! Never to have felt that there was one man as loved you, and would have done anything to call you his own--to feel each year as it goes by that your chance is getting less of waking out of this sort of half-and-half existence, and beginning to live! It is just this. A girl as isn't married ain't natural; and things as ain't natural ain't good in no ways. We was told to be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth, and they as can and don't, is to my mind going right dead against Scripture!'"

CHAPTER X

"Two months passed, and it is probable that soon I might have tired of the monotony of this existence, had not my school-friend, Amy Howell, come to stay with me. She was one of a large family, and her father, a country clergyman, having recently lost money, had now some difficulty in making both ends meet.

"At school we had been great friends; she was a year older than myself, and as great a contrast in appearance as in disposition. Her short, black, and rather coarse hair curled round a pretty forehead; she had a dark, clear complexion--the colour of cream in which a few drops of coffee have been mixed; a bright, deep colour; full, pretty-shaped, pouting lips, ever ready and ever seeming ready for kisses; while the natural gaiety of her nature peeped through the thick lashes which partially concealed her large hazel eyes.

"She possessed a fortunate knack of always being able to make herself agreeable, and of appearing to take an interest in any subject that might arise. Her enemies called her insincere, a flatterer, and time-server; but I cannot say that I ever noticed these faults myself. Her worst enemy could not have called her dull.

"She soon became a great favourite with my father, who found her a sympathetic listener to his woes whenever he felt disposed to air them. Mrs. King could not speak too highly of her, and the servants were unanimous in their praise of her consideration and kindness.

"'It is surprising why people are ever nasty,' she said to me one day, when I was commenting on her popularity. 'It is so easy to make people like you if you only try. To be cross with others makes one cross with oneself. Now you, for instance, are always kind, and think what a happy life you have!'

"'I don't know so much about my kindness,' I answered; 'any way, it's quite a different thing from yours. Now look at the way you got over old Mrs. Scott yesterday; I simply can't bear the woman, with her conceited vulgarity!--and her patronizing manner puts all my bristles up. I feel I could scratch her! While if she had been your lover instead of an ugly old woman, you could hardly have appeared more affectionate!'

"'Well, perhaps I'm not quite so naturally truthful as you are, dear,' she said. 'I do not like her myself, but why should we show it? It's so nice to be liked; and you never know when it may be to your advantage to make a friend, and I'm sure it is never any good to make an enemy. She might set some one against me whom I might really like. Besides, the truth is this--I cannot help it. Whenever I see a person, male or female, young or old, a distinct inclination comes over me to purr. I want them to take notice of me, and stroke my back; so if they do not start at once I'm obliged to rub softly against their feet, and let them know I require a caress. I read a book once about the transmigration of souls, or something of that kind, which said that people have been animals once. It's rather a funny idea! I like to fancy what each person has passed through in a previous existence. I think I must have died an untimely death as a kitten, and have to work out the rest of the purring stage here.'

"'What do you think I looked like in the last stage?' I asked.

"'Oh, I think you were a fawn, and it is that which makes you shun that old spotted leopardess, so that you feel inclined to retire into the next cover, you poor little timid thing, hiding away even from your husband!'

"'Why, you don't think I'm afraid of him,' I asked, 'do you?'

"'Well, how can I tell? If I had a husband I rather fancy I should be wanting to have him handy. Wouldn't I just make him wild about me! Of course I know how you feel, and the way he has acted. No doubt you are quite right; but I should want to make him sorry that he couldn't take me in his arms; and shouldn't I just make him jealous! Look at your position. Don't I wish that I had your chances! He can't come unless you let him, so you can do as you please; ask a lot of nice people to the house, and enjoy yourself. I should flirt a little perhaps! It's wrong; but you know I don't set up to be good, and I'm certain it would be impossible for me to resist the temptation. Then I'd take care to let him know all about it. Yes, dear, that would be the way to punish him--drive him mad with jealousy! You may be quite certain that he manages to find out all about your doings, and I call it just pampering him the way you go on. He knows you're quite safe, no doubt. Mr. Sydney's gone to India; you are shut up with your father and your school-friend, while he is free to enjoy himself, and knows that one day he will be forgiven, and can well afford to wait.'

"'He is quite mistaken if he thinks that, I can tell you!' I answered rather angrily, being annoyed with the way she had put the case.

"'That may be,' she said, jumping up and giving me a kiss; 'but men are so conceited, dearest, and when he hears that you are moping here--they are sure to tell him you are moping, because women are always supposed to mope in the eyes of the male sex when deprived of their company--he'll believe it. Besides, think what people will say--that your husband was tired of you in less than a week, and that you are waiting here in solitude till he sees well to return. No, if I were you, he and the world should see that you don't want him, and that there are plenty of people dying to fall in love with you. Men never care for what they can have--at least, so it's said. But if you leave the thing to me, I'll answer for it we will bring him as a beggar to these gates before many months are over, and he will cry to be let in on any terms!'

"'But I won't have him on any terms,' I said. 'Nothing would induce me to live with him.'

"'Oh! that doesn't matter at all,' she replied, 'so long as we bring him to the door. There is no fun shutting the portal to one who thinks the place not worth an assault. People never believe in the old maid's desire for celibacy, unless she produces her proposals. That is why I intend to make all my lovers propose by letter; then when I'm an old maid, I shall have them framed and hung round the room, with photographs of the best-looking, and incomes of the wealthiest underneath.'

"I have given this conversation rather fully, as it may help you to understand my friend's character, and also how the changes in our manner of life, of which I am going to tell you, came about; for this talk, and many on the same subject, no doubt influenced me more than I fancied at the time.

"I was bitterly angry with my husband, and the fact that he had made no sign of wishing to see me aggravated the feeling. I heard from my father that he had returned, and pictured him enjoying his life in town. The idea that he imagined that I was quietly waiting his coming, was unbearable, and after a little opposition, I eventually adopted the plan which Amy suggested.

"Somerville is about five miles from the Cathedral City of L----. It is a gay little place, owing chiefly to the barracks, which are situated about a mile on our side of the town. The large number of officers quartered there at this time favoured our plan.

"I left all the arrangements to Amy; her brain was better fitted for the work, and she wasted no time in setting about her task. She persuaded my father it was absolutely necessary for his health, that he should have some congenial company to assist him with the port, and to cheer him up during his smoke. She showed such pity for his lonely state that, one evening when I happened to come into the room rather suddenly I found her kneeling at his side, and if I am not mistaken, she was even allowing him to give her a fatherly kiss. I don't remember feeling envious, but it vexed me, and she evidently noticed that I was annoyed, for before we parted that night, she said--

"'Your poor old father seemed so overcome when I spoke of his lonely evenings, that I could not help showing a little sympathy; but I think I've worked it all right. At first he said that he wanted no change--that he was contented in his present position. That was just when you came in. But when you left us alone together again, I tried another plan. I can see he does not like the idea of Lord Vancome coming back here, so I pointed out that if you were deprived of all society you would perhaps get tired of this kind of life, and want to change it. He then questioned me about you, and I incidentally mentioned that you had recently complained of never seeing any one, and that you had spoken on more than one occasion of your husband. That roused him. 'She must have society,' he said, 'you're quite right, my dear. I will see to it. I will ask one or two of the young fellows over from the barracks. There is Captain Frint, and Major Jackson, both capital fellows. I've played whist with them once or twice at the Conservative Club in L----.'

"I told her that she was a bad girl, and that she had no right to have spoken about me in that way; but she only laughed and kissed me, saying I was a sweet, pretty little innocent, who would turn the heads of fifty captains. Then she tripped off to her room, humming to herself--

'Where are you going, my pretty maid?'

"I fell asleep trying to answer the question.

"My father kept his word. The next morning he said that if I had no objection he was going to invite some friends over to dine, so that he might have a little whist in the evening. On the following Thursday evening they came: Colonel Collins, Major Jackson, and Captain Frint.

"As soon as Amy and I were alone together in the drawing-room, I asked her what she thought of the selection.

"'A 1,' she replied. 'The old Colonel seems a dull old boy, but Captain Frint will do for you splendidly as a start, while the Major shall be taken in hand by your humble servant. He looks a bit dangerous; it will be safer, therefore, if I take the risk, as should he be troublesome, it is easier for me to slip out of his clutches, but as you live here it might be awkward. Does the plan suit you?'

"'I don't know that I quite understand what you mean,' I replied; 'but I certainly prefer Captain Frint to the Major, and as for the old Colonel, he is quite impossible; he wouldn't make a bridegroom of eighty jealous!'

"Thus in comparative innocence we set the ball rolling, which was to carry both of us to the very border of destruction.

"The whist party did not come off that evening. Through the influence of the younger men, it was turned into a card-game which could include six. We played for money, and though the stakes were low I was rather uncomfortable about Amy, as I knew she could ill afford to lose even a small sum. Fortune, however, favoured her, and she rose from the table two or three pounds richer for the night's play; while, chiefly owing to my ignorance of the game, and a certain recklessness, I was a considerable loser.

"It was a bright moonlight night, and as my father and the Colonel seemed anxious to continue playing cards, we left them to try their luck at piquet, allowing ourselves to be persuaded by the younger men to go out for a stroll. At first we kept close together, but Amy soon carried the Major off to show him some view of the waterfall, and I found myself alone with Captain Frint.

"We walked for some time in silence; my companion seemed absorbed in thought, and I took the opportunity of studying his face carefully. His skin, which was clear and pale, in this light looked unnaturally white. His features were well formed, and finely cut, while the intensity of shadow added to the effect, giving his face a statuesque coldness and nobility; his head was uncovered, and I noticed from the first, how well-shaped was its outline: his forehead, which was naturally broad, seemed even larger than it really was, as the hair had receded from the temples. The lower part of the face was disappointing, the jaw too small, the mouth and chin effeminate.

"I was thus taking stock of my companion, when he turned and our eyes met.

"'How rude you will think me, Lady Vancome!' he said; 'the scene here is so like fairyland, that for a few moments I forgot my own existence, though conscious of yours. I'm rather given to these fits of absent-mindedness, which are evidently caused by some defect of the brain, for if anything interests me, my faculties go to sleep. I was just wondering whether fancy was not the only reality, and science a very dull fairy tale, for when our companions disappeared round the corner, they left me in sole possession of the Garden of Eden.'

"'Had it not been for the inconvenient presence of Eve, whom you were doubtless trying to forget.' I said this thoughtlessly; then, seeing the trap in which I had so easily been caught, I felt a hot blush pass over me as I continued--'But don't let me disturb you, Captain Frint. I would on no account interrupt your pleasant dream, and will join the others.'

"'Don't go,' he said, putting out his hand as though to stop me. 'Eden without Eve was found too dull for Adam, and I should be deprived even of his occupation. There are no beasts here to name.'

"'You can let loose your inventive faculty,' I said, 'and when you have finished with the animals you can invent Eve. You see, as fancy is the only reality, there can be no difficulty in the matter.'

"'But even fancy,' he replied, 'requires inspiration, and if you leave me, its light will be extinguished. Don't you know that as it takes two to quarrel, it takes two for inspiration--the inspirer and the inspired? Even children don't care to play alone. Do you not sometimes find it dull in this lovely home of yours? But I forgot, you have a companion, and I should fancy a bright and lively one. I suppose, however, that your husband will soon be back now: I heard that he was suddenly called away to America shortly after your marriage. It must have been very annoying to both of you!'

"What could I say? It had never occurred to me before that sooner or later it would be necessary to explain things. It was quite evident that whether I did so or not, people would soon hear of my husband's return to England. It seemed therefore better to give my own version rather than allow some worse report to get about, so I answered--

"'I would rather not go into the matter, but perhaps I ought to say that my marriage was a mistake, and that I think it very improbable that you will ever see Lord Vancome here!'

"Captain Frint looked at me for a moment, evidently so taken aback that he was unable to speak. It was quite plain that no report of the scandal had hitherto reached him. Then his manner changed: the half flippant tone in which he had before spoken was no longer noticeable as he said--

"'I am very sorry indeed. I had no idea of your trouble, or of course should not have referred to the subject. I hope you will forgive me.'

"'There is nothing to forgive,' I said. 'You must have known some time, and now I shall feel more comfortable when we meet. But do not let others know what I have told you; for though it is sure to come out, there is no occasion to make one's private affairs public while it is possible to keep them quiet.'

"'You may trust me,' he answered; 'and I shall always consider it a favour to be allowed to help you at any time and in any way. You have, I know, your father, but there are occasions perhaps when a younger man might be of some service. In any case I hope you will look upon me as your friend.'

"As he was speaking I heard the sound of laughter, and Amy called out to know where we were hiding. When she and her companion came up, she assured us that they had been looking all over the place to find us, which, considering that we had never moved from the terrace, seemed rather ridiculous.

"As I was never fond of sleeping alone, I had recently persuaded Amy to share my room, and this gave us extra time for conversation. As soon as the maid had left us on this eventful evening, I asked Amy what she thought of the first result of her scheme.

"'Capital!' she replied, 'things could not be moving better. Your father has a companion who suits him, so have I, and from what I could see you appear to be getting on fairly well.'

"When I told her what had passed, she laughed, saying that I was a born flirt with all my seeming artlessness, and that to arrive at the Adam and Eve stage the first evening was fairly good; but to end in private confidence about my relations with my husband was even better.

"I asked her how she got on with the Major, saying that she seemed pretty merry on her return.

"'Oh! he's just delightful!' she replied, 'but such a humbug! He tried to talk in epigrams, but as he is not over good at it, and endeavours to make them complimentary, the result was ludicrous. This is the kind of thing, you know.' And she mimicked his voice and rather affected drawl. 'Nature is only natural when cultivated, and in your presence I feel that woman is only cultivated when natural.--As a girl puts on reserve she drops refinement.--The sound of gentle laughter is a sign of gentle breeding; the suggestion of prudery the seal of plutocracy; the coyness of the lips shows a canker in the life.' When he got to this point I thought it best to turn back. On our return journey he perpetrated the following atrocity--'Two minus two is represented by the circle of eternal content: two plus two by a right angle which some unkindly fate has crossed.'

"'The great advantage of this kind of conversation is that you never have any occasion to understand it unless you like; the worst of the habit that it sometimes tempts the man to risk a remark which he dare not produce without its swaddling-bands. He must exhaust his brain terribly with the effort, and no doubt this is the reason that those who go in for this kind of affectation often seem so terribly stupid.'"

CHAPTER XI

"During the following month we made many new acquaintances, but the Major and Captain Frint were by far our most frequent visitors. Either Amy got over her dislike to epigrams, or her companion, on becoming more familiar with her, dropped the affectation, for they seemed fast friends.

"Captain Frint, on the other hand, while seeming anxious to be with me, was strangely reserved, and the restraint which he obviously kept over his feelings piqued and irritated me. Whatever women may say to the contrary, I fancy that they seldom like a man to show that he is able to keep his admiration too completely under control. It tends rather to awaken a distrust in the force of attraction, and we would rather that he at times forgot himself sufficiently to enable us to rebuke and chastise him.

"From what I could gather, Amy had nothing to complain of in this respect from her admirer; in fact she told me that there was some difficulty in keeping him within reasonable bounds. Her kitten-like nature probably encouraged him to show more familiarity than he might otherwise have thought prudent. As he was very wealthy I could not help wishing that Amy's attractions might prove strong enough to lead to a proposal before very long; and this scheme of mine seemed sufficient justification for the encouragement of intimacy between them.

"In following out this plan it was of course necessary that I should be thrown more often in the company of his friend than otherwise might have been considered prudent, for though accepting Amy's suggestion to a certain extent, I had no intention of going beyond a little harmless flirtation.

"It had been arranged that on a certain day, we four, accompanied by my father, should ride over to Hanston Castle, a ruin which was locally considered of great interest. On the day fixed my father had an attack of gout which prevented his coming, but as I was now competent to act as chaperon, we did not think it necessary to alter our plans.

"It was a lovely summer morning on which our military escort arrived. We had decided to start early and lunch at a small inn near the Castle; spend some little time wandering about, and return as soon as the air was sufficiently cool to make riding pleasant. We found it very hot going over, and I felt quite done up before we had come to the end of our twelve miles' ride. Everything was in readiness for us at the inn, thanks to the forethought of our companions, who had sent over some provisions beforehand.

"It was too hot, however, to enjoy even the excellent cold lunch provided, but the iced champagne was like nectar after our exertion. It may be that without knowing it we all drank more freely than usual. Personally, as we wandered round the old ruin afterwards, I felt conscious of more dreamy contentment than usual, and it struck me that Amy showed even more than her wonted spirits.

"But I was not able to criticize her for long as she challenged the Major to a race, declaring that he could not catch her before she reached the flag-staff on the top of the Castle. As neither Captain Frint nor I felt inclined for violent exertion of this kind, we wandered on round the battlements till a shady corner tempted us to sit down and rest.

"Whether it was the wine or the exercise I do not know, but as I threw myself down on the soft grass in this shady spot I felt a reckless delight in existence never before known. The place was absolutely secluded; a massive, moss-covered wall rose above us on the left; on our right was the buttress round which we had just passed, while in the empty moat in front some magnificent trees were growing, the foliage of which provided us with welcome shade.

"My companion sat down beside me, and after offering a cigarette, which I accepted, lighted one himself. For a few moments we smoked in silence, then a desire came over me to make this man who had lately seemed so cold, acknowledge that he was my slave. Not that I cared for him, but rather because I was interested to know the meaning of his late behaviour. I felt convinced that he was fascinated by me, and yet since the first evening of our acquaintance he had never said one word which could justify me in this opinion. Had it not been that whenever I turned in his direction I found that he was watching with that unmistakable look in his eyes which speaks so plainly, I might have imagined that I was wrong.

"Little by little I tried to draw him on to confession, guided by an instinct which most women possess, and which requires neither study nor thought. Often this instinct guides by ways that would seem diametrically opposed to the purpose, but which have, when followed out, the desired effect; for it is by subtle and unstudied opposition that men can most easily be overcome, and for this reason an artless girl, often without knowing it, exerts a power where the most skilful coquette would utterly fail. Nature in such cases, is a better teacher than experience, and many girls are blamed for leading men on by artifice who have never even thought on the subject.

"In the present case, however, I was not unconscious, though I allowed my natural instinct to guide me, but for some little time with small success; for though after each veiled attack my companion's face grew paler, and the look of repressed feeling was more plainly noticeable on his features, yet he continued to talk on trivial subjects, and all attempts to turn the conversation into a personal channel were adroitly set aside, though with manifest effort on his part.

"Probably when nature planned men and women it failed to make allowance for what are now called considerations of honour, and possibly this may have been the cause of my difficulty. Trusting, therefore, that it might be more easy to arrive at the desired point by starting on another path, I said--

"'Are not men supposed to be more honourable than women?'

"'I do not know,' he replied; 'but as men have more temptations to dishonour, they have more opportunity of showing off the quality and gaining credit; yet I fancy that the great battles are lost or won more often in private than in public. The noble deed that the world hears of is often the impulse of a moment--some unconscious act of heroism; there are many who can do great deeds under the inspiration of the hour, but how few can safely meet temptation day by day successfully, in moments of weakness as well as in times of strength! The day may come when the sword of honour is forgotten, and the man falls even before knowing that he is in the presence of danger.'

"'You are very solemn and dull to-day. What has happened? Are you ill?' As I said this I put out my hand and just touched his arm. 'Can I not help you in any way? Tell me, what has been disturbing you so much lately? We are friends, you know, and friendship is a poor thing where there is no confidence. Besides, if you remember, I have already confided in you once.'

"He was trembling visibly, and looking up into his face, I knew that I had conquered.

"'I cannot tell you this,' he said; 'do not ask me.'

"'Oh, very well!' I replied, pretending not to understand him. 'Of course a girl's sympathy is not likely to be any use to you. It was absurd of me to fancy that it might be, and very probably you think I am not to be trusted.'

"'It is cruel of you to say that,' he replied. 'There is no one I would sooner trust. There is no one whose sympathy I long for more. But cannot you understand that there are some things that I may have no right to speak to you about--have no right to feel, perhaps; but our feelings we cannot always control, though our words we can.'

"'Oh, I don't want you to make me your confidant about anything which you consider I had better not hear,' I said, purposely still seeming to misunderstand him. 'Of course I can quite see that you may have something on your conscience which it would not do for you to tell me. However, I am sorry.'

"'It is not that I've done anything that could not be told to a woman,' he replied, getting up from the ground and standing over me. 'Oh! why cannot you understand that it is to you, and you only, that I may not speak, because to tell you would be to make things worse, not better?'

"'Whatever are you talking about?' I cried. 'Tell me at once what you mean. You have said either too much or too little, and I am justified in asking you to explain fully; or if you prefer to keep your secret from me, it must be at the cost of our friendship.'

"'Vera,' he said, bending over me, 'have you not seen--do you not know that I love you? Love you so deeply that, had it been possible, I should long ago have torn myself away from the scene of temptation; but oh! my love, I could not! I have striven to hide my feelings so that you might never know, and I, fool that I am! believed it was possible. All I asked was to be near you, to worship you; and what is the result? You will now despise and hate me. Had you loved your husband it would have been different, for till I knew that he had treated you badly--till I felt that you were in the sight of heaven not really his wife--I only admired you, and thought what a fortunate man he must be. But when you trusted me with this sorrow, a new feeling sprang up--a fire that could not be quenched. Oh, I know how vile I must seem in thus taking advantage of your confidence. Have I not thought over it day and night, saying to myself it is her very loneliness which should make the thought of love impossible! But I deceived myself with that old and oft-repeated deception of friendship, of self-renunciation, of living for you. Oh, Vera, I could not help it. If you could only know how sweet, how lovely you are, you would forgive.'

"He knelt down and kissed me on the forehead; then, apparently losing all further power of control, before I could decide what to say or do, he put his arm round me and kissed me on the lips and on the eyes. I leapt up, terrified by his passion, and conscious of a strange mixture of anger and pride: anger that he should have dared thus to insult me; pride that my beauty should so far overcome his reserve and honour.

"'Captain Frint!' I said, trembling so that I could hardly speak, 'I hate you--hate you! I thought you were a man to be trusted. I hope we shall never meet again.'

"He stood before me, looking on the ground. His face was deadly pale; his features were drawn and pinched as though he were suffering from acute bodily pain.

"'You are right,' he said at last, though in so low a tone that I could barely catch the words. 'I am a brute--the vilest of men! There is no excuse, so I will not make things worse by speaking. The only thing that is possible I will do. You shall not see me again after to-day.'

"As he spoke I could hear the strange sound which his parched lips made while he stammered out the words. When he had finished, for a moment I thought he would have fainted, but after a pause he seemed to recover somewhat, and continued--

"'Vera, you can never know how I have tried to be honourable, and though you will not believe me, had I foreseen that this could have happened, I would willingly have suffered the pain of parting from you before, rather than thus have given you cause for hating me. Oh, to think that I, who worship you so, should have dared to profane those pure, sweet lips, have dared to offer you my cursed love! Why is fate so cruel? If we had met a year ago, that which is now sin might have been so different! I cannot tell--I dare not even think of it--you might have loved me! This law which now separates us would have come no longer like the angel of death between us, and what is a curse would have proved a blessing! Hell, the eternity of which stretches before me, might have been changed to the gate of heaven. Why are things so ordered that fate has made my love poison, and turned that which should have been the greatest of earth's blessings into a curse? I must never see you again--must try even not to think of you. To do the latter is impossible, but the former I will do.'

"There was no mistake possible. The words he spoke were not caused by an exaggerated impulse of the moment; still less was he acting a part. He loved me, as I thought no one had ever done before, unselfishly yet passionately. I felt certain that if I said nothing, he would keep his word, and that this would be the last time I should have an opportunity of speaking to him. I did not like the idea of thus losing his companionship, but what was to be done? After thinking a minute, I said--

"'Captain Frint, I am very sorry that this should have happened. I quite thought that you had too much respect for me to act in the way you have done--even though you cared for me. I suppose that what you suggest is best, if you feel that your power of self-control is so weak that you cannot see without insulting the girl you profess to love. This being so, it is certainly imperative that you should go; but you must remember that if you suddenly give up calling, and act in the way proposed, people will probably talk. I can hardly think that you are so weak as, in the excitement of the moment, you fancy, and therefore if you will promise faithfully never to forget yourself in this way again, I will forgive you this once, though mind, never again. Come,' I continued, holding out my hand, 'let us be friends--mind, friends and nothing more. You must get over this silly fancy. There are plenty of nicer girls than I am, unmarried and waiting for you. To one of these you can express all those pretty sentiments without a prick of conscience.'

"'Thank you,' he said, 'I will promise not to forget, but can never hope to follow your advice. Do you think it would be possible to change so easily? You do not understand, and perhaps it is better you should not, how deeply I feel; but your forgiveness is the more generous, as this very depth of feeling is my only possible excuse.'

"We sat without speaking for a few minutes, and then he suggested that we had better go and look for our companions.

"After wandering about for some little time we found them comfortably reclining against a buttress on one of the towers. As we went up the winding steps we could hear them talking about the view. Amy, I thought, had evidently less occasion for a chaperon than had her qualified protector; but I was more doubtful about this point after having seen her face, which was flushed and showed signs of an unusual, though suppressed, excitement. The Major has proposed, I thought.

"I had no opportunity of finding out if this surmise were correct till I went up to our room that evening; and even then Amy, instead of answering my question, at first persisted in hearing what Captain Frint had been saying to me.

"'He looked like a ghost when you came up,' she said; 'whatever had you been doing to the poor man?'

"So I had to tell her, and was glad to find that she quite approved of my action, saying that it would have been a great mistake if I had let him go, and that it was only fair to punish him for his impertinence by a little extra tantalization.

"'If he had gone,' she said, 'he would have soon forgotten and taken up with some one else. Now you can keep him miserable as long as you like, for he is a safe man, you see, even as I told you.'

"I should have felt disposed to argue the point, for her way of speaking annoyed me, but at the moment I was too anxious to hear her experience, so I said that it was her turn now to explain.

"'There is not very much to tell,' she answered; 'you came up at rather an inconvenient moment. Our friend had been giving me a long discourse on love, which rather perplexed me. At last he became more personal, and was saying that he loved me to distraction, but that for some reason he dared not at the moment ask my love in return--when we heard your footsteps down below, and he at once changed the subject.'

"'I am sorry we came so soon,' I said. 'What did he mean, I wonder?'

"'That is the curious part of it,' said Amy. And we spent half-an-hour trying to make various guesses, but not one of them came near to the mark, as we discovered later on.

"As time passed, I grew more and more annoyed with my admirer. He was polite, respectful, and reserved, but decidedly uninteresting, and evidently so afraid of falling again, and showing his love for me, that he became stiff and formal the moment we were alone together.

"Why, I thought, cannot men be more reasonable? There surely is some line between frigidity and fire. Moreover, as I got over my alarm at his first outburst of affection, I began rather to desire some sign of my influence, and even tried now and again to break through his reserve by indirect reference to what had passed between us, but for some time without avail.

"This piqued me, and one evening when we were alone together, I was seized with a mad impulse to make him break his promise.

"'I am glad to see,' I began, 'that you have got over your difficulty so easily. You know I told you at the time that you under-rated your power, and exaggerated your feeling. Certainly there has been no sign lately of a repetition of your fault. In fact I am inclined to think that you are even rather tired of my company.'

"'You are mistaken,' he answered; 'there is one way, and one way only which I dare take. If I were to go ever so little beyond it I might go too far and again offend you. It is possible to be friendly with those we care little for, and to be cold to those we love; but to be intimate without showing our true feeling with one we care for above all others is, I believe, impossible. The strain would be too great. Some time or other the line would be crossed, the veil torn aside.'

"'But,' I asked, 'don't you think you are making a good deal out of a little? Suppose you do like me, would it not be better to accept the position and have done with it? Face facts bravely. I do not love you, and in any case cannot marry you; but there is no reason why we should not be good friends. What more can you want? It's no good being cross because you cannot have the impossible. You are worse than the love-sick maiden who fell in love with the man in the moon, for she was content to look at her idol, and you are not even satisfied with being able to talk to and see yours, but must needs sulk.'

"'You must know that it is not that,' he said. 'I am not cross, but I am afraid of myself. You cannot know how ashamed I felt after that day in the Castle, and as you were so forgiving and allowed me to see you again, it is doubly necessary for me to be on my guard.'

"'Well, you have been very good since,' I said, 'and as it is evident that you are to be trusted, for the future you may be a little more natural, and not quite so stiff and proper. You may be quite certain that I shall not for a moment allow you to go too far. But I cannot see why a man and a girl cannot be friends without the ridiculous idea they are bound to fall in love. I really believe it was nothing else than this on your part, and you must make up your mind to get over it. To help you to do this I am going to be quite open and frank with you. I shall treat you as a companion whom I like, and you can forget I am a girl, and treat me in the same way.'

"'I will try,' he said, 'but am rather doubtful of success. If you were not so pretty it would be easier.'

"'Pretty--Oh! rubbish!' I replied; 'whatever has that, even if it were true, got to do with the matter? You can make up your mind if you like, with the help of that powerful imagination of yours, that I am as ugly as sin. Don't you think you can?'

"I looked full in his face; for a moment his eyes met mine, then he turned away as I rattled on--

"'Don't you think it would be rather nice if you made up your mind to dismiss all this foolish nonsense about love, and were to try the experiment of true friendship? You could say to yourself, "Here is a girl that I like, who is willing to be friends with me, but nothing more; I will show her what an unselfish friendship means." If you will try and do that, I, for my part, will forget all about the past, and be very nice to you. I shall be very strict, but at the same time endeavour not to take offence at little things, especially if I see you are trying to be good. Now what do you say to that?'

"'Say?' he replied. 'Why, that you are far too good and noble to have anything to do with me. That if after what you have said I fail to show you true friendship, I am unworthy to be called a man! But, Vera----' He stopped, the word had evidently escaped him accidentally.

"'Well,' I broke in, 'I don't call that a very good beginning; but after all, there is no particular reason why friends should not call each other by their Christian names.'

"'I forgot,' he stammered, 'I so often think of you by that name that it slipped out by accident.'

"'Well, never mind, I promised not to be too strict,' I answered. 'But you must take care not to forget when we are in public, because you see people are so bad they cannot understand true friendship; but to show you that I have forgiven you, I will just for once call you Albert. It's rather a nice name, and seems to suit you. I think men, when they have been a long time away from home, must feel rather lonely if they never hear their Christian name. I suppose no one now calls you that, do they?'

"'No,' he answered, 'and if you will sometimes, I shall be glad to think that no one else ever would.'

"I put my hand up as if to cover his mouth, saying, 'Hush! you are already on the verge of transgression. Now, in future, when you are talking you must watch me very carefully. If I put my hand to my lips you will know that you have said something which is objected to. If I am seriously angry, I shall put up both my hands. Now don't forget!'

"The weeks of early summer passed quickly and pleasantly by. It is true that my conscience occasionally troubled me, for the agreement which I had made with Captain Frint did not work out exactly as intended. Our friendship at times would have been open to misconception had some unseen observer been present. I will do my companion the justice he deserves, by saying at once that he seemed to strive against his love; moreover, his conscience troubled him, I fancy, more than mine disturbed me, and after each outburst of demonstration he suffered apparently from a deep fit of remorse, which struck me as rather amusing than otherwise.

"But familiarity bred contempt, and little by little we both got more callous over what I tried to justify as playing at love-making. It was some time before I had any idea that this play was likely to become serious as far as my own feelings were concerned; but after a time a suspicion arose in my mind which I tried to stifle, that some great change had taken place in my heart. I found that life had begun to assume a different aspect. Time no longer hung heavily on my hands, but was divided into about equal periods of depression and exultation. My thoughts were running on one subject--the man who loved me.

"Then for the first time I began to realize the hopeless position in which we were placed, for though I believed that to live such a life as we now enjoyed would continue to satisfy me, yet even this was manifestly impossible; and I felt regret that we had drifted thus far upon a path which could only lead to the sorrow of parting. Up to this time any consideration for my companion's feelings in the matter had never occurred to me; but now I understood, and was more sorry for him than for myself. I had come across his path, and perhaps ruined his life. He had struggled nobly against his passion, while I had refused to let him go, and without any intention of returning his devotion had kept him from escaping the temptation. Now it seemed that I was being entangled in a like web, and it was impossible to see what would be the end of it all.

"Amy surprised me very much one morning by saying that she should be obliged to go home at the end of the week. She expressed great regret at leaving, but at the same time gave a reason for her return which, though unanswerable, was to me unsatisfactory. I felt convinced that she had some further object in view, which she did not care to mention. For a few weeks past our talks had been less confidential, partly owing to the fact that as I grew to care more for Captain Frint, I was less anxious to speak about him; and also that when we discussed the Major, while professing to have nothing further to communicate, Amy seemed desirous of avoiding the subject.

"On the Monday after she left I heard that Major Jackson had gone home on leave, and this seemed partially to explain her sudden change of plans."

CHAPTER XII

"I shall not attempt any explanation of a remarkable experience which happened some little time after Amy left, but shall give you a brief account of it.

"One lovely evening near the close of summer, sitting alone in the garden, dreamily listening to the soft hum of the insects and the distant murmur of the water, I was suddenly roused by the sound of a footstep, and turning toward the direction from which the sound came, I saw, greatly to my astonishment, Alan Sydney.

"At first sight I could hardly believe my senses, for though, after all, there was nothing so very extraordinary in his having returned to England, yet I fancied that he had gone away for some years, and I had lately hardly ever even thought about him.

"He was much changed, though it is not easy to describe in what way the alteration struck me. I had always been rather afraid of him, and I felt the fear now even more strongly than in the past. Yet his face, as he came nearer, bore no expression of severity, but only kindliness and pity.

"'You are surprised to see me, Vera,' he said; 'but you know I promised always to help you, and have, therefore, come now.'

"'I am delighted to see you back,' I answered, holding out my hand to him. 'But why did you not write? My father will be delighted! You must come and see him at once.'

"'Not now,' he replied, 'I only came to talk to you, and must go directly. Moreover, I do not wish you even to mention that you have seen me.'

"Saying this he sat down by my side, and I, wondering greatly why he had come, said--

"'Oh! I shall not hear of your going! You must tell me all about your travels. But, first of all, what made you fancy that I required your help now? You have already done so much for me it is difficult to imagine what further assistance so lucky a girl can need.'

"'Perhaps,' he said, 'I have done too much. It is often the case that those who would help, by their very effort to do so, only hinder. But tell me, are you happy?'

"As he said this he looked into my eyes, and there was something in his look which seemed to open my heart so that I could see what I had never fully known before. I tried to speak, but could not; then burying my face in my hands I wept. He placed his hand upon my head, and at his touch a feeling of rest and calm stole over me.

"Then he said--'Vera, why will you turn into the way of trouble? I have tried again and again to save you, but it is impossible to help one who wilfully, or even heedlessly, chooses that road which can only lead to sorrow. Every step taken over it has to be retrodden, and the smooth pathway will then be overgrown with thorns; the light of passion will have died out, and in weariness and darkness each step must be one of uncertainty and pain. I know how you have endeavoured to blind your eyes by false reasoning which can never help you, but the day of self-revelation always comes. You would argue that it is not your fault if men fall in love with your beauty, and that, placed in your position, it is more than usually difficult to act. But there is one thing that can always guide us--if, leaving our own position out of the question, and, caring nothing about our own salvation or our own end, we think but of others--of how each action will affect their lives. "Love and do as you like," said one of earth's noblest men. But it must be true love.

"There is a man who, in a limited sense, loves you, and whom, though in a still more limited sense, you love. He has tried nobly, considering his weakness, to keep that love pure, and when he found that his lower nature rebelled against his higher, he was willing, even anxious, to suffer the pain of separation rather than harm you. How knowing this, did you act? Did you consider him? Did you think--if I let him go on I shall be his eternal curse? He is now honourable, but he will become mean. Have you any idea what this implies to a man? When he is with you he may forget; but think of the solitary hours when he sees himself as he is, and knows that he is damning the girl he loves! If there is any nobleness in his nature, he must conquer his passion, or destroy his conscience. And each day it becomes more difficult to do the former--more imperative to do the latter. And you, consciously or unconsciously, have taken the very course which makes the path most difficult for him. Professing not to care for his love, you have well-nigh made it a point of honour that he should not leave you, whilst under the pretence of friendship you have taken every means to increase his infatuation. Already the infection of his feeling has influenced your nature. What will be the end? One of three things must happen. He will conquer either himself, or you, or the battle will destroy him. There is no other way open if you continue to act as you are doing now. The first would be the best, but whether it is now possible I doubt. Either of the other alternatives must lead to his utter misery and yours. Do not blind your eyes, Vera! You do not know how soon the fatal moment may come when it will be too late. And remember, do not think about yourself or your own safety--that will never help you. Think of the man who loves you, and save him.'

"He stopped speaking, and for a few moments I was so overcome by his words that I did not move, but still sat with bent head, my face covered in my hands. When I looked up he was no longer by me.

"It was growing dusk, and I could not see him. I called his name, but there was no answer. He had gone! Shame prevented me from trying to find him. No wonder, if he knew all this, that he wished to have nothing further to do with one so vile!

"It is surprising how hateful actions seem when placed in words, which, when only hid in the heart, trouble us little. If there be a God who can read the inmost thoughts, how great must be His love, or how overwhelming His contempt for us!"

As Vera said this I found myself in darkness. The vision had gone, and being very tired I slept.

PART IV

CHAPTER XIII

I have already mentioned that Alan Sydney was fond of hunting, and it so happened that a few days after the incidents related in the last chapter I overtook him riding to the meet. Since hearing his experience in India, and seeing more of his remarkable power, it seemed strange to me that a man with his advantages should still care for hunting, or even continue to live in the way he did at all. I took this opportunity of asking him some questions on the subject.

"I will try to explain to you," he said, "what seems, but is not, a contradiction in my life. One of the strongest powers which influences character is association. What a man once loves and cares for leaves him very slowly, and even death, as we call it, namely, the change in our surroundings, does not destroy the tendency of the past. No doubt it is owing to this that so often we see traces of the beast nature in man. Of all tendencies the desire to hunt, a necessary instinct of the lower creation, is most noticeable. It was doubtless this instinct that influenced me when young, as it has influenced so many; and I have explained to you before that I still find the sport of great service in taming and controlling my body."

"But," I said, "your body must by this time be under such complete control that it would seem unnecessary."

"There you are mistaken," he replied. "As long as the spirit is bound to earth it must be held more or less under the influence of animal instincts and animal requirements, which, if not rightly regulated, would react on the higher nature. It is quite true that, if I wished, it would now be only too easy to quit this material prison; but I have work to do here, and if my spirit once became free from earthly bonds it would never be able to take them up again, or influence the world through material agencies. Moreover, every new power gives added interest to each action of life; and I can assure you, that even in hunting there is ample opportunity for study, and even in some cases for gaining valuable experience."

"In what way do you mean?" I asked.

"Firstly," he answered, "there is the pleasure of watching man's influence over the lower orders of life. Now it may seem strange to you, but it is far more difficult to influence a beast than it is a man. The power of will passes more reluctantly from me to my horse than it does from me to you; and long after I could make any man act in the way I wished, I was still unable perfectly to influence the will of a single lower animal. Yet for all that, there are men who have little or no power over human beings, able to exercise quite unconsciously a remarkable influence over beasts. This opens out a subject of great interest, which is more easily studied while hunting than at any other time. I have for some years perfected my control over horses, but it does not in the least detract from my interest in watching the unconscious action of other minds on the animals which they fancy they guide only by bodily force. You will see that I ride, as others, with bit and bridle, because I do not wish to cause attention, but they are unnecessary. This horse is absolutely untrained. I have never been upon its back before, and have good reason to know that it has never been hunted. I selected it simply because it has great bodily strength and endurance, together with the capacity, though not the training, for hunting."

We were in a lonely part of the country, and I asked Sydney to give me some example of his power over this untrained horse. He laid the reins upon its neck, and then told me to mention anything which I wished to see the animal do.

"You can choose any likely or unlikely movement possible for a horse," he said; "only I should prefer that it did not roll."

There was a big six-barred gate at the right of us, and I said, "Let him jump that."

I had scarcely spoken before the horse turned, faced the gate, and cleared the top bar by about two inches.

"Come back over the hedge," I said. The horse did so.

"I should not care to jump into a hard road in that way with a loose rein," I remarked.

"No," Sydney replied, "it would not be wise; for though if a horse jumps perfectly there is no danger, yet often on landing a tight rein is useful. If, however, you watch the riders out to-day, you will see that two-thirds of their horses would jump better if they were left to their own devices. So many riders give the horse a check, not as he lands, but while he is in the air; and this causes more accidents than most people imagine."

I then tried the horse in other ways, making it rear and kick, getting it to open the gate by lifting it with its teeth, and to do many other curious movements, which showed that its entire body was absolutely under the control of its rider's thought.

"With such a horse," I said, "you could do anything in the hunting-field, but I have seldom noticed you much to the fore when out with us, though of course every one knows that you ride well."

"I have two reasons," he answered, "for not leading; as there would in that case be no opportunity of studying others, and also, that it seems to me hardly fair. There is no danger to me in facing any possible obstacle, however tricky or difficult, and I might lead others to follow who, through no fault of their own, would very probably come to grief."

We had by this time overtaken two other riders, and our private conversation was at an end.

I shall never forget that day. We had a most brilliant run, and I kept close to Sydney on purpose to watch his horse. Now that I had a key to the mystery, it was easy to notice the human instinct that guided its every movement. The country was difficult, or I should have found the occupation even more absorbing; as it was, much of my time was taken up in looking after my own animal, which unfortunately by no means always took its jumps in the way I desired.

We had been galloping at a great pace for twenty-five minutes, and many of the riders were now far behind, when I noticed that we were approaching some fairly stiff rails, on the further side of which there was a broad, deep ditch full of water. If there is one obstacle to which I object more than another, it is a combination of this description.

Three or four of the horses cleared it in safety, but a girl, riding just in front of Sydney, was unable to get her horse in hand. Consequently, instead of clearing the top rail the animal came with its full weight into the obstruction, broke the top bar, and getting its legs entangled in the lower timber, turned completely over into the water. So entirely were the horse's fore-legs fixed in the lower bars, that the girl seemed in great danger of being drowned.

It is not easy to imagine a more awful position. To be pressed down with one's head beneath the water by a horse's weight, at the same time knowing that it is impossible to do anything to assist the animal in freeing itself!

Sydney had taken in the position, and I saw his horse dash forward at full speed. When it came close to the broken rail, it swung quickly round, and striking the lower bars with a violent kick, sent the pieces flying in different directions. It thus freed the struggling horse, and then without a moment's pause plunged into the water. Sydney was now able to seize the lady's bridle, and for a moment everything seemed in confusion; then the rescuer's horse made a gallant plunge, reared up in the water and fell backward between the broken rails. The daring attempt was successful; the weight of the falling horse had given just the impetus Sydney required to lift the other animal and to free its rider, and amid the cheers of those who had now gathered round, the lady was borne in safety to the bank, terribly frightened, though uninjured.

I hastened up to see if Sydney was hurt, but though his horse fell backwards, it had not even bruised him, owing to the skilful way in which at the last moment he had slipped aside. He now stood on the bank with a piece of the girl's broken bridle in his hand, and the bits of timber strewn round him.

As we rode home later in the day, he surprised me by saying--

"It was a foolish action, and I feel ashamed of having given way to the momentary instinct which prompted it."

"What! saving the girl's life?" I said.

"No," he replied, "but the way I did it. You can easily fancy that I possessed other and simpler means of saving her without attracting attention to myself. But it is very difficult at times to check the inclination which we all have for exciting bodily action."

"Well," I answered, "I do not think, considering the power you possess, any one could accuse you of making a display of it. Why, the breaking of the bars by your horse's feet was, I fancy, unnoticed by any one except myself. Others probably thought they had given way under the strain; while even your horse's rearing up and falling backwards would be considered only a fortunate accident."

"That is quite true," he replied, "I was not thinking of display, to which weakness my nature at present tends very slightly; but rather that for the time being I allowed my body to do what my will could have effected better without its assistance. However, this is its day out, and perhaps it was only fair."

I have mentioned this incident to show that Sydney, even while he possessed faculties so remarkable that one might have expected his body to influence his mind no longer, at times still allowed the former to hold temporary sway. He always impressed this point most strongly upon me, saying that those who profess most emphatically that they have the power to ignore material things, are, often, without knowing it, under the most serious bodily servitude, the servitude of disease; and that though it is quite true that the body should be brought into subjection to the spirit, this can only be done by keeping it always, as far as possible, in perfect action and health.

CHAPTER XIV

I was sitting alone in my study one morning about two days after our run, busily engaged in writing an account of it, when I found that Sydney was standing beside me. I started up, his presence taking me by surprise.