A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"I admit it, yes," he said thoughtfully, "but we have talked enough. Sleep, and rest."

As he uttered these words he passed his right hand with a soothing motion across my brows. I was disposed for sleep, and it came to me.

The days passed as in a blissful dream. There was always within me the same sense of perfect repose; there were always before me delightful panoramas of cloudland, moving through graceful foliage and bright blossoms. Sometimes Lauretta's mother came into the room, and sat by my bedside, and spoke a few gentle words. She was the embodiment of Peace; her voice, her movements, her graceful figure, formed a harmony. I did not see Lauretta during those days, nor was her name mentioned again by Doctor Louis. But when her mother was with me, and I heard the sound of the zither, I knew it was Lauretta who was playing. The music, in the knowledge that she was the player, produced upon me the same impression as when her mother played-for which I can find no apter figure of speech than that I was lying in a boat on the peaceful waters of a lake, with a heavenly calm all around me.

Doctor Louis came daily, and we indulged in conversation; and frequently before he left me made similar passes across my forehead, which had the effect of producing slumber. After a time I spoke of this, and we conversed upon the subject. I had read a great deal concerning mesmerism and clairvoyance, and Doctor Louis expressed surprise at the extent of my information on those subjects. He said he was glad to perceive that I was a student, and I replied that my chiefest pleasures had been derived from books.

At length I was convalescent, and, for the first time for many weeks, I enjoyed the open air. We sat in the garden, and I was enchanted with its beauties, which seemed all to radiate from Lauretta. It was she who imparted to surrounding things, to flowers, to trees, to grassy sward and floating cloud, the touch of subtle sweetness which made me feel as if I had found a heaven upon earth. On that day, for the first time, our hands met.

She gathered fruit, and we ate it slowly. Lauretta's mother sat nearest to me, engaged upon a piece of embroidery. Lauretta, waiting upon us, came and went, and my eyes followed the slight figure wherever she moved. When she disappeared into the house I did not remove my eyes from the door through which she had passed until she emerged from it again. Once or twice, meeting my gaze, she smiled upon me, and I was agitated by an exquisite joy. Doctor Louis, wearing a hat which shaded his brows, sat at a little distance, sometimes reading, sometimes contemplating me with attention.

"You must be glad to be well," said Lauretta's mother.

I answered, "No, I regret it."

"Surely not," she said.

"Indeed it is so," I replied. "I am afraid that the happiest dream of my life is drawing to an end."

"The days must not be dreamt away," she said, with grave sweetness; "life has duties. One's ease and pleasure-those are not duties; they are rewards, all the more enjoyable when they have been worthily earned."

"Earned in what way?" I asked.

"In administering to others, in accomplishing one's work in the world."

"How to discover what one's work really is?" I mused.

"That is not difficult, if one's nature is not wedded to sloth."

"And where," I continued, "supposing it to be discovered, should it be properly performed?"

"In one's native land," she said. "He belongs to it, and it to him."

"There have been missionaries who have done great good."

"They could have done as much, perhaps more, if they had devoted themselves to the kindred which was closest to them."

"Not that I have a desire to become a missionary," I said. "I have not within me the spirit of self-sacrifice. I have been travelling for pleasure."

"It is right," she said, quickly, "it is good. Do not think I mean to reproach you. Had I a son, and could afford it, I would bid him travel for a year or two before he settled down to serious labour."

"It was my good fortune that I resolved to see the world, for it has brought me to this happy home."

"It is happy," she said, "because it is home."

I asked Lauretta if she would play.

"In the house?" she inquired.

"No," I replied, "here, where Nature's wondrous works are closest to us."

The zithers were brought out, and mother and daughter played. I was not yet strong enough to bear the tension of great excitement, and I leant back in the easy chair they had provided for me, and closed my eyes. Whether I slept or not I should not, at the time, have been able to decide, nor for how long I lay thus, listening to the sweet strains. Awake or asleep, I was in a kind of dreamland, in which there was no discordant note; and even when I heard the music merge into the Tyrolean air which I had so often heard in fancy during my residence in Rosemullion, and concerning which Mrs. Fortress had questioned me, I did not regard it as strange or unusual. It was played by those to whom I had been spiritually drawn. I recognised now the meaning of the mysterious strains I used to hear in the silent woods. The players and I were one; our lives were one, I who had all my life scoffed at fate, suddenly renounced my faith. Chance had not brought us together; it was Destiny.

CHAPTER VIII

As I lay in this dreamy condition I became conscious that the music had ceased and that the players had departed. But I was not alone; Doctor Louis was with me.

These facts were made apparent by my inner sense, for I did not attempt to open my eyes. Indeed, without a determined effort I should not have succeeded. A wave of cold air passed over my eyelids; another; another. This did not proceed from an uncontrolled natural force; Doctor Louis had risen from his seat, and was now standing in close proximity to me. I did not pause to consider whether he had moved towards me stealthily, in order not to disturb me. I was content to accept certain facts without inquiry as to how they were produced. Again the wave of cold air across my eyelids; again; again.

"To seal them," was the expression of my thought. "So be it-but this learned doctor shall not quite succeed. He is endeavouring to magnetise me to his will, but my power is no less than his; it may be greater. Hidden force shall meet hidden force in friendly and amiable contest. He will not be aware that I am resisting him, and the advantage will be on my side. I will play with him as one skilled in fence plays with an apprentice. My dear doctor's power is the product of cultivation; he has learnt the art he practises. To me it is natural, born in my birth without a doubt. What matter how transmitted? That I am I is the potent fact; and being I, and of and in the world, I am, to myself, supreme. What to me would be the marvels of nature, the genius of centuries, the memorials of time from the first breath of creation, were I not in existence? Therefore am I, to myself, supreme. The present lives; the past is at rest. The future? A grey veil spreads itself before me, shutting out from my view the years of mortal life through which I have yet to pass. But I possess a talisman. I breathe upon the veil the form of a rose, white and most lovely, with just a tinge of creamy pink, and it dissolves into a vision of flowers, amidst which I walk, clasping a hand which, but that it is flesh and blood, might be the hand of an angel. It is an angel's hand-mine, and no other man's; mine, to gladden my hours, and to be for ever creative of joy, of peace, of beauty. How fair the view! I will have no other.

"I am not fearful that the doctor has evil intentions towards me; and truly I have none towards him. As regards our relations to each other, spiritual and temporal, nothing is yet fixed.

"I see him as he stands by my side waiting his turn. A grave, courteous, and kindly man, whose native instinct it must be to shrink from evil. Goodness and nobility are inherent in his nature. Not that he is devoid of cunning. Indeed, is he not practising it at the present moment? But it is cunning which must always be used to a just or good end. I do not unite the terms 'just' and 'good,' for the reason that they are sometimes at war with each other. What is a blessing to one man is frequently a curse to another. The doctor's cunning is just now weakened by the fact that it is as much the cunning of the heart as of the head that he is bringing to bear upon me. Mixed motives are rarely entirely successful. In enterprises upon which momentous issues hang, one dominant idea must be the supreme guide.

"He is not inimical to me, yet is he secretly disturbed-and I am the cause. Well, doctor, you picked me up in the woods and saved my life. Who, then, is the responsible one-you or I?

"Between us, for sympathy or repulsion, are a being and an influence which soon shall become resolved into a bridge or a chasm. I prefer that it shall be a bridge, but it may be that it will not depend upon me to make it this or that. Only, I will have my way. No power on earth shall mar the dearest wish of my heart.

"What being stands between you and me, dear doctor, to unite or sever? Ah, the fragrant air playing about my face, whispering of spring, of youth, of joy! Lying back in my chair, with eyes fast closed, I see the pink and white blossoms growing upwards into the clouds, kissing heaven. I am lifted heavenward. Delicious and most sweet! If death bear any resemblance to this state of beatitude, it were good to die. But I must live-I must live! A heaven awaits me in mortal life. Dear doctor, whom, unconscious to yourself, I am dominating even as you would dominate me, which is it to be-a bridge to join our hearts, or a chasm to hold them apart? The influence is Love, the being, Lauretta. You cannot quite see into my heart, nor can I quite see into yours, but the secret which includes love and Lauretta is yours for the asking. Also, for the asking, my resolve to win both love and her.

"But your inquisitiveness may travel beyond this point; you may seek to know too much, and I am armed to resist you. Nothing shall you glean from me that will be to my hurt, that will step between me and Lauretta. You shall obtain from me no pathognomonic sign which will enable you to lay your finger upon the secret of my midnight musings, and of my love for solitude. You shall not make me a witness against myself. True, I have heard silent voices and have seen invisible shapes. You would construe the bare fact to my disadvantage. You would be unable to understand that they are my slaves and have no power over me. All the dark thoughts they have suggested, all the temptings and instigations, will presently be slain by love, and will fall into a deep grave, to lie there for ever still and dead. I am as others are, human; my life, like the lives of other men, is imperfect. The purifying influence is at hand. I thank Thee, Creator of all the harmonies in the wondrous world, that Thou hast sent me Lauretta! Now, doctor, I am ready for you."

He spoke upon the instant.

"You and I have certain beliefs in common-as that we are not entirely creatures of chance. There is in all nature a design, down to its minutest point."

"So far as creation goes," I answered, "so far as this or that is brought into existence. There ends the design."

"Because the work is done," said Doctor Louis.

"Not so," I said. "Rather is it because nature's part is done. Then the true work commences, and man is the master."

"Nature can destroy."

"So can man; and, of the two, he is the more powerful in destruction. His work also is of a higher quality, because of the intelligence which directs it. He can go on or turn back. Nature creates forces which, apart from their creator, produce certain results-some beautiful and harmonious, some frightful and destructive. For these results nature is only indirectly responsible; the forces she creates work independently to their own end. When a great storm is about to burst, it is not in nature's power to will that it shall dissolve into gentleness. Hence, nature, all powerful up to a given point, is powerless beyond it."

"And man?"

"Is all powerful. He wills and executes. He aspires to win, and he works to win. He desires, and he schemes to gratify his desire." I paused, and as Doctor Louis did not immediately reply, continued: "If there is not perfect accord between us in large contentious matters upon which the wisest scientists differ, that is no reason why there should not be between us a perfect friendship."

"I am pleased to hear you say so; it means that you desire to retain my friendship."

"I earnestly desire it."

"And would make a sacrifice to retain it?"

"Sacrifice of what?"