A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"Of some wish that is dear to you," replied Doctor Louis.

"That depends," I said. "In entering upon a serious obligation it behoves a man to be specific. Doctor, we are drifting from the subject which occupies your mind. Concentration would be of advantage to you in any information you wish to obtain from me."

"The flower turns towards the sun," said Doctor Louis, after a pause, during which I knew that he was bringing himself back to the point he was aiming at, "and closes its leaves in the darkness. My view has been that man, though the highest in the scale, is not his own master; he is subject to the influences which affect lower grades of life. At the same time he has within him that with which no other form of life is gifted-discernment, and, as you have said, the power to advance or recede. It sometimes happens that an impulse, as noble as it is merciful, arrests his foot, and he says, 'No, I may bruise that flower,' and turns aside. You follow me?"

"Yes-but you are still generalising. Question me more plainly upon what you desire to know."

"You are a stranger among us?"

"I was; I do not look upon myself as a stranger now. Here have I found peace and fitness. Do not forget that, out of your goodness and generosity, you have treated me with affection."

"I do not forget it, and I pray that it may not lead to unhappiness."

"It is also my prayer-though you must remember that one man often enjoys at another man's expense."

"You have already told me something of yourself. Again I ask, what are you?"

"An English gentleman."

"Your father?"

"He was the same."

"Your mother?"

"A lady."

"Were you educated at a public school?"

"No; my studies were conducted at home by private tutors. We lived a life of privacy, and did not mix with the world."

"For any particular reason?"

"For none that I am aware of. It suited my parents so to live; it suited me also. Since the death of my parents I have seen much of the world, and derived but small enjoyment from it until destiny led me to Nerac."

"Destiny?"

"It is the only word, doctor, by which I can express myself clearly."

"During your illness you gave utterance to sentiments or ideas which impel me now to inquire whether, in the lives of either of your parents, there was that which would cause an honourable man to pause before he yields to a temptation which may draw an innocent being to destruction?"

"I would perish rather than destroy the flower in my path."

"You adopt my own figure of speech, but you do not answer my question-which proves that I have not complete power over you. Your sense of honour will not allow you to commit yourself to anything distinctly untruthful. Say there is that in your inner life which warns you that to touch would be to wither, would you stoop to gather the flower which it may be awaits your bidding?"

A glow of ineffable delight warmed my heart. "Do you know," I asked, "that it awaits me?"

"I know nothing absolutely. I am striving to perform a duty. An ordinarily wise man, foreseeing a storm, prepares for it; and when that storm threatens one who is dearer to him than life itself, he redoubles his precautions."

"As you are doing."

"As I am doing-though I am sadly conscious that my efforts may be vain."

"You are not my enemy?"

"On the contrary. I recognise in you noble qualities, but there is at the same time a mystery within you which troubles me.

"May you not be in error there?"

"It is possible. I speak from inward prompting, based upon observation and reflection."

"Dear doctor," I said, with a sense of satisfaction at the conviction that I was successfully probing him, "if I thought that my touch would blast the flower you speak of, I would fly the spot, and carry my unhappiness with me, so that only I should be the sufferer. But no need exists. Nothing lies at my door of which I am ashamed. No man, so far as I am aware, is my enemy, and I am no man's. I have never committed an act to another's hurt. You speak of my inner life. Does not every human being live two lives, and is there not in every life something which man should keep to himself. Were we to walk unmasked, we should hate and loathe each other, and saints would be stoned to death. We are maculate, and it is given to no man to probe the mystery of existence. There are pretenders, and you and I agree upon an estimate of them. If in private intercourse we were absolutely frank in our confession of temptations, gross thoughts, and uncommitted sins, it would inspire horror. The joys of life are destroyed by seeking too far. We are here, with all our imperfections. The wisest and truest philosophy is to make the best of them and of surrounding circumstances. Therefore when I see before me a path which leads to human happiness, I should be mad to turn from it. Will you not now ask questions to which I can return explicit answers?"

"You love?"

"Yes."

"Whom?"

"Lauretta."

"In honour?"

"In perfect honour. So pure a being could inspire none but a pure passion."

"You would make a sacrifice to render her happy?"

"I can make her happy without a sacrifice."

"But should the need arise?"

"If I were convinced of it, I would sacrifice my life for her. It would be valueless to me without her; it would be valueless with her did not her heart respond to the beating of mine."

"You have not spoken to her?"

"Of love? No."

"You will not, without my consent?"

"I cannot promise."

"You believe yourself worthy of her?"

"No man can be worthy of her, but I as much as any man."

"She is young for love."

"Those words should be addressed to nature not to me."