A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"In recalling these incidents of my youthful days, and of my connection with Silvain and Kristel, I am drawn insensibly into a fairly faithful depiction of the visionary ideas and speculations which sprang within me from time to time, and which afforded me food for thought. During a brief space I foolishly believed that the very question and truth of the immortality of the soul were involved in my studies of animal magnetism. Had I accepted this, had I allowed it to root itself firmly in my mind, I should have been profoundly unhappy. I can imagine no such grounds for misery to the intellectual man as lack of faith in a future state. I care not what shape or form it takes, so long as it is there. And this faith must of necessity be a blind faith. I have already expressed to you my conviction that a recognised science will arise out of the better knowledge which will be gained by certain hidden forces, but there are immortal secrets which will never be revealed to mankind. It appears to me to be necessary to make this clear to you, in order that you may not suppose that I am still wedded to the wild chimeras of youth."

I knew why Doctor Louis made this statement to me. The reminiscences he was recalling had rendered him for a little while oblivious of the present. His youth rose before him, in which his daughter Lauretta had no share. Suddenly he had remembered that I loved Lauretta, and the Father's heart spoke to the man whose most earnest desire it was to wed the cherished child.

"I understand you, sir," I said, humbly; the confidences which he was imparting to me, had drawn us closer together, and this fact seemed to be an assurance of my happiness. In the light of this prospect my spirit was humbly grateful. "I understand you," I repeated. "Perhaps also to me will come the wisdom in which the most perfect human and divine comfort is to be found."

He pressed my hand, and regarded me with glistening eyes.

"It is a wisdom," he said, "which not only comforts, but purifies."

Then he resumed his story.

CHAPTER XII

"I must not forget one question I asked Silvain.

"'In the company of tourists who traversed the pass with Kristel, was the young girl present, of whom you have so frequently dreamt?'

"'No. There seemed to me to be no females among them.'

"On the morning of that day we started for Bavaria, Silvain having first despatched a letter to his father, informing him that he was about to join his brother, and explaining the reason. It would prolong my story to an undue length were I to dwell upon the record of travel and experience, which does not bear directly upon the history of Silvain and Kristel. Suffice it, therefore, to say that we arrived in Bavaria, and, after necessary inquiry, proceeded straight to the mountain pass on which Silvain believed his brother to have met with the accident. Some time afterwards I reflected with interest upon the singular contrast in our demeanour while we were pursuing our search. I, who should have been calm, inasmuch as no being dear to me was in danger, was restless and excited. Silvain, who should have been anxious and disturbed, was composed. He believed in the truth of his vision; I doubted it. But no room was left for doubt when we came to the end of our journey. It terminated at the mountain hut, where Kristel was lying slowly recovering from the injuries he had received in his fall. Everything was as Silvain had described it. The hut with its many small bedrooms, and the larger apartment in which the meals were taken; the mount with its cavern of glittering spar and crystal, with its entrance from the summit of the pass, and its mode of egress at the side lower down; the overhanging ledge of rock which could only be reached by a daring leap. I recognised, with feelings of amazement, the faithfulness of the detail. The mystery of this spiritual sympathy which found practical expression in a form so strange, was beyond my comprehension, and I accepted it, as Silvain accepted it, but the wonder never left me.

"Kristel was affectionately and unfeignedly glad to see his brother.

"'Did you expect me?' asked Silvain.

"'No,' replied Kristel, 'but I hoped you would come.'

"He listened attentively while Silvain related his dream. Although he had received no forewarning that Silvain was coming to him, he expressed no surprise; he regarded it, also, as perfectly natural.

"Before I saw Kristel I had pictured him in my mind as resembling his twin-brother-dark, like Silvain, with black hair, and brown, melancholy eyes. I had said to myself, 'I shall know Kristel, if I meet him for the first time when his brother is not present.' Another surprise awaited me. There was no resemblance between Silvain and Kristel; there was scarcely a brotherly likeness. Kristel was fair, his hair was light, his eyes were blue, and his frame was larger and more powerful.

"They had much to relate to each other of their travels and adventures, and I frequently left them alone, in order that they might indulge freely in brotherly communion. I heard, however, from Kristel's lips the particulars of his accident, which tallied exactly with the account I had received from Silvain.

"'You must have dreamt of it,' he said to Silvain, 'at the precise moment of its occurrence.'

"Silvain nodded and smiled. He was happy because he was with Kristel, and because Kristel was recovering strength, slowly it was true, but surely.

"'Has Kristel,' I said to Silvain, 'ever spoken to you of the beautiful girl who presented herself to you in your dreams?'

"'No,' replied Silvain, 'he has not mentioned her.'

"'Is that not strange?' I asked.

"Silvain did not reply, and, gazing at him, I saw that he was lost in reverie. I had recalled the image of the girl, and he was musing upon it.

"At another time I asked Silvain whether he himself had referred to her in his conversations with his brother. He confessed that he had not. There was, then, a secret which these brothers held close in their hearts. I was not wise enough to fix instantly upon the correct solution of this secret which each was keeping from the other. It required, in a third party, a riper experience than was at my command, to read the riddle aright.

"Two months passed by, and Kristel hoped in a few days to be able to move out of the hut in which he had been so long confined, Silvain was in the habit of going to the post-office in the village, which lay at the foot of the mountain. He went one morning as usual for letters, and I was left with Kristel. We conversed freely, and Kristel asked me to bring his desk, which was on a table at a little distance from the couch upon which he was lying. I brought the desk, and he opened it. He took letters from it which he did not read, and then some drawings in water-colours, an art in which he was proficient. He glanced at them, and laid them singly aside, retaining one, upon which he gazed long and earnestly.

"'You are an artist,' I said, for, seeing that I had moved my chair from the bed, so that I should not intrude upon his private matters, he had called me closer, and invited me by a gesture to examine the sketches.

"'But a poor one,' he said, still gazing at the drawing in his hand. 'Still, this is not bad, I think.' And he held it out to me.

"He did not notice the start I gave when my eyes fell upon the sketch. It was that of a young girl, with most wonderful black hair which hung loosely down. She was standing on the upper gallery of a lighthouse, and the silver spray of wild waves was dashing upon the stone edifice. Her left hand was arched above her brows, and a scarlet kerchief was wound gracefully round her lovely head.

"I examined it in silence. The likeness to the description given by Silvain was unmistakable, and it was only by an effort of self-restraint that I prevented myself from disclosing that the figure was familiar to me. The right was not mine; the secret was not mine. A confidence had been reposed in me by Silvain, and, if he and Kristel had not spoken to each other of the girl, it was not for me to betray my knowledge of her.

"'A fancy sketch?' I asked.

"'No,' replied Kristel, 'from the life. Is she not beautiful?'

"'Very beautiful,' I said, with a sinking heart.

"I have spoken of the physical dissimilarity of Kristel and Silvain; but although, from the evidence of sight, a stranger would not have taken them for brothers, he could not have doubted of the close kinship, had he depended for his judgment upon his sense of hearing. Their voices were as one voice, In tone and inflection, so that, closing one's eyes, one could not with absolute certainty decide whether Kristel or Silvain were speaking. It was this that caused my heart to sink when Kristel asked me if the girl was not beautiful. In exactly the same tone had Silvain spoken of her, with fervid warmth and enthusiasm. My vague fears-which at that moment I should have felt a difficulty in explaining-were not dispelled by the action of Kristel, immediately following my reply. Silvain's footsteps were heard without, and Kristel, swiftly and hurriedly, took the sketch from my hand, and placed it in his desk, which he closed and locked.

"Silvain brought grave news to the hut. His head drooped, his features were suffused with sadness.

"'Kristel,' he said, in a tone of melancholy significance.

"'Silvain,' said Kristel, in a tone of indifference. The sorrowful note in his brother's voice had not reached his heart. He was thinking of the beautiful girl, with the wild waves dashing up to her feet.

"'Our father'-faltered Silvain, and stopped, unable to proceed.

"Even this did not arouse Kristel. He was lying now with his head on the pillow, and his hands, the fingers of which were interlaced, clasped behind it. Silvain came close to his brother's side, gently disengaged the clasped hands, and held one within his own. Kristel was awakened to reality by this action; and I, who had guessed the truth, stole softly from the room.

"When they called me in I found them both with tears in their eyes. The letters which Silvain had received at the post-office made them acquainted with the death of their father. Their grief was genuine, and they mourned with sincerity. Kristel was the first to recover his natural tone, and he drew Silvain to speak of the future. Silvain's desire was to return home immediately Kristel was strong enough to travel, but Kristel would not have it so.

"'No duty of instantly returning,' he said, 'devolves upon us, and by our remaining abroad a while, it will not be thought that we are wanting in affection. Our letters inform us that the last sad offices have been performed over the grave of our father; our affairs are in good hands, and no mother or sister awaits us to relieve her sorrow. We are alone, you and I, Silvain, with no ties beyond us to weaken or strengthen the affection which unites us and makes our hearts as one.'

"Silvain looked up with a loving light in his eyes; his nature was ever responsive to the call of affection.

"'Yes, Kristel,' he said, 'nothing can weaken the ties which unite us. They are perfect, complete. Our hearts truly are one.'

"'Then you will be guided by me, Silvain?'

"'Yes.'

"'Good! We will continue our travels, and nothing shall ever part us.'

"'Nothing can ever part us, Kristel,' said Silvain.

"Alas! If, upon the enthusiasm of the present, when men are indulging in dreams, the presentiment of what was to happen in the future were to intrude, how quickly the glowing embers would grow white and cold! When I heard the brothers exchange these professions of love, even I, who had some reasons for uneasiness respecting them, saw not the dread shadows which attended them and beckoned them onwards to their fate.

"The days passed slowly now until Kristel was sufficiently recovered to travel. He would have started long before he was fit, but Silvain would not allow him; and Kristel must have had some doubts of his strength, or he would not have allowed himself to be prevailed upon, so great was his impatience to start. At length the day was fixed, and we left the mountain and the village. I had solicited to be permitted to accompany them and they had readily consented. Their society was agreeable to me, and I loved Silvain. I looked upon Kristel, also, with affection, but my feelings towards him were weaker than those I entertained for his brother. Silvain appealed more closely to me; we had been longer in association, and our natures, in impulsive warmth and unreserve, were in unison. Kristel was colder, and sometimes suddenly checked himself when about to open his heart. I do not say that this should tell against a man, and I have no doubt that, in the telling of my story, I am influenced in my remarks by the strange events of which you will presently hear.

"At this point I am again silently reminded to be thoroughly sincere. Not alone because I was happy in the society of the brothers and loved Silvain was I desirous to accompany them. I had thought long and seriously over the beautiful girl by the sea whose picture Kristel kept concealed in his desk, and who held a place in the hearts of the brothers, and I was haunted by a foreboding that she was destined to play a part in their lives. By remaining with them I should perhaps make her acquaintance, and might help, for good, either one or the other. Of course, all this was but vaguely in my mind, and probably the most truthful explanation would be that I was prompted by curiosity pure and simple.

"Kristel had extracted a promise from Silvain, to the effect that Kristel was to assume the position of director of the route we were to take. I, also, was bound. We were to ask no questions, to offer no advice, but to go blindly wherever Kristel willed and wished.