A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

"And yet we were so poor that until we came suddenly and unexpectedly into a fortune, my father could never afford to give me a shilling. Truly your duties must have been no ordinary ones that you should have been engaged under such circumstances. It is, I suppose, useless for me to ask for an explanation of the nature of those duties?"

"Quite useless, sir."

"Will you tell me nothing, Mrs. Fortress, that will throw light upon the dark spaces of my life?"

"I have nothing to tell, sir."

To a man less under control than myself this iteration of unwillingness would have been intolerable, but I knew that nothing was to be gained by giving way to anger. I should have been the sufferer and the loser by it.

"Looking down, Mrs. Fortress, upon the dead body of my mother, you made the remark that it was a happy release."

"Death is to all a happy release, sir."

"A common platitude, which does not deceive me."

"You cannot forget, sir, that your mother was a great sufferer."

"I forget very little. Mrs. Fortress, in this interview I think you have not behaved graciously-nay, more, that you have not behaved with fairness or justice."

"Upon that point, sir," she said composedly, "you may not be a competent judge."

Her manner was so perfectly respectful that I could not take exception to this retort. She seemed, however, to be aware that she was upon dangerous ground, for she rose, and I made no further attempt to detain her. But now it was she who lingered, unbidden, with something on her mind of which she desired to speak. I raised my head, and wondered whether, of her own free will, she was about to satisfy my curiosity.

"If I thought you were not angry, sir," she said, "and would not take offence, I should like to ask you a question, and if you answer it according to my expectation, one other in connection with it."

"I shall not take offence," I said, "and I promise to exercise less reserve than you have done."

"I thank you, sir," she said, gazing steadily at me, so steadily, indeed, as to cause me to doubt whether, in a combat of will-power between us I should be the victor. "My questions are very simple. Do you ever hear the sounds of music, without being able to account for them?"

The question, simple as it was, startled, and for a moment almost unnerved me. What she suggested had occurred to me, at intervals perhaps of two or three months, and always when I was alone, and had worked myself into a state of exaltation. I do not exactly know at what period of my life this strange experience commenced, but my impression is that it came to me first in the night when I awoke from sleep, and was lying in the dark. It had occurred at those times within the last two or three years, and had it not been that it had already become somewhat familiar to me in hours of sunshine as well as in hours of darkness, I should probably have decided that it was but the refrain of a dream by which I was haunted. In daylight I frequently searched for the cause, but never with success. Lately I had given up the search, and had argued myself into a half belief that it was a delusion, produced by my dwelling upon the subject, and magnifying it into undue importance. For the most part the mysterious strains were faint, but very sweet and melodious; they seemed to come from afar off, and as I listened to them they gradually died away into a musical whisper, and grew fainter and more faint till they were lost altogether. But it had happened on two or three occasions, instead of their dying softly away and leaving me in a state of calm happiness, that the sweet strains were abruptly broken by what sounded now like a wail, now like a suppressed shriek. This violent and, to my senses, cruel termination of the otherwise melodious sounds set my blood boiling dangerously, and unreasonably infuriated me-so much so that the power I held over myself was ingulfed in a torrent of wild passion which I could not control. The melodious strains were always the same, and the air was strange to me. I had never heard it from a visible musician.

Not to a living soul had I ever spoken of the delusion, and that the subject should now be introduced into our conversation, and not introduced by me, could not but strike me as of singular portent. As Mrs. Fortress asked the question I heard once more the soft spiritual strains, and I involuntarily raised my right hand in the act of listening; I hear them at the present moment as I write, and I lay aside my pen a while, until they shall pass away. So! They are gone-but they will come again.

I answered Mrs. Fortress briefly, but not without agitation.

"Yes, I have heard such sounds as those you mention."

"You hear them now?"

"Yes, I hear them now. Do you?"

"My powers of imagination, sir, are less powerful than yours," she said evasively, and passed on to her second question. "It is not an English air, sir?"

"No, it is not English, so far as I am a judge."

"It comes probably," she suggested, and I was convinced that she spoke with premeditation, "from a foreign source."

"Most probably," I said.

"Perhaps from the mountains in the Tyrol."

A Tyrolean air! I seized upon the suggestion, and accepted it as fact, though I was quite unable to speak with authority. But why to me, who had never been out of England, should come this melody of the Tyrol? I could no more answer this question than I could say why the impassive, undemonstrative woman before me was, as it were, revealing me to myself and probing my soul to its hidden depths.

"It may be so," I said. "Do you seek for any further information from me?"

"No, sir." But there was a slight hesitancy in her voice which proved that this was not the only subject in her mind which bore upon my inner life.

"And now," I said, "I must ask you why you put these questions to me, and by what means you became possessed of my secret, mention of which has never passed my lips?" She shook her head, and turned towards the door, but I imperatively called upon her to stay. "You cannot deal with me upon this subject as you have upon all others. I have a distinct right to demand an explanation."

"I can give you no explanation, sir," she said, with deference and respect.

"You refuse?"

"I must refuse," she replied firmly, and then she bowed, and saying, "With my humble duty, sir," was gone.

CHAPTER VI

Had I yielded to passion, had I not in some small degree exercised wisdom, I should have coined out of this last meeting with Mrs. Fortress a most exquisite torture; but I schooled myself into the acceptance of what was entirely beyond my comprehension, and after an interval of agitated thought I set it down to a trick, the inspiration of which may have been derived from unguarded words escaping me while I slept, or while I was soliloquising-a habit into which I had grown-and she was watching me unobserved. It troubled me a great deal at first, but I was successful in diminishing instead of magnifying it, and it was fortunate for me that I had much to occupy my mind in other ways during the few following weeks. My lawyer demanded my time and attention. I was determined, without question as to whether a favourable market could be found for them, to dispose of the property and securities which my father had left, and which now were mine. I was determined to commence a new life, without any exact definition or idea as to what that life was to be; and to do this it was necessary, according to my view, that I should make a clearance. I was surprised to discover that my father had made a great number of investments, and it was to my advantage that they were mostly good ones. Had I possessed both the moral and the legal power I would have sold Rosemullion, but my father's will was so worded that the lawyer pointed out to me that there would be difficulties in the way, and after listening to his arguments I agreed to retain it as my freehold. But I was determined not to inhabit it, and I gave instructions that a tenant should be sought for it, and that, if one could not be obtained, it should remain untenanted.

"It had been unoccupied a great many years," the lawyer remarked, "when your father purchased it."

"For any particular reason?" I inquired.

"No," replied the lawyer, "except that there was a foolish idea that it was haunted."

"Whoever rents Rosemullion," I said, "must take his own ghosts with him if he wishes for ghostly company."

"We generally do that," said the lawyer, dryly, "wherever we go."

There were legal requirements to be attended to in the drawing up and signing of deeds, but otherwise there was no difficulty in carrying out my intention to the letter, and at the expiration of three months I found myself an absolutely free and unencumbered man, with my large fortune invested in English consols, the fluctuations of which caused me not a moment's uneasiness. During those three months I lived my usual life, read, studied, and often wandered through the adjacent woods at night. I think that the adventure I have elsewhere narrated of the tramps I befriended one stormy night had awakened my sympathies for the class, and I may say, without vanity, that it was not the only occasion on which my sympathies had taken a practical shape. A little while before I bade farewell to Rosemullion I was wandering through the woods an hour or so before the rising of the sun, when I came upon a woman sleeping on the ground. As usual, she had a child in her arms, and moans issued from the breasts of both the woman and the child. It was a pitiful sight, familiar enough in our overcrowded land. The woman was the picture of desolation. Suddenly, as I gazed, a mocking voice whispered that it would be merciful to kill her where she lay. "Do a good deed," said the silent voice, "and hasten home to bed. No one will know." I laughed aloud, and took from my pocket my purse, which was well supplied with money. The woman had an apron on. I wrapped the purse in it, and tied it securely, so that it should not escape her. Then I crept away, but scarcely knew whether to be glad or sorry that I had cheated fate once more.

A few days afterwards I turned my back on Rosemullion.

I had formed no definite plans; all that I had settled was that I would go abroad and see the world. It was open for me, and the flowers were blooming. Was I not rich, and had I not already had experience of the value of riches?

But although I travelled far, and saw the wonders of art and nature in foreign lands, my habits were much the same as they had been in England. What I enjoyed I enjoyed in solitude; the chance acquaintances who offered themselves, many of them travelling alone as I was travelling, received no encouragement from me; I did not respond to their advances. In this I was but repeating my boyish experiences when I was living with my parents in London attics. Truly, the child is father to the man.

It may appear strange to those who are fond of friendships, and who cling ardently to them, to learn that, despite my loneliness, I had not a dull moment. Nature was very beautiful to my soul, its forms and changes most entrancing. I cared little for the great towns and cities. The modes of life therein, especially those which were exemplified by the absurd lengths and extravagances to which fashion drives its votaries, excited in me a very sincere contempt, and I was amazed that people could be so blind to the sweetest joys of existence. I visited the theatres, but they had, for the most part, no fascination for me. I saw great actresses associated with buffoons, and often themselves buffooning; I followed, at first with interest, the efforts of a be-puffed actress, who rose to the terrors and the beauties of her part in one fine scene, and did not consider the rest of her mimic life, as depicted on the boards, worth the trouble of consistency; I was present at the performance of dramas which were absolutely false in their action and sentiment. What pleased me best were the short poetical episodes, occupying less than an hour in their representation, and in which two or three good actors sustained and preserved the unities in excellent style. But these were side dishes, and only served to bring into stronger relief the larger and grosser fare provided for the intellectual education of the masses. I went to the opera, and could only enjoy it by shutting my eyes, so many absurdities were forced upon my sight: and as this drew unpleasant attention upon me, I was compelled to deprive myself of the enjoyment. I strolled into the gambling saloons, and gazed in amazement upon the faces of men and women in which the lowest passions were depicted. Human nature in those places was degraded and belittled. "Is there some mysterious hidden sweetness in this many-sided frenzy?" I asked myself, and I staked my money, and endeavoured to discover it; but the game did not stir my pulses; I lost or won with indifference. I soon tired of it, and bade adieu to the rooms, with a sigh of compassion and contempt for the slaves who fretted their hearts therein.

My chiefest pleasures were experienced in small villages in mountain and valley, where there was so little attraction for the ordinary tourist that he seldom lingered there. I delighted in primitiveness and simplicity, where human baseness had the fewest opportunities to thrive, and where human goodness was the least likely to be spoilt by publicity. It was in these places that I came to the conclusion that the largest amount of happiness is to be found among small communities.

But although I was consistent, up to a certain period, in declining all offers of intimacy and friendship, it happened that I was to come into contact with a man for whom, in a short space of time, I grew to have a very close regard. His name was Louis, by profession a doctor, by descent a German.

We met in the woods near Nerac, in Gascony. I was fording a watercourse which intersected part of the forest when my foot slipped upon a round stone which I had supposed was fast embedded in the earth, but which proved to be loose. I made a spring upon the stone, and it rolled over, and landed me in the water. A wetting was of no account, but when I attempted to rise I uttered a sharp cry of pain. I had sprained my ankle.

With difficulty I crawled from the water to dry ground, upon which I sat, nursing my ankle, which already was swelling ominously. In a short time the pain became intolerable, and I endeavoured to draw the boot from my foot, and finding this was not possible, I cut it away bit by bit, and then cut my stocking loose. I experienced instant and delicious relief. The pleasure we derive from the relief of pain is the most exquisite of all physical sensations. I bathed my ankle with water from the cold stream, which somewhat reduced the swelling, but the relief was only temporary, for when I endeavoured again to rise, the torture produced by my attempt to sustain the weight of my body upon my foot was so keen that I fell prone to the ground in agony. There were no trees sufficiently near by the aid of which I might manage to walk a short distance, and in the intervals of relief afforded by further applications of cold water, I ruefully contemplated my position.

I had walked twenty miles during the day, and I was a stranger in the locality. The time was evening, and no person was in sight to assist me. From inquiries I made on the road earlier in the day I calculated that Nerac must be at least three miles distant from the spot upon which I lay. To crawl that distance was impossible. I looked upward to the sky. Heavy clouds charged with rain, were approaching in my direction, and the prospect before me of having to pass the night in the woods was by no means pleasant. I had learnt from experience that the storms in this region were violent and fierce; and, moreover, I had eaten nothing since the morning. Hunger was making strong demands upon me-all the stronger, as is the way of things, because of helplessness. I called aloud, and only a very fine echo-which I was not in the mood to admire and appreciate-answered me. Again and again I strove to rise, and again and again I sank to the ground, My ankle was getting worse, and had by this time swelled to double its usual girth. I turned my head in every direction, in eager quest of a human form, but none met my view. A squirrel sprang out of the woods, and stopped suddenly short at sight of me. It remained quite still, at a distance of a few paces gazing at me, and then it darted away, inspiring within me an absurd envy of its active movements. Birds, with cries both shrill and soft, flew to their nests; frogs croaked near the edges of the water. Evening fell, the sun descended; night was my enemy, and was eager to get at me, and soon its darkness fell around me like a shroud. This had ever been an enjoyment to me, but on the present occasion it served but to aggravate the mental disorder produced by my sufferings. The figures I conjured up in the gloom were the reverse of soothing, and I found myself occasionally labouring under a kind of delirium. One of my fancies was so peculiar that I will recall it. I saw on the left of me a deep cave, which as I gazed upon it grew to an enormous size. I had been looking in that direction only a moment before, and had seen nothing; the sudden vision of this great cave in the midst of black space was, therefore, the more surprising. Its roof and sides resembled a huge feathery disk, and deep back in the recess, embedded in the furthermost wall, were two strange-looking globes, surrounded by spots and curved lines of the colours of orange, brown, and soft grey. These globes were instinct with motion, and seemed to shrink and swell, while the coloured spots and curves around them contracted or expanded, in obedience to some mysterious law. The feathery roof and walls seemed also to contract and expand in sympathy, and these wave-like movements made it appear as if the cave were a living monster. I managed to raise myself upon my elbow for a moment, and as I did so I was terror-struck by beholding the monster cave rise and fly past me-in the shape of an owl that had wandered my way in search of food.