Part 14

“Oh, Paul, do you know what that means? Faith in one to love and trust.”

He made a movement as if trying to speak, but she grasped his hand anew, and pressed it.

They did not speak, only thought, and loved each other.

The Southern Cross shone resplendent in the heavens above.

“Let Nature be your teacher; Sweet is the love which Nature brings; Our meddling intellect Misshapes the beauteous form of things. We murder to dissect-- Enough of Science and of Art; Close up those barren leaves; Come forth and bring with you a heart That watches and receives.”

--WORDSWORTH.

XXIX

ILLNESS AND HALLUCINATION

At last they had reached the Far East--a new world densely populated with darker races, dark forms clothed in white or multi-colored garments; many with little clothing at all. The faces intelligent, the profiles often more clear-cut and refined than their own. People who told them frankly that their physiognomy showed “pink faces with green eyes”--quite a revelation, since they had never before seen themselves as others see them, from that point of view.

It was at Bombay Mrs. Cultus first encountered the prolific assortment of “boys,” Khidmatgars and Jadoo Wallahs, punka boys, and boys from Goa. It did not take her long to grasp the situation, simply because she purposely kept her own personal assortment constantly on “the grand jump.” “I must find out what each fellow can do, but won’t; and what he can’t do, but will. As Paul would say, ‘This caste-business and somebody else’s business is most distracting.’”

As to the Jadoo Wallahs and their famous tricks, Mrs. Cultus had set her heart upon detecting the manner of growth of that celebrated mango-tree, and in consequence had an experience.

The magician went through his whole performance as it is usually given, and was about to take up his bush and walk, when Mrs. Cultus at once exclaimed: “Not so quick, please! You say it grew in ten minutes; that mango bush?”

“You saw it, Mem Sahib,” said the magician respectfully.

“Then there’s a humbug in that tree,” remarked Mrs. Cultus blandly.

The Wallah seemed a little thrown off his guard.

“Show us the roots! the roots!” demanded Mrs. Cultus, as if giving orders.

“Pardon, pardon, Mem Sahib! I thought you said a bug was in the tree;” and instantly the magician’s acting became superb; his whole attitude changed. One might have supposed he considered it most unreasonable to ask to see the roots of a tree. Possibly, this one had roots, but then they might be so small you could not see them. Who knows what really was there under ground? He didn’t; but he could take the risk of digging to discover.

Considering the little pile of earth was only six inches high and stood upon a cemented pavement, Mrs. Cultus told him to “go to work and dig them up.” And then came the surprise for her; a surprise which caused her never to forget that she had been in India.

The Jadoo Wallah, taking the bush by the stem near the ground with one hand, loosened it carefully from the earth. In lifting it into the air, a half-opened seed, still attached below ground, and the tendrils of new roots appeared. As the small clods of earth fell away from these roots, the whole bush from topmost leaf to lowest root-tendril, was exposed to view at full length. Tremendous applause followed. Mrs. Cultus was thoroughly nonplussed, mystified; but not too much to find her purse and pay the Wallah well for his skill and preparation.

“Those roots,” whispered Adele, “made me feel uncanny when the little clods of earth fell from them.”

“Bits of string, soiled with moist earth, make very good roots when seen from a distance,” remarked the Doctor, laughing. “Even better imitations than the tendrils and flowers in your hat, my dear.”

Thus, during their very first glimpses of India, they realized they were encountering an intelligent people, a branch of their own Aryan race, but of dark complexion, and given over to skilful mystification.

Before reaching Calcutta, the physical exertions of the tourists had been considerable. Mrs. Cultus in particular, owing to her natural antipathy to a warm climate, seemed to suffer more than any, and in consequence became seriously ill. One cannot say suddenly ill, as often the case, although her perambulations at Benares, and in the vicinity of Patna to visit the Buddha’s bo-tree, had been quite enough to produce serious results. Her strong nerves and her persistent determination not to be a burden to others unless physically incapacitated, carried her through until Calcutta was reached. Upon their arrival she would have broken down at once if Western “grit” and feminine curiosity had not again asserted themselves. She would not give up; not at least until she had obtained her own impression of the Bengalese capital and Government House, to be able to talk about them afterwards at home. Then she did succumb, half-purposely as it were, really when she had left it until too late.

“If I must take my turn at collapsing, this is a much better place than some of the bungalows where we were forced to bunk. I might as well give in and have done with it. Adele, my dear, I really do feel wretched.” This, when she was already so feeble as to be unable to stand.

The daughter of Anthony “Grab” Gains, of Colorado, had both grit and worldly wisdom by inheritance, but she had little suspicion then that these characteristics could be so forcibly demonstrated, even while the spiritual element was in the ascendant. This spiritual element had not before been especially evident--in fact, it had lain dormant, making her appear one-sided, and often unappreciative of much that interested her daughter as well as her husband and Doctor Wise. The Calcutta physician soon pronounced her case important if not serious, due to over-exposure in regions where malaria of various kinds should have been guarded against. Evidently few precautions had been taken; malarial germs of some sort had entered her system; what particular fever would result could only be determined after further observation and certain tests. This much the physician told the Professor.

Mrs. Cultus, who could interpret every change of expression in her husband’s countenance, and could read his thoughts in such matters much more quickly than he suspected, took in the exact situation a few minutes after the physician left her, when her husband entered and began to potter around her room, anxious, but striving to appear just the opposite. She noticed him, a little later, take up a bottle of medicine, tasting it as if he wished to make sure as to its contents. After he had gone out, she said to Adele:

“My daughter, your father is such a dear man. Do you know what he did?--tasted that medicine himself first, just to satisfy himself it was all right for me. Now just suppose it had been poison?”

Adele looked tenderly at her mother, fearing lest the fever had already begun to affect her brain, and was causing absurd notions. This proved to be the case. Mrs. Cultus became more and more flighty, complaining: “My head feels so light; it seems to be sailing off like a balloon.” Then, again, speaking in disconnected phrases, her ideas all mixed and inconsequent. Adele concluded she did not always say what she meant to say, and therefore did not give the impression she intended to convey.

All of which, being quite natural, was not surprising; only when at intervals among her absurd vagaries the patient startled them all by some exceptionally sane remark, indicating a very level head, indeed. It was then that Adele felt confused, and hardly knew what to do; she did not understand the case.

Drawing affection led her to put her arm around her mother’s neck, to place her cheek next hers, and to cherish her. The invalid did not even whisper in reply, but her tacit acceptance seemed to indicate that she knew it was her daughter near, very near, and felt her touch--that was enough. Fevered imagination was thus often soothed by the reality of love.

“Nothing does mother so much good as to love her; it’s better than medicine,” said Adele. “It’s very curious how quickly her mind becomes quiet when I don’t say a word, only let her know with caresses _how we all love her_.”

When Adele made this remark to the Doctor, he could only reiterate what Adele and her mother had already told each other by sympathetic touch. “Yes, the greatest thing on earth is love, the beginning and ending of the greatest good; and it is indeed a notable fact in sacred history that Christ made more cures by the instrumentality of touch, bloodless operations so to speak, than in any other way; in fact, Christ conquered Science and soared away beyond.”

This assertion seemed to impress Adele most seriously; then her mind turned towards some particular incident in her own experience.

“I made several cures myself when I was nursing in the hospital. I cured one of the physicians, a young man, a mere boy.”

“How, may I ask?” The Doctor was very inquisitive.

“Put my first finger on his lips--he knew instantly what I said--‘You had better not talk so much.’”

“Was he indeed cured?”

“Yes, instantly. He had been rather verdant before, but after his cure he turned a lovely pea-green. Doctor, physicians ought to look into this touchy-method; there’s more psychology than medicine in it--that’s why it cures.”

“What a queer girl you are,” thought the Doctor, serious himself; and then recalled what she had just said about her mother, “we all love her,” not “how I love her,” but “how we all love her”; assuming that her own affection for her mother must be common to all the party.

The Doctor cogitated over this: “I can understand mother’s love, and its response in all human kind; filial love, brother’s love, sisterly affection, and much that is implied thereby, they are innate in all races; but when it comes to thinking and speaking and acting as if all others are sharing our affection for the one we love in particular, as Adele assumed, then I think a still nobler spirit exists, something borne in from without must have been granted her. She seems even unnaturally good. Here am I looking for this something-worth-knowing as manifested by races at large to-day, and I hear much in India about the brotherhood-of-man; yet, right here under my eyes appears a girl manifesting it in her experience, as if she knew more about it and its differentiations, truly, than any of us. Now one might say that each individual loves his own parents, or ought to; and certainly here in Asia what they call ancestral veneration does obtain without necessarily much ardent love; but all that is a very different thing from seeing the very best of one’s self in others, and acknowledging it--feeling that one is but an exponent of the good in all, yet without conceit. That appeals to me as the work of the Holy Spirit in man; one may say unnatural, because more than natural; and that is to be born again--spiritual rebirth.”

The illness of Mrs. Cultus soon manifested another phase. No matter how incongruous her delusions or hallucinations might be, her own character, the principle of her own individuality, always dominated; the energy which lies deeper than even the manifestation of life, on which the identity of man and his existence and the continuance of his existence depend, was never inactive; the principle of individuality which determines both the form of character and the physical frame, as well as the connection between them, was never violated. It was Carlotta Gains Cultus _herself_; from her came the thoughts. They were not words put into her mind by suggestions from others.

One of her delusions was that she had lost all her money, her fortune, and was now in a foreign land among many strangers to whom she might be obliged to appeal, in case family necessities forced them to work for their living. From her point of view this was the direst calamity conceivable. She expressed herself, however, with that peculiar tact which showed how all the characteristics she had inherited from her father were rooted and grounded in her very being. She was talking to Miss Winchester:

“Frank, do you think the people over here would like it if the Professor should lecture before them? Would he draw good houses?”

Miss Winchester smiled, but knowing full well that Mrs. Cultus could not be easily deceived, and would not be satisfied by anything indefinite, answered as if serious:

“Of course, he’d draw, once or twice, on account of his reputation; but I doubt about keeping it up.”

“Why not, Frank?”

“India’s a complicated place, you know; only Jadoo Wallahs and balloon ascensions draw intelligent people--h’m!--native crowds don’t count any more than middle-of-the-road people do at home; now and again a polo or cricket match, even the theatres are at a discount.”

“Couldn’t we try the Bishop and his set?”

“Certainly; if for charitable purposes.”

“Oh, dear! dear!” said the patient dolefully, “not yet charity, not yet.” Then in a low, troubled voice: “I suppose Adele and I must do something, ourselves. What can we do? I feel so helpless, so weak!” Another expedient soon suggested itself. It was sad to see her thus frantically trying to think to some purpose; finally the effort was successful.

“Frank, do they play whist over here?” and then realizing that the object must be clearly understood: “I could give lessons myself, but dear Adele, my precious darling! it would be too much for her, she never took to whist.” The poor woman seemed so serious, the situation was really pathetic.

XXX

CONVALESCENCE AND COMMON SENSE

These periods of hallucination, mingled with very practical considerations, continued for some days, until the fever ran its course. Fortunately it is not within the scope of this story to note the progress of physical ailments; it is more timely to note the effects upon the mental and the spiritual life of an excellent woman ever true to herself and to others, even during hallucinations. It was fortunate also that Mrs. Cultus herself relieved her attendants of any uncertainty in the matter.

She had just passed through a period of exceptionally vivid impressions of disaster, when one of those flashes of clearer perception, before referred to, came to her rescue; whether merely a reaction from her previous weak condition, or because she was so thoroughly frightened by what she had conceived as possible, need not now be discussed. That she did brighten up marvelously and manifest then and there a permanent change for the better, was a fact. And again it was Miss Winchester who was with her.

“Frank,” said Mrs. Cultus composedly, and with an air of finality, “I’ve made up my mind; I’m determined.”

“You don’t say so--good!--about what?”

“To get well, that’s the first thing. I can’t stand this being a care to others.”

“You are better, I’m sure; much better.”

“Not much as yet, but I can see it. I will be.”

Miss Winchester gave a little start. “See it? see what?” fearing lest the patient was again off at a tangent after more disasters. But Mrs. Cultus, having obtained a mental grip upon herself, would not let go, even if she still felt weak physically.

“Tell me what you see,” said Miss Winchester gently, taking her by the hand, and continuing to wave the fan she held.

“Oh, Frank! what a terrible thing it would be to be caught in such a predicament, and unprepared!”

“How, my dear?”

“I’ve been imagining all sorts of things--these Indian beds are not the best sort for me, I fear; I’ve been imagining--nonsense, of course, for us--but just think how awful it would be to lose one’s means of support! be forced to work for a living! and then not be able to succeed; I mean when the real thing does happen.”

“The world is full of cases like that.”

“Yes, I knew that before; but now I have actually felt it, just as if it were true in our own case. I was sort of luny all the time, even when my head floated off like a balloon. I thought it was serious, and I suffered as much as if it had really been true. Why, poor Adele--it would have killed me to see her in such hard circumstances. Adele would have--let me think--I’m wrong! Adele would not have----”

A strange expression came over her countenance, as if something ineffably joyous and precious was just revealed to her. She closed her eyes, and evidently was seeing the image of her daughter in a new light.

Miss Winchester kept on fanning her gently, hoping she would soon fall asleep.

But Mrs. Cultus’ spiritual discernment had been quickened; and with it came the real, true conquest over both physical weakness and mental vagaries. Her eyes opened again, they were clearer than ever; her voice had a new depth, and was certainly more sympathetic than before the fever began--it manifested the spiritually melodious quality in essence.

“What about Adele?” asked Miss Winchester tenderly.

“Oh! I love her so much! She is so much to me; I cannot tell you how much.”

“We all love her,” said Miss Winchester, innocently repeating the very words Adele had used when speaking of her mother.

“Yes, I know that, too; no one knows it better than I; but I now see something about her I never saw before so clearly.”

“Tell me what it is.”

“Frank!--a mystery! Adele _is_ prepared. She is ready for anything that may happen. None of us need ever fear for Adele, I’m sure of that; and I can see that she acts as she does because she feels prepared. I must tell you about her; it is a mystery, yet at the same time the most practical thing.”

All the positive elements in Mrs. Cultus now seemed focused on the conviction that Adele was “prepared,” as she called it, for anything, any emergency.

“She has many to look to,” said Miss Winchester, “more than most girls.”

“Yes, but I’m not thinking of that. I mean her own strength, something within herself, something I suppose all girls could have if they were like Adele. I’m beginning now to understand that--beginning to understand a little of how she acts and why she does as she does. Adele could endure and overcome adversity; she enjoys pleasure, more than any of us; she lives what she believes, and is not afraid of anything. Do you notice it, Frank, Adele is never afraid?”

Miss Winchester felt a little incredulous, but she said nothing. Mrs. Cultus continued:

“I never before so well understood Adele, although I am her mother. At times she talks like a chatterbox, but she never says anything unkind about people. Perhaps I shouldn’t say ‘never,’ for she did once give a regular scolding to a rascally brute who was abusing his horse--a dumb creature that couldn’t retaliate. Adele did speak for the dumb brute, but that was an exceptional case, and she did right to interfere.”

“She has my full approval,” remarked Miss Winchester. Mrs. Cultus continued:

“Then she is interested in all babies--would you believe it?--of any color. ‘Cherubs’ she calls them if she thinks it will stop their crying. I heard her one day call a cherub, ‘Cupid,’ and kiss him. Bless me, I saw nothing attractive in that particular child. She says she likes babies just as God made them, of any color. Now, Frank, I call that practical religion, and Adele turns from nothing; she is interested in all humanity.”

“No doubt of it,” said Miss Winchester thoughtfully, as if recalling an instance known to her personally.

Mrs. Cultus continued: “But when it comes to talkative religion, Adele is more conservative, says little or nothing--only acts naturally what she feels. And the strangest thing of all is----” and Adele’s mother paused an instant as if she ought to be careful about what she wished to say.

“What?” asked Miss Winchester, closely attentive.

“Why, she is always so sure, so perfectly sure in her own mind, as if under the influence of some invisible power--something mystical, you see, but very practical, too. I never heard her say much about it but once--you remember when she spoke to that Geyser Science woman on the Atlantic steamer?--and then she certainly did express herself like a girl much older, very precocious, to my notion. Do you know what I think, Frank?”

“No, I can’t imagine.”

“Well, Adele was talking about Christ, and she was perfectly fearless; you remember how He talked, when only a youth, to the Doctors in the Temple?”

It was difficult for Miss Winchester to accept this comparison; and seeing her hesitate, Mrs. Cultus tried to express herself in better form:

“It seems to me Adele had the same spirit, and that’s what I feel. Now you remember that Geyser Doctor, who at first appeared so placid, and talked about what she really knew so little; and then ended by exploding her ideas? Frank, I shall never forget her, or the explosion, and its effect on Adele. It was the first, last, and only time I ever saw Adele in a religious discussion, and I never expect to see her so caught again; in fact, she told me she would never indulge again, not if she knew it in time.”

Miss Winchester nodded in remembrance, and was much surprised that Mrs. Cultus should be able to display so much of her old-time vigor, when lately she was so weak. “Her spirit is stronger than ever,” thought Miss Winchester. Another pause, and then Mrs. Cultus continued:

“I shall never forget that scene, because the child talked as if she knew personally Him in whom she believed; as if the One in whom she believed was being misquoted, if not actually slandered, and all that sort of thing.”

Miss Winchester listened more attentively than ever.

“My dear, the child was right. I can see it all now. A sort of holy jealousy, because she was averse to hearing anything so misleading attributed to Him in whom she believed. Now, for a girl to feel that way means a great deal, a very great deal--it means everything. Adele was far more than interested; she felt intensely all she said. How did she do it? Why did she do it? Had the Holy Spirit spoken in her heart? Frank, that is a mystery! Nobody, I trust, can deceive me about such things, and I can see so much more than ever now, and in a new light. Now, I know God is Love, because He gave me Adele, and I try to love Him for it; and just between us, you and me, myself, it is going to be very hard for me to give her up, even to Paul.”

Miss Winchester would not have interrupted Mrs. Cultus on any account as she was thus opening her own heart freely, fearlessly. There was a beauty in these revelations fundamentally holy.

“One of the strange things,” continued Adele’s mother, “is how nothing has been changed with Adele since she became engaged to Paul; just the reverse, her feelings seem even more intense; and her love for Paul influences her for good in every way.”

Miss Winchester, not wishing to intrude in these family matters, made an effort to change the subject; but it was of no use. Mrs. Cultus was too much interested in her daughter’s future to talk of anything else; while her natural tact was too vigilant to admit of any indiscretion.

“Adele and Paul,” said she, “with all their nonsense and lovers’ pranks, get more out of their fun than any young people I ever saw. I’ve watched ’em often. Adele does not give up a thing worth seeing, and she goes into unspeakable places with her Father and Paul. They tell me not to worry about her, for she is always equal to any emergency. I wasn’t so fearless when I was a girl. But Adele is different. I shouldn’t be surprised if she did get into trouble some time.”

“Of course she may--that’s where the fun comes in,” said Miss Winchester, less serious.

Adele’s mother looked up in alarm. “What are you laughing at, Frank? Has she already been getting into scrapes?”

“Oh, no scrape, but I saw her on her dignity in a little scene at Benares.”

“What was it?”