CHAPTER VII.

MEIN HERR.

So I went on my lonely way, and, on reaching the Hall, I found Lady Muriel standing at the garden-gate waiting for me.

“No need to _give_ you joy, or to _wish_ you joy?” I began.

“None _whatever_!” she replied, with the joyous laugh of a child. “We _give_ people what they haven’t got: we _wish_ for something that is yet to come. For _me_, it’s all _here_! It’s all _mine_! Dear friend,” she suddenly broke off, “do you think Heaven ever begins on _Earth_, for any of us?”

“For _some_,” I said. “For some, perhaps, who are simple and childlike. You know He said ‘of such is the Kingdom of Heaven.’”

Lady Muriel clasped her hands, and gazed up into the cloudless sky, with a look I had often seen in Sylvie’s eyes. “I feel as if it had begun for _me_,” she almost whispered. “I feel as if _I_ were one of the happy children, whom He bid them bring near to Him, though the people would have kept them back. Yes, He has seen me in the throng. He has read the wistful longing in my eyes. He has beckoned me to Him. They have _had_ to make way for me. He has taken me up in His arms. He has put His hands upon me and blessed me!” She paused, breathless in her perfect happiness.

“Yes,” I said. “I think He has!”

“You must come and speak to my father,” she went on, as we stood side by side at the gate, looking down the shady lane. But, even as she said the words, the ‘eerie’ sensation came over me like a flood: I saw the dear old Professor approaching us, and also saw, what was stranger still, that he was visible to _Lady Muriel_!

What was to be done? Had the fairy-life been merged in the real life? Or was Lady Muriel ‘eerie’ also, and thus able to enter into the fairy-world along with me? The words were on my lips (“I see an old friend of mine in the lane: if you don’t know him, may I introduce him to you?”) when the strangest thing of all happened: Lady Muriel spoke.

“I see an old friend of mine in the lane,” she said: “if you don’t know him, may I introduce him to you?”

I seemed to wake out of a dream: for the ‘eerie’ feeling was still strong upon me, and the figure outside seemed to be changing at every moment, like one of the shapes in a kaleidoscope: now he was the _Professor_, and now he was somebody else! By the time he had reached the gate, he certainly was somebody else: and I felt that the proper course was for _Lady Muriel_, not for _me_, to introduce him. She greeted him kindly, and, opening the gate, admitted the venerable old man—a German, obviously—who looked about him with dazed eyes, as if _he_, too, had but just awaked from a dream!

No, it was certainly _not_ the Professor! My old friend _could_ not have grown that magnificent beard since last we met: moreover, he would have recognised _me_, for I was certain that _I_ had not changed much in the time.

As it was, he simply looked at me vaguely, and took off his hat in response to Lady Muriel’s words “Let me introduce Mein Herr to you”; while in the words, spoken in a strong German accent, “proud to make your acquaintance, Sir!” I could detect no trace of an idea that we had ever met before.

Lady Muriel led us to the well-known shady nook, where preparations for afternoon tea had already been made, and, while she went in to look for the Earl, we seated ourselves in two easy-chairs, and ‘Mein Herr’ took up Lady Muriel’s work, and examined it through his large spectacles (one of the adjuncts that made him so provokingly like the Professor). “Hemming pocket-handkerchiefs?” he said, musingly. “So _that_ is what the English miladies occupy themselves with, is it?”

“It is the one accomplishment,” I said, “in which Man has never yet rivaled Woman!”

Here Lady Muriel returned with her father; and, after he had exchanged some friendly words with ‘Mein Herr,’ and we had all been supplied with the needful ‘creature-comforts,’ the newcomer returned to the suggestive subject of Pocket-handkerchiefs.

“You have heard of Fortunatus’s Purse, Miladi? Ah, so! Would you be surprised to hear that, with three of these leetle handkerchiefs, you shall make the Purse of Fortunatus, quite soon, quite easily?”

“Shall I indeed?” Lady Muriel eagerly replied, as she took a heap of them into her lap, and threaded her needle. “_Please_ tell me how, Mein Herr! I’ll make one before I touch another drop of tea!”

“You shall first,” said Mein Herr, possessing himself of two of the handkerchiefs, spreading one upon the other, and holding them up by two corners, “you shall first join together these upper corners, the right to the right, the left to the left; and the opening between them shall be the _mouth_ of the Purse.”

A very few stitches sufficed to carry out _this_ direction. “Now, if I sew the other three edges together,” she suggested, “the bag is complete?”

“Not so, Miladi: the _lower_ edges shall _first_ be joined—ah, not so!” (as she was beginning to sew them together). “Turn one of them over, and join the _right_ lower corner of the one to the _left_ lower corner of the other, and sew the lower edges together in what you would call _the wrong way_.”

“_I_ see!” said Lady Muriel, as she deftly executed the order. “And a very twisted, uncomfortable, uncanny-looking bag it makes! But the _moral_ is a lovely one. Unlimited wealth can only be attained by doing things _in the wrong way_! And how are we to join up these mysterious—no, I mean _this_ mysterious opening?” (twisting the thing round and round with a puzzled air.) “Yes, it _is_ one opening. I thought it was _two_, at first.”

“You have seen the puzzle of the Paper Ring?” Mein Herr said, addressing the Earl. “Where you take a slip of paper, and join its ends together, first twisting one, so as to join the _upper_ corner of _one_ end to the _lower_ corner of the _other_?”

“I saw one made, only yesterday,” the Earl replied. “Muriel, my child, were you not making one, to amuse those children you had to tea?”

“Yes, I know that Puzzle,” said Lady Muriel. “The Ring has only _one_ surface, and only _one_ edge. It’s very mysterious!”

“The _bag_ is just like that, isn’t it?” I suggested. “Is not the _outer_ surface of one side of it continuous with the _inner_ surface of the other side?”

“So it is!” she exclaimed. “Only it _isn’t_ a bag, just yet. How shall we fill up this opening, Mein Herr?”

“Thus!” said the old man impressively, taking the bag from her, and rising to his feet in the excitement of the explanation. “The edge of the opening consists of _four_ handkerchief-edges, and you can trace it continuously, round and round the opening: down the right edge of _one_ handkerchief, up the left edge of the _other_, and then down the left edge of the _one_, and up the right edge of the _other_!”

“So you can!” Lady Muriel murmured thoughtfully, leaning her head on her hand, and earnestly watching the old man. “And that _proves_ it to be only _one_ opening!”

She looked so strangely like a child, puzzling over a difficult lesson, and Mein Herr had become, for the moment, so strangely like the old Professor, that I felt utterly bewildered: the ‘eerie’ feeling was on me in its full force, and I felt almost _impelled_ to say “Do you understand it, Sylvie?” However I checked myself by a great effort, and let the dream (if indeed it _was_ a dream) go on to its end.

“Now, this _third_ handkerchief,” Mein Herr proceeded, “has _also_ four edges, which you can trace continuously round and round: all you need do is to join its four edges to the four edges of the opening. The Purse is then complete, and its outer surface——”

“_I_ see!” Lady Muriel eagerly interrupted. “Its _outer_ surface will be continuous with its _inner_ surface! But it will take time. I’ll sew it up after tea.” She laid aside the bag and resumed her cup of tea. “But why do you call it Fortunatus’s Purse, Mein Herr?”

The dear old man beamed upon her, with a jolly smile, looking more exactly like the Professor than ever. “Don’t you see, my child—I should say Miladi? Whatever is _inside_ that Purse, is _outside_ it; and whatever is _outside_ it, is _inside_ it. So you have all the wealth of the world in that leetle Purse!”

His pupil clapped her hands, in unrestrained delight. “I’ll certainly sew the third handkerchief in—_some_ time,” she said: “but I wo’n’t take up your time by trying it now. Tell us some more wonderful things, please!” And her face and her voice so _exactly_ recalled Sylvie, that I could not help glancing round, half-expecting to see _Bruno_ also!

Mein Herr began thoughtfully balancing his spoon on the edge of his teacup, while he pondered over this request. “Something wonderful—like Fortunatus’s Purse? _That_ will give you—when it is made—wealth beyond your wildest dreams: but it will not give you _Time_!”

A pause of silence ensued—utilised by Lady Muriel for the very practical purpose of refilling the teacups.

“In _your_ country,” Mein Herr began with a startling abruptness, “what becomes of all the wasted Time?”

Lady Muriel looked grave. “Who can tell?” she half-whispered to herself. “All one knows is that it is gone—past recall!”

“Well, in _my_—I mean in a country _I_ have visited,” said the old man, “they store it up: and it comes in _very_ useful, years afterwards! For example, suppose you have a long tedious evening before you: nobody to talk to: nothing you care to do: and yet hours too soon to go to bed. How do _you_ behave then?”

“I get _very_ cross,” she frankly admitted: “and I want to throw things about the room!”

“When that happens to—to the people I have visited, they never act _so_. By a short and simple process—which I cannot explain to you—they store up the useless hours: and, on some _other_ occasion, when they happen to _need_ extra time, they get them out again!”

The Earl was listening with a slightly incredulous smile. “Why cannot you _explain_ the process?” he enquired.

Mein Herr was ready with a quite unanswerable reason. “Because you have no _words_, in _your_ language, to convey the ideas which are needed. I could explain it in—in—but you would not understand it!”

“No indeed!” said Lady Muriel, graciously dispensing with the _name_ of the unknown language. “I never learnt it—at least, not to speak it _fluently_, you know. _Please_ tell us some more wonderful things!”

“They run their railway-trains without any engines—nothing is needed but machinery to _stop_ them with. Is _that_ wonderful enough, Miladi?”

“But where does the _force_ come from?” I ventured to ask.

Mein Herr turned quickly round, to look at the new speaker. Then he took off his spectacles, and polished them, and looked at me again, in evident bewilderment. I could see he was thinking—as indeed _I_ was also—that we _must_ have met before.

“They use the force of _gravity_,” he said. “It is a force known also in _your_ country, I believe?”

“But that would need a railway going _down-hill_,” the Earl remarked. “You ca’n’t have _all_ your railways going down-hill?”

“They _all_ do,” said Mein Herr.

“Not from _both_ ends?”

“From _both_ ends.”

“Then I give it up!” said the Earl.

“Can you explain the process?” said Lady Muriel. “Without using that language, that I ca’n’t speak fluently?”

“Easily,” said Mein Herr. “Each railway is in a long tunnel, perfectly straight: so of course the _middle_ of it is nearer the centre of the globe than the two ends: so every train runs half-way _down_-hill, and that gives it force enough to run the _other_ half _up_-hill.”

“Thank you. I understand that perfectly,” said Lady Muriel. “But the velocity, in the _middle_ of the tunnel, must be something _fearful_!”

‘Mein Herr’ was evidently much gratified at the intelligent interest Lady Muriel took in his remarks. At every moment the old man seemed to grow more chatty and more fluent. “You would like to know our methods of _driving_?” he smilingly enquired. “To us, a run-away horse is of no import at all!”

Lady Muriel slightly shuddered. “To _us_ it is a very real danger,” she said.

“That is because your carriage is wholly _behind_ your horse. Your horse runs. Your carriage follows. Perhaps your horse has the bit in his teeth. Who shall stop him? You fly, ever faster and faster! Finally comes the inevitable upset!”

“But suppose _your_ horse manages to get the bit in his teeth?”

“No matter! We would not concern ourselves. Our horse is harnessed in the very centre of our carriage. Two wheels are in front of him, and two behind. To the roof is attached one end of a broad belt. This goes under the horse’s body, and the other end is attached to a leetle—what you call a ‘windlass,’ I think. The horse takes the bit in his teeth. He runs away. We are flying at ten miles an hour! We turn our little windlass, five turns, six turns, seven turns, and—poof! Our horse is off the ground! _Now_ let him gallop in the air, as much as he pleases: our _carriage_ stands still. We sit round him, and watch him till he is tired. Then we let him down. Our horse is glad, very much glad, when his feet once more touch the ground!”

“Capital!” said the Earl, who had been listening attentively. “Are there any other peculiarities in your carriages?”

“In the _wheels_, sometimes, my Lord. For your health, _you_ go to sea: to be pitched, to be rolled, occasionally to be drowned. _We_ do all that on land: we are pitched, as you; we are rolled, as you; but _drowned_, no! There is no water!”

“What are the wheels like, then?”

“They are _oval_, my Lord. Therefore the carriages rise and fall.”

“Yes, and pitch the carriage backwards and forwards: but how do they make it _roll_?”

“They do not match, my Lord. The _end_ of one wheel answers to the _side_ of the opposite wheel. So first one side of the carriage rises, then the other. And it pitches all the while. Ah, you must be a good sailor, to drive in our boat-carriages!”

“I can easily believe it,” said the Earl.

Mein Herr rose to his feet. “I must leave you now, Miladi,” he said, consulting his watch. “I have another engagement.”

“I only wish we had stored up some extra time!” Lady Muriel said, as she shook hands with him. “Then we could have kept you a little longer!”

“In _that_ case I would gladly stay,” replied Mein Herr. “As it is—I fear I must say good-bye!”

“Where did you first meet him?” I asked Lady Muriel, when Mein Herr had left us. “And where does he live? And what is his real name?”

“We first—met—him——” she musingly replied, “really, I ca’n’t remember _where_! And I’ve no idea where he lives! And I never heard any other name! It’s very curious. It never occurred to me before to consider what a mystery he is!”

“I hope we shall meet again,” I said: “he interests me very much.”

“He will be at our farewell-party, this day fortnight,” said the Earl. “Of course you will come? Muriel is anxious to gather all our friends around us once more, before we leave the place.”

And then he explained to me—as Lady Muriel had left us together—that he was so anxious to get his daughter away from a place full of so many painful memories connected with the now-canceled engagement with Major Lindon, that they had arranged to have the wedding in a months time, after which Arthur and his wife were to go on a foreign tour.

“Don’t forget Tuesday week!” he said as we shook hands at parting. “I only wish you could bring with you those charming children, that you introduced to us in the summer. Talk of the mystery of Mein Herr! That’s _nothing_ to the mystery that seems to attend _them_! I shall never forget those marvellous flowers!”

“I will bring them if I possibly can,” I said. But how to _fulfil_ such a promise, I mused to myself on my way back to our lodgings, was a problem entirely beyond my skill!