Part 3

“Sure enough, there was the skull, lying on the ground scarcely two yards from where we stood. For a moment neither of us stirred. Then with a common impulse we rushed forward and together raised the grewsome souvenir from the ground. At first it seemed much like any human skull except that it was unusually large, and polished so that its top glistened like a billiard ball. As we turned it around, however, a cry of astonishment broke from both. The eye sockets were not empty, but contained a pair of the oddest sort of eyes. They were perfect in shape and expression, and though carved from what seemed to be deep blue glass, looked almost too lifelike for pleasurable contemplation. But what added to the uncanny effect of the lidless blue orbs was the fact that they moved, being evidently set on some sort of bearing. So weirdly fascinating was the strange object that the sun was high before we could compose ourselves sufficiently to sit down to our morning meal; and even then our conversation was entirely of the skull and of the strange visitor who had come and gone so mysteriously. In comparing notes we found that our remembrance of that visitor’s dress and appearance agreed to the minutest details. Consequently if there had been any delusion it was one in which both had shared. But if the experience had been a delusion, how account for the skull? From time to time we glanced toward the spot where we had placed the uncanny object, half expecting that, too, would vanish. But no. It remained just where we had left it, its top glistening in the sun, its lidless blue eyes gleaming with an almost human expression. As I looked, for perhaps the twentieth time, at the grewsome thing I observed that the eyes were turned toward the left, and seemed gazing fixedly at the hillside above our camp. Seized by a strange idea I arose and turned the skull in the direction of the hill towards which the eyes looked. They stared straight ahead. Then I turned it in the other direction, and, to my astonishment, they looked towards the right. To make sure, I slowly turned it from one side to the other, and all the while the eyes kept their gaze riveted on the same spot. I had called Mitchell to observe the experiment, and he laughingly suggested that the skull was looking for the man who brought it there and then deserted it. But I was more serious. I had an idea concerning this strange phenomenon and was resolved to test the matter to the end. Holding the skull in one hand, I walked forward, every now and then turning the skull, whose eyes always turned in the same direction, as the needle of a compass points toward the north. I had in this manner gradually approached the hill, when it seemed as if the eyes had actually taken on a more intense gaze, and that that gaze was directed to a particular portion of the rocks which seemed to form a small recess. I moved forward more rapidly, the eyes continuing to stare at this place until I had reached the recess itself. The next moment I found myself within a natural enclosure, surrounded on three sides by precipitous rock, so steep as to be almost barren of vegetation, save here and there a clinging vine. Again I looked at the skull. Beyond a doubt its deep blue eyes were directed towards a particular portion of the rocky wall marked by a small depression, shaped like a diamond. Setting the grewsome thing upon a flat rock, I purposely turned the side of the jaw toward the point where the eye had been directed, and breathlessly awaited the result. Slowly, steadily, those lidless eyes turned until they rested again on the diamond-shaped depression.”

“And Mitchell?” said his hearer, “did this convince him?”

“Not at first, for he remained near our fire, watching my movements still with an incredulous smile. The smile faded, however, when a moment later I called him to my side and saying, ‘Watch the eyes and tell me what you think,’ began turning the skull slowly around on the flat rock. The eyes held their focus on the diamond-shaped incision, and I stood up and confronted my friend.

“‘Well,’ said he, and this time his accent indicated great agitation, ‘I believe you are right, and there’s some mystery here; let’s get to the bottom of it. I’ll go to the camp for an axe.’ Ten minutes later he returned with the only available tool we possessed, and I began hacking feverishly at the rocky wall, keeping the mark upon which the eyes were riveted as our guide. Before long we had a big slice of the rocky soil cut away, and Mitchell had just taken his turn at the work, when his axe suddenly buried itself in what seemed to be a soft shell of rock, the momentum throwing him flat on his face. The next moment a section of the earth, quite six feet each way, gave way, revealing to our astonished eyes a deep excavation. In the bright light of the morning sun which shone full upon it, lighting up its interior to the rear wall, it seemed about fifty feet inward.”

“A sort of cave?” said Leighton.

“Yes, but one made by human hands, as we discovered as soon as we crossed the threshold. The walls were cut and carved in many curious devices, while around the three sides ran a shelf cut in the rock, on which reposed many bones piled in regular heaps. A glance revealed the fact that they were human bones,—we were in some prehistoric sarcophagus. Presently, as our eyes became accustomed to the subdued light, we began to look about us more closely. I was examining a pile of bones at the end farthest from the opening, comparing them with the skull in our possession, when, finding them apparently of the usual size, I tossed a thigh bone carelessly back on the shelf. It struck the pile with more force than I had intended, and they all came tumbling to the floor; but as they fell they revealed what appeared then, and subsequently proved to be, a crystal casket. It was about eighteen inches long by six high, and a foot wide; and, as I took hold of it, it moved with my hand. Carrying it to the opening I set it down in the light. Then, for the first time, I saw that it was filled with a blue substance, whose nature I could not clearly make out, owing to the dust and dirt covering the case. Upon examining the lid I found that it was not hinged but simply set on over the top. A quick jerk brought it away, and there before our staring eyes lay a huge heap of blue stones, all cut, and polished to a dazzling brilliancy.

“‘Sapphires!’ cried Mitchell, and his eyes bulged from his head.

“‘Are you certain?’ I asked, almost breathless from amazement.

“‘Absolutely,’ he said. ‘Look at them,’ and he took a handful of the beautiful stones. ‘You never saw glass like that.’

“I thought as he did, but, being no judge of such things, was not too ready to let my hopes soar, only to be dashed to earth again. There must have been at least two pecks of them, ranging in size from a small pea to stones as big as the end of my thumb,—and all perfectly cut. Suddenly, as we stood gazing incredulously at the gleaming stones, my thoughts flew to the skull, and I ran to fetch it. As I brought it into the light I saw that its gaze was now riveted on the casket, the lidless blue orbs seeming actually to gloat over the piles of blue stones. A new thought flashed through my mind. Could it be—? Yes—undoubtedly—the eyes that we had thought only bits of blue glass were themselves sapphires, but larger and finer than any in the casket.

“Well, Mitchell and I were practical, first of all. As soon as we had recovered from our amazement we made a thorough search of the cave. Finding nothing more, however, we took ourselves and our precious burdens to the camp, and that very night we started for San Francisco.”

“And the stones proved really sapphires?” said Leighton.

“Sapphires! I should say so. The leading jewelers to whom we showed a few specimens upon our arrival in San Francisco, two days later, pronounced them gems of the first water, and gladly paid us twenty thousand dollars for sixty of the smaller stones. Upon parting company we divided the sapphires equally between us, and since then I have visited every capital of Europe, in each of which the stones have been pronounced flawless.”

“And that’s how you struck it rich?”

“Yes, but so far I have converted less than half of them into money. The remainder I have placed in the casket in a New York safe deposit vault, but the skull—”

As he spoke he gestured toward an ebony cabinet just above his head. There, behind a glass door, stood a huge skull, whose lidless blue eyes, looking out toward the distant city, seemed to pierce every obstacle between itself and the casket of sapphires over which it still kept watch and ward.

A Surgical Love-Cure.

BY JAMES BUCKHAM.

One dull, gray afternoon in November I was sitting in my office in Raymond Square, deeply absorbed in an article in my _Medical Journal_,—the description of an experiment conducted by a famous French surgeon for the purpose of determining whether sight could be restored to a blind person by engrafting the live nerve of a dog’s eye upon the shriveled and atrophied nerve of the patient’s eye. So engrossed was I in the fascinating details of the experiment that I did not hear the door of my office open, nor was I aware of the presence of a second person until a peculiarly deep-toned, rich, and musical voice broke upon my ear.

“Have I the honor of addressing Doctor Marston?”

I looked up, and saw before me a tall and graceful young man, smooth-shaven, and dressed in the characteristic clerical garb of the Church of England. His face was singularly handsome, of the clear-cut Grecian type, and was lighted by a pair of large, thoughtful brown eyes. With the exception of the mouth, the whole face was both intellectual and spiritual; but there was a certain fulness and sensuous curve of the lips which suggested a strongly emotive and possibly passionate nature under this calm and priestly exterior.

“Yes, I am Doctor Marston,” I said, replying to the young clergyman’s question. “Can I be of any service to you?”

“On one condition—possibly,” replied the young man, taking the seat which I indicated, and fixing his thoughtful brown eyes searchingly upon mine. For a moment we sat gazing intently at each other, and then I said, somewhat abruptly:—

“I beg to know the condition, sir.”

“It is this,” he replied; “that if I entrust my case to you, you will promise to keep it entirely secret, scientifically or otherwise, until after my death, should that occur before your own. And, in any case, you must agree never to reveal my name in connection with the affair.”

For some moments I sat turning over this peculiar proposition in my mind, conscious all the while that the brown eyes were fixed patiently, but anxiously, upon my face. At length I replied:—

“I have never as yet been called upon to undertake a case guarded by such secrecy as you seem desirous to throw about your own, and, to be frank, I dislike to commit myself to any transaction of the sort,—at least, until I know something of the nature of the trouble and the reasons for suppressing any mention of it. This much, however, I will agree to do. If you will describe the nature of your disease, I will then decide whether I ought to accept the case on the conditions imposed. Whether I accept or refuse it, I will agree to keep the matter a total secret, except so far as your own proposition gives me liberty to speak.”

A slight smile flitted over the young clergyman’s face. “Very well,” he said; “I accept your word of honor, as a gentleman should, and will proceed at once to describe the malady which has, perhaps justly, awakened your suspicions. To come at once to the point, then, know that, impelled by your well-deserved reputation as an anatomist, I have applied to you to perform a surgical operation _for the cure of love-sickness_!”

I started, the suspicion that flitted through my mind mirroring itself unconsciously in my dilated eyes.

“Ah, no!” exclaimed my companion seriously, reading the tell-tale revelation of my face. “I am not insane. My mind is as clear and logical at this moment as it ever was in my life, and the request which I make, a little reflection will prove to you, is not only reasonable, but scientific.

“First, however, let me state to you the circumstances which make me desirous to rid myself of the passion which I have confessed, thereby anticipating the question which is sure to rise to your lips. You are aware, of course, that the High Church movement in this country, as well as in England, has resulted in the formation of certain brotherhoods of the clergy, bound together by vows more or less approaching in strictness those which govern the clergy of the Church of Rome?”

“I was not aware of the fact,” I replied, as the young clergyman paused for an answer.

“It is indeed so,” he continued. “You will not be surprised, then, to know that by the vows of the Brotherhood of St. Michael, to which I consecrated myself soon after the days of my novitiate, celibacy is as strictly enjoined as upon the priesthood of the Church of Rome.”

“Indeed!” I exclaimed, carried away by some sudden feeling, which I cannot even now defend. “The more fools—”

But here I stopped, the great brown eyes with something like a flash of Olympic lightning piercing and enchaining mine. In another instant the deep, rich voice proceeded:—

“For ten years I have kept every vow of the brotherhood referring to woman, without a single spiritual struggle—wearing these restraints as Samson wore his chains. But something less than six months ago I met a woman—”

The young clergyman paused, throwing his head back against the green baize of the easy-chair in which he sat. For a moment I thought he had fainted, and sprang for a cordial; but, without taking his slowly opening eyes from the ceiling, he motioned me back, and continued, while an indescribably sweet and almost transfiguring smile lit his pale face:—

“A woman, said I? An angel! A vision of transcendent loveliness! She came into my life as a new star comes across the disk of an astronomer’s telescope, shedding its undiscovered light from eternity for him alone. O my Ethel! My angel! My lips yearn toward yours, my arms grope out to clasp you!—My God! What am I saying?”

The young priest sprang from his chair and stood trembling before me. His face was livid with the exercise of some tremendous mental effort, and I could see that the white nails of his clenched hands were driven deep into the flesh. For a full minute he stood thus, and then his strong frame relaxed, and he sank back into his chair, white as the paper on which I write, and weak as a babe. This time I pressed the cordial to his lips, and he did not refuse it. Presently he looked up with a faint smile, and said, “Now, sir, you see what my malady is. I have no need to describe it any farther.”

I stepped to the window and gazed up into the gray sky, as if looking for a solution of my perplexity. But my mind remained as blank as the dull expanse above the city roofs. Was this man insane, or was he really, as he said, in his right mind? Could the force of a mere amorous passion for a beautiful woman so carry away one of his character unless the man’s mental integrity was impaired? I turned suddenly, in response to the young clergyman’s voice. He had risen, and was advancing towards me.

“Do you believe in phrenology, Doctor Marston?”

“Most assuredly I do not.”

“Will you perform an experiment upon me to test the reasonableness of your doubt?”

“Do you mean by that, will I assume your case surgically?”

“Exactly.”

I turned to the window again. Here was certainly an opportunity to contribute something to the discussion of a vexed scientific question. Are the functions of the brain localized in its structure? So say Gall, and Spurzheim, and not a few other eminent anatomists. Well, every practical experiment looking towards the solution of this question has its value. Here was a strong, vigorous man, evidently possessed by the amative mania. It would be an operation of little difficulty and no great degree of danger to uncover the occipital protuberance at the base of the brain, where phrenologists claim that the organ of love is situated, and then—

“Well, will you take the case?”

The clergyman’s hand was on my shoulder. I turned and looked him squarely in the face. “Is it understood that you assume all the risk, and that you do not hold me responsible for the psychological result of an experiment which, so far as I am concerned, is purely physical in its character?”

“Certainly. We will have it so understood.”

“Then you may call at my office to-morrow morning at eleven. Eat a light breakfast, and, as far as possible, avoid excitement of every kind.”

It seemed strange instruction to be giving a clergyman; but the young man understood and nodded approval. In a few minutes he took his departure, and I returned to my _Medical Journal_—but not to read.

Precisely at eleven o’clock the next morning my singular patient walked into the office. I at once remarked upon his changed appearance. His face looked haggard, and there were heavy, dark rings under his eyes, appearing almost black at the inner corners of the lids.

“I have seen _her_,” he explained heavily. “She was at All Saints Chapel this morning. It was impossible for me to retire, or I should have done so. I had to fight my desire to look at her, to speak to her. I had to fight like a wild lion, and it has told on me, as you can see. But, thank God, it is over now!”

“I hardly think you are in a fit condition to endure a surgical operation,” I objected.

“For God’s sake, do not put it off any longer, doctor!” exclaimed the young clergyman, clutching my hand. “I would rather die than endure another day of such moral agony.”

“Very well,” I said; “I do not consider the experiment a dangerous one in any case—only exhausting.”

Five minutes later my patient, divested of coat, vest, and collar, lay stretched on the operating table. In five minutes more he was under the influence of ether.

My first procedure was to shave the dark, soft, silken hair from the lower part of the young man’s head. I then made two V-shaped incisions with a lancet at the base of the skull, where phrenologists locate the organ of amativeness, and raised the flap of skin from the skull. The next thing was to get at the brain itself, and this I accomplished by boring two fine holes through the skull with the smallest trephine known in surgery. The portion of the brain thus exposed, I was amazed to find, was in a highly inflamed condition. Instead of attempting to relieve the surcharged brain with any instrument, I now placed a leech at each orifice, and allowed a considerable amount of blood to be thus withdrawn. I then dressed the wound antiseptically, and closed it with sutures.

My patient soon came out from under the influence of the anesthetic, but appeared very weak. I lifted him in my arms and carried him to the couch in my private room. Enjoining strict quiet, and, if possible, sleep, I left him alone for a couple of hours. At the end of that time, considering it safe to permit him to talk, I reentered the room with considerable curiosity, not to say agitation, and asked him how he was feeling. To my astonishment, he grasped my hand warmly, exclaiming that he would consider me his greatest benefactor as long as he lived. “For,” he cried, “you have saved my soul from its otherwise certain ruin. Thank God! I feel now no more emotion at the thought of that woman than of any other of her sex.”

I brought my patient some refreshment, and at three o’clock he left my office in high spirits, promising to return again the next day to report upon his condition.

For three weeks the Rev. Alexander Maeck—as I will call my clerical patient—haunted my office every day, and we became fast friends. During all this time he was entirely free from disturbing sentiments. The flames of love, he declared, were quenched, and he was supremely happy.

So favorably, I must confess, did this experiment dispose me towards the neglected science of phrenology that I at once began to direct my studies in that direction, and soon accumulated a large number of expensive books on the subject. I also began to write up the details of my experiment, so as to get the matter into permanent shape while it was still fresh in my mind.

About six weeks after the occurrences above related, and just after I had posted an order for several hundred dollars’ worth of phrenological works, the letter-carrier came into my office and presented me with a large, square, cream-colored envelope. I tore it open carelessly, removed the enclosure from the inner envelope, and bent over two beautifully engraved cards which fell upon the table. They bore the names of Rev. Alexander Maeck and Miss Ethel Plympton.

The wedding was a strictly private affair: and perhaps the most remarkable thing connected with it was the fact that the would-be annihilator of Cupid was permitted to kiss the bride.

The Williamson Safe Mystery.

BY F. S. HESSELTINE.

One morning in the spring of 1894, the attention of persons walking along Sudbury Street, Boston, was attracted to a huge iron safe that was being put out from the warerooms of a well-known safe company, which for many years had done business on that street.

The way was blocked, and all passage by cars and teams prevented while a number of men, with great effort, by the aid of blocks, rollers, and windlass, drew the huge mass of iron onto the platform of a stout dray by which it was to be transported to its destination.

Of course passers-by wondered and queried as to the purpose and possible use of a safe of such unusual form and dimension. But the curiosity of the questioners remained unsatisfied; no one standing by knew, and the merchant with his employees was too busy to answer those who ventured to interrupt with their inquiries.

This much, however, was evident: the safe was not new; indeed, the style and appearance of it indicated that it had been built many years ago for some special purpose, in which it had doubtless seen long service. Altogether the appearance of this strange object so excited my curiosity that, although I was in a hurry to reach my office, I waited until the thing was finally loaded and moved slowly off up the street. Then I entered the store of the safe company, and, being well acquainted with the manager, I asked if he could give me the old safe’s history.

He replied that there was a strange story connected with it, known now only to himself. For certain reasons it never had been known except to two people, and they had been sacredly bound, one by personal interest and the other by a solemn vow, never to divulge the secret. “This promise,” he said, “has been faithfully and sacredly kept; but now all those in any way connected with or affected by it have passed beyond the dark river. The safe, which has stood here for many years like a specter, reminding me of the dead past, has now, to my great relief, vanished forever, and I know no good reason why the strange story should not be told. While I may withhold or change names in the recital, that which I am about to relate is true, and is capable to some extent of verification.