Part 16

"'Oh! that I might die!' he cried. 'Now--even now--I have no power--Vera, I shall harm you--you whom I love more than life--I have harmed you--I see it day by day--little actions show it--and, oh God! I dare not think of it--where is the end?--what can all this lead to?--misery! Oh! my mother--you who taught me to love that which is noble--to hate and scorn a weak and unmanly action--can you see me now? Do you watch me hour by hour, learning to despise and hate me?--Oh! that I could die and go to you--or if death is but the end--if there is no awakening, how peaceful to close one's eyes and know no more! It will kill me--kill me--when every spark of good that once was in my heart is gone--But why not now? I am going mad!--Things all seem confused--right and wrong--honour and dishonour--love and hate have no meaning--Vera, when I see you, I forget--I am happy--wildly, madly happy--yet I know not why. You belong to another, and I hate him. Oh! we are friends--only friends--and love is no earthly passion, but a communion of souls--What a farce--what folly! Would a soul feel as I do? it is a mockery--there is no soul anywhere--I doubt if there is a God. We are apes, dancing for the amusement of an audience of fiends! Oh! Vera, what have I said? That there is no spirit in you--it is impossible--I am the fiend who would drive the pure angel of your spirit into hell!'

"Thus did the wretched man ramble on until, exhausted by the excitement of remorse, he lay down and fell into a troubled sleep. While watching him I was conscious of a spiritual presence beside me, and knew that there had been another witness of his agony. The spirit of a woman was present, and I saw her, as it were, bending over him, and knew that it was his mother. What unending, untiring love was here! That pure affection which Saint Paul tried to explain when writing to the Corinthians by the word [Greek: agape], which taketh not account of evil, but covering all things, believing all things, hoping all things, and enduring all things, never faileth!

"I felt deeply concerned about the fate of this man, after what I had just seen and heard. His mental weakness, his morbid and excited rambling showed plainly that his mind was unhinged, and was beginning to give way under the strain put upon it. Moreover, to one who knew even as little as I did of the spirit world, the presence of his mother indicated some coming change in his existence, probably his death; for though there are exceptions, it is not often that the spirits of the dead are allowed to watch over the living: and this is a loving order of Providence, for as they cannot influence material things, their knowledge could only cause them useless suffering and be of little value to those they love. Sometimes, however, for the purifying of the souls of the dead, they are permitted to witness the misery of the loved when it is the outcome of their own selfishness on earth. And this is verily the Gehenna, or place of purification spoken of, in which the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched."

I stopped Sydney at this point to ask him a question. "You," I said, "often mention passages from the Bible. Tell me what you think about this book."

"I think," he replied, "that much of it is the word of God echoed on the mind of man, and that it is terribly neglected and sadly misunderstood. It is so written that all who will, may understand it as far as their mind is at one with the author. The purer, the wiser, the holier a man becomes, the more will it continue to reveal, till it shall stand out at last the miracle of miracles--the Book which contains all the mysteries of earth, yet is capable at the same time of concealing them from those who are not yet ready to receive the knowledge; for it follows its own teaching, and casts not its pearls before swine. To the beast nature it gives the bit, bridle, and lash, till they shall be guided by these to higher ground and purer air; but to the unselfish and pure, it is the true revelation of the Word of God. Of course it has had to go through the treatment, which an uncivilized humanity bestows on all spiritual gifts--the curse of worship. Once men had an elephant god, then a sun or moon god, and many have now a paper-and-ink god. For the animal nature clings to matter, and to good solid matter that it understands. Hence the extraordinary dislike which so-called believers in the Bible show for anything which is called spiritualistic or scientific; whereas the book they worship is, without exception, in the right interpretation of the word, the great book on spiritualism, and the most advanced treatise ever written on the higher branches of a science, to which the world at present is only feeling its way. It is the funniest sight in creation to see pigmy man getting angry, and struggling fiercely to protect the Word of God from His works; but after all, though it does not help the book, it may help its would-be protector, for he means kindly by his patronage, and cannot be expected to foresee with what reverence the greater wisdom of the future will hold the book of knowledge.

"But I had better continue my story now, and leave this subject, which opens out so many fields of thought, that there is no saying where we may wander.

"I knew that Captain Frint had been invited, together with some other of Mr. Soudin's friends, to stop at Somerville as soon as the shooting commenced, and I looked forward to this time with considerable anxiety. Vera would then be thrown much into her lover's society, and if she wished it, doubtless would be able often to attract him away from the sport, in which case they would be alone together. In the meantime I was watching Amy Howell's actions, yet without feeling that I had the right to interfere.

"Much had passed between this girl and Major Jackson, toward the end of her stay at Somerville, of which Vera knew nothing. The Major was, as you have already heard, wealthy, but this money had only been left quite recently, by an uncle who, up to this time, had given him a liberal allowance. The story is not very interesting. Sir Ralph Cane, after the death of his widowed sister, adopted her only child, William Jackson. The boy was brought up with his bachelor uncle, and became the presumptive heir to his property. The uncle, however, had a perfect mania against marriage, and told his nephew that if ever he took a wife, he must give up all hope of inheriting a fortune. This restriction did not trouble young Jackson at the time, nor in fact for many years; but while he was quartered with his regiment, in an out-of-the-way part of Ireland, he met a young girl with whom he imagined he was desperately in love, and married her privately. When Mr. Hancock, the girl's father, who was an unprincipled scoundrel, found that his daughter was married, and heard of the reason for secrecy, he commended the young Captain's prudence, and agreed to help him in every way to keep the marriage a secret till Sir Ralph Cane's death. As the old man was then seventy-six, he might have been expected to leave them free at any moment; but he nevertheless kept them practically separated for ten years. They had only one child, a boy, who was born seven years after the marriage, and was therefore at the time of which I am speaking, three years old. It is probable that if Major Jackson had not met Amy, he would have sent for his wife, though he no longer cared for her; and there is still less doubt that had his father-in-law been alive, he would have been compelled to do this, whether he wished or not. As it was, he made no mention of his uncle's death in the letters he wrote to Ireland, and his wife being in so out-of-the-way a part, had little chance of learning the news. Yet though the Major was infatuated, he had no intention of being prosecuted for bigamy, and after consideration decided to put his version of the case before Amy, and chance the result. He had been working up to this point when Vera discovered him at the Castle (an account of which incident you have heard), and it was some little time before he had another opportunity. When Amy heard the news she was not only much upset, but very angry. In a way she cared for this man, though his wealth was probably the chief attraction. The thought of having to give up all her bright dreams of ease, and comfort, and return to her poverty-stricken home, was very bitter. Major Jackson had fully expected an outburst of indignation, and was, or appeared to be, duly repentant for the way in which he had acted. He pretended that he had no hope of getting her to consent to his plans, which were that he should retire from the army, gather his wealth together, and with it and the girl he loved leave the country. He persuaded her that his wife would be sure to get a divorce, especially if he consented to make her a liberal allowance on this condition; that he would then be able to marry Amy, and she would be an honest woman, able to live in society without reproach. In fact, he talked much the usual nonsense, going only as far into the regions of improbability as he thought safe. For though the girl was unprincipled, she was no fool.

"To make this unpleasant account as short as possible, he eventually succeeded. Amy decided to return home for the purpose of getting certain things together which she might require, and he was ostensibly turning all his property into cash. As a matter of fact he did no such thing, the idea being strongly impressed on his mind, that a few thousand pounds would probably last as long as the girl's attraction. Vera had asked Amy to return as soon as possible, and as the Major had been invited for the shooting, they decided to meet at Somerville, and take their departure together a few days afterwards.

"Nothing happened to upset these plans, and the party met, as had been arranged, on the thirty-first of August. It was not long before Jackson was confirmed in his previous suspicion, that Frint and Vera were engaged in a dangerous flirtation, and the idea occurred to him, that it might not be impossible to persuade these two to join him. He had hired a yacht, which was now lying ready at Southampton, and he would by no means have objected, under the circumstances, to the company of a friend, who, being in a similar position, could not possibly reproach him. He decided, however, to consult Amy before doing anything; and in this he was wise, for while approving his plan, she gave him no little valuable advice as to the method most likely to succeed. In fact, she finally concluded that as the matter required delicate handling, it would be advisable for her to take the chief part of the task into her own hands. Her decision led to the following conversation between this clever schemer and Captain Frint--

"'Do you not think,' she said in the course of a conversation, 'that marriage is often a great mistake? That people would be much happier if only they had courage to put an end to this relic of barbarism?'

"'It often seems so,' her companion answered, wondering not a little what this unmarried girl had in her mind; for it is more often that we hear these sentiments from those who have experienced the bond. 'But,' he continued, 'we should require considerable alteration in the law and in public opinion before it would be wise to break through the custom.'

"'I don't know,' she said; 'public opinion will not change till the few, who are brave enough to oppose it, act. And the law is always a laggard, leaning on the crutch of stupidity until someone kicks it. Now look at Vera. She is tied down to a man for whom she cares nothing--a regular blackguard--bound to him by a mere legal act, and nothing more. Yet on account of this meaningless bond she is destined to go through life deprived of love, unprotected, and missing all the true joy of home. Now if I were a man and loved her, I should refuse to consider that a farce like this had any right to keep us apart, and if the world chose to think differently, well, so much the worse for the world!'

"'But you do not,' he said, 'consider the girl, and the position in which she would be placed. It is all very well for the man--he would lose little by such an action; but the woman's social life would be ruined.'

"'I ought to consider the girl's side,' she said, 'and I do. But men never understand us. Which do you think is better--to lose social life, as you call it, or real life? To be able to go everywhere and care for nothing, or to remain at home and be happy? But even the social question is only a matter of time if there is wealth. There would probably be a little scandal and then the world would forget all about it.'

"'I do not fancy,' he said, 'that you understand Lady Vancome. I feel certain that she would never consent to such a proposal even from a man she loved. And what is more, she would never allow herself to fall in love.'

"'Oh, indeed!' Amy replied laughing. 'So you think, Captain Frint, that girls are the same as men, and fall in love or out of it as prudence and conscience dictate. Vera could no more help falling in love if the right person turned up than--well, than I could! And what is more, she would disregard conventionality and follow her inclination if, mind, I say if, she did so at her lover's bidding; and so should I.'

"'You say that,' he replied, 'because you have not been tried; but I feel quite certain that you would never do anything of the kind.'

"'Can you keep a secret?'

"'I fancy so.'

"'Will you promise me, on your word of honour, however much you disapprove of what I am going to say, that you will not, directly or indirectly, act in opposition to me, or tell any one my secret?'

"'I promise.'

"She then told him what she intended to do; at the same time, by way of justifying her act, she libelled innocent Mrs. Jackson in a most outrageous manner. These libels were entirely the result of imagination, as she knew nothing about her, and had not felt inclined to inquire. Then, little by little, she drew the subject round, and without giving her companion a chance of remonstrating with her, spoke once more of Vera.

"'I feel so sorry to leave her,' she said, 'and wish that she and you were both coming, but of course you are far too proper a person to dare to think of such a step.'

"'I think,' he answered, 'that it is hardly necessary to go into my feelings in the matter, as whatever I wished, you must know full well that Vera--Lady Vancome, I mean--would never consent to do such a thing, even if she loved me, which is most improbable.'

"'It is nice to see such modesty,' Amy answered; 'but I know Vera pretty well, better a good deal than you do, and have no hesitation in saying that if she loves you, and I feel certain she does, you have only to ask her to come, and she will be delighted to follow you even to the other end of the world. However, I have said enough. If by any chance you two should care to join us, we should be most pleased. We leave here in three days from now, so you have not much time to think over your plans, but should act at once. I shall not refer again to the subject, but if you decide on anything you can let me know.'

"Having said this, and thinking it better not to give her companion time to reply, she got up and left the room.

"That afternoon Vera and Captain Frint were alone together. The girl was leaning back on a comfortable wicker lounge in the cool fernery which opened out of the house. The half-veiled sunlight which passed through the amber-tinted glass roof fell on her head, and lit up her soft wavy hair till it shone like the natural silk in which the chrysalis lies hidden. Behind her on a rockery of porous stone, delicate maidenhair and other semi-tropical ferns grew in luxuriant profusion, their roots entwined in the rockwork or twisted among the various mosses which covered it. A toy rivulet wound in and out among the ferns, now and again escaping from its confined bed and trickling over the rocks. This little watercourse was caught up at last by a miniature lake, and soaking through the bed of porous stone which formed the roof of a grotto, dropped down into a larger pool beneath, where gold and silver fish lay dreaming. The pleasant sound of water and the delicate scent from the flowers of an overhanging creeper made this favourite spot suitable for quiet talk or half-dreamy rest.

"Vera, who was peculiarly sensitive to her surroundings, could hardly have chosen a more unsuitable place had she known of the proposition that was about to be made to her, and supposing she wished to refuse it. Though she did not know, she suspected that her companion had something important to say, for Amy had not neglected an opportunity in which to throw out a few hints on the subject.

"'Vera,' Frint said almost as soon as the girl had made herself comfortable, 'how lovely you look to-day!' And as he said this he bent over and kissed her hair.

"She took no notice, and he kissed her forehead. She half raised one hand and he kissed her cheek. She put one finger on her lips, and he touched it with his own.

"'You are very naughty to-day, Albert,' she said. 'You must sit down over there where you will be out of the way of temptation.'

"As he sat down he said, 'Vera, I have been thinking a good deal lately.'

"'I wish you would give up the bad habit,' she replied. 'It is a foolish thing to do, and usually ends in making you grumpy and uninteresting. Let us be children, and live in the present as long as we can. Let us play, and be contented with our toys. If a child once begins to analyze his wooden horse, the interest vanishes, and he wants a real live one. If you persist in analyzing your game of love-making, you will end in wanting me to run away with you.'

"'But,' he said, 'in this case it is so difficult to know where to draw a line.'

"'Then don't try. That is what I told you just now not to do,' she said. 'Why cannot you be contented?'

"'Because I love you, and want to have you always with me,' he answered. 'Because I hate to see another man near you. Oh, Vera! it is all very well to talk about playing at love. When I am with you it is all right, I am happy. But when I leave you it is like going down to hell. It cannot go on, it is killing me. I must have you all in all or I must go. Tell me,' he said, 'do you not know some such feeling? Is it to you only a game of play? Am I nothing more than a toy which at any moment you could cast aside? Oh, Vera! do you not in your heart love me even a little?'

"'You are quite interesting to-day, Albert,' she said. 'You play your part to perfection. I will try to live up to you and play mine. We will pretend we are in earnest. Yes, dearest, I love you.'

"He fell into her mood. It would be easier in this way to say what he had decided to tell her.

"'Then let us picture a position,' he said. 'Amy and Jackson have decided, we will suppose, to run away together because, for some reason, they are unable to be married. And we will suppose that they are anxious for us to join them. A yacht is waiting to carry them away from this chilly land, and in some bright and sunny country they will live together, beyond the reproach of man, contented in their mutual love. Now the question is shall we go with them, dearest? It is impossible that we shall much longer be able to live as we are doing now. People will begin to talk, and then we shall be unable to see much of each other. Do you love me enough to do this? I know that I have no right to ask you.'

"When Frint looked up to see what effect his words had upon Vera, he was surprised, and even frightened by the expression on her face.

"'Tell me,' she said, 'is this true? Do you really mean what you say?'

"'It is true, dearest,' he answered.

"And then he told her the story, winding up by a passionate appeal that she would come. Though Vera had guessed something from Amy's words, and had promised not to repeat anything which Frint might tell her, she had little expected the whole truth, and was perfectly overwhelmed by the sudden proposal. Had she been allowed to think it out quietly, I feel convinced that she would have refused to go; but her lover, having thrown all scruples to the wind, and seeing his fate in the balance, got up and knelt beside her, and placing his arm round her, overwhelmed all reason in a torrent of passionate language and endearments till the smouldering embers which she had striven to smother burst out into a fire which she had no longer strength or inclination to control. Casting all thoughts of prudence, all fear of danger from her, she told him of her love, and burying her head upon his breast swore that without him she could not live, and would do whatsoever he desired.

"'I trust you, dearest,' she murmured, 'and would have no will but yours. Where you bid me go I will go; with you is life and joy, without you all is darkness, and I only seem to live. What do I care about the world, if you think that I am doing right?'

"I stood near them all the while, invisible to their eyes, and uncertain if I should reveal my presence. But some force restrained me; the time had not yet come.

"As I stood again beside the man's bed that night, I knew why I had not been permitted to interfere. A higher power than mine ruled and ordered his life. I have witnessed many terrible scenes. No person able to see into the inner lives of others can fail to do this, but neither before nor since have I been so moved to pity as on this occasion. The man slept, and his dream-thought wandered at first to one subject and then another. But in every case his fevered brain pictured some terrible scene. At last, as it were, the changing waves of painful thought concentrated in a series of pictures.

"In the first of these he was sitting in a dimly-lighted room. He was a boy once more, and his mother read to him pages from the Bible, but the texts were disconnected. 'Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.' 'Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones, it were better that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were cast into the depths of the sea.' 'And the smoke of their torment ascended up for ever and ever, and they have no rest day nor night.' 'Blessed are the dead.'