"Yes--you will see me again if you pa.s.s your ordeal successfully"--he answered--"Not if you fail."

"What will happen if I fail?"

"Nothing but the most ordinary circ.u.mstance,"--he answered--"You will leave this place in perfect safety and return to your home and your usual avocations,--you will live as most women live, perhaps on a slightly higher grade of thought and action--and in time you will come to look upon your visit to the House of Aselzion as the merest wilful escapade of folly! The world and its conventions will hold you--"

"Never!" I exclaimed, pa.s.sionately--"Aselzion, I will not fail!"

He looked earnestly in my face--then laid his hands on my head in a mute blessing, and signed to me to pa.s.s into my turret room. I obeyed.

He closed the door upon me instantly--I heard the key turn in the lock--and then--just the faint echo of his retreating footsteps down the winding stair. My room was illumined by a very faint light, the source of which I knew not. Everything was as I had left it before I had been summoned to the mysterious Chapel of the Cross and Star,--and I looked about me, tranquillised by the peace and simplicity of my surroundings. I did not feel disposed to sleep, and I resolved to write down from memory all that Aselzion had told me while it was fresh in my mind. The white veil I had been given still clung about me,--I now took it off and carefully folded it ready for further use if needed. Sitting down at the little table, I took out pen, ink and paper,--but somehow I could not fix my attention on what I intended to do. The silence around me was more intense than ever, and though my window was open I could not even hear the murmur of the sea. I listened--hardly drawing breath--there was not a sound. The extraordinary silence deepened--and with it came a sense of cold; I seemed to be removed into a place apart, where no human touch, no human voice could reach me,--and I felt as I had never felt in all my life before, that I was indeed utterly alone.

XVI

SHADOW AND SOUND

The stillness deepened. It seemed to myself that I could hear the quickened beating of every pulse in my body. A curious vague terror began to possess me,--I fought against its insidious influence, and bending my head down over the paper I had set out before me, I prepared to write. After a few minutes I managed to gain some control over my nerves, and started to put down clearly and in sequence the things Aselzion had told me, though I knew there was little danger of my ever forgetting them. And then--a sudden sensation came over me which forced me to realise that something or someone was in the room, looking steadfastly at me.

With an effort, I raised my head, and saw nothing at first--then, by degrees, I became aware that a Shadow, dark and impenetrable, stood between me and the open window. At first it seemed simply a formless ma.s.s of black vapour,--but very gradually it a.s.sumed the outline of a Shape which did not seem human. I laid down my pen,--and, with my heart thumping hammer-strokes of fear, looked at this strange Darkness gathered as it were in one place and blocking out the silver gleam of the moon. As I looked, all the light in my room was suddenly extinguished. A cry rose involuntarily to my lips--and physical fright began to gain the mastery over me. For with the increasing gloom the mysterious Shadow grew more and more defined--a blackness standing out as it were against another blackness,--the pale glint of the moonbeams only illumining it faintly as a cloud may be edged with a suggestion of light. It was not motionless,--it stirred now and then as though about to lift itself to some supernatural stature and bend above me or swoop down upon me like an embodied storm,--and as I still gazed upon it fearingly, every nerve strained to an almost unsupportable tension, I could have sworn that two eyes, large and luminous, were fixed with a searching, pitiless intensity on mine. It is impossible to describe what I felt,--a sense of sick, swooning horror overcame me,--my head swam giddily, and I could not now utter a sound.

Trembling violently, I rose to my feet in a kind of mechanical impulse, determined to turn away from the dreadful contemplation of this formless Phantom, when suddenly, as if by a lightning flash of conviction, the thought came to me that it was not by coward avoidance that I could expect to overcome either my own fears or the nameless danger which apparently threatened me. I closed my eyes and retreated, as it were, within myself to find that centre-poise of my own spirit which I knew must remain an invincible force despite all attack, being in itself immortal,--and I mentally barricaded my soul with thoughts of armed resistance. Then, opening my eyes again, I saw that the Shadow loomed blacker and vaster--while the luminance around it was more defined, and was not the radiance of the moon, but some other light that was ghostly and terrifying. But I had now regained a little courage,--and slight as it was I held to it as my last hope, and gradually steadied myself upon it like a drowning creature clinging to a plank for rescue. Presently I found myself able to ask questions of my inner consciousness. What, after all, could this Phantom--if Phantom it were--do to work me harm? Could it kill me with sheer terror? Surely in that case the terror would be my own fault, for why should I be afraid? The thing called Death being no more than a Living Change did it matter so much when or how the change was effected?

"Who is responsible,"--I said to myself--"for the sense of fear? Who is it that so mistrusts the Divine order of the Universe as to doubt the ultimate intention of goodness in things which appear evil? Is it not I alone who am the instigator of my own dread?--and can this dark, dumb Spectre do more to me than is ordained for my blessing in the end?"

With these thoughts I grew bold--my nervous trembling ceased. I now chose deliberately to consider, and WILLED to determine, that this mysterious Shadow, darker still as it grew, was something of a friend in disguise. I lifted my head half defiantly, half hopefully in the gloom, and the strange fact that the only light I saw came from the weirdly gleaming edge of radiance round the Phantom itself did not frighten me from the att.i.tude I had resolved upon. The more I settled myself into that att.i.tude the firmer it became--and the stronger grew my courage. I gently moved aside the table on which I had been writing, and stood up. Once on my feet I felt still bolder and surer of myself, and though the Shadow opposite to me looked darker and more threatening than before, I began to move steadily towards it. I made an effort to speak to it, and at last found my voice.

"Whatever you are," I said aloud, "you cannot exist at all without G.o.d's will! G.o.d ordains nothing that is not for good, therefore you cannot be here with any evil purpose! If I am afraid of you, my fear is my own weakness. I will not look at you as a thing that can or would do me harm, and therefore I am coming to you to find out your meaning! You shall prove to me what you are made of, to the very depth and heart of your darkness!--you shall unveil to me all that you hide behind your terrifying aspect,--because I KNOW that whatever your intention towards me may be, you cannot hurt my Soul!"

As I spoke I drew nearer and nearer--and the luminous edge round the Phantom grew lighter and lighter, till--suddenly a flash of brilliant colour like a rainbow glittered full on my eyes so sharply that I fell back, half blinded by its splendour. Then--as I looked--I dropped to my knees in speechless awe--for the Shadow had changed to a dazzling Shape of winged radiance,--a figure and face so glorious that I could only gaze and gaze, with all my soul entranced in wonder! I heard delicious music around me, but I could not listen--all my soul was in my eyes.

The Vision grew in stature and in splendour, and I stretched out my hands to it in prayerful appeal, conscious that I was in the shining Presence of some inhabitant of higher and more heavenly spheres than ours. The beautiful head, crowned with a diadem of flowers like white stars, bent towards me--the luminous eyes smiled into mine, and a voice sweeter than all sweet singing spoke to me in accents of thrilling tenderness.

"Thou hast done well!" it said--"Even so always approach Darkness without fear! Then shalt thou find the Light! Meet Sorrow with a trusting heart--so shalt thou discover an angel in disguise! G.o.d thinks no evil of thee--desires no wrong towards thee--has no punishment in store for thee--give Thyself into His Hand, and be at peace!"

Slowly,--like the colours of the sunset melting away into the grey of twilight, the Vision faded,--and when I recovered from the dazzled bewilderment into which I had been thrown, I found myself again in complete solitude and darkness--darkness unrelieved save by the dim light of the setting moon. I was for a long time unable to think of anything but the strange experience through which I had just pa.s.sed--and I wondered what would have happened if instead of boldly advancing and confronting the dark Phantom which had so terrified me I had striven to escape from it? I believed, and I think I was right in my belief, that I should have found every door open, and every facility offered for a cowardly retreat had I chosen to make it. And then--everything would have been at an end!--I should have probably had to leave the House of Aselzion--and perhaps I too should have been marked with a black cross as a failure! Inwardly I rejoiced that so far I had not given way, and presently yielding to a drowsiness that began to steal over me, I undressed and went to bed, perfectly tranquil in mind and happy.

I must have slept several hours when I was awakened suddenly by the sound of voices conversing quite close to me--in fact, they seemed to be on the other side of the wall against which my bed was placed. They were men's voices, and one or two were curiously harsh and irritable in tone. There was plenty of light in my room--for the night had pa.s.sed, and as far as I could tell it seemed to be early morning. The voices went on, and I found myself compelled to listen.

"Aselzion is the cleverest humbug of his time,"--said one--"He is never so happy as when he can play the little G.o.d and dupe his worshippers!"

A laugh followed this sentence.

"He's a marvel in his way,"--said another--"He must be a kind of descendant of some ancient Egyptian conjurer who had the trick of playing with fire. There is nothing in the line of so-called miracle he cannot do,--and of course those who are ignorant of his methods, and who are credulous themselves--"

"Like the woman here,"--interposed the first voice.

"Yes--like the woman here--little fool!"--and there was more laughter--"Fancying herself in love with Rafel Santoris!"

I sat up in bed, straining my ears now for every word. My cheeks were burning--my heart beating--I hardly knew what to think. There was a silence for two or three minutes--minutes that seemed like ages in my longing to hear more.

"Santoris always managed to amuse himself!"--said a thin, sharp voice with a mocking ring in its tone--"There was always some woman or other in love with him. Some woman he could take in easily, of course!"

"Not difficult to find!"--rejoined the first voice that had spoken, "Most women are blind where their affections are concerned."

"Or their vanity!"

Another silence. I rose from my bed, shivering with a sense of sudden cold, and threw on my dressing-gown. Going to the window, I looked out on the fair expanse of the calm sea, silver-grey in the early dawn. How still and peaceful it looked!--what a contrast to the storm of doubt and terror that was beginning to rage within my own heart! Hush! The voices began again.

"Well, it's all over now, and his theory of perpetuating life at pleasure has come to an untimely end. Where did the yacht go down?"

"Off Armadale, in Skye."

For a moment I could not realise what had been said and tried to repeat both question and answer--'Where did the yacht go down?' 'Off Armadale, in Skye.'

What did it mean?--The yacht? Gone down? What yacht? They were talking of Santoris--of Rafel, my beloved!--MY lover, lost through ages of time and s.p.a.ce, and found again only to be once more separated from me through my own fault--my own fault!--that was the horror of it--a horror I could not contemplate without an almost maddening anguish. I ran to the wall through which I had heard the voices talking and pressed my ear against it, murmuring to myself--"Oh no!--it is not possible!--not possible! G.o.d would not be so cruel!" For many minutes I heard nothing--and I was rapidly losing patience and self-control, when at last I heard the conversation resumed,--"He should never have risked his life in such a vessel"--said one of the voices in a somewhat gentler tone--"It was a wonderfully clever contrivance, but the danger of all that electricity was obvious. In a storm it would have no chance."

"That has been thoroughly proved,"--answered another voice--"Just half a gale of wind with a dash of thunder and lightning, and down it went, with every soul on board."

"Santoris might have saved himself. He was a fine swimmer."

"Was he?"

Another silence. I thought my head would have burst with its aching agony of suspense,--my eyes were burning like hot coals with a weight of unshed tears. I felt that I could have battered down the wall between me and those torturing voices in my feverish desire to know the worst--the worst at all costs! If Rafel were dead--but no!--he could not die! He could not actually perish--but he could be parted from me as he had been parted before--and I--I should be alone again--alone as I had been all my life! And in my foolish pride I had voluntarily severed myself from him!--was this my punishment? More talking began, and I listened, like a criminal listening to a cruel sentence.

"Aselzion will tell her, of course. Rather a difficult business!--as he will have to admit that his teachings are not infallible. And on the whole there was something very taking about Santoris--I'm sorry he's gone. But he would only have fooled the woman had he lived."

"Oh! That, naturally! But that hardly matters. She would only have had herself to blame for falling into the trap."

I drew myself away from the wall, trembling and sick with dread.

Mechanically I dressed myself, and stared out at the gold of the sun which was now pouring its radiance full on the sea. The beauty of the scene moved me not at all--nothing mattered. All that my consciousness could take in was that, according to what I had heard, Rafel was dead,--drowned in the sea over which his fairy vessel the 'Dream' had sailed so lightly--and that all he had said of our knowledge of each other in former lives, and of the love which had drawn us together, was mere 'fooling'! I leaned out of the window, and my eyes rested on the little crimson rose that still blossomed against the wall in fragrant confidence. And then I spoke aloud, hardly conscious of my own words--

"It is wicked"--I said--"wicked of G.o.d to allow us to imagine beautiful things that have no existence! It is cruel to ordain us to love, if love must end in disappointment and treachery! It would be better to teach us at once that life is intended to be hard and plain and without tenderness or truth, than to lead our souls into a fool's paradise!"

Then--all at once--I remembered the dark Phantom of the night and its transformation into the Vision of an Angel. I had struggled against the terror of its first spectral appearance, and had conquered my fears,--why was I now shaken from my self-control? What was the cause?

Voices, merely! Voices behind a wall that spoke of death and falsehood,--voices belonging to persons I did not know and could not see--like the voices of the world which delight in uttering scandals and cruelties and which never praise so much as they condemn. Voices merely! Ah!--but they spoke of the death of him whom I loved!--must I not listen? They spoke of his treachery and 'fooling.' Should I not hear?

And yet--who were those persons, if persons they were, who talked of him with such easy callousness? I had met no one in the House of Aselzion save Aselzion himself and his servant or secretary Honorius,--who then could there be except those two to know the reasons that had brought me hither? I began to question myself and to doubt the accuracy of the terrible news I had inadvertently overheard. If any evil had chanced to Rafel Santoris, would Aselzion have told me he was 'safe and well' when he had conjured up for my comfort the picture of the 'Dream' yacht on the moonlit sea only a few hours ago? Yet with my bravest effort I could not recover myself sufficiently to be quite at peace,--and in my restless condition of mind I looked towards the turret door opening to the stairway which led to the little garden below and the seash.o.r.e--but it was fast shut, and I remembered Aselzion had locked it. But, to my complete surprise, another door stood open,--a door that had seemed part of the wall--and a small room was disclosed beyond it,--a kind of little shrine, hung with pale purple silk, and looking as though it were intended to hold something infinitely precious. I entered it hesitatingly, not sure whether I was doing right or wrong, and yet impelled by something more than curiosity. As I stepped across the threshold I heard the voices behind the wall again--they sounded louder and more threatening, and I paused,--half afraid, yet longing to know all that might yet be said, though such knowledge might mean nothing but misery and despair to me.

"All women are fools!"--and this trite observation was made by someone speaking in harsh and bitter accents--"It is not love that really moves them so much as the self-satisfaction of BEING LOVED. No woman could be faithful for long to a dead man--she would lack the expected response to her superabundant sentimentality, and she would tire of waiting to meet him in Paradise--if she believed in such a possibility, which in nine cases out of ten she would not."

"With Aselzion there are no dead men"--said another of the unseen speakers--"They have merely pa.s.sed into another living state. And according to his theories, lovers cannot be separated, even by what is called death, for long."

"Poor comfort!" and with the words I heard a laugh of scornful mockery--"The women who have loved Rafel Santoris would hardly thank you for it!"

I shuddered a little, as with cold. 'The women who have loved Rafel Santoris!' This phrase seemed to darken the very recollection of the handsome face and form of the man I had, almost unconsciously to myself, begun to idealise--something coa.r.s.e and common suggested itself in a.s.sociation with him, and my heart sank within me, deprived of hope.

Voices, merely!--yet how they tortured me! If I could only know the truth, I thought!--if Aselzion would only come and tell me the worst at once! In a kind of stupor of unnameable grief I stood in the little purple-hung shrine so suddenly opened to me, and began to dreamily consider the unkindness and harshness of those voices!--Ah! so like the voices of the world! Voices that sneer and mock and condemn!--voices that would rather utter a falsehood than any word that should help and comfort--voices that take a cruel pleasure in saying just the one thing that will wound and crush an aspiring spirit!--voices that cannot tune themselves to speak of love without grudging bitterness and scorn--voices--ah G.o.d!--if only all the harsh and calumniating voices of humanity were stilled, what a heaven this earth would be!

And yet--why should we listen to them? What have they really to do with us? Is the Soul to be moved from its centre by casual opinion? What is it to me that this person or that person approves or disapproves my actions? Why should I be disturbed by rumours, or frightened by ill report?