Chapter 6

CHAPTER XI"During the following month we made many new acquaintances, but the Major and Captain Frint were by far our most frequent visitors. Either Amy got over her dislike to epigrams, or her companion, on becoming more familiar with her, dropped the affectation, for they seemed fast friends."Captain Frint, on the other hand, while seeming anxious to be with me, was strangely reserved, and the restraint which he obviously kept over his feelings piqued and irritated me. Whatever women may say to the contrary, I fancy that they seldom like a man to show that he is able to keep his admiration too completely under control. It tends rather to awaken a distrust in the force of attraction, and we would rather that he at times forgot himself sufficiently to enable us to rebuke and chastise him."From what I could gather, Amy had nothing to complain of in this respect from her admirer; in fact she told me that there was some difficulty in keeping him within reasonable bounds. Her kitten-like nature probably encouraged him to show more familiarity than he might otherwise have thought prudent. As he was very wealthy I could not help wishing that Amy's attractions might prove strong enough to lead to a proposal before very long; and this scheme of mine seemed sufficient justification for the encouragement of intimacy between them."In following out this plan it was of course necessary that I should be thrown more often in the company of his friend than otherwise might have been considered prudent, for though accepting Amy's suggestion to a certain extent, I had no intention of going beyond a little harmless flirtation."It had been arranged that on a certain day, we four, accompanied by my father, should ride over to Hanston Castle, a ruin which was locally considered of great interest. On the day fixed my father had an attack of gout which prevented his coming, but as I was now competent to act as chaperon, we did not think it necessary to alter our plans."It was a lovely summer morning on which our military escort arrived. We had decided to start early and lunch at a small inn near the Castle; spend some little time wandering about, and return as soon as the air was sufficiently cool to make riding pleasant. We found it very hot going over, and I felt quite done up before we had come to the end of our twelve miles' ride. Everything was in readiness for us at the inn, thanks to the forethought of our companions, who had sent over some provisions beforehand."It was too hot, however, to enjoy even the excellent cold lunch provided, but the iced champagne was like nectar after our exertion. It may be that without knowing it we all drank more freely than usual. Personally, as we wandered round the old ruin afterwards, I felt conscious of more dreamy contentment than usual, and it struck me that Amy showed even more than her wonted spirits."But I was not able to criticize her for long as she challenged the Major to a race, declaring that he could not catch her before she reached the flag-staff on the top of the Castle. As neither Captain Frint nor I felt inclined for violent exertion of this kind, we wandered on round the battlements till a shady corner tempted us to sit down and rest."Whether it was the wine or the exercise I do not know, but as I threw myself down on the soft grass in this shady spot I felt a reckless delight in existence never before known. The place was absolutely secluded; a massive, moss-covered wall rose above us on the left; on our right was the buttress round which we had just passed, while in the empty moat in front some magnificent trees were growing, the foliage of which provided us with welcome shade."My companion sat down beside me, and after offering a cigarette, which I accepted, lighted one himself. For a few moments we smoked in silence, then a desire came over me to make this man who had lately seemed so cold, acknowledge that he was my slave. Not that I cared for him, but rather because I was interested to know the meaning of his late behaviour. I felt convinced that he was fascinated by me, and yet since the first evening of our acquaintance he had never said one word which could justify me in this opinion. Had it not been that whenever I turned in his direction I found that he was watching with that unmistakable look in his eyes which speaks so plainly, I might have imagined that I was wrong."Little by little I tried to draw him on to confession, guided by an instinct which most women possess, and which requires neither study nor thought. Often this instinct guides by ways that would seem diametrically opposed to the purpose, but which have, when followed out, the desired effect; for it is by subtle and unstudied opposition that men can most easily be overcome, and for this reason an artless girl, often without knowing it, exerts a power where the most skilful coquette would utterly fail. Nature in such cases, is a better teacher than experience, and many girls are blamed for leading men on by artifice who have never even thought on the subject."In the present case, however, I was not unconscious, though I allowed my natural instinct to guide me, but for some little time with small success; for though after each veiled attack my companion's face grew paler, and the look of repressed feeling was more plainly noticeable on his features, yet he continued to talk on trivial subjects, and all attempts to turn the conversation into a personal channel were adroitly set aside, though with manifest effort on his part."Probably when nature planned men and women it failed to make allowance for what are now called considerations of honour, and possibly this may have been the cause of my difficulty. Trusting, therefore, that it might be more easy to arrive at the desired point by starting on another path, I said--"'Are not men supposed to be more honourable than women?'"'I do not know,' he replied; 'but as men have more temptations to dishonour, they have more opportunity of showing off the quality and gaining credit; yet I fancy that the great battles are lost or won more often in private than in public. The noble deed that the world hears of is often the impulse of a moment--some unconscious act of heroism; there are many who can do great deeds under the inspiration of the hour, but how few can safely meet temptation day by day successfully, in moments of weakness as well as in times of strength! The day may come when the sword of honour is forgotten, and the man falls even before knowing that he is in the presence of danger.'"'You are very solemn and dull to-day. What has happened? Are you ill?' As I said this I put out my hand and just touched his arm. 'Can I not help you in any way? Tell me, what has been disturbing you so much lately? We are friends, you know, and friendship is a poor thing where there is no confidence. Besides, if you remember, I have already confided in you once.'"He was trembling visibly, and looking up into his face, I knew that I had conquered."'I cannot tell you this,' he said; 'do not ask me.'"'Oh, very well!' I replied, pretending not to understand him. 'Of course a girl's sympathy is not likely to be any use to you. It was absurd of me to fancy that it might be, and very probably you think I am not to be trusted.'"'It is cruel of you to say that,' he replied. 'There is no one I would sooner trust. There is no one whose sympathy I long for more. But cannot you understand that there are some things that I may have no right to speak to you about--have no right to feel, perhaps; but our feelings we cannot always control, though our words we can.'"'Oh, I don't want you to make me your confidant about anything which you consider I had better not hear,' I said, purposely still seeming to misunderstand him. 'Of course I can quite see that you may have something on your conscience which it would not do for you to tell me. However, I am sorry.'"'It is not that I've done anything that could not be told to a woman,' he replied, getting up from the ground and standing over me. 'Oh! why cannot you understand that it is to you, and you only, that I may not speak, because to tell you would be to make things worse, not better?'"'Whatever are you talking about?' I cried. 'Tell me at once what you mean. You have said either too much or too little, and I am justified in asking you to explain fully; or if you prefer to keep your secret from me, it must be at the cost of our friendship.'"'Vera,' he said, bending over me, 'have you not seen--do you not know that I love you? Love you so deeply that, had it been possible, I should long ago have torn myself away from the scene of temptation; but oh! my love, I could not! I have striven to hide my feelings so that you might never know, and I, fool that I am! believed it was possible. All I asked was to be near you, to worship you; and what is the result? You will now despise and hate me. Had you loved your husband it would have been different, for till I knew that he had treated you badly--till I felt that you were in the sight of heaven not really his wife--I only admired you, and thought what a fortunate man he must be. But when you trusted me with this sorrow, a new feeling sprang up--a fire that could not be quenched. Oh, I know how vile I must seem in thus taking advantage of your confidence. Have I not thought over it day and night, saying to myself it is her very loneliness which should make the thought of love impossible! But I deceived myself with that old and oft-repeated deception of friendship, of self-renunciation, of living for you. Oh, Vera, I could not help it. If you could only know how sweet, how lovely you are, you would forgive.'"He knelt down and kissed me on the forehead; then, apparently losing all further power of control, before I could decide what to say or do, he put his arm round me and kissed me on the lips and on the eyes. I leapt up, terrified by his passion, and conscious of a strange mixture of anger and pride: anger that he should have dared thus to insult me; pride that my beauty should so far overcome his reserve and honour."'Captain Frint!' I said, trembling so that I could hardly speak, 'I hate you--hate you! I thought you were a man to be trusted. I hope we shall never meet again.'"He stood before me, looking on the ground. His face was deadly pale; his features were drawn and pinched as though he were suffering from acute bodily pain."'You are right,' he said at last, though in so low a tone that I could barely catch the words. 'I am a brute--the vilest of men! There is no excuse, so I will not make things worse by speaking. The only thing that is possible I will do. You shall not see me again after to-day.'"As he spoke I could hear the strange sound which his parched lips made while he stammered out the words. When he had finished, for a moment I thought he would have fainted, but after a pause he seemed to recover somewhat, and continued--"'Vera, you can never know how I have tried to be honourable, and though you will not believe me, had I foreseen that this could have happened, I would willingly have suffered the pain of parting from you before, rather than thus have given you cause for hating me. Oh, to think that I, who worship you so, should have dared to profane those pure, sweet lips, have dared to offer you my cursed love! Why is fate so cruel? If we had met a year ago, that which is now sin might have been so different! I cannot tell--I dare not even think of it--you might have loved me! This law which now separates us would have come no longer like the angel of death between us, and what is a curse would have proved a blessing! Hell, the eternity of which stretches before me, might have been changed to the gate of heaven. Why are things so ordered that fate has made my love poison, and turned that which should have been the greatest of earth's blessings into a curse? I must never see you again--must try even not to think of you. To do the latter is impossible, but the former I will do.'"There was no mistake possible. The words he spoke were not caused by an exaggerated impulse of the moment; still less was he acting a part. He loved me, as I thought no one had ever done before, unselfishly yet passionately. I felt certain that if I said nothing, he would keep his word, and that this would be the last time I should have an opportunity of speaking to him. I did not like the idea of thus losing his companionship, but what was to be done? After thinking a minute, I said--"'Captain Frint, I am very sorry that this should have happened. I quite thought that you had too much respect for me to act in the way you have done--even though you cared for me. I suppose that what you suggest is best, if you feel that your power of self-control is so weak that you cannot see without insulting the girl you profess to love. This being so, it is certainly imperative that you should go; but you must remember that if you suddenly give up calling, and act in the way proposed, people will probably talk. I can hardly think that you are so weak as, in the excitement of the moment, you fancy, and therefore if you will promise faithfully never to forget yourself in this way again, I will forgive you this once, though mind, never again. Come,' I continued, holding out my hand, 'let us be friends--mind, friends and nothing more. You must get over this silly fancy. There are plenty of nicer girls than I am, unmarried and waiting for you. To one of these you can express all those pretty sentiments without a prick of conscience.'"'Thank you,' he said, 'I will promise not to forget, but can never hope to follow your advice. Do you think it would be possible to change so easily? You do not understand, and perhaps it is better you should not, how deeply I feel; but your forgiveness is the more generous, as this very depth of feeling is my only possible excuse.'"We sat without speaking for a few minutes, and then he suggested that we had better go and look for our companions."After wandering about for some little time we found them comfortably reclining against a buttress on one of the towers. As we went up the winding steps we could hear them talking about the view. Amy, I thought, had evidently less occasion for a chaperon than had her qualified protector; but I was more doubtful about this point after having seen her face, which was flushed and showed signs of an unusual, though suppressed, excitement. The Major has proposed, I thought."I had no opportunity of finding out if this surmise were correct till I went up to our room that evening; and even then Amy, instead of answering my question, at first persisted in hearing what Captain Frint had been saying to me."'He looked like a ghost when you came up,' she said; 'whatever had you been doing to the poor man?'"So I had to tell her, and was glad to find that she quite approved of my action, saying that it would have been a great mistake if I had let him go, and that it was only fair to punish him for his impertinence by a little extra tantalization."'If he had gone,' she said, 'he would have soon forgotten and taken up with some one else. Now you can keep him miserable as long as you like, for he is a safe man, you see, even as I told you.'"I should have felt disposed to argue the point, for her way of speaking annoyed me, but at the moment I was too anxious to hear her experience, so I said that it was her turn now to explain."'There is not very much to tell,' she answered; 'you came up at rather an inconvenient moment. Our friend had been giving me a long discourse on love, which rather perplexed me. At last he became more personal, and was saying that he loved me to distraction, but that for some reason he dared not at the moment ask my love in return--when we heard your footsteps down below, and he at once changed the subject.'"'I am sorry we came so soon,' I said. 'What did he mean, I wonder?'"'That is the curious part of it,' said Amy. And we spent half-an-hour trying to make various guesses, but not one of them came near to the mark, as we discovered later on."As time passed, I grew more and more annoyed with my admirer. He was polite, respectful, and reserved, but decidedly uninteresting, and evidently so afraid of falling again, and showing his love for me, that he became stiff and formal the moment we were alone together."Why, I thought, cannot men be more reasonable? There surely is some line between frigidity and fire. Moreover, as I got over my alarm at his first outburst of affection, I began rather to desire some sign of my influence, and even tried now and again to break through his reserve by indirect reference to what had passed between us, but for some time without avail."This piqued me, and one evening when we were alone together, I was seized with a mad impulse to make him break his promise."'I am glad to see,' I began, 'that you have got over your difficulty so easily. You know I told you at the time that you under-rated your power, and exaggerated your feeling. Certainly there has been no sign lately of a repetition of your fault. In fact I am inclined to think that you are even rather tired of my company.'"'You are mistaken,' he answered; 'there is one way, and one way only which I dare take. If I were to go ever so little beyond it I might go too far and again offend you. It is possible to be friendly with those we care little for, and to be cold to those we love; but to be intimate without showing our true feeling with one we care for above all others is, I believe, impossible. The strain would be too great. Some time or other the line would be crossed, the veil torn aside.'"'But,' I asked, 'don't you think you are making a good deal out of a little? Suppose you do like me, would it not be better to accept the position and have done with it? Face facts bravely. I do not love you, and in any case cannot marry you; but there is no reason why we should not be good friends. What more can you want? It's no good being cross because you cannot have the impossible. You are worse than the love-sick maiden who fell in love with the man in the moon, for she was content to look at her idol, and you are not even satisfied with being able to talk to and see yours, but must needs sulk.'"'You must know that it is not that,' he said. 'I am not cross, but I am afraid of myself. You cannot know how ashamed I felt after that day in the Castle, and as you were so forgiving and allowed me to see you again, it is doubly necessary for me to be on my guard.'"'Well, you have been very good since,' I said, 'and as it is evident that you are to be trusted, for the future you may be a little more natural, and not quite so stiff and proper. You may be quite certain that I shall not for a moment allow you to go too far. But I cannot see why a man and a girl cannot be friends without the ridiculous idea they are bound to fall in love. I really believe it was nothing else than this on your part, and you must make up your mind to get over it. To help you to do this I am going to be quite open and frank with you. I shall treat you as a companion whom I like, and you can forget I am a girl, and treat me in the same way.'"'I will try,' he said, 'but am rather doubtful of success. If you were not so pretty it would be easier.'"'Pretty--Oh! rubbish!' I replied; 'whatever has that, even if it were true, got to do with the matter? You can make up your mind if you like, with the help of that powerful imagination of yours, that I am as ugly as sin. Don't you think you can?'"I looked full in his face; for a moment his eyes met mine, then he turned away as I rattled on--"'Don't you think it would be rather nice if you made up your mind to dismiss all this foolish nonsense about love, and were to try the experiment of true friendship? You could say to yourself, "Here is a girl that I like, who is willing to be friends with me, but nothing more; I will show her what an unselfish friendship means." If you will try and do that, I, for my part, will forget all about the past, and be very nice to you. I shall be very strict, but at the same time endeavour not to take offence at little things, especially if I see you are trying to be good. Now what do you say to that?'"'Say?' he replied. 'Why, that you are far too good and noble to have anything to do with me. That if after what you have said I fail to show you true friendship, I am unworthy to be called a man! But, Vera----' He stopped, the word had evidently escaped him accidentally."'Well,' I broke in, 'I don't call that a very good beginning; but after all, there is no particular reason why friends should not call each other by their Christian names.'"'I forgot,' he stammered, 'I so often think of you by that name that it slipped out by accident.'"'Well, never mind, I promised not to be too strict,' I answered. 'But you must take care not to forget when we are in public, because you see people are so bad they cannot understand true friendship; but to show you that I have forgiven you, I will just for once call you Albert. It's rather a nice name, and seems to suit you. I think men, when they have been a long time away from home, must feel rather lonely if they never hear their Christian name. I suppose no one now calls you that, do they?'"'No,' he answered, 'and if you will sometimes, I shall be glad to think that no one else ever would.'"I put my hand up as if to cover his mouth, saying, 'Hush! you are already on the verge of transgression. Now, in future, when you are talking you must watch me very carefully. If I put my hand to my lips you will know that you have said something which is objected to. If I am seriously angry, I shall put up both my hands. Now don't forget!'"The weeks of early summer passed quickly and pleasantly by. It is true that my conscience occasionally troubled me, for the agreement which I had made with Captain Frint did not work out exactly as intended. Our friendship at times would have been open to misconception had some unseen observer been present. I will do my companion the justice he deserves, by saying at once that he seemed to strive against his love; moreover, his conscience troubled him, I fancy, more than mine disturbed me, and after each outburst of demonstration he suffered apparently from a deep fit of remorse, which struck me as rather amusing than otherwise."But familiarity bred contempt, and little by little we both got more callous over what I tried to justify as playing at love-making. It was some time before I had any idea that this play was likely to become serious as far as my own feelings were concerned; but after a time a suspicion arose in my mind which I tried to stifle, that some great change had taken place in my heart. I found that life had begun to assume a different aspect. Time no longer hung heavily on my hands, but was divided into about equal periods of depression and exultation. My thoughts were running on one subject--the man who loved me."Then for the first time I began to realize the hopeless position in which we were placed, for though I believed that to live such a life as we now enjoyed would continue to satisfy me, yet even this was manifestly impossible; and I felt regret that we had drifted thus far upon a path which could only lead to the sorrow of parting. Up to this time any consideration for my companion's feelings in the matter had never occurred to me; but now I understood, and was more sorry for him than for myself. I had come across his path, and perhaps ruined his life. He had struggled nobly against his passion, while I had refused to let him go, and without any intention of returning his devotion had kept him from escaping the temptation. Now it seemed that I was being entangled in a like web, and it was impossible to see what would be the end of it all."Amy surprised me very much one morning by saying that she should be obliged to go home at the end of the week. She expressed great regret at leaving, but at the same time gave a reason for her return which, though unanswerable, was to me unsatisfactory. I felt convinced that she had some further object in view, which she did not care to mention. For a few weeks past our talks had been less confidential, partly owing to the fact that as I grew to care more for Captain Frint, I was less anxious to speak about him; and also that when we discussed the Major, while professing to have nothing further to communicate, Amy seemed desirous of avoiding the subject."On the Monday after she left I heard that Major Jackson had gone home on leave, and this seemed partially to explain her sudden change of plans."CHAPTER XII"I shall not attempt any explanation of a remarkable experience which happened some little time after Amy left, but shall give you a brief account of it."One lovely evening near the close of summer, sitting alone in the garden, dreamily listening to the soft hum of the insects and the distant murmur of the water, I was suddenly roused by the sound of a footstep, and turning toward the direction from which the sound came, I saw, greatly to my astonishment, Alan Sydney."At first sight I could hardly believe my senses, for though, after all, there was nothing so very extraordinary in his having returned to England, yet I fancied that he had gone away for some years, and I had lately hardly ever even thought about him."He was much changed, though it is not easy to describe in what way the alteration struck me. I had always been rather afraid of him, and I felt the fear now even more strongly than in the past. Yet his face, as he came nearer, bore no expression of severity, but only kindliness and pity."'You are surprised to see me, Vera,' he said; 'but you know I promised always to help you, and have, therefore, come now.'"'I am delighted to see you back,' I answered, holding out my hand to him. 'But why did you not write? My father will be delighted! You must come and see him at once.'"'Not now,' he replied, 'I only came to talk to you, and must go directly. Moreover, I do not wish you even to mention that you have seen me.'"Saying this he sat down by my side, and I, wondering greatly why he had come, said--"'Oh! I shall not hear of your going! You must tell me all about your travels. But, first of all, what made you fancy that I required your help now? You have already done so much for me it is difficult to imagine what further assistance so lucky a girl can need.'"'Perhaps,' he said, 'I have done too much. It is often the case that those who would help, by their very effort to do so, only hinder. But tell me, are you happy?'"As he said this he looked into my eyes, and there was something in his look which seemed to open my heart so that I could see what I had never fully known before. I tried to speak, but could not; then burying my face in my hands I wept. He placed his hand upon my head, and at his touch a feeling of rest and calm stole over me."Then he said--'Vera, why will you turn into the way of trouble? I have tried again and again to save you, but it is impossible to help one who wilfully, or even heedlessly, chooses that road which can only lead to sorrow. Every step taken over it has to be retrodden, and the smooth pathway will then be overgrown with thorns; the light of passion will have died out, and in weariness and darkness each step must be one of uncertainty and pain. I know how you have endeavoured to blind your eyes by false reasoning which can never help you, but the day of self-revelation always comes. You would argue that it is not your fault if men fall in love with your beauty, and that, placed in your position, it is more than usually difficult to act. But there is one thing that can always guide us--if, leaving our own position out of the question, and, caring nothing about our own salvation or our own end, we think but of others--of how each action will affect their lives. "Love and do as you like," said one of earth's noblest men. But it must be true love."There is a man who, in a limited sense, loves you, and whom, though in a still more limited sense, you love. He has tried nobly, considering his weakness, to keep that love pure, and when he found that his lower nature rebelled against his higher, he was willing, even anxious, to suffer the pain of separation rather than harm you. How knowing this, did you act? Did you consider him? Did you think--if I let him go on I shall be his eternal curse? He is now honourable, but he will become mean. Have you any idea what this implies to a man? When he is with you he may forget; but think of the solitary hours when he sees himself as he is, and knows that he is damning the girl he loves! If there is any nobleness in his nature, he must conquer his passion, or destroy his conscience. And each day it becomes more difficult to do the former--more imperative to do the latter. And you, consciously or unconsciously, have taken the very course which makes the path most difficult for him. Professing not to care for his love, you have well-nigh made it a point of honour that he should not leave you, whilst under the pretence of friendship you have taken every means to increase his infatuation. Already the infection of his feeling has influenced your nature. What will be the end? One of three things must happen. He will conquer either himself, or you, or the battle will destroy him. There is no other way open if you continue to act as you are doing now. The first would be the best, but whether it is now possible I doubt. Either of the other alternatives must lead to his utter misery and yours. Do not blind your eyes, Vera! You do not know how soon the fatal moment may come when it will be too late. And remember, do not think about yourself or your own safety--that will never help you. Think of the man who loves you, and save him.'"He stopped speaking, and for a few moments I was so overcome by his words that I did not move, but still sat with bent head, my face covered in my hands. When I looked up he was no longer by me."It was growing dusk, and I could not see him. I called his name, but there was no answer. He had gone! Shame prevented me from trying to find him. No wonder, if he knew all this, that he wished to have nothing further to do with one so vile!"It is surprising how hateful actions seem when placed in words, which, when only hid in the heart, trouble us little. If there be a God who can read the inmost thoughts, how great must be His love, or how overwhelming His contempt for us!"As Vera said this I found myself in darkness. The vision had gone, and being very tired I slept.PART IVCHAPTER XIIII have already mentioned that Alan Sydney was fond of hunting, and it so happened that a few days after the incidents related in the last chapter I overtook him riding to the meet. Since hearing his experience in India, and seeing more of his remarkable power, it seemed strange to me that a man with his advantages should still care for hunting, or even continue to live in the way he did at all. I took this opportunity of asking him some questions on the subject."I will try to explain to you," he said, "what seems, but is not, a contradiction in my life. One of the strongest powers which influences character is association. What a man once loves and cares for leaves him very slowly, and even death, as we call it, namely, the change in our surroundings, does not destroy the tendency of the past. No doubt it is owing to this that so often we see traces of the beast nature in man. Of all tendencies the desire to hunt, a necessary instinct of the lower creation, is most noticeable. It was doubtless this instinct that influenced me when young, as it has influenced so many; and I have explained to you before that I still find the sport of great service in taming and controlling my body.""But," I said, "your body must by this time be under such complete control that it would seem unnecessary.""There you are mistaken," he replied. "As long as the spirit is bound to earth it must be held more or less under the influence of animal instincts and animal requirements, which, if not rightly regulated, would react on the higher nature. It is quite true that, if I wished, it would now be only too easy to quit this material prison; but I have work to do here, and if my spirit once became free from earthly bonds it would never be able to take them up again, or influence the world through material agencies. Moreover, every new power gives added interest to each action of life; and I can assure you, that even in hunting there is ample opportunity for study, and even in some cases for gaining valuable experience.""In what way do you mean?" I asked."Firstly," he answered, "there is the pleasure of watching man's influence over the lower orders of life. Now it may seem strange to you, but it is far more difficult to influence a beast than it is a man. The power of will passes more reluctantly from me to my horse than it does from me to you; and long after I could make any man act in the way I wished, I was still unable perfectly to influence the will of a single lower animal. Yet for all that, there are men who have little or no power over human beings, able to exercise quite unconsciously a remarkable influence over beasts. This opens out a subject of great interest, which is more easily studied while hunting than at any other time. I have for some years perfected my control over horses, but it does not in the least detract from my interest in watching the unconscious action of other minds on the animals which they fancy they guide only by bodily force. You will see that I ride, as others, with bit and bridle, because I do not wish to cause attention, but they are unnecessary. This horse is absolutely untrained. I have never been upon its back before, and have good reason to know that it has never been hunted. I selected it simply because it has great bodily strength and endurance, together with the capacity, though not the training, for hunting."We were in a lonely part of the country, and I asked Sydney to give me some example of his power over this untrained horse. He laid the reins upon its neck, and then told me to mention anything which I wished to see the animal do."You can choose any likely or unlikely movement possible for a horse," he said; "only I should prefer that it did not roll."There was a big six-barred gate at the right of us, and I said, "Let him jump that."I had scarcely spoken before the horse turned, faced the gate, and cleared the top bar by about two inches."Come back over the hedge," I said. The horse did so."I should not care to jump into a hard road in that way with a loose rein," I remarked."No," Sydney replied, "it would not be wise; for though if a horse jumps perfectly there is no danger, yet often on landing a tight rein is useful. If, however, you watch the riders out to-day, you will see that two-thirds of their horses would jump better if they were left to their own devices. So many riders give the horse a check, not as he lands, but while he is in the air; and this causes more accidents than most people imagine."I then tried the horse in other ways, making it rear and kick, getting it to open the gate by lifting it with its teeth, and to do many other curious movements, which showed that its entire body was absolutely under the control of its rider's thought."With such a horse," I said, "you could do anything in the hunting-field, but I have seldom noticed you much to the fore when out with us, though of course every one knows that you ride well.""I have two reasons," he answered, "for not leading; as there would in that case be no opportunity of studying others, and also, that it seems to me hardly fair. There is no danger to me in facing any possible obstacle, however tricky or difficult, and I might lead others to follow who, through no fault of their own, would very probably come to grief."We had by this time overtaken two other riders, and our private conversation was at an end.I shall never forget that day. We had a most brilliant run, and I kept close to Sydney on purpose to watch his horse. Now that I had a key to the mystery, it was easy to notice the human instinct that guided its every movement. The country was difficult, or I should have found the occupation even more absorbing; as it was, much of my time was taken up in looking after my own animal, which unfortunately by no means always took its jumps in the way I desired.We had been galloping at a great pace for twenty-five minutes, and many of the riders were now far behind, when I noticed that we were approaching some fairly stiff rails, on the further side of which there was a broad, deep ditch full of water. If there is one obstacle to which I object more than another, it is a combination of this description.Three or four of the horses cleared it in safety, but a girl, riding just in front of Sydney, was unable to get her horse in hand. Consequently, instead of clearing the top rail the animal came with its full weight into the obstruction, broke the top bar, and getting its legs entangled in the lower timber, turned completely over into the water. So entirely were the horse's fore-legs fixed in the lower bars, that the girl seemed in great danger of being drowned.It is not easy to imagine a more awful position. To be pressed down with one's head beneath the water by a horse's weight, at the same time knowing that it is impossible to do anything to assist the animal in freeing itself!Sydney had taken in the position, and I saw his horse dash forward at full speed. When it came close to the broken rail, it swung quickly round, and striking the lower bars with a violent kick, sent the pieces flying in different directions. It thus freed the struggling horse, and then without a moment's pause plunged into the water. Sydney was now able to seize the lady's bridle, and for a moment everything seemed in confusion; then the rescuer's horse made a gallant plunge, reared up in the water and fell backward between the broken rails. The daring attempt was successful; the weight of the falling horse had given just the impetus Sydney required to lift the other animal and to free its rider, and amid the cheers of those who had now gathered round, the lady was borne in safety to the bank, terribly frightened, though uninjured.I hastened up to see if Sydney was hurt, but though his horse fell backwards, it had not even bruised him, owing to the skilful way in which at the last moment he had slipped aside. He now stood on the bank with a piece of the girl's broken bridle in his hand, and the bits of timber strewn round him.As we rode home later in the day, he surprised me by saying--"It was a foolish action, and I feel ashamed of having given way to the momentary instinct which prompted it.""What! saving the girl's life?" I said."No," he replied, "but the way I did it. You can easily fancy that I possessed other and simpler means of saving her without attracting attention to myself. But it is very difficult at times to check the inclination which we all have for exciting bodily action.""Well," I answered, "I do not think, considering the power you possess, any one could accuse you of making a display of it. Why, the breaking of the bars by your horse's feet was, I fancy, unnoticed by any one except myself. Others probably thought they had given way under the strain; while even your horse's rearing up and falling backwards would be considered only a fortunate accident.""That is quite true," he replied, "I was not thinking of display, to which weakness my nature at present tends very slightly; but rather that for the time being I allowed my body to do what my will could have effected better without its assistance. However, this is its day out, and perhaps it was only fair."I have mentioned this incident to show that Sydney, even while he possessed faculties so remarkable that one might have expected his body to influence his mind no longer, at times still allowed the former to hold temporary sway. He always impressed this point most strongly upon me, saying that those who profess most emphatically that they have the power to ignore material things, are, often, without knowing it, under the most serious bodily servitude, the servitude of disease; and that though it is quite true that the body should be brought into subjection to the spirit, this can only be done by keeping it always, as far as possible, in perfect action and health.CHAPTER XIVI was sitting alone in my study one morning about two days after our run, busily engaged in writing an account of it, when I found that Sydney was standing beside me. I started up, his presence taking me by surprise."I never heard you come in," I said."No," he answered, "I have been at Aphar since we last met, and seeing that you were alone I returned here instead of going to my house. As we are neither of us busy to-day, I thought you might like to hear the continuation of my story."We talked for some time about various subjects which led back eventually to the experiences which Vera had related to me."Tell me," I said, "was the girl really present? Or was this simply a delusion which you threw over me?""It is rather difficult to explain," he replied. "Vera was neither with you in body nor in spirit, yet it was her past nature that spoke, called up by the force of my will, even as it was her past form that you saw. I cannot fully explain this even to you, for in common with others you hold a false estimation of what people call time. Past, present, and future are convenient terms for men to use; but as a fact there are no such limitations, though it may be as difficult to comprehend this as it is to try and think of a universe that had no beginning and shall have no end. Many people accept the truth of this latter mystery, but would laugh at the possibility of the former; yet they are inseparably knit together. It is this which makes what we call sinning so terrible; it is the inability to understand this mystery that has led to some of the revolting views which are held in connection with the eternity of punishment and the indestructibility of Satan. But to continue my story."Though I made the strongest appeal possible, in the hope of saving Vera from the trouble which must follow if she still continued to allow her lower nature to rule her, I at the same time felt convinced that her moral power was not sufficiently developed to withstand the temptation. Impressed as she was at the time, this feeling was too likely to be transient. Future events proved that this view was correct. Whatever struggle Vera may have made at first, the effect was not noticeable after a few week's' time, and I knew that all my watchfulness would be required to prevent some great misfortune. It would have been easy to remove Captain Frint out of the way of temptation, either by what you might call hypnotism or in many other ways; but I was guided now by an influence which showed me that such actions can only delay the growth of nature. Under certain circumstances they may be justifiable, but should be employed only as a special opiate. For as in certain cases chloroform may be used on the body to prevent pain, but when the cause of the evil is not removed, proves only a dangerous means of delaying its effects, so the temporary destruction of another's will-power can only be right if employed in a special emergency."Though my chief interest was centred in Vera, I felt far more compassion in this case for her lover. It was a sad sight to see the terrible battle that at this time raged in his heart. One night while my body lay entranced, I visited him in spirit. How few of us suspect the double nature which lies concealed behind the superficial manner of any man or woman we meet. That proud bearing, that laughing face, that self-confident ease of manner, what may lie beneath each of these, those only who read the heart can say."The man was on his bed; his face was deathly white and damp with the dew of agony. He was speaking in that low, terrible accent of despair which some persons in moments of mental pain utter when alone, if they think that none can hear them. There is something very strange and weird in such soliloquy: as a rule we talk for effect, but in moments like these the words follow the mind, disregarding all rules of coherency or consistency. Part of the cause of this confusion is that the mind, acting more quickly than speech, leaves a sentence often unfinished."'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: agápê], 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.'"The scene changed. Vera was beside him even as he had seen her that day in all her beauty. They were sitting together on the deck of a vessel; the sun shone brightly, the sea was calm, and the gulls floated over them, moving splashes of glistening white against the deep blue of the sky. Yet even as they thus sat dreaming of love, and surrounded by calm and sunlight, he felt that they were sinking, and that no power could save them. Slowly the blue line of water rose till it was on a level with the deck, but still the motion of the vessel held the water in check. It rose to the bulwarks, and glistened in a dark steely line above it. Fear held them from moving, save that Vera threw her arm around him, pleading for a protection which none could give. The line broke in foaming torrents over the deck. There was a moment of struggle, and then darkness. From the midst of the darkness he heard a voice saying, 'Look up, for the hour of judgment is at hand.' Then he looked up, and behold hell lay open before him, the hell of human tradition in all the ghastly horror which man, in the deformity of his imagination, has conjured up out of his instinctive cruelty to make part of the creation of love. There lay Vera, condemned to eternal torment. The terrible anguish of her expression as I saw it through the medium of his distorted brain haunts me even now. Her white child-like arms thrown out in hopeless supplication, as she cried aloud to him in pitiful tones to save her, or at least to come near in this awful solitude of suffering; but he was unable to move or speak. The terrible realistic flames enveloped her; flames which none can quench, which violate every law of nature save one, which neither purify nor set free nor stay corruption, but only cause the pain which is their note of warning. Nor was this all. As if one torment that must necessarily absorb all powers of feeling which we know on earth--nay, which merciful nature would stay at once by her opiate of insensibility--were not enough, other horrors of man's imagination were added which are too revolting for words, yet which had all at one time been taught to this wretched man as essential parts of the Gospel of God, the good news of love. Had he not been mad such a picture must have been a revelation; if he, selfish as he was, could be thus overwhelmed with remorse and horror, what of the Father, the Creator who for ever must watch his child; who, being almighty was not bound; who being the Creator of all things was the Creator of this! As it was, the strain of anguish roused him from his dreams. He sat up in bed and cried aloud, 'My God! My God! It is not too late! I will save her! Though I die--though I be damned for ever! Vera, oh, my love, I will save you from this!'

CHAPTER XI

"During the following month we made many new acquaintances, but the Major and Captain Frint were by far our most frequent visitors. Either Amy got over her dislike to epigrams, or her companion, on becoming more familiar with her, dropped the affectation, for they seemed fast friends.

"Captain Frint, on the other hand, while seeming anxious to be with me, was strangely reserved, and the restraint which he obviously kept over his feelings piqued and irritated me. Whatever women may say to the contrary, I fancy that they seldom like a man to show that he is able to keep his admiration too completely under control. It tends rather to awaken a distrust in the force of attraction, and we would rather that he at times forgot himself sufficiently to enable us to rebuke and chastise him.

"From what I could gather, Amy had nothing to complain of in this respect from her admirer; in fact she told me that there was some difficulty in keeping him within reasonable bounds. Her kitten-like nature probably encouraged him to show more familiarity than he might otherwise have thought prudent. As he was very wealthy I could not help wishing that Amy's attractions might prove strong enough to lead to a proposal before very long; and this scheme of mine seemed sufficient justification for the encouragement of intimacy between them.

"In following out this plan it was of course necessary that I should be thrown more often in the company of his friend than otherwise might have been considered prudent, for though accepting Amy's suggestion to a certain extent, I had no intention of going beyond a little harmless flirtation.

"It had been arranged that on a certain day, we four, accompanied by my father, should ride over to Hanston Castle, a ruin which was locally considered of great interest. On the day fixed my father had an attack of gout which prevented his coming, but as I was now competent to act as chaperon, we did not think it necessary to alter our plans.

"It was a lovely summer morning on which our military escort arrived. We had decided to start early and lunch at a small inn near the Castle; spend some little time wandering about, and return as soon as the air was sufficiently cool to make riding pleasant. We found it very hot going over, and I felt quite done up before we had come to the end of our twelve miles' ride. Everything was in readiness for us at the inn, thanks to the forethought of our companions, who had sent over some provisions beforehand.

"It was too hot, however, to enjoy even the excellent cold lunch provided, but the iced champagne was like nectar after our exertion. It may be that without knowing it we all drank more freely than usual. Personally, as we wandered round the old ruin afterwards, I felt conscious of more dreamy contentment than usual, and it struck me that Amy showed even more than her wonted spirits.

"But I was not able to criticize her for long as she challenged the Major to a race, declaring that he could not catch her before she reached the flag-staff on the top of the Castle. As neither Captain Frint nor I felt inclined for violent exertion of this kind, we wandered on round the battlements till a shady corner tempted us to sit down and rest.

"Whether it was the wine or the exercise I do not know, but as I threw myself down on the soft grass in this shady spot I felt a reckless delight in existence never before known. The place was absolutely secluded; a massive, moss-covered wall rose above us on the left; on our right was the buttress round which we had just passed, while in the empty moat in front some magnificent trees were growing, the foliage of which provided us with welcome shade.

"My companion sat down beside me, and after offering a cigarette, which I accepted, lighted one himself. For a few moments we smoked in silence, then a desire came over me to make this man who had lately seemed so cold, acknowledge that he was my slave. Not that I cared for him, but rather because I was interested to know the meaning of his late behaviour. I felt convinced that he was fascinated by me, and yet since the first evening of our acquaintance he had never said one word which could justify me in this opinion. Had it not been that whenever I turned in his direction I found that he was watching with that unmistakable look in his eyes which speaks so plainly, I might have imagined that I was wrong.

"Little by little I tried to draw him on to confession, guided by an instinct which most women possess, and which requires neither study nor thought. Often this instinct guides by ways that would seem diametrically opposed to the purpose, but which have, when followed out, the desired effect; for it is by subtle and unstudied opposition that men can most easily be overcome, and for this reason an artless girl, often without knowing it, exerts a power where the most skilful coquette would utterly fail. Nature in such cases, is a better teacher than experience, and many girls are blamed for leading men on by artifice who have never even thought on the subject.

"In the present case, however, I was not unconscious, though I allowed my natural instinct to guide me, but for some little time with small success; for though after each veiled attack my companion's face grew paler, and the look of repressed feeling was more plainly noticeable on his features, yet he continued to talk on trivial subjects, and all attempts to turn the conversation into a personal channel were adroitly set aside, though with manifest effort on his part.

"Probably when nature planned men and women it failed to make allowance for what are now called considerations of honour, and possibly this may have been the cause of my difficulty. Trusting, therefore, that it might be more easy to arrive at the desired point by starting on another path, I said--

"'Are not men supposed to be more honourable than women?'

"'I do not know,' he replied; 'but as men have more temptations to dishonour, they have more opportunity of showing off the quality and gaining credit; yet I fancy that the great battles are lost or won more often in private than in public. The noble deed that the world hears of is often the impulse of a moment--some unconscious act of heroism; there are many who can do great deeds under the inspiration of the hour, but how few can safely meet temptation day by day successfully, in moments of weakness as well as in times of strength! The day may come when the sword of honour is forgotten, and the man falls even before knowing that he is in the presence of danger.'

"'You are very solemn and dull to-day. What has happened? Are you ill?' As I said this I put out my hand and just touched his arm. 'Can I not help you in any way? Tell me, what has been disturbing you so much lately? We are friends, you know, and friendship is a poor thing where there is no confidence. Besides, if you remember, I have already confided in you once.'

"He was trembling visibly, and looking up into his face, I knew that I had conquered.

"'I cannot tell you this,' he said; 'do not ask me.'

"'Oh, very well!' I replied, pretending not to understand him. 'Of course a girl's sympathy is not likely to be any use to you. It was absurd of me to fancy that it might be, and very probably you think I am not to be trusted.'

"'It is cruel of you to say that,' he replied. 'There is no one I would sooner trust. There is no one whose sympathy I long for more. But cannot you understand that there are some things that I may have no right to speak to you about--have no right to feel, perhaps; but our feelings we cannot always control, though our words we can.'

"'Oh, I don't want you to make me your confidant about anything which you consider I had better not hear,' I said, purposely still seeming to misunderstand him. 'Of course I can quite see that you may have something on your conscience which it would not do for you to tell me. However, I am sorry.'

"'It is not that I've done anything that could not be told to a woman,' he replied, getting up from the ground and standing over me. 'Oh! why cannot you understand that it is to you, and you only, that I may not speak, because to tell you would be to make things worse, not better?'

"'Whatever are you talking about?' I cried. 'Tell me at once what you mean. You have said either too much or too little, and I am justified in asking you to explain fully; or if you prefer to keep your secret from me, it must be at the cost of our friendship.'

"'Vera,' he said, bending over me, 'have you not seen--do you not know that I love you? Love you so deeply that, had it been possible, I should long ago have torn myself away from the scene of temptation; but oh! my love, I could not! I have striven to hide my feelings so that you might never know, and I, fool that I am! believed it was possible. All I asked was to be near you, to worship you; and what is the result? You will now despise and hate me. Had you loved your husband it would have been different, for till I knew that he had treated you badly--till I felt that you were in the sight of heaven not really his wife--I only admired you, and thought what a fortunate man he must be. But when you trusted me with this sorrow, a new feeling sprang up--a fire that could not be quenched. Oh, I know how vile I must seem in thus taking advantage of your confidence. Have I not thought over it day and night, saying to myself it is her very loneliness which should make the thought of love impossible! But I deceived myself with that old and oft-repeated deception of friendship, of self-renunciation, of living for you. Oh, Vera, I could not help it. If you could only know how sweet, how lovely you are, you would forgive.'

"He knelt down and kissed me on the forehead; then, apparently losing all further power of control, before I could decide what to say or do, he put his arm round me and kissed me on the lips and on the eyes. I leapt up, terrified by his passion, and conscious of a strange mixture of anger and pride: anger that he should have dared thus to insult me; pride that my beauty should so far overcome his reserve and honour.

"'Captain Frint!' I said, trembling so that I could hardly speak, 'I hate you--hate you! I thought you were a man to be trusted. I hope we shall never meet again.'

"He stood before me, looking on the ground. His face was deadly pale; his features were drawn and pinched as though he were suffering from acute bodily pain.

"'You are right,' he said at last, though in so low a tone that I could barely catch the words. 'I am a brute--the vilest of men! There is no excuse, so I will not make things worse by speaking. The only thing that is possible I will do. You shall not see me again after to-day.'

"As he spoke I could hear the strange sound which his parched lips made while he stammered out the words. When he had finished, for a moment I thought he would have fainted, but after a pause he seemed to recover somewhat, and continued--

"'Vera, you can never know how I have tried to be honourable, and though you will not believe me, had I foreseen that this could have happened, I would willingly have suffered the pain of parting from you before, rather than thus have given you cause for hating me. Oh, to think that I, who worship you so, should have dared to profane those pure, sweet lips, have dared to offer you my cursed love! Why is fate so cruel? If we had met a year ago, that which is now sin might have been so different! I cannot tell--I dare not even think of it--you might have loved me! This law which now separates us would have come no longer like the angel of death between us, and what is a curse would have proved a blessing! Hell, the eternity of which stretches before me, might have been changed to the gate of heaven. Why are things so ordered that fate has made my love poison, and turned that which should have been the greatest of earth's blessings into a curse? I must never see you again--must try even not to think of you. To do the latter is impossible, but the former I will do.'

"There was no mistake possible. The words he spoke were not caused by an exaggerated impulse of the moment; still less was he acting a part. He loved me, as I thought no one had ever done before, unselfishly yet passionately. I felt certain that if I said nothing, he would keep his word, and that this would be the last time I should have an opportunity of speaking to him. I did not like the idea of thus losing his companionship, but what was to be done? After thinking a minute, I said--

"'Captain Frint, I am very sorry that this should have happened. I quite thought that you had too much respect for me to act in the way you have done--even though you cared for me. I suppose that what you suggest is best, if you feel that your power of self-control is so weak that you cannot see without insulting the girl you profess to love. This being so, it is certainly imperative that you should go; but you must remember that if you suddenly give up calling, and act in the way proposed, people will probably talk. I can hardly think that you are so weak as, in the excitement of the moment, you fancy, and therefore if you will promise faithfully never to forget yourself in this way again, I will forgive you this once, though mind, never again. Come,' I continued, holding out my hand, 'let us be friends--mind, friends and nothing more. You must get over this silly fancy. There are plenty of nicer girls than I am, unmarried and waiting for you. To one of these you can express all those pretty sentiments without a prick of conscience.'

"'Thank you,' he said, 'I will promise not to forget, but can never hope to follow your advice. Do you think it would be possible to change so easily? You do not understand, and perhaps it is better you should not, how deeply I feel; but your forgiveness is the more generous, as this very depth of feeling is my only possible excuse.'

"We sat without speaking for a few minutes, and then he suggested that we had better go and look for our companions.

"After wandering about for some little time we found them comfortably reclining against a buttress on one of the towers. As we went up the winding steps we could hear them talking about the view. Amy, I thought, had evidently less occasion for a chaperon than had her qualified protector; but I was more doubtful about this point after having seen her face, which was flushed and showed signs of an unusual, though suppressed, excitement. The Major has proposed, I thought.

"I had no opportunity of finding out if this surmise were correct till I went up to our room that evening; and even then Amy, instead of answering my question, at first persisted in hearing what Captain Frint had been saying to me.

"'He looked like a ghost when you came up,' she said; 'whatever had you been doing to the poor man?'

"So I had to tell her, and was glad to find that she quite approved of my action, saying that it would have been a great mistake if I had let him go, and that it was only fair to punish him for his impertinence by a little extra tantalization.

"'If he had gone,' she said, 'he would have soon forgotten and taken up with some one else. Now you can keep him miserable as long as you like, for he is a safe man, you see, even as I told you.'

"I should have felt disposed to argue the point, for her way of speaking annoyed me, but at the moment I was too anxious to hear her experience, so I said that it was her turn now to explain.

"'There is not very much to tell,' she answered; 'you came up at rather an inconvenient moment. Our friend had been giving me a long discourse on love, which rather perplexed me. At last he became more personal, and was saying that he loved me to distraction, but that for some reason he dared not at the moment ask my love in return--when we heard your footsteps down below, and he at once changed the subject.'

"'I am sorry we came so soon,' I said. 'What did he mean, I wonder?'

"'That is the curious part of it,' said Amy. And we spent half-an-hour trying to make various guesses, but not one of them came near to the mark, as we discovered later on.

"As time passed, I grew more and more annoyed with my admirer. He was polite, respectful, and reserved, but decidedly uninteresting, and evidently so afraid of falling again, and showing his love for me, that he became stiff and formal the moment we were alone together.

"Why, I thought, cannot men be more reasonable? There surely is some line between frigidity and fire. Moreover, as I got over my alarm at his first outburst of affection, I began rather to desire some sign of my influence, and even tried now and again to break through his reserve by indirect reference to what had passed between us, but for some time without avail.

"This piqued me, and one evening when we were alone together, I was seized with a mad impulse to make him break his promise.

"'I am glad to see,' I began, 'that you have got over your difficulty so easily. You know I told you at the time that you under-rated your power, and exaggerated your feeling. Certainly there has been no sign lately of a repetition of your fault. In fact I am inclined to think that you are even rather tired of my company.'

"'You are mistaken,' he answered; 'there is one way, and one way only which I dare take. If I were to go ever so little beyond it I might go too far and again offend you. It is possible to be friendly with those we care little for, and to be cold to those we love; but to be intimate without showing our true feeling with one we care for above all others is, I believe, impossible. The strain would be too great. Some time or other the line would be crossed, the veil torn aside.'

"'But,' I asked, 'don't you think you are making a good deal out of a little? Suppose you do like me, would it not be better to accept the position and have done with it? Face facts bravely. I do not love you, and in any case cannot marry you; but there is no reason why we should not be good friends. What more can you want? It's no good being cross because you cannot have the impossible. You are worse than the love-sick maiden who fell in love with the man in the moon, for she was content to look at her idol, and you are not even satisfied with being able to talk to and see yours, but must needs sulk.'

"'You must know that it is not that,' he said. 'I am not cross, but I am afraid of myself. You cannot know how ashamed I felt after that day in the Castle, and as you were so forgiving and allowed me to see you again, it is doubly necessary for me to be on my guard.'

"'Well, you have been very good since,' I said, 'and as it is evident that you are to be trusted, for the future you may be a little more natural, and not quite so stiff and proper. You may be quite certain that I shall not for a moment allow you to go too far. But I cannot see why a man and a girl cannot be friends without the ridiculous idea they are bound to fall in love. I really believe it was nothing else than this on your part, and you must make up your mind to get over it. To help you to do this I am going to be quite open and frank with you. I shall treat you as a companion whom I like, and you can forget I am a girl, and treat me in the same way.'

"'I will try,' he said, 'but am rather doubtful of success. If you were not so pretty it would be easier.'

"'Pretty--Oh! rubbish!' I replied; 'whatever has that, even if it were true, got to do with the matter? You can make up your mind if you like, with the help of that powerful imagination of yours, that I am as ugly as sin. Don't you think you can?'

"I looked full in his face; for a moment his eyes met mine, then he turned away as I rattled on--

"'Don't you think it would be rather nice if you made up your mind to dismiss all this foolish nonsense about love, and were to try the experiment of true friendship? You could say to yourself, "Here is a girl that I like, who is willing to be friends with me, but nothing more; I will show her what an unselfish friendship means." If you will try and do that, I, for my part, will forget all about the past, and be very nice to you. I shall be very strict, but at the same time endeavour not to take offence at little things, especially if I see you are trying to be good. Now what do you say to that?'

"'Say?' he replied. 'Why, that you are far too good and noble to have anything to do with me. That if after what you have said I fail to show you true friendship, I am unworthy to be called a man! But, Vera----' He stopped, the word had evidently escaped him accidentally.

"'Well,' I broke in, 'I don't call that a very good beginning; but after all, there is no particular reason why friends should not call each other by their Christian names.'

"'I forgot,' he stammered, 'I so often think of you by that name that it slipped out by accident.'

"'Well, never mind, I promised not to be too strict,' I answered. 'But you must take care not to forget when we are in public, because you see people are so bad they cannot understand true friendship; but to show you that I have forgiven you, I will just for once call you Albert. It's rather a nice name, and seems to suit you. I think men, when they have been a long time away from home, must feel rather lonely if they never hear their Christian name. I suppose no one now calls you that, do they?'

"'No,' he answered, 'and if you will sometimes, I shall be glad to think that no one else ever would.'

"I put my hand up as if to cover his mouth, saying, 'Hush! you are already on the verge of transgression. Now, in future, when you are talking you must watch me very carefully. If I put my hand to my lips you will know that you have said something which is objected to. If I am seriously angry, I shall put up both my hands. Now don't forget!'

"The weeks of early summer passed quickly and pleasantly by. It is true that my conscience occasionally troubled me, for the agreement which I had made with Captain Frint did not work out exactly as intended. Our friendship at times would have been open to misconception had some unseen observer been present. I will do my companion the justice he deserves, by saying at once that he seemed to strive against his love; moreover, his conscience troubled him, I fancy, more than mine disturbed me, and after each outburst of demonstration he suffered apparently from a deep fit of remorse, which struck me as rather amusing than otherwise.

"But familiarity bred contempt, and little by little we both got more callous over what I tried to justify as playing at love-making. It was some time before I had any idea that this play was likely to become serious as far as my own feelings were concerned; but after a time a suspicion arose in my mind which I tried to stifle, that some great change had taken place in my heart. I found that life had begun to assume a different aspect. Time no longer hung heavily on my hands, but was divided into about equal periods of depression and exultation. My thoughts were running on one subject--the man who loved me.

"Then for the first time I began to realize the hopeless position in which we were placed, for though I believed that to live such a life as we now enjoyed would continue to satisfy me, yet even this was manifestly impossible; and I felt regret that we had drifted thus far upon a path which could only lead to the sorrow of parting. Up to this time any consideration for my companion's feelings in the matter had never occurred to me; but now I understood, and was more sorry for him than for myself. I had come across his path, and perhaps ruined his life. He had struggled nobly against his passion, while I had refused to let him go, and without any intention of returning his devotion had kept him from escaping the temptation. Now it seemed that I was being entangled in a like web, and it was impossible to see what would be the end of it all.

"Amy surprised me very much one morning by saying that she should be obliged to go home at the end of the week. She expressed great regret at leaving, but at the same time gave a reason for her return which, though unanswerable, was to me unsatisfactory. I felt convinced that she had some further object in view, which she did not care to mention. For a few weeks past our talks had been less confidential, partly owing to the fact that as I grew to care more for Captain Frint, I was less anxious to speak about him; and also that when we discussed the Major, while professing to have nothing further to communicate, Amy seemed desirous of avoiding the subject.

"On the Monday after she left I heard that Major Jackson had gone home on leave, and this seemed partially to explain her sudden change of plans."

CHAPTER XII

"I shall not attempt any explanation of a remarkable experience which happened some little time after Amy left, but shall give you a brief account of it.

"One lovely evening near the close of summer, sitting alone in the garden, dreamily listening to the soft hum of the insects and the distant murmur of the water, I was suddenly roused by the sound of a footstep, and turning toward the direction from which the sound came, I saw, greatly to my astonishment, Alan Sydney.

"At first sight I could hardly believe my senses, for though, after all, there was nothing so very extraordinary in his having returned to England, yet I fancied that he had gone away for some years, and I had lately hardly ever even thought about him.

"He was much changed, though it is not easy to describe in what way the alteration struck me. I had always been rather afraid of him, and I felt the fear now even more strongly than in the past. Yet his face, as he came nearer, bore no expression of severity, but only kindliness and pity.

"'You are surprised to see me, Vera,' he said; 'but you know I promised always to help you, and have, therefore, come now.'

"'I am delighted to see you back,' I answered, holding out my hand to him. 'But why did you not write? My father will be delighted! You must come and see him at once.'

"'Not now,' he replied, 'I only came to talk to you, and must go directly. Moreover, I do not wish you even to mention that you have seen me.'

"Saying this he sat down by my side, and I, wondering greatly why he had come, said--

"'Oh! I shall not hear of your going! You must tell me all about your travels. But, first of all, what made you fancy that I required your help now? You have already done so much for me it is difficult to imagine what further assistance so lucky a girl can need.'

"'Perhaps,' he said, 'I have done too much. It is often the case that those who would help, by their very effort to do so, only hinder. But tell me, are you happy?'

"As he said this he looked into my eyes, and there was something in his look which seemed to open my heart so that I could see what I had never fully known before. I tried to speak, but could not; then burying my face in my hands I wept. He placed his hand upon my head, and at his touch a feeling of rest and calm stole over me.

"Then he said--'Vera, why will you turn into the way of trouble? I have tried again and again to save you, but it is impossible to help one who wilfully, or even heedlessly, chooses that road which can only lead to sorrow. Every step taken over it has to be retrodden, and the smooth pathway will then be overgrown with thorns; the light of passion will have died out, and in weariness and darkness each step must be one of uncertainty and pain. I know how you have endeavoured to blind your eyes by false reasoning which can never help you, but the day of self-revelation always comes. You would argue that it is not your fault if men fall in love with your beauty, and that, placed in your position, it is more than usually difficult to act. But there is one thing that can always guide us--if, leaving our own position out of the question, and, caring nothing about our own salvation or our own end, we think but of others--of how each action will affect their lives. "Love and do as you like," said one of earth's noblest men. But it must be true love.

"There is a man who, in a limited sense, loves you, and whom, though in a still more limited sense, you love. He has tried nobly, considering his weakness, to keep that love pure, and when he found that his lower nature rebelled against his higher, he was willing, even anxious, to suffer the pain of separation rather than harm you. How knowing this, did you act? Did you consider him? Did you think--if I let him go on I shall be his eternal curse? He is now honourable, but he will become mean. Have you any idea what this implies to a man? When he is with you he may forget; but think of the solitary hours when he sees himself as he is, and knows that he is damning the girl he loves! If there is any nobleness in his nature, he must conquer his passion, or destroy his conscience. And each day it becomes more difficult to do the former--more imperative to do the latter. And you, consciously or unconsciously, have taken the very course which makes the path most difficult for him. Professing not to care for his love, you have well-nigh made it a point of honour that he should not leave you, whilst under the pretence of friendship you have taken every means to increase his infatuation. Already the infection of his feeling has influenced your nature. What will be the end? One of three things must happen. He will conquer either himself, or you, or the battle will destroy him. There is no other way open if you continue to act as you are doing now. The first would be the best, but whether it is now possible I doubt. Either of the other alternatives must lead to his utter misery and yours. Do not blind your eyes, Vera! You do not know how soon the fatal moment may come when it will be too late. And remember, do not think about yourself or your own safety--that will never help you. Think of the man who loves you, and save him.'

"He stopped speaking, and for a few moments I was so overcome by his words that I did not move, but still sat with bent head, my face covered in my hands. When I looked up he was no longer by me.

"It was growing dusk, and I could not see him. I called his name, but there was no answer. He had gone! Shame prevented me from trying to find him. No wonder, if he knew all this, that he wished to have nothing further to do with one so vile!

"It is surprising how hateful actions seem when placed in words, which, when only hid in the heart, trouble us little. If there be a God who can read the inmost thoughts, how great must be His love, or how overwhelming His contempt for us!"

As Vera said this I found myself in darkness. The vision had gone, and being very tired I slept.

PART IV

CHAPTER XIII

I have already mentioned that Alan Sydney was fond of hunting, and it so happened that a few days after the incidents related in the last chapter I overtook him riding to the meet. Since hearing his experience in India, and seeing more of his remarkable power, it seemed strange to me that a man with his advantages should still care for hunting, or even continue to live in the way he did at all. I took this opportunity of asking him some questions on the subject.

"I will try to explain to you," he said, "what seems, but is not, a contradiction in my life. One of the strongest powers which influences character is association. What a man once loves and cares for leaves him very slowly, and even death, as we call it, namely, the change in our surroundings, does not destroy the tendency of the past. No doubt it is owing to this that so often we see traces of the beast nature in man. Of all tendencies the desire to hunt, a necessary instinct of the lower creation, is most noticeable. It was doubtless this instinct that influenced me when young, as it has influenced so many; and I have explained to you before that I still find the sport of great service in taming and controlling my body."

"But," I said, "your body must by this time be under such complete control that it would seem unnecessary."

"There you are mistaken," he replied. "As long as the spirit is bound to earth it must be held more or less under the influence of animal instincts and animal requirements, which, if not rightly regulated, would react on the higher nature. It is quite true that, if I wished, it would now be only too easy to quit this material prison; but I have work to do here, and if my spirit once became free from earthly bonds it would never be able to take them up again, or influence the world through material agencies. Moreover, every new power gives added interest to each action of life; and I can assure you, that even in hunting there is ample opportunity for study, and even in some cases for gaining valuable experience."

"In what way do you mean?" I asked.

"Firstly," he answered, "there is the pleasure of watching man's influence over the lower orders of life. Now it may seem strange to you, but it is far more difficult to influence a beast than it is a man. The power of will passes more reluctantly from me to my horse than it does from me to you; and long after I could make any man act in the way I wished, I was still unable perfectly to influence the will of a single lower animal. Yet for all that, there are men who have little or no power over human beings, able to exercise quite unconsciously a remarkable influence over beasts. This opens out a subject of great interest, which is more easily studied while hunting than at any other time. I have for some years perfected my control over horses, but it does not in the least detract from my interest in watching the unconscious action of other minds on the animals which they fancy they guide only by bodily force. You will see that I ride, as others, with bit and bridle, because I do not wish to cause attention, but they are unnecessary. This horse is absolutely untrained. I have never been upon its back before, and have good reason to know that it has never been hunted. I selected it simply because it has great bodily strength and endurance, together with the capacity, though not the training, for hunting."

We were in a lonely part of the country, and I asked Sydney to give me some example of his power over this untrained horse. He laid the reins upon its neck, and then told me to mention anything which I wished to see the animal do.

"You can choose any likely or unlikely movement possible for a horse," he said; "only I should prefer that it did not roll."

There was a big six-barred gate at the right of us, and I said, "Let him jump that."

I had scarcely spoken before the horse turned, faced the gate, and cleared the top bar by about two inches.

"Come back over the hedge," I said. The horse did so.

"I should not care to jump into a hard road in that way with a loose rein," I remarked.

"No," Sydney replied, "it would not be wise; for though if a horse jumps perfectly there is no danger, yet often on landing a tight rein is useful. If, however, you watch the riders out to-day, you will see that two-thirds of their horses would jump better if they were left to their own devices. So many riders give the horse a check, not as he lands, but while he is in the air; and this causes more accidents than most people imagine."

I then tried the horse in other ways, making it rear and kick, getting it to open the gate by lifting it with its teeth, and to do many other curious movements, which showed that its entire body was absolutely under the control of its rider's thought.

"With such a horse," I said, "you could do anything in the hunting-field, but I have seldom noticed you much to the fore when out with us, though of course every one knows that you ride well."

"I have two reasons," he answered, "for not leading; as there would in that case be no opportunity of studying others, and also, that it seems to me hardly fair. There is no danger to me in facing any possible obstacle, however tricky or difficult, and I might lead others to follow who, through no fault of their own, would very probably come to grief."

We had by this time overtaken two other riders, and our private conversation was at an end.

I shall never forget that day. We had a most brilliant run, and I kept close to Sydney on purpose to watch his horse. Now that I had a key to the mystery, it was easy to notice the human instinct that guided its every movement. The country was difficult, or I should have found the occupation even more absorbing; as it was, much of my time was taken up in looking after my own animal, which unfortunately by no means always took its jumps in the way I desired.

We had been galloping at a great pace for twenty-five minutes, and many of the riders were now far behind, when I noticed that we were approaching some fairly stiff rails, on the further side of which there was a broad, deep ditch full of water. If there is one obstacle to which I object more than another, it is a combination of this description.

Three or four of the horses cleared it in safety, but a girl, riding just in front of Sydney, was unable to get her horse in hand. Consequently, instead of clearing the top rail the animal came with its full weight into the obstruction, broke the top bar, and getting its legs entangled in the lower timber, turned completely over into the water. So entirely were the horse's fore-legs fixed in the lower bars, that the girl seemed in great danger of being drowned.

It is not easy to imagine a more awful position. To be pressed down with one's head beneath the water by a horse's weight, at the same time knowing that it is impossible to do anything to assist the animal in freeing itself!

Sydney had taken in the position, and I saw his horse dash forward at full speed. When it came close to the broken rail, it swung quickly round, and striking the lower bars with a violent kick, sent the pieces flying in different directions. It thus freed the struggling horse, and then without a moment's pause plunged into the water. Sydney was now able to seize the lady's bridle, and for a moment everything seemed in confusion; then the rescuer's horse made a gallant plunge, reared up in the water and fell backward between the broken rails. The daring attempt was successful; the weight of the falling horse had given just the impetus Sydney required to lift the other animal and to free its rider, and amid the cheers of those who had now gathered round, the lady was borne in safety to the bank, terribly frightened, though uninjured.

I hastened up to see if Sydney was hurt, but though his horse fell backwards, it had not even bruised him, owing to the skilful way in which at the last moment he had slipped aside. He now stood on the bank with a piece of the girl's broken bridle in his hand, and the bits of timber strewn round him.

As we rode home later in the day, he surprised me by saying--

"It was a foolish action, and I feel ashamed of having given way to the momentary instinct which prompted it."

"What! saving the girl's life?" I said.

"No," he replied, "but the way I did it. You can easily fancy that I possessed other and simpler means of saving her without attracting attention to myself. But it is very difficult at times to check the inclination which we all have for exciting bodily action."

"Well," I answered, "I do not think, considering the power you possess, any one could accuse you of making a display of it. Why, the breaking of the bars by your horse's feet was, I fancy, unnoticed by any one except myself. Others probably thought they had given way under the strain; while even your horse's rearing up and falling backwards would be considered only a fortunate accident."

"That is quite true," he replied, "I was not thinking of display, to which weakness my nature at present tends very slightly; but rather that for the time being I allowed my body to do what my will could have effected better without its assistance. However, this is its day out, and perhaps it was only fair."

I have mentioned this incident to show that Sydney, even while he possessed faculties so remarkable that one might have expected his body to influence his mind no longer, at times still allowed the former to hold temporary sway. He always impressed this point most strongly upon me, saying that those who profess most emphatically that they have the power to ignore material things, are, often, without knowing it, under the most serious bodily servitude, the servitude of disease; and that though it is quite true that the body should be brought into subjection to the spirit, this can only be done by keeping it always, as far as possible, in perfect action and health.

CHAPTER XIV

I was sitting alone in my study one morning about two days after our run, busily engaged in writing an account of it, when I found that Sydney was standing beside me. I started up, his presence taking me by surprise.

"I never heard you come in," I said.

"No," he answered, "I have been at Aphar since we last met, and seeing that you were alone I returned here instead of going to my house. As we are neither of us busy to-day, I thought you might like to hear the continuation of my story."

We talked for some time about various subjects which led back eventually to the experiences which Vera had related to me.

"Tell me," I said, "was the girl really present? Or was this simply a delusion which you threw over me?"

"It is rather difficult to explain," he replied. "Vera was neither with you in body nor in spirit, yet it was her past nature that spoke, called up by the force of my will, even as it was her past form that you saw. I cannot fully explain this even to you, for in common with others you hold a false estimation of what people call time. Past, present, and future are convenient terms for men to use; but as a fact there are no such limitations, though it may be as difficult to comprehend this as it is to try and think of a universe that had no beginning and shall have no end. Many people accept the truth of this latter mystery, but would laugh at the possibility of the former; yet they are inseparably knit together. It is this which makes what we call sinning so terrible; it is the inability to understand this mystery that has led to some of the revolting views which are held in connection with the eternity of punishment and the indestructibility of Satan. But to continue my story.

"Though I made the strongest appeal possible, in the hope of saving Vera from the trouble which must follow if she still continued to allow her lower nature to rule her, I at the same time felt convinced that her moral power was not sufficiently developed to withstand the temptation. Impressed as she was at the time, this feeling was too likely to be transient. Future events proved that this view was correct. Whatever struggle Vera may have made at first, the effect was not noticeable after a few week's' time, and I knew that all my watchfulness would be required to prevent some great misfortune. It would have been easy to remove Captain Frint out of the way of temptation, either by what you might call hypnotism or in many other ways; but I was guided now by an influence which showed me that such actions can only delay the growth of nature. Under certain circumstances they may be justifiable, but should be employed only as a special opiate. For as in certain cases chloroform may be used on the body to prevent pain, but when the cause of the evil is not removed, proves only a dangerous means of delaying its effects, so the temporary destruction of another's will-power can only be right if employed in a special emergency.

"Though my chief interest was centred in Vera, I felt far more compassion in this case for her lover. It was a sad sight to see the terrible battle that at this time raged in his heart. One night while my body lay entranced, I visited him in spirit. How few of us suspect the double nature which lies concealed behind the superficial manner of any man or woman we meet. That proud bearing, that laughing face, that self-confident ease of manner, what may lie beneath each of these, those only who read the heart can say.

"The man was on his bed; his face was deathly white and damp with the dew of agony. He was speaking in that low, terrible accent of despair which some persons in moments of mental pain utter when alone, if they think that none can hear them. There is something very strange and weird in such soliloquy: as a rule we talk for effect, but in moments like these the words follow the mind, disregarding all rules of coherency or consistency. Part of the cause of this confusion is that the mind, acting more quickly than speech, leaves a sentence often unfinished.

"'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: agápê], 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.'

"The scene changed. Vera was beside him even as he had seen her that day in all her beauty. They were sitting together on the deck of a vessel; the sun shone brightly, the sea was calm, and the gulls floated over them, moving splashes of glistening white against the deep blue of the sky. Yet even as they thus sat dreaming of love, and surrounded by calm and sunlight, he felt that they were sinking, and that no power could save them. Slowly the blue line of water rose till it was on a level with the deck, but still the motion of the vessel held the water in check. It rose to the bulwarks, and glistened in a dark steely line above it. Fear held them from moving, save that Vera threw her arm around him, pleading for a protection which none could give. The line broke in foaming torrents over the deck. There was a moment of struggle, and then darkness. From the midst of the darkness he heard a voice saying, 'Look up, for the hour of judgment is at hand.' Then he looked up, and behold hell lay open before him, the hell of human tradition in all the ghastly horror which man, in the deformity of his imagination, has conjured up out of his instinctive cruelty to make part of the creation of love. There lay Vera, condemned to eternal torment. The terrible anguish of her expression as I saw it through the medium of his distorted brain haunts me even now. Her white child-like arms thrown out in hopeless supplication, as she cried aloud to him in pitiful tones to save her, or at least to come near in this awful solitude of suffering; but he was unable to move or speak. The terrible realistic flames enveloped her; flames which none can quench, which violate every law of nature save one, which neither purify nor set free nor stay corruption, but only cause the pain which is their note of warning. Nor was this all. As if one torment that must necessarily absorb all powers of feeling which we know on earth--nay, which merciful nature would stay at once by her opiate of insensibility--were not enough, other horrors of man's imagination were added which are too revolting for words, yet which had all at one time been taught to this wretched man as essential parts of the Gospel of God, the good news of love. Had he not been mad such a picture must have been a revelation; if he, selfish as he was, could be thus overwhelmed with remorse and horror, what of the Father, the Creator who for ever must watch his child; who, being almighty was not bound; who being the Creator of all things was the Creator of this! As it was, the strain of anguish roused him from his dreams. He sat up in bed and cried aloud, 'My God! My God! It is not too late! I will save her! Though I die--though I be damned for ever! Vera, oh, my love, I will save you from this!'

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