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<pre>

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Title: The Master of Silence

Author: Irving Bacheller

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</pre>

<p>Fiction, Fact, and Fancy Series Edited by Arthur Stedman</p>

<p>The Master of Silence</p>

<h1>The Master of Silence</h1>

<p>A Romance</p>

<p>By Irving Bacheller</p>

<p>New York Charles L. Webster &amp; Co. 1892</p>

<div>
<h2>THE MASTER OF SILENCE</h2>

<h2>CHAPTER I</h2>

<p>Near the end of my fourteenth year I was apprenticed to
Valentine, King &amp; Co., cotton importers, Liverpool, as a
&ldquo;pair of legs.&rdquo; My father had died suddenly, leaving me
and his property in the possession of my stepmother and my
guardian. It was in deference to their urgent advice that I left my
home in London (with little reluctance, since my life there had
never been happy) to study the art of money-making. On arriving at
the scene of my expected triumphs I was assigned to the somewhat
humble position of errand boy. In common with other boys who
performed a like service for the firm I was known as &ldquo;a pair
of legs.&rdquo; Lodgings of a rather modest character had been
secured for me in the western outskirts of the city near the banks
of the Mersey. I was slow to make friends, and my evenings were
spent in the perusal of some story books, which I had brought with
me from London. One night, not long after the beginning of my new
life in Liverpool, I was lying in bed listening to the wind and
rain beating over the housetops and driving against the windows,
when suddenly there came a loud rap at my door.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo; I demanded, starting out of
bed.</p>

<p>As I heard no answer, I repeated my inquiry and stood a moment
listening. I could hear nothing, however, but the wind and rain.
Lighting a candle and dressing myself with all haste, I opened the
door. I could just discern the figure of a bent old man standing in
the hallway, when a gust of wind suddenly put out the candle. The
door leading to the street was open, and the old man was probably a
straggler come to importune me for shelter or for something to eat.
As I relit the candle, he entered my room and stood facing me, but
he did not speak. His clothes were dripping and he was blinking at
me with strange, gleaming eyes. His hair was snow-white, and as I
looked into his face the deathly pallor of it frightened me. His
general appearance was more than startling; it was uncanny.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What can I do for you?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>Greatly to my surprise he made no reply, but with a look of pain
and great anxiety sank into a chair. Then he withdrew from his
pocket a letter which he extended to me. The envelope was wet and
dirty. It was directed to Kendric Lane, Esq., No. Old Broad street,
London, England. The address was crossed and &ldquo;22 Kirkland
street, Liverpool,&rdquo; written under it in the familiar hand of
my guardian. A strange proceeding! thought I. Was the letter
intended for my father, who was long dead, and who had removed from
that address more than ten years ago? The old man began to grin and
nod as I examined the superscription. I broke the seal on the
envelope and found the following letter, undated, and with no
indication of the place from which it was sent:</p>

<p class="letter">&ldquo;Dear Brother&mdash;I need your help. Come to me at once
if you can. Consequences of vast importance to me and to mankind
depend upon your prompt compliance. I cannot tell you where I am.
The bearer will bring you to me. Follow him and ask no questions.
Moreover, be silent, like him, regarding the subject of this
letter. If you can come, procure passage in the first steamer for
New York. My messenger is provided with funds. Your loving brother,
</p>
<p class="signature">&ldquo;Revis Lane.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I had often heard my father speak of my uncle Revis, who went to
America almost twenty years before I was born. Now he was my
nearest living relative. No news of him had reached us for many
years before my father died. I was familiar with his handwriting
and the specimen before me was either genuine, or remarkably like
it. If genuine he had evidently not heard of my father&rsquo;s
death.</p>

<p>Extraordinary as the message was, the messenger was more so. He
sat peering at me with a strange, half-crazed expression on his
face.</p>

<p>&ldquo;When did you leave my uncle?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>He sat as if unconscious that I had spoken.</p>

<p>I drew my chair to his side and repeated the words in a loud
voice, but he did not seem to hear me. Evidently the old man could
neither hear nor speak. In a moment he began groping in his
pockets, and presently handed me a card which contained the
following words:</p>

<p>&ldquo;If you can come, tear this card in halves and return the
right half to him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I examined the card carefully. The words were undoubtedly in my
uncle&rsquo;s handwriting. The back of the card was covered with
strange characters in red ink. I tore the card as directed and
handed him the right half.</p>

<p>He held it up to the light and examined it carefully, then put
it away in a pocket of his waistcoat. The look of pain returned to
his face, and he coughed feebly as if suffering from a severe cold.
The hour being late I intimated by pantomime that I desired him to
occupy my bed. He understood me readily enough and began feebly to
remove his clothing, while I prepared a sofa for myself. He was
soon sound asleep, but I lay awake long after the light was
extinguished. He was evidently quite ill, and I determined to go
for a physician at the first appearance of daylight. As soon as
possible I would go with him to my uncle. There were no ties to
detain me, and it was clearly my duty to do so. Perhaps my uncle
was in some great peril. If so, I might be of service to him.</p>

<p>When I arose in the morning my strange lodger seemed to be
sleeping quietly. His face looked pale and ghastly in the light of
day. I stepped close to his bed and, laying my hand upon his brow,
was horrified to discover that he was dead. What was I to do? I sat
down to think, trembling with fright. I must call in a policeman
and tell him all I knew about my strange visitor. No, not all; I
must not tell him about the letter, thought I. My uncle might not
wish it to be published to the world. I ran out upon the street and
told the first officer I met how the old man had rapped at my door
during the storm; how I had given him my bed out of pity, and how I
had discovered on awaking in the morning that he was dead.</p>

<p>That day the body was taken to the morgue. The sum of &pound;100
were found in his pockets, a part of which gave him a decent
burial. But while he had gone to his long rest, he had sown in my
mind the seed of unrest. I went about my work clinging to the
thread of a mystery half told. Whither would it lead me?</p>

<p>Strange as that messenger had seemed, he was certainly a good
man to carry secrets.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER II</h2>

<p>The multitude of legs, engaged by the pair in the service of
Valentine, King &amp; Co., were distinguished from each other by a
bit of house slang. I was known as &ldquo;last legs&rdquo; among my
companions for some time after my initiation to the warehouse. At
first I was inclined to resent the reduction of my individuality to
such a vulgar formula, but as I became inured to hard tasks the
sharpness of this indignity wore away.</p>

<p>There was one pair of legs doing service for the firm whose
owner became my most valued friend and confidant. In his business
capacity he was called &ldquo;long legs,&rdquo; but his proper name
was Philbert Chaffin. He was a tall, slim boy, with blue eyes and
light hair, the son of a stage carpenter, who was employed at one
of the cheap theatres and who lived within a stone&rsquo;s throw of
my lodgings. His language was a unique combination of bad grammar
and provincial brogue; but every boy in the warehouse allowed that
he was a good fellow. He had spent many an evening with me, and
confided to me many a secret which, owing to solemn pledges made at
that time, I am not at liberty to divulge, before he invited me to
dine and spend an evening with the family. I accepted his
invitation gratefully, and the next evening Phil took me over. It
was a hearty welcome that I received at the home of the Chaffins.
My enjoyment of their simple hospitality would have been perfect
but for the embarrassment I felt at the many apologies with which
it was offered. Mrs. Chaffin knew as &rsquo;ow the tea was not as
good as I was used to drinking, but she &rsquo;oped it didn&rsquo;t
taste &ldquo;murky.&rdquo; I assured her that it did not taste
murky, although a little doubtful as to the exact significance of
the word when applied to tea. But in spite of my declaration she
insisted that it must taste &ldquo;murky&rdquo; to one who was
accustomed to better things. The ham was never too good in
Liverpool, but she &rsquo;oped that it wasn&rsquo;t
&ldquo;reesty.&rdquo; I solemnly declared that it was not
&ldquo;reesty.&rdquo; But Mrs. Chaffin and Mr. Chaffin out of the
goodness of their hearts continued to condole with me on the score
that such ham tasted and must taste &ldquo;reesty&rdquo; to one not
used to it. I had no sooner satisfied their misgivings concerning
the ham than I was compelled to take issue with them as to the
bread, regarding which they entertained a lurking suspicion of
staleness. During all of this discussion about the ham, the tea and
the bread, I was conscious that a pair of big brown eyes, darkly
shaded with long lashes, were staring at me across the table.
Whenever I had the courage to glance that way I observed that they
had been looking at me intently, and were suddenly averted. These
wondering eyes belonged to the only daughter in the family.</p>

<p>&ldquo;They&rsquo;ve all been boys,&rdquo; said Mrs. Chaffin,
&ldquo;since Hetty was born.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I thought it strange that the H in her daughter&rsquo;s name was
the only one that the good woman had shown the ability to
manage.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hetty is the only one of the lot that takes to
books,&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;The head master told me she
will make a good scholar, and dear a me! she does nothing but read
books from mornin&rsquo; till night.&rdquo; While Hetty and her
mother removed the dishes we drew our chairs about the fire, and
Mr. Chaffin, a blunt, simple-minded man, entertained me with sage
observations regarding politics and the weather. He spoke rather
loudly, and in a key which, as I learned afterward, he only
employed on very special occasions. Presently the youngest lad in
the family, who sat on his father&rsquo;s knee, demanded a song.
The response was prompt and generous. The selection with which Mr.
Chaffin favored us contained upward of forty stanzas, relating the
unhappy story of a fair maid and a bold sailor, both of whom met a
tragic death, in the last stanza, just before the day set for their
marriage. The song being finished, Hetty and her mother drew their
chairs up to the fire; Hetty sat next me, and after a severe inward
struggle I summoned the courage to ask her a question. She answered
me in the fewest words possible, but in a voice so sweet and low
that I wondered then and often afterward at its contrast to the
other voices I had heard in that house. She wore a home-spun frock
and a neat white pinafore, set off with a dainty ribbon tied about
her throat.</p>

<p>&ldquo;She&rsquo;s uncommon still when strangers is here,
sir,&rdquo; said Mrs. Chaffin; &ldquo;but law me! she goes
rompitin&rsquo; about the house like as if she was crazy sometimes,
ticklin&rsquo; her father and tryin&rsquo; t&rsquo; snip off his
beard with the scissors.&rdquo;</p>

<p>That night was the beginning of happier days for me. When at
last I rose to go it was near midnight. I forgot my weariness as I
walked to my lodgings, thinking of those simple, honest people and
of their kindness to me.</p>

<p>I enjoyed high jinks at the house of the Chaffins at least once
a week during the next year of my apprenticeship, near the close of
which I began to get ready for a visit to my stepmother in
fulfilment of a promise I had made by letter. It had been, on the
whole, a happy year to me. I had known many lonely hours, to be
sure, but those visits to the little old weather-stained house, in
which I found my first friends after leaving home, cheered me from
week to week. I knew, too, that Hetty enjoyed those long evenings
as much as I did, which meant more to me than I would have dared
confess to her. I thought of her a good deal, but it always
resulted in the wretched feeling that we were both very young after
all. It is not likely that I would have decided to go home for a
fortnight, but that I thought it would be pleasant to observe the
effect of saying good-by to Hetty. I had no doubt that she would be
quite overcome with grief and loneliness after I had gone, and,
reckless youth that I was, nothing could have made me more happy
than to have known that she really felt grieved on my account. And
yet when I called to bid them all good-by, the evening before I
started, she betrayed no sign of regret. In fact, she seemed so
much happier than usual that I worried about it for weeks, even
after I had gone so far away that it seemed doubtful whether we
would ever meet again. It did not occur to me that I had been less
skilful than she in concealing my emotions, and that she might be
merry only because she could perceive that I was sad. Mrs. Chaffin
was the only member of the family who seemed to entertain feelings
as serious as my own. She had dreamed that I would not come back
again, and we all laughed at her then, but when the swift years had
revealed some of their secrets, we thought of this prophetic dream
with a sadness deeper than any that comes to childish hearts.
Hester and Phil walked with me to the gate when I left the house.
The radiance of a full moon fell on our faces through the flying
clouds. Phil, stupid fellow! had so much to say that I did not get
a chance to speak to his sister before she darted back to the house
as if pursued. On reaching my lodgings I was surprised to find a
gentleman waiting for me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t know me, eh?&rdquo; said he, shaking my hand
warmly.</p>

<p>He was a tall, portly man, with a kindly face, clean shaven
except for a pair of close-cropped, iron-gray side whiskers. I was
sure I had seen him before, but couldn&rsquo;t think of his
name.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Earl,&rdquo; said he, handing me a card on which his name
and address were printed as follows:</p>

<p class="card">DAVID GORDON EARL,<br />
Barrister at Law,<br />
Lincoln&rsquo;s Inn,London.</p>

<p>I remembered distinctly having accompanied my father to his
office on one occasion some years before.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve come up from London on purpose to see you.
Just got here only a few minutes ago,&rdquo; said he, laying off
his overcoat. &ldquo;But upon my word!&rdquo; he added, surveying
me from head to foot, &ldquo;I didn&rsquo;t expect to find such a
big, strapping fellow as you are. Your surroundings are quite as I
had supposed they would be. Cramped quarters in a miserable
tumble-down back street! I suppose your guardian provided this
place for you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I believe so,&rdquo; said I.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Did you know that your stepmother had married
again?&rdquo; he asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Married!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;To whom?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;To Martin Cobb.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;To my guardian?&rdquo; I asked, in astonishment.</p>

<p>Not heeding my question, he continued:</p>

<p>&ldquo;You&rsquo;re intending to go home to-morrow, I
believe?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;My boy,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;I have an interest in you.
I was your father&rsquo;s friend and adviser for many years. I came
all this distance to tell you not to go to London. Do not ask me
why, I beg you,&rdquo; said he, with an impatient gesture when I
attempted to speak. &ldquo;It would do you no good to learn my
reason for making this request. Listen to this&mdash;it&rsquo;s
important to you: There&rsquo;s an uncle of yours in America, your
nearest relative, I believe. Of course you have heard your father
speak of him. A most eccentric fellow! but a man of fine ability.
He was a graduate of Oxford and a physician of great skill and
learning. Thirty-five years ago he went to Canada and finally
settled in a large town on one of the great lakes not far from the
border. It was Detroit, I believe. Your father told me, shortly
before his death, that he had not heard from your uncle for many
years. I have written to him twice within a twelvemonth, but have
received no reply. I want you to go over and look him up. If you
should find that he is dead, there&rsquo;s no harm done, and you
can take time to look about for a business opportunity. If you
don&rsquo;t like it, come back, but, if you can content yourself
there for awhile, you had better do so.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;But, sir, I have no money.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You are going for me; I shall, therefore, insist upon
paying the bills. In the success of the undertaking I have,
perhaps, as great an interest as you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;When do you wish me to start?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;To-night. That is to say, I would like you to leave this
place at once, go with me to a hotel, and sail by the first steamer
that leaves for New York.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Ever since that strange and silent messenger had come to me with
my uncle&rsquo;s letter I had been haunted by a desire to go in
quest of him. Now that it was possible, I hesitated. What would
Hester say on hearing that I had gone to America? It would be very
grand to write her from New York that I had been suddenly called
abroad on important business. Would she care? Of course she would
care, and I was willing to wager a sixpence with myself that she
would cry bitterly, too, on receiving the letter. Ah, what a
punishment that would be for her coldness and indifference!</p>

<p>Yes, I would go. I began picking up my things and packing them
into my box.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I conclude that you have decided to go,&rdquo; he
said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, sir. I shall be ready in a moment,&rdquo; I
replied.</p>

<p>We were soon rattling over the pavements in a cab that had been
waiting at the door.</p>

<p>On arriving at the Northwestern Hotel we were informed that a
steamer would leave for New York at five in the morning. We drove
at once to the dock and having succeeded in making comfortable
arrangements for my passage Mr. Earl went aboard the steamer with
me. In a retired corner of the great cabin I confessed to him that
there was a girl in Liverpool for whom I had a feeling of
extraordinary tenderness.</p>

<p>He laughed heartily and insisted that I should tell him all the
particulars.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You are rather young yet to entertain so serious a
passion,&rdquo; said he, as he held my hand for a moment before
going ashore. &ldquo;You will get over it as easily as you got into
it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I sat down, unable to reply or to restrain the tears that came
to my eyes as he left me alone. I went to my stateroom at once and
to bed. What thoughts came to me as I lay there inviting sleep to
turn them into dreams, while the great ship waited for the tide! I
tossed about my berth; I prayed; I listened. At length I thought I
heard my father&rsquo;s voice mingled with others, and a sound of
casting off &mdash;but I heard no more.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER III</h2>

<p>One morning in early October, nearly two years after I left
Liverpool that memorable night, I found myself in the little city
of Ogdensburg, N. Y., past which the majestic St. Lawrence flows
with a sleepy movement quite in harmony with the spirit of the old
town on its southern shore. All this time I had been vainly beating
about the Western Hemisphere in quest of my uncle. He had left
Detroit many years before, but I chanced to meet a number of men
there who had known him well. Although he had enjoyed a very large
practice and a wide reputation for skill, he had made no friends
that I could find. He was a man of few words, they told me, and was
never seen about the city except in the discharge of his
professional duties. Various and conflicting opinions were
expressed as to whither he had gone, in testing which I had visited
no less than twenty cities, making careful inquiries, especially
among medical men. Occasionally I struck what seemed to be a
promising clew, which only increased my confusion and left me more
hopelessly in the dark. I had reported my movements to Mr. Earl as
often as once a week and I received letters from him frequently,
encouraging me to continue the search and enclosing money with
which to do so. But although I had written often to Hester Chaffin
no word from her ever reached me. I was tired of this fruitless
quest among strangers, so far from the little that I held dear, and
I was on the point of giving up when this paragraph fell under my
eye in a Montreal newspaper:</p>

<p class="newspaper" style="text-align:center">A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER.</p>

<p class="newspaper">&ldquo;One who has ever passed the city of Ogdensburg by steamer
will no doubt recall a large gambrel-roofed house standing near the
water&rsquo;s edge, just out of the town, surrounded by towering
trees and enclosed on all sides by a wall nearly as high as the
eaves of the building. The wall suggests an asylum, a house of
detention or some like place set apart for the unfortunate members
of society. In reality, however, it is the residence of a
mysterious recluse of the name of Lane, who shut himself up there
nearly eighteen years ago and has since been rarely seen. It was
built after his own plans, they say, when he came to Ogdensburg
with his wife, who died soon afterward. Nobody knows whence he came
or anything of his past history. He is apparently a total stranger
here below, holding no intercourse with the world beyond that
enclosure. His wife is said to have been a woman of great beauty,
and her death doubtless threw him into a morbid state of mind, from
which he has never rallied. Many years ago he is known to have
bought a full-grown African lion from a traveling menagerie, and,
soon after, he erected the wall, presumably out of regard for the
public safety. Passers along the street have caught an occasional
glimpse of him through the high gate, walking in the grounds
surrounding his house, with the lion at his heels apparently in
complete subjection to its master. A dense thicket runs along the
wall on all sides within the enclosure, which, according to local
tradition, is alive with rattlesnakes, bred for some strange
purpose known only to himself&mdash;perhaps to make his isolation
more secure.</p>

<p class="newspaper">&ldquo;He is supposed to have resigned the companionship of men
for study and scientific research. He has no children, and his only
servant being a deaf-mute, who is almost an idiot, there is little
chance at present of learning anything of his life. For more than
two years nothing has been seen of the mysterious master of the
house. His disappearance would, we think, be a legitimate subject
of investigation by the authorities of the town. May he not have
been eaten by the lion, or killed by the rattlesnakes? Who
knows?&rdquo;</p>

<p>My heart was beating fast and my hands shook as if stricken with
palsy before I had finished the paragraph. The strange old man who
had come to me in Liverpool that night was probably the mute
servant to which the article referred. In an hour I was on the way
to Ogdensburg, quite confident that the issue of my wanderings was
at hand. I reached that town next morning nearly two years, as I
have said, after the beginning of my journey to the New World. Not
stopping to breakfast even, I started out to find the house, which
my busy imagination had already pictured for itself. The first
townsman I saw directed me to the place.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Follow the turnpike,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;&rsquo;Sa
mild or more&mdash;straight ahead. You&rsquo;ll know it when
y&rsquo; git there. &lsquo;S&rsquo; queer place an&rsquo;
stan&rsquo;s off by itself.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The man was going my way, evidently to begin his day&rsquo;s
work, for it was then early in the morning, and I walked along with
him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Folks say,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;them grounds
is full of hejious reptyles, an&rsquo; I&rsquo;ve heerd fellers
tell queer things they&rsquo;ve seen when passin&rsquo; there at
night&mdash;red lights a-flyin&rsquo; about an&rsquo; spooks at the
winders. An&rsquo; one night, when Uncle Bill Jemson was
comin&rsquo; down the turnpike, they was a storm come up, an&rsquo;
jest as he got opposite the big iron gate they was a flash a
lightnin&rsquo;&mdash;an&rsquo; Bill says he see the ole man, his
long white hair a-flyin&rsquo; in th&rsquo; wind, an&rsquo; a lion
standin&rsquo; there in front a th&rsquo; house. Th&rsquo; flash
was out&rsquo;n a minit, an&rsquo; Bill whipped up his hosses
an&rsquo; sent em clear to Mills&rsquo; tavern on the dead
run,&rdquo; said he, laughing as if it were a good joke.</p>

<p>&ldquo;They don&rsquo;t nobody like th&rsquo; place ner
th&rsquo; man, though I don&rsquo; know why, fer no one&rsquo;s
ever passed a word with him in these parts. There &rsquo;tis, over
yender with the pines around it an&rsquo; th&rsquo; high
wall,&rdquo; said he, pointing with his finger. But my eye had
already discovered the low-built rambling house on the high banks
of the river, well in the distance, and had recognized it at
once.</p>

<p>Leaving my companion at the next turn in the road I walked
hurriedly on, and when I had reached the big iron gate I stopped
and peered through it. A gravel roadway, now overgrown with weeds,
led from the gate to the front of the house, which stood facing me.
It was built entirely of wood and consisted of four wings (at least
there were no others visible) evidently enclosing a quadrangular
courtyard, the rear wings being lower than those in front, and
hidden by the latter from the view of one standing at the gate as I
was. It was only at a distance that one could see their roofs above
the enclosure. There was but one line of windows along the front,
but there was an oriel just under the peak of the main building,
and I could see a skylight here and there upon the roofs.</p>

<p>The blinds were closed and there was no sign of life about the
house&mdash;evidently planned with hospitable intentions, but now
silent and forbidding. I tried the gates. They were locked
securely. A screen of closely woven wire rose from the pavement
half way up the iron work. Evidently it would be impossible to
reach the doors without scaling this barrier, and I was not yet
ready to try an expedient so desperate. Returning to my hotel I
wrote a letter to the master of the house, telling him of my
long-continued quest and of my hopes regarding our possible
kinship. Day after day I anxiously awaited his reply, until a week
had passed, but no word came from him. In passing the house at
different times, however, I observed some signs of life within
it&mdash;a blind open that had been closed the day before&mdash;a
faint glimmer of light on the trees in the rear of the grounds at
night, which might have come from the back windows. Even this
slight encouragement was gratifying, but as time passed without
bringing any reply to my letter I began to think that, after all,
my hopes rested on very shadowy foundations. One day I asked the
local postmaster if a man of the name of Lane, who lived near that
city, ever sent for his mail.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;The man is crazy, I guess,
and it&rsquo;s wasting postage to write him. He&rsquo;s a hermit,
sir&mdash;a regular hermit, and is about the same as dead, for
nobody ever sees him. The tradesmen tell me that his old servant
comes out of an evening, once in a while, to buy provisions, but
he&rsquo;s deaf as a post and dumb as an oyster.&rdquo; The
interview had at least shown me the futility of trying to reach him
by letter.</p>

<p>It was clear that only one course was open to me. I must brave
the unknown perils with which this strange man had encompassed the
path of the trespasser, and gain an entrance to the house. I sought
the seclusion of my room at once, and thought over the result of my
investigations. I had not written to my good friend in London since
my arrival in Ogdensburg, and I concluded not to do so until I
could give him definite information.</p>

<p>Late in the afternoon a slow, drizzling rain began to pour down,
and when night fell every luminary in the heavens was obscured by
thick clouds. It was a favorable time for carrying out my project,
as the darkness was intensified by a fog that had settled over the
city. By the light of my lamp I prepared for the undertaking, in
such a state of excitement that I was frequently startled by my own
whispers, through which I found myself now and then giving
involuntary utterance to my thoughts. Cutting up a pair of boots
which I carried in my box, I wound my legs in leather from my
ankles up above my knees, carefully drawing on a pair of thick,
long stockings to hold it in place. This precaution would give me a
comfortable sense of security, even if there were no snakes to
fear. I felt sure that the lion, if he were still living, would be
kept in some place of confinement.</p>

<p>It was long past bedtime, and the lights were out in every shop
and dwelling, when I started on my daring mission. The little lamps
that glared through the fog at the street corners could scarcely be
seen twenty feet away. I was so preoccupied that I frequently lost
my direction in the mud and darkness. It seemed as if I had been
traveling for hours, when at last I felt the big wall, and saw its
dim bulk rising above me and stretching away into the night.
Cautiouly I groped along its base until my hands felt the iron bars
of the gate. Then I stood for some moments leaning against them,
quite out of breath. They were cold and wet, and chilled me to a
shiver when I touched them. I peered toward the house but could see
nothing. I listened, but could hear nothing except the beating of
my own heart and the mournful sound of the pines whose loftier
branches were stirring in the still air. Grasping the heavy bars I
tried to climb the gate, but, as there were no projections on which
it was possible to get a foothold, I found this an exhausting and
difficult task. I climbed repeatedly several feet above the earth,
only to lose my foothold and slide down again. Finally, by exerting
all my strength, I succeeded in supporting myself with the edge of
my boot upon a crossbar about half way up; then, taking a small
rope from my pocket I threw one end of it over the gate, holding
the other in my teeth. Tying it securely by a noose I climbed hand
over hand to the top and then let myself down on the other side. I
was quite exhausted by the effort (unaccustomed as I was to such
burglarious enterprises) and my fingers were torn and bleeding from
forcing a hold between the iron work and the wire screen. I
remembered the gravel pathway, overgrown with grass, that led from
the big gate to a front door. I groped about in the darkness until
I felt the gravel under my feet. Then I moved cautiously along it,
until I could dimly discern the outlines of the house. My nerves
were so wrought up, while I stood there holding my breath to catch
some sound from its gloomy interior, that I was near crying out in
abject terror at every step. An owl, startled from the limb of a
tree over my head, flew lazily into the upper air and across the
thicket, disturbing other birds that set up a chattering protest.
Stealthily I crept from window to window, but the blinds were
closed fast. Finally I came to a door that seemed to open into the
main part of the building. Desperate under the strain to which my
nerves had been subjected, I knocked loudly on its upper panels.
The sound echoed through the still house and the thickly wooded
grounds around it. &ldquo;God help me!&rdquo; I whispered;
&ldquo;will that echo never cease?&rdquo; It kept repeating itself
from tree to tree, until I covered my ears to stop its weird
reverberations. Then I heard a low threatening sound, deep and
resonant as the lower tones of a great organ, that gradually grew
louder until its volume filled the air, and then died away, while
its echoes went chasing each other among the trees. In the silence
which followed, my ear caught another sound the like of which I had
never heard before. A dozen clocks being wound by quick turns on
all sides of me would, I fancy, have produced a similar effect. It
was evident to me that my knocking had disturbed my uncle&rsquo;s
pets, but I was not to be frightened away. Hearing no movement in
the house I tried the door, and to my astonishment it swung open. A
peculiar odor, such as one notices in a house that has long stood
empty, came to my nostrils, and again I heard that fateful
whirring, but in the darkness I could discern no object. As I
crossed the threshold the sound grew louder, and to my horror the
door closed suddenly behind me. Hurriedly striking a match, I held
it above my head and peered about me. Its light revealed a small
apartment finished in polished wood. Along the angle of the floor
was an opening, two or three inches high, into the side walls. And
half way up the wall in front of me I saw a face&mdash;the face of
a maniac it seemed to be&mdash;pale and wan, with strange, inhuman
eyes. I had scarcely glanced at it when the match dropped from my
fingers and fell slowly through the air, going out as it struck the
floor. My hands were cold, but so wet with perspiration that they
stuck to my clothing when I felt for a candle which I had brought
with me.</p>

<p>There are moments in every man&rsquo;s life that move slowly, as
if carrying the weight of years upon their backs. I shall never
cease to believe that the few seconds it took me to light that
candle must stand for as many years in any correct reckoning of my
age. When its beams at last illumined the room, the strange face
was still there. Had I seen it before? It was marvellously like
that other face which had haunted my dreams so long. If it was the
face of a man he must be standing on the other side of the wall and
looking through a panel.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is Mr. Lane at home?&rdquo; I asked in an unnatural tone
that startled me.</p>

<p>But no word of reply was spoken.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am his nephew and I have important news for
him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The face disappeared for a moment, and presently a shrunken
hand, holding a white sheet of paper, was extended through the
opening. I stepped forward, took the sheet and, withdrawing to the
centre of the room, sat down upon the floor and wrote the following
message in bold characters with my pencil:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Kendric Lane, son of Kendric Lane (deceased), late of
London, England, wishes to see Dr. Lane on business of
importance.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I handed the message to the strange man behind the wall, who
immediately disappeared with it, closing the panel. &ldquo;The
worst is over,&rdquo; thought I, while I stood in that mysterious
and silent chamber waiting for his return. But I should not have
thought so had I known what was still to be revealed to me before
the dawn of another day, and in the months that followed, during
which that house and its echoing groves were my home. And I
sometimes ask myself, in the light of later events of which that
visit was indirectly the cause, whether, had I been able to foresee
them, I would still have persevered in my purpose to know the
secrets of my uncle&rsquo;s house?</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2>

<p>A long time I stood waiting for some reply to my message. My
candle was fast burning out, and I began to fear that after all I
was likely to leave the house no wiser than when I had entered it.
Suddenly a door swung on its creaking hinges and a feeble old man,
holding a lamp in one hand, stood grinning at me in the opening. It
was the same face that I saw before, but it seemed less ghostly and
unnatural now. Stepping back he beckoned me to enter. As soon as I
had crossed the threshold the door closed behind me and the old man
carefully bolted it. I stood in a large room, richly furnished, of
which spiders had apparently long held possession. Great cobwebs
hung like hammocks from the ceiling, and the dust of years had
settled over all. Two human skeletons completely wrapped in
cobwebs, stood facing me against the opposite wall. Following my
silent leader, I went through a long narrow passage, at the end of
which was a heavy door fastened with large iron bolts. Before
opening it the strange old man placed the lamp upon a table and
turning around looked squarely into my face. Merciful Heaven! It
was the face of another man who was looking at me now! The deep
lines had almost disappeared and the eyes looked brighter and more
intelligent. No, it was the same face, for while my eyes were
eagerly scanning it that hideous grin began to deepen its wrinkles,
and its owner, taking half a dozen steps down the passageway, made
an awkward motion with both hands as if trying to indicate that I
was to follow him very closely. Then he opened the big door and I
was surprised to observe that it led into the outer air. What gulf
of darkness are we about to plunge into? I asked myself, peering
through the doorway; and as we stepped out I heard again that
ominous whirring. Close upon his heels I followed in a narrow path,
through what seemed to be a large courtyard, overgrown with thick
grass. Presently he stopped, and, taking a bunch of keys from his
pocket, unlocked a door in a back wing of the house. Reaching out
until his hand touched me, as if to make sure that I was there, he
swung the door open and we stepped into a dimly lighted apartment.
My mysterious guide turned up the wick of a lamp that was burning
on a table in the centre of the room. It was a library, with great
shelves of books reaching from floor to ceiling along its walls. A
large galvanic battery, globes, charts and other contrivances that
belong to the equipment of a scholar surrounded the table. This
table was used for writing evidently, for there were pens lying on
it and a human skull used as an inkstand, the fluid being held in
the cavities of the eyes. I had seated myself in a chair and was
waiting for some sign from the little old man who had brought me
there. But where was he? Turning around I looked about me on all
sides. He had left the room during my momentary preoccupation. I
had scarcely seated myself again when a door opened and a venerable
man, with snow-white hair and a smooth-shaven face that was pale
and wrinkled, walked slowly toward me. I rose to my feet and
advanced a step or two. He came forward without speaking and looked
steadily into my eyes. Slowly and sadly he turned his gaze upon the
floor, apparently in deep thought. A sigh broke from his lips as if
some memory, stirring in the caves of thought, had driven it
forth.</p>

<p>The man who stood before me had deep-set gray eyes, almost
concealed by long shaggy brows not yet entirely white. His lips
were thin, and drawn closely together above a square, protruding
chin. The nose was aquiline and prominent, with large, but finely
cut nostrils. Altogether his was the most picturesque face I had
ever seen. Suddenly he made an effort to clear his throat.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Kendric&rsquo;s child,&rdquo; said he, in a strange, low
voice. He spoke slowly and with great difficulty, as if his organs
of speech were partially paralyzed. I would not have been able to
distinguish his words but for the silence of that room and the
unnatural keenness of my hearing. He still stood motionless, his
eyes upon the floor. I knew that he was thinking of my father.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Dead?&rdquo; he asked, looking at me inquisitively.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He is dead,&rdquo; I answered.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And my man&mdash;did he give you the letter?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes; he is dead also.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Dead? I thought he was dead,&rdquo; he repeated, slowly
and thoughtfully. &ldquo;I, too, am dead&mdash; long
dead.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The words were separated by considerable pauses, and he faced me
almost sternly as he finished speaking them. I stood staring at
him, dumb with surprise.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why&mdash;how did you come here?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He sank into a chair, exhausted with the effort it had cost him
to speak. My presence seemed to irritate and annoy him. Why,
indeed, had I come there? What should I say in reply to his
question? I tried to think.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Knaves! Knaves!&rdquo; said my uncle, in a shrill voice,
rushing toward me. In a moment he had thrown his arms about my neck
and was sobbing aloud. My heart was full and I wept with him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Fortunate child of God,&rdquo; said he, after a moment;
&ldquo;you have the seed of life&mdash;immortal life. But I beg you
to go. To one like you this house will seem an uncanny place; I can
only think of it as beyond the grave.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let me stay, uncle,&rdquo; said I. &ldquo;Don&rsquo;t
send me away. Perhaps I can help you or comfort you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Poor soul! you shall stay if you will. I am in great
trouble and need help, but you are a boy&mdash;I cannot ask you to
give your life to me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He sat down before the table, breathing heavily, and beckoned me
to a chair beside him. I was quite dumfounded and knew not what to
say. Presently he began writing upon large sheets of paper, handing
each one to me as soon as it was covered. The manuscript read as
follows:</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am not able to talk much. To me words are a lie and an
abomination. Even these I now write are misrepresenting me and
deceiving you, though I wish them to tell the truth. They will make
me out an ass or a madman. I am neither. For eighteen years I have
scarcely spoken as many words. A word or two of Sanscrit now and
then has met my needs, thank God! There is an interior language for
which speech is an imperfect medium. Through that interior language
thought is communicated directly and truthfully. I used it long
before I came here&mdash;imperfectly, to be sure, but with a small
degree of satisfaction to myself. Through it I was able to heal the
sick when others failed. I knew how they felt better than they
could tell me in feeble words. In some more perfect state of
evolution, beyond the grave, perhaps, all men will have this power
and it will be perfect. I can enjoy but an imperfect use of it
until the mortal part of me has been cast off. One trained to
speech in childhood loses certain faculties that can never be
regained.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My wife died many years ago. She left me a broken heart
and a child, newly born. I had just built this house, among
strangers. We intended to devote the remainder of our lives to the
study of mental phenomena. We desired to carry on our work without
interruption. We planned to live unknown among those around us.
When she died I saw in the child an opportunity. I determined to
make its life a grand experiment; to preserve and cultivate its
native intuitions&mdash;the germ of the power of direct
communication. God has vouchsafed success to me. He lives&mdash;a
man of exalted powers the like of which the world has never seen
but once, and then in Christ, the very Son of God. But, unlike Him,
my son is only human, with weaknesses that are our common lot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The years are flying, and strength is failing! I must die
soon and he will live. That thought burns my brain, passing through
it day by day. His life may be long extended and he cannot live
alone, nor among men, for he would be a stranger and
friendless&mdash;feared and dreaded by superstitious fools. He has
never seen a human face outside these walls nor heard a human voice
but mine. I have told you my trouble.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He ceased writing, but before I had finished reading the
statement some strange influence came over me. I felt restless and
uncomfortable. My hand was shaking so that I could scarcely read
the words on the last sheet of paper. Suddenly I raised my eyes and
saw a young man, godlike in form and feature, standing at my side.
His face wore an expression of indescribable eloquence. As familiar
as he afterward became to me, I can never forget the first
impression which that magnificent human being made upon my mind, as
he stood there&mdash; radiating a power that I felt to the tips of
my fingers. What favored son of man was this confronting me, born
to such an inheritance of majesty and grace? I asked myself,
regarding him with amazement. He had eyes dark as night, set under
a broad forehead, about which wavy masses of tawny hair fell
gracefully. His stately form was erect and firm as a statue. For a
moment his eyes looked into mine; then he advanced and took my
hand. Tenderly he pressed it to his lips, stepping back as he did
so and looking at me with a half-curious, half-amused expression. I
was so startled by the unexpected appearance of this remarkable
figure that I had not, until now, noticed that a large lion had
followed him into the room and was lying quietly at his feet. I was
not afraid; indeed, the king of beasts seemed but a part of the
man&rsquo;s masterful presence. I do not think I would have seen
the animal but that his enormous body was lying directly before my
eyes on the floor. My uncle had been sitting with his head resting
upon his hand at the table. Suddenly he rose and a strange,
guttural sound&mdash;it may have been a word from some language
wholly unfamiliar to me&mdash;passed his lips. The young man
immediately left us, the lion following closely at his heels. We
both sat in silence for some moments after he had gone. My mind had
felt strange exhilaration in his presence, and I rubbed my eyes to
make sure that I was not dreaming. When I looked at my uncle the
sad expression on his face had given way to a smile of infinite
satisfaction.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He is pleased&mdash;thank God!&rdquo; said my uncle, in a
hoarse whisper, sinking into a chair.</p>

<p>I made no answer.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was my son,&rdquo; he continued, with animation.
&ldquo;Rayel&mdash;that was the name she gave him. Rayel, the
wonderful. He will love you as he loves me. Come,&rdquo; said he,
rising, &ldquo;the night is nearly gone.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Taking a lamp from the table, he beckoned me to follow him.
Silently we proceeded through a narrow hallway and up one flight of
stairs to a spacious bedroom which had seemingly been prepared for
my use. A candle was burning dimly on a large dressing-case, and by
its flickering light, as soon as my uncle had gone, I looked about
me and tried to think with calmness on the experience I had passed
through. Bolting the door securely, I threw open one of the window
blinds. To my surprise the first light of dawn was visible in the
sky. My room was in the rear of the house. Between me and the high
wall was a dense tangle of underbrush, barely visible in the dim
light. Hastily undressing, I went to bed without further delay, and
was soon in deep sleep. When I awoke it was near midday. Dressing
as quickly as possible, I proceeded at once to the library, where
my uncle sat waiting for me. He conducted me to the breakfast
room&mdash;a well-lighted and cheerful apartment&mdash;where he
served me with his own hands.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You shall stay, sir&mdash;you shall stay,&rdquo; said he,
laying his hand on my shoulder as he sat down beside me, with a
smiling face. &ldquo;Rayel loves you. He hopes you will stay. He
thinks God sent you to us.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am glad, for I wish to stay,&rdquo; I said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Good!&rdquo; he exclaimed, in a long whisper. &ldquo;You
have brought the world to him. Already he has seen it in your eyes.
But it is good!&rdquo;</p>

<p>While I ate he asked me questions touching the changes in our
family since he left England.</p>

<p>I told him of my life at home after my father&rsquo;s death; of
my hard lot in Liverpool, and of the midnight interviews with his
messenger and with Mr. Earl. He listened to me with grave and
attentive interest, but stopped me before I had finished, with an
impatient gesture.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Speak out! they meant&mdash;they meant to kill you,
didn&rsquo;t they?&rdquo;</p>

<p>I stared at him in amazement, while ideas that were new to me
flocked into the empyrean of thought like black birds of prey. Oh,
no; I had never suspected that! I would never before have permitted
such a hideous suspicion to enter my mind. Was it possible that Mr.
Earl had sent me away from England in order to save my life? My
hands began to tremble, and I felt my face turning red and pale
under the searching eyes of my uncle.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My boy,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;if all the murders were
done that men conceive, the devil would live alone on earth. We
shall know some time&mdash;I tell you we shall know! Let us go to
Rayel,&rdquo; he said, rising and leading the way.</p>

<p>The interview had greatly excited him, and his speech seemed
even more halting and labored than before. Many of his words were
mispronounced and separated by long pauses; but his manner was
marvelously expressive, and often a peculiar turn of the eye or
movement of the hand made his meaning clear when I was in doubt
about his words.</p>

<p>I followed him through a long gymnasium and out upon a grassy
courtyard extending along the rear of the grounds parallel with the
river wall for a hundred yards or more, and adorned with beds of
flowers. It was completely shut off from the eye of the outside
world by a thick grove and an impenetrable growth of underbrush
that reached beyond the lowest branches of the trees. Nothing but
the blue sky, in which the sun was on its downward course, the
house, and the walls of living green, were visible. Out of this
Eden-like spot we passed into another wing of the building with
large windows looking out upon it. Rayel met us at the door,
dressed in a black robe of silk that hung gracefully from his
shoulders. Again he took my hand and kissed it, then looked into my
eyes with the same expression of curious interest upon his face
that I had noted before. Still holding my hand, he led me across
the room. For the first time I noticed that its walls were covered
with pictures, unframed, and that an easel stood in the light of
each window. We stopped before one of them. On a large canvas that
was stretched across it I saw a likeness of myself. The eyes wore a
haggard look which seemed unnatural. But there was something
strangely real about it, in spite of that.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Wonderful!&rdquo; said I.</p>

<p>Rayel started at the sound of my voice, and glanced from one to
the other with a puzzled, inquiring look. Turning to his father, he
uttered some strange monosyllable in a deep voice. Then he took my
hand and walked back and forth across the room with me, smiling in
great delight. I was fascinated by one of the pictures which showed
a great gleaming eye with a suggestion of lightning in its fiery
depths, as if taken at the keenest flash of fury. To intensify its
fierceness a human hand was raised in front of it so as to throw a
dark shadow across the canvas.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is the lion&rsquo;s eye,&rdquo; said my uncle, who was
standing near me.</p>

<p>There were other paintings&mdash;many of them equally strange
and wonderful&mdash;hanging on the walls, some of which contained
material he could not have derived from direct observation. It was
easy to discern in his work the fragments of nature that came
within the limited command of his own eyes&mdash;the falling snow,
the changing phases of the sky and of vegetation&mdash;for they
were presented with a stronger and more vivid touch. Until the
fading twilight blended all color into gloom I passed from one
canvas to another along the wall in silence, oblivious of all save
the presence of Rayel, who followed close at my elbow, evidently
enjoying my admiration of his work. When I had finished looking at
the paintings I turned for some sign to indicate his further
pleasure, and discovered that he was gone. My uncle was standing
near me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is late,&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>We returned at once across the yard to my uncle&rsquo;s retreat
among his books and papers. Lighting the lamps he sat down beside
me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The power of speech is returning,&rdquo; said he.
&ldquo;I can talk more easily.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Did I not hear you speak to your son?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; he answered. &ldquo;Long ago difficulties
arose. Sometimes he could not command my thoughts, nor I his. I had
known fifty years of life; he had not&mdash;hence an inequality. My
physical organism had been neglected. It was an imperfect agent of
the mind. Many of my faculties were lost. These circumstances stood
between us like barriers. It was the beginning of each
communication that troubled us, when our minds were working in
different channels. Something was needed for a cue&mdash;a
starting-point. Ten pregnant words of Sanscrit were all we needed.
It was easy then.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I should think he would have lost the power of speech and
hearing,&rdquo; I remarked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No. Music saved them&mdash;abstract music. His voice is
wonderful. His hearing is quick. Rayel knows words but not speech.
His mind has command of my knowledge. He has never seen the world,
but he knows about it. I tried to begin my life anew and to forget
the past. But I could not wholly cleanse my mind of it. Its
memories faded slowly. I have avoided renewing them for his
sake.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;He could, then, learn to speak?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;With ease, and it were better if he could speak now. We
will teach him soon.&rdquo;</p>

<p>As he ceased speaking, fatigued by the unaccustomed effort, I
heard low strains of music echoing through the silent halls around
us. A violin! The tone was deep and tremulous, gradually growing
louder, filling the ear with its message, and lifting the mind to
lofty heights of thought and passion. We both sat listening for
hours, and midnight came before the last strain died away. That
music was like a strange story that drops its plummet deep into
life&rsquo;s mysteries.</p>

<p>&ldquo;A new song!&rdquo; said my uncle, turning to me with
surprise on his face. &ldquo;He got the subject from you. We shall
see.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Presently Rayel entered the room, bringing something in his
hand&mdash;a picture&mdash;which he held up to the lamplight. A
girl&rsquo;s face! and wonderfully like that of Hester Chaffin. I
sat amazed, staring at it. But the likeness was not exact, the face
was idealized&mdash;as I had seen it in my dream the night before.
I raised my eyes to Rayel&rsquo;s face. He was looking at me with
an expression of pain and embarrassment.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER V</h2>

<p>My uncle recovered the power of speech rapidly. Before I had
been a week in his house he was able to talk with comparative ease.
He seemed to enjoy my companionship, and I spent most of my time in
his library, conversing with him or conning the musty books that
had long lain unread. To me this room was a fascinating and restful
place. Somehow it reminded me of an old cemetery. The time-worn
books upon its shelves stood in solemn rows, like headstones,
sacred to the memory of the men who wrote them&mdash;their titles
like inscriptions half obliterated. I did not see Rayel for days
after the midnight episode that gave me such a startling revelation
of his power.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do you think that Rayel knows everything that passes in
one&rsquo;s mind&mdash;a vivid dream, for instance?&rdquo; I asked
my uncle one day when we were alone together.</p>

<p>Yes, except when he is himself asleep. His command of my dreams
puzzled me at first. I thought I had put the past completely out of
my mind. But I could not hide it from him. Little by little he
learned everything in my history. One day I saw him at work on a
picture. It startled me. The canvas showed a man lying on a
surgeon&rsquo;s table. The knife had just severed an artery in his
thigh. There were four men working over him&mdash;I was one of
them. Gradually the features took on a familiar expression. His
face grew paler under the brush. A few touches&mdash;the scene was
complete. The man was dead&mdash;his eyes wide open, staring at
me.</p>

<p>My uncle paused and looked earnestly into my face.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was a bit of your professional experience,&rdquo; said
I. &ldquo;Something had reminded you of it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;The night before I dreamed about it&rdquo; he answered.
&ldquo;My mind, released from the command of my will, betrayed
me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;A strange power!&rdquo; I exclaimed.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Incredible to you! Impossible to acquire unless the work
begins at birth, and then the possibilities are infinite,&rdquo;
said he, drawing his chair closer to mine. &ldquo;You know what I
have done. Start the new-born mind on any highway and see how it
hurries along. You can do more, working a little while over the
cradle, than all the preachers under heaven, after its occupant has
grown beyond your ministry. I tell you, sir, the world is
indifferent to its children. Neglected by their parents, subject to
hired tenderness or none at all; left to the care of ignorant or
depraved nurses, and often taught little but selfishness and greed
of gain, the children of men are surrounded by destructive
agencies. Can we wonder that the human mind loses in infancy so
much of its native power? But so the generations of earth are
growing up, bearing embittered fruit and sowing its seed to the
four winds. Who cares for the mind and body of a child has the
highest possible mission&mdash;the most sacred of all trusts. He
must give it all his time and strength. He must lead its mind into
green pastures; he must share its joys; he must know its hopes and
fears; he must give it hold on lines of thought that reach into
eternity, which will sooner or later flood it with inspiration; he
must see that the brain has a sufficient foundation of flesh and
blood and bone; he must give it all his life until the germs of
power are developed.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Unfortunately,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;most parents have
other things to do and think of.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Parentage is a crime under such circumstances. It has
peopled the world with fools and knaves. It delays the coming of
Christ&rsquo;s kingdom. There are a few wise men, but they are held
down as gravitation holds the rock. There are laws of attraction in
the world of mind as in that of matter. Good and evil are its
poles. Every atom between them is held in place by the operation of
opposing forces. The general mass of mind lies within narrow zones
on both sides of the equatorial line of this imaginary world. Its
attraction prevents any men from rising far above or descending far
below it. I tell you, sir, the intellectual world has degrees of
latitude and longitude which determine every man&rsquo;s location.
Emancipated from the forces I have described, my son has risen to a
level beyond the attainment of men under ordinary conditions.
Hypocrisy and deceit are things of which he knows nothing. I do not
ascribe to him, mind you, the possession of saintly virtues. He is
a man in whom the best potentialities of mind and body have been
developed. I have carefully avoided the danger of making him a
morbid, spiritual creature. His body is quite as wonderful as his
mind.&rdquo;</p>

<p>My uncle had been pacing restlessly up and down the room as he
spoke, often pausing before me and uttering his words vehemently,
with quick gestures and flashing eyes. He did not, seemingly,
expect an answer to his remark, for, as he ceased speaking, he
stepped before one of the windows and stood for a moment looking
out upon the courtyard.</p>

<p>&ldquo;See!&rdquo; said he suddenly, motioning to me.</p>

<p>I stepped to his side and, looking through the window, saw Rayel
running across the lawn with the lion on his shoulders. When the
beast sprang down he seized it by the mane and tossed it about like
one with the strength of Hercules. Here was a man who exercised his
rightful dominion over animated nature!</p>

<p>&ldquo;The beast is very fond of him,&rdquo; said my uncle,
&ldquo;and a movement of his finger is sufficient to control
it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why did you adopt a pet so terrible?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;To secure isolation,&rdquo; he answered.
&ldquo;He&rsquo;s an object of terror to intruders, and a source of
delight to us.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You have snakes here, too,&rdquo; I ventured.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, and for the same reason, But they can&rsquo;t harm
you now. Since you came we have killed them. They have been good
friends to me, but you were a stranger, and your life would have
been in danger every day. Years ago I procured a score of them from
the mountains of Pennsylvania and put them into the thickets. They
multiplied like rats, and so I was armed against invasion.</p>

<p>&ldquo;To prevent their escape I sank a screen of
wire two feet below the ground along the base
of the walls; I also posted a warning inside my gate. Long ago I
began to destroy them, and there were only a few left when you
came. They were good friends to me&mdash;excellent friends!&rdquo;
he repeated, rubbing his hands with a grim smile. &ldquo;For
eighteen years I have been able to carry on my work unmolested. No
knowledge of what was transpiring outside this little world has
ever reached me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;How did you begin the work of teaching this interior
language to Rayel?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;By signs at first&mdash;gradually making them more simple
and suggestive. The elimination of signs kept pace with the
development of his intuitions. It was slow work and hard work, but
I gave all my time to it. After he became familiar with a sign, I
began to make it less pantomimic, until finally a lift of the
eyebrow, a movement of the lips, or an inclination of the head
served to express my meaning. In time he could detect the passing
shades of expression in my eyes and understand them. Look at
me,&rdquo; said he, laying his hand on my head and watching my eyes
as the firelight shone upon them, for it was now evening.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t you know, my boy, that your eyes reflect what
is passing in your mind? Then there are countless nerves and
muscles in your face which proclaim thought. They aid my intuitions
to discover what you do not speak. You wonder&mdash;ah! you are
afraid!&mdash;afraid of me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I started in my chair, for while he was looking into my eyes a
strange gleam came into his own. He turned about suddenly and
looked into the bright fire that burned on the grate before us.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Never fear,&rdquo; he continued, nervously twirling a
lock of his white hair. &ldquo;Never fear, sir &mdash;I am not mad.
Not yet. I have been afraid of it, but my reason will outlast my
life. Do you ever pray?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Every day,&rdquo; I answered.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Then you employ the interior language. We commune
directly with the Holy Spirit. You get some message from Him every
day more satisfactory than words. It&rsquo;s the answer of your
prayers. I tell you, sir, words are an invention of the devil. Do
you like Rayel?&rdquo; he asked, turning upon me abruptly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You need have no doubt of that,&rdquo; I answered,
&ldquo;or of my willingness to look after him if it should be
necessary&mdash;to take him away with me and cherish him as I would
a brother.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Good! Good!&rdquo; he exclaimed smiling and rubbing his
hands joyfully. &ldquo;I have not long to live. When the time
comes, take him out among the knaves and fools! But we must hurry:
our time is short. We must prepare him for a second birth. You will
find him an apt pupil&mdash;a very apt one. He already knows more
of the world than I thought possible. I don&rsquo;t think you will
find him troublesome&mdash;he can help you; he will teach you
wisdom; he will enlarge the issues of your life. My fortune will be
ample for his needs: use it as you see fit. I have one servant
left,&rdquo; he said, drawing his chair closer to mine and speaking
scarcely above a whisper: &ldquo;I would like this to be his home
when I am dead. It will be better, however, to place him in some
public institution where he can be well provided for. I shall leave
a sufficient allowance for him. The manner of its bestowal I leave
entirely to your judgment. There were two of them&mdash;you have
seen the other. He was a faithful fellow. They were poor fools,
both of them, but uncommonly wise,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;They
kept it to themselves. I found them in an asylum twenty-five years
ago. They called them idiots. Idiots! God help us!&rdquo;</p>

<p>That strange light seemed to kindle in his eyes again while he
was speaking, and it conveyed anything but a cheerful suggestion to
my mind.</p>

<p>&ldquo;There is this difference between idiots and
madmen,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;The former are born outside the
pale of human sympathy; the latter overstep it. In either case they
are not of this earth&mdash;they are embodied spirits living in a
world of their own creation, biding the time of liberation from the
flesh. And do you know, there are more madmen in the world than it
dreams of?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He stopped with a tone of sharp interrogation and looked
squarely into my face.</p>

<p>&ldquo;There are undoubtedly many of them,&rdquo; said I.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The lines of monomania all lead to madness,&rdquo; he
continued. &ldquo;The deeper one plunges into the mysteries of life
the nearer he approaches it. But, mark you, one man may venture
further than another. For years I have lived in fear of two
things&mdash;madness and death. Not on my account, but I had Rayel
to think of.&rdquo;</p>

<p>My uncle rose to his feet before he had ceased speaking and
walked stealthily on his tiptoes to an open door, where he stood
for a moment listening. I could hear nothing but the sound of the
wind whistling in the chimney.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Wait here,&rdquo; he whispered presently, and then
disappeared through the door, closing it after him. I held my watch
down to the firelight and saw it was near eleven o&rsquo;clock. I
felt drowsy, and had almost fallen asleep, when my uncle returned,
carrying a lantern. &ldquo;Rayel is asleep,&rdquo; said he, in a
whisper. &ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you come with me?&mdash;it will not
take long.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Certainly,&rdquo; said I, rising, and waiting for him to
lead the way. He put on his antique hat and threw a shawl over his
shoulders.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s a chilly night,&rdquo; said he.
&ldquo;You&rsquo;d better wear another coat.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I drew on my overcoat at once, wondering what new experience
awaited me. Holding the lantern in front of him, he proceeded
slowly and feebly across the rear courtyard, and unlocked a door in
one of the side wings of the house, through which we passed into a
large unfurnished room.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I always wait till he&rsquo;s asleep,&rdquo; said my
uncle, shuffling across the room and unlocking another door on its
opposite side. &ldquo;He&rsquo;s never been here&mdash;never
yet,&rdquo; he continued, pulling the door open. The dim light of
the lantern shone out upon a thicket of fragrant spruce and cedar.
As I stepped down upon the ground, following in the steps of my
uncle, I could hear the murmur of the great pines towering far
above our heads. Slowly we made our way through the dense
undergrowth, and soon entered an open space carpeted with pine
needles and moss. It was a circular plot in the thicket, and out of
its centre rose an immense pine, whose upper branches wholly
obscured the sky. My uncle hung his lantern on a knot protruding
from the trunk of the tree, and slowly knelt upon the ground,
covering his face with his hands. Suddenly he beckoned to me, and I
knelt down beside him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Listen!&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Do you hear voices? She
comes to me here. Can you see her&mdash;my wife? Look about you, do
you not see her?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He laid his trembling hand upon my shoulder. Again I saw that
awful gleam in his eyes. The gruesome suggestion he had made set my
nerves tingling, and I peered about among the shadows of that dimly
lighted recess, half expecting some vision to greet my eyes. Then
there came a loud rustling of the branches high above us. The
lantern light flared up and suddenly went out, leaving us in total
darkness.</p>

<p>&ldquo;She is here!&rdquo; he whispered, in excitement.
&ldquo;Sit still&mdash;do not speak.&rdquo;</p>

<p>A deep silence, intensified by the sound of the night wind in
the trees around us, followed my uncle&rsquo;s words. The going out
of the light he had seemed to regard as a signal from the spirit
world, and I sat still as he bade me, not doubting that his acute
senses had penetrated the veil which limited my own vision. I had
seen so many revelations of his strange power that I now sat
awestruck and afraid, waiting for some word from him to end my
suspense. I could see nothing in the darkness, but I could hear my
uncle breathing heavily, as if trying to suppress his emotion.
Suddenly there was a stir in the bushes near us. Then I heard a
step like that of a man on the thickly covered earth close by my
side. I stretched out prone upon the ground, covering my face with
my hands. I could hear a sound as of some one groping about in the
darkness, and then I felt the touch of a strange hand upon my
shoulder.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2>

<p>I shrank from the hand that touched me and, moving quickly
aside, struck a match and peered around. By its light I could
discern the form of a man standing near the edge of the thicket.
Rising to my feet I took down the lantern and lighted it. There,
standing before me, was the grinning mute who had admitted me to
the house. My uncle, who was still kneeling, rose feebly to his
feet, his eyes wet with tears.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Good friend!&rdquo; said he, taking the lantern from me
and handing it to the mute. &ldquo;He alway comes for me
here.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We followed the old servant in silence through the thick boughs
of cedar until we came to the door of a low-roofed wooden building
that stood by itself in the thicket. The mute opened the door,
ushering us into a small room containing a bed and some simple
furniture. A comfortable wood fire was burning in a large open
stove, and we both sat down in front of it, shivering from exposure
to the chilly air of the night. My uncle handed a key to the mute,
who unlocked a cupboard, taking from it a decanter of whiskey,
which he set before us with glasses.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It will warm you,&rdquo; said my uncle, pouring out the
spirits: &ldquo; I have seen my wife. She always comes to me
there&mdash;when the light goes out. She knows your heart better
than I. We shall leave Rayel to your care. It is the last time I
shall come here. My work is nearly finished.&rdquo;</p>

<p>We emptied our glasses in silence, but my mind was busy thinking
on those impressive words, &ldquo;She always comes to me
there&mdash; when the light goes out.&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was strange&mdash;this going out of the light just at that
moment. Was it not possible, I asked myself, that the lantern,
being always hung on the same projection, was thus in the way of a
current of air passing down the trunk of the tree when a gust of
wind struck its lofty branches? If so, the knot would naturally
conduct the current into the opening at the top of the lantern. My
reflections were interrupted by my uncle, who rose, and, taking a
candle, asked me to accompany him. I followed him into a cellar
filled with casks and barrels containing, as I supposed, wine and
provisions for future use. Returning, we passed through a large
room, in one end of which many boxes and barrels were stored. I
afterward learned that there was a large garden and poultry yard in
this lonely nook where my uncle&rsquo;s only servant was
sequestered.</p>

<p>I was glad when we started back through the thicket, for the
hour was late and I felt the need of sleep.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He gives us our food,&rdquo; said my uncle, when we were
at length in the courtyard. &ldquo;We have enough of everything
needful&mdash;but little meat. It destroys mental power. It is
fools&rsquo; food.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Next day my uncle was unable to leave his bed. I determined to
go to the hotel for my baggage and to post some letters, one of
which gave Mr. Earl an account of my experiences since the October
night when I became an inmate of that house.</p>

<p>It was midwinter now, and the long stretches of pasturage and
meadow land outside the walls were blasted and sere when the old
mute, whom I had seen twice before, let me out of the big gate.
When I returned he was there to open the gate for me and help me
with my baggage.</p>

<p>I found Rayel at his father&rsquo;s bedside. The sick man was
asleep, and I went at once to the library, where Rayel soon came,
as was his custom in the afternoon, for a lesson in talking. Both
my uncle and myself had taken great pains to teach him this
accomplishment, and his progress had been even more rapid than we
thought possible. He caught the significance of words with
astonishing ease, but found some difficulty in producing their
sound. He went about it with great patience, however, repeating the
hardest words after me until he was able to pronounce them
correctly. But although the work was often tedious we both got much
fun out of it. I had never heard the sound of laughter in that
house. One day I broke its solemn spell by laughing heartily at the
grotesque distortion of my cousin&rsquo;s face incidental to the
production of a difficult sound. He stopped suddenly and looked at
me, half alarmed. This made me laugh more heartily, and he grasped
my hand with the serious air of a physician feeling the pulse of
his patient. Being assured there was no danger, he indulged in a
little offhand cachinnation himself and was, I judged, well pleased
with the trial, for he repeated it frequently afterward, and
greatly to his amusement.</p>

<p>The word &ldquo;woman,&rdquo; and others related to it, puzzled
him not a little, for he had never seen a woman, except through the
medium of my own mind and that of his father. The subject
interested him, and he gave much serious thought to it, questioning
me closely at some of our interviews, as if dissatisfied with the
idea conveyed to him. Our discussions, however, had reached some
slumbering chord in him, which, once touched, stirred his blood
with its vibrations. I do not think his isolation could have lasted
much longer, for he became restless and eager to see the world.</p>

<p>Rayel was greatly depressed by his father&rsquo;s illness. For
months after that night, the excitement of which had so hastened
the failure of the old man&rsquo;s strength, the silence of the
great house was rarely broken by the sound of our voices. My uncle
lay helpless in a deep sleep most of the time, never able to leave
his bed until, revived by the freshness of approaching summer, he
had strength enough to sit in an easy-chair by the window. Some
fatal malady, the nature of which he did not disclose to me, was
evidently sapping his strength. I had urged him more than once to
let me summon a physician, but he would not permit me to do so.
When summer came at last, he grew stronger, and was able to walk,
supported by Rayel, to his chair in the open courtyard among the
flowers.</p>

<p>The lion, which had been confined in its cage most of the time
since my uncle had grown so feeble as to need Rayel&rsquo;s
constant attention sickened and died in the warm days of early
June. Rayel was sorely grieved by the death of his pet, and
although he stood in the shadow of a far greater sorrow, he felt
deeply the loss of this lifelong friend. The summer passed slowly,
one day like another, casting on us the same burden of anxiety and
silence. I spent much of the time in my uncle&rsquo;s library,
poring over his books and trying to shake off the melancholy
thoughts suggested by my daily life.</p>

<p>One day in early autumn, Rayel was sitting with me near an open
window overlooking the courtyard, where his father was enjoying the
open air.</p>

<p>&ldquo;He will die to-day,&rdquo; said Rayel, calmly. &ldquo;He
told me he would die to-day.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;He seems the same as usual,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;We
cannot tell; he may live for months yet.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Rayel shook his head incredulously, and sat for a long time
looking out of the window in silence.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And I will go with you then?&rdquo; he asked suddenly
turning toward me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; I answered.</p>

<p>It was the first time he had ever asked me a question, for he
could read my mind like an open book, and to him all questioning
was unnecessary.</p>

<p>While we were sitting there, thinking over our plans, my uncle
summoned us by rapping with his cane. Rayel turned pale, and, with
a whispered ejaculation, hurried out of the room and ran down the
path to his father, followed closely by myself. My uncle was
breathing heavily.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Count it,&rdquo; said he, feebly extending his hand.
Rayel counted his pulse-beats.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Ninety-four, and growing quicker!&rdquo; he exclaimed,
turning toward me with a frightened look.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It won&rsquo;t increase much,&rdquo; my uncle whispered,
feebly, but with a cool and professional air. &ldquo;It will go
down soon, and then death will follow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Be calm, Rayel,&rdquo; he continued, almost sternly, as
his son began weeping. &ldquo;Be calm, I say! That music! do you
hear it, child? Do you see what is passing now? Tell it. Let me
hear you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I cannot hear it,&rdquo; said Rayel, looking earnestly
into his father&rsquo;s face.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Hallucination!&rdquo; he whispered, groping about until
his hand rested on the head of his son, who was kneeling beside
him. &ldquo;I seem to see millions of forms around me. I seem to
hear them, but I cannot see you&mdash;nor hear you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>As if exhausted by the effort, his head fell back upon
Rayel&rsquo;s shoulder, and he lay for a time, his eyes closed,
struggling for breath. The dying man&rsquo;s faculties would no
longer obey the whip of his mighty will. Indeed, they had done him
their final service, for in a few moments he was dead. Tenderly and
manfully, uttering no sound of grief, Rayel lifted the lifeless
body of his father, and bore it into the house.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2>

<p>In accordance with my uncle&rsquo;s wish, which he had made
known to Rayel, we buried him the day following his death in the
sunny courtyard where he had spent the last days of his life. The
funeral arrangements were made as simple as possible, so as to
exclude all except the functionaries whose presence was absolutely
necessary. A rector of the Church of England read the service for
the dead before the body was borne to its grave by the undertaker.
When this brief ceremony was over, and the great gates were closed
again upon our seclusion, Rayel said to me:</p>

<p>&ldquo;I must talk more with you now, if you will let me. He
said you would help me after he was gone.&rdquo;</p>

<p>It seemed idle to assure him, who already knew my heart, of the
happiness it would give me to fulfill the pledge of friendship made
to my uncle.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do you expect to see him again?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>After a moment of the most serious reflection, he said:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, yes, I shall see him again&mdash;when I die, then I
shall see him. He has gone to the Great Father, who gives life, and
who takes it away.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I found that Rayel, although entirely ignorant of the creeds and
dogmas prevailing among men, was profoundly religious, and that his
simple faith was built upon the deepest foundations. He evidently
gave much thought to the relationship between man and his Creator
after he felt the sting of bereavement, but it was a subject to
which he never referred in our conversation, unless, perchance, it
drifted in upon us.</p>

<p>The weeks following my uncle&rsquo;s death, during which I was
busy with preparation for the new life that awaited us, Rayel spent
in his studio working over some unfinished pictures. At my urgent
request, he completed the head whose resemblance to Hester Chaffin
had so startled and amazed me the night I saw it first, and he
regarded it with fonder interest than he was wont to bestow upon
the work of his brush. I believe that face was the closest
presentment of a human soul I shall ever see until standing, as I
hope to stand some time, in the presence of the redeemed, where
&ldquo;that which is imperfect shall be put away.&rdquo; I have
said that the picture bore a strong resemblance to Hester Chaffin,
but her face contained only a suggestion of that fine quality which
was so strongly presented in my cousin&rsquo;s ideal.</p>

<p>My uncle&rsquo;s fortune, as described in his will, amounted to
nearly $250,000. The greater part of it&mdash;everything, indeed,
but the house and grounds&mdash;was in cash, represented by
certificates of deposit accompanying the will, and bonds of the
United States. There was a considerable bequest for me, whom he had
named as executor of the will, which, however, I determined never
to apply to my own use, except in case of Rayel&rsquo;s death. A
handsome annuity was provided for his only surviving servant. The
remainder was left to Rayel.</p>

<p>Having arranged for the maintenance of the old mute at an asylum
not far from the city, our preparations to leave were soon
complete. I was elated at the prospect of resuming my relations
with the busy world outside that lonely habitation. My first step
was to visit a lawyer for the purpose of ascertaining the legal
formalities which I must observe as executor of the will. Rayel
wished to go with me, and I gladly assented, for it seemed wise as
an initiatory step in the new life that was awaiting him. He waved
his hand to the mute, who stood looking at us through the big gates
after we had passed out into the road, and then he walked on beside
me in silence. The sun-shot haze of a beautiful autumn day hung
over the face of nature, and his eyes wandered down the long
stretches of landscape, and into the depths of the distant sky,
rapt by the vision that was unfolding before him. The changing
phases of the town he regarded with curious interest, which often
expressed itself in childish exclamations of surprise as we made
our way through the crowded streets.</p>

<p>He was constantly calling my attention to things which, though
familiar and commonplace to me, were little less than wonderful to
him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Look!&rdquo; said he, suddenly taking hold of my arm.
&ldquo;There is a woman!&rdquo;</p>

<p>He spoke in an eager, excited whisper, and shyly stepped behind
me as she passed us.</p>

<p>&ldquo;They won&rsquo;t hurt you,&rdquo; said I, subduing my
desire to laugh at his remark.</p>

<p>Such unfamiliar exposure to the public eye soon began to grate
upon his nerves. I did not wonder at it, for nearly every one we
met took a second look at his commanding figure, and some stared at
him rudely. Remembering my own emotions when I first stood in his
presence, I was not at all surprised that others were moved in a
like manner. His were a face and form that stood out like those of
some heroic statue in the throng of common mortals.</p>

<p>The proving and recording of the will was left entirely in the
hands of a reputable lawyer, who said that these formalities would
not detain us longer than a week.</p>

<p>We had determined to spend the winter in New York before going
to England. Since reaching America my time had been quite filled
with work until my entrance upon the utter isolation of my
uncle&rsquo;s home. It was my earnest desire to see something of
the big metropolis on the western Atlantic. Moreover, Mr. Earl had
advised me in his letters to give Rayel a chance to know more of
life in his own country before bringing him to England.</p>

<p>When at last the faithful old mute had gone to his new home, and
we had turned our backs upon the silent and deserted mansion, Rayel
was moved to bitter tears. The thought of its loneliness, now that
its master was dead and we were leaving it, perhaps forever,
brought sad feelings to my heart. How calmly the old pines
whispered together as we walked down the road that morning I shall
not soon forget.</p>

<p>We reached the American metropolis early in October, three years
after my first arrival there from England. I rented comfortable
apartments on Fifth Avenue, near Madison Square. As soon as Rayel
had recovered from the fatigue and excitement of the trip, we set
about unpacking his pictures and getting them framed. Our lightest
room was reserved for a studio, and the paintings were hung under
Rayel&rsquo;s direction.</p>

<p>We were scarcely settled in our new home when we received an
unexpected call from a newspaper reporter. He had learned from an
art dealer that we had some remarkable old paintings, and humbly
begged the privilege of looking at them. We made him welcome, of
course, but I explained to him that the collection was wholly the
work of my cousin, who was not yet old himself. In answer to his
questions I assured him that the paintings would not be exhibited
in the National Academy, and that my cousin&rsquo;s work had never
appeared in any art exhibition whatever, at which he seemed greatly
surprised. Rayel was still shy of strangers, and, as he was
evidently a little annoyed at the presence of our visitor, I
shielded him from the need of taking any part in our
conversation.</p>

<p>The next morning an article appeared in one of the leading
dailies, which subjected us to a glare of publicity not at all to
our taste.</p>

<p>It went on to say that Signor Lanion, a young Spanish artist,
had just arrived in New York and had taken apartments at No. Fifth
Avenue. &ldquo;Lanion&rdquo; was the name which had appeared on our
bill for picture-framing, the clerk who had waited on us having
taken it down incorrectly. &ldquo;Unfortunately,&rdquo; the article
continued, &ldquo;Signor Lanion does not speak English, and for
that reason the reporter was unable to interview him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The paper described Rayel&rsquo;s personal charms at much
length, and claimed the credit of having discovered a genius who,
although still a youth, had done work worthy of an acknowledged
master.</p>

<p>We had deep respect for the influence of that newspaper before
another week ended. Art managers, tailors, advertising agents,
auctioneers and numerous men and women prompted by no motive but
idle curiosity, besieged us until we bolted our doors in dismay
against all comers. The mail, too, brought us missives of varying
import from persons who had read the article, one of which was a
polite letter from Francis Paddington, a Wall Street broker, whose
name I had heard frequently during my American travels.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was not stated,&rdquo; said he, referring to the
newspaper article, &ldquo;whether or not any of Signor
Lanion&rsquo;s paintings are for sale. If they are, I would be glad
to look at them with a view to making some purchases for my art
collection.&rdquo;</p>

<p>The letter suggested an idea worth considering. Rayel worked
rapidly and had already painted more pictures than we could hang to
advantage in any but the most liberal quarters. He was at a loss to
understand just what was meant by selling the pictures, but he was
willing to sell them if they were not to be destroyed &mdash;at
least some of them. Accordingly I wrote Mr. Paddington, appointing
an hour when we would be glad to see him or his representative at
our rooms. The gentleman himself did us the honor to call. After
looking at the paintings, he expressed his willingness to buy the
entire collection. I told him, however, that we would not part with
more than ten canvases, and he seemed glad to buy even that number
at a price which was so far in excess of our expectations that I
was loath to accept it. Our beloved &ldquo;Woman&rdquo;&mdash;that
was the title we had given Rayel&rsquo;s strangely derived
conception&mdash;was among the paintings included in the sale to
Mr. Paddington. Rayel thought he could reproduce it, and for days
after it was gone he made ineffectual efforts to paint another
woman after the ideal of our hearts. But, alas! try as he would,
that face never came back to his canvas. Many beautiful faces were
conjured by his masterful touch, but they were other faces, and
none of them satisfied us. The failure made Rayel unhappy, and
tears came to his eyes when the &ldquo;Woman&rdquo; was referred
to, as if he were mourning the loss of a dear friend.</p>

<p>Our patron had conceived a great liking for us, and we were soon
invited to visit his house &ldquo;and meet a few of his friends at
dinner.&rdquo; It would give us an opportunity to see the
&ldquo;Woman&rdquo; &mdash;perhaps to buy her back again&mdash;and
we were strongly inclined to take advantage of it. Our
patron&rsquo;s residence was one of the largest and most elegant on
Fifth Avenue. It was a matter of common fame that his
entertainments were the cause of more envy and heartburning in the
fashionable sisterhood than any other events of the season. I had
some doubt about the propriety of taking Rayel to such a place,
unaccustomed as he was to the refinements and conventionalities of
fashionable life. However, he had set his heart upon going&mdash;he
was so eager to see his beloved picture&mdash;and I did not oppose
his wish. In writing our acceptance of the invitation I corrected
Mr. Paddington&rsquo;s error regarding our name, and explained the
rechristening we had received in the public prints.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<p>On the day of our appointment for dinner at Mr.
Paddington&rsquo;s the newspapers were filled with accounts of a
sensational bank robbery, which had occurred in Wall Street the
night before. Between midnight and one o&rsquo;clock in the
morning, thieves had entered the Metropolitan Bank, overpowered the
watchman, broken into the vaults and stolen half a million dollars
in currency without leaving any clew behind them of the slightest
value to the police. The subject interested Rayel intensely, and at
our breakfast that morning we talked of little else.</p>

<p>&ldquo;When they have found the thieves what will they do with
them?&rdquo; he asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Send them to prison,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;where
thieves are kept apart from the rest of humanity.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;And yet these thieves were not in prison. They could not
have robbed the bank if they had been in prison.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;True, but there are a good many thieves in the world who
are not suspected. They look like honest men and are highly
successful in concealing their dishonesty.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I should think,&rdquo; he said thoughtfully, &ldquo;that
one would know a thief by his face.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Remember,&rdquo; said I, &ldquo;that all men are not like
you. Most of them are easily deceived.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, then, Kendric!&rdquo; he exclaimed joyfully,
&ldquo;I can do some good with this power of mine.&rdquo;</p>

<p>This conversation may seem commonplace enough, but it stands in
close relation to important events which will shortly claim our
attention. The subject which it introduces was not soon abandoned.
We talked about it on our way to the Paddingtons&rsquo; that
evening, where we were cordially received by our host, and
introduced to a large company of ladies and gentlemen.</p>

<p>Rayel&rsquo;s wonderful skill with the brush had evidently been
the subject of some discussion among Mr. Paddington&rsquo;s guests.
It was referred to frequently, and somewhat to the embarrassment of
my cousin, in the exchange of greetings that followed our
introduction.</p>

<p>Greatly to the relief of my fears Rayel seemed quite at ease. He
acknowledged the compliments paid him with gravity and
self-possession, but with few words. All eyes were raised to his
face, as he stood head and shoulders above a group of ladies and
gentlemen who had gathered about him. Never had his presence seemed
so magnetic and impressive since the first time I saw him in his
father&rsquo;s house. Now, as then, a new inspiration was stirring
his blood and charging every nerve with the wonderful magnetism of
perfected manhood.</p>

<p>The last person presented to us was a young lady of unusual
beauty, whom I noticed for some moments standing across the room in
earnest conversation with our host. Presently he made his way
toward us with the lady on his arm.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My daughter, Mr. Lane, whom I shall ask you to escort to
dinner,&rdquo; said he, addressing Rayel. After I had been
introduced to the young lady she took Rayel&rsquo;s arm, and the
company proceeded to the dining-hall. My seat at the table was
almost directly opposite Rayel. His grave and dignified demeanor
was made doubly conspicuous by the coquettish airs and ready tongue
of the young lady who sat beside him. Under a steady fire of
compliments and questions and artful glances I saw that he began to
grow uneasy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That was a beautiful portrait you painted!&rdquo;
exclaimed Miss Paddington, looking sentimental.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Thank you,&rdquo; said he; &ldquo;my cousin also admires
it, but I must own that it does not quite suit me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Perhaps you are an admirer of the lady it
represents,&rdquo; said she, peering shyly into his eyes.
&ldquo;The Count de Montalle has fallen in love with her and has
borrowed the portrait from my father.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Ze picture&mdash;ah! monsieur, it is beautiful,&rdquo;
said the Count, who sat near them. &ldquo;But ze lady&mdash;she sat
for me long ago and I had ze honor myself to paint her
portrait.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He was a thin, wiry Frenchman, with small, black eyes, a
forehead sloping to a bald crown, an aquiline nose and a pointed
chin, adorned with an imperial. The face was almost mephistophelian
in effect. He had painted her portrait! Was the man an impostor? I
asked myself.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The Count is an artist himself, you know,&rdquo; said
Miss Paddington.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes&mdash;an artist?&rdquo; asked Rayel in a
half-incredulous tone. Then he looked inquiringly at the gentleman
referred to, as if doubtful of his own understanding of the words
he had repeated.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes,&rdquo; said the Count with emphasis. &ldquo;For
twenty years I have devote myself to ze art.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;To what art, sir?&rdquo; asked Rayel, in a tone
suggesting doubt.</p>

<p>I was now thoroughly frightened at the serious turn of the
dialogue. Was this &ldquo;Count&rdquo; a pretender and one of the
many bogus noblemen of whom I had read? Rayel was sounding him,
that was quite evident. I saw now the mistake I had made in
bringing my cousin to such a place.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Quel impudence!&rdquo; exclaimed the insulted nobleman,
under his breath.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Forgive me, sir,&rdquo; quickly answered Rayel, &ldquo;I
did not know it was wrong to ask you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I wish you would paint my portrait, Mr. Lane,&rdquo; said
the young lady, who did not seem to appreciate the gravity of the
situation.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That would be easy enough,&rdquo; he answered.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Would it? Ah, but I fear you would find me too plain a
subject. I am not beautiful, you know, but if I wore my best
clothes you might think I would do.&rdquo;</p>

<p>For some time Miss Paddington continued to spin out threads of
small talk, while Rayel sat listening. The dinner was nearly over
when the climax came which I had already begun to fear.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is strange,&rdquo; said Rayel thoughtfully. &ldquo;You
speak what is not true, Miss Paddington. You said that the Prince
of Wales gave you the beautiful opal, but tell me&mdash;was it not
your father who gave it you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He waited a moment for her answer.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Oh, I understand now,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;People
do not always speak the truth&mdash;do they?&rdquo;</p>

<p>The young lady turned red with embarrassment, while an unnatural
smile played upon her lips.</p>

<p>&ldquo;But&mdash;but what is the use of talking then?&rdquo; he
asked. No one seemed disposed to answer.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is strange,&rdquo; he continued, with childlike
<i>na&iuml;vet&eacute;</i>, turning to the young lady sitting at his left,
&ldquo;you have been laughing as if you were very happy, but you
have felt more like weeping. This must be a very sad world!&rdquo; He
ceased speaking as if some suspicion of the pain his words were
causing had suddenly come to him.</p>

<p>The whole company turned its eyes upon the two. The young
lady&rsquo;s face became suddenly pale and almost horror-stricken.
Rayel&rsquo;s words were spoken in such a gentle and sympathetic
manner that every one was mystified.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Have you read about the great robbery that occurred last
night?&rdquo; asked Mr. Paddington, with the evident purpose of
diverting attention from the young lady. &ldquo;The vaults of the
Metropolitan Bank on Wall Street were blown open with dynamite, and
half a million dollars were stolen. No trace of the thieves has
been discovered.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Too bad!&rdquo; exclaimed half a dozen of the guests
seeking to enhance interest in the subject.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Zey were very bold about it,&rdquo; said the Count, as he
lighted a piece of sugar soaked in cognac and held it over his
coffee.</p>

<p>Just at that moment a singular thing happened. The lights grew
dim and suddenly went out, as if the gas had been turned off. The
burning cognac cast a white flickering light upon the face of the
man who had just spoken.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You say there is no trace of the thieves,&rdquo; said
Rayel. &ldquo;That is strange, for one of them is in this room
sitting at your table.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Only one face was visible, and all eyes were turned upon it, for
now the effect of that pale light keeping it in view was
indescribably weird. The eyes were suddenly turned in the direction
of Rayel, and a devilish glare came in them for an instant, when
the face suddenly seemed to shrink back into darkness. The ladies
and some of their more gallant escorts rushed precipitately from
the room. The servants hurried in with candles, but light was no
sooner restored than the guests who still remained at table rose,
as if by general consent, and left the dining-hall. Miss Paddington
and Rayel were the last to leave the table. When they had passed
out into the drawing-room her father came and took her arm, bowing
coldly to my cousin. It was evident that our presence was no longer
desired in the house of the Paddingtons. And no wonder!</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let us go,&rdquo; I said, proceeding to the coat room.
The Count met us on the way.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You are a liar&mdash;a jackass!&rdquo; he hissed into
Rayel&rsquo;s ear.</p>

<p>Hastily drawing on our coats we stepped out into the chilly
night air and walked leisurely down the deserted avenue. Neither of
us spoke for some moments. Presently Rayel asked:</p>

<p>&ldquo;What is a jackass?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He stopped and took my hand as if expecting an answer of great
moment.</p>

<p>&ldquo;A man who always tells the truth in this world&mdash;he
is a jackass,&rdquo; I replied.</p>

<p>I was a little irritated by the trying experiences we had been
through. Perhaps that is why my answer savored so strongly of
cynicism.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2>

<p>Painful as had been our introduction to polite society, the
reaction which followed it was scarcely less so. Next day we stayed
indoors until evening, when we ventured out for a walk with fear
and trembling lest the newspapers had already increased our fame
and our mortification. The twilight of a cloudless autumn day was
closing in upon the city, and the keen, bracing winds which sweep
over the American metropolis from the sea brought the color to our
faces. We walked down Broadway, now quite deserted, in silence, and
as we were passing Wallack&rsquo;s Theatre Rayel stopped suddenly,
and stood for a moment looking into the brightly lighted foyer.
Stepping in, he beckoned me to follow. I immediately saw what had
attracted his eye, for on an easel just inside the entrance was the
portrait of our woman. On a placard below the picture was the name
&ldquo;Edna Bronson.&rdquo; Our surprise was mingled with sad
regret at seeing it playing a false part to serve the ends of an
unscrupulous manager.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Perhaps she is here! suddenly exclaimed Rayel.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is very unlikely,&rdquo; I answered, &ldquo;but we
shall see.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I bought tickets for the evening&rsquo;s performance and we
hastened home, strangely elated, to dress for the play.</p>

<p>Our seats were in one of the lower proscenium boxes and quite
clearly exposed to the gaze of the thousands who filled the theatre
in winding rows, ascending and receding to the roof high above us.
The garish decorations, the gay throng bedizened with jewels
sparkling in the light and the hundreds of fair faces and bright
eyes that were turned toward us presented a spectacle entirely new
to Rayel. Shortly the curtain rose and the play began. Its first
scene was a counterfeit of real stage life in an English theatre.
An important performance is impending and at the last moment both
the leading lady and her understudy are suddenly taken ill. The
management is in a quandary. In the midst of its confusion the
stage carpenter suggests that he has a daughter who can play the
part. When this functionary came upon the scene my interest in the
play began to wax stronger. Hester Chaffin&rsquo;s father had been
a stage carpenter, and this turn in the scene startled me not a
little after having found our picture in the foyer.</p>

<p>The carpenter&rsquo;s suggestion is at first treated with
ridicule. He insists that she has learned the part from witnessing
the rehearsals, and urges the managers to give her a trial. The
performance must begin in four hours or be postponed. It is found
that the costumes prepared for the part will fit the young lady.
They consent to try her, the company is hastily summoned together
for rehearsal, and the curtain falls on the first act. The audience
waited impatiently for it to rise again and show what fortune might
have in store for the carpenter&rsquo;s daughter, but of all that
audience I was probably the most impatient.</p>

<p>&ldquo;There is the Count,&rdquo; whispered Rayel, directing my
attention to the opposite box. The diabolical little Frenchman was
there, sure enough, sitting next to the rail, and sweeping the
audience with his opera-glasses.</p>

<p>Soon the curtain was rung up and the rehearsal began which was
to test the powers of the venturesome young lady. Suddenly she
appears at the rear of the stage dressed for her part in
Elizabethan costume. She is greeted with loud applause, and she
stands a moment, waiting for silence. The lights have been turned
down and I cannot see her face distinctly. Before the last ripple
of applause is quieted, she advances down the centre of the stage
and begins to speak her lines. That voice! What is there in it that
thrills me so strangely? When she ceases speaking she is standing
almost within reach of my hand. Suddenly her eyes meet mine and I
see Hester Chaffin standing there on the stage and looking into my
face. She recognizes me, for she seems confused and proceeds with
evident embarrassment.</p>

<p>I turned to Rayel&mdash;he, too, was deeply moved by this great
surprise.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Our woman has come to life,&rdquo; said he, in tremulous
whispers. &ldquo;I knew we would see her sometime.&rdquo;</p>

<p>How she had changed! She was little more than a child when I saw
her last: now she was almost a woman, but not more beautiful than
when I bade her good-by in the moonlight at her father&rsquo;s
gate&mdash;long, long ago, it seemed to me now. Was the scene I had
witnessed a passage in her own life since I had left Liverpool? At
the close of the act an usher carried my card to her. Presently I
was summoned to one of the corridors where a lady was waiting for
me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is this Kendric Lane?&rdquo; she asked, extending her
hand.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is,&rdquo; I responded.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I have heard of you often. Miss Bronson is an old
acquaintance of yours, whom you knew as Hester Chaffin. Would you
like to see her?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I wish to see her to-night, if possible,&rdquo; said
I.</p>

<p>&ldquo;May I ask you, then, to go to this address and wait for
us until the performance is over? Hand this card to the night clerk
of the hotel and he will show you to our rooms.</p>

<p>Scribbling a few words upon the card, she gave it to me, and
hurried behind the scenes.</p>

<p>Rayel and I immediately left the theatre and walked to our
apartments. The play would soon be over and we had no time to lose.
On the way home I noticed that he frequently turned about and
peered through the darkness as if expecting some one to join us. He
said nothing, however, and as I was so preoccupied by my own
thoughts, I did not ask for whom he was looking.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Shall I not go with you?&rdquo; he asked, when we had
reached home.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You had better wait up for me; I shall not be gone
long,&rdquo; I answered.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I can walk back again when we get there, or perhaps I can
wait for you in the hotel?&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>He was not yet accustomed to life in a great city, and it did
not seem wise, either, to permit him to walk home alone, or to wait
for me in the hotel among strangers. He did not seem quite content
to stay, however, and there was a troubled expression on his face,
which was new to it, and which I could not put out of my mind after
I had left the house. The hotel to which I had been directed was on
Union Square. It was not far from our apartments, and I intended to
walk there, but I had not gone half a block before the street was
lit up with a vivid flash of lightning, followed by deafening
thunder, and the wind blew damp in my face. I hurried toward Third
Avenue, intending to mount one of the horse cars going down-town,
but suddenly a fierce gust of wind swept over me, sowing great
drops of rain along the pavement. I looked about for a cab. The
street was deserted and so dark that I could see nothing except the
gloomy rows of brown stone that stood on either side. While I was
looking backward another flash of lightning illumined the street.
What man was that coming in the distance? Was it Rayel? No, that
was scarcely possible. I had only caught a momentary glimpse of him
in the quick flash. He was tall and erect like Rayel, and I thought
the hat was his. But my imagination must have tricked me after all,
for nothing showed clearly. I walked back a few steps and listened.
I could hear no footsteps, but then he might have followed me, and
I ought to be sure. So I called, &ldquo;Rayel! Rayel!&rdquo; twice,
and waited for an answer, but could hear none. I had not time to go
back to our rooms, as Hester was undoubtedly waiting for me now,
and Rayel was certainly not the man I had seen, or he would have
answered me. So I hurried along without giving any further thought
to my fears. But where was Third Avenue? Its character was not then
so sharply defined as in these days of elevated rail-roads
&mdash;perhaps I had passed it. I had already walked a long
distance, and I had not yet recognized that thoroughfare. I could
hear footsteps behind me and I determined to wait a moment and
inquire my way.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am going there&mdash;walk along with me,&rdquo; said
the man whom I questioned. Just then we passed under a street lamp.
I observed that he wore a large coat and muffler and that he was
walking under an umbrella. Another man, also under an umbrella,
fell in with us at the next corner. As we walked along in silence I
heard some person coming at a run down the street quite a distance
behind us. I was listening to this sound when I received a terrific
blow on the back of the head. I fell forward, one side of my face
striking heavily upon the pavement. Strangely enough, I seemed
unable to make any outcry, but I had not lost consciousness, for,
as I lay with my face resting on the wet stones, I could feel the
rain drops falling on it. I could hear those quick footsteps coming
nearer. Yes, I could hear Rayel&rsquo;s voice shouting in a loud
and angry tone, but, try as I would, I could not utter a sound. As
I listened, the two men clutched me with strong hands and dragged
me through an open door, which quickly closed behind them. It was
no sooner shut than Rayel threw himself against it with terrific
force. I could hear the door groan and shake under the strain.
Once&mdash;twice, I was struck with cruel force upon the
head&mdash; then a loud roaring in my ears drowned everything.</p>

<p>I can remember well the first return of consciousness. It was
like the slow breaking of dawn in the sky. I could hear voices
singing:</p>

<p class="song">Hark! hark! my soul! angelic voices swelling<br />
O&rsquo;er earth&rsquo;s green fields and ocean&rsquo;s wave-beat shore.</p>

<p>I could just distinguish those words. Where was I? Strange
thoughts began trooping through my mind. Then a great wave of
emotion swept over me. I could hear a low moaning sound that came
from my own throat. I could feel the hot tears rolling down my
cheeks. A gentle hand was brushing them away and some one was
speaking to me. I was lying on a soft bed. A sweet-faced woman was
bending over me, whom I had never seen before.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Where am I?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;In the hospital,&rdquo; she answered.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The singing&mdash;who is singing?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is the chapel choir,&rdquo; she answered; &ldquo;the
services are nearly over now. It is Sunday.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is Rayel here?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Your friend? yes, he has been with you every
day.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;How long?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Almost a month.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I tried to ask other questions, but a drowsy feeling overcame me
and I fell asleep.</p>

<p>When I awoke again Rayel was sitting beside me. As I opened my
eyes he leaned over and kissed my hands.</p>

<p>&ldquo;They thought you were dead once,&rdquo; he said;
&ldquo;but I knew you were not dead&mdash;I knew you were not
dead.&rdquo; I lay for a moment trying to collect my thoughts. My
head was in tight bandages and something was binding my chest.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Where is Hester?&rdquo; I asked. Rayel did not answer. He
was not there, but somebody was holding one of my hands. It was a
lady kneeling beside me, her face leaning forward upon the bed. Who
could it be? I closed my eyes and listened to the rustling of
withered leaves outside the window, and the low humming of insects
in the autumn sun. These were prophetic sounds, and they opened the
gates of thought and memory. A new life was coming now. What was it
to be? Again I felt myself drifting into sleep. I tried to keep my
eyes open and resist the drowsiness that overcame me, but in vain.
When I awoke Rayel had returned.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You have slept a long time,&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>&ldquo;When I fell asleep a lady was here.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, it was our &lsquo;Woman,&rsquo;&rdquo; he
replied&mdash; &ldquo;the lady you love. She has come every day to
see you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Where is she now?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;She had to go away, but she will soon come back
again.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Who brought me here?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I broke down the door&mdash;I found you there. You could
not see me nor speak to me, but I knew you were not dead. The men
were gone. I carried you out into the street. A policeman met me,
and I told him what had happened. Then the ambulance came and we
put you into it, and you were brought here. For a long time you lay
like my father after he was dead. Your face was white&mdash;like
snow. They had stabbed you in the side&mdash; they would have
killed you if I had not broken the door.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Who struck me?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I knew,&rdquo; he said, his eyes flashing, &ldquo;I knew
the devil was in their heads&mdash;that is why I wished to go with
you. They followed us that night.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Who?&rdquo; I asked, eagerly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The Count de Montalle and another man.&rdquo;</p>

<p>My cousin&rsquo;s answer amazed me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Have you made known your suspicions?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No. I have been waiting to talk with you
first.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do not speak of it yet to any one,&rdquo; I said.
&ldquo;Let us await developments.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I foresaw that Rayel would only get a reputation for insanity if
pressed to the point of explaining his suspicions. It seemed quite
likely, also, that any futile discussion of the subject would
defeat justice.</p>

<p>That day brought me a letter from Hester, whom I had been
looking for with much impatience since I had begun to feel more
like myself. She would shortly have fulfilled all her professional
engagements, and would then return at once to New York. &ldquo;I
wonder,&rdquo; she added, somewhat coquettishly, &ldquo;if you will
be glad to see me.&rdquo; On this point there was no doubt in my
mind, and although my strength increased rapidly, the days passed
with tedious slowness after that.</p>

<p>I was sitting by the window one morning, looking out upon the
moving throng in the opposite street, when the door of my room was
suddenly opened. I supposed that one of the physicians had come to
see me, and I waited for him to speak.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Kendric!&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was Rayel who spoke my name, but somehow his voice did not
seem quite natural, and I turned to greet him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This is our &lsquo;Woman,&rsquo;&rdquo; said he,
advancing toward me with Hester upon his arm.</p>

<p>I rose feebly to my feet, confused by the sudden announcement,
and took her extended hand. We looked into each other&rsquo;s eyes
for a moment without speaking. My own were rapidly filling with
tears, and I could see her but dimly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What a fine outlook you have!&rdquo; she said, in a
tremulous voice, turning suddenly to the window and looking out
upon the trees now half stripped of their foliage by the autumn
winds. We both stood staring out of the window in silence. For my
part, I could not have spoken if I had known what to say. How she
had changed! The blushing little miss who had awakened the pangs of
first love in my youthful heart was a beautiful young woman, now
full grown and arrayed in costly finery. Rayel was the first to
speak.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You must be glad to meet again&mdash;you have loved each
other so long,&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>Honest Rayel! He knew our hearts&mdash;their longings, their
histories, and also the vanity and pride that dwelt in them. Why
should there be any concealment between her and me?</p>

<p>&ldquo;It has been a long time&mdash;a very long time to me,
Hester, for I have loved you ever since we first met.&rdquo;</p>

<p>She turned toward me, her eyes filled with tears, and I drew her
to my heart and kissed her fondly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We have only known each other as children,
Kendric,&rdquo; said she. &ldquo;Your heart may change and mine may
change&mdash;let us wait and see.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then she left us, promising to come again next day.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER X</h2>

<p>Hester and her maid looked in upon me every morning after that,
until I was able to leave the hospital. During these visits we told
each other the eventful story of our lives since the night of our
parting at her father&rsquo;s gate. Her first appearance on the
stage had been, as I suspected, literally represented in the play.
For years she had been permitted to accompany her father behind the
scenes, and nights when the cast was short she had played small
parts with great success. The glamour and excitement of stage life
had proved distasteful to her. She assured me that it was her
intention never to go back to it, and this strengthened my hope
that she would some day consent to become my wife. Rayel had told
her, during my illness, the strange story of his life. She knew
nothing, however, of his wonderful powers, until I had related to
her some of the experiences which had revealed them to me. He had
said nothing to her, I learned, about our discovery of the
picture.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Who painted the remarkable portrait of you which we saw
at the theatre?&rdquo; I asked her one day.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It was painted, I believe, by a French nobleman, who
presented it to me here in New York. I suppose it looks a little as
I did once, but it is certainly too flattering and much too
maidenly for me now.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The Frenchman is an impostor and worse,&rdquo; I said.
&ldquo;The portrait was painted by Rayel and sold to a broker of
the name of Paddington, from whom the Frenchman borrowed or bought
it.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Her amazement could scarcely be overestimated when I told her
what occurred at Mr. Paddington&rsquo;s dinner-party.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The Frenchman,&rdquo; she said, &ldquo;has been paying me
unwelcome attentions ever since the first night of my appearance in
New York. He became so odious to me at length that I refused to
accept any of his gifts, and, in spite of the protests of my
managers, returned everything he had sent me, including the
portrait.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I did not tell her that it was this same Frenchman to whom I was
indebted for my wounds. Of that I must wait for more palpable
evidence, though not for my own convincing. It seemed strange to me
then that just at the moment this thought was passing through my
mind she asked me whom I suspected of having committed the assault.
It occurred to me after she had gone that possibly she had some
cause to suspect the man who had been the subject of our
conversation.</p>

<p>Rayel always came late in the day, when there was no chance of
meeting other callers, and stayed with me until bedtime. As
returning strength brought back to me that interest in life which
prompts keen observation, I could see that a great change was
coming over him. His face wore a melancholy look which indicated
too clearly that his mind was suffering under some sad oppression.
He was as gentle and considerate as ever, and as tireless in his
efforts to increase my comfort, but he rarely spoke now, except in
reply to my questions. He would sit by my side for hours, gazing
out of the window with a vacant look in his eyes, until the light
of day grew dim and the lamps were lighted. When supper was served
to us I could never induce him to eat.</p>

<p>&ldquo;What is the trouble, Rayel?&rdquo; I asked, one evening.
&ldquo;You are not yourself lately.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Neither of us had spoken for a long time. He turned suddenly, as
if startled by my words, his lips quivered, and stammering almost
incoherently, he rose to his feet. Then he stood erect before me
for a moment, looking sadly and thoughtfully into my eyes.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Nothing, Kendric,&rdquo; he said presently, in a deep
tone that trembled with emotion. &ldquo;I think I have been working
too hard and need exercise&mdash;that is all.&rdquo; Then he
grasped my hand warmly and bade me good night.</p>

<p>I believe his answer to my question was the first lie that he
had ever spoken.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2>

<p>Next day I was discharged from the hospital, and Rayel and I
were driven to our apartments. He had a number of surprises
prepared for me. A large painting on his easel, awaiting some
finishing touches, compelled my attention as soon as I entered the
room. It represented a scene in our own lives, which had lasted but
a second, but which could never be forgotten by either of us. He
had seen me when I stood looking backward in that vivid flash of
lightning&mdash;there could be no doubt of it now, for here was the
scene transferred to canvas. The shaft of white light shaking and
darting across the black sky like a gleaming sword; the man on the
sidewalk looking backward with a startled glance; the big drops of
rain falling sidelong in the wind&mdash;these were all reproduced
on the canvas. His later pictures were characterized by a cynical
tendency, which I observed with regret. It was evident that his
sensitive mind had taken impressions from its brief contact with
men, which were sadly affecting his thought.</p>

<p>He showed me numerous letters, many of which were from women who
desired to visit his studio and see his work. Indeed, my cousin had
apparently grown suddenly famous in the American metropolis. He was
the victim rather than the victor of fame, however, and regarded
the matter with very serious concern. The press of New York had
been full of gossip concerning his &ldquo;eccentricities&rdquo;
since the event which had put my life in danger. One of the society
journals had printed a highly colored version of that little
episode at the house of the Paddingtons, and had concluded its
article by saying that the fair Miss Paddington had fallen madly in
love with her father&rsquo;s strange guest.</p>

<p>That night, as we were sitting by the grate fire in our own
rooms, Rayel, encouraged by our seclusion, began to emerge from the
silence to which he had seemingly gone back for refuge in time of
trouble.</p>

<p>&ldquo;We shall soon be ready to start for England,&rdquo; I
said.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I do not wish to go to England, Kendric,&rdquo; said he.
&ldquo;For a long time I have thought over it. Let me go back to
the old house and live by my father&rsquo;s grave, until the good
Lord takes me to a better home. I would miss you, dear Kendric, and
every day I would look for you to come, but I shall be happier
there.&rdquo;</p>

<p>His words touched me deeply, and I was not prepared to answer
him with perfect calmness, although I had lately suspected that his
despondency would lead to this resolve.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why must we separate now, after we have become so dear to
each other?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Something has happened to change
your purpose since I have been ill&mdash;tell me what it
is.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;To speak frankly, Kendric, I must say that the world has
sadly disappointed me. It is full of vanity and deceit and
selfishness. Every day brings to me some hideous revelation which
the mercy of heaven has hidden from others. I have seen the
righteous forsaken of men, and the wicked receiving homage; I have
seen the unjust triumphing over the just; I have seen some reveling
in abundance while others were begging for bread. Everywhere I have
found want and misery staring me in the face.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Remembering what Christ said, I sold all I had and gave
to the poor, and now there is nothing more I can do. My best
pictures, my money and all my extra clothing have gone to feed the
hungry and cover the naked. And even now, when I have nothing left
to give, I find as much misery as before. Often, since I have been
alone, I have had nothing to eat and no fire to keep me warm. Then
I feared to tell you what I had done, and I bore it in silence,
hoping that I might earn more money by painting. But I could not
work. When Hester came back I told her all my troubles, and she
gave me money, not only for my own use but for the use of others
who needed it more than I. She and I have wandered about the city
by day and by night, ministering to the sick and the
friendless.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He ceased speaking, his head bent forward upon his hands. It was
indeed a serious situation into which a too generous heart had
betrayed him. Nearly all his fortune had descended to him in cash
on deposit, and payable either to my order or to his. He had
therefore saved nothing for himself that had been available for the
satisfaction of his good impulses. Instead of displeasing me,
however, as he feared, his action only increased my love for him,
if that were possible.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do not let these things trouble you, Rayel,&rdquo; I
said. &ldquo;We shall find no difficulty, I think, in earning money
enough for our needs. I cannot see you shut yourself away from the
world: you have yet an important work to do among men. You are now
morbidly sensitive to the misery that surrounds us, but you will
feel it less keenly as it grows more familiar.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You do not understand me, Kendric,&rdquo; said he,
starting from his chair, and pacing restlessly up and down the
room. &ldquo;I cannot deceive you any longer. In begging you to
leave me, it is your own happiness I am thinking of. Please go as
soon as possible,&rdquo; he pleaded, laying his hand gently upon my
shoulder. &ldquo;Take her with you, and let me stay.&rdquo;</p>

<p>My heart seemed suddenly to have stopped beating.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My God, Rayel!&rdquo; I exclaimed. &ldquo;Are we both in
love with the same woman?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, Kendric, no,&rdquo; he said quickly, taking my hand.
&ldquo;I do not mean that. I would not permit myself to love her,
knowing that you love her also.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;What, then, do you mean?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That there is danger,&rdquo; he answered huskily, sinking
into a chair. &ldquo;I am a fool not to have thought of it long
ago!&rdquo;</p>

<p>His words seemed to sting me, and for a moment I could not
speak.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You know what is in her heart, Rayel,&rdquo; I said
presently. &ldquo;Tell me, is it false, or is she, as I have
thought, a pure and noble woman?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;She is pure and worthy of your love,&rdquo; he answered.
&ldquo;Her life has been much exposed to temptation, but her
character has been greater than any temptation. When she began to
go with me among the poor I did not know what love was. I had never
felt the power of it, nor did I think of the danger to all of us.
When at last it came upon me, and I saw what it meant, I resolved
not to see Hester again until God had given me strength to subdue
that passion. For days my heart was near breaking. When you asked
me to tell you what made me sad, I had not the courage to do it.
Then I told you a lie. I did the very thing which I have so much
condemned in others. This trouble has taught me to comprehend and
to pity the frailty of men. I look forward with fear and dread for
my own sake.. I shall be safe in my father&rsquo;s house. I must go
back, but, before I go, forgive me. Tell me that you do not despise
me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>As he ceased speaking he laid his hand upon my shoulder and
peered into my face with a frightened and appealing look.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Despise you!&rdquo; I repeated. &ldquo;No. You are dearer
to me now than ever. What you have told me will bring us closer to
each other, if we consider it wisely. As yet there is no pledge
between Hester and myself, save the assurance given by unuttered
thoughts. Her heart is free. I have no right to claim it. If she
loves you I shall wish you both much joy.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;That will not be necessary, Kendric. I had rather die
than know that I had come between you. I cannot even risk the
danger of it. I must leave you to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Under no circumstances will I consent to that. My promise
to your father and my duty to you forbid it. To go back now would
be cowardly and unworthy of you. With my help and guidance you can
do great things. We must face the world with stout hearts. As to
this trouble, let us concern ourselves about it as little as
possible. I believe that whatever may be best for all will happen
if we but wait with patience.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Rayel made no answer, and for some moments we both sat looking
at the glowing embers in silence.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I shall obey your wish,&rdquo; he said presently;
&ldquo;I cannot do otherwise. I am like a child, and must look to
you for instruction in all things. Perhaps there will come a time
when I can repay you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;It will be a pleasure for me to help you as I would a
brother, and you will owe me no gratitude for it,&rdquo; I
said.</p>

<p>We sat discussing our plans for the future until near midnight.
When we went to bed at last, Rayel looked happier than I had seen
him before since my recovery at the hospital.</p>

<p>When I awoke it was near midday. I went to call Rayel and found
that he was gone.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2>

<p>After waiting for him nearly an hour I went to a neighboring
restaurant for breakfast. On returning I found that he had not yet
come back. Alarmed at his continued absence I went at once to
Hester&rsquo;s apartments, scarcely expecting, however, to find him
there, but confident that she would be able to tell me where he was
likely to go.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No doubt he has gone on some good errand,&rdquo; she
said. &ldquo;Has he not told you of his charitable
enterprises?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;He told me last night how they had reduced his
fortune.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Poor fellow!&rdquo; she continued. &ldquo;In his zeal for
others he quite forgot his own needs. I would have told you about
it, but that he implored me to spare you any knowledge of his
condition. I think we shall be able to find him. Let us go and
try.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Hester and I set out at once, walking rapidly against a biting
east wind toward the river. On reaching Second Avenue we took a car
and rode down among the big tenements towering into the sky on all
sides in the lower part of the city. Alighting in the midst of
these human hives, we made our way through a wretched crowd,
shivering in the livery of destitution, down a long and narrow
alley. Entering one of the doorways we climbed a steep flight of
stairs, above which was a squalid throng pressing about an open
door on the landing. The women held children in their arms, and
many of them were crying bitterly. The men stood in silence peering
curiously over the heads of the further throng into the crowded
chamber. Some of them greeted Hester with great respect, and moved
aside that we might have room to enter. As we neared the door I
could hear a babel of strange tongues and the voices of women
calling down the blessings of Heaven upon some one in their midst.
It was Rayel. He stood in a corner of the room holding two little
children in his arms, and the crowd was pressing forward as if
eager to speak with him. He was talking in a low voice to those
nearest him, but I was unable to catch his words. There were men
and women of many nationalities in the throng. I saw Italians,
Celts, Poles, Germans and even men whose swarthy faces and peculiar
garb betokened Syrian origin. When we pressed nearer to Rayel I saw
some, as they came within reach, extend their hands and touch him
fondly, uttering exclamations as they did so, often in a tongue
that was strange to me. These simple-minded people seemed to regard
him as a supernatural being whom it was good to talk with, and
whose touch it was a blessing to feel. A look of love and
gentleness and sympathy irradiated his face and invited their
confidence. These were evidently the poor whom he had befriended,
and he was now taking leave of them, probably forever. It was a
scene the like of which few can ever hope to witness. After all, I
thought, what manner of riches can be compared to the satisfaction
which Rayel feels at this moment? I was quite ready then to applaud
his unselfish generosity, for in that gloomy and unclean place I
first saw the full radiance of God&rsquo;s truth that it is
infinitely more blessed to give than to receive. We stood for a
long time looking upon this memorable meeting of Cadmus and
Caliban. When at length he caught sight of us, Rayel came where we
stood, and said he was ready to go home. Perceiving that we were
about to go, the crowd hurried from the building into the narrow
alley leading out upon the street. Some shouted endearing farewells
as we passed them, and many of their hardened faces were wet with
tears. The sun was just going down and the shadows were deepening
between the high walls looming above us as we started homeward.
Hester insisted that we must dine with her and decide upon the day
of our departure. Rayel and I went directly home for a bath and a
change of clothing, after which we proceeded at once to
Hester&rsquo;s apartments. Evidently somewhat fatigued by the
day&rsquo;s experience, Rayel had little to say while we were
eating dinner. It was arranged that we would start for England by
the first steamer on which we could secure a comfortable passage.
We had no sooner finished our coffee than a servant announced Mr.
Benjamin Murmurtot, who wished to see Miss Bronson.</p>

<p>&ldquo;A reporter!&rdquo; exclaimed Hester. &ldquo;There&rsquo;s
no dodging them in America. Shall I ask him in for a
moment?&rdquo;</p>

<p>We said yes, of course, and Mr. Murmurtot presently fluttered
into the room. He was a natty little man, with a large nose, a bald
head and a decidedly English accent.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Delighted to see you, Miss Bronson,&rdquo; said he,
&ldquo;delighted, I&rsquo;m sure. Thought I&rsquo;d call and pay my
respects before you leave the city.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He greeted us all with like effusiveness and sat down facing
Hester.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It&rsquo;s very kind of you,&rdquo; said she; &ldquo;but
pray how did you know I was to leave the city?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Why, I&rsquo;m sure, Miss Bronson, everybody knows you
are going home to be married?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is true that I am going home soon,&rdquo; said she,
&ldquo;but I must decline to discuss my object in doing
so.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Pray pardon me; I&rsquo;m a journalist, you know,&rdquo;
said Mr. Murmurtot, &ldquo;and I earn my living by impertinence.
Have I not seen you before, sir?&rdquo; he continued, facing Rayel.
&ldquo;I think you were at the theatre one evening some time
ago&mdash;sat in the lower box at the right of the stage&mdash;I
remember it well, sir.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I remember the occasion,&rdquo; said my cousin, with his
accustomed gravity.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I read about that occurrence at Mr. Paddington&rsquo;s
dinner-party, sir,&rdquo; continued Mr. Murmurtot. &ldquo;It was
decidedly clever in you, sir&mdash; deucedly clever! Everybody is
talking about it, now that the Count has been arrested.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Arrested!&rdquo; I exclaimed; &ldquo;has he been
arrested?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, this morning, for the robbery, you know. They say
that the police have secured evidence that will convict him sure,
but it seems they are not yet ready to make it public; reporters
can&rsquo;t get the Inspector to say a word about it, you
know&mdash;not a word.&rdquo;</p>

<p>There were exclamations of surprise and gratification from all
present, save Rayel, who remained silent, while a faint smile stole
over his face.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I knew they would find him out,&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I hear that you are a mind-reader, sir,&rdquo; said Mr.
Murmurtot, again addressing my cousin.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And you are a detective, I believe, and not a reporter,
said Rayel. &ldquo;It is good that we understand each
other.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mr. Murmurtot started with surprise at the remark.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I do not know how fully you may be acquainted with my
secret,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;but permit me to assure you that I
am here on a friendly mission.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I have no doubt of that,&rdquo; said my cousin.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let me proceed directly to the object of my visit, then,
which is to learn how soon you expect to return to
England.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;By Saturday, if possible,&rdquo; I replied.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is good,&rdquo; said he, turning toward me.
&ldquo;The sooner the better. In the meantime it will be my duty to
keep a sharp eye upon you; I have been near you all day. You need
not feel any alarm&mdash;only do not be surprised if you meet me
often. I am responsible for your safety, that is all.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;For whom are you acting?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My dear sir,&rdquo; said he, rising to go, &ldquo;men in
my line of business must not talk too much. Good night.&rdquo;</p>

<p>After he had gone we asked Rayel to tell us more about this
mysterious visitor, but he was unable to do so.</p>

<p>When we started away Hester put on her wraps and walked with us
to the cab. As we alighted at our own door I saw a man standing by
the street lamp on the corner, some distance away, whom I
recognized as Mr. Murmurtot. I found a letter from Mr. Earl
awaiting me at home, in which he urged us to hasten back to England
as soon as possible after my recovery.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You and Rayel,&rdquo; he said, &ldquo;will, I trust, make
your home at my house.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Next day we began our preparations for the voyage.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2>

<p>It was on a bleak and windy night in December that we were
driven through a pelting rain to one of the docks on the North
River, which our steamer was to leave at high tide in the early
morning. When we alighted Mr. Murmurtot stood shivering in a
greatcoat and muffler close by the passengers&rsquo; entrance.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This is a good place for a warm greeting,&rdquo; said he,
taking Hester&rsquo;s hand. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve stood here so long
that my teeth are chattering from the cold.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you come aboard with us?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; he replied; &ldquo;but I expect to sail
with you in the morning.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;&rsquo;Sa rough night, sir,&rdquo; said the porter who
carried our luggage, &ldquo;but we&rsquo;ll find it a bit rougher
outside, I&rsquo;m feered, afore anither night.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Fatigued by a long day of arduous work, we went at once to our
staterooms. I was soon asleep after getting into my berth, but was
awakened by the tramp of feet on the upper decks and the shouting
of the crew long before the ship left her moorings. They reminded
me of the first night I had ever spent on an ocean
steamer&mdash;the night I left Liverpool on that journey fraught
with danger I had not then dreamed of. I had grown old very fast
under the influences that had come into my life since then. Indeed,
I was now a man, whereas I had been only a boy when I left England.
But Rayel was with me now, and that repaid me for all I had
suffered. What would he have done in that lonely mansion after his
father&rsquo;s death? For hours my mind was occupied with these
reflections, and at length I determined to dress myself and go on
deck. Rayel awoke while I was dressing and decided to go with
me.</p>

<p>We found the decks thronged with people, and the ship&rsquo;s
crew were bustling about, getting ready to sail. We stood near the
gangway, facing the dock. A man was pacing back and forth in the
opening whose figure seemed familiar to me. Presently he came
aboard, and as he passed near us I saw it was the omnipresent Mr.
Murmurtot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I wonder if he is afraid somebody will steal the
ship?&rdquo; I remarked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, he is looking for some person,&rdquo; said Rayel,
divining my thoughts.</p>

<p>&ldquo;All ashore! Stand away, there!&rdquo; shouted one of the
ship&rsquo;s officers.</p>

<p>The passengers fell back, the gangway was pulled aboard, the
great hawsers were loosened, and the ship moved slowly away from
the dock. We stood for a long time watching the river craft and the
receding lights of the city. The ship was well beyond the Atlantic
Highlands when we went to our stateroom and to bed again. We slept
until late in the morning, and arose barely in time for a late
breakfast with Hester. Rayel seemed cheerful enough and took more
than ordinary interest in his surroundings. When we had risen from
the table he led me aside and directed my attention to a short,
stout man with a bristly growth of close-cropped black hair, a low
forehead and shaggy eyebrows, who was leaning lazily against the
railing of the stairway.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let us avoid him,&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;I do not
like his looks.&rdquo;</p>

<p>What can this mean? I asked myself, as we all proceeded to the
deck. Perhaps he was the man the detective was looking for.</p>

<p>It was a beautiful sunlit afternoon, and the vessel rode
steadily in a sea that was growing quiet under the dying impulse
that the winds had left behind them. We drew our chairs together on
the deck near the stern of the vessel, and had settled down for a
quiet chat among ourselves when we were unexpectedly joined by Mr.
Murmurtot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Delighted, I&rsquo;m sure!&rdquo; he exclaimed, with the
same inimitable drawl I had noted on the occasion of our first
meeting. I soon observed that the artful little gentleman was
master of an elaborate system of exclamations by which he
encouraged one to talk freely without saying anything himself.</p>

<p>In response to my assertion that we had been exceedingly busy
getting ready for the trip he said simply:
&ldquo;Indeed!&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was a very unusual burst of confidence in which he was moved
to express his views with any greater freedom. When the remark
which preceded it was evidently expected to meet with Mr.
Murmurtot&rsquo;s concurrence, then he would say, &ldquo;Yes,
indeed!&rdquo;</p>

<p>If the remark were one to which this response would be
inappropriate he often went to the extent of observing, &ldquo;I
dare say!&rdquo; seemingly ventured after careful consideration of
the chances for and against the proposition which provoked it.</p>

<p>&ldquo;My dear sir, I do not agree with you,&rdquo; he would
always say when he felt compelled to differ with me. If the
difference in our views chanced to be extremely radical, he would
throw particular emphasis upon the word &ldquo;dear,&rdquo; as a
sort of recompense for his opposition. These forms of speech, with
occasional and slight variations, were always employed by Mr.
Murmurtot as a medium of thought and sentiment.</p>

<p>In the midst of our conversation I noticed the man whom Rayel
had pointed out to me when we arose from the breakfast-table. He
was standing against the rail, not twenty feet from where we sat,
and as I looked at him he turned away and walked leisurely down the
deck. In a moment Rayel was on his feet, and, excusing himself, he
proceeded in the same direction. An hour later, as he had not
returned, I left Hester with Mr. Murmurtot and went forward in
quest of him. He was in the reading-room, apparently interested in
a newspaper. As he did not observe me, I sat down behind his chair
without disturbing him. To my surprise I saw that he was not
reading the paper, but that his eyes were furtively watching the
mysterious stranger he had followed, who sat on the other side of
the room listlessly puffing at a cigarette. I was seated scarcely a
moment when Rayel seemed to be aware of my presence. Looking from
face to face until he had discovered me he arose and came to my
side.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I was trying to read a newspaper,&rdquo; said he, leading
the way to the door, &ldquo;but reading is still hard work for
me.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I saw that you did not seem to be looking at the
paper,&rdquo; said I, as we proceeded to the deck. He made no
reply, but stopped and looked out across the waste of waters at the
horizon.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Do you know that man?&rdquo; I asked.</p>

<p>For a moment I stood waiting for his answer. Apparently he had
not heard my question, and I repeated it in a somewhat louder
tone.</p>

<p>He turned suddenly with an impatient exclamation. There was a
flash of anger in his eyes as he faced me. I had never seen him in
such a mood before.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;I am only angry with
myself. Come, Hester will be looking for us.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I did not venture again to refer to our bristly fellow-passenger
in Rayel&rsquo;s presence. Never inclined to talk much, even with
me, he was becoming more silent than ever as the voyage continued.
Day by day his interest in that strange man seemed to increase. He
spent as little time as possible in my company. When not with me he
was hounding him about the ship, keeping him in sight from some
favorable point of observation. What was the meaning of it? The
question forced itself upon my mind persistently by day and night,
and begat in me a gloomy reticence which Hester was quick to
observe. Every day I expected some revelation from Rayel, but he
said nothing about the man in whom he had taken such extraordinary
interest.</p>

<p>We had been over a week at sea, and I was sitting alone one
afternoon, when Mr. Murmurtot came along and asked if he might
introduce an acquaintance of his whom I ought to know. Then he went
to find the gentleman, saying that he would return in a few
moments. He had no sooner left me than my mind reverted to the man
who had been the bugbear of my thoughts since we left New York.
Presently Mr. Murmurtot touched my arm. Looking up suddenly, I saw
standing before me the very man of whom I had been thinking.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mr. Lane, let me introduce you to Mr. Fenlon,&rdquo; said
the detective. I shook the hand that was extended to me
mechanically, and made some incoherent response&mdash;I do not
remember what. I had been taken by surprise. My voice was unnatural
and my strength seemed to have left me suddenly.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Are you not well, sir?&rdquo; he asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;No, sir, he is not well yet.&rdquo;</p>

<p>It was the voice of Rayel that answered for me. He was standing
by my side, his lips tightly drawn, and his eyes fixed upon the man
Fenlon. There was a terrible look on his face as he stood there
towering above us. The man turned pale and moved quickly backward
two or three steps, staring at my cousin as if in fear of receiving
a death-blow. For an instant, only, he stood like some fierce
animal at bay, then turned and walked hurriedly down the deck. The
situation was made all the more impressive by the interval of
silence that followed Rayel&rsquo;s words.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Forgive me,&rdquo; said Mr. Murmurtot, taking my hand,
&ldquo;if this meeting was unpleasant. It was necessary.&rdquo;
Then he bowed politely and walked away. The sun was just going down
as Rayel and I entered the cabin, where Hester was waiting for
us.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The captain thinks we will reach Southampton before five
in the morning,&rdquo; said she.</p>

<p>I was glad to learn that our voyage was so near its end.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2>

<p>After dinner Rayel and I went at once to our stateroom.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am out of patience with myself,&rdquo; said he, as soon
as we were seated. &ldquo;My mind is failing me just when I need it
most. I have grown dull and stupid. For more than a week I have
been trying to find out that man&rsquo;s secret. I knew that he had
a secret, and that it concerned us. Not until to-night was I
certain that I had found it out. Once I could see the truth
clearly. No matter how deeply it was buried under lies&mdash;I
could see it. But now there is something like a mist before my
eyes, and I am sure of nothing. Perhaps it is because I am now a
liar myself, as bad as any of them. God have mercy on me!&rdquo;
said he, rising, and speaking with much animation. &ldquo;I know
now what is blinding my soul. When a man lies he loses some degree
of his power to distinguish between truth and falsehood.&rdquo;</p>

<p>He stood looking into my face impatiently, as if waiting to hear
what I would say to his remark.</p>

<p>&ldquo;That would be the natural result, I have no doubt,&rdquo;
said I; &ldquo;but are you not trying to convict yourself of too
much wickedness and stupidity?&rdquo;</p>

<p>I had never considered the misfortune of knowing too
much&mdash;of being able to detect every difference between word
and thought, between appearance and reality. That was the power
which Rayel possessed, and it increased his moral responsibility by
as much as it transcended the power common to others. Here, indeed,
was a man ripe for the fate of a martyr.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Won&rsquo;t you tell me Fenlon&rsquo;s secret, if you
have found it out?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;I&rsquo;ve been thinking
about it night and day since we first saw him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Be wise! Don&rsquo;t try to learn too fast,
Kendric&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;You shall know it soon, I am sure of
that&mdash;indeed, I promise that you shall.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I am quite willing to wait on the future for everything
if you think it is best,&rdquo; I said.</p>

<p>We sat for a long time, making plans for our future life in
England. It was near midnight when we retired to our berths, but we
were up early in the morning, eager to catch the first sight of
land. On reaching the deck we were overjoyed to see the distant
spires of Southampton glowing in the morning sun.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2>

<p>Mr. and Mrs. Earl met us at the station of the Southwestern
Railway in London, and we were driven at once to their home. Hester
came to breakfast with us, but Mrs. Earl would not let her go to
Liverpool that day, ship-worn and fatigued as we all felt after the
voyage.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You resemble your father, sir, when he was of your
age,&rdquo; said Mr. Earl, addressing my cousin, as we were eating.
&ldquo;But you are larger, much larger, than he was.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You were my father&rsquo;s friend when he was a young
man, I believe?&rdquo; said Rayel.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Yes, he and his brother were my best friends in those
days. I tried to induce him to study law, but he was more inclined
to medicine.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Rayel had found a man quite after his liking and the two were on
the best of terms at once. Indeed, he seemed to talk with my
benefactor as freely as he ever talked with me. I found Mrs. Earl
very much as I had imagined my mother to have been&mdash; a
full-faced, ruddy-cheeked woman; with a sweet voice and gentle
manners. She greeted me as if I were her own son returned from a
long journey, and when we sat down to talk after breakfast, I felt
the joy and peace of one who has found a home after much
wandering.</p>

<p>I spent the afternoon with Mr. Earl in his library, and he
listened with deep interest to the complete story of my life since
the night we parted in Liverpool.</p>

<p>He had many questions to ask me touching the attempt upon my
life, and my replies were jotted down in his memorandum-book. After
I had told him all that I was able to tell he sat for some moments
thoughtfully turning the pages of the book, stopping now and then
to read some of the memoranda.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It looks pretty bad for them, doesn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo;
said he calmly, looking up at me over his spectacles. &ldquo;But
we&rsquo;ll bring this matter to a climax very soon,&rdquo; he
continued. &ldquo;We haven&rsquo;t seen the last act of the play
yet. You need not have any further fear for your safety&mdash;I
will look after that. You may feel quite free to go and come as you
please in this part of the city. Above all things we must avoid
letting them know that we suspect anything; it might defeat me in
getting hold of the last bit of evidence that is necessary to
complete our case.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I nodded, and waited for him to proceed.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Let us go carefully until we&rsquo;re sure of our
ground,&rdquo; he continued. &ldquo;Your stepmother knows you are
in London, of course. You must go and see her. Take your cousin
with you, and&mdash;well, you will know how to treat them. After
all, you must bear in mind that in the eye of the law every man is
innocent until he is proven guilty. Adopt that view of the case
yourself. You needn&rsquo;t fear anything from Cobb or his wife.
Only be reasonably prudent.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;ve no fear that they will try to do us any
harm,&rdquo; said I; &ldquo;and I would greatly enjoy visiting the
old house. Perhaps we could go to-morrow.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;The day after. You&rsquo;d better go down to Liverpool
to-morrow with the young lady, and return by the night
train.&rdquo;</p>

<p>That day saw the beginning of a deep and lasting friendship
between Hester and Mrs. Earl. When we left next morning to go to
Hester&rsquo;s home in Liverpool, she promised to return soon for a
long visit. By ten o&rsquo;clock we were well out of smoky London,
on the way that I had already traversed once before, with a
cheerful heart most creditable to me under the circumstances. Mrs.
Chaffin was waiting for us at the gate when we alighted in front of
the old wood-colored cottage&mdash;that haven of weary legs in days
gone by. Phil (who had lengthened noticeably in the service of
Valentine, King &amp; Co.) was there, too, and all the rest of the
Chaffin household in Sunday clothes. Mrs. Chaffin was quite beside
herself with joy.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Dear-a me!&rdquo; said the good lady, after the
salutations were over. &ldquo;Dear-a sakes! How you&rsquo;ve
growed! I didn&rsquo;t think you&rsquo;d ever live to get s&rsquo;
big. I thought as &rsquo;ow som&rsquo; &rsquo;arm &rsquo;d come to
ye when ye went away, an&rsquo; Hester&mdash;&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Mamma!&rdquo; exclaimed Hester, with a reproving glance.
&ldquo;Don&rsquo;t tell him.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m that fidgety I don&rsquo;t know what I&rsquo;m
sayin&rsquo;. The Lord bless us, but ye must be hungry!&rdquo; said
the good woman, as she spread the table for dinner. She had guessed
rightly, and Hester bustled about, helping her mother get the
dishes on the table, with a critical eye to all the arrangements.
Rayel was much amused by the children, the youngest of whom had
climbed upon his knee and was taking liberties with his cravat. He
was wholly unaccustomed to the pranks of children, and we
frequently rallied to his defence. He seemed to enjoy them,
however, and was soon involved in a spree at which both Hester and
I laughed heartily.</p>

<p>&ldquo;This herring ain&rsquo;t extra good, sir, but I
&rsquo;ope it won&rsquo;t go ag&rsquo;in&rsquo; ye,&rdquo; said
Mrs. Chaffin to Rayel, as we sat down to the table.</p>

<p>He seemed in doubt for a moment as to what it would be proper to
say in reply to this well-intended remark.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I have never eaten a herring, madam,&rdquo; said he,
gravely, &ldquo;but I have no doubt it will be good.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;I &rsquo;ope so, sir&mdash;indeed, I &rsquo;ope so; but I
dare presume to say that it will taste bad enough to the likes of
you.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mrs. Chaffin (good soul) had evidently concluded that my cousin
was a man entitled to extra politeness. Hester had adroitly
side-tracked the herring question and started another train of
speculation, when her mother&rsquo;s misgivings were again excited
respecting the tea, which Rayel had just tasted.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Murky, sir?&rdquo; she asked, with a glance of alarm.
&ldquo;I &rsquo;ope it don&rsquo;t taste murky.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mrs. Chaffin&rsquo;s solicitude respecting the tea and the
herring reminded me of the first time I had stretched my tired legs
under that hospitable board at Phil&rsquo;s invitation; of those
big, wondering eyes that stared at me across the table; of the
songs and stories which beguiled the evening hours.</p>

<p>The candles were lit before dinner was over, and when we rose
from the table it was to gather about the warm fire and exchange
memories, while Rayel listened with deep interest. Phil had been
promoted from a pair of legs to a pair of hands, and was now third
bookkeeper for the firm. Our carriage came for us at nine
o&rsquo;clock. Hester had decided to stay a day or two with her
mother, but it was necessary for Rayel and me to return to London
that night, as we were to make an important call the next day.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2>

<p>Late in the afternoon of the day following our visit to
Liverpool we ascended the big stone steps of my old home and pulled
the bell. After all, I found that my nerves were not quite steady
while we were waiting for the door to open. We had come intending
to spend the night there, and my benefactor had given me certain
precautions not calculated to make me feel entirely at home. Was
there some deeper plan underlying his suggestion as to this visit
than he had chosen to explain? I had not long to consider that
point, however, for suddenly the door opened and a servant in
imposing livery confronted us. I handed him my card and we were
shown into the reception room at once. Presently he conducted us to
my stepmother, who greeted me with a great show of cordiality and
some tears. She had grown old fast since I left home, but she had
artfully disguised the evidences of age upon her face and neck. Why
had I stayed away so long? What had she done to deserve such
shameful neglect? These and other questions taxed my wits for an
answer that would neither outrage my own conscience nor offend her.
Mr. Cobb, who had just returned from his office, suddenly entered
the room. His face assumed an ashen pallor, and he stared at me
quite dumfounded for a moment, when I arose and stood before
him.</p>

<p>&ldquo;It is Kendric. Don&rsquo;t you recognize him?&rdquo; said
my stepmother.</p>

<p>&ldquo;So it is!&rdquo; he exclaimed. &ldquo;But he&rsquo;s
grown quite out of my recollection.&rdquo; The man had recovered
his self-possession in a moment, and treated me, it must be said to
his credit, with marked coolness. I was likely to get on with him
very well, I thought, but the fawning attitude of his wife quite
unhorsed me. If I am to see the devil I&rsquo;d rather he&rsquo;d
frown than smile. Cobb had very little to say to us, and left the
room at the first opportunity. In doing so he had shown scant
consideration for his wife, however, as it left a burden upon her
shoulders that must have taxed her strength. But she was not
unequal to it. Her smile broadened after he had gone, and there was
a tone of deeper sincerity in her expressions of regard. We had
been to dinner, and if she would kindly send a little cold lunch to
our room at bedtime that would be quite sufficient. During her
absence for dinner the reaction came. When my stepmother returned
she seemed to have suddenly grown older, and she looked at us
through haggard and sunken eyes. Surely this was a terrible
punishment she was undergoing, and I pitied her. Mr. Cobb had an
important engagement to keep, she said, and hoped we would excuse
him. Slowly the evening wore away and at ten o&rsquo;clock we were
shown to our room, greatly fatigued by this trying experience. It
was a room fronting the street on the third floor, which I had
occupied before I left home. The walls had been painted white since
then, with a frieze of gold along the ceiling. My father used to
sleep in the room directly under it. Rayel had been silent and
absent-minded all the evening, rarely speaking except in reply to
some question.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I feel sad for some cause I do not understand,&rdquo;
said he, preparing to retire. &ldquo;I shall be glad when to-morrow
comes.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;We will go back in the morning,&rdquo; I said. &ldquo;You
don&rsquo;t feel at home here, do you?&rdquo;</p>

<p>He did not seem to hear me, but tried the door, which I had
already bolted, and then got into bed, yawning and shivering, for
the room was cold. I turned down the light, and, opening the
shutters, looked out upon the street, now deserted save by a
solitary man who had just passed the house and whose slow footsteps
were gradually growing less distinct. I crouched there, listening
for some moments to that fading sound, when it began to grow louder
again. The man had turned about and was coming back. As he passed
under the lamp on the opposite corner I thought I recognized the
slim figure of Mr. Murmurtot. Suddenly I was startled by a noise in
the room adjoining ours, and sprang to my feet in a tremor. Plague
take my imagination! It was somebody going to bed. I sat down again
and for a long time looked out at the man walking back and forth in
front of the house. I was rapidly getting into a condition of mind
unfavorable to rest and, closing the shutters, I went to bed at
once. For hours I lay tossing restlessly from one side to the
other, and finally fell into a deep sleep. I must have slept a long
time when I suddenly awoke, laboring with nightmare. I had heard no
sound, I had felt no touch, but all at once my eyes were open and I
knew that I was awake. The lamp was burning dimly on the table
beside my bed. How my heart was beating! And my arm&mdash; how it
trembled when I tried to raise up on my elbow and look about the
room!</p>

<p>&ldquo;Who&rsquo;s there?&rdquo; I whispered. Was it Rayel
standing near the bed, his body swaying backward and forward, or
was I yet asleep? Everything looked dim and weird. I seemed to be
in some silent ghostland between sleeping and waking. I rubbed my
eyes and peered about the half-darkened room. It was Rayel, and, as
I gazed at him, his eyes seemed to shine like balls of fire. I
called to him, but he made no answer. What had happened since I
went to sleep? Alarmed, I threw the covers aside and leaped out of
bed. As I did so he stepped up close to the opposite wall, and, as
his hand moved, I could hear the grating of a crayon on its
surface. In tremulous haste I turned up the wick of the lamp and
tiptoed toward him, holding it in my hand. He was stepping backward
and excitedly pointing at the wall. He had been drawing a picture
on its white surface&mdash;the form of a woman holding something in
her hand. I stepped nearer, still carrying the lamp. A sharp
interjection broke from my lips. The woman pictured there was my
stepmother, and it was a knife that she held! A man was lying at
her feet. Again Rayel stepped forward, and again I heard the crayon
grating on the wall. Then he stood aside. Great God! There were
drops of blood dripping from the knife now. Rayel sank down upon
the floor and covered his eyes with his hands. I stood there, dumb
with fear and horror, looking first upon him and then upon the
picture.</p>

<p>The silence of the night was unbroken save by those slow
footsteps in the street to which I had listened before retiring.
But suddenly I heard a low wailing cry in the room adjoining ours.
It so startled me that I came near dropping the lamp. Strange and
weird it sounded, gradually growing shriller and more terrible to
hear! It was the voice of my stepmother. Was she dreaming? And had
Rayel seen the vision that affrighted her? Was that dagger pricking
her brain? In a moment the swelling cry broke into a sharp scream,
such as might come from one exposed to sudden peril, and ceased.
Then the sound of a bell rang sharply through the house, followed
by loud knocking at the door and a man&rsquo;s shout.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Open the door, I command you!&rdquo; he said.</p>

<p>He must have heard that piercing cry. Rayel still lay motionless
upon the floor. Was he asleep? Why did he not rise? I began to feel
numb. I seemed to have lost the power of motion. I could hear some
one rapping at our door, but I could not move.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Kendric! Kendric! Kendric!&rdquo; Was it my stepmother
who was calling me? What a piteous, pleading tone! &ldquo;Let me
speak to you, Kendric! For God&rsquo;s sake, let me tell
you!&rdquo; I was reeling: my strength had all left me. Crash! went
the lamp at my feet. There was a great flash of light, which
dazzled my eyes, and I fell heavily upon the floor.</p>

<p>I was in the open air when thought and feeling came back to me.
My hands and face were paining me as if they had been terribly
burned. There were a number of men standing over a motionless
figure that lay beside me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The poor lad!&rdquo; said one of the men
&ldquo;he&rsquo;s nearly roasted. See here how the clothes have
been burned away from his neck! Can&rsquo;t ye stop the blood? The
mon&rsquo;ll die afore the amb&rsquo;lance comes ef we don&rsquo;t
stop the blood. A brave mon he is, too. D&rsquo;ye see &rsquo;im
coming down the stairs with th&rsquo; other one on his
back?&rdquo;</p>

<p>Of whom were they talking? I struggled to my feet&mdash;I could
feel no pain now&mdash;and bent over that still form which had been
lying beside me. Oh! it was the heaven-blessed face of Rayel, now
bleeding and scarred and ghastly. I raised his head. The hair fell
away where my hand touched it, and a groan escaped his lips. I
could not speak nor weep nor utter any sound. A strange calmness
came over my spirit and I sat there motionless, bending over him I
loved so well, while the crowd of men looked on in silence.
&ldquo;After His own image made He man;&rdquo; these words came to
my mind as I looked into that dear face. Then I prayed in
silence&mdash;for him. Thank God! his eyes were open now and his
lips were moving. I bent lower until I could feel his breath upon
my cheek.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Is it you, Kendric?&rdquo; he whispered. &ldquo;Did I
save you from the fire? I cannot see you, but I know you are
here.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I heard his words distinctly, but I could not answer. The power
of speech seemed to have left me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The fire awoke me,&rdquo; he continued, moaning.
&ldquo;We were lying on the floor. I called to you, but you did not
answer. Thank God! you are safe now.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Returning consciousness brought with it an increasing sense of
his pain, and he began to struggle and groan in dreadful agony.
Suddenly, extending one of his blackened hands until it touched my
face, he shouted in a loud voice:</p>

<p>&ldquo;Kendric! Kendric! help&mdash;help me!&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then some men laid hold of me and lifted me up. I clung to Rayel
with all my strength, but could not resist them, and as I was borne
away I knew that Rayel and I had parted forever.</p>

</div>
<div>

<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2>

<p>After that midnight parting the first thing I can recall was the
touch of a gentle hand upon my face. When my eyes opened I saw
Hester bending over me.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You are at home now, Kendric,&rdquo; said she. Such a
feeling of weakness came over me that I could not speak. I thought
a nail had been driven into my brain, but the tears that began
rolling down my cheeks and the moans that broke from my lips seemed
to loosen it.</p>

<p>Many days passed before I was able to reflect upon this last
tragic episode in my life or to take any thought of the morrow. One
evening I awoke from a deep sleep feeling a new interest in life.
There were people sitting in the room and talking in low tones.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Has he asked for Rayel yet?&rdquo; said one of them.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Not yet,&rdquo; was the answer.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Better not let him know about it yet. There&rsquo;s time
enough. He&rsquo;ll be around soon.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I called to them and they came quickly to my bedside. There were
Hester and Mr. Earl and his good wife, all looking down upon me
with smiling faces.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You need not be afraid to tell me now. I know that Rayel
is dead.&rdquo;</p>

<p>They made no answer.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I know he is dead, but tell me how it happened,&rdquo; I
said. &ldquo;There is no danger; I am quite strong now.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Mr. Earl took my hand and told me in a low, calm voice, all he
knew of the tragedy. He only knew, however, that the lamp had
exploded and that Rayel had been horribly burned by the oil.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I suppose,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;that the lamp was on a
table near his bed when it exploded. In a moment the whole room was
afire, and you, no doubt, being asleep at the time, he lifted you
up and ran with you down the stairway and out of the open door. But
in the meantime he had been horribly burned, and he fell in a faint
as soon as he reached the pavement. Strangely enough you were
unconscious for some moments, although you were not badly burned.
Probably it was the smoke.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Then no one knows, thought I, what really did happen that night.
The lamp must have fallen almost directly upon Rayel&rsquo;s head,
and the oil had no doubt saturated his hair and clothing.</p>

<p>&ldquo;And the house?&rdquo; I asked. &ldquo;Is
that&mdash;&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;In ashes,&rdquo; he replied.</p>

<p>Then every trace of that strange event, which no eye save mine
had witnessed, was wiped out forever. The hideous secret had better
never be told.</p>

<p>&ldquo;If I was not badly burned, tell me why I have been lying
ill.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Brain fever, my boy,&rdquo; said he. &ldquo;Too much
excitement, I presume&mdash;but you&rsquo;re out of danger now, and
will be on your feet again in a few days.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Fortunately the latter assurance was rightly spoken. The first
day that brought me strength enough to put on my clothes and walk
about the house, Mr. Earl invited me into the library to talk
business. We were no sooner seated than he unlocked a drawer and
handed me a document to read.</p>

<p>It was a deed of all my father&rsquo;s real and personal
property.</p>

<p>&ldquo;They have both confessed,&rdquo; said he.</p>

<p>&ldquo;Confessed what?&rdquo; I asked, wondering if the secret
of my father&rsquo;s death had come out.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The conspiracy against your life. There were two
accomplices&mdash;one Count de Montalle, formerly a servant of
Cobb, and now a convict in America, and the other a man named
Fenlon, who is under arrest. These were the men who tried to take
your life. Fenlon came over on the steamer with you, I
believe.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;And my stepmother&mdash;where is she?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;Gone to answer for her sins at a higher court,&rdquo;
said he. &ldquo;Her last deposition is annexed to the deed. The old
hussy ran into the fire like a miller, and stood there screaming,
&lsquo;Look at that picture on the wall! Oh, God! do you see
it?&rsquo; she shouted to the fellow who found her standing in the
smoke and flames. The chap was so excited he really thought that he
did see the picture of a woman holding a knife.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;That is strange, isn&rsquo;t it?&rdquo; said I.
&ldquo;Who was the man?&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;A detective,&rdquo; said he, &ldquo;whom I hired to watch
the house that night. He heard some disturbance, it seems, and,
fearing mischief, he immediately forced the door open and ran
pell-mell into your cousin, noble fellow, who was then bringing you
down-stairs. If he had been one moment later the woman would have
been burned to death, and we would never have got this deposition.
Cobb wouldn&rsquo;t have been the first to weaken, you may be sure
of that. But after she had told the whole story, why, there was no
use in holding out. Badly burned? No, strange to say, she was not
badly burned, but frightened out of her wits. The nervous shock was
too much for her and soon led to fatal results. Cobb will go to
prison.</p>

<p>I made no reply. I could not have found words to express the
thoughts that came trooping through my brain.</p>

<p>&ldquo;I have to tell you,&rdquo; he continued, &ldquo;that your
cousin left a will bequeathing to you his father&rsquo;s house and
a number of valuable paintings.&rdquo;</p>

<p>I turned away and burning tears of sorrow came to my eyes. It
was indeed a sad inheritance &mdash;the earthly part of his great
riches&mdash; and of little moment to me. I could not bear to think
or speak of it then, and I begged my friend to hide the will from
my sight until time might give me strength to read it with
composure.</p>

<p>One evening in early spring Hester and I were walking along the
shore of the Mediterranean at Marseilles. I had been traveling
through southern Europe since my recovery, accompanied by Mr. and
Mrs. Earl. Hester had recently joined us in this ancient city of
Provence. The sun was sinking below the distant horizon of water,
and his shafts, glancing from the western edge of the sea, shot far
into the immeasurable reaches above us. We stood in silence while
the great wall of night loomed into the zenith, and then fell
westward through the luminous slope of heaven. The broad terrace
from which we viewed the scene was quite deserted.</p>

<p>&ldquo;If it is a hopeless love I cherish, let me know it now,
Hester,&rdquo; I said as we turned to go. &ldquo;I cannot wait any
longer.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;You can wait half an hour longer, I am sure,&rdquo; she
said, hurrying me along. &ldquo;We will be at home,
then.&rdquo;</p>

<p>Some months after Hester had become my wife we received a call
in London from our old friend, Mr. Murmurtot.</p>

<p>&ldquo;You have been playing in a great life drama,&rdquo; said
he to Hester, &ldquo;and I, too, have had a part in it. Lest you
may think that it was the fool&rsquo;s part, let me tell you that I
am the man who arrested the Count de Montalle.&rdquo;</p>

<p>&ldquo;And the man who brought Fenlon to justice?&rdquo; I
asked.</p>

<p>&ldquo;The same. He confessed within three hours after you were
introduced to him.&rdquo;</p>

<p style="text-align:center">* * * * * * *</p>

<p>Every week my wife and I visit Rayel&rsquo;s grave and strew
fresh flowers upon it. A tall shaft of marble marks the spot where
he lies at rest. His name is graven in the stone, and underneath it
are these words: &ldquo;He was a man without selfishness or
vanity.&rdquo;</p>

<p class="end">THE END.</p>

</div>








<pre>

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