The Master of Silence

7/30/2019 The Master of Silence

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TheMasterofSilence

IrvingBacheller


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THEMASTEROFSILENCE

ARomance

BYIRVINGBACHELLER

1892


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CHAPTERI

NeartheendofmyfourteenthyearIwasapprenticedtoValentine,

King&

Co.,

cotton

importers,

Liverpool,

as

apair

of

legs.

My

father had died suddenly, leaving me and his property in thepossessionofmystepmotherandmyguardian.Itwas indeferenceto their urgent advice that I leftmy home in London (with littlereluctance,sincemylifetherehadneverbeenhappy)tostudytheartofmoneymaking.OnarrivingatthesceneofmyexpectedtriumphsIwasassigned to the somewhathumblepositionoferrandboy. IncommonwithotherboyswhoperformedalikeserviceforthefirmIwasknownasapairoflegs.Lodgingsofarathermodestcharacter

hadbeen

secured

for

me

in

the

western

outskirts

of

the

city

near

the

banksof theMersey.Iwasslow tomakefriends,andmyeveningswerespentintheperusalofsomestorybooks,whichIhadbroughtwithmefromLondon.Onenight,notlongafterthebeginningofmynew life inLiverpool, Iwas lying inbed listening to thewindandrainbeatingover thehousetops anddriving against thewindows,whensuddenlytherecamealoudrapatmydoor.

Whosthere?Idemanded,startingoutofbed.

As Iheardnoanswer, I repeatedmy inquiryand stoodamomentlistening. I could hear nothing, however,but thewind and rain.Lightinga candleanddressingmyselfwithallhaste, Iopened thedoor.Icouldjustdiscernthefigureofabentoldmanstandinginthehallway,whenagustofwindsuddenlyputoutthecandle.Thedoorleading to the streetwas open, and the oldmanwas probably astragglercometo importunemeforshelterorforsomethingtoeat.AsIrelitthecandle,heenteredmyroomandstoodfacingme,buthe

didnot

speak.

His

clothes

were

dripping

and

he

was

blinking

at

me

with strange, gleaming eyes. His hair was snowwhite, and as Ilooked into his face the deathly pallor of it frightened me. Hisgeneralappearancewasmorethanstartling;itwasuncanny.

WhatcanIdoforyou?Iasked.

Greatlytomysurprisehemadenoreply,butwithalookofpainandgreatanxietysankintoachair.Thenhewithdrewfromhispocketa

letterwhich

he

extended

to

me.

The

envelope

was

wet

and

dirty.

It

wasdirected toKendricLane,Esq.,No.OldBroad street,London,England. The address was crossed and 22 Kirkland street,Liverpool,writtenunderitinthefamiliarhandofmyguardian.A


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strangeproceeding!thoughtI.Wastheletterintendedformyfather,whowaslongdead,andwhohadremovedfromthataddressmorethan ten years ago? The old man began to grin and nod as I

examinedthe

superscription.

Ibroke

the

seal

on

the

envelope

and

found the following letter,undated, andwithno indication of theplacefromwhichitwassent:

DearBrotherIneedyourhelp.Come tome atonce ifyou can.Consequences of vast importance tome and tomankind dependupon yourprompt compliance. I cannot tellyouwhere I am.Thebearer will bring you to me. Follow him and ask no questions.Moreover,besilent, likehim, regarding the subjectof this letter. If

youcan

come,

procure

passage

in

the

first

steamer

for

New

York.

Mymessenger isprovidedwithfunds.Your lovingbrother,RevisLane.

IhadoftenheardmyfatherspeakofmyuncleRevis,whowent toAmerica almost twenty yearsbefore Iwasborn.Now hewasmynearest living relative.No news of him had reached us formanyyearsbeforemyfatherdied.Iwasfamiliarwithhishandwritingandthespecimenbeforemewaseithergenuine,orremarkablylikeit.If

genuinehe

had

evidently

not

heard

of

my

fathers

death.

Extraordinaryas themessagewas, themessengerwasmoreso.Hesatpeeringatmewithastrange,halfcrazedexpressiononhisface.

Whendidyouleavemyuncle?Iasked.

HesatasifunconsciousthatIhadspoken.

Idrew

my

chair

to

his

side

and

repeated

the

words

in

aloud

voice,

buthedidnotseemtohearme.Evidentlytheoldmancouldneitherhearnorspeak. Inamomenthebegangroping inhispockets,andpresentlyhandedmeacardwhichcontainedthefollowingwords:

Ifyoucancome,tearthiscardinhalvesandreturntherighthalftohim.

Iexamined thecardcarefully.Thewordswereundoubtedly inmy

uncleshandwriting.

The

back

of

the

card

was

covered

with

strange

charactersinredink.Itorethecardasdirectedandhandedhimtherighthalf.


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Heheldituptothelightandexamineditcarefully,thenputitawayinapocketofhiswaistcoat.The lookofpain returned tohis face,andhecoughed feeblyas ifsuffering fromaseverecold.Thehour

beinglate

Iintimated

by

pantomime

that

Idesired

him

to

occupy

my

bed.Heunderstoodmereadilyenoughandbeganfeeblytoremovehisclothing,whileIpreparedasofaformyself.Hewassoonsoundasleep,butIlayawakelongafterthelightwasextinguished.Hewasevidentlyquiteill,andIdeterminedtogoforaphysicianatthefirstappearanceofdaylight.AssoonaspossibleIwouldgowithhimtomyuncle.Therewereno ties todetainme, and itwas clearlymyduty to do so. Perhapsmy unclewas in some great peril. If so, Imightbeofservicetohim.

When I arose in the morning my strange lodger seemed to besleepingquietly.Hisfacelookedpaleandghastlyinthelightofday.Isteppedclosetohisbedand,layingmyhanduponhisbrow,washorrifiedtodiscoverthathewasdead.WhatwasItodo?Isatdownto think, tremblingwith fright. Imust call inapolicemanand tellhimallIknewaboutmystrangevisitor.No,notall;Imustnot tellhim about the letter, thought I.Myunclemight notwish it tobepublished to theworld. I ranoutupon thestreetand told the first

officerImet

how

the

old

man

had

rapped

at

my

door

during

the

storm; how I had given himmybed out of pity, and how I haddiscoveredonawakinginthemorningthathewasdead.

Thatdaythebodywastakentothemorgue.ThesumofL100werefound inhispockets,apartofwhichgavehimadecentburial.Butwhilehehadgonetohislongrest,hehadsowninmymindtheseedofunrest.Iwentaboutmyworkclingingtothethreadofamysteryhalftold.Whitherwoulditleadme?

Strangeasthatmessengerhadseemed,hewascertainlyagoodmantocarrysecrets.


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CHAPTERII

The multitude of legs, engaged by the pair in the service of

Valentine,King

&

Co.,

were

distinguished

from

each

other

by

abit

of

houseslang.Iwasknownaslast legsamongmycompanionsforsome time after my initiation to the warehouse. At first I wasinclinedtoresentthereductionofmyindividualitytosuchavulgarformula,butasIbecame inured tohard tasks thesharpnessof thisindignityworeaway.

Therewasonepairof legsdoingservice for thefirmwhoseownerbecame my most valued friend and confidant. In his business

capacityhe

was

called

long

legs,

but

his

proper

name

was

Philbert

Chaffin.Hewasa tall, slimboy,withblueeyesand lighthair, theson of a stage carpenter,whowas employed at one of the cheaptheatresandwho livedwithinastones throwofmy lodgings.Hislanguagewasauniquecombinationofbadgrammarandprovincialbrogue;buteveryboyinthewarehouseallowedthathewasagoodfellow.Hehadspentmanyaneveningwithme,andconfidedtomemanyasecretwhich,owingtosolemnpledgesmadeatthat time,Iamnotatlibertytodivulge,beforeheinvitedmetodineandspend

anevening

with

the

family.

Iaccepted

his

invitation

gratefully,

and

thenexteveningPhil tookmeover.Itwasaheartywelcome that IreceivedatthehomeoftheChaffins.MyenjoymentoftheirsimplehospitalitywouldhavebeenperfectbutfortheembarrassmentIfeltatthemanyapologieswithwhichitwasoffered.Mrs.Chaffinknewas ow the teawasnotasgoodas Iwasused todrinking,but sheoped it didnt taste murky. I assured her that it did not tastemurky,althougha littledoubtfulas to theexactsignificanceof thewordwhenappliedtotea.Butinspiteofmydeclarationsheinsisted

thatit

must

taste

murky

to

one

who

was

accustomed

to

better

things.ThehamwasnevertoogoodinLiverpool,butsheopedthatitwasntreesty. Isolemnlydeclared that itwasnotreesty.ButMrs. Chaffin andMr.Chaffin out of the goodness of their heartscontinuedtocondolewithmeonthescorethatsuchhamtastedandmust tastereesty toonenotused to it. Ihadno sooner satisfiedtheirmisgivings concerning theham than Iwas compelled to takeissuewiththemastothebread,regardingwhichtheyentertainedalurkingsuspicionofstaleness.Duringallofthisdiscussionaboutthe

ham,the

tea

and

the

bread,

Iwas

conscious

that

apair

of

big

brown

eyes,darklyshadedwith longlashes,werestaringatmeacrossthetable.WheneverIhadthecouragetoglancethatwayIobservedthat


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theyhadbeen lookingatme intently,andwere suddenlyaverted.Thesewonderingeyesbelongedtotheonlydaughterinthefamily.

Theyveall

been

boys,

said

Mrs.

Chaffin,

since

Hetty

was

born.

IthoughtitstrangethattheHinherdaughtersnamewastheonlyonethatthegoodwomanhadshowntheabilitytomanage.

Hettyistheonlyoneofthelotthattakestobooks,shecontinued.Theheadmastertoldmeshewillmakeagoodscholar,anddearame!shedoesnothingbutreadbooksfrommornintillnight.WhileHettyandhermotherremovedthedisheswedrewourchairsabout

thefire,

and

Mr.

Chaffin,

ablunt,

simple

minded

man,

entertained

mewith sage observations regardingpolitics and theweather.Hespokerather loudly,and inakeywhich,asI learnedafterward,heonlyemployedonveryspecialoccasions.Presentlytheyoungestladin the family,who satonhis fathersknee,demandeda song.Theresponsewaspromptandgenerous.The selectionwithwhichMr.Chaffin favoredus containedupwardof forty stanzas, relating theunhappystoryofafairmaidandaboldsailor,bothofwhommetatragic death, in the last stanza, just before the day set for their

marriage.The

song

being

finished,

Hetty

and

her

mother

drew

their

chairsup to the fire;Hetty satnextme,andaftera severe inwardstruggle I summoned the courage to ask her a question. Sheansweredme in the fewestwordspossible,but inavoicesosweetandlowthatIwonderedthenandoftenafterwardatitscontrasttotheothervoices Ihadheard in thathouse.Sheworeahomespunfrock and a neatwhite pinafore, set offwith a dainty ribbon tiedaboutherthroat.

Shesuncommon

still

when

strangers

is

here,

sir,

said

Mrs.

Chaffin;but lawme!shegoesrompitinabout thehouse likeas ifshewascrazysometimes,ticklinherfatherandtryintsnipoffhisbeardwiththescissors.

Thatnightwasthebeginningofhappierdaysforme.WhenatlastIrosetogoitwasnearmidnight.IforgotmywearinessasIwalkedtomy lodgings, thinking of those simple,honestpeople and of theirkindnesstome.

IenjoyedhighjinksatthehouseoftheChaffinsatleastonceaweekduringthenextyearofmyapprenticeship,nearthecloseofwhichIbegan toget ready for avisit tomy stepmother in fulfilment of a


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promise Ihadmadeby letter. Ithadbeen,on thewhole,ahappyyear tome. Ihadknownmany lonelyhours, tobe sure,but thosevisits to the littleoldweatherstainedhouse, inwhich I foundmy

firstfriends

after

leaving

home,

cheered

me

from

week

to

week.

I

knew,too,thatHettyenjoyedthoselongeveningsasmuchasIdid,whichmeantmoretomethanIwouldhavedaredconfesstoher.Ithoughtofheragooddeal,but italways resulted in thewretchedfeelingthatwewerebothveryyoungafterall.Itisnot likelythatIwouldhavedecidedtogohomeforafortnight,butthatIthoughtitwouldbepleasanttoobservetheeffectofsayinggoodbytoHetty.Ihad no doubt that she would be quite overcome with grief andlonelinessafter Ihadgone,and, recklessyouth that Iwas,nothing

couldhave

made

me

more

happy

than

to

have

known

that

she

really

feltgrievedonmyaccount.Andyetwhen I called tobid themallgoodby,theeveningbeforeIstarted,shebetrayednosignofregret.Infact,sheseemedsomuchhappierthanusualthatIworriedaboutit for weeks, even after I had gone so far away that it seemeddoubtfulwhetherwewouldevermeetagain.ItdidnotoccurtomethatIhadbeenlessskilfulthansheinconcealingmyemotions,andthatshemightbemerryonlybecauseshecouldperceivethatIwassad.Mrs.Chaffinwastheonlymemberofthefamilywhoseemedto

entertainfeelings

as

serious

as

my

own.

She

had

dreamed

that

I

would not comeback again, andwe all laughed at her then,butwhentheswiftyearshadrevealedsomeoftheirsecrets,wethoughtof thispropheticdreamwithasadnessdeeperthanany thatcomestochildishhearts.HesterandPhilwalkedwithmetothegatewhenIleftthehouse.Theradianceofafullmoonfellonourfacesthroughtheflyingclouds.Phil,stupidfellow!hadsomuchtosaythatIdidnotgetachancetospeaktohissisterbeforeshedartedbacktothehouse as if pursued.On reachingmy lodgings Iwas surprised to

findagentleman

waiting

for

me.

Dontknowme,eh?saidhe,shakingmyhandwarmly.

Hewasatall,portlyman,withakindlyface,cleanshavenexceptfora pair of closecropped, irongray sidewhiskers. Iwas sure I hadseenhimbefore,butcouldntthinkofhisname.

Earl,saidhe,handingmeacardonwhichhisnameandaddress

wereprinted

as

follows:

DAVIDGORDONEARL,BarristeratLaw,


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LincolnsInn,London.

Iremembereddistinctlyhavingaccompaniedmyfathertohisoffice

onone

occasion

some

years

before.

IvecomeupfromLondononpurposetoseeyou.Justgothereonlyafewminutesago,saidhe, layingoffhisovercoat.Butuponmyword!headded,surveyingmefromheadtofoot,Ididntexpecttofindsuchabig,strappingfellowasyouare.Yoursurroundingsarequite as I had supposed they would be. Cramped quarters in amiserable tumbledown back street! I suppose your guardianprovidedthisplaceforyou?

Ibelieveso,saidI.

Didyouknowthatyourstepmotherhadmarriedagain?heasked.

Married!Iexclaimed.Towhom?

ToMartinCobb.

Tomy

guardian?

Iasked,

in

astonishment.

Notheedingmyquestion,hecontinued:

Youreintendingtogohometomorrow,Ibelieve?

Yes,sir.

Myboy, saidhe, Ihave an interest inyou. Iwasyour fathers

friendand

adviser

for

many

years.

Icame

all

this

distance

to

tell

you

nottogotoLondon.Donotaskmewhy,Ibegyou,saidhe,withanimpatientgesturewhen Iattempted tospeak.Itwoulddoyounogoodtolearnmyreasonformakingthisrequest.Listentothisitsimportanttoyou:TheresanuncleofyoursinAmerica,yournearestrelative, Ibelieve.Of course you haveheard your father speak ofhim.Amost eccentric fellow!but aman of fine ability.Hewas agraduate of Oxford and a physician of great skill and learning.ThirtyfiveyearsagohewenttoCanadaandfinallysettledinalarge

townon

one

of

the

great

lakes

not

far

from

the

border.

It

was

Detroit,

Ibelieve.Yourfather toldme,shortlybeforehisdeath, thathehadnot heard from youruncle formany years. I havewritten to himtwicewithinatwelvemonth,buthavereceivednoreply.Iwantyou


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to go over and look him up. If you should find that he is dead,theres no harm done, and you can take time to look about for abusinessopportunity.Ifyoudontlikeit,comeback,but,ifyoucan

contentyourself

there

for

awhile,

you

had

better

do

so.

But,sir,Ihavenomoney.

Youaregoingforme;Ishall,therefore,insistuponpayingthebills.InthesuccessoftheundertakingIhave,perhaps,asgreataninterestasyou.

Whendoyouwishmetostart?Iasked.

Tonight.Thatistosay,Iwouldlikeyoutoleavethisplaceatonce,gowithme toahotel,and sailby the first steamer that leaves forNewYork.

Ever since that strangeand silentmessengerhad come tomewithmyuncles letter Ihadbeenhauntedbyadesire togo inquestofhim.Now that itwaspossible, Ihesitated.WhatwouldHestersayonhearing that Ihadgone toAmerica? Itwouldbeverygrand to

writeher

from

New

York

that

Ihad

been

suddenly

called

abroad

on

importantbusiness.Wouldshecare?Ofcourseshewouldcare,andIwaswilling towager a sixpencewithmyself that shewould crybitterly, too, on receiving the letter. Ah,what a punishment thatwouldbeforhercoldnessandindifference!

Yes,Iwouldgo.Ibeganpickingupmythingsandpackingthemintomybox.

Iconclude

that

you

have

decided

to

go,

he

said.

Yes,sir.Ishallbereadyinamoment,Ireplied.

Wewere soon rattlingover thepavements in a cab thathadbeenwaitingatthedoor.

On arriving at theNorthwesternHotelwewere informed that asteamerwouldleaveforNewYorkatfiveinthemorning.Wedrove

atonce

to

the

dock

and

having

succeeded

in

making

comfortable

arrangementsformypassageMr.Earlwentaboardthesteamerwithme.InaretiredcornerofthegreatcabinIconfessedtohimthatthere


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was agirl inLiverpool forwhom Ihad a feelingof extraordinarytenderness.

Helaughed

heartily

and

insisted

that

Ishould

tell

him

all

the

particulars.

Youareratheryoungyettoentertainsoseriousapassion,saidhe,asheheldmyhandforamomentbeforegoingashore.Youwillgetoveritaseasilyasyougotintoit.

Isatdown,unable toreplyor torestrainthe tears thatcame tomyeyesasheleftmealone.Iwenttomystateroomatonceandtobed.

Whatthoughts

came

to

me

as

Ilay

there

inviting

sleep

to

turn

them

intodreams,whilethegreatshipwaitedforthetide!Itossedaboutmyberth;Iprayed;Ilistened.AtlengthIthoughtIheardmyfathersvoicemingledwithothers,andasoundofcastingoffbut Iheardnomore.


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CHAPTERIII

OnemorninginearlyOctober,nearlytwoyearsafterIleftLiverpool

thatmemorable

night,

Ifound

myself

in

the

little

city

of

Ogdensburg,

N. Y., past which the majestic St. Lawrence flows with a sleepymovementquite inharmonywith the spiritof theold townon itssouthern shore.All this time I hadbeen vainlybeating about theWesternHemisphereinquestofmyuncle.HehadleftDetroitmanyyearsbefore,butIchancedtomeetanumberofmentherewhohadknownhimwell.Althoughhehadenjoyedaverylargepracticeandawidereputationforskill,hehadmadenofriendsthatIcouldfind.Hewasamanoffewwords,theytoldme,andwasneverseenabout

thecity

except

in

the

discharge

of

his

professional

duties.

Various

andconflictingopinionswereexpressedastowhitherhehadgone,in testingwhich I had visited no less than twenty cities,makingcareful inquiries, especially among medical men. Occasionally Istruckwhat seemed tobe apromising clew,whichonly increasedmy confusion and left me more hopelessly in the dark. I hadreportedmymovements toMr.Earlasoftenasonceaweekand Ireceivedlettersfromhimfrequently,encouragingmetocontinuethesearchandenclosingmoneywithwhichtodoso.ButalthoughIhad

writtenoften

to

Hester

Chaffin

no

word

from

her

ever

reached

me.

I

wastiredofthisfruitlessquestamongstrangers,sofarfromthelittlethat I held dear, and Iwas on the point of giving upwhen thisparagraphfellundermyeyeinaMontrealnewspaper:

AMYSTERIOUSCHARACTER.

Onewhohaseverpassed thecityofOgdensburgbysteamerwillno doubt recall a large gambrelroofed house standing near the

watersedge,

just

out

of

the

town,

surrounded

by

towering

trees

and

enclosed on all sidesby awall nearly as high as the eaves of thebuilding.Thewallsuggestsanasylum,ahouseofdetentionorsomelikeplacesetapartfortheunfortunatemembersofsociety.Inreality,however, it is the residenceofamysterious recluseof thenameofLane,whoshuthimselfuptherenearlyeighteenyearsagoandhassincebeen rarely seen. Itwasbuilt after his own plans, they say,when he came to Ogdensburg with his wife, who died soonafterward.Nobodyknowswhencehecameoranythingofhispast

history.He

is

apparently

atotal

stranger

here

below,

holding

no

intercoursewiththeworldbeyondthatenclosure.Hiswifeissaidtohavebeenawomanofgreatbeauty,andherdeathdoubtlessthrewhim intoamorbid stateofmind, fromwhichhehasnever rallied.


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Manyyearsagohe isknown tohaveboughta fullgrownAfricanlionfromatravelingmenagerie,and,soonafter,heerectedthewall,presumably out of regard for the public safety. Passers along the

streethave

caught

an

occasional

glimpse

of

him

through

the

high

gate,walkinginthegroundssurroundinghishouse,withthelionathis heels apparently in complete subjection to itsmaster.Adensethicketrunsalongthewallonallsideswithintheenclosure,which,accordingtolocaltradition,isalivewithrattlesnakes,bredforsomestrange purpose known only to himselfperhaps to make hisisolationmoresecure.

He is supposed to have resigned the companionship ofmen for

studyand

scientific

research.

He

has

no

children,

and

his

only

servantbeing a deafmute,who is almost an idiot, there is littlechanceatpresentoflearninganythingofhislife.Formorethantwoyearsnothinghasbeenseenof themysteriousmasterof thehouse.His disappearance would, we think, be a legitimate subject ofinvestigationby theauthoritiesof the town.Mayhenothavebeeneatenbythelion,orkilledbytherattlesnakes?Whoknows?

Myheartwasbeating fastandmyhands shookas if strickenwith

palsybefore

Ihad

finished

the

paragraph.

The

strange

old

man

who

had come to me in Liverpool that night was probably the muteservanttowhichthearticlereferred.InanhourIwasonthewaytoOgdensburg,quiteconfidentthattheissueofmywanderingswasathand.Ireachedthattownnextmorningnearlytwoyears,asIhavesaid, after the beginning of my journey to the New World. Notstoppingtobreakfasteven,Istartedouttofindthehouse,whichmybusyimaginationhadalreadypicturedforitself.ThefirsttownsmanIsawdirectedmetotheplace.

Follow the turnpike, saidhe.Samildormorestraightahead.Youll know itwhen y git there. S queerplace an stans offbyitself.

Themanwasgoingmyway,evidentlytobeginhisdayswork,foritwasthenearlyinthemorning,andIwalkedalongwithhim.

Folkssay,hecontinued,themgroundsisfullofhejiousreptyles,

anIve

heerd

fellers

tell

queer

things

theyve

seen

when

passin

thereatnightred lightsaflyinaboutan spooksat thewinders.An one night, when Uncle Bill Jemson was comin down theturnpike,theywasastormcomeup,anjestashegotopposite the


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bigirongatetheywasaflashalightninanBillsaysheseetheoleman,hislongwhitehairaflyininthwind,analionstandinthereinfrontathhouse.Thflashwasoutnaminit,anBillwhippedup

hishosses

an

sent

em

clear

to

Mills

tavern

on

the

dead

run,

said

he,laughingasifitwereagoodjoke.

Theydontnobody likethplacenerthman,thoughIdonknowwhy,fernooneseverpassedawordwithhimintheseparts.Theretis,overyenderwiththepinesarounditanthhighwall,saidhe,pointingwithhisfinger.Butmyeyehadalreadydiscoveredthelowbuilt rambling house on the highbanks of the river,well in thedistance,andhadrecognizeditatonce.

Leaving my companion at the next turn in the road I walkedhurriedlyon,andwhenIhadreachedthebigirongateIstoppedandpeered through it.Agravel roadway,nowovergrownwithweeds,ledfromthegatetothefrontofthehouse,whichstoodfacingme.Itwasbuiltentirelyofwoodandconsistedoffourwings(atleasttherewere no others visible) evidently enclosing a quadrangularcourtyard, the rear wings being lower than those in front, andhiddenby the latter from theviewofonestandingat thegateas I

was.It

was

only

at

adistance

that

one

could

see

their

roofs

above

the

enclosure.Therewasbutone lineofwindowsalong the front,buttherewasanorieljustunder thepeakof themainbuilding,and Icouldseeaskylighthereandthereupontheroofs.

The blinds were closed and there was no sign of life about thehouseevidentlyplannedwithhospitableintentions,butnowsilentand forbidding. I tried the gates. They were locked securely. Ascreenof closelywovenwire rose from thepavementhalfwayup

theiron

work.

Evidently

it

would

be

impossible

to

reach

the

doors

without scaling this barrier, and I was not yet ready to try anexpedientsodesperate.ReturningtomyhotelIwrotealettertothemasterof thehouse,tellinghimofmy longcontinuedquestandofmyhopesregardingourpossiblekinship.DayafterdayIanxiouslyawaitedhisreply,untilaweekhadpassed,butnowordcamefromhim. In passing the house at different times, however, I observedsomesignsof lifewithin itablindopen thathadbeenclosed thedaybeforea faintglimmerof lighton the trees in the rearof the

groundsat

night,

which

might

have

come

from

the

back

windows.

Even this slight encouragementwasgratifying,butas timepassedwithoutbringingany reply tomy letter Ibegan to think that,afterall,myhopesrestedonveryshadowyfoundations.OnedayIasked


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the localpostmaster ifamanof thenameofLane,who livednearthatcity,eversentforhismail.

Never,said

he.

The

man

is

crazy,

Iguess,

and

its

wasting

postage towrite him.Hes a hermit, sira regular hermit, and isabout the sameasdead, fornobodyever seeshim.The tradesmentellmethathisoldservantcomesoutofanevening,onceinawhile,tobuyprovisions,buthesdeafasapostanddumbasanoyster.The interviewhadat least shownme the futilityof trying to reachhimbyletter.

Itwasclear thatonlyonecoursewasopen tome.Imustbrave the

unknownperils

with

which

this

strange

man

had

encompassed

the

pathofthetrespasser,andgainanentrancetothehouse.Isoughttheseclusion ofmy room at once, and thought over the result ofmyinvestigations.IhadnotwrittentomygoodfriendinLondonsincemyarrivalinOgdensburg,andIconcludednottodosountilIcouldgivehimdefiniteinformation.

Lateintheafternoonaslow,drizzlingrainbegantopourdown,andwhennightfelleveryluminaryintheheavenswasobscuredbythick

clouds.It

was

afavorable

time

for

carrying

out

my

project,

as

the

darknesswas intensifiedbyafog thathadsettledover thecity.BythelightofmylampIpreparedfortheundertaking,insuchastateof excitement that Iwas frequently startledbymy ownwhispers,through which I found myself now and then giving involuntaryutterancetomythoughts.CuttingupapairofbootswhichIcarriedinmybox,Iwoundmylegsinleatherfrommyanklesupabovemyknees,carefullydrawingonapairofthick,longstockingstoholditin place. This precaution would give me a comfortable sense of

security,even

if

there

were

no

snakes

to

fear.

Ifelt

sure

that

the

lion,

ifhewerestillliving,wouldbekeptinsomeplaceofconfinement.

Itwaslongpastbedtime,andthelightswereoutineveryshopanddwelling,whenIstartedonmydaringmission.Thelittlelampsthatglared through the fogat the street corners could scarcelybe seentwenty feet away. Iwas so preoccupied that I frequently lostmydirection in the mud and darkness. It seemed as if I had beentravelingforhours,whenatlastIfeltthebigwall,andsawitsdim

bulkrising

above

me

and

stretching

away

into

the

night.

Cautiouly

I

gropedalong itsbaseuntilmyhands felt the ironbarsof thegate.Then I stood for somemoments leaningagainst them,quiteoutofbreath.Theywerecoldandwet,andchilledme toashiverwhen I


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touched them. Ipeered toward thehousebut could seenothing. Ilistened,butcouldhearnothingexceptthebeatingofmyownheartand themournful soundof thepineswhose loftierbrancheswere

stirringin

the

still

air.

Grasping

the

heavy

bars

Itried

to

climb

the

gate,but,astherewerenoprojectionsonwhichitwaspossibletogeta foothold, I found thisan exhaustinganddifficult task. I climbedrepeatedlyseveralfeetabovetheearth,onlytolosemyfootholdandslidedownagain.Finally,byexertingallmystrength,Isucceededinsupportingmyselfwiththeedgeofmybootuponacrossbarabouthalfwayup;then, takingasmallropefrommypocketIthrewoneend of it over the gate, holding the other in my teeth. Tying itsecurelybyanooseIclimbedhandoverhandtothetopandthenlet

myselfdown

on

the

other

side.

Iwas

quite

exhausted

by

the

effort

(unaccustomed as Iwas to suchburglarious enterprises) andmyfingersweretornandbleedingfromforcingaholdbetweentheironwork and the wire screen. I remembered the gravel pathway,overgrownwithgrass, that led from thebiggate toa frontdoor. Igropedabout in thedarknessuntil I felt thegravelundermy feet.Then Imoved cautiously along it,until I could dimlydiscern theoutlinesofthehouse.Mynervesweresowroughtup,whileIstoodthere holding my breath to catch some sound from its gloomy

interior,that

Iwas

near

crying

out

in

abject

terror

at

every

step.

An

owl,startledfrom the limbofa treeovermyhead, flew lazily intotheupperairandacross the thicket,disturbingotherbirds thatsetupachatteringprotest.Stealthily Icrept fromwindow towindow,buttheblindswereclosedfast.FinallyIcametoadoorthatseemedtoopenintothemainpartofthebuilding.Desperateunderthestraintowhichmy nerves hadbeen subjected, I knocked loudly on itsupper panels. The sound echoed through the still house and thethicklywooded grounds around it. God helpme! Iwhispered;

willthat

echo

never

cease?

It

kept

repeating

itself

from

tree

to

tree,

untilIcoveredmyearstostopitsweirdreverberations.ThenIheardalowthreateningsound,deepandresonantasthelowertonesofagreat organ, thatgraduallygrew louderuntil itsvolume filled theair,and thendiedaway,while its echoeswent chasing eachotheramong the trees. In the silence which followed, my ear caughtanothersoundthe likeofwhichIhadneverheardbefore.Adozenclocksbeingwoundbyquickturnsonallsidesofmewould,Ifancy,have produced a similar effect. It was evident to me that my

knockinghad

disturbed

my

uncles

pets,

but

Iwas

not

to

be

frightenedaway.HearingnomovementinthehouseItriedthedoor,andtomyastonishmentitswungopen.Apeculiarodor,suchasonenotices inahouse thathas long stoodempty,came tomynostrils,


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andagainIheard thatfatefulwhirring,but in thedarknessIcoulddiscernnoobject.AsIcrossedthethresholdthesoundgrewlouder,and tomyhorror thedoor closed suddenlybehindme.Hurriedly

strikingamatch,

Iheld

it

above

my

head

and

peered

about

me.

Its

light revealeda smallapartment finished inpolishedwood.Alongtheangleofthefloorwasanopening,twoorthreeincheshigh,intothesidewalls.AndhalfwayupthewallinfrontofmeIsawafacethe faceofamaniac it seemed tobepaleandwan,with strange,inhumaneyes.Ihadscarcelyglancedatitwhenthematchdroppedfrommy fingers and fell slowly through the air, going out as itstruck the floor.Myhandswerecold,butsowetwithperspirationthat theystuck tomyclothingwhenIfeltforacandlewhichIhad

broughtwith

me.

There are moments in every mans life that move slowly, as ifcarryingtheweightofyearsupontheirbacks.Ishallneverceasetobelieve that the few seconds it tookme to light that candlemuststandforasmanyyearsinanycorrectreckoningofmyage.Whenitsbeams at last illumined the room, the strange facewas still there.HadIseenitbefore?Itwasmarvellously likethatotherfacewhichhadhauntedmydreamssolong.Ifitwasthefaceofamanhemust

bestanding

on

the

other

side

of

the

wall

and

looking

through

a

panel.

IsMr.Laneathome?Iaskedinanunnaturaltonethatstartledme.

Butnowordofreplywasspoken.

IamhisnephewandIhaveimportantnewsforhim.

Theface

disappeared

for

amoment,

and

presently

ashrunken

hand,

holdingawhitesheetofpaper,wasextendedthroughtheopening.Istepped forward, took the sheetand,withdrawing to the centreoftheroom,satdownuponthefloorandwrotethefollowingmessageinboldcharacterswithmypencil:

Kendric Lane, son of Kendric Lane (deceased), late of London,England,wishestoseeDr.Laneonbusinessofimportance.

Ihanded

the

message

to

the

strange

man

behind

the

wall,

who

immediatelydisappearedwith it, closing the panel. Theworst isover,thoughtI,whileIstoodinthatmysteriousandsilentchamberwaitingforhisreturn.ButIshouldnothavethoughtsohadIknown


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whatwasstilltoberevealedtomebeforethedawnofanotherday,and in themonths that followed,duringwhich thathouse and itsechoinggrovesweremyhome.AndIsometimesaskmyself, inthe

lightof

later

events

of

which

that

visit

was

indirectly

the

cause,

whether, had I been able to foresee them, I would still haveperseveredinmypurposetoknowthesecretsofmyuncleshouse?


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CHAPTERIV

A long time I stoodwaiting for some reply tomymessage.My

candlewas

fast

burning

out,

and

Ibegan

to

fear

that

after

all

Iwas

likely to leave the house no wiser than when I had entered it.Suddenlyadoorswungonitscreakinghingesandafeebleoldman,holdingalampinonehand,stoodgrinningatmeintheopening.Itwas thesameface thatIsawbefore,but itseemed lessghostlyandunnaturalnow.Steppingbackhebeckonedmetoenter.AssoonasIhad crossed the threshold thedoor closedbehindme and the oldmancarefullybolted it.Istoodinalargeroom,richlyfurnished,ofwhichspidershadapparently longheldpossession.Greatcobwebs

hunglike

hammocks

from

the

ceiling,

and

the

dust

of

years

had

settled over all. Two human skeletons completely wrapped incobwebs, stood facingmeagainst theoppositewall.Followingmysilent leader, Iwent througha longnarrowpassage,at the endofwhich was a heavy door fastened with large iron bolts. Beforeopening it the strange oldmanplaced the lampupon a table andturning around looked squarely intomy face.MercifulHeaven! Itwasthefaceofanothermanwhowaslookingatmenow!Thedeeplineshadalmostdisappearedandtheeyeslookedbrighterandmore

intelligent.No,

it

was

the

same

face,

for

while

my

eyes

were

eagerly

scanning it thathideousgrinbegan todeepen itswrinkles,and itsowner, taking half a dozen stepsdown thepassageway,made anawkwardmotionwithbothhandsasiftryingtoindicatethatIwastofollowhimveryclosely.Thenheopened thebigdoorandIwassurprised to observe that it led into the outer air. What gulf ofdarkness are we about to plunge into? I asked myself, peeringthrough the doorway; and aswe stepped out I heard again thatominouswhirring.CloseuponhisheelsIfollowedinanarrowpath,

throughwhat

seemed

to

be

alarge

courtyard,

overgrown

with

thick

grass.Presentlyhe stopped, and, taking abunch ofkeys fromhispocket,unlockedadoor inabackwingof thehouse.Reachingoutuntilhishand touchedme,as if tomake sure that Iwas there,heswung the door open and we stepped into a dimly lightedapartment.Mymysteriousguideturnedupthewickofalampthatwasburningona table in the centreof the room. Itwasa library,withgreat shelvesofbooks reaching from floor toceilingalong itswalls.Alargegalvanicbattery,globes,chartsandothercontrivances

thatbelong

to

the

equipment

of

ascholar

surrounded

the

table.

This

tablewasusedforwritingevidently,fortherewerepenslyingonitandahumanskullusedasan inkstand, the fluidbeingheld in thecavitiesof theeyes.Ihadseatedmyself inachairandwaswaiting


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forsomesignfromthelittleoldmanwhohadbroughtmethere.Butwherewashe?Turningaround I lookedaboutmeonallsides.Hehad left the room during my momentary preoccupation. I had

scarcelyseated

myself

again

when

adoor

opened

and

avenerable

man,withsnowwhitehairandasmoothshavenfacethatwaspaleand wrinkled, walked slowly toward me. I rose to my feet andadvanced a step or two.He came forwardwithout speaking andlooked steadily intomyeyes.Slowlyand sadlyhe turnedhisgazeupon the floor,apparently indeep thought.A sighbroke fromhislipsasifsomememory,stirringinthecavesofthought,haddrivenitforth.

Theman

who

stood

before

me

had

deep

set

gray

eyes,

almost

concealedbylongshaggybrowsnotyetentirelywhite.Hislipswerethin, anddrawn closely together above a square,protruding chin.The nose was aquiline and prominent,with large,but finely cutnostrils.Altogether hiswas themost picturesque face I had everseen.Suddenlyhemadeanefforttoclearhisthroat.

Kendricschild,saidhe, inastrange, lowvoice.Hespokeslowlyandwithgreatdifficulty, as ifhis organs of speechwerepartially

paralyzed.Iwould

not

have

been

able

to

distinguish

his

words

but

for the silence of that room and the unnatural keenness of myhearing.He still stoodmotionless,his eyesupon the floor. Iknewthathewasthinkingofmyfather.

Dead?heasked,lookingatmeinquisitively.

Heisdead,Ianswered.

Andmy

mandid

he

give

you

the

letter?

Yes;heisdeadalso.

Dead? I thought he was dead, he repeated, slowly andthoughtfully.I,too,amdeadlongdead.

Thewordswereseparatedbyconsiderablepauses,andhefacedmealmoststernlyashefinishedspeaking them.Istoodstaringathim,

dumbwith

surprise.

Whyhowdidyoucomehere?


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He sank into a chair, exhaustedwith the effort ithad cost him tospeak.Mypresenceseemedtoirritateandannoyhim.Why,indeed,hadIcomethere?WhatshouldIsayinreplytohisquestion?Itried

tothink.

Knaves!Knaves!saidmyuncle, inashrillvoice, rushing towardme. Inamomenthehad thrownhisarmsaboutmyneckandwassobbingaloud.MyheartwasfullandIweptwithhim.

Fortunate child ofGod, said he, after amoment; youhave theseedoflifeimmortallife.ButIbegyoutogo.Toonelikeyouthishousewillseemanuncannyplace;Icanonly thinkof itasbeyond

thegrave.

Letme stay,uncle, said I. Dont sendme away.Perhaps I canhelpyouorcomfortyou.

Poorsoul!youshallstayifyouwill.Iamingreattroubleandneedhelp,butyouareaboyIcannotaskyoutogiveyourlifetome.

Hesatdownbeforethetable,breathingheavily,andbeckonedmeto

achair

beside

him.

Iwas

quite

dumfounded

and

knew

not

what

to

say.Presentlyhebeganwritinguponlargesheetsofpaper,handingeachone tomeas soonas itwascovered.Themanuscript readasfollows:

I am not able to talk much. To me words are a lie and anabomination. Even these I nowwrite aremisrepresentingme anddeceivingyou,thoughIwishthemtotellthetruth.Theywillmakemeoutanassoramadman.Iamneither.ForeighteenyearsIhave

scarcelyspoken

as

many

words.

A

word

or

two

of

Sanscrit

now

and

thenhasmetmyneeds,thankGod!Thereisaninteriorlanguageforwhich speech is an imperfect medium. Through that interiorlanguagethoughtiscommunicateddirectlyandtruthfully.Iuseditlongbefore I camehereimperfectly, tobe sure,butwitha smalldegreeofsatisfactiontomyself.ThroughitIwasabletohealthesickwhenothersfailed.Iknewhowtheyfeltbetterthantheycouldtellmeinfeeblewords.Insomemoreperfectstateofevolution,beyondthe grave, perhaps, all men will have this power and it will be

perfect.Ican

enjoy

but

an

imperfect

use

of

it

until

the

mortal

part

of

mehasbeencastoff.Onetrainedtospeechinchildhoodlosescertainfacultiesthatcanneverberegained.


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Mywifediedmanyyears ago. She leftme abrokenheart and achild,newlyborn. Ihadjustbuilt thishouse,amongstrangers.Weintendedtodevotetheremainderofourlivestothestudyofmental

phenomena.We

desired

to

carry

on

our

work

without

interruption.

We planned to live unknown among those around us.When shediedIsawinthechildanopportunity.Ideterminedtomakeitslifeagrandexperiment;topreserveandcultivateitsnativeintuitionsthegerm of the power of direct communication.God has vouchsafedsuccesstome.Helivesamanofexaltedpowersthe likeofwhichtheworldhasneverseenbutonce,andtheninChrist,theverySonofGod.But,unlikeHim,my son isonlyhuman,withweaknessesthatareourcommonlot.

Theyearsareflying,andstrengthisfailing!Imustdiesoonandhewill live.That thoughtburnsmybrain,passing through itdaybyday.His lifemaybe long extended and he cannot live alone, noramongmen,forhewouldbeastrangerandfriendlessfearedanddreadedby superstitious fools. He has never seen a human faceoutside thesewallsnorheardahumanvoicebutmine. Ihave toldyoumytrouble.

Heceased

writing,

but

before

Ihad

finished

reading

the

statement

some strange influence came over me. I felt restless anduncomfortable.Myhandwas shaking so that Icouldscarcely readthewordsonthelastsheetofpaper.SuddenlyIraisedmyeyesandsawayoungman,godlikeinformandfeature,standingatmyside.Hisfaceworeanexpressionof indescribableeloquence.Asfamiliarasheafterwardbecametome,Icanneverforgetthefirstimpressionwhich thatmagnificent humanbeingmade uponmymind, as hestood thereradiatingapower that I felt to the tipsofmy fingers.

Whatfavored

son

of

man

was

this

confronting

me,

born

to

such

an

inheritanceofmajestyandgrace?Iaskedmyself,regardinghimwithamazement.Hehadeyesdarkasnight,setunderabroadforehead,aboutwhichwavymassesof tawnyhair fellgracefully.Hisstatelyformwaserectand firmasastatue.Foramomenthiseyes lookedintomine;thenheadvancedandtookmyhand.Tenderlyhepressedit tohis lips, steppingbackashedid soand lookingatmewithahalfcurious, halfamused expression. I was so startled by theunexpectedappearanceofthisremarkablefigurethatIhadnot,until

now,noticed

that

alarge

lion

had

followed

him

into

the

room

and

was lyingquietly athis feet. Iwasnot afraid; indeed, theking ofbeastsseemedbutapartof themansmasterfulpresence. IdonotthinkIwouldhaveseentheanimalbutthathisenormousbodywas


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lyingdirectlybeforemyeyesonthefloor.Myunclehadbeensittingwithhisheadrestinguponhishandat the table.Suddenlyheroseandastrange,gutturalsounditmayhavebeenawordfromsome

languagewholly

unfamiliar

to

mepassed

his

lips.

The

young

man

immediately leftus,the lionfollowingcloselyathisheels.Webothsatinsilenceforsomemomentsafterhehadgone.Mymindhadfeltstrangeexhilaration inhispresence,andIrubbedmyeyes tomakesure that Iwasnotdreaming.When I lookedatmyuncle the sadexpression on his face had given way to a smile of infinitesatisfaction.

He is pleasedthankGod! saidmy uncle, in a hoarsewhisper,

sinkinginto

achair.

Imadenoanswer.

Itwasmyson,hecontinued,withanimation.Rayelthatwasthename shegavehim.Rayel, thewonderful.Hewill loveyou ashelovesme.Come,saidhe,rising,thenightisnearlygone.

Takingalampfromthetable,hebeckonedmetofollowhim.Silently

weproceeded

through

anarrow

hallway

and

up

one

flight

of

stairs

toaspaciousbedroomwhichhadseeminglybeenpreparedformyuse.Acandlewasburningdimlyonalargedressingcase,andbyitsflickeringlight,assoonasmyunclehadgone,IlookedaboutmeandtriedtothinkwithcalmnessontheexperienceIhadpassedthrough.Boltingthedoorsecurely,Ithrewopenoneofthewindowblinds.Tomysurprisethefirstlightofdawnwasvisibleinthesky.Myroomwas in the rearof thehouse.Betweenmeand thehighwallwasadense tangleofunderbrush,barelyvisible in thedim light.Hastily

undressing,Iwent

to

bed

without

further

delay,

and

was

soon

in

deepsleep.WhenIawoke itwasnearmidday.Dressingasquicklyaspossible, Iproceededatonce to the library,wheremyunclesatwaiting forme.He conductedme to thebreakfast roomawelllightedandcheerfulapartmentwhereheservedmewithhisownhands.

Youshallstay,siryoushallstay,saidhe,layinghishandonmyshoulderashesatdownbesideme,withasmilingface.Rayelloves

you.He

hopes

you

will

stay.

He

thinks

God

sent

you

to

us.

Iamglad,forIwishtostay,Isaid.


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Good! he exclaimed, in a longwhisper. You havebrought theworldtohim.Alreadyhehasseenitinyoureyes.Butitisgood!

WhileIate

he

asked

me

questions

touching

the

changes

in

our

familysinceheleftEngland.

Itoldhimofmylifeathomeaftermyfathersdeath;ofmyhardlotinLiverpool,andofthemidnightinterviewswithhismessengerandwithMr.Earl.He listened tomewithgraveandattentive interest,butstoppedmebeforeIhadfinished,withanimpatientgesture.

Speakout!theymeanttheymeanttokillyou,didntthey?

I stared at him in amazement,while ideas thatwere new tomeflocked into theempyreanof thought likeblackbirdsofprey.Oh,no;Ihadneversuspectedthat!Iwouldneverbeforehavepermittedsuchahideoussuspiciontoentermymind.WasitpossiblethatMr.Earlhadsentmeaway fromEngland inorder tosavemy life?Myhandsbegan to tremble, and I feltmy face turning red and paleunderthesearchingeyesofmyuncle.

Myboy,

said

he,

if

all

the

murders

were

done

that

men

conceive,

thedevilwouldlivealoneonearth.WeshallknowsometimeItellyouweshallknow!LetusgotoRayel,hesaid,risingandleadingtheway.

Theinterviewhadgreatlyexcitedhim,andhisspeechseemedevenmore halting and labored than before. Many of his words weremispronouncedandseparatedby longpauses;buthismannerwasmarvelously expressive, and often a peculiar turn of the eye or

movementof

the

hand

made

his

meaning

clear

when

Iwas

in

doubt

abouthiswords.

I followedhim througha longgymnasiumandoutuponagrassycourtyardextendingalongtherearofthegroundsparallelwiththeriverwall forahundredyardsormore,andadornedwithbedsofflowers.Itwascompletelyshutofffromtheeyeoftheoutsideworldby a thick grove and an impenetrable growth of underbrush thatreachedbeyond the lowestbranches of the trees.Nothingbut the

bluesky,

in

which

the

sun

was

on

its

downward

course,

the

house,

andthewallsoflivinggreen,werevisible.OutofthisEdenlikespotwe passed into anotherwing of thebuildingwith largewindowslookingoutuponit.Rayelmetusatthedoor,dressedinablackrobe


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of silk thathunggracefully fromhis shoulders.Againhe tookmyhand and kissed it, then looked into my eyes with the sameexpressionofcuriousinterestuponhisfacethatIhadnotedbefore.

Stillholding

my

hand,

he

led

me

across

the

room.

For

the

first

time

I

noticedthatitswallswerecoveredwithpictures,unframed,andthataneaselstoodinthelightofeachwindow.Westoppedbeforeoneofthem.OnalargecanvasthatwasstretchedacrossitIsawalikenessofmyself.Theeyesworeahaggard lookwhichseemedunnatural.Buttherewassomethingstrangelyrealaboutit,inspiteofthat.

Wonderful!saidI.

Rayelstarted

at

the

sound

of

my

voice,

and

glanced

from

one

to

the

other with a puzzled, inquiring look. Turning to his father, heutteredsomestrangemonosyllableinadeepvoice.Thenhetookmyhandandwalkedbackandforthacrosstheroomwithme,smilingingreatdelight.Iwasfascinatedbyoneofthepictureswhichshowedagreatgleamingeyewithasuggestionoflightninginitsfierydepths,as if takenat thekeenest flashof fury.To intensify its fiercenessahumanhandwasraisedinfrontofitsoastothrowadarkshadowacrossthecanvas.

Itisthelionseye,saidmyuncle,whowasstandingnearme.

There were other paintingsmany of them equally strange andwonderfulhangingonthewalls,someofwhichcontainedmaterialhe couldnothavederived fromdirect observation. Itwas easy todiscern in hiswork the fragments of nature that camewithin thelimited commandofhisowneyesthe falling snow, the changingphasesoftheskyandofvegetationfortheywerepresentedwitha

strongerand

more

vivid

touch.

Until

the

fading

twilight

blended

all

colorintogloomIpassedfromonecanvastoanotheralongthewallinsilence,obliviousofallsavethepresenceofRayel,whofollowedcloseatmy elbow, evidently enjoyingmyadmirationofhiswork.WhenIhadfinishedlookingatthepaintingsIturnedforsomesigntoindicatehisfurtherpleasure,anddiscoveredthathewasgone.Myunclewasstandingnearme.

Itislate,saidhe.

Wereturnedatonceacrosstheyardtomyunclesretreatamonghisbooksandpapers.Lightingthelampshesatdownbesideme.


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Thepowerofspeechisreturning,saidhe.Icantalkmoreeasily.

DidInothearyouspeaktoyourson?Iasked.

Yes, he answered. Long ago difficulties arose. Sometimes hecouldnotcommandmythoughts,norIhis.Ihadknownfiftyyearsof life;hehadnothencean inequality.Myphysicalorganismhadbeenneglected.Itwasan imperfectagentofthemind.Manyofmyfaculties were lost. These circumstances stood between us likebarriers. Itwas thebeginningofeachcommunication that troubledus,whenourmindswereworkingindifferentchannels.Somethingwas needed for a cuea startingpoint. Ten pregnant words of

Sanscritwere

all

we

needed.

It

was

easy

then.

I should think he would have lost the power of speech andhearing,Iremarked.

No.Musicsavedthemabstractmusic.Hisvoiceiswonderful.Hishearing isquick.Rayelknowswordsbutnotspeech.Hismindhascommandofmyknowledge.Hehasnever seen theworld,butheknowsaboutit.Itriedtobeginmylifeanewandtoforgetthepast.

ButIcould

not

wholly

cleanse

my

mind

of

it.

Its

memories

faded

slowly.Ihaveavoidedrenewingthemforhissake.

Hecould,then,learntospeak?

Withease,anditwerebetterifhecouldspeaknow.Wewillteachhimsoon.

Asheceasedspeaking,fatiguedbytheunaccustomedeffort,Iheard

lowstrains

of

music

echoing

through

the

silent

halls

around

us.

A

violin!Thetonewasdeepandtremulous,graduallygrowinglouder,fillingtheearwithitsmessage,andliftingthemindtoloftyheightsof thought and passion. We both sat listening for hours, andmidnightcamebeforethelaststraindiedaway.Thatmusicwaslikeastrangestorythatdropsitsplummetdeepintolifesmysteries.

Anew song! saidmyuncle, turning tomewith surpriseonhisface.Hegotthesubjectfromyou.Weshallsee.

PresentlyRayelenteredtheroom,bringingsomethinginhishanda picturewhich he held up to the lamplight. A girls face! andwonderfully like thatofHesterChaffin. I satamazed, staringat it.


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Butthelikenesswasnotexact,thefacewasidealizedasIhadseenitinmydreamthenightbefore.IraisedmyeyestoRayelsface.Hewaslookingatmewithanexpressionofpainandembarrassment.


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CHAPTERV

Myunclerecoveredthepowerofspeechrapidly.BeforeIhadbeena

weekin

his

house

he

was

able

to

talk

with

comparative

ease.

He

seemedtoenjoymycompanionship,andIspentmostofmytimeinhis library, conversingwith him or conning themustybooks thathadlonglainunread.Tomethisroomwasafascinatingandrestfulplace.Somehowitremindedmeofanoldcemetery.Thetimewornbooksuponitsshelvesstoodinsolemnrows,likeheadstones,sacredto the memory of the men who wrote themtheir titles likeinscriptionshalf obliterated. Idid not seeRayel fordays after themidnight episode that gaveme such a startling revelation of his

power.

Do you think that Rayel knows everything that passes in onesmindavividdream,forinstance?Iaskedmyuncleonedaywhenwewerealonetogether.

Yes,exceptwhenhe ishimselfasleep.Hiscommandofmydreamspuzzledmeat first. I thought Ihadput thepastcompletelyoutofmymind.ButIcouldnothideitfromhim.Littlebylittlehelearned

everythingin

my

history.

One

day

Isaw

him

at

work

on

apicture.

It

startledme.The canvas showedaman lyingona surgeons table.Theknifehadjust severed anartery inhis thigh.Therewere fourmenworkingoverhimIwasoneof them.Gradually the featurestookonafamiliarexpression.Hisfacegrewpalerunderthebrush.Afewtouchesthescenewascomplete.Themanwasdeadhiseyeswideopen,staringatme.

Myunclepausedandlookedearnestlyintomyface.

Itwasabitofyourprofessionalexperience,saidI.Somethinghadremindedyouofit.

The night before I dreamed about it he answered. My mind,releasedfromthecommandofmywill,betrayedme.

Astrangepower!Iexclaimed.

Incredibleto

you!

Impossible

to

acquire

unless

the

work

begins

at

birth, and then the possibilities are infinite, said he, drawing hischair closer tomine.Youknowwhat Ihavedone.Start thenewbornmindonanyhighwayandseehowithurriesalong.Youcando


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more,workinga littlewhileover thecradle, thanall thepreachersunderheaven,afteritsoccupanthasgrownbeyondyourministry.Itell you, sir, theworld is indifferent to its children.Neglectedby

theirparents,

subject

to

hired

tenderness

or

none

at

all;

left

to

the

care of ignorant or depraved nurses, and often taught little butselfishnessandgreedofgain,thechildrenofmenaresurroundedbydestructiveagencies.Canwewonderthatthehumanmind loses ininfancysomuchofitsnativepower?Butsothegenerationsofeartharegrowingup,bearingembitteredfruitandsowingitsseedtothefourwinds.Who cares for themind andbody of a child has thehighestpossiblemissionthemostsacredofalltrusts.Hemustgiveit 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

mustgiveitholdonlinesofthoughtthatreachintoeternity,whichwill sooner or later flood itwith inspiration; hemust see that thebrain has a sufficient foundation of flesh andblood andbone; hemustgiveitallhislifeuntilthegermsofpoweraredeveloped.

Unfortunately,said I,mostparentshaveother things todoandthinkof.

Parentageis

acrime

under

such

circumstances.

It

has

peopled

the

world with fools and knaves. It delays the coming of Christskingdom. There are a fewwisemen,but they are held down asgravitationholdstherock.Therearelawsofattractionintheworldofmindasinthatofmatter.Goodandevilareitspoles.Everyatombetween them isheld inplaceby theoperationofopposing forces.Thegeneralmassofmindlieswithinnarrowzonesonbothsidesofthe equatorial line of this imaginaryworld. Its attraction preventsanymenfromrisingfaraboveordescendingfarbelowit.Itellyou,

sir,the

intellectual

world

has

degrees

of

latitude

and

longitude

whichdetermineeverymanslocation.EmancipatedfromtheforcesIhavedescribed,mysonhasrisentoalevelbeyondtheattainmentofmenunderordinaryconditions.Hypocrisyanddeceitare thingsofwhichheknowsnothing. Idonotascribe tohim,mindyou, thepossession of saintly virtues. He is a man in whom the bestpotentialities of mind and body have been developed. I havecarefully avoided the danger of making him a morbid, spiritualcreature.Hisbodyisquiteaswonderfulashismind.

Myunclehadbeenpacing restlesslyupanddown the roomashespoke,oftenpausingbeforemeandutteringhiswordsvehemently,withquickgesturesandflashingeyes.Hedidnot,seemingly,expect


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an answer to his remark, for, as he ceased speaking, he steppedbeforeoneofthewindowsandstoodforamomentlookingoutuponthecourtyard.

See!saidhesuddenly,motioningtome.

I stepped tohis sideand, looking through thewindow, sawRayelrunningacross the lawnwith the liononhis shoulders.When thebeastsprangdownheseizeditbythemaneandtosseditaboutlikeonewiththestrengthofHercules.Herewasamanwhoexercisedhisrightfuldominionoveranimatednature!

Thebeast

is

very

fond

of

him,

said

my

uncle,

and

amovement

of

hisfingerissufficienttocontrolit.

Whydidyouadoptapetsoterrible?Iasked.

To secure isolation, he answered. Hes an object of terror tointruders,andasourceofdelighttous.

Youhavesnakeshere,too,Iventured.

Yes,andfor thesamereason,But theycantharmyounow.Sinceyoucamewehavekilledthem.Theyhavebeengoodfriendstome,butyouwereastranger,andyour lifewouldhavebeen indangereveryday.YearsagoIprocuredascoreofthemfromthemountainsofPennsylvaniaandputthemintothethickets.Theymultipliedlikerats,andsoIwasarmedagainstinvasion.

TopreventtheirescapeIsankascreenofwiretwofeetbelow the

groundalong

the

base

of

the

walls;

Ialso

posted

awarning

inside

mygate.Longago Ibegan todestroy them,and therewereonlyafew leftwhenyou came.Theyweregood friends tomeexcellentfriends! he repeated, rubbing his handswith a grim smile. ForeighteenyearsIhavebeenabletocarryonmyworkunmolested.Noknowledgeofwhatwastranspiringoutsidethislittleworldhaseverreachedme.

Howdidyoubegin theworkof teaching this interior language to

Rayel?Iasked.

By signs at firstgradually making them more simple andsuggestive.Theeliminationofsignskeptpacewiththedevelopment


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ofhisintuitions.Itwasslowworkandhardwork,butIgaveallmytime to it.Afterhebecame familiarwithasign, Ibegan tomake itlesspantomimic,until finallya liftof theeyebrow,amovementof

thelips,

or

an

inclination

of

the

head

served

to

express

my

meaning.

Intimehecoulddetectthepassingshadesofexpressioninmyeyesandunderstandthem.Lookatme,saidhe,layinghishandonmyheadandwatchingmyeyesasthefirelightshoneuponthem,foritwasnowevening.

Dontyouknow,myboy,thatyoureyesreflectwhat ispassinginyourmind?Thentherearecountlessnervesandmusclesinyourfacewhich proclaim thought. They aidmy intuitions to discoverwhat

youdo

not

speak.

You

wonderah!

you

are

afraid!afraid

of

me.

Istartedinmychair,forwhilehewaslookingintomyeyesastrangegleamcameintohisown.Heturnedaboutsuddenlyandlookedintothebrightfirethatburnedonthegratebeforeus.

Never fear,he continued,nervously twirling a lockofhiswhitehair.Neverfear,sirIamnotmad.Notyet.Ihavebeenafraidofit,butmyreasonwilloutlastmylife.Doyoueverpray?

Everyday,Ianswered.

Thenyouemploytheinteriorlanguage.WecommunedirectlywiththeHolySpirit.Youget somemessage fromHim everydaymoresatisfactory thanwords. Its theanswerofyourprayers. I tellyou,sir,words are an invention of the devil. Do you like Rayel? heasked,turninguponmeabruptly.

Youneed

have

no

doubt

of

that,

Ianswered,

or

of

my

willingness

to lookafterhim if itshouldbenecessaryto takehimawaywithmeandcherishhimasIwouldabrother.

Good!Good!heexclaimedsmilingandrubbinghishandsjoyfully.Ihavenotlongtolive.Whenthetimecomes,takehimoutamongtheknavesandfools!Butwemusthurry:ourtimeisshort.Wemustpreparehim fora secondbirth.Youwill findhimanaptpupilaveryaptone.Healreadyknowsmoreof theworld than I thought

possible.Idont

think

you

will

find

him

troublesomehe

can

help

you;hewillteachyouwisdom;hewillenlargetheissuesofyourlife.Myfortunewillbeampleforhisneeds:use itasyouseefit.Ihaveone servant left, he said, drawing his chair closer to mine and


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speakingscarcelyaboveawhisper:Iwouldlikethistobehishomewhen I amdead. Itwillbebetter,however, toplacehim in somepublicinstitutionwherehecanbewellprovidedfor.Ishallleavea

sufficientallowance

for

him.

The

manner

of

its

bestowal

Ileave

entirelytoyourjudgment.Thereweretwoofthemyouhaveseenthe other.Hewas a faithful fellow.Theywerepoor fools,bothofthem, but uncommonly wise, he continued. They kept it tothemselves.Ifoundtheminanasylumtwentyfiveyearsago.Theycalledthemidiots.Idiots!Godhelpus!

Thatstrange lightseemed tokindle inhiseyesagainwhilehewasspeaking,anditconveyedanythingbutacheerfulsuggestiontomy

mind.

Thereisthisdifferencebetweenidiotsandmadmen,hecontinued.Theformerarebornoutsidethepaleofhumansympathy;thelatteroverstep it. In either case they are not of this earththey areembodiedspirits living inaworldoftheirowncreation,bidingthetimeofliberationfromtheflesh.Anddoyouknow,therearemoremadmenintheworldthanitdreamsof?

Hestopped

with

atone

of

sharp

interrogation

and

looked

squarely

intomyface.

Thereareundoubtedlymanyofthem,saidI.

The linesofmonomaniaall lead tomadness,hecontinued.Thedeeper one plunges into the mysteries of life the nearer heapproaches it. But,mark you, onemanmay venture further thananother.ForyearsIhave lived infearof two thingsmadnessand

death.Not

on

my

account,

but

Ihad

Rayel

to

think

of.

Myunclerosetohisfeetbeforehehadceasedspeakingandwalkedstealthily on his tiptoes to an open door, where he stood for amoment listening. I couldhearnothingbut the soundof thewindwhistlinginthechimney.

Waithere,hewhisperedpresently,andthendisappearedthroughthedoor,closingitafterhim.Iheldmywatchdowntothefirelight

andsaw

it

was

near

eleven

oclock.

Ifelt

drowsy,

and

had

almost

fallenasleep,whenmyunclereturned,carryingalantern.Rayelisasleep, saidhe, inawhisper.Wontyoucomewithme?itwillnottakelong.


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Certainly,saidI,rising,andwaitingforhim to lead theway.Heputonhisantiquehatandthrewashawloverhisshoulders.

Itsachilly

night,

said

he.

Youd

better

wear

another

coat.

I drew onmy overcoat at once,wonderingwhat new experienceawaited me. Holding the lantern in front of him, he proceededslowlyandfeeblyacrosstherearcourtyard,andunlockedadoorinoneofthesidewingsofthehouse,throughwhichwepassedintoalargeunfurnishedroom.

Ialwayswait tillhesasleep, saidmyuncle, shufflingacross the

roomand

unlocking

another

door

on

its

opposite

side.

Hes

never

beenhereneveryet,hecontinued,pullingthedooropen.Thedimlightofthelanternshoneoutuponathicketoffragrantspruceandcedar.AsIsteppeddownupontheground,followinginthestepsofmyuncle, Icouldhear themurmurof thegreatpines towering farabove our heads. Slowly we made our way through the denseundergrowth, and soon entered anopen space carpetedwithpineneedlesandmoss.Itwasacircularplotinthethicket,andoutofitscentre rose an immense pine, whose upper branches wholly

obscuredthe

sky.

My

uncle

hung

his

lantern

on

aknot

protruding

from the trunk of the tree, and slowly knelt upon the ground,coveringhisfacewithhishands.Suddenlyhebeckonedtome,andIkneltdownbesidehim.

Listen!saidhe.Doyouhearvoices?Shecomestomehere.Canyouseehermywife?Lookaboutyou,doyounotseeher?

He laid his trembling hand uponmy shoulder.Again I saw that

awfulgleam

in

his

eyes.

The

gruesome

suggestion

he

had

made

set

mynerves tingling,and Ipeeredaboutamong theshadowsof thatdimly lighted recess,half expecting somevision togreetmy eyes.Thentherecamealoudrustlingofthebrancheshighaboveus.Thelantern light flaredup and suddenlywent out, leavingus in totaldarkness.

Sheishere!hewhispered,inexcitement.Sitstilldonotspeak.

Adeep

silence,

intensified

by

the

sound

of

the

night

wind

in

the

trees aroundus, followedmyuncleswords.Thegoingoutof thelighthehadseemedtoregardasasignalfromthespiritworld,andIsat still as he bade me, not doubting that his acute senses had


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penetratedtheveilwhichlimitedmyownvision.IhadseensomanyrevelationsofhisstrangepowerthatInowsatawestruckandafraid,waiting for someword fromhim to endmy suspense. I could see

nothingin

the

darkness,

but

Icould

hear

my

uncle

breathing

heavily,

asiftryingtosuppresshisemotion.Suddenlytherewasastirinthebushesnearus.ThenIheardasteplikethatofamanonthethicklycovered earth close by my side. I stretched out prone upon theground,coveringmyfacewithmyhands.Icouldhearasoundasofsomeonegropingaboutinthedarkness,andthenIfeltthetouchofastrangehanduponmyshoulder.


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CHAPTERVI

Ishrankfromthehandthattouchedmeand,movingquicklyaside,

struckamatch

and

peered

around.

By

its

light

Icould

discern

the

formofamanstandingneartheedgeofthethicket.RisingtomyfeetI tookdown the lanternand lighted it.There, standingbeforeme,wasthegrinningmutewhohadadmittedmetothehouse.Myuncle,whowasstillkneeling,rosefeeblytohisfeet,hiseyeswetwithtears.

Goodfriend!saidhe,takingthelanternfrommeandhandingittothemute.Healwaycomesformehere.

Wefollowed

the

old

servant

in

silence

through

the

thick

boughs

of

cedaruntilwe came to thedoorofa lowroofedwoodenbuildingthat stood by itself in the thicket. The mute opened the door,ushering us into a small room containing abed and some simplefurniture. A comfortable wood fire was burning in a large openstove,andwebothsatdowninfrontofit,shiveringfromexposureto the chillyairof thenight.Myunclehandedakey to themute,who unlocked a cupboard, taking from it a decanter ofwhiskey,whichhesetbeforeuswithglasses.

Itwillwarmyou,saidmyuncle,pouringout thespirits:Ihaveseenmywife.Shealwayscomes tome therewhen the lightgoesout.SheknowsyourheartbetterthanI.WeshallleaveRayeltoyourcare.ItisthelasttimeIshallcomehere.Myworkisnearlyfinished.

Weemptiedourglassesinsilence,butmymindwasbusythinkingon those impressivewords,Shealwayscomes tome therewhenthelightgoesout.

Itwasstrangethisgoingoutofthelightjustatthatmoment.Wasitnotpossible,Iaskedmyself,thatthelantern,beingalwayshungonthesameprojection,wasthusinthewayofacurrentofairpassingdown the trunk of the treewhen a gust ofwind struck its loftybranches? If so, theknotwouldnaturally conduct the current intotheopeningatthetopofthelantern.Myreflectionswereinterruptedbymyuncle,whorose,and,takingacandle,askedmetoaccompanyhim. I followed him into a cellar filled with casks and barrels

containing,as

Isupposed,

wine

and

provisions

for

future

use.

Returning,we passed through a large room, in one end ofwhichmanyboxesandbarrelswerestored.Iafterward learned that there


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wasa largegardenandpoultryyard in this lonelynookwheremyunclesonlyservantwassequestered.

Iwas

glad

when

we

started

back

through

the

thicket,

for

the

hour

waslateandIfelttheneedofsleep.

Hegivesusour food,saidmyuncle,whenwewereat length inthe courtyard. We have enough of everything needfulbut littlemeat.Itdestroysmentalpower.Itisfoolsfood.

Nextdaymyunclewasunabletoleavehisbed.Ideterminedtogotothehotelformybaggageandtopostsomeletters,oneofwhichgave

Mr.Earl

an

account

of

my

experiences

since

the

October

night

when

Ibecameaninmateofthathouse.

It was midwinter now, and the long stretches of pasturage andmeadowlandoutsidethewallswereblastedandserewhentheoldmute,whom I had seen twicebefore, letme out of thebig gate.WhenIreturnedhewastheretoopenthegateformeandhelpmewithmybaggage.

Ifound

Rayel

at

his

fathers

bedside.

The

sick

man

was

asleep,

and

I

went at once to the library, where Rayel soon came, as was hiscustom in theafternoon,fora lesson in talking.Bothmyuncleandmyselfhadtakengreatpainstoteachhimthisaccomplishment,andhisprogresshadbeenevenmorerapidthanwethoughtpossible.Hecaught the significance ofwordswith astonishing ease,but foundsome difficulty in producing their sound.Hewent about itwithgreatpatience,however,repeatingthehardestwordsaftermeuntilhewasabletopronouncethemcorrectly.Butalthoughtheworkwas

oftentedious

we

both

got

much

fun

out

of

it.

Ihad

never

heard

the

soundoflaughterinthathouse.OnedayIbrokeitssolemnspellbylaughing heartily at the grotesque distortion of my cousins faceincidental to the production of a difficult sound. He stoppedsuddenlyandlookedatme,halfalarmed.Thismademelaughmoreheartily,andhegraspedmyhandwiththeseriousairofaphysicianfeeling thepulseofhispatient.Beingassured therewasnodanger,he indulged in a little offhand cachinnation himself and was, Ijudged, well pleased with the trial, for he repeated it frequently

afterward,and

greatly

to

his

amusement.

Thewordwoman,andothersrelatedtoit,puzzledhimnotalittle,forhehadneverseenawoman,exceptthroughthemediumofmy


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ownmindandthatofhisfather.Thesubjectinterestedhim,andhegavemuchserious thought to it,questioningmecloselyatsomeofourinterviews,asifdissatisfiedwiththeideaconveyedtohim.Our

discussions,however,

had

reached

some

slumbering

chord

in

him,

which,once touched, stirredhisbloodwith itsvibrations. Idonotthink his isolation could have lastedmuch longer, for hebecamerestlessandeagertoseetheworld.

Rayelwasgreatlydepressedbyhisfathersillness.Formonthsafterthatnight,theexcitementofwhichhadsohastenedthefailureoftheoldmansstrength,thesilenceofthegreathousewasrarelybrokenby the soundofourvoices.Myuncle layhelpless inadeep sleep

mostof

the

time,

never

able

to

leave

his

bed

until,

revived

by

the

freshnessofapproachingsummer,hehadstrengthenough tosit inan easychair by the window. Some fatal malady, the nature ofwhichhedidnotdisclosetome,wasevidentlysappinghisstrength.Ihadurgedhimmorethanoncetoletmesummonaphysician,buthewouldnotpermitme todo so.When summer came at last,hegrewstronger,andwasabletowalk,supportedbyRayel,tohischairintheopencourtyardamongtheflowers.

Thelion,

which

had

been

confined

in

its

cage

most

of

the

time

since

myunclehadgrownsofeebleastoneedRayelsconstantattentionsickenedanddiedinthewarmdaysofearlyJune.Rayelwassorelygrievedbythedeathofhispet,andalthoughhestoodintheshadowofafargreatersorrow,hefeltdeeplythelossofthislifelongfriend.Thesummerpassedslowly,oneday likeanother,castingonusthesameburdenofanxietyandsilence.Ispentmuchofthetimeinmyuncles library, poring over hisbooks and trying to shake off themelancholythoughtssuggestedbymydailylife.

Oneday inearlyautumn,Rayelwas sittingwithmenearanopenwindowoverlooking the courtyard,wherehis fatherwas enjoyingtheopenair.

Hewilldietoday,saidRayel,calmly.Hetoldmehewoulddietoday.

Heseems thesameasusual, Isaid.Wecannot tell;hemay live

formonths

yet.

Rayelshookhisheadincredulously,andsatforalongtimelookingoutofthewindowinsilence.


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And Iwillgowithyou then?heaskedsuddenly turning towardme.

Yes,Ianswered.

Itwas the first timehehadeveraskedmeaquestion,forhecouldreadmymind like an openbook, and tohim allquestioningwasunnecessary.

While we were sitting there, thinking over our plans, my unclesummonedusbyrappingwithhiscane.Rayelturnedpale,and,withawhisperedejaculation,hurriedoutoftheroomandrandownthe

pathto

his

father,

followed

closely

by

myself.

My

uncle

was

breathingheavily.

Count it, said he, feebly extending his hand.Rayel counted hispulsebeats.

Ninetyfour,andgrowingquicker!heexclaimed, turning towardmewithafrightenedlook.

Itwont

increase

much,

my

uncle

whispered,

feebly,

but

with

a

coolandprofessionalair.Itwillgodownsoon,andthendeathwillfollow.

Be calm, Rayel, he continued, almost sternly, as his sonbeganweeping.Becalm,Isay!Thatmusic!doyouhearit,child?Doyouseewhatispassingnow?Tellit.Letmehearyou.

Icannothearit,saidRayel,lookingearnestlyintohisfathersface.

Hallucination!hewhispered,gropingaboutuntilhishandrestedontheheadofhisson,whowaskneelingbesidehim.Iseemtoseemillionsofformsaroundme.Iseem tohear them,butIcannotseeyounorhearyou.

As if exhausted by the effort, his head fell back upon Rayelsshoulder,andhelayforatime,hiseyesclosed,strugglingforbreath.The dyingmans facultieswould no longer obey thewhip of his

mightywill.

Indeed,

they

had

done

him

their

final

service,

for

in

a

few moments he was dead. Tenderly and manfully, uttering nosoundofgrief,Rayelliftedthelifelessbodyofhisfather,andboreitintothehouse.


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CHAPTERVII

Inaccordancewithmyuncleswish,whichhehadmadeknown to

Rayel,we

buried

him

the

day

following

his

death

in

the

sunny

courtyardwherehehadspent the lastdaysofhis life.The funeralarrangementsweremadeassimpleaspossible,soas toexcludeallexceptthefunctionarieswhosepresencewasabsolutelynecessary.ArectoroftheChurchofEnglandreadtheserviceforthedeadbeforethebodywasborne to itsgraveby theundertaker.Whenthisbriefceremonywasover,andthegreatgateswereclosedagainuponourseclusion,Rayelsaidtome:

Imust

talk

more

with

you

now,

if

you

will

let

me.

He

said

you

wouldhelpmeafterhewasgone.

It seemed idle to assure him,who already knewmy heart, of thehappinessitwouldgivemetofulfillthepledgeoffriendshipmadetomyuncle.

Doyouexpecttoseehimagain?Iasked.

Afteramoment

of

the

most

serious

reflection,

he

said:

Oh,yes,IshallseehimagainwhenIdie,thenIshallseehim.HehasgonetotheGreatFather,whogiveslife,andwhotakesitaway.

I found that Rayel, although entirely ignorant of the creeds anddogmasprevailingamongmen,wasprofoundlyreligious,and thathis simple faith was built upon the deepest foundations. Heevidentlygavemuch thought to the relationshipbetweenmanand

hisCreator

after

he

felt

the

sting

of

bereavement,

but

it

was

asubject

towhichheneverreferredinourconversation,unless,perchance,itdriftedinuponus.

Theweeks followingmy uncles death, duringwhich Iwasbusywithpreparationforthenewlifethatawaitedus,Rayelspentinhisstudio working over some unfinished pictures. At my urgentrequest,hecompletedtheheadwhoseresemblancetoHesterChaffinhad so startled and amazed me the night I saw it first, and he

regardedit

with

fonder

interest

than

he

was

wont

to

bestow

upon

theworkofhisbrush.Ibelievethatfacewastheclosestpresentmentofahuman soul I shallever seeuntil standing,as Ihope to standsome time, in thepresenceof the redeemed,where thatwhich is


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imperfect shallbe put away. I have said that the picturebore astrongresemblancetoHesterChaffin,butherfacecontainedonlyasuggestionof that finequalitywhichwas so stronglypresented in

mycousins

ideal.

My uncles fortune, as described in hiswill, amounted to nearly$250,000.Thegreaterpartof iteverything, indeed,but thehouseand groundswas in cash, represented by certificates of depositaccompanyingthewill,andbondsoftheUnitedStates.Therewasaconsiderablebequestforme,whomhehadnamedasexecutorofthewill,which,however, Ideterminednever toapply tomyownuse,except incaseofRayelsdeath.Ahandsomeannuitywasprovided

forhis

only

surviving

servant.

The

remainder

was

left

to

Rayel.

Havingarrangedfor themaintenanceof theoldmuteatanasylumnotfarfromthecity,ourpreparationstoleaveweresooncomplete.Iwaselatedat theprospectof resumingmy relationswith thebusyworld outside that lonely habitation.My first stepwas to visit alawyer for thepurposeofascertaining the legal formalitieswhich Imustobserveasexecutorof thewill.Rayelwished togowithme,andIgladlyassented,foritseemedwiseasaninitiatorystepinthe

newlife

that

was

awaiting

him.

He

waved

his

hand

to

the

mute,

who

stood lookingatus through thebiggatesafterwehadpassedoutintotheroad,andthenhewalkedonbesidemeinsilence.Thesunshothazeofabeautifulautumndayhungover the faceofnature,andhis eyeswandereddown the long stretches of landscape, andinto the depths of the distant sky, rapt by the vision that wasunfoldingbeforehim.Thechangingphasesofthetownheregardedwith curious interest, which often expressed itself in childishexclamationsofsurpriseaswemadeourwaythroughthecrowded

streets.

He was constantly calling my attention to things which, thoughfamiliarandcommonplacetome,werelittlelessthanwonderfultohim.

Look! said he, suddenly taking hold of my arm. There is awoman!

Hespoke

in

an

eager,

excited

whisper,

and

shyly

stepped

behind

me

asshepassedus.


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Theywonthurtyou, said I, subduingmydesire to laughathisremark.

Suchunfamiliar

exposure

to

the

public

eye

soon

began

to

grate

upon

hisnerves.Ididnotwonderatit,fornearlyeveryonewemettookasecond look at his commanding figure, and some stared at himrudely.Rememberingmy own emotionswhen I first stood in hispresence,Iwasnotatallsurprisedthatothersweremovedinalikemanner.Hiswereafaceandformthatstoodoutlikethoseofsomeheroicstatueinthethrongofcommonmortals.

Theprovingandrecordingofthewillwasleftentirelyinthehands

ofareputable

lawyer,

who

said

that

these

formalities

would

not

detainuslongerthanaweek.

WehaddeterminedtospendthewinterinNewYorkbeforegoingtoEngland.SincereachingAmericamytimehadbeenquitefilledwithworkuntilmyentranceupontheutterisolationofmyuncleshome.Itwasmyearnestdesire toseesomethingof thebigmetropolisonthe western Atlantic. Moreover, Mr. Earl had advised me in hisletterstogiveRayelachancetoknowmoreoflifeinhisowncountry

beforebringing

him

to

England.

Whenatlastthefaithfuloldmutehadgonetohisnewhome,andwehad turnedourbacksupon thesilentanddesertedmansion,Rayelwasmovedtobittertears.Thethoughtofitsloneliness,nowthatitsmasterwasdeadandwewere leaving it,perhaps forever,broughtsad feelings to my heart. How calmly the old pines whisperedtogetheraswewalkeddowntheroadthatmorningIshallnotsoonforget.

We reached theAmericanmetropolis early inOctober, threeyearsafter my first arrival there from England. I rented comfortableapartmentsonFifthAvenue,nearMadisonSquare.AssoonasRayelhad recovered from the fatigue and excitement of the trip,we setaboutunpackinghispicturesandgettingthemframed.Ourlightestroomwasreservedforastudio,andthepaintingswerehungunderRayelsdirection.

Wewere

scarcely

settled

in

our

new

home

when

we

received

an

unexpectedcallfromanewspaperreporter.Hehadlearnedfromanartdealer thatwehadsomeremarkableoldpaintings,andhumblybeggedtheprivilegeoflookingatthem.Wemadehimwelcome,of


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40

course,but I explained to him that the collectionwaswholly theworkofmycousin,whowasnotyetoldhimself. Inanswer tohisquestionsIassuredhimthatthepaintingswouldnotbeexhibitedin

theNational

Academy,

and

that

my

cousins

work

had

never

appearedinanyartexhibitionwhatever,atwhichheseemedgreatlysurprised.Rayelwasstillshyofstrangers,and,ashewasevidentlyalittleannoyedatthepresenceofourvisitor,Ishieldedhimfromtheneedoftakinganypartinourconversation.

Thenextmorninganarticleappeared inoneof the leadingdailies,whichsubjectedustoaglareofpublicitynotatalltoourtaste.

Itwent

on

to

say

that

Signor

Lanion,

ayoung

Spanish

artist,

had

just

arrivedinNewYorkandhadtakenapartmentsatNo.FifthAvenue.Lanionwasthenamewhichhadappearedonourbillforpictureframing, the clerk who had waited on us having taken it downincorrectly. Unfortunately, the article continued, Signor LaniondoesnotspeakEnglish,andforthatreasonthereporterwasunabletointerviewhim.

ThepaperdescribedRayelspersonal charms atmuch length, and

claimedthe

credit

of

having

discovered

agenius

who,

although

still

ayouth,haddoneworkworthyofanacknowledgedmaster.

We had deep respect for the influence of that newspaperbeforeanother week ended. Art managers, tailors, advertising agents,auctioneersandnumerousmenandwomenpromptedbynomotivebut idlecuriosity,besiegedusuntilweboltedourdoors indismayagainst all comers. Themail, too,brought usmissives of varyingimport frompersonswhohad read thearticle,oneofwhichwasa

politeletter

from

Francis

Paddington,

aWall

Street

broker,

whose

nameIhadheardfrequentlyduringmyAmericantravels.

It was not stated, said he, referring to the newspaper article,whetherornotanyofSignorLanionspaintingsareforsale.Iftheyare, Iwouldbeglad to lookat themwithaview tomaking somepurchasesformyartcollection.

The letter suggested an idea worth considering. Rayel worked

rapidlyand

had

already

painted

more

pictures

than

we

could

hang

toadvantageinanybutthemostliberalquarters.Hewasatalosstounderstandjustwhatwasmeantbysellingthepictures,buthewaswillingtosellthemiftheywerenottobedestroyedatleastsomeof


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41

them. Accordingly I wrote Mr. Paddington, appointing an hourwhen wewouldbe glad to see him or his representative at ourrooms.Thegentlemanhimselfdidusthehonortocall.Afterlooking

atthe

paintings,

he

expressed

his

willingness

to

buy

the

entire

collection. I toldhim,however, thatwewouldnotpartwithmorethantencanvases,andheseemedgladtobuyeventhatnumberatapricewhichwassofarinexcessofourexpectationsthatIwasloathtoacceptit.OurbelovedWomanthatwasthetitlewehadgivenRayels strangely derived conceptionwas among the paintingsincluded in the sale to Mr. Paddington. Rayel thought he couldreproduce it, and for days after itwas gone hemade ineffectualeffortstopaintanotherwomanaftertheidealofourhearts.But,alas!

tryas

he

would,

that

face

never

came

back

to

his

canvas.

Many

beautifulfaceswereconjuredbyhismasterfultouch,buttheywereother faces,andnoneof them satisfiedus.The failuremadeRayelunhappy, and tears came to his eyes when the Woman wasreferredto,asifheweremourningthelossofadearfriend.

Ourpatronhadconceivedagreat liking forus,andwewere sooninvitedtovisithishouseandmeetafewofhisfriendsatdinner.ItwouldgiveusanopportunitytoseetheWomanperhapstobuy

herback

againand

we

were

strongly

inclined

to

take

advantage

of

it.OurpatronsresidencewasoneofthelargestandmostelegantonFifth Avenue. It was a matter of common fame that hisentertainmentswerethecauseofmoreenvyandheartburninginthefashionable sisterhood than any other events of the season. I hadsome doubt about the propriety of taking Rayel to such a place,unaccustomedashewastotherefinementsandconventionalitiesoffashionablelife.However,hehadsethisheartupongoinghewassoeagertoseehisbelovedpictureandIdidnotopposehiswish.

Inwriting

our

acceptance

of

the

invitation

Icorrected

Mr.

Paddingtons error regarding our name, and explained therechristeningwehadreceivedinthepublicprints.


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CHAPTERVIII

On thedayofourappointment fordinneratMr.Paddingtons the

newspaperswere

filled

with

accounts

of

asensational

bank

robbery,

which had occurred in Wall Street the night before. Betweenmidnight and one oclock in themorning, thieveshad entered theMetropolitan Bank, overpowered the watchman, broken into thevaultsandstolenhalf

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