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