There is much that might be told--enough to fill many pages. It would beeasy, for instance, to set out long lists of the entrancing dreams whichwere the soul speech of the spirit of Stella, and to some extent, topicture them. Also the progress of the possession of Morris might bedescribed and the student of his history shown, step by step, how theconsummation that in her life days Stella had feared, overtook him; how"the thing got the mastery of him," and he became "unfitted for his workon earth!" How, too, his body wasted and his spiritual part developed,till every physical sight and deed became a cause of irritation to hisnew nature, and at times even a source of active suffering.
Thus an evil odour, the spectacle of pain, the cry of grief, the sightof the carcases of dead animals, to take a few examples out of verymany, were agonies to his abnormal, exasperated nerves. Nor did it stopthere, since the misfortune which threatened Stella when at lengthshe had succeeded in becoming bodily conscious of the presence of theeidolon of her sister, and "heard discords among the harmonies" of therich music of her violin, overtook him also.
Thus, for instance, in the scent of the sweetest rose at times Morriswould discover something frightful; even the guise of tender childhoodceased to be lovely in his eyes, for now he could see and feel thebudding human brute beneath. Worse still, his beautiful companion, Mary,fair and gracious as she was, became almost repulsive to him, so thathe shrank from her as in common life some delicate-nurtured man mightshrink from a full-bodied, coarse-tongued young fishwife. Even her dailyneed of food, which was healthy though not excessive, disgusted him towitness,--he who was out of touch with all wholesome appetites of earth,whose distorted nature sought an alien rest and solace.
Of Mary herself, also, it might be narrated how, after first mockingat the thought and next thrusting it away, by degrees she grew toappreciate the reality of the mysterious foreign influence which reignedin her home. It might be told how in that spiritual atmosphere, sheddingits sleepy indolence, her own spirit awoke and grew conscious andfar-seeing, till impressions and hints which in the old days she wouldhave set aside as idle, became for her pregnant with light and meaning.Then at last her eyes were opened, and understanding much and guessingmore she began to watch. The attitude of the Colonel also could bestudied, and how he grew first suspicious, then sarcastic, and at lastthoroughly alarmed, even to his ultimate evacuation of the Abbey House,detailed at length.
But to the chronicler of these doings and of their unusual issues at anyrate, it appears best to resist a natural temptation; to deny the desireto paint such closing scenes in petto. Much more does this certaintyhold of their explanation. Enough has been said to enable those in whomthe spark of understanding may burn, to discover by its light how muchis left unsaid. Enough has been hinted at to teach how much thereis still to guess. At least few will deny that some things are bestabandoned to the imagination. To attempt to drag the last veil from theface of Truth in any of her thousand shapes is surely a folly predoomedto failure. From the beginning she has been a veiled divinity, andveiled, however thinly, she must and will remain. Also, even were itpossible thus to rob her, would not her bared eyes frighten us?
It was late, very late, and there, pale and haggard in the low light ofthe fire, once again Morris stood pleading with the radiant image whichhis heart revealed.
"Oh, speak! speak!" he moaned aloud. "I weary of those pictures. Theyare too vast; they crush me. I grow weak. I have no strength left tofight against the power of this fearful life that is discovered. Icannot bear this calm everlasting life. It sucks out my mortality asmists are sucked up by the sun. Become human. Speak. Let me touch yourhand. Or be angry. Only cease smiling that awful smile, and take thosesolemn eyes out of my heart. Oh, my darling, my darling! remember that Iam still a man. In pity answer me before I die."
Then a low and awful cry, and Morris turned to behold Mary his wife. Atlast she had seen and heard, and read his naked heart. At last she knewhim--mad, and in his madness, most unfaithful--a man who loved one deadand dragged her down to earth for company.
Look! there in his charmed and secret sight stood the spirit, and there,over against her, the mortal woman, and he--wavering--he lost betweenthe two.
Certainly he had been sick a long while, since the sun-ray touched theface of the old abbot carved in that corner of the room to supportthe hammer beam. This, as he had known from a child, only chanced atmid-summer. Mary was bending over him, but he was astonished to findthat he could sit up and move. Surely, then, his mind must have beenmore ill than his body.
"Hush!" she said, "drink this, dear, and go to sleep."
It was a week after, and Morris had told her all, the kind and gentlewife who was so good to him, who understood and could even smile as heexplained, in faltering, shame-heavy words. And he had sworn for hersake and his children's sake, that he would put away this awful traffic,and seek such fellowship no more.
Nor for six months did he seek it; not till the winter returned. Then,when his body was strong again, the ravening hunger of his soul overcamehim, and, lest he should go mad or die of longing, Morris broke hisoath--as she was sure he would.
One night Mary missed her husband from her side, and creeping downin the grey of the morning, she found him sitting in his chair in thechapel workshop, smiling strangely, but cold and dead. Then her heartseemed to break, for she loved him. Yet, remembering her promises,and the dust whereof he was made, and the fate to which he had beenappointed, she forgave him all.
The search renewed, or the fruit of some fresh discovery--what he soughtor what he saw, who knows?--had killed him.
Or perhaps Stella had seemed to speak at last and the word he heard hersay was _Come!_
This, then, is the end of the story of Stella Fregelius upon earth, andthis the writing on a leaf torn from the book of three human destinies.Remember, only one leaf.
Stella Fregelius: A Tale of Three Destinies Page 40