The Bright Messenger

by Algernon Blackwood

  CHAPTER XXI

  Dr. Fillery, lying on a couch in his patient's bedroom, snatched somefour to five hours' sleep, though, if "snatched," it was certainlyenjoyed--a deep, dreamless, reposeful slumber. He woke, refreshed inmind and body, and the first thing he saw, even before he had timeto stretch a limb or move his head, was two great blue eyes gazinginto his own across the room. They belonged, it first struck him, tosome strange being that had followed him out of sleep--he had not yetrecovered full consciousness and the effects of sleep still hovered;then an earlier phrase recurred: to some divine great animal.

  "N. H.," in his bed in the opposite corner, lay gazing at him. Hereturned the gaze. Into the blue eyes came at once a look of happyrecognition, of contentment, almost a smile. Then they closed again insleep.

  The room was full of morning sunshine. Fillery rose quietly, andperformed his toilet in his own quarters, but on returning after ahurried breakfast, the patient still slept soundly. He slept on forhours, he slept the morning through; but for the obvious evidences ofperfect normal health, it might have been a state of coma. The body didnot even change its position once.

  He left Devonham in charge, and was on his way to visit some of theother cases, when Nurse Robbins stood before him. Miss Khilkoff had"called to inquire after Mr. LeVallon," and was waiting downstairs incase Dr. Fillery could also see her.

  He glanced at her pretty slim figure and delicate complexion, her hair,fine, plentiful and shiny, her dark eyes with a twinkle in them. Shewas an attractive, intelligent, experienced, young woman, tactful too,and of great use with extra sensitive patients. She was, of course,already hopelessly in love with her present "case." His "singing,"so she called it to Mrs. Soames, had excited her "like a glass ofwine--some music makes you feel like that--so that you could loveeverybody in the world." She already called him Master.

  "Please say I will be down at once," said Dr. Fillery, watching her forthe first time with interest as he remembered these details Paul hadtold him. The girl, it now struck him, was intensely alive. There wasa gain, an increase, in her appearance somewhere. He recalled also thematron's remark--she was not usually loquacious with her nurses--that"he's no ordinary case, and I've seen a good few, haven't I? The way heunderstands animals and flowers alone proves that!"

  Dr. Fillery went downstairs.

  His first rapid survey of the girl, exhaustive for all itsquickness--he knew her so well--showed him that no outward signsof excitement were visible. Calm, poised, gentle as ever, the samegenerous tenderness in the eyes, the same sweet firmness in the mouth,the familiar steadiness that was the result of an inner surety--allwere there as though the wild scene of the night before had never been.Yet all those were heightened. Her beauty had curiously increased.

  "Come into my study," he said, taking her hand and leading the way. "Weshan't be disturbed there. Besides, it's ours, isn't it? We mustn'tforget that you are a member of the Firm."

  He was aware of her soft beauty invading, penetrating him, aware, too,somehow, that she was in her most impersonal mood. But for all that,her nature could not hide itself, nor could signs of a certain, subtlechange she had undergone fail to obtrude themselves. In a single night,it seemed, she had blossomed into a wondrous ripe maturity; like somestrange flower that opens to the darkness, the bud had burst suddenlyinto full, sweet bloom, whose coming only moon and stars had witnessed.There was moonlight now in her dark mysterious eyes as she glanced athim; there was the gold of stars in her tender, yet curious smile, asshe answered in her low voice--"Of course, I always _was_ a partner inthe Firm"--there was the grace and rhythm of a wild flower swaying inthe wind, as she passed before him into the quiet room and sank intohis own swinging armchair at the desk. But there was something else aswell.

  A detail of his recent Vision slid past his inner sight again whilehe watched her.... "I thought--I felt sure--you would come," he said.He looked at her admiringly, but peace strong in his heart. "Theordeal," he went on in a curious voice, "would have been too muchfor most women, but you"--he smiled, and the sympathy in his voiceincreased--"you, I see, have only gained from it. You've mastered,conquered it. I wonder"--looking away from her almost as if speaking tohimself--"have you wholly understood it?"

  He realized vividly in that moment what she, as a young, unmarriedgirl, had suffered before the eyes of all those prying eyes andgossiping tongues. His admiration deepened.

  She did not take up his words, however. "I've come to inquire," shesaid simply in an even voice, "for father and myself. He wanted to knowif you got home all right, and how Julian LeVallon is." The tone, theheightened colour in the cheek, as she spoke the name no one had yetused, explained, partly at least, to the experienced man who listened,the secret of her sudden blossoming. Also she used her father, thoughunconsciously, perhaps. "He was afraid the electricity--the lightningeven--had"--she hesitated, smiled a little, then added, as though sheherself knew otherwise--"done something to him."

  Fillery laughed with her then. "As it has done to you," he thought, butdid not speak the words. The need of formula was past. He thanked her,adding that it was sweet yet right that she had come herself, insteadof writing or telephoning. "And you may set your--your father's mind atrest, for all goes well. The electricity, of course," he added, on hisown behalf as well as hers, "was--more than most of us could manage.Electricity explains everything except itself, doesn't it?"

  He was inwardly examining her with an intense and accurate observation.She seemed the same, yet different. The sudden flowering into beautywas simply enough explained. It was another change he now became moreand more aware of. In this way a ship, grown familiar during the longvoyage, changes on coming into port. The decks and staircases lookdifferent when the vessel lies motionless at the dock. It becomes halfrecognizable, half strange. Gone is the old familiarity, gone alsoone's own former angle of vision. It is difficult to find one's wayabout her. Soon she will set sail again, but in another direction, andwith new passengers using her decks, her corners, hatchways ... tellingtheir secrets of love and hate with that recklessness the open sea andsky make easy.... And now with the girl before him--he couldn't quitefind his way about her as of old ... it was the same familiar ship, yetit was otherwise, and he, a new passenger, acknowledged the freedom ofsea and sky.

  "And you--Iraida?" he asked. "It was brave of you to come."

  She liked evidently the use of her real name, for she smiled, aware allthe time of his intent observation, aware probably also of his hiddenpain, yet no sign of awkwardness in her; to this man she could talkopenly, or, on the contrary, conceal her thoughts, sure of his tact andjudgment. He would never intrude unwisely.

  "It was natural, Edward," she observed frankly in return.

  "Yes, I suppose it was. Natural is exactly the right word. You haveperhaps found yourself at last," and again he used her real name,"Iraida."

  "It feels like that," she replied slowly. She paused. "I have found, atleast, something definite that I have to do. I feel that I--must carefor him." Her eyes, as she said it, were untroubled.

  The well-known Nayan flashed back a moment in the words; herecognized--to use his simile--a familiar corner of the deck where hehad sat and talked for hours beneath the quiet stars--to someone whounderstood, yet remained ever impersonal. And the person he talked withcame over suddenly and stood beside him and took his hand between herown soft gloved ones:

  "You told me, Edward, he would need a woman to help him. That's whatyou mean by 'natural'--isn't it? And I am she, perhaps."

  "I think you are," came in a level tone.

  "I know it," she said suddenly, both her eyes looking down upon hisface. "Yes, I suppose I know it."

  "Because _you_--need him," his voice, equally secure, made answer.

  Still keeping his hand tight between her own, her dark eyes stillsearching his, she made no sign that his blunt statement was accepted,much less admitted. Instead she asked a question he was not preparedfor: "You would like that, Edward? You wish it?"


  She was so close against his chair that her fur-trimmed coat brushedhis shoulder; yet, though with eyes and touch and physical presence shewas so near, he felt that she herself had gone far, far away into someother place. He drew his hand free. "Iraida," he said quietly, "I wishthe best--for him--and for you. And I believe this is the best--for himand you." He put his patient first. He was aware that the girl, for allher outer calmness, trembled.

  "It is," she said, her voice as quiet as his own; and after a moment'shesitation, she went back to her seat again. "If you think I can be ofuse," she added. "I'm ready."

  A little pause fell between them, during which Dr. Fillery touched anelectric bell beside his chair. Nurse Robbins appeared with what seemedmiraculous swiftness. "Still sleeping quietly, sir, and pulse normalagain," she replied in answer to a question, then vanished as suddenlyas she had come. He looked into the girl's eyes across the room. "Acompetent, reliable nurse," he remarked, "and, as you saw, a prettywoman." He glanced out of the window. "She is unmarried." He mentionedit apparently to the sky.

  The quick mind took in his meaning instantly. "All women will be drawnto him irresistibly, of course," she said. "But it is not _that_."

  "No, no, of course it is not that," he agreed at once. "I should likeyou to see him, though not, however, just yet----" He went on after amoment's reflection, and speaking slowly: "I should like you to waita little. It's best. There _has_ been a--a certain disturbance in hisbeing----"

  "It's his first experience," she began, "of beauty----"

  "Of beauty in women, yes," he finished for her. "It is. We must avoidanything in the nature of a violent shock----"

  "He has asked for me?" she interrupted again, in her quiet way.

  He shook his head. "And we cannot be sure that it was you--as _you_--hesought and is affected by. The call he hears is, perhaps, hardly thecall that sounds in most men's ears, I mean."

  The hint of warning guidance was audible in his voice, as well asvisible in his eyes and manner. The laughter they both betrayed, agrave and curious laughter perhaps, was brief, yet enough to concealstranger emotions that rose like dumb, gazing figures almost beforetheir eyes. Yet if she knew inner turmoil, emotion of any troublingsort, she concealed it perfectly.

  "I am glad," the girl said presently. "Oh, I am really glad. I think Iunderstand, Edward." And, even while he sat silent for a bit, watchingher with an ever-growing admiration that at the same time marvelled,he saw the wonder of great questions riding through her face. Therecollection of what she had suffered publicly in the Studio a fewhours before came into his mind again. In these questions, perhaps, laythe only signs of the hidden storm below the surface.

  "Are there--are there such things as Nature-Beings, Edward?" she askedabruptly. "We know this is his first experience. Are there then----?"

  He was prepared a little for this kind of question by her eyes. "Wehave no evidence, of course," he replied; "not a scrap of evidence foranything of the sort. There are people, however, so close to Nature, sointimate with her, that we may say they are--strangely, inexplicablyakin."

  "Has he a soul--a human soul like ours?" she asked point blank.

  "He is perhaps--not--quite--like us. That may be your task, Iraida," headded enigmatically. He watched her more closely than she knew.

  She appeared to ponder his words for a few minutes; then she askedabruptly: "And when do you think I ought to come and see him? You willlet me know?"

  "I will let you know. A few days perhaps, perhaps a week, perhapslonger. Some education, I think, is necessary first." He gazed at herthoughtfully, and she returned his look, her dark eyes filled with thewonder that was both of a child and of a woman, and yet with a securityof something that was of neither. "It will be a--a great effort toyou," he ventured with significant and sympathetic understanding,"after--what happened. It is brave and generous of you----" He brokeoff.

  She nodded, but at once afterwards shook her head. She rose then to go,but Dr. Fillery stopped her. He rose too.

  "Nayan, I now want _your_ help," he said with more emotion than he hadyet shown. "My responsibility, as you may guess, is not light--and----"

  "And he is in your sole charge, you mean." She had willingly resumedher seat, and made herself comfortable with a cushion he arranged forher. He was aware chiefly of her eyes, for in them glowed light andfire he had never seen there before--but still in their depths.

  "Well--yes, partly," he replied, lighting a cigarette, "though Paul isready with help and sympathy whenever needed. But the charge, as youcall it, is not mine alone: it is ours."

  "Ours!" She started, though almost imperceptibly, as she repeated hisword.

  "Subconsciously," he said in a firm voice, "we three are similar. Weare together. We obey half instinctively the unknown laws of"--hehesitated a moment--"of some unknown state of being." He added then asingular sentence, though so low it seemed almost to himself: "Had webeen man and wife, Iraida, our child must have been--like him."

  "Yes," she said, leaning forward a little in her chair, increasedwarmth, yet no blush, upon her skin. "Yes, Edward, we three are somehowtogether in this, aren't we? Oh, I feel it. It pours over me like agreat wind, a wind with heat in it." Her hands clasped her knee, asthey gazed at one another for a moment's silence. "I feel it," sherepeated presently. "I'm sure of it, quite sure."

  She stretched out a spirit hand, as it were, for an instant across theimpersonal barrier between them, but he did not take it, pretending hedid not see it.

  "Ours, Nayan," he emphasized, again using the name that belonged toeveryone. "Therefore, you see, I want you to tell me--if you will--whatyou felt, experienced, perceived--in the Studio last night." Afterwatching her a little, he qualified: "Another day, if you would liketo think it over. But some time, without fail. For my part, I willconfess--though I think you already know it--that I brought him thereon purpose----"

  "To see my effect upon him, Edward."

  "But in _his_ interest, and in the interest of my possible futuretreatment. His effect upon yourself was not my motive. You believethat."

  "I know, I know. And I will tell you gladly. Indeed, I want to."

  He was aware, as she said it, that it would be a satisfaction toher to talk; she would welcome the relief of confession; she couldspeak to him as doctor now, as professional man, as healer, and this,too, without betraying the impersonal attitude she evidently woreand had adopted possibly--he wondered?--in self-protection. "Tell meexactly what it is you would like to know, please, Edward," she added,and instinctively moved to the sofa, so that he might occupy theprofessional swinging chair at the desk.

  "What you saw, Nayan," he began, accepting the change of positionwithout comment, because he knew it helped her. "What you saw is ofvalue, I think, first."

  He had all his usual self-control again, for he was now on histhrone, his seat of power; his inner attitude changed subtly; he wasexamining two patients--the girl and himself. She sat before himdemure, obedient, honest, very sweet but very strong; if her perfumereached him he did not notice it, the appeal of her loveliness wentpast him, he did not see her eyes. He had a very comely and intelligentyoung woman facing him, and the glow, as it were, of an intense inneractivity, strongly suppressed, was the chief quality in her that henoted. But his new attitude made other things, too, stand out sharply:he realized there was confusion in her own mind and heart. Her beingwas not wholly at one with itself. This impersonal role meant safetyuntil she was sure of herself; and so far she had been entirely andadmirably non-committal. No girl, he remembered, could look back uponwhat she had experienced in the Studio, upon what she had herselfsaid and done, before a crowd of onlookers too, without deep feelingsof a mixed and even violent kind. That scene with a young man she hadnever seen before must bring painful memories; if it was love at firstsight the memories must be more painful still. But was it a case ofthis sudden, rapturous love? What, indeed, were her feelings? What atany rate was her dominant feeling? She had felt his appeal beyond allquestion, bu
t was it as Nayan or as Iraida that she felt it?

  She was non-committal and impersonal, conscious that therein safetylay--until, having become one with herself, harmonious, she couldfeel absolutely sure. One hint only had she dropped--it was Nayanspeaking--that her mothering, maternal instinct was needed and that shemust obey its prompting. She must "care" for him....

  Dr. Fillery, meanwhile, though he might easily have probed and madediscoveries without her knowing that he did so, was not the man to usehis powers now. Unless she gave of her own free will, he would not ask.He would close eyes and ears even to any chance betrayal or unconsciousrevelation.

  "When you first looked in, for instance? You had just come in fromthe street, I think. You opened the door on your way upstairs. Do youremember?"

  She remembered perfectly. "I wanted to see who was there. You, I think,were chiefly in my thoughts--I was wondering if you had come." Hervoice was even, her eyes quite steady; she chose her next words slowly:"I saw--to my intense surprise--a figure of light."

  "Shining, you mean? A shining figure?"

  She nodded her head, as one little hand put back a straying wisp ofdark hair from her forehead. "A figure like flame," she agreed. "Isaw it quite clearly. I saw everything else quite clearly too--theinner room, various people standing about, the piano, the thick smoke,everything as usual. I saw you. You were in the big outer room beyond,but your face was very distinct. You were staring--staring straight atme."

  "True," put in Dr. Fillery; "I saw you in the doorway plainly."

  "In the foreground, by itself apart somehow, though surroundedby people, was this shining, radiant outline. I thought it was aVision--the first thing of that sort I had ever seen in my life."

  "That was your very first impression--even before you had time tothink?"

  "Yes."

  "It struck you as unusual?"

  "I cannot say more than that. I knew by the light it was unusual. Thenit moved--talking to Povey or Kempster or someone--and I realized ina flash who it was. I knew it must be your friend, the man you hadpromised to bring--Ju----"

  "And then----?" he asked quickly, before she could pronounce the name.

  "And then----"

  She stopped, and her eyes looked away from him, not in the sensethat they moved but that their focus changed as though she looked atsomething else, at something within herself, no longer, therefore,at the face in front of her. He waited; he understood that she wassearching among deep, strange, seething memories; he let her search;and, watching closely, he presently saw the sight return into her eyesfrom its inward plunge.

  "And when you knew who it was," he asked very quietly, "were you stillsurprised? Did he look as you expected him to look, for instance?"

  "I had expected nothing, you see, Edward, because I had not beenconsciously thinking about his coming. No mental picture was presentin me at all. But the moment I realized who it was, the light seemedto go--I just saw a young man standing there, with his head turnedsideways to me. The light, I suppose, lasted for a second only--thatfirst second. As to how he looked? Well, he looked, not only bigger--he_is_ bigger than most men," she went on, "but he looked"--her voicehushed instinctively a little on the adjective--"different."

  Her companion made a gesture of agreement, waiting in silence for whatwas to follow.

  "He looked so extraordinary, so wonderful," she resumed, gazingsteadily into his eyes, "that I--I can hardly put it into words,Edward, unless I use childish language." She broke off and sighed,and something, he fancied, in her wavered for a second, though it wascertainly neither the voice nor the eyes. A faint trembling againperhaps ran through her body. Her account was so deliberately truthfulthat it impressed him more than he quite understood. He was aware ofpathos in her, of some vague trouble very poignant yet inexplicable. Abreath of awe, it seemed, entered the room and moved between them.

  "The childish words are probably the best, the right ones," he told hergently.

  "An angel," she said instantly in a hushed tone, "I thought of anangel. There is no other word I can find. But somehow a helpless one.An angel--out of place."

  He looked hard at her, his manner encouraging though grave; he said noword; he did not smile.

  "Someone not of this earth quite," she added. "Not a man, at any rate."

  Still more gently, he then asked her what she felt.

  "At first I couldn't move," she went on, her voice normal again. "Imust have stood there ten minutes fully, perhaps longer"--her listenerdid not correct the statement--"when I suddenly recovered and lookedabout for you, Edward, but could not see you. I needed you, but couldnot find you. I remember feeling somehow that I had lost you. I triedto call for you--in my heart. There was no answer.... Then--then Iclosed the door quietly and went upstairs to change from my streetclothes."

  She paused and passed a hand slowly across her forehead. Dr. Filleryasked casually a curious question:

  "Do you remember _how_ you got upstairs, Nayan?"

  Her hand dropped instantly; she started. "It's very odd you should askme that, Edward," she said, gazing at him with a slightly rising colourin her face, an increase of fire glowing in her eyes; "very odd indeed.I was just trying to think how I could describe it to you. No. ActuallyI do not remember how I got upstairs. All I know is--I was suddenly inmy room." A new intensity appeared in voice and manner. "It seemed tome I flew--or that--something--carried me."

  "Yes, Nayan, yes. It's quite natural you should have felt like that."

  "Is it? I remember so little of what I actually felt. I wonder--Iwonder," she went on softly, with an air almost of talking to herself,"if it will ever come back again--what I felt then----"

  "Such moments of subliminal excitement," Dr. Fillery reminded hergently, "have the effect of obliterating memory sometimes----"

  "Excitement," she caught him up. "Yes, I suppose it was excitement. Butit was more, much more, than that. Stimulated--I think that's the wordreally. I felt caught away somewhere, caught away, caught up--as ifinto the rest of myself--into the whole of myself. I became vast"--shesmiled curiously--"if you know what I mean--in several places at once,perhaps, is better. It was an immense feeling--no, I mean a feeling ofimmensity----"

  "Happy?" His voice was low.

  Her eyes answered even before her words, as the memory came back alittle in response to his cautious suggestion.

  "A new feeling altogether," she replied, returning his clear gazewith her frank, innocent eyes that had grown still more brilliant."A feeling I have never known before." She talked more rapidly now,leaning forward a little in her chair. "I felt in the open air somehow,with flowers, trees, hot burning sunshine and sweet winds rushing toand fro. It was something bigger than happiness--a sort of intoxicatingjoy, I think. It was liberty, but of an enormous spiritual kind. Iwanted to dance--I believe I did dance--yes, I'm sure I did, and withhardly anything on my body. I wanted to sing--I sang downstairs, ofcourse----"

  "I heard," he put in briefly. He did not add that she had never sunglike that before.

  "The moment I came into the room, yes, I remember I went straightto the piano without a word to anyone." She reflected a moment. "Isuppose I had to. There was something new in me I could only express bymusic--rhythm, that is, not language."

  "It was natural," Dr. Fillery said again. "Quite natural, I think."

  "Yes, Edward, I suppose it was," she answered, then sank back in herchair, as though she had told him all there was to tell.

  Dr. Fillery smoked in silence for a few minutes, then rose and touchedthe bell as before, and, as before, Nurse Robbins appeared with thesame miraculous speed. There was a brief colloquy at the door; thewoman was gone again, and the doctor turned back into the room witha look of satisfaction on his face. All, apparently, was going wellupstairs. He did not sit down, however; he stood looking out of thewindow at the drab wintry sky of motionless clouds, his back to hiscompanion. It was midday, but the light, while making all thingsvisible, was not light; there was no shine, no touch of r
adiance,no hint of sparkle beneath the canopy of sullen cloud. The Englishwinter's day was visible, no more than that. Yet it was not the Englishday, nor the clouds, nor the bleak dead atmosphere he looked at. In asingle second his sight travelled far, far away, covering an enormousinterval in space and time, in condition too. He saw a radiant world ofsun-drenched flowers "tossing with random airs of an unearthly wind";he saw a foam of forest leaves shaking and dancing against a deep bluesky; he say a valley whose streams and emerald turf knew not the touchof human feet.... The familiar symbols he saw, but inflamed with newmeaning.

  "Thank you, Edward, thank you"--she was just behind him, her hands uponhis shoulders. "You understand everything in the world!" she added,"and out of it," but too low for him to hear.

  He came back with an effort, turning towards her. They were standinglevel now and very close, eyes looking into eyes. He felt her breathupon his face, her perfume rose about him, her lips were moving just infront of him--yet, for a second, he did not know who she was. It was asthough _she_ had not come with him out of that valley, not come backwith him.... An insatiable longing seized him--to return and find her,stay with her. The ache of an intolerable yearning was in his heart,yet a sudden flash of understanding that brought a bigger, almost anunearthly joy in its train. At the call of some service, some duty,some help to be rendered to humanity, the three of them together--he,"N. H.," the girl--were in temporary exile from their rightful home.The scent of wild flowers rose about him. He suddenly remembered,recognized, and gave a little start. He had left her behind in thevalley--Iraida; it was Nayan who now stood before him.

  He uttered a dry little laugh. "You startled me, Nayan. I was thinking.I didn't hear you." She had just thanked him for something--oh,yes--because he had left her alone for a moment, giving her time tocollect herself after the long cross-examination.

  He took both her hands in his.

  "_Our_ patient then--isn't it?" he asked in a firm voice, looking deepinto her luminous eyes. He saw no fire in them now.

  "I'll do all I can, Edward."

  She returned the pressure of his hands. His keen insight, operatingin spite of himself, had read her clearly. It was mother, child andwoman he had always known. The three, however, were already in processof disentanglement. For the first time during their long acquaintance,what now stood so close before him was--the woman. Yet behind the womanlike an enveloping shadow stood the mother too. And behind both, again,stood another wild, gigantic, lovely possibility. Was it, then, thechild that he had left playing in the radiant valley?... The child, heknew, was his always, always, even if the woman was another's.... Helaughed softly. These, after all, were but transitory states in human,earthly evolution, concerned with play, with a production of bodies andso forth....

  He had lost himself in her deep eyes. Her gaze lay all over him, overhis entire being, like a warm soft covering that blessed and healed.She was so close that it seemed he drew her breath in with his own. Shemade a movement then, a tiny gesture. He let go the hands his own hadheld so long. He turned from the window and from her. He was trembling.

  "What came later," he resumed in his calm, almost in his professionalvoice, "you probably do not remember?" He went towards his desk. "Weneed not talk about that. No doubt, in your mind, it all remains ablurred impression----"

  She interrupted, following him across the room. "What happened,Edward," she said very quietly in her lowest tone, "_I know_. Itwas all told to me. But my memory, as you say, is so faint as to beworthless really. What I do remember is this"--she tapped her openpalm with two fingers slowly, as she spoke the words--"light, heat, asmell of flowers and a rushing wind that lifted me into some kind ofexhilarating liberty where I felt--the intense joy of knowing myselfsomehow free--and greater, oh, far greater--than I am--now." Then shesuddenly whispered again too low for him to catch--"angelic." A smile,as of glory, rippled across her face.

  His voice, coming quickly, was cool, its tone measured:

  "And you will come to see him the moment I let you know," heinterrupted abruptly. "It may be a few days, it may be a week. Theinstant it seems wise----" He was entirely practical again.

  She went to the door with him. "I'll come, of course," she answered, ashe opened the door.

  "I'll let myself out, Edward--please. I know the way. There's no goodbeing a partner if one doesn't know the way out----" She laughed.

  "And in, remember!" he called down the little passage after her, as,with a smile and a wave of the hand, she was gone.

  He went back to his desk, drew a piece of paper towards him, and jotteda few notes down in briefest fashion. The expression on his rugged facewas enigmatical perhaps, but the sternness at least was clear to read,and it was this, combining with an extraordinary tenderness, that drewout its nobility:

  "Intensification of consciousness, involving increased activity ofevery centre; hearing, sight, touch and smell, all affected. Slightexteriorization of consciousness also took place. No signs of split ordivided personality, but an increase of coherence rather. The centralself active--aware of greater powers in time and space, hence senseof joy, heat, light, sound, motion. Distinct subliminal up-rush,followed by customary loss of memory later. Her _whole_ being, togetherwith neglected tracts as yet untouched by experience--her _entire_being--reached simultaneously. Knew herself for the first time awoman--but something more as well. Unearthly complex, visible.

  "Appeal made direct to subconscious self. Unfavourable reactions--none.Favourable reactions--increased physical and mental strength...."

  He laid down his pencil as with a gesture of impatience at itsuselessness, and sat back in the chair, thinking.

  The effect "N. H." had upon other people was here again confirmed.That, at least, seemed reasonably clear. Vitality was increased; heartand mind caught up an extra gear; thought leaped, if extravagantly,towards speculation; emotion deepened, if ecstatically, towardsbelief. All the normal reactions of the system were speeded up andstrengthened. Consciousness was intensified.

  More than this--with some it was extended, and subliminal powers wereset free. In his own experience this had been the case; the sight,hearing, even a mild degree of divination, had opened in his being. Ithad, similarly, taken place with Devonham, an unlikely subject, whofought against acknowledging it. Father Collins, too, he suspected--herecalled his behaviour and strange language--had known also a temporaryextension of faculty outside the normal field. He remembered, again,the Customs official, Charing Cross Station, and a dozen other minorinstances.... Indications as yet were slight, he realized, but theywere valuable.

  Such abnormal experiences, moreover, each one interpreted,respectively, in the terms of his own individual being, of his owntemperament, his own personal shibboleths. The law governing unusualexperience operated invariably.

  Was not his own particular "vision" easily explained? It might indeed,had it happened earlier, have found a place in his own book of AdvancedPsychology. He reflected rapidly: He believed the industrial system layat the root of Civilization's crumbling, and that man must return toNature--therefore his yearnings dramatized themselves in personifiedrepresentations of the beauty of Nature.

  He could trace every detail of his Vision to some intense butunrealized yearning, to some deep hope, desire, dream, as yetunfulfilled. Always these yearnings and wishes unfulfilled!

  Colour, form and sound again--he used them one and all in his treatmentof special cases, and felt hurt by the ignorant scoffing and denial ofhis brother doctors. Hence their present dramatization.

  His immense belief, again, in the results upon the Race when once thesubliminal powers should have reached the stage where they could beused at will for practical purposes--this, in its turn, led him tohope, perhaps to believe, that this strange "Case" might prove to besome fabulous bright messenger who brought glad tidings.... All, allwas explicable enough!

  A smile stole over his face; he began to laugh quietly to himself....

  Yes, he could explain all, trace all to so
mething or other in hisbeing, yet--he knew that the real explanation ... well--his cleverestintellectual explanation and analysis were worthless after all. Forhere lay something utterly beyond his knowledge and experience....

  The note of another searcher recurred to him.

  "Each human being has within himself that restless creative phantasywhich is ever engaged in assuaging the harshness of reality.... Whoevergives himself unsparingly and carefully to self-observation willrealize that there dwells within him something which would gladly hideup and cover all that is difficult and questionable in life, and thusprocure an easy and free path. Insanity grants the upper hand to thissomething. When once it is uppermost, reality is more or less quicklydriven out."

  But he knew quite well that although he belonged to what he called the"Unstable," the "something" which Jung referred to had by no meansobtained "the upper hand." The vista opening to his inner sight ledtowards a new reality.... Ah! If he could only persuade Paul Devonhamto see what _he_ saw...!