by Robert Barr
CHAPTER II.
William Brenton knelt beside the fallen lady, and tried to soothe andcomfort her, but it was evident that she was insensible.
"It is useless," said a voice by his side.
Brenton looked up suddenly, and saw standing beside him a stranger.Wondering for a moment how he got there, and thinking that after all itwas a dream, he said--
"What is useless? She is not dead."
"No," answered the stranger, "but _you_ are."
He saw standing beside him a stranger.]
"I am what?" cried Brenton.
"You are what the material world calls dead, although in reality youhave just begun to live."
"And who are you?" asked Brenton. "And how did you get in here?"
The other smiled.
"How did _you_ get in here?" he said, repeating Brenton's words.
"I? Why, this is my own house."
"Was, you mean."
"I mean that it is. I am in my own house. This lady is my wife."
"_Was,_" said the other.
"I do not understand you," cried Brenton, very much annoyed. "But, inany case, your presence and your remarks are out of place here."
"My dear sir," said the other, "I merely wish to aid you and to explainto you anything that you may desire to know about your new condition.You are now free from the incumbrance of your body. You have already hadsome experience of the additional powers which that riddance has givenyou. You have also, I am afraid, had an inkling of the fact that thespiritual condition has its limitations. If you desire to communicatewith those whom you have left, I would strongly advise you to postponethe attempt, and to leave this place, where you will experience onlypain and anxiety. Come with me, and learn something of your changedcircumstances."
"I am in a dream," said Brenton, "and you are part of it. I went tosleep last night, and am still dreaming. This is a nightmare and it willsoon be over."
"You are saying that," said the other, "merely to convince yourself.It is now becoming apparent to you that this is not a dream. If dreamsexist, it was a dream which you left, but you have now become awake. Ifyou really think it is a dream, then do as I tell you--come with me andleave it, because you must admit that this part of the dream is at leastvery unpleasant."
"It is not very pleasant," assented Brenton. As he spoke the bewilderedservants came rushing up the stairs, picked up their fallen mistress,and laid her on a sofa. They rubbed her hands and dashed water in herface. She opened her eyes, and then closed them again with a shudder.
"Sarah," she cried, "have I been dreaming, or is your master dead?"
The two girls turned pale at this, and the elder of them went boldlyinto the room which her mistress had just left. She was evidentlya young woman who had herself under good control, but she came outsobbing, with her apron to her eyes.
"Come, come," said the man who stood beside Brenton, "haven't you hadenough of this? Come with me; you can return to this house if you wish;"and together they passed out of the room into the crisp air of Christmasmorning. But, although Brenton knew it must be cold, he had no feelingof either cold or warmth.
"There are a number of us," said the stranger to Brenton, "who taketurns at watching the sick-bed when a man is about to die, and when hisspirit leaves his body, we are there to explain, or comfort, or console.Your death was so sudden that we had no warning of it. You did not feelill before last night, did you?"
"No," replied Brenton. "I felt perfectly well, until after dinner lastnight."
"Did you leave your affairs in reasonably good order?"
"Yes," said Brenton, trying to recollect. "I think they will findeverything perfectly straight."
"Tell me a little of your history, if you do not mind," inquired theother; "it will help me in trying to initiate you into our new order ofthings here."
"Well," replied Brenton, and he wondered at himself for falling soeasily into the other's assumption that he was a dead man, "I was whatthey call on the earth in reasonably good circumstances. My estateshould be worth $100,000. I had $75,000 insurance on my life, and if allthat is paid, it should net my widow not far from a couple of hundredthousand."
"How long have you been married?" said the other.
A Venetian cafe.]
"Only about six months. I was married last July, and we went for a tripabroad. We were married quietly, and left almost immediately afterwards,so we thought, on our return, it would not be a bad plan to give aChristmas Eve dinner, and invite some of our friends. That," he said,hesitating a moment, "was last night. Shortly after dinner, I began tofeel rather ill, and went upstairs to rest for a while; and if what yousay is true, the first thing I knew I found myself dead."
"Alive," corrected the other.
"Well, alive, though at present I feel I belong more to the world I haveleft than I do to the world I appear to be in. I must confess, althoughyou are a very plausible gentleman to talk to, that I expect at anymoment to wake and find this to have been one of the most horriblenightmares that I ever had the ill luck to encounter."
The other smiled.
"There is very little danger of your waking up, as you call it. Now, Iwill tell you the great trouble we have with people when they first cometo the spirit-land, and that is to induce them to forget entirelythe world they have relinquished. Men whose families are in poorcircumstances, or men whose affairs are in a disordered state, find itvery difficult to keep from trying to set things right again. They havethe feeling that they can console or comfort those whom they have leftbehind them, and it is often a long time before they are convinced thattheir efforts are entirely futile, as well as very distressing forthemselves."
"Is there, then," asked Brenton, "no communication between this worldand the one that I have given up?"
The other paused for a moment before he replied.
"I should hardly like to say," he answered, "that there is _no_communication between one world and the other; but the communicationthat exists is so slight and unsatisfactory, that if you are sensibleyou will see things with the eyes of those who have very much moreexperience in this world than you have. Of course, you can go back thereas much as you like; there will be no interference and no hindrance.But when you see things going wrong, when you see a mistake about tobe made, it is an appalling thing to stand there helpless, unable toinfluence those you love, or to point out a palpable error, and convincethem that your clearer sight sees it as such. Of course, I understandthat it must be very difficult for a man who is newly married, toentirely abandon the one who has loved him, and whom he loves. ButI assure you that if you follow the life of one who is as young andhandsome as your wife, you will find some one else supplying theconsolations you are unable to bestow. Such a mission may lead you to achurch where she is married to her second husband. I regret to say thateven the most imperturbable spirits are ruffled when such an incidentoccurs. The wise men are those who appreciate and understand that theyare in an entirely new world, with new powers and new limitations, andwho govern themselves accordingly from the first, as they will certainlydo later on."
"My dear sir," said Brenton, somewhat offended, "if what you say istrue, and I am really a dead man----"
"Alive," corrected the other.
"Well, alive, then. I may tell you that my wife's heart is broken. Shewill never marry again."
"Of course, that is a subject of which you know a great deal more than Ido. I all the more strongly advise you never to see her again. It isimpossible for you to offer any consolation, and the sight of her griefand misery will only result in unhappiness for yourself. Therefore, takemy advice. I have given it very often, and I assure you those who didnot take it expressed their regret afterwards. Hold entirely aloof fromanything relating to your former life."
Brenton was silent for some moments; finally he said--
"I presume your advice is well meant; but if things are as you state,then I may as well say, first as last, that I do not intend to acceptit."
"Very we
ll," said the other; "it is an experience that many prefer to gothrough for themselves."
"Do you have names in this spirit-land?" asked Brenton, seeminglydesirous of changing the subject.
"Yes," was the answer; "we are known by names that we have used in thepreparatory school below. My name is Ferris."
"And if I wish to find you here, how do I set about it?"
"The wish is sufficient," answered Ferris. "Merely wish to be with me,and you _are_ with me."
"Good gracious!" cried Brenton, "is locomotion so easy as that?"
"Locomotion is very easy. I do not think anything could be easierthan it is, and I do not think there could be any improvement in thatmatter."
"Are there matters here, then, that you think could be improved?"
"As to that I shall not say. Perhaps you will be able to give your ownopinion before you have lived here much longer."
"Taking it all in all," said Brenton, "do you think the spirit-land isto be preferred to the one we have left?"
"I like it better," said Ferris, "although I presume there are somewho do not. There are many advantages; and then, again, there aremany--well, I would not say disadvantages, but still some peopleconsider them such. We are free from the pangs of hunger or cold, andhave therefore no need of money, and there is no necessity for the rushand the worry of the world below."
"And how about heaven and hell?" said Brenton. "Are those localities alla myth? Is there nothing of punishment and nothing of reward in thisspirit-land?"
There was no answer to this, and when Brenton looked around he foundthat his companion had departed.
Venice.]