CHAPTER VII.
When I became conscious of surrounding things I found myself in alarge airy room, the pervading characteristics of which were space andlight. I was lying in a bed, all the coverings of which were white;there were no curtains to it, and no hangings in the apartment to marthe deliciously cool and refreshing air which flowed in through theopen folding windows. These windows, which stretched from ceiling tofloor, faced the foot of the bed; my head was almost on a level withmy body, and I could not obtain a level view of the gardens whichbloomed without. But I had before me in the heights a delightfulperspective of flowering trees, stretching upwards into the clouds.These clouds, of various shades of blue and white, filled all thespaces between the lovely network of leaves and branches. It was likegazing upwards instead of downwards into the waters of a clear andplacid lake. A sense of blissful repose reigned within my soul. I hadnot the least desire to move; so perfect and so sweet was the peace inwhich I lay, as it were, embalmed, that I felt as if I were in acelestial land. There were trees with great clusters of red blossomshanging in the clouds; a soft breeze was playing among them, and asthey swayed gently to and fro fresh peeps of fairyland werecontinually disclosed to my contented eyes. There were nests in thetrees, and the cloud-scapes of fleecy blue and white were beautifullybroken now and again by the fluttering flight of birds as they cameand went. The pictures I gazed upon, idealised and perfected by mymind's eye, have always abided with me. It is seldom given to man toenjoy what I enjoyed as I lay, then and for some time afterwards, inmy white and healthful bed. It was a foretaste of heaven.
So fearful was I that the slightest movement might destroy the lovelypictures that I did not even turn my head at the sound of my bedroomdoor being softly opened and closed. A light footstep approached thebed, and I beheld a young girl whose form and face I silently andworshipfully greeted as the fairest vision of womanhood in her springthat ever blessed the sight of man. Observing that my eyes were open,she gazed at me for a moment of two in wondering and glad surprise,and then, with her finger at her smiling lips, trod softly from theroom as lightly as she had entered it. I closed my eyes, so that thisfair picture, in its dress of pale blue, with lace about the neck andarms, might not be entirely lost to me, and when another sound in theroom caused me to open them, in the hope that she had returned, I sawstanding at my bedside a grave and kindly man.
"So," he said in a quiet tone, "you are at length in the land ofconscious life. You remember me?"
"First enlighten me," I said, and I was surprised to hear my voice soweak and wavering. "I am really awake? I am really in the land of theliving?"
"So far as we know," was his reply. "There are those who say this lifeis but a dream, and that when we yield up our breath it is simply thatour dream is ended, and that we are awaking to reality. For myself, Ihave not the least doubt that life is life, and death death, and thatpain and joy are just what those words are intended to convey to ourunderstanding."
"So fair and peaceful is the scene before me," I said, "so calm was mysoul when I awoke, that it is difficult to realise that I am in theland of the living."
"You will realise it very vividly," he said gaily, "in an hour or two,when you are hungry. There is nothing so convincing as our grosserpassions. You have not answered my question. Do you remember me?"
"Yes, I remember you. I had sprained my ankle in crossing the streamthat runs through the woods, and not being able to walk, was doomed tolie there all night with a fine storm playing pranks upon my helplessbody. It was a wild night, and I had wild fancies. What would havebecome of me had you not providentially come to my assistance is easyenough to guess. I should really by this time have been in possessionof the grand secret."
"When did this occur?"
"Yesterday."
"My friend," said Doctor Louis, with a light laugh, "what you have sofaithfully described took place four weeks ago. If you have any doubtof it, you have only to pass your hand over your beard."
The statement bewildered me. Accepting it as fact--and it was notpossible for me to doubt it--I must have lain during those four weeksin a state of delirium. What perplexed me was the consciousness that Ihad been so well cared for by strangers, and that something more thana friendly interest had been taken in me. The evidences were aroundand about me. The sweet-smelling room, the beautiful scene through theopen folding windows, the entrance of the fair girl, the smile onwhose lips seemed to speak of innocent affection, the presence ofDoctor Louis, and the friendliness and sympathy with which he wasconversing with me--all these might be construed into evidences evenof love. Still it would not do to take things too much for granted.
"Am I in an inn?" I asked.
"You are in my house," replied Doctor Louis courteously, "my guest, inwhom we are all very much interested."
"All?"
"Myself--who should properly be mentioned last--my wife, who is first,as she deserves to be--and my daughter, who is our Home Rose."
Our Home Rose! The mere utterance of the words conveyed a sense ofspiritual sweetness to me, who had never known the meaning of Home.
"It pleases us to call her so," said Doctor Louis.
"The young lady," I said, in a musing tone, "I saw in the room shortlybefore you entered, and whose appearance so harmonised with the peaceand loveliness of the view of cloud and flower I see from my bed, thatI should not have been surprised to hear she was spirit or angel."
"An angel in a blue dress," said Doctor Louis, with pleasant nods;"but it is agreeable to me, her father, to hear you speak so of her.She is, as I have said, the rose of our home. If there is an angel inour house, it is her mother. Lauretta, as yet, is but a child; she hasto prove herself in life. But I ask your pardon. These details canscarcely interest you."
"They more than interest me," I said earnestly; "they do me good.Although you are a physician, your friendly confidence--which I acceptas a privilege--is better than the most potent medicine you couldadminister to me. Pray continue to speak of your home and family. Ibeg of you!
"A wise doctor," said Doctor Louis, "and such, of course, I accountmyself, occasionally humours his patient. But I must not give you allthe credit; the theme is agreeable to me; it is, indeed, closest to myheart. I used to think, when Lauretta was a little child, and we werederiving an exquisite happiness from her pretty ways, that no happierlot could be ours than that she should always remain a child. But thatwould never do, would it? A world inhabited by children is not inNature's scheme. Fit theme for a fairy story. It behoves us, however,of necessity, to be to some extent practical. I have no fear forLauretta. Children who are not violently wrenched from their naturalbent inherit and exhibit their parents' qualities. I, we will say, amnegative. I have my opinions, strong ones and deeply planted, butthere is no positive vice in me, so far as I am aware, and it ispleasing to me to reflect that I have transmitted to my child neithermoral nor physical hurt. But Lauretta's mother possesses qualities ofgoodness which proclaim her to be of a rare type of womanhood. She isnot only benevolent, she is wise; she is not only strong, she istender; and she has taught me lessons, not in words, but by theexample of her daily life, which have strengthened my moral nature.You see, I am in love with my wife--of which I am not at all ashamed,though I am an old married man. If Lauretta's life resemble hermother's, if she follow in her footsteps, I shall be more thancontent--I shall continue to be truly happy. There are so manyfoolish, vicious children born in the world that it is something to beproud of to add to its millions one who will instinctively tread inthe straight path of duty, and who, if it is her lot to suffer, will'suffer and be strong.' Once more, forgive me for being so garrulousabout my household treasures; it is a weakness into which it is notdifficult to lead me. A few words concerning yourself, in explanationof what has occurred. Learning from your own lips, on the morning wefirst met in the forest yonder, that you were a stranger, andperceiving that you were a gentleman, I brought you straight to myhouse--with no settled intention, I
must frankly own, of keeping youhere for any length of time. After thoroughly studying your case I sawthat you would be ill for weeks, and for a great part of that timethat you would be not exactly in your right senses. To tell you thetruth, I was puzzled, and while I was debating what to do with you,who should introduce herself into the matter but my estimable wife.She can invariably tell, by a certain puckering of my brows, when I amin a brown study, and she inquired what troubled me. I told her,You--yes, you, my friend. 'He will not be able to get about for amonth,' I said. 'Poor young gentleman!' said my wife. 'And in spite ofmy undoubted skill,' I continued, 'I may not be able to save him!' Sheclasped her hands, and the tears gathered in her eyes. She has alwaysa heartful of them ready to shed for those who are in sickness andtrouble. A foolish woman, a very foolish woman indeed. 'He may die onour hands,' I said. 'Heaven forbid!' she cried. 'Heaven's forbiddingit,' I sagely remarked--occasionally I say a good thing, myfriend--'will not save him, if I cannot. There is healing by faith,certainly, but this hapless gentleman is not in a condition to bringfaith to bear. I know what I will do. I will take him to an inn, wherethey will run him up a fine fat bill. His accident shall do some onegood. There is the inn of the Three Black Crows. The landlord is aworthy fellow, and has a large family of round bright eyes and smallred cheeks. To be sure, his wine is execrable, and he cannot cook adecent meal. But what of that? Our friend here will care little foreither, and is not likely to complain of the quality. Yes, to the innof the Three Black Crows he shall go.' My wife did not interrupt me;she never does; but she kept her eyes fixed earnestly upon my facewhile I was speaking, and when I had finished, she said, 'Louis, youare not in earnest.' 'Nonsense, nonsense,' said I; 'here, help me tocarry this troublesome gentleman to the Three Black Crows.' 'You arenot in earnest,' she repeated, and the foolish woman smiled at methrough her tears; 'you know well that you have made up your mind thathe shall stop here, and that I shall nurse him, with your assistance,into health and strength. His room is ready for him.' My friend, it isa rule with me never to create dissension in my home. Therefore, whatcould I do? Break through my rule, and cause my wife sorrow? And foryou, a stranger? It was not to be thought of. That is how it hashappened you have become my guest."
"How can I thank you?" I murmured, much moved. "How can I thank yourgood wife?"
"Thank me!" exclaimed Doctor Louis. "Have I not told you I had nothingto do with it? As to thanking my wife, she is never so happy as whenshe is nursing the sick. We really ought to pay you for the pleasureyou have afforded us by spraining your ankle in the woods, and fallinginto a dangerous fever. Heavens, how you raved! What is the meaning ofthe expression I see in your eyes? Are you going to rave again?"
"No; I am wondering whether the sounds of music I hear are created bymy imagination."
"The sounds are real sounds. It is my wife who is playing."
"But the instrument?"
"The zither."
"Its tones are most beautiful."
"It is her favourite instrument. She has sometimes played on it whileyou were lying unconscious, in the belief that its soft tones wouldnot be a bad medicine for you. My daughter plays also. To conclude myexplanation. During your fever your ankle has been attended to, and itis now nearly well. The sprain was so severe that it would haveconfined you to your bed without the fever, and as you were to haveit, the two evils coming together was a piece of positive goodfortune. It saved time."
"As I was to have it!" I exclaimed.
"My friend," said Doctor Louis, "do not forget that I am a doctor.Either then, or now, or at some time within the next twelve months,you would have succumbed to the strain which you have lately beenputting upon yourself. The fever was lying dormant in your veins, andneeded but a chance to assert itself. Whether you are conscious of itor not, there is no doubt that there have been severe demands uponyour nervous system. To speak plainly, you have over-taxed yourself,and have treated Nature unfairly. She is long-suffering, but, push hertoo far, she will turn upon you and exact the penalty. Too late thento repent; the mischief is done, and all that we can do thereafter isto patch up. Have you met with any misfortune lately--have you lostany one who was dear to you?"
"Within a short time," I said, "I have lost both my parents."
"That is sad; but you have brothers, sisters?"
"Not one; nor, so far as I am aware, a relative the wide world over. Iam alone."
"I regret to hear it, and sincerely sympathise with you; but you areyoung, and have all your life before you. There are, however, personswith whom you wish to communicate, friends who will be anxious at yourlong silence. Now that you are conscious and sensible you will haveletters to write. Do not flatter yourself that you are strong enoughto write them. It will be another fortnight, at least, before you willbe fit even for that slight exertion."
"I have no letters to write," I said, "and none to receive. I amwithout a friend."
I saw him look in pity at me, and he seemed to be surprised anddisturbed.
"I am a new experience to you," I observed.
"I admit it, yes," he said thoughtfully, "but we have talked enough.Sleep, and rest."
As he uttered these words he passed his right hand with a soothingmotion across my brows. I was disposed for sleep, and it came to me.
The days passed as in a blissful dream. There was always within me thesame sense of perfect repose; there were always before me delightfulpanoramas of cloudland, moving through graceful foliage and brightblossoms. Sometimes Lauretta's mother came into the room, and sat bymy bedside, and spoke a few gentle words. She was the embodiment ofPeace; her voice, her movements, her graceful figure, formed aharmony. I did not see Lauretta during those days, nor was her namementioned again by Doctor Louis. But when her mother was with me, andI heard the sound of the zither, I knew it was Lauretta who wasplaying. The music, in the knowledge that she was the player, producedupon me the same impression as when her mother played--for which I canfind no apter figure of speech than that I was lying in a boat on thepeaceful waters of a lake, with a heavenly calm all around me.
Doctor Louis came daily, and we indulged in conversation; andfrequently before he left me made similar passes across my forehead,which had the effect of producing slumber. After a time I spoke ofthis, and we conversed upon the subject. I had read a great dealconcerning mesmerism and clairvoyance, and Doctor Louis expressedsurprise at the extent of my information on those subjects. He said hewas glad to perceive that I was a student, and I replied that mychiefest pleasures had been derived from books.
At length I was convalescent, and, for the first time for many weeks,I enjoyed the open air. We sat in the garden, and I was enchanted withits beauties, which seemed all to radiate from Lauretta. It was shewho imparted to surrounding things, to flowers, to trees, to grassysward and floating cloud, the touch of subtle sweetness which made mefeel as if I had found a heaven upon earth. On that day, for the firsttime, our hands met.
She gathered fruit, and we ate it slowly. Lauretta's mother satnearest to me, engaged upon a piece of embroidery. Lauretta, waitingupon us, came and went, and my eyes followed the slight figurewherever she moved. When she disappeared into the house I did notremove my eyes from the door through which she had passed until sheemerged from it again. Once or twice, meeting my gaze, she smiled uponme, and I was agitated by an exquisite joy. Doctor Louis, wearing ahat which shaded his brows, sat at a little distance, sometimesreading, sometimes contemplating me with attention.
"You must be glad to be well," said Lauretta's mother.
I answered, "No, I regret it."
"Surely not," she said.
"Indeed it is so," I replied. "I am afraid that the happiest dream ofmy life is drawing to an end."
"The days must not be dreamt away," she said, with grave sweetness;"life has duties. One's ease and pleasure--those are not duties; theyare rewards, all the more enjoyable when they have been worthilyearned."
"Earned in what way?" I asked.
"In administering to ot
hers, in accomplishing one's work in theworld."
"How to discover what one's work really is?" I mused.
"That is not difficult, if one's nature is not wedded to sloth."
"And where," I continued, "supposing it to be discovered, should it beproperly performed?"
"In one's native land," she said. "He belongs to it, and it to him."
"There have been missionaries who have done great good."
"They could have done as much, perhaps more, if they had devotedthemselves to the kindred which was closest to them."
"Not that I have a desire to become a missionary," I said. "I havenot within me the spirit of self-sacrifice. I have been travelling forpleasure."
"It is right," she said, quickly, "it is good. Do not think I mean toreproach you. Had I a son, and could afford it, I would bid him travelfor a year or two before he settled down to serious labour."
"It was my good fortune that I resolved to see the world, for it hasbrought me to this happy home."
"It is happy," she said, "because it is home."
I asked Lauretta if she would play.
"In the house?" she inquired.
"No," I replied, "here, where Nature's wondrous works are closest tous."
The zithers were brought out, and mother and daughter played. I wasnot yet strong enough to bear the tension of great excitement, and Ileant back in the easy chair they had provided for me, and closed myeyes. Whether I slept or not I should not, at the time, have been ableto decide, nor for how long I lay thus, listening to the sweetstrains. Awake or asleep, I was in a kind of dreamland, in which therewas no discordant note; and even when I heard the music merge into theTyrolean air which I had so often heard in fancy during my residencein Rosemullion, and concerning which Mrs. Fortress had questioned me,I did not regard it as strange or unusual. It was played by those towhom I had been spiritually drawn. I recognised now the meaning of themysterious strains I used to hear in the silent woods. The players andI were one; our lives were one, I who had all my life scoffed at fate,suddenly renounced my faith. Chance had not brought us together; itwas Destiny.
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