A Secret Inheritance (Volume 1 of 3)

by B. L. Farjeon

  CHAPTER VIII.

  As I lay in this dreamy condition I became conscious that the musichad ceased and that the players had departed. But I was not alone;Doctor Louis was with me.

  These facts were made apparent by my inner sense, for I did notattempt to open my eyes. Indeed, without a determined effort I shouldnot have succeeded. A wave of cold air passed over my eyelids;another; another. This did not proceed from an uncontrolled naturalforce; Doctor Louis had risen from his seat, and was now standing inclose proximity to me. I did not pause to consider whether he hadmoved towards me stealthily, in order not to disturb me. I was contentto accept certain facts without inquiry as to how they were produced.Again the wave of cold air across my eyelids; again; again.

  "To seal them," was the expression of my thought. "So be it--but thislearned doctor shall not quite succeed. He is endeavouring tomagnetise me to his will, but my power is no less than his; it may begreater. Hidden force shall meet hidden force in friendly and amiablecontest. He will not be aware that I am resisting him, and theadvantage will be on my side. I will play with him as one skilled infence plays with an apprentice. My dear doctor's power is the productof cultivation; he has learnt the art he practises. To me it isnatural, born in my birth without a doubt. What matter howtransmitted? That I am I is the potent fact; and being I, and of andin the world, I am, to myself, supreme. What to me would be themarvels of nature, the genius of centuries, the memorials of time fromthe first breath of creation, were I not in existence? Therefore am I,to myself, supreme. The present lives; the past is at rest. Thefuture? A grey veil spreads itself before me, shutting out from myview the years of mortal life through which I have yet to pass. But Ipossess a talisman. I breathe upon the veil the form of a rose, whiteand most lovely, with just a tinge of creamy pink, and it dissolvesinto a vision of flowers, amidst which I walk, clasping a hand which,but that it is flesh and blood, might be the hand of an angel. It isan angel's hand--mine, and no other man's; mine, to gladden my hours,and to be for ever creative of joy, of peace, of beauty. How fair theview! I will have no other.

  "I am not fearful that the doctor has evil intentions towards me; andtruly I have none towards him. As regards our relations to each other,spiritual and temporal, nothing is yet fixed.

  "I see him as he stands by my side waiting his turn. A grave,courteous, and kindly man, whose native instinct it must be to shrinkfrom evil. Goodness and nobility are inherent in his nature. Not thathe is devoid of cunning. Indeed, is he not practising it at thepresent moment? But it is cunning which must always be used to a justor good end. I do not unite the terms 'just' and 'good,' for thereason that they are sometimes at war with each other. What is ablessing to one man is frequently a curse to another. The doctor'scunning is just now weakened by the fact that it is as much thecunning of the heart as of the head that he is bringing to bear uponme. Mixed motives are rarely entirely successful. In enterprises uponwhich momentous issues hang, one dominant idea must be the supremeguide.

  "He is not inimical to me, yet is he secretly disturbed--and I am thecause. Well, doctor, you picked me up in the woods and saved my life.Who, then, is the responsible one--you or I?

  "Between us, for sympathy or repulsion, are a being and an influencewhich soon shall become resolved into a bridge or a chasm. I preferthat it shall be a bridge, but it may be that it will not depend uponme to make it this or that. Only, I will have my way. No power onearth shall mar the dearest wish of my heart.

  "What being stands between you and me, dear doctor, to unite or sever?Ah, the fragrant air playing about my face, whispering of spring, ofyouth, of joy! Lying back in my chair, with eyes fast closed, I seethe pink and white blossoms growing upwards into the clouds, kissingheaven. I am lifted heavenward. Delicious and most sweet! If deathbear any resemblance to this state of beatitude, it were good to die.But I must live--I must live! A heaven awaits me in mortal life. Deardoctor, whom, unconscious to yourself, I am dominating even as youwould dominate me, which is it to be--a bridge to join our hearts, ora chasm to hold them apart? The influence is Love, the being,Lauretta. You cannot quite see into my heart, nor can I quite see intoyours, but the secret which includes love and Lauretta is yours forthe asking. Also, for the asking, my resolve to win both love and her.

  "But your inquisitiveness may travel beyond this point; you may seekto know too much, and I am armed to resist you. Nothing shall youglean from me that will be to my hurt, that will step between me andLauretta. You shall obtain from me no pathognomonic sign which willenable you to lay your finger upon the secret of my midnight musings,and of my love for solitude. You shall not make me a witness againstmyself. True, I have heard silent voices and have seen invisibleshapes. You would construe the bare fact to my disadvantage. You wouldbe unable to understand that they are my slaves and have no power overme. All the dark thoughts they have suggested, all the temptings andinstigations, will presently be slain by love, and will fall into adeep grave, to lie there for ever still and dead. I am as others are,human; my life, like the lives of other men, is imperfect. Thepurifying influence is at hand. I thank Thee, Creator of all theharmonies in the wondrous world, that Thou hast sent me Lauretta! Now,doctor, I am ready for you."

  He spoke upon the instant.

  "You and I have certain beliefs in common--as that we are not entirelycreatures of chance. There is in all nature a design, down to itsminutest point."

  "So far as creation goes," I answered, "so far as this or that isbrought into existence. There ends the design."

  "Because the work is done," said Doctor Louis.

  "Not so," I said. "Rather is it because nature's part is done. Thenthe true work commences, and man is the master."

  "Nature can destroy."

  "So can man; and, of the two, he is the more powerful in destruction.His work also is of a higher quality, because of the intelligencewhich directs it. He can go on or turn back. Nature creates forceswhich, apart from their creator, produce certain results--somebeautiful and harmonious, some frightful and destructive. For theseresults nature is only indirectly responsible; the forces she createswork independently to their own end. When a great storm is about toburst, it is not in nature's power to will that it shall dissolve intogentleness. Hence, nature, all powerful up to a given point, ispowerless beyond it."

  "And man?"

  "_Is_ all powerful. He wills and executes. He aspires to win, and heworks to win. He desires, and he schemes to gratify his desire." Ipaused, and as Doctor Louis did not immediately reply, continued: "Ifthere is not perfect accord between us in large contentious mattersupon which the wisest scientists differ, that is no reason why thereshould not be between us a perfect friendship."

  "I am pleased to hear you say so; it means that you desire to retainmy friendship."

  "I earnestly desire it."

  "And would make a sacrifice to retain it?"

  "Sacrifice of what?"

  "Of some wish that is dear to you," replied Doctor Louis.

  "That depends," I said. "In entering upon a serious obligation itbehoves a man to be specific. Doctor, we are drifting from the subjectwhich occupies your mind. Concentration would be of advantage to youin any information you wish to obtain from me."

  "The flower turns towards the sun," said Doctor Louis, after a pause,during which I knew that he was bringing himself back to the point hewas aiming at, "and closes its leaves in the darkness. My view hasbeen that man, though the highest in the scale, is not his own master;he is subject to the influences which affect lower grades of life. Atthe same time he has within him that with which no other form of lifeis gifted--discernment, and, as you have said, the power to advance orrecede. It sometimes happens that an impulse, as noble as it ismerciful, arrests his foot, and he says, 'No, I may bruise thatflower,' and turns aside. You follow me?"

  "Yes--but you are still generalising. Question me more plainly uponwhat you desire to know."

  "You are a stranger among us?"

  "I was;
I do not look upon myself as a stranger now. Here have I foundpeace and fitness. Do not forget that, out of your goodness andgenerosity, you have treated me with affection."

  "I do not forget it, and I pray that it may not lead to unhappiness."

  "It is also my prayer--though you must remember that one man oftenenjoys at another man's expense."

  "You have already told me something of yourself. Again I ask, what areyou?"

  "An English gentleman."

  "Your father?"

  "He was the same."

  "Your mother?"

  "A lady."

  "Were you educated at a public school?"

  "No; my studies were conducted at home by private tutors. We lived alife of privacy, and did not mix with the world."

  "For any particular reason?"

  "For none that I am aware of. It suited my parents so to live; itsuited me also. Since the death of my parents I have seen much of theworld, and derived but small enjoyment from it until destiny led me toNerac."

  "Destiny?"

  "It is the only word, doctor, by which I can express myself clearly."

  "During your illness you gave utterance to sentiments or ideas whichimpel me now to inquire whether, in the lives of either of yourparents, there was that which would cause an honourable man to pausebefore he yields to a temptation which may draw an innocent being todestruction?"

  "I would perish rather than destroy the flower in my path."

  "You adopt my own figure of speech, but you do not answer myquestion--which proves that I have not complete power over you. Yoursense of honour will not allow you to commit yourself to anythingdistinctly untruthful. Say there is that in your inner life whichwarns you that to touch would be to wither, would you stoop to gatherthe flower which it may be awaits your bidding?"

  A glow of ineffable delight warmed my heart. "Do you know," I asked,"that it awaits me?"

  "I know nothing absolutely. I am striving to perform a duty. Anordinarily wise man, foreseeing a storm, prepares for it; and whenthat storm threatens one who is dearer to him than life itself, heredoubles his precautions."

  "As you are doing."

  "As I am doing--though I am sadly conscious that my efforts may bevain."

  "You are not my enemy?"

  "On the contrary. I recognise in you noble qualities, but there is atthe same time a mystery within you which troubles me.

  "May you not be in error there?"

  "It is possible. I speak from inward prompting, based upon observationand reflection."

  "Dear doctor," I said, with a sense of satisfaction at the convictionthat I was successfully probing him, "if I thought that my touch wouldblast the flower you speak of, I would fly the spot, and carry myunhappiness with me, so that only I should be the sufferer. But noneed exists. Nothing lies at my door of which I am ashamed. No man, sofar as I am aware, is my enemy, and I am no man's. I have nevercommitted an act to another's hurt. You speak of my inner life. Doesnot every human being live two lives, and is there not in every lifesomething which man should keep to himself. Were we to walk unmasked,we should hate and loathe each other, and saints would be stoned todeath. We are maculate, and it is given to no man to probe the mysteryof existence. There are pretenders, and you and I agree upon anestimate of them. If in private intercourse we were absolutely frankin our confession of temptations, gross thoughts, and uncommittedsins, it would inspire horror. The joys of life are destroyed byseeking too far. We are here, with all our imperfections. The wisestand truest philosophy is to make the best of them and of surroundingcircumstances. Therefore when I see before me a path which leads tohuman happiness, I should be mad to turn from it. Will you not now askquestions to which I can return explicit answers?"

  "You love?"

  "Yes."

  "Whom?"

  "Lauretta."

  "In honour?"

  "In perfect honour. So pure a being could inspire none but a purepassion."

  "You would make a sacrifice to render her happy?"

  "I can make her happy without a sacrifice."

  "But should the need arise?"

  "If I were convinced of it, I would sacrifice my life for her. Itwould be valueless to me without her; it would be valueless with herdid not her heart respond to the beating of mine."

  "You have not spoken to her?"

  "Of love? No."

  "You will not, without my consent?"

  "I cannot promise."

  "You believe yourself worthy of her?"

  "No man can be worthy of her, but I as much as any man."

  "She is young for love."

  "Those words should be addressed to nature not to me."

  "Aspiring to win her, you would win her worthily?"

  "It shall be my endeavour."

  "I do not say she is easily swayed, but she is simple and confiding.She must have time to question her heart."

  "What is it you demand of me?"

  "That you should not woo her hastily. I am her father and her naturalguardian. It would not be difficult for me to keep you and her apart."

  "Do you contemplate an act so cruel?"

  "Not at the present moment seriously, but it has suggested itself tome as the best safeguard I could adopt to save an inexperienced childfrom possible unhappiness."

  "She would suffer."

  "Less now than at some future time, when what is at present atransient feeling may become a faith, from which to tear her thenwould be to tear her heartstrings. You are, or would be, her lover; Iam her father. Were you in my place and I in yours, you would acttowards me as I am acting towards you. I repeat, you are a strangeramong us; you must give us time to know more of you before I can takeyou by the hand and welcome you as a son. You must give my daughtertime to know more of you before you ask her to take the most importantstep in a woman's life. It is in my power to-day to make my conditionsabsolute, and I intend to use my power.

  "You require a guarantee from me?" I said.

  "Yes."

  "And if I give it, will it be the means of separating me fromLauretta?"

  "No."

  The fears which had begun to agitate me vanished. What guarantee couldDoctor Louis demand which I would refuse to give, so long as I waspermitted to enjoy Lauretta's society?

  "State what you require," I said.

  "I require a sacred promise from you, to be repeated when you are infull possession of your faculties, that, until the expiration oftwelve months from this day, you will not seek to obtain from mydaughter any direct or indirect pledge of love by which she will belikely to deem herself bound."

  "On the understanding that I am a free agent to stay in Nerac or leaveit, and that you will not, directly or indirectly, do anything tocause Lauretta and me to be separated, I give you the promise youdemand."

  "I am satisfied," said Doctor Louis.

  "A moment," I said, a sudden vague suspicion disturbing me; "there issomething forgotten."

  "Name it."

  "You will bind yourself not to use your parental authority overLauretta to induce her to enter into an engagement with, or to marry,any other man than me."

  "I willingly bind myself; my desire is that she shall be free tochoose."

  Those were the last words which passed between us on that occasion;and soon afterwards Doctor Louis left me to my musings. They were notentirely of a rosy hue. At first I was in a glow of happiness at whatit seemed to me I had learnt from between the lines of Doctor Louis'sutterances. If he had not had good reason to suppose that Laurettaloved me, he would not have sought the interview. What had been saidwas like a question asked and answered, a question upon which thehappiness of my life depended. And it had been answered in my favour.Lauretta loved me! What other joys did the world contain for me? Whatothers were needed? None. Blessed with Lauretta's love, all sourcesand founts of bliss were mine. It did not immediately occur to me thatthe probation of twelve months' delay before heart was joined to heartwas a penance, or that there was danger in it. But certain word
s whichDoctor Louis had uttered presently recurred to me with ominoussignificance: "My desire is that she shall be free to choose." Tochoose! Were there, then, others who aspired to win Lauretta? Thethought was torture.

  To debate the matter with myself in hot blood I felt would be unwise;therefore I schooled my mind to a calmer mood, and then proceeded toreview the position in which I stood with respect to the being who wasall the world to me.

  It was not to be supposed that Lauretta had grown to womanhood withoutforming friendships and acquaintances, but I had seen nothing to leadto the belief that her heart had responded to love's call before Iappeared. She was sweet and tender to all, but that it was in hernature to be, and I had allowed myself to be strangely self-deceivedif the hope and the belief were false that in her bearing towards methere was a deeper, sweeter tenderness than she exhibited to others.That she was unconscious of this was cause for stronger hope. But didit exist, or was it simply the outcome of my own feelings which ledthe word of promise to my ear?

  To arrive at a correct conclusion it was necessary that I shouldbecome better informed with respect to the social habits of DoctorLouis's family. I had been until this day confined to a sick room, butI was growing strong, and I had looked forward with tranquilsatisfaction to the prospect of recovering my usual health by slowstages. This was no longer my desire. I must get well quickly; I wouldwill myself into health and strength. I was sure that even now I couldwalk unaided. By a determined effort I rose to my feet, and advancingthree or four steps forward, stood upright and unsupported. But I hadovertaxed myself; nature asserted her power; I strove to retrace mysteps to the chair, staggered, and would have fallen to the ground hadit not been that a light form glided to my side and held me up.Lauretta's arm was round me.

  "Shall I call my father?" she asked in alarm.

  "No, no; do not speak, do not move; call no one; I shall be well in amoment. I was trying my strength."

  "It was wrong of you," she said, in a tone of sweetest chiding."Strength! You have none. Why, _I_ could vanquish you!"

  "You have done so, Lauretta."

  She gazed at me in innocent surprise, and I equivocated by asking,

  "You are not angry at my calling you Lauretta?"

  "No, indeed," she replied; "I should feel strange if you called me byany other name. Lean on me, and I will guide you to your chair. Youwill not hurt me; I am stronger than you think."

  Her touch, her voice with its note of exquisite sympathy, made mefaint with happiness, I sank into the chair, and still retained herhand, which she did not withdraw from me.

  "Do you feel better?"

  "Much better, Lauretta, thanks to your sweet help. Remain with me alittle while."

  "Yes, I will. It was fortunate my father sent me to you, or you mighthave fallen to the ground with your rash experiment."

  "Your father sent you to me, Lauretta?"

  "Yes."

  This proof of confidence, after what had passed between us, didwonders for me. A weight was lifted from my heart, a cloud from myeyes. I would prove myself worthy of his confidence.

  "The colour has come back to your face," said Lauretta. "You arebetter."

  "I am almost quite well, Lauretta. I have been so great a burden toyou and your good parents that I thought it was time to give up myidle ways and show I was capable of waiting upon myself."

  "It was very, very wrong of you," she repeated. "And as wrong to sayyou are a burden to us. It is almost as if you believed we thought youwere. I must tell my dear mother to scold you."

  "No, do not tell her, Lauretta; it might pain her. I did not mean whatI said. Let it be a secret between us."

  "A secret!" she exclaimed, raising her eyes to my face. "I never hadone; but there is no harm in this."

  "You have no secrets, Lauretta?"

  "Not one," she replied, with guileless frankness; "and I will promisethat my mother shall not chide you if you will promise not to try toforce yourself into strength. The wisest and cleverest man cannot dothat. But perhaps you are weary of us, and wish to run away?"

  "I should be content to remain here for ever, Lauretta."

  "Well, then," she said gaily, "be patient for a few days, and, as mydear father would say, do not be inconsistent." She uttered the lastfour words in playful imitation of her father's voice, and I wasenchanted with this revealment of innocent lightness in her nature."But I am losing sight of his admonition."

  "He bade you do something?"

  "Yes; he said you might like me to read or play for you. Which shall Ido?"

  "Neither, Lauretta."

  "Can I do nothing?"

  "Yes; talk to me, Lauretta."

  I was never tired of uttering her name. It was the sweetest word inall the languages.

  "Well, then," she said, clasping her hands in her lap, she had gentlywithdrawn the hand I held, "what shall I talk about?"

  "About your friends. When I am strong, I shall want to know them.Introduce me to them beforehand."

  "I introduce you, then," she said with tender gravity, without losingtouch of her lighter mood, "to everybody."

  "Is everybody your friend, Lauretta?"

  "Yes, everybody--truly! and it makes me very glad to know it."

  "But there are special ones, Lauretta."

  "Of course there are special ones. First, my dearest."

  "Your parents?"

  "Yes, they are the first, the best, the dearest. It is well known; mymother is an angel."

  "I honour them, Lauretta."

  "All do. That is why people like me; because I belong to them, andthey to me."

  "You are loved for yourself, Lauretta."

  "No," she said, with pretty wilfulness, "because of them. Then thereis Father Daniel, a saint, my mother says; then Eric and Emilius--andthat is all, I think, who can be called special."

  "Eric and Emilius?" I said, in the form of a question.

  "Yes, they are brothers, handsome, brave, and strong. You will likethem, I am sure you will."

  Handsome, brave, and strong! I gave Lauretta a searching look, and shereturned it smilingly. There was no blush, no self-consciousness. Why,then, should I feel disturbed? Why should Eric and Emilius becomeestablished in my mind as barriers to the happiness for which Iyearned. I did not dare to trust myself to ask for information ofthese friends of Lauretta, so handsome, brave, and strong--I wasfearful that my voice might betray me; and as I could converse on noother topic with ease, I remained silent while Lauretta chatted onsweetly and artlessly.