Sons and Fathers
Page 25
CHAPTER XXV.
THE MIDNIGHT SEARCH.
It was late in the day when Virdow awoke. The excitement, the unwontedhours which circumstances forced him to keep, brought at last unbrokenrest and restored his physical structure to its normal condition.
He dressed himself and descended to find a brief telegram announcing thesafety of Edward. It was a joyful addition to the conditions that hadrestored him. The telegram had not been opened. He went quickly toGerald's room and found that young man at work upon a painting of Ritaas he had seen her last--the profile sketch. His emotional nature hadalready thrown off its gloom, and with absorbed interest he was pushinghis work. Already the face had been sketched in and the primingcompleted. Under his rapid and skillful hands the tints and contourswere growing, and Virdow, accustomed as he was to the art in all itscompleteness and technical perfection, marveled to see the changed faceof the woman glide back into view, the counterpart he knew of the vividlikeness clear cut in the sensitive brain that held it. He let him workundisturbed. A word might affect its correctness. Only when the artistceased and laid aside his brush for a brief rest did he speak.
Gerald turned to him as to a co-laborer, and took the yellow slip ofpaper, so potent with intelligent lettering. He read it in silence; thenputting it aside went on with his painting. Virdow rubbed his brow andstudied him furtively. Such lack of interest was inconceivable under theconditions. He went to work seriously to account for it and this he didto his own satisfaction. In one of his published lectures on memory,years after, occurred this sentence, based upon that silent reverie:
"Impressions and forgetfulness are measurable by each other; indeed, thepower of the mind to remember vividly seems to be measured by its powerto forget."
But afterward Gerald picked up the telegram, read it intently and seemedto reflect over the information it contained. Later in the day thepostman brought the mail and with it one of the "extras." Virdow read italoud in the wing-room. Gerald came and stood before him, his eyesrevealing excitement. When Virdow reached the part wherein Edward wasdescribed as never removing his eyes from his antagonist, his hearerexclaimed:
"Good! He will kill him!"
"No," said Virdow, smiling; "fortunately he did not. Listen."
"Fortunately!" cried Gerald; "fortunately! Why? What right has such aman to live? He must have killed him!" Virdow read on. A cry broke fromGerald's lips as the explanation appeared.
"I was right! The hand becomes a part of the eye when the mind wills it;or, rather, eye and hand become mind. The will is everything. But why heshould have struck the guard----" He went to the wall and took down twopistols. Handing one to Virdow and stepping back he said: "You willplease sight at my face a moment; I cannot understand how the accidentcould have happened." Virdow held the weapon gingerly.
"But, Herr Gerald, it may be loaded."
"They are empty," said Gerald, breeching his own and exposing thecylinder chambers, with the light shining through. "Now aim!" Virdowobeyed; the two men stood at ten paces, aiming at each other's faces."Your hand," said the young man, "covers your mouth. Edward aimed forthe mouth."
There was a quick, sharp explosion; Virdow staggered back, dropping hissmoking pistol. Gerald turned his head in mild surprise and looked upona hole in the plastering behind.
"I have no recollection of loading that pistol," he said. And then: "Ifyour mind had been concentrated upon your aim I would have lost a fingerand had my weapon driven into my face." Virdow was shocked at the narrowescape and pale as death.
"It is nothing," said Gerald, replacing the weapon; "you would not hitme in a dozen trials, shooting as you do."
At 10 o'clock that night Edward, pale and weary, entered. He returnedwith emotion the professor's enthusiastic embrace, and thanked him forhis care and attention of Gerald and the household and for his servicesto the dead. Gerald studied him keenly as he spoke, and once went to oneside and looked upon him with new and curious interest. The professorsaw that he was examining the profile of the speaker by the aid of thepowerful lamp on the table beyond. The discovery set his mind to workingin the same direction, and soon he saw the profiles of both. Edward'sdid not closely resemble the other. That this was true, for some reason,the expression that had settled upon Gerald's face attested. Theportrait had been covered and removed.
Edward, after concluding some domestic arrangements, went directly tohis room and, dressed as he was, threw himself upon his bed and slept.
And as he slept there took place about him a drama that would have sethis heart beating with excitement could he have witnessed it. The housewas silent; the city clock had tolled the midnight hour, when Geraldcame into the room, bearing a shaded lamp. The sleeper lay on his back,locked in the slumber of exhaustion. The visitor, moving with thenoiselessness of a shadow, glided to the opposite side of the bed, and,placing the lamp on a chair, slowly turned up the flame and tilted theshade. In an instant the strong profile of the sleeper flashed upon thewall. With suppressed excitement Gerald unwrapped a sheet of cardboard,and standing it on the mantel received upon it the shadow. As if by asupreme effort, he controlled himself and traced the profile on hispaper. Lifting it from the mantel he studied it for a moment intentlyand then replaced it. The shadow filled the tracing. Taking it slowlyfrom its position he passed from the room. Fortunately his distractionwas too great for him to notice the face of Virdow, or to perceive it inthe deep gloom of the little room as he passed out.
The German waited a few moments; no sound came back from the broadcarpeted stair; taking the forgotten lamp, he followed him silently.Passing out into the shrubbery, he made his way to the side of theconservatory and looked in. Gerald had placed the two profiles, one oneach side of the mirror, and with a duplex glass was studying his own inconnection with them. He stood musing, and then, as if forgetting hisoccupation, he let the hand-glass crash upon the floor, tossed his armsin an abandonment of emotion, and, covering his face with his hands,suddenly threw himself across the bed.
Virdow was distressed and perplexed. He read the story in the pantomime,but what could he do? No human sympathy could comfort such a grief, norcould he betray his knowledge of the secret he had surreptitiouslyobtained. He paced up and down outside until presently the moving shadowof the occupant of the room fell upon his path. He saw him then takefrom a box a little pill and put it in his mouth, and he knew that thetroubles of life, its doubts, distress and loneliness, would beforgotten for hours.
Forgotten? Who knows? Oh, mystery of creation; that invisibleintelligence that vanishes in sleep and in death; gone on its voyage ofdiscovery, appalling in its possibilities; but yet how useless, since itmust return with no memory of its experience!
And he, Virdow, what a dreamer! For in that German brain of subtletieslived, with the clearness of an incandescent light in the depths of acoal mine, one mighty purpose; one so vast, so potent in itspossibilities, as to shake the throne of reason, a resolution to followupon the path of mind and wake a memory never touched in the history ofscience. It was not an ambition; it was a leap toward the gates ofheaven! For what cared he that his name might shine forever in theannals of history if he could claim of his own mind the record of itswanderings? The future was not his thought. What he sought was thememory of the past!
He went in now, secure of the possibility of disturbing the sleeper, andstood looking down into the room's appointments; there were the twoprofiles on either side of the mirror; upon the floor the shiveredfragments of the hand-glass.
Virdow returned to his room, but before leaving he took from the littlebox one of the pellets and swallowed it. If he was to know that mind, hemust acquaint himself with its conditions. He had never before swallowedthe drug; he took this as the Frenchman received the attenuated virus ofhydrophobia from the hands of Pasteur--in the interest of science andthe human race.
As he lay upon his bed he felt a languor steal upon him, saw in fardreams cool meadows and flowery slopes, felt the solace of perfectrepose envelop him. And
then he stood beside a stream of running waterunder the shade of the trees, with the familiar hills of youth along thehorizon. A young woman came and stood above the stream and lookedintently upon its glassy surface. Her feature were indistinct. Drawingnear he, too, looked into the water, and there at his feet was the sad,sweet face of--Marion Evan. He turned and then looked closer at thewoman; he saw in her arms the figure of an infant, over whose face shehad drawn a fold of her gown. She shook her head as he extended his handto remove this and pointed behind her. There the grass ran out and onlywhite sand appeared, with no break to the horizon.
Toiling on through this, with a bowed head, was a female figure. He knewher; she was Rita, and the burden she, too, carried in her arms was theform of a child. The figures disappeared and a leaf floated down thestream; twenty-six in succession followed, and then he saw a mandescending the mountains and coming forward, his eyes fixed on somethingbeyond him. It was Edward. He looked in the same direction; there was afrail man toiling toward him through the deep sands in the hot sunlight.It was Gerald. And then the figures faded away. There memory ceased torecord.
Whatever else was the experience of that eager mind as it wandered onthrough the mystery, and phantasmagoria has no place in science. Heremembered in the morning up to one point only.
It was his last experience with the drug.