Having reached this decision, Hamilton knocked the ashes from his pipe, blew out the candle, and, after watching the moonlight falling through one of his four windows for a while, fell asleep.
An hour later Gaunt opened the door of Vaughan’s room and slipped quietly in. His colleague, looking bigger than ever in a dressing-gown of blue silk, was sitting at the small table beside his bed, an open book before him. He raised his eyes from the page he was reading and watched the doctor draw up a chair and sit down opposite him. Without a word he drew a cigar-case from his pocket and offered it to the other. When both had lit one of the thin cheroots apiece, and the blue smoke was curling up over the chimney of the lamp, the doctor spoke.
“Well, Simon, this is rather awkward,” he said.
“Hamilton, you mean?” Vaughan did not trouble to remove his cigar when he spoke, and his thick red lips scarcely moved, slurring the words.
“Precisely. We cannot continue our plan satisfactorily with him here. Apart from the obvious difficulty of finding time for young Lovell to continue his studies, with his friend to entertain, it is very probable that Hamilton’s presence would have the effect of distracting his mind to such an extent that I should be unable to keep him in the withdrawn state necessary for initiation.”
“Then Hamilton must go.”
“Just so, but the question is, how?”
“Destruction?” Vaughan passed his tongue over his lips, rolling his cheroot from one side to the other.
“I think not. It would mean an enormous expenditure of power, and the Outer Darkness is too close for that. It would be dangerous. Besides, we could hardly effect it without arousing Lovell’s suspicions.”
“Then we must drive him out.” There was a shade of disappointment in Vaughan’s tone.
“That is my opinion. But I wanted your confirmation, and now your help.”
“That is always at your service, Doctor.”
“I hope so. I don’t think we could frighten him away, do you?”
“Definitely not. It would only increase his resistance if we tried, and if we succeeded in truly alarming him he would take Lovell with him, willing or no.”
“Yes,” agreed the doctor, “I, too, am afraid of that. He must believe that by going away alone he is serving his friend’s interests.”
“Simple suggestion, then.”
“I doubt its efficacy in his case. For one untrained he has an abnormally strong will. It is a difficult problem, Simon.”
There was an interval of silence, during which they puffed away at their cheroots. Gaunt spoke again:
“I see nothing else for it. Direct attack upon Hamilton himself is impossible, under the circumstances. Lovell himself must go to him and ask him to leave.”
“He’ll never do that.”
“No, he’s far too courteous and hospitable to do it consciously.”
“But you must not hypnotize him, Doctor! It would destroy all the strength his will has gained during the past months. You cannot undo your work like that.”
“I don’t propose to, Simon. He is asleep now, I should imagine. We can easily find out. If so, I can withdraw his astral shell without touching the consciousness or harming the will.”
“I have never known it to be done, Doctor.”
“There are many things you do not know, my friend. This happens to be one of them. Now get your crystal.”
Obediently Vaughan heaved himself up and rummaged in a trunk until he found the fellow to the crystal Gaunt had used to summon him to Kestrel. He sat down again, placing it on the table between them. Gaunt carefully oriented the inscribed base of the crystal and, laying his arms on either side of it, took Vaughan’s hands in his. They both gazed into the faintly gleaming sphere.
Presently it began to glow with an interior light, and the doctor said in a low voice:
“Yes, Simon, he is asleep. Now join your will with mine. Nothing more. I will do the rest.”
The silence in the room grew deeper, and the crystal glowed more fiercely, until it seemed like a ball of liquid fire. Gaunt slowly turned his head, looking away from the sphere towards an empty corner of the room. Vaughan followed his eyes, and saw, against the bare stone wall, a shadow forming. Denser and denser it grew, until the stones in the wall were hidden, then suddenly it was the form of a man: the form of Tony Lovell. The phantasm was identical in every detail — even to the exotic pyjamas — with the figure which still lay sleeping in a room not far distant; but there was no mind behind the blue eyes blankly regarding them.
Used as he was to manifestations of the supernormal, Vaughan could not suppress a faint shudder, and the short hairs on his fat neck bristled. Gaunt spoke:
“Go to John Hamilton’s room, walking up the stairs as a man would walk, but softly. Wake him, and speak to him as I shall command. Go!”
Obediently the phantasm turned and went out through the door. The bare feet padded along the gallery floor. Gaunt turned back to the crystal.
Hamilton was sleeping quietly when he felt somebody shaking him violently. Drowsily he opened his eyes, to see, as he thought, Tony Lovell bending over him, clear in the bright moonlight.
“John, wake up! I want to talk to you.”
“What a ghastly hour to choose for a chat!” Hamilton sat up, rubbing his eyes and yawning cavernously. “‘Can’t it wait till morning?”
“No, John, it’s vitally important.” ‘Tony’ sat on the edge of the bed.
“Oh, all right, Tony. But make it snappy!”
“I will. Look, John, you know I’d love to have you here for as long as you like to stay?”
“Yes, I know you would. But not now, is that it?”
“Yes. You see, the job I’m doing now is terribly important. It’s the biggest thing I’ve ever undertaken, and I want to make a go of it.”
“I understand, Tony.”
“I knew you would. And old Gaunt’s put in a tremendous lot of time with me. I can’t let him down. You see, I must finish my preliminary training, and be initiated well before the twenty-fifth of next month, as I told you this afternoon. It means hours of work every day — I couldn’t even entertain you as I’d like to — and do this job as well. I wouldn’t have the time.”
“Yes, I see now, Tony. Of course I’ll clear out tomorrow. We’re old enough pals to be able to be frank with each other, and I’m glad you told me.”
“It’s awfully decent of you, John, but I knew you’d see my point. One other thing: don’t mention this little talk of ours tomorrow. Gaunt’d be furious if he knew I’d asked you not to stay on account of him. He’s an awfully decent blighter.”
“Okay, Tony, mum’s the word. Good luck, old son.”
“Thanks, John. Good night.”
“Good night, Tony.”
And that which was not Tony went quietly out as Hamilton turned over and went to sleep again.
On the floor below the two necromancers were still sitting, staring into their crystal, when the phantasm re-entered and stood motionless by the door. Gaunt addressed it:
“That was well done. Now go back to your abode, silently, as you came.”
The figure lost its sharp outlines, softened, blurred, became a shadow, and suddenly was not. The light in the crystal dwindled and faded. Gaunt stood up.
“I fancy that settles that problem, Simon” he said.
At the breakfast-table, some hours later, Hamilton announced his intention of leaving Kestrel and continuing his walking tour in Cornwall. Since Gaunt was present he did not refer to his supposed talk with Tony during the night, but apologized for changing his plans so suddenly.
Tony, taken quite by surprise, for he was fully expecting his friend to stay at the Abbey for some time, looked quickly across at the doctor, as if for advice. That gentleman nodded almost imperceptibly, and Tony took this to mean that he was to let Hamilton go without argument. Indeed, he was not sorry to do so, for he had been greatly troubled in his mind at the conflict between loyalty to his frien
d and devotion to his new ideals, though he himself would never have dreamed of precipitating the issue in this manner.
So it came about that, later the same day, Tregellis sat at the tiller of the launch, with Hamilton and his suitcase on board, heading for Pentock. Gaunt had seen to it that Tony had had no opportunity for private conversation with his friend — he was taking no chances — and all three came down to the little harbour to see him off. The farewells were very cheerful and hearty, but Hamilton could not suppress a queer little feeling of remorse as the landing-stage and its waving figures retreated and were lost from view behind the jutting rock. Was he doing right, leaving Tony thus? Time alone would tell.
He lay that night at the Three Fishermen, Pentock.
Chapter X
I
John Hamilton was climbing the steep path leading to the village church. It was only six o’clock, and the morning was delightfully cool and fresh. The sun was shining brightly, but there was still a slight mist on the sea, a presage of the heat to come.
He had not forgotten the rector’s last words to him, and he was going to renew his acquaintance with a faith which the years had dimmed. It was strange, he thought, how quickly one forgot those things which once had seemed so important. As a boy he had been a devoted church-goer, a regular communicant. He had been an altar-server at a famous London Anglo-Catholic church, with all the enthusiasm of youth for ceremonial and the outward side of that particular brand of Christianity. He realized that his faith could not have gone very much beyond the externals, or he would not have lost touch the way he had, engrossed with his work, and the new life he had perforce to adopt when his parents died, both within a period of weeks. Anyhow, he would give the thing a trial, and see if there were really anything in it to awaken the old enthusiasm. At least he could differentiate now between aesthetic appeal and true devotion.
The bell began to peal as he pushed open the lychgate and entered the churchyard. It was not a beautiful bell — indeed, it resembled nothing so much as the beating of a tin can — but the sound seemed oddly fraught with deep significance. The church itself had no pretensions to exterior beauty either, being a long oblong, somewhat flat in the pitch of the roof, with a squat tower at the west end. It was built of the local granite, which does not lend itself to rich sculpture, and the only break in the horizontal lines was a little porch beneath the tower, by which Hamilton entered.
Once inside, he paused uncertainly, for the place was uncommonly dark after the brilliant morning light, but his eyes soon accustomed themselves to the gloom, and he slipped hastily into a near-by pew and knelt down. A prayer came unbidden to his lips, and before he knew it he was making the old familiar preparation for communion, the first time for more years that he liked to remember.
When he had finished he lifted his head and looked about him. Yes, there it all was, just as he had known it in the years gone by: the Stations of the Cross upon the walls; the rood-beam, with its great crucifix and attendant figures; the elaborately decorated sanctuary; the High Altar, surmounted by six tall candles; the statues, with their votive lamps. Even the faint odour of incense was familiar. It was like coming home. Sternly warning himself against sentimentality, Hamilton sat back on his pew and continued his observations.
The plain parallelogram of the exterior was repeated within the building, but it was brought into proportion by the beautiful chancel screen of elvan stone which divided it. There was no east window — a fact which accounted for a good deal of the gloom — but a magnificently carved reredos set off the perfectly proportioned altar. It was evident that no effort had been spared to make the little church a veritable gem of beauty. Hamilton remembered the rector’s admission that he was a poor man, and guessed that his purse had furnished most of the decoration.
On the south side of the nave, against the chancel screen, a little altar had been contrived, on which stood the curtained Tabernacle, with its white lamp. Remembering That which dwelt therein, the young man fell upon his knees once more, overwhelmed by a great wave of devotion which came sweeping up out of the past.
“Adoremus in æternum Sanctissimum Sacramentum.”
The words came trembling to his lips. How could he ever have forgotten, ever doubted? Here, after all, was reality.
Two or three of the villagers came in, and the boy who was pulling the bell-rope by the font abandoned his task and walked quickly up the aisle, going into the tiny vestry, from which he presently emerged to light two of the altar-candles with a taper. Then he returned to the vestry, coming back a moment later with the missal in his hands, followed by the rector, vested, and bearing the sacred vessels. They made a reverence to the altar, and the Mass began.
When it was over, Hamilton remained on his knees, lost in wonder. His critical sense quite gone, he had been caught up once more in the tremendous drama of the great act of sacrifice, and swept unresisting into the very heart of faith. The hard shell of worldliness which had grown around his heart was broken, and he was a child again. Deep humility filled his whole being, and a devout thankfulness for the mercy which had led him, all unknowing, to this place. There were tears in his eyes as he lifted his head, to find the rector, now in his threadbare cassock, standing beside him.
“Good morning, Mr. Hamilton,” said the old man. “Will you join me at breakfast?”
Collecting himself, the other thanked him, and together they passed out into the dazzling sunshine.
From the churchyard a little gate led into the rectory garden, and within a couple of minutes they were sitting in the dining-room of the old house, the rector pouring out coffee, while his housekeeper bustled about the table.
“You are soon back, Mr. Hamilton,” he remarked.
“Yes, Father. It seemed that I had arrived at an inopportune moment. Tony is at a vital point in his new studies, so as soon as I decently could I came away.”
The rector raised his eyebrows.
“What studies?” he asked.
“Dr. Gaunt is teaching him some kind of occult business — theurgic mysticism was the term, I think. It’s apparently necessary that he should be able to assist Vaughan with the expulsion of the curse, and he must know what to do.”
“I don’t quite like the sound of that,” said the priest slowly. “He is taking it very seriously, then?”
“Yes, he seems quite wrapped up in it. Talks of a new life, and so on.”
“He is accepting this occult teaching as a philosophy of life, I take it, and not simply as a means to an end?”
“Evidently. They plan to attack the curse on the day of its anniversary — September 25th — but Tony talks of years of study after his initiation.”
“Ah!” The rector laid down his knife and fork and leaned forward. “Initiation, eh? Into what, I wonder?”
“There is apparently a secret society, or Order, of which Gaunt is the head in this country, which preserves this mysterious ancient wisdom,” Hamilton explained.
The old man shook his head.
“It’s a sad thing, Mr. Hamilton,” he said, “the way some people turn to these outlandish beliefs as an escape from reality, when the Church can show them how to comprehend reality. This very human desire to know has been the undoing of many a man, simply through his getting on the wrong road to knowledge.”
“Then there really is something in this occultist stuff, Father?”
“Oh yes, there’s a great deal in it. It has haunted mankind since the world first began. Forbidden fruit, you know. The Serpent in Eden. It was enshrined in the faith of Egypt; it was the whole of the mystery religions which flourished around the Mediterranean. It has troubled Christianity for centuries; the Gnostic heresy, the Christian Cabalists, the Brethren of the Free Spirit, the Rosicrucians — all professed to have this secret knowledge. And still it goes on.”
“But is there any real harm in it, Father? It’s only make-believe, surely? Just bringing about an abnormal state of mind by an effort of will: purely subjective.”
/> “I’m not at all sure about that, Mr. Hamilton. The limitless power of the human will has always been acknowledged. You will remember Our Lord’s words: ‘If ye had faith, so much as a grain of mustard seed, ye would say to yonder mountain, Be thou removed hence, and cast into the sea, and it would be so’? “
“Yes, but I always thought that was just a figure of speech.”
“That’s the general comment on Christ’s words, isn’t it? Figures of speech not meant to be taken literally. ‘This is My Body’: figure of speech, say you! But I know that the substance of the bread which I consecrated on yonder altar an hour ago was annihilated, and became the very substance of the Godhead bodily. Do you believe that, Mr. Hamilton?”
“Yes, Father, I do.” Hamilton’s voice was humble. “But this is different, surely?”
“How different? If I, having been consecrated a priest, can perform a miracle, why should not these others, by means of ancient formulae and systems, be also able to perform miracles: lesser ones than that, naturally, but miraculous, nevertheless?”
“But that would be magic, Father.”
“Well, what of it? There’s magic everywhere. By ritual words and gestures water is made holy, a man is made a priest, bread is made God. That’s Divine magic — or, more strictly, grace. But there is a lesser kind also. I tell you, Mr. Hamilton, that the spirit of magic was never more widespread than it is today: Christian Science, Spiritualism, Menticulture, Couéism — all magic. Even Lourdes, Loretto, and our own Walsingham effect their cures by a process akin to magic.”
Hamilton rubbed his chin.
“I’d never thought of it like that,” he admitted. “I must say it sounds very feasible.”
“It is feasible. But don’t misunderstand me. Your real magician, your true Hermetic philosopher, though he may be able to effect material results, does not study his books, and train his will, merely to perform vulgar marvels. He leaves that to the conjurer on the variety stage. No, his is a real science of life, a perpetual striving to blend the macrocosm with the microcosm, to plumb all the mysteries of nature by attaining higher planes of being. That’s the mystic way.”
Dark Sanctuary Page 11