“I do not want fame or fortune,” — I said— “Love is enough for me!”
Aselzion smiled.
“Enough for you indeed! My child, it is enough for all! If you have love, you have entered into the secret mind of God! Love inspires all nobleness, all endurance, all courage, — and I think you have some of its attributes, for you have been bold in your first independent essay — and it is this very boldness that has brought me here to speak to you to-night. You have, of your own accord, and without preparation, passed what we students and mystics call ‘the first circle of fire,’ and you are therefore ready for the rest of your trial. So I will now take you back to your own room and leave you there, for you must face your ordeal alone.”
My heart sank a little, but I said nothing, and watched him as he took up the crystal globe, full of the darting lines and points of light gleaming like imprisoned fire, and held it for a moment between his two hands. Then he set it down again, and covered it as it had been covered before. The next moment he had extinguished the lamp, and we stood together in the pale brilliancy of the moonlight which now spread itself in a broad path of silver across the sea. The tide was coming in, and I heard the solemn sound of rising waves breaking rhythmically upon the shore. In silence Aselzion took me by the hand and led me through a low doorway out of the little hermitage into the open air, where we stood within a few feet of the sea. The moonbeams bathed us in a shower of pearly radiance, and I turned instinctively to look at my companion. His face appeared transfigured into something of supernatural beauty, and for one second the remembrance of how he had said in the chapel that he carried the burden of seventy years upon him flashed across me with a shock of surprise. Seventy years! He appeared to be in the very prime and splendour of life, and the mere idea of age as connected with him was absurd and incongruous. And while I gazed upon him, wondering and fascinated, he lifted one hand as though in solemn invocation to the stars that gleamed in their countless millions overhead, and his voice, deep and musical, rang out softly yet clearly on the silence: —
“O Supreme Guide of all the worlds created, accept this Soul which seeks to be consecrated unto Thee! Help her to attain to all that shall be for her wisdom and betterment, and make her one with that Nature whereof she is born. Thou, silent and peaceful Night, invest her with thy deep tranquillity! — thou, bright Moon, penetrate her spirit with the shining in of holy dreams! — give her of thy strength and depth, O Sea! — and may she draw from the treasures of the air all health, all beauty, all life, all sweetness, so that her existence may be a joy to the world, and her love a benediction! Amen!”
My whole being thrilled with a sense of keen rapture as he thus prayed for me, — I could have knelt to him in reverence but that I instinctively knew he would not wish this act of homage. I felt that it was best to keep silence, and I obeyed his guiding touch as, still holding my hand, he led me into a vaulted stone passage and up a long winding stair at the head of which he paused, and taking a key from his girdle, unlocked a small door.
“There is your room, my child,” — he said, with a grave kindliness which moved me strangely— “Farewell! The future is with yourself alone.”
I clung to his hand for an instant.
“Shall I not see you again?” I asked, with a little tremor in my voice.
“Yes — you will see me again if you pass your ordeal successfully” — he answered— “Not if you fail.”
“What will happen if I fail?”
“Nothing but the most ordinary circumstance,” — he answered— “You will leave this place in perfect safety and return to your home and your usual avocations, — you will live as most women live, perhaps on a slightly higher grade of thought and action — and in time you will come to look upon your visit to the House of Aselzion as the merest wilful escapade of folly! The world and its conventions will hold you—”
“Never!” I exclaimed, passionately— “Aselzion, I will not fail!”
He looked earnestly in my face — then laid his hands on my head in a mute blessing, and signed to me to pass into my turret room. I obeyed. He closed the door upon me instantly — I heard the key turn in the lock — and then — just the faint echo of his retreating footsteps down the winding stair. My room was illumined by a very faint light, the source of which I knew not. Everything was as I had left it before I had been summoned to the mysterious Chapel of the Cross and Star, — and I looked about me, tranquillised by the peace and simplicity of my surroundings. I did not feel disposed to sleep, and I resolved to write down from memory all that Aselzion had told me while it was fresh in my mind. The white veil I had been given still clung about me, — I now took it off and carefully folded it ready for further use if needed. Sitting down at the little table, I took out pen, ink and paper, — but somehow I could not fix my attention on what I intended to do. The silence around me was more intense than ever, and though my window was open I could not even hear the murmur of the sea. I listened — hardly drawing breath — there was not a sound. The extraordinary silence deepened — and with it came a sense of cold; I seemed to be removed into a place apart, where no human touch, no human voice could reach me, — and I felt as I had never felt in all my life before, that I was indeed utterly alone.
XVI. SHADOW AND SOUND
The stillness deepened. It seemed to myself that I could hear the quickened beating of every pulse in my body. A curious vague terror began to possess me, — I fought against its insidious influence, and bending my head down over the paper I had set out before me, I prepared to write. After a few minutes I managed to gain some control over my nerves, and started to put down clearly and in sequence the things Aselzion had told me, though I knew there was little danger of my ever forgetting them. And then — a sudden sensation came over me which forced me to realise that something or someone was in the room, looking steadfastly at me.
With an effort, I raised my head, and saw nothing at first — then, by degrees, I became aware that a Shadow, dark and impenetrable, stood between me and the open window. At first it seemed simply a formless mass of black vapour, — but very gradually it assumed the outline of a Shape which did not seem human. I laid down my pen, — and, with my heart thumping hammer-strokes of fear, looked at this strange Darkness gathered as it were in one place and blocking out the silver gleam of the moon. As I looked, all the light in my room was suddenly extinguished. A cry rose involuntarily to my lips — and physical fright began to gain the mastery over me. For with the increasing gloom the mysterious Shadow grew more and more defined — a blackness standing out as it were against another blackness, — the pale glint of the moonbeams only illumining it faintly as a cloud may be edged with a suggestion of light. It was not motionless, — it stirred now and then as though about to lift itself to some supernatural stature and bend above me or swoop down upon me like an embodied storm, — and as I still gazed upon it fearingly, every nerve strained to an almost unsupportable tension, I could have sworn that two eyes, large and luminous, were fixed with a searching, pitiless intensity on mine. It is impossible to describe what I felt, — a sense of sick, swooning horror overcame me, — my head swam giddily, and I could not now utter a sound.
Trembling violently, I rose to my feet in a kind of mechanical impulse, determined to turn away from the dreadful contemplation of this formless Phantom, when suddenly, as if by a lightning flash of conviction, the thought came to me that it was not by coward avoidance that I could expect to overcome either my own fears or the nameless danger which apparently threatened me. I closed my eyes and retreated, as it were, within myself to find that centre-poise of my own spirit which I knew must remain an invincible force despite all attack, being in itself immortal, — and I mentally barricaded my soul with thoughts of armed resistance. Then, opening my eyes again, I saw that the Shadow loomed blacker and vaster — while the luminance around it was more defined, and was not the radiance of the moon, but some other light that was ghostly and terrifying. But I had now regained
a little courage, — and slight as it was I held to it as my last hope, and gradually steadied myself upon it like a drowning creature clinging to a plank for rescue. Presently I found myself able to ask questions of my inner consciousness. What, after all, could this Phantom — if Phantom it were — do to work me harm? Could it kill me with sheer terror? Surely in that case the terror would be my own fault, for why should I be afraid? The thing called Death being no more than a Living Change did it matter so much when or how the change was effected?
“Who is responsible,” — I said to myself— “for the sense of fear? Who is it that so mistrusts the Divine order of the Universe as to doubt the ultimate intention of goodness in things which appear evil? Is it not I alone who am the instigator of my own dread? — and can this dark, dumb Spectre do more to me than is ordained for my blessing in the end?”
With these thoughts I grew bold — my nervous trembling ceased. I now chose deliberately to consider, and WILLED to determine, that this mysterious Shadow, darker still as it grew, was something of a friend in disguise. I lifted my head half defiantly, half hopefully in the gloom, and the strange fact that the only light I saw came from the weirdly gleaming edge of radiance round the Phantom itself did not frighten me from the attitude I had resolved upon. The more I settled myself into that attitude the firmer it became — and the stronger grew my courage. I gently moved aside the table on which I had been writing, and stood up. Once on my feet I felt still bolder and surer of myself, and though the Shadow opposite to me looked darker and more threatening than before, I began to move steadily towards it. I made an effort to speak to it, and at last found my voice.
“Whatever you are,” I said aloud, “you cannot exist at all without God’s will! God ordains nothing that is not for good, therefore you cannot be here with any evil purpose! If I am afraid of you, my fear is my own weakness. I will not look at you as a thing that can or would do me harm, and therefore I am coming to you to find out your meaning! You shall prove to me what you are made of, to the very depth and heart of your darkness! — you shall unveil to me all that you hide behind your terrifying aspect, — because I KNOW that whatever your intention towards me may be, you cannot hurt my Soul!”
As I spoke I drew nearer and nearer — and the luminous edge round the Phantom grew lighter and lighter, till — suddenly a flash of brilliant colour like a rainbow glittered full on my eyes so sharply that I fell back, half blinded by its splendour. Then — as I looked — I dropped to my knees in speechless awe — for the Shadow had changed to a dazzling Shape of winged radiance, — a figure and face so glorious that I could only gaze and gaze, with all my soul entranced in wonder! I heard delicious music around me, but I could not listen — all my soul was in my eyes. The Vision grew in stature and in splendour, and I stretched out my hands to it in prayerful appeal, conscious that I was in the shining Presence of some inhabitant of higher and more heavenly spheres than ours. The beautiful head, crowned with a diadem of flowers like white stars, bent towards me — the luminous eyes smiled into mine, and a voice sweeter than all sweet singing spoke to me in accents of thrilling tenderness.
“Thou hast done well!” it said— “Even so always approach Darkness without fear! Then shalt thou find the Light! Meet Sorrow with a trusting heart — so shalt thou discover an angel in disguise! God thinks no evil of thee — desires no wrong towards thee — has no punishment in store for thee — give Thyself into His Hand, and be at peace!”
Slowly, — like the colours of the sunset melting away into the grey of twilight, the Vision faded, — and when I recovered from the dazzled bewilderment into which I had been thrown, I found myself again in complete solitude and darkness — darkness unrelieved save by the dim light of the setting moon. I was for a long time unable to think of anything but the strange experience through which I had just passed — and I wondered what would have happened if instead of boldly advancing and confronting the dark Phantom which had so terrified me I had striven to escape from it? I believed, and I think I was right in my belief, that I should have found every door open, and every facility offered for a cowardly retreat had I chosen to make it. And then — everything would have been at an end! — I should have probably had to leave the House of Aselzion — and perhaps I too should have been marked with a black cross as a failure! Inwardly I rejoiced that so far I had not given way, and presently yielding to a drowsiness that began to steal over me, I undressed and went to bed, perfectly tranquil in mind and happy.
I must have slept several hours when I was awakened suddenly by the sound of voices conversing quite close to me — in fact, they seemed to be on the other side of the wall against which my bed was placed. They were men’s voices, and one or two were curiously harsh and irritable in tone. There was plenty of light in my room — for the night had passed, and as far as I could tell it seemed to be early morning. The voices went on, and I found myself compelled to listen.
“Aselzion is the cleverest humbug of his time,” — said one— “He is never so happy as when he can play the little god and dupe his worshippers!”
A laugh followed this sentence.
“He’s a marvel in his way,” — said another— “He must be a kind of descendant of some ancient Egyptian conjurer who had the trick of playing with fire. There is nothing in the line of so-called miracle he cannot do, — and of course those who are ignorant of his methods, and who are credulous themselves—”
“Like the woman here,” — interposed the first voice.
“Yes — like the woman here — little fool!” — and there was more laughter— “Fancying herself in love with Rafel Santoris!”
I sat up in bed, straining my ears now for every word. My cheeks were burning — my heart beating — I hardly knew what to think. There was a silence for two or three minutes — minutes that seemed like ages in my longing to hear more.
“Santoris always managed to amuse himself!” — said a thin, sharp voice with a mocking ring in its tone— “There was always some woman or other in love with him. Some woman he could take in easily, of course!”
“Not difficult to find!” — rejoined the first voice that had spoken, “Most women are blind where their affections are concerned.”
“Or their vanity!”
Another silence. I rose from my bed, shivering with a sense of sudden cold, and threw on my dressing-gown. Going to the window, I looked out on the fair expanse of the calm sea, silver-grey in the early dawn. How still and peaceful it looked! — what a contrast to the storm of doubt and terror that was beginning to rage within my own heart! Hush! The voices began again.
“Well, it’s all over now, and his theory of perpetuating life at pleasure has come to an untimely end. Where did the yacht go down?”
“Off Armadale, in Skye.”
For a moment I could not realise what had been said and tried to repeat both question and answer— ‘Where did the yacht go down?’ ‘Off Armadale, in Skye.’
What did it mean? — The yacht? Gone down? What yacht? They were talking of Santoris — of Rafel, my beloved! — MY lover, lost through ages of time and space, and found again only to be once more separated from me through my own fault — my own fault! — that was the horror of it — a horror I could not contemplate without an almost maddening anguish. I ran to the wall through which I had heard the voices talking and pressed my ear against it, murmuring to myself— “Oh no! — it is not possible! — not possible! God would not be so cruel!” For many minutes I heard nothing — and I was rapidly losing patience and self-control, when at last I heard the conversation resumed,— “He should never have risked his life in such a vessel” — said one of the voices in a somewhat gentler tone— “It was a wonderfully clever contrivance, but the danger of all that electricity was obvious. In a storm it would have no chance.”
“That has been thoroughly proved,” — answered another voice— “Just half a gale of wind with a dash of thunder and lightning, and down it went, with every soul on board.”
“Santoris might have saved himself. He was a fine swimmer.”
“Was he?”
Another silence. I thought my head would have burst with its aching agony of suspense, — my eyes were burning like hot coals with a weight of unshed tears. I felt that I could have battered down the wall between me and those torturing voices in my feverish desire to know the worst — the worst at all costs! If Rafel were dead — but no! — he could not die! He could not actually perish — but he could be parted from me as he had been parted before — and I — I should be alone again — alone as I had been all my life! And in my foolish pride I had voluntarily severed myself from him! — was this my punishment? More talking began, and I listened, like a criminal listening to a cruel sentence.
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 786