“You are right!” he said. “This ancient problem demands my closest study. And yet it is no problem at all, but only an exposition of my inmost thought!” He paused, — then: “Come here, Diana May!” he continued —
I may as well begin with you. Come and sit close beside me.”
She obeyed. With his eyes fixed upon her face, he went on:
“You, as a woman of superior intelligence, have never supposed, I am sure, that I have secured your services merely to decipher and copy out old Latin script? No! — I see by your look that you have fully realized that such is not all the actual need I have of you. I have waited to find out, by a study of your character and temperament, when and how I could state plainly my demands. I think I need not wait much longer. Now this ancient treatise on ‘Problems,’ obscure and involved in wording as it is, helps me to the conviction that I am on the right track of discovery. It treats of Light. ‘The problem of the Fourth, Sixth and Seventh,’ with its ‘ultimate culmination of the Eighth’ is the clue. In that ‘ultimate culmination’ is the Great Secret!”
His eyes flashed, — his features were transfigured by an inward fervour.
“Have the patience to follow me but a little,” he continued. “You have sense and ability and you can decipher a meaning from an apparent chaos of words. Consider, then, that within the limitations of this rolling, ball, the earth, we are permitted to recognize seven tones of music; and seven tones of colour. The existing numbers of the creative sum, so far as we can count them, are Seven and Five, which added together make Twelve, itself a ‘creative’ number. Man recognizes in himself Five Senses, Touch, Taste. Sight. Hearing. Smell — but as a matter of fact he has Seven, for he should include Intuition and Instinct, which are more important than all the others as the means of communicating with his surroundings. Now ‘the culmination of the Eighth’ is neither Five nor Seven nor Twelve, — it is the close or rebound of the Octave — the end of the leading Seven — the point where a fresh Seven begins. It is enough for humanity to have arrived at this for the present — for we have not yet sounded the heights or depths of even the first Seven radiations which we all agree to recognize. We admit seven tones of music, and seven tones of colour, but what of our seven rays of light? We have the ‘violet ray,’ the ‘X ray’ — and a newly discovered ray showing the working bodily organism of man, — but there are Seven Rays piercing the density of ether, which are intended for the use and benefit of the human being, and which are closely connected with his personality, his needs and his life. Seven Rays! — and it is for us to prove and test them all! — which is the very problem you have brought to my notice in this old Latin document: ‘the Fourth, Sixth and Seventh, culminating in the Eighth.’”
He put the papers carefully together on the table beside him, and turned to Diana.
“You have understood me?”
She bent her head.
“Perfectly!”
“You recall the incidents of the first day of your arrival here? — your brief visit to my laboratory, and what you saw there?”
She smiled.
“Do you think I could ever forget?”
“Well! — that being so I do not see why I should wait,” he said, musingly, and speaking more to himself than to her. “There is no reason why I should not begin at once the task which is bound to be long and difficult! My ‘subject’ is at my disposal — I am free to operate!”
He rose and went to an iron-bound cabinet which he unlocked and took from thence a small phial containing what appeared to be a glittering globule like an unset jewel, which moved restlessly to and fro in its glass prison. He held it up before her eyes.
“Suppose I ask you to swallow this?” he said.
For all answer, she stretched out her hand to take the phial. He laughed.
“Upon my word, you are either very brave or very reckless!” he exclaimed—” I hardly know what to think of you! But you shall not be deceived. This is a single “drop of the liquid you saw in process of distillation within its locked-up cell, — it has a potent, ay, a terrific force and may cause you to swoon. On the other hand it may have quite the contrary effect. It should re-vivify — it may disintegrate, — but I cannot guarantee its action. I know its composition, but, mark you! — I have never tested it on any human creature. I cannot try it on myself — for if it robbed me of my capacity to work, I have no one to carry on my researches, — and I would not try it on my mother, — she is too old, and her life is too precious to me—”
“Well, my life is precious to nobody,” said Diana, calmly. “Not even to myself. Shall I take your ‘little dram’ now?”
Dimitrius looked at her in amazement that was almost admiration.
“If you would rather wait a few days, or even weeks longer, do so,” he answered. “I will not persuade you to any act of this kind in a hurry. For it is only the first test of many to come.”
“And if I survive the first I shall be good for the last,” said Diana, merrily. “So come, Doctor Féodor! — give me the mysterious ‘drop’ of liquid fire!”
Her face was bright with animation and courage — but his grew pale and haggard with sudden fear. As he still hesitated, she sprang up and took the phial from his hand.
“Diana! Let me hold you!” he cried, in real agitation — and he caught her firmly round the waist—” Believe me — there is danger! — But — if you will —— — —”
“One, two, three, and away!” said she, and taking the tiny glass stopper from the phial she swallowed its contents.
“One, two, three, and away!” it was, indeed! — for she felt herself whirled off into a strange, dark, slippery vortex of murderous cold — which suddenly changed to blazing heat — then again to cold, — she saw giant pinnacles of ice, and enormous clouds of flame rolling upon her as from a burning sky — then, she seemed to be flying along over black chasms and striving to escape from a whirlwind which enveloped her as though she were a leaf in a storm, ‘till at last no thought, no personal consciousness remained to her, and, giving up all resistance, she allowed herself to fall, — down, down ever so far! — when, all at once a vital freshness and elasticity possessed her as though she had been suddenly endowed with wings, and she came to herself, standing upright as before, with Dimitrius holding her in the strong grasp of one arm.
“Well!” she said, aware that she trembled violently, but otherwise not afraid: “It wasn’t bad! Not much taste about it!”
She saw that he was deadly pale — his eyes were misty with something like tears in them.
“You brave woman!” he said, in a low tone—” You daring soul! — But — are you sure you are all right? — Can you stand alone?”
She drew away from his hold.
“Of course! Firm as a rock!”
He looked at her wonderingly, — almost with a kind of terror.
“Thank God!” he murmured—” thank God I have not killed you! If I had —— !”
He dropped into a chair and buried his face in his hands.
Still trembling a little as she was, she felt deeply touched by his evident emotion, and with that sudden, new and surprising sense of lightness and buoyancy upon her she ran to him and impulsively knelt down beside him.
“Don’t think of it, please!” she said, entreatingly, her always sweet voice striking a soothing note on the air—” Don’t worry! All is well! I’m as alive as I can be. If you had killed me I quite understand you would have been very sorry, — but it really wouldn’t have mattered — in the interests of science! The only trouble for you would have been to get rid of my body, — bodies are always such a nuisance! But with all your knowledge I daresay you could have ground me into a little heap of dust!” And she laughed, quite merrily. “Please don’t sit in such an attitude of despair! — you’re not half cold-hearted enough for a scientist!”
He raised his head and looked at her.
“That’s true!” he said, and smiled. “But — I wonder what has made you the strange woman you are? No
fear of the unknown! — No hesitation, even when death might be the result of your daring, — surely there never was one of your sex like you!”
“Oh, yes, I’m sure there have been, and are many!’ she answered, rising from her knees, and smiling in cheerful response to his happier expression: “Women are queer things! — and there’s a part of their ‘queerness’ which men never understand. When they’ve lost everything — I mean everything which they, with their particular nature and sentiment, regard as precious, the chief of these being love, which you don’t think matters much to anybody, they get reckless. Some of them take to drink — others to drugs — others to preaching in the streets — others to an openly bad life, — or to any crooked paths leading away and as far as possible from their spoilt womanhood. Men are to blame for it, — entirely to blame for treating them as toys instead of as friends — men are like children who break the toys they have done with. And a woman who has beer broken in this way has ‘no fear of the unknown’ because the known is bad enough, — and she does not ‘hesitate to face death,’ being sure it cannot be worse than life. A any rate, that’s how I feel — or, rather, how I have felt just now I’m extraordinarily glad to be alive!”
“That is because you are conscious of a narrow escape,’ he said, with a keen glance at her. “Isn’t it so?”
She considered for a moment.
“No, I don’t believe it is!” she replied. “It’s something quite different to that. I’m not in the least aware that I’ve had a narrow escape! — but I do know that I fee as happy as a schoolgirl out for her first holiday! That’s rather an odd sensation for a woman ‘of mature years!’ Oh, I know what it is! It’s the globule!”
She laughed, and clapped her hands.
“That’s it! Doctor, you may thank your star’s that your first test has succeeded! Here I am, living! — and something is dancing about in my veins like a new sort of air and a new sort of sunshine! It’s a lovely feeling!”
He rose from the chair where he had thrown himself in his momentary dejection, and approaching her, took her hand and laid his fingers on her pulse. He had entirely recovered his usual air of settled and more or less grave composure.
“Yes,” he said, after a pause, “your pulse is firmer — and younger. So far, so good! Now, obey me. Go and lie down in your own room for a couple of hours. Sleep, if you can, — but, at any rate, keep in a recumbent position. You have a charming view from your windows, — and even in a grey autumn twilight like this, there is something soothing in the sight of the Alpine snow-line. Rest absolutely quiet till dinner time. And — afterwards — you will tell me how you feel, — or, rather, I shall be able to judge for myself.” He released her hand, but before doing so, kissed it with a Russian’s usual courtesy. “I repeat — you are a brave woman.! — as brave as any philosopher that ever swallowed hemlock! And, if your courage holds out sufficiently to endure the whole of my experiment, I shall owe you the triumph and gratitude of a life-time!”
CHAPTER XII
ONCE in her own pretty suite of rooms, Diana locked the door of the entresol, so that no one might enter by chance She wished to be alone that she might collect her thoughts and meditate On the “narrow escape” which she had experienced without actually realizing any danger. Her sitting-room was grey with the creeping twilight, and she went to the window and opened it, leaning out to breathe the snowy chillness of the air which came direct from the scarcely visible mountains. A single pale star twinkled through the misty atmosphere, and the stillness of approaching night had in it a certain heaviness and depression. With arms folded on the window-sill she looked as far as her eyes could see — far enough to discern the glimmering white of the Savoy Alps which at the moment presented merely an outline, as of foam on the lip of a wave. After a few minutes she drew back and shut the window, pulling the warm tapestry curtains across it, and pressing the button which flooded her room with softly-shaded electric light. Then she remembered — she had been told to rest in a recumbent position, so, in obedience to this order she lay down on the comfortable sofa provided for her use, stretching herself out indolently with a sense of delightful ease. She was not at all in a “lazing” mood, and though she tried to go to sleep she could not.
“I’m broad awake,” she said to herself. “And I want to think! It isn’t a case of ‘mustn’t think’ now — I feel I must think!”
And the first phase of her mental effort was her usual one of “wonder.” Why had she so much confidence in Dimitrius? How was it that she was quite ready to sacrifice herself to his “experiment?”
“It seems odd,” she argued— “and yet, it isn’t. Because the fact is plain, that I have nothing to live for. If I had any hope of ever being a ‘somebody’ or of doing anything really useful of course I should care for my life, but, to be quite honest with myself, I know I’m of no use to anyone, except to — him! And I’m getting a thousand a year and food and a home — a lovely home! — so why shouldn’t I trust him? If — in the end — his experiment kills me — as he seemed to think it might, just now — well! — one can only die once! — and so far as the indifferent folks at home know or believe, I’m dead already!”
She laughed, and nestled her head cosily back on the silken sofa-cushions. “Oh, I’m all right, I’m sure! Whatever happens will be for the best. I’m certainly not afraid. And I feel so well!”
She closed her eyes — then opened them again, like a child who has been told to go to sleep and who gives a mischievous bright glance at its nurse to show that it is wide awake. Moving one little slim foot after the other she looked disapprovingly at her shoes.
“Ugly things!” she said. “They were bought in the Devonshire village — flat and easy to get about the house with — suitable for a housekeeping woman ‘of mature years!’ I don’t like them now! They don’t seem to suit my feet at all! If I had really ‘turned up my toes to the daisies’ when I swallowed that mysterious globule these shoes would not have added to the grace of my exit!” Amused at herself she let her thoughts wander as they would — and it was curious how they flew about like butterflies, settling only on the brightest flowers of fancy. She had grown into a habit of never looking forward to anything — but just now she found herself keenly anticipating a promised trip to Davos during the winter, whither she was to accompany Dimitrius and his mother. She was a graceful skater — and a skating costume seemed suggested — why not send her measurements to Paris and get the latest? A pleasant vision of rich, royal blue cloth trimmed with dark fur flitted before her — then she fancied she could hear her father’s rasping voice remarking: “Choose something strong and serviceable — linsey-woolsey or stuff of that kind — your mother used to buy linsey-woolsey for her petticoats, and they never wore out. You should get that sort of material — never mind how it looks! — only very young people go in for mere fashion!” She indulged in a soft little giggle of mirth at this reminiscence of “Pa,” and then with another stretch out of her body, and a sense of wannest, deepest comfort, she did fall asleep at last — a sleep as sweet and dreamless as that of a child.
She was roused by a knocking at the door of the entresol, and sprang up, remembering she had locked it. Running to open it, she found the femme-de-chambre, Rose, standing outside.
“I am so sorry to disturb Madame,” said the girl, smiling.” But there is only now a quarter of an hour to dinnertime, and Monsieur Dimitrius sent me to tell you this, in case you were asleep.”
“I was asleep!” and Diana twisted up a tress of her hair which had become loosened during her slumber. “How dreadfully lazy of me! Thank you, Rose! I won’t be ten minutes dressing.”
While she spoke she noticed that Rose looked at her very curiously and intently, but made no remark. Passing into the rooms, the maid performed her usual duties of drawing blinds, closing shutters and turning on the electric lights in the bedroom, — then, before going, she said:
“Sleep is a great restorer, Madame! You look so much better for an afte
rnoon’s rest!”
With that she retired, — and Diana hurried her toilette. She was in such haste, to get out of her daily working garb into a “rest gown” that she never looked in the mirror till she began to arrange her hair, and then she became suddenly conscious of an alteration in herself that surprised her. What was it? It was very slight — almost too subtle to be defined, — and she could not in the least imagine where the change had occurred, but there was undoubtedly a difference between the face that had looked at her from that same mirror some hours previously and the one that looked at her now, It was no more than the lightest touch given by some great painter’s brush to a portrait — a touch which improves and “lifts” the whole expression. However, she had no time to wait and study the mystery, — minutes were flying, and the silver arrow of the warning dial pointed to the figure eight, and its attendant word “Dinner.” Even as she looked, the chime struck the hour, — so she almost jumped into a gown of pale blue, chosen because it was easy to put on, and pinning a few roses from one of the vases in her room among the lace at her neck, she ran downstairs just in time to see Dimitrius taking his mother on his arm, as he always did when there were no guests, into the dining-room. She followed quickly with the murmured apology: “I’m so sorry to be late!”
“Never mind, my dear,” said Madame Dimitrius.
“Féodor tells me you have had some hard work to do, and that he wished you to rest. I hope you slept?”
But, as she put the question, her eyes opened widely in a sudden expression of wonderment, and she gazed at Diana as though she were something very strange and new.
“Yes, she must have slept, I think,” put in Dimitrius quietly and with marked emphasis. “She looks thoroughly rested.”
But Madame Dimitrius was still preoccupied by thoughts that bewildered her. She could hardly restrain herself while the servant Vasho was in the room, and the moment he left it to change the courses, she began:
“Féodor, don’t you see a great difference—”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 848