Lucas, like most people in a hostile environment, was exceedingly reserved, but something about the stranger drew while it repulsed him, and before he knew what he was doing, he had embarked upon the story of his invocation and the subsequent slug-tracks. The stranger fairly danced with glee, and almost without his consent, Lucas, the book, and the floor-cloth were hailed round to the stranger's lodgings ; there, huddled together inside the protecting circle, Lucas and the stranger read out the invocation in unison. So far as Lucas could see, nothing whatever happened, but the stranger, squinting horribly, announced that the Powers invoked had duly appeared in their appointed places, and thereupon embarked upon an elaborate, arm-waving incantation, for it seems it was one thing to call them up, and quite another to get rid of them. However, after some minutes of droning and manoeuvring, the stranger pronounced the room clear of the Presences, and they sat down to a supper of sausages served by a landlady as greasy as if she had been fried herself.
That was the first of many suppers. Lucas never overcame his repulsion for the man, but his studies fascinated him, and he would return night after night to hear his host discourse of Paracelsus, Roger Bacon, Robert Fludd, and the knowledge that had died with them. There was a miscellaneous collection of Theosophical and American New Thought books in the frowsy lodgings, and the keen-minded lad soon had gathered the gist of them and drawn his own conclusions. A very little experimenting sufficed to show him that there was something tangible lying behind all the verbiage, but he also saw that the heart of the matter was not set down in the books. If he wanted knowledge he would have to find someone who had that knowledge ; they might tell it, though they would not be willing to put it on paper. Again his whole nature gathered itself up into a demand for knowledge, and again its wish was granted, As he was raking in the bins of a second-hand book shop one evening, he fell into conversation with a man engaged in the same occupation, for there is a freemasonry of secondhand book shops, and many valuable friendships are formed there, for the poor scholar comes in search of the cheap book, and the rich scholar comes in search of the rare book, and their common scholarship serves as an introduction and lays the basis of a friendship.
His new acquaintance was a very different type of man to the purchaser of the floor-cloth. He was, in fact, none other than the old man with the white beard who always sat upon the chairman's left at the meetings of the council. Taking the measure of the shabby lad, he had decided that here was a mind of no ordinary calibre, and had taken him under his wing ; books were at the boy's disposal, and the stimulus of the conversation of a scholar had any stimulus been needed, and for the first time in his life, Lucas found himself in a congenial atmosphere. It was not long before initiation into the outer temple of the Fraternity followed, and Lucas found that that which he had so long sought was his, for good or evil.
Passed on from one introduction to another, Lucas made his way into Fleet Street and rose rapidly until his journalistic career was cut short by his appointment to the secretaryship of the Fraternity.
Then began the struggle between the idealism of the brethren and the fierce ambition of the man who was among them but not of them. Lucas told the story in vivid detail, never sparing himself, but using Veronica as a confessional for the relief of that which so long had been pent up within him without any means of expression.
Before the story drew to its close the moon had set, and darkness and dewfall drove them to take refuge in the house. Upon the step of the French window they paused, reluctant to leave the cool night for the close stuffiness of a lamp-lit room.
Veronica lifted her hand. “Listen,” she said, “Foxhounds.”
“Nonsense, you silly child,” said Lucas. “They don't hunt at this time of year, or at this time of night, either, for that matter.”
“But listen,” cried the girl, “They are quite close ; listen to the way they are baying. They have sighted their quarry.”
To her ears the bell-like notes of hounds hunting in view were coming nearer and nearer through the woods ; then she suddenly clutched her companion's arm.
“Mr. Lucas,” she cried, “They are not on the ground, they are overhead, in the air!”
She felt herself suddenly snatched through the window and the shutters slammed behind her. Lucas, ghastly-faced, stared at her for a moment without speaking, and then dropped into a chair by the table and buried his face in his arms.
Veronica, poor child, gazed at him, helpless and distressed ; the belling of the hounds that seemed to come from high overhead in the darkness sounded incredibly sinister, and the sight of the man bowed in distress over the table filled her with fear and foreboding even while it made her heart ache in sympathy for his uncomprehended trouble.
She laid a timid hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Lucas, what is it ? What is the matter ?”
For answer an arm reached out and encircled her and drew her to him, and he hid his face in the folds of her dress. For a long while they remained thus, the man rigid and motionless, the girl with her hand resting on his shoulder, every now and again stroking the rough tweed of his coat to convey the comfort she knew not how to express.
Finally, he raised his face, curiously changed, and looked at her.
“Those were the astral hunting-dogs,” he said. “The Hounds of Heaven. They hunt traitors with them.”
“Who hunt traitors ?” said Veronica.
“The brethren. And it was I who taught them to do it, too. And now they are hunting me. The new spirit in the Fraternity. They didn't like the new spirit in the Fraternity, but they make use of it all right when it suits them.”
“But, Mr. Lucas, they can't be hunting you with dogs!”
“No, they don't hunt with the dogs, they only use them to locate me ; it is the Ray they will use to kill me.”
“Kill you. They aren't going to kill you ?” Veronica's fingers drove into his shoulder as she clutched his coat in her distress. He looked up at her.
“Would you mind if they did, little Veronica ?”
“Oh, but it isn't possible, Mr. Lucas, it is all a bad dream.”
“It is no dream, Veronica. They mean to kill me, and they are quite right. I am better dead, and if it were not for you, I should be glad to go, but I do not want to go now I have known you.”
He rose to his feet and faced her, the pupils of his eyes narrowed to pinpoints, his expression very evil, as she had not seen it for many days past.
“But I am not going,” he said. “Not very far, at any rate.”
He felt in his pocket and produced a pen-knife and opened it, and, before she realized what he was about, drove the blade into her arm.
“Don't be frightened,” he said, as with a cry of mingled pain and terror she strove to escape from him. “I won't hurt you. I am only doing this in order that I may be able to keep in touch with you when I get over on the other side. It is the blood-link that savages use when they admit a stranger to the tribe, and it holds even through death. It is stronger than marriage.” Then, holding her in a grip she could not resist, he raised the bleeding arm to his mouth and sucked the blood.
She gazed at him in horror mingled with amazement. This was the old Lucas back again, the Lucas she had almost forgotten. He let go her arm, but retained his grip on her wrist so that she could not run away.
“Don't be angry with me,” he said. “I did not hurt you much, did I ?” Then he put both hands on her shoulders and looked straight into her eyes. “Listen, Veronica, I may have to go, but I shall not go far. I shall come back again, keep a look-out for me.”
She still looked at him speechlessly, the old mute terror beginning to rise in her eyes. He drew her’ to him, and laid his cheek against hers. “Be nice to me, Veronica. I may have to go soon.”
The tone of the man's voice, the ominous stillness of the silent house overcame Veronica, and she burst into tears and clung to him sobbing. For a while they stood thus, and then he gently released himself. “That is midnight striking, I must go. The
Lodge sits at midnight. Kiss me good-night, Veronica.”
Of her own free will she flung her arms round his neck and kissed him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
VERONICA'S SLEEP WAS TROUBLED BY DREAMS OF foreboding ; a shadow seemed to hang over the house like the shadow that hangs over the district that surrounds a prison when it is known that a man is to be hanged at dawn ; the tense vibration of the soul, keyed up for its departure, sets the keynote for all other consciousnesses within range of its vibrations, for no soul either lives or dies by itself ; society is solid, Nature has no breach of continuity, and aura interpenetrates with aura throughout the entire range of our race, and the agitation of a soul spreads in ripples throughout the sea of spirit till the impulse that gave rise to it is exhausted ; the ripples of an idea that is charged with emotion, be it good or bad, spread through space and time. This is the clue to a good many things.
So Veronica slept under a shadow. Through her dreams wandered the figure of Lucas, sometimes as the man she had known when she first went to live in the house in the Bloomsbury square, when he appeared to her as the experimenter appears to the animal undergoing vivisection—destruction incarnate—yet without malice ; a being of another order of creation, whose doings were actuated by motives so different from her own that they were completely incalculable. At other times he appeared as the man who had talked to her in the wood beside the river, opening up wide vistas of life that passed far beyond her horizon, and yet tempting her to go on and on as the white road tempts the traveller. But chiefly did he seem to her to be in some strange unfathomable need that he could not: explain, appealing to her for a help whose nature she could not divine. He would appear suddenly in the mazes of her dreams, holding out hands of entreaty, his eyes pools of blackness as they always were when the softer side of his nature was aroused ; she would strive towards him, but he always eluded her, and she would toil across vast spaces, like the steppes of Russia, anxiously seeking for him ; knowing him to be in trouble, knowing him to need her, and yet unable to find him. Out of this troubled sleep she would awake every hour, only to find the shadow of impending tragedy awaiting her upon the threshold of consciousness.
Just before dawn, however, a change occurred ; the shadow that had been vague, though portentous, suddenly gathered itself together into a definite shape ; it condensed, narrowed, lengthened into the form of a great cross-handled sword ; for a moment it drew back, as if to gain room for a blow, then it was thrust rapidly outward and downward with the force of some cosmic Arm behind it ; for a second it quivered, as if in the heart of a living creature, and then it was withdrawn, and Veronica, falling into a dead sleep, knew no more.
She slept that heavy, dreamless sleep that leaves the body drugged by its own poisons, and would probably have slept till noon if she had not been aroused by the old caretaker shaking her violently by the arm. The horrified expression of the old woman's face told her that something had happened, though her toothless mumblings were unintelligible ; but Veronica did not need to be told, she knew. Wrapping a kimono about her, she followed the old woman to Lucas's room.
He lay upon the bed, stretched straight out, flat upon his back, feet together and arms crossed upon his breast, left over right, like a sculptured figure upon a tomb ; the sunlight fell upon his face, and a drift of scarlet petals from the rambler that grew over the window had blown in and lay upon the white bedspread. The bedclothes were untossed, and the pillow bore the single hollow where the dark head rested. The room was utterly and completely still, and Veronica knew that she was alone in it ; as quietly and deliberately as a man takes off his clothes, Lucas had withdrawn from his body during the night and passed into the realm of shadows that to him was the plane of reality. Whether he had awaited the thrust of the sword, or whether he had unlatched the door and stepped forth, she did not know, all she knew was that this was not death as she had been taught to conceive it. Lucas had gone, leaving his body behind, as a hurried summons might have caused him to go and leave his luggage behind. Lucas was not there, the olive-skinned body which had served them as a meeting place would be used no more ; her friend had left, and she did not know his address, and whether he would communicate with her again was uncertain, but her friend had not ceased to be. She had no sense of grief or loss, but only of perplexity ; how would Lucas manage to re-establish contact with her ? Would he remember her, or would he forget ? There was no sense of tumult in the room, whatever battle Lucas had had to fight had been fought out before his departure ; he had been beaten, she knew that, for it was not his wish to go, but the war was not yet finished, he had only retreated to his second line of trenches ; with his departure the sounds of battle had died away, and now only the peace of emptiness brooded over the room.
For a long time she stood thus, looking down at the form upon the bed ; quite unshocked, only perplexed as to what the next move in the game might be. A sound of heavy footsteps upon the stairs roused her from her reverie, and she turned to face a man of the labourer type, whom the old woman had apparently summoned.
“Eh, mam,” he said. “This is a terrible business. Your pore ’usband——”
Her ringless hand caught his eye, and he paused uncertain, for the rustic mind is profoundly conventional. His intrusion grated upon every nerve in Veronica's body ; she wished to remain in the strange high atmosphere to which she had become habituated of late, a mental atmosphere that had the same effect upon the mind as the rare air of a mountain-top has upon the body. She did not wish to speak, that would have spoilt her atmosphere by putting her in touch with the person she had to speak to ; without a word she moved across the floor, pushed the man gently out of the door and shut it in his face ; then she seated herself in a chair beside the window, and sometimes she gazed out into the sunlit garden, and sometimes at the sunlit face upon the bed.
Presently her solitude was again interrupted. A man stood in the doorway surveying the room, in his hand the little brown bag of his calling. He looked from the face on the pillow, stilled by the peace of death, to the face of the woman by the window, who seemed to share equally in the peace. Then he stepped over to the bed and commenced to make his examination without speaking ; it seemed as if he dared not intrude upon that silence. But it was broken by Veronica. The man's action galvanized her into activity, and she was instantly upon the defensive.
“I do not wish him touched,” she said, speaking for the first time that day.
The newcomer replied gently : “I am afriad he must be touched. There are many things we shall have to do, but you may be quite sure we shall do the very best we can for him, and for you, too. Tell me, are you any relation of his ?”
“I am his secretary,” said Veronica.
“Oh,” said the doctor. “Well, anyway, we will do the best we can for you. But do you know where his relations may be found ?”
“No,” said Veronica. “I do not think he has any.”
“You have not been here many days, have you ? Where were you before you came here ?” Veronica told him.
“And what were you doing there ?”
For one instant, Veronica was about to tell him, and then she knew that she could not ; she had touched the hidden side of things and he had not, she could not speak to him about them, a great gulf was fixed between them ; he was an outsider, he dwelt among the surfaces of things, but she was an initiate, she had passed behind the veil and seen the causes at work; henceforth she belonged to the hidden side of things, she was only a stranger and a sojourner in the world of appearances, and could form no tie, make no friend, receive no sympathy, save from those who saw life as she now saw it. She must walk alone, save for those of her own kind, and the doctor was not of these ; she could not tell him anything, he would not understand.
So she fell back upon bald statements of facts. She was in Lucas's employment. He had left his own employment and come down here, bringing her with him. She did not know why he had left his employment ; she did not know who his employers wer
e, some sort of a learned society, she thought ; at any rate, if the doctor wrote to the Bloomsbury house they would probably give an account of themselves ; it was no business of hers, she was well paid, and asked no questions. No, she was no relation of Mr. Lucas's, she had already told him so once. No, she did not know what his Christian name was. No, nor his age. He signed documents J. Lucas. No, she did not know what the J stood for, it might be James or it might be John, she had no idea, it was no business of hers, she had never troubled her head about it. She had always addressed him as Mr. Lucas. No, she could throw no light on the cause of his death, he had been quite well the night before. He had never complained of any illness, though he had spoken recently of feeling tired. The doctor grasped at this statement as the first tangible thing that had been offered him, and Veronica, as he did not ask, did not feel it incumbent upon her to inform him as to the cause of Lucas's exhaustion ; those who deal with the hidden side of things stand apart from their race, and they settle their differences among themselves by their own methods. Veronica did not look upon Lucas as murdered ; she knew that he had been forced to abandon his body, but she was quite confident of his ability to look after himself, and pending instructions from him, she would take no action. Finally the doctor coaxed her out of the room and handed her over to the caretaker, who, poor old soul, fussed round her, striving to express her sympathy by inarticulate mumblings.
The long afternoon hours passed slowly, leaving the girl in a half-dreamy state ; she could not realize that the man who had filled her whole horizon during the past months lay dead upstairs, and that, whatever the future might hold for her, that phase of her life had closed for ever. To her consciousness, a sudden change in their plans had occurred ; a check, it might be, but not a finish ; the next move she could not conjecture, but the game was most certainly not ended, and she had a sense of expectancy, of waiting for something to happen.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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