The world scarcely estimates the service rendered by those who have
unlocked the gates of sensation by the revelations of science; and
yet it is to the clear perception of things which we obtain by the
study of nature’s laws that we are enabled to appreciate her varied
gifts. The scientific journals of the next month contained wonderful
and _wondering_ (?) accounts of the now celebrated case,--re-animation
after seeming death. Reuel’s lucky star was in the ascendant; fame
and fortune awaited him; he had but to grasp them. Classmates who had
once ignored him now sought familiar association, or else gazed upon
him with awe and reverence. “How did he do it?” was the query in each
man’s mind, and then came a stampede for all scientific matter bearing
upon animal magnetism.
How often do we look in wonder at the course of other men’s lives,
whose paths have diverged so widely from the beaten track of our own,
that, unable to comprehend the one spring upon which, perhaps, the
whole secret of the diversity hinged, we have been fain to content
ourselves with summing up our judgment in the common phrase, “Well,
it’s very strange; what odd people there are in the world, to be sure!”
Many times this trite sentence was uttered during the next few months,
generally terminating every debate among medical students in various
colleges.
Unmindful of his growing popularity, Reuel devoted every moment of his
spare time to close study of his patient. Although but a youth, the
scientist might have passed for any age under fifty, and life for him
seemed to have taken on a purely mechanical aspect since he had become
first in this great cause. Under pretended indifference to public
criticism, throbbed a heart of gold, sensitive to a fault; desiring
above all else the well-being of all humanity; his faithfulness to
those who suffered amounted to complete self-sacrifice. Absolutely free
from the vices which beset most young men of his age and profession,
his daily life was a white, unsullied page to the friend admitted to
unrestricted intercourse, and gave an irresistible impetus to that
friendship, for Livingston could not but admire the newly developed
depths of nobility which he now saw unfolding day by day in Reuel’s
character. Nor was Livingston far behind the latter in his interest in
all that affected Dianthe. Enthused by its scientific aspect, he vied
with Reuel in close attention to the medical side of the case, and
being more worldly did not neglect the material side.
He secretly sought out and obtained the address of the manager of the
jubilee singers and to his surprise received the information that Miss
Lusk had left the troupe to enter the service of a traveling magnetic
physician--a woman--for a large salary. They (the troupe) were now in
Europe and had heard nothing of Miss Lusk since.
After receiving this information by cable, Livingston sat a long time
smoking and thinking: people often disappeared in a great city, and
the police would undoubtedly find the magnetic physician if he applied
to them. Of course that was the sensible thing to do, but then the
publicity, and he hated that for the girl’s sake. Finally he decided
to compromise the matter by employing a detective. With him to decide
that it was expedient to do a certain thing was the same as to act;
before night the case was in the hands of an expert detective who
received a goodly retainer. Two weeks from that day--it was December
twenty-fourth--before he left his boarding place, the detective was
announced. He had found the woman in a small town near Chicago. She
said that she had no knowledge of Miss Lusk’s whereabouts. Dianthe
had remained with her three weeks, and at the end of that time had
mysteriously disappeared; she had not heard of her since.
Livingston secured the woman’s name and address, gave the man a second
check together with an admonition to keep silence concerning Miss Lusk.
That closed the episode. But of his observations and discoveries,
Aubrey said nothing, noting every phase of this strange happening in
silence.
Strangely enough, none of the men that had admired the colored artist
who had enthralled their senses by her wonderful singing a few weeks
before, recognized her in the hospital waif consecrated to the service
of science. Her incognito was complete.
The patient was now allowed the freedom of the corridors for exercise,
and was about her room during the day. The returns of the trance-state
were growing less regular, although she frequently fell into
convulsions, thereby enduring much suffering, sometimes lying for hours
in a torpid state. Livingston had never happened to be present on these
occasions, but he had heard of them from eye-witnesses. One day he
entered the room while one was occurring. His entrance was unnoticed as
he approached lightly over the uncarpeted floor, and stood transfixed
by the scene before him.
Dianthe stood upright, with closed eyes, in the middle of the room.
Only the movement of her bosom betrayed breath. The other occupants
of the room preserved a solemn silence. She addressed Reuel, whose
outstretched arms were extended as if in blessing over her head.
“Oh! Dearest friend! hasten to cure me of my sufferings. Did you not
promise at that last meeting? You said to me, ‘You are in trouble and I
can help you.’ And I answered, ‘The time is not yet.’ Is it not so?”
“Yes,” replied Reuel. “Patience a while longer; all will be well with
you.”
“Give me the benefit of your powerful will,” she continued. “I know
much but as yet have not the power to express it: I see much clearly,
much dimly, of the powers and influences behind the Veil, and yet I
cannot name them. Some time the full power will be mine; and mine shall
be thine. In seven months the sick will be restored--she will awake to
worldly cares once more.” Her voice ceased; she sank upon the cot in a
recumbent position. Her face was pale; she appeared to sleep. Fifteen
minutes passed in death-like stillness, then she extended her arms,
stretched, yawned, rubbed her eyes--awoke.
Livingston listened and looked in a trance of delight, his keen
artistic sense fully aroused and appreciative, feeling the glamour of
her presence and ethereal beauty like a man poring over a poem that he
has unexpectedly stumbled upon, losing himself in it, until it becomes,
as it were, a part of himself. He felt as he watched her that he was
doing a foolish thing in thus exposing himself to temptation while his
honor and faith were pledged to another. But then, foolishness is so
much better than wisdom, particularly to a man in certain stages of
life. And then he fell to questioning if there could be temptation for
him through this girl--he laughed at the thought and the next instant
dismay covered him with confusion, for like a flash he realized that
the mischief was already done.
As we have already hinted, Aubrey was no saint; he knew that fickleness
was in his blood; he had never denied himself anything that he wanted
very much in his whole life. Would he grow to want this beautiful woman
very much? Time would tell.
* * * * *
It was Christmas-time--a good, sensible seasonable day before
Christmas, with frost and ice in abundance, and a clear, bright,
wintry sky above. Boston was very full of people--mostly suburban
visitors--who were rushing here and there bent on emptying their purses
on the least provocation. Good-nature prevailed among the pedestrians;
one poor wretch stood shivering, with blue, wan face, on the edge of
the sidewalk, his sightless eyes staring straight before him, trying
to draw a tune from a consumptive violin--the embodiment of despair.
He was, after all, in the minority, to judge by the hundreds of
comfortably-clad forms that hurried past him, breathing an atmosphere
of peace and prosperity.
Tomorrow the church bells would ring out tidings that another Christmas
was born, bidding all rejoice.
This evening, at six o’clock, the two friends went to dine in a
hotel in a fashionable quarter. They were due to spend the night and
Christmas day at the Vance house. As they walked swiftly along with
the elastic tread of youth, they simultaneously halted before the blind
musician and pressed into his trembling hand a bountiful gift; then
they hurried away to escape his thanks.
At the hotel Livingston called for a private dining room, and after the
coffee was served, he said:
“Tell me, Briggs, what is the link between you and your patient? There
is a link, I am sure. Her words while in the trance made a great
impression upon me.”
There was a pause before Reuel replied in a low tone, as he rested his
arm on the opposite side of the table and propped his head up on his
hand:
“Forgive me, Aubrey!”
“For what?”
“This playing with your confidence. I have not been entirely frank with
you.”
“Oh, well! you are not bound to tell me everything you know. You surely
have the right to silence about your affairs, if you think best.”
“Listen, Aubrey. I should like to tell you all about it. I would feel
better. What you say is true; there is a link; but I never saw her in
the flesh before that night at the Temple. With all our knowledge,
Aubrey, we are but barbarians in our ideas of the beginning, interim
and end of our creation. Why were we created? for whose benefit? can
anyone answer that satisfactorily?”
“‘Few things are hidden from the man who devotes himself earnestly and
seriously to the solution of a mystery,’ Hawthorne tells us,” replied
Aubrey. “Have not you proved this, Reuel?”
“Well, yes--or, we prove rather, that our solution but deepens the
mystery or mysteries. I have surely proved the last. Aubrey, I look
natural, don’t I? There is nothing about me that seems wrong?”
“Wrong! No.”
“Well, if I tell you the truth you will call me a lunatic. You have
heard of people being haunted by hallucinations?” Aubrey nodded. “I
am one of those persons. Seven weeks ago I saw Dianthe first, but not
in the flesh. Hallow-eve I spoke to her in the garden of the haunted
house, but not in the flesh. I thought it strange to be sure, that this
face should lurk in my mind so much of the time; but I never dreamed
what a crisis it was leading up to. The French and German schools of
philosophy have taught us that going to places and familiar passages in
books, of which we have had no previous knowledge, is but a proof of
Plato’s doctrine--the soul’s transmigration, and reflections from the
invisible world surrounding us.
“Finally a mad desire seized me to find that face a living reality that
I might love and worship it. Then I saw her at the Temple--I found her
at the hospital--_in the flesh!_ My desire was realized.”
“And having found her, what then?” He waited breathlessly for the reply.
“I am mightily pleased and satisfied. I will cure her. She is charming;
and if it is insanity to be in love with her, I don’t care to be sane.”
Livingston did not reply at once. His face was like marble in its
impassiveness. The other’s soft tremulous tones, fearless yet moist
eyes and broken sentences, appeared to awaken no response in his
breast. Instead, a far-off gleam came into his blue eyes. At last he
broke the silence with the words:
“You name it well; it is insanity indeed, for you to love this woman.”
“Why?” asked his friend, constrainedly.
“Because it is not for the best.”
“For her or me?”
“Oh, for _her_----!” he finished the sentence with an expressive
gesture.
“I understand you, Aubrey. I should not have believed it of you. If it
were one of the other fellows; but you are generally so charitable.”
“You forget your own words: ‘Tramps, stray dogs and Negroes----,’” he
quoted significantly. “Then there is your professional career to be
considered,--you mean honorable, do you not?----How can you succeed if
it be hinted abroad that you are married to a Negress?”
“I have thought of all that. I am determined. I will marry her in spite
of hell itself! Marry her before she awakens to consciousness of her
identity. I’m not unselfish; I don’t pretend to be. There is no sin
in taking her out of the sphere where she was born. God and science
helping me, I will give her life and love and wifehood and maternity
and perfect health. God, Aubrey! you, with all you have had of life’s
sweetness, petted idol of a beautiful world, you who will soon feel
the heart-beats of your wife against your breast when lovely Molly is
eternally bound to you, what do you know of a lonely, darkened life
like mine? I have not the manner nor the charm which wins women. Men
like me get love from them which is half akin to pity, when they get
anything at all. It is but the shadow. This is my opportunity for
happiness; I seize it. Fate has linked us together and no man and no
man’s laws shall part us.”
Livingston sipped his wine quietly, intently watching Reuel’s face.
Now he leaned across the table and stretched out his hand to Briggs;
his eyes looked full into his. As their hands met in a close clasp,
he whispered a sentence across the board. Reuel started, uttered an
exclamation and flushed slowly a dark, dull red.
“How--where--how did you know it?” he stammered.
“I have known it since first we met; but the secret is safe with me.”