HIS FIRST INCARNATION.
Early the next morning Julio Murillo was unlocking the side door which
led into his quiet study adjoining the reception-room of the great
scientist, Guillermo Gonzales, when he was surprised to hear some one,
evidently a stranger, call him by his given name. He pushed the door he
had been unlocking open, and as he stepped inside, faced the person who
addressed him.
A tall, fair-haired, rather masculine looking woman stood before him
with extended hand.
“Good morning, Señor Julio; good morning. It is with much pleasure I
find you so well and so famous. My card, señor.”
“Pass, señorita, pass. You do me great honor. Be seated. In what way can
I be of service to you?”
He scanned the card closely, as he wheeled a comfortable armchair in
front of a large window which he opened, and repeated: “Be seated.”
The fair visitor stood in front of the open window some minutes before
taking the proffered chair, gazing with great admiration at the rare and
costly flowers and foliage, growing in the _patio_.
She seemed to be in no hurry to tell the object of her visit, if she had
an object, neither did she seem to be a stranger to the scene around
her.
Julio Murillo stood a little at her back, his eyes riveted upon her
card.
“Marriet Motuble! Marriet Motuble,” he mentally exclaimed. “The name
means nothing to me; it does not even give me food for reflection. But
the magnificent señorita fills me with unpleasant memories of the past.
Can it be that she was in anyway associated in times gone by
with—with——”
His mental comments were suddenly brought to an end by Miss Motuble
seating herself, at the same moment drawing a chair close to the one she
occupied, and saying: “Sit here by me, friend Julio. I want to study
your face while I talk to you. I am impressed that we will not long be
alone, and as there are many things I have to say that must be known to
no one but yourself, I will delay no longer telling them.”
Julio felt the truth of her statements, and bent his head toward her, as
he seated himself by her side, that he might not lose a word she spoke.
“You are the son of Señora Suzzan Carriles, of Colima. Your father was a
priest, while the husband of your mother was Señor Carlos Carriles, a
man of quiet manners, but strong feeling and ardent sentiment when
convinced or aroused.
“Your strong resemblance to the priest, your father, was so noticeable
when you reached the age of six years, that your mother’s guilt needed
no accuser, and in a fit of religious enthusiasm she made a confession
of her guilt to her husband.
“Señor Carriles’ sympathies in your behalf were greatly aroused. He
sought the priest, a man of much wealth and prominence in the State, and
told him of his knowledge of the great sin he and your mother had
committed.
“Under the threat of publicly making known his sins to the clergy and
State, he agreed to take you under his guidance and to rear you in a
manner befitting his own son.
“This promise he religiously kept for five years. Up to that age you
were in ignorance of your birth. The priest became very ill and fearing
death near by, made a full confession to you.
“He afterward recovered, and seriously regretted having made you his
confidant.
“Instead of treating you as a beloved son, his love had during his short
illness turned to hate and he compelled you to act in the capacity of
the most common menial. You rebelled at the change affairs had taken,
but by so doing you only made your existence the more intolerable.
“A lady tourist came to your city one day, and visited the monastery
where you lived, it being one of the many places of interest in the
city.
“She overheard a conversation between yourself and the priest, wherein
he threatened to murder you if you made known his treatment of you and
the relation he bore to you.
“This same lady met you on the street some days later, and took you at
once to the palace of the kind and high-minded Governor.
“To him she told what she knew concerning you, and besought the noble
leader of the people to allow you to speak, which he did.
“In a very quiet way he had the priest arraigned before the Church and
State, with the result of the priest’s condemnation and sentence of
life.
“He was found dead the next day after he was acquainted with the court’s
decision.
“Half of his large fortune was given to you by the Church and State,
acknowledging you, thereby, his legal heir. Is there anything I have
left out of this recital which you recall, Julio?”
Julio straightened himself in the chair, the first move he had made
since Marriet Motuble began her recitation, and said:
“The gist of the subject you have told perfectly. A few minor things
happened which I will later recount. How natural you seem to me now. How
astonishingly clear you have related that incident which happened one
hundred and fifty years ago, and which caused me to go abroad to study;
with the result that I departed from the faith of my father.
“You caused much trouble then, but I have to thank you for getting me
out of the dreadful mire of ignorance into which I was born and where
the priest held me.
“I will repeat your own words at that time. You said: ‘I will make
things warm for the person who commits crimes, and takes advantage of
the inexperienced, young or aged.’ Crimes are various, however. Your
success in that life was not without laurels; in _this_, I hope your
mission is different and on a higher plane. You did much harm. You are
now here to aid us in securing proof which will eventually bring the
‘Plunger from Kansas’ to meet justice—_for spite_. He went out of the
other life like a flash—whether by his own hand or by the hand of some
wrathy creditor, man never knew.
“The many homes made desolate by his dishonest schemes must eventually
be compensated for their losses. _Time_ is the great adjuster of all
wrongs; and the Plunger’s time is not far distant.”
“Your statements are true, my friend Julio, in every detail. You have
partially only guessed my mission to Chihuahua, however. Yes, I did
harm. I am searching for one I loved in that life, who suffered much
from the abuse of certain countrymen of her own, then residing in
Chihuahua. Aye, from myself.”
“In truth,” said Julio, “I am certain you will locate her in this city
before long.”
“The great circle in which Time moves shows our planet nearing its
perihelion, and for the next ninety days the great scientist, Guillermo
Gonzales, and his able assistant, to whom I am now speaking, will be
able to demonstrate to the world the effect of your great discovery,
‘The Liquid from the Sun’s Rays,’ or perhaps better known as ‘Memory
Fluid,’” said Miss Motuble.
“Aye,” assented Julio. “No such means has ever been in the hands of man,
by which he can effectually bring the perpetrators of crimes to
justice.”
“And it matters not,” continued Miss Motuble, “of how long standing the
crime is.”
“Not in the least; not in the least,” continued her host. “In fact, we
are thinking of trying to run down every person who participated in that
ancient and inhuman crime of silencing the musical voice of Lot’s wife.”
“If that is done,” laughed Miss Motuble, “the truth of the story will be
proven; but to spend one’s time trying to prove such an absurd story is
a sin. Besides I admit that the story is of too long standing, for you
and me to interest ourselves in it. I am here for the sole purpose of
making existence warm for the many I knew in other lives, who failed to
get justice meted out to them then. Indirectly only am I connected with
the punishment of the ‘Plunger from Kansas.’ Yet revenge prompts the
motive.”
Further conversation between them was interrupted by the entrance of
first, a little girl with beautiful flowers to sell, followed by Mr.
Niksab, and two other men, one an elderly, bald-headed, dissipated
looking man, who carried his hand on the side of his cheek. His face was
spotted and his mouth stood open.
His surprise was very noticeable when he saw Miss Motuble. His lips
quivered and tears began to flow from his eyes, like water from a
fountain.
Julio Murillo shook hands with the three men, asked them to be seated,
and then turned his attention to the little girl, who stood modestly by
the door waiting to tell the object of her call.
“How many posies must I buy from my little flower girl this morning?”
said Julio.
“One,” replied the child, “if it so pleases your honor, for it will
please thy mother, Señora Suzzan Carriles, for you to do so.”
“Bless the dear one,” cried Marriet Motuble, “we will buy every posy she
has. Come, gentlemen, now is the opportunity to show your gratitude to
science through this child, who is the living proof of our friend’s
investigations. Come, gentlemen, who will bid on this child’s posies?
One dollar for each flower. One dollar once, one dollar twice——”
“Three dollars for each flower,” cried a voice from Guillermo Gonzales’
reception-room.
Julio Murillo greeted the bidder as he stepped into the little study,
with great joy. He was accompanied by the scientist, Guillermo Gonzales,
who was no stranger to the three men, they wasted no time to show their
good will and great respect for him.
The flower-girl curtesied to the two distinguished men. She was
something more than a simple child to them. She was the living proof of
their scientific investigations.
The fair auctioneer continued crying: “Three dollars for each posy once;
three dollars for each posy twice; three dollars for each posy——”
“Four dollars I bid!” cried the blear-eyed, spotted faced, bald-headed,
dissipated looking man. “Four dollars, I say. _Four_ dollars, I say.”
The pretty child made a curtesy to the fair auctioneer, and cried: “No,
no, señorita, take not the money of so bad a man.”
Prostrating herself before the great benefactor of his people, she
continued:
“Your Honor, shield me from so bad a man! I would go hungry and sleep
_en la calle_ sooner than live well, from the _dinero_ of so bad a man.
_Tengo hambre, tengo hambre!_ But let me die for want of food; let me
die. I cannot look in the face of so vile a man.” The child turned her
face, so full of fright and abhorrence, toward the man she loathed, and
as she cried in a voice full of agony: “Go, great demon, go!” she
fainted away.
The great good man to whom she so piteously appealed, lifted her
tenderly in his arms and laid her on the couch in Julio Murillo’s little
study.
The fair auctioneer followed and devoted her time immediately to
restoring the child, aided by Julio Murillo.
The Governor returned to the reception-room and placing himself in front
of the repulsive stranger, said:
“Give an account of the strange actions of the little girl toward you.
If you have done that fair child, who is modesty and purity itself, an
injury, it must be repaired at once, and on your bended knees at that.
Explain matters, sir!”
“I do not know the child,” began the man.
“That is not the case,” quickly responded Guillermo Gonzales and Mr.
Niksab in one voice.
“I beg of your Honor, and you, my friends, to believe me. I, J. Ecarg,
have never injured a child in my life. I never saw the girl until this
moment. I beg of your Honor to have faith in my statements. I know
nothing of this child whatever.”
“Remember,” said Mr. Niksab, as he handed him a glass of liquid, which
he put to his lips and quickly drained. “_Remember_,” he again repeated,
as he took the empty glass and placed it on the stand. “It is Memory we
are cultivating. Memory, John; _Memory_.”
“With your Honor’s consent we will take this subject into the
reflection-room,” said the great scientist. “He is one with whom we have
been experimenting.”
Mr. Niksab and the scientist supported Mr. Ecarg on either side.
“‘Memory Fluid’ is beginning to do its work, and remorse of conscience
makes him limp,” said Mr. Niksab.
“This is a great world—a wonderful age of scientific discovery. Pass,
gentlemen, into the reflection-room. Pass at once. I am rejoiced to know
that we have another clue which may in some way lead to valuable
information concerning the one subject which is consuming the greater
part of our present investigations,” concluded the Governor.
Mr. Ecarg very much resembled a man who, after years of dissipation was
now entering upon one of his big monthly or weekly drunks.
As the trio was passing from the Governor’s presence, the scientist
said:
“Does memory not recall this man, your Honor? I am sure of him. A
glorious victory is close at hand.”
In a thoughtful mood the Governor followed them to the door, through
which they disappeared from view, but he made no response to the
scientist’s question.