THE PEACE OF THE SOUL.
Helen Hinckley raised her beautiful face, shining with a light divine,
and said: “It is the fulfillment, your Honor. It is the peace of the
soul that ‘passeth all understanding.’”
At that moment the Governor dropped her hands; extinguished the light in
the room, opened the door a little wider, and strained his ear to catch
the unusual sound that came in from the street below.
Helen Hinckley knew at once the meaning of the sound, and said: “I must
not delay longer telling you the object of my call.”
As these two people (whose souls had sought each other through two other
lives and failed utterly to find the other, from the simple fact that
their material environments were such that their very souls had no power
to break through the terrible prison house in which they seemed to be
encased, and fly to the arms of its counterpart) stood in the dark
doorway, Helen Hinckley told the Governor all that had happened between
herself and Marriet Motuble.
It was the dearest moment of his life when he felt her warm breath upon
his cheek, while she whispered the story in his ear.
“A strange creature, that Marriet Motuble; a very strange creature,” he
whispered in reply.
“She is more daring now than in the other life. She is a woman to be
avoided. When one is so constituted that the association with a person
harms him, instead of doing him good, the best plan is to keep at a
respectable distance, and do the person all the good possible from that
distance. But hark! What is that?” she concluded, as she clutched the
Governor’s arm in her fright.
They stepped out on the small balcony and both listened breathlessly.
The Governor replied: “It was the report of a gun. Ah, there is another,
and another. Hark! the police are after them.”
“The Executive Mansion is well guarded by the soldiers. _I_ do not
believe that they will be able to enter the house. The unguarded moment
is the dangerous time, your Honor,” said Helen Hinckley, as she stepped
into the room and gently led the Governor with her.
“On the subject of guarding my house,” replied his Honor, “I gave strict
orders that no extras should guard me or be placed around my property.
It is my duty, as the official head of this great State, to protect the
lives and property of private citizens. The officers of the law will do
their duty if there be an uprising, which I can hardly believe will take
place. I am not a coward. I will not run and leave my people to face the
trouble alone.”
“What you have said is quite true, and no one would expect any less from
your Honor,” replied Helen Hinckley; “but there is an old law concerning
self preservation. Your Honor recalls it, does he not? Yes? Well, then,
you may be compelled, in order to carry out the law, to keep out of
sight of these fanatics—these would-be revolutionists—until they are
taught to remember—until they see the power of the Light Divine.”
“Hist! hist!” both the Governor and Helen Hinckley heard the warning
which came through a door that led into the room where they stood, from
an adjoining room.
In another instant, the clear, piping voice of the old man who had
uttered such revolutionary sentiments at the meeting of these disturbers
of peace, called out in hushed tones: “Find him, boys; find him. He’s
not in his bed. I thrust daggers all over it. Then I climbed on it and
crushed my heels on every part of it; but he was not there. Our brave
leaders are behind the bars, boys, and we are handicapped. Now this
imposter and enemy of the church must die! Come, boys. Forward, march!”
Helen Hinckley pulled the Governor’s ear close to her mouth, and said:
“Your Honor, to stay here means instant death. The physical power of two
people against one hundred or more is of no avail. Come; you must leave
this room with me through the outside door. You must this moment feel
the force of being able to overcome the law of gravitation. Slip your
hands under the strap across the back of this small propeller; step on
top of the railing on the balcony; trust me; do what I whisper into your
ear, and we will escape. You must come, if not for _your own_ sake, for
mine,” she concluded.
“I will go, my life, for your sake,” said the Governor, his voice full
of emotion.
At once Helen Hinckley led him onto the balcony. He stepped with her on
top of the railing. He put the cap of his long black dressing gown over
his head, and with no support except the arm of Helen Hinckley, which
she had quietly slipped through his, he walked out with his companion
into space.
The leader of the revolutionary party and his many followers, who were
seeking his life, at that moment stepped into the room they had just
left. The cool breeze of the early morning rushed in through the open
door, feeling which, the old man at once exclaimed: “He has escaped; a
door is open, if I am not mistaken. A light will soon settle the
question.”
No sooner was the idea given voice, than several of the men present
pressed the end of the miniature torches they carried in their pockets,
and instantly the room was ablaze with light. With these small torches
in hand they rushed to the open door, with the vain hope that they might
catch the runaway.
“We are misled,” piped the old man. “No human being could have escaped
from this small balcony, without the use of ropes and ladders. And none
are here. We are misled! We are misled. Forward—march!” he cried, after
military fashion. “We will search every nook and corner of this great
mansion, until we find him. We will not be stopped. We are powerful, and
will slay every one in our path who objects to the course we are
taking.”
The old man was frantic—frantic from the thought that they might fail in
taking the life of the Governor.
He stalked into the hall followed by the other marauders, all of whom
seemed determined to demolish and otherwise ruin as much of the house
furnishings as possible.
After completing the entire circuit of the rooms on that floor, they
started toward the wide staircase to descend to the floor below for
further search.
At the head of the stairs they suddenly came to a standstill, and all
trembled with fright at what they saw.
The brave old man who was only a moment ago so courageously leading his
warriors to battle beheld a child in white standing at the head of the
stairs, with arms outstretched, and he cried: “Jesus and Mary defend me!
This spirit is sent to warn us of death. Oh, oh.” He immediately fell
upon his knees and buried his face in his hands. His followers stood
still and watched the figure before them in breathless fear.
“I am no spirit,” said the child, Catalina Martinet—for it was she who
stood before them—“but I have been one, and in that other life which
ended so strangely for me, I knew you, poor old man. How well I remember
seeing you in the yard of the cathedral and watching you and a boy pull
the rope which rang the bell in the high tower of the cathedral. At the
same time you helped to pull the rope, several boys in the tower beat
the big, old bell with sticks.”
“Ah, Jesus and Mary, save me! This is a spirit, I am sure,” cried the
old man.
“I repeat,” said Catalina, “I am not a spirit now, but I was once. Now I
live again, again! Old man, I recall how the very sight of you pulling
the old rope made me tremble with fear, if I had committed the slightest
deed contrary to the priest’s teachings and had not confessed. You
remember, do you not, old man?”
The only reply vouchsafed was a shake of the head and a groan.
“No?” she continued. “Then you _shall remember_, Señor Antonio Noriega,
the time you broke your leg when you were a very, very old man, and you
lay in the little dark adobe room back of the cathedral and died for
want of attention. Say, Señor Noriega, you need to remember. There needs
be an awakening of your soul; now is a good time for the beginning.
Arise, sir; leave this house this very moment and cease your evil
designs.”
The old man stricken with horror, arose and in a trembling voice, said:
“It is the voice of a spirit. I am warned. Oh, that my eyes were open,
that I might see!”
“Here, old man,” cried one of the fellows present, “don’t get scared and
leave us at this early stage of the game. Remember, we are out for
revenge.”
“Come,” said the clear, sweet voice of the child Catalina. “You must
leave the Governor’s house this very moment. Arise! Forward-march! Take
this bottle, Señor Antonio Noriega, and when you step your foot on the
public street, drink its contents. Then _remember_; you will live again,
and you will see things not seen by the eye, and hear things not heard
by the ear.”
The old man clutched the bottle tightly in his hand, and started down
the steps at a lively pace.
Quietly and without a word the men followed. On reaching the door that
led into the vestibule, the entire party were surprised on being
commanded to surrender.
Antonio Noriega gave up his arms at the first command; but such was not
the case with the others. For a few moments a hard fight was waged
between the officers of law and the revolutionary party.
In the confusion and darkness, several offenders of law escaped from the
house, but were closely pursued by officers. The others were taken in
custody by the soldiers and policemen present, and conveyed to jail.
At the moment the old man stepped from the Governor’s Mansion onto the
public street, Catalina Martinet cried: “Señor Antonio Noriega,” and he
raised the small bottle to his lips and drained it empty. “_Remember,
remember._”
Different members of the revolutionary party cursed in an undertone,
“Memory Fluid,” all occult science, its devotees, and the administrators
of law in general.
As the last man disappeared from view, Catalina Martinet cried: “I will
make them all live. I will get many vials, fill them with ‘Memory
Fluid,’ and when the sun makes the day very bright, I will take them in
a small basket, and go out amongst these people, who are alive, yet do
not live, and as I hand a vial to each man who looks vicious, I will
say: ‘Drink this and live.’ And when enough men drink the fluid, the war
which is going to be will be stopped. Come, Juan, take me upstairs. I am
sleepy and I want a bowl of milk.”
Juan had stood close by during the affray, possibly too frightened to
move; and now that Catalina spoke to him, he moved forward and cried:
“Your Honor, the child is not human. I must leave your service.”
Catalina clutched his arm tightly, and in a fit of childish glee, said:
“See, Juan; I am Catalina, a big, healthy child. I was a spirit once,
but now I am flesh and blood. Come on, Juan, take me upstairs; then get
me a bowl of milk. I am hungry. Come on, Juan; I am not a ghost. I am
poor Catalina. I am tired and hungry, Juan. Carry me.” She raised her
arms up to him. Without a word he lifted her in his arms, and hurried
with her to the little room adjoining the housekeeper’s; which was on
her arrival furnished with every article for childish comfort and
pleasure that could be found in Chihuahua. Strange to say, the house
which only a few moments ago was filled with violators of the law whose
intent was murder, was now so still, that a person stepping into the
home of the Governor, could hardly imagine that such a state of affairs
ever could have existed in such a quiet and magnificently appointed
home. Catalina fell asleep in Juan’s arms, and the slumber of the
healthy child whose breath fell gently on his cheek, was the one
demonstrated fact that she was a child of flesh and blood and very
human, notwithstanding she might be a novice in spiritual attainments.
He was convinced of the human part, however, and smiled to himself, as
he laid her on the bed, at the fright she had given him. Her head had no
sooner touched the bed than she opened her eyes, and said: “Juan, bring
me a bowl of warm milk, please. I am hungry—hungry—hungry.”
Juan replied, at the same moment turning his head to hide a smile:
“_Muchacha mia_, Juan will bring you a bowl, _muy grande_, at that, _de
leche caliente_.”
“Stay, Juan,” she cried, as he stepped into the hall. “You are not
afraid of me now, are you?”
“No, no, child. You are a very, very lively little girl and no spirit.
Of that fact I am fully satisfied. I am going now for the milk.
Good-bye, sweet child. Juan is your friend.”
“Juan is a strange old fellow,” said Catalina, as she cuddled down on
her little bed. “He was afraid of me because he thought me a spirit. I
wish my dear papa was here. I will go and find him as soon as it is very
light. If all these people could only _remember_, there never would be a
bloody war. I must find Miss Helen Hinckley and Miss Marriet Motuble.
She befriended me in the other life and built a very large, nice tomb
for me when I died. She was very, very good to me, but she is queer;
silly, I think now. I heard papa and Señor Guillermo Gonzales and Julio
Murillo say she pretended to die and be buried in the Motuble tomb,
where I was placed, and when they went there to see the body, they found
in the coffin—only a waxen figure. I wonder why she pretended to die and
didn’t. I wonder if she thought some one would cry—my papa, I
suspect—and she would only make believe she was dead, to see who cared
or would cry. Papa would cry, I know, if I were dead. I believe I will
die and see. I will wait, though, till Juan gets my warm milk; for I am
awful hungry. It is thinking about the ugly war and those wicked men who
were just here, that made me want my hot milk this early in the
morning.” At that moment Juan entered the room, bringing a howl of hot
milk and a plate of shredded graham bread, and placed it on a little
table by the side of her bed.
She drank part of the milk, and laying her head back on the pillow,
said: “Juan, would you cry if I were to die now?”
Juan was startled, and replied: “Now you are going to scare me again.
Because you _remember_, and say you lived here once before, it’s no sign
that if you die now and ever live again, that you will _remember_. You
would better hold on as long as you can, now that you are here. You are
a little girl, and young; you have no business talking about dying. God
did not make you to kill yourself. You drink the rest of the milk before
it gets cold, and go to sleep.”
“Juan,” continued Catalina, “if you would be sorry, then how much more
sorry my papa and Miss Hinckley would be.”
“I suppose your mamma would be very sorry too; and his Honor would be
most distracted if you died so young. He has taken the greatest fancy to
you of anyone since I came into his service; and that was when I was a
very young man. You don’t know what a good place you have, little girl,
and my advice is to stay close to it while you can,” concluded Juan,
with a bob of his head.
“Listen, Juan,” continued the child. “I feel like I must die. I will die
at once. Come close to me. Sit in this chair, and you can see how I do
it.”
Juan took a seat by her little bed, not because he wanted to, but from
the fact that he could not resist her influence.
“I mean, Juan, his Honor, the Governor. He is my papa, you know, and
would be very sorry if I were to die. The man and woman into whose
family I was born are nothing to me now. I never cared much for them,
nor they for me; so no one there will cry. Why, Juan I took them a
bottle of ‘Memory Fluid,’ and tried to get them to take it, so they
could remember and we all could be happy. I could not be staying with
people who only care for this life. Persons who see the things _only_
seen by the _eye_.”
“Goodness!” exclaimed Juan, rising. “How can anyone see except _with_
their eyes? Child, you are talking about things you know nothing of.
Drink your milk and go to sleep. I can’t stay here much longer
a-humoring you. I’ve got to attend to Señor Murillo,” concluded Juan,
rising.
“Sit down, Juan, sit down,” quietly said Catalina; and Juan obeyed
meekly.
“Great One, who lives here and everywhere, who knows all and causes all,
speak to me. Advise me. Will I be interfering with my soul, will light
be shut out from me; will I be in the way of anyone seeing things not
seen by the eyes, if I leave the matter we call a body, and go to you?
The people into whose family I was born are harming me, and I, a little
girl, am not strong enough in will or in knowledge of law to make them
follow me.” Turning to Juan she continued: “I have not been answered
yet, Juan, but I feel as if I must go; but I will come back, I will come
back, and his Honor, his Honor will be my papa. See, Juan, I am going.”
“Oh, don’t go yet,” cried Juan; “there is the bell. I must answer it.”
Catalina sat up in bed, and as Juan left the room, called: “Don’t be
gone a moment, Juan. I want to go away.” Then to herself she continued:
“It is not right for me to have been born into a family that do not know
me, that do not know the other world, and who do not remember. I cannot
be happy. I must live again. Great One above, shall I come?” She leaned
her head upon the little pillow encased in a dainty linen slip, and
remained perfectly silent. When Juan opened the door a few moments
later, and rushed into the room, she sat upright, and before he had time
to speak, said: “Juan, I am not going now. I can help his Honor. I can
help others. I can give many ‘Memory Fluid’; but before the cruel war
ends, I will leave and come again.”
“I am almost out of breath, I hurried so fast to get back before you
could die. I got some terrible news. It came from the President, and as
his Honor was not here, Señor Julio Murillo opened the dispatch and
translated the ciphers. He believes there will be trouble all over the
States. He says he will telephone him personally in a few hours, and on
his arrival in Washington if the revolutionists are gaining in number
and giving more trouble, the army will be called out, and peace will
soon be restored. His Honor is not in the mansion, and everyone but
Señor Julio Murillo fears that some harm has befallen him.”
“Oh, no; not everyone,” cried Catalina. “I am not afraid he is harmed.
He is with Helen Hinckley and safe. She loves him. Señor Julio knows
where they are, but I do not; but I can find them. Go on, Juan. I am
going to sleep; the warm milk is taking effect. I will sleep, but not
die for some time to come; not until I feel that I have done all
possible good. Then I will go and come back again, and then you will
know me; you will not be dead, but you will _remember_. Go on, Juan; I
am going to sleep. Tell his Honor, if you should see him before I do,
not to be alarmed, if he does not see me for a few days. I will be very
busy while the struggle lasts; at least, while it lasts in Chihuahua.
Many are needed to spread ‘Memory Fluid.’ It will have more effect in
spreading truth abroad and quelling the war at hand, than millions of
guns. I am needed to keep my eye upon several whom his Honor will pass
by, now that the lives of his people are in danger. I will be a
detective, Juan, and because I am a child no one will mind me being
around. There is ‘The Plunger from Kansas,’ Mrs. Grange, and Marriet
Motuble, who need the eye of the law upon them, but on account of the
trouble caused by Don Francisco R. Cantu y Falomir, Father Hernandez and
Rev. J. T. Note, they will be forgotten. It is my duty to see to them,
and I will perform my duty well. Go on, Juan; I am very sleepy.”
The little fair head again fell back against the pillows, and in the few
moments Juan stood by silently watching, she fell into a sound slumber.
“She is flesh and blood,” he soliloquized, standing quietly by her
bedside looking upon her plump, childish face. “Yes, she is flesh and
blood; but she has a great spirit in her. She is unlike other children.
I am afraid of her, yet I know she is only a child. She is a prophet. I
will take ‘Memory Fluid,’ then I can see things not seen by the eyes.
Ah, there is the bell again, again, again; something out of the usual is
happening.” Juan quietly and quickly left the room. In the hall he met
Julio Murillo, walking faster than he had ever known him to walk before.
On seeing Juan he cried:
“I leave orders not to admit anyone to the house to-day. Under no
circumstances will this order be countermanded. I will leave by a
private entrance. No one will see me go nor return. Señor Guillermo
Gonzales alone will occupy the Governor’s private study until my return.
Under no circumstances intrude on him. He must not be worried about me,
nor by anyone asking questions; and it is your business to keep quiet,
and guard the house well, and his Honor’s interests in general, until I
return.”
Juan replied: “Trust me, señor. I have never yet betrayed his Honor or
his interests. The hour is very early; you have not had your morning
meal. His Honor would not forgive me if a guest left his home, even if
the hour be four, without his customary meal. Recline here, señor, and
in a very few minutes I will return with a lunch just fitted to this
early hour.”
“Your advice is good, Juan. I will accept your hospitality. But be
quick; every moment counts now. I have located the three men who were
last night confined in jail, on a charge of treason, and who escaped
less than an hour ago. While I had no trouble in locating them, there
will be much difficulty in getting them again behind the prison bars.
You are right, Juan; I will need my morning meal before attempting their
arrest. Bring me a bowl of hot milk, a plate of buttered toast, and two
soft-boiled eggs, and bring it quickly, Juan. The revolution is
inevitable, and we must face it like men and stop it; if possible,
without bloodshed. Yes, I will wait, Juan, just fifteen minutes.”
As Juan passed from the presence of Señor Julio Murillo, he gave a
sharp, low whistle, his only means to express the great surprise he had
just received.
“Well, this is a nice state of things. The Governor spirited away, the
prisoners escaped, Catalina on the eve of dying, ‘The Plunger from
Kansas’ gone again, a woman arising from the dead, and a war on hand,
all at the same time. Yes, a strange world. I don’t believe I will know
as much as I do now, if I do not stop thinking so much about all of
these strange things. I don’t believe I will take ‘Memory Fluid.’ I will
have no time then to do anything but remember everything that happened
when I lived before. I really wonder if I have lived before, or more
than once. How funny it would be to remember four or five different
lives. As soon as I get Señor Julio Murillo’s breakfast to him, and he
is well out of the house, I will experiment with ‘Memory Fluid.’ I will
be a subject. Oh, I wonder who I was when I lived before? Ha! ha! ha!
ha! Wouldn’t it be a great joke if I was in my first life a president?
Maybe I was George Washington, or the Mexican President, Santa Ana. Yes,
that is a great joke. I have my own curiosity up, and will drink a
gallon of that ‘Memory Fluid,’ if it will make me remember.”
Juan strode on toward the kitchen hurriedly, to give the order for Señor
Julio Murillo’s breakfast, and then sat down on a stool and deeply
meditated, upon the subject of “Memory Fluid.”