Don Aloysius sat in his private library,--a room little larger than a
monastic cell, and at his feet knelt Morgana like a child at prayer.
The rose and purple glow of the sunset fell aslant through a high oriel
window of painted glass, shedding an aureole round her golden head, and
intensified the fine, dark intellectual outline of the priest's
features as he listened with fixed attention to the soft pure voice,
vibrating with tenderness and pity as she told him of the love that
sought to sacrifice itself for love's sake only.
"In your Creed and in mine,"--she said--"there is no union which is
real or binding save the Spiritual,--and this may be consummated in
some way beyond our knowledge when once the sacred rite is said. You
need no explanation from me,--you who are a member and future denizen
of the Golden City,--you, who are set apart to live long after these
poor human creatures have passed away with the unthinking millions of
the time--and you can have no hesitation to unite them as far as they
CAN be united, so that they may at least be saved from the malicious
tongues of an always evil-speaking world. You once asked me to tell you
of the few moments of real happiness I have known,--this will be one of
the keenest joys to me if I can satisfy this loving-hearted girl and
aid her to carry out her self-chosen martyrdom. And you must help me!"
Gently Aloysius laid his hand on her bent head.
"It will be indeed a martyrdom!" he said, slowly, "Long and torturing!
Think well of it!--a woman, youthful and beautiful, chained to a mere
breathing image of man,--a creature who cannot recognise either persons
or objects, who is helpless to move, and who will remain in that
pitiable state all his life, if he lives!--dear child, are you
convinced there is no other way?"
"Not for her!" Morgana replied--"She has set her soul to try if God
will help her to restore him,--she will surround him with the constant
influence of a perfectly devoted love. Dare we say there shall be no
healing power in such an influence?--we who know so much of which the
world is ignorant!"
He stroked her shining hair with a careful tenderness as one might
stroke the soft plumage of a bird.
"And you?" he said, in a low tone--"What of you?"
She raised her eyes to his. A light of heaven's own radiance shone in
those blue orbs--an angelic peace beyond all expression.
"What should there be of me except the dream come true?" she responded,
smiling--"You know my plans,--you also know my destiny, for I have told
you everything! You will be the controller of all my wealth, entrusted
to carry out all my wishes, till it is time either for you to come
where I am, or for me to return hither. We never know how or when that
may be. But it has all seemed plain sailing for me since I saw the city
called 'Brazen' but which WE know is Golden!--and when I found that you
belonged to it, and were only stationed here for a short time, I knew I
could give you my entire confidence. It is not as if we were of the
passing world or its ways--we are of the New Race, and time does not
count with us."
"Quite true," he said--"But for these persons in whom you are
interested, time is still considered--and for the girl it will be long!"
"Not with such love as hers!" replied Morgana. "Each moment, each hour
will be filled with hope and prayer and constant vigilance. Love makes
all things easy! It is useless to contend with a fate which both the
man and woman have made for themselves. He is--I should say he was a
scientist, who discovered the means of annihilating any section of
humanity at his own wish and will--he played with the fires of God and
brought annihilation on himself. MY discovery--the force that moves my
air-ship--the force that is the vital element of all who live in the
Golden City--is the same as his!--but _I_ use it for health and
movement, progress and power--not for the destruction of any living
soul! By one single false step he has caused the death and misery of
hundreds of helpless human creatures--and this terror has recoiled on
his own head. The girl Manella has no evil thought in her--she simply
loves!--her love is ill placed, but she also has brought her own
destiny on herself. You have worked--and so have I--WITH the universal
force, not as the world does, AGAINST it,--and we have made OURSELVES
what we are and what we SHALL BE. There is no other way either forward
or backward,--you know there is not!" Here she rose from her knees and
confronted him, a light aerial creature of glowing radiance and elfin
loveliness--"And you must fulfil her wish--and mine!"
He rose also and stood erect, a noble figure of a man with a dignified
beauty of mien and feature that seemed to belong to the classic age
rather than ours.
"So be it!" he said--"I will carry out all your commands to the letter!
May I just say that your generosity to Giulio Rivardi seems almost
unnecessary? To endow him with a fortune for life is surely too
indulgent! Does he merit such bounty at your hands?"
She smiled.
"Dear Father Aloysius, Giulio has lost his heart to me!" she said--"Or
what he calls his heart! He should have some recompense for the loss!
He wants to restore his old Roman villa--and when I am gone he will
have nothing to distract him from this artistic work,--I leave him the
means to do it! I hope he will marry--it is the best thing for him!"
She turned to go.
"And your own Palazzo d'Oro?--"
"Will become the abode of self-sacrificing love," she replied--"It
could not be put to better use! It was a fancy of mine;--I love it and
its gardens--and I should have tried to live there had I not found out
the secret of a large and longer life!" She paused--then
added--"To-morrow morning you will come?"
He bent his head.
"To-morrow!"
With a salute of mingled reverence and affection she left him. He
watched her go,--and hearing the bell begin to chime in the chapel for
vespers, he lifted his eyes for a moment in silent prayer. A light
flashed downward, playing on his hands like a golden ripple,--and he
stood quietly expectant and listening. A Voice floated along the
Ray--"You are doing well and rightly!" it said--"You will release her
now from the strain of seeming to be what she is not. She is of the New
Race, and her spirit is advanced too far to endure the grossness and
materialism of the Old generation. She deserves all she has studied and
worked for,--lasting life, lasting beauty, lasting love! Nothing must
hinder her now!"
"Nothing shall!" he answered.
The Ray lessened in brilliancy and gradually diminished till it
entirely vanished,--and Don Aloysius, with the rapt expression of a
saint and visionary, entered the chapel where his brethren were already
assembled, and chanted with them--
"Magna opera Domini; exquisita in omnes voluntates ejus!"
The next morning, all radiant with sunshine, saw the strangest of
nuptial ceremonies,--one that surely had seldom, if ever, been
witnessed before in all the strange happenings of human chance. Manella
Soriso, pale as a white arum lily, her rich dark hair adorned with a
single spray of orange-blossom gathered from the garden, stood
trembling beside the bed where lay stretched out the immobile form of
the once active, world-defiant Roger Seaton. His eyes, wide open and
staring into vacancy, were, like dull pebbles, fixed in his head,--his
face was set and rigid as a mask of clay--only his regular breathing
gave evidence of life. Manella's pitiful gazing on this ruin of the man
to whom she had devoted her heart and soul, her tender sorrow, her
yearning beauty, might have almost moved a stone image to a thrill of
response,--but not a flicker of expression appeared on the frozen
features of that terrible fallen pillar of human self-sufficiency.
Standing beside the bed with Manella was Marco Ardini, intensely
watchful and eager to note even a quiver of the flesh or the tremor of
a muscle,--and near him was Lady Kingswood, terrified yet enthralled by
the scene, and anxious on behalf of Morgana, who looked statuesque and
pensive like a small attendant angel close to Don Aloysius. He, in his
priestly robes, read the marriage service with soft and impressive
intonation, himself speaking the responses for the bride-groom,--and
taking Manella's hand he placed it on Seaton's, clasping the two
together, the one so yielding and warm, the other stiff as marble, and
setting the golden marriage ring which Morgana had given, on the
bride's finger. As he made the sign of the cross and uttered the final
blessing, Manella sank on her knees and covered her face. There
followed a tense silence--Aloysius laid his hand on her bent head--
"God help and bless you!" he said, solemnly--"Only the Divine Power can
give you strength to bear the burden you have taken on yourself!"
But at his words she sprang up, her eyes glowing with a great joy.
"It is no burden!" she said--"I have prayed to be his slave--and now I
am his wife! That is more than I ever dared to dream of!--for now I
have the right to care for him, to work for him, and no one can
separate me from him! What happiness for me! But I will not take a mean
advantage of this--ah, no!--no good, Father! Listen!--I swear before
you and the holy Cross you wear, that if he recovers he shall never
know!--I will leave him at once without a word--he shall think I am a
servant in his employ--or rather he shall not think at all about me for
I will go where he can never find me, and he will be as free as ever he
was! Yes, truly!--by the blessed Madonna I swear it! I will kill myself
rather than let him know!"
She looked regally beautiful, her face flushed with the pride and love
of her soul,--and in her newly gained privilege as a wife she bent down
and kissed the pallid face that lay like the face of a corpse on the
pillow before her.
"He is a poor wounded child just now!" she murmured, tenderly--"But I
will care for him in his weakness and sorrow! The doctor will tell me
what to do--and it shall all be done! I will neglect nothing--as for
money, I have none--but I will work--"
Morgana put an arm about her.
"Dear, do not think of that!" she said--"For the present you will stay
here--I am going on a journey very soon, and you and Lady Kingswood
will take care of my house till I return. Be quite satisfied!--You will
have all you want for him and for yourself. Professor Ardini will talk
to you now and tell you everything--come away--"
But Manella was gazing intently at the figure on the bed--she saw its
grey lips move. With startling suddenness a harsh voice smote the air--
"There shall be no more wars! There can be none! My Great Secret! I am
Master of the World!"
She shrank and shivered, and a faint sobbing cry escaped her.
"Come!" said Morgana again,--and gently led her away. The spray of
orange-blossom fell from her hair as she moved, and Don Aloyslus,
stooping, picked it up. Marco Ardini saw his action.
"You will keep that as a souvenir of this strange marriage?" he said.
"No,--" and Don Aloysius touched the white fragrant flower with his
crucifix--"I will lay it as a votive offering on the altar of the
Eternal Virgin!"
* * * * *
About a fortnight later life at the Palazzo d'Oro had settled into
organised lines of method and routine. Professor Ardini had selected
two competent men attendants, skilled in surgery and medicine to watch
Seaton's case with all the care trained nursing could give, and himself
had undertaken to visit the patient regularly and report his condition.
Seaton's marriage to Manella Soriso had been briefly announced in the
European papers and cabled to the American Press, Senator Gwent being
one of the first who saw it thus chronicled, much to his amazement.
"He has actually become sane at last!" he soliloquised, "And beauty has
conquered science! I gave the girl good advice--I told her to marry him
if she could,--and she's done it! I wonder how they escaped that
earthquake? Perhaps that brought him to his senses! Well, well! I
daresay I shall be seeing them soon over here--I suppose they are
spending their honeymoon with Morgana. Curious affair! I'd like to know
the ins and outs of it!"
"Have you seen that Roger Seaton is married?" was the question asked of
him by every one he knew, especially by the flashing society butterfly
once Lydia Herbert, who in these early days of her marriage was getting
everything she could out of her millionaire--"And NOT to Morgana! Just
think! What a disappointment for her!--I'm sure she was in love with
him!"
"I thought so"--Gwent answered, cautiously--"And he with her! But--one
never knows--"
"No, one never does!" laughed the fair Lydia--"Poor Morgana! Left on
the stalk! But she's so rich it won't matter. She can marry anybody she
likes."
"Marriage isn't everything," said Gwent--"To some it may be
heaven,--but to others--"
"The worser place!"--agreed Lydia--"And Morgana is not like ordinary
women. I wonder what she's doing, and when we shall see her again?"
"Yes--I wonder!" Gwent responded vaguely,--and the subject dropped.
They might have had more than ordinary cause to "wonder" had they been
able to form even a guess as to the manner and intentions of life held
by the strange half spiritual creature whom they imagined to be but an
ordinary mortal moved by the same ephemeral aims and desires as the
rest of the grosser world. Who,--even among scientists, accustomed as
they are to study the evolution of grubs into lovely rainbow-winged
shapes, and the transformation of ordinary weeds into exquisite flowers
of perfect form and glorious colour, goes far enough or deep enough to
realise similar capability of transformation in a human organism
self-trained to so evolve and develop itself? Who, at this time of
day,--even with the hourly vivid flashes kindled by the research lamps
of science, reverts to former theories of men like De Gabalis, who held
that beings in process of finer evolution and formation, and known as
"elementals," nourishing their own growth into exquisite existence,
through the radio-force of air and fire, may be among us, all
unrecognised, yet working their way out of lowness to highness,
indifferent to worldly loves, pleasures and opinions, and only bent on
the attainment of immortal life? Such beliefs serve only as material
for the scoffer and iconoclast,--nevertheless they may be true for all
that, and may in the end confound the mockery of materialism which in
itself is nothing but the deep shadow cast by a great light.
The strangest and most dramatic happenings have the knack of settling
down into the commonplace,--and so in due course the days at the
Palazzo d'Oro went on tranquilly,--Manella being established there and
known as "la bella Signora Seaton" by the natives of the little
surrounding villages, who were gradually brought to understand the
helpless condition of her husband and pitied her accordingly. Lady
Kingswood had agreed to stay as friend and protectress to the girl as
long as Morgana desired it,--indeed she had no wish to leave the
beautiful Sicilian home she had so fortunately found, and where she was
treated with so much kindness and consideration.
There was no lack or stint of wealth to carry out every arranged plan,
and Manella was too simple and primitive in her nature to question
anything that her "little white angel" as she called her, suggested or
commanded. Intensely grateful for the affectionate care bestowed upon
her, she acquiesced in what she understood to be the methods of
possible cure for the ruined man to whom she had bound her life.
"If he gets well--quite, quite well"--she said, lifting her splendid
dark eyes to Morgana's blue as "love-in-a-mist" "I will go away and
give him to you!"
And she meant it, having no predominant idea in her mind save that of
making her elect beloved happy.
Meanwhile Morgana announced her intention of taking another aerial
voyage in the "White Eagle"--much to the joy of Giulio Rivardi.
Receiving his orders to prepare the wonderful air-ship for a long
flight, he and Gaspard worked energetically to perfect every detail.
Where he had previously felt a certain sense of fear as to the
capabilities of the great vessel, controlled by a force of which
Morgana alone had the secret, he was now full of certainty and
confidence, and told her so.
"I am glad"--he said--"that you are leaving this place where you have
installed people who to me seem quite out of keeping with it. That
terrible man who shouts 'I am master of the world'!--ah, cara
Madonna!--I did not work at your fairy Palazzo d'Oro for such an
occupant!"
"I know you did not;"-=she answered, gently--"Nor did I intend it to be
so occupied. I dreamed of it as a home of pleasure where I should
dwell--alone! And you said it would be lonely!--you remember?"
"I said it was a place for love!" he replied.
"You were right! And love inhabits it--love of the purest, most
unselfish nature--"
"Love that is a cruel martyrdom!" he interposed.
"True!" and her eyes shone with a strange brilliancy--"But love--as the
world knows it--is never anything else! There, do not frown, my friend!
You will never wear its crown of thorns! And you are glad I am going
away?"
"Yes!--glad that you will have a change"--he said--"Your constant care
and anxiety for these people whom we rescued from death must have tired
you out unconsciously. You will enjoy a free flight through space,--and
the ship is in perfect condition; she will carry you like an angel in
the air!"
She smiled and gave him her hand.
"Good Giulio!--you are quite a romancist!--you talk of angels without
believing in them!"
"I believe in them when I look at YOU!" he said, with all an Italian's
impulsive gallantry.
"Very pretty of you!" and she withdrew her hand from his too fervent
clasp,--"I feel sorry for myself that I cannot rightly appreciate so
charming a compliment!"
"It is not a compliment"--he declared, vehemently; "It is a truth!"
Her eyes dwelt on him with a wistful kindness.
"You are what some people call 'a good fellow,' Giulio!" she said--"And
you deserve to be very happy. I hope you will be so! I want you to
prosper so that you may restore your grand old villa to its former
beauty,--I also want you to marry--and bring up a big family"--here she
laughed a little--"A family of sons and daughters who will be grateful
to you, and not waste every penny you give them--though that is the
modern way of sons and daughters."
She paused, smiling at his moody expression. "And you say everything is
ready?--the 'White Eagle' is prepared for flight?"
"She will leave the shed at a moment's touch"--he answered--"when YOU
supply the motive power!"
She nodded comprehensively, and thought a moment. "Come to me the day
after to-morrow"--she said--"You will then have your orders."
"Is it to be a long flight this time?" he asked.
"Not so long as to California!" she answered--"But long enough!"
With that she left him. And he betook himself to the air-shed where the
superb "White Eagle" rested all a-quiver for departure, palpitating, or
so it seemed to him, with a strange eagerness for movement which struck
him as unusual and "uncanny" in a mere piece of mechanism.
The next day moved on tranquilly. Morgana wrote many letters--and
varied this occupation by occasionally sitting in the loggia to talk
with Manella and Lady Kingswood, both of whom now seemed the natural
inhabitants of the Palazzo d'Oro. She spoke easily of her intended
air-trip,--so that they accepted her intention as a matter of course,
Manella only entreating--"Do not be long away!" her lovely, eloquent
eyes emphasising her appeal. Now and again the terrible cries of "There
shall be no more wars! There can be none! My Great Secret! I am Master
of the World!" rang through the house despite the closed doors,--cries
which they feigned not to hear, though Manella winced with pain, as at
a dagger thrust, each time the sounds echoed on the air.
And the night came,--mildly glorious, with a full moon shining in an
almost clear sky--clear save for little delicate wings of snowy cloud
drifting in the east like wandering shapes of birds that haunted the
domain of sunrise. Giulio Rivardi, leaning out of one of the richly
sculptured window arches of his half-ruined villa, looked at the sky
with pleasurable anticipation of the morrow's intended voyage in the
"White Eagle."
"The weather will be perfect!" he thought--"She will be pleased. And
when she is pleased no woman can be more charming! She is not
beautiful, like Manella--but she is something more than beautiful--she
is bewitching! I wonder where she means to go!"
Suddenly a thought struck him,--a vivid impression coming from he knew
not whence--an idea that he had forgotten a small item of detail in the
air-ship which its owner might or might not notice, but which would
certainly imply some slight forgetfulness on his part. He glanced at
his watch,--it was close on midnight. Acting on a momentary impulse he
decided not to wait till morning, but to go at once down to the shed
and see that everything in and about the vessel was absolutely and
finally in order. As he walked among the perfumed tangles of shrub and
flower in his garden, and out towards the sea-shore he was impressed by
the great silence everywhere around him. Everything looked like a
moveless picture--a study in still life. Passing through a little olive
wood which lay between his own grounds and the sea, he paused as he
came out of the shadow of the trees and looked towards the height
crowned by the Palazzo d'Oro, where from the upper windows twinkled a
few lights showing the position of the room where the "master of the
world" lay stretched in brainless immobility, waited upon by medical
nurses ever on the watch, and a wife of whom he knew nothing, guarding
him with the fixed devotion of a faithful dog rather than of a human
being. Going onwards in a kind of abstract reverie, he came to a halt
again on reaching the shore, enchanted by the dreamy loveliness of the
scene. In an open stretch of dazzling brilliancy the sea presented
itself to his eyes like a delicate network of jewels finely strung on
swaying threads of silver, and he gazed upon it as one might gaze on
the "fairy lands forlorn" of Keats in his enchanting poesy. Never
surely, he thought, had he seen a night so beautiful,--so perfect in
its expression of peace. He walked leisurely,--the long shed which
sheltered the air-ship was just before him, its black outline
silhouetted against the sky--but as he approached it more nearly,
something caused him to stop abruptly and stare fixedly as though
stricken by some sudden terror--then he dashed off at a violent run,
till he came to a breathless halt, crying out--"Gran' Dio! It has gone!"
Gone! The shed was empty! No air-ship was there, poised trembling on
its own balance all prepared for flight,--the wonderful "White Eagle"
had unfurled its wings and fled! Whither? Like a madman he rushed up
and down, shouting and calling in vain--it was after midnight and there
was no one about to hear him. He started to run to the Palazzo d'Oro to
give the alarm--but was held back--held by an indescribable force which
he was powerless to resist. He struggled with all his might,--uselessly.
"Morganna!" he cried in a desperate voice--"Morganna!"
Running down to the edge of the sea he gazed across it and up to the
wonderful sky through which the moon rolled lazily like a silver ball.
Was there nothing to be seen there save that moon and the moon-dimmed
stars? With eager straining eyes he searched every quarter of the
visible space--stay! Was that a white dove soaring eastwards?--or a
cloud sinking to its rest?
"Morgana!" he cried again, stretching out his arms in despair--"She has
gone! And alone!"
Even as he spoke the dove-like shape was lost to sight beyond the
shining of the evening star.
L'Envoi
Several months ago the ruin of a great air-ship was found on the
outskirts of the Great Desert so battered and broken as to make its
mechanism unrecognisable. No one could trace its origin,--no one could
discover the method of its design. There was no remnant of any engine,
and its wings were cut to ribbons. The travellers who came upon its
fragments half buried in the sand left it where they found it, deciding
that a terrible catastrophe had overtaken the unfortunate aviators who
had piloted it thus far. They spoke of it when they returned to Europe,
but came upon no one who could offer a clue to its possible origin.
These same travellers were those who a short time since filled a
certain section of the sensational press with tales of a "Brazen City"
seen from the desert in the distance, with towers and cupolas that
shone like brass or like "the city of pure gold," revealed to St. John
the Divine, where "in the midst of the street of it" is the Tree of
Life. Such tales were and are received with scorn by the world's
majority, for whom food and money constitute the chief interest of
existence,--nevertheless tradition sometimes proves to be true, and
dreams become realities. However this may be, Morgana lives,--and can
make her voice heard when she will along the "Sound Ray"--that
wonderful "wireless" which is soon to be declared to the world. For
there is no distance that is not bridged by light,--and no separation
of sounds that cannot be again brought into unison and harmony. "There
are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our
philosophy,"--and the "Golden City" is one of those things! "Masters of
the world" are poor creatures at best,--but the secret Makers of the
New Race are the gods of the Future!
The End