‘Whence all this strange attraction? ’Tis Nature’s law,
Which irresistibly impels and leads
With forces so unutterably strong,
And yet so hid—so wrapped in joy—concealed—
That whence it comes we nothing know, nor why—
We only know it is that Power called LOVE.’
_Idylls, Legends and Lyrics._
As soon as Swami got rid of his visitor, he quickly made his way to the
dark chamber, where he had been thirsting to rush for some time past,
and turning on the force brought to view the psycho-development of the
coronation scene, wherein the portrait of the beautiful astronomer was
the centre-piece. He had in reality prepared this mental feast for
himself, but was induced at the request of Felicitas to reveal its
charms to that monarch.
As she sat upon her golden throne surrounded by the Maharajahs, and
Heads of the various Principalities of the Eastern Empire, decked in
their glittering robes, their crowns, and other courtly splendours,
heightened with all the attendant pomp of Eastern ceremonial, Swami saw
only the person of the matchless Mercia; for the rest possessed little
interest for him at this moment.
As his gaze dwelt upon her sweet face, he looked into her eyes with
rapturous emotion, and clasping his hands together, knelt before this
lovely delineation of his secret adoration, uttering in tenderest
accents a passionate apostrophe.
‘O, divine Mercia, I love thee! Thou hast brought into my life a new
element—a new force, as mysterious, as it is powerful. A new joy has
come into my heart hitherto unknown. A new hope is imparted to my lonely
life, irradiating its darkness, and giving the sweetest comfort known to
the human soul. I read the magic mirror of thine eyes, and see thy soul
all perfect, all pure, and unsullied.
‘I mentally see thy thought, and mapped out before me read the
loveliness of thy mind; for by the motions of thy brain I am acquainted
with the rich treasures of thy cultured mind.
‘Thou wert made to inspire the deepest emotions in the human heart; for
the mighty gift of soul-sympathy that pervades thy whole being,
exercises such power over every mind that all bow to thy magic
influence, deeming it a happiness to be near thee, however short the
moment.
‘The lowliest feel thy charm, and draw comfort therefrom, while I,
dearest Mercia, am inspired with ineffable delight; for who could know
thee and not be fired with the noblest aims—the highest aspirations?
‘Come then, sweet girl, come hither, and let mine eyes gaze upon the
casket that contains such a rich jewel—the form that contains such a
perfect soul!’
Then Swami, raising himself from his kneeling posture, and standing
erect, closed his eyes, and projecting from his nerve-centres a powerful
stream of psychic-energy, which, rushing in waves through the air,
almost instantly found its way to the fair prisoner.
Immediately, without knowing the cause, she commenced thinking of the
great Soul-reader, experiencing a strong desire to go and see him.
Now, in consequence of Swami’s advice the day previous, the Emperor had,
at the proper quarters intimated his desire to bestow the royal pardon
on the fair culprit; which command being as quickly carried out as
officialism would admit, Mercia was made acquainted with her position
with little delay.
When the governor of the prison read the document to Mercia which
contained the so-called ‘pardon,’ an indignant flush rose instantly to
her cheeks.
‘Ah!’ she disdainfully cried, ‘the Emperor generously sends me a pardon
before it is solicited, for a crime I have never committed! His clemency
oppresses me—it is really more than I can accept.’
‘It is certainly most unparalleled in prison records,’ remarked the
governor, who looked mystified. ‘I don’t know of a similar instance in
all my experience. The pardon should be accorded after the sentence is
passed, should the prisoner be found guilty. I understand that his
Gracious Majesty being himself the prosecutor, departs from the ordinary
routine observed in such matters. He desires to set thee at liberty
without further delay.’
‘I cannot accept his Majesty’s clemency without consulting my counsel,’
replied Mercia after a pause: ‘the case is in readiness, he informs me,
and witnesses are fully prepared to establish my innocence. I will
therefore remain here until I have had a consultation with him. Be good
enough to send for him at once, and we two will consider the matter.’
While the governor of the prison was despatching his messenger to the
barrister, Swami’s brain-wave had in the meantime reached Mercia;
causing her to upset her plans somewhat; for she found herself being
impelled by a strong desire to regain her freedom without delay.
Intimating her change of design to the governor, she took her departure
from the prison; and hiring a cab from the nearest public stand,—for
electricity did not do away with the Jehu, it only altered the
motive-power of his chariot—she instinctively gave orders to drive to
the great Soul-reader, and ere long found herself at his door.
‘Why have I come hither?’ she asked herself, as she was being led
through the beautiful conservatory, which was brilliantly illumined by
electricity, for the sun had gone down by this time.
‘What has brought me here?’ she murmured again to herself.
‘What brings everybody hither?’ whispered Reason in her ear.
‘Yes, yes,’ she replied mentally to her prompter, ‘of course I have come
to consult the great man in my difficulty. I seek his advice and
forewarning concerning the course I ought to pursue to-morrow. This is a
great emergency. No barrister can determine how the trial will end; for
Justice hath so many ways of turning that the most righteous cause runs
great risks in a law court. My case is not an ordinary one; my counsel
has had no experience in opposing the suit of an Emperor, for his own
Sovereign is his opponent! The whole thing bristles with difficulties
throughout.’
A few seconds sufficed for these reflections, for the motions of the
brain are intensely rapid: she had only proceeded a few steps when
Swami, who had come out to meet her, greeted her with the most profound
respect.
His whole deportment displayed the deepest reverence of her, while his
countenance was irradiated with the light of a great joy.
‘Welcome, sweet Lady!’ he murmured softly, ‘wilt thou graciously come
hither?’ Saying which he conducted her into his library, displaying the
utmost deference towards her, the while; then leading her to the softest
couch he begged her to be seated.
‘Thou art Dayanand Swami, the great Soul-reader, and I am Mercia
Montgomery, the late Astronomer Royal,’ she faltered out, hardly knowing
what to say, she felt so singularly disturbed in her mind.
‘I have heard great accounts of thine attainments,’ replied Swami,
endeavouring to check his excitement, ‘I have long desired the
opportunity of meeting with England’s rarest lady.’
Mercia looked at him earnestly for a moment; then blushed, and an
instant later recovering herself, she smiled archly—
‘Ah!’ she exclaimed, ‘it seems to me that all men are given to flattery,
I imagined that the illustrious Swami would have been an exception.’
‘Because all men say the same that proves it is no flattery,’ said Swami
deprecatingly; ‘nevertheless it is not meet that one should give
expression to his opinion while yet he is a stranger. Pardon me,
Mistress Mercia, for the liberty taken. But let me entreat of thee to
raise thy veil; otherwise I shall be at a disadvantage when reading thy
destiny, which I presume, is the object of thy visit,’ he added
artfully.
‘Certainly,’ answered Mercia innocently; while another bright smile lit
up her face with a singular radiance, as she threw back the dark veil
with which she had been careful to conceal herself while coming from the
prison. ‘I do not use these things always,’ she added, ‘it was the
disgrace of being seen come out of a prison that induced me to wear it
at all.’
‘The disgrace is his who sent thither the innocent. The noon of another
day shall place the dishonour where it is due. Lady, I am acquainted
with thy design in coming here, it is to learn the issue of thy trial.
Rest assured, all is well; the arrangements are perfect that thy friends
have made.’
‘Even so my counsel tells me: he says the evidence of Sadbag who was in
the room during the time that the Emperor accuses me of attempting his
life is most convincing. Nevertheless, as the old man himself is accused
of conspiring with me against his Majesty, the Emperor, I have my fears
anent the trial’s issue; for such evidence will not be credited the same
as if he were an independent witness. But now the matter has taken
another aspect. This day a pardon has come, unsolicited by me, from the
Emperor, and I am fully released without a trial, without condemnation,
I am _pardoned_! Unfold to me this mystery, I pray, and give me thy good
counsel.’
All this time the Soul-reader was gazing upon the beautiful face turned
towards him in anxious appeal: knowing full well of the certainty of her
position, his mind was not disturbed with the perplexities of the
situation. Nevertheless, he deemed it impolitic to explain everything
fully: such information could not turn the current of affairs, he argued
to himself; it would only have the effect of increasing her reluctance
to appear in court at all.
‘Let thine anxieties be dispersed at once,’ he urged gently, ‘there is
no cause at all for alarm: only trust thy good friend Sadbag; he will
make it pretty warm for the Emperor.’
‘How so?’ inquired Mercia, with great curiosity.
‘By his evidence, of course,’ replied Swami, who hesitated to recount
the full extent of Sadbag’s revelations, which could only increase her
embarrassment.
‘Is this all then, that the great Soul-reader can show me?’ exclaimed
Mercia in a disappointed tone of voice; ‘I hoped to have seen the
wonderful mind-reflecting mirror that all the world speaks of. Is there
nothing at all in my future that is worthy of transmission to the plate?
If nothing better, then show me my future husband;’ she demanded, while
a roguish smile dimpled her face.
‘Show thee thy future husband!’ repeated Swami nervously, ‘I cannot,
because I dare not,’ he added in evident excitement.
‘But I desire it,’ persisted Mercia, ‘I fain would learn if there be
such an individual in store for me.’
‘I will tell thee whom thou shalt not marry, if that will suit,’
returned Swami earnestly; with a view of evading the inquiry.
‘That is indeed a negative method of satisfying a lady’s curiosity,’
laughed Mercia gaily. ‘Well, then whom shall I _not_ marry?’
‘Neither Felicitas, nor Geometrus,’ replied he emphatically.
Mercia coloured violently upon hearing Geometrus’ name thus mentioned,
then trying to regard it lightly, she observed—‘Who is it, show me his
reflection?’
‘Not to-night. Come again, dear lady, and the portrait shall be in
readiness for thee.’
‘Ah, Swami,’ returned Mercia sweetly; ‘I perceive that thou art only
playing with me. Thou knowest full well, that neither love nor marriage
is for me. If I win my case, I return to my post. My work is my
bridegroom; I am bound to no other; for therein is centred my every
thought—my whole life-work.’
‘The observation of the heavenly bodies shall be thy life-work no
longer; thou art called to do work even more glorious than the study of
the great universe; for thou art destined to rule millions of human
beings, whose happiness depends upon thy wisdom, whose well-being is
assured by thy just administration. Princes shall pay thee homage: the
great ones of the earth shall be proud of thy friendship. All nations
shall vie with each other in showing thee honour; and thine own people
shall love and adore thee.’
The Soul-reader uttered his prophecy as one in a dream. With his hands
clasped together, and quivering with the violence of his emotion, he
seemed insensible to his surroundings. His great dark eyes were filled
with a wonderful light, whose luminous rays seemed to possess the power
of reaching into futurity. Unconsciously to himself, the waves of
soul-sympathy filled the air, and entering Mercia’s system set her heart
beating wildly with an ecstatic pleasure, that was an entirely new
experience.
Trembling with delight she awaited the moment when the fever of his
excitement should have subsided; and searched his countenance for the
first sign, that she might question him further.
‘Oh, Swami,’ she exclaimed, at length; for she could wait no
longer—‘whose kingdom shall I govern, and where are my dominions? Is it
well that one so ignorant of State affairs as I should be advanced to
such immense responsibility—such power—such glory? Thou hast indeed
painted a picture glowing with bright colour. Should not thy psychic
power point to some experienced potentate, more worthy than I? Is not
this a word-blunder—some curious coincidence of name that hath upset thy
calculations? It is not I, Mercia, the astronomer, who is destined for
this brilliant future; this most glorious career?’
‘It is thou, Mercia, and no other,’ responded Swami impressively—‘there
is no king, or high potentate better fitted for this proud position. If
thou art filled with doubts, see the proof, and banish thy scepticism
forthwith. Come hither, and look upon thy portrait, brain-painted upon
the sensitive plate beneath the crystal.’
Taking her hand he led her, all quivering with emotion, into the dark
chamber, when turning on the energy he displayed the glittering picture,
ablaze with brilliant colouring; every figure presenting that aspect of
roundness, which seemed to endow it almost with life.
‘Oh! It is myself—my very self!’ she exclaimed excitedly, her face lit
up with the intensity of her varying sensations. ‘How beautiful! Is it
possible that I shall ever look like that? What splendid jewelled robes!
What a magnificent crown, all ablaze with costly diamonds, sapphires,
emeralds, and rubies! How rich the Indian gold appears of which the
throne is composed, set in contrast with the white marble of the floor!
‘What a glorious assemblage of Eastern princes, paying homage to their
Empress, and arrayed in all their courtly splendour! This is, truly, a
scene from some ancient Eastern fairy tale, told thousands of years ago
by the imaginative Asiatic, and thou, Swami, hast made my portrait its
centre-piece. Is it not so?’ she inquired; for her inherent modesty made
her doubt again.
Then, Swami, his dark, speaking eyes filling with tears, and his heart
swelling with deep disappointment at seeing her doubt his integrity, for
a moment turned upon her a sad, reproachful gaze; when immediately, a
sudden passion seized him, forcing him prematurely, and against his
judgment, to give it utterance.
‘Mercia, dost thou doubt me? Would I deceive the one being for whom my
heart yearns? I love thee—I love thee, thou gifted one! Thou art,
indeed, soul of my soul, life of my life! Thou art the true living
elixir; the true soul-energy which can for all time support my spirit.
Thou dost inspire a new energy into my being—a new goal for my
aspirations! Thy life-essence can alone mingle with mine, for only thy
soul can hold communion with mine.
‘Physically, I have never before seen thee. These material, and natural
mirrors of the human brain have never until now reflected thine image on
their surface; nevertheless, I have gazed on thee through the medium of
my soul-sight, and have drank in the delight of thy beauty.
‘I have looked into thy very soul, and read its inmost workings—thy
beautiful unsullied soul, clear as the limpid waters.
‘Thy thought is no longer thine own; it is MINE, by the gift of DIVINE
LOVE! Yea, thou art mine, and I am thine!’ Swami gave utterance to his
passionate ecstasy as one in a dream, where the faculties being highly
exalted create sensations of the most delightful character.
His face, beautiful in feature, and spiritual in expression at all
times, was now irradiated with the glowing fire of love.
This new emotion filled him with a subtle rapture, imparting to him a
new fervour that lent a charm to every look and motion.
His dreamy eyes had turned intensely brilliant, their excitement
spreading to every muscle of the face, imparted over all his countenance
a delicious softness, that instantly set every nerve in Mercia’s frame
a-throbbing.
To her, as to him, it was indeed, a supreme moment, making her dumb by
reason of its intensity, as of its suddenness and power. Her countenance
was overspread with the warm glow of the unseen, mystic force, while her
bosom heaved with tumultuous emotions. Speechless she sat, with downcast
eyes, lost in a silent joy, while delicious sensations that were
entirely new to her, thrilled her whole frame.
‘Is this then LOVE!’ she exclaimed at length; while a tone of ineffable
tenderness pervaded her utterance, making her voice low, soft, and
melodious.
‘Am I then too, a victim to this conqueror of the world—a prisoner bound
in sweet captivity, with not the faintest wish to cast away my fetters?
Is this that strange and subtle power that guides and shapes the
destinies of the whole world; whose dominion the strongest bow to, whose
sceptre sways over prince and peasant?’
‘Even so, sweet Mercia, this is love. This is that which the Gods gave
to sweeten the labours of mankind: for who could bear the burden of life
from birth to death without this gracious comfort to sustain him?’
answered Swami, as moving nearer to her side he took her hand in his,
and covered it with passionate kisses.
‘I had thought,’ she murmured in a low voice ‘that love was not for me;
that my life should be devoted to my work. That the honour attained by
the close fulfilment of my duties would be ample reward.
‘My ambition was to endeavour to be the best astronomer the world has
ever seen. But now this dream has passed away, I am even as other women,
who love and are beloved, and seek no more.’
‘My beloved, this is the sum of life’s happiness. Without love life is a
mere wilderness. He who goes through life unloved and unloving has
wasted his existence.
‘The ascetic hopes for great reward when he reaches the Heaven of his
desires; but man may make or mar his own Paradise by his own hand. His
own course of life shapes it.’
‘To me, Swami,’ whispered Mercia earnestly, ‘it is happiness supreme to
know that thou art near. The world may shower its favours, or award its
indifference: it is all the same to me. I am satisfied with the
knowledge of thy love.’
‘And I am mad with joy!’ cried Swami passionately, as he covered her
face with ardent kisses; the first he had ever bestowed on woman; the
first she had ever received from man.
‘Once I thought,’ she resumed, ‘that the tender regard in which I held
Geometrus was known by this name. But now mine eyes are opened. I see
that Friendship, not Love, inspired my affection. This new emotion hath
another birth; a different force behind it: for notwithstanding what has
happened this night I feel the same sincere regard for him. His love for
me never gave birth to the feeling that thine hath done: for I
deliberately disregarded it, deeming my work of greater importance. But
for thee, Swami, there is nothing I would not do—even to die; for life
without thy love would be a living death.’
‘Geometrus!’ exclaimed Swami, starting at the name: ‘In my own great joy
I had forgotten his disappointment. His loss is my great gain. I would I
could comfort him by making him acquainted with the honourable future
that is in store for him. For he will distinguish himself above all in
his profession, and the whole world shall honour him.’
‘Dear, dear Geometrus, thou dost indeed deserve it!’ cried she
enthusiastically, for her heart pained at the thought of what his sorrow
would be in losing her. ‘But tell me, Swami, of my coming glory. Where
is this Empire that I am destined to govern, and how can such a
wonderful event be brought about?’
‘It is the Empire of India, my sweet one; it is the home of my
fathers—my own beautiful country!’ he exclaimed rapturously. ‘Thou wilt
be chosen by the vote of the nation as their first Empress. To thee is
given the honour of establishing the Royal Line for India! Thou and I,
Mercia; our children, and children’s children shall hold the reins of
Government through all generations.
‘Then will be re-established the sovereignty of my forefathers, who
reigned in India five hundred years ago. When thy coronation takes place
will be fulfilled the prophecy of my father’s father who predicted that
in one hundred years a woman, young, beautiful, and talented, should
reign over his country, dwelling with her people in happiness and
peace.’
‘How can these things be?’ mused Mercia, as she clasped her hands
together oppressed with this vision of greatness.
‘THE GREAT TEST TOURNAMENT is the first step towards its attainment. In
a few days it is here; victory will be ours, and India will be free to
choose her own Ruler. Leave the rest to God, for thou hast no part in
its arrangement. The honour will be awarded, unsought by thee.’
‘I have still all to learn concerning the Administration of this great
country,’ said she reflectively. ‘It is true I am acquainted with its
history from a scholar’s point of view, but practically I know nothing.
‘To rule a people successfully, we should be in perfect sympathy with
them; understanding their mode of thought, customs, and prejudices;
actually knowing their inner life.
‘It is impossible to rule a people justly, and legislate to meet their
wants fully and completely, except we be in touch with them throughout.’
‘I will teach thee, Mercia, all this,’ said Swami eagerly. ‘I will be
ever at thy side to tell thee all that thou wouldst know. See,’ said he,
pointing to his noble tiers of books, for now they were in his library,
‘we two will read and study them together, and from those silent
teachers of every age gain the piled-up wisdom of numerous generations,
in a short space.’
‘What a treasury of ancient lore!’ exclaimed Mercia, as rising from her
seat, she went from tier to tier examining their contents. ‘I shall have
a continual feast—a daily enjoyment of wonderful Oriental literature, as
soon as I have mastered the necessary knowledge of up-to-date
administration, which of course, shall have my first attention.’
‘And by marking the mistakes of the present Administration, correct
thine own,’ added Swami, as he gazed lovingly upon her every movement.
Thus conversing far into the night, on this most absorbing topic; to the
one, newly-born, and deeply interesting, by reason of its approaching
associations; to the other, for its memories of the past; its
unsatisfactory present,—from a patriot’s point of view,—and its promise
of a glorious future, the hours sped away unconsciously; till at length,
Mercia felt a languor stealing over her; which Swami perceiving suddenly
exclaimed—‘Dearest, thou art wearied. It is not meet to go forth at this
hour. Be my guest to-night, and to-morrow we two will attend the trial,
for now thou art my especial care.’ Then summoning his attendants he
bade them bring in certain refreshments of jellies, and light wines;
after partaking of which, the servants conducted her to a richly
furnished sleeping-chamber. Amidst the pearly-tinted silken sheets, and
richly embroidered coverlet, all delicately perfumed, Mercia sank into a
sound and refreshing slumber, giving no thought to the trial on the
morrow, or the difficulties her case would present now that she had
practically accepted the king’s pardon, without her counsel’s consent.