THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
Alice returned to her home with the feeling that she was entering a
hostile city. The atmosphere of the house was inimical, charged with
disintegrating forces, which strove to break up and scatter her
protective power. That the power came from Dr. Eberstein she was now
perfectly certain in her own mind, as she had experienced his help so
plainly when she arrived. Before her visit to London, Enistor had so
dominated her with his cold cynicism and cruel insistence that he had
almost entirely conquered her will. She had been like a bird in the
coils of a serpent, and only absence had enabled her to regain her
freedom. In surroundings less charged with deadly evil, the girl had
recovered the youthful spirits which were her rightful heritage, and the
unifying influence of Montrose's love had strengthened her considerably.
Therefore, when fear again threatened to control her, she had been able
to assert herself, but, on reflection, she felt positive that the
attempt would have been vain had she not mentally appealed to Eberstein.
Why she had thus called upon him for help she scarcely knew, as she was
ignorant of matters connected with the occult. All she did know was that
the doctor had always soothed her with his serene strength when she was
in his presence, and half unconsciously she had wished for him to be
beside her when the insidious evil which overshadowed Tremore had surged
round her to paralyse and control. Eberstein had not come himself, but
his power had, and like an impassable wall it had fenced her in from
danger. The hint that such help was obtainable in such a manner was
enough for the girl. She persistently and particularly dwelt upon
Eberstein's powerful personality, and whenever uncomfortable feelings
assailed her, she swiftly imagined that he was close at hand to defend
her. Also she constantly visualised the image of her lover, knowing that
he was willing to lay down his life for her safety, and this in a lesser
degree filled her with life and strength. If Enistor on his daughter's
return doubted that the visit to London had done her good, he had no
reason to doubt afterwards. Alice recovered, as by magic, the brightness
of her eyes and the roses of her cheeks. She went about the dark house
gaily and hopefully busy with domestic affairs, always cheerful and
merry even to the extent of singing while at work. It might be thought
that Enistor was glad to see how the girl had recovered her spirits and
had benefited by the change. But in place of showing satisfaction, he
gloomed and glowered in high displeasure.
"There is less chance than ever of our gaining authority over her," he
complained to Narvaez, when on a visit to the magician's cottage. "We
nearly controlled her before she left for London, but now her resisting
strength has increased tremendously."
"It is not her own strength that defends her," replied Don Pablo
quietly.
"Then it is the strength of love awakened by Montrose. You might have
known, Master--you who have such means of obtaining knowledge--that
there was that risk when I let her go to Mrs. Barrast's."
"I am not omnipotent and omniscient," answered the old man dryly. "Great
as is my power, there are still many things beyond my control. I implied
as much when I told you that the present situation is the outcome of the
past. You know the Law of Karma--the Law of Cause and Effect--the Law of
'As ye sow so shall ye reap,' which governs the evolution of the present
creation, and knowing so much, you should not be surprised that we are
mastered by it as are all beings. Sooner or later Alice was bound to
come into contact with our enemies."
"Who are they?"
"Dr. Eberstein and Douglas Montrose!"
"Alice told me how she had met Eberstein and how much she liked him. But
she gave me no hint that he was an enemy."
"How could she, seeing she does not know," retorted Narvaez sharply.
"Eberstein is the White Magician, against whom I warned you weeks ago.
He is coming down here soon, as I prophesied he would. And Montrose also
comes. We were all together in Chaldea five thousand years ago, and
there engendered causes which have to be worked out in the flesh to-day.
Why do you blame me for Alice going to London?"
"She has gained strength by going there and meeting these men. You
should have warned me."
"I warned you as much as I could," snapped Narvaez, acridly sharp, "but
I could not prevent the inevitable. Alice had to meet them, and the
loss of that money under the will which left it to Montrose was the
means used to bring them together. All I could do, being impotent under
the Karmic Law, was to so arrange matters that Montrose might be brought
down here along with Dr. Eberstein. That I have managed and now comes
the tug of war. You are by no means a satisfactory pupil, Enistor, as I
have again and again to explain matters which you already know."
"Then I take it that Eberstein has already declared war by bringing
Montrose and Alice together?"
"The Great Law did that. Eberstein's declaration of war is the help that
he is giving Alice to withstand the influence we strive to bring to bear
upon her. For the moment, as you saw, she nearly relapsed into her
former condition when she returned from her visit. But her intuition
told her to call upon her guardian Eberstein and the help came. Her
innocence protected her before: now she has the more powerful protection
of love, both from Montrose in a personal sense, and in an impersonal
way from Eberstein."
"Is he very powerful?"
"Yes," grinned Narvaez with a look of hate in his cold blue eyes. "He
follows the Right-hand Path of Love, and has the universal power behind
him. You and I on the Left-hand Path of Hate possess only a portion of
that power."
"In that case it seems impossible to conquer," said Enistor
irresolutely.
The Satanic pride of Don Pablo rose in arms against this insinuation.
"Eberstein will find me no mean adversary," he snarled. "I shall fight
and fight to the last. Already the fly in the person of Montrose has
walked into my parlour."
"Oh! So you are the spider?"
"Yes! And I shall devour Montrose if I can. Already I have made my plans
and started my work by paying attentions to that silly Rose Penwin, thus
arousing the jealousy of Trevel."
"But I don't see----"
"Never mind what you see," interrupted Narvaez impatiently. "Leave me to
do what I intend to do, and then Eberstein will not find it easy to save
Montrose, in spite of his power."
"But if he has more power than you----?"
"Can't you understand?" cried Don Pablo, exasperated. "Montrose and
Alice both have free-will. Eberstein can guide and coax; he cannot
command. If the two yield to Self, then we triumph."
"And if they renounce Self?"
"Then we fail. But be of good cheer. Neither is yet so strong as to have
entirely conquered the animal self, and that will fight in each for its
existence. What you have to do is to play the courteous host, to permit
the engagement of Alice and Montrose: then leave the rest to me."
This was only one of many conversations which Enistor had with his
Master, while awaiting the arrival of his guest. He could not quite
understand the situation, and Narvaez declined to explain further than
was in his opinion necessary. All Enistor knew was that Montrose was to
be trapped in some way, and that Don Pablo's courting of Rose Penwin
with gifts had to do with the trapping. Contented with this knowledge,
the man was markedly amiable to his daughter, and Alice felt nervously
surprised by the unusual attention which her ordinarily indifferent
father paid her. Formerly she had, with some reason, dreaded the
sinister influence emanating from him, but now seeing in his
demonstrations of affection a sign that he truly loved her, she
regretted her possible misjudgment. In many ways she attempted to show
her appreciation of the miraculous change from blame to praise, and on
the whole found domestic life at Tremore unexpectedly pleasant.
Nevertheless the natures of father and daughter clashed at odd moments,
and it was only by constantly acting parts they did not truly feel that
they could keep things smooth. More than ever did Alice long for the
arrival of Montrose, so that she could display her true nature and
exercise her true love.
Enistor's unnatural complaisance extended to Hardwick, as, now that he
was aware of the artist's rejection, he did not forbid his visits.
Julian guessed that the Squire merely tolerated him, and simply came to
Tremore on all and every occasion to aid Alice, since he knew that she
was something of an alien in her home. His host was always pointedly
agreeable, and so--strange to say--was Don Pablo. The dark dour old man,
for some hidden reason, appeared to take a great interest in the artist.
As he had formerly neglected him in every way, Julian was puzzled to
know why he should be thus honoured. Not liking Narvaez, he did not
reciprocate this belated amiability, and always escaped with Alice on
to the moors when it was possible. He trained her to observe the
beauties of Nature, and opened her eyes to a more glorious world of form
and colour. Alice accepted such behaviour with sisterly thankfulness,
and looked upon him as a large comfortable Newfoundland dog, able to
protect and please her. Therefore the young people found life very
pleasant, and all was sunshine for the moment, as Eberstein had
predicted. That more glorious sunshine would come with her lover's
arrival Alice knew very well, but she never forgot that clouds would
sooner or later overshadow the summer sky, although she could not see in
which quarter they would arise. A vague feeling, however, intimated that
disaster would come with Montrose, and that her belief in his love would
be severely tested. Nevertheless, she looked forward to his arrival,
knowing that Eberstein would follow him shortly. And in the doctor she
had the most implicit confidence, assured that whatever sorrow descended
upon her or her lover, Eberstein would guard them and help them in every
way. Also there was Julian upon whom she could rely in the hour of her
need. The suspense indeed was unpleasant, but Alice fought it with
prayer and high thinking, girding herself as it were with armour of
light against the time when the Dark Powers would assault the citadel of
her being. But in her innocence she was ignorant, save from the hints of
Eberstein, that an assault was intended.
At length came the golden day when Douglas was to arrive, and Alice
rejoiced to receive a letter stating that the young man would leave
London by the early morning train at five o'clock. At half-past three
he would be at Perchton, and there Julian was to meet him in his
friend's motor-car which he had again procured, so that Montrose might
be with Alice as speedily as was possible. Enistor, indeed, mindful of
Don Pablo's injunction to be courteous, had offered to send the
carriage, but Alice, anxious that some swifter method should be found to
bring her lover to her longing arms, had accepted the offer of Julian.
She did not go to the Perchton station herself, but waited a mile beyond
Polwellin village in a green nook beside the high road for the happy
moment. Hardwick had purposely arranged to bring the lover to Tremore,
as he was anxious for the sake of the girl's happiness to see what was
the nature of the man she had chosen to be her husband, and deemed that
he could discover the same more easily when Alice was not present.
Apparently his reading of Montrose's character was satisfactory, for
when the car came swirling round the corner, Alice saw that the two
young men were chatting together as if they had known one another for
years. Of course when Alice was espied waving her hand on the green hill
above the nook, the car was stopped on the dusty white road, and equally
of course Montrose jumped down to run like a deer up the ascent. In
another moment she was in his fond arms, and heart was beating against
heart. Neither could speak, so full of joyful emotion was the moment,
and guessing this, Julian told the chauffeur to drive on. With some
astonishment the couple saw the motor slipping round the bend of the
road, through the village, and up towards Tremore, bearing the
portmanteau of Montrose. They were alone in the purple world amongst
the gorgeous coloured bracken, which was vivid with autumnal tints. The
sun was just sinking and the glory of its rainbow hues bathed them in
opal lights.
"That is one of the nicest fellows I ever met," said Montrose, when the
first surprise at Julian's prompt action was over. "And he is so
sensible. He knew I wanted to be alone with you at the first
opportunity."
"Julian is always considerate," said Alice gaily.
"You call him Julian--Mrs. Barrast's brother?" said Montrose jealously.
"Dear," she took him by the lapels of his coat and looked into his dark
eyes. "Of course I call him by his Christian name. I told you about
Julian in London. How he proposed to me: how I refused him, and how we
are now like brother and sister. There is no need to be----"
Montrose stopped her mouth with a kiss. "Don't say the word. I am a
fool," he said penitently. "I remember what you said in Town. And
Hardwick is a brick; a really true, honest-hearted fellow. I like him
immensely. And--and--oh, we have so much to talk about, Alice, that we
need not waste the time in discussing Hardwick, even though he is so
decent."
Alice quite agreed with this sentiment, so the two started to climb the
hills on their way to Tremore, and talked all the way of near and dear
matters so necessary and interesting to lovers, and so dull when a third
person overhears. They went over their meeting in Hans Crescent,
recalled what he had said and what she had replied; explained how each
had been hungry for this precious moment of meeting and punctuated the
enthralling conversation with frequent kisses. And as the magical light
died out of the western sky, they conversed on graver subjects which had
to do with some vague thought of evil coming to them both. Montrose
explained how he had seen Eberstein shortly before leaving London.
"He sent for me yesterday," said the young man, fumbling at his breast,
"and gave me this, which he said was necessary for my protection."
"Your protection," echoed Alice with a sudden qualm, and she stared at
the small golden heart swung on a thin golden chain, which Montrose had
produced unexpectedly. "Why should you want protection, Douglas?"
"Ah, that I cannot truly say. But I am so accustomed to obey the doctor
implicitly that I did as he asked me and wear this amulet round my neck.
He has always a reason for what he does, Alice. Remember, dear, he said
plainly that our sunshine would not last for ever," ended Montrose
gravely.
"There is to be a period of sorrow, I know," murmured Alice, nestling
close to her lover's side. "But with Dr. Eberstein's help we shall come
out of the darkness into the light once more. I don't know what he
means," she added after a pause. "Why should sorrow come?"
"I have an idea that it has something to do with our meeting in former
lives, Alice, and that we have enemies to encounter and conquer."
"Don Pablo very likely."
"I think so, although I am not sure." Montrose spoke dreamily,
remembering his wonderful vision and the warning of Eberstein. "We must
watch and pray, dear, for, more or less, we are moving in the darkness.
This will aid us," and he held up the talisman, which glittered in the
sunset rays.
"But how can that golden heart help?" asked Alice disbelievingly.
"You only see the exterior, dear. It holds," Montrose made the sign of
the cross on his breast, "a portion of the Host, as Dr. Eberstein told
me, and is therefore powerful against evil. I called it an amulet:
rightly, I should have said a reliquary. Look, dearest!"
Then a most wonderful thing happened. The two had reached the shade of
the wood surrounding Tremore, and had halted on its verge in a spot
where the sunlight could not penetrate. But as Alice stared at the
golden heart it blazed as a star with a far more brilliant light than
any she had ever seen before. In a flash of thought she knew that her
interior senses had been opened by the mightiest influence on earth. She
was looking through the sheath of metal at the very Host itself in its
supernal aspect, radiant, glorious, wonderful, holy. "Oh!" she breathed
in a hushed voice and bowed her head reverently.
"What is it?" asked her lover in surprise, for her expression was
angelic.
"Do you not see the light that is brighter than the sun?"
"No," he whispered nervously, and seized her hand, like a child seeking
for the comfort of a mother's touch. "Where is the light?"
"It is gone now." Alice passed her disengaged hand across her brow. "It
disappeared when you touched me. When you held up that heart it shone
like a marvellous star of splendour."
Then Montrose understood. "You have seen the Power itself," he murmured,
and with trembling hands restored the reliquary to his breast. For the
moment what Alice had seen shook him to the core of his being. "How
glorious to be able to see through the veil even for a single moment.
But why should you not when it is said, 'Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they shall see God'?"
Like children they clung to one another on the borders of that dark
wood, and it was some time before they could proceed. The sacred light
they felt was yet around them, and would act as a shield against all
evil. That it did so far as Alice was concerned was certain, for while
walking under the yews amidst the heavy darkness, her sense of
protection was unusually strong. Not so Montrose, for even though he
carried the reliquary, he was less sensitive to its helpful influence
than the girl who was more attuned to spirituality. It might be that
with him the preponderance of earthly desires placed him more in touch
with the lower planes than with the higher, but undoubtedly he felt
strongly the tremendous pressure of the evil around him. And when the
two halted on the verge of the beaten ground, barren of herb and flower,
the house of hate bulked largely, silent, black, brooding and menacing.
"Alice, how can you live here?" demanded Montrose, grasping her hand
tightly.
"You feel it also?" she whispered, "that sense of doom and dread?"
"I feel the power that rends and tears and parts asunder: the
disintegrating force of Chaos, which is necessary for creation before
Cosmos--the Cosmos of Love can be formed!" and unconsciously he gripped
her hand with crushing force, so great was the emotion which stirred
him.
"Douglas, you hurt me," cried the girl, writhing.
"Oh, forgive me," he descended to the commonplace and tenderly kissed
the pained finger. "But the feeling of dread was so strong that I forgot
what I was doing. There," he kissed her hand twice, "is it better,
darling?"
Alice laughed. "You are a child," she said, advancing towards the house.
Her lover sighed. "We are all children, I think. Afraid of the dark."
"There is no darkness where God is, dear. Think of God and the light
comes."
"You are nearer to the Great Spirit of Love than I am," said Douglas,
peering nervously into the gloom. Then he made an effort to throw off
the still persistent influence of evil. "Let us get into the lamplight."
"Come then," said Alice, and stepping into the porch, she laid her hand
on the handle of the door. Immediately, as by magic, it retreated from
her fingers, and the portal swung wide to reveal Enistor on the
threshold, dimly seen in what light still radiated from the fading
sunset over the heavy tree-tops.
"I heard your voices," he explained genially, "and knew that our guest
had arrived. Welcome to Tremore, Mr. Montrose."
"Thank you, sir, oh, thank you," replied the young man, reassured by
this reception and warmly clasping the hand extended to him.
As he did so a strong feeling of repulsion possessed his mind with
overwhelming force, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from
wrenching his hand away. Not that there was any need for the action on
his part, for Enistor actually translated the thought into swift doing,
and loosened his grip, to stand back with a startled look. Without doubt
the same repugnance at the same instant of time obsessed the older man,
but, less self-controlled, he had been unable to prevent the unfriendly
action. In the twilight each man strove to see the face of the other,
but it was impossible to distinguish clearly. In shadows they met as
shadows.
It was Alice who broke the spell of confused hatred, as, in spite of her
clairvoyant faculty, she was apparently ignorant of the thunder in the
air.
"I am sure you will be glad to have tea, Douglas. Is it in the library,
father?"
"Yes!" muttered Enistor, regaining his self-control by a powerful
effort, and with that one word he led the way into the lamplight.
Douglas followed arm in arm with the girl, feeling that but for her and
all she meant to him he would have escaped immediately from the grim
house and its unseen owner.
In the mellow radiance which flooded the library Enistor beheld a slim
and delicate man with the dreamy face of a poet. Scorning himself that
such a stripling should cause him even momentary dread, and despising
him as one of the enemies indicated by Narvaez, the Squire became
good-naturedly tolerant. During tea-time he behaved courteously, and
proved himself to be a genial and hospitable host. But Montrose was
markedly silent, as his repulsion increased immediately he caught sight
of that dark and powerful countenance. Also in his heart there lurked an
uncomfortable fear that Enistor was in a position to injure him in some
inexplicable way. It was not physical fear, for Montrose was a brave
man, but a hateful influence which seemed in some way to paralyse him.
Why this should be so he was naturally unable to guess, but the desire
to fly the neighbourhood of an implacable foe was so strong that it took
him all his strength to resist the desire for an ignominious retreat.
But for Alice's sake he did so resist, as her gracious presence enabled
him to bear the strain with some equanimity. Therefore, as he had been
trained by Eberstein to control his feelings, he drank and ate in quite
a conventional manner. Alice, still ignorant of the hatred with which
her father and her lover regarded one another, presided over what was
outwardly a merry little meal, chatting and laughing in a smiling and
whole-hearted way, as though she had not a care in the world. As indeed
she had not for the moment.
"I fear you will feel dull here, Mr. Montrose," said Enistor, formal and
cold.
"Oh, father, what a compliment to me!"
"My dear, we are quiet folk at Tremore, you must admit."
"I like quietness," said Montrose, smiling, "and would much rather be
here than in London. And of course with Alice----"
"It is paradise," ended Enistor cynically. "You have the usual
stock-in-trade of pretty phrases which lovers delight in. Well, we must
see what we can do to amuse you. I am usually busy myself, but Alice can
be your guide to the few sights of the neighbourhood. You can ride a
horse, or a bicycle, and drive in the carriage or dog-cart. There is a
tennis-lawn at the back of the house and golf-links in Perchton. Then
you can go sketching on the moors with Mr. Hardwick and Alice; or Job
Trevel will take you out fishing. Mr. Sparrow, the vicar of Polwellin,
will show you the church and cromlechs and rocking-stones and other such
things, as he is something of an archæologist. We can have music and
bridge and conversation in the evenings, and----"
"Stop! Stop!" interrupted Montrose, now more at his ease, as he saw that
the Squire was endeavouring to make himself agreeable. "It would require
six months to do all these things. I shall enjoy myself immensely,
especially if you will introduce me to Señor Narvaez."
"What do you know about him?" asked Enistor sharply, and frowning.
"All that Alice and Hardwick could tell me. He seems to be a very
interesting man, and an unusual character."
"He is original," assented Enistor quickly, "so much so that he does not
choose to know every one. However, as he is my very good friend I
daresay I shall be able to induce him to meet you here. You will find
him very interesting indeed," ended the Squire significantly, and he
stared hard at Montrose, wondering if he guessed how the Spaniard
regarded him.
But the young man, having nothing to conceal, and quite innocent of Don
Pablo's enmity towards him, met the Squire's gaze with a forced friendly
smile. "I like interesting people," he said amiably. "And I hope you do
also, Mr. Enistor, as my friend Dr. Eberstein is coming to Perchton
shortly."
"I shall be pleased to welcome any friend of yours," replied the elder
man in a formal way, and then rose to leave the room. He felt that he
had done enough as host for the time being and wished to be alone, so
that he might send mental messages to Narvaez about the new arrival.
"You will excuse me until dinner-time, Mr. Montrose. Alice will
entertain you."
When the Squire departed Alice did her best in the way of entertainment,
but found it difficult to banish the thoughtful look from her lover's
face. Pleading fatigue, the young man soon sought the room assigned to
him, and pondered over the odd distaste which the sight of Enistor
induced. He could not account for it, and wished that Eberstein would
appear to elucidate the problem. Across his mind flashed insistently the
question of Ahab, "Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?" and the deadly
answer of Elijah the seer, "I _have_ found thee!" Much as he loved
Alice, he felt that the situation was uncomfortable and perplexing and
quite beyond human explanation.