"A sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of men
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things."
Morton roused from his passing stupor to find himself in a highly
hysterical condition. He was inclined to laugh; in fact he did laugh
in a mirthless way, with sobbing accent that closely resembled the act
of weeping. He strove to assure himself that he had been the dupe of
his own over-taxed nerves; that his present condition was wholly due
to the excessive tension of his mental powers and want of sleep. He
even went so far as to smilingly pledge his presumptive happiness in a
copious dose of valerian. Thus armed with a species of Dutch courage,
he threw himself upon a lounge and sought composure. If his wife's
spirit, he reasoned, were omnipresent in all conditions and under all
circumstances that pertained to him, as had been represented, and if
that spirit were anxious to be reincarnate, as he had been given to
understand that it was, why in the name of all that was rational,
should it desert him, simply because he hastened to attend one dying
woman instead of another? What possible difference could it make which
corporeal attire it assumed? was it not reasonable to assume that a
spirit, presumably clairvoyant, would pursue its affinity as the
magnet seeks the pole, and appropriate any earthly guise, since the
power was granted it? Was not Romaine Effingham's body as well fitted
for its reinstatement in the flesh as another's?
True, the late Miss Casson had possessed a certain fascination for
him, which had been commented upon before he went abroad to meet his
fate, and naturally enough his wife had divined the _ci-devant_ but
now defunct spell when she took her place in his circle, and,
woman-like, had rallied him upon it.
"If I had come to you bare-footed," she often remarked jocosely, "I
should not be constantly haunted by the consciousness that the fair
Isabel is impatiently awaiting my shoes."
To which quip he invariably replied with a laugh, "Such a suspicion
would never occur to you, my dear, if the shoes did not pinch."
And upon this occasion he conjectured, with a drowsy smile, that
Isabel Casson's body would have failed to offer his wife's spirit the
inducements to reincarnation that Romaine's might, under the
circumstances, the beautiful Miss Effingham having been ever far
removed from any such lovers' banter. And so, thanks to the drug and
his own reasoning power, he lapsed involuntarily into sleep, the
result of excessive fatigue. When at last he awoke, he sprang to his
feet, startled at his own temerity. His hysteria had vanished, leaving
him depressed and apathetic. With a thrill he noticed that the sun,
obscured by the windy clouds of the early spring evening, had crept
round to the back of the house and was glimmering fitfully in at his
study windows. The day had waned, and heaven only knew how many
precious hours he had lost.
He paused a moment, his blood halting in his veins as he strove to
surmise what might have transpired at Belvoir during his absence.
Fortunately for him, he had not overheard Drummond's half-implied
doubts of the morning, but in guilty consciousness of his attitude
towards Romaine's affianced lover, he instinctively felt the young
gentleman to be, in all righteousness, his deadly antagonist.
Ten minutes later he had ordered his carriage and was being borne
swiftly over the road that led to Belvoir, the invigorating breath of
the April evening blowing in upon him and soothing his perturbation,
despite himself. Consequently, as he passed through the gateway of
Belvoir, that gave back that description of echo peculiar to
aristocratic portals and cemeteries, he drew a long breath, feeling
himself to be himself again. Even the apparition of a well-known,
stalwart figure crossing the lawn from the direction of Drummond
Lodge, failed to materially disturb his equilibrium, since he had
already alighted before the figure had reached the garden stair
leading up to the terrace.
He let himself in at the unbarred door, as he had been wont to do in
the old time when he had been more an inmate of, than visitor at, the
house, and, finding no one to delay or question him in the shadowy
hall, he mounted the stairs, and laid his hand upon the door of his
patient's chamber.
He entered noiselessly, even pausing and holding his breath in
amazement at the vision that met his gaze.
Left alone for the moment, Romaine had arisen from her couch and had
gone to one of the windows that afforded an enchanting prospect of the
eastern hills, cloaked in the emerald film of bourgeoning spring,
vivified by the effulgence of the setting sun. She stood with the
silken drapery thrust back in her upraised hand, thus admitting the
evening glow that lent a touch etherial to her lovely face and flowing
attire.
It seemed like the irony of Fate that Morton should have discovered
her thus, instead of Drummond; but, even with his normal faculty of
observation, Morton paused, spell-bound. He neither spoke, nor made
the slightest movement that might disturb her intent revery. He simply
put the passionate yearning of his heart into one brief and mute
appeal.
"Oh, my darling, my Paula, my wife! Come to me of your own accord.
Come to me and let me feel the clasp of your dear arms about my neck!"
Whether she experienced the strong mesmeric power of that dumb appeal,
or whether her woman's instinct only warned her of his silent
presence, is a question for the determination of graduates in the
science of psychology. Certain it is that she turned with a visible
thrill, and came to him, the loose drapery of her sleeves falling back
and exposing the exquisite symmetry of her outstretched arms. She laid
those arms about his neck, glancing up into his face with a smile, and
kissed him upon the lips.
"How I have longed for you!" she murmured; "and what an eternity since
you left me!"
"Paula--Paula, my own sweet love!" he ventured breathlessly.
He stared hungrily into her upturned face, half-fearfully,
half-confidently noting the effect of his words; but the calm smile
remained unchanged, fixed upon her features as might have been the
smile of peaceful death, save that it wore the tint of life. He caught
her in his arms, passionately folding her to his breast, kissing her
hair, her brow, and lips.
In the next moment his quick ear detected the sound of foot-falls upon
the neighboring staircase.
"He is coming!" he whispered in involuntary alarm. "I promised him
that he should see you; but, oh, my love, remember that it is I, not
he, who claim you now--claim your every thought, your love wholly and
entirely!"
"I shall not forget that which is a part of my own being," she
answered gently. "With you by my side, I should not fear to face Satan
himself!"
He bore her in his arms to the lounge and tenderly placed her upon it.
"I am your physician, as well as lover," he murmured; "and it is in my
power to prevent your being tortured by a lengthy interview."
She smiled up at him reassuringly.
"Have no fear for me," she said. "But--but do not leave me."
And, upon the instant, Colston Drummond entered the chamber.
Morton stood at the head of the couch, his body half-turned away, his
face studiously averted; yet, in spite of his attitude, he was
conscious that Romaine's lover had thrown himself upon his knees
beside her couch, and had possessed himself of one of her hands, which
he pressed passionately to his lips.
"Romaine, Romaine," he faltered in evident suspense, "why do you turn
away your head? Why do you hide your face from me? Do you not know me?
It is I, Colston; I have come home to claim you for my wife, as we
agreed. Have you forgotten? In mercy, try to think, try to recall the
happy past! Oh, look at me, Romaine!"
A brief silence succeeded the eager appeal, only to be broken by a
sharp gasp from Drummond.
"Great God!" he exclaimed in an accent of horror, "can it be that she
does not know me? Dr. Morton, what does this mean?"
He had regained his feet and stepped so close to Morton that his
breath fanned his cheek. Morton turned swiftly, and their glances met.
Some vague instinct seemed to warn each of them that in a way they
were rivals, and for an instant they appeared to be measuring each
other's strength, as for some mortal combat--Drummond suffused, as to
his handsome face, with suppressed excitement, Morton sternly calm and
pallid.
"Pray do not forget, Mr. Drummond," the latter said steadily, "that
Miss Effingham is an invalid. As her physician, I insist upon her
being undisturbed."
The words, far from recalling Drummond to his senses, seemed to
increase his agitation.
"And do not forget, sir," he retorted, "that my attitude towards Miss
Effingham entitles me to some satisfaction, some explanation."
Morton simply bowed his head, covertly watching the young gentleman as
he crossed the chamber. With his hand upon the door, Drummond paused
and turned, whether for the desperate comfort of one more glance, or
ultimate word of defiance is doubtful, since at that moment Romaine
half rose upon her couch and clasped one of Morton's hands in both her
own. The significant act so maddened its beholder that the last
vestige of his self-control vanished. Returning swiftly upon his
steps, he snatched a letter from his breast and held it quivering
before the eyes of the shrinking girl.
"Romaine Effingham," he cried, "look at this letter! Look at it and
let the sight of it restore you to your wits, if you have lost them!
Do you recognize it? Do you remember how you wrote these lines to me
within a month, these lines instinct with your great love, with your
intense longing for me to return to you? I am willing to stake my
life that more impassioned words were never sent to absent lover.
There stands your signature! Do you deny it?"
She covered her face with her hands and moaned.
"You remember, then?" he added triumphantly. "Your mind is _not_
deranged, but _bewitched_!"
She only moaned, trembling like a broken twig vibrating in the wind.
Then Morton spoke with the same stony calm of voice and feature:
"You have had your say, sir," he said. "I have permitted you to speak
out of pity, but I am answerable to Mrs. Effingham for the welfare of
her daughter, which is being jeopardized by such a tirade as this
which you have seen fit to indulge in. I therefore request you--as her
physician, I request you to respect Miss Effingham's condition, and
leave the room."
Drummond raised his head and dealt Loyd Morton a glance which smote
him to the heart.
"I go," he answered. "I leave her in peace; but as God is judge of us
both, I fail to understand why you, who have enjoyed one all-absorbing
love, and ought to be faithful to it, can have the heart to force
yourself between my only love and me!"
And, with these significant words, he left the chamber.
Loyd Morton shivered as the door closed heavily upon his departing
form, and he crept to the window, raised the drapery, and stood
staring blindly out upon the darkening landscape.
For the first time since the beginning of his weird experience, the
voice of conscience asserted itself, weakening his resolution to the
extent of making a partial coward of him.
"God help me!" he mentally ejaculated; "would to heaven that I had
foreseen this disastrous complication before I entered into a covenant
with death! Far be it from me to interfere with the love and hope of
any man. But what can I do now, if, as I believe, it is Paula's soul
that has returned to comfort me in my loneliness? How can I give her
up to any other man to love and cherish? Were I to betray her thus,
outrage her confidence in me, and doom her to a spiritual hell on
earth, how could I face her when at last we meet in the life to come?
Heaven have mercy upon me and save me! rescue me from this awful doubt
that the soul I love is _not_ with me, is not incarnate here; that I
am the victim of some Satanic wile that grants me the power to exert
an infernal magnetism to the estrangement of fond and loyal hearts! O
my God, rather let me die here and now, before I have consummated
irreparable wrong!"
The desperate thought ended in a sharp gasp that voiced the surprise
and almost superstitious awe which seized upon him as he felt a
slender arm coil itself softly about his neck with soothing contact of
cool flesh against his feverish cheek.
The gloom had deepened to darkness within the chamber, but in the deep
embrasure of the window there lurked a faint after-glow of day, that
ultimate flickering of our northern twilight that seems fraught alike
with hinted promise and with lingering farewell. There is a witchery
about the "sober livery" of that brief hour that lends itself to the
imaginative soul and lays a magic spell upon the triteness of
existence.
He knew that she had come to him, but for a moment he trembled in
uncertainty.
"You are in doubt about me, Loyd?" she faltered, with a perspicacity
that was the more startling by reason of her hesitation. "You think it
best to relinquish all claim to me?"
"What think you yourself?" he asked in an agony of suspense.
"I am in doubt when you are."
"But when I am firm?"
"Then I feel that death itself cannot part us."
He wound his arms about her, and in return felt her hold upon him
tighten with clinging trust; and thus for one supreme moment they
stood.
"When you love, I love," she murmured; "when you waver, I waver. I am
the slave of a magnetism of which you are the master."
"Hush, hush!" he gasped, assailed even with her arms about him, by the
grewsome conviction which but a minute before had impelled him to call
upon heaven to end his ill-starred career; "no, no! this is not
magnetism! Banish the thought, dear love, and henceforth believe that
it is by a special dispensation of Providence that we are once more
united, never again to part!"
She nestled closer to him and laid her sweet head upon his breast in
eloquent reliance.
"I believe, since you believe," she murmured.
A moment later there sounded a cautious knocking upon the door.
Morton loosened his embrace and crossed the chamber to answer the
summons.
"Mr. Drummond begs Doctor Morton to join him immediately in the
library upon a matter of importance," announced the servant.
Morton bowed his head in silence.