Early in the morning after Mr. Dunlap’s dinner-party in honor of
Professor Charlton, when the newly risen sun had made a dazzling field
of glittering diamonds of the snow that lay white and spotless about the
‘Eyrie,’ Walter Burton threw up the sash of one of the long, low windows
in his sitting-room and stepped out on the balcony.
With a sigh of relief he drank in deep draughts of the fresh, crisp air,
and exclaimed as he shaded his eyes:
“What a blessing is fresh air and sunlight after the closeness of the
house and gas-light.”
The man’s face was haggard and drawn like one who has passed a night of
vigil and suffering. His eyes were surrounded by bands of black that gave
to them a hollow appearance.
“How utterly idiotic and inexplicable seems my mood and conduct of last
night out here in the sunshine, now that I am my natural self once more.”
Burton walked down from the balcony on the crackling snow that lay dry
and sparkling on the lawn in front of the house. After a few moments
spent in the exercise of pacing about and swinging his arms, he returned
to his sitting-room refreshed and apparently restored to his usual
condition of mind.
All around the room that he entered were scattered promiscuously, musical
instruments, books, cushions, flowers and fragments of a late supper,
all in that confusion that could not fail to impress the beholder with
the idea that the room had been recently the scene of reckless orgies.
Pillows heaped upon a sofa still bore the imprint of some one’s head, and
was evidently the couch from which the young man had risen when he went
forth into God’s bright sunlight.
With supreme disgust depicted on his aesthetic countenance, Walter Burton
gazed at the evidence of his nocturnal revel while in that state of mind
he had named idiotic.
“These sporadic spells of silliness which come over my spirit are
as revolting to me, when relieved from their influences, as is
incomprehensible the cause of their coming,” muttered Burton, kicking
aside the various articles that littered the floor.
“What earthly reason could there be for the peculiar effect produced
upon me by the scrutiny of that old professor from the South? There
exists nothing natural to account for the strange sensation caused by the
penetrating gaze of that old Southerner.
“The cause must be sought in the sphere of the supernatural, a province
wherein reason, education and culture protest against my wandering.”
Pausing the young man strove to recall the scenes and sensations of the
previous night, but in vain.
“It is useless for me to struggle to bring back the vanished state of
feeling that possessed me last evening. It refuses to pass before the
spectrum of my mind.
“It is ever thus while the normal condition of my mental faculties
exists. I always fail to catch the fleeting shadow of that distorting
spectre that haunts my spirit with its degrading, masterful influence.
“Could I but hold that sensation that steals upon me, while my mental
powers are yet unimpaired by its presence, I might make a diagnosis of
the disease, analyze the cause and produce the remedy, but my attempts
are always futile. I fail to reproduce the feeling that was all-pervading
a few short hours before the current of my mind returned to its
accustomed channel.”
The helplessness and baffled look upon the man’s face as he ended this
self-communion was piteous. Throwing himself into a chair and covering
his face with his hands, he cried almost with a moan:
“To what depth of degradation, brutality and crime may I not be
carried while actuated by a power foreign and antagonistic to all that
Christianity, morality and education have imparted to me?”
“My God! How I had hoped that time and marriage would cause a diminution
in the power of these strange spells and the frequency of their visits,
until, at last, I might be freed from a thralldom repugnant to all my
better self.”
“Vain that hoped for release! Rather do the mysterious visitations
increase in frequency, and alas! also in power.”
“Like insidious waves that sap and undermine the foundation of some
massive granite cliff, the delusive tide recedes but to return, each
succeeding visit adding to the inroad already made. Though small may be
the gain, they never once relax their firm grip upon the headway won
before, until the toppling mass comes crashing from its majestic height,
vanquished by and victim of unremitting insidiousness.”
“So I find with each recurrence of the tide of the strange spell that
submerges me. That granite cliff of Christianity whereon I builded
my castle of morality, that bastion of education, those redoubts of
refinement, culture, aesthetics, deemed by me as creating an impregnable
fortress wherein by the aid of civilization I should find secure shelter,
are trembling and toppling, undermined by the waves of that inexplicable,
relentless influence.”
“Each attack finds me weaker to resist, each advance carries me further
from my fortress; I feel my defense falling; I am drawing nearer to the
brink; shall I fall? Shall I go crashing down, dragged from my high
estate by some fiendish tendency as inexorable as it is degrading?”
“As yet I am enabled to resist beyond the point of insensate silliness
and folly, but each returning shock is accompanied by ever stronger
suggestion of immorality, brutality and crime. Shall I be strong enough
always to repulse this tireless current of assault? Shall I finally
succumb and fall to the level of the barbarian and the beast? Soul
harrowing thought!”
“The insane or drink frenzied man is unconscious of his acts, but such
is not my miserable fate, while held in bondage by that unknown power I
appreciate the absurdity of my every act. I still am I, but powerless to
control myself, I catch the look of wonder that fills the eyes of others.
I feel the shame, but am powerless to remove the cause.”
“And, oh! the horror of seeing and recognizing a look of rebuke and
repulsion in the eyes of those I love and those who love me. To see the
smile of pride vanish and the blush of mortification succeed it on the
face of that being of all the world to me the dearest and fairest.”
“Last night in my dear Lucy’s eyes I read reproof, rebuke, and on her
cheeks I saw the red flag of shame. Cognizant of the cause, I, like a
leaf upon the current of some mighty cataract, helpless, rushed along
in humiliation and self-disgust. I beat against the stream with all
my remaining strength of mind; I struggled to regain the shore of my
accustomed dignity, but all in vain.”
“I was carried on and on, until plunging over the brink of the fall
I struck the bottom where lie those self-respect destroying rocks
of disgrace. In ignominy I fled and sought refuge here; ceasing my
unavailing efforts to break the chain that held me I gave free rein to
the influences that governed my mood.”
“Wild and ribald songs burst from my lips, hilarious and lascivious
music poured from the instruments that I touched, movements, rythmic
but novel, fantastic, barbarous, jerked my limbs about in the measure of
some savage dance. I ate and drank more as an untutored tribesman of the
jungle than a civilized citizen of our cultured country.”
“All unrestrained and unopposed that mystifying mood bore me on
recklessly, abandoned, until it swept me to the very verge of wickedness
and sin. On the extremist edge of that precipice, below which lies the
gulf of infamy, I found strength to grasp and hold the feeble tendrils of
that higher estate that still clung around me; in every fiber of my being
there surged Satanic suggestions to relinquish my hold upon the fragile
stay to which I desperately clung, and take the plunge into that dark
gulf below.”
“Go where base associates await you! Where lewdness, lasciviousness,
brutality, beastliness and licensed libidinousness lead to savage satiety
that ends in blood. These were the suggestive words whispered to me by
that fiendish spirit of these strange spells. They vibrated through every
nerve and vein of my racked and straining being.”
“Thank God! I still had power of soul sufficient to resist, but Lord! how
long shall I be enabled to avert that which is seemingly my doom?”
Burton arose and for several minutes walked about the apartment with
agitated, nervous tread. Passing before a long mirror that stood between
the windows, he stopped suddenly before it, gazed intently at his image
reflected there, and cried out:
“The reflection there tells me that I appear to be as other men around
me. In stature and features I seem not essentially at variance with the
average man I meet, perhaps I am even more comely. What then is it that
caused me to fall shamefaced, embarrassed and simpering like a silly
school boy, before the scrutiny of that old scholar last night?”
“I hold the Christian faith; I possess more than the ordinary degree of
education common in this country; I have acquired proficiency in many
accomplishments; I bear the impress of the culture and refinement of this
most enlightened century, and yet! and yet!”
“The searching, piercing glance of that old scientist seemed to penetrate
some concealing veil and tearing it aside revealed me in my very
nakedness; I seemed to stand forth an exposed impostor; I felt myself a
self-confessed charlatan, caught in the very act of masquerading in the
stolen trappings of my superiors; I became the buffoon in borrowed gown
and cap of the philosopher, an object of ridicule and wrath.”
“Before those deep seeing eyes I was no longer self-assured; convicted
of mimicking manners foreign to myself, I seemed to cast aside the
unavailing, purloined mask and mummery and thus reveal myself a fraud.
Seeking safety from the scorn and just resentment of the defrauded I took
refuge in pitiful imbecility and silliness.”
“Once before the same experience was mine. In Paris, at the American
Ambassador’s reception I met the Liberian minister. As soon as the
gigantic black man fastened his gaze upon me, I became disconcerted. When
we clasped hands all the feeling of superiority that education gives
departed from me, all the refined sentiments created by culture vanished,
I could only simper and chuckle like a child over senseless jokes as did
the negro giant beside me.”
“On that occasion, fearing to shock and disgust my bride, I stole like
a thief from her side and feigning sudden illness begged a friend to
take my place as escort of my wife, while as one bereft of reason I
raced along the boulevards and buried myself beneath the dark shade of
the trees in the Bois de Boulogne, where, capering and shouting madly I
danced until, exhausted, I fell to the ground.”
As Burton stood regarding his image reflected in the mirror, he became
suddenly aware of how wan and worn was the face before him and turning
wearily away he exclaimed,
“I must throw aside these wretched recollections and forebodings. I look
absolutely ill. I shall be in no condition to appear either at the office
or at my home unless I succeed in obliterating some of the evidences of
my suffering last night.”
When, by a mighty effort, he had acquired sufficient control of his
nerves and voice as not to attract the attention of his valet, he rang
the bell.
“Victor, prepare my bath, lay out some linen and a proper suit of
clothing. Order my breakfast served as soon as I ring, open the windows
and let fresh air into the room when I leave it,” said Burton to his
attendant, when the valet appeared in answer to his master’s summons.
A refreshing bath, a liberal indulgence in strong, black coffee, assisted
by the will power of the man enabled Burton to enter the office of “J.
Dunlap” almost entirely restored to his customary appearance.
The Manager had just finished examining the reports submitted by the
heads of the various departments of the great Shipping and Banking house
when the door of his office opened and the Superintendent entered.
David Chapman looked even more hawk-like, hungry and eager than when he
had stood one year before in the same place.
“Beg pardon, Mr. Burton, but I thought you might wish to be informed of
the fact that under instructions from Mr. Dunlap, I am forwarding by
the steamer that leaves today for Hong Kong, a package and some letters
that Mr. Dunlap gave me to send to Captain Jack Dunlap. The package
contains, I believe, a testimonial of Mr. Dunlap’s admiration for the
noble conduct of his kinsman in connection with the rescue from the wreck
of that emigrant ship. As I am availing myself of the opportunity to
communicate my own opinion concerning Captain Jack’s action, I thought
it not improbable that you would wish to send some message,” said the
Superintendent, peering stealthily at Burton as he spoke.
“I thank you, Chapman, most heartily for letting me know this,” cried
Burton warmly.
“How much time may I have to prepare a letter and package to accompany
yours and Mr. Dunlap’s?”
“Mr. Dunlap told me to hold the package until he arrived at the office
as it was likely that his granddaughter would wish to place some
communication for her cousin with his.”
“And I am sure she will! My wife’s admiration for her cousin Jack
is unbounded. I will hasten to prepare my contribution to the
congratulations sent to Captain Jack. He is a magnificent man and I am
proud to be connected in any way with such a noble character.”
“You are right, sir. Jack Dunlap is a brave, true man and comes of a
brave, true race. His actions prove that blood will tell,” rejoined
Chapman with more enthusiasm than it seemed possible for one of his
disposition to exhibit.
“Oh! Pshaw! Nonsense! I give Jack greater credit for his courage and
faithfulness than you do when you announce the absurd doctrine that men
inherit such qualities. I give him alone credit for what he is, not
his race or blood. Blood may be well enough in hounds and horses, but
education and culture make the man not the blood in his veins,” exclaimed
Burton impatiently.
“The same reason that exists for the superiority of the well-bred horse
or dog, causes the man of a good race to be the superior of the man of
an inferior race,” said Chapman meaningly, with an almost imperceptible
sneer in the tone of his voice.
“That argument might hold good provided that men like horses carried
jockeys to furnish the intelligence or like hounds had huntsmen to guide
them,” replied the Manager with more heat than seemed justified.
“Give a mule the most astute jockey on earth and he is no match for the
thorough-bred horse. Give the mongrel cur the craftiest huntsman, he
can neither find nor hold as the hound of pure blood. Give the man of
inferior race every advantage that education and culture can furnish, he
still remains inferior to the man of the purer, better race and blood.
The superiority of the latter lies in the inherent qualities of his
race,” replied Chapman, while a sinister smile distorted his thin scarlet
lips, and a baleful light flashed from his black eyes. For a moment he
waited to see the effect of his last speech, then turned and glided from
the Manager’s office.