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 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
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 IN MEMORY OF 
 
 Takusei Mlzuno 
 
Karma 
 
 A Novel 
 
 By 
 A. P. Sinnett. 
 
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 KARMA. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 KT B0X7TB TO THB OABTLB. 
 
 •* I-rt Mrs, Miller*B party, though it's the Baron's castle, I asstire 
 you, Mrs. Vaughan. She has full authority to issue invita- 
 tions." 
 
 The speaker was a slightly-built, well-dressed man of about 
 fifty, with a fair moustache, light- coloured clothes, and a 
 buoyant, airy manner. The scene of the conversation was the 
 pleasant garden of the Hotel du Nord at Cologne, and the 
 group engaged in it, three ladies and the Captain — Captain 
 Miller, R.N. 
 
 '* I do not understand," he went on, " what right Mrs. Miller 
 has to be giving parties in another fellow's castle ; but my ex- 
 perience of married life is, that a husband's businesg Ib to obey 
 orders and ask no questions." 
 
 " Don't be too stupid, Jem," — this remark naturally coming 
 from Mrs. Miller. *' This once you know as much about the 
 matter a« I do mysell Baron Friedrich said, when the arrange- 
 ment was made in London months ago, that the party must have 
 a lady at the head of it, and that I was to be the lady. That's 
 all the mystery there is in the affair. I would have no hesita- 
 tion in asking any friends I thought likely to be congenial, even 
 if kh«7 were only friends of my own; but m regards yon 
 
 B 
 
 L 025 
 
i KAEMA. 
 
 and Miss Yanghan, it goes without ■aying that the Baron will 
 
 be delighted to have you." 
 
 "I'm sure it will be charming, Mrs. Miller, and I hope 
 mamma will decide for us to go ; but do tell me all about it your- 
 self. We have only had the general idea as yet from Captain 
 Miller." 
 
 *' Jem ought to have been able to have explained the whole 
 arrangement properly, Miss Vaughan, but he never will take 
 trouble enough to make anything clear, and so he is always 
 misleading people — " 
 
 " She doesn't know yet whether I've told it right or wrong," 
 the Captain put in, sotto voce^ addressing the elder lady, and 
 apparently enjoying his ill-usage. 
 
 ** At all events, I'm putting the thing in a charitable light ; 
 for if you do take trouble, and yet make mistakes all the same, 
 80 much the worse for you." 
 
 Jem being thus non-suited, Mrs, MiUer went on in reply to 
 Miss Vaughan, — 
 
 " Baron Friedrich had been telling me about the castle at 
 Heiligenfels, which he has had put into thorough repair inside, 
 ©0 that it is a charming country-house to live in, while it still 
 looks like a regular Rhine ruiu from the outside— at all events, 
 unless you look close with a telescope; and he asked me 
 whether it wouldn't be a good idea to have a party of people to 
 stay there in the autumn. I applauded the notion ; and then 
 we agreed that the party, to be really enjoyable, ought to con- 
 sist of people who had shown some intelligent leaning towards 
 inquiry into psychic matters. That'i how the arrangement 
 grew up." 
 
 "To have the Baron helpless," said Miss Vaughan, "in his 
 own house, and make him tell one all sorts of things that he 
 never would do more than half explain in London — that would 
 be delightful" 
 
 " I want the time to be profitably spent by all of ns," Mrs. 
 Miller continued. " We'U have serious reading as a foundation 
 for first-rate talk. What is there in the month of August, I 
 should like to know, that ought to make people put away their 
 books, and shut up their minds, and do nothing but gape at 
 mountains and waterfalls 1" 
 
 " But with me, Mrs. Miller, the autumn ii my great time for 
 reading and itody. Thero is absolutely iu> opportunity of 
 
IN BOUTB TO THB OASTLB. 8 
 
 opening a book during the London season. I do all my reading 
 down in Devonshire." 
 
 "Ah, well, everybody does not live in such a fashionable 
 whirl as Miss Lucy Vaughan. But what I say is right either 
 way. If you can't be sensible in the season, it's all the more 
 reason why you should be in the autumn." 
 
 " Everybody knows," said the Captain, " that Miss Vaughan 
 is sensible all the year round. Don't let her put it that way, 
 Miss Vaughan ; you're not her husband." 
 
 "Miss Vaughan is sensible enough to understand what I 
 mean even if youWe not, Jem. So just be quiet for a little, 
 please, and let me speak." 
 
 " Well, Lucy at least may be content, as she is complimented 
 on both sides," said her mother, Mrs. Vaughan, the elder lady 
 of the group, with a little air of waving off further comments 
 on "Jem." "So you were asked by the Baron, I understand, 
 Mrs. Miller, to organize his party on the principle you suggested, 
 and have done so accordingly.*' 
 
 " Quite so, Mrs. Vaughan, and, mind, I am not representing 
 it as especially a fashionable party, though they are all people 
 you might meet in London any day." 
 
 " But indeed, if there is a question which never rises in my 
 mind about people, it is the question whether or not they are 
 fashionable. The attraction for me in your invitation, Mrs. 
 Miller, I frankly confess, always recognizing that which lies in 
 your i ' V pleasant society, is centred in the Baron himself. I 
 am more than interested in him." 
 
 " The Baron is perfect, of course, and he has not a thought 
 in this matter, I assure you, beyond realizing my wishes in all 
 respects. I have mapped out all the plans, and have had 
 quantities of all the books we shall want sent on to Heiligenfels, 
 and Sir John Hexton is going to send a steam-launch for excur- 
 sions on the river." 
 
 "But, my dear Mrs. Miller, have you recruited Sir John 
 Hexton for one of your intellectual party 1 " 
 
 " Oh, well, perhaps I'll convert him in time, but he is a con- 
 nection of the Baron's, you know — his brother-in-law, and I think 
 it was the Baron wanted him asked. Claude Merland is on© more 
 of my selections. He's coming, and his friend Annerly, as 
 clever as he is ugly to look at, poor creature, and my niece Marian 
 Blane„ and Mrs. Lakesby. Have you ever met Mrs. Lakesby ? " 
 
4 KABMA, 
 
 ** No, but as a friend either of Baron Friedrich, or of yonn^ 
 I am sure I should meet her with pleasure." 
 
 It had been almost settled before the little conversation 
 recorded that Mrs. Vaughan would accept the invitation to the 
 castle ; and, before the two couples separated to make ready for 
 the tabJe-d'hStej Mrs. Miller had the great satisfaction of receiv- 
 ing a definite promise that she and her daughter would come. 
 
 " For you know, Jem," said the energetic lady — " the 
 Admiral," as she was sometimes called by her intimates, in 
 recognition of her authority over the captain — when they had 
 gone up to their room together, "I don't mean that I aim 
 especially at having this party talked about ; but still, if it is 
 talked about, the Vaughans will give it a cachet It is quite 
 providential that their house in Devonshire should be in the 
 builders' hands after that fire. They hardly ever come abroad 
 in the autumn. They have great parties of their own at 
 Seabui-y Hill. I tell you I should never have had the impu- 
 dence to ask Mrs. Yaughan to Heiligenfels if it had not been 
 for this odd coincidence of their coming to the Rhine of their 
 own accord." 
 
 *' Invitations you give in the Baron's name, Milly," said the 
 Captain, lifting his good-tempered face out of a basin of water, 
 and blowing the drops out of his moustache, " do honour — where 
 the dickens is the towel — do honour to whoever receives them, 
 no matter who they are. And if I were you, Milly, I think I 
 would keep him as much as possible in the foreground of this 
 business, and not let anybody forget, you know, that, after all — ** 
 
 "Why, good gracious, Jem, if there is a human being I 
 reverence and honour, it is Baron Friedrich. And I know very 
 well that Mrs. Vaughan is not coming out of her way to pay 8 
 visit to Captain and Mrs. Miller. I'm honouring him when I 
 show myself proud of having the management of his party. 
 Don't be afraid of my making a fool of myself or disgracing the 
 flag." 
 
 The Captain's face was dry by this time, and he was in 
 position to make a demonstration of confidence in his superior 
 officer appropriate to her sex and attractions ; for " the Admiral " 
 was about a dozen years the Captain's junior, with bright 
 brown hair and eyes, a trim neat figure finished off with hands 
 she could afford to make prominent use of in argument, and feet 
 that never feared the consequences of a short skirt. 
 . Meanwhile Miss Yaughan had gone with her mother to the 
 
BN EOUTE TO THB 0A8TL1. 6 
 
 little Baloon attached to the rooms selected for them, for their 
 
 night's rest at Cologne. 
 
 " Did you know Baron von Mondstern had English connec- 
 tions, mamma 1 " askod the young lady. " I always thought he 
 dropped from the clouds without any one having the privilege 
 of claiming kin with him." 
 
 " Lady Hexton was of German birth, I know, though I don't 
 remember having heard she was his sister. He is so remarkable 
 a man himself, however, that one's attention is concentrated 
 on him. And there is no mystery about his origin to excite 
 curiosity on that score. He is the last of his family left living, 
 but Count Blumenthal " — naming a famous German diplomaU 
 — " knows all about his people, and has known him at intervals 
 from boyhood." 
 
 "And yet one can't understand him altogether." 
 
 " One can't understand him at all. He has all the qnalitles 
 that make men shine in society, and yet he very rarely emerges 
 from what seems a life of almost complete seclusion. Then you 
 cannot account for this by supposing him a misanthrope or 
 unsound in mind, for he is the most genial, cheerful, and 
 sympathetic friend when he does appear in society — " 
 
 "And is simply a god-like creature to look at," added Lucy, 
 with frank enthusiasm. 
 
 " I think he is the best linguist I know," said ;^^^s. Vaughan, 
 reflectively. " In all the languages that I know anything of he 
 seems quite equally at home." 
 
 " But, mamma, the oddest thing about him is that you may 
 say anything in the world to him without drawing him on. 
 You know what I mean % " 
 
 " My dear Lucy, I know what you mean much too well I 
 think it would be better if you made fewer experiments in 
 drawing people on." 
 
 " Only a Uttle, little way, mamma dear. It's so easy to drive 
 them off, and you never can tell what people are like without 
 giving them little opportunities, and seeing what use they make 
 of them. But it is of no use to give Baron Friedrich opportuni- 
 ties " — and the girl shook her beautiful head and sighed with 
 the utmost simplicity. Lucy Vaughan, it should be explained, 
 was a tall and stately beauty, with large blue eyes and sunny 
 hair, an animated mouth, in a perfect Cupid's bow, and a joyous 
 txuberance of manner. 
 
 "It's a little odd," said Mrs. Yaughan, following h«r own 
 
6 KAEMA. 
 
 thoughts rather than paying attention to her daughter's touching 
 lament, " that he should have put his house in Mra Miller's 
 hands. He might have found so many people, one would have 
 thought.'* 
 
 " But if everybody is to read and talk about psychic myste- 
 ries, mamma, Mrs. Miller is, at all events, the right person to be 
 hostess. She will hardly ever talk of anything else." 
 
 " But the gossip about musical-boxes, and flowers, and so 
 forth, that Mrs. Miller is fond of, lies such immeasurable leagues 
 below the Baron's level" Then in a lighter tone, "So you 
 have been giving him opportunities, my dear, have you, and all 
 in vain ? I don't think you choose a suitable opening for a 
 display of your powers. Would it be indiscreet to ask you for 
 further details 1 " 
 
 " My dear mamma, there has never been time for details. He 
 has always dragged some third person into the conversation 
 directly it bade fair to be in the least degree interesting. At 
 Lady Minterville's, up the river, I actually asked him to row 
 me in a boat, and yet he managed matters so as to turn me over 
 to Lord Millborough." 
 
 ** And I'm sure you ought to have been satisfied." 
 
 " I don't think Lord Millborough was, considering the temper 
 I was in." 
 
 ** My dear Lucy '* (with a shade of more serious annoyance), 
 " it is a pity that you should ever let yourself be put out of 
 temper ; and I'm sure I should have regretted it, especially if I 
 had known of it then." 
 
 Miss Yaughan carefully examined the pendulum of the clock 
 on the mantelpiece, against which she was leaning, for some 
 appreciable interval, holding a glove she had just taken off by 
 the tips of its fingers in her teeth. Then she waved the glove 
 about a little, and let it drop into her hand, and said with a 
 smile breaking over features which were never used to wear a 
 grave expression for long, — 
 
 " Well, perhaps it shall be as you wish, mamma, but yoa 
 know I eJways reserve my right to be a Sister of Mercy 1 ** 
 
fHB ^'ADMIBAL*' hoists HSB fLAO. 7 
 
 CHAPTER IL 
 
 THH "admiral" hoists HER FLAO. 
 
 Baron Friedrich was not at the castle himself when Captain 
 and Mrs. Miller reached it, but this was no infraction of the 
 programme. He had previously explained that he would be 
 obliged to visit a distant part of Germany for a few days about 
 the time fixed for the commencement of the autumn party ; 
 but that he wished Mrs. Miller to take command of the house 
 in his absence, and receive the guests, all the more decisively 
 in the character of chatelainey with no one her right to dispute. 
 
 " I shall be but one more guest when I arrive, please to 
 remember, dear madam, " he wrote in a note that was handed to 
 Mrs. Miller by the German major-domo on her arrival ; ** the 
 servants quite understand that you are mistress, and that I am 
 under great obligations to you, in that you enable me to have 
 all the pleasure and none of the trouble incidental to a 
 restoration to the uses of civilized society of the old Heiligen- 
 felsen Schloss. The little room I reserve for my own occupation 
 when 1 return is its only Bluebeard's chamber for you. Survey 
 the rest at your leisure and allot the apartments at your pleasure." 
 
 " Whi ^^ is the Baron's room ^ " asked Mrs. Miller, promptly, 
 on reading ihe note, the sunny morning they arrived by carriage 
 from the nearest station of the railway from Cologne, about 
 four miles distant. She and the Captain, it may be explained, 
 were not accompanied by the.Vaughans, who had come to the 
 Rhine in deference to Miss Lucy's desire to visit certain places 
 along its banks, and proposed to see these first, finishing their 
 little tour at the restored castle. 
 
 " Poor old Bluebeard 1 " laughed the Captain, *' what an 
 insight he had into female character." 
 
 " You ridiculous Jem I How can I allot the rooms if I don't 
 know which ia to be left for the Baron ? I did not say I 
 wanted to see the room. I asked which it was." 
 
 It appeared, however, that the Baron's room was high up a 
 turretrstaircase, and the inspection of the castle, by the sugges- 
 tion of Franz, the butler, was undertaken in a more systematic 
 way. In the restorations the general plan of the original 
 2 
 
8 KABMA. 
 
 bnilding had been kept to as closely aa possible, and the prin- 
 cipal entrance gate led into an outer courtyard, now cheerfully 
 laid out as a flower-garden ; and to the left, out of this, another 
 archway led to the inner courtyard, from which three entrances 
 gave access to the interior of the building. Of course the whole 
 structure was perched on the top of a hill overlooking the river, 
 and the jagged edges of its upper walls were carefully left to 
 preserve the outlines time and decay had bestowed on them. 
 There was no need to fear that the crumbling of the battlements 
 had extended to the foundations. The lower parts of the 
 castle were too solidly put together to be any less able than 
 when first erected, to support the floors and roof of ah inhabited 
 building. 
 
 The outer gate being at the back, or on the landward face of 
 the edifice, the entrance to the right of the inner courtyard as 
 you went in led through an outer vestibule to the grand hall of 
 the castle, overlooking the Khine. In former days, indeed, 
 though the hall faced the Rhine, it can hardly be said to have 
 overlooked it, for the long narrow windows high up in the wall 
 commanded no convenient view of the scenery. Probably this 
 ofi'ered little to interest the old robber-knights who came back 
 from Palestine, whitewashed of all their sins past, present, and 
 to come, gaily prepared to spend the rest of their days at 
 Heiligenfels, waylaying the commerce of the Rhine, and cutting 
 their neighbours' throats as opportunities offered. But the 
 architect of the restoration had cunningly cut down these 
 windows to the level of the haU floor ; and, throwing them into 
 one another, had converted them, below, into a series of glass 
 doors, which led out on to a terrace — a completely modem 
 invention— from which a magnificent panorama of the winding 
 stream, and the distant hills beyond and on either hand, was 
 commanded. In the hall itself some suits of armour, with 
 authentic histories connecting them with ancestors of the 
 Mondstem family, had been set up on either side of the fire- 
 place opposite the principal windows ; and lance in hand, the 
 butt resting on the ground, they stood erect as sentinels beside 
 the broad stone hearth, that modem taste had decorated — in 
 view of the small likelihood that it would be required to glow 
 with buming logs in August — with d«Kcate glass screens, inlaid 
 with flowers and ferns. 
 
 This principal hall had been fitted up as the drawing-room of 
 
THB " ADMIRAL " HOISTS HBB FLAG. 9 
 
 the modernized castle, and a communication through two or 
 three small rooms in the comer of the building led round to 
 another large hall in the next face of the quadrangle, looking up 
 the river, which had been devoted to the uses of a salle-a-manger. 
 Abundant accommodation for guests had been secured on the 
 upper floor, and, in two or three cases, turrets afiforded a third 
 story, while the broad roof of the grand hall and stone terraces 
 around the battlements promised charming opportunities for al 
 fresco enjoyments on warm summer evenings. An awning 
 covering a portion of this upper promenade, in the angle formed 
 by the battlements, and the principal turret at the comer of the 
 building at the upper end of the river face, provided moreover 
 for the occupation of this part of the roof even during the day 
 while the sun might be shining. 
 
 Throughout, the castle had been furnished with all the appli- 
 ances of comfort that modem upholstery could yield. The bed- 
 rooms, for the most part, were cheerfully papered, or panelled 
 with light-coloured fabrics, and fitted up with light wood 
 furniture. In other cases the German taste for deep- toned 
 hangings and dark walnut had been allowed to prevail ; but, on 
 the whole, the effect of the interior was that of an English 
 country-house, embellished with a great quantity of mediaeval 
 treasures — arms, pictures, and carving, but not sacrificing its 
 primary purpose — that of providing its inmates with the luxuriea 
 of their own era — to any fanatical pursuit of unities. 
 
 " The ruin will suffice for a fellow of simple tastes like me," 
 said the Captain, after the tour of the house had been accom- 
 plished. "That octagon room in the main tower, with the 
 conservatory so nicely hitched on to the rock outside, is just the 
 place I could imagine myself smoking a cigarette in, with very 
 tolerable comfort." 
 
 "Don't you flatter yourself, Jem my boy," replied the 
 Admiral, calmly ; "that oiiigon room is going to be my lad/g 
 bower. We'll find you a roomy dungeon somewhere under- 
 ground, that you can have for a sulkery all to yourself." 
 
 " Cool and quiet and shady. That's not half a bad idea of 
 yours, Milly. A fellow would be all to himself, and out of the 
 way of the women. Why shouldn't one fit up a dungeon with 
 a reading-lamp and an easy chair ? With a latch-key in hii 
 pocket, what more would a fellow want 1 " 
 
 "You're always thinking of your own oomfortg, Jem. Do 
 
10 KAI^ MA^ 
 
 try now and be nnselfish for a moment and help me choose mj 
 private room. Because I shall receive people in the octagon 
 room, so I must have some place where I can't be disturbed 
 when I want to write letters." 
 
 "By all means let's choose you all the rooms you'll want, 
 because if you're not comfortable you won't leave me in peace 
 in my dungeon." 
 
 An arrangement was ultimately discovered by which Miss 
 Blane, Mrs. Miller's niece, could have a room adjoining one that 
 appeared well suited in all respects for Mrs. Miller's study, and 
 had the further advantage of opening out of her bed-room. 
 This plan rendered it necessary that the Captain's dressing room 
 should be at a little distance ; but he pointed out that it was a 
 capital little den in itself, and that he could go backwards and 
 forwards in a dressing-gown and slippers in a way he particularly 
 liked. 
 
 " It makes a fellow seem so independent when he «> in his 
 own quarters." 
 
 "I wouldn't allow it for a moment if I didn't know you 
 would be perfectly comfortable so, Jem," Mrs. Miller assured 
 him ; and thus the afternoon was joyously spent in the distribu- 
 tion of the abundant territory at her disposal ; servants following 
 the queen-regent of the castle with cards on which the names of 
 the expected guests had been already written, and affixing these 
 to the various doors as Mrs. Miller gave out her decisions. 
 
 The first representatives of the expected party arrived in time 
 for dinner that evening, in the persons of two young men whom 
 Captain Miller espied from the battlements (where he had gone 
 up to test a conviction he had formed in favour of battlements 
 as a place to smoke cigarettes on) walking up the lower convolu- 
 tions of the road up to the castle. 
 
 " Milly, dear," he announced, having descended to the octagon 
 loom for the purpose, " Claude Merland and Annerly are coming 
 np the road." 
 
 " Very well, Jem, you can go and receive them in the outer 
 courtyard, and bring them to see me here ; and bring them in 
 through the dining-hall and the library ; I would like to show 
 Merland the grand hall myself." Mrs. Miller was already quite 
 at home at the castle, and the octagon room was comfortably 
 Uttered with books, writing materials, and work-baskets; for, 
 though its new mistress preferred to occupy herself in the 
 
THB "admiral" hoists HEB FLAG. 11 
 
 Intervals of coaversation with books and pens rather tLan with 
 needles of any sort, she liked to have some rather showy wool- 
 work or crochet en evidence wherever she took up her abode. 
 Mrs. Miller's pug, moreover, in a basket with pink silk linings, 
 was also by this time settled in a comer of a window-seat, 
 thoughtfully allotted to him on account of the good view it com- 
 manded of the passing Rhine steamers. Neptune, Mrs. Miller 
 would sometimes explain, always liked to see the panorama of 
 life. It diverted his thoughts from himself and assisted digestion. 
 
 Claude Merland, whom the sunny-tempered Captain walked 
 some little distance down the road to meet, was a young fellow 
 of five or six and twenty, well-made, fair-haired, good-looking, 
 and well-dressed, and well endowed intellectually, as a single 
 glance would show an observer of quick perception. Evidently 
 it was on the level of their higher qualities that he and his 
 friend George Annerly were linked together. Annerly was 
 weakly-built, and moved with the awkward gait of a man 
 whose limbs are not exactly alike. A large head and a shock 
 of black hair were ill-matched with his slight frame, and 
 much physical suJBfering of various kinds had left its traces on his 
 complexion, which was sallow, and on the expression of his eyes 
 and mouth, the lines round which were deeper than they should 
 have been for his age, which was but just thirty. He and 
 Merland had grown to be friends at Cambridge. His five years' 
 seniority, coupled with intellectual gifts far above the average 
 level, had readily invested him in Merland's eyes with attributes 
 that fascinated the younger man's imagination, and evoked his 
 readily kindled enthusiasm. Annerly's means had, to begin 
 with, been of the smallest, and his birth of the humblest ; and 
 his career at the University had only been rendered possible by 
 help of a sizarship. But he drew in the mental stimulants around 
 him as a sponge sucks up water, and took high honours that 
 carried with them a fellowship. Merland took a delight in 
 the University triumphs of his friend, in which his interest in 
 his own achievements was almost obliterated. 
 
 Annerly left the University two years before Merland, and 
 went to London to lay siege to the strongholds of the press. 
 
 There Merland afterwards renewed his acquaintance, finding 
 him but little elated by the very fair success he had achieved, 
 not merely in journalism but even in general literature. But 
 Annerly gave no explanation of the deeper gloom that had 
 
12 KABMA. 
 
 •ettled on his spirits, beyond referring It to the general misery 
 that must always be the lot of a man blighted in physique. 
 
 " What possible happiness in life can ever be the portion of 
 a poor crippled wretch like myself t " he would say, in this or 
 some other form of words always recurring to the same deep- 
 seated resentment at his fate. " Your friendship, Merland, is a 
 good thing I should deplore to lose, more profoundly than words 
 can express, but it would be affectation to pretend that even your 
 friendship can fill up all the aspirations of my nature. I don't 
 see how it is possible that existence can ever be anything for 
 me but a burden I would gladly lay down." 
 
 Merland would sometimes feel something like contrition on 
 account of his straight limbs and strong muscles, his faultless 
 digestion, and clean healthy skin. " I wish we could strike an 
 average, old chap," he would say, " and share alike." 
 
 ** I verily believe you do, Claude, and it is a good thing for 
 us both that we can't, for there's that in me that would poison 
 my share and yours too. Some men come into the world 
 accursed, and I'm one of them. Let that stand as a fact that 
 can't be altered or palliated, that I can see, by any reasoning 
 about the inscrutable ways of Providence. Some people would 
 tell me I shall find my reward if I am meek and submissive in 
 another state of existence, and they don't see the ghastly want 
 of logic in that vapid consolation. If their theory could be 
 worked out it would amount to this : that I am to get advan- 
 tages in Heaven denied to you, for example. What justice 
 would there be in that ? Apart from the probability that you, 
 ten to one, will lead a life far better entitling you to heavenly 
 happiness than I shall, and assuming that we are both equally 
 meritorious, then the arrangement suggested would simply turn 
 the tables, and make you the victim of injustice ; for your 
 superior lot, in this short finite life, cannot compensate you for 
 getting an inferior fate through all eternity ; added to which, 
 directly you talk about degrees of happiness in Heaven, you 
 assume the existence of evil — from which one person relatively 
 suffers there as on earth, and upsets the whole hypothesis that 
 Heaven rests on. There is no solution for a fate like mine in 
 terms of human comprehension. It is theoretically possible 
 that we may all eventually get above the level of those terms, 
 and recognize justice in what at present seems injustice ; but what 
 I protest against is the pretence that my fate, and that of othet 
 
TH« "admiral'* hoists HER FLAO. 18 
 
 wretched beings, wretched perhaps in different ways, can be 
 accounted for as justified by any set of ideas that a man's brain 
 can envolve. No 1 " in answer to certain remarks from his 
 companion, ** I'm not irreligious, as I comprehend the expression, 
 and / would not even call myself agnostic. I do not rebel 
 against the unknown Divine justice — that may transcend human 
 understanding, but when I say my fate is an unjust one, I am 
 using a word that has a specific meaning, in terms of the human 
 intellect, and along those lines my fate is unjust, and my re- 
 bellion against it, logical and inevitable. My indignation is as 
 natural a consequence of my condition as my limp is a conse- 
 quence of my short leg; and if a sugar-and-water comforter 
 tells me I ought not to be indignant, he says as stupid a thing 
 as if he says I ought not to limp." 
 
 " What do you mean by not even agnostic t ** 
 
 " I mean that no one is justified yet in saying that anything 
 can't be known. When we talk about the capacities of the 
 human understanding, why are we bound to assume that those 
 capacities will not develop sooner or latter in wholly unfore- 
 seen ways 1 We can think out many problems now that less 
 civilized men would have deemed quite insoluble. Our suc- 
 cessors may go ahead of us. Some of us yet living may push 
 ahead. I have always felt a strong conviction that such an 
 advance must take place one day, and that the attempted dis- 
 tinction between the knowable and the unknowable rests on 
 quite a false assumption." 
 
 The two friends had plentiful opportunities for speculative 
 conversation of this nature, for soon after Merland left Cam- 
 bridge they went round the world together. Merland was 
 supposed to be going to the bar eventually, but was circum- 
 stanced in life so favourably that he could afford to regard a 
 profession as a refuge from idleness, to be taken up at leisure. 
 The only son of a widowed mother, he was the heir apparent of 
 a handsome competence bequeathed by the mercantile successes 
 of his father; and had meanwhile more than enough for his 
 wants as a young bachelor, with few costly tastes and middle 
 station, by reason of a moderate collateral fortune that had come 
 to him from his mother's side of the family on reaching hi« 
 majority. He had obtained, with almost greater facility than 
 he had anticipated, Annerly's consent to the Weltreiee arrange- 
 ment, the cost of which it was obviou« from the first, if it wei« 
 
 2 
 
14 KABMA. 
 
 undertaken at all, would have to be defrayed chiefly by the 
 
 richer man. Annerly*8 fellowship money was bestowed chiefly 
 on aged parents, who, unfortunate even in their humble walk 
 of life, would have been reduced to deplorable shifts but for 
 his help ; and, though he was rapidly conquering a position in 
 which he might rely on a fair income from his pen, he had 
 no accumulated reserves to fall back on for the purposes of a 
 prolonged and expensive tour. 
 
 " Your plan tempts me more than I can tell you, Claude," 
 Annerly avowed, when it was set before him with frank 
 eimplicity by the younger man. 
 
 " My mother altogether approves, old chap,** Merland had been 
 able to say, " and I have brought you a note from her. We 
 were debating whether it would be nicest for me to speak to 
 you about it or for her to, so I've compromised matters by 
 bringing you a letter.'* 
 
 " I'm a beast of a companion for you, Claude,*' said Annerly, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " All right, old chap. Call yourself any names you like so 
 long as you agree to come. The dad, you know, can have your 
 fellowship money while you're away, so nobody suffers, or I 
 know you wouldn't move." 
 
 " I've tried every other sort of ignominy except being de- 
 pendent on another man for my food. It would be a mistake, 
 perhaps, to leave any experience of that sort unexplored." 
 
 " That idea won't float, Geordie, because you know exactly as 
 well as I do that if you were bear -leading any young fellow who 
 was a stranger, you would expect pay as well as expenses. It's 
 only because we're friends that I can get you to come on easy 
 terms.*' 
 
 ** While, for such a competent bear-leader as I, the general 
 public would, of course, bid wildly. But it is not so much 
 bear-leading as monkey-leading that we have to talk about, and 
 if we go, I shall not be the leader of the party.'* 
 
 Argument of this sort was clearly not intended to be final 
 against the scheme, and the journey was taken. The queerly 
 assorted companions, as careless observers thought them, went 
 round with the sun — across America first, then by Japan and 
 China to India, and so home by the usual route. Merland had 
 a perfect healthy, care-free boy's boundless capacity for enjoy- 
 inent) and drew his companion to all the places of amusement in 
 
THB "admibal" hoists hbb flao. 16 
 
 all the towns they visited ; and with Annerly an infinite thirst 
 for information, knowledge, new experience of any and every 
 Bort, gave him a zest for all they undertook, which, but for his 
 inextinguishable energy, might have failed him at this period. 
 For the year just passed, as he o©nfided at last to Merland, had 
 involved him in adventures which hurt him very badly. 
 
 " It's altogether monstrous and absurd, of course," he freely 
 declared ; *' but I suppose all of us desire most keenly whatever 
 good things in this life we are least fitted to obtain. I need not 
 tell you how far I conceive myself suited to excite a woman's 
 love, and yet I have been wise and prudent enough to invest 
 all my prospects of happiness on the hundred-to-one chance 
 against me in that direction." 
 
 ** But I don't see how the idea's ridiculous at all. There are 
 hundreds and thousands of the best women in the world who 
 think nothing at all about a man's looks — who think altogether 
 of souls and scarcely at all of bodies. And after all, confound 
 it, Annerly, you talk sometimes as if you were a monstrosity 
 instead of — " 
 
 " — merely a very ugly, chetifi badly-made fragment of 
 humanity. I can make all the excuses for myself that can be 
 made. The bad health I have sufi'ered from does not make me 
 loathsome in any way ; the limp I am troubled with is only 
 just noticeable, and does not prevent me from walking to any 
 extent. But a very grievous mistake was made, as far as I am 
 concerned, at all events, when I was sufi'ered to live at all. 
 Whether they are more or less objectionable than I think them, 
 my physical attributes don't fit my aspirations, and the result is 
 torment." 
 
 Annerly told his story by degrees ; not, he explained, because 
 he found any relief in talking it over, but because he did not 
 want to have mysteries from his friend. Oddly enough, it was 
 with an actress that he had fallen in love. 
 
 Touched, perhaps, by the piquancy of being adored by an 
 entirely new sort of lover, who was invested with importance 
 moreover in the beginning — as a dramatic critic, writing in an 
 influential paper, and carried away, when intimate with him, by 
 the wild force of his grande passion^ Miss Miriam Seaford had 
 come a great deal nearer giving him a return of genuine love 
 than might have been expected. But their actual marriage 
 eould only have been possible — if carried out under tb* 
 
16 KiEMA« 
 
 influence of feeling alone — in plain disregard of worldly 
 
 considerations. 
 
 Annerly was a lover of whose society Miss Seaford never 
 wearied, but whose relationship to her she could never account 
 for to her friends; and there were blood relations in her case to 
 whom the matter had to be explained, for her career as an 
 actress had been rather a matter of choice than of necessity. 
 
 If Annerly had been rich, an attachment to him, even 'hough 
 springing from the highest motives, really could hav3 been 
 justified in the sight of others by an appeal to those >f a ^">wot 
 order, which friends, in such cases, always lespeot. But 'le 
 was quite the reverse of rich ; and his prospects :^Ji life, os- 
 pecially when he became engaged to Miss Seaford, were alto- 
 gether speculative. The engagement, as Annerly regarded it, 
 though the lady may never have fully felt it to be that, dragged 
 on for some months ; and then one day, when Annerly went to 
 see his inamorata, he found vacant lodgings and a letter. 
 
 ** You love me so truly," she wrote, " that you will want to 
 spare me pain, and this, for me, is the least painful way of 
 ending our day dream." 
 
 She had slipped off on a professional engagement in the 
 provinces, arranged by her friends, who had wished to shield 
 her from the consequences of what they regarded as her 
 infatuation. 
 
 " It was awfully cruel," Merland said. 
 
 "No; she was quite in the right. What would my pro- 
 fessions of love for her have been worth if I had not been 
 willing to spare her pain at my own cost 1 Perhaps she did not 
 estimate the full intensity of the torture I should go through. 
 Perhaps she did not realize one-hundredth part of it. But what 
 does that matter 1 I would have burnt off a limb for her sake ; 
 but the sacrifices we have to make are never the exact sacrifices 
 we would have chosen to make." 
 
 Wherever the friends went Merland's joyous and sunny 
 temperament and pleasant looks made them welcome ; and, if 
 Annerly would not in the first instance perhaps have been so 
 cordially received, he would often be hardly the least regretted 
 of the two when they left. For in society his mind was too 
 active to be quenched by the sub-consciousness of his own 
 trouble, and he never brought this needlessly en evidence by 
 posing as a gloomy Byronic victim. 
 
THE " ADMIBAL ** HOISTS HEB FLAG. 17 
 
 At Calcutta, where the travellers stayed a month, he made 
 some warm friends, though going about less than the more 
 generally popular MerlanJ, who plunged eagerly into all the 
 amusements of the place, including lawn-tennis and dancing, 
 from which Annerly held naturally aloof, and was thus caught 
 up in a larger whirl of party-going. Here it was that the two 
 friends first met Mrs. Milly Miller and her faithful Captain, 
 then holding a naval appointment on shore under the Govern- 
 ment of India. And Mrs. Milly annexed Annerly very soon 
 after they were acquainted. 
 
 '* I don't care about looks," she explained to him in the most 
 straightforward manner. " I care about men for their minds. 
 I'd much rather talk to you than to your friend, though he^s 
 worth forty average subalterns. Some ladies like the subalterns 
 best, but I never fell in with the fashion about boys. I'll dance 
 with them as much as they like, and then I'll come back and 
 talk to you." 
 
 Annerly winced a little at this undisguised allusion to his 
 physique, but drifted with the stream of events, and, since Mrs. 
 Miller chose to claim a good deal of his time and attention, 
 cheerfully gave it her accordingly, and, as he readily admitted 
 afterwards, had much to be grateful to IMrs. Miller for, in his 
 turn, on the whole account. He passed more time at her house 
 while at Calcutta than anywhere else, met many pleasant and 
 intelligent people there, and gladly undertook to renew the 
 acquaintance in London when the Millers should return home. 
 Naturally, Mrs. Miller talked to him a good deal of a subject 
 always uppermost in her mind. 
 
 " It is not the slightest use," she told him, " for people to 
 sneer at me for believing in spiritualism. I don't believe — I 
 hnow^ and I only pity the ignorance of people who don't. When 
 I was at home last I made up my mind to get to the bottom of 
 the matter, and I went to aU the mediums I could hear of, and 
 had all I could get to my house, and a queer lot they were, aU 
 round. Now I don't say I didn't see any cheating. I saw a 
 lot of cheating, but I saw a good deal more besides ; and, though 
 you may show me half-a-dozen forged bank-notes, that doesn't 
 prove there are no such things as good ones. I've had tables 
 move about under my own eyes in the light, when nobody was 
 touching them — in my own room, too, you'll understand. I've 
 put down a musical-box of my own on my dressing-table in one 
 
 c 
 
18 KAEHA. 
 
 room ; Fve gone straight into another room and shut the door, 
 and that box has been brought to me five minutes afterwards 
 without the door ever being opened. What does it matter that 
 we were in the dark 1 It was in the light when I left my box 
 in my bedroom, in a room by myself, and came away. Any- 
 body must be a donkey who does not see that it makes no 
 difi'erence to me that the room into which it was afterwards 
 brought was dark or light. It came in an abnormal way, and 
 that is all I want to prove." 
 
 " That sort of thing generally," Annerly admitted, " is as weU 
 authenticated in the books on the subject as the existence of 
 the Nile lakes, for example, which, after all, only a few of us 
 have actually seen with our own eyes." 
 
 " But people won't read the books. That's what I find so 
 exasperating. They persist in remaining ignorant, and they 
 give themselves airs of superiority to people who have taken 
 the trouble to learn. Now I took aU the trouble to get my 
 evidence first-hand, that I might be able to meet what people 
 constantly say if you give them an opening, ' What have you 
 seen with your own eyes 1 ' I've seen with my own eyes pretty 
 weU aU there is to see, and yet the sceptics can't or won't see 
 that, in face of that, in talking to me they haven't a leg to stand 
 on." 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Miller, you are too kind to the sceptics in taking 
 all the pains you do to convert them." 
 
 " Kind to them 1 Jem says I'm rude, so I suspect I hit the 
 happy mean. But one mustn't be selfish. If I've come to know 
 a good deal more than most of the people I meet here, I can't 
 help doing my little best to lift them up out of the darkness 
 they live in. I sat next to Sir WiUiam Maccruthers," 
 mentioning a magnate of Calcutta society, " the other evening, 
 and he said he thought I had been wasting my time over a 
 pitiful delusion. So I just put him through lus facings. I 
 made him confess that he had never read a book on the subject, 
 and had never been to a seance^ and yet he asserted that what 
 was written could not be true, and what people saw at seances 
 must be imposture. Then I told him I'd talk to him again 
 about the matter if he ever acquired a right to have an 
 opinion." 
 
 " Depend upon it he wiU go on to the end of the chapter 
 without having such a right, but having a very derided opinion, 
 
THE PUEPOSE OP TEE PAETY. 19 
 
 nevertheless. Even granting that you have got an important 
 new truth to impart, there are plenty of people in the world 
 who don't want to trouble themselves about it. Why try to 
 make them 1 " 
 
 " p]ecause nobody ought to hide his light under a bushel. If 
 you found out a new truth in chemistry, you'd be ashamed of 
 yourself if you did not publish it." 
 
 " But I should not concern myself with the people who did 
 not read my book after I had published it." 
 
 " But you wouldn't stand having people meet you in society 
 and telling you you hadn't made your discovery. Let a man 
 tell me he doesn't care to have dealings with disembodied spirits 
 and I only pity him ; but let him tell me I've never had any 
 such dealings, and — well, I pity him worse, and it isn't my 
 fault if I don't make him feel it." 
 
 " You're a determined propagandist, Mrs. Miller ; and your 
 temperament, after all, is the one that moves the world." 
 
 CHAPTER IIL 
 
 THE PURPOSE OP THE PARTT. 
 
 Captain Miller faithfully obeyed orders in regard to the 
 circuitous route by which he introduced the guests to his wife's 
 presence, and she in due turn did the honours of the more 
 interesting portions of the castle. 
 
 " You two are favoured, you will observe," she said when 
 all together they had wandered over the still interesting ins and 
 outs of the curious old building and came eventually to the 
 apartments assigned to Merland and Annerly, "by having 
 rooms one on each side of the winding staircase that leads up to 
 the Baron's turret." 
 
 " Our Bluebeard's chamber," said Captain Miller. " She's 
 dying to go up and rummage there, but hasn't ventured yet." 
 
 "Jem is ti-ying hard to goad me into doing so, but has not 
 Bucceeded. The staircase only leads to the Baron's apartments, 
 
 2 
 
20 KARMA. 
 
 and, unless I am obliged to go up to see that they have been 
 properly got ready for him, I shaU certainly not be tempted to 
 go from mere curiosity." 
 
 "Didn't you understand," said Annerly some time after- 
 wards, to Merland when, their luggage having duly arrived, and 
 their dinner toilets having been made, he sought his friend 
 before going down, " didn't you imderstand Mrs. Miller to say 
 that Baron von Mondstern had not returned to the castle 1 " 
 
 " Certainly ; he was not expected for two or three days." 
 
 " I fancy he has come sooner than he was expected, then. 
 For just now, in passing the turret-stairs, I saw a man turning 
 round the upper landing. What is the Earon like ? " 
 
 Merland had met Baron Friedrich in London society the 
 previous season, but Annerly had not, and was at present at 
 Heiligenfels on Mrs. Miller's invitation. 
 
 " A tall man with light brown hair and beard, and a pleasant 
 look. An awfully good-looking, imposing sort of person." 
 
 " That's the man I saw or think I saw," said Annerly, with 
 some hesitation. " It was only for a moment as he turned the 
 comer." 
 
 ** So our host has come back," said Merland to Mrs. Miller 
 when they met in the grand hall. 
 
 " Our host ! the Baron ! What do you mean 1 He is not 
 coming back for two or three days." 
 
 " But Annerly saw him going up to his room." 
 
 .** I'm not at all sure," said Annerly with a puzzled air. " I 
 thought I saw a man going up the stairs, but it was getting 
 dusk, and perhaps I was mistaken." 
 
 " Can he have come back suddenly and gone up to dress t 
 Eing and ask the butler, Jem." 
 
 The butler was quite sure that no one had come to the castle 
 since the two gentlemen, least of all his master. 
 
 " You must have been having a little nap before getting 
 ready for dinner, Mr. Annerly," said Mrs. Miller. 
 
 " Now, if it had been the Baron's grandfather you saw, 
 Annerly," said Captain Jem, "Mrs. Miller would have been 
 sure you'd seen a spirit, and you'd have got great kudos. But 
 it doesn't help us along at all for you only to see the Baron." 
 
 " What nonsense you talk, Jem. Why, first of all, Mr. 
 Annerly doesn't know the Baron yet. How could he tell if he 
 did see him 1 I suppose he saw lus servant going up the stairs." 
 
THE PURPOSE OF THE PARTY. 21 
 
 "At all events," said Annerly, "I jumped to a hasty con- 
 clusion." 
 
 " Now, if you were clairvoyant," said Mrs. Miller ; — " but 
 are you clairvoyant ? " 
 
 " Certainly not," Annerly replied, always eager to disclaim 
 distinguished attributes of any sort. 
 
 " If you had been, you might have seen something prophetic. 
 But I suspect we must wait for that till Mrs. Lakesby comes." 
 
 ** Who is Mrs. Lakesby 1 " Merland asked. 
 
 " A very wonderful person, I believe, but I barely know her. 
 The Baron introduced her to me at a party in London a week 
 ago, and said if I could persuade her to come here she would be 
 a great acquisition for our psychic circle." 
 
 ** By-the-bye, Merland," said Captain Jem, " you must not 
 talk about our spiritualistic party as we used in town when it 
 was first started. We got into harmony with the latest fashions 
 before we had done, and we're going to be a psychic team." 
 
 "Jem, you have a very bad habit of talking about these 
 things in a tone that would make any person who didn't know 
 you think you were scoffing and turning the whole thing into 
 ridicule. It doesn't matter before Merland and Annerly " — in 
 the warmth of conversation Mrs. JMiller would sometimes drop 
 the ' Mr.V of her intimate friends — " but I do hope you will 
 not keep that sort of thing up before doubtful people." 
 
 " My dear Milly, you always forget that your circus wouldn't 
 be complete without a clown." 
 
 " Dear old Jem," said Merland, putting his arm through the 
 Captain's as they all stood together at the window, looking out 
 into the twilight over the Rhine, " he's an awfully bad lot still, 
 I see, Mrs. Miller. You haven't been keeping him up to the 
 mark since we were all together in India, I'm afraid." 
 
 " Jem will be only too well off presently, anyhow, when the 
 castle gets full of women and girls ; and he'll indemnify himself, 
 I don't doubt, for any plain truths I tell him. But you want 
 to know something about !RIrs. Lakesby. I don't know her 
 much myself yet, but I know a good deal of her ; and she really 
 is a clairvoyante, I believe. Something altogether out of the 
 common way in that line." 
 
 " Never see's anything nearer than the middle of next week," 
 ■aid the Captain in a stage-whisper to Merland. 
 
 " She is very reserved about her accomplishments," said Mrs, 
 
22 KAEMA. 
 
 Miller, without designing to notice the aside, "and has only 
 been in the habit of exercising her gifts for a very few intimate 
 friends. It is a great mercy for us that she has been willing to 
 come." 
 
 " What does she do 1 " asked Merland ; " does she look about 
 the world clairvoyantly, and tell people what is going on in 
 distant places 1 " 
 
 "- ssh ! " said the Captain in another stage-whisper of an 
 awe-stricken tone ; "~ ssh ! You're talking about Mrs. Lakeshyf 
 my dear fellow. You must not speak of her in that irreverent 
 way." 
 
 " What's wrong 1 I thought clairvoyants were people who 
 could see — " 
 
 "Through deal boards, of course; so they can, but they 
 mustn't. It's infra dig." 
 
 " Mrs. Lakesby, as far as I can make out," said Mrs. Miller, 
 " sees great spirits who teach her all sorts of things, exalted 
 philosophy and so forth, and she passes this on to her friends. 
 That's the sort of clairvoyance she practises, not mere stupid 
 looking about into other people's rooms, like the tricks you read 
 about of the professional clairvoyants. But, aU the same, I 
 suspect if you take her the right way, and catch the right 
 moment, you will get the most interesting results with her, 
 sometimes. AU sensitives are very difficult people to handle, 
 whether they are ladies and gentlemen, or paid mediums." 
 
 "But," said Annerly, "if one could be reasonably sure that 
 she was in communication with great spirits, and learning any- 
 thing resembling exalted philosophy, one would a great deal 
 rather hear about that, than about what might be going on in 
 another roouL" 
 
 " Of course — for one's self," said Mrs. Miller ; " but one must 
 have phenomena to break the heads of the sceptics with. Sup- 
 osing I go to Professor Maxbur and tell him Mrs. Lakesby's 
 spirits have told us so and so 1 What does he think ? Why, 
 he merely laughs at me. But if I can tell him that Mi-s. 
 Lakesby found a page in a book, clairvoyantly, that I asked her 
 to find, for instance, and read what was on it without opening 
 the book, he can't laugh at that, or, if he does, he's a fooL" 
 
 " I'm afraied I look at these matters in a more selfish way 
 than you do, ^Jrs. Miller," Annerly replied " If I got upon a 
 really good trail that seemed to lead me to a higher knowledge, 
 
TflE PUEPOSB OF THE PAETlf. 23 
 
 I should be inclined to follow it on, wherever it might lead, and 
 I don't think it would ever occur to me to turn back and try to 
 get anybody else to come along too." 
 
 '* Well, that's not my way, and I don't pretend to think that's 
 the right way. Let's share and shai e alike ; if we any of us 
 get any light, don't let us hide it ; if we get proofs, let us take 
 them to the cleverest men of the age and drive them into the 
 right path of investigation." 
 
 "But look here, Mrs. Miller," Merland put in; "what 
 Aimerly calls selfishness isn't anything of the sort, really. 
 Now suppose that that fellow ihere himself " — indicating his 
 friend — '' who is a gieat mathematical swell, as you know, hits 
 upon some new method that no one else had ever thought of 
 before. He's got to worry it out a good while by himself before 
 he can get his ideas into shape to put before anybody else. 
 While he's on the hunt he can't stop to think about explaining 
 what he's after." 
 
 " But when he's found out his new method he gives it out to 
 the world as a matter of course ; or else who on earth is the 
 better for it 1 " 
 
 " Sooner or latter of course ; but I can quite see that the 
 first thing to do is to worry out your new idea." 
 
 " Here's a really good test-question for us all to fight about," 
 put in the Captain. " We must ask every man as he comes 
 whether he'll go in for the secret system, or for doing everything 
 above board." 
 
 The castle began to fill next day, and Captain Miller had 
 many opportunities of putting his test-question, which evoked 
 more desultory conversation than direct declarations of prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 "Marian is coming after all with the Massiltons," Mrs. 
 Miller had announced to her husband in the morning, when 
 some letters arrived by an early post. '* You had better go 
 down to Schonort and meet them ; they will be here by the 
 same train we came by." 
 
 "But who makes the fourth? That Professor is always 
 happy with a girl to talk to ; but how has Lady Emily been 
 provided for ? " 
 
 " Lady Emily, you may be sure, Jem, is quite able to provide 
 for herself. She doesn't say in her note whether any one else 
 is coming with them. Marian was to have come with her 
 
24 KARMA. 
 
 brother round by Barenburg and down by the boat to Schlessig» 
 but they seem to have changed their plans." 
 
 " Willy will be here in the course of the morning if he keeps 
 to the boat idea. "We must keep a bright look-out from the 
 battlements for him." 
 
 And Captain Jem, accompanied by Merland, took up his 
 post accordingly after breakfast under the awning on the castle- 
 roof, from which he had spied the approach of the first guests 
 the previous afternoon. Mrs. Miller had letters to write ; and 
 Annerly, also, remained in his own quarters. 
 
 "Ering your luggage and come along, Claude," the Captain 
 said, picking up his own " luggage," from which he was rarely 
 parted— a box of Turkish tobacco, with a bundle of cigarette- 
 papers, and a match-box, attached by elastic threads to the lid. 
 
 " My luggage is more portable, Jem." Captain Miller was a 
 man whom his friends fell readily into a way of calling by his 
 familiar name, and one, moreover, who was somehow everybody's 
 contemporary, so (hat difference of years between him and 
 younger men was apt to be obliterated. " I've got it concealed 
 about my person. Lead on." 
 
 " The Rhine-boat will land Willy Blane over at that village 
 on the other side— Schlessig they call it. Then he'll have to 
 come across in a little boat, and when we make him out we'll 
 swoop down upon him, as the Baron's mediseval forefathers 
 used to be down on their prey, I daresay, after watching up 
 here for a good fat cargo-boat. It's a queer thing, when you 
 think of it, what a rascaUy lot they were, those same old fore- 
 fathers, and what a den of thieves this place here must have 
 been. And now there's the last of the Barons— our Friedrich 
 — ^just as good an imitation of a saint, I fancy, as this period 
 can produce, besides a prince of good fellows all ways ; and as 
 for the castle — here are two superior people sitting on the roof, 
 smoking their tobacco, and watching to welcome their friends. 
 We've been born into a better time than we might have dropped 
 on, Claude, if we'd accidentally looked in on this world a few 
 hundred years sooner." 
 
 " Some of us have got good treatment anyway ; * that's so,' as 
 they say in America. But I wouldn't dwell on that idea in 
 poor old Annerly's hearing. He doesn't find the world such 
 a nice place." 
 
 ** Poor old chap ! " Captain Jem was about twenty years 
 
THE PUBPOSE OF THE PARTY. 25 
 
 Annerly'e senior as actual age would have decided, but had no 
 sense of using the phrase inappropriately. " It's a pity he looks 
 on the gloomy side of things so much. The world as a place to 
 live in, if he would look at it in that way, is just the same place 
 for him, that it is for you and me ; and a better place, it seems 
 to me, than it used to be. Some things are very hard for him, 
 but then look what a genius he is. He's bound to get on 
 tremendously whenever he makes up his mind to try really." 
 
 " It wouldn't make him happy, I'm afraid, if he did. He's a 
 first-rate companion ; endlessly full of thought and conversation, 
 and yet so modest and sympathetic — more interested about your 
 affairs than his own. But he gets miserable always as soon as 
 he thinks in anyway about himself." 
 
 " Some woman ought to take him in hand." 
 
 " He looks on himself as cut off from all that sort of thing." 
 
 "Don't you believe it. There are women in the world to 
 suit every sort of chap. If he does something in the world to 
 make himself famous, heaps of women would care nothing about 
 his size — it's all a question of confidence. Look at that Pro- 
 fessor who's coming here to-day. He's older than I am, but he 
 makes love to every pretty girl he comes near, and has them all 
 at his beck and call." 
 
 "But that's all mere sport for them, because he's married 
 already." 
 
 " It can't lead to anything -with them of course, because of 
 Lady Emily ; but, if there wasn't a Lady Emily in the case, 
 Massilton would not find his years much in his way." 
 
 "It must be rather rough on her, meanwhile." 
 
 " They're both very tolerant ; I don't understand them alto- 
 gether. She's young and very fashionable, and that ought to 
 suit him, but I don't think they step together quite." 
 ;. They chatted on for some time longer, and then sighted the 
 expected steamer. 
 
 " That ought to be Blane's boat coming round the turn in the 
 river." 
 
 In due course a small boat was observed to put off from the 
 Schlessig landing-place, and then the Captain and Merland set 
 off down the hill. 
 
 " Willy Blane is a cousin of my wife's, though she gives his 
 sister brevet-rank aa her niece ; a very studious sort of fellow, 
 always up to his eyes in books, but A 1 all the way through. If 
 
26 EABMA. 
 
 I was in any sort of trouble I should go to Willy Blane for help 
 just as a matter of course." 
 
 The man they met at the little landing-stage below the castle 
 was about five-and-thirty, shaven all but the moustache, which 
 remained dark while his hair was almost all turned to the 
 silvery-grey which sometimes improves rather than impairs the 
 good looks of men who show no other signs of age. Of medium 
 height, however, and rather carelessly dressed, with a slouching 
 way of holding himself, Blane made no claim whatever to be 
 noticed on the score of his physique. A hearty greeting with 
 Captain Jem, condensed into the simplest British language, an 
 introduction to Merland of the sternly British type, and a few 
 instructions to the boatman about the luggage, and then the 
 three men took the footpath up the hill. Mrs. Miller was duly 
 inquired after by the new-comer. 
 
 " Milly is bearing up very nicely, thanks, old man, against 
 her usual good health and prosperity." 
 
 " And the cares of her important party." 
 
 " Which are borne chiefly by the Baron's butler. Milly has 
 the honour and glory of it." 
 
 "And that may prove very considerable. I am not easily 
 tempted out to country houses of any kind, but this party is one 
 I should have been very sorry not to have been privileged to 
 join." 
 
 " The party is privileged to have you join it, old man ; I'm 
 sure the Baron thinks so." 
 
 " That's a very nice way of putting it, of course ; but I enter- 
 tain an opinion about Baron von Mondstem which makes me 
 quite sure nobody can confer favours on him by being his guest, 
 not to speak of insignificant people like myself. I have no very 
 clear impression as to what the Baron aims at in having 
 organised this party, but I have a strong feeling that we ought 
 to be all the better and the wiser for it." 
 
 " How was it Marian did not come with you ? " 
 
 " She wished at the last moment to travel with the Massil- 
 tons. I do not presume to control her decisions in these matters, 
 always supposing they are reasonable, which of coiirse they 
 always are." 
 
 "Is anybody else travelling with the Massiltons, do you 
 know?" 
 
 " Sir John Hexton, I believe." 
 
THE PURPOSE OP THE PARTY. 27 
 
 Oh I I see. Yes, of course." 
 
 But Blane was too much interested in the intellectual aspect 
 of the Heiligenfels party to dwell on details of this kind. 
 
 " I do not think," he said, " that Baron von Mondstern can 
 have set this party on foot without having something more than 
 a mere social entertainment in view. His nature seems to me 
 so elevated that he could not concern himself, for their own sake, 
 with common-place amusements and pastimes." 
 
 " I never met a man who impressed me so much as he did," 
 Merland said. *' We got talking, when I was introduced to him, 
 about German philosophy, and I felt afterwards as if I had 
 never before realised the spirit, and the tendencies, and the 
 progressive coherence of the whole, in all that system of thought. 
 Later on he referred to our conversation in a note I had from 
 him in so graceful a way, asking me to come here this autumn 
 to renew it more at leisure, as if it had interested him^ when of 
 course he had simply been giving me ideas." 
 
 " It was much the same in my own case," Blane said, " with 
 appropriate differences. I have no doubt myself, that, in some 
 school of mysticism to which he belongs, the Baron has ac- 
 quired a great deal more real knowledge concerning some great 
 spiritual mysteries that most ])eople only speculate about, than 
 he has yet communicated to any of his friends. I cannot help 
 thinking that we who have been fortunate enough to come 
 within the compass of his present hospitality are likely to come 
 also within the range of more important information than he 
 thought fit to convey to any of his friends in London. It is 
 just the same way with Professor Massilton. He was telling 
 me quite recently that he couldn't put his finger on any dis- 
 tinctly new idea that he had gathered from the Baron, but he 
 has been immensely impressed by him, and Massilton is not a 
 man to be hurriedly enthusiastic about any one. He has powers 
 of discernment and penetration that always make me feel, when 
 I am talking with him, as if I were plodding and panting after 
 him with labour and difficulty." 
 
 " Nothing very wrong with your wind at all events, Willy," 
 said the Captain, "if you can talk like that going up this 
 hill." 
 
 Blane at once reproached himself for monopolizing the con- 
 versation, which passed for a time on to a lighter range of 
 topics, but reverted soon afterwards to Professor Massilton. 
 
28 EAfiMA. 
 
 " I do not know any man," Blane said, " who could be regarded 
 more certainly as a tower of strength in any movement with 
 which he might be concerned. And I know that Massilton 
 himself does not for a moment regard this gathering as a mere 
 party of pleasure." 
 
 " No doubt about it," admitted the Captain. " He's a man 
 of tremendous ability." 
 
 ** He has ability and energy both combined in the highest 
 degree ; wide culture and a facility for absorbing fresh informa- 
 tion from all sides at once, digesting it and incorporating it with 
 everything else he knows, which distinguishes him from all 
 other men of ability that I ever met. If you were to throw me 
 a dozen balls at once I might perhaps catch one, but if you were 
 to throw them to Massilton he would catch them all, so to 
 speak. The fact that Massilton is of this party is one of the 
 indications to me that Baron von Mondstem has some serious 
 objects in view." 
 
 Merland gave Annerly a very favourable report of the new 
 arrival when they got back to the castle. 
 
 " A delightful fellow to be with. Unassuming to quite a 
 comical extent, and wholly given over evidently to spiritual 
 ideas. One can't help having an immense respect for a fellow 
 like that. He's very well off, I understand. Has means of his 
 own, that make him quite independent of any profession, and 
 yet devotes himself altogether to a literary and intellectual life. 
 That's a better thing to do, Annerly, isn't it, than merely larkiug 
 about and amusing one's self ? " 
 
 " The higher life is certainly the best. That is merely another 
 way of putting it ; the question most men worry themselves 
 with, is, whether it is the happiest." 
 
 " Meeting Blane has somehow made me feel as if it would be, 
 inevitably ; because a man who had once thoroughly seen his 
 way into it could not be happy in any other and lower sort of 
 Ufe." 
 
 Annerly answered at once, but rather with the air of a man 
 who had already thought the matter out, than as if merely throw- 
 ing off a hasty theory of the moment, — 
 
 " I do not think a man who wants happiness would do wisely 
 to pursue it consciously along the paths of what one may call the 
 higher life, that is, a life of purely intellectual activity, aiming 
 at some exalted purpose. Directly he is conscious of making a 
 
PBOFESSOR MASSILTON. 29 
 
 choice for the sake of happiness he will ensure himself unhappi- 
 ness in the sacrifice of the ordinary human moans of happiness, 
 supposing them to be within his reach." 
 
 ]\f erland lighted a cigar and reflected for a while, arriving then 
 at another stage of the problem. 
 
 "That woidd cut both ways, because, if a man chose the 
 lower road in the conscious pursuit of happiness, he would be 
 sure to be disgusted with himself all the while, and consequently 
 imhappy." 
 
 *' Yes, if his road were on a very low level." 
 
 " I feel rather as if I were beckoned along the high level, 
 Annerly, and as if that were the really most enjoyable road to 
 travel, too." 
 
 " I think you will travel it, Claude, and that it will suit you. 
 I mean to try and travel it, tliough I don't think it will suit me. 
 But then I don't think any road would." 
 
 CHAPTER rV. 
 
 FROFESSOR MASSILTON. 
 
 Thb dinner party that evening at the castle was already on a 
 fairly considerable scale. The arrival of the Massilton contingent 
 in the course of the afternoon brought up the total number to 
 nine ; while the Professor and Lady Emily Massilton were both 
 people who, in different ways, imposed a certain importance on 
 the gathering, out of proportion to the mere accession of numbers. 
 The Professor was a tall man, with a large vigorous frame that 
 corresponded with the inexhaustible energy of his character. He 
 shaved all but his big tawny moustache in the modem fashion, 
 and the natural light colour of this made the streaks of grey 
 hardly noticeable. His complexion was clear and rather florid, 
 his manner blithe and joyous, his laugh prompt and contagious, 
 and his humour free and effervescent. By virtue of the force 
 with which he was endowed he dominated any assembly in 
 which he took part, and swept others along in the current of hi* 
 
30 KARMA. 
 
 exuberant good spirits and always definite purpose. He was 
 more than well off in the world, having a considerable income 
 from a fortune which imposed no territorial duties on its pos- 
 sessor, and this may have contributed to account for his 
 maniage en seconde noceSj a few years after the death of his first 
 wife, with Lady Emily, who was quite without other endow- 
 ments than those inherent in her plump, attractive little person. 
 Her title, derived from a noble family more richly furnished 
 with representatives than acres, gave an additional charm, of 
 course, to her personal graces, and no matrimonial problem 
 seemed less in need of explanation than that which was pre- 
 sented by her union with the rich and irresistible Professor. 
 They had been married at the period with which we are con- 
 cerned, for seven or eight years. The Professor met her first at 
 a foreign embassy, where she was living with a distinguished 
 brother in the diplomatic service. She sufi'ered herself, willingly 
 enough, to be swept away into the swift stream of his rapidly- 
 kindled affections ; too confidently assuming that an enamoured 
 husband would merely be one more guarantee that her affairs 
 thenceforward, as for the most part they had been previously, 
 would be arranged to suit her inclination. 
 
 The Professor proved enamoured certainly, but he also was 
 quite unused to the notion that the current of his life could 
 possibly be diverted from the direction in which he destined it 
 to move. Lady Emily found pleasure in fashionable life, relieved 
 by the excitements of Continental diplomacy. The Professor, 
 a little weighed down in his first marriage by a wife who, with 
 many plain, good qualities, had not been capable of shining in 
 society, now desired to establish a house which should be the 
 social head-quarters of the intellectual life of the university to 
 which he belonged. General society, for him, was interesting 
 only so far as it was cover frequented by agreeable women. Li 
 it he had secured Lady Emily. If she could have remained, as 
 a wife, what he had found her as a partner in flirtation, he would 
 have been perfectly content. But marriage Lady Emily could 
 only regard as a game of give and take. For absorption in her 
 husband's life, for adaptation to his tastes, she had no aptitude. 
 "When divergence of interest comes in at the matrimonial door, 
 love is driven out at the window even more promptly than by 
 poverty. For once in his life the Professor was defeated. The 
 plan of his marriage could not be realised. Tou may take a 
 
PEOFESSOB MASSILTON. 81 
 
 horse to the water and so on. You may take a lady to a uni- 
 versity town, but you cannot make her lead its society if she 
 won't. Lady Emily was a good deal away. The Professor 
 established a batchelor pied-a-terre in London, and sought once 
 more in general society for the distractions he had quite honestly 
 intended to concentrate once for all when he married. Lady Emily 
 was aware that it behoved her to be careful, but she was careful ; 
 and it would sometimes happen, as in the case before us, that 
 Professor and Lady Emily Massilton accepted an invitation 
 together. 
 
 They all arrived at the castle in capital spirits. There was a 
 long driving-road up the Heiligenberg — as the whole hill was 
 called — winding by a very long circuit up to within a hundred or 
 hundred and fitty feet of the castle-gateway, but in coming from 
 the station in the open carriage Captain Miller had engaged, they 
 passed one of the footpaths leading up by a more direct route. A 
 finger-post showed that it led to Heiligenfels, and the Professor 
 impetuously called a halt. 
 
 " Stop, Miller ! Let's walk up. Those two horses can't pull 
 us up this mountain. Who'll come too 1 " And the Professor, 
 opening the door of the landau, swung himself out without 
 waiting for the steps, and then rattled them open. " Who's 
 coming % Come along, Miss Blane," and the girl jumped out 
 with the help of the Professor's hand, without waiting for a 
 second invitation. 
 
 " Good-bye ; we'll tell Mrs. Miller you're coming," said Lady 
 Emily. " I'm about as likely to scramble up those rocks as to 
 drag the carriage, and you must stop, Sir John, to take care of 
 me. Now there'll be a place for you in here. Captain Miller." 
 (The Captain had been on the box hitherto, beside the driver.) 
 
 "It isn't a nice path. Professor,'* said the Captain, falling in 
 with this arrangement after a few moments' hesitation. 
 
 " Get along with you 1 " cried the Professor. " We're two 
 able-bodied people. Miss Blane and I, and could get up the 
 Matterhom if we liked. Wouldn't you enjoy a scramble, Miss 
 Blane, after all that sitting in the train 1 " 
 
 Miss Blane joyfully agreed. She was a slightly-made 
 graceful girl about ten years younger than her brother, with 
 dark hair and large dark eyes, a slightly southern tinge in her 
 complexion, a regular oval face, but with features a little too 
 heavy, if criticised in em unsympathetic feminine spirit, though 
 
32 KARMA. 
 
 the general effect was one that men were usually ready to 
 admire. 
 
 The Professor sprang forward into the woods with a merry 
 light-hearted ** whoop," calling on Miss Blane that he would 
 show her the way, and thoy were lost to sight almost before the 
 carriage was again in motion. The path only justified the 
 Captain's disparaging remark in having a few rocky places up 
 which the Professor considered that the young lady required a 
 great deal of help, and one or two wet ones, that he carried her 
 across to save her shoes, with no more hesitation than if she 
 had been a child. He had a free, unembarrassed manner in 
 little emergencies of that sort which drove all difficulties before 
 it, and a fatherly way with girls, too, that gave him privileges 
 younger men might have been too timid to claim. 
 
 " Why, you're such a featherweight, I could have won you 
 easily if I'd been the knight in the German story that had to 
 carry his lady-love to the hill-top ;" and suiting the action to 
 the word he ran with her a few steps up the path after it had 
 crossed one of the wot places, and sat her down on a big stone. 
 He had been telling good stories and makiuL^ jokes in the train 
 all the way from Cologne, and Miss Blane liad never spent a 
 more delightful morning. 
 
 In the evening at dinner, however, he flung himself with no 
 less ardour into the consideration of the plans which lay before 
 Mrs. Miller's friends. Some reference had been made to 
 literary stores Mrs. Miller had accumulated. 
 
 " I will look into any books that I have not read," said the 
 Professor, " and read them if I find them in the least degiee 
 worth reading. But first I believe I have read all that are 
 worth reading on psychic inquiry of all sorts, or, if not, at any 
 rate I have read good representative books in every branch of 
 the sul)ject. Now, with all respect to Mrs. Miller's cargo of 
 literature, I am not going to waste my time in poring over the 
 writings of men who do not know more than I do myself." 
 
 " I'm conscious of knowing so little myself," said Blane, 
 ** that a book must be a bad book indeed if I can't learn some- 
 thing from it, but I quite agree with the Professor that wo 
 •ught to do more than read." 
 
 " C«rtainly," put in Lady Emily ; " if we do nothing else, w© 
 might be a little dull." 
 
 "We can always talk over what we read," suggested Mrs. Miller. 
 
PROFESSOR MAS8ILT0N. 83 
 
 *• My dear lady," said the Professor, " we hare got to break 
 fresh ground. We have got to take some step worthy of thii 
 interesting occasion and of this enchanting old castle, worthy 
 also of our distinguished hostess and of our yet absent host." 
 
 " I cordially endorse that," said Blane. 
 
 " And witli all due respect to every one present I do not think 
 that any of us round this table can give any other one any help 
 at all worth speaking of towards enlarging his comprehension 
 of the great psychic mysteries we are all dabbling in at the 
 edges. We want a pilot, who knows the strange waters better 
 than we do ourselves, to show us the way about them. Now 
 who is to be our pilot 1 " 
 
 " I do not think we are likely," said Blane, " to have much 
 doubt on that score." 
 
 '* Blane evidently sees the matter in the same light that I do. 
 The only pilot we can think of engaging for this trip is our 
 dear friend the Baron. What we have to do, it seems to me, is 
 to put the matter in that light before him as soon as he comes. 
 I do not definitely know how far the Baron's researches in psychic 
 or mystic or occult sciences, call them whatever you like, may 
 have carried him ; but I am quite sure, or at all events I believe 
 at present, with great confid<^nce, that he has somehow and 
 somewhere got behind some secrets of Nature that remain 
 insoluble enigmas for most of us. In a variety of ways we 
 have come to be aware that the door is not so closely shut 
 against us in regard to inquiries transcending the purely 
 physical relations of molecules with one another, as the last 
 generation of physical inquirers seem to have imagined — " 
 
 *' But look at the way they still go on," began Mrs. Miller, 
 but the Professor, spreading both hands a little above the table, 
 stopped her with a genial and cheery smile. 
 
 " Pardon me, my dear lady, for one moment more. I have 
 merely so far drawn your attention to the general state of the 
 facts, as I apprehend them. I want to point out, while these 
 considerations are still before you, how they ought to guide us 
 in dealing with subjects we have been practically invited here 
 to consider. Now our assemblage here will have had no mean- 
 ing or purpose in it at all, unless it furnishes us with a new 
 clue to the inquiries of the kind I have referred to. Therefore, 
 I think we are entitled to go to the Baron when he arrives here 
 and say that, over and above the delightful hospitality he is 
 
 D 
 
84 KJIBMA. 
 
 showing us, we have divined that he has some information of 
 real moment to impart to us — that we do not want to lose any 
 time that may be so precious as that we spend here — and that 
 we beg him therefore to be open and explicit with us at once, 
 instead of leaving us to wander about blindly in futile reading 
 or equally futile conversation. Now I will ask Mr. Blane to 
 say whether I have expressed views with which he concurs." 
 
 " Eeally — " Blane began to protest on being thus directly 
 appealed to, " my views on all these subjects are so shadowy." 
 
 " My dear fellow," interrupted the Professor, " we can none 
 of us have any other but shadowy views of the suhject at large, 
 but we may have clear views of what we are going to do next 
 in connection with its study." 
 
 " Quite true, and you have given the most satisfactory expres- 
 sion to the views on that point that no doubt we all hold. I 
 would only venture to qualify what you say, by suggesting that 
 we should not, as it were, too precipitately take our host by the 
 throat and demand his knowledge or his life." 
 
 "We might let him have some lunch first," said Captain 
 Miller, *' or some dinner if he turns up late in the day." 
 
 ** I will undertake," said the Professor, " if I give expression 
 to our wishes in this matter, that all reasonable concessions of 
 that kind shall be made. I am only anxious that we shall not 
 squander our time in the beginning of this session of ours as if 
 we were a House of Commons, and find ourselves with none at 
 the end, when we have settled down to real work." 
 
 Lady Emily, sitting between Captain Miller and Mr. Merland, 
 began to talk to her right-hand neighbour, Merland, at this 
 point ; and Mrs. Miller broke loose from the restraint the 
 Professor had imposed on the table for a time, and expounded 
 some of her own opinions to Sir John Hexton ; so the conversa- 
 tion became confused. 
 
 CHAPTER y. 
 
 A VISIT TO THE DUNGEONS. 
 
 Thb evening was fine and warm enough after dinner for walking 
 about in the open air, and the smokei-s of the party went up to 
 
A VISIT TO THE DUNGEONS, 85 
 
 the roof of the castle, at Captain Jem's suggestion, to enjoy 
 their cigars, and the refreshing air, and the moonlight view of 
 the river, all at once. Others established themselves in the 
 gi'and hall — the regular drawing-room of the modernised build- 
 ing — or organised little bands of exploration about the mysterious 
 corridors, staircases, and towers, made all the more exciting and 
 interesting by the night-time and the darkness, but partially 
 relieved by the lights they carried. Annerly and Merland 
 escorted Miss Blane about in one such expedition, carrying 
 chamber-candles. 
 
 " We're going to look at the dungeons, Mrs. Miller," the 
 young lady explained, as they got up to leave the drawing-room. 
 
 ** You silly girl ! you'll be frightened. What unwholesome 
 curiosity at this time in the evening." 
 
 " The ghosts won't attack us three abreast," said Merland, as 
 they went round the corner rooms, and back through the dining- 
 hall again, where the servants were still clearing away the last 
 of the dinner-things. From the butler they got candles, and 
 passed on through other corner rooms and passages to the land- 
 ward side of the building. The floor, on a level with the 
 dining-haU in this part of the castle, had been restored, like the 
 rest of the place, but was not monopolised by one great room, 
 like so much of the space in the other two sides, beiug partly 
 given over to the servants' and other offices. The lower floor, 
 however — for the rock on which the castle stood sloped away 
 on this side, so that there was room here for a lower floor — was 
 unsuited to modem habitation, and was only partly made avail- 
 able for store-rooms. From one of these, a steep stone stair 
 wound down to lower regions again. The pitchy darkness into 
 which these stairs disappeared did not look inviting, and Miss 
 Blane declared her thirst for knowledge in that direction already 
 satisfied. 
 
 " What demons they must have been 1 " she said with a 
 shudder. " Imagine driving an unfortunate prisoner down there 
 and locking him up somewhere below in that horrid darkness. 
 I never thought of that before about such places, but of course 
 they must have been pitch-dark at night It isn't likely they 
 gave the prisoners night-lights." 
 
 " In the night and in the day time too," said Annerly, " in 
 some cases. I've seen dungeons in some of tliese old places 
 about Germany that have been simply dry weUs, and not very 
 
 s 2 
 
36 KABMA. 
 
 dry always * at that,' as the Americans say. And then the upper 
 floor of the same tower, when there are such places below ground, 
 you will sometimes find to have been the lord of the castle's bed- 
 room. That's about the grimmest touch of all, because the 
 uppermost man in that case must have had such a vivid con- 
 sciousness of the horrible fate of the man he was keeping under- 
 most." 
 
 " I wonder if any unfortunate woman was ever thrust down 
 there," said Miss Blane. 
 
 ** I think it is of this castle in a book of Rhine legends I read," 
 Annerly answered, " that they tell a story about a grafin, whose 
 name I forget, who beguiled her sister into an underground 
 dungeon to keep her out of the way of a knight she was in love 
 with herself. She thought the knight would be unfaithful to 
 her if he saw the sister, who was more beautiful. But there 
 were some other complications, and the knight suddenly carried 
 her off one evening. She was quite willing to go, but she would 
 have liked to release her sister first. But there was no time, 
 and it was a little matter she did not like to mention to her new 
 husband, so she said nothing — " 
 
 " Ugh ! The horror of it ! " said Miss Blane. 
 
 " Suppose we give the story a happy ending," said Annerly. 
 "The father knight going down to the dungeons to lock up some 
 ordinary prisoners in the way of business finds the beautiful 
 damsel and rescues her, and the other knight's first wife dies 
 young of remorse, and he marries the more beautiful sister, 
 en secondes noces, difficulties about deceased wives' sisters not 
 having arisen in those days." 
 
 " But that was not the true end to the story, I'm sure, by the 
 way you stopped." 
 
 " The other end might suit to-morrow morning and the sun- 
 light better." 
 
 "I want to be treated honestly and not like a child. It 
 makes my blood run cold, but I must have the truth." 
 
 " Well, the happy sister, if there is much room to choose 
 between the two, the one who married the knight, did die young 
 — so says the legend ; but it was only then that the ugly story 
 came out, partly by confession on her death-bed and partly that 
 her ghost haunted a certain dungeon and moaned there so fright- 
 fully that the people of the castle had to get a posse of pn^.^ts 
 to exorcise the place, and then they found the bones and some 
 
1. VISIT TO THE DONQEONS. 37 
 
 ornaments that had belonged to the other sister down away in 
 the dungeon." 
 
 " What a ghastly story ! But Fm sure It was some other 
 dungeon miles away from Heiligenfels." 
 
 *' I remember it said that there wais a cross set up in the 
 dimgeon where the bones were found. Shall we go down and 
 see if there is a cross to be found down there 1 " 
 
 " We'll think about that to-morrow, thank you," said Miss 
 Blane. " I should be glad to be sure there is no cross there, 
 but I can wait patiently." 
 
 " No need to wait long," said Annerly, " I'll soon find out 
 that much for you ;" and, candle in hand, he began to go down 
 the stone stairs. 
 
 " Good giacious, Mr. Annerly, don't do anything so foolish." 
 
 " It's all right," said Annerly ; " Mr. Merland will take care of 
 you for a few minutes." 
 
 " What nerves he must have. It would send me crazy if I 
 tried to go down there alone now." 
 
 " Annerly hasn't any sense of fear about that sort of thing — 
 I've noticed that once or twice before," Merland said. " When 
 we were traveUing in Egypt, and had camped out to be near the 
 Pyramids at daybreak, our friend there was seized with the 
 whim that he would spend the night alone, inside, and he did 
 so, though the Arabs would not venture into any of the inner 
 chambers after nightfall for a fortune." 
 
 " I think that sort of thing wants more bravery than going 
 into battle." 
 
 " A different kind of pluck, anyway. Lots of feUows would 
 face the chance of being shot with perfect coolness who would 
 be horribly uncomfortable alone at night in a pyramid. And, 
 indeed, I think the moral pluck that makes a man quite ready 
 to face what people call the supernatural is the higher sort of 
 the two, and includes the other. Annerly, of course, is not big 
 and strong, and there are lots of things that men have got the 
 Victoria Cross for— things he couldn't do. But take anything 
 within the limits of his physical powers, like going to screw the 
 powder-bags on to the Cashmere Gate at Delhi, for instance, and 
 I would back Annerly to do a thing of that sort against anybody." 
 
 " What a distance down that dreadful place must be ! What 
 can have become of Hini f You oan't hear him or see the light 
 •tall." 
 
88 KARMA. 
 
 " A candle doesn't carry far in such deep darkness. But It 
 must be a long flight of steps by the time we did hear him. If 
 I have to go in search of him you'll have to go up to brighter 
 regions, Miss Blane." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be best to call somebody, it's getting very 
 creepy here 1 " 
 
 *' Give him a bit longer." Merland drew near to the edge of 
 the black gulf, and, after waiting and listening a little while, 
 called down, though in a somewhat subdued voice, for fear of 
 raising an alarm above. " Are you all right, old man 1 " 
 
 No answer came that time, and Miss Blane was beginning to 
 be more nervous than she liked to own, when Merland cried to 
 her that he heard a step below. After a little while longer 
 Annerly's slightly uneven tread on the stair was definitely 
 recognisable, and then he answered Merland, — 
 
 " Yes, this is the old original Annerly, I'm sorry to say, 
 quite unchanged." Then, emerging from the darkness at last, 
 " There are lots of holes and corners down there ; but in one of 
 them, at all events, I can guarantee the existence of a stone 
 cross, Miss Blane." 
 
 " I'm very sorry to hear it," said the young lady. " Now 
 let's go back at once. We've been poking about here quite long 
 enough. I'm glad I'm not to sleep in this wing of the castle, 
 anyhow." 
 
 " Did you see anything uncanny down there, Geordie ] " asked 
 Merland. 
 
 Annerly did not answer at the moment He looked surprised 
 and startled, but after a brief pause he said, — 
 
 " Down there ? No, certainly not. Besides, Pm not good at 
 seeing uncanny things. People who see strange things must 
 always learn to see in the dark uncommonly well first, or they 
 may jump to hasty conclusions." 
 
 " But do you mean," said Miss Blane, as they got up the 
 stairs from the store-room into the more modernised floor above, 
 *' that you ever think you see things that are not natural 1 
 
 " Natural 1 Well, if I thought I saw anything, I should 
 think it was natural — even if I saw what people call a ghost. 
 A thing may not be out of the course of Nature even if it is very 
 unusual. But one may have an impression that one sees some- 
 thing, and there may be nothing to see all the while. An 
 impression of that aoH ia neither natural nor supernatural, it 
 
A VISIT TO THE DUNGEONS. 89 
 
 seema to me. It is nothing at all. It lies altogether within 
 one's own fancy." 
 
 Miss Blaue, however, was more inclined to get back to the 
 well-lighted drawing-room just then than to follow up meta- 
 physical conversation. Mrs. Miller called out with surprise 
 when they got back, — 
 
 *' My dear child, what a colour you've turned ! What on 
 earth have you been about ? " 
 
 " We've been down among the dungeons, and talking all 
 manner of horrors. Do I look pale ? How absurd of me I " 
 
 '* Have a glass of seltzer-water, Miss Blane," said Merland, 
 "with just the least flavour of something refreshing in it." 
 
 " Or tea," proposed Mrs. Miller. " Here's tea still quite hot 
 on that side-table, waiting for the return of the smokers." 
 
 Of course the explorers were minutely questioned as to all 
 they had done. 
 
 Then the Professor and others returned from the castle-roof, 
 loud in praise of moonlight effects on the river. Lady Emily, 
 who had a Continental taste for cards, had a preliminary skirmish 
 with Sir John Hexton at ecarte, and then pressed Mr. Blane 
 and Captain Miller into her service to make up a rubber. Miss 
 Blane had recovered her usual good spirits under the influence 
 of the Professor, who devoted himself to her restoration when 
 he heard what had occurred, and insisted on a course of cat's- 
 cradle as the proper remedy under the circumstances. Nothing 
 would dissuade him from this ; and Lady Emily's suggestion, 
 as an amendment, that they should send for a horse-collar for 
 him to grin through instead, did not turn him for a moment 
 from his resolute demand for string. 
 
 "Perhaps the horse-collar would be more amusing for others, 
 my dear ; I do not deny that for a moment But the cat's-cradle 
 will be more beneficial to Miss Blane, and we have to consider 
 her just now, after all she has gone through- We'll go to a 
 distant corner, Miss Blane, where we shall not disturb the 
 whist-players." 
 
 The short evening was waning away, and the time that had 
 been talked of for a general dispersion was close at hand, when 
 Annerly contrived to say a few words, unheard by others, to 
 Mrs. Miller. 
 
 "Would you mind coming into the library for a minute, 
 Mrs. Miller ! I want to say something to you." 
 4 
 
40 KAEMA. 
 
 Under cover of getting him a book, Mrs. Miller, much 
 mystified, took Annerly off in the required direction. 
 
 " I've had an odd impression this evening, Mrs. Miller," he 
 explained. " I've been unwilling to speak of it ; but I can't 
 feel justified in not doing so. It may be all nonsense ; and 
 perhaps you wiU be able to show that it is. But to see if it ia, 
 I must ask you a question, if you don't mind." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Is the bedroom you have allotted to Miss Blane a room 
 hung with a sort of white and red flowered chintz, or some such 
 stuff, with a red carpet ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 ** And does the bed stand in a comer of the room, with a 
 writing-table near it, and a fireplace in this way, on the left-hand 
 side 1 " 
 
 " Yes. Did you see the room when you were going over the 
 castle yesterday t It's on the upper floor, in the dining-room 
 wing." 
 
 " It's very curious. No ; I have not seen the room — not in 
 the ordinary way at least. But — you know you asked me 
 yesterday, Mrs. Miller, if I was clairvoyant. I should never 
 venture to claim any such faculty on the strength of the few odd 
 impressions I have sometimes had ; but just this evening, while 
 we were downstairs, Miss Blane said something about being 
 glad her room was a long way off the dungeon-tower ; and at 
 that moment I had a sudden flash as it were of perception, that 
 I cannot easily describe, of just such a room as you now say ifl 
 really hers ; and of some serious accident happening to her there. 
 If another person was not so closely concerned with this impres- 
 sion, you may imagine how little likely it is that I should have 
 spoken of it. It is very disagreeable to me to do so — I am so 
 very slow always to attach weight to impressions of this sort ; 
 but I have been thinking it over ever since, and I have come to 
 the conclusion that I would teU you how the matter stands. If 
 you think that without alarming Miss Blane you can put her to 
 sleep in some other room, there would be no great harm done, 
 and if we get no clue to my impression the worst of the matter 
 will be that I shall seem to have been a great donkey." 
 
 " What is to be done ? All her things are there and unpacked 
 of course. But I wouldn't like to go against a warning of that 
 Bort. Shall we consult anybody — the Professor, for instance!" 
 
OONYIOTBD OF OLAIHVOYANOB, 41 
 
 " I should greatly prefer you did not, if you can find any 
 excuse for moving Miss Blane." 
 
 *' I tell you what I can do — I can get Jem to sleep in his 
 dressini^j-room, and insist upon her spending the night with me 
 after she has been frightened with your stories in the dungeons." 
 
 *' Admirably thought of 1 Then what's to be done to-morrow 1 
 It's such a vague kind of warning. I tell you I'm ashamed of 
 saying this to you, and yet I should be more ashamed of remaining 
 silent. We have talked over all these subjects sufficiently to be 
 familiar with the fact that warnings of this kind do sometimes 
 prove to have been important. That consciousness may of course 
 make one all the more liable to be a prey to delusions and 
 fancies ; but still in this case I seem to have had a correct 
 perception of what the room is like, and I have certainly never 
 been in the room ~" 
 
 " We can't disregard it, Mr. Annerly, that's clear ; but won't 
 it be best to speak of it to some of the people 1 It will be such 
 a wonderful thing if it does really turn out that we are keeping 
 Miss Blane out of the way of some danger." 
 
 " I would so much rather keep the matter to ourselves for the 
 present." 
 
 *' Well, you must decide that of course." 
 
 When they went back to the drawing-room the catVcradle 
 was over, and the Professor, feeling Miss Blane's pulse, declared 
 her quite convalescent. But Mrs. Miller found her in no way 
 reluctant to fall in with the arrangement she then suggested ; 
 which Captain Jem, as soon as he realised that he was to incur 
 a little discomfort for the sake of some one else, warmly seconded 
 and approved of. He declared that a night in a dressing-room 
 by himself, where he could smoke cigarettes in bed, was the one 
 luxury he enjoyed above all others. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 OONVIOTBD OP OLAIRVOYANOl. 
 
 SoMl of the party assembled for breakfast in the dinfng-hall 
 next morning, though the meal was not fixed for a general 
 muster at any given hour. Annerly wore a hang-dog and 
 dejected look. Miss Blane was bright and cheerful. Mis* 
 
42 KABMA. 
 
 Miller a little disconcerted, the failure of any disturbance during 
 the night that might have justified her precautions having left 
 her inclined to resent the " warning." The Professor, always 
 an early riser, had been already out in the woods, and these 
 four breakfasted together. 
 
 " I took one of your books up to bed with me last night, 
 Mrs. Miller — one I had not read before," mentioning its title, 
 ** and I read it." 
 
 " Goodness, Professor Massilton ! Why, it would take you 
 days." 
 
 " If you don't believe me, you can examine me in the book. 
 I do not mean that I read every word, but I read fast, and I 
 will undertake to say that I missed no idea the book contains. 
 Well, by the time you have got out all the ideas it contains, 
 and have reduced them to their simplest terms, they just 
 amount to this and nothing more : ' Be virtuous and you will 
 be happy.' Now what is the use of preaching a new religion to 
 tell us that 1 So far as the rule is true it is a very old rule, but 
 I think it is open to grave criticisuL It is not the fact that all 
 the people who are virtuous are happy, and still less is it the 
 case that happiness bears any quantitative relation to virtue. I, 
 for instance, am not desperately wicked, but I am immensely 
 happier than I have any right to be on the strength of my 
 virtue. And certainly there are hundreds and thousands of 
 people much better than I, much more virtuous, who are much 
 less happy. Virtue may have something to do with happiness 
 for some people, but it is not the principal factor in the matter 
 for most." 
 
 " That would be a dangerous maxim to preach at all events." 
 
 "Dangerous as regards the multitude, who were chiefly 
 thought of evidently when the early maxims of morality were 
 first set on foot. But if people engaged in investigating 
 spiritual science over the heads of early religious generalities 
 addressed to the multitude, cannot work out something fresher 
 than that, it is of no mse to address the world on the subject of 
 their discoveries. They have discovered nothing if they only 
 discover what we knew before ; and if they merely re-discover 
 an old generalisation that is inaccurate when closely looked 
 into, they have discovered less than nothing. They have 
 betrayed the fact that they are not on new lines of investigation 
 at all" 
 
OONVIOTED OF OLAIBVOTAKOB. 43 
 
 ••I don't agree with you, Professor Massilton," said Mrs. 
 Miller, gallantly standing to her guns on behalf of a favourite 
 author. *' Spiritualists may find out that the most exalted 
 spirits repeat some of the established religious doctrines, but 
 they give it us with a great deal more detail and explanation 
 than we had before." 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Miller, when you pick what they say to 
 pieces, you find that the explanation is a mock explanation, and 
 the detail, mere cloudiness of periphrasis. Explanation would 
 really be this : the exhibition to our minds of the forces at 
 work by means of which virtue operates to produce happiness. 
 No one yet, however, has the glimmering of an idea of what 
 that force is, even supposing it is really operative, which the 
 experience of life all around us, I maintain, does not go to 
 prove, but quite the reverse." 
 
 "The experience of life may not be enough to prove it. 
 The spirits may be able to give us the experience of another life 
 too, and then they say it is proved." 
 
 "If they were to say it, we should have ground for dis- 
 believing them. Do you mean to tell me that any respectable, 
 well-disposed spirit can remain indifferent to the misery of 
 people it loves on earth 1 While if it, or he, or she — one does 
 not know what pronoun to give a spirit — suffers in spirit-life 
 from events here over which its own virtues or vices have no 
 influence whatever, how can you make it out that the spirit's 
 happiness is the consequences of virtue 1 " 
 
 Miss Blane made a diversion in the conversation shortly 
 after this by declaring that she thought it ought to be a rule at 
 the castle to have no metaphysics talked before lunch. This 
 set the Professor off on another tack. Captain Miller dropped 
 in presently with Merland, who had been out for a stroll with 
 him, and then some plans were made for the morning, which 
 inchided a walk. Miss Blane went to prepare for this. 
 
 Mrs. Miller found an opportunity of asking Mr. Annerly, 
 aside, if he had been having any more impressions. Annerly 
 was apologetic and miserable. 
 
 " I have had another impression — yes, Mrs. Miller, a very 
 strong one — namely, that I made a fool of myself last night, 
 and gave you and others a great deal of most unnecessary 
 trouble." 
 
 Mis. Miller began to speak of the question raised the previous 
 
44 KABMA. 
 
 evening — whether any attempt should be made to re-arrange 
 rooms, or whether the warning might now be disregarded, when 
 Miss Blane returned — without having waited to get ready for 
 her walk. 
 
 " Oh, Mrs. Miller, there's a lot of the ceiling fallen down in 
 my room. It's lying right across my bed. It's lucky — " 
 
 " What ! " Mrs. Miller almost screamed, " there ! " 
 
 Of course there was a general expression of concern, and 
 interest, and satisfaction at Miss Blane's escape. 
 
 " But you don't any of you understand," cried Mrs. Miller; 
 "it's the most wonderful thing that ever was known." 
 
 Annerly looked almost more unhappy at the disclosure which 
 Mrs. Miller had now launched herself on than he had been 
 before, but Mrs. Miller was far too excited to check her 
 explanations. 
 
 "Mr. Annerly foresaw it, clairvoyantly foresaw it, and 
 warned me last night, and that was why I made Miss Blane 
 sleep in my room." 
 
 It was now the turn of the others, of course, to demand 
 explanations; and the whole transaction was exhaustively 
 reviewed in all its bearings. The Professor severely rebuked 
 the persons concerned for having kept the warning secret the 
 previous evening. 
 
 " Here are we, a body of people of competent judgment and 
 credibility in various ways, assembled here for the express 
 purpose of examining into the mysteries of psychic phenomena. 
 At the very outset of our undertaking an incident happens of 
 first-rate importance as a fact to investigate ; and yet those of 
 our number into whose hands the evidence which gives it 
 importance is thrown, bottle that evidence up and hide it away 
 in the secret recesses of their own consciousness. How are we 
 to get on if we proceed upon such a plan as that t " 
 
 " But in telling me last night," Mrs. Miller pleaded, " Mr. 
 Annerly fully recorded the impression he had received." 
 
 " For the purpose of making our experience of use to others 
 he recorded it very imperfectly. For people who happen to 
 know you personally, and who happen to have an opportunity 
 of asking you questions about what ha? just taken place, there 
 is evidence obtainable, I do not deny ; but for the information 
 outside our immediate circle, the occurrence as it stands now 
 il nearly useless. Strangers will say they do not know after all 
 
OONVIOTBD OF OLAIBVOYANOB. 45 
 
 what Mr. Annerly really said to you. After the event it la 
 announced that he foretold it. Why, people will ask, was there 
 no written note kept of what he really said overnight t Here is 
 a most interesting manifestation of prophetic clairvoyance lost 
 to the world for want of a little ordinary, reasonable forethought 
 in verifying it at first." 
 
 " Then what do you say we ought to have done, Professor 
 Massilton t If Mr. Annerly had blurted out just what he saw, 
 he would have frightened Miss Blane out of her senses." 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Miller, who asserted that he should have told 
 Miss Blaue 1 He should, in my humble opinion, have written 
 a brief memorandum of what he saw, which four or five of us 
 could have witnessed. And then, of course, we could have 
 taken one precaution which, as events have fallen out, has 
 been entirely overlooked. We could have examined the room 
 to which his vision related last night. As it is, we shall be 
 asked, if we ever tell this story, whether we have certain 
 knowledge that the plaster from the ceiling had not already 
 fallen last night at the time the warning was received." 
 
 " Well, but Miss Blane went into her room to get somt 
 things last night. Nothing had fallen then, Marian, had it 1 " 
 
 " I don't think so," said Miss Blane. " I am sure I musi 
 have noticed — " 
 
 "Of course," said the Professor; "I don't for a moment 
 believe, myself, that anything had fallen then, but we have not 
 got positive evidence to go to the public with that it had not." 
 
 "Now my impression has been justified," Annerly put in, 
 " we can see that it might have been worth while to have done 
 all you say. But it would have seemed to be giving so much 
 trouble for nothing at the time. And if nothing had taken 
 place afterwards, you would all have been very much disgusted 
 with me. It is not as if I had previously had any experience 
 to justify me in asking you to treat my impressions as impor- 
 tant." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Annerly," said Mrs. Miller, " it's quite evident 
 noWj at all events, that you are clairvoyant. And, by the 
 way, that gives some new interest to what you saw yesterday." 
 
 " Good heavens ! " said the Professor, " have you been seeing 
 inything else that has been kept secret 1 " 
 
 The indignation and impetuosity of the question raised a 
 general laugh. 
 
46 EA£MA. 
 
 " Poor Mr. Annerly," said Blane, " we are treating him as ti 
 he were a culprit instead of the hero of this incident. And, 
 meanwhile, I think we have forgotten to say one thing, which 
 I, at all events, feel very strongly, that my sister and I are 
 very sincerely grateful to him for having saved her, by the 
 very wonderful faculty he possesses, from what must certainly 
 have been a very alarming and serious accident." 
 
 " Indeed," Miss Blane added, *' I am very grateful." 
 
 " That goes without saying," the Professor went on : " or at 
 all events it is very fitly and properly said. But an immense 
 interest attaches to what has occurred, apart from personal 
 feeling. And do not let us lose sight of general principles in 
 our private interests. What is this other vision of yours, to 
 which Mrs. Miller refers 1 " 
 
 " Eeally it is almost too slight to speak of, and can have no 
 value as a test of any sort," Annerly declared. " Besides, there 
 is nothing to be verified. I thought I saw Baron von Mond- 
 stern on the stairs near the room I occupy ; but I was mistaken, 
 for he had not returned to the castle." 
 
 The Professor sighed, as over weaknesses of human nature, 
 that had to be endured, but were very grievous. He argued 
 with extreme gentleness that, since Mr. Annerly had been 
 discovered to possess an abnormal faculty, it would be a culp- 
 able disregard of their plain duty as students of psychic 
 mysteries to treat any manifestations of it with indifi'erence. 
 He insisted on recording a proces verbal of the impression 
 Annerly had had about seeing the Baron, in order to ascertain 
 later from the Baron himself what he had been doing and where 
 he had been at the time. He also drew up a statement em- 
 bodying all that had occurred in connection with the fall of 
 the ceiling, viewed the apartment, all the guests who were 
 present, taking part in this ceremony; and he exacted from 
 Annerly a solemn promise that he would communicate any 
 further impressions of an abnormal nature that he might receive, 
 either to himself or to three or four other persons, if there 
 might be any reason for withholding them from him, at the 
 time of their reception. Annerly found himself the subject of 
 80 much brooding watchfulness during the remainder of the 
 day that his naturally retiring and modest temperament was 
 put to a severe strain. It was very pleasant to him, however, 
 to find himself dxawn into a stroll in the woods in the afternoon 
 
CONVICTED OF OLAIBVOTANOB. 47 
 
 with Miss Blane and her brother, and treated — without any 
 further reference being made to debts of gratitude — with 
 affectionate friendliness that gave him an unusual feeUng of 
 contentment. He was not really unfamiliar with the outward 
 fact that people sometimes seemed to like his society and 
 conversation ; but he was always disposed to attribute this to 
 any imaginable circumstance that was unflattering to himself 
 rather than to personal merit. In the present case, on the other 
 hand, he had an undercurrent of consciousness that he really 
 had done a service to the girl he was with, which both she and 
 her brother appreciated. This overcame his habitual shyness 
 for the moment, and made him enjoy his walk in a way which 
 in turn reacted to brighten his severe demeanour, though the 
 views of life he expressed were still of a sombre cast. 
 
 "It seems to me," he observed a propos to some disparaging 
 remarks Elane had brought to bear on the ordinary routine of 
 pleasure-seeking, "that the enjoyment to be found in society 
 turns entirely on the temperament you take into it. Let a man 
 he happy, having the conditions of such a state fulfilled for him 
 in his private relationships, and every incident of life, every 
 conversation he may carry on, every fresh acquaintanceship he 
 makes, is but a stirring of his inner consciousness that he is so. 
 On the opposite hypothesis the stirring of consciousness involved 
 in going about amongst people is apt to be little more than a 
 stimulus to pain. Everything seems intrinsically repulsive or 
 contemptible because of the reflex light in which it is viewed." 
 
 " I think I like going about in society because it is amusing 
 to watch people's ways," Miss Blane put in. 
 
 " if — which the gods avert — you were personally unhappy 
 you would find them only bore you." 
 
 " If one was iU or poor or in grief about people who had died, 
 you mean." 
 
 " Every man and woman, except a few circumstanced in an 
 abnormal way, has very special relations, sooner or later, with 
 some other one woman or man. That I take to be generally 
 the key-note of each person's life ; and, as far as happiness is 
 concerned, I fancy, pretty nearly everything depends on that 
 key-note. Troubles in life, having nothing to do with it, may be 
 severe, but in most cases are evanescent. With a man it can only 
 be a woman who will finally ruin his life, or give it, subject to the 
 manifold perils of existence, a predominant tint of happiness." 
 
48 KABMA. 
 
 " Perhaps I take too gloomy a view of things," eaid Blane. 
 " But my amendment to what you say would be, that, while a 
 woman may very easily make a man miserable, she cannot very 
 easily make him happy, or keep him for very long even con- 
 tented." 
 
 " Willy, what a horrible misanthrope you are 1 " 
 
 " The sun may shine," suggested Annerly, " on a barren or a 
 beautiful landscape, but the best looks sullen without it, the 
 worst under its influence is, in a measure, cheerful I merely 
 contend that the one main relationship of each person's life 
 determines the state of the weather for him or her, psycholo- 
 gically speaking. The scenery, whether it is grand or humble, 
 is another matter, but, to enjoy any sort, fine weather is a sine 
 qud non,* 
 
 " The weathercock, certainly, is a symbol one may associat* 
 with the female character." 
 
 " Don't insult Mr. Annerly's beautiful theory, Willy." 
 
 " It is the fault of all metaphors that they are sure to leak 
 somewhere," Annerly said. " But after all the weathercock is 
 a masculine bird, wholly dependent for his attitude on atmo- 
 spheric conditions — so he may help my argument perhaps after 
 all" 
 
 "I should not have thought" — later on in the day Mrs. 
 Miller said to Miss Blane, who had been telling her something 
 of what they had been talking about and their walk — "that 
 our talented clairvoyant had been so romantic. Your influence 
 must have stirred up these sudden emotions, my dear." 
 
 CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THE baron's arrival^ 
 
 Meanwhile a new interest was imparted to the castle gathering^ 
 in the course of the afternoon, by the Baron's arrival. 
 
 As the guests were mostly out of doors or in their own rooms 
 when he came, he was only received by the old butler, and 
 went up to his own rooms, accompanied by a boy about eleven 
 years of age, whom he brought with him, both having walked 
 
THE BAROiV's ARRIVAL, 49 
 
 up the hill from the station, leaving their lu|,'gage to follow hj 
 the road. Mrs. Miller was in the castle, it appeared, so he sent 
 down word that he would wait on her if she could receive him, 
 and presently went to her in the octagon houdoir. 
 
 Baron Friedrich von Mondstern had remained, by the death 
 of an elder brother, as he was entering manhood, the sole in- 
 heritor of the fairly considerable possessions of the old Saxon 
 family to which he belonged. He had passed (outwardly, at all 
 events) a very quiet, uneventful, and studious life, interrupted, 
 after he became his own master entirely, by considerable absences 
 abroad, but otherwise spent chiefly at Heidelberg, the univer- 
 sity where he graduated, or at one of the two or three old 
 family-houses he possessed in diflferent parts of Germany. The 
 season just preceding the autumn party at Heiligenfels was the 
 first he had spent in London — so far, at any rate, as making 
 acquaintances freely or going about in society was concerned — 
 but the new friends he had then made were eager in trying to 
 persuade him that it might not be the last. 
 
 The Baron was far from setting up as a brilliant conversa- 
 tionalist, and still less did he win favour as a spirited viveur. 
 In some undefinable way he won hearts in a greater degree than 
 he dazzled society in general. With quick and tender sympa- 
 thies he would talk with his friends rather of things that in- 
 terested them, than of subjects identified with himself. His 
 birth and position in the world secured him ready acceptance 
 wherever he went ; his personal qualities ensured him cordiality 
 wherever he stayed. A very finished linguist, he was equally 
 at home in the three leading languages of Europe ; and his 
 literary culture betrayed a range of acquirements which dwarfed 
 into relative insignificance his faculty of speaking English and 
 French as fluently as his own tongue. But these would crop 
 up by degrees, merely in the intimacy of friendship, and would 
 rarely appear on the surface of his general conversation, which 
 despised none of the common topics of the hour, and would 
 only be distinguished from the talk of intelligent people around 
 him by a shade more fertility of illustration and collateral infor- 
 mation than was usually met with. He was too uncr^mpromis- 
 ingly good-natured to be very witty, but a perennial flow 
 of cheerfulness and good temper on his part made him a bright 
 and lively companion, and few people who came to know 
 him with the leaat degree of intimacy could reaist the impulst 
 
50 EABMA. 
 
 to talk to him more or less confidentially about their personal 
 affairs. As these, after all, interest most of us in a greater 
 degree than any other topic, a person who speaks of them to a 
 sympathetic listener, invested on general grounds with claims 
 to respect, will always find such conversation profoundly attrac- 
 tive, and tending to set off the listener in a very amiable light. 
 
 The Baron, in such cases, too. would be much more than a 
 listener— a wise and keen-sighted counseUor ; and the rooms 
 where he established himself in Clarges street came to be invested 
 afterwards in the memory of a good many of the friends he made 
 during his London season, with the interest attaching to scenes 
 associated with some fresh departure in life. 
 
 Certainly his passage through London society had not been 
 entirely unmarked by disappointments and regrets. The Baron 
 was about forty years old, unmarried, well off and well placed, 
 as already described ; rather above the middle height, though 
 delicately made, and with a general aspect that was something 
 more than striking and attractive. With very large clear blue 
 eyes and light brown beard, a moustache that but slightly fringed 
 has upper lip without concealing the lines of a finnly-set, but in 
 no way sternly-drawii, mouth, with brown hair a shade or two 
 darker than the beard, and a look of intellectual power com- 
 bined with sweetness of disposition in his face generally, it could 
 hardly happen that Baron Friedrich, as his friends generally 
 called him, should move about in society without exciting, here 
 and there, day-dreams and projects incompatible with his stead- 
 fast celibacy. But his manner, whether with girls, or with 
 skilled matrons more daring and unscrupulous in the use of their 
 deadly weapons, was never betrayed even under the most provo- 
 cative circumstances into special earnestness. At all events, no 
 fair combatant who attempted any such encounter, could ever 
 complain that she had been worsted by unfair fence. The 
 Baron might, here and there, be praised with sarcastic emphasis, 
 as a man with gi'eat command over his feelings; but he had 
 never been accused of attempting to assume the mastery over 
 those of any lady. 
 
 Rarely speaking of himself, and still less inclined to revile 
 fate, he nevertheless would sometimes acknowledge a serious 
 grief — the death of his sister, younger than himself by many 
 years, who had married an Englishman, the Sir John Hexton 
 already slightly mentioned as one of the guests at Heiligenfela. 
 
THE BAEON's arrival. 61 
 
 Her marriage and death had taken place during one of his 
 absences abroad. Her only child, Reginald Hexton, now grown 
 to be the boy mentioned above, was a child of four or five years 
 when she died. Baron Friedrich, returning to Europe almost 
 immediately afterwards, proposed to take charge of him and 
 bring him up in Germany. Sir John was well pleased to have 
 the boy taken off his hands, but would agree to no final an-ange- 
 ment as regards his education. His son and heir ought to pre- 
 pare for his ultimate destiny, he thought, by going through the 
 orthodox routine of an English public school and university. 
 That question was waived for the time, however ; and for the 
 few years of childhood, Reginald went with his uncle to a 
 country-house near Dresden. 
 
 " This is my nephew, Mrs. Miller, of whom I think you have 
 heard," the Baron said, introducing the boy. *' Sir John is out 
 just now, they tell me." 
 
 " He does credit to your side of the family," said Mrs. Miller 
 with her usual directness. •* What eyes he's got ! Your eyes. 
 Baron, only brown instead of blue. He's more like you than 
 Sir John." 
 
 ** Yes, in some respects he is like what my sister was in life ;" 
 and then the Baron asked whether Mrs. Miller had found the 
 castle in all respects properly garrisoned and prepared for her 
 reception, and as to the comfort of her journey from London, 
 and so forth. She, of course, poured out a fuU history of all 
 that had taken place since her arrival, of the distribution of the 
 guests, and of the arrangements in reference to the few who 
 were still expected. 
 
 " The Vaughans 1 Yes, of course," said the Baron, thought- 
 fully, " that was inevitable." 
 
 " Inevitable I Why, would you rather not have had them 1 
 I thought they would he such very nice people to have." 
 
 " The nicest imaginable. Do not divine a regret on my part 
 or a reproach in the use of the word. I am delighted that it 
 should be they. And our young friend Merland is enjoying 
 life, I hope, as much as ever." 
 
 " I'm sure he ought to be with such a nice girl as Marian 
 Blane for him to play with. I haven't any matronly scruples 
 in leaving them together, because no harm can come of it, what- 
 ever comes of it." 
 
 "The perilous pastime of match-making has attractiouB foT 
 
 B 2 
 
52 KARMA. 
 
 you, I see, but, as you say, no harm can come of it in this ease. 
 
 Ah, here is the Professor — *' as the door opened to admit the 
 guest named. ** I need not say how glad I am to find you 
 safely installed here." 
 
 " I heard you had come, and could not put off the pleasure of 
 greeting you," and so on. After a very little talk on the surface 
 of things the Professor went straight to the leading idea that 
 had taken possession of his mind. 
 
 " I have been talking with some of our friends here. Baron, 
 and I find that, like myself, several of them have been looking 
 back with peculiar and special interest, in connection with your- 
 self, on conversations held with you about mysteries of Nature, 
 which lie outside the domain of physical investigation. Now a 
 strange thing happened here last evening, and I want to know 
 whether you can help us to a better comprehension of it. The 
 thing has occurred here in your house, and is in the line of 
 problems that you have evidently studied." Then the Professor 
 related the incident of which Annerly had been the hero. 
 
 " 1 have known other people before," the Baron said, ** with 
 the faculty of receiving impressions of that sort. I think you 
 will find that, when pubhc attention is turned to the subject 
 more generally, people will accept the existence of such faculties 
 as a natural fact, and study them in all their manifestations." 
 
 " That is exactly what I want to do now. Here is a case 
 within our own experience. A bird in the hand, for scientific 
 purposes, is not only worth two in the bush, it is worth twenty 
 thousand, or any number you like, out of reach. But the first 
 thing one should do with every subject of scientific examination 
 is to repeat the experiment that produces the phenomenon to be 
 examined. As this thing has occurred, it is useless for the 
 advance of knowledge, except so far as it may have awakened our 
 attention. Related to any stranger, it would hardly impress his 
 mind at all. He would distrust the precision of Annerly's state- 
 ment last evening to Mrs. Miller, he would attribute the removal of 
 Mis8 Blane from the place of danger to accidental coincidence." 
 
 " I don't see," Mrs. Miller objected, " why anybody should 
 disbelieve me when I say what Mr. Annerly told me." 
 
 " A scientific fact must rest upon something more tangible 
 than a statement as to what one person mny have said to another 
 on a certain occasion," the Professor replied. " Personally, I 
 believe what you say — " 
 
THE babon's abbiyal. 53 
 
 •• Thank you kindly," said Mrs. Miller, satirically. 
 
 **liis BL great compliment," declared the Professor, " because 
 many people are very inaccurate; but I cannot transfer my 
 confidence to any one who may not have the pleasure of 
 knowing you. What we must have, before we begin to inves- 
 tigate the laws which may govern such curious flashes of clair- 
 voyance — to accept the common word — as 1 myself believe that 
 Mr. Annerly exhibited in this case, is some manifestation of 
 that law that we can reproduce at our pleasure. Now can you 
 help us to that, my dear Baron, do you think T " 
 
 The boy, Beginald Hexton, who had been seated on a corner 
 of the low divan in front of the window overlooking the Rhine, 
 all this while, but whose attention had been closely given to 
 the conversation, and not to the view, glanced at the Baron as 
 this was said, and slightly smiled. The Professor was very 
 observant and picked up the little sign. 
 
 ** Your young friend there evidently tliinks you can," he said 
 to the Baron. 
 
 "Let me present my young friend — my nephew, Reginald 
 Hexton. I daresay in many ways he has an exaggerated 
 confidence in his uncle's capacity. But the dilficulty which 
 always confronts me when I have been thinking of that point 
 is, that the conditions of any psychic experiments must neces- 
 sarily be so subtle that they are very hard to catch. Now in 
 the case that has just taken place it is evident that the nervous 
 system of both persons concerned — Miss Blane and Mr. Annerly 
 — were somewhat abnonnally excited by the visit to the 
 dungeons. Then Miss Blane's imagination pictuies herself 
 alone at night ; and if, as people are now arguing, thought is a 
 force which can sometimes produce a direct efiect on the mind 
 of another person, her mental picture of her bedroom, which 
 naturally rises in her mind, may have impinged upon Mr. 
 Annerly 's mind when that was in a special condition of recep- 
 tivity. We have still got, of course, to make other conjectures 
 as to how he is enabled to foresee a peril by which the scene so 
 presented to him is menaced ; but, apart from that, it would 
 plainly be very difficult to get up the special conditions of 
 nervous excitement, at will, in people you want to experiment 
 upon." 
 
 The conversation went on for some while longer without 
 leading to any special result. Questioned by the Professor 
 
M EABMA. 
 
 about what he had been doing at the time Annerly thought he 
 saw him on the stairs, the Baron identified the time as one at 
 which he had been travelling in a railway carriage at a con- 
 siderable distance from Heiligenfels. 
 
 " But I may fairly a id, I thinly, if the impression strikes 
 you as having any interest in connection with the subject, that 
 I was, if my memory serves me rightly, thinking of our party 
 here at the time." 
 
 " The importance of that," said the Professor, " would turn 
 upon the possibility of reproducing that effect as an experiment. 
 If any process of thinking on your part could again provoke in 
 Mr. Annerly's mind the impression of seeing you when you 
 were at a distance, that would be just an experiment of the 
 sort we were talking of. What you can do in the way of 
 projecting such impressions, probably others could do also — 
 not necessarily every one, but some others. By degrees 
 we should discover some such other persons by experiment, 
 and then we might get on the track of an inquiry worth pur- 
 suing." 
 
 " We can see about making such experiments," the Baron 
 said ; " but meanwhile I may tell you that it is quite possible 
 you will find an even better subject for them in our friend Mrs. 
 Lakesby, who is coming here. From what I know of her, I 
 think I may venture to promise you that you will find her 
 both able and willing to give you proof that she can see more 
 in the world than physical eyesight shows most of us." 
 
 The Baron's statement about Mrs. Lakesby was interrupted 
 by the arrival of Sir John Hexton, who had been strolling in 
 the neighbouring wood with Lady Emily. Sir John had not 
 much to say to his young son. 
 
 " Not tired of Germany yet, Reggy 1 " he asked the boy. 
 
 " Not since Uncle Friedrich came back." 
 
 " Ah, well ! Germany's a good country, but England's a 
 better, I think you'll find in the long run. What do you think, 
 Professor ? " 
 
 *' I think they're both good countries, and wherever I am 
 shall seem better for me — especially Heiligenfels." 
 
 " Well, Reggy there will be better able to judge when he 
 knows both," said his father. 
 
 " And what school do you fancy, Reggy t " said the Professor, 
 the conversation thus having been turned on the boy ; " Eton, 
 
A OUEIOUS MANIFESTATION. 65 
 
 or Rugby, or Harrow 1 I suppose a young swell like you will 
 patronise one of them 1" 
 
 "I don't know," said the boy; "I haven't seen any of 
 them." 
 
 *' I went to Eton," said Sir John, " and so did my father 
 before me." 
 
 ** Your counsels might be very valuable in this matter, 
 Professor," said the Baron ; " but Sir John would probably like 
 to go into the question with you more at leisure some day." 
 
 The Professor declared that he would be very ready to 
 discuss the matter, and went on t^ explain some general prin- 
 ciples in regard to the selection of schools for boys, which the 
 world at large failed as a rule to apply. The exposition was 
 illustrated by an unusually full and exact knowledge of the 
 characteristics of the great English schools ; but after a time 
 Mrs. Miller suggested that they should all go and have tea on 
 the terrace, and the movement thither turned the conversation 
 into other channels. 
 
 CHAPTER Vin. 
 
 A CURIOUS MANIFESTATIOH. 
 
 Bt degrees most other members of the party dropped In from 
 afternoon walks or other private occupations. Annerly was the 
 only person who had to be presented to the Earun. When he 
 came on to the terrace with the Blanes on his return from his 
 walk, there was a revival of interest in the incident with which 
 he had been connected. Mrs. Miller's reference to this covered 
 a moment's surprise and suppressed excitement on Annerly's 
 part. 
 
 *' Would you have known me 1 " asked the Baron, unheard 
 by the others, as they stood for a few moments a little apart. 
 
 ** Anywhere," replied Annerly. 
 
 *' Then say nothing about it. The incident only concerns 
 yourself." 
 
 Sir John Hexton, meanwhile, had exchanged some glancea of 
 
56 EABMA. 
 
 silent meaning with Lady Emily when the feat of elairvoyanc* 
 was referred to. 
 
 ** I hope Mr. Annerly will give a look to my ceiling to-night, 
 Mrs. Miller," he said. " Perhaps the castle will be coming to 
 pieces generally, and I should like to be forewarned." 
 
 ** Don't be afraid. It seems that the room Miss Blane was in, 
 had a lot of shavings take fire in it while the castle was being 
 repaired. I've been asking about how the accident can have 
 happened, and Franz says it must have been through the plaster 
 drying irregularly, owing to this fire, that it got cracked. There 
 were no fires elsewhere." 
 
 *' All right, Mrs. Miller ; then I won't be afraid, even if Mn 
 Annerly does foresee that my ceiling is coming down." 
 
 "I hear you. Sir John," said Mrs. Miller, acknowledging the 
 implied distrust of the clairvoyant achievement ; " I'll talk to 
 you some other time when I've nothing better to do. It's a pity, 
 at your age, that you shouldn't know better," 
 
 Blane was appealed to by the Professor, shortly after this, to 
 say how the majority of educated men in London would take it, 
 supposing they wrote a letter to the Times detailing the fact 
 under notice ; the signatures of persons as well known as some 
 of themselves being a guarantee, at all events, that the state- 
 ment would be made in good faith. 
 
 " I don't think my opinion on the matter is worth much," 
 Blane muttered, to begin with ; " but I should think that one- 
 half of our readers would merely laugh at us, and the other half 
 would say we must have had very little psychic experience to be 
 greatly moved by so very natural an occurrence." 
 
 " At any rate," said the Baron, " I think if there is any 
 writing to the Times to be done, it might be better to wait and 
 see whether incidents still better worth notice than this may not 
 offer themselves during our stay here." 
 
 Blane and the Professor exchanged glances. 
 
 " I shall wait," said the Professor, " with all the greater 
 confidence now that you have made the suggestion." 
 
 " But as an independent view of the matter, and not suppos- 
 ing that we are any of us thinking at present of writing to the 
 Times" the Baron went on, " I should not be disposed to think 
 that any great interest would be excited in England by any 
 statement, however well authenticated, of any occurrence of an 
 bnormal character, which was not associated with the discovery 
 
A 0UEIOD8 MANIFESTATION. 67 
 
 of a new principle in Nature that fully accounted for it A new 
 fact by itself is nothing in the estimation of scientific observers 
 of Nature, unless it is either in the direct line of their own habi- 
 tual studies, in which case they may be disposed to take it up, 
 and investigate it themselves, or on the other hand unless it 
 tomes to them ready investigated, and explaining its own laws.*' 
 
 " There could not be a new fact," said the Professor, *' in the 
 shape of any natural phenomenon, which would not fall within 
 the range of some department of science." 
 
 "I am not sure that I agree with you there. Indeed I think 
 I could draw your attention to a fact that cannot very easily be 
 classified, and yet, small thing as it is, may nevertheless suggest 
 the necessity of opening out a new line of inquiry in Nature 
 before it can thoroughly be accounted for." 
 
 " What fact are you referring to t " 
 
 ** You may never have encountered it, as it has to do with a 
 somewhat unusual state of that powerful, but in most cases 
 inactive, galvanic battery, which a human body in one of its 
 aspects may be said to constitute." 
 
 "No doubt when you say that," said the Professor, "you 
 attach some definite meaning to your words, but I would 
 observe in passing that they do not convey any meaning to my 
 mind. That unmanifested electricity exists in human flesh and 
 bones, as in all other kinds of matter, I fully recognise, but that 
 condition of things does not carry with it the attributes of a 
 galvanic battery." 
 
 " And how would you define the essential attributes of such 
 an instrument apart from all structural details ? " 
 
 " A galvanic battery, whatever else it may or may not be, is 
 an apparatus for rendering electric effects perceptible to the 
 senses. With your battery you can at any time you please 
 provoke a sensible current, and whatever electricity may lurk in 
 my body, I cannot throw it out in a way that the senses of 
 another person, or an electrometer, can register." 
 
 " I believe you could if you knew how ; and I say that 
 because I know of some effects, which I think we must recog- 
 nise as electrical in their character, that can be thrown off in 
 just the way, say, from the human body." 
 
 "Of course you can charge a properly insulated human body 
 with electricity, and take off the charge afterwards." 
 
 " Quite so ; but, independently of that, you can get electrical 
 
58 KABMA. 
 
 effects from it sometimes. For example, you know the feeling 
 of taking a spark with your knuckle from the conductor of an 
 electrical machine. Now, kindly put your knuckle to the tip of 
 my finger." 
 
 The Baron leaned his arm, as he spoke, on the table near where 
 they were both sitting, and put forward the middle finger of 
 his hand. The Professor did as he was requested with a puzzled 
 smile on his face, and withdrew his hand before it had quite 
 touched the Baron's finger, with a look of surprise. Except 
 Blane and Annerly, who had been standing by while the 
 conversation just noted had been going on, the other people 
 present were scattered about the terrace in groups, and did not 
 see the little experiment. 
 
 " That is very curious," said the Professor ; " certainly I had 
 the sensation of taking a slight spark from your finger, and 
 even heard it." 
 
 " I heard it also," said Blane. 
 
 " The effect cian easily be made much more audible," said the 
 Baron, " if the current is thrown against a glass in this way." 
 
 A water-jug and goblets had been put upon the terrace-table, 
 together with the afternoon tea-things, and the Baron drew one 
 of the glasses towards him. 
 
 " Look at this, all of you," said the Professor to the company 
 generally. "Here is something very interesting." 
 
 With more or less promptitude the others drew round the 
 table. 
 
 "Our previous conversation," said the Baron, "gives the 
 experiment its meaning." As he spoke he pointed with his 
 finger to the glass, and moved his hand slowly towards it till 
 the tip of his finger was within three or four inches of it. 
 Then the glass emitted a clear ringing sound, as if it had been 
 gently struck with the edge of a knife. 
 
 " This is a new line for you to take up, Friedrich," said Sir 
 John ; " you must give us a regular performance some evening. 
 That was uncommonly well done. I haven't a notion of how 
 you did it." 
 
 The Professor, who had observed the operation just accom- 
 plished very narrowly, and with an expression of graver atten- 
 tion than he had worn when the previous experiment had been 
 first suggested, looked up at the baronet sharply. 
 
 •* My dear Sir John," he said, " I don't suppose we any of 
 
A OUBIOUS MANIFESTATION. 69 
 
 Ofi know * how it's done,' but the notion you appear to have on 
 the subject, from what you say, differs very widely from mine." 
 
 " And from mine," said Blane. 
 
 The Baron quietly, with an amused and kindly look, watched 
 Sir John, who answered, a little nettled at the tone of reproof 
 in which he had been addressed, — 
 
 "Why, what is the matter? I thought we were all called 
 up to see the trick. Why shouldn't I applaud if I think it's a 
 good one 1 I should like to see it again." 
 
 " I don't mind showing it to you once more," said the Baron, 
 with perfect good humour. With varying expressions on their 
 faces the assembled spectators assumed attentive attitudes. 
 Very deliberately the Baron repeated the experiment, with the 
 same result as before. Sir John picked up the glass imme- 
 diately afterwards and examined it with great care. Blane 
 exchanged looks with the Professor. Mrs. Miller turned round, 
 first to one and then to another of her neighbours. 
 
 " Well," she said, addressing Merland, who was next to her, 
 " isn't that one of the most wonderful things you ever saw ]** 
 
 "That's what I say," declared Sir John; "that's equal to 
 Maskelyne and Cook." 
 
 *• For shame. Sir John, to talk about Maskelyne and Cook, 
 indeed," said Mrs. Miller. 
 
 " But why am I to be ashamed 1 " asked Sir John in sincere 
 astonishment. " I may be stupider than the rest of you, but 
 I can't, for the life of me, see how he makes the glass ring." 
 
 " That's right, Hexton," said the Baron, good-humouredly, 
 getting up and moving away from the table ; " don't be faced 
 out of your principles till you see good reason to abandon 
 them." 
 
 The Professor spoke a little stiffly. 
 
 " I don't think Sir John Hexton realized that we were not 
 engaged in playing at conjuring- tricks, but talking seriously of 
 peculiar and unusual manifestations of natural forces, in refer- 
 ence to which the suggestion that the Baron was imposing on 
 us by a trick, even if it were not inappropriate to the circum- 
 stances, could only be less injurious to ourselves than to him." 
 
 *• xs ot a conjuring trick ? Why, what was it then 1 " 
 
 " I hope I may be better able to answer that hereafter than I 
 am now. Meanwhile, I can only await any explanation the 
 Baron may be able to give ua." 
 
60 KABMA« 
 
 A smile of dubioua meaning gradually broke on Sir John'i 
 face. 
 
 "Oh, I lee. Then this was another performance in the 
 line of Mr. Annerlj's prophetic warning. We are getting on to 
 very delicate ground." 
 
 Sir John turned away, and strolled to the opposite end of the 
 terrace with Lady Emily, who had paid very sHght attention to 
 the experiment with the goblet The Baron, as though to put 
 an end to conversation which had introduced a faint element 
 of discord into the midst of the company, spoke to Annerly on 
 the subject of an article by him in one of the recent reviews, 
 and drew him away in another direction ; and. following the 
 dispersive impulse, the Professor suggested to Blane that they 
 should smoke a cigar on the upper balcony, and they went off 
 together. 
 
 " Now this is getting serious," said the Professor, as they sat 
 down in the temporary privacy of this retreat. 
 
 " I am very glad you have given me an opportunity of talking 
 to you alone. For the first time we may now be able to learn 
 more about the peculiar faculties which Baron von Mondstem has 
 somehow acquired.** 
 
 " Let us compare notes a little, because we have both met 
 our host before now, and have both talked to him about the 
 psychic problems in which we take an interest. Have you 
 ever seen him exhibit any abnormal powers of any sort before 
 to^ayl" 
 
 " Never. I have refrained from asking him direct questions 
 aa to whether, in the course of any psychic study he has pursued, 
 he has acquired any abnormal powers ; for his own exquisite 
 courtesy claims corresponding consideration on the part of his 
 friends. But he has indicated to me that he would not be able 
 to answer such questions, even if they were put ; that is to say, 
 that psychic powers, as distinguished from psychic knowledge, 
 can only be acquired at the hands of persons who invariably 
 exact strict secrecy from pupils whom they teach, not merely in 
 regard to the specific secrets imparted, but also as to the bare 
 isLCt that any secrets have been imparted.'* 
 
 " But, in the present case, our friend has openly displayed a 
 faculty that I can only interpret as an abnormal power of th« 
 very kind you speak of.** 
 
 ** Thii makes the incident lo sarprisiDg and importaai. It 
 
A DUBIOUS MANIFESTATION. 61 
 
 would seem as if , in some way, he were under a dispensation in 
 regard to the reserve he usually exercises about such things. 
 And yet too brusque an assumption that this is the case might 
 embarrass him. I felt just now that the situation was a very 
 delicate one." 
 
 " Delicate ground, as that oaf, Sir John, put it with a very 
 different meaning." 
 
 " But at the same time, so direct a manifestation as that of 
 just now may be meant as a plain invitation to us to inquire 
 further. It must be so meant, if you come to think of it. The 
 thing takes place at the outset of our visit here. What he did 
 was done quite spontaneously on his part ; it would be ridicu- 
 lous on our own part to be over-timid about cross-examining bo 
 willing a witness." 
 
 " But, first of all, what was done 1 " 
 
 The Professor looked puzzled. 
 
 " You don't lean to Sir John's hypothesis t *' 
 
 " By no means ; but what was the true nature of the manifes- 
 tation we have just observed 1 I am always slow and tedious 
 in conveying my meaning, and I greatly envy your lucid 
 precision, hut — " 
 
 " My dear fellow," said the Professor, " you always mean 
 something, at all events, and that makes a reasonable listener 
 patient. The true nature of the manifestation we have just 
 seen is the whole problem before us, it seems to me." 
 
 " But that true nature may be sought for in either of two 
 directions. The sound on the glass is a physical effect. Now 
 does that ensue simply from an abnormal physical property 
 inhering in Baron von Mondstern's body, or is it an effort of 
 will— which would be a psychic cause, translated into terms of 
 physical causation, so to speak, by some process which, in that 
 case, would be fhe very key-note of all occult mysteries 1" 
 
 " Can the Baron, you mean, be a human sort of electric eel, 
 capable of generating charges, and throwing them off when he 
 pleases ; but even then, if he does so when he pleases, the 
 element of will comes into play." 
 
 " So it does when I move my hand. At some point in th« 
 train of causation the desire to move it — which is a psychic 
 impulse — is translated to the physical plane. But the electric 
 eel, in giving out shocks, does no more than actuate physical 
 mechanism in a similar way. Supposing the Baron (apolo- 
 
 5 
 
62 KABMA. 
 
 gising to him for the supposition, which I am not at all gnppoaed 
 to hold) were, as j^^ou put it, a human sort of electric eel ; then 
 the problem he presents to us would be a physical p-.>blem for 
 physiologists, and not a psychic problem for us. On the other 
 hand, if the Baron is not differently constituted physically from 
 other men, then he possesses the faculty of translating a psychic 
 impulse into terms of physical causation in some ditierent way 
 than by brain action or nerve centres; and what he does, offers 
 us a true psychic problem of the kind that we are concerned 
 with." 
 
 The Professor listened acutely while Blane spoke, but answered 
 without the least hesitation, — 
 
 " That's what it is, assuredly. The Baron is not the man to 
 attach importance to a mere physical monstrosity, and that is 
 what an electric gland in a man would be. We know, moreover, 
 that he is deeply engrossed with psychic inquiry, and has put 
 this experiment before us as a psychic phenomenon. And we 
 want no more than our own common sense to diagnose it. In a 
 vague and unsatisfactory way a great many mesmeric and other 
 experiments have shown some sort of affinity existing between 
 the force, whatever it may be that is employed in such cases, 
 and the subtlest form of electricity. It is on the strength of 
 that affinity that people have called the psychic force, wliatever 
 it is, in some of its manifestations, * animal magnetism,' a very 
 bad name I have always thought, because the use of it entangles 
 and confuses two very different trains of thought and sets of 
 observations. However, with the new light the Baron's experi- 
 ment has let in on the subject, it may turn out that the name is 
 not such a bad one after all. Calling the psychic force, which 
 we all possess in some degree probably, though only a few of us 
 h>».ve yet learned the art of directing it, by the name I speak of 
 —animal magnetism — then what the Baron has done is to turn 
 that amorphous variety of the force, which is within the control 
 of the will, into the ordinary variety known in laboratories. 
 There is your true psychic problem for you — How does he do 
 it?" 
 
 " I think you are right," said Blane. •* The other hypothesis 
 need only be considered to be put aside." 
 
 " And what I don't see at present," went on the Professor, 
 " is any good reason why we should not ask the Baron how he 
 ddes it in a straightforward way, though I would prefer to ask th« 
 
A OTTBIOUS MANIFESTATION. 68 
 
 qnestion when we are not such a large party as we were jist 
 now." 
 
 No such opportunity as the Professor desired offered itself to 
 him that afternoon or evening. The Buron, it appeared, had 
 ultimately invited Annerly to his own private study to show 
 him some books on wliich their conversation turned ; and was 
 not seen again before dinner. At dinner the conversation was 
 disjointed, and a little constrained, when it occasionally became 
 general. After dinner there was music, Miss Blane being gifted 
 with a beautiful voice, and Annerly having been betrayed by 
 Merland as qualified " to do anything with a piano," so that he 
 was made to play her accompaniments. 
 
 •' I never knew he played," Mrs. Miller said to Merland. 
 
 " It never came out while we were in India, I suppose, but 
 he really does play splendidly, only he hates to do it before people. 
 It isn't swagger with him, you know ; it is simply that he hates 
 putting himself forward. It is real torment to him to make 
 him play pieces in company, but he can play no end of Beeth- 
 oven and Wagner and that sort of thing, really." 
 
 Miss Blane meanwhile had thanked him for an accompani- 
 ment that she had been able to lean upon comfortably. " I 
 don't think I ever found anybody before to accompany me like 
 that the first time." 
 
 ** It was easy," said Annerly, with nervous self-disparage- 
 ment ; " you sing as if you liked it." 
 
 From this point of departure they were soon deep in a 
 musical talk. Annerly admitted that he had played a great 
 deal at Cambridge — his one great recreation there, though he 
 never practised. However, he was drawn into illustrating the 
 conversation with some fragments which inspired Miss Blane 
 with respect for his musical acquirements, and drawn then, 
 even less willingly into some criticism of her singing, which 
 emphasised this feeling still more. 
 
 ** I see it is a question of getting lessons from you, Mr. 
 Annerly, while we are here," she said, "if you will be kind 
 enough to give them." 
 
 The Baron meanwhile had been making himself agreeable 
 after dinner to Lady Emily, and had even remained by her 
 gide, talking to her and to Sir John Ilexton, who joined them, 
 until the evening was half gone. There was talk of a nibber, 
 into the service of v^hich Lady Emily sought to beguile her 
 
64 KABAfA. 
 
 host. This he evaded, but merely on the ground that he neyei 
 played, and interested himself in getting up her game, Tvhich 
 was eventually completed by Blane and Mrs. Miller. Early in 
 the proceedings the Professor had endeavoured to draw him off 
 without success, and then, rather nettled at finding no opening 
 for the serious inquiries he wished to put, took refuge in the 
 library, and buried himself in a novel The rubber over, 
 Captain Miller came in search of him, and said that the Baron 
 and some of the other men were going up to smoke, but he 
 declared himself too deeply engrossed with his book to leave it 
 just then, and eventually went to his own room without seeking 
 any further society. 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THB HIGHER LIFB. 
 
 In another part of the castle, meanwhile, Annerly and Merland 
 had been exchanging ideas before parting for the night. 
 
 "How excited you look to-night, old man," Merland had 
 said as they were shaking hands in the oorrider in front of 
 Annerly 's room; "the singing or the beautiful songstress has 
 stirred you up a bit." 
 
 ♦* Well, come in a moment and I'll tell you. It isn't so 
 much the music, though Miss Blane has real talent and feeling 
 for music, that has stirred me up," — this was added, of course, 
 after they had gone into the room and shut tlie door, and after 
 Merland was established in the arm-chair, while Annerly kept 
 standing or moving about restlessly — **it is the Baron — the 
 talk I had with him this afternoon — that is on my mind." 
 
 " And what was that about 1 " 
 
 " Strangely — very strangely as between you and me — there 
 are portions of that conversation that I must not describe to 
 you. I should not yesterday have been able to imagine myself 
 having any concealments from you ; and, now that the Baron 
 has told me something that I am not at Uberty to repeat to 
 any one, it seems to me more nearly approaching the usual 
 •utire confidence that there is between us for me to tell you 
 
THB HIGHEB LIPB. 65 
 
 at once that this is so, rather than keep you In fgnoranc© oi 
 the fact that I am keeping back something from you." 
 
 " My dear fellow, don't imagine for a moment that I shall be 
 such an ass as to be hurt at the Baron telling you secrets you 
 mustn't repeat. I'm delighted to hear what you say. It shows 
 that the Baron appreciates you, and, as I have a boundless 
 admiration for him, I am heartily glad that he does." 
 
 " Thanks, your nature wouldn't hold a mean leeling, even if 
 somebody else invented it for you. But happily I can tell you 
 — you in particular, I mean, not anybody else — a good deal of 
 what passed. The Baron has certainly penetrated deeper 
 mysteries than we have ever given him credit for having 
 fathomed — " 
 
 " That business with the glass to-day shows that he has — 
 for one thing." 
 
 "But I can only give you a faint idea of the immensely 
 elevated character of the mysteries I am referring to, as com- 
 pared to that affair. He did allude to that, but with such 
 pitiful scorn — and yet not in a bitter way, but as illustrating 
 truths of such a humble sort, compared to others of which he 
 wanted to give me a glimpse. Summing up what I wanted to 
 say to you, the revelation made to me, as far as I can repeat it, 
 is this : — At the first glance it would seem that people who are 
 beginning to suspect in these days that there is such a thing as 
 a psychic side to nature, and who feel attracted to inquire into 
 many things which other people hitherto have distrusted, may 
 be governed by a love of knowledge as praiseworthy as that 
 which impels other people to study physical science or history. 
 Well ; that view of the matter is a total misconception of the 
 whole thing. The pursuit of psychic knowledge, merely for 
 its own sake, as knowledge to be turned to any account that 
 may seem useful, like any other sort of knowledge, is fore- 
 doomed to failure. Not to entire failure, but that line of 
 inquiry is a cul de aac. A man who treads it, and keeps 
 to it alone, must come to grief sooner or later. The true 
 psychic knowledge is the knowledge of good and evil, which is 
 held back for a time from man, but is not held back for ever. 
 It is attainable in this life to an extent I never before dreamed 
 possible. That is what the Baron has convinced me of, and 
 that is what I am at liberty to assure you of as my conviction — 
 if I may say so— without making you distrust my judgment 
 
66 KABMA. 
 
 altogether; I will add my suddenly developed certainty. 
 Psychic knowledge, occult science, call it what you will, is the 
 most stupendous acquirement of man after he has fully come 
 into possession of his reason. The fact that it expands our 
 comprehension of the physical nature round us, though it is 
 calculated to do this to an extraordinary extent, is as nothing 
 compared to the fact that it expands our comprehension of 
 ourselves ; of that which is within, above, superior to us, use 
 what form of words you like, always remembering that they 
 have a miserable trick of materialising and localising spiritual 
 ideas, ^hich is an accident accruing from their ordinary use, 
 and not their proper psychic sense." 
 
 Merland listened, almost more impressed by the fervour of 
 Annerly's manner than by the words he used. 
 
 " You are putting into definite language what I think I have 
 vaguely felt to be the case all along ; but then the question is, 
 How are we to set about the study of psychic mysteries of the 
 more elevated sort 1 All philosophy in a way tends towards the 
 analysis of good and evil ; but one knows quite weU a man may 
 spend his life in philosophical reading and thinking, and yet at 
 the end be merely the better off for having a somewhat finer 
 appreciation of metaphysical subtleties than his neighbours; 
 and the only new departure that psychic science seems to make, 
 appears to me in the direction of understanding new forces in 
 nature, rather than in that of enlarging ethical and religious 
 conceptions." 
 
 " That is just the point. The psychic inquiry which has to 
 do with the outer facts of psychic phenomena, is the cul de sac 
 I speak of. If we really want to progress with the true psychic 
 inquiry, that is to say, to obtain real knowledge of spiritual 
 things, of our own ultimate destinies, and the scheme of human 
 evolution in its highest sense, we must start on a different plan 
 altogether. These very mysteries concerning natural laws not 
 yet explored, which are too high above the head of the common* 
 place materialist for him to realise that there are such mysteries 
 even, are too far below the region of thought in which the real 
 psychic student must travel, for him to pay attention to them. 
 An aspiratioE towards spiritual development sufficiently intense tc 
 become a real force in a man's nature conducive to true enlighten- 
 ment, must be in the direction of absolute good, of absolute 
 knowledge, which is higher than knowledge of detail WordS| 
 
THE HIQH£B LIFB. 67 
 
 at all events in my hands, as yet seem very weak Instruments to 
 convey the idea I dimly apprehend. But, oddly enough, this 
 highest psychic doctrine seems to carry us back to some of the 
 most elementary doctrines of ordinary religion, though at the 
 same time under its influence these become illuminated with an 
 inner meaning they never possessed before." 
 
 *• I'm immensely impressed by what you say, but I don*t see 
 what it immediately leads to ; though I'm sure, from the way you 
 speak, that you do. You would not have been so much impressed 
 unless you had discovered something more than the old doctrine 
 that the pursuit of good, which is, doing the right thing the best 
 way you know how, is better than the things of this world." 
 
 " One acquiesced in that theory blindly, at first ; occult study 
 or psychic science is calculated to show us how it works, so to 
 speak. All that the religions of the world, so far, have laid 
 down on authority, the enlarged wisdom of man, developed 
 along the psychic path, may enable him to reconstruct out of 
 his own consciousness with clear and certain confidence — casting 
 aside, with no less confidence, the incrustations of error which 
 have gathered round the central truths. To acquire this psychic 
 knowledge is the moral coming of age of humanity, and with 
 its help we may begin a religious life of quite a new kind. Let 
 me try and make this idea quite plain. What is it that makes so 
 many of the best men stand aside from what is ordinarily called 
 religion, refusing to have any dealings with any of its forms and 
 customs 1 Surely it is that they cannot stoop to tht intellectual 
 ignominy of bowing down before the obvious strain of human error 
 that runs through them all. There is always a something, or 
 some group of conceptions in their own minds, that they reve- 
 rence ; but to profess reverence for prevailing religious tenets, 
 and, still more, to practise religious ceremonial, is to efi'ect an 
 intellectual submission to human teachers whom they may 
 clearly see to be their intellectual inferiors. That revolts their 
 sense of the fitness of things, though they may not always want 
 to assert what dull-witted people, failing to understand their 
 position, would rebuke as intellectual pride and foolishly regard 
 as a sin against the principles of religion, which prescribe a 
 child-like attitude of mind in approaching what they would, 
 perhaps, call the throne of God, and what others might call the 
 consideration of the absolute. The pulpit of the Reverend 
 John Smith is not the throne of God and his sermon is not the 
 
 f 2 
 
08 KABMA. 
 
 absolute ; that fa what the earlier type of religions pftople forget 
 The priest, in all his aspects, is to humanity what the nursery 
 governess is to the single human creature. It is perfectly right 
 that the child should respect the nursery governess : there is a 
 period in his life when she can teach him. And there is no 
 reason why he should ever look hack upon her otherwise than 
 with kindly feeHngs if he is not kept under her instruction too 
 long ; but there comes a period in life when he must have other 
 teaching as well." 
 
 " All that is admirable ; the theory of the whole position is 
 perfect; but as regards the application: Where is the other 
 teaching to be got, and who are the teachers 1 There may be 
 wiser moral teachers in the world than our clergy ; but still 
 people will say they are but other sorts of clergy if we go to 
 them for religious instruction." 
 
 " That is the point. Man, on coming to maturity, does not 
 want teachers; he has that within himself which, developed 
 properly, enables him to acquire real knowledge of religious 
 truth, of good and evil, of the absolute verities of nature at the 
 fountain-head of knowledge, for himself. The process of de- 
 veloping this inner power of discerning the truth is psychic 
 science. For the purposes of such development one may need 
 guides, instructors, masters if you like, but the teaching of 
 psychic science is not that such and such a doctrine is to be 
 accepted on authority, however exalted; but that such and 
 such a course of training will awaken dormant faculties by 
 means of which truth in that direction can be perceived by a 
 man for himself. The notion is dazzling at first. It is not 
 information that psychic science offers in regard to any problem 
 the psychic student may grapple with ; it is, if I may coin a 
 paradoxical phrase, omniscience ad hoc ; knowledge in reference 
 to the matter in question of the sort which, if conceived as 
 extending to all matters, would be omniscience.** 
 
 " But where are the guides — the instructors % ** 
 
 " It seems absurd to answer as I must, and yet I know that 
 it is not absurd, if you will trust me : that is what every man 
 who wants their help must find out for himself. But let us 
 not talk to-night of even the first stumbling-block in the way. 
 It is the broad idea I have been endeavouring to convey to you, 
 more, I think, than anything else that has been told to me, that 
 has filled my whole mind with a new light to-day. 
 
THB HIOHEB LIFE. 69 
 
 •• We have been labouring after knowledge, as It seems to me, 
 hitherto under the impression that it is to be obtained by more 
 thinking, more study, more collected evidence along the old lines 
 — that is to say, with the help of the old faculties, by means of 
 the Human Understanding that Locke wrote about. Now I 
 realise that, for the acquisition of the higher knowledge, it is a 
 higher sort of understanding that is needed ; and that this 
 higher sort is attainable — not by the mere extra polish of the old 
 understanding, but by taking a new departure. This is the 
 meaning of the sign held out to men, so to speak, by the abnor- 
 mal manifestations of various kinds that have turned the atten- 
 tion of so many thinking men at the present day into the paths 
 of psychic study, though few of them, I fancy, realise, as yet, 
 where those paths are destined to lead them. Take the simple 
 and beautiful experiment of thought transference. It is proved 
 by a thousand experiments that ideas, words, pictures can be 
 conveyed to the perception of sensitives by channels of commu- 
 nication, which are not those of the senses. A quoi bon 9 asks 
 the crass materialist. Have we not got eyes to see such things 
 still more clearly 1 It is the hint conveyed, not the thing done, 
 which is of supreme importance. If the human perception, con- 
 trary to earlier philosophies, turns out to be accessible to other 
 impressions than those of the senses, the barriers of what has 
 hitherto been the * Unknowable ' are broken do^vn. And there 
 is no * if ' in the matter ; that much has been demonstrated. The 
 barriers are down. The human understanding stands possessed 
 of the order of release from its prison. All we have to do is to 
 take advantage of our freedom, and, as the world is wide com- 
 pared to a prison, so is the knowledge stretching out before the 
 psychic understanding, vast compared to that which has been 
 acquired by the teaching of the senses. The exhilaration of the 
 idea is so great to me, that, whatever practical difficulties may 
 be in the way of a man seeking to take advantage of the freedom 
 offered, I can only feel that they shall go down before my 
 determination to cross them." 
 
70 KABIU. 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE BEAUTIFUL MISS VAUGHIW. 
 
 Merland awote next morning with a sense of some great 
 
 event having happened. The consciousness of having taken 
 a new departure in life, which Annerly had exhibited the 
 previous evening so forcibly, had passed to a certain extent into 
 his own mind; and he felt the pleasant inspiration of a new 
 interest, which presented itself to him as altogether sunny and 
 attractive. The course before him leading to the inner cit idel 
 of those psychic mysteries, which had latterly fascinated his 
 imagination, was not quite plainly marked out, but Annerly 
 evidently saw his way, and Merland was long used to following 
 his lead in study. That this vigorous companion was always 
 pushing on ahead, and dealing the paths they trod together, 
 was merely one of the fortunate circumstances of his life, 
 which he habitually enjoyed without thinking much about 
 it. As he looked out from his elevated window over the 
 windings of the green river and the wooded slopes of its pic- 
 turesque banks, the inner working of Nature's laws seemed just 
 ready to disclose itself to him : he felt as though aheady on 
 the shore of the older knowledge, and on the point of embark- 
 ing in the vessel which Annerly had discovered, on the unknown 
 waters stretching beyond. The voyage invited him rather aa 
 a species of intellectual yachting, than as perilous or disagreeable 
 navigation. And in better spirits if possible than usual, ready 
 as ever to give out pleasure to others, as an emanation from his 
 bright and happy temperament, and at the same time to draw 
 it in from the current of Ufe around him, as the plants take 
 nourishment from the air, he came down to breakfast, where 
 Captain Jem was regaling himself aheady on a frugal cup of 
 tea and a slice of toast. The Captain was not a man who 
 breakfasted lightly because he had dined heavily overnight, 
 but on the contrary was content with little, because his habits 
 were so utterly frugal at all times that he had unconsciously 
 habituated himself to live on less food than his fellovir-creatuiet 
 geneially required* 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL MISS VAUGHAN. 71 
 
 "Dear old Jem," said Merland, "what an anchorite you arel 
 Why don't you peg into that cold pie a bit t " 
 
 *• I would if I wanted to, you bet. But I'm a sybarite in my 
 own way. I should never get the pleasure I do out of tea and 
 brown-bread toast if I was always wiring into game-pies and 
 filets de bceuf. But do you eat what comes in your way,'* 
 pushing the pie in front of him, " and don't encourage yourself 
 in being an epicure like me." 
 
 "I say, but how comes it you are so frightfully hungry that 
 you haven't been able to wait for anybody this morning, but 
 have begun gorging on toast all by yourself 1 " 
 
 " The Admiral's despatches, Claude, leave me no time to 
 waste. I've got to go to Barenburg to meet the Vaughans. 
 They've written to say they are coining down by the first boat 
 I must be off out of this in half an hour. Come too ! " 
 
 In this way it came to pass that Merland had a good hour 
 and a half of the beautiful Lucy Vaughan's society all to himself 
 before her arrival at the castle, as Captain Jem devoted himself 
 altogether, from the moment they joined the steamer at Baren- 
 burg, to the service of the elder lady. Miss Vaughan amused 
 herself with a small sketch-book in taking hunicd notes of the 
 river views as they went by, Merland threw himself with 
 enthusiasm into the minor duties associated with the under- 
 taking, supplying the artist with ready-dipped brushes, holding 
 the water-bottle and moist-colour box, and suggesting forgotten 
 details as the progress of the boat distorted or obliterated the 
 view of each " instantaneous colourgraph " in turn. Above all, 
 he basked the whole time in the glowing loveliness of his fair 
 companion's animated face, serving up the local legends for her 
 benefit, with rich additions to the meagre outlines in the guide- 
 books. Of course he gave her, amongst the number, the legend 
 of the Heiligenfels dungeon, as told by Annerly on the occasion 
 of the now famous evening visit paid to that place by Miss 
 Blane, and also an account of all that afterwards came of it. Miss 
 Vaughan gave the whole story her rapt attention. It was just 
 the kind of thing, she declared, that would naturally happen in 
 Baion Fried rich's castle. 
 
 " I do hope we shall have some more exciting events of that 
 kind while we are there." 
 
 " We have had more already," Merland explained, going on 
 to describe the incident with the glass on the previous day. 
 
72 EABMA. 
 
 " Why, It's an enchanted castle, altogether. I never, !n my 
 life, was so interested in anything before." 
 
 First-rate opportunities for instantaneous colourgraphs were 
 neglected, as questions and explanations succeeded. Without 
 attempting to reproduce the whole of the new view of psychic 
 study that Annerly had put before him the previous night, 
 Merland drew upon it sufficiently to dignify and ennoble the 
 account he gave of the proper aims and objects of such study. 
 
 Miss Vaughan's enthusiastic temperament readily took fire. 
 Merland hardly knew whether he was most impressed by the 
 ardour of her character as exhibited in the course of her conver- 
 sation, her bright intelligence, her sympathy with the happy- 
 hearted zeal for new knowledge along the strange path now 
 apparently opening out before them, or by her great and glowing 
 beauty, manifested not merely in the rich colouring of her com- 
 plexion and her deep-blue eyes, but in the general magnificence 
 of her physique ; for Miss Vaughan, as already mentioned, was 
 a girl of stately proportions, whose charms struck the hearts of 
 men attuned to them as with a lightning flash. She did not 
 require to be seen several times in order to be appreciated — as 
 may be the case with some women whose fascinations are of 
 a difi'erent order. Hers were of the kind that burst upon 
 spectators in full splendour all at once. 
 
 And their influence on Merland was perhaps all the greater 
 from the fact that the young man did not understand the situa- 
 tion all at once, having, so far, gone through life without having 
 been seriously in love. 
 
 A very susceptible temperament recognises its own wounds 
 the moment they are inflicted ; but in the conviction, bom of 
 experience, that it may be wounded many times again in fresh 
 places, has a certain sub-consciousness all the whUe that few 
 such wounds are likely to bleed for ever. 
 
 Merland, however, reached the castle in the beautiful Lucy's 
 company dazzled and delighted ; but merely, for the moment, 
 overwhelmed with the feeling that she was indeed a magnificent 
 creature, without referring this fact to his own personality in 
 any way. 
 
 The Baron was waiting to receive the Vaughans at the outer 
 gate of the castle when they got up, and Lucy gaily compli- 
 mented him on the great improvement in his manners wrought 
 by the influence of his ancestral air. 
 
THE BEAUTIFUL MI5S VAUOHIN. 73 
 
 ** In London, you know, you ran away from me always as if 
 I had the plague, but here you actually meet me half-way. 
 Baron Friedrich has got quite tame, mamma " — to her mother a 
 few steps behind — " a child might play with him." 
 
 " Heiligenfels surrenders to you, Miss Vaughan, without 
 making terms, and I am here at the gate to announce my sub- 
 mission." 
 
 " I'll consider what shall be your fate at leisure, and mean- 
 while you shall show me over the fortress I have so gallantly 
 conquered from the turrets to the dungeons. It looks the 
 most perfectly enchanting place I ever saw, not to say en- 
 chanted." 
 
 Baron Friedrich had no need to reply with more than a kindly 
 emile. Mrs. Vaughan was gracefully expressing the confidence 
 in his invariable coiu'tesy which had induced her to accept Mrs. 
 Miller's invitation, and withdrew his attention from Lucy by 
 taking his arm and passing with him across the courtyards to 
 the main entrance. Few women embodied more emphatic 
 claims to be treated with the highest consideration on all hands 
 than Mrs. Vaughan. Even her brilliant daughter would rarely 
 fail to render her the respect due to her quiet dignity as a 
 grande dame, however gaily this might be modernised in its out- 
 ward expression. Lucy fell now into the background between 
 Merland and Captain Jem. There were flower-beds in the 
 outer courtyard, to be appreciated as they went along, and points 
 of view from the low battlements, the terraces along which were 
 easily approached by flights of open steps ; and through the 
 openings between the battlements, in one place, they passed 
 into a large conservatory built outside the old walls on a con- 
 venient lump of rock, and commanding a grand view down the 
 Rhine, with the SielDengebirge far off in the distance. Here 
 they disturbed the studious seclusion of another visitor ensconced 
 in a cane arm-chair, and pondering deeply over a book on his 
 knees — the boy Eeginald Hexton. He got up as they came 
 into the conservatory and greeted the Captain with the easy 
 confidence of a man of the world rather than the awkwardness 
 of a boy, though with a quiet simplicity of manner that robbed 
 his self-possession of all flavour of juvenile presumption. 
 Greatly struck by his appearance, Lucy immediately exacted 
 further information, had him presented to her, and asked him 
 what he was reading. 
 
74 KABMA. 
 
 " I am studying it rather than reading it," he said, putting it 
 into her outstretched hand. 
 
 ** Why, it's an unknown tongue. What characters are those t " 
 
 "Sanscrit." 
 
 "You've begun deep learning very soon in life/' she said. 
 " Can you read Sanscrit 1 " 
 
 " A little, and my uncle explains it to me sometimes." 
 
 " And do you Hke that better than play ? " 
 
 ** I never think of play when I am trying to understand that 
 book." 
 
 "What book is it 1" 
 
 " It's an Eastern poem — the Bhagavat Gita." 
 
 "Is it pretty?" 
 
 " I don't know. I never thought about it that way, but it's 
 very interesting — what I can understand of it." 
 
 Miss Vaughan declared afterwards that her breath was taken 
 away to that extent, by finding a boy in jackets reading Sanscrit 
 for his own pleasure, that she was unable to carry on the conver- 
 sation further. They completed their tour of the points of view, 
 and ultimately joined the rest of the party on the terrace, 
 Merland more absorbed than ever in the views he obtained the 
 while of his fair companion. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE baron's explanation. 
 
 Baron Friedrioh found an opportunity during the day of 
 
 removing from Professor Massilton's mind the impression that he 
 had purposely avoided a conversation with him the previous 
 evening. He spoke of the regi-et with which he had felt bound, 
 as a host, to put Sir John Hexton at his ease again, after the 
 little incident of the afternoon, which had brought him into a 
 momentarily disagreeable position. 
 
 "If he did feel," said the Professor, "that Blane and I 
 
THB baeon's explanation. 7B 
 
 snubbed him, it is to be hoped that he felt also, on reflection 
 that he deserved a snubbing." 
 
 "Ah, well," said the Baron, " if it comes to that, we all doubt- 
 less deserve what happens to us, whatever it may be, but that 
 hardly relieves us of the duty of softening the disagreeables of 
 life for one another as much as possible." 
 
 The Professor was always ready to take up any statement 
 involving a general principle. 
 
 " You make a very large admission when you say that, 
 Baivn," he answered. " It amounts to saying that the wretched 
 must always have been the sinful, which would be a hard 
 doctrine to apply to much of thesutfering in the world." 
 
 "A doctrine of course which would be transparently absurd if 
 we assumed that the suffering we see is a consequence of sin 
 committed in the same life. But may it not be reasonable if we 
 proceed on the hypothesis that every man is reborn on earth 
 again and again under conditions which are the logical residt 
 of the life he leads each time % " 
 
 " Ah 1 " said Blane, who was with them, the conversation 
 taking place in the library in the afternoon ; " re-incamation is 
 undoubtedly the clue to a great many of the mysteries of life ; 
 and many advanced thinkers are coming, I think, to recognise it 
 as their only possible solution. But the vrorld at large wants 
 better proof of it than its mere logical necessity." 
 
 "The world at large," said the Baron, "will probably have 
 to do without that proof for some time longer, but the advanced 
 thinkers may very easily find the inferences you speak of 
 strengthened till they become absolute convictions on the 
 subject. Re-incarnation must eventually be recognised by men 
 whose open minds desire the truth, as the crown and comple- 
 ment of evolution already recognised in physiology." 
 
 " You mean," said the Professor, " that the inequalities of 
 welfare will then be supplied with a moral justification, — that 
 every man is born to a fate, roughly speaking, which he has 
 earned for himself in his last life." 
 
 " You have said it for me with a precision which shows that 
 your own thinking has already tended in that direction." 
 
 "All thinking men, I fan ry," said the Professor, "embrace 
 nearly all that can be thought on such subjects in the range of 
 their conjectures. I shall be very glad to follow out the idea 
 with you further some time, but for the moment we have some 
 
T^ KAEMA. 
 
 more immediately practical matters in hand. A new fact In 
 Nature is more fascinating to me than even a new speculation 
 in metaphysics; and I readily confess that my catalogue of 
 Nature's facts does not furnish me with an explanation of the 
 control you apparently exercise over some electrical phenomena 
 of an unusual kind, if the effects you produced yesterday may 
 be treated as electrical phenomena." 
 
 " My dear Professor," said the Baron, ** your remark implies 
 a question which I shall meet with the utmost frankness. I 
 have been made acquainted with some facts of Nature that are 
 not yet generally known, but I have been taught some part of 
 what I know in this direction, under pledges of secrecy which 
 preclude me from explaining certain things to you as fully as 
 it would have been my delight to have done if I had been 
 entirely free from such restrictions. In casual talk I had with 
 you in London I shrank from even saying this much, because 
 it can only be in the leisure of prolonged conversation with 
 you, that I can hope to make my position in this respect seem 
 otherwise than absurd and irrational And I am anxious that 
 it should, on the contrary, seem intelligible and reasonable." 
 
 ** A promise is a promise, of course ; and no one who knows 
 you would expect you to treat one lightly. But it does seem 
 incomprehensible, on the face of things, that any maD who has 
 made a discovery in natural science should exact a promise 
 of secrecy in expounding it, grudging his fellow -creatures 
 their share of the knowledge thus committed to his unworthy 
 custody." 
 
 ** A very natural view of the matter ; but one that I hope to 
 show you reason to modify. That little experiment we tried 
 yesterday involved a very small result, but a principle may be 
 applied in more ways than one. We made a glass ring yes- 
 terday ; suppose we augment the force then employed in one 
 more experiment to-day, and see what happens. Will you 
 choose one of those panes of glass in the window there, and I 
 will deal with it in the same way that I influenced the goblet 
 yesterday — only with more vehemence." 
 
 The Professor indicated one of the panes of glass, and the 
 Baron remained for a few moments as if in deep thought. 
 Then he lifted his hand and made a gesture in the direction of 
 the window, and the pane of glass selected was shattered as 
 if a bullet had been fired through it. 
 
THE baron's explanation. 77 
 
 " That force could be turned," said the Baron, " as easily 
 against a man's body as against a window-pane. And it could 
 be directed — I will not say as easily — but it could be directed 
 from almost any, at all events from very considerable, distances. 
 Those who were good enough to entrust me with a compre- 
 hension of it would not trust me with the right to make the 
 secret of it public for anybody to hlindle it as his interests or 
 passions might suggest." 
 
 Both Blane and the Professor sat silent for a while. Even 
 the Professor, who was not easily overcome by emotion, was 
 too startled to comment at once on what had happened. 
 
 The Baron spoke again, indeed, before they had either of 
 them uttered a word. 
 
 " If you will permit me to suggest," he said, ** I think it would 
 be better, even though we have been doubtful about the good 
 taste of too much secrecy, to say nothing of this incident to our 
 other friends here at present. It is not quite without a certain 
 sacrifice of an energy that can only be stored by degrees, that 
 efforts of this sort can be made. My effort will not have been 
 thrown away if it has induced you to think that there may 
 be more good sense than was apparent at first in the poli^cy of 
 keeping some sorts of knowledge secret. But, on the other hand, 
 I cannot repeat it frequently to satisfy the thirst for witnessing 
 unusual effects of that sort, without a sacrifice quite out of 
 harmony with the purpose in view." 
 
 " I shall respect your wish in the matter," said Blane, 
 " without hesitation." 
 
 " Certainly," said the Professor ; " you are quite entitled to 
 put a seal of confidence on any communication you make, 
 whether by words or acts. As for the question we had before us 
 — whether it is wise, on the whole, to keep back knowledge from 
 mankind for fear it might be misused — that may still be open 
 to consideration. You have employed a cogent argument in 
 favour of reticence — that I admit. But whether mankind 
 might not be the better in the long run for taking the new 
 knowledge with all its dangers, is disputable still. Its very 
 misuse, for a time, might have a great educational effect on the 
 race eventually." 
 
 " If the occult forces, those which are hidden from mere 
 physical research, carried with them nothing worse than the 
 power of mischief I have shown you, the question might, as 
 
78 KARMA. 
 
 you say, be disputable ; but they are manifold and very dan- 
 gerous, believe me. My friends, this will not be the only 
 conversation we shall have on these topics, and I know, both 
 that I have reasons to put before you which are forcible, and 
 that your minds are of the order which cannot but accept the 
 force of reason. For my part I recognize to the full the 
 profound good sense of the strict provisions under which I have 
 been permitted to acquire the faculties, such as they are, which 
 I possess ; but those provisions have been just so far relaxed in 
 my case, for a time, that I am enabled to show you practically 
 that such faculties exist. It is with a purpose in view that 
 this relaxation has been conceded. What I have just done, 
 the exhibition of an occult faculty, is, in itself, an act, subject 
 as a rule to the severest prohibitions." 
 
 ** Pardon me," said the Professor ; " prohibitions emanating 
 from what authority 1 " 
 
 " The collective will of the persons who possess these faculties, 
 and enable others, one by one, as they are duly qualified, to 
 acquire them. All of us who in any degree aspire to graduate 
 in the higher mysteries of occult science come under the opera- 
 tion of rules which represent that collective will. And, as I 
 was saying, one such rule is, that the art of manipulating the 
 occult forces of Nature is never to be employed for the purposes 
 of boastful display or to gratify empty curiosity." 
 
 " In no case could you have been guilty of the one, nor we of 
 the other. 
 
 ** Perhaps not, relatively to the grosser application of the 
 phrases. But to do even what I have just done, for the mere 
 sake of pointing an argument, however serious, would be ob- 
 noxious to the rule I speak of. That has been put, to a certain 
 extent, at my discretion, because I have been privileged to 
 undertake a very special task. It is desirable — more desirable 
 than I can say in a few words to-day — that the brilliant scien- 
 tific intellect of the European world should be leavened to a 
 greater extent than it is leavened at present by a sense of the 
 value, as regards the interest of mankind and the progress of 
 knowledge, which attaches to the cultivation— of what is hardly 
 cultivated at present in the West at all — of spiritual science. 
 Now how is that result to be brought about 1 " 
 
 " There is no doubt whatever," said the Professor, " that you 
 can bring the result about. After what you have shown us to- 
 
THE baeon's explanation, 79 
 
 day, yon can assemble a body of scientific men at any time in 
 London and convince them in five minutes that spiritual science 
 — if it is by such means that you exercise these extraordinary 
 powers — is something exceedingly well worth studying." 
 
 *' But if I took that course I should bring about a result very 
 unlike the one desired. It is vx)t desirable that spiritual science 
 should be studied for the sake of the control over physical 
 nature that it may give rise to, but because in itself it is a 
 higher pursuit than any which have to do merely with the 
 material plane. The reach and scope of the occult sciences is so 
 immeasurably greater than those of physical research, that, 
 though they incidentally enlarge our comprehension of physical 
 nature, their real importance has to do with the light tliey 
 throw on our moral and spiritual life, and with the influence 
 that their study must have on the progress of our future develop- 
 ment and lives, both physical and spiritual. It would degrade 
 spiritual science to an extent quite revolting to its devotees, if 
 it were pursued to any considerable extent for the sake of its 
 lower victories on the material plane. And yet in its narrowest 
 aspect, as a sublime sort of physical science, it must be recog- 
 nised in the European world before it will begin to influence 
 the hearts and morals of mankind to any great degree. Here is 
 the dilemma in which I am placed in endeavouring to accom- 
 plish my task. We must show our own generation first of all, 
 by evidence of a kind they will accept, that we really do know 
 something, and then, having secured their attention, we shall 
 be better able to direct it upwards. But in doing this we run 
 the risk of merely glorifying and stimulating tendencies, which 
 must in the end, by intensifying their materialism, lead men 
 downward." 
 
 " But surely the course you have just taken with me is one 
 which cannot but be successful with any group of influential 
 men you wish to deal with it. If you once show them that you 
 undeniably possess faculties of a very wonderful order, they 
 will be ready enough to listen to whatever you want to say 
 about the method by which those faculties are acquired." 
 
 *' Well ; all I can say at present is, that such a course of action 
 as that you suggest is not within the scope of the discretion I 
 enjoy. There may be such a thing as efi'ecting a revolution in 
 thought too violently. It may be that in spite of this conside- 
 ration the course you propose would be a good one and would 
 
80 EABMA. 
 
 not turn out too violent in its results. But anyhow, it Is out- 
 side the general instructions under which I am operating, and 
 cannot be undertaken. What I am at liberty to do is to pick 
 out a few men who may be qualified to get a hearing from the 
 cultivated world on the subject, and enlist their sympathies if 
 possible in the work I have in hand. To do this it is obvious 
 that some credentials must be exhibited to show the broad fact 
 that students of occult science have a message to impart, and 
 this is how it comes that to a very limited degree the rules that 
 would otherwise have restrained me have been relaxed." 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 A PEESH DEVELOPMENT. 
 
 The life of the castle went on for a few days after the Vaughans' 
 arrival without any remarkable events of a kind to affect the 
 entire party. The Baron divided his time among the different 
 interests his guests represented ; sometimes joining an excursion 
 to some neighbouring place of attraction on the river, sometimes 
 going for a walk in the woods with Blane and the Professor, 
 sometimes spending a part of the day in his little private 
 study, on which occasions more than once he asked Annerly to 
 join him. Mrs. Vaughan, moreover, sometimes secured his 
 companionship for conversations apart from the general society 
 of the castle, and other combinations were struck out each morn- 
 ing and afternoon, in a manner which forbade the fear that any 
 of the guests would find the proceedings monotonous. 
 
 For Merland there was little fear indeed that the time would 
 hang heavily on hand. A new interest had entered into his 
 life which suddenly expanded with a new glory, as a great flower 
 might all at once bloom into radiance. Lucy Vaughan's glow 
 ing beauty was the sunshine that had wrought this momentous 
 change. He was too much dazzled to be conscious of making 
 love to her with any set purpose, and the perfect simplicity of 
 his attitude towards her disarmed the girl of the weapon she 
 
A PEESH DEVELOPMENT. 81 
 
 might otherwise have instinctively employed to ward off a 
 more accomplished attack, lie talked with her almost entirely 
 of the vivid interests that had been awakened by the abnor- 
 mal events of the past few days, and the conversations 
 that had taken place between himself and Annerly. With 
 no one else could she talk of these things so frankly or so 
 fully. In their several ways most of the other guests were 
 preoccupied. For private conversation with the Baron him- 
 self, few opportunities fell in her way. In the temporary 
 separation into couples which sometimes broke up larger groups 
 where these were formed for excursions about the neighbour- 
 hood, her mother usually secured him for her own share j^ and 
 Lucy found herself less disconcerted at this arrangement than 
 she would have expected, had she foreseen it. For with her, 
 as with most of the other guests, expectation had somehow 
 been raised in connection with the present visit, and she had 
 come to the castle in the hope of enjoying a closer intimacy 
 with its master than she had been able to form during the 
 whirl of the London season. Her interest in the strange 
 attributes vaguely reputed to belong to him was in no way 
 lessened ; but she was conscious of learning more of these at 
 second-hand from Merland than she would have been able to 
 extract from the Baron himself. And she did not stop to 
 consider how far her delight in hearing of the wonderful 
 possibilities stretching out before students of the occult sciences 
 was enhanced by discussing them with an enthusiast whose 
 ardour was blended with an enthusiastic admiration for herself, 
 colouring all his own speculations with the aspects of the new 
 knowledge as they seemed especially to affect her. 
 
 And in dealing with her Merland was checked by no feeling 
 that he was talking down to a lower intellectual level than his 
 own. The young man poured out all he knew for her enter- 
 tainment and instruction, and confided to her in the fullest 
 measure the plans and hopes connected with the new discoveries 
 they all seemed on the brink of making, that had been stirring 
 in his imagination at the moment he made her acquaintance. 
 
 Annerly, it will be remembered, had put a very exalted com- 
 plexion upon the objects of occult study in the course of the 
 sketch he had given his friend of his first important interview 
 with Baron Friedrich. Merland modified this more than he 
 was aware of, at the time, in transferring it to the visions ho 
 
82 KABMiL. 
 
 conjured np in conversation with Miss Vaughan ; but neither 
 he nor she perceived the touch of earthly passion infused into 
 its lofty spirituality, as he pictured a progress towards higher 
 ideals than young men generally form. These he unconsciously 
 developed so as to render them compatible with the glowing 
 happiness of ordinary love. Lucy Vaughan was only struck 
 with the great elevation of his aspirations above those which 
 the common pleasure-seekers she usually lived amongst, were 
 governed by. 
 
 Women are generally readier than most men to recognise the 
 beauty of elevated aims in life ; and, gay young lady of fashion 
 though Miss Vaughan was, her higher instincts, only exercised 
 though they had been so far in commonplace country charities 
 and kindly interest in the poor about her mother's property, 
 were easily roused to inspire to her, for the time being at least, 
 with far stronger motives of action than the ambitions of a 
 worldly life. 
 
 "It ie an old-standing joke between my mother and me," 
 she said, " that I mean to be a sister of mercy some day. Of 
 course one should not aim at doing good for that reason, but 
 I really believe I should be happier trying to do good, 
 than amusing myself aU my life in the usual routine we go 
 through.' 
 
 They were talking alone together, sitting on a rock over 
 looking the river, one sunny afternoon. There had been a 
 picnic-lunch to a ruin a mile or so down the river, and after the 
 entertainment a sHght dispersion of the convives. Lucy had 
 jfloated into the attraction of Merland's strong wish to draw her 
 off with himself, and they had strolled a little way along the 
 crest of the hill on which the old ruin stood, and had now come 
 to rest in a little patch of shade, with the river below them and 
 no listeners within earshot. 
 
 " I hope it will never be more than a joke," Merland an- 
 swered, "because there may evidently be a higher and nobler 
 destiny before you than the best work that any one person could 
 do in that way. For you to be a sister of mercy would be like 
 the commander of an army setting to work to dig in the 
 trenches. With such power as you will always have to sway 
 others it would be terrible waste of moral energy for you to 
 spend it as merely so much motive force behind your own on« 
 pail of hands." 
 
▲ FEESH DEVELOPMENT. 88 
 
 " And who is going to invest me with this wonderful power, 
 
 •nd what shape is it to take 1 " 
 
 " You are born to wield it and have it abeady. The wish to 
 please you must he a strong motive of action for all you live 
 amongst ; and, if you are best pleased by evoking good and 
 noble impulses in the people round you, you are more influen- 
 tial living with people in your own rank of life, than if you 
 descend into a lower level to do humble works of charity your- 
 self. Why do you suppose you have all the advantages of 
 station in the world, as well as those of your own nature, which 
 show you the beauty of the higher life, except that you should 
 serve as a guide and beacon for others ? All your brilliant 
 qualities would simply be thrown away in the mere personal 
 service of the poor and the sick. Any woman with a kindly 
 heart and a gentle touch could do as much for them as you 
 could. But your moral influence in the society you properly 
 belong to, pressing always in the direction of great ideals of 
 conduct, might produce quite incalculable results." 
 
 " But in society all thoughts about grand ideas and doing 
 good get swamped and overwhelmed in the petty selfish affairs 
 of the hour. It is the rarest thing in the world to meet a man 
 for instance who cares to talk about any of the things I have 
 been talking of with you." 
 
 " And may not that be because there are so few women like 
 yourself to talk of them 1 And, if so, is not that the greater 
 reason why the very few men there are should not take their 
 purifying influence away 1 In the Indian poem that Edwin 
 Arnold has translated do you not remember how the heroine 
 extorts a miracle from Tama the god of death, and gets back 
 the soul of her husband by the mere charm of her conversation 
 on great and noble themes. She does not beg the favour, but 
 she evokes so much enthusiasm on Yama's part, by her eloquent 
 " praise of good," that he yields her the favours spontaneously. 
 What influence over others in that way could any man ever have 
 compared with that which a woman like yourself might exert V 
 
 " Supposing she had the eloquence, which women as a rule 
 do not have." 
 
 " But which she might acquire if she made that in the first 
 instance her own object. And then there is magic merely in 
 the sympathy of some women, which is an immense stimulus to 
 all who are privileged to feel it. For myself, to begin with, I 
 
 G 2 
 
84 EABMA. 
 
 have infinite cause to be grateful to you for the inspiration it 
 has been to me to talk out some of these subjects with you 
 during these few days. The great advantage of knowiog you 
 has come to me just at the right moment, when the vague and 
 floating purpose of a Ufe, that had no definite aim till recently, 
 had just been brought to a focus. If your influence, which 
 could not be but a strong one, had worked against the desire 
 for superior knowledge and spiritual culture of the highest sort, 
 that has suddenly developed in my mind, I might have been 
 driven back into the lower channels of some more commonplace 
 career; but your sympathy and appreciative encouragement 
 have exactly imparted the impulse that has converted my sudden 
 inchnation into a fixed purpose. I might meet with frivolous 
 or worldly-minded people now who would scoff or sneer, and 
 that would disturb me about as much as the dust in the air 
 unsettles this hill. I see the right path clearly, and I shall 
 never be persuaded that it is the wrong one, when I remember 
 how clearly you saw it too." 
 
 It was not in Lucy's feminine human nature to be quite 
 insensible to the influence of this incense, burnt before her as it 
 was with such honest enthusiasm by the good-looking, earnest 
 young fellow at her side, with upturned face aglow with pure 
 reverence for her, and lighted up by the sunshine of her 
 presence. Lucy Vaughan's three years' experience of the world, 
 gathered, as it had been, at the focus of its most vivid life, 
 made her older in some respects than Merland, though the 
 young man had the start of her by a certain space of time as 
 regards mere physical existence. She was not ready to catch at 
 admiration, having always found enough of it and to spare 
 around her on all sides. She had. on the contrary, acquired 
 the habit of rather warding off the advances of young men than 
 leading them on. But Merland's admiration was expressed with 
 such self-forgetfubaess that there was nothing in it to ward off; 
 and it was admiration moreover, along new lines, answering to 
 an inner chord in the girl's nature that had vibrated in secret, 
 so far, or at all events under repression ; as Mrs. Vaughan did 
 not by any means encourage the sister-of-mercy notion which 
 had hitherto been Lucy's only defined aspiration in the direc- 
 tion of the more exalted ideals she vaguely yearned after. In 
 this way it came to pass that she permitted the incense now 
 offered up, to ascend unchecked, and inhaled its fragrance not 
 without pleasure. 
 
A FRESH DEVflLOPMfiNT. 85 
 
 To BTich conversations, however, there can he only one end. 
 Merland would never have had the audacity to bring his own 
 personality into their discussions if he had fully realised at the 
 time all that was implied in making love to Miss Vaughan. 
 Beyond knowing that she was a young lady of very good social 
 position, and that her mother was spoken of by Mrs. Miller 
 with great deference, he was quite unaware of any special cir- 
 cumstances about her. But in truth the young lady was 
 unexceptionally favoured by fortune and all its pleasantest 
 concomitants. Though her father had borne no title, his an- 
 cestry and relationships had linked his family with more than 
 one noble house. Her mother had been an heiress in her turn, 
 and her property had been settled in the lemale line, which the 
 beautiful Lucy alone represented. The family floated through 
 life, in fact, on a wave of abundant prosperity ; and scarcely 
 any marriage Lucy could have made in the highest London 
 society could have been a mesalliance for the bridegroom, what- 
 ever his rank. Of all this, however, Merland was happily 
 unsuspicious. He only knew that Miss Vaughan had entered 
 into his life, and, privileged as he had become to gain, at least, 
 her sympathetic friendship, the thought of a future from which, 
 at the end of a transitory autumn country-house party, she 
 should disappear, was a foretaste of blank misery, even in the 
 midst of the delight he enjoyed in her society for the time. 
 
 The overwhelming strength of his new emotions kept him 
 silent about them with the one friend to whom he would natur- 
 ally have confided any fresh impressions ; and Annerly was too 
 much absorbed himself by the interest of the visions of a dififer- 
 ent kind presented to his own imagination, to be very observant 
 of his friend. He conversed frequently and fully with Merland, 
 but their talk was altogether concentrated on the topics he had 
 been engaged upon with the Baron. Unconsciously in this 
 way he was feeding his friend's passion, for Merland was thus 
 supplied with floods of new ideas connected with the loftier 
 purposes of psychic development that lent a daily augmented 
 vigour to the expositions he in hi* turn presented to Miss 
 Vaughan. 
 
 These expositions culminated in that inevitable declaration 
 just referred to, at the close of a delirious week. If Merland 
 had been an older philosopher he would have felt that the hal- 
 cyon days he was enjoying weie too good to last. But ho had 
 
86 KABMA. 
 
 been left undisturbed to secure large portions of Miss Vaughan's 
 society, day after day, by reason of various events that distracted 
 the attention of the others. 
 
 One of these was the arrival of Mrs. Lakes by, of whose 
 expected coming the Baron had spoken on the afternoon of bis 
 own appearance on the scene. There had been some conversa- 
 tion about her in the drawing-room the previous evening. 
 
 *' She has that abnormal sense," the Baron explained in 
 answer to a question from Mrs. Miller, " which is generally 
 called clairvoyance. I should say it has rarely happened that 
 any one, not initiated in special and artificial methods of de- 
 veloping that sense, has been bom with it in a greater measure.** 
 
 " Then the next question," said the Professor, ** is how far 
 she is likely to be willing to demonstrate the possession of these 
 gifts for the service of intelligent inquiry. I find as a rule that 
 when people are reputed to be endowed with any sort of psychic 
 faculty their first impulse seems always to be to hide the fact 
 from every one to whom it is specially worth while to show it." 
 
 Mrs. Miller declared that she always persevered with people 
 whom she knew to have any abnormal faculties till she found 
 out what they really were. It was all a question of having 
 patience. 
 
 Captain Jem murmured in a low voice to Blane, near whom 
 he was sitting, that he had known the other people lose their 
 little stock of patience in the course of the proceedings; 
 but Mrs. Miller caught the sense of some comment having been 
 made by the Captain on her remark, and added that she had 
 been specially trained, it was true, herself in patience and long- 
 suffering by having been married to Jem. This momentary 
 clash of light weapons moved the Professor — whose nervously 
 active temperament rarely allowed him to pass over anything 
 said in his neighbourhood without dealing with it in some way 
 or other — to suggest, that for Mrs. Miller to thoroughly appre- 
 ciate Jem she ought to change husbands for a time with Lady 
 Emily. Then the Baron went on about Mrs. Lakesby. 
 
 *' You see many people who find themselves the subject of 
 any strange experience, that ordinary knowledge will not help 
 others to account for, get so much laughed at first in the world 
 when they mention it, that they acquire the habit of reticence 
 in such matters. But Mrs. Lakesby will not be timid in this 
 lespect with ua I think, because she will find a ready and sym- 
 
A FEKSH DBVBLOPMBNT. 87 
 
 pathetic credit for what she has to tell us here no doabt ; 
 though my good brother-in-law Sir John does think us all 
 demented, I am sure, for prying after the possibility of uncanny 
 mysteries in the world." 
 
 jVIrs. Lakesby had come abroad with friends bound for 
 Switzerland, and left them when within a few hours' easy 
 journey of Heiligenfels. She joined in the castle-party in the 
 afternoon, when a good many of the guests were assembled on 
 the terrace in honour of the five o'clock tea, which Mrs. Miller 
 generally dispensed there. She was a little woman, bright and 
 attractive though no longer in her first youth, a widow of many 
 years* standing, with brown wavy hair and large blue eyes, very 
 quiet and demure in manner as a rule, with features not regular 
 enough to be admired in detail, but producing a pleasant en- 
 semble ; a thoroughly wholesome, nice little woman, ready to like 
 and be liked by the people she might be living with — a person 
 who could not but excite interest and attention in any group 
 she entered. She was a stranger on her arrival to all but the 
 Baron. He brought her on to the terrace, and introduced her 
 to Mrs. Miller and one or two of the others, and every one who 
 had the opportunity of doing so without violating good taste by 
 too obtrusive a show of interest did all that could be done to 
 make her feel at once at home and welcome. She noticed this 
 after a little talk on the trifling topics of the sui-face. 
 
 " Yes, the view is lovely ; and the old castle has a lovely 
 feeling about it just now because you are all so kindly disposed 
 towards the new guest." 
 
 " The Baron," said Mrs. Vaughan, " makes us all so happy 
 here, we should be monsters indeed if we were not in a placable 
 mood." 
 
 " It's more than that, or at all events, if the Baron has suc- 
 ceeded in making you happy here, you mean to make me so too, 
 I can feel very strongly." 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Miller, " you generally tell at the 
 first moment whether people are going to like you or not ] " 
 
 " Pardon me," put in the Professor, '* I am sure Mrs. Lakesby 
 has never yet met anybody who did not like her, so she can 
 have no experience of what that feeling is like." 
 
 " Well then," answered Mrs. Miller, always ready for a fence, 
 ** she may know when she is not going to like people hersell 
 You'd better be careful, Professor." 
 
88 EABMA. 
 
 " I don't think Fm in much danger of not liking people 
 here," said Mrs. Lakesby with a reassuring smile. 
 
 " But it always interests me," said the Professor, " to find 
 out how far feelings of that sort are derived from some really 
 external cause, or are just the inner impulse of the moment 
 depending on one's own state of health and spirits. Of course, 
 you will understand that I am asking for information, and not 
 in any distrustful way — but do you ever take pains to check 
 the first impressions you get by later observation?" 
 
 " Oh, well, that is almost too simple a feeling to want check- 
 ing. One seems to know the general state of people's mind 
 about oneself as certainly as you know their features when you 
 look at them. But 1 have been checking those sort of feelings 
 by noticing them come true all my life." 
 
 "'One' is an expression of very variable meaning, Mrj. 
 Lakesby. You may be able to get correct impressions of what 
 other people are thinking and feeKng, but most people are 
 limited to observing how they look and talk." 
 
 " Well, I know some people are more sensitive than others 
 to impressions of that sort, but it's all a question of degree, very 
 likely. Most people, probably, are more sensitive in that way 
 than they are aware of." 
 
 " I quite agree with you," said the Baron. 
 
 " And I will not presume to disagree for a moment," said thp 
 Professor ; " but, whenever I am conscious of having such im 
 pressions myself, they invariably turn out wrong ; so, if it is all 
 a question of degree, there is a zero point on the scale at which 
 I am firmly established. But never mind that; it is more 
 interesting to talk of people who find their impressions come 
 true. I shall hope to hear more from you about that some day 
 at your leisure." 
 
 " I do not doubt," said the Baron, " that Mrs. Lakesby will 
 be able to convince you that she can rely on impressions ; but, 
 when the faculties that have to do with these are very wide 
 awake, they get so highly sensitive about more difficult subjects 
 of perception that they lose the habit of seeking proofs of their 
 own accuracy. We all leave off spelling our words when we 
 have learned to read." 
 
 " But with each fresh child we must begin to spell again," 
 said the Professor. " Now I am a fresh child, Mrs. Lakesby, 
 an unsophisticated, untaught creature ; but eager to learn. I 
 
A PBESH DEVELOPMENT. 89 
 
 hope you will give me some simple lessons in this matter, suited 
 to a beginner. Do the impressions you speak of, for instance, 
 convey merely a general feeling ? or do they reveal any precise 
 intention in other people's minds V 
 
 " In my case, they do that certainly, at times. But it is not 
 a thing one likes to do — to read other people's thoughts too 
 much. I don't think it's fair." 
 
 "The faculty is so unusual," said the Professor, "that I 
 certainly never thought of it as a question of morals. But at 
 least, if people willingly offer their minds for your inspection, 
 then it is all right?" 
 
 " Yes, it's aU right then." 
 
 The Professor remained silent, and, as he had been carrying 
 on the talk for the last few minutes, this made a little pause, 
 which was bioken in a few moments by a laugh from Mrs. 
 Lakesby. 
 
 ** Well, there's no clairvoyance in that ; but it's pretty evi- 
 dent that you would like me to try on you." 
 
 " Just so. But that, you say, was an ordinary inference." 
 
 "Of course. I was not near enough to you to read you? 
 thought, really." 
 
 " But since it has come under discussion I will admit that it 
 was my thought ; though I should deeply regret to be regarded 
 by you as unfortunate. AVhenever you may be disposed for 
 Buch an experiment I shall be more than ready." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby put no difficulties in the way, and the Pro- 
 fessor's experiment was soon arranged. Mrs. Lakesby had 
 begged that it should be one of the ladies present whose thought 
 she should read ; and, Mrs. Vaughan having been selected, the 
 Professor went away to write a question on a piece of paper. 
 He came back with it folded up. Mrs. Lakesby pulled a chair 
 close to Mrs. Vaughan's, and put her face down on that lady's 
 shoulder, so that their heads were close together. 
 
 " One must be so very affectionate for this purpose," she said, 
 " that it's nicer to read ladies' thoughts than gentlemen's." 
 
 " I don't think it would be disagreeable — at all events," said 
 the Professor, "for the gentlemen." 
 
 "What a beautiful park ! " said Mrs. Lakesby, nestling closer 
 to Mrs. Vaughan. 
 
 " Whyy what do you mean t We haven't begun." 
 
 " No, I know you haven't given Mrs. Vaughan your question, 
 
90 EABMA. 
 
 but I caught sight of such a lovely house, fn her mind, a house 
 with curved steps leading up to a stained-glass door, and a lawn 
 in front with a lake beyond, and such a pretty boat-house to 
 the left there, with three or four boats at anchor on the water, 
 and big trees on the right. And there*s a lot of scaffolding up 
 against the house at one end and building going on. Oh, I see 
 there's been a fire. Why, some of the walls are all black." 
 
 "Why, she's describing my house in Devonshire exactly," 
 said Mrs. Vaughan. 
 
 " But never mind that," said Mrs. Lakesby ; " I'm quite 
 ready for your question. Professor Massilton." 
 
 " But this is most interesting. Do you see any further detail 
 about the house in Devonshire 1 " 
 
 " Why, if I went on looking I could tell you details till to- 
 morrow, of course." 
 
 " Well, tell me," said Mrs. Vaughan, " something about my 
 own particular room in which I generally sit in the morning." 
 
 " Wait a moment — where is it ?— oh, yes, now I see. A 
 bow-window with a writing-table in it What a pretty table — 
 all inlaid-work and ivory. And there are book-shelves there, 
 to the left, and another window opposite them. There are 
 quantities of ornaments and things about, and pictures, and 
 easy-chairs. I don't wonder you live a good deal in that room." 
 
 " Is that right, Mrs. Vaughan 1 " asked the Professor. 
 
 " Wonderfully, marvellously right — except, indeed, for one 
 thing you said, which is only worth noticing as wrong because 
 of the extraordinary accuracy of your description generally. 
 As you stand at the writing-table in the bow-window, looking 
 out, the bookshelves would be to your right and the window to 
 the left" 
 
 ** Oh, yes, of course," said Mrs. Lakesby; " I did not stop to 
 reverse things for you. In clairvoyant-sight one generally sees 
 things in that way, the wrong way about as in a looking-glass, 
 I dare say I got a wrong impression of the lawn, just now, in 
 that way." 
 
 " Yes, I noticed that you said the boat-house was to the left 
 instead of to the right as you look from the terrace." 
 
 " It is a point," the Professor said, " that one would like to 
 go into later ; but the mere fact that distant places can be seen 
 this way at all is so immense a fact that we must try to get at 
 its elementary explanations first before going into minuti»." 
 
A FBESH DEVELOPMBNT. 91 
 
 " But what question do you want to ask t ** said Mrs. Lakesby ; 
 ** because it is just possible that Mrs. Vaughan may get tired of 
 nursing me in this way after a time." 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan gave light and graceful assurances to the con- 
 trary, but tlien the Professor, carrying out the arrangement that 
 had previously been agreed upon, unfolded the paper he had 
 written, and handed it to her, Mrs. Lakesby's back being 
 towards him, and her face buried in the light shawl on Mrs. 
 Vaughan's shoulder. Mrs. Vaughan silently read the paper and 
 remained looking at it. Almost as quickly as if it had been 
 before her own eyes, Mrs. Lakesby became aware of its sub- 
 stance, and gaily replied, — 
 
 "I should rather think so. 'Is clairvoyance possible!* 
 The strange thing for people who have the double sight is that 
 other people can sometimes fail to see the things so seen." She 
 lifted her head when she had thus given the contents of the 
 paper, and laughed again as the others pressed round to look at 
 the paper, and asked, " Is that right ? " 
 
 " It seems so funny that so simple a thing should be a won- 
 der," she explained, 
 
 "A simple thing," said Blane, "for the few who enjoy your 
 gifts perhaps ; but so boundlessly astonishing a thing in itself, 
 from the point of view of the enormous majority without them, 
 that they will not even be persuaded the world holds anything 
 80 wonderful" 
 
 *' I wish Lucy had been here to see that," Mrs. Vaughan said 
 to Mr& Miller. " She would have been so profoundly inter- 
 ested. Where is she ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen her since lunch. Most of our young people 
 are wandering about the woods, I think." 
 
 " Ah well ! but after all," said Mrs. Lakesby, " I did not 
 expect to be looked upon as a prodigy here ! " 
 
 *' But why," said the Professor, ** should you have supposed 
 us likely to be so exceptionally stupid as not to be struck by 
 such faculties as yours, which you must know to be very rare ? " 
 
 " I mean — " with an arch, inquiring look at the Baron, " that 
 you might perhaps have been interested in other things before 
 now, rather than in my little faculties." 
 
 The Baron quietly smiled, and shook his head. " There can- 
 not be any subjects," he said, "which would eclipse the interest 
 of your clairvoyance for the Professor, I am sure, Mrs. Lakesby," 
 
92 KABMA, 
 
 " At all events," the Professor put in, ** it will be a privilege 
 that I appreciate more than I can say if you will let me study 
 the subject of your clairvoyance. Are there any difficulties in 
 the way of repeating such experiments as that we have just 
 had?" 
 
 "I could generally read a simple question like that you 
 wrote, in so clear a mind as Mrs. Vaughan's. But I would not 
 always see other places as plainly as I saw her house. My 
 sight is very good to-day. And Mrs. Vaughan read that paper 
 so strongly, if you know what I mean. The words marched 
 quite vividly, as it were, through her mind. It would not fol- 
 low that everybody would take them so plainly, but most people 
 might, with so short a question as that. However, that sort of 
 physical clairvoyance, like seeing the house, and so on, can't be 
 relied on. I get very bright flashes of it now and then, but I 
 do not care about that so much." 
 
 The Professor looked as if he were going to remonstrate, but 
 Blane put in a word. 
 
 "This is profoundly interesting, Mrs. Lakesby. Would you 
 explain that more fully? What sort of clairvoyance do you 
 mean that you do care about ? " 
 
 " I like best to see my friends," she answered, with some 
 shade of hesitation. " I do not quite know how far you are 
 prepared for what I mean, but I think I have friends you know 
 who have passed from this to another sort of life." 
 
 " I understand," Blane replied, " and I am not unprepared. 
 But I can understand, also, that the subject may be one you do 
 not like to talk of too freely." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted here by the arrival of Mr. 
 Annerly. The Baron spoke to him the moment he appeared on 
 the terrace. 
 
 " Let me present you," he said, " to Mrs. Lakesby." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby gazed at him intently as she shook hands, and 
 then turned her large, open eyes, with an inquiring look, at the 
 Baron. But he did not take any notice of the look, and the 
 general talk went on for a while. Then, eventually, Mrs. 
 Miller went off with Mrs. Lakesby to show her her room, and 
 the party scattered. The Professor announced his intention of 
 going to write letters between then and dinner, but put his arm 
 through Blane's and walked up and down the terrace, talking 
 for a little while longer 
 
A FRESH DEVELOPMENT. 98 
 
 •* Now, old fellow, how does what we have just seen strike 
 jout" 
 
 " Certainly as more than the finest feat of clairvoyance I ever 
 saw — almost finer than any I have heard of." 
 
 " The sort of thing, in fact, one reads about but does not often 
 see. Quite so ; but what has suddenly struck me forcibly is, 
 that we have got no case for argument with outsiders about it." 
 " It is only one experiment, certainly, but as far as it went 
 that arrangement of yours with the paper was most definite and 
 distinct." 
 
 " It was. And we who saw it carried out know with 
 practical certainty that the question was read by ]\Irs. Lakesby 
 with a hondjide exercise of the abnormal gift she possesses. 
 But, thinking what could be suggested by the incredulous out- 
 sider, who would merely read about the incident, supposing we 
 were to tell the story, I saw at once what would be said ? Mrs. 
 Lakesby's ear was less than a foot away from Mrs. Vaughan's 
 lips when she looked at the paper. People would say, of 
 course, that she read the question articulately, though not aloud ; 
 and that Mrs. Lakesby, with a fine sense of hearing, was enabled 
 to catch the words. Or they would say Mrs. Vaughan played 
 into her hands for the fun of the thing, and to take a rise out of 
 you and me.'* 
 
 "The criticism would be absurd, really, because we were 
 close by and saw that this was not done." 
 
 "The criticism would involve conjectures which we know 
 would be idiotic. And it would rest on the silly assumption 
 that we were too silly to be trusted as witnesses. But, when 
 you come to think of it, that assumption, silly as it is, is the 
 whole bulwark of defence within which the incredulous majority 
 entrenches itself. Scores and hundreds of highly intelligent 
 and highly competent observers have written, I suppose, scores 
 of hundreds of books and statements of various kinds recording 
 their observations about psychic phenomena of all sorts. And 
 yet there still is an incredulous majority of people who can 
 afibrd to go about saying they do not believe a word so said. It 
 is very odd, when you come to think of it, that this is possible ; 
 it is such a stupid position for otherwise intelligent people 
 to take up, but to the present time the majority support one 
 another in incredulity, which is a plain defiance of evidence and 
 facta^ and there you are. We may give them some mors 
 
94 KABMA. 
 
 evidence and facts, and they will not be moved an inch from 
 their comical pride in their own ridiculous position. They will 
 not believe us, or, if they do not think we are lying, they will 
 think we are probably gabies who can't see whether we are or 
 are not imposed upon." 
 
 " Well, with the opportunities we have now, it seems to me," 
 Blane answered, "that we ought to be able to arrange ex- 
 periments that shall make that charge, at all events, self- 
 evidently absurd. It is our business, since we are more than 
 likely to be questioned closely hereafter about all that is taking 
 place now, to foresee the questions which may be asked, and 
 provide against them beforehand" 
 
 " There are great difficulties in our way," said the Professor, 
 thoughtfully, " if we aim at really producing an effect on current 
 thought. We may very easily succeed in nothing but in getting 
 laughed at for our pains." 
 
 " We have opportunities, at all events, that are on a level 
 with our difficulties,'* Blane urged in reply ; "and for my part, 
 for the sake of the knowledge we seem in a fair way of gaining, 
 I would be content to be laughed at by the world at large. 
 Indeed, that seems quite too trivial a penalty to be talked of, 
 as set against the knowledge we are likely to acquire." 
 
 " We are likely to acquire knowledge that certain very grand 
 knowledge exists in other people's keeping. I am not yet 
 inclined to believe that we shall gain much beyond that know- 
 ledge concerning knowledge." 
 
 " It is a step to have so much," Blane said, as the Professor 
 loosed his arm and prepared to go indoors ; " a step leagues in 
 advance of the state of mind which preceded it." 
 
 CHAPTER Xm. 
 
 OONTBASTSD VISIONS. 
 
 Miss Vadqhan threw herself with ardour into the new avenues 
 of inquiry which Mrs. Lakesby's acquaintance opened out befor* 
 
CONTRASTED VISIONS. 96 
 
 hei. She learned that evening at dinner \vhat had passed in 
 the afternoon ; and could do nothing, either at table or after- 
 wards in the drawing-room, but watch the clairvoyante, who, 
 for that matter, betrayed no ecct ntricities of any kind in her 
 conversation or manner, was bright and talkative about all 
 current topics, endowed with a quick sense of humour, and able 
 to put things in a pleasant way herself. 
 
 " But you must let me say one thing," Miss Vauglian declared, 
 having seized on a place beside Mrs. Lakesby on a sofa, when 
 the ladies had left the dining-hall. " It does seem so wonder- 
 ful to think of what you are, and hear you talking away of com- 
 monplace things like anybody else." 
 
 " I should have a dull life of it if I couldn't laugh and talk 
 like other people. I don't enjoy life the less for seeing more 
 about me than other people see as a rule. What do you think 
 I like to be doing, best of anything in the world 1" 
 
 " Using your wonderful gifts, of course." 
 
 " Not a bit of it — dancing." 
 
 " What an idea I Why, who is there worthy to dance with 
 you?" 
 
 " Worthy ! Well, I own I'm particular about my partners, 
 because it's such agony to be dragged round the room as if it was 
 a ploughed field. But you may depend on it I don't talk about 
 clairvoyance with my partners. More than half the people I 
 know have no notion at all that there's anything queer about 
 me. And then what I like next best to dancing is —what do 
 you think 1 " 
 
 " I'm sure you're going to say something commonplace that 
 anybody can do." 
 
 " Everybody can't do this particular thing nearly as well as I 
 can, I mean swimming. I am passionately fond of swimming, 
 and I looked at that lovely, clear gieen river down there to-day 
 with a positive longing to plunge into it." 
 
 " Swimming ! If you had told me, now, you liked flying, I 
 should not have been a bit surprised, and should merely have 
 begged you to let me see you on the wing." 
 
 " One doesn't want wings for the only sort of flying that 
 I know anything about" 
 
 "What sort is that?" 
 
 " Well, you know, some people who write aboat clairYoyanti 
 call them * flying souls.' " 
 
96 
 
 SABMA. 
 
 *And is that right t Do they really fly aboul In Ui«i» 
 
 souls — whatever that may he like ? " 
 
 "I suppose they do, sometimes. But you should ask th«>^ 
 Baron about what it is they really do. He knows a great deal 
 more about it than I do.'* 
 
 "I will; but just now I have got you to ask — and I am 
 sure you can tell me more than I shall be able to take in : 
 Do you fly about in your soul ? " 
 
 ** Most certainly I get about the world out of the body some- 
 times ; but I can't exactly tell you how I do it ; and it isn't 
 flying in the literal sense of the word. But when I want to. 
 and can lie down somewhere safe and comfortable by myself, 
 I can ooze out somehow, by making a kind of an effort I can 
 hardly describe, and then, once in the astral form, one can go 
 anywhere by merely willing to." 
 
 " Good heavens ! But how do you get back again t " 
 
 "It is not always pleasant, the getting back. Sometimes 
 when I am out I think I will not go back at alL It is much 
 pleasanter to be free and light, and enjoying yourself. But 
 one always does come back ; they always tell you to, and then 
 you must," 
 
 "Who tell you tot" 
 
 "Well, the friends you go to see in the spirit- world — or 
 the other people you meet there." 
 
 " It's the most delightfully bewildering thing I ever heard 
 
 " Don't you think I must be crazy ? " 
 
 " I never talked to anybody who seemed less 80, though you 
 talk of such wonderful things." 
 
 " I rattle on this way with you because, if you are a friend 
 of Baron von Mondstern's, and asked here to his house, it is 
 to be presumed you will understand me." 
 
 " I am reverentially interested in all this sort of thing, but 
 frightfully ignorant. I don't even know why you speak of the 
 Baron like that, though I am prepared to believe anything 
 about him that's magnificent and thrilling. I don't know why, 
 but I feel almost too much in awe of him to cross-question 
 him about himself. Can you explain him to me 1 " 
 
 "I can't explain him to myself, but I know he's a great 
 occultist ; and I'm quite sure anything I can do he can do too, 
 and a great deal more besides." 
 
OONTEASTED VISIONS. 97 
 
 •* Can he go about out of his body then, too t " 
 
 " "WTiy, of course he can. I knew him out of hie body long 
 before I ever knew him in it." 
 
 *' What ? Do you mean that you met him first flying about 
 in the air like yourself 1 " 
 
 " Well, on the astral plane at all events — you don't think 
 much about the air when you are out of the body. It's another 
 etate of existence you pass into. But I can see people on the 
 astral plane without being out of the body at all, for that matter 
 myself." 
 
 "I want to ask a himdred questions at once- but could 
 ordinary people be taught to get out of their bodies ? Could 
 I?" 
 
 "Ask the Baron. I only know what I can do myself. I 
 can't teach anybody anything." 
 
 It chanced that while they were talking the gentlemen, or 
 most of them, with the Baron among the number, came into 
 the drawing-room. With the impulsiveness of her nature, and 
 her face glowing more than usual with the sudden excitement of 
 her idea, Miss Vaughan sprang up, and, with hands clasped in 
 eagerness, took Mrs. Lakesby'e suggestion au pied de la lettre. 
 
 " Oh, Baron von Mondstern, will you teach me to get out of 
 my body ? " 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan looked up amazed. 
 
 " My dear Lucy, what on earth do you mean 1 " 
 
 The Professor, of course, seized the opportunity for a compli- 
 ment. 
 
 " Why should you be discontented. Miss Vaughan, of all 
 people in creation, mth the one you have got ? " 
 
 " I'm utterly serious, I assure you," the young lady pleaded. 
 " Mrs. Lakesby can get out of her body and go anywhere she 
 likes. Why cannot 1 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps, Miss Vaughan," said the Baron with his usual 
 kindly smile, " you sometimes do without being aware of it. 
 But happily for your friends you always wake in the morning 
 safely established in your usual conditions again." 
 
 " Don't put me off in that way. Will you teach me t I'm 
 Bure you can." 
 
 " Let us sit down and talk," said the Baron. " You have 
 heard something, I gather, from Mrs. Lakesby. Will you tell 
 us what that ia, to begin with ) " 
 
98 EABMA. 
 
 This led to a long and general conversation in which all thai 
 'Mis. Lakesby had said to Miss Vaughan was repeated, and 
 made the subject of much searching inquiry from many of the 
 others. Miss Vaughan clung to her point, however, and it was 
 with almost pathetic eagerness that she appealed to the Baron 
 again to know if she could acquire the experience of which 
 Mrs. Lakesby spoke. 
 
 " Practically you cannot, Miss Vaughan," the Baron said, 
 " any more than you can acquire the clairvoyant faculty Mrs. 
 Lakesby possesses, of which you saw an illustration this after- 
 noon. Theoretically, every human being can acquire the art 
 of getting out of the body, eventually, but the training for 
 those not bom with peculiar natural gifts is long and trying, 
 — so much 80, that, believe me, you must put the idea aside, — 
 just as it would be wise for a person without any musical 
 gifts to put aside an unreasonable ambition to sing like Miss 
 Blane here, or play like Mr. Annerly. But we can all come to 
 understand a little more than most of us know at present 
 about what is possible for some human beings, and indeed 
 for a very considerable number qualified to go through the 
 ordeals that bar the way. If we understand that rightly we 
 shall be much the better — in more ways than one." 
 
 " I am sure," said Miss Vaughan, " what you say is right and 
 wise. You know all about it and I know nothing ; but tell 
 us, will you not, more fully what you mean by the ordeals that 
 bar the way.' 
 
 " You believe me when I hint that they are impassable ; 
 still you want to see if you think you could pass them ? Well, 
 I will try to show you some. These faculties of the spirit, if 
 I may use language just to explain what I mean for the 
 moment, though perhaps I should use other words if you had 
 studied these things more — these faculties of the spirit can 
 only be trained artificially by the repression of all the faculties 
 which are concerned with the material life and material enjoy- 
 ment That is the true meaning of the ascetic life, which has 
 often been practised blindly, and consequently without important 
 results — and still more often criticized blindly. There may be no 
 absolute merit in denying yourself everything which makes life 
 pleasant, but when most of us talk of life, we mean the life of 
 the body. If you want to develop the life of the spirit you 
 queneh all the life of the body, which can be quenched without 
 
00NTEA8TED VISIONS. 99 
 
 interfering too much with its mere physical vitality. If you 
 quenched tliat too you would die, and your etfort would fail 
 that way ; but instead of living to enjoy the pleasantness of 
 life, in which case your true inner vitality is absorbed by the 
 body, you must live for the development of the spirit alone. 
 We need not talk now of all that that means ; but you will 
 see that to care not at all for the pleasures of ordinary life, to 
 banish them out of your scheme of existence altogether, and 
 to learn so to banish them quite without regret, is the first 
 thing you have to do — the first step in the direction of acquiring 
 the faculties of the spirit, if you have not got them by Nature." 
 
 " I care nothing for the things of this world ! " cried Miss 
 Vaughan, impetuously, with an animated gesture of both hands, 
 that, by a comical contrast with her words, threw sparkles of 
 light about from the rings on her fingers, and waved a perfume 
 of scent on the air from the handkerchief she held. 
 
 " I do," said Mrs. Lakesby ; " it seems a very nice world, 
 I think, while one is in it." 
 
 " While one is in it," said the Professor, repeating the 
 phrase ; " what a lordly superiority that remark shows to us 
 poor mortals who only know one sort of world." 
 
 " I'd give up the world to-morrow," said Mrs. Miller, " if I 
 were sure of getting something better. But I'm not so sure 
 that it's worth while to give up everything that's pleasant 
 merely to be able to float about in space without a body." 
 
 The Professor put in a word again. 
 
 "Then we are not to understand that you yourself are obliged 
 to make any choice in the matter 1 You are so privileged a 
 creature that you have the blessings of both states." 
 
 " I only know," she answered, "that the things we are talk- 
 ing about are natural to me. I certainly never went through 
 any training to get such powers as I possess." 
 
 " I daresay," said Mrs. Miller, " that it's all right, really, 
 but it doesn't seem fair on the surface.'' 
 
 " It would seem fair, perhaps," suggested the Baron, " if 
 we could look back on the whole process Mrs. Lakesby has 
 gone through. We are in the midst of mysteries that can only 
 be explained by other mysteries. If we none of us led more 
 than one physical life the apparent injustice of all differences of 
 well-being would be real injustice. But the clue to the fair- 
 ness of Nature, which I take to be quite perfect, really, is tha< 
 
 H 2 
 
100 KABMA. 
 
 we lead more than one life ; and, though we do not carry re- 
 collection from one to the other, we carry the accumulated 
 results of our efforts and acts, whatever they may he, from one 
 to the other. You may depend upon it that, if Mrs. Lakesby 
 is now enjoying psychic faculties far in advance of those which 
 are commonly found among the people of her generation, she 
 has worked for them in a former state of existence." 
 
 "Then we common people," said the Professor, "have been 
 the idle hoys of former generations." 
 
 '* Or perhaps," said the Baron, " we may not all have been 
 to good schools." 
 
 " That idea," Blane put in, " suggests a very practical in- 
 ference. If we make efforts to attain a high degree of spiritual 
 development in this life, they will not be thrown away alto- 
 gether, even if they are not at once crowned with success. 
 They will tell on our next incarnation.** 
 
 " Exactly," replied Baron Friedrich. ** That appears to me 
 to be one of the finest and most important lessons of psychic 
 science. "No effort is thrown away — no act in this life is with- 
 out its infinite consequences ; just as no force can be exerted 
 in the material world which is not subject, in some way or 
 other, to the great law of conservation. A full appreciation of 
 this truth in all its bearings constitutes a recognition of the 
 supremely important principle recognized in some Oriental 
 philosophers as Karma. The law of Karma is the law of the 
 conservation of energy on the moral and spiritual planes of 
 nature." 
 
 It was by a mutual impulse, the following day, that Merland 
 and Miss Vaughan took advantage of the easy freedom of the 
 castle-life to compare their impressions of the previous even- 
 ing. Their constant intercourse during the week had associated 
 Merland more and more in Miss Vaughan's imagination with 
 that vivid enthusiasm for psychic mysteries that the general 
 influence of Heiligenfels had developed. From the height of 
 her present aspirations she looked dovm on the commonplace 
 interests of life as on a lower existence. She had not stopped 
 to consider how far the upper level, on which her emotions 
 now moved, was attractive by reason of its congenial com- 
 panionship. 
 
 " They talk about giving up the pleasures of the world as of 
 a great sacrifice," she said to Merland, after a long talk oyer 
 
OONTitASTED VISIONS. 101 
 
 the explanations that had been given of Mrs. Lakesby's ab- 
 normal privileges. " They would be as nothing to me com- 
 pared to the splendid feeling of gaining powers of insight 
 into the spiritual world. Wouldn't you give up anything for 
 that ? " 
 
 " I have quite made up my mind," Merland answered, " as 
 you know, to put all ordinary worldly pursuits aside for the 
 sake of following up this grand idea to the end. And if any- 
 thing could have confirmed me more than ever in that view 
 of things it would be the obviously reasonable explanation the 
 Baron gave last night, about the way all effort must produce its 
 effect — if not in this life then in the next." 
 
 They had found seclusion in the conservatory built outside 
 the outer courtyard, in which Miss Vaughan, on her first 
 arrival, had found young Reginald Hexton reading Sanscrit. 
 They were leaning on the sill of an open window looking over 
 the river. 
 
 "It's quite symbolical, so to speak," said Miss Vaughan, 
 " that our eyes should have been opened to the insignificance of 
 ordinary life and its ambitions up in this lofty eyrie, looking 
 down on the common world below. How far beneath us that 
 village there on the river's bank seems to be. There are people 
 there planning about their amusements and their business, and 
 struggling with one another for petty objects, that only give 
 pleasure for a few years. And, as we look down on them from 
 this height, so do I look down on the kind of life from which 
 I emerged when we came abroad and up here." 
 
 " Do you think you will continue to feel about it as you do 
 now when you go back into the life you have left 1 " 
 
 " I would rather not go back into it at all, but I am quite 
 sure that I shall never be of it again, even if I am in it. _ The 
 Baron cannot believe that a young lady he has known in the 
 midst of a London season, steeped to the lips in frivolities of 
 all sorts, can renounce that for the sake of spiritual develop- 
 ment ; but he shall see that it is possible." 
 
 It was no sudden inspiration or unfamiliar thought that set 
 Merland's heart thumping, as he thought almost audibly, when 
 the bearing of this declaration of hers on his own irresistible 
 desire flat^hed upon him. More than once before he had been 
 on the point of telling her that his enthusiasm for the idea 
 they 80 constantly discussed was blended now inextricably with 
 
102 EABMA. 
 
 her own ; and that the higher life itself would be desolate of 
 beauty unless it could be shared with her. But the sweet 
 present had always been too delicious to be imperilled by the 
 sudden assertion of a claim that it should last for always. 
 Prudence at last gave way. She was too lovely in her enthu- 
 siasm, which lighted up and glorified a face that was beautiful 
 even in repose, for a lover to be silent longer ; and as she stood 
 erect, with one uplifted hand resting on the edge of the open 
 window-sash above her head, and the other — the one nearest to 
 Merland, as he stood beside her — stretched out as she pointed 
 to the village below, she was too splendid a creature to be 
 talked to in measured tones any more. 
 
 " Miss Vaughan,— " 
 
 The deep changed tone of his voice as he pronounced her 
 name gave, as it were, an electric shock to their relationship. 
 The time of self-restraint was over for Merland — for her there 
 was a sudden rush of bewilderment. The situation had not 
 struck her before in that light. It was the unconscious opera- 
 tion of her worldly experience that had blinded her to the 
 possibility that Merland would turn into a lover with definite 
 proposals to put before her. There were other candidates in 
 the field she knew, but they were in the world of fashion — left 
 behind during this Continental holiday. One she knew to be 
 her mother's pet candidate — none were especially glorified in 
 her own fancy. This business of being made love to was very 
 familiar to her, but had not been productive of much pleasure 
 for her. On the contrary, more annoyances than delights had 
 attended it so far, as it gave rise to a slightly strained feeling 
 sometimes between her mother and herself. The choice before 
 her had been, whether she should be a countess or a sister of 
 mercy ; and, though she was content to float joyously along 
 the stream of life when not pressed for an immediate decision, 
 the details attending the process of entering either walk of life 
 repelled her whenever she faced them at close quarters. To 
 marry a man of the plain middle class ! This was an entirely 
 new idea, and as she turned her face round to Merland at the 
 sound of her name, with that electric thrill in the tone of it, 
 and fixed her large eyes open wider than ever on her companion, 
 the idea was one that was altogether too puzzling to be dealt 
 with at once. She was only conscious vaguely that Merland 
 was somehow transfigured. She had never stopped to criticize 
 
OONTBASTED VISIONS. lOS 
 
 him in her mind before. She looked at him now as if for the 
 first time. She saw that a light flush had covered the upper 
 part of his face ; she was aware that he was handsomely made, 
 broad shouldered though sliglit ; that his eyes radiated a fire 
 that gave her a nervous thrill, and with parted lips in wonder 
 she could not but listen to what he had to say. 
 
 " Miss Yaughan, we have both chosen the same path in life. 
 Can we tread it together ] " As he spoke — slowly, though 
 with passion — he put his left hand under hers that had been 
 stretched out pointing to the village, and clasped it over with 
 his right She did not impulsively draw it away. "I am 
 putting my whole heart and life's happiness into the question. 
 I have never loved another woman and I never shall. I shall 
 worship you always whether it pleases you to give me ineffable 
 blessings or to decree that my life shall end, as far as all joy of 
 it for me will be concerned, here to-day." 
 
 She drew her hand slowly and gently away while he spoke, 
 though not as if in resentment, and held it, with closed fingers, 
 on her bosom. Merland went on, — 
 
 " I could not but speak — I love you so wildly, I have 
 thought of nothing else but that. I might not have dared to 
 speak to you in this way if it had not been for your thought of 
 giving up all worldly ambitions. And now 1 don't presume to 
 think that 1 can help you to lead the other sort of life ; but 
 since your choice seems just to bring the infinite glory of your 
 companionship within my reach, or to make it less of madjiess 
 than it would be otherwise for me to ask for this, I can't but 
 tell you that I am altogether yours to take or throw aside — like 
 this flower," he suddenly added, picking a bit of stephanotis 
 blossom that happened to be growing within reach. It seemed 
 to offer him a means of getting an answer from her that should 
 not require spoken words for the moment, and so be easier to 
 give, and he held the flower out bending before her, and longing 
 to kneel, but shrinking from any word or gesture that should 
 be flavoured with theatrical effect. 
 
 " You've taken me by surprise," she said " I ought to have 
 known, but I never thought — " 
 
 Her undecided attitude upset the young man's self-control 
 altogether. 
 
 " Lucy ! " he murmured, in a deeper voice than ever, " you 
 glory of the world, come what may, let me live with the thought 
 
104 KABMA. 
 
 of having kissed you." He embraced her as he spoke, and 
 passionately kissed her lips in an instant ; and then, dropping 
 on one knee by an impulse of adoration as strong as that which 
 had inspired the kiss, he held towards her the flower, still in 
 his left hand, and waited for her answer, looking up in her 
 face with a glow of devotion that no further words could have 
 heightened, — 
 
 "Lucyl" 
 
 It was another voice that spoke the word, not his, Mrs. 
 Vaughan's. An unkind fate will contrive these surprises some- 
 times. She had entered the conservatory with the Baron, not 
 in time to see the kiss but with the tableau full in view. She 
 had come innocent of all thought of espionage. She had simply 
 sought the first excuse that offered to claim the Baron's arm after 
 breakfast, and strolling about the battlements had come at the 
 critical moment into the conservatory — both she and her partner. 
 
 Merland rose to his feet — not hurriedly. In the spasm of 
 misery that crossed his feelings, as he realized the interruption, 
 he felt inclined to ignore even that, and get his answer in face 
 of aU the world. But this was an impulse that passed away as 
 it was formed. It merely operated to make him proudly defiant 
 of all pretence of concealment, and so rise deliberately and face 
 about, looking with gravity and head erect at the enemy— how 
 could he feel that she would be anything but that ? 
 
 Mrs. Vaughan was a lady of very finished tact and self- 
 possession. She made no impulsive remark beyond the sudden 
 utterance of her daughter's name. There was a pause of, 
 perhaps, ten seconds. Then she said, — 
 
 " I did not know you were here, Lucy, my dear ; but, since 
 you are, may I beg you to come with me a moment. I was 
 wanting to ask you a question." 
 
 Lucy, moving as in a dream, crossed the conservatory to her 
 mother's side and quietly followed her out on to the battle- 
 ments. The Baron remained behind. As Lucy vanished from 
 their sight a heavy weight, as of lead, settled down upon the 
 young man's heart, and the desperate need of getting his answer 
 rushed upon him as with sudden fury. He was already weigh- 
 ing in his mind the question whether he should dash out in 
 pursuit of mother and daughter together — when the Baron 
 spoke. In a grave, mellifluous voice, the mere sound of which 
 seemed strangely soothing, he said, — 
 
00NTEA8TBD VISIONS. 105 
 
 " Wise man never obtrude counsel, but kindly natures may, 
 it least, sometimes offer it to a brother." 
 
 Merland gazed at him for a few moments very respectfully, 
 but not knowing what reply to make. Then, in a grating voice, 
 he simply said, — 
 
 " She had not had time to answer." 
 
 " She will have time," said the Baron ; " sit down." There 
 were two or three light iron chairs about, one of them a low- 
 folding, easy chair, to which the Baron motioned Merland. " If 
 she comes back I wiU leave you. For the moment you can only 
 wait." 
 
 ** What a tormenting interruption t " 
 
 "Most exasperating for you." The Baron was gravely 
 sympathetic. To third persons, sometimes, there is a flavour of 
 comicality in a situation like that in which Merland had been 
 surprised, but no trace of amusement in the Baron's manner 
 betrayed the smallest indication on his part to treat the young 
 man's embarassment with levity. Both remained silent for a 
 little while. 
 
 ** If I only knew what to do next," Merland said at last. 
 
 " To do nothing is often the hardest trial of all, but that may 
 be the very essence of patience, which is a form of wisdom 
 sometimes. But I will not try to soothe you with platitudes, 
 only with sympathy in your present acute, though I hope but 
 temporary, distress." 
 
 " I would have bowed to her decision without murmuring, 
 whatever it had been, but it is hard that a third person should 
 intervene. I can't be submissive to an answer constrained or 
 tampered with." 
 
 The young man leaned his head back with knitted brows against 
 the high back of the chair, and closed his eyes. The Baron 
 slightly smiled for the first time, a kindly gentle smile, with no 
 touch of satire or scorn in it, and leaning forward towards Mer- 
 land waved his right hand slowly across his face. The young 
 man was unconscious of the movement, his eyes remaining 
 closed. He had leaned back in the chair with the feeling of 
 seeking in intense and concentrated thought for light in his 
 dilemma ; and with a sense of embittered resentment against 
 Mrs. Vaucrhan, whose influence with her daughter, he in- 
 stinctively realized, would not be on his side. But across the 
 storm of anxiety on this point in Ids mind there came up so 
 
106 KAEMA. 
 
 vividly, as he shut out the sight of outer objects, a sense of the 
 intoxicating loveliness of the beautiful creature to whom he had 
 just declared his passion, that the weight at his heart seemed 
 stirred and changed to a yearning that was mingled with delight. 
 He merged his whole being, as it were, in that emotion. He was 
 dimly aware of intentionally remaining quite still lest movement 
 should disturb this mental contemplation, and then all conscious 
 effort to retain his thoughts so fixed, was lost in the feeling 
 of intense emotion that gathered and gathered at his heart; 
 and then, suddenly bursting as it were through some invisible 
 barrier in his way, he had the vivid sense of waking into 
 consciousness. 
 
 It was near the river he was standing, and yet not at any 
 familiar place, on a little platform, as it were, of grass and 
 flowers, with some rocks close by. From behind these came a 
 path, along which he somehow knew that a figure had ap- 
 proached, who now was engaged in conversation with him ; 
 though he was too much dazed by the suddenness of the change 
 to think connectedly or remember what was said. The man 
 talking to him was dressed in long white robes ; his face was 
 dark in colour, as if of a Spanish complexion ; a short crisp 
 beard and moustache ornamented without concealing the chin 
 and mouth ; all the features were strangely perfect in shape and 
 outline ; the eyes very large and expressive ; the brown-black 
 hair turned back from the forehead in very heavy masses, and 
 surmounted by a soft easily-fitting woollen cap edged with 
 brown fur. The general look of the face denoted a benevolent 
 sadness. 
 
 " Yes," the dignified stranger said, as if answering some ques- 
 tion of his own, the exact wording of which he did not remember, 
 "you are out of the body." 
 
 " Out of the body," Merland repeated, vaguely ; not as in any 
 doubt of the assurance, but, as it were, confirming the fact to 
 himself. 
 
 " It is better on that mountain top," said the stranger, pointing 
 across the river to a wooded hill at a little distance. " Let us 
 go, Eeach towards it with me.** 
 
 And Merland realized that his guardian was already on in 
 advance of him ; that the platform of grass and the river were 
 far below them ; that he was floating in space, at a great height, 
 and yet in perfect security. In another moment they were 
 
OONTEASTBD VISIONS. 107 
 
 standing together at the place that had been indicated — in the 
 midst of pine- woods at the top of a hill. 
 
 He could not afterwards remember the conversation that 
 passed here. He only remembered the feeling with which he 
 stood beside the guardian figure among the trees — a feeling of 
 no heat or cold, of no wind or hard ground beneath his feet — 
 but of being wrapped or bathed in a strange unfamiliar sensation 
 that was unutterably pleasurable, and yet quite unlike the ex- 
 plicit pleasure of any definite sense. This sensation was mingled 
 with a feeling of intensely afiectionate reverence for the com- 
 panion by his side. He was unaware of time passing ; it never 
 struck him that it was necessary for him to say anything to 
 express his thoughts. He stood under the trees, and felt the 
 emotions described, gazing at the wonderful face before him. 
 At last the figure said, — 
 
 " I must go now." 
 
 Merland remembered putting out his hand and aaying 
 earnestly, — 
 
 " I thank you very deeply for having come." 
 
 The guardian figure smiled kindly, without taking Merland's 
 hand. 
 
 " I must not ; but I wish you well. I wish you very well — 
 good-bye." 
 
 He passed through the trees for a few steps, and then, just 
 before disappearing among them, turned to wave his hand in a 
 friendly sign of parting. As he was then concealed from view 
 the vision was altogether clouded. Merland had no definite 
 recollection of how he left the mountain top. He only felt him- 
 self falling from a height — though not with any sense of peril 
 in the fall —swooping downward, rather as a bird might swoop, 
 and then — he started up, broad awake, in the low chair in the 
 conservatory. The Baron had gone, and he was alone. 
 
 The new sensation he had just passed through left their 
 traces upon his waking consciousness so strongly, that, as he 
 came to himself, perceiving that he had just waked up from a 
 sleep, his first feeling was one of .acute disappointment at the 
 notion that what he had just experienced was only a dream. 
 But reflection qualified that idea, as he gathered his wits fully 
 about him. The passionate anxiety of his position in respect to 
 Lucy Vaughan quickly reasserted itself. The notion that he 
 liad fallen asle^ip in tha ordinary way, in the midst of the tearing 
 
108 KATtMA. 
 
 emotions he had been going through that morning, was absurd. 
 How long had he been in the conservatory ? Looking at his 
 watch he was bewildered to find that several hours had passed. 
 It was the late afternoon. He started up with a sudden anxiety 
 to know had he in some way lost Lucy during this strange 
 trance. Could she have been back to the conservatory, possibly 
 while he had been sleeping 1 Or had he missed some chance 
 he might have had of getting to speak with her again if he had 
 been more on the alert 1 He hurried to the door. There he 
 met the boy, Reginald Hexton, who held out to him a note. It 
 was in the Baron's handwriting, though without address or 
 signature — a mere folded scrap of paper. 
 
 "Trust one," it said, "who also wishes you well — who wishes 
 you very well — that it is better for you both, in any event, that 
 the young lady should have gone away for the present without 
 your seeing her again. She and her mother have left the 
 castle." 
 
 " They've gone 1 *' Merland said in dismay, and partly 
 questioning Reginald. 
 
 " Do you mean the Vaughans 1 They went an hour ago." 
 
 Merland went back into the conservatory and again sat down 
 to think. The contents of the note before him gave him, for 
 that matter, still new subject for thought. The Baron used the 
 identical phrase about wishing him well — wishing him very 
 well — that had been uttered by the wonderful figure of his 
 vision. If anything had been needed, beyond his own inner 
 conviction, to assure him that this had been a reality, here was — 
 if not a proof, at all events a strong suggestion to that efl'ect. 
 But the glory, even of the vision, was eclipsed for the time by 
 the agony of knowing that she was gone. Was that miserable 
 catastrophe the end of his dream 1 " Oh, Lucy, Lucy ! " If he 
 did break down, to some extent, at all events the young man 
 was alone, and he had just learned that there is no more 
 poignant mental suffering endurable by human creatures in this 
 imprisoned existence of the flesh, than the vain, vain longing, 
 the passionate yearning, for a lost and irrecoverable love. 
 
A QUIET EVENING. 109 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ▲ QUIBT EVBNINO. 
 
 Thb Professor had now clearly come to the conclusion that the 
 phenomena subject to the observation of the party at Heiligen- 
 fels were worthy of systematic record, and of presentation in 
 some shape or other to the world. Blane was equally of 
 opinion that this should be done, but somewhat less hopeful 
 concerning the likelihood that any statements they were in a 
 position to make, would command any more respectful attention 
 than had been given to a great variety of previous writings on 
 similar subjects which had been practically still-born. 
 
 " The way these things are put has a great deal to do," the 
 Professor urged, " with the way they are accepted. There have 
 not been many narratives of abnormal experience that have been 
 guaranteed by the weight of so much good evidence in corrobo- 
 ration of them as we shall be able to bring forward." 
 
 " As far," Blane pointed out, " as that transaction with the 
 Baron in the library was concerned, we have only your story 
 and mine. Popular incredulity is quite robust enough to reject 
 these as insufficient to establish so stupendous a fact as that 
 disclosed." 
 
 " My dear fellow, I don't regard that incident by itself as 
 constituting our case. That is merely the prima facie case 
 which determines us to investigate." 
 
 The Professor's programme, he went on to explain, was to 
 organize two or three striking and crucial experiments showing 
 that the volition of a man was capable of throwing off a force 
 productive of physical effects at a distance. An immense revo- 
 lution in scientific thought ought, he conceived, to attend the 
 discovery and demonstration of this fact, which for him and 
 Blane, after what they had seen, could not but be regarded as a 
 fact, though it was still one of which they had no glimmering 
 of an explanation. Then it would remain to be seen whether 
 the Baron would not agree to the disclosure, of some part at all 
 events, of the law at work, so that they might be enabled to 
 present their discovery to the world in a way which would 
 conciliate a scientific audience. 
 
110 KAEMA. 
 
 " It is no use to have something to tell," said the Professor ; 
 " you must have something to show, to secure the kind of 
 interest I should like to secure — something, however slight, 
 that can be reproduced as an experiment as often as we 
 please." 
 
 Suggested to the Baron, however, this last feature in the plan 
 met with very little encouragement. 
 
 "It is not within the scope of my instructions, as yon would 
 put it in official English," he said, " and it is no use arguing the 
 matter with me. You may be right, or you may be overlooking 
 some consequences that would ensue in the long ran from the 
 course you propose, and involve more harm than good. What 
 I can do, I need hardly say I will do, because it is by my desire 
 and suggestion that we are all assembled here to talk over these 
 things. But I shall merely at present be able to demonstrate 
 for you, and not to explain." 
 
 " Even that will be interesting, deeply interesting, my dear 
 Baron. Don't suppose I undervalue your demonstration ; but 
 in the matter of advancing human knowledge the demonstration 
 alone will never be held — outside the limits of our own circle 
 — to be conclusive as regards the fact. No matter what pre- 
 cautions we take some ingenious donkey will come after us and 
 suggest that we have not definitely recorded that our eyes were 
 open at the time of the occurrence — or that we did not begin 
 by getting medical certificates of our sanity." 
 
 " No doubt ; but at least I have enabled you to fortify your 
 own evidence by that of several others. You are not alone at 
 the castle." 
 
 In this way it came to be arranged that the Baron should 
 again perform an experiment analogous to that by means of 
 which he had broken the pane of glass in the library window, 
 and also do something to produce, within narrow limits, sus- 
 ceptible of exact observation, some physical effects of a more 
 enduring kind than those associated with a simple display of 
 force. The general ideas of the experiments were left to Blane 
 and the Professor to arrange. 
 
 Blane proposed to ask Annerly to join this preliminary 
 conference. Neither he nor the Professor were aware of the 
 nature of the conversations that had already passed between 
 Annerly and the Baron ; but Blane had developed a very kindly 
 feeling for his new acquaintance, and was disposed to bring him 
 
A QUIET EVENING. Ill 
 
 into confidential relationship, in this matter, with the intereirt- 
 ing investigation in hand. 
 
 ** I haven't a word to say against Annerly," said the Pro- 
 fessor ; but no help is wanted in arranging the programme of 
 our operations." 
 
 " An extra head may save us from some oversight," Blane 
 suggested ; but the matter was dropped for the moment. 
 
 However, Mrs. Lakesby happened to come on the scene just 
 then — they were talking in the afternoon of the day on which 
 the incidents last recounted had taken place, and were out on 
 the terrace alone, the Baron having gone in. The Professor 
 was always ready to give a gallant turn to any situation, so he 
 put a new construction on Blane's last words. 
 
 *'Very well then; if an extra head is wanted here is on© 
 that I am sure is able to furnish sound counsel in all emer- 
 gencies, on Mrs. Lakesby's shoulders." 
 
 " Mrs. Lakesby," replied that lady, " knows her place, as the 
 servants say, too well to give advice to Professor Massilton. 
 But if you would care to know what I saw as I came towards 
 you that may be the answer to something." 
 
 " How do you mean what you saw 1 " 
 
 " I'm always getting flashes of that sort — impressions — it is 
 difficult to describe them ; pictures in the astral light some 
 people call them. They show things that have happened some- 
 times connected with the people who bring them up, or things 
 that are going to happen sometimes." 
 
 " That mystery," said Blane, " about the prediction of events, 
 leads us straight up to some exasperating metaphysical ques- 
 tions." 
 
 " But for the present let us keep to the facts," said the Pro- 
 fessor. " You say, Mrs. Lakesby, that you saw some picture 
 of this sort as you came up to us. What was it ? " 
 
 *' I saw you two, and several other people — I can't tell you 
 exactly who — in a wood, and sometiiing exciting was going on, 
 though I can't precisely say what." 
 
 *' In a wood ? " repeated the Professor, thoughtfully ; " there 
 is an idea in that at any rate. It might be better to arrange 
 the experiment out of doors rather than in the house. What 
 do you think ? " turning to Blane. " It might leave less room 
 for objections afterwards." 
 
 The point under consideration was then explained to Mrs. 
 
112 KARMA. 
 
 Lakesby, and she gave a confident opinion that they would 
 arrange their experiment out of doors, according to the impres- 
 sion she obtained. 
 
 " But the question is not to be taken out of our hands by any 
 fixed destiny," said the Professor ; we will do just what we 
 think right and fitting and best to do. We don't yet know, 
 and nobody can yet know, what plan we shall settle on." 
 
 "I'm sure you'll settle on some plan with a wood in it," 
 said Mrs. Lakesby. 
 
 The Professor protested against prejudging the question that 
 way, but the more they talked the matter over, the more reason- 
 able it seemed to have the principal experiment out of doors, 
 so that no suspicion could, at any time, attach to the room in 
 which it might otherwise take place. The conversation natu- 
 rally brought them back, more than once, to Mrs. Lakesby's 
 clairvoyant impressions about people. 
 
 ** Have you had any other impressions since you have been 
 here 1 " the Professor asked — " of the kind like that just men- 
 tioned t * 
 
 "Why, of course I have," said Mrs. Lakesby. "I am 
 always seeing something or other or some spirit or other about 
 people. It keeps me amused when nothing else is going on." 
 
 " Keeps you amused ! How can you treat such an extra- 
 ordinary condition of things so lightly 1 " 
 
 "What is there in it to go into hysterics about t Ifs all 
 just as natural to me as the trees and flowers." 
 
 " But, for the sake of others, to advance knowledge, you 
 ought to detail and record your impressions, and check them by 
 discussing them with the persons concerned." 
 
 " And get myself shut up in a lunatic asylum before I was a 
 year older. I chatter a good deal too much as it is I think, 
 though I never do more than answer questions, and only half 
 of them. I haven't gone through life till I'm a middle-aged 
 widow without learning a few lessons, Professor Massilton" 
 
 " On the contrary, you are still too young and giddy to know 
 better," replied the Professor, patting Mrs Lakesby's shoulder, 
 in his easy, fatherly manner. When you grow older you will 
 get more serious. But now, will you kindly let me know if 
 you have over seen anything in connection with myself ? " 
 
 " Don't expect me to tell tales out of school If I chance 
 to see more of my friends' private affairs this way than I have 
 
A QUIET EVENING. 113 
 
 any business to know about, I am, at least, discreet enough to 
 hold my tongue." 
 
 " But this is too tantalising to be home ! "What have you 
 seen about my private affairs ? " 
 
 " I'll toll you some day if you want to know ; when we 
 are quite alone.'* 
 
 Blane instantly begged pardon for being de irqpf and was 
 moving off. 
 
 *• Don't go far away, old fellow. I'll get my crimes re- 
 vealed to me in a few minutes, and then you can come back. 
 Now what have you found out about me 1 Pray tell me, Mrs. 
 Lakesbyl" 
 
 " I never try to find out anything about people. You don't 
 know how dishonourable I think that would be. It would be 
 taking a mean advantage." 
 
 " But you have seen something without trying to find out. 
 You really will oblige me immensely by telling me what it is." 
 
 " Well, I've seen a woman about you sometimes. Not a 
 spirit — nobody who's dead ; somebody that your thought calls 
 up the picture of, I suppose." 
 
 " That doesn't sound alarming." 
 
 " I did not say it was. She's a young woman, and handsome; 
 tall, with broad brow, and brown hair rippled on each side; 
 large dark eyes, and I seem to see her in a kind of dark-blu% 
 silk dress." 
 
 The Professor looked more serious a little. Speaking slowly 
 and reflectively he said, — 
 
 "Yes, that might be some one I know. The description 
 certainly tallies." 
 
 " She doesn't look at you as if she was grateful to you for 
 anything," Mrs. Lakesby added, with an upward glance in the 
 Professor^s face. " She looks rather reproachful." 
 
 The Professor said nothing in reply to this at first, then with 
 some hesitation, — 
 
 " That is strange. Has she said anything 1 " 
 
 ** I tell you she is not a spirit that can talk to me. She is 
 merely a picture drawn out of your mind ; but I have got an 
 impression about her name." 
 
 "What then?" 
 
 " I should think it was Miriam. There now/' as the Pro- 
 feseor yisibly started, and changed colour. " Am I right to try 
 
114 KABMA. 
 
 not to find out about people's private aflFaire P I tell you, I try 
 to avoid doinjT so." 
 
 " It certainly is startling. I do not conceive that I have 
 anything to reproach myself with — not seriously, in regard to 
 the lady you mention — I may have acted foolishly — " 
 
 "Well, don't confess yourself to me," said Mrs. Lakesby, 
 " I'm merely answering your questions ; and yet there is one 
 thing that puzzles me, and I should like to know about. But 
 no — I'll stick to my rule. It's no business of mine, and I won't 
 have it." 
 
 " But can you tell me more t You interest me intensely on 
 all grounds. As a psychological problem the thing is most 
 remarkable. Where is the lady now 1 Can you tell me that?" 
 " I don't know. I haven't any impression in the matter." 
 ** Can you find out 1 " 
 
 ** Perhaps. I'm not sure. If you've got a piece of her hail 
 I suppose I could, unless too many people have been fingering it.* 
 ** I haven't here at any rate. But, Mrs. Lakesby — though, 
 as I told you, my conscience is quite clear in this matter — I do 
 not pretend to deny that I would rather not have this example 
 of your powers generaUy discussed — " 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby laughed. "Don't be alarmed. I said that 
 I've learned some lessons, and I try not to make mischief. I'm 
 not sure if I've been wise to mention the matter at all, even to 
 you." 
 
 Blane was called back after this, and the Professor said 
 that Mrs. Lakesby had, by reference to some private afi'airs of 
 his own, given him a very striking proof of her clairvoyant 
 insight. Then the matter was put aside. 
 
 The hurried departure of the Vaughans was greatly deplored 
 by the other guests that evening, but explained by Mrs. Miller 
 in perfect good faith, as owing to letters which had recalled 
 Mrs. Vaughan to London on urgent family business. Merland 
 was an absentee from the dinner-table on pretence of indispo- 
 sition, and no fresh incidents took place in reference to 
 psychic investigation. After dinner Miss Blane sang a little, 
 Annerly as usual playing her accompaniments. Whist occu- 
 pied some of the others ; the Professor, even, contrary to his 
 usual inclination, joining the rubber, as if moved by a desire to 
 show attention to his wife. Mrs. Miller was reading, and the 
 Baron slipped away. Mrs. Lakesby and Blane were talking on 
 
A QUIET EVENING. 115 
 
 a distant sofa, and the musicians gradually drifted into deep 
 discussions of their art, illustrated by bits of sonatas and fugues 
 that came forth from under Annerly's fingers. With their 
 common musical tastes as a link, and the pleasant conditions of 
 the castle-party to provide people inclined to be together with 
 abundant opportunities, Annerly and Miss Blane had been a 
 good deal drawn together during the past week. Nothing was 
 further from Annerly's imaginings in connection with this inti- 
 macy than any thought of ingratiating himself specially with 
 the girl. He had not only no confidence in his own ability to 
 please women, but an exaggerated and nervous conviction that 
 this must always be impossible for him. He would, moreover, 
 for reasons connected with the views of life he was now 
 forming under the Baron's influence, have been peculiarly 
 reluctant to run the risk of reviving in his own nature emo- 
 tions of the sort that had already cost him so much ; so his 
 intercourse with Miss Blane had been of the most guileless 
 and straightforward kind. But he had insensibly grown inti- 
 mate with her; she was attractive and sympathetic, and he 
 was, perhaps, more indebted to her than he was altogether 
 aware of, for a general sense of relief he had experienced of 
 late from smouldering remedies of a painful flavour. She 
 began to tell him something this evening, in the pauses of their 
 playing, about her family. 
 
 " Willy and I are alone in the world, exceept for cousins, of 
 which we have great crowds. My grandfather's was a large 
 family — a great many girls who married about all over the 
 country, and we generally cruise amongst their houses in the 
 autumn, but Willy made everything give way to this visit. 
 My mother died when I was quite little — you may have 
 heard — and my father three or four years ago. It would have 
 been sad indeed for me if it had not been for Willy, but he 
 makes up for a great deal. I don't think anybody else in the 
 world is so good as he is — so unselfish, and so sweet-tempered, 
 and so good to me." 
 
 " I can see that he is all that — a beautiful nature I most fully 
 recognize — though in that matter of being good to you I dare say 
 virtue is its own reward." 
 
 " Ah well ! brothers generally find sisters more trouble than 
 they're worth on the whole. Perhaps you haven't got aziy 
 siaters to judge by 1 " 
 
 I 3 
 
116 KAEMA. 
 
 Annerly was flo little prone to speaking about himself that 
 Miss Blane had no exact knowledge of his family circumstances, 
 though they had been gossiping so much together. At the 
 implied question Annerly's brow darkened a little. 
 
 " I've been living away from my family since my boyhood. 
 I have a sister, but she is married, older than myself, and I 
 rarely see her." 
 
 As an inner consciousness of the very different stations in 
 life, of the girl he was talking to and the sister of whom he 
 spoke, surged up in his mind, the irritating sense that so often 
 possessed him, of being a sort of impostor in the society he was 
 now living with, asserted itself very strongly. 
 
 ** I don't properly belong to your world, Miss Blane," he 
 said ; " my people are in a very humble way of life. My friend 
 Merland has dragged me into society, where I have no business 
 to be." 
 
 " What an idea ! Why, you are a distinguished man. Any- 
 body must be proud to have you for a guest." 
 
 " If you knew what mockery that sounds — though I know 
 you mean it kindly. The world of letters is Bohemian enough 
 to welcome any man who can claim its attention in any way, 
 but that does not apply to the world of fashion to which you 
 belong." 
 
 " How Willy would writhe at the thought Ask him if he 
 considers himself a man of fashion." 
 
 "Well, it does not matter; but in the rare cases when I 
 happen to grow in the least degree intimate with people above 
 me in station, I shrink from feeling an impostor, and so am 
 driven to speak of myself, though to do that is almost as dis- 
 agreeable. Pray let us talk of something else." 
 
 A proposal to "talk of something else" is not often the surest 
 way of changing the subject. Miss Blane was silent for a little 
 while, Annerly's fingers straying over the keys, and then she said, — 
 
 '* I think it would be better that you should talk about your- 
 self till you do not find it painful any more. It's only a morbid 
 fancy you have got." 
 
 " There is no aspect in which the subject can be ©therwise 
 than repulsive-" 
 
 " Hundreds of people you never see find no ifubject more 
 interesting — when they talk about your books, which if cme 
 aspect of you lurely." 
 
AN BXOITING NIGHT. 117 
 
 ** Reflections of my mind do not constitute my personality — 
 or even an aspect of it. I'm a creature under a curse, which 
 anybody can see for himself.'* 
 
 " What extravagant nonsense you are talking ! " 
 
 " — and I'm likely to feel the curse least heavily the less 
 I obtrude myself on my fellow-creatures." 
 
 " 1 think you have been brooding over some fancies of your 
 own, ^Ir. Annerly, till you have got into a very unhealthy and 
 nervous state of mind. Who was it — some great wit who 
 prided himself on being ugly — who said he only wanted ten 
 minutes' start of the handsomest man living when he was 
 talking to a woman ? " 
 
 •* Marian, dear," said Mrs. Miller from her arm-chair — 
 suddenly desirous of proving to the public generally that she 
 was not asleep, " do sing something more. That was very 
 sweet, the last thing." 
 
 " The last thing was a fugue of Bach's, and I didn't sing it. 
 Mr. Annerly played it." 
 
 The interruption, however, changed the subject at last, and 
 their conversation did not fall back into the previous groove. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AN EXCITINO NIGHT. 
 
 When a separation for the night took place, Annerly went to 
 Meriand's room to see how he was getting on, unsuspicious so 
 far of any extraordinary incidents afl'ecting him. He found 
 Merland sitting idle in an arm-chair, without books or papers 
 in his hand, and something in his dejected attitude struck 
 Annerly at once. 
 
 " HaUoa, old man 1 Aren't you feeling any better ? " 
 ** You don't know what the matter is, Gfeordie. Sit down 
 and I'll tell you. I'm half crazy." 
 
 . The story took some time to tell, in a jerky disjointed way, 
 mingled with explanations of the beautiful programme Merland 
 had constructed in his own mind in reference to the continued 
 
118 KABMA. 
 
 study of the higher occultism with the glorious life-long com- 
 panionsbip of Miss Vaughan to gild and glorify the undertaking. 
 Annerly was deeply disturbed at what he heard. 
 
 " My dear fellow, I am more distressed than I can tell you. 
 Either way you must meet with disappointment If you 
 marry ^liss Vaughan — " 
 
 " Oh, marry Miss Vaughan. I tell you I'm a ridiculous 
 lunatic. She's miles above my reach. I had an instinctive 
 dread of that all the while, but I was too much dazzled to think 
 rationally. Now that her mother has swept her off this way in 
 horror and dismay at the bare idea of my presumption, I can 
 see how it is." 
 
 *' There I don't follow you. You're a gentleman and well 
 enough off to make a home for any girl who cared for 
 you—" 
 
 " With a girl of that sort it is not a question of a home. I 
 can see that now— I have thought it all out. It's sure to be 
 rank and some great position her friends want for her. I 
 haven't a chance of her ; and yet it may be the intensity of my 
 own feelings that blinded me, but I can't help thinking I should 
 have had a chance of her if there had been only herself to deal 
 with. She did not say * No,' and she had had time to say that 
 much if she had meant to — unless, indeed, she was just simply 
 too much paralyzed by my audacity to speak." 
 
 " But, my dear Claude, that is not what I am wanting to 
 discuss. The important point is that you have altogether mis- 
 conceived the kind of effort which would be calculated to win 
 you the real crown of occult knowledge, if you have supposed 
 that you could play fast and loose with the thing in this way. 
 I am greatly to blame, I fear, for not having made the position 
 clearer to you at first, but you have never shown any inclination 
 to fall in love this way. It did not occur to me that you would 
 do that. You can't outstrip your natural development and 
 make yourself a true mystic, with the wonderful faculties and 
 knowledge we see the Baron to possess, without giving youiv 
 self up to that effort altogether. If you get married and go 
 in for that sort of life you cut yourself off altogether from the 
 other." 
 
 Merland gazed at him with knitted brows. , 
 
 " But why should that be with such a marriage as I was 
 dreaming of. The dream is pretty effectually over for that 
 
AN EXCITING NIGHT, 119 
 
 matter, but she would have had no taste for a common-place 
 
 worldly career of pleasure. She was just as keen upon the 
 whole subject as I am. If what I thought of had been possible 
 we should have helped one another." 
 
 " My dear fellow, the notion is altogether wild — I do assure 
 you. I have learned enough to know that much. The pursuit 
 of occult wisdom is only to be undertaken by a man who, to 
 begin with, makes a total renunciation of every sort of happiness 
 in this life. You might dabble at the very edge of the sea — 
 with a wife to share your amusement, but you could never 
 launch out into deep water if you had somebody else to hold 
 up. But the metaphor is incomplete. Look at what you are 
 aiming at — if you take up the occult life seriously. You are 
 trying to secure a spiritual triumph, stupendously greater than 
 any which naturally belongs to an ordinary good life. An 
 absolutely single-minded devotion to that one idea is a sine qua 
 non. Happiness along the ordinary channels of happiness in 
 this life woidd necessarily be fatal to your progress. The links 
 which would bind you to a happy life on the physical plane 
 would be just those which would most certainly hold you back 
 from any upward mounting on the other plane. To renounce 
 all thought of woman's love is absolutely the first step to take 
 on the path you talked of treading, and that I mean to tread if 
 I can, easy for me, perhaps you will say, to renounce what I 
 could never dream of attaining, — but with you the case ia 
 different, very different indeed as I see now." 
 
 " I haven't told you all that occurred to me to-day," Merland 
 said, after a pause. " I've been so upset by what I have told 
 you about, that the other thing has dwelt less in my thoughts 
 than it would hare done otherwise." And then he described 
 the vision he had had, while unconscious of other surroundings, 
 in the conservatory. 
 
 Annerly was deeply affected by this. 
 
 " I tell you you've been privileged indeed, Merland, to have 
 had this experience and at such a critical moment too." 
 
 " Ordinary people if I told them would simply say I had 
 fallen asleep and had been dreaming. But I know the difference 
 between what I went through and the most vivid dream I ever 
 had in my life. Besides, it would be absurd to talk of my 
 falling asleep at such a time." 
 
 ** Of course it would be. The Baron's presence alone would 
 
120 KAEMA. 
 
 aettle the question, moreover. He threw you of course into a 
 mesmeric trance in which you had this wonderful experience. 
 I wonder who it was you saw when you were out of the body 1 
 The Baron would tell you, perhaps. But the point of the whole 
 thing is in the manifest meaning of the vision. My dear Claude, 
 its meaning was that you should see your two roads before you. 
 There lies the choice — which will you foUow : woi Idly happiness 
 with Miss Yaughan and an ordinary life ending in the manifold 
 perils of nature that I do not pretend yet fully to realize, or the 
 sublime attainment of that higher spiritual life of which you 
 had a brief glimpse 1 Still less do I realize all that it means, 
 but I realize enough to feel its immeasurable superiority to any 
 other sort possible for mortal man." 
 Merland sat silent for a time. 
 
 " I see the force of what you say," he declared at last. 
 "But I only feel the collapse of my hopes about Miss 
 Yaughan." 
 
 "Claude, there is no man living, I think, who can better 
 understand such feelings than I. In a very different way I 
 have known what that sort of collapse means, but I can say 
 truly now that I would not restore my own happiness in this 
 life even if I could. It is not happiness I am in pursuit of, 
 but a sublime sort of exaltation, that a man would be base not 
 to choose in preference to happiness, it seems to me." 
 
 Their talk went on for some time longer in a vague and 
 desultory way, when they finally separated. Annerly discovered 
 much food for reflection, in its bearings on his own position, in 
 what had passed. He found himself more affected than he had 
 realized at the time by the few significant words Miss Blane 
 had spoken at the piano. He was far indeed from the vanity 
 of supposing that he had made an impression on her which 
 would be likely to pave the way for more intimate relations if 
 he followed it up ; but still, in embracing, as he had, the pro- 
 spect of a life to be altogether devoted to spiritual enlightenment, 
 how far had he been acting under the sting of the great dis- 
 appointment he had felt so keenly 1 Supposing an ordinarily 
 happy life should present itself to him as a possibility, say by 
 reason of an attachment between such a girl as Miss Blane and 
 himself, would he unhesitatingly make the choice he had been 
 so earnestly prescribing to Merland 1 The talk with Merland 
 had stirred old emotions that had long been under repression ; 
 
AN EXCITING NIGHT. 121 
 
 and the sight of Merland's inability to feel the exhilaration of 
 the vision he had been favoured with, in presence of his over- 
 mastering passion, set him wondering how far he himself would 
 be steadfast in adhering to the path in life he had resolved to 
 tread, if he should again be put in the way of a similar tempta- 
 tion. Was human nature so weak that the prospect of rising 
 above the limitations of its normal existence, and of anticipating 
 by ages the slow advancement to a higher sort of life — which 
 he had recently learned to recognize as the natural process of 
 human evolution, was only attractive as a pis aller for men who 
 failed to accomplish the usual destiny of their kind, and to 
 make brief heavens on earth for themselves, suited to the 
 transitory lives they spent there 1 He got so indignant with 
 himself on the strength of the suspicions he directed against 
 the trustworthiness of his own resolution, that he envied Merland 
 the opportunity he had acquired of making a sensational renun- 
 ciation of woman's love, with the cup almost at his lips, in 
 favour of a systematic pursuit of spiritual development. 
 
 The resolution to merge all other aspirations in an effort to 
 penetrate occult mysteries had grown up in Annerly's mind by 
 degrees, but had not been set forth at any stage of its growth 
 in formal or explicit language. It occurred to him now that the 
 Baron had never, during any of their conversations, suggested 
 or recommended the adoption of any such formal resolution on 
 his part, but that it might be a good thing to cross a Rubicon 
 in the matter, as it were, even though the boundary between 
 the old life and the new, should only be drawn in his own 
 imagination, and the pledge he would take only be guarded by 
 his own inner consciousness. The notion that Merland would 
 now be drawn back into the routine of a commonplace existence 
 by the Circean charms of a girl, made him angry and indignant 
 the more he brooded over it. The incident should, at all events, 
 be a warning to himself. He would then and there put up 
 between himself and the possibility of any similar weakness so 
 much of a barrier as a resolution or vow very formally recorded 
 could establish. 
 
 He sat down to his writing-table, to put his mental deter- 
 Qiination very definitely on paper. 
 
 "Come up-stairs." 
 
 " WLat]" 
 
 He spoke the last word aloud, bo startldd w«e he by — not th« 
 
122 KABMA. 
 
 sound of the others, for he was alone in his room ; and In utter- 
 ing his own word " what " he realized, by the dillerence of its 
 effect upon his ear, that the other words had not been uttered 
 aloud. But where had he got them from 1 They came across 
 the field of his imagination, engaged with the thoughts just 
 described, with an intensity that made them feel quite unlike a 
 thought of his own. What did the impression mean 1 Was it 
 really from an external source — itself a manifestation of the 
 strange powers in the midst of which they were all living at 
 Heiligenfels 1 Upstairs could only mean the Baron's rooms in 
 the turret above. Had the Baron been calling him by some 
 occult agency 'i The experience had not come to him before. 
 The inclination to go up and see, began to assert itself very 
 strongly — and yet, how absurd and unruly of him to disturb 
 the Baron if there should turn out to be no ground for the im- 
 pression he had felt. The Baron had left the drawing-room 
 very early that evening, and had not been seen again. He 
 might have been tired, and have gone to bed hours ago. 
 Annerly almost vanquished his inclination to explore the 
 mystery under the influence of common-sense and reluctance to 
 make a fool of himself ; but then came the reflection that he 
 might after all be making a greater fool of himself if he 
 neglected a summons of an abnoiruil kind, behind which there 
 possibly lay revelations of interest. He wavered for some 
 minutes and then felt that at all risks he must ascertain 
 whether the call he had heard had been an empty fancy or 
 reality. 
 
 It was past one o'clock, and he looked about as he came out 
 into the corridor, shading a candle with his hand, vaguely won- 
 dering if any strange phantoms wandering about the castle at 
 that hour might be found to have something to do with the 
 impulse that drew him out of his room. 
 
 Everything was quiet, and the turret-stairs quite dark. He 
 went slowly up, looking cautiously about, and came to the 
 narrow landing at the top. There was only one door here, that 
 of the outer room of the two the Baron occupied, and this was 
 shut. He could see no light beneath it and hear no sound. 
 Was he making a fool of himself 1 and ought he not to go back 1 
 To knock and disturb his host at that time of night, all for 
 nothing but to ofter a ridiculous explanation, would be a course 
 of action he would feel ashamed of, and he waited, listening 
 
AN BXOITING NIGHT. 123 
 
 Bttfutively. No sound from within. He still wavered as to 
 
 whether he should not go quietly back again ; but, following 
 finally to the end the impulse that had made him come, he 
 knocked with his knuckles at the door. 
 
 " Come in," said the Baron, in the most natural and matter- 
 of-course tone, and Annerly opened the door. Stepping on to 
 the threshold with an excited, ghost-hunting expression on his 
 face, and holding his candle at some distance in front of him, 
 he found his host standing with his back to the writing-table, 
 leaning against its edge, wearing a loose, brown velvet jacket, 
 that he had substituted for his evening coat, but otherwise still 
 dressed as he had been downstairs. A shaded lamp on the 
 table and a good deal of written paper showed how he had been 
 spending his evening, but at the moment Annerly entered he 
 was doing nothing, facing the door with his hands in his pockets. 
 His first words relieved Annerly from the necessity of giving 
 awkward explanations of his appearance. 
 
 " Well done, my friend ! Common sense is a splendid thing 
 — in its place — but sometimes confidence in intuition is better." 
 
 " Then it was you who called to me 1 But how did you do it 1" 
 
 The Baron smiled pleasantly. 
 
 " Anyhow, I don't seem surprised to see you, do 1 1 And, 
 since you are here, I have the opportunity of saying some things 
 which it just occuned to me I should like to say to you." 
 
 Annerly had come in and closed the door, and put down his 
 candle. 
 
 " My acts to-morrow," the Baron went on, ** are likely to 
 seem to you somewhat at variance with language I have used 
 in talking with you." 
 
 " In that case," replied Annerly, " I should trust the language 
 you have used to me, and leave the acts to interpret themselves 
 later." 
 
 " Thanks ! You would be right to do so. But I distrust 
 your confidence so little that I do not care to test it. I must, 
 for motives which seem adequate on the whole, do what is one 
 of the most disagreeable things a true student of occult science 
 can have to do — make an exhibition of occult power to impress 
 the imagination of people who are not pursuing occult develop- 
 ment with the highest spiritual ends in view. But it is my 
 conviction that the good to be derived from the departure from 
 our usual rule will outweigh the advantages. What I do will 
 
124 KABMA. 
 
 not militate against the appeal I have made to you to keep your 
 attention fixed upon the advancement of your own spiritual 
 evolution, in all pursuit of occult science, in preference to dwell- 
 ing on the fascinations attaching to the exercise of any abnormal 
 powers." 
 
 Annerly assured the Baron that his aspirations were altogether 
 in the direction of knowledge and interior enlightenment, in pre- 
 ference to the manifestation of strange forces on the physical 
 plane of nature. They had some further conversation on these 
 points, and then the Baron said, — 
 
 " Well, I will not detain you any longer ; I would only say 
 this one thing more : Don't, at present, fetter your own action 
 hy any vows, even in the privacy of your own chamber. Vows 
 are but artificial props for a weak resolution, and, if that is not 
 strong enough to carry a man all through the difficulties he may 
 have to face in connection with occult study, it may sometimes 
 be better it should give way in the beginning rather than in the 
 end. Besides," he added, in a lighter tone, " it's theatrical ; and, 
 as I'm going to be horribly theatrical myself to-morrow, I am 
 naturally sensitive about that failing in others." 
 
 The practical assurance which these words gave Annerly, that 
 the Baron must have been actually aware of the intention he 
 had formed shortly before in the room below, was the most im- 
 pressive evidence he had yet received of his extraordinary psychic 
 gifts. 
 
 " Of course I will follow your advice," Annerly replied ; " bnt 
 that strikes me as a more wonderful example of clairvoyant per- 
 ception than any I have ever heard of." 
 
 " For most men, so far, the imprisonment in flesh is so close 
 still, that they forget how much more * natural ' it is really in 
 one sense of the term, to be free of that confinement. Our 
 thoughts are less our own exclusive property than is often 
 vainly supposed, and those which are on the plane of another 
 man's sympathies may readily become perceptible to that other 
 — sometimes. Happily, in most cases, natural conditions sift 
 the thought which ought to have liberty of passage to some 
 other person from those which he has no business to concern 
 himself with. True psychic clairvoyance is not so indiscreet as 
 people failing to appreciate its laws correctly might imagine." 
 
 ''And would it be possible to give me any clue to a compre- 
 hension of those laws ? " 
 
AN EXCITING NIGHT. 126 
 
 " Hardly, indeed ; for all psychic faculties are rather states 
 of heing than acquired arts. The longer you remain in your 
 present attitude of mind ahout these things the more you will 
 pass into those states of being which involve the comprehension 
 of these faculties and their exercise. The honest truth is that 
 nobody can, so to speak, explain them in terms of the intellect, 
 because they have not got to do with the intellect ; and that is 
 why modern culture, which is altogether on the intellectual 
 plane, is so offended with psychic faculties and won't have any- 
 thing to do with them. However, I do think myself it is time 
 their existence was recognised even on the intellectual plane, 
 and my little efforts with some of our friends below, are experi- 
 ments to see how far that recognition can be secured even though 
 It may still be impossible to teach people to accomplish psychic 
 results with physical faculties." 
 
 " I'm profoundly indebted to you," Annerly said, " for the 
 help and guidance you are giving me." 
 
 " We are all in debt to one another in a tangled sort of way," 
 said the Baron, "which will grow clearer to us as we get on." 
 
 " Meanwhile," said Annerly, " those of us in the rear are 
 naturally impatient to get on." 
 
 " You can't hurry a natural process. I have given you some 
 hints already about the pure and simple life which an occult 
 student must lead. Watch and wait. There is nothing more 
 to be said at present ; or if I said anything more to you just at 
 this crisis it would be negative rather than positive. Perhaps 
 the less interest you take in the theatrical or sensational aspects 
 of occult powers the better — I am told that people who mean 
 to be great singers do more good by practising scales at home 
 than by going to the opera to hear other singers. But that is 
 a suggestion of no great consequence." 
 
 " Good-night, then," Annerly said, as the time for him to 
 withdraw had evidently come ; " I shall certainly try to follow 
 all your suggestions — the least as well as the greatest." 
 
 " Good-night and pleasant dreams." 
 
 Annerly returned to his room with emotions a good deal ex- 
 alted by the incidents of the night, and as he moved about the 
 room getting ready for bed his eyes fell upon the paper he had 
 set before him on the writing-table when he had been about to 
 record his resolutions. The words " I hereby " stood at the 
 head of the paper which he had left blank in other respects 
 
126 JLABMk, 
 
 when h© went upstairs. Following these two words, three 
 others now stood written, as if in blue pencil, and in the Baron's 
 hand ; — the words " Watch and wait." 
 
 Here was one more marvel to crown the experience he had 
 just received of the Baron's clairvoyant insight into the work- 
 ing of his own mind. How had these words been inscribed on 
 the paper 1 Who could have entered the room in the middle of 
 the night to write them ? The question only crossed his mind 
 to be dismissed with ignominy. " It is what any stranger 
 would ask," he thought to himself ; " and how low-minded and 
 stupid the hypothesis seems by the light of the knowledge of 
 Lim I possess already." 
 
 Underneath the blue-pencil words Annerly himself wrote, 
 " So be it," and the date, and then folding up the paper put 
 it carefully away. 
 
 CHAPTER XVL 
 
 00C3ULT POWER IN EXOELSUL 
 
 It waa settled in the course of the following morning, that 
 the whole party should go out into the woods together, under 
 the leadership, in the beginning, of Professor Massilton ; that 
 they should ultimately stop at a place to be indicated by some 
 one else, and that the character of the manifestations of occult 
 power the Baron should be invited to concede should then be 
 determined. 
 
 The general programme of the day had been the subject of 
 careful thought and discussion between the Professor and Blane. 
 They endeavoured to forecast all the objections that might 
 ultimately be raised by critics who might distrust their narra- 
 tion of what might occur, and it appeared best that the scene 
 of the experiment should be selected in such a way, that 
 several persons should have a voice in the matter, obliterating, 
 as far as might be possible, the chance that any one could after- 
 wards raise a doubt whether the proceedings, whatever they 
 might be, had been the subject of prearrangement. 
 
 " It i« not what I would have liked," the Professor had said 
 
OOOULT POWEB IN EX0EL8I8. 12? 
 
 to Blane. ** It's not a scientific method of deaKng with a new 
 discovery, but we must make the best of the opportunities we 
 have. I would rather be able to show the smallest manifesta- 
 tion of psychic force under control of one amongst us, who 
 would put it completely at the senrice of science, than merely 
 report having seen the most stupendous manifestation. But, 
 even as it is, our report cannot be pooh-poohed ; and it must 
 have a great effect upon thought if not upon knowledge." 
 
 Blane, as usual, took rather a gloomier view. 
 
 " It is a very difficult thing," he urged, " to get thought out 
 of its usual grooves ;" but he was none the less keen upon 
 making the most of the present opportunity. 
 
 The departure of the Vaughans had reduced the party at the 
 castle to eleven in number, but, counting his flock as they were 
 getting ready to start. Professor Massilton could only make out 
 nine — " The Baron, the Millers, three ; Hexton, Blane, Merland, 
 six ; Miss Blane, seven ; my wife, eight ; Reginald, nine ; Mrs. 
 Lakesby, ten. "Who is it missing ? Why it's Annerly. Mer- 
 land, my good fellow, go and call your friend. Tell him we're 
 all starting." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " said Lady Emily, in alarm. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " said Mrs. Miller. 
 
 " Why, don't you see 1 I never noticed it before. Mr. 
 Annerly would make eleven, and the Vaughans two more. We 
 were thirteen at dinner the night before last." 
 
 " Oh, Jem 1 " said Mrs. Miller to her husband, who was stand- 
 ing near, " how thoughtless of you not to have noticed that. 
 You might have dined out somewhere. I don't mind myself, 
 but some people are so nervous." 
 
 " I don't pretend to be heroic about sitting down thirteen," 
 Lady Emily confessed. 
 
 The mischief had been done, however, and there was no help 
 for it now, though poor Mrs. Miller felt acutely that a stain had 
 fallen on her character as hostess. She walked on, in company 
 with Sir John Hexton, who comforted her with the assurance 
 that since the Vaughans had gone the thing need not happen 
 again. 
 
 ** It*8 a stupid thing to mind, of course, but when a disagree- 
 able idea of that sort is started people do mind. That's the 
 worst of all the superstitions you're so fond of, Mis. Miller ; 
 you set people off their balance.* 
 
128 KARMA. 
 
 Mrs. Miller had the courage of her opinions at all times and 
 seasons, and the unlucky number was presently forgotten in the 
 renewal of some oft-fought questions. 
 
 Some of the party moved on ahead, and the Professor, 
 though rather impatient at having to go on without being sure 
 that all his witnesses were present, was obliged to move forward 
 to the head of the procession, lest there should be any straggling 
 in a wrong direction. 
 
 " Do let everybody understand they have simply got to follow 
 my lead," he explained. 
 
 " I'll wait for the others," Mrs. Lakesby promised, " and 
 bring them on." 
 
 But Merland presently returned, saying that Annerly did not 
 mean to come. He had some writing to do that he could not 
 put off. 
 
 **The Professor was so set upon everybody being present 
 that he won't be pleased," Mrs. Lakesby remarked; "never 
 mind : you and I will walk on, Mr. Merland. It's a pity your 
 friend should miss the performances." 
 
 " That's just what he doesn't think. I hadn*t time to have 
 the thing out with him ; but he wouldn't come, I think, just 
 because there is going to be some sort of performance. He 
 takes a very exalted view of occult science — I daresay he's 
 right. I don't feel bent upon going myself." 
 
 "You're not feeling well, or you're out of spirits about some- 
 thing ; but I don't feel anxious about you, you've got such a 
 bright future." 
 
 " Me ? '* said Merland, with a slightly scornful emphasis. 
 
 " I often feel about people whether there's a cloud over their 
 future or whether it*8 all bright, and I don't see any clouds on 
 your patL" 
 
 " Then, Mrs. Lakesby, though no one admires your wonderful 
 gifts more than I do, I'm afraid even you may sometimes make 
 a mistake." 
 
 ** Goodness I I make hundreds, I daresay, and I'm sure I 
 never recommend anybody to trust what I say — but you re- 
 member what I tell you all the same. Now your friend Mr. 
 Annerly gives me the impression of being a man with a good 
 many clouds about his path. But he's very interesting. I 
 like him immensely. You've known him very intimately for a 
 long time, haven't you t " 
 
OOOULT POWBB IN EX0ELSI8. 129 
 
 •* Ever since I first went to college, and you're quite right to 
 like him. He's a splendid fellow in more ways than one.'* 
 
 " Tell me," said Mrs. Lakesby, " about one thing. I've got 
 a queer fancy sometimes about him : a name comes into my 
 head occasionally, in connection with him, the name * Miriam,* 
 Is there anybody of that name belonging to him ? " 
 
 " Yes indeed, Mrs. Lakesby, don't mention the name to him. 
 He's so nervous about that matter that he hates to have it 
 referred to. But who told you about her ? " 
 
 ** Don't I say it's only a fancy of mine. Nobody told me, 
 but I think of the name when I see him. Who was she, if it 
 isn't a secret ^ " 
 
 " That's curious. I see what you mean now. I fancied you 
 meant you had heard some one mention the name. Miriam 
 was the name of a girl he fell tremendously in love with. She 
 threw him over, and he was awfully cut up about it." 
 
 " How strange ! " said Mrs. Lakesby. ** However, it's no 
 business of mine." 
 
 Turned upon the topic, Merland told his companion what he 
 knew of the story. Soon after the Professor, who had halted 
 the head of his column at an open space a little distance in the 
 wood, came back to hurry up his rearguard. 
 
 *• It's quite the most exasperating apathy that could be 
 imagined," he declared, when he heard of Annerly's defection. 
 "Incomprehensible in so intelligent a man, and positively 
 wrong in my opinion considering the interests concerned." 
 
 The Professor was even inclined to send back an imperative 
 and urgent summons to Annerly, but some of the others ob- 
 jected, with a feeling that this would keep them aU waiting. 
 
 •* There are a lot of us present as it is, Professor Massilton,** 
 Mrs. Miller urged. " Who could be such fools as to suppose 
 we are all in a conspiracy to deceive one another 1 What is one 
 person more or less ] Let's go on." 
 
 " Let's go on by all means," said Sir John. " No doubt it 
 win be Mr. Annerly's loss." Sir John spoke cheerily, intend- 
 ing to be very civil to the programme of the day, but as often 
 happened he was unlucky enough not to suit the Professor's 
 taste exactly. 
 
 ** If a juryman is absent from a jury, a court of law does not 
 content itself with saying it is the juryman's loss. But I 
 suppose there is no help for it now." 
 
 K 
 
130 KAEMA. 
 
 " Then let's be moving." 
 
 " Very well ; and now, Hexton, will you be good enough for 
 a while to take the lead t " 
 
 "Mel'' 
 
 •* You ! '* 
 
 " But I don't know where you want to go." 
 
 *' That's precisely the reason why I ask you to take the lead. 
 I want to get to some place quite by chance. You'll all see 
 why in the end." 
 
 On these conditions the pilgrims resumed their journey, with 
 joking and laughter. 
 
 " There's a grievous want of earnestness about some of our 
 friends, Baron," said the Professor; "they don't understand 
 what we are really about, and they will wonder later on that 
 they could have treated this day's work with any sort of 
 levity. ' 
 
 " It's the spirit of the age. There's a ripple of laughter, a 
 fringe of froth, round the edge of every great idea amongst us 
 now, as there must be round every sea and lake, but it does 
 not affect the deep water in the middle, though it hurts some 
 sensibilities. In former times men explored nature's mysteries 
 in a more reverential spirit, and that will come again ; but for 
 the present our generation has forgotten that there are mysteries 
 to explore. If the few of us who have kept touch with them 
 were too timid, now, in confronting the world's frivolous 
 laughter, we should be responsible for denying it the oppor- 
 tunity of recovering its reverential spirit. I mind no laughter 
 in these matters unless it is poisoned with malice, and, when it 
 is so poisoned, it must itself take so terrible a spiritual revenge 
 on its authors that the displeasure one may be tempted to feel 
 ought rather to be pity." 
 
 "That is hardly a practical policy, though. Crime of all 
 sorts may be supposed to bring remorse, but that is no reason 
 for not punishing it. Offensive ridicule, directed against first 
 discoverers of unfamiliar facts, is a moral crime, retarding the 
 growth of knowledge and causing undeserved distress. I would 
 always make its authors feel the weight of my contempt to the 
 uttermost." 
 
 " I did not make myself quite clear. The feeling you express 
 is most natural and creditable, if you will allow me to say so, 
 within the limits of your purely intellectual observation of it. 
 
OOOUI/r POWEE IN EXCBLSI8. 131 
 
 But there is another point of view. How can I illustrate my 
 meaning 1 Suppose you see a man fall into the rapids above 
 Niagara, through quarrelling with a companion, and stepping 
 back to hit him. It was wrong of him to be quarrelsome ; but 
 you don't think so much of that when you see him fall into the 
 rapids, and when you know what they lead to. Now it is just 
 that way with the spiritual forces a man sets in motion against 
 himself by putting himself in the wrong current of nature. If 
 this life were all, then indeed there would be no Niagara to 
 dread ; but men must live again, whether they expect to or not; 
 mankind, as a whole, must improve spiritually ; and the units 
 who oppose themselves to that improvement will have a terribly 
 hard time of it. Here's another illustration. A man travelling 
 toith the windy in a balloon, may not be conscious of any incon- 
 venience, no matter how fast he is going ; but let him throw 
 out an anchor and try to resist the current. The way he will be 
 blown about may tear his balloon to shreds. This all has to do 
 with the law of nature, not very clearly appreciated anywhere 
 in the world at large, as yet, but referred to, at any rate, in some 
 Eastern philosophies as Karma. Every man is the product of 
 his past lives. The forces set in operation during these impel 
 his immortal part into the channels of evolution in which he 
 travels, and even the accident of birth is only a consequence in 
 disguise." 
 
 The Professor considered the view just put forward to be 
 interesting as a theory of ethics, but did not manifest any 
 wish to follow it up at the time. Presently he called out to 
 Merland, then walking a little in advance, and the young man 
 stopped. 
 
 "Now any time you like, within the next two or three 
 minutes, will you call a halt ^ Then, considering that I began 
 to direct our route, and that Hexton then took command, and 
 that you intervened finally, I don't see how anybody can wiselj 
 say we have come to a particular place by prearrangement.'* 
 
 The hill sloped away rather gently from Heiligenfels in th 
 direction they had been taking, and several paths diverged iu 
 various directions through the woods by which it was covered. 
 In this way, though their wanderings had been irregular, thej 
 had never plunged outright into the thickets ; and in the courso 
 of a little while they came to a comparatively open space, and 
 here Merland proposed to stop. 
 
 K 2 
 
132 KABMi.. 
 
 " I don't understand what sort of place yon want, Professor. 
 
 Willthisdor' 
 
 " My good fellow, I want any place that is selected hy the 
 operation of absolute chance. Of course this will do — one place 
 will do as well as another. Now, I will explain what I propose, 
 which is this — " (Everybody had now assembled within hear- 
 ing.) — " We here to-day ai*e placed in a very important position, 
 and in a very unusual position. We have got the opportunity 
 of having the existence of certain laws of Nature not yet gene- 
 rally understood, plainly proved to us. I know of my own 
 knowledge already that Baron Von Mondstern is enabled to 
 emit from his own hand a certain force the exact nature of 
 which I do not understand, but the effects of which, I know, 
 may be very considerable. He has undertaken to show us that 
 this is the fact, on the present occasion, because it is necessary that 
 my testimony as to what may take place, should be supported 
 by that of several other persons, in order to command general 
 belief, opposed, as it will probably be, to general experience." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby, speaking in a low tone to !Merland while the 
 Professor was giving this explanation, said, — 
 
 '* Do you see those two men dressed in white under the big 
 fir-tree there ? " 
 
 " No ; what do you mean t " 
 
 ** They look to me so natural, I thought they might be real 
 flesh and blood — " 
 
 " Mrs. Lakesby," said the Professor, ** if you would very 
 kindly give me your attention for a few moments ; we are about 
 to undertake a very serious responsibility, and do let us all 
 understand what we are about." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby, thus called to order, made a little money begged 
 pardon, and assumed a demure look varied with occasional side- 
 long glances at Merland, and with wandering looks about her at 
 the big fir-tree and in other directions. 
 
 " I will now ask Mr. Blane to select any one of the trees near 
 which we are standing. We have been brought to this spot, 
 you will observe, without any intervention on his part, so that, 
 in choosing one of the trees within our present neighbourhood, 
 everybody can see that he is unable to choose any tree that can 
 have been previously thought of by him, or any one else. 
 Please, Blane, will you point out any one of the trees we aee 
 from where we are standing." 
 
OCCULT POWBB IN BXCBLSIS, 133 
 
 Mr. Blane looked round. A fir-tree — most of the wood was 
 made of that growth — about thirty feet high, a moderate-sized 
 tree, but standing a little clear of its neighbours, very straight 
 and erect, was pointed out by Blane, It was easily identihed 
 by reference to a large moss-covered stone at its base. 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby whispered to Merland — 
 
 " They've gone over to it.*' 
 
 "Whol" 
 
 " The two men in white. What lovely magnetism I — ** 
 
 ** What do you mean 1 " 
 
 ** Now," said the Professor in a decided voice and a glance at 
 Mrs. Lakesby, which was sufficient to call her to order, " we 
 come to the most important matter of alL" 
 
 This was a general call to order, as there had been some stir 
 among the whole party when Blane made his selection, and 
 some joking inquiry whether there was any forbidden fruit on 
 that particular fir that made him fancy it. 
 
 " Please let us all be serious for a little while. Now what I 
 venture to suggest, Baron, is, that, in any way you find conve- 
 nient or think fit, the force which you control may be directed 
 by you, from a little distance, against that tree, in such a way as 
 to produce some marked result. It is impossible for me, in the 
 limited state of my knowledge on the subject, to make a more 
 definite request ; but it is best to put the matter in that way 
 because this will leave you complete liberty to operate in any 
 way you think most eff'ective." 
 
 The Baron gravely bowed and moved a little away from the 
 group, though remaining at about the same radial distance 
 from the tree, which was about thirty or forty feet from them 
 all. 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby again spoke in a low tone to Merland, — 
 
 " They are coming towards here — the two men — now they 
 stand on each side of him." 
 
 For the rest of the party, however, the Baron appeared to bo 
 standing quite alone. He slowly lifted up both hands above 
 his head, and, remaining in that attitude for a few seconds, 
 swept them forward with a commanding gesture towards the 
 tree. As though a thunderbolt had fallen from the clear blue 
 sky the tree bent before the influence, whatever it was, that 
 had been poured out against it ; and then, with a mighty tearing 
 crash, broke a few feet above the roots, and fell heavily to the 
 
134 EABMA. 
 
 ground. A cry of surprise and excitement broke from the 
 assembled spectators. The Professor gazed with silent intensity 
 at the fallen tree, and then at the author of its falL Mra. 
 Miller frankly screamed. Lady Emily shrank, with a sort of 
 terror, from the front of the group, where she had been stand- 
 ing, and sat down trembling on a stone. Sir John emitted an 
 ejaculation that was something between an oath and a pious 
 appeal Every one was strongly, and most of them visibly, 
 ati'ected — Mrs. Lakesby least of all, and Merland not painfully 
 at all, but as though with a strange tremor of exhilaration. 
 
 The Baron did not immediately return to his guests. He 
 moved again a little further away from them, as if plunged in 
 thought. 
 
 Except for a few disjointed exclamations, the party of spec- 
 tators remained silent, looking at one another and at the Baron. 
 Presently he turned round and came back to them rather 
 slowly, with the usual sweet and gentle look in his eyes, but 
 with sadness rather than triumph in the general expression of 
 his face. His guests received liim with involuntary marks of 
 respect, the Professor gravely bowing, but no one venturing to 
 be the first to speak. The incident they had witnessed had, for 
 the moment, paralyzed their thoughts. The Baron spoke first 
 himself. 
 
 " I have broken more than a tree for you ; I have broken a 
 rule — not without sanction, it is true, from those who have the 
 right to control me, but on my own responsibility none the less. 
 Let us hope that the good results to be gathered from my 
 transgression may vindicate it at last." 
 
 " My expectations," said the Professor, *• are so much more 
 than realized that I am mentally overwhelmed for the present^ 
 I do not shrink from confessing." 
 
 " Whatever I can do," Blane said, " towards promoting the 
 good results, it will be my pride and pleasure to do ; but, be- 
 yond that, I hope you will dispose of my services always ; and, 
 as a matter of course, in any way you think fit." 
 
 " Shouldn't we all hke," Captain Miller suggested, ** to keep 
 some mementoes of that tree ? " 
 
 The Professor was meekly acquiescent and had no amendment 
 to make to the proposal this time — nothing better to suggest. 
 
 " Jem, take care 1 " cried Mrs. Miller, as the Captain moyed 
 over towards the tree. " Baron, is it safe t " 
 
OOOULT POWER IN EXCELSI8. 135 
 
 The question relieved the tension of feeling all round by 
 exciting some laughter. 
 
 '* The tree may be safe," Lady Emily said under cover of this 
 to Sir John, *' but your extraordinary brother-in-law may not 
 be so altogether. I'm not sure I like to be with people who 
 can hurl thunderbolts in that fashion." 
 
 "I don't know what to make of it," said the Baronet; 
 " his poor sister was an ordinary human being.*' 
 
 "I shan't sleep at night," said Lady Emily; *'I don't like 
 it. I must get away from here. Where does that sort of power 
 come from, Sir John? I do not profess to be specially a 
 religious woman — it might be better for me if I were ; but at 
 any rate I don't like compacts with — Well, you know 
 what I mean." 
 
 " By George ! That's a startling idea. Do you think it's 
 thati Ton my life, it looks very like it." 
 
 " This is no conjuring, at all events, and I don't suppose 
 any one would want to make us believe the power comes from 
 on high." 
 
 Sir John revolved the alarming suggestion in his mind, and 
 the more he thought of it the more glaring appeared the evidence 
 that linked the achievement just witnessed with Satanic 
 agency. 
 
 There was some dispersion and movement of the group now. 
 Most of them went up to the fallen tree to tear off pieces of the 
 wood as trophies. Merland remained close to Mrs. Lakesby, 
 interested in what she had said about the figures which she had 
 clairvoyantly seen, and asking her questions about them from 
 time to time. They had disappeared from her sight shortly 
 after. But now she said, — 
 
 " Oh ! Do you see Keginald 1 " 
 
 " Yes. What's hs doing over there among the trees by him- 
 self?" 
 
 " He's not by himself. He's talking to one of the men who 
 has come back. Why, he can see him then He's clair- 
 voyant ! " 
 
 " That throws light on more than one thing about him. He 
 has not been brought up by his uncle for nothing." 
 
 " How quiet he's been about it ! He does not chatter and 
 tell everybody what he sees, like me. Well done. Master 
 Reginald. You've read me a lesson without knowing it." 
 
 10 
 
136 EARMA. 
 
 ** But Fm sure I hope you won't imitate him in that respect. 
 Why should you deny your friends the satisfaction of hearing 
 about what you see 1 It would be a sin to hide such talents as 
 yours under a bushel," Merland protested, slightly confusing his 
 biblical allusions in the general disturbance of mind from which 
 both he and others of the party in the wood were suffering in 
 different ways. 
 
 ** The Baron does not talk much as a rule about what he can 
 do, does he ? " 
 
 " But the Baron has shown us to-day, if anybody ever did, 
 that such powers are not to be hidden," 
 
 " I don't understand it, I confess. I don't see what he 
 means by it. It isn't like him to show off in that way." 
 
 "We're greatly favoured." 
 
 " I can't particularly see why you should be.** 
 
 " Don't be so down upon us as all that." 
 
 " I don't mean to be rude— I'm only puzzled.** 
 
 The Baron left the Professor at this point of their conver- 
 sation and came up to them. The sense of awe he had excited 
 operated on their demeanour as if they were all courtiers and 
 he a king moving amongst them : but though Mrs. Lakesby and 
 Merland — Merland especially — betrayed a reverential feeling in 
 their manner, he seemed anxious to win them back to their 
 more usual attitudes of mind. 
 
 " Which do you think, Merland, is the finer thing to do : to 
 destroy a poor innocent tree, or to waken a human soul to a 
 consciousness — if only for a short time — of its higher attri- 
 butes?" 
 
 Merland looked at him for a moment without realizing the 
 bearing of the remark, and then perceived its application to his 
 own experience of the previous day with a sudden rush of 
 emotion. That which had been done for him alone, to show 
 him the path in life he ought to tread, to reconcile him as it 
 were to the great disappointment he had been subject to on the 
 plane, so to speak, of his worldly aspirations, had perhaps been 
 a greater achievement than the tremendous display of that after- 
 noon. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said very respectfully ; " I suppose 
 I am too strange to all these experiences to appreciate them 
 properly. But I think that the thing I have seen to-day will 
 only make me appreciate what you refer to the more." 
 
A PABTIAL DISPERSION. 187 
 
 " Tell me who they were, Baron, do ! " said Mrs. Lakesby, 
 leaving the remarks just made unnoticed, as something that 
 evidently did not concern her. 
 
 The Baron smiled, not pretending to misunderstand the 
 allusion. 
 
 " Your eyes are sharp, Mrs. Lakesby, and what they show 
 you you are entitled to know, but more than that it may be that 
 I am not entitled to telL Besides, what does it matter 1 You 
 can guess of whom they were 'i " 
 
 ** I wonder whether Reginald would tell met" 
 
 The Baron gently shook his head. 
 
 " I fear," he said, " you know too much as it is. But, if so, 
 use that knowledge discreetly for the boy's good — which means, 
 do not use it at all." 
 
 It was some time before they all straggled back to the castle. 
 It was in Blane's company that the Baron returned. 
 
 " Of course, I need not tell you," he said, ** that the power 
 of doing mischief, even in a very sensational way, is not the 
 end I sought in devoting my life to occult study, nor the bait 
 I would hold out to others. You will see that, but for many 
 of our companions in this generation, you can only get a hear- 
 ing on the strength of credentials they understand ; and it is 
 just possible that the sacrifice of our tree may startle some people 
 who hear of it into realizing that there is more in their own 
 human nature to respect and reverence than they are aware of, 
 and so lead them up to the pursuit, for its own sake, of the 
 spiritual development which physical evidence even, properly 
 considered, may show them to be a grave reality. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 A PARTIAL DISPERSIOB. 
 
 The Professor had no opportunity of liberating his soul in regard 
 to Annerly's heinous conduct in stopping away from the per- 
 formance of the afternoon, till they were all assembling for 
 dinner. As he came into the drawing-room he found Annerly 
 
138 KAKMA. 
 
 and Mrs. Miller there before him, and, as he was speaking, Sii 
 John Hexton entered the room. 
 
 " There you are at last, Annerly. Well, my dear fellow, I 
 should be more indignant at you for depriving us of your com- 
 pany this afternoon if I were not so sorry for you on your own 
 account. I suppose you have heard, by this time, what you 
 lost?" 
 
 " I have heard what took place, but — I — well, I thought it 
 best to stay away, though I daresay you may think it very 
 •trange of me." 
 
 The Professor's curiosity was roused by Annerly's hesitation. 
 
 " But then, had you any sort of motive for not going with us t 
 I thought it was merely a fit of apathy on your part, or that 
 you felt lazy, and disinclined for a walk." 
 
 "I can hardly explain — I had some views on the subject 
 which you might not concur with altogether. I should be the 
 last man living to criticize the Baron's acts, but experiments of 
 the kind you had to-day are not what interest me most — or, 
 perhaps I should say, what I think it best to follow up most 
 earnestly." 
 
 Sir John Hexton listened intently. He did not quite realize 
 what Annerly meant, but he put a construction on the words 
 uttered, that chimed in with his own growing opinions. 
 
 " I'm very glad to hear you say that, Mr. Annerly. I was 
 afraid I was almost singular in my opinion here, but I don't 
 know that I approve of experiments of that sort either." 
 
 "What on earth — " The Professor looked from one to 
 another, puzzled. 
 
 Aimerly did not stop to consider exactly what the Baronet 
 meant. He was only vexed with himself for being drawn into 
 half -explanations that could not but be misleading. 
 
 " Pray don't think I presume to disapprove as regards others. 
 I do not disapprove in any sense. I merely meant to indicate 
 a purely personal disinclination on my own part to join in 
 experiments — " 
 
 " I wish I had had your foresight, Mr. Annerly," said Sir 
 John. 
 
 The entry of the Baron and of some of the others at this 
 point turned the conversation, and soon afterwards dinner was 
 announced. A certain air of constraint hung over the party, 
 and the topic of the day was hardly touched upon. The events 
 
A PABTIAL DISPERSION. 139 
 
 of the afternoon, in fact, had left very different impressions on 
 the different spectators. The feeling of disturbance and alarm 
 which Lady Emily Massilton had expressed at the time, 
 augmented during the evening, and she privately informed the 
 Professor that she was not inclined to prolong her stay at the 
 castle. 
 
 " I do not think it would be right to stay," she declared. 
 
 The Professor never disguised the amusement he felt — at all 
 events he never failed to exhibit slight symptoms of amusement 
 — when Lady Emily advanced an ethical motive for any of her 
 arrangements. 
 
 " That of course settles the question," he said. "If it is a 
 point of conscience with you there is no more to be said. But, 
 since important business is likely to keep me here for iome time 
 longer, what course do you propose to take ? " 
 
 " I hadn't thought yet because I did not know you were so 
 far gone as all that. But, even if I am forced to travel alone 
 through your absorption in these more than questionable affairs, 
 I would rather do that than stay on here now." 
 
 " Quite so : but I have such a craving always to understand 
 definitely what people mean. When you speak of these more 
 than questionable affairs I am in the dark, I am sorry to say, as 
 to what you intend to convey." 
 
 " You may affect to be so, but I cannot think a man of your 
 intelligence can be so really. While the little things that took 
 place here were such as one could suppose either conjuring or 
 mystification of some kind, it was not necessary to take a serious 
 view of them ; but after to-day the case is different." 
 
 " Different ? Well, to be accurate the experiment of to-day 
 is not different except as regards scale from some others we 
 have had; but if you think it different what then? What 
 is the question you put in your own mind, and apparently 
 answer in some way, when you say the affair is more than 
 questionable 1 " 
 
 " It is obvious, though you choose to ignore it. The thing 
 done to-day was no trick, it was miraculous, and the power 
 that did it cannot have come from any but a bad source." 
 
 " The Devil ! " The Professor ejaculated the word, not in its 
 capacity as an oath, but as an acknowledgment that he had at 
 last taken Lady Emily's meaning. His amusement was no 
 longer feigned, and — penetrated with a sens© of comicality, 
 
140 KABMA. 
 
 though this did not provoke open laughter as there was no one 
 by to appreciate the joke with him— he sat down on a low 
 chair and slightly rocked himself to and fro in silent ecstasy. 
 The conversation was going on in Lady Emily's room after the 
 general dispersion for the night had taken place. She had 
 requested the Professor to come to her for a few minutes, as 
 she had something to say to him. 
 
 " You may laugh, but, though I never pretend to be a spe- 
 cially religious woman, I do not choose to follow you to the 
 opposite extreme. I do not want to stop here any longer 
 under the circumstances, and I wanted to know first of all 
 whether you would leave this place with me, as we came here 
 together." 
 
 " Certainly I will not leave this place at present.** 
 
 " Then have I your permission to telegraph to Brussels and 
 join my brother George there, if he is able to receive mel** 
 
 Lady Emily was never more loftily dignified than when she 
 formally asked the Professor's leave for any such withdrawal 
 into the bosom of her family as that now proposed. The 
 Professor politely intimated his concurrence, and rose to go. 
 Lady Emily, however, had been nettled by his treatment of her 
 theory about the origin of the occurrence in the wood, and 
 could not refrain from a parting shot. 
 
 " You will not find I am the only person here to take the 
 view of this matter that I do, though for the moment you are 
 80 content in your own scorn of it.** 
 
 ''I don't think scorn is the word; it is only amusement. 
 The idea is very amusing ; but — er — is our party here to sufi*er 
 any other losses that you know of on the strength of this idea ? *' 
 
 " 1 do not think it probable that Sir John Hexton will wish 
 either to stay here any longer or to leave hia sou any longer in 
 Baron von Mondstern's care." 
 
 " Ah ! ** The Professor paused for a little, but, after a few 
 moments' reflection took his leave, without asking any further 
 questiona 
 
 But the information just given him struck him as highly 
 important He had not been paying very much attention to 
 Reginald Hexton, but it suddenly occurred to him as something 
 monstrous that the boy's fate should be decided by an exercise 
 of his father's authority in obedience to so stupid an impulse of 
 feeling as that which Lady Emily had b«tray6d. H« felt sum 
 
A PAETIAL DISPEESION. 141 
 
 that the Baron would not want the boy to be taken from him. 
 He conceived the notion that it might be well to give him a 
 warning of what was in contemplation without loss of time. 
 He had only parted from the Baron ten minutes previously, so 
 he thought there would be no indiscretion in seeking him out. 
 Perhaps the Professor, whose thirst for information was now 
 raging more fiercely than ever, was unconsciously moved to 
 some extent by an inclination to pay the Baron a nocturnal 
 visit in his own room. Mere curiosity would not have justified 
 this, but to tell him about Sir John Hexton's Intention would 
 be to render him a service. 
 
 The Professor made his way at once to the Baron's study in 
 the turret. He had entered the room — the Baron's voice having 
 bidden him come in — before he was struck by the notion that 
 offering help, as it were, in his own affairs to a man with the 
 Baron's attributes, might be rather a nonsensical thing to do, 
 from one point of view. 
 
 " I am not used," he said, frankly, " to thinking myself a 
 fool, but it just occurs to me that I may have come on a fool's 
 errand. I came, at any rate, with the intention of doing yon 
 a service, but you may know already all I have to tell you." 
 
 ** Sit down and receive my thanks in any case. What was 
 the kind intention you had formed about me ? " 
 
 The Professor described the impression which, as he had 
 gathered from his wife, was Sir John Hexton's idea about the 
 alliance which enabled the Baron to perform the feat they had 
 witnessed, and his intention in reference to the boy. 
 
 " I feared something of the kind. It is deeply to be regretted." 
 
 " But I imagine you will have your own ways and means of 
 arranging things as you please— as you think right.** 
 
 The Baron sadly smiled and shook his head. 
 
 " You do not quite realize as yet the way certain rules govern 
 the exercise of occult power. It would be quite out of the 
 question to talk of employing any unusual measures to put a 
 constraint upon Sir John Hexton's acts in this matter." 
 
 " Doesn't that seem rather fanatical. You would not do bim 
 any harm, of course ; but if, as I can fully realize, it is much 
 better for the boy to be with you than with him, why not oblige 
 him in some way to consent i " 
 
 ** There is nothing more impossible for me." 
 
 *' But surely pressure of some kind could be put-—* 
 
 10 
 
142 KASMA. 
 
 "With an ease you can hardly imagine. Sir John could 
 
 even be inspired with the wish to leave his son here, and would 
 be quite unaware of the fact that he had been psychologized 
 so as to wish this ; but to produce that effect on him would be 
 to commit a disastrous mistake, to do a very wrong thing. I 
 am only at liberty to employ ordinary means to save Reginald 
 from what would certainly be for him the terrible misfortune of 
 being set in the midst of the corruption of a great English 
 school." 
 
 " Well, I only wish I could psychologize Sir John for you. 
 I'd run all the risks, cheerfully." 
 
 The Baron put this suggestion gently aside with a smile and 
 a movement of the hand. 
 
 " But you can very likely help me greatly in the matter/* 
 he said, " by using your natural influence with Sir John. 
 Eeginald's education is far too advanced really to make him 
 suit any school he could be sent to ; and yet it may not have 
 been carried on along the usual lines in a way that would 
 simply enable him to take a high place in an ordinary school at 
 once. Perliaps you could ascertain that yourself, by conversa- 
 tion with the boy, by sounding his knowledge and capacity a 
 little, and then report to Sir John accordingly.*' 
 
 " All right ; but it does seem ignominious to try and accom- 
 plish the result required by persuading Hexton. He's not 
 altogether a fool, as ordinary people go, but he would be the 
 hopeless slave of a prejudice once formed." 
 
 " It's very grievous, indeed, and I am deeply distressed about 
 it ; but we must do the best we can, and for any help in this 
 matter you will render me I shall be deeply obliged." 
 
 " It does seem so odd to hear you talk in that way when you 
 could^ no doubt, have your own way so easily." 
 
 " We can talk over the ethics of the matter more at leisure. 
 But about practical measures, as you sometimes say. I wonder 
 whether Annerly might not be able to get us out of this 
 dilemma." 
 
 " I can't understand Annerly," said the Professor ; " it would 
 be too absurd to suppose him affected by the same notion that 
 Sir John has taken up, and yet some words of a vague nature 
 that he uttered just before dinner would actually seem to imply 
 that" 
 
 The Baron laughed. 
 
A DEPRESSING JOURNEY. 143 
 
 " You are quite right to acquit Annerly of thinking me in 
 league with the Devil. But what was said ? " 
 
 The Professor explained, as far as he could, and the odd way 
 in which the Baronet had evidently imagined Annerly to be on 
 his side. 
 
 "That innocent misapprehension of his may render us a 
 service. Pray do not disturb it. I really think Annerly may 
 help us, and I will ask him." 
 
 CHAPTER XVnL 
 
 ▲ DEPRESSING JOURNBT. 
 
 Mrs. Mtller was unable to make out what possessed all the 
 people — as she frankly expressed it — next day. She sent up in 
 the morning to the Baron, asking him would he do her the 
 favour to come and speak with her a few minutes in the octagon 
 room, if he was not too busy, and then she declared her be- 
 wilderment. 
 
 " What, are they all rushing away fort Mrs. Vaughan sur- 
 prised me a little at the time she went, it seemed so strangely 
 sudden ; and now Lady Emily is unable to stay another day, 
 she is 80 urgently wanted by her brother in the Embassy at 
 Brussels ; and Sir John Hexton has urgent affairs, too, which 
 recall him to Endand; and now, to my amazement, Mr. 
 Annerly has just been to say he must be going too. What is 
 the matter with them all 1 " 
 
 ** You may be quite sure of this, Mrs. Miller, that they are 
 none of them going away on account of any failure on your part 
 to be a perfectly gracious and agreeable hostess. Such events 
 as we had yesterday are unsettling to people's minds, in 
 different ways. I am not surprised." 
 
 " But Annerly ? It's too stupid, really, of Sir John ; I did 
 think he would be more teachable ; but still, there he is, you 
 know. If he thinks you have sold yourself to the Devil, 
 all one can say is, he has been bom a couple of hundred years 
 too late. I suppose that's why he wants to be o£^ and Lady 
 
144 KABMA. 
 
 Emily too, for that matter ; but Annerly puzzles me altogether. 
 Do you know, Baron, he expressed himself so oddly last evening, 
 just before dinner, that if I did not know him so well I should 
 really be shaken about him. What do you think f He can't 
 have got any absurd notion in his head, can he 1 " 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Miller, do not be uneasy about Annerly, I have 
 seen him this morning, and I assure you his devotion to the 
 subjects which interest us is quite as keen as ever. The coin- 
 cidence may seem strange to you, but I am sure, in wishing to 
 leave us so hurriedly he is governed by motives which are quite 
 unlike those which may render Lady Emily and Sir John 
 Hexton disinclined to stay. In all probability we shall see him 
 back before very long, for the rest of our party I think you will 
 find very faithful to us for some time to come. And don't you 
 think, though we shall have been reduced in our numbers, we 
 shall still be a very pleasant little party ? " 
 
 " But do you know about Mr. Annerly taking Reginald away t 
 Is that by your leave t " 
 
 " Yes ; I he?rd of the arrangement only an hour ago ; and, 
 in truth, my leave is not required ; for Reginald, having rejoined 
 his father here, is under his authority, clearly. But I don't dis- 
 approve of the plan settled upon. An ordinary public school in 
 England would be a place lor which Reginald is quite unfit ; 
 but. Mr. Annerly will be able to put him in the care of a private 
 tutor near Cambridge, where he wiU escape some evils that 
 might otherwise befall him. I would rather have had the boy 
 with me a while longer, but there are some points to be gained 
 by the plan now fixed upon ; — at any rate, it is an acceptable 
 compromise, and I am truly glad it has been agreed to by Sir 
 John. I should be sorry if any delay endangered it." 
 
 Annerly had fallen in obediently rather than cheerfully with 
 the plan in which he had been required to play a part. It was 
 a wrench for him to leave the castle just then ; it was with an 
 efi'ort that he undertook the care of Reginald, and his establish- 
 ment at a private tutor's. He had seen but little of the boy, 
 and was not, as some men are, naturally prone to take pleasure 
 in boys' society. Never self-assertive or caring to take a lead 
 among people he was with, he preferred always to be with com- 
 panions to whom he could somehow look up, rather than with 
 those who might be expected to look up to him. But he would 
 have done anything rather than make diificulties about the first 
 
A DBPEESSING JODENEY. 145 
 
 request put to him by the Baron, and he even accomplished the 
 painfully- uncongenial task of volunteering to advise Sir John 
 about the education of his own son. 
 
 To his great surprise he found this advice, which he would 
 not have been surprised to find himself snubbed for offering, 
 very quickly assented to. Sir John had a certain sense of duty 
 to his son, and a distinct wish to withdraw him from the Baron's 
 charge, but he was far from being moved by a personal desire 
 for the boy's society. It would have been a disturbance of 
 sundry plans of his if he had himself been obliged to take 
 Reginald back to England and see about putting him to school. 
 To get all this trouble suddenly lifted off his shoulders, in a 
 thoroughly creditable way, and extricate the 1 ov from the pos- 
 sible uncanny control of his uncle, without too seriously offending 
 that too-powerful uncle, seemed, to him, a master-stroke of policy. 
 
 " My dear Mr. Annerly, I don't know how to thank you. 
 You can arrange this matter ten times better than I could my- 
 self, and it will save me a lot of trouble. There's no one here 
 but yourself I should have felt like trusting the boy to just now, 
 but with you the case is different. I know you feel as I do 
 about some things. I don't want to discuss them in detail 
 here, and it is quite enough that we understand each other." 
 
 Annerly was in the dark as to the meaning of this, but it 
 was not his business to raise difficulties between himself and 
 the Baronet. He had only feared that it would be impossible 
 to smooth away those which probably existed. According to 
 his instructions he said that he wished to start for England 
 immediately, and the hurry of his departure again chimed in 
 with Sir John's views. In this way he would be enabled to 
 see Lady Emily as far as Brussels without infringing the conve- 
 nances by travelling with her quite alone. She meant to leave 
 the castle that day, and they could all go together. 
 
 His task thus proved plain sailing for Annerly ; but still he 
 did not like it. He did not like aristocratic society, orthodox 
 society, or boys' society ; and he was sent away with all those 
 three conditions in very forcible operation. He was aspiring to 
 take a plunge into a new life, of an exciting and mysterious 
 sort ; he would have been prepared for heroic ordeals ; he 
 would have welcomed privations, or perils of a romantic sort ; 
 but he was merely called upon to incur some familiar disagree- 
 ables, and transact a tiresome piece of business in every-day 
 
 L 
 
146 KABMA. 
 
 life. Afl a gtruggling young man with a first-rate degree, teach- 
 ing, in some way, would have been his natural path in life 
 on leaving the university, but he had always declared he 
 would sweep crossings rather ; and he had forced his way, with 
 no small trouble at first, through the outworks of professional 
 journalism into a position of reasonable success and of fair 
 literary credit. Now he found himself, only for a brief space 
 it was true, but still for a moment, caretaker of a boy and 
 patronized by a baronet. There was something chilling in 
 this being the first incident of his apprenticeship to mystic 
 study. He railed at himself internally for the ill-temper he 
 felt, but still he felt ill-tempered. 
 
 It was a mercy at all events, he reflected, as they four — Sir 
 John and Lady Emily, Reginald and himself — sat in the railway- 
 carriage, on their way to Cologne, that he had not been invited 
 to take charge of Reginald's education altogether. He felt it 
 his duty to try and get into some conversation with his young 
 charge ; but the boy was depressed and reserved ; very gentle 
 and polite, but as awkward at making conversation on his sidG 
 as Annerly himself, and the effort languished. Lady Emily 
 and Sir John were in fairly good spirits in the opposite corners. 
 
 Lady Emily was generally exhilarated for a time on parting 
 company with the Professor, and on this occasion she was part- 
 ing from him under conditions which especially suited her. She 
 had some confidences, moreover, to convey to her companion, 
 which interested them both very deeply. Annerly made no 
 attempt to understand what they were talking about ; but he 
 would have been quite unable to make out even if he had tried, 
 as the scattered remarks which reached him referred to various 
 letters which she gave Sir John to read. 
 
 "Isn't that enough to go upon?" she asked aloud, after some 
 of these had been perused. 
 
 " It ought to be enough ten times over," Sir John replied. 
 
 But this meant nothing in particular, and the more important 
 part of the conversation was carried on in a low voice, under 
 cover of the rattle of the train. Annerly, however, was no 
 more desirous than able to hear what they were saying. Only 
 once was his attention involuntarily arrested. He heard or 
 thought he heard Sir John pronounce the name " Miriam Sea- 
 ford," — a magic sound in his ears. Had it perhaps merely been 
 some name, something like that which excited the vibrations of 
 
A DEPRESSING JOURNEY. 147 
 
 his own memory 1 What possible connection could there be 
 between her and the conversation of two such people as Lady 
 Emily and Sir John Hexton. His own restless imagination 
 had deceived his outer senses, he told himself ; and yet, though 
 the name had never grown to be a strange sound in hLs own 
 inner hearing, the pronunciation of it, or even what seemed the 
 pronunciation of it, by another person, jarred some fibres of 
 sentiment not yet, it would seem, quite extinct. Conversation 
 of a sustained kind with Reginald proving impracticable, his 
 thoughts went slipping back along the train of associations thus 
 aroused. 
 
 It is unhealthy work, but still who does not at times let the 
 creative faculty within him paint fair pictures of what might 
 have been 1 Things of course were better as they were. For 
 occult study, and the rapid development of the higher spiritual 
 faculties, he might be fitted — for woman's love he had certainly 
 not been destined (though Miss Blane had been good enough to 
 try and make him think otherwise). Still (to while away the 
 hours on this tiresome journey) was it not curious to think how 
 soon the lower practical difficulties, that seemed to make the 
 realization of his love-dream at the time impossible, would have 
 been dissipated had she put her hand in his and trusted to him 
 altogether 1 She had not been fit for poverty — that he knew ; 
 but if she had dared it for his sake she would never, as a matter 
 of fact, have had to face it. And she would have dared it if 
 she had not been tampered with, he thought. Pleasant things 
 said in long past, but not forgotten, interviews came back to his 
 memory. It was in no way her fault. The only thing that was 
 not bitter, in the thought of aU that gone by, was that she was 
 never to blame ; except perhaps for a certain weakness. Bah ! 
 why think of it at all 1 But, then, why not t Surely the un- 
 happiness that had come to him out of that whole episode 
 could no way be increased. Why cheat himself by pretending 
 to think that he could shut the recollection of it all out of his 
 thoughts '? He had even a certain measure of success in litera- 
 ture and the world — hardly trying for it, hardly caring for it — 
 and that had come to pass in about four years only. How 
 would four years have affected her beauty and her sweetness ? 
 She would be just the same now that he had known her. 
 
 He did not dwell much on the fact that she had since linked 
 her life altogether with that of another man. That merely em- 
 
 L 2 
 
148 KAEMA. 
 
 phasized a condition of things he had regarded as quite final in 
 any case. The man was a mere name to him, and hardly that ; 
 for he never thought of the name, and sometimes went near 
 forgetting it. She might have gone to another planet for all 
 the tliought he had of ever seeing her again. But what a 
 strangely different thing life would have been if that had been 
 realized that was only dreamed about ! He could remember the 
 short time in his life when he had been happy. \Miat a sin- 
 gular sensation that had been, how finally and entirely oblite- 
 rated from existence since I It had been clearly a sort of 
 accident which had led him astray out of a life of which the 
 destinies for some unfathomable reason were altogether gloomy 
 into a state that might be normal to other men, but was ruled 
 off from the possibilities of development he was subject to. The 
 wise thing to do was not to expect anything resembling happi- 
 ness for one instant. Different people had difl'erent aims in 
 life. If he clearly recognized that he had no expectation of 
 happiness that would perhaps be the best way of rendering 
 unhappiness best bearable. 
 
 So occult development was a pis alter for him if he treated 
 the matter honestly. It was rather contemptible that things 
 should be so. "Were they really so 1 If he should see Miriam 
 Seaford waiting for him at the next station, willing and able to 
 be all his fancy had painted, and to take up their lives where 
 they had been abruptly severed, would he deliberately get out 
 and join her and send back word to the Baron that he had 
 changed his mind about devoting himself to occult study? 
 Perhaps it was impossible to say what he would do in the 
 absence of the opportunity of really making a choice. Perhaps 
 he was doing himself injustice. Of course there was no doubt 
 about the superiority, in the scale of Nature, of the man who 
 devoted himself to perfecting his spiritual growth, a matter 
 affecting his destinies for incalculable aeons to come, as com- 
 pared with one who accepted happiness instead, in one earth- 
 life for a score or two of years. On the other haild might there 
 not be time enough, in eternity, for spiritual evolution, even if 
 a man postponed all efforts in that direction for the present, and 
 floated along the natural current of evolution, which the occult 
 student sought so marvellously to hasten 1 Well, anyhow, the 
 time had gone by wlien it would be necessary for him to pray 
 not to be led into temptation. 
 
A DBPEESSING JOUBNET. 149 
 
 They got to Cologne in the evening and dined there in the 
 refreshment-room, and then distributed themselves in appro- 
 priate compartments of a sleeping-car for the night-journey to 
 Brussels. Wrapped in his own thoughts, which cut him off 
 entirely from all real companionship with his fellow-travellers, 
 Annerly was glad to be rescued by the conditions of the night- 
 journey from the pretence of behaving, sociably. Of course he 
 felt a deep dejection of spirits after all the brooding reflections 
 of the afternoon ; and he went through some revulsion of feel- 
 ing as he lay down in his berth resenting his folly in cultivating 
 unwholesome fancies. "What a crisis that day's thinking, how- 
 ever, might be in his destiny, if the abnormal faculties the 
 Baron exercised and amidst which he lived, — for he had often 
 implied that other unknown superiors exercised such faculties 
 and powers unseen in a far greater degree than he himself, — 
 what a grand internal cure might be wrought in his, Annerly's, 
 nature, if something exhilarating and inspiring, helping to 
 confirm and strengthen his enthusiasm for the occult life, could 
 happen to him that night. If his inner spirit could be released 
 for a time as Merland's had been, to feel the glory of the 
 superior spiritual existence as freed from the trammels that 
 fettered the soul in its physical prison ! In his room the night 
 he was called by the Barou he had had evidence showing him 
 that the Baron might become aware of writing which he should 
 produce in privacy. Clairvoyant perception once operating 
 might as well follow him in the flying train as in the seclusion 
 of his own room at the castle. It was possible that he could 
 call the Baron's attention by writing something then and there. 
 He fumbled about for his pocket-book in the coat hanging up 
 within reach, and, tearing off the blank page of a letter, waited 
 for the first moment of steadiness in the train as it stopped at a 
 station to write. Then he put down a few words — an appeal 
 to the Baron for a sign — and put the paper under his pillow. 
 
 A night in a sleeping-car is seldom spent in an unbroken span 
 of sleep. Annerly was half-awake and half- asleep the greater 
 part of the night, thinking in the conscious intervals of the 
 paper under his pillow ; alive as time wore on to the fact that 
 nothing special had occurred to him subjectively, but refrain- 
 ing from the examination of the paper ; that, he thought, should 
 at any rate wait for the morning. It was at a very early hour 
 in the morning that the train reached Brussels ; and among his 
 
150 KAEMA. 
 
 earliest preparations for leaving it Annerly took out his expert- 
 meutal note, glancing eagerly to see if any words in blue-pencil 
 handwriting had appeared across it this time. Not a word or 
 a mark— the paper was just as he had prepared it. With a 
 feeling half of disappointment, half of contempt, for his own 
 too confident hopefulness of the previous evening, he crumpled 
 up and threw the note out of the window. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AN OLD LOVB. 
 
 It would have heen possible for those of the travelling-party, 
 bound for England, to have gone at once to Calais, but Sir 
 John explained that he would take this opportunity of looking 
 in on Lord George at the Embassy, and would beg Annerly, if 
 he did not mind, to join him in waiting one day at Brussels. 
 There was a lot to see in the place, he said. Annerly had never 
 been there, and would enjoy a look round at the old town and 
 the picture-galleries. He would see Lady Emily to her destina- 
 tion, and join Aimerly and Reginald at the hotel Annerly 
 fell in with the arrangement apathetically. He did not par- 
 ticularly care to see Brussels, but he was not in any special 
 hurry to ^et on, except for a vague desire to have done with his 
 present task as soon as possible ; so he and the boy went to the 
 hotel the Baronet directed them to as the best, and the other 
 two drove to the Embassy. It was still so early that Annerly, 
 established in Lis own quarters, having seen that Reginald was 
 comfortably provided for, lay down and slept for awhile, then 
 made a deliberate toilet and came down to the hall of the hotel 
 about ten. He was aware of a strange feeling of torpor and 
 apathy, afterwards he conceived that his sense of oppression 
 might have been a kind of presentiment, but for the moment he 
 only recognized it as an even more pronounced indifference to 
 everything than was usual to him, though that sensation was 
 but too usnal. In the hall the concierge gave him a note that 
 had been sent by Sir John. The Baronet explained that Lord 
 
AN OLD LOVa. 151 
 
 George had put him up at the Emhassy, that he hoped Annerly 
 would amuse himself the best way he could, and go on with 
 Reginald the following day without waiting for him. He might 
 come or he might not. 
 
 It was all one to Annerly. He did not trouble himself to 
 criticize the Baronet's arrangements by a passing thought. As 
 a matter of duty he went for a walk with Reginald along the 
 boulevard after they had had breakfast, and then to the pictures, 
 at which he gazed phlegmatically. In the afternoon he looked 
 wearily over the papers in the hotel reading-room, undertook in 
 reply to inquiries from the head- waiter to dine at the table- 
 d'hote, and then took refuge in his room again. He had not 
 often spent so vapid and purposeless a day, but its ennui was all 
 in the task he had accepted, like the ennui of the railway 
 journey. He and Reginald rendezvoused in the haU at the 
 appointed time, or a few mmutes after, for he was a little 
 late in commencing the slight change of dress appropriate to a 
 hotel dinner, and they went together into the salle-a-manger. 
 The waiters motioned them to the two seats reserved for them 
 at one of the long tables, the other seats being already occupied 
 on both sides. His face was turned towards Reginald, on his 
 left, as they sat down; to take an interest in the passing 
 travellers, who might be his fellow-guests at the hotel, was 
 about the last thought that would have occurred to him, and he 
 had looked at no one individually as they had walked up the 
 room. Lethargically, as he unfolded his napkin, he turned 
 towards the lady on his right, who looked half round at him — 
 she had recognized him ten seconds sooner than he knew who 
 it was j and then, dashed against his consciousness like a great 
 wave of the sea against a rock, came the perception that he was 
 sitting next to Miriam Seaford. 
 
 There was nothing said for some little while by either of 
 them. The lady seemed to shrink a little from her neighbour, 
 and the expression of her handsome features betrayed a shock 
 of feeling on her part, though its precise nature could not exactly 
 be read. She was beautiful — not in the brilliant style of Miss 
 Lucy Vaughan ; her complexion was very lightly tinted, but its 
 texture very delicate and smooth ; her hair grew rather low down 
 on her forehead, giving a Grecian, Clytie-like contour to the 
 head ; and the light-brown hair rippled away on either side and 
 swept round to the back in some fashion of 'lei own that 
 11 
 
152 EABMA. 
 
 suited her, and that she kept to, regardless of more prevailing 
 methods of arrangement The eyes were of a very perfect 
 violet ; the mouth attractive rather by reason of its rich expres- 
 sive outline than praiseworthy for small proportions ; and the 
 parted lips, as Annerly gazed at her, drew in a deep breath 
 which made her broad bosom heave perceptibly, even beneath 
 the high, black silk dress she wore. She had always been fond 
 of wearing black, against which the delicate tints of her neck 
 would gleam with fascinating lustre. 
 
 Annerly interpreted her look as one in which displeasure 
 predominated. The light clatter of the dinner-table was already 
 established ; he spoke to her in a low voice, under cover of 
 this, quite unheard by the others, — 
 
 " This meeting is quite accidental Shall I leave you ? " 
 
 " It doesn't matter," she said, stiffly. 
 
 Was she with her husband? Annerly wondered presently 
 in his own mind, with a chilly feeling of resentment against 
 the unknown man asserting itself in his breast, almost for the 
 first time. He looked at the person sitting beyond her. It 
 was no husband, at aU events — a lady — one much older than 
 herself, slight, dark, pleasant-looking — quite imconscious, so 
 far, that her companion had found an old acquaintance — en- 
 gaged, then, in a careful study of the menu^ propped before her 
 against a wine-glass, and in the leisurely consumption of her 
 soup. 
 
 A busy waiter presented Annerly with the wine-card. 
 
 "No, thanks," he said ; "I will drink water." 
 
 The lady of the menu looked up and motioned to the waiter 
 for the card. 
 
 "What wine will you have, Mirry darling? You've been 
 tired to-day — will you have some — " 
 
 " No thanks,'* interposed the younger lady, hurriedly; "none 
 to-day." 
 
 The other lady seemed distressed and urgent. 
 
 " Please, dear aunt, I would rather not." 
 
 " Aunt," she had said. Ah ! he knew of an aunt there had 
 been — a beie-noire of his in old times. All her relations had 
 been hete-noirs then — but he had never seen her. 
 
 The storm of feeling he had been aflfected by, at the first 
 instant of recognition, was subsiding a little now. He began 
 to eat the soup set before him, and to try and think collectedly 
 
AN OLD LOTB. 153 
 
 what was the right and best course to pursue — whether to make 
 some excuse to Reginald, get up quietly and go away, or to 
 try and enter into conversation as an old friend, calmly and 
 courteously ignoring the past. He felt he would rather, before 
 leaving her, let her know that he bore her no malice and har- 
 boured no resentment against her. Still, it was difficult to say 
 anything which should disguise the deep springs of infinite 
 tenderness for her that welled up as of old at the sight of her, 
 and flooded his whole soul as he sat beside her. She remained 
 silent, paler than before, and had answered one or two insignifi- 
 cant remarks of her aunt almost in monosyllables. At last, 
 disregarding all thought of framing a course of policy towards 
 her, he said what was in his heart about her — one set of ideas 
 on the subject, that is to say — very simply. 
 
 " I should like you to know that I hope very earnestly you 
 have been well and happy since I last saw you.*' 
 
 A look of something like surprise crossed her face, and a 
 contraction of the brows, as though it were an effort to speak. 
 
 ** Thank you. I have been very well." 
 
 The conversation did not progress rapidly. After a further 
 pause, Annerly said— as the conversation of the other people 
 near them rose a little, and made a shield for bis few private 
 words, — 
 
 " No one can hope more sincerely than I that you may always 
 be able to say that in all senses," 
 
 So far, her own brief fragments of speech had been uttered 
 with a cold, almost repellent tone, but in answer to his last 
 remark she said, more gently, — 
 
 " You are very generous. I am glad to hear what you say." 
 
 " I do not claim to be that ; but I should shrink from being 
 thought capable, by you, of having any other feeling about you 
 than what I have expressed." 
 
 A great change was imported into their conversation by her 
 next words, though they were as meagre as those which had 
 already passed. It was she who asked him a question this 
 time. 
 
 " Have you just come abroad t *' 
 
 There was nothing in the question. It might have been put 
 to him if they had really met at that table-d*h6ts for the first 
 time. But it indicated a willingness to talk. 
 
 " At this moment I am just going back. I iuve been stay- 
 
154 EABMA. 
 
 ing with friends on the Rhine. I have been travelling a great 
 deal — round the world, and so forth." 
 
 He was wondering, while he spoke, at the thought that she 
 was not Miriam Seafoid any more. To him she was never 
 thought of by any other name. And yet by this time that 
 name would have grown quite strange in her ears. He pro- 
 nounced to himself the name that must properly be hers now. 
 He had no inclination to pronounce it aloud. She must be 
 travelling with her aunt, and no one else at this moment, surely 1 
 Otherwise the husband, had he been with her, would have 
 been at the table-dlwte unless he were ill, perhaps. Annerly 
 wanted very much to know what were the general outlines 
 of her life. She must have left the stage, because he knew 
 that for long past her name had not appeared in any theatri- 
 cal announcements. But was she living in England or 
 abroad*? — was she the wife of a rich man, or how was she 
 circumstanced ? 
 
 " Are you beginning a tour," he asked, " or ending one 1" 
 
 " Kot exactly either. But my aunt and I have been staying 
 at places abroad for some weeks past." 
 
 He did not pay so much attention to the hanalites they were ex- 
 changing as to the sound of her voice, and the special peculiarities 
 and turns in her pronunciation, little minute individualities of 
 manner, which he had dwelt upon so fondly of old, and remem- 
 bered now as they reappeared in the few sentences she let fall. 
 What a strange, bewildering sensation to be near her again, and 
 yet, with an invisible wall between them, to be talking to her, 
 and yet measuring out meaningless morsels of speech, and 
 holding back the floods of emotion, explanation, inquiry he 
 would have discharged upon her if he had been free to do this 
 without fear of otiending her, without being deterred by the 
 general ignorance of her adventures since they had parted, which 
 he was oppressed by. 
 
 The long intervals, during which they said nothing, continued 
 to intervene between the few questions and answers they ex 
 changed. It seemed equally impossible to go on with trifling 
 conversation, or to venture on any serious topics. Eventually 
 he said, — 
 
 '* Whatever you can conveniently tell me about your life these 
 last three years would interest me very much. I have had as 
 nearly as possible no opportunity of hearing anything about you." 
 
AN OLD LOVE. 155 
 
 ** I left the stage altogether about a year and a half ago. I 
 
 have been living latterly with my aunt." 
 
 It was not a very complete narrative, but there was enough 
 in it to be puzzling. Perhaps she merely suppressed direct 
 reference to her marriage to avoid putting things in a painful 
 way to him. But what had become of the husband ? 
 
 " You left the stage I suppose," he said, " when— you 
 married 1 " 
 
 Colour gathered in her cheeks at the word, and her brows 
 drew together. With a recurrence to the more chilling manner 
 in which she had spoken at first she said, curtly, — 
 
 " I never married." 
 
 "What!" 
 
 The revelation did not make any material difference to him. 
 They had not parted because of her marriage. The division 
 between them had been quite definitely established before that 
 had, as he believed, taken place ; but still it involved a new 
 revulsion of feeling to learn that all the reflections on that sub- 
 ject that had passed through his mind, from time to time, had 
 been groundless — that he had somehow been picturing her 
 wrongly in his mind all this while. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said, " I have been misinformed." 
 
 In some respects the state of things just disclosed made the 
 position more embarrassing than ever. A married woman, she 
 would not have imagined that in addressing her now he could 
 be seeking to renew their old relations. Still Miriam Seaford 
 as she had been, he would seem merely importunate — a creature 
 deficient in delicacy of feeling, who would not keep out of her 
 path, though she had plainly intimated her wish that he would. 
 He had again a strong desire to clear himself by explanation ; 
 but these jerky bits of conversation, liable to be overheard, would 
 not lend themselves to more confidential talk. 
 
 " I am on my way to England," he said presently, as the 
 serving of the dinner drew towards its close, " and I leave 
 Brussels by the Calais train in the morning about eight. I 
 should like to say a few words to you before going, which I 
 cannot say quite conveniently here, and if I might be allowed to 
 join you in the hall or salon after dinner for a few minutes I 
 should be gratefuL" 
 
 She hesitated a little before replying, and then said simply, — 
 
 "Very well." 
 
156 KABMA. 
 
 Shortly after they all rose from the table, and the large crowd 
 of guests dispersed in various directions. Miss Seaford put her 
 arm through her aunt's, and passed on with her in advance. 
 Annerly purposely lingered behind a little. He divined that 
 she would want to give Miss Jameson — he at last recalled 
 the aunt's name not without difficulty — some explanations ; 
 and he sat down at the table again, trifling with the nuts and 
 raisins of the somewhat meagre dessert, to give himself an excuse 
 for waiting a little v iiile longer in the salle-a-manger. He frankly 
 apologized to Reginald for negh^cting him during dinner. 
 
 " I knew the lady I have been talking to years ago, Reginald," 
 he said ; " I have been a stupid companion for you, but 1 could 
 not help it." 
 
 ** It is very kind of you to travel with jne," the boy said. " J 
 am sure it is I that ought to apologize for being a burden on 
 you." 
 
 As usual, Reginald was decades older, as far as his language 
 went, than his actual age. Annerly was touched by the quiet 
 unselfishness which took no heed of his gloomy temper during 
 the day, and his entire distraction during the dinner, through 
 which Reginald had eat without exchanging a word with any 
 one. 
 
 " Thank you for putting the thing so nicely, but if I am 
 morose and a bad companion, that is as our friends here would 
 s'xj plus forte que moi. I am sorry, but I can't explain at present. 
 Now would you mind waiting for me anywhere about — say in the 
 reading-room — for awhile 1 Then, perhaps, we can take a turn 
 on the boulevards later. Just for the moment I have again 
 something that I must say to those ladies." 
 
 " I will wait for a little in the reading-room, and then go to 
 my own room if you do not come to fetch me. Pray, ^Ir. 
 Annerly, don't put yourself out for me. I am really grateful to 
 you, and would not trouble you more than 1 can help. Perhaps 
 you will be longer with your friends than you think." 
 
 The boy's voice dropped a little as he said this, and there was 
 a touch of sadness in his tone, a sort of wistful flavour which 
 Annerly interpreted, and was much touched by, as meaning that 
 he shrank from the neglect he anticipated, though politely pro- 
 posing to leave his temporary guardian full liberty of action. 
 Annerly put his hand, with a more affectionate feeling than he 
 had developed towards the boy before, on Beginald's shoulder 
 
AN OLD LOVE. 157 
 
 as they walked out of the dining-room immediately after this, 
 and thanked him, while adding that they would have their stroll 
 on the houlevards all the same in a very little while. 
 
 In the hall of the hotel were sofas, where the guests sat about 
 after dinner, as well as in the public roomsi Annerly looked 
 about here for the two ladies, at first in vain, but presently he 
 saw the elder standing where a turn of the great staircase con- 
 cealed a further comer from view. He advanced in this direction, 
 and then she moved away across the hall in another direction, 
 towards the reading-room. Coming to the place she had occupied 
 he then saw Miss Seaford seated alone on a causeuse concealed 
 by the staircase in a nook that was thus screened from general 
 observation. 
 
 " It is very kind of you," he said, as he came up, " to grant 
 me this opportunity. I had no expectation of the privilege of 
 speaking to you alone." 
 
 ** There is no reason why you should not do so — if you wish 
 to. I am only surprised that you should care to speak to me at 
 alL" 
 
 " If I could have said to you three years ago what I want to 
 say now I should, I think, perhaps have felt the pain of losing you 
 a little less acutely ; but I may be self -deceived in that. I only 
 mean that I have often wished very much I could have said 
 this, which simply is — that I quite recognize your ample right 
 to cancel the too-sweet promises you once half let me think you 
 made to me. But I would rather have surrendered my claims 
 on you, such as they were, at your frankly-expressed demand, 
 than have been as it seemed not quite trusted by you to be 
 ready to make a sacrifice on your behalf. My love for you 
 would have been very base and selfish if I had been capable of 
 making it hard for you to get rid of my claims when you wished 
 them to be given up. Of course, it would not have made the 
 pain of the sacrifice itself any less, but it might have been some- 
 thing to feel sure that you knew I had loved you truly enough 
 to have made it, by my own act, at your bidding." 
 
 Miss Seaford made as if she would speak. 
 
 ** I think — " she began, but her lips were not quite under 
 control, and she got out a handkerchief instead. 
 
 " I think it was by a kind of mistake in the working of my 
 destiny that my iU-starred life was entangled for a little while 
 with yours. I only wonder that you ever permitted it to be 
 
 11 
 
158 KARMA. 
 
 for a time so entaneled ; unless, indeed, ft had to be that I wcs 
 to endure some suffering that could hardly have accrued to me 
 in any other way. But I only indulge in this repining that 
 you may understand just how the thing stands in all its bear- 
 ings. Then, perhaps, some thoughts that have rankled with me 
 will be at rest henceforth." 
 
 " I should have thought," she said, " that you would have 
 wanted to kill me if you suffered like that." 
 
 He could smile at the extravagance, as he sat beside her — 
 gently putting the idea aside with a gesture. 
 
 " If you see what I mean alto_;ether, you will do me the 
 justice, in looking back, now, to know that I never harboured 
 in my heart one thought on the low level of anger against you. 
 I was — well, no matter what I felt Of course, in losing you, 
 I lost all that gave life any value for me, but that was no fault 
 of yours. Wliy should you have bestowed yourself upon me if 
 you did not choose to do so 1 My love for you imposed no 
 duty upon you. It was my hard fate, no fault of yours, tLat it 
 could not lead to wliat I had extravagantly expected — or hoped 
 for ; I tliink now, looking back, I can hardly ever have really 
 expected it I have never, never blamed you, Miriam, neither 
 then nor since — " 
 
 She made an impatient little movement of her foot, though 
 her head remained bent down and she did not speak, putting 
 her handkerchief to her eyes silently every now and then. 
 
 " I know," he went on, " that it could not matter to you if 
 I had presumed to blame you, but for my own sake I have 
 want^^d you to know that that was not so." 
 
 " You don't understand me," she said then, getting command 
 of her voice with some little difficulty, but speaking j').n;.!y 
 when the effort had been made ; " I think you had great n-a.s .n 
 to blame me ; to hate me for treating you as I did. anl I can't 
 understand why you didn't" 
 
 '' That view of the matter hardly needs an answer from me ; 
 and I am sure you never suspected me of not loving you, though 
 you may have thought of me as perhaps reproachful, when I 
 was not so really. So little was that the case that when I 
 heard of you as married I may honestly say that my most 
 earnest wish was that you might be happy in that condition. 
 I did not love you the less. Life without you was not the less 
 prolonged desolation, but I did hope that foi* you it might be 
 
AN OLD LOVB. 159 
 
 brighter than it pos?ihly could be for myself. And I am unable 
 to understand now how I waa misled- I had a letter when I 
 was in China from AValter Maxley, whom you may just perhiips 
 remember, definitely telling me that he had met you travelling 
 in Switzerland with your husband It is unaccouutible that 
 he should have mistaken some one else for yon, and have written 
 to me about such a matter as if he were certain." 
 
 She had lifted her head to look at him with a feeling of 
 either tenderness or commiseration when she last spoke, out 
 now again bent down her head. He did not see the colour in 
 her face, but her voice was constrained. 
 
 " He was mis.aken at all events. I was never married." 
 
 " It is strange : but it was not the ima^-ined marriage that 
 put us asunder ; and even the discovery of the mistake does 
 not justify me in staving with you any longer now. It has 
 been a relief to me — tor the moment it seems so at any rate, 
 even if to-morrow I may think that old wounds have been but 
 needlessly reopened — to have met you again, and to have had 
 out this explanation. I will say good-bye now, and if I could 
 ensure your happiness from this time forth— by any act of 
 mine — " (he had almost formed a more impassioned sentence, 
 but cancelled it as it rose to his lips lest it should sound too 
 much like an implied entreaty) — " then you would certainly be 
 happy." 
 
 He rose slowly from the seat beside her, and put out his 
 hand. It could not but be that she saw it, but she made no 
 motion of her own to meet it. So quick was he to imagine 
 himself regarded with aversion that he drew back his hand, and, 
 again murmuring "Good-bye," was about to leave her, when 
 she looked up and motioned to him to sit down again. 
 
 " Stay, there is no hurry. Will you not sit down again t 
 There are things I should wish to say to you." 
 
 Annerly sat down. He did not consider the situation in any 
 deliberate way at all, but he was conscious of delight in being 
 near her for a little whUe longer, though the blessing was but 
 to be evanescent. 
 
 " Did you think I wanted you to go away without shaking 
 hands 1 "' 
 
 " I had no right at any rate to press yon to do so if you did 
 not want Surely a woman may choose who shall be hei 
 friends, and those not chosen have no right to complain." 
 
160 KAEMA. 
 
 " I could have no better friend than you ; and I never had 
 anything against you — but it seemed to me before we parted 
 that you would insist on being a great deal more than a friend 
 or nothing." 
 
 "Very likely I should have tried hard to be more. Of 
 course you were right to act as you did. It wa-j the only way, 
 except, as I say, that I should have appreciated, and I would 
 certainly have justified, more trust at parting." 
 
 " Perhaps I was cruel, through not understanding you pro- 
 perly ; though I ought to have understood you. I think I did 
 really. I suppose I was cruel through being cowardly, and not 
 wanting a parting scene. There is no help for it all now. But 
 after all this time, and the changes, and things that must have 
 happened, it is diflferent. I can tell you how sorry I am to 
 think I gave you so much pain, and you will forgive me. But 
 I know that you have done that all along." 
 
 " Indeed I have ; or, rather, I would never allow, in my own 
 heart even, that there was anything to forgive. I quite entirely 
 consider you were right. I was asking altogether too much of 
 you — too great a sacrifice in more ways than one. But if 
 you do not mind me going on talking I will show you all my 
 thoughts about you very willingly." 
 
 " I want — now everything of the old sort, you know, be- 
 tween us is over, and so long past— that I may not lose sight 
 of you again altogether. I don't know yet exactly myself what 
 I want, but I have been feeling very sorry for having hurt you 
 so much. If it is any relief for you to talk to me, and hear me 
 say this — then I am very glad we met." 
 
 " Relief I Well, yes, it is that in a way — more and less. 
 It is for the moment something like happiness to sit beside you 
 again, free to say what is in my heart about you — though, as I 
 say, it will not be that to-morrow altogether. You see it is no 
 news for you that my love for you was very deep, and that 
 is merely another way of saying that it was necessarily very 
 lasting. Since I may make the state of the case clear to you, I 
 need not hesitate to tell the simple truth — don't be afraid that I 
 shall trouble you or be importunate ; but, of course, there has 
 never been a moment from when we parted last till now 
 when I have loved you any less than I always did in the old 
 time." 
 
 ** Oh, Mr. Annerly, don't say or think such things. It's a 
 
AN OLD LOVB. 161 
 
 kind of madness with you. There's no reason for it. I'm not 
 in the least worthy of being put on a pedestal like that — you 
 wovddn't if you knew." 
 
 " A kind of madness ? Well, I am not mad in any other way 
 that I know of; but in this respect I think I have had experi- 
 ence that shows I am incurable." 
 
 " Perhaps we ought to part — even now altogether." 
 
 " That 1 should say depends upon whether I can be of any 
 service to you. It will be something like a relief, may be, 
 to me if you keep up so much communication with me as may 
 enable me to feel sure you can always apply to me if you need 
 me in any way." 
 
 " But which way is it best for you ? I do not want to be 
 spoiling your life more than I can help — " 
 
 Annerly almost laughed. 
 
 " You must not think of that," he said ; *' it is really not 
 worth while — my life has been quite irretrievably spoilt in the 
 way you mean already. Not through your fault, through my 
 own vain presumption in thinking I could chain you to it." 
 
 "Would it not be best for you," she asked, after a few 
 moments' pause, turning her head round and looking him full 
 in the face, " to be quite cured of loving me once for all 1 " 
 
 "Undoubtedly, far, far best; quite immeasurably the best 
 thing for me." 
 
 The answer seemed not quite what she had expected, and she 
 looked puzzled for a few moments. Then she said, — 
 
 " I see what you mean : you mean it would be impossible." 
 
 ** Unhappily, yes." 
 
 *' Perhaps if you knew the real Miriam Seaford, instead of 
 the ideal you may have got in your own fancy, it would not be 
 so impossible." 
 
 " This is the vainest fancy of all." 
 
 " At all events, I know what would be best for you — what 
 you yourself even acknowledge would be best." 
 
 Annerly saw she had some reserved meaning behind her 
 words in her own mind, but attached no great weight to this. 
 He only suspected the words in one bearing they might have. 
 
 "I hope you do not misunderstand me. You will talk of 
 extravagant hypotheses, and so you force me to refer to others. 
 Evidently it would be best, in one sense, for any man to be 
 cured of loving a woman who does not want his love — but such 
 
 M 
 
162 KARMA. 
 
 A best aa that is & forlorn alternative only ; no more than that 
 Never mind me, however, except that the best thing you can 
 do for me, practiciilly, is to let me see you and do what I can 
 for you from time to time, if any such opportunities arise." 
 
 " Wouldn't it be a kind of torture for you if you still care 
 for me like that ] " 
 
 " A lesser kind, I think, than some other sorts I know of. 
 Remember this, Miriam — at least I beg yoiji pardon — it is 
 strange to me to call you anything else, but I will try." 
 
 She only shook her head sadly, neither resenting nor en- 
 coura^ng the use of the name ; and Annerly went on. 
 
 *' What I was saying was this, that you would do wisely, I 
 think, and certainly most kindly to me, in taking facts for 
 granted. My love for you is an immovable fact, and anyth'ng 
 done on the supposition that it may be movable can only give 
 pain and trouble. But it need not be a disturbing fact for you 
 in any way. You may quite trust my self-control I know it 
 is the fashion for lovers to say that they must be lovers or 
 nothing. That position seems to me not dignified but merely 
 selfish. As I can't be your lover I would assuredly rather be 
 your friend than a stranger." 
 
 There was something in this declaration that touched her 
 again. She was never quick or impetuous in her movements or 
 words. But she slowly looked round to him again, as he sat 
 beside her, with something of the old affectionate expression 
 he used to awaken in her eyes. 
 
 " You are very good to me," she said ; " of course I might 
 have known you would be." 
 
 She put her hand out to him as she spoke, and he clasped it 
 earnestly for a few moments, and bent his head over it shghtly. 
 
 " I wish it had not been so, for your sake," she added ; 
 " but now — I would rather talk no more, just at present. We 
 shall be returning to England in a very few days. Will you 
 give me an address to which I can write to you '? " 
 
 Annerly gave her a card bearing the address of his chambers 
 in London. 
 
 " I shall be away at Cambridge for a few days, but will take 
 care that my letters are forwarded. Probably I shall be back 
 there myself as soon as you are in town. And you 1 I should 
 be glad to know where to inquire after you." 
 
 Miss Seaf ord gave him her aunt's addresa. 
 
AN OLD LOVB. 163 
 
 ** But I will write to you ; I will indeed. Good-bye." 
 She put out her hand, this time spontaneously, and left it in 
 his as long as he chose to hold it — a few seconds longer than 
 would have been necessary for a formal parting — and she looked 
 up at him as he said good-bye with something like the old look 
 he remembered so welL Then Annerly went upstairs to his 
 room to be alone for a while and review the strange incidents 
 of the evening. 
 
 So then this was the measure of his resolution about pursuing 
 a life of monastic spirituality. He had come again within sight 
 of Miriam Seaford, and his heart was throbbing with as much 
 wild passion of love for her as though the last three years had 
 been annihilated. He had not been even offered the temptation 
 of a return to the old relationship with her. He was not called 
 on to weigh the alternative of happiness with her as his wife 
 against the further developments that might follow adherence 
 to the programme pointed out to him by the Baron. He was 
 simply put in her presence and everything else was forgotten. 
 Or was it that just because he had not contemplated any resump- 
 tion of old relations with her he had drifted without resistance 
 into the conversation that had taken place 1 How would the 
 bare renewal of acquaintance with her — the futile pain he would 
 suffer in being frequently reminded of the happiness he might 
 have enjoyed with her if she had regarded him differently — in- 
 terfere with the progress of whatever might be possible for him 
 in the path of occult development 1 His thoughts were not very 
 connected ; he hardly strove to render them so. The situation 
 made no claim on him for any immediate decision. To have 
 seen her again and poured out loving words in her ear ; to have 
 held her hand in his — if only that — once more ; to have won 
 her back again to the ext^.nt of gaining friendly words from her, 
 and kindly looks and indications of a readiness on her part to 
 renew some sort of intercourse in the future — all this was 
 simply like convalescence after distressing illness, like ease after 
 pain, or rest and comfort and security after shipwreck. It was 
 a state of things to be dreamily enjoyed rather than criticized. 
 It crossed his mind to notice, as a striking fact, emphasizing 
 the bitterness of the past, that this barren consolation of having 
 simply talked with her a little again should be a consolation, 
 although it conveyed no promise of any joy in the future what- 
 ever. He was no more in a position to possess himself of that, 
 
 M 2 
 
164 KARMA. 
 
 which he knew too surely to be the only source of happiness 
 possible for him in this life, than he had been yesterday ; and 
 yet he had crossed a gulf since then, and the world wore a new 
 aspect. It was certainly not logical, and perhaps it was idiotic 
 of him to feel any sense of relief in consequence of what had 
 passed; but surely, he said to himself, he had gone through 
 enough to warrant him in welcoming any sense of relief, how- 
 ever indefensible in reason. 
 
 After awhile he went downstairs again to seek out Reginald, 
 but the boy had acted as he promised, and had left the reading- 
 room, relieving Annerly of all further duties on his account that 
 evening. 
 
 In the morning they were both up early to catch the Calais 
 express. They met in the haU, where Annerly looked round, 
 thinking to himself how the features of the place would be im- 
 pressed for life upon his memory ; and he was crossing it to go 
 to the salle-a-manger for their breakfast when the concierge came 
 up to him with a note. 
 
 " The lady sent this down last night, sir, to be given to you 
 before you started this morning." 
 
 The mere sight of the familiar handwriting, on which his eyes 
 had not rested for so long, gave him a renewed thrill of emotion 
 — all the more that bhe pink paper on which it was written and 
 the appearance of the envelope and its little monogram were 
 teeming with associations for him. He had accumulated a large 
 store of these pink notes at one time, and he had carried them 
 about with him on his travels with Merland, done up in a 
 packet, with the only portrait of her that he ever possessed. 
 But he had never been so frivolous in his mourning for her as 
 to reread them. He wanted no artificial stimulus to refresh his 
 memories of the past ; and he only unfastened the packet once 
 to bid a final farewell to its contents, one day, when he buried 
 it in the Atlantic Ocean on his return to England from his trip 
 round the world. He had a vague feeling, at the time, that he 
 might be able to turn a new page, and would be wisest to put 
 these useless mementoes of the old one out of sight, once for all. 
 It had not been a ver}' successful manoeuvre, he sometimes 
 thought afterwards, but at all events he had not seen the old 
 handwriting from that day till this, when the burly concierge of 
 the Brussels hotel handed him a specimen of it once again, a 
 specimen that might have taken its place in the old series, and 
 
MSTOEED. 165 
 
 that even bore the old scent ; for Miriam Seaford had a trick of 
 individualizing her habits in all respects, and always used the 
 same note-paper and the same scent, just as she always did up 
 her hair in the same way, and kept as far as fashion would 
 allow to some individualized fancies in her dress. 
 The note was brief and merely said, — 
 
 "Dear Mb. Annerlt, — 
 
 ** My aunt bids me say that she will be happy to see you, if 
 you like to call on us after Wednesday next. I am living with 
 her now. But I will write to you before then as I promised. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Miriam Seaford.*' 
 
 CHAPTER XX, 
 
 RESTORED. 
 
 Annbrlt was a vigorous and clear-headed politician, a journalist 
 distinguished by a keen and incisive style, and withal a man 
 whose external appearance was not calculated to mark him out 
 as a prey to sentimental imaginings. But there had not been 
 many consecutive hours since his first acquaintance with Miriam 
 Seaford when her image had been altogether absent from his 
 thoughts. His love for her had coloured the whole fabric of 
 his mind. It might be employed on this or that pursuit, but 
 its underlying sensations would be derived from the inarticulate 
 current of longing for her that was always flowing through it. 
 This was now swollen to a torrent again ; and during the few 
 days that he spent in the fulfilment of his mission about Eegi- 
 nald, it obliterated all other trains of reflection. 
 
 With dinning sound my ears sure rife, 
 
 My tremulouB tongue faltereth ; 
 
 I drink the cup of a costly death 
 
 Brimmed with delicious draughts of warmest life. 
 
 The lines would, over and over again, sing their passionate 
 muFic in his heart. The little poem " Eleanore *' had been one 
 
166 KAEMA. 
 
 he had always associated in his own fancy with Miriam Seaford 
 so closely that it had become, in the later years, replete with 
 emotions too distressing to be needlessly stirred. He had 
 shunned the verses ever since, as he had shunned looking at the 
 old pink notes. But now the colour of all such associations 
 was changed ; and the verses came to the front again in his 
 imagination, especially the last two, which seemed peculiarly 
 appropriate to the strange undefined revival of the past, which 
 had suddenly come about. 
 
 What did Miriam mean by the attitude she was taking up t 
 What did he himself desire 1 The conversation at the hotel 
 might, perhaps, be set down altogether to the surprise of the 
 moment ; to her regret for having given him so much pain in 
 the past ; to an impression that she might have formed during 
 their separation, and might have wished to verify, that perhaps 
 he had now recovered from his wound. But the talk they had 
 had would have shown her that he still loved her as much as 
 ever, and yet she suggested that he should again come and see 
 her — not to perform any specific service for her, but in a general 
 way to resume intercourse. It might be, indeed, to drink the 
 cup of a costly death that he would obey her summons, but he 
 did not pretend to himself that there was any hesitation in his 
 own mind as to whether he would go. Was the whole catas- 
 trophe of his life, that seemed so final and inevocable, going 
 after all to be redressed 1 Was he going to enter on a life of 
 happiness 1 The conviction that every possibility of that sort 
 was quite out of the question in his case had been settled in his 
 belief so long, that the new contingency now presented to him 
 was bewildering. And yet why should it not be realized — since 
 Miriam, after all, seemed leaning once more towards accepting 
 him as her lover ? 
 
 Very little passed between Annerly and his companion on 
 their journey to London. They had both lost the feeling of 
 being awkward in not talking much. Reginald was always 
 contented to sink into a book, and he had brought two or three 
 with him, which took him off Annerly's hands in the train. 
 Moreover, Annerly had developed a very kindly feeling towards 
 him, in connection with his beautifully simple self-obliteration 
 of the previous evening, and the few words that were exchanged 
 had friendly impulses behind them. He even came to be 
 interested in Keginald in a somewhat new way, because he 
 
EE8T0EBD. 167 
 
 realized, during their journey together, that the quiet self- 
 possession and intellectual advancement the boy exhibited had 
 probably some more subtle explanation than he had at first 
 sugpected. They had been talking a little of the programme 
 which was now marked out for Eeginald's education; and 
 Annerly had been thinking in his own mind that perhaps the 
 seclusion of the boy from the rough companionship of others 
 might weaken his masculine fibre, even though special teaching, 
 adapted to his peculiarly precocious mind, might yield larger 
 results in that way. He had asked Reginald whether he did 
 not regret losing the games and amusements of a big school. 
 
 " I don't care about that sort of thing, and they seem to 
 waste so much time at schools, from what I hear. I must 
 learn to read Greek and Latin thoroughly well, but I hope to 
 get back to my uncle again when that is done — so the sooner it 
 is done the better.'* 
 
 ** Don't you mean to live in England when you grow up V 
 
 " I don't know. I haven't any plans. Something or other 
 will seem the best thing to do when the time comes, I suppose." 
 
 While they were talking Eeginald had held down the book 
 he was reading with his thumb in the place and the fingers out- 
 side, and Annerly noticed that the nail of one of these fingers 
 was somewhat distorted as if it had met with an accident. 
 
 " Have you hurt your hand 1 " he asked. 
 
 Reginald looked at his finger, following the direction of 
 Annerly's glance, and laughed. 
 
 *' That's a very old hurt. It happened more than a year 
 ago." 
 
 " What did you contrive to do to yourself 1 " 
 
 " Well, it was a piece of stupidity of mine that my uncle 
 didn't approve of at all," said Reginald, but in a tone that 
 showed that the disapproval had not borne heavily on his con- 
 science. Annerly asked what was the joke. 
 
 " Well ; I'd been reading a good deal about the Indian fakirs 
 and yogis, who show their tremendous will-power by bearing 
 pain. So I thought there might be some great wonder to learn 
 about that way, and I thought I'd try. I managed to tear off 
 one of my finger-nails — " 
 
 " What ! " cried Annerly in amazement, **you mean you did 
 it on purpose 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; it was very difficult to manage, but I did, just as my 
 12 
 
168 KARMA. 
 
 uncle came rushing in to stop me. He put on the nail again, 
 and hound my finger up. Of course no ordinary doctor could 
 have made it grow again at all, and even he did not make it 
 grow quite straight." 
 
 Annerly sat looking at the hoy in silent wonder. Having 
 heen pressed with questions he had told his story very simply 
 — he had not even brought it out in a spirit of boasting. And 
 this was the boy tliat he had been thinking might be in need of 
 a little Eton or Itugby *' roughing " to strengthen his masculine 
 fibre ! It was borne in on his understanding very forcibly that 
 in some way Reginald must be other than what he seemed— no 
 mere commonplace son of Sir John Hexton's, forced prematurely 
 in his mental development, by living with the Baron. 
 
 " I'm glad I heard that queer story," he said. " I am the 
 less likely to misunderstand you — and may be the better able 
 to look after this business of the private tutor for you. I feel 
 as if I ought to apologize for having talked to you sometimes — 
 as if you were a boy ! " 
 
 '* So I am a boy," said Reginald, laughing ; " but you know 
 in a general way what my uncle is, and anybody who wants to 
 be like him has got to begin young I believe." 
 
 " There's food for a great deal of reflection in that," said 
 Aimerly. 
 
 " I don't mean that those who begin young are the only ones. 
 Others may be better qualified, and begin later." 
 
 It struck Annerly that his present state of mind was not an 
 illustration of his own especially superior qualitications in that 
 line ; and that it was perhaps a somewhat quixotic notion that 
 had recertly been leading him to think the path of occult pro- 
 gress oiie he might be able to tread. But the nature of the 
 obstacles in his way precluded him altogether from discussing 
 them with Reginald, and after a little while they both resumed 
 their reading. 
 
 The journey was a doubly impressive one for Annerly, for 
 he had a vivid sense of the contrast between all he knew of 
 Reginald — of the strange destinies probably in store for him, of 
 the scenes in which they had both recently been taking a part, 
 and on the other hand of the dull ignorance concerning aU these 
 mysteries on the part of the people they sat among in railway- 
 carriages and on the steamboat and in hotels. Then, beyond 
 this, he was moved by the suppressed under- current of strong 
 
EBSTOEED. 169 
 
 personal excitement dne to the revolution that had taken place 
 in his own most private affairs. 
 
 He had no accommodation to offer Reginald at his chambers, 
 so they spent one night at a London hotel, and went on the 
 following morning to Cambridge, where Annerly instantly set 
 about the inquiry with which he was charged. His acquaint- 
 ances in Cambridge were many. He had always remained 
 deeply attached to the scene of his first successful struggle from 
 the lower intellectual life in which he had been bom, up into 
 the more exhilarating mental atmosphere of cultivated society, 
 and he had maintained the habit of frequently returning to the 
 university, to resume his cap and gown for awhile, to attend 
 dinners in hall and chapel services, and to exercise the various 
 privileges of his fellowship. A couple of days enabled him to 
 find a suitable home for Reginald ; and, bidding him good-bye 
 with a hearty goodwill established between them, that the 
 earlier experiences of their journey had scarcely seemed to 
 promise, he went back to London on the third, and as he entered 
 his own room his eyes were gladdened by the sight of a pink 
 note Ijang on the centre table. Eagerly opening it, he read as 
 follows, — 
 
 "Dear Mr. Annerly, — 
 
 '* I am true to my promise this time — will yon Bay for a 
 wonder 1 I am going to write a letter that may lead to pain and 
 unhappiness for both of us, or to the reverse — who knows] 
 But I must warn you not to be too much elated, at any rate, by 
 what I am going to say first. 
 
 " I really did not think that your love for me would have 
 remained so strong, and I don't think now you are to be at all 
 congratulated on being so faithful ; for I don't think it is in me 
 to love anybody in a way that would at all correspond to the 
 sort of love you have for me. But I am writing to tell 
 you that if you like to resume the old relations there 
 used to be between us I am willing that things should be 
 80. It would be nonsense for me to seem to doubt 
 whether you wish this after what passed between us at 
 Brussels, but I may be preparing a great humiliation for myself 
 in saying this, for you have much to learn about me before you 
 must answer this, 
 
 " For one thing, your friend was mistaken when he told you 
 
170 KABMA. 
 
 I was married, but there was a time when I wished to be, and 
 believed that I was going to be. I shall not tell you all about 
 this myself — I shall leave my aunt to do that for me. But, 
 though I dare say you will be very glad to hear what I have 
 just told you — that you may now have me for your wife if you 
 wish it — it remains to be seen whether you will wish it, after 
 you have seen and talked with her. 
 
 " Entre deux amants il y a toujours un qui aime et un que se 
 laisse aimer. I am but offering you me laisser aimer again, and 
 if you decline, then, at least, it will have been that you are 
 cured of your love for me, and I shall not have to think of my- 
 self any more as having ruined your life for always. 
 
 " You can go and see my aunt to-morrow afternoon. I shall 
 not be at home myself ; and your impatience to see me — if you 
 are impatient still — must wait a little longer. About that you 
 will hear from my aunt. 
 
 " I do not think till then, anyhow, that I need hesitate to 
 call myself 
 
 " Yours affectionately, 
 
 "Miriam Seapord." 
 
 " Miriam, Miriam, my darling ! ** was the first comment that 
 Annerly made on the letter, as he leaned forward in his easy- 
 chair, stretching out his arms to the vision of his beloved that 
 rose before his mind's eye. And yet the veiled significance of 
 her explanation was not lost upon him. "Some one has 
 betrayed her," he thought. " The fool— the fooL" 
 
 There was a tinge of pain perceptible amid the delirium of 
 his own joy at the thought which his imagination quickly 
 grasped. This story of Maxley's, of how she had been seen 
 *' travelling with her husband " — there could hardly be much 
 doubt, after what she now wrote, as to how the mistake arose. 
 And she could not bring herself to write details — that she had 
 left to her aunt. 
 
 He did not want details. They belonged to a horrible night- 
 mare-time that might now be put away and obliterated. Had 
 she loved the other man 1 There was true pain in that conjec- 
 ture. But surely there could have been no love of the sort 
 that would be abiding. There would certainly be many people 
 who would condemn him for not condemning her, in the face of 
 what he now learned, for not at once " plucking her image from 
 
BESTOEED. 171 
 
 his heart," — as he scornfully phrased the idea. But how little 
 such criticism, he thought, would take account of such love as 
 his for Miriam 1 He loved her ; not what other people might 
 think about her. If she had done this or that which she ought 
 not to have done, she was none the less herself. To pass through 
 life without her was the sum of all misery ; to pass through life 
 with her would be, if not absolute happiness — for experience 
 could only show what new possibilities of suffering his later 
 destiny might hold — at all events, the only condition of things 
 which made happiness possible. 
 
 How little conventional moralists — who would find his 
 too easy forgiveness of her sin, discreditable — how little 
 they would understand the only thing which really did make 
 him — not hesitate to accept her offer, for he knew, in his heart, 
 that he could not pretend to hesitate for one fraction of a 
 second — but feel some touch of shame in embracing it, as he 
 did, without hesitation. He was cutting himself off, within a 
 few days after he had been wishing to bind himself to it by 
 vows, from the life of occult study and development, the 
 marvellous avenues of which had been half-opened before him 
 by his intercourse with the Baron, and across the threshold of 
 which he might almost be said to have passed. He did 
 remember, as he sat with Miriam's letter in his hand, how the 
 Baron had said to him that evening in the chamber — better not 
 bind yourself by vows, even uttered in private ; it would be 
 better to give up soon, rather than late, if your resolution is 
 likely not to be strong enough to carry you all the way. He 
 was acting upon that advice but too promptly. He \\ as indeed 
 giving up soon. He was to try the very thing he had so un- 
 justly scorned poor Mcrland for aiming at. He was going to 
 make a little paradise on earth for himself for a few years, and 
 to turn away from the path which led to the far grander 
 heaven he had dimly discerned as connected with the elevation 
 of his soul to a higher spiritual level altogether — one on 
 which the single individual loves of our own stage of develop- 
 ment would be, in some mysterious way, not deadened but 
 superseded. 
 
 It was very sad that human nature was weak, but with him, 
 at least, love for Miriam was strong. Wise, wise friend the 
 Baron had been — could he have been prophetically wise ? — in 
 warning him against the formal enunciation of vows which it 
 
172 KARMA. 
 
 might have been humiliating to break, and which it would have 
 been useless folly to have kept — in view of the feeling with 
 which his whole soul was now flooded. He would have to 
 write to the Baron and tell him what had occurred, and to 
 Merland too. But first he had to write a report of his opera- 
 tions in Eoginald's interest at Cambridge. He could do that 
 without touching the other matter, and keep his confession 
 waiting till all was definitely settled again between Miriam and 
 himself. 
 
 The day was a tedious one to pass. " I might have been with 
 you at this moment, my own love," he thought, " if you had 
 not been distrustful of me even now." But this reflection was 
 not overwhelming. The delay did not threaten to be protracted. 
 Perhaps by next evening he would be with her. Slowly the 
 time wore by. He did some work. The distraction of happi- 
 ness is unfavourable to work, but less so than the distraction of 
 misery, which he had long been trained to resist. 
 
 He went out in the evening, and dined at a literary club 
 he had lately been enabled to join. Most of the usual fre- 
 quenters were away on autumn travels, but the small party that 
 was left found him strangely good company. He had been 
 respected in a way hitherto for what he had done, but had not 
 been found a cheerful convive. This evening he talked and 
 laughed and talked like the rest. Some one remarked that he 
 was deucedly improved since he had joined the Vasile Club. 
 
 At the earliest reasonable hour next day he knocked at Miss 
 Jameson's door. The lady lived in the neighbourhood of the 
 Regent's Park, in a suite of rooms which Annerly found to be a 
 modest " flat," but comfortable and pleasantly furnished. 
 
 Miss Jameson was at home, and he found her alone when he 
 was shown into her little drawing-room. 
 
 " You got a letter from Miriam, I suppose, Mr. Annerly 1 " 
 she said, after a few nervous greetings. 
 
 "Yes. I have come to see you, Miss Jameson. I suppose 
 she is not herself at home 1 " 
 
 " No, she is out — in fact she has gone into the country." 
 
 " The country I Has she gone far — or for long 1 " 
 
 " Well, no — I will tell you about that afterwards — if you 
 wish to know." 
 
 ** Miss Jameson, before you go further let me assure you thai 
 nothing you can say to me — nothing^ whatever it may be — will 
 
EESTORED. 173 
 
 make me cease to wish to know where Miss Seaford is, or cease 
 to wish to go to her wherever she may be — if that is not contrary 
 to her wish. I do not know definitely what it is you have to 
 tell me ; but it may help you to speak freely if I say at the 
 outset that it cannot alter the abiding wish of my life — to have 
 Miriam Seaford for my wife." 
 
 Miss Jameson gazed at him earnestly. 
 
 " She said that would be so ; but I wasn't sure. And 
 she would go away all the same. She's a strange girl, yon 
 know. Nothing will ever move her from whatever she chooses 
 to do." 
 
 " She's all the world to me, Miss Jameson, as of course you 
 know. I had acquiesced in the surrender of my hopes about 
 her till the other day, and had no thought of proposing to 
 restore the old engagement between us. I would never have 
 importuned her, but now I am free again to tell her how 
 eagerly I resume it. There are some preliminary explanations 
 to pass between us, I understand. Shall we not get them 
 over ? " 
 
 "I'm sure T want to get them over," said Miss Jameson, 
 piteously, "but it is so hard. Dear Miriam was very, very 
 foolish, and of course she was very wrong." 
 
 The devoted aunt's lips quivered as she launched herself thus 
 on her task. Then the handkerchief had to come into play, and 
 for a little while longer the explanations were again postponed. 
 
 " Mr. Annerly, I'm sure you love Miriam truly. I haven't 
 known you, but I've heard about you. But, indeed, I don't 
 think you love her more than I do, and it nearly killed me 
 when she made this terrible mistake. Oh, it's too hard to 
 make me go over the story." 
 
 " But I do not want you to. Do understand, I want to hear 
 as little of this dreadful episode as possible. I understand it, 
 I believe, already quite sufficiently. I am not anxious to hear 
 another syllable." 
 
 " Miriam insisted that I should tell you the plain truth, that 
 there could be no possibility of misunderstanding afterwards. 
 Of course we thought she actually had been married to the 
 man privately, but she was misled about this. It is all over 
 now, and her own father will not have anything to say to her. 
 He's a very good man, but very unbending. He always htted 
 her going on the stage." 
 
 12 
 
174 KARMA. 
 
 " Wretch 1 Does he hope to be forgiven his own sins V* 
 
 "Ah well, it does not make much difference you know, 
 because for a long time Miriam has been either independent, or 
 has been with me. I haven't a great income, but I have enough 
 to give ray own Miriam a home ; and you're better off yourself 
 now than you were, Mr. Annerly, ain't you 1 " 
 
 The unselfishness of the inquiry was so perfect that it was 
 cleared of every trace of otlence. Annerly reassured Miss 
 Jameson on this point, and asked when it was intended that he 
 should see Miriam. 
 
 " You're to go down to her at Purfleet. There is a farm- 
 house there, where the woman is an old nurse of hers ; and she 
 sometimes goes there when she wants quiet and country-air for 
 a few days. But I haven't told you all you must know yet. 
 There must be nothing left for her to tell. It is very terrible 
 for all of us, Mr. Annerly, but we haven't got to the end of it 
 yet. There may be divorce proceedings.** 
 
 " How do you mean 1 " 
 
 " The horrid man was married before, it turns out, and his 
 wife has found it out. It was about that matter that we were 
 in Brussels, to try and prevent the affair being made public." 
 
 Vague impressions of a very painful nature began to cloud 
 Annerly's mind. 
 
 "In Brussels." It suddenly crossed Annerly's recollection 
 that he had heard the name Miriam Seaford pass between Lady 
 Emily and Sir John Hexton in the railway-carriage on the 
 journey to Cologne. " Who then is the man ? " he asked. He 
 had been conscious before of a wish to avoid knowing this, but 
 the question forced itself from him now. 
 
 *' We knew him by another name at first ; but he is reaUy 
 called, it seems, Professor ]MaRsilton." 
 
 The name fell upon Annerly like a blow on the head with a 
 sort of stunning effect. The tale told him had never seemed 
 fully to penetrate his sensibiUties till then. As a frightful 
 episode of the past, now happily over, he could have driven it 
 from his thoughts to a great extent. As a shadowy horror, not 
 to be associated with names or places, it was swept away by the 
 tornado of his passion. But now it was not only emphasized by 
 having names assigned to it but suddenly illuminated with the 
 most terrible precision by his own familiarity with all the 
 persona concerned. He gave vent to an incoherent ejaculation. 
 
BESTOBBD. 175 
 
 »* What is the matter t » 
 
 •* I know him." 
 
 They both felt, without stopping to analyze the reason why, 
 that the situation was somehow made a gTeat deal worse in this 
 way ; and Miss Jameson began softly crying again, while 
 Annerly sat motionless for a while gazing fixedly at the opposite 
 wall 
 
 " I ought not to have told you where she was till we had got 
 over all this," said Miss Jameson. 
 
 Annerly, for an instant, failed to catch the point of her 
 remark. Then he recovered himself and rose, as it were, from 
 the shock of the revelation just made. 
 
 " Miss Jameson, I told you that nothing you could say would 
 affect my feehng for her. The shock of what I have learned is 
 distressing for various reasons ; but I tell you again nothing can 
 change my love for Miriam. It must always be a part of my- 
 self — whether a source of joy or of sorrow. I am glad to have 
 had this revelation over before seeing Miriam ; but now, when 
 can I go to her ? " 
 
 " Mr. Annerly, I do think you will be able to make her happy 
 when this horrible business is over. I'll tell you how to find 
 her." And then Miss Jameson gave him exact directions, the 
 time of a train he would be able to catch that afternoon, and 
 showed him, on a map, how he should go when he reached 
 his destination. There was no immediate hurry, and he stayed 
 talking with Miss Jameson for some time longer. There was a 
 bond of union between them in the culte to which they were 
 both devoted. 
 
 It was a lovely summer evening when he got out of the train, 
 between six and seven, at Purfleet, and took a field-path after 
 walking a little way along the road- The impression that had 
 been created on his mind, at first, by the mention of the Pro- 
 fessor's name had given way as he approached the place where 
 he was to find his love waiting once more to restore herself to 
 his arms, to the intoxication of that one idea. There might be 
 trouble and anxiety arising out of all this dreadful business in 
 the future, but what of that? If Miriam was to be his, that 
 fact woidd be to his life as the sun to the world. There might 
 be clouds, but stiU it would be day — while, if the sun were 
 away, though the sky should be clear it would be night. And 
 the dawn of this day, for him, wo7ild be the dawn of a polai 
 
176 KAEMA. 
 
 summer — after so long a night that the blessed simshine seemed 
 a remote experience of another existence. 
 
 ** Heavens ! what I have gone through ! " he thought. ** Are 
 the years of this long pain over, and the weeks, and the days 1 
 and now it la a question of minutes when life is to begin 
 again." 
 
 A nervous anxiety possessed him. Would not some accident 
 happen to the train to defeat his expectations? — would not 
 some dreadful mistake turn out to have been made by her aunt 
 in the directions she had given him 1 It would surely not 
 happen that for him, with his long-established theory that his 
 life was cursed, the cream and final glory of such long longed-for 
 happiness was really waiting him among these lanes 1 He hurried 
 on and came to the stile Miss Jameson had spoken of^ alter 
 which the path led through a little coppice — a few light trees 
 at the end of a field. He had crossed it and was amongst them, 
 and then — there was a low seat in view in the shade of the 
 trees, a little to the right ; and in a plain, grey dress, with a 
 glow of ruby ribbons and white lace at the neck, she was 
 waiting for him. The black night had given way and the day 
 was shining in full glory once again. 
 
 " Oh, Miriam ! Miriam, my darling I ** 
 
 He sat beside her, and put his arms round her, not with any 
 sudden gesture, but as though her restoration to him were a 
 solemn act that had to be accomplished reverently, and drew 
 down her lustrous head upon his shoiilder. She had taken off 
 her hat, and the warm evening light shone upon the wavy 
 masses of her shining hair, and on the beautiful brown-pink 
 tints of her complexion. She resigned herself to his embrace 
 with a willing sinile, though with a shadow that was half sad- 
 ness, half contrition, crossing its expression, and let him take 
 at leisure the kisses he had been starving for so long. 
 
 " You see I expected you," she said. ** Is not that trusting 
 to your love, indeed, at last t " 
 
A mw opENuro. 177 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 ▲ NEW OPENING. 
 
 A ¥EW days were spent very quietly at Heiligenfels after the 
 partial break-up of the party on the departure of Lady Emily 
 and the others who went away with her. But the Baron's sug- 
 gestion to Mrs. Miller — that they would remain a very pleasant 
 little party still, in spite of the defections — was amply vindicated. 
 Mrs. Miller, for her own part, was more than compensated for 
 the reduced gaiety of the house, by the opportunities she now 
 enjoyed of becoming more intimately acquainted with Mrs. 
 Lakesby. Blane and the Professor were steadily occupied 
 with certain literary work they had taken in hand in connec- 
 tion with the psychic experiences they had recently acquired ; 
 and for all of them the awe that had at first overwhelmed them 
 in the wood, when the great manifestation had been made of 
 the Baron's abnormal powers, had given place to a sense of 
 exhilaration at being in close and friendly relations with so 
 extraordinary a person. There was more in the Baron's visible 
 attributes to evoke affection on the part of people round him, 
 than to excite mere wonder. Merland was the only member of 
 the party who was not quite in his usual spirits ; but his tem- 
 perament was elastic, and the influences of the castle were of a 
 kind to emphasize very strongly his interest in occult matters, 
 which had roots of its own in his nature quite independent of 
 his recent exaltation of feeling in regard to Miss Vaughan. 
 The contracted group, moreover, was knit together more closely 
 than the larger gathering had been previously, and they dropped 
 at once into the habit of assembling in full force at breakfast, 
 as well as at dinner, finding no ennui or sameness attaching to 
 conversations constantly brightened by the fragmentary expla- 
 nations the Baron would now frequently venture upon concern- 
 ing the mysteries of the sciences or pursuits to which his life 
 bad been devoted. 
 
 And in a different way it was scarcely less interesting for 
 them to obtain from Mrs. Lakesby the daily assurance, which 
 her faculties enabled her to supply, that, on a different plane of 
 Katoie so to speak, they were constanUy in presence, without 
 
178 KABMA. 
 
 having been previously aware of this, of beings in a different 
 state of existence from themselves. It was in the direction of 
 observations having to do with that other plane of existence 
 that Mrs. Lakesby's clairvoyance was most frequently exer- 
 cised 
 
 " There's no interest,** she pointed out to the Professor, "in 
 poking about among other people's rooms and houses in your 
 astral body ; and it's not always a nice thing to do. It's taking 
 a mean advantage of them. But my friends on the other side 
 of the hedge are always glad for me to go to them, and I am 
 glad for them to come to me." 
 
 "Too glad," said the Baron, "sometimes, Mrs. Lakesby, 
 perhaps," 
 
 " Now, don't be too strict with me, Baron." 
 
 " I am only anxious that you should not be too cruel to 
 yourself." 
 
 " Now, you two superior people,'* said the Professor, " are 
 talking in enigmas. If we got this all unravelled, humbler 
 mortals might learn something." 
 
 They were talking one evening after dinner, the pleasant 
 effect on the air of the warm summer day just past, enabling 
 them to sit out on the terrace, where the light incense of their 
 cigars and cigarettes floated away towards the river. 
 
 ** The question," answered the Baron, " about which Mrs. 
 Lakesby and I are not quite in accord — " 
 
 "Poor Mrs. Lakesby!" said that lady, interrupting. "I 
 object to have the case stated in so crushing a way as that." 
 
 " I'm no Pope, that people must be wrong if they disagree 
 with me ; and it is quite as likely our friends will agree with 
 you as with me if they realize the problem — though, of course, 
 I think I am right." 
 
 " I'm sure," Mrs. Miller put in, " that Mrs. Lakesby would 
 not deny that, only she wants to see the folly of it for herself, 
 like young girls first going out into society." 
 
 " Dear ladies," pleaded the Professor, " if we could deal with 
 this matter one at a time would it not be better 1 Suppose the 
 Baron has the first innings." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby assumed her demurest good-school-girl air, and 
 Mrs. Miller only satirized the Professor by turning to Jem, who 
 had not opened his Lips for some time except to emit cigarette 
 smoke, and told him not to speak again till he wa£ spoken to. 
 
▲ NEW OPBNINO. 179 
 
 •*The difficulty/* said the Baron, "has to do with under- 
 standing rightly what is the nature of the entities Mrs. Lakeshy 
 perceives by the help of her beautiful clairvoyant sight. There 
 is nothing in nature more delusive than the phenomena of that 
 border-land of spiritual life that we get into when we first cross 
 the frontier of physical phenomena. We may seem there to 
 encounter living beings whom we may be apt to mistake for 
 spirits of a more or less angeHc order, when they are really no 
 more than shades of former human beings, whose nobler aspect, 
 so to speak, is turned away from us, and imperceptible even to 
 the higher clairvoyant sense, which perceives what may be 
 called their astral aspect." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby broke into a little laugh. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Baron," she said, " I was not laughing 
 at what you said, but at something said by an * astral shade, 
 there standing near the Professor." 
 
 By this time they had all grown to be familiar with the 
 fact that Mrs. Lakesby constantly perceived dramatis personce 
 on the scene who were not apparent to ordinary spectators, 
 and were not startled when she announced this or that 
 spectral presence, and the ideas or remarks it would convey to 
 her. 
 
 " What did he say 1 " asked Blane. 
 
 " It isn't a he. It is a she ; a nice-looking old lady, with 
 silvery hair coming long down each side of her face, and rather 
 a large nose. What? — listening for a moment to some in- 
 audible statement by the invisible visitor. Oh I she says her boy 
 Arthur ought to know who she is." 
 
 "Why, that is a description of my mother," said the 
 Professor. 
 
 *' That's who she is. And she made me laugh by saying 
 what the Baron said just now was stuff o' nonsense." 
 
 *' When did she die 1 " Mrs. Miller asked of the Professor. 
 
 " Wait a moment," said Mrs. Lakesby ; " she'll tell us her- 
 self. Eh ? — " Again after a little pause she broke out laugh- 
 ing. "She is an old lady with a character, it seems. She 
 says — * Tell her she's a good deal more dead herself than I am.* 
 And then — what 1 eh ? She says she left our stupid earth-life 
 when Margaret's last child was bom. Who's Margaret ? " 
 
 " A married sister of mine," said the Professor. ** That is 
 quite right It's about ten years since my mother died." 
 
 V 2 
 
180 KABMA. 
 
 *' "Would yon ask her,** suggested the Baron, "to tell ns 
 Bomething about the occupations of her present existence." 
 
 " She does not seem to hear you," said Mrs. Lakesby. 
 ••Am I to ask her that r' 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 After a short pause, during which Mrs. Lakesby did not 
 speak aloud, she said — 
 
 " She says that she's very happy ; but she cannot stop to 
 talk any longer now. Some other time she'll come and tell us 
 more. Now she must be going. She says there's somebody 
 here ruakes her uncomfortable." 
 
 " Perhaps that may be myself," said the Baron. *' Let me 
 leave you for a few minutes. Since you are having this con- 
 versation it will be as well for you to follow it out a little 
 further." 
 
 The Baron went in through the open glass-door into the 
 dining-hall, and crossed to the library at the other end, into 
 which room he passed and shut the door. 
 
 " Will you ask her," said the Professor, " if she has any 
 special communication to make to me, that she has come here 
 to-night 1 " 
 
 " She seems puzzled rather. No ; she says she has nothing 
 special to say. She is often about you without your knowing 
 it. She was alwaj^s proud of you, she says — you were her 
 favourite child. Eh 1— what? — Yes; she says there is some- 
 thing she wants to say. The only truth about the spirit-life is 
 to be found in occult study. That's funny. It does not quite 
 square with what she said just now, when she called the Baron's 
 remarks ' stuff o' nonsense.' " 
 
 " It's aU a great mystery," she says ; " but we shall all lind 
 it out some day, when we join her world. She's going now, 
 I don't see her any more." 
 
 Almost immediately afterwards they heard the library-door 
 open. The Baron crossed the dining-hall, carrying a piece of 
 paper in his hand. A few words were written on it — the ink 
 still wet. He handed it to the Professor. 
 
 " Was not that what she said while I was away ? " 
 
 The paper bore the words that Mrs. Lakesby had just re- 
 peated : " The only truth about the spirit-life is to be found in 
 occult study." It was handed round and looked at with much 
 Interest 
 
A NEW OPENING. 181 
 
 ••Why, how on earth," asked Mrs. Miller, ••did you know 
 what she said ? " 
 
 **I merely knew what she would say hecause I took the 
 liherty of suggesting the words to her — from where I sat in the 
 other room, I mean. The distance was not very great for a 
 thought to traverse. The incident illustrates what we were 
 talking about a little while ago — the deceptiveness of appear- 
 ances on what occult writers generally call the astral plane — 
 the border-land of the spiritual world immediately in contact 
 with the physical world. At one moment you see an inhabitant 
 announcing, in very definite language, that a certain set of ideas 
 is all nonsense, and the next that they are the only truth, 
 "What are we to make of that ? " 
 
 ** I don't know," said the Professor ; " it is very puzzling." 
 
 " I think it harmonizes with what we may find out in other 
 ways about the processes of human evolution which go on after 
 the death of the physical body. The true growth of the real 
 Ego is into a plane of consciousness superior to that which Mrs. 
 Lakesby's clairvoyant sight penetrates ; and in exact proportion 
 to the extent that growth has proceeded, the faculties and 
 thinking power of the entity on the astral plane are weakened 
 till at last they fade out altogether. That which Mrs. Lakesby 
 just now saw was, in a certain sense, the soul of your mother 
 most likely ; but it was the soul minus all its higher faculties 
 — or, more correctly, an astral body but half illuminated by the 
 soul which is gradually passing away from it into a higher state 
 of existence. The faculties which still animate it are not con- 
 scious of the loss of their nobler companions : but meanwhile, 
 to any one who really appreciates the position, there is some- 
 thing very distressing in the notion of dealing with an entity 
 in that condition, as if it were a true soul — of treating it 
 with the tenderness due to the real Ego of a departed 
 friend." 
 
 " It's very interesting all the same," urged the Professor. 
 
 "That's right, Professor," said Mrs Lakesby; "put in a 
 word for poor little me." 
 
 " It cannot keep up its interest for very long, it seems to me, 
 when we fuUy realize what it is we are talking with. But, 
 apart from that, you must remember that when I have humbly 
 ventured to suggest to Mrs. Lakesby that she should indulge 
 but sparingly in conversation with astral spectres, I go upon 
 
182 KABMA. 
 
 other grounds. In doing that, Mrs. Lakesby, to begin with, 
 
 may retard the spiritual progress of the real Ego by dragging 
 back his attention to the earthly existence he has quitted, and 
 she may lay herself open to influences from the astral world 
 that may prey upon her unexpectedly." 
 
 " It's a golden rule, my dear," said Mrs. Lakesby, in a stage- 
 aside, to Mrs. ^liller, " when you're being scolded never defend 
 yourself. It only brings on fresh trouble." 
 
 The Professor intervened with the fatherly manner in which 
 he sometimes wrapped up his compliments to ladies. 
 
 " Mrs. Lakesby will never grow up. She'll remain a child to 
 the end of the chapter, but so sweet a child that nobody will 
 complain." 
 
 " I haven't the least doubt," Blane interposed, " that the 
 Baron speaks from knowledge, and the principle he lays down 
 must be sound. But I would like to ask one thing — I don't 
 ask it in any ribald spirit of mockery, but sincerely for infor- 
 mation. If a person with clairvoyant gifts is debasing them, as 
 we have sometimes agreed, by employing them in what Mrs. 
 Lakesby calls poking about other people's rooms and houses, — 
 and if she is running risks herself, and perhaps doing wrong in 
 employing them on the phenomena of the astral world, — what is 
 she to do with them ? " 
 
 Some of them laughed at the apparent dilemma, as the Baron 
 did himself, but Mrs. Lakesby affected dismay. 
 
 " Oh, save me from my friends ! You meant well, Mr. 
 Blane, but now I'm going to catch it you see ! " 
 
 The Baron shook his head. " She'd be a very difficult person 
 to find fault with — Mrs. Lakesby would be — for everybody's 
 sympathies would be with her, whatever the case might be. 
 But, happily, I am not called upon to attempt anytliing so 
 presumptuous. I would merely explain that there is a third 
 course, though no one can be blamed for not taking it if they 
 do not feel strongly moved to do so. There is the service of 
 the great cause and of the great work I humbly represent in 
 your eyes, to which any persons abnormally gifted with psychic 
 faculties from birth, may, with peculiar propriety, devote them- 
 selves. The rewards of that service are seldom to be gathered 
 in this life, but they are great nevertheless. On the other 
 hand, the service itself is apt to be very arduous and unattrac- 
 
A NEW OPENING. 183 
 
 tlve in the beginning, and, even for a long while, to grow more 
 and more arduous as time goes on." 
 
 " What is the difference, may I inquire, sir 1 " Merland 
 asked, " between the career open to a person with psychic gifts, 
 in connection with the occult life, and that which may lie before 
 one who has no gifts, merely ardour and devotion to the 
 cause ? " 
 
 There was no room to doubt the personal bearing of Merland's 
 question. His inclination to enter himself, so far as that could 
 be done, as a candidate for occult instruction had been aug- 
 menting rather than declining during the last few days. While 
 love for Miss Yaughan gilded the prospect the avenues of occult 
 study seemed as enticing as they were ennobling. Now, indeed, 
 the situation was changed. No sun would shine on the young 
 man's path in whatever direction he might seek it, but if the 
 catastrophe in the conservatory had destroyed his hope of 
 happiness in ordinary life, at least it left him sadly free to 
 plunge into the only refuge he could see open before him. And 
 the darkly romantic aspect of the occult life as it sometimes 
 presented itself to his imagination, made it an appropriate des- 
 tiny for a man who felt that he had staked more than is gene 
 rally risked on a declaration of love. Perhaps other young men 
 have sometimes viewed their declarations in that light also. 
 Anyhow Merland measured the severity of his fall by the merits 
 of Lucy Vaughan, and these were naturally exalted in his eyes 
 to a very high degree. 
 
 Nothing had been heard at the castle from Miss Vaughan or 
 her mother since they left it. A faint hope had lingered in 
 Merland's mind for a little while, that perhaps the post would 
 bring him a communication on the subject of the question 
 that had remained unanswered. If only she would write to 
 explain in a sympathetic way that the thing could not be, 
 that would be something. But no. His proposal had been 
 a piece of impertinent extravagance, and had been treated as 
 such very properly. No one at the castle had any exact 
 knowledge on the subject, and Merland was shy about 
 asking questions that would have been too suggestive ; but Mrs. 
 Miller had let fall the remark once, in speaking of Mise 
 Vaughan, that some one had said she was going to marry Lord 
 MiUborough. 
 
184 EAEMA. 
 
 " If I had known it sooner," Merland thouglit to himself, 
 '* I might not have made such a fool of myself ; but thrown 
 with her as I was, I should not have loved her the less, so it 
 would have been the same in the long run." 
 
 "When he asked the question set down above, as to how 
 far a person without psychic gifts to start with could get on 
 in the occult life, the Baron looked at him with a kindly 
 expression for a few seconds without speaking, and then 
 said, — 
 
 ** One should never persuade a neophyte to enter on the path. 
 One must not make the career seem pleasant or easy ; but it is 
 a stout and pure heart only that is wanted for success, not 
 psychic gifts at first. They may not so much help their 
 possessor as render him or her more useful to others. And 
 the privilege of being useful is a grand one, quite apart from 
 reward. Then you must remember that ordinary thinking has 
 not yet been sufficiently penetrated with the idea about suc- 
 cessive incarnations to let people get on the right train of 
 thought in such matters. You cannot estimate your position 
 in reference to the occult life aright unless you know something 
 of your previous incarnations." 
 
 " But, good heavens ! " cried the Professor, jumping at this 
 hint, *' do I understand you that we can anyhow get at informa- 
 tion about our previous incarnations 1 "VMiy, it would be of 
 all other information that could be obtained, the most pricelessly 
 interesting " 
 
 " Why so t " said the Baron, gravely — almost reproachfully. 
 •* Except for the purpose I referred to, I am not sure if know- 
 ledge about one's previous incarnations could have any other 
 effect than that of feeding personal vanity, and so doing one 
 the worst possible service. It is to escape from interest in 
 self that the student of occult mysteries should, above all 
 things, address himself." 
 
 " Well, but really, that morality is of a very high — almost 
 an impracticably high — order. We are human creatures, and 
 the constant shiver of doubt about the future that so many of 
 us have, is just because we cannot remember the past Now 
 if we could be enabled to do that — " 
 
 " J, for one," said Blane, " should not want to exercise the 
 privilege. I quite see the force of the Baron's remarks, except 
 that I would go further and say, that the escape from self 
 
A NEW OPENING. 185 
 
 would be the most delightful emancipation that oould be 
 imagined. To forget my present life, I think, would be more 
 tempting than to remember previous ones." 
 
 A good deal of animated controversy in which the Baron 
 took but a trifling part arose over this point. At last Mer- 
 land tried to bring the conversation back to the point from 
 which it had suddenly diverged. 
 
 " You will remember. Baron, it was a question of mine that 
 set them aU on this subject. Kow, if knowing something 
 about my past would help me to find out, or you to teU me, 
 what my own chances would be as an occult student — is there 
 any way of finding out about it ? " 
 
 ** Well," said the Baron, all voices being stilled at once as 
 his tone and manner seemed encouraging, "there might be 
 ways of getting at some inklings about it ; and that answer 
 may, perhaps, meet another point that Mr. Blane raised a little 
 while ago, as to what might be done with clairvoyance directed 
 neither to physical objects at a distance, nor to the delusive 
 appearances of the astral plane. Perhaps Mrs. Lakesby might 
 be able to discern some pictures in the astral light for us that 
 would prove interesting in regard to this matter of past 
 incarnations that some of us have had something to do 
 with." 
 
 "We are constantly happening on new surprises," the 
 Professor said. " It appears, Mrs. Lakesby, that there is a 
 whole realm of nature open to your observation, that as yet 
 you have told us nothing about." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby covered her face with her hands in mock 
 despair. " Poor, poor, Mrs. Lakesby ! " she said, commiserating 
 her own fate, " pile all the blame on her first, of course, but 
 kindly explain for her future guidance what on earth you are 
 talking about." 
 
 " Will somebody," said the Professor, administer nourish- 
 ment to her through a quill, and restore her strength? My 
 dear child, we are to blame for forgetting that there was a 
 mystery we had not asked you to solve. We are all gratitude 
 for past favours and equally so for those to come. But this 
 being premised, teU us the state of the case. Can you by the 
 exercise of clairvoyance perceive the circumstances of people's 
 former lives 1 " 
 
 ** HOf oi course not 1 " cried the lady. 
 
186 KABMA. 
 
 The Baron sat by with an amused smile. The Professor 
 looked with perplexity at Blane. 
 
 " But, my dear Agatha," said Mrs. Miller — for in the 
 intimacy that was growing up between them a use of Christian 
 names was creeping in — " the Baron has distinctly referred us 
 to you for information, so you must rub your eyes and look 
 again." 
 
 " Why don't you ask the Baron what he means ; I can't tell 
 you, for I haven't the least idea myself." 
 
 " May we recur to you, then ? " asked the Professor of their 
 host. 
 
 ** Even if Mrs. Lakesby," he answered, " is not fully con- 
 scious of all the uses to which her faculties can be applied, 
 that need hardly surprise any of us. But I did not intend to 
 convey the notion that any clairvoyant search into the past 
 would enable her to give any person, now living, a complete 
 and connected narrative of his past lives. A very exalted kind 
 of insight would be required to achieve that result. But I 
 think I could suggest to her ways and means of obtaining, at 
 any rate, some glimpses of the past that would be sufficient to 
 interest you very much if you are content in the matter to seek, 
 in this inquiry, some comprehension of the Karmic principle in 
 operation, rather than the gratification of a mere personal 
 curiosity." 
 
 " I am sure," Blane murmured, " I have no personal curiosity 
 about myself — a most uninteresting topic" 
 
 " I have a great deal of personal curiosity," said the Pro- 
 fessor, cheerily and frankly, " but I am quite ready to put that 
 altogether aside. All fresh knowledge is delightful, and I 
 should certainly be the last person to be indifi'erent to an 
 opportunity for studying Karma merely because it was not an 
 opportunity for studying something else. Chalk out our line 
 of inquiry, dear Baron Friedrich, and trust to us to follow it the 
 best way we know how." 
 
 *' It is only, it seems to me," replied the Baron, " for the sake 
 of discerning the way in which Karma operates that such an 
 effort as that I have suggested appears desirable, or even 
 justifiable. You see, the law of Karma is almost the leading 
 law of human evolution — if one can be allowed to give 
 precedence to on© over another of the beautiful harmonies of 
 nature. Every man is perpetually working out old Karma, 
 
A NEW OPENINO. 187 
 
 and developing fresh. This is merely a technical way of saying 
 that every man is the product of the influences, aspirations, 
 thoughts, efforts, and so on, that have moulded his character in 
 the past, and is, in turn — by the direction in which he allows 
 his energies to operate — moulding that which will be his own 
 character in the future. But, while the principle stated in 
 that way seems to be little more than a commonplace, ib rises 
 into wholly different importance when we resolutely apply it to 
 the whole series of human lives which constitute an in- 
 dividuality — a true human Ego — apart from the transitory 
 circumstances of particular years. 
 
 "People often say nobody can alter their character very 
 much ; what he is born with he must make the best of, and his 
 moral responsibility greatly varies accordingly — and so forth. 
 They forget— or rather their speculation is not brightened by 
 the illuminating truth to which occult science introduces us 
 — ^that every one has an immensely long succession of oppor- 
 tunities for modifying his character ; and that the point at 
 which he leaves off in the one life, is the point at which he 
 takes up those opportunities in the next. A great interval of 
 time, as we measure time here, may have elapsed between the 
 end of the one life and the beginning of the next ; but that 
 does not in the least degree interfere with the unity of the life 
 process. That interval is very far indeed from being a blank 
 period. It is filled with a life of its own, far more vivid, and 
 for the most part, happily, more enjoyable, in an exalted sense, 
 than the physical periods of life. But for our present purpose 
 we need not pay attention to that, except to recognize that it 
 explains what would otherwise be a mystery — the obliteration 
 from the mind before each fresh life begins, of all precise recol- 
 lection concerning the outward circumstances of the last phy- 
 sical life. The spiritual existence which intervenes between 
 each physical life has the effect of summing up the whole body 
 of experiences — effort, aspiration, and so on — of the one life 
 into so much formed character with which the Ego starts on 
 his next." 
 
 "But, Baron Friedrich," said Mrs. Miller, "I thought your 
 Karma was your reward or punishment in the next life for what 
 you did — good or bad — in this 1 " 
 
 " And so it is ; not a reward or punishment that can possibly 
 be wrongly adjusted by reason of being served out as such. It 
 
188 KAEMA. 
 
 1b a perfectly inevitable series of consequences. Tour Karma 
 determines the state of life into which you will be bora, as well 
 as your character." 
 
 " Then," suggested Blane, " I should be inclined to fear that 
 your Karma goes very far towards determining what your Karma 
 itself will be at the end of each life ; for, given a character and 
 a set of circumstances, and I suppose, to an omniscient eye, the 
 result would be inevitable 1 " 
 
 " To an omniscient eye, yes. I suppose one would have to 
 recognize that ; but then I doubt if the discussion we are now 
 carrying on is on what may be called the plane of omniscience. 
 We should not help ourselves much by going off here into a 
 survey of the old conflict between free-will and necessity. "We 
 have a very distinct consciousness of free-will in the choice 
 between good and evil at every step through life ; and we need 
 not confuse our sense of that freedom by going into the highest 
 metaphysics of the problem." 
 
 " But the problem has a practical bearing/' said the Professor, 
 " as well as a metaphysical aspect. It often strikes me that 
 the limits of our power to choose between different courses in 
 life are very narrow, apart altogether from the metaphysical 
 argument. There you are, with your character, whatever it 
 may be, inherited from your parents, or got at somehow, estab- 
 lished as a very commanding impulse in your nature. And the 
 circumstances in which you are placed, are there also with no 
 choice of yours. How can a man help following the bent of 
 his nature 1 If he is of a scrupulous, cautious habit of mind, 
 that is his nature ; and in splitting hairs as he goes along he is 
 but following its bent. On the other hand, if he is a very 
 warm-blooded impulsive sort of animal, with strong feelings, 
 there you are again. He never remembers to think attthe 
 critical moments, but acts first and thinks afterwards, and that 
 is his bent." 
 
 *' That, my dear Professor, if you will allow me," said th6 
 Baron " is his Karma. Of course, it is a very difficult thing 
 to escape from its influence — in one sense impossible, but Karma 
 is a growing force, and our free-wiU does enable us to modify 
 its growth ; and your bent, depend upon it, in the next life, 
 will be either still more defined in its present direction, or 
 inclining in a different direction according to whether in thia 
 
▲ NEW OPENING. 189 
 
 you yield to It without resistance or press against its in- 
 fluence." 
 
 " But, Baron Friedrich," said Mrs. Miller, " how are yon to 
 get rewarded or punished merely by developing a bent 'i Your 
 bent might be worse thaik ever ; but if you had been ill and 
 poor and badly used in the last life, and were well and comfort- 
 able, and made much of next time, you would have got a 
 reward." 
 
 " Well," answered the Baron, ** let us work this out a little. 
 What do you call the fate that determines whether you are 
 born rich or poor, healthy or ill, clever or stupid, and so on 1 " 
 
 " How do you mean 'i I suppose that is all the accident of 
 birth r' 
 
 " But suppose the accident of birth is no accident at all, but 
 just an inevitable result of causes, attractions, affinities, set up 
 by an Ego, during his last life, which impel him, when he is 
 ripe for rebirth, to that incarnation which is best fitted to give 
 them physical expression. What do you call the accident of 
 birth looked at from the point of view of that hypothesis ? " 
 
 " Ah ! " murmured Blane, ** Karma : I see the principle. It 
 covers everything." 
 
 " Pretty nearly," said the Baron. " Fully appreciated it 
 would no doubt be found to cover a great many of the most 
 painful riddles of the earth, and the whole vast series of 
 inequalities in well-being that sometimes puzzle us." 
 
 " I tell you what," said the Professor after a little pause ; 
 " there are aspects of that doctrine in which it does not strike 
 me as very moral in its bearing. It would be apt to make 
 people rather pitiless towards suffering. They would tell a 
 beggar to be off, and be ashamed of himself for having had 
 such an infamous Karma in his last Ufe." 
 
 "Do you think that would be the effect," asked the Baron, 
 significantly, ** if such people realized that being rough and piti- 
 less to suffering might be one of the elements in Karma which 
 would bring such suffering on themselves next time 1 " 
 
 The objection and the answer both in turn seemed so forcible 
 that they all laughed. 
 
 "The Baron had you there. Professor," said Mrs. Miller. 
 " You'll be afraid to let a beggar pass within sight in future 
 without rushing after him to give him sixpence." 
 
 13 
 
190 EABMA. 
 
 " Dear lady,* retorted the Professor, **your otherwise perfect 
 sex will raiely keep to abstractioris. My Karma is altogether 
 too bad to be worth mending or thinking about ; so never mind 
 that." 
 
 " There is a striking inference to be drawn from this, is there 
 not 1 " suggested Blane ; " that the act of relieving suffering 
 contracts the domain of suffering both here and hereafter, both 
 as regards the recipient of relief and the agent in conferring 
 relief ; while cruelty and callousness to suffering augments it in 
 both directions." 
 
 '* Just so," said the Baron ; ** and we need only supplement 
 that reflection, I think, in one way. We must not think of 
 the rewards of good Karma as concentrated too much on 
 material things. The opportunities of spiritual development, 
 which a poor and even a sorrowful man may enjoy in any given 
 life, may benefit him in the long-run so greatly as to have out- 
 weighed the evil of transitory sorrows ; and a good Karma may 
 thus sometimes have produced a life the mere outward troubles 
 of which we should sometimes be apt, if we were hasty, to set 
 down to bad Karma. Vice versd, also, the bad Karma may 
 temporarily disguise its effect in physical prosperity that may 
 bring great suffering in its train in the long run, by furnishing 
 the possessor with so many more opportunities of emphasizing 
 what the Professor might call an evil bent." 
 
 " It would be an intricate problem then," suggested the 
 Professor, " but still a possible problem, to work back from the 
 circumstances of a man's life, plus his character, and determine 
 what must have been the nature of his last incarnation." 
 
 " A supremely intricate problem, certainly, for any one who 
 could not enjoy such help as Mrs. Lakesby, perhaps, might 
 give." 
 
 " Oh, good gracious ! " ejaculated the lady named, who had 
 been following the conversation with the closest interest, but 
 started in apprehension at being thus suddenly brought back 
 into its focus. 
 
 " This promises to be most interesting, I see now," cried the 
 Professor. " Mrs. Lakesby's clairvoyance in some way may be 
 directed to check the conclusions we form as we proceed with 
 the examination of any Karma we take up for analysis." 
 
 " Now then," said Mrs. Miller, " who offers himself for vivi- 
 section t I offer Jem.'' 
 
A NEW OPENINO. 191 
 
 " Jem is likely to have pressing business in Schlessig," said 
 Captain Miller ; '* besides, there's nothing to analyze in Jem. 
 He hasn't got any Karma yet. A very much more interesting 
 subject, I'm sure, would be found in the Professor." 
 
 " Place mvx dames^^ said the Professor. " Perhaps Mrs. 
 Lakesby would tell us something about her own past lives, and 
 then we might find out what sort of Karma produces psychic 
 gifts." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby gave a little shriek at the proposal. 
 
 " Cut up myself for your edification. Thank you kindly for 
 the idea, but, if I am to wield the knife, though I do not at 
 present know in the least how that is to be done, I don't think 
 it will be employed upon myself. I don't know much about 
 the matter yet, but I know that much." 
 
 " This is false modesty, dear lady," said the Professor, " I 
 assure you. I have no objection to be investigated myself — 
 nor I am sure would Blane have, as far as he is concerned." 
 
 " I don't think," the Baron interrupted, " that we need carry 
 on the discussion on these lines, because I don't think we should 
 begin by trying to lay bare the characteristics of any one among 
 us. Would it not be better, suppose we can manage this, to 
 get from Mrs. Lakesby certain glimpses of past scenes in which 
 some of us or of our friends not actually here at this moment 
 may have played a part, and then endeavour to interpret these, 
 to trace, as far as we can, the natural progress of persons with 
 such and such characteristics, and then to see whether we can 
 discern the old Karma working afresh in modern conditions % " 
 
 Every one present was of course more than ready to follow a 
 programme distinctly suggested by the Baron, and the comments 
 on this proposal were merely directed to the clear comprehen- 
 sion of the line to be followed. It was arranged that Mrs. 
 Lakesby should recline at ease on a small sofa that was brought 
 out on to the terrace from the drawing-room ; and, though the 
 evening was not at all cold, the Baron expressed a wish that a 
 warm shawl should be thrown over her. 
 
 " I'm going like a lamb to the sacrifice ; but I haven't a 
 notion," said Mrs. Lakesby, while she was being carefully 
 tended on all sides, and caressed by Mrs. ^liller, "what I'm 
 expected to do. I don't believe I shall see anything at all. I 
 never was so dull before. Since the Professor's mother went 
 away I haven't seen a creature." 
 
192 KAEMA. 
 
 "The calm way she Ignores us is charming,'* remarked the 
 Professor. " Plain mortals in the flesh don't count." 
 
 " If yon do see anything," said the Baron, " you can tell them. 
 For myself I want to go away if you will allow me when I have 
 once set you to work." 
 
 This announcement took every one by surprise, but no 
 objection was raised, as every one felt instinctively that the 
 Baron's withdrawal would in some mysterious way be associated 
 with whatever it might be that was going to happen. 
 
 " When Mrs. Lakesby begins to see,'* the Baron went on, 
 " she may become very much absorbed in the interest of her 
 visions, and I think it will be better then that only one person 
 among you should address her questions relating to these. I 
 daresay you will all agree to let the Professor do this, but there 
 is no reason why you should not quietly suggest questions to 
 him." 
 
 A few words of acquiescence were uttered in reply by Blane 
 and Mrs. Miller, and the Baron said good-night in case he 
 might not see them again that evening, and went away. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIL 
 
 nOTURES IN THB ASTRAL LIGHT. 
 
 A HUSH of expectancy settled over the whole party, and for a 
 little while nothing was said. The Professor had taken a low 
 chair beside Mrs. Lakesby's sofa — the others had all resumed 
 or replaced their seats after the general movement incidental to 
 the Baron's departure ; and the darkness of the night — now 
 that a shaded lamp which had been standing on the terrace- 
 table had been taken into the drawing-room — gave a touch of 
 Bolemnity to the preparations. It was not very dark, as a 
 crescent moon was shining in the sky, though concealed from 
 the terrace by the main body of the castle, and the stars were 
 bright. Enough light to make the terrace itself and all the 
 persons upon it plainly visible came from the windows of the 
 dia wing-room ; but the broad expanse of the heavens befoi* 
 
PI0TUEE8 m THE ASTRAL LIGHT. 193 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby, as she lay with her face looking outward over 
 the river, and her back to the house, seemed a kind of pro- 
 scenium before which they were all seated. 
 
 " Will she see her visions in the sky, do you suppose ! " Mrs. 
 Miller whispered to Blane, who was sitting next to her. 
 
 " She isn't in quarantine yet," said the clairvoyant herself, 
 in her natural voice, "at all events. If anything begins to 
 happen I'U let you know ; but I'm sure I need not be sent to 
 Coventry while I'm feeling just my ordinary self as I do now." 
 
 " Still," said the Professor, " it may be that you had better 
 compose yourself, and be quiet for the present." 
 
 Scattered fragments of conversation of this kind went on for 
 some little while, Mrs. Lakesby protesting from time to time 
 against the notion of being expected to do something without 
 Imowiug what she was to do, and the Professor pacifying her 
 by soothing words, of which she was rather disposed to make 
 fun. 
 
 " Miss Blane," she said, after one little pause, after letting 
 her head fall back on the sofa-cushion, and speaking in a low, 
 broken kind of voice. "Couldn't you— would you perhaps 
 sing something 1 " 
 
 " Sing 1 " repeated Miss Blane dubiously, wondering whether 
 music for some mysterious reason was required by Mrs. Lakesby 
 to promote her expected ecstasy. "Singl" to Mrs. Miller. 
 " What does she want me to sing, I wonder f " 
 
 " I think," murmured Mrs. Lakesby from the sofa, " I should 
 feel better," with a deep sigh, "if you gave us— * Champagne 
 Charlie ! ' " — starting up at the last words with a merry laugh. 
 
 " Oh ! child, child 1 " remonstrated the Professor, " will you 
 never be serious ? For a moment you took us in completely. 
 We give you all honour and glory for the victory, but — " 
 
 " Hush ! " interrupted Mrs. Lakesby, in quite another tone, 
 but still sitting up on her sofa, and looking eagerly forward. 
 ** Look there ; why surely you must all see that." 
 
 She pointed out over the balustrade of the terrace, towards 
 the top of a tree, which, standing as it did on much lower 
 ground than the castle — the hall falling away steeply on that 
 side — was about on a level with the pavement on which they 
 sat. A silvery column of vapour, and yet something which 
 as they watched seemed instinct with a movement of its own, 
 and to gtow more into the likenesi of a human form, floated 
 
194 KAEMA. 
 
 over, or just rested as a cloud- wreath may rest on a hill, on the 
 topmost twigs of the tree. All present were equally able to see 
 it ; the distance at which the ethereal figure stood was about 
 twenty or thirty yards. Presently it leaned forward, and floating 
 across the short intervening space settled, swaying very slightly 
 from side to side as though stirred by a faint breeze, upon the 
 furthest end of the balustrade of the terrace itself. As the party 
 happened to be grouped Mrs. Lakesby was thus between the 
 figure and the group, for they were collected at the left end of 
 the terrace, looking outward, and the figure appeared at the 
 extreme right end. That it was distinctly human in shape and 
 gesture was all that they could recognize. The form was too 
 misty and spectral to exhibit features that could be plainly 
 identified ; but Mrs. Lakesby gazed intently without speaking, 
 and then slowly lay back on her cushions. The figure advanced 
 slowly towards the group along the edge of the balustrade, but 
 grew fainter and fainter as it approached, and vanished from 
 view altogether when about at right angles to the position 
 occupied by Mrs. Lakesby. 
 
 " Yes, I'll come," she said, rolling her head a little from side 
 to side on the sofa-cushions as though seeking the most com- 
 fortable position. She spoke in a calm, measured voice, slowly 
 at first, but more firmly and easily as she went on. " Are we 
 going a long way ? Oh, that we are, I can teU you. Why, 
 this is another country ; it's a warm country this is, isn't it i 
 I haven't been here before, have 1 1 What a lot of ruins there 
 are about." After a little pause, " Oh, I say, what a curious 
 efi'ect that is— I like to see that. Why should I say what I 
 see ? You can see it too. Very well ; I will if you like. What 
 looked like ruins awhile ago seem finished buildings now. 
 This is the street of a town, and there seem to be a quantity of 
 people all about — so queerly dressed ; some few in long white 
 robes all folded about them and some in short tunics with bare 
 legs. There goes a man carried in a chair by several others, 
 and men walk in front with some thick-shaped weapon carried 
 leaning against their shoulders. \Yhere does he go ? — the man 
 in the chair you mean ? He's been put down at a house- door. 
 There are a lot of attendants about. It's misty to me for a 
 moment. Oh, now I can see inside the house where he was 
 put down, a great big wandering place with a lot of rooms, all 
 on one floor. I see such a lot of pillars ; oh, and there's the 
 
PICTURES IN THE ASTRAL LIGHT. 196 
 
 man who was in the chair, with several others. They are all 
 lolling on sofas round a table. Why, they are eating and 
 drinking. Goodness, what a quantity of food— dishes and 
 dishes of it coming in, and quantities of attendants. What 
 lazy wretches to be lying down eating like that, with their great 
 bare feet stretched out on the sofas behind them. What's that 
 you say 1 How are the sofas arranged ? Why there are three 
 of them round three sides of the table, and the fourth side is 
 towards the door, where the dishes keep coming in." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! " said the Professor softly, as Mrs. Lakesby 
 paused in her description. " Why, she's describing a Roman 
 banquet." 
 
 " They keep on drinking, drinking," resumed the clairvoyant. 
 "Why, it's perfectly shocking. What? If they want to ask 
 me questions, I suppose they can." 
 
 " Doesn't that refer to us," Elane whispered to the Professor, 
 ** about asking questions 1 " 
 
 " Perhaps it does." He paused for a moment, and then in a 
 low tone said, " How many guests are there?" 
 
 " Eh ! How many on the sofas 1 Seven or eight only, and 
 dinner enough for a hundred. What gluttonous creatures ! But 
 that's a fine young fellow sitting up in his place now, and hold- 
 ing up a glass, or if it isn't a glass, something he's drinking out 
 of. How funny ! I seem to see them drinking and waving 
 their cups, but I don't hear anything." 
 
 " What is the young man like that you noticed ? " asked the 
 Professor. 
 
 "He's got short, curly, black hair, and a swarthy complexion, 
 but he's very handsome. I've got a notion that he knows it 
 too. How happy he seems, and contented, and all the others 
 seem fond of him." 
 
 "Is that the man you saw come in the chair?" 
 
 " No ; the man who was in the chair is sitting there at the 
 corner, at least lolling on his elbow on cushions like the rest. 
 He's reading something now that somebody has brought him. 
 How reverential the attendants seem. What ? They are slaves, 
 are they ? I thought slaves were black. These people are not 
 black." 
 
 " "WTiat is the man at the corner like?" 
 
 " He's much older. He looks rather grim. He isn't so nice 
 as that young fellow. But he gives people orders when they 
 
 o 2 
 
196 KARMA, 
 
 come to him. Everybody seems to know what he's got to do 
 
 when the man at the corner speaks to him. There's the young 
 fellow calling for more wine. It's really too bad. Why, what 
 are they doing now ? How stupid 1 Great men like them, 
 they are putting wreaths of flowers on their heads. Slaves have 
 just brought these in." 
 
 " What is the name of the young man t " asked the Pro- 
 
 "I don't know. He could tell you, I suppose, if he 
 liked." 
 
 ** Who do you mean by * he ' 1 " 
 
 " The one who is with me. I couldn't have come here if he 
 hadn't brought me. They're walking about now, some of them. 
 There's my handsome young fellow. How tall he is, and what 
 a sunny, commanding look in his face ! Flaccus ? What, is 
 that his name? Yes, that's Flaccus, I suppose. And the other, 
 the one at the corner, what's his name ] Septimus, Septimus — 
 what ? Septimus Manlius 1 I don't care about their names, 
 but I should like to know more about that young fellow — he 
 interests me." 
 
 ** Can you ask your companion to tell you more about 
 hunl" 
 
 " This is not his house," said the clairvoyant slowly, after a 
 little pause. " He's a guest here. Why, what is there happen- 
 ing 1 I can't see them plainly. Everything seems in a muddle. 
 Oh, that's it, is it ?— Very well 1 " 
 
 She was silent for a few moments, and the Professor 
 asked, — 
 
 " Can you tell us what has been happening t " 
 
 " He is taking me to see the young man at home. We are 
 travelling some little distance. But I don't see anything plainly 
 yet. Oh, this is the country, but I'm not to mind about that 
 There he is again. This hasn't anything to do with the dinner 
 I saw. It's either a long time after it or a long time before it. 
 That doesn't matter, it's the same young man ; Flaccus, yes, 
 that's his name. He's in a garden, and there's a woman with 
 him. She's a handsome woman, too, and oh, isn't she fond of 
 him ! How she hangs about his neck ! she must be his wife, I 
 suppose, if this is his house. He seems fond of hei^ too. He 
 kisses her and looks happy. But she seems to want him to do 
 something that he won't. Oh, I see i He's going away some> 
 
PICTURES IN THE ASTRAL LIGHT. 197 
 
 where, and she wants him to stay. He's saying good-bye. He 
 lifts her right up — how strong he is ! — and carries her over there 
 to a seat under that tree, and just gives her a kiss, while she is 
 in his arms, as if she were a baby, and puts her down, and now 
 he's off. And there she is, crying so, poor thing, as if her heart 
 would break. Oh, I say ! He must be hard-hearted for all 
 that he is so handsome and pleasant." 
 
 ** Where has he gone," asked the Professor presently, as Mrs. 
 Lakesby remained silent, though still with her eyes shut, and 
 plunged more deeply than ever in the ecstatic trance, the 
 reflection of which shone as it were in the eager look of her 
 face. 
 
 " I don't know. That picture is passed. He says I shall see 
 him again, somewhere else, directly." 
 
 Another pause ensued, during which the group round Mrs. 
 Lakesby's sofa remained watchful and spell-bound. The free- 
 dom and spontaneity with which the clairvoyant had thrown off 
 her descriptions of the scenes she witnessed had given them a 
 truthful reality for her audience that made the situation im- 
 pressive for them in the highest degree. The course of their 
 recent experience at Heiligenfels would have broken down, and 
 swept away distrust or suspicion of a psychological mystery 
 even in witnesses less well-prepared for such phenomena than 
 the party now assembled. As things stood, and practically 
 guaranteed as Mrs. Lakesby's vision was by the previous 
 sanction of the Baron, whose stupendous power on the physical 
 plane of occult science, which they had aU seen displayed, had 
 established an almost boundless faith in him generally in all 
 their minds, — no one present had any shadow of distrust of the 
 communications made to them. It was with a thrill of awe, 
 rather than incredulity, that they realized the nature of the 
 current of perception on which she was launched. That her 
 vision was actually recalling scenes enacted in ancient Rome, 
 and bringing back the visible presence of actors who had played 
 a part in them, perhaps nearly two thousand years before, was a 
 conviction, tremendous and astounding though it might be, 
 which was forced upon them irresistibly. They all sat silent 
 and almost motionless, waiting for the next revelation — leaning 
 forward and gazing intently in the dim light at IVIrs. Lakesby's 
 upturned face ; while the great expanse of the sky, faintly 
 luminous with the slight moonlight and glittering with the un- 
 
198 KARMA. 
 
 changing stare, aeemed an emblem of immobility in the midst 
 of change, — of the persistence in nature which the undying 
 pictures in the astral light that the clairvoyant waa being 
 enabled to perceive, illustrated in another way. 
 
 " It's cool and grand and quiet here — it's a sort of library," 
 said Mrs. Lakesby. *' Oh, there he is again, our friend Flaccus I 
 He's sitting beside an old man, listening to him so intently. 
 I like him better so than any other way I've seen him. I 
 wonder who the old man is. Flam — what 1 I don't under- 
 stand. But I like him. That's a beautiful face he has; so 
 grave and serene and good. He puts his hand on Flaccus'a 
 head and Flaccus almost kneels down before him. He seems 
 quite to love the young man ; and you would never think, to 
 look at him now, that he is the same we saw drinking at the 
 dinner. And yet he shakes his head sadly, and Flaccus seems 
 sorry, very sorry. I wonder what's the matter. He's a great 
 friend of the old man's, is he 1 Yes, I can see that for 
 myself. Flam, flamen de I don't understand." 
 
 " Is he the Flamen Dialis 1 " suggested the Professor. 
 
 " That's it ; yes, Flamen Dialis," repeated Mrs. Lakesby, the 
 physical organs of articulation catching more readily an un- 
 familiar word pronounced on the physical plane than on the 
 other, where her higher faculties were moving. " Oh, I see ! " 
 she added, after a short pause, " that explains it." 
 
 There was something rather tantalizing for the modem 
 audience listening to Mrs. Lakesby's physical voice, in the 
 nature of the conversation she was carrying on. Almost con- 
 tinuously, as she was speaking, her words were all addressed to 
 her invisible companion. Of the castle party for whose benefit, 
 really, she was making her astral excursion — she seemed uncon- 
 scious, except that the questions asked of the Professor at once 
 penetrated her higher faculties as ideas which evoked a response. 
 The nature of the arrangement had now made itself apparent to 
 her audience ; and her last words showed that she had received 
 from her astral companion some explanation of why the Flamen 
 and Flaccus were friends, which satisfied her but remained 
 unreported to them. 
 
 " Won't you say what you have heard about the friendship 
 of these two men 1 " asked the Professor. 
 
 " lie says the Flamen is related to Flaccus, and that Flaccus 
 is almost his pupil in occultism. The Flamen knows a great 
 
PIOTUEBS IN THE ASTEAL LIGHT. 1Q9 
 
 deal of occult science — is very far advanced indeed — and is 
 doing all he rightly can to induce his nephew to give up his life 
 of pleasure and be altogether an occultist. Flaccus can't do 
 this, but he loves the Flamen and is a great deal with him, and 
 he would like to join him altogether and go with him to a place 
 abroad they are talking about. And Flaccus has got a friend 
 who comes in now ; there they are, all three together. The 
 whole thing is getting much plainer to me than it was at first. 
 I seem as if I could answer any questions about them, as I know 
 all about them, and only have to think of anything about them 
 to get on the track of it." 
 
 "What does Flaccus's friend loo^ like?" asked the Pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 " He's a humble friend, I should say ; not a rich, powerful 
 man like Flaccus. He's almost poorly dressed, and short and 
 ugly. But he's good. He's got a beautiful aura. By-the-bye, 
 I did not notice that before. I don't so much like the aura 
 round Flaccus. But Flaccus seems to like the little man too. 
 He's quite lame ; one foot must have had a bad accident. Oh ! 
 now I understand. I seemed to feel it all in a flash — almost to 
 see it happening a long time ago. The little man — what? 
 Fa — Fa — what — Fabian is it 1 Very weU. Fabian and Flaccus 
 were friends when they were boys ; and Fabian saved Flaccus's 
 life when some building was falling down, by rushing in to him. 
 There must have been a little shock of earthquake. I fancy 
 people were running about frightened, and out into the open 
 air ; but Fabian ran in to help Flaccus, and did help him out. 
 Flaccus had been ill, and was in bed. But Fabian got his own 
 foot crushed in the scramble." After a little pause : " He's 
 not a bit sorry for it ; he admires Flaccus so, aud is almost glad 
 to think he suffered to save him. The Flamen is kind to him ; 
 but somehow he seems to like Flaccus best — What? Oh, 
 that's it, is it?" 
 
 The stream of explanation was again checked, till the Pro- 
 fessor set it going once more by asking why the Flamen preferred 
 Flaccus. 
 
 " He knows he could if he would be a great student of occult 
 science ; aud the other couldn't yet, even if he tried. Besides, 
 the other has suffered so much ; he has had such a hard life all 
 round — poor and friendless and ill-used. He's just a dependent, 
 is he, Fabian, a freed man — very well. Anyhow, he's so gentle, 
 14 
 
200 KABMA. 
 
 and kind, and unselfish. He must have his reward first Hla 
 turn will come. I wonder how he's to be rewarded, poor fellow 1 
 The Flamen lends him books : that's what he's come for now — 
 to get one promised to him ; for he's studying all he can. It's 
 harder work for him to learn than for Flaccus. What a queer 
 book the Flamen gives him. It isn't a book ; it's a roU of paper 
 — a manuscript, I suppose. Very well ! " 
 
 There was a long pause here. Nothing bad been said to 
 afford a clue on which a question could be hung; so the 
 listeners waited patiently in perfect silence. All the while she 
 was speaking, indeed, they were trained in patience, as the 
 sentences did not flow forth in a uniform stream. They would 
 be a good deal spaced out, as it were, by pauses, during which 
 the ideas they afterwards expressed seemed to have been taken 
 in. At last j\Irs. Lakesby said, — 
 
 " There's Flaccus. Why this is another place. I haven't 
 been here before. It's just beside the water — a kind of seaside 
 place. And Flaccus is standing by the water, near a beautiful 
 big boat. It's all silk and cushions inside ; how nice. Now 
 he's helping a young woman into the boat ; and now he gets in 
 too, after her. Isn't she a beauty 1 What a lovely arm ! Oh, 
 I say ! but this isn't the other young woman ! Flaccus seems 
 to love this one the best. How contented he looks, lying there 
 in the boat with his head in her lap and his arms round her. 
 No, don't take me away yet. I like to watch them. Enough t 
 No, it isn't nearly enough. I don't want to go back — to thai 
 thing in the distance there. Indeed — I — I — I won't — no, no ! " 
 
 With confused, vague, and inarticulate protests at the resto- 
 ration of her absent soul to her body, Mrs. Lakesby subsided for 
 a brief interval into silence, then coughed two or three times 
 and recovered her normal senses — sitting up on the sofa and 
 looking about her for a few moments without speaking. 
 
 " That's over, is it not ? She has come to herself again,* 
 said Mrs. Miller, " has she not 1 " 
 
 '* Is your vision quite over 1 " asked the Professor. 
 
 " I am trying to fix it," said Mrs. Lakesby absently. And 
 then, after awhile, " Have I been talking to you all the time 1 " 
 
 ** Yes ; you have been giving us a most profoundly interesting 
 account of all you have seen." 
 
 ** I lost consciousness on this plane altogether," she said. 
 " What have I told you about f " 
 
PIOTUKES IN THB ASTEAL LIGHT. 201 
 
 *• You have been describing ancient Roman times, and telling 
 ufl about riaccus and Fabian, and others." 
 
 "Ancient Eoman times? Oh, ah! now I understand. I 
 never tried to fix it in that way. I was merely conscious of 
 what I saw. Where's the Baron 1 " 
 
 " He has not come back since he went away before you went 
 oflf in a different manner." 
 
 " Isn't it getting a little cold ? Let us go in." 
 
 They all went into the drawing-room, dazzled for awhile by 
 the lamps after their long sojourn in the partial darkness out- 
 side, and moved vaguely about, bewildered by the strangeness 
 of the experience they had been having. 
 
 " Who's who ? " asked the Professor at length ; " can you 
 interpret what you have told us, Mrs. Lakesby 1 " 
 
 " I haven't even thought of it in that light," she said. ** It 
 was so interesting. I would like to have seen more. I can 
 remember that I did not want to come back, but I was made to." 
 
 " Yes ; you evidently resisted, and protested aloud ; but who 
 was it made you ? " 
 
 " The companion I was with.** 
 
 •* And who was he 1 " 
 
 " Ah, that's the question. One of them it mtust have been ; 
 a high, powerful one, I suspect." 
 
 "One of who?" 
 
 " One of those the Baron belongs to. It was one of those " 
 — looking round and speaking especially to Merland — " that I 
 saw in the wood." 
 
 "Saw in the woodi" said the Professor; "what do yon 
 mean?" 
 
 " I saw two figures beside the Baron — figures on the astral 
 plane that the rest of you did not see — when the tree went 
 down. I told Mr. Merland about it at the time." 
 
 The Professor gave symptoms of suppressed despair. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Mrs. Lakesby. It is simply awful that you 
 win bottle up these priceless observations till they come out in 
 this way by the merest accident." 
 
 The protest, which was one of a kind the Professor had so 
 frequently had occasion to make before, excited some merri- 
 ment, and restored a more familiar tone to the conversation, so 
 far under the exalting influence, to a certain extent, of the long 
 clairvoyant trance. 
 
202 KARMl. 
 
 " I didn't bottle it up, Professor," said Mrs. Lakesby, 
 pleading for forgiveness ; " didn't I mention it to Mr. Mer- 
 land?" 
 
 " But why not to all of us t " 
 
 ** I remember now. You yourself made us all keep quiet 
 while you explained what was to be done. It was then I saw 
 the two figures." 
 
 " Oh, that's capital," cried Mrs. Miller ; " I recollect, you 
 ordered us all to hold our tongues. I remember passing on 
 the order to Jem." 
 
 " But, Merland, my good fellow, why didn't you — t But 
 no matter." The Professor waived all further discussion of 
 criminality in the case, and merely cross-examined Mrs. Lakesby 
 as to what she had seen. 
 
 " Coupled with the fact that one of these mysterious beings 
 was your spiritual guide this evening, Mrs. Lakesby," he said, 
 when the incident had been thoroughly explored, " the whole 
 observation is one of exceedingly great interest. It throws light 
 upon some things the Baron may be not fully at liberty to 
 explain to us himself." 
 
 Then the conversation reverted to the scenes of which their 
 clairvoyant had just been a witness. It was clear that the 
 pictures shown to Mrs. Lakesby had not been taken at random 
 from the vast store-house of Nature to which they belonged. 
 The pei'sons who had passed across them, or some, or at least 
 one of them, must have been former incarnations of some or one 
 of the people then present at Heiligenfels, or of their friends. 
 The leading figure of the visions, Flaccus, was evidently the 
 person to whom their attention should first be turned. 
 
 " Who of us feels as if he had been your riotous hero, Mrs. 
 Lakesby, I wonder ? " the Professor askei " If it's you, Blane, 
 you've greatly mended your manners since the old days, at all 
 events." 
 
 "I do not think the smallest tie could connect me with such 
 a magnificent personage as Flaccus," said Blane, meeting the 
 suggestion with the most unequivocal repudiation. " If Mrs. 
 Lakesby introduces us another evening to some entirely insig- 
 nificant person, with no history whatever in the remote past, I 
 might possibly claim him for my astral ancestor ; but Flaccus is 
 certainly not me." 
 
 '* There are aspects of the character which I could read into mj 
 
WOTUEBS IN THE ASTRAL LIGHT. 203 
 
 own," said the Professor, with perfect frankness ; " but again, 
 other aspects that seem to me quite incompatible." 
 
 ** Can the heartless reprobate be Jem 1 " inquired Mrs. Miller, 
 
 " As regards good looks," said the Captain, " there might be 
 a something to identify us, but I'm atraid I'm fallen off very 
 much as a hon vivant." 
 
 " I tell you," said Mrs. Lakesby, " you won't easily match 
 Flaccus for good looks." 
 
 " Listen to his latest victim," cried the Professor. " Here's 
 altogether an unexampled case of a lady becoming suddenly 
 attached to a man seventeen or eighteen centuries older than 
 herself. We, none of us, need despair after this on account of 
 suffering from anno domini" 
 
 " Is it quite necessary," inquired Blane, ** that Flaccus should 
 now be a man at all ? As I understand the matter, sex is by 
 no means invariable throughout successive incarnations, and does 
 not belong in any true sense to the spiritual individuality at alL 
 Shall we perhaps be right in seeking Flaccus among the ladies 
 whom we know 1 " 
 
 ** Goodness ! " cried Mrs. Miller, ** think of Miss Vaughan, for 
 example, as Flaccus. She's good-looking enough, at any rate." 
 
 " What a very ghastly notion," Merland could not help 
 saying. 
 
 " I don't say it is so. I was merely applying Mr. Blane's 
 idea." 
 
 " It's a strained hypothesis," said the Professor, ** that it 
 seems to me we are not called upon to entertain with more 
 obvious ones before us. For example, we need not necessarily 
 go out of this room in search of our man. How about Merland 
 for the man we are in search of 1 " 
 
 There was silence for a little while, every one considering the 
 suggestion. Merland had certainly been subdued rather for the 
 last few days, but, on the whole, his was a sunny, joyous, and a 
 social temperament, and, without being extraordinary for phy- 
 sical beauty, he was an exceedingly good-looking young English- 
 man of a manly and healthful type. 
 
 " Very true ! " said Blane ; "I do not know that Merland 
 is altogether to be congratulated, but certainly there are features 
 in the description that would correspond." 
 
 " I don't think," said Captain Miller, " that Flaccus deserves 
 to be Merland." 
 
204 EABMA. 
 
 "Jem," said the Professor thoughtfully, "that's a very sound 
 and sensible remark of yours. We're on the wrong tack in this 
 matter. Flaccus, in his present incarnation, must be paying 
 penalties. We have been looking out for correspondences when 
 we ought to have been in search of contrasts." 
 
 It was borne strongly in on Merland's mind, as the Professor 
 spoke, that he was beginning to pay penalties, and that the 
 trouble on which he had just entered was likely to be a very large 
 and comprehensive penalty. It was a point he could not ex- 
 plain, however, and he threw out what he was conscious of as 
 an inadequate suggestion on the subject, though in harmony 
 with the inner working of his thought. 
 
 " Flaccus, at all events, if he had been converted into me," 
 he said, "would have fallen a long way from his high estate. 
 It may be that that would constitute a penalty." 
 
 " It wouldn't do, my dear fellow — it wouldn't do,*' said the 
 Professor. "We've got a man about whom we know some 
 salient things. Of course I do not make any great fuss about 
 the young lady in the boat. A young Eoman nobleman would 
 not be very straitlaced about such friendships as that, even if 
 he had got a wife at home. But I take it, the lady in the boat 
 is symbolical. She has been shown to us for a purpose. There 
 were probably other ladies yet, if all the truth were known. 
 And the wife at home, you will remember, was left crying bit- 
 terly. Flaccus evidently had a great deal on his conscience, or, 
 as it sat very lightly on his conscience while he was alive, let us 
 say on his Karma, and that has got to be paid for heavily. We 
 should not be doing at aU right in looking out for a specially 
 handsome, happy, or prosperous man now, to be himself redi- 
 vivtis — quite the contrary, an exactly opposite sort of man Ib 
 wanted." 
 
 " Annerly ! " said Captain Miller. 
 
 The suggestion flashed upon them all as a shock, and yet aa 
 a revelation. 
 
 "Jem, you are Inspired this evening," said Mrs. Miller, 
 " What's the matter with you ? " 
 
 The Professor remained with his features rigid for some 
 moments, and on mature examination found the Captain's idea 
 very good. 
 
 " I had worked out the problem as an abstraction," he said, 
 " but had not applied my own reasoning. You are quite right. 
 
FIOTUBES IN THB ASTRAL LIQHT. 205 
 
 If Flaccus is any one of the party lately assembled here, he 
 must be Annerly." 
 
 " Has Annerly," asked Blane, " been specially unhappy about 
 women, does anybody know 1 '* 
 
 " Yes, certainly," said Merland ; '* it's a matter he does not 
 like talking about, but he has had a great disappointment in 
 that way." 
 
 "That's marvellously exact," said the Professor, "and most 
 instructive." 
 
 The talk on the subject, for some time, was general and 
 variegated. 
 
 " Poor Flaccus ! " said Mrs. Lakesby. " I'm sure I like Mr. 
 Annerly most cordially, and yet one can see he is not a happy 
 man." 
 
 " But still," urged Blane, " there are the grand qualities in 
 the man working on. He has forfeited his handsome appear- 
 ance and his opportunities of happiness, but in the midst of 
 suffering he is still his higher self. The friend and occult pupil 
 of the Flam en is assuredly the foremost of us all to profit by 
 the opportunities of occult study we have all enjoyed here. I 
 suspect the Baron would recognize the Flamen's pupil in 
 Annerly very clearly." 
 
 *' It is simply a process of purification," said the Professor, 
 " that he is going through. The Annerly we know may be 
 passing through much suffering, but in connection with tran- 
 sitory things. He has the burden of a poor physique, but that 
 is for the one life only. He has been denied happiness in love, 
 but who can say if that is not a blessing in disguise 1 I dare- 
 say happiness in love, if the truth were known, is sometimes a 
 curse in disguise. It is easy to understand that Annerly, to- 
 day, may be on a higher rung of the evolutionary ladder than 
 when he was crowned with roses and drinking too much Fa- 
 lemian." 
 
 " If Mr. Annerly had known what he was about," said Mrs. 
 Miller, **he wouldn't even have put himself in the way of 
 getting hurt in a love affair. He's bound to be unlucky now, I 
 suppose, in everything of that sort." 
 
 " Is there anybody else, I wonder, that we could identify 1 " 
 said the Professor. 
 
 " There was one other person named, if that might be a clue,** 
 Blane pointed out ; ** Flaccus's generous and devoted friend. If 
 
 14 
 
206 KARMA. 
 
 the rule of contrasts will apply here, as well as in the other 
 case, we ought to identify him in the person of some one with 
 a very bright and prosperous present." 
 
 The same idea may have occurred to more than one of them 
 at the same time, but it was Mrs. Lakesby who impulsively 
 gave it expression. Merland was standing up, one hand resting 
 on the arm of a sofa on which Mrs. Lakesby had taken a seat. 
 The light of a lamp close by shone full upon his pleasant, good- 
 looking face and tall, graceful figure, set off to the best advan- 
 tage in the evening-dress he wore. Throwing herself round and 
 resting both hands clasped over his upon the arm of the sofa, Mrs. 
 Lakesby looked up in his face with a bright smile, as it were, of 
 recognition, and cried aloud, — 
 
 "Fabian I" 
 
 CHAPTER XXin. 
 
 A VOIOB FROM ABOVBi 
 
 At breakfast next morning the Baron no sooner made his 
 appearance than he was besieged by questions relative to the 
 events of the previous evening ; and to the conjectures that 
 had arisen out of them. 
 
 " It will perhaps seem rather absurd to you," he said, in 
 reply to some especially searching inquiry from Mrs. Miller, 
 " but I can't give you any positive information in the matter. 
 I may be able to help you, indirectly, to some means of forming 
 conclusions, but at least you must dot your ikS and cross your 
 f « for yourself. All of us, who are more or less deeply pledged 
 to occult pursuits, become involved in a network of may and 
 may not, the motives of which are not often quite unintelligible 
 to outsiders." 
 
 "All right I" said the Professor; "when we know where 
 the wall is set up which bars progress in any particular direction 
 it is easy to act accordingly. But I daresay some general 
 questions may be permissible about the operation of Karmio 
 laws 1 " 
 
 '* More than permissible : welcome.** 
 
A VOICE FEOM ABOVE, 
 
 •* Very well then. How are we to look at a certain question 
 of probabilities 1 Take a number of contemporary persons 
 belonging to a very remote period, — say, ancient Roman times, 
 — isn't it a very unlikely thing that they should again be 
 contemporaries at a very much later time 1 Because the forces 
 which keep them suspended, as it were, in spiritual existence 
 for one or two thousand years, would all have to be exactly 
 equal to drop them down again on earth at the same moment, 
 and that does not recommend itself to the mind as likely." 
 
 " But suppose the contemporariness of your hypothetical 
 group the first time was itself not quite a matter of chance ? If 
 a number of human individualities had been drawn together by 
 some tie of association before, the same attractions might assert 
 themselves again. Attractions of that kind even might be a 
 thousand times more potent in th* spiritual world indeed, as 
 conducing to a nearly simultaneous re-incarnation than on this 
 earth, once the individualities were imprisoned in flesh again." 
 
 " Very good. Then it is not to be put aside as an extrava- 
 gant hypothesis, that several people now living and knowing 
 one another might have lived and known one another before." 
 
 " Anything rather than an extravagant hypothesis, — espe- 
 cially when you superadd this consideration: that supposing 
 A, B, and C were living together at a remote period, A might 
 be so long a time in a spiritual state after that life, as to give 
 B and C, supposing them to have weaker spiritual affinities, 
 time for an intermediate physical life, and for an ultimate 
 second return to earth in company with A." 
 
 Letters which were brought in now interrupted the con- 
 versation for awhile. 
 
 " Have you heard from our friend Annerly this morning V* 
 the Baron inquired presently of Merland, after reading some of 
 his own letters. 
 
 " Indeed I have," said the young man. " I've heard the 
 most surprising news I've heard for a long time past." 
 
 '* It looks as if we should not see him back again at Heili- 
 genfels just at present." 
 
 " Why, what's happened 1 " asked M"s. Miller. 
 
 "I don't know whether to be glad or sorry for his sake," 
 Merland answered ; '* but I suppose one must be glad for him, 
 because he is so much to himself. He's fallen in with that 
 young lady he was engaged to before, and it's all made up 
 
208 KAEMA. 
 
 between them again. He's going to be married to her now, in 
 
 a very short time." 
 
 ** Hullo ! " cried the Professor. 
 
 Ejaculations of wonder passed round the table. 
 
 "I say," remarked Captain Jem, "there's something got 
 wrong with the laws of Karma." 
 
 " Or perhaps with our application of then? " said Blane. 
 
 " Oh, goodness ! " said Mrs. Lakesby, " have we got to go 
 himting for Flaccus all over again 1 " 
 
 " Mr. Annerly was such a perfect fit," Mrs. Miller urged, 
 " There may be some mistake. Had you heard about this also, 
 Baron 1 " 
 
 "Yes: that was what made me ask if Mr. Merland had 
 heard." 
 
 " Claude," said Mrs. Miller to Merland, " you'd better write 
 to him and warn him not to think of it. It can't turn out for 
 his good." 
 
 "I'd like to ask the Baron — " Blane began, but then 
 checked himself, and added, "No: I beg his pardon. I do 
 not think the inquiry would be justifiable." 
 
 A laugh was raised at the caution showed. 
 
 ** We'd all like to ask the Baron quantities of questions/* 
 said the Professor; "that goes without saying." 
 
 "I think you are all most wonderfully courteous, discreet, 
 and forbearing," said the Baron. 
 
 " We may not be such beasts as we look. Baron," said the 
 Professor, " while we should be worse if we were not careful of 
 the embarrassments you may be placed in by trying to help us." 
 
 " At all events," Blane went on, " we may be overrating the 
 necessity — arising out of past circumstances in the life of 
 Flaccus — for supposing that he must be unhappy throughout 
 his present life. He may have worked oflf his Karma by this 
 time, and be fairly entitled to a free discharge from its efi'ects." 
 
 " It's amusing to hear you people talk of your friend's past 
 sins so confidently," said Mrs. Lakesby. "After all, it's only 
 a guess that Mr. Annerly is Flaccus." 
 
 " If he's going to be happy, after all," said Mrs. Miller, " I'm 
 sure he can't be Flaccus at aU. Kemember how he made that 
 poor thing cry." 
 
 " Mrs. Miller," protested the Professor, " your otherwise 
 perfect sex will make violent assumptions. First, I would point 
 
A VOIOB PROM ABOVl. 209 
 
 out that we really do not know why the lady in the garden was 
 crying. It is quite an assumption that Flaccus was to blame." 
 
 ** Just like a man's reasoning," said Mrs. Miller ; " so mean I 
 But go on.** 
 
 " ^"Secondly, and what is more important, you assume that 
 because a man says he is going to get married, he must neces- 
 sarily be going to be happy. That is about the most violent 
 assumption you could indulge in." 
 
 " For shame ! " cried Mrs. Lakesby. ** He's got a chance that 
 way of being happy if he behaves himself.'* 
 
 " Who can tell us anything about the lady ? " said Mrs. Miller. 
 " What sort of person is she 1 Do you know her, Mr. Merland 1 
 What's her name 1 " 
 
 " I don't know her," Merland answered, with some hesitation ; 
 " and, beyond her name, I can't teU you much about her. Her 
 name is Miriam Seaford." 
 
 The Professor was a strong man in all respects, not to be 
 betrayed by a sudden excitement into any display of nervousness. 
 But, with his coffee-cup half-way to his Hps, he paused, as 
 Merland uttered the words, and gazed across the table at him 
 with set and rigid features. He slowly set his cup down again, 
 but did not speak. 
 
 " Kever heard the name before," said Mrs. Miller. " Is she 
 well connected 1 " 
 
 " No. I don't think she's much what one could call well 
 connected ; but there were no bounds to Annerly's aflfection for 
 her. It will make quite a new man of him being all right with 
 her again." 
 
 " It seems to cast a bad omen over his nuptials," Blane said, 
 " to have this feeling about him. Under the circumstances I 
 should say it would be wisest on our part to say nothing to him 
 about our experiences of last night, with all the conjectures 
 arising out of them ; that may be quite wrong indeed. I think 
 we should not lose sight of that possibility." 
 
 " Most certainly," said the Professor ; " nothing should be 
 said to Annerly about last night. But I can't think our con- 
 jecture wrong. The correspondences are too close in many 
 ways. The gravest question would be whether — ** Just then 
 his eye happened to meet Mrs. Lakesby's, and he remembered 
 the little incident that had passed between them some time 
 previously, when he had pressed her to tell him what she had 
 
210 EABMA. 
 
 clairvoyantly perceived about him, and when she had said she 
 had seen the astral reflection near him of a woman, whom she 
 named. Mrs. Lakesby evidently remembered the incident too, 
 for she was looking at the Professor rather steadily. 
 
 " — 'm," he said, pausing, " it is very difficult to know what 
 to suggest. The circumstances are so peculiar." 
 
 "Fabian ought to know best," said Mrs. Miller; "at all 
 events he has known his friend a long time. How many 
 thousand years is it 1 '* 
 
 " Don't you feel very much ashamed sometimes, Miss Blane,** 
 said Captain Miller reflectively, "of all the trouble you women 
 cause in the world, one way and another t Look at poor Flaccus ; 
 and he isn't out of it yet." 
 
 '* Who do you call the world, pray I " said Mrs. Miller. 
 " Listen to the selfishness of the tyrants." 
 
 But the Professor, whose good spirits generally rendered him 
 prompt to take up any light-hearted challenge of this sort, was 
 silent and grave, and the diversion proved a cul-de-sac. 
 
 The Professor retained, in the course of the subsequent con- 
 versation, his conviction that the identity of the Eoman bero 
 had been rightly placed, but the satisfaction of some of the 
 others on this point was not so decided. Merland, especially, 
 did not take, with entire cordiality, to the Fabian idea. 
 
 The argument on which it was based — that he represented a 
 good man, enjoying in a very happy estate the fruit of past good 
 deeds — seemed faulty in his judgment. The ladies were in- 
 clined to pet him on the strength of his bygone virtues, and 
 this, somehow, rather went against the grain. Still, he was 
 too thoroughly good friends with them all there to be seriously 
 annoyed. He only protested that things were not always what 
 they seemed, and that if they were making him out to be Fabian 
 because of ideas they had formed about what he, Merland, was 
 in actual life, the whole theory would fall to the ground, supposing 
 them to be wrong in their estimate of him. 
 
 " We must wait for further enlightenment," he urged; and it 
 was generally felt that the whole situation might very desirably 
 be illuminated a little more. 
 
 The Baron raised no objection when an inquiry was made of 
 hixn at dinner whether he thought Mrs Lakesby would be fit 
 to travel again that evening. 
 
 During the day the Professor had taken counsel with no one 
 
A VOICE FROM ABOTl. 211 
 
 concerning any special circumstanceB connected, in his own 
 mind, with the name that had been assigned to Annerly'e in- 
 tended bride. He had been less conversational than usual, and 
 had even gone out in the afternoon for some exercise by himself. 
 The morning he and Blane had spent in compiling a complete 
 record, as far as their memory enabled them to do so, of the 
 descriptions that had been given the preceding evening by Mrs. 
 Lakesby when in her trance ; and this had been further am- 
 plified by consultation with the other witnesses and by reference 
 to Mrs. Lakesby, who was here and there enabled to fill up 
 details and give little additional points from her own recollections 
 of what she had seen. The day, in this way, had not been 
 idle or ill-spent, and the sense of exhilaration attaching to the 
 feeling of having thus cleared up the work before him, restored 
 the Professor himself to something like his usual frame of mind 
 in the evening. He was never a man to wear his heart upon 
 his sleeve, and whatever resolutions he formed on the subject 
 of Miss Seaford's engagement, he kept locked up in his own 
 breast. 
 
 Only a few words had passed between himself and Mrs. 
 Lakesby in the course of the afternoon on the subject of the 
 name she had once pronounced. 
 
 " Do you remember, Mrs. Lakesby," the Professor had asked, 
 taking an opportimity when he could speak to her unheard by 
 the others, *' having once told me that you saw a figure, or an 
 astral reflection of the figure, of a woman near me 1 " 
 
 " I remember,*' she answered, ** and I remember the name I 
 told you I was impressed by ; but I don't know any more, and 
 I don't want to know anything more. Don't talk to me about 
 it unless you wish me to know more, for you don't know what 
 you may not bring up unintentionally. 
 
 The Professor acquiesced in his most straightforward manner. 
 
 " I knew she was somehow connected with Mr. Annerly, be- 
 cause I had seen the same figure near him. That puzzled me 
 at the time, and I was going to ask some question about it then ; 
 but it struck me as being no business of mine so I let the 
 matter alone." 
 
 The Professor was quite willing to let the matter drop, so 
 nothing more was said about it ; and he was rather relieved 
 than otherwise at finding that Mrs. Lakesby did not desii'e to 
 pursue the topic. 80 the day passed, and in the evening at 
 
 P 2 
 
212 KABMA. 
 
 dinner the inquiry was made as to whether the clairvoyant 
 would probably be fit for travel. 
 
 " I should have thought," said the lady herself, ** that Mrs. 
 Lakesby might have been consulted on the point " — she had a 
 trick in this way of referring to herself by name in the third 
 person. But there was no acrimony in her objection, for aU the 
 party at the castle were her devoted admirers and enthusiastic 
 friends, and she fully recognized this. 
 
 " We wouldn't have you go on any account, dear Agatha," 
 said Mrs. Lliller, " unless we were sure it was good and safe for 
 you." 
 
 " Safe for me ! Why, I'm wandering about somewhere, I 
 can tell you, many more nights than I stay quietly at home in 
 bed. And other people wander too, sometimes, who don't 
 remember it afterwards." 
 
 " Any one among us, do you mean ? " asked Blane, who was 
 sitting next to her. 
 
 *' Yes." She laughed a little, and was half-reluctant to make 
 her statement more explicit. " There's nothing in it, really." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the Professor soothingly ; ** but we take 
 an interest sometimes, even in things that may be nothing to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, now, I'm sure you'll scold me again for not telling you 
 sooner ! How silly of me to mention it at all." 
 
 "I call all here to witness that I am the meanest and 
 humblest of your subjects. I could no more presume to find 
 fault—" 
 
 "Well then, it was you I've seen out of the body at night, 
 two or three times." 
 
 "Me!" 
 
 " You were fast asleep in the astral body, as much as in the 
 physical body at the time, I suppose ; but you were as real to 
 me one way as the other." 
 
 "But where did you see met I don't understand now." 
 
 "In my room, of course. I woke up, feeling there was 
 something near me, and there you were, standing dazed and 
 fast asleep by the stove. You'd come floating in through the 
 wall, in a most unbusiness-like manner; for you went back 
 that way when I put my will against you, instead of out of the 
 window naturally — like any one used to going about in the 
 astral" 
 
▲ VOICE FEOM ABOVB. 213 
 
 " But this is really most extraordinary," said the Professor. 
 "My dear ^Mrs. Lakesby, how is it possible that you should 
 have noticed this and — " 
 
 " There I I call all here to witness if I'm not being scolded 
 again." 
 
 " — and have so graciously and kindly remembered to tell 
 ns," said the Professor, giving his sentence a diiBferent turn from 
 that first intended. " We thank your Majesty most humbly 
 and gratefully. But if only at the time you had seen fit to wake 
 me, in the astral body, so that I might have had the invaluable 
 experience of finding myself conscious in that condition, my 
 gratitude, personally, would have been even greater." 
 
 '* I wouldn't have done that for the world. You might have 
 been unable to get back again, and I couldn't have helped you. 
 You might never have got back at aU." 
 
 "The whole subject is so mysterious that I can't give an 
 opinion, of course ; but I authorize you most completely to run 
 any risk there may be another time, and wake me up if you 
 can." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby declined to undertake any such commission, 
 and the Baron, appealed to, was rather of opinion that she 
 exercised a wise discretion in the matter. After a good deal of 
 miscellaneous conversation on the subject of such unconscious 
 wandering away from the body by the people who were not 
 clairvoyant, in the proper sense of the word, the original ques- 
 tion came to the surface again. It was somewhat cooler that 
 evening than it had been the last, and the Baron thought it 
 quite unnecessary that they should sit out on the terrace. It 
 would be all the better, indeed, for Mrs. Lakesby that she 
 should remain indoors. If she were not disturbed by too great 
 a glare of light in her face — that was all that mattered. It 
 was arranged that they should sit that evening in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " But there isn't any sort of hurry," Mrs. Lakesby urged ; 
 " you can all go and have your cigars and coffee at leisure. In 
 an hour is time enough for us to begin." 
 
 ** Cigars and coffee ! " said Blane. " How can we think of 
 contemptible creature-comforts in the midst of the experiences 
 we are having here. I'm sure, in the future, when we look 
 back on this ever-to-be-memorable visit, we shall despise our- 
 selyes for having stooped even to spend time in eating or sleep." 
 
214 KABMA. 
 
 " But since we have been eating," said Mrs. Lakesby, •* I 
 think I'd rather wait a little first before I go to ancient Rome 
 again." 
 
 " There's good sense in that, I'm sure," said Captain Miller ; 
 "particularly considering the stupendous dinner you've been 
 having." 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby's habits at table were of the very soberest and 
 simplest, as she ate but very slightly of the plainest food, and 
 never drank wine, so the Captain's little joke required no com- 
 ment, and the gentlemen went upstairs to the smoking-room. 
 Then, towards the latter end of the evening, the Baron went on 
 to his own turret chamber, sending messages of farewell to the 
 ladies, and then the Professor and the rest descended to the 
 drawing-room with a few very simple instructions as to how 
 they were to proceed. Mrs. Lakesby was to be made comfort- 
 able on a sofa, and warmly covered up. That was all that 
 mattered. The light was to be subdued, and then they could 
 wait to see what happened. 
 
 A very short time elapsed after these arrangements were made 
 when Mrs. Lakesby, who showed no inclination that evening 
 to tease the rest by making fun of the situation, betrayed to 
 the now experienced observation of her friends that her atten- 
 tion was attracted by some abnormal appearance. Her large 
 eyes were fixed steadily on a picture hanging against the waU 
 she faced, and the others instinctively watched it too. 
 
 "That's odd," said Mrs. Lakesby. "I'm not gone away in 
 the least. No one has come to fetch me — but still I'm be- 
 ginning to see things." 
 
 "AATiatsortof things 1" 
 
 " A kind of a room, with books about, and an old man read- 
 ing. I seem to feel as if the room were not strange, but I 
 don't know where it is." 
 
 " Does this hinge on to what you saw last night — is the room 
 like the Flamen's library 1 " 
 
 "Good gracious, no! not in the least. This is quite a 
 modem sort of a room — though a bit old-fashioned ; and the 
 books are printed books Hke ours. What's the old man got to 
 do with us, I wonder ? It's no time ago at all, to speak of, I'm 
 sure — only a few years. The old man has got a dressing-gown 
 on, and a velvet cap, and slippers. Now he looks up, and I can 
 see his face. How very old be is to be sure — a hundred at 
 
A VOIOB FROM ABOVE. 215 
 
 least. Ah I now I begin to nnderstand a little more. Some one 
 is showing me signs to explain who the old man is. I wonder 
 who it is doing this ! I can't see any one but the old man." 
 
 " What do you mean by signs ? " 
 
 The Professor had, as before, taken up the role of questioner. 
 
 " I see cabalistic signs over his head. He is a great student 
 of the occult sciences — the old man is evidently. Now he is 
 showing me books that the old man has written — three, four, 
 five of them. I wish I knew who it was doing this." 
 
 Then she laughed a little. 
 
 " Vv^'hat are you laughing at t '* 
 
 " Why he made the leaves of one of the books flutter over, 
 and they are all blank. I suppose he means there is not much 
 to be learned from them. But now he shows a crown for a 
 moment over the old man's head. What does that mean 1 " 
 
 "What a singular way of conveying information." 
 
 " Now the old man leans his head forward on his arms over 
 the table. Is he asleep or dying? All the books and the 
 room are fading away ; but I still see the old man's figure — all 
 sunk together somehow. I'm sure it means that he is dead. 
 There's the crown still hovering over him, brighter than ever. 
 Goodness ! how strange. Now it's all gone." 
 
 The clairvoyant looked round at her companions, still quite 
 in possession of her usual faculties. 
 
 " What does all that mean ? " she said wondering. " Just as 
 the old man's figure grew indistinct the crown seemed to settle 
 down on him for a moment ; and through it, as it were, there 
 floated up the small figure of a child, that floated right up and 
 disappeared." 
 
 " That's a highly symbolical vision," remarked Blane, " with a 
 great deal of meaning, I suspect. It clearly emphasizes the re- 
 birth of the old man ; but the bare idea of such a rebirth is not 
 new to us. It evidently means that there is something very 
 special attaching to the rebirth of the old man. But we don't 
 know who he is. Are we intended to find an identity for him 
 amongst some of the people we know ? " 
 
 " There is no clue, that I can see," said the Professor. " An 
 old man who has been a student of the occult science, and is 
 born again, is not much to go by. We have no hint about 
 character.' 
 
 The problem was discussed in its various bearings for some 
 16 
 
216 KAEMA. 
 
 time without leading to any very definite result, and, the con- 
 versation having become general, no one noticed that Mrs. 
 Lakesby had leaned back again on her sofa, in the position in 
 which she had first been established, and from which she had sat 
 up to look at her vision. Suddenly interrupting Mrs. Miller, 
 who was speaking at the moment, she said, in a full loud voice, 
 though in rather deeper tones than she generally used, — 
 
 " Listen ! " 
 
 The injunction silenced the conversation, and with a thrill of 
 interest they all looked at their clairvoyant, who again pre- 
 sented the appearance of the previous evening, and lay with her 
 eyes closed, apparently in a deep sleep. The authoritative com- 
 mand to " listen " set them straining their ears to catch some 
 distant sound or voice, but in a few seconds Mrs. Lakesby spoke 
 again, still in the somewhat unusual voice in which she had 
 begun. 
 
 " There are two among you here who may do good service, 
 if they will, to their fellow-men, and to the cause of truth, and 
 the spread of that knowledge which the world needs so urgently 
 to save it from spiritual death — " 
 
 Captain Miller, who had quietly provided himself with paper 
 and pencil to take notes of the descriptions Mrs. Lakesby had 
 been expected to give, began to scribble a record of the strange 
 speech thus commenced. It was spoken so slowly and em- 
 phatically that he was able to take down its sense completely, 
 and almost the exact words. 
 
 "Only if they were, — what they are not, — would they be 
 able fully to realize why they have been chosen to have this 
 opportunity of doing a grand work ; for in their hearts they 
 may know of failings that will seem to disqualify them to 
 some extent from playing the part now ofi'ered to them, in 
 awakening other men, better qualified by purity of life and 
 spirituality of nature, as the world judges such things, to enter 
 on the life of sacrifice, and self-denial, and suffering, which leads 
 to the only triimiph that is real, and the only reward that wise 
 men should care for, and the only happiness that is not illusory. 
 It is the law of Karma which you are aU trying to comprehend, 
 which invests them with the privilege of holding up the lamp 
 to show their companions the right path amidst the obscurities 
 of physical knowledge, amidst the entanglements of the unreal 
 and the transitory impressions of sense. One of those of whom I 
 
A VOIOB PROM ABOVB. 217 
 
 especially speak — for all here present, in varying degrees, may 
 take a part in the work to be done — will shortly have to 
 undergo some humiliations in the sight of the world. It is a 
 penalty he will have to pay for indulgences that have been 
 enjoyed and laws of the physical life that he has set at nought. 
 But no pictures that can be shown to this woman, will explain 
 the nature of the Karma, which gives him the right to emerge, 
 if he will, from the slough of lower affinities on to the higher 
 plane of existence to which he partly belongs, by helping others 
 to reach that plane with him. He says he is curious to know 
 the facts of his bygone personal history. Some he may be 
 enabled to collect, but the most important are those which have 
 to do with his own intellectual growth, which no outward facts 
 he may now look back upon will illuminate. For several in- 
 carnations in the past his spiritual aspirations, borne downward 
 by worldly ambitions, have masked themselves in intellectual 
 growth. For, remember, that what you call great mental facul- 
 ties are faculties of spirit deeply buried in matter disguised in 
 their application, in their almost exclusive application to the 
 purposes of the most unreal, that is to say the most evanescent, 
 plane of natural manifestation, — that which to the blinded eye- 
 sight of the flesh appears the only one. This man's Ego may 
 be likened to one of your rivers which bore their way under- 
 ground, and which sometimes fail altogether to re-emerge into 
 the light of day in one complete stream, — but streams like these 
 may burst forth afresh altogether in the sunlight. The humilia- 
 tion in store for him that I spoke of just now may be likened 
 to the turbid impurities of a torrent breaking from the moun- 
 tains, that may settle and leave the stream clear as it proceeds. 
 But, dropping the metaphor, his own spiritual future will de- 
 pend upon the spirit in which he meets this crisis in his life, 
 and on the use he makes of the great opportunity now within 
 his reach. Some suffering there must be, — there must always 
 be suffering where there has been wrong, where there has been 
 ignorance, where there has been selfishness, where there haa 
 been effort made to gather in and jealously consume happi- 
 ness, instead of effort to expand and pour it out for the 
 good of others ; — but suffering of that sort is only to be con- 
 quered by endurance : the law of Karma may be hard to study, 
 but it is still harder to cheat" 
 
218 KABMA. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE MYSTERIES OF KARMA. 
 
 Spell-bound, though in a very different way from that of the 
 previous evening, the audience round the sofa listened with 
 rapt attention, and with a strange sense of awe. For, though 
 the lips that spoke the words they heard were those of their 
 familiar friend, the whole style and flavour of the address was 
 so utterly unlike her own mode of expression that the percep- 
 tion of a different personality speaking in some way through 
 her, was borne in on their minds quite irresistibly. The pre- 
 vious evening her own phrases and idioms had been preserved 
 all the while. It had been Mrs. Lakesby speaking, though 
 Mrs. Lakesby in a clairvoyant trance. But now there was no 
 Mrs. Lakesby left in the case at all, except as far as the body 
 which lay on the sofa was concerned. The soul animating it 
 had apparently been quite metamorphosed. And this change 
 had a singularly weird effect. 
 
 She had paused for some half-minute after the words last set 
 down. Then she went on, perfect silence having been main- 
 tained in the interval by her listeners : — 
 
 " I do not beat about the bush in saying this, for the man ia 
 strong and able to hear truth, though hitherto in more than one 
 incarnation he has been using that strength to command others 
 rather than to school himself. As this woman said last night, 
 those he has spoken to, have known what they had to do ; but he 
 has forgotten to speak to himself, so he has not known. And 
 there is another man among you who has let opportunities pass 
 by him more than once before this time, and has stood by 
 dreaming while they floated out of his reach. Will he seize 
 this one ? Blane, my friend, you have never seriously sinned 
 against any human being but yourself, but this is not the first 
 time I have come to you, though it may be the first time you 
 can at this moment remember, and I have found you always fit 
 but never ready. But good Karma is patient, and it waits for 
 you still, but it can only give you chances. Command over 
 others has as little attraction for you now as the last time, when 
 you dreamed away one physical existence in the blameless 
 negation of a monastery, or as when before then, in the vortex 
 
THE MYSTERIES OP KAEMA. 219 
 
 of that physical life which has so many correspondences with 
 this in which you all are now immorsed, you lived amidst the 
 pitch and were not defiled. But one may even be too fastidious 
 in regard to defilement down in that seething cauldron of life 
 you call the world. Fix your will upon the essence and not 
 the show of things, and do not fear to stand beside whatsoever 
 can truly serve humanity, which is your cause, and mine, and 
 that of all of us, even though you seem to share the stains 
 upon his hands and garments. The stream of your intellectual 
 growth has never gone underground ; its spiritual quality is 
 scarcely masked at all, or only so far as may be necessary for its 
 expression on that plane of existence, but there has come a 
 time when it should no longer run to waste. 
 
 " I have nearly done ; for I must do no more than hint, 
 suggest, awaken thought, and leave with you all in your several 
 degrees the duty of action, the choice of means. The genius 
 of your age is boring down when it might soar upward ; it is 
 wearing itself out against the hard rock when it might expand 
 into splendid growths of a superior race, if its forces were 
 trained into the right direction. Many efforts are being made 
 to guide its evolution into the true path of progress. The 
 sooner this is done the better for individuals concerned, even 
 though the final result must come about sooner or later — the 
 sooner, then the less suffering. For ignorance of nature is the 
 source of all suffering, and there is no ignorance so fatal, so 
 disastrous, as knowledge of only one side. Work to obliterate 
 that ignorance. Struggle, and if necessary suffer, to minimize 
 suffering; and learn to apply the most occult truth of all 
 enshrouded in that occult science which fascinates so many 
 mimls, which it fails to penetrate, — that the highest knowledge 
 must be sought in the highest self-abnegation, in the highest 
 spiiitual philanthropy. 
 
 '* And now, since I see that the very faithful pencil of my 
 good secretary yonder has fairly well recorded this poor homily 
 of mine, I will ask him to bring his notes over, and put them 
 under this woman's hand a moment, and I will affix my mark» 
 which at any rate will have some meaning for your friend the 
 Baron, and may usefully be known by you — so long as you take 
 care not to let that little morsel of phantasmagorial knowledge 
 on the physical plane grow useless by too wide a dissemination." 
 
 Juat as neither the Professor nor Blane, when they had been 
 
220 KABKA. 
 
 especially addressed during this strange speech, had nttered any 
 
 words in reply, so Captain Miller took the reference to himself 
 in silence ; but as soon as he had finished writing the last words 
 he brought the last piece of the paper on which he had been 
 writing, and stood, rather uncertain how to act, beside the sofa, 
 on which Mrs. Lakesby lay still in a profound trance. Blane 
 hastily got a book, to put under the paper for her to write upon, 
 and Captain Miller tried to put the pencil between her fingers, 
 as they lay upon the rug which had been thrown over her 
 body. With a vague and awkward movement she pushed this 
 aside, and let her hand fall open on the paper. It rested there 
 for a few moments, and then, as she drew it away, they all saw 
 that a peculiar hieroglyphic or monogram, as though written 
 with blue pencil, had appeared on the spot her hand had covered. 
 
 She drew her hand slowly up to her face, and rubbed it 
 across her eyes and forehead, then rolled her head on the pillow 
 from side to side ; and then, turning over on her side altogether, 
 was troubled with a short fit of coughing, out of which she 
 emerged her own usual self, remarking that it was too bad, 
 altogether. 
 
 " What is too bad, dear I ** asked Mrs. Miller, kneeling down 
 beside her with the kind of adoring impulse so apt to assert 
 itself among beholders towards a person in whom psychic gifts 
 of a high order exhibit themselves. 
 
 " To be hustled off like that in the middle of watching them 
 at play. What's the use of taking me all that way if I'm not 
 to stop and see something ?" 
 
 Her remarks were so up in the air and unconnected with 
 what had been going on that Blane and the Professor could only 
 look at one another in bewilderment. 
 
 " My dearest Agatha," said Mrs. Miller, " what on earth do 
 you mean 1 " 
 
 " Why, Flaccus and his friends were having a game at ball 
 together. It was such fun to see them. Didn't I tell you about 
 thatr 
 
 " Why no, of course not ; you have simply been speaking to 
 us or some one else — " 
 
 " Pardon me for interrupting you," said the Professor, " but 
 we can tell Mrs. Lakesby all she said afterwards. First let us 
 hear what she now remembers. It is most important to secure 
 all that before it escapes from her recollection. *' 
 
THB MYSTERIES OF KABMA. 221 
 
 •* I simply was called by the same one that took me away last 
 night, and was getting some more visions of the same sort. I 
 never thought of you, of course, at the time, but didn't I talk 
 to you about them like last night ! Didn't you ask me ques- 
 tions 1 " 
 
 " Your faculties have been duplicated in some extraordinary 
 manner," said the Professor ; ** we will tell you all about that 
 directly, but meanwhile do please now go over all you saw. 
 What did you see first t " 
 
 " I saw that old man of the chair, that you said to-day must 
 have been a Consul. He was standing in the midst of a large 
 party of people, women as well as men, all handsomely dressed, 
 and he was talking to one of the women, a young woman, quite 
 a girl, paying her compliments and making her laugh, and yet I 
 could see by his aura that he was sad and angry at heart. I 
 have got a notion that the young woman was a bride and that 
 the party was a marriage-party. Then a young man joined 
 them and treated the Consul in a very deferential manner, but 
 drew away the woman after a little while, and then the vision 
 faded, and I saw a number of young men, with very little on, 
 playing ball in a big, empty room. There was Flaccus among 
 the number, and he seemed to be enjoying himself greatly ; but, 
 just as I was beginning to ask who the others were, my com- 
 panion hustled me away without ceremony, merely saying, I 
 remember, * Can't stop any longer now. Master's going.' What 
 on earth did he mean by ' Master's going ' 1 " 
 
 At another time, perhaps — since the Professor had been so 
 plainly identified, in the mysterious speech that had just been 
 delivered, with the Consul of Mrs. Lakesby's Koman visions — 
 there might have been some disposition among his friends to 
 banter him about having been given, even in his former incar- 
 nation, to paying compliments to the ladies. This was a trait 
 of his modern character asserting itself in a former life as well. 
 But the solemnity of the address they had received left its im- 
 pression on their feelings, and the opening for badinage was 
 disregarded. 
 
 The course of events, as regarded her own trance, was related 
 to Mrs. Lakesby, and the Captain's record of the words that 
 had issued from her lips was read over to her. Of these she 
 retained no trace of recollection whatever. 
 
 *' How should she)" the Professor pointed out. **It k all 
 
 16 
 
222 CABMA. 
 
 intelligible enough now. We are familiar with the fact that 
 her own soul leaves her body altogether under such circum- 
 stances as we have had to-nigLt, and what has evidently oc- 
 curred has been this : While her soul was far away in the 
 custody of one of the extraordinary beings who are interesting 
 themselves in our proceedings just now, her body was made 
 the vehicle of an address to us from some other of them. 
 His identity, even, will be apparent to the Baron, when 
 we describe what has taken place, for we have got his signa- 
 ture." 
 
 " I wonder, is anything more going to happen to-night 1 " 
 inquired Captain Miller. 
 
 " What we have had has not taken long," Blane remarked, 
 " but it has been very suggestive.*' 
 
 " Very 1 " said the Professor, who began to walk up and 
 down the room, profoundly revolving the situation in his own 
 mind. "The smallest of these visions, I am persuaded, is 
 thrown in our way for a purpose. Even so little a thing as 
 that last about Flaccus in the sphseristerium — " 
 
 " In the what ? " asked Mrs. Lakesby. 
 
 "You see the living reality, dear lady, and call it play- 
 ing at balL Dusty scholars find it a long name, but the same 
 thing is meant. The parting glimpse of him afforded to us 
 emphasizes the physical importance of the Karma he engendered 
 during his Roman time, and that we know, with Annerly, has 
 produced very decisive effects on his present incarnation. In 
 my own case, physical Karma does not seem to have been 
 specially operative. The Consul was an ordinary sort of 
 man, apparently, in physique, and I am an ordinary sort of 
 man. But there aie points in what we have heard that to me 
 are very suggestive." 
 
 " Oh, I was nearly forgetting," said l^Irs. Lakesby ; ** it 
 suddenly comes back to me." 
 
 " What was that ? " asked the Professor keenly. 
 
 " It was not about you — it was Pabian." 
 
 " Oh, I do trust, Mrs. Lakesby," cried Merland, " that you 
 saw Fabian, this time, at some good, downright mischief. I 
 assure you you will not link him with my personality unless 
 you did." 
 
 " Fabian," said Mrs. Lakesby, sitting up and looking at him 
 earnestly, " you were not at any kind of mischief, I assure you. 
 
THB MYSTEBIES OF EABMA* 223 
 
 Dear me, how vividly I remember it again now, though it was 
 
 only just a picture." 
 
 •'Oh, what was itt" said Mrs. Miller, as the clairvoyant 
 paused. 
 
 " Poor Fabian 1 " Blane said. " Has he been detected in 
 some new good deeds 1 I can understand that. Merland's 
 delicacy of feeling is now rather put to the blush, but, at the 
 same time, others of us will wish we had half his complaint." 
 
 " He was sitting by a girl's bedside reading to her or telling 
 her something out of a book on his knees. But she was not 
 a beautiful girl at all, almost a child, and very plain and 
 withered-looking, very ill evidently. Fabian was holding her 
 hand and talking to her; and she was looking at him so 
 wistfully in spite of her ugliness and illness, the thought of 
 her was quite beautiful. Her aura was so clear and good. 
 But the room was a poor room; it was a miserable sort of 
 scene altogether." 
 
 "Well, at all events," said Merland, "it's a mercy my 
 patient was a girl There seems a shade less of goodi-goodiness 
 in my proceedings that way — if you will have it that it was 
 I, — ^which I cannot feel to be the case at aU." 
 
 "It's better to have been doing good among your fellow 
 creatures, anyhow," said Blane, " than to have been a useless 
 fool of a monk." 
 
 "Now, do not let us contemplate any of these problems," 
 the Professor urged, "with personal feelings. They are all 
 given to us for the sake of the knowledge they convey. And 
 do you observe," he went on, addressing the company generally, 
 as he continued to walk about the room, " what a large part in 
 Karma is evidently played in all our cases — in all except 
 Blane's case, as far as we know it yet — by our relations with 
 women. What a determining force that seems to be." 
 
 " In a negative way my case bears out what you say," put in 
 Blane, " for my Karma does not seem to have had much to do 
 with women ; while, also, with the colourless and useless life I 
 have led — " 
 
 There was a general outbreak of laughter at this ; the hxst 
 words were uttered with so much grim sincerity, while the 
 feeling all Ms friends entertained towards Blane was one of 
 such strong affection, that there seemed something absurd in 
 the abuse he was levelling against the nature of his own life. 
 
224 rAUVA, 
 
 " — What are you laughing at t ** 
 
 ** My dear WiUy,** said Mrs. Miller, who gave Blane hre vet- 
 rank as her cousin occasionally, " if there is such a thing as a 
 universal favourite, who is not entitled to talk in a misan- 
 thropical way — '* 
 
 ** I am not misanthropical ; I am merely recording facts. I 
 may he a fool for my pains, perhaps, but as a fact women have 
 not been the main interest of my life ; of course I do not 
 assert that it has had any main interest — " this provoked a 
 reversal of friendly jeers, but Blane got to the end of his ex- 
 planation none the less — " and it would seem that I am the 
 only person whose Kaima has not been associated with women, 
 as far as we know." 
 
 " Blane's argument," said the Professor, " is perfectly sound 
 and important. Let us be serious about all this. It is far too 
 interesting for chafil" 
 
 " But seriously," said Merland, " there are flaws in the argu- 
 ment which associates Fabian's personality with mine. I won't 
 be affected about the matter, but will speak of it as if a third 
 person were concerned. I am represented as having been a 
 very good person in my last incarnation, and therefore as now 
 being very fortunately circumstanced; and no doubt you 
 assume that happy destinies are awaiting me in connection 
 with women to match my reputed merit in regard to the sick 
 child and so forth. Now I would not make the statement I 
 am going to make if it were not for the importance of our 
 studies in this matter, but you must believe me when I assure 
 you that all conjectures of that sort will necessarily prove 
 wrong. I would rather not go into details ; but I assure you 
 that my future, though faij in some of its aspects, does not lie 
 before me as likely to be a happy one at all, and most assuredly 
 it will not be made happy by any woman. If my fixed deter- 
 mination can control it it will be altogether concerned with a 
 life-long devotion to occult science." 
 
 " "Well," said the Professor, after a little interval, " no one 
 should be called upon to lay bare, even for an analysis of this 
 sort, incidents in his life which are of quite a private nature. 
 But I confess for me the Fabian hypothesis is one I cannot 
 reject in spite of what you say. Its incongruities may somehow 
 explain themselves later. An. entire stranger would not under- 
 stand our position in this business at all. But we have ali 
 
THE PROFESSOR IN TROUBLl. 225 
 
 been led from one thing to another ; and I feel just as sure 
 that these visions of Mrs. Lakesby are regulated by some very 
 powerful beings, with a definite purpose, as that she is not 
 merely inventing them as she goes along, as any self-confident 
 outsider, knowing nothing of our surroundings, might suggest. 
 We have been told something now about four distinct lines of 
 Kanna, and three of them at all events — I think all four — are 
 borne in on the imderstanding as harmonious with the obvious 
 interpretations." 
 
 "But do you not forget," said Merland, "what we heard 
 this morning about Annerly t " 
 
 " I do not forget that at all, but I trust to the Karmic indica- 
 tion more than to the appearance of his present engagement. 
 I am sorry to feel that this engagement is not likely to turn out 
 for his happiness or welfare." 
 
 The conversation was prolonged, on these lines, till a late 
 hour, but no further manifestations of clairvoyance took place 
 that night. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE PROFESSOR IN TROUBLH. 
 
 Among the letters which arrived at the castle the following 
 morning was a long-shaped packet for the Professor, in a blue 
 envelope, addressed in a formal hand. He looked over its con- 
 tents standing by the window, while those of the company who 
 had already assembled were gathered in another part of the 
 room, and, putting it away in his pocket, joined them for 
 breakfast, and talked and joked in his usual manner. After 
 breakfast, however, he sought a private conversation with the 
 Baron, and, going with him into the library, announced that he 
 had received Lews that morning which he thought it his duty 
 to communicate to the Baron, as his host at Heiligenf els, without 
 delay. 
 
 " Lady Emily Massilton," he said, " has instituted proceed- 
 ings against me for divorce. Lady Emily, in fact, must have 
 
 Q 
 
226 laBMA. 
 
 been conducting her proceedings, while still of the preparatory 
 order, from under this roof ; which appears to me to have been 
 a departure from good taste — ^but that is a detail. First of all, 
 does this information take you very much by surprise 'i " 
 
 "It gives me, perhaps," said the Baron, "more pain than 
 surprise. I believed that something of the kind would have to 
 be gone through." 
 
 " Of course you mean that by some occult channel of know- 
 ledge you got that impression 1 " 
 
 " Quite so." 
 
 " Well, about the case on its merits I shall be very glad to 
 talk to you at length ; but the duty before me for the moment 
 appears clear. Once formally commenced, I suppose the fact 
 that this suit has been set on foot may become public property 
 any day. The society papers may be announcing it as we speak. 
 It will be possible that people will form judgments in the 
 matter unfavourable to me, and it may be embarrassing for you 
 and your friends that I should be your guest any longer under 
 these circumstances ; and, deeply as I regret having to abandon 
 the inquiries on which we are engaged, I propose to leave this 
 house at once." 
 
 " Who of the party here, do you think, would resent your 
 further stay ? " 
 
 " First of all, the person best entitled to do so would be 
 yourself." 
 
 " ISTy dear Professor, though I have latterly been a visitor to 
 your world, I am not of it. My judgments of men are not 
 much governed by externals. To be quite candid, I daresay 
 there has been much in your conduct — assuming that the attack 
 now made upon you has some ground to go upon — that I should 
 disapprove of ; but that which is a shadow or a dream to others 
 is a reality to me, and vice versa. There is that in your Karma, 
 I know, which entitles you and enables you to do great good in 
 the world, by helping to disseminate knowledge, for which your 
 own mind has been attuned. It has been my duty to arm you 
 with the means of doing this. Personally, I deplore the bad 
 Karma which, in your case, is mingled with the good ; but that 
 does not dispose me to throw aside my own task when it is but 
 half done. Individually, as far as I am concerned, I would ask 
 you to stay." 
 
 " I am glad to hear you say that, but it doea not affect my 
 
THE PBOFESSOE IN TEOCJBLB. 227 
 
 view of the matter. Individually you may feel that, out, as 
 regards others, I understand you to mean different feelings will 
 prevail t " 
 
 That this might be the case the Baron could not deny. He 
 asked for no confidence, but the Professor volunteered some in 
 the course of their conversation — partly, as he explained, because 
 he wanted the Baron's counsel on a matter connected indirectly 
 with his own affairs. That the proceedings set on foot against 
 him would turn partly upon certain adventures of his which, of 
 course, he would not attempt to justify, was evident already, 
 and the lady concerned with those adventures was the lady 
 to whom Annerly had now engaged himself to be married. 
 What was the Professor to do under these trying circum- 
 stances ? 
 
 " Whether," he said, " it will excuse my conduct in your 
 eyes to know that my own marriage has long proved a mere 
 loveless mockery of a marriage, I do not know. That, of course, 
 is my justification before my own conscience. I have legal lia- 
 bilities, but no moral responsibilities in my own sight, towards 
 Lady Emily." 
 
 " But how about the other lady t " 
 
 The Professor showed more emotion than he had yet betrayed; 
 but after a brief pause he stated the case with his usual incisive 
 vigour. 
 
 "I fell into temptation, and I succumbed. I truly loved 
 Miriam Seaford. I would never have deserted her. I would 
 have looked upon her as my real wife to the end. But I de- 
 ceived her in one way— she did not know I was actually married. 
 She was a strange creature — a mixture of passion and ambition. 
 For conventional morals she cared nothing — for a place in 
 society she cared a great deal ; and when she realized that this 
 was impossible of attainment through me, she left me." 
 
 ** I am the worst adviser you could choose in such a matter. 
 My life has been passed beyond the reach of the frenzied 
 passions you refer to. It appears to me that Annerly should 
 not be suffered to take any irrevocable step in ignorance of im- 
 portant facts bearing on it. But you must act in this matter 
 on your own discretion, if you act at all." 
 
 " Of course," said the Professor, turning the subject shortly 
 afterwards, " I need hardly say that my visit here has been a 
 revelation. It has opened my eyes to new worlds. It will be 
 
 Q 2 
 
228 KARMA. 
 
 no fault of mine, but my misfortune alone, if circumstances now 
 thrust me outside the area of your work." 
 
 " I hope nothing of that kind need take place. In trying to 
 bring you within that area I have not acted without the 
 approval of those in whose wisdom I trust implicitly. Every 
 attempt of this kind is liable to failure, but I should imagine 
 that the higher part of your nature may assert itself after these 
 trials are past, and triumph over the lower." 
 
 Some further talk ensued, and then before they separated the 
 Baron asked that he might be relieved if possible of the duty 
 of making explanations to their friends after the Professor had 
 gone. 
 
 " Would you be reluctant to put your case, as f ar aa our 
 friends here are concerned, in Captain Miller's hands 1 " 
 
 " Captain Miller ! Well, I'd rather have spoken to Blane. 
 Captain Miller and I have been least intimate perhaps of any 
 couple of people here." 
 
 " Captain Miller's nature seems to me true gold. You may 
 not find him a specially lenient critic of any conduct you admit 
 to be faulty ; but Blane should, I think, be left to act in this 
 matter in accordance with very deliberate thought. It is very 
 important how he acts, and I hope he will resolve, for the sake 
 of higher interests, to stand side by side with you as a witness 
 to the truth — no matter how you are, for the moment, discredited 
 before the world." 
 
 ** Good Heavens ! " said the Professor, " then /was the person 
 Blane was warned not to shrink from, by the voice last night ? " 
 
 Though he had been frank in acknowledging that blame 
 might attach to him in connection with the disclosures that 
 were threatened, the Professor experienced a shock at the notion 
 that he would be smirched in this way to an extent that might 
 render other men averse from being publicly associated with 
 him. He and Blane had been laying many plans for joint action 
 in literature and society for the purpose of spreading a com- 
 prehension of the new truths, — new as regarded their fellow- 
 countrymen, their age and generation, — that had possessed their 
 own minds. The Professor's notion in preparing to leave the 
 castle at once had arisen rather from the thought that the ladies 
 might consider themselves injured by his continued presence 
 under the circumstance-s, than from apprehension that the morals 
 of the men might be shocked. 
 
THE PBOf'BSSOfi lH TEOUBLB. 229 
 
 •*I should hope that Blane would hardly he disposed to 
 throw my friendship over about this affair t " he said. 
 
 " You can't hope that more than I ; but Blane must act 
 deliberately, and not be caught in any hurried declaration of 
 sympathy, before he understands what he is about. Believe me 
 that will he best." 
 
 " I am not used. Baron," said the Professor, " to being guided 
 by any other man's judgment, but yours is — " 
 
 ** Worth very little in such a matter, and I do not ask you 
 to go by it. It is rather a request that I make than an advice 
 that I venture to tender." 
 
 *• Either way will do for me." 
 
 When the Professor returned to the dining-hall, where they 
 had breakfasted, he electrified Mrs. Miller with amazement, by 
 announcing his immediate departure. 
 
 " Urgent private affairs, dear lady ; you can't realize— -or 
 rather after all that has passed you can't fail to realize— how 
 greatly I regret having to leave you just now. I saw that I 
 must go when I read my letters this morning ; but I thought 
 I owed it to the Baron to explain some of my reasons. These 
 have to do with business, and I won't trouble you ladies with 
 them." 
 
 " Nothing of a disagreeable nature, I hope," said Mrs. Lakesby, 
 who was still present, some of the others having already 
 dispersed. 
 
 The Professor turned upon her a sharp, inquiring look 
 
 "I am almost tempted to ask you whether it is likely to end 
 disagreeably 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Lakesby laughed. " I was not thinking of clairvoyant 
 impressions, and I don't want to be a fortune- teller." 
 
 " But would you answer me a simple question, even though 
 it seemed an odd one ? " 
 
 " That depends on the question." 
 
 The Professor turned to Mrs. Miller. "Will you let me 
 consult the oracle in your little room — I will not keep her five 
 minutes 1 " 
 
 Mrs. Miller, curious, but not surprised, of course acquiesced. 
 When the Professor and Mrs. Lakesby were together he took a 
 small locket from his pocket. 
 
 *• You will remember asking me if I had a lock of hair of 
 that lady we spoke of. I have since then written home for a 
 
230 KABMA. 
 
 certain locket which I knew to contain it, and here it is. Now 
 I want no longer to know where the lady is, but it would throw 
 light upon some duties which lie before me if I knew the state 
 of that lady's feelings in regard to myself. Can you give me a 
 clue to them ? " 
 
 As he spoke, he unfastened a small locket, and offered the 
 piece of hair it contained to Mrs. Lakesby. She took it doubt- 
 fully and reluctantly. 
 
 "It is aa odd question for a married man like you to be 
 asking," she said. 
 
 " No doubt. If it is necessary you shall have full explana- 
 tions as to why I ask it — you will know shortly in any case ; 
 but it would be more interesting to me if you would answer my 
 question without inquiring further for the moment." 
 
 " I have an impression," said Mrs. Lakesby thoughtfully, as 
 she fingered the hair, *' that I am treading oi. very delicate 
 giound. And nothing can be more uncertain than such ideas 
 as this." She spoke, pausing between the sentemes, but the 
 Professor waited patiently, and she sat down, still holding the 
 hair and knitting her brows. " You had better not act on any- 
 thing I say. Oh ! I see a small room, like a little drawing- 
 room, and the same woman sitting at a little desk in front of 
 the window. She's looking over letters ; she's in some sort of 
 trouble and perplexity. Ah! Here, take back the hair. I 
 don't feel as if this sort of thing was right." 
 
 " But cannot you give me the clue I want ? I am not seeking 
 it for any bad motive, I assure you. A glimpse of the truth 
 clear of all superficial deceptions would be invaluable to me, 
 and might enable me to redress past mistakes." 
 
 " And suppose I make new mistakes 1 This sort of vision is 
 the most uncertain thing." 
 
 " It is too late to ask me to distrust your vision; If you 
 won't tell me, you won't ; but for want of knowing the truth I 
 may be enveloped, and others too, in sad misunderstanding." 
 
 " You will check what I tell you in other ways 1 You won't 
 trust to it blindly ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. It is a clue — a guiding thread in a labyrinth 
 — that I require." 
 
 " I don't know how you are mixed up with that woman's 
 aflfairs, but I should say — I should think that she loves you." 
 
 " Thanks, most sincerely. I shall know better what to do 
 now, and may perhaps be able to avert much unhappiness." 
 
THE PEOFBSSOB IN TROUBLE. 231 
 
 ** I hope I have not contributed to produce any t ** 
 
 " That is impossible. Darkness and misunderstandings 
 produce unhappiness, not light and truth- telling." 
 
 There was no thought of further occult work that evening 
 at the castle. When Captain Jem, very grave and disturbed, 
 came back from seeing off the Professor at the station, he re- 
 ported the whole situation to Mrs. Miller, and she told the 
 other ladies in separate confabulations. The Captain told 
 Merland and Blane, and everybody knew all about the situation 
 of affairs by dinner-time. At first discussed in shy allusions, 
 by degrees the moral problems involved came to be more 
 openly debated. The presence of the German servants was no 
 embarrassment. 
 
 *f Well," said Mrs. Miller, at length giving an opinion that 
 was the first put forward explicitly, **I daresay he*s been 
 behaving very badly to the other woman ; but Lady Emily's a 
 cold-hearted cat, and I suspect she drove him to it." 
 
 " I should never attempt," Blane said, " to form an opinion 
 about the morality of any other man's actions ; and, as for 
 married people, every married couple is an insoluble enigma for 
 all outsiders. But I am deeply sorry this thing has occurred, 
 for the sake of the work we were to have done together." 
 
 ** He is very anxious about that," said the Captain ; " he's 
 hard hit in his pride, is our Professor, to think that his name 
 may be a burden to carry, instead of a tower of strength, for any 
 man he works with." 
 
 " We have got," Blane answered, '* far enough into occultism 
 in the course of this visit to feel that, in anything said to the 
 world on the subject, a very elevated moral tone must be pre- 
 served. If the exponents of such teaching as we have to offer 
 are open to reproach of a very commonplace kind, the world 
 will have an easy retort to fling at us." 
 
 ** The difficulty," said the Baron, " is always to unite perfect 
 reprobation of sin with perfect charity towards the sinner." 
 
 " Of course," said Mrs. Miller, " it is a pity, a horrible pity, 
 that we should be hampered in anything we have to put for- 
 ward about occultism with an objectionable scandal of this sort." 
 
 " I am very far," replied the Baron, "from saying that it is 
 a good thing we should be so hampered. But I can just imagine 
 that some tasks should not be made too easy in the beginning. 
 Some men and some ideas must be tried in the fire before they 
 are ready for what they have to do." 
 16 
 
232 EABMA. 
 
 " Isn't it rather soon for our new movement to be put through 
 ordeals before it is fairly started even 1 " 
 
 "It may be the people associated with it, who are to go 
 through the ordeals before even the movement begins. But, 
 after all, that is a recondite hypothesis. The practical way to 
 consider the thing seems to me this, that we should always look 
 at the good points of the people we find ourselves thrown with 
 as co-workers, if they certainly have good points, and put up 
 with, or not think about, their failings." 
 
 " Baron ! " said Blane, " the thing I am feeling chiefly, if 
 you will allow me to say so, is that an outrage is offered, as it 
 were, to your name, which is so profoundly respected by all who 
 know you, that it should not be associated, at this crisis, with 
 any other, tarnished by the bxeath of scandal." 
 
 ** My dear friend, my poor name is of no consequence at all. 
 I would gladly, if that were possible, come back amongst you 
 in London next year to let it be of what service it might be to 
 you in any work you try to undertake, for the sake of truth and 
 humanity, but that unfortunately must not be." 
 
 This was not the first time that the Baron had indicated the 
 probability of his early retirement to some unknown region ; so 
 that what he now said was no surprise to his hearers. He went 
 on, — 
 
 " Where I am going, it matters inconceivably little whether 
 men, in your world, hold my name lightly or in respect. Yours 
 is of far greater practical consequence, and you must protect that 
 by any means that seem fit to you." 
 
 They had all been examining the records of the previous 
 evening's address too diligently to be oblivious of the direct 
 bearing this had on the question in hand. 
 
 " As far as I can make it out," said Mrs. Miller stoutly, 
 " we were all told plainly enough last night that we ought to 
 stand by the Professor." 
 
 " The point at issue does not seem to me," said Blane, " to 
 be personal in its nature. I should certainly be willing to stand 
 by the Professor if he were wronged in any way. If public 
 opinion comes, for instance, to treat the Professor unjustly, and 
 we, knowing more about the true facts, see that, why, good 
 Heavens ! we should stand by him in face of any calumnious 
 attack. But we don't yet know anything of the rights of the 
 Biovj to come out It may prove that the Professor is to blame. 
 
THE PROPESSOE IN TROUBLE. 23S 
 
 In that case we can't pretend to think he is not to blame. We 
 should not help him by doing that, and we should merely 
 forfeit whatever little influence or opportunity of usefulness we 
 may have ourselves." 
 
 " I can't help," said Captain Miller, " going back to what 
 we heard last night. This affair was evidently foreseen, and 
 yet the warning was plain against being too much afraid of 
 standing beside a man because people generally might be down 
 upon him." 
 
 The conversation led to no very definite conclusions. Blane 
 emphasized his repudiation of the idea that he could be sup- 
 posed to shi'ink from incurring odium as such. The question 
 was merely one of being sure of standing on the side of the 
 right — and, as regards the work they proposed doing, of not 
 running the risk of ruining a great undertaking by taking it 
 on hand in an indiscreet way. 
 
 *' Granted the Professor has great gifts that might be of the 
 utmost service, has he other qualities which may render those 
 gifts worse than useless 1 It is a question of fact ; not of will- 
 ingness on our part to incur more or less criticism or censure. 
 Who cares for that 1 I'm sure I don't." 
 
 The Baron remained with their shrunken little party during 
 the evening, but a certain depression of spirits had come over 
 them. The loss of the Professor robbed them of the mainspring 
 of their vitality. The energy and general overbearingness of 
 his character had absorbed and obliterated the energies of the 
 others while he had been with them. They seemed now left 
 without compass or rudder. 
 
 "Jem," said Mrs. Miller, when the hostess of Heiligenfels 
 and her mate were alone together at the end of the evening, 
 " for the first time in his Ufe Willie Blane is annoying me. 
 He's too finikin." 
 
 '* Take my advice, and trust to the Baron to manage Willie. 
 That'll all come straight in time." 
 
 " In time ! and what are we to do meanwhile 1 It seems to 
 me the whole thing is over, and we've all collapsed. We'd 
 better propose to clear out next." 
 
 " H*m ! " murmured the Captain, as though reflecting to him- 
 self. "Weak-brained sort of chap, the Baron— to get a lot of 
 people together into this business, that all crumple up as soon as 
 trouble sets in." 
 
234 KABMA. 
 
 " Who are you calling names ? It isn't the Baron's fault." 
 
 "If his crew all desert the ship before he pays her off, it 
 won*t seem as though he'd made a very good choice when he 
 first took them on board, will it ?" 
 
 "Jem," said Mrs. Miller, gazing at him calmly for a few 
 seconds, and perceiving the satire conveyed in his remark, '* if 
 you can't find anything to say except to turn your superior 
 officer into ridicule, you'd better smoke." 
 
 '*Ohl then I hadn't better go and tell the Baron we are 
 thinking of clearing out 1 " 
 
 "If you propose anything of that sort again, Jem," said Mrs. 
 Miller, "I'U divorce you ! " 
 
 CHAWER XXVL 
 
 Miriam's lovers^ 
 
 The Professor had been right in assuming that news of the 
 divorce proceeding instituted by his wife would filter into the 
 papers in anticipation of the slow progress of legal ceremonies. 
 Paragraphs began to make their appearance at once, and these 
 were coupled with curious hints concerning odd circimstances 
 under which the facts in preparation for submission to the 
 proper tribunal had come to light. The Professor, it was 
 announced, had been engaged lately in some insane attempt to 
 revive the ancient practices of witchcraft ; and his wife, long a 
 sufferer from his cruelty and suspicious of his fidelity, had been 
 driven by indignation at the blasphemous nature of this extra- 
 ordinary enterprise to fly from the miserable hut in the Hartz 
 Mountains, to which her husband had decoyed her, in order 
 that she might be made the instrument of some of his incanta- 
 tions, and take refuge with friends. There she had been put 
 on the scent of the information which was shortly to be laid 
 before the courts. This statement was no sooner issued than 
 it was declared by other paragraphs to be erroneous in some of 
 its details. The Professor had not been concerned with any 
 grovelling experiments with Macbeth cauldrons. If possible the 
 situation seemed to be rather worse than this, for his wife when 
 
mieiam's lovers. 235 
 
 she joined him abroad — having quitted the protection of one of her 
 noble relatives for this purpose — had found him established in 
 a palace on the shores of a Swiss lake, the property of a wealthy 
 Austrian Count. Over the mind of this half-witted being he 
 had obtained extraordinary ascendency, and by his resources he 
 had been enabled to organize a vast phantasmagorial display of 
 apparently supernatural effects, the p^irpose of which was to 
 blind the understanding of a number of persons he had gathered 
 together, and lead them into the formation of a league for the 
 cultivation of the black art on entirely new principles. In one 
 form or another, the story, told of course in a guarded way, 
 attracted a good deal of attention, as it provided an easy sub- 
 ject for lively journalists. " The new Chair of Witchcraft,'* 
 " Biology and Broomsticks," — in allusion to one of the ordi- 
 nary branches of science with which Professor Massilton's name 
 was associated, — "Divorce and Demonology," were a few of 
 the titles which began to decorate the newspaper advertise- 
 ment bills soon after the Professor's return to London. This 
 certainly was not the way in which he had intended to launch 
 the new ideas he had picked up at Heiligenfels on the attention 
 of the reading public. He bought the newspapers which 
 amused themselves with his affairs, and read them quietly at 
 his chambers, hurt very little by the light sarcasms on his own 
 intelligence with which they abounded, from the stings of which 
 he was protected by the consciousness of superior knowledge, 
 but stiU fretting a good deal at the thought that he woi3d 
 naturally be held responsible in the eyes of the friends with 
 whom he had intended to co-operate, for all this premature splash- 
 ing of inconsiderate foUy he had so unintentionally provoked. 
 
 For the moment, however, he was far too wise in his genera- 
 tion to make any sign in reply to the jeering with which he 
 was assailed. He did not regard the problems with which he 
 had lately been concerned, as likely to be treated successfully 
 by letters to the papers, so he left the jokers to wear the subject 
 out at their own sweet will, and meanwhile addressed himself 
 to a whoUy different matter. 
 
 He was determined to see Miriam Seaford. Nearly a year 
 had elapsed since he and she had parted. As he had told the 
 Baron, that parting had been brought about by no wish of his. 
 Certainly it had not left him oppressed with an overwhelming 
 grief, but it had cat him deeply at the time. Miriam had 
 
236 EABMA. 
 
 thoroughly eDga<^ed his ardent afiFections. He had thrown him- 
 self into the romance of his attachment to her, with all the 
 usual energy of his nature. Subject as their relations had been 
 to rupture at any moment, their prolongation over a period of 
 many months had never been tinged with a suspicion of satiety. 
 He had been as much in love with her — a good deal more in 
 love with her in fact — at the end of their liason than at the 
 beginning. And he had pondered a good deal over the psycho- 
 logical problem she presented to his mind. That she had been 
 in love with him he did not question for a moment. And the 
 course of events had shown that considerations which would 
 have restrained most women, had very little weight with her. 
 There had never been any private marriage between them, as 
 she had told her aunt, to soothe the distress her conduct occa- 
 sioned. But still she had believed that a marriage would ulti- 
 mately put their relations on a regular footing. The Professor 
 had " paltered " with the truth, as he acknowledged to himself, 
 but he had not been guilty, he argued in his own mind, of 
 seduction, for two reasons. First, the essence of that offence 
 he conceived to lie in subsequent desertion, and he never con- 
 templated deserting Miriam for a moment. Secondly, he had 
 not been manipulating false promises to overcome scruples on 
 her own part. Miriam had had no scruples. She was a girl 
 of altogether independent character, for whom conventional 
 rules, as such, had no force whatever. Their compact had been 
 set in the clear light of a mutual understanding from the first. 
 He had framed ingenious theories, having to do with college 
 fellowship rules and the terms under which he held certain 
 appointments, as accounting for the fact which he most frankly 
 declared all through — that he could not marry. Miriam had 
 seemed to accept this condition of things. He had quite volun- 
 tarily made legal dispositions of property in her favour to insure 
 her from the contingency of widowhood. But she had never 
 availed herself of these after she left him, had returned to him 
 the documents connected with them which had been put in her 
 hands, and had obliterated them as far as her act could accom- 
 plish this. She must have relied on a legal marriage as the 
 end of their relationship, the Professor persuaded himself ; and 
 when at last she came to learn the real state of the facts, — for 
 deceptions of this kind can rarely be kept up for very long, — 
 she must in some subtle way have found the position outraging 
 
Miriam's lovers. 237 
 
 to her self-respect on principles it was not easy to follow, seeing 
 that her self-respect had endured the establishment of their 
 peculiar relations. 
 
 Now the situation had changed. All the Professor's passion 
 for her was kindled afresh at the idea that she was now about 
 to pass into the lawful companionship of another man. And a 
 view of duty in the matter was readily constructed in his mind 
 in a way which harmonized with inclination. It would be 
 wrong to let Annerly marry a woman with a past history of 
 which he might be quite ignorant. He should know the truth 
 — assuming that he had been kept in ignorance of this — though 
 the Professor, knowing the fearless and uncompromising cha- 
 racter of the lady concerned, did not believe it likely that she 
 had withheld the truth. However, whichever way this might 
 be, Annerly should be protected from marriage with a woman 
 who did not love him, provided this engagement had merely 
 been accepted by Miriam as a pis-aller. Nothing could be 
 worse for him than that result, argued the Professor, his keen 
 reasoning faculties failing this time to give him a picture of 
 Annerly's state of mind, according to which alienation of his 
 love was the only supreme misery, and association with her, on 
 any terms, happiness — in varying degrees, perhaps, according to 
 her feeling about him, but still, on any terms, happiness. 
 
 The Professor had never argued the matter with Miriam, 
 either at the time she left him or by letter since. No line had 
 ever passed between them. He was not a man to plead or 
 entreat in such a case. Her position had been simple, *' You 
 have deceived me. I will have nothing more to do with you." 
 His answer had been, " I kept back a fact from you, but I did 
 not deceive you in essence. I always said it was impossible I 
 could marry you, and I can't. I wish I could." " You deceived 
 me," was the only reply. They had a chilly rather than a 
 stormy scene at a hotel in Geneva. He argued, " I loved you :" 
 she decided that " that was no excuse." She had travelled to 
 London by herself, refusing his proffered escort peremptorily, 
 and they had never met since. But now the situation was, or 
 was about to be, materially changed. He certainly could not 
 have courted the disgrace of the divorce proceedings ; he could 
 not have stooped to provide them adequate justification ; and 
 he was puzzled now to understand how Lady Emily would 
 eonstnict a charge of cruelty against him to fortify her other 
 
 16 
 
238 KABMA. 
 
 plea, and bear out the petition she was addressing to the court ; 
 though resolved, under the circumstances, to play into her 
 hands in this matter ; but now the disgrace of the divorce 
 would have to be borne in any case. It would be minimized if 
 it should be immediately succeeded by his marriage with the 
 lady whose name, by his fault, would thus be dragged into a 
 humiliating publicity ; and he would be able to offer Miriam 
 the fullest possible redress of the past deception of which she 
 complained. 
 
 His plan of action was promptly arranged. To go to Miriam 
 without explaining his proposal beforehand would be to court a 
 rebuff. To write to her and await an answer would be to leave 
 her open to other influences than his own. He would arrange 
 that a letter explaining his position should be handed to her at 
 a convenient opportunity when she was alone, and he would 
 follow it up by appearing in her presence ten minutes later. The 
 assistance of a private inquiry-agent would enable him to ascer- 
 tain the few external circumstances he required to know. Qui 
 veut la fin must submit to les moyens, he declared to himself, to 
 conquer a certain sense of repugnance with which he engaged 
 the services he required. He wrote, meanwhile, with his ac- 
 customed straightforward simplicity, the note to be despatched 
 at the fitting moment. 
 
 " My dear Miriam, — For dear you must always be to me — 
 when we last parted I told you I wished I could marry you. 
 You would then have been willing to marry me ; but I was 
 unable. As circumstances are now falling out, I shall be able 
 to marry you as soon as certain divorce proceedings, of which 
 you may have heard, are concluded. I never change a clearly- 
 defined desire, and the wish to marry you is as strong with me 
 as ever. Should I persuade you to agree to it, I shall be eager 
 to complete our union — so sadJy interrupted — within the shortest 
 period possible after the divorce is pronounced. 
 
 " I have heard that you are engaged to marry another man. 
 If you love him and no longer love me, do so by all means. 
 Your great good sense will assuredly, in that case, lead you to 
 clear all possibility of future misunderstandings out of your 
 path by frankness with him at the outset ; and I would earnestly 
 express a hope that all good things might be your portion, health 
 and prosperity, and a love that should appreciate you through 
 life. 
 
mibiam's lovers. 239 
 
 •* If you don't love him, and do still love me, for all our eakes 
 — and foremost for your own dear sake — give up all thought of 
 marrying him. It would be a terrible madness, productive in- 
 evitably of awful misery, foremost of all for him. Does it seem 
 odd that I do not say foremost of all for me ? My dear child, 
 as you know, 1 am truthful and candid by nature, though once 
 (as you will have it) I told you, or let you think I told you, a 
 big solitary falsehood. In that matter I acted under a corre- 
 spondingly big temptation, for I was bent on winning you. 
 Well ; I say now, that, if you marry a man without loving him, 
 you will make him suffer in the long run so much that nobody 
 can take precedence of him as a victim of that mistake. 
 
 " You will see, I think, that I am a reasonable person still, 
 as you have always known me. You had better see me and 
 talk this matter over — then there can be no misunderstandings 
 between us at any rate. I shall present myself at your door 
 very shortly after you get this letter, and I hope you will let 
 me in. 
 
 " Ever yours faithfully, 
 
 ** Arthttr Massilton." 
 
 For Annerly, while all this was going on, the shadow of the 
 impending divorce proceedings, in which he knew that Miriam's 
 name must be so painfully mixed up, had lain but as a small 
 cloud upon a distant horizon during a sunny day. He was 
 never tired of teUing Miriam how her presence near him again 
 — the privilege of gazing in her face and sitting with his arms 
 about her — was such bliss to him that any other thought except 
 the all-pervading consciousness of that ecstasy, seemed sus- 
 pended for the time. For a day or two after her restoration 
 to him at Purfleet she had stayed on at her farmhouse and he 
 had found quarters at an inn in the neighbourhood. He would 
 not have lost much of her society if he had gone back to town by 
 the last train and had returned by the first in the morning, but 
 still he would have been sensible of losing some. He would have 
 been watching the time in the evening, when he would rather 
 have been drinking in the radiance of her beauty in total for- 
 getfulness of all other facts in the world. And she was very 
 gentle and submissive to his worship. That was her only demon- 
 stration. She surrendered herself to his tornado of tenderness. 
 
 " You have suffered for the want of me. I have been more 
 ovael to you than I knew. Take your compensation.'^ 
 
240 KARMA. 
 
 She never withdrew herself from his emhraces — except in- 
 deed once during the Purfleet time, when they were sitting in 
 the little Enchanted Wood, as they came to call it — when the 
 fire of his love had been playing on her heart in some way 
 she may not have fully comprehended, and the dark rugged 
 face of her lover, surmounted by its great shock of black hair, 
 was lighted up by the gleam of almost poetic genius — the in- 
 spiration of his perfect devotion. For three days she had seen 
 no one but him and the old farmer, her nurse's husband. 
 
 " Geordie," she said, " sit up — be still I '* 
 
 There was a tone of surprise and indecision In her voice, and 
 yet no displeasure — nothing to alarm even so sensitive a lover 
 as Annerly, but still something that claimed explanation, 
 
 "What is the matter?" 
 
 " A curious sensation that was not in the new compact be- 
 tween us. I merely undertook to let you love me — ^wasn't 
 that so?" 
 
 ** To let me love, worship, adore you — to accept my unutter- 
 able devotion, my beautiful queen. That is all I claim." 
 
 " But it appears to me, Geordie, that I am getting fond of 
 you." 
 
 The ebb and flow of love is a mystery of nature. Miriam 
 felt the magnitude of Annerly's claim upon her — arising out of 
 his suffering on her account — to be less oppressive in view of 
 the possibility that, after all, she might come to be herself 
 desirous of, as well a« sacrificially willing to acquiesce in, a 
 marriage between them. 
 
 " Now we'll go back to town," she declared. " The sweetest 
 situation must come to an end sooner or later. Even you will 
 get weary, even of me, if we stay here much longer, and then, 
 perhaps, I might feel regret — which would never do." 
 
 She had fallen into adopting, half in joke, Annerly*s fre- 
 quently asserted theory, that the least evil that could befall her 
 was greater than the greatest evil that could befall any one else. 
 
 " My queen," he would say, " it is a privilege to suffer for 
 your sake. It is only suffering which does you no good, that 
 should be unbearable for others." 
 
 So they returned together to Miss Jameson's little menage 
 at the close of the day. Annerly stayed the evening with them, 
 during the greater part of which time the good aunt effaced 
 herself, and spent some hours privately in her bedroom, praying 
 
MIRIAM'S LOVIBS. 241 
 
 tearfully, and hoping ardently, that now at last her beloved 
 girl might find her path smooth and pleasant, and the haven 
 she was approaching, one of rest and peace. 
 
 Miriam evaded the settlement of a day for the marriage. 
 She promised to issue commands on the subject at no distant 
 date, but said that the emotions she had lately gone through, 
 had been rather tearing and bewildering. She would rather 
 be made love to lazily and dreamily for a little while longer, 
 before turning their romance into anything so commonplace as 
 matrimony. Annerly would not have feared that the romance 
 would sufifer by any measures which could ensure its per- 
 manence, but he was not in a position to dispute Miriam's will 
 in the matter; and thus the days passed, occupied by the 
 happy lover in cheerful and unremitting industry during all 
 such working hours as it was inconvenient or undesired by 
 Miriam that he should spend with her. 
 
 From Heiligenf els he received frequent letters from Meriand, 
 telling him in general terms of the work going on there, and of 
 the clairvoyant visions they were having with Mrs. Lakesby, 
 though the account of these was left imperfect from motives 
 Annerly naturally failed to interpret aright It seemed to 
 him that he was dropped out of the innermost confidence of 
 the circle at the castle by reason of having fallen back into 
 the ordinary aspirations of a life that sought happiness in the 
 world, and he did not rebel against the justice of this treatment. 
 
 He was only grateful to Merland, as he explained, for any 
 information that could be given to him in regard to what might 
 be going on. 
 
 " From the occult point of view,** he wrote, " I am a miserable 
 backslider. But you have known enough of my state of mind, 
 during the last few years, to understand that under the circum- 
 stances this is inevitable. I hope you will talk the matter over 
 with the Baron sufficiently to be sure that he shares your com- 
 prehension of this. Qui g^excuse s'accuse. It is impossible for 
 me to write to him in adequate explanation of my conduct 
 without seeming to feel too apologetic. I could say what I 
 believe to be the truth, that, as things have fallen out, I am 
 destined to be a shield and protection for my beloved Miriam 
 in her great need, that duty would suggest the abandonment 
 by me — for the sake of playing this part — of any personal 
 spiritual advantage I might gain in another path of life. But 
 
242 KARMA. 
 
 I do not want to seem hypocritically charging to duty what my 
 own overmastering desire would command me to do quite 
 irrespective of duty. However we analyze it, since fate allows 
 me to be ^Miriam Seaford's husband after all, I wiU not, for 
 any consideration, leave the responsibilities of that trust to any 
 other man. Put my case honestly to the Baron, but put it so 
 that he may know how I recognize to the fullest extent the 
 terrible magnitude of the loss I incur by foregoing what it 
 seemed at one time might have been within my reach — the 
 privilege of being his pupil, and of endeavouring to follow in 
 his footsteps, as far as this unworthy personality of mine might 
 have enabled me to go." 
 
 In reply to this, Annerly received a letter from the Baron 
 himself. 
 
 " My Dear Annbrlt,** the Baron wrote, 
 
 " I gather from our friend Merland that yon would be glad, 
 even in the midst of what seems your new-found happiness, to 
 have an assurance from me that I recognize the irresistible force 
 of the circumstances which have induced you to take certain 
 steps you have lately taken. You would have been more or 
 less than — the man you are, to have followed any other course. 
 I believe you are willing to put down to weakness and passion 
 your abandonment of the life of occult study you were so well 
 inclined for — in some respects. But duty need not be ignored 
 because it sometimes chimes in with inclination. If, as I 
 understand, you could hardly have remained in the occult path 
 without sacrificing interests of another person, that had <5ome 
 to be dependent on you, then I think you are quite justified in 
 acting as you did. Happily you were bound by no vows, the 
 infraction of which would have involved a feeling of humilia- 
 tion, and perhaps worse consequences. I wrote above, what 
 seems your new-found happiness, because, while making all 
 possible allowance for your feelings, I do not pretend myself to 
 regard any of the transitory delights which physical existence 
 may afford, as more than shows and delusive appearances of 
 happiness. They come to an end sooner or later, while nothing 
 is regarded as true happiness, in the occult sense, except that 
 which is enduring ; and nothing in the nature of consciousness 
 can be enduring unless it is seated in the higher principles of 
 man's nature, which are but very little if at all concerned with 
 
mieiam's lovers, 243 
 
 the phenomena of earthly life as understood by our generation. 
 I do not want to belittle or disparage the emotions which 
 invest it for you with the attributes of reality. Don't regret 
 the time we spent together. I do not, I assure you, for I know 
 that, come what may, the seeds sown during that time have not 
 been sown in vain. It is better to go a little way in a compre- 
 hension of your spiritual opportunities in the ultimate future 
 than not to get any comprehension of them at all. And, 
 though I would be no prophet of any coming evil, the chances 
 and changes of life at some future time may lead you to feel 
 that your studies at Heiligenfels after all were not altogether 
 wasted.*' 
 
 It was not till later that Annerly noticed how the phraseology 
 of this note, the kindly feeling of which was aU that struck 
 him on a first perusal, was suited to more than one contingency. 
 For the moment he studied it with less attention than he 
 might have given it had it come alone, by reason of the fact 
 that the same post brought him another letter, sent on from 
 the office of a weekly newspaper with which he was closely 
 connected. This was as follows : — 
 
 '* Dear Mr. Annerly, 
 
 " Though you did not see us I saw you to-day flash by In a 
 hansom cab, as mamma and I were driving down Regent 
 Street. We are in town for two or three days, on our way 
 to Devonshire, after paying a country visit. I am most eager 
 to hear what took place at Heiligenfels after we left. I am 
 sure all kinds of interesting things must have happened. Do 
 come and see me to-morrow. Come any time during the day 
 that is convenient to you, in the morning, to lunch, or in 
 the afternoon, but mind you come, and send me a telegram to 
 say when I shall expect you. 
 
 " Yours sincerely, 
 
 "Lucy Yaughan." 
 
 " What does that mean 1 " Annerly asked himself. " Just 
 what lies on the surface or something more 1 She would be 
 interested in the occurrences at the castle, of course, but she 
 might have repressed that curiosity if she had looked back on 
 any of them with resentment." 
 
 He telegraphed to fix an hour in the rather late afternoon for 
 
 1 » 
 
244 EABMA. 
 
 going to Eaton Square In response to Miss Vaughan's summons, 
 so that he might not neglect his appointment for that day with 
 Miriam at an earlier hour, and then turned to work. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVn. 
 
 THB INBVITABLB RESULT. 
 
 Hb found her when he went to her in the afternoon sitting in 
 a low easy-chair, with a book in her lap. " Miss Seaford is in 
 the drawing-room," the servant had said, retiring, after opening 
 the outer door, to her own quarters, for he was already at home 
 in the house, and did not, under the circumstances, require to 
 be announced. 
 
 " My queen," he said, as he knelt down by her chair, doing 
 affectionate homage to her on his entrance, " the echo of my old 
 yearning for you during the long days when that was in vain, 
 makes me almost tremble with anxiety every time I come to 
 you, lest the blessed fact that you are waiting for me and 
 expecting me, should somehow prove delusive." 
 
 " It is all one big delusion in one way," she said. " Why 
 are you so infatuated about me, I wonder f It seems a kind of 
 madness." 
 
 " Not a kind of madness, but perhaps a mystery. "We know, 
 from the ordinary point of view at any rate, so little about life, 
 that we rarely seek to go behind the facts of any acquaintance 
 between a man and the woman he is in love with, to find out 
 the explanation of that state of things. But I have come to 
 realize lately that two people may perhaps have known one 
 another a great deal longer really in other states of existence 
 than they are aware of when they meet in this." 
 
 During the days they had spent together in the country he 
 had already told her a great deal of the new view of things in 
 general he had obtained at Heiligenfels, and indeed had given 
 her the fullest account of all the wonders that had transpired 
 there up to the date of his departure. 
 
 " I don't like the notion of being all in the dark about what 
 has taken jdace before. Supposing you and I have known each 
 
THE INEVITABLE RESULT. 245 
 
 other in some former life, how can I tell how you behaved to 
 me then 1 Perhaps," she cried, sitting up suddenly as though 
 moved by a happy thought, " you may have treated me very 
 badly before, and have justified me in my behaviour to you ! " 
 
 " If we knew one another before," said Annerly, earnestly, 
 "lam sure of one thing — that I loved you before. I don't 
 think, indeed, it wants explanation, the fact that I love you 
 now. The motive for that is quite sufficiently obvious, without 
 going back behind this life ; but if you don't think it sufficient 
 you may assume that another lifetime spent in adoring you was 
 concentrated in my nature to begin with." 
 
 " One should have been enough." 
 
 ** But you would not wish that I had found it so." 
 
 "I don't know. I tell you, your love frightens me some- 
 times. It seems more than is natural. There is only one con- 
 Bolation, you know. It can't last like this if we get married." 
 
 " If ! Won't you say wheni" 
 
 " When we get married then. What's that line about man 
 never being, but always expecting to be, blessed T' 
 
 "Man never is, but always to be blest." 
 
 "That's it. Well, in some upside-down kind of way, that 
 idea might be applied to woman's marriage. It's always to be 
 but it never is a blessed state of things for her." 
 
 " Oh, Miriam, my own, if you could only realize the extent to 
 which I mean to make it a blessed state for you, so far as my 
 unchangeable worship can make it so ! " 
 
 " This is a blessed state, Geordie, except for horrors that may 
 be impending over me. I am sure you are getting the very 
 maximum of happiness it is possible to extract from my society ; 
 and, considering the angelic way Aunt Ellen eclipses herself for 
 your benefit whenever you come, I don't know what more you 
 can want." 
 
 " She is angelic. But I ara insatiable. However, that does 
 not require arguing. At my queen's own sweet pleasure there 
 will come a time, let us hope, that I shall not be any more 
 dependent on Aunt Ellen's goodness." 
 
 Annerly told her, soon after this, about the note he had had 
 from Miss Yaughan and all that might lurk within it for 
 Merland. 
 
 "I can't suppose that she would vnrite to me, Merland'i 
 especial friend, if she did not mean something." 
 
246 KARMA. 
 
 " And is Mr. Merland as badly hurt as you have been t ** 
 
 " No one can compare his own feelings with another man's, 
 jile loved her most truly, no doubt; though latterly he was 
 reconciling himself, it seemed to me from his letters, to the idea 
 of following what we call the occult life, which involves the 
 renunciation of all happiness of the ordinary sort for the sake 
 of subUme spiritual exaltation to be ultimately attained through 
 that sacrifice." 
 
 " That's the life you would have led if I had not crossed your 
 path again." 
 
 "Probably." 
 
 " And don't you think, Geordie, looking at it in a really im- 
 partial way, that sublime spiritual exaltation might have been 
 much better for you than — me 1 " 
 
 " You see what the election was that I made when the two 
 opportunities were offered to me." 
 
 " I don't think I ever realized that fully before," she said 
 reflectively ; " that after all I have spoilt your life ; even if I 
 give you myself — as we have arranged — to get tired of at your 
 leisure." 
 
 ''Miriam, my darling, let us hope you will be graciously 
 pleased not to talk like that any more. Have I failed to make 
 you understand the extent to which I thirsted for you ? Shall 
 I begin the explanation all over again 1 I am never tired of it 
 for my part." 
 
 But Miriam would not quit the subject, and questioned 
 Annerly closely in regard to the expectations he had been led 
 to form as to what it might have been possible for him to 
 achieve if he had devoted his life entirely to becoming a follower 
 and disciple of Baron von Mondstern. Annerly naturally rated 
 at their lowest the possibilities that would have laiu before 
 him, but then she followed up the other lead suggested by 
 Merland's position. 
 
 " Xow supposing this young lady says she is ready to accept 
 your friend, and supposing your friend comes to you for advice 
 as to what he should do under the circumstances, what would 
 you say ? " 
 
 " My queen, it is always incumbent on every one to give 
 every one else about to marry the well-known advice of Pwich, 
 because the people for whom it is inappropriate, will not take 
 it" 
 
TH« INEVITABLE RESULT. 247 
 
 •* Will yon please to give me a serioufl answer t Mr. Merland, 
 I understand, has great respect for your advice and influence. 
 You Tvill not deal with him at random in such a matter 1 " 
 
 " Well, then, I should never seriously dream of doing more 
 than putting the alternatives fairly before him. I would try to 
 he sui'e he was not acting from an immature caprice in turning 
 aside fi'om that Hfe, which, if a man can tread it with cheerful 
 deterruination, may lead to something not necessarily a happier 
 state than a happy life of the ordinary kind, but probably higher 
 in the scale of nature. But, if I had reason to believe Merland'a 
 love for Miss Vaughan came at all within any range of com- 
 parison with mine for you, then I should counsel Mm to marry 
 her if he has the chance." 
 
 " Ah, you say that to justify youi*self." 
 
 " I say that because I have iiad certain experiences that I 
 would not wish Merland to have." 
 
 It will be seen that ^Miriam's mood on this occasion was not 
 exactly in harmony with that which had been stirred for a 
 time in the " enchanted wood." She would nut let go the idea 
 that had just presented itself to her mind, that her lover would 
 have had a superior career open to him if he had not elected 
 to resume the interrupted course of his engagement to her. 
 
 "My Miriam!" Annerly at last urged in pathetic entreaty, 
 " will you not consent to put me out of the question for a time, 
 and think of yourself 1 As things have fidlen out, aro you not 
 content for your o^vn sake that you did cross my path again ? " 
 
 She gave him her hand voluntarily at this appeal 
 
 "I was very miserable, Geordie, I confess, and you com- 
 forted me. Well, let us hope it is all for the best, and — well, 
 since you quite finally mean not to turn back, wo may as well 
 perhaps think about —the date when it is to be." 
 
 " ^Vhen I hear you say that," Annerly murmured to her 
 almost reverently, *' you give me such intense delight that it 
 Beems as if I had never been truly happy until this moment." 
 
 Still the date was not actually fixed. 
 
 " I will think about it while you are away, and let you know 
 this evening," she said, for it had been arranged that he should 
 return again after dining in town. 
 
 When he went away, she sat still in the arm-chair beside the 
 little writing-table in the window, thinking vaguely, unoccupied 
 and listless. She was only roused from this reverie, after a con- 
 
 17 
 
248 KABMA. 
 
 siderable lapse of time, by the entrance of the servant with a 
 letter for her — the Professor's letter. 
 
 She was not listless now. She sprang up and moved about 
 the room in fierce excitement. She could not have told what 
 the emotion was that possessed her. Her aunt came into the 
 drawing-room, dressed for going out, but she kept herself in 
 hand, and said nothing of the letter she was actually holding 
 during the few minutes her aunt spoke to her. She was con- 
 stitutionally reserved, and it would have been an effort for her, 
 instead of a natural impulse, to have told even her aunt of the 
 dilemma in which she was placed at that early moment of its 
 development. 
 
 " I mean to go over and call on the Blenkinsops, darling. 
 Would you like to come too, or would you rather rest quietly 
 at home to-day ? " 
 
 To Miss Jameson's constant tenderness Miriam was always 
 assumed to be in need of rest and nursing. 
 
 " I'll stop at home, aunty dear," she said without hesitation. 
 
 Miss Jameson noticed that she was a little nervous, but put 
 it down to the strain of her emotions, and bade her good-bye 
 with affectionate kisses. 
 
 " Fate leaves me alone to receive him," Miriam said to her- 
 self. 
 
 She gave no orders to the servant. She let things drift. 
 She heard a knock at the door, and the entrance of a visitor. 
 An impulse not to be surprised in apparent agitation made her 
 turn to the writing-table in the window, at which she sat down, 
 beginning to push about some of the letters and papers before 
 her, without thought of what they were, and it was in this 
 position that the Professor first caught sight of her as he came 
 into the room. It flashed upon him vividly that it was thus, 
 at a little table before the window in a smaU sitting-room, that 
 Mrs. Lakesby had seen her in the clairvoyant vision of her 
 caught for a moment during his last morning at Heiligenfels, 
 in the clairvoyant vision which had conveyed to Mrs. Lakesby 
 the impression that the woman so seen, loved him. 
 
 •* My dear child 1 " he said, with a commanding sort of ten- 
 derness as he came across to her. She stood up as he came in 
 and turned round without speaking, with a frown upon her 
 brows, leaning back against the table with one hand upon it 
 behind her. 
 
THB INEVITABLE RESULT, 249 
 
 *' It does me good to see yon again," he went on. •* Shake 
 hands at all events. That's right," as she slowly lifted her 
 hand to meet the one he held ont, unhesitatingly. " I come 
 to you with proposals you may not care to accept, but at all 
 events you can't reproach me for making them, so we can talk 
 them over like friends anyhow." 
 
 ** You deceived me,'* she said. They were nearly the last 
 words she had spoken to him at their parting, nearly a year 
 ago. It was not with any set purpose that she opened the 
 conversation this way. She had not intended to speak those 
 words in particular, but they rose to her lips in obedience to 
 what seemed the necessity that she should say something. 
 
 "My dear child," replied the Professor, almost laughing, 
 " that was what you said to me before. Of course I did. The 
 situation was too complicated to admit of entire candour at the 
 outset. But I only deceived you in a detail ; and I wiU tell you 
 of one matter in which I defy you to say I deceived you. I 
 never deceived you when I said I loved you ; I never deceived 
 you when I said I wished it had been in my power to marry you ; 
 and I stand here now to ask you if I did not tell truth in those 
 principal things ? " 
 
 " It does not matter now which way it was, but if you had 
 not wounded me by the deception I speak of, things might be 
 different." 
 
 '* My dear Miriam," said the Professor in his frankest manner, 
 " I could not help myself. You would never have listened to 
 me in the first instance if you had kno'wn then that I had 
 been a married man. But don't harp any longer on that old 
 string. Let us look to the future in a practical way, by the 
 light of new circumstances that have arisen. Now do sit down 
 quietly like the grandly sensible girl you are, and let us talk. 
 No, don't you sit there. You take this easy-chair, and make your- 
 self comfortable. I'll sit there— I like upright chairs. That's 
 better. Now do answer me a plain straightforward question to 
 begin with, and then I shall know how to deal with you. Have 
 you fallen in love with our friend Annerly 1 " 
 
 " What right have you to ask me the question 1 " she cried 
 impetuously. 
 
 The Professor put up one hand, waved it slightly as in de- 
 precation of her tone, and in the gentlest and most tzpla- 
 natory way replied, — 
 
250 KABMA. 
 
 ** No right whatever. It isn't a question of right. We're 
 just talking over certain things of great moment to you, and 
 you know quite well that I have your welfare at heart in what 
 I say. Everything is in your own hands to do exactly as 
 you please — you are strong enough to take your own course. 
 But there isn't any sort of reason why you should not listen to 
 what I say and take it into consideration. You are thinking, 
 I know, of marrying Annerly. Well, you will be equally able 
 to do that, if you are resolved about it, after hearing why, 
 in my opinion, it would be better for you to wait a little longer 
 and marry me." 
 
 " Wait a little longer ! Has anybody told you that I am 
 in a hurry ? " 
 
 ** There is such a thing as acting precipitately, without being 
 in a hurry in the sense of being eager." 
 
 The Professor betrayed no triumph, but he felt from the 
 flavour of her retort that Mrs. Lakesby's impression was 
 already half vindicated at all events. She did not love 
 Annerly. 
 
 " You have taken me by surprise. I do not feel sure that 
 I would have consented to see you at all if I had thought 
 the matter over more at leisure." 
 
 There was a great contrast between her manner in talking 
 to Professor Massilton and that which was usual to her with 
 Annerly. With either she could not but be queenly and 
 graceful ; with neither was she nervous or timid. But with 
 Annerly the grand slow movements of her neck and head, the 
 dignity of her smile, so different from the seductive, inviting 
 smile of coquetry, would have seemed, to any observer who 
 could have compared her two moods, plainly associated with 
 lethargy of the emotions. Noav, in talking to the Professor, 
 she was still proud and self-controlled, but her outward calm 
 was produced by the exercise of a strong will, crushing down 
 an internal excitement. 
 
 "I am sure you would have seen me, in any case," said 
 the Professor; "for to have shrunk from that would have 
 been a weakness, and you are never weak. You may tell me 
 to be gone after listening to what I have got to say, because you 
 will act as you please, but, even if you do that, I believe you 
 will give me a reason for refusing my proposals, because to deny 
 me that would be rude, and you are never rude." 
 
THE INEVITABLE RESULT. 251 
 
 T^firiam was not moved to make any reply to this. She leaned 
 back in her chair, and, as her head rested against the hack with 
 her face partly turned up, her clear grey eyes looked straight 
 into her visitor's face, and she held her features in expressionless 
 and statuesque repose, though her heightened colour — heighten- 
 ing her beauty — and her quickened breathing enabled her saga- 
 cious suitor to make allowances for her chilly bearing and the 
 affected iciness of the tone in which she spoke. He himself sat 
 beside the opposite comer of the writing-table with one arm 
 resting on it, and his manner was easy and natural, his bearing 
 frank, sunny, and cheerful as usual. The large proportions of 
 the man — nowhere associated with the coarseness or clumsiness 
 of shape that comes on so often in middle life — his perfect 
 healthiness, that made him pleasant to look upon in a greater 
 degree than better claims to be considered handsome might have 
 rendered another man — all these attributes, uniting to produce 
 an exhilarating emanation from his presence, were very apparent 
 to Miriam as she steadily gazed at him while he spoke. 
 
 *' I have not come to you before, because I had nothing fresh 
 to say, and you made up your mind that our old relationship 
 should end, but I come to you now because the complexion of 
 affairs has changed. I committed a great act of folly in marry- 
 ing Lady Emily, and I was powerless to undo it. Happily she 
 is going to undo it for me. This will cost me a good deal of 
 money, but it won't ruin me. It will cost you, my poor dear, 
 and that is a great deal worse, a great deal of annoyance, but 
 that wonH last. Now, if we marry immediately we are able, a 
 world prone to forgetfulness will hardly nourish any resentment 
 against you. In a little while people will only remember 
 vaguely that there was something funny about the Massiltons 
 before they were married. If you marry Annerly the whole 
 situation wiU look quite different. You will have nothing to 
 live for but his affection, which may be very great. I don't 
 doubt that it is very great. How could it be otherwise ? But 
 any woman who marries a man merely to oblige him, without 
 ardently wishing it herself too, is preparing an awful future for 
 him. For, I tell you, no woman living is strong enough to play, 
 to the end, a part, in such a business as marriage. A love 
 that you don't return may still be pleasant for you to receive 
 for the moment> but it will be terribly irksome to you in the 
 long run,** 
 
262 KARMA. 
 
 " And suppose I have given promises. Are they to count ioi 
 nothing r* 
 
 " Promises are terrible things. I do not underrate them for 
 an instant. But people may be released from promises, and no 
 man worth the name would hold a woman against her will to a 
 promise of the kind we are talking of." 
 
 Miriam was in rather a helpless position in the argument 
 because she could not rebuke the Professor's appeal to her own 
 interests as an appeal to selfishness. That would have been 
 tantamount to admitting that her inclinations would deliver 
 her into his hands. On the other hand she found it difficult 
 to declare boldly her devotion to Annerly, and supreme inclina- 
 tion, above all things, to keep her newly-plighted troth. The 
 conversation went on for a long time, as it had begun, fed by 
 a few disjointed remarks from Miriam, from time to time, but 
 supported mainly by the Professor, who expanded and amplified 
 the theme of his letter with great ease, freedom, and eloquence. 
 Of his own love for her he spoke as of a topic which it would 
 be obtrusive on his part to press for the present. 
 
 " You know I love you," he pointed out ; " you know I 
 never wavered in that, never wished to interrupt our rela- 
 tions, which constituted a true marriage in all but legality. You 
 know by my presence here to-day, without a word more said, 
 that I love you still, so I won't dwell upon that." 
 
 It was a great strain upon Miriam's self-c: inmand to keep 
 up an appearance of composure. Tom as she really was by 
 conflicting feelings, it was inevitable that this should break 
 down sooner or later. The incident which upset her equani- 
 mity, as things turned out, was a remark of the Professor's, 
 which he almost threw off as a joke — 
 
 " Has it ever struck you that you took a mean advantage of 
 me in running away and breaking off what I have so justly 
 called our true marriage 1 You just left me in a pet and made 
 me very miserable because I had no legal hold over you. If it 
 had not been for my previous entanglements we should have 
 been married like other people, but, as it happened that we 
 could not be, you were free to break faith with me." 
 
 " Oh, how dare you put the fault on me like that after all I 
 have gone through 1 ** 
 
 Her lips quivered and her eyes filled, but still she main- 
 tained a Httle longer her attempt not to cry outright. 
 
THE INEVITABLB EBSULT. 263 
 
 *My dear Miriam, I don't want to reproach you. I only 
 ask you to look at the facts as they really stand in order that 
 you may not reproach me undeservedly. I think you are 
 taking a distorted view of the whole position. I was quite 
 true to you in act and feeling, and never meant to he anything 
 else. The more I think the thing over the less, it seems to 
 me, I am to blame. Fox all the stuff of a quarrel that there 
 was between us we ought to have made it up thoroughly in 
 two days at the outside." 
 
 A vivid reminiscence of all the pain she might have saved 
 herself if she had taken that view of the matter at the time 
 swept over her consciousness, and with it the ghastly conviction 
 that the new path she had chalked out for herself did not 
 really allure her footsteps. The emotions that assailed her 
 were almost written on her face as she looked wildly up to the 
 ceiling. 
 
 *' Now won't you think if it isn't time for us to be friends 
 again 1 You used to be happy with me, Mirry darling, and I'm 
 just as much in love with you as ever." 
 
 " Oh, you don't know what you are saying ! *' and now the 
 breakdown finally came, and, turning round towards the back 
 of the easy-chair, she buried her face in her handkerchief and 
 sobbed outright. The Professor came over and stood beside 
 her chair, leaning on the back and very gently stroking her head. 
 
 " Poor darling ! you must have been unhappy. Why did 
 not you write and tell me so 1 I couldn't come to you without 
 some sign after the way you left me. But now, just give me 
 your hand and you need not say another word, and it will be all 
 right again between us. I respect your free will so much, you 
 see, that, till you give me a sign, I will not even touch you, to 
 speak of." 
 
 " I tell you he will go mad. You don't know the way he 
 loves me." 
 
 " And I teU you if you marry a man you don't, for your own 
 sake, want to marry, no matter how he loves you, you will have 
 gone mad. Such a reckless sacrifice is the most shocking thing 
 I ever heard of. It would shock Annerly if he understood it." 
 
 " I do not pretend — " She did not finish the sentence in 
 that way, but beginning it afresh, after a pause, " I treated 
 him badly when I threw him over before ; to do it again now 
 is impossible.*' 
 
 17 
 
254 KARMA. 
 
 " What a pity Annerly is not here. If he heard yon say 
 that, and felt all that it covers, the whole problem would be 
 solved. " 
 
 "It would kill him." 
 
 " I am sure he would suffer, but I respect him too much to 
 believe that he would not rather bear anything than hold you to 
 a promise against your will, and wreck your happiness for life. 
 If you don't love him — and that is clear — he must know it. 
 But he may have most erroneously supposed that his was the 
 only protection available for you ; and then, loving you, he 
 would of course marry you at any risk, hoping that it would be 
 the best thing for you. Now look here, Mirry darling. Shall 
 I explain matters to him, if it is too painful for you 1 You can 
 see him afterwards, to be sure I have explained them right ; 
 but I know you will trust me to be honest in the matter, 
 and I swear to you I will manage the matter in a way that shaU 
 be most tender and respectful to his feelings." 
 
 At first she would only declare that it would be better for 
 her to die. But her victorious lover felt that her surrender 
 could only be a question of time. On his side there were all 
 the forces of her own desire, and the memories of the happy time 
 they had spent together ; all the prospects of future happiness, 
 of a recovered position in the world. On the other, there was 
 merely her terror at the thought of what her second desertion 
 of him would mean for Annerly. The Professor accidentally 
 touched a powerful note when he said, in the course of their 
 talk,— 
 
 " I honestly believe that it will be better for Annerly in the 
 long run not to many, even though that means the loss of you 
 There may be great destinies in store for him along another path 
 in life, which he is altogether fitted for, but for this disastrous 
 passion for you." 
 
 " Oh, if he could only think so ! " said Miriam. 
 
 "My dear, I don't propose that you should desert him, I 
 merely say — let him understand the truth and judge for himself. 
 I think better of him than you seem to ; he will rather sacrifice 
 himself than you, and in the long run he will realize that, even 
 as regards himself, that sacrifice will be rewarded by triumphs of 
 a wholly different sort from those he is aiming at now. Only 
 don't let him hurry us all bUndfold to destruction without 
 knowing what he is about, and how the whole matter really 
 
A DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT. 255 
 
 stands. I will do nothing without your leave, but understand 
 what I propose. I will write to him, if you do not positively 
 forbid me, telling him the whole truth from myself. I will not 
 say I am telling it as a message from you. I will merely tell 
 him to refer to you, if he doubts me, for confirmation of the 
 facts, and then leave him to act as a man of honour should If 
 he still resolves that you shall sacrifice yourself, then you will 
 still be at liberty to do so." 
 
 A little later he said, — 
 
 " Now if you want all our lives to be wrecked on a fatjj mis- 
 understanding for want of courage to speak truth, you will refuse 
 me your hani" He took her hand as he spoke — and she left it 
 in his grasp. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVm. 
 
 A DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 Annbrlt had been spending the latter part of the afternoon 
 very pleasantly in the back drawing-room of the Vaughans* 
 house in Eaton Square, supplied by the beautiful Lucy with 
 tea, in fragile cups of extraordinary perfection, in the corner of 
 a couch overshadowed by a magnificent palm-tree, which stood 
 just within the drawing-room, against the open glass-doors 
 leading into a large conservatory filled with tropic growths of 
 luxuriant splendour. Lucy often declared that she never felt 
 quite sure whether she was a sybarite or an ascetic, for she 
 gathered so many nice things about her, but cared for them so 
 little. 
 
 " What I care about now, Mr. Aimerly," she said, ** is to 
 hear all that passed at Heiligenfels after we left — every single 
 thing. I have not had a letter from any one there, and I want 
 to be told everything." 
 
 Annerly went over the whole story in as much detail as possible, 
 and day by day. Miss Vaughan asked questions, as he went 
 along, about every one concerned, and her face flamed with 
 excitement at the narrative of what had taken place in the 
 wood. 
 
256 KARMA. 
 
 " 1 wonder when I shall he ahle to see the Baron again ! 
 What is all the rest of society compared to him 1 And Mrs. 
 Lakeshy too. What a perfectly fascinating creature she is ! 
 One seems to he living in two worlds at once when she is with 
 one." 
 
 Annerly cordially endorsed these praises. 
 
 " But about seeing the Baron again," he said, " I do not know 
 when we shall any of us have an opportunity for that after the 
 party at the castle breaks up, for he is going to disappear then 
 into some retirement of his own, where none of us will be able 
 to follow him." 
 
 " Good heavens, how horrible ! But how long is he to be 
 away?" 
 
 " I can*t say. I hope he may return sooner or later, that 
 some of us may see him again, but it looks very uncertain. I 
 know he thinks that after having given such extraordinary 
 exhibitions of the occult power he possesses, it would be impos- 
 sible for him to live again in ordinary society as he did in London 
 last season." 
 
 " Where's the impossibility 1 " 
 
 "Partly that his life would be one continuous resistance to 
 importunity on the part of people who would beg for further 
 displays of occult power — which, for various reasons, he would 
 be precluded from giving; but in a greater degree, I think, 
 because he wants to get the principles of occult philosophy con- 
 sidered on their own merits by the thinking world instead of 
 being illuminated by the artificial excitement that fresh displays 
 of occult power would bring about. I know he is fond of say- 
 ing that what ought to be done now can better be done by such 
 men as Blane and Professor Massilton" — the name was one 
 which Annerly found rather hard to pronounce in a natural 
 tone — " than by himself." 
 
 " But this is a shocking scandal about Professor Massilton." 
 
 " Of course it is. All that developed since I left the castle, 
 and I hardly know how the Baron takes it. But I gather from 
 Merland that, by some intricate reasoning, the Baron treats 
 what seems the gross unfitness of such a man as the Professor, 
 regarded as the exponent of a new quasi- religious philosophy, 
 as all in the plan somehow. I do not pretend to interpret 
 this." 
 
 "Bat what is the plant* 
 
A DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT. 257 
 
 •* Books are to be written and some society formed for the 
 propagation of the ideas the Baron has been communicating to 
 us all." 
 
 *' If books are to be written I suppose you have your share of 
 the work todol" 
 
 " I trust I may stiU have some share of it ; but when I left 
 Heiligenfels I was rather looking forward to a closer and more 
 important course of study than seems possible for me now — 
 other responsibilities have arisen since then to absorb my 
 energies." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! What can have drawn you away from 
 such opportunities as that? At least, I beg your pardon, I 
 have no business to ask you questions of that sort. Only 
 it seems to me as if nothing could be interesting enough 
 to draw one away from following up such an opening as you 
 speak of." 
 
 " It's very simple, Miss Yaughan. There is only one force 
 that could have been strong enough. But I have long been 
 very deeply in love with a lady whom, till very recently, I had 
 no hope of winning. Since then it has become possible for me 
 to marry her, and I am about to do so." 
 
 Miss Vaughan looked puzzled and surprised. 
 
 " Why should that put an end to your friendship with the 
 Baron 1 Does the lady object to your going on with occultism 1 
 Is she prejudiced ? " 
 
 Annerly laughed. He was too happy to see any but the 
 amusing side of the idea. 
 
 " No, she is not prejudiced at all. But occult science in its 
 highest aspects is a very jealous mistress. A man must give 
 himself up to that entirely and have no other ties in the world 
 if he would succeed in that career." 
 
 As he spoke he noticed a shadow on Lucy's face, and it 
 occurred to him that she might put a construction on his words 
 which Merland would perhaps be very sorry to have her put. 
 After a brief hesitation he added, — 
 
 " I hope that the change in my plans will only mean a change 
 in the nature of my usefulness in this matter. I may not be 
 able to retire into the kind of monastic seclusion that would be 
 necessary for my own personal development — for the acquisition, 
 in some smaU degree, of the faculties we have seen the Baron 
 exercise, — but the study of occultism, the interpretation of the 
 
 8 
 
258 KAEMA. 
 
 pursuit to the world, and the task of elucidating the truth for 
 the benefit of others, will be open to me as much as ever. I 
 am not at all sure but that I may be of more real service that 
 way — that anybody may be — thaii by obtaining personal develop- 
 ment for himself." 
 
 " Mrs. Lakesby has got wonderful powers and she has not 
 gone into a monastery.** 
 
 **She was bom with them. But the truth is that * powers* 
 are not the objects at which a true student of occultism should 
 aim. He should seek a comprehension of nature and the adap- 
 tation of his own nature to the highest development possible 
 for him." 
 
 The conversation went on for some time longer in a vague 
 and desultory manner. Then Miss Vaughan said, — 
 
 "Tell me, Mr. Annerly : suppose some one else you cared 
 about was in doubt whether to be an occult monk or to lead an 
 ordinary life in the world in the way he would most wish to, 
 what would you advise him to do t " 
 
 ^ She spoke gravely and earnestly, and Annerly was thrilled 
 with admiration for the thought that he perceived working in 
 her mind. But his chief anxiety was to be sure that nothing 
 he said should rob Merland of the opening that might be 
 developing before him. 
 
 " Miss Vaughan, my own act that I have told you of is the 
 most eloquent answer I can give. I know this much, that if a 
 man really loves a woman there is no misery possible for him so 
 bad as having to give her up. I do not believe that he could 
 ever do any good in the path such men as Baron von Mondstern 
 tread, if he took to that as a pis-aller when the path he would 
 have trodden should be closed to him. I would only warn such 
 a friend as you imagine against falling victim to a caprice. A 
 real love once formed would be a fact in his life that it would 
 be useless and fatal to oppose." 
 
 But he could not translate these abstract theories into a direct 
 application in the absence of any fuller declaration of her mean- 
 ing from Miss Vaughan, and as he went on talking up the air 
 about the whole subject he failed to revive the brightness and 
 vivacity of his companion. In the beginning of their talk he 
 felt sure she had intended to give him some specific message for 
 Merland. Now he could not elicit this from her by any devices. 
 He even talked of perhaps going back to Heiligenf els for a little 
 
A DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT. 259 
 
 while before returning to settle his own affairs. Could he take 
 any messages from her to any of them there t She would have 
 her best love given to Mrs. Lakesby, she said, and to Mrs, Miller 
 too, of course ; " and you must tell the Baron I shall die if — but 
 no. He is too great to be talked to in any frivolous, nonsensical 
 manner. It is hardly worth while for you to mention having 
 seen me at all We are going down to Devonshire to-morrow 
 or next day. You will write to me if anything more of special 
 interest takes place — won't you, Mr. Annerly ? " 
 
 " Of course I will do anything you wish," Annerly said, now 
 profoundly annoyed at the turn things had taken, and with 
 himself. 
 
 "I like engaged men, Mr. Annerly; one can make such 
 friends of them. Now mind, it is not a mere promise to be 
 made to-day and forgotten to-morrow — this about writing to 
 me. Write fully, will you, the day after to-morrow to Devon- 
 shire 1 Something is sure to have happened by that time. And 
 when are you going over 1 " 
 
 " What"! To Germany I " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 ** I had not fixed any definite day. I would have gone any 
 day if there had been any special service to render you by 
 doing so." 
 
 " How could that be ? — what nonsense ! But you will be in 
 town for the next two or three days, in any case 1 " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " That's all right. I have got your address, have I not f Is 
 there any hurry for you to go I Well, it is so kind of you to 
 have come, and I am so much obliged. By-the-bye, Mr. 
 Annerly, I do hope you will be happy in your marriage." 
 
 He had already risen to go, and was saying good-bye, when 
 she thus gave him her good wishes. The reference enabled him 
 to make one more covert allusion to the subject he was most 
 deeply engrossed with for the moment. 
 
 " Miss Vaughan, I believe I am going to be happy — happy 
 as it has not seemed possible for me to dream of being for 
 several years past ; and though, of all at the castle, I perhaps 
 had the best chance of acceptance by the Baron in more inti- 
 mate relations than those any of us have yet had with him, 
 the prospect I speak of fully reconciles me — more than 
 reconciles me — to the loss of that chance, I do not think 
 
 8 2 
 
260 EABMA. 
 
 women realize, In all cases, what they may sometimes be to 
 men." 
 
 Miss Vaughan looked at him full in the eyes, earnestly and 
 thoughtfully, as he spoke. Annerly waited for her to answer, 
 and she seemed to pause, as if to determine what she should 
 say, but at last she smiled slightly, and held out her hand. 
 ** I do not wonder you have been successful, Mr. Annerly, you 
 can plead eloquently," she said, and with that he had to take 
 his departure. 
 
 Across the serenity of his own contentment a streak of 
 really acute distress penetrated Annerly's feelings as he walked 
 away. He had been guilty by his own clumsiness in some way 
 of having checked Miss Vaughan's impulse in Merland's favour, 
 which must have been the motive governing her in sending 
 for him. It was a beautiful thought, evidently, which had 
 disturbed her intention. She had been for the first time struck 
 with the notion that the gift of her love would be a fatal gift 
 for her lover; that a finer destiny might await him if he were 
 not turned aside from the opportunity held out to him by the 
 Baron. And she had drawn back at the very brink of a 
 decisive step, leaving him, Annerly, quite powerless to restore 
 her to her former state of mind, — to unsay the few words that 
 had turned her aside from her spontaneous movement. Was 
 he, who had reviled Merland for thinking of love in preference 
 to the occult life, going not only to be a backslider himself 
 in face of the supreme temptation, but the destroyer of his 
 friend's happiness 1 Ought he to tell Merland all that had passed, 
 perhaps unsettling his mind again for no purpose 1 or should 
 he be guilty of hiding from him a state of facts which Mer- 
 land would perhaps be indignant with him for hiding if he 
 understood the situation 1 It was altogether very perplexing. 
 He thought of writing quite frankly to Miss Vaughan, and 
 pleading for Merland in his imconscious absence. After all 
 she would not be surprised to hear that he knew what had 
 passed in the conservatory. As this struck him, he wondered 
 that he had not been more frank in the conversation that had 
 just taken place. He felt deeply contrite and more distressed 
 than at any moment since his reconciliation with Miriam. 
 
 It would be a relief to go and talk the matter over with 
 her that evening. Her bright woman's wit might perhaps 
 suggest a way out of the dilemma. He was too little inclined 
 
A DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT. 261 
 
 for casual conversation with acquaintances to visit his cluh, so 
 he dined at a restaurant, and walked up to Miss Jameson's, so 
 as to put through the time which had to elapse before he would 
 be expected there for the evening. He would think no more 
 of the perplexity about Miss Vaughan, he decided during his 
 meal, till he could talk it over with Miriam. She should have 
 the credit of suggesting the course to be taken to rescue bis 
 friend from the peril to which his, Annerly's, awkwardness had 
 exposed him. It would all come right in the end. Out of 
 what an awful entanglement had Ms affairs righted themselves 
 at last. Prone by his recent thinking to attribute more im 
 portance than he used formerly to give them to hidden influence 
 on the psychic plane, he began to speculate as to how far it 
 would be reconcileable with occult science if he assumed that 
 the abnormal intensity of his love for Miriam had been an 
 efficient cause in bringing about the circumstances under which 
 she had been restored to him. The theory would not cover 
 all the facts ; but he amused himself as he walked along by 
 working it out as far as possible, and took pleasure in thinking 
 how he would set it before Miriam with much fantastic detail 
 in the course of their talks together that evening. 
 
 " Miss Seaford at home % " he muttered as a mere matter of 
 form when the door was opened, as he stepped into the hall. 
 
 " Oh, if you please, sir," said the servant, " Miss Seaford has 
 gone to bed with a very bad headache, and says would you 
 kindly excuse her to-night 1 *' 
 
 The check was unexpected. Annerly had told her that 
 afternoon that he would be sensible of anxiety sometimes as he 
 approached her door lest the happiness of finding her ready 
 to receive him should be too intense to be real — but on this 
 occasion the notion of being disappointed of seeing her had 
 not crossed his mind. He felt a great chill at the heart as he 
 stood hesitating on the door-mat. 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear she is not well. It is very sudden." 
 The servant stood silent, and had no further remark to make. 
 " Is Miss Jameson at home 1 " 
 
 The girl seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then replied 
 with much emphasis, ** No, sir, she's gone out for the evening." 
 
 There was nothing for Annerly to do under the circumstances 
 but to go away. 
 
 " TeU Miss Seaford, If you please," he said, " how greatly 
 
262 KABMA. 
 
 I regret to hear she Is not well, and that I will call to inquire 
 after her early to-morrow afternoon. 
 
 With that he went away, and Susan, the maid-servant, went 
 in to Miss Jameson, who was in a very agitated state in the 
 drawing-room, and reported the course she had taken. 
 
 " I thought, most likely, you wouldn't want to see nohody 
 to-night, m'm, so I told Mr. Annerly you was out." 
 
 " Quite right, Susan," Miss Jameson answered ; "Tm rather 
 upset, and I do not want to see any one." 
 
 Neither Miss Jameson nor her niece had heen confiding in 
 Susan, but the elder lady had not Miriam's faculty of reserve, 
 and her agitation had been very apparent in her little house- 
 hold. 
 
 With a sense of dejection and anxiety that he told himself 
 over and over again was exaggerated and unjustifiable, Annerly 
 made his way back to his chambers. The elasticity of spirits 
 which had made the walk from town up to the Regent's Park a 
 pleasure, had given place now to a lassitude which drove him 
 to take refuge in a hansom, and the evening was all before him 
 when he lit his lamp and sat down in his arm-chair with a 
 book, the perusal of which, for that matter, invited him as 
 little as any other occupation for the time that he could think 
 of. 
 
 The rooms he inhabited were in a large house altogether built 
 for chambers in the Adelphi region. His own httle suite consisted 
 simply of two : and, as he never took regular meals there, 
 except the breakfa.st which was brought to him, under an 
 arrangement with the porter, he had no other service available 
 than that of the femme de menage^ who set his quarters to rights 
 every morning. His outer door bore his name painted on it, 
 and a little sliding panel to indicate whether the tenant was 
 "out" or "in." He left this standing unaltered at "out" as 
 he entered, not that any visitors were likely to disturb his 
 solitude, but from a general impulse to shut himself up, and 
 ward off the remotest chance of commonplace companionship. 
 
THB OEISIS OF A LIPS. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX, 
 
 VHB CRISIS OF A LIFB. 
 
 There was a letter-box affixed to the outer door, and he had 
 been at home about an hour or so, trying to shake off the 
 depression he felt, arguing that sensitiveness of this kind to a 
 momentary disappointment was idiotic and absurd, but failing 
 to recover the elastic hopefulness of the last few days, when 
 he heard a letter drop in. For some time he did not go in 
 search of it. The circumstances were not such as could leave 
 room for any letter from Miriam, and correspondence relating 
 to any other matter could wait. He forgot that a letter had 
 come, after a while. He sat down and tried to write, but the 
 effort was distasteful and unproductive. Then he conceived the 
 notion of writing to the Baron on the subject of the interview 
 he had had with Miss Vaughan. That would perhaps be the 
 best thing to do in that difficulty, and loyalty to his friend 
 when he addressed himself to this task roused his energies. It 
 would be necessary to describe the situation very fully to put 
 the Baron in a position to decide whether the statement should 
 be passed on to Merland or not, so a long letter was called for. 
 He had been at work on this for some time, and the later 
 hours of the evening had already come on, when there came a 
 knock at his outer door. ** Who on earth can that be?" he 
 thought, conscious at the same moment of a strange sensation 
 sweeping all over the surface of his body as it were, nothing 
 that could distinctly be called apprehension or dread, but, — 
 " Bah ! what a nervous fool I am to-night," he thought ; " whaf's 
 the matter with me 1 But what do I care who it is — I do not 
 want to be disturbed." And then he remembered that his 
 panel marked " out," and that any acquaintances who might 
 have looked in at his rooms in passing, on the chance of find- 
 ing him in, would notice that and go away. Letters could be 
 put in the box, and parcels could be left with the porter. He 
 turned to his writing again. And then, — the knock did not 
 come again as at first, but in some way the sound of the knock 
 seemed vividly repeated in his inner consciousness. It suddenly 
 reminded him of the inner voice that had called him upstairt 
 on the night when he visited the Baron in the turret-chamber. 
 
 18 
 
264 EABMA. 
 
 ** Fm upset and stupid to-night — I'd better go to bed,** he 
 thought ; but now he was impelled to go and see if there was 
 anybody outside. As he opened the inner door he noticed the 
 letter, which had come some hours previously, in the letter- 
 box. He took this out, though he did not stop to look at it 
 for the moment, and then he opened the door. 
 
 A very well-known friend stood outside. Annerly started 
 with pleasurable surprise. 
 
 " Baron von Mondstern 1 ** 
 
 " An unexpected visitor, of course,*' said the Baron, with his 
 gentle, sympathetic smile and kindly, mellow voice ; " but not 
 an unwelcome one, I trust, even at this late hour 1 " 
 
 " More welcome than any words can tell," Annerly replied 
 with enthusiasm, as the Baron entered. He closed both doors 
 and motioned his visitor to the easy- chair, 
 
 " Sit down there and tell me what good fortune has brought 
 you. It never crossed my mind that you would be leaving 
 Heiligenfels for the present." 
 
 Annerly was not disconcerted by the fact that the Baron had 
 not offered to shake hands. The custom was one that he had 
 often spoken of as inconvenient for any one very sensitive to 
 so-called " magnetic " influences, and his friends at the castle 
 had long ceased to associate his own peculiar modes of greeting, 
 which did not generally include the touch of the hand, with 
 any want of kindly feeling or courtesy on his part. 
 
 Annerly threw down his letter on the writing-table without 
 looking at it, and turned round his writing- chair to face his 
 visitor. 
 
 " Do you find the room too hot t At this time if you are in 
 London, lamps in a room soon make it oppressive. I will open 
 the window a little more." 
 
 " I do not care which way it is. I am not very sensitive to 
 heat and cold." 
 
 When Annerly turned back from opening the window the 
 Baron had removed the soft felt hat he wore on entering. The 
 lamplight shone upon his rich brown hair and beard and broad 
 clear forehead ; and the deep-blue eyes which always caught 
 the attention of any one who looked at him seemed to Annerly 
 to exhale a soothing influence of some kind in a greater degree 
 even than was usual 
 
 " Now let us have a quiet talk," said the Baron ; " there is a 
 
THE CRISIS OF A LIFB. 265 
 
 good deal to be said between us, for you are coining to a sort of 
 crisis in your life." 
 
 Annerly, as he listened, felt that the disappointment of that 
 evening in reference to Miriam had some association with the 
 crisis. The shadow of a new separation from her lay already 
 on his heart. The prospect of this was not in his mind yet as 
 a definite conception, but he knew that the Baron had some- 
 thing to break to him. And yet for the moment he contem- 
 plated the new menace with a sort of unnatural composure, as 
 if he were looking on at something happening to a third person. 
 
 " It is about Miriam 1 " he said. 
 
 " It is about her, certainly, and other things as welL You 
 know, already, that a human life includes more than the 
 physical facts occurring in one of its objective manifestations. 
 At the castle, since you left, they have been busy with the in- 
 vestigation of this idea, as perhaps Merland has told you." 
 
 " Li some general terms only. I have been thinking that, 
 perhaps, they were getting on to discoveries which were not 
 available to be shared with any one who, like myself, had fallen 
 back into worldly interests." 
 
 " None of our friends at Heiligenfels are deeply initiated as 
 yet. Nothing has taken place that need have been concealed 
 from you, but part of it has been withheld from altogether 
 sympathetic motives. They did not want to tell you about 
 your past Karma because they thought it would disturb your 
 present happiness, but the time has come when it is useless to 
 be reticent any longer." 
 
 " My Karma 1 Has that been under examination 1 " 
 
 ** Yes. If you have not been thinking out the problems of 
 Karma a great deal, you would be surprised at the visions Mrs. 
 Lakesby has obtained of a certain personality that has been 
 identified as a previous objective manifestation of your own. 
 The author of the Karma now governing your life — you your- 
 self under different conditions — enjoyed life but too well. 
 You shall eventually get such details as they have written 
 down, but for the moment I need only tell you, in general 
 terms, that you were endowed with extraordinary personal 
 advantages which hurried you into much temptation, that you 
 revelled in the love of several women, whose lives were thus 
 partly wrecked through your fault, that the circumstances that 
 have made the love of woman a sorrow to you in this incama- 
 
266 KABMA. 
 
 tion, rather than a delight as formerly, were due to the inevit- 
 able reaction of the past. 
 
 Annerly only gave vent to a half-articulate ejaculation of 
 interest. The Baron went on, — 
 
 ** Your friends thought that their vision might have been de- 
 lusive, because you had just announced the resumption of your 
 engagement with the woman you love, and this seemed to dis- 
 credit the past indication. They did not foresee that Karma 
 might be so relentless as to involve you in a crisis of further 
 suffering.** 
 
 "In what way am I to lose her again 1** Annerly asked, 
 calmly, as if he were in some condition of psychic anaesthesia. 
 He knew that he was under torture, but he did not seem to feel 
 it for the moment. 
 
 " I'll tell you directly ; but I'll tell you something else first. 
 The visions they got from Mrs. Lakesby did not quite cover all 
 the ground as regards yourself. They divined the nature of the 
 bad Karma that has made you suffer, but they had no fuU vi^w 
 of the good Karma of a different kind which is latent in your 
 nature ; and for the sake of which, to be candid with you, I am 
 drawn into such strong sympathy with you. For now I may tell 
 you that the passionate love you feel for the lady you would wish 
 to absorb into your life, is not itself an emotion which claims my 
 sympathy ; still less the more prosperous passions of your pre- 
 vious life. Th6 man in you, who is my friend, has but, as I 
 regard the matter, been temporarily obscured by the overgrowth 
 of his lower nature during the Roman incarnation, and by its 
 sad after-growth in this. Mrs. Lakesby's vision did not give your 
 friends the complete clue to the comprehension of your character. 
 Going back to a still earlier period they would have found you 
 already developed to a very considerable extent as a student 
 and devotee of Nature's mysteries, &D. unselfish enthusiast for 
 the cause of spiritual knowledge, a lover of the higher prin- 
 ciples in all humanity rather than of the lower principles in one 
 representative thereof. That enthusiasm is all latent in your 
 nature stiU, my friend ; the knowledge you once possessed will, 
 without very much difficulty, relatively to its magnitude, be re- 
 coverable; your consciousness may again be restored to the 
 better self from which, for a time, it has been exiled.** 
 
 "As usual," Annerly said, "your influence reasserts itself, 
 and I feel another being when I am talking with you.** 
 
 "It is merely that I comprehend and can stimtdate yoox 
 
THB OBISIS OF A LIUB. 267 
 
 latent higher nature. The loftier emotions you refer to are 
 from yourself as much as the stormy passions that have partly 
 stifled them. At the best I can help you to realize what 
 lies below the surface, and your old Karma fully entitles you to 
 my help in this respect. And now, what I mean by the crisis 
 in your life is this. You must conquer your lower nature on the 
 plane of your lower nature, and the final suffering which is now 
 about to exhaust your lower Karma must be honestly met when, 
 so to speak, you are broad awake in the physical life. Just 
 now you are not sensitive, as it were, to the love-pangs you 
 have been experiencing." 
 
 ** It seems to me as if we were talking about some one else. 
 If, as I understand, I am to lose Miriam again, I should have 
 thought I must have gone mad." 
 
 " You are entitled not to go mad this time. But all the same 
 the feeling deadened in you for a moment will reassert itself. 
 And now you may read your letter." 
 
 " What letter 1 This ? " turning to the table, and taking up 
 the letter he had brought in when the Baron came. " Does this 
 bear on what you are saying 1 " 
 
 " You will see." 
 
 It was from Professor Massilton, and ran as follows :-^ 
 
 " My dbab Annerly, 
 
 " I am quite sure you are a man of honour, and no man of 
 honour would take a mean advantage of a woman. So I am 
 going to write what less straightforward people would think a 
 very strange letter. 
 
 " We are both in love with Miriam Seaford. I should have 
 been married to her before now if I had not been fettered by a 
 miserable marriage, which is no marriage really. But our bond, 
 under the circumstances, could only be a loose one. Under 
 the impulse of certain impressions at the time, Miriam shook it 
 off. I had to acquiesce, much to my regret. If you have ever 
 thought of me as a seducer and a deserter you have totally nus- 
 onderstood my position. 
 
 " Now I am going to be free of my old entanglement. I am 
 thus enabled to offer Miriam regular marriage, and have hastened 
 to do 80. 
 
 ** I find she has re-engaged herself to you. But I believe she 
 KftB don* this for your sake rather than for fter own. 
 
 ** Now a she prefers to many you, with full liberty of choice 
 
268 KAHMA. 
 
 in the matter, I, as an honourable man, am ready to how to her 
 decision, I am quite sure that you, an equally honourable man, 
 will he quite ready to bow to her decision, if it is the other 
 way. 
 
 ** For the moment you hold her promise, and I do not sup- 
 pose that she will break that promise, if you hold her to it ; but 
 you will not be the man I take you for if you force a woman to 
 marry you against her inclination, by holding a promise given 
 under different circumstances in teirorem over her conscience. 
 
 ** I have seen her and have her permission to put the matter 
 thus before you. 
 
 " All I propose is — let her have liberty of choice. A line 
 from you, saying that, as far as you are concerned, she has that 
 liberty of choice, is all I suggest. 
 
 " May the man she loves best be her husband, whoever has 
 to suffer of us two. Will you join me in that wish 1 
 
 ** Ever yours truly, 
 
 "Arthur Massilton." 
 
 "As I said," went on the Baron, when Annerly had finished 
 reading the letter, " you will have to conquer your lower nature 
 on the plane to which it belongs. The situation will hurt you 
 more to-morrow than it does to-night, when your 00:1^-1 iousness 
 is partly on a higher plane ; but you will not forget the feelings 
 of the higher plane, and they will help you to get the victory. 
 And remember above all this — that you need not associate the 
 idea of humiliation with suffering of this kind. You need not 
 refer it to any other person. What you have to go through is the 
 last spasm of your old Karma created by your own act. And 
 now, I believe, your intuitions are so fully awakened that you 
 will see, as clearly as I do, the rest of what I mean." 
 
 " Yes : you mean that recognition of the truth in this respect 
 closes the operation of Karma, and is the escape from its 
 torment. As long as the inevitable is resisted its effects are 
 aggravated — thrown into manifestation." 
 
 " Just 80. The crisis will be past when you can look back 
 upon it in that spirit." 
 
 " But it is inconceivable that I can bear to lose Miriam again 
 with this strange benumbed insensibility." 
 
 ** Quite so ; the insensibility is merely temporary, but it may 
 help you to realize that the subsequent pain will be but tem- 
 
THE CRISIS OP A LIFE. 269 
 
 porary. And now again I ask you, why, in the absence of 
 a higher consciousness, men cling to the torments of their 
 Karma 1" 
 
 " Because they fail to see that the pain itself is a function of 
 the lower nature. The difficulty will be to realizo, in such a 
 case as mine, that it is of the lower, for love is not of that." 
 
 " Selfish love is of that — above all things it is of that. Not 
 of the grossest animal nature — I do not mean that — but it is 
 acquisitive — exclusive in its operation ; the love that would 
 embrace its object. Unselfish love merely seeks the happiness 
 of the person loved — not his or her companionship." 
 
 " The only thing to know is with whom she will be 
 happiest?" 
 
 " Ask her the question fairly, abide willingly by her answer, 
 and you will have conquered. And now I must be going. I 
 have come but to see you.'* 
 
 The Baron as he spoke did not rise to go, but he fixed his 
 eyes intently on Annerly, who then felt for the first time that 
 there was something abnormal about his presence. 
 
 " You have learned enough in conversation with me at 
 Heiligenfels not to be too much surprised at meeting some of 
 the queer experiences your occult studies have shown you to be 
 possible. Do not fall into the mistake of supposing that this is 
 not I who have been talking to you because presently you will 
 be conscious of it no longer. The real / has been here, and the 
 best token of my presence will be found in the thoughts with 
 which you will be armed for the strife of your coming battle. 
 The mere outward phantasmagoria on the plane of the physical 
 sense is wanted no more." 
 
 Was it a mist that came over Annerly's eyes as the Baron 
 spoke, or did the form that he had seen a corporeal reality a 
 few moments previously, and with whom he had been oon- 
 versing all this time, undergo some change? It was blurred 
 and indistinct before him, though still in the easy-chair, where 
 the Baron had been sitting — from which he had never moved, 
 Annerly in his excitement leaned forward, gazing at the fading 
 apparition. Sitting as he did, in his own writing- chair partly 
 turned round, his face came down as he thus bent forward to 
 the level of his left arm, stretched out upon the table. A sense 
 of bewilderment overcame him, — a tumult of emotion that he 
 could not interpret The easy-chair was quite vacant now, 
 
 18 
 
270 KAEMA. 
 
 there was no trace of his visitor left, — there was no trace of 
 benumbed insensibility to pain in his heart. His whole nature 
 seemed torn and throbbing in a passion of agony. His face 
 was bowed upon the table, and his hand clutched an open 
 letter, and, man as he was, his breast was bursting with con- 
 vulsive sobs. 
 
 "What does it meanf he almost shrieked aloud, as he 
 sprang up into an upright position. 
 
 But in a silent and empty room there was no reply. 
 
 ** Miriam, Miriam I " he moaned in despair, "have you driven 
 me mad 1 " 
 
 But he remembered as he spoke that the Baron had said he 
 was entitled not to go mad. 
 
 The capacity for suffering on the plane of his own personality 
 had fully come back to him, but he had lost no sentence, no 
 idea that had been uttered in the conversation just passed. He 
 remembered even his own words. He remembered that a little 
 while ago he had been talking of this letter and its contents 
 with perfect composure. He remembered that he had said the 
 question was with whom she would be happiest, and again he 
 said 80, " That shall be the only question ; but oh, my Miriam, 
 oh God, if it would suflBice that I might merely die for you I" 
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 anneblt's ebttjrw. 
 
 About a week later the little party at Heiligenfels were gathered 
 in the evening on the terrace after dinner, their favourite re- 
 sort, except on the rare occasions when cloudy weather during 
 the day made the evenings chilly, and Blane had been reading 
 aloud some chapters he had already written of a book he had in 
 preparation on certain aspects of occult science. The anticipa- 
 tions Mrs. Miller had been expressing as to the great success 
 this book ought to achieve, by reason of bringing rational ex- 
 planations to bear upon some of the more familiar though quite 
 uninterpreted phenomena of mesmerism and clairvoyance, had 
 been received by the author with gloomy distrust, for he rarely 
 
annerly's eeturn. 271 
 
 took rose-coloured view* of any •nterprise depending on hi« 
 own achievements. 
 
 " I am a raw student of these subjects, on which I am pro- 
 fessing to teach the world. While I am putting these pages 
 together I have the Baron to refer to for the elucidation of 
 difficulties, and for the whole theory or doctrine on which they 
 rest. Where shall we all be when we cannot turn to him for 
 help any longer ? " 
 
 " Happy thought," said Mrs. Miller : " suppose he takes a 
 quiet country-house near London, and does not go away out of 
 our reach at all." 
 
 " If,"said the Baron, "you were to send a servant to Cologne, to 
 do some business for you, would it be a happy thought on his part 
 if he were to take lodgings over a wine-shop, and not come back ? " 
 
 " It is not easy," said Captain Jem, " to think of you in the 
 light of somebody else's servant, but it ought to be easy for us, 
 I think, to look on you as knowing best what is the right thing 
 to do. But then, ladies always know better than the people 
 who know best." 
 
 " Will somebody please hit the person who spoke last 1 " said 
 Mrs. Miller. 
 
 " Anything else to oblige you, Mrs. Miller," said Merland ; 
 " but he's too big and savage." 
 
 " If I'm really wanted again," said the Baron, " depend upon 
 it I shall be sent. But, in truth, the work to be done in the 
 world as a sequel to the beginnings that have been set on foot 
 here must be done, if at all, by others and not by me. All 
 healthy growth of the mind must develop from within, and 
 the same holds good of great movements of thought in society 
 at large. The penetrating insight into Nature which occult 
 science affords is not a gift to be bestowed on great masses of 
 people by external benevolence. It can only accrue to people 
 by the cultivation of their faculties, and by attracting them 
 into the right channels of thought and study. Now the nucleus 
 of ardent students which we have constituted here is quite 
 large enough to grow, and to provoke such a ferment of thought 
 in society as may really lead to great results, if the time proves 
 to be ripe." 
 
 " I think the time maybe ripe," Blane said, "but perhaps not 
 the nucleus you speak of. At least, I only speak for myself." 
 
 " I once knew a man in China," said Captain Miller, " who 
 
272 KAEMA. 
 
 said he only knew one word of Chinese. But he had taken a 
 fort with it." 
 
 " Let us have the details, Captain Jem," said the Baron ; " I 
 daresay there is a moral to your story." 
 
 " The word was * wailo/ which means * get out,' * go to the 
 devil ' — a very popular sort of word in China. My friend had 
 heen taking a morning walk during our campaign on the Peiho, 
 and stumbled quite by accident on a bit of a Chinese battery, 
 open at the back and masked by trees. It would have been 
 death to run, so he jumped in among the Chinamen and sang 
 out * Wailo ! ' They thought there was a regiment behind him 
 and bolted Hke hares." 
 
 " But now please interpret your parable, Jem," said Mrs. 
 Miller. 
 
 " Dear Mrs. Miller," said Blane, " I'll interpret it for you and 
 cry peccavi at the same time. Whatever you know, whatever 
 you can do, trust pluckily to it and do the best you can with 
 it. Of course Jem is perfectly right. I should not have thought 
 * wailo ' enough to say under the circumstances and should have 
 let the Chinamen slaughter me." 
 
 " Jem will be the best captain of our nucleus after all," said 
 Merland. 
 
 " Say the bo'sun," suggested the hero of the moment. 
 
 " If there was one person still amongst us," said Mrs. Miller, 
 " who is among us no longer, there would never be much need 
 of considering who should be captain." 
 
 " Meaning Professor Massilton," said Blane, a little coldly. 
 
 " Our masterful Consul," said Mrs. Lakesby. 
 
 " By-the-bye," said the Baron, " I got some papers from 
 London to-day that I want to show you all. I brought them 
 down before dinner." 
 
 He went back into the drawing-room for a moment and 
 returned with two or three newspapers. 
 
 " The Philistines have fallen on the Professor already and 
 have been enjoying themselves greatly at his expense." 
 
 The Baron then read aloud one of the most offensive of the 
 articles that had been written on " Biology and Broomsticks.** 
 The pungency of its sarcasm was altogether at the Professor's 
 expense. The audience on the terrace was indignant and 
 Irritated. 
 
 "The Professor," said the Baron, ''is a weU-known man, 
 
ANNEELl's RETURN. 278 
 
 with a Bcientific reputation to make a good mark for scoffers. 
 He, of course, must expect t-o bear the brunt of the first gush 
 of contempt which ignorance and bigotry pours out against 
 new ideas, whether they are altogether new, or only very old 
 ones come round again." 
 
 " How will such a proud man as the Professor," Mrs. Lakesby 
 suggested, " bear to be abused like that ? " 
 
 " He bears it very coolly," said the Baron. " I had a letter 
 irom him about this very article and some others, in which he 
 expresses, indeed, very acute annoyance, but not on his own 
 account. I will read you a part of the letter " — taking a few 
 letters from his pocket, from which he selected one. "He 
 writes : — * I am chiefly annoyed about all this on account of all 
 you people at Heiligenfels. I hoped to have been an element 
 of strength in the work you have in hand, and I have merely 
 brought a shower of brickbats at your heads. It is in that 
 reflection that lies the mortification for myself. Personally, I 
 have the hide of a rhinoceros in regard to aU. newspaper attacks. 
 These things hurt some people. They simply do not hurt me 
 I am not stoical ; I merely don't mind. But others may nd 
 be like myself, and I fear especially that Blane, who is a very 
 delicate-natured, sensitive fellow, may suff'er pain at all this 
 ribaldry in regard to a cause to which he is devoting himself. 
 There is simply no help for it that I can see. Meanwhile I 
 only hope I may serve as lightning-conductor to attract all 
 this idiotic nonsense, and convey it harmlessly to oblivion.' " 
 
 "Well done, Professor," said Mrs. Miller. "As for the 
 fool who wrote the article you have just read, I wish he was — " 
 
 ** Able to appreciate his folly," interrupted the Baron. " We 
 will not send out unholy wishes to breed in the astral light," 
 
 ** I am grateful to him," said Blane. 
 
 " What on earth do you mean, Willy 1 " 
 
 " He has been the cause of the writing of that letter the 
 Baron has just read. After all, it may be the Professor who 
 will suffer from co-operation with us, more than our cause from 
 association with him." 
 
 "I am glad you take that view of it," said the Baron, 
 " because in the long-run I think that will be the case. Of 
 course, the Professor would be still more useful to the cause of 
 truth than he is likely to be, even if he were perfect in all 
 respects ; but for any man who can do good service I do not 
 
 f 
 
274 KABMA. 
 
 think we should hold aloof merely because he can't do better. 
 After all, what we want to recommend to the world are certain 
 ideas — not certain men. It may be a good thing that people 
 should see that, if these are true, it does not in the least matter 
 who utters them." 
 
 "What are you making a point at, Mrs. Lakesbyl" asked 
 Merland. '* TVliat do you see 1 " 
 
 All of them were used to the little signs of manner, the 
 peculiar fixed look in the eyes, that betokened the perception 
 of some appearance invisible to the rest by the clairvoyante. 
 
 "Nothing," she said. "I've got a feeling. Who is there 
 coming here, Baron ? " she asked. 
 
 " Are your nerves sensitive to an approaching presence 1 I 
 should not be surprised if we had a visitor this evening — or 
 rather a returning friend." 
 
 " Annerly," she said. " He*B coming up the road to the 
 castle." 
 
 There were exclamations of surprise and interest — not so 
 much due to the fact that Mrs. Lakesby had scented his 
 approach by means of her strange extra senses — for the guests 
 at the castle had long grown used to taking abnormal manifesta- 
 tions of one kind and another very coolly — as at the return 
 itself of their absent friend. In a general way the Baron had 
 made them acquainted with the course of events, communicated 
 to him, as they presumed, by letters from the person concerned. 
 They knew that the engagement Annerly had formed had been 
 broken of^ that its rupture had involved some act of heroism on 
 his part, and that the circumstances were altogether of a painful 
 nature, so that it would be better to make no reference to the 
 incident whenever they should see him again. 
 
 "I suppose," Mrs. Miller said, "that he will take up the 
 occult life altogether now ? " 
 
 " Probably," said the Baron ; " and I may as well add that, 
 while I believe Mrs. Lakesby's vision of a previous incarnation 
 he has been through, to have been quite trustworthy, Annerly's 
 natural aflfinities for occult study seem to me to point to some 
 other probably stiU earlier incarnation in which he had already 
 advanced a great way on the path. Unhappily it is easy to slip 
 back at any time before the further shore of real knowledge is 
 attained." 
 
 " I'm heartily glad we are to have Annerly with iu again," 
 
▲nneblt's betubn. 275 
 
 his friend Merland gaid. ** He tnd I have been so much to- 
 gether, and I know him so well, that of course I ara very 
 much attached to him, but I think you all took a liking to him 
 in spite of his shy ways.'* 
 
 This was very warmly confirmed. But the Baron intimated 
 that Annerly would not stay at the castle this time. 
 
 " I hope you will not think me too mysterious, but Anneriy 
 will be going to-morrow on a journey I have ventured to sug- 
 gest to him. He merely stays with us for one night. If you 
 like, Meriand, you could come with us in the morning, for I 
 mean to go with him part of the way." 
 
 The programme thus arranged, indicated so plainly that 
 Annerly had taken, or was taking, some decisive step in the 
 direction of devoting himself to the great pursuit, that his 
 arrival shortly afterwards was invested with even keener 
 interest than it would have excited otherwise. Old Franz came 
 in person to announce to the Baron that Mr. Annerly had 
 reached the castle, and had gone into the library. 
 
 " Ask him to join us here," said the Baron, and then Merland 
 and Mrs. Miller went into the drawing-room to meet him. In 
 this way they saw him first in the fully-lighted room, and were 
 both startled by a strange and undefinable change that seemed 
 to have come over his face in the short time he had been 
 absent He was aged in some way, and at the same time his 
 manner had more confidence and dignity than it had been 
 marked by formerly. He gieeted his friends cheerfully, and 
 Merland with great warmth of feeling, but he did not pretend 
 to any gaiety of manner. On the other hand he betrayed no 
 nervous embarrassment, though the situation — as tliey all knew 
 that his adventures, while away, had been of a very stirring 
 character — might have been a little awkward. 
 
 "Why didn't you come in time for dinner!" Mrs. Miller 
 asked. 
 
 " I had many preparations to make before leaving London. 
 I have come very early, really, rather than very late, for if I 
 had not travelled straight through I should have only reached 
 here to-morrow." 
 
 " Then you did not sleep at Cologne t " 
 
 •*No." 
 
 There were farther inquiries as to whether he had dined, 
 and so forth, but he wanted nothing, and merely dropped 
 
 T 2 
 
276 KASHA. 
 
 into a yacant cliaii on the terrace as if he had n«Tei been 
 away. 
 
 Tlie Baron had not told the circle at the castle of any circnm- 
 stances which connected Annerly's affairs with those of the 
 other absentee ; so Mrs. Miller asked presently, without being 
 at all aware that she was treading on delicate ground, wh&ther 
 Annerly had seen the Professor in London. 
 
 " Yes," Annerly answered with composure, " only a day or 
 two before I left." 
 
 "How does he take the infamous articles that are being 
 written about him in the papers 1 " 
 
 "Very coolly, I think. He's a very strong man — the Professor. 
 Besides, his private affairs engage his attention very closely 
 just now.'* 
 
 There was a good deal more talk on this subject and on the 
 probable authorship of the stories that had been put in circu- 
 lation. Mra Miller had not at first realized where the respon- 
 sibility for this almost certainly might be placed. 
 
 " How wicked and treacherous of him I " she cried, referring 
 to Sir John Hexton. 
 
 " When a piece of mischief is done," said the Baron, " it is 
 no consequence, except to himself, who has done it. A world 
 that does not realize the operation of Karma is needlessly 
 alarmed lest evil-doers will not be punished. Nobody can 
 punish them so certainly as they do that for themselves." 
 
 "After they're dead^ "Well, I daresay you're right in 
 theory, but I think it's a pity some people should have to 
 wait." 
 
 " The greatest pity for them," said Annerly. " It is better 
 to get disagreeable things over at once." 
 
 "And then, thousands of years hence, when Sir John 
 Hexton may be doing penance for his sins in some other 
 incarnation, I shan't be tiiere to look on and say serve him 
 right." 
 
 "Let ns hope,'' said the Baron, **you will be better 
 employed." 
 
 " — in doing penance for your own," added Captain Jem, 
 pensively. 
 
 The conversation amongst the group at large kept, in this 
 way, to the surface of things. It was not till Annerly and 
 Merland were alone together in Annerly's room, when the 
 
ANK£BL¥'8 BETUBN. 277 
 
 general separation for the night had taken place, that any inti- 
 mate explanations were given by Annerly concerning ths past 
 few days. 
 
 •' I've gone through a great deal of experience since I saw 
 you last, Claude, and it seems to me as if a great period of life 
 rather than a few weeks had passed in the interim." 
 
 " Tell me as much as you can, old man, and no more than 
 you like. I am sure you have had a frightful time." 
 
 " It is all in the day's work, I have been through a greqj^' 
 crisis — a great operation in psychic surgery, and I am all thT 
 better for it, but a good deal sobered. I could laugh when 2 
 look back to the last time I was in this room, and imagined! 
 myself ready to enter on the occult life. I think I am readjT 
 now — to begin — but I am an entirely changed man. And that 
 is the important thing to explain to you, Claude. The outer 
 facts are not of so much importance. You know I met with 
 Miriam Seaford again and got our old engagement renewed, i 
 knew, in the bottom of my heart, all the while, that she had 
 taken pity on me rather than anything else, but I was willing 
 to get possession of her on those terms rather than on none. 
 And that was the key to the understanding of the old nature, 
 which I think I have dropped. I was very truly in love, but I 
 had not mastered the AB.C. of unselfishness in love." 
 
 ** Good Heavens, Annerly, why you would have had yourself 
 skinned for her at any time." 
 
 " Perhaps so, but I would not have willingly surrendered 
 her to another man that she might be happier with him than 
 she could be with me. The intense agony I used to experience 
 in longing for her was all pure selfishness. It was not that I 
 thought she was unhappy, I merely was so myself ; and the 
 contemplation of that fact made me miserable. I had got my 
 consciousness in fact altogether seated in my own personality, 
 — to put the thing in occult language. I was living in the 
 lower principles of my nature, quite oblivious of the higher. 
 Now under help and guidance I have succeeded in making the 
 transfer. The wrench was something quite extraordinary. I 
 have been in distress of mind before, but I never went through 
 any pain to compai-e with that I was immersed in this time 
 last week, and for a day or two longer." 
 
 " But how did the break-off happen then— if you can bear to 
 speak of it ? " 
 
278 KABMA. 
 
 *' It WM Massilton she really wanted to marry, — our Profes- 
 sor. When I found this out the crisis began. When I was 
 able to write and tell her that she was quite free 83 far as pro- 
 mises to me were concerned — it was determined as to its nature. 
 When I could go to her, as I did before I left London, and 
 bid her good-bye, composedly, as a friend not as a lover at all 
 — it was over. She was the only person who showed emotion 
 at our parting." 
 
 ** But what was this more than a final culmination of the 
 unselfishness which you have always shown in this matter, as 
 it seems to me t " 
 
 " I should either have not acted as I did — or I should have 
 unsettled my reason in doing so— if it had not been for the 
 Baron's psychic influence. That is just as plain to me now 
 as if it had held me up from falling over a precipice. The 
 first evening he came to me — " 
 
 *' How do you mean came to you t He has never been away 
 from here." 
 
 " Never mind the mere occult science of the matter. The 
 real man visited me if in a phantom body, and was as 
 real to me, while with me, as if he had come over by train 
 and steamboat. When I realize what occultism is as regards 
 the training of the soul, the outer machinery of its working 
 on the physical plane seems of no importance. The Baron 
 came to me first this night last week, and he opened my 
 eyes just before the crisis came on to the possibility of con- 
 sciousness on the higher plane, from which the cravings of 
 the lower do not seem to be of such omnipotent supremacy 
 as they do on that level. Nothing he did saved me from one 
 inevitable pang of suffering, but through this all I realized that 
 it was right to suffer ; that through embracing that suffering it 
 could be annihilated, conquered, and put away in the back- 
 ground." 
 
 " But have you conquered it t Are you really through with 
 it, and contented with the prospect before you t " 
 
 "I would not stoop now to examine into the matter. Do I 
 suffer 1 Do I not suffer 1 What does it matter t That is not 
 the thing to live for either way. The life I am passing through 
 is worthless, unless I make it of supreme value by realizing 
 its worthlessness. I am, I hope, on the road to do that. To 
 wish to escape from suffering, and be peaceful, content, happy, 
 
annbblt's return. 279 
 
 is still to be living in the lower plane of personality. The 
 higher self within me and that within you — far closer together 
 than we realize while walled off from each other in these 
 physical bodies — cannot suffer ; at all events, not in the way we 
 are talking ot To live up into that higher self is to achieve the 
 transfer of consciousness I speak of. I know that sort of lan- 
 guage is misty and comfortless, but I am sure you will catch 
 my meaning." 
 
 " I realize your meaning quite fully. It seems to me, in my 
 small way, I have gone through the change you speak of. I 
 have no thought now of going back into any other life than 
 this. Sooner or later the Baron — " 
 
 " My dear Claude, your Karma and mine, as you know, are 
 two very different forces. One cloudy day does not spoil a 
 summer, just as one delusive gleam of sunshine does not make 
 a fine season. No two people have to achieve their purification 
 in the same way. For some it may come through happi- 
 ness and for others through suffering. Don't suppose that 
 you must work out your redemption by the same means I have 
 had to employ. I am no prophet ; but still I say that our paths 
 in life, even if they both tend upwards towards an elevation 
 of consciousness unto that higher level of which I spoke, may lie 
 through a very different sort of country." 
 
 " Why are you talking in such enigmas 1 " 
 
 "Because I have no knowledge which enables me to talk in 
 any other way. But take no hasty resolutions of any kind for 
 the present. Wait and see what happens — and now about 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Annerly had already settled with the Baron the time at which 
 they should start, which was to be early in the morning. He 
 arranged the time at which Merland should join them, and then 
 their talk drifted back to details of what had transpired since 
 they parted. Merland filled up all the blanks of the informa- 
 tion he had sent his friend by letter concerning the clairvoyant 
 visions, and learned the full particulars of all that concerned 
 the complication of Annerly's affairs with those of the Pro- 
 fessor. 
 
 " Outside the infraction of certain moral laws — growing rather 
 perhaps out of our marriage institutions, than having themselves 
 an absolute existence — there has been nothing to blame in their 
 conduct. The Professor never meant to b« unfaithful to his 
 
280 CASICA. 
 
 engagements. The union between them was a genuine mar- 
 riage in all but the name. But it is next to impossible to 
 comment on other people's csonduct. Except in glaring cases 
 one should never try. The real hidden motives are undiscernible 
 nearly always." 
 
 CHAPTER XXXL 
 
 IN THB GONSBRVATOBT AQAIS, 
 
 Next morning the Baron and his two companions walked down 
 the hill together, crossed the river in a small boat, and mingled 
 with the little crowd of pleasure-seeking tourists on the steam- 
 boat pier at Schlessig. There they got one of the boats 
 going up the Rhine, and went up a few stations to a place at 
 which Annerly was going to take the train. Nothing had 
 been said as to his destination, and Merland felt that it would 
 be indiscreet to ask any questions. 
 
 They all had a frugal breakfast together at a riverside hotel, 
 and then went to the station to see Annerly off. The talk 
 during the whole of this time had been on abstract subjects. 
 It was only as they stood together in the railway waiting-room, 
 Annerly having got his ticket for some unknown place in his 
 pocket, that Merland realized, with a blank, rather forlorn 
 feeling, that he was losing his friend for a very indefinite 
 period. 
 
 ** It's hard to part with you, Geordie, in this final sort of way. 
 We've been together, off and on, for a long while." 
 
 Annerly looked at the Baron, and the Baron at him, both 
 with grave understanding in the eyes. Already there were 
 common thoughts quick to arise between them, which no third 
 person could readily follow. Then, after a little hesitation, and 
 grasping Merland's hand, his friend said gently, — 
 
 ** It won't be for long, Claude, in any case, and you shall 
 certainly hear from me." 
 
 Merland felt the separation all the more for these few words, 
 but nothing further was said on either side to show emotion. 
 The noisy glass doors on to the platform were opened, the train 
 announced, and, with a simple " Good-bye," Annerly went on 
 
IN THE CONSERVATORY AGAIN. 281 
 
 with the other passengers, while Merland and the Baron strolled 
 away back to the river. 
 
 " There goes Annerly," said Merland, as they caught sight of 
 the train speeding on its way, at a turn of the road, " shooting 
 away into a new life. Dear old boy 1 I hope it will be a 
 brighter one for him, and a better than the one he is leaving. 
 That has been a rough time on the whole." 
 
 " It has been a period of purification fop him, of keen suffer- 
 ing through the effect of old Karma, compressed into narrow 
 limits ; but the progeny of the Flaccus they have told you of, 
 have ceased to exist. The Annerly from whom you have just 
 parted is the successor of a nobler and earlier self than that. 
 If possible, I will procure a vision for our seeress which shall 
 show you the earlier self of which I speak ; but now I want to 
 talk to you of another topic." 
 
 Merland felt that the motive with which the Baron had 
 desired his company that morning was now to be made manifest, 
 for hitherto there had been nothing that had passed, while the 
 three had been together, which explained the purpose of their 
 expedition. 
 
 " I want to talk to you, for a little, about yourself, for I know 
 that you have not been without aspirations, which prompted 
 you to court the trials which Annerly is about to confront. 
 You, too, have felt the attraction towards the higher spiritual 
 life that you vaguely appreciate, and one glimpse of which 
 indeed, if I mistake not, you even enjoyed. Is not that so 1 " 
 
 " Certainly it is so," Merland answered, confidently. " The 
 glimpse you speak of came to me at a moment of painful excite- 
 ment, when I did not appreciate it as fully as I should now. I 
 am more than ready to follow your lead into the pursuits in 
 which you have conquered your own — if I may put it that 
 way without disguise — ^your own exaltation above ordinary 
 men." 
 
 " You are ready to give up hopes of ordinary earthly happi- 
 ness for the chance of attaining, across much trial and suffering, 
 the opportunity of benefiting your fellow-creatures on a higher 
 plane of activity than that to which you properly belong." 
 
 " I don't want to put the matter in any way which seems to 
 make out my aspirations nobler than they are. I do not at 
 present understand how I should benefit anybody else by leading 
 what we have come to call the occult life — by earning, if possible, 
 
282 EABMA. 
 
 exceptional knowledge and acquiring abnormal power. But I 
 have got a clearly defined feeling that that is the best sort of life 
 to lead, anyhow, and I wish to lead it. If it brings about 
 opportunities of doing good to others I shall be very glad." 
 
 " You see," the Baron said, " that the situation is this : we 
 must do everything of this sort with our eyes open. Suppose 
 I could give you reason to believe that you are not driven into 
 the occult life by the stress of any disappointment in this one 
 really, — that the dearest desires you have formed in your heart 
 might after all be realized, provided you made efforts to accom- 
 plish them, — while, on the other hand, if you forbore from 
 doing that, that you might throw yourself into a career that 
 might lead to a rapid evolution of your higher spiritual nature, 
 but would certainly for the time being be one of self-denial and 
 painful effort, — what choice would you make?" 
 
 Merland made no immediate reply because the Baron's language 
 seemed so suggestive that the alternatives he set forth were not 
 of a kind to be hastily dealt with. 
 
 " That is a complicated idea," he said. " Because — " 
 
 He found it difficult to state the case in an abstract form, but 
 still shrank from changing the tone of the conversation. 
 
 " Well, the thing strikes me this way. If I myself am really 
 the only person to be considered, I would rather constitute my- 
 self your pupil, if that is possible, than attempt to recover any 
 sort of happiness of the kind I was aiming at before I under- 
 stood your position, so far as I do, which is not much. 
 But—" 
 
 " You are quite right to hesitate in the way you do. Our 
 lives are rarely quite isolated from those of other human beings 
 on our own plane. But I do not want to talk in enigmas. The 
 case seems to me one in which you are not really entitled to 
 put aside the duties of the plane in life to which you belong till 
 you are quite sure that they do not link you with it decisively. 
 Annerly had no such duties. On the contrary, the renunciation 
 of the ties which chiefly bound him to the world had itself 
 become the highest and only duty he owed the world. And I 
 will tell you more : your Karma does not claim that you should 
 quench your alliance with the world in suffering. Just as it 
 would be very wrong of me to try and beguile any unqualified 
 neophyte into the toilsome path of occult progress by holding a 
 glittering bait before him, so it would be wrong for me to 
 
IN THE OONSBBVATOBY AGAIN. 283 
 
 dis^suade you from attempting whatever your ttrength may 
 enable you to strive for. But I want you to realize that, as long 
 as a smooth path leads up-hUl the way you are going, no one 
 is bound to get off it to walk in the stones and ruts at the 
 side." 
 
 Still, without direct reference to the character of the worldly 
 happiness Merland had been aiming at during the earlier part 
 of his visit to the castle, the conversation went on interspersed 
 with digressions on the general principles involved. They took 
 a steamboat back to Schlessig, and recrossing the river strolled 
 slowly up the hill. The Baron gave Merland gently to under- 
 stand, that, while on the one hand his worldly Karma had 
 certainly been of a kind which need not have entailed upon him 
 any acute distress, he was also without the peculiar advantages 
 arising from great spiritual progress accomplished in a former 
 life which had asserted themselves powerfully in Annerly's case 
 after the exhaustion of the influences bequeathed to his present 
 life by the Roman incarnation of which they had heard some- 
 thing. 
 
 *• All I would have you realize," the Baron said, " since a 
 false analogy might otherwise have confused your judgment, is, 
 that the circumstances under which it became a noble and 
 heroic thing on Annerly's part to surrender his claims on the 
 woman he loved so earnestly, have nothing to do in your case 
 with a question you once asked — without getting an immediate 
 answer." 
 
 " Baron," said Merland, not without agitation of feeling, " do 
 you know something more about this matter than you have yet 
 told me t I have seen through the blind conceit which made 
 me put that very inappropriate question, and have long since 
 submitted to the justice of the arrangement which kept back 
 from me anything so unnecessary as an answer." 
 
 ** My friend, it would be contrary to my habits and rather 
 taking me out of my proper sphere if I played the part of love's 
 messenger. And I have no message for you from Miss Vaughan 
 — if you mean that ; but I have got something to tell you 
 about her. She and her mother are returning for a while to the 
 castle." 
 
 »* Coming back here I ** 
 
 " Even so, and very shortly. They have been good enough 
 to feel a strong desire to see a little more of me before I go 
 
284 KABMA. 
 
 away for what may be a long absence, and they only realized 
 lately that I should not be able to return after this autumn to 
 London ; so, instead of going to their own house in Devonshire, 
 they have decided once more to honour Heiligenfela." 
 
 "Baron," said Merland, some time after this as they ap- 
 proached the castle, "it is natural, very natural, that they should 
 want to see you again, but after what has passed — except on 
 one very extravagant supposition — it would be pleasanter for 
 them both, perhaps, that they should not find me here. It 
 may be, indeed, that they imagine I have already gone." 
 
 " It is a delicate and nice feeling on your part that suggests 
 what you propose ; but Mrs. Vanghan made no terms in 
 arranging to come back, and I do not think you are called upon 
 to shrink from meeting them. If you would rather indeed 
 know how you stand in the graces of the lady you are most 
 concerned with — " 
 
 The Baron hesitated as he spoke, and they came in under the 
 outer archway leading into the first courtyard — the courtyard 
 in the middle of which were flower-beds, and from the battle- 
 mented terrace of which there opened the door leading into the 
 conservatory. Standing at this door they saw Captain Miller in 
 his favourite morning-coat of brown velvet. It was a little past 
 lunch-time. 
 
 " If in point of fact," said the Baron, as he greeted the Cap- 
 tain with a wave of the hand, and as they walked round the 
 terrace to join him, " if you want at once to get an answer to 
 the question which still awaits its reply — go in and ask for it." 
 
 He put his hand on Merland's shoulder as he spoke, turning 
 him round towards the conservatory door, and then, slipping 
 his arm into Captain Jem's, W£dked on, leaving the young man 
 alone. 
 
 •' Go in and ask for it." 
 
 With expectations raised to fever heat, and yet with a feeling 
 that the glorious possibility was mpossible, Merland entered. 
 Standing by the same open window where he had seen her last, 
 alone, and in the same grey dress she had worn that morning, 
 above which glowed in her cheeks, as it were, the same magni- 
 ficent flush, which the first surprise of his audacity had called 
 forth, the beautiful Miss Vaughan was there before him. Had 
 he met her again under any other circumstance his greeting 
 would have been one of respectful reserve ; but hei look, her 
 
IN THE OONSEBVATORT AGAIN. 285 
 
 ■mae — a little shy and confused ; the overwhelming significance 
 of the whole situation, evoked an emotion in her lover's heart 
 which swept away all thought of playing a part 
 
 " Lucy," he cried in wild delight, springing forward ; and, 
 with passionate adoration seizing her hand, he knelt once more 
 to kiss it. 
 
 " I have heen slow in giving you an answer," she said ; " but 
 you know you took me by surprise. You offered me a flower, 
 if I remember rightly." 
 
 He could never tell how it got there, but as she spoke he felt 
 that something was slipped into his hand. In that castle of 
 enchantment it was relatively a little thing to happen, but, by 
 some wonderful play of the forces that were all around them 
 there, a sprig of stephanotis had settled between his fingers. 
 
 " It is here I " he cried in astonishment, and Lucy took it. 
 
 For a little while the meaning of its acceptance blotted out 
 between them all thought even of occult wonders. 
 
 *' But did you know I was here t Did you come provided 
 with that flower 1 " asked Lucy. 
 
 " No. Not tiU I saw the glorious sight of you did I know 
 you were here." 
 
 " Look I There is a little curl of paper round it See, there 
 is writing on it," 
 
 They examined the morsel of paper, and the words it bore 
 were : " With a friend's blessing on the betrothal" 
 
 " Oh Lucy ! How is it possible you can have granted me 
 the stupendous gift which aU this signifies ? When I made my 
 desperate declaration I was simply blind to everything else but 
 my overwhelming love and your supreme loveliness. I only 
 learned later how monstrously unbefitting it was for me to speak 
 to you in this way." 
 
 " I have often been made love to, Claude, but on thinking it 
 over, this seemed to me the first time I had loved back." 
 
 THB END. 
 
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