SStUSiKsM 
 
HERR PAULUS 
 
 HIS RISE, HIS GREATNESS, 6- HIS FALL 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER BESANT 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'ALL SORTS AND CONDITIONS OF MEN' ETC. 
 
 A NEW EDITION 
 
 ^ n b n 
 CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 \.All rights reserved\ 
 
PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODB AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON 
 

 PREFACE. 
 
 The first edition of ' Herr Paulus ' revealed a very astonishing, 
 unexpected, and, I think, an unprecedented fact. From 
 certain letters which were sent to me privately, and from 
 certain observations made by various reviewers in sundry 
 papers, I have learned that the English people have entirely 
 forgotten the whole subject of Mesmerism, or Animal Mag- 
 netism. This mysterious Force, which has been proved over 
 and over again to be as real and as inexplicable as any of 
 the Forces which are found to govern matter, which has 
 been made the subject of innumerable controversies, on 
 which a whole body of literature has been written, is now, 
 after some thirty years of comparative neglect in this country, 
 utterly forgotten. A Force which will enable one man to 
 control another so that he shall make him walk, sit, lie, write, 
 read, think, or feel exactly as the controller orders : a Force 
 which, when it can be applied, is an anffisthetic under whose 
 influence a patient can endure, painlessly and unconsciously, 
 the most terrible operations ; which has engaged the attention 
 of the greatest scientific minds ; from which so much was once 
 expected : this has been so utterly forgotten that people not 
 generally considered ignorant have learned to class it among 
 the common cheats and juggleries of the professional medium. 
 Now and then a peripatetic lecturer gives a feeble illustration 
 of Mesmerism at an Institute, or a young man of inquiring 
 mind finds out that he possesses the mesmeric power ; but 
 serious investigation of the subject has, in this country at 
 
 p. V. 
 
vi HERE PAULUS 
 
 least, entirely ceased ; the mass of the people have wholly for- 
 gotten it ; and most of those who have read ' Herr Paulus ' 
 cannot understand how he ' did ' certain things, though in 
 the novel it is expressly stated that they were done by means 
 of mesmerism. Critics in their reviews objected that his 
 method ought to have been explained, that demands were made 
 on credulity, that nobody could be expected to believe these 
 things, and so forth. Some thinkers wrote to the unfortunate 
 author in these terms, and the anonymous letter-writer, who 
 is always a great chucklehead, asked with scorn if one was 
 expected seriously to believe in Mr. Brudenel's conversation 
 with the Sage of Abyssinia, and to swallow the statement 
 that by ' mere conjuring ' a man could be made to write 
 letters against his own knowledge. 
 
 Herr Paulus mesmerised a whole household except two. 
 Had he brought these two also under his power there would 
 have been no limit to his miracles. As it was, his achievements 
 were modest indeed compared with what he might have done. 
 For my own part, when I think of the position which he occupied 
 and the marvels he might have worked, I am even surprised 
 at his moderation. It sometimes seems to me as if he threw 
 away one of the greatest chances ever offered to any young 
 man. For to be at once a highly developed Mesmerist and a 
 Prestidigitat'eur of the first order is a combination that is rare 
 indeed. The latter cheats the eye ; he makes photographs 
 flutter from the ceiling, he makes Indian papers suddenly 
 appear in the hands and as suddenly vanish — at least, that is 
 what the audience will report of the phenomenon. But the 
 former — the Mesmerist — subdues the mind, which is a much 
 greater thing. It was by magnetic influence that Herr Paulus 
 made Mr. Brudenel write, say, and think what he chose. All 
 this would have been perfectly well understood forty years ago. 
 Now, it has gone clean out of people's minds. Not in America, 
 it is true, nor in France, where they still investigate and study 
 the developments of this Force, which has hitherto escaped 
 f?cientific control ; but in Great Britain and her colonies. 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 Olio cannot but believe that there is a ;f?reat future for this 
 mysterious power. For many years the Force of Electricity 
 was known and experimented on ; for many years it remained 
 the subject of occasional and fitful research; sometimes it was 
 neglected ; then it was taken up again ; it was a curious 
 scientific toy, interesting always and amusing sometimes, 
 except when it appeared, unbidden, in the shape of forked 
 lightning. Now it has been conquered and is put into harness. 
 It carries messages, drags cars, stores up speeches, and is 
 before long going to do many more useful things ; among other 
 things, for instance, it is, I am quite certain, about to put into 
 our hands a weapon by which one man will be able, alone and 
 unaided, to destroy a great army. By means of this weapon 
 wars will be made to cease, and the smallest nation will be- 
 come as powerful for independence as the greatest. At that 
 same time (we are born a century too soon), by means of 
 Magnetic Influence or Mesmerism, the greatest and best of 
 mankind will so order and incline the wills of the weaker 
 brethren, including those of Czars, Emperors, Popes, and 
 Prime Ministers, that they shall be wholly bent upon peace 
 and think of nothing but the advancement of humanity. 
 Then will follow a great and wonderful time for the children 
 or grandchildren of Herr Paulus and Hetty his wife. 
 
 W. B. 
 
 United Uxiveksity Clcb : 
 Octoher 1888. 
 
jJS^ ^Uc4 -WvrWW «.^fc<Ji*to- "C^ ^ ^-^y^"^^ ^. c ^J - 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGB 
 
 PROLOGUE 1 
 
 SOOZ I. 
 
 I. The Vestal Virgin 13 
 
 II. The Leader 20 
 
 III. The Prophet 24 
 
 IV. At Dinner 30 
 
 V. The First Function . . o^ 
 
 VI. Good Night 49 
 
 VII. The Smoking-Room 5o 
 
 VIII. The Submission of the Leader 61 
 
 IX. The Conquest of the Harem 67 
 
 BOOK 11. 
 
 I. In the Studio 73 
 
 II. In the other Room 79 
 
 III. In Abyssinia and Elsewhere 8.5 
 
 IV. Should this Happen? 91 
 
 V. The Second Function 97 
 
 VI. Beaumont Street, Marylebone 108 
 
 VII. The Instruction op the Vest.al . . . . .116 
 
 VIII. A Trifling Incident 121 
 
 IX. The Message of the Bank Book 132 
 
 X. The First Investigation Ill 
 
 XI. Only a Kiss 1^6 
 
 'M 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 
 XV. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 XX. 
 
 I. 
 II. 
 
 III. 
 
 IV. 
 V. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VII. 
 VIII. 
 
 IX. 
 X. 
 
 XI. 
 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 
 SiK Percival 
 
 Sludge . . . . . . 
 
 On Advantageous Ti;r:.is 
 
 Tom's Discovert 
 
 I Give Consent ... 
 
 S.uisoN AND Delilah 
 
 The Forenoon ........ 
 
 Still the Forenoon 
 
 The Miracle 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Ko SY5IPATHY AT AlL . ..... 
 
 Satisfied with Himself ...... 
 
 Husband and Wife 
 
 The First Blow 
 
 The Second Blow 
 
 The Third Blow 
 
 The Fourth Blow 
 
 One More Engagement 
 
 Yet Another Blow 
 
 The D.\nce, and After 
 
 A Council 
 
 A Plenary Confession 
 
 The Conference 
 
 A Wedding Day 
 
 EPILOGUE 
 
 PAGa 
 
 152 
 158 
 IGl 
 160 
 17:3 
 
 ITS! 
 ISG 
 l',!2 
 I'J'J 
 
 . 211 
 
 223 
 
 223 
 
 234 
 
 239 
 
 216 
 
 252 
 
 . 257 
 
 . 262 
 
 . 270 
 
 2.S1 
 
 2S7 
 
 293 
 
 . 300 
 
 . 312 
 
 I 
 
HERR PAULUS. 
 
 niOLOGUE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Two young people vrevc in a garden. Their names were not Adam 
 and Eve, but Ziphion and Bethiali, which seem somehow to resem- 
 ble the original names. It was a sjiacious garden, though not so 
 spacious, nor so well furnished, as the Garden of Eden, which, I 
 take it, covered many acres and had gushing fountains of clear 
 water ; humming birds, with love birds and avadavats ; beautiful 
 harmless flying dragons of all colours ; tame leopards, tigers, 
 hj'ffinas, and pumas, whose eyes flamed with love and praise instead 
 of cruelty and hunger; gold and silver fish, bright-coloured and 
 vivacious sea snakes, and lubberly good-natured sharks for the 
 children to swim with ; together with other delightful things which 
 to us would be the more delightful because they would be at first 
 so very surprising. It was, however, a beautiful garden, with some 
 age, as they say of port. If it had been an Enghsh garden it would 
 have been very old indeed, and woidd have had all round it a lovely 
 red brick wall covered with lichen — yellow, and white, and red — 
 with wall-flowers and grasses growing tall and thick on the broad top 
 of it. But it was in America, where, I believe, there are no gardens 
 at all more than two hundred years old, and few which have seen 
 so many as three generations of English-speaking men and women. 
 It contained a flower garden, a kitchen garden, and an orchard, all 
 in one. The orchard contained chiefly aj^ple-trees, and the apples 
 were now nearly ripe, for all day long they had been industriously 
 turning their red and streaky sides to the hot sun of early Septem- 
 ber, getting every hour ruddier and streakier, as good apples should. 
 One of the young persons was sitting on a low stool, and the other 
 was leaning against the trunk of an old tree. This is a detail ot 
 some importance because it shows that they were not in England, 
 where, at sunset of a day in early autumn, young people are longing 
 to run about, play lawn-tennis, go for walks, and do vigorous things. 
 In America, where the heat is tierce^ they are naturall}- less active. 
 
 B 
 
2 HERR PAULUS 
 
 This is one reason why so many young people ask permission to be 
 liorn in England. The house which belonged to the garden stood 
 behind it, well-built and ugly ; it was the house of Mr. Euysdael, 
 lawyer and prominent citizen of the town, which was a small town 
 not many hundred miles from Boston. 
 
 The gui — Bethiah Euysdael — had a box of colours and a sketch- 
 ing-block lying on the ground beside her. She had been engaged 
 in making a study of trees. But now she sat, with hands clasped, 
 looking up into the face of the yormg man. I have elsewhere — I 
 believe more than once— preached the doctrine that the very best 
 kind of woman is the woman's woman, which is the same tiling as 
 the womanly woman, the woman whom other women love, of 
 whom other women do not speak with bitterness, or with innuendo, 
 or with eyes glancing at each other. She may be beautiful, but 
 women do not greatly dwell upon her good looks : she may be 
 graceful and may possess all the accomphshments, clevernesses, 
 dexterities, and arts Avhich cultivated ladies desire to acquire, but 
 other women do not greatly talk of these things : they speak of 
 those qualities which are not taught in the schools, such as her un- 
 selfishness, her kindness, her thought for others, her sympathy, and 
 so forth. She never studies, as some maidens use, the arts and 
 mysteries by which man raay be attracted and drawn to them as 
 by a magnet : she does not in the least imderstand the strength and 
 vehemence of the passion of love in man : nor does she inquire at 
 all into the subject. But she knows that some women are weak, 
 and that a pretty face does not always mean a i)erfectly faultless 
 Boul, whatever men may foolishly believe ; and when she comes, in 
 her reading, upon the prettj-, passionate exaggerations of poets, 
 dramatists, and novelists, who love to represent their hero's mistress 
 as a beautifiil goddess, full of all perfections, because she is so 
 beautiful, she lays down the book and takes up another pitched 
 in a lower and more sensible key. When she marries it is with 
 calmness ; she gives away her heart without illusions ; she knows 
 her own weaknesses and is not blind to those of her husband, and 
 she thinks that life is at best soberly happy, and that there will be 
 no moment in it which will call for the rapture of overwhelming joy. 
 Yet she is said to make her husband happy all his life. Very often, 
 however, this kind of woman never marries at all. 
 
 Bethiah Euysdael was such a girl as this. Her calm, capable 
 face : her clear grey eyes : her firm mouth : the clear strong curve 
 of her cheek — all inspired confidence. Even the business-like 
 arrangement of her dark-brown hair helped to show that she was a 
 perfectly sensible and trustworthy person : not flighty, whimsical, 
 or humom"some — the history of the last century presents some truly 
 admirable studies of the whimsical or humom-some woman, but at 
 present she is rare — not enthusiastic, emotional, or hysterical. As 
 her beauty, being what she was, nobody spoke much of her good 
 
PROLOGUE 3 
 
 looks : yet she was comely antl pleasant to look upon : somewhat 
 paler in the cheek than a healthy English girl, slighter in frame and 
 ligure, and more delicate in feature. When a girl lays herself out 
 to call attention hy her dress and by her manners to her personal 
 appearance, of course one talks about it : but Bethiah did not betray 
 tlie least consciousness of beauty or the least desire for notice. 
 Therefore such notice as she got was of another kmd. 
 
 It is said tliat there is no place in the world where young men 
 are so wonderfully beautiful as in New York. The ancient Greeks, 
 it is reported, jealous of their own reputation, have sent down to 
 know if it is really true. The young man leaning against the trunk 
 of the old apple tree possessed this remarkable beauty, in full and 
 brimmhig measm-e. You know the portrait of Shelley, with his 
 girlish face and the strangely eager, passionate eyes, fuU of light and 
 earnestness and fearless questioning. Well : that face has always 
 reminded me of Ziphion's, though Ziphion was not so tall and had 
 a larger head in proportion to his height. By what long-forgotten 
 marriage and blending of race did this strange face break out in a 
 small town of a New England State ? Who was the ancestor or 
 ancestress from whom the boy got that wonderful face and those 
 wonderful eyes ? His mother was certainly not an artist, or a poec, 
 nor did she in any sense belong to the imaginative race. She was a 
 severely Christian person and a notable housewife, whose readmgs 
 as well as her ima.gination were, so far as one knows, as narrow as 
 her creed. His father certainly might have been at one time a 
 potential poet, but the General Store which he conducted blame- 
 lessly had long since killed the poetic germ, if it ever existed. He 
 was, however, a most respectable person : he sold everj'thing, fi'om 
 an English pirated novel at ten cents to a string of onions, a 
 barrel of apples, or a saucerful of treacle : he was a deacon in his 
 church : and when he was not talking of dollars his mouth was full 
 of doctrine. Dollars and doctrine : the union of this world and the 
 next : salvation and investments : the thing is not unknown on this 
 side of the Atlantic. Both father and mother, being perfectly satis- 
 fied with themselves, ardently deshed that their only son should 
 follow in their steps and strike out a hne of trade for himself ; or, 
 failmg this, because the gi-eat and glorious gift of dollar-snatching 
 is not gi'anted to everyone, they prayed that he might become a, 
 lawyer and a politician, and so, presently, be elected Mayor of his 
 own City, Governor of his own State, and perhaps — who knows ? — • 
 President of the United States. 
 
 Where did the boy get that face ? 
 
 Perhaps — the middle classes preserve no genealogies — in some 
 far-off generation this American youth had some Italian woman 
 for a great-grandmother : or some passionate Andalusian, or some 
 wild gipsy — perhaps a Provengale — from whom he derived those 
 clear and delicate features, those black eyes which were soft and 
 
 ii2 
 
4 HERR PAULUS 
 
 lustrous and charged with all poetic qualities, such as tenderness, 
 sympathy, wonder, insight and sensitiveness. The lad's figure 
 was slender and tall. In the mobile lips, in the pose of the head, 
 in the long thin fingers, one could read a temperament more nervous 
 than that generally found even among his countrymen. Whither 
 this nervousness will lead the American one knows not. Perhaps 
 in the amalgam of the future, when all the nations of the world have 
 contributed some part to the construction of the American, the 
 nervous temperament will be modified. But how if it be intensified ? 
 "Whither, however, this highly-strung organisation leads the jiresent 
 generation one may readily observe. For of some it makes splendid 
 orators : of some, the most eloquent preachers : of some, fiery 
 partisans : of some, fervid martyrs : of some, the most ingenious 
 inventors : of some, cranks : of some, the inost crafty rogues : of 
 some, impostors of the very highest order : on all it bestows qualities 
 in the superlative. 
 
 You shall learn, presently, whither this sensitive and nervous 
 organisation brought this yomig man. Never since the day — too 
 short a day — of Absalom, was there so sweet a youth. Like 
 Absalom, but in this respect only — because in thinking of Absalom 
 one always thinlis of a hcaii sabreur — the boy wore his hair long. 
 It was parted at the side, and rolled over his white temples with a 
 natural curve, which, in the days of the gallant D'Orsay, was 
 achieved, where it was not natural, by the aid of science, bear's 
 grease, and fragrant pomade. It seemed natural that he should 
 wear long hair : if it was an affectation it was his only one, because 
 his dress was quite plain and even rustic, while his boots would 
 have attracted considerable attention in the fashionable quarters of 
 New York. 
 
 ' Don't try to set me against it,' he said. ' Oh ! Bethiah, I never 
 wanted so nmch sympathy as now, and if you refuse to stand by 
 me there will be no one. Everybody is against me.' 
 
 ' I am not against you, Ziph. You ought to know that.' 
 
 ' I met your father just now, and he stopped to read me a lecture 
 about the safe waj'sand the unsafe ways. Well : there have been 
 plenty of men who have tried this way and failed. I know that 
 very well. But if I were to fail — I shan't fail, though — I should be 
 happier than if I never had tried at all.' 
 
 ' You have told your father and mother ? ' 
 
 'Yes — it was like having a tooth out. I'd rather have two teeth 
 out than go through it again. But I was bound to tell them. And 
 now it's over, and — Bethiah — don't try to argue against it.' 
 
 ' I won't, Ziph. But — oh ! — if you were only sure that it was 
 the wisest and the best thing. Could you not wait a year or two — 
 I am sure that eighteen is full early to achieve a literary success — 
 could you not, just for a little while, do — what your father wishes ? ' 
 She added the last words with a little hesitation, fi-om which it waa 
 
PROLOGUE 5 
 
 clear that the paternal wishes were clearly distasteful even to 
 herself. 
 
 ' Measure calico and weigh out tea ? No — no — I cannot do it.' 
 
 ' But he offered to make you a lawyer if you like.' 
 
 ' I hate law.' 
 
 * Then you might be a doctor — or a minister — think of hcing a 
 minister, Ziph ! AVhy you might put your poetry into your sermons 
 and make us all cry.' 
 
 ' No — no — I must be a poet and an author. Do not try to 
 dissuade me, Bethiah. It is my destiny.' He looked givind — this 
 young Apollo — as he rammed his hand into his waistcoat and stood 
 upright, the breeze gently lifting his long locks. ' My destiny calls 
 me — a man must face his destiny.' 
 
 Of all Bibhcal heroes, Ziphion, son of Gad, is one of the least 
 remarkable. He is only mentioned twice : there is even imcertainty 
 in the spellmg of his name : and by some he is held to have been a 
 family rather than an individual. Perhaps the name was conferred 
 upon this young poet, while yet an infant, in a spirit of Christian 
 humility. Ziphion B. Trmder ! Neither Christian name nor sur- 
 name quite consorts with a romantic face, jjoetical eyes, and yearning 
 after literary fame. But what are we to do ? We are born to 
 our surnames as we are to our godfathers and godmothers, and 
 are powerles.s, unless, lilve Charles Kingsley's hero, we change 
 both names altogether, which is a kind of forgery. By dint of 
 very great genius, perhaps the commonest of names — even Johnny 
 Briggs or Ziphion Trinder — might be made beautiful in the eyes 
 of the world. Yet somehow it seems as if all great poets, novelists, 
 painters, and artists of every other kind had names sweetly and 
 musically resonant. How beautiful to the ear are the names of 
 Eaffaello, Tasso, Tennyson, B^Ton, Wordsworth, Talma, Eachel, 
 Eossetti, Meredith, Alma Tadema ! Perhaps the constant handling 
 and daily familiar use of these names have jjohshed them up and 
 burnished them so that they now shine and glow and glitter in the 
 sun and show to the best advantage : whereas, were they merely 
 stuck up over shops, they would attract biit httle admiration. 
 
 ' Well but, Ziph,' the girl objected, ' think a httle. You may be 
 a doctor, or a lawyer, or a minister, and yet become an author if 
 you like. Think of Oliver Wendell Holmes. He is a physician.' 
 
 ' No^no — literature is sacred. She will have no divided 
 allegiance. I belong, heart and soul, to literature.' 
 
 'You are ambitious, Ziph,' — the lad blushed — 'nobody except 
 you and me know how ambitious you are. Why not follow the 
 regular hue ? Everyone who wants to become a gi'eat man begins 
 by being a lawyer. I suppose it is different in England. At least 
 I never heard that Lord Sahsbmy or that Mr. Gladstone began in 
 a lawyer's oflfice. But here — think of it, Ziph,' 
 ' I cannot think of itj' he repUed. 
 
6. HERR PAULUS 
 
 'You believe that you can make your living by your poems and 
 stories and things.' Observe that man, mere man, could never bring 
 himself to speak thus coldly to a friend concerning that friend's 
 dearest ambitions. Woman, who belongs to the sensible sex, who 
 has no illusions, and tears away the veil without remorse, and 
 disperses the golden mist, permits herself to say such things. 
 Bethiah knew the boy's dreams and loved to hear them : yet she 
 knew also, or thought she knew, the trifling commercial value of 
 those MSS. which filled his desk, and therefore she said, ' Poems 
 and stories and things.' 
 
 ' Of course,' the boy replied, ' I know very well that at first I 
 may not be successful. Then I must wait in patience and work. I 
 can live on very little. I shall go to one of the cheap boarding- 
 houses where they charge five dollars a week. One poem a week — 
 they couldn't offer less than five dollars for a poem — an essay now 
 and then — a short tale occasionally — one of those that you like so 
 much — a sketch of something or other, dashed off — oh ! I could hve 
 very easily.' 
 
 ' Well : but could you persuade editors to take one poeiu a week ? 
 Don't think, Ziph ' — for he changed coloiu' — ' don't think,' she 
 rejpeated earnestly, ' that I do not like your poems. I am sure they 
 are beautiful. Many poems, not much better, are published every 
 week in our own paper.' — Oh ! Bethiah ! ' not much better ! ' Ziph 
 choked, but repressed himself. ' And yet I fear that you may not 
 get a poem taken every week. And if you wish to rise you must 
 always be learning to write better and better, and so be lifted above 
 the first anxieties for a livelihood.' 
 
 ' Well — if I find any difficulties I shall become a journalist. It's 
 a step down, but still it is hterature.' 
 
 ' If you are going to be a journalist,' the girl insisted, ' why go to 
 New York at all ? Why not begm here, right away ? Or there's 
 Salem, where your father came from, and where you've got cousins. 
 Why not begin in Salem, which isn't fuU of wickedness, like New 
 York?' 
 
 ' No,' said the boy, ' I must go to New York. In Salem I should 
 be buried for ever. It is only in New York that a man can speak 
 so as to be heard all over the American Continent and across the 
 ocean as well. I want a world-wide fame.' Here he blushed, and 
 stammered, and stopped for a moment, because he was ashamed even 
 to speak of his own ambitions. ' I want a world-wide fame,' he 
 repeated, after a gulp. ' I can be satisfied with nothing short of 
 that, I want to speak to aU the ends of the earth. Nobody knows 
 except you. Everybody would laugh at me if they knew.' 
 
 ' I shall never laugh at you, Ziph.' This girl was younger than 
 himself, yet the lad confided in her, asked her advice, and was to 
 some extent guided by her. You have heard what manner of girl 
 she was, so that you will not ask how this could be. 
 
rROLOGUE 7 
 
 ' W^ll, then — you know already what I think. How can people 
 go on living in such a place as this ? It is small and mean and 
 ugly, and the people arc ignorant and conceited and stupid. In 
 books we read — that is, you and I read — none of the others do- 
 about art and society and all the splendid things that go on, but 
 hero we see none of tliem — wo don't belong to the real world, the 
 civilised world that has taken so many years to build.' 
 
 ' "We read of it, Ziph. Does not that content you ? To be sure 
 we cannot go and live in London, if that is what you want. But 
 we are quite as well off as other American citizens. We make our 
 own culture, and everybody says it is much deeper and more real 
 than the aristocratic varnish of Europe.' 
 
 ' And we read about great men, but we never see any of them. 
 Here they are all little men. Yesterday I was in the cemetery 
 looking at the tombs. How many himdreds lie there ! Yet not 
 one — no— not one — who was ever known outside his native place 
 or will be remembered when his children are dead. How can they 
 go on contented to be so obsciu'e '? ' 
 
 The lad had often talked m this way before. But his talk had 
 more meaning in it now that he was going to cast himself upon 
 the world. 
 
 Bethiah, who was neither an agnostic nor an atheist, hastened 
 to administer, or at least to exhibit, the consolations of religion. 
 
 ' Ye — yes,' the boy replied doubtfully, as if ho would like to 
 have, in addition to the Harp and Crown, the remembrance and 
 the contemplation of world-wide fame. Indeed, one cannot but 
 feel as if the great soul of Shakespeare himself must derive con- 
 tinually fresh gratification from the reports daily dropping m of 
 his continued fame. A glorified person whose mortal remains 
 lie in the Tower Hamlets Cemetery, or that of East Finchley, 
 cannot have this satisfaction. 
 
 ' But yet — oh ! To feel that one has lived to some purpose, 
 and has made a mark upon his generation, and is tallied about 
 u-herever the English language is spoken, and will not be forgotten 
 when the breath is out of his body, why,' he stopped and gasped. 
 
 'Always fame and distinction, Ziph,' said the gh-1. 'That is all 
 you think about. Would it not be better to feel that yoiu* work 
 has been good work well done, whether j'ou have won fame or 
 whether you have remained obscm'e ? Then you would die with 
 the assurance ' 
 
 ' You talk as if evei'ybody was always going to church,' the boy 
 interrupted impatiently. ' ^^liy, to do good work and yet miss 
 fame — one wotdd rather — ' he stopped, because on this girl's ears 
 the sentiment in his mind would have soimded like rank blas- 
 phemj-. ' Besides,' he went on, ' do thej' get such an assiu'ance — • 
 these obsciure villagers '? AVhy should tliey get more of it than the 
 men who fight with all the world lookii g on ? ' 
 
8 HERE PAUL US 
 
 ' If you talk of fighting,' said the girl, ' remember how many 
 gladiators die unseen and nnremeuibered.' 
 
 ' Well, they die nobly, because they die fighting. These people 
 die ignobly, as they have lived.' 
 
 Then there was silence awhile. The sun was sinking low and 
 the evening air was quiet, save for the bells of the cows as they 
 were driven slowly home along the road, each one stopping at her 
 own gate. 
 
 ' Ziph,' said Bethiah whispering, ' how much money have you ? ' 
 
 ' Mother will give me a hundred dollars. Father will give me 
 nothing. When I have spent my hundred dollars, he says it will 
 be time enough for him to send lue money to carry me home again.' 
 
 ' I've got a himdred dollars saved, Ziph. You shall have that 
 money too.' 
 
 ' Oh ! no — no.' 
 
 'Yes — you shall — do not say a single word. Why, Ziph, we 
 have been schoolfellows and like brother and sister always, haven't 
 we? 
 
 ' Always, he replied. 
 
 ' Two hundred dollars is not a great deal to give you a fair 
 start, but perhaps it will do.' 
 
 ' It shall do,' said the boy. ' I am siu'e to succeed. I feel that 
 I must succeed. And when I come back here I shall be ' — his 
 voice choked — ' famous. I shall be famous.' 
 
 ' Famous,' repeated the girl, this time careful not to wound his 
 spirit by any prophecy in the Cassandra vein. ' And then you will 
 be happy I hoj^e.' She had no desire for fame, and no confidence 
 at all in fame as a medicine for the procuring of happiness. 
 
 ' Do you remember the Medium who came here last winter ? ' 
 Ziph asked suddenly. 
 
 ' Yes — why ? He was only a common cheat and impostor. 
 What about him ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. He did strange things, anyhow.' 
 
 ' He drank whisky. There was no doubt about that.' 
 
 I think that those Americans to whom the first outward and 
 visible sign of wickedness is the drinking of whiskj^ number about 
 twenty millions. Fortunately for the trade, the population is fifty 
 millions. 
 
 ' Perhaps he did. But suppose — I only say suppose — that by 
 the help of spirits we could not only get a new revelation of the 
 other world, but that we could go to them for advice and guidance, 
 by which we could make ourselves successful. Think how it 
 would be if we could light upon such an adviser as a wise spirit 
 who would tell one what to do.' 
 
 ' Well, Ziph, that is a poet's dream. Go and write a poem 
 showing how a man was led upwards by a spirit, as Dante was led 
 by Beatrice.' 
 
PROLOGUE 9 
 
 ' Dante — yes. He was led to Heaven and Hell and Purj^atory. 
 But I mean — if a man wanted distinction, would it not be a 
 deli^litful thing to find such a spirit who would show him a way.' 
 
 He looked about the garden as if there might possibly be one or 
 two spirits thus benevolently disposed, wise and capable, within 
 hearing. But there followed no sign of their presence. 
 
 ' Always greatness, Ziph ? Why, think of the millions who die 
 unknown I How should you hope to escape the common lot ? 
 One or two out of every generation are remembered for their 
 works. And yet you are dying to be one of them.' 
 
 ' Never mind the improbability. If there were only six men 
 and women in all the world going to be saved, you would try to be 
 one of the six. You know you would. Well now, ever since I saw 
 the Medium -and the wonderful things he did, I have been trying 
 to find out if I, too, were a Medium.' 
 
 ' Ziph ! ' 
 
 ' Because, if I were, I could lift the Veil, as he did, or pretended 
 to do, for myself.' 
 
 ' Ziph ! ' 
 
 • And then I could find that spirit and make him do whatever I 
 pleased.' 
 
 ' Oh Ziph — I am sure it is wicked. Do not — do not go on. 
 Eemember that witches were not suffered in the land.' 
 
 ' I have gone to my own room to try. You sit alone and you 
 do nothing. You look straight before you, and you keep your 
 mind quite clear. Presently there comes a time when the room in 
 which you are fades quite away and is lost. Then everything 
 vanishes. You lose the sense of yourself— you are outside the 
 body — yoiur soul is floating ' 
 
 ' Ziph — stop, I entreat you.' 
 
 For as he spoke his voice dropped and his eyes assumed the far- 
 off gaze of one who looks tlu-ough things and sees them not. 
 
 ' Am I truly behind the Veil ? ' he miurmured, swaying gently 
 to and fro, with hands out-stretched as in the dark. 'I hear "a 
 rustling of wings and a whispering of voices. There is soft music 
 around me : gentle hands touch me : strange lips press my lips : 
 there is fragrance in the air : my feet are on the threshold ' 
 
 ' Ziph ! ' The girl sprang to her feet and caught him by the 
 coat coUar with both hands and began to shake him vigorously. 
 ' Stop play-acting ! ' 
 
 He turned his eyes reproachfully. 
 
 ' Play-acting ! ' he murmm-ed. ' She calls it play-acting ! ' 
 
 ' You were looking exactly as the Medium tried to look. He 
 could not, because he had pig's eyes and fat cheeks. But you, 
 Ziph, you, to descend to the level of that poor creature whose tricks 
 have been exposed again and again ! Oh ! Ziph — it is worse than 
 nonsense — no spirit will ever help you, save to yom- own destruction.' 
 
lO HERR FAULUS 
 
 •"Was I acting?' he repeated, dreauiily. 'Sometimes one. 
 doesn't know whether one is acting or whether it is reahty. How 
 do you know that you have not dragged me back from the very 
 threshokl of the next world — from knowledge and ft'om power ? ' 
 
 ' Stuff and rubbish ! ' said the girl. 
 
 II. 
 
 Six months later, a young man, shabbily dressed, whose boots 
 were down at heel and broken in the toes, walked slowly up the 
 Broadway of New York. His face, sharp and pinched, showed tlie 
 deepest dejection. There are so many sad faces in every great city 
 that the New Yorkers may be pardoned for taking small notice oi 
 this one sad face. 
 
 The lad — he was no more — presently arrived at a certain door 
 on which was a brass plate announcing that here was the office of 
 the ' Spread Eagle Magazine.' He stopped, hesitated, and finally, 
 with a deep sigh, mounted the steps, and entered the oftice. 
 
 ' I have called,' he said, ' about a manuscript I sent to the Editot 
 a short time ago.' 
 
 ' Title and name ? ' asked the clerk, briskly. 
 
 ' It was called " The Veiled Monk of Cordova." ' 
 
 ' Name ? ' 
 
 ' It was signed Paul.' 
 
 '"Veiled Monk of Cordova," by Paul,' repeated the clerk, 
 mechanically, writing on a slip of paper. 
 
 ' Wait half a minute.' The young man obeyed with a certain 
 meekness. 
 
 ' Not been at this busmess long ? ' said the clerk. 
 
 ' What business ? ' 
 
 ' Sending your MSS. around.' 
 
 ' No, not long.' 
 
 ' Ah ! made it pay yet ? ' 
 
 ' Not yet.' 
 
 ' Thought so ' — with a look at the seedy clothes and the worn 
 boots — ' Got anything else to do ? ' 
 
 ' No, nothing else.' 
 
 ' Take my advice, and give it up. Give it up. Bless you, we've 
 thovisands of manuscripts. They come from all i^arts of the States ; 
 from Canada — even from England — with letters and without. If 
 with letters they declare that the writer is starving ; and if without, 
 there is a note on the first page requesting the Editor to attend to 
 this work without the least delay, and to forward the dollars by 
 return post. Get something else to do — give it up, I say.' 
 
 The young man trembled, but made no re])ly. 
 
rROLOGUE II 
 
 * Here's yonr manuscript. See. The Editor lias just looked at 
 two pages — hero's his pencil-mark — and into the basket it ■went. 
 No chance for you. Give it up, I say — it's no use — and try some- 
 thing else.' 
 
 The yoixng man took his manuscript and meekly retired with- 
 out a word. This A\as his last hope : he had ventured to hope once 
 more and for the last time that he might be accepted — and now to 
 be told that it was no use and that he must give it up. 
 
 The young man was none other than Ziphion Trindcr. He had 
 enjoyed six months' experience of the literary life — he called it the 
 literary life — and he had not succeeded in selling a single one of his 
 poems, essays, stories, or sketches — not one — not a single one. 
 
 He arrived brimful of enthusiasm and of hope ; he had a port- 
 manteau stuffed to bursting with the beautiful productions which 
 were to take New York Editors by storm, and strike the whole of 
 the United States, not to speak of Great Britain and her Colonies, 
 with delight and amazement. He began by considering which of 
 the Magazines he should first address : whether Harper, or Scribner, 
 or the Century, or the Atlantic : or Avhcther he should try the 
 English Journals — Longman's, Temple Bar, the Cornliill, the 
 Gentleman's, or Tillotson for the Newspapers. Finally he resolved 
 to be patriotic, and to send the first-fruits of his genius to the 
 magazines of his own country. Afterwards he would cross the 
 ocean and make pale with envy the faces of tlie English writers. 
 
 Why tell the tale ? Everybody will understand that the clever 
 boy's crude productions founcl no favour. He pelted all the Editors 
 with his papers. He had not had a single kind word from one of 
 them, and now it was all over. He had tried all ; he had been 
 rejected by all ; and he had no money left. The situation was truly 
 terrible. At the end of the week he would have to leave his 
 boarding-house ; it was the middle of the winter and he would have 
 no place to lay his head. 
 
 And only six months before he had come to the city, his head 
 aflame, his cheek aglow, resolved to make his fortune and his name 
 at a single bound ! Plere was a fulfilling of destiny I Here was a 
 glorious outcome of ambition ! Many youths of eighteen have the 
 same dream, but few there are who believe in it so profoundly as 
 to reduce it to actual experiment. Poor Ziphion ! what is to be- 
 come of him ? 
 
 He was so miserable that he dared not think, but strolled along 
 in a purposeless way and listened to the talk of the passers by. 
 
 Eii'st there came two girls di'essed in fm's, with thick veils, 
 muffs, and gloves, and protected from the cold by the solid fortifica- 
 tion of a good luncheon. They prattled of chiffons : and they 
 quickly passed him. Then followed two middle-aged men who 
 talked of dollars : and they passed him. Then two elderly ladiea 
 who were talking of their minister : and they passed him. Then 
 
12 HERE PAULUS 
 
 two young men who tallvecl of dollars : and tliey passed him. Then 
 other two young men who tallced of dollars. Then more women 
 and more men, and they all talked of dress and dollars : and they 
 passed him. 
 
 Then there came along a couple of men who were speaking of 
 something else. 
 
 ' I tell you, Doctor,' said one of them, ' that you ought to take a 
 pupU.' 
 
 ' I have often thought of it. The ditliculty is to find a pupil.' 
 
 ' You are not old, but you may die, and then your incomparable 
 powers and your knowledge will die with you — therefore, take a 
 pupil.' 
 
 ' My dear friend, where am I to find one ? I want a thousand 
 qualities combined in one mmd, all of which are rare, taken sepa- 
 rately. For instance, I want youth, quick intelligence, sympathy, 
 a highly nervous and sensitive organisation, a poetic disposition, 
 wide reading, and good education. I want a j'oung man who is 
 perfectly free from the trammels of relations, society, and ties of 
 any kind. I want, besides, one who will give absolute obedience, 
 and preserve, if I requhe it, inviolable secresy. Besides this, he 
 should be a youth mispotted, not like these young Gothamites, up 
 to all kinds of devilry ; and he must be prepared to postpone indefi- 
 nitely the acquisition of dollars. Tell me, my friend, where shall 
 I find such a paragon, such a Phoenix for a pupil '? ' 
 
 They passed him and went on. 
 
 Suddenly the words fell upon Ziphion, who had been listening 
 languidly, with a new meaning. For what pm-pose could this 
 gentleman want such a pupil '? He quickened his steps and fol- 
 lowed the speakers. Presently one of the two broke off and left the 
 other, the man called Doctor, who wanted to find the pupil. 
 
 Ziphion followed this man. He tin-ned out of the Broadway into 
 one of the side streets which cross it at right angles. Presently he 
 stopped at the door of a house. Then^an mspii-ation — it was but 
 a chance — Ziphion hurried up and addressed him. 
 
 ' Sir, I beg your pardon. May I have one word with you ? ' 
 
 ' ^Vhat is it ? ' 
 
 ' You want a pupil. Take me.' 
 
 The man called Doctor looked at him curiously for a few moments. 
 
 * Come in/ he said. 
 
13 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 THE VESTAL VIRGIN. 
 
 At twenty minutes past seven there came into the di-awing-room, 
 as yet em^ity, a girl dressed for the evening. To the general world 
 she was Miss Brudenel, only daughter of Mr. Cjtus Brudenel. But 
 she was known among the more frivolous of her companions, male 
 and female, as the Vestal, or as Sibyl the Vestal, or even as Dodo, 
 for reasons which you will immediately miderstand if you are 
 patient and place a little confidence in your narrator. She answered 
 readily to all these names, if only for the first and most important 
 reason that her full baptismal name was Sibyl Dodona. She would 
 also, I make no doubt, have been baptised Manto Amalthoea Daphne 
 Pythonissa— and then she would have had a truly beautiful name — 
 but for the fact that her father's classical learning was rusty. It 
 will be acknowledged, however, that her name, even without this 
 comiiliment, had an oracrdar, mysterious, Pagan, and Vestal virgin- 
 like ring. Such a name should properly belong to a gud of large 
 and lustrous eyes and pale cheek and lofty brow, charged with the 
 mysterious power of an ancient priestess, filled with the sacred fire 
 of prophecy. But Nature loves to turn the Blanches into Brunettes, 
 and makes the Violets look like full-blown Eoses, and the Pets and 
 Pansies like Queens ; she corrupts the sons of mathematicians so 
 that they become poets, and the sons of poets so that they 
 become engineers. The world, in fact, is full of people destined 
 by their parents for the highest and most dignified offices, who 
 have ended m occupymg positions of a very different kmd. I was 
 myself destined for the Archiepiscopate — I can never gaze upon an 
 Archbishop without a mild wonder how I should look in an apron — 
 and now you see. As for Sibyl, Dame Nature had made of her — 
 though she was solemnly dedicated to the Cause from her very 
 cradle— a damsel less like a young Vestal — I suppose Vestals were 
 sometimes youthful — than any young woman I have ever seen. I 
 may be wrong. And certainly, in the day when Vestals went about 
 
14 II ERR PAULUS 
 
 reprieving cruninals, adoriiin.c^ processions, making the sacrificial 
 ox vainglorious with wreaths of roses, and occupying the front seats 
 while the gladiators slaughtered each other, I seem to have been 
 somewhere else, very likely in the ancient British city of Grims- 
 pomid. Still, speakmg with ditlidence, one thinks of Vestals as of 
 nuns ; and again of nuns, not as the light and frivolous creatures 
 depicted by Gresset and the author of the ' Contes Drolatiques,' but 
 as beings pale, emaciated, austere, given to mortifying the flesh till 
 there was none left to mortify — in itself a mortifying conclusion : 
 regardless of personal appearance ; pleased to have their beautiful 
 hair cut off; delighted to di-ess up in a hideous garb ; joyfully fast- 
 ing ; enduring hardness of all kinds ; never so happy as when they 
 had to tm-n out of a warm bed — but then it was never allowed to be 
 quite warm, so that they might enjoy the misery of cold— and to 
 hurry along a draughty corridor into an ice-cold chapel, there to 
 shiver and to chant a sniffling service. That, I say, is the popular 
 conception of a Vestal virgin. 
 
 The outward appearance which this young lady presented, 
 pointed to anything rather than the life of self-inflicted torture, 
 hmniliation, or discomfort. A pan- of laughing eyes, rosy lips 
 always ready to laugh, light curly hair and plenty of it, a cheek 
 warmed with smishine, the whole face full of possible Venus, as the 
 Deli)hian prophetess of old was full of Apollo, a shapely figme and 
 a generous stature may be outward and visible tokens of a holy 
 vocation, but they are not generally so read and accepted. In 
 the same way she wore her dress of hehotrope silli, trimmed, 
 mounted, and set off with white feathers, as if she felt a solid and 
 substantial pleasure in merely putting on a really beautiful dress, 
 and as if she had no craving at all for the claustral black and white. 
 In her hand she carried a feather fan, quite a mundane pretty thing; 
 and on her wrist was that woiidlj^ gaud, a golden bracelet set with 
 turquoises. And yet her name was Sibyl Dodona. 
 
 The lamps and candles — Lady Augusta had quite an eighteenth 
 centm-y love for wax candles — were lit and in their places, the fire 
 was made up, but the people had not yet arrived. Sibyl glanced 
 first at the clock — she was in good time, twenty minutes before the 
 guests would arrive. Then she looked m a mirror, just to see if 
 that would confirm the general impression of her own" looking-glass 
 and the opinion of her maid. Ai:iy girl would do that, whether she 
 was a Vestal or not — we can picture the handing round of the 
 polished steel mirror among the real Vestals before the ladies formed 
 themselves mto procession, and marched out into the open, grave 
 and solemn and beautiful, the ugly ones, of course, stage-managed 
 into the middle, out of sight. Satisfied with the opinion of the 
 mirror, Sibyl smiled, perhaps at the thought that she had twenty 
 minutes' start of the other people, who were asked to dinner at a 
 quarter to eight and would not appear until that moment. It is 
 
THE VESTAL VIRGhV 15 
 
 just possible that she smiled bccauso she was so early — as one 
 chuckles virtviously at gettin^^ tip by six, two hours before anybody 
 else ; but perhaps there was another reason, for the door was opened 
 and a young man came in — unannounced, because he v/as staying 
 in the house — and Siby blushed and laughed, and blushed again 
 when this young man, .fter entering with the greatest propriety, 
 and looking about, and satisfying himself that there was nobody 
 else in the room, ran across it with the utmost eagerness and 
 /aught both Sibyl's hands, and kissed her on both cheeks and on 
 the lips, with the most daring indifference to time and place, and 
 whispered, ' My dearest Dodo ! ' The most privileged lover could 
 io no more. 
 
 One might have had a worse kind of lover. Many girls are 
 obliged to put iip with a very inferior brand of lover. This young 
 man was strong to begin with. A man ought to be strong. The 
 length and the proportions of his limbs, and the depth of his chest 
 revealed the athlete. I do not know his record at all, nor the length 
 or height of his jump, or anything about his performances, because 
 these are things of Avhich I am profoundly ignorant. The athlete 
 came in after my time. But everyone says that Tom was a good 
 athlete, and one is glad to accept the unanimous opinion. He was, 
 however, more than an athlete. A first class in the Natural Science 
 Tripos and a laboratory record already honourable, had prepared 
 him for the post he now held as one of the Demonstrators in the 
 School of Mines. Those who hold such a post look forward to 
 become Professors in their turn, regarding even Professor Huxley 
 himself as no more than their predecessor, considering themselves 
 as his followers in the advance of science and in fame ; they intend 
 to be made Fellows of the Eoyal Society ; in due course Doctors of 
 Oxford and Cambridge, members of the Athenasum Club, causa 
 honoris; and, to complete their scientific career, Piectors of Glasgow, 
 St. Andrews, and Aberdeen. The Crown alone has no honours, 
 titles, or distmctions for these men. But they need not Crown 
 distinctions : greater honour hath no man than the respect of his 
 coimtry. Pity that they must ever die. The weak point of the 
 scientific yoimg men is that they have a tendency to premature 
 gravity. Oneloves to see a youth of five-and-twenty bubblmg and 
 boiling over with mu'th, and rejoicing in the spring of his manhood. 
 Therefore, it is pleasant to record that Tom Langston — which was 
 this young man's name— was not yet spoiled by his profession, but 
 laughed, and was frivolous, and joked, and was happy, just lilce one 
 of those foolish prodigal young men in the old pictures, who were 
 represented as laughing idiotically, while they ran along a broad road 
 at the end of which was a great door, which, it could be plainly seen, 
 led to flames and was guarded by two horrific devils with tails and 
 hoofs and pitchforks. Yet it was a strong face, pleasingly ugly and 
 pharmingly rugged, though perhaps masterful. Those who knew 
 
I6 HERR PAULUS 
 
 Tom Langston would have said that Sibyl had made no mistake at 
 all when she entrusted to him the happiness of her life. 
 
 ' We only have a few minutes,' she said. ' It was very good of 
 you, Tom, to dress so early. No, sir, not too close, for fear. Stand 
 quite quietly on that side of the fireplace, and I will stand on this. 
 So — more than an arm's length between us, please. What if papa 
 were to come out and find — oh, Tom ! ' 
 
 ' I almost wish he would,' said Tom. ' Then we could have it 
 out at once. When will you let me speak to him, Sibyl ? ' 
 
 ' Not yet — oh, it is not the least use to speak yet. There could 
 not possibly be a more inopi^ortune moment. Why, they have got 
 the most wonderful person in the world coming this very night. 
 He is going to revolutionise every thmg. The IMediums — poor old 
 things ! — are to be quite snuffed out at last with their accordions 
 and their tubes and rubbish. All the old spirits are to be sent to 
 the right about, and we are going to have an entirely new importa- 
 tion. Mr. Emanuel Chick and Lavinia Medlock are invited here 
 to-night for a last appearance, poor dears ! Lady Augusta anticipates 
 the immediate conversion of the whole world ; and my education is 
 to be neglected no longer, so that I may take up my duties as a 
 Vestal as soon as the new man is ready for me. Of course he will 
 only prove another humbug; but he must have his innings, I 
 suppose. And oh, Tom, if you love me do not speak yet.' 
 
 ' Yoii will be of age, Sibyl, ua a few weeks, and then not even 
 5'our father ' 
 
 ' Tom, do not tallc like that. I must be married like other girls, 
 with my father's consent and blessing.' Her voice trembled a little, 
 and her eyes dimmed for a moment. ' You do not know how much 
 he loves me, and what great things he expects of me. It will break 
 his heart when he finds out that I cannot do what he expects and 
 hopes.' 
 
 ' Great things, indeed ! With the Raps ! ' 
 
 ' I suppose it is no use suggesting such a thing, Tom, biit if you 
 really desired to win his consent yoi; might pretend to be a Medium, 
 and to talk with the spirits, and so work round to the subject 
 gradually.' 
 
 ' It is such a sorry business, Sibyl. I could not possibly pretend 
 to have the least hand in it.' 
 
 Sibyl sighed profoundly. 
 
 ' No, Tom,' she said, ' of course you would not practise any 
 such deception. But it seems so sad, I feel like the Agnostic 
 daughter of a pious and earnest Bishop. Like her, I do not dare to 
 reveal my unbelief.' 
 
 ' Yet you do not believe in it ? ' 
 
 ' No, I have lost every shred of belief, and I am afraid to tell 
 them so. All my life long I have been looking on at manifestations 
 and messages, and tliey have always been the same ; and, oh ! dear 
 
THE VESTAL VIRGIN Vj 
 
 me ! in spite of the messages, it seems to me as if we were not the 
 least bit advanced.' 
 
 ' You are not,' said Tom, ' so that either the spu-its know no 
 more than we ah-eady know, or there are no spirits.' 
 
 ' And I have at last ^oi," continued the girl with a little laugh, 
 ' to know exactly where the things come in and how they lead up to 
 theci — the raps and the music and the rest of it, j'ou know — the 
 thmgs which may be tricks.' 
 
 ' I should think they were tricks ! ' Tom replied, contemptuouslj'. 
 'AVhy, Dodo, you are just like a girl who goes to see a melodrama 
 every night m her life, and so gets to know all the sm-prises and 
 where they come in, and expects the startles and the jumps. To 
 think that a reasonable man should give up his whole life to the 
 encouragement of thefe miserable impostors, when there is the 
 whole world of science before liim ! ' This is said with all the scorn 
 of a full-blown Professor, not a mere Demonstrator. 
 
 ' Try to be more patient with my father,' said Sibyl, ' for my 
 sake, Tom. He is not a common curious pryer into secrets : he 
 wants to search and find out, if he can, what is possible to be dis- 
 covered of the other world ' 
 
 'And I,' said her lover, 'find my hands full of the world that is 
 around xis. Give me science to work for and love to live for ; and 
 when life is over I shall await without fear the life — if there is 
 any — which lies beyond.' 
 
 Every age has its formulae. Perhaps this is one belonging to 
 our age. 
 
 But it was twenty minutes to eight and the people began to 
 come. 
 
 The first comers were two gu'ls, who also came in imannounced, 
 because one of them was staying in the house and the other was 
 her companion. Cicely Langston, Tom's first cousm, and, lilve him, 
 the ward of Mr. Cjtus Brudenel, was blind from mfancy, but she 
 walked everywhere about the house without being led, though her 
 companion was always with her. 
 
 ' You here, Tom ? ' she said, walking straight to the spot where 
 he stood by the fireplace. ' You are ch-essed early to-night. That 
 is very unusual.' 
 
 ' No, Cis. Perhaps it is my anxiety to witness the fireworks we 
 are to have to-night, which made me hurry up.' 
 
 Cicely smiled and sat down, her eyes closed, her hands crossed 
 in her lap, in the patient and pathetic attitude of the blind. She 
 said nothing in reply, because her cousin's scoffing attitude as 
 regards the Eesearches carried on iji that house was well known to 
 everybody. She was somewhat like him, though with that kind of 
 likeness which vanishes when you look into details. For where his 
 featiu"es were rugged, hers were regular ; and while his face was 
 ruddy, hers was pale ; and while his expression was combative 
 
 c 
 
 1 
 
1 8 UERR PAULUS 
 
 liers was full of patience and resignation. Her features were delicate 
 and fine ; her nature, one perceived at once, was incapable of the 
 stronger passions, but was Avholly governed by the affections. 
 
 She was dressed in what seemed to be black lace and nothing 
 else, with a bunch of freshly-cut llowers at the neck. The observant 
 person, while admiring the dress itself, which was not only costly 
 but artistic, would have objected that it was 'put on ' rather than 
 worn. This effect is produced, with the best di'ess ever made, when 
 a shop gkl dresses a dummy, or when an artist dresses a lay figure — 
 no lay figure could ever yet be made to show a pride in her 
 ' things' — or when a ladj^'s maid dresses a young lady who is pro- 
 foundly indifferent as to what she has on. There really are a few 
 young ladies of whom this may be said, only they are all blind 
 from bu'th. Cicely Langston was one of them. She resigned 
 herself to be di'essed for the evening as for a drive, but gave no 
 thought to her raiment, except, perhaps, that she liked it soft and 
 warm. 
 
 The girl who entered the room with her was her companion, 
 Hetty Medlock. Companions, one observes, governesses and private 
 secretaries, are all apt to fall into one of two faults. Either they go 
 about with a sidky and discontented an- which they vainly try to 
 dissemble, or they assiune, and habitually wear like a grinning 
 mask, an impossibly cheerful look, as if they loved a condition of 
 dependence, and would choose it out of all the lots and fortunes 
 offered to mankind. Hettj^ was still too young for the cloud of 
 discontent to have permanently settled upon her brow; but to-night 
 she was clearly discontented with somethmg, very likely with her 
 grenadine dress, which, like a man with a gi'ey beard, could no 
 longer pretend to be young. This is a quite sufficient reason for 
 any girl to be discontented. Perhaps she looked discontented be- 
 cause she did not like her work. Since, however, work of some 
 kind was necessarj^ Hetty Medlock might have shown something 
 of that thankful heart which one expects even in a pauper who gets 
 a job — and, besides, many girls would have jumped at such a job as 
 l)eing companion to a girl who was the most imselfish creature and 
 had the sweetest temper in the world. On the other hand, it must 
 be confessed that to be a companion at all is to be, in a way, a 
 lousehold servant, and such gu-ls as Hetty especially dislike house- 
 hold servitude. 
 
 Hetty Avas the daughter of the once famous Lavinia Medlock, a 
 Medium of the first water in the day, now five -and -twenty years 
 ago, when people still loved to turn tables, Usten to raps and receive 
 messages of the old-fashioned kind, and when such a simple message 
 as one from a lost child to the effect that she was happy, brought 
 inexpressible joy to a bereaved heart. No person evei; was such a 
 benefactor in this respect as Tjavinia Medlock. But though she was 
 still ready to turn on a tek'2)honic communication with any spirit 
 
THE VESTAL VIRGIN 19 
 
 you might call for, the world no longer came to her house to 
 enquu-e. Wicked people had got her into trouble by asking for 
 messages from persons alleged to be deceased who had never 
 existed — and yet the messages came. Distinguished spirits, such 
 as those of Lord Byi'on, Shakespeare, and even Dr. Johnson, had 
 taken a pleasm-e in bringing her into ridicule by rapping nonsense, 
 insomuch that her i^ractice had almost entirely fallen off, and she 
 was now fain to let lodgings. Her husband had long since run 
 awaj^ chivied out of his own house, as he himself said, while draw- 
 ing on his gloves, \>y bell-rmging, raps, sighs, whispers, cold breaths, 
 .md such supernatural small ware. He bore it as long as he could, 
 but he was not a brave man, and his nerves gave way. Therefore 
 he went away, with a small handbag, into the Night, or the 
 Shadows, or the Darkness, and was no more heard of. He was by 
 profession a clerk, and when impecunious clerks go out into the 
 Night or the Shadows, they generally get their feet upon those steps 
 which go swiftly down to Sheol. In any case Mr. Medlock had 
 been no more heard of. 
 
 If Hetty had looked happier she would have been a very 
 beautiful girl, much more strikingly beautiful than Sibyl. She 
 possessed a pair of large and lustrous eyes, dark enough to be 
 called black, an unusual thing in an English girl, and a great mass 
 of thick black hair. It was the face of a girl in whom passion was 
 possible — passion on a grand scale, Spanish or Italian passion, with 
 bm-ning jealousy and revenge. Fortunately, such girls in these 
 days of self-restraint and repression and the shame of showing any 
 sign of strong feeling are rare. 
 
 ' Well,' said Tom, ' I hope the grand Function will come off suc- 
 cessfully, and then there will be no room for doubt left at all, will 
 there, Cis ? ' 
 
 ' There is already no room left for doubt, in the minds of a 
 great many people,' Cis rephed with the calm conviction of a be- 
 liever. 
 
 ' Oh, I only said what I believed to be the correct thing to say 
 after every new manifestation of the spirits.' 
 
 ' To me,' said Cicely, ' life is all shadow. Wlaether it is a spirit 
 of this or of the other world that speaks to me, matters little, so 
 that it is a good spirit. Sometimes we have had communicationb 
 with those who are not good spirits.' 
 
 ' That's just it,' said her cousin, ' and the only way to keep out 
 the deceiving spirits is to draw the line so as to include only the 
 spirits of this world. From the nonsense they talk I should be in- 
 chned to beheve that we never get hold of the good spirits of tho 
 otlier world at all. What do you thmk. Miss Medlock ? ' 
 
 ' Wliy do you ask me, Mr. Langston ? ' she rexjlied. ' Has not my 
 mother been a Medium for thirty years ? Am I to acknowlcdgo 
 that all her friends are of the baser sort ? ' 
 
 c2 
 
20 HERR PAULUS 
 
 Then Lady Ai;giista came in, followed by Mr. Cyrus Brudenel, 
 and the other guests invited to dine, and to assist at whatever might 
 follow afterwards, began to arrive. 
 
 CIIAPTErt II. 
 
 THE LEADER, 
 
 Mr. Cyrus Brudenel has been for many years, as everj'body 
 knows, the recognised leader in the spiritualistic world of London. 
 Other people may have come to the front for a moment by virtue 
 of peculiar powers and excellencj' of gifts. They have played their 
 parts, received their applause, made their bows, and then retired. 
 But Mr. Cyrus Brudenel remains. In every cause, movement, or 
 party there is its Mr. Brudenel, whose name is inseparably mixed 
 up with it. He must be rich and married ; he must live in a great 
 house, and his wife nnist be always receiving. Further, he nmst be 
 a sincere believer in the cause. In short, what Lord Shaftesbury, 
 to take a well-known case, was to the Evangelical party in the 
 Church, so Mr. Cyrus Brudenel was to the Spiritualists. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel was the second son of the late Mr. Abraham 
 Brudenel, shipowner and millionaire. His elder brother, created a 
 baronet in 1872, in gratitude for large monej'S spent in the advance 
 of the Liberal cause, has been recently, for similar reasons, pro- 
 moted to the peerage, and now enjoj'S the rank and title of Lord 
 Bow and Bromley. Cyrus, for his part, passed through school and 
 imiversity with no incidents to speak of, and took an ordinary 
 degree after a career marked on the one hand by no tiurbulence, 
 effervescence, or hot madness of youth, and, on the other hand, by 
 no apparent superiority of intellect or academic distinctions. In 
 fact there was nothing at all to indicate his future greatness. On 
 the demise of Abraham, the firm was converted into the well-known 
 Company, Limited, and the sons, who sold out their interest, 
 bouglit land with the monej- they received. This, a few short years 
 ago, was the recognised first step with those who wished at once to 
 make an investment absolutely safe and to rise higher on the 
 social ladder. What is to take the place of land, supposing that men 
 continue to get rich, which is doubtful, and still aspire to enter 
 society, which is not doubtful, has not yet been determined. 
 
 I know not by what means the mind of Cyrus Brudenel was 
 first turned in the direction of Spiritualism. Perhaps by simple 
 curiosity : perhaps by the natural longing of mankind to enquire 
 after the Unknown and strive to see the Invisible. For thirty 
 years and more he had experienced convictions of the truth, and 
 been one of those disciples whom nothing can shake from their 
 
THE LEADER 21 
 
 allegiance. Yet, which is a symptom common to all Spiritualists 
 and jieculiar to them — he was not restful and settled and con- 
 tented, but remained alwaj-s eager after new manifestations, raven- 
 ous for further contirmations, and still unsatisfied with tho 
 messages which come in plenty to those who enquire. He has 
 assisted in his time at numberless seances ; he has been rewarded 
 by the most stupendous miracles of undoubted and undeniable 
 genuineness ; in his presence the heaviest and most solemn tables 
 have become frisky and frivolous ; the bulkiest of Mediums have 
 lost their ponderosity and been wafted about like feathers. Yet he 
 has never been satisfied ; for in miracles, as at dinner, appetite 
 comes to those who eat, and one is never full. 
 
 On the other hand, it cannot be denied that Mr. Brudenel has 
 been too frequently the prey to lying spirits, and has been often 
 imposed upon by brazen impostors pretending to supernatural 
 powers. At one time, for instance, when he entrusted the whole 
 conduct of his affairs to the advice of the spu'its, who told him what 
 to do by means of his then favourite a\Iedium — it was Mr. Emanuel 
 Chick — he was made to buy a good many shares in ventiires which 
 somehow all turned out badly. There were suspicions that the 
 Medium had been squared, but Mr. Brudenel preferred to lay the 
 blame upon the spirits. The commercial element among those 
 with whom we are permitted to converse is one, he says sadly, 
 whose City record, did we know it, would probably prove shady. 
 
 His triumphs ; his disappointments ; his real and sincere con- 
 victions of the truth and final success of his cause ; the yielding and 
 treacherous nature of the ground on which he stood ; his insatiable 
 thirst for a fuller and a deeper revelation, with manifestations of a 
 more startling kind, and beyond the possibUity of doubt ; the adula- 
 tion of the Mediums who lived upon his word; the consciousness of 
 Leadership — all these things together had stamped his face with an 
 expression as full of varied emotions as the cauldron at Camacho's 
 wedding was full of every delectable dainty. Among them might 
 have been observed — as the reporter says — pride, dignity, import- 
 ance, hope, enthusiasm, doubt, fear, suspicion, irritability, jealousy, 
 and many other passions. He was certainly dignified in his car- 
 riage ; he was certainly hesitating in his speech ; his words were 
 brave but his manner was nervous. As for his tigm-e, he was tall 
 and portly ; he had gro^\'n bald and grey but had as yet no look of 
 old age or decay. His face, handsome still at sixty, must have been 
 far more strikingly handsome at thirty. This is not surprising when 
 we reflect that his aristocratic features and his noble presence were 
 inherited fi-om a long hue of ancestors who were all, to a man, 
 porters, labourers, di-aymen, rustics, mechanics, and craftsmen fi'om 
 time immemorable iintil Abraham, afterwards the millionaire, left 
 the ranks of labour to become a clerk. The enemies of Cyrus 
 Brudenel call him names, such as Pump, Old Pump, Solemn Old 
 
22 HERR PAULUS 
 
 Pump, and the like, which 1 will not repeat. To be sure his best 
 friends could not pretend that he was hvely and sparkling; but 
 then he was a Leader in a Cause on which ridicule, epigram, irony 
 and contempt have been freely hurled, not only by wit and by 
 philosopher, but also by the baser sort, because there is none so vile 
 but he can jeer at spirits and ghosts. To such a Leader, all laughter 
 is lilie the crackling of thorns beneath a pot ; and if you should be 
 so ill-advised as to laugh in Mr. Brudenel's presence he would 
 become that pot and presently boil over. 
 
 As for Lady Augusta, his second wife : — 
 
 There is a certain type of wife, which will, I fear, with the march 
 of woman's education and the cultivation of her critical faculty, 
 grow rapidly rarer until it finally becomes extinct. I mean the wife 
 who ardently adopts her husband's creed, convictions, dogmas, 
 hobbies, and Party as her own, and enters into the very inner sphit 
 of that creed or Party. Thus, there is no person in the world who 
 more profoundly believes the doctrine of the High Church than the 
 ^vife— if she be of this type— of the Eitualistic clergyman ; there is 
 no ijerson more profoundly agitated about the future state of her 
 own soul than the wife of the Calvinist ; there is no one who more 
 honestly believes in the Connection than the wife of the Minister. 
 If the husband be a man of science, the wife will breathe the atmo- 
 sphere of science, and live wholly in the scientific world ; if he be 
 an artist, she will live among the studios and talk of Art ; if he be 
 a musician, she will talk and think of music all her life ; if he be a 
 shopkeeper — but here we draw the line, because there is, it must be 
 admitted, a universal tendency to sink the shop. 
 
 Lady Augusta belonged to this type. She felt no doubts— she 
 had no hesitations. ' I have seen too much,' she said, ' to admit of 
 any room for doubt. After all, my dears,' she added, ' one is pos- 
 sessed of eyes and of the reasoning faculty. Oh ! we are on the 
 verge of a new revelation. I look for it daily ; I expect the Prophet ; 
 he may come at any day or any moment, and then — oh ! then — 
 there will begin for the world in my drawing-room a new Age of 
 Faith which will restore happiness for ever to suffering humanity.' 
 
 The days passed and the looked-for Prophet came not. 
 
 Lady Augusta, a handsome woman still, and a grande dame de 
 par le vionde, was now thirty-five. She could therefore no longer 
 welcome that Prophet in her youth. Now if anything wonderful is 
 to happen to a woman in her lifetime, she would naturally prefer it 
 to happen in the time of her youth and beauty. It would be 
 delightful to become the. h-iend— in pure Platonic bonds — of ^ a 
 Prophet ; to make his earthly existence smooth and happy for 
 him ; to be young with him and to gi-ow old with him. But he 
 came not : and Lady Augusta's youth took to itself wings and flew 
 away. 
 
 Perhaps, however, the Prophet would be a venerable sage. 
 
THE LEADER 23 
 
 Meantime, five-and-thirty is not old for a Qnecn of any cause. 
 Ladj' Augusta was the luidoubted Queen of the Spiritualists, and 
 she maintained her Court with a graciousness and a hosi^itality 
 truly admirable. 
 
 To be taken u}) by Lady Augusta was to secure pubhc attention ; 
 every Medium made straight for her drawing-room ; her name was 
 perfectly well-known in New York, St. Petersburg, Paris, and m 
 every spiritualistic centre. No doubt the occult plutosophers, 
 Mahatmas, and Adepts of Thibet regard her with favour, though 
 they have never yet visited her. She had her circle of com'tiers as 
 weU as her continual stream of ever new and richly gifted Mediums 
 who wanted a clientele and an income : round her were gathered 
 all those thinkers who are perpetually engaged in trying to look 
 behind the Veil. 
 
 Behind the Veil. We, who live in this great crowded anthill 
 and struggle and toil daily with our fellow ants, bearing our burdens 
 and living in the present, rejoicing m the sunshine of the moment, 
 Batisfied with life, contented if we do not suffer pain, careless for 
 the most part of what may happen when this life is done — we 
 humble, common folk, I saj', hardly know anything of the world 
 which thinks of nothing but to pry behind the Veil. To us it is a 
 great black bank of cloud, Ij'ing all romid us, whichever way we 
 look. It is as the black spaces between the stars : we cannot look 
 long upon it v/ithout a reeling of the brain. Sometimes, to those 
 who think of it, it seems to roll towards us, sometimes to roll back 
 a little way : whenever we make a great physical discovery there is 
 a feeling that now, at last, we may have rolled it away altogether 
 and for ever. But it does not roll away, and, my brothers, I think 
 that it will never either lift or roll awaj^, whatever we may discover, 
 and that we know already everything that mankind will ever be 
 permitted to know of the other world. Even if we find the secret 
 of birth and growth and decay : even if we prolong oiu- own lives 
 indefinitely, the secret of the other world wiU never, I am siu'e, be 
 found out by any efforts of human ingenuity. 
 
 But, for these people, life has no other interest. For them there 
 is nothing else. Science, art, literature, philosophy are foolish and 
 futile. Politics are unworthy the attention of a serious person. 
 Religion, if they have any, which is not always the case, is incom- 
 plete without the supplementary revelation for which they are 
 always looking. Reason is insufficient unless it is aided by the 
 counsel and guidance of the spirits whom they consult every day. 
 Even if they saw, with the earthly eye, the New Jerusalem itself 
 descending from the clouds, they would go and ask the spnits by 
 the well-known machinery if it was a real city and a thing to be 
 rehed upon. 
 
 In every age there have been always such men. They used to 
 consult the wise women, and to ask the future in the thousand and 
 
24 HERR PAULUS 
 
 on© ways wliieli have been enumerated for us by the Sage of 
 Meudon. They inquu-ed of the oracle : they cast nativities : they 
 sought for the Philosopher's Stone and for the Ehxir of Life : they 
 looked in the Crystal and practised palmistry : they turned tables : 
 they listened to raps : they pretended to mysterious powers : they 
 talked of the Eosy Cross, the Kabbala, and Hermes : they recorded 
 the lives of necromancers and the miracles which they wrought : 
 they looked for hidden secrets wrapped in allegory : they whispered 
 and mumbled and made themselves into societies and sects : and in 
 these latter days they read the secret thou.c^hts of mankind, they 
 put on astral bodies, they defy space and time, they boast of 
 Charma, and they belong to the Sacred College of the Occult 
 Philosoj)hers. 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 THE PKOPHET. 
 
 But it was now past eight, and everybody had arrived except the 
 guest of the evening, who always comes last. The people were 
 sitting or standing about, w^ith conventional smUes and hungry 
 hearts, exchangmg words which meant nothing, and boiling with 
 indignation to think that a mere Medimn should presume to keep 
 them fi-om dinner. For, although a man may boast the most un- 
 doubted supernatural powers, there exists in Spiritualistic circles a 
 widely-spread feehng that a Medium ought to know his place, and 
 that it is to the last degree unbecoming for him to keep ladies and 
 gentlemen waiting. 
 
 On such an occasion the guests belonged to the highest circle of 
 Spiritualists — they were attended, no doubt, by their friendly 
 Spu-its, but these were in\-isible. Among them, for instance, was 
 the famous Athelstan Kilbm-n, barrister-at-law. Forty years ago, 
 Mr._ Athelstan Kilburn became an original member of the first 
 Society for Psychical Eesearch which was founded at Cambridge, 
 having precisely the same objects as Mr. Henry Sidg^vick's later 
 association, and was, therefore, probably established in imitation of 
 it. His fi'iends have long since gone off to practical questions, and 
 some have gone up the ladder and become Bishops, Judges, Q.C.'s, 
 Archdeacons, Deans, Physicians, Quarterly Eeviewers, Editors, 
 Professors, Head Masters, Leader AVriters, and even Novelists. 
 But Athelstan KUburn went on Eesearching, and for the sake of 
 the Spirits has sacrificed his ambition and his career. 
 
 There was again the equally well-known Eev. Amelius Horton, 
 senior fellow of King Henry's College, Cambridge, who heals the 
 sick by touch, and cures the halt and lame, and makes the rheu- 
 
THE PROPHET 2$ 
 
 matic go upright. At least, he says he does. He also claims to 
 have foretold the earthquake which happened in Egypt on the 
 occasion of the transit of Venus ten years ago or so. He says it 
 happened in accordance with his prediction, and that he distinctly 
 felt the shock, though the papers agreed to pass it over. Lastly, he 
 keeps up direct communication with a great quantity of spirits, 
 some of whom make drawings for him consisting of curves of quite 
 wonderful design and of previously imheard of colour. As might be 
 expected, these pretensions and powers make him an immense 
 favourite with his brother Dons, who are gi-eatly puffed up with 
 pride in him and talk about him as much as ever they possibly 
 can. 
 
 The professional Medium was represented by Mr. Emanuel 
 Chick. He is now advanced in years, and has di'opped out of 
 fashion, like his former rival, Lavinia Medlock. But in the old 
 days he appeared at the Tuileries before the Emperor, and at St. 
 Petersburg before the Czar ; he has been made the subject of papers 
 and leaders in the ' Saturday,' the ' Spectator,' and the Dailies ; he 
 has also submitted his ' claims ' to the investigation of Professors 
 Huxley and Tyndall. He has therefore a glorious past to remember, 
 even if the present be a time of tightness. In appearance Mr. 
 Chick resembled a waiter in a third-rate City dinmg-room. One 
 looked for the napkin. 
 
 While they waited and talked, the voice of Lady Augusta 
 was raised a little louder than usual, as if she wished all to hear. 
 
 'Yes,' she said, 'Herr Paulus is actually in the house. He 
 arrived an hour ago.' 
 
 ' Oh ! and you have seen him ? ' The speaker was Mrs. Tracy 
 Hanley, whose Sunday evenings are well-known. 
 
 ' Not yet. He went straight to his room. But I can tell you 
 something about him, if we have time. I have here a letter from 
 our friend, Anna Petrovna, the well-known adept of St. Petersbm-g, 
 you know. She says ' — Lady Augusta opened the letter and 
 read : — 
 
 ' " Our brother Paulus, who is on his way to England, is one of 
 those rare and precious human creatm'es who acquire early in life 
 powers which the more dull can only attain to after years of work 
 and struggle. He proposes, if he meets with a sympathetic 
 ckcle " ' 
 
 ' He will— he will,' sighed Mrs. Tracy Hanley. 
 
 ' " To preach the Higher Philosophy m a way which will be 
 entirely new to you. I declare that until conversing with Herr 
 Paulus and seeing with my own eyes the exercise of a power which 
 I had before only heard and read of, I had no true conception of 
 his philosophy. My dear sister in those ties which are more sacred 
 than the ties of blood, begin by dismissing from your mind all pre- 
 conceived ideas of Spiritualism, as well as all prejudice and suspicion. 
 
26 HERR PAUL US 
 
 He makes a new departure. His soul is candour itself; he is as 
 pure as the white leaf of a lily ; he is as incapable of deception as 
 one of the lofty spirits with whom he holds habitual communion ; 
 he trusts and expects to be trusted. In a word, my dear Augusta, 
 take him to your heart." ' 
 
 Perhaps it was a pang of hunger which made Mr. Emanuel 
 Chick snort at this point. 
 
 ' " It is only by sj^mpathy, by confidence, and by affection that 
 he can be won, step by step, to unfold his soul. He is entirely 
 beyond and above any considerations of money ; his wants, which 
 are simple, are supplied by his Friends ; take care not to oiler him 
 any money." ' 
 
 It was no doubt hunger again which caused Mr. Emanuel Chick 
 to breathe loud at this point. 
 
 ' " I do not know that there is anything more to say by way of 
 introduction. My dear sister, we are on the eve of the most stu- 
 i;)endous revolution of thought that the world has ever seen. It 
 will begin in England— Christian, bigoted, prejudiced, conservative 
 England." ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Mrs. Tracv Hanley clasped her hands to her bosom. 
 ' How delightful ! How wonderful ! And his name — Paulus — 
 Paulus — German for Paul. Why do they always have such strange 
 names ? ' 
 
 ' I believe the people who possess the largest portions of these 
 gifts have generally — I know not why — been sons of the soil.' 
 Here Lady Augusta dropped her voice because Mr. Emanuel Chick 
 undoubtedly looked like a gentleman who had made himself, after 
 an imperfect training in the Art of Sculpture. ' They have got an 
 astounding collection of names — down there. This man, however, 
 seems in some essentials quite different from others whom we have 
 received here.' 
 
 ' From his name he must be a German,' said Mrs. Tracy Hanley. 
 ' He is probably middle-aged. He will be too careless to think of 
 his dress ; he wiU trample a good deal on our little social con- 
 venances — that matters nothing ; he will have spectacles and blue 
 eyes and a big beard, and he will talk about nothing but tho 
 spirits.' 
 
 ' That we must expect of such a man and in this house. As for 
 me,' said Lady Augusta, looking round the room and through tho 
 bodies of her friends, ' I live among them — they whisper to mo 
 continually, and I hear their wings at every moment.' 
 Her friend shuddered. But it was a strange house, 
 ' Well then, dear Lady Augusta, I am only afraid that he will 
 Bmell of tobacco and say " Zo." But oh ! what matters the smell 
 of tobacco if a man has such gifts ? ' 
 
 Lady Augusta smiled with superiority of knowledge. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus may be tho exact opposite of all that you imagine. 
 
THE PROPHET 27 
 
 I think from another passage in Anna's letter that he will bo a 
 great success, not only in the way pointed out by Anna Petrovna,' 
 here she lowered her voice again, ' but also a social success. How 
 much more I dare not thmk. "We want a new departure. Every- 
 thing has grown stale. All the answers to aU the questions have 
 faded. All the old systems are breakmg down. We are on the eve 
 of a imivcrsal collapse of systems and of Faiths, and nothing reaUy 
 new has been proposed. In fact, my dear, we want — we must have 
 — a new Gospel. I pray that this stranger may preach it to the 
 world — in my drawing-room.' 
 
 At this moment Herr Paulus himself appeared. I believe that 
 everybody had expected just such a person as that described by 
 Mrs. Tracy Hanley. That is the only way in which we can account 
 for the fact that everybody with one consent gasped. Because the 
 man who stood before them was not in the least like the middle- 
 aged, spectacled German imagined by that lady. There was nothing 
 Teutonic about him at all but his name — nor was he middle-aged 
 nor did he wear spectacles — nor did he carry a big pipe in his hand. 
 Instead of all this they saw before them a yoimg gentleman, appa- 
 rently much too young to have achieved anything worthy of remark. 
 As a rule it is only senior wranglers who ever get the chance of 
 being famous before tive-and-twenty, except a poet or two, a lucky 
 officer or two, and a Prime Minister or two. This young man — 
 could he really be Herr Paulus?— was certainly not more than 
 foiur-and-twenty. He was not bearded, bald, or grizzled, but smooth- 
 faced, save for a light moustache ; he was not attired in the stage 
 dress, so to speak, of the German philosopher, but in that of a 
 private gentleman who knows the power and value of personal 
 appearance, and is attentive to every detail, so that he was not only 
 well dressed, but simply dressed, with no more jewellery than a 
 gold chain across his waistcoat, and a single pearl stud in his shirt, 
 and no other ornament than a small white flower. 
 
 Could this man be the great luminary of occult science spoken 
 of in such glowing terms by the theosophic sister of St. Petersburg ? 
 In height he was reasonably tall, or tall as a young man need desire 
 to be — namely, about five feet ten ; his figure was slight and not 
 in the least athletic, but active and full of spring — more like the 
 figure of a Frenchman than an Englishman ; his features were 
 curiously dehcate and regular. ' Dodo,' Tom mm-mured, ' I beUeve 
 he's a young New Yorker. I've seen them made that way.' His 
 black eyes, though somewhat deep-set, were keen and swift and fuU 
 of hght; his forehead was white and high; his cheek was pale. 
 Never, certainly, since spu'ituahsm, clauwoyance, telepathy, and 
 occult philosophy first began, was there seen such a Medium; 
 always the Medium was tmcouth and unused to the ways of polite 
 society, and always he was ill-dressed as well as ill-mannered ; 
 generally he was middle-aged. Surely, if this man was a Medium 
 
28 , > HERR PAUL US 
 
 he was the pearl of his profession ! Again, his hair, so dark as to 
 seem ahnost black, was worn rather longer than is the fashion with 
 most young men ; he wore it parted on the left, and it rose over 
 his forehead in a natural arch that is unusual and most effective. 
 
 ' I'm sure he's a New Yorker, Dodo,' Tom whispered again. 
 * He's one of the sort they call dudes.' 
 
 In one detail only he differed from the ordinary young man of 
 society. It was that he wore kid gloves. To be sure he had only 
 just come from St. Petersburg, where the white kid glove is de 
 rigneur, and perhaps, though this I do not know, it is always 
 custoinary in New York. 
 
 It was, in fact, none other than the Doctor Mirabilis, Herr 
 Paulus himself. He stood at the door for a moment, and surveyed 
 the assembly with a rapid glance ; then, without the least embar- 
 rassment, and with a manner perfectly easy and assured, and yet 
 entirely devoid of side and swagger, he quietly stepped across the 
 room to his hostess. Perhaps he knew her by the single step she 
 made to meet him. Anyhow, there was no hesitation. 
 
 ' Lady Augusta ' — he bowed low, putting his heels together. 
 Therefore he was not an Englishman, because no Englishman 
 knows how to make a bow. But he raised his head and took her 
 hand. ' I have seen you already,' he mui'mured, ' while I was in 
 St. Petersburg. I came here in the spirit. And I am assured 
 aheady that our souls will be in sympathy.' 
 
 His voice was extremely soft and musical, his eyes met Lady 
 Augusta's with a steady glow of affection and friendship which 
 moved her strangely. And he held her hand in the warm long 
 grasp of one who greets a long absent friend. 
 
 Could he — oh ! — could he be the long looked for Prophet ? 
 
 Then he turned to Mr. Brudenel, whom also he seemed to 
 know. 
 
 ' Mr. Cyrus Brudenel,' he said, ' I have brought many messages 
 for you and some gifts from my Friends, who have long recognised 
 your true worth.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel generally gave his Mediums two fingers to shake, 
 after the manner of the late Lord Shaftesbury with the inferior 
 clergy, but in this case he surrendered his whole hand. Herr 
 Paulus took it with less warmth than he had taken Lady Augusta's, 
 and he looked curiously into Mr. Brudenel's face as if trying to 
 read something there. 
 
 ' Very glad, Herr Paulus,' said his host, trying to put on the air 
 of patronage with which he generally received his Mediums, ' very 
 glad to make your acquaintance.' 
 
 ' I was with you — in the spirit. Yesterday morning it was, Mr. 
 Brudenel, in your library. You were reading.' 
 
 ' I was,' said Mr. Brudenel. 
 
 Everybody knew that Herr Paulus had only that day arrived 
 
THE PROPHET 29 
 
 from St. Petersburg. But nobody expressed the least surprise. In 
 this house anything miglit happen. 
 
 ' You were reading a novel by Ouida, called " Moths." ' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel changed coloiu-, and some of the people smiled. 
 
 'Ah! yes — in fact — yes — I was lookmg into one of her 
 books.' 
 
 ' You turned the page down at 144,' Herr Paulus continued, 
 ' and you resumed your reading this morning until you arrived at 
 page 280.' 
 
 « Yes — yes,' said Mr. Brudenel, much confused at being found 
 out in reading Ouida. ' Ah ! in this house, Herr Paulus, we are 
 never surprised even at being reminded of trivial actions in the — 
 ah ! —privacy of a study. We are never surprised, and we expect a 
 great deal — ah ! — a great deal.' 
 
 He meant, I suppose, to indicate first, that they were all quite 
 used to people going about without their bodies and being able to 
 see things ; secondly, that his study ought to be considered private 
 and confidential ; and thirdly, that after this nasty one, he intended 
 to be critical and exacting. 
 
 ' Ouida's novels,' said Herr Paulus severely, ' are not the best 
 preparation for spiritual study. Y^om- attitude of mind prevented my 
 commimicating with yon, Mr. Brudenel.' 
 
 Everybody lowered their eyes at this rebulie and no one ven- 
 tm-ed to 'look at their Chief. Had anyone, ever before, seen or heard 
 the like ? To Mr. Cyrus Brudenel ! From a Medimn ! 
 
 Then Herr Paulus tm-ned again to Lady Augusta. 
 
 ' I must apologise for being late,' he said, in softer tones. ' After 
 I was shown to my room a message was brought to me — rather an 
 important message — fi'om my Friends.' 
 
 ' A message, Herr Paulus "? ' You see he had only been in the 
 house for three-quarters of an horn* and had come straight from St. 
 Petersburg. • A telegram ? ' 
 
 ' No,' he smiled ; ' not a telegram. My Friends do not use the 
 wire. The message came from the heart of Abyssinia. I had to 
 attend to it at once, though I kept you waiting.' 
 
 He spoke without the least appearance of boastfulness, though a 
 man who receives messages from Abyssinia more swiftly than 
 would be possible for mortals, even if the Palace of the Xegus and 
 St. Martin's were united by a wire, might reasonably stick out his 
 clun. But no. He spoke as if such a thing were common. 
 
 ' Dodo,' whispered Tom once more, ' this Johnnie is going to bo 
 far better fim than poor old Chick. Here's a splendid Cracker to 
 begin with.' 
 
 Then dinner was announced, and the sigh of relief from Mr. 
 Emanuel Chick was heard through the whole room. And Herr 
 Pai;lus, mstead of meekly waiting to be put in his place and to fol- 
 low last without any lady, as had always happened to Mr. Emanuel 
 
30 HERR PAULVS 
 
 Chick and the other Mediums, eakaly offered his arm to Lady 
 Augusta. 
 
 ' It is my first evening in England,' he said, ' and my first 
 dinner with you. May I exercise the pri\-ilege of my rank. Lady 
 Augusta ? Here we are all Sj^iritualists— in name at least ' — did he 
 mean anything by looking at Mr. Chick ? — ' and in Spiritual Bank I 
 am the first and the chief.' 
 
 Then they all marched out to dinner in pairs, male and female 
 went they. 
 
 CHArTER IV. 
 
 AT DINNER. 
 
 Every well-ordered and old-estaLlislied house has certain usages, 
 traditions, manners, and customs of its own. It is only the New 
 Rich who are exactly like each other, and have machine-made 
 manners. Why not, if thej' are copies of good manners ? The lead- 
 ing tradition of this house was the silence which always reigned in 
 it. There was never any trampling heard in it, nor any banging of 
 gongs, ringing of bells, knocking at doors, struving of clocks, or 
 chatter of servants. The only bells were the electric contrivances 
 which are not heard beyond the room for which they are intended. 
 The ser\-ants went about their work %\-ithout so much as a whisper. 
 It was said that even snoring was forbidden, and Lady Augusta cer- 
 tainly once dismissed a butler, otherwise virtuous, for tiTimpeting 
 with his nose. The phenomenal silence of the house was supposed 
 to be rendered necessary by the presence of the spuits. 
 
 The silence of the service was most marked at dinner. Only 
 those w'ho have lived in coimtries where the servants go barefoot 
 know the A-alue and beauty of perfectly silent service. Lady 
 Augusta coidd not, unfortunately, make her people go barefoot, but 
 she made them wear noiseless shoes, constrained them ui their 
 serving not to whisper instructions to each other, not to chink 
 glasses, rattle plates, or knock bottles together. In the last century, 
 when the Eegent of France and his friends held those suppers of 
 theirs which were assuredly the most delightful and the most 
 wicked of all suppers, they were fain to turn out all the people and 
 to wait upon themselves, because they had not yet been able to train 
 their servants— whom they were always admonishing with whacks, 
 kicks, cufi's, and callings — to silence and order. Even in the i^resent 
 day the loud and noisy zeal of the waiters at a restaurant, their 
 jostling of each other, and then clatter and rattle of plates and 
 knives, intlict anguish upon every sensitive soul; whUe in many 
 private houses Kmg iScrinnuage reigns absolute. Another tradition 
 
AT DINNER 3 1 
 
 imposed upon the house by the peculiar conditions under which its 
 occupants Hvcd was that the conversation at dinner should be 
 always pitched in a highly intellectual key. This made the meal a 
 function gi-eatly beloved by the younger members of the family. 
 
 Once, to be sure — alas ! the conspiracy failed— goaded to des- 
 peration by the dulness of the talk, Tom and Sibyl resolved on the 
 introduction of something comic. Had the thing come off I am 
 convinced, in spite of then- apprehensions, that it would have pro- 
 duced no greater effect upon the company than a word or two of 
 Hebrew or Zulu. They resolved that the something comic should 
 take the form of a pun, as being a weapon easier to handle and 
 more suitable for a dinner table than a comic song or a practical 
 joke. Then they set to work to make a good pun. This seems 
 easy, but to the unpractised hand there is nothing more difiicult. It 
 is, in fact, as hard for a beginner as a Ballade or a VillancUe. One 
 does not like to say how long this pair worked at their miserable 
 pun, but when, after superhuman efforts, it was completed, they 
 arranged to lead up the conversation artfully to the point where 
 Tom was to be entrusted with the production of the calembourg. 
 Sibyl felt that a pun is somehow unfitted for the lips of a maiden — 
 when one comes to think of it, no woman was ever yet known to 
 make a pun, though a few here and there— only a few— have been 
 known to tell a good story. 
 
 Very well. At the last moment, when the conversation had 
 been led up to the point, and Sibyl was looking round the table 
 expecting the bewilderment which would immediately fall upon this 
 j)rofoundly solemn circle, Tom broke down. He said afterwards 
 that he felt a qualm of pity for his uncle, who was more solemn than 
 all the rest of mankind put together. But I doubt this explanation. 
 I believe he was afraid. He says, further, that he felt himself un- 
 able to mflict so heavy a blow upon the finest part of man, his 
 dignity. But I doubt this statement. I am siu'e he was afraid. As 
 for the loss of the pun, that is nothing ; no pun is ever really lost, 
 because it is always being made over and over again. I have no 
 doubt that Messrs. Hook, Hood, Lamb, Burnand, and Byron, have 
 made Tom's i;nlucky pun on many occasions, and that in many a 
 screaming burlesque it has caused the faces to broaden from pit to 
 gallery hundreds of times. But the loss of the proposed experiment 
 seems a pity. 
 
 Mr. Cyrus Brudenel himself was certainly by no means the kind 
 of person with whom one would like to take a personal liberty. I 
 have often M-ondered what would happen if a man should venture 
 to slap a really great and correspondingly solemn man upon the 
 back. Suppose, for instance, that a curate— one of the inferior 
 clergy— had ventured to slap the late Lord Shaftesbury on the 
 back. What would that venerable nobleman have said or done? To 
 cuff and kick the presumptuous curate would be undignified ; to 
 
32 HERR PAULUS 
 
 swear at him would be impossible ; to splutter and get red would 
 only make him laugh ; to find a fitting rebuke in short but eloquent 
 words, which would leave an indelible scar on his soul, would be 
 difficult. Merely to look at him might do no good. Yet something, 
 one feels certain, would have been said or done, so that the miser- 
 able curate would have crept, pale and trembling, with fearful 
 remorse, and foreboding of dreadfid pimishment to come, into some 
 dark and secret recess of the earth — say the cavern at Buxton. 
 
 Conversation was long in beginning at this dinner, partly 
 because everybody wanted to hear what the newly arrived young 
 great man was going to talk about, partly because everj'body was 
 hungry and cross at having been kept waiting, and j^artly because 
 some of the guests regarded each other with the jealousy and sus- 
 picion not uncommon among specialists, actors, conjurors, and those 
 who are rivals for the public applause. 
 
 ' Our sister — Anna Petrovna,' said Herr Paulus presently, ' has 
 abeady written to you from St. Petersburg announcing me.' 
 
 ' Yes. Did she tell you that she was going to do so ? ' 
 
 ' I knew that I should have no need of a letter of introduction. 
 I had hoped that you and Anna were both able to converse without 
 the vulgar necessity for letters. In that respect the Piussians are 
 far in advance of the Westerns. Nothing is more common among 
 our Friends in Eussia than conversation at any distance. That, 
 however, will doubtless come in due course.' 
 
 ' I hope that it may,' said Lady Augusta. ' We hear from tirre 
 to time of this wonderful power of annihilating space, but we have 
 not yet been able to witness any manifestations of the kind. And 
 you, Herr Paulus — ? ' 
 
 ' Space and time do not exist for my Friends. Do not speak of 
 me. Lady Augusta ; speak rather of my Friends, who will be 
 yours.' 
 
 ' Oh, if they would become my Friends ! We are weary, Herr 
 Paulus, of the dull romid of our English and American Spiritualism. 
 We have been greatly harassed by frivolous, lying, and wicked 
 spirits. We ask for a more real and a deeper conimunion with 
 spirits whom we can trust, those who will not deceive us, those 
 who will give us messages able to lift up our hearts and to carry us 
 out of oui'selves.' 
 
 ' You shall before long commune with my Friends,' he replied 
 softly. 
 
 Lady Augusta sighed deeply. ' Our sister, Anna Petrovna, told 
 me so many wonderful things about you, Herr Paulus, that we have 
 been thinking of nothing else since we had her letter.' 
 
 ' I know the contents of that letter. They were communicated 
 to me in the train between St. Petersbiirg and Berhn.' 
 
 ' Comnumicated ? Oh ! I miderstand.' 
 
 ' By my Friends. They also communicated to me many things 
 
A T DINNER 33 
 
 which are necessary to me here. For instance, they told me much 
 concerning yourself.' 
 
 ' Concerning me ? ' She blushed and looked startled. It is dis- 
 quieting for a strange man to tell a ladj' that he knows all about 
 her. 
 
 ' Do not imagine that I know everything. I know only what I 
 have been told. Thus, I was told the history of Mr. Brudenel, of 
 this house, of yoiu" step-daughter, and so forth — more things than 
 I can tell you in an hour or two — yet if you were to examine me, 
 you would find that in some points I am still quite ignorant.' 
 
 ' It seems strange that yoiu* Friends should wish you to know 
 such triflmg matters as the private concerns of this household.' 
 
 ' How do we know what are tritles and what are things of im- 
 portance ? For instance, I am here yoiu* guest, for how long I do 
 not know. I am here with a definite mission. Surely it is well 
 that I should begin, not as a complete stranger, but with some 
 knowledge of your difficulties and the nature and disposition of 
 those among whom I am to work '? It saves time, and the trouble 
 of explanation.' 
 
 'Yes. But should not the confidence be extended, Ilerr 
 Paulus ? ' 
 
 ' You mean, should you not know as much concerning me ? 
 Certainly. But as yet my Friends are not in communication with 
 you. Arid, pardon me. Lady Augusta, I think there are no s[)irits 
 with whom you do confer who are strong enough to do you so 
 simple a service as to tell you who and what I am.' 
 
 ' It is, unfortunately, too true. There is not a single spirit who 
 has ever done anything for me of a practical kind.' 
 
 ' Y'ou have here, I perceive, one Medium at least.' Herr Paulus 
 looked down the table. 
 
 ' We have several. There is ilr. Emanuel Chick. Have you 
 heard of him ? ' 
 
 'No. Yes — I have this moment heard of him.' Herr Paulus 
 shuddered as if in pain. ' Lady Augusta,' he whispered, ' mistrust 
 that man's communications. His spirits are lymg sj)irits.' 
 
 ' There is the Eev. Amelius Horton.' 
 
 Herr Paulus looked ciuiously and doubtfully at the clergyman. 
 Then he smiled. 
 
 'He is the sport and plaything of the spirits. Oh! I under- 
 stand, now, how it is that I could not communicate with 3'ou when 
 I was here yesterday. This house is haunted with inferior spuits. 
 It is full of them. I shall send them all away immediatelj^' 
 
 ' And will nobler spirits take their place ? ' 
 
 ' You shall see. But you have a much better Mediimi present 
 — a voimg lad v.' 
 
 '"Who is that ? ' 
 
 • I told you that I was ignorant of many things. I mean the 
 
34 HERR PAULUS 
 
 young lady next the blind girl — Miss Langston, who, too, might, in 
 
 good hands ' 
 
 ' Oh ! It is Hetty Medlock. Cicely Langston's companion. 
 
 Yon think that ' 
 
 ' I do not think only. I am sure that she is gifted with the 
 temperament of the Medium.' 
 
 ' Look at my step-daughter. How rejoiced would be her father 
 if you could discern in her the signs of power.' 
 
 Herr Paulus shook his head. ' No,' he said, firmly, ' I discern 
 no such signs m her. Meantime, to return to myself, you shall, in 
 due course, learn anything you want to know about me. I must 
 have no secrets from you. Lady Augusta, if our relations are to be 
 — what I hope and trust they will become.' Again he lowered his 
 voice and their eyes met, his limpid and filled with that expression 
 which she had observed before. 
 
 ' I expected, I confess, a very different person. But, yes ' — she 
 answered his eyes, — ' we will be friends and you shall do for me 
 what you can.' 
 
 It was almost with the smile of a happy lover that he received 
 these gracious words. Neither spoke for a while. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' she said, presently, ' I confess that, thinkmg 
 you were so very different, I have asked a good many people to 
 meet you this evening, and ' — here she blushed—' I fear I have 
 held out hopes. But do not mind them. Forgive me, and do not 
 show them anything.' 
 He laughed. 
 
 ' You want the signs and the miracles. Very well ; it is natural. 
 But, Lady Augusta, you at least will very soon pass beyond the 
 region where signs and wonders are necessary. My n:iission is not 
 to do these things, but to teach. Yet I dare to think that I shall be 
 able to satisfy yom* friends' expectations even in this direction.' 
 ' Oh, will you really ? ' 
 
 The young man's manner, assured and easy, yet not presuming, 
 impressed her with a sense of sincerity. She beheved in liim from 
 that moment, implicitly and without the least doubt. 
 
 ' The Ancient Wisdom does not consist in making people open 
 their eyes and stare. But it confers Powers on those who deserve 
 them which they may use for their advancement in true knowledge. 
 You would like to see some illustration of those Powers ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; we who live and move on the Lower Plane always 
 ask for some sign. Is it not natural ? ' 
 
 ' It is the old story,' he said somewhat sadly. ' Lady Augusta, 
 your friends shall have their sign — from my Friends.' 
 
 Tlicn there was silence for a space with the commonplace 
 business of eating, and Lady Augusta made the useful discovery 
 that even the highest flights of philosopliy and the Ancient Wisdom 
 do not deprive a young man of his appetite. On the other handj 
 
AT DINNER 35 
 
 thoy seemed to take from him the power or the desu-e to drink 
 wine. Herr Paukis di'ank a bottle of Apollinaris. 
 
 ' Do not think me curious,' said Lady Augusta presently, ' hut 
 may I ask, is it often that the secrets of yoiu* philosophy are 
 entrusted to men so J^oung as you — so very j'oimg — while they are 
 withheld from men as old and as eager to acquii'e them as my 
 husband ? ' 
 
 ' What is my age, Lady Augusta ? ' 
 
 ' I suppose about three-and-twenty.' 
 
 ' I do not pretend to be the Wandering Jew. But I wiU tell 
 you a strange thmg. It happened the other daj^, only a few 
 months ago. Perhaps you will not believe it.' 
 
 ' I will believe it if you tell me that it is true.' 
 
 He raised his voice a httle. Then there was silence at the table 
 and all listened. 
 
 'It was in Abyssmia. Some natives were digging for the 
 treasure which is everywhere believed to be hidden underground. 
 They found, mstead of treasm'e, a great stone vault, into which 
 they broke an operdng, for it had neither door nor window. Ai'ound 
 it the earth lay apparently undistiu'bed for ages, and above it grew 
 a tree hundi'eds of years old. They found within the vavilt not 
 indeed the treasure they looked for, but an old man. He was thin 
 and worn— say rather wasted ; his beard was white and his head 
 was bald. How had he lived in that stone vault '? How long had 
 he been there ? I repeat there was neither door nor window, no 
 means of getting fi-esh air, no visible means of communicatmg with 
 the world, no way of passing food into the vault. And the roots of 
 the tree, himdreds of years old, were lying over and aroimd the 
 vault. We, who know more than tlie world generally knows, 
 immediately recognised in that old man a famous i^hilosopher once 
 celebrated by his disciples, long, long since lost sight of, and for- 
 gotten many, many generations ago — and all these years, with 
 animation suspended, he had been meditating in the highest 
 rapture — that state which few indeed can joossibly attain.' 
 
 ' Well ? Finish the story,' said Lady xlugusta. 
 
 ' They brought hmi out mto the open air, and as he breathed 
 again he opened his eyes and looked around him. Then a 
 wonderful change came over him. For his wrinkled skm lilled 
 out, and his flesh came back to his bones, and his eyes became 
 bright, and his hair became black. He was once more a young 
 man, strong and comely.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' they all murmm-ed together. But Mr. Emanuel Chick 
 drank off a whole glass of champagne, and pretended not to listen. 
 And Tom grinned. 
 
 ' Then he looked about him and saw the city close by, and the 
 shepherds with their flocks. And suddenly he vanished and waa 
 no more seen.' 
 
 d2 
 
36 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' That young man — it was you yoiu-self, Herr Paulus.' 
 
 ' No, Lady Augusta,' he repHed, sadly. ' I wish it had been. 
 Per that young man has now attained the highest feHcity possible 
 for man. I tell you the story that you may understand that 
 among my Friends there is no such thuag as age or youth or death 
 unless it be willed and chosen. In other words, if my Friends 
 please they may look young ; and if they please they may look 
 old.' 
 
 This was a strange kind of talk to hear in a London house at a 
 London dinner. But then this was no ordinary house. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Lady Augusta heaved a profound sigh — about the 
 twentieth at that dinner. ' I had always longed but never ventured 
 to expect that one of the wise men of whom we have read would 
 actually come to my house.' 
 
 ' There are Englishmen among us,' Herr Paulus added. ' Not 
 many, but a few, who break away from the shallow creeds of the 
 present, and seek to conquer for themselves the powers and the 
 secrets of the past. But they refuse to leave the place where they 
 reside, even to preach among their own countrymen. Therefore I 
 am sent.' 
 
 ' No better ambassador could be sent,' said Lady Augusta 
 graciously. 
 
 On the other side of Herr Paulus sat Lady Augusta's old friend, 
 Mrs. Tracy Hanley. She had been privileged to read some of 
 Sister Anna Petrovna's letters. She was thmking all the time that 
 if the young man tallied in this beautiful and bewildering way, 
 what an effect he would produce at her Sunday evenings, especially 
 if he would ' do ' thmgs. This was a selfish view to take of the 
 Highest Philosophy and the Ancient "Wisdom, but ladies who have 
 Sunday Evenings are often inchned to that form of selfishness. 
 She looked at him and listened. The longer she looked the more 
 she was impressed — wholly fi-om the Sunday evening point of view 
 - — with the strange beauty of his face and his lovely dark eyes. 
 The more she listened the more she fell in love — always from the 
 Sunday evening j^oint of view — with his soft and musical voice. 
 If he would only ' do ' things. At this house, where manifestations 
 of all kinds were common, whatever he might do would be received 
 in a coldly critical spirit, like the jugfjlery of a conjuror among his 
 professional brethren. But at hers, where nothing better than the 
 common JMedium of commerce had ever been introduced, he would 
 be received with delightful surprise. A young man, mysterious in 
 name and of vmknown origm; a young man who might be of 
 fabulous age ; a young man romantic in appearance, possessed of 
 good maimers and endowed with mkaculous powers ; a veritable 
 prophet of old, but in evening dress, not a sheepskin ; a youth sent 
 from the Lord knows where by the Lord knows who, to preach a 
 new and mysterious doctrine — but it all depended on what he 
 
AT DINNER 37 
 
 could ' do.' "Why, snch a man as this, if ho could really do things, 
 would make her Sunday evenings celebrated. He would cause 
 them to become the talk of the town. It would be a j^rivilege to 
 have the entree at those Sunday evenings. The world would rush 
 to her rooms. This pleasing vision floated through her brain while 
 the yoimg man talked. Why should it not be realised ? 
 
 She began to recall all the successive prophets and lions who 
 had passed through her house in the last ten years. There was the 
 Baboo, for instance, clever and fluent, who had come over to Eng- 
 land all the way from Bengal on purpose to teach us Theistic doc- 
 trines which we knew before. He could talk, certainly ; but when 
 he had been talking for an hour or so the men stole away and the 
 women yawned. For his discourse was charged with tlie deadly 
 flavour of the commonplace, while his conceit was profound and 
 his new gospel was certainly a poor thing compared with the old 
 one. But even the Baboo was better than him of the sorrowful 
 visage, that Agnostic, who felt so profoundly the presence of the 
 Abysmal Unknown, and yet was compelled by his enormous Intel- 
 lect to acknowledge only the Phenomenal. Both Baboo and Agnostic 
 were plaj^ed out. Then there was the languorous Esthete, now also 
 played out, though in his day he could satisfy the deepest yearnings 
 of the soul with art, blue china, peacocks' feathers and a dado. As 
 for the Anarchist, the Nihilist, and the Socialist, they were only 
 uncomfortable creatures who terrified people. No one would come 
 twice to talk with a wild and spectacled Anarchist, who desired to 
 destroy everything lirst, whatever was to be done next. No one 
 who wished to keep the good things which the gods had given hinr 
 would care to meet a Socialist more than once. Should he prevail, 
 there would be no more drawing-rooms, and no more evenings any- 
 where, except upon the cold kerb, and no more social gatherings 
 except outside the street door. Again, there was the Medium who 
 might be hired at half-a-guinea, and who brought mysterious rolls 
 and an accordion, and had the lights out, and played tricks too thin 
 to delude the most credulous. Time was when he was seen at many 
 houses — but he, too, was a thing of the past. What were such 
 clumsy things as rappings, levitations, writing on the ceiling and the 
 rest, compared with such things as were told and hinted at by this 
 beautiful and wonderful young man ? 
 
 Here Lady Augusta looked round and rose. 
 
28 IIERR PAUL US 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE FIRST FUNCTION. 
 
 • No miracles yet, Dodo,' Tom whispered when, a quarter of an houl 
 later, the gentlemen came into the drawing-room. 
 
 ' This is not a common Medium remember, Tom,' said Sibyl. ' I 
 suppose he must not be asked to sit down and show off, like Mr. 
 Chick.' 
 
 ' We must have something, though,' Tom replied, ' if it's only 
 to back up that awful Cracker of his about the Old Man of Abys- 
 sinia.' 
 
 The general impression in the room, which was now crowded 
 with a large company invited to meet Herr Paulus, was that some- 
 thing very startling indeed was expected. The people looked at 
 each other, and at the guest of the evening, with eyes that plainly 
 spoke of general expectation. What did they expect ? Most of 
 them were old hands in Research, who looked for nothing but some 
 modification of the usual business to which they were thorouglaly 
 well accustomed. There might be music in a darkened room — but 
 there was no accordion ; there might be messages and raps ; but 
 there were none of the tubes, rolls of paper, and other accessories 
 of the common seance. There' might be spirit photographs, an in- 
 carnated spirit or two, or perhaps some message a little out of the 
 common. More than tliis was not expected by the experienced. 
 Of course there was a sprinkling of young people, beginners in the 
 mystic science, to whom every creak of furniture is a rnessage from 
 the dead, and every note on an accordion out of tune is the music 
 of the heavenly spheres. And there were some, like Cicely Langston, 
 who fervently believed in, and ardently prayed for, the commg of a 
 new Prophet with a new Revelation. But the greater number con- 
 sisted of the old hands. Among the latter was the well-known 
 Lavinia Medlock, parent of Hetty, once the most fashionable of all 
 the Mediums, but now, Hke others, fallen into neglect and obscm-ity. 
 She looked on with an anxious and wistful air, as if longing for a 
 wrinkle which might start her afresh. Just so, if the comparison 
 be allowed, the Professor of legerdemain, when he is out of an 
 engagement, frequents the exhibitions of those who are on the 
 platform, in hopes of picking up something new. But Laviuia's 
 day was passed. The Rev. Benjamin Rudge, too, Historiographer 
 in ordinary to the Cause, awaited the events of the evenmg with 
 more than common interest. It was long since there had been a 
 sensation in Spiritualism, and he scented materials for ' copy.' He 
 was hungry for new things, because there are lines of literature, 
 one need hardly explain, which are more lucrative than that -of 
 Chronicler to the Spiritualists. 
 
THE FIRST FUNCTION 39 
 
 ' Again, Herr Panlns,' Lady Augiista whispered, ' will you for- 
 give me ? I have asked all these people to meet j'ou, as if j'ou wcro 
 a common Mediimi, such as come over to us every year from 
 America, and want to get money from us.' 
 
 ' Your friends shall go away satisfied,' he said, smiling. 
 
 In fact, a blank dulness was already falling upon the party, 
 because it seemed as if the expected programme was not to be carried 
 out. No arrangements had been made for a seance. Now, 
 if one is asked to a party to meet a ventriloquist, ventrilo- 
 quism is expected; if to meet a conji:ror, we look for tricks; 
 if to meet a pianist, wo expect to hear him play ; if to meet a mosi 
 eminent professor of Spiritualism, we expect to have quite a con- 
 versation with the other world, and to get some new lights, at loa ■' 
 on the way that things are managed there. 
 
 ' Will you have the room arranged ? ' Lady Augusta asked him. 
 ' My people are very quick in moving and arranging furniture.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' Herr Paulus replied. ' I want no special arrange- 
 ments.' 
 
 'The room can be darkened in a minute by removing.' the 
 lamps. Shall I have a screen before the fire ? And shall the 
 people sit down ? ' 
 
 ' No darkness, if you please. Oh ! Lady Augusta ! ' — his eyes 
 spoke pit3% not reproach. ' Darkness ? And with the spirits of 
 Light ? My Friends, I assiu*e yoii, have no need of darkness.' 
 
 Lavinia Medlock heard and hung her head. All her manifes- 
 tations had been produced in a darkened room. She had never 
 known a single spmt who would work for her in the light. 
 
 Mr. Chick heard and sniffed, incredulous. 
 
 Everybody sat down who could find chairs, leaving a space in 
 the middle of the room. Tom Langston remarked with some 
 interest that Mr. Emanuel Chick took up a position beside the piano- 
 forte. This gave him a back view of the performer, and suggested 
 a watchful, even a suspicious, attitude. Mr, Eudge and Lavinia 
 Medlock were not slow to observe the movement, and nodded to 
 each other, meaning that the evening might possibly end with a 
 row, such a row as happens when a treacherous person strikes a 
 match and the Medium is discovered capering about the room 
 as the incarnated spu'it and playing the music of heaven upon an 
 accordion. 
 
 Herr Paulus stepped quietly forward. He looked slowly round 
 the room, and then, raising himself to his full height, he lifted his 
 right hand suddenly and unexpectedly. Everybody jmnped. No 
 Manifestation, however, followed this action. 
 
 Then he spoke. 
 
 ' I have come to this country,' he said, ' with a Message. Do 
 not think, pray, that I am here as a professional interpreter and a 
 Medium by which spirits can convey messages to you. My Friend% 
 
40 HERR PAULUS 
 
 and those wlio are the Accepted, have intercourse so free and 
 unrestrained with the Soiils of the Living and the Dead, and with 
 the Sph-its of the other world, that the poor and feeble utterances 
 which have reached your ears are worthless to them. Look, if you 
 please, into the record of the commiuaications, and ask youi'selves 
 how far the world has been advanced by them. My mission is to 
 teach — to those who are worthy — the old wisdom, the Ancient Way. 
 You see in me a servant, a Messenger, one who simply carries out 
 his orders. But as it is well to prove in some way that I am what 
 I profess to be — a Messenger — I have asked for and obtained 
 certain Powers. Do not, I pray you, think that these Powers con- 
 stitute my Message. They do no more than illustrate it. Such 
 Powers as have been conferred upon me are within the reach — not of 
 all ' — he looked, perhaps miconsciously, at Lavinia Medlock — ' but of 
 some in this room ' — his eyes fell upon Hetty Medlock, who sat in 
 tlie front beside Cicely. ' Those who desire the Ancient Way for 
 the sake of getting the Powers will never go far along that Way, 
 which is only to be trodden by the pure and unselfish. Listen ! ' 
 
 He threw tip both hands and seemed listening expectantly. In 
 a few moments there were heard faint soi;nds of music far off. The 
 sounds grew nearer and louder, though the strain was still soft and 
 the music seemed to be hovering over the operator's head. Then it 
 slowly receded and died away in the distance. 
 
 ' This,' Tom whispered, ' is a very good beginning. It beats the 
 dark room and the concertina.' 
 
 The hahitues of the house — those who were accustomed to 
 manifestations — nodded their heads approvingly. This was, certainly, 
 so far, better than the ordinary business. Still, they looked on 
 calmly critical. Music at a seance is not an original feature. Mr, 
 Emanuel Chick scowled, perhaps because he did not understand 
 how it was done : perhaps because he felt himself ill-used by his 
 own spirits, who had never consented to vouchsafe music except in 
 a darkened room. 
 
 When the music died away it was followed by a most melodious 
 tinkling of silver bells, which behaved exactly like the nmsic, 
 ilrawing nearer, tinkling immediately above Herr Paulus's head and 
 ihen receding. 
 
 ' Good business again. Dodo,' Tom whispered ; ' but old. We've 
 heard the bells before. To be sure the room was always dark. 
 "Wonder how the beggar does it.' 
 
 Then lo ! a Miracle ! Herr Paulus suddenly threw up both his 
 arms and there were seen fluttering into his hands two light and 
 thin packets of silver paper. Where did they come from ? Observe 
 that the roora was quite full of people : that they were all looking 
 on : that there was a blaze of light : and that the testimony of all 
 ■ — all but one— would have been exactly tlie same. ' I saw,' they 
 would have said, ' the papers fall from the ceiling into Herr Paulus's 
 
THE FIRST FUNCTION 4 1 
 
 hands.' The one cxcojition was the yonnj^ man of science. Tom, 
 more prudent, would have said, ' The papers seemed to fall into 
 the man's hands.' This, it will be observed, involves gi'cat 
 reservations. 
 
 Herr Paulus f^ave the packets into the hands of Lady Augusta. 
 
 ' Do not open tliem yet,' lie said. ' You are f:joing to witness a 
 really remarkable illustration of the Powers possessed by my Friends. 
 Take it as a special mark of theh* favour.' 
 
 Then he turned and surve^-ed his audience without the least 
 touch of triumph in his eyes ; and he did not, as Mr. Emanuel 
 Chick would have done, proceed to call attention to the wonderful 
 manifestation of the spirits. He looked round the faces slowly, as 
 if searching for something. Thej' represented all the stages of 
 bewilderment, from the cataleptic condition of those Avho believe 
 everything they see, to the irritated and puzzled condition of those 
 who see and yet preserve something of the critical faculty. Mr. 
 Emanuel Chick from his position in the rear watched the operator 
 jealously ; Lavinia Medlock, enviously ; Tom, suspiciously. 
 
 ' The feUow conjures,' said Tom, ' as well as Maskelyne and 
 Cooke.' 
 
 ' Hush ! ' said Sibyl. ' Perhaps he is gouig to do something 
 much liner. See.' 
 
 Did you ever see the mild Hindoo perform his feats ? When 
 you have done so, you will go about for the rest of yom* life de- 
 claring that the impossible became possible : that miracles were 
 performed before your eyes compared with which the saintly re- 
 cords are poor and tame. Men are decapitated before the eyes of 
 the audience and then restored to their heads ; boys are stabbed 
 and gashed all over without consequent injury ; deadly snakes are 
 handled with impunitj' ; dry sticks blossom like Aaron's rod. Why, 
 a great Indian Emperor has set down in writing, so that all may 
 read, how some jugglers came to him and performed, before him 
 and all his Covu't, twenty-eight distinct miracles, each one more 
 wonderful than its predecessor. Do you thinli they actually do the 
 tricks ? Not so ; and yet those who tell of them do not lie ! What 
 happens then ? If one could answer that question one could pro- 
 duce exactly the same effects as those for which these same jugglers 
 got the Imperial gift of fifty thousand rupees, many years before 
 the depreciation of that coin. 
 
 ' Some of you,' caid Herr Paulus, ' have heard of certain 
 Orientals who possess powers which are now unlcnown to the 
 West. I say now, because there is evidence that in the Middle 
 Ages, and even later, there have been many who had attained in 
 some measure to these powers. There have been monlis who could 
 converse with the spirits. There was a nun named Hildegardis 
 who in moments of rapture could compel the other nuns to think 
 exactly as she pleased. There were also the Brothers and Sisters 
 
42 ITERR PAULUS 
 
 of the Free Spirit, who arrived at great Powers : and the so-called 
 Friends of God, who were also Spirituahsts of a high order. It is, 
 therefore, no nev\f thing that you are invited to observe. Among 
 the Powers are those of conversing with each other Avithont respect 
 to distance : of joining each other instantaneously : ot knowing 
 what then- fi-iends are saying and thinking : of telling what is in 
 the mmds of those who are not their friends : of making people see 
 what they order, say what they wish, think what they choose. 
 These Powers are not born with us : they are conferred or acquired 
 as one advances in true Wisdom. You know that as you climb 
 higher the ah- grows clearer and the vision sharper. It is so with 
 the Ancient Way, Or to take another illustration, if you dig v.-ells 
 in the ground they will natm-ally fill with water. You do not pour 
 water into them. The waters till them by the laws of nature. I 
 do not pretend to these Powers m theh highest form. But I will 
 try to show you what some of them mean.' 
 
 He looked again about the room. All faces were turned towards 
 him, aU eyes looked into his, and to some it seemed as if his eyes 
 saw through them into the hidden soul. But perhaps that was due 
 to the excitement of the nerves. 
 
 The blind gu'l. Cicely Langston, sat immediately before him. 
 Beside her sat her companion, Hetty iledlock. Cicely was sitting 
 in her customary impassive attitude^ her hands in her lap, but her 
 cheek was flushed, and she was excited by the strange music and 
 the bells, and the wondrous talk about supernatural powers of the 
 young man with the soft and musical voice. Her fingers nervously 
 opened and closed, her lips trembled, half parted. 
 
 ' Hetty,] she whispered, 'why is he stopping? Tell me— tell 
 me — what is he doing ? ' 
 
 ' He is asking Mrs. Tracy Hanley to play something. It is she 
 who is playing.' 
 
 ' Oh ! it is coarse and common after the other music,' said 
 Cicely. ' Go on, Hetty, what next ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! is it true ? Is it true ? Can it be true after all ? ' A 
 strange question for the daughter of a Medium. Hetty had turned 
 pale, and her eyes were fixed upon Herr Pauhis. 'Now he is 
 standing quite still: he is looking slowly round the room: he is 
 lookmg at Sibyl : and at Lady Augusta. He is looking— oh ! he 
 is looking — at Me ! ' 
 
 She said no more. The magician's eyes met hers, and she rose 
 and walked across the room before them all, and stood before him. 
 ' Oh ! my daughter ! Oh ! my child ! ' cried Lavinia Medlock. 
 But the accents were those of joy and surprise and not of terror. 
 Never before had she seen that look in her daughter's face ; and it 
 betokened— she recognised it with delight — a higher gift than ever 
 had been hers — the strange and wonderful gift of clauwoyance. 
 ' Sit down.' said Ilcrr Paulus. 
 
THE FIRST FUNCTION. 43 
 
 There were some who said afterwards that before Hetty left her 
 Beat there was no chau- in the middle of the room, hut this wants 
 confirmation. 
 
 Hetty obeyed. Then with a smgle motion of his hand he seemed 
 to close her eyes. The f^ui was now leaning back in the chair, pale, 
 with set lips and closed eyes. Her hands were lying in her lap, 
 tightly clasped. She did not look as if she slept, but as if she was 
 waiting to do something — one knew not what. 
 
 Herr Paulus bent over her, and it seemed as if he breathed 
 gently upon her head. 
 
 ' We inhale oxygen and hydrogen into the natural lungs,' he 
 explained. ' With the spiritual lungs we breathe what for want of 
 another name has been called aura. My aura has fallen upon this 
 yoimg lady's head and has entered into her soul. She will now, as 
 you will see, think only as I shall direct her.' 
 
 ' It ought not to be allowed,' Tom murmured. 
 
 ' Why not ? ' said Sibyl, the experienced. ' I have seen them 
 like this dozens of times, and it never does anybody any harm.' 
 
 She spoke as one who has been watching these phenomena all 
 her life, and thought little of them and expected nothing from them. 
 
 ' This,' cried Mr. Emanuel Chick loudly, * is notliing in the 
 world but pure mesmerism.' 
 
 ' I beg,' said Mr. Cyrus Brudenel firmly, ' that there may be no 
 inteiTuption at all ! After the seance anyone who wishes shall 
 have the opportimity of speaking, or of producing, if he can, by his 
 own powers similar manifestations.' 
 
 Mr. Emanuel Chick subsided, but with an effort. Herr Paulus, 
 for his part, behaved lUie a practised speaker at a public meeting 
 when some one maexpectedly gets ux3 in the middle of his speech to 
 propose an amendment — that is to say, he stopped speaking, but 
 took no other notice of the intenaiption, treating the thing as if it 
 had no kind of connection with himself. Meantime, Mrs. Tracy 
 Hanley went on playing mechanically, but wondering if the music 
 and the bells and the leaves fluttering from the ceiling could be 
 seciu'ed for her Sunday evenmgs. Like many sensible women, 
 Mrs. Tracy Hanley considered the wisdom and the genius of Man : 
 his science, art and letters ; his inventions and his discoveries ; his 
 skill and dexterity ; his genius and his ingenuity ; as shadows and 
 unsubstantial things compared with the solid realities of society. 
 
 ' I will now ask Lady Augusta,' said Herr Paiflus, ' to give me 
 one of the papers in her hand— any one. Thank you. There is a 
 drawing on the paper. I command this young lady to see, in her 
 vision, the subject of this di'awing.' 
 
 There was silence for a space. Hetty Medlock made no move- 
 ment nor any sign of life. Herr Paulus gave back the papers to 
 Lady Augusta and made another single pass with his right hand. 
 Hetty Medlock opened her eyes and looked about her. 
 
44 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' "Wliere am I ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' You are safe — with Mends. Do not fear. You have had a 
 Vision in youi- sleep. Can you recall it ? Can you tell us of what 
 you dreamed ? ' 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 ' Nay— tell us the whole. There is nothing to fear.' 
 
 ' I was in a country — I know not where — I was happy, much 
 happier than I am in this world.' Slie spoke with a kind of con- 
 straint, as if reluctantly. ' I was free to do what I pleased and to 
 go where I pleased. I could have what I wished— pictxures and 
 music, and a beautiful house and gardens, and money to give away. 
 I was not only rich, but able to write the most wonderful things. 
 The people sang my songs and I was powerful. Then they brought 
 me out and crowned me Queen ! ' 
 
 ' Do you remember the place and manner of your coronation ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, perfectly'.' 
 
 ' Lady Augusta, will you kindly give me the paper I have just 
 been holding in my hands ? Yes — thank you. "Will you tell me, 
 Miss Medlock, if you recognise this picture '? ' 
 
 Hetty took the paper. There was a water-colour drawmg upon 
 it, though the paper was thin. The girl looked at it and cried out 
 in amazement. 
 
 ' Oh ! it is the very scene. And this is I myself whom they are 
 crowning. Oh ! give me the pictm-e.' 
 
 ' You shaU have it when everybody has seen it. Let me pass 
 it round.' 
 
 There was no doubt possible that the girl had seen the crowning 
 of herself. The dream itself was such as a girl, poor, young, not 
 too clever, might easily di'eam — a vision of the unattainable. Yes, 
 here was drawn in pale tints Hetty herself, large-eyed, unmistak- 
 able, clad in a wonderful dress, going forth in grandeiu", the people 
 shouting around her. 
 
 And the drawing was good. Mr. Cyrus Brudenel held the paper 
 up to the light. 
 
 ' The watermark,' he said, ' is Petersburg.' 
 
 ' I daresay it was painted there,' said Herr Paulus, carelessly. 
 'It must have been jjainted somewhere. Lady Augusta, I have 
 done what I promised. Let me make one more experiment. May 
 I ask Miss Cicely Langston to take Miss Medlock's place '? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I say,' cried Tom. ' Not my cousin.' 
 
 ' No harm — not the least harm shaU be done to Miss Langston,' 
 said Herr Paulus. ' I pledge my word as a — not as a gentleman — 
 but as the Messenger of my Friends.' 
 
 ' I doubt the security,' Tom murmured; and, satisfied with the 
 repartee, which seemed rather sharp, he made no further opposition. 
 
 But the blind girl had risen at the first invitation and walked 
 without guidance straight to the spot where the chair was placed. 
 
THE FIRST FUNCTION 45 
 
 Then she sat down as if she had neither the power nor the inclina- 
 tion to resist. 
 
 'The deepest wish of the bhnd is to see,' said Herr Pauhis. ' I 
 restore to you, for a few moments, Cicely Langston, the power of 
 sight. Tell me what you see.' 
 
 ' I can see,' she replied, but in a strange voice, and without the 
 least movement of hands or head ; and her eyes remained closed. 
 ' I can see. The room is full of people. You are before me. You 
 have dark hau" and black ej'es ; there is a white flower in your 
 button-hole, and you have a gold chain with a thing like a beetle 
 hanging from it. Y^ou are looking at me. Yes. I will look round 
 the room ' — but he had not spoken. ' I can see the others, but not 
 60 well as I can see you. Their faces are blurred. Why is that ? 
 I see Sibyl and Hetty and Tom, and many others ; but they are 
 not so clear and distinct as you are. And now they have all faded 
 away and it is dark again.' 
 
 'I cannot restore her sight perinanently,' said the young magi- 
 cian. ' The time may come when this and many other things which 
 now seem impossil-io will be in our Power.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I saw the room. I saw all of you. Oh ! it was wonderful 
 — wonde/fal,' said the blind girl, reaching out her helpless hands. 
 
 Sibyl stepped forward and took her hands and led her back to 
 her place. 
 
 ' You have been persuaded, dear,' she said. ' You are among 
 us — with your friends. Nothing has really happened. Nothing of 
 the least importance.' 
 
 ' Nothing of the least importance,' repeated Herr Paulus, 
 gravely. 
 
 Then the people wondered what would come next. 
 
 ' Since the seance has concluded,' said Mr. Emanuel Chick, ' at 
 least I suppose it has concluded — I think I may ofl'er, as an older 
 man, our congratulations to our younger brother on his progi'ess in 
 the mesmeric art. The display of mesmeric j^ower is very credit- 
 able — very creditable indeed. So far we have seen nothing that 
 could not be done by pure mesmerism. Bvit I imderstood that we 
 came here to receive communications from the Spirits. In this 
 house we are accustomed to converse freely with the Spirits. "We 
 have been offered a mesmeric performance. That's all I wanted 
 to saj'. A very good performance indeed ; but it is not conversing 
 with the Spirits.' He tossed his head and sat down with a snitf. 
 
 * It is not for me,' Herr Paulus replied with dignity, ' to discuss 
 the things that have happened. Perhaps the mesmeric force may 
 explain the ani.uxB of the phenomena you have witnessed to this 
 gentleman's entire satisfaction. If so, I have nothing to object. 
 As for conversing with Spirits, we converse daily and hourly with 
 those whom I am allowed to call my Friends. These are the wise 
 Spu'its of Himianity, living and dead, around us, here and every- 
 
46 HERR PAUL US 
 
 where. They /lonverse with me without the intervention of knocks 
 and raps. They tell me more in a quarter of an hour than you in 
 England have learned from the raps in forty years. They have 
 spoken to you twice ah-eady. They will speak, if you wish it, once 
 more. Is there any here who would lilie a Message of Consolation 
 or of Hope ? Do not mock my Friends, or it may be bad for us. 
 Let no one speak who is not deeply and earnestly desu'ous of such 
 a message.' 
 
 The party sat perfectly still and silent. Then Cicely Langston 
 spoke again. 
 
 ' Tell me,' she said, ' about my brother.' 
 
 ' Yom- brother ? Who is your brother '? Oh ! Do not tell me. 
 Yes — now I know — now I know. He has been gone for five years 
 and has sent no letter, and you fear that he is dead. Yes. ... I 
 understand.' He spoke quickly and without connection, as if he 
 was listening to some one at his ear. ' I understand. He has been 
 at sea. His name is Percival — Sir Percival Langston. He is a 
 Baronet. He is not dead — he lives — he i.^ v/ell.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Cicely burst into tears. ' Is this true ? Do you really 
 know '? ' 
 
 'I know nothing,' said Hcrr Paulus. 'I have been told, just 
 now, since you stood up, Miss Langston.' 
 
 ' Can it be true ? ' 
 
 ' My Friends are always true. But you shall see more. Sic 
 down and raise your ej'es to me. Thinli that you can see me.' 
 
 Again he breathed upon her head. 
 
 ' Lady Augusta,' he said, ' you have a second packet. I was 
 wondering why the second packet came. Please give it to me.' 
 
 He held it, still wrapped in the tissue paper, fiat between both 
 his hands. 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said, ' what you see.' 
 
 She replied, just as Hetty had done, as if she had no choice. 
 
 ' I see a sliip rolhng about in tlie niglit on a rough sea, mider a 
 black sky. It is a sailing ship. The decks are wet and the waves 
 are Ijreaking over her bows as she plunges. At the wheel I see my 
 brother. He is dressed in big boots and a waterproof. He is a 
 common sailor by his dress, and he is steering the ship He does 
 not think of me at all : his mind is full of religion : he cannot seo 
 me as I see him. Oh ! I see his face and I know it is my brother, 
 but I cannot tell why. Percival ! ' she cried, holding out her arms, 
 ' Percival ! speak to me — look at me.' 
 
 Some of the ladies began to cry, and Sibyl again stepped forward 
 to support the girl. 
 
 ' You have played with her enough,' she said. ' Impostor or 
 honest man — I know not which — you have played with her 
 enough.' 
 
 ' Yoiu- brother will return,' said Herr Paulus. ' Sleep in peace 
 
THE F/RST FUNCTION 47 
 
 to-night. Is it plfiyiii,'^ with her to cahii her heart with the assur- 
 ance that her brother is safe ? ' 
 
 He opened the packet in his hand and showed Sibyl the picture 
 within. 
 
 The picture was wiiat Cicely had described. There was the 
 stern of a ship and there was the man at the wliccl : in the black- 
 ness of the night one could see little but the shrouds and the dim 
 outline of the ship's bulwarks. 
 
 ' Who is that man ? ' he asked Sibyl. 
 
 ' He is Sh- Percival Langston,' she replied. 
 
 Herr Paulus gave the picture to Lady Augusta, and it was 
 handed roimd. Then a great awe fell upon the multitude. They 
 were in the presence of one who could compel the truth. He had 
 proved his power. Even Tom Langston scoffed no longer, though 
 he would not give m. 
 
 Herr Paulus returned again to the middle ox the room and 
 ?poke to the people, now silent and territied. He spoke slowly, 
 gi'avely, and with the utmost dignity. 
 
 ' I iiave done what I w^as commanded to do this evening. You 
 have seen something ot the powers possessed by my Friends — alive 
 or dead. It is not some lower and baser spirit of the other world, 
 who may show himself, as you have proved, over and over again, 
 untrustworthy, fickle, and even frivolous,' — Lavinia Medlockgroaiied 
 and hung her head as one who is the victim of misplaced confidence 
 — ' it is a man — whether alive or dead, whether in the fiesh or ouS 
 ot it, matters nothing — who is wise and benevolent, who has 
 acquh-ed powers of which you cannot even dream — who has spoken 
 to you this evening. Kay, there are many men whom I call my 
 Friends, but their action is as one. The ^Manifestation has been 
 made — the Teaching will follow — to those who are accepted.' 
 
 And then he retired into the throng and became only a simple 
 guest, like the rest. The seance, if tliat can be called a seance 
 where there was not so much as a single rap, w^as concluded. iJut 
 it had ended in a Function which gave a solemnity to the evening. 
 Out of the Unknown had come a manifestation ot a kind ne\ or 
 before experienced. The sightless saw ; the absent became visible ; 
 the blind sister recognised the brother whom she had never seen 
 before ; she asked for news of him and she received an answer m 
 this strange and mj-sterious manner. 
 
 I cannot omit to add a concluding incident in the history of the 
 evening. 
 
 Both pictures vanished. 
 
 They had been handed round and they vanished. Perhaps some 
 one stole them and now keeps them secretly as precious sjiirit paint- 
 ings ; perhaps they were drawn away as they came. The most 
 diligent inquiry failed to trace them, and they have never sinco 
 been seen. 
 
48 HERR PAUL US 
 
 Mr. Emanuel Chick stepped briskly forward and liekl out his 
 hand with fine effusion. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' he said heartily, but with a gulp, ' I congratulate 
 you. Don't mind what I said about the mesmerism. Lor ! I recog- 
 nised a brother from the very first. "We are fellow-workers, and 
 we've got lots to teach each other.' 
 
 The poor old Professor looked deplorably common and shabby 
 beside this handsome young man. His nose was red : his cheeks 
 were puffed : he had taken at dinner as much wine as he could lay 
 hands upon : and his voice was thick. 
 
 ' Pardon me,' Herr Paulus replied coldly, and without seeing the 
 proffered hand, ' I think that you have nothmg to teach me. I am 
 certain that I have nothing which I shall teach you. We are not, I 
 assure you, either Brothers or Fellow-Workers.' 
 
 Emanuel Chick fell back, snubbed and disgusted. He has never 
 since quite recovered the effects of that public snub. Indeed, he still 
 spends long hours at times in trying to think what would have been 
 the proper retort ; and he can find none. There are cases in which 
 the proper retort, which should be at once dignified and epigi'am- 
 matic, is extremely difficult to find. For instance, there were once 
 two men, both members of the Utter Bar, who met in the courts of 
 the Temple — the one m wig and gown hastening to Court, the other 
 in a pot hat, loimging to his chambers. Quoth the former to the 
 latter, ' That's a pretty kind of hat to wear in the Temple.' The 
 other waited till his friend was gone a little distance and well 
 within hearing of a circle of men. Then he re^ilied loudly :— 
 
 ' Not 'at, my fi'iend ; not 'at. Hat. Hat. H.A.T.' 
 
 The retort to this remark has never yet been discovered, any 
 more than the retort to Herr Paulus. 
 
 Mr. Emanuel Chick speaks of this evening still, with contempt, 
 as one thrown away upon a bit of mesmerism and something artful 
 done with the ceiling and some bits of paper. ' As for the music,' 
 he says, ' a confederate on the stairs with an accordion did the trick. 
 Probably a footman. I've known spirits — real disembodied spirits — 
 who would have done more than that for me. The picture busmess 
 I call contemptible. It looked new at the moment, but it was con- 
 temptible. I'ln old, I suppose, though, and out of fashion. But to 
 think of the things I've actually done myself in that very room ! 
 Whj', sir, when I was twentj' years younger I have set every table 
 spinning lil^e a whipping top. I've been carried up into the air by 
 the spirits. I've been taken out of one window and brought in at 
 another : they've written on the ceding for me : they've sent 
 messages by hundreds : comic messages, some of them, because 
 they will have their joke, and why not? Why not, I ask you? 
 Bless you, the room has been crammed with sph'its — Peter, Katey, 
 Joseph, Alexander — ay ! dozens of 'em, and all willing and wishful 
 to talk and be comfortable. And all he's got to show is a bit oJ 
 
THE FIRST FUNCTION 49 
 
 fluttering paper and a mesmeric trick and a brazen, impiuloiit, 
 aiTOgant, supercilious cheek. It makes a man sick, sir, sick, to see 
 the women 'umbugged and only wanting more.' 
 
 That, in fact, is what people always do want — More. The 
 smallest, briefest glimpse behind the Veil, the least glimmer of light 
 in the blackness around us, makes us only long for More. To-night 
 afforded the clearest vision of supernatural powers which had yet 
 been vouchsafed to seekers in any age. Things had been done which 
 could not be explained by any theory of mesmeric force — strange, 
 weird, and unexpected things ; none of the ordinary machinery of 
 raps, no darkness of the room, no sitting round tables, no singing of 
 hymns, no uncomfortable susjiicion of tricks, no viilgar Medium, 
 imeducated and coarse, holding out his hand to be paid beforehand, 
 but a gentleman, refined in manners, language, and appearance, who 
 would take no money. 
 
 They came — these friends of Lady Augiista — prepared to Avitness 
 the common feats of spiritualism; some of them expected to go 
 away and declare that the Spuits had "WTitten on the ceiling in tlie 
 dark ; others looked for another example of the well-known frauds : 
 l^eople banged on the head with paper rolled up in long cylinders, 
 writing on the ceiling by means of a piece of charcoal in a pair of 
 lazy tongs, the Mediimi capering about the room in a white shawl, 
 and so forth. 
 
 But there were none of these things. The believers went away 
 with awe, and yet with their hearts aglow. And the incredulous 
 felt that here was somethmg which could not be accounted for by 
 any of the previously discovered tricks and machinery. Mesiuerism '? 
 But mesmerism will not cause jnctures to descend from the ceiling, 
 nor will it bring music into the air — nor will it cause blind girls to 
 see and to know their long lost brothers. 
 
 Alas ! There was no More. And presently the people began to 
 break up. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 GOOD NIGHT. 
 
 "While they were slowly dispersing there was a little opportunity 
 for whispered confidences. Lavinia Medlock, for instance— she had 
 once been so truly great that nobody called her Mrs. Medlock, but 
 Lavinia Medlock, just as one says George Eliot — succeeded in 
 getting Lady Augusta to herself. She was one of tliose who always 
 want to whisper confidentially, and, whatever she had to say, 
 always led the conversation round to herself and her own wants. 
 'Oh 1 dear Lady Augusta ' — she sighed and clasped her hands— 
 
 £ 
 
so IIERR FAULUS 
 
 ' Oil ! it was too tlcliglitfnl. KoLocly but 3-011 would have found and 
 seciu-ed such a man. Oh ! how fortunate we have been ! Such 
 Powers ! Such a Fulness ! Such an Abundance ; and what an Out- 
 lioui'ing upon my poor Hetty. Oh ! he makes us poor common 
 Meduims feel so cheap and small. Oh, I should think he is too 
 great to be ever taken in by a lying spu'it, as happens sometimes to 
 the best of us. Think of what I am and what I used to be. Oh ! 
 dear — dear- — and I so trusted Peter ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, Mrs. Medlock, we are now on a different piano 
 altogether.' 
 
 • \Ve are, indeed ; and yet one feels, after all, that one has been 
 a worker in the same field. Lady Augusta, it is ah-eady whispered 
 in the room ' — here she became very confidential — ' that you are 
 poing to foimd a College — actually a College — for the Pursuit of 
 Eesearch.' 
 
 ' Really, it is the first I have heard of it.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes : it is confidently whispered, and I would so gladly 
 hellup.' 
 
 * W^ell, Mrs. ]\Iedlock, I assure you that I know nothing of it. 
 Any developments that may follow do not depend upon me.' 
 
 ' Kot altogether. But everybody knows that you are our real 
 Leader, and I would so gladly hellup. And oh ! Lady Augusta, j'ou 
 saw my Hetty — poor Hettj" ! — I could never teach her anything — • 
 and to-night she has come out so beautifully. There is Clairvoy- 
 ance in her of the highest order. If she would only be guided by 
 me ! ' 
 
 ' You must not teach her to think of money, Mrs. Medlock, or 
 you will spoil her.' 
 
 '\Yell — perhaps — not yet. However, I hope she will keep 
 better company among the spu'its than hor poor mother could con- 
 trive. And oh! Lady Augusta, a College v/ants secretaries and 
 clerks, and how gladly would we hellup. Hetty could do the spirit 
 work, and I could receive the fees, you know.' 
 
 ' All this is really premature.' 
 
 ' It is exactlj' the work for which I was fitted. I have been 
 looking for it all my life. I could give you so much hellup. And 
 oh ! if you did but know how bacUy I want the work. The last 
 society is broken up, and — and — here is that Mr. Eudge. Do you 
 know why he was turned out of his last situation ? ' 
 
 Lavinia retired and the Eev. Benjamin lludge advanced, smiling 
 and unctuous. 
 
 ' A rich treat. Lady Augusta. A rich treat, indeed. Before 
 retuing to rest this evening I shall commit a full account of the 
 manifestations to paper. It has been an evening full of sm-prises 
 and of iastruction : an evening at once intellectual, sphitual, and 
 religious — especially religious. The futm-e will see magnificent 
 developments of what v/e must now call, I suppose, the Ancient 
 
GOOD NIGHT SI 
 
 Way. As the movement gi-ows and spreatls — as it spreads and 
 r-r-i*-ramifies ' — lie swex)t space circularly with his hands — ' you 
 ■will want an Organiser, a Lecturer, a Secretary. You may com- 
 mand me, Lady Augusta. My services are at your disposal. 
 Poor Lavinia ]\lcdlock ! It was kind to ask here here. You know 
 why she lost her place the other day ? The usual trouble,' ho 
 whispered. 
 
 The worst of Spiritualism is that there is so broad a Fringe. 
 Every Cause has its Fringe, broad or narrow. Spiritualism has so 
 very broad a Fringe. Lavinia IMedlock for instance, now that 
 people no longer ran after her, was fain to lectm-e for anybody who 
 would employ her: she would act as Secretary to any Society; she 
 would collect moneys to be applied to good objects; and her 
 enemies said that there was always, sooner or later, trouble about 
 those moneys. The liev. Benjamin Eudge, on the other hand, the 
 Historiographer of the Cause, had enemies too. They were con- 
 stantly raking up old passages in his life — for he was no longer 
 young — which he himself would willingly have forgotten. It is 
 unmanly to rake up things which their authors would fain bury in 
 oblivion. He had no cure of souls, and he darkly whispered that 
 the Bishops were in league to keep him out of any. He had been 
 connected with societies, and terminated his connection in con- 
 sequence of what he himself called the bad business habits which 
 are always found among scholars and gentlemen ; but his enemies 
 called them by a different name. Whenever he stepped to the front 
 into the public gaze somebody always wrote nasty letters, asking if 
 this was the same reverend gentleman who ten years ago did so 
 and so. He had written a book or two, on subjects not commerci- 
 ally valuable, he occasionally got some hack literary work, and was 
 generally attached to some unsuccessful journal. But concerning this 
 evening's work he saw his way, by the exercise of a rather limited 
 imagination, to write a paper or two which would be worth a month's 
 dinners. 
 
 Then Sibyl advanced to the young Prophet. She intended to 
 speak her mind to him boldly. But for the moment she was stricken 
 with awe like the rest. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' she said, earnestly, ' do you, in very truth, 
 possess these powers '? Are you only mocking a poor girl who lives 
 in constant anxiety about her brother ? ' 
 
 _ 'Ladeed, Miss Brudenel,' he replied, earnestly, 'you do me an 
 injustice by the mere suspicion.' 
 
 _ ' Other Mediums have been asked, but they told us nothing. I'et 
 it is easy to deceive a gui through her affections.' 
 
 ' Miss Brudenel, I assure you on my honour ' 
 
 ' It was the likeness of my cousin — but in a common sailor's 
 di-ess.' 
 
 ' I do not understand that any more tluua you do. My Friends 
 
 K 2 
 
52 HERR PAUL US 
 
 permit nie to tell vou more. Yoiu* cousin is, in fact, a common 
 sailor at this moment. He is in mid-Atlantic, on board the " "Willing 
 Bride," of Quebec, sailing vessel, laden with timber, and bound for 
 the port of London.' 
 
 ' Is it possible ? And he will come safe to shore ? ' 
 ' I do not know. Believe me I have told you all that I know — 
 all that I have learned — fi-om my Friends.' 
 
 ' I thank you, Herr Paulus.' 
 
 Sibyl retreated, and a gentleman slipped forward who held out 
 his hand. 
 
 'To our better acquaintance, Herr Paulus.' He had a com- 
 manding presence and a remarkably deep voice. ' My name is 
 Kilbiu'n — Athelstan Kilburn — not quite unknown in the Spnitual 
 world here, though perhaps m Abyssinia ' 
 
 ' j\Iy Friends know everybody, IMr. Ivilbiu'n. I confess, however, 
 that thej' have not mstructed me as to yom; history.' 
 
 ' Never mind, that will follow. My history, su', is the history of 
 the Cause in this country from the very beginning. I identified 
 myself with it even before my friend Brudenel came mto it. We 
 are coarse and common operators compared with you, Herr Paulus. 
 But such as we are I shall be glad to tell you all about us. There 
 have been Rogues among us — plenty of Eogues among us : and 
 lying sph'its have vexed us. But you shall hear. And you have 
 come to instruct us — me among the number, I hope. Good night, 
 Herr Paulus.' His voice sank deep, as if he was going to sink into 
 the earth. 
 
 His place was taken by the Eev. Amelius Horton, the Senior 
 Fellow of King Henry's College, Cambridge. Mr. Horton's friends 
 were perhaps right in considermg his manner as flight}', but there 
 was confidence in his assertions. 
 
 ' Pray, sir,' he asked, 'have you ever turned your thoughts in the 
 direction of healing '? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes.' 
 T possess, myself, the gift of heahng in a somewhat remarkable 
 degree. Only last Sunday, in the Gray's Inn Eoad, I made a cripple 
 throw away his crutches and walk upright.' 
 
 ' Does this power remain always with you ? ' 
 
 'N — no. I confess that it does not. It is fitful. If it were steady, 
 I should establish myself as a healer and close aU the hospitals.' 
 
 ' I have been enabled myself, on occasions, to exercise this 
 power. The last time was a year ago, when I healed a whole 
 village in Abyssinia, where every inhabitant was stricken with the 
 cholera.' 
 
 Mr. Horton gazed at him with admiration, mixed, perhaps, with 
 a little mcredulity. 
 
 ' My dear sir,' he said, ' if you have that power, why not rid the 
 whole world of disease ? ' 
 
GOOD NIGHT 53 
 
 ' It would bo a truly useful work, if it wero permitted ; bixt I 
 will answer your question by another, Mr. Horton. In your ordi- 
 nation as Priest, I believe the Bishoi) gave you power to absolve 
 sin?' 
 
 ' Certainly.' 
 
 ' There was no condition attached ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
 ' You possess, then, a much more precious gift than I, and since 
 you have this power, Mr. Horton, why do you allow the sins of 
 humanity to weigh upon us for an instant ? Absolve us all, dear 
 sh'. Let us all start from this moment with a clean slate. As 
 soon as the sins of mankind are taken away, I will rid them of their 
 diseases.' 
 
 Mr. Horton made no reply. 
 
 Then other guests came and murmured words of applause and 
 congratulations, and of liope that this evening would be followed by 
 many others equal in interest and in wonder. Very pretty things 
 they said, and the young man replied to each with an admirable 
 grace and ease. And to the ladies the wonderful charm of his eyes 
 brought conviction as to his truth and sincerity. As Lady Augusta 
 prophesied, he was akeady a success. The last was Mrs. Tracy 
 Hanley. 
 
 ' I want to ask you to my Sunday evenings, Herr Paulus. We 
 are quiet people : there is no crush with us : you will find in my 
 rooms rest and sympathy — I feel that after those manifestations 
 you will need repose — and sympathy. You will not be asked to 
 exhibit yoiir truly marvellous powers : and you will find only 
 friends — true fi-iends — who have learned to trust and love each 
 other.' 
 
 ' You are really most kind,' the young man replied, astonished 
 at this unexpected proffer of fi'iendship from a complete stranger. 
 ' I am, however, in Lady Augusta's hands.' 
 
 ' That will not prevent you from commg. Then I shall expect 
 you, Herr Paulus, next Sunday evening ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps not next Sunday. I never make appointments, because 
 I may be called away by my Friends, or ordered upon some special 
 service. Will you kindly let me come on any Sunday evening when 
 I am free ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly, we shall always be happy to see you. Not as a lion, 
 understand. I never have any lions.' This was quite true, but oh 1 
 how devoutly she wished that she could have one or two in the 
 season. ' Only a very quiet circle of friends, with music and talk. 
 Where the peojjle are anxious to make each other happy the talk is 
 always i^leasant. Mere wit — mere epigram — is apt to wound. 
 Sometimes my fr-iends do what they can to amuse each other. If 
 you feel disposed— but no : you shall feel yourself perfectly at 
 liberty, you shall not come hampered by any feelings of obligation. 
 
54 IIEKR PAULUS 
 
 Y7e shall lay oin-sclves out to amuse you, B err Paulus, and you 
 shall repose and be happy.' 
 
 Was there ever a kinder or more gracious lady ? She pressed 
 his hand, smiled most sweetly, and retired. 
 
 ' All the same,' she observed to her husband — he was something 
 in the City, where he toiled every day from ten till five, going out 
 with his wife in the evening, and takmg a back seat from eleven 
 till one, two, and three in the mornmg, so that he really was a 
 happy man — ' All the same, if he does come I will have something 
 out of him, if it is only a thought-reading.' 
 
 And now the people were all gone, and only the house party re- 
 mained. \Yhen the door shut upon the last of them, Mr. Cyrus 
 Brudenel spoke. Hitherto he had said nothing : now he spoke. 
 When a leader speaks the broad earth trembles. He spoke with a 
 certain tremor in his voice which showed that he was deeply 
 moved, and he spoke with that earnestness of conviction which 
 always made Sibyl feel so guilty, and he began by gras^Ding Herr 
 Paulus by the hand. 
 
 'This night,' he said, 'marks a new departiu'e in Spiritual Pie- 
 search. Herr Paulus, I thank you in the name of all those who, 
 like myself, have beheved, thi'ough cruel disappointments and most 
 unworthy deceptions, in the future of our Cause. AVe have been 
 like blind men — I see it now — waiting for a guide : or like ignorant 
 men in a labj-rinth trying all ways but the true way. "What use to 
 us have been om- Chicks and our Medlocks ? What power had 
 they ? What control over the spirits '? None. You have been 
 sent by those you call your Friends to show us the way. It is no 
 longer by the fitful light shown by deceitfiil and vicioiis spirits that 
 we shall try to advance, but by the steady glow of the lantern held 
 up to us by j'oui' Friends. We thank your Friends through you. 
 We have tried to maintain the constancy of our faith, but there 
 have been times, I confess it, when our feet have seemed to be 
 placed on the shaky and uncertain turf of a hidden quagmire. 
 Now, thanks to your Friends, w'e stand at last on Solid Pock. At 
 last, I say, on Solid Eock ! ' 
 
 'You stand, indeed, upon the Solid Eock,' repeated Herr 
 Paulus, gentlj'. 
 
 ' Long ago, before I half understood whither our steps would 
 lead us, I resolved that this house and all in it should be dedicated 
 to the sublime Eesearch of Spiritual Truth. I have adhered to this 
 resolution. I have given up my ambitions, my time, and my 
 friends. My wife has given up her whole life cheerfully to the 
 work. I have dedicated and set apart my daughter to be the Vestal 
 Virgin of this great Cause. If there is aught else that I can give, 
 command me in that as well.' 
 
 ' My Friends will take what is useful,' Herr Paulus replied, with 
 a quick glance at Sibyl, the Vestal, in whose eyes and in the quick 
 
GOOD NIGHT • 55 
 
 flush of her check he saw roliclHon. ' Perhaps they will ask of you 
 less than what you are willing to give. But your reward will bo 
 tenfold what you can give.' 
 
 ' And what — oh ! what can we give you yourself ? ' asked Lady 
 Augusta. 
 
 ' Nothing, except yorir friendship, and — perhaps — yoi;r love. I 
 want no money. My Friends keep me supplied with all that I 
 need. See. This is my purse.' He drew it out and opened it. 
 There were three or four small foreign copper coins in it. ' That is 
 my slender store. Food you can give me and shelter.' 
 
 ' All the house shall he at your service,' said Mr. Brudenel. 
 
 ' Let me come and go uncpiestioned.' 
 
 ' You shall have perfect liberty.' 
 
 ' There are times when I may have to keep my room for days or 
 even weeks together, if my Friends desu'e my presence, and I have 
 to be absent in the spirit.' 
 
 ' You shall do in all things as you wish,' said Lady Augusta. 
 
 ' Do you take meals like other people ? ' Sibyl asked, coldly. 
 ' Do people absent in the spirit eat ? ' 
 
 ' The earthly body takes food.' 
 
 ' In that case, Herr Paulus, let us descend once more to earth. 
 Please remember that breakfast is served at half-past nine and 
 luncheon at half-past one. There are no gongs in this house. Tea 
 goes on here at five, if you care for tea. Good night, Herr Paulus.' 
 She bent her head slightly and without the least enthusiasm. She 
 had had time to recover i'rom her surprise, and reflected that, after 
 all, he was but a Medium. ' Come, Cicely, dear. Good night, 
 mamma.' 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE SMOKIXG-ROOM. 
 
 In Tom Langston's study, or Avorkshop, the two young men, the 
 Prophet of the Ancient Way and the Student of the Modern Way, 
 sat on opposite sides of the fire. No two young men, apart from, 
 their professions, could be more imlike in appearance. The one 
 ruddy, healthy, athletic, tall of stature, long of limb, and broad 
 of shoulder, toughened and hardened by a thousand athletic sports, 
 cricket matches, football matches, lawn-tennis matches, and boat 
 races, brave and comely and tenacious : the other thin and slight 
 of figure, yet not fragile, as active and as springy as a young 
 Frenchman, his tread as alert as a leopard, his eyes as quick as a 
 hawk's, his features as delicate as those of any girl, his long nervous 
 fingers never for a moment in repose. 
 
56 HERR PAULUS 
 
 They both had cigarettes. Hermes, Tliiice Greatest, would him- 
 elf take tobacco if he lived in these days, and so would the two 
 Bacons, Eoger and Francis. Before each stood a glass of efferves- 
 cent water, innocent of whisky. 
 
 They sat in silence and looked at each other fiu-tively, for one was 
 suspicious and the other was conscious of the suspicion, and, besides, 
 was now for the first time in his life alone with a young English 
 gentleman, a creature he had rever before encountered. Apart 
 from a natm'al irritation at feelmg nimself the object of suspicion — 
 a thing which every Prophet has to face — he was asking himself, 
 whether, with all the trouble he had taken to overcome certain 
 early-contracted manners and customs, he had really acquired the 
 tone which this young man possessed, of belonging natm-ally and 
 by birth to polite societj'. 
 
 ' You are thinking of me,' he said presently. 
 
 ' That IS not a difficult piece of thought-reading,' Tom rephed. 
 * I was.' 
 
 ' You were wondering who I am.' 
 
 ' More than that. I was wondering how you do it, first ; and 
 why you do it, next.' 
 
 ' And you mistrust me.' 
 
 ' That also is not so difficult to perceive. I mistrust every man 
 who pretends to supernatural powers, whether he calls himself Me- 
 dium or Mumbo Jumbo.' 
 
 ' And you cannot clear your mind of the suspicion that I am 
 come to plunder your guardian, and that I live by the exhibition of 
 certain — may I say — Powers — or shall I say — Ai'ts ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' asked Tom, ' let me ask the question once for all, why 
 the Devil do you go about the world masquerading and pre- 
 tending.' 
 
 ' ^Vhat do I pretend ? ' 
 
 ' Y'ou assume a name which does not belong to you. It is a 
 German name and you are an American.' 
 
 The young man reddened slightly. There is always a weak 
 point in every man's armour, and he v/ished that his nationality 
 should not be discovered by his speech. 
 
 ' I have not pretended to be a German. I pretend to no country. 
 Believe it or not — my name was imposed upon me by my Friends. 
 It is not, of course, the name of my birth. If I were to tell you my 
 whole history, you would regard me as a greater humbug than you 
 do at present.' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' Because I should have to tell you so much that you could not 
 possibly, with your prejudices and ignorances, even pretend to 
 believe. How else, pray, do I pretend '? ' 
 
 ' Y'ou pretend that your performances of this evening were the 
 work of spirits.' 
 
THE SMOKING-ROOM 57 
 
 • Let mo remind you that I did not say so. I said they wore tho 
 work of my Friends.' 
 
 ' You spoke of a message.' 
 
 ' True. I have a message. From my Friends. I am here to 
 deliver it. My message is for all who will hear it — to those of this 
 house just hecause I have come here first — to you if you please.' 
 
 ' Well, then, take another cigarette. If it was the work of your 
 Friends you will not mind, I daresay, getting them to repeat it in 
 this room. Let us liave a flight of papers from my ceiling, or a littlo 
 music in the air; or you may, if you please, try to make me thmk 
 what you please.' 
 
 Herr Paulus shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ' My message,' he said, ' is not for the incredulous. Let mo 
 look in your eyes. Steady. Look me straight in the eyes. iSo. 
 "Why I might spend a lifetime upon you without any result. You 
 would never he able to understand that there was anything in tho 
 world beyond what j^ou see. You have not the first and most ele- 
 mentary sense required of those who try the Ancient Way. Y''ou 
 believe in nothing but phenomena.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; yet I do not believe all that I see.' 
 
 ' Y''ou saw that I compelled two ladies to think as I chose.' 
 
 ' That was pure mesmerism. Old Chick saw through that at 
 once.' 
 
 ' You mean the spirit rapper. Yes, I know his kind. It was by 
 something of the natm'e of that force which you call mesmerism 
 that these ladies were moved to think and act as they did. Many 
 people of the lowest kind have this force, but cannot use it aright. 
 In the hands of a person like your friend Chick, it is like the elec 
 tricity of a machine exhibited at a fair to make the rustics gape. 
 In the hands of my Friends it is a force far subtler, far more potent 
 than you can even conceive. This force is the basis of all spuitual- 
 istic influence.' 
 
 ' It sounds pretty, but isn't it rather a waste ? ' 
 
 ' Without this force,' Herr Paulus went on, regardless of this 
 rude interruption, ' the communion of minds is impossible, and the 
 understanding of speech would be impossible ; living men could not 
 influence and advise and lead each other ; the power of oratory 
 would be gone : the poet's words would have no raeaning ; the 
 writer would write in vain : spirits living woiild no longer be able 
 to converse with spirits dead : distant fiiends could not con- 
 verse ' 
 
 ' Come, I say.' 
 
 ' You believe nothing. You think that all is answered when you 
 explain a thing by saying that it is mesmerism. Scientific men 
 thought that all was explained when they discovered the law of 
 gravity. But the discovery of the law does not explain the force 
 which is governed by the law. So the explanations of phenomena 
 
58 HERR PAULUS 
 
 by referring them to mesmerism do not really exx')lain them. Not 
 at all. Mesmerism of the higher kind is the machinery hy which 
 we work. Ask yom- friend Chick to do what I did to-night. He 
 can, I suppose, mesmerise in the old-fashioned clumsy method, and 
 on patients who are easily moved. But when he has got them into 
 the mesmeric trance what can he do more? Nothing. "Why? 
 Because he has got to the end of his power.' 
 
 ' Do something with me, now ; let me prove your powers.' 
 ' No ; I can do nothing with you or for you. Whj' should I try 
 to convert you ? It is not my business. If all the world refuse to 
 believe, it Avill not harm me.' 
 
 ' Then why did you come here ? ' 
 
 ' To speak to those whom it may concern. To give mj^ 
 message.' 
 
 ' Did you make any inquiries about us before you came ? ' 
 ' Of com-se. On my way from St. Petersburg I was mformed by 
 mj' Friends of many particulars concernmg this family. I will tell 
 you some of them. I do not pretend to know more than I am told. 
 Mr. Cyrus Brudenel, yoiur guardian, is a man who ardenth' desires 
 to be a Spiritualist and to acquire power. He is not, however, a 
 medium, and he never will be. He has been greatly imposed upon, 
 and yet he has done excellent service in preparing the minds of men 
 and women, agamst all kinds of ridicule, for the reception of higher 
 truth. Lady Augusta, again, is a fervent believer, and yet is not a 
 medium. But she too has done good service by her xmwavering 
 faith : and she has social position which has also proved and will 
 continue to prove useful. Miss Brudenel is not a believer, though as 
 yet she has not ventured to confess her infidelity. The role of Vestal 
 imposed upon her by her father will never be played by her, nor 
 will she ever become an oracle. Your cousm. Miss Cicely Langston, 
 deplores continually the loss of her brother who is not dead. He 
 went away from home, giving up his title and his fortune, five or 
 six years ago, intending to take up his lot with the common people ; 
 and he has never since made any sign of life. You are the heir of 
 his property and of the baronetcy if he is dead. But I think you 
 will not succeed yet, because he will retm-n. I shall take his sister 
 to him unless he comes to her.' 
 
 ' Where is he then ? And when will he return ? ' 
 ' He is on board a sailing ship bound from London to Quebec. I 
 shall be told in good time when he returns. Why should I trouble 
 to find out things when my Friends teU me what is wanted ? As 
 for you, your fortune will be given to you by yom guardian, INIr. 
 Brudenel. in about a month's time, when you arrive at your twenty- 
 fom-th birthday — exactly on the same day your cousin will _ be 
 twenty-one and wiU receive her fortune. You have a mechanical 
 tm-n, and you occupy your time when you are not in the Physical 
 Laboratory in makhig "those pretty little ingenuities in brass which 
 
THE SMOKIXG-ROOM 59 
 
 I see on the table there. I confess that I kno;v no'Jung about tlioiu. 
 Have I told you enough ? ' 
 
 ' You imdoubtedly know a great deal. But you might havo 
 learned all that by imjuirj'. My people are not quite unknown.' 
 
 ' Then I will tell you more about yourself. You liave been 
 touched bj' the prevalent Socialist ideas, like your cousin, Sir I'cr- 
 cival ; you think that every man ought to live by the work of his 
 own hands.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Tom, now really surprised. ' I think it is for most 
 men the greatest misfortune in the world to be born rich.' 
 
 * Y^'ou would not think so, perhaps, if j'ou had been born jioor. 
 You think, besides, and you have constantly asserted your belief, 
 that we are on the eve of the greatest lievolution — a universal llo- 
 volution — that the world has ever seen.' 
 
 ' I do. How do you know that '? ' 
 
 ' Y'ou are right, and yet the Eevolution Avill not be what you 
 think. Y"es,' his eyes lit up and his whole face smiled, ' it will bo 
 the greatest Eevolution that the world has ever seen. A Eevolution 
 in everything, the rich will become poor, j-et not as you think, and 
 the prizes will once more fall to the stroiigest hand, yet not as you 
 think. Y"ou believe this, and you have said it more than once 
 among your friends.' 
 
 ' I have. How do you know it ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly I have never talked with any of j^our friends. How 
 did I know it ? By mesmerism ? How did I learn the facts about 
 your family ? By mesmerism ? How did I learn the existence of 
 your cousin ? Was it all by mesmerism ? ' 
 
 He threw away the end of his cigarette and walked over to the 
 table where lay cogs and wheels all in shiny brass of some cimous 
 and beautiful machine which Tom was making. 
 
 ' I imderstand nothing, for iny part, about machinery. Wheels 
 and mechanical contrivances of all kinds bewilder me. I cannot 
 even try to understand how cogs and springs produce effects so 
 marvellous. Y''et I give you credit when you tell me there is use in 
 machinery, and that you understand its laws and can make it your 
 servant.' 
 
 Tom laughed. 
 
 ' Y''ou have me there. Y^'ou mean that I should give you credit 
 for understanding something that I cannot.' 
 
 The Philosopher looked him straight and full with the eyes of 
 an honest man. 
 
 ' That is precisely what I mean.' 
 
 ' It's half-past twelve,' said Tom, looking at his watch. ' Sco 
 now — are you going to stay long in tbis house '? ' 
 
 ' I think a month or two. Perhaps more. There is talk of a 
 great Conference.' 
 
 ' And will there be nuich hanky-panky ? ' 
 
6o HERE PAUL US 
 
 ' Perhaps a great deal.' 
 _ ' Old Chick, before he took to drinkmg, nsed to fill the place 
 with spirits. They were the very worst kind of spirits you ever 
 $aw. And they talked the very worst kind of drivel. They did, 
 upon my honour. If you knew what a lot of humbugs and mi- 
 postors my uncle has been harbouring and encouraging — if he 
 found one out, it was only to welcome another — you would not be 
 surprised at my distrust.' 
 
 ' I am not in the least sm-prised. When I meet with persons 
 like Mr. Emanuel Chick I am surprised at the strength of the cause, 
 since it sm-vives even him.' 
 
 ' That's all right, then. Don't play more than you can upon the 
 women's feelings. But if you really bring back my cousin — poor 
 old Percy— I'll forgive you everything. And— and '—Tom said this 
 very unwillingly — 'you are not like the ordinary run of 'em ; yoiu: 
 voice rings true: and— well— look here, now, we'll be fi'iends, 
 unless I find you out. Mind, I shall always be on the look out 
 for you.' 
 
 The Messenger laughed pleasantly. 
 
 ' I tell you how I work, but you do not believe me. It is through 
 my Friends beyond the seas. We shall be friends, then, until you 
 find me out. Give me your hand. Now, since you will never iind 
 me out, we are friends for life.' 
 
 Ten minutes later Tom laid himself between the sheets in the 
 room adjoining his study. He was a young man absolutely without 
 the least sense of the supernatm-al : he never felt the air around 
 him grow still and his heart tremble with the vague terrors which 
 assail some men even in places and at times when they least expect 
 to feel that phantoms of the ou^er world are aromad them. He 
 would have _ slept in a charnel-house surrounded by skulls and 
 skeletons without a tremor : all the associations possible of 
 murder, cruelty, and guilt and remorse would have failed to move 
 him. Therefore, when just as he was dropping off to sleep he 
 heard strange music over his head, seemingly in the room, he was 
 not terrified at all, but only startled. He sprang out of bed swiftly, 
 locked the door, and took out the key. Then he struck a light. 
 There was no one in the room and the music ceased. He blew out 
 the candle and got into bed again. Then the music began once 
 more. 
 
 ' It's deuced clever,' said Tom. ' For a trick, it's as good as 
 anything I ever saw, and it seems a pretty kind of tune— soft and 
 melting— twice as good as old Chick's accordion. Well, if his 
 Friends mean to be polite they haven't been long in making xip 
 their minds. Very pretty indeed it is. Very pi-etty. I take it 
 kind of them.' 
 
 Then he fell asleep, and I have never heard how much longer the 
 supernatural music was continued. 
 
6i 
 
 CHAPTER VIIT. 
 
 THE SUBMISSION OF THE LEADER. 
 
 Aftee breakfast — always, in this house, a hushed and solemn 
 function — ]\Ir. Brudcnel led tlie way to his study. He was more 
 than commonly ponderous this morning, and more than commonly 
 nervous. The events of tlie preceding night would have filled him 
 with delight but for that unfortunate revelation about the novel. 
 It has been often proved that the gravest and most reverend of 
 men have been, in their lifetime, devourers of novels, but it is 
 disconcerting when a revered Leader is charged with spending the 
 time, supposed sacred to the study of Magic and Mystery, in 
 reading Ouida. I\[oreover, it was a true charge, and since Herr 
 Paulus could onlj^ have known its truth by supernatural powers, 
 the charge must have been brought forward either as a rebulce or 
 as a threat. If a rebuke it was presumptuous to the last degree in 
 so young a man, and if a threat — how much did the young man 
 know ? 
 
 ' This is — di ! — my small library, Herr Paulus,' he said, 
 pointing with proud humility to the shelves filled from top to 
 bottom with works on the subject to which his life had been given. 
 ' You will — ah ! — have my full permission to make any use you 
 please of this small collection. Here you will find, I thinlc, all the 
 Masters in the art, Cornelius Agrippa, Barrett's " Celestial In- 
 telligence," the Romance of the Eose, Eliphaz, Lilly and Dee, 
 Manetho's Fragments, Salverte's " Science Occulte," Naude's 
 "Apologie," the recent works of Blavatzky, Olcott, and Sinnett.' 
 He stopped short in his communication because he perceived that 
 the young man was looking at him and not at the books. ' Perhaps,' 
 he said, coldly, ' you already know the contents of these books.' 
 
 ' On the contrary,' said Herr Paulus. ' Outside certain lines I 
 am a most ignorant person, I have, it is true, studied Solomon's 
 Book of Wisdom, but these works of mediaeval and oriental pre- 
 tenders I have not taken the trouble even to look into. Only it 
 amuses me that you, the Leader of Spiritualism in the country, 
 should seriously invite an inspection of these WTiters.' 
 
 ' Yet the results of mediaeval research ' 
 
 ' There were no results.' The young man spoke with a dog- 
 matism which would have been offensive but for the calm assur- 
 ance of his manner. ' There never were any results. The books 
 are absolutely without value.' 
 
 Mr. Bi'udenel piit up his eyeglasses and looked at the books on 
 which he had spent so many hundreds of pounds. "Would no 
 spirit issue forth to contradict this arrogant young man ? 
 
62 IIERR PAUL US 
 
 ' No — no results ? No value ? ' 
 
 ' "WeU, there is the value of history. These men, provided with 
 a fragment of truth, groped about in the dark and found nothing. 
 The books preserve the history of their researches. If that is 
 valuable the books are valuable. If not ' — he shrugged his 
 shoulders. 
 
 ' Plave you read them ? ' 
 
 •Not one.' 
 
 ' How, then, do you know ? ' 
 
 ' I know because I know. It is part of the Wisdom of the 
 Ancient Way to distinguish between truth and falsehood. How 
 many of them have you read yourself, Mr. Brudenel ? You do not 
 reply. I will tell you. Not one. You have tm-ned over pages 
 which you could not understand. Y^ou have not read one. Bm-n 
 yom- lilorary, Mr. Brudenel. Burn it all.' 
 
 ' Burn my imrivaUed collection ? Sir, you presmne too far. I 
 woi;ld have you to know ' 
 
 ' You have not read one single book, Mr. Brudenel. Y'ou know 
 nothing of the subject. Here is a book which professes to show 
 you how to raise spirits.' He took a volume from the shelves. 
 ' Do you know the method ? Have you ever tried to raise a 
 spirit '? Here is another book which teaches you how to find the 
 Philosopher's Stone. Have you found it ? Here are the secrets of 
 astrolog3\ Can you cast a nativity ? ' 
 
 ' But — but — do you pretend that the claims of all the mediaeval 
 philosophers have been baseless ? ' 
 
 ' Not quite baseless. In the same way the modern so-called 
 Occult Philosophers and Esoteric Buddhists are not baseless. Their 
 pretensions rest on the fi'agments which were brought to the East 
 from Syria. So the pretensions of the mediaeval Seekers rest upon 
 the fi-agments preserved by the learned Jews of Spain and Morocco, 
 and handed down from father to son. But in Abj^ssiuia we have 
 the perfect Book, the Kmg's own Book, brought to us by Prince 
 Menelek.' 
 
 ' It is something to be told that we have fragments,' said Islv. 
 Brudenel, coldly. 
 
 ' Y'es : you have fragments. They have enabled you to get a 
 little way, but you can go no farther. Consider ! You have been 
 a Seeker for thirty years, and what do you know now, more than 
 you knew when first j'ou began ? ' 
 
 'There are some who think we have made great advances.' 
 
 ' You have made no advance at all,' said Herr Paulus firmly ; 
 ' and if you continue in yoiu' present hne you will make no fmlher 
 advance.' 
 
 ' After all,' the Leader objected, but without much force, ' one 
 cannot overtlu'ow the fabric of thirty years on the dictum of u 
 strange youth.' 
 
THE SUBMISSION OF THE LEADER 63 
 
 •Fabric!' Ilerr Paulus drew liiinsclf up and apsnmcd the 
 aspect of one who teaches and admonishes. ' Fabric ! What 
 fabric ? You have none. Yon have not even the dream, tlio 
 simulacrum, the deceptive image of a Fabric. In your thoughts at 
 this moment I read the secret consciousness of faihu'e. Confess ! 
 Faihu'e. Your whole life has been a failure. You have been 
 buoyed up by false hopes ; you have trusted in one impostor after 
 the other. Deceptions have met you at every turn. Confess. 
 Y'our whole life has been a failure. You have nothing solid — 
 nothing — nothing. Confess.' 
 
 His dark eyes flashed, his accent was stem, his forefinger was 
 menacing. Heard one ever before of a Leader thus rebulied ? 
 His aspect was severe. Mr. Brudenel turned away as if afraid to 
 meet those eyes, and himg his head and stammered something 
 about the Joy of Ecsearch. But it was very feeble. 
 
 ' Your life has been a failure, and you know it and feel it. 
 Confess. Look iu my face— look at me. So.' Mr. Brudenel 
 obeyed slowly and nuwillingly, as if he was compelled. He raised 
 his eyes and met the steady, fervent gaze of the masterful young 
 man. • Confess all that is in your mind.' 
 
 ]\fr. Brudenel sunk into a chair. All his dignity was gone and 
 his stiffening. He coliapsed. And still his eyes were fixed and 
 held by those of his guest. 
 
 ' I do confess,' he said. ' My life has been a failure. For long 
 years I have known it, but I was ashamed to acknowledge it. And 
 I was sm-rounded by believers who looked up to me. Had I con- 
 fessed the truth, it woiild have been a dreadful blow to my wife and 
 to everybody. Every year I have felt it more and more. I have 
 lost my self-i'espect. I have been a wretched humbug, pretending 
 to believe. I have come here, every morning, pretending to study, 
 but in reality to read novels and to forget the cant of the Spiri- 
 tualists.' 
 
 ' It is enough. Say no more. Own, however, that I read your 
 thoughts rightly.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel, the power of those eyes removed, began to re- 
 cover a little. He sat up in his chair and put up his glasses. 
 
 ' I have told you, Ilcrr Paulus,' he said, ' what I never thought 
 to tell any man. You have the secret of my life. Eespect it, sir.' 
 
 ' Indeed, Mr. Brudenel, I had the secret of j'our life before. Do 
 not doubt that I shall respect it.' 
 
 ' I am glad to have told you. Now you know all, and there is 
 no longer any occasion for us two to talk about the phenomena. 
 Perhaps, some day, you will tell me how you did the things last 
 night. I seem to know how most of them do their tricks, but 
 yours, I confess ' 
 
 'Y''ou are terribly wrong — most terribly wrong, Mr. Brudenel. 
 If I have been sent to you in your hour of deepest dejection it was 
 
64 HERR PAULUS 
 
 not only to tell you that your efforts have been unavailing, nor ■Was 
 it to perform tricks.' 
 
 ' The time was,' the Leader continued, without listening to this 
 interruption, ' when I rejoiced in my researches, and looked joyfully 
 forward to the fuller light which was certain to come. Alas ! that 
 time has now gone, and I have nothing but regi-ets that I have 
 thrown away my life among enthusiasts and common cheats. I 
 confessed to you, Herr Paulus, because — you are young, but you 
 seem honest — because you compelled me. That is done. Go on 
 and frighten the women, and come here when you please to laugh at 
 the whole business with me.' 
 
 ' Again, it is not my object to frighten the women and to laugh 
 with you. Yom- past life is done with. But a new life begins if 
 you wish for some splendid ' 
 
 ' Oh ! how am I to trust any one ? ' cried ]\Ir. Brudenel, help- 
 lessly. ' I want no new life, man. Henceforth I will go on like the 
 rest of mankind. I shall cease to inquire into the other world. I 
 shall go to Church with my wife and the girls. No new splendours 
 for me, thank you. I have done with it all.' 
 
 He threw out his arms with an expressive gesture. 
 
 ' Done with it, Herr Paulus. Done with it, I say.' 
 
 ' Permit me, Mr. Briidenel. I read m your looks — nay in your 
 mind — I read your dejection last night. You expected nothing but 
 to be bored. Then you were surprised out of yourself. Then you 
 expressed what you felt at the moment ; but this morning another 
 cold wave of doubt has faUen i;pon j'our soul. You no longer trust 
 your eyes.' 
 
 ' That is so.' 
 
 ' The credentials which I exhibited have satisfied the rest of 
 those who saw them — except your ward and — and perhaps one 
 other. But you, rendered suspicious by frequent disappointments, 
 recall them with doubt and questioning. The music in the air: 
 the silver bells — you have heard something like them before in the 
 darkened seance : they were produced by your Chicks and your 
 Medlocks, with then- concertinas : girls in a trance have been seen 
 before : clairvoyance is no new thing ; perhaps the pictm-e of the 
 very scenes which had passed through the girls' minds — which they 
 actually saw — is an old trick too.' 
 
 ' No — no — I do not say so. The things were new and striking.' 
 
 'Very good. Now, Mr. Brudenel, I am sent to j-ou especially. 
 It is to you that my message is given. If you are not convinced I 
 will show you more credentials. What do you ask ? Do not be 
 ah-aid. Ask boldly.' 
 
 ' Do for me,' said Mr. Brudenel, ' what the Occult Philosophers 
 have not done. Put in my hands an Indian uewspai^er of this very 
 day.' 
 
 ' That is very easy,' replied Herr Paulus. He put his hand 'm 
 
TJIE SUBMISSION OF THE LEADER 65 
 
 his cont pocket ani produccil a. paper stamped by an Indian post- 
 ninrk, addressed to Cyrus Urudencl. ' Here it is. Here is the 
 " Friend of India " of this morning'. Before you open it I must 
 make a condition. There are in the paper all kinds of news — 
 2)olitical — social — deaths — marriages — share markets — things not 
 thought wortlij' of the telegraph —which "must not be read before 
 the day when m the ordinary course the paper would arrive. Open 
 this paper. Satisfy yourself that it is the paper of this very day, 
 which will arrive in London this day four weeks : then lock it u\> in 
 some place accessible only to yourself, and do not look at it again 
 until the day when all the world can see it. Do you promise this ? ' 
 
 ' I would rather have its contents published to all the world.' 
 
 ' Consider. There may be things in it which it will be best to 
 be learned at their proper time. To publish the paper may causo 
 the ruin of merchants. Do you promise '? ' 
 
 ' I promise.' 
 
 ' Then open the paper.' 
 
 ]\Ir. Brudenel tore open the cover, which Ilerr Paulas tossed 
 into the fire. He looked at the date. Saturday, March 2Gth, 1887. 
 Tiie date was printed on the front and on every page. He folded 
 it up again with a deep sigh. 
 
 ' You have actually done this wonderful thing,' he said. 
 
 ' Lock up the paper in the safe. So. That drawer will do. 
 Lock the drawer and put the key on your ring. No one has access 
 to the safe but yoiu'self, of course. You will get the paper out and 
 read it on the day when it is due by the mail, and not before. No 
 one but yoiu'self will know until then of its existence. Eemember, 
 you are not to look at the paper or to open the drawer until the 
 time comes.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel did as he was told. 
 
 ' And now sit down and let us talk.' 
 
 It was then eleven o'clock. 
 
 At half-past one Herr Paulus and Mr. Brudenel came to 
 luncheon. 
 
 The ladies became instantly aware that something had hap- 
 pened. I mean, of course, something important. Mr. Brudenel 
 plainly showed that something had happened to him. In that 
 house they Avere always expecting something out of the common, 
 and last night's events had shown that the}' were on the eve of 
 something very great indeed. Tlierefore Lady Augusta's heart 
 beat faster when she saw that her husband had things to com- 
 municate. 
 
 ' My dear,' he whispered, just before they sat down, ' the most 
 wonderful, the most stupendous manifestaiions have occurred. I 
 will tell you about them after luncheon.' 
 
 ' Were they — were they — of the natm-e of last night's appear- 
 ances ? ' 
 
66 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' No, no ; quite different. Herr Paulus has clone for me alon© 
 what the Occult Philosophers have never been able to do ; and I 
 have been translated in the sphit to Abyssinia. I have spent two 
 hours — it seemed to me to be five-and-twenty — on a hill side with 
 the sole livinf; possessor of the Wisdom which Herr Paulus calls 
 the Ancient Way. An.gusta, we shall not only be the happiest 
 people in the world, but we shall also bo the most powerful and the 
 most celebrated. Be very, very kind to him, Augusta. W"e are on 
 SOLID ROCK at last — at last — on solid rock ! ' 
 
 At luncheon Mr. Brudenel could eat nothing, being still under 
 the influence of the morning's mystery. His cheek was flushed, 
 his eyes were humid : the eager, nervous look was changed for one 
 of satisfied assiu-ance : his voice was soft. Some great change had 
 passed over his spirits. 
 
 As for Herr Paulus he attacked the luncheon with the appetite 
 of four-and-twenty, and as if there were no dinner ahead. But the 
 girls, Cicely and Hetty, waited for further information ; and Sibyl 
 looked suspicious. 
 
 In the afternoon IMr. Brudenel, worn out, perhaps, by the exer- 
 tions of the morning, fell fast asleep in his study. 
 
 He slept from two o'clock until half-past four, in the deep and 
 comfortable chair by the fireside in which he was wont to read 
 Ouida, while they thought he was pursuing Cabalistic or other 
 research. At half-past four he awoke with a violent start, springing 
 to his feet. 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' he said, ' was it only a dream ? ' 
 
 Pie rushed to his safe, unlocked it, and opened the drawer 
 where he had laid the paper — the ' Friend of India ' of that morning, 
 brought all the way to England in an hour or two by Herr Paulus's 
 friends. 
 
 He had laid the paper in the drawer. He was certain he had ; 
 there could be no doubt in his mind about it. 
 
 But the paper was gone ! There was not a trace of the paper 
 left. Stay, at his feet was a scrap of the paper which had wrapped 
 it, with a piece of his name, ' - — el, Esq.,' and a corner of the Indian 
 stamp. It was no dream. And then he remembered his promise, 
 that he would not open the drawer until the time came. He had 
 broken the promise and lost the paper. Good Heavens ! he had 
 actuallj' fooled away the most stupendous of modern miracles by 
 curiosity unworthy of a school girl ! The paper was gone. He had 
 held in his hands that very morning a paper brought all the way 
 from India since daybreak. And it was gone ! What a miracle I 
 What a misfortune I 
 
67 
 
 CnAPTER IX. 
 
 THE CONQUEST OF THE nARElT. 
 
 'We spoke yesterday of the Ancient Way,' said Herr Paulus. ' Per- 
 haps you would like to hear something more definite.' 
 
 It was the afternoon of the same day, about half-past five. Tea 
 was goinf^ on, and there were present only the ladies of the house, 
 with Hetty Medlock. The twilight was falling, but the lamps were 
 not yet lit nor the curtains drawn. 
 
 ' The son of King Solomon and Queen Sheba,' he began 
 
 ' '^^^lat ? ' Lady Augusta was not often sm-prised, but this bo- 
 ginnmg startled her. 
 
 ' The son of King Solomon and Queen Sheba,' Herr Paulu3 
 repeated, ' was, as every Abyssinian knows, the Prince Menelek. 
 He was born in the Queen's capital, and was brought Tip in his 
 native country. It is said that it was his mother's sole delight and 
 solace, as soon as the boy could understand anything, to fill his 
 mind with stories of the greatness and glory of his father, the Wise 
 King of Syria. When he grew to manhood he resolved to visit the 
 city where his father had been King, and with a great retinue he 
 set off. His route has been preserved, with many details, which are 
 curious, but you would not care for them. He went down the Nile 
 as far as the site of the modern Caho, and then journeyed through 
 the desert by the Serbonian Lake and the Eiver of Egypt to El 
 Arish, Gaza, and Joppa, whence he journeyed to the Holy City. 
 
 ' He entered the gates of Jerusalem at break of day. He had 
 not gone far when the people began flocking roiuid him, the old 
 men weeping, the women crying for joy, and the young men 
 shoutmg. For his resemblance to Solomon was so great that they 
 thought the old King had come back again to them with renewed 
 youth.' 
 
 'No part of this storj^,' Sibyl interposed, severely, 'is in 
 the ' 
 
 ' My dear ! ' said Lady Augusta, ' we have here, perhaps, a 
 contemporary Chronicle.' 
 
 ' The tumult,' Herr Paulus continued, ' was heard in the 
 Palace where the King v.-as sitting with his Council. They heard 
 the people cry " King Solomon has come back again. May the 
 King live for ever ! " and sent a messenger to learn the cause. At 
 first it was proposed to send soldiers to kdl the man who presmned 
 to be so much like the dead King ; but it was finally agreed to 
 bring him before the King, and to question him. Now, Avhen he 
 stood before the King, those who were old cried aloud, like the 
 people in the streets, for astonishment, because it seemed to thena, 
 
 f2 
 
68 HERR PAULUS 
 
 that it was Solomon himself ia the beauty and strength of his 
 youth, who stood before them. But the young man bore himself 
 modestly, and made obeisance to the King, and when he had 
 caused presents to be brought, he asked leave to speak, and said : — 
 " King, I am Menelek, the son of Solomon the Great and Queen 
 Sheba of Abyssinia, from which country have I come, bringing 
 gifts to thee, and desirous of seeing the great and glorious Temple 
 which the King my father caused to be built, and his Palace and 
 all his glory, and then to return in peace into mine own country, if 
 it please the King to suffer me to depart." 
 
 ' And it was done as he asked, and the King entertained him 
 com-teously, and all his following, for thhty days. And at the end 
 of that time Prince Menelek would depart. Therefore, the King 
 ordered all manner of precious things to be given to him, in order 
 to show his friendship and goodwill toward his brother, and among 
 the gifts thus prepared was a copy, so exact that you could not tell 
 that it was not the original, of the Ark which is in the Temple, 
 and it contained exact copies of all that was in the Ark. And here, 
 the AbyssLnians say, a strange thing happened, for there was in the 
 Temi^le a priest named Isaac, a man stricken in years but full of 
 learning, one who knew the Hidden Way. The priest, by much 
 conversation with Menelek, fell into so great an affection for the 
 yoimg man that nothing would do but he must go back to 
 Abyssinia with him, he and aU his house. Nay, so greatly did he 
 love him, partly because he was the son of Solomon, his master, 
 and partly because he was a goodly youth, and one who loved to 
 talk of things hidden from the multitude, that he did a strange and 
 wonderful thing, of which the Jews to this day are ignorant. For, 
 by the j)Ower of the Hidden "Way, he threw a charm over the 
 watchers and guardians of tlie Temple, so that they slept, or rather 
 so that they saw, but saw not, and in the morning had forgotten, 
 for they walked to and fro in their watch as if they were awake, 
 and challenged each other and called the dawn, and sang the 
 morning Psalms, whUe with his sons this old priest brought into 
 the Temple the imitation of the Sacred Ark and exchanged it, 
 taking away with him the real Ark and leading in its place that 
 which had been made for Menelek. And this, they say, would have 
 been impossible ui the lifetime of the King, partly because his 
 servants, the Jinns, who day and night worked for him m and 
 about the Temi)le, would have prevented it, and partly because the 
 Shechinah above the Ark, which left it when Solomon died, would 
 have blinded those who touched it. They brought away the Ark, 
 therefore, with the tables of stone, and laid it on a camel, covered 
 with a carpet, and led it away with Menelek and his train when he 
 left Jerusalem. And the old priest took with him secretly the 
 Book of the Wisdom of the Great King, the loss of which was 
 never suffered to be known unto the people unto this day; and 
 
THE CONQUEST OF THE HAREM 69 
 
 many of the Jews went with him because they wonld rather serve 
 Menelek than Bchoboam ; and their descendants, who are now 
 called Falashas, remain in the land of Abyssinia to this day, 
 worshipping after the manner of their ancestors. And to tliis day 
 the Ai-k itself is in the hands of the Abyssinian Kinpf. And the 
 Book of Wisdom, by some called the Book of the Hidden Way, 
 and by others the Book of the Ancient Way, is in the hands of that 
 priest's descendants to this day. This Book is our Book : this 
 Wisdom is our Wisdom : the descendant of the priest, Isaac, is my 
 master, Isak the Falasha, called Isak Ibn Menelek : and the 
 Ancient Way is the AVisdom of Kmg Solomon himself.' 
 
 There were four women listening to this story. Three of them, 
 lilie Queen Dido, listened with eager eyes and beating hearts. 
 To them already this young man was an infallible Prophet, before 
 whom they were contented to surrender whatever of judgment, 
 reason, and critical faculty they possessed. Is it wicked — I mean 
 in the modern sense — to advance the doctrine that most women 
 are entirely devoid of the critical faculty ? Less than foiu'-and- 
 twenty hoxxrs had sufiiced to make this young man the master of 
 these three women. That he had not also become the master of 
 the fourth was solely due to the extraordinary dislike with which 
 this girl regarded all pretenders to supernatural powers, so that at 
 the very aspect and first appearance of one she hardened her heart 
 and stitfened her soul. But with regard to the others Herr Paulus 
 came and conquered. His victory was due to his aj^pearance and 
 his manners almost as much as to the exhibition of his powers. 
 If he had been the tobacco-reeking German they expectecl, badly 
 dressed and badly-mannered, uncouth and vulgar, his powers would 
 have been acknowledged, but there would have been no enthusiasm 
 for him. 
 
 ' It was from Isak,' Herr Paulus continued, ' that I learned all 
 I know. It is he who continues to teach me. I am in conversation 
 with him every moment ; even now, whUe I am speaking, I am 
 receiving messages of instruction and support.' 
 
 ' Oh 1 it is wonderful I ' Cicely murmured. ' And I have seen 
 my brother 1 ' 
 
 Sibyl looked furtively at the man who dared to talk like this. 
 Many men had come to that house and tallied. Many pretentious 
 assertions had been made ; in every one she had recognised some 
 old famihar stroke, some familiar stage business, and in every one 
 there was at bottom the commercial element. Here the language 
 and the pretensions were equally new to her, and the commercial 
 element was — so far — wholly wanting. She hardened her heart 
 with resolution and looked at him again. His eyes met hers with 
 a strangely searching and commanding look. Then a sensation fell 
 upon her : one quite new and terrifying : she felt h6r brain over- 
 Bhadowed as by a cloud : she was drawn towards this man as by ^ 
 
70 HERE PAULUS 
 
 rope : it Avas by a desperate effort that she seemed to snap that rope 
 and to di-ive away the cloud from her brain. Again she met his 
 eyes, and this time he turned away. 
 
 ' There are many women,' he said, ' as there are many men, who 
 cannot, if they would, tread this path. There are others — a few — 
 who have the gifts but refuse to use them.' 
 
 ' They know, while they are free,' said Sibyl, ' what they are 
 and what they do. They know not what may happen to them 
 when they have sm-rendered their freedom and their will.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' murmured Lady Augusta, setting the worst possible 
 example, ' when a Prophet leads, who would not follow and sur- 
 render all ? ' 
 
 Cicely and Hetty sighed, and the latter blushed a rosy red, as if 
 there were too much happiness only in the thought of perfect 
 slavery and submission. 
 
 Only fom'-and-twenty hours since he arrived. To be sure he 
 had lost no time, nor did he fool aromid : but by methods known 
 only to himself he dominated those three women and made them 
 all his slaves. "What he had said to each separately I know not. 
 But now they were his. 
 
 ' It is wonderful,' said Cicely again, to whom new worlds were 
 opening. ' It is truly wonderful ! ' 
 
 ' I was selected — I know not why, nor where — for the work by 
 Isak himself.' 
 
 ' Were you taken in infancy ? ' asked Lady Augusta. 
 
 ' No,' he laughed gentlj^ ' I am gomg to tax your credulity to 
 the utmost.' 
 
 'Oh! after last night is there anything which we would not 
 beheve ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you, Lady Augusta. It was for you and for this house 
 that the manifestations of last night were granted. In themselves 
 they were trifles hght as air; but they served for credentials. 
 You will believe me, therefore, when 1 teU you that the earliest 
 thing I remember is when I was seventeen years old. As for my 
 previous life— where it was spent, what was my name, who were 
 my parents, what was my country — I cannot tell you. Isak called 
 me Paul. I could not speak a word of the language at first.' 
 
 ' What is their language ? ' 
 
 ' The Falashas preserve the knowledge of Hebrew ; but among 
 themselves they speak Amharic. My education was in that lan- 
 guage. But, to us, all languages are alike. When we find ourselves 
 in a foreign country we speak its language.' 
 
 ' Anna Petrovna says that you speak Russian like a native.' 
 
 ' While in Russia I did, no doubt. If you asked me for a Eiissian 
 sentence now I suppose I could not give you one. But there is one 
 thing which makes me think that English is my native language. 
 It is that I am sometimes taken for an American. This seems to 
 
THE CONQUEST OF THE HAREM 71 
 
 me to show that my childlioocl may have been passed in the 
 United States, and that when I speak Enghsh I return to the 
 tongue of my forgotten years.' 
 
 ' It is possible,' said Lady Augusta thoughtfully, as if she had 
 heard of many similar cases. ' But how long ago is it since you 
 found yourself in Abyssinia ? ' 
 
 ' Again, I do not know. There are cases in which a man may 
 spend his whole life upon the study and never advance beyond the 
 gates of the Ancient Way. There are other cases in which a man 
 may develop the highest powers in a j-ear or two. There are other 
 cases m which a man can never acquire anjHhing, however long he 
 may study. It is with mankind, as regards the Ancient Way, just 
 as in the Heaven revealed to the Swede, in which the spirits iind 
 their levels, and some are contented to remain for ever in the lower 
 levels, while others are continually rising to higher planes. I do 
 not know how long I have studied, but I think I am still a young 
 man. There is no reason why we should interfere with the coiu-se 
 of nature, in which age and decay of the body are but incidents in 
 the long eternal life. The men lose for a while their strength of 
 body and of mind : the women their beauty. It is but an incident, 
 strength and beauty will retm-n again, and the onward march to 
 Wisdom will be renewed with greater joy.' 
 
 ' Do women walli alone upon that road ? ' 
 
 Herr Paidus hesitated. 
 
 ' It is the modern fashion,' he said, ' for women to claim inde- 
 pendence and equality. But in the Ancient Way they do not walk 
 alone. We will talk of this further : at present you wiU perhaps 
 be content to walk with me.' 
 
 Lady Augusta looked as if she would have liked to inquire 
 further into this interesting topic, but she reserved it for a more 
 fitting time — when the three girls would not be with them. 
 
 ' I will lead you,' he went on, ' until you are so far advanced as 
 to choose another leader. You will then know all who are on the 
 Ancient Way, whether hving or dead. As for myself, it will not be 
 long, perhaps, before I shall be recalled to the quiet joys of study 
 and meditation among the Abyssinian mountains.' 
 
 ' But there is the glory of the missionary,' said Lady Augusta. 
 'Tou must not forget that.' 
 
 Herr Paidus tinned his sad but not reproachful eyes upon her. 
 
 ' You speak out of your ignorance,' he said, ' else you would 
 know that with us there are no such words as glory or honour. 
 What is it to be well or iU spoken of by men ? We are taught to 
 despise all earthly shows ; titles, rank, honour, wealth, have no 
 meaning for us. These things do not advance us upon the Way. 
 I came reluctantly because I was enjoined to come. I shall stay 
 with less reluctance, because I have met with a reception so warm 
 and hearts so sympathetic' 
 
72 HERR PAULUS 
 
 'Yes — yes,' Lady Augusta murmured, giving him her hand, 
 ' you must stay with us a long while. ^Ye have so much to learn : 
 we are so ignorant : we are as yet hardly on the threshold. Oh ! 
 you must stay with us a long while, Herr Paulus,' 
 
 ' Make my name EngUsh,' he said. ' Call me Paul. And you, 
 my sisters, I will call by your own names too.' 
 
 Sibyl shook her head. 
 
 ' You will except me, if you please,' she said. 
 
 ' Sibyl ! ' It was Cicely who expostulated. 
 
 ' Be it so,' said Paul, with a sigh. ' In everything human there 
 is the touch of discord — one wonders whj-.' 
 
 ' Promise to stay with us,' Lady Augusta urged. ' Stay with 
 us, Paul — Paul, our Master.' 
 
 ' Stay with us ! ' said Cicely. 
 
 ' Stay with us ! ' mm-mure'd Hetty. 
 
 ' Yes— I will stay until '—his eyes met the gaze of Hetty, 
 
 whose eyes were fixed upon him as those of a nymph of Delos 
 might have been fixed on Apollo, had that god vouchsafed to appear 
 to her, ^yith as much awe, respect, and submission. 
 
 \ I will stay,' he corrected himself, ' a long while. I will stay^ 
 imtil you yourselves order me to depart.' 
 
 ' Paul ! ' said Lady Augusta, clasxjmg her hands, do you know 
 
 do you understand what you have promised ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' he repeated firmly, but looking at Hetty. ' I will stay 
 until yo;i yomrselves order me to depart.' 
 
73 
 
 BOOK TEE SECOND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE STUDIO. 
 
 Two girls were talking together in a studio. 
 
 It was not a very magnificent studio, such as one may visit in 
 Fitz John's Avenue or in St. John's Wood on Eovmg Sunday. 
 There were no pieces of tapestry, no bits of armoiu-, no mediaeval 
 weapons, no galleries and stairs of carved wood ; not at all ; it was 
 a simple room built out at the side of the house ; not originally in- 
 tended for a studio, but yet serving very well for one. The house 
 to which it belonged was an old-fashioned, square, red-bi-ick house, 
 still surrounded by a bit of its old garden, which had been extensive, 
 and could still show apple and pear trees ; and still had some of the 
 old red-brick wall standing at the end of it, moss and lichen 
 covered, crowned with walltlowers. The studio served at the same 
 time for a keepmg-room. But it was a studio first. There was an 
 easel at which one of the girls was standing ; on a table beside it 
 were the usual implements of the craft : a quantity of drawings and 
 sketches and half-finished things were pinned against the wall and 
 lay piled upon the chairs and even stacked upon the floor. A lay 
 figure — nothing so horribly human as a lay figiu-e or so piteous and 
 ghostly in its silence and the horror of its helplessness — -stood in a 
 corner, its head serving as a peg for a bonnet, while its arms carried 
 stifHy, as under protest, a jacket and a silk handkerchief and a veil. 
 On the residential side, so to speak, of the fm-nitmre, there were a 
 few chairs, a shabby, worn carpet, a small round table, and a hard, 
 black sofa. But the hardness of the sofa was mitigated by soft and 
 pretty wraps, shawls, and woollen things which made it look 
 Oriental and splendid, and the shabby carpet was hidden by rugs, 
 while the general poverty of the room, whose paper and paint had 
 not been renewed for many years, was redeemed by the pretty 
 things hanging from the wall or standing on the mantelshelf. And 
 there was everywhere such a heavenly litter as proved that the 
 occupant could never have belonged to a large family of girls, all 
 
74 HERR PAUL US 
 
 living in the same room, and therefore taught as gh-ls in a large 
 family must be taught that real religion is always proved by tidiness. 
 The occupant was clearly a girl, apart from the evidence of the young 
 lady at the easel — gloves and a veil lay on the table, and there was 
 a feminine atmosphere in the room. She was also a girl, one could 
 perceive, who read a good deal, for the sofa was piled with books, 
 and there were hanging shelves also fiUed with books and magazines. 
 Most of the books belonged to the dear, delightful, much-abused 
 tribe of novels. The room, in fact, made a comfortable keeping- 
 room large enough to walk about in and to hold j)lenty of things 
 and to contain quite an extensive litter ; it did very well also for a 
 studio, with a strong light in the proper quarter, but it had been 
 built for a very difierent purpose. In the house adjoining, Mrs. Lavinia 
 Medlock in the old days when she was more than iUustrious — every- 
 body can be illustrious, but not everybody can be fashionable — held 
 every day her now historical seances. Those days are gone — this 
 is not wonderful because all old days are gone — and with them is 
 gone Lavinia's greatness. She then wore the finest and newest of 
 satin dresses and received the best of company. Her friends came 
 all day long, they came in omnibuses, in cabs, in broughams, and in 
 stately chariots, they had all kinds of titles to their names from plain 
 Miss or Mistress, to Gracious Duchess and even Serene Highness ; 
 they came by appointment and without, they would not be denied, 
 and because the drawing-room was not largo enough — it had been 
 formerly the front parlour — Lavinia built a salon at the side of the 
 house for the reception of her friends, those in the flesh, and those 
 out of it. The former, who concealed as much of the flesh as they 
 could in furs, jackets, cloaks and other things so as not to make the 
 spirits jealous by the show of what they themselves lacked, were 
 not attracted to the house by Lavmia's appearance, which was 
 homely, nor by her conversation, which was plain, nor by her 
 manners, which spoke of certain omissions in early training, but by 
 the reputation she possessed of being the finest interpreter in the 
 world of things said and done out of it, and the most favourite 
 Medium known to the spirits. Certain it is that you could, by 
 Lavinia's help, converse with any spirit you chose to call. So 
 affable and condescending were they, or so powerful was the in- 
 fluence of Lavinia, that the most illustrious spirit possible to name 
 would come if invited, and converse with the most obscure, and answer 
 any question, even the most impertinent, as to then- own happiness 
 or the happiness of their friends. The immortal Homer, the equally 
 immortal Bard of Avon, Sir Walter Scott, Lord Byron, Milton him- 
 self, or Charles the First, would not disdain to rap out a message, 
 dictate a poem, or show personal acquaintance with the inquirer's 
 great-aunt. Oh I these are old stories, but I am talking of old days : 
 yet they arebutas the day before yesterday. Do we not remember how 
 scoffers used to call attention to the fact that our knowledge of the 
 
IN THE STUDIO 75 
 
 other world was never advanced an inch, and that the messages 
 were idle trash ? Do we not remember how the spirits were proved 
 to have told the most barefaced lies, and to have perpetrated the 
 most astounding blunders? Do we not remember how Lavinia 
 herself was shown up in scientific journals for having caused to 
 speak one spirit of a living person and another of a person who had 
 never hved ? Nay, we may remember more than this. For it is 
 on record that none of these exposures and attacks seemed to injure 
 Lavinia until a fatal thing happened to her. She ceased to be the 
 fashion. She drew no longer : she excited no more curiosity. As 
 for the credulity of people, that can never be exliaiisted, and any man 
 among you, my brothers, who desires to get notoriety and to hve in 
 clover, has only to pretend to do what he cannot do, and to be what 
 he is not, in order to gain his desire for a while. Lavinia ceased to 
 be talked about. Then the people all went off to the next show and 
 deserted her, and she began to fall into poverty. All that she had 
 in the world was this house, which she had fortimately bought 
 during the time of fatness, and a small and yearly diminishing 
 clientele of those who still believed in her, just as they would have 
 believed in Joanna Southcote, and employed her, as they would 
 have employed a wise woman, and inquired of the oracle, after the 
 fashion of the ancients, in the conduct of theu' affairs. 
 
 She now received this scanty remnant in the old ' front parlour,' 
 and let the studio and a bedi'oom to an artist v.hen she could find a 
 lodger. Her present lodger was an American girl, who lived alone 
 and travelled alone, •n-ith more than the average independence of 
 her country. She had lived thus alone in Eome and in Florence, 
 and was now working at her profession alone in London. But she 
 was a girl who made many friends, and Avas never reallj' alone. 
 
 The clause in the Creed of women which says, ' We beheve that 
 it is impossible for a girl to live alone,' has been of late years so 
 much questioned and attacked that some think it "will have to 
 be struck out of the Creed altogether, in which case, asks the Con- 
 servative, what will become of the rest of that Sacred and Ai-k-like 
 monument ? In fact, women who work for their hving have long 
 since discovered that it is a clause which has no foundation in the 
 Eternal Verities, becaiise in every town there are girls who must 
 live alone. In London there are thousands ; they Hve with each 
 other, sharing rooms ; they live in the places where they work ; 
 they live in boarding houses. ^Tien they are rich enough they live, 
 as this young lady hved, in theii- o-u-n lodgings, -with a sitting room 
 as well as a bedroom, and in a solitude which is pleasing after the 
 work of the day. Thousands and thousands of girls in this city, 
 not work giiis, like certain poor friends of ours, but girls of respect- 
 able parents and responsible brothers, whose self-respect is as great 
 as that of any young lady who hves at home. They are artists of all 
 kinds, musicians, singers, governesses of every degree, ■^Titers, 
 
76 HERE PAULUS 
 
 chiefly of small fiction, reviewers and journalists, shop girls, sales- 
 women, copyists, translators, type-writers — I say nothing about 
 actresses because they have long since flimg the "Women's Creed 
 to the winds — women of all professions and trades. They live 
 alone : they have the latchkey : they go where they will : they ask 
 for and they need no protection : they are not in the least ah'aid. 
 
 As for one of these girls, the slighter of the two, the gud with 
 the light brown hair and the hazel eyes, you have seen her before 
 when she was painting in an American garden, and talking to a 
 poetic youth. This is Bethiah Ruysdael, who is mostly known to 
 her friends as Kitty, I believe because she thinks Kitty prettier than 
 Bethiah, as it is, perhaps, though not so imcommon. The other 
 gud, the girl with the great black limpid eyes, and the jiale cheek 
 and full iigui-e, is the daughter of Lavniia the Great — Hetty Med- 
 lock. She had been standing for a model, a kerchief tied about her 
 head, and the early sprmg sunshine fell through the window and 
 painted her face through the crimson siUi, and made her cheek glow 
 and her eyes burn like coals. She was standing for a Neapohtan, 
 I believe ; or perhaps it was a Bohemian, or an Irish peasant, or 
 indeed an Andalusian or a Catalonian. But, in reality, the pictiu:e 
 came out a very fine likeness of Hetty, and a very beautiful portrait 
 it was, though the painting had faults of colour. The carnations, 
 some said, were brutah The light some said — but what matter 
 what they said ? 
 
 ' Now, Hetty dear,' said the American gud, ' you must be thed. 
 Take a rest.' 
 
 Hetty tln-ew off the handkerchief and came round to the easel to 
 look at the picture. 
 
 ' Kitty,' she said, ' it is beautiful.' 
 
 ' You Hke it, really ? Yes. I do think it is pretty good. How 
 glad I am that I painted out the first hideous thing ! ' 
 
 ' Yes. But it was like, too.' 
 
 ' Oh ! hke ' the artist repeated, impatiently. ' I dare say it 
 
 was like But you were dull and downcast, Hetty. And now 
 
 you have changed. It seems to me as if another look altogether 
 had come into your face since I began to paint you a month ago. 
 You are ten times as lovely, Hetty.' 
 
 Hetty blushed. Another look, she knew, had come into her 
 face. 
 
 ' I suppose,' she said, still blushing, ' it is because we have all 
 become so much hajipier.' 
 
 ' Oh ! You mean the German person who pretends.' 
 
 ' Don't, lutty. Oh ! You don't known what he has done.' 
 
 ' Why, dear, he is only a ' 
 
 ' No, lutty, he is more — far more than that. It is no common 
 Bpiritualism. The most wonderful things happen every day. He 
 takes Mr. Brudenel into far-ol'f countrits ' 
 
IN TIIi: STUDIO 77 
 
 ' Hetty I ' 
 
 ' And he teaches Lady Augusta the most wonderful things, and 
 he talks to Cicely and to uie as nobody, I am siu'e, ever talked 
 before.' 
 
 ' Oh, but Hetty ' 
 
 ' He is not at all a solemn person, with airs and pretences ; but 
 just a young man full of life and spirits. Even Tom and Sibyl, 
 who will not confess that they believe in him, like him. The houso 
 is so lively that you would not know it again. We talk and laugh 
 at dinner. Mr. 13rudenel is no longer pompons, and Lady Augusta 
 laughs with us. And there is no more question at all about con- 
 versing Avith spirits, Paul says that we may converse with as many 
 as we lilce, but that on the lower plane they will only mock at us 
 and deceive us. When we reach the higher jilane we are to be 
 brought face to face with the spirits who cannot lie.' 
 
 ' Hetty, do you believe all this ? ' 
 
 ' Kitty,' the girl di'opped her voice to a whisper ; ' I declare that 
 if there is anybody in the world who ought to hate spiritualism it 
 is myself. Oh ! I cannot tell you all. It has ruined my mother 
 and driven away my father, and made my name a by-word. Oh 1 
 one day last winter somebody read aloud in my presence Brown- 
 ing's " Sludge the Medimn," and I prayed that the earth would open 
 and swallow me. But even I cannot doubt any longer the power 
 that Herr Paulus possesses.' 
 
 ' What does he do with his powers ? Why does he come here ? 
 If a man really had such powers he would employ them, surely, to 
 make some fi'esh discovery for the welfore of the human race. Con- 
 sider, my dear, if he would only destroy one single disease.' 
 
 ' I can only believe in what he says. He has been sent by his 
 Friends to teach philosophy in the West.' 
 
 ' ^^^ly has he been sent '? ' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 ' All the things you hav'e told me about him are wonderful. But 
 so is conjuring. It is wonderful when a plum-pudding is made in 
 a hat.' 
 
 Hetty shook her head. 
 
 ' You do not understand. Oh 1 we have been all our lives living 
 close to the other world, within reach of conversation, but we 
 have never been told anythmg worth hearing, and this man comes 
 and tells us the most beautiful things, and does the most wonderful 
 thmgs.' Hetty jiaused. ' When I think of the thmgs he tells us 
 my brain will not work. I cannot tell you what they are : but 
 while he is speaking your heart glows and you are full of the most 
 lovely thoughts. Cicely says that he opens the gates of Heaven — 
 but we forget when we come back to earth what we have seen there. 
 Oh ! it is wonderful.' 
 
 ' Hetty — take care.' 
 
78 HERE PAUL US 
 
 ' Every day he makes Cicely see her brother at sea. Sometimes 
 he reads oiir thoughts, sometimes he makes me — but only in our 
 own room — say and do all kinds of things; sometimes he— yes, 
 Kitty — he works miracles for us. Beading, he says, is too slow for 
 us, and he makes us feel in a moment, and ten times as strongly, 
 all that one feels when one reads a beautiful poem. And he is' so 
 handsome. There is not a man in the world so handsome as Paul. 
 Not broad-shouldered and jolly-looking like Tom Laugston, but 
 dehcate and pale, with eyes which go right into your very soul.' 
 
 ' Hetty ! ' Kitty repeated, ' take care : this is dangerous.' 
 
 Hetty blushed, but she laughed. 
 _ ' Dangerous ! Oh, no ; there is no danger. I dare say any girl 
 might fall m love with him, but he— oh ! he is far, far above any 
 girl : she might as well fall in love with the moon.' 
 
 ' Fortimately, Miss Langston cannot see those eyes of his.' 
 
 ' She can feel them. And in a moment she becomes his servant.' 
 
 ' Does Mr. Brudenel know of all this ? ' 
 
 _' Why, of course, he does not lay his will upon us before people 
 — since the first evening. But Mr. Brudenel is as much under him 
 as we are. He has conquered the whole house. He cm-es the 
 servants of toothaches and things. Yesterday he overpowered the 
 butler and made him confess, in the presence of Cicely and myself, 
 his whole past life and his rogueries— he is the master of the 
 house.' 
 
 ' Strange ! ' said Kitty. ' I wonder how it will end.' 
 
 ' He wiU go away soon and leave us all miserable for hfe,' said 
 Hetty. ' Well, one will remember. And oh ! how stupid and dull 
 all other men seem beside him. I think — Kitty, I am quite sure— that 
 he has hved for thousands of years, and that his name is Apollo.' 
 
 ' Well, dear, I hope he will go away soon. It seems to me that 
 the atmosphere of the house must be unwholesome.' 
 
 _ ' Yes, he will go away soon. And then ' Hetty broke oft 
 
 with a sigh. ' Don't let us talk about him any more,' she said. 
 
 She began idly to turn over some sketches in a portfoKo. 
 Suddenly she started and snatched up a drawing in chalk. It was 
 a study of a head, showing the back and giving a httle outline of 
 the cheek. 
 
 ' Who is this ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' That is the head of a very old friend of mme— a schoolfellow. 
 Poor, dear Ziph ! ' 
 
 ' It is exactly like the head of Herr Paulus.' 
 
 ' Is it ? I drew it m the garden one day before Ziph went away 
 to New York.' 
 
 ' ^\^lat did he go there for ? ' She still kept looking at the 
 picture. 
 
 ' He was a poet. He went there to sell his poetry.' 
 
 ' Oh r Hetty put do^n the picture. ' Only a poet 1 ' 
 
IN THE STUDIO 79 
 
 • And I fear he came to gi-iof, because after tlireo or four monthg 
 notliing more was heard of him. And his parents could never get 
 the least clue to what became of him. They tlunl<_ that he failed, 
 and took to drink, and died. Ho was always delicate, and drink 
 kills very rapidly in America. Poor, dear Ziph ! He was going to 
 do such splendid things. He had a portmanteau full of poems, and 
 he was going to become famous, and he promised he would write 
 to me and tell me of his grand successes. But he never told mo of 
 any, and that portrait is all I have of my schoolfellow.' 
 
 * Were you in love with hun ? ' 
 
 ' No, Hetty, I think not. But I was fond of him. He wanted 
 sympathy and someone to talk with and confide in, and I was 
 handy for him. I was very proud of him. But not in love ; at 
 least, I suppose I was not. Poor Ziph ! ' 
 
 ' What was his name ? ' 
 
 ' Ziphion B. Trinder. I called him Ziph. His father kept a 
 store — what you would call a general shop — in the little town where 
 my father was a lawyer. But Ziph would not weigh out tea and 
 sugar, and measure yards of calico ; nor would he study law, which, 
 in our country, is the only way to become President.' 
 
 ' Ziphion Trinder. It is a fimny name. Oh ! how like the head 
 is to Paul ! ' 
 
 ' In New England some of us still have funny names. They 
 christened me Bethiah, for instance, though you call me Kitty. I 
 changed my Christian name, you see, because Bethiah is, somehow, 
 impossible out of New England. Poor Ziph ! He is a genius, and 
 the least fit person in the world to struggle for himself. He must 
 be dead, or I should have heard something about hun long since. 
 Poor Ziph 1 • _ 
 
 A tear stood in her eye as she laid down the pictmre. 
 
 ' It is so like Paul,' said Hetty. ' It is wonderful.' 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN THE OTHER EGOM. 
 
 A HOUSE is a theatre with many stages, on which many plays may 
 be going on all at the same time, with no ' front,' unless M. le Dialjle 
 Boiteux takes out a side of each room. Thus, while two girls full 
 of their future talked in the studio, two old people with little but 
 then* past talked in the front parlour, which no longer pretended to 
 be a drawing-room. Here Lavmia Medlock still carried on, but in 
 a small way, the business of wise woman, adviser, and Interpreter 
 for the Intelligences. In this coimtry, if a woman Uves in a back 
 street and tells fortimes by cards, the poHce run her in, and the 
 
8o HERR PAULUS 
 
 magistrate gives her two months, and her house is broken up, and 
 her children are ruined for hfe, and she goes to the workhouse, 
 and foretells misfortiines to the other collegians, for even in the 
 workhouse there are still fresh misfortmies to encounter in the 
 «hape of aches and pains, and twists and tortures, before the chap- 
 lain finally puts on his surplice to do them honour by walliing before 
 them in a shoi't procession. Which shows how determined we are 
 to suffer no witch to live in the land. But if a woman hves in a 
 respectable house, and calls herself a Medium and the chosen con- 
 fidante of the sjihits who dwell m the other world, she may do 
 whatever she pleases without fear of pohce or magistrate. "Which 
 shows that we know how to distmguish. 
 
 Spirits are well known to choose for their favourite resorts 
 places and chambers which appear little desirable to cultivated man. 
 It is no business of om-s. This room, for instance, was very shabby 
 and humble. Yet to think of all that had gone on in it — the seances, 
 manifestations, levitations, table-turnings, rappings, messages, 
 counsels, oracles, letters, verses, mcarnations, spirit photographs, 
 sphit songs, spirit humours, spirit hands, sphit kisses, spirit pinches, 
 spirit tweakings — wonderful to think of. And the room was just 
 the same as it was before the spirits came at all, while her husband 
 was still a clerk on a hundred and twenty pounds a year, and they 
 let the first and second floors to i)ay the rent and taxes, and any- 
 thing else they cotild get. The same chairs with black horsehair 
 seats, the old black sofa, the same old red paper, now faded and 
 patched with other coloiu-s laid on by Time, who is a painter as well 
 as a destroyer, and the same cupboard beside the fireplace — Hetty's 
 heart sank every morning at sight of it — the same great cup- 
 board filled with stores of groceries and food. People who live in 
 one room, generally keep their tea, sugar, coffee, jam, cakes, pies, 
 bacon, ham, butter, bread, and wine — only there never is any wine 
 - — in the big Clipboard beside the fireplace. Last j-ear I paid a visit 
 to the Marshalsea Prison and saw how Mr. Dorrit and his com- 
 panions lived. In every room there were great cupboards beside 
 the fireplace for the reception of household stores, a fact which 
 tlu-ows a flood of light upon the imprisonment of debtors. And as 
 it was in the Marshalsea Prison, so it was in Mrs. Medlock's gi'ound 
 floor front, except that there was no bed in it. 
 
 Mrs. Medlock sat in her professional chair at her professional 
 table. She was exercising her profession. She was answering 
 questions, solving difficulties, and consulting the sphits for her 
 clients. Even in consulting the spirits there is a fashion. Many 
 of them who once came to consult them regularly had gone off in 
 other directions. They are now faith healers, captains in the 
 Salvation Army, believers in the ten tribes, astrologers, votaries of 
 palmistry, not to speak of Esoteric Buddhists. Somehow or other 
 they get the same excitement, though in different ways. But they 
 
IN THE OTHER ROOM 8l 
 
 consTiIt the spirits no longer. It is only in New York that the spirits 
 are still consulted in the practical conduct oT life. 
 
 This morning, however, Lavinia Mcdlock liad two visitors. 
 
 The first was an elderly lady, richly di-essed, who came in her 
 carriage. She came once a week regulaWy, and used the spirits 
 as a way of getting secret tips as to Stocks. She came in her own 
 carriage : she was quick and imperious in her manner, and her eyes 
 were exactly like small bright beads. 
 
 ' Well, Lavinia,' she said, sitting down, ' I'm very weU satisfied 
 on the whole with the last week's work. The spirits were right for 
 once.' 
 
 ' You know thorn too well,' replied the Medium, humbly, ' to 
 expect them to be always right.' 
 
 ' After the awful losses they've caused me, I certainly do, Lavinia. 
 Not that I blame you for it, you poor thmg. You can't help it, 
 though sometimes I think there must be something wrong about 
 your life, or yom- thoughts, or something. More holiness, Lavinia, 
 more personal holiness, now, might attract a better class of spn-it. 
 Can't you try for more holiness — early celebration, say — or a hair 
 shirt — or something ? Your usefulness— and yom- income — might 
 be trebled.' 
 
 Lavmia shook her head. 
 
 ' Well, never mind— now listen.' She took a pocket-book out of 
 her bag and extracted a paper. ' Now, get an answer to all these 
 questions.' 
 
 This lady, in fact, spent her whole life and gave her whole 
 thoughts to speculations on the Stock Exchange. She was a suspicious 
 person, and mistrusted her broker, and as she had no knowledge of 
 her own she turned for help to the spirits. 
 
 Presently, after the usual business, and having got her answers, 
 she gathered up her bag and xjocket-book and mutf, and rose to go. 
 
 ' Lavinia,' she said, ' think of what I said. More personal 
 holiness, my dear.' 
 
 Half an'hour later she had a second visitor. This time it was 
 her old friend, Mr. James Berry. He was a little spare old man, 
 one of those who dry up as they grow older, and shrink. His head 
 A\as ornamented with a thick crop of gi-ey hair, and a couple of 
 white and shaggy eyebrows. When Mr. James Berry began to consult 
 Lavinia, thirty years before, that grey hair was black. Otherwise, 
 there was no change in him at all, either in dress or manner. As 
 for the latter it was slow and precise. He was certainly a methodical 
 man— probably something in the city. Lavinia did not know what 
 his profession might be. His convictions, based on certain startling 
 replies to questions proposed, were now unalterable in spite of many 
 rubs, and although the spirits sometimes treated him with mortily- 
 ing neglect and even mendacity. In all times of difriculty and 
 doubt, when most men find out the wisest com-se by examination, 
 
 (i 
 
82 HERR PAUL US 
 
 weighty argument, reason and wakeful thought, Mr. James Berry 
 cast himself upon the spkits. That he was now. at sixty-five years 
 of age, retired from active work, his savings all invested in shares of 
 the Company in whose service he had been employed for fifty years, 
 these shares producing fifteen per cent, on their first price, was 
 acknowledged by himself as due solely to the prudent counsels 
 bestowed upon him by the spirits. That prudence, caution, good 
 conduct, and thought had also something to do with it, may also be 
 conceded. ' The spirits,' he said, ' may sometimes, when waggishly 
 disposed, deceive and lead astray, and a wise man will look out for 
 jokes, but in the long run they truly serve and advance the interests 
 of those who trust them.' 
 
 When Mrs. Medlock's popularity began to wane, this excellent 
 disciple remained faithful ; when actual poverty fell upon her, he 
 gave her money, and now, though his affairs seemed concluded, he 
 still came to consult the oracle, because this method of guiding 
 your life is like the practice of Auricidar Confession, or the taking 
 of opium or chloral. It relieves a man of personal responsibility, 
 and drugs the conscience and deadens the will. 
 
 ' Mam,' he said — not Madame or Madam — the variety of speech 
 which we spell Ma'am, but plain short Mam — ' I have come here 
 to-day to consult you upon very petic'lar business — very petic'lar 
 indeed.' 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Berry, you know that I am alwaj's ready and willing, 
 though the spirits do sometimes, I allow ' 
 
 ' They certainly do take liberties ; but not, I hope, this morning. 
 Katie's last mistakes I am willing to put down to skittishness, and 
 young follcs will be young, whether spirits or flesh. But not this 
 
 morning, Mam. If Kitty is in the room ' He looked about 
 
 and there came three sharp raps from behind the fireplace — ' then 
 I beg of her to be serioiTs or to go. Because this is a serious 
 matter.' 
 
 Again three raps ■wore heard. 
 
 ' I think, Mr. Beri-y,' said Lavinia, ' that you may trust Katio 
 this morning.' 
 
 ' I hope I may. Mam.' He put his hat on the floor and took 
 off his overcoat and comforter. ' I hope I ma,y ; for this is a 
 very serious morning with me, Mam, the most serious, I may say, 
 in my life.' 
 
 ' Good gracious ! Mr. Berry,' — Lavinia was startled at the 
 haggard look in his face, which was generally comfortable and 
 contented — ' what has happened ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing, Mam, yet. But a great deal may happen.' 
 
 'Well, sit down, Mr. Berrj^ and tell me aU that's in your 
 mind.' 
 
 Mr. Berry looked round the room. 
 
 ' Ha ! ' he said, ' I've been very uneasy — I've been awake two 
 
IN THE OTHER ROOM 83 
 
 long nights thinking of it. But there's a holy cahn in this room. 
 It soothes my mind only to bo here, Mam — I feel Letter aheady.' 
 
 The shabbiness of the fm-niture did not appeal to him, nor the 
 poverty-stricken aspect of the place ; he knew all about poverty, 
 ancl shabbiness of fm-niture had been with him, so to speak, from 
 childhood ; and the artistic side of his character, if he had any, was 
 wholly mideveloped. This was the room where he had conversed 
 with the spirits ; it was sanctified to liim by the awe with which 
 even the most fi-ivolous messages struck his soul : it was to him as 
 sacred and as holy a place as any Baptist chapel to a fervent 
 believer. 
 
 ' It is my own business that I am come about, Mrs. Medlock. 
 Mam ' — he leaned forward, breathmg hard, ' it may be ruin and 
 the workhouse. Listen carefully. Don't let tho spirits make so 
 much as a suigle rap till you have heard the case right tlu'ough. 
 Do you know what my profession has been ? ' 
 
 _ 'No, sir, I do not. That is a question which I never put to any 
 spirits.' 
 
 ' I have been all my life, Mam, a clerk in the service of a great 
 company.' He paused to let his words j)roduce their full effect. 
 • Never mind the name of that company. It was formerlj' a big 
 house of business, o-wned by a single man, who made a great 
 fortune and died. Then his sous turned it mto a Limited Company. 
 I've been in that house, under the father and the sons and the 
 Board of Directors, for Mty vears.' 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Berry ? ' 
 
 ' I was always a careful man, and had no wife to spend and 
 squander. I saved money. When I retired from the Company's 
 service last year they gave me a small pension ; and one of the 
 Directors offered me, very kindly, as I thought, as many shares in 
 the Company as my savings would buy. They give fifteen per cent, 
 on the issue price, and I get, at the price I bought them — for 
 they've gone ;ip since— six and a half per cent. ; so that I thought 
 I was doing pretty well.' 
 
 ' You certainly did very well, Mr. Berry.' 
 
 ' Yes, so I thought. But yesterday I got news which knocked 
 me over. It came from an old fi-iend in the house. He says lie 
 has found out the truth. He says that the house — it's a shipown- 
 ing company — has been shaky for years. And now it maj^ go nny 
 minute. On the other hand it may keep afloat and even weather 
 the stoma.' 
 
 'WeU, Mr. Berry?' 
 
 ' That is one man's statement. But another man, an oldei 
 friend who is m the confidence of the Directors, tells me that tlie 
 Company never was so safe and the shares never so high and never 
 60 certain to go higher.' 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 OS 
 
84 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' Well — what am I to do ? If I believe tlie second man I may 
 be ruined if he is wrong. If I believe the first man I shall have to 
 sell at once, and I shall have to put up with three and a half or foiu: 
 l")er cent., instead of six and a half ; and if he is wrong I shall have 
 shown that I had no confidence in the old house where I have made 
 my living. Advise me, Mrs. Medlock. It's life or death to me, to 
 do the right thing now. I never asked you before on anything half 
 so serious. Life and death it is. Tell me if tlie Company is safe. 
 I'ut it fair and square to them. Oh ! it is life or death or the 
 workhouse to me. All my savings — all — are in the Company.' 
 
 Mrs. Medlock put the question. But she trembled and turned 
 pale, because this, she saw, was a junctme beyond her powers to 
 control. And if she misdirected her old friend — one may be a 
 Medium and yet have affections and passions — she would consign 
 him to a workhouse. And she could not rely upon her spirits. 
 Therefore she awaited the result with terror. 
 
 The answer began with a hailstorm of raps, apparently from all 
 parts of the room at the same time. Presently they all ceased 
 except from under the table, and the message began. 
 
 It is slow work receiving messages by raps, and it is greatly to 
 be desired that the spirits would adopt the tape system, which is 
 rapidly and easilj' read. 
 
 Presently, after many futile messages, and seeing Mrs. Medlock's 
 face growing paler and more dejected, Mr. Berry sprang to his 
 feet. 
 
 ' It's too much,' he said. ' There is ruin before me, and she 
 tells me nothing but that she is happy and so is her grandmother. 
 Danni her grandmother, Mrs. Medlock ! ' 
 
 Lavinia burst into tears. 
 
 ' I am so sorry,' she said. ' Of late I seem, to have lost my 
 power. I am the sport of the spirits. Oh, my poor old friend, 
 what shall I do for you ? what can I do for you ? Oh ! and after 
 all these years ! And when I ought to guide you in your dilhculty ! 
 Oh ! it's no use to go on — not a bit of use.' She wrung her hands 
 while Mr. Berry sat down, and gazed at her blankly. Then an idea 
 struck her. 
 
 ' IMr. Berry,' she said. ' There's a wonderful young man staying 
 with Lady Aagusta Ihiidenel.' 
 
 ' "With whom ? ' he asked, sharply. 
 
 ' With Lady Augusta and Mr. Cyrus Brudenel. Let me ask 
 him.' 
 
 ' No, no ; not the Brudenels — not the Brudenels.' 
 
 ' I don't want to ask them. I will not mention any names. I 
 will only say — " Herr Paulus, here is a case," and I will tell him 
 your case. "Advise me on it for this gentleman "—and perhaps 
 he will advise — " and say nothing to anybody about it," and he will 
 keep the secret. Oli ! Mr. Berry, it's our only chance. Let ine 
 
IN THE OTHER ROOM 85 
 
 ask him. Let ine. Oh ! my poor old friend, you have done so 
 much for me ; let me try to do something for you. Let me ask 
 him ! ' 
 
 ' But hide the name,' said Mr. Berry. 
 
 ' I will ask him this very day. I will go to him this afternoon 
 and unless he is in Ahyssinia — sometimes he spends his afternoons 
 in Abyssmia — he will give me an answer. I am smre he wiU.' 
 
 ' It's the workouse, Mrs. Medlock. Think of that 1 lluin and 
 the workhouse unless you get a true reply.' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN ABYSSINIA AND ELSEWHERE. 
 
 Me. Cyrus Brudenel, engaged with his new mstructor in the Study, 
 was greatly changed in one short week from the Cyrus Brudenel 
 who had proudly introduced Herr Paulus to his priceless collection 
 of books on spirituahsm, magic, sorcery, astrology, alchemy, and 
 the great world of Jargon and Pretended Power. The brain reels 
 only to think of the Colossal Lies which are boimd up m these 
 volumes, and of all the Mendacious Literature of Magic, and of the 
 multitudes who have been di-aggedinto the paths which lead inevit- 
 ably to more Lies and more Pretence. Mr. Brudenel's own chief 
 Lie had been comj^aratively harmless ; it was merely a Pretence of 
 reading and studying these books, truly terrible in their stupidity, 
 weariness, and falsehood. Now, even that Pretence was abandoned: 
 the books stood untouched upon the shelves; the papers and jour- 
 nals relating to the old spiritualism were unopened : Mr. Brudenel 
 no longer caught at some miserable platitude as a message from a 
 glorified spirit ; the whole current of his thoughts was deranged. 
 
 As for his Study, it was a large and noble room, built out at the 
 back of the house, where was a broad and noble garden, as genei'ous 
 m its proportions as if the house had been miles away from London 
 instead of in St. John's Wood, and flanked with great trees, as well 
 as with lawns and flowerbeds. There were two windows to the 
 Study, one at the end of the room and one at the side ; and they 
 v/ere fitted with double sashes, to keep out the noise of the outer 
 world. 
 
 The silence of the Study was almost as perfect as if it had been 
 placed in the middle of Dartmoor, save that there was no distant 
 tinklmg of a sheep bell and no song of the lark in the sky. If any 
 soiuid reached this retreat it was nothmg louder than the low 
 vmnbling caused by a coal- waggon, or by a Parcel Post cart from 
 the road outside. The books were arranged in mahogany book- 
 cases, built out as in gi-eat hbraries, but low, except at the back, 
 
86 HERR PAULUS 
 
 where the shelves went up to the ceihng. There were busts of 
 great magicians placed about ; and before the fire there was a large 
 table with one or two chairs. The silence of the room ; the air of 
 mj'stery which its use imparted to it — you may feel the same 
 thing in an empty Freemasons' Lodge ; the books, which looked as 
 learned as if they contained the works of Plato and all his dis- 
 cix^les instead of the Pretenders and the Liars : aU fitted the room 
 for the Message which was being delivered in it. 
 
 Mr. Cyrus Brudenel sat in one of the chairs to receive the 
 Message. On the table at his right hand was a little pile of un- 
 opened letters. His face was troubled by something, but a great 
 and remarkable change had fallen upon it. AU the pomposity had 
 gone ; that was immediately apparent. His eyes were no longer 
 irritable and suspicious; it was a face which betokened sub- 
 mission. 
 
 The Leader had whoUy submitted himself. He was now led. He 
 was a discij^le ; he had no longer any authority. The young man 
 who stood before him was his master. 
 
 ' So,' said Paul, ' it stiU troubles you, does it ? I thought we 
 talked it over yesterday.' 
 
 ' It is so extremely mj^sterious. Every day, with your help, I go 
 away and receive instruction. Every day, when I come back, it is 
 with the most glowing heart and with a mind full of happiness and 
 gratitude. I cannot describe to you the infinite joy I experience at 
 that moment.' 
 
 ' I know it myself,' said Paul. 
 
 'And then, immediately, while I seek to recall what I have been 
 taught, it vanishes away, and I cannot recall it. Nothing could 
 possibly be more baftimg and disappointing. 
 
 ' It must be purposely done. You advance, without knowing it, 
 in those hours when you arc not with the Master. There goes on in 
 your brain a process of unconscious growth. Unfelt by yourself, the 
 things you have learned are gradually taking root while the soil is 
 being prepared for their growth.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 ' I cannot understand it,' he said. 
 
 ' Some day you will remember suddenly and fully. Then you 
 will have enough to think about. But as to the manner and the time 
 ■ — leave it to the Master.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel shook his head doubtfully. 
 
 ' It is not for me,' he said, ' to question any methods that may 
 be adopted. I looked, when the instruction began, for slow pro- 
 gress, because I am not naturally quick of apprehension. But I am 
 tenacious. When I was a boy they aU owned that I was tenacious. 
 And yet I have retained nothing.' 
 
 ' You must have patience.' 
 
 ' I am no longer young, and the time is flying.' 
 
IN ABYSSINIA AND ELSEWHERE 87 
 
 * Mr. Brudenel.* Paul, who was standing, shook an admonitory 
 forefinger. ' AH this comes of an unwillingness to put away the old 
 ideas. ° Time? Youth? A\Tiat are these among om- people? 
 What does it matter if months or even years pass away before you 
 acquu-e even the rudiments of the perfect knowledge ? Do you sup- 
 pose that Izak the Master docs not know what happens ? Do you 
 think that he would suffer it to go on if he did not approve of it ? 
 Remember that you are in new hands, receiving new ideas. "Why, 
 yoiu- mind is not cleared of the old ones even yet.' 
 
 ' Truly, it may be so.' 
 
 ' May be so ? ' repeated Paul impetuously. ' Why, of course it is. 
 It must be so.' 
 
 ' You always brinjg me hope, my fi-iend.' 
 
 ' What else have X come for except to bring you hope as well as 
 wisdom ? Patience, patience. Presently all will be at yom* feet. 
 Truth, which is Power ; Knowledge, which you can use for the 
 benefit of your feUow-men. You will heal and prevent disease. You 
 will lengthen life. You will solve the difficiilties of social life. Why, 
 sometimes I — who belong to the School of Meditation — think that 
 yours is the happiest lot of all.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel' s cheek flushed and his eyes brightened. 
 
 ' If I could always believe this. But there are times, Paul — I 
 confess — when I crave just as I used to crave for a fuller manifesta- 
 tion — even fuller than this.' 
 
 ' Glutton ! what more can you have ? ' — Paul showed a smiling 
 face, full of reassuring cheerfulness. ' Yet a fuller shall be shown to 
 you, and that before long. As for me, I could never use the power 
 as you will use it, because to me the acquisition of knowledge is 
 sufdcient, whilst to you the exercise of power is everything. So in 
 science, there are men who spend their hves in following pm-e 
 mathematics, for the sake of the things continually revealed to 
 them ; while others must stop at every step to make a practical 
 application to the uses of the world of what they have discovered. I 
 am the pure Mathematician ; you, Mr. Brudenel, are the Practical 
 Appher. Now — silence ; it is the time. Listen. Wlien you hear 
 the voice of the Master, fix your eyes upon mine intently : separate 
 yom- thoughts from all earthly things : speak not : move not.' He 
 raised his hand and looked up as one who waits to hear a signal. 
 ' Master I ' he cried. ' Izak ibn Menelek ! ' 
 
 Then, far, far away, yet distinct and clear and audible, there fol- 
 lowed the reply, ' My children, I am ready.' 
 
 ' He is waiting. Now. Oh ! move not : speak not : think not : a 
 moment more, and you wiU be gone, swifter than thought, swifter 
 than electricity, to the hills of Abyssinia.' 
 
 As he spoke he leaned over and met his pupil's eyes with his 
 own, black and lustrous, commanding and compelling. In less than 
 a minute Mr. Brudenel's head bent forward, his face grew rigid, 
 
88 HERR PAULUS 
 
 his eyes dilated, and his frame stiffened. Paul stood up and 
 breathed deeply ; then he pushed up an eyelid and looked at the 
 glazed eye, as one who adnimisters chloroform and wishes to ascer- 
 tain if it has yet taken fiiU effect. 
 
 'You are now, my friend,' he murmtued, 'on the high road to 
 Abyssinia. Izak ibn Menelek has much to say to you. Stay there 
 awhUe.' 
 
 Thirty years of Physical Eesearch had perhaps made Mr. 
 Brudenel a ready, as well as a willing subject to certain influences 
 which some call by one name and some by another. They may all 
 be reduced _ to one and the same force. He was now, as Paul had 
 promised him, in Abyssinia, or somewhere else far away from his 
 own Study, apparently lifeless and unconscious. 
 
 Paul stood looking at him for a few moments. It is not every- 
 one who can assist his fr-iends to go in an instant to Abyssinia, and 
 he might fauiy have shown some pride in the achievement. But 
 he did not._ The smile had left his lips and his face was gi-ave and 
 frill of business, and he proceeded to behave in a very strange and 
 remarkable maimer. First, he went to the door of the study and 
 locked it, though no one in the house would have dared to disturb 
 Mr. Brudenel in his study. Then he di-ew the heavy curtain across 
 the door so that no one should be able to see through the key- 
 hole, though not even a housemaid would have dared to do such a 
 thing. 
 
 Paul nest took up the handfril of letters which had arrived that 
 morning, oi^ened them all, read them, and laid them in the basket 
 which received the day's correspondence until it was answered. 
 Apparently, the letters yielded him no information. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel's bmidle of keys lay on the table beside the letters. 
 Paul took it up and opened the safe which stood against the wall in 
 the far corner. It was full of papers, legal documents, and such 
 things. Paul laid everything upon the table and leism-ely examined 
 ah. the papers. This took him half an horn-, during which the un- 
 conscious man moved not so much as an eyelash. 
 
 ' There isn't,' he said, ' a smgle scrap of paper to help. Yet I 
 am perfectly certain, fr-om what Lavinia said, that the old man 
 meant Brudenel and Company, the ship-owning company, the man 
 who rnade his fortune by the business, the same who retfred and 
 made it into a Limited concern — it must be Brudenel and Com- 
 pany.' He considered a little. 
 
 ' I just hate to do it,' he said. ' If there was any other way — 
 but it does him no harm — and knowledge is power. Come, old 
 boy.' He made a gestm-e and Mr. Brudenel moved and half opened 
 his eyes. ' No, not yet ; you can come back from Abyssinia, but 
 you have got to do some work for me before you wake uj). Turn 
 your chair round to the table.' Mr. Brudenel sat in one of those 
 chairs which revolve upon their seats without altering the position 
 
IN ABYSSINIA AND ELSEWHERE 89 
 
 of the legs. ' So, that will do, take up your pen. Now the note- 
 paper. Write at my dictation in your own handwriting.' Mr. 
 Brudenel, still with closed eyes, oheyed. That is to say, he took 
 certain sheets of notepaper and wrote one after the other, at Paul'3 
 dictation, a few short letters in his usual handwriting, signing in 
 the usual way. Paul read the letters and laid them in the basket. 
 
 ' There,' he said, ' you will never know how these letters came 
 to be written. Now you must answer a few questions, if you 
 please.' 
 
 The sleeping man sat bolt upright in his chair with eyes closed 
 and pale cheeks. There was not the least sign of life in him, or of 
 attention, or of hearing what was said to him. 
 
 ' Tell mc,' said Paul, ' what fortune does your daughter possess 
 in her own right and apart fi-om anything you may leave her ? ' 
 
 ' Sibyl has ten thousand pomids,' Mr. Brudenel rephed. One 
 unaccustomed to those things would have shuddered and trembled. 
 For his voice somided weak and far away. He spoke with no more 
 movement than the mere opening and shutting of his hps ; when 
 he finished his answer his lips closed with a snap. It was like 
 insulting Koger Bacon's famous head; it was like questioning a 
 corpse. The answer came — a true answer — but one felt that the 
 will was held captive, and the brain was imconscious. 
 
 ' Are you her sole guardian ? ' 
 
 ' I am.' 
 
 ' Where is her money invested ? ' 
 
 • It is all in Brudenel and Company.' 
 
 ' Are you also sole guardian and executor for the two Langstons, 
 Cicely and her cousin Tom ? ' 
 
 ' I am.' 
 
 ' W^at fortunes have they ? ' 
 
 ' Tom has fifteen thousand poimds. Cicely has twelve thousand 
 poimds. If Tom's cousin. Sir Percival, should prove to be dead, he 
 will succeed to the property and the title. Tom is to have his at 
 the age of five-and-twenty. Cicely at one-and-twenty. Their birth- 
 days fall on the same day. Consequently, they will both come into 
 possession of then property on April the twenty-thh'd.' 
 
 ' And it is now March the thirtieth. Wliere is their money ? ' 
 
 ' It is all mvested in shares of Brudenel and Company.' 
 
 ' As for your own money, now. Have you any shares in the 
 company ? ' 
 
 ' No. I sold out to buy land.' 
 
 'And Lady Augusta's fortune ? ' 
 
 ' It is in the hands of trustees.' 
 
 ' Brudenel and Company has been a great House, has it not ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, a very great House.' 
 
 * You have trusted it entirely, have you not ? ' 
 ' Entirely.' 
 
90 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' Do 3-0U know the present Secretary ? ' 
 
 •Yes."' 
 
 ' Go to his office. Is he engaged ? ' 
 
 ' The Chairman of the Corapanj' is with him. The books are 
 open on the table. They are talking.' 
 
 ' Tell me what they are saying.' 
 
 ' The Secretary says, " I do not see how the smash can be 
 averted another month. It must come then — it may come before." ' 
 
 Then the narrator changed his voice and became the Chahman, 
 and from the agitation of his voice you would have inferred the 
 mental anxiety of the Chairman. 
 
 ' Not another month ? It is a terrible situation. And the shares 
 keep up. Not a breath outside.' 
 
 ' That breath may blow any moment. You had better think of 
 the j)osition of the Directors when the smash does come ! If we 
 do not declare the truth before long you may all be put in the 
 Dock. As for me, I suppose I am only a servant.' 
 
 ' Y'et — yet — for God's sake let us keep the position of the com- 
 pany secret as long as we can. While there is hfe there is hope.' 
 
 ' That will do,' said Paul. He considered for a few minutes. 
 ' There is a great deal more here,' he said, ' than the interests of poor 
 old James Berry. There is a Thing to do, here, which may be a 
 grander feat than any I have ever dreamed of. Tell me,' he 
 addressed the inanimate Cyrus Brudenel, ' tell me where you have 
 put your share certificates.' 
 
 ' They are at the Bank.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I wonder if they are necessary. Hang it ! A man ought 
 to know everything. I wonder how long an operation of this sort 
 takes, and how it can be done. Tell me,' again he addressed Mr. 
 Brudenel. ' Who are your Brokers ? ' 
 
 ' I have none. The Bank would do any business for me if I 
 wanted it done.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Turn your chair round, and write one or two letters, 
 now, in your own handwriting.' 
 
 He dictated two or three letters. Then he took the cheque-book 
 out of the safe and made his patient sign three blank cheques. 
 
 ' So,' he said, ' that is accomplished. I wonder if anythmg wUl 
 happen to prevent the thing from coming off? Why should any- 
 thing happen ? ' 
 
 ' One question more,' he asked. ' Do j-ou know anjiihing of one 
 James Berry ? ' 
 
 ' There was a James Berry in my father's service. He went 
 into the Company's ser\'ice afterwards. He was in the Accountant's 
 Department.' 
 
 ' Has James Berry any shares in the Company ? ' 
 
 • Yes. He has invested aU his savings in the Company.' 
 
 'Humph! My conjecture was right then, and Brudenel and 
 
IN ABYSSINIA AND ELSEWHERE 91 
 
 Company are going to smash. Fifteen thousand for Tom, twelvo 
 thousand for Cicely, and ten thousand for bibyl, and all the old 
 man has got is an estate which can't bo sold. That's bad for Tom 
 and Cicely and Sibyl. On the other hand, if the Thing comes off — 
 oh I it's wonderful. Lavinia, I owe you a good turn for this ; and, 
 somehow, I'll pay you back, though at present I don't see any way. 
 And now,' ho said, putting the tluree cheques and the letters very 
 carefully into his pocket-book, ' unless I am very greatly mistaken, 
 here will be a bigger coup tlian anything ever before attempted or 
 accomplished by Medium, clairvoyant, or occult philosopher. Paul, 
 my boy, when this thing is noised abroad your head shall touch tho 
 skies. And then, when all the world is tallving about you, in the very 
 nick of time, when everybody is expecting something even greater, 
 and they are prepared for any mnacle, you will suddenly vanish, 
 go back to Abyssinia, or else to the old place— they can't think of 
 looking for so great a man in the old place — and to live for ever 
 in the memory of men. How to support the rest of life ? Well, 
 
 I don't loiow. That's a problem which must wait. Meanwhile ' 
 
 He shook his head as if there was a side of the question which he 
 did not care to look at. 
 
 Then he sat down and pondered for a whole quarter of an hour. 
 Beside him sat the hgm-e of a man who might have been a corpse, 
 so still and white and silent was he, so rigid and so regardless. 
 
 ' Is it worth the trouble ? ' he asked himself. ' A month or so 
 of glory and success, with all the people wondering and staring, and 
 all the scientific men angry and disconcerted, and a thousand pens 
 set agomg, and the Spnituahsts triumphant at last. Then they 
 will look for more, and there will be no more, because I cannot 
 expect any more comcidences, and the worker of miracles must 
 retire, if possible, without being seen to go. He must vanish like 
 a goblin m a story. And he must never come back again. To bo 
 seen again would be fatal. He must be never more heard of. 
 "Well, I think I know a place which is obscure enough and forgotten 
 enough for anyone to live miknown and concealed. It will bo 
 miserable enough after all I have seen and done ; but after all it 
 will not be half so miserable as if I had stayed there all the time, 
 no better off than the obscure folk who live out their dull and mono- 
 tonous lives there, and are buried at last in the cemetery. I shali 
 at least have the memory of the great stir that I have made in th« 
 world. 
 
 ' Chatterton,' he went on, walking backwards and forwards, ' had 
 his gift and he used it. Nobody blames him now for the deceit 
 which he employed. He had his gift. I have mine. There is not 
 a man in the world who can do what I can. Not one. They can 
 all mesmerise, but they cannot make the patient see things far off, 
 report secrets long smce hidden away, hear conversations and 
 repeat them, and thmk as I choose them to think. I use my gift 
 
92 HERR PAULUS 
 
 in my own way, and for the same piu'poses as those of Chatterton. 
 I want honour, not money. 
 
 ' No one shall ever say I wanted money. I came here without 
 askmg for any, and I shall go away with clean hands. Money ? 
 Why, what money could repay the services I shall render this 
 household if the cowp comes off ? And I suppose that unless I tell 
 them, no one ever will know why I came or why I did it, or how I 
 did it. And now for Mr. James Berry.' 
 
 He sat down at the table and wTote a short letter. 
 
 ' Dear Mrs. Medlock, — I have thought over the difficulties of 
 your friend and have been enabled to help him. Tell him to lose 
 no time in selling out — but to do so secretly. Let him tell none 
 of his fi-iends what he has done. As you have not told me the 
 name of this Company it is not possible for me to advise you more 
 exactly in this matter. Tell him, however, that he viuat sell and 
 that immediately. 
 
 ' Yours very sincerely, 
 
 ' Paulus. 
 
 ' That,' he said, ' is the first step in the history of the great 
 
 C02ip.' 
 
 He looked round the room. The table was covered with papers 
 U'hich he had taken from the safe. These he replaced carefully. 
 
 ' The di-awer of the safe,' he said, 'reminds me that the day 
 after to-morrow the Indian paj)er is to be discovered there. I 
 thought that was rather clever, but the new surprise beats it 
 liollow.' He locked up the safe, put the keys into Mr. Brudenel's 
 pocket and arranged the table exactly as it had been before uncon- 
 sciousness fell upon him. 
 
 AVhen he was quite satisfied, he bent over Mr. Brudenel as he 
 had bent over the heads of the two girls. 
 
 * You have been in Abyssinia,' he said. ' You have been con- 
 versmg with an aged philosopher, standing under a palm tree beside 
 a fountam ; on every side arose mighty mountains ; there were no 
 signs of human Hfe ; the sun was hot and the skies cloudless. No 
 one was with you bi;t the Philosopher. As he talked with you 
 your heart leaped up and your eyes glowed. For he spake of things 
 which fiUed you with awe and wonder and a trembling joy. And 
 he promised that you, too, in the futm'e Awake ! ' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel opened his eyes and looked aboiit him. Sud- 
 denly he understood where he was, and he seized Paul's hand and 
 clasped it warmly. 
 
 ' Oh ! my friend — my friend — ' he cried, ' I have come back too 
 soon. I have been — I have been — in a Heaven of joy and happiness ' 
 — it is rare, indeed, that an elderly man is forced to exhibit the outward 
 and visible signs of joy. We luiow them in youth. Many causes 
 
IN ABYSSINIA AND ELSEWHERE 93 
 
 may make the cheek burn, the pulse to beat faster, the heart to 
 glow, the breath to come and go, the eyes to be dimmed and dewy 
 --dear me! I have known a young man taken in this way, just 
 because a gud has allowed him to kiss her. But I have never seen 
 any old man except Mr. Brudenel exhibit these signs of youthful 
 joy and happiness. 'Paul!' he cried out in an ecstasy, 'I have 
 never, never, enjoyed such a morning.' 
 
 ' Tell me about it.' 
 
 ' I was received by the Master in the bottom of a valley beside 
 a spring of water — there was a palm tree or two — on all sides rose 
 great mountains. He taught me all the morning. He filled me 
 
 with a joy unspeakable. He promised that, before long, I too * 
 
 Here he stopped. 
 
 ' You too '? ' 
 
 ' It is the same thing always,' Mr. Brudenel cried, the joy going 
 out of his face. ' When I return I forget all that I have been 
 told.' 
 
 ' Again, you forget. It is as I told you. Yoiir mind is not yet 
 saturated. You have not yet shaken off the old prejudices and 
 traditions. My friend, you have spent two houi's ' — he looked at 
 his watch — ' two hours and a half in Abyssinia. Y^ou have mean- 
 time sat in this chair, to all appearance, dead. Now remember. 
 Y^ou came here after breakfast ; you read your letters ; j'ou appear 
 to have answered some of them ; you then received me.' 
 
 ' I remember that. But I have forgotten the letters.' 
 
 Paul handed him the basket. Y'es, there were the letters in his 
 own handwriting. ' You then detached your thoxights from things 
 eartlily and were transported to Abyssmia. I went with you and 
 stood with you, mvisible to yourself, and returned with you. I 
 would repeat the whole conversation, but I naust not. It is not 
 allowed. Patience, however. A few more days and you shall be 
 master of the whole. And oh, I had nearly forgotten. It is the 
 day after to-morrow that you are to present the Indian newspaper 
 to yoiu" friends.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel colom*ed, and became confused. ' Paul — I must 
 confess. "What will you think ? ' 
 
 ' There is no need to confess am'thing. You have been to the 
 drawer, tempted by curiosity to break voiu' promise ; what did you 
 find ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing.' 
 
 'Y''ou see what comes of tr^dng to deceive yom- friends.' 
 
 ' I deserve everything. I have fooled away the most wonderful 
 manifestation.' 
 
 ' Certainly —you deserve everything. Perhaps it is on account 
 of your brother's promise that you are stricken with forgetfuhiess 
 every day. But do not detspau-. The Master is not implacable. 
 You may invite your friends just the same as if you had not looked 
 
94 HERR PAULUS 
 
 m the drawer. By the way, you are quite — quite certain ' — Paul's 
 eyes were of searching severity — ' that no one could possibly have 
 had access to the safe ? ' 
 
 ' No one could possibly open the safe except myself.' 
 ' Then, Mr. Brudenel, invite whom you please, and enjoy a 
 triiunph which has yet been achieved by no spiritualist or so-called 
 occult philosopher. It is a mark of signal favour and, believe me, 
 my dear friend' — Paul clasped his hand warmly — 'not the last — 
 not the last — that you will receive.' 
 
 CHAPTEE IV. 
 
 SHOULD THIS HAPPEN ? 
 
 Once more the two young men were sitting at midnight in Tom's 
 workshop, but their bearing towards each other was now changed. 
 There was no diffidence on the one hand nor stispicion on the other. 
 Diffidence had changed to confidence, and in place of suspicion was 
 avowed enmity on public grounds with allowed friendship on private 
 gi'oimds. 
 
 ' People are clamouring for more of yoiu* confounded miracles, 
 old man,' said Tom presently. 
 
 ' So I gather. They will not be satisfied. At least — well, there 
 is one thing I promised. If you are at aU interested in what you 
 call miracles, you may be present to-morrow evening.' 
 
 'You raean the great Indian trick? Yes; my guardian has 
 invited his friends to mtness it. He says you gave him the paper 
 a month ago.' 
 
 ' He asked for a copy of that day's " Friend of India." So it 
 came. That is very simple.' 
 
 ' Perfectly simple. Quite simple ; what happens every day, in 
 fact. Nothing mu'aculous about that, is there ? ' 
 
 ' He then placed it in a safe, of which he alone keeps the key, 
 and he undertook not to show it to anyone until the day when the 
 mail shoidd bring that day's paper to London. It will arrive to- 
 morrow, and his copy can be compared with that received in the 
 usual way.' 
 
 ' I see. But it seems rather a pity — doesn't it ? — that he waited 
 a whole month ? ' 
 
 ' You mean ? ' Paul knew perfectly well what Tom meant, but 
 yet he asked this question. 
 
 ' A miracle, my dear boy, in order to be perfectly conclusive, 
 should leave no loophole at all for doubt as to the fact. That is the 
 whole essence of a miracle, and it is here that your Friends go 
 
SHOULD THIS HAPPEN? 95 
 
 bimgling. Now, if you produced to-day's " Friend of India " in 
 open court, so to speak, before a body of scientific men, who mi.t^ht 
 photograph it, so as to multiply copies, and if you on the same day 
 had the whole contents of that day's paper telegi-aphed fi-om Delhi, 
 the question woiild then be, not whether the thing had been done, 
 about which there could be no doubt, but whether there was any 
 way of explaining it other than miraculous. For instance, the old 
 slate trick ' 
 
 ' Oh ! but everybody laiows how that is done.' 
 
 ' True, but the fact is that it was done. We recognised that, and 
 had only to find out how it was done. How about your miracle of 
 to-moiTOW ? ' 
 
 ' I did not say it was mine.' 
 
 ' Your friends' mhacle then. You see they haven't compHed 
 with the first conditions of a miracle, that the fact itself must be 
 beyond doubt. My guardian says that four weeks ago he received 
 a copy of that very day's " Friend of India." Very weU, it_ rests 
 on his word, not on yours as well, does it ? ' Tom looked up ciu-iously 
 as if he was trying to get some admission, 
 
 ' If necessary, my word would perhaps not be wanting.' Thero 
 was the least possible absence of heartiness in the answer. 
 
 ' Quite so, if necessary. Very well then. He says ho put it in 
 the safe. Why did he not instantly produce the sheet and confound 
 the infidel ? Can't you see that a more miraculous thing than the 
 transportation of a newspaper ten tliousand rniles in an hour was 
 never even attempted in the palmiest days of A\atchcraft and magic ? 
 Don't you know that the occult philosophers have been asked over 
 and over again to do this, and that they have always refused to do it ? 
 
 ' You forget one thing, that if such a thing was done it might be 
 made subser\ient to commercial purposes and an object of self- 
 interest.' 
 
 •That is what the occult pliilosophers say. It is only wortJi con- 
 sidermg on the supposition that everybody could perform the 
 mhacle. If your friends have the secret in their own hands they 
 can keep it and make the performance a rare and mteresting event. 
 Come, now, put it to them frankly. Let us have, for once, a mhacle 
 that cannot be attacked anj-how. My guardian deposits this precious 
 paper in his safe and keeps it there for a month. He says that 
 nobody can get at that safe except liimself. Eather than believe in 
 this miracle I am prepared to disbeheve his assertion. Come, now, 
 old man, I don't mind being frank with you. I think you are up to 
 some game which may be anything, but isn't, I am sure it isn't, 
 the old ATilgar game of plmider, I rather believe you are trymg 
 by the exercise of certain gifts and clever dodges to make your- 
 self a gi"eat man. Very well, I have a similar ambition about 
 myself only in another direction altogether. You are going in for 
 miracles. It isn't worth while carrying on the stale old spiritualistic 
 
96 HERR PAULUS 
 
 humbii.t^. Ton know that, and you are trying to strike out a new 
 line. Give us a real, genuine, indisputable miracle, the fact of 
 which cannot be denied.' 
 
 ' I am pleased to have your good opinion, Tom,' Paul laughed, 
 cheerfully. ' Whatever my ambitions may be, they do not work in 
 the direction of plunder. You shall never be able to say that of me. 
 
 And as to what you think ' he paused. ' Tom,' he said, earnestly, 
 
 ' you were so very frank with me at the outset as to tell me you 
 thought I was a humbug hke the rest of them. You know, now, 
 that I have no intercourse with their world of lying spu-its. I do 
 not send roimd the hat for a little collection. Yet, beheve me, Tom, 
 there is far more in the world than you have yet understood. There 
 are powers of which you know nothing.' 
 
 ' That,' said Tom, ' I do not deny.' 
 
 ' Would you believe in those powers if I were to give you what 
 you call an imdeniable miracle ? ' 
 
 ' I should accept the fact and try to find out how it was 
 done.' 
 
 'Very good,' Paul laughed again. 'I think I may hope. I do 
 not promise to work such a miracle as will satisfy even you. That 
 is to say, you wUl not be able to deny the fact, and you will not be 
 able, the least bit in the world, to find out how it was accomplished. 
 No natural force with which you are acquainted will be able to 
 account for il. No explanation will occur to you, or to any of your 
 scientific fi-iends, that wUl in the least satisfy you. I say that I 
 don't actually engage myself to do this thing, but there seems a 
 chance that I may do it.' 
 
 ' I should be very much obliged to you if you will. I shall take 
 it as a personal compUment, and a great kindness to myself. A 
 genuine miracle, I confess, would be received by the whole world, 
 scientific and otherwise, with considerable satisfaction. Nothing in 
 the way of mesmerism, though.' 
 
 ' Very well. Mesmerism, however, must not be despised. It 
 is a natural force euth-ely outside the investigations of scientific 
 men, and neglected by them. It would be well if you were to 
 consider the subject. I could teach you a good deal in it, for 
 instance, which might astonish you and lead you to follow it up.' 
 
 ' I will be your pupil perhaps, but not now.' 
 
 ' As for my miracle, now. Conceive of some event haj)pening 
 which would seem at first absolutely destructive of your dearest 
 wish.' 
 
 ' Wliat is my dearest wish ? ' Tom replied, quietly, with a flush 
 in his cheek. 
 
 ' I will tell you. I believe that there is no one in this house or 
 outside it who knows or suspects that you are engaged to Miss 
 Brudenel.' 
 
 Tom started. ' How do you know that ? ' 
 
SHOULD THIS HAPPEN? 97 
 
 ' How do I know a great many tilings ? I know, you see, the 
 dearest wish of yoiu' heart.' 
 
 ' Well, you have found out somehow what we thought was 
 unknown to anybody but ourselves. It is true we are engaged. 
 And now, I hope, you can keep the secret you have discovered.' 
 
 ' I can. Miss Brudenel, I told j'ou long ago, will never be the 
 Vestal Vii-gin of the cause. Suppose, however, that somethmg — I 
 know not what— interfered between you. I talk at random, 
 perhaps — say, somethmg which would prevent your marriage for 
 years — perhaps altogether — suppose it required nothing short of a 
 miracle to remove that obstacle.' 
 
 ' WeU ? ' 
 
 ' WeU, suppose that muacle performed — would you still dis- 
 believe ? ' 
 
 ' I should. No doubt I should accept the miracle in such an 
 event with profoiuid gi-atitude, but I should then want to know how 
 it was done. Because, you see, everj^thing in the world is worked 
 by laws, and your nikacle could only be worked by some law 
 unknown to myself.' 
 
 ' Lady Augusta and her friends,' said Paul smiling, ' would 
 follow the unscientific method. They woidd accept the Miracle 
 just as you would, and they would then ask for More.' 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE SECOND FUNCTION. 
 
 The Second Great Manifestation, though more brief in its duration 
 and simi^ler in character than the first, was imiversally acknow- 
 ledged to be of far greater importance. Nothing, in fact, not even 
 the events which followed — to be sure, these were chiefly of a 
 private nature, and could only be whispered — did more to raise 
 Herr Paulus to that eminence which for a brief season he enjoyed, 
 and might have been still enjoying but for circiunstances which 
 will be duly narrated. The first Function was undoubtedly sweet 
 and precious, both to behold and to describe afterwards. It 
 thrilled, but the emotions excited were on familiar lines : it awed 
 and impressed those who assisted, but it did not actually take one 
 imexpectedly. Things like unto it had been seen before. Invisible 
 bells had been rmig, in\'isible music had been played — indeed, 
 Mediums alwaj^s brmg along a concertina or an accordion for fear 
 the sphits — who cannot play anything else, not even a harp — shoidd 
 forget to bring an instrimient ; invisible hands have often done 
 very astonishmg things : papers have before now fluttered about 
 the room, descending like the ram from a clear sky : there ha* 
 
93 II ERR FAULUS 
 
 been the exhibition of si^irit photographs and pictures : there has 
 been telegi-aphing : there has been clairvoyance : all such feats 
 have an historical character. Stories of a like natui'e coiild be 
 adduced, narrated, and compared. In point of picturesqueness, and 
 beauty, and fitness, hovi^ever, the first function left nothing to be 
 desired ; while its operator appeared to be of a much higher 
 character than any of those who accomplish their results in the 
 dark. One could not imagine Herr Paulus stooping to impose upon 
 his audience by the common and well-known methods ; even those 
 who were least crediilous acknowledged this immense superiority. 
 
 But, as regards the Function of this evening, as Mr. Brudenel 
 truly said at its close — it is only the anticipation of a few pages — 
 ' The Thing ' — he modestly called it a Thing — ' which we have this 
 day been privileged to witness, is an achievement beyond a parallel 
 in the History of Spiritualism.' You will acknowledge as much 
 when you hear what it was. ' It ixiarks an EjDoch. It announces 
 our arrival upon a Higher Plane ; it shows that we have left behind 
 us for ever the daj's of lying and mocking sjnrits ; our labours have 
 not been in vain ; it is the first visible step of our New Departiu'e ; 
 it shows us clearly that oiu' feet are standing at last upon the Solid 
 Eock : it teaches lis without a doubt that our faces are turned 
 towards the way of Truth.' 
 
 Truly, as you will see, Mr. Brudenel exaggerated not a whit. 
 Those who witnessed this stupendous conquest over time and 
 space, went home awed and humbled. The longer they dwelt upon 
 it the more it impressed their imagination ; the more they pondered 
 over the possibility of deception the more they were bewildered. 
 Even the sceptics were for the moment confounded. Nothing, 
 hoAvever, really confounds the sceptic. He is like those httle 
 figures made of j)ainted pith resting on little globes of lead which 
 spring to their feet with only the greater elasticity and resolution 
 the harder you knock them down. The best miracle in the world 
 is wasted on a sceptic. You might as well tell ghost stories to a 
 laAvyer. 
 
 The company invited to witness this manifestation was less 
 numerous than that which gathered together for the first, but it 
 included all the important people. There was no dimier party, and 
 they were invited for nine. When they arrived they were shown 
 into Mr. Brudenel's study, where Sibyl received them. It was 
 imderstood that Lady Augusta and Mx*. Brudenel would appear at 
 the right moment with the hero of the evening. 
 
 All the well-lvnowai leaders of the spiritualists were there, in- 
 cluding Mr. Athelstan Kilburn and the Eev. Amelius Horton. The 
 Society of Psychical E,esearch was represented by a Deputation, 
 specially invited, from Cambridge. It consisted of a Jmiior Fellow 
 of Trinity and a certificated graduate in honours from Newnham. 
 On the way — it has nothing to do with the story — tlio Deputation 
 
THE SECOND FUNCTION 99 
 
 fell in love xA'Co. each other, and got engaged on the way back, but 
 fell out over the Report which they had to draw up, and so the 
 marriage never came off. Science, always suspicious, was repre- 
 sented by a Professor of the highest distinction. He was known to 
 be hostile to everything which he could not reduce to the realm of 
 known physics, and always went about to such manifestations with 
 the avowed uitention of exposing the trick — he alwaj's called it a 
 trick — and he never did expose anything, because he knew notliing 
 of legerdemain, although he was learned in electricity. The pro- 
 fession was represented by Mr. Emanuel Chick and Mrs. Lavmia 
 Medlock, as usual — there are few recent additions to the old school 
 of sphitualists. The Eev. Benjamm Budge was also present, pre- 
 pared to clnonicle whatever took place. There were also present a 
 large niunber of the laches who ' take interest ; ' among them the 
 ardent beUever, who has always something to whisper, some new 
 mysterious utterance or promise ; the woman who only half believes, 
 but trembles and thinks it is wicked ; the woman who loves to be 
 startled and prefers a seance to a melodrama ; the woman m search 
 of a New Gospel — she is very common ua these days ; the woman 
 who talks the language of the esoteric Buddliist ; the woman of 
 unsatisfied sord who yearns for a fuller hfe — with others. I suppose 
 that the pm-ely incredulous world was represented \>^ Tom Langston, 
 who changed his mind and came — to meet the Professor, he said, 
 but I think he was anxious to see what would be done. Cicely 
 Langston sat retired, with Hetty beside her. 
 
 ' I imderstand. Miss Brudenel,' said Mr. Eudge, in a loud and 
 masterful voice, ' that we are summoned here to-night in order to 
 witness what will be — if we are rightly informed — a truly stupendous 
 event, and the most remarkable manifestation of spnitual power 
 ever witnessed.' 
 
 ' Pray, Mr. Eudge,' Sibyl interrupted shortly, ' ask me nothmg. 
 I know nothing. I can promise notliing.' 
 
 ' It is rmnom-ed, then ' — Mr. Eudge smiled Avith amicable for- 
 givingness, because he was used to be snubbed by Miss Brudenel — 
 ' we wall only say then, that it is rumoured, that we are this even- 
 ing to behold a document which has been transported fi-om some 
 jiart of India to this house with the swiftness of an electric message. 
 If this be so ' 
 
 Mr. Emmanuel Chick sniffed loudly. He looked not only shabby 
 this evening, but himgrj'. In fact he was hungering for Paul's 
 blood. It was the first note of hostile incredulity. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Lavinia, claspmg her hands. ' It wUl be the exer- 
 cise of a power far beyond anything ever vouchsafed to me. And 
 yet there was a time ' 
 
 ' Before we all go off into ecstasies.' said Mr. Emanuel Chick, 
 ' we had better see what happens. On the last occasion there were 
 
 h2 
 
lOO HERE PAULUS 
 
 fireworks — I call them fireworks — with mesmerism. Perhaps we 
 shall only have, after all, more fireworks with mesmerism.' 
 
 ' It cannot be said,' said Mr. Athelstan Kilburn, ' that oiir yomig 
 friend receives either sjTupathy or encom'agement from his pro- 
 fessional brethren. Surely they are above the petty feeliag of 
 jealousy.' 
 
 ' He will get no encouragement from me,' Mr. Chick replied. 
 ' I pretend to nothing but the good old Imes. I am a Medium — 
 only a Medium. No fireworks for me, sir. You know what to 
 expect from me. If the sphits wish to speak through me, they can. 
 That's all. I believe some people have received messages which 
 spoke for themselves, and were a little more important than a lady 
 in a mesmeric trance. We shall see.' 
 
 ' Hetty,' Cicely whispered, ' it is that odious man who always 
 makes me feel as if he carried evil spirits about with him. Do you 
 think that his presence will affect Paul's powers ? ' 
 
 ' No, I am sure it will not. But, oh ! I wish it was over ! And 
 oh ! I wish he would not show off to a gi-eat room full of 
 people.' 
 
 ' Perhaps he must.' 
 
 ' His powers should be kept sacred, and shown to none but 
 
 but the x^eoj^le he loves,' Hetty murmured. ' Oh ! to make a trade 
 and a show and a means of gain out of such a power as his ! It 
 would be too di'eadful.' 
 
 ' ^Vllis2^er me everj'thuig, Hetty dear, just as he does it. Oh ! if 
 he would only make me able to see it. He could if he chose. 
 Perhaps this evening — but tell me aU, Hett3^' 
 
 ' I suppose,' said the Professor of Science to Tom Langston, 
 quietly, ' that there will be an opportunity afforded one of sub- 
 mitting any experiment we may be privileged to witness to the 
 ordinary tests.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes,' Tom replied. ' "^liy not ? Herr Paulus's perform- 
 ances are unexpected, but they are all done m the light. I don't 
 quite see how anything he has done as yet could be tested. You 
 see things, and you wonder how they are done ; that is all.' 
 
 ' Tell me about him.' 
 
 ' He is a yoimg man. He has been staying here a month now. 
 In this house, you know, we are alwa,ys up to our necks in magic 
 and mystery, but since he came we have learned to despise the old 
 things. We do not care aboiit rapping ; we no longer ask if our 
 grandmothers are happy. We do not look for incarnated sphits. We 
 have no dark seances.' 
 
 ' All this seems distinct gain,' said the Professor. 
 
 ' Yes ; in their place we have acquired a beautiful freedom of 
 transport. We converse with anybody, all over the world. We find 
 out what is going on everywhere. Mr. Brudenel, my guardian, goes 
 off to Abyssinia every morning for instruction, and arrives home in 
 
THE SECOND FUNCTION lOl 
 
 time for luncheon. Lady Augusta is going tlu'ough a course of 
 King Solomon's Wisdom ; the girls are always more or less mes- 
 meric ; the housemaids no longer go to the dentist when they have 
 got a toothache. Herr Paulus leaves his earthly body on his bed 
 while he goes off to have a crack with his fi-iends in Eussia, ur 
 Thibet, in Afi'ica.' 
 
 The Professor laughed. 
 
 ' You cannot test any of these things,' he said. ' If people choose 
 to believe in common cheats and impostors ' 
 
 ' Pardon me, Professor. Herr Paulus is not a common cheat and 
 imj^ostor. I do not quite know what he is, but he wants no money 
 to begin with.' 
 
 ' That is imiisual.' 
 
 ' It is, in this house, at least.' 
 
 ' But they talk of a newspaper, or something interesting, brought 
 here in a smgle moment from an enormous distance.' 
 
 ' Ten miles would be as good as three thousand, but it wants a 
 big distance to strike the imagination. In fact. Professor, I have 
 reason to know that the claim set up this everdng will be the power 
 to convej' thuigs — not only messages, or by the wire — but actual 
 thmgs — parcels — what you please, at any moment to any distance 
 by unseen agency.' 
 
 ' In that case,' said the Professor, ' I am come on a fool's errand 
 mdeed.' 
 
 'At Simla, only last year,' — it was the Eev. Benjamin Eudge, ia 
 his loud, coarse voice, which h-ritated some people beyond endur- 
 ance — ' some of the so-called occult philosophers were in^dted to 
 bring over a copy of that day's " Times." They refused to do so, on 
 the groimd that every request for a miracle could not be complied 
 with, and that to ask such a thing showed mere ciu'iosity. The 
 refusal and the excuse made scoffers laugh. If a man claims to 
 have great powers, he must prove them. Oin: young Prophet, if I 
 may call him so, has claimed verj^ great powers on behalf of his 
 Friends. He has shown us certain things which we should 
 have called manifestations of a very high order. If he actually does 
 the thing of which we have heard, he will estabhsh himself and his 
 Friends on the highest pinnacle which science and philosophy have 
 yet reaUsed. Time and space will be annihilated, and even the 
 power of electricitj' will be sui'passed.' 
 
 He had spent the afternoon rounding off tlais and a few other 
 sentences, with a view to a letter announcing the Miracle, if it 
 should come off. Tliat letter was duly sent, and being signed by 
 himself, and backed by another fi"om that well-known, sober, and 
 well-balanced mtellect, the Eev. Amehus Horton, it met with 
 universal mcredulity, and smiles and snorts and jeers. But when 
 the Professor himself gravely and soberly described what had taken 
 place, so far as his senses enabled him to see and to heai', a sensa- 
 
I02 HERR PAULUS 
 
 tion was produced as of a new revelation ; and everybody asked who 
 was Herr Paulus, and nobody knew, and all the world waited 
 eagerly for more. 
 
 ' When is he coming, Hetty ? ' asked Cicely. 
 
 ' Very soon, I beheve. Oh ! How can he do things in the 
 presence of people who want to make him out an impostor ? ' 
 
 ' Tell me all — whisper everything, dear. 
 
 ' The explanation,' said Mr. Amelius Horton, ' will, of coiu-se, be 
 foimd in the development of will energy. The imknown force is 
 will energy. It is to be the force of the future. It will be ciJtivated 
 like strength of body, and we shall take rank in the future according 
 to the strength of the will energy. 
 
 ' Who is that person ? ' the Professor asked Tom. 
 
 ' It is the Eev. Amelius Horton, Senior Fellow of King Henry's, 
 Cambridge. 
 
 ' Oh ! is that the result of classical study or of mathematical 
 research ? Well, let us begin, and let us keep our eyes wide open. 
 Of course it is all nonsense about Time and Space. _ There will, I 
 suppose, be a good deal of talk to wrap up the real thing. 
 
 'Yes. The only thing I have yet found out aboutour man,' 
 said Tom, ' is that he has a ciu-ious power of mesmerism. That 
 awakens suspicion, but it does not explain anything.' 
 
 ' Mesmerism,' repeated the Professor. 'Yes; it is a strange 
 power, and ought to be taken out of the hands of quacks and 
 impostors. It is an undoubted power. Everybody who can per- 
 suade other people that he says or does thmgs impossible, must 
 have something of that power. But I think he will not mesmerise 
 me. Perhaps thought-reading is only a form of mesmerism, so 
 that the patient is "forced to think what the operator compels him 
 and forces upon hun. Has he mesmerised you ? ' 
 
 ' No ; he has tried. But he can't.' 
 
 ' I remember,' the Professor continued, in his quiet and reflec- 
 tive way, ' going to see a performance by a certain Dr. Slade_ about 
 ten years ago. He did all sorts of foolish things first — quite insult- 
 ing to common understanding, and then he did the famous slate 
 trick.' 
 
 ' I know. Showed it to you clean ; put it on the table, i^resently 
 turned it over, and showed it covered with writing.' 
 
 'Quite so. That is exactly what I saw, and precisely as I 
 described it. The writing itself was pm-e drivel. It seemed to me 
 a most mysterious thing, only to be explained by some hypothesis 
 about writing which should be invisible until after a certain time. 
 And this was on the face of it absm-d. But the man I had brought 
 with me was a professional conjuror, one Helhs by name, who is 
 now dead, and he enlightened me. Dr. Slade caught my eye and 
 held it. He thought he had caught my companion's as well, but 
 there he was mistaken. And Hellis saw him actually changing 
 
THE SECOND FUNCTION 103 
 
 the slate for another, and shoving the first one into a receptacle 
 under the table. He did it quite coolly, being confident that he 
 held the eyes of both. Well, the audacity of the announcement of 
 what we are going to see this evening reminds me of Dr. blade's 
 slate. It is so beautifully simple, and at the same time so im- 
 possible.' 
 
 Tom laughed. ' We must not, however, ranli Herr Paulus with 
 Dr. Slade. He has not converted me, and I am convinced that he 
 is playing some game. But I cannot find him oat. Meantime, we 
 are very good fiiends, and he knows that I am watching him. 
 Hush; here they come.' 
 
 At that moment Lady Augusta entered on Herr Paulus's arm. 
 The ancient Philosopher looked like nothing more than an ex- 
 tremely handsome young gentleman of the modern time. Mr. 
 Brudenel, who followed, looked assmred and easy, without any of 
 his customary nervousness. 
 
 The guests divided right and left, and they advanced, taking up 
 a position in the middle of the room. Mr. Brudenel's table, in the 
 drawer of which lay that novel by Ouida, which he had not found 
 time to finish since the Abyssinian torn- had commenced, was pushed 
 back, and a clear space was formed. 
 
 Lady Augusta greeted her guests and sat down ; some of the 
 ladies did the same. Others, too much excited by the expectation 
 of what was to come, preferred to stand. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel, his face glowing with triumph — after thirty years 
 of psychical research it is mdeed a triumph, one never before 
 vouchsafed to any man, to stand on the Livuag rock — his eyes full 
 of joy and his voice full of confidence, raised his left hand, and 
 spoke : 
 
 ' My friends,' he said, with a quiet dignity, new to him, ' Some 
 of us have worked together in the pursuit of Spiritual truth for 
 many years ; we have grown grey in our researches ; we have been 
 continually baffled ; we have been deceived and disappointed : we 
 have been dejected ; there have been times when it was diflicult to 
 maintain a cheerful front in presence of so much disappointment 
 and so much ridicule.' 
 
 ' We have known many such times, Brudenel,' said Mr. Athelstan 
 Kilburn. 
 
 ' At one of the moments of deepest hmniliation, I was found by 
 Herr Paulus ; you remember how, on the very first night, he filled 
 our hearts with new faith, and kindled new enthusiasm within us.' 
 
 ' We remember that night very well,' Mr. Kilburn again 
 interrupted. 
 
 ' Perhaps it happened to some of you as to me, that in the 
 morning a cold wave of doubt followed the hope and enthusiasm of 
 the evening.' 
 
 ' It did,' said Mr. Kilburn. ' It always does.' 
 
104 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' What we had seen we thought nothmg but the effect of mes- 
 meric power, with the exhibition of certain phenomena by no means ^ 
 new.' 
 
 ' By no means new,' said Emanuel Chick. 
 
 ' Though briUiantly executed and in the full light for aU to see. 
 I say, my friends, that some of you felt as I did.' 
 
 There was a general and sympathetic mm-miu- at the recollection 
 of these unpleasant symptoms. They were perhaps a common 
 experience among spiritualists. 
 
 ' In the morning, therefore,' Mr. Brudenel went on, ' I repaired 
 to this study, oppressed and dejected. Herr Paulus foUowed me. 
 He began by reading my thoughts accurately and exactly, a thiiig 
 which "should of itself have reassiu'ed me. He then vohmtarily 
 proposed to give me a private proof of his credentials, and_ begged 
 me to ask him somethmg— anything apparently impossible. I 
 asked him to place in my hands an Indian paper — the " Friend of 
 India"— for that very day. He reminded me that the difference 
 of time between London and Delhi is about six hours, so that at 
 ten o'clock in the morning with us it is ah'eady four in the after- 
 noon with them. If, he said, I had asked for a copy of the paper 
 at midnight, I might have had one just hot h'om the press of the 
 next morning. As it was— I know not how the paper came into 
 his hands— he handed me the "Friend of India" of that very 
 morning.' 
 
 ' This is an interesting statement,' said the Professor. 
 
 ' I opened the paper and read it from begmning to end ' — here 
 Mr. Brudenel's memory played him false, because in fact he had 
 reaUy read no more than the title and the date. ' It had already 
 been cut, and, I presume, had been read six hours before. In one 
 corner was a brown stain as of spilt coffee. I then, at the request 
 of Herr Paulus, folded the paper, placed it in an envelope, tied it 
 romid with ribbon, to which he affixed his own seal, and deposited 
 it in a drawer of my safe. No one, remember,' he added solemnly, 
 ' has a key to that safe but myself. That key never leaves my 
 possession.' 
 
 ' And now,' said the Professor, ' you are going to open the drawer 
 and to show us the paper. But, first, how are we sure that no one 
 has got at the safe ? ' 
 ' You have my word.' 
 
 ' Precisely. But how do you yoiu'self know it ? ' 
 ' I repeat that no one has a key except myself, and that no one 
 knew of the deposit of this paper except myself.' 
 
 ' You are now going to show it to us. Permit me to say, Mr. 
 Brudenel, that it would have been more satisfactory had we seen it 
 on the day that you received it.' 
 
 ' Much more satisfactory,' said Emanuel Chick. 
 
 ' Permit me one more question,' this heckling Professor con- 
 
THE SECOND FUNCTION 105 
 
 tinned. ' Havo tho copies of this jiaper been sent round by the 
 Post already ? ' 
 
 ' I believe not,' Mr. Brudenel replied. ' They ^vill be received by 
 London subscribers to-morrow inornin','.' 
 
 'That is hip;hly important and will have to be ascertained. 
 Now, sir-, we will, if you please, proceed to the verification of the 
 document.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel drew forth his bunch of keys. Then he turned 
 pale suddenly, and whispered a word in the ear of Herr Paulus. 
 
 ' The Friends have forgotten and forgiven,' said this oracular 
 young man. ' Have neither doubt nor fear.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel gave his daughter his bunch of keys. 
 
 ' Sibyl, my dear,' he said, ' go and open the safe. Get me the 
 packet in the left-hand drawer.' 
 
 Sibyl obeyed. In the left-hand drawer there lay a packet of 
 brown paper tied up with ribbon, and scaled. 
 
 ' It was sealed in my presence,' said Mr. Brudenel, ' by Herr 
 Paulus. He will examine the seal before it is broken.' 
 
 The Professor looked at the seal. 
 
 ' There is a pentagon with some Hebrew letters on it,' lie said. 
 
 " Here is the seal.' Paul drew a ring fi-om his finger. ' It is 
 my own — the seal of Prmce Menelek.' 
 
 Then the Professor opened the packet. Within it was the 
 'Friend of India,' four weeks old, the paper which would be 
 dehvered in the morning. 
 
 The Professor looked at the paper suspiciously : he marked 
 the brown coffee stain, he read the telegrams — they were dated 
 four weeks ago— the date at the top of the page was four weeks 
 old. Everything seemed genuine. Yet he doubted. 
 
 ' It seems to be — I suppose it is ! ' he said, ' the paper of the 
 date named.' He gave it to Tom Laugston, who examined it with 
 equal care. 
 
 ' It is very odd,' he said, glancing quickly at Herr Paulus, who 
 received the look and the remark without apparent emotion. ' It 
 is extremely odd — it is, m fact, wonderful. The paper has been 
 lying in the di-awer of the safe for a month ; it came oversky, so to 
 speak, aU the way ; yet it smells of the ship or of the letter-bag 
 just as Indian papers do always smell. Foreign letters have all 
 got a double smell in fact,' — he smelt the paper curiously, ' One 
 of the place Avhere they come from. There's a Calcutta smeU and 
 a Bombay smeU, and a Delhi smell for instance ; of course every 
 city has its own peculiar smell. And there's the smeU of the 
 voyage as well. Now this paper has never been on a ship at aU 
 and yet it has this smeU of the voyage. How are we to explaua 
 that ? ' 
 
 'As for me,' Paul replied cheerftiUy, ' I explain nothing. I am 
 not responsible for the paper or for the way in which it came.' 
 
106 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' "Why try to explain ? ' asked Mr. Brudenel. ' Tlie fact ig 
 before us. Everyone here can testify to that. And now,' he 
 looked round with an air of assurance and triumph, ' I presume that 
 no one will doubt ray statement of the case. And I hope — I trust 
 — that this Mhacle, I can account it as nothing less — will remove 
 the last slneds of doubt if any remain as to the mission of my yomig 
 friend here.' 
 
 All those who had any right to be considered persons of 
 authority here stepped forward and shook hands, first with 
 Mr. Brudenel and then with Herr Paulus. 
 
 It was at this pomt that Mr. Brudenel dehvered himself of the 
 speech which has aheady been mentioned. It was a pmely spon- 
 taneous and impremeditated speech, springing straight from the 
 joy and triumph of his heart. And everybody felt that he had the 
 right to make that speech. 
 
 Sibyl, who preserved her presence of mind and remained 
 unmoved, looked inquiringly at Tom, who only shook his head 
 mom-nfully. The case was beyond him. It seemed for the moment 
 as if the scoffers were silenced. Certainly, his laboratory contained 
 no such secret as wotild enable him to annihilate time and space, 
 except by means of the electric spark, which does not convey a 
 book and parcels. The Professor, however, raUied. He was 
 beaten down but not conquered. 
 
 ' I admit,' he said, ' that you have a very strong case, par- 
 ticularly if it could be shown that no one could receive a copy of 
 the paper by post m time to place it in the safe. Until that is 
 proved I cannot acknowledge the genuineness of this miracle. We 
 must not accept the impossible as accomplished until there remains 
 no room for doubt. Have you anything to add, sir ? ' He turned 
 to Herr Paulus. 
 
 ' I ? Nothing.' The young Philosopher was standing carelessly, 
 as if he was not at all interested m the case. ' Nothing at all. If 
 you cannot accept Mr. Brudenel's statement, it is waste of time 
 adding mme by way of corroboration. Perhaps, as you say, the 
 safe has been tampered with. Yet the tampering must have been 
 effected between the earliest possible time when the paper would be 
 received, and nine o'clock, the time when everybody here arrived. 
 Let us get om" hmits of time exact. I ought to add, however, that 
 it is not my busmess to perform conjuring tricks, even of this kind. 
 But it was thought necessary to impress upon people by some such 
 manifestations the reality of certain messages. I am not a 
 Medium in the ordinary sense of the word.' 
 
 ' You are not,' said Emanuel Chick. 
 
 ' My Friends converse with each other freely, whether they are 
 dead or alive : whether they are together or apart.' 
 
 ' Are we not mixing things ? ' asked the Professor. 
 
 ' No — if I succeed in showing you exactly what I claim to be 
 
THE SECOND FUNCTION 107 
 
 and to do. If you come here expecting the ordinary raps and 
 things, you are mistaken. The arrival of this paper is not due to 
 any spirit, but to a Hving person.' 
 
 ' Hiuuph ! ' said the Professor. 
 
 ' The original intention of that living person has been carried 
 out. Mr. Cyrus Brudenel has no longer any doubt at all.' 
 
 ' None,' said that gentleman ; ' none whatever. We stand upon 
 the Solid Eock — upon the Sohd Eock.' 
 
 ' The repetition of this assertion imfortimately weakened its 
 strength. It seemed as if the incredulity of the Professor had 
 taken something fi-om the Solidity of the Eock. 
 
 ' There are some,' said Herr Paulus, 'who are so prejudiced that 
 they will never believe. Come, sir,' he turned sharply to the 
 Professor. ' What is it you would Uke to have ? ' 
 
 ' Give me this day's paper.' 
 
 ' Well, I gave it IMr. Brudenel, but you won't believe me. Still, 
 if you are not contented, and if my Friends are willmg to gratify a 
 sceptical mind — not that you will believe a bit the more — but 
 
 slili ' He said this very slowly, and with meanmg, insomuch 
 
 that there was once more a hush of expectation, and all eyes were 
 turned upon him. ' See ! ' he cried, throwing forward his right 
 arm with the same gesture that he had employed on the first 
 evening. Then he raised his left hand and caught something folded 
 — how it came or whence, no one saw. It was a folded paper, and 
 he handed it to the Professor. 
 
 ' What is it ? ' he asked. 
 
 The Professor opened the paper, looked at the title and at the 
 date. 
 
 ' Good heavens ! ' he cried, ' it is TO-DAY'S PAPEK ! ! ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Everybody said that. 
 
 ' To-day's paper,' he repeated, again lookmg at the title and the 
 date. ' " The Friend of India," published at Delhi this very day. Is 
 it possible ? ' 
 
 Herr Paulus took the paper fi-om his unresisting hand and gave 
 it to Lady Augusta, who gave it to Hetty, who passed it on to 
 another, and so it passed fi-om hand to hand, for everybody wanted 
 to see for themselves this most wonderful thing. 
 
 ' Tom,' Sibyl whispered, ' I feel as if my head was going round. 
 What does it all mean ? Can there be any reality in it '? ' 
 
 ' I believe,' Tom replied, ' that we are all mesmerised, and that 
 he makes us see and say and testify exactly what he Hkes. Keep 
 yoiu- head steadj^ Dodo. The Professor looks like the proverbial 
 stucli pig. Put a pin into me if I begin to look like that.' 
 
 ' I should like,' said the Professor, recovering a httle, ' to see the 
 paper again. May I take it away and keep it ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly,' Herr Paulus replied. ' Where is it ? WIio has got 
 the paper ? ' 
 
lo8 HERR PAUL US 
 
 Wonderful to relate, nobody had it. The paper had vanished. 
 Some there were who thought that the Eev. Benjamin Kudge had 
 taken it for literary purposes, but he declared that he had done no 
 more than read the title and the date, like the rest. Others, again, 
 thought that Mr. Emanuel Chick might have slipped it mto Iris 
 pocket in order to hide tlie evidence of superior skill ; but he denied 
 the charge. Everybody had seen it ; everybody had passed it on : 
 and no one could find out who had it last. It was gone — lost — and 
 it has never been seen since. 
 
 ' Shall we offer our pockets to be searched ? ' asked Herr 
 Paulus. 
 
 ' Oh, nonsense ! ' said the Professor. 
 
 ' My dear su',' said Herr Paulus, ' those who sent the paper 
 here could take it away again. Understand, sir ' — for the first time 
 this evening he abandoned the easy half-careless manner and 
 became grave and admonitory— 'imder stand that my Friends do 
 not suffer dictation. They have chosen to show you this Wonder. 
 Believe it or not as yoii please. Put any construction upon it that 
 you please. And now there will be no fmiher manifestations.' 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' the Professor rephed, ' I have no reply to make 
 and no explanation now to suggest. But I always remember Dr. 
 Slade's slate,' he added in a whisper. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus.' It was Mrs. Hanley Tracey. ' Eemember, yoii 
 promised to seek us out on Sunday evenmgs. Come next Smiday.' 
 
 ' Dear Lady Augusta ' — it was Mrs. Medlock — ' you tmist keep 
 him here. Oh ! that CoUege of which we spoke — how gladly would 
 I hellup ! I have been asked to lecture for the new Society for the 
 Extension of Psychical Learning. It is a most mteresting and 
 attractive subject, full of ghosts. But, oh ! how much rather would 
 I hellup yom- College ! ' 
 
 .' Old man ' — it was Tom who laid his hand on Paul's arm and 
 whispered — ' it was wonderful — truly wonderful ! It was beauti- 
 fidly done. How the Devil did you do it ? And what became of 
 tlie paper ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEAUMONT STREET, MARYLEBONE. 
 
 If you walk up that street, now well nigh forgotten by the fashion- 
 able world, called the Marylebone High Street just after, you pass 
 the old Parish Cliurch, and before you come to the stately new 
 church of St. Marylebone, you will light upon a small row of little 
 houses running eastward. A street called Beaumont Street begins 
 here, but long before there was any Beaumont Street these houses 
 were erected. They are two-storied houses, and painted drab, and 
 
BEAUMONT STREET, MARYLEBONE icg 
 
 always look as if they had been ' done up ' last summer, and their 
 shutters — they still have shutters — are green. If you keep one ej-e 
 xipon the old Parish Church, and another upon these houses, they 
 are quite in 2")lace, and harmonise perfectly. If you think of the 
 great new church, and of the opposite houses, they are incongruous. 
 The little old Parish Church is just exactly no^Y as it was when 
 Hogarth painted the service m it, save that they have ci-uelly 
 removed the old tlu-ee-decker — indeed, I know not where to look 
 for a three-decker now, nearer than Whitby. There used to be one 
 at Lyme Eegis, but I hear that it has been removed. If you go to 
 this church on a Sunday morning, and shut your eyes to the con- 
 gregation, which, somehow, seems to consist chieflj' of gentlemen's 
 gentlemen, and of ladies' ladies, you may fancy yom-self back in the 
 days of wigs and commodes, of piu'ple satm coats and hoops. More- 
 over, if you contemplate this httle row of houses steadily, you are 
 presently enabled to remove all the houses and streets opposite to 
 them, and to restore in their place the dear old Marylebone 
 Gardens, beloved of Pepys, frequented by Captain Macheath, by the 
 roystering blades of London To-mi, by the sparks from the Temple 
 and Gray's Inn, by gi-ave citizens who brought then- wives and 
 daughters for an evening of innocent amusement, and by riotous 
 young noblemen \,!io came with Cjaitlua and Chloe. At the back 
 of the church was the workhouse, whither, in due course, Cjnithia 
 and Chloe retreated, a good deal battered by the Joyous Life ; and 
 south of the workhouse lay the gi-eat burying groimd, oldest of the 
 London cemeteries, which is now a garden. Cynthia and Chloe 
 both lie bm-ied here without any tombstones. Oh I the tales that 
 these houses could tell — the nights they remember when the horns 
 resounded in the gardens, and when the men sang at their suppers, 
 and Kitty, and Jenny, and Polly pranced aroimd with their 
 gallants, and the highwaymen swaggered within, and the footpad 
 Im-ked without, and the gamester and the pluck-pigeon prowled 
 about in search of then- prey. But their historiettes would be more 
 amusing than edifying. 
 
 The gardens are long since shut up and built over, like Cupid's 
 Gardens, and Eanelagh, and Vauxhall, and Cremorne, for there is 
 to be no more innocent happiness allowed to anybody, on accoiuit 
 of the serpent who gets into all the gardens and tempts the yomig 
 fohv with that apple. Streets cover up these gardens, as they cover 
 up the gi'eat Queen Anne Square which lay beyond ; the turnpilie 
 at the end of High Street is gone, and there is not a single remnant 
 of fashion left from end to end. Yet if a man wanted a quiet corner, 
 iinfrequented and uixknown, there is no more likely spot for him m 
 all London than this little bit of Beaimiont Street, Marylebone 
 High Street. 
 
 One afteriiuon there wallved slowly across the chui-chyard from 
 the Huston Road to the High Street, a young gentleman dressed in a 
 
no HERR PAULUS 
 
 most beautiful and expensive fur-lined coat. His hat was new and 
 glossy ; his gloves and boots were good, and he carried a new and 
 very slim umbrella ; a young gentleman clearly of fashion and 
 fortune, if outward seeming be worth anything. 
 
 The old woman opened the door for him in one of the little old 
 houses, let him in without question, and he entered the fi'ont room 
 on the gi'ound floor without being announced. Clearly, therefore, 
 ami cle famille, or perhaps a son of the family. There was sitting 
 by the fire in a low chair, his feet upon a cushion, a man well 
 stricken in years. He Avas asleep when the door opened, but woke 
 with a start and sat upright, clutching the arms of the chair. 
 ' Paul ! ' he cried. ' I thought you would come to-day. I felt you 
 coming.' 
 
 He was certainly enjoymg a gi'een old age ; his shoulders were 
 rounded, his beard and his abundant hah- were both long and white 
 and venerable ; his limbs were thin and looked as if they would 
 tremble under him if he stood upright ; but his eyes were strong 
 and clear ; there was no senUity in those eyes ; and his face, once 
 awake, was full of life, and interest in life. Some of us, the hap- 
 piest among us, die upwards, slowly ; others, more unhapjiy, die 
 downwards from the top to the trunk. This old man was dying 
 upwards. 
 
 ' Paul, it is a month since you left us. How have you fared ? 
 Sit down, you have much to tell. Sit down and begin.' 
 
 There was something in his voice and way of speaking which 
 resembled the manner of the younger man ; a wmning smile ; a 
 soft voice ; a gentle tone ; a sympathetic and earnest look in the 
 eyes. Had the younger man caught his manner from the older and 
 improved it after capture ? 
 
 Paul removed his coat and sat down. 
 
 ' First, then,' he said, ' I found it easier to succeed than I 
 thought. My success has been wonderful. Now I will tell you all 
 about it.' 
 
 We know how he had succeeded, and can therefore omit his 
 narrative, though there were many i^omts in it omitted in our own. 
 Plistory is notlimg but careful selection, and were all the truth told 
 there would be nothing dramatic and nothing interesting. 
 
 ' For a beginning, Paul,' said the old man, ' you have done well. 
 Nay, my boy, you have shown genius. But how wiU you keep 
 it up ? ' 
 
 ' By genius again. At present I have only just begun. Oh ! it 
 wUl be the most splendid thing out. And it is all so simple, so 
 simple, so wonderfully simple.' 
 
 ' Simple, mdeed — to you. But there is no one in the whola 
 world who has your powers, Paul.' 
 
 ' The Idiots ! Tlie clumsy Idiots ! Why, more miracles liave 
 been performed in that one house during the last month than by 
 
BEAUMONT STREET, MARYLEBONE ill 
 
 the whole of the Spiritualists, since the rappings first began, witli 
 the Esoteric Buddhists thrown in ! The Idiots ! And they go on 
 practismg their tricks and little crafty cheats, and people go on 
 believing in them.' 
 
 ' Good, lad, good.' The old man gently nibbed his hands, 
 'This is the right spirit — contempt for the inferior practitioner. 
 You have yoiir powers ; he has his tricks. You have your secrets : 
 he has his machinei'y. Yes, j'ou can di'ive him out of the field. 
 And after that ? ' 
 
 ' I shall found a new system ef Philosophy,' Paul went on with 
 enthusiasm. ' I shall become the Leader of a great School. I call 
 it the Ancient Way. I have a Sacred Book — I am writing it now — 
 it is the book of the Secret Wisdom of King Solomon, taken to 
 Abyssinia by his son Menelek.' 
 
 ' Very good. Abyssinia is good. Thibet is played out. Abys- 
 sinia is very good.' 
 
 ' We shall have a College and chosen Disciples. Only there will 
 be the Illummati, who have powers correspondhig to my own. 
 There will be degrees — from the Initiate to the Adept. Oh ! I see 
 it before me clearly. And when this College is established, and my 
 name is made for evei* — and I am in the midst of luy power — I 
 shall vanish suddenty and be no more heard of, and so be a problem 
 for all ages.' 
 
 ' Ye-yes.' The old inan received the conclusion of this pro- 
 gi'amine somewhat doubtfully. ' Ye-yes, Paul. The College and 
 this School of Philosophers are very good ideas, because yon would 
 be the Head of the College, and they must pay their Head. And 
 it would be hard work — very hard work — keeping it up. But if 
 you were to vanish, my dear boy, how about the dollars ? ' 
 
 Tlie young man's face, w^iich had been glow'ing, fell, and he 
 changed colom\ 
 
 'The dollars — oh! the doUars! — it is the curse of being an 
 American, that one is never permitted to tlimk of anything but 
 dollars.' 
 
 ' You arc young, lad ; you are young. When you are old you 
 will think as I think. There is nothing but doUars worth consider- 
 ing. Where is j'oui' independence if you have got no dollars '} 
 What is your glory worth ? What Avill you do in yom* old age if 
 you have no dollars ? I have got few enough, because, like you, 
 when I w'as young and foolish, I wasted myself in idle display of 
 powers to make the world open its mouth and gape. It is glorious, 
 my son. Your scheme is splendid, and the secret history, if it were 
 ever revealed, w"Oirld be more glorious to you than the behef of joiu" 
 disciples and the foiuidation of a Sect. But j'ou are young. A few 
 years — perhaps a smgle year — will do all that j'ou wish to do here ; 
 and then — you have a long life before you. There is nothhig that 
 you can do to make your living. How will you live ? ' 
 
112 HERE PAUL US 
 
 Like the sparrows.' 
 
 ' On crumbs and worms. Will you lilve it ? ' 
 
 ' Well then — I will keep on the College. I will attract studeni3 
 by hundreds. I wiU take aU their fees to myself and build up a 
 great fortune.' 
 
 ' Now you talk sense, Paul. Better still — go over to America 
 and found a Sister College. If you want to make a very large for- 
 tune, give out that the younger Sister is going to surpass the Elder, 
 by reason of the enormously superior intellect of the Americans. 
 There are plenty of credulous people in both countries, ray boy — 
 here they caU them Mugs or Jugginses. But there are more Mugs 
 in the States than in England.' 
 
 ' I do not like the use of slang,' said Paul, coldly. 
 
 ' No ? Let us not speak of Mugs, then. There are more In- 
 quirers in the States than in Great Britain. Will that do ? ' 
 
 ' Besides, there is another reason why I think I could make 
 money — only sometimes,' he said, apologetically, ' one gets carried 
 away. There is a girl ' 
 
 ' Paul ! Paul ! ' The old man sat upright, holding tight to the 
 arms of his chair and speaking earnestly. ' I have warned you 
 again and again. Your Power depends upon your keeping brain 
 clear and heart cold. If you suffer your brain to be filled with 
 the thoughts of a woman : if your heart beats at the sight of a 
 woman : if you fall in love, you are lost. You can only work that 
 Power so long as you remain unmoved by any woman. It was a 
 woman who destroyed Samson. A woman wiU destroy you. Let 
 all the women love you : pretend to love them in return : but never, 
 never let your imagination dwell vipon one of them. Take care, 
 take care.' 
 
 ' This is not a common girl. And I am not tallying of love at 
 all ' — yet he blushed. ' This is a girl whom I have discovered — one 
 girl of a thousand. She is to other girls what I am to other men. 
 She has the Foivcr, daddy. Yes ; she has the Power : she does not 
 know it, though she knows that I can at any moment take her out 
 of herself. She has the Power in. a wonderful measure. Oh ! if 
 you had had the luck, the special luck, to have fallen in with such 
 a girl a long time ago, you would not have been contented with 
 advising New York merchants and consulting spirits about the price 
 of stocks. You would have gone for higher game. There is no 
 better clairvoyante in the world, I am certain, although she suspects 
 nothing of her powers. She is the daughter of a low- class Medium, 
 three-fourths humbug, one-fourth Sensitive, and she hates the thing 
 because she has long since found out her mother's tricks. But in 
 my hands ' He paused and sighed. 
 
 ' Is she young, Paul ? Is she young and beautiful ? ' 
 
 ' She is yomig and beautiful. In better dress she Avould be — yea 
 • — she would be the most beautiful girl you ever saw, She believes 
 
BEAUMONT STREET, MARYLEBONE 113 
 
 in me too. Perhaps, perhaps ' — he bkished again — ' perhaps, she 
 loves me. I do not know. You never had such a woman in j'our 
 hands, I guess.' 
 
 ' Pcrliaps not. Perhaps I have. "Well, and how is the girl to 
 help in the College ? ' 
 
 ' You ask me such a question ! What are the things which 
 would most attract the people ? The Manifestations. Only a 
 Sensitive hke you — and your pupil and my pupil — could manage 
 these — to call it management. Then think of Clanvoyance — I 
 know what that giii can do. I have experimented upon her with 
 nobody looking on. And there is Thought Keading. 1 could teach 
 her how to read thought — I am certain I could — better than I can 
 do it myself. And there is Prophecy. There is a clear field for 
 you. I don't mean spotting the winner, but high-class Prophecy, 
 wliich has never yet been attempted. I am quite sure that anyone 
 who knows all the facts, that is, more than the inquu-er knows, can 
 predict what is going to happen. There is Telepathy. That is a 
 new subject which requires to be developed. There is plain and 
 simple Mesmerism, with mesmeric healing and mesmeric anaesthe- 
 tics. Can you ask what such a girl could do for the College '? 
 "Why,, her example alone would create a crowd of clairvoj^antes.' 
 
 ' Paul, you are indeed a genius.' 
 
 ' There are plenty of girls like her, though not so wonderful. 
 There is Cicely Langston, for instance.' 
 
 ' Who is she ? ' 
 
 ' She is the blind ghl. I have as much influence over her as I 
 have over Hetty.' 
 
 His voice dropped a little as he pronounced the name of the 
 gud. This was a bad symptom, properly understood. 
 
 ' Does she, too, believe in vou ? Is she, too, m love with you, 
 Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Love ? No, I thinlv not. She believes in me and she trusts me. 
 Now, Daddy, be sympathetic. You used to be sympathetic enough 
 in the old New York days.' 
 
 ' Yes, because I had a pupil who promised wonderfully well, and 
 only wanted encomagement. I gave him that, and all the help I 
 could. And now, I am happy to say, there's not a man in the 
 world can show a candle to him ; not a man in the world who's got 
 a gi-eater mfluence over people, or who's more highly sensitised.' 
 
 ' There isn't, Daddy,' said Paul. ' Thanks to j'ou there isn't 
 one.' He laid his hand affectionately on the old man's arm. 
 
 ' But don't forget the dollars, Paul. Piemember the people are 
 longing to pay over their dollars to some one — anyone who can 
 make them laugh or cry, or frighten them.' 
 
 ' I believe that is so,' said Paul, thoughtfully. 
 
 ' Of course it is. They make then money only to give it away, 
 in exchange for pictures, or statues, or to buy laughter, tears, terror, 
 
 I 
 
114 HERR FAULUS 
 
 comfort, and hope. We find these things for them, Paul, my boy. 
 I have taught you how to do it. Catch their eyes and then- minds, 
 and hold them tight. Hold them with a Grip. The man who has 
 got the quality of Grip is the successful man, whether he is actor, 
 or novelist, or di'amatist, or conjiiror, or whether he knows the 
 secrets of the occult philosophy. Grip is the thing — Grip.' 
 
 ' You are always right. Daddy.' 
 
 ' Hold them with a Grip and don't let go till the dollars are all 
 raked in.' 
 
 ' Well, Daddy, but let me have my little play first.' 
 
 ' No, boy, no. Don't waste time.' 
 
 'Think of the splendid position, the College of the Ancient 
 Way, the Book of Wisdom, the troops of Illuminati, and the Adepts, 
 and the Clairvoyants.' 
 
 ' If you will only stick to it, Paul. But you won't. I am afraid 
 you will want to play a deeper game.' 
 
 'And then think — only think — of disappearing suddenly, leaving 
 not a trace behind except, perhaps, a postal address to Abyssinia ! ' 
 
 'Yes, Paul, if you could attbrd it. But you can't. Besides, 
 there is another danger.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I know ; have no fear, Daddy.' 
 
 ' It is a terrible danger for so young a man. Your Power, I tell 
 yoxT again, is like the strength of Samson, and when you fall in lovo 
 with a woman you will lose it. Samson's is a very instructive 
 history for you, Paul. Keep your heart free and cold and your 
 brain clear. Else yon will lose yoiu- power as Samson lost his 
 strength.' 
 
 ' Never fear. Daddy. I love my Power too well ; whether I dis- 
 ajipear or whether I stay on, I shall keep that, even if I have to 
 turn my thoughts and. my eyes fi'om the contemplation of beautj'. 
 Any way, my College would be better than telling New York opera- 
 tors when to buy and sell. Fancy wasting such a beautiful gift on 
 bulls and bears ! ' 
 
 They tallied all the afternoon — the master and the scholar, who 
 had long gone beyond anything the master could teach him — and 
 soared upwards in flights far beyond the old man's powers of imagi- 
 nation. Yet the master had his points. 
 
 They tallied of many things : but one thing they avoided. Two 
 of a trade always agree to avoid one subject. It is that side of their 
 business which they do not present to the world. Outsiders may 
 talk, generally, and with an affectation of knowing them, of tlio 
 secrets of a trade : those who are actually engaged in any trade 
 avoid the subject : they know that secrets maybe called by another 
 and a much more ugly word. So many trades, so many secrets. 
 So many secrets — so many — no— let them remain secrets. Thus 
 shall every craft have the power of reforming itself, and of becoming 
 
BEAUMONT STREET, MARYLEBONE 115 
 
 honest to the smallest detail. Those who are in the line of Spiri- 
 tuahsm, Theosophy, Occult Philosophj-, and the like, have, like 
 drapers, gi'ocers, and the whole tribe of trade, then* trade secrets. 
 Even those who dwell upon the highest Planes and possess Powers 
 to which the general practitioners only pretend, avoid speakinfj 
 with another of the machmery, so to speak, by which those Powers 
 are illustrated. A certain amount of stage management, in fact, 
 is absolutely necessary before the higher Hights of creative genius 
 can be attempted. In all Axt, of any kind, there must be grouping. 
 
 At last Paul got up. 
 
 ' I must go, Daddy,' he said. ' I shall come to see j'ou again 
 before long, now that things are going on so well.' 
 
 ' Do, Paul, do. By the way, I've a letter here from a man 
 called Medlock. He says you know him.' 
 
 ' There was a man of that name went about with Kate Flight, 
 the Medium. He was her secretary or clerk. "What does he 
 want ? ' 
 
 ' Business. He is over here. Says he could run you — he doesn't 
 know where j'ou are — on advantageous terms next winter.' 
 
 ' We'U see. Medlock — HajTies Medlock it was — I wonder if he 
 is Hetty's father, who ran away. Medlock ! ' Paul started. ' Daddy, 
 find out aJl you can about the man and teU me when he comes.' 
 
 ' I wiU, Paul.' 
 
 ' Don't forget. Daddy. It may be most useful to me to know 
 all about the man. Do you thmk you will be able to walk soon ? ' 
 
 ' I could waUc now but this ciu'sed east wmd keeps me at 
 home.' 
 
 ' Do you thmk you could make just one little expedition for my 
 Bake '? ' 
 
 ' ^Miat is it ? • 
 
 ' I have often thought that if the learned Abyssinian, the Falasha, 
 Izak Ibn Menelek, he who possesses Solomon's Book of Wisdom, 
 and is the chief prophet of the Ancient Way, would come to the 
 study some morning and present the Book in person, it might have 
 a good effect.' 
 
 The old gentleman laiaghed merrily. 
 
 ' Yoiur hau' and beard are beautiful. Yoiir eyes are as keen 
 and bright as any philosopher could desire. I would provide a robe, 
 and as for the Book, it is nearlj^ ready. It is in parchment — a Roll, 
 you know— venerable with age, but WTitten in modern English, 
 because all languages are ahke to us.' 
 
 ' I wiU come, Paul, if you will arrange for me to come and go 
 unseen.' 
 
 ' That wlU be very easy. Yon can keep the cab waiting close to 
 the house, and — oh ! yes, it can be easily aiTanged.' 
 
 ' Then it shall be done. Have your fling, my dear boy, and 
 foimd yom- College. But for making the doUars we shall have to 
 
 I '1 
 
Il6 HERR PAUL US 
 
 establish tliat other Institution which is to surpass and outstrip her 
 English sister, because of the enormous intellectual superiority of 
 the American people. Next to Grip, Paul, comes the Spread 
 Eagle.' 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 the ixstrtjction of the vestal. 
 
 ' Here Paulus.' 
 
 Sibyl stood at the open door of the study. It was after lunch. 
 Paul was sitting beside the fire in the easiest of chahs, one 
 especially made for Mr. Cyrus Bradenel when that student should 
 come here in order to read his great books on the Supernatui-al. 
 On the floor there lay an open novel which had fallen h'om his 
 hands. The youthful Sage was asleep. Thus slept EndjTxiion. I 
 do not know whether this comiDarison occurred to Sibyl's mind, 
 but I think that even she — the scornful and the hostile — must have 
 been moved to admhation at the wonderful beauty of this young 
 man as he lay back, the long hair rolling off his forehead and his 
 eyes closed. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' she repeated. 
 
 ' Miss Brudenel ! ' He awoke with a start and sprang to his 
 feet. ' You here ? I was ' 
 
 ' Please do not take the trouble to explain that your Astral body 
 was in Abyssinia or Thibet, Herr Paulus.' 
 
 ' I will not,' he replied, now broad awake. ' I was only going 
 to explain that the fire was warm and the atmosphere of this 
 collection of venerable rubbish was di-owsy, and the novel I was 
 reading was dull — and so I fell asleep.' 
 
 'I have come in obedience to my father, Herr Paulus. He is 
 continually ui'ging me to receive instruction from you in somettnng 
 wonderful. I believe you are teachuig it to him, but at present 
 nothing seems to have settled in his mind. Would it be convenient 
 for you to begin this afternoon ? ' 
 
 ' All my time is at your disposal,' he replied. ' Pray take a 
 chair. I can only teach, however, those who are willing to 
 learn.' 
 
 ' Did I not explam that I come in obedience to my father ? 
 That shows, I suj^pose, willingness.' 
 
 ' Not at all. You are not only unwilling, but you are hostile. 
 
 Sibyl was more than imconquered. She was unconquerable. 
 The others had all, as we know, been subdued. Even Tom had so far 
 yielded to Paul's influence as to laiigh and talk with him whUe he 
 professed to be watching him, and to call him by the Anglican 
 
THE INSTRUCTION OF THE VESTAL iij 
 
 form of his name. Sibyl alono never relaxed from her attitude of 
 open enmity. 
 
 ' Miss Brudenel,' Paul went on, ' there is nothing, I assure you, 
 that I can teach you. It is perfectly useless for you to take the 
 trouble of staying here.' 
 
 ' Of course, I know that. But, just to please my father, let me 
 pretend that you are trying to teach mo things. You may tell me 
 about your Friends and all the wonderful things they pretend to 
 do. Pray go on, I am listening,' 
 
 ' No,' said Paul, ' it is impossible. I can only talk in that way 
 with those who are in sympathy with me and with them. You 
 are not. You openlj^ deride them, and you do not attempt to hide 
 the hatred you nourish towards myself. Do you not understand 
 that your proposition is msulting '? But you do not mind that, 
 perhaps. Yom- whole attitude since I have been here proves so much.' 
 
 ' I do not wish to msult anyone, Herr Paulus. I am here in 
 obedience to my father. I cannot help it if I am out of sympathy 
 with you. 
 
 ' You might liaA^e become one of us. There was a moment, 
 about a month ago, when I fancied that your heart was softening, 
 but it passed away, and now I shall make no fm'ther attempt to dis- 
 pel your prejudice. I must endure it.' 
 
 ' That will cost you very little trouble. Meantime, if you refuse 
 to mstruct me, what am I to do ? I have promised my father to 
 sit at your feet and listen. I must do that even if you teach me 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' We might talk about other things, perhaps.' 
 
 ' I do not know any other things which I wish to discuss with 
 you,' Sibyl replied, sharplj^ 
 
 ' Shall we, then, sit in silence ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. That will be much better. Don't speak to me at all.' 
 
 Paul sat down again in his easy chair, Avhile Sibyl sat oj)posite, 
 her hands folded in her lap ; and for a space neither spoke. 
 
 So far Sibyl had certainly the worst of the conversation, for her 
 opponent showed not the least sign of ruftlcd temper, and even 
 looked as if he thoroughly enjoyed the conditions of the lesson and 
 was quite happy and at his ease. Nothmg is more u-ritating than to 
 be cross with a j)erson who keeps his temper. 
 
 Naturally, it was the woman who first broke the silence. 
 
 ' How long,' she asked, looking at the clock, ' shoidd the first 
 lesson last ? 
 
 ' As long as you please.' 
 
 ' Then let it finish now. Herr Paulus,' — she changed her 
 manner instantly. ' Never mind me and my — my distrust ; but teU 
 me what it is you have done to my father.' 
 
 ' You have observed a change ? ' 
 
 ' It is so great a change that I want you to tell me what you 
 
Ii8 HERR PAUL US 
 
 have said or done. I have asked him, but he does not seem able to 
 speak coherently about it. He is much happier ; he has lost his 
 restless manner; he seems, for the first time, satisfied and con- 
 tented. What have you done to him ? ' 
 
 ' We talli here of things which you do not understand. They 
 are foolishness and pretence to you. But they lift up the soul for 
 us.' 
 
 Sibyl made no direct reply. Always this man's explanation put 
 her in the wrong, and made her feel humble for the moment and 
 angry afterwards — else angry first and then humble. 
 
 ' Is it all, then, to end in vague talk which lifts the soul ? ' she 
 asked. 
 
 ' I do not say so.' 
 
 ' You came with a Message. You said so. You have done all 
 kinds of wonderful things to show that you were a properly 
 accredited person. You talked of conversing with people far off, and 
 with the dead ; of making youth and age, life and death, only 
 phrases.' 
 
 ' It is true. I said all this and more.' 
 
 ' But everything is as far off as ever. You are only like the 
 Medium who brings messages from the dead which tell nobody any- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' What does your father say ? ' 
 
 ' He says ' Sibyl hesitated because she saw another trap. 
 
 ' He says that he spends his mornings in Abyssinia or some- 
 where.' 
 
 ' I suppose you can trust your father's word ? So you see things 
 are not after all so far off as they were, except to yourself.' 
 
 ' I can trust my father's word, and yet— yet — oh ! it is nonsense. 
 How can he go to Abyssinia ? ' 
 
 ' Why does he say that he goes there, then ? ' 
 
 ' Herr Paulus ' — Sibyl looked him straight in the face with a spot 
 of crimson in either cheek — 'Herr Paulus, I think you deceive him 
 in some way.' 
 
 Paul smiled gravely and compassionately, as one smiles at an 
 outburst from a wayward child. 
 
 ' It is as well to say a thing as to think it. Of com-se, I have 
 
 known all along what you think. So be it. Let it be. I deceive 
 
 your father. Yet I make him happier, less restless, and more con- 
 
 ■ fident. He has abandoned his old gods ; he has destroyed his 
 
 idols, and will consult the spirits no more.' 
 
 ' Yes, that is true ; we shall have no more seances here. And 
 oh ! Herr Paulus, if it is quite true that you want nothing for 
 yourself, be content with what you have done, and go away. I 
 implore you to go away while my father's mmd is relieved of one 
 superstition.' 
 
 ' You would add — "before he falls into another." Miss Brude- 
 
THE INSTRUCTION OF THE VESTAL 119 
 
 nel, you have spoken too late. That is, it is impossible for mo 
 to obey you. Thmgs must develop — notliing ever stops still — he 
 must follow in the path we have entered. 13ut do not be afraid. 
 For your father and for this house all will be pm-e gain, as you will 
 find and acknowledge — even you.' 
 
 ' Never I ' 
 
 ' Meantime, is there anythmg that I can do for you ? ' 
 
 ' You may cease to fill Cicely's head with hopes of her brother's 
 retm-n.' 
 
 ' That, too, is impossible. Her brother may return any day. 
 His ship is not far fi'om port. Su' Percival thinks that he has cut 
 himself off fi-om his family altogether, and we must go to find him 
 if he will not come here. You may, if you please, come with us.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Still mystery and pretence. Then, will you leave o2 
 mesmerising Hetty ? ' 
 
 ' No, I will not.' Paul put his foot down firmly. ' Hetty has a 
 gift that must be most carefully developed. Do not ask me. Miss 
 Brudenel, to interfere with what concerns my Teaching.' 
 
 ' You will stay here, then ? ' 
 
 ' Untd. Lady Augusta orders me to go.' 
 
 ' Then you will stay here for ever.' 
 
 ' Perhaps. I know not.' 
 
 Sibyl looked round the room filled with the books of her 
 father's priceless collection. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' she said, ' when shall we get out of this hateful atmo- 
 sjihere of mystery ? If you knew,' she pointed to the shelves, 
 ' how I hate the awful rubbish that is here ! ' 
 
 ' It is pretty bad,' Paul replied, blandly. ' In fact, there is 
 nowhere a better collection of venerable rubbish than your father's.' 
 
 ' And yet you encourage him with yoiu- Solomon's Book of 
 Wisdom and your story about Prince Menelek, and Izak the 
 Falasha. How ca n you talk such stuff ? ' 
 
 ' It is sad stuff to you, is it not '? I am sorry. On the day 
 when it ceases to seem sad stuff you will become sympathetic. 
 But that day will never come.' 
 
 ' No, never.' 
 
 ' As for us, we find it full of comfort and wisdom and knowledge 
 and power.' 
 
 ' I camiot believe it. No, Herr Paulus, you are either a person 
 of wonderful creduhty, or you are ' 
 
 ' Let me finish your sentence.' 
 
 ' No — let it remain unfinished. As for me, I am persuaded that 
 nothing can ever come of looking beyond the Veil. There will be 
 no new Fievelation. The gulf between the living and the dead will 
 never be bridged except by death. No voices will ever again come 
 to us fi-om the other side. Until we die ourselves we shall never 
 know more than wo know abeady.' 
 
120 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' That is 3^our creed. Let us possess our own. I shall not try 
 to convert you by any arguments. I leave you to the care of— 
 
 SciGllCG.' 
 
 Sibyl coloured. Yet his eyes seemed to have no second 
 meaning. 
 
 ' Of Science ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' Yoiurs is the creed of Science. She is constantly discovermg 
 the most wonderful things, and will not allow us to discover any- 
 thing. Science holds conversation thousands of miles apart by 
 means of the httle wire. We do the same thmg m a sunpler 
 manner without a wh'e.' 
 
 ' So you say, Herr Paulus.' 
 
 ' And you do not beheve me. Very good. You think that nothuig 
 will change your attitude '? ' 
 
 ' Nothing.' 
 
 ' Nothing wiU change your hostility to myself? ' 
 
 ' Nothmg, miless it might be your departure.' 
 
 ' Miss Brudenel, sometimes, when I know all the circmnstances 
 of a case, I permit myself to prophesy. Let me be a prophet in 
 your case.' 
 
 ' If von please.' 
 
 'The time will come— it will come very soon— when your hos- 
 tility will cease altogether, and be changed into gratitude and 
 friendship.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, gratitude, certainly. Because you will associate my name 
 with the removal of certain obstacles of which you know.' 
 
 ' WTiat do vou mean ? ' Again Sibyl blushed. 
 
 'And the adjustment of certain coming troubles of which as yet 
 you know nothing.' 
 
 ' Such a prophecy means nothing.' 
 
 ' You shall see. Even then you will not behave. Now, Miss 
 Brudenel, your first lesson has come to an end. I have taught you 
 nothing, biit I have ventured on a little prophecy which I beg of 
 you most earnestly to remember when the time comes. You will 
 then acknowledge that I must have known, when I uttered that 
 prophecy, what had already happened and what was going to 
 hai^pen.' 
 
 ^^^len Sibyl left him, Paul sat down again by the fire and con- 
 tinued to read his novel till five o'clock. Then he went in search of 
 tea and the accompaniment of feminine talk, which he loved, with 
 warmth and ease, and the flattery of his disciples. How httle do we 
 want to make us happy ! 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A TRIFLING INCIDENT. 
 
 Everybody remembers that fateful mornin.Lj when the news of tJio 
 Great Smash brought dismay upon thousands, and opened the 
 doors of the Workhouse to hundreds ; when the weeping of women 
 and the curses of men were borne upon the wings of the wind, and 
 Hew abroad into all lands, and hung over the great City of London 
 hke a fog ; when the guilty directors would have called upon tlio 
 rocks to cover them — if there had been any rocks — from the 
 wrath of the shareholders ; and from one end of the land to the 
 other one event alone occupied all minds ; though the Czar might 
 imaguie vain thmgs, and though the dynamiter was abroad. 
 
 On that morumg Paul came downstairs a little later than 
 usual, and appeared in the breakfast-room with his customary 
 cheerfid mien, ready with an affectionate smile for Lady Augusta, a 
 cold greeting for Sibyl, and a warm pressure of the hand for Cicely. 
 At the aspect of the assembled party, however, his flow of spirits 
 experienced a most disagi'eeable check. It was just as if a spark- 
 ling and vivacious mountam stream, prepared to run gaily down the 
 valley babbhng over the stones, with here and there a trout, and 
 here and there a grajding, were to meet a big insiu'mountable and 
 ugly dam, behind which it would be compelled to accumulate — ■ 
 mountain stream-language for labour — mitil a lake should be 
 formed. 
 
 There was not, on any face, not even on that of Lady Augusta, 
 the least response to Pavil's smile of greeting. They all turned and 
 saw him, and then looked blankly at each other. 
 
 Something had happened. 
 
 When one says ' something,' one understands the word disas- 
 trous. On the faces of all present, m their attitude, in their eyes, 
 that fact was apparent. Confusion, consternation, amazement, dis- 
 may — this beloved goddess has all these names and more — reigned 
 in that breakfast-room. She manifested her dread sway in various 
 ways, according to the disposition and the age of each. Mr. 
 Brudenel sat upright ; his pale cheeks, his terror-stricken eyes, his 
 open lips, his trembling hands, woidd have caused him, in the last 
 centm-y, which was a time of great tenderness and deep feeling, to be 
 likened unto a stuck pig — pity and sjanpathy could not be more 
 fittmgly ninstrated tlian by this simUe. Whatever had happened, it 
 affected him most painfully. Lady Augusta was standing over him, 
 her hands clasped, and a prolonged ' Oh ! ' stiU visible upon her 
 lips, though the sound of it was only faintly heard echoed among 
 
122 
 
 HERR PAULUS 
 
 the cups and saucers. Sibyl, in charge of the teapot, as usual, had 
 risen in her place and was now looldng — not at her father — but at 
 Tom— with eves full of pain and amazement. Cicely held out her 
 hands helplessly, as if feeling for support. Tom, who was also 
 standing, had the paper in his hands— he had caught it as it fell 
 from his guardian's hands and fluttered towards the floor ; and ho 
 was reading something which appeared to interest him greatly, but 
 did not cause his eyes to dance with mirth and joy. That is not, 
 somehow, the fiuiction of the daily paper. When I estabhsh that 
 morning journal which will trample the life out of all the rest, I 
 shall call "it the Daily Saddener. 
 
 ' Somethmg has happened ? ' Paul ashed. 
 
 Considering how great a thing had happened : how extraordinary 
 were his own powers, and how peculiar were his facihtiesfor obtain- 
 ing information : how ready of access for liim was the Universal 
 Intelligence Department, this question was weak. He felt im- 
 mediately how weak it was, and wished that he had taken his place 
 in silence. 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul ! ' said Lady Augusta. Was there reproach m her 
 
 voice ? 1 T 1 • 1 
 
 He suspected nothing; in spite of the knowledge hehadobtamed 
 and the advice he had given to Mr. James Berry, he had at this 
 moment no suspicion at aU of what had happened. 
 
 Tom looked up from the paper. 
 
 ' Something has happened,' he said. 
 
 ' Is it in the paper ? ' 
 
 Tom laughed, but not mhthfally. 
 
 ' You don't mean to say you have been left in ignorance of 
 it?' 
 
 ' I have been told notliing.' 
 
 ' I wonder you were not told last night, I wonder you were not 
 permitted to prophesy the event. It would have been something to 
 have learned what was coining— even a fortnight ago. Come to 
 tliink of it, Paul, yom* Friends have behaved in a most unhandsome 
 way not to have warned you of it.' 
 
 ' Meantime, I know nothing.' 
 
 ' What's the use of Friends who won't tell a man beforehand, and 
 prevent people from coming to gi-ief ? ' Tom continued. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Mr. Brudenel groaned. ' AU this time wasted in discussion 
 about philosophy, when a single word of caution might have saved 
 us. I remember when one of Chick's sphits warned an inquirer 
 against a voyage in which the ship was cast away. One of 
 Emanuel Chick's sph-its did this ! And your gi-eat and powerful 
 Friends could do nothing ! ' 
 
 ' Paul ! ' said Lady Augusta, solemnly, ' a great and most un- 
 expected blow has fallen upon us. Xothhig could be more unexpected. 
 Hardly any disaster could be heavier. It is so terrible a calamity 
 
A TRIFLING INCIDENT 123 
 
 that I cfinnot refrain from asking, like my husband, ^vhy your 
 Friends should have permitted it ? ' 
 
 ' I know now,' said Paul. ' Brudenel and Company have failed.' 
 
 ' You have seen the paper, then ? ' 
 
 ' No, I have just been told. The Company has failed. It is a 
 complete collapse. Three fortimes — Sibyl's, Cicely's, and your own, 
 Tom — were invested in it and are lost, I dare say hopelessly, because 
 the shareholders wiU get nothing. That is the news in to-day's 
 paper, is it not.' 
 
 ' That is the blow, Paul.' 
 
 ' It is only money, then, after all,' he said, astonished. ' ^Yhy do 
 you look so distressed ? ' 
 
 ' Only money ! ' said Tom. ' Only our little aU that has 
 vanished ! ' 
 
 ' What of that ? Let us have breakfast.' 
 
 He sat down, and without paying any more attention to the 
 distress of his fi.-iends, he looked round the table and considered 
 what he would take for his breakfast. He began with a little 
 fish, keeping an eye on some sausages, remembering that the ham 
 on the sideboard was excellent, and thinking that a boiled egg, 
 foUowed by a little confitiure, would fitly conclude the meal. He 
 had as yet — but then he was under five-and-twenty — a most excellent 
 appetite, and he tackled breakfast with regidarity, punctuality, 
 and zeal. 
 
 ' Let us all take breakfast, and after breakfast we will discuss the 
 real importance of this triflmg incident ! ' 
 
 Tom laughed. 
 
 ' Trifling, sir ? Trifling ? ' cried Mr. Brudenel, looking upon 
 him wrathfully. ' Let me teU you, sir, it is you who are trifling. 
 The fortunes of my daughter and my wards are gone. The Concern 
 which bears my name is ruined, and you call it a trifling incident ! ' 
 
 'Trifling, indeed. An episode not to be heeded by the wise 
 man.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel gasped, but said nothing in reply. The sight of 
 that calm and undistm-bed face, master of itself, though all his 
 friends' fortunes were lost, and the authoritative repetition of the 
 adjective, subdued him. 
 
 ' There is a short leading article on it,' said Tom. ' I will 
 read it.' 
 
 ' " The presentation, yesterday, of a winding-up petition for the 
 great trading Company known as Brudeuel's— after the name of the 
 founder — together with the fact that it was unopposed, have struck 
 with consternation others besides the unfortunate shareholders 
 themselves. For if this house, apparently so prospering, thus 
 suddenly collapses, who knows if others may not be in the same 
 rotten condition ? It has long been certain that the caiTying trade 
 has been bad, not owing so much to the depression of trade as to 
 
124 HERR PAULUS 
 
 the multiplication of ships. But no one, it is safe to say, except, 
 perhaps, those who were acute observers in the Citj^, predicted the 
 downfall of Brudenel's. The secrets of the Board laave been well 
 kept. Meantime, many rrunours are ailoat. It is confidently 
 asserted that the high dividends hitherto declared must have been 
 paid out of capital. It is said that the bankruptcy of the Company 
 is complete. A meeting of shareholders has been ah'eady hastily 
 summoned to consider what steps should be taken as regards the 
 conduct of the Du'ectors. The firm whose business was taken over 
 by this Company was founded by the late Mr. Abraham Brudenel, 
 one of those successful, enterprismg and keen-sighted merchants who 
 have made the Enghsh name. He was succeeded by his sons, the 
 present Sir Abraham and Mr. Cyrus Brudenel, who formed it into 
 a Company while it Avas still in a perfectly solvent and flourishing 
 condition. For thu'ty years the Company has seemed to be 
 advancmg ; its caj)ital has been gi-eatly increased ; it has always 
 paid large and steady dividends. The shares have gone up, until 
 only two days ago they were quoted at 327, and business at that 
 figiu-e was actually done on the Exchange. So sudden and un- 
 expected a collapse is almost without a parallel. "We trust that a 
 searching inquuy will be made into the causes of the failure, and 
 that some explanation will be demanded as to the high diA-idends. 
 It is pitiful to think of the unhappy shareholders, ruany of whom are 
 widows, ladies, and orphans, whose shares in Brudenel's were 
 regarded as perfectly safe and trustworthy, and who find themselves 
 now in helxjless and hopeless poverty. It is imderstood that one of 
 the brothers, Mr. C;5Tus Brudenel, has retained a large stake in the 
 business, though he has taken no ]3art in the direction since the 
 foi-mation of the Company." ' 
 
 ' This is yom- trifle, Paul,' said Tom, concluding. 
 
 ' Is it ? ' Paul repHed, carelessly. ' Let us go on with breakfast. 
 People have lost money. Some who intended to do nothing all 
 their Uves wiU have to work. Some who thoiight they were going 
 to wear silk will wear stuff. Some who thought they were going to 
 die in then- o-mi houses wiU die in the Workhouse. Some ' 
 
 ' Paul,' said Lady Augusta, ' do not be too high for us. Consider 
 — consider, we have not all reached that level. Be patient with 
 us.' 
 
 But Paul shook his head impatiently. 
 
 ' This fuss,' he said, ' about money ! ' 
 
 ' My Company ! ' Mr. Brudenel answered. ' My father's concern 
 — bankrupt— mined. The children's money all gone ! Cicely, 
 you are a pauper, my dear ! Tom, your guardian has tkro-«Ti away 
 your fortime ; you've got nothmg but yoiu- brains and your 
 hands.' 
 
 ' Lucky for Tom,' said Paul. 
 
 ' Why did they not help us ? ' asked Mr. Brudenel. ' They 
 
A TRIFLIXG INCIDENT 125 
 
 ought to have helped us. What have they done for us ? Nothing ! 
 "What are they going to do for us ? Nothing ! ' 
 
 Paul went to the sideboard and helped himself. 
 
 ' This is an excellent ham,' he said. ' The EngHsh ham at its 
 best is really superior to any other, though I have tasted very good 
 hams in Eussia.' 
 
 Nobody replied. One or two, however, thought this conduct 
 and these words an exhibition of heartlessness. 
 
 ' When it comes to something practical,' said Tom, ' your friends, 
 Paul, are not so good as jjoor old Chick's sphits.' 
 
 ' Practical ! You call money practical ! But I forgot, Tom, 
 you beheve nothing. To you money is, doubtless, a very practical 
 thing.' 
 
 He continued to eat his breakfast with undiminished appetite 
 and vigoiu- amid the stricken family. Sibjd poured out his tea for 
 him with set lips and red cheeks : Cicely hung her head : Lady 
 Augusta drooped : but Paul ate and drank, and was as cheerful as if 
 nothing at all had happened. 
 
 Then Mr. C.^tus Prudenel, after the manner of the Ancients, 
 and quite forgetful of Divine Prophecy and the Precepts of Izak Ibn 
 Menelek, just as if the Abyssinian Sage had not taken him m hand 
 at all, began a Monologue or Lament over the lost Company. It 
 was almost an Epic. It opened with a narrative of the circum- 
 stances which led his father to leave his native village and repair 
 to London with twopence in his pocket. Nobody ever really suc- 
 ceeds in London if he is so mifortunate as to have more than two- 
 pence to begin with. The paternal Brudenel, the original Abraham, 
 became a shopboy, a clerk — Heaven knows what — and in the fulness 
 of time founded the great Concern which bears his name. At first 
 it was not a great Concern, but only a small Venture, which was 
 nm-sed, followed, and developed, with as much care as Abraham 
 had been wont to lavish upon the turkeys in his native county ( f 
 Norfollv, until it grew into a Concern. Then, Mr. Cyrus Brudenel 
 related, the time came when his father had to die. He did this 
 with the utmost reluctance, not because he was afraid to die, but 
 because it seemed so great a pity to leave the Concern rmtil it was 
 fully developed, and there were stiU some shores and ports in the 
 woiid that knew not yet the name of Brudenel. The death-bed 
 scene was truly touching. Then, changing his key, hke a minstrel 
 who knows how to touch the hearts of his hearers, Mr. Cyrus 
 Brudenel went on to relate how he and his brother carried on the 
 Concern for awhile, but resolved at length to make it into a Com- 
 pany, and did so, taking a large sum of money and so many fully 
 paid-up shares, which they immediately sold at a large premium, 
 and bought land in the days when land was still valuable ; and how 
 his brother got a baronetcy ; and how he himself devoted his life 
 to the science of Sphitualistic Philosophy ; and how he invested, 
 
126 HERE PAUL US 
 
 unfortunately, as trustee and executor, the whole of his wards' 
 fortune and that of his daughter in the Companj-. ' And now,' he 
 concluded, ' I have made them paupers, because the Company is 
 bankrupt. My father's business is ruined ; our name has become a 
 bye-word ; thousands of innocent people who are wrecked with the 
 Company will curse us for ever. I am an executor and guardian 
 who has thro-\\ai away the property of his wards. You, Tom, will 
 have to work for your bread. You, Cicely, have no longer anything. 
 You, Sibyl, have lost all that your mother left you. Children, I 
 will try to make it up to you ; but oh ! ' he said, ' it is a disgrace to 
 the family name from which we shall never recover — never ! ' 
 
 "While he wailed and lamented, his wife leaned over him. Paul, 
 who had eyes in the back of his head and ears all over, observed 
 that Tom was holdhig Sibyl's hand under the table, and he heard 
 them whispering. 
 
 ' Sibyl, will you wait for me ? Do you know what this means 
 for us ? Do you see what a barrier it raises '? Will you wait till I 
 have regauaed by work what we have lost ? ' 
 
 And she replied : 
 
 ' For a hundi'ed years, Tom, if it must be, I will wait ! ' 
 
 The observer and listener made as if he saw and heard nothing. 
 Presently, however, when Mr. Cyrus Brudenel had run down, and 
 stopped exliausted rather than satiated, with lament, Paul said, 
 quietly ; 
 
 ' No, Mr. Brudenel, disgrace cannot be brought upon one man by 
 the laches of any others. I perceive, however, that it will be useless 
 for me to join you in the study this mornmg. Your mind seems 
 utterly overwhelmed for the moment by one of the commonest of 
 hiunan reverses. Izak Ibn Menelek wUl not want you in your 
 present temper.' 
 
 Then Mr. Cjtus Brudenel sprang to his feet and broke out in 
 revolt. 
 
 ' Izak Ibn Menelek ! ' he cried, in contempt. ' "\Miat has he 
 taught me ? Nothmg ! Not so much as Chick's spirits. How has 
 he helped me ? In no way. What will he do for me ? Nothing. 
 Do not speak to me any more of Izak Ibn Menelek. Let us have 
 done with this pretender of Abyssinia. The spirit rappers and the 
 Ancient Philosophers are all impostors together. There is no help 
 in any of them. Give me back my daughter's fortune — you — Avith 
 your pretence and your sneers about the trifling incident. Give it 
 back or never speak to me again ! If you can help us, let that be 
 your way of help. If you have no help for us, go ! Go — you and 
 all yoiu: tribe ! Depart, and leave us to be ruined by ourselves ! ' 
 
 He rushed fi'om the room. They heard his footsteps making in 
 the direction of the study, and they all looked at each other in 
 consternation first, and at Paul next. 
 
 ' I will take a little marmalade,' he said. 
 
A TRIFLING INCIDENT 1 27 
 
 Slbj'l's eyes ought to have withered and consumed him as sho 
 followed her father. 
 
 ' This insensibility does you great credit,' said Tom. ' I can't 
 quite reach it myself. But I do wish that you had — say, a couple of 
 millions — and that I could imitate your example and look on un- 
 moved while yoii lost it all.' 
 
 ' Ask yom-self what you have lost, Tom,' Paul replied. ' You 
 have been lazilj' questioning Science. You will now persecute her. 
 The law of existence is that a man shall develop himself under the 
 goad of necessity'. You will now become a great professor instead 
 of an amateur. You ought to rejoice.' 
 
 'Every man who works for money is a slave,' said Tom. 'I 
 have become a slave.' 
 
 ' That is because men are such fools that they do not combine. 
 "When they have learned to combine there will be no slaves.' 
 
 ' Wise Philosopher 1 Nevertheless, I Avill betake myself to the 
 family solicitor and see what can be saved out of the wi'eck. And 
 so far from rejoicing, if I can discover any engine or contrivance of 
 law which can be used for clapping those directors in quod, I shall 
 set that engine in naotion.' 
 
 ' I do not object. It will be a legitimate exercise for your brain.' 
 
 ' Now that we are left alone — we three ' — Paul continued, rising 
 from the table where he had displaj-ed so remarkable a callousness^ 
 ' we can talk. We understand each other. First, Lady Augusta, 
 tell me what you thmk.' 
 
 She hesitated. 
 
 ' It is beautiful,' she said at length, ' to hear and to talk about 
 voluntary poverty and renunciation. Your Friends, who are superior 
 to fortune, are lovely to contemplate. But when it comes home to 
 one — frankly, Paul, I am not — we are none of us, so far advanced 
 in Philosophy as to bear with patience such a blow.' 
 
 ' My friend,' said Paul, ' it is not a blow. Believe me. That 
 alone is a blow which can deprive you of any portion of the wisdom 
 you. have learned, or could make it impossible for you to advance. 
 If, for instance, you had lost all and had to work for your living, it 
 would have been a blow, because your whole nature would have 
 become degraded by work for which you have not been trained. 
 But this will not, I apprehend, affect your present style of living.' 
 
 ' No. My husband has his land, and Sibyl is his heiress. Sho 
 has only lost her mother's fortune of ten thousand pounds. It is 
 ('icely who is most affected, because she has lost her all. Yester- 
 day this poor child was possessed of an ample dot, and she now has 
 nothing. Yesterday she was mdependent, and to-day she is 
 dependent.' 
 
 ' I cannot,' said Paul, reflectively, ' consider that my Friends 
 would thuik it worth while to pay the least attention to thia 
 incident. I have never known them interfere in matters of money. 
 
128 HERR PAULUS 
 
 To tliem, as to all wise men, social conditions wliieli require money 
 are foolishness, and those who suffer by these conditions, that is, 
 those who have to work in order that others may save money, and 
 those who fall into despair when they lose it, ought to combine for 
 the puri^ose of changing their social conditions. At the same time, 
 so great is the interest felt for tliis household, wliich is destined, I 
 believe, to be the centre of a light which shall radiate everywhere 
 and fill the whole world, that I cannot — I really caimot — believe 
 that my Friends are ignorant of this accident, nor can I believe that 
 it will prove to be a disaster. I would rather believe that it was 
 permitted by them for your own help and instruction.' 
 
 ' If he coidd only think so ! ' said Lady Augusta. ' If you could 
 show us that ! ' 
 
 Nothing endeared Paul to these" ladies so much as his passage 
 from the light and cheerful air which he wore in society, or the 
 apparent callousness with which he regarded certain mundane 
 tilings, to the grave and serious discoiu-se, which he held with them 
 en petit comite. Women hke men to be gi'ave and serious. No 
 one except Lady Augusta, Cicely, and Hetty saw him when he 
 became, not a Prophet or a Teacher, dogmatic and authoritative, 
 but an humble seeker after truth, sympathetic and full of pity. 
 
 ' As regards Tom, for instance,' he said, ' can anj'thmg better be 
 desu-ed for a clever man than that he should be compelled to 
 develop himself to the iitmost ? What is the history of the world's 
 greatest men ? They have all been poor : most of them have 
 sprung fr-om the soil : it is when men are J'oung that they acquire 
 the habit of work. Tom, as I told him, will no longer read and 
 lazily question Nature. He will persecute her. He will no longer 
 look on while others dig into her sides. He will take a spade and 
 
 dig among them. As for Sibyl ' he paused. 
 
 ' As for Sibyl ? ' Lady Augusta asked. 
 
 ' I do not know Sibyl's heart. It is a closed book to me. Yours, 
 Lady Augiista, I can read — and yours, Cicely.' Strange ! there was 
 the least little touch of jealousy m both of these ladies as he named 
 them. Would each of them, then, have preferred that hers should 
 be the only heart open to his inspection ? ' I cannot tell how the 
 loss of tliis money will affect Sibjd. Then let us remember you — 
 Cicely.' 
 
 ' Yes. Tell me, Paul,' she rephed, ' how I am to bear the loss 
 of my fortune. I am so helpless in my blindness that I have 
 always thought it my chief blessmg that I should ah^-aj-s be able to 
 command attendance. Tell me. Teach me — Paul — and I will 
 resign myself.' 
 
 ' Let me try. Cicely.' The simple faith of the girls who cling to 
 the knees of father confessors, directors, vicars, curates, pastors, 
 ministers, shepherds, and prophets, sometimes touches their hearts 
 and dims then' eyes. It is a truly beautiful thing ; but are they 
 
A TRIFLING INCIDEXT 129 
 
 infiillililc ? And that ecclesiastical edifice of tliclrs v,-hich seems so 
 subliiue, is its history quite wlin t they have taught their women ? 
 ' Let me try, Cicely,' Paul repeated, with a touch of humilitj-. 
 • Consider. You have looked forward to a lifetime in which you 
 could buy whatever you wanted ; you were to be independent of 
 others' help ; you would pay people to amuse you, to tiud food for 
 thought, to teach you. Veiy well. That is all changed. You will 
 now be entu'ely dependent on the services that are given for love. 
 Y'ou are not abandoned to strangers ; you are among those who 
 love you and will never let you sutler or want. Your very depen- 
 dence upon them will endear you to them — their constant care of 
 you will make you feel how real and deep and unselfish is their 
 
 love ' 
 
 ' My child,' Lady Augi;sta murmured, laying her arm round 
 Cicely's neck. 
 
 ' You will learn the difference between what is paid for and what 
 is given. You will no longer seek to be amused all day. Y'our 
 character will gi'ow ; j'ou will become what you were intended to 
 be. You will meditate and climb upwards. \Yhen you pass out of 
 this life, yoiu" eyes will be ox^ened upon a Plane far higher, among 
 spirits far loftier.' 
 
 The Good Young Man of the Good Novel could not possibly 
 speak more beautifuUj'. 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul.' The girl's heart glowed within her and her eyes 
 fiUed with tears. The words may seem inadequate to produce their 
 effect, but consider the soft, musical voice ; the tones of one who is 
 earnestly feeling after the truth, and the strange magnetic power of 
 the speaker. 
 
 ' Let us, dear ladies,' Paul continiied in another voice, less sym- 
 pathetic, less tender. ' Let us consider the remaining case — that of 
 Mr. Brudenel.' 
 
 'Be very gentle, Paul,' said Lady Au.gusta. 
 
 ' I will be vezy gentle. I confess, however, that I have been 
 gi'ievously disappointed. You know that he has been under direct 
 instruction for some weeks past — daily instruction.' 
 ' Yes, we know. He has told me all.' 
 
 ' The strange tiling about this mstruction is that he forgets when 
 he returns from Abj-ssinia all that he has learned. I confess that 
 I was imder the impression that his mind was being gradually 
 cleared for the reception of the Hidden "Wisdom, just as one clears 
 away the jungle and weeds before planting. I thought that a day 
 would come when his mind would be quite rid of prejudices, and ha 
 would become receptive. The Ancient ^^"ay is impossible to a mind 
 clogged with prejudice. 
 ' WeU, Paul ? • 
 
 ' You saw that terrible exhibition of prejudice. How far has his 
 mind been cleared ? I am ready to make allowance. Cicero, who 
 
 K 
 
I30 HERR PAULUS 
 
 was a pliilosoplier, gave way to inordinate gi-ief when liis dangliter 
 died, not remembering that death is but a narrow gateway between 
 the two hves. Can we tell how many such gateways we have passed, 
 and how many lie yet before us ? Yet, with all allowance made — ■ 
 after he has been taught — after the lesson has been so earnestly 
 impressed upon him, that wealth is nothing, that this house, with 
 his pictm'es, fiu-nitru'e, his grand library full of useless and lying 
 literature, his broad lands, and his income, are all nothing — abso- 
 lutely nothing, except that they afford him shelter, food, clothes, 
 and time to meditate : — I say, after this has been impressed upon 
 him with all the earnestness and authority possible, to witness such 
 an exhibition of prejudice is more than disappointing. It makes 
 one despair.' 
 
 ' Bear with him, Paul. You who are so sympathetic must feel 
 wilh him and for him. It is not his own money that he laments. 
 He has been guardian and executor for these thi-ee young people, 
 and he has been the mnocent means of losing the fortimes en- 
 trusted to him. Is tlais nothmg ? And then the Company was his 
 own ; it was the movement of his father, it represented the hfe- 
 work of the man whom most my husband venerates — his father. 
 That this Company should break is no common aflliction for my 
 husband.' 
 
 ' It is possible,' said Paul, ' that it may be permitted by the 
 Friends in order to show how little real progress he has made. He 
 has been rudely startled out of his complacency. Yes, yes, and he 
 will feel it ; and — and — oh ! ' Paul started. ' I see it, I see it all 
 
 clearly, clearly — oh, so clearly -' He stretched out his hands 
 
 and threw up his head, and there appeared upon his face the 
 glorified look of one who beholds a vision. ' Yes, my master ; yes, 
 my Friends ; I see — I see ' 
 
 ' Paul ! ' 
 
 He di-opped his hands and lowered his head, and looked around 
 him as one who awakes from sleep and wonders what has befallen 
 bim. 
 
 ' Paul ! "^Tiat is it ? Oh ! what have you seen ? ' 
 
 ' Lady Augusta,' he said solemnly, ' do you believe in my truth 
 and honesty ? Do you always, always — answer me truly — always 
 beHeve in me ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul,' she bowed her face in her hands. ' There are times, 
 I confess, when I have a dreadful doubt ; for mstance, when this 
 blow fell iipon us an hour ago. Forgive me ; it is a gi-ievous, a 
 terrible thmg to doubt you. If you were false nothing would be 
 true — nothing could be true.' 
 
 ' Dear Lady, look into my eyes, take both my hands — teU me, 
 do you doubt me now ? ' Kever were eyes more clear and limpid, 
 more straight and honest. 
 
 ' No,' she replied, low and murmurous. ' No, I cannot doubt 
 you, Paul.' 
 
^ TRITLIXG lACIDENT 131 
 
 She witliclrow lior eyes and saiJi into a chair. Upon her, too, 
 as upon the girls, his inilucncc was as a gas that one breathes and 
 presently loses the consciousness of self. Besides, he was her 
 Pi'ophet, and she loved him like a son of whom his motlier is 
 proud. The desire of her life seemed to have come to her at last, 
 after many failures and many disappointments. The reign of the 
 Chicks, and the raps and the table tm-nings was gone ; it was a 
 bad dream. She no longer behoved — Paul taught her not to believe 
 — in their pretensions. She v/as Paul's disciple. She was to him 
 almost what Khadijah was to another Projihet. Never, sm'ely, had 
 there been Prophet yoiinger, more coinelj', more winning, more 
 worthy of motherly love. 
 
 ' Paul,' she said, lifting her head, ' you made me confess — against 
 my will — a momentary weakness. Foi'give me.' 
 
 ' Dear Lady, there is nothing to forgive. But to continue thus 
 to doubt would bo to estrange yourself from me. Could I stay ni 
 this house an hour longer if your affection were to cease ? ' 
 
 ' No, Paul. I am sure you could not.' 
 
 ' In the Ancient Way, you know that the woman rales through 
 love — not the earthly but the spiritual love — in which there is not 
 one man for one woman nor one woman for one man, but all for 
 air and yet each for each.' 
 
 He pressed her hand. 
 
 ' When next you doubt me,' he said, ' ask yourself what I gain 
 by staying here. If all my story Avere false why should I stay 
 here ? Sibyl does not like me. Tom does not believe in me. My 
 work in the study is harder than j'ou think. What is my reward ? 
 I know not, unless it is j'our faith and your affection.' 
 
 ' I cannot see Paul's eyes,' said Cicely, ' but I hear his voice. 
 It is the only voice I have ever heard which could fill my soul with 
 happiness. If that voice were false all the world would be false.' 
 
 ' Strange things have happened in this house,' Paul Avent on, 
 ' stranger things still will happen. Meantime, about this incident 
 which I have called trilling.' 
 
 ' No.' Lady Augusta betrayed herself, the incident was not by 
 any means trifling in her ej'es. 
 
 ' In this matter my Friends will mterfere. I can promise yon 
 the strangest thing possible, but in what foUows have faith and do 
 exactly what is ordered.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes, yes, we wiU have faitli.' 
 
 ' I think it must be for yoiu' sake,' Paul said softly, ' not for that 
 of Mr. Brudenel. Do not ask me any question ; but have faith,' 
 he repeated solemnly, ' and do exactly what is ordered.' 
 
 ' Yes, you may trust us, Paul. Only tell us what we are to do.' 
 
 He paused as if thinking v/hat stupendous task should be imposed 
 on them. They expected. What '? Anything might be ordered. 
 That women should be ordered to do anything was in itself strange 
 
 K 2 
 
132 HERR FAULUS 
 
 and exciting. Knights are instantly oixicretl to do things — kill 
 di'agons, ride through enchanted lands — all kinds of things. But 
 who ever heard of a middle-aged lady and a young lady being told 
 to do things ? 
 
 'Lady Augusta,' Paul said at length, 'go tell your husband to 
 send immediately for — for his Bank Book.' 
 
 Her countenance fell. ' Is that all, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' That is all. It is enough, is it not ? A light task is laid upon 
 you. But he will be angry and will use hard words about me 
 and my — your — Friends. Bid him from me, in the name of 
 Izak Ibn Menelek, to send instantly for his Bank Book.' It seemed 
 a small thing indeed after all the preamble. How could the 
 Ancient Philosophy helj) by the medium of a Bank Book ? But 
 Lady Augusta obeyed. 
 
 ' Cicely,' said Paul, laying his hand — as soft as her own — upon 
 hers. ' Cicely.' His voice was sweet and musical. She raised her 
 sightless face, which looked as if it belonged already to another 
 world — that world where women are permitted to sing in the choir. 
 ' Cicely, whatever happens, never doubt that you shall be guarded 
 from evil.' 
 
 ' Paul,' she said, ' you bring help and comfort to us all. Oh, how 
 could we have lived all these years without you ? ' 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF THE BAXK BOOK. 
 
 Me. Erudenel retired to his study. But this retreat, sacred to 
 learning and meditation, was now transformed, in the manner 
 peculiar to the operations of fate, into a Chamber or Cave of Despair, 
 peopled by monstrous fiends who accused him of wasting and throw- 
 ing away the property entrusted to his charge. For a man of 
 honour and integrity to lose trust money, the fortunes of wards and 
 children, is a very dreadful thing. By crippling himself and living 
 in poverty he might, in course of years, replace the money. But he 
 was now old ; he would certainly reach the allotted term long 
 before the money could be replaced. He would bequeath his lands, 
 to make up the amount, for Tom and Cicely ; and then Sibyl would 
 have nothing. And to thmk that the gi'cat and honourable and 
 prosperous Company, which he himself foimded and endowed with 
 the magnificent business created by his father and christened with 
 the name of his father, should break I Is it a light thing to hear 
 one's name associated with failures and bankruptcy and the cm-sea 
 of thousands ? 
 
THE MESSAGE OF THE BANK BOOK 133 
 
 Sibyl came to console him by all the endearing acts and the 
 soothing words at her command. 
 
 ' Go, child,' he reiilied. ' Go, Sibyl, and leave me alone. The 
 family is disgi-aced. We can never hold up our heads again. I have 
 lost the fortunes placed in my charge. I am a defaulter. Yours is 
 lost, child, as well as Tom's and Cicely's. Leave me alone to face 
 the disaster.' 
 
 Then Lady Augusta came to him, bringmg, in token of peace, 
 the Message concerning the Bank Book. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel scoffed at that Message ; and indeed a Bank Book 
 seems a futile thing in itself with which to retrieve a loss of five-and- 
 thirty thousand pounds. One might as well retrieve a lost battle 
 by collecting the spoit cartridges. Lady Augusta conjured him to 
 obey in the name of the gi'eat and wise Izak Ibn Menelek. He 
 derided that sacred name. She implored him for the sake of Paul, 
 their guest, then guide, their fiiend, to obey. He blasphemed the 
 name of Paul. 
 
 ' He shall go,' cried Mr. Brudenel ; ' Paul shall go this very day. 
 Since his Friends are unwilhng or unable to avert disaster, let him 
 go. I want not that kind of friendship any longer, Augusta ; we 
 have been tormented all our lives by the apatliy, the ingi-atitude, 
 and the mockery of those whom we have striven to help. "What did 
 Emanuel Chick's spirits — or Lavinia's either — ever do for us ? 
 Nothing. "We have sacrificed our lives for them — we have tolerated 
 aU kinds of self-seeking people. They did nothing for us in retinn. 
 "WTaat have Paul's Friends clone for us ? ' In spite of his disappoint- 
 ments, Mr. Brudenel still believed fervently in the spirits and their 
 messages, as well as in the Seer of Abyssinia. ' Tell liim, Augusta, 
 that I am bitterly disappointed m him. He had better pack up and 
 leave us. I want to see him no more. His Friends must have 
 known what was wrong. They can annihilate space, they can trans- 
 port things and people two thousand miles in a moment. Yet they 
 could not interpose to save these imiocent children from losing their 
 all. And he calls it a trifling matter ! Tell him he may go, my 
 dear. "When he is gone we will have nothing more to do with the 
 other world or with those in communion with it, or with those who 
 have acquired powers over the sphits. I will sell my library — we 
 will sell this house and go and hve in some country cottage so as to 
 save for the children some of their fortune back again. And we 
 will go to Chmch, Aitgusta, like otlier folk, satisfied with what they 
 know. That shall be enough for us, my dear. Tell Patil he may 
 go this very day. As for sending for the Banli Book, I might as well 
 take and draw a cheque for the whole five-and-thirty thousand 
 poimds. Go, my dear, and leave me alone, since I am deserted by 
 those who ought to help ; leave me to think, if I can, what maj- still 
 be done. 
 
 Ladv Augusta withdrew in tears and reported this contixmacy. 
 
134 HERR PAULUS 
 
 A-iid presently they all retired in various dii'ections. Sibyl sat 
 somewhere apart, and the sound of the j)iano and her singing was 
 not heard. Cicely went to her room where Hetty was waituag for 
 her, but there was little reading done — mostly the two gu-ls talked 
 over what had happened, and Cicely considered the subject of 
 Poverty as apphed to herself, partly in the light of Hetty's ex- 
 perience, which was certaiulj^ wide and deep and also most di&- 
 couraguig, and partly from a speculative point of view, deducing its 
 lessons and finding its Consolations, on which the ghl who had 
 never known its pains discoursed movingly, in the naanner of Paul, 
 to the other who had known those pains and pinches. As for Tom, 
 he was consulting the family solicitors. 
 
 Paul himself was out. He went, in fact, to spend the morning 
 with his amiable friend in Beaumont Street, about whom, for his 
 own reasons, he did not teU anybody. 
 
 On his return at one o'clock, he met Sibyl crossing the hall. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' she said, regarding him with the iitmost severity, 
 ' I wish to tell you that nothing in the whole history of the Im- 
 postors who have been the cui'se of this house has ever inspired me 
 with more disgust than your conduct this morning.' 
 
 Paul bowed gravely, putting his heels together in the foreign 
 fashion. He was clad in his magnificent fur-lined great coat, and, 
 with his hat in his hand, looked lilve some yoimg foreign Prince or 
 Potentate. But Sibyl regarded not his looks. 
 
 ' Had you really possessed those powers which you claim ' — 
 Paul raised his ej-ebrows slightly — ' you would have prevented this 
 calamity. Otherwise you would deserve to be turned out of doors 
 with ignommy for your treachery. That you have not done so pro- 
 claims aloud that you are an imx30stor.' Sibyl was really astonished 
 at her own freedom of speech, and went on encouraged : ' Yoxu: 
 affectation of superiority to money considerations also proves your 
 trickerj'. It was overdone, sfr. It was brutal. It was underbred.' 
 Paul reddened at the last word, which perhaps touched him in a 
 tender place. ' No gentleman could have behaved in that manner. 
 I have alwaj'S strongly susjiected and disliked you ; now I despise 
 you. That is all, Herr Paulus, that I have to say. Except,' she 
 added, ' that I trust my father's eyes may be opened by this inci- 
 dent, and that we shall very soon indeed bid you farewell.' 
 
 Again Paul bowed. 
 
 ' There is something written somewhere,' he said, ' about heap- 
 ing coals of fire upon your enemy's head. Perhaps ' He bowed 
 
 again, and, leaving the sentence unfinished, he went upstafrs to his 
 own room. 
 
 The luncheon, which had become since Paul's arrival an animated 
 and cheerful meal, enlivened ^\•ith many a youthful jest and merry 
 tale, began most gloomily. Only the ladies were present, and they 
 were all dejected. Sibyl, in addition, had great wrath, and was 
 
THE MESSAGE OF THE BANK BOOK 135 
 
 also perhaps a liitle ashamed of herself for her attack on Paul. He, 
 however, preserved a cheerful air, and worked his way throuf,']i the 
 dishes with a steady appetite and coutiniTcd display of that callous- 
 ness which Sibyl called brutal and underbred. 
 
 On such occasions as that of a family calamity, the cook ought 
 to make the table itself glow with sj^mpathy. A bereavement 
 requires cold meat ; if it be a bereavement which brings a legacy or 
 a succession, it should be cold chicken ; if it possesses no such con- 
 solation, cold boiled mutton. Lovmg memory should be marked 
 by the disappearance of the lighter and more festive dishes ; there 
 shoidd be no p?trce, no fillet of sole, no cutlet a la Souhise, and no 
 ris de veau; no jolly little birds, such as plover, snipe, partridges, 
 pheasants, or blackcock. No gelces, aspics, omelettes, ices, creams, 
 or pretty cakes. A sombre array of chops and steaks, plainly 
 cooked, suggestive of sohd plebeian work-a-day comfort, cold boiled 
 beef, tongue, with at most a half-pay pudding, should alone bo 
 served up. Perhaps the reason why Sibyl ate nothing at the meal 
 was because this rule had not been carried out, and the table smiled 
 and sparkled with artistic plenty and festive variety, as if nothing 
 had happened. Had the cook no feelmgs ? Yet all the household 
 knew by this time that the fortunes had been lost. 
 
 ' Where is your father, dear ? ' asked Lady Augusta, with a 
 sigh. 
 
 ' He is still in his study. I do not think we shall see him at 
 luncheon,' said Sibyl, with a profound sigh and a glance at Paul. 
 ' The Trifling Incident of this morning has been too much for 
 him.' 
 
 Then Tom came in, cheerful, but with that cheerfulness which 
 the brave young man j)reserves and exliibits on all occasions, saj', 
 after losing a boat race, or having his play damned, or after being 
 beaten at the hmidred yards, or after losing his first class, or on 
 receiving his MS. from the Editor, or on getting the sack ; or after 
 proving to himself how easily and swiftly and imexpectedly a for- 
 tune of fifteen thousand pounds may take wings and fly away 
 without saying farewell, and be no more seen, leaving not a trace 
 behind, nor anything to prove who has got it all. That is the most 
 wonderful thing to understand ; who does get all the money that is 
 lost? 
 
 'Well, good people,' he said, ' let me have luncheon. One may 
 be a pauper and yet get hungiy. Paupers are always getting 
 hungry, and it is a great nuisance for the ratepayers. Eating ought 
 to be a luxury for the rich. Cicely, you and I are paupers. Yes, 
 Sibyl,' his voice dropped a little, because this meant so much more 
 to her than to Cicely, ' I have now got to work in earnest.' 
 
 ' That is, indeed, a great misfortune,' Paul observed. ' Yoiur 
 friends ought to go into mourning for you, Tom.' 
 
 ' My dear philosopher, you bear up so well and so nobly that I 
 
136 IIERR PAUL US 
 
 hope you will yourself shortly meet with a similar affliction. I 
 should rejoice to keep up my own pecker while you lost your money, 
 and I would follow your example in not being depressed more than 
 I could help with other people's misfortunes. I will take a cutlet. 
 "Well, I have been since breakfast to Lincoln's Inn Fields, where I 
 have conversed, but without getting any comfort, with the Man of 
 Law. I have been likewise into the City. So far as can be learned, 
 there is no chance of anything being saved. There is but one 
 opinion — total wreck ; cargo lost ; crew— that is the shareholders — 
 cast away. Many are already, I hear, inquiring into the menu, of 
 the workhouse dinner and whether the nature of the sleeping 
 accommodation has been maligned, and if the uniform is becoming. 
 The liabilities are anj^thing you please, and the assets are as low as 
 they make 'em. Beer for me. We shall be lucky, all of us, if we 
 continue to get beer.' 
 
 ' If everythmg is gone,' said Paul with a sweet smile of patience, 
 ' can we not agree to say no more about it ? We talked about 
 nothing else at breakfast, and Mr. Brudenel actually lost his 
 temper over it.' 
 
 ' We can, Paul, and we will,' Tom replied. ' I am going to 
 whistle fortune down the wind. I don't quite miderstand how to 
 do it, but you shall show me. It is part of the Ancient Way, I am 
 sure. If fortune is not kind to me, what care I how fair she be ? 
 You are quite right, Paul ; it is best to talk about it no more.' 
 
 ' More is lost than money, Tom,' said Sibyl, shakmg her head 
 solemnly and mournfully ; ' the Family Name is disgraced. We can 
 never look people in the face any more ; we can never get over it ; 
 we can never go into society any more ; we can never lift up our 
 heads again ; we can never, never recover from the dishonour 
 of ' 
 
 At this point INIr. Brudenel himself appeared, and so trans- 
 formed was he, so miraculously changed, that Sibyl could not in 
 common decency finish the sentence, though she had been quoting 
 her father word for word. If the family name had been really dis- 
 graced by the event of the morning he must have found some won- 
 derful soap capable of instantaneously removing any stains, because 
 joy and satisfaction shone upon his face lUce the sun upon a field of 
 golden gram. Yes — joy, satisfaction, content and hapjnness were 
 all shown on that happy face, wreathed with smiles. He walked 
 as if he wanted to break out into a dance ; he spoke as if he wanted 
 to laugh and sing. 
 
 ' Paul ! ' he cried. ' Forgive me ! I ought never to have 
 doubted. How could I doubt ? Forgive me ! I was hastj^ and 
 of little faith. Oh ! my dear friend, they have not forgotten me 
 after all ! They have not forgotten me ! They remembered that 
 whatever my own convictions might be as to the worthlessness of 
 IBoney — I had wards -and a daughter— and a duii!;litcr.' 
 
THE MESSAGE OF THE BANK BOOK 137 
 
 He offered his hand, which Paul gi-asped with effusion. 
 
 ' Tliere is nothinf^ to forgive,' he said. ' I know what has hap- 
 pened. But you will tell us, will you not ? Yorn: doubts were 
 natm-al. Tell everybody what has happened. You have the Bank 
 Book, I see.' It was m Mr. Bnidenel's hand. 
 
 ' It was onlj' five minutes ago that it was bx'ought to the door. 
 Who sent for the Bank Book ? Did you, Augusta ? ' 
 
 ' Have you forgotten, my dear Cyrus,' she replied, somewhat 
 coldly, ' what passed in the study when I suggested the sending for 
 the Bank Book '? It was not likely that I should take upon mj-self 
 after that to send for the book.' 
 
 ' Then it was you, Paiil, was it ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not. But you can easily ask the clerk at the Bank 
 who sent for it. Go on. You have got yoiu' Bank Book, Let us 
 start with that,' 
 
 ' Well, Augusta ! Girls ! Tom ! We are saved after all ! We 
 are saved ! That is what I have to tell you — we are saved ! ' 
 
 ' This morning,' said Tom, 'we were lost, Ai-e we the shuttle- 
 cocks of fortune ? Perhaps to-morrow we shall be lost again, I 
 beg your pardon, sir, for interruxating. How were we saved '? Some 
 swam ashore ; some clung to ' 
 
 ' Well.' jMr. Brudenel's face showed bewilderment. It was 
 always an expressive and a candid face, which revealed everjr 
 emotion, and there was no doubt now that he felt the extremity of 
 bewilderment. ' By some extraordinary accident I had forgotten- 
 clean forgotten — I cannot miderstand how I should have forgotten — 
 but as a matter of fact — I — I — I — sold out — it seems —yes, I sold out 
 all the shares in the Company standing to my name tlu'ee weeks 
 ago.' 
 
 * Sold out ? ' cried Tom. ' Is it possible ? How could j-ou 
 forget such a thing as that ? ' 
 
 ' I sold the shares. The bankruptcy of the Company, I rejoice 
 to say, has passed over our heads like a harmless thunderstorm. It 
 camiot hurt us in any way.' 
 
 ' But the disgrace to the family name,' said Sibyl. 
 
 ' My dear ' Mr. Brudenel hastened to impress a distinction 
 
 of so miich importance upon his daughter — ' a thing which seems 
 disgraceful when it is coupled with such a loss of money loses its 
 terror when there is no loss of money. We have been separated so 
 long from the direction of the Company that no stain, I now per- 
 ceive, can attach to us.' 
 
 ' And we are not paupers after all ? ' said Cicely. ' Then I know 
 whom we have to thank.' 
 
 ' No doubt,' said Sibyl. ' Herr Paulus will explain it aU to us 
 presently.' 
 
 ' "S^Tiy did you sell the shares ? ' asked Tom. 
 
 ' I — I — I cannot remember.' Never anywhere had one seen 
 
138 HERR PAULUS 
 
 more bewilderment in tlio faee of human creatures. ' It is 
 a most wonderful thing. I cannot remember anjthing at all 
 about it.' 
 
 ' Not remember making so gi-eat a change in your invest- 
 ments ? ' 
 
 ' No ; it is a most remarkable thmg. I see that it is ; I confess 
 that it is. Yet I cannot remember why I sold the shares, or how 
 I gave mstructions, or anything at all about them. It is most 
 remarkable.' 
 
 ' It is indeed,' said Tom, gravely. He remembered his guardian's 
 complaint aboixt forgetting every day what passed in his excursions 
 to and from Abyssinia. He didn't believe in those excursions, but 
 he began to suspect some sort of softenmg. Only a man whose 
 brain was going could forget such a thing as the transfer of thnty- 
 five thousand pounds. 
 
 ' I did sell them, that is certain. And I have not invested the 
 money in anything else,' Mr. Brudenel went on. ' It is all in my 
 ciUTent account. Most wonderful. Paul, do you know anything ? 
 Can you throw any light ? Can you hel}} us to understand this ? ' 
 
 ' Ask me anything,' Paul replied, ' except about business. I 
 know no more of shares and naoney than I know of Tom's cog- 
 wheels and springs.' 
 
 ' Here is the Bank Book with a note from the manager, which 
 I found in the drawer of my table.' 
 
 Paul took both. On the left-hand side of the Bank Book was 
 an entry, — 
 
 ' By sale of shares 35,456Z. 13s. Gii.' 
 
 The manager's letter, dated on the same day as the entry in the 
 book, was short. 
 
 ' Dear Sir, — In accordance with your instructions, I have sold 
 aU your shares in Brudenel & Co. The stock was at oh1\. I have 
 placed the amount reahsed, viz., 35,450^. 13s. 6^., to your credit 
 vmtil fin-ther mstructions.' That was aU. 
 
 ' You see,' said Paul, ' he says, " in accordance with your instruc- 
 tions." To be siure, he could not sell them without your instruc- 
 tions. At least, I suppose not.' 
 
 ' And you do not remember giving those instructions ? ' Tom 
 asked. ' To begin with, you must have had reasons for selling 
 them.' 
 
 ' Well, Tom, I miust have had reasons. I suppose I had reasons. 
 What do you think my reasons were now ? If anybody could 
 remind me of those reasons I might remember.' 
 
 ' Somebody must have warned you — told you something — 
 aroused your suspicions. In such a matter as the solvency of 
 this Company — yoiu* own Company — it must have been somethmg 
 very serious indeed that could make you resolve to take such a step 
 as to sell out all your shar&s. Yoii must have gone through a con- 
 
THE H/ESSAGE OF THE BANK BOOK 139 
 
 Biderable period of doubt and hesitation — you must liave argued 
 with yoiu'self — perhajis with someone else ' 
 
 ' Not with me,' said Paul, on whom Tom's eye rested first. 
 
 ' Nor with me,' said Lady Au^^^sta for the same reason.^ 
 
 ' You must, one would thuilv, have passed days of consideration 
 and doubt — you must have felt most anxious about the safety of the 
 Company. The i-esolution must have caused you the greatest pain. 
 And yet you forget — you forget.' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Cicely, ' Paul's Friends helped. He asked 
 them, this morning, to help and they did. They told us to send 
 for the Bank Book.' 
 
 ' Unfortunately for that theory. Cicely,' said Tom, ' the transfer 
 of the shares took place three weeks ago. Even Paul's Friends, I 
 presume, without wishing m any way to limit their powers, cannot 
 actually put Time back for three weeks. To armihilate space is 
 one thing. To bring back and alter the past is another.' 
 
 'Perhaps,' said Mr. Brudenel, 'my daily visits to Abyssinia 
 absorbed my attention altogether and made me forget everything.' 
 
 ' Possibly,' Tom replied. ' If I went to Abyssinia and back 
 every day, I should think the jom-ney would account for every- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' It is most wonderful,' Mr. Brudenel said, for the tenth time. 
 
 ' If I might offer a suggestion,' said Paul gently, ' it would be 
 this : On the '23rd of this month, Mr. Brudenel's guardianship 
 ceases. He may have intended to hand to each of his wards their 
 portion entire, to be re -invested as they might thmk best, and, 
 therefore, he sold out withoiit any doubts at all in his mind as to 
 the sohdity of the Company. He had invested theii's to the best 
 advantage ; he would now in surrendering his trust give them not 
 an mvestment, but the whole portion in a cheque.' 
 
 'That was it— that was it ! ' cried Mr. Brudenel, eagerly jmnp- 
 ing at the suggestion. ' I remember now. That was the reason 
 why I sold out. That was my intention. That was in my miiid. 
 That accounts for it. In fact, I remember everything now. You 
 see, Tom, don't you — why I sold out ? Thank you, Paul. You 
 always come to our help in everything.' 
 
 ' ijut,' said Tom, v/ho had now looked at the other side of the 
 Bank Book, ' there is something else here. How do you account 
 for paying away the whole of the money a week after to other 
 people ? ' 
 
 ' What paying away ? To other people ? ' 
 
 ' In three cheques.' Tom read the following entries : ' To Izak 
 Ibn Menelek, 20,000Z.; to Ilupert P. Zeigler, 10,000Z. ; to Surabjee 
 Kamsitjee, 5,000Z.' 
 
 ' What ? ' This was more imespected even than the entry on 
 the left-hand side. 
 
 ' Look for yom'self. Do you remember those cheques ? ' 
 
140 HERR PAUL US 
 
 Mr. Briiclenel read the entries. Yes ; the whole of the money 
 so wonderfully rescued fi-om the falling Company had been paid 
 away in those three cheques. 
 
 He looked about him helplessly. ' WTiat does it mean ? ' he 
 asked. ' I remember nothing at all,' he said. ' Nothing at all 
 about any of these cheques.' 
 
 Then all with one consent turned to Paul. Even Thomas the 
 Doubter and Sibyl the Infidel turned to Paul for explanations. 
 
 ' Come,' said Tom. ' The first of these gentlemen, Mr. Izak Ibn 
 Menelek, the illustrious Sage of Abyssinia, who gets a cheque for 
 20,000L, is, I believe, a personal fi'iend of yours, Paul. The least 
 you can do for us in the matter is to ask him for an explanation 
 how and why he got the money.' 
 
 'Certainly, I will ask hiui to explain the whole business. But 
 they are all three friends of mine. I will ask them all.' 
 
 ' Put it to the Wise Man,' said Tom, 'from a modern point of 
 view. Let him understand that money is in these daj-s onty paid 
 to people in retm'n for services rendered or promised : explain to 
 him what getting money under false pretences means : perhaps he 
 is only posted in the Ancient Law and the Hidden Way. Tell him 
 how awkward things are made nowadays for peoi^le who persuade 
 other people out of then- money.' 
 
 ' I will ask them all why they took the monej'. But perhaps 
 they will not tell me.' 
 
 ' That is very likely,' said Sibyl. 
 
 ' Perhaps we maj'' make them. Let tis understand each other, 
 Paul. It is Sibyl's monej', and Cicely's, and mine that is concerned. 
 I want no fooling around in this matter.' 
 
 ' My Friends never fool around. If they will not tell me, I 
 cannot make them. And, frankly, I believe they will not tell me.' 
 
 ' I shall hold you responsible for this monej-,' said Tom. 
 
 ' If you please. Let me, however, point out to you that j'ou 
 will find it difiicult to connect me with the cheques. One of them 
 has been presented by a fi-iend of mine now in Abyssinia ; another 
 by a friend in Philadelphia ; and the third by a friend now in 
 Bombay. That is all I can tell j'oti. Whj^ the cheques were 
 drawn by Mr. Brudenel, for what consideration, or the thought of 
 what promise — I cannot tell you. Ask Mr. Brudenel.' 
 
 Very good. This was reasonable. Mr. Brtidenel had not con- 
 nected Paul with the cheques ; he remembered nothing at all abotit 
 them. 
 
 'Let us,' said Tom, ' see the cheques.' 
 
 They were in the pocket of the Bank Book. Thej' were drawn 
 in Mr. Brudenel's own handwriting — firm, clear, straight up and 
 down — a handwriting Avhich was difficult to imitate. There could 
 be no doubt at all that they were all drawn and signed by himself. 
 They were made paj able to order and were crossed. They were 
 
THE MESSAGE OF THE BANK BOOK I41 
 
 also endorsed. They were therefore paid into some lank, not across 
 the counter. Tom replaced the cheques in the pocket and i)ut book 
 and all into his own pocket, saying nothing. 
 
 ' Am I,' said Mr. Brudenel, dropping into a chair, ' the sport of 
 the Spirits ? Is it their revenge upon me for deserting their 
 Cause ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Cicely clasped her hands. ' "\Miy do we make such a 
 fuss ? "Why do we doubt ? Why do we fear ? Paul told us that 
 we must send for the Bank Book. Only let us have a little 
 faith ! • 
 
 But Tom laid his hand upon the breast pocket of his coat in 
 which lay the Bank Book and the cheques. And he tapped that 
 pocket as mucli as to intimate that Faith, even when taken in large 
 quantities, would not render Inquiry unnecessary. 
 
 CIIABTEE X. 
 
 THE FIUST INVESTIGATION. 
 
 It was the morning after. 
 
 On the morning after a storm, as everybody knows who has 
 been wrecked at sea, the sim always breaks gloriously, the sky is 
 clear, the air is soft and balmy, though the sea may heave and be 
 still unquiet. 
 
 The shares were sold. That was the first thing. It was like 
 escaping in an open boat from a sinking ship. But all the money 
 was mysteriously conveyed away into the hands of three unknown 
 persons, one of them certainly the Instructor, but hitherto the 
 unseen Instructor, of i\Ir. Brudenel, and all three stated by Paul to 
 be his own personal fi'iends. This was like the dangerous heaving 
 of the boat. No one knew what might happen with those imcertain 
 factors in the problem. That was like having no port within a 
 thousand miles, yet to be lying in the track of vessels. 
 
 After breakfast, Sibyl followed Tom to his workshop. 
 
 ' No one comes here. Dodo,' he said ; ' we can talk as much as 
 we please, undisturbed. My dear Dodo, what shall we do if the 
 money is all gone ? ' 
 
 ' You will make yoiu'self a great name, Tom ; and I will wait, 
 oh ! and perhaps you will get tired of waiting.' 
 
 ' My dearest Dodo, if you look so sweet I shall get tired of wait- 
 ing immediately.' 
 
 These are the marks which show that what followed is irrelevant 
 and beneath the dignity of the historian. They are also symbols 
 which silly lovers in the humbler walks, where they are less eloquent 
 
142 HERE PAUL US 
 
 in words than the better educated, iise as tokens to sliow the depth 
 and intensity of their passion, their fidelity, and their constancy. 
 Like all sj^mbols they fall very far short of the reality. 
 
 ' And now, Tom, let us talk soberly. You said you had " quan- 
 tities of things to tell me." ' 
 
 ' Quantities, Dodo ? None of them half so important as the 
 things I have just told you ; as that I lo ' 
 
 ' iSfo, Tom ; not again. Let us proceed to business.' 
 
 ' Well, then, if one must. We are persuaded, are we not, that 
 this fellow Paul — I wish I didn't like the beast— is at the bottom of 
 the whole business ? ' 
 
 'Perfectly certain.' 
 
 ' For some ptu-pose of his own we are assiu-ed that he has devised 
 the whole thing — how, we are not yet certain.' 
 
 ' We are agreed so far, Tom. I am also perfectly certain that 
 he means to carry off the whole of this money.' 
 
 ' There we differ. I am convmced that his was the hand that 
 executed, and his the head that planned, the whole plot. But I am 
 not so sm-e that he means to stick to this money. It would be a 
 couj) too audacious even for a man who sends another to Abyssinia 
 and back, all in a single morning.' 
 
 ' Then what does he do it for ? ' 
 
 ' I don't quite know. I've watched Paul ever since he came 
 here, and I've talked witli him nearly everj^ night in this room, 
 Dodo. I lil^e him, and I beheve in him. That is, I beheve that he 
 has not come here after money.' 
 
 ' My dear Tom, they all come after money.' 
 
 ' He knows that I am watching him and trying to find out how 
 he does it. We always talk on that assumption. It is vmderstood.' 
 
 ' Wlio is this man, Tom, that he should be dillerent from the 
 Emanuel Chicks and the rest of them ? ' 
 
 ' He is an American. Of that I have not the least doubt. Not 
 that such a fact lifts him necessarily above old Chick. By no means. 
 Do you know, however, that there is a certain kind of American who 
 craves for notoriety above all things ? There are plenty over here 
 who would give a good deal for notoriety, but with this American 
 kind it is a craze. Paul is one of them. He has betrayed himself 
 to me a hundred times. He cannot bear the thought of being one 
 of the common herd, to live unnoticed and to be forgotten as soon 
 as he is dead. He wants distinction.' 
 
 ' Oh ! what distinction ! One of the tribe of impostors who pre- 
 tend to supernatural powers.' 
 
 ' Perhaps natiu-o did not give liim the qualities wliich go to 
 make a man successful on the ordinary lines. But then, on the 
 other hand, she gave him more than his share of nervous quickness, 
 so that he sees at once while ordinary people are only feeling their 
 way.' 
 
THE FIRST INVESTIGATION I43 
 
 ' Well ? ' 
 
 'Then — I have been reading up the Rnbjcct lately. I used to 
 laugh, at it. There is the power called mesmerism, about which so 
 much nonsense has been written. It is a real power, though so 
 little under control that physicians refuse to use it. Paul has that 
 power, and he has developed it. You saw, Sibyl, how ho acted 
 upon Cicely and Hetty.' 
 
 ' Yes. He mesmerised them.' 
 
 ' He made them think as he pleased, and he made them see 
 what he willed. It is an uncommon phase of this force, but there 
 are instances of it.' 
 
 ' Well, Tom ? But all this does not remove him fi.-om the 
 tribe of impostors. How about Prince ]Menelck and the Abyssinian 
 Sage ? ' 
 
 ' They belong to the patter of the profession. Did you ever hear 
 a conjuror talli while he does his tricks? The faster he talks, the 
 more he diverts yoiu- attention, the more astonishing are the things 
 he does.' 
 
 ' But the papers from India.' 
 
 ' They are also part of the patter. The great trick in this case 
 is, I am persuaded, the exercise of mesmeric influence.' 
 
 'Oh?' 
 
 ' Y"ou see that an immense reputation may be estabhshed by the 
 performing of miracles. Paul aims at the reputation of supernatural 
 powers. Hence his miracles. The blind girl sees her brother ; the 
 pnotogi'aph of the brother floats down from the ceiling; the paper 
 comes all the way h-orn India.' 
 
 'And all this money takes wings and flies away, Tom.' 
 
 ' You persist in believing the man to be dishonest, Sibyl. Let 
 me go on. Paul is locked up every morning with your father. 
 Every day he spends an hour with Lady Augusta. Most days, I 
 have ascertained, he has an hoiu* or so as well m Cicely's room. 
 He has acquired mfluence almost absolute over j'our father, and 
 over the two girls, while Lady Augusta firmly believes in him. 
 But he does not move her to the same extent as the others.' 
 
 ' I suppose that is so.' 
 
 ' We hear of daily visits to Abyssinia. But inark ? Your father 
 forgets every day what he has said and done there. Cicely sees her 
 brother as often as she wishes, by Paul's help. Hetty obeys if he 
 lifts his little finger. This is a dangerous state of things, Sibyl. In 
 the hands of an unscrupulous jierson it would be very dangerous. 
 The man has opportunities which no one should be allowed to 
 have.' 
 
 ' Yes, and how has he used them ? ' 
 
 ' Pie has taken all our money, Sibyl. Of that I am certain. And 
 yet I do not beheve he has stolen it.' 
 
 ' I do, Tom.' 
 
144 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' Now, I have made one discovery wliicli may help us. I have 
 found out that he knew, a month ago, that Brudenel and Company 
 were shaky.' 
 
 ' Oh ! and he pretends to know nothing at all about business.' 
 
 ' We must be tolerant, my dear. "\Mien a man goes in for this 
 line of life he must be prepared with a good many Crackers and a 
 Bx'azen Brow. He is hke a novehst.' 
 
 ' Everybody knows that a novelist makes up.' 
 
 ' Yes, but if you stop to think that it is made up, you are lost. 
 Now listen, I have found out one of the Crackers, which is some- 
 thing. Four weeks ago Lavinia Medlock had a visit from an old 
 gentleman, all of whose money was in the Company. He had re- 
 ceived a private and confidential warning from somebody who had 
 access to the books or coidd put things together. He had also re- 
 ceived an assurance from somebody else in the office that the Com- 
 pany was most flourishing. Then this old gentleman, bewildered 
 and uncertain, went to Lavmia for cormsel. He might as well 
 have asked the town pump. Lavinia's sj^mts behaved in the usual 
 ridiculous manner, and she finally gave it up and made out a case 
 for counsel and sent it to Paul, who ordered the old gentleman to 
 sell oiit instantly.' 
 
 ' But how did he know the private affairs of the firm ? ' 
 
 ' My dear child, I told you that Paul possesses extraordinary 
 faculties. He found out, I suppose, just as I have found out, only 
 much more quickly, that in the present condition of trade, and con- 
 sidering what the Company have done of late years, the concern 
 could not possibly keej) up the high dividends which it has been 
 paying. If I had given my attention, six months ago, to the subject, 
 I would have convmced your father as well as myself. Very good, 
 that is my discovery. As for the letter of mtroduction to the 
 manager, it was WTitten — I have seen it— bj' yom- father. Nothing 
 could be clearer. The cheques were also signed by him. Moreover, 
 the three persons to whom the cheques were payable — the Eight 
 Honom-able Izak Ibn Menelek the Falasha, Mr. — probably General 
 ■ — Rupert P. Zeigler, of Philadelphia, and the respectable Siu-abjee 
 Kamsitjee, of Bombay, have all opened accounts in their different 
 banks, each giving the name of your father as a reference of re- 
 spectability. In each case he has written a letter attesting tlie 
 respectability of the person. No hesitation was made in opening 
 an accoimt which began with so big a cheque and so somid a 
 reference.' 
 
 ' All this is very wonderful, Tom. But it does not prove the 
 man's honesty.' 
 
 ' It does not, I confess. But so far, not a single cheque has 
 been drawn at any of the banks. I have fomid that out, and it 
 seems to me a very significant circmnstance. AVell. One more 
 discovery I also made. The cheques were paid in personally. The 
 
THE FIRST INVESTIGATION I4S 
 
 first was brought by an old man infirm and crippled, who could 
 scarcely walk — Paul himself, no doubt. The second was brought 
 by a m.ddle-aged man with an immense light brown beard and 
 spectacles— Paul again. The third was brought by a man in 
 Eastern costume, brown-skinned, with a thick black beard and 
 black eyes. I have Paul's photograph painted and adorned with a 
 turban and a black beard — here it is — the true portrait of Surabjee 
 Kamsitjee— only, unfortunately, they do not remember at the 
 Bank.' 
 
 Tom continued summing up the situation. 
 
 'Well. The position is sufficiently alarming. How could we 
 prove that Paul caused these cheques to be drawn by false pre- 
 tences ? Mesmeric influence is not recognised by the Courts of 
 Law, though vmdue influence might be urged. You have to prove 
 it. A man apparently in the full vigour of his intellect orders, in an 
 autograph letter which cannot be disputed, the sale of certain 
 shares. He then with his own hand draws these cheques — the 
 counterfoils being entered with care — and signs them. The signa- 
 tm-e cannot be disputed. He then writes three letters, in each of 
 which he vouches for the respectability of a certain person. His 
 only answer to these facts is that he forgets all about it ; that he 
 does not know these persons. But he cannot tell how he came to 
 do it. Next, how are we to connect Paul with the money ? How 
 can it be proved that he was the infirm old man ? I confess tliat it 
 ■will be ditficult. 
 
 ' As for Mr. Rupert Zeigler, the beard is all one has to go by, 
 although I am perfectly sure that tlie beard was on Paul's chin. 
 And as for the gentleman of Bombay, they remember very little 
 about him, though .they own that my picture seems very like. So 
 far, you see, I think the most acute detective would fail to connect 
 Paul with the cheques. It remains to find out, if we can, his 
 method of working iipon your father, and on that point I hope to 
 be able to throw light before long.' 
 
 ' And meantime, I suppose,' said Sibjd, ' he will make my father 
 sell his land and his house and everything.' 
 
 ' It is possible. In such hands anythuig is possible.' 
 
 ' And yet you are not alarmed.' 
 
 ' Not a bit. I have no fear. Paul is only working up another 
 miracle. He is arranging his effects, and getting together his little 
 properties. It will be, he thinks, a truly beautiful miracle : only, 
 this time, perhaps, we may have the satisfaction of knowing how 
 he does it. And, perhaps, Dodo,' he took her hand again. ' Perhaps 
 the discovery, if we do make it, may act as an eye-opener to your 
 father, and the Vestal Virgin of the Cause may be allowed to leave 
 the Temple of a fallen god.' 
 
146 HERR PAULUS 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 ONLY A KISS. 
 
 There was one room in the house into which we have not yet 
 penetrated— a small room on the first floor, which for beauty, 
 comfort, and daintiness, excelled all the other rooms in the house. 
 It was so beautiful and so dauity, because it had been the girls' 
 room formerly so called, but was now Cicely's room. Wlien school 
 came to an end and the last of the governesses departed, Sibyl left 
 the room, but Cicely remained. Everything belonged to the blind 
 gnl ; the books, which Hetty read to her, the pictures, also read to 
 her by Hetty ; the pretty things which she could not see ; yet it is 
 undoubtedly good for a blind gkl to be surrounded by things 
 beautiful. The music was hers which Hetty played to her, the 
 piano was hers on which she herself played, letting her fingers 
 wander over the keys, v/hile to her sightless eyes there came visions. 
 What visions? What do they see, the blmd? How do they 
 shape and colour the world ? Wliat is form, what is colour, to the 
 blind '? How do they imagine the tender green of the young leaves 
 in June ; the fragihty of the fiowers ; the thousand hues of natme ; 
 the charms of beauty ; the magic of the eyes ; the witchery of art ; 
 the slopes and shadows of the hiUs : what are they like— the visions 
 and the fancies of the blind ? I know not. Cicely's visions came 
 to her, bringing happmess unspeakable, sometimes when she heard 
 sweet music, sometimes when she heard great poetry, sometimes 
 when she listened to the voice of a certain yoimg man, who spoke 
 as she had never before heard any man speak. 
 
 He came often to this room ; he came nearly every day ; gene- 
 rally he came in the afternoon, between tea and the first dinner 
 beU ; a quiet and lazy time when the lamp was lit, the curtains 
 drawn, and the cold east wind shut out. There was no concealment 
 about his visits ; he went openly to the room ; anybody who wanted 
 hun at this time would look for him in Cicely's room. The whole 
 house was his. If you had asked him why he came here he would 
 have replied, with as much candour as you have any right to 
 expect — it is not possible, unhappily, for any man to be wholly 
 candid— that he loved above aU things (except, perhaps, Distinction) 
 material comfort, physical ease, warmth, and the contemplation of 
 things beautiful. Like many other preachers and philosophers, 
 \vhile he despised riches, ho ardently loved those things which only 
 riches can procure. Indeed, it is too often forgotten, especially by 
 parents, guardians, tutors, and teachers, how much more intense is 
 the craving for these things in first manhood, when these things are 
 the least attainable, than in age. In the early twenties a yoimg 
 
ONL V A /ass 147 
 
 man yearns and craves for physical ease and for love and for 
 beauty ; he grows sick for lack of these ; life is worthless because he 
 cannot get them. By the lime he gets to fifty he has had much 
 experience of little ease, hard work and cold weather ; and, besides, 
 has had some moderate share of happiness and of love, insomuch 
 that the old yearning, like a fierce fire that has burned itself out, 
 only smoidders ; and as for things beautiftd, they are intimately 
 connected with persons beautiful : and, therefore, it is no use yearn- 
 ing after what belongs to the young. Now, alas — 
 
 Love will not lip him ; 
 
 Maid will not clip him ; «. 
 
 Maud and Marian pass him by. * 
 
 If further pressed, Paul would have gone on to confess — but he 
 had a most wholesome Protestant hatred of the Confessional — that 
 he could get warmth and easj' chans in other parts of the house, 
 even in his own room, by himself, or in Tom's room, but he could 
 get nowhere else the undi^-ided companionship of two beautiful 
 girls, sweet, confiding, and beheving. Every Prophet, even a False 
 Prophet, loves to have disciples who never question. 
 
 Hither he came and here he talked of things, the contemplation 
 of which lifts the soul which submits to be hfted and to be guided. 
 Men are too stiff-necked to submit. I have never seen in any club 
 smoking-room either a Prophet who wanted to Hft other men's 
 souls, or men who submitted their souls to be lifted. A shove up — • 
 as Baxter poetically put it — is the last thing which men ask of each 
 other. But how many women are always looking for it ! Paul 
 spoke of life and death, of the barrier which lies between, of the 
 eternal world of which this life is but a tiny episode as the soul 
 marches upwards or downwards. Was it nonsense that he talked ? 
 I know not. His soft and musical voice, his dark and beautiful 
 eyes, his presence and his comeUness made it more than sense — 
 divine wisdom, so that the hearts of the two girls glowed. 
 
 'There is not,' his w'ords flowed musically, 'anything in this 
 world that man can make or desire or aim at which is really of the 
 smallest importance. Love ? He may wait for it, because beyond 
 the Barrier — as we say, but there is no Barrier — love awaits him 
 far deeper and more holy than any earthly love. Wealth ? It can 
 do nothing for the soul. Knowledge ? They do not understand — 
 they can never imderstand — that the secrets of natm-e which they 
 so painfully seek and so slowly acquire, are all revealed in the 
 wisdom we call the Hidden Way. Long life ? It is only to be 
 desired while those we love are stiU unable to see and converse 
 with the spirits. "WTaen aU can see as I can see, and converse as I 
 can converse, we shall die without a pang or a regret. Cicely — 
 Hetty ' — he lowered liis voice, ' there are sorae things winch one 
 cannot speak of before the world; in this room, with you, we may 
 
 l2 
 
148 II ERR PAULUS 
 
 speak freely, for we believe. Oh ! we are alwaj'S, everywhere, sur- 
 rounded by spirits. I see them,' he looked around, ' they are in 
 this room now, they are speaking together of you. They pass and 
 are gone, and others foUow. Some stay with us always to whisper 
 words which may warn and advise : they jirotect us from e\dls — 
 real evils : they laugh when we complain of imaginary evils and of 
 wrongs which cannot harm the soul ; they fill us with lofty thoughts 
 • — you might see them if you had my eyes. Yet a little while and 
 you shall see them — yes, you shall see them. Cicely, you as clearly 
 as Hetty. I cannot give j^ou the power of seeing things eartUy, 
 but thmgs spiritual you shall see clearly as I myself.' 
 
 To read these thmgs is foolishness ; to hear them spoken in a 
 soft and musical voice, in the accents of truth and conviction, by 
 one who had shown that he could do things which to other men are 
 impossible, in the seclusion of that room, was to these guis nothing 
 short of a new Gospel — all then- own — all to themselves. Think of 
 a new Gospel all to yoiurself ! And while the young man gave the 
 gfrls these glimpses into the Unknown, his eyes wandered from 
 Cicely, listening like some sweet cloistered saint to Francis of 
 Assisi, her blind eyes looking heavenwards, with parted lips and 
 glowing cheeks, to Hetty, who lifted her heavy lustrous eyes not to 
 heaven but to the prophet, moved less by the delights of eternal 
 study — as some are moved less by those of eternal singing — than 
 by the joys of companionship with those one loves. 
 
 Sometimes he read poetry to them — the poetry which fills the 
 soul with vague yearnings ; and he would leave the verses half 
 finished, and in talk carry on the theme, playing on their emotions 
 as a musician produces variations of the same air. Sometimes he 
 would tell them stories taken from I know not where, but his 
 memory was good and his imagination strong; they were stories 
 such as are not written down — no editor would receive them — they 
 had no plot and they were not constructed with any art ; they ran 
 on, and their interest lay in the manner of telling ; and sometimes, 
 like an imaginative child, he would carry on the story fr-om day to 
 day. Generally the hero was a poor lad of obscure origin, who 
 worked his way to great fame and distinction by courage and by 
 genius. 
 
 Sometimes he would tell them of places which he had seen and 
 people he had met. He knew New York and Boston; he knew 
 Florence, Eome, and Venice, Paris, and St. Petersbiu-g ; he could 
 tell them all kinds of strange and curious thmgs. A young man 
 who has travelled so far has seen many things, high and low. And 
 remember, tliis young man told the girls nothing that was low and 
 common. He did not abuse his position. Always lie raised their 
 souls and lifted them above themselves. Always, at his comin<^, 
 Hetty put on, mentally, her Sunday frock, and Cicely attune^ hey 
 UIuhI to highev things, 
 
ONLY A KISS 149 
 
 A prudent yoiing man, especially one who has been solemiJy 
 warned of the dangers which belong to the society of young ladies 
 and knows beforehand that Love is fatal to the Higher Philosophy, 
 would have kept out of this room, set with the only trap which 
 Cupid ever lays — a lovely girl or two — and would have attended 
 strictly to business. Every yoimg man's future, but especially 
 Paul's, depends upon his sticking to business. Yet it is difficult 
 when one is j'oung to be always thinking of the Future. The 
 Present, you see, is ever wdth us ; the Futm-e, child of the Present, 
 seems so'far off. And then the Present is for ever changing, which 
 prevents monotony, though it causes us to call it names, such as 
 fugacious, illusorj^ a cheat, a false promiser, and the like. And even 
 if the Present be a Fool's Paradise, that kind of garden is very 
 delightful and wholly fi-ee from anxiety and forethought. Why, it is 
 not everybody who can find out the flowery lane that leads to that 
 garden gate ; and when it is foimd there are very few who have a 
 key that ■will open it. 
 
 One afternoon — a day or two after the Failure of Brudenel and 
 Company — Hetty was sitting alone in their room reading a story. 
 The book was all about the happiness which love brings to those 
 girls who are so lucky as to win a lover, yoimg, rich, handsome, 
 well born, and clever. I think the hero in this story was a Guards- 
 man — nothing less, if you please — of noble family, of com-se ; great 
 wealth, natm-ally ; and the poetic temperament for which the Guards' 
 Club— and Skindle's — is so remarkable ; he wastwo-and-twenty and 
 she was eighteen — it is an age too young for real and sohd love, 
 only most novelists and poets do not perceive this great truth — nor 
 do the boys and gu'ls who read them. It was a most beautiful story, 
 in short, endmg happily with rice but no wedding breakfast. 
 Somehow, Hetty did not much care for it. Her thoughts wandered. 
 
 Suddenly, without any footstep being heard, the door opened 
 and Paul appeared. That was nothing unusual. But Hetty for 
 some reason blushed a rosy red. 
 
 He came in softly — not secretly — shutting the door behind him. 
 He went to the window and looked out. It was sis o'clock, in the 
 middle of April. A grey sky covered the garden, where the east 
 wind ground together black branches of the trees ; there was not 
 yet a touch of spring upon the boughs or on the flower beds. Paul 
 shivered and half drew the curtain to keep out the sight of the cold. 
 Then he took Cicely's chair beside the fire and sat do^mi and looked 
 at Hetty. She laid down her book and waited. 
 
 ' Where is Cicely ? ' he asked. 
 She is Ij'ing down. She has a httle headache.' 
 
 ' Bring her here and I wiU send it away.' This young man had 
 a surprising power of sending away toothache, headache, earache, 
 neuralgia, and all — or perhaps nearly aU — the aches and pains which 
 atflict humanity. He cured the servants and the servants' fi-iends. 
 
ISO HERR PAUL US 
 
 His remedy was the application of liis hand, which immediately caused 
 the pain to vanish. In the same way I have seen a negro cause a 
 sprain to disappear instantly. The human hand, accomj)anied by 
 a certain amount of energy on the one side and faith on the other, 
 does it. Perhaps the toothache came again after a while, and in the 
 end they had to go to the dentist and have the horrid thing clawed 
 out — but think of the rehef for the time ! 
 
 Hetty rose to obey. 
 
 ' No — no,' said Paul. ' Let her stay. Lying down will do her 
 good. And we wiU talk, Hetty.' 
 
 She sat down again and waited, submissive. 
 
 He rose and stood over her. 
 
 ' Look in my eyes,' he said. 
 
 ' Oh ! Paid — no — no — sx^are me.' 
 
 ' I will do you no harm, child.' 
 
 ' You make me faint and dizzy. "When I grow unconscious, you 
 will make me tell you what you please. Yoii will do with me as 
 you did with the butler when you made him tell us how he drinks 
 the wine. Spare me, Paul.' 
 
 He laughed and sat down. 
 
 ' We will talk, then. Are you happier, Hetty ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Are you happier because I am here ? ' 
 
 ' You know I am, Paul. You make us all happier — you have 
 brought such happiness mto this house as was never known before. 
 Even Sibyl says that you have brightened the place.' 
 
 ' Are you happier because you see a little more clearly than 
 before ? ' 
 
 ' I did not desire to see more clearly. Yet it does make mc 
 happier to feel that things are not all a pretence. Oh, Paul, it is a 
 dreadful thing to feel ashamed of your mother. I know the things 
 that are done. I have had to keep my eyes closed. In this house 
 I have had to preserve silence even when I knew there was im- 
 posture and I could liave exposed the cheat — but then I should have 
 had to tell how I knew the tricks. And at last to feel that there is 
 really truth in it in spite of all— to know that my mother really 
 does converse with the spirits even if they are only the lower 
 kind. It has made me inexpressibly hajjpy, Paul, to be certain of 
 this.' 
 
 ' I am glad, Hetty,' he rephed. ' It is no small thing to make 
 you happy, Hetty.' 
 
 ' Besides, you have made Cicely happy. She has no knowledge 
 of unworthy tricks. But you have made her happier and more 
 cheerful. And you have made the whole house cheerful. Formerly 
 it was as gloomy, especially after another Disappointment, as a 
 sepulchre.' 
 
 ' Hetty,' Paul abruptly changed the subject. ' You axe young — 
 
ONLY A KISS 151 
 
 you will not always remain with Ciculy. "What will you tlo witli 
 your hfo ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I have not had the disposing of my own life 
 so far. I do not suppose that will ever be given into my hands.' 
 
 ' Do you look forward ? Do you thinli what may be in the lap 
 of Fortune for you ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes. But I dare not thinli too much Tipon the future.' 
 
 ' Look forward now, Hetty. Nay,' he repeated imperiously, ' I 
 command you. Look forward and tell me truthfully what you see. 
 Remember it is not the real future that you will see : it is the future 
 that you least desire and most di'ead.' 
 
 The girl closed her eyes. Then she shuddered and trembled and 
 opened them again. 
 
 ' I cannot, Paul.' 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said. ' You must.' 
 
 She resisted no longer. 
 
 ' I see a long life of poverty. I am always somebody's com- 
 panion. There will never be any one so kind as Cicely. I get 
 older and poorer, and I am always solitary. It is a dreadful 
 life, Paul,' she cried. ' I see the end of it. I ^o^ll not look any 
 more.' 
 
 ' There is another picture,' said Paul. ' Look again, Hetty. See 
 what I see.' 
 
 'Oh! I see a girl, it is mj-self; and a man before her, and 
 he leads her away by the hand ; and oh ! she is full of happi- 
 ness.' 
 
 ' Do you see the face of the man ? ' 
 
 ' No, I cannot see it. But I know the shape of his head. It is — ■ 
 oh ! ' she covered her face with her hands, and said no more. 
 
 ' Play to me, Hetty,' said Paul, siu'inging to his feet. ' Play me 
 music — quickly — play to me.' 
 
 She obeyed ; her cheek blushing and her eyes down di-opped, 
 and began to play such music as she played to Cicely when the 
 blind girl wanted to dream and have the visions which music 
 brought. 
 
 Paul walked restlessly about the room. So in far off America a 
 certain lad named Ziphion wallced to and fro, while a certain girl 
 named Bethiah played to him. 
 
 ' Hettj^ ! ' he cried. 
 
 She stopped and ttu-ned her head. 
 
 ' Your music does not soothe me ; it maddens me. Oh ! stand 
 up and take my hands. Hetty, Hetty. Look in my eyes again. 
 Do the}^ subdvte you ? Do they compel you ? Do they make your 
 brain reel and your eyes move '? Do they, child, make you afraid 
 now? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! no, no.' 
 
 ' Because they are subdued by yours, Hetty. Because they are 
 
152 HERR PAUL US 
 
 conquered.' He drew lier gently, and his arms If.y round lier neck 
 and waist, and he kissed her a dozen times. Then, without another 
 word, he pushed her ronglily from him, and rusliedout of the room, 
 banging the door behind him. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SIR PERCIVAL. 
 
 'Yes,' said the clerk in the Secretary's office, 'the man is here; 
 you will find him within. He arrived in the " Willing Bride," of 
 Quebec, three months out, and he's madder than ever. Three 
 prayer meetings he's held already, and he's at it again. I wonder 
 how they stand it so well. You can go in if you want.' 
 
 The place was in the Sailors' Home, Dock Street. Paul jiassed 
 through a short passage and found himself in a large, low room, set 
 with solid square tiuiber pillars, to shore up the roof ; tables of a 
 heavy and solid kind were set about, and benches stood beside them. 
 It was the common room of the Sailors' Home, where they take 
 their raeals and sit and converse. If you go through the common 
 room you find yourself in a place which reminds you of a ship and 
 of a monastery, and of those solitaries who lived in caves, high up 
 in the sides of clitfs and precipices, and you turn dizzy and reel. 
 For there are rows of little cells or cabins, in every one a sailor, 
 piled one above the other, and, in front of each row, a gallery in 
 light iron, with iron staircases, the sight of which makes you think 
 of falling over or through. 
 
 The common room, this morning, was thinly attended. A lusty 
 negi'o, coal black, rolled about, and, on one of the benches, pipe in 
 mouth, two or three mild-faced Norwegians sat with the newspaper 
 of their native country in their hands ; a dozen fellows lounged and 
 leaned against the pillars with crossed legs, doing nothing, %\ith the 
 contentment only possible with sailors and fishermen ; one or two 
 men were writing, one or two smoking pipes ; there was a smell as 
 of 'tween decks, one thought of the fo'k'sle ; tar was present, and 
 one thought of ropes ; if the men had liu'ched and pitched as they 
 went one would not have been surprised. 
 
 In the middle of this room, however, siu*rounded by a little 
 group of sailors, chiefly young, was a young man sitting in a chau", 
 talliing and arguing. In reality he was preaching, but it seemed as 
 if he was merely talking earnestly from his chau-, while they 
 gathered round and listened. But from time to time he sprang to 
 his feet and raised his voice, and addressed them in impassioned 
 tones, which were surely those of the preaclier. And he used a 
 certain gesture which has of late become fashionable among orators 
 
SI/^ PERCIVAL 153 
 
 of the fervid tj-pe. I think it is an American importation, made, 
 like all American things, for the puri)ose of impressmg Demos, For 
 my own part I prefer the old English gestm-es used for impressing 
 persons who possess the critical faculty, just as I prefer the English, 
 cheeses, English bacon, English apples, to t he American importations. 
 This gesture consists in tin-owing the right arm up and back, and 
 then hiurlmg the hand, so to speak, at the audience. It is easily 
 learned, and may be acquired by half-an-hour's practice before a 
 glass. When a man is really and truly in earnest, and possesses 
 the gift of impassioned speech, it helps him to become effective ; 
 when a man only wishes to seem in earnest, and therefore shows 
 the pretence in his words, the gesture is grotesque, and destroys 
 what effect his oratory might otherwise produce. Demos is no fool; 
 above aU, he is ready to detect a man who is not really in earnest. 
 That is the reason why so many leaders disappear early, and why 
 so much vigorous speech is* thrown away and wasted. 
 
 Paul drew near and sat down to listen. 
 
 The speaker was di-essed as a common sailor ; his face was 
 weather-beaten, but the features were regular ; his hands were tarry, 
 but they were small ; his figure was taU and gi-acehil ; his short 
 hair was dark ; he spoke like a gentleman, and he looked above the 
 rank of a common sailor. His eyes were remarkable for their 
 bright and even fiery appearance ; in the low dark room they 
 glowed. They were the eyes of a fanatic or a madman. Once I 
 saw crouching in a corner of a darkened cell a madman who had 
 killed a warder. He was perfectly quiet, but his ej'es were two 
 balls of fire, and he was ready to spring upon the first man who 
 shoidd ventui-e within the cell. Such were the ej-es of this young 
 sailor. 
 
 It was apparent immediately^ from his words that he belonged 
 to the narrowest order of Christians. "We who live in great towns 
 and choose our own religion, and sometimes choose a broader form 
 of Christianity, permit oiu'selves to deride the nan'ow brethren. 
 "We should not deride them. They belong to a very big school 
 indeed. There are ten ixiillions of them in England, four miUions 
 in Scotland, two in Ireland, three in Colonial Britain, and thhty 
 millions in America who belong to this school. It is not, therefore, 
 by any means extinct. Nor will it ever become extinct so long as 
 men who are unlearned claim to exercise the right of private inter- 
 pretation. And it will always be a narrow school, although its 
 disciples hold all kmds of conclusions and divide themselves into 
 as many sects as there are sauces in France. The arguments of 
 this school are based upon premises which the wicked Ptationalist 
 will not allow ; its followers know nothing of the Science of Eeligion 
 or of the development of the great central idea ; the school is as 
 cruel and pitiless as the Letter of the Law ; it is self-sufficient and 
 arrogant. "We may say all kinds of harsh things as regards this 
 
154 HERR PAULUS 
 
 sclaool, but those who remember how terrible a tyranny is Authority, 
 how truly hateful a thmg is Ecclesiastical Rule, and how monstrous 
 a being is the Priest in Power, will take heart though a dozen new 
 eects are invented every day, and will continue to praise the Lord 
 that such thinkers are enabled to exist at all. 
 
 Paul had been brought up in this school himself. He knew all 
 the tags and the phrases of the school ; if he was ever to get reh- 
 gion, it would be this sort of religion. But it was a long time smce 
 he had concerned himself about che condition of his soul. For 
 many reasons such an inquiry would have been undesu-able and 
 vmsettling. Besides, was he not in the hands of Friends who know 
 all about the next world '? 
 
 As Paul sat and listened — the man who was speaking was a 
 born orator — his mind went back to a certain plain building, white- 
 washed mside, where the people sat m narrow ]iews while a man in 
 a black coat thundered and pleaded, threatened, coaxed, and pro- 
 mised, and threatened again. Ho remembered how that man 
 looked and how his voice resounded in the building. Some of the 
 congregation had already experienced religion ; these groaned, 
 sighed, and murmmed ; others were looking for it with anxious 
 hearts ; others only looked on with apathetic faces as if the thing 
 did not concern them in the least. He remembered how they all 
 looked, and how he h-om his seat in the gallery used to gaze into 
 the faces below and read then thoughts. As this sailor went on, 
 Paul's eyes closed ; he was agam a boy listening to an address for 
 the unconverted — it was delivered so often, and it converted so few. 
 The argviments were the same ; his memory took him back to the 
 child who believed and wondered why religion was so long in coming 
 to him, though Bethiah was ah-eadj^ converted and was a Church 
 member. Then an imexpected phrase brought him back to the 
 Sailors' Home. Why, this man was a preacher indeed. Had the 
 pulpit been occupied by him in the old days Paul must have been 
 converted long ago. He would have become, in fact, a Church 
 member. He would then have stayed in his native to-\vn. He 
 would have risen to the proud position of Superintendent of the 
 Sunday School and Deacon. Or he might have gone to College 
 and become a Minister and preached those same things himself. 
 Then he would have married Bethiah ! Where was Bethiah ? And 
 then he would have never seen Hetty ! Now, his conversion was 
 impossible. It would interfere too much with his prospects. He 
 had, in fact, other engagements. Paul sighed and returned to 
 business. 
 
 The speaker went on. He chained his audience. He forced 
 them to listen. He told them that he had converted every hand 
 aboard the ' Willing Bride,' insomi;ch that when the men were 
 paid off not one of them was fomid to go into a pubhc house nor 
 would a single one venture in Eatcliffe Highway, although we 
 
SI/; PERCIVAL ISS 
 
 now call it by another name. And lie said he was going to convert 
 them too, and that right off and without any delay. At the prospect of 
 immediate conversion some of those honest feUows looked blank, 
 remembering what would follow — the renunciation, namely, of all 
 those practices in which they had been accustomed to find their 
 only joy. Not one or two, mind you, because the Chm-ch of this 
 Gospeller is a very strict Church indeed, and allows no indulgences 
 at all. No more di'ink, neither beer nor rum. No more happy 
 gatherings with pipe and pewter in snug back rooms. No more 
 jovial evenings with grog and song and Polly of Poplar and Piosy of 
 EatcHffe. Poor Polly and Eosy ! Whither would they go ? AVhat 
 would they do ? No more fights ; no more dances ; no more any- 
 thing. Oh ! my countrymen, what a blank was left ! Others again 
 looked as if they were tit to sit upon the stool of repentance. And 
 others, just as it used to be in the chapel, looked as if salvation 
 belonged to the others and had nothing to do with themselves. 
 The preacher stopped at last, with such a picture of the next world 
 as made one poor lad burst nito a blubber while another trembled 
 and shook. Then he sang a hjonn — his voice was strong as well as 
 musical — and then he began to go romid and to talk to each man 
 in tm:n, of those who would listen. Most of them, however, broke 
 away from the circle, which is always the way, and only what every 
 preacher expects. 
 
 He knelt beside the boy who wept and prayed for him. He 
 knelt beside the boy who trembled and prayed for him. He knelt 
 in the middle of the room and prayed aloud for all, and then, his 
 service over, he stood and looked around him with anxious eyes, as 
 if he was still an unprofitable labom-er and had neglected much. 
 
 At this juncture Paul approached him. 
 
 ' I have a message for you,' he said. ' Have you finished your 
 prayers and preaching ? ' 
 
 ' Who are you ? ' the sailor replied. ' If you come on what the 
 world calls business you need not deliver that message. Do not 
 speak to me about money — bestow the money where you please.' 
 
 ' You do not know me. It is no use telling you my name. I 
 come from your sister, not from your lawyer.' 
 
 ' I have no sister.' 
 
 ' Don't talk nonsense. You have a sister who is blind and help- 
 less. She wants to see her brother.' 
 
 ' I have neither father nor mother, brother or sister, or wife. I 
 belong to Chi'ist alone. My hand is to the plough and I must not 
 turn aside.' 
 
 ' Come to see your sister. You must. I know you. Sir Percival, 
 though you do not know me.' 
 
 'I am no longer Sir Percival. Titles and honours are vain 
 things. I am John Percy, able seaman. I am called to preach the 
 Gospel among the sailors.' 
 
156 HERR PAULUS 
 
 'By all means, I do not ask you to abandon your avocation. 
 I have just heard you preach. You have a very remarkable and 
 persuasive power ; you also beheve in what you say. I should 
 think that your efforts will be greatly successful. Some of your 
 argmnents are fresh, and your illustrations are apt.' 
 
 ' I want no man's praise and I heed no man's blame,' said the 
 sailor, roughly. 
 
 'Of coiu'se,' said Paul, 'there is nothing to praise. You have 
 received the conviction of the truth of certain doctrines : you have 
 the power of oratory : you have therefore a natural deshe to persuade 
 others : you have left your estate and the duties to which you were 
 born for the sake of gratifying others : you have become a common 
 sailor for their sake and have learned how to speak to them. There 
 is nothing to praise in this. I did not say there was. It is aU qmte 
 common : anybody could do as much. It is nothing.' 
 
 ' Nothing at all,' said the sailor, yet with a doubtful look. ' Could 
 not anybody do as much ? 
 
 ' It would be impossible to persuade you to give up your life. I 
 suppose you know that it will probably end in your being cast away 
 with some ill-found crazy craft.' 
 
 ' It will end as my Master pleases.' 
 
 ' Therefore, I do not ask you to give up your work for a single 
 day,' Paul continued. ' I clo not ask you to change yoiu- di-ess 
 even. I ask nothing more than that you should pay a single visit, 
 one — to yom- sister. It wiU make her profoundly uncomfortable, 
 but she desnes it.' 
 
 ' I cannot leave my people. I am ordered to preach to them 
 day and night. I rtiiist be contmually in the ser^'ice of the Master. 
 Oh ! ' he tossed his head impatiently, ' I have no sister — I have no 
 relations at all.' 
 
 ' Your Master does not order you to neglect your sister. It is 
 not as if she was like other girls. She is blind, and dependent on 
 others. Come to see her once, if for an hour only.' 
 
 ' Is my sister converted ? Has she been yet convicted of 
 sin?' 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Paul. ' I never asked her.' 
 
 ' And yourself — are you converted ? ' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' What are you doing with her ? ' 
 
 ' I am on a visit to Lady Augusta.' 
 
 ' Ah ! ' the sailor looked at him fixedly. ' I remember now. It 
 is a house fiUed with devils. They practise forbidden things : they 
 conjure by means of tables and chau's. Ai-e you one of those who 
 delude and deceive them.' 
 
 ' I am not a Medium, if that is what you mean.' 
 
 ' There is no voice permitted fi-om the Dead to the Living. 
 There is no Eevelation except the one already made. Nothing can 
 
SJJ^ PERCIVAL 157 
 
 T)e added to what we know. Aftor deatli we separate, eacli to his 
 own place. Between the world and Heaven on the one hand and 
 Hell on the other is a great gnlf lixed, so that those in Hell cannot 
 hear the hynnis of the saved, nor do those in Heaven hear the 
 cries of the lost. It is vain and impious to inquire. Is my sister 
 saved ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know.' 
 
 ' I will see her,' said Sir Percival. ' I may leave my work, pro- 
 ^ ided that I cease not from the task of saving souls alive. Think 
 not that my sister's soul is any more precious to me than any soul 
 among those poor fellows. All are alike in the eyes of Him who 
 made them. Yet I will see her, and if it is permitted, I will move 
 lier to repentance. We have talked enough. Tell her I wish to see 
 her.' 
 
 ' When will you see her ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. When I am commanded,' he replied, with the 
 light of fanaticism in his eyes. ' I cannot promise.' 
 
 ' Yoti might come, for instance, when she was not at home. It 
 would he a pity to waste your time.' 
 
 Su- Percival seemed struck with this objection. It did not seem 
 to him that if he was commanded to go the order would not be 
 issued for a time when Cicely was not at home. 
 
 ' Will you come when I send you word? ' Paul asked. ' Not to- 
 day or to-morrow, because it is obvious that you are very much 
 occupied with your labours — I wish they may meet with every 
 success — but a little later.' 
 
 ' Send me word and I will come. Let me look at you. I know 
 you now— I know you ' — his eyes shot fire, and be recoiled as one 
 starts back at the sight of a deadly snake ; and then he assumed 
 the attitude of one who is going for that snake to make an unplea- 
 sant minute for the creature. 
 
 ' I remember you now. I remember where I saw you. Oh ! 
 you are yourself one of those who go about to deceive. That house 
 attracts everything that is of the Devil. You are an emissary of the 
 Devil. The house has long been filled with devils invisible. Now 
 it is a Devil incarnate in you. Is my sister in your hands ? Then 
 I must hasten to take her away from you. Liar and Deceiver! — 
 go ! ' 
 
 Contrary to reasonable expectation, Paul did not fly at his 
 throat. He staggered, hesitated, and then obe3^ed, leaving the 
 place with no dignity at all. Outside, he felt mean. His early 
 teaching suddenly and vividly brought back to his mind, made the 
 words — while he was still under the impression of that memory — 
 fall upon his soul like a lash laid across his shoulders. They were 
 ignominious and humiliating words ; he oitght to have hurled them 
 back again. He didn't, because he couldn't. Emissary of the 
 Devil ! I^iar and Deceiver ! Alas ! while the old chapel was still 
 
IS8 HERR PAULUS 
 
 in his mind, could he deny those words ? Alas ! again — in the 
 old days when he attended that chapel, if any one had called him a 
 Liar and a Deceiver, he would certainly have gone for that accuser 
 with any weapon that he could catch up. 
 
 He walked away, hut the stiffening was out of his back ; he was 
 limp : he had meekly borne a most deadly insult. And what did 
 the man mean when he said that he remembered him ? What did 
 he remember ? The day of final triumph was rapidly approaching 
 and he could not afford any awkward memories to come along. 
 Paul not only felt mean and small ; he felt uneasy. 
 
 CIIAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Paul called the first cab he passed, and hastened to get away as 
 fast as possible from a place where this disgusting plainness of 
 speech was possible. But he arrived at Beaumont Street with 
 looks stiU perturbed and a soul still agitated. To be called a Liar 
 and a Deceiver, and to have no words of reply — not even a kick or 
 a cuff — naturally causes a hurricane of rage and shame. 
 
 ' What is the matter, boy ? ' asked his friend. 
 
 ' Nothing. Well — something —something incidental to the Pro- 
 fession, I suppose.' 
 
 ' Yes. As for example ' 
 
 ' The charge commonly made agamst those who deal with 
 supernatural forces. And I had no reply.' 
 
 ' No reply, Paul '? ' the old man looked up, sadly. ' No reply ? 
 And after all these years ? ' 
 
 ' None ready. Oh, I know what I ought to have said. I had 
 no reply ready for my enemy, because I could think of none for 
 myself.' 
 
 ' The old prejudices again, Paul ? Strange ? I thought they had 
 been long since removed.' 
 
 ' Old prejudices never die. They seem to be dead, and then at 
 a touch they awake again. I began listening to a sermon — I was 
 thinking only of the present. What was it ? A touch, a word, and 
 the years rolled back. I was in the old village chapel listening to 
 the old preacher. I fell back into the old grooves — about sin and 
 wrong and falsehood and truth, you know. Before I got back to the 
 practical grooves, the man who was preaching turned upon me and 
 used words concerning the Profession— they were like a stick upon 
 my back. I could find no reply, and slunk away, lilve a beaten 
 man. That's all.' 
 
 ' Why, Paul, I thought you wero harder. Have aU these years — 
 
SLUDGE 159 
 
 seven years of apprenticeship — done nothing for you ? This it is 
 to have an imagination as well as the magnetic gift. I should have 
 thought that you had the reply always ready in j'our own mind. As 
 for myself, I have that reply always ready, and it makes me per- 
 fectly easy. Why, let us couless it, my whole life has been spent in 
 trading on men's credulity. My present competency has been 
 acquked by the profession which, above all others, demands cre- 
 dulity. Yolu- travels, yom* manners, your developed powers, are 
 also the result of my success. You are my professional son. With- 
 out me and my success you would have had to return to the 
 paternal store. Therefore, we ought both of us to be always ready 
 with our reply — fii'st to the enemj^ and next to ourselves, in order 
 to keep a cahn conscience and to be able to entertain the same 
 gratitude to Providence for om- success which men of other profes- 
 sions cultivate.' 
 
 ' Well ■? ' said Paul, a smile hghting up his gloomy brow as a 
 ray of simshine across a black and sm-ging sea. 
 
 ' Paid,' continued the Veteran, ' there is not among the whole 
 tribe of mediums, clam'oyants, oracles and prophets, a single man 
 who does not pu| the question to himself — what reply can I make 
 to my own conscience ? Not a man but seeks for an answer wliich 
 shall justify himself. We must find that answer in self-defence, 
 because we know very well the things that are said of us. I know 
 not what answer other practitioners find, but the answer which I 
 have found for myself satisfies me completelj-, and it ought to 
 satisfy you. I have hved and gi'own rich by trading on men's cre- 
 duhty. Let us admit so much. Men tiiiuk I control the spirits. 
 For aught I know there are not any spirits to be controlled. Yet I 
 keep up the pretence. Am I then torn by remorse in my old age ? 
 Not a bit. And why ? Because, Paul, in every trade and in every 
 profession there must be deception. Without deception no trade, 
 no profession, could be carried on. Does the shopkeeper sell what 
 he pretends ? Never ; there is adulteration everj-where. Things of 
 no value are blended with things valuable ; the pohshed wood is 
 veneer, the silver is plate, the sardines are sprats, the very rubies 
 and emeralds are worthless stones pohshed uj). Lies everywhere. 
 Does the merchant content himself with a fair profit ? Not if ho 
 can get an unfau" profit. Does he pay the x^roducer what he ought ? 
 Never. He sweats him whenever he can. Into my trade, which 
 is that of Prophet and Oracle, and a very difficult trade it is, 
 requu'ing the possession of the rarest faculties, which ought to be 
 paid for at the highest rate, I brought a swift and keen intellect, 
 kept polished and shai'p by continual training and constant watch- 
 ing. I had to be learning and storing away in my memory every 
 kind of fact which bears upon the conduct of life. I had to learn 
 all the various ways which men Hve. More than that, I had to 
 learn the hearts of women and what they most desire. Boy, imtil 
 
l6o HERR PAUL US 
 
 I taught you what I myself had learned, there was no anatomist 
 who knew so much about the body as I knew about the soul, 
 and I taught you, Paul. You are wise, but you are young,' 
 
 ' Yes — -Daddy, yes ' Paul took his hand with an almost 
 
 feminine caress — ' I owe everything to you.' 
 
 ' I had to keep in training. For this purpose, I had to forego 
 All the joys of Hfe. For me there was no love, because love, more 
 tlian anything else, destroys the powers which our work demands. 
 He whose mind is filled with the thought of one woman cannot 
 keep his power over all women. There was no feasting in joyful 
 assembhes, where men forget their own thoughts and submit to the - 
 influence of a crowd. I had no holidays because I could never 
 relax. But I had iny reward. I could read the thoughts of those 
 who came to see me ; and I could reveal the future as soon as they 
 had told me the past. Y'ou know, Paul — you know that there was 
 no Prophet — no Oracle equal to myself.' 
 
 ' No ! You were alone.' 
 
 ' My intellect so far outstripped the sluggish brain of the multi- 
 tude, that it seemed to them due to supernatural help. I accepted 
 that explanation. I even advanced it. If I had told the foohsh 
 peoi:)le that there were no sj^irits except in then fancj', thej^ would 
 have deserted me. I had the gift of understanding things in a 
 tenth part of the time that the}^ reqiured. I called it — or they 
 called it — w^e both called it — Clairvoyance — Advice of the spkits — 
 anything. The people exaggerated my cleverness, and I traded on 
 then- stupidity. I made use of then- stupidity. In order to do this 
 it was necessary' to dress up and set ofl' wdth all kinds of little 
 devices and pretences — what actors call business — which I employed 
 mechanically, Avhile my mind was acquiring and piecing together 
 the real data of the problem. Whj', even a shopkeeper sets off his 
 wares to their best advantage, so that a paste diamond, set with 
 sham gold, looks in its plush case the most precious jewel.' 
 
 'Go on,' said Paul, smiling. ' I know it all by heart. But it is 
 comfortable to hear it again.' 
 
 ' Between ourselves we do not deny the machinerj', Paul. We 
 need not. Our answer to those who charge us with cheatery and 
 trickery is to get behind oiu- machinerj'. Among ourselves oiu* 
 answer is that there is nothing done by us which is not done b.y 
 every other profession. Can the phj-sician stave off disease ? Cer- 
 tainly not. Yet he pretends. Does he know how his drugs act ? 
 No, biit he pretends. Does he even know what is the disease which 
 is killmg his patient ? No ; he gives it a name and classifies it 
 accorduig to its symptoms. But he does not know it. Y^et he pre- 
 tends. Does tlie i^hysicist tmderstand that nature whose laws he 
 is alwaj-s discovering '? Not a bit. lie finds a law ; he discovers 
 a force. What then ? We are no farther advanced. Who made 
 the law ■? Who directs the force ? He does not know. But he 
 
SLUDGE l6l 
 
 pretends. Is the lawyer more competent than yourself to manage 
 your affairs ? Not a bit. But he pretends. And to keep himself 
 employed he makes business as complicated as he can. Does the 
 clergyman know any more about the next world than we ourselves 
 know ? Not a bit. But he pretends. In order to keep himself 
 going he pretends to supernatin-al powers. If he were not to pre- 
 tend, his congi'egation would leave him. Is the writer of the 
 political articles in the papers any better informed than his neigh- 
 bours ? Not a bit. But he pretends. The world is carried on by 
 the men of the professions, and the men of the professions live — 
 they all live — upon the creduUty of the people.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul. ' It is quite true.' 
 
 ' The best of it is that we all know it, but we do not whisper it 
 even among ourselves. The whole of education is meant to fit a 
 clever man with the best means for discovering and trading upon 
 the credulity of mankind. You and I, my dear boy, and our tribe, 
 are only like the clergyman, the doctor, and the lawyer. "We all 
 have our pretences and our shams ; on the other hand we aU have 
 our natural gifts and the skill which comes from training. You, 
 with your machinery of the Hidden and Ancient Way, conceal or 
 set off a power which is real, though not so great as they believe. 
 Is that a sufficient reply, Paul, to this old prejudice ? ' 
 
 Paul sighed. 
 
 ' It is sufiicient, I suppose. Let it pass. Daddy. I was a fool 
 to be vexed with the words of a fanatic. Let us talk of other 
 things. The time is running short. Only a few days now before 
 the grand coup.' 
 
 ' You will carry your grand coiij), Paul. In fact, it cannot fail.' 
 
 ' And after ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Paul — after ; what will foUow ? ' 
 
 ' I am divided. I do not see my way so clearly as I ought. I 
 carmot decide. It seems as if I have somehow lost nerve, of late.' 
 
 ' At this point, Paul, the path becomes extremely perilous. You 
 propose to bum your boats. It will be impossible for you to go 
 back upon your steps. You can never, once having achieved results 
 so magnificent and unheard of, become the adviser and the oracle. 
 The fame of this achievement will spread far and wide. Too much 
 will be expected. Already the papers are beginning to speak of the 
 Indian paper mystery. There is a note on it in yesterday's " Pall 
 Mall Gazette," and another in " St. James's Gazette." They are 
 nasty ones, but that you might expect. One of them demands a 
 repetition — says that if the thing could be done once it could be 
 done again ; the other asks for an authorised and attested account 
 of what was really done. Nothing could advertise you better, and 
 if I knew the London journalists as I used to know those of New 
 York, I would keep the ball rolling with paragraph after paragraph. 
 The time is coming, if you are to reap any solid advantage out of 
 
1 62 II ERR PAUL US 
 
 these miracles, -when the Press should take up the thing seriously. 
 Paul, the more I think of it the more persuaded I am that the 
 Press exists entirely for the advancement of the adventurer. First 
 he begins to be noticed in a short paragraph and in an obscure 
 corner of the paper— a good many never get beyond that corner ; 
 if he is a good man he is able to push the advantage : next he ad- 
 vances to the stage of being reported whenever he makes a public 
 appearance : thkdly, not only do his utterances get printed, but his 
 jom^eys and wandermgs are published; he has become a Man of 
 the Age. Moral, Paul: You have excited the public curiosity; 
 keep it up.' 
 
 ' You are always wise. Daddy,' said Paul. 
 
 'Will you tell me, now, how you did the Indian Paper 
 Mystery ? ' , . ^ , ^ . 
 
 ' My Friends—' he began, but bm-st out laughmg. ' Daddy— it 
 was too simple. I almost feared that they would find it out on the 
 spot. Even Tom, who came on purpose to detect me, was caught 
 with the rest. Some day I will tell you all about it.' 
 
 'Very well. I will wait, Eemember, Paul, you cannot be 
 always working such miracles as the appearance of this day's paper 
 brought fi-om Delhi.' 
 
 ' That is quite true,' said Paul. ' And it is the chief danger ot 
 the situation.' . 
 
 ' People always expect more miracles and fresh muracles. They 
 will want you to heal the sick ' 
 
 ' I have done it. The servants bring all their friends who have 
 got toothache or headache. I heal them by imposition of hands. 
 I can go on doing that— unless ' He stopped short. 
 
 ' To get them messages from the other world.' 
 
 ' That is always easy.' 
 
 ' To advise them as to thek conduct in diflBcult junctures.' 
 
 • That is also easy. You have taught me how to do that." 
 
 ' To bring them to-dav's " New York Herald " ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul, rubbing his chin. ' The Indian experiment 
 cannot very well be repeated.' 
 
 ' You are going to save a family from the loss of a great smn of 
 money. They will want you to save everybody fi'om getting into 
 trouble.' 
 
 'Ye— yes. Perhaps that will be only part of the advice or 
 oracle business.' . . 
 
 'No; because you can never put the blame on the spirits. 
 Your Friends must be infallible. Paul, I see only two ways out 
 of it.' 
 
 ' Namely ? ' 
 
 ' The first is to imitate your predecessor, the illustrious CagUostro, 
 and get as much money out of your disciples as you can. Form a 
 new Freemasonry as he did.' 
 
SLUDGE 163 
 
 ' The other way, Daddy ? ' 
 
 ' The other way would be to get your College established under 
 a magnificent name, and become the Director. Then you could 
 declare the Age of Miracles was finally closed, and so prevent 
 anybody else from stepping into your shoes. You are clever, Paul, 
 There is nobody, that I ever heard of, who possessed your gifts of 
 quickness, thought reading, and magnetic powers. You must own 
 that I cultivated them.' 
 
 ' Y'^ou did. Daddy, you did.' 
 
 ' Yet a quicker man than you may any day come across the 
 Ocean. Do not nourish illusions.' 
 
 ' I will not. My powers may fail ; there may be a better man 
 coming along. Y''et I see a thh-d waj".' 
 
 ' ^Yhat is that ? ' 
 
 ' It is that which I indicated a month ago. At the very height 
 of greatness, and in the very glow and first excitement of the 
 crowning mh'acles — to disappear.' 
 
 ' How will you live afterwards ? ^^^lither wUl you go ? If to 
 New Y'ork, yom: fame wiU follow you. Paul, be reasonable. Make 
 hay while the sun shines. Make money whUe the disciples are 
 flockiag in. Use your musical voice and yom- dark eyes, my dear 
 boy, for practical pm-poses. All the women will fall in love with 
 you. Let them, if they wish, bring offerings, but keep yovu- own 
 heart cold if you wish to retain your powers. Mark that, Paul. 
 A man of your temperament, if he dares to fall in love, wiU pkmge 
 head over ears and will be ruined hopelessly, Paul. I looked for 
 such great things from you. I thought that after your Em-opean 
 toxir, and after learning all the newest jargon from the newest 
 ■pretenders, you would go back to America the pride of the pro- 
 fession. Do not disappoint me, Paul. I did pretty well for many 
 years. You know how large a circle of believers I had. They 
 would do nothing without consulting me. You remember ? I 
 was the most respectable of practitioners in the city. But what 
 was I compared with what you might be with youth and all your 
 gifts ? Paul — be persuaded. You may be, if you play the cards 
 rightly, the King of the Profession.' 
 
 Paul hesitated. 
 
 ' The whole charm of the thing,' he said, ' lies in going off 
 suddenly. To disappear; to be no more heard of; to be a di-eam 
 in the memory of those who have beheved ; to be written about as 
 one who appeared, wrought great marvels, spoke of strange 
 powers, and then — vanished. Think of that ! A figure in History 
 for writers to discuss and to wrangle over. The mysterious Herr 
 Paul us — whence came he ? Is he a myth ? ' 
 
 ' Y"es, it is a grand conception : it is v.'orthy of you, Paul. But 
 be practical. Oh ! my dear boy. don't give yomr career away for a 
 fh-eam. It's like killing yourself just at the moment when vou are 
 
1 64 HERR PAULUS 
 
 certain to have a grand funeral and a beautiful send-off notice in 
 all the papers. It is grand — but don't do it, Paul.' 
 
 ' I will consider,' said Paul. 
 
 ' When is the next miracle coming off ? ' 
 
 'On the 23rd — in four days. Nearly everything is ready. It 
 will be a truly touching day. Even Sibyl will be reconciled to me, 
 and Tom %viIL be disarmed. I wish you woidd put in an appear- 
 ance, my dear Daddy, for one night only, as Izak Ibn Menelek.' 
 
 ' Coiild that be managed, Paul ? I am so lame ^vith this con- 
 fomided rheumatism, that I am afraid — no — no — it can't be. The 
 idea must be abandoned.' 
 
 'And on the day after — while their hearts are all aglow — to 
 vanish ! It will be magnificent ! But, Daddy, that man to-day. 
 His voice brought back the old chapel and the old simplicity, and 
 the old thoughts. A prejudice — a survival — think no more about 
 it.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ON ADVANTAGEOUS TERMS. 
 
 "While they taUved there was heard a single knock — the single 
 knock of a humble person at the door. One knock for the humble 
 person, two for the postman, thi'ee for the person of social preten- 
 sions. Reader, let us be thankful that we can use the triple knock. 
 The old housekeeper presently reported that a man wished to speak 
 with the Professor on business. Party of the name of Medlock, 
 they heard the caUer exjjlain. 
 
 ' Here is the man Medlock, Paul,' the old man whispered. ' I 
 wUl talk with him alone. Best for him not to know that you are in 
 England. Go into the back room and keep the door open. If I 
 call, you can come in. If not you can listen.' 
 
 The caller was a man of fifty springs or thereabouts. He left 
 liis hat and great coat in the hall, and appeared dressed in black 
 with an open fi'ock coat, a waistcoat with a rolling collar, and a 
 broad expanse of shirt, clean and spotless. But his clothes were ill- 
 fitting and gave him the apj^earance of a very humble Baptist 
 Minister, one of those who have taken the first step only from the 
 counter to the pulpit in the little country town. He was clean 
 shaven, thin and pale. His hau* was grey, he was shght of figui'e, 
 somewhat shorter than the average, and presented generally the 
 air of complete insignificance. Nobody is really insignificant, be- 
 cause anybody can light a lucifer match and burn down a Palace. 
 But some men look insiguiticant, especially men who are short and 
 spare and have small features. 
 
ON ADVANTAGEOUS TERMS 165 
 
 *I do not remember you, Mr. Medlock, but you have written to 
 me.' 
 
 ' No, sir, you do not. Naturally, because you have never seen 
 me before. I have admired you, sir, from the crowd. I am re- 
 spectable, but I hail from the crowd.' There was a perceptible 
 American twang in his tallv, but not fully developed. It had been 
 acquired late in life, and it was grafted on that branch of the Essex 
 dialect which we call Cockney. 
 
 ' You wrote to me about my late pupil. Before we speak of 
 that matter teU me who you are and what credentials you possess. 
 What you ask, Mr. Medlock, is perha^js a bigger thing than you 
 suspect.' 
 
 ' I will tell you, sir, if you will grant me five minutes of your 
 time. I will show you my credentials and I will tell you why I 
 wrote to you.' 
 
 ' Then take a chair and proceed.' 
 
 ' My name, sir, is Medlock — widely known as Haj^nes Medlock 
 in the profession, just as they say Henry Irving and not Irving, or 
 Charles Dickens and not Dickens.' 
 
 ' In what profession ? Are you an actor ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir. Not an actor. I have been engaged — largely in fact, 
 extensively, engaged — in the show business for many years — for 
 eighteen years, in fact.' 
 
 'In the show business. Did you make money in that busi- 
 ness ? ' 
 
 ' I did not, sir. There is money in it, as nobody knows better 
 than myself. But the money goes to the Boss, not to the men who 
 run the show for the Boss. I've helped to run a good many shows, 
 but it seldom amounted to more than grl^b and plank, and as for 
 homrs — a tram conductor is not in it.' 
 
 ' WeU, sir ! • 
 
 ' Well, sir. I am coming to the point gradually. First, I vrant 
 you to understand that I am a man of experience. Haynes Medlock 
 is a well-known man in the States, though as yet he has never run 
 a show on his own account. I've been most things that a man 
 can be connected with shows. I know the whole business, from 
 taking the money at the doors, which any one can do, to preparing 
 the posters and writing the newspaper paragraphs, which wants 
 genius. I ha^'e also been travelling lecturer. I have described a 
 diorama between the music ; I have lectiured on lime-light views 
 while the operator showed them ; I have introduced to the audience 
 the young lady without arms who played the harp with her toes ; I 
 have made talk on the stage while the conjuror managed his 
 tricks ; I've travelled with a giant and a dwarf, and lectured on 
 them in their presence ; I have gone around with a Camera 
 Obscura. I have been assistant to a craniologist. There is nothing, 
 I believe, in the natiu-e of a show that I haven't done, short of play- 
 
I66 IIERI^ PAULUS 
 
 ing the cornet — not that I would be too proud to plaj^ the cornet, 
 only I don't know how.' 
 
 ' Proceed, su*.' 
 
 ' Well, SU-. I have acquired so much knowledge of the business 
 
 I may truly say that in posters I yield to none, and my 
 
 advertisements are allowed to be works of genius of a high order — 
 that it occurred to me that I might rise to be a Boss myself, and 
 run a show of my own.' 
 
 ' How long, did you say, have you worked in this line ? ' 
 
 Eighteen years. 
 
 ' And a paid help all the time. Are you an American born ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir ; I am an Englishman.' 
 
 ' If you had been an American you would have made yourself 
 Boss a dozen years ago and more. Go on.' 
 
 ' The kind of show I thought of was a superior spirituahst show. 
 I would have everything in it, sir. The old-fashioned medium, 
 though this is a httle out of date, as one may say, always draws if 
 the thing is carefully worked. I would have the raps and mes- 
 sages and all that, not forgettiug the heavenly music. I play myself, 
 very sweetly, on the concertina, so that the heavenly music may be 
 safely advertised. I can also use the camera, so that sphit-photo- 
 graphs will always appear upon the posters. As for drawing on the 
 ceiling, I have practised with the lazy tongs, and as for floating m 
 the air, I've done it on the stage with the conjm-or. Thought 
 reading, of com-se, I understand, and finding things hidden away.' 
 
 ' Pray go on.' 
 
 'I would also include palmistry, which I am told is now 
 fashionable in this country. And reading characters from hand- 
 ■m-itiag. This rakes in the money. Craniology — they always like 
 that if the patter is well done.' 
 
 'You rnight add astrology and astronomy and alchemy while you 
 are about it, to make the show complete.' 
 
 _ ' Thank you, su-, I will make a note of your suggestion. Any- 
 thiag from j'ou ' 
 
 ' And now, sir, pray, what do you propose ? ' 
 
 ' To run your pupil, sir, on advantageous terms, sir. I know 
 what is due to that young gentleman. Fhst, sir, allow me to con- 
 tinue. I had a wife in the old days before I went to the States. She 
 became a medium and frightened me. I confess, sk, that she 
 frightened me out of the house with her spirits. Fairly drove me 
 out. _ I was a fool to go, because she afterwards became a gi-eat 
 medium, and I could have run her, on advantageous teixas, of 
 course ; whereas she has only fooled herself away, and is now, I 
 hear, in reduced circumstances. I ought to have known there was 
 money in it._ But I did not, and I ran away. Well, when first I 
 thought of this, then of course I naturally remembered my wife.' 
 
 • Naturally.' 
 
ON ADVANTAGEOUS TERMS 167 
 
 ' And I came straight home to look for her. I thought she would 
 be just the mediiun that I wanted.' 
 
 ' "Well — and you have seen her and she won't go away with 
 you.' 
 
 ' No, sir, I wasn't fool enough to speak to her before making 
 inqunies. I have seen her but she hasn't seen me. She's lost all 
 her business and all her powers, as far as I can leam. Nobody 
 goes to her and she's poor, and she's old, and, which is worse, she 
 looks poor. Lavinia never was much in the way of looks, but when 
 she was young she had her points. My show wants beauty and 
 youth — at all events, j-outh. If I had youth and beauty I could do 
 anything. Well. I was obliged to give up the idea. Then I heard 
 that you were in London, and I remembered hearing of your 
 pupil, and I thought, sir, considering that he will probably be want- 
 ing a run through the States, and that he must have an agent, why 
 should he not have me ? Stoj? a moment, su". Don't say no all at 
 once. Consider. I know all the dodges — every one. I do indeed. 
 I am up to everything within the show and out of it. Not that I 
 actually do the things myself — but I am a skilled assistant to those 
 who do — a confederate who can be trusted — a bonnet, if I may so 
 speak, of fidelity and zeal. As such, sir, I should be invaluable. 
 And as for terms, they would be advantageous. Higlily advan- 
 tageous.' 
 
 ' What, sir ! ' The Professor sat upright in his chair, and bent 
 upon this unhappy man eyebrows so white and bushy, and shook in 
 his face a crutch so thick and threatening that he trembled and 
 gasped. ' What, sir ! You dare to ask me to engage you in the 
 capacity of a successful confederate and a cheat ? You dare to insult 
 me by assuming that my life, my blameless and honourable career, 
 has been stained by trickery' '? You dare, sir, I ask, to come here 
 and do this ? Go sir, go. Eemove yourself from my presence. If I 
 were yoimger, if I had the use of my limbs, you would go tlnrough 
 the window, not for the insult you offer to me, but for that you 
 have offered to the Sacred Cause of Spiritualism.' 
 
 An archbishop accused of cheating at euchre could not have ex- 
 hibited a loftier indignation. The good old man fell back in his chair 
 exhausted, but glaring with wrath and indignant virtue. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, su*. I 1 ' 
 
 ' It is such men as yoiurself, with your accordions and your 
 speaking tubes and your lazy tongs, by which you imitate the 
 phenomena of manifestations, who bring discredit on our sacred 
 calling.' 
 
 ' Sir ! Professor ! I beg your pardon I I do indeed. I didn't 
 mean any insult. I won't say another word about the conjiu'ing 
 tricks. But if I could get an appointment I should give every 
 satisfaction. I've excellent manners, and a winning way ' — he 
 smiled engagingly to show how winning that way was. ' In the 
 
i68 HERE PAULUS 
 
 outer office, to receive visitors and to prepare their minds and raise 
 their ciuiosity, I should be invaluable. Forgive me, sir. If you 
 won't help me, sir, I must go back to my wife — to Lavinia.' He 
 shuddered. ' To Lavinia, in order to borrow money to get back to 
 the States, where I am honourably known.' 
 
 ' Your name is Medlock, you say. Is your wife Lavinia Med- 
 lock?' 
 
 ' Yes, sir, Lavinia Medlock.' 
 
 ' She was formerly a Medium of some note. You do not wish 
 to go back to her. You would be only a bm-den to her. You had 
 a daughter, I think. Yes, yes. For your wife's sake, only for her 
 sake, mind — I might help you — yes,' — the Professor gazed stead- 
 fastly at the man as if he was reading him through and through— 
 ' What is your present address ? ' 
 
 ' I have a bedroom in Hunter Street, Bloomsbury.' 
 
 ' What were you formerly '? ' 
 
 ' I was a clerk, sir, on a hundred and twenty poimds a year — 
 and we let lodgings — but Lavinia filled the house with ghosts to 
 such a degree ' 
 
 ' Yes — and you've been all the time in the States going about 
 with shows. Well — you are not going to be my pupil's agent, but 
 I may help you if you show me that you are worth help. Can you 
 stay on at Hunter Street for another week ? ' 
 
 ' As long as you like, sir, if it will lead to anything.' 
 
 ' You are not to go near your wife at present. You are not to 
 write to her or to let her know that you have returned.' 
 
 ' I don't want to.' 
 
 ' Very good — here is a sovereign. You will have a letter from 
 me, perhaps, in a day or two. Take care to obey it. Now j'ou 
 can go.' 
 
 The man retired, and Paul came forth from the bedroom where 
 he had overheard the conversation. 
 
 ' Well, Paul, how does this coincidence help you ? Coincidences 
 are always happening, always. What brought that man here ? 
 Why, he is the father of that gu'l, Paul.' 
 
 ' Yes. He is Hetty's father. AVhat wiU Hetty think of him. 
 He is not exactly a father to be proud of, is he ? ' 
 
 ' To restore to that girl her long-lost father would be, methinks, 
 a miracle of the more wonderful, Paul. Pity he isn't rich — as he 
 would be in a novel.* 
 
 ' He seems a most detestable httle snob. But stQl — it would 
 please Hetty. I wiU do it. Daddy ; I will do it. Hetty's father 
 and Cicely's brother. Both in one day ! Both in one day I ' 
 
169 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 tom's discovery. 
 
 Only one day before the 23rd. And not a word or a sign from the 
 mysterious three who held those cheques. Paul, however, preserved 
 an xmabated cheerfidness. On this morning — the 22nd — when the 
 party broke up after breakfast, Tom and Sibyl, obedient to a sign 
 from the former, lingered behind. 
 
 ' I told you, Dodo,' he said, as soon as they were alone, ' that I 
 should track him out.' 
 
 ' Well, Tom, and have you ? And it is not too late ? ' 
 
 ' Come up to my workshop. No one will look for you there ; 
 and I've got lots of things to tell you.' 
 
 ' Now, Dodo,' he said, ha\dng gained the secimty and loneliness 
 of that retreat, ' I have really done it — I have found him out. And 
 I am ready to spring the whole thing upon him.' 
 
 ' Does he know or suspect anything ? ' 
 
 ' Not a word.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Sibyl smiled sweetly, as a woman can smile who sees 
 her enemy humbled. ' And he is after all, as I have always sus- 
 pected, a mere impostor and swmdler. "Well, it is only one more. 
 He will be followed by another, I dare say qiiite as bad.' 
 
 ' Not quite, Dodo, dear. Your feminine way of putting things is 
 perhaps too downright. Women love a clear outline.' 
 
 ' We love truth.' 
 
 ' Unfortimately,' said the Physicist, ' nothing in nature has a 
 clear outhne. Well, my child, I am not prepared to call bad names. 
 A swindler or an impostor is generally a person who obtains money 
 under false pretences. I have no evidence at all, as yet, that our 
 friend Paul has obtained money under false pretences. He may, 
 for aught I know, propose to stick to all those very considerable 
 sums now lying in the bank to the account of the illustrious Izak 
 Ibn Menelek, descendant of King Solomon and Queen Sheba ; 
 Pieuben P. Zeigler, of Philadelphia; and Surabjee Kamsitjee of 
 Bombay. I say that he may, but I do not believe that he does. If 
 he does he will find himself m Queer Street, with a clear prospect 
 of a healthy life under lonely conditions for a longish term of 3'ears. 
 I say, Dodo, that if he does he will be astonished. Because I am 
 ready to demonstrate in open court the method by which that money 
 was extracted from your father.' 
 
 Sibyl sighed. ' Oh ! I knew all along that he must have taken 
 it.' 
 
 • He hasn't stolen it, Dodo. That is to say — not as yet. But he 
 
17° HERR PAUL US 
 
 was the means by which the shares were sold— of that I am certain. 
 Eemember, please, that had it not been for the sale of those shares 
 everything would have been lost.' 
 
 ' Everything is lost, Tom,' said Sibyl, with assmrance. 
 
 ' First of all, I told you that Lavinia put me on the scent. An 
 old gentleman who had been in the service of the Company, and 
 had all his money invested there, came to her alarmed by a vrhisper 
 from the office. She could get no counsel and asked Paul's advice. 
 Paul understood the situation and saved the man's money. More 
 than that, he saved ours ' 
 
 ' So you say.' 
 
 'It was not, you observe, his " Friends " who warned him, nor 
 was it at the instigation of his " Friends " that he acted. It was 
 by an accident : he was consulted. I have seen the man whom he 
 advised. He tells everybody how he asked the spirits and how, 
 Lavinia's spirits being unequal to the task, he sent his case to Herr 
 Paulus, who ordered him to sell mstantly. Without his advice he 
 would have gone to the workhouse. Without his action a like fate 
 would have befallen us, sweet Dodo. If not quite the workhouse, 
 our xmion would have been put off indefinitely.' 
 
 ' It is put off indefinitely as it is,' said Sibyl. ' Only yesterday 
 my father called me into his study, and after reminding me of the 
 Vocation to which he had destined'^me fi-om the cradle, told me that 
 the time was now come when I must put my hfe seriously under 
 the instruction of our Prophet.' 
 
 ' And you replied ? ' 
 
 'I told him that my Vocation was quite in the opposite di- 
 rection—and then— we had a scene. How can I change his 
 resolution ? ' 
 
 ' I shall try what I can do, presently,' said Tom. ' Meantkne, 
 we can at any time make it impossible for that resolution to be 
 carried into effect.' 
 
 Sibyl shook her head. 
 
 ' No, Tom ; not without his consent. But go on about Paul.' 
 _ ' I was greatly pleased at this little discovery, and I began to 
 think. I kept on thinking and watching. One morning when he 
 went out, I followed hka. It was not difficult, for he never looked 
 round, and I kept on one side of the street while he walked on the 
 other. When he came to St. Pancras Chm-ch, the great new church, 
 he left the Marylebone Eoad and walked across the churchyard into 
 the Marj-lebone High Street. He crossed the street and walked 
 along a row of small houses which they call Beaumont Street, and 
 at one of these he stopped, and opened the door with a latch-key, 
 and walked in as if the place belonged to him. So, you see, our 
 man, who came straight fi-om St. Petersbm-g, and who, we thought, 
 knew no one at all m England, had a ff-iend living in Beavimont 
 Street, Marylebone.' 
 
rORPS DISCOVERY 171 
 
 ' It shows that he told us lies, but it docs not show auythiiig 
 else, Tom, does it '? ' 
 
 ' First, my dearest Dodo, to use the words of the Quaker, thou 
 utterest an untruth, and then thou askest a question. As ho never 
 said, that he had no friends here it does not show that he told lies. 
 \Vlien I came to llnd out the name of his friend it seemed to prove 
 a great deal. For his fi-iend is no other than the great Professor 
 Melchers himself, of New York.' 
 
 ' I never heard of him.' 
 
 ' Nor had I imtil I was told about hun. Professor Melchers, 
 until his health broke down, was the greatest oracle in New York. 
 Hundreds of our fellow-creatures, presumed to be sane, would take 
 no decisive step, however trivial, without consultmg the Professor, 
 whose advice was followed blindly. There are heaps of stories told 
 of his insight, and the wonderful results obtained by those who 
 bought his opinion. Of course he was connected with the Other 
 World, presumably with the Spirits of Dick Whittington, Jacques 
 Coeiu:, Sir Thomas Gresham, Messrs. Astor, Vanderbilt, Stewart, 
 and all the goodly company of those who have made money and no 
 doubt still keep up their interest in the process. "Well, Sibyl, here 
 comes in the interesting part. The Professor grew old : the Pro- 
 fessor took a pupil : the Professor retired fi'om business and went 
 away on his travels : his pupil went with him. The pupil's name 
 was Signer Paolo. Now do you begin to understand ? None of the 
 old business with raps and Emanuel Chicks and Lavinia Medlocks; 
 nothmg of the kind — a fine old established City Oracle ; a place of 
 inquiry for those who deal in stocks and shares ; magic and mystery 
 brought to bear on finance ; the Spirits made useful ; communi- 
 cations with the other world restricted to matters of business. No 
 wonder the Professor did well and made a little pile.' 
 
 ' Is this important ? ' 
 
 ' Very important indeed.' 
 
 ' What next ? ' 
 
 ' Come on the roof with me.' 
 
 There was a trap-door in one corner and a short ladder, which 
 Tom raised, and, mounting it, opened the door. Sibyl followed. 
 Outside there was a tolerably broad area, bomided by a low parapet. 
 
 ' Look over the parapet. Dodo. You can see into yom' father's 
 study.' 
 
 The study, as has been related, was built out from the house. 
 Tom's room was at the end of the house, and from the roof any- 
 body standing near the end could look straight into the large side 
 window of the study, and could see what was being done over that 
 part of it covered by the table and the chair and the heartlu-ug — in 
 other words, over the habitable portion of the study. 
 
 ' I have improved upon this side view,' said Tom, ' by a little 
 arrangement of glasses and things. Step in here, Dodo.' 
 
172 HERE PAUL US 
 
 He had erected on the leads a small low chamber, not much 
 higher than the parapet, with coarse tarpaulin si«les. He pushed 
 the tarpaulin apart and Sibyl entered. Within there was a round 
 table painted white. Tom came after her and closed the hangings 
 behind him. Then it was quite dark. 
 
 ' Tom, what is the meaning of it ? ' she asked. 
 
 Tom did something — tm-ned a handle perhaps — and instantly on 
 the table there showed a pictiu'e, bright, clear, and in the natural 
 colours. It was the picture of the study. Sibyl saw the hearthrug, 
 the fireplace, the great table with the books and papers upon it, the 
 wooden chair, and the long low chair beside the fire. It was a 
 beautiful picture, much better than a photograph, on account of the 
 colours. Presently out of the external blackness Sibyl saw her 
 father glide into the picture and sit down at the table. Then he 
 took a pen and began to make calculations. 
 
 ' We are unlucky this morning,' said Tom. ' I could have shown 
 you how he goes off every day to Abyssinia. I could have shown 
 you how Paul exercises that power of his by which he made Cicely 
 and Hetty see what he pleased. You would have seen your father, 
 apparently dead, suddenly sit up, turn round his chair, and write at 
 Paul's orders. Then you would have seen Paul fold up the letters 
 and put them in his own pocket, take the keys and examme the 
 safe, read your father's correspondence, look in his drawers ; even 
 search his pockets.' 
 
 ' Let me out, Tom,' cried Sibyl. ' I cannot watch my father. 
 Oh ! it is horrible that a man should have such power.' 
 
 ' It is strange. But there is no doubt of it. After a time you 
 would have seen him awaken his patient. In these trances, 
 Dodo, he has made your father carry on the business about the 
 shares ' 
 
 ' But, Tom, this is awfully, terribly dangerous. This is far 
 worse than I feared.' 
 
 ' It is very dangerous ; nothing could be more dangerous. A 
 man possessed of this power could strip a man of everything, if he 
 chose. Because, you see, your father does not know that this man 
 has this power over him. AU he can say is that he does not know 
 why he wrote certain letters and signed certain cheques — he cannot 
 remember. If a man cannot remember the performance of these 
 most important acts, he had better go and be locked up at once. 
 Now, you see, I am ready as an eyewitness. I have seen things 
 done which pi'ove to me, as clearly as anything can be proved, how 
 the business was effected. Paul is a mighty clever young man, but 
 I have been one too many for him. I warned him that I should 
 watch him.' 
 
 ' What — what are j^ou going to do with the knowledge, Tom ? ' 
 
 ' I am going to denounce him, of course. I shall take the oppor- 
 tunity to-morrow, while all the world is admirmg the wonderful 
 
TOM'S DISCOVERY 173 
 
 way in which our fortunes have been saved, lost and restored to 
 us, of explaining the process.' 
 
 ' You do not know that he will give back the money.' 
 
 ' I am certain he will. I have my own theory of his purpose — 
 and it is not robbery.' 
 
 ' And about the Indian paper, Tom ? ' 
 
 ' I do not tmderstand the Indian Paper Trick. But then there 
 are many tricks which I do not understand. For instance the 
 Great Mango Trick. That is a capital trick, which has, so far, 
 defied discovery. So with the Indian Paper Trick.' 
 
 ' I am glad he has been detected,' said Sibyl. ' I shall rejoice to 
 see him exposed. But will my father ever believe in your explana- 
 tion ? Will he give up his new gospel ? ' 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 I GIVE CONSENT, 
 
 It was a pity that Sibyl did not remain five minutes longer in the 
 Camera Obscura, because she would have been rewarded by the 
 sight of Paul with her father. He entered the study, in fact, just as 
 she left that ingeni.ius machine upon tlie roof. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel was horribly nervous. The calculations he had 
 been making considered the possible loss of all the money, and 
 were therefore perhaps a measure of his faith. 
 
 ' Paul ! ' he cried. ' Oh, how glad I am you are come. Bring 
 me some comfort, my dear friend. Have you no message for me ? 
 None at all ? Consider.' 
 
 ' None. Have you no Faith ? * Paul pointed sternly to the 
 calculations. 
 
 ' I have perfect Faith, Paul, perfect.' Yet his anxious eyes 
 might make one incredulous as to the perfection. 'I am assured 
 as to their good intentions. My only fear is that, considering the 
 insignificance of the business and the worthlessness of money — 
 mere money — and their natural indifference whether we get it or 
 not ' 
 
 ' Yes,' Paul rephed, gravely. ' There is that danger. But on the 
 other hand, remember, that the money stands in the name of Three. 
 They have been transported from Bombay, from Abyssiaia, and 
 from America on purpose to receive this money and place it in the 
 Bank after the modern fashion. The venerable Izak, I suppose, 
 never had any money before in the whole of his long life. I think 
 that the mere fact of his receiving it will remind him that it is not 
 an indifferent matter to you — not because you, personally, value 
 money ' 
 
174 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' I do not, Paul. Ton — that is, your Friends — have taught me 
 better things.' Nothing could be more humble than Mr Brudenel's 
 attitude of mind, or even of body. The very humility behed his 
 words. His forehead was Imed with care and his eyes were hag- 
 gard. If he had been thinking aU day and aU night about the 
 money he could not have looked more anxious nor would he have 
 valued it more. 
 
 ' You do not care about the money,' Paul repeated. ' But your 
 honour is engaged.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes. My honour is engaged ; and all the poor children's 
 money — all. And the Company — my Company bankrupt. My 
 honour is engaged. If they do not get back their money I have 
 resolved to sell my house and all that it contains. Lady Augusta 
 has enough for us to live upon in humble style ; and as for the 
 land, it would be a thousand pities to sell it now. I will give the 
 rent to the children in my lifetime, and divide it among them at 
 my death. I acted for the best ; but if I have lost their money I 
 must pay it back. If I could only remember -^hy I sold the shares, 
 and why I signed those cheques ' 
 
 ' You forget every day what has passed between you and Izak 
 Ibn Menelek. You have forgotten daily for two months. And yet 
 you wonder why you have forgotten this single circumstance. Lay 
 it aU — forgetfalness and everything— at the door of Izak, and have 
 Faith.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel sighed heavily. By constantly repeating that he 
 had Faith, he had come to believe himself; yet, as has been akeady 
 stated, he trembled and tossed at night, and he fidgeted by day, 
 just for all the world as if he had none. Yet he had an example in 
 his household. Lady Augusta and Cicely, and with them Hetty, 
 had perfect Faith, and looked for the day with joyfiil confidence. 
 There would be, they were persuaded, another manifestation, and 
 the Exhibition of such power as had never yet been vouchsafed to 
 the imperfect West. 
 
 But behold ! Strange and unexpected are the ways of Sages. 
 
 "While they thus talked together, these two, the message, so 
 eagerly desired, came to Paul. 
 
 He suddenly stood up as if listening, with respect and awe upon 
 his face. 
 
 ' He has spoken,' he said to Mr, Brudenel. 
 
 ' What does he say ? ' 
 
 ' There are conditions. On certain conditions — nay — one con- 
 dition only, their inheritance will be saved for the children.' 
 
 ' What is the condition ? ' 
 
 'You have always desired that your daughter should remain 
 single, devoted to the advance of true Spmtualism, which you have 
 now learned to call the Ancient Way.' 
 
 ' That is true. You have yourself taught me that in the highest 
 
/ GIVE CONSENT I75 
 
 degi-ees there is no marriage. I have clesirod for Sibyl the condition 
 of the greatest happiness, in which the mind is distracted by no 
 passion and suffers from no anxiety.' 
 
 ' You have. But you forget one thing. One human being can- 
 not thus dispose of another without her consent.' 
 
 ' There is nothing which Sibyl Vv-ill not do to please me.' 
 'Doubtless slic will obey, but not in the spu-it. What is the 
 good of being a celibate if the lieart is always yearning after the 
 lower, but the common lot '? "What do you thmk of the man who 
 cuts the tonsure and takes the vows, yet all his life dreams of the 
 outer world and the joys he has missed ? ' 
 
 ' But Sibyl has no desire to change.. She is happy at the prospect 
 before her.' 
 
 ' She would be, perhaps, but for one reason. You have forgotten 
 that Sibyl's natiure is antipathetic to all yoitr pm-suits and auns. 
 Such a man as myself has no power over her. Cicely believes, and 
 is rewarded by visions, such as were never before vouchsafed to a 
 blind girl. Hetty beheves and is rewarded ' — he blushed, remember- 
 ing — 'in other ways. Lady Augusta believes. But Sibyl cannot 
 believe.' 
 
 ' She will believe when she learns more.' 
 
 ' She will never believe. You yom-self have been able to dis- 
 tinguish between the tricks of the charlatans who surround the 
 Mystery and the Mystery itself. Men like Chick, women like 
 Lavinia Medlock, who have some humble share of power, and 
 supplement thek deficiencies by tricks and shams, have disgusted 
 your daughter. My dear sir, if she will not believe me, whom will 
 she believe ? ' Paul raised his eyes, full of candoiu: and pm-e 
 sincerity, free from any boastfuhiess, though with any other man 
 the words would have somided boastful. 'Whom will she ever 
 believe ? ' he repeated. 
 
 ' She must believe. The things you have done ' 
 
 ' She will never believe, I assm-e you. Eesign yourself to that 
 fact. I have no power over her. She is personally antipathetic. 
 She is actively hostile : I have endeavoured, but in vain, to soften 
 her. She belongs to that large part of humanity to whom this 
 world's j)henomena are everything. She is a materialist by bu-th. 
 Give her up. Nay, you must, since Izak Ibn Menelek commands 
 it.' 
 
 ' If I give her up ' 
 
 ' You will give her to the keeping of another. You will never 
 more be troubled by anxiety on account of her infidehty.' 
 
 ' Give her to another. To whom ? ' 
 
 ' You will give her— to Tom Langston.' 
 
 ' Sibyl ? To Tom Langston ! ' 
 
 ' They command it.' 
 
 ' But Tom is an infidel of the deepest dye. He has always 
 
176 HERR PAUL US 
 
 scoffed — secretly in tliis house — openly out of it. I do not know 
 why I have allowed him to remain in it — excejit because I am his 
 guardian. Give Sibyl to a man who will teach her to deride her 
 father as well as the Cause to which he has given his life ? Never.' 
 
 ' You must.' 
 
 ' Besides, you have just reminded me that one human being 
 cannot thus bestow another. Would you have me offer my gui to 
 this young man ? ' 
 
 ' Have you eyes, Mr. Brudenel ? Has no one in this house any 
 eyes at aU ? Do you not see that your daughter is beautiful ? 
 Have you never seen Tom looking at her ? ' 
 
 ' Never.' In fact, nobody had. If a yoimg man is always about 
 the house from boyhood, nobody ever has any eyes. 
 
 ' Love is betrayed by looks, Mr. Brudenel. Give your daughter 
 to Tom, and they wiU be both happy. More than that, you will 
 tm-n derision into respect and scoffing into sUence — if not con- 
 version.' 
 
 ' This is the condition imposed by your friends. Does Tom — 
 does Sibyl — know anythmg about it ? ' 
 
 ' Neither of them knows of it.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel heaved a sigh. 
 
 ' I cannot,' he said. ' It is hard. It is the shattering of a great 
 hope. I thought that my daughter would become the High 
 Priestess of the new rehgion — the Vestal — the Oracle through 
 whom the secrets of the other world, which you have fully opened 
 to me, should be made known to others ' 
 
 'And now that can never happen. Coiirage, Mr. Brudenel, 
 there wiU rise pillars of the Temple, who will sustain the edifice — 
 your edifice — when you have passed across the narrow line to the 
 life beyond. But you must write. Oh ! you will not forget this 
 time.' 
 
 ' To whom must I write ? To Izak Ibn Menelek ? ' 
 
 ' He needs no letter. He is here — he is with lis — he is looking 
 on while we speak. Write to Tom. Say, " Dear Tom, — I have 
 been informed of your attachment to Sibyl. I did not suspect this. 
 I am informed that you were silent because your own views on 
 things spiritual are antagonistic to my own. I am now assured 
 that the future I had imagmed for my daughter will be impossible. 
 The wise men, living and dead, with whom I am now daily con- 
 versing, tell me that they are powerless against certain natures, to 
 which you and Sibyl belong, I withdraw, therefore, my original 
 plan of Sibyl's future. Addi-ess her when you please. The joys of 
 love and marriage are poor and transitory compared with the joys 
 for which I fondly destined her. Such joys as the world and the 
 present life have, you will, I trust, be able to give my child. And 
 in the other world, when jow discover that the phenomenal is not 
 the real, you will, with her, begin to climb to the higher planes, 
 
/ GIVE CONSEN^T 177 
 
 where yoii will find mc with others who love her and will joyfully 
 welcome her.' " 
 
 Paul dictated this letter, while Mr. Brudenel wrote obedientlj'. 
 When it was finished he folded it and placed it in an envelope 
 which he directed in the usual way. 
 
 I mention this trivial circumstance, because after doing so ^Ir. 
 Brudenel lifted his eyes to Paul, who stood beside him. The action 
 occupied a moment^less than a moment. He dropped his eyes 
 again. But the letter was gone. 
 
 ' "Wliere is it ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' I don't know. 1 suppose that Izak himself has taken it. 
 Pei-haps ho will send it to Tom. Courage ! To-morrow evening 
 will bring happiness to all.' 
 
 ' Paul,' said Mr. Bnidenel. ' How can I thank you ? ' The tears 
 stood in his eyes. ' How can I ever thank you for aU that 3'ou have 
 done ? ' 
 
 ' You must not try to thank me. I am but a servant. Now rest 
 easj', only take care to say nothing about the letter— not a word, 
 mind, either to Tom or to Sibyl, Leave the delivery of the letter 
 to — those who have taken it. My dear fi'lend,' he took Mr, 
 Brudenel's hand and held it, ' it is, believe me, an infinite happiness 
 to feel that I have been instrumental in aiding and in saving you. 
 Sit down, amuse j'ourself, read a novel — there is that book of 
 Ouida's still in yoiu- drawer, unfinished. Come out and see the 
 people in the streets, go and talk at your club.' Mr. Brudenel 
 belonged to one of the sepulchral clubs, where about a dozen mem- 
 bers are acquainted, and the rest of the men glare solemnly at each 
 other. ' Go and look at pictures : take Sibyl to the theatre this 
 evening and laugh at something funny.' Mr. Brudenel had not 
 been to the theatre for thirty years. Perhaps he might have 
 laughed once or twice during that period, but no one remembered 
 it. ' Anjhow, be ha2ii)y and free fi"om care. And own, Mr. 
 Brudenel, that you have been, above all other men, strangely and 
 wonderfully dealt with.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel sank back into his chair and clasped his hands, as 
 one who is overwhelmed by what his former friends would have 
 called a cosmic wave of psychic force. The contemplation of an 
 elderly bald-headed gentleman in such a condition has in it some- 
 thing comic. Paul, with a light in his eye which betokened appre- 
 ciation, retired and softly closed the door. 
 
178 HERE PAULUS 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 SAMSON AND DELILAU. 
 
 Outside, he smiled — nay, he laughed, but not aloud. Then he 
 made as if he was going to put on his coat and hat. Then he 
 stopped, half turned, and hesitated. 
 
 Every young person who hesitates, whether a male young 
 person or a female yoimg person, is lost. For, before every young 
 person at every moment the ways divide ; and the only chance of 
 keeping in the strait and narrow w-ay is to stride along, looking 
 neither to the right nor to the left. As one gets older, these ways 
 still strike out on either hand, but one ceases to regard them. 
 Habit fixes the eyes, or age has deprived those ways of their 
 attractions. 
 
 Paul, therefore, hesitated. He knew that in the upper room- 
 Cicely's room — Hetty sat alone. He had seen Lady Augusta with 
 Sibyl and Cicely getting into the carriage ; they were going to 
 Regent Street on business of personal adornment. Hetty was 
 upstairs, alone. Hetty was upstairs — alone. 
 
 It was a week smce that first fatal yielding to the voice of pas- 
 sion, when he kissed the girl and fied. He tied with hot cheeks 
 and trembling hands, wondering and ashamed, conscience-stricken 
 and terrified, fearing Hetty's wrath and dreading what might 
 follow. 
 
 "Wherever it was that he had spent his early manhood — whether 
 in an Abyssinian valley, like Piasselas — only that Prince always 
 enjoyed the best of female society that could be had in the place; 
 and it was insipid ; or in the States ; or in St. Petersburg, among 
 the Occult Philosophers ; or in Thibet, among the Mahatmas — it 
 was where girls were conspicuous by their absence. He had seen 
 these fau' creatures, no doubt, at a distance — though in a monastery 
 of Thibet a child may gi"ow to old age and never see a woman — 
 and marked with wonder and admu'ation those sweet qualities of 
 loveliness and grace and sweetness which youthful womanhood 
 wears, on the outside at least. But he knew no girls while he was 
 servmg his apprenticeship imtil he came here. Is not this fact 
 enough to account for the trembling \a hich a single kiss was able 
 to produce ? A week — and he had not dared to see Hetty alone 
 since that moment. "When he looked at her, his pulse began to 
 quicken and his hand began to tremble. "When she looked, enough 
 by itself to account for the beating of heart, the quickenmg of pulse, 
 and the trembling of hand which seized him at the mere recollec- 
 tion of a single kiss. 
 
SAMSON AXD DELILAH 179 
 
 Hetty was alone — upstairs. That was why he hesitated, and 
 why his cheek glowed and his eyes softened. 
 
 Nearly a week since his fall — since the first imperfect taste of 
 the forbidden fruit. Do not suppose that the unhappy youth did 
 not struggle with his fate. He dared not trust hunself with Hetty 
 even in Cicely's presence : he dreaded to meet those eyes of hers : 
 yet if by chance he did meet them they were calm and composed 
 as if there was nothing to be remembered. Heavens ! He had 
 kissed the girl — actually kissed her : and her eyes were as calm, as 
 limpid as if there was no history. Had she forgotten, then ? Could 
 she forget ? Alas ! He was i,gnorant of female eyes. Had he been 
 able to read then* language they woidd have said to him, ' I am 
 waiting. Come to me. Why do you delay ? ' He saw nothing 
 but the outward calm, and he wondered because he was himself so 
 troubled. In these days he slept badly ; he anticipated dreadful 
 things in dreams : his Friends in Abyssinia and elsewhere would 
 have been pained had they known how little he regarded them. 
 
 Now then, was another chance — shall we call it another tempta- 
 tion ? Hetty was alone. 
 
 He hesitated no longer. For an invisible rope — but oh ! so 
 strong and thick that no jack knife could cut it through — was 
 passed roimd his waist, and an invisible hand more irresistible than 
 his own magnetic power di'agged him, with burning cheeks and 
 trembling limbs, up the stau's. Why, it was Hetty's magnetic 
 force which dragged him : she was at the other end of the rope : 
 she it was who drew to her feet this young man who had kissed 
 her once and ran away fi'om her. Common mesmerism, as 
 Emanuel Chick woiild say. Yet the mesmeriser was himself mes- 
 merised. The operator was operated upon. The subduer was 
 subdued : Samson, the strong man, was going to Delilah to have 
 his curls lopped. 
 
 Hetty looked up and smiled. In these cases the woman does 
 not tremble. 
 
 ' You have come back, Paul ? ' she said. ' You have not been 
 near me for a week. Was it my fault ? ' 
 
 ' Forgive me, Hetty.' He threw himself at her feet and caught 
 her hand. ' Forgive me, Hetty. Oh ! Hetty.' 
 
 She did not reply at first. Then she whispered, softly : 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul. Wliy did you kiss me ? Y'^ou ? ' 
 
 He rose to his feet. Again he stood over her and they were 
 alone. This time he did not, as before, kiss her forehead and run 
 away. He threw his arms round her neck and kissed her hps and 
 her cheeks, whispering brokenly : 
 
 ' Oh ! Hetty. I love you, Hetty, I love you.' That was all he 
 had to say. 
 
 She heard him without any reply. She even made no kind of 
 
 n2 
 
i8o HERR PAULUS 
 
 reply when he rose and kissed her on the hps, and on the brow, 
 and on the cheeks. 
 
 ' Hetty,' he repeated, ' I love you.' 
 
 No music falls more sweetly on the ear of nymph ; no poetry 
 more moves the heart than these words from the shepherd whom 
 she has already singled out for that admiration which should pre- 
 cede all true love. He was great and was possessed of wonderful 
 powers which he bore modestly ; he had lifted her soul a hundred 
 times ; he was her Prophet ; and now he said that he loved her. 
 Was it possible ? 
 
 ' But, oh ! Paul ! ' Hetty cried, presently, ' we are foolish. You 
 are pledged to a life of celibacy.' 
 
 ' Only the highest adepts are celibates, my dear. I renounce 
 for your sake the highest degrees. I shall be suffered to remain on 
 a lower plane — with you, Hetty.' 
 
 ' You would repent — the time would come when you would 
 repent — and regret your choice. No, Paul, you must not be dragged 
 back by a woman. You would never hft me to the higher level. 
 I belong — I have always known it — to the lower. Cicely might 
 rise, but I could not. Paul, leave me and — and— forget me.' 
 
 But she uttered these last words with so much reluctance that 
 all the more they fired the young and ardent lover. Indeed, there 
 was no coquetry in Hetty. It was her heart that spoke in this 
 reluctance to let him go. 
 
 ' I will never leave you, Hetty. For your sake I would willingly 
 abandon — yes, I would abandon ' — he remembered the monition of 
 his Master — ' even my Powers.' 
 
 ' For my sake ? Oh, Paul ! For my sake ? But you would 
 never abandon your Wisdom. You could always teach me, whether 
 you could converse with your friends or not — even if you ceased to 
 talk with the spirits of the dead.' 
 
 ' If I lost my Powers,' he said, ' I should lose my I should 
 
 lose you, Hetty, because ' He meant to say, because he would 
 
 have no means of subsistence at all. But he coiild not say this. 
 
 ' Whatever you lost, Paul, you would not lose me — if you 
 desired to keep me.' 
 
 ' Without my Powers, I should be a beggar indeed. Other men 
 have a profession — or ambitions. I should have none. Yet if I 
 love you — now I understand — while I love you — for the last week 
 my mind has been full of you — I could do little. My Powers are 
 failing.' 
 
 ' Paul, you don't understand,' said Hetty. ' I do not love you 
 because you have this wonderful gift. Without it you would be 
 always the same Paul to me. It is you — yourself— not you clothed 
 with a magician's robe that I love.' 
 
 ' Hetty — how can yoii love me ? ' 
 
 • Nay, Paul, it is I who must ask that question. Who am I 
 
SAMSON AND DELILAH l8l 
 
 that you should love me ? I am poor, and I am not clever. I am 
 not a lady, even by birth. My mother is a Medium — oh ! how the 
 world despises a Medium ! — and my father was once a clerk. 
 What he is now I know not, or where he is.' 
 
 ' I love you, because you are the most beautiful girl in tho 
 world, and the best. I love you because you are Hetty.' 
 
 ' Oh ! can it be ? I thought no one would ever love me. I 
 thought it was impossible.' 
 
 ' Impossible ? Oh, Hetty ! Impossible for anybody to love 
 you ! ' 
 
 Hetty sighed — a deep and happy sigh. 
 
 ' Tell me some day, when you please, Paul, about yourself. 
 Tell me all that is in your mind — oh ! if you love me, let me share 
 your ambitious and learn your desires.' 
 
 ' I will tell you — everything, Hetty — everything — but not now. 
 There are things which I must keep hidden while I am here. 
 Afterwards — but what will happen afterwards ? I know not what 
 will happen.' 
 
 ' "While you are here ? but — Paul — you are not going away.' 
 
 He tiu'ned his head and answered with evasion. 
 
 ' I cannot stay here always. I am, to begin with, only a guest, 
 though I have been allowed to feel myself a son of the house.' 
 
 ' But where will you go ? Paul, will your Friends take you 
 away suddenly and mysteriously — so that we shall not know 
 where you are ? ' 
 
 ' It may be so, Hetty.' But he did not raise his eyes. ' I 
 know not. To-morrow evening — I tell this to you alone, Hetty — I 
 have to restore to Sibyl and Cicely and Tom the fortunes they so 
 nearly lost. ^\Tien that is done my work here is done. I have 
 delivered my Message. I have put Mr. Brudenel in the path that 
 leads to the Ancient Wisdom. I have cleared the place of low and 
 deceitful spirits. I must go if I am called.' 
 
 ' Without me, Paul ? ' 
 
 He laid his head upon her shoulder. It is a feminine thing to 
 do, but this young man had these feminine ways. He laid his head 
 upon her shoulder, and Hetty's heart glowed within her to think 
 that her lover leaned upon her. It was an omen and a sign. He 
 would tell her everything. She would be his confidante as well as 
 his mistress and his wife. 
 
 ' Hetty, how can I go without you ? And yet — oh ! ' he sprang 
 to his feet and tlnrew out his arms. ' Let it all go — I care nothing 
 — Hetty, it will be hard to live without you. I know now w'hat I 
 have wanted all this time. It was a woman to confide in and give 
 me sympathy. I have had no sympathy, Hetty. I have not known 
 any girls since — since — it is some years since I saw her last. She 
 used to listen to me.' 
 
1 82 IIERR PAUL US 
 
 ' Were you in love with her, Paul ? ' Hetty did not ask who 
 she was. 
 
 ' No — we were like brother and sister. You will be to me more 
 — far more— than she could be. Hetty, I understand now, better 
 than I did, even my own teaching. I understand the love of the 
 Spirits for each other. They are never divided and they never 
 weary of each other's company. And yet the things that I have 
 told you seem to have been empty words.' 
 
 'Ohino, Paul. They were beautiful words. They have opened 
 our hearts, Paul, and filled our minds with great thoughts. But, 
 Paul,' she came back to the old question, ' you will not go without 
 me?' 
 
 ' My dear — if I must.' 
 
 ' Where will you go ? When will you come back ? How shall 
 I live without you ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know, Hetty. Must I make you suffer ? I am sorry that 
 I told you ■' 
 
 ' No, Paul, I would rather suffer anjiihing than lose the memory 
 of this day. Tell me again. Let me have it once more from your 
 lips. Do you love me, Paul ? Is it true ? Is it really true ? ' 
 
 ' True ? Oh ! Hetty, if you only knew how true it was — and 
 is ' 
 
 ' Yet you wiU go ? ' 
 
 • I must, my dear ; if one must ' 
 
 ' I do not believe it. There is no must. Who is to make you 
 go ? Your Friends ? I do not beHeve that there is anything your 
 Friends can make you do unless you choose to do it. Axe you not 
 a free man ? What is the good of your Hidden Knowledge if you 
 are not free? Can you not make your own path for yourself? 
 Then what is the good of your Wisdom ? ' 
 
 ' Sometimes, Hetty, I ask myself that very same question. 
 Sometimes it seems to me as if it were better to be an ordinary 
 man — ^just like the rest of mankind — with no more power and no 
 more knowledge.' 
 
 ' Yet, before you loved me, Paul, I thought how wonderful it 
 was. Since you have loved me I care nothing about it at all. 
 What matters for all the Ancient Wisdom ? It could not make 
 you love me more. Then what do I care for it ? If it is to take 
 you away from me I shall hate it — I shall hate it.' 
 
 ' Hetty ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul, when you told me that you loved me you drew my 
 heart out of myself. It is all youi's. I have no other hope, no 
 other life, but for you. If you go away, what have I left ? What 
 shall I do ? Will your Friends make you do this cruel thing ? I 
 am only a girl and they are great philosophers who despise girls 
 and love ; but they cannot make you do so cruel a thing as to 
 desert me, Paul, can they ? If they can, rise up and desert them. 
 
SAMSON AND DELILAH 183 
 
 What is Wisdom compared with Love ? Oh, what can Wisdom do 
 
 for you compared with what Love can do ? My dear — my Paul ' 
 
 She threw her arms round his neck. 
 
 ' My Paul, if I can make you happy, stay. It is better to he 
 happy than to be wise. Everybody longs for Love. Oh, I know 
 why I have been so discontented and so unhappy. It is because 
 I had no one to love me. Since your lips touched my forehead I 
 have been in happy heaven ; I have said to myself all day long and 
 every night, " Ho loves me. Paul loves me ; he loves me. Thank 
 God ! Now nothing can befall to make me unhappy any more. 
 If he dies he will love me still ; if he lives I shall only live, too, 
 that he may be happy." But oh, Paul, I never thought — I never 
 thought — you could be taken away.' 
 
 ' Hetty ! ' 
 
 ' You shall not go, PaiU ! ' She held him with all her strength 
 of arm, and more — with the strength of her eyes. ' I cannot bear 
 it. I will not bear it ; you must not go, though they drag you 
 through the au". You shall not go without me.' 
 
 ' Hetty, I must tell you, I cannot help telling you.' He who 
 tells his secret to his sweetheart is not necessarily lost : he only 
 binds another chain upon himself. ' My great gift, which I have, I 
 do believe, above all other men, is the power by which I made 
 Cicely see her brother at sea, and by wliich I could subdue your 
 will so that at a look or a gesture j'ou became, without knowing it, 
 my obedient servant. By the same Power I rule Lady Augiista : 
 Sibyl is outside my Power, and so is Tom. It is by my gift that 
 I am enabled to convey the messages of my Friends, and to enforce 
 respect for the teaching of the Hidden Wisdom.' 
 
 ' Yes, Paul, I know that power.' 
 
 ' I have been warned, Hetty, by one who knows. I have been 
 warned again and again, that if I suffered a woman to fill my 
 thoughts I should lose that power. Those who have it must keep 
 their hearts free from love, fi'om enmity, fi-om hatred, and from 
 every absorbing passion. But the most fatal of all is Love. My 
 dear, for weeks the thought of you has been gradually stealing over 
 my heart and mastering me. I can think of nothing else. I fear 
 I have lost my Power.' 
 
 ' Why, then, Paul, you will be no more than an ordinary man 
 in love with an ordinary girl. The common lot will be ours.' 
 
 ' Yesterday,' said Paul, apparently not much comforted by this 
 assurance, ' I tried as usual with Mr. Brudenel. He only stared at 
 me and began to fuss about the money which he thinks he has lost. 
 I could not move him. Then I tried ^vith Cicely. She laughed 
 and chattered. I could not move her. And then I tried ■uath Lady 
 Augusta and she did not even know that I was exerting all my will 
 to move her. Hetty, let me try once more. Sit as you used to sit 
 —so. Fold your hands, hold up your face— look me full in the 
 
I84 HERR PAULUS 
 
 eyes. Oh ! Hetty,' be stooped to kiss her, ' no woman in the world 
 has such beautiful eyes. So — now.' 
 
 She obeyed him. After five minutes he stopped. ' Oh ! ' he 
 cried, ' I feel that it is useless.' 
 
 ' Paul, I cannot help it. Your eyes have lost their old look. 
 They have a much sweeter look. The authority has gone out of 
 them.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he groaned, ' the authority has gone. Perhaps, when I 
 go away, it will retm'n.' 
 
 ' I hope it will never retiu-n,' said Hetty. ' No, Paul, no. If 
 you wish it, you shall have yoiu* power again. What are your 
 Friends worth if they cannot give it back to you ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, you do not know what you are saying. If I have 
 thrown away my Power, I shall never get it agam — never — never. 
 Without it I can do nothing. Think of all the things that I have 
 done, and remember that without the Power I could have done 
 none of these.' 
 
 ' My dear, yoii have done these things once. What need to do 
 them again ? ' 
 
 ' Hetty, can you not understand ? What am I worth without 
 this gift ? It was mine — my own — and I have lost it.' 
 
 ' Yoii have lost it through love — through me. Leave off loving 
 me, Paul, and it will come back, and I shall have the recollection.' 
 
 She bm-st into tears and Paul, carried out of himself, soothed 
 and caressed her. 
 
 ' My dear,' he said, ' I will never leave you. Come what may, 
 you are mine and I am yours. Oh ! Hetty,' he laughed aloud, 
 ' you do not know what you have done in making me love you. 
 Everything is changed. All that Lady Augixsta has at heart is de- 
 stroyed. There will be no more progress in the Ancient Way ; 
 there will be no more instruction for Mr. Brudenel ; there will be 
 no more miracles, after to-morrow. It is shattered — the most 
 wonderful, the most perfect creation — and there is nothing left for 
 us but to walk the earth like common folk, hand-in-hand, with no 
 help at all from my mysterious Friends, and no communications 
 with the spirits. WiU you be happy still, love ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, Paul, I ask no better than the common lot.' 
 
 ' Then be happy, dear. I must tell you more — some day — but 
 now be happy, Hetty, if this contents you.' 
 
 ' Paul,' she whispered, ' if this mysterious power has gone you 
 can never be a Medium. You can never pretend and invent and 
 Btoop to play tricks for money. Oh ! I would work for you night 
 and day, Paul — there is nothing that I would not do for you, to 
 save you from becoming a Medium. Oh, but you could not. You 
 are too wise and too high-minded. The loss of your Power will 
 not touch your Wisdom. You have still your lofty mind, Paul, 
 when it is gone you will be better than before.' 
 
SAMSON AND DELILAH 185 
 
 Paul dropped his eyes and changed colour. This remarkable 
 young man received both praise and blame -with equal signs of 
 shame. Sir Percival called him hard names which wounded and 
 hurt him ; Hetty called him wise and noble, and this seemed to 
 hurt him even more. 
 
 ' Hetty — you must not. Oh ! my dear — you must not. I am 
 not wise — or noble — or anything.' 
 
 ' Yes, Paul, to me you will always be wise and noble, and all 
 the better for losing the power which separated you from the rest 
 of the world. All the better, Paul.' 
 
 Did the lady of Philistia comfort Samson, after the job was 
 done, with the assm-ance that, though liis strength was gone, he 
 looked much neater and trimmer and better suited for moving in 
 general seciety than in his previously dishevelled long-curled 
 condition ? 
 
 At luncheon that day Paul did not appear. 
 
 ' Perhaps,' said Lady Augusta, ' he is away in the spirit.' 
 
 ' Perhaps,' said Tom. 
 
 ' No message has come to me in my study,' said Mr. Brudenel. 
 • My dear, therefore, I confess that I am — yes — I really am — 
 uneasy.' He looked uneasy. He was so nervous that he could 
 hardly sit in his chair. He drummed with his fingers and he 
 played with his knife and fork. 
 
 Sibyl glanced at Tom, but said nothing. 
 
 ' My dear,' said Lady Augusta, ' take your hmch, all will be 
 well.' 
 
 ' I cannot eat.' Mr. Brudenel drank a glass of sherry, pushed 
 back his chair, and rushed out of the room. 
 
 ' As for me,' said Tom, ' I am extremely hungry. Mr. Brudenel 
 will be all right to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Only let us have patience and Faith,' said Cicely. ' Something 
 has happened to Paul. He stood over me yesterday and I felt 
 nothing. Something has gone out of him. One of the servants 
 might have been standing over me. But it will all come right. 
 Let us have Faith in Paul.' 
 
 Whatever had happened, Paul was seen no more that day. At 
 eleven o'clock in the evening he returned, looking pale and 
 troubled, and he went straight to his own room. 
 
l86 HERR PAULUS 
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII. 
 
 THE FORENOON. 
 
 And then the bu-thday came. 
 
 On this day, by the wills of their respective parents, both 
 cousins, the one, Tom, being fom'-and-twenty, and the other. 
 Cicely, twenty-one, arrived at their majority, and should inherit 
 their fortunes — if, that is to say, Messrs. Izak Ibn Menelek, 
 Rupert P. Zeigler and Surabjee Kamsetjee should be good enough 
 to meet the expectations of their young friend and disciple, and 
 restore the money now in their keejjing. 
 
 The first to come downstairs that morning was Tom. Paul 
 followed next. The former preserved his usual cheerfulness, 
 despite the anxieties of the situation. 
 
 ' I wish 3'ou many happy returns of the day,' said Paul. ' It is 
 your birthday, is it not ? ' 
 
 ' Thank you. Yes, it is my birthday. As nothing else has 
 been thought of, or talked about, for the last three weeks, I am 
 quite sure that it is my birthday. And it shows how wrapt you 
 have been in meditation not to know that it is a very important 
 birthday for me. How would it be if the Philosophers, your friends, 
 were able to abolish a man's birthday ? ' 
 
 Paul smiled, but mechanically. 
 
 ' Yes,' Tom continued ; ' it is my birthday, and Cicely's as well. 
 And with your help, my Philosopher, and a miracle or two, which 
 I have no doubt will be accomplished by the Sages, your Friends, I 
 hope to be put in the way of enjoying two or three birthdays more. 
 Otherwise, indeed ' 
 
 ' Otherwise ? ' There was a gleam of menace in Tom's ej^es. 
 ' Otherwise, Tom ? ' 
 
 ' Otherwise means,' Tom answered, lightly, ' that if these 
 miracles do not come along in due course, the Ancient Wisdom 
 will have to wake up in an astonishing way. But what's the 
 matter, Paul ? You look unconnnon flabby.' 
 
 Black Care, Anxiety, Trouble, sat visibly upon Paul's brow. 
 Tom secretly connected the thing with the three cheques, but he 
 was wrong. Those cheques had never caused Paul the least 
 anxiety. 
 
 ' Nothing is the matter except headache.' 
 
 ' A week or two ago you cured ISibyl's maid of a toothache. 
 Physician, cure thyself.' 
 
 ' I can't, Tom. This is a headache which cannot be exor- 
 cised.' 
 
THE FORENOON 187 
 
 •I'm sorry — especially because I've got to say something 
 devilish unpleasant.' 
 
 'What is that? Say it. Youwill not make my head ache any worse.' 
 
 ' Do you remember, Paul, how I told you at the beginning ; the 
 very first night that you came, in my workshop, the night you rang 
 the bells, that I was going to watch you.' 
 
 ' Did you say so ? ' Paul replied, carelessly. ' Perhaps you did. 
 Yes, I remember now. You did say something to that effect. "We 
 were to be on good terms, but you were going to keep your eyes 
 on me. I remember. Well, Tom, yoiu- eyes have been on me, 
 have they, all the time ? ' 
 
 ' All the time.' 
 
 ' And what have you discovered ? ' 
 
 ' I have been watching all the time,' Tom repeated, gravely. 
 
 ' Have you ? ' Paul looked up curiously. ' Communicate your 
 discoveries.' 
 
 ' They are somewhat important. For instance, there was the 
 little business with Mr. James Berry. Do you remember Mr. James 
 Berry ? ' 
 
 ' The man whom Lavinia Medlock asked me to advise ? Yes, 
 what of him ? I gave him ad\ace. I remember that he asked me 
 whether he was to retain certain shares in a certain company, or 
 sell them out. I advised him to sell them out. Did he do so ? ' 
 
 ' What company was it ? ' 
 
 ' He did not tell me the name of the company. It would have 
 been no use to me if he had told me. I remember Lavinia Med- 
 lock told me that if certain things happened the old gentleman 
 would have to go to the workhouse. Why not go to the workhouse ? 
 They get food and warmth in the workhouse, and can meditate. 
 But this old gentleman somehow did not wish to go there, and I 
 advised him to avoid that necessity.' 
 
 ' Did you see that old gentleman ? ' 
 
 ' No. Does he say that he saw me ? ' 
 
 ' Did you not learn from Lavinia the name of that company ? ' 
 
 ' Lavinia told me she did not know it.' 
 
 Tom was silenced. In fact, both Mr. Berry, whom he had seen, 
 and Lavmia whom he had questioned, declared that Herr Paulus 
 knew no more than was conveyed in a certain question. ' Shall 
 the inquirer — name unlinown — sell out certain shares — company 
 unknown — or keep them ? ' 
 
 ' Well,' he said, feeling baffled, ' it is odd that the company 
 should be Brudenel and Company, and that Mr. Brudenel's shares 
 should have been sold out at the same time. I say, Paul, that is an 
 odd coincidence.' 
 
 ' Perhaps. I did not make the world and I do not rule it. Why 
 worry me with odd coincidences ? Tell Mr. Brudenel about them 
 if you like.' 
 
i88 HERR RAULUS 
 
 His words sliowed irritation. And I do not know what Tom 
 would have rephed, because at this moment Sibj'l came in, with 
 Cicely, followed by Lady Augusta. Last appeared Mr. Cyrus 
 Brudenel himself ; he was terribly anxious ; his face was pale and 
 his fingers kept catching at his watch-chain. He was what young 
 men call jumpy. ' Tom,' he cried with a miserable attempt at 
 heartiness, ' I wish you many happy retui-ns of the day, and joy — 
 j — j — joy — of your inheritance — when you get it. Cicely, my dear,' 
 he kissed the bUnd girl with tenderness, ' you are now your own 
 mistress — at least — I — I — I — can only say, my dear, that I have 
 done my best for you, and that I hope all will turn out well. You 
 have given me so much happiness, Cicely, by living with us, but 
 we hope you will stay on with us. You are of age both of you. 
 You have now — that is — I hope that you are coming into yoiu* for- 
 times. Many strange things have happened in this house ; none 
 so strange as the temporary — I trust, only temporary — vanishing of 
 your fortunes. But we have Faith — we have complete Faith.' 
 
 His jerky manner scarcely conveyed an impression of complete 
 Faith. Everybody looked at Paul. On a former occasion when 
 everybody looked at Paid, he carried himself with a perfect dis- 
 regard of the general curiosity and was absorbed in his breakfust. 
 On this occasion, perhaps because they had not yet sat down to that 
 meal, he showed himself conscious of their eyes, and blushed and 
 hung his head. Wliat had happened to him ? 
 
 ' Paul ! ' cried Lady Augusta. ' Speak, I implore you. Bring 
 us hope and comfort.' 
 
 ' I do not know for certain,' said Paul, slowly and with hesita- 
 tion. Again, what had happened to change Paul's bearing of 
 authority into this manner of liesitation ? ' I have said all along 
 that I could not know for certain. How can I tell whether they 
 wiU regard a mere money matter worthy of interference ? Yet as 
 they have already interfered, it seems reasonable to suppose that 
 they had some motive which could not be otherwise than benevolent 
 to this household. Let us wait in patience and Faith.' 
 
 ' Let us have Faith,' said Cicely. But Mr. Brudenel groaned 
 audibly. 
 
 Tom and Sibyl, when the others separated after breakfast, 
 renaained in the breakfast room. 
 
 ' Let us have faith,' said Tom, derisively. ' Yes, perhaps, that 
 is all we shall hear, Dodo, dear. Let us consider ' 
 
 ' You will expose him, Tom.' 
 
 ' I can certainly testify as to certain things that I have seen. 
 The difficulty is how far my testimony will go. You see, your father 
 wrote letters of introduction and recommendation for the three 
 persons to whose order he made out the cheques. Suppose he is 
 asked why he wrote those letters : suppose he says he does not 
 
THE FORENOON 189 
 
 know. In that case, your father will look— shall we say ?— shnple. 
 Suppose he is asked why he sold out the shares and replies that he 
 does not remember— he will, again, present— shall we say? — a 
 simple appearance. Suppose he is asked why he drew those 
 cheques ' 
 
 ' But, Tom, you can always prove that this man worked upon 
 him.' 
 
 ' I don't know. There is no precedent in law, I am afraid, of 
 one man being "worked upon" by another. What can I prove. 
 Dodo ? ' he added, gloomily. ' I begin to fear the worst. I don't 
 like his looks. For the first time since he came here, he looks guilty. 
 I don't like it.' 
 
 ' Are we to lose everything, Tom ? ' 
 
 ' Not if I can help it. Perhaps we shall be able to show cause 
 for an inquiry. We might get an injunction — but for what reason ? 
 Suppose these perfectly unknown persons each draw a cheque pay- 
 able to " Herr Paulus or bearer," or to " No. 191 or bearer " — how 
 can we do anything ? AVe cannot find these men.' 
 
 ' You thought you knew them.' 
 
 ' I believe I do. But how to prove it ? Dodo, dear, it is possible 
 that we shall lose our little all despite the fuss that our fi-iend made 
 over it. And yet it can't be. Until this morning I thought one 
 had only to look in his face ' 
 
 ' Tom, men always think that good looks must cover a good 
 heart.' 
 
 ' With girls I am sure they do. That is, looks like yours. Dodo.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel sat in his studio expecting Paul. He had pictured 
 to himself, in hopeful moments, a beautiful scene. His wards' for- 
 tunes would be given back to him, and he would convey them 
 magnificently to their rightful owners with a speech about the 
 advantages of securing friends able to interpose in times of danger 
 and to avert wreck and ruin. He lilced to make up little speeches 
 beforehand, so as to be always equal to the occasion ; but as things 
 never came off as he expected, these little speeches were always 
 thrown away. Thus ]S man mocked of Fate. 
 
 Paul came not. Then Mr. Brudenel began to think that the 
 expected Message might come to him directly, without the presence 
 of Paul, and he composed himself, sitting upright in his wooden 
 chair — not the low leather chair by the fire. Presently he should 
 glide insensibly into that attitude of mind when the outer world 
 becomes imseen, unheard and unregarded, and the soul is indepen- 
 dent of the body and can fly whither she please and space and time 
 no longer have any meaning. When Paul stood over him and 
 looked in his face and commanded him to yield up his soul to the 
 mfluence of those who called, he felt instantly as a tired man feels 
 when he lays his head upon the pillow. His limbs became motion- 
 less ; he felt them no longer, A kind of sleep rose upward to hia 
 
190 HERR PAULUS 
 
 brain and set free his soul. Now, he thought, he would induce 
 that semblance of sleep without the aid of Paul. Nothing would 
 be easier. 
 
 Strange to say, after five minutes of intense exercise, with the 
 wUl resolutely bent, he discovered that no progress at aU had been 
 made. Worse than that, he was becoming fidgety ; his feet refused 
 to stay still ; his legs kicked invohintarily ; his fingers twitched ; he 
 was awake all over. 
 
 He gave himself another five minutes. The result left no room 
 at all for doubt. He was not permitted to release his soul — he 
 could not, therefore, go in quest of any message ; because you can- 
 not, yet, lug a lump of bones and flesh all the way to Abyssinia and 
 back in a morning. 
 
 Then he tried another method. He arose and solemnly called 
 aloud : — 
 
 ' Izak Ibn Menelek ! ' 
 
 The quiet room echoed his words, but there came no answer. 
 
 ' Izak Ibn Menelek ! Master ! Hear ! 
 
 The Master may have heard, but he made no reply. 
 
 A thhd time Mr. Brudenel called— 
 
 ' Izak Ibn Menelek ! Come ! ' 
 
 He sat down and waited for an answer. Perhaps the Master 
 was asleep ; perhaps he was walking. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel waited for a quarter of an hour, concentrating his 
 mind, with aU the force of which he was capable, upon the Master. 
 So the prophets of Baal in the slopes of Carmel called all day long 
 and hacked their flesh with knives to please their god. But no 
 answer came, and presently those prophets were taken to the side 
 of the stream and done to death. But to the end, I am sure, they 
 believed profoundly. 
 
 There came no answer, no voice faint and far-off such as called 
 him when Paul was present. 
 
 Then Mr. Brudenel — always ready to fall away fi-om faith — ^sat 
 down in despair. He was deserted. His new Friends had deserted 
 him, and he had thrown away the old Friends. Emanuel Chick's 
 Bph'its would not have failed him, even though they might bring no 
 comfort. Lavinia's spirits might have told him things h'relevant 
 and trivial, but they would not have heard him call upon them in 
 silence. The busts of his former friends — Albertus Magnus, Para- 
 celsus, Roger Bacon, Dee, LiUy, Mesmer, Home, and the rest — 
 frowned upon him from their places above the bookshelves. The 
 books themselves, whose outside he had been wont to admire, the 
 acquisition of which had cost him such mighty sums, frowned upon 
 him and threatened him. He had deserted his old Friends ; he had 
 turned out of the house the old spirits whom he had formerly enter- 
 tained. He had gone over to a new party, and what had he got 
 for it ? 
 
THE FORENOON 191 
 
 Then a devil — I think it may have been one of Lavinia's mock- 
 ing spirits — whispered in his ear, ' If they have done so much to 
 you they may do more. You know that it was not you yourself 
 who wrote those letters and signed those cheques, though they are 
 in your handwriting. The power which imitated your handwriting 
 can do more. Nay, it may even personate you yourself. It can 
 make you say, and write, and do anj-thing it pleases. Already it 
 has robbed you of thhty-five thousand pounds.' How JMr. Brudenel 
 wiped his brow and shivered. The mocking devil went on : ' You 
 have indeed brought your pigs to a pretty market. If you rebel 
 they may punish you by taking away your land. ^Yhy, in either 
 case 5'ou are done for, because, if you do not rebel, but go on in the 
 course you have begun, they will certainly strip you of all your 
 possessions. Is not the foundation of their philosophy the maxim 
 that wealth is contemptible '? Live like Epictetus in a cottage on 
 herbs and onions — live like Diogenes, in a tub — go about with a 
 wallet, begging crusts, like a Buddhist Saint or a Franciscan — go in 
 rags, unwashed, unshaven, beaten by the wind and rained upon, if 
 you would please yom: new friends.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel heard these words plainly spoken in his ear — very 
 strange things, I have many times stated, went on in that house. 
 But it is not too mucli to say that they scared him. The contem- 
 plation of philosophy reduced to practice filled him with horror. 
 Would Lady Augusta also be deprived of her property '? Would 
 they go about together, meditating on the Higher Planes, and beg- 
 ging for crusts to put in their wallets ? He pictured himself, being 
 a person of some imagination, as the Sage after the heart of the 
 Abyssinian wise man — he would wear a frock coat, once black, but 
 now gone green, with ragged tails, with holes in the elbows, and a 
 shimmering sheen of gi'ease or age iipon the wrists — he would have 
 a tall hat with a broken brim, for as a new Lincoln and Bennett is 
 an outward sign of respectability, so a tall hat, ancient, shabby, and 
 worn is a sure and certain proof of poverty — his boots would be 
 broken down and gaping — he would have a red comforter round his 
 neck, and no collar — his nose would be blue with the cold — his 
 white beard would be as venerable as that of BeUsarius in his most 
 penurious condition. He tried to pictiu-e Lady Augusta meditating 
 beside him on the same Exalted Plane. But here he broke do\\'n. 
 Nobody could imagine Lady Augusta in rags, revelling in these 
 heights of philosophy. 
 
 The longer he thought upon this di-eadfiil possibility the more 
 probable did it seem. Yes, Paul — but Paul was clad in line raiment 
 and fared smnptuouslj', and seemed to enjoy the good things of the 
 world prodigiously, as all yoimg men should — Paul preached per- 
 petually the doctrine of the nothingness of wealth : he despised 
 wealth : his Friends despised wealth : the loss of wealth was an 
 incident not worth mentioning. Yet Mr. Brudenel thou-rht how 
 
IQ2 HERR PAULUS 
 
 would Paul look in rags, aud with a blue nose, carrjdng a basket to 
 hold the broken meats of charity ? 
 
 The thing was dreadful, yet it was possible : it was even likely. 
 Had he not accepted with more than submission — with ardour— all 
 these teachings ? Had he not already gone a long way down the 
 Ancient Way, only somehow he forgot what the scenery was like ? 
 How could he complain if he was taken at his word and deprived 
 of that earthly dross which stands between vanity and wisdom, so 
 that one may not pass from the glittering realms of the one to the 
 fair fields of the other without dropping the burden and weight of 
 wealth, even as the Pilgrim dropped the load which bound him 
 down ? He would be taken at his word. His new Friends would 
 strip him of the wealth which he could not bring himself to despise. 
 "When his wealth was gone he would be able to start fair upon the 
 way of wisdom. Great and signal and generous as was the gift of 
 poverty which his new Friends could confer upon him, Mr. 
 Brudenel was not happy at the prospect. On the contrary, he 
 groaned : he paced the room anxiously : he tossed his arms : he 
 sat down and got up again. He was in an agony of terror, and it 
 lasted all the day. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 STILL THE FORENOON. 
 
 Paul was otherv/ise engaged. At eleven o'clock, while Mr. Brudenel, 
 having failed in his attempt to transport himself to Abyssinia, was 
 yielding a willing ear to the whispers of that devil, he went to 
 Cicely's room. Not this time with burning cheeks and glowing 
 eyes, but with hanging head. He went heavilj'. All tliis day he 
 went heavUj'. 
 
 All four ladies were sitting there. 
 
 ' Is there any message, Paul '? ' cried Lady Augusta, springing 
 to her feet. 
 
 ' None,' he replied. ' But have patience.' 
 
 ' What is the matter, Paul ? ' she asked. ' You look fright- 
 fully iU.' 
 
 Hetty looked as if she would have asked that question, had she 
 dared. 
 
 ' I am not very well, I think. I have gone through a great 
 struggle, dear Lady Augusta. But I am perfectly satisfied with the 
 result.' Hetty blushed, and bent back her head over the work in 
 her hand. ' But it has been a struggle. This is an anxious day for 
 me on your account, and there is an anxious time before me.' He 
 
STILL THE FORENOON 193 
 
 looked at his watch. ' I want a mouicnt witli you, Hetty,' he saiil, 
 quietly. ' Oh, not alone. Do not let anybody move.' 
 
 They sat envious of Hetty. That is to say, two of them were 
 envious of the distinction. Sil>yl, for her part, affected mdifference. 
 But she was cmious. Nothing that this enemy of hers did was 
 indifferent to her. 
 
 ' Hetty, it is eighteen years since your father left you. It is so 
 long that you can scarcely remember him. I believe you have 
 never heard anything of him since he went away.' 
 
 ' No. My mother has never had a line from him. She believes 
 that he must be dead.' 
 
 ' He is not dead, Hetty.' 
 
 ' How do you know, Paul ? ' 
 
 Only a week ago he would have ro]ilied by a reference to liia 
 Friends. Now he made answer truthfully : 
 
 ' Chance has brought me that knowledge, Hetty. 
 
 ' He calls it chance,' Cicely murmm-ed, ' as if, with him, there 
 could be such a thing as chance.' 
 
 ' I have not only found out that he is living ; I have also 
 arranged that he should call here this morning.' 
 
 'Oh! Paul. My father?' 
 
 ' Oh ! Hetty ! ' cried Cicelj', ' your father ! ' 
 
 ' He does not know that he is to come and see his own daughter. 
 He will bring a letter. Then ' 
 
 At that moment a letter was brought. On the envelope was the 
 addi'ess only, and in the corner the words, ' From the Professor.' 
 
 'Hetty, yom- father is below.' She sj)rang to her feet. 'Will 
 you see him ? ' 
 
 ' Will I see him ? Oh ! Paul ! You have done this for me 
 But — Paul — does my mother know ? ' 
 
 ' Not yet.' 
 
 ' ^Vhat is he like, Paul ? Oh ! what is my father like ? What 
 will he say to me ? What shall I say to him ? ' She stood irre- 
 solute and pale ; glad, yet terrified. 
 
 ' Do not expect too much, Hetty. Bemember that he has been 
 separated from you since you were a child. Perhaps he hardly re- 
 members yoiu' existence. You know nothing about his past life — 
 what he has done, or how he has lived. It may be a career of 
 distinction, or it may be a very humble history. He may be rich 
 he may be poor; he may be in rags, or he may drive in his 
 carriage. If he were a rich man he would probably have retm-ned 
 home before now. Would you like to see him ? ' 
 
 Paul looked at his watch again. ' Decide at once, Hetty.' 
 
 ' I do not remember him at all. Of com-se I should like to seo 
 him. Oh ! Paul,' she repeated, ' it is j'ou^you — who have brought 
 my father home.' 
 
 There was something in her voice which made Sibyl look at her 
 
 o 
 
194 HERR PAULUS 
 
 with meaning eyes. Biit she said nothing. Did her own experi- 
 ence cai;se her to recognise the accent of love ? King Cupid hath 
 a very sweet and tender voice, which he lendeth to his worshippers. 
 
 ' With your permission, Lady Augusta, Hetty will go downstairs 
 and find her father in the breakfast-room.' 
 
 ' Go, Hetty, dear, I hope . . Go, my dear.' Lady Augusta 
 was going to say that she hoped Hetty would find her father every- 
 thing that a daughter would wish, or words to that effect, but she 
 remembered in time that he had been no more than a small city 
 clerk, and she refrained. The result is generally imhappy when a 
 city clerk is so ill-advised as to emigrate to America — a country 
 whose people are reported as jealous to keep the whole of the 
 national clerkery in their own hands, with all the posts and offices 
 whose duties can be discharged in a sitting position, and to make 
 new comers the hewers of wood and drawers of water for them, 
 and carriers of burdens and diggers of the ground. 
 
 Hetty obeyed and ran down the stairs, overpowered with 
 wonder at this new miracle. But at the door of the breakfast- 
 room she stopped and trembled, comprehending the vast im- 
 portance of the moment. 
 
 'Let us talk. Lady Augusta,' said Paul. 'It will be the last 
 time that we shall talk together as we have been wont to talk.' 
 
 ' Why the last time, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. The future is dark before me. I am on the 
 verge of some great change ; what will happen next I cannot tell. 
 Let us tallv.' 
 
 Sibyl was guilty, because as she knew about the camera obscura 
 the future seemed light. She arose, therefore, and softly left the 
 room. 
 
 Then Paul, with the two women who believed in him, had his 
 last talk. He knew that would be the last discussion he would 
 ever have with them on the things they loved to hear. 
 
 At first he hesitated and seemed at a loss. His depression 
 weighed him down. Presently, however, he recovered something 
 of the old fire, and tallied of the other world, and of this, and of 
 the spirits of. wise men and just men, and holy women ; of their 
 love one towards the other, and of the blessedness of walking with 
 them on the Higher Planes, hand-in-hand, journeying upwards for 
 ever and for ever, rising into heights of understanding and know- 
 ledge, of which we can have no conception, and for which there are 
 no words, and as they rise, leaving behind them ever more and 
 more of the earthly dross, vmtil even tlie soul, which is a sacred 
 body, becomes converted into pure spirit after long ages of happiness 
 beyond the power of speech to tell, and love beyond the power of 
 human lieart to feel. 
 
 ' Oh, dear iadiea,' he said, with glowing eyes and softening 
 
STILL THE FORENOOISr 195 
 
 voice, ' this is the vision that came to Paul the Apostle. Eye hath 
 not seen, nor hath ear heard these tliinrjs, nor can any tonj,Mio 
 speak them. The vision came also to Swedenborg. 'It hath been 
 granted to a few women. And those who wallv in the Ancient 
 "Way have glimpses as they prove themselves worthy of the soul 
 upon her pilgrimage. Let us not speak of the soul's abode, it is 
 here and everywhere ; let us not think, when we go alone upon the 
 joiu'ney which seems so dark, that it is a lonely journey; we are 
 never separated from those we love ; nothing can separate in life or 
 death the souls of those who are imited in love and fi'iendship, but 
 unworthiness. The lower nature may disgust the higher, when love 
 will perish. The higher nature will seem cold to the lower, then 
 love will decay. But those v.-ho love are always together. Shall 
 we walk together on those Planes ? ' He gave one hand to Cicely 
 and the other to Lady Augusta. ' This is our last conversation. 
 My Message has been delivered. I have done what I came to do. 
 I have no more to say.' 
 
 'Not the last conversation, Paul, not the last,' said Lady Augusta. 
 ' My dear boy, my son, my friend and teacher, you will stay with us. 
 We shall have many more such talks. We will found the college 
 we have so often discussed, and you shall be its first dh'ector. Do 
 not speak of last words, Paul.' 
 
 ' Yes, I am a messenger and a servant. When the Message is 
 delivered and the Ser%dce done the servant is dismissed. He then 
 joins the common herd and fights his waj' to the Higher Planes 
 with the rest. I have had my vision. I have communicated it to 
 you. Oh ! Lady Augusta, you know now how small a thing and 
 how useless is your old craft of mediumship. You have risen above 
 it, you have left it far below. Y'ou have learned the time spiritualism 
 which can be reached in this life only by purity and meditation and 
 separation from the joys of the world. Bat as for me, I have done 
 my work and I sink back to the common herd.' 
 
 As he spoke the glow of his cheek faded, the burning light went 
 out of his eyes, the look of authority vanished. He became to out- 
 ward show only a youth of four or five and twenty, with a comely 
 presence and a face which proclaimed possibilities. 
 
 In the breakfast-room father and daughter stood face to face. 
 
 She saw before her a spare, tmdersized man, with black hair and 
 small black eyes too close together, and dressed with a shabby 
 respectability almost grotesque, in black, which was baggy every- 
 where — distinctly and at first sight, not a gentleman : not in the 
 least resembling a gentleman : not a prosperous man, or a rich 
 man, or a successful man either. That was apparent from the 
 low and humble bow with which he honoiu-ed Hetty's entrance. 
 He saw before him a young lady — distinctly a lady — young and 
 beautiful, who looked at him with curiosity and astonishment. 
 
195 tJERR PAVLUS 
 
 How could sncli a man. so insignificant in manner and look, have 
 snch a daughter, so tall and well-formed and so beautiful ? Yet 
 tliere was a resemblance. Every face is cajmble of glorification and 
 the reverse. Hetty's face was also her father's, but in the case of 
 her father the face, originally in a mean and small form, had by a 
 long course of a wandering, uncertain, and shifty life, become 
 smaller and meaner, till it was quite degraded. In Hetty's case 
 the face began with a large and noble copy of the model, and her 
 life among gentlefolk and books and science and lofty thoughts had 
 grown larger and nobler. Yet the same face ! 
 
 ' I was told,' he explained, ' that I was to come to this house. 
 I suppose that you will be able to tell me why I was to come. If it 
 is for any job, I niaj^ explain that I am at present out of work and 
 should be glad of any work, however tempory, having been dis- 
 appointed in finding work. I have had great experience in many 
 kinds of work, and if neatness and despatch ' 
 
 ' Are you my father ? ' she interrupted. ' Mj- name is Medlock.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Lord ! Are you my daughter ? "Who'd have thought it ? 
 My daughter — you ? ' 
 
 ' If you are the husband of Lavinia Wedlock, I am certainly your 
 daughter.' 
 
 ' I forgot — I clean forgot that I had a daughter. Oh ! Lord ! ' 
 he became breathless. ' "What a daughter for the platform ! That's 
 why I was sent here, wasn't it ? to find my daughter. Y''our name, 
 my dear, if I may be allowed — as a father — to use the adjective — 
 was Belinda.' 
 
 ' Certainly not.' 
 
 ' No, no. I remember now. Y"our mother was ordered by the 
 spirits to call you Belinda, and I woiildn't have it. "We had a row 
 about it, and the spirits kcp' on rappin' all night long. Hetty, you 
 were christened. I remember now — oh ! Lord ! — ^just as if it was 
 yesterday.' 
 
 ' Yes, Hetty is my name.' 
 
 'You are my gal, then. Hetty— my daughter. There's no 
 mistake about that. Lord ! what a gal ! I wish I'd known before.' 
 
 No rushing into arms : no joyful embrace ; not a word of 
 welcome. This father only put his hat on the floor, between his 
 legs, and sat down with his thumbs in his waistcoat armholes. 
 This attitude conveyed some assertion of parental authority, but 
 not much. 
 
 'You've grown, my child, since I saw you last. To be sure, 
 3'ou've had tune to grow. And you've made a creditable use of the 
 ^ime. Nobody can deny that. You are dressed like a lady. Has 
 your mother made money, then ? I heard she was i)oor.' 
 
 ' AVe are verj' poor. I aiu dressed like a lady because I am the 
 companion of a lady.' 
 
 ' Oh ! very poor. That's a pity now, isn't it ? Lavinia just 
 
STILL THE FORENOON 197 
 
 threw away her chances. It's a great pity, isn't it ? I haven't got 
 any money myself cither. If you want anything, I can't give it 
 to you. So don't look to me.' 
 
 ' I will not,' said Hetty, considerably discoui'aged. 
 
 ' I've been knockin,!^ about the world,' her father went on, ' for 
 eigliteen years, living on jobs, but mostly in the Show business. 
 As a lecturer to a Show there are not many to equal your father, 
 and none to beat him.' 
 
 Hetty showed no sign of admiration. Supposing you were in 
 ignorance of your father's profession aiul j^ou had to choose one for 
 him, would you select that of Lecturer to a Show ? I think not. 
 The imagination would dwell upon the respective glories of liisliop. 
 Judge, Statesman, General, Admiral, Orator, Singer, Actor, Author, 
 Poet — but it would not consider those of Lectm'er to a Show at 
 all. 
 
 ' You were a clerk m the City at first, I believe,' said Hetty. 
 ' To be sure, I ought not to expect too much. AVhen will you go to 
 see my mother ? ' 
 
 ' Well, my dear, the fact is — we've got on very well without 
 each other so far, and now I'm only here on a flying visit — looking 
 for Talent, m fact. Does yoiu" mother practise still ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, but she has very few clients. She is very poor.' 
 
 ' You can tell her,' said Mr. Medlock with deep feeling, ' that I 
 could not go back and be a burden upon her. When I am rich — I 
 always intended that — I shall send her money. For the present 
 it's low water, and I should be truly sorry for her to think that I 
 only came home in order to sponge upon her. Have you got any 
 Talent yourself'? ' 
 
 ' What for ? ' 
 
 ' In your mother's line, for instance '? ' 
 
 ' No, no, NO,' Hetty replied with the greatest decision. 
 
 ' It's a pity, becaiTse with such looks as yours there would be 
 money in it — money — and I would run you, my dear, on advan- 
 tageous terms. If you've no Talent, we might fake up a bit and 
 look the part. I know all the machinery for spirit rapping and 
 music and all. Think it over.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Hetty. ' Am I never to get out of the dreadful 
 business ? I see my father after eighteen years — and the first thing 
 he does is to propose that I should become a cheat and an impostor. 
 No— no — no. I will not.' 
 
 ' Well — well.' The little man hastily took his thumbs out of his 
 armholes and pushed back his chair a foot or two. ' Your temper, 
 my dear, reminds me of your mother, but she never had your looks 
 ■ — never. Well — if you won't, you won't. And talk of cheating! 
 Why, the whole world pretends. What's any show but pretence ? 
 We dress up the giants to look taller than they are, and the dwarfs 
 to look shorter. We put a little man by the side of the giant on tho 
 
198 HERR PAULUS 
 
 platform to show how big he is, and a big man by the side of the 
 dwarf to show how Httie he is. It's all pretence and sham, my 
 dear, and the people lil\e it.' The Aged Philosopher of Beaumont 
 Street could not have spoken more wisely. ' Well, if you won't^of 
 course. Who are the people of this house ? ' 
 
 ' This house belongs to Mr. Cyrus Brudenel.' 
 
 ' Cyrus Brudenel '? Cyrus Brudenel ? What ? the gi'cat 
 Spiritualist ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Cyrus Brudenel ! I've heard of him. Hetty ' — he dropped his 
 voice — ' is there an opening ? ' 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 ' Is there an opening ? He's always receiving American Spirit- 
 uahsts. Suppose I bring him one ? Do you think you can make 
 an opening ? ' 
 
 ' No— no— NO.' 
 
 She was so fierce that he pushed his chah* as far back as it 
 would go. 
 
 ' Well, don't fly in a man's face. I only asked.' 
 
 ' Have you anything more to say to me ? ' said his daughter. 
 ' Oh ! to see your father after all these years.' She sat down and 
 burst into tears. ' It's shameful. It's horrible. And to find that 
 all he thinks about is to make money by cheating. I don't want 
 to see you again. I am sorry you came. You have made me sick 
 and sorry. Oh ! to think that while my mother — ^oox dear ! — has 
 to drag on her miserable spirit rapping, my father should want to 
 drag me into a worse business still, where it is all pretence and 
 cheating. If you have no more to say ' — she got up again and com- 
 posed herself — ' you will go, perhaps.' 
 
 Her father picked up his hat and retired without giving her the 
 paternal blessing, and without even a word of farewell. He looked 
 very, very insignificant as he walked across the hall. The footman 
 allowed him to open the door without assistance. He left behind 
 him, when he had disappeared, a most evil feeling of shame and dis- 
 appointment. Hetty had found her father, and he was a person 
 without principles, without morality, without manners — a person to 
 be ashamed of. 
 
 Presently Paul himself came down to her and sat beside her, and 
 kissed her and comforted her. It is a truly blessed thing in 
 moments of discouragement to have a lover to kiss and comfort 
 one. 
 
 ' My dear,' he said, ' I have seen your father. I knew what he 
 was like. Do you forgive me for sending him here ? It was I who 
 caused it to be done. I thought that you would like to know what 
 he is — and — has he been very tei'rible, dear Hetty ? ' 
 
 ' It is not your fault, Paul, that he is — what he is. He wanted 
 me — oh ! he actually wanted me to go away and join him in cheat* 
 
STILL THE FORENOON 199 
 
 ing. Oh, Paul, he asked mo to pretend to spiritualistic powers — 
 me — and I am engaged to you, to you, Paul ! ' 
 
 Paul's cheek flamed for a moment, and his lips twitched ncr- 
 vously. 
 
 ' Yes, dear, yes ! ' He kissed her. ' Oh ! Hetty, what matter for 
 yom- father, what matter for anything, so that you love me ? And 
 now I am stripped of everything and am only a common man 
 again.' 
 
 ' I do not understand you, Paul.' 
 
 ' Only a common man. We must forget all the past, Hetty — all 
 — all — all — and besrin again. I am eager to begin again.' 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE MIRACLE. 
 
 That day again Paul failed to appear at dinner. 
 
 His absence completed the consternation with which Mr. 
 Brudenel regarded the sitiiation. Never, even in the old days, when 
 another Medium after leading them to what seemed solid rock had 
 proved another disappointment, had there been a more gloomy 
 meal. All alike, even Cicely, in despair at the breaking down of 
 faith, were oppressed with fearful forebodings. As for Mr. Brudenel, 
 that Voice to which he listened in the morning was still whispering 
 in his ears that the Sages, his new friends, would take him at his 
 word, and make him demonstrate to the world his contempt of 
 riches. He looked roiind his well-appointed table : he thought of 
 his house, his habits, his personal comfort, and wondered if he 
 could bear the miseries of giving them up even for the Higher 
 Planes. He looked at his wife — she was in crimson velvet, very 
 gorgeous — and he wondered how she Avould feel at beginning the 
 spiritual ascent in rags. He drank a glass of soft, light claret, and 
 wondered if there was anything in the Ancient Philosophy which 
 would replace claret. ' The spirits,' whispered the Voice at his ear, 
 ' walk hand in hand upon these Higher Planes, but they have got no 
 claret. Suppose you have been already made to order the sale of 
 your lands and of your houses, then you will soon know how 
 pleasant life may be without claret or anything.' Oh, Lord ! without 
 anything ! 
 
 Thus this Voice — assuredly one of Emanuel Chick's neglected 
 Spirits — whispered in Mr. Brudenel's ear. As for Lady Augusta, 
 she only feared that her august friend would not condescend to do 
 so trivial a matter as the monej' in question. And Sibyl was firmly 
 persuaded that Paul at that very moment was making off with all 
 
200 HERR PAULUS 
 
 his might, a hag of gold luider either arm containing no less than 
 seventeen thousand five huudi'ed golden sovereigns each, weighing 
 him down to such an extent that his Seven -Lea.gued Boots, with 
 all his efforts, were barely covering three and a half leagues. Tom 
 was gloomily askmg himself whether he had made a mistake in 
 supposing the man incapable of the lower forms of meanness. 
 Lastly, Hetty, pale and anxious, was maddening herself with the 
 fear that perhaps, in spite of his promises, her lover had been called 
 away, made to go away, and reduced once more to discipline, order, 
 and the rule of celibacy. Oh ! Heaven ! Think of a girl just 
 engaged, whose lover has to take the vows of celibacy 1 There was 
 once a play written on this subject by an Elizabethan or Jacobean 
 Dramatist^Peele perhaps, or Tom-neur, or I know not who. He 
 called his Tragedy ' Love's Cheriy Boh.' 
 
 ' Tom,' said Mr. Brudenel, when they were left alone, ' I fear 
 the very worst.' 
 
 ' Well, sir,' said Tom, 'now you mention it, so do I.' 
 
 ' I can hardly sit still in my chair ' — Mr. Brudenel bounded out 
 of it — ' for the thought of what may happen to us all. We are in 
 their power — completely in then' power. I hardly dare to talk of 
 it, for fear of giving them offence.' 
 
 ' One thing,' said Tom, ' is certain. A man cannot take five-and- 
 thirty thousand pounds away in gold. The Bank would refuse to 
 pay so large a sum in specie. Our fi-iend may give us trouble, but 
 he cannot very well bolt with the swag. Even if he drew it short 
 — in notes — we could find it out and stop them, I suppose. Yet I 
 don't know. What excuse should we put forward ? ' 
 
 ' The land may follow the shares, Tom. What is to prevent 
 that ? ^Vhy shoiildn't they make me sign letters of authority to 
 sell the land ? ' 
 
 ' And then,' Tom continued, ' it naay be difficult to fix on him 
 alone the thi'ee separate accounts m the three banks. And it is 
 undoubtedly awkward that you did give a personal mtroduction 
 and reference for each of those three gentlemen.' 
 
 ' WTaat may be done with the land and the shares,' said Mr. 
 Brudenel, pursuing his own line, ' may also be done with this very 
 house — with everything — everything. Good Heavens ! We are 
 powerless — we may be reduced in a moment to absolute indigence ! 
 Was there ever a man so powerless ? ' 
 
 ' We might employ a detective.' 
 
 ' A detective ! What good are all the detectives in the world 
 when you come to such work as this ? Can a detective watch a 
 spirit which is invisible, yet has control over matter ? ' 
 
 ' I think, sir,' said Tom, ' that we are talking of different things. 
 I want to procure, if I can by any means, that money of Cicely's 
 and of mine which is now lying to the credit of three gentlemen 
 (iiificult of access,' 
 
THE MIRACLE 201 
 
 ' And I am thinking that if the money goes, the whole of my 
 fortune — all I have, may go after it in the same way. How do I 
 know what I have signed besides those cheques ? Have I given 
 authority to sell my land ? Have I already parted with my house 
 and my hbrary '? \Vhat do I know ? Because, Tom, this is the 
 strangest thing of all, that I have never been able to remember 
 when and for what motive I sold those shares ; when or why I 
 signed those cheques ; when or why I wrote those letters of recom- 
 mendation for three persons — no doubt of exalted character.' — Mr. 
 Brudenel looked round the room so as to give these spmts, if they 
 were listening, the assurance of his profound consideration—' seeing 
 I have only met one of them in the valleys of Abyssinia, and I have 
 never heard of the other two. Oh ! I know that the fact cannot be 
 disputed. The letters and cheques are all in my handwriting.' 
 
 ' It is a deuced av/kward thing,' said Tom, ' because, as you say, 
 3'ou may have been trapped into -nTriting or signing anything. Paul 
 must have gi'eat powers.' 
 
 ' Paul ? Paul had nothing to do with it. Paul is only a mes- 
 senger. You might as well suppose that Paul found out the Com- 
 pany was shaky. Poor Paul ! with as much knowledge of business 
 as the housemaid.' 
 
 ' "Well, su', it seems lilve advising you to lock the stable door 
 when the horse is stolen ; but would it not be worth while to sever 
 the connection ? ' 
 
 'What?' 
 
 ' Why not bid farewell to the Ancient Philosophy, even if j-ou 
 do have to go back to the modem M'3diimi ? ' 
 
 ' Tom, do not scoff.' 
 
 ' I am not scoffing. I am quite serious when I say that if I were 
 you I would postpone the Higher Plane till I got into the next world.' 
 
 ' I have, I confess,' said Mr. Brudenel, ' thought of that, I have 
 thought of asking permission, through Paul, to resign. I would 
 resign. My only fear is that I have gone too far, and, being satu- 
 rated with their teaching, I may not be permitted to resign.' 
 
 ' I would try if I were you,' said Tom, with the least possible 
 ridicule visible in his eyes. 
 
 ' I may be considered as committed to the School. If so, I 
 confess that should the Philosophers — as I hope and trust they will 
 not do,' — he raised his voice so that there might be no mistake in 
 the mind of Maitre Izak, should that wise man be in the room — - 
 ' should they, I say, choose to deprive me of my fortime, it will only 
 be in accordance with their precepts. Perhaps it may be taken 
 into account that I am mdependent of fortmie— I want to make 
 no more money ; that I am an elderly man of fixed habits which 
 it would be difficult to alter : I want, I really want, my Httle com- 
 forts ; and in this cold chmate a man cannot sit on a stile wrapped 
 in a sheepskin, and meditate. The misery of the ascetic life would 
 
202 HERR PAULUS 
 
 destroy the power of meditation, Tom. It would make the Higher 
 Plane impossible. We are not in tlie East ; I cannot go about 
 with nothing on ; I should look a fool if I attempted it - and so 
 would Lady Augusta. Tom, in the West, a man may be a Philo- 
 sopher, but he must be respectable.' 
 
 ' Why, yes,' said Tom, ' the Faku- business does not become a 
 frock coat. Fancy St. Simeon Stylites in a tall hat ! But there i3 
 another way out of it. Consider — may not Paul himself be a 
 colossal Humbug ? ' 
 
 ' No, Tom — no. Certainly not. That is impossible.' 
 
 ' Consider, sir, you have had many disappointments before. 
 There hav-e been many others in whom, at the time, you firmly be- 
 lieved. Yet they tm-ned out impostors, and cheated you of your 
 money as well as your time. You have yom-self often said that the 
 ease with which trickery can be accomplished is the greatest di'aw- 
 back to Sjih-itual Eesearch ' 
 
 ' That is quite true. I have said it and experienced it, Heaven 
 knows, often enough.' 
 
 ' Then, sir, if one, why not the other ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Mr. Brudenel, firmly, ' not Paul. Any other. But 
 not Paul.' 
 
 ' Well, sir,' Tom insisted earnestly, ' if I were to bring you proofs 
 — proofs that could not be denied, that Paul might be — like any 
 other, would you listen ? ' 
 
 ' Tom — Tom,' said Mr. Brudenel, with the smile of superior 
 knowledge. 'You do not know; you speak out of ignorance. I 
 could not waste time even m hstening to your suspicions.' 
 
 ' In that case,' Tom sighed in resignation, ' let us go into the 
 drawing-room.' 
 
 It was then about a quarter past nine. The four ladies, who 
 generally presented the appearance of cheerfulness, if not always of 
 animation, were sitting in silence : nobody played : nobody talked : 
 nobody sung : nobody laughed. It was a gloomy continuation of 
 the gloomy dinner : the ixielancholy close of an anxious day. And 
 everybody listened for a footstep which still delayed. As for Sibyl, 
 she was in that fi-ame of mind which impels a person, especially a 
 Cassandra, to spring up before the multitude and cry aloud, ' There ! 
 I told you so ! All along I told you so ! ' Cassandra was a melan- 
 choly person at all times — ixiisunderstood, disbelieved, mocked, and 
 extremely unpopular. But there were moments when she had her 
 trhmiphs, as for example, when she stood beside the burning 
 Palace while the Greeks were hurrying upon then* prey, and called 
 aloud to Hecuba and her sisters and the shrieking handmaidens, 
 ' There ! I told you so ! All along I told you so ! ' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel took a chair beside his wife and sighed pro- 
 foi;ndly. No one ventm*ed a word of consolation or of hope. The 
 situation was past both consolation and hope. Tom stood outside 
 
THE MIRACLE 203 
 
 the ring and fidgeted. Somotliing was on his mind: something 
 beyond the cause of the general depression, and it was as if he was 
 uncertain how to oj^en the subject. 
 
 Sibyl perceived it and kindly gave him the opening. 
 
 ' You had something to tell us, Tom,' she said. ' Something 
 important about Herr Paulus.' 
 
 She said this so softly and with such sweetness of manner that 
 everybody perceived at once that something disagreeable was 
 coming. 
 
 'Is this a time, Tom,' said Lady Augusta, ' for telhng us that you 
 do not believe in supernatural forces ? ' 
 
 ' It is a question of i)erfectly natm-al forces,' Tom replied. ' Shall 
 I tell you a little story of how a man who pretended to do miracu- 
 lous things was watched, and how his pretensions were proved to be 
 based on tricks ? It is really an interesting story, and has a pecu- 
 liar fitness on an evening like the present.' 
 
 ' If 3'ou mean Paul,' said Cicely, ' you had better tell your story 
 and then we can ask Paul himself to prove that it is not true.' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Tom, ' it is about Paul. But perhaps, sk, you 
 object to hear the story.' 
 
 ' I said I would not waste time in sifting so-called proofs. But 
 tell us what you please — tell us — ah ! ' — Mr. Brudenel sighed again 
 — ' tell us what you please.' 
 
 ' I am only going to give you the result of certain investigations 
 and experunents I have been conducting. From the beginning I 
 mistrusted Paul, as I should mistrust any man who starts with the 
 pretence of having supernatural powers. Personally, I liked him, as 
 you know. I thought he was a pretender, but of an order quite 
 superior to the common run. I wai-ned him that I should watch, 
 and he laughed. "Well, I have watched, and I have been rewarded 
 by the full discovery of how it has been done.' 
 
 ' That is very curious and interestmg.' 
 
 Everybody jumped, because no one had observed Paul's 
 entrance. Yet there was no pretence at magical appearance. He 
 simply opened the door and stepped into the room. To be sure he 
 was always noiseless and the carpets were thick. 
 
 ' The discovery of how it was done,' Paul continued, ' cannot but 
 be extremely interesting to me, especially because I myself have 
 never been able to understand it. And in future,' he said, glancing 
 at Hetty, who had suddenly recovered and drooped no longer, but 
 sat up with colom- in her cheeks and light in her eyes, ' in future, I 
 shall wonder all my life, more and more, how it was done. I thank 
 you very much for findmg out the mystery.' 
 
 ' Y''ou are very welcome,' said Tom. ' I will proceed, then, in 
 yom* presence.' 
 
 ' In your j^resence,' echoed Sibyl the Implacable. 
 
 ' As the evening draws on, and there is something which must 
 
204 HERR PAULUS 
 
 be done before we separate,' said Paul, ' may I ask for the post- 
 ponement — only the postponement — for one horn* — of these revela- 
 tions ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly ; an honr will make no difference.' 
 
 Tom even felt relief at the postponement. It is a truly horrid 
 thing to have to tell a man, to his face, that he is an impostor. 
 Especially is it horrid when that man is believed in by the rest of 
 the household as a Prophet. 
 
 'I have a Message.' Paul looked round the cu'cle, addressing all, 
 but resting his eyes on Mr. Brudenel. 
 
 'Oh!' 
 
 This interjection has as many meanings as a word in an Arabic 
 Dictionary. Everybody- said ' Oh ! ' and everybody in the room 
 meant a different thing. 
 
 ' My Message will not take long. Yet it is important. First of 
 all. Miss Brudenel, there is a letter for you. Kot a letter fi-om 
 Abyssinia or Thibet, not a communication from the other world.' 
 Paul smiled. ' You will not suffer those of the other world to com- 
 municate with you. It is a letter written by a human hand, and it 
 concerns you. This is the letter.' 
 
 There were no bells, there was no heavenly music, there was no 
 stretching forth of the hand suddenly to catch the letter falling 
 from the ceiling. Paul simply drew from his breast pocket a letter, 
 which he handed to Sibjd. 
 
 And now everybody sat up, roused and alert. Lady Augusta 
 caught her husband's hand and held it. The action cried aloud as 
 plainly as words can speak, ' Heart up ; oh, thou of little faith ! ' 
 
 ' Hetty,' whispered Cicely, ' teU me everything he does ; make 
 me see him.' 
 
 ' The letter is not for me,' said Sibyl, coldly. ' It is for Tom. 
 But — oh ! — It is in yom* handwriting, papa.' 
 
 ' Mine ? Yes, yes ; I remember.' 
 
 ' Will you yoiu'self give it to Tom ? ' said Paul. 
 
 Sibyl obeyed, wondering and blushing. What should her 
 father WTite to Tom that concerned herself? 
 
 Tom tore the letter open. Then his cheeks blazed a rosy red, 
 signifying astonishment first and joy next, and astonishment last. 
 
 ' Sibyl ! ' he cried. ' Did j'ou know of the letter ? Bead it — 
 read it. Oh, sir,' he turned to Mr. Brudenel, ' how can we thanlv 
 you ? Lady Augusta, is it to you that we owe this letter ? ' 
 
 ' To me '? Tom, I do not know the contents of the letter.' 
 
 ' Mr. Brudenel gives his consent — a thing which we did not 
 dare ask of him — to our engagement.' Here he very properly 
 took Sibyl's hand and kissed her on the forehead. 
 
 ' Yom- engagement, Sibyl ? ' cried Lady Augusta. ' Whj', I 
 thought — we all thought — that the celibate life — and with Tom ? 
 This amazes nie ! ' 
 
THE Min.lCLE 205 
 
 ' I have consented, dear,' her husband exclaimed. * It was 
 shown to me that Sibyl was more fitted for the domestic than for 
 the meditative life. I have consented, since they both desire it. 
 But, Tom, if yon are a conple of paupers — ^if the princii)les of the 
 Higher Philosophy are to be carried out ' 
 
 ' Oh, Papa.' Sibyl threw herself iipon his neck. ' How sliall 
 we be paupers when we have love ? And Tom will work and 
 become a great man. And — and — oh ! ' — she was seized with a 
 sudden suspicion — ' tell me. You did not write that letter witliout 
 knowing it, did you '? ' 
 
 * No, child, no. I remember perfectly why I wrote that letter 
 and when. I wrote it in full knowledge. It was exjilained to me 
 that everything was changed. The whole of my previous know- 
 ledge — so called — was vanity, my idea of approaching and com- 
 manding the spirits by the help of a Vestal, as was practised by 
 the ancients, had to be abandoned so far as you are concerned, my 
 dear. I was made to understand that you had already formed an 
 earthly attachment which would be an effectual bar. I consented, 
 my dear, to your taking a place upon the Lower Planes.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Sibyl meekly, ' we shall be much happier on the 
 Lower Planes.' 
 
 Again Paul, who had retired 'up the stage,' stepped forward. 
 
 ' You are afraid, Mr. Brudenel, that you will be stripped of your 
 2")ossessions. That is not so. Our Friends are not cruel. If you 
 had been young, like myself, you might have had to give up all. 
 ]''ear nothing. You will not be called upon to embrace poverty. 
 It is quite true that, under all circumstances, the pursuit of riches 
 is contemptible and detestable : it corrupts the soul and destroys 
 the development of sjjiritual insight ; if you had been engaged in 
 the pursuit of wealth you would have had to cease. But you have 
 never sought for money ; it has been conferred upon you ; your 
 possession of wealth has enabled you to devote your time to 
 llesearch. A man like you must not become poor.' 
 
 ' He must not, Paul. He must not.' 
 
 ' Your apprehensions were natm-al. Henceforth have no fear,' 
 
 He paused and sighed. 
 
 ' I am loth to part with my Message,' he said, ' because to part 
 with it is to surrender my past life. That you do not understand. 
 However,' he sighed again, ' I have to acqiiit myself of my charge. 
 ]\Iiss Brudenel, here is another packet for you ; it contains your 
 fortune. And for you, Cicely, is another, containing yours. And 
 for you, Tom, an envelope containing yours. Do not invest your 
 money in commercial companies, and do not seek to make more 
 money. Yoix do not believe in my Friends, Tom ; yet they send 
 you good counsel. Cease merely to question Science. Persecute 
 her contimially, and never, never try to make your knowledge the 
 means of making money.' 
 
2o6 HERR PAVLVS 
 
 Tom tore open his envelope. There was in it a cheque for 
 fifteen thousand pounds signed by Izak Ibn Menelek, payable to 
 order, crossed and protected by the magic -words ' Not Negotiable. 
 Clearly, the Sage of Abyssinia imderstood the forms and customs 
 practised in London banliS. 
 
 ' Lady Augusta,' said Paul. ' My Friends, you see, have not 
 deserted you.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I said, all along,' murmured Cicely, ' that we needed 
 nothing but Faith. I knew that we should not be deserted.' 
 
 ' Was it probable,' Paul asked, ' that those who were wise 
 enough to foretell the fall of the Company, and thoughtful enough 
 not only to cause the shares to be sold out, but the proceeds to be 
 lodged in a place of safety so that they would not be invested in 
 any other dangerous concerns — I say, was it probable that these 
 people should not restore this money on the day that it should fall 
 due to the rightful owners ? ' 
 
 At this point Mr. Brudeuel arose and took Paul's hand and held 
 it while he pronounced over his head, being several inches taller, an 
 encomium upon the Ancient Wisdom. Yoii have seen how, on a 
 previous occasion, he congratulated all the beholders of a certain 
 Miracle upon standing on the Solid Piock. This little occasion was 
 to himself and to his household of much gi-eater importance. He 
 rose to the calls of the situation. In a short, but most eloquent, 
 oration, he thanked Paul solemnly for the blessings he had brought 
 to that household, for his owai deliverance from superstition, for 
 the SoHd Piock of certainty which he had substituted for doubt ; 
 for the preservation of his wards' and his daughter's fortunes in 
 the wreck of the bankrupt Company, and, lastlj', for the assmance 
 that he himself would not be required to carry out to then' logical 
 end the principles of the Ancient Way, as regards the foohshness of 
 riches. 
 
 Tom was behind, holding Sibyl by the hand. The pair stood 
 with downcast eyes and glowing cheeks. Coals of fire heaped upon 
 their heads caused the cheeks of these lovers to glow. The enemy 
 had done this, the enemy ; the man whom one of the two had per- 
 sistently snubbed, msulted wrongly, and unjustly suspected. He 
 had saved her fortune and Tom's fortune ; he had caused her father 
 to write with his own hand a letter of consent to then engagement 
 before it had been demanded. Once she raised her eyes and looked 
 inquiringly at Tom. He imderstood her and whispered — it was 
 when Mr. Brudenel was grappling with the most difficult and the 
 most gi-ateful periods 
 
 ' Dodo,' he replied, ' never. Not even if I find him making your 
 father go on all fours.' We may guess what he meant, but there 
 can be no certainty. Perhaps he explained to her in these words 
 his intention not to expose certain little facts connected with Paul 
 which might lend themselves to unfavom'able conclusions, and tm'a 
 
THE MIRACLE. 207 
 
 that Solid Eock once more — oh ! how often had that change hap- 
 pened ! — into yielding quicksands. 
 
 ' Paul,' said Lady Augusta, when her husband had finished ; 
 •my dear Paul, how can we thank you — how can we reward 
 you ? ' 
 
 ' I want no thanks,' he replied somewhat sadly. What was the 
 matter with him ? He ought to have replied proudly : ' I want no 
 reward. Lady Augusta ; I have done what I came to do. I must 
 go away now.' He caught Hetty's eye. ' I must soon go away. 
 My work here is done. I will go, while I leave a kindly memory 
 behind me.' 
 
 ' But my tcachmg — Izak's teaching,' said Mr. Brudenel. ' I 
 cannot read him except through you ; and you know — Paul — as 
 yet ' 
 
 ' I know. Izjik Ibn Menelek must work in his own way. ?.Iy 
 — my hoi)e, Mr. Brudenel, is that your recollections of his teaching 
 will come upon you with a rush. After that your progi-ess will be 
 easy and rapid.' 
 
 ' You cannot go, Paul. You must not go,' said Lady Augusta. 
 ' We have much — very much — to learn before you go. Stay with 
 us.' 
 
 ' I cannot teach you any more,' said Paul. ' I must not stay.' 
 
 ' Stay with us,' said Cicely. 
 
 ' Stay with us, Paul,' said Sibyl, with a blush. It was the first 
 time that she had called him by that name. ' Stay with us.' She 
 gave him her hand with the gracious smile which a beautiful 
 woman keeps for such occasions. There was repentance in it, and 
 gi'atitiule. ' Stay with us, Paul.' 
 
 The young man sighed heavily. He drew his hand across his 
 forehead and looked about as if in search for somethmg. 
 
 ' I will stay a little,' he said, looking at Hettj". ' But my work 
 here is finished. I will stay until — mitil I find out what is to be 
 done next. My friends — Lady Augusta — you have been very kind 
 to me. I never knew before how kind people can be. You received 
 me — a stranger. Well,' he laughed, ' I have been of some httle 
 use to you. Emanitel Chick and his Spirits are packed ofi". The 
 old riibbish is carted away.' 
 
 ' You have done much more, much more for us, my dear friend,' 
 said Mr. Brudenel. ' You have demonstrated the solidity of our 
 Faith ; you have annihilated time and space ; you have introduced 
 us to the wisdom of the gi'eat, the incomparable Izak Ibn Menelek. 
 You have placed us firmly on the Solid Eock.' 
 
 ' Yes,' Paul replied, in the dry tone which is affected by the 
 mcredulous. Did he mean to bring doubt and suspicion upon his 
 own teaching ? 
 
 Well, the play was played ; as there was no curtain to drop it 
 remained for the players to get off the stage — always a diflicult 
 
2o8 HERR PAULUS 
 
 thing and one which requii'es the utmost skill of the dramatist to 
 accomplish successfully. They lingered. Flatness seemed impend- 
 ing — merely to say good-night, after getting back all that money, 
 after the solemn assurance that Mr. Brudenel was not to become a 
 wandering Dervish in a ragged black frock coat, after his fervid and 
 eloquent oration — I am really sorry that there is no room for that 
 discourse — after the appeal that Paul should stay with them, would 
 be a plunge, head over heels, into bathos. All felt this. Flatness 
 is the bane of the domestic di'ama. There is no curtain. There is 
 no getting off the stage with a flourish. There are no lines with 
 which to conclude. In the real domestic di'ama there is no con- 
 clusion. The finest situation ends with flatness, and after the most 
 moving act the parlour-maid lays the cloth for dinner. All felt 
 this— what could have been done or said ? I know not. But at 
 this moment there were heard voices in the hall. Voices ; and in 
 this House where silence was as unbroken as the Law of the Medes 
 and Persians. 
 
 ' I forgot,' said Paul. ' There was one thing that I had to do. 
 Cicely, I have brought your brother back to you.' 
 
 ' My brother ? My brother Percival ? Oh ! ' 
 
 ' He is outside now. I will call him.' Paul opened the door. 
 Sir Percival came in and stood before them. 
 
 You have seen him already in the common sailor dress. The 
 man with the weather-beaten cheeks and hands bronzed with sun 
 and wmd. The man with the strange and gleaming eyes. The 
 man with the quick gestiu'es and the iiery tongue. 
 
 ' Percival ! ' Cicely sprang to her feet, holding out her arms. 
 ' Percival ! where are you ? ' 
 
 Her brother suffered her to fall upon his neck. He allowed her 
 to kiss him. He endured her fond words and her endearments. 
 But he made no response except that he kissed her once upon the 
 forehead. 
 
 'Percival,' said Mr. Brudenel, 'you are welcome home. I hope 
 you have returned home to resume your proper place.' 
 
 ' I am about the Master's work,' replied the enthusiast. ' This 
 house is a house of the Devil. Here you inquire of the Oracle and 
 seek learning of the witches. I have nothing to do with any of this 
 house. Leave me with my sister.' 
 
 ' Shake hands, Percy,' said Tom. 
 
 ' I shake hands with no one in this house. Leave me, while I 
 inquire concerning the safety of my sister's soul.' 
 
 ' Do not frighten her, Percival,' said Lady Augusta. ' I will give 
 you ten minutes with her — no more.' 
 
 They left him alone with Cicely. 
 
 When ten minutes later Lady Augusta went back into the room, 
 she found Sir Percival on his knees, pouring forth a wild prayer for his 
 sister; while Cicely sat trembling and terrified, her head m her hands. 
 
THE MIRACLE 209 
 
 Paul walked home with Hetty. She laid her hand upon liis 
 ai'm, and they went throu^'h the quiet streets together. 
 
 ' My heart is full of you, Hcttj-,' said the young man. 'I am 
 possessed with you. I understand, now, what was meant when I 
 was warned not to fall in love. My dear, you have ruhied me ; but 
 I love you all the more.' 
 
 ' No, Paul, I have not ruined you. I, who would die for you ? 
 I have made you lose that Power. I am glad— I am glad.' 
 
 ' Yes, dear, it is all lost. I can do no more the things that you 
 have seen me do. I have become like other men — as powerless.' 
 
 ' Paul, forgive me.' She laid the other hand upon his arm. ' Oh ! 
 forgive me. I ought not to be glad. But I am. I do not mind — 
 not a bit — that you have become like other men. Eemember wli it 
 you said to Tom when he thouijht he had lost his fortune. AVorlv 
 will brmg out your genius as well as his. And, besides — oh ! Paul, 
 I hate the dreadful hfe of a Medium. I should be in constanb 
 terror lest you should trade upon^'our powers. Now they are gone. 
 1 thank God, Paul, with all my heart that they are gone. I pray 
 tliat thej' may never come back again.' 
 
 ' They never will, Hetty. I am certain they never will.' 
 
 'And my love will be just lilve other men— as weak, as blind. 
 Just like other men. Oh, my dear, and there will be no other 
 women hanging upon his lips. I shall have him all to myself, and 
 
 as for the other world, why ' she sighed with reUef, ' we shall 
 
 see the other world with no eyes — oh ! how happy shall I be — except 
 the eyes of Faith ! ' 
 
 They were at the door. 
 
 Within, in the front parloiir, sat Lavinia and Mr. James Beriy, 
 inquiring and getting a wonderful ' mix ' in the nature of reply. 
 
 Outside, Lavinia's daughter stood praying Heaven that com- 
 mmiications ^\ith the other world were closed. 
 
 " Kiss me yourself, Hetty. Good night, my dear. Good night.' 
 
 She went indoors. Paul lingered a moment after the door 
 closed, as a lover does because the house which contains his girl is 
 a sanctuary, and the very doorstep is an altar. Then he, too, 
 turned to go, and stood face to face -with another girl. 
 
 ' Bethiah ! ' he cried. 
 
 ' Ziph ! Oh ! Ziph ! — is it — really — is it — Ziphion Trinder ? ' 
 
BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 NO SYMPATHY AT ALL. 
 
 ' Well, now, Zipb, I am just glad to see you. I expected you all 
 yesterday and the day before. You ran away almost before I had 
 time to give you my addi-ess. "Why did you run away '? And why 
 did you not tell me what you w^ere doing ? But I knew you would 
 come to see me. "Why did you run away ? ' 
 
 The place was Bethiah's studio, and the visitor was none other 
 than Paul, or Herr Paulus, whom Betliiah addi-essed as Ziph. The 
 reader's natm-al intelligence has, no doubt, long since identified 
 Paul with Ziphion Trinder. 
 
 ' Sit down, Ziph. Take a chah- and let us talk. Will you have 
 anything — a cup of tea ? No ? This is like old times, is it not '? 
 You foohsh old Ziph ! Why did you run away fi:om your oldest 
 fit'iend ? As if you could keep away fi'om me ! TeU me all you 
 have been doing — stay, let me tell you first about myself; then 
 your mind will be quite at ease. I am working at art. This is 
 my studio. My poor dear father is dead, and I have enough to 
 hve upon. I don't like living in leading-strmgs like the English 
 ghls, and so I go about alone and independent. I have travelled 
 and hved in Kome, and Florence, and Paris. Now I am livmg 
 here, alone, as you see ; and I am not engaged, or married, or in 
 love, or anything. I am quite well and strong, and I am as happy 
 as I can expect to be, and I have made many friends since we two 
 parted ; but I am more than glad to see my dear old Ziph once 
 more.' 
 
 ' You are looking very well, Bethiah,' he rephed with a little 
 constraint, quite obvious to her. 
 
 ' I am always very well, my dear Ziph, and to see you makes 
 me seventeen again. I think we were about the time of sweet 
 seventeen when we parted, and we are past four-and-tweniy, which 
 is a gi-eat age. Stay, Ziph. Let me look at you before ■ you begin 
 to talk; because, you know, when you do begin you wi'l not let 
 
 r2 
 
212 HERR PAULUS 
 
 me thiiik of anything else. ^^Tiy, Ziph, I declare you have gi'own 
 very handsome, my dear boy. Your moustache becomes you 
 mightily, sir, and you have let your hair grow picturesquely long. 
 I must take yomr portrait. I do wish all young men would pay as 
 much attention to the style of hak which suits them. "\Miat have 
 you done ? TMiat is your profession ? You cannot be an artist. 
 No : it is impossible.' She looked at huii critically and cruioush". 
 ' You could never draw even a pig beside a haystack with any real 
 feeling for the lovely cm:ve of a pig's neck.' 
 
 ' No, Bethiah,' Paul replied with rather a wan smUe, ' I am not 
 an artist.' 
 
 'Let me see. Are you a great poet? Y'ou look like one — and 
 now, I remember, when you left home you had quite a bolster of 
 poems. Oh, Zijih, are you really a gi'eat poet mader another name ? 
 Nobody, certainly, could look half so poetic. What great poet has 
 arisen in the last seven years '? Y"ou can't be Swuibiu'ne — or 
 Browning ; no — that is impossible.' 
 
 ' No,' said Paul sadly, ' my ambitions in the poetic direction 
 were very quickly dismissed. The bolster has long since gone into 
 the waste-paper basket.' 
 
 ' Have you tm-ned actor ? Y"ou used to be able to imitate very 
 well. Do you remember one evening in the garden imitating 
 some Spirituahst cheat and humbug who brought along his show ? ' 
 Paul showed certain signs of confusion at the reminiscence. ' Oh, 
 I am sure you are an actor. What is your theatrical name, Ziph ? 
 Let me see. I have been to all the London theatres. I have 
 seen all the actors. Could I possibly have seen you without 
 
 recognising you ? "Wliat yoimg actors have lately Are you 
 
 Mr. Charles Brookfield, for example ? ' 
 
 ' No, Bethiah. I am not an actor.' 
 
 ' Well, then, let me guess agam. You are a novelist, Ziph ? 
 Y^'es — you must be a novelist, and a successful novelist. Nobody 
 but a successful novelist could afford such a beautiful fur-lined 
 coat. What is yoiu- assumed name ? Are you Frederick Anstey ? 
 Did you write " Vice Versa " ? Are you — are you — Eider Haggard ? 
 Oh, did you wi'ite " She " ? ' 
 
 ' No, Bethiah. I am not a novelist.' 
 
 ' Well, then, you must have gone out West and found a silver- 
 mine ; or you may have gone partners in a Government contract ; 
 or you may have speculated in railway shares ; or you may have 
 formed a ring and a corner; or you may have maiTied the 
 daughter of an Enghsh duke, so that the old man pays the bills ; 
 or perhaps you have invented something which everybody must 
 have — or you've caught on with a patent medicine. Come, Ziph : 
 teU me quick. I am burning to know. First, though. Your 
 father and mother ai'e well. Have you written to them lately '? ' 
 
 ' No,' Paul replied shortlv. 
 
NO SYMPATHY AT ALL 213 
 
 ' You liave not %vritten to them since you left home ? You will 
 have to explain that, sir. Without explanation, it seems very 
 \vi-ong of you. My Aunt Martha — you remember my Aunt Martha ? 
 — told me in her "last letter that Deacon Truader kept smart. By 
 the way, I don't lilie, out of America, bein^ called Bethiah. So, 
 sir, change my name to Kitty. Do you like it better '? lutty — 
 Kitty. It sounds somehow more Christian and cultivated than 
 Bethiah. Doesn't it ? ' 
 
 ' It is much better,' said Paul. Then he looked up with the 
 old famihar smile and saul, ' I don't lilve, out of America, being 
 called Ziphion, and I have changed my name to Paul. Does that 
 sound better than Ziphion, Kitty ? ' 
 
 Bethiah laughed merrily. 
 
 ' Paul ? Oh, much better ! Paul — Paul, you look as if you must 
 certainly have been christened Paul, and I thinlc you must be the 
 son of an ItaUan nobleman. Is the Deacon a count in disguise ? 
 Yes, I shall easily learn to call you Paul. Paul, now I think of it, 
 we must have been Paul and Kitty in the old-time days, only 
 somehow we called om-selves Bethiah and Ziphion for short. Paul 
 — yes, it is a very good name for you. And now, Paul, tell me 
 what it is that has made you so rich and prosperous. There is 
 another Paul somewhere in London. Hetty told me about him — 
 you don't know Hetty ? This Paul is a most dreadful humbug and 
 impostor. He pretends to do the Spiritualistic rubbish. Hetty 
 beUeves in him, and AVhy, Paul, what is the matter ? ' 
 
 For Paul's teU-tale face, impenetrable no longer since the de- 
 parture of the Powers, flamed swiftly. And Bethiah remembered 
 Hetty's description of the great Magician. _ Young, dark, hand- 
 some beyond other men, voice soft and musical, his head shaped 
 like that in her own sketch. 
 
 ' Ziph ! ' she cried, with a sudden change in her voice, ' tell me 
 quick — my dear old friend — you are not that Paul ? '_ 
 
 ' Yes, Bethiah,' he replied, not daring to raise his eyes, ' I am 
 that Paul— no other. I am the man of whom Hetty has spoken.' 
 
 The girl sat down amazed and confounded. For a space neither 
 spoke. 
 
 ' Oh,' she cried presently, ' is it possible ! You, Ziph ? Oh, 
 my poor boy, you to be sunk so low ! Oh, that is why you ran 
 away from me '? ' 
 
 ' You call it low ? ' he replied, trying to assume the an: of one 
 who is well satisfied with himself. But he failed. ' Well, I sup- 
 posed you would take that line. I might have suspected it. Out- 
 side the New England coimtry town they do not call it sinking low. 
 I am respected — respected, Bethiah. I am akeady nearly at the 
 head of the profession.' 
 
 ' Profession ? What a profession I ' 
 
 « Yes, a profession ; and one that is perhaps honourable ' 
 
214 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' No, Zipli, no ; keep that kind of talk to yourself. In the old 
 time we shoiUd have called it a wicked profession. Now I tell you 
 that it is a contemptible and a disgraceful profession. Yes, I tell 
 you so openly, because, Ziph, we cannot make pretences to each 
 other of any kind, even pretences to salve the conscience of one o^' 
 us. Now I imderstand — oh, now it is quite clear — why you ran 
 away from me, why you have never written to your mother or to 
 me. You were ashamed to tell us what you were doing. That is 
 why you have not been to see nae for three whole days after you 
 found that I was in London. Oh, Ziph, this is terrible ! I thought 
 you might be dead! I never thought to find you — here.' She 
 stopped. 
 
 ' Bethiah ! ' said Paul, really with tears in his eyes, ' don't 
 begin that way ; you don't know. Hear me first. When I met 
 you a week ago my head was filled with many things. Nothing 
 surprised me more than to meet you.' 
 
 ' You tried to run away from me. You were ashamed, Paul — 
 you were ashamed.' 
 
 ' No, I was astonished. When I got home I remembered that it 
 might have looked like trying to run away ' 
 
 ' It did, Paul ; it did.' 
 
 ' Then I was prevented the next day. And at last when I do 
 come, instead of giving me a little sympathy you condemn me un- 
 heard. And you are the only person in the world who can advise 
 and help) me. Bethiah, for old time's sake, let me tell you every- 
 thing. Then you can despise me if you like — you can send me 
 away ' 
 
 ' Oh, Ziph ! as if I coiild ever despise you ! as if I could ever 
 wish to send you away, whatever you have done ! But to think 
 that you, of all men in the world, should have stooped to such a 
 profession ! Ziph ! Do you never remember the days when yom* 
 heart was filled with the love of truth ? Oh, how you would have 
 scorned such a life in those days ! ' 
 
 'Bethiah, for pity's sake, hear me.' 
 
 ' No,' cried Bethiah, after half an hour of greatly involved 
 personal narrative in the style adopted by those who wish to make 
 a good case out of a bad one. ' It is no use, Paul, to talk to me in 
 this way. You are wrapping up the truth and trying to hide it.' 
 
 ' What am I to tell you, then ? ' 
 
 'You are hiding quantities of things. I know already what 
 you have been doing in London, because Hetty and her mother 
 have told me from time to time. I know very well that you have 
 become a medimn, a mesmerist, a thought-reader, a prophet, an 
 oracle — and Heaven knows what beside. Yes, yes — it is no use 
 parading the inestimable blessings which you have poinded upon the 
 people who have trusted you. I know all about the Mu'acles of the 
 
NO SYMPATHY AT ALL 215 
 
 blind girl being made to see, and the Indian newspaper, and I 
 kncnv that you saved, somehow, their fortunes. I know, besides, 
 that you have been pretending to preach a kind of new Gospel, and 
 that j'ou jirofess to annihilate space and to see spirits and talk with 
 them, and that you carry people out of themselves. I want to 
 know more than this. I want to know what you do it for.' 
 
 Paul made no reply. He was thiriking, in fact, how best to 
 carry on his case, the cm-rent of his narrative being thus rudely 
 interrupted. He had prepared a most beautiful story, with which 
 he thought to convince his old friend. In the story he posed as the 
 possessor of a mysterious Power which he used for beneficent 
 purposes only. He was getting on very nicely witli it — and now 
 Bethiah pulled him up short. Girls have no imagination. 
 
 ' My dear old friend,' the girl took his unwilling hands, ' can 
 you look me in the face and tell me that you are proud of yourself 
 and of yoiu: seven years' work ? ' 
 
 It appeared by that experiment that he could not. 
 
 ' Go back to the beguaumg, Paul,' she said. ' TeU me, exactly, 
 what happened to you in New York ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing happened, except that my contributions were all re- 
 fused, and that I got through all my money.' 
 
 ' And then ? ' 
 
 ' Then, by accident, I feU into the hands of the man who taught 
 me all I know. Bethiah,' he broke off earnestly, ' it is not all 
 cheating and lying. I declare that it is not. You do not under- 
 stand. It is a way of life that requires the utmost skill with the 
 quickest intellect and the widest knowledge. Consider what we 
 did. The people came every day to consult us; they asked us 
 about then' business, about their private affairs, about theii' health, 
 about their love matters, about everything. AVe had to give them 
 replies that would help them. For this purpose it was necessary to 
 learn how to read their thoughts — that is, from the least hint of 
 word and look and gesture to connect their questions with what 
 was in tlieir minds. Then we had to know all kinds of business 
 matters, to watch the stock market, and all the marlcets ; to know 
 the real meanings of telegrams in the papers ; to know the laws of 
 physiology, and especially the action of the nerves. Anybody 
 might do so much. There remained, however, the power without 
 ■which all this knowledge would be useless — the power of magnetism 
 or mesmerism. Bethiah — Kitty — it was the development of this 
 power in myself which raised the profession and redeemed it from — 
 from what you would call it. For it is— indeed, indeed it is — a real 
 gift, a special gift : there is not a man in America who had this 
 gift in such force and so well developed as myself. There were few 
 indeed of those who came to our otiico who could not be subjected 
 to my influence ; and those who most readily yielded were those 
 whom we could most really help. We did help them. We were so 
 
2i6 II ERR PAUL US 
 
 mnch more clever than ordinary folk ; we knew so much more ; 
 and we were so much better able to consider any case without 
 imssion or prejudice, that we could give good counsel to anyone 
 whose case we understood. Even the unbelievers acknowledged the 
 success of those who came to consult us. It was all done by 
 superior knowledge and acuteness — all. We were paid, like all other 
 specialists, for our skill and knowledge.' 
 
 ' So you say.' 
 
 ' Consider again, Bethiah. The doctor pretends to understand 
 and give advice upon every kind of disease, yet his knowledge is 
 very limited. The lawyer pretends to know the whole body of the 
 law, and undertakes every kind of case, yet his real knowledge is 
 small. The clergyman pretends to know more about the next 
 world than other people, yet his knowledge is arrived at by the 
 same book which we all possess. In the same way we undertook 
 to advise upon all cases, whatever might be brought to us connected 
 with the conduct of hfe. "We knew more than most men, because 
 one of us was old and had studied all his life, while the other — was 
 an apt pupil, Kitty. Yet there must have been many aspects of 
 life strange even to the elder man's experience. Do you not see 
 that in our profession we were only acting exactly the same as the 
 members of every other profession ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing of the kind, Paul. That is a mere subterfuge. You 
 placed a gulf not to be passed between yourself and the other pro- 
 fessions when you pretended that your advice was dictated by 
 spirits. You pretended to have supernatural powers, and you 
 traded on that pretence. Answer that, Paul.' 
 
 ' I say,' he rephed doggedly, ' that we did what others did.' 
 
 ' You did more, Paul, and worse. And you were conscious of 
 your sin. Else why did you not write to your mother and to me '? 
 We mourned for you as for one dead. How will your mother 
 mourn when she learns how your time has been employed ? ' 
 
 Paul left this question unanswered. 
 
 ' I have shown you,' he said, ' that the life was one which re- 
 quired natural gifts of the highest kind, and great study. More 
 than that, it required the greatest temperance and self-control, the 
 mastery of all the emotions and passions, and the most rigid self- 
 denial. No monk could lead a life of greater mortification.' 
 
 ' All for purposes of deception ' 
 
 ' And I do think, Bethiah, that I might have expected a little 
 sympathy.' 
 
 ' Sympathy ! Oh, Paul ! How long did you continue in this 
 occujiation ? ' 
 
 ' Until about eight months ago. Then my instructor, who is 
 growing old, decided to retire, and advised me to leave New York 
 for a while, so as to reappear with a greater appearance of mysteiy 
 ■ — it is the sense of mystery which helps us. As to tliis pretence, 
 
NO SYMPATHY AT ALL 217 
 
 as you call it, of spiritual assistance, that is nothing. Anybody 
 could pretend so much. But it is not everybody who could com- 
 mand the sense of mysterious presence and inlluence.' 
 
 ' He talks,' said Bethiah, addressing her teapot, ' as if he gloried 
 in his deceptions. Go on, please.' 
 
 ' We left New York and came to Europe. "We have been travel- 
 ling about, seeing the principal capitals. My master is now partly 
 paralj'sed, and will never again do anything ; and ' 
 
 ' Stay a moment, Paul,' said Bethiah, inteiTupting. ' You say 
 it is eight months since you left New York ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Eight months ago ? Are you telling me the truth, now ? * 
 
 ' I always tell you the truth. Surely, Bethiah, you do not think 
 that I would deceive you ? ' 
 
 ' You told those people that you came from Abyssinia ; that you 
 knew nothing about your birthplace or your people. Y^ou pretended 
 to be able to speak any language on occasion. You pretended — oh, 
 Paul, how can you ask me for symj)athy with this monstrous pile 
 of falsehoods? ' 
 
 ' It was only the machinery. "\Ye nnist have machinery. It is 
 onl^^ the same thing when an English clergyman puts on a surplice 
 and a hood. He isn't, really, unlike other men ; but he wants a 
 little machinery.' 
 
 ' What did you do it for, Paul '? ' Bethiah repeated. ' Tell me, 
 if you can, what you have got by it.' 
 
 ' By coming here, you mean ? It is no use telling you in your 
 present mood. Y"ou would not understand me.' 
 
 ' TeU me, however : I want to understand. Did you come here 
 for the purpose of getting money out of the Enghsh ? ' 
 
 ' No : I wanted to distinguish myself.' 
 
 ' To distmguish vourself ? Distinction ! In such a wav as 
 this ? ' " 
 
 ' Why not ? I know myself to be the cleverest and most skilful 
 mesmerist in America. I know the whole of the Spiritualist busi- 
 ness from the lowest to the hi!,'hest— from the common Medium with 
 his taps, to the Occult Philosopher with his Mahatmas. I thought 
 I would come to London, where my exploits would be witnessed by 
 the whole world — London is somehow the real centre of the world. 
 Then I would aim at the highest tlnng ever attempted. I would 
 soar, by myself, without any aid, far above the petty familiar tricks 
 of the mediums. In the history of Spnituahsm I would have a 
 chapter to myself. I learned that there was an EngHshman here, 
 rich and credulous, who wanted to be considered the chief of the 
 Spiritualists, and was always anxious and ready to cultivate the 
 acquaintance of every new and promising arrival. All American 
 Spii'itualists knew the name of Brudenel. Then I thought I would 
 introduce myself to him with a great preliminary flomish, and when 
 
21 S HERR PAULUS 
 
 I liatl contrived to win his full confidence, with that of" as many of 
 his fi-ieuds as possible, I Avould execute a couj) the possibility of 
 which conld not be explained by any other supijosition than the 
 direct interference of supernatural agency. I knew I could do this, 
 because I had learned developments of the magnetic force which I 
 am sure have never been attempted before. I had in my mind the 
 general plan. I trusted to chance for the details. It was to be the 
 acliievement of a feat which Spiritualists have often been invited to 
 do, but which they have always refused to do — of course, because 
 thej' are unable to do it. This feat I resolved to accomplish. I 
 would do it before a room full of people. I woitld annomice before- 
 hand what I was going to do. Other mediums would be jealous, 
 but they should not be able to denj- the fiiet, and they should not 
 be able to repeat it. The believers would rejoice greatly and be 
 strengthened in their faith. Then everj'body would want me to 
 repeat the performance, and then ' 
 
 ' And then ? ' said Bethiah. 
 
 ' Nothing more. Because I intended at this point to vanish 
 altogether. I should go back quietly to America and under my 
 own name carry on mj^ own business again, with the glory of the 
 new-made reputation. That, Bethiah, was the object with which I 
 came here.' 
 
 ' Well, Ziph, one cannot praise yoiu* object ; and j^et it was not 
 altogether ignoble. You did not mean to make pretences by which 
 to get money for yourself. Go on with j-our story. You found this 
 unfortimate and credulous person ? You went to him with your 
 story about Abyssinia and the rest of it ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. I foimd him far more credulous than I could have con- 
 ceived possible. All the Abyssinian machinery proved quite useless. 
 As for my story of Prince Menelek, it wasn't wanted, though the 
 gu-ls liked it. I now understand that I should have done better — I 
 see it now — to have maintained a perfect simplicity. I ought to 
 have been myself the Sage. The machinery oiily encumbered me.' 
 
 ' And have you played off your gi-eat miracle '? ' 
 
 ' I have succeeded far beyond my expectations. I have been 
 enabled not only to perform the gi'eatest mii-acle of modern times — 
 the appearance of this day's paper from India — but I have actually 
 saved their fortunes for these people, and now the whole world is 
 ringing with my praises.' 
 
 ' Is it ? I see the papers every day, but I have seen no account 
 of 3'our miracles.' 
 
 ' You don't go into society, Bethiah,' said Paul irritably. ' I 
 tell you that in the best cu-cles they are talking about nothing else.' 
 
 ' WeU, Paul, if that is so, your progi'amme is complete so far. 
 And it only remains to crown the deception by vanishing.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes. Unfortunately, I cannot carry out that part of the 
 programme.' 
 
NO S YMF A THY AT ALL 219 
 
 * Whj' not ? Are you obliged to plan another miracle ? "Wliiit 
 a horrid thing it must bo to be always arranging a new miracle ! ' 
 
 ' No, no ; there will be no more miracles. Bethiah, I told you 
 I wanted your sympathy. Never mind what has been done. That 
 is done and cannot be helped. I want your advice about the 
 future.' 
 
 ' I advise you to leave your present employment, buy a hammer, 
 and break stones in the road, Paul, if you can get nothing better 
 to do.' 
 
 ' I will, I will. In fact I must. Bethiah — oh ! my old friend ! 
 I have lost my Power.' 
 
 ' What do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' I mean that I have lost everything that gave me the power of 
 doing that which I have done. I can no longer carry on my pro- 
 fession. I can no longer read thoughts ; nor can I influence others. 
 I cannot do the simi)lest thing except the conjuring and the mere 
 mechanical part of the profession. I have lost my Power.' 
 
 ' Why can't you do these things ? How have you lost the power ?' 
 
 ' Everything depends upon the magnetic power and the control 
 that has gone from me.' 
 
 ' Why has it gone ? ' 
 
 ' Because — how can I make you understand ? Anybody, you 
 see, can mesmei'ise if he finds a subject suitable to his powers. But 
 the complete mastery over the mysterious magnetic force — Bethiah, 
 vipon my word, I am not talking nonsense ' — indeed he looked 
 earnest enough for the most sublime truths — ' I say that complete 
 mastery over magnetic force can only be developed by long and 
 patient study and continual practice. And it can only be main- 
 tained by one who keeps a perfect control over his own passions 
 and emotions. A man with this gift must never fall into a rage, 
 never be moved by pity, love, hatred, revenge, ambition, or anxiety. 
 He must be complete master of himself. Bethiah ' — he repeated 
 this asstu-ance with the gi-eatest earnestness — ' I declare that I am 
 not deceiving you. It is, indeed, a most real force which I was 
 able to wield and control. It gave me the most wonderful power 
 over all those whom I could subdue. I admit there were many 
 who would not come under my influence. I could do nothing witli 
 them. But at this Englishman's house, from Lady Augusta and 
 Mr. Cyrus Brudenel down to the boy in buttons, they were all — ■ 
 exce^it two — my slaves, obedient to n\j Avill, ready at a moment to 
 execute my orders and to perform, imconscious themselves, what- 
 ever services I requii'ed of them. I treated their ailments : I found 
 out theu' wishes and wants : I learned all the secrets of their lives : 
 I was more than a confessor to them, because they confessed with- 
 out their knowledge, and they alwaj's confessed the truth.' 
 
 ' That seems a Power which no man, not even the noblest, ought 
 to have.' 
 
220 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' Yet I possessed that Power. It was mine — and I liave 
 lost it.' 
 
 ' That seems a good thing for the world. How did you 
 lose it ? ' 
 
 ' I have totally lost it. I can do nothing. Even Cicely, the 
 most emotional, the most readily respondent, remains wholly iin- 
 nioved. She believes still — nothing would shake her faith in me, I 
 think ; but I cannot move her.' 
 
 ' I begin to have hopes of you, Paul,' said Bethiah the unsj^m- 
 pathetic. ' You cannot exercise this terrible magic any longer. So 
 much the better. You have not told me how you came to lose the 
 power. Did you fall into a rage ? ' 
 
 ' Worse than that. The most fatal thing of all is to fall in love, 
 Bethiah. I have fallen in love.' 
 
 Bethiah laughed merrily. ' Oh, Ziph, if you only knew how 
 rueful you look ! You have fallen in love ! Are you very much 
 in love ? ' 
 
 ' Very much. I can think of nothing else.' 
 
 ' And that is how you lost your power ! My poor dear boy, are 
 you so terribly to be pitied ! Fancy throwing away all that 
 splendid power for the sake of a poor, insignificant girl ! ' 
 
 ' Now you laugh at me.' 
 
 ' There was once a boy named Ziphion Trinder, and he called 
 himself Paul for improvement sake — in all mutual improvement 
 societies they begin by improving their names — and he had a gift 
 froin the fairies. He was empowered to subdue men and women, 
 and to learn their secrets, and to make them do what he liked — 
 you will observe, Paul, that the gift was not of the sUghtest use to 
 him except for vanity and deception ; or to his fellow- creatures, 
 because he could do nothing for them even when they were his 
 most abject slaves. But there was one most disagreeable condition 
 attached to the gift — it is really a very pretty fairy story. The 
 yoimg man was never to feel any emotion ; he was not to let his 
 heart be moved at all ; he was never to be carried out of himself; 
 he was never to be like other men at all : he was to be perfectly 
 cold, passionless, and selfish. Is that a true statement of the case, 
 Paul ? ' 
 
 ' It is near the truth.' 
 
 ' On this condition he could exercise his useless gift. Well, the 
 young man did exercise it for some years. He found that combined 
 with a system of falsehood and pretence it could be made useful for 
 making money. By the waj', did you make money, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, we made a great deal. My partner, who was my mstructor, 
 keeps the money. Oh, I have a great pile of money laid by in his 
 hands.' 
 
 ' So he made money, and if he had gone on he would have made 
 a great deal more. And then he would have grown old in pretence 
 
NO SYMPATHY AT ALL 22I 
 
 and deception, and lie would have become every day more solfis'i 
 and colder-hearted. The end of that yomig man is di'eadful to think 
 of. But kind Heaven willed otlierwise, for he was made to fall in 
 love. And as soon as he began to have his heart filled with the 
 thought of another creature besides himself, and when the longings 
 and yearnings of love seized him, his magic power fell from him, 
 and he became exactly like his fellows. Paul, is that well said ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps. But I have lost my livelihood — my profession is 
 gone.' 
 
 ' I hope, at any rate, you have fallen in love with a girl who 
 appreciates your profession at its true value, Paul.' 
 
 ' She does not know anything about it. I have not told her.' 
 
 ' But you will have to tell her. Wliat is her name, Paul ? How 
 did you come to know her ? Is she an English girl ? ' 
 
 ' She lives in this house. Her name is Hetty Medlock.' 
 
 Kitt.y sprang fi-om her seat and clajipcd her hands. 
 
 ' Hetty ! Hetty herself ! Oh, this is delightful ! Why, Paid, there 
 is not in the whole world anyone who hates Spiritualism quite so 
 much as poor Hetty.' 
 
 ' I know.' 
 
 ' And does she know that you love her ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And does she — has she accepted your attentions, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Yes. Oh, Bethiah, she is the dearest girl and the most beautiful 
 in the world ! I am madly m love with her. Oh, you know her, you 
 understand how I could not choose but fall in love with her.' 
 
 ' I think I can miderstand, mj^ dear Ziph. She is a beautiful girl, 
 and she is sweet and good. Yes— you have done well to fall m love 
 with her.' 
 
 ' I do not know what my partner will say when I tell him that I 
 must leave the firm. What am I to do ? ' 
 
 ' I don't know. Hetty will not mind waiting, will she ? ' 
 
 ' I have said nothing yet about %\aiting. She trusts me in ever^'- 
 thing.' 
 
 ' How much does she know about yourself? ' 
 
 ' Nothing ; or very Httle. I could not tell her all. It is enough for 
 me to have to tell you. I have gained your contempt, Bethiah. I 
 could not bear her contempt as well.' 
 
 ' Not my contempt, dear Ziph.' She gave him her hand. ' I am 
 sorry for you. It was a great temptation. You were tempted by the 
 appeal to your owa. cleverness as much as by necessity. I am very 
 sorry for you. But not my contempt. And if Hetty loves you as she 
 shoiild, it would be her forgiveness as well as her pity, but never 
 her contempt, that you would earn by telhng her.' 
 
 ' I camiot teU her.' 
 
 ' But not to tell her is to continue the deception. Does she 
 believe that you really possessed supernatural powers at all "? ' 
 
222 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' Yes ; she believes that the things that I have done were 
 effected by powers which we call supernatural, though she knows 
 that I am now no more than any other man. It makes her happier 
 to beUeve. Remember her history. If she believes in my powers she 
 is also able to believe in her mother's — any way, in some part of 
 her mother's — pretensions. That makes her happy. She has long 
 been ashamed of her mother, and now she thinks that she need be 
 ashamed of her no longer. I cannot teU Hetty yet. Do not betray 
 me to her, Bethiah.' 
 
 ' No, Ziph, I wHl not. You may depend upon my honesty. But 
 let me think a Uttle. I am carried away by all that you have told 
 me. I must think for Hetty as well as for you.' 
 
 She threw herself upon the sofa and bturied her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 ' I have thought about it a Httle more clearly, Ziph. Sit down 
 and let me tell you what I have thought. Give me yom: hand. Do 
 you remember, Zijih, how we used to walk hand in hand to church 
 on Sunday — the old-fashioned chuxch built two hundred years ago 
 and more ? We talked as we went along about things too high for 
 children's comprehension ; but of one thmg we were quite sure. It 
 was impossible that our own lives could be other than true and 
 honest. We were foolish children, and we have learned better now. 
 But think, Paul — suppose we knew that our fathers were making 
 their livelihood by false professions and pretence — think what 
 misery and shame we should have endured.' 
 
 ' I have broken from it. I have left it, Bethiah. I can never 
 return to it.' 
 
 ' Thank God. You shall not return, dear Ziph. But there is 
 another tiling. You will marry Hetty. You think that you will not 
 tell her the secret of the past. Some time or other she will discover 
 it. A roll of forgotten papers, an old letter, a chance recognition — 
 anything may break the secret to her, and with its discovery all her 
 happmess, and her respect and love for you, will vanish. You must 
 tell her, and that at once.' 
 
 Paul hung his head gmltUy. 
 
 ' I cannot yet ; I will tell her some time. Oh ! Bethiah, I shall 
 have to confess to many . . . pretences. She can never love me if 
 I tell her the truth.' 
 
 ' She will never love you if she finds it out. You must tell her, 
 Paul. You must. There is no way out of the difficulty except to 
 tell her. Nay ; you must confess to all these people.' 
 
 ' No — no — no, Bethiah, I could not. To Hetty, perhaps. To 
 Lady Augusta ? To Cicely ? never.' 
 
 ' You must, Ziph ; you must confess to all. even to Mr. Cyrus 
 Brudenel, before you can stand at the altar, and give your bride the 
 hand of an honest man.' 
 
a2j 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 SATISFIED WITH HIMSELF. 
 
 It is pleasing to turn from die winding \\ ays and specious talk of 
 one who wishes to represent himself in a false hght, to his natm-al, 
 simple, straightforward ways when he is making love. Paul, with 
 Bethiah, began by being shifty and self-conscious. Paul, with 
 Hetty, was brave and candid of soul. 
 
 They met when and where they could, and exchanged a hm-ried 
 word just to keep up their hearts, but three or fom* days passed 
 before Paul found an opportunity of a serious talk. Love is very 
 serious. Yoimg people may laugh and joke with each other before 
 they fall in love. After, there are no more quips and jests. When 
 lovers are together they laugh little ; smiles are plenty ; it rains 
 smiles and happiness and kisses, but of laughter there is little, and 
 it is soft and low, as when the gnl laughs if her lover calls her a 
 goddess and an angel. She likes it, but she knows that the lan- 
 guage is a Httle — ^just a little — exaggerated. 
 
 This day — the very afternoon of the day when his old playfellow 
 had brought him back to the cold earth and reality again — he found 
 Hettj^ alone in Cicely's room, and entered it with the transport of 
 a man who has nothing at all on his mind but love. In fact, he 
 had nothing. The plam truths he had just heard fell h-om him and 
 were forgotten for the moment, because he was so fully possessed 
 with love, and because to him the present was all, and the past and 
 the futm-e did not exist. What mattered if Bethiah disapproved of 
 certain things? They were old things. And here was his girl 
 looking up to greet him wdth the hght of welcome in her Umpid 
 eyes, and a blush upon her cheek. Yet she dropped her eyes again, 
 because his were so full of longing that they terrified her. 
 
 He closed the door behind him, and ran with outstretched arms 
 and fell upon his knees, not to worship her, but to look up in her 
 face. 
 
 ' Hetty — we have hardly spoken — since that day ' 
 
 ' No,' she mm-mm-ed. ' Oh ! Paul,' for he was kissing her 
 hands, ' you must not. Oh ! you must not.' 
 
 ' Must not love j-ou, my dear ? ' 
 
 ' You are so far above me, Paul. You know what I am. Not 
 even clever. Who am I that you should love me ? ' 
 
 ' No, deal", who am I, that you should love me ? ' 
 
 ' You are so wise and noble, Paul. And you have such wonder- 
 ful powers.' 
 
 ' As for my powers, they have deserted me. Hetty, you have 
 
224 HERR PAULUS 
 
 destroyed them. My dear, they gradually vanished as the thought 
 of you began to fill my heart. It is strange. I was warned of what 
 would happen. Yet I could not resist.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul, have I really and truly destroyed your powers ? ' 
 
 ' Eeally and truly, Hetty. My mind can think of nothing but 
 of you. And all my power depended on the clearness and freedom 
 of my mind.' 
 
 ' It is strange. Paul — were you — were you never in love with 
 any other girl ? ' 
 
 ' No, Hetty — never. For seven years I lived apart from women. 
 My Teacher and I had no women in the house. I saw them only 
 when they came to consult him. I never thought of woman's love, 
 except as a danger to be avoided. It has proved a rock, indeed. 
 Yet — oh ! Hetty, if I have your love I shall be the richest man in 
 all the world.' 
 
 'Oh! Paul.' 
 
 She conferred this boundless wealth upon him. It needed no 
 more words. "Why, he knew that she had already conferred this 
 great gift. He kissed her a thousand times, and called her as many 
 sweet and tender names. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' he replied. ' To think that so much happiness was 
 possible ! And to think that all these years I have been running 
 after a thing not worth the having, when there was love waiting 
 for me,' 
 
 ' But it might have been love for some other girl, Paul.' 
 
 ' No, no, Hetty, we cannot escape our fate. I was reserved for 
 yoxi. And will you have me ? I am but a commonplace man 
 after all ; an American without a profession even ; as for my wis- 
 dom, that has gone too ; the fine things which you used to admire 
 will never be said again. As for my nobilitj^ perhaps,' with a touch 
 of bitterness, thinking of the morning, ' perhaps that has j^et to 
 come.' 
 
 ' But you are Paul, always Paul : whether j'ou are doing won- 
 derful things, or whether yoii have ceased to do them. It is Paul 
 that I shall love, whatever you say or do.' 
 
 ' My dear ; I have met an old fi-iend of my boyhood. She knows 
 you. She lives in your house. Go to her and ask her to tell you 
 all about me in the old days. She will tell you,' he was sure that 
 Bethiah would tread delicately on the dangerous places, ' better 
 than I can. She will save me the necessity of explaining quanti- 
 ties of things. Dear Bethiah ! She looks no older than she did 
 some years ago.' 
 
 ' Do you know her ? Did you reaUy know Bethiah before you 
 knew me ? Paul, is it possible that you did :Mt fall in love with 
 her ? ' 
 
 ' Why, I always loved her, I suppose. She was a kind of sister 
 to me. I always told her everything. But as to falling in love — 
 
SATISFIED WITH IIIMSEIF 225 
 
 yoii tlon't fall in love -n-ith your own sister, do j-ou '? And I had to 
 wait for my i'ate. Hettj^ my fate, oh ! my fate ! ' 
 
 That Fate which gives a damsel, sweet and lovely, to si;ch a 
 young man, even though his conduct has not been wholly straight, 
 is a kind and generous and forgiving Fate ; no relation at all to tho 
 lady who carries the scissors and snips the thread. 
 
 In the arms of his mistress, Paul forgot everything unpleasant, 
 even the plain truths that Bethiah had j^resented to hina. These 
 traths at the moment caused him pangs imutterable. Now he 
 found the pangs needless ; he would not bear them any longer. 
 Pangs of this character can be put away by a resolute and imagi- 
 native man. Why should he bear them ? There was no reason 
 for confessing anything to anybody. His power was gone ; he could 
 no longer magnetise anybody. Perhaps he ^vvas fatigued, and 
 suffered only temporary loss of will. Perhaps he was right in 
 attributing the thing to the dejith and strength of this passion of 
 love. Very well : let the power go. This innocent Dehlah had 
 lopped his lovely locks. Samson's were doubtless of coarser tex- 
 ture. Very well, no occasion at all to speak of the loss. Even 
 Bethiah's clumsy way of putting the thing — as if he had been a 
 common cheat, as if he had never possessed any power — could not 
 destroy the wonderful halo which his late achievements had caused 
 to sjiread around his head, so that he looked and felt like the sun 
 in splendour. He felt that halo pressing lightly on his brows. 
 Hetty, he was sure, saw it. So did Lady Augusta and Cicely — 
 poor, blind girl ! — and perhaps Sibjd and Tom, though of them he 
 was uncertain. He was perfectly satisfied with himself. He had 
 come out of his important embassy from the Sage of Abj-ssinia 
 with eclat. He had perfect reason for the cessation of the powers 
 which had been his credentials. And, besides, the whole world — 
 of this he was persuaded — was ringing with the story of his achieve- 
 ments. To the end of time the story of the things he had done 
 w^ould form the brightest page in the Ckronicles of Spuitualism. 
 
 As a matter of fact, the whole world knew nothing at all of his 
 achievements. The Indian-paper story was old, and had never 
 found any real credence, and the recent business was going to be 
 kept in the family, because the very remarkable manner in which 
 Mr. Brudenel sold his shares and forgot all about it would not bear 
 relating to an tmsjTnpathetic and a sniggering public. But this 
 Paul did not know, and therefore he was perfectly well satisfied 
 with himself, and went about, natiurally, with stuck-up chin. 
 
 ' Hetty,' he cried, buoyantly, ' let us talk of the future.' 
 
 ' Yes, Paul ; the future.' 
 
 ' What would you like best, Hetty ? ' 
 
 ' To go away — quite awaj' — where there are no spirits and no 
 manifestations.' 
 
 ' We will go away, dear. I think ' — he spoke as if he had only 
 
 Q 
 
22 J IIERR PAULUS 
 
 to choose his retreat anywhere out of the whole world, ' I think,' 
 he said, considering carefiillj-, ' that we will go to America ; we will 
 winter in Florida — I do not like the hard winters of the Korth — 
 and spend our summers on the New Hampshire coast. Or perhaps 
 you would like whiter in Sicily and summer — say on the English 
 coast. We will go somewhere— we will find a place where the air 
 is balmy and the sun is always warm. \Ve will have a house with 
 large rooms — I love large rooms — and a library full of books, and 
 a deep verandah, where in the hottest day we shall be able to sit 
 in the shade behind lovely creepers and flowers. There will be a 
 garden full of fruits and flowers ; we will live upon grapes and 
 peaches ; in the evening you will play to me and I will walk about. 
 Oh ! I remember, years ago, in the old days, how Bethiah played 
 Avhile I di'eamed. I wonder if the dreams will come back to me. 
 I used to turn them into poems — pretty bad they were, I expect, 
 but they seemed beautiful and pathetic to me. I have never had 
 those dreams since. Hetty, let me look in your eyes ? Oh ! I see 
 deep depths in them. What gives those depths to yoiu' eyes '? 
 You will fill me with those dreams again. Oh ! we shall be so 
 happy — so happy, Hetty.' 
 
 She was only half carried away by this vision of hapj)iness, 
 because her imagmatiou could not suddenly rise to the same 
 heights ; but stiU she was half carried away, and she repressed the 
 desire, natural to one who still has her own foot resting on the 
 earth, to ask where the money was to come from. 
 
 He divined her thoughts. 
 
 ' I have got plenty of money, Hetty,' he said. ' Do not let any 
 thought of money trouble j'ou. I have got a great pile of money ; 
 it is being ke^jt for me. Besides, I dare say I shall do some work 
 as soon as I find out what I can do. I think I should like to paint ; 
 it must be delightful to spread the rich colours on the canvas, and 
 watch them growing into flowers and lovely women's faces. I have 
 often dreamed of being a j)ainter. But I cannot, mifortunately, 
 draw at all. Bethiah used to draw very well ; she made many 
 portraits of me. Sometimes I have thought that it must be splendid 
 to be a great orator, and to uaove the people. But then — Bethiah 
 used to say — orators have to tell lies and exaggerate and misrepre- 
 sent, otherwise they cannot move the people.' 
 
 ' Don't be an orator, Paul ; don't try to move the i^eople.' 
 
 ' I will not, Hetty,' he rephed, virtuously and firmly. ' Some- 
 times I think I should like to be a preacher, but without conviction ' 
 — he went back to the old phraseology of his youth — ' that is im- 
 possible. As for being a law.yer, that is impossible, too, beca :;se I 
 should have to study law, and I can never study anything agaui; 
 I have had enough of study.' His mind went off in an unexf ected 
 line. ' I have had seven years of study such as never any maxi had 
 before, I believe. Some day perhaps, Hetty, I may tell you aU 
 
SATISFIED WITH HIMSELF 227 
 
 about it. Seven years, during which I had to think all day long of 
 nothing else. Other young men had friends and fun, I suppose. 
 At least, I have heard of such things. I had no friends and no fun. 
 I seem now to have wasted my youth. It is gone, and aU that I 
 took so much trouble to learn and to cultivate has gone too.' 
 
 ' Never mind it, Paul.' 
 
 ' It made me so different fi-om other young men. Why, Hetty, 
 when first I came here I could not understand how Tom could be 
 always laughing and joking. I came to imitate him afterwards, 
 but at first — what a solemn, conceited Ass I must have seemed to 
 you.' 
 
 ' No, Paul. Those were your gifts.' 
 
 ' Yes, yes — my gifts. T\'eU, Hetty, I had led a very serious kind 
 of life for a long time— seven years. And the atmospliere of youth 
 and beauty mtoxicated me. And so — I feU in love. And about the 
 future, dear. There is plenty of money. I don't know how much, 
 but there must be a great deal — verj^ hkely enough to keep us all 
 our lives. Not that I don't want to work. Oh ! Hetty, to work for 
 you ! I could clear a forest for your sake ! ' 
 
 ' I wonder,' he went on, ' how I could have lived so long without 
 you, Hetty. It seems to me now as if life would not have been 
 worth living. Why, if I were to die to-morrow I should feel that I 
 had not lived in vain, because I have loved. The dreams that I 
 told you of — the dreams that came to me when Bethiah played — I 
 understand them now — they were the first yearnings of a yomig 
 man after love. Oh ! my dear. There is nothing in the world 
 worth thinking of beside love. My heart is fiiU of love and of 
 thankfulness and joy for love.' 
 
 He looked so completely happy ; he spoke with such a perfect 
 contentment : m fact, he looked and spoke as he felt— that no one 
 would have guessed the pangs of shame he had endured only that 
 morrdng in the attempt to put thmgs in a pleasant and comfortable 
 manner to his old playmate. 
 
 ' Paul,' Hetty cried suddenly, breaking up the Paradise, ' what 
 shall you say to my mother ? ' 
 
 ' I shall tell her that we are engaged, and that I am going to 
 take you away.' 
 
 ' Then we must leave her — all alone ? ' 
 
 He made no reply. 
 
 ' Yes,' she said. ' Yes — I know, we must. Poor mother ! She 
 has sometliing to live upon, and we have never been companions. 
 Oh ! wo could not endiure to bring into our own lives, Paul, the 
 di'eadful rappings and the spu-its.' 
 
 ' No, we will have none of the spirits with us. That is certain, 
 Hetty.' 
 
 ' Yet, Paul, it is to you that I have told the awful suspicion 
 which has always rested like a black veil between my mother and 
 
 q2 
 
22S HERR PAUL US 
 
 myself. They are, after k11, real spirits who rap for her. My mother 
 may be deceived by them, but she is not a deceiver of others.' 
 
 ' Lady Augusta will take care of her, Hetty — and Sibyl, and 
 Cicely, for your sake.' 
 
 ' And there is my father, Paul ; it was you who brought me to 
 him. Sometimes I wish you had not. He is — he is —not altogether 
 what I could wish him, is he ? And he has been two or three times 
 since ; and he keeps throwing out hints that if I will go with him to 
 America he will be able to do great things for me. And oh ! he 
 says he is in the show line. Can I ever ' — she sprang to her feet 
 and threw out her arms — ' can I ever rid myself of the show and 
 the Medium — the sham and the pretence ? Paul, you will take me 
 away from them, won't you ? "Where we go, I don't care where it 
 is, we wiU never hear of this other world except as others hear of it, 
 Avill we ? We will consult no spirits ; we will have no powers and 
 no gifts : we will go through life seeing no more than others see. 
 Oh ! Yes, I know — to you, Paul, to you — your gifts have been pre- 
 cious and glorious. But to me my mother's gifts have brought 
 shame unutterable ! ' 
 
 ' Why, Hetty ! ' His eyes were soft and suffused, and his cheeks 
 were glowing, his lips were trembling with the sympathy which 
 welled up in him at the torn 1 1 of pity. ' My Hetty. Henceforth 
 then there is no other world but that which you can see with your 
 eyes, and that which you can feel with your heart — my dear, the 
 other world which each of us will see and feel all day long. It will 
 be the other world of each other's hearts.' 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 There was not, happily, any occasion for anxiety as to j\rrs. Med- 
 lock, for even while Hetty spoke of her she was re-united to her 
 husband. Yes. Mr. Haynes Medlock, either stricken by conscience, 
 or led by the re-awakening of affection, or guided by self-interest, 
 had returned to his wife after eighteen years of separation. The 
 reunion of souls once parted, the return of heart to heart, is indeed 
 a sweet subject for contemplation. 
 
 ' Lor-a-mercy ! ' cried the wife. ' It's Haynes ! ' 
 
 ' Yes, Lavinia, I've come back,' said the husband. 
 
 That was all. The words are simple. The poetry lies beneath. 
 
 It was the evening. Haynes Medlock, seated once more at his 
 own fireside, was enjoying domestic happiness. 
 
IILSBAND AND WIFE 229 
 
 It steamed in a tumbler at his side, fragrant, hot, and strong. 
 The lemon lay beside it, and the whisky bottle, only just begun, 
 promised more domestic happiness to follow. 
 
 ' This, Lavinia,' he said, ' is comfort.' 
 
 In his fingers he held a churchwarden. This kind of pipe is a 
 symbol of domestic happiness. It is leisurely to smoke — indicating 
 tranquillity ; it is fragile — uidicating mutual forbearance ; confusion 
 and violence destroy it — therefore it indicates domestic peace. It 
 cannot be removed from the lips for any length of time without 
 going out. It, therefore, teaches tlie necessity of fev?- words. Its 
 length requh-es elbow-room ; tlicrefore, the children have gone to 
 bed. 
 
 ' Yes, Lavinia,' said Mr. Medlock, slowly, ' I was wrong to go. 
 You ought to have warned me that there was money in it. If I'd 
 stayed I could have made that money for you. Well, there is still 
 money in it, I've a notion, now.' 
 
 ' It's no use, Haynes. The profession's wasted away for want of 
 customers. People no longer want to consult the sph'its. Why, 
 there's even palmistry cutting into it^palmistry that the gipsies 
 used to practise. Now,' that's all the fashion. The spirit-rapping 
 trade's gone — now I am too old to learn any other. Lucky I was 
 able to buy the house when I did.' 
 
 ' I've a notion, Lavinia. I came back with that notion, and it's 
 stuck. First I thought it wouldn't do ; then I thought it would ; 
 then I thought it wouldn't. I came home, Lavinia, because I was 
 tired of being assistant and I wanted to be boss. I know the whole 
 bag o' tricks, and I said to myself" If Lavinia will only join me, 
 there's a fortune in it." ' 
 
 ' "WTiat is it, Haynes ? ' 
 
 ' It's spiritualism and palmistry and fortune-telling and advice 
 and craniology and telling character from handwriting and casting 
 nativities all in one. You shall do the spiritualism. I can do the 
 palmistry and the craniology — and I know a man who can cast 
 nativities. We can't dress you \x\i to look young, Lavinia.' 
 
 ' No, you can't,' she replied, with a pathetic sniff. ' That's too 
 late.' 
 
 ' But we can dress you up to look old, my dear. In crimson 
 velvet, with a snow-white wig, and rings upon yom- fingers, and a 
 little pamt under yoiu: eyes, you would look truly venerable. An 
 old woman isn't so attractive as a young woman ; but then slie 
 looks venerable. She commands respect. People believe in 
 her.' 
 
 ' You'U want capital to start with. Where's your furniture and 
 rent and advertising to come from ? ', 
 
 ' I'll manage that. If only we could get a yoimg woman — 
 Lavinia' — he jerked the pipe over his left shoulder and looked 
 cunning — there's Hetty.' 
 
230 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' Haynes ! If she would ! If she only would ! If you could get 
 Hetty to come with us, you would have the best clahvoyante in the 
 world. I've seen her under Paul's hands. She went off like a lamb 
 the moment his eyes were upon her. She said what he wanted her 
 to say : she stood up when he told her : she sat down again when 
 he told her : and she remembered nothing afterwards. It's easy 
 to find a mesmeriser, but a really good clairvoyante ' 
 
 ' Lavinia ! say no more — our fortime's made. Of course she'll 
 come. "Wlien first I set eyes on that ghl, that is to say, not the 
 first time, which was one-and-twenty years ago — time flies — one- 
 and-twenty years ago. She's a fine girl, La\dnia — a very fine girl 
 — with such eyes and such a figure ! Siie'll drag in all the men in 
 the place for love, and all the women for jealousy. When first I 
 set eyes on her, I say — but a week ago — I said to myself, says I, 
 " young woman, if 3-ou were only in my hands " — meaning what I 
 could make of her. But a parent without money — it's like making 
 a law when you've got no iDolicemen.' He heaved a deep sigh. 
 ' Now if you'll give in, Lavinia, listen. We'll sell this hoiise — that 
 wiU put us in funds, iiiid we'll go across the water. Lord ! what 
 a show we'll have ! With that beautiful girl di-essed — how shall 
 she be dressed ? In tights ? ' 
 
 ' Not in tights, Haynes. It isn't delicate.' 
 
 ' In Syi'ian costume, then ; we'll caU her the — the — Syrian 
 Syren. Can she sing ? ' 
 
 ' Hettj" plays and sings very well.' 
 
 ' She shaU sing. That shall be part of the entertainment. 
 Mesmeriser ! what do we want with a mesmeriser ? I'll mesmerise 
 her.' 
 
 ' You can't.' 
 
 ' Well, we can pretend. It's all tlie same thing.' 
 
 ' No, Hajmes, it isn't the same thmg. You can't pretend clair- 
 voyance — not to take in anybody who knows. You might as well 
 pretend to spirit rapping.' 
 
 ' Well, so you can. Everj'body knows that.' 
 
 At that moment there were heard from behind the stove three 
 loud and distinct raps. Haynes Medlock jumped from his chair and 
 upset his tumbler. ' Good Lord ! Lavuiia, what's that ? ' 
 
 ' Why,' continued his wife, ' if it is just the same thing, do a lot 
 of people go round pretcndmg to be Mediums ? No, Haynes, you 
 take a low view of the profession. I don't say but what we have to 
 make up a good deal. Even Paril does that, I know, with his 
 Abyssinian business, which I wonder he can have the face to put 
 before people who've got heads. To be sure, in that house nobody, 
 except Sibyl, has got anything of a head. They all believe 
 anj-thmg.' 
 
 ' Wlio's Paul ? ' 
 
 ' That is Herr Paulus, the most wonderful jMedium that ever 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE 231 
 
 came over. Haynes, I was begiiining to disbelieve in the whole 
 concern until I saw what he did. Chick says it's all mesmerism. 
 Well, mesmerism does a good deal of it ; but there's more than 
 mesmerism in it. If we could get Paul there woiild be something 
 in your show.' 
 
 ' Paul ? There was a fellow called Paolo who used to help the 
 old Professor. What's he like ? ' 
 
 ' Like an Italian. Dark hair, lovely black eyes — tall and 
 handsome.' 
 
 ' It's the same man ! Yes, if we could get him. Why not ? 
 We must have somebody, and the Professor's about come to 
 the end of his rope. AVhy not, Lavinia ? Bring me within 
 speech of him. I did speak to the Professor, but he got on stilts at 
 once.' 
 
 ' There's some talk of his losing his power. But that's what he 
 says himself. Therefore, it must be part of his make-up. They 
 say he is going away. It's the talk of the servants. I always talk 
 to the servants, Haynes, wherever I go, because there's many a 
 Httle secret comes out that way, and very useful I've found it.' 
 
 ' As for Hetty, now ' 
 
 ' You won't find it easy to persuade Hetty. She's an unnatural 
 daughter, Haynes. She isn't proud of her mother's distmguished 
 position. She won't help me any way. Sometimes she says dis- 
 respectful things about the profession. Very cruel things she has 
 said when I've wanted her to do any little thing for me — just to 
 pass me a roll of paper at the right moment, when it would have 
 made all the difference between a successful seance and a failure. 
 No, not even the crook of her little finger will that girl give me. 
 Spirits must be helped and encouraged, and she knows it ; but she 
 won't help a bit — saj's it's cheating.' 
 
 ' That's bad. Because we shall want the crook of all her fingers,' 
 said her husband. 
 
 ' And something's come over her. She never says anything at 
 all now : has her breakfast and goes off to her work ; comes home 
 and goes to bed. But now she isn't grumpy any more, and her eyes 
 are soft. She looks happy. Perhaps it's our American lodger that 
 she's so fond of.' 
 
 ' Well, Lavinia, she's got to come with us, and do what we please. 
 Exercise your authority, Lavinia — as a mother.' 
 
 ' That's all very well. But you are her father. It's yovir 
 authority, not mine, that's wanted. Let me mix you another 
 tumbler, and don't spill it again.' 
 
 ' My authoritj^ shall be exercised,' said Haynes, firmly. ' I shall 
 command that girl. She shall obey her father. I've never com- 
 manded anybody yet, but now the time's come I shall go through 
 •with it. I will be sterU; Lavinia.' 
 
 At this moment Hettv avrived. 
 
232 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' You here ? ' she said, with more siu-prise than welcome. ' I 
 thought my mother was not to know that you had come back.' 
 
 ' I concluded to come home,' said her father, simply. ' Take 
 your bonnet off and sit down, Hettj'. Your mother has got some- 
 thing to say to you.' 
 
 ' That is to say, my dear, your father ' 
 
 Hetty turned from one to the other. They were afraid. They 
 looked mean and small beside tliis beautiful daughter of theirs, to 
 whom they were about to propose a hfe of lies. 
 
 ' Well,' she said to her father, ' say what you want to say.' 
 
 ' We are going to America together, yoiu* mother and me, on 
 business. Y^'ou will come with us, Hetty, also on business. On 
 advantageous terms, of course,' he added. 
 
 ' I shall do nothing of the kind.' 
 
 'I am your father, Hetty. And yoiu* mother is— your mother. 
 And we mean to be obeyed.' 
 
 The words were strong, but their effect was greatly marred by 
 the manner of utterance. Also the handling of the churchwarden 
 did not add to the authority of the words. 
 
 ' I am not going to obey you. But what do you want me to go 
 to America for ? ' 
 
 ' Your mother and I, Hetty, are gomg to run a show — I mean — 
 conduct a high class Spiritualist A'ariety entertainment, of an in- 
 structive character. Y^our mother's world-wide fame as a Medium 
 — in crimson velvet and white hau" — has preceded her across the 
 wide waves of the Atlantic Ocean. American citizens have long 
 been asking why they, the bigger and more important half of the 
 Anglo-Saxon si^eaking race, dweUing imder the flag of Liberty, 
 should not have the opjjortunity of behokhng the manifestations 
 which this reno^vned Medium has lavished upon her own country- 
 men. That opportunity will soon be granted to them. Lavinia 
 Medlock, whose agent is the well-known Haynes Medlock, for 
 many years largely engaged in the conduct of similar enterprises, 
 will shortly land upon the sacred soil of Freedom, and be greeted 
 by the citizens of that great and glorious Kepublic. She will be 
 accompanied by her daughter, Miss Henrietta Medlock, a clak- 
 voj'ante whose feats have been hitherto designedly kept a secret in 
 order that she might burst wdth full lustre upon the enraptui'ed gaze 
 of the American Eagle. Henrietta is now m the bloom of her 
 seventeenth year.' Mr. Medlock at this point, carried away by his 
 own eloquence, rose, and assumed a position on the hearthrug, 
 where he stood, his left thumb in his waistcoat armhole, and the 
 left hand spread out. In his right he gi-acefully brandished the 
 churchwarden. The effect of this attitude, combined with his spare 
 figure, open frock coat, and small, insignificant features, was nn- 
 posing. ' Her seventeenth j'ear,' he repeated. ' In her sweet 
 seventeenth. Heaven never made a fairer creature than this 
 
HUSBAND AND WIFE 233 
 
 favourite of the spirits. She is dark, with large and limpid eyes, 
 charged with magnetism. Young men have been known to fall 
 down beneath tlie gaze of those eyes. Constant meditation and 
 communion with the other world have given her youthful face the 
 lofty and abstracted air of the aged philosopher. She is nobly 
 formed. She possesses a voice at once sol'fc, musical and powerful. 
 She plays and sings only music taught her by the spirits. In the 
 hands of her father, the only operator whom she will admit, she 
 performs the most extraordinai'y feats — things never before at- 
 tempted — of clairvoyance. There is nothing that she cannot do. 
 She reads letters in envelopes ; she tells the numbers of bank notes ; 
 she prophesies the future ; brings news of the absent ; conveys 
 messages to the dead.' 
 
 ' Stop ! ' said Hetty. ' Enough of this nonsense. I will ha'S'e 
 nothing — nothing to do with your shameful and disgraceful cheats. 
 Oh ! It has been misery enough to see what is done day after day 
 — and to hear what is said and thought of Mediums ; but to join ! 
 to pass my life in it — oh ! ' 
 
 ' Hetty, my dear,' said her mother, in imploring tones, ' don't be 
 hard on us. Think — oh ! think, we are so j^oor, and there is a great 
 fortone to be made. And indeed it isn't trickery. It is only ch'ess- 
 ing up the thing artfully so as to catch the people. It must be 
 dressed up. You are a beautiful clairvoyante, Hetty. I have seen 
 you under Paul's hands — the first night he came. Oh ! I coiild 
 have sung for joy when I saw you. Oh 1 we have no right to throw 
 away this splendid gift ; it was given to you, Hetty, so that you 
 might make a great fortune out of it for yourself and your parents. 
 Do you think, Hetty, your own father would ask you to do what is 
 wrong ? ' 
 
 Her own father endeavoured to dissemble with the aid of his 
 tumbler. But it was a feeble attempt. The invokmtary smile 
 with which he received liis wife's last question broadened to a 
 
 ' It is no use,' said Hetty, declining to answer that question. 
 ' It'othing — not the blackest destitution — would indiice me to lead 
 such a life. Besides,' she added softly, ' the matter is taken out of 
 my hands. I am engaged.' 
 ' ' Engaged ! Engaged ! Oh ! Hetty— Hetty. To whom ? ' 
 
 ' I will tell you as soon as he allows me. Yes ; I am engaged. 
 I will not insult my lover, even by listening to such proposals any 
 longer. Oh ! How can you — how can you ? — both of you. How 
 can you m your old age ' — fifty seems so old to one-and-twenty ; 
 and, indeed, one is no longer quite in the first blush of early man- 
 hood at fifty — ' how can you '? ' she repeated, because the conclusion 
 of the sentence was contrary to the spu-it of the Fifth Command- 
 ment. 
 
 Then she walked straight out of the room and sought the studio, 
 
234 HERR PAUL US 
 
 where Bethiali was reading a novel, with no other companion than 
 her lay figiu-e. 
 
 ' Engaged ! She is engaged ! ' said her mother. ' Oh ! she's 
 an artful creature not to tell lue. AVho can it be ? There's not a 
 yoimg man in the world that I know of that she knows. There's 
 Tom Langston, to be sure. But he's engaged to Sibjd ; and- — and — 
 oh! Lord! Haynes, what if it were Paid himself? It must be. 
 There's no one else. Oh ! Haynes ! ' 
 
 ' Paul ■? Signor Paolo, as was '? If it's him,' said her husband, 
 moved beyond the reach of grammar, ' if it's him, don't say another 
 word about the Show. Don't let her set him against us. If it's 
 him, I say, our fortune's made, because there isn't a cleverer or a 
 more promising man in the Profession. She's a lovely girl. "'" yavinia : 
 in greatness and loftiness of mind she takes after hei father's 
 family ; in spu'itual gifts, no doubt, after you, my dear. Humour 
 her — if it's him, give in to her. He'll make her a clairvoyante fast 
 enough. And, oh I with such a son-in-law and such a daughter, 
 my dear Lavinia, our declining j'ears will slide as easy as a droring- 
 room car, replete, as the advertisements say, with every comfort. 
 Give in to her : humour her ; buy little things and give them to 
 her — new gloves, for instance ; make her feel that we look up to 
 her. And, oh ! Lavinia, be judicious. Say nothing more about the 
 Show. Leave that to her lover. My dear, this is a joyful evenmg 
 indeed.' 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE FIRST BLOW. 
 
 It is now my cruel duty to record the succession of cruel blows 
 which one after the other shattered Paul's self-satisfaction. They 
 began the very day after that blissful talk with Hetty, part of which 
 has been preserved from oblivion. Each one was unexpected ; each 
 was more severe than its predecessor. They were blows dealt by 
 Nemesis, who is alwaj-s imexpected, always silent in her approach, 
 and who always chooses the moment when her victim is at his 
 happiest and jn-oudest, prancing gaily along the waj', believing 
 himself to be admired by everybody, exulting in his imaginary 
 triumph. 
 
 Notliing, for instance, could exceed the respect, admiration, 
 gratitude and affection with which Paul was at this moment 
 regarded in this house. No one could have been more conscious 
 of this admiration than himself. Yet all was taken from him, in 
 three days, as you shall hear. 
 
 It began in the stiidy. Mr. Brudenel was going through his 
 
THE FIRST BLOW 235 
 
 correspondence. Paul sat in an arm-chair with a cigarette and 
 the paper. Peace and serenity lay npon their hrows. 
 
 ' Here is a letter from Anna Petrovna — you remember her, 
 Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Anna Petrovna ? Of course. She gave me a letter to you. I 
 have never quite understood whether Anna is more dupe than 
 knave — or the opposite. You see, the two characters vei'y often 
 overlap. There is Lavinia Medlock, for example. She believes in 
 everybody but herself; she envies all other Mediimis ; and she 
 despises herself. Anna is hke Lavinia, with less conscience.' 
 
 Any one who took any interest in this young man would have 
 observed that a great change had fallen upon him in a single week. 
 Things external do not alter the shape of a man's features unless 
 he engages in a i:)rize-fight or goes a-welshing to a racccoiu'se. 
 Formerly Paul's face was thoughtful, reticent, and authoritative. 
 There was always a watchful look upon it. This watchfulness 
 made some, like Sibyl, suspicioiis. To others, as to Hettj', it con- 
 vej'ed assurance of reserved power. Now the watchfulness had 
 gone out of his face and the reticence. His expression was frank 
 and candid. He told everybody, freely, that he had lost his power*. 
 That explained the change completely. 
 
 ' Anna Petrovna writes to me that they have a wonderful 
 Medium in St. Petersburg — one Olga something by name. She 
 wishes to send her over here.' jMr. Brudenel looked dubiously at 
 Paul, as if uncertain how he would take it. 
 
 ' I thought you were not going to have anything more to do with 
 Mediums.' 
 
 ' Not with the common sort. But there are Mediunas of the 
 higher class. As for the common kind, you youi'self cleared the 
 house of the lying spirits, Paul.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' And, of course, you would not wish us to become perfect unbe- 
 lievers. After all you have yom'self done here, that would be 
 impossible.' 
 
 ' I wish nothing, Mr. Brudenel. As you know, I am no longer 
 qualified to give an opinion or to advise anybody. I know very 
 little, but I should say that it will be tiixie to treat the subject 
 seriously when you get a message worth having— which tells 
 us by means of the rappings something we could not find out 
 for ourselves. As for me and my Message — you saw — what you 
 saw.' 
 
 ' Y''ou found me in uncertainty, Paul, floundering among quick- 
 sands. And you placed me on the Solid Eock.' 
 
 ' On the Solid Rock,' Paul repeated, but without enthusiasm. 
 
 ' AVe have learned,' Mr. Brudenel went on, ' that there are wise 
 men to whom space is nothing. I have been myself transported 
 daily in the spirit thousands of miles in a moment. We know that 
 
236 HERR PAUL US 
 
 life is continuous, and that some have acquired the power of seeing 
 and conversing with the sjiirits — you yourself could do so.' 
 
 ' Perhaps. But I have lost my Power.' 
 
 ' We have learned that the incidents of unearthly life have no 
 significance unless they affect the March of the Soul. All this we 
 have learned from you and from your friends. If the Bussian 
 Medium — Olga — is able to continue this teaching, I would keep 
 her here as long as she would consent to stay.' 
 
 Paul made no reply. 
 
 ' Paul,' Mr. Brudenel went on, ' put me in communication once 
 more with Izak Ibn Menelek. Try. Stand over me as j'ou used 
 to do. Look me in the eyes as you used to do. Try, Paul.' 
 
 Paul threw away his cigarette. 
 
 ' I will trj\ But it is useless. I know it beforehand.' 
 
 It was useless. After ten minutes Paid desisted. 
 
 ' You have lost the compelling look in your eye,' said Mr. 
 Brudenel. 'I thought once that I was going off; but it was only 
 my i-ight foot gone asleep. Do you think he \vill ever resume his 
 teaching, Paul ? Do you thinli I shall ever remember what he 
 tauglit ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. My Power has left me. If I call on Izak Ibn 
 Menelek, he will not reply. I am forgetting who he is. I want 
 you to understand that if he has used me he has now cast me aside. 
 I have been an Instrument. I cannot advise, help, or promise you 
 anything in the matter. I know not what is going to happen. 
 Probably nothing. You have learned what it was intended that 
 you should learn. Perhaps j'ou will be left entirely to yourself. 
 Perhaps not.' 
 
 After all, to have learned so much as Paul had taught was a 
 considerable boon on the j^art of a person of whom Mr. Brudenel 
 had never heard. If all of us felt our feet as firmlj^ planted on the 
 Solid Eock — what an age of Faith would be again commenced ! 
 Mr. Brudenel would have repHed, but he was interrupted by a 
 servant who brought in a card. 
 
 ' It is our friend Athelstan Kilburn. Show Mr. Kilburn here. 
 You remember Athelstan Kilburn, Paul. He was present at two 
 of your evenings.' 
 
 Paul nodded. 
 
 Mr. Athelstan Kilburn was, in general, a person extremely well 
 satisfied with himself. Men who are well satisfied with themselves 
 frequently have loud voices. Mr. Athelstan Kilburn had a loud 
 voice. Men who are well satisfied with themselves are frequently 
 of a portly presence. Mr. Athelstan Kilburn was portly. But to-daj'' 
 he was perceptibly smaller, and his volume of voice was shrunken. 
 
 ' I am not interrupting, I hope,' he said. ' I know that you are 
 always in yoar study at this time, Brudenel, and — and — iu 
 fact ' 
 
THE FIRST BLOW 237 
 
 ' I will return presently,' said Paul, springing to his feet. ' You 
 have business with ]\Ir. Brudenel. I will leave you.' 
 
 ' No, no,' said Mr. Brudenel. ' Why should you leave us ? 
 Paul knows all my secrets — if I ever had any. Shall he stay, 
 Kilburn ? Is it very private business ? ' 
 
 ' Private business of your own — your own — Brudenel.' 
 
 ' Then stay, Paul. Now, Kilburn, take a chair and go on. What 
 is the matter, my dear friend ? You look iU. What is it ? ' 
 
 ' I am ill. Who would not be ill ? Brudenel, I am come for 
 an explanation.' 
 
 ' Certainly. What am I to explain ? ' 
 
 ' It is now five weeks ago since I sought your counsel on some 
 investments. You wrote me a letter. Have you forgotten that 
 letter ? ' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel jumped in his chair. 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! ' he cried, ' I had clean forgotten that letter.' 
 
 ' I will read it. Then you will remember. Then Herr Paulas 
 will know. Then you wiU be able to give me an explanation.' 
 Mr. Kilburn pulled out his pocket-book and turned over the papers. 
 He found the letter he wanted, and opened it and read it slowly. 
 
 '"Dear Kilburn," this,' he explained to Paul, 'has been our 
 style and title between each other for forty years. It is more than 
 forty years since we became united by the bonds of a common 
 pursuit. Diuring the whole of that time we have been the closest 
 friends. I will now go on. You shall draw your own infei-ence, 
 Herr Paxilus, and I'-rudenel will perhaps be able to give an explana- 
 tion. " Dear Kilbirrn, smce parting wi^Ii you I have considered the 
 question of your mvestments. It is true that gas keeps up and that 
 water is a thing which everbody must use. At the same time the 
 interest j'ou get for yoiu* money is not much. It occurs to me that 
 you would do better by purchasing as inany shares as you can get 
 — they do not often come into the market — of my old Company, 
 Brudenel and Company. At present prices they bring in about five 
 and a quarter per cent. The shares have gone slightly iip every 
 year since the Company was formed. I hold myself shares to the 
 extent of many thousand pounds. Think this over. Yours ever, 
 Cyrus Brudenel." Think this over,' repeated Mr. Kilburn ; 'I did 
 think it over.' 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! ' Mr. Brudenel cried, a second time, ' I had 
 completely forgotten that letter.' 
 
 ' I did think it over,' Mr. Kilbm-n repeated, hammering at his 
 point. ' And I bought those shares. I am not a rich man, Herr 
 Paulus, but for a bachelor I have been comfortable. Now I am a 
 poor man, and for the rest of my life I shall be uncomfortable. I 
 took that ad\ace, Herr Paulus, awd I invested the half of my fortune 
 in that Company. It is bankrupt, and the shareholders will not 
 get one penny.' 
 
238 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' I had altogetlier forgotten that letter,' said Mr. Brudenel, a third 
 time. ' How could I have forgotten it ? ' 
 
 ' He might have made a mistake,' Mr. Kilbum continued to 
 address Paul. ' Anybody may make mistakes. But on the very 
 day — the very day — that he wrote that letter, he wrote also to his 
 banker to sell out his own shares if possible, and immediately. 
 Well, sir ? ' he turned sharply on Mr. Brudenel, ' your explanation, 
 if you please. As I take it — as it seems to me — you deliberately 
 put an old friend, one who you knew would act on your advice, to 
 buy shares in a Company that you no longer trusted. You knew 
 that demand would keep up the price. You sacrificed your old 
 friend for the sake of keeping up the price. That is what it looks 
 like. I say no more. It looks like that sort of thing — men do these 
 things constantly. Oh ! I know that very well. We must expect 
 them to be done. But I did not thmk that such things would have 
 been done by C^tus Brudenel, by whose side I have sat for forty 
 years and received the communications of the other world.' 
 
 ' This is dreadful,' said the unfortunate Cyrus. ' Paul, help me 
 ■ — advise me. How can I explain it ? I did ■write that letter, 
 Kilburn — I did write that letter. I remember writing it very well. 
 I gave you, as I thought, the best advice.' 
 
 ' Yet you wrote the other letter on the same day.' 
 
 ' Did I ? Was it on the same day ? Y^ou are sure it was the 
 same day ? Kilburn, I declare to you that I — I have no explana- 
 tion.' He remembered in time that no spiritualist would accept 
 the only explanation he had to offer. Paul offered to explam. ' Mr. 
 Brudenel,' he said, ' was made to sell out those shares, against his 
 own knowledge, by unseen jjrotectors.' 
 
 Mr. Kilbm-n groaned and shook his head. 
 
 ' Not by the Spirits,' he said. ' You may think yourself very 
 happy if you get a plain answer to a plain question from the Spirits. 
 I've been questioning for forty years, and I would not trust them 
 an inch. As for Brudenel being made to write a letter by the 
 Spirits, that — you'll excuse me, Herr Paulus — is rubbish.' 
 
 ' But there is no other way of explaining the circumstance.' 
 
 ' Spirits have very little power at the best,' said this experienced 
 person. ' I have known one lift a pencil and write with it, but that 
 is the most I have seen. As for taking a man and making him 
 \vrite against his will, that is rubbish. I have been directed by an 
 old and trusted hiend to invest money in a concern which he knew 
 to be rotten. Oh ! Brudenel, to think that you — of all men — could 
 have done such a thing.' 
 
 Mr. Kilburn rushed out of the room. 
 
 ' Paul, can't you explam this ? ' 
 
 Paul changed colour and looked confused. He understood, for 
 the first time, the great law of political economy, that if one person 
 is saved another is lost. He had saved one man and ruined 
 
THE FIRST BLOW 239 
 
 another. Ho thought himself so clever, but he had forgotten this 
 Biniplo tiling, and ho had involved liis unfortunate friend in a situa- 
 tion out of which there was no way except one, and that way no 
 Bpiritualist would accept. 
 
 ' Paul, can't you lielp me ? ' 
 ' No ; there is no help. It is most unfortunate.' 
 Yet he had thought himself so clever — so wonderfully clever. 
 And now all I\Ir. Brudenel's most intimate fi-iends would have to 
 believe that their leader had entrapped one of themselves— a friend 
 of forty years — to his destruction, m order to save himself fi'oui 
 loss. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 THE SECOND BLOW. 
 
 When the tardy Avenger at length arrives within reach of the 
 sinner and warms to his work, his blows generally fall m an in- 
 creasing scale of weight and rapidity. The first blow, for mstance, 
 caused a certain dismay and mental confusion. It was a nasty 
 one from an unexpected quarter. It left an uneasiness behind it — 
 as used often to happen to schoolboys in the old days. The second 
 was heavier and much more painful and came more unexpectedly. 
 
 In the afternoon there was Merriment — Merriment if you please 
 in the House of Silence and of commimicating Spirits. It came 
 from the gu'ls' room. No more talk, there, of Menelek and Izak 
 the Falasha, and the Ancient Way : no more solemn uplifting of 
 the heart to the contemplation of the things behind the Veil. The 
 Veil was hanging down, as low as it could go. Nobody tried to 
 lift it — or to peep behind it. Nobody regarded it. Here was a 
 change. 
 
 There were three girls and two young men. One of them was 
 learning to dance, and he was so stupid that he made them laugh. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' cried Sibyl, springing up from the piano. ' Take my 
 place, Hettj', and I wUl try. Now — watch Tom and Cicely ' — they 
 were iUustratmg the art of waltzing for an example. To dance — at 
 any time — with one who could dance well, was the greatest pleasure 
 in the world for the blind girl. ' See how they turn — watch their 
 feet. You see : he doesn't catch his heels, and he keeps time.' 
 
 ' But I can't get round without catching mine. I can beat time, 
 but when I tm'n round to time I am lost.' 
 
 ' Nonsense — now — one — two — three. One — two — three. Wei] 
 —that is better— now — ah ! youi- heels again ! ' 
 
 Paul sat do\ATi and laughed. 
 
 ' I am too stupid. Give me up, Sibyl.' 
 
240 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' No, try again. You must learn to waltz before the dance next 
 week.' 
 
 They were gomg to have a dance. The House of Silence, sacred 
 to all the spirits, actually going to have a dance! One might as well 
 dance in a Chapter House, or in the solemn cloisters of a cathedral, 
 or in the awful halls of a Bishop's palace. 
 
 In the old times — now a week old — when the House, purged of 
 the evil and mocking spirits brought by Chick, was still haunted by 
 solemn whispers and sacred messages, a dance would have been 
 impossible. How could Sages come from Abyssinia to teach 
 wisdom, save fortunes, sign cheques, transfer shares in the most 
 supernatural manner, while the young people danced ? With what 
 heart could the Vestal of the Cause, while she was still a Vestal, 
 spin round to the tinkling of a piano ? But the Message had been 
 delivered, the book was closed, there would be no more miracles, 
 the spirits and Sages had gone, the house was cleared and ready 
 if need be for secular purpose. And there was going to be a 
 dance ! 
 
 ' I must give up trjdng,' said Paul. ' I am too old to learn. Do 
 you know I have never been to a dance and have never even seen 
 one ?' 
 
 ' Never seen a dance ? ' said Sibyl. 
 
 ' Well, I have seen the Germans dance on Sunday evenings, and 
 I have seen dancing on the tight rope at a circus. But I have never 
 been present at a dancing party of Society.' 
 
 ' Is it possible ? ' Sibyl's voice conveyed another question, 
 which it was not manners to ask. The question was ' Where in 
 the world were you brought up ? ' Paul perceived that question. 
 
 ' Since,' he said, ' I have lost my powers, I haA^e recovered the 
 memory of the past. I now remember the whole of my own 
 history and I find myself forgetting the later periods. What is the 
 use of remembering things which have left no trace behind ? ' 
 
 ' And now,' said Tom, ' you have got so far as to remember 
 never to have been to a dance.' 
 
 ' Would you like to hear something about myself '? Perhaps it 
 would be more ainusing than trying to make me waltz.' 
 
 ' Tell us all that you please,' said Cicely, ' about yourself.' 
 
 They all gathered round him, as attentive as if he were about 
 to narrate the exploits of Prince Menelek. 
 
 ' I was born,' he began, ' in a little New England town, not far 
 from Boston. It would be no use telling you the name. It was a 
 verj' Httle place ; the principal people were the minister, the doctor, 
 the lawyer, the school teachers, the general store-keeper, and tlie 
 hotel keeper. We were taught reUgion at the Sunday school, and 
 it was hoped that we should get conviction and become church 
 members. The creed of the New England ministry to^mi is narrow, 
 you know. As for dancing, it is considered impossible for those 
 
Tim SECOND BLOW 241 
 
 yonng people who take any thought of their future state. You 
 do not know, perhaps — I am sui-e you do not understand — how 
 narrow my people were.' 
 
 ' AVhat were your amusements then ? ' 
 
 ' There was sleighing in the winter, and there were gatlierings 
 connected with the chapel. Sometimes a lecturer, or a circus, or 
 a show of some kind came along. As for myself I read all the 
 books I could get, and I tried to A\T.-ite. Yes — I wrote — I dreamed 
 all day long that I should liecome gi-eat and famous.' Here Tom 
 and Sibyl's eyes met. ' ^Vhat did I tell you '? ' was conveyed in 
 Tom's glance. ' I thought I would be a great poet. Oh ! no one 
 knows the yearning that was in my heart for distinction. It 
 was not that I longed to do great work so much as to obtain 
 distinction.' 
 
 ' And now,' said Sibyl, softly, ' is tliat yearning gone ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' he replied, franldy, ' it is wholly gone. I want nothing 
 now beyond the common lot, with a corner in the village church- 
 yard wiien I have had my life and the joys of life.' Hetty blushed. 
 Was she not going to be the chief joy of his life ? 
 
 ' It has quite left me. But, then — Oh ! it was a madness. I 
 took my manuscripts to New York when I was seventeen, and set 
 up business as a distmguished poet in a cheap boarding-house.' 
 
 ' ^Vell •? ' 
 
 ' "Well, the same idea had occurred to many hundreds of yoimg 
 fellows at the same moment. I believe I came at an unlucky time. 
 Perhaps the editors and publishers are not always pelted with so 
 many poems written by the distinguished poets of the fature. No 
 one would have my poems. I got rejection from everybody, some- 
 times with the intimation that I might have my MS. if I chose 
 to call for it, and sometimes without even so much grace.' 
 
 ' And what did you do then ? ' asked Sibyl. 
 
 ' I stayed at my boarding-house till all my money was gone. 
 Even the rejection of my poems gave me less humihation than the 
 thought that I should have to creep home and acknowledge my 
 failure, and try something prosaic and undistinguislied. Then an 
 accident happened. I fell in with a certain learned gentleman 
 acquainted with — with much knowledge of the kind not studied by 
 most people ' 
 
 ' The Ancient Way,' Tom suggested. 
 
 ' He made me his pupil. It was he who introduced me to the 
 Friends — you know who I mean.' Only a week ago Paul would 
 have referred to these sages with a confident an-, instead of the 
 hesitation with which he now spoke of them. 
 
 ' Yes, we know, Paul,' said Sibjd. ' But they have thrown you 
 aside now, you know. They belong to the part of the past which 
 is to be forgotten, do they not '? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul, quickly ; ' let them be forgotten.' 
 
 R 
 
242 HERR PAUL US 
 
 ' But why did they throw you aside ? ' asked Cicely. ' They 
 were so wise and so great. Why did they throw you aside ? ' 
 
 'Because I disobeyed them. They warned me against one 
 jhing — to keep the Powers %\ith which I ^^'as entrusted, it ^^■as 
 above all necessary that I should keep my mind clear and cahn. 
 Therefore, when I allowed my mind to be entirely absorbed with a 
 certain Thought, I lost those Powers.' 
 
 ' Could you.' asked Cicely, the only one who could not observe 
 Hetty's self-conscious blush— she knew what that Thought was, 
 you see — ' could you not regam your Powers '? ' 
 
 ' Yes — perhaps — I do not know. I might again after many 
 days, and when I had torn the Thought out of my heart.' 
 
 ' Don't do that,' said Cicely, quickly. ' I love to think of the 
 old Paul, but I could not have him back again at such a sacrifice. 
 Do not make a girl unhaj^py by ceasmg to love her.' 
 
 ' You knew, then, Cicely, what I meant '? ' 
 
 ' Y'^oui' words could ha^■e but one meaning. Y'ou will tell me 
 some day more about her.' 
 
 ' Y^es, some day, soon, Cicely,' said Paul. 
 
 ' And, Paul,' said Sibjd, ' we are all so much interested in you, 
 and so grateful for all j^ou have done, — and, oh! so unfeignedly 
 thankful for the loss of those Powers of youi's, and so anxious that 
 you should never regam them, that we wajit to know what you are 
 going to do next.' 
 
 ' I am enjoying my holiday — the first I have had for seven 
 years— and I hardly lilie to think what I shall do next. Franldy, 
 I cannot tell you. I must go back to America and find out what I 
 can do, and if it is possible for me, even now, to learn a trade of 
 some kind. America is a hard country for a man without a pro- 
 fession — it is a far harder country than England. Y"et I shall get 
 on, somehow. That is all I have to tell you, good people.' 
 
 Presenth', after a little silence. Cicely spoke : 
 
 ' We shall miss you, Paul. Often in the night I lie awake and 
 listen to the voice — of the former Paul, I mean — telling us gi-eat 
 and noble things and hftmg up our souls. He is gone, but the 
 memory of his words remains. Do you remember them, you new 
 Paul ? ' 
 
 ' I remember something. Do not dwell too much upon those 
 things.' 
 
 ' I must. They have sunk into my soul. Oh ! it is a beautiful 
 thing to be very sure and certam of the world which lies around 
 us. I cannot see the world you see, but I can feel the other — the 
 spu'it world. When I am alone I seem to hear their voices and to 
 feel the rustling of their robes against me as they pass. Youi' words 
 oj)ened the other world for me. Y^ou say that j^ou have lost your 
 Powers, because you have fallen in love. I do not understand that. 
 It seems to me as if, when people are in love, they should feel all 
 
THE SECOND BLOIV 243 
 
 the more in liannony with tlie whole creation. How could Lovo 
 make you lose your Powers, Paul ? You have told us, over and 
 over again, how all the world, the other world, is full of Love. 
 Could Love destroy Powers that made you see and know these 
 things ? ' 
 
 'Perhaps it was disobedience,' said Sibyl, seeing Paul hesitate. 
 ' Come, Cicely, we must not question too closely. Let us remember 
 what was pure and noble in his teaching. The rest may go.' 
 
 It was a new thing that Sibyl should become Paul's defender. 
 But since the great day of Eestoration, with that unexpected letter 
 to Tom, she felt bound by no common ties of gratitude. Besides, 
 the supernatural pretensions were abandoned, and she had pene- 
 trated Hetty's secret. This made her more than grateful. She 
 was interested in a love story enacted before her own eyes. 
 
 ' Since,' said Paul, presently, ' there is nothing else worth having 
 except love, surely those powers of mine were well lost even in 
 bringing love to one girl.' 
 
 'They were, Paul,' said Sibj'l. 'AH the fine phrases in the 
 world are nothing compared with one good deed. In the finest 
 phrases I have ever heard in this house — which is the home of 
 phrases — it has always seemed to me that I detected insincerity. 
 The men who talk are not the men who act. It is better to act 
 than to exhort. Your splendid talk about the Ancient Wisdom, 
 Paul, with which you set Cicely's heart aglow, is it worth the 
 truthful plain life of a sunple man who works and does his duty ? ' 
 
 Paul made no reply. Only a week before he would have been 
 ready with an answer based upon the wisdom learned of his un- 
 known friends. Now he said nothing ; but he knew very well 
 what Sibyl meant. 
 
 While they sat there, quiet and grave, the door was suddenly 
 opened and Cicely's brother, the terrible Sir Percival, stood before 
 them in his rough sailor's di'ess. His eyes gleamed with the light 
 of fanaticism. He staUi;ed through the circle and laid his hand 
 upon his sister's arm. 
 
 ' Cicely,' he said, ' I am sent once more to warn you. Fly 
 from this house of witchcraft. Fly from those who converse with 
 evil sph'its and make inquiry of the Devil.' 
 
 Cicely shrank fi'om him in terror. 
 
 ' Percy,' said Tom, ' you are quite mistaken. There are no 
 more witches, and we have left off making inquiries.' 
 
 ' I know the house of old. Cicely, come away from it. Leave 
 the service of the Devil.' 
 
 ' We have left that service, Percy,' Tom answered for her again. 
 ' Exchanged, you know, sold out.' 
 
 ' Y''ou are a scoffer. Cicely, it is to you I speak. Listen.' 
 
 He dehvered his soul. If he had been addressing an impenitent 
 Magdalen, a person steeped in crime h'om his youth iip, he could 
 
244 HERR PAULUS 
 
 not have used language stronger and more fervid. Its violence 
 terrified Cicely but left her otherwise unmoved. You may call a 
 young lady a sinner, and remembrance of certain little sins may 
 fall upon her soul and convict her and make her feel small and 
 ashamed — which is a wholesome form of penitence. But to speak 
 to a girl as if she had pranced gaily tln'ough the whole of the 
 Decalogue is an overstatement of the case, and therefore weakens it, 
 
 Paul presently interrupted him. 
 
 'Have you not spoken quite long enough?' he said. 'That 
 kind of talli may do for yom- sailors, but what is the good of it for 
 young ladies ? You may terrify yoiu: sister, but you will not 
 persuade her with your bluster.' 
 
 ' I remember jon. I know you now,' said Sir Percival, with 
 quite a new light in his eyes. 
 
 ' Why do you come here ? ' Paul went on, not observing that 
 change. ' You told me you had neither brother nor sister. Why 
 do you seek out your sister, then ? yhe is happy ; she is innocent ; 
 she is full of the religion of love. As for your religion of terror, 
 she does not want it. Lea\e her in peace. I am very sorry that I 
 asked you to see her.' 
 
 ' I thought I remembered you. Cicely, one word more. If you 
 will not listen to the voice of religion, will you listen to the voice of 
 prudence ? ' 
 
 ' I wiU listen to anytliing, Percival, if you will desist from yoiu' 
 terrible language.' 
 
 'This house is the abode of liars, impostors, and common 
 rogues. Come out of it. Come with me and I will find you some- 
 where a home among Christian people. Come, Cicely, this is no 
 house for a gM who ' 
 
 ' Don't go too far, Percival,' said Sibyl. ' There are limits to 
 our patience even with you. As for Cicely, she will choose whether 
 she will stay with her old friends, or whether she will go with you.' 
 
 ' I shall stay here with my friends,' said Cicely. 
 
 ' Tom.' Sir Percival was no longer a fanatic preacher, nor was 
 he a sailor, though in a sailor's di-ess ; he was now an English 
 gentleman, calm, self-contained, and speaking with due carefulness. 
 He looked down at Paul with a scorn and contem^^t which even his 
 blind sister might have felt. ' Tom,' he repeated, ' do you know 
 this fellow ? May I ask if he is a friend of yoiu's ? ' 
 
 Tom hesitated. Could he, in fact, truthfully aver that he knew 
 Paul, or that he regarded him as a fi-iend ? 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' he replied, ' has been a guest of Lady Augusta 
 for six weeks or so. We are deeply indebted to him for a great and 
 signal service.' 
 
 ' You do not, then, know who and what he is. It was in New 
 York, three years ago, I was persuaded to see one of the Medium 
 fellows. This Medium was an old man who told lies as fast as he 
 
THE SECOND BLOW 245 
 
 could utter them. With hmi — the Medium's Cad — was this follow, 
 dressed in black velvet. They called him Signor Paolo. While 
 the old man talked, this fellow played pranks. And this is the 
 kind of man who sits day by day with my sister. A rascally 
 Medium's Cad ! ' 
 
 Paul sprang to his feet with burning cheeks and flaming eyes. 
 But Tom stepped between. 
 
 ' Enough, enough. Percy, you have your answer. Go.' 
 
 ' A Medimu's Cad ! * Sir Percival repeated. ' He and his master 
 pretended to consult the spirits. They sold their answers ; people 
 went to ask them questions; they lived by their cheats. Is this, 
 Tom, a man who should be invited to companionship with my 
 sister ? ' 
 
 ' Percival,' said Sibyl, ' you are iindcr the greatest obligations to 
 this gentleman. Had it not been for him Cicely would be now a 
 pauper. Whatever be his past history, in this house — where there 
 is no more inquhy of any oracle — there can be nothing but grati- 
 tude for him.' 
 
 'A Medium's Cad,' said Sir Percival for the fourth time. 'I 
 have told you who he was, and what he was doing. Make him 
 your friend, then, if you please ; I have no more to say.' 
 
 He left the room as a gentleman, not as a fanatic preacher. 
 
 Paul sank into a chair, pale and trembling. 
 
 He could not even raake an effort to conceal hio agitation and 
 his confixsion. 'It is true,' he gasped. 'What he told you was 
 true. I was j)upil to the man I told you of. He had great powers ; 
 he had great knowledge ; he taught me : it is tn;e, also, that he 
 made money by his powra's. Have I made money here ? I ask 
 you, all of you, what use have I made of my powers ? Was it for 
 money that I came here ? Have I asked any of you for money ? 
 Have I taken money ? ' 
 
 ' No, Paid, no,' said Sibyl ; ' calm yourself. It was not for 
 money that you came here. Oh, the past is over and done with. 
 It is dead ; forget it, Paul. Let us all forget the words that have 
 been used. Your past is dead, Paul; our gratitude remains.' 
 
 Paul rose from his chau-. He staggered as he stood ; he seemed 
 like one about to reel and fall. Hetty sprang up and caught liim 
 in her arms. ' Paul ! ' she cried, ' you are my Paul ; yoxir life is 
 mine — your future life. Oh ! the past — the past — Paul, forget it.' 
 
 Tom left the room, followed by Sibyl. They left liiia there with 
 the two women who loved him ; one because for a brief space he 
 had been a prophet, and the other because she was a woman and 
 be was a man, and because he loved her, 
 
246 HERR PAULUS 
 
 CHAPTEE VI. 
 
 THE THIRD BLOW. 
 
 In the silent watches of the night the words of Sir Percival came 
 back to the unfortunate Patil. They were shouted into his ear. 
 ' A Medium's Cad.' To be called a Cad of any kind, even in the 
 Eton boy's sense — that all persons who are not old or present 
 members of that seminary are cads — is hrmailiating. It seems as 
 if no one who is reaUy a cad — say a ' Gym ' cad, or a Eacket Court 
 cad, or an omnibus cad, or a touting cad — could ever be able to 
 hold up his head. But to be a Medium's Cad ! Is it possible to 
 descend much lower ? "When one actually is a Medium it is cer- 
 tainly best to magnify the office, and be Medium the Magnificent. 
 Paul had been such a Medium — he had retired ; the post had already 
 lost its imaginary splendour, and to be called a Medium's Cad ! 
 
 All his own doing — his own officious desire to prove his power 
 ■ — it was none other than himself who had brought this blow. Why 
 had he ever assisted in the restoration of this man to his sister ? 
 Why, when he found and proved the manner of the man, had he 
 not left him alone ? He cursed his own shortsighted meddlmg — 
 he rolled about in his bed a prey to the most poignant reproaches 
 and the vainest regrets. Because, whatever had been said by Sibyl 
 in her newly-born kindness, everybody knew now that he had been 
 a Medium's Cad. He might, of course, dress up the situation, but 
 ■^ there was the plain statement, and they all knew it to be true. 
 
 When a man stalks about solemnly, wrapped in a cloak of 
 authority, puts forward claims to supernatiu'al power, and to wisdom 
 derived fi'om other sources than those accessible to the ordinary 
 student, he is raised above the gibes, even those of such a fanatic 
 as Sir Percival. These things may be said behind his back ; they 
 generally are said of every person who has risen above his fellows. 
 But Paul was now no more than an ordinary man ; worse off than 
 most, because his past history was a load upon his shoulders which 
 made him stumble and stagger — every stumble a fi'esh disgrace, 
 and every fall a new humiliation. 
 
 More humiliations were to follow. 
 
 Next morning, for instance, he was confronted by a housemaid, 
 her face tied up with a handlierchief. Beside her and behind her 
 were other maids, anxious to witness a miracle of healing. 
 
 ' Oh ! sir,' she cried. ' I've got the toothache dreadful.' 
 
 He tmrned pale. Twice already he had cured this damsel, in 
 both cases assuagmg the pam so that minutes afterwards she 
 tripped it merrily, and would have sung as she tripped it but for 
 fear of Lady Augusta. Now he could do nothing. 
 
THE THIRD BLOW 247 
 
 'You've cured me twice, sir,' she said. 'Oh! please sir, it's 
 worse than either of the times before.' 
 
 'I — I can't cure you any more, my good girl,' Paul replied, 
 looking foolish. ' I'm very sorry. But I'm really unable to cure 
 you.' 
 
 * Oh ! sir, it won't take a minute for you. It's nothing for you 
 to do. Last time you only looked at me and it "was gone.' 
 
 ' I can't — I have forgotten the way. I mean, I can't do it. Go 
 to the dentist and have it out. I shall never be able to cure any- 
 body again.' 
 
 He tied, leaving the afflicted one overwhelmed with disappoint- 
 ment. What had she done that he would not heal her as before ? 
 What did he mean by saying tliat he could not cure anybody any 
 more? 
 
 But Paul was humiliated. It was a small thing, Imt up to this 
 day the servants had regarded him with the awe ami wonder which 
 belong to him who works miracles. Now he would work no more 
 miracles : he was no better than an ordinary visitor. It is sad 
 indeed to take the lower place. 
 
 This was before breakfast. After that meal was it fancy or was 
 Lady Augusta distinctly colder in her manner '? He proposed to go 
 out and spend the day somewhere. At the door he encountered 
 Emanuel Chick. The worthy creature was in a rage ; he was in 
 one of those rages which are called blmd. Now, in a blind rage a 
 man does not heed his speech. He says what comes uppermost. 
 
 ' Oh ! ' — Emanuel Chick roared this mterjection. ' Oh ! it's you, 
 is it ? And it is all your doing ! You made up your mind from 
 the beginnmg that I was to be shoved out of the way. Oh ! yes, 
 the old friends were to be shoved out of the way to make room for 
 you. And if need be we were to be ruined. Now, Mr. Paul, or 
 Herr Paidus, whatever you please to call yourself, I'm going to 
 see Mr. Brudenel, and you will come along with me — or I'll di'ag 
 you along.' 
 
 ' Mr. Brudenel, I dare say, is in his stud}-. You will find him 
 there. I wiU go along, Mr. Cliick, without any compulsion.' 
 
 He was curious to learn what Mr. Chick wanted to say, and 
 followed him into the study. He observed, as the Medium went 
 before, that he walked with head down, swinging his shoulders and 
 squaring his elbows, as one who is resolved on something desperate. 
 
 Mr. Brudenel was not alone. Sibyl and Tom were with him, 
 and they were conversing cheerfully about dances, wedduigs, fes- 
 tivities, and such things long forgotten in this house of silence. 
 
 ' What is it. Chick '? ' asked ilr. Brudenel impatiently. The 
 Btudy was not a place where he was acci;stomed to interruption. 
 ' Wliat do you want ? Wliat does he want. Paid ? ' 
 
 ' I'll tell you, sir. In one moment. Give me a nimute. I've 
 run all the way. I've been out of town. On business, and most 
 
248 HERR PAUL US 
 
 beautiful manifestations were the result. And on my return I 
 learnt the dreadful news.' 
 
 ' "What is it, then '? ' 
 
 ' I am ruined, Mr. Brudenel. That's all. Euined is the word. 
 And through j'ou. Oh ! Nothing but that. Ruin and wreck. 
 And through you. Through you. No doubt to oblige this young 
 smooth-spoken villain who carae from A_merica or somewhere to 
 delude and cheat you out of yoiur money — smooth-spoken as he is. 
 Yah ! ' 
 
 ' You ruined ! Through me ! ' 
 
 ' I had two thousand pounds saved. After a hard life — nobody 
 knows better than you — I'd managed to scrape together two thou- 
 sand pounds. I was going to retire from business. Think, sir, 
 what it was to me when every young bantam-cock who could play 
 a set of new-fangled tricks was preferred to the stead}' honest old 
 Medium — and now I've lost it all.' 
 
 ' Good Heavens ! ' said Mr. Brudenel. ' Y''ou don't mean to tell 
 me that you had shares in the company, too '? ' 
 
 ' AVhy — didn't you advise me '? l)idn't I act on your advice 
 only five weeks ago ? I have yoiu- very letter ! I've got it in my 
 pocket.' 
 
 Like Mr. Athelstan Kilburn, Chick produced a letter. 
 
 ' Here is your letter, sir. I've kep it fortmiately. Now, sir, I 
 don't think you will deny that this is joux own haud'svi-iting. And 
 the very day after you wrote it — I heard fi-om a young gentleman 
 in the City — the very day after you wrote this letter, your own 
 shares, all your own shares, were sold. Oh ! he knows it for a fact. 
 So that while you were actually writing the letter you knew that 
 the company was going to bust up, and you were going to save 
 yom-self. Oh ! Mr. Brudenel, to think of the maay, many times 
 that we've sat aroimd the table in a chcle while the blessed spirruts 
 sent us then* messages and the s^iirrut music played and oiu' hearts 
 were warmed ! After all these manifestations that you — you — above 
 all men, a gentleman and all, should play us such a turn ! ' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel said nothing. 
 
 ' I will read youi* letter,' the man went on. 'Perhaps the hearing 
 of it will refresh your memory as to the writing of it.' 
 
 ' " Dear Chick." " Dear Chick." In the friendliness of it — who 
 would have suspected ? " If, as you say, you are dissatisfied with 
 the safety of your mortgage and have called up your money, I am 
 sure you cannot do better than buy shares, if yoit can get them, in 
 my old companj' — Brudenel and Company. The shares have been 
 going up steadily ever since the company was started, and even at 
 tlie present prices I believe you can get a tritle over five per cent. 
 Any stock broker will find out for you if there are shares m the 
 market. " Yours faithfully, 
 
 " CVKUS BuUDIi-NEL." ' 
 
THE THIRD BLOW 249 
 
 • This is truly terrible,' Mr. Brndcnel cried, looking at the letter 
 and the date. ' Yes, it is quite unaccountable — quite. I wrote this 
 letter — I remember it now — and the letter to Athelstan Kilburn in 
 the afternoon before dinner. And on the same day, the very same 
 day, I wrote the letters whicli I do not remember, for the selling 
 out of the shares. It is truly wonderful. No — Chick. I've uo 
 explanation to otler. I have nothing to say.' 
 
 He sat down, and rapped his knuckles with his eyeglasses. 
 
 ' That is, I have an explanation,' he added, ' but you woiild not 
 accept it. 
 
 It was by some inscrutable working of instinct that Mr. Brude- 
 nel arrived at this knowledge. Mr. Emanuel Chick would certainly 
 not accept the explanation offered to Mr. Kilburn. No one, in fact, 
 is more stubbornly incredulous concerning sujiernatural forces, 
 other than his own — than the ordinary Medium of commerce. You 
 might as well look for belief in magic ft'om a conjuror. He believes 
 nothing ; he has no kind of feeling, for instance, as regards ghosts ; 
 he woidd set uj) his tent calmly in the most ancient and lonely 
 churchyard ; he would wrap himself in a blanket, and go to sleep in 
 a charnel house with a lighted candle stuck in a skull, and hundreds 
 of skidls gi'inning at him, miles away from any other human crea- 
 ture, without the slightest tremor of his nerves. To tell Emanuel 
 Chick that his old patron had been made to write that, or any other 
 letter, by the spirits, would have been an insult to his under- 
 standing. 
 
 ' Well, sir,' said the man roughly, ' what are you going to do for 
 mc? Y''ou have ruined me. That you can't deny. You sold out your 
 own shares while you recounnended me to i)ut in my money. That 
 you can't deny. And me, grown old in your service, though you've 
 left off employing me now, what are you going to do for me '? ' 
 
 'I don't know.' The justice of the claim was not to be dis- 
 puted, nor the accuracy of the statements. ' I don't know, Chick. I 
 can't say. I will think. Go away now.' 
 
 The man made no sign of going away. 
 
 ' I haven't got the money,' he said sullenly, ' for the quarter's 
 rent, which is seven pounds five. I owe for a ton and a half of coal, 
 which is thhty-live shillings. I've got no engagements ; business is 
 terrible slack. And you've ruined me.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel sighed and took a cheque book from his drawer. 
 
 'Here,' he said, 'take this cheque. It will serve you for the 
 present.' 
 
 ' Two thousand pounds, at four per cent.,' Mr. Chick replied, 
 looking at the cheque, ' is eighty pounds a year. This is the first 
 quarter. I will call again, Mr. Brudenel. You and me have been 
 very friendly, and a lawyer between us would break friendship, as 
 one may say. Good morning, sir.' 
 
 On this occasion no one looked at Paul. When the messacre of 
 
250 HERE PAUL US 
 
 the barJi book revealed the sequestration of the money, everybody 
 looked at him. Now everyone looked away from him. It was as if 
 a look wonld have been construed into a reproach. 
 
 'If one man saves his money, anotlaer man must lose it,' said 
 Tom. ' AVe have saved thirty-five thousand pounds, therefore other 
 people have lost exactly that same amount. Mr. Atlielstan Kilbtu-n 
 has lost, it appears, eight thousand, and Chick two, by our action 
 and our advice. It seems to me, su-, that reparation will have to be 
 made to Chick, at any rate.' 
 
 Mr. Brudenel shook his head sorrowfully. AY]iy,when the spirits 
 made him sell those shares, did tliey not also prevent the writing of 
 those letters ? It was true that his feet stood at last upon the Solid 
 Rock, but still . . . there was a sense of incompleteness. Paul 
 offered no explanation, but he looked unhappy. 
 
 At this moment a card was brought to j\Ir. Brudenel. 
 
 ' Gentleman says he won't take a minute, su-. "NA'ants to see you 
 and Herr I'aulus together.' 
 
 It was Mr. James Berry who followed on the heels of the man 
 and stood at the open door, hat in hand, bowing pleasantly. 
 
 ' Berry ! ' cried Brudenel. ' Here is another of them ! Ai'e you 
 here to say that you are ruined too ? ' 
 
 ' No, sir, no. It is only this morning that I learnt, to my great 
 joy, that you had been advised to sell out of the company in time. 
 No doubt it was this same adviser — my benefactor — who saved me 
 from ruin ' — he waved his hat gracefully in the direction of Paul — 
 ' Herr Paulus. And I came round, sir, to thank him — in your 
 presence, Mr. Brudenel, sir.' 
 
 'I don't quite understand, Ben-y.' 
 
 ' I'd been in your service, sir, your father's service, and yours, 
 and in the service of the company for fifty years. If anybody 
 except the spirits had told me that the company would fail I should 
 have laughed in his face. But I've always been accustomed to ask 
 the spirits, through Mrs. Medlock, and when I was warned day after 
 day by a man who ought to have known, being m the general 
 manager's own office, and when I could get no satisfaction at all 
 from the spirits, biit entire silence or silliness — as nobody knows 
 better than you, sir, will happen at times — I gi-ew fidgety first, and 
 frightened next. And Lavmia, who is truthfulness itself, confessed 
 that she could do no more, but offered to give my case to Herr 
 Paulus.' 
 
 ' How long ago ? ' 
 
 ' Some weeks ago.' This was two weeks before Mr. Brudenel's 
 sale was effected. 'And I wrote my case, and give it to Lavinia. 
 And next day I got my orders. I was commanded to sell at once.* 
 
 ' Did you,' asked Tom, ' tell Herr Paulus the name of tho 
 comi^any ? ' 
 
 ' I did not, sir. It would have seemed black treachery in me to 
 
THE THIRD TLCIV 251 
 
 hint ill a letter that I had suspicions of this company, which lias 
 been my livehhood. No, sir, I i)nt the case and I got my answer. 
 Herr Pauhis did not know the name of tlie company, and I inuler- 
 stand that he is a complete stranirer to London. The advice was 
 given by the spirits, his friends, without his knowing anything of 
 the company.' 
 
 Paul coughed gently. It was not in human nature to avoid call- 
 ing attention, however gently, to the triumph of the moment. He 
 had not known anythmg of the company. 
 
 'It was my little all that was saved,' Mr. Berry went on with 
 emotion. 'As for my i^ension, of course that stopped with the com- 
 pany. It is only three per cent. I get on my money now, and it's a 
 sad blow ; but I can live on what I've got, and I'm saved i'roiii the 
 workhouse — saved, sir, by Herr Paulus, whom I desire to thank in 
 yoiu" presence, sir, and m the belief that he has saved you too.' 
 
 ' Indeed he has, Berry,' Mr. Brudeiiel rexohed. ' We owe every- 
 thing to Herr Paulus.' 
 
 ' Sir,' Mr. Berry addressed the blushing Paul, ' may I venture — 
 so far — sh- — may I presume to touch your hand ? Ali ! sir, you 
 are young yet, and have a great career of usefuhiess before you, 
 with the help of the spirits — a great career. Go on, sir ; scatter 
 blessings ; do good all around ; bring then- help to bear upon 
 Butferers ; ward off dangers. Oh ! Wliat woidd one give for a day 
 — only a day — of such powers as you i^ossess ! ' 
 
 ' I am glad — truly glad,' said Paul, ' to have been able to do 
 something for you at least.' 
 
 ' Something indeed ! And not to know the name of the com- 
 pany ! Next day, to be sure, talking it over with Lavinia, she 
 found out that you had put two and two together.' Paul withdrew 
 his liand and suddenly betrayed every sign of confusion. ' To be 
 siu-e,' this foolish old man went on, ' when you'd been told that I 
 was in the service of a shipping company, formerly the property of 
 one man and then of his two sons and then turned into a company, 
 it was easy to guess.' 
 
 'Yes,' said Paul. 'You think so, I dare say. Good morning, 
 Mr. Berry.' 
 
 And again nobody looked at Paul when ]\Ir. Berry had gone, 
 and Mr. Brudenel in his chah' rapped his knuckles with his eye- 
 glasses — one who is mentally wrestling with the giaut Doubt. And 
 noboely looked at Paul. 
 
252 HERR PAULUS 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE FOURTH BLOW. 
 
 I DO not qr.ite know how Paul got off the stage after that situation. 
 He did not know himself. He onlj^ remembered that he looked i;p 
 and met Sibyl's eyes, and they were full of pity, and that the 
 others were not looking at him. Then he murmured something 
 and went out of the room with Mr. James Berry, whom he left at 
 the door. 
 
 It is not enough for a man to say that the past is gone, done, 
 finished, over. Ever^^ man's past — his boyhood, his manhood, his 
 old thoughts, his old deeds, his words — lives in his memory and 
 clings to him like the fabled shirt which could not be torn off. 
 Sometimes that shirt burns and tortures and eats into the quivering 
 flesh ; but it cannot be taken off. Sometimes it is a soft, warm, 
 and comfortable cloak Avith which to encounter cold December 
 blasts ; and it cannot be blown off or taken away. "When the man 
 dies, what becomes of the living past ? 
 
 Everywhere he saw detection, exposure, and contempt, and 
 always from some unseen and unsuspected hand. It was known 
 that he had been connected with a New York spiritualist — a 
 Medium's Cad — oh ! ye gods, to have been called a Medium's Cad ! 
 It was known that he had learnt before the sale of the shares the 
 shaky condition of the com])any, and all along he had posed as the 
 most ignorant man in the world concerning companies ! The very 
 servants looked at him with eyes of contempt ; fi"om every quarter 
 he felt the cold nipping wind of contempt. 
 
 Men have proved themselves capable of bearing any kind of 
 misfortune except one. They cannot bear contempt at any age. 
 Contempt maddens. To escape contempt, Spartacus and his 
 friends braved the might of the Eoman Republic. To escape 
 contempt men will march to the cannon's mouth. But when 
 contempt is served out as a ration or a helping of Fate, man bows 
 his head and dies, or he slinks into a corner and hides. 
 
 And no one, certainly, is an object of greater or more universal 
 contempt than the pretended trafficker in things supernatural when 
 he is found out. Many things may be forgiven. The author of a 
 play that is damned is presently allowed to walk with head erect. 
 A man may steal a pig and yet redeem the respect of his fellow- 
 creatures. A statesman may eat all his words and yet continue to 
 find a faithful following — some statesmen do nothing else. But a 
 man who has been found out in spiritualistic trickery remains an 
 
THE FOURTH BLO]V 233 
 
 object of contempt. And Paul saw in liimself an object of this 
 contempt. Once outside the pretences with wliich he had clothed 
 liimself, as a starving i)layer struts the stage and beheves liimself 
 to be king and demigod — Paul had believed in those pretences — he 
 was as quick as any others to see the past in all its true ugliness. 
 The contempt did not exist in two hearts at least. As one pretence 
 after another was laid bare, one woman's heart was tilled with pity 
 and another's with love, biit there was no coiitempt. 
 
 Smce he felt that way it was natm-al for him to turn his steps 
 in the direction of Beaumont Street. That tie should be broken at 
 once and for ever. 
 
 ' Yes ; ' he concluded, ' I will not hear a single word. I have 
 left the horrible, detestable, contemptible profession.' 
 
 ' So ? ' The old man had listened without a word of interrup- 
 tion, though his face grew darker and darker. ' So ? You have 
 left the profession, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' 1 have left it. I wish to Heaven that I had never entered it ! 
 Better have gone before the mast— or weighed out sugar ; better — 
 any tiling — anything.' 
 
 ' Ungi-atefi;l Paul ! ' 
 
 * It is over at last. I have done with it. Oh ! what a reliefs 
 what a relief to feel that I have done with it at last ! ' 
 
 ' You have foimd some other profession, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Not yet. There is plenty of time. I can look about 
 me.' 
 
 ' You have foimd a patron with money, then ; as well as a wife 
 without ? ' 
 
 'No. ^Miat need of a patron ? I am come to draw my money. 
 Give me my money ; I will take it away with me. Let me regulate 
 my accounts.' 
 
 ' Yoiu' money ? Your money ? ' The old man looked him 
 steadfastly in the face from his white shaggy eyebrows. ' ^Yhat 
 money ? "What accounts ? ' 
 
 ' My money — my share.' 
 
 ' Oh ! your money ? This is interesting. "Wait a little ; we 
 will come to that question afterwards. Now, Paul, do you think — 
 I ask you seriously and without any anger on account of your hot 
 words — do you think j'ou are using me well in this matter '? In 
 your new-fangled notions about truth and honesty I think you have 
 forgotten my claims ? ' 
 
 ' ^^'hat are your claims ? ' 
 
 ' Let us examine the position. Seven years ago you came to 
 me quite poor and quite ignorant. During that long time you have 
 been my pupil. I have kept you and clothed you. I have 
 taught you all you know — nay, I have taught you thuigs that 
 
254 flERR PAULUS 
 
 A'ou could never have learnt except from me. Is this true, 
 Paul '? ' 
 
 He spoke gravely and earnestly. 
 
 ' It is quite true. I do not deny it.' 
 
 ' I found in you the germ — only the germ — of that power which 
 you have developed, by my assistance, into the highest kind of 
 magnetic influence. I made you what you are.' 
 
 ' What I was, what I ana no longer.' 
 
 ' You do not deny, then, that you owe everything to me ? ' 
 
 ' In all the arts which you profess and I have practised, I 
 acknowledge my debt to you.' 
 
 ' Do you suppose that I have taken all this trouble for nothing ? 
 Do you think that out of pure love I have given you my time and 
 imparted to you my knowledge ? ' 
 
 ' I never did suppose that.' 
 
 ' On the contrary, I looked to making my profit in the future. 
 I thought that common gi'atitxide would attach you to me, and that 
 when, as has now happened, I should be laid on the shelf, you would 
 carry on the business still, the business which I made, and which I 
 taught you, as my partner instead of my assistant.' 
 
 ' Your assistant '? I have been yoiur partner ' 
 
 ' I thought that the time would come when I should say : " Paul, 
 here are deeds of partnership. Let us sign them and henceforth 
 share." ' 
 
 Paul jumped and turned pale. 
 
 ' Henceforth share ? What do you mean ? Why, we have 
 shared all these years, we have been partners ! ' 
 
 ' Partners ? Oh ! no. Certainly not. Partners ? Indeed, my 
 gifted 3'oung friend, you are carried away by your imagination. 
 Never partners. Y'ou entered the house as my pupil. You re- 
 mained as my assistant. You were my hired help. It remains 
 with you to determme whether you will, m good time, become my 
 partner.' 
 
 ' Oh ! This is monstrous. Why, I have done the lion's share of 
 the work for six years and more. You have spoken of the business 
 a thousand times as one joint concern.' 
 
 ' So I have. So I have. The joint concern of master and servant 
 — as' we say in England.' 
 
 ' I was your partner,' Paul cried angrily. ' As your partner, I 
 demand my share of the money. I never had any money. You 
 kept it all for me. Where are the books ? Give me my money, I 
 say, and let me go.' 
 
 ' Keach me my desk. Thank you, Paul, thank j'ou.' The old 
 man sat up in his chair and opened the desk. ' Now, here, my paid 
 and hired assistant, is a paper in which I have jotted down, as near 
 as I could make it out, a statement of our position as regards each 
 other.' 
 
THE FOURTH BLOW 255 
 
 Paul, otherwise Paulus, otherwise Paolo, 
 In account with Professor Mklciiers, Spiritualist. 
 Creditor Debtor 
 
 Six years' salary as As- ■) Board and lodging in the best stj-le, 1 
 
 sistaut Spiritualist, \ $6,000 at §1,5UU a year, seven years . . ) 
 
 at §1,000 . . . ) Tuition Pees for seven years, at §1,000 1 
 
 a year j 
 
 Dress, chiefly in black velvet and lace, I 
 in the best style, at §1,U00 a year . J 
 Moneys advanced for seven years, &,c., ) ^, ,qq 
 Balance due to Prof. ) <>oo /■r.fi exact account in cash-book . . . J *"' 
 
 §10,500 
 
 §7,000 
 §7,000 
 
 Melchers . . . j ^-•''""'^ Eui-opeau tour for eight months, say . §3.0iO 
 
 Total . . §29,G0O Total 
 
 ' Here is the account, Paul.' He lianJed the document, which 
 was very neatly written on a piece of note paper. ' I think that no 
 one can find fault with any of the items miiess, perhaps, the charrje 
 for maintenance. But that is balanced by the enormous salary 
 which you have received — and consider the luxmy in which you 
 lived. The tuition fee is moderate indeed.' 
 
 ' Oh,' cried Paul, ' this is monstrous ! ' 
 
 ' Not at all, not at all. Quite regular and moderate. Should 
 you accept the partnership which I now offer you, the little debt 
 would soon be wiped off. I might even make a reduction.' 
 
 ' I deny everything — everything,' cried Paul. ' You have called 
 me yoiu' partner a thousand times. You have always spoken of our 
 business. As for tuition, what had you to teach me after the first few 
 months ? ' He tore up the paper and threw the fragments on the 
 table. ' Give me my money,' ho said hoarsely. ' Give me my own 
 and let me go.' 
 
 ' If,' said the old man, blandly, ' if I said words of encourage- 
 ment it was in order to make you zealous, and I will say that you 
 became very zealous. There is not a trick of the trade, not a knot 
 in the great web of deception which we weave, but is familiar to j'ou. 
 I took pride in my assistant. My old friends congratulated me 
 upon you, Paul. You had your little weaknesses, such as inorcUnate 
 vtmity and a foolish desu'e to become a great man, which you could 
 never be, and a constant craving for flattery. But I did take pride 
 in you, and for the three years that you worked for me I did very 
 well, very well indeed. The dollars rolled in. That is not to be 
 denied. I had need of them in order to ]3ay myself back something 
 of that awfiil load of debt.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Debt ! Debt ! I will not hear of it. Come, are you 
 going to give me my share ? ' 
 
 ' I am not, Paul. Once for all, I am not. If yoii persist in 
 giving up a glorious business, and sacrificing my future as well as 
 your own, not one solitary dollar do you get. That is my last 
 word, Paul. Think it over. Think what it means.' 
 
255 HERR RAUL US 
 
 Paul sank into a chair. He had not looked for this. The old 
 professor was his banker. If he wanted any money he asked him 
 for it. He had always considered himself a partner, and he knew 
 that the income of the firm was very large diu'ing the three years 
 when he worked for it. And now — to be told that he was only an 
 assistant. To be shown a sheet of paper by which it was made to 
 appear that he owed his mstructor three-and-twenty thousand 
 dollars ! 
 
 ' It is my last word, Paul,' the old man repeated, looking at him 
 steadily with his keen eyes under his white eyebrows. I shall 
 proceed to consult a lawyer on the recovery of this debt.' 
 
 Paul made no reply. 
 
 ' Consider, my dear boy,' his partner went on. ' You have lost 
 your power because you have neglected my warning, and suffered 
 your mind to become wholly occupied with a woman. Well — I 
 have no objection to your marrying. I will even see that you start 
 handsomely. When you have been married a month your mind 
 will begin to recover its balance again, and your old power will 
 gradually come back. Then we will all three go back to New York. 
 I will have a deed of iiartnership properly drawn up : yoti shall con- 
 duct the active part of the business. I will sit by and advise. You 
 will keep your wife in style and luxury : you will be always learning 
 more and more, and you will be always becoming a greater power m 
 tlie land. Listen now. Come down from yoiu- stilts and be reason- 
 able. I have matured a scheme for getting at the private affairs of 
 every man of standing in the City of New York : it is a scheme 
 absolutely safe, which shall never by any accident be connected 
 with you and me. And j'ou shall work the scheme. Come, Paul, 
 I otfer you the most enviable, the most delightful, the most honoured 
 way of living possible, and j'ou think of throwing it over for a mere 
 scruple.' 
 
 Paul made no reply. 
 
 ' I confess, Paul, that I am loth to let you go, if by any persua- 
 sion or offers I can make you stay. I like you, boj^ I have always 
 liked you. And I admire you. I coiUd never find, anywhere, 
 another boy who would quite so well answer all my requirements. 
 Indeed, I am too old now to look for another. You will be a very 
 great, an irreparable, loss to me.' 
 
 Still Paul made no reply. 
 
 ' As for the money I have saved,' the old man kept his eyes on 
 Paul, watching the effect of his words, ' that will be no more than 
 enough for my own simple wants. If I wished to be generous and 
 to give you money, I could not afford it.' 
 
 Paul's face refused to show the least sign of being tempted. 
 
 ' And all for a wretched little scruple ! Paul, it makes me sorry 
 f jr you. I have told you over and over again that in our profession 
 we do no more harm than in other professions. They want our 
 
THE FOURTH BLOW 257 
 
 advice; wo sell it. They want counsel on all kinds of STibjects; 
 we jn'ofess to give it. Very well. Sometimes it is good advice ; 
 sometimes it is bad. Wo do our best. Meantime we learn, and 
 watch, and keep eyes and ears wide open. A laborious profession, 
 Paul, but not without honour.' 
 
 Then Paul arose and spoke with dignity and sadness. 
 
 'Yes. It is hard upon you, after all your expectations. I will 
 not work with j'ou or for you any longer. I am sick and ashamed 
 of the whole business. Whatever happens to me I will no longer 
 be a cheat and a rogue by profession.' 
 
 * Words, Paul, words, empty words.' 
 
 ' People did not come to consult us ; they came to consult the 
 spirits with whom we professed to communicate. I will have no 
 more to do with it.' 
 
 ' Then, Paul, let us waste no more words. Go from me — as you 
 came to me— a pauper.' 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ONE MOEE ENGAGEMENT. 
 
 ' I SENT for you, Paul,' said Lady Augusta coldly, ' because I wished 
 to have a little conversation with you.' 
 
 ' I am always at your command, Lady Augusta.' He was 
 returning from Beaumont Street and thought to go straight to his 
 own room, there to consider this imexpected blow. He was so 
 ignorant of business that this parade of an account, with its pre- 
 posterous list of charges, deceived and appalled him. He had been 
 so careless that he had never asked his partner — of course, they had 
 been partners — for any statement, but he blindly beheved himself 
 entitled to a vast sum — a thousand dollars seems a vast sum to a 
 young man who has never had any money to spend, and does not 
 understand the meanmg of arithmetic. And now he was in debt, and 
 in England, where they have, he knew, the Fleet Prison and the 
 Marshalsea and the Queen's Bench Prison, and correction houses 
 for debtors. How was he to pay that debt ? and what would happen 
 to him when he had no money ? The young man would fain have 
 sat down to consider these things in his own room, but on his way 
 he was met bj' Lady Augusta's message. 
 
 ' Thank you, Paul.' 
 
 She hesitated and appeared to have some diflBcuIty in formulating 
 her questions. Then, moved by some recollection or thought, she 
 put on the gi'acious smile of a grande dame de j^ar Ic vionde. 
 
 ' You have been very different from the ordinary medium, my 
 dear Paul. You did not come here for monej^ ; you came a gentle- 
 
258 IIERR PAULUS 
 
 man upon a visit, you have made us all love you — especially Hetty. 
 Let me talk to you, as a woman old enough to be yoiu* mother, and 
 very much interested in you.' 
 
 ' You have always been too kind to me. Lady Augusta. I have 
 not deserved yoiu* kindness.' 
 
 'First, my dear boy, is it quite true that you have lost your 
 powers ? ' 
 
 ' It is quite true.' 
 
 ' Consider. Men, I know, sometimes pretend things for ambi- 
 tious purposes. Tell me frankly, are you hiding something ? Take 
 me into your confidence, Paul.' 
 
 ' I assiu'e you, Lady Augusta, upon my hon ' he checked 
 
 himself, remembering that he had never owned any of that precious 
 possession, all of which had yet to be won. ' I assure you that I 
 have entirely lost such powers as I ever had.' 
 ' And shall you never recover them ? ' 
 
 ' I have resolved to make no attempt to recover them. I have 
 entirely closed that chapter of my life.' 
 ' Eeally ? But why, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' I cannot tell you exactly why. But I have no other choice. 
 ' Oh ! Paul, must it be ? ' 
 ' It must.' 
 
 ' When we are only standing on the threshold of the Temple — 
 when you have done little more than open the door for us to peep 
 in ? Frankly, Paul, I am disappointed.' 
 ' I am sorry.' 
 
 ' You came to us with credentials far beyond anything we had 
 ever received before. My correspondent, Anna Petrovna, promised 
 us achievements the like of which we had never before heard.' 
 ' I did some things for you. Were you disappointed in thena ? 
 ' No, we were not. We were both surprised and delighted. But, 
 Paul, the things you did were as nothing compared with the things 
 you taught. 1 for one can never forget your teaching. Y'ou raised 
 us, Paul. You Hfted our soids — and j'et you abandon us — you give 
 up your work. Oh ! It is as if an ancient proxihet had resolved to 
 listen no more to the word of the Lord, and had gone back to his 
 plough and his vineyard. How can yor. abandon your calling, 
 Paul ? ' 
 
 ' I have no choice,' he repeated. 
 
 ' There was never any man,' Lady Augusta went on, ' who was 
 able to move me so deeply as you could and did, Paul. No preacher, 
 no teacher, no singer, no novehst, no poet, no actor. I longed daily 
 for your voice, and now it is silent, or it utters only common things. 
 Why is it, Paul — why is it ? ' 
 ' I cannot tell you.' 
 
 ' I looked for greater things, Paul. I looked for more teaching, 
 more elevation of soul, a deeper communion with the other world. 
 
ONE MOKE ENGAGEMENT 259 
 
 ' You would always look for greater things; you would always 
 expect more.' Paul recovered a little of his lost authoritj^ ' Those 
 who first converse with spirits through a medium and witness 
 manifestations arc always asking for more. You, to whom a ghmpso 
 of tlie otlicr world has been permitted, are impatient and dissatislied, 
 because you cannot have at once full sight and full communion. 
 Have patience, Lady Augusta. Perhaps this will come in time — 
 perhaps not.' 
 
 ' Yes. But acknowledge, Paul, that the message wants com- 
 pleteness.' 
 
 ' It may be so. Some allowance should be made for the imper- 
 fections of the messenger.' 
 
 ' Tliere are always imperfections in the medium, to be sure — ■ 
 even in the best — in such as yourself. For instance, you promised 
 that before you went away I mj'self should be endowed with your 
 power of seeing and conversing with the spirits.' 
 
 ' Do you think that you would like that power ? Think, Lady 
 Augusta.' 
 
 ' You have it yourself. Do you like it ? ' 
 
 ' I have it no longer. Think, however, what it might mean. 
 There are countless myriads of human souls — all immortal and 
 imperishable— the souls of all the generations which have passed 
 away : try to think of the air iilled with them. They are the souls 
 of the ancient barbarians and savages — wild men and women of 
 the woods — the souls of pre-historic man, as well as man of these 
 recent times. The common medium offers to call the spirit of 
 Julius Caesar or Homer. How can he, amid all these myriads, call 
 for one ? Think of being always conscious of their vast multitude. 
 You would see them wherever you opened yoiu' eyes : darkness 
 wotdd not hide tliem — walls woidd not protect you fi-om seeing 
 them. Unless you had, as well, the power of conversing with them, 
 they would pass you in a never-ending silent procession. If you 
 could speak to them, how many would you care to address ? 
 Think of the thousands of savage faces, bi'utal and ignorant still — 
 of the bad faces, many more bad than good. They would come and 
 glare upon you in the niglit. You would never sleep for thinlcing 
 of their dreadful faoes. There vl'ould be no kindness for you in 
 their faces : there woidd be no sj-mpathj- for you. Could you endm'e 
 this revelation ? ' 
 
 ' No, no; I could not. It would be too awful. But we shall die. 
 Shall we join this dreadful procession of savage souls ? ' 
 
 ' I say not that. You will be enabled to find and join your own 
 friends, to walk upon your own level.' 
 
 Lady Augusta shook her head. She had never before realised 
 how small a band her own friends constituted. To look for them in 
 this vast crowd might be a hopeless task. 
 
 ' And consider — if my nressage has been delivered — that some- 
 
 s 2 
 
26o HERR PAULUS 
 
 thing survives, Mr. Brudenel says that he stands upon the Solid 
 Eock. The fortunes which were in such shipwreck have been saved. 
 And there are those conversations which we have had together. If 
 what is true in them survives I shall he content to remember them 
 with gratitude.' 
 
 ' But is your power really — hopelessly — gone ? * 
 
 ' It is hopelessly gone.' 
 
 ' What a pity — ^vhat a pity ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps.' 
 
 ' Well — it cannot be helped, then. I have enjoyed your visit 
 very much, Paul. I am very, very sorry that it is alt over. And — 
 
 and — oh ! my dear boy ' The tears came to her eyes and she 
 
 wrung her hands passionately — ' To think that it is all over when I 
 hoped for so much. You do not know the dreadful disappointment 
 I have had to endure year after year, when one man came after 
 another and all — all— were found out. If it were not that we hnow 
 — as the outside world cannot know — the grand truth which under- 
 lies tlie pretences of these creatures, and that they actually have 
 something of the power which we crave, I should have gone out of 
 my senses long ago. And then you came and everything seemed 
 opening up for us at last. You wanted no money. You came 
 bringing wisdom and power with you. Oh ! my heart leaped up. 
 At last, I thought, we have the prophet we have longed for.' 
 
 ' Oh ! stop — stop,' Paul murmured. 
 
 ' ^\nd ihen 1 discerned that what I had longed for and prayed 
 for all my life had come to me at last ; and the other world was to 
 be no more an article of faith but a thnig proved like a mathe- 
 matical theorem. I thought that the immortality of the soul was 
 going to be demonstrated so that every man in the world should 
 know that this hfe is but an episode in which we may advance 
 ourselves spiritually or degrade ourselves; make friendships and 
 alliances to last for ever. Oh ! think of the change which would 
 happen to the world. Did you ever try to think what would 
 hajjpen if we all knew for an actual fact that we are immortal and 
 that we are always for ever going upwards or downwards? Then 
 those who are on the upward slopes would encourage those lower 
 down, and there would rise a universal longing for better things. 
 Then vice and selfisluiess and all the sins of the world would vanish 
 away, and we should understand the beauty of holiness. Think — 
 oh ! Paul ! Think ' — she clasped her hands and the tears rose to 
 her eyes — ' think of the great hymn of praise which would go up 
 from aU alilie if this were once proved and the living and the dead 
 could commune each with the other.' 
 
 ' If that could be done ! ' said Paul, meekly. 
 
 ' I thought that you would do it— you, Paul. And I thought 
 that we would build a great college for spiritual research, and tliat 
 you should be its dii-ector, and that we should attract all tlnj 
 
ONE MORE ENGAGEMENT 261 
 
 highest minds among the young people to make them students, 
 and then our advance would be so rapid. Oh! I thought I saw 
 world after world unfolding, planet speaking with jjlanet, star to 
 star. Paul — Paul '—her voice rose higher and higlier — 'all these 
 tilings were in your power. You would have done all this and 
 more — and more — and you have basely abandoned everything, and 
 are now no more than an ordinary young man, one of the world — 
 blind, and deaf and dumb, though the spirits call aloud and order 
 you to speak.' 
 
 ' They do not, Lady Augusta. I hear nothing. I see nothing.' 
 
 ' Oh I it is dreadful — dreadful — to have this last hope, the best 
 gi'ounded of all, wrecked and ruined. Well, Paul, you coiild not 
 help it, I suppose.' 
 
 He was silent. For a while neither spoke. Then Lady 
 Augusta went on in a changed voice : ' There were two other 
 things I had to say. "What were they ? Oh 1 First, have you 
 heard about our conference ? ' 
 
 ' What conference ? ' 
 
 ' I thought my husband had spoken to you about the conference 
 of spmtualists. It is the first reunion of spiritualists ever attempted 
 to be held in this country. Mr. Brudenel has been asked to pre- 
 side. They will come from all parts — from America, from Russia, 
 from India ' 
 
 ' A conference of spiritualists ? Will Mr. Chick and people like 
 him be asked to sjieak ? ' 
 
 ' All will be invited to attend, from the most serious seeker to 
 the commonest spirit rapper. We shall present to the world an 
 imposing array as regards numbers and names ; we shall encom-age 
 and stimulate ourselves by the commimion of speech and the 
 exchange of experience. You will speak, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I think you had better not ask me,' he replied 
 with lowered eyes. 
 
 ' I must ask you. Why, Paul, there has been no experience at 
 all to compare with your own in the history of spiritualism. The 
 sudden loss of your powers is in itself a most striking corroboration 
 of their genuineness. You must speak. We shall have papers of 
 the common-place kind from men like Mr. Athelstan Ivilburn and 
 Mr. AmeUus Horton. There will be, I am afraid, papers full of 
 exaggerations, which we spirituahsts always expect. There will be, 
 I dare say, papers containing downright untruths and inventions. 
 There always are.' 
 
 * What subject do you wish me to speak on ? ' 
 
 ' You may, of course, take any that you please. In fact the 
 word spiritualism covers an enormous field of research. But, Paul, 
 the subject which I should like you to take up is the history of 
 your own embassy.' 
 
 ' The history of my own embassy. Yes, Lady Augiasta,' he 
 
1.62 HERR PAULUS 
 
 looked np with a strange light in his eyes, ' I will give the con- 
 ference the history of my own embassy.* 
 
 ' Very well, that is settled. And now, Paul, let us return to 
 yourself. You have lost your powers, and you have at the same 
 time fallen in love with Hetty. I questioned her about it, and she 
 confessed the whole — and you are going back to America. What 
 are you going to do when you get there ? ' 
 
 'I cannot say, yet.' 
 
 ' Have you any money ? ' 
 
 ' None at all. I have no profession, no private means, and no 
 influential friends.' 
 
 ' But you cannot marry, Paul, unless you have an income.' 
 
 ' That is true. I ought not to have spoken to Hetty.' 
 
 ' You have rendered the greatest services to this house, Paul. 
 You must not go away empty-handed. It must not be said that 
 we suffered you to go away without solid proofs of gratitude.' 
 
 ' No, no,' Paul made haste to reply, ' it is impossible for me to 
 take money of you or of any one else in your household. Lady 
 Augusta, you said that I came a gentleman on a visit. Let me, if 
 possible, go, as I came, a gentleman — yes, a gentleman — who ends 
 h's visit.' 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 YET ANOTHEE BL0V»'. 
 
 It was the day of the dance, and an unwonted stir and restlessness, 
 with the running about of the servants, and the voices — actually 
 the voices — of strange men filled the house. The preparations of 
 festivity, the gaiety and happmess of the girls, mocked the melan- 
 choly which fiUed Pau^l's breast. How can people be heartlessly 
 happy in the presence of other people who go in sadness ? Every- 
 thing conspired to make him sad. He was only a young American, 
 a medium, a mesmeriser who had somehow lost his magnetic 
 power, and a pauper. The only thing that distinguished him was 
 his great achievement in savhig the famDy fortunes, and that feat 
 was damaged by the discovery that, whoever caused those letters 
 to be written, he himself knew beforehand of the danger that 
 threatened the company. The only consolation to his soul was the 
 importance which the mysterious leat conferred upon him. 
 
 ' Come itpstairs, old man,' said Tom. ' We'll have tobacco and 
 talk. I've got nothing to do this afternoon, and you never have 
 anything to do.' 
 
 Paul followed him with a sinking heart, and the certainty — less 
 sensitive men would have felt a little uneasiness only — but Paul 
 
YET ANOTHER BLOW 2G3 
 
 knew for certain that something unpleasant was going to happen. 
 Every clay brought fresh disgraces and humiliations. There was 
 going to be another. 
 
 Tom had no intention of making unpleasantness. He construed 
 all the fine talk about the loss of power, and the recovery of 
 memory as to the past, and the rest of it, as the machinery prepared 
 beforehand to cover a graceful withdrawal, with perhaps a final 
 little miracle to mark the departure of the magician. ' Thank the 
 Lord,' he observed to Sibyl, ' there will be no more Abyssinian 
 philosophy. That's done with and decently buried. The fellow's 
 ashamed of his rubbish. He has the grace to be ashamed. Dodo, 
 "Wherefore I like him the better. Strange that you and I should 
 like a fellow who came here with a mass of lies, and has made fools 
 of everybody in the house except you and me. He's ashamed, 
 Dodo. He won't ever do it again.' 
 
 Tom had no desire to be mipleasant. Yet he became horribly 
 impleasant. For he knocked away the last prop which kept up 
 Paul s self-respect, and plunged him into the lowest depths of 
 abasement. But he only meant to straighten up things a bit before 
 Paid left them, so that there should be no misunderstanding after- 
 wards. It surprised him, afterwards, to think how unpleasant he 
 had made hmiself. 
 
 'Well,' he said, cheerfully, 'it's all over, isn't it? Prodigies 
 came out unexpectedly strong. Miracles undoubted. Manifestations 
 not to be explained on any other reasonable hypothesis than the 
 direct interferences of supernatural agency. I haven't had an 
 opportimity of talking to you privately about the thing, but I hope 
 you are satisfied.' 
 
 ' Quite. My message delivered ' 
 
 ' I thought you were forgetting that. Well. Let us put it so, 
 to save explanation.' 
 
 ' My message once delivered, of course everything was done.' 
 ' And now, I take it,' Tom went on, ' we may consider that the 
 whole business may be franldy discussed, just as if you had not 
 been the principal actor in it.' 
 
 ' Ye— yes. I suppose so. Why not ? ' 
 
 ' Well, if you come to that, why not, indeed ? ' Tom sat down 
 and lit his cigarette. He smoked it straight thi'ough without say- 
 ing another word. Then he threw the stump away and took 
 another. 
 
 ' Paul, old man,' he said, ' I took to you from the first. Y''ou 
 know I did. It wasn't so much your cleverness, because clever 
 men are often beasts. And it wasn't because I saw at the first go 
 off that you were a long way ahead of Chick and his lot. Of course 
 I admired your wonderful cheek, and some of the stories you told 
 were first class. But I liked your manner, and I've always liked 
 vour manner ever since,' 
 
264 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' Thank you.' 
 
 ' Yes. It was your manner. You cast yourself upon us. Yon 
 made everybody your friend from the very beginning, except Sibyl. 
 You've got a most surprising manner. It's irresistible. No wonder 
 you mesmerised the girls and cured the housemaids' toothaches. 
 It was your manner that caught on to me. It's admirable, Paul ; 
 admirable. Now that you remember where you hail from, you 
 might perhaps remember how you got it. Was it from some 
 Italian marchese, your grandfather ? ' 
 
 ' No. We are plain New England people, who came over for 
 conscience' sake two hundred years ago.' 
 
 ' For conscience' sake, just as you came back to the old country ? 
 The Puritan blood still showing itself.' 
 
 Paul blushed. 
 
 ' Your manner is most certainly inherited. I expect you come 
 in reality from some great English house. What was your name 
 before you were christened Herr Paulus ? ' 
 
 ' My name is Trinder.' 
 
 • Trinder — Lord Trinder — Earl Trinder — Sir Paul Trinder, 
 Baronet. Tough old Sir Tom Trinder who fought at Agincourt. 
 No, I can't remember any Trinder in history. But it's the fault of 
 the historians. There must have been some Trinder, brave and 
 handsome, clever and courteous. He was the comrade in arms of 
 Bayard, his grandson was the friend of Philip Sydney, his great- 
 grandson the sworn brother of Crichton.' 
 
 ' I know nothing about my English ancestors,' said Paul 
 gravely. 
 
 ' Well, old man, before you go away let us have a little explana- 
 tion. You've given up the business entirely, 1 hear. I am not 
 sorry, because, though the miracles are exciting at the time, the 
 machinery must give a great deal of trouble and the — the — acting, 
 you know, has got to be kept up all the time carefully.' 
 
 ' I have lost my power and I shall never get it back again. Tliat 
 is what you mean, isn't it ? ' 
 
 ' That's near enough. Well, old man. I told you the very first 
 night you came that I should watch you all the time. I told you 
 that, didn't I ? ' 
 
 ' You certainly did. I hope you have been watching me.' 
 
 ' That's just it — I have — and I've arrived at some rather curious 
 and interesting results. First of all, before I tell you what tliey 
 are, tell me what you propose to do. That is, if it is not an imj^er- 
 tinent question.' 
 
 ' I have not decided.' 
 
 ' Look here,' Tom laid his hand on Paul's, ' let us make no mis- 
 takes about things. You saved all that money. Nothing could 
 have made my dear old hump of a guardian believe that the com- 
 pany — hig company— could be in a bad way. Yoix saved all that. 
 
YET ANOTHER BLOW 265 
 
 Very good. Tlien wo are grtitcful. And yoii made him write that 
 letter to me. Nobody else could laave done it, because he'd got an 
 idea in his blessed chump that the cause wants a vestal, and that it 
 was his duty to provide the vestal, and so ho had determined to 
 carry it through like another Jephthah. Nobody but you, I say, 
 could have made him write that letter. As for the three cheques 
 and the letter of introduction, and all — they were just part of the 
 machinery. You can't throw off a miracle to advantage without 
 the preliminary patter, and tlie scenery, and properties. Therefore, 
 don't think I am crowing over any little discovery that I have 
 made. Well, then, the long and short of it is, Paul, that we are 
 deeply indebted to you — so deeply that nothing can ever pay that 
 debt of gratitude.' 
 
 ' It is paid already. There is no need for gratitude.' 
 
 ' We are so deeply indebted to j'ou tliat I ventured to talk to 
 3'ou about your present affairs. You will not, I know, stay here 
 much longer. Indeed, smce you have ceased to — to manifest — 3 ou 
 know — Lady Augusta, who is nothing if not a spiritualist, has 
 ceased to desu-e your stay to be i^rolonged. I dare say she will 
 tell 3'ou so herself very soon. So j'ou will go away — I have no 
 right to ask where you are going. But you have given me the 
 right to ask whether we can m any way make your path easier for 
 you — whether we can find soine of the funds necessazy for comfort 
 — whether, in fact, you are rich.' 
 
 ' Yesterday morning,' said Paul, ' I should have replied that I 
 was possessed of ample fmids. This afternoon I can tell you that 
 I have but a single sovereign in the world besides a lot of useless 
 and expensive things which I can sell, or pawn, in order to get 
 back to the States.' 
 
 ' And then ? ' 
 
 ' I do not know. I must get back. I must get away from this. 
 And I must take Hetty away too.' 
 
 ' My dear Paul, you must take something from me. Y'ou have 
 saved everything that Sibyl, Cicely, and I possessed in the world. 
 Y'ou must let us provide for you.' 
 
 ' No, Tom. If there were nothing but splitting rails for tlie rest 
 of my life I would not take your money, nor the money of any- 
 body in this house. I could not. Oh I Y'ou must understand why ? ' 
 
 ' I think I can, old man. I am sure, on the whole, that I can. 
 Then let iis lend you money. Borrow, if you will not accept.' 
 
 ' No, I would rather die than borrow your mone3\' He sprang 
 to his feet and rushed to the window. Tom thought he heard some- 
 thing like a choke. He therefore preserved silence. 
 
 ' I have noticed,' he went on presently, ' for some days that 
 you've been looking imhappy. Is it the trouble about money ? ' 
 
 ' Perhaps. Never mind the money. Talk of something else. 
 It drives me mad to talk about money.' 
 
266 HERR PaULUS 
 
 ' Well — if I miist not — vet it is a vcrj' imiwrtant subject of 
 conversation at all times — let us talk of something else. Let us 
 return to that watch I have been keeping uj), you know. "Would 
 you like to know what I have learnt ? ' 
 
 Paul turned pale — to the very lips. 'Yes,' he faltered, 'I should 
 lilve to hear.' 
 
 ' First, when I came to thmk over the very wonderful manifesta- 
 tions — you know — of the first night which, I must say, were far avray 
 the best things of the kind I ever witnessed, I connected them, as 
 our friend Emanuel Chick did, with mesmeric force, or magnetism. 
 Then I began to read up the subject. I read many books which 
 contained many lies. I even began to practise at the laboratory. 
 And I succeeded in putting two or three of the students into a mes- 
 meric trance and I made them do things. You see I was on the 
 right track.' 
 
 Paul made no reply. 
 
 ' I then made another discoverj". I found that legerdemain, 
 added to mesnaeric powers, would enable a man to do all kmds of 
 things. The two things together explained how the girls were made 
 to see and to say exactly what you pleased, and how the paper 
 came fluttering from the ceiling, and why the photographs repre- 
 sented the girl's thoughts.' 
 
 ' Go on.' 
 
 'I also foimd it abundantly proved that a person may be cured 
 of many disorders by being subjected to mesmeric influence, and 
 that mesmerism is an anaesthetic which deserves to be considered 
 scientifically ; and that a man who has develoi:)ed this power, which 
 I supi^ose to be latent in everyone, may get another into his power 
 completely and make him do all kinds of things of which he wiU 
 afterwards remember nothing.' 
 
 ' AU this is perfectly true.' 
 
 ' Then, Paul, come with me, and I will show you something 
 more.' 
 
 He led the way up a stair to the roof. On the roof stood a little 
 kind of tent. 
 
 ' Come in here.' 
 
 Paul followed him. The canvas fell over the entrance and they 
 were in darkness. 
 
 ' This,' said Tom, ' is not a photogi'apher's tent, thoiigh it looks 
 like it. The tent is in fact a camera obscui'a, and it is so arranged 
 as to command a view of a place with which you are familiar. 
 See.' 
 
 The little table which stood within the tent became suddenh^ 
 lit up with a picture in colours. It was a picture rej^resenting ]\Ir. 
 Cyrus Brudenel in his study. That gentleman sat in his wooden 
 chair before his table, papers and letters were lying before him, but 
 he sat tapping his knuckles with bis double glasses. 
 
YET ANOTHER BLOW 267 
 
 ' Do you recognise that look in his face ? ' Tom -whisperecL ' I 
 have seen it a dozen times. It means doubt and discouragement. 
 It is the old story. One after the other they have come here, bear- 
 ing in their hands the kej's which set open the gates of the other 
 world. Mr. Brudenel has been permitted to look through the gates. 
 He never sees anything, but he is always going to have a full view 
 next day. He pays large sums of money for the privilege. Some- 
 times the spirits on the other side converse with him : they have 
 even appeared to him ; he has seen them : he has been permitted 
 to grasp their hands, to feel their breath upon his cheek, and to bo 
 kissed by them. But they have never told him one single thing 
 which conveyed the least instruction. Just as he has seen nothing, 
 BO he has learnt nothing. All his life has been spent in acciunu- 
 lating testimonies to the existence of the other world, and the pos- 
 sibility of communicating with its inhabitants. It seems to mo a 
 waste of a good life. Does it not ? ' 
 
 Paul made no reply. 
 
 ' Each claimant as he came brought him at first complete 
 assurance and firm conviction. In fact, he never doubted for one 
 moment the truth of spiritualism. But every successive operator 
 has left behind him a doubt, to say the least, as to his truth and 
 honesty. Something unpleasant has come out before they went 
 away or after. As for poor old Chick, he has been discredited a 
 hundred times. Yet he still turns up again with a new message 
 which means nothing. He, however, is quite used to being treated 
 as a humbug. Look — he is very imeasy.' Mr. Brudenel at this 
 point rose from his chair and began walking about the room. ' He 
 is thinking of what that old boy said about your power of putting 
 two and two together. His mind is filled with the suspicion that 
 it was you who found out the state of the company, and not His 
 Excellency the Eight Reverend the Lord Bishop Izak Ibn Menelek, 
 the Falasha, who interfered. The suspicion keeps him stretched 
 iipon the rack. It is turning the Solid Rock into a quagmire. 
 Paul, my dear boy, it was awfully clever, but it won't hold water, 
 after Mr. James Berry's innocent observation this morning. Paul, 
 if I were you I would pack up and go very soon. He will recover 
 a little when you are gone.' 
 
 Paul uttered some inarticulate kind of groan. 
 
 ' I have occupied myself,' Tom went on, ' in a very interesting 
 series of observations, the nature of which you can guess. I have 
 seen our dear old friend there morning after morning reduced to 
 insensibility. I have then seen you, Paul, take his keys out of his 
 pocket, unlock and ransack his safe, open and read his letters, and 
 examine his papers. I have seen you — not heard you — put ques- 
 tions to him and receive answers from him. I have seen you order 
 him to write letters which you have dictated. By the help of a 
 magnifying glass I was enabled to read those letters. In this way 
 
268 HERR PAULUS 
 
 I acquired information which was very useful to me. In fact, Paul 
 I knew all along what you were doing, though I confess there were 
 some things which I did not quite imderstand ; for instance, tlie 
 appearance of tlie day's j)aper. That of the month old paper was 
 a very feeble performance. Anybody could do that with the hcly 
 of the mesmeric power. Biit ' 
 
 Paul groaned heavily and fell across the table, over the image of 
 Mr. Cyrus Brudenel who was just then sitting down again. He had 
 fainted. 
 
 ' Why,' said Tom, when he had got him downstairs and made 
 him sit down on a sofa, ' who on earth would have thought that you 
 were going to take it like this ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! you knew — all along -' 
 
 ' Yes — I knew.' 
 
 ' And Sibyl knew.' 
 
 ' Yes — certainly. Sibyl knew. But no one else.' 
 
 ' And every time I spoke you were laughing at me.' 
 
 ' Not exactly laughing at you. We were wondering, perhaps, 
 what was coming next.' 
 
 ' I will pack up and go at once,' Paul cried, springing to his feet. 
 
 * Not yet, Paul. Sit down again. After a fainting tit you must 
 rest a little. Tell me, Paul, you did not think that we took you 
 seriously — you never insulted my intellect so far as that — did you ? ' 
 
 ' The others did, and I hoped — I thought — that after those 
 letters you would. Oh ! I am only a detected impostor. Let 
 me go.' 
 
 ' Not just yet.' Tom gently forced him to lie down. ' Such a 
 fainting fit as that shows that you were knocked over by more than 
 my little story, llest awhile.' 
 
 ' 1 ain a detected impostor,' said Paul. ' I can never look any- 
 one in the face again.' 
 
 ' Tut — tut — nonsense, man. I know all about it, now. I know 
 about the old man in Beaumont Street. I know all about Bethiah. 
 I know all about Hetty. And I've known all along — who could 
 help knowing ? — that you were playing yomr own game. There are 
 people who believe in the chmisy jimmy about the Mahatmas and 
 the Occult Philosophers and Karma and all that stuff — and so you 
 were quite justified in thinking that there would be people ready to 
 beUeve in your o\s\\. little fake about the Falasha and Prince Mene- 
 lek. Only I never thought that you reckoned me among the possible 
 believers. That's all. You came to England in order to distinguish 
 yourself. You thought you would perform your miracles and get 
 the world ringing with your name. Well,' he continued, ' the 
 miracles came off. No doubt about the miracles at all. Well, 
 where's the honoiir ? Where is the ringing voice of fame ? The 
 miracles have fallen flat. The papers never took them up. Just 
 now the papers will not take up Spiritualism, except to relate how 
 
YET ANOTHER BLOW 2C9 
 
 another mcclium lias been {lelectcil. The thhig Is m had odour, you 
 see. One or two people have asked me about the Indian paper 
 trick, but no one really believed it. Flatness, Paul, dead Hatncss — 
 a frost— has fallen upon the miracles. Devil a bit of distinction after 
 all your trouble. The old man in Beaumont Street is the New 
 York medium who taught you ' 
 
 Paul groaned and buried his face in the sofa cushions. 
 
 ' I know everything — you see.' 
 
 ' Does — does anybody else know ? ' 
 
 ' Sibyl knows. She has known all along.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' Paul groaned again. 
 
 ' Hetty does not know. It is left for you to tell her— what j-ou 
 i;)lease. If I were you I would tell her all.' 
 
 ' I cannot.' 
 
 ' As for mo, there is one thing more that I have to learn.' 
 
 ' I will tell you nothing more. Oh ! have you not tortured mo 
 enough ? ' 
 
 ' Sit up, Paul. So — ' Paul obeyed. ' Look me in the face. So. 
 Keep your eyes fixed on mine — so — so ' 
 
 A strange giddiness fell upon Paul. Then he stiffened in all his 
 limbs and sat upright. He who had mesmerised so many others 
 was now himself mesmerised. 
 
 ' You have told me everything, Paul. I am much obliged to 
 you. You have been in a mesmeric trance, and you have told 1110 
 iiow you did the Indian paper iniracle and the musical bells and 
 everything. You are a prestidigitateur, a ventriloquist, and a mes- 
 merist all in one. Thank you very much. 
 
 Paul rose pale and confused. 
 
 ' Is it true '? ' he asked. 
 
 ' It is quite true. But have no fear. I will not do it again. And 
 now, old man, it's all over ; your cleverness will go off into some 
 other line, won't it ? The last is a very striking and attractive line, 
 but it is liable to misconstruction if people take it seriously. Better 
 have done with it. The magician will soon be fi)rgotten, and Hetty 
 will make you happy. She has every virtue except one — she cannot 
 be persuaded to honour her parents. She is full of prejudices about 
 truth and tricks. All the more reason why she should be able to 
 honour her husband, isn't it ? ' 
 
 Tom said no more. He felt ashamed — so to speak — of the shame 
 he had brought upon the other man. He held out his hand. 
 
 ' I cannot take your hand,' said Paul. 
 
 ' You can — you shall, Paul. Take it at once. Else, by the Lord, 
 I'll mesmerise you again, and make you sit down and write a letter 
 and give up Hetty.' 
 
270 HERR PAULUS 
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 THE DANCE, AND AFTER. 
 
 Some of the young people who were present at Lady Angucta's 
 dance found it, I beheve, a most dehghtful evening. They danced, 
 they talked and laughed, they danced again. They had supper, 
 again they danced, and they went home early in the morning or 
 very late at night, just as you choose to jput it, and just as they 
 always do on these occasions. The elderly people who came with 
 the girls took perhaps a less keen delight in the entertaiimient. 
 Towards daybreak they grew silent : their smiles were set, their 
 eyelids were heavy. And they all with one consent began to fidget 
 in their seats. Everybody knows that stage of the evening when 
 the elderly people begin to fidget. The sensation commences in 
 tlie backbone and works upwards to the head and to the arms and 
 lingers and downwards to the knees and feet, imtil the whole frame 
 is fidgeting. That means that the poor old frame should have been 
 lying sound asleep between the sheets long ago. In a more civilised 
 state of society, middle-aged and elderly people Avill be ' fetched,' 
 like children, at an early hour. The comfort of the thmg will 
 remove the apparent ignominy. 
 
 Did you ever ask a luan who has gone to a theatre with tooth- 
 ache how he enjoyed the play ? Or another who was deaf how he 
 liked the concert ? Or a man with gout if the sermon did him any 
 good ? Or a man going to be hanged how he enjoyed the scenery 
 on the way ? The accounts given by these gentlemen of the enter- 
 tainment provided for them would probably vary considerably from 
 those given by others free from bodilj' and mental pain. Sibyl, for 
 instance, found the evening much — very much — too short ; to Paul, 
 on the other hand, it was insufferably long. 
 
 He was horribly miserable ; he was at the lowest depth of shame ; 
 he felt mean beyond any power of expression. He had endured 
 being called a Medium's Cad, but with difficulty. He had endured 
 the suspicion — call it the proof — that he knew, beforehand, about 
 the tottering Company ; he had learned that he had no money at all. 
 Yet there Avas one consolation — the fortmies of the family had been 
 saved, and that by his mysterious Friends. No way out of that 
 mystery was possible. On that achievement he would rest his 
 claims to be remembered when he was gone. That one thing 
 enabled him to retire with dignity, as on'; who abdicates. And 
 now, good Heavens ! he had been all the ti ne in the company of a 
 man who had found him out — more, had watched him and seen 
 him at work every morning — opening lettc j, searching safes, making 
 
THE DANCE, AND AFTER 271 
 
 his patient writo to dictation. Yet that man, with that kncrwletlge, 
 had treated him with a friendhnoss which in his abasement seemed 
 contemptuous toleration. Paul — Paul — who liad scorned the clumsy 
 Medium who is caught staUiing about tlie room wrapped in a news- 
 paper, who derided the poor wretch convicted of producing the 
 spirit message on the ceiling with a jiair of lazy tongs — how was ho 
 a whit better than any of the petty cheats and liars who haunt the 
 outer fringe of spiritualism ? 
 
 This was an extremely unpleasant mood to bring to the dance. 
 Not many of the young men who were jircparing for that festival 
 were quite so gloomy, though debts and duns, disappointments and 
 defeats, and unsatisfied desires do surround the path of early man- 
 hood, and too often spoil and corrupt what should be the most 
 delightful time of life. 
 
 Paul thought that it would be best for him to creep into the 
 room when it was quite full, and when all the guests had arrived. 
 Then he would be least noticed, and would go and stand in a corner 
 all the evening out of the way. To stand m a corner all night while 
 other people dance and look happy — it does not, at first sight, seem 
 as if it would be a ])loasing mode of passing the nocturnal hours. 
 Yet many deliberately choose thus to spend their nights. 
 
 Unfortunately he was little versed in the ways of dancing, and 
 concluded that by appearing a quarter of an hour after the time 
 named he would find the rooms full. 
 
 No one was in the rooms except Sibj'l herself. 
 
 ' Paul,' she said, ' you are looking horribly ill. You have been 
 ill and miserable for several days. What does it mean ? Nothing 
 new has happened ? ' 
 
 ' No ; nothing new. It is only that I have been told a great 
 many things that are old. Oh ! Sibyl, how can you speak to me ? 
 "Why do you not order me out of the house ? Tom has told me 
 everything. I am a wretch, and you have known it all along. 
 And now Hetty must know it too.' 
 
 ' Hetty will know nothmg, Paul, except what you please to tell 
 her. All that is past and gone. Cheer up, Paul, and look happy 
 for Hetty's sake. Come, you used to be so good an actor.' 
 
 'I cannot act any longer. I can do nothing now. Sibyl, I 
 ought not to be here — I have no business to be among tliese 
 people.' 
 
 • All that is over, Paul. Cheer up, for Hetty's sake. Do yoiu* 
 best to smile. See, h !re she comes, beautiful and happy.' 
 
 It was Hetty, dre.^sed in white. Cicely gave her the dress. 
 Paul's face cleared up a little at the sight of her. She came pre- 
 pared for a happy eveixing. What girl, who knows she is looking 
 her best and has her I pver waiting for her and is going to dance, 
 but would feel happy ? 
 
 And when the people began to arrive, which thoy did in a full 
 
272 HERR PAULUS 
 
 stream and all v.ltli one consent at the same time, and the dancing 
 began, Hetty and Paul stood aside and talked. Slie gave him as 
 many dances as he chose to take, and agreed to sit out for them, 
 because he had proved unable to manage the revolution of the right 
 heel. 
 
 ' You are looking ill, Paul,' she said. ' Are you unhappy about 
 something ? ' 
 
 ' No, Hetty. How can I be unliappy when I am with you ? 
 But there is nothing,' he added, mendaciously. 'We will go 
 presently to Cicely's room — no one will follow us there, and we 
 shall be able to have a long talk. But you will want to dance ? ' 
 
 ' There will be plenty of time for both, Paul. You shall take 
 me to Cicely's room about supper time, if you like. Now don't 
 look at me like that, or people will notice it. Remember, Paul, 
 please, that your eyes are a little — well — more expressive than most. 
 When we are alone — yes, Paul — when we are alone — as much as j'ou 
 please. Now forget everything except that you are at a dance. 
 What do you think of it ? You have never been to a dance before, 
 have you ? ' 
 
 ' No. Of course, I like the animation and gaiety of the scene, 
 though some of the men look solemn over their steps. Perhaps, 
 Hetty, they are thinking of the right heel. It seems as if there was 
 no trouble or care or necessity for work. Do you know what they 
 wordd have said about dancing in my town ? ' 
 
 ' What ? ' 
 
 ' They would have asked how waltzing can be consistent with j^our 
 immortal welfare, and they would have groaned over the wickedness 
 of laying your arm round a girl's waist.' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' 
 
 ' The best thing about society is the way in which everythiiig 
 lilce care and trouble must be left behind. Those Avho form society', 
 Hetty, ought to be the most delightful 2:)eople in the world.' 
 
 ' Why ? Because they must all be well bred ? ' 
 
 ' No. Because the whole object of society is to make life happy, 
 and in order to do that, everj^body must do all he can to make every- 
 body else happ3^ It is the very essence of society, I suppose, that 
 everybody nnist be always trying to make everybody else happ3\ 
 So that everybody must ue always giving way.' Here an awkward 
 couple collided heavily with Paul. ' You see, Hetty,' he explained, 
 ' I had to give way. Outside society everybody grabs all he can 
 for himself. We will belong to the very highest society, Hetty.' 
 
 ' We will, Paul — even if our circle only consists of two.' 
 
 ' I suppose that most of the young men here have got their own 
 private troubles, but they don't show them — any more than I do. 
 We are all actors, Hetty, and we make each other happy by 
 pretending to be happy om'selves.' 
 
 ' To mo, Paul,' Hetty whispered, ' it has always seemed as if the 
 
THE DANCE, AND AFTER 273 
 
 worst trouble, next to being ashamed of — things which you could 
 not help — was the trouble of money. That was because we were so 
 horribly poor.' 
 
 ' Many of the young men here, I dare say, are sometimes 
 troubled about money. But they hide the trouble. Yes— money 
 — yes — money nnist be had somehow. Without money there is 
 nothing — not even elementary society. I never thought much about 
 money until — well, I will tell you about it another time. You have 
 never looked so beautiful as to-night, Hetty.' 
 
 'Oh I Paul.' 
 
 ' It makes me happy again only to look at you. Hetty, I shall 
 have to look at you a great deal, becaiise there is more to forget than 
 I thought there would be.' 
 
 Then they heard voices close to them. A young fellow and a 
 girl, resting for a moment, are taUdng as they rest. 
 
 He was a young fellow of the truly British type — big-limbed and 
 strong, capable of saying very downright things, and with no 
 nerves to speak of. And the girl was a London girl — one of those 
 who know everything, and go everywhere, and say what they 
 please. 
 
 ' This is the Home of Mystery and Magic,' said the girl. ' Here 
 the spirits do congregate.' 
 
 ' Don't you think they must be driven away to-night ? ' 
 
 ' Why ? ' 
 
 ' By rage and envy, because they can't waltz with you.' 
 
 ' Waltzmg with a spirit would be quite a novel sensation. I 
 will ask the next Medium I come across if he can raise a spirit who 
 can dance.' 
 
 ' Have you ever seen any of the spirits '? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I've been to lots of seances, and we have had most 
 wonderful messages. I've seen pale Lights and shadowy-sheeted 
 figures.' 
 
 ' Where do they buy their sheets ? ' 
 
 ' At Whiteley's, I suppose. Well, you know, it's delightful while 
 it lasts, but one is always trembling lest something dreadful should 
 be said or done. Because the Mediums do not pretend to have the 
 spirits under control. And you go away in a kind of glow, and it is 
 not until the next morning that you begin to understand that 
 the messages amount to nothing, and that the raps and things 
 might have been imitated, and that the whole thing was probably 
 all a sham.' 
 
 ' Probably, I should say.' 
 
 ' After the lights were turned up Mr. Brudenel always made a 
 little speech. He used to say that after this night there could no 
 longer be any doubt in the minds of the most incredulous. That 
 sent us away happy. As for the Mediums, I've seen them of all 
 
 X 
 
274 HERE PAUL US 
 
 kincls — young and old, American and English — and they are always 
 truly dreadful persons ! ' 
 
 ' Well,' said this delightful yoimg man, ' a fellow would have to 
 climb down pretty low before he took up with that trade.' 
 
 ' Come away, Paul,' Hetty whispered. 
 
 ' No. I will hear it all,' he replied, with flaming cheek. 
 
 ' The last one who came here,' the girl went on, ' I did not see. 
 I believe he is gone now. But I heard about him from Mrs. Tracy 
 Hanley, who saw him do some wonderful things. She said he made 
 up very well like an Italian Count, and told stories about Abyssinia, 
 and pretended not to know where he was born. And he showed 
 them one day an Indian daily paper of that same morning.' 
 
 _ ' It's wonderful to think how people will beheve everything,' 
 said the young man. 
 
 ' In this house they do, anyhow. If you were to come here and 
 Ijretend anythmg you please they would believe you, if only you 
 said the spirits did it for you.' 
 
 ' Let us try and see what will happen. You make up something 
 and I will swear I saw you do it. I suppose when a man is not 
 good enough to make a conjuror they turn him into a Medium.' 
 
 ' I daresay. How can people be so foolish ? ' This j'oung lady 
 had spent the afternoon with an amateur professor of palmistry, 
 who had sketched out for her the whole of her life, with the assur- 
 ance of marriage and the tale of her years and the number of her 
 babies, all written down prophetically. ' How can they be so 
 foolish ■? ' 
 
 ' Ai-e you rested ? ' said the yormg man. 
 
 'Paul ! don't show your feelings so much in your face.' He was 
 looking as if a Malay muck rimnmg would do him good, or a leap 
 oiF Waterloo Bridge. ' What does itmatter ? It is as bad for me 
 as it is for you — and worse ; because I feel for both, Paul. Now 
 you understand what I have suffered all my life. That is over aiul 
 done with. You will take me away from it. And, oh ! Paul — it is 
 a bond between us.' 
 
 He sighed heavily. 
 
 ' I declare, Hetty,' he said, ' that until the other day I had quite 
 forgotten that such things were said and thoitght about spiritua- 
 lists, and — such men as myself. I thought that I would win favour 
 and honour, and draw all hearts to niyself. Oli I what a fool— what 
 a fool ! ' 
 
 ' Will one heart satisfy you instead of all '? Hush ! Here is 
 my partner. Oh ! Paul, why could you not learn to dance ! ' 
 
 Left alone, Paul began to spend a very enjoyable evening. He 
 could not dance, and he Imew nobody. He did not want to be 
 introduced to anybody, being miserably conscious that he was only 
 the last Medium imported and the latest Medium found out. 
 
 And it seemed, as the night slowly passed, as if everybody in 
 
THE DANCE, AND AFTER 275 
 
 this room was talking about nothing but the spirits and the Medium 
 and the humbug of the whole thing, with contempt only veiled 
 when their hostess or Sibyl might overhear. In fact, to avoid speak- 
 ing of spiritualism in the Temple of that Cult was impossible. And 
 it gave such an excellent opening for conversation ; the newest 
 beginner understood how to make use of such an opening : it was 
 better than the weather. And nobody seemed to regard him or to 
 recognise him, or to imderstand that here was the very man about 
 whom some whispered and some jested — spiritualism lends itself 
 with fatal readmess to the most elementary jester. Not a youngster 
 fresh from school who had not some contemptuous little joke about 
 the Medium. 
 
 He felt presently as if he were invisible, and condemned to 
 walk about in places where he should hear the truth about himself. 
 The whole truth, you see. None of the quarter or half truths with 
 which some of us try to put things in a better light. The whole 
 truth. He was condemned to hear what was said and thought 
 about himself by old and young, by the elderly ladies who came 
 with the girls, by the girls themselves, ingenuous and frank, and by 
 the young men of his own age— from all alike he heard contempt — 
 no pity, or sympathy, or attempt to excuse — contempt simple. A 
 dreadful punishment for all of us, but most dreadful to such a young 
 man as Paul. To all of us, no doubt, it would be a salutary punish- 
 ment, though so severe that we should none of us ever dare to do 
 any work agam, esjiecially literary work. Then the publishers 
 would be ruined, and authors and publishers would sit side by side 
 in the casual wards, their quarrels forgotten, and the general public 
 would fall back upon the Old Masters. To Paul, this was the last 
 of the many scourgiugs with which Fate had atHicted him within 
 the last few days. It finished him, as you wiU see. He could bear 
 no more. 
 
 I suppose his imaguiation was growing morbid, because pre- 
 sently this fancy passed away and was succeeded by another. He 
 thought he was there in person, but that the others were ghosts — 
 shadows — figm-es moving about to mock him and to let him under- 
 stand what the world said of him. Only he himself of all the crowd 
 was real. It was his punishment, he thought, for all his pretences 
 and disguises, that he should be isolated. The rest of the world was 
 apart from himself— he stood alone. That feeling of isolation comes 
 to many men at times of grievous depression. We came into the 
 world alone, we go out of the world alone ; we walk through life 
 alone, save for the love of women and children. Those who have 
 not that support are indeed alone. 
 
 Presently one of the ghosts stepped out of the crowd and spoke 
 to him. 
 
 ' Herr Paulus,' she said, ' I am going to scold you.' He knew 
 her now — it was the lady who wanted him. to go to her Sundriy 
 
 T t 
 
276 HERR PAULUS 
 
 evenings. ' You have never once come to see me, and after all your 
 promises.' 
 
 ' I am very sorry,' he began. 
 
 ' Will you come next Sunday ? ' 
 
 ' I may be called away. I will come with the greatest pleasure 
 if I am in London.' 
 
 ' Then I shall rely upon you, and I will have the brightest and 
 most delightful and most appreciative circle to meet you. We shall 
 not expect you to do anything, but if you should be in the mood it 
 would be pleasant on a bunday evening, when one is surrounded 
 by friends — not mere acquaintances — but people whom one can love 
 and trust, and when the atmosphere has been charged with a 
 certain seriousness, you know, and all that, a communication from 
 the other world would be particularly suitable,' 
 
 ' I will try,' said Paul, ' if I am stiU here.' 
 
 ' I was present when you ju-oduced those two papers. Do you 
 know, Herr Paulus — iniay I call you Paul ? — Thank you. Do you 
 know, Paul, that I have always wondered why more has not been 
 made of that miracle. I met the Professor the other day and asked 
 him what he made of it. He replied that if you would do it again 
 before a committee formed of half-a-dozen prestidigitateurs and 
 half-a-dozen men of science, and would leave the paper, not take it 
 away, he was quite ready to give the matter serious consideration. 
 Will you do this for him ? ' 
 
 ' I think not.' 
 
 ' And they say everywhere that Mr. Brudenel was made to sell 
 out his shares in the Company without knowing it, so that he saved 
 an immense sum of money. If that is true it must have been done 
 by you, Paul.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul, smiling, ' that is true, and it was done by me. 
 I believe that Mr. Brudenel does not desire the transaction to be a 
 secret.' 
 
 ' Oh ! it is wonderful — wonderful. May I tell everybody you are 
 coming, Paul ? It will be so great an attraction. Photographs falUng 
 from the ceiling, or even the bells of Heaven, would be better than 
 nothing.' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Paul, with a frosted smile, ' even to hear the beUs of 
 
 Heaven would be Yes, Mrs. Tracy Hanley, I will come, if I am 
 
 still here, on Sunday next.' 
 
 ' Come and talk to me again presently, Paul. There are some 
 delightful people here. But you have no eyes for more than one 
 delightful person.' 
 
 She laughed in the light way of her kind, and sailed away, and 
 Hetty joined Paul again. 
 
 ' There are two dances remaining for you, Paul,' she said. 
 ' Come, we will go to Cicely's room. I think nobody knows of it, 
 and we shall be alone,' 
 
THE DANCE, AND AFTER 277 
 
 No ono was tliere. The lamp was lit ; the door was shut ; no- 
 body knew anything about this room. 
 
 Paul sank into a chair. 
 
 ' Hetty,' he said, ' you must give me up.' 
 
 ' Why, Paul ? ' 
 
 ' Because I must give you up. I cannot drag you down to my 
 level.' 
 
 ' Oh, Paul, you are thinking of what those wretched people said. 
 I know now that you were with a Medium in New York. Bethiah 
 told me all about your youth and your failure to make a name in 
 literature.' 
 
 ' A Medium's Cad, Hetty. That is how Sir Percival put it.' 
 
 ' Nonsense, Paul. You might as well call Tom a Professor's Cad, 
 because he is Demonstrator in the Physical Laboratory.' 
 
 ' No, to have been a Medium at all is infamy. It brands a man 
 for life. He can never recover his self-respect. Hetty, bid me go and 
 give you up,' 
 
 ' Paul ! If you meant what you say — but you do not.' 
 
 ' I am disgi-accd forever.' He threw out his hands and began to 
 walk lip and down the room. 
 
 ' Hetty, go away — leave me. I am lost, I am utterly miserable. 
 I have nothing in the world except you, and I have no right — no, 
 not the smallest right — to love such a girl as you.' 
 
 She looked at him with wonder. 
 
 ' We two, Paul,' she said, ' have both had the same enemy. No 
 one can hate the very name of SpirituaUsm more than I do. I have 
 had to look on and know that the professional Medium is full of 
 cheats and tricks and lies. And my mother is one ! Oh, had it 
 not been that you showed us beyond a doubt that there is a way 
 open to the other world, I could have run away and drowned my- 
 self for very shame. Now I know that it is not all trickery. But we 
 will have nothing more to do with the other world. The present 
 shall be enough for us. Why, Paul, you are young and quite clever 
 ^all the world is open to the man who is young and clever. And I 
 can wait in patience if only I know that you are working like other 
 men. Now you are apart from other men. But in the future — oh ! 
 Paul, m the future — when we are together and far away from this 
 place, we shall look back upon the past like a bad dream. And of 
 the other world we shall be satisfied to know that some men have 
 found a way to speak with those beyond; but as for us, we will 
 cling to the old paths, and go to church and have simple faith just 
 lilie the rest of the world.' 
 
 'I cannot tell her,' said Paul. Then he lifted her hand and 
 kissed it humbly. 
 
 Hetty laid her head upon his shoulder. 
 
 Then Paul laid his arm about her waist and kissed her lips. 
 
 ' Yes,' he said. ' The past is gone. I have but one thing more to 
 
278 HERE PAULUS 
 
 tell you, Hetty. When I have told you that, and not until then, our 
 new world will begin. But I cannot tell you that to-night. Kiss 
 me. Oh! my love — if it is the last time. Kiss me. Kiss me, 
 Hetty.' 
 
 The tears were in his eyes and in his breaking voice. Why ? 
 Hetty partly knew and partly guessed. But as yet she did not know 
 the whole truth. 
 
 ' I shall not go back with you,' he said. ' I cannot go back and 
 see them dancing. I shall go to my own room, and stay there 
 locked-up like a convict. I am not fit to stand among them. Is 
 there anywhere another story of how such a ^vretch as myself— such 
 an object of contempt and derision — once dared to love a true 
 woman ? And was it ever told that the woman could ever love him 
 in return ? ' 
 
 • You must not think such things, Paul, my dear,' said Hetty. 'I 
 love a man who is strong and brave and clever. He has made 'mis- 
 takes, but they are past and forgotten. He will yet do great things 
 in the world, and I shaU be proud of him. Or if he does not do 
 great things, he will do good tilings, and I shall still be proud of 
 him.' 
 
 Hetty took both his hands in hers and laughed gently — the 
 woman's laugh which drives away the evil spu-its — it is always the 
 woman of whom the Devil is afi-aid, because she is clearsighted and 
 direct and cannot be humbugged. When she laughed and pressed 
 his hand, Paul felt a little stronger, as a fainting man after a tea- 
 spoonful of brandy. His mistress knew already that the guidance 
 of this man's life would be her own. He was so ignorant— but 
 ignorance may be cured : so sensitive — a thing which can never be 
 cured : so unaccustomed to men and the ways of the world — that 
 he must lean on someone — and upon whom better than his wife ? 
 Some women despise the man who is not masterful — I think most 
 women love to be ' dhected,' either by their husbands or their 
 spiritual advisers. Some — of whom Hetty was one — love a man 
 all the more for his weakness and his unfitness to fight the battle 
 of life. 
 
 'You shall not go back to the baU-room, Paul,' she said. 'You 
 are ill to-night, you are not fit for the noise and excitement. Little 
 things — like the talk of those two people — vex and worry you. Go 
 to your own room and try to sleep. In the morning you will have 
 forgotten these dreadful thoughts. If they trouble you any more, 
 dear, remember that everybody in this house knows as much about 
 you as I know myself. And they all love you just the same as if 
 you had been the son of some Italian marchese and had been 
 brought up in Florence or Venice — or even in Abyssinia itself, for 
 that matter. _ Lady Augusta loves you as if you were her son, Sibyl 
 loves you. Cicely loves you. It is no great credit then for me to go 
 on loving you when you love me above aU the others. Oh ! Paul, 
 
THE DANCE, AND AFTER 279 
 
 if you suffer, I suffer. If you reproach yoiirself, you reproach me. 
 We have had the same memory. Good-night, Paul, good-night, my 
 dear.' 
 
 She kissed him and chmg to him for a moment and then let 
 him go. 
 
 Paul left her with bowed head and went straight to his own 
 room. Then Hetty went back to the dancers. 
 
 But she left the door open, and other couples discovered this 
 Temple of Incii^ient Love, and came here and were perfectly happy. 
 Thus doth the same room witness many emotions. It may not be, 
 you see, after all, monotonous to be a room. 
 
 Paul reached his own room. Struck with some indecision, he 
 stood at the door, his hand upon the lock, and listened. 
 
 Below the music was playing a waltz. He seemed to hear the 
 voices of the dancers as they went round or as they stopped to rest. 
 ' Full of ghosts it is . . . Mediums all humbugs . . . Every kind 
 of credulity here . . . FeUow said he came from Abyssinia . . . 
 Are we finding them out • . . Came for what he could get, of 
 course . . . Told that he's in the room somewhere . • . Hope he 
 Avon't hear what is said . . . Do him good if he does . . . Some 
 cad pretending to be a gentleman . . . Ought to be kicked down- 
 stairs.' . . . He heard these words and voices quite plainly and 
 distinctly above the fiddles and the harp and the cornet : though 
 several stairs and walls interposed between himself and the speakers, 
 he heard them quite clearly. It was his punishment to bear them. 
 And then he heard the voice of Mrs. Tracy Hanley. ' Even to hear 
 the bells of Heaven would be better than nothing.' His early teach- 
 ing it was, I suppose, which caused him a di-eadfiil pang. Even to 
 hear those beUs — if it were but afar off — how should he get witliin 
 hearing of those bells ? 
 
 Lastly he seemed to hear the voice of Hetty. ' Go to your own 
 room, Paul.' It was a voice of authoritj', and Paul obeyed, and 
 shut his door. 
 
 So while the young men and the maidens, who were really not 
 thinking about Paul a bit, and had only used the subject for an 
 opening, were making merry, and some of the young men were 
 trying to say clever things, and some were trying to look used up, 
 and some were trying to look handsome, and some were trying to 
 look distinguished, and some were trying to seem as if they were 
 behind the scenes in everything, and all were trjdng to look twice 
 as interesting and attractive to their partners as nature had made 
 them — this young man, who had also tried to make himself a good 
 deal more interesting and capable than nature intended, was creep- 
 ing, miserable and guilty, between the sheets. The music went on 
 and the champagne corks popped, and the young men laughed, and 
 the girls smUed, and many seeds were sown that night, which are 
 now growing into fine trees, covered with ;pommes d'amour. In 
 
28o HERR PAULUS 
 
 the ball-room they were all so happy, and in the bed-room there 
 was one so miserable. 
 
 ' Where is Paul, Hetty ? ' asked Sibyl. 
 
 ' He has got a dreadful headache. I have told him to go to bed. 
 He is making himself miserable about having been a Medium, Sibyl. 
 Say something kind to him, will you, to-morrow ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I will. You must console him, Hetty dear.' 
 
 ' I will, if I can. But he thinks so much of what you say, 
 Sibyl.' 
 
 ' He will be all right to-morrow, Hetty. Don't be uneasy about 
 him.' 
 
 It was about half-past five in the morning when Paul woke up. 
 He woke with a start, expecting to hear the music below and the 
 voices of the dancers. There was no music — the house was quite 
 silent. He sprang from the bed, and pulled the curtains aside. 
 The sun had been up already an hoiu- and more. He threw open 
 the window. The cold an- and the sunshine dispelled the ghosts of 
 the night. He was able to think. Fu'st, he thought he must leave 
 the house at once. After all that had happened he could not pos- 
 sibljr remain another day. He must leave the house before break- 
 fast — before they came downstairs. 
 
 He considered, next, the subject of money. He had a pound or 
 two in his purse ; he had a box full of rings, studs, chains, and 
 pins — he would sell or pawn all these. He had a splendid dressing 
 case, with everything of silver; he had a quantity of gorgeous 
 apparel, some of which he would also sell. He could, in fact, raise 
 enough in this way to get back to America. Hetty would have to 
 wait. 
 
 He dressed and packed his things. Then he opened the door, 
 and went softly downstairs, carrying his portmanteau upon his 
 shoulder, and his dressing case in his hand. The house was quite 
 silent, with the feeling that belongs to a house where everybody is 
 asleep. Arrived in the hall, Paul set down his portmanteau and 
 went into the study. * 
 
 He sat down at the table, and took pen and paper. How famUiar 
 it seemed to him — this study with the long rows of invaluable books 
 of magic and mystery ; this great sohd table, the safe in the corner, 
 the busts of departed humbugs. Now he would never see it any 
 more. He was going out of the house where he had been so 
 tenderly and kindly entertained. 
 
 ' Dear Lady Augusta,' he wrote. ' After our conversation of 
 yesterday you will not be surprised at receiving this note. I am 
 going away in the early morning — before any of 3'ou are down- 
 stairs. I do this to avoid further explanations and farewells. But 
 I cannot possibly go away without expressing my most sincere and 
 heartfelt thanks for the kindness you have extended to me since I 
 became your guest. I never knew before what the gracious hospi- 
 
THE DANCE, AND AFTER 281 
 
 tality of an English lady meant. Now I understand, and I shall 
 remember all the rest of my life. I may be allowed, I hope, to 
 write these few words of thanks, though I have to add the expres- 
 sion of my sincere remorse for the manner in which I have repaid 
 your kindness. I intended to tell you in full what I mean by this. 
 But I find I cannot— now. And yesterday I could not. Lady 
 Augusta, your kindness was misplaced, but I do not think that it 
 will ever be forgotten by your most humble servant, Paul.' 
 
 He folded this letter, placed it in an envelope, and left it on 
 the table, addressed to Lady Augusta. 
 
 Then he went back to the Hall, put on his splendid fur coat — it 
 was an eastei-ly wind, the breeze of soft delicious May — took his 
 umbrella and hat, and shouldered his portmanteau. And then he 
 left the house. 
 
 There are not many cabs about at six o'clock in the mornings 
 of May. Paul walked as far as the Marylebone Eoad, staggering 
 under the weight of his portmanteau and his dressing case and his 
 fur-lined coat. The poetry of the tlight was completely destroyed. 
 
 ' Where to, sir ? ' asked the cabman who at last came along 
 the road. 
 
 ' I don't know,' said Paul. 
 
 ' Don't know, sir ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Paul, irritably. ' How the devil should I know ? ' 
 
 ' AVeD, sir, if you don't know, who should ? Want an hotel, 
 sir ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, to be sure, of course I do. You are an intelligent man. 
 I must have a hotel. Drive me to a hotel. Drive me to the Lang- 
 ham. I'll double your fare. Of course,' said Paul, ' I wanted a 
 hotel all along.' 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 A COUNCIL, 
 
 The day after the Dance there was a Committee of Three in 
 Bethiah's Studio. It consisted of Bethiah herself, Tom, and 
 Sibyl. 
 
 The business before that Committee was the actual condition 
 and the future prospects of Paul, or Herr Paulus, by baptism 
 Ziphion, and by patronymic Trinder. 
 
 ' He went away,' said Tom, ' before anybody was out of bed this 
 morning. It is alleged by a housemaid that she was up at six, and 
 that his bedroom door was then open. But this evidence is not 
 considered trustworthy.' 
 
 ' I hope and trust that he has not resolved to vanish,' said 
 
282 HERR PAULUS 
 
 Bethiali. ' I know that he did think of vanishing when his last 
 miracle was accomplished.' 
 
 ' I should not think so,' said Tom. ' He packed up and took 
 away all his things. The illustrious pretender who jumped into 
 Etna took away nothing but his brazen slippers, which the volcano 
 refused to keep, as useless. What does a volcano want with slip- 
 pers ? Paul took away a beautiful new portmanteau, large, and 
 atuffed with things ; and a lovely dressing case crammed with silver 
 things; and sealskin coats and fur-lined coats, and gold-headed 
 umbrellas. Oh ! he hasn't vanished.' 
 
 ' Did he leave any letter '? ' 
 
 ' Yes. He left a note for Lady Augusta, thanking her briefly for 
 her great kindness to him during his stay.' 
 
 ' And what does Lady Augusta say ? ' 
 
 ' She has come to the conclusion that his friends in Abj'ssinia 
 have called him awaj', and that he is now sitting in a white linen 
 robe, exchanging maxims with the Sage Izak Ibn Menelek. ]\fr. 
 Brudenel is of the same oj^inion, and Lady Augusta tallvs of getting 
 together the fragments of pliilosophic teaching which the young 
 Prophet has left behind ' 
 
 ' Oh ! Paul must see her,' cried Bethiah in distress. ' He must 
 tell her the truth. He tnust. Mr. Langston,' Bethiah turned to 
 Tom with pleading eyes,.' please try not to despise my poor boy too 
 much. He was always imaginative and sensitive. I never saw any- 
 where a boy of quicker perceptions. He was like a gu-1 for jumping 
 straight at a conclusion. He was like a girl in many other ways. 
 He hated rough work and rough talk. He was perfectly unfit to 
 struggle with other men. As for money, there was not another 
 American in the world who cared less about it and was less qualified 
 to make money.' 
 
 ' Well— but— still— ' said Tom. 
 
 ' Wait a little, ]\Ir. Langston. He left his native town — oh ! 
 why did we let him go ? — at seventeen. He went to New York 
 resolved to become a poet — all at once. He failed, of course. He 
 spent his money and then fell into the hands of a man who called 
 him his pupil, humoured and encouraged him, and kept him 
 ignorant of the world. Never was any boy so ignorant of the 
 world as Paul. He knew nothing. This man, who must be a 
 most dangerous, unscrupulous person, persuaded him that his 
 power of magnetic influence could be made a lever by which he 
 could conquer the world. Then he gradually encouraged him to 
 set off the plain and simple mesmerism with all kinds of artifices 
 and pretences. It was setting his own cleverness against the 
 cleverness of the world ; it was doing v/hat all other men did, to 
 pretend all kinds of knowledge in order to make use of the one 
 kind they knew. For seven years this man used Paul ; he kept 
 him aU the time apart from society, from papers and from other 
 
A COUNCIL 283 
 
 young men ; he exaggerated liis imijortance and his reputation ; he 
 made the lad believe that he was an object of general admiration, 
 and that the grandest thing in the world was to gain distinction as 
 the possessor of supernatural powers. With this object everything 
 was permissible. The man had an apt pup)il. Paul has told me 
 much, and I have learned more from some New York friends now 
 in London. It was the young Italian — he was called Signor Paolo — 
 who attracted the people to the house where this pretender offered 
 supernatural guidance to all who were willing to pay for it. They 
 flocked to ask his advice, or to witness his marvellous quickness 
 and readiness. The money flowed in ; the old man has got it all, 
 and will not give Paul any. Eight months ago, they left New York 
 for a tour in Em-ope, meaning, I suppose, to return with bigger pre- 
 tences still. You know the rest.' 
 
 ' He certainly did pretend — tremendous,' said Tom, persistently. 
 
 ' If he pretends no more, Mr. Langston, will j'ou forgive him ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! forgive him '? certamly — with the greatest pleasure.' 
 Tom repHed, readily. ' There is no question of forgiveness. I 
 knew all along that he was humbugging us, and I set myself to 
 find out. I liked the fellow, I confess, and we got chummy in the 
 evenings, and I supposed he knew all the time what I thought of 
 him. As for forgiving — why, I declare that nothing in the world 
 ever astonished me so much as to see the way he took it when I 
 showed him how it was done. The man actually fainted ! Yet he 
 must have kno'WTi that I never took him seriously.' 
 
 ' He thought,' said Betliiah, ' that he had compelled you to take 
 him seriously. And I suppose — oh ! I know the poor boy — I am 
 certain that he concluded that you intended to expose him publicly 
 and immediately, and he suddenlj^ realised the shamefulness of the 
 position and his own degradation.' 
 
 ' Again, touching forgiveness,' Tom went on, ' we are, on the 
 other hand, deeply, very deeply indebted to him for saving a vast 
 svun of money — all we had, some of us. To be siu'e, he made a 
 miracle of it. ^Vhat did that matter ? In that house, a miracle is 
 neither here nor there. Sibyl has seen so many, that she expects 
 the order of things to be reversed rather than to follow in their 
 usual sequence, whenever a new Medium comes along. Of com-se, 
 we despise the Medium ; but in his case we will separate the 
 Medium from the man beneath.' 
 
 ' We shall always be grateful to him,' said Sibyl. ' ^^^latever ho 
 does cannot destroy our indebtedness. If he marries Hetty and 
 gives up his old pretensions, he may be our friend if he likes.' 
 
 ' Not,' said Tom, ' that one would commonly choose for a friend 
 a chap who has been convicted of tricks. Yet — hang it — Miss 
 Ruysdael, we did get to Uke the fellow. And he really was more 
 like a gui than a man, with his soft voice and his big eyes and his 
 smooth cheek. One generally wants to take such a man by the coat 
 
284 HERR PAUL US 
 
 collar and shake hira \ip. But he did not inspire that desire. I 
 wonder where he is.' 
 
 Things like this— simple things — are always being said at the 
 right moment, so as to produce more of those coincidences for 
 w]uch this world is famous. We may have to deplore many 
 failures — some of our brothers, for instance, are less beautiful than 
 others — and the history of Man is not a thing of which we can be 
 altogether boastful. But we may be proud of our coincidences. 
 These are served out abundantly, one a day, on an average, to every 
 human creatiure. 
 
 At this very moment a telegram was brought m, addressed to 
 Miss Kuysdael. 
 
 ' I am at the Langham Hotel. "When can I see you ? — Paul.' 
 
 ' There,' said Bethiah, with a sigh of relief. ' He has not 
 vanished, then, or run away to hide himself. It is just like Paul, to 
 send for me. He used to do the same thing, long years ago, when 
 he was a boy and in any trouble. I shall find him in a state of pro- 
 foimd misery, full of self-accusation. Well, I know what to do with 
 him.' 
 
 ' What will you do with him ? ' 
 
 ' First, I must brmg him here, and leave him alone to have it 
 out with Hetty. He must tell her everything. If she forgives hun, 
 which I expect, I will arrange for lis all three to go away at once. 
 We will go back to America. But he must marry Hetty first, in 
 order that he may have somebody always with him to have the 
 care of him.' 
 
 ' Do you think he may refuse ? ' asked Tom. 
 
 'No, he can never go back to the old life. That is impossible. If 
 I feared that, I would not suffer him to ixiarry Hetty. But he must 
 have someone always with him, if it is only to make him get up 
 and go to bed at proper times, and to see that he works in a 
 healtliy manner.' 
 
 ' What will he do, then ? ' 
 
 'For such a man as Paul there is only one kind of work possible. 
 He must become a journalist and get on presently to become an 
 author perhaps, or a poet. It will not take Paul long to learn the 
 trade, and he will get employment. Oh, Hetty and I have sketched 
 it all out.' 
 
 ' But before he gets employment,' said Sibyl, ' he will want 
 money. You must suffer us — in common gi'atitude ' 
 
 ' No, Sibyl, no. He cannot take any of your money. Do not 
 dejmve him of the one consolation which remains. No one can say 
 that he did — what he did — for money.' 
 
 'But— through Hetty, for instance.' 
 
 ' No. Not even throi;gh Hetty. There must be no question of 
 money at all. He can never recover self-respect if he takes your 
 money.' 
 
A COUNCIL 285 
 
 ' Yoii are right, I suppose. Only it seems cruel to let him go 
 av.ay in poverty.' 
 
 * I am the same as his sister. I have enough for all. Besides, 
 there is his father.' 
 
 ' Then he lias still a father ? ' said Tom. 
 
 ' Deacon Trinder has the principal store in the town. He has 
 put by dollars, I believe. How he will receive his son after seven 
 years of silence I do not know.' 
 
 ' Trinder. Yes, he told me, the other day, that his patronjTnic 
 
 was Trinder. Deacon Trinder— and a store I suppose a village 
 
 store, where tea and golden syrup and candles can be bought, and 
 cotton stuffs and currants and ginger and flour and ham and cheese 
 and ribbons and gloves.' 
 
 ' Yes and everything else,' said Bethiah, laughing. 
 
 ' It seems a drop from au unkno\vu parentage and an education 
 from the Sages, doesn't it '? Well, iliss Euj'sdael, won't you let us 
 help at all ? ' 
 
 ' No. You must leave him to me, please. If you wiU see him, 
 ]\Ir. Langston, and shake hands with him before he goes, it would 
 be kind. I don't know whether the recollection of the fact that j'ou 
 have treated him as a friend wiU help him out of his slough of 
 despond or not. But it will be kind.' 
 
 ' In that case,' said Tom, affably, ' he is welcome to two shakes. 
 Seriously, Miss Kuysdael, I shaU always remember the Herr 
 Paulus with admiration and gratitude. The happiness and joy that 
 I experienced when I fo;md out how he sent my poor guardian oft 
 to Abyssinia, and stole away his senses, and yet made him do just 
 exactly what he pleased, can never be forgotten. At the same time 
 it is best for him to go away. Further acquaintance, after w^hat has 
 passed, would carry with it a little embarrassment, would it 
 not ? ' 
 
 ' I fear so. There is another reason why Hetty must go. Most 
 unfortunatelj-, Paul found out her father, and took her to see him. 
 Well : it is a great pity that he did it, because it seems that the 
 feUow, who is quite a low kind of creature, wants Hetty to take up 
 the spirituahstic business and run it with her mother in the States. 
 He blusters and threatens all kinds of things, but, of course, that 
 means nothing, except that we had better marry them at once, and 
 then he can say no more.' 
 
 ' !May I be allowed, good people,' said Tom, breaking out un- 
 expectedty, ' to interrupt this conversation for the purpose of draw- 
 ing a moral ? Kemark, if you please, that aU the miracles per- 
 formed by this great Prophet have brought misfortune to some one. 
 He miraculously shows Cicely her brother at sea, and unsettles her 
 mind, which was beginnmg to be accustomed to his absence ; then 
 he brings my amiable cousin to see her. What happens '? Percival 
 bullies and frightens his sister, and rounds on Paul, caUing him a 
 
286 II ERR PAULUS 
 
 Liar and a Deceiver and a Medium's Cad. There is a rich reward 
 for a benevolent worker of miracles. Then he restores Hetty to her 
 long-lost father's arms, and tlie father turns out to be a most unde- 
 su-able person, who regards his daughter as the means of making 
 large profits if she will lend l:erself to his untruthful ways. Then 
 he introduces his host to His Eminence Cardinal or Archbishop 
 Izak Ibn Menelek, the Falasha, commonly called Izak the Sage, who 
 gives him gratuitous instructions every morning and imparts 
 wisdom of the most astonisliing depth. Unfortunately, the poor 
 man, when the lesson is over, forgets it all immediately, and goes 
 about as melancholy as King Nebuchadnezzar after his dream. He 
 makes Mr. Brudenel, unknown to himself, write a letter ordering 
 the sale of all his shares in a certain Company ; unluckily, the poor 
 man has written two other letters on the same day, recommending 
 two friends to buy sliares in the same Company, wliich bursts a 
 fortnight later. ]\Ir. Brudenel is saved, and his friends are ruined. 
 Naturally, they ask the reasons why he sold out everything on the 
 same day that he ad\ised them to buy in ; and when we say that 
 the spirits wrote that letter for him, they sniff. This miracle, of 
 which I desire to speak with gratitude, was the most unlucky that 
 poor Paul ever worked, because everybody knows, now, that he had 
 been told, before Mr. Brudenel wrote that letter, what was the 
 condition of tlie Company, and besides, it afterwards covered him 
 with confasion, because he now knows that I had found out how he 
 did the trick. And there is no glory out of it at all, partly because 
 we have not published any report of that miracle, which is a 
 private and family miracle, and partly because, as I have said, we 
 know how it was done. Then he brings the paper of the day all the 
 way from India. Does he get any glory from it ? Not a bit. They 
 say " Do it again. If it is a genuine thing you can do it when you 
 please. Produce your paper. Don't flourish a dated rag in our faces 
 and snatch it away. Bring this day's paper from Delhi and let it 
 lie on the table." And he has not responded. Lastly, which puts on 
 the coping stone, the onlj^ natural and truthful and honest thing 
 which he has done — his falling in love like a man — has destroyed 
 the onlj^ power which he reaUy possessed. He could influence some 
 people — not all. He could magnetise them or mesmerise them, 
 whatever you please to call it, and now he cannot do that. Never 
 v/as a Prophet so defroque. I would advise you, my sisters, to take 
 this lesson to your chambers and to meditate upon it, and when yaw 
 wish — you, Sibyl, or j'ou, Miss Euysdael — to become a Prophet, 
 remember Paul, the son of Deacon Trinder.' 
 
 To thmk that such a truly beautiful discourse should be 
 delivered before au audience of two 1 
 
287 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 A PLENARY CONFESSION. 
 
 Many sins shall be forgiven to a man before he marries, provided 
 there is a reasonable jirospect of reformation. Hetty was about to 
 hear a confession and to pronounce an absolution. The former 
 brought as much shame to herself as to her lover, but the latter 
 cost her little. 
 
 Bethiah brought Paul to the studio and went away shutting the 
 door upon Paul and Hetty. To be sure, she had prepared Hetty 
 beforehand with such excuses and ways of putting things as might 
 soften tlie blow. You have heard how she put the case to Tom 
 
 ' But,' said Toin, ' he did pretend — tremendous.' 
 
 That was so. You may exj^lain as elaborately as you please the 
 process by which the wielded man arriveth at his wickedness ; you 
 may show how he was led by a tempter and di'iven by a fiend and 
 enticed by a siren ; you may show him poor, starving, and hopeless ; 
 you may explain how his conscience has been soothed and deadened, 
 and how he has come to live in an enchanted castle. The fact 
 remains that he has arrived at his wickedness. It is always an 
 ugly fact ; it cannot be righted ; all we can do is to forgive it. 
 
 ' And, Hetty,' Bethiah concluded, ' whatever Paul lias to say, 
 remember that it is all finished and done with. No kind of tempta- 
 tion could ever make him repeat the past. My dear, no one hates 
 spiritualism more than you — except Paul. No one is more ashamed 
 of it than you — except Paul. When you have told me about the 
 shame and the sin of it, the pretences by which silly people are be- 
 guiled, and the preparation for the spontaneous manifestations, I 
 have felt as if, of all people in the world, you were the most to be 
 pitied. Because there seemed no escajie for you, anyhow, except 
 to run clean away from all of it. I could not imagine a more hor- 
 rible lot for any girl than to live half the day in the house where 
 manifestations were prepared, and the other half where they were 
 exhibited and believed. Paul's lot, however, is worse. You have 
 not to reproach yourself. He knows how deeply he has impressed 
 himself on the minds of his friends, and how the whole structure 
 rests upon a colossal falsehood.' 
 
 ' Not the whole.' 
 
 ' Yes, the whole. Paul will tell you. He has promised me that 
 he will hide notliing from you. The whole structiu'e, my dear, and 
 not a part only, as jou think.' 
 
 The most terrible sight in the world — a thing which somehow 
 
288 IlERP PAULUS 
 
 covers one with shame only to witness — is that of a man confessing 
 a shameful thing, feeling himself the whole shame and guilt of it. 
 If there be really, as many still believe, a day in which the secrets 
 of all hearts shall be laid open, it will bo also, I am sure, a day in 
 which the baseness of those secrets will be fully manifest to every 
 man. We shrink from letting even our dearest friends know our 
 own secret thoughts. But to think of the secrets of all hearts — all 
 hearts — being laid open ! Then the hero and the statesman and 
 the philanthropist and the preacher and the sage will be on the 
 level now occupied by the convict in prison and the convict out ; 
 and where the convict will be, Heaven knoweth, and we shall all 
 be ashamed for each other as well as for ourselves ; and poor 
 Humanity shall hide her guilty head and cover her face and call 
 upon the rocks to fall upon her. It is not enough, you see, to be 
 forgiven. One has also to forgive oneself. 
 
 ' Yes, Paul ; yes, oh ! stop. I cannot bear it,' cried Hetty, the 
 tears flowing down her cheeks. ' I cannot bear any more. Oh ! to 
 think that it is all deception — all. Oh ! my poor mother ! AU is 
 deception.' 
 
 ' I speak only of myself,' he said. 
 
 She was lying on the sofa — her face in her hands. 
 
 He stood over her, stooping, his hands clenched, his eyes stem 
 and hard, his arms bent. It was as if he was accusing and vehe- 
 mently reproaching her. But he was not. He was accusing himself, 
 though every word fell upon the girl like a blow fi-om a heavy stick. 
 
 ' You must hear all,' he repeated. 
 
 Well, it was done. He had no more to say ; he had confessed 
 everything. 
 
 ' TeU me to go, Hetty,' he said, at last. 
 
 She gave him her hand. 
 
 ' You must go, Paul. But I must go with you.' 
 
 ' I loathe myself, Hetty. I could kill myself but for you, and 
 for the thought that even by kiUing myself I should not escape.' 
 
 ' Oh ! how di-eadful — how terrible it is ! ' said the girl. ' All my 
 life I have had the horrible pretence about me, and I could never 
 escape it. And to think that even the man who loves me — oh, who 
 loves me, should have been dragged into it. Oh, my poor Paul, 
 shall we carry the sham spirits and the mock messages about with 
 us ? If we go away together, far away, where nobody will know 
 my maiden name or yom- story, do you think that they will foll*w 
 too, and will go on rapping messages and playing concertinas ? ' 
 
 ' No, Hetty, no. We shaU leave them behind us, and all the 
 inventions and Lies of the craft. We will go and live among the 
 woods out of the reach of them. Only love me, Hetty, if you can, 
 and forgive me.' 
 
A PLENARY CONFESSION zSg 
 
 ' Oh, Panl, if I can love you ! ' 
 
 'And forgive me ? ' ho repeated. 
 
 ' If I can forgive you ! ' IShe laughed and cried together. ' You 
 do not understand, Paul. There is nothing that I could not forgive 
 you, even if you went back to the old life. I could forgive every- 
 thing, even if it broke my heart.' 
 
 ' My dear, what should I deserve if I went back to the old life ? ' 
 He had been bending humbly over her. Kow he suddenly sprang 
 upright and threw out his arms. ' Oh,' he cried, ' it is all gone. I 
 feel like Christian when he threw off his bundle. I am breathing a 
 pm-er air already. I broke the last chain that bound me when I 
 told you the whole. Help to make me forgive myself — and forget, 
 Hetty. Lift up your head, dear. These shall be the last tears you 
 shall shed for me. Kiss me. Let us talk of this new life. Bethiah 
 says that you will take care of me. She says that I know nothing. 
 You will teach me, then. I am not atraid of work, though I do not 
 know what work you will set me to do. Only find me work, even 
 if it is rail splitting, and I will do it for you, Hetty. What a fool I 
 was ! And all seemed so grand that nothing but supernatural 
 assistance could account for it. I was in a Fool's Paradise, and the 
 way out of Fool's Paradise is through briers and brambles, and 
 across the Great Dismal Swamp.' 
 
 Well, he had said all he had to say. And Hetty loved him still. 
 She loved him, I tliink, all the more, because of the courage of this 
 self-inflicted huuiihation. Many sins, I said, will be forgiven 
 before marriage. After marriage they are condoned — which is not 
 quite the same thmg — or passively endured, or even accepted as 
 part of Ufe. Even suburban builders. I believe, have wives. 
 
 It happened, while this pair of lovers sat hand in hand, with 
 tearful eyes and softened hearts, whispering to each other words of 
 consolation and hope, that Mr. Medlock, returning home, learned 
 that his daughter was sitting alone with her fiance in Misa 
 Ruysdael's room. At ordinary times this information would have 
 caused him to respect the sanctity of the room with the greatest 
 carefulness, because, you see, he was afraid of his daughter. But 
 this afternoon he felt bold. Perhaps he had acquired courage after 
 the maimer erroneously attributed to the Hollander, though a 
 single glass of hot rum and water with a sHce of lemon and one 
 lump of sugar is nothing but an old-fashioned stomachic after an 
 early dinner, like your worship's glass of port, and, I doubt not, 
 affects the head no more. Perhaps, however, the chance of intro- 
 ducing the subject emboldened him. 
 
 Hetty indeed had so far showed in her outward carriage little 
 or no respect for him. She knew what he wanted her to do^how 
 could she respect him ? And he was so mean of aspect and of 
 manner : and be had lived such an ignoble life, To travel around 
 
 y 
 
290 TIERR PAULUS , 
 
 with a show ; to lecture at a panorama ; to lead about a giant or a 
 dwarf; to companionise a two-headed Nightingale — it is not 
 immoral, but it is not ennobling. And to ask your daughter to go 
 on the platform as a clairvoyante is to deprive yourself of all the 
 privileges conferred by the Fifth Commandment. 
 
 Yet Mr. Haynes Medlock, as we know, had been arranging a 
 little scheme for the future: the progi-amme, in fact, of a Show 
 which for Talent and Completeness would eclipse every Spiritualist 
 Caravan ever wheeled before the public. Lavinia, as the Sibyl 
 extreme age, in crimson velvet ; Hetty, the World-renowned 
 Clairvoyante ; the Signor Paolo, already famous from the Pacific 
 to the Atlantic shores, in direct communication with Spirits who 
 cannot lie ; vdth himself as the Illustrious Craniologist, Professor 
 of Palmistry, or Graphiologist, as the case might be. The prospect 
 was splendid. And now the most important member of the 
 Company was engaged to the next in importance, and was at that 
 moment under his own roof, com-ting his own gal, and no doubt in 
 an amiable and yielding mood. Mr. Medlock thereupon tapped at 
 the door and coughed. To cough when you rap at a door is — I 
 don't know why — the surest sign of the suppliant. The man who 
 would like something on accomit, something in advance, a temporary 
 loan, an interview for an explanation, always coughs when he 
 loiocks at the door. As no one rephed, Mr. Medlock turned the 
 handle and opened the door. 
 
 Hetty drew her hand from her lover's and rose from the sofa 
 where they were sitting. 
 
 ' Do you want anythmg ? ' she asked, with severity. ' This is 
 Miss Euysdael's room.' 
 
 ' I wish, my dear,' he replied — a girl ought not to be taller than 
 her own father. ' I came ' — nor ought she to look at a parent in 
 such a terrifying manner. ' I am sorry to interrupt. I was wishful 
 of a few words with your — my intended son-in-law, Hetty. A few 
 words only.' He coughed again, behind his hand, in an exaspera- 
 ting way. There was reaUy very little to be proud of in his personal 
 appearance. 
 
 Hetty turned to Paul. 
 
 ' This is my father,' she said, with the least possible emphasis 
 of the pronoun, as if to convey that in the matter of fathers she 
 was not richly endowed, ' and he has something to communicate to 
 you, Paul — a proposition of some kind to make. In fact, I know 
 what it 18, but I thuils: you. may as well hear it.' One must not 
 condemn any proposition unheard, but there was something about 
 the young lady's tone which did convey unqualified condemnation 
 of that proposition beforehand. 
 
 ' Well, sir.' Paul rose and offered his hand : it was perhaps 
 remarkable that in retm-ning to the world of the Phenomenal — the 
 everyday world — he had also retiTrned to a strongly marked 
 
A PLENARY CONFESSION 291 
 
 American manner of speech. ' Well, sir, what can I do for you — 
 or you for rae ? ' 
 
 'We can do, sir, a gi'cat deal for each other. We can make 
 ourselves indispensable to each other. That I shall be able to 
 prove to you in a very few words.' 
 
 ' Very %\ell, sir. You remember when you called Tipon my old 
 master, the Professor, a fortnight or so since. You had a talk with 
 him and you made him a proposition.' 
 
 ' I did. It is quite true. He knows everything, Hetty — every- 
 thing. That's what they used to say of him in New York. No 
 question but he had an answer to it, and always right.' Hetty 
 looked anxious, but only for a moment. 
 
 ' I am right now,' Paul said quietly, ' because I was in the 
 other room and the door was open and I heard what j'ou said.' 
 Hetty's face indicated relief. ' Therefore, I know beforehand what 
 you have been doing in the States, and what you would like to do 
 when you go back — so far as I myself am concerned.' 
 
 ' And will do, sir ; and will do,' said the little man, kindling 
 with enthusiasm at what looked like a good begmning. ' You have 
 no idea — you can't have any idea — of the splendid success that I 
 will make of you.' 
 
 ' Pray go on, Mr. Medlock.' 
 
 ' I take it, sir, that in your last show — I mean in the salon 
 where you received the cream of the New York aristocracy — pretty 
 well all the money went to the boss.' 
 
 ' You have no right to say that,' Hetty interrupted. 
 
 ' Well, I've been assistant, and I ought to know, and so far as I 
 do ]:now, nearly all the money does go to the boss. It did wher- 
 ever I was assistant.' 
 
 ' Go on,' said Paul. 
 
 ' What I saj' is this, then — leave the old man. Run your own 
 sliow. Leave the old man. Get a man who knows his way about 
 to run it for you.' 
 
 ' Meaning yourself.' 
 
 ' I do mean myself. I couldn't mean a better man for the 
 work. I know pretty well every town in America, if you concl;ule 
 to travel, and I know my way about New York, or Philadelphia 
 either, if you conclude to stay there. You are going to marry my 
 daugiiter, sir, I believe.' 
 
 ' I am,' said Paul, ' since your daughter consents.' 
 
 ' She ought to consent with pride and alacrity. I should, if I 
 were my daughter.' 
 
 ' If you were, I should not ask you,' said Paul. 
 
 ' Well, sir, well. I won't insist on my rights as a father. I'vo 
 been too long separated from my child to exercise those rights. I 
 know that very well. But I ask you, sir — I put it to you as a 
 reasonable man — here are you — A 1, tip-top of the profession, the 
 
292 HERR PAULUS 
 
 cleverest and the most envied man of all, on the highest rnng. I 
 grant all that. The connection, I admit, brings honour to us all.' 
 Paul looked at Hetty with a smile, of the sadder kind. ' But there's 
 another side. What is talent unless it's stage-managed and busi- 
 ness-managed ? Wasted, lost, thrown away. That's where I come 
 in. Signor Paolo's agent is his father-in-law, experienced and tried 
 and zealous. What is talent run by itself? Soon Avorn out ; worn 
 to death. That's where your mother-in-law steps in. See at a 
 circus. Between the really creditable bits, the clown runs round — 
 anybody can run round — and the young lady jumps through the 
 hoops — any girl can jump through hoops — and they're just as well 
 pleased. Lavinia, with a white wig and crimson velvet, will hold 
 one of her celebrated seances while you are resting. I assure you, 
 sir, that got up in a white wig — and plenty of it — and in crimson 
 velvet, with heavy gold chains and plenty of them, your mother-in- 
 law would rake 'em in. She would, indeed. There's very little 
 new to be had, in reality ; but your manager will always be putting 
 up old things in new dresses. And then there's Hetty. You are 
 aware, sir, that my daughter has the making in her of a really first- 
 class clan-voyante. In your hands she would develop into the best 
 clairvoyante in the world. A good clahvoyante is scarce. I don't 
 quite know where to lay my hand on one that I could confidently 
 put forward. But Hetty ! Look at her, sir. Look at her figure 
 and her face. Look at her eyes ' 
 
 ' Paul ! ' 
 
 'You have said quite enough, Mr. Medlock,' said Paul. 'It is 
 useless to go on, because oiu: minds are made up. Nothing would 
 induce your daughter to play the part you propose — nothuig in the 
 world. That is fixed and decisive, and nothing would induce her 
 to aUow me to continue in the — profession — you called it. There- 
 fore ' 
 
 ' Leave the profession ? Y''ou to leave the profession ? The 
 great Signor Paolo to leave the profession '? Why you must — but 
 perhaps you have made your fortune ? ' 
 
 * No, I have not.' 
 
 ' Then why — why ? ' 
 
 'Because it is— the profession. That is why. I do not think 
 you would understand any other reason.' 
 
 ' Leave the profession ! And haven't inade your fortune I 
 Then, sir, I'm hanged if you shall marry my daughter. 
 
 Hetty laughed. It is wrong to laugh at your own father, but 
 she did laugh. 
 
 ' I think there is no good in talking about it any more,' said 
 Paul, quietly. ' Your daughter is of age. Will you leave us now, 
 Mr. Medlock ? ' 
 
 ' Hetty,' he said, ' I could laugh at the poor man ; I could laugh 
 at the whole busmess. Now, alas ! we can never laugh at it, either 
 
A PLENARY CONFESSION' 293 
 
 of us ; even in the future, however far back in our lives it has re- 
 ceded. Kiss me, Hetty. Oh ! let us get away quickly ; let us begin 
 our new life as soon as ever we can.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE CONFERENCE. 
 
 Things have got to such a pass with Conferences that the papers 
 refuse any longer to report them. This is sad, because in former 
 days many a small man thought to become great, and many a weak 
 man thought himself strong, merely by dint of reading at a Con- 
 ference, papers which the wicked favouritism of Editors would not 
 allow to be published. Also, the Conference gave all who were 
 present and whose names were reported, the consciousness to them- 
 selves, and the appearance to others, of belonging to the Van of 
 Science and Progress. Conferences, as a natural consequence, are 
 falling into discredit. One Conference, formerly famous, has been 
 abandoned in disgust, after it became a bore, not only to the general 
 public, but even to its own friends. 
 
 The Conference of Spiritualists, held last May, although a most 
 important and truly representative gathering, was not reported by 
 the morning papers. That is the reason why a certain remarkable 
 incident, which shall be faithfully recorded here, made no impression 
 on the public mind. One or two of the evening papers, to be sure, 
 accorded some shght notice to the meeting. The ' St. James's,' in 
 a nasty sneering one, made the noses of all those who took part in 
 the Conference to swell and burn. The ' Pall Mall,' in a short 
 article, gibed at the President, and asked the usual stale old ques- 
 tions as to the practical outcome of so many years' messages. It 
 is, however, better to be derided than neglected. Eidicule cal s 
 attention ; misrepresentation allows an answer. It is silence which 
 is deadly. Reporters were not sent to this Conference. And yet 
 the subjects prepared for discussion — there was not time for all of 
 them — covered nearly the whole vast field once contemplated by 
 the student who proposed to write the History of Human Error. 
 Had the programme been carried out in its entirety, the Conference 
 would be sitting to this day. Among the subjects, men, and peoples 
 set down for discussion, were the Chaldeans, the Sabeans, the 
 Cabeiri, the Eleusinian Mysteries, the Cabbalists, the Magi, the 
 Essenes, the Esoteric P)uddhists, the Zendavesta, Confucius, Zoro- 
 aster, Pythagoras, apparitions, telepathy, incarnated spirits, spirit 
 pictures, spirit writing, Madame Bhivatzky — but nut Madame Columb 
 — dreams, clairvoyance, the Brotherhood of the Piosy Cross, the 
 Secret of the Rose, Theosophy, Cornelius Agrippa, Lilith and the 
 
294 HERR PAULUS 
 
 Larvae, Aiaz, Yogi, Koot Houm, Karma, Hermes, Mithra, the Eod 
 of Jacob, Invocation, Evocation, the Pentagram, the Book of Thoth, 
 ilesmerism. Astrology, Second Sight, Palmistry, Healing by Will, 
 the Works of Eliphaz, the Teraphim, Abracadabra, and the Astral 
 Light; not to speak of Nostradamus, Mother Shipton, and Old 
 Moore — and without mentioning those who came on the chance of 
 being heard as to the Israehtish origin of the British people. 
 
 The Conference lasted a week, during which these and many 
 kindred subjects were discussed. When the meeting broke up, the 
 members, wearied but not satiated, agreed that on the score of 
 unanimity the Conference had been a most wonderfid success. 
 No nasty scientific man or philosopher (foolislily so called) had got 
 up to question and contradict : the carping and critical spirit was 
 conspicuously absent ; none — which was most remarkable — came 
 to mock ; none staj^ed to deride ; and, but for one single hitch, the 
 progress of business was throughout uninteiTupted and smooth. 
 Nay, the only thing that was wantmg, those who were j^resent 
 agreed, was more discussion. If any fault could be found with the 
 Conference it was that the leaders, those who had been mvited to 
 read papers, showed undisguised impatience with the papers which 
 preceded theirs, and did not pretend any interest in any subject 
 outside their own. This gave an air of haste and breatlilessness to 
 the meetings ; a lack of personal dignity was observed : the more 
 sober among the audience lamented that time was not given for 
 chscussion and comparison of arguments. Papers concerning the 
 Unseen World ought not to be read and then pushed aside as if 
 they were merely papers in the ' Contemporary ' and the ' Nine- 
 teenth Century,' dealing with the things of this world. 
 
 The papers read at the Conference will, however, be published 
 before long, when men from the ends of the earth will no doubt 
 read them. It is a favoiu-ite delusion with people that if they once 
 get a thing printed all the world will read it. I know a man who 
 once wrote a book, proving conclusively, beyond every possibihty 
 of doubt, that what the world wants in order to be completely 
 happy and to get the full flavour out of every hour as it hurries 
 
 past is to ; but on this point I refer you to his book. It was 
 
 published at his own expense by a very eminent Firm of Publishers 
 fifteen j'ears ago. Strange to say, the world has never made the 
 least move in the direction indicated by that book. ' And,' he says, 
 reproachfully, ' my book has been in then- hands all these years ! ' 
 So it has, in a way of speaking. ' In their hands ! ' Oh ! those 
 careless hands ! In fifteen years, fifteen thousand books have been 
 placed in those hands ; and the hands go on just as if they had not 
 had more than half-a-dozen given to them. 
 
 One cannot report the whole, or even a sixth part, of this Con- 
 ference. I have only to narrate the exact circumstances relating to 
 the single hitch which occurred at the first morning's meeting. 
 
THE CONFERENCE 295 
 
 The liall, a room of some size, was, Avliat reporters call, well 
 filled. That is to say, there was i)lcnty of sitting-room for every- 
 one, and the galleries were half occupied. A well-lilled room. And 
 all of them, apparently, ladies and gentlemen ; that is to say, they 
 were well dressed and well behaved. Anyone not en rapjport with 
 the meeting would have observed a fidgety manner, as if everybody 
 had, more or less, got the jumps. Some there were who closed 
 their eyes in silent meditation ; others there were whose eyes 
 glowed with a strange brightness ; these were restless, and got up 
 and down and changed then* seats ; others, again, sat waiting in 
 impatience for the expected raptiu-e which would seize their souls 
 at the right moment. For a meeting can be magnetised even more 
 easily than a smgle person, and presently, when the right man 
 speaks with the right voice, and the right gaze which meets and 
 holds every eye, you shall see this multitude awed and subdued 
 into cahn ; the bright imsteady eyes fixed, the lips parted, the heart 
 glowing, the soul in a brief ecstasj'. Such thmgs sober men have 
 recorded ; mankind is emotional ; it is with all of us even as with 
 the dervishes or with the Hallelujah lasses when the contagion of 
 emotion spreads from bench to bench. The platform was occupied 
 by the leaders, among them our friends Mr. Athelstan Kilburn, the 
 Eev. Amehus Horton — he was going to read a paper on his o\\ti 
 miraculous gift of healing — the Eev. Benjamin Eudge, and Mr. 
 Emanuel Chick. In the body of the hall were to be observed 
 Lavinia Medlock, her husband, and Mr. James Ben-y. Hetty was 
 not there, but Sibyl, the infidel, had brought Cicely. Mrs. Tracy 
 Hanley was also present. At the stroke of ten the President, Mr. 
 Cyrus Brudenel, accompanied by his wife. Lady Augusta, and fol- 
 lowed by the Honorary Secretary, appeared upon the platform, and 
 with some applause from the audience took the chair. 
 
 Then, after the preliminary look around — which no President 
 ever neglects — it is a reminiscence of the schoolmaster's habit of 
 looking round to see that every boy is in his place, Mr. Brudenel 
 rose, and delivered the opening address. In every address there 
 are interesting parts and flat parts,. Let us confine om: report to 
 one or two of the most interesting parts. 
 
 ' Friends and Fellow-students,' he began, pleased at the number 
 of his audience and warmed by the -visible proof of so large a sym- 
 pathy. ' Friends and FeUow-students ! Let us congratulate our- 
 selves upon the magnitude and importance of this meeting, as 
 proved by numbers only. For the first time in history, we who 
 devote our hves to Spuitual Eesearch and Endeavour after deeper 
 and closer and readier communication with the other world, meet 
 openly in pubUc without fear of repression or derision. Four 
 hundred years ago they would have burned us as sorcerers and 
 witches; two hundred years ago we should have been a small, 
 obscure body, imaljle to meet, because unconscious of each other's 
 
296 HERR PAUL US 
 
 existence ; one hundred years ago, those who still kept alive the 
 Sacred Lamp were reduced almost to the point of extinction. Only 
 here and there one who prevented the spark from vanishing and fed 
 the feeble light which to the outer world seemed extinguished for 
 ever. One hundred years ago ? Why, no one believed that we 
 were still surviving. Our Cause was a bye-word. Even fifty years 
 ago, when some of us were boys, what was the condition of the 
 Spiritualists ? They were absolutely unknown. Literature had 
 ceased to speak of them. Eidicule no longer clung to them, 
 because they were not believed to exist. They were considered 
 to belong to the Dark Ages. Godwin's " Lives of the Necro- 
 mancers " sufficiently attests the low estimation — the contempt — 
 in which they were held. Supj^ose this congress had been sum- 
 moned fifty years ago, how many would have attended ? Who 
 would have been invited to speak ? In some obscure college room 
 at Oxford or Cambridge there would have been found, sitting among 
 his old books, one here or there who knew something of the Mys- 
 teries and knew what was meant by Initiation and what by com- 
 miuiication with the Spirits — but he would not dare to speak of these 
 things in the HaU or the Combination Room. He would have 
 been locked up as a naadman. Yet, Fellow-students, look at us 
 to-day.' 
 
 The President then proceeded to sketch briefly the history of 
 modern Spiritualism from its re\aval in 1847, when the famous 
 rappings were first heard m America, to the present tune, dwellmg 
 upon the wonderful development of communications and the vast 
 strides made in so short a period, so that if the same rate of pro- 
 gress be maintained, we may hope, he said, within a hundred years, 
 to combine with the spirits as freely as with each other, in which 
 case all our books may be burned, because all the learning that we 
 want will be derived at will and just for the trouble of asking from 
 those unearthly teachers. He also took the opportunity of naming, 
 with the highest praise, those immortal pioneers who have one after 
 the other taken up the Cause and laboured to reduce a mere series 
 of experiments to an exact science. Among these he did not omit 
 the illustrious Sludge (commemorated in Browning's deathless 
 verse), the devoted Home, Slade the spotless, Emanuel Chick, 
 and Lavinia Medlock. ' These men and women,' he acknowledged, 
 ' have had, it is true, during their professional career, to contend 
 with much misrepresentation : they have met with ridiciile ; their 
 motives have been distorted and derided ; the facts of the mani- 
 festations have been doubted ; their good faith has been denied ; 
 their antecedents have been inquired into and mis-stated. In short, 
 they have encountered enemies and detractors. All great men do. 
 What then? Truth will prevail. We can afford to wait, even to 
 Wait long after this life.' 
 
 He then dwelt upon the great advance made during the last few 
 
THE CONFF.T^ENCE 297 
 
 years, spealdnp: from his own knowledge of the power possessed by 
 Emanuel Cliick and by Lavinia Medlock among the Mediums of 
 the day. This was kind of him, because everybody knew that he 
 had now deserted the old paths and begun to consult other oracles, 
 
 'But now, Fellow-students, I have to speak of events which 
 have happened, not only to my own knowledge and under my own 
 eyes, but actually to myself and to those of my own household. 
 What follows is a history. 
 
 ' Many of you have heard part of this history. Things have 
 been whispered about. Nay, the papers have given garbled and 
 imperfect notes of what has been done in my house. _ But it has 
 been left for this Conference to hear the truth concerning the most 
 wonderful, the most startling, the most extraordinary manifesta- 
 tions of modern times. 
 
 ' We heard from St. Petersburg from omr friend, Anna Petrovna, 
 that we were to receive a visit from a young spiritualist of whose 
 powers she spoke in terms which excited our highest expectations. 
 He spoke, she said, all languages equally well, but only that of the 
 country where he happened to be for the time. With her he spoke 
 Russian : with us he would speak English. He was commg to 
 England charged with a Message to me and to my household. 
 There would be no question at all of money. I was not to ofter 
 him fees or pajmient of any kind : his wants were amply provided 
 for, and she begged us to receive him as a person of the highest 
 distinction, whose stay would confer gi-eat honour upon us. _ 
 
 ' We expected oiu- guest with impatience: we received him with 
 dehght. We were not disappointed in him. We found a young 
 man, apparently about five-and-twenty, possessed of manners which 
 were charming, good breeding, the self-possession which comes of 
 belonging by birth to the best society, and of a beauty which I can 
 only describe as supernatural. I have seen nothing in earthly 
 faces which I can compare with the face of our visitor. His voice 
 was soft and musical, and the sight of his eyes, gentle and lustrous, 
 yet full of power and authority, commanded respect and awe. 
 For six weeks or so we Avere ravished out of ourselves by a con- 
 tinued series of manifestations, the like of which we had never 
 before experienced. Paul — he allowed us to Anglicise the German 
 form of his name, Herr Paulus — first proved his powers by readmg 
 a girl's thoughts, and then showing them actually photographed — 
 we have seen thought-reading and recognised it as a branch, and no 
 mean branch, of communion between soul and soul — but we had 
 never before seen such a thing as spirit photography applied to 
 thought-reading. Again, he made a blind gui see her brother, then 
 at sea; and he photogi-aphed the picture of what she saw. On 
 another occasion he annihilated space and time, and actually placed 
 in our astonished hands the daily paper — that very morning's issiie 
 — published at Delhi. There were many persons present at this 
 
^98 HERR PAULUS 
 
 miracle, among them scientific professors of the highest repute. 
 I have not heard that any atteropt has been made to explain the 
 method of accomplishing this marvel, though I have heard a 
 demand to have it repeated. It is always the way. "When we tell 
 the world of some new and startling manifestation, "we are desired 
 to do it again. I dare say it will be done agam, but we Sphitualists 
 prefer to move in ovur own way. We shall not be buUied or driven 
 into experiments which oiu: friends on the Other Side do not 
 appreciate. 
 
 ' Again, Paul healed the sick. Not certainly those who had 
 diseases for which the surgeon is wanted, but those who suffered 
 from disorders of a nervous nature, such as Spiritualists are able to 
 relieve. Those who had neiu-algia, toothache, headache, and ail- 
 ments of like nature, Paul restored to health by the simple 
 exercise of will. 
 
 ' Again — and this I declare solemnly to you as my own personal 
 experience — Paul brought me an invitation from one of the friends 
 resident in Abyssinia that I w'ould %nsit him every morning to 
 converse upon the Divine Philosophy of which we hear so much 
 and know so httle. FeUow-students, I rejoice to be able to aiiirm 
 that I have spent rooming after morning in a certain vallej' in that 
 far off country, beside a stream with the venerable Izak Ibn 
 Menelek, in such discussion as hfts up the soul and enlarges the 
 muid. It will be my pri%ilege and my happmess to wi'ite down for 
 the benefit of the wlrole world the teaching of that Sage as soon — 
 as soon' — here the President's eyes grew troubled and he tapped 
 his knuckles with his eye-glasses — ' as soon as my mhid can free 
 itself from the splendom- and the intoxication of that wisdom, and 
 settle down calmly to wi'ite. There is one thing more. Finally, 
 my new Friends, finding out the actual financial position of a 
 certain Company — perhaps j^ou know the Company — in which I 
 had invested the whole fortunes of my two wards and my daughter, 
 caused me, without my knowledge, to write letters commanding the 
 sale of those investments. My Fellow-students, on the day on 
 which unconsciously I wrote — if I did write— those letters, I also 
 — consciously and m good faith — %\Tote two others recommending 
 the purchase of shares in that very Company, so strong was my 
 belief in its stability. My friends took mj' advice, I deeply regret 
 to say, and suffered. The orders to sell were obeyed, and my 
 wards were saved. 
 
 ' Ladies and gentlemen, most of us here present have long felt 
 con^dnced of the reality of spirit communications. I\Iany among 
 us, I say, have long been standing with their feet planted upon the 
 Solid Piock. Others there are, perhaps, of — of— lesser faith, who 
 require a succession of manifestations in order to make them 
 constantly reahse the presence of the spirits about us, around us, 
 over us. There are, agam, others, of whom I am one, consistent 
 
THE CONFERENCE 299 
 
 and complete believers, -v\h()se minds are filled with those evidences 
 of sight, touch, and hearing which nothing can overcome, who yet 
 are always delighted to hail every new brother in the Cral't and to 
 recognise every new manifestation, however crude and simple, pro- 
 vided that it be only genuine. 
 
 ' I ask you,' he continued, waxing eloquent, ' if anything short 
 of supernatm-al force — energy — will — call it what you please, so 
 long as you admit that it was something supernatural, over and 
 bej^ond the powers and perceptions of ordinary man — I ask you, I 
 say, if anything short of supernatural force can account for these 
 miracles ? Has any thought-reader before this made a girl tell 
 what was in her mind and then show those present her thoughts 
 photographed '? Has any Spiritualist before this ever made a blind 
 girl see, and shown a photograph of her vision ? Has any Occult 
 Philosopher — of whose miracles we hear much — ever produced 
 in India the London "Tunes," of that very day ? Never. They 
 have been challenged to do so, and they cannot. Their jiowers do 
 not extend so far — as yet. This proves that the wisdojx; of the 
 Abyssinian is greater than the wisdom of the Thibetan, as we might 
 expect. There are, it is true, some who have the gift of Healing — 
 our friend Mr. Amelius Horton is one of those rarely gifted men ; 
 but I have never seen the exercise of that gift so spontaneous, so 
 free, so readj', as by my young Philosopher, Herr Paulus. As for 
 the other things — the interposition of his Friends — -without his 
 knowledge, to save my children's fortune — it sjjeaks for itself. 
 That tliese thhigs have been done : that they have been attested by 
 witnesses hostile as well as friendly ; that they are not to be chal- 
 lenged by the most determined enemy of our Cause — marks, I 
 declare, a step upwards, which lands us all upon a Higher Plane.' 
 He spread his arms and tlu-ew back his head as if to breathe the 
 purer and rarer air upon that elevation. 
 
 ' Upon this Plane — nay, I know and feel — we shall commune 
 with a nobler kind of sjiirit and more easily and more freely than 
 before. We all know that we have been h'equently misled and 
 betrayed by mocking and mendacious sphits. It is reasonable to 
 hope that on this higher Plane they will not be permitted to dwell 
 —unless that vision of Swedenborg's is true which showed the 
 spirits choosing the Planes on which they woiild dwell, and being 
 compelled by their nature to dwell only on those which litted their 
 stage of development. Think — my fiiends — oh ! think of the time 
 when we shall all converse freely and iminterruptedly with the 
 spirits of the wise, of the just and righteous, of those whom we have 
 loved. We shall be face to face with them. We shall see them, I 
 am well assured, as well as talk with them. When death lays us 
 low, oiur sphits will join them, and the living and the dead shall 
 not be separated even for an instant. Then all will seek the higher 
 life, because it will be a shame in the eyes of those who see aU that 
 
300 HERR PAUL US 
 
 we do anil know all that we think, to lead the lower life. There 
 will be nothing but emulation of all the virtues, with meditative 
 study, and striving after truth. The old will not regret their youth, 
 because before their death they see and feel the joys of the other 
 world. 
 
 ' All this, we knew, was to come some time or other. It has 
 already come. The man who brought this power to us is Herr 
 Paulus. Let us, before we proceed to the business of the meeting of 
 which tills story is, I am sure, a welcome witness, pass our best 
 thaiiks to Herr Paulus.' 
 
 The motion was carried by acclamation. 
 
 ' I may, therefore,' said the President, smiling sweetly, ' convey 
 to Herr Paulus the fact that it is your pleasure to thank him for 
 what he has done, and done so well. I must, however, tell you 
 one very singular circumstance connected with this biisiness. To 
 my mind this circumstance corroborates and confirms all that went 
 before. HeiT Paulus assured us, when he came, that he was a Mes- 
 senger only ; he brought a Message ; he showed his credentials in 
 the powers which he possessed. Very well. During the time that 
 he was delivering this Message he had lost his memory as to him- 
 self and his antecedents ; he knew nothing ; he could not tell how 
 he had been taken to Abyssinia or by whom, or from what country : 
 he had no parents and no relations ; he spoke and wrote all lan- 
 guages equally well as the occasion demanded. In Eussia he spoke 
 Russian ; in Germany, German ; in France, French ; in England, 
 English ; and in each country he could speak only the language of 
 that country. Observe : the moment the Message was delivered and 
 what he had been sent to do had been accomplished, he lost all his 
 powers ; he could do nothing ; he became like any ordinary young 
 man ; he is no longer now a Medium. 
 
 ' More than this. He began to lose the memory of what he had 
 done, and why it had been done and everything. And he began to 
 remember about himself and his early life — interesting, but not re- 
 markable or unusual. He was, in fact, a messenger caught in 
 Russia, I believe, carried away m the spirit to Abyssinia, charged 
 with powers and with knowledge, and conveyed to my house for the 
 execution and delivery of the Message. The Wise men might have 
 chosen any other mode of conveying that Message. It is no busi- 
 ness of ours to ask why they chose that particular way. I take it 
 that a Message delivered through a young man, handsome and 
 well-mannered, attractive in himself, would commend itself to us 
 more readily than the same message delivered, say, by means of 
 the ordinary Medium. However, I state the plain fact. Your vote 
 of thanks shall be conveyed ]jy me to Herr Paulus. We will now, 
 ladies and gentlemen, proceed to the regular order of the day. The 
 programme before us is a very heavy one. Those who have pre- 
 pared papers are invited to read only essential parts, and if we 
 
THE CONFERENCE 30I 
 
 have time for discussion I beg that speakers will be brief, and con- 
 line themselves strictly to the points in question. I now call upon 
 the Kev. Amelius Horton to read a paper on " Healing by Will." ' 
 
 The Senior Fellow of King Henry's rose and stepped to the 
 front with a sweet smile and a roll of paper, which ho began to 
 imfold. No practised speaker imfolds his papers until it is time to 
 begin. In all public portormances there ai'e certain httle ceremonies 
 which the actor caUs ' business.' The popular statesman, for in- 
 stance, likes to arrive a little late, so as to come on after the minor 
 stars are seated. Therefore Mr. Horton, while standing before the 
 expectant audience, began by unrolling and smoothing out his 
 papers. That would make them expect a little longer and enjoy all 
 the more whatever might follow. 
 
 He had, however, to postpone that paper for a few minutes. 
 For while he stood there, a young man, whom no one had noticed 
 sitting just below, rose and leaped upon the platform. 
 
 ' Mr. President,' he said, ' I beg permission to say a few words 
 in this room before the proceedings go on. Ladies and gentlemen, 
 I am Herr Paulus.' 
 
 The President turned very red, and then pale. 
 
 ' Paul,' he whispered hoarsely, not loud enough for the people 
 in the front part of the hall to hear, ' Paul, sit down and go away. 
 Do not speak, I implore you.' 
 
 ' I must speak.' 
 
 ' Ladies and gontlemen '—the President rose with some dignity 
 — 'Herr Paulus caimot be refused a hearing after what has been 
 said about him. You will, however, remember what I told you. 
 He has unfortunately lost those powers which were lent to him for 
 a time — and for a piu'pose.' 
 
 ' I have a confession to make, said Paul, lifting his head quickly. 
 
 The appearance of the young man startled everybody, and there 
 was a dead silence, and the young girls murmm-ed ' Oh ! ' softly, 
 and without looking at each other, because he was so beautiful a 
 young man. No young man in a picture — not even in the old steel- 
 engraving days, when they could put so dazzling a gleam into the 
 eyes, and so soft a light over the brow, and such a romantic dimple 
 in the chin, and such a careless wave in the hair, and such genius 
 in the necktie tied in a sailor's knot — ever looked so romantic and 
 60 beautiful as Herr Paulus, the Messenger of the Wise Men, stand- 
 ing on that platform. Sibyl only, by the red spot in his cheeks, 
 knew what it cost him to stand there — in a pillory of his own 
 making, where the bad eggs and the dead cats, and the putrid fowls 
 and the rotten apples would be represented by eyes — the eyes of 
 the assembled two thousand — fall of contempt and loathing. 
 
 * My confession,' he said, ' is this. Two months ago I came to 
 England in the hope and with the design of making a gi-eat cou)^ — 
 not of money, but of what could afterwards be turned into money. 
 
302 HERR PAULUS 
 
 I resolved to achieve something that could not on anj' possible 
 hypothesis be explained except by the admission of supernatural 
 force. Science was not to be able to suggest anything. It was to 
 be something outside the ordinary phenomena of Spiritualists. 
 When it was done, I thouglit, I would vanish suddenly and be no 
 more seen. Or I would go away and return to New York, flushed 
 with a triumph which would raise me head and shoulders above my 
 brother Spiritualists. You have heard what I did.' 
 
 ' I tliink it right,' said the President, ' to reinind the audience 
 again of what I have already twice told them. I mean that this 
 3'oung gentleman has clean forgotten the powers which once he 
 exercised, and now cannot imderstand or believe the things that he 
 achieved.' 
 
 ' I do not wish to take up the time of the meeting,' Paul went 
 on, as if the President had not spoken. ' I have only to explain 
 that the things I accomplished were such as everybody could do 
 with the aid of an accomplishment which most people can have if 
 they set themselves to work. I was a mesmerist — I understood, in 
 practice, what you call the Art of mesmerism. I had worked for 
 seven years on the subject, making experiinents of all kinds. I 
 succeeded in being able to make those persons who became subject 
 to me think and do exactly as I pleased. I also succeeded in making 
 them remember what I had made them think. You now under- 
 stand that I had in my hands an instrument of tremendous power, 
 provided I could subject a sufficient number of persons. In this 
 English household, to which I introduced inyself, I subjected every 
 person except two. Had I succeeded with those two, you would 
 have heard tales of mystery compared with which your President's 
 history would have appeared commonplace. But these two persons 
 defied me. I never acquired the least control over them. And one 
 of them was always on the watch to find me out. He did find out, 
 in fact, how I accomplished the great feat of saving the fortunes of 
 liimself and the two young ladies. Eemember, I could mesmerise. 
 That was the foundation of everything. That explains everytlaing. 
 I made the blind gu'l see her brother. I knew where the man was, 
 and I had prepared the photograph beforehand. I mesmerised 
 Mr. Brudenel, and made him write at my dictation ; and before I 
 brought him back I fiUed his mind with the rigmarole about Abys- 
 sinia. He thuiks he went there every morning. He never went 
 anywhere ; he sat in his chair, magnetised, in a mesmeric sleep 
 every day. As for the Indian paper, it was a mere trick. The 
 paper had the imprint, and the appearance of the day and the place, 
 but inside there was nothing. I took care that it sliould not be 
 opened, and v.iiile they talked I put it back in my pocket. All that 
 was done by me in that house was sheer pretence and trickery. 
 You ask me how I dare to stand before you and make this confes- 
 Bion. I dare it because I have left the ranks of the charlatans. I am 
 
THE CONPERENCE 303 
 
 no lon^rer a ]\rcc'liuin. As for your Spiritualism, I neither believe 
 it, nor do I disbelieve it. But one thing I know well. In America, 
 where there are many Mediums, there is not one who has not been 
 charged, some time or other, with fraud and falsehood. Tliere is 
 not one who can boast a clear record. /Vnd another thing I know 
 full well. Tlicre is not a single message purporting to come from 
 tlie spirits, which has advanced human knowledge one single inch, 
 or that has been above the intellect of the man or woman whose 
 mediumship was employed. You may argue that Spiritualism 
 places the immortality of the soul beyond possible doubt or ques- 
 tion. Why so ? Because you believe in j^our Mediums. How 
 nmch safer are you than tlie Christians who believe in Christ and 
 His Apostles ? 
 
 ' I will say little more. In your presence I declare that this con- 
 fession of mine is literally and exactly true. In your presence I 
 humbly ask pardon of Lady Augusta lirst, of ]\fr. Cyrus Brudenel 
 next, and of all those who constitute his household, for intruding 
 my imworthy jiresence into their house, and for the long series of 
 deceptions and falsehoods which I carried on. I am going away, 
 and I shall never return to a city which would always remind me of 
 a shameful past. Before I depai't I make submission and confession.' 
 
 He bowed low : first to the audience, and then to Lady Augusta, 
 and then to the President. 
 
 ' Paul ! ' cried Lady Augusta. 
 
 He bowed a second time, but made no reply. Then he slowly 
 descended the steps, and walked with bowed head through the 
 wondering assemblage. 
 
 Then Lady Augusta sprang to her feet. 
 
 ' I must speak,' she cried. ' Never before have I spoken in 
 public, and never again shall I speak. You have heard that un- 
 happy boy. He has lost his powers, and and he tries to account 
 for what he did by a theory of magnetic influence. Do not his very 
 words — the part of his confession which was wrung from him — the 
 acknowledgment of the facts —prove his supernatural possession ? 
 That possession has left him. He has a confused memory of what 
 happened. He knows that in New York he practised spiritualism 
 and used magnetic influence. Whether for purposes of fi'aud, I do 
 not know. And the rest he cannot understand. Oh ! I knew all 
 along that this man was not himself. No young man could speak 
 as he spoke ; no mere youth could make our hearts glow as Paul 
 made the hearts of those who heard him. Never, I think, did any 
 man rise to such lofty heights of wisdom and fill his hearers wth 
 visions of the glories and splendours of the other world. Our Paul 
 has gone — you have seen his Shell. It is now a Shell filled with a 
 commonplace soul, nowhitabo". e his fellows, and perhaps b^low 
 them. But while he stayed with us — a time never to be forgotten 
 — we were rapt into Heaven. It was not the manifestation of 
 
304 HERR PAULUS 
 
 power which enthralled us — it was the voice of this man. You 
 have heard but the faintest echo of the music of that voice — it was 
 the beauty of the man's face. You will never see the sj^lendour of 
 that beauty — it was the depth, the love, the holiness of his eyes, 
 wherein lay all wisdom. You wDl never see those eyes. He has 
 1,'one, our Paul has gone. Sad — sad to think that this Shell has not 
 gone too. I pray you, oh, my friends and fellow-seekers, let not the 
 words of that young American, who has just left this room, trouble 
 you. We who have heard — have seen — who can testify — we only 
 know how false are those words — how utterly meaningless they are 
 to explain the Wonder and the Mystery, the heights and the depths of 
 the Heavenly Wisdom which Paul was sent to teach us. My hus- 
 band and I are now endeavouring to commit to paper such of those 
 utterances which we can remember. Alas ! would that we had 
 known how short a time he would be with us ! One thing coiuforts 
 us. He promised before his powers left him that his Friends would 
 give us the Book of the Ancient Wisdom, the same which was written 
 by King Solomon himself and given by the first Priest Isaac to 
 Menelek, Prince of Abyssinia. We await that gift.' 
 
 Lady Augusta resumed her seat. She had spoken with such 
 vehemence, with such earnestness of words and gestures and looks 
 that she carried her audience completely away. The young American 
 who had j list left them was an impostor and a Charlatan — he was 
 only the Shell of Paul, and the real Paiil had gone to join his fiiends, 
 the Sages of the Ancient Way. They breathed again ; confidence was 
 restored. They were no longer a flock of silly sheep following any 
 leader who led the way. The dismay and doubt which had been 
 caused by that confession vanished, and they were again ready for 
 More. 
 
 The President rose and replaced the glasses with which he had 
 been tapping his knuckles. 
 
 ' My friends,' he said, ' you have heard my wife. I am quite 
 certain that there is now no doubt in any of our hearts. The true 
 Paul has gone fi'om us — for a time only, we hope — let the Shell, the 
 Shell,' they all felt an infinite contempt for the Shell, ' depart in 
 peace. But as the result of the teachings and the inanifestations of 
 our Paul, we stand — we stand, I say — upon the Solid Rock.' 
 
 ' We will now proceed to the order of the day. Once more I call 
 upon the Reverend Amelius Horton to read us his paper on " Healing 
 by Will." ' 
 
 Take me out, Sibyl,' Cicely whispered. • If I stay here I shall 
 suffocate. Take me out quickly.' 
 
 Sibyl led her out and they drove home. 
 
 In the carriage Cicely said nothing, but sat with clasped hands 
 and trembhng lips.' 
 
 Hetty was in her room, Shs had been crying, and the tears 
 ^yere still in her eyes. 
 
THE CONFERENCE 305 
 
 ' Oh ! Cicely,' she said. ' Poor Cicely ! ' 
 
 ' I have heard him,' said Cicely. ' Hetty, will you take a 
 message to him from me ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Hetty, humbly. 
 
 ' Tell him that I loved him, Hetty. Not as you do, dear, l)Ccauso 
 you love the man — I loved the Teacher. Tell him that at the fall 
 of his foot and the sound of his voice my pulse quickened, and my 
 cheeks f^flowed, and my heart rose higher within me. Tell him that 
 he has given me new thoughts and nobler thoughts. Tell him that 
 many things which before had no meaning to me, are now plain and 
 clear. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Hetty, ' I will tell him all you say, dear.' 
 
 ' Tell him that I can never forget the things he taught me. For 
 the sake of them I shall go on loving his memoiy. And as for the 
 things he told us to-daj^ — if they are true ' 
 
 'They are true,' said Hetty. 'Alas! they are all qi;ite, quite 
 true.' 
 
 ' Then I pity and forgive him. I could not see him again — it 
 would be too much to hear his voice and to think that he was ever 
 playing a part — but no — he was not — he was speaking from his 
 heart. Oh ! Hettj', tell him that I forgive him.' 
 
 ' I will tell him. Cicely. There is something that I should lilie 
 to teU you — somethmg which he said last night — if you will 
 hear it.' 
 
 ' Tell it, dear.' 
 
 ' I was asking him how it was that he was able to carry us out 
 of ourselves while he told us those things which we bothremeuilter, 
 Cicely. He said that we were not carried out of ourselves at all : 
 it was the elevation of the soul caused by the contemiilation of 
 things spiritual and divine. Upon this elevation of soul wicked 
 men work and deceive people, so that the noblest and best part of 
 us is wickedly converted into a channel for carrying out their base 
 li-auds and cheats. It is only since the events of the last week cr 
 two that he has been able to understand the unutterable baseness 
 of the whole pretence of Spiritualism. Oh ! Cicely, you do well to 
 pity him, and to forgive him. If only I can hojie to succeed in 
 making him forgive himself 1 ' 
 
 ' Y'ou will never cease to try, dear ' — Cicely held out her hands. 
 ' Oh ! the better nature will subdue the baser. Y'^ou will be happy, 
 Hetty. Let him never for a moment regret the vanished Past. 
 Take him where no one knows what he has been. Y'ou will be 
 happy, dear.' 
 
 ' I escape, Cicely,' said Hetty. ' That ought to be enough for 
 me. And I escape with the man I love. That is more than 
 enough for me.' 
 
 ' Sibyl, dear,' said Cicely, ' when you go to your new home 
 with Tom, take me with you. Promise, Sibyl. I will give you 
 
3o6 HERR PAUL US 
 
 very little trouble. I will sit in my own room. But I coul'l not 
 stay in this house when you are gone — and Hetty gone. It is a 
 haiuited house. I hear all day long the voice of Paul — who speaks 
 of Death and of the Soul and of the Other World. Promise, Sibyl ; 
 let me go before that voice becomes the voice of a mocking and a 
 lying Spirit.' 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A W E D D I X G DAY. 
 
 There are weddings which must be festive occasions. They are 
 those where the course of true love has run quite smoothly past 
 level lawns where the lads and lasses play lawn tennis between 
 trim hedges, past flowering banks, past lovely town gardens and 
 stately houses. They are those in which the parents on both sides 
 are convinced that the j'oung people were made for each other. 
 They are also those in which the marriage settlements are every- 
 thing that can be desired. Other weddings there are in which the 
 bride and bridegi'oom are married luider some kind of cloud. 
 There are many and varymg clouds which darken jioor Humanity : 
 the cloud penitential : the cloud pecuniary : the cloud of dis- 
 obedience : or the cloud of elopement. "When a couple marry 
 under the shadow of such a cloud, their miion must be strictly 
 private. 
 
 Paul walked alone to the church on his wedding day. He had 
 no fi'iends : no young man in the whole world was more friendless ; 
 the Medium, to begin with, is always a solitary being ; he who has 
 resigned that profession is more solitary still, because he has lost 
 such companions as he had among the scanty and jealous members 
 of this calling. But he had recovered something of his gallant 
 bearing, and walked with head erect as a bridegi'oom should. He 
 was now at peace with all the world, because he was no longer 
 going to prey upon them ; more than that, he was at peace with 
 himself; at five-and-twenty the temperament is elastic and 
 Kanguine. And he was going to be married — and he was going 
 away — and he was going to be advised and directed for the rest of 
 his life by his wife — a prospect which filled this remarkable young 
 man with infinite satisfaction. 
 
 In Harley Street — he was making his way to Marylebone 
 church — he w^as stopped by none other than Mr. Emanuel Chick. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, Mr. Paulus,' said the General Practitioner 
 of Spiritualism. ' I beg your pardon, sk. I was in the HaU the 
 other day and I had the jileasure of hearing your remarks.' 
 
 ' Oh ! Then I hope you were edified, Mr. Chick. 
 
 ♦ I was. I was both edified and pleased. What Lady Augusta 
 
A WEDDIXG DAY 307 
 
 said aftenvanls — but you didn't hear that — was all bally rot. We 
 know — Herr Paulus — ive know,' ho chuckled and rubbed his 
 hands. ' Now, I ask you, sir — that niglit when you first sprung it 
 on 'em, didn't I say that it was nothing but mesmerism ? ' 
 
 ' You did, Chick, you certainly did.' 
 
 'Well, 3'ou were down upon me after that, and you've beeu 
 down upon me ever since. No more seances for Emanuel Chick. 
 Oh, no ! He's played out, he is. Dawg bite dawg ! That's alwaj's 
 the way with Spiritualists. Spoil the trade, they do, instead of 
 stickin' together.' 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Chick ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and now you hold yoiu* head up high just as if you 
 hadn't gone and told everj'body openly that you've been a humbug 
 all along.' 
 
 ' That is so. Chick. You can't hold your head high, you see, 
 because you haven't told anybody.' 
 
 ' I always thought it was your doing — Mr. Brudenel writing 
 that letter when he told me to buy shares in his Company.' 
 
 ' No, I knew nothing about that letter. There you wrong me, 
 Chick.' 
 
 ' I don't half beheve you,' said the man, with a cunning look. 
 ' Well, whether you did or whether you didn't, p'raps you'll be 
 Sony to hear that Mr. Brudenel has behaved hke a gentleman.' 
 
 ' Not at all sorry. I always thought he was a gentleman.' 
 
 'And he's repaid the 'ole of that money, the 'ole of it, sir, in 
 water shares — two thousand poiuids' worth ; because it was his 
 fault that I took the money. Two thousand poimds' worth. I 
 thought you'd like to know, that's all.' 
 
 ' Thank you. Chick, thank you. I'm very glad to know it.' 
 
 ' We shan't see you much more over there, I take it ? ' he jerked 
 his thmnb in the direction of St. John's Wood. 
 
 ' No, Chick, no,' he replied cheerfully. ' Good day to you — good 
 day.' 
 
 Chick looked after him as he walked away. 
 
 ' He's got what I never had,' he murmured. 'And he looks a 
 swell. It's written in his face and it's spoken by liis eyes. He is 
 a swell, and he'll alwaj's be a swell. Wonder what he did it for. 
 Wonder why he got up on the platform and told 'em. Wonder 
 what his game is. You can't make much by beiag a converted 
 Medium — or I'd try it. I wonder now, what he did it for.' 
 
 Every professional Medium ia the world, when the story of this 
 Great Eenunciation reached his ears, wondered why Paul did it. 
 Virtue, in cases where there is no reward visibly sticking out of a 
 handbag, is difficult of comprehension by the professional Medimn. 
 
 Hetty's Wedding was, therefore, private and quiet, as was suit- 
 able to the occasion. Mr. Medlock refused to give away his daughter, 
 but was observed at the doors of the church looking on with u 
 
3o8 HERR PAULUS 
 
 gloomy brow at the fliglit of all his hopes. "WTaen the service was 
 concluded he walked away in the direction of Beaumont Street, 
 doubtless to condole with the other victim of Paul's contumacy and 
 Hetty's disobedience. 
 
 Lavinia was present in her customary dress of black stuff, look- 
 ing like a pew-opener. She wept copiously durmg the service. Did 
 she weep because her daughter was going away from the house of 
 tricks and shams '? Or did she weep at the failure of her husband's 
 scheme ? Or did she weep because she herself was left behind to 
 carry on the old, the stale old game ? Contrary to reasonable ex- 
 pectation, no rappings attested tlie satisfaction, or the contrary, felt 
 by the spirits at the auspicious event. And they might have made 
 the occasion so important in the amaals of spuitualism. This is 
 how the best opportunities get fooled awaj'. Kot a single rap, not 
 a note or a bar of celestial music, not the quiver of a single con- 
 certina. Nor, again, did the Sage of Abyssinia make a sign of 
 friendship towards his old pupil and messenger. Think of the 
 splendid effect of a letter straight from Izak the Falasha fluttering 
 down from the roof of Marylebone Church upon the head of the 
 bridegroom ! Think of the splendid effect which might have been 
 produced by the Philosopher's Apparition ! Sibyl and Bethiah were 
 the only other witnesses of the marriage, and the bride was given 
 away by the verger. 
 
 It was a gloomy ceremony. The only actor in it who was per- 
 fectly hapijy was the bride. Hetty was going ' out of it ' at last. 
 Farewell for ever to manifestations, seances, rappings, messages, 
 and the music of heaven ! No more guilty consciousness of 
 tricks which she could not reveal because the performer was her 
 own mother ; no more inquiry of any oracle — all that was done 
 with. Paul was coming with her ' out of it ' too. How could she 
 disguise her happiness and her joy? 
 
 When the service was over and the book signed and witnessed, 
 the bride and bridegroom took leave of their fi-iends in the vestry. 
 
 ' My daughter,' said Lavinia, ' when shall I ever see you again ? 
 Oh ! Hetty, Hetty ! ' 
 
 ' I will write to you, mother,' said Hetty. ' I will write through 
 Sibyl. You are not to know, on account of father, where we are 
 livdng. I do not wish to see him again, ever, I think. But you I 
 shall see again when — you know — I told you last night, mother.' 
 
 ' I can't; it's no use ; Haj^nes won't hear of it. I can't give it 
 up. How are we to live ? Your father won't hear of it. We are 
 going to America on a tour. It's my livelihood, child ; and now 
 lie's gomg to hve on it as well.' 
 
 ' Good-bye, mother. When you are tired of it send me word, 
 through Sibyl. Good-bye. Oh, mother ! ' she whispered once more, 
 ' give it up ! ' 
 
 They drove away to Victoria Station in a foiu'-wheeled cab 
 
A WEDDING DAY 309 
 
 which had their higgap;e on the top, and the rest of the forlorn 
 bridal party remained standing outside the chnrch, under the .cri'cat 
 porch. Lavinia was weepuig still. A very quiet wedding, without 
 a single wedding present, except certain ' things' which Hetty had 
 on — Bethiah gave her those. She would take nothing from anyone 
 in the house where Paxil had played his adventurous game. Not a 
 single present, even from Cicely, who loved her ; or from Lady 
 Augusta, who was grateful for her services ; or fi'om Sibjd. Her 
 husband must not profit by so much as a single pan- of gloves from 
 that house. 
 
 ' It isn't for the marriage that I am crying. Miss Brudenel,' said 
 Lavinia ; ' Paul will make her a good husband, I'm sm-e. The like 
 of him — clever and soft and easy led — mostly make good husbands 
 when they don't take to drink. But it's the awful thi'owing away 
 of the most splendid chances that were ever offered to any young 
 couple. That's what I feel. He was offered only yesterday — for a 
 last chance — a half-partnership, and to take the money huuself, and 
 two thousand poimds down, and he threw it up. And why ? All 
 for a siUy scruple. All because he would have to work by his 
 cleverness and not by the Sphits at all. Why, I knew from the 
 beginning that he couldn't be a Medium. You can tell a Medium 
 at first sight. There's a look in a Medium's eyes, even in such a 
 Medium as Emanuel Chick, though he does make the whole room 
 smell of rum ; Paul's eyes never had that look.' 
 
 ' Oh ! but Mrs. Medlock, Paid and Hetty felt that it would not 
 be honest,' said Sibyl. 
 
 ' It's as honest a trade as an3^ There's pretence everywhere. 
 And isn't it throwing in her own mother's teeth a reflection on her 
 own mother— that she won't let him carry on that trade ? How 
 are they to live, I should like to know ? And they are going away, 
 and I shall lose my daughter ; because she says that she will never, 
 never, never let that good old gentleman who offered Paul the 
 partnership know where her husband is living. I've lost my girl. 
 She wasn't altogether what she might have been ; she would never 
 help her mother in the way of her profession. And she has thrown 
 away the most beautiful and heavenly gifts of clairvoyance. Oh ! 
 what a sin and a shame it is ! ' 
 
 Then the two ghls left her, and walked slowly away. 
 
 ' It is all over now,' said Bethiah. ' There is nothing left to do 
 but to take him back to America. Sibyl, don't publish any story 
 about him.' 
 
 ' My dear, I never intended to.' 
 
 ' Don't let Lady Augusta publish anything. She faid she was 
 going to — 5'ou know — at the hall the other day. It might follow 
 Paul and find him out and make him unhappy. His only chance is 
 to forget everj-thing.' 
 
 ' Can he ever forget ? ' 
 
310 HERR PAULUS 
 
 ' You don't know my boy,' said Betliiali. ' If lie wants to forget 
 it he will put it behind him and forget it in a week. He forgot to 
 write to me, or to his parents, for some years. Why ? Because of the 
 incongi-uit}^ between the bare, ugly truth, and his pretensions. I 
 suppose it would have made him uncomfortable. So while he was 
 in New York he was the Signor Paolo — he learned the language of a 
 wandering Itahan — the native village and the general store — the 
 vUlage shop — were forgotten — and so were his father and his 
 mother, and all his old friends. They had to be forgotten. Else he 
 would have felt uncomfortable.' 
 
 ' He could make beheve, in fact.' 
 
 ' Oh ! yes. Nobody in the world could make believe better. I am 
 quite siu'e that he felt himself an Italian when he was Signer 
 Paolo, and he felt himself a Teacher of the Ancient Philosophy, and 
 believed, in a kind of a way, in his Abyssinian Sage. Why, you 
 heard what Lady Augiista said of him. If he had not beUeved him- 
 self in what he was teaching them, how could he have impressed 
 her so profoimdly ? ' 
 
 ' "S^Tiere did he get his wisdom from ? ' 
 
 ' Well, Sibyl, I come of a Pm'itan stock, and so I think he got it 
 out of a certain Book in which he used to read a great deal when 
 he was a boy. I have seen him in our old garden declaiming aloud 
 the splendid passages of Isaiah, Ezekiel, and Amos. He drew upon 
 his memory. I am sure of it, because Cicely once tried to reproduce 
 someof his discourse, and I remembered the ideas and the language.' 
 
 ' Has he communicated with his mother ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I made him •ua-ite. He expressed his penitence for his long 
 silence, and said that if he had been doing any good for himself he 
 should have -uTitten before ; but that he was ashamed to tell the 
 story of ill-spent Time. I have dissuaded him fr'om telling all the 
 story, or any of it. His mother would be too tviilx horrified if she 
 knew it. He told her, however, that he was bringing a wife home 
 with him.' 
 
 ' But,' said Sibyl, ' how will Hetty like living with the old 
 people ? ' 
 
 ' She wiU not live with them. Paul can never go back to live in 
 the little town. I think he must live in the country, but near a 
 great town — perhaps near Boston. It is not likely that people will 
 remember Signer Paolo, even in New York, and in Boston they 
 have probably never even heard of him. It was only among 
 Sph'itualists that he was known.' 
 
 ' Do you think that Paul will ever be able to do the rough work 
 of a journalist ? Have thej- not to attend meetings and be up all 
 night and run about perpetually ? ' 
 
 'I do not expect that he will do that. But our journals want all 
 kinds of work : they are the literatui-e of the people : they present 
 reading of every kind. Paul will quickly learn to provide the kind 
 
A WEDDING DAY 311 
 
 of tiling which will take and sell. He is quick to sec, and I know 
 that he can write.' 
 
 ' Poor Paul ! Poor Hetty 1 ' 
 
 ' She is not to be pitied at all. She loves her husband. That is 
 everything.' 
 
 ' Bethiah.' Sibyl touched her hand — it is a woman's sign of 
 affection and consideration. ' Why is it — why did not Paul fall in 
 love with you ? ' 
 
 ' Well, Sibyl, I don't quite know. It is just as well as it is. For 
 my part I have always loved the boy — and if he had reminded me 
 that he was not, after all, my brother, I might — but tliat is rubbish. 
 I am his sister and I love him just as much as ever. And so, you 
 see, Sibyl, as I am his sister, I can never let him want, can I ? ' 
 
 A week later Tom and Sibyl stood upon the platform at St. 
 Pancras. They were come to say good-bye to the inan who had 
 saved their fortunes and persuaded a consent to their marriage out 
 of Mr. Brudenel. 
 
 ' For such services,' said Tom, ' I would even shake hands with 
 a dynamitard.' 
 
 It was not an ordinary leave-taking. They could not say ' Come 
 again soon,' or ' We expect you over again next year,' or ' We shall 
 not be happy till you repeat your visit.' Nothing of that sort could 
 even be hinted at, because Paul must never return to England ; not 
 until every one of the multitude who filled that hall and heard that 
 confession had passed away. 
 
 ' You will write, Hetty,' said Sibyl. ' Write to Cicely first, and 
 to me sometimes. Tell me what you are doing and how you are 
 getting on. My poor Hetty ! ' 
 
 ' I am very happy. I am going to be as happy as the day is 
 long,' she said, bravely, taking her husband's hand. 
 
 ' Now,' said Bethiah, ' the guard is looking at the tickets. Good- 
 bye, Sibyl. I will write to you as well, if you will let me. Here is 
 a little present for you. Lay it at the bottom of your desk, and look 
 at it now and then. Good-bye.' 
 
 ' Paul,' said Tom, holding his hand with the firm grasp of friend- 
 ship, ' we are your debtors. We can never pay that debt. Some 
 day, perhaps, you will remember that fact. Promise me, that ii 
 occasion arises, you will remember it.' 
 
 Paul shook his head. 
 
 ' It is good of you both,' he said, ' to see us off. I shall not 
 readily forget that, anyhow.' 
 
 Then the train rolled away and they were gone. 
 
 Sibyl opened the parting present when she reached home. 
 
 It was a pencil sketch of Paul's face drawn by Bethiah. The 
 face was idealised. It was Paul as he might be. Paul filled with 
 noble thoughts. Paul pmufied. Every face may be thus idealised 
 
312 HERR PAULUS 
 
 and purified. ]\Iy dear young lady, you think yoiu'self beautiful as 
 things are. You would be astonished at your own beauty could 
 you see your face when it has passed through this process. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Sibyl, ' I shall look at it sometimes. It is with this 
 expression on his face that I shall remember Pai;l.' 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 Six weeks after their wedding Tom and Sibyl came home again. 
 The period of profomad meditation and philosophic cahn which we 
 call the honeymoon had not saddened them, or made them dis- 
 contented with their lot, or diminished their hoi:)efuhiess for the 
 future. Quite the contrary. They were profoundly satisfied with 
 themselves and with then- lot and with the world in general. As 
 for Paul and the late events, which we have rescued fi-om oblivion, 
 they had nearlj' forgotten them. Paul was only one more of the 
 many impostors and pretenders who had fastened for a space iipon 
 Sibyl's father, different from the rest in the fact that, oddly enough, 
 he had not endeavoured to get any money for himself, and that he 
 was a comely and well-mannered youth, and that he had repented 
 in sackcloth and covered his head with ashes and rent his garments 
 and wailed aloud and done penance and confessed his sins before 
 the assembled multitude. These incidents in his career would 
 naturally keep his memory green for a space. But he was passmg 
 out of Sibyl's mind in her new wedded life, and his portrait lies at 
 the bottom of a drawer full of letters, and she never takes it out to 
 look at it. Tom is enough, you see, to fill all their thoughts. 
 
 As for Paul's teaching — that wonderful philosophy which so 
 moved the heart of Lady Augusta — nothing of it has yet been 
 written down, and now I do not think any will be written down. 
 Nobody talks about it, and the promised present of the Book of 
 Wisdom, written by King Solomon and taken to Abyssinia by Prince 
 Menelek, has not yet arrived. 
 
 ' I do hope, Tom,' said Sibyl — it was before her marriage — ' that 
 the house is now going to be kept clear of the old spirit business. 
 If Paul did nothing else, he cleared the house of all that rubbish. 
 My father ceased for a while, at least, to believe in his old Mediums. 
 I do hope that the effect will be lasting. Bnt I fear, Tom, I fear. 
 They have both been engaged too long in their Kesearch to abandon 
 it altogether even after such a blow as this.' 
 
 ' But they will not acknowledge it to be a blow,' said Tom. 
 
 ' No.' Sibyl sighed. ' They never will acknowledge any blow, 
 however hard, though they feel it all the time. One Medium after 
 another arrives and shows off his little tricks, and gets applause 
 
EPILOGUE 313 
 
 and money. Then he is (hscreditcd. It is set down to the mocking 
 spirit and the lying spirit. But lie is discredited all the same, and 
 has to go away. As lor Paul, yon heard what Lady Angnsta said 
 at the conference ahout his wondcrl'ul and apostolical teaching 
 "Well, it is already nearly forgotten. He is discredited, and he is 
 gone. He will soon be reuicniliered only as one among many, 
 though he was the brightest and the cleverest of them all. But the 
 Cause is never abandoned — never even considered in any danger. 
 AVhy, Tom, though I hate the ^hole thing, I find myself actually 
 believmg it sometimes, just because, I suppose, I have been in the 
 habit of hearing it always spoken of as a true thing of which there 
 can be no doubt.' 
 
 ' You can make people beheve anything,' said Tom, ' if you keep 
 speaking of it as if it were established beyond any doubt.' 
 
 Naturally, on their retm-n home, Lady Augusta gave a dinner 
 party. 
 
 Sibyl saw, without astonishment, yet with sorrow, that there 
 had been already a return to the gods of the old school — the pre- 
 Bauliue period, so to speak. The Eev. Benjamin Eudge was a 
 guest ; Mr. Emanuel Chick was present ; Mr. Amelius Horton, Mr. 
 Athelstan Kilburn, Mrs. Tracy Hauley and her husband, with others 
 of the Persiiasion. It was a large dinner party, and during the 
 period of waiting, Sibyl became aware that there was another guest 
 of honour beside herself. 
 
 ' We are to have another intellectual feast this evening,' she 
 heard the Eev. Benjamin Eudge's loud voice proclaim. ' So much 
 is certain. It is a lady — they say from Eussia — but we have not 
 heard her name. She has arrived, and is in the house ah'eady.' 
 That well-known and uncomfortable sensation of having seen the 
 thing already, crept over Sibyl, and her heart sank because she 
 found that this dinner was to be followed by another manifestation 
 of i^eculiar interest. 
 
 ' Yes, my dear,' said her father, tapping his knuckles with his 
 glasses, and speaking with the fidgety nervousness which she knew 
 so well. ' We have a visitor whose social position alone guarantees 
 her good faith. She is not by any means an imknown adventiu'ess, 
 such as we have sometimes entertained. She is a Eussian Princess 
 of the highest family — even connected with the Imperial House. 
 Her manifestations prove a very advanced stage of Spiritualistic 
 effect. But you shall see, my child, and judge for 3'ourself. AVe 
 always prefer to be judged hy those who are hostile to us. Tom 
 shall himself pronounce an opinion.' 
 
 'It is not,' Emanuel Chick was saying; 'it is not by making 
 experiments and showing off fireworks in magnetism that we can 
 accomplish results. We have got to feel our waj', step by step — 
 little by httle. We have got to encounter Ij'iiig spirits and mocking 
 spirits. But think of the results we have ah-eady achieved. It is 
 
314 HERR PAUL US 
 
 a science, sir, and it must be concluctccl on scientific nietlicJs. 
 The Medium must feel his way. He ought to be endowed by the 
 State, and the results ought to be published in full so as to remain 
 on record.' 
 
 Here the Eussian phenomenon — the Princess Olga Alexandi'ovna 
 — ai^peared at the door. 
 
 She was young and remarkable in appearance, if not beautiful. 
 She was dressed ua black velvet and lace, very rich, simple, and 
 striking. She stood for a moment in the doorway, where the hght 
 fell full ujjon her, just as an actress when she appears upon the 
 stage stands for a moment m order to let the atidience take in the 
 beauty of her face, her figure, and her raiment. This young lady's 
 featiu'es were regular ; her features were sharp — her friends said 
 they were of extreme delicacy ; her voice was sharp and rather 
 rasping ; her han* was dark, nearly black ; and her eyes matched 
 her hair. In other circles and in former times they would have 
 been called ' bold.' Her mouth was firm — even hard ; her smile 
 was ready — her friends called it winning ; those who did not like 
 her so much said that it was hard and void of merriment. Her 
 name was Olga Alexajidrovna, and she was a native of St. Petersbm-g, 
 but she had the look of the Tartar. She said sharp things, sometimes 
 very rude things, but her friends said they were epigrams, and she 
 had written a book — it was in French, but had been translated into 
 English, which old-fashioned people would not suffer to enter their 
 houses, or to be upon their tables. Her friends said it was a book 
 hi which for the first time a woman had dared to speak the truth. 
 
 The dinner was like one of the old Fmictions which Sibyl re- 
 membered so well, and those which the natural liveliness of Paul 
 had banished. It was as dull, as stupid, and as solemn. A whole 
 Bench of Beadles could not have dined together more solemnly ; 
 the whole body of Cathedral Vergers could not have been more 
 solemn. Everybody wanted to hear what the new Prophetess would 
 say ; and her remarks were sometimes inai;dible. 
 
 Sibyl thought of the first evening when Herr Paulus came ; and 
 how the people craned their necks and strained their ears to catch 
 his words. But Heri' Paulus, Sibyl thought, being a woman, and 
 therefore perhaps prejudiced, was a great deal more interesting 
 than Princess Olga Alexandi'ovna, and much better looking. 
 
 The Princess, it presently' appeared, belonged not to Paul's 
 School of the Ancient Way — which was peculiar to himself — but to 
 that of the modern Occult Philosophy, whose prophet is — or was — 
 none other than Madame Blavatzky. A good many jieople know 
 by this time the language of the school, which has followers and 
 puts forward pretensions. The princess taUced glibly of Thibet, 
 Mahatmas, Astral Bodies, Karma, Yogees, and the Esoteric Bvidd- 
 hism. 
 
 The guests, especially Lady Augusta, hstened and fancied that 
 
EPILOGUE 315 
 
 knowledge of the most valuable kind was being imbibed at every 
 pore. But Mr. Emanuel Chick paid no attention to the beautiful 
 talk, making the best of his time over the truly excellent dinner 
 and the wine, which he could not get anywhere else. It is the 
 mihappy lot of j\Iediums to acquire a taste for good old port and 
 fine claret, which cannot be gratified except on those rare occasions 
 when they are invited to sucla a hospitable board as Lady Augusta's. 
 ]\Ir. Chick was now quite happy, and did not care twopence what 
 the Bussian Medium was sayhig. His encmj', Paul, was gone, 
 after such a disgrace as would have snuffed out any Medium — 
 even himself— for ever, Mr. Brudenel had given him back the 
 money that he had lost. He had also called him in just as before, to 
 carry on Eescarch on the old lines. Eaps were again heard in the 
 study when Emanuel Chick was present, and messages of a most 
 interesting character were once more received and communicated. 
 Princess Olga Alexandrovna, therefore, talked after her kind, 
 and the company listened. Just now there is a good deal of talk 
 after her kind ; one hears — but perhaps even as I write the thing 
 is going out of fashion — of strictly private and select circles where 
 the disciples gather together and whisper about coming marvels and 
 great achievements, and the great and wonderful disclosures which 
 are to be made the day after to-morrow. They have not seen 
 these achievements, but they have been heard of. The coming 
 marvels are on their way, but they have not arrived. The day 
 after to-morrow is the oiily day which never comes. To-morrow 
 IS certain. Not the day after to-morrow, which never arrives. No 
 doubt the wheels of the chariots which bear the new Prophets can 
 even now be heard, by those who have ears, rumbling across the 
 world from far off Lassa. But up to the present moment Madame 
 Blavatzkj- stands alone and is as yet unsurpassed. Fortunately for 
 the sacred Cause of Occult Philosophy, she is her own Prophet and 
 does not use any of her bushels for the hiding of her light. She has 
 also retained the services of another and more accomplished Pro- 
 phet, who is always proclaiming the Truth divine. Between tho 
 two that Truth is certain to prevail. 
 
 The manifestations were over. 
 
 ' Lady Augusta,' said the Kev. Benjamin Piudge, with note-book 
 in hand, ' we have had a glorious — a glorious evening. Never 
 before m man's memory has there been such a generous, such a 
 noble outpouring of spirit influence iipon any cu-cle. It must be 
 recorded in public, and that without delay. And, oh ! Lady 
 Augusta, when we get oiu- College at last, what an opportunitj', 
 wlial a chance for the honotu* of the coiuitry if we could secm-e 
 Princess Olga Alexandrovna for one of our Pi'ofessors ! Tliat 
 College ! How gladly would I act as its secretary', Lady Augusta ! 
 \Vhat zeal, what energy, would I thi-ow into the cause ! ' 
 
.•^16 HERR PAULUS 
 
 • We shall see, i\Ir. Eudge,' said Lady Augusta. ' The evening 
 has been a remarkable one, indeed.' 
 
 ' \Yhat do you say, Chick ? ' asked Tom, sotto voce. 
 
 ' Fireworksh, Mr. Langston, Fireworksh.' His voice was just a 
 little thick. The soundest port will produce this effect upon some 
 constitutions. ' Shame as Herr Paulus. Fireworksh and mes- 
 merism and conjuring. Just the shame. Give 'em rope for a bit, 
 and then they wiU all come back to me and the old methods. 
 Shame as they did with him. Nothing like science, Mr. Langston, 
 after all. Why, I could give you resultsh ' 
 
 ' Princess — oh ! Princess Olga Alexandrovna,' murmured Mrs. 
 Tracy Hanley, ' I must, I feel I must, imj^lore you to come to my 
 Sunday evenings. Not to do anythmg, unless you like ; not to 
 teach us, but to rest — to rest — among friends. We are all friends 
 at my Sunday evenings. May I have your promise to come '? You 
 are so great and so highly gifted that j'ou will have many invitations 
 from those who would merely like to show a Russian Princess in 
 their rooms, and get you to exhibit your ■wonderful powers for the 
 admkation and envy of their friends. But with us you will have 
 rex^ose and the quiet talk which refreshes the soul. You will come 
 ■ — only say that you will come. Oh, Princess, there has never been 
 such an evening.' 
 
 ' My Friends.' It was the voice of Mr. Cyrus Brudenel. He had 
 now assumed his pince-nez, and his face was radiant and his voice 
 triumphant. ' My dear fi-iends, we have never been associated at 
 an evening marked throughout by such splendid manifestation of 
 power. This night will ever be remembered as one of distinct 
 advance — we are indeed nearer to the spirits. We have taken a 
 step Avithin the unknown land, and had such a glimpse as has never 
 been vouchsafed before. Princess Olga Alexanchovna, I do not say 
 that we thank you. Such a word is too feeble to express the joy of 
 our hearts. We congratulate ourselves upon yom* arrival. We feel 
 too deeply for expression the help that you will give us — the EngUsh 
 seekers in Spiritualism.' Sibj'l again experienced that imcouafort- 
 able sensation of having seen the thing before, perhaps because she 
 recognised a certain look in her father's eyes, which told her what 
 was coming, ' My Friends,' he said, %\itli firm voice and becoming 
 gestm-e of hand and foot, 'we stand — we stand at last, I say — 
 Uiion the Solid PiOck ! ' 
 
 SpoUhiDOode <t- i'o. I'liiili-rs, Xew-street Square, Li iiduii. 
 
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 BY y. LEITH DERWEKT. 
 Our Lady of Tears. | Circe's Lovers. 
 
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 Sketches by Boz. I Oliver Twist. 
 Pickwick Papers, | Nicholas Nickleby 
 
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 The Man-Hunter, 
 Caught at Last ! 
 Tracked and Taken. 
 
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 Strange Secrets. 
 
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 A Point of Honour. 1 Archie Lovell. 
 
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 Roxy. 
 
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 Bella Donna. | Never Forgotten. 
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 Seventy five Brooke Street. 
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 Filthy Lucre. 
 
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 Seth's Brother's Wife. 
 
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 One of Two. 
 
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 The Capel Girls. 
 
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 Robin Gray. 
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 What will the 
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 In Honour Bound 
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 In Love and War. i The Golden Shaft. 
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 BY WILLIAM GILBERT. 
 Dr Austin's Guests. I James Duke. 
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 BY JOHN HABBERTON. 
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 BY ANDREW HALLWAY. 
 Every-Day Papers, 
 
 Cheap Popular Novlls, continued— 
 
 BY LADY DUFFUS HARDY. 
 Paul Wynter's Sacrjflce. 
 
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 Under the Greenwood Tree. 
 
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 The Tenth Earl. 
 
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 Garth. 
 ElliceQuentln. 
 Fortune's Fool. 
 Miss Cadogna. 
 
 Sebastian Stromo 
 
 Oust. 
 
 Beatrix Randolph. 
 
 Love — or a Name. 
 
 David Poindexter's Disappearance. 
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 Ivan de Biron. 
 
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 The Lover's Creed. 
 
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 The House of Raby. 
 
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 Thornicroft's Model. 
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 Fated to be Free. 
 
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 The Dark Colleen. 
 The Queen of Connaught. 
 
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 Colonial Facts and Fictions 
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 Passion's Slave. 
 
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 Oakshott Castle 
 
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 The Lindsays. 
 
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 Patricia Kemball. 
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 Under which Lord .^ | Paston Carew 
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 Gideon Fleyce. 
 
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 DearLadyDisdain I MissMisanthropa 
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 Maid of Athena, 
 Camlola, 
 
CHATTO &- WINDUS, PICCADILLY. 
 
 31 
 
 Cheap Popular Novels, continued— 
 
 BY AGNES MACDONELL. 
 Quaker Cousins. 
 
 />y KATHARINE S. MACQUOID. 
 The Evil Eye. ' | Lost Rosa. 
 
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 Open! Sesame. I Fighting the Alr», 
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 A Secret of the Sea. 
 
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 Touch and Go. | Mr. Dorllilon. 
 
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 Hathercourt Rectory. 
 
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 Stories Weird and Wonderful. 
 
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 ALIfe'sAtonement Hearts. 
 
 I Way of the World. 
 
 A Bit of Human 
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 ! First Person Sin- 
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 Cynic Fortune. 
 
 A Model Father. 
 
 Josepli's Coat. 
 
 Coals of Fire. 
 
 By theGateofthe 
 
 Val Strange [Sea. 
 
 Old Blazer's Hero. 
 
 One Traveller Returns. 
 
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 The Unforeseen. 1 Chance .= or Fate? 
 
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 Doctor Rameau. 
 
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 Whiteladies. | The Primrose Path. 
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 Phoebe's Fortunes. 
 
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 Held In Bondage. TwoLlttleWooden 
 
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 Cliandos. 
 
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 Idalia. 
 
 Cecil Castle- 
 
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 Princess Naprax- 
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 Ariadne. 
 
 Friendship. 
 
 Moths. 
 
 Pipist,"ello. 
 
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 Othmar. 
 
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 Like Father, Like | For Cash Only. 
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 Marine Residence. I The Canon's Ward 
 
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 Not Wooed, but I Glow-worm Tales^ 
 
 Won. 1 The Mystery of Mirbridge, 
 
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 Lady Lovelace. 
 
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 The Mystery of Marie Roget. 
 
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 Valentlna. 1 The Foreigners 
 
 Mrs. Lancaster's Rival. 
 Gerald. 
 
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 It Is Never Too Late to Mend. 
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 Christie Johnstone. 
 Griffith Gaunt. 
 Put Yourself In His Place. 
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 Love Me Little, Love Me Long. 
 Foul Play. 
 
 The Cloister and the Hearth. 
 The Course of True Love. 
 Autobiography of a Thief. 
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 The Wandering Heir. 
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 Rcadiana. | The Jilt. 
 
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 Her Mother's Darling. 
 Prince of Wales's Garden Party. 
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 The Mystery in Palace Gardens. 
 
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 Women are Strange. 
 The Hands of Justice. 
 
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 Sk!p:Ders and Shellbacks. 
 Grace Balmaign's Sweetheart 
 Schools and Scholars. 
 
32 
 
 BOOKS PUBLISHED BY CHATTO S- WINDUS. 
 
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 BY V/. CLARK RUSSELL. 
 Round the Galley Fire. 
 On the Fo'k'sle Head. 
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 The Romance of Jenny Harlowe, 
 
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 Gaslight and Daylight. 
 
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 Guy Waterman. | Two Dreamers. 
 The Lion in the Path. 
 
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 Joan Merryweather. [ The High Mills. 
 Margaret and Elizabeth. 
 Heart Salvage. ] Sebastian. 
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 Rogues and Vagabonds. 
 The Ringo' Bells.: Mary Jane Married. 
 Mary Jane's Memoirs. 
 Tales of To day. 
 
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 A Match In the Dark. 
 
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 The Mysteries of Heron Dyke. 
 TheGolden Hoop. | By Devious Ways. 
 
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 New Arabian Nights. | Prince Otto. 
 
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 Cressida. I Proud Malslo. 
 
 The Violin-Player. 
 
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 A Fight for Life. 
 
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 Old Stories Re-told. 
 
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 Diamond Cut Diamond. 
 
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 Like Ships upon the Sea. 
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 H. MrCARTHY, M.P. 
 
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 Stories from Foreign Novelists. 
 
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 Huckleberry Finn. [of Europe, 
 
 Life on the Mississippi. 
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 Br C. C. FRASER-TYTLER. 
 Mistress Judith. 
 
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 Dolly. By Justin H. McCarthy, M.P. 
 
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 Was She Good or Bad. =* By'VV. Minto. 
 
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 Old Maid's Paradise. By E.S. Phelps. 
 
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 J. OGDEN AND CO. LIMITED, PRINTERS, OUEAT SAFFRON HILL, S.C« 
 
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