There was a pause. Then Aselzion's voice, calm, clear and very gentle, vibrated on the silence.

"There is no death!" he said—"You cannot die! There is no oblivion,—you may not forget! There is but one way of life—to live it!"

Another moment's stillness—then again the steady, resolute voice went on.

"You accuse life of injustice,—it is you who are unjust to life! Life gave you those dreams and aspirations you speak of,—it was in your power to realise them! I say it was in your power, had you chosen! No parents, no friends, not God Himself, can stop you from doing what you WILL to do! Who frustrated any great ambition of yours but yourself? Who can slay a hope but him in whose soul it was born? And that love of woman?—was she your true mate?—or only a thing of eyes and hair and vanity? Did your passion touch her body only, or did it reach her Soul? Did you seek to know whether that Soul had ever wakened within her, or were you too well satisfied with her surface beauty to care? In all these things blame Yourself, not life!—for life gives you earth and heaven, time and eternity for the attainment of joy—joy, in which, but for Yourself, there would never be a trace of sorrow!"

The kneeling penitent—for such he now appeared to be—covered his face with his hands.

"I cannot give you death,"—continued Aselzion-"You can take what is called by that name for yourself if you choose—you can by your own action, sudden or premeditated, destroy this present form and composition of yourself for just so long as it takes the forces of Nature to build you up again—an incredibly brief moment of time! But you gain nothing—you neither lose your consciousness nor your memory! Ponder this well before you pull down your present dwelling- house!—for ingratitude breeds narrowness, and your next habitation might be smaller and less fitted for peace and quiet breathing!"

With these words, gently spoken, he raised the penitent from his knees, and signed to him to return to his place. He did so obediently, without another word, pulling his cowl closely about him so that none of his fellow-brethren might see his features. Another man then stepped forward and addressed Aselzion.

"Master"—he said, "would it not be better to die than to grow old? If, as you teach us, there is no real death, should there be any real decay? What pleasure is there in life when the strength fails and the pulses slacken—when the warm blood grows chill and stagnant, and when even those we have loved consider we have lived too long? I who speak now am old, though I am not conscious of age— but others are conscious for me,—their looks, their words, imply that I am in their way—that I am slowly dying like a lopped tree and that the process is too tedious for their impatience. And yet—I could be young!—my powers of work have increased rather than lessened—I enjoy life more than those that have youth on their side—but I know I carry the burden of seventy years upon me, and I say that surely it is better to die than live even so long!"

Aselzion, standing in the full light of the glittering Cross and Star, looked upon him with a smile.

"I also carry the burden—if burden you must call it—of seventy years!" he said—"But years are nothing to me—they should be nothing to you. Who asked you to count them or to consider them? In the world of wild Nature, time is measured by seasons only—the bird does not know how old it is—the rose-tree does not count its birthdays! You, whom I know to be a brave man and patient student, have lived the usual life of men in the world—you are wedded to a Woman who has never cared to understand the deeper side of your nature, and who is now far older than you, though in actual years younger,—you have children who look upon you as their banker merely and who, while feigning affection, really wait for your death with eagerness in order to possess your fortune. You might as well have never had those children!—I know all this as you yourself know it— I also know that through the word-impressions and influence of so- called 'friends' who wish to persuade you of your age, the disintegrating process has begun,—but this can be arrested. You yourself can arrest it!—the dream of Faust is no fallacy!—only that the renewal of youth is not the work of magic evil, but of natural good. If you would be young, leave the world as you have known it and begin it anew,—leave wife, children, friends, all that hang like fungi upon an oak, rotting its trunk and sapping its strength without imparting any new form of vitality. Live again— love again!"

"I!"—and he who was thus spoken to threw back his cowl, showing a face wan and deeply wrinkled, yet striking in its fine intellectuality of feature—"I!—with these white hairs! You jest with me, Aselzion!"

"I never jest!"—replied Aselzion—"I leave jesting to the fools who prate of life without comprehending its first beginnings. I do not jest with you—put me to the proof! Obey my rules here but for six months and you shall pass out of these walls with every force in your body and spirit renewed in youth and vitality! But Yourself must work the miracle,—which, after all, is no miracle! Yourself must build Yourself!—as everyone is bound to do who would make the fullest living out of life. If you hesitate,—if you draw back,—if you turn with one foolish regret or morbid thought to your past mistakes in life which ARE past—to her, your wife, a wife in name but never in soul,—to your children, born of animal instinct but not of spiritual deep love,—to those your 'friends' who count up your years as though they were crimes,—you check the work of re- invigoration, and you stultify the forces of renewal. You must choose—and the choice must be voluntary and deliberate,—for no man becomes aged and effete without his own intention and inclination to that end,—and equally, no man retains or renews his youth without a similar intention and inclination. Take two days to consider—and then tell me your mind."

The man he thus addressed hesitated as though he had something more to say—then with a deep obeisance went back to his place. Aselzion waited till he was seated—and after the brief interval spoke again- -

"If all of you here present are content with your rule of life in this place, and with the studies you are undertaking, and none of you wish to leave, I ask for the usual sign."

All the brethren rose, and raised their arms above their heads— dropping them slowly again after a second's pause.

"Enough!" and Aselzion now moved towards the Cross and Star, fronting it fully. As he did so, I saw to my astonishment and something of terror that the rays proceeding from the centre of the Symbol flamed out to an extraordinary length, surrounding his whole figure and filling the chapel with a lurid brilliancy as though it were suddenly on fire. Straight into the centre of the glowing flames he steadily advanced—then, at a certain point, turned again and faced his followers. But what an aspect now was his! The light about him seemed to be part of his very body and garments—he was transfigured into the semblance of something god-like and angelic— and I was overcome with fear and awe as I looked upon him. Lifting one hand, he made the sign of the cross,—whereat the white-robed brethren descended from their places, and walking one by one in line, came up to him where he stood. He spoke—and his voice rang out like a silver clarion—

"O Divine Light!" he exclaimed—"We are a part of Thee, and into Thee we desire to become absorbed! From Thee we know we may obtain an immortality of life upon this gracious earth! O Nature, beloved Mother, whose bosom burns with hidden fires of strength, we are thy children, born of thee in spirit as in matter,—in us thou hast distilled thy rains and dews, thy snows and frosts, thy sunlight and thy storm!—in us thou hast embodied thy prolific beauty, thy productiveness, thy power and thy advancement towards good—and more than all thou hast endowed us with the divine passion of Love which kindles the fire whereof thou art created and whereby we are sustained! Take us, O Light! Keep us, O Nature!—and Thou, O God, Supreme Spirit of Love, whose thought is Flame, and whose desire is Creation, be Thou our guide, supporter and instructor through all worlds without end! Amen!"

Once more the glorious music of the organ surged through the chapel like a storm,—and I, trembling in every limb, knelt, covering my veiled face closely with my hands, overcome by the splendour of the sound and the strangeness of the scene. Gradually, very gradually, the music died away—a deep silence followed—and when I lifted my head, the chapel was empty! Aselzion and his disciples had vanished, noiselessly, as though they had never been present. Only the Cross and Star still remained glittering against its dark purple background—darting out long tremulous rays, some of which were pale violet, others crimson, others of the delicate hues of the pink topaz.

I looked round,—then behind me,—and to my surprise saw that the door of my little recess had been unlocked and left open. Acting on an impulse too strong to resist, I stole softly out, and stepping on tiptoe, scarcely daring to breathe, I found my way through a low archway into the body of the chapel, and stood there all alone, my heart beating loudly with positive terror. Yet there was nothing to fear. No one was near me that I could see, but I felt as if there were thousands of eyes watching me from the roof, from behind the columns, and from the stained-glass windows that shed their light on the marble pavement. And the glowing radiance of the Cross and Star in all that stillness was almost terrible!—the long bright rays were like tongues of fire mutely expressing unutterable things! Fascinated, I drew nearer and nearer—then paused abruptly, checked by a kind of vibration under me, as though the ground rocked— presently, however, I gained fresh courage to go on, and by degrees was drawn into a perfect vortex of light which rushed upon me like great waves on all sides so forcibly that I had hardly any knowledge of my own movements. Like a creature in a dream I moved,—my very hands looked transparent and spirit-like as I stretched them out towards that marvellous Symbol!—and when my eyes glanced for a moment at the folds of my covering veil I saw that its white silkiness shone with a pale amethystine hue. On—on I went,—a desperate idea possessing me to go as far as I could into that strange starry centre of living luminance—the very boldness of the thought appalled me even while I encouraged it—but step by step I went on resolutely till I suddenly felt myself caught as it were in a wheel of fire! Round and round me it whirled,—darting points of radiance as sharp as spears which seemed to enter my body and stab it through and through—I struggled for breath and tried to draw back,—impossible! I was tangled up in a net of endless light- vibrations which, though they gave forth no heat, yet quivered through my whole being with searching intensity as though bent on probing to the very centre of my soul! I could not utter a sound,—I stood there dumb, immovable, and shrouded in million-coloured flame, too stunned with the shock to realise my own identity. Then all at once something dark and cool floated over me like the shadow of a passing cloud—I looked up and strove to utter a cry,—a word of appeal!—and then fell to the ground, lost in complete unconsciousness.



XV

A FIRST LESSON

I do not know how long I lay there lost to sight and sense, but when I came to myself, I was in a quiet, shadowy place, like a kind of little hermitage, with a window opening out upon the sea. I was lying on a couch, with the veil I had worn still covering me, and as I opened my eyes and looked about me I saw that it was night, and that the moon was tracing a silver network of beams across the waves. There was a delicious fragrance on the air—it came from a group of roses set in a tall crystal vase close to where I lay. Then, as I gradually regained full knowledge of my own existence, I perceived a table in the room with a lamp burning upon it, and at the table sat no less a personage than Aselzion himself, reading. I was so amazed at the sight of him that for the moment I lay inert, afraid to move—for I was almost sure I had incurred his displeasure—till suddenly, with the feeling of a child seeking pardon for an offence, I sprang up and ran to him, throwing myself on my knees at his feet.

"Aselzion, forgive me!" I murmured—"I have done wrong—I had no right to go so far—"

He turned his eyes upon me, smiling, and took me gently by the hands.

"Who denies your right to go far if you have the strength and courage?"—he said—"Dear child, I have nothing to forgive! You are the maker of your own destiny! But you have been bold!—though you are a mere woman you have dared to do what few men attempt. This is the power of love within you—that perfect love which casteth out fear! You risked a danger which has not harmed you—you have come out of it unscathed,—so may it be with every ordeal through which you may yet be tried as by fire!"

He raised me from where I knelt,—but I still held his hands.

"I could not help it!" I said—"Your command for me was 'silence and solitude'—and in that silence and solitude I remained while I watched you all,—and I heard everything that was said—this was your wish and order. And when you all went away, the silence and solitude would have been the same but for that Cross and Star! THEY seemed to speak!—to call me—to draw me to them—and I went—hardly knowing why, yet feeling that I MUST go!—and then—"

Aselzion pressed my hands gently.

"Then the Light claimed its own,"—he said—"and courage had its reward! The door of your recess in the chapel was opened by my instructions,—I wished to see what you would do. You have no conception as yet of what you HAVE done!—but that does not matter. You have passed one test successfully—for had you remained passive in your place till someone came to remove you, I should have known you for a creature of weak will and transitory impulses. But you are stronger than I thought—so to-night I have come to give you your first lesson."

"My first lesson!" I repeated the words after him wonderingly as he let go my hands and put me gently into a chair which I had not perceived but which stood in the shadow cast by the lamp almost immediately opposite to him.

"Yes!—your first lesson!" he answered, smiling gravely—"The first lesson in what you have come here to learn,—the perpetuation of your life on earth for just so long as you desire it—the secret which gives to Rafel Santoris his youth and strength and power, as well as his governance over certain elemental forces. But first take this"—and he poured out from a quaintly shaped flask a full glass of deep red-coloured wine—"This is no magic potion—it is simply a form of nourishment which will be safer for you than solid food,— and I know you have eaten nothing all day since your light breakfast. Drink it all—every drop!"

I obeyed—it seemed tasteless and strengthless, like pure water.

"Now"—he continued—"I will put before you a very simple illustration of the truth which underlies all Nature. If you were taken into a vast plain, and there saw two opposing armies, the one actuated by a passion for destruction, the other moved only by a desire for good, you would naturally wish the latter force to win, would you not?"

I answered "Yes" at once, without hesitation.

"But suppose"—he went on—"that BOTH armies were actuated by good, and that the object of the destroying force was only to break down what was effete and mischievous, in order to build it up again in stronger and nobler forms, while the aim of the other was to strictly preserve and maintain the advantages it possessed, which side would then have your sympathy?"

I tried to think, but could not instantly determine.

"Here is your point of hesitation,"—he said—"and here the usual limit of human comprehension. Both forces are good,—but as a rule we can only side with one. We name that one Life,—the other Death. We think Life alone stands for what is living, and that Death is a kind of cessation of Life instead of being one of Life's most active forms. The Universe is entirely composed of these two fighting forces—we call them good and evil—but there is no evil-there is only a destruction of what MIGHT be harmful if allowed to exist. To put it clearly, the million millions of atoms and electrons which compose the everlasting elements of Spirit and Matter are dual—that is to say, of two kinds—those which preserve their state of equilibrium, and those whose work is to disintegrate, in order to build up again. As with the Universe, so with the composition of a human being. In you, as in myself, there exist these two forces—and our souls are, so to speak, placed on guard between them. The one set of atoms is prepared to maintain the equilibrium of health and life, but if through the neglect and unwatchfulness of the sentinel Soul any of them are allowed to become disused and effete, the other set, whose business it is to disintegrate whatever is faulty and useless for the purpose of renewing it in better form, begins to work—and this disintegrating process is our conception of decay and death. Yet, as a matter of fact, such process cannot even BEGIN without our consent and collusion. Life can be retained in our possession for an indefinite period on this earth,—but it can only be done through our own actions—our own wish and will."

I looked at him questioningly.

"One may wish and will many things,"—I said—"But the result is not always successful."

"Is that your experience?" he asked, bending his keen eyes full upon me—"You know, if you are true to yourself, that no power can resist the insistence of a strong Will brought steadily to bear on any intention. If the effort fails, it is only because the Will has hesitated. What have you made of some of your past lives—you and your lover both—through hesitation at a supreme moment!"

I looked at him appealingly.

"If we made mistakes, could we altogether help it?" I asked—"Does it not seem that we tried for the best?"

He smiled slightly.

"No, it does not seem so to me,"—he replied—"The mainspring of your various previous existences,—the law of attraction drawing you together was, and is, Love. This you fought against as though it were a crime, and in many cases you obeyed the temporary conventionalities of man rather than the unchanging ordinance of God. And now—divided as you have been—lost as you have been in endless whirlpools of infinitude, you are brought together again— and though your lover has ceased to question, you have not ceased to doubt!"

"I do not doubt!" I exclaimed, suddenly, and with passion—"I love him with all my soul!—I will never lose him again!"

Aselzion looked at me questioningly.

"How do you know you have not lost him already?" he said.

At this a sudden wave of despair swept over me—a chill sense of emptiness and desolation. Could it be possible that my own rashness and selfishness had again separated me from my beloved?—for so I now called him in my heart—had I by some foolish, distrustful thought estranged him once more from my soul? The rising tears choked me—I rose from my seat, hardly knowing what I did, and went to the window for air—Aselzion followed me and laid his hand gently on my shoulder.

"It is not so difficult to win love as to keep it!"—he said— "Misunderstanding, and want of quick sympathy, end in heart-break and separation. And this is far worse than what mortals call death."

The burning tears fell slowly from my eyes—every word seemed to pierce my heart—I looked yearningly out on the sea, rippling under the moon. I thought of the day, barely a week ago, when Rafel stood beside me, his hand clasping mine,—such a little division of time seemed to have elapsed since we were together, and yet how long! At last I spoke—

"I would rather die, if death were possible, than lose his love"—I said—"And where there is no love, surely there must be death?"

Aselzion sighed.

"Poor child! Now you understand why the lonely Soul hurls itself wildly from one phase of existence to another till it finds its true mate!"—he answered—"You say truly that where there is no love there is no real life. It is merely a semi-conscious existence. But you have no cause to grieve—not now,—not if you are firm and faithful. Rafel Santoris is safe and well—and his soul is so much with you—you are so constantly in his thoughts, that it is as if he were himself here—see!"

And he placed his two hands for a moment over my eyes and then removed them. I uttered a cry of ecstasy—for there before me on the moonlit water I saw the 'Dream'!—her sails glittering with light, and her aerial shape clearly defined against the sky! Oh, how I longed to fly across the strip of water which alone seemed to divide us!—and once more to stand on the deck beside him whom I now loved more than my very hopes of heaven! But I knew it was only a vision conjured up before me by the magic of Aselzion,—a magic used gently for my sake, to help and comfort me in a moment of sadness and heart's longing. And I watched, knowing that the picture must fade,- -as it slowly did,—vanishing like a rainbow in a swirl of cloud.

"It is indeed a 'Dream'!" I said, smiling faintly, as I turned again to Aselzion—"I pray that love itself may never be so fleeting!"

"If love is fleeting, it is not love!"—he answered—"As ephemeral passion called by that name is the ordinary sort of attraction existing between ordinary men and women,—men, who see no farther than the gratification of a desire, and women, who see no higher than the yielding to that desire. Men who love in the highest and most faithful meaning of the term, are much rarer than women,—women are very near the divine in love when it is first awakened in them— if afterwards they sink to a lower level, it is generally the men who have dragged them down. Unless a man is bent on the highest, he is apt to settle on the lowest—whereas a woman generally soars to the highest ideals at first in the blind instinct of a Soul seeking its mate—how often she is hurled back from the empyrean only the angels know! Not to all is given power to master and control the life-forces—and it is this I would have you understand before I leave you to-night. I can teach you the way to hold your life safely above all disintegrating elements—but the learning of the lesson rests with yourself."

He sat down, and I resumed my place in the chair opposite to him, prepared to hear him with the closest attention. There were a few things on the table which I had not previously noticed, and one of these was a circular object covered with a cloth. He removed this covering, and showed me a crystal globe which appeared to be full of some strange volatile fluid, clear in itself, but intersected with endless floating brilliant dots and lines.

"Look well at this"—he said—"for here you have a very simple manifestation of a great truth. These dots and lines which you observe perpetually in motion are an epitome of what is going on in the composition of every human being. Some of them, as you see, go in different directions, yet meet and mingle with each other at various points of convergence—then again become separated. They are the building-up and the disintegrating forces of the whole cosmos— and—mark this well!—they are all, when unimprisoned, directed by a governing will-power. You, in your present state of existence, are simply an organised Form, composed of these atoms, and your will- power, which is part of the Divine creative influence, is set within you to govern them. If you govern them properly, the building-up and revivifying atoms within you obey your command, and with increasing strength gradually control and subdue their disintegrating opponents,—opponents which after all are only their servants, ready to disencumber them from all that is worthless and useless at the first sign of disablement. There is nothing more simple than this law, which has only to be followed in order to preserve both life and youth. It 5s all contained in an effort of the WILL, to which everything in Nature responds, just as a well-steered ship obeys the compass. Remember this well!—I say, EVERYTHING IN NATURE! This crystal globe holds momentarily imprisoned atoms which cannot just now be directed because they are shut in, away from all Will to govern them—but if I left them as they are for a few more hours their force would shatter the crystal, and they would escape to resume their appointed way. They are only shown to you as an object lesson, to prove that such things ARE—they are facts, not dreams. You, like this crystal globe, are full of imprisoned atoms—atoms of Spirit and Matter which work together to make you what you are—but you have also the governing Will which is meant to control them and move them either to support, sustain and revivify you, or else to weaken, break down and finally disperse and disintegrate you, preparatory to your assumption of another form and phase of existence. Now, do you begin to understand?"

"I think I do,"—I answered—"But is it possible always to make this effort of the Will?"

"There is no moment in which you do not, consciously or subconsciously, 'will' something"—he answered—"And the amount of power you use up in 'willing' perfectly trifling and ephemeral things, could almost lift a planet! But let us take simple actions— such as raising a hand. You think this movement instinctive or mechanical—but it is only because you WILL to raise it that you can do it. If you willed NOT to raise it, it could not raise itself OF itself. This tremendous force,—this divine gift of will-power, is hardly exercised at all by the majority of men and women—hence their manner of drifting here and there—their pliable yielding to this or that opinion—the easy sway obtained over the million by a few leaders and reformers—the infectious follies which possess whole communities at a time—the caprices of fashion—the moods of society—all these are due to scattered will-power, which if concentrated would indeed 'replenish the earth and subdue it.' But we cannot teach the world, and therefore we must be content to teach and train a few individuals only. And when you ask if it is possible always to make the necessary effort of will, I answer yes,—of course it is possible. The secret of it all is to resolve upon a firm attitude and maintain it. If you encourage thoughts of fear, hesitation, disease, trouble, decay, incompetency, failure and feebleness, you at once give an impetus to the disintegrating forces within you to begin their work—and you gradually become ill, timorous, and diseased in mind and body. If, on the contrary, your thoughts are centred on health, vitality, youth, joy, love and creativeness, you encourage all the revivifying elements of your system to build up new nerve tissue and fresh brain cells, as well as to make new blood. No scientist has ever really discovered any logical cause why human beings should die—they are apparently intended to live for an indefinite period. It is they themselves who kill themselves,—even so-called 'accidents' are usually the result of their own carelessness, recklessness or inattention to warning circumstance. I am trying to put all this as simply as I can to you,—there are hundreds of books which you might study, in which the very manner of expression is so abstruse and involved that even the most cultured intelligence can scarcely grasp it,—but what I have told you is perfectly easy of comprehension,—the only difficulty lies in its practical application. To-night, therefore, and for the remainder of the time you are here, you will enter upon certain tests and trials of your will-force—and the result of these will prove whether you are strong enough to be successful in your quest of life and youth and love. If you are capable of maintaining the true attitude,—if you can find and keep the real centre-poise of the Divine Image within you, all will be well. And remember, that if you once learn how to govern and control the atomic forces within yourself, you will equally govern and control all atomic forces which come within your atmosphere. This gives you what would be called by the ignorant 'miraculous' power, though it is no miracle. It is nothing more than the attitude of Spirit controlling Matter. You will find yourself not only able to govern your own forces but also to draw upon Nature for fresh supplies—the air, the sunshine, the trees, the flowers, will give you all they have to give on demand—and nothing shall be refused to you. 'Ask, and ye shall receive—seek, and ye shall find—knock, and it shall be opened unto you.' Naturally the law is, that what you receive you must give out again in an ungrudging outflow of love and generosity and beneficence and sympathy, not only towards mankind but to everything that lives—for as you are told—'Give, and it shall be given unto you; good measure, pressed down and shaken together and running over, shall men give into your bosom. For with the same measure that ye mete withal, it shall be measured to you again.' These sayings of our greatest Master are heard so often that they are considered by many people almost trite and commonplace,—but they hold a truth from which we cannot escape. Even such a little matter as a kind word is paid back to the one who uttered it with a double interest of kindness, while a cruel or coarse one carries its own punishment. Those who take without giving are generally unsuccessful in their lives and aims—while those who give without taking appear to be miraculously served by both fame and fortune,—this being merely the enactment of the spiritual law."

"I do not want fame or fortune,"—I said—"Love is enough for me!"

Aselzion smiled.

"Enough for you indeed! My child, it is enough for all! If you have love, you have entered into the secret mind of God! Love inspires all nobleness, all endurance, all courage,—and I think you have some of its attributes, for you have been bold in your first independent essay—and it is this very boldness that has brought me here to speak to you to-night. You have, of your own accord, and without preparation, passed what we students and mystics call 'the first circle of fire,' and you are therefore ready for the rest of your trial. So I will now take you back to your own room and leave you there, for you must face your ordeal alone."

My heart sank a little, but I said nothing, and watched him as he took up the crystal globe, full of the darting lines and points of light gleaming like imprisoned fire, and held it for a moment between his two hands. Then he set it down again, and covered it as it had been covered before. The next moment he had extinguished the lamp, and we stood together in the pale brilliancy of the moonlight which now spread itself in a broad path of silver across the sea. The tide was coming in, and I heard the solemn sound of rising waves breaking rhythmically upon the shore. In silence Aselzion took me by the hand and led me through a low doorway out of the little hermitage into the open air, where we stood within a few feet of the sea. The moonbeams bathed us in a shower of pearly radiance, and I turned instinctively to look at my companion. His face appeared transfigured into something of supernatural beauty, and for one second the remembrance of how he had said in the chapel that he carried the burden of seventy years upon him flashed across me with a shock of surprise. Seventy years! He appeared to be in the very prime and splendour of life, and the mere idea of age as connected with him was absurd and incongruous. And while I gazed upon him, wondering and fascinated, he lifted one hand as though in solemn invocation to the stars that gleamed in their countless millions overhead, and his voice, deep and musical, rang out softly yet clearly on the silence:—

"O Supreme Guide of all the worlds created, accept this Soul which seeks to be consecrated unto Thee! Help her to attain to all that shall be for her wisdom and betterment, and make her one with that Nature whereof she is born. Thou, silent and peaceful Night, invest her with thy deep tranquillity!—thou, bright Moon, penetrate her spirit with the shining in of holy dreams!—give her of thy strength and depth, O Sea!—and may she draw from the treasures of the air all health, all beauty, all life, all sweetness, so that her existence may be a joy to the world, and her love a benediction! Amen!"

My whole being thrilled with a sense of keen rapture as he thus prayed for me,—I could have knelt to him in reverence but that I instinctively knew he would not wish this act of homage. I felt that it was best to keep silence, and I obeyed his guiding touch as, still holding my hand, he led me into a vaulted stone passage and up a long winding stair at the head of which he paused, and taking a key from his girdle, unlocked a small door.

"There is your room, my child,"—he said, with a grave kindliness which moved me strangely—"Farewell! The future is with yourself alone."

I clung to his hand for an instant.

"Shall I not see you again?" I asked, with a little tremor in my voice.

"Yes—you will see me again if you pass your ordeal successfully"— he answered—"Not if you fail."

"What will happen if I fail?"

"Nothing but the most ordinary circumstance,"—he answered—"You will leave this place in perfect safety and return to your home and your usual avocations,—you will live as most women live, perhaps on a slightly higher grade of thought and action—and in time you will come to look upon your visit to the House of Aselzion as the merest wilful escapade of folly! The world and its conventions will hold you—"

"Never!" I exclaimed, passionately—"Aselzion, I will not fail!"

He looked earnestly in my face—then laid his hands on my head in a mute blessing, and signed to me to pass into my turret room. I obeyed. He closed the door upon me instantly—I heard the key turn in the lock—and then—just the faint echo of his retreating footsteps down the winding stair. My room was illumined by a very faint light, the source of which I knew not. Everything was as I had left it before I had been summoned to the mysterious Chapel of the Cross and Star,—and I looked about me, tranquillised by the peace and simplicity of my surroundings. I did not feel disposed to sleep, and I resolved to write down from memory all that Aselzion had told me while it was fresh in my mind. The white veil I had been given still clung about me,—I now took it off and carefully folded it ready for further use if needed. Sitting down at the little table, I took out pen, ink and paper,—but somehow I could not fix my attention on what I intended to do. The silence around me was more intense than ever, and though my window was open I could not even hear the murmur of the sea. I listened—hardly drawing breath—there was not a sound. The extraordinary silence deepened—and with it came a sense of cold; I seemed to be removed into a place apart, where no human touch, no human voice could reach me,—and I felt as I had never felt in all my life before, that I was indeed utterly alone.



XVI

SHADOW AND SOUND

The stillness deepened. It seemed to myself that I could hear the quickened beating of every pulse in my body. A curious vague terror began to possess me,—I fought against its insidious influence, and bending my head down over the paper I had set out before me, I prepared to write. After a few minutes I managed to gain some control over my nerves, and started to put down clearly and in sequence the things Aselzion had told me, though I knew there was little danger of my ever forgetting them. And then—a sudden sensation came over me which forced me to realise that something or someone was in the room, looking steadfastly at me.

With an effort, I raised my head, and saw nothing at first—then, by degrees, I became aware that a Shadow, dark and impenetrable, stood between me and the open window. At first it seemed simply a formless mass of black vapour,—but very gradually it assumed the outline of a Shape which did not seem human. I laid down my pen,—and, with my heart thumping hammer-strokes of fear, looked at this strange Darkness gathered as it were in one place and blocking out the silver gleam of the moon. As I looked, all the light in my room was suddenly extinguished. A cry rose involuntarily to my lips—and physical fright began to gain the mastery over me. For with the increasing gloom the mysterious Shadow grew more and more defined—a blackness standing out as it were against another blackness,—the pale glint of the moonbeams only illumining it faintly as a cloud may be edged with a suggestion of light. It was not motionless,—it stirred now and then as though about to lift itself to some supernatural stature and bend above me or swoop down upon me like an embodied storm,—and as I still gazed upon it fearingly, every nerve strained to an almost unsupportable tension, I could have sworn that two eyes, large and luminous, were fixed with a searching, pitiless intensity on mine. It is impossible to describe what I felt,—a sense of sick, swooning horror overcame me,—my head swam giddily, and I could not now utter a sound.

Trembling violently, I rose to my feet in a kind of mechanical impulse, determined to turn away from the dreadful contemplation of this formless Phantom, when suddenly, as if by a lightning flash of conviction, the thought came to me that it was not by coward avoidance that I could expect to overcome either my own fears or the nameless danger which apparently threatened me. I closed my eyes and retreated, as it were, within myself to find that centre-poise of my own spirit which I knew must remain an invincible force despite all attack, being in itself immortal,—and I mentally barricaded my soul with thoughts of armed resistance. Then, opening my eyes again, I saw that the Shadow loomed blacker and vaster—while the luminance around it was more defined, and was not the radiance of the moon, but some other light that was ghostly and terrifying. But I had now regained a little courage,—and slight as it was I held to it as my last hope, and gradually steadied myself upon it like a drowning creature clinging to a plank for rescue. Presently I found myself able to ask questions of my inner consciousness. What, after all, could this Phantom—if Phantom it were—do to work me harm? Could it kill me with sheer terror? Surely in that case the terror would be my own fault, for why should I be afraid? The thing called Death being no more than a Living Change did it matter so much when or how the change was effected?

"Who is responsible,"—I said to myself—"for the sense of fear? Who is it that so mistrusts the Divine order of the Universe as to doubt the ultimate intention of goodness in things which appear evil? Is it not I alone who am the instigator of my own dread?—and can this dark, dumb Spectre do more to me than is ordained for my blessing in the end?"

With these thoughts I grew bold—my nervous trembling ceased. I now chose deliberately to consider, and WILLED to determine, that this mysterious Shadow, darker still as it grew, was something of a friend in disguise. I lifted my head half defiantly, half hopefully in the gloom, and the strange fact that the only light I saw came from the weirdly gleaming edge of radiance round the Phantom itself did not frighten me from the attitude I had resolved upon. The more I settled myself into that attitude the firmer it became—and the stronger grew my courage. I gently moved aside the table on which I had been writing, and stood up. Once on my feet I felt still bolder and surer of myself, and though the Shadow opposite to me looked darker and more threatening than before, I began to move steadily towards it. I made an effort to speak to it, and at last found my voice.

"Whatever you are," I said aloud, "you cannot exist at all without God's will! God ordains nothing that is not for good, therefore you cannot be here with any evil purpose! If I am afraid of you, my fear is my own weakness. I will not look at you as a thing that can or would do me harm, and therefore I am coming to you to find out your meaning! You shall prove to me what you are made of, to the very depth and heart of your darkness!—you shall unveil to me all that you hide behind your terrifying aspect,—because I KNOW that whatever your intention towards me may be, you cannot hurt my Soul!"

As I spoke I drew nearer and nearer—and the luminous edge round the Phantom grew lighter and lighter, till—suddenly a flash of brilliant colour like a rainbow glittered full on my eyes so sharply that I fell back, half blinded by its splendour. Then—as I looked— I dropped to my knees in speechless awe—for the Shadow had changed to a dazzling Shape of winged radiance,—a figure and face so glorious that I could only gaze and gaze, with all my soul entranced in wonder! I heard delicious music around me, but I could not listen—all my soul was in my eyes. The Vision grew in stature and in splendour, and I stretched out my hands to it in prayerful appeal, conscious that I was in the shining Presence of some inhabitant of higher and more heavenly spheres than ours. The beautiful head, crowned with a diadem of flowers like white stars, bent towards me—the luminous eyes smiled into mine, and a voice sweeter than all sweet singing spoke to me in accents of thrilling tenderness.

"Thou hast done well!" it said—"Even so always approach Darkness without fear! Then shalt thou find the Light! Meet Sorrow with a trusting heart—so shalt thou discover an angel in disguise! God thinks no evil of thee—desires no wrong towards thee—has no punishment in store for thee—give Thyself into His Hand, and be at peace!"

Slowly,—like the colours of the sunset melting away into the grey of twilight, the Vision faded,—and when I recovered from the dazzled bewilderment into which I had been thrown, I found myself again in complete solitude and darkness—darkness unrelieved save by the dim light of the setting moon. I was for a long time unable to think of anything but the strange experience through which I had just passed—and I wondered what would have happened if instead of boldly advancing and confronting the dark Phantom which had so terrified me I had striven to escape from it? I believed, and I think I was right in my belief, that I should have found every door open, and every facility offered for a cowardly retreat had I chosen to make it. And then—everything would have been at an end!—I should have probably had to leave the House of Aselzion—and perhaps I too should have been marked with a black cross as a failure! Inwardly I rejoiced that so far I had not given way, and presently yielding to a drowsiness that began to steal over me, I undressed and went to bed, perfectly tranquil in mind and happy.

I must have slept several hours when I was awakened suddenly by the sound of voices conversing quite close to me—in fact, they seemed to be on the other side of the wall against which my bed was placed. They were men's voices, and one or two were curiously harsh and irritable in tone. There was plenty of light in my room—for the night had passed, and as far as I could tell it seemed to be early morning. The voices went on, and I found myself compelled to listen.

"Aselzion is the cleverest humbug of his time,"—said one—"He is never so happy as when he can play the little god and dupe his worshippers!"

A laugh followed this sentence.

"He's a marvel in his way,"—said another—"He must be a kind of descendant of some ancient Egyptian conjurer who had the trick of playing with fire. There is nothing in the line of so-called miracle he cannot do,—and of course those who are ignorant of his methods, and who are credulous themselves—"

"Like the woman here,"—interposed the first voice.

"Yes—like the woman here—little fool!"—and there was more laughter—"Fancying herself in love with Rafel Santoris!"

I sat up in bed, straining my ears now for every word. My cheeks were burning—my heart beating—I hardly knew what to think. There was a silence for two or three minutes—minutes that seemed like ages in my longing to hear more.

"Santoris always managed to amuse himself!"—said a thin, sharp voice with a mocking ring in its tone—"There was always some woman or other in love with him. Some woman he could take in easily, of course!"

"Not difficult to find!"—rejoined the first voice that had spoken, "Most women are blind where their affections are concerned."

"Or their vanity!"

Another silence. I rose from my bed, shivering with a sense of sudden cold, and threw on my dressing-gown. Going to the window, I looked out on the fair expanse of the calm sea, silver-grey in the early dawn. How still and peaceful it looked!—what a contrast to the storm of doubt and terror that was beginning to rage within my own heart! Hush! The voices began again.

"Well, it's all over now, and his theory of perpetuating life at pleasure has come to an untimely end. Where did the yacht go down?"

"Off Armadale, in Skye."

For a moment I could not realise what had been said and tried to repeat both question and answer—'Where did the yacht go down?' 'Off Armadale, in Skye.'

What did it mean?—The yacht? Gone down? What yacht? They were talking of Santoris—of Rafel, my beloved!—MY lover, lost through ages of time and space, and found again only to be once more separated from me through my own fault—my own fault!—that was the horror of it—a horror I could not contemplate without an almost maddening anguish. I ran to the wall through which I had heard the voices talking and pressed my ear against it, murmuring to myself— "Oh no!—it is not possible!—not possible! God would not be so cruel!" For many minutes I heard nothing—and I was rapidly losing patience and self-control, when at last I heard the conversation resumed,—"He should never have risked his life in such a vessel"— said one of the voices in a somewhat gentler tone—"It was a wonderfully clever contrivance, but the danger of all that electricity was obvious. In a storm it would have no chance."

"That has been thoroughly proved,"—answered another voice—"Just half a gale of wind with a dash of thunder and lightning, and down it went, with every soul on board."

"Santoris might have saved himself. He was a fine swimmer."

"Was he?"

Another silence. I thought my head would have burst with its aching agony of suspense,—my eyes were burning like hot coals with a weight of unshed tears. I felt that I could have battered down the wall between me and those torturing voices in my feverish desire to know the worst—the worst at all costs! If Rafel were dead—but no!- -he could not die! He could not actually perish—but he could be parted from me as he had been parted before—and I—I should be alone again—alone as I had been all my life! And in my foolish pride I had voluntarily severed myself from him!—was this my punishment? More talking began, and I listened, like a criminal listening to a cruel sentence.

"Aselzion will tell her, of course. Rather a difficult business!—as he will have to admit that his teachings are not infallible. And on the whole there was something very taking about Santoris—I'm sorry he's gone. But he would only have fooled the woman had he lived."

"Oh! That, naturally! But that hardly matters. She would only have had herself to blame for falling into the trap."

I drew myself away from the wall, trembling and sick with dread. Mechanically I dressed myself, and stared out at the gold of the sun which was now pouring its radiance full on the sea. The beauty of the scene moved me not at all—nothing mattered. All that my consciousness could take in was that, according to what I had heard, Rafel was dead,—drowned in the sea over which his fairy vessel the 'Dream' had sailed so lightly—and that all he had said of our knowledge of each other in former lives, and of the love which had drawn us together, was mere 'fooling'! I leaned out of the window, and my eyes rested on the little crimson rose that still blossomed against the wall in fragrant confidence. And then I spoke aloud, hardly conscious of my own words—

"It is wicked"—I said—"wicked of God to allow us to imagine beautiful things that have no existence! It is cruel to ordain us to love, if love must end in disappointment and treachery! It would be better to teach us at once that life is intended to be hard and plain and without tenderness or truth, than to lead our souls into a fool's paradise!"

Then—all at once—I remembered the dark Phantom of the night and its transformation into the Vision of an Angel. I had struggled against the terror of its first spectral appearance, and had conquered my fears,—why was I now shaken from my self-control? What was the cause? Voices, merely! Voices behind a wall that spoke of death and falsehood,—voices belonging to persons I did not know and could not see—like the voices of the world which delight in uttering scandals and cruelties and which never praise so much as they condemn. Voices merely! Ah!—but they spoke of the death of him whom I loved!—must I not listen? They spoke of his treachery and 'fooling.' Should I not hear?

And yet—who were those persons, if persons they were, who talked of him with such easy callousness? I had met no one in the House of Aselzion save Aselzion himself and his servant or secretary Honorius,—who then could there be except those two to know the reasons that had brought me hither? I began to question myself and to doubt the accuracy of the terrible news I had inadvertently overheard. If any evil had chanced to Rafel Santoris, would Aselzion have told me he was 'safe and well' when he had conjured up for my comfort the picture of the 'Dream' yacht on the moonlit sea only a few hours ago? Yet with my bravest effort I could not recover myself sufficiently to be quite at peace,—and in my restless condition of mind I looked towards the turret door opening to the stairway which led to the little garden below and the seashore—but it was fast shut, and I remembered Aselzion had locked it. But, to my complete surprise, another door stood open,—a door that had seemed part of the wall—and a small room was disclosed beyond it,—a kind of little shrine, hung with pale purple silk, and looking as though it were intended to hold something infinitely precious. I entered it hesitatingly, not sure whether I was doing right or wrong, and yet impelled by something more than curiosity. As I stepped across the threshold I heard the voices behind the wall again—they sounded louder and more threatening, and I paused,—half afraid, yet longing to know all that might yet be said, though such knowledge might mean nothing but misery and despair to me.

"All women are fools!"—and this trite observation was made by someone speaking in harsh and bitter accents—"It is not love that really moves them so much as the self-satisfaction of BEING LOVED. No woman could be faithful for long to a dead man—she would lack the expected response to her superabundant sentimentality, and she would tire of waiting to meet him in Paradise—if she believed in such a possibility, which in nine cases out of ten she would not."

"With Aselzion there are no dead men"—said another of the unseen speakers—"They have merely passed into another living state. And according to his theories, lovers cannot be separated, even by what is called death, for long."

"Poor comfort!" and with the words I heard a laugh of scornful mockery—"The women who have loved Rafel Santoris would hardly thank you for it!"

I shuddered a little, as with cold. 'The women who have loved Rafel Santoris!' This phrase seemed to darken the very recollection of the handsome face and form of the man I had, almost unconsciously to myself, begun to idealise—something coarse and common suggested itself in association with him, and my heart sank within me, deprived of hope. Voices, merely!—yet how they tortured me! If I could only know the truth, I thought!—if Aselzion would only come and tell me the worst at once! In a kind of stupor of unnameable grief I stood in the little purple-hung shrine so suddenly opened to me, and began to dreamily consider the unkindness and harshness of those voices!—Ah! so like the voices of the world! Voices that sneer and mock and condemn!—voices that would rather utter a falsehood than any word that should help and comfort—voices that take a cruel pleasure in saying just the one thing that will wound and crush an aspiring spirit!—voices that cannot tune themselves to speak of love without grudging bitterness and scorn—voices—ah God!—if only all the harsh and calumniating voices of humanity were stilled, what a heaven this earth would be!

And yet—why should we listen to them? What have they really to do with us? Is the Soul to be moved from its centre by casual opinion? What is it to me that this person or that person approves or disapproves my actions? Why should I be disturbed by rumours, or frightened by ill report?

Absorbed in these thoughts, I hardly realised the almost religious peace of my surroundings,—and it was only when the voices ceased for a few minutes that I saw what was contained in this small room I had half unwittingly entered,—an exquisite little table, apparently made of crystal which shone like a diamond—and on the table, an open book. A chair was placed in position for the evident purpose of reading—and as I approached, at first indifferently and then with awakening interest, I saw that the open book showed an inscription on its fly-leaf—"To a faithful student.—From Aselzion." Was I 'a faithful student'? I asked myself the question doubtingly. There was no 'faithfulness' in fears and depressions! Here was I, shaken in part from self-control from the mere hearing of voices behind a wall! I, who had said that "God ordains nothing that is not for good"—was suddenly ready to believe that He had ordained the death of the lover to whom His laws had guided me! I, to whom had been vouchsafed the beatific vision of an Angel—an Angel who had said— "God thinks no evil of thee—desires no wrong towards thee—has no punishment in store for thee—give thyself into His Hand, and be at peace!" was already flinching and turning away from the Faith that should keep me strong! A sense of shame stole over me—and almost timidly I approached the table on which the open book lay, and sat down in the chair so invitingly placed. I had scarcely done this when the voices began again, in rather louder and angrier tones.

"She imagines she can learn the secret of life! A woman, too! The brazen arrogance of such an attempt!"

"No, no! It is not the secret of life she wants to discover so much as the secret of perpetual youth! That, to a woman, is everything! To be always young and always fair! What feminine thing would not 'adventure for such merchandise'!"

A loud laugh followed this observation.

"Santoris was well on his way to the goal"—said a voice that was suave and calm of accent—"Certainly no one would have guessed his real age."

"He had all the ardour and passion of youth"—said another voice— "The fire of love ran as warmly in his veins as though he were a Romeo! None of the coldness and reluctance of age affected him where the fair sex was concerned!"

More laughter followed. I sat rigidly in the chair by the crystal table, listening to every word.

The woman here is the latest victim of his hypnotic suggestions, isn't she?"

"Yes. One may say his LAST victim—he will victimise no more."

"I suppose if Aselzion told her the truth she would go at once?"

"Of course! Why should she remain? It is only a dream of love that has brought her here—when she knows the dream is over, there will be nothing left."

True! Nothing left! The whole world a desert, and Heaven itself without hope! I pressed my hands to my eyes to try and cool their burning ache—was it possible that what these voices said could be true? They had ceased speaking, and there was a blessed silence. As a kind of desperate resource, I took out the letter Rafel Santoris had written to me, and read its every word with an eager passion of yearning—especially the one passage that ran thus—"We—you and I— who know that Life, being ALL Life, CANNOT die,—ought to be wiser in our present space of time than to doubt each other's infinite capability for love and the perfect world of beauty which love creates."

'Wiser than to doubt'! Ah, I was not wise enough! I was full of doubts and imagined evils—and why? Because of voices behind a wall! Surely a foolish cause for sorrow! I tried to extricate my mind from the darkness of despondency into which it had fallen, and to distract my attention from my own unhappy thoughts I glanced at the book which lay open before me. As I looked, its title, printed in letters of gold, flashed on my eyes like a gleam of the sun—'The Secret of Life.' A sudden keen expectancy stirred in me—I folded Rafel's letter and slipped it back into its resting-place near my heart—then I drew my chair close up to the table, and bending over the book began to read. All was now perfectly still around me—the voices had ceased. Gradually I became aware that what I was reading was intended for my instruction, and that the book itself was a gift to me from Aselzion if I proved a 'faithful student.' A thrill of hope and gratitude began to relieve the cold weight upon my heart,— and I suddenly resolved that I would not listen to any more voices, even if they spoke again.

"Rafel Santoris is not dead!"—I said aloud and resolutely—"He could not so sever himself from me now! He is not treacherous—he is true! He is not 'fooling' me—he is relying upon me to believe in him. And I WILL believe in him!—my love and faith shall not be shaken by mere rumour! I will give him no cause to think me weak or cowardly,—I will trust him to the end!"

And with these words spoken to the air, I went on reading quietly in a stillness made suddenly fragrant with the scent of unseen flowers.



XVII

THE MAGIC BOOK

It is not possible here to transcribe more than a few extracts from the book on which my attention now became completely riveted. The passages selected are chosen simply because they may by chance be useful to those few—those very few—who desire to make of their lives something more than a mere buy and sell business, and also because they can hardly be called difficult to understand. When Paracelsus wrote 'The Secret of Long Life' he did so in a fashion sufficiently abstruse and complex to scare away all but the most diligent and persevering of students, this no doubt being his intention. But the instructions given in the volume placed, as I imagined, for my perusal, were simple and in accordance with many of the facts discovered by modern science, and as I read on and on I began to see light through the darkness, and to gain a perception of the way in which I might become an adept in what the world deems 'miracle,' but which after all is nothing but the scientific application of common sense. To begin with, I will quote the following,—headed

LIFE AND ITS ADJUSTMENT

"Life is the Divine impetus of Love. The Force behind the Universe is Love—and from that Love is bred Desire and Creation. Even as the human lover passionately craves possession of his beloved, so that from their mutual tenderness the children of Love are born, the Divine Spirit, immortally creative and desirous of perfect beauty, possesses space with eternal energy, producing millions of solar systems, each one of which has a different organisation and a separate individuality. Man, the creature of our small planet, the Earth, is but a single result of the resistless output of Divine fecundity,—nevertheless Man is the 'image of God' in that he is endowed with reason, will and intelligence beyond that of the purely animal creation, and that he is given an immortal Soul, formed for love and for the eternal things which love creates. He can himself be Divine, in the Desire and Perpetuation of Life. Considered in a strictly material sense, he is simply an embodied force composed of atoms held together in a certain organised form,—but within this organised form is contained a spiritual Being capable of guiding and controlling its earthly vehicle and adjusting it to surroundings and circumstances. In his dual nature Man has the power of holding his life-cells under his own command—he can renew them or destroy them at pleasure. He generally elects to destroy them through selfishness and obstinacy,—the two chief disintegrating elements of his mortal composition. Hence the result which he calls 'death'—but which is merely the necessary transposition of his existence (which he has himself brought about) into a more useful phase. If he were to learn once for all that he can prolong his life on this earth in youth and health for an indefinite period, in which days and years are not counted, but only psychic 'episodes' or seasons, he could pass from one joy to another, from one triumph to another, as easily as breathing the air. It is judged good for a man's body that he should stand upright, and that he should move his limbs with grace and ease, performing physical exercises for the improvement and strengthening of his muscles,—and he is not considered a fool for any feats of physical valour or ability which he may accomplish. Why then should he not train his Soul to stand as upright as his body, so that it may take full possession of all the powers which natural and spiritual energy can provide?

"Reader and Student!—you for whom these words are written, learn and remember that the secret strength and renewal of life is Adjustment—the adjustment of the atoms whereof the body is composed to the commands of the Soul. Be the god of your own universe! Control your own solar system that it may warm and revivify you with an ever recurring spring! Make Love the summer of your life, and let it create within you the passion of noble desire, the fervour of joy, the fire of idealism and faith! Know yourself as part of the Divine Spirit of all things, and be divine in your own creative existence. The whole Universe is open to the searchings of your Soul if Love be the torch to light your way!"

Having read thus far, I paused—the little room in which I sat appeared darker—or was it my fancy? I listened for the voices which had so confused and worried me—but there was no sound. I turned the pages of the book before me, and found the following:

THE ACTION OF THOUGHT

"Thought is an actual motive Force, more powerful than any other motive force in the world. It is not the mere pulsation in a particular set of brain cells, destined to pass away into nothingness when the pulsation has ceased. Thought is the voice of the Soul. Just as the human voice is transmitted through distance on the telephone wires, so is the Soul's voice carried through the radiant fibres connected with the nerves to the brain. The brain receives it, but cannot keep it—for it again is transmitted by its own electric power to other brains,—and you can no more keep a thought to yourself than you can hold a monopoly in the sunshine. Everywhere in all worlds, throughout the whole cosmos, Souls are speaking through the material medium of the brain,—souls that may not inhabit this world at all, but that may be as far away from us as the last star visible to the strongest telescope. The harmonies that suggest themselves to the musician here to-day may have fallen from Sirius or Jupiter, striking on his earthly brain with a spiritual sweetness from worlds unknown,—the poet writes what he scarcely realises, obeying the inspiration of his dreams,-and we are all, at our best, but mediums for conveying thought, first receiving it from other spheres to ourselves, and then transmitting it from ourselves to others. Shakespeare, the chief poet and prophet of the world, has written: 'There is nothing good or bad but thinking makes it so,'—thus giving out a profound truth,—one of the most profound truths of the Psychic Creed. For what we THINK, we are; and our thoughts resolve themselves into our actions.

"In the renewal of life and the preservation of youth, Thought is the chief factor. If we THINK we are old—we age rapidly. If, on the contrary, we THINK we are young, we preserve our vitality indefinitely. The action of thought influences the living particles of which our bodies are composed, so that we positively age them or rejuvenate them by the attitude we assume. The thinking attitude of the human Soul should be one of gratitude, love and joy. There is no room in Spiritual Nature for fear, depression, sickness or death. God intends His creation to be happy, and by bringing the Soul and Body both into tune with happiness we obey His laws and fulfil His desire. Therefore, to live long, encourage thoughts of happiness! Avoid all persons who talk of disease, misery and decay—for these things are the crimes of man, and are offences against God's primal design of beauty. Drink in deep draughts of sunshine and fresh air,- -inhale the perfume of flowers and trees,—keep far away from cities and from crowds—seek no wealth that is not earned by hand or brain- -and above all things remember that the Children of Light may walk in the Light without fear of darkness!"

Something in this latter sentence made me stop, and look again around me—and again I felt sure that the room was growing darker, and not only darker but smaller. The purple silk hangings which draped the walls were almost within my touch, and I knew they had not been so close to me when I first sat down to read. A nervous tremor ran through me, but I resolved I would not be the dupe of my own fancy, and I set myself once more resolutely to the study of the volume before me. The next paragraph which attracted me was headed

ON THE COMMAND OF LIFE'S FORCES

and began thus:

"To live long you must have perfect control of the forces that engender life. The atoms of which your body is composed are in perpetual movement,—your Spiritual Self must guide them in the way they should go, otherwise they resemble an army without organisation or equipment, easily put to rout by a first assault. If you have them under your spiritual orders you are practically immune from all disease. Disease can never enter your system save through some unguarded corner. You may meet with accident—through the fault of others or through your own wilfulness,—if through your own wilfulness, you have only yourself to blame—if through the fault of others, you may know that it was a destined and pre-ordained removal of yourself from a sphere for which you are judged to be unfitted. Barring such accident, your life need know no end, even on this earth. Your Spirit, called the Soul, is a Creature of Light—and it can supply revivifying rays to every atom and cell in your body without stint or cessation. It is an exhaustless supply of 'radium' from which the forces of your life may draw perpetual sustenance. Man uses every exterior means of self-preservation, but forgets the interior power he possesses, which was bestowed upon him that he might 'replenish the earth and subdue it.' To 'replenish' the earth is to give out love ungrudgingly to all Nature,—to 'subdue' the earth, is first, to master the atoms of which the human organisation is composed, and hold them completely under control, so that by means of this mastery, all other atomic movements and forces upon this planet and its encircling atmosphere may be equally controlled. Much is talked of the 'light rays' which pierce solid matter as though it were nothing but clear air—yet this discovery is but the beginning of wonders. There are rays which divine metals, even as the hazel wand divines the presence of water,—and the treasures of the earth, the gold, the silver, the jewels and precious things that are hidden beneath its surface and in the depth of the sea can be seen in their darkest recesses by the penetrating flash of a Ray as yet unknown to any but adepts in the Psychic Creed. No true adept is ever poor,—poverty cannot exist where perfect control of the life forces is maintained. Gladness, peace and plenty must naturally attend the Soul that is in tune with Nature and life is always perpetuated from the joy of life.

"Stand, therefore, O patient Student, erect and firm!—let the radiating force of the Soul possess every nerve and blood-vessel of the body, and learn to command all things pertaining to good with that strength which compels obedience! Not idly did the Supreme Master speak when He told His disciples that if their faith were but as a grain of mustard seed they could command a mountain to be cast into the sea, and it would obey. Remember that the Spirit within your bodily house of clay is Divine, and of God!—and that with God all things are possible!"

I raised my head from its bent position over the book, and drew a long breath—something oppressed me with a sense of suffocation, and looking up I saw that I was being steadily closed in, as by a contracting cage. The little room, draped with its soft purple hangings, was now too small for me to move about, I was pinned to my chair, and the ceiling was apparently descending upon me. With a shock of horrified memory I recalled the old torture of the 'living tomb' practised by the Spanish Inquisition, when the wretched victim was compelled to watch the walls of his prison slowly narrowing round him inch by inch till he was crushed to death. How could I be sure that no such cruelties were used among the mysterious members of a mysterious Brotherhood, whose avowed object of study was the searching out of the secret of life? I made an effort to rise, and found I could stand upright—and there straight opposite to me was the entrance to my own room from which I had wandered into this small inner chamber. It seemed easy enough to get there, and yet—I found myself hindered by an invisible barrier. I stood, with my heart beating nervously—wondering what was my threatening danger. Almost involuntarily my eyes still perused the printed page of the book before me, and I read the following sentences in a kind of waking dream:—

"To the Soul that will not study the needs of its immortal nature, life itself becomes a narrow cell. All God's creation waits upon it to supply what it shall demand,—yet it starves in the midst of plenty. Fear, suspicion, distrust, anger, envy and callousness paralyse its being and destroy its action,—love, courage, patience, sweetness, generosity and sympathy are actual life-forces to it and to the body it inhabits. All the influences of the social world work AGAINST it—all the influences of the natural world work WITH it. There is nothing of pure Nature that will not obey its behest, and this should be enough for its happy existence. Sorrow and despair result from the misguidance of the Will—there is no other cause in earth or heaven for any pain or trouble."

Misguidance of the Will! I spoke the words aloud—then went on reading—

"What is Heaven? A state of perfect happiness. What is Happiness? The immortal union of two Souls in one, creatures of God's eternal light, partaking each other's thoughts, bestowing upon each other the renewal of joy, and creating loveliness in form and action by their mutual sympathy and tenderness. Age cannot touch them—death has no meaning for them,—life is their air and space and movement— life palpitates through them and warms them with colour and glory as the sunshine warms and reddens the petals of the rose—they grow beyond mortality and are immune from all disaster—they are a world in themselves, involuntarily creating other worlds as they pass from one phase to another of production and fruition. For there is no good work accomplished without love,—no great triumph achieved without love,—no fame, no victory gained without love! The lovers of God are the beloved of God!—their passion is divine, knowing no weariness, no satiety, no end! For God is the Supreme Lover and there is nothing higher than Love!"

Here, on a sudden impulse, I took up the book, closed it and held it clasped in my two hands. As I did this, a great darkness overwhelmed me—a sound like thunder crashed on my ears, and I felt the whole room reeling into chaos. The floor sank, and I sank with it, down to a great depth so swiftly that I had no time to think what had happened till the sensation of falling stopped abruptly, and I found myself in a narrow green lane, completely shadowed by the wide boughs of over-arching trees. Hardly could I realise my surroundings when I saw Rafel!—Rafel Santoris himself walking towards me—but— not alone! The eager impulse to run to him was checked—I stood quiet, and cold to the heart. A woman was with him—a woman young and very beautiful—his arm was round her, and his eyes looked with unwearied tenderness at her face. I heard his voice—caressing, and infinitely gentle.

"Beloved!" he said—"I call you by this name as I have always called you through many cycles of time! Is it not strange that even the eager spirit, craving for its preordained mate, is subject to error? I thought I had found her whom I should love a little while before I met you—but this was a momentary blindness!—YOU are the one I have sought for many centuries!—YOU are the one and only beloved!— promise never to leave me again!" She answered—and I heard her murmur, soft as a sigh—"I promise!" Still walking together like lovers, they came on—I knew they must pass me,—and I stood in their way that Rafel Santoris at least might see me—might know that I had adventured into the House of Aselzion for his sake, and that so far I had not failed! If he were false, then surely the failure would be his! With a sickening heart I watched him approach,—his blue eyes rested on me carelessly with a cold smile—his fair companion glanced at me as at a stranger—and they moved on and passed out of sight. I could not have spoken, had I tried—I was stricken dumb and feeble. This was the end, then? I had made my journey to no purpose,—he had already found another 'subject' for his influence!

Stunned and bewildered with the confusion of thought in my brain, I tried to walk a few paces, and found the ground soft as velvet, while a cool breeze blowing through the trees refreshed my aching forehead and eyes. I still held the book—'The Secret of Life'—and in a dull, aimless way thought how useless it was! What does Life matter if Love be untrue? The sun was shining somewhere above me, for I saw glinting reflections of it through the close boughs, and there were birds singing. But both beauty of sight and beauty of sound were lost to me—I had no real consciousness left save that the lover who professed to love me with an eternal love loved me no more! So the world was desolate, and heaven itself a blank!—death, and death alone seemed dear and desirable! I walked slowly and with difficulty—my limbs were languid, and I had lost all courage. If I could have found my way to Aselzion I would have told him—"This is enough! No more do I need the secret of youth or life, since love has left me."

Presently I began to think more coherently. A little while back I had heard voices behind a wall saying that Rafel Santoris was dead,- -drowned in his own yacht 'off Armadale, in Skye.' If that was true how came he here? I questioned myself in vain,—till presently I gathered up sufficient force to remember that love—REAL love—knows no change. Did I believe in my lover's love, or did I doubt it? That was a point for my own consideration! But, had I not the testimony of my own eyes? Was I not myselt the witness of his altered mind?

Here, seeing a rustic seat under one of the shadiest trees, I sat down, and my mind gradually steadied itself. Why, I inwardly asked, had I been so suddenly and forcibly brought into this place for no apparent reason save to look upon Rafel Santoris in the company of another woman whom it seemed that he now preferred to me? Ought that to make any difference in my love for him? "In love, if love be love, if love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers, Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all." If the happiness of the one I loved was obtained through other means than mine, ought I to grudge it? And yet!—my heart was full of a sick heaviness,—it seemed to me that I had lately been the possessor of an inestimable joy which had been ruthlessly snatched from me. Still meditating in solitary sadness, I sat in the soft gloom wondering at the strange chance that had brought me into such a place, and, curiously enough, never thinking that the whole adventure might be the result of a pre-ordained design.

Presently, hearing slow footsteps approaching, I looked up and saw an aged man walking towards me, accompanied by a woman of gentle and matronly appearance who supported him on her arm. The looks of both these personages were kindly, and inspired confidence at a glance,— and I watched them coming with a kind of hope that perhaps they might explain my present dilemma. I was particularly attracted by the venerable and benevolent aspect of the man—and as he drew near, seeing that he evidently intended to speak to me, I rose from my seat, and made a step or two forward to meet him. He inclined his head courteously, and smiled upon me with a grave and compassionate air.

"I am very glad,"—he said, in a friendly tone—"that we have not come too late. We feared—did we not?" here he looked to his companion for confirmation of his words—"that you might have been hopelessly ensnared and victimised before we could come to the rescue."

"Alas, yes!" said the woman, in accents of deep pity; "And that would have been terrible indeed!"

I stared at them both, utterly bewildered. They spoke of rescue,— rescue from what? 'Hopelessly ensnared and victimised.' What did they mean? Since I had seen Rafel Santoris with another woman he called 'beloved'—I had felt almost incapable of speech—but now I found my voice suddenly.

"I do not understand you"—I said, as clearly and firmly as I could- -"I am here by my own desire, and I am not being ensnared or victimised. Why should I need rescue?"

The old man shook his head compassionately.

"Poor child!" he said—"Are you not a prisoner in the House of Aselzion?"

"With my own consent,"—I answered.

He lifted his hands in a kind of appealing astonishment, and the woman smiled sadly.

"Not so!"—she told me—"You are under a very serious delusion. You are here by the wicked will of Rafel Santoris—a man who would sacrifice any life remorselessly in the support of his own mad theories! You are under his influence, you poor creature!—so easily trapped, too!—you think you are following your own way and carrying out your own wishes, but you are really the slave of Santoris and have been so ever since you met him. You are a mere instrument on which he can play any tune." And she turned to the old man beside her with an appealing gesture—"Is it not so?"

He bent his head in the affirmative.

For a moment my brain was in a whirl. Could it be possible that what they said was true? Their looks were sincere,—they could have no object but kindness in warning me of intended mischief. I tried to conceal the torturing anxiety that possessed me, and asked quietly—

"If you have good reason to think all this, what would you advise me to do? If I am in danger how shall I escape from it?"

The woman looked curiously at me, and her eyes glittered with sudden interest. Her venerable companion replied to my question—

"Escape is quite easy here and now. You have only to follow us and we will take you out of this wood and escort you to a place of safety. Then you can return to your own home and forget—"

"Forget what?" I interrupted him.

"All this foolishness"—he answered, with a gentle seriousness— "This idea of eternal life and love which the artful conjurer Rafel Santoris has instilled into your too sensitive and credulous imagination—these fantastic beliefs in the immortality and individuality of the soul,—and you will accept old age and death with the sane resignation of ordinary mortals. Such love as he professes to believe in does not exist,—such life can never be,— and the secret of his youth—"

"Ah!" I exclaimed eagerly—"Tell me of that! And of Aselzion's splendid prime when he should be old and feeble? Tell me of that also!"

For the first time during this interview, my two companions looked confused. I saw this, and I gained confidence from their evident embarrassment.

"Why," I pursued—"should you come to me with warnings against those whom God or Destiny has brought into my life? You may perhaps say that you yourselves have been sent by God—but does Deity contradict Itself? I am not conscious of having suffered any evil through Rafel Santoris or through Aselzion—I am pained and perplexed and tortured by what I hear and see—but my hearing and sight are capable of being deceived—why should I think of evil things which are not proved?"

The woman surveyed me with sudden scorn.

"So you will stay here, the dupe of your own sentiments and dreams!"—she said, contemptuously—"You, a woman, will remain among a community of men who are known impostors, and sacrifice your name and reputation to a mere chimera!"

Her look and manner had completely changed, and I was at once on my guard.

"My name and reputation are my own to protect,"—I answered, coldly- -"Whatever I do I shall be ready to answer for to anyone having the right to ask."

The old man now advanced and laid his hand on my arm. His eyes sparkled angrily.

"You must be saved from yourself"—he said, sharply, "You must come with us whether you will or no! We have seen too many victims of Aselzion's art already—we are resolved to save you from the peril which threatens you."

And he made an effort to draw me closer to him—but my spirit was up and I held back with all my force.

"No, I will not go with you!" I exclaimed, hotly—"God alone shall remove me from harm if any harm is really meant towards me. I do not believe one word you have said against Rafel Santoris or against Aselzion—I love the one, and I trust the other!—let me go my own way in peace!"

Hardly had I spoken these words when both the old man and woman threw themselves upon me and seizing me by force, endeavoured to drag me away with them. I resisted with all my strength, still holding tightly the book of the 'Secret of Life' in one hand. But their united efforts were beginning to overpower me, and feeling myself growing weaker and weaker I cried aloud in desperation:

"Rafel! Rafel!"

In an instant I stood free. My captors loosed their hold of me, and I rushed away, not knowing whither—only running, running, running, afraid of pursuit—till I suddenly found myself alone on the borders of a dark stretch of water spreading away in cold blackness to an unseen horizon.



XVIII

DREAMS WITHIN A DREAM

I stopped abruptly, brought perforce to a standstill. There was nothing but the black water heaving in front of me with a slow and dizzying motion and faintly illumined by a dim, pearly light like that of a waning moon. I looked behind me, fearing my persecutors were following, and saw that a thick mist filled the air and space to the obliteration of everything that might otherwise have been visible. I had thought it was day, and that the sun was shining, but now it appeared to be night. Utterly fatigued in body and mind, I sank down wearily on the ground, close to the edge of the strange dark flood which I could scarcely see. The quiet and deep obscurity had a lulling effect on my senses—and I thought languidly how good it would be if I might be allowed to rest where I was for an indefinite time.

"I can understand"—I said to myself—"why many people long for death and pray for it as a great blessing! They have lost love—and without love, life is valueless. To live on and on through cycles of time in worlds that are empty of all sweetness,—companionless and deprived of hope and comfort—this would be hell!—not heaven!"

"Hell—not heaven!" said a voice near me.

I started and looked up—a shadowy figure stood beside me—that of a woman in dark trailing garments, whose face shone with a pale beauty in the dim light surrounding us both.

"So you have found your way here at last!" she said, gently—"Here, where all things end, and nothing begins!"

I rose to my feet and confronted her.

"Where all things end!" I repeated—"Surely where life exists there is no end?"

She gave me a fleeting smile.

"Life is a dream,"—she said—"And the things of life are dreams within the dream! There are no realities. You imagine truths which are deceptions."

I looked at her in wonder and bewilderment. She was beautiful—and the calm sadness of her eyes expressed compassion and tenderness.

"Then—is Creation a lie?" I asked.

She made no immediate answer, but pointed with one hand towards the dark water. I looked, and uttered a cry of ecstasy—there, shining in the heaving blackness like a vision from fairyland, was the 'Dream'—glittering from stem to stern with light that sparkled like millions of diamonds!

"Your Dream of Love!" said the woman beside me—"Behold it for the last time!"

With straining eyes and beating heart I watched—and saw the shining vessel begin to sink slowly into the deep watery blackness—down, down still lower, till only her masts were visible—then something defiant and forceful sprang up within me,—I would master this torture, I thought—I would not yield to the agony that threatened to drive me to utter despair.

"This is a phantom of sorrow!"—I said—"It has no meaning! The love that is in my heart is my own!—it is my life, my soul, my inmost being!—it is eternal as God Himself, and to Him I commend it!"

I spoke these words aloud, holding the book of the 'Secret of Life' clasped to my breast—and raised my eyes trustfully to the dense darkness which should have been the sky. Then I felt the woman's hand on mine. Her touch was warm and gentle.

"Come!" she said, softly.

And I saw a small boat slip out on the gloomy water, guided towards me by One whose face was hidden in a fold of black. My companion drew me with her and signed to me to enter. Something in myself, as well as in her looks, impelled me to obey, and as she stepped into the boat I followed. We were borne along in silence for what seemed to me a long time, till suddenly I began to hear strange sounds of wailing, and shuddering cries of appeal, and our darkness was lightened by the drifting to and fro of pale forms that were luminous and human in shape though scarcely of human resemblance.

"What are these?" I whispered.

My companion took my hand and held it.

"Listen!" she answered.

And gradually, out of a clamour of weeping and complaint, I heard voices which uttered distinct things.

"I am the Phantom of Wealth"—said one—"For me men and nations have rushed on destruction,—for me they have sacrificed happiness and missed the way to God! For me innocence has been betrayed and honour murdered. I am but a Shadow, but the world follows me as if I were Light—I am but the gold dust of earth, and men take me for the glory of Heaven!"

"I am the Phantom of Fame"—said another—"I come with music and sweet promises—I float before the eyes of man, seeming to him an Angel!—I speak of triumph and power!—and for me brave hearts have broken, and bright spirits have been doomed to despair! I am but a Shadow—but the world believes me Substance—I am but a breath and a colour, but men take me for a fixed Star!"

"I am the Phantom of Pride!"—said a third voice—"For me humanity scales the height of ambition—for my sake king's and queens occupy uneasy thrones, and surround themselves with pomp and panoply—for me men lie and cheat and wrong their neighbours—for me the homes that should be happy are laid waste—for me false laws are made and evil conquers good I am but a Shadow—and the world takes me for the Sun!—I am but a passing flash of light, and men take me for the perfect Day!"

Other voices joined in and echoed wildly around me—and I rose up in the boat, loosing my hold from the clasp of the woman who was with me.

"You are phantoms all!" I cried, half unconscious of my own words— "I want God's angels! Where is Love?"

The voices ceased—the strange flitting figures that wailed round me faded away into mist, and disappeared—and a light, deep and golden and wonderful, began to shine through the gloom. My companion spoke.

"We have been looking at dreams,"—she said—"You ask for the only Real!"

I smiled. A sudden inrush of strength and authority possessed me.

"You bade me look my last upon my dream of Love!" I said—"But you knew that was impossible, for Love is no dream!"

The golden radiance widened into a perfect splendour, and our boat now glided over a shining sea. As in a vision I saw the figure that steered and guided it, change from darkness to brightness—the black fold fell from its face—Angel eyes looked at me—Angel lips smiled!—and then—I found myself suddenly alone on the shore of a little bay, blue as a sapphire in the reflection of the blue sky above it. The black stretch of water which had seemed so dreary and impassable had disappeared, and to my astonishment I recognised the very shore near the rock garden which was immediately under my turret room. I looked everywhere for the woman who had been in the boat with me—for the boat itself and its guide—but there was no trace of them. Where and how far I had wandered I could not imagine- -but presently, regaining nerve and courage, I began to fancy that perhaps my strange experience had been preordained and planned as some test of my faith and fortitude. Had I failed? Surely not! For I had not doubted the truth of God or the power of Love! There was only one thing which puzzled me,—the memory of those voices behind a wall—the voices which had spoken of Rafel's death and treachery. I could not quite rid myself of the anxiety they had awakened in my mind though I tried hard not to yield to the temptation of fear and suspicion. I knew and felt that after all it is the voices of the world which work most harm to love—and that neither poverty nor sorrow can cut the threads of affection between lovers so swiftly as falsehood and calumny. And yet I allowed myself to be moved by vague uneasiness on this account, and could not entirely regain perfect composure.