CHAPTER V
It was, however, some two weeks later before Dr. Fillery was on hisway to the station to meet Devonham and his companion. A slight delay,caused apparently by the necessity of buying an outfit, had intervenedand given time for an exchange of letters, but Devonham had contentedhimself chiefly with telegrams. He did not wish his chief to knowtoo much about the case in advance. "Probably he regrets the Notesalready," thought the doctor, as the car made its way slowly acrosscrowded London. "He wants my first unbiased judgment; he's right, ofcourse, but it's too late for that now."
The delay, however, had been of value. The Home was in working orderagain, the staff returned, the private suite all ready for itsinteresting occupant, whom in thought he had already named "N. H."; forin the first place he did not know his name as yet, and in the secondhe felt towards him a certain attitude of tolerant, half-humorousscepticism.
Cut off from his own kind for so many years, educated, perhapshalf-educated only, by too speculative and imaginative a mind,equally warped by this long solitude, a mind unduly stretched by thecontemplation of immense geological perspectives, filled, too, withheaven knows what strange stories of pantheistic Nature-feeling--"N.H." might be distinctly interesting, but hardly all that Mason hadthought him. "Unique" was a word rarely justified; the peculiaritieswould prove to be mere extravagances that had, of necessity, remaineduncorrected by the friction of intercourse with his own kind. The restwas inheritance, equally unpruned; a mind living in a side-eddy, abackwater with Nature....
At the same time Dr. Fillery admitted a certain anticipatory excitementhe could not wholly account for, an undercurrent of wonder he ascribedto his Khaketian blood.
He had written once only to his assistant, sending briefestinstructions to say the rooms would be ready, and that the young manmust believe he was an invited guest coming on a visit. "Let him expectcomplete freedom of movement and occupation without the smallest ideaof restraint in any way. He is merely coming to stay for as long ashe pleases with a friend of Mason. Impress him with a sense of heartywelcome." And Devonham, replying, had evidently understood the wisdomof this method. "He is also greatly pleased with your name--the soundof it," was stated in the one letter that he wrote, "and as names meana lot to him, so much the better. The sound of it gives him pleasure;he keeps repeating it over to himself; he already likes you. My name hedoes not care about, saying it quickly, sharply. But he trusts me. Histrust in anyone who shows him kindness is instantaneous and complete.He invariably expects kindness, however, from everyone--gives ithimself equally--and is baffled and puzzled by any other treatment."
So Devonham, with "N. H.", who attached importance to names andexpected kindness from people as a natural thing, would be in Londontown within the hour. Straight from his forests and mountains for thefirst time in his life, he would find himself in the heart of thegreatest accumulation of human beings on the planet, the first city ofthe world, the final expression of civilization as known to the humanrace.
"'N. H.' in London town," thought Dr. Fillery, his mouth twitchingwith the smile that began in his quiet eyes. "Bless the lad! We mustmake him feel at home and happy. He shall indeed have kindness. He'llneed a woman's touch as well." He reflected a moment. "Women are agreat help in doubtful cases--the way a man reacts to them," he mused."Only they must be distinct in type to be of value." And his mind ranquickly, comprehensively over the women of his acquaintance, pausing,as it did so, upon two in particular--a certain Lady Gleeson, andIraida--sometimes called Nayan--Khilkoff, the daughter of his Russianfriend, the sculptor.
His mind pondered for some moments the two he had selected. It was notthe first time he had made use of them. Their effect respectively upona man was invariably instinctive and illuminating.
The two were radically different feminine types, as far removed fromone another as pole from pole, yet each essentially of her sex. Theireffect, respectively, upon such a youth must be of value, and might beeven illuminating to the point of revelation. Both, he felt sure, wouldnot be indifferent to the new personality.
It was, however, of Nayan Khilkoff that he thought chiefly. Of thatrare, selfless, maternal type which men in all ages have called saintor angel, she possessed that power which evoked in them all they couldfeel of respect, of purity, of chivalry, that love, in a word, whichholds as a chief ingredient, worship. Her beauty, beyond their reach,was of the stars; it was the unattainable in her they loved; her beautywas of the soul. Nayan was spiritual, not as a result of painful effortand laborious development, but born so. Her life, moreover, was one ofnatural service. Personal love, exclusive devotion to an individual,concentration of her being upon another single being--this seemedimpossible to her. She was at the same time an enigma: there was anelusive flavour about her that made people a little in awe of her, aflavour not of this earth, quite. She carried an impersonal attitudealmost to the point of seeming irresponsive to common human things andinterests.
The other woman, Lady Gleeson, Angela her Christian name, was equallya simple type, though her simplicity was that of the primitive femalewho is still close to the Stone Age--a savage. She adorned herself tocapture men. She was the female spider that devours its mates. Shewanted slaves. To describe her as selfish were inadequate, for she wasunaware that any other ideal existed in life but that of obtainingher own pleasure. There was instinct and emotion, but, of course, noheart. Without morals, conscience or consideration, she was the animalof prey that obeys the call of hunger in the most direct way possible,regardless of consequences to herself or others. Her brain was quick,her personality shallow. When talking she "rattled on." Devonham hadwell said once: "You can hear her two thoughts clicking, both of themin trousers!" Sir George, recently knighted, successful with largeconcessions in China, was indulgent. The male splendour of the youthwas bound to stimulate her hunger, as his simplicity, his loneliness,and in a sense his pathetic helplessness, would certainly evoke thetenderness in Nayan. "He'll probably like her dear, ridiculous name,too," Dr. Fillery felt, "the nickname they gave her because she's thesame to everybody, whichever way you take her--Nayan Khilkoff." Yether real name was more beautiful--Iraida. And, as he repeated it halfaloud, a soft light stole upon his face, shone in the deep clear eyes,and touched even the corners of the rather grim mouth with another, atenderer expression, before the sternness quickly returned to it.
"N. H." would meet, thus, two main types of female life. He, apparentlyan exceedingly male being, would face the onslaught of passion andheart, of lust and love, respectively; and it was his reactions tothese onslaughts that Fillery wished to observe. They would help hisdiagnosis, they might guide his treatment.
It was a warm and muggy afternoon, the twilight passing rapidly intodarkness now; one of those late autumn days when summer heat flitsback, but light is weak. The covered sky increased the clammy warmth,which was damp, unhealthy, devitalizing. No wind stirred. The greatcity was sticky and depressing. Yet people approved the heat, althoughit tired them. "It shortens the winter, anyhow," was the generalverdict, when expressed at all. They referred unconsciously to thegeneral dread of strikes.
London was hurried and confused. An air of feverish overcrowdingreigned in the great station, when he left the car and went in on foot.No sign of order, system, direction, was visible. The scene might havebeen a first rehearsal of some entirely new experiment. Grumbling andcomplaint rose from all sides in an exasperated chorus. He tried toascertain how late the train was and on which platform it might beexpected, but no one knew for certain, and the grudging replies toquestions seemed to say, "You've no right to ask anything, and if youkeep on asking there will be a strike. So that's that!"
He listened to the talk and watched the facial expressions and themovements of the half-resigned and half-excited concourse of Londoncitizens. The clock was accurate, and everyone was kind to ladies;stewed tea, stale cake with little stones in it, vile whisky and veryweak beer were obtainable at high prices. There were no matches. Themachine for supplying platform-ti
ckets was broken. He saw men payingmore thought and attention to the comfort of their dogs than to theirown. The great, marvellous, stupid, splendid race was puzzled andexasperated. Then, suddenly, the train pulled in, full of returnedexiles longing to be back again in "dear old England."
"Thank God, it's come," sighed the crowd. "Good! We're English. Forgiveand forget!" and prepared to tip the porters handsomely and carry theirown baggage.
The confusion that followed was equally characteristic, and equallyremarkable, displaying greatness side by side with its defects. Therewas no system; all was muddled, yet all was safe. Anyone could claimwhat luggage they liked, though no one did so, nor dreamed, it seemed,of doing so. There was an air of decent honesty and trust. There wereladies who discovered that all men are savages; there were men--andwomen--who were savages. People shook hands warmly, smiled with honestaffection, said light, careless good-byes that hid genuine emotion;helped one another with parcels, offered one another lifts. Therewere few taxicabs, one perhaps to every thirty people. And in thisgeneral scrimmage, Dr. Fillery, at first, could see no sign of hisexpected arrivals; he walked from end to end of the platform litteredwith luggage and thronged with bustling people, but nowhere could hediscover the familiar outline of Devonham, nor anyone who answered tothe strange picture that already stood forth sharply in his mind.
"There's been a mistake somewhere," he said to himself; "I shall finda telegram when I get back to the house explaining it"--when, suddenlyand without apparent cause, there stole upon him a curious lift offreedom--a sharp sense of open spaces he was at a loss to understand.It was accompanied by an increase of light. For a second it occurredto him that the great enclosing roof had rolled back and blown away,letting in air and some lost ray of sunshine. A lovely valley flittedacross his thought. Almost he was aware of flowers, of music, ofrhythmic movement.
"Edward! there you are. I thought you hadn't come," he heard closebehind him, and, turning, saw the figure of Devonham, calm and alert asusual. At his side stood a lean, virile outline of a young man, toppingDevonham by several inches, with broad but thin shoulders, figureerect yet flexible, whose shining and inquiring eyes of blue were themost striking feature in a boyish face, where strength, intensity andradiant health combined in an unusual degree.
"Here is our friend, LeVallon," added Devonham, but not before thefigure had stepped lightly and quickly forward, already staring at himand shaking his outstretched hand.
So this was "N. H.," and LeVallon was his name. The calm, searchingeyes held a touch of bewilderment in them, the eyes of an honest,intelligent animal, thought Fillery quickly, adding in spite ofhimself and almost simultaneously, "but of a divine animal." It wasa look he had never in his life before encountered in any humaneyes. Mason's water-colour sketch had caught something, at least, oftheir innocence and question, of their odd directness and intensity,something, too, of the golden fire in the hair. He wore a broad-brimmedfelt hat of Swiss pattern, a Bernese overcoat, a low, soft-collaredshirt, with blue tie to match.
Buffeted and pushed by the frenzied travellers, they stood and facedeach other, shaking hands, eyes looking into eyes, two strangers,doctor and patient possibly, but friends most certainly, both feltinstantly. They liked one another. Once again the scent of flowersdanced with light above the piled-up heaps of trunks, rugs, packages. Acool wind from mountains seemed to blow across the dreadful station.
"You've arrived safely," began Dr. Fillery, a little taken abackperhaps. "Welcome! And not too tired, I hope----" when the otherinterrupted him in a man's deep voice, full of pleasant timbre:
"Fill-er-y," he said, making the "F" sound rather long, "I need you. Tosee you makes me happy."
"Tired," put in Devonham breathlessly, "good heavens, not he! But I am.Now for a porter and the big luggage. Have you got a taxi?"
"The car is here," said Fillery, letting go with a certain reluctancethe hand he held, and paying little attention to anything but thefigure before him who used such unexpected language. What was it? Whatdid it mean? Whence came this sudden sense of intensity, light, oforder, system, intelligence into the racial scene of muddled turmoilall about him? There seemed an air of speeding up in thought and actionnear him, compared to which the slow stupidity, unco-ordinated andconfused on all sides, became painful, gross, and even ludicrous.
Someone bumped against him with violence, but quite needlessly, sincethe simplest judgment of weight and distance could have avoided thecollision. In such ordinary small details he was aware of another, ahigher, standard close. A man on his left, trying to manage severalbundles, appeared vividly as of amazing incompetence, with hismiscalculation, his clumsy movement, his hopeless inability to judgecause and effect. Yet he had two arms, ten fingers, two legs, broadshoulders and deep chest. Misdirection of his great strength made itimpossible for him to manage the assortment of light parcels. Nextto him, however, stood a woman carrying a baby--there was no errorthere. The panting engine just beyond them, again, set a standard ofcontemptuous, impersonal intelligence that, obeying Nature's laws,dwarfed the humans generally. But it was another, a quasi-spiritualstandard that had flashed to him above all. In some curious waythe competent "dead" machinery that obeyed the Law with faultlessefficiency, and the woman obeying instinct with equally unconsciousskill--these two energies were akin to the new standard he was nowstartlingly aware of.
He looked up, as though to trace this sudden new consciousness ofbright, quick, rapid competence--almost as of some immense powerbuilding with consistent scheme and system--that had occurred to him;and he met again the direct, yet slightly bewildered eyes that watchedhim, watched him with confidence, sweetness, and with a questioningintensity he found intriguing, captivating, and oddly stimulating. Hefelt happiness.
"By yer leave!" roared a porter, as they stepped aside just in time tosave being pushed by the laden truck--just in time to save himself,that is, for the other, Fillery noticed, moved like a chamois on itsnative rocks, so surely, lightly, swiftly was he poised.
"This! Ah, you must excuse it," the doctor exclaimed with a smile ofapology almost, "we've not yet had time to settle down after the war,you see." He pointed with a sweep of his hand to the roaring, dim-litcavern where confusion reigned supreme, the G.H.Q. of travel in thebiggest city of the Empire.
"I've got a porter," cried Devonham, beckoning vigorously a littlefurther down the platform. "You wait there. I'll be along in a minutewith the stuff." He was hot, flustered, exhausted.
"You struggle. It was like this all the way. Is there no knowledge?"LeVallon asked in his deep, quiet tones.
"We do," said Fillery. "With us life is always struggle. But there ismore system than appears. The confusion is chiefly on the surface."
"It is dark and there is so little air," observed the other. "And theyall work against each other."
Fillery laughed into the other's eyes; they laughed together; and itseemed suddenly to the doctor that their beings somehow merged, sothat, for a second, he knew the entire content of his companion'smind--as if there was nothing in LeVallon he did not understand.
"You--are a builder," LeVallon said abruptly. But as he said it hiscompanion caught, on the wing as it were, another meaning. He becamecuriously aware of the smallness, of the remote insignificance of thelittle planet whereon this dialogue took place, yet at the same time ofits superb seductive loveliness. In him rose a feeling, as on wings,that he was not chained in his familiar, daily personality, but that animmense, delicious freedom lay within reach. He could be everywhere atonce. He could do everything.
"Wait here while I help Devonham. Then we'll get into the car and beoff." He moved away, threading a path with difficulty.
"I wait in peace. I am happy," was the reply.
And with those few phrases, uttered in the quiet, deep voice, soundingin his ears and in his very blood, the older man went towards the spotwhere Devonham struggled with a porter, a pile of nondescript luggageand a truck: "I wait in peace.... You struggle, you work against eachother.
... It is dark, there is little air.... You are a builder...."
But not these singular words alone remained alive in his mind; thereremained in his heart the sense of that vitality of open spaces, keenair and brighter light he had experienced--and, with it, the securityof some higher, faultless standard. His brain, indeed, had recognizeda consciousness of swifter reactions, of surer movements, of moreintelligent co-ordination, compared to which the people about himbehaved like stupid, almost like half-witted beings, the one exceptionbeing the instinctive action of the mother in carrying her baby, andthe other, the impersonal, accurate, competence of the dead machinery.
But, more than this reasoned change, there burned suddenly in his heartan inexplicable exhilaration and brightness, a wonder that he couldattribute only to another mode of life. His Khaketian blood, he knew,might be responsible for part of it, but not for all. The invigoratingmountain wind, the sunlight, the rhythmic sound, the scent of wildflowers, these were his own personal interpretations of a quickenedsense he could not analyse as yet. As he held the young man's hand,as he gazed into his direct blue eyes, this sense had increased inintensity. LeVallon had some marvellous quality or power that was newto him, while yet not entirely unfamiliar. What was it? And how did theyouth perceive this sense in him so surely that he took its presencefor granted, accepted, even played upon it? He experienced, as it were,a brilliant intensification of spirit. Some portion of him already knewexactly what LeVallon was.
Across the ugly turmoil and confusion of the huge dingy railwayterminus had moved wondrously some simple power that broughtin--Beauty. Some very deep and ancient conception had touched him andgone its way again. The stupendous beauty of a simple, common dayappeared to him. His subconscious being, of course, was deeply stirred.That was the truth, phrase it as he might. His heart was lifted as bya primal wind at dawn upon some mountain top. The heaviness of theday was gone. Fatigue, too, vanished. The "civilized" folk appearedcontemptible and stupid. Something direct from Nature herself pouredthrough him. And it was from the atmosphere of LeVallon this newvitality issued radiating.
He found a moment or two, while alone with Devonham, to exchange a fewhurried sentences. As they bent over bags and bundles he asked quickquestions. These questions and answers between the two experienced menwere brief but significant:
"Yes, quiet as a lamb. Just be kind and sympathetic. You looked up theNotes? Well, that can't be helped now, though I had rather you knewnothing. My mistake, of course."
"The content of his mind is accessible to me--telepathically--in anycase."
"But at one remove more distant, because unexpressed."
Fillery laughed. "Quite right. I admit it's a pity. But tell me moreabout him--anything I ought to know--at once."
"Quiet as a lamb, I told you," repeated the other, "and most of theway over too. But puzzled--my God, Edward, his criticisms would makea book."
"Normal? Intelligent criticisms?"
"Intelligent above ordinary. Normal--no."
"Hysteria?"
"Not a sign."
"Health?"
"Perfect, magnificent, as you see. He's less tired now than when westarted three days ago, whereas I'm fagged out, though in climbingcondition."
"Origin of delusions--any indication?"
Devonham looked up quickly. His eyes flashed a peculiarly searchingglance--something watchful in it perhaps. "No delusion at all of anysort. As for origin of his ideas--the parents probably, but stimulatedand allowed unchecked growth by Mason. Affected by Nature beyondanything _we_ know."
"By Nature. Ah!" He checked himself. "And what peculiarities?" heasked.
"His terror of water, for instance. Crossing the Channel he was like afrightened child. He hid from it, kept his hands over his eyes even, soas not to see it."
"Give any reason?"
"All he said was 'It is unknown, an enemy, and can destroy me, I cannotunderstand its secret ways. Fire and wind are not in it. I cannot workwith it.' No, it was not fear of drowning that he meant. He foundcomfort, too, in the repetition of your name."
"Appetite, pulse, temperature?" asked Fillery, after a brief pause.
"First two very strong; temperature always slightly above normal."
"Other peculiarities?"
"He became rather excited before a lighted match once--tried to kneel,almost, but I stopped it."
"Fire?"
"That's it. Instinct of worship presumably."
The barrow was laden, the porter was asking where the car was. Theyprepared to move back to the companion, whom Fillery had never failedto observe carefully over his shoulder during this rapid conversation."N. H." had not moved the whole time: he stood quietly, looking abouthim, a curious figure, aloof somehow from his surroundings, so talland straight and unconcerned he seemed, yet so poised, alert, virile,vigorous. It was not his clothes that made him appear unusual, nor wasit his eyes and hair alone, though all three contributed their share.Yet he seemed dressed up, his clothes irksome to him. He was uncommon,an attractive figure, and many a pair of eyes, female eyes especially,Fillery noticed, turned to examine him with undeniable curiosity.
"And women?" the doctor asked quickly in a lowered voice, as theyfollowed the porter's barrow towards LeVallon, who already smiled attheir approach--the most engaging, trustful, welcoming smile thatFillery had ever seen upon a human countenance.
He lowered his head to catch the reply. But Devonham only laughed andshrugged his shoulders. "All attracted," he mumbled in a half whisper,"and eager to help him."
"And he----?"
"Gentle, astonished, but indifferent, oh, supremely indifferent."
LeVallon came forward to meet them, and Fillery took his hand and ledhim to the car. The luggage was bundled in, some behind and some on theroof. Fillery and LeVallon sat side by side. The car started.
"We shall get home in half an hour," the doctor mentioned, turning tohis companion. "We'll have a good dinner and then get to bed. You arehungry, I know."
"Thank you," was the reply, "thank you, dear Fillery. I want sleepmost. Will there be trees and air near me? And stars to see?"
"Your windows open on to a garden with big trees, there will be plentyof fresh air, and you will hear the sparrows chattering at dawn. ButLondon, of course, is not the country. Oh, we'll make you comfortable,never fear."
"Dear Fillery, I thank you," said LeVallon quietly, and without moreado lay back among the soft cushions and closed his eyes. Hardly aword was said the whole way out to the north-west suburb, and whenthey arrived the "patient" was too overcome with sleep to wish to eat.He went straight to his room, found a hot bath into which he tumbledfirst, and then leaped into his bed and was sound asleep almost beforethe door was closed. Upon a table beside the bed Dr. Fillery, withhis own hands, arranged bread, butter, eggs and a jug of milk in caseof need. Nurse Robbins, an experienced, tactful young woman, he putin special charge. He thought of everything, divining his friend'spossible needs instinctively, noticing with his keen practised eyeseveral details for himself at the same time. The splendid physicalcondition, frame-work, muscular development he noted--no freakishbulky masses produced by gymnastic exercises, but the muscles laidon flowingly, smooth and firm and ample, without a trace of fat, andthe whole in the most admirable proportion possible. The leannesswas deceptive; the body was of immense power. The quick, certain,unerring movements he noticed too; perfect, swift co-ordination betweenbrain and physical response, no misdirection, no miscalculation, thereactions extremely rapid. He thought with a smile of something betweendeer and tiger. The poise and balance and accuracy conveyed intense joyof living. Yet above and beyond these was something else he could notname, something that stirred in him wonder, love, a touch of awe, and ahaunting suggestion of familiarity.
He saw him into bed, he saw him actually asleep. The strong blue eyeslooked up into his own with their intense and innocent gaze for amoment; he held the firm, dry muscular hand; ten seconds later the eyeswere closed in sleep, the grip of the powerful
but slender fingersrelaxed.
"Good night, my friend, and sleep deeply. To-morrow we'll see toeverything you need. Be happy here and comfortable with us, for you arewelcome and we love you." His voice trembled slightly.
"Good night, dear Fill-er-y," the musical tones replied, and he was off.
The windows were wide open. "N. H." had thrown aside the pyjamas andblankets. On this cool, damp night of late autumn he covered his big,warm, lithe body with a single sheet only.
Fillery went out quietly, an expression of keen approval and enjoymenton his face--not a smile exactly, but that look of deep content,betraying a fine inner excitement of happiness, which is the mother ofall smiles. As he softly opened the door the draught blew through fromthe open windows, stirring the white curtains by the bed. It came fromthe big damp garden where the trees stood, already nearly leafless,and where no flowers were. And yet a scent of flowers came faintlywith it. He caught an echo of faint sound like music. There was theinvigorating hint of forests too. It seemed a living wind that blewinto the house.
Dr. Fillery paused a moment, sniffed with surprise and sharp enjoyment,listened intently, then switched the light off and went out, closingthe door behind him. There was a flash of wonder in his eyes, and athrill of some remote inexplicable happiness ran through his nerves.An instant of complete comprehension had been his, as if anotherconsciousness had, for that swift instant, identified itself with hisown.
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