All these questions Rivardi discussed with Don Aloysius, who listened to him patiently without committing himself to any reply. Whatever Morgana had confided to him — (and she had confided much) — he kept his own counsel.
Within forty-eight hours of Morgana’s summons the famous specialist from Rome, Professor Marco Ardini, noted all over the world for his miraculous cures of those whom other physicians had given up as past curing, arrived. He heard the story of the rescue of a man and woman from drowning with emotionless gravity, more taken for the moment by Morgana herself, whom he had never seen before, but with whom he had corresponded on current questions of scientific importance. From the extremely learned and incisive tone of her letters he had judged her to be an elderly woman of profound scholarship who had spent the greater part of her life in study, and his astonishment at the sight of the small, dainty creature who received him in the library of the Palazzo d’Oro was beyond all verbal expression, — in fact, he took some minutes to recover from the magnetic “shock” of her blue eyes and wistful smile.
“I must be quite frank with you,” — she said, after a preliminary conversation with the great man in his own Italian tongue— “These two people have suffered their injuries by drowning — but not altogether. They are the victims of an earthquake, — and were thrown by the earth’s upheaval into a deep chasm flooded by water—”
The Professor interrupted her.
“Pardon, Signora! There has been no recent earthquake in Europe.”
She gave a little gesture of assent.
“Not in Europe — no! But in America — in California there has been a terrible one!”
“In California!” he echoed amazedly-”Gran’ Dio! You do not mean to say that you brought these people from California, across that vast extent of ocean?”
She smiled.
“By air-ship — yes! Really nothing so very remarkable! You will not ask for further details just now, Professor!” and she laid her pretty hand coaxingly on his arm— “You and I both know how advisable it is to say as little as possible of our own work or adventures, while any subject is awaiting treatment and every moment counts! I will answer any question you may ask when you have seen my patients. The girl is a beautiful creature — she is beginning to regain consciousness — but the man I fear is past even YOUR skill. Come!”
She led the way and Professor Ardini followed, marvelling at her ethereal grace and beauty, and more than interested in the “case” on which his opinion was sought. Entering a beautiful room glowing with light and warmth and colour, he saw, lying on a bed and slightly propped up by pillows, a lovely girl, pale as ivory, with dark hair loosely braided on either side of her head. Her eyes were closed, and the long black lashes swept the cheeks in a curved fringe, — the lips were faintly red, and the breath parted them slowly and reluctantly. The Professor bent over her and listened, — her heart beat slowly but regularly, — he felt her pulse.
“She will live!” — he said— “There are no injuries?”
“None” — Morgana replied, as he put his questions— “Some few bruises — but no bones broken — nothing serious.”
“You have examined her?”
“Yes.”
“You have no nurses?”
“No. I and my house people are sufficient.” Her tone became slightly peremptory. “There is no need for outside interference. Whatever your orders are, they shall be carried out.”
He looked at her. His face was a somewhat severe one, furrowed with thought and care, — but when he smiled, a wonderful benevolence gave it an almost handsome effect. And he smiled now.
“You shall not be interfered with,” — he said— “You have done very well! Complete rest, nourishment and your care are all that this patient needs. She will be quite herself in a very short time. She is extraordinarily beautiful!”
“I wish you could see her eyes!” said Morgana.
Almost as if the uttered wish had touched some recess of her stunned brain, Manella’s eyelids quivered and lifted, — the great dark glory of the stars of her soul shone forth for an instant, giving sudden radiance to the pallor of her features — then they closed again as in utter weariness.
“Magnificent!” said Ardini, under his breath— “And full of the vital light, — she will live!”
“And she will love!” added Morgana, softly.
The Professor looked at her enquiringly.
“The man she loves is in the next room” — she continued— “We rescued him with her — if it can be called a rescue. He is the worst case. Only you may be able to bring him back to consciousness, — I have done my best in vain. If YOU fail then we must give up hope.”
She preceded him into the adjoining chamber; as he entered it after her he paused — almost intimidated, despite his long medical and surgical experience, by the stone-like figure of man that lay before him. It was as if one should have unearthed a statue, grey with time — a statue nobly formed, with a powerful head and severe features sternly set, — the growth of beard revealing, rather than concealing, the somewhat cruel contour of mouth and chin. The Professor walked slowly up to the bed and looked at this strange effigy of a human being for many minutes in silence, — Morgana watching him with strained but quiet suspense. Presently he touched the forehead — it was stone-cold — then the throat, stone-cold and rigid — he bent down and listened for the heart’s pulsations, — not a flutter — not a beat! Drawing back from this examination he looked at Morgana, — she met his eyes with the query in her own which she emphasised by the spoken word —
“Dead?”
“No!” — he answered— “I think not. It is very difficult for a man of this type to die at all. Granted favourable conditions — and barring accidents caused by the carelessness of others — he ought to be one of those destined to live for ever. But” — here he hesitated— “if I am right in my surmise, — of course it is only a first opinion — death would be the very best thing for him.”
“Oh, why do you say that?” she asked, pitifully.
“Because the brain is damaged — hopelessly! This man — whoever he is — has been tampering with some chemical force he does not entirely understand, — his whole body is charged with its influence, and this it is that gives his form its unnatural appearance which, though death-like, is not death. If I leave him alone and untouched he will probably expire unconsciously in a few days, — but if — after what I have just told you — you wish me to set the life atoms going again, — even as a clock is wound up, — I can relax the tension which now paralyses the cells, muscles and nerves, and he will live — yes! — like most people without brains he will live a long time — probably too long!”
Morgana moved to the bedside and gazed with a solemn earnestness at the immobile, helpless form stretched out before her as though ready for burial. Her heart swelled with suppressed emotion, — she thought with anguish of the brilliant brain, the strong, self-sufficient nature brought to such ruin through too great an estimate of human capability. Tears rushed to her eyes —
“Oh, give him life!” she whispered— “Give him life for the sake of the woman who loves him more than life!”
The Professor gave her a quick, keen glance.
“You?”
She shivered at the question as though struck by a cold wind, — then conquering the momentary weakness, answered —
“No. The girl you have just seen. He is her world!”
Ardini’s brows met in a saturnine frown.
“Her world will be an empty one!” he said, with an expressive gesture— “A world without fruit or flower, — without light or song! A dreary world! But such as it is, — such as it is bound to be, — it can live on, — a life-in-death.”
“Are you quite sure of this?” Morgana asked— “Can any of us, however wise, be quite sure of anything?”
His frown relaxed and his whole features softened. He took her hand and patted it kindly.
“Signora, you know as we
ll as I do, that the universe and all within it represents law and order. A man is a little universe in himself — and if the guiding law of his system is destroyed, there is chaos and darkness. We scientists can say ‘Let there be light,’ but the fulfilled result ‘and there was light’ comes from God alone!”
“Why should not God help in this case?” she suggested.
“Ah, why!” and Ardini shrugged his shoulders— “How can I tell? My long experience has taught me that wherever the law has been broken God does NOT help! Who knows whether this frozen wreck of man has obeyed or disobeyed the law? I can do all that science allows—”
“And you will do it!” interrupted Morgana eagerly, “You will use your best skill and knowledge — everything you wish shall be at your service — name whatever fee your merit claims—”
He raised his hand with a deprecatory gesture.
“Money does not count with me, Signora!” he said— “Nor with you. The point with both of us in all our work is — success! Is it not so? Yes! And it is because I do not see a true success in this case that I hesitate; true success would mean the complete restoration of this man to life and intelligence, — but life without intelligence is no triumph for science. I can do all that science will allow—”
“And you WILL do this ‘all’” — said Morgana, eagerly— “You will forego triumph for simple pity! — pity for the girl who would surely die if he were dead! — and perhaps after all, God may help the recovery!”
“It shall be as you wish, Signora! I must stay here two or three days—”
“As long as you find it necessary” — said Morgana— “All your orders shall be obeyed.”
“Good! Send me a trustworthy man-servant who can help to move and support the patient, and we can get to work. I left a few necessary appliances in your hall — I should like them brought into this room — and then—” here he took her hand and pressed it kindly— “you can leave us to our task, and take some rest. You must be very tired.”
“I am never tired” — she answered, gently— “I thank you in advance for all you are going to do!”
She left the room then, with one backward glance at the inert stiff figure on the bed, — and went to arrange matters with her household that the Professor’s instructions should be strictly carried out. Lady Kingswood, deeply interested, heard her giving certain orders and asked —
“There is hope then? These two poor creatures will live?”
“I think so” — answered Morgana, with a thrill of sadness in her sweet voice— “They will live — pray God their lives may be worth living!”
She watched the man-servant whom she had chosen to wait on Ardini depart on his errand — she saw him open the door of the room where Seaton lay, and shut it — then there was a silence. Oppressed by a sudden heaviness of heart she thought of Manella, and entered her apartment softly to see how she fared. The girl’s beautiful dark eyes were wide open and full of the light of life and consciousness. She smiled and stretched out her arms.
“It is my angel!” she murmured faintly— “My little white angel who came to me in the darkness! And this is Heaven!”
Swiftly and silently Morgana went to her side, and taking her outstretched arms put them round her own neck.
“Manella!” she said, tenderly— “Dear, beautiful Manella! Do you know me?”
The great loving eyes rested on her with glowing warmth and pleasure.
“Indeed I know you!” and Manella’s voice, weak as that of a sick child, sounded ever so far away— “The little white lady of my dreams! Oh, I have wanted you! — wanted you so much! Why did you not come back sooner?”
Afraid to trouble her brain by the sudden shock of too rapidly recurring memories, Morgana made no reply, but merely soothed her with tender caresses, when all at once she made a violent struggle to rise from the bed.
“I must go!” she cried— “He is calling me! I must follow him — yes, even if he kills me for it — he is in danger!”
Morgana held her close and firmly.
“Hush, hush, dear!” she murmured— “Be quite still! He is safe — believe me! He is near you — in the next room! — out of all danger.”
“Oh, no, it is not possible!” and the girl’s eyes grew wild with terror— “He cannot be safe! — he is destroying himself! I have followed him every step of the way — I have watched him, — oh! — so long! — and he came out of the hut this morning — I was hidden among the trees — he could not see me—” she broke off, and a violent trembling shook her whole body. Morgana tried to calm her into silence, but she went on rambling incoherently. “There was something he carried as though it was precious to him — something that glittered like gold, — and he went away quickly — quickly to the canyon, — I followed him like a dog, crawling through the brushwood — I followed him across the deep water — to the cave where it was all dark — black as midnight!” She paused — then suddenly flung her arms round Morgana crying— “Oh, hold me! — hold me! — I am in this darkness trying to find him! — there! — there! — he turns and sees me by the light of a lamp he carries; he knows I have followed him, and he is angry! Oh, dear God, he is angry — he raises his arm to strike me!” She uttered a smothered shriek, and clung to Morgana in a kind of frenzy. “No mercy, no pity! That thing that glitters in his hand — it frightens me — what is it? I kneel to him on the cold stones — I pray him to forgive me — to come with me — but his arm is still raised to strike — he does not care — !”
Here a pale horror blanched her features — she drew herself away from Morgana’s hold and put out her hands with the instinctive gesture of one who tries to escape falling from some great height. Morgana, alarmed at her looks, caught her again in her arms and held her tenderly, whereat a faint smile hovered on her lips and her distraught movements ceased.
“What is this?” — she asked — then murmured— “My little white lady, how did you come here? How could you cross the flood? — unless on wings? Ah! — you are a fairy and you can do all you wish to do — but you cannot save HIM! — it is too late! He will not save himself — and he does not care, — he does not care — neither for me nor you!”
She drooped her head against Morgana’s shoulder and her eyes closed in utter exhaustion. Morgana laid her back gently on her pillows, and pouring a few drops of the cordial she had used before, and of which she had the sole secret, into a wineglassful of water, held it to her lips. She drank it obediently, evidently conscious now that she was being cared for. But she was still restless, and presently she sat up in a listening attitude, one hand uplifted.
“Listen!” she said in a low, awed tone— “Thunder! Do you hear it? God speaks!”
She lay down again passively and was silent for a long time. The hours passed and the day grew into late afternoon, and Morgana, patiently watchful, thought she slept. All suddenly she sprang up, wide-eyed and alert.
“What was that?” she cried— “I heard him call!”
Morgana, startled by her swift movement, stood transfixed — listening. The deep tones of a man’s voice rang out loudly and defiantly —
“There shall be no more wars! There can be none! I say so! I am Master of the World!”
CHAPTER XXV
A brilliant morning broke over the flower-filled gardens of the Palazzo d’Oro, and the sea, stretched out in a wide radiance of purest blue shimmered with millions of tiny silver ripples brushed on its surface by a light wind as delicate as a bird’s wing. Morgana stood in her rose-marble loggia, looking with a pathetic wistfulness at the beauty of the scene, and beside her stood Marco Ardini, scientist, surgeon and physician, looking also, but scarcely seeing, his whole thought being concentrated on the “case” with which he had been dealing.
“It is exactly as I at first told you,” — he said— “The man is strong in muscle and sinew, — but his brain is ruined. It can no longer control or command the body’s mechanism, — therefore the body is practically useless. Power of voliti
on is gone, — the poor fellow will never be able to walk again or to lift a hand. A certain faculty of speech is left, — but even this is limited to a few words which are evidently the result of the last prevailing thoughts impressed on the brain-cells. It is possible he will repeat those words thousands of times! — the oftener he repeats them the more he will like to say them.”
“What are they?” Morgana asked in a tone of sorrow and compassion.
“Strange enough for a man in his condition” — replied Ardini— “And always the same. ‘THERE SHALL BE NO MORE WARS! THERE CAN BE NONE! I SAY IT! — I ONLY! IT IS MY GREAT SECRET! I AM MASTER OF THE WORLD!’ Poor devil! What a ‘master of the world’ is there!”
Morgana shuddered as with cold, shading her eyes from the radiant sunshine.
“Does he say nothing else?” she murmured— “Is there no name — no place — that he seems to remember?”
Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22) Page 892
