That instant I departed, but not far — for as yet I could not clearly see which way duty led me. I made no confidante, asked no sympathy or help, told no one of my purpose, but resolving to take no decisive step rashly, 1 went away to a country house of Agatha’s, just beyond the city, as I had once done before when busied on a work that needed solitude and quiet, so that if gossip rose it might be harmless to us both. Then I sat down and thought. Submit I would not, desert her utterly I could not, but I dared defy her, and I did; for as if some viewless spirit whispered the suggestion in my ear, I determined to oppose my will to hers, to use her weapons if
I could, and teach her to be merciful through suffering like my own. She had confessed my power to draw her to me, in spite of coldness, poverty and all lack of the attractive graces women love; that clue inspired me with hope. I got books and pored over them till their meaning grew clear to me; I sought out learned men and gathered help from their wisdom; I gave myself to the task w ith indomitable zeal, for I was struggling for the liberty that alone made life worth possessing. The world believed me painting mimic woes, but I was living through a fearfully real one; friends fancied me busied with the mechanism of material bodies, but I was prying into the mysteries of human souls; and many envied my luxurious leisure in that leafy nest, while I was leading the life of a doomed convict, for as I kept my sinful vow so Agatha kept hers.
She never wrote, or sent, or came, but day and night she called me — dav and night I resisted, saved only by the desperate means I used — means that made my own servant think me mad. I bid him lock me in my chamber; I dashed out at all hours to walk fast and far awav into the lonely forest; I drowned consciousness in wine; I drugged mvself with opiates, and when the crisis had passed, woke spent but victorious. All arts I tried, and slowly found that in this conflict of opposing wills my own grew stronger with each success, the other lost power with each defeat. I never wished to harm mv wife, never called her, never sent a baneful thought or desire along that mental telegraph which stretched and thrilled between us; I onlv longed to free myself, and in this struggle weeks passed, vet neither won a signal ictory, for neither proud heart knew the beauty of self-conquest and the power of submission.
One night I w ent up to the lonely tower that crowned the house, to watch the equinoctial storm that made a Pandemonium of the elements without. Rain streamed as if a second deluge was at hand; whirlwinds tore down the valley; the river chafed and foamed with an angrv dash, and the city lights shone dimly through the flying mist as I watched them from my loftv room. The tumult suited me, for mv own mood was stormv, dark and bitter, and when the cheerful fire invited me to bask before it I sat there wrapped in reveries as gloomy as the night. Presently the well-know n premonition came with its sudden thrill through blood and nerves, and with a revengeful strength never felt before I gathered up my energies for the trial, as I waited some more urgent summons. None came, but in its place a sense of power flashed over me, a swift exultation dilated within me, time seemed to pause, the present rolled away, and nothing but an isolated memory remained, for fixing my thoughts on Agatha, I gave myself up to the dominant spirit that possessed me. I sat motionless, yet I willed to see her. Vivid as the flames that framed it, a picture started from the red embers, and clearly as if my bodily eye rested on it, I saw the well- known room, I saw my wife lying in a deep chair, wan and wasted as if with suffering of soul and body, I saw her grope with outstretched hands, and turn her head with eyes whose long lashes never lifted from the cheek where they lav so dark and still, and through the veil that seemed to wrap my senses I heard my own voice, strange and broken, whispering:
“God forgive me, she is blind!”
For a moment, the vision wandered mistily before me, then grew steady, and I saw her steal like a wraith across the lighted room, so dark to her; saw her bend over a little white nest mv own hands placed there, and lift some precious burden in her feeble arms; saw her grope painfully back again, and sitting by that other fire — not solitary like my own — lay her pale cheek to that baby cheek and seem to murmur some lullaby that mother-love had taught her. Over my heart strong and sudden gushed a warmth never known before, and again, strange and broken through the veil that wrapped my senses, came my own voice whispering:
“God be thanked, she is not utterly alone!”
As if my breath dissolved it, the picture faded; but I willed again and another rose — my studio, dim with dust, damp with long disuse, dark with evening gloom — for one flickering lamp made the white shapes ghostly, and the pictured faces smile or frown with fitful vividness. There was no semblance of my old self there, but in the heart of the desolation and the darkness Agatha stood alone, with outstretched arms and an imploring face, full of a love and longing so intense that with a welcoming gesture and a cry that echoed through the room, I answered that mute appeal:
“Come to me! come to me!"
A gust thundered at the w indow, and rain fell like stormy tears, but nothing else replied; as the bright brands dropped the flames died out, and w ith it that sad picture of my deserted home. I longed to stir but could not, for I had called up a pow er I could not lay, the servant ruled the master now, and like one fastened by a spell I still sat leaning forward intent upon a single thought. Slow ly from the gray embers smouldering on the hearth a third scene rose behind the smoke wreaths, changeful, dim and strange. Again my former home, again mv wife, but this time standing on the threshold of the door I had sworn never to cross again. I saw the wafture of the cloak gathered about her, saw the rain beat on her shelterless head, and followed that slight figure through the deserted streets, over the long bridge where the lamps flickered in the wand, along the leafy road, up the wide steps and in at the door whose closing echo startled me to consciousness that my pulses were beating w ith a mad rapidity, that a cold dew stood upon my forehead, that every sense was supernaturallv alert, and that all were fixed upon one point with a breathless intensity that made that little span of time as fearful as the moment when one hangs poised in air above a chasm in the grasp of nightmare. Suddenly I sprang erect, for through the uproar of the elements without, the awesome hush within, I heard steps ascending, and stood waiting in a speechless agony to see what shape w ould enter there.
One by one the steady footfalls echoed on my ear, one by one they seemed to bring the climax of some blind conflict nearer, one by one they knelled a human life away, for as the door swung open Agatha fell dow n before me, storm-beaten, haggard, spent, but loving still, for with a faint attempt to told her hands submissively, she w hispered:
“You have conquered, I am here!” and w ith that act grew still for ever, as with a great shock I woke to see w hat I had done.
* * *
uYou have conquered, I am here!”
Ten years have passed since then. I sit on that same hearth a feeble, white-haired man, and beside me, the one companion I shall ever know, mv little son — dumb, blind and imbecile. I lavish tender names upon him, but receive no sweet sound in reply; I gather him close to my desolate heart, but meet no answering caress; I look with yearning glance, but see only those haunting eyes, with no gleam of recognition to warm them, no ray of intellect to inspire them, no change to deepen their sightless beauty; and this fair body moulded with the Divine sculptor’s gentlest grace is always here before me, an embodied grief that w rings my heart with its pathetic innocence, its dumb reproach. This is the visible punishment for mv sin, but there is an unseen retribution heavier than human judgment could inflict, subtler than human malice could conceive, for with a power made more omnipotent by death Agatha still calls me. God knows I am w illing now, that I long w ith all the passion of desire, the anguish of despair to go to her, and He knows that the one tie that holds me is this aimless little life, this duty that I dare not neglect, this long atonement that I make. Day and night I listen to the voice that whispers to me through the silence of these years; day and night I answer w ith a yearning cry from the depths of a contrite
spirit; day and night 1 cherish the one sustaining hope that Death, the great consoler, w ill soon free both father and son from the inevitable doom a broken law’ has laid upon them; for then I know that somewhere in the long hereafter my remorseful soul w ill find her, and w ith its poor offering of penitence and love fall dow n before her, humbly saying:
“You have conquered, I am here!”
The Fate of the Forrests
PART I
A GROUP OF four, two ladies and two gentlemen, leaned or lounged together in the soft brilliance of mingled moonlight and lamplight, that filled the luxurious room. Through the open windows came balmy gusts of ocean air, up from below rose the murmurous plash of waves, breaking on a quiet shore, and frequent bursts of music lent another charm to place and hour. A pause in the gay conversation was broken bv the younger lady’s vivacious voice:
“Now if the dav of witches and wizards, astrologers and fortunetellers was not over, how' I should enjoy looking into a magic mirror, having my horoscope east, or hearing my fate read by a charming black-eyed gipsy.”
“The age of enchantment is not yet past, as all who are permitted to enter this magic circle confess; and one need not go far for ‘a charming black-eyed gipsy’ to decide one’s destiny.”
And with a half-serious, half-playful gesture the gentleman offered his hand to the fair-faced girl, who shook her head and answered, smilingly:
“No, I’ll not tell your fortune, Captain Hay; and all your compliments cannot comfort me for the loss of the delightful diablerie I love to read about and long to experience. Modern gipsies are commonplace. I want a genuine Cagliostro, supernaturally elegant, gifted and mysterious. I wish the fable of his eternal youth were true, so that he might visit us, for where would he find a fitter company? You gentlemen are perfect sceptics, and I am a firm believer, while Ursula would inspire the dullest wizard, because she looks like one born to live a romance.”
She did indeed. The beautiful woman, sitting where the light showered down upon her, till every charm seemed doubled. The freshest bloom of early womanhood glowed in a face both sweet and spirited, eloquent eyes shone lustrous and large, the lips smiled as if blissful visions fed the fancy, and above the white forehead dark, abundant hair made a graceful crown for a head which bore itself with a certain gentle pride, as if the power of beauty, grace and intellect lent an unconscious queenliness to their possessor. In the personal atmosphere of strength, brilliancy and tenderness that surrounded her, an acute observer would detect the presence of a daring spirit, a rich nature, a deep heart; and, looking closer, might also discover, in the curves of that sensitive mouth, the depths of those thoughtful eyes, traces of some hidden care, some haunting memory, or, perhaps, onlv that vague yet melancholy prescience which often marks those fore-doomed to tragic lives. As her companions chatted this fleeting expression touched her face like a passing shadow, and the gentleman who had not yet spoken leaned nearer, as if eager to catch that evanescent gloom. She met his wistful glance with one of perfect serenity, saying, as an enchanting smile broke over her whole face:
“Yes, my life has been a romance thus far; may it have a happy ending. Evan, you were born in a land of charms and spells, can you not play the part of a Hindoo conjuror, and satisfy Kate’s longing?”
“I can only play the part of a Hindoo devotee, and exhaust myself with strivings after the unattainable, like this poor little fire- worshipper,” replied the young man, watching, with suspicious interest, a moth circling round the globe of light above his head, as if he dared not look at the fair speaker, lest his traitorous eyes should say too much.
“You are both sadly unromantic and ungallant men not to make an effort in our favor,” exclaimed the lively lady. “1 am in just the mood for a ghostly tale, a scene of mystery, a startling revelation, and where shall I look for an obliging magician to gratify me?”
“Here!”
The voice, though scarcely lifted above a whisper, startled the group as much as if a spirit spoke, and all eves were turned towards the window, where white draperies were swaying in the wind. No uncanny apparition appeared behind the tentlike aperture, but the composed figure of a small, fragile-looking man, reclining in a lounging-chair. Nothing could have been more unimpressive at first glance, but at a second the eye was arrested, the attention roused, for an indefinable influence held one captive against one’s will. Beardless, thin lipped, sharply featured and colorless as ivory was the face. A few locks of blonde hair streaked the forehead, and underneath it shone the controlling feature of this singular countenance. The eyes, that should have been a steely blue to match the fair surroundings, were of the intensest black, varying in expression with a startling rapidity, unless mastered by an art stronger than nature; by turns stealthily soft, keenly piercing, fiercely fiery or utterly expressionless, these mysterious eyes both attracted and repelled, with a subtle magnetism which few wills could resist, and which gave to this otherwise insignificant man a weird charm, which native grace and the possession of rare accomplishments made alluring, even to those who understood the fateful laws of temperament and race.
Languidly leaning in his luxurious chair, while one pale hand gathered back the curtain from before him, the new comer eyed the group with a swift glance, which in an instant had caught the meaning of each face and transferred it to the keeping of a memory which nothing could escape. Annoyance was the record set down against Ursula Forrests name; mingled joy and shame against the other lady’s; for, with the perfect breeding which was one of the man’s chief attractions, he gave the precedence to women even in this rapid mental process. Aversion was emphatically marked against Evan Forrest’s name, simple amusement fell to his companion’s share. Captain Hay was the first to break the sudden silence which followed that one softly spoken word:
“Beg pardon, but upon my life I forgot you, Stahl. I thought you went half an hour ago, in your usual noiseless style, for who would dream of your choosing to lounge in the strong draught of a seabreeze?”
“It is I who should beg pardon for forgetting myself in such society, and indulging in the reveries that will come unbidden to such poor shadows as I.”
The voice that answered, though low-toned, was singularly persuasive, and the words were uttered with an expression more engaging than a smile.
“Magician, you bade me look to you. I take you at your word. I dare you to show your skill, and prove that yours is no empty boast,” said Kate Heath, with evident satisfaction at the offer and interest in its maker.
Rising slowly, Felix Stahl advanced towards her, and, despite his want of stature and vigor, which are the manliest attributes of manhood, no one felt the lack of them, because an instantaneous impression of vitality and power was made in defiance of external seeming. With both hands loosely folded behind him, he paused before Miss Heath, asking, tranquilly:
“Which wish shall I grant? Will you permit me to read your palm? Shall I show you the image of your lover in yonder glass? or shall I whisper in your ear the most secret hope, fear or regret, which you cherish? Honor me by choosing, and any one of these feats I will perform.”
Kate stole a covert glance at the tall mirror, saw that it reflected no figure but that of the speaker, and with an irrepressible smile she snatched her eyes away, content, saying hastily:
“As the hardest feat of the three, you shall tell me what I most ardently desire, if the rest will submit to a like test. Can you read their hearts as well as mine?”
His eye went slowly round the little circle, and from each face the smile faded, as that searching gaze explored it. Constrained by its fascination, more than by curiosity or inclination, each person bowed their acquiescence to Kate’s desire, and as Stahls eye came back to her, he answered briefly, like one well assured of his own power:
“I can read their hearts. Shall I begin with you?”
For a moment she fluttered like a bird caught in a fowler’s net, then with an effort composed both attitude and aspect, and looked up half-
proudly, half-pleadingly, into the colorless countenance that bent till the lips were at her ear. Only three words, and the observers saw the conscious blood flush scarlet to her forehead, burning hotter and deeper as eyes fell, lips quivered and head sank in her hands, leaving a shame-stricken culprit where but an instant ago a bright, happy-hearted woman sat.
Before Ursula could reach her friend, or either gentleman exclaim, Stahl’s uplifted hand imposed passive silence and obtained it, for already the magnetism of his presence made itself felt, filling the room with a supernatural atmosphere, which touched the commonplace with mystery, and woke fantastic fears or fancies like a spell. Without a look, a word for the weeping girl before him, he turned sharply round on Evan Forrest, signified by an imperious gesture that he should bend his tall head nearer, and when he did so, seemed to stab him with a breath. Pale with indignation and surprise, the young man sprang erect, demanding in a smothered voice:
“Who will prevent me?”
“I will.”
As the words left Stahl’s lips, Evan stirred as if to take him by the throat, but that thin, womanish hand closed like a steel spring round his wrist and held the strong arm powerless, as, with a disdainful smile, and warning “Remember where vou are!” the other moved on undisturbed. Evan flung himself into a seat, vainly attempting self-control, while Stahl passed to Captain Hav, w ho sat regarding him with undisguised interest and amazement, which latter sentiment reached its climax as the magic whisper came.
“How in Heaven’s name did vou know that?” he cried, starting like one stupefied; then overturning his chair in his haste, he dashed out of the room with every mark of uncontrollable excitement and alarm.
“Dare you let me try my power on you, Miss Forrest?” asked Stahl, pausing at her side, with the first trace of emotion visible in his inscrutable face.
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