The Project Gutenberg EBook of Weapons of Mystery, by Joseph Hocking

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net


Title: Weapons of Mystery

Author: Joseph Hocking

Release Date: August 10, 2004 [EBook #13158]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WEAPONS OF MYSTERY ***




Produced by Suzanne Shell, Charlene Taylor and PG Distributed
Proofreaders





POPULAR NOVELS

BY

JOSEPH HOCKING

       *       *       *       *       *

THE STORY OF ANDREW FAIRFAX

JABEZ EASTERBROOK

ALL MEN ARE LIARS

FIELDS OF FAIR RENOWN

WEAPONS OF MYSTERY

THE PURPLE ROBE

THE SCARLET WOMAN

THE BIRTHRIGHT

MISTRESS NANCY MOLESWORTH

LEST WE FORGET

GREATER LOVE

THE COMING OF THE KING

ROGER TREWINION

THE PRINCE OF THIS WORLD

GOD AND MAMMON

AN ENEMY HATH DONE THIS

THE RING OF DESTINY

HEARTSEASE

THE TENANT OF CROMLECH COTTAGE

NANCY TREVANION'S LEGACY

THE SIGN OF THE TRIANGLE





The Weapons of Mystery

by Joseph Hocking

AUTHOR OF "ALL MEN ARE LIARS", "THE PURPLE ROBE", "THE SCARLET WOMAN", ETC.


WARD. LOCK & CO., LIMITED

LONDON AND MELBOURNE
_Made and Printed in Great Britain by_ Ward, Lock & Co., Limited, London.

1890



CONTENTS


Chap.

I. INTRODUCES THE WRITER AND OTHERS

II. CHRISTMAS EVE

III. CHRISTMAS MORNING

IV. VOLTAIRE'S STORY OF THE EAST

V. CHRISTMAS NIGHT--THE FORGING OF THE CHAIN

VI. AFTERWARDS

VII. DREARWATER POND

VIII. DARKNESS AND LIGHT

IX. THE HALL GHOST

X. THE COMING OF THE NIGHT

XI. DARK DREAMS AND NIGHT SHADOWS

XII. A MIDNIGHT CONFERENCE

XIII. A MESMERIST'S SPELL

XIV. GOD

XV. BEGINNING TO SEARCH

XVI. STRUGGLING FOR VICTORY

XVII. USING THE ENEMY'S WEAPONS

XVIII. NEARING THE END

XIX. THE SECOND CHRISTMAS EVE




CHAPTER I

INTRODUCES THE WRITER AND OTHERS


My story begins on the morning of December 18, 18--, while sitting at
breakfast. Let it be understood before we go further that I was a
bachelor living in lodgings. I had been left an orphan just before I
came of age, and was thus cast upon the world at a time when it is
extremely dangerous for young men to be alone. Especially was it so in
my case, owing to the fact that at twenty-one I inherited a considerable
fortune. One thing saved me from ruin, viz. a passionate love for
literature, which led me to make it my profession. I had at the time of
my story been following the bent of my inclinations for two years with a
fair amount of success, and was regarded by those who knew me as a lucky
fellow. That is all I think I need say concerning myself prior to the
time when my story opens, except to tell my name; but that will drop out
very soon. I had not made very great inroads into the omelette my
landlady had prepared for me when I heard the postman's knock, and soon
after a servant entered with a letter. One only. I had expected at least
half-a-dozen, but only one lay on the tray before me.

"Are you sure this is all, Jane?" I asked.

"Quite sure, sir," said Jane, smiling, and then with a curtsey she took
her leave.

The envelope was addressed in a bold hand-writing to--


_Justin M. Blake, Esq.,
Gower Street,
London, W._


"Surely I know the writing," I mused, and then began to look at the
postmarks as if a letter were something of very uncommon occurrence. I
could make nothing of the illegible smear in the corner, however, and so
opened it, and read as follows:--


Dear old Justin Martyr,

I suppose you have about forgotten your old schoolfellow, Tom Temple,
and it's natural you should; but he has not forgotten you. You see, you
have risen to fame, and I have remained in obscurity. Ah well, such is
the fate of that community called 'country gentlemen.' But this is not
what I want to write about, and I am going straight to the real object
of this letter.

We--that is, mother, the girls, and myself--are contemplating a real
jolly Christmas. We are inviting a few friends to spend Christmas and
New Year with us, and we wish you to make one of the number. Will you
come and spend a fortnight or so at Temple Hall? Of course it is rather
quiet here, but we are going to do our best to make it more lively than
usual. The weather looks frosty, and that promises skating. We have a
few good horses, so that we can have some rides across the country.
There is also plenty of shooting, hunting, etc., etc. Altogether, if you
will come and help us; we can promise a fairly good bill of fare. What
do you say? You must excuse me for writing in this unconventional
strain, but I can't write otherwise to my old schoolfellow.

We shall all be really disappointed if you say 'no,' so write at once
and tell us you will come, also when we may expect you. All the news
when we meet.

Your sincere friend,

Tom Temple.

P.S.--I might say that most of the guests will arrive on Christmas Eve.


"Just the very thing," I exclaimed. "I had been wondering what to do and
where to go this Christmas time, and this invitation comes in
splendidly."

Tom Temple lived in Yorkshire, at a fine old country house some distance
from the metropolis of that county, and was a really good fellow. As for
his mother and sisters, I knew but little about them, but I judged from
the letters his mother wrote him when at school, that she must be a
true, kind-hearted, motherly woman.

I accordingly turned to my desk, wrote to Tom, telling him to expect me
on the 24th inst., and then, without finishing my breakfast, endeavoured
to go on with my work. It was very difficult, however. My thoughts were
ever running away to Yorkshire, and on the pleasant time I hoped to
spend. Between the lines on my paper I was ever seeing the old baronial
hall that was Tom Temple's home, and the people who had been invited to
spend the festive season there. Presently I began to chide myself for my
foolishness. Why should the thoughts of a Christmas holiday so unfit me,
a staid old bachelor of thirty, for my usual work? Nevertheless it did,
so I put on my overcoat, and went away in the direction of Hyde Park in
order, if possible, to dispel my fancies. I did dispel them, and shortly
afterwards returned to my lodgings, and did a good morning's work.

Nothing of importance happened between the 18th and the 24th, and early
in the afternoon of the latter date I found my way to St. Pancras
Station, and booked for the station nearest Tom Temple's home. Although
it was Christmas Eve, I found an empty first-class carriage, and soon
comfortably ensconced myself therein. I don't know why, but we English
people generally try to get an empty carriage, and feel annoyed when
some one comes in to share our possession. I, like the rest of my
countrymen are apt to do in such a case, began to hope I might retain
the entire use of the carriage, at least to Leeds, when the door opened,
and a porter brought a number of wraps and shawls, evidently the
property of a lady.

"Bother it!" I mentally exclaimed, "and so I suppose I am to have some
fidgety old women for my travelling companions."

The reader will imagine from this that I was not a lady's man. At any
rate, such was the case. I had lived my thirty years without ever being
in love; indeed, I had from principle avoided the society of ladies,
that is, when they were of the flirtable or marriageable kind.

No sooner had the porter laid the articles mentioned on a corner seat,
the one farthest away from me, than their owner entered, and my
irritation vanished. It was a young lady under the ordinary size, and,
from what I could see of her, possessed of more than ordinary beauty.
Her skin was dark and clear, her eyes very dark, her mouth pleasant yet
decided, her chin square and determined. This latter feature would in
the eyes of many destroy her pretensions to beauty, but I, who liked
persons with a will of their own, admired the firm resoluteness the
feature indicated.

She took no notice of me, but quietly arranged her belongings as if she
were accustomed to take care of herself. She had only just sat down,
when she was followed by another lady, who appeared, from the sign of
recognition that passed between them, an acquaintance.

Evidently, however, the younger lady was not delighted at the advent of
the elder. A look of annoyance swept across her face, as if she could
have very comfortably excused her presence. I did not wonder at it. This
second comer was a woman of about fifty-five years of age. She had
yellow wrinkled skin, a square upright forehead, shaggy grey eyebrows,
beneath which, in two cavernous sockets, were two black beady-looking
eyes. Her mouth was large and coarse, and, to make that feature still
more objectionable, two large teeth, like two fangs, stuck out at a
considerable angle from her upper jaw and rested on the lower lip.
Altogether the face was repulsive. Added to this, she was tall and bony,
and would have passed anywhere for one of the witches of olden time.

"I have altered my mind, Gertrude, and am going with you." This was said
in a harsh, thick voice.

"I see you are here, Miss Staggles," said the younger lady very coolly.

"I did not intend coming at first, but your aunt, poor silly thing, said
you would not take your maid with you, and so I thought it would be a
sin for a young girl like you to travel alone to Yorkshire on a day like
this."

"Yorkshire?" I thought. "Is that old woman to be in this carriage with
me for five or six long hours? I'll get out."

I was too late; at that moment the guard's whistle blew, and the train
moved slowly out of the station. At all events, I had to remain until
the train stopped, so I composed myself as well as I could, and resolved
to make the best of it. Neither of them paid the slightest attention to
me. The elder lady sat bolt upright opposite the younger, and began to
harangue her.

"Don't you know it was very foolish of you to think of coming alone?"

"No," said the younger lady; "I'm tired of having a maid dogging my
every footstep, as if I were a child and unable to do for myself."

"Nevertheless, Gertrude, you should have brought her; no young lady
should travel alone. However, you will have a chaperon, so the
deficiency will be more than remedied;" and there was grim satisfaction
in the woman's voice.

There was no satisfaction in the young lady's face, however, and she
turned with what I thought an angry look towards the scrawny duenna, who
had claimed guardianship over her, and said----

"But, Miss Staggles, you are in a false position. You have received no
invitation."

"No, I have not; but your aunt had one, poor silly creature, and so, for
duty's sake, I am breaking the rules of etiquette. Those fine people you
are about to visit did not think it worth their while to invite your
aunt's late husband's step-sister--perhaps because she is poor; but she
has a soul above formalities, and so determined to come and take care of
her niece."

The young lady made no reply.

"You will be thankful, Gertrude Forrest, some day that I do care for
you," Miss Staggles continued, "although I never expect to get any
reward for my kindness."

By this time the train was going rapidly, and so loud was the roar it
made that I heard only the growling of Miss Staggles' voice without
distinguishing any words. Indeed, I was very glad I could not. It was by
no means pleasant to have to sit and listen to her hoarse voice, so I
pulled down the laps of my travelling cap over my ears and, closing my
eyes, began to think who Gertrude Forrest was, and where she was going.

I did not change carriages as I intended. Miss Staggles got tired after
awhile, and so there was relief in that quarter, while my seat was most
comfortable, and I did not want to be disturbed. Hour after hour passed
by, until night came on; then the wind blew colder, and I began to
wonder how soon the journey would end, when the collector came to take
all the tickets from the Leeds passengers. Shortly after we arrived at
the Midland station, for which I was truly thankful. I did not wait
there long; a train stood at another platform, which stopped at a
station some two miles from Tom Temple's home. By this time there was
every evidence of the holiday season. The train was crowded, and I was
glad to get in at all, unmindful of comfort.

What had become of my two travelling companions I was not aware, but
concluded that they would be staying at Leeds, as they had given up
their tickets at the collecting station. I cannot but admit, however,
that I was somewhat anxious as to the destination of Gertrude Forrest,
for certainly she had made an impression upon me I was not likely to
forget. Still I gave up the idea of ever seeing her again, and tried to
think of the visit I was about to pay.

Arrived at the station, I saw Tom Temple, who gave me a hearty welcome,
after which he said, "Justin, my boy, do you want to be introduced to
some ladies at present?"

"A thousand times no," I replied. "Let's wait till we get to Temple
Hall."

"Then, in that case, you will have to go home in a cab. I retained one
for you, knowing your dislike to the fair sex; for, of course, they will
have to go in the carriage, and I must go with them. Stay, though. I'll
go and speak to them, and get them all safe in the carriage, and then,
as there will be barely room for me, I'll come back and ride home with
you."

He rushed away as he spoke, and in a few minutes came back again. "I am
sorry those ladies had to be made rather uncomfortable, but guests have
been arriving all the day, and thus things are a bit upset. There are
five people in yon carriage; three came from the north, and two from the
south. The northern train has been in nearly half-an-hour, so the three
had to wait for the two. Well, I think I've made them comfortable, so I
don't mind so much."

"You're a capital host, Tom," I said.

"Am I, Justin? Well, I hope I am to you, for I have been really longing
for you to come, and I want you to have a jolly time."

"I'm sure I shall," I replied.

"Well, I hope so; only you don't care for ladies' society, and I'm
afraid I shall have to be away from you a good bit."

"Naturally you will, old fellow. You see, you are master of the hall,
and will have to look after the comfort of all the guests."

"Oh, as to that, mother will do all that's necessary; but I--that is--"
and Tom stopped.

"Any particular guest, Tom?" I asked.

"Yes, there is, Justin. I don't mind telling you, but I'm in love, and I
want to settle the matter this Christmas. She's an angel of a girl, and
I'm in hopes that--Well, I don't believe she hates me."

"Good, Tom. And her name?"

"Her name," said Tom slowly, "is Edith Gray."

I gave a sigh of relief. I could not help it--why I could not tell; and
yet I trembled lest he should mention another name.

We reached Temple Hall in due time, where I was kindly welcomed by Mrs.
Temple and her two daughters. The former was just the kind of lady I had
pictured her, while the daughters gave promise of following in the
footsteps of their kind-hearted mother.

Tom took me to my room, and then, looking at his watch, said, "Make
haste, old fellow. Dinner has been postponed on account of you late
arrivals, but it will be ready in half-an-hour."

I was not long over my toilet, and soon after hearing the first dinner
bell I wended my way to the drawing-room, wondering who and what kind of
people I should meet, but was not prepared for the surprises that
awaited me.




CHAPTER II

CHRISTMAS EVE


Just before I reached the drawing-room door, Mrs. Temple came up and
took me by the arm.

"We are all going to be very unceremonious, Mr. Blake," she said, "and I
shall expect my son's friend to make himself perfectly at home."

I thanked her heartily, for I began to feel a little strange.

We entered the drawing-room together, where I found a number of people
had gathered. They were mostly young, although I saw one or two
ancient-looking dames, who, I supposed, had come to take care of their
daughters.

"I am going to introduce you to everybody," continued the old lady, "for
this is to be a family gathering, and we must all know each other. I
know I may not be acting according to the present usages of society, but
that does not trouble me a little bit."

Accordingly, with the utmost good taste, she introduced me to a number
of the people who had been invited.

I need make no special mention of most of them. Some of the young ladies
simpered, others were frank, some were fairly good looking, while others
were otherwise, and that is about all that could be said. None had
sufficient individuality to make a distinct impression upon me. The
young men were about on a par with the young ladies. Some lisped and
were affected, some were natural and manly; and I began to think that,
as far as the people were concerned, the Christmas gathering would be a
somewhat tame affair.

This thought had scarcely entered my mind when two men entered the room,
who were certainly not of the ordinary type, and will need a few words
of description; for both were destined, as my story will show, to have
considerable influence over my life.

I will try to describe the more striking of the two first.

He was a young man. Not more than thirty-five. He was fairly tall, well
built, and had evidently enjoyed the education and advantages of a man
of wealth. His hair was black as the raven's wings, and was brushed in a
heavy mass horizontally across his forehead. His eyes were of a colour
that did not accord with his black hair and swarthy complexion. They
were of an extremely light grey, and were tinted with a kind of green.
They were placed very close together, and, the bridge of the nose being
narrow, they appeared sometimes as if only one eye looked upon you. The
mouth was well cut, the lips rather thin, which often parted, revealing
a set of pearly white teeth. There was something positively fascinating
about the mouth, and yet it betrayed malignity--cruelty. He was
perfectly self-possessed, stood straight, and had a soldier-like
bearing. I instinctively felt that this was a man of power, one who
would endeavour to make his will law. His movements were perfectly
graceful, and from the flutter among the young ladies when he entered, I
judged he had already spent some little time with them, and made no
slight impression.

His companion was much smaller, and even darker than he was. His every
feature indicated that he was not an Englishman. With small wiry limbs,
black, restless, furtive eyes, rusty black hair, and a somewhat
unhealthy colour in his face, he formed a great contrast to the man I
have just tried to describe. I did not like him. He seemed to carry a
hundred secrets around with him, and each one a deadly weapon he would
some day use against any who might offend him. He, too, gave you the
idea of power, but it was the power of a subordinate.

Instinctively I felt that I should have more to do with these men than
with the rest of the company present.

Although I have used a page of good paper in describing them, I was only
a very few seconds in seeing and realizing what I have written.

Both walked up to us, and both smiled on Mrs. Temple, whereupon she
introduced them. The first had a peculiar name; at least, so it seemed
to me.

"Mr. Herod Voltaire--Mr. Justin Blake," she said; and instantly we were
looking into each other's eyes, I feeling a strange kind of shiver pass
through me.

The name of the smaller man was simply that of an Egyptian, "Aba Wady
Kaffar." The guests called him Mr. Kaffar, and thus made it as much
English as possible.

Scarcely had the formalities of introduction been gone through between
the Egyptian and myself, when my eyes were drawn to the door, which was
again opening. Do what I would I could not repress a start, for, to my
surprise, I saw my travelling companions enter with Miss
Temple--Gertrude Forrest looking more charming and more beautiful than
ever, and beside her Miss Staggles, tall, gaunt, and more forbidding
than when in the railway carriage.

It is no use denying the fact, for my secret must sooner or later drop
out. My heart began to throb wildly, while my brain seemed on fire. I
began to picture myself in conversation with her, and becoming
acquainted with her, when I accidentally looked at Herod Voltaire. His
eyes were fixed on Miss Forrest, as if held by a magnet, and I fancied I
saw a faint colour tinge his cheek.

What I am now going to write may appear foolish and unreal, especially
when you remember that I was thirty years of age, but the moment I saw
his ardent, admiring gaze, I felt madly jealous.

The second dinner bell rang, and so, mechanically offering my arm to a
lady who had, I thought, been neglected on account of her plain looks, I
followed the guests to the dining-room.

Nothing happened there worth recording. We had an old-fashioned English
dinner, and that is about all I can remember, except that the table
looked exceedingly nice. I don't think there was much talking; evidently
the guests were as yet strangers to each other, and were only gradually
wearing away the restraint that naturally existed. I could not see Miss
Gertrude Forrest, for she was sitting on my side of the table, but I
could see the peculiar eyes of Herod Voltaire constantly looking at some
one nearly opposite him, while he scarcely touched the various dishes
that were placed on the table.

Presently dinner came to an end. The ladies retired to the drawing-room,
while the gentlemen prepared to sit over their wine. Being an abstainer,
I asked leave to retire with the ladies. I did this for two reasons
besides my principles of abstinence. First, I thought the custom a
foolish one, as well as being harmful; and, second, I hoped by entering
the drawing-room early, I might have a chance to speak to Miss Forrest.

I did not leave alone. Two young Englishmen also declared themselves to
be abstainers, and wanted to go with me, while Herod Voltaire likewise
asked leave to abide by the rules he had ever followed in the countries
in which he had lived.

Of course there was some laughing demur among those who enjoyed their
after-dinner wine, but we followed the bent of our inclination, and
found our way to the drawing-room.

Evidently the ladies were not sorry to see us, for a look of pleasure
and surprise greeted us, and soon the conversation became general.
Presently, however, our attention was by degrees drawn to that part of
the room where Herod Voltaire sat, and I heard him speaking fluently and
smoothly on some subject he was discussing with a young lady.

"Yes, Miss Emery," he said, "I think European education is poor, is
one-sided. Take, for example, the ordinary English education, and what
does it amount to? Arithmetic, and sometimes a little mathematics,
reading, writing, French, sometimes German, and of course music and
dancing. Nearly all are educated in one groove, until there is in the
English mind an amount of sameness that becomes monotonous."

"You are speaking of the education of ladies, Mr. Voltaire?" said Miss
Emery.

"Yes, more particularly, although there is but little more variation
among the men. Take your University degrees--your Cambridge and Oxford
Master of Arts, for example; what a poor affair it is! I have been
looking over the subjects of examination, and what are they? A couple of
languages, the literature of two or three countries, mathematics, and
something else which I have forgotten now."

"You are scarcely correct, sir," said one of the young men who came in
with me. "I happen to have passed through Cambridge, and have taken the
degree you mention. I found it stiff enough."

"Not so stiff, when it can be taken at your age," replied Voltaire.
"But, admitting what you say, you are all cast in the same mould. You
study the same subjects, and thus what one of you knows, all know."

"And what may be your ideas concerning education?" said Miss Forrest.

Herod Voltaire turned and looked admiringly on her, and I saw that a
blush tinged both their cheeks.

"My ideas are such as would not find much favour in ordinary English
circles," he said smilingly. "But I should do away with much of the
nonsense of ordinary English education, and deal with the more occult
sciences."

"Pardon me, but I do not quite understand you."

"I will endeavour to make my meaning plain. There are subjects relating
to the human body, mind, and soul, which cannot be said to have been
really studied at all, except by some recluse here and there, who is
generally considered mad. You deal with the things which are seen, but
think not of the great unsolved spiritual problems of life. For example,
the effect of mind upon mind, animal magnetism, mesmerism, biology, and
kindred subjects are unknown to you. The secrets of mind and spirit are
left unnoticed by you Western people. You seek not to solve the occult
truths which exist in the spirit of all men. You shudder at the problem
of what you call death, and fancy nothing can be known of the spirit
which leaves the world in which you live; whereas there is no such thing
as death. The spirits of the so-called dead are living forces all around
us, who can tell their condition to those who understand some of the
secrets of spiritualism. Nay, more than that. There are occult laws of
the soul which, if understood by some powerful mind, can be made to
explain some of the deepest mysteries of the universe. For example, a
man versed in the secrets of the spirit life can cause the soul of any
human being to leave its clay tenement, and go to the world of spirits,
and learn its secrets; and by the powers of his soul life, which can be
a thousand times strengthened by means of a knowledge of the forces at
the command of all, he can summon it back to the body again. Of course I
can only hint at these things here, as only the initiated can understand
these secret laws; but these are the things I would have studied, and
thus lift the life of man beyond his poor material surroundings." By
this time the drawing-room was pretty well full. Nearly all the men had
left their wine, and all were listening intently to what Voltaire was
saying.

"You have lived in the East?" said Miss Forrest, evidently fascinated by
the strange talk.

"For the last ten years. I spent a year in Cairo, two more up by the
banks of the Nile, among the ruins of ancient cities, where, in spite of
the degradation that exists, there is still to be found those who have
some of the wisdom of past ages. Four years did I live in India among
the sages who hold fast to the teaching of Buddha. The three remaining
years I have spent in Arabia, Syria, and Chaldea."

"And do you mean to say that what you have mentioned exists in reality?"
said Miss Forrest.

"I have only hinted at what really exists. I could record to you facts
that are strange, beyond the imagination of Dumas; so wonderful, that
afterwards you could believe the stories told by your most renowned
satirist, Dean Swift."

"Favour us with one," I suggested.

Voltaire looked at me with his green-tinted eyes, as if he would read my
innermost thoughts. Evidently his impression of me was not favourable,
for a cynical smile curled his lips, and his eyes gleamed with a steely
glitter. "One has to choose times, occasions, and proper circumstances,
in order to tell such facts," he said. "I never speak of a sacred thing
jestingly."

We were all silent. This man had become the centre of attraction. Both
men and women hung upon his every word. I looked around the room and I
saw a strange interest manifested, except in the face of the Egyptian.
Aba Wady Kaffar was looking at the ceiling as if calculating how many
square feet there were.

"Perhaps you find it difficult to believe me," went on Voltaire. "The
truth is, I am very unfortunate in many respects. My way of expressing
my thoughts is perhaps distasteful to you. You see, I have lived so long
in the East that I have lost much of my European training. Then, my name
is unfortunate. Herod killed one of your Christian saints, while
Voltaire was an infidel. You English people have strong prejudices, and
thus my story would be injured by the narrator."

"Nay, Voltaire," said Tom Temple, "we are all friendly listeners here."

"My good host," said Voltaire, "I am sure you are a friendly listener,
but I have been telling of Eastern knowledge. One aspect of that
knowledge is that the learned can read the minds, the thoughts of those
with whom they come into contact."

The ladies began to express an intense desire to hear a story of magic
and mystery, and to assure him that his name was a delightful one.

"I trust I am not the disciple of either the men whose name I bear.
Certainly I am susceptible to the influence of ladies"--and he smiled,
thereby showing his white, shining teeth--"but I am a great admirer of
honest men, whoever they may be, or whatever be their opinion. I am not
a follower of Voltaire, although I admire his genius. He believed but
little in the powers of the soul, or in the spirit world; I, on the
other hand, believe it to be more real than the world in which we live."

"We are not altogether strangers to stories about spiritualism or
mesmerism here," said Miss Forrest, "but the votaries of these so-called
sciences have been and are such miserable specimens of mankind that
educated people treat them with derision."

There was decision and energy in her voice. Evidently she was not one to
be easily deceived or trifled with.

"Counterfeits prove reality," said Voltaire, looking searchingly at her;
"besides, I seek to impose none of my stories on any one. I am not a
professional spiritualist, psychologist, or biologist. I simply happen
to have lived in countries where these matters are studied, and, as a
consequence, have learned some of their mysteries. Seeing what I have
seen, and hearing what I have heard, I beg to quote your greatest poet--

  'There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your
  philosophy.'"

"Your quotation is apropos," she said in reply, "but it so happens that
I have taken considerable interest in the matter about which you have
been speaking, and after seeing various representations of these
so-called occult sciences, and carefully examining them, I have come to
the conclusion that they are only so many fairly clever juggling tricks,
which have been attempts to deceive credulous people. Moreover, these
have been so often exposed by cultured men, that they have no weight
with people of intelligence."

His eyes gleamed savagely, but he smiled upon her, and said, "Perhaps I
may have an opportunity of undeceiving you, some time in the near
future."

"Meanwhile you will tell us an Eastern story," said one of the young
ladies.

"Pardon me," replied Voltaire, "but tonight is Christmas Eve, and as my
story might be regarded as heathenish, I will wait for some more
favourable time, when your minds will not be influenced by the memories
of the birth of the Christian religion. Besides, I know many of you are
longing for other amusement than stories of the unseen."

As he spoke I saw his eyes travel towards Aba Wady Kaffar, and they
exchanged glances; then he looked towards Miss Forrest, and again a look
of intelligence passed between him and the Egyptian.

Soon after Kaffar began to talk fluently to one of the Misses Temple,
while several members of the party prepared for a charade. Then, when
the attention of the guests was drawn towards those who displayed their
powers at acting, I saw Voltaire rise and go out, and soon after he was
followed by his friend.

Acting upon sudden impulse, which I think was caused by the remembrance
of the meaning glances that passed between them after Voltaire had
looked at Miss Forrest, I followed them out into the silent night.
Somehow I felt that this fascinating man did not like me, while I was
sure he had been deeply impressed by the woman who had that day
travelled with me from London.




CHAPTER III

CHRISTMAS MORNING


When I got out on the lawn, I accused myself of doing a very foolish
thing. "Why," I thought, "should I follow these men? I know nothing
against them. They have as much right here as I have, and surely two
friends can leave the house and come out for a stroll without being
watched?"

With this thought in my mind I turned to go back again, when I heard
voices close by me. Evidently they were behind some large laurel bushes
which hid them from my sight. I stopped again for an instant; but,
knowing I had no right to listen to what might be private conversation,
I started a second time for the house, when I heard the name of Gertrude
Forrest, and then I seemed chained to the ground.

"You have inquired about her?" said a voice, which I recognized as
belonging to Voltaire. The answer was in Arabic, and was spoken by
Kaffar.

Five years prior to the time of which I am writing I had been engaged in
a work that required a knowledge of the Arabic language, and although it
cannot be said I had become anything like proficient in that tongue, I
had been taught by an Arabian, and could enter into ordinary
conversation. Thus I understood the Egyptian's reply.

"With regard to Miss Forrest," he said, "I answer not in the language
which every one here knows. Miss Forrest must be yours, and that for
several reasons. She is a flower in herself. She is an orphan. She has a
large fortune. She has absolute control over it. She has a fine house in
England's capital. She has a large estate and a grand country mansion in
the south of this country. Win her, Herod Voltaire, and you can be a
little king, and I your prime minister. We heard much about her before
we came; but we did not think to find such a queen. Win her, man, and
our fortunes are made."

This was said quickly, and with all the fervour of an Eastern.

"Yes, Kaffar. It would be well if it could be done. To be an English
gentleman, with an _entree_ into the best English society, is what I
have long longed for. It will not only satisfy my taste, but give me
power, and power is what I must have. It is by good luck we are here,
but neither of us have the means to pass as English aristocrats very
long. As you say, something must be done, and, upon my honour, I have
very nearly fallen in love with her. But she must be won, and won
fairly. She is evidently strong and determined, and can be forced to do
nothing."

"Nonsense," snarled the Egyptian. "Use all your seductive arts first,
and if you fail to win her by those, trust me to weave such a chain of
events as shall make her become Mrs. Voltaire."

Up to this point I listened attentively, and then a minute's silence on
their part aroused me to myself. Was it right to stand listening thus?
And yet a thousand things justified the act.

They moved on from the spot where they had been standing, but I was too
much stunned to follow them. At that moment I realized that I had given
my heart to Gertrude Forrest, and that another man had designs
concerning her.

This sudden falling into love may appear foolish, especially when it is
remembered that I had passed the age of boyhood, and yet I have known
several cases similar to my own. Anyhow, I, who had never loved before,
loved now--loved, perhaps, foolishly; for I knew nothing of the lady I
loved, and, of course, had not the slightest hope of her caring for me.

Thus it was with a throbbing heart that I stood there alone upon the
lawn, with the knowledge of my new-found love just breaking upon me,
and, more than that, I had every reason to fear that she was to be made
the dupe of two clever villains.

I turned to follow them, but they were gone I knew not whither, and so I
went back to the house determined that, if I could be nothing else, I
would be Miss Forrest's protector.

I had been back in the drawing-room perhaps ten minutes, when Voltaire
and Kaffar returned, and apparently entered with great zest into the
festivities of the evening. There is no necessity that I should write of
what took place during the remainder of Christmas Eve. It was held in
good old English style, and to most, I am sure, it was very enjoyable. I
got an opportunity of speaking to Miss Forrest, but only for a very
short time; at the same time, I noticed that Voltaire took not the
slightest notice of her.

When I awoke the following morning and looked out, I saw that the great
Yorkshire hills were covered with snow, the air was bitingly cold, and
the leaden sky promised us some real Christmas weather.

I was soon dressed and ready to go down, but on looking at my watch I
found I had an hour to spare before breakfast. Arrangements had been
made for us to breakfast at ten, and thus be just in time for service at
the little village church.

On my way down-stairs I saw Tom Temple, who told me to find my way to
the library, where I should be able to pass the time pleasantly. I
entered the room, an old-fashioned dark place lined on every side with
books. I felt in no mood for looking at them just then, however, and so
walked to a window and looked out on the snow-draped landscape that
stretched away on every hand. It was a wondrous scene. The snow had
fallen steadily all through the night, and no breath of wind had stirred
the feathery flakes. Thus trees and bushes were laden with snow
crystals, while the spotless white was relieved here and there by some
shining evergreen leaves which peeped out amidst their snowy mantles.
Ordinarily I should have been impressed by it. Now, however, I could not
help thinking of other matters. One face was ever before me, and I
constantly wondered whether she were in real danger from these strange
men, and whether I should have any part in the labour of delivering her
from them. As yet I could do nothing. I knew nothing wrong of them. They
might be impostors, they might be penniless adventurers, but I could not
prove it. Neither could I tell Miss Forrest what I had heard, while
certainly Voltaire had as much right as I had to seek to win her
affections.

These thoughts had scarcely passed through my mind when, hearing a sound
behind me, I turned and saw Miss Forrest, who met me with a bright
"Good-morning" and the compliments of the season. I blushed almost
guiltily at the sound of her voice--I, who had for years declared that
no woman could interest me enough to make my heart throb one whit the
quicker.

"This is a pleasant surprise," I said, after responding to her greeting.
"I quite expected to be alone for an hour at least. You see, we all
remained up so late last night that it was to me a settled matter that
none of you would appear until it was time to start for church."

"I hope I am not disturbing you in your morning's meditations, Mr.
Blake," she replied; "I would have stayed in my room had I thought so."

"On the other hand, I am delighted to see you here. Whether you know it
or not, I rode from London to Leeds with you yesterday, and I have
thought ever since I should like to know you."

She looked straight at me as if she would read my thoughts, and then
said pleasantly, "I was on the point of asking you whether such was not
the case. I was not sure, because you had your travelling cap pulled
over your face."

"How strange, though, that we were both bound for the same place!" I
said.

"Yes, it does seem remarkable; and yet it is not so wonderful, after
all. I am an old friend and schoolfellow of Emily Temple, while you, I
am told, are an old friend and schoolfellow of her brother. Thus nothing
is more natural than that we should be invited to such a gathering as
this."

"Do you know any of the people who are here?" I asked.

"I have met nearly all the young ladies, but only two of the
gentlemen--Mr. Voltaire and Mr. Kaffar. I saw them on the Continent."

"Indeed?" I said, while I have no doubt a dark look passed over my face.

"Do you not like them?" she asked.

"I do not know enough of either," I replied, "to give an answer
reasonably, either in the affirmative or the negative. I think my
failing is to form hasty judgments concerning people, which, of course,
cannot be fair."

I said this rather stammeringly, while she watched me keenly.

"That means that you do not like them," she said.

"Are you quite justified in saying that?" I replied, scarcely knowing
what else to say.

"Quite," she said. "You feel towards them just as I do. I was introduced
to them in Berlin. Mr. Tom Temple had formed their acquaintance somehow,
and seemed wonderfully fascinated by them. I scarcely spoke to them,
however, as I left Germany the next day, and was rather surprised to see
them here last night."

"Mr. Voltaire is a very fascinating man," I suggested.

"There can be no doubt about that," was her reply.

"And yet I fancy much of his high-flown talk about spiritualism was mere
imagination."

"I was inclined to think so at first, but I have heard strange things
about him. However, it is perhaps scarcely fair to talk about him thus."

All this time we had stood looking out of the window upon the wintry
landscape, and I, at least, was oblivious to all else but the fact that
I was talking with the woman whose interest for me was paramount, when a
lump of coal fell from the grate upon the fire-irons.

We both turned, and saw Herod Voltaire standing by a bookcase with an
open volume in his hand. A disinterested person might have fancied he
had not heard a word of our conversation, but I was sure I saw a steely
glitter in his eyes, and a cruel smile playing around his mouth.

"Then you go to church this morning?" I said, seeking to turn the
conversation as naturally as I could.

"Yes, I always do on Christmas morning," she replied, as if thankful I
had given her an opportunity of speaking about other matters.

"Then I hope I shall have the pleasure of escorting you," I replied.

Ordinarily I should not have dared to mention such a matter to a lady I
had seen so little of, but the request slipped out unthinkingly; and
she, no doubt confused by the presence of Voltaire, cheerfully assented.

Our embarrassment came to an end just then, for several others came into
the room, and the conversation became general.

As the reader may guess, I was highly elated at the turn matters were
taking, and in my heart I began to laugh at Voltaire's idea of winning
Gertrude Forrest. Moreover, she had willingly consented to walk to
church with me, and had expressed a dislike for the man I, in spite of
myself, was beginning to fear.

Only a very few of the party found their way to the old time-honoured
building to join in the Christmas service that morning. Some were tired
and remained in their rooms, while others enjoyed sitting around the
cheerful fires. I was not sorry, however, for I was thus enabled to
enjoy more of Miss Forrest's society. Need I say that my morning was
truly enjoyable? I think not. I found in my companion one who was in
every way delightful. Widely read, she was able to converse about books
she loved, and possessing a mind that was untrammelled by society
notions, it was refreshing to hear her talk. Far removed from the giddy
society girl, she was yet full of mirth and pleasantness. Ready witted,
she was quick at repartee; and possessing a keen sense of humour, she
saw enjoyment in that which to many would be commonplace.

Only one thing marred my happiness. That was the memory of a cruel look
which rested on Voltaire's face as we went away together. From that
moment I am sure he regarded me as his rival, and from that moment he
sought to measure his strength with mine. I could see in his face that
he had guessed my secret, while I fancied I could see, beneath his
somewhat cynical demeanour, indications of his love for Gertrude
Forrest.

On our way back from church we met Voltaire and Kaffar, who were eagerly
conversing. They took but little notice of us, however, and, for my own
part, I felt relieved when they were out of sight.

"Do you know what is on the programme for to-night?" I said, when they
were out of hearing.

"Yes; Mr. Temple has arranged for a conjuror and a ventriloquist to
come, and thus we shall have something to occupy our attention besides
ordinary chitchat."

"I'm very glad," I replied, "although I should be delighted to spend the
evening as I have spent this morning."

I said this with an earnestness about which there could be no doubt, and
I fancied I saw a blush mount to her cheek. At any rate, I felt that we
were good friends, and my heart beat high with hope.

Arriving at Temple Hall, I saw Tom reading a letter. "Disappointing,
Justin, my boy," he said.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"Why, I engaged some fellows to come here and give us an entertainment
to-night, and they write to say they can't come. But never mind; we must
do the best we can among ourselves. You are good at all sorts of odd
games; while at--yes, the very thing!--that's delightful!"

"What's delightful?"

"You'll know to-night! 'Pon my word, it's lucky those juggling fellows
can't come. Anyhow, I can promise you a jolly evening."

Had I known then what that evening would lead to, I should not have
entered the house so joyously as I did; but I knew nothing of what lay
in the future, while Miss Forrest's great dark eyes beamed upon me in
such a way as to make earth seem like heaven.




CHAPTER IV

VOLTAIRE'S STORY OF THE EAST


When lunch-time came, I, to my delight, obtained a seat next to Miss
Forrest, and soon I became oblivious to all else but her. I was sure,
too, that she liked me. Her every word and action disclaimed the idea of
her being a coquette, while her honest preference for my society was
apparent.

As we left the table I turned towards Voltaire, and I found that he was
looking at us. If ever hate and cruelty were expressed in any human
face, they were expressed in his. Evidently he regarded me as his rival,
and thus his natural enemy. A little later in the afternoon he was again
talking with Kaffar, and instinctively I felt that I was the subject of
his conversation. But I did not trouble, for was not Gertrude Forrest
near me, and did we not have delightful conversation together? It seemed
as if we had known each other for years, and thus it was natural for us
to converse freely.

Just before dinner, Voltaire came to me, as if he wished to enter into
conversation. He commenced talking about Yorkshire, its customs,
legends, and superstitions, and then, with a tact and shrewdness which I
could not resist, he drew me into a talk about myself. I felt that he
was sifting me, felt that he was trying to read my very soul, and yet I
could not break myself from him.

One thing was in my favour. I knew his feelings towards me, felt sure
that he hated me, and thus I kept on my guard. Time after time, by some
subtle question, he sought to lead me to speak about the woman dear to
my heart, but in that he did not succeed. He fascinated me, and in a
degree mastered me, but did not succeed in all his desires. I knew he
was weighing me, testing me, and seeking to estimate my powers, but
being on my guard his success was limited.

When our conversation ceased I felt sure of one thing. It was to be a
fight to the death between me and this man, if I would obtain the woman
I loved. Perhaps some may think this conclusion to be built on a very
insufficient foundation, nevertheless I felt sure that such was the
case. When I was quite a lad, I remember an old Scotchwoman visited our
house. It is little I can recall to memory now concerning her, but I
know that when she first set her eye upon me she said--

"Eh, Mrs. Blake, but yon bairn has the gift o' second sight."

My mother laughed at the idea, whereupon the old woman began to correct
herself.

"I'll no say he has the gift o' second sight properly," she said, "but
he'll _feel_ in a minute what it'll tak soom fowk years to fin' out. Eh,
lad"--turning to me--"if ye coom across some one as ye doesna like, hae
as leetle to do wi' 'em as ye can."

I am inclined to think there is truth in this judgment of the old Scotch
lady. I have found her words true in many cases, and I was sure in the
case of Voltaire my feelings told me what actually existed.

There was one thing in my favour. Evidently he did not think I guessed
his wishes; nevertheless I felt sure that if I was to obtain the mastery
over such a man, it would be little short of a miracle.

Dinner passed over without anything worthy of note, but as soon as it
was over we hurried to the drawing-room. Even those who loved their
after-dinner wine joined the ladies, as if in expectation of something
wonderful. The truth was, it had gone around that Mr. Voltaire was going
to tell us a story concerning the mystic rites that are practised in
Eastern lands, and the subject was an attractive one. The ladies
especially, evidently fascinated by the witchery of this man's presence,
anxiously waited for him to commence.

"What do you wish me to tell you about?" he said in answer to repeated
requests for him to begin, from several young ladies.

"Oh, tell us a story of second sight, and spiritualism, and all that,
you know," replied a young lady with a doll's face and simpering manner.

"You promised you would," said another.

"True, I promised, but not to-day. This Christmas Day is like Sunday to
you English folk, and I do not wish to mar its sacredness."

"Oh, the Sunday part of it is all ended at twelve o'clock," cried the
young lady who had spoken first. "As soon as church is over we commence
our fun. Do, Mr. Voltaire; we shall be disappointed if you don't."

"I cannot resist the ladies," he said, with a smile, "but you must not
be frightened at my story. For, remember, what I tell you is true. I do
not weave this out of my own brain like your average English novelist
has to do."

I fancied this was directed at me. Not that I deserved the appellation.
I had written only one novel, and that was a very poor one. Still I
fancied I saw his light glittering eyes turned in my direction.

"I must make a sort of apology, too," he went on. "Many of you do not
believe in what will be the very marrow of my story."

"Come, Voltaire, never mind apologies," said Tom Temple; "we are all
anxious to hear it."

"I mentioned last night," said Voltaire, "that I had spent some time in
Egypt up by the Nile. The story I have to tell relates to that part of
the world.

"I had sailed up the Nile, by one of the ordinary river steamers, to a
place called Aboo Simbel, close to the Second Cataract. Here the
ordinary tourist stops, and stops too at the beginning of what really
interests an imaginative mind. There are, however, some fine ruins here
which well repay one for a visit. Ah me! _One_ wishes he had lived three
or four thousand years ago when he stands among those ancient piles.
There was some wisdom then, some knowledge of the deep things of life!
However, I did not stay here. I went with my friend Kaffar away further
into the heart of Nubia.

"I cannot speak highly of the rank and file of the people there. They
are mostly degraded and uncultured, lacking"--here he bowed to the
ladies--"that delightful polish which characterizes those who live in
the West. Still I found some relics of the wisdom of the ancients. One
of the sheiks of a village that lay buried among palm trees was deeply
versed in the things I longed to know, and with him I took up my abode.

"Abou al Phadre was an old man, and not one whom the ladies would
love--that is, for his face, for it was yellow and wrinkled; his eyes,
too, were almost buried in their cavernous sockets, and shaded by bushy
white eyebrows. Those who love the higher powers, however, and can
respect the divine power of knowledge, would have knelt at Abou's feet.

"This wonderful man had a daughter born to him in his old age, born,
too, with the same love for truth, the same thirst for a knowledge of
things unseen to the ordinary eye. So much was this so, that she was
called 'Ilfra the Understanding One.' As the years went on she
outstripped her father, and obtained a knowledge of that for which her
father had unsuccessfully studied all his life.

"When Kaffar and I entered this village, she was nearly twenty years of
age, and was fair to look upon. It was rarely she spoke to me, however,
for she dwelt with the unseen and talked with the buried dead. Abou, on
the other hand, was kind to me, and taught me much, and together we
tried to find out what for years he had been vainly searching. What that
secret was I will not tell. Only those who live in the atmosphere of
mystery can think rightly about what lies in the mind and heart of the
true magician.

"As I before hinted, 'Ilfra the Understanding One' had found out the
secret; her soul had outsoared that of her father and of all the sages
for many miles around, and she would have revealed her knowledge both to
her father and to me, but for one thing. Seven is a perfect number, and
all the Easterns take it into consideration, and it is a law that no one
shall reveal a secret that they may have found until three times seven
years pass over their heads. Thus it was, while we eagerly sought for
the mysterious power I have mentioned, we were buoyed up by the hope
that, though we might not be successful, Ilfra would reveal to us what
we desired to know."

"And thus the time passed on until we reached Ilfra's twenty-first
birthday, with the exception of seven days. Both Abou and I were glad at
heart; for although the secret, to me, would be as nothing compared to
what it would be to him, yet I could put it to some use, while, to him,
it would dispel distance, time, and physical life. Through it the
secrets of astronomer and astrologer would be known, while the pages of
the past would lie before him like an open book.

"Judge his anguish then, and my disappointment, when, seven days before
her twenty-first birthday, she was bitten by a cerastes, and her body
died. Had she been near her home, her knowledge would have defied the
powers of this most deadly serpent's bite; for she knew antidotes for
every poison. As it was, however, the same kind of serpent that had laid
the beautiful Cleopatra low, likewise set at liberty the soul of Ilfra.
Do not think Abou grieved because of her death. Death was not death to
him--his eyes pierced that dark barrier; he suffered because the
glorious knowledge he longed for was rudely snatched from him."

"'Thou man of the West who bearest the name of a Jewish king,' he said
to me, 'this is a heavy blow.'

"'Not too heavy for you, Abou,' I said. 'The soul has flown, but when
the three times seven years is complete you can call her back and learn
her wisdom.'"

"'I can call her back, but the secret--ah, I know it not,' he said."

By this time there was a deadly silence in the room. Every ear was
strained, so that not one sound of Voltaire's voice might be missed. As
for him, he sat with his eyes fixed, as if he saw beyond the present
time and place, while his face was like a piece of marble. Kaffar, I
noticed, fixed his eyes upon his friend, and in his stony stare he
seemed possessed of an evil spirit.

None of the English guests spoke when Voltaire stopped a second in his
narration. All seemed afraid to utter a sound, except Kaffar.

"Go on, Herod," he said; "I am up in Egypt again."

"It was little we ate," said Voltaire, "during the next seven days. We
were too anxious to know whether the secrets of the dead were to be
revealed. Neither could we speak much, for the tongue is generally
silent when the soul is wrapped in mystery; and right glad were we when
the day dawned on which the veil should be made thicker or altogether
drawn aside.

"We did not seek to know the mystery after which we were panting until
the midnight of Ilfra's birthday. Then, when the earth in its revolution
spelt out that hour, we entered the room of the maiden whose soul had
departed.

"The Egyptians have lost much of the knowledge of the ancients,
especially in the art of embalming. Often the sons of Egypt moan over
that departed wisdom; still the art is not altogether gone. The body of
Ilfra lay embalmed before us as we entered. She had been beautiful in
life, but was more beautiful in death, and it was with reverence for
that beauty that I stood beside her.

"'Fetch Helfa,' said Abou to a servant, 'and then begone.'

"Helfa was Abou's son. Here, in England, you would cruelly designate him
as something between a madman and an idiot, but the Easterns look not
thus upon those who possess not their ordinary faculties. Through Helfa,
Abou had seen many wonderful things, and now he was going to use him
again.

"'Howajja Herod,' he said to me, 'I am first going to use one of our old
means of getting knowledge. It has failed me in the past, but it will
be, perchance, more potent in the presence of Ilfra the Understanding
One.'

"With that he took some ink, and poured it in Helfa's hand. This ink was
the most precious in his possession, and obtained by means not lawful to
relate. When it was in his son's hands he looked at me straight in the
eyes, until, while I was in possession of all my senses, I seemed to
live a charmed life. My imagination soared, my heart felt a wondrous
joy.

"'Look,' said Abou, 'look in Helfa's hand.'

"I looked intently.

"'What see you, son Herod?'

"'I see a paradise,' I replied, 'but I cannot describe it. The beauties
are incomparable. Ilfra is there; she mingles with those who are most
obeyed.'

"'See you anything by which the mystery can be learned?'

"'I can see nothing.'

"I heard a sigh. I had returned to my normal condition again, and had
told nothing.

"'I expected this,' he said, 'but I will try Helfa.'

"The experiment with Helfa, however, was just as fruitless.

"Then he turned to me. 'Son Herod,' he said, 'prepare to see the greatest
deed ever done by man. All the knowledge and power of my life are to be
concentrated in one act.'

"With that he looked at Helfa, who staggered to a low cushion.

"'Spirit of Helfa, leave the body,' he said.

"Instantly the eyes of Helfa began to close; his limbs grew stiff, and in
a few seconds he lay lifeless by us.

"'I have a mission for you, spirit of Helfa. Flee to the home of spirits,
and bring back the soul of thy sister, that she may tell me what we wish
to know.'

"When the command was given, I felt that a something--an entity--was gone
from us. Abou and I were alone with the two bodies.

"'What expect you, Abou?' I said, anxiously.

"'If the labour of a lifetime has not been a failure,' he said, 'these
two bodies will soon possess their spirits.'"

Again Voltaire stopped in his recital, and looked around the room. He
saw that every eye was fixed upon him, while the faces of some of the
young ladies were blanched with terror. Evidently they were deeply
moved. Even some of the young men shuddered, not so much because of the
story that was told, as the strange power of the man that told it. As he
saw these marks of interest, a smile crept over his face. He evidently
felt that he was the strongest influence in the room--that all had to
yield to him as their superior.

"I confess," he went on, "that my heart began to beat quickly at these
words. Fancy, if you can, the scene. An Egyptian village, not far
removed from some of the great temples of the dead past. Above our heads
waved tall palm trees. Around was a strange land, and a wild, lawless
people. The hour was midnight, and our business was with the dead.

"We had not waited above three minutes when I knew that the room was
peopled--by whom I knew not, except that they came from that land from
whose bourne, your greatest poet says, 'no traveller returns.' I looked
at Abou. His face was as the face of the dead, except for his eyes. They
burned like two coals of fire. He uttered some strange words, the
meaning of which was unknown to me, and then I knew some mighty forces
were being exerted in that old sheik's hut. My brain began to whirl,
while a terrible power gripped me; but still I looked, and still I
remembered.

"'Spirit of Ilfra,' said Abou, 'are you here?'

"No voice spoke that I could hear, and yet I realized that Abou had
received his answer.

"'Enter thy body then, spirit of my daughter, and tell me, if thou
darest, the secret I have desired so long.'

"I looked at the embalmed body. I saw the eyelids quiver, the mouth
twitch, and then the body moved.

"'Speak to me, my daughter, and tell me all,' said Abou.

"I only heard one sound. My overtaxed nerves could bear no more; the
living dead was too terrible for me, and I fell senseless to the ground.

"When I awoke to consciousness, I found only Abou and Helfa there. The
body of Ilfra had been removed, where, I know not, for I never saw it
again; but Helfa was like unto that which he had been before.

"'The secret is mine, son Herod,' said Abou, 'but it is not for you to
learn yet. Be patient; when your spirit is prepared, the knowledge will
come.'"

Voltaire stopped abruptly. One of the young ladies gave a slight scream,
and then he apologized for having no more to tell.

"But has the knowledge come since?" asked a voice.

I did not know who spoke, but it sounded like Gertrude Forrest's voice.
I turned towards her, and saw her looking admiringly at this man whom I
could not help fearing.

His answer was a beaming smile and a few words, saying that knowledge
should never be boasted of.

That moment my jealousy, which had been allayed, now surged furiously in
me, and I determined that that very night I would match the strength of
my mind with the strength of his.




CHAPTER V

CHRISTMAS NIGHT--THE FORGING OF THE CHAIN


"You have more than redeemed your promise, Voltaire," said Tom Temple,
after a silence that was almost painful. "Certainly there is enough
romance and mystery in your story to satisfy any one. What do you think
of it, Justin?"--turning to me.

"Mr. Voltaire used the word 'imagination' in his story," I replied, "and
I think it would describe it very well. Still, it does not account for
much after one has read Dumas' _Memoirs of a Physician_."

"Am I to understand that you doubt the truth of my words?" asked
Voltaire sharply.

"I think your story is all it appears to be," I replied.

Honestly, however, I did not believe in one word of it. On the very face
of it, it was absurd. The idea of taking a spirit from a living body and
sending it after some one that was dead, in order that some secret might
be learned, might pass for a huge joke; but certainly it could not be
believed in by any well-balanced mind. At any rate, such was my
conviction.

"I have heard that Mr. Blake has attempted to write a novel," said
Voltaire. "Perhaps he believes my story is made on the same principle."

"Scarcely," I replied. "My novel was a failure. It caused no sensation
at all. Your story, on the other hand, is a brilliant success. See with
what breathless interest it was listened to, and how it haunts the
memories of your hearers even yet!"

This raised a slight titter. I do not know why it should, save that some
of the young ladies were frightened, and accepted the first opportunity
whereby they could in some way relieve their feelings. Anyhow it aroused
Mr. Voltaire, for, as he looked at me, there was the look of a demon in
his face, and his hand trembled.

"Do you doubt the existence of the forces I have mentioned?" he asked.
"Do you think that the matters to which I have referred exist only in
the mind? Are they, in your idea, no sciences in reality?"

"Pardon me, Mr. Voltaire," I replied, "but I am an Englishman. We are
thought by foreigners to be very conservative, and perhaps there may be
truth in it. Anyhow, I, for one, like tangible proof before I believe in
anything that does not appeal to my reason. Your story does not appear
reasonable, and, although I hope I do not offend you by saying so, I
cannot accept it as gospel."

"Perhaps," said Kaffar, who spoke for the first time, "Mr. Blake would
like some proofs. Perhaps he would like not only to _see_ manifestations
of the power of the unseen, but to _feel_ them. Ah! pardon me, ladies
and gentlemen, but I cannot stand by and hear the greatest of all
sciences maligned, and still be quiet. I cannot be silent when that
which is dearer to me than life itself is submitted to the cool test of
bigoted ignorance. You may not believe it true, but I would give much to
know what Ilfra the Understanding One knew. I was reared under Egypt's
sunny skies; I have lain under her stately palms and watched the
twinkling stars; I am a child of the East, and believe in the truths
that are taught there. I have only dabbled in the mysteries of the
unseen, but I know enough to tell you that what my friend says is true."

Was this a ruse on the part of the Egyptian? Looking at the whole matter
in the light of what followed I believe it was. And yet at the time I
did not know.

"I am sorry," I replied, "if I have caused annoyance. But we English
people possess the right of our opinions. However, I do not wish to bias
other minds, and trust that my scepticism may cause no unpleasantness."

"But would Mr. Blake like to be convinced?" said Voltaire.

"I am perfectly indifferent about the matter," I replied.

"That is very convenient for one who has stated his beliefs so doggedly.
Certainly I do not think that is English; if it is, I am glad I am not
an Englishman."

With this he fixed his eyes steadily on me, and tried to fasten my
attention, but did not at the time succeed.

"I was asked for my opinion," I said; "I did not force it. But still,
since you place it in that light, I _should_ like to be convinced."

By this time the interest manifested in the matter was great. Every one
watched breathlessly for what was to be done or said next, and certainly
I felt that I was regarded by the guests in anything but a favourable
light.

I saw Voltaire and Kaffar exchanging glances, and I felt sure that I
heard the former say in Arabic, "Not yet."

After this the two arranged to give us some manifestations of their
power. While they were conversing I went across the room and spoke to
Miss Forrest; but she was very reserved, and I thought her face looked
very pale.

"This is becoming interesting," I said.

"I wish you had said nothing about his story," was her reply.

"Pray why?"

She only shook her head.

"Surely you do not believe in his foolish story or conjuring tricks?" I
said laughingly.

But she did not reply in the same vein.

"Mr. Voltaire is a wonderful man," she said, "a clever man. If I were a
man I should not like to make him my enemy."

"I have heard of an old saying at my home," I replied, "which ran
something like this, 'Brag is a good dog, but Holdfast is better.'"

"Still I should have nothing to do with Brag," she said.

"I hope you will not," I replied meaningly.

She did not answer me, but I fancied she blushed; and again I felt
happy.

By this time Voltaire was ready with his performance. "You will see," he
said, "that here we have no chance for stage tricks. All is plain and
open as the day. Moreover, I will have no secrets from you even with
regard to the subject itself. The phenomena that will be brought before
you are purely psychological. The mind of my friend Kaffar will be, by a
secret power, merged into mine. What I see he will see, although in your
idea of the matter he does not see at all. Now, first of all, I wish you
to blindfold my friend Kaffar. Perhaps Mr. Blake, seeing he longs for
truth, may like to do this. No? Well, then, perhaps our host will. Thank
you, Mr. Temple."

With this Tom Temple completely blindfolded the Egyptian, and then we
awaited the further development of the matter.

"Would you mind leading him to the library?" Voltaire continued. "He
will certainly not be able to see anything of us here, and still he will
not be out of earshot."

Kaffar was accordingly led into the library, blindfolded.

"Now," said Voltaire, "I told you that by a secret power his mind and
mine became one. I will prove to you that I have not spoken boastingly.
Will any gentleman or lady show me any curiosity he or she may have?"

Accordingly several of the party pulled from their pockets articles of
interest, and of which neither Voltaire nor Kaffar could have known.
Each time the former asked what the article was, and each time the
latter, although at a distance, correctly described it.

A look of wonder began to settle on the faces of the guests, and
exclamations of surprise and bewilderment were apparent. It was apparent
that nearly all were converts to his beliefs, if beliefs they might be
called. After a number of articles were shown and described, Kaffar was
recalled, and was loudly applauded.

"You see," said Voltaire, "the evident truth of this. Certainly this is
a very simple affair, and my old friend Abou al Phadre would have smiled
at its littleness. Still it must convince every unprejudiced mind that
there is something deeper and more wonderful than those things which are
constantly passing before your view."

Miss Staggles, who had been almost as silent as a sphinx, spoke now. "We
are convinced that you are a wonderful man," she said; "and what I have
seen to-night will be ever a matter of marvel, as well as thankfulness
that I have been privileged to see it."

This was evidently the opinion of every one in the room. Even Gertrude
Forrest was carried away by it, while Miss Edith Gray was enraptured at
what she termed "a glorious mystery."

"I should like," said Miss Staggles, "to hear what Mr. Blake, the Thomas
of the party, has to say to it."

There was an ugly leer in the old woman's eye as she spoke, and the
thought struck me that Voltaire had been making friends with her.

"Yes," said Voltaire; "I am sure we should all like to know whether Mr.
Blake is convinced."

"I am convinced that Mr. Kaffar has a good memory," I said.

"Good memory! What do you mean?"

"Why, Mr. Voltaire and his friends have come a few years too late to
make a good impression. I have not only seen a better performance at a
dozen entertainments, but I have found out the secret of what is called
'thought-reading.'"

"Do you mean to say you have seen similar feats before?" asked Voltaire,
savagely.

"At least a dozen times," I replied. "In a few years' time, we shall see
the like performed on the sands at our fashionable watering-places."

"I am glad," said Kaffar, "that the education of your country has so far
advanced."

I went on talking, not realizing that I was all the time forging a chain
that should hold me in cruel bondage. "I am afraid it says very little
for our education," I replied. "Some clever fellow has invented a clever
system for asking and answering questions, and those who have taken the
trouble to learn it have been able to deceive a credulous public."

Voltaire's eyes flashed fire. All the malignity and cruelty that could
be expressed in a human face I thought I saw expressed in his. And yet
he wore his old fascinating smile; he never lost his seeming
self-possession.

"I must deny Mr. Blake's statement," he said; "and, further, I would
defy him to find or produce such a code of questions as he mentions."

I immediately left the room, and soon afterwards returned with a book by
a renowned thought-reader, wherein he explained what, to so many, has
appeared marvellous. I pointed out how, according to his system, by
asking a question, the first word of which should begin with a certain
letter, a particular thing should be indicated, and all that would be
needed was that the performers should be perfectly conversant with the
system.

The company quickly saw the truth of what I was saying, and for the
time, at any rate, Mr. Voltaire's marvellous knowledge was held at a
discount. "But does Mr. Blake mean to insinuate that Mr. Kaffar and
myself have learnt such a code as this?" said Voltaire at length.

"I insinuate nothing," I replied. "I am simply showing how your
performance can be done by those possessing no knowledge of the occult
sciences."

"But does Mr. Blake decline to believe that we know nothing of the
mysterious--that we have not dived into subjects of which the ordinary
mind can know nothing?" said Kaffar.

"Pardon me," I replied, "but I decline to answer. I have not volunteered
any opinion either as to Mr. Voltaire's story or your performance. I was
asked my opinion, and I gave it."

I watched Mr. Voltaire's face as I spoke. He seemed to be pondering some
matter in his mind, and appeared irresolute as to what action he should
take. At length, a strange light shot from his eyes, and he raised his
head and spoke.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "evidently Mr. Blake, with his hard
English common-sense, has raised some amount of doubt in your minds as
to the validity of my story and of our performance. I am sure you will
allow me to vindicate and prove any assertion I have made. If I have
claimed a knowledge of the mysterious, I have not done so without
reason."

"We believe that is true," said Miss Staggles; "we believe you are a
wonderful man."

"Thank you," said Voltaire. "I am sure I have Miss Staggles' sympathies,
but will some one assist me in what I am about to do? I will allow no
possibility of a _system_ in this, and consequently I shall be glad if
any gentleman will help me in the manifestation of the hidden powers of
the human mind. Perhaps"--turning, I thought, eagerly to me--"Mr. Blake
will be the one?"

"No," I said; "I prefer to be a spectator."

I could no longer mistake the hate that flashed from his eyes; but he
said nothing, and waited quietly for a volunteer. No one was
forthcoming. At length Tom Temple said--

"Would one of the servants do, Voltaire?"

"I would rather have a visitor," said Voltaire, "and for two reasons:
first, you could not then have any reason for suspecting a collusion;
and, second, the ordinary English servant is extremely unsusceptible to
the play of higher powers. If, however, none of you will volunteer, I
can see no other alternative."

Accordingly, a man about my own age was brought in, and introduced as
Simon Slowden. I saw that he was no ordinary character as soon as he
entered, and was by no means one who could be easily imposed upon. I
afterwards found that Simon had spent his boyhood in London, had when a
youth joined a travelling circus, and tramped the country for a few
years. He had also travelled with several "shows," two or three
travelling theatres, and had finally settled down with a lame leg at
Temple Hall, where he made himself generally useful.

His dialect was a mixture of the Cockney and a dozen others equally bad,
until it was almost impossible to tell from that source the part of the
country from which he hailed. He was, however, a good-hearted fellow,
and for a wonder, considering his history, as honest as the day.

"Now, Simon," said Tom Temple, "this gentleman is a scientist and wants
to show some experiments, and he can't get any one to assist him, so I
thought I'd ask you."

"Well," said Simon, "I don't know as I think mich on these science
gents. They're allays a-bringin' in some new-fangled thing or other, but
generally there's nowt in 'em. Still, to 'blige the company, I'll do owt
raisonable. I'm tough has a crocodile's tongue, and can stand a goodish
bit o' jingo and nonsense. Here goes, yer honour." Voltaire eyed him
doubtfully, and Simon coolly returned the stare.

"You are not a-gwine to waccinate me, be 'ee?" said Simon at length.

"No--why?"

"'Cause I can't stand that, tough as I be. I lived wi' a doctor once,
and says he to me, 'Simon, I want to speriment on ye,' says he. 'I'm
tough 'nough,' says I. 'I want to waccinate you 'gainst cholera, hoopin'
cough, and small-pox,' says he. 'What's that? give 'em to me?' says I.
'No,' says he, 'but to prevent you from a hevin' 'em.' 'That's yer
sorts,' says I. Well, gentlemen, he waccinated me, and I said to un,
'Never no more, yer honour.'"

"Why?" asked I.

"'Cause I'd rather hev cholera, hoopin' cough, and small-pox all
together than be waccinated. Jes like women, you never know where
they'll break out."

"Will you kindly sit down," said Voltaire, "while I go to my room for a
book?"

While he was gone I went to Simon, and spoke to him, and that gentleman
got very communicative.

"I'm not overmich in love wi' that chap," he says; "and sure's I'm a
right-down Cockney, he hates you like pizen. Give 'im a wide berth, yer
honour, and doan't hev nothin' to do wi' 'im."

"Oh," I replied, "he can't hurt me."

"Don't know, yer honour. You and he's got your peepers fixed in the same
place, and scuse me; but if you give 'im a chance, he'll beat yer. He'd
charm a serpiant vith thews peepers o' hisn."

"Aren't you afraid yourself, then?"

"He can't hurt me, for I'm too tough, and I'm noan sighin' for anybody,
I ain't; and I hain't a got a good-lookin' jib, and--"

But here Voltaire entered the room and spoke to Tom Temple.

"Simon," said Tom a second after, "what colour are the chestnut mare's
eyes?"

Simon heaved himself, struggled, looked vacant, and said dreamily,
"They're loike women, and--waccination, you--you--" But a film came over
his eyes, and he was unconscious.

Again there was deathly silence in the room, and all eyes were turned
towards Voltaire, who had walked close to Simon Slowden.

"The man is not very susceptible," said Voltaire, "consequently I cannot
do so much with him as I should had he been more highly organized; but I
can at least convince sceptics. You will see," he went on, "that I have
not touched him, and yet he is no longer conscious. I will now ask him
any question, concerning either the dead or the living, that you may be
inclined to ask."

"I will ask a test question," said Gertrude Forrest. "What are the
servants doing at this time?"

"The cook's examinin' a goose," was the reply, "and the housemaid's
talking wi' a chap as is just come from t' village."

He went on telling what the rest were doing; but Tom Temple immediately
sent to the kitchen, and found that things were as was described.

"Where's Dr. Sharp?" said Mrs. Temple, adding that they could easily
find out the doctor's present whereabouts the next day.

"He's comin' up here with his long-nosed pointer," was the reply, "and
'll be 'ere in a jiffy."

Five minutes after, Dr. Sharp came into the room. "I did not know I
could come until half-an-hour ago," he said as he entered, and then
stared as he saw how matters stood.

"Will you tell me," said Miss Forrest, "what my aunt is doing just now?"

She mentioned no name, and I do not know how the man sitting in the
chair could know anything about her.

"She is jest gwine to bed," he said; "she's a bit ov a cold in 'er
chest, and housekeeper is gwine to take some warmin' stuff to her."

"I'll know if this is true to-morrow," said Miss Forrest, and then
relapsed into silence.

Meanwhile question after question was asked and answered, while Voltaire
and Kaffar stood side by side, each with a terrible glitter in his eyes.

Under some secret influence Simon Slowden was led to the piano, and
there executed some of the latest and most difficult pieces of music,
and, without hesitation, told things that were at least marvellous.
Then, when excitement was at the highest, he woke up, and coolly rubbed
his eyes.

No one uttered a word, we were all too much amazed. At last Voltaire,
with a sidelong glance at me, asked whether we were convinced, and one
by one the members of the party expressed their wonder and astonishment.
I, however, was silent. Some power of obstinacy seemed to possess me. I
would not tamely admit his victory, after I had openly defeated him
before. Still I did not speak a word.

"Is Mr. Blake convinced?" said Miss Staggles, leering towards me.

"Of what?" I asked.

"Of Mr. Voltaire's power."

"Undoubtedly."

"Come," said Kaffar, "Mr. Blake is still a sceptic. I think it fair that
he should consent to test this for himself."

"Certainly not," I replied.

"But I think it our right," said Voltaire. "You have expressed your want
of faith in our power; now, if you have the courage of a man with an
opinion, test the matter. Sit here as Simon did, and see whether you are
right."

I thought I heard a voice saying "Don't!" close to my ear, and I
hesitated.

At this there was a titter among the young ladies.

"Evidently our Thomas is afraid," said Miss Staggles.

There was an ugly look in her eyes as she said this, but the titter
increased into a kind of derisive laugh.

I know it was an evidence of my cowardice, but I could not withstand
their laughter. I forgot the warning voice behind me; I refused to take
notice of Mrs. Temple's warning glance; I rose up, went to the chair in
the middle of the room, and defiantly said, "There! do all you can with
me."

Voltaire and Kaffar came up to me, while the rest crowded around. The
former fixed his terrible eye upon me as if he would peer into my very
soul. A strange feeling began to creep over me; but I struggled against
it with all my strength, and for a minute I seemed to gain the mastery.
I laughed in his face, as if I scorned his boasted strength. A strange
gleam was emitted from his light grey eyes, while his lips became ashy
pale. Then I saw him grip Kaffar's hand. Instantly the room was peopled
with a strange crowd. Dark forms seemed to come from Voltaire's eyes;
peculiar influences were all around me. The faces of the two men became
dimmer and dimmer, the people appeared to float in mid air, and I with
them; then something heavy seemed to move away, I thought I heard
strange creeping noises, like that of an adder crawling amidst thick dry
grass, and then all was blank.




CHAPTER VI

AFTERWARDS


When I awoke to consciousness I was in my bedroom. For some time I could
not gather up my scattered senses; my mind refused to exercise its
proper functions. Presently I heard some one speak.

"I had no idea he was so far gone," a voice said. "You see, his power of
resistance is very great, and it needed four times the magnetism to
bring him under that it did your servant."

"I'm sorry you experimented on him at all," said another voice.

"Oh, I can assure you no harm's done. There, you see, he's coming to."

I felt something cold at my temples, then a strange shivering sensation
passed over me, and I was awake.

Voltaire, Kaffar, Tom Temple, and Simon Slowden were in the room. "How
do you feel, Mr. Blake?" asked Voltaire, blandly.

I lifted my eyes to his, and felt held by a strange power. "I'm all
right," I said almost mechanically, at the same time feeling as if I was
under the influence of a charm.

"Then," said Voltaire, "I will leave you. Good-night."

Immediately he left, followed by Kaffar, I experiencing a sense of
relief. "Did I do anything very foolish?" I asked, recollecting the
events of the evening.

"Oh no, Justin," replied Tom. "And yet that Voltaire is a terrible
fellow. Half the young ladies in the room were nearly as much mesmerized
as you were. You acted in pretty nearly the same way as Simon here, but
nothing else. Do you feel quite right?"

"I am awfully weak," I said, "and cold shivers creep down my legs."

"You were such a long time under the influence, whatever it is," said
Tom. "But you'll go back to the drawing-room?"

"No; I don't feel up to it. But don't you remain. I'm feeling shaky, but
I shan't mind a bit if you'll let Simon remain with me."

And so Tom left me with Simon. "Do you feel shaky and shivery, Simon?" I
asked.

"Not a bit on it, sir," was the reply. "Never felt better. But 'tween
you and me and the gatepost, yon hinfidel hain't a served me like he hev
you. I don't like the look o' things, yer honour."

"Why, Simon?"

"Why, sir, 'tain't me as ought to tell, and yet I don't feel
comfortable. I wish I could 'a had a confabulation with yer afore this
performance come off. I hain't got no doubts in my mind but that
hinfidel and his dootiful brother hev got dealin's with the devil."

Simon rose and went to the door, opened it, and peered cautiously
around. "That Egyptian is a watcher," he said grimly, "and I don't like
either of 'em."

"What's the matter, Simon?"

"Why, this yer morning, I wur exchangin' a few pleasant remarks with one
of the maid-servants, when I hears the Egyptian say, 'It's gwine
beautiful.' 'How?' says t'other. 'He'll nibble like hanything,' was the
answer, and then I hearn a nasty sort o' laugh. Soon after, I see you
with a bootiful young lady, and I see that hinfidel a-watchin' yer, with
a snaky look in his eyes. And so I kep on watchin', and scuse me, yer
honour, but I can guess as 'ow things be, and I'm fear'd as 'ow this
waccination dodge is a trick o' this 'ere willain."

"Explain yourself, Simon."

"Well, sir, I knows as 'ow you've only bin yer one day, but I could see
in a minit as 'ow you was a smitten with a certain young lady, and I can
see, too, as 'ow that white-eyed willain is smitten in the same quarter,
and he sees 'ow things be, and he means business."

It was by no means pleasant to hear my affairs talked of in this way,
and it was a marvel to me how Simon could have learnt so much, but I
have found that a certain class of English servant seems to find out
everything about the house with which they are connected, and I am
afraid I was very careless as to who saw the state of my feelings. At
any rate, Simon guessed how things were, and, more than that, he
believed that Voltaire had some sinister design against me.

"What do you mean by what you call the vaccination dodge?" I asked,
after a second's silence.

"Scuse me, yer honour, but since that doctor waccinated me and nearly
killed me by it, tough as I be, I come to call all tomfoolery by the
same name. I've been in theatres, yer honour, and played in pieces, and
I've known the willain in the play get up a shindy like this. I knows
they're on'y got up to 'arrow up the feelin's o' tender females; but I'm
afeared as 'ow this Voltaire 'ev got somethin' in his head, a-concoctin'
like."

"Nonsense, Simon," I said. "You are thinking about some terrible piece
you've acted in, and your imagination is carrying away your judgment."

"I hope as 'ow 'tis, sur; but I don't think so. If you chop me up, sur,
you'll not find sixpenno'th of imagination in my carcase, but I
calcalate I'm purty 'eavy wi' judgment. Never mind, sur; Simon Slowden
is in the 'ouse, if you should want help, sur."

I did not feel much inclined to talk after this, and so, dismissing
Simon, I began to think of how matters stood. Certainly everything was
strange. Everything, too, had been done in a hurry. It seemed to me I
had lived a long life in twenty-four hours. I had fallen in love, I had
made an enemy, and I had matched myself against men who possessed a
knowledge of some of the secret forces of life, without ever calculating
my own strength. And yet I seemed to be beating the air. Were not my
thoughts concerning Voltaire's schemes about Miss Forrest all fancy? Was
not I the victim of some Quixotic ideas? Was not the creation of
Cervantes' brain about as sensible as I? Surely I, a man of thirty,
ought to know better? And yet some things were terribly real. My love
for Gertrude Forrest was real; my walk and talk with her that day were
real. Ay, and the hateful glitter of Voltaire's eyes was real too; his
talk with Kaffar behind the shrubs the night before was real. The
biological or hypnotic power that I had felt that very night was real,
and, above all, a feeling of dread that had gripped my being was real. I
could not explain it, and I could not throw it off, but ever since I had
awoke out of my mesmeric sleep, or whatever the reader may be pleased to
call it, I felt numbed; weights seemed to hang on my limbs, and my whole
being was in a kind of torpor.

I went to bed at length, however, and, after an hour's tossing, fell
asleep, from which I did not wake until ten o'clock next morning. I
found, on descending, that nearly all had breakfasted, but the few with
whom I spoke were very kind and pleasant towards me. I had no sooner
finished breakfast than I met Miss Forrest, and entered into
conversation with her. Once with her, all my dreads and fears vanished.
Her light eyes and merry laugh drove away dull care, and soon I was in
Paradise. Surely I could not be mistaken! Surely the quivering hand, the
tremulous mouth, the downcast eye, meant something! Surely she need not
be agitated at meeting me, unless she took a special interest in
me--unless, indeed, she felt as I felt! At any rate, it were heaven to
think so. We had been talking I should think ten minutes, when Tom
Temple came towards us.

"Say, Justin, my boy," he said, "what do you say to a gallop of four?"

"Who are the four?" I asked.

"Miss Forrest, Miss Edith Gray, Justin Blake, and--myself," was the
reply.

"I shall be more than delighted if Miss Forrest will--" I did not finish
the sentence. At that moment I felt gripped by an unseen power, and I
was irresistibly drawn towards the door. I muttered something about
forgetting, and then, like a man in a sleep, I put on my hat and coat
and went out, I know not where.

I cannot remember much about the walk. It was very cold, and my feet
crunched the frozen snow; but I thought little of it--I was drawn on and
on by some secret power. I was painfully aware that Miss Forrest must
think I was acting strangely and discourteously, and once or twice I
essayed to go back to her, but I could not I was drawn on and on, always
away from the house.

At length I entered a fir wood, and I began to feel more my real self. I
saw the dark pines, from whose prickly foliage the snow crystals were
falling; I realized a stern beauty in the scene; but I had not time to
think about it. I felt I was near the end of my journey, and I began to
wonder at my condition. I had not gone far into the wood before I
stopped and looked around me. The influence had gone, and I was free;
but from behind one of the trees stepped out a man, and the man
was--Herod Voltaire!

"Good-morning, Mr. Justin Blake," he said blandly.

"Why have you brought me here?" I asked savagely.

He smiled blandly. "You will admit I have brought you here, then?" he
said. "Ah, my friend, it is dangerous to fight with a man when you don't
know his weapons."

"I want to know what this means?" I said haughtily.

"Not so fast," he sneered. "Come down from that high horse and let's
talk quietly. Yes, I've no doubt you would have enjoyed a ride with a
certain lady better than the lonely walk you have had; but, then, you
know the old adage, 'Needs must when the devil drives.'"

"And so you've admitted your identity!" I said. "Well, I don't want your
society; say what you want to say, or I'm going back."

"Yes," he said, revealing his white teeth, "I am going to say what I
want to say, and you are not going back until you have heard it, and,
more than that, promised to accede to it."

Again I felt a cold shiver creep over me, but I put on a bold face, and
said, "It always takes two to play at any game."

"Yes it does, Mr. Blake, and that you'll find out. You feel like defying
me, don't you? Just so; but your defiance is useless. Did you not come
here against your will? Are you not staying here now against your will?
Look here, my man, you showed your hand immediately you came, and you've
been playing your game without knowing the trump cards. It looked very
innocent to be mesmerized last night, didn't it? Oh, mesmerism is a
vulgar affair; but there was more than mesmerism realized last night. I
played three trump cards last night, Mr. Justin Blake. The Egyptian
story was one, the thought-reading was the second, the animal and mental
magnetism was the third. I had tested my opponent before, and knew just
how to play. When I took the last trick, you became mine--mine, body and
soul!"

I still defied him, and laughed scornfully into his face.

"Yes, you laugh," he said; "but I like your English adages, and one is
this, 'Those laugh best who win.' But come," he said, altering his tone,
"you are in my power. By that one act last night you placed yourself in
my power, and now you are my slave. But I am not a hard master. Do as I
wish you, and I shall not trouble you."

"I defy you!" I cried. "I deny your power!"

"Do you?" he said. "Then try and move from your present position."

I had been leaning against a tree, and tried to move; but I could not. I
was like one fastened to the ground.

He laughed scornfully. "Now do you believe?" he said.

I was silent.

"Yes," he said, "you may well be silent, for what I say is true. And
now," he continued, "I promise not to use my power over you on one
condition."

"Name it," I said.

"I will name it. It is this. You must give up all thoughts, all hopes,
all designs, of ever winning Gertrude Forrest for your wife."

"And if I refuse?"

"If you refuse, I shall have to make you do what I would rather you
would do willingly. Think as you will, but she can never be yours. I do
not mind telling you now, for you dare not speak. I have marked her for
my own; and, mark you, she must be mine. No power shall stop that. If
you presume to speak to her, I will stop you in the act. If ever you
seek to walk with her, I will drag you away from her; nay, more than
that, I will make you act in such a way as to make you, to her, an
object of derision."

"But," I said, "if you possess such a power over me, which I do not
admit, I will proclaim to every one in the house the villainous means by
which you have possessed it. I will make you an object of hatred."

His light eyes gleamed with an unearthly glare. "Think you I have not
thought of that?" he said. "Try and tell of my influence over you, seek
to speak one word against me, and mark the result. I defy you to utter
one word."

Again I was silent. I seemed hemmed in on every hand by this man's
terrible power. "Come," he said, "do you consent to my terms? Do you
relinquish all thoughts, all hopes, of ever winning Gertrude Forrest?"

In spite of my strange situation, I could not help seeing two rays of
light. One was, that this man must have seen that Miss Forrest looked on
me with a degree of favour; and the other was that, if his power was as
great as he boasted, he needed not be so anxious to obtain my consent to
his terms. If I were wholly in his power, he could do with me as he
would, and need not trouble about any promises of mine. This led me to
defy him still.

"Herod Voltaire," I said, "villain by your own admission, I do not
believe in your power; but, admitting it for the moment, I still refuse
to do what you ask me. You have guessed my secret. I love Gertrude
Forrest with all my heart, and I will promise neither you nor any other
man to give up hopes of winning her. And mark you this, too. Although by
unlawful means you may have obtained mastery over me, as surely as there
is a God who cares for men, your power will be broken. Meanwhile, you
may force me to act against my will, but my will you shall never have!"

"Fool, idiot!" he cried, "you shall repent this. You shall be dragged
through mire, dirt, pain, defeat, disgrace, and then, when all is over,
you will find I have had my own way!" He made a step towards me. "Stay
there for a quarter of an hour," he said, "and then you may go where you
will."

He rushed away, and left me alone. I tried to move, but could not; and
yet I realized this--although my body was chained, my mind was still
free and active. When the quarter of an hour was up, I went away, with a
great weight upon my heart, wondering, yet dreading, what would happen
next.




CHAPTER VII

DREARWATER POND


I will not try to describe my walk back to Temple Hall, or tell of the
terrible sensations that I felt. Think, if you can, of my position. A
young man of thirty, a slave to a deep designing villain, held fast in
his power by some secret nervous or brain forces which he possessed.
More than this, he had designs upon the woman I loved, while I was
powerless, nay, worse than powerless, for he might make me do things
which would be altogether opposed to what I believed right and true.
When you realize this, you will be able to form some idea of how I felt.
And yet I 'was not altogether without hope. I felt that life and love of
liberty were strong in me, and I determined that, though I might be
conquered, it should not be without a struggle.

Arriving at the house, I saw Simon Slowden. He evidently had a message
for me, for, making a sign for me to stop, he quickly came to my side.

"Yer nag is saddled, sur," he said.

I caught his meaning instantly. "Which way did they go, and how long
have they been gone?" I asked.

"They're gone to Drearwater Pond, yer honour. Started 'bout half-an-hour
ago."

"Any message for me?"

"The guv'nor told me, if I saw yer, to tell yer where they'd gone."

"Who went with Mr. Temple?"

"Miss Gray and the other lady, yer honour."

He had led out the horse by this time, and I was preparing to mount it,
when I saw that he had something more to communicate.

"What is it, Simon?" I said.

He did not speak, but winked slyly at me, and then led the horse away
from the stable-yard. As he did so, I saw Kaffar come away from one of
the lads who was employed about the house.

"He's a spy, yer honour, a reg'lar Judas Iscariot. T'other chap's called
Herod, pity this one isn't called Judas. They be a bootiful couple, yer
honour." He looked around again, and then said, "That murderin',
waccinatin' willain is gone efter 'em, Mr. Blake. He came back just
after they'd gone, and went ridin' efter 'em like greased lightnin'."

For a minute I was stunned.

"I thought I'd better tell 'ee, yer honour, and then you'd know 'ow to
act."

I thanked Simon heartily; then, turning my horse's head towards
Drearwater Pond, I galloped away. I had not gone far before I began to
question the wisdom of what I was doing. Was I right in thus openly
defying the man who possessed such a terrible power? It certainly seemed
foolish, and yet I could not bear the idea of his being the companion of
Gertrude Forrest. Besides, it might stagger him somewhat to find that
his words had not frightened me.

With this thought I gave my horse the rein. He was a beautiful
high-blooded creature, and seemed to delight in making the snow crystals
fly around him, as he scampered over the frozen ground.

I did not know the district at all, but I had been told in what
direction Drearwater Pond lay, so I did not doubt that I should easily
find them. When I came to the spot, however, those I hoped to find were
nowhere to be seen, and so, guiding the horse up to the dark waters, I
stood and looked at the little lake that bore such a sombre name. It was
indeed a dreary place. On one side was wild moorland, and on the other a
plantation of firs edged the dismal pond. It might be about a quarter of
a mile long, and perhaps one-sixth of a mile wide. There were no houses
near, and the high-road was some distance away. It was not an attractive
place for several reasons. The region was very drear, and, moreover, the
place had a bad reputation. The pond was said to have no bottom, while a
murder having been committed on the moors near by, the country people
said that dark spirits of the dead were often seen to float over the
Drearwaters in the silent night.

I stood at the edge of the water for some time; then I quietly led my
horse away around to the other side, where dark fir trees made the
scene, if possible, more gloomy than it would otherwise have been. I had
not been there long before I heard voices, and, looking up, I saw the
party walking towards me. Evidently they had fastened their horses in
the near distance, and were now seeking to better enjoy themselves by
walking.

As they came near me, I made a slight noise, which drew their attention.
Certainly I ought to have felt flattered by their greeting, especially,
by that of Miss Forrest.

"We thought you had been bewitched, Mr. Blake," said Miss Gray, after a
few trivial remarks had been passed.

"Perhaps I was," I said, looking at Voltaire. He stared at me as if in
wonder, and a curious light played in his eyes. He had uttered no word
when he saw me, but he gave indications of his astonishment.

"Well," continued Miss Gray, "this is the proper place to be bewitched.
Mr. Temple has been telling some strange stories about it. What was it,
Mr. Temple?--a red hand appears from the water, and whoever sees it will
be led to commit murder?"

"Oh, there are dozens of stories about the place," said Tom. "Indeed,
there is scarcely a youth or maiden who will be seen here after dark."

"Why?" asked Voltaire, suddenly.

"Oh, as I said just now, it is reported to be haunted; but, more than
that, the pond is said to have an evil power. Some say that if any one
sees the place for the first time alone, his hands will be red with
blood before a month passes away."

"Then that will refer to me," I said. "But surely such nonsense is not
believed in now?"

"These things are not nonsense," said Voltaire. "Earth and heaven are
full of occult forces." I paid no further attention to the subject at
the time, but this conversation came back to me with terrible force in
the after-days.

For a while we chatted on ordinary subjects, and then, remounting our
horses, we prepared to ride back. During this time I had felt entirely
free from any of the strange influences I have described, and I began to
wonder at it; especially so as Miss Forrest had voluntarily come to my
side, and we had galloped away together.

We took a roundabout road to Temple Hall, and so were longer together,
and again I was happy.

"I thought you were not coming," she said. "What in the world drew you
away so suddenly?"

I tried to tell her, but I could not. Every time I began to speak of the
influence Voltaire had exerted I was seemingly tongue-tied. No words
would come.

"I was very sorry," I said at length, "but you did not want a companion.
Mr. Voltaire came."

"Yes, he overtook us. Is he not a wonderful man?"

"Yes," I said absently.

"I was so sorry you allowed yourself to be placed under his influence
last night. Did you not hear me asking you to avoid having anything to
do with him?"

"Yes," I said, "I am sorry. I was a coward."

"I do not understand him," she said. "He fascinates while he repels. One
almost hates him, and yet one is obliged to admire him. No one could
want him as a friend, while to make him an enemy would be terrible."

I could not help shuddering as she spoke. I had made him my enemy, and
the thought was terrible.

"He does not like you," she went on; "he did not like the way you
regarded his magical story and his thought-reading. Were I you, I should
have no further communications with him. I should politely ignore him."

I watched her face as she spoke. Surely there was more than common
interest betrayed in her voice; surely that face showed an earnestness
beyond the common interest of a passing acquaintance?

"I do not wish to have anything to do with him," I said, "and might I
also say something to you? Surely if a man should avoid him, a woman
should do so a thousand times more. Promise me to have nothing to do
with him. Avoid him as you would a pestilence."

I spoke passionately, pleadingly. She turned her head to reply, and I
was bending my head so as not to miss a word when a subtle power seized
me. I did not wait for her reply, but turned my head in a different
direction.

"Let us join the others," I stammered with difficulty, and rode away
without waiting for her consent.

She came up by my side again presently, however, but there was a strange
look on her face. Disappointment, astonishment, annoyance, and hauteur,
all were expressed. I spoke not a word, however. I could not; a weight
seemed to rest upon me, my free agency was gone.

"How do you know they are in this direction?" she said at length. "We
have come a circuitous route."

"They surely are," I said. The words were dragged out of me, as if by
sheer force of another will, while I looked vacantly before me.

"Are you well, Mr. Blake?" she asked again. "You look strange."

"Well, well," I remember saying. Then we caught sight of three people
riding.

"Hurrah!" I cried, "there they are."

I could see I was surprising Miss Forrest more and more, but she did not
speak again. Pride and vexation seemed to overcome her other feelings,
and so silently we rode on together until we rejoined our companions.

"Ha, Justin!" cried Tom, "we did not expect to see you just yet Surely
something's the matter?"

"Oh no," I replied, when, looking at Herod Voltaire, I saw a ghastly
smile wreathe his lips, and then I felt my burden gone. Evidently by
some strange power, at which I had laughed, he had again made me obey
his will, and when he had got me where he wanted me, he allowed me to be
free. No sooner did I feel my freedom than I was nearly mad with rage. I
had been with the woman I wanted, more than anything else, to accompany,
we had been engaged in a conversation which was getting more and more
interesting for me, and then, for no reason save this man's accursed
power, I had come back where I had no desire to be.

I set my teeth together and vowed to be free, but, looking again at
Voltaire's eyes, my feelings underwent another revulsion. I trembled
like an aspen leaf. I began to dread some terrible calamity. Before me
stretched a dark future. I seemed to see rivers of blood, and over them
floated awful creatures. For a time I thought I was disembodied, and in
my new existence I did deeds too terrible to relate. Then I realized a
new experience. I feared Voltaire with a terrible fear. Strange forms
appeared to be emitted from his eyes, while to me his form expanded and
became terrible in its mien.

I knew I was there in a Yorkshire road, riding on a high-blooded horse;
I knew the woman I loved was near me; and yet I was living a dual life.
It was not Justin Blake who was there, but something else which was
called Justin Blake, and the feelings that possessed me were such as I
had never dreamed of. And yet I was able to think; I was able to connect
cause and effect. Indeed, my brain was very active, and I began to
reason out why I should be so influenced, and why I should act so
strangely.

The truth was, and I felt sure of it as I rode along, I was partly
mesmerized or hypnotized, whatever men may please to call it. Partly I
was master over my actions, and partly I was under an influence which I
could not resist. Strange it may appear, but it is still true, and so
while one part of my being or self was realizing to a certain extent the
circumstances by which I was surrounded, the other enslaved part
trembled and feared at some dreadful future, and felt bound to do what
it would fain resist.

This feeling possessed me till we arrived at Temple Hall, when I felt
free, and, as if by the wave of some magical wand, Justin Blake was
himself again.

Instead of following the ladies into the house, I followed the horses to
the stables. I thought I might see Simon Slowden, who I was sure would
be my friend, and was watching Kaffar closely, but I could not catch
sight of him. Herod Voltaire came up to me, however, and hissed in my
ear--

"Do you yield to my power now?"

I answered almost mechanically, "No."

"But you will," he went on. "You dared to follow me to yonder lake, but
you found you could not ride alone with her. How terrible it must be to
have to obey the summons of the devil, and so find out the truth that
while two is company, five is none!"

I began to tremble again.

He fixed his terrible eye upon me, and said slowly and distinctly,
"Justin Blake, resistance is useless. I have spent years of my life in
finding out the secrets of life. By pure psychology I have obtained my
power over you. You are a weaker man than I--weaker under ordinary
circumstances. You would be swayed by my will if I knew no more the
mysteries of the mind than you, because as a man I am superior to
you--superior in mind and in will-force; but by the knowledge I have
mentioned I have made you my slave."

I felt the truth of his words. He was a stronger man than I naturally,
while by his terrible power I was rendered entirely helpless. Still, at
that very moment, the inherent obstinacy of my nature showed itself.

"I am not your slave," I said.

"You are," he said. "Did you feel no strange influences coming back just
now? Was not Herod Voltaire your master?"

I was silent.

"Just so," he answered with a smile; "and yet I wish to do you no harm.
But upon this I do insist. You must leave Temple Hall; you must allow me
to woo and to win Miss Gertrude Forrest."

"I never will," I cried.

"Then," said he, jeeringly, "your life must be ruined. You must be swept
out of the way, and then, as I told you, I will take this dainty duck
from you, I will press her rosy lips to mine, and--"

"Stop!" I cried; "not another word;" and, seizing him by the collar, I
shook him furiously. "Speak lightly of her," I continued, "and I will
thrash you like a dog, as well as that cur who follows at your heels."

For a moment my will had seemed to gain the mastery over him. He stared
at me blankly, but only for a moment, for soon his light eyes glittered;
and then, as Kaffar came up by his side, my strength was gone, my hands
dropped by my side, and unheeding the cynical leer of the Egyptian, or
the terrible look of his friend, I walked into the house like one in a
dream.




CHAPTER VIII

DARKNESS AND LIGHT


During the next few days there was but little to record. The party
evidently forgot mesmerism and thought-reading, and seemingly enjoyed
themselves without its assistance. The young men and women walked
together and talked together, while the matrons looked complacently on.
During the day there was hunting, skating, and riding, while at night
there was story-telling, charades, games of various sorts, and dancing.
Altogether, it was a right old-fashioned, unconventional English country
party, and day by day we got to enjoy ourselves more, because we learned
to know each other better.

Perhaps, however, I am using a wrong expression. I ought not to have
said "we." I cannot say that I enjoyed myself very much. My life was
strange and disappointing. More than that, the calamities I dreaded did
not take place, but the absence of those calamities brought me no
satisfaction. And thus, while all the rest laughed and were joyful, I
was solitary and sad. Once or twice I thought of leaving Temple Hall,
but I could not bring myself to do so. I should be leaving the woman I
was each day loving more and more, to the man who knew no honour, no
mercy, no manliness.

During these days I was entirely free from Voltaire's influence, as free
as I was before I saw him. He always spoke to me politely, and to a
casual observer his demeanour towards me was very friendly. Kaffar, on
the other hand, treated me very rudely. He often sought to turn a laugh
against me; he even greeted me with a sneer. I took no notice of him,
however--never replied to his insulting words; and this evidently
maddened him. The truth was, I was afraid lest there should be some
design in Voltaire's apparent friendliness and Kaffar's evident desire
to arouse enmity, and so I determined to be on my guard.

I was not so much surprised at my freedom from the influence he had
exercised over me the day after I had placed myself under his power, and
for a reason that was more than painful to me. Miss Forrest avoided ever
meeting me alone, never spoke to me save in monosyllables, and was cold
and haughty to me at all times. Many times had I seen her engaged in
some playful conversation with some members of the party; but the moment
I appeared on the scene her smile was gone, and, if opportunity
occurred, she generally sought occasion to leave. Much as I loved her, I
was too proud to ask a reason for this, and so, although we were so
friendly on Christmas Day, we were exceedingly cold and distant when New
Year's Eve came. This, as may be imagined, grieved me much; and when I
saw Voltaire's smile as he watched Miss Forrest repel any attempt of
mine to converse with her, I began to wish I had never set my foot in
Temple Hall.

And yet I thought I might be useful to her yet. So I determined to
remain in Yorkshire until she returned to London, and even then I hoped
to be able to shield her from the designs which I was sure Voltaire
still had.

New Year's Day was cold and forbidding. The snow had gone and the ice
had melted; but the raw, biting wind swept across moor and fen,
forbidding the less robust part of the company to come away from the
warm fires.

I had come down as usual, and, entering the library, I found Miss
Forrest seated.

"I wish you a happy new year, Miss Forrest," I said. "May it be the
happiest year you have ever known." She looked around the room as if she
expected to see some one else present; then, looking up at me, she said,
with the happy look I loved to see, "And I heartily return your wish,
Mr. Blake."

There was no coldness, no restraint in her voice. She spoke as if she
was glad to see me, and wanted me to know it. Instantly a burden rolled
away from my heart, and for a few minutes I was the happiest of men.
Presently I heard voices at the library door, and immediately Miss
Forrest's kindness and cheerfulness vanished, and those who entered the
room must have fancied that I was annoying her with my company. I
remained in the room a few minutes longer, but she was studiously cold
and polite to me, so that when I made a pretence of going out to the
stables to see a new horse Tom Temple had bought, I did so with a heavy
heart.

I had no sooner entered the stable-yard than Simon Slowden appeared, and
beckoned to me.

"I looked hout for yer honour all day yesterday," he said, "but you lay
like a hare in a furze bush. Things is looking curious, yer honour."

"Indeed, Simon. How?"

"Can 'ee come this yer way a minit, yer honour?" "Certainly," I said,
and followed him into a room over the stables. I did not like having
confidences in this way; but my brain was confused, and I could not rid
myself from the idea that some plot was being concocted against me.

Simon looked around to make sure there were no eavesdroppers; then he
said, "There's a hancient wirgin 'ere called Miss Staggles, ain't there,
Mr. Blake?"

"There is. Why?"

"It's my belief as 'ow she's bin a waccinated ten times, yer honour."

"Why, Simon?"

"Why, she's without blood or marrow, she is; and as for flesh, she ain't
got none."

"Well, what for that?"

"And not honly that," he continued, without heeding my question, "she
hain't a got a hounce of tender feelin's in her natur. In my opinion,
sur, she's a witch, she is, and hev got dealin's with the devil."

"And what for all this?" I said. "Surely you haven't taken me up here to
give me your impressions concerning Miss Staggles?"


"Well, I hev partly, yer honour. The truth is"--here he sunk his voice
to a whisper--"she's very thick with that willain with a hinfidel's
name. They're in league, sur." "How do you know?"

"They've bin a-promenadin' together nearly every day since Christmas;
and when a feller like that 'ere Woltaire goes a-walkin' with a creature
like that hancient wirgin on his arm, then I think there must be
somethin' on board."

"But this is purely surmise, Simon. There is no reason why Miss Staggles
and Mr. Voltaire may not walk together."

"There's more than surmise, sur. You know the plantation up behind the
house, Mr. Blake?"

"The fir plantation? Very well."

"Well, sur, the night afore last I wur up there. They are hevin' a kind
of Christmas-tree in one of the Sunday schools over in the willage
to-night, and some o' the teachers came to the guv'nor and asked him for
a tree to put some knick-knacks on. So he says to me, 'Simon,' says he,
'go up in the plantation and pull up a young fir tree, and then in the
morning put it in the cart and take it over to the school-room.' This
was day afore yesterday, in the afternoon. I was busy jist then, so I
didn't go to the plantation till 'twas dusk. However, as you know, yer
honour, 'tis moonlight, so I didn't trouble. Well, I got a young fir
tree pulled up, and was jist a-going to light my pipe, when I see some
figures a-comin' threw the plantation towards a summer-'ouse that was
put up 'bout two year ago. So I lied luff. 'I believe,' I says, 'that
it's that hinfidel and the skinny wirgin a-walkin' together.' They goes
into the summer-'ouse, and then I creeps down, and gets behind a tree,
but close enough to the couple to hear every word. Sure 'nough, sur, I
wur right; it was the wirgin Staggles and this 'ere Woltaire.

"'They seemed quarrellin' like when I come up, for she wur sayin'--

"'Tis no use, she never will.'

"'Nonsense!' says he. 'Give her time, and poison her mind against that
Blake, and she'll come around.'

"'I've done that,' says she. 'I've told her that Mr. Blake is a regular
male flirt; that he's had dozens of love affairs with girls; and,
besides that, I told her that her marked preference for him was being
talked about.'

"'Yes,' says Woltaire, 'and see how she's treated him since.'

"'True enough,' says she; 'but it's made her no softer towards you. If
she avoids him, she dislikes you.'

"'And do you think she cares about Blake?' says he.

"'I don't know,' she replies. 'She never would tell me anything, and
that's why I dislike her so. But, for all that, she's no hypocrite.'

"'Well, what for that?' he asks.

"'I went to her room last night, and I began to tell her more about him
and compare him with you.'

"'Well?' says he.

"'Well, she got into a temper, and told me that she would not allow Mr.
Blake's name to be associated with yours in her room.'

"Then, sur, that 'ere willain he swore like a trooper, and said he'd make
you rue the day you were born. After that, they were silent for a little
while, and then she says to him--

"'I believe she knows what you are wanting to do, and has some idea of
the influence you have exerted over him. She's as sharp as a lancet, and
it's difficult to deceive her.'

"'If only that Blake hadn't come,' he says, as if talkin' to hisself.

"'Yes,' she says, 'but he has come,' says she.

"'But if he can be made to leave her, and never speak to her again, will
it not show to her that he's what you said he was, and thus turn her
against him?'

"'I don't know. She's been cool enough to drive him away,' said that 'ere
Miss Staggles.

"'But if he leaves disgraced, proved to be a villain, a deceiver, a
blackleg, or worse than that, while I show up as an angel of light?'

"'I don't know,' she says. 'You are a wonderful man; you can do almost
anything. You could charm even an angel.'

"'Well, you'll do your best for me, won't you?' says he.

"'You know I will,' she says; 'but we must not be seen together like
this, or they will suspect something.'

"'True,' says he, 'but I want to know how things are goin' on.' Then he
stopped a minit, and a thought seemed to strike him. 'Miss Staggles, my
friend,' he says, 'watch her closely, and meet me here on New Year's
Day, at five o'clock in the evening. It's dark then, and everybody will
be indoors.'"

"Then, yer honour, they went away together, and I was on the look-out
for you all day yesterday."

There was much in Simon's story to think about, and for a time all was
mystery to me. One thing, however, I thought was clear. He had either
found he could do no good by his mesmeric influences, or else he had
lost them, and so he was working up some other scheme against me. I
pondered long over the words, "If he leaves disgraced, proved to be a
villain, a deceiver, a blackleg, or worse than that, while I show up as
an angel of light?" Surely that meant a great deal! I must be on the
watch. I must be as cunning as he. I did not like eavesdropping or
playing the spy, and yet I felt there were times when it would be right
to do so, and surely that time had come in my history. There was
villainy to be unmasked, there was a true, innocent girl to be saved,
while my reputation, happiness, and perhaps life were in danger. I
determined I would meet stratagem with stratagem. I would hear this
conference in the wood that evening. I would seek to undeceive Miss
Forrest, too, whose behaviour was now explained. Accordingly, after a
few more words with Simon, I wended my way back to the house again.

I found Miss Forrest still in the library, together with Tom Temple and
Edith Gray. All three looked up brightly at my entrance.

"We were just talking about you, Justin," said Tom, as I joined them. "I
had been telling these ladies what a terrible woman-avoider you have
always been. Miss Forrest wouldn't believe me at first; but that story
of your walking five miles alone, rather than ride in a carriage with
some ladies, has convinced her. I thought you had improved the first day
or so after you came, but you seem to have fallen back into your old
ways."

"Don't put the fault on me, Tom," I said.

"The fault has generally been with the ladies. The truth is, I'm not a
ladies' man, and hence not liked by them. I have generally been put down
as a kind of bore, I expect, and I've never taken the trouble to improve
my reputation."

"Then you ought," said Miss Gray, laughingly. "It's a shame that you
should be under such a ban, because if a man can't make himself pleasant
to ladies, what _can_ he do?"

"Well, I should like to turn over a new leaf," I replied; "but then I
don't seem to please. I've no doubt my company is very tiring, and thus
I must be left out in the cold."

"Nonsense," replied Tom. "Let us have another ride this afternoon, and
see whether you can't make Miss Forrest a pleasant companion."

"If Miss Forrest would allow me, I should be delighted," I said.

I expected an excuse, such as a cold, a headache, or some previous
engagement, especially as she had looked steadily into the fire while we
had been talking. Instead of this, however, she frankly accepted my
escort, and accordingly the ride was arranged.

Nothing of importance happened before we started. We had gone out
quietly, and had attracted no notice, and rode away towards the ruins of
an old castle which Tom thought we should like to visit.

As I stated, it was a raw, cold day; but I did not feel the biting wind,
or notice the weird desolation that was all around. I felt supremely
happy as I rode by Miss Forrest's side.

We had gone perhaps two miles from the house, when we found ourselves
separated from Tom Temple and Miss Gray, and we slackened our horses'
speed to a walk.

"Have you thought my conduct strange since we last rode out together?"
she said.

"I have indeed," I replied bluntly, "especially as I do not remember
having done anything that should merit your evident dislike to me."

"I owe you an apology," she said. "I have been very foolish, very
unjust. I am very sorry."

"But might I ask why you saw fit to change your conduct from
friendliness to extreme aversion?"

"I'm almost ashamed to tell you, Mr. Blake, but I will. If there is one
thing for which I have aversion and contempt, it is for flirting,
coquetry, and the like. If there is any species of mankind that I
despise, it is that of a flirt, a society man, a ladies' man."

"And have I ever given evidence of belonging to that class, Miss
Forrest?"

"No," she replied; "and that is why I am so ashamed of myself. But I
listened to some foolish gossip about your boasting of your conquests
with ladies and the like. I know I ought not to have listened to it, but
I did. I am very sorry; will you forgive me?"

She said this frankly, and without hesitation; yet I thought I saw a
blush mount her cheek as she spoke.

"If there is anything to forgive, I do forgive you," I replied,
"especially as I despise that class of individuals as much as you. The
vapid, dancing society mannikin is everywhere an object of contempt,
while a society girl, as generally accepted, is not a whit more to my
taste."

I saw she was pleased at this, and I felt I loved her more than ever.
Did she, I wondered, care anything for me? Was there any vestige of
interest in her heart beyond that which she felt for any passing
acquaintance?

"Mr. Blake," she said, after pausing a second, "do you remember what we
were talking about that day when we last rode out together?"

"We were talking of Mr. Voltaire," I said. "Have you found out anything
more about him?"

"No, I have not. Is there any mystery connected with him?"

"I think there is. I have an indistinct kind of feeling that both he and
the Egyptian are deceivers, while I am sure that Mr. Voltaire is--is
your enemy."

"I have no doubt he is," I said.

She looked at me strangely.

"I had not been in Temple Hall two hours before that man had marked me
as one that he would fain be rid of."

"Indeed," she said; "then if that is the case, you should listen to my
advice. Have nothing to do with him."

"But I must have something to do with him, and with his friend the
Egyptian as well."

"Don't," she said anxiously; "the two work together, and both are
cunning as serpents. I believe," she continued, after a pause, "that the
thought-reading and mesmerism were somehow designed to injure you. I
think somehow they are acquainted with forces unknown to us, and will
use them for evil."

"Yes, I believe all that," I said.

"Then why must you have any dealings with them?"

"Because they will have dealings with me; because they are plotting
against me; because there are forces, over which I have no control,
drawing me on."

"But why will they have dealings with you? Why are they plotting against
you?"

"Because Voltaire knows that I love, with all my soul, the woman he
wants to win for his wife."

A curious look shot across her face. What was it? Love, astonishment,
pain, vexation, or joy? I could not tell; but my tongue was unloosed.

"Do I annoy you, astonish you, Miss Forrest?" I said. "Forgive me if I
do. I have been regarded as a woman-hater, a society-avoider. That is
because I never saw a woman in whom I was sufficiently interested to
court her society. I have heard it said that such characters fall in
love quickly, or not at all. The first day I saw you I fell in love with
you; I love you now with all my soul."

She looked at my face steadily, but did not speak a word.

"Voltaire has found out this, and he too wants you for his wife; so he
has been trying--is trying--to drive me away from here. How I cannot
tell you; but what I have said is true!" I spoke rapidly, passionately,
and I saw that her face became alternately pale and red, but she did not
reply.

"Am I bold to speak thus?" I asked. "I think I must be, for I have
scarcely known you a week. But I cannot help it. My life is given up to
you. If I could but know that my love were not in vain! If you could
give me some word of hope!"

A beautiful look lit up her eyes; she opened her mouth to speak, when a
voice shouted--

"Come, Justin; don't loiter so. We shall not get back in time for
dinner, if you do."

It was Tom Temple who spoke, and a turn in the lane revealed him. To say
I was sorry would be but to hint at my feelings. But I could not hinder
the turn things had taken, so we started our horses into a gallop, I
hoping that soon another opportunity might occur for our being alone,
when I trusted she would tell me what I desired to know.

I do not know how I dared to make my confession of love, for certainly I
had but little proof of her caring for me. If I hoped, it was almost
without reason; and yet, as we galloped on, my heart beat right
joyfully.

Nothing of importance occurred during the ride. The castle we visited
was grim and grey enough; but it was not the kind of afternoon when one
could enjoy to the full such a place, so we were not long before we
turned our horses' heads homeward. Time after time, on our homeward
journey, did I contrive to be alone with Miss Forrest, but always in
vain. She kept by the side of Edith Gray in spite of all my schemes to
get her b