the master of silence
TRANSCRIPT
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TheMasterofSilence
IrvingBacheller
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THEMASTEROFSILENCE
ARomance
BYIRVINGBACHELLER
1892
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CHAPTERI
NeartheendofmyfourteenthyearIwasapprenticedtoValentine,
King&
Co.,
cotton
importers,
Liverpool,
as
apair
of
legs.
My
father had died suddenly, leaving me and his property in thepossessionofmystepmotherandmyguardian.Itwas indeferenceto their urgent advice that I leftmy home in London (with littlereluctance,sincemylifetherehadneverbeenhappy)tostudytheartofmoneymaking.OnarrivingatthesceneofmyexpectedtriumphsIwasassigned to the somewhathumblepositionoferrandboy. IncommonwithotherboyswhoperformedalikeserviceforthefirmIwasknownasapairoflegs.Lodgingsofarathermodestcharacter
hadbeen
secured
for
me
in
the
western
outskirts
of
the
city
near
the
banksof theMersey.Iwasslow tomakefriends,andmyeveningswerespentintheperusalofsomestorybooks,whichIhadbroughtwithmefromLondon.Onenight,notlongafterthebeginningofmynew life inLiverpool, Iwas lying inbed listening to thewindandrainbeatingover thehousetops anddriving against thewindows,whensuddenlytherecamealoudrapatmydoor.
Whosthere?Idemanded,startingoutofbed.
As Iheardnoanswer, I repeatedmy inquiryand stoodamomentlistening. I could hear nothing, however,but thewind and rain.Lightinga candleanddressingmyselfwithallhaste, Iopened thedoor.Icouldjustdiscernthefigureofabentoldmanstandinginthehallway,whenagustofwindsuddenlyputoutthecandle.Thedoorleading to the streetwas open, and the oldmanwas probably astragglercometo importunemeforshelterorforsomethingtoeat.AsIrelitthecandle,heenteredmyroomandstoodfacingme,buthe
didnot
speak.
His
clothes
were
dripping
and
he
was
blinking
at
me
with strange, gleaming eyes. His hair was snowwhite, and as Ilooked into his face the deathly pallor of it frightened me. Hisgeneralappearancewasmorethanstartling;itwasuncanny.
WhatcanIdoforyou?Iasked.
Greatlytomysurprisehemadenoreply,butwithalookofpainandgreatanxietysankintoachair.Thenhewithdrewfromhispocketa
letterwhich
he
extended
to
me.
The
envelope
was
wet
and
dirty.
It
wasdirected toKendricLane,Esq.,No.OldBroad street,London,England. The address was crossed and 22 Kirkland street,Liverpool,writtenunderitinthefamiliarhandofmyguardian.A
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strangeproceeding!thoughtI.Wastheletterintendedformyfather,whowaslongdead,andwhohadremovedfromthataddressmorethan ten years ago? The old man began to grin and nod as I
examinedthe
superscription.
Ibroke
the
seal
on
the
envelope
and
found the following letter,undated, andwithno indication of theplacefromwhichitwassent:
DearBrotherIneedyourhelp.Come tome atonce ifyou can.Consequences of vast importance tome and tomankind dependupon yourprompt compliance. I cannot tellyouwhere I am.Thebearer will bring you to me. Follow him and ask no questions.Moreover,besilent, likehim, regarding the subjectof this letter. If
youcan
come,
procure
passage
in
the
first
steamer
for
New
York.
Mymessenger isprovidedwithfunds.Your lovingbrother,RevisLane.
IhadoftenheardmyfatherspeakofmyuncleRevis,whowent toAmerica almost twenty yearsbefore Iwasborn.Now hewasmynearest living relative.No news of him had reached us formanyyearsbeforemyfatherdied.Iwasfamiliarwithhishandwritingandthespecimenbeforemewaseithergenuine,orremarkablylikeit.If
genuinehe
had
evidently
not
heard
of
my
fathers
death.
Extraordinaryas themessagewas, themessengerwasmoreso.Hesatpeeringatmewithastrange,halfcrazedexpressiononhisface.
Whendidyouleavemyuncle?Iasked.
HesatasifunconsciousthatIhadspoken.
Idrew
my
chair
to
his
side
and
repeated
the
words
in
aloud
voice,
buthedidnotseemtohearme.Evidentlytheoldmancouldneitherhearnorspeak. Inamomenthebegangroping inhispockets,andpresentlyhandedmeacardwhichcontainedthefollowingwords:
Ifyoucancome,tearthiscardinhalvesandreturntherighthalftohim.
Iexamined thecardcarefully.Thewordswereundoubtedly inmy
uncleshandwriting.
The
back
of
the
card
was
covered
with
strange
charactersinredink.Itorethecardasdirectedandhandedhimtherighthalf.
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Heheldituptothelightandexamineditcarefully,thenputitawayinapocketofhiswaistcoat.The lookofpain returned tohis face,andhecoughed feeblyas ifsuffering fromaseverecold.Thehour
beinglate
Iintimated
by
pantomime
that
Idesired
him
to
occupy
my
bed.Heunderstoodmereadilyenoughandbeganfeeblytoremovehisclothing,whileIpreparedasofaformyself.Hewassoonsoundasleep,butIlayawakelongafterthelightwasextinguished.Hewasevidentlyquiteill,andIdeterminedtogoforaphysicianatthefirstappearanceofdaylight.AssoonaspossibleIwouldgowithhimtomyuncle.Therewereno ties todetainme, and itwas clearlymyduty to do so. Perhapsmy unclewas in some great peril. If so, Imightbeofservicetohim.
When I arose in the morning my strange lodger seemed to besleepingquietly.Hisfacelookedpaleandghastlyinthelightofday.Isteppedclosetohisbedand,layingmyhanduponhisbrow,washorrifiedtodiscoverthathewasdead.WhatwasItodo?Isatdownto think, tremblingwith fright. Imust call inapolicemanand tellhimallIknewaboutmystrangevisitor.No,notall;Imustnot tellhim about the letter, thought I.Myunclemight notwish it tobepublished to theworld. I ranoutupon thestreetand told the first
officerImet
how
the
old
man
had
rapped
at
my
door
during
the
storm; how I had given himmybed out of pity, and how I haddiscoveredonawakinginthemorningthathewasdead.
Thatdaythebodywastakentothemorgue.ThesumofL100werefound inhispockets,apartofwhichgavehimadecentburial.Butwhilehehadgonetohislongrest,hehadsowninmymindtheseedofunrest.Iwentaboutmyworkclingingtothethreadofamysteryhalftold.Whitherwoulditleadme?
Strangeasthatmessengerhadseemed,hewascertainlyagoodmantocarrysecrets.
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CHAPTERII
The multitude of legs, engaged by the pair in the service of
Valentine,King
&
Co.,
were
distinguished
from
each
other
by
abit
of
houseslang.Iwasknownaslast legsamongmycompanionsforsome time after my initiation to the warehouse. At first I wasinclinedtoresentthereductionofmyindividualitytosuchavulgarformula,butasIbecame inured tohard tasks thesharpnessof thisindignityworeaway.
Therewasonepairof legsdoingservice for thefirmwhoseownerbecame my most valued friend and confidant. In his business
capacityhe
was
called
long
legs,
but
his
proper
name
was
Philbert
Chaffin.Hewasa tall, slimboy,withblueeyesand lighthair, theson of a stage carpenter,whowas employed at one of the cheaptheatresandwho livedwithinastones throwofmy lodgings.Hislanguagewasauniquecombinationofbadgrammarandprovincialbrogue;buteveryboyinthewarehouseallowedthathewasagoodfellow.Hehadspentmanyaneveningwithme,andconfidedtomemanyasecretwhich,owingtosolemnpledgesmadeatthat time,Iamnotatlibertytodivulge,beforeheinvitedmetodineandspend
anevening
with
the
family.
Iaccepted
his
invitation
gratefully,
and
thenexteveningPhil tookmeover.Itwasaheartywelcome that IreceivedatthehomeoftheChaffins.MyenjoymentoftheirsimplehospitalitywouldhavebeenperfectbutfortheembarrassmentIfeltatthemanyapologieswithwhichitwasoffered.Mrs.Chaffinknewas ow the teawasnotasgoodas Iwasused todrinking,but sheoped it didnt taste murky. I assured her that it did not tastemurky,althougha littledoubtfulas to theexactsignificanceof thewordwhenappliedtotea.Butinspiteofmydeclarationsheinsisted
thatit
must
taste
murky
to
one
who
was
accustomed
to
better
things.ThehamwasnevertoogoodinLiverpool,butsheopedthatitwasntreesty. Isolemnlydeclared that itwasnotreesty.ButMrs. Chaffin andMr.Chaffin out of the goodness of their heartscontinuedtocondolewithmeonthescorethatsuchhamtastedandmust tastereesty toonenotused to it. Ihadno sooner satisfiedtheirmisgivings concerning theham than Iwas compelled to takeissuewiththemastothebread,regardingwhichtheyentertainedalurkingsuspicionofstaleness.Duringallofthisdiscussionaboutthe
ham,the
tea
and
the
bread,
Iwas
conscious
that
apair
of
big
brown
eyes,darklyshadedwith longlashes,werestaringatmeacrossthetable.WheneverIhadthecouragetoglancethatwayIobservedthat
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theyhadbeen lookingatme intently,andwere suddenlyaverted.Thesewonderingeyesbelongedtotheonlydaughterinthefamily.
Theyveall
been
boys,
said
Mrs.
Chaffin,
since
Hetty
was
born.
IthoughtitstrangethattheHinherdaughtersnamewastheonlyonethatthegoodwomanhadshowntheabilitytomanage.
Hettyistheonlyoneofthelotthattakestobooks,shecontinued.Theheadmastertoldmeshewillmakeagoodscholar,anddearame!shedoesnothingbutreadbooksfrommornintillnight.WhileHettyandhermotherremovedthedisheswedrewourchairsabout
thefire,
and
Mr.
Chaffin,
ablunt,
simple
minded
man,
entertained
mewith sage observations regardingpolitics and theweather.Hespokerather loudly,and inakeywhich,asI learnedafterward,heonlyemployedonveryspecialoccasions.Presentlytheyoungestladin the family,who satonhis fathersknee,demandeda song.Theresponsewaspromptandgenerous.The selectionwithwhichMr.Chaffin favoredus containedupwardof forty stanzas, relating theunhappystoryofafairmaidandaboldsailor,bothofwhommetatragic death, in the last stanza, just before the day set for their
marriage.The
song
being
finished,
Hetty
and
her
mother
drew
their
chairsup to the fire;Hetty satnextme,andaftera severe inwardstruggle I summoned the courage to ask her a question. Sheansweredme in the fewestwordspossible,but inavoicesosweetandlowthatIwonderedthenandoftenafterwardatitscontrasttotheothervoices Ihadheard in thathouse.Sheworeahomespunfrock and a neatwhite pinafore, set offwith a dainty ribbon tiedaboutherthroat.
Shesuncommon
still
when
strangers
is
here,
sir,
said
Mrs.
Chaffin;but lawme!shegoesrompitinabout thehouse likeas ifshewascrazysometimes,ticklinherfatherandtryintsnipoffhisbeardwiththescissors.
Thatnightwasthebeginningofhappierdaysforme.WhenatlastIrosetogoitwasnearmidnight.IforgotmywearinessasIwalkedtomy lodgings, thinking of those simple,honestpeople and of theirkindnesstome.
IenjoyedhighjinksatthehouseoftheChaffinsatleastonceaweekduringthenextyearofmyapprenticeship,nearthecloseofwhichIbegan toget ready for avisit tomy stepmother in fulfilment of a
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promise Ihadmadeby letter. Ithadbeen,on thewhole,ahappyyear tome. Ihadknownmany lonelyhours, tobe sure,but thosevisits to the littleoldweatherstainedhouse, inwhich I foundmy
firstfriends
after
leaving
home,
cheered
me
from
week
to
week.
I
knew,too,thatHettyenjoyedthoselongeveningsasmuchasIdid,whichmeantmoretomethanIwouldhavedaredconfesstoher.Ithoughtofheragooddeal,but italways resulted in thewretchedfeelingthatwewerebothveryyoungafterall.Itisnot likelythatIwouldhavedecidedtogohomeforafortnight,butthatIthoughtitwouldbepleasanttoobservetheeffectofsayinggoodbytoHetty.Ihad no doubt that she would be quite overcome with grief andlonelinessafter Ihadgone,and, recklessyouth that Iwas,nothing
couldhave
made
me
more
happy
than
to
have
known
that
she
really
feltgrievedonmyaccount.Andyetwhen I called tobid themallgoodby,theeveningbeforeIstarted,shebetrayednosignofregret.Infact,sheseemedsomuchhappierthanusualthatIworriedaboutit for weeks, even after I had gone so far away that it seemeddoubtfulwhetherwewouldevermeetagain.ItdidnotoccurtomethatIhadbeenlessskilfulthansheinconcealingmyemotions,andthatshemightbemerryonlybecauseshecouldperceivethatIwassad.Mrs.Chaffinwastheonlymemberofthefamilywhoseemedto
entertainfeelings
as
serious
as
my
own.
She
had
dreamed
that
I
would not comeback again, andwe all laughed at her then,butwhentheswiftyearshadrevealedsomeoftheirsecrets,wethoughtof thispropheticdreamwithasadnessdeeperthanany thatcomestochildishhearts.HesterandPhilwalkedwithmetothegatewhenIleftthehouse.Theradianceofafullmoonfellonourfacesthroughtheflyingclouds.Phil,stupidfellow!hadsomuchtosaythatIdidnotgetachancetospeaktohissisterbeforeshedartedbacktothehouse as if pursued.On reachingmy lodgings Iwas surprised to
findagentleman
waiting
for
me.
Dontknowme,eh?saidhe,shakingmyhandwarmly.
Hewasatall,portlyman,withakindlyface,cleanshavenexceptfora pair of closecropped, irongray sidewhiskers. Iwas sure I hadseenhimbefore,butcouldntthinkofhisname.
Earl,saidhe,handingmeacardonwhichhisnameandaddress
wereprinted
as
follows:
DAVIDGORDONEARL,BarristeratLaw,
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LincolnsInn,London.
Iremembereddistinctlyhavingaccompaniedmyfathertohisoffice
onone
occasion
some
years
before.
IvecomeupfromLondononpurposetoseeyou.Justgothereonlyafewminutesago,saidhe, layingoffhisovercoat.Butuponmyword!headded,surveyingmefromheadtofoot,Ididntexpecttofindsuchabig,strappingfellowasyouare.Yoursurroundingsarequite as I had supposed they would be. Cramped quarters in amiserable tumbledown back street! I suppose your guardianprovidedthisplaceforyou?
Ibelieveso,saidI.
Didyouknowthatyourstepmotherhadmarriedagain?heasked.
Married!Iexclaimed.Towhom?
ToMartinCobb.
Tomy
guardian?
Iasked,
in
astonishment.
Notheedingmyquestion,hecontinued:
Youreintendingtogohometomorrow,Ibelieve?
Yes,sir.
Myboy, saidhe, Ihave an interest inyou. Iwasyour fathers
friendand
adviser
for
many
years.
Icame
all
this
distance
to
tell
you
nottogotoLondon.Donotaskmewhy,Ibegyou,saidhe,withanimpatientgesturewhen Iattempted tospeak.Itwoulddoyounogoodtolearnmyreasonformakingthisrequest.Listentothisitsimportanttoyou:TheresanuncleofyoursinAmerica,yournearestrelative, Ibelieve.Of course you haveheard your father speak ofhim.Amost eccentric fellow!but aman of fine ability.Hewas agraduate of Oxford and a physician of great skill and learning.ThirtyfiveyearsagohewenttoCanadaandfinallysettledinalarge
townon
one
of
the
great
lakes
not
far
from
the
border.
It
was
Detroit,
Ibelieve.Yourfather toldme,shortlybeforehisdeath, thathehadnot heard from youruncle formany years. I havewritten to himtwicewithinatwelvemonth,buthavereceivednoreply.Iwantyou
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to go over and look him up. If you should find that he is dead,theres no harm done, and you can take time to look about for abusinessopportunity.Ifyoudontlikeit,comeback,but,ifyoucan
contentyourself
there
for
awhile,
you
had
better
do
so.
But,sir,Ihavenomoney.
Youaregoingforme;Ishall,therefore,insistuponpayingthebills.InthesuccessoftheundertakingIhave,perhaps,asgreataninterestasyou.
Whendoyouwishmetostart?Iasked.
Tonight.Thatistosay,Iwouldlikeyoutoleavethisplaceatonce,gowithme toahotel,and sailby the first steamer that leaves forNewYork.
Ever since that strangeand silentmessengerhad come tomewithmyuncles letter Ihadbeenhauntedbyadesire togo inquestofhim.Now that itwaspossible, Ihesitated.WhatwouldHestersayonhearing that Ihadgone toAmerica? Itwouldbeverygrand to
writeher
from
New
York
that
Ihad
been
suddenly
called
abroad
on
importantbusiness.Wouldshecare?Ofcourseshewouldcare,andIwaswilling towager a sixpencewithmyself that shewould crybitterly, too, on receiving the letter. Ah,what a punishment thatwouldbeforhercoldnessandindifference!
Yes,Iwouldgo.Ibeganpickingupmythingsandpackingthemintomybox.
Iconclude
that
you
have
decided
to
go,
he
said.
Yes,sir.Ishallbereadyinamoment,Ireplied.
Wewere soon rattlingover thepavements in a cab thathadbeenwaitingatthedoor.
On arriving at theNorthwesternHotelwewere informed that asteamerwouldleaveforNewYorkatfiveinthemorning.Wedrove
atonce
to
the
dock
and
having
succeeded
in
making
comfortable
arrangementsformypassageMr.Earlwentaboardthesteamerwithme.InaretiredcornerofthegreatcabinIconfessedtohimthatthere
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was agirl inLiverpool forwhom Ihad a feelingof extraordinarytenderness.
Helaughed
heartily
and
insisted
that
Ishould
tell
him
all
the
particulars.
Youareratheryoungyettoentertainsoseriousapassion,saidhe,asheheldmyhandforamomentbeforegoingashore.Youwillgetoveritaseasilyasyougotintoit.
Isatdown,unable toreplyor torestrainthe tears thatcame tomyeyesasheleftmealone.Iwenttomystateroomatonceandtobed.
Whatthoughts
came
to
me
as
Ilay
there
inviting
sleep
to
turn
them
intodreams,whilethegreatshipwaitedforthetide!Itossedaboutmyberth;Iprayed;Ilistened.AtlengthIthoughtIheardmyfathersvoicemingledwithothers,andasoundofcastingoffbut Iheardnomore.
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CHAPTERIII
OnemorninginearlyOctober,nearlytwoyearsafterIleftLiverpool
thatmemorable
night,
Ifound
myself
in
the
little
city
of
Ogdensburg,
N. Y., past which the majestic St. Lawrence flows with a sleepymovementquite inharmonywith the spiritof theold townon itssouthern shore.All this time I hadbeen vainlybeating about theWesternHemisphereinquestofmyuncle.HehadleftDetroitmanyyearsbefore,butIchancedtomeetanumberofmentherewhohadknownhimwell.Althoughhehadenjoyedaverylargepracticeandawidereputationforskill,hehadmadenofriendsthatIcouldfind.Hewasamanoffewwords,theytoldme,andwasneverseenabout
thecity
except
in
the
discharge
of
his
professional
duties.
Various
andconflictingopinionswereexpressedastowhitherhehadgone,in testingwhich I had visited no less than twenty cities,makingcareful inquiries, especially among medical men. Occasionally Istruckwhat seemed tobe apromising clew,whichonly increasedmy confusion and left me more hopelessly in the dark. I hadreportedmymovements toMr.Earlasoftenasonceaweekand Ireceivedlettersfromhimfrequently,encouragingmetocontinuethesearchandenclosingmoneywithwhichtodoso.ButalthoughIhad
writtenoften
to
Hester
Chaffin
no
word
from
her
ever
reached
me.
I
wastiredofthisfruitlessquestamongstrangers,sofarfromthelittlethat I held dear, and Iwas on the point of giving upwhen thisparagraphfellundermyeyeinaMontrealnewspaper:
AMYSTERIOUSCHARACTER.
Onewhohaseverpassed thecityofOgdensburgbysteamerwillno doubt recall a large gambrelroofed house standing near the
watersedge,
just
out
of
the
town,
surrounded
by
towering
trees
and
enclosed on all sidesby awall nearly as high as the eaves of thebuilding.Thewallsuggestsanasylum,ahouseofdetentionorsomelikeplacesetapartfortheunfortunatemembersofsociety.Inreality,however, it is the residenceofamysterious recluseof thenameofLane,whoshuthimselfuptherenearlyeighteenyearsagoandhassincebeen rarely seen. Itwasbuilt after his own plans, they say,when he came to Ogdensburg with his wife, who died soonafterward.Nobodyknowswhencehecameoranythingofhispast
history.He
is
apparently
atotal
stranger
here
below,
holding
no
intercoursewiththeworldbeyondthatenclosure.Hiswifeissaidtohavebeenawomanofgreatbeauty,andherdeathdoubtlessthrewhim intoamorbid stateofmind, fromwhichhehasnever rallied.
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Manyyearsagohe isknown tohaveboughta fullgrownAfricanlionfromatravelingmenagerie,and,soonafter,heerectedthewall,presumably out of regard for the public safety. Passers along the
streethave
caught
an
occasional
glimpse
of
him
through
the
high
gate,walkinginthegroundssurroundinghishouse,withthelionathis heels apparently in complete subjection to itsmaster.Adensethicketrunsalongthewallonallsideswithintheenclosure,which,accordingtolocaltradition,isalivewithrattlesnakes,bredforsomestrange purpose known only to himselfperhaps to make hisisolationmoresecure.
He is supposed to have resigned the companionship ofmen for
studyand
scientific
research.
He
has
no
children,
and
his
only
servantbeing a deafmute,who is almost an idiot, there is littlechanceatpresentoflearninganythingofhislife.Formorethantwoyearsnothinghasbeenseenof themysteriousmasterof thehouse.His disappearance would, we think, be a legitimate subject ofinvestigationby theauthoritiesof the town.Mayhenothavebeeneatenbythelion,orkilledbytherattlesnakes?Whoknows?
Myheartwasbeating fastandmyhands shookas if strickenwith
palsybefore
Ihad
finished
the
paragraph.
The
strange
old
man
who
had come to me in Liverpool that night was probably the muteservanttowhichthearticlereferred.InanhourIwasonthewaytoOgdensburg,quiteconfidentthattheissueofmywanderingswasathand.Ireachedthattownnextmorningnearlytwoyears,asIhavesaid, after the beginning of my journey to the New World. Notstoppingtobreakfasteven,Istartedouttofindthehouse,whichmybusyimaginationhadalreadypicturedforitself.ThefirsttownsmanIsawdirectedmetotheplace.
Follow the turnpike, saidhe.Samildormorestraightahead.Youll know itwhen y git there. S queerplace an stans offbyitself.
Themanwasgoingmyway,evidentlytobeginhisdayswork,foritwasthenearlyinthemorning,andIwalkedalongwithhim.
Folkssay,hecontinued,themgroundsisfullofhejiousreptyles,
anIve
heerd
fellers
tell
queer
things
theyve
seen
when
passin
thereatnightred lightsaflyinaboutan spooksat thewinders.An one night, when Uncle Bill Jemson was comin down theturnpike,theywasastormcomeup,anjestashegotopposite the
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bigirongatetheywasaflashalightninanBillsaysheseetheoleman,hislongwhitehairaflyininthwind,analionstandinthereinfrontathhouse.Thflashwasoutnaminit,anBillwhippedup
hishosses
an
sent
em
clear
to
Mills
tavern
on
the
dead
run,
said
he,laughingasifitwereagoodjoke.
Theydontnobody likethplacenerthman,thoughIdonknowwhy,fernooneseverpassedawordwithhimintheseparts.Theretis,overyenderwiththepinesarounditanthhighwall,saidhe,pointingwithhisfinger.Butmyeyehadalreadydiscoveredthelowbuilt rambling house on the highbanks of the river,well in thedistance,andhadrecognizeditatonce.
Leaving my companion at the next turn in the road I walkedhurriedlyon,andwhenIhadreachedthebigirongateIstoppedandpeered through it.Agravel roadway,nowovergrownwithweeds,ledfromthegatetothefrontofthehouse,whichstoodfacingme.Itwasbuiltentirelyofwoodandconsistedoffourwings(atleasttherewere no others visible) evidently enclosing a quadrangularcourtyard, the rear wings being lower than those in front, andhiddenby the latter from theviewofonestandingat thegateas I
was.It
was
only
at
adistance
that
one
could
see
their
roofs
above
the
enclosure.Therewasbutone lineofwindowsalong the front,buttherewasanorieljustunder thepeakof themainbuilding,and Icouldseeaskylighthereandthereupontheroofs.
The blinds were closed and there was no sign of life about thehouseevidentlyplannedwithhospitableintentions,butnowsilentand forbidding. I tried the gates. They were locked securely. Ascreenof closelywovenwire rose from thepavementhalfwayup
theiron
work.
Evidently
it
would
be
impossible
to
reach
the
doors
without scaling this barrier, and I was not yet ready to try anexpedientsodesperate.ReturningtomyhotelIwrotealettertothemasterof thehouse,tellinghimofmy longcontinuedquestandofmyhopesregardingourpossiblekinship.DayafterdayIanxiouslyawaitedhisreply,untilaweekhadpassed,butnowordcamefromhim. In passing the house at different times, however, I observedsomesignsof lifewithin itablindopen thathadbeenclosed thedaybeforea faintglimmerof lighton the trees in the rearof the
groundsat
night,
which
might
have
come
from
the
back
windows.
Even this slight encouragementwasgratifying,butas timepassedwithoutbringingany reply tomy letter Ibegan to think that,afterall,myhopesrestedonveryshadowyfoundations.OnedayIasked
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the localpostmaster ifamanof thenameofLane,who livednearthatcity,eversentforhismail.
Never,said
he.
The
man
is
crazy,
Iguess,
and
its
wasting
postage towrite him.Hes a hermit, sira regular hermit, and isabout the sameasdead, fornobodyever seeshim.The tradesmentellmethathisoldservantcomesoutofanevening,onceinawhile,tobuyprovisions,buthesdeafasapostanddumbasanoyster.The interviewhadat least shownme the futilityof trying to reachhimbyletter.
Itwasclear thatonlyonecoursewasopen tome.Imustbrave the
unknownperils
with
which
this
strange
man
had
encompassed
the
pathofthetrespasser,andgainanentrancetothehouse.Isoughttheseclusion ofmy room at once, and thought over the result ofmyinvestigations.IhadnotwrittentomygoodfriendinLondonsincemyarrivalinOgdensburg,andIconcludednottodosountilIcouldgivehimdefiniteinformation.
Lateintheafternoonaslow,drizzlingrainbegantopourdown,andwhennightfelleveryluminaryintheheavenswasobscuredbythick
clouds.It
was
afavorable
time
for
carrying
out
my
project,
as
the
darknesswas intensifiedbyafog thathadsettledover thecity.BythelightofmylampIpreparedfortheundertaking,insuchastateof excitement that Iwas frequently startledbymy ownwhispers,through which I found myself now and then giving involuntaryutterancetomythoughts.CuttingupapairofbootswhichIcarriedinmybox,Iwoundmylegsinleatherfrommyanklesupabovemyknees,carefullydrawingonapairofthick,longstockingstoholditin place. This precaution would give me a comfortable sense of
security,even
if
there
were
no
snakes
to
fear.
Ifelt
sure
that
the
lion,
ifhewerestillliving,wouldbekeptinsomeplaceofconfinement.
Itwaslongpastbedtime,andthelightswereoutineveryshopanddwelling,whenIstartedonmydaringmission.Thelittlelampsthatglared through the fogat the street corners could scarcelybe seentwenty feet away. Iwas so preoccupied that I frequently lostmydirection in the mud and darkness. It seemed as if I had beentravelingforhours,whenatlastIfeltthebigwall,andsawitsdim
bulkrising
above
me
and
stretching
away
into
the
night.
Cautiouly
I
gropedalong itsbaseuntilmyhands felt the ironbarsof thegate.Then I stood for somemoments leaningagainst them,quiteoutofbreath.Theywerecoldandwet,andchilledme toashiverwhen I
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touched them. Ipeered toward thehousebut could seenothing. Ilistened,butcouldhearnothingexceptthebeatingofmyownheartand themournful soundof thepineswhose loftierbrancheswere
stirringin
the
still
air.
Grasping
the
heavy
bars
Itried
to
climb
the
gate,but,astherewerenoprojectionsonwhichitwaspossibletogeta foothold, I found thisan exhaustinganddifficult task. I climbedrepeatedlyseveralfeetabovetheearth,onlytolosemyfootholdandslidedownagain.Finally,byexertingallmystrength,Isucceededinsupportingmyselfwiththeedgeofmybootuponacrossbarabouthalfwayup;then, takingasmallropefrommypocketIthrewoneend of it over the gate, holding the other in my teeth. Tying itsecurelybyanooseIclimbedhandoverhandtothetopandthenlet
myselfdown
on
the
other
side.
Iwas
quite
exhausted
by
the
effort
(unaccustomed as Iwas to suchburglarious enterprises) andmyfingersweretornandbleedingfromforcingaholdbetweentheironwork and the wire screen. I remembered the gravel pathway,overgrownwithgrass, that led from thebiggate toa frontdoor. Igropedabout in thedarknessuntil I felt thegravelundermy feet.Then Imoved cautiously along it,until I could dimlydiscern theoutlinesofthehouse.Mynervesweresowroughtup,whileIstoodthere holding my breath to catch some sound from its gloomy
interior,that
Iwas
near
crying
out
in
abject
terror
at
every
step.
An
owl,startledfrom the limbofa treeovermyhead, flew lazily intotheupperairandacross the thicket,disturbingotherbirds thatsetupachatteringprotest.Stealthily Icrept fromwindow towindow,buttheblindswereclosedfast.FinallyIcametoadoorthatseemedtoopenintothemainpartofthebuilding.Desperateunderthestraintowhichmy nerves hadbeen subjected, I knocked loudly on itsupper panels. The sound echoed through the still house and thethicklywooded grounds around it. God helpme! Iwhispered;
willthat
echo
never
cease?
It
kept
repeating
itself
from
tree
to
tree,
untilIcoveredmyearstostopitsweirdreverberations.ThenIheardalowthreateningsound,deepandresonantasthelowertonesofagreat organ, thatgraduallygrew louderuntil itsvolume filled theair,and thendiedaway,while its echoeswent chasing eachotheramong the trees. In the silence which followed, my ear caughtanothersoundthe likeofwhichIhadneverheardbefore.Adozenclocksbeingwoundbyquickturnsonallsidesofmewould,Ifancy,have produced a similar effect. It was evident to me that my
knockinghad
disturbed
my
uncles
pets,
but
Iwas
not
to
be
frightenedaway.HearingnomovementinthehouseItriedthedoor,andtomyastonishmentitswungopen.Apeculiarodor,suchasonenotices inahouse thathas long stoodempty,came tomynostrils,
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andagainIheard thatfatefulwhirring,but in thedarknessIcoulddiscernnoobject.AsIcrossedthethresholdthesoundgrewlouder,and tomyhorror thedoor closed suddenlybehindme.Hurriedly
strikingamatch,
Iheld
it
above
my
head
and
peered
about
me.
Its
light revealeda smallapartment finished inpolishedwood.Alongtheangleofthefloorwasanopening,twoorthreeincheshigh,intothesidewalls.AndhalfwayupthewallinfrontofmeIsawafacethe faceofamaniac it seemed tobepaleandwan,with strange,inhumaneyes.Ihadscarcelyglancedatitwhenthematchdroppedfrommy fingers and fell slowly through the air, going out as itstruck the floor.Myhandswerecold,butsowetwithperspirationthat theystuck tomyclothingwhenIfeltforacandlewhichIhad
broughtwith
me.
There are moments in every mans life that move slowly, as ifcarryingtheweightofyearsupontheirbacks.Ishallneverceasetobelieve that the few seconds it tookme to light that candlemuststandforasmanyyearsinanycorrectreckoningofmyage.Whenitsbeams at last illumined the room, the strange facewas still there.HadIseenitbefore?Itwasmarvellously likethatotherfacewhichhadhauntedmydreamssolong.Ifitwasthefaceofamanhemust
bestanding
on
the
other
side
of
the
wall
and
looking
through
a
panel.
IsMr.Laneathome?Iaskedinanunnaturaltonethatstartledme.
Butnowordofreplywasspoken.
IamhisnephewandIhaveimportantnewsforhim.
Theface
disappeared
for
amoment,
and
presently
ashrunken
hand,
holdingawhitesheetofpaper,wasextendedthroughtheopening.Istepped forward, took the sheetand,withdrawing to the centreoftheroom,satdownuponthefloorandwrotethefollowingmessageinboldcharacterswithmypencil:
Kendric Lane, son of Kendric Lane (deceased), late of London,England,wishestoseeDr.Laneonbusinessofimportance.
Ihanded
the
message
to
the
strange
man
behind
the
wall,
who
immediatelydisappearedwith it, closing the panel. Theworst isover,thoughtI,whileIstoodinthatmysteriousandsilentchamberwaitingforhisreturn.ButIshouldnothavethoughtsohadIknown
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whatwasstilltoberevealedtomebeforethedawnofanotherday,and in themonths that followed,duringwhich thathouse and itsechoinggrovesweremyhome.AndIsometimesaskmyself, inthe
lightof
later
events
of
which
that
visit
was
indirectly
the
cause,
whether, had I been able to foresee them, I would still haveperseveredinmypurposetoknowthesecretsofmyuncleshouse?
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CHAPTERIV
A long time I stoodwaiting for some reply tomymessage.My
candlewas
fast
burning
out,
and
Ibegan
to
fear
that
after
all
Iwas
likely to leave the house no wiser than when I had entered it.Suddenlyadoorswungonitscreakinghingesandafeebleoldman,holdingalampinonehand,stoodgrinningatmeintheopening.Itwas thesameface thatIsawbefore,but itseemed lessghostlyandunnaturalnow.Steppingbackhebeckonedmetoenter.AssoonasIhad crossed the threshold thedoor closedbehindme and the oldmancarefullybolted it.Istoodinalargeroom,richlyfurnished,ofwhichspidershadapparently longheldpossession.Greatcobwebs
hunglike
hammocks
from
the
ceiling,
and
the
dust
of
years
had
settled over all. Two human skeletons completely wrapped incobwebs, stood facingmeagainst theoppositewall.Followingmysilent leader, Iwent througha longnarrowpassage,at the endofwhich was a heavy door fastened with large iron bolts. Beforeopening it the strange oldmanplaced the lampupon a table andturning around looked squarely intomy face.MercifulHeaven! Itwasthefaceofanothermanwhowaslookingatmenow!Thedeeplineshadalmostdisappearedandtheeyeslookedbrighterandmore
intelligent.No,
it
was
the
same
face,
for
while
my
eyes
were
eagerly
scanning it thathideousgrinbegan todeepen itswrinkles,and itsowner, taking half a dozen stepsdown thepassageway,made anawkwardmotionwithbothhandsasiftryingtoindicatethatIwastofollowhimveryclosely.Thenheopened thebigdoorandIwassurprised to observe that it led into the outer air. What gulf ofdarkness are we about to plunge into? I asked myself, peeringthrough the doorway; and aswe stepped out I heard again thatominouswhirring.CloseuponhisheelsIfollowedinanarrowpath,
throughwhat
seemed
to
be
alarge
courtyard,
overgrown
with
thick
grass.Presentlyhe stopped, and, taking abunch ofkeys fromhispocket,unlockedadoor inabackwingof thehouse.Reachingoutuntilhishand touchedme,as if tomake sure that Iwas there,heswung the door open and we stepped into a dimly lightedapartment.Mymysteriousguideturnedupthewickofalampthatwasburningona table in the centreof the room. Itwasa library,withgreat shelvesofbooks reaching from floor toceilingalong itswalls.Alargegalvanicbattery,globes,chartsandothercontrivances
thatbelong
to
the
equipment
of
ascholar
surrounded
the
table.
This
tablewasusedforwritingevidently,fortherewerepenslyingonitandahumanskullusedasan inkstand, the fluidbeingheld in thecavitiesof theeyes.Ihadseatedmyself inachairandwaswaiting
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forsomesignfromthelittleoldmanwhohadbroughtmethere.Butwherewashe?Turningaround I lookedaboutmeonallsides.Hehad left the room during my momentary preoccupation. I had
scarcelyseated
myself
again
when
adoor
opened
and
avenerable
man,withsnowwhitehairandasmoothshavenfacethatwaspaleand wrinkled, walked slowly toward me. I rose to my feet andadvanced a step or two.He came forwardwithout speaking andlooked steadily intomyeyes.Slowlyand sadlyhe turnedhisgazeupon the floor,apparently indeep thought.A sighbroke fromhislipsasifsomememory,stirringinthecavesofthought,haddrivenitforth.
Theman
who
stood
before
me
had
deep
set
gray
eyes,
almost
concealedbylongshaggybrowsnotyetentirelywhite.Hislipswerethin, anddrawn closely together above a square,protruding chin.The nose was aquiline and prominent,with large,but finely cutnostrils.Altogether hiswas themost picturesque face I had everseen.Suddenlyhemadeanefforttoclearhisthroat.
Kendricschild,saidhe, inastrange, lowvoice.Hespokeslowlyandwithgreatdifficulty, as ifhis organs of speechwerepartially
paralyzed.Iwould
not
have
been
able
to
distinguish
his
words
but
for the silence of that room and the unnatural keenness of myhearing.He still stoodmotionless,his eyesupon the floor. Iknewthathewasthinkingofmyfather.
Dead?heasked,lookingatmeinquisitively.
Heisdead,Ianswered.
Andmy
mandid
he
give
you
the
letter?
Yes;heisdeadalso.
Dead? I thought he was dead, he repeated, slowly andthoughtfully.I,too,amdeadlongdead.
Thewordswereseparatedbyconsiderablepauses,andhefacedmealmoststernlyashefinishedspeaking them.Istoodstaringathim,
dumbwith
surprise.
Whyhowdidyoucomehere?
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He sank into a chair, exhaustedwith the effort ithad cost him tospeak.Mypresenceseemedtoirritateandannoyhim.Why,indeed,hadIcomethere?WhatshouldIsayinreplytohisquestion?Itried
tothink.
Knaves!Knaves!saidmyuncle, inashrillvoice, rushing towardme. Inamomenthehad thrownhisarmsaboutmyneckandwassobbingaloud.MyheartwasfullandIweptwithhim.
Fortunate child ofGod, said he, after amoment; youhave theseedoflifeimmortallife.ButIbegyoutogo.Toonelikeyouthishousewillseemanuncannyplace;Icanonly thinkof itasbeyond
thegrave.
Letme stay,uncle, said I. Dont sendme away.Perhaps I canhelpyouorcomfortyou.
Poorsoul!youshallstayifyouwill.Iamingreattroubleandneedhelp,butyouareaboyIcannotaskyoutogiveyourlifetome.
Hesatdownbeforethetable,breathingheavily,andbeckonedmeto
achair
beside
him.
Iwas
quite
dumfounded
and
knew
not
what
to
say.Presentlyhebeganwritinguponlargesheetsofpaper,handingeachone tomeas soonas itwascovered.Themanuscript readasfollows:
I am not able to talk much. To me words are a lie and anabomination. Even these I nowwrite aremisrepresentingme anddeceivingyou,thoughIwishthemtotellthetruth.Theywillmakemeoutanassoramadman.Iamneither.ForeighteenyearsIhave
scarcelyspoken
as
many
words.
A
word
or
two
of
Sanscrit
now
and
thenhasmetmyneeds,thankGod!Thereisaninteriorlanguageforwhich speech is an imperfect medium. Through that interiorlanguagethoughtiscommunicateddirectlyandtruthfully.Iuseditlongbefore I camehereimperfectly, tobe sure,butwitha smalldegreeofsatisfactiontomyself.ThroughitIwasabletohealthesickwhenothersfailed.Iknewhowtheyfeltbetterthantheycouldtellmeinfeeblewords.Insomemoreperfectstateofevolution,beyondthe grave, perhaps, all men will have this power and it will be
perfect.Ican
enjoy
but
an
imperfect
use
of
it
until
the
mortal
part
of
mehasbeencastoff.Onetrainedtospeechinchildhoodlosescertainfacultiesthatcanneverberegained.
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Mywifediedmanyyears ago. She leftme abrokenheart and achild,newlyborn. Ihadjustbuilt thishouse,amongstrangers.Weintendedtodevotetheremainderofourlivestothestudyofmental
phenomena.We
desired
to
carry
on
our
work
without
interruption.
We planned to live unknown among those around us.When shediedIsawinthechildanopportunity.Ideterminedtomakeitslifeagrandexperiment;topreserveandcultivateitsnativeintuitionsthegerm of the power of direct communication.God has vouchsafedsuccesstome.Helivesamanofexaltedpowersthe likeofwhichtheworldhasneverseenbutonce,andtheninChrist,theverySonofGod.But,unlikeHim,my son isonlyhuman,withweaknessesthatareourcommonlot.
Theyearsareflying,andstrengthisfailing!Imustdiesoonandhewill live.That thoughtburnsmybrain,passing through itdaybyday.His lifemaybe long extended and he cannot live alone, noramongmen,forhewouldbeastrangerandfriendlessfearedanddreadedby superstitious fools. He has never seen a human faceoutside thesewallsnorheardahumanvoicebutmine. Ihave toldyoumytrouble.
Heceased
writing,
but
before
Ihad
finished
reading
the
statement
some strange influence came over me. I felt restless anduncomfortable.Myhandwas shaking so that Icouldscarcely readthewordsonthelastsheetofpaper.SuddenlyIraisedmyeyesandsawayoungman,godlikeinformandfeature,standingatmyside.Hisfaceworeanexpressionof indescribableeloquence.Asfamiliarasheafterwardbecametome,Icanneverforgetthefirstimpressionwhich thatmagnificent humanbeingmade uponmymind, as hestood thereradiatingapower that I felt to the tipsofmy fingers.
Whatfavored
son
of
man
was
this
confronting
me,
born
to
such
an
inheritanceofmajestyandgrace?Iaskedmyself,regardinghimwithamazement.Hehadeyesdarkasnight,setunderabroadforehead,aboutwhichwavymassesof tawnyhair fellgracefully.Hisstatelyformwaserectand firmasastatue.Foramomenthiseyes lookedintomine;thenheadvancedandtookmyhand.Tenderlyhepressedit tohis lips, steppingbackashedid soand lookingatmewithahalfcurious, halfamused expression. I was so startled by theunexpectedappearanceofthisremarkablefigurethatIhadnot,until
now,noticed
that
alarge
lion
had
followed
him
into
the
room
and
was lyingquietly athis feet. Iwasnot afraid; indeed, theking ofbeastsseemedbutapartof themansmasterfulpresence. IdonotthinkIwouldhaveseentheanimalbutthathisenormousbodywas
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lyingdirectlybeforemyeyesonthefloor.Myunclehadbeensittingwithhisheadrestinguponhishandat the table.Suddenlyheroseandastrange,gutturalsounditmayhavebeenawordfromsome
languagewholly
unfamiliar
to
mepassed
his
lips.
The
young
man
immediately leftus,the lionfollowingcloselyathisheels.Webothsatinsilenceforsomemomentsafterhehadgone.Mymindhadfeltstrangeexhilaration inhispresence,andIrubbedmyeyes tomakesure that Iwasnotdreaming.When I lookedatmyuncle the sadexpression on his face had given way to a smile of infinitesatisfaction.
He is pleasedthankGod! saidmy uncle, in a hoarsewhisper,
sinkinginto
achair.
Imadenoanswer.
Itwasmyson,hecontinued,withanimation.Rayelthatwasthename shegavehim.Rayel, thewonderful.Hewill loveyou ashelovesme.Come,saidhe,rising,thenightisnearlygone.
Takingalampfromthetable,hebeckonedmetofollowhim.Silently
weproceeded
through
anarrow
hallway
and
up
one
flight
of
stairs
toaspaciousbedroomwhichhadseeminglybeenpreparedformyuse.Acandlewasburningdimlyonalargedressingcase,andbyitsflickeringlight,assoonasmyunclehadgone,IlookedaboutmeandtriedtothinkwithcalmnessontheexperienceIhadpassedthrough.Boltingthedoorsecurely,Ithrewopenoneofthewindowblinds.Tomysurprisethefirstlightofdawnwasvisibleinthesky.Myroomwas in the rearof thehouse.Betweenmeand thehighwallwasadense tangleofunderbrush,barelyvisible in thedim light.Hastily
undressing,Iwent
to
bed
without
further
delay,
and
was
soon
in
deepsleep.WhenIawoke itwasnearmidday.Dressingasquicklyaspossible, Iproceededatonce to the library,wheremyunclesatwaiting forme.He conductedme to thebreakfast roomawelllightedandcheerfulapartmentwhereheservedmewithhisownhands.
Youshallstay,siryoushallstay,saidhe,layinghishandonmyshoulderashesatdownbesideme,withasmilingface.Rayelloves
you.He
hopes
you
will
stay.
He
thinks
God
sent
you
to
us.
Iamglad,forIwishtostay,Isaid.
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Good! he exclaimed, in a longwhisper. You havebrought theworldtohim.Alreadyhehasseenitinyoureyes.Butitisgood!
WhileIate
he
asked
me
questions
touching
the
changes
in
our
familysinceheleftEngland.
Itoldhimofmylifeathomeaftermyfathersdeath;ofmyhardlotinLiverpool,andofthemidnightinterviewswithhismessengerandwithMr.Earl.He listened tomewithgraveandattentive interest,butstoppedmebeforeIhadfinished,withanimpatientgesture.
Speakout!theymeanttheymeanttokillyou,didntthey?
I stared at him in amazement,while ideas thatwere new tomeflocked into theempyreanof thought likeblackbirdsofprey.Oh,no;Ihadneversuspectedthat!Iwouldneverbeforehavepermittedsuchahideoussuspiciontoentermymind.WasitpossiblethatMr.Earlhadsentmeaway fromEngland inorder tosavemy life?Myhandsbegan to tremble, and I feltmy face turning red and paleunderthesearchingeyesofmyuncle.
Myboy,
said
he,
if
all
the
murders
were
done
that
men
conceive,
thedevilwouldlivealoneonearth.WeshallknowsometimeItellyouweshallknow!LetusgotoRayel,hesaid,risingandleadingtheway.
Theinterviewhadgreatlyexcitedhim,andhisspeechseemedevenmore halting and labored than before. Many of his words weremispronouncedandseparatedby longpauses;buthismannerwasmarvelously expressive, and often a peculiar turn of the eye or
movementof
the
hand
made
his
meaning
clear
when
Iwas
in
doubt
abouthiswords.
I followedhim througha longgymnasiumandoutuponagrassycourtyardextendingalongtherearofthegroundsparallelwiththeriverwall forahundredyardsormore,andadornedwithbedsofflowers.Itwascompletelyshutofffromtheeyeoftheoutsideworldby a thick grove and an impenetrable growth of underbrush thatreachedbeyond the lowestbranches of the trees.Nothingbut the
bluesky,
in
which
the
sun
was
on
its
downward
course,
the
house,
andthewallsoflivinggreen,werevisible.OutofthisEdenlikespotwe passed into anotherwing of thebuildingwith largewindowslookingoutuponit.Rayelmetusatthedoor,dressedinablackrobe
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of silk thathunggracefully fromhis shoulders.Againhe tookmyhand and kissed it, then looked into my eyes with the sameexpressionofcuriousinterestuponhisfacethatIhadnotedbefore.
Stillholding
my
hand,
he
led
me
across
the
room.
For
the
first
time
I
noticedthatitswallswerecoveredwithpictures,unframed,andthataneaselstoodinthelightofeachwindow.Westoppedbeforeoneofthem.OnalargecanvasthatwasstretchedacrossitIsawalikenessofmyself.Theeyesworeahaggard lookwhichseemedunnatural.Buttherewassomethingstrangelyrealaboutit,inspiteofthat.
Wonderful!saidI.
Rayelstarted
at
the
sound
of
my
voice,
and
glanced
from
one
to
the
other with a puzzled, inquiring look. Turning to his father, heutteredsomestrangemonosyllableinadeepvoice.Thenhetookmyhandandwalkedbackandforthacrosstheroomwithme,smilingingreatdelight.Iwasfascinatedbyoneofthepictureswhichshowedagreatgleamingeyewithasuggestionoflightninginitsfierydepths,as if takenat thekeenest flashof fury.To intensify its fiercenessahumanhandwasraisedinfrontofitsoastothrowadarkshadowacrossthecanvas.
Itisthelionseye,saidmyuncle,whowasstandingnearme.
There were other paintingsmany of them equally strange andwonderfulhangingonthewalls,someofwhichcontainedmaterialhe couldnothavederived fromdirect observation. Itwas easy todiscern in hiswork the fragments of nature that camewithin thelimited commandofhisowneyesthe falling snow, the changingphasesoftheskyandofvegetationfortheywerepresentedwitha
strongerand
more
vivid
touch.
Until
the
fading
twilight
blended
all
colorintogloomIpassedfromonecanvastoanotheralongthewallinsilence,obliviousofallsavethepresenceofRayel,whofollowedcloseatmy elbow, evidently enjoyingmyadmirationofhiswork.WhenIhadfinishedlookingatthepaintingsIturnedforsomesigntoindicatehisfurtherpleasure,anddiscoveredthathewasgone.Myunclewasstandingnearme.
Itislate,saidhe.
Wereturnedatonceacrosstheyardtomyunclesretreatamonghisbooksandpapers.Lightingthelampshesatdownbesideme.
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Thepowerofspeechisreturning,saidhe.Icantalkmoreeasily.
DidInothearyouspeaktoyourson?Iasked.
Yes, he answered. Long ago difficulties arose. Sometimes hecouldnotcommandmythoughts,norIhis.Ihadknownfiftyyearsof life;hehadnothencean inequality.Myphysicalorganismhadbeenneglected.Itwasan imperfectagentofthemind.Manyofmyfaculties were lost. These circumstances stood between us likebarriers. Itwas thebeginningofeachcommunication that troubledus,whenourmindswereworkingindifferentchannels.Somethingwas needed for a cuea startingpoint. Ten pregnant words of
Sanscritwere
all
we
needed.
It
was
easy
then.
I should think he would have lost the power of speech andhearing,Iremarked.
No.Musicsavedthemabstractmusic.Hisvoiceiswonderful.Hishearing isquick.Rayelknowswordsbutnotspeech.Hismindhascommandofmyknowledge.Hehasnever seen theworld,butheknowsaboutit.Itriedtobeginmylifeanewandtoforgetthepast.
ButIcould
not
wholly
cleanse
my
mind
of
it.
Its
memories
faded
slowly.Ihaveavoidedrenewingthemforhissake.
Hecould,then,learntospeak?
Withease,anditwerebetterifhecouldspeaknow.Wewillteachhimsoon.
Asheceasedspeaking,fatiguedbytheunaccustomedeffort,Iheard
lowstrains
of
music
echoing
through
the
silent
halls
around
us.
A
violin!Thetonewasdeepandtremulous,graduallygrowinglouder,fillingtheearwithitsmessage,andliftingthemindtoloftyheightsof thought and passion. We both sat listening for hours, andmidnightcamebeforethelaststraindiedaway.Thatmusicwaslikeastrangestorythatdropsitsplummetdeepintolifesmysteries.
Anew song! saidmyuncle, turning tomewith surpriseonhisface.Hegotthesubjectfromyou.Weshallsee.
PresentlyRayelenteredtheroom,bringingsomethinginhishanda picturewhich he held up to the lamplight. A girls face! andwonderfully like thatofHesterChaffin. I satamazed, staringat it.
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Butthelikenesswasnotexact,thefacewasidealizedasIhadseenitinmydreamthenightbefore.IraisedmyeyestoRayelsface.Hewaslookingatmewithanexpressionofpainandembarrassment.
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CHAPTERV
Myunclerecoveredthepowerofspeechrapidly.BeforeIhadbeena
weekin
his
house
he
was
able
to
talk
with
comparative
ease.
He
seemedtoenjoymycompanionship,andIspentmostofmytimeinhis library, conversingwith him or conning themustybooks thathadlonglainunread.Tomethisroomwasafascinatingandrestfulplace.Somehowitremindedmeofanoldcemetery.Thetimewornbooksuponitsshelvesstoodinsolemnrows,likeheadstones,sacredto the memory of the men who wrote themtheir titles likeinscriptionshalf obliterated. Idid not seeRayel fordays after themidnight episode that gaveme such a startling revelation of his
power.
Do you think that Rayel knows everything that passes in onesmindavividdream,forinstance?Iaskedmyuncleonedaywhenwewerealonetogether.
Yes,exceptwhenhe ishimselfasleep.Hiscommandofmydreamspuzzledmeat first. I thought Ihadput thepastcompletelyoutofmymind.ButIcouldnothideitfromhim.Littlebylittlehelearned
everythingin
my
history.
One
day
Isaw
him
at
work
on
apicture.
It
startledme.The canvas showedaman lyingona surgeons table.Theknifehadjust severed anartery inhis thigh.Therewere fourmenworkingoverhimIwasoneof them.Gradually the featurestookonafamiliarexpression.Hisfacegrewpalerunderthebrush.Afewtouchesthescenewascomplete.Themanwasdeadhiseyeswideopen,staringatme.
Myunclepausedandlookedearnestlyintomyface.
Itwasabitofyourprofessionalexperience,saidI.Somethinghadremindedyouofit.
The night before I dreamed about it he answered. My mind,releasedfromthecommandofmywill,betrayedme.
Astrangepower!Iexclaimed.
Incredibleto
you!
Impossible
to
acquire
unless
the
work
begins
at
birth, and then the possibilities are infinite, said he, drawing hischair closer tomine.Youknowwhat Ihavedone.Start thenewbornmindonanyhighwayandseehowithurriesalong.Youcando
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more,workinga littlewhileover thecradle, thanall thepreachersunderheaven,afteritsoccupanthasgrownbeyondyourministry.Itell you, sir, theworld is indifferent to its children.Neglectedby
theirparents,
subject
to
hired
tenderness
or
none
at
all;
left
to
the
care of ignorant or depraved nurses, and often taught little butselfishnessandgreedofgain,thechildrenofmenaresurroundedbydestructiveagencies.Canwewonderthatthehumanmind loses ininfancysomuchofitsnativepower?Butsothegenerationsofeartharegrowingup,bearingembitteredfruitandsowingitsseedtothefourwinds.Who cares for themind andbody of a child has thehighestpossiblemissionthemostsacredofalltrusts.Hemustgiveit all his time and strength. He must lead its mind into green
pastures;he
must
share
its
joys;
he
must
know
its
hopes
and
fears;
he
mustgiveitholdonlinesofthoughtthatreachintoeternity,whichwill sooner or later flood itwith inspiration; hemust see that thebrain has a sufficient foundation of flesh andblood andbone; hemustgiveitallhislifeuntilthegermsofpoweraredeveloped.
Unfortunately,said I,mostparentshaveother things todoandthinkof.
Parentageis
acrime
under
such
circumstances.
It
has
peopled
the
world with fools and knaves. It delays the coming of Christskingdom. There are a fewwisemen,but they are held down asgravitationholdstherock.Therearelawsofattractionintheworldofmindasinthatofmatter.Goodandevilareitspoles.Everyatombetween them isheld inplaceby theoperationofopposing forces.Thegeneralmassofmindlieswithinnarrowzonesonbothsidesofthe equatorial line of this imaginaryworld. Its attraction preventsanymenfromrisingfaraboveordescendingfarbelowit.Itellyou,
sir,the
intellectual
world
has
degrees
of
latitude
and
longitude
whichdetermineeverymanslocation.EmancipatedfromtheforcesIhavedescribed,mysonhasrisentoalevelbeyondtheattainmentofmenunderordinaryconditions.Hypocrisyanddeceitare thingsofwhichheknowsnothing. Idonotascribe tohim,mindyou, thepossession of saintly virtues. He is a man in whom the bestpotentialities of mind and body have been developed. I havecarefully avoided the danger of making him a morbid, spiritualcreature.Hisbodyisquiteaswonderfulashismind.
Myunclehadbeenpacing restlesslyupanddown the roomashespoke,oftenpausingbeforemeandutteringhiswordsvehemently,withquickgesturesandflashingeyes.Hedidnot,seemingly,expect
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an answer to his remark, for, as he ceased speaking, he steppedbeforeoneofthewindowsandstoodforamomentlookingoutuponthecourtyard.
See!saidhesuddenly,motioningtome.
I stepped tohis sideand, looking through thewindow, sawRayelrunningacross the lawnwith the liononhis shoulders.When thebeastsprangdownheseizeditbythemaneandtosseditaboutlikeonewiththestrengthofHercules.Herewasamanwhoexercisedhisrightfuldominionoveranimatednature!
Thebeast
is
very
fond
of
him,
said
my
uncle,
and
amovement
of
hisfingerissufficienttocontrolit.
Whydidyouadoptapetsoterrible?Iasked.
To secure isolation, he answered. Hes an object of terror tointruders,andasourceofdelighttous.
Youhavesnakeshere,too,Iventured.
Yes,andfor thesamereason,But theycantharmyounow.Sinceyoucamewehavekilledthem.Theyhavebeengoodfriendstome,butyouwereastranger,andyour lifewouldhavebeen indangereveryday.YearsagoIprocuredascoreofthemfromthemountainsofPennsylvaniaandputthemintothethickets.Theymultipliedlikerats,andsoIwasarmedagainstinvasion.
TopreventtheirescapeIsankascreenofwiretwofeetbelow the
groundalong
the
base
of
the
walls;
Ialso
posted
awarning
inside
mygate.Longago Ibegan todestroy them,and therewereonlyafew leftwhenyou came.Theyweregood friends tomeexcellentfriends! he repeated, rubbing his handswith a grim smile. ForeighteenyearsIhavebeenabletocarryonmyworkunmolested.Noknowledgeofwhatwastranspiringoutsidethislittleworldhaseverreachedme.
Howdidyoubegin theworkof teaching this interior language to
Rayel?Iasked.
By signs at firstgradually making them more simple andsuggestive.Theeliminationofsignskeptpacewiththedevelopment
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ofhisintuitions.Itwasslowworkandhardwork,butIgaveallmytime to it.Afterhebecame familiarwithasign, Ibegan tomake itlesspantomimic,until finallya liftof theeyebrow,amovementof
thelips,
or
an
inclination
of
the
head
served
to
express
my
meaning.
Intimehecoulddetectthepassingshadesofexpressioninmyeyesandunderstandthem.Lookatme,saidhe,layinghishandonmyheadandwatchingmyeyesasthefirelightshoneuponthem,foritwasnowevening.
Dontyouknow,myboy,thatyoureyesreflectwhat ispassinginyourmind?Thentherearecountlessnervesandmusclesinyourfacewhich proclaim thought. They aidmy intuitions to discoverwhat
youdo
not
speak.
You
wonderah!
you
are
afraid!afraid
of
me.
Istartedinmychair,forwhilehewaslookingintomyeyesastrangegleamcameintohisown.Heturnedaboutsuddenlyandlookedintothebrightfirethatburnedonthegratebeforeus.
Never fear,he continued,nervously twirling a lockofhiswhitehair.Neverfear,sirIamnotmad.Notyet.Ihavebeenafraidofit,butmyreasonwilloutlastmylife.Doyoueverpray?
Everyday,Ianswered.
Thenyouemploytheinteriorlanguage.WecommunedirectlywiththeHolySpirit.Youget somemessage fromHim everydaymoresatisfactory thanwords. Its theanswerofyourprayers. I tellyou,sir,words are an invention of the devil. Do you like Rayel? heasked,turninguponmeabruptly.
Youneed
have
no
doubt
of
that,
Ianswered,
or
of
my
willingness
to lookafterhim if itshouldbenecessaryto takehimawaywithmeandcherishhimasIwouldabrother.
Good!Good!heexclaimedsmilingandrubbinghishandsjoyfully.Ihavenotlongtolive.Whenthetimecomes,takehimoutamongtheknavesandfools!Butwemusthurry:ourtimeisshort.Wemustpreparehim fora secondbirth.Youwill findhimanaptpupilaveryaptone.Healreadyknowsmoreof theworld than I thought
possible.Idont
think
you
will
find
him
troublesomehe
can
help
you;hewillteachyouwisdom;hewillenlargetheissuesofyourlife.Myfortunewillbeampleforhisneeds:use itasyouseefit.Ihaveone servant left, he said, drawing his chair closer to mine and
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speakingscarcelyaboveawhisper:Iwouldlikethistobehishomewhen I amdead. Itwillbebetter,however, toplacehim in somepublicinstitutionwherehecanbewellprovidedfor.Ishallleavea
sufficientallowance
for
him.
The
manner
of
its
bestowal
Ileave
entirelytoyourjudgment.Thereweretwoofthemyouhaveseenthe other.Hewas a faithful fellow.Theywerepoor fools,bothofthem, but uncommonly wise, he continued. They kept it tothemselves.Ifoundtheminanasylumtwentyfiveyearsago.Theycalledthemidiots.Idiots!Godhelpus!
Thatstrange lightseemed tokindle inhiseyesagainwhilehewasspeaking,anditconveyedanythingbutacheerfulsuggestiontomy
mind.
Thereisthisdifferencebetweenidiotsandmadmen,hecontinued.Theformerarebornoutsidethepaleofhumansympathy;thelatteroverstep it. In either case they are not of this earththey areembodiedspirits living inaworldoftheirowncreation,bidingthetimeofliberationfromtheflesh.Anddoyouknow,therearemoremadmenintheworldthanitdreamsof?
Hestopped
with
atone
of
sharp
interrogation
and
looked
squarely
intomyface.
Thereareundoubtedlymanyofthem,saidI.
The linesofmonomaniaall lead tomadness,hecontinued.Thedeeper one plunges into the mysteries of life the nearer heapproaches it. But,mark you, onemanmay venture further thananother.ForyearsIhave lived infearof two thingsmadnessand
death.Not
on
my
account,
but
Ihad
Rayel
to
think
of.
Myunclerosetohisfeetbeforehehadceasedspeakingandwalkedstealthily on his tiptoes to an open door, where he stood for amoment listening. I couldhearnothingbut the soundof thewindwhistlinginthechimney.
Waithere,hewhisperedpresently,andthendisappearedthroughthedoor,closingitafterhim.Iheldmywatchdowntothefirelight
andsaw
it
was
near
eleven
oclock.
Ifelt
drowsy,
and
had
almost
fallenasleep,whenmyunclereturned,carryingalantern.Rayelisasleep, saidhe, inawhisper.Wontyoucomewithme?itwillnottakelong.
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Certainly,saidI,rising,andwaitingforhim to lead theway.Heputonhisantiquehatandthrewashawloverhisshoulders.
Itsachilly
night,
said
he.
Youd
better
wear
another
coat.
I drew onmy overcoat at once,wonderingwhat new experienceawaited me. Holding the lantern in front of him, he proceededslowlyandfeeblyacrosstherearcourtyard,andunlockedadoorinoneofthesidewingsofthehouse,throughwhichwepassedintoalargeunfurnishedroom.
Ialwayswait tillhesasleep, saidmyuncle, shufflingacross the
roomand
unlocking
another
door
on
its
opposite
side.
Hes
never
beenhereneveryet,hecontinued,pullingthedooropen.Thedimlightofthelanternshoneoutuponathicketoffragrantspruceandcedar.AsIsteppeddownupontheground,followinginthestepsofmyuncle, Icouldhear themurmurof thegreatpines towering farabove our heads. Slowly we made our way through the denseundergrowth, and soon entered anopen space carpetedwithpineneedlesandmoss.Itwasacircularplotinthethicket,andoutofitscentre rose an immense pine, whose upper branches wholly
obscuredthe
sky.
My
uncle
hung
his
lantern
on
aknot
protruding
from the trunk of the tree, and slowly knelt upon the ground,coveringhisfacewithhishands.Suddenlyhebeckonedtome,andIkneltdownbesidehim.
Listen!saidhe.Doyouhearvoices?Shecomestomehere.Canyouseehermywife?Lookaboutyou,doyounotseeher?
He laid his trembling hand uponmy shoulder.Again I saw that
awfulgleam
in
his
eyes.
The
gruesome
suggestion
he
had
made
set
mynerves tingling,and Ipeeredaboutamong theshadowsof thatdimly lighted recess,half expecting somevision togreetmy eyes.Thentherecamealoudrustlingofthebrancheshighaboveus.Thelantern light flaredup and suddenlywent out, leavingus in totaldarkness.
Sheishere!hewhispered,inexcitement.Sitstilldonotspeak.
Adeep
silence,
intensified
by
the
sound
of
the
night
wind
in
the
trees aroundus, followedmyuncleswords.Thegoingoutof thelighthehadseemedtoregardasasignalfromthespiritworld,andIsat still as he bade me, not doubting that his acute senses had
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penetratedtheveilwhichlimitedmyownvision.IhadseensomanyrevelationsofhisstrangepowerthatInowsatawestruckandafraid,waiting for someword fromhim to endmy suspense. I could see
nothingin
the
darkness,
but
Icould
hear
my
uncle
breathing
heavily,
asiftryingtosuppresshisemotion.Suddenlytherewasastirinthebushesnearus.ThenIheardasteplikethatofamanonthethicklycovered earth close by my side. I stretched out prone upon theground,coveringmyfacewithmyhands.Icouldhearasoundasofsomeonegropingaboutinthedarkness,andthenIfeltthetouchofastrangehanduponmyshoulder.
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CHAPTERVI
Ishrankfromthehandthattouchedmeand,movingquicklyaside,
struckamatch
and
peered
around.
By
its
light
Icould
discern
the
formofamanstandingneartheedgeofthethicket.RisingtomyfeetI tookdown the lanternand lighted it.There, standingbeforeme,wasthegrinningmutewhohadadmittedmetothehouse.Myuncle,whowasstillkneeling,rosefeeblytohisfeet,hiseyeswetwithtears.
Goodfriend!saidhe,takingthelanternfrommeandhandingittothemute.Healwaycomesformehere.
Wefollowed
the
old
servant
in
silence
through
the
thick
boughs
of
cedaruntilwe came to thedoorofa lowroofedwoodenbuildingthat stood by itself in the thicket. The mute opened the door,ushering us into a small room containing abed and some simplefurniture. A comfortable wood fire was burning in a large openstove,andwebothsatdowninfrontofit,shiveringfromexposureto the chillyairof thenight.Myunclehandedakey to themute,who unlocked a cupboard, taking from it a decanter ofwhiskey,whichhesetbeforeuswithglasses.
Itwillwarmyou,saidmyuncle,pouringout thespirits:Ihaveseenmywife.Shealwayscomes tome therewhen the lightgoesout.SheknowsyourheartbetterthanI.WeshallleaveRayeltoyourcare.ItisthelasttimeIshallcomehere.Myworkisnearlyfinished.
Weemptiedourglassesinsilence,butmymindwasbusythinkingon those impressivewords,Shealwayscomes tome therewhenthelightgoesout.
Itwasstrangethisgoingoutofthelightjustatthatmoment.Wasitnotpossible,Iaskedmyself,thatthelantern,beingalwayshungonthesameprojection,wasthusinthewayofacurrentofairpassingdown the trunk of the treewhen a gust ofwind struck its loftybranches? If so, theknotwouldnaturally conduct the current intotheopeningatthetopofthelantern.Myreflectionswereinterruptedbymyuncle,whorose,and,takingacandle,askedmetoaccompanyhim. I followed him into a cellar filled with casks and barrels
containing,as
Isupposed,
wine
and
provisions
for
future
use.
Returning,we passed through a large room, in one end ofwhichmanyboxesandbarrelswerestored.Iafterward learned that there
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wasa largegardenandpoultryyard in this lonelynookwheremyunclesonlyservantwassequestered.
Iwas
glad
when
we
started
back
through
the
thicket,
for
the
hour
waslateandIfelttheneedofsleep.
Hegivesusour food,saidmyuncle,whenwewereat length inthe courtyard. We have enough of everything needfulbut littlemeat.Itdestroysmentalpower.Itisfoolsfood.
Nextdaymyunclewasunabletoleavehisbed.Ideterminedtogotothehotelformybaggageandtopostsomeletters,oneofwhichgave
Mr.Earl
an
account
of
my
experiences
since
the
October
night
when
Ibecameaninmateofthathouse.
It was midwinter now, and the long stretches of pasturage andmeadowlandoutsidethewallswereblastedandserewhentheoldmute,whom I had seen twicebefore, letme out of thebig gate.WhenIreturnedhewastheretoopenthegateformeandhelpmewithmybaggage.
Ifound
Rayel
at
his
fathers
bedside.
The
sick
man
was
asleep,
and
I
went at once to the library, where Rayel soon came, as was hiscustom in theafternoon,fora lesson in talking.Bothmyuncleandmyselfhadtakengreatpainstoteachhimthisaccomplishment,andhisprogresshadbeenevenmorerapidthanwethoughtpossible.Hecaught the significance ofwordswith astonishing ease,but foundsome difficulty in producing their sound.Hewent about itwithgreatpatience,however,repeatingthehardestwordsaftermeuntilhewasabletopronouncethemcorrectly.Butalthoughtheworkwas
oftentedious
we
both
got
much
fun
out
of
it.
Ihad
never
heard
the
soundoflaughterinthathouse.OnedayIbrokeitssolemnspellbylaughing heartily at the grotesque distortion of my cousins faceincidental to the production of a difficult sound. He stoppedsuddenlyandlookedatme,halfalarmed.Thismademelaughmoreheartily,andhegraspedmyhandwiththeseriousairofaphysicianfeeling thepulseofhispatient.Beingassured therewasnodanger,he indulged in a little offhand cachinnation himself and was, Ijudged, well pleased with the trial, for he repeated it frequently
afterward,and
greatly
to
his
amusement.
Thewordwoman,andothersrelatedtoit,puzzledhimnotalittle,forhehadneverseenawoman,exceptthroughthemediumofmy
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ownmindandthatofhisfather.Thesubjectinterestedhim,andhegavemuchserious thought to it,questioningmecloselyatsomeofourinterviews,asifdissatisfiedwiththeideaconveyedtohim.Our
discussions,however,
had
reached
some
slumbering
chord
in
him,
which,once touched, stirredhisbloodwith itsvibrations. Idonotthink his isolation could have lastedmuch longer, for hebecamerestlessandeagertoseetheworld.
Rayelwasgreatlydepressedbyhisfathersillness.Formonthsafterthatnight,theexcitementofwhichhadsohastenedthefailureoftheoldmansstrength,thesilenceofthegreathousewasrarelybrokenby the soundofourvoices.Myuncle layhelpless inadeep sleep
mostof
the
time,
never
able
to
leave
his
bed
until,
revived
by
the
freshnessofapproachingsummer,hehadstrengthenough tosit inan easychair by the window. Some fatal malady, the nature ofwhichhedidnotdisclosetome,wasevidentlysappinghisstrength.Ihadurgedhimmorethanoncetoletmesummonaphysician,buthewouldnotpermitme todo so.When summer came at last,hegrewstronger,andwasabletowalk,supportedbyRayel,tohischairintheopencourtyardamongtheflowers.
Thelion,
which
had
been
confined
in
its
cage
most
of
the
time
since
myunclehadgrownsofeebleastoneedRayelsconstantattentionsickenedanddiedinthewarmdaysofearlyJune.Rayelwassorelygrievedbythedeathofhispet,andalthoughhestoodintheshadowofafargreatersorrow,hefeltdeeplythelossofthislifelongfriend.Thesummerpassedslowly,oneday likeanother,castingonusthesameburdenofanxietyandsilence.Ispentmuchofthetimeinmyuncles library, poring over hisbooks and trying to shake off themelancholythoughtssuggestedbymydailylife.
Oneday inearlyautumn,Rayelwas sittingwithmenearanopenwindowoverlooking the courtyard,wherehis fatherwas enjoyingtheopenair.
Hewilldietoday,saidRayel,calmly.Hetoldmehewoulddietoday.
Heseems thesameasusual, Isaid.Wecannot tell;hemay live
formonths
yet.
Rayelshookhisheadincredulously,andsatforalongtimelookingoutofthewindowinsilence.
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And Iwillgowithyou then?heaskedsuddenly turning towardme.
Yes,Ianswered.
Itwas the first timehehadeveraskedmeaquestion,forhecouldreadmymind like an openbook, and tohim allquestioningwasunnecessary.
While we were sitting there, thinking over our plans, my unclesummonedusbyrappingwithhiscane.Rayelturnedpale,and,withawhisperedejaculation,hurriedoutoftheroomandrandownthe
pathto
his
father,
followed
closely
by
myself.
My
uncle
was
breathingheavily.
Count it, said he, feebly extending his hand.Rayel counted hispulsebeats.
Ninetyfour,andgrowingquicker!heexclaimed, turning towardmewithafrightenedlook.
Itwont
increase
much,
my
uncle
whispered,
feebly,
but
with
a
coolandprofessionalair.Itwillgodownsoon,andthendeathwillfollow.
Be calm, Rayel, he continued, almost sternly, as his sonbeganweeping.Becalm,Isay!Thatmusic!doyouhearit,child?Doyouseewhatispassingnow?Tellit.Letmehearyou.
Icannothearit,saidRayel,lookingearnestlyintohisfathersface.
Hallucination!hewhispered,gropingaboutuntilhishandrestedontheheadofhisson,whowaskneelingbesidehim.Iseemtoseemillionsofformsaroundme.Iseem tohear them,butIcannotseeyounorhearyou.
As if exhausted by the effort, his head fell back upon Rayelsshoulder,andhelayforatime,hiseyesclosed,strugglingforbreath.The dyingmans facultieswould no longer obey thewhip of his
mightywill.
Indeed,
they
had
done
him
their
final
service,
for
in
a
few moments he was dead. Tenderly and manfully, uttering nosoundofgrief,Rayelliftedthelifelessbodyofhisfather,andboreitintothehouse.
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CHAPTERVII
Inaccordancewithmyuncleswish,whichhehadmadeknown to
Rayel,we
buried
him
the
day
following
his
death
in
the
sunny
courtyardwherehehadspent the lastdaysofhis life.The funeralarrangementsweremadeassimpleaspossible,soas toexcludeallexceptthefunctionarieswhosepresencewasabsolutelynecessary.ArectoroftheChurchofEnglandreadtheserviceforthedeadbeforethebodywasborne to itsgraveby theundertaker.Whenthisbriefceremonywasover,andthegreatgateswereclosedagainuponourseclusion,Rayelsaidtome:
Imust
talk
more
with
you
now,
if
you
will
let
me.
He
said
you
wouldhelpmeafterhewasgone.
It seemed idle to assure him,who already knewmy heart, of thehappinessitwouldgivemetofulfillthepledgeoffriendshipmadetomyuncle.
Doyouexpecttoseehimagain?Iasked.
Afteramoment
of
the
most
serious
reflection,
he
said:
Oh,yes,IshallseehimagainwhenIdie,thenIshallseehim.HehasgonetotheGreatFather,whogiveslife,andwhotakesitaway.
I found that Rayel, although entirely ignorant of the creeds anddogmasprevailingamongmen,wasprofoundlyreligious,and thathis simple faith was built upon the deepest foundations. Heevidentlygavemuch thought to the relationshipbetweenmanand
hisCreator
after
he
felt
the
sting
of
bereavement,
but
it
was
asubject
towhichheneverreferredinourconversation,unless,perchance,itdriftedinuponus.
Theweeks followingmy uncles death, duringwhich Iwasbusywithpreparationforthenewlifethatawaitedus,Rayelspentinhisstudio working over some unfinished pictures. At my urgentrequest,hecompletedtheheadwhoseresemblancetoHesterChaffinhad so startled and amazed me the night I saw it first, and he
regardedit
with
fonder
interest
than
he
was
wont
to
bestow
upon
theworkofhisbrush.Ibelievethatfacewastheclosestpresentmentofahuman soul I shallever seeuntil standing,as Ihope to standsome time, in thepresenceof the redeemed,where thatwhich is
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imperfect shallbe put away. I have said that the picturebore astrongresemblancetoHesterChaffin,butherfacecontainedonlyasuggestionof that finequalitywhichwas so stronglypresented in
mycousins
ideal.
My uncles fortune, as described in hiswill, amounted to nearly$250,000.Thegreaterpartof iteverything, indeed,but thehouseand groundswas in cash, represented by certificates of depositaccompanyingthewill,andbondsoftheUnitedStates.Therewasaconsiderablebequestforme,whomhehadnamedasexecutorofthewill,which,however, Ideterminednever toapply tomyownuse,except incaseofRayelsdeath.Ahandsomeannuitywasprovided
forhis
only
surviving
servant.
The
remainder
was
left
to
Rayel.
Havingarrangedfor themaintenanceof theoldmuteatanasylumnotfarfromthecity,ourpreparationstoleaveweresooncomplete.Iwaselatedat theprospectof resumingmy relationswith thebusyworld outside that lonely habitation.My first stepwas to visit alawyer for thepurposeofascertaining the legal formalitieswhich Imustobserveasexecutorof thewill.Rayelwished togowithme,andIgladlyassented,foritseemedwiseasaninitiatorystepinthe
newlife
that
was
awaiting
him.
He
waved
his
hand
to
the
mute,
who
stood lookingatus through thebiggatesafterwehadpassedoutintotheroad,andthenhewalkedonbesidemeinsilence.Thesunshothazeofabeautifulautumndayhungover the faceofnature,andhis eyeswandereddown the long stretches of landscape, andinto the depths of the distant sky, rapt by the vision that wasunfoldingbeforehim.Thechangingphasesofthetownheregardedwith curious interest, which often expressed itself in childishexclamationsofsurpriseaswemadeourwaythroughthecrowded
streets.
He was constantly calling my attention to things which, thoughfamiliarandcommonplacetome,werelittlelessthanwonderfultohim.
Look! said he, suddenly taking hold of my arm. There is awoman!
Hespoke
in
an
eager,
excited
whisper,
and
shyly
stepped
behind
me
asshepassedus.
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Theywonthurtyou, said I, subduingmydesire to laughathisremark.
Suchunfamiliar
exposure
to
the
public
eye
soon
began
to
grate
upon
hisnerves.Ididnotwonderatit,fornearlyeveryonewemettookasecond look at his commanding figure, and some stared at himrudely.Rememberingmy own emotionswhen I first stood in hispresence,Iwasnotatallsurprisedthatothersweremovedinalikemanner.Hiswereafaceandformthatstoodoutlikethoseofsomeheroicstatueinthethrongofcommonmortals.
Theprovingandrecordingofthewillwasleftentirelyinthehands
ofareputable
lawyer,
who
said
that
these
formalities
would
not
detainuslongerthanaweek.
WehaddeterminedtospendthewinterinNewYorkbeforegoingtoEngland.SincereachingAmericamytimehadbeenquitefilledwithworkuntilmyentranceupontheutterisolationofmyuncleshome.Itwasmyearnestdesire toseesomethingof thebigmetropolisonthe western Atlantic. Moreover, Mr. Earl had advised me in hisletterstogiveRayelachancetoknowmoreoflifeinhisowncountry
beforebringing
him
to
England.
Whenatlastthefaithfuloldmutehadgonetohisnewhome,andwehad turnedourbacksupon thesilentanddesertedmansion,Rayelwasmovedtobittertears.Thethoughtofitsloneliness,nowthatitsmasterwasdeadandwewere leaving it,perhaps forever,broughtsad feelings to my heart. How calmly the old pines whisperedtogetheraswewalkeddowntheroadthatmorningIshallnotsoonforget.
We reached theAmericanmetropolis early inOctober, threeyearsafter my first arrival there from England. I rented comfortableapartmentsonFifthAvenue,nearMadisonSquare.AssoonasRayelhad recovered from the fatigue and excitement of the trip,we setaboutunpackinghispicturesandgettingthemframed.Ourlightestroomwasreservedforastudio,andthepaintingswerehungunderRayelsdirection.
Wewere
scarcely
settled
in
our
new
home
when
we
received
an
unexpectedcallfromanewspaperreporter.Hehadlearnedfromanartdealer thatwehadsomeremarkableoldpaintings,andhumblybeggedtheprivilegeoflookingatthem.Wemadehimwelcome,of
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course,but I explained to him that the collectionwaswholly theworkofmycousin,whowasnotyetoldhimself. Inanswer tohisquestionsIassuredhimthatthepaintingswouldnotbeexhibitedin
theNational
Academy,
and
that
my
cousins
work
had
never
appearedinanyartexhibitionwhatever,atwhichheseemedgreatlysurprised.Rayelwasstillshyofstrangers,and,ashewasevidentlyalittleannoyedatthepresenceofourvisitor,Ishieldedhimfromtheneedoftakinganypartinourconversation.
Thenextmorninganarticleappeared inoneof the leadingdailies,whichsubjectedustoaglareofpublicitynotatalltoourtaste.
Itwent
on
to
say
that
Signor
Lanion,
ayoung
Spanish
artist,
had
just
arrivedinNewYorkandhadtakenapartmentsatNo.FifthAvenue.Lanionwasthenamewhichhadappearedonourbillforpictureframing, the clerk who had waited on us having taken it downincorrectly. Unfortunately, the article continued, Signor LaniondoesnotspeakEnglish,andforthatreasonthereporterwasunabletointerviewhim.
ThepaperdescribedRayelspersonal charms atmuch length, and
claimedthe
credit
of
having
discovered
agenius
who,
although
still
ayouth,haddoneworkworthyofanacknowledgedmaster.
We had deep respect for the influence of that newspaperbeforeanother week ended. Art managers, tailors, advertising agents,auctioneersandnumerousmenandwomenpromptedbynomotivebut idlecuriosity,besiegedusuntilweboltedourdoors indismayagainst all comers. Themail, too,brought usmissives of varyingimport frompersonswhohad read thearticle,oneofwhichwasa
politeletter
from
Francis
Paddington,
aWall
Street
broker,
whose
nameIhadheardfrequentlyduringmyAmericantravels.
It was not stated, said he, referring to the newspaper article,whetherornotanyofSignorLanionspaintingsareforsale.Iftheyare, Iwouldbeglad to lookat themwithaview tomaking somepurchasesformyartcollection.
The letter suggested an idea worth considering. Rayel worked
rapidlyand
had
already
painted
more
pictures
than
we
could
hang
toadvantageinanybutthemostliberalquarters.Hewasatalosstounderstandjustwhatwasmeantbysellingthepictures,buthewaswillingtosellthemiftheywerenottobedestroyedatleastsomeof
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them. Accordingly I wrote Mr. Paddington, appointing an hourwhen wewouldbe glad to see him or his representative at ourrooms.Thegentlemanhimselfdidusthehonortocall.Afterlooking
atthe
paintings,
he
expressed
his
willingness
to
buy
the
entire
collection. I toldhim,however, thatwewouldnotpartwithmorethantencanvases,andheseemedgladtobuyeventhatnumberatapricewhichwassofarinexcessofourexpectationsthatIwasloathtoacceptit.OurbelovedWomanthatwasthetitlewehadgivenRayels strangely derived conceptionwas among the paintingsincluded in the sale to Mr. Paddington. Rayel thought he couldreproduce it, and for days after itwas gone hemade ineffectualeffortstopaintanotherwomanaftertheidealofourhearts.But,alas!
tryas
he
would,
that
face
never
came
back
to
his
canvas.
Many
beautifulfaceswereconjuredbyhismasterfultouch,buttheywereother faces,andnoneof them satisfiedus.The failuremadeRayelunhappy, and tears came to his eyes when the Woman wasreferredto,asifheweremourningthelossofadearfriend.
Ourpatronhadconceivedagreat liking forus,andwewere sooninvitedtovisithishouseandmeetafewofhisfriendsatdinner.ItwouldgiveusanopportunitytoseetheWomanperhapstobuy
herback
againand
we
were
strongly
inclined
to
take
advantage
of
it.OurpatronsresidencewasoneofthelargestandmostelegantonFifth Avenue. It was a matter of common fame that hisentertainmentswerethecauseofmoreenvyandheartburninginthefashionable sisterhood than any other events of the season. I hadsome doubt about the propriety of taking Rayel to such a place,unaccustomedashewastotherefinementsandconventionalitiesoffashionablelife.However,hehadsethisheartupongoinghewassoeagertoseehisbelovedpictureandIdidnotopposehiswish.
Inwriting
our
acceptance
of
the
invitation
Icorrected
Mr.
Paddingtons error regarding our name, and explained therechristeningwehadreceivedinthepublicprints.
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CHAPTERVIII
On thedayofourappointment fordinneratMr.Paddingtons the
newspaperswere
filled
with
accounts
of
asensational
bank
robbery,
which had occurred in Wall Street the night before. Betweenmidnight and one oclock in themorning, thieveshad entered theMetropolitan Bank, overpowered the watchman, broken into thevaultsandstolenhalf