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THE    NEW    ABELARD 


il    '^^  0  m  a  n  c  e 


BY 


ROBERT    BUCHANAN 


AL-THOR  OF   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  SWORD  '  '  GOD  AND  THE  MAN'  ETC 


IN     THREE     VOLUMES— VOL.  IIL 


Xonbon 
CHATTO    &   WINDUS,    PICCADILLY 

1884 


[A  U    rights    reserved^ 


LONDON   :      PRINTED     BY 

SPOTTISWOODE     AND     CO.,      NEW-STREET     SQUARE 

AND      PARLIAMENT      STREET 


d 


MHZ 
CONTENTS       V.3 

OF 

THE     THIRD     VOLUME. 


CHAPTER 


PAGE 


XXII.  FKOM   THE   POST-BAG           ....           1 

XXIII.  alma's  WANDEBINGS 11 

XXIV.  GLIMPSES    OF   THE    UNSEEN       .  .             .32 
XXV.      A   CATASTROPHE 57 

XXVI.       THE    LAST    LOOK 78 

XXVII.      THE    SIKEN 95 

XXVIII.  THE   ETERNAL  CITY             .            .            .            .129 

XXIX.  THE   NAMELESS    GRAVE            .            .            .       .       154 

XXX.  IN    PARIS              ......       164 

XXXI.  AMONG   THE    MOUNTAINS         .            .            .       .       190 

XXXII.  ANOTHER   OLD    LETTER      .            .            .            .203 


1A  ^.r  OiOQ 


THE    NEW    ABELARD. 

CHAPTEE   XXII. 

FROM     THE     POST-BAG. 
I. 

Sir  George  CraiJc,  Bart.,  to  Alma  Craik. 

My  dear  Niece, — The  receipt  of  your  letter, 
dated  '  Lucerne,'  but  bearing  the  post-mark  of 
Geneva,  has  at  last  relieved  my  mind  from  the 
weight  of  anxiety  which  was  oppressing  it. 
Thank  Heaven  you  are  safe  and  well,  and  bear 
your  suffering  with  Christian  resignation.  In 
a  little  time,  I  trust,  you  will  have  left  this 
dark  passage  of  your  experience  quite  behind 

VOL.    III.  B 


2  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

you,  and  return  to  us  looking  and  feeling  like 
your  old  self.  George,  who  now,  as  always, 
shares  my  affectionate  solicitude  for  you,  joins 
me  in  expressing  that  wish.  The  poor  boy  is 
still  sadly  troubled  at  the  remembrance  of 
your  misconception,  and  I  sometimes  think 
that  his  health  is  affected.  Do,  if  you  can,  try 
to  send  him  a  line  or  a  message,  assuring  him 
that  your  unhappy  misunderstanding  is  over. 
Believe  me,  his  one  thought  in  life  is  to  secure 
your  good  esteem. 

There  is  no  news — none,  that  is  to  say,  of 
any  importance.  We  have  kept  oiu-  promise 
to  you,  and  your  secret  is  still  quite  safe  in  our 
custody.  The  man  to  whom  you  owe  all  this 
misery  is  still  here,  and  still,  I  am  informed, 
prostituting  the  pulpit  to  his  vicious  heresies. 
If  report  is  to  be  believed,  his  utterances  have 


FROM  THE  POST-BAG.  3 

of  late  been  more  extraordinary  than  ever,  and 
he  is  rapidly  losing  influence  over  his  own 
congTegation.  Sometimes  I  can  scarcely  con- 
quer my  indignation,  knowing  as  I  do  that 
with  one  word  I  could  effectually  silence  his 
blasphemy,  and  drive  him  beyond  the  pale  of 
society.  But  in  crushing  him  I  should  dis- 
grace you,  and  bring  contempt  upon  our  name  ; 
and  these  considerations,  as  well  as  my  pledge 
to  keep  silence,  make  any  kind  of  public  action 
impossible.  I  must  therefore  wait  patiently 
till  the  inevitable  course  of  events,  accelerated 
by  an  indignant  Providence,  destroys  the  de- 
stroyer of  your  peace. 

In  the  mean  time,  my  dear  Alma,  let  me 
express  my  concern  and  regret  that  you  should 
be  wandering  from  place  to  place  without  a 
protector.     I  know  your  strength  of  mind,  of 


THE  NEW  ABELARD.. 


course ;  but  you  are  young  and  handsome, 
and  the  world  is  censorious.  Only  say  the 
word,  and  although  business  of  a  rather  im- 
portant nature  occupies  me  in  London,  I  will 
put  it  aside  at  any  cost,  and  join  you.  In  the 
absence  of  my  dear  brother,  I  am  your  natural 
guardian.  While  legally  your  own  mistress, 
}0u  are  morally  under  my  care,  and  I  would 
make  any  sacrifice  to  be  with  you,  especially 
at  this  critical  moment  of  your  life. 

I  send  this  letter  to  the  address  you  have 
given  me  at  Lucerne.  I  hope  it  will  reach 
you  soon  and  safely,  and  that  you  will,  on 
seeing  it,  fall  in  with  my  suggestion  that  I 
should  come  to  you  without  delay. 

With  wnrmest  love  and  sympathy,  in  which 
your  cousin  joins,  believe  me  as  ever, — Your 
affectionate  uncle, 

George  Ckaik. 


FROM  THE  POST-BAG.  5 

IL 

From  Alma  Craik  to  Sir  George  Craik,  Bart. 

My  dear  Uncle, — I  have  just  received 
your  letter.  Thank  you  for  attending  to  my 
request.  With  regard  to  your  suggestion  that 
you  should  come  to  me,  I  know  it  is  meant  in 
all  kindness,  but  as  I  told  you  before  leaving 
London,  I  prefer  at  present  to  be  quite  alone, 
with  the  exception  of  my  maid  Hortense.  I 
will  let  you  know  of  my  movements  from  time 
to  time, — Your  affectionate  niece. 

Alma  Craik. 

ni. 

Alma  Craik  to  the  Rev.  Ambrose  Bradley. 

Your  letter,  together  with  one  from  my 
uncle,  found  me  at  Lucerne,  and  brought  me 
t    once  grief  and  comfort :  grief,  that  you  still 


6  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

reproach  yourself  over  what  was  inevitable  ; 
comfort,  that  you  are,  as  you  assure  me,  still 
endeavouring  to  pursue  your  religious  work. 
Pray,  pray,  do  not  write  to  me  in  such  a  strain 
again.  You  have  neither  wrecked  my  life  nor 
broken  my  heart,  as  you  blame  yourself  for 
doin<]^ ;  I   learned   long   asro  from  our  Divine 

o    '  DO 

Example  that  the  world  is  one  of  sorrow,  and 
I  am  realising  the  truth  in  my  own  experience, 
that  is  all. 

You  ask  me  how  and  where  I  have  spent 
my  days,  and  whether  I  have  at  present  any 
fixed  destination.  I  have  been  wandering,  so 
to  speak,  among  the  gravestones  of  the  Catholic; 
Church,  visiting  not  only  the  great  shrines  and 
cathedrals,  but  lingering  in  every  obscure 
roadside  chopel,  and  halting  at  every  Calvary, 
in  southern   and   western  France.     Thence   I 


FROM  THE  POST-BAG.  7 

have  come  on  to  Switzerland,  where  rehgioti 
grows  drearier,  and  hfe  grows  dismaller,  in  the 
shadow  of  the  mountains.  In  a  few  days  I 
shall  follow  in  your  own  footsteps,  and  go  on 
to  Italy — to  Eome. 

Write  to  me  when  you  feel  impelled  to 
write.  You  shall  be  apprised  of  my  where- 
abouts from  time  to  time. — Yours  now  as  ever, 

Alma. 

P.S. — When  I  sat  down  to  write  the  above, 
I  thought  I  had  so  much  to  say  to  you ; 
and  I  have  said  nothing!  Something  numbs 
expression,  though  my  thouglits  seem  full  to 
overflowing.  I  am  like  one  who  longs  to 
speak,  yet  fears  to  utter  a  syllable,  lest  her 
voice  should  be  clothed  with  tears  and  sobs. 
God  help  me  !  All  the  world  is  changed,  and 
I  can  hardly  realise  it,  yet ! 


THE  NEW  ABELARD. 


IV. 

Ambrose  Bradley  to  Alma  Craik. 

Dearest  Al^ia, — You  tell  me  in  your 
letter  that  you  have  said  nothing  of  the 
thoughts  that  struggle  within  you  for  utter- 
ance ;  alas !  your  words  are  only  too  eloquent, 
less  in  what  they  say  than  in  what  they  leave 
unsaid.  If  I  required  any  reminder  of  the 
mischief  I  have  wrought,  of  the  beautiful 
dream  that  I  have  destroyed,  it  would  come  to 
me  in  the  pathetic  reticence  of  the  letter  I  have 
just  received.  Would  to  God  that  you  had 
never  known  me  !  Would  to  God  that,  having 
known  me,  you  would  have  despised  me  as  I 
deserved  !  I  was  unworthy  even  to  touch  the 
hem  of  your  garment.     I  am  like  a  wretch 


FROM   THE  POST-BAG,  9 

who  has  profaned  the  altar  of  a  saint.  Your 
patience  and  devotion  are  an  eternal  rebuke. 
I  could  bear  your  bitter  blame ;  I  cannot  bear 
your  forgiveness. 

I  am  here  as  you  left  me ;  a  guilty,  con- 
science-stricken creature  struo-o-ling;  in  a  world 
of  nightmares.  Nothino;  now  seems  substan- 
tial,  permanent,  or  true.  Every  time  that  I 
stand  up  before  my  congregation  I  am  like  a 
shadow  addressing  shadows ;  thought  and  lan- 
guage both  fail  me,  and  I  know  not  what 
platitudes  flow  from  my  lips  ;  but  when  T  am 
left  alone  again,  I  awaken  as  from  a  dream  to 
the  horrible  reality  of  my  guilt  and  my  de- 
spair. 

I  have  thouo-ht  it  all  over  a^iain  and  again, 
trying  to  discover  some  course  by  which  I 
might  bring  succour  to  myself  and  peace  to 


lo  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

her  I  love ;  and  wliicbever  way  I  look,  I  see 
but  one  path  of  escape,  the  ray  less  descent  of 
death.  For,  so  long  as  I  live,  I  darken  your 
sunshine.  My  very  existence  is  a  reminder  to 
3^ou  of  what  I  am,  of  what  I  might  have  been. 

But  there,  I  will  not  pain  you  with  my 
]jenitence,  and  I  will  hush  my  self-reproaches 
in  deference  to  your  desire.  Though  the  staff 
you  placed  in  my  hand  has  become  a  reed, 
and  though  I  seem  to  have  no  longer  any 
foothold  on  the  solid  ground  of  life,  I  will  try 
to  struggle  on. 

I  dare  not  ask  you  to  write  to  me — it 
seems  an  outrage  to  beg  for  such  a  blessing ; 
yet  I  know  that  you  will  pity  me,  and  write 
again. — Ever  yours, 

Ambrose  Bradley. 


II 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
alma's  wanderings. 

Scoff  not  at  Eome,  or  if  thou  scoff  beware 
Her  veugeauce  waiting  in  the  he  iven  and  air  ; 
Her  love  is  blessing,  and  her  hate,  despair. 

Yet  see  !  how  low  the  hoary  mother  lies, 
Prone  on  her  face  beneath  the  lonely  skies — 
On  her  head  ashes,  dust  upon  her  eyes. 

Men  smile  and  pass,  but  many  pitying  stand. 
And  some  stoop  down  to  kiss  her  witliered  hand, 
Whose  sceptre  is  a  reed,  whose  crown  is  sand. 

Think'st  thou  no  pulse  beats  in  that  bounteous  breast 
Which  once  sent  throbs  of  rapture  east  and  west  ? 
Nay,  but  she  liveth,  mighty  tho'  opprest. 

Her  arm  could  reach  as  low  as  hell,  as  high 
As  the  white  mountains  and  the  starry  sky  ; 
She  filled  the  empty  heavens  with  her  cry. 

Wait  but  a  space,  and  watch — her  trance  of  pain 
Shall  dry  away — her  tears  shall  cease  as  rain — 
Queen  of  the  nations,  she  shall  smile  again! 

The  Ladder  op  Sx.  AuGtrsTiNE. 

Bradley's  letter  was  fowarded   from  Lucerne 


12  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

after  some  little  delay,  and  readied  Miss  Craik 
at  Brieg,  just  as  she  was  preparing  to  proceed 
by  private  conveyance  to  Doino  d'Ossola.  She 
had  taken  the  carriage  and  pair  for  herself  and 
her  maid,  a  young  Frenchwoman  ;  and  as  the 
vehicle  rounded  its  zigzag  course  towards  the 
Klenenhorn,  she  perused  the  epistle  line  by 
line,  until  she  had  learned  almost  every  word 
by  heart. 

Then,  with  the  letter  lying  in  her  lap,  she 
gazed  sadly,  almost  vacantly,  around  lier  on 
the  gloomy  forests  and  distant  hills,  the  pre- 
cipices spanned  by  aerial  bridges,  the  quaint 
villages  clinging  like  birds'-nests  here  and 
there,  the  dark  vistas  of  mountain  side  gashed 
by  torrents  frozen  by  distance  to  dazzling 
white. 

Dreary  beyond  measure,  though  the  skies 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  13 

were  blue  and  the  air  full  of  golden  sunlight, 
seemed  the  wonderful  scene  : — 

"SVe  make  the  world  we  look  on,  and  create 
The  summer  or  the  winter  with  our  seeing ! 

And   cold    and    wintry    indeed   was   all   that 
Ahna  beheld  that  summer  day. 

Xot  even  the  glorious  panorama  unfolded 
beneath  her  gaze  on  passing  the  Second  Eefuge 
had  any  charms  to  please  her  saddened  sight. 
Leaving  the  lovely  valley  of  the  Ehone,  spark- 
ling in  sunlight,  encircled  by  the  snow- 
crowned  Alps,  with  the  Jungfrau  towering 
paramount,  crowned  with  glittering  icy  splen- 
dour and  resting  against  a  heaven  of  deep 
insufferable  blue,  she  passed  through  avenues 
of  larch  and  fir,  over  dizzy  bridges,  past  the 
lovely  glficier  of  tlie  Kaltwasser,  till  she 
reached  the  high  ascent  of  the  Fifth  Eefuge. 


14  THE  NEW  ABELARD, 

Here  the  coarse  spirit  of  the  age  arose 
before  her,  in  the  shape  of  a  party  of  English 
and  American  tourists  crowdin^f  the  dihgence 
and  descending  noisily  for  refreshment. 

A  little  later  she  passed  the  barrier  toll, 
and  came  in  sight  of  the  Cross  of  'Vantage. 
She  arrested  the  carriage,  and  descended  for 
a  few  mmiites,  standing  as  it  were  suspended 
in  mid  air,  in  full  view  of  glacier  upon  glacier, 
closed  in  by  the  mighty  chain  of  the  Bernese 
Alps. 

Never  had  she  felt  so  utterly  solitary.  The 
beautiful  world,  the  empty  sky,  swam  before 
jier  in  all  the  loveliness  of  desolation,  and  turn- 
ing her  face  towards  Aletsch,  she  wept  bitterl}^ 

As  she  stood  thus,  she  was  suddenly  con- 
scious of  another  figure  standing  near  to  her, 
as   if   in    rapt    contemplation    of    the    solemn 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  15 

scene.  It  was  tliat  of  a  middle-aged  man, 
rather  above  the  middle  stature,  who  carried 
a  small  knapsack  on  his  shoulders  and  leant 
upon  an  Alpine  staff.  She  saw  only  his  side 
face,  and  his  eyes  were  turned  away ;  yet, 
curiously  enough,  his  form  had  an  air  of 
listening  watchfulness,  and  the  moment  ehe 
was  conscious  of  his  presence  he  turned  and 
smiled,  and  raised  his  hat.  She  noticed  then 
that  his  sunburnt  face  was  clean  shaven,  like 
that  of  a  priest,  and  that  his  eyes  were  black 
and  piercing,  though  remarkably  good- 
humoured. 

'  Pardon,  Madame,'  he  said  in  French,  '  but 
I  think  we  have  met  before.' 

She  had  turned  away  her  head  to  hide  her 
tears  from  the  stranger's  gaze.  Without  wait- 
ing for  her  answer,  he  pioceeded. 


i6  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  In  the  hotel  at  Brieg.  I  was  staying 
there  when  Madame  arrived,  and  I  left  at  day- 
break this  morning  to  cross  the  Pass  on  foot.' 

By  this  time  she  had  mastered  her  agitation, 
and  could  regard  the  stranger  with  a  certain 
self-possession.  His  face,  though  not  handsome, 
was  mobile  and  expressive  ;  the  eyebrows  were 
black  and  prominent,  the  forehead  was  high, 
tlie  mouth  large  and  well  cut,  with  glittering 
white  teeth.  It  was  difficult  to  tell  the  man's 
a<Te  ;  for  thoug-h  his  countenance  was  so  fresh 
that  it  looked  quite  young,  his  forehead  and 
cheeks,  in  repose,  showed  strongly-marked 
lines  ;  and  though  his  form  seemed  strou^jf  and 
agile,  he  stooped  greatly  at  the  shoulders.  To 
complete  the  contradiction,  his  hair  was  as  white 
as  snow. 

What  mark  is  it  that  Eome  puts  upon  lier 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  17 

servants,  that  we  seem  to  know  them  under 
almost  any  habit  or  disguise  ?  One  glance 
convinced  Alma  that  the  stranger  either  be- 
longed to  some  of  the  holy  orders,  or  was  a 
lay  priest  of  the  Eomish  Church. 

'  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  you 
before,  Monsieur,'  she  replied,  also  in  French, 
with  a  certain  hauteur. 

The  stranger  smiled  again,  and  bowed 
apologetically. 

'  Perhaps  I  was  wrong  to  address  Madame 
without  a  more  formal  introduction.  I  know 
that  in  England  it  is  not  the  custom.  But  here 
on  the  mountain,  far  away  from  the  conventions 
of  the  world,  it  would  be  strange,  would  it  not, 
to  meet  in  silence  ?  We  are  like  two  souls  that 
encounter  on  pilgrimage,  both  looking  wearily 
towards  the  Celestial  Gate.' 

VOL.    III.  C 


1 8  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

*  Are  you  a  priest,  Monsieur  ?  '  asked  Alma 
abruptl}'. 

The  stranger  bowed  again. 

'  A  poor  member  of  the  Church,  the  Abbe 
Brest.  I  am  journeying  on  foot  through  the 
Simplon  to  the  Lago  Maggiore,  and  thence, 
with  God's  blessing,  to  Milan.  But  I  shall  rest 
yonder,  at  the  New  Hospice,  to-night.' 

And  he  pointed  across  the  mountain  towards 
the  refuge  of  the  monks  of  St.  Bernard,  close  to 
the  region  of  perpetual  snow.  The  tall  figiu^e 
of  an  Augustine  monk,  shading  his  eyes  and 
looking  up  the  road  was  visible  ;  and  from  the 
refectory  within  came  the  faint  tolling  of  a  bel 
mingled  from  time  to  time  with  the  deep  bark- 
ino[  of  a  dooj. 

'  The  monks  receive  travellers  still  ?  '  asked 
Alma.     '  I  suppose  the  Hospice  is  rapidly  be- 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  19 

coming,  like  its  compeers,  nothing  more  or  less 
than  a  big  hotel  ?  ' 

'  Madame ' 

'  Please  do  not  call  me  Madame.  I  am 
unmarried.' 

She  spoke  almost  without  reflection,  and  it 
was  not  until  she  had  uttered  the  words  that 
their  significance  dawned  upon  her.  Her  face 
became  crimson  with  sudden  shame. 

It  was  characteristic  of  the  stranger  that  he 
noticed  the  change  in  a  moment,  but  that, 
immediately  on  doing  so,  he  turned  away  his 
eyes  and  seemed  deeply  interested  in  the  distant 
prospect,  while  he  replied  : — 

'  I  have  again  to  ask  your  pardon  for  my 
stupidity.    Mademoiselle,  of  course,  is  English  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  And   is   therefore,  perhaps,    a   little  pre- 

c2 


20  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

judiced  against  those  who,  hke  the  good  monks 
of  the  Hospice,  shut  themselves  from  all  human 
companionship,  save  that  of  the  wayfarers  whom 
they  live  to  save  and  shelter  ?  Yet,  believe  me, 
it  is  a  life  of  sacred  service  !  Even  here,  among 
the  lonely  snows,  reaches  the  arm  of  the  Holy 
IMother,  to  plant  this  cross  by  the  wayside,  as  a 
symbol  of  her  heavenly  inspiration,  and  to  build 
that  holy  resting-place  as  a  haven  for  those  who 
are  weary  and  would  rest.' 

He  spoke  with  the  same  soft  insinuating 
smile  as  before,  but  his  eye  kindled,  and  his 
pale  face  flushed  with  enthusiasm.  Alma,  who 
had  turned  towards  the  carriage  which  stood 
awaiting  her,  looked  at  him  with  new  interest. 
Something  in  his  words  chimed  in  with  a  secret 
lonsino;  of  her  heart. 

'  I  have  been  taught  to  believe.  Monsieur, 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  21 

that  your  faith  is  practically  dead.  Every- 
where we  see,  instead  of  its  living  temples, 
only  the  ruins  of  its  old  power.  If  its  spirit 
exists  still,  it  is  only  in  places  such  as  this,  in 
company  with  loneliness  and  death.' 

'  Ah,  but  Mademoiselle  is  mistaken  ! '   re- 
turned the  other,  following  by  her  side  as  she 
walked   slowly  towards   the    carriage.      '  Had 
you  seen  what  I  have  seen,  if  you  knew  what  I 
know,  of  the  great  Catholic  reaction,  you  would 
think  differently.     Other  creeds,  gloomier  and 
more  ambitious,  have  displaced  ours  for  a  time 
in  your  England  ;   but  let  me  ask  you — yon, 
Mademoiselle,  who  have  a  tridy  religious  spirit 
— you  who  have  yourself  suffered — what  have 
those  other  creeds  done  for  humanity  ?    Believe 
me,  little  or  nothing.     In  times  of  despair  and 
doubt,  the  world  will   again  turn   to  its  first 


22  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

Comforter,    the    ever-patient   and    ever-loving 
Church  of  Christ.' 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  carriage 
door.  The  stranger  bowed  again  and  assisted 
Ahna  to  her  seat.  Then  he  raised  his  hat  with 
profound  respect  in  sign  of  farewell.  The 
coachman  was  about  to  drive  on  when  Alma 
signed  for  him  to  delay. 

'  I  am  on  my  way  to  Domo  d'Ossola,'  she 
said.  '  A  seat  in  my  carriage  is  at  your  service 
if  you  would  prefer  going  on  to  remaining  at 
the  Hospice  for  the  night.' 

'  Mademoiselle,  it  is  too  much  !  I  could 
not  think  of  obtruding  myself  upon  you  !  I,  a 
stranger ! ' 

Yet  he  seemed  to  look  longingly  at  the 
comfortable  seat  in  the  vehicle,  and  to  require 
little  more  pressing  to  accept  the  offer. 


ALMA'S    WANDERJNGS.  23 

'Pray  do  not  hesitate,'  said  Alma,  smiling, 
'  unless  you  prefer  the  company  of  the  monks 
of  the  mountain.' 

'  After  that,  I  can  hesitate  no  longer,' 
returned  the  Abbe,  looking  radiant  with 
delis'ht ;  and  he  forthwith  entered  the  vehicle 
and  placed  himself  by  Alma's  side. 

Thus  it  came  to  pass  that  my  heroine 
descended  the  Pass  of  the  Simplon  in  company 
with  her  new  acquaintance,  an  avowed  member 
of  a  Church  for  which  she  had  felt  very  little 
sympathy  until  that  hour.  To  do  him  justice, 
I  must  record  the  fact  that  she  found  him  a 
most  interesting  companion.  His  knowledge  of 
the  world  was  extensive,  his  learning  little 
short  of  profound,  his  manners  were  charming. 
He  knew  every  inch  of  the  way,  and  pointed 
out  the  objects   of  interest,  digressing  lightly 


24  THE  NEW  ABELARD, 

into  the  topics  they  awakened.  At  every 
turn  the  prospect  brightened.  Leaving  the 
Avild  and  baiTen  slopes  behind  them,  the 
travellers  passed  through  emerald  pasturages, 
and  through  reaches  of  foliage  broken  by 
sounding  torrents,  and  at  last  emerging  from 
the  great  valley,  and  crossing  the  bridge  of 
Crevola,  they  found  themselves  surrounded  on 
every  side  by  vineyards,  orchards,  and  green 
meadows.  When  the  carriage  drew  up  before 
the  door  of  the  hotel  at  Domo  d'Ossola,  Alma 
felt  that  the  time  had  passed  as  if  under 
enchantment.  Although  she  had  spoken  very 
little,  she  had  quite  unconsciously  informed  her 
new  friend  of  three  facts — that  she  was  a 
wealthy  young  Englishwoman  travelling 
through  Europe  at  her  own  free  will ;  that  she 
had  undergone  an  unhappy  experience,  involv- 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  25 

ing,  doubtless,  some  person  of  the  opposite 
sex ;  and  that,  in  despair  of  comfort  from 
creeds  colder  and  less  forgiving,  she  was  just  in 
a  fit  state  of  mind  to  seek  refuge  in  the  bosom 
of  the  Church  of  Eome. 

The  acquaintance,  begun  so  curiously  in 
the  Simplon  Pass,  was  destined  to  continue. 
At  Domo  d'Ossola,  Alma  parted  from  the  Abbe 
Brest,  whose  destination  was  some  obscure 
village  on  the  banks  of  Lago  Maggiore ;  but  a 
few  weeks  later,  when  staying  at  Milan,  she 
encountered  him  again.  She  had  ascended  the 
tower  of  the  Duomo,  and  was  gazing  down  on 
the  streets  and  marts  of  the  beautiful  city,  when 
she  heard  a  voice  behind  her  murmuring  her 
name,  and  turning  somewhat  nervously,  she 
encountered  the  bright  black  eyes  of  the 
wandering  Abbe. 


26  THE  NEW  ABELARD.   . 

He  accosted  her  with  his  characteristic 
honliomie. 

'  Ah,  Mademoiselle,  it  is  you ! '  he  cried 
smiling.  '  We  are  destined  to  meet  in  the 
high  places — liere  on  the  tower  of  the 
cathedral,  there  on  the  heights  of  the  Sim- 
plon  ! ' 

There  was  something  so  unexpected,  so 
mysterious  in  the  man's  reappearance,  that 
Alma  was  startled  in  spite  of  herself,  but  she 
greeted  him  courteously,  and  they  descended 
the  tower  steps  together.  The  Abbe  kept  a 
solemn  silence  as  they  walked  through  the 
sacred  building,  with  its  mighty  w^alls  of  white 
marble,  its  gorgeous  decorations,  its  antique 
tombs,  its  works  in  bronze  and  in  mosaic ;  but 
when  they  passed  from  the  porch  into  the 
open  sunhght,  he  became  as  garrulous  as  ever. 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  27 

They  walked  along  together  in  the  direction  of 
the  Grand  Hotel,  where  Alma  was  staying. 

'Have  you  driven  out  to  the  cathedral  at 
Monza  ?  '  inquired  the  Abbe  in  the  course  of 
their  conversation. 

'  No  ;  is  it  worth  seeing  ?  ' 

'  Certainly.  Besides,  it  contains  the  sacred 
crown  of  Lombardy,  the  iron  band  of  which  is 
made  out  of  nails  from  the  true  cross.' 

'  Indeed ! '  exclaimed  Alma  with  a  smile 
that  was  incredulous,  even  contemptuous.  She 
glanced  at  her  comj^anion,  and  saw  that  he  was 
smiling  too. 

It  was  not  until  she  had  been  some  weeks 
away  from  England  that  Alma  Craik  quite 
realised  her  position  in  the  world.  In  the 
first   wild    excitement   of  her  flight  her  only 


28  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

feeling     was    one     of    bewildered     agitation, 
mingled  witli  a  mad  impulse   to  return  upon 
her  own  footsteps,  and,  reckless  of  the  world's 
opinion,  take  her  place  by  Bra.iley's  side.     A 
word    of    encouragement    from    him   at   that 
period  would  have  decided  her  fate.     But  after 
the  first  pang  of  grief  was  over,  after  she  was 
capable   of  regretful   retrospectio  i,   her  spirit 
became  numbed  with  utter  despair.     She  found 
herself  solitary,   friendless,   hopeless,    afflicted 
with  an  incurable  moral  disease  to  which  she 
was  unable  to  give  a  name,  but  which  made 
her  long,  like  the  old  anchorites  and  penitents, 
to  seek  some  desert  place  and  yield  her  hfe  to 
God. 

In  this  mood  of  mind  she  turned  for  solace 
to  religion,  and  found  how  useless  for  all  prac- 
tical purposes  was  her  creed  of  beautiful  -ideas. 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  29 

Her  faith  in  Cliristian  facts  had  been  shaken 
if  not  destroyed  ;  the  Christian  myth  had  the 
vagueness  and  strangeness  of  a  dream ;  yet, 
true  to  her  old  instincts,  she  haunted  the 
temples  of  the  Churcli,  and  felt  like  one  wan- 
dering tlirough  a  great  graveyard  of  the  dead. 

Travelling  quite  alone,  for  her  maid  was  in 
no  sense  of  the  words  a  confidante  or  a  com- 
panion, she  could  not  fail  to  awaken  curious 
interest  in  many  with  whom  she  was  thrown 
into  passing  contact.  Her  extraordinary  per- 
sonal beauty  was  heightened  rather  than  ob- 
scured by  her  singularity  of  dress  ;  for  though 
she  wore  no  wedding-ring,  she  dressed  in  black 
like  a  widow,  and  had  the  manners  as  well  as 
the  attire  of  a  person  profoundly  mourning. 
At  the  hotels  she  invariably  engaged  private 
apartments,  seldom  or  never  descending  to  the 


30  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

public  rooms,-  or  joining  in  the  tables- d'hote. 
The  general  impression  concerning  her  was 
that  she  was  an  eccentric  young  Englishwoman 
of  great  wealth,  recently  bereaved  of  some 
person  very  near  and  dear  to  her,  possibly  her 
husband. 

Thus  she  lived  in  seclusion,  resisting  all 
friendly  advances,  whether  on  the  part  of 
foreigners  or  of  her  own  countrymen  ;  and 
her  acquaintance  with  the  Abbe  Brest  would 
never  have  passed  beyond  a  few  casual  cour- 
tesies had  it  not  begun  under  circumstances  so 
peculiar  and  in  a  place  so  solitary,  or  had  the 
man  himself  been  anything  but  a  member  of 
the  mysterious  Mother  Church.  But  the 
woman's  spirit  was  pining  for  some  kind  of 
guidance,  and  the  magnetic  name  of  Eome 
had   already   awakened    in    it    a   melancholy 


ALMA'S    WANDERINGS.  31 

fascination.  The  strange  priest  attracted  her, 
firstly,  by  his  eloquent  personality,  secondly, 
by  the  authority  he  seemed  to  derive  from  a 
power  still  pretending  to  achieve  miracles  : 
and  though  in  her  heart  she  despised  the  pre- 
tensions  and  loathed  the  dogmas  of  his  Church, 
she  felt  in  his  presence  the  sympathy  of  a 
prescient  mind.  For  the  rest,  any  companion- 
ship, if  hitellectual,  was  better  than  utter  social 
isolation. 

So  the  meeting  on  the  tower  of  the  Duomo 
led  to  other  meetings.  The  Abbe  became  her 
constant  companion,  and  her  guide  through 
all  the  many  temples  of  the  queenly  city. 


THE  NEW  ABELARD. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

GLIMPSES    OF    THE   UNSEEN. 

The  earth,  has  bubbles  as  the  water  hath, 
And  these  are  of  them  ! — Macbeth. 

While  the  woman  he  had  so  cruelly  deceived 
and  wronged  was  wandering  from  city  to  city, 
and  trying  in  vain  to  iind  rest  and  consolation, 
Ambrose  Bradley  remained  at  the  post  where 
she  had  left  him,  the  most  melancholy  soul 
beneath  the  sun.  All  his  happiness  in  his  w^ork 
being  gone,  his  ministration  lost  the  fervour 
and  originahty  that  had  at  first  been  its  domi- 
nant attraction. 

Sir  George  had   not  exaggerated  when  he 


GLIMPSES    OF   THE    UASEEN.  33 

said  that  the  clergyman's  flock  was  rapidly 
falling  away  from  him.  New  lights  were 
arising ;  new  religious  whims  and  oddities 
were  attracting  the  restless  spirits  of  the  metro- 
pohs.  A  thought-reading  charlatan  from  the 
New  World,  a  learned  physiologist  proving  the 
oneness  of  the  sympathetic  system  with  polar- 
ised light,  a  maniacal  non-jurist  asserting  the 
prerogative  of  affirmation  at  the  bar  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  became  each  a  nine-days' 
wonder.  The  utterances  of  the  new  gospel 
were  forgotten,  or  disregarded  as  flatulent  and 
unprofitable ;  and  Ambrose  Bradley  found  his 
occupation  gone. 

For  all  this  he  cared  little  or  nothino-.  He 
was  too  lost  in  contempLnion  of  his  own  moral 
misery.  All  his  thoug]it  and  prayer  being  I0 
escape  from  this,  he  tried  various  distractions — 

VOL.  III.  D 


34  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

the  theatre,  for  example,  with  its  provincial 
theory  of  edification  grafted  on  the  dry  stem  of 
what  had  once  been  a  tree  of  hteratnre.  He 
was  utterly  objectless  and  miserable,  when,  one 
morning,  he  received  the  following  letter : — 

'  Monmouth  Crescent,  Bayswater. 

'My  dear  Sir, — Will  you  permit  me  to 
remind  you,  by  means  of  this  letter,  of  the 
notes  of  introduction  presented  recently  by  me 

to  you,  and  written  by  our  friends, and 

,  in  America?     My  sister  gives  a  seance 

to-morrow  evening,  and  several  notabilities  of 
the  scientific  and  literary  world  have  promised 
to  be  present.  If  you  will  honour  us  with 
your  company,  I  think  you  will  be  able  to 
form  a  disinterested  opinion  on  the  importance 
of  the  new  biology,  as  manifestations  of  an 
extraordinary  kind   are   confidently  expected. 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE    UNSEEN.  35 

— With  kind  regards,  in  which  my  sister  joins, 
I  am,  most  faithfully  yours, 

'Salem  Mapleleafe, 

'  Solar  Biologist! 

'  P.S. — The  seance  commences  at  five 
o'clock,  in  this  domicile.' 

Bradley's  first  impulse  was  to  throw  the 
letter  aside,  and  to  write  a  curt  but  polite 
refusal.  On  reflection,  however,  he  saw  in 
the  proposed  seance  a  means  of  temporary 
distraction.  Besides,  the  affair  of  the  myste- 
rious photograph  had  left  him  not  a  little 
curious  as  to  tlie  machinery  used  by  the 
brother  and  sister — arcades  amho^  or  impostors 
both,  he  was  certain — to  gull  an  uudiscerning 
public. 

At  a  little   before   five   on    the   followino- 
evening,   therefore,   he   presented    himself   at 

D  2 


36  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

the  door  of  the  house  in  Monmouth  Crescent, 
sent  up  his  card,  and  was  ahuost  immediately 
shown  into  tlie  drawing-room.  To  his  surprise 
he  found  no  one  tliere,  but  he  had  scarcely 
glanced  round  the  apartment  when  the  door 
opened,  and  a  slight  sylph-like  figure,  clad  in 
white,  appeared  before  him. 

At  a  glance  he  recognised  the  face  he  had 
seen  on  the  fading  photograph. 

'  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Bradley  ? '  said 
Eustasia,  holding  out  a  thin  transparent  hand, 
and  fixing  her  light  eyes  upon  his  face. 

'I  received  your  brother's  invitation,'  he 
replied  rather  awkwardly.  '  I  am  afraid  I 
am  a  little  before  my  time.' 

'  Well,  you're  the  first  to  arrive.  Salem's 
upstairs  washing,  and  will  be  down  directly. 
He's  real  pleased  to  know  you've  come.' 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE    UNSEEN.  37 

She  flitted  lightly  across  the  room,  and  sat 
down  close  to  the  window.  She  looked  white 
and  worn,  and  all  the  life  of  her  frame  seemed 
concentrated  in  her  extraordinary  eyes,  which 
she  fixed  upon  the  visitor  with  a  steadiness 
calculated  to  discompose  a  timid  man. 

'  Won't  you  sit  down,  Mr.  Bradley  ? '  she 
said,  repeating  the  name  with  a  curious  fami- 
Harity. 

'  You  seem  to  know  me  well,'  he  replied, 
seating  himself,  '  though  I  do  not  think  we 
have  ever  met.' 

'  Oh,  yes,  we  have ;  leastways,  I've  often 
heard  you  preach.  I  knew  a  man  once  in  the 
States,  who  was  the  very  image  of  you.  He's 
dead  now,  he  is.' 

Her  voice,  with  its  strong  foreign  inflexion, 
rang  so  strangely  and  plaintively  on  the  last 


38  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

words,  that  Bradley  was  startled.  He  looked 
at  the  girl  more  closely,  and  was  struck  by  her 
unearthly  beauty,  contrasting  so  oddly  with 
her  matter-of-fact,  offhand  manner. 

'Your  brother  tells  me  that  you  are  a 
sibyl,'  he  said,  drawing  his  chair  nearer.  '  I 
am  afraid,  Miss  Mai:)leleafe,  you  will  find  me 
a  disturbing  influence.  I  have  about  as  much 
faith  in  solar  biology,  spiritualism,  spirit- 
agency,  or  whatever  you  like  to  call  it,  as  I 
have  in — well,  Mumbo- Jumbo.' 

Her  eyes  still  looked  brightly  into  his,  and 
her  wan  face  was  ht  up  with  a  curious 
smile. 

'  That's  what  they  all  say  at  first !  Guess 
you  think,  then,  that  I'm  an  impostor?  Don't 
be  afraid  to  speak  your  mind  ;  I'm  used  to  it ; 
I've  had  worse   than   hard  names  thrown  at 


GLIMPSES   OF  THE   UNSEEN.  39 

me ;  stones  and  all  that.  I  was  stabbed  once 
down  South,  and  I've  the  mark  still ! ' 

As  she  spoke,  she  bared  her  white  arm  to 
the  elbow,  and  showed,  just  in  the  fleshy  part 
of  the  arm,  the  mark  of  an  old  scar. 

'  The  man  that  did  that  drew  his  knife  in 
the  dark,  and  pinioned  my  arm  to  the  table. 
The  very  man  that  was  like  you' 

And  lifting  her  arm  to  her  lips  she  kissed 
the  scar,  and  murmured,  or  crooned,  to  herself 
as  she  had  done  on  the  former  occasion  in  the 
presence  of  her  brother.  Bradley  looked  on 
in  amazement.  So  far  as  he  could  perceive 
at  present,  the  woman  was  a  half-mad  creature, 
scarcely  responsible  for  what  she  said  or 
did. 

His  embarrassment  was  not  lessened  when 
Eustasia,   still   holding   the   arm    to   her   lips. 


40  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

looked  at  him  through  thickly  gathering  tears, 
and  then,  as  if  starting  from  a  trance,  gave 
vent  to  a  wild  yet  musical  laugh. 

Scarcely  knowing  what  to  say,  he  con- 
tinued the  former  topic  of  conversation. 

'  I  presume  you  are  what  is  called  a  clair- 
voyante.  That,  of  course,  I  can  understand. 
But,  do  you  really  believe  in  supernatural 
manifestations  ? ' 

Here  the  voice  of  the  little  Professor,  who 
had  quietly  entered  the  room,  supplied  an 
answer. 

'Certainly  not,  sir.  The  office  of  solar 
biology  is  not  to  vindicate,  but  to  destroy, 
supernaturahsm.  You  mean  superhuman, 
M'hich  is  quite  another  thing. 

*  All  things  abide  in  Nature,  nought  subsists 
Beyond  the  infinite  celestial  scheme. 
AlottiS  in  the  sunbeam  are  the  lives  of  men, 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE    UNSEEN.  41 

But  in  tlie  moonlight  and  the  stellar  ray, 
In  every  burning  flame  of  every  sphere, 
Exist  intelligible  agencies 
Akin  to  thine  and  mine. 


That's  how  the  great  Bard  puts  it  in  a  nutshell. 
Other  lives  in  other  worlds,  sir,  but  no  life  out 
or  beyond  Nature,  which  embraces  the  solid 
universe  to  the  remotest  point  in  space.' 

Concluding  with  this  flourish,  Professor 
Mapleleafe  dropped  down  into  commonplace, 
wrung  the  visitor's  hand,  and  wished  him  a 
very  good-day. 

'  How  do  you  feel,  Eustasia  ?  '  he  continued 
with  some  anxiety,  addressing  his  sister.  '  Do 
you  feel  as  if  the  atmosphere  this  afternoon 
was  properly  conditioned  .^ ' 

'  Yes,  Salem,  I  think  so.' 

The  Professor  looked  at  his  watch,  and 
simidtaneously  there  came  a  loud  rapping  at 


42  THE  NEW  ADELARD. 

the  door.  Presently  three  persons  entered,  a 
tall,  powerful-looking  man,  who  was  introduced 
as  Doctor  Kendall,  and  two  elderly  gentlemen ; 
then  a  minute  later,  a  little  gray-haired  man, 
the  well-known  Sir  James  Beaton,  a  famous 
physician  of  Edinburgh.  The  party  was  com- 
pleted by  the  landlady  of  the  house,  who 
came  up  dressed  in  black  silk,  and  wearing  a 
widow's  cap. 

'  Now,  then,  ladies  and  gentlemen,'  said  the 
little  Professor  ghbly,  '  we  shall,  with  your 
permission,  begin  in  the  usual  manner,  by 
darkening  the  chamber  and  forming  an  ordinary 
circle.  I  warn  you,  however,  that  this  is  trivial, 
and  in  the  manner  of  professional  mediums. 
As  the  seance  advances  and  the  power  deepens, 
we  shall  doubtless  be  lifted  to  higher  ground.' 

So  saying  he  drew  the  heavy  curtains  of  the 


GLIMPSES   OF   THE   UNSEEN.  43 

window,  leaving  the  room  in  semi-darkness. 
Then  the  party  sat  down  around  a  small  cir- 
cular table,  and  touched  hands  ;  Bradley  sitting 
opposite  Eustasia,  who  had  Dr.  Kendall  on  her 
right  and  Sir  James  Beaton  on  her  left.  The 
usual  manifestations  followed.  The  table  rose 
bodily  into  the  air,  bells  were  rung,  tiny 
sparkles  of  light  flashed  about  the  room. 

This  lasted  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  at 
the  end  of  which  time  Mapleleafe  broke  the 
circle,  and  drawing  back  a  curtain,  admitted 
somehght  into  the  room.  It  was  then  discovered 
that  Eustasia,  sitting  in  her  place,  with  her 
hands  resting  upon  the  table,  was  in  a  state  of 
mesmeric  trance  ;  and  ghastly  and  sibylline 
indeed  she  looked,  with  her  great  eyes  wide 
open,  her  golden  hair  fallen  on  her  shoulders, 
her  face  shining  as  if  mysteriously  anointed.j 


44  THE  NEW  A  BE  LARD. 

'  Eustasia  ! '  said  the  Professor  softly. 

The  girl  remained  motionless,  and  did  not 
seem  to  hear. 

'  Eustasia  ! '  he  repeated. 

This  time  her  lips  moved,  and  a  voice,  that 
seemed  shriller  and  clearer  than  her  own, 
replied  : — 

'  Eustasia  is  not  here.     I  am  Sira.' 

'WhoisSira?' 

'  A  spirit  of  the  third  magnitude,  from  the 
region  of  the  moon,' 

A  titter  ran  round  the  company,  and  Sir 
James  Beaton  essayed  a  feeble  joke. 

'  A  lunar  spirit — we  shall  not,  I  hope,  be 
de  lunatico  inquii^endo.'' 

'  Hush,  sir  ! '  cried  the  Professor  ;  then  he 
continued,  addressing    the   medium  his  sister, 


GLIMPSES   OF  THE    UNSEEN.  45 

'  Let  me  kuow  if  the  conditions  are  perfect  or 
imperfect  ? ' 

*  I  cannot  tell,'  was  the  reply. 

'  Do  you  see  anything,  Sira  ?  ' 

'  I  see  faint  forms  floating  on  the  sunbeam. 
They  come  and  go,  they  change  and  fade.  One 
is  like  a  child,  with  its  hand  full  of  flowers. 
They  are  lilies — 0,  I  can  see  no  more.  I  am 
blind.     There  is  too  much  light.' 

The  Professor  drew  the  ciu-tain,  darkening 
the  chamber.  He  then  sat  down  in  his  place 
at  the  table,  and  requested  alh  present  to  touch 
hands  once  more.  So  far,  Bradley  had  looked 
on  with  impatience,  not  unmingled  with  disgust. 
What  he  saw  and  heard  was  exactly  what  he 
had  heard  described  a  hundred  times. 

With  the  darkening  of  the  room,  the  mani- 


46  THE  NEW  ADELARD. 

festations  recommenced.  The  table  moved 
about  like  a  tiling  possessed,  the  very  floor 
seemed  to  tremble  and  upheave,  the  bells  rang, 
the  lights  flashed. 

Then  all  at  once  Bradley  became  aware  of 
a  strange  sound,  as  if  the  whole  room  were  full 
of  life. 

'  Keep  still ! '  said  the  Professor.  '  Do  not 
break  the  chain.     Wait ! ' 

A  long  silence  followed  ;  then  the  strange 
sound  was  heard  again. 

'  Are  you  there,  my  friend  ?  '  asked  the 
Professor. 

There  was  no  reply. 

'  Are  the  conditions  right  ?  ' 

He  was  answered  by  a  cry  from  the  me- 
dium, so  wild  and  strange  that  all  present  were 
startled  and  awed. 


GLIMPSES  OF   THE    UNSEEN.  47 

'  See  !  see ! ' 

'  What  is  it»  Sira  ? '  demanded  the  Professor. 

'  Shapes  like  angels,  carrying  one  that  looks 
like  a  corpse.  They  are  singing — do  you  not 
hear  them  ?  Now  they  are  touching  me — they 
are  passing  their  hands  over  my  hair.  I  see  my 
mother ;  she  is  weeping  and  bending  over  me. 
Mother  !  mother  !  ' 

Simultaneously,  Bradley  himself  appeared 
conscious  of  glimpses  like  human  faces  flashing 
and  fading.  In  spite  of  his  scepticism,  a  deep 
dread,  which  was  shared  more  or  less  by  all 
present,  fell  upon  him.  Then  all  at  once  he 
became  aware  of  something  like  a  living 
form,  clad  in  robes  of  dazzling  whiteness,  pass- 
ing by  him.  An  icy  cold  hand  was  pressed 
to  his  forehead,  leaving  a  clannny  damp  hke 
dew. 


48  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'I  see  a  shape  of  some  kind,'  he  cried. 
'  Does  anyone  else  perceive  it  ?  ' 

*  Yes  !  yes !  yes ! '  came  from  several  voices. 

'  It  is  the  spirit  of  a  woman,'  murmured  the 
medium. 

'  Do  you  know  her .?  '  added  the  Professor. 

'No  ;  she  belongs  to  the  hving  world,  not 
to  the  dead.  I  see  far  away,  somewhere  on 
this  planet,  a  beautiful  lady  lying  asleep  ;  she 
seems  full  of  sorrow,  her  pillow  is  wet  with 
tears.  Tliis  is  the  lady's  spirit,  brought  hither 
by  the  magnetic  influence  of  one  she  loves.' 

'  Can  you  describe  her  to  us  more 
closely  ? ' 

'Yes.  She  has  dark  hair,  and  splendid 
dark  eyes;  she  is  tall  and  lovely.  The  lady 
and  the  spirit  are  alike,  the  counterpart  of  each 
other.' 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE   UNSEEN.  49 

Once  more  Bradley  was  conscious  of  the 
white  form  standing  near  him  ;  he  reached  out 
his  hands  to  touch  it,  but  it  immediately 
vanished. 

At  the  same  moment  he  felt  a  touch  like 
breath  upon  his  face,  and  heard  a  soft  musical 
voice  murmuring  in  his  ear — 

'  Ambrose  !  beloved ! ' 

He  started  in  wonder,  for  the  voice  seemed 
that  of  Alma  Craik. 

'  Be  good  enough  not  to  break  the  chain  ! ' 
said  the  landlady,  who  occupied  the  chair  at 
his  side. 

Trembling  violently,  he  returned  his  hands 
to  their  place,  touching  those  of  his  immediate 
neighbours  on  either  side.  The  instant  he  did 
so,  he  heard  the  voice  again,  and  felt  the  touch 
like  breath. 

VOL.  III.  E 


so  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Ambrose,  do  you  know  me  ?  ' 

'  Who  is  speaking  ? '  he  demauded. 

A  hand  soft  as  velvet  and  cold  as  ice  was 
passed  over  liis  hair. 

'  It  is  I,  dearest ! '  said  the  voice.  '  It  is 
Alma  I ' 

'  What  brings  you  here  ?  '  he  murmured, 
almost  inaudibly. 

'  I  knew  you  were  in  sorrow  ; — I  came  to 
bring  you  comfort,  and  to  assure  you  of  my 
affection.' 

The  words  were  spoken  in  a  low,  just 
audible  voice,  close  to  his  ear,  and  it  is  doubt- 
ful if  they  were  heard  by  any  other  member 
of  the  company.  In  the  meantime  the  more 
commonplace  manifestations  still  continued ; 
the  room  was  full  of  strange  sounds,  bells  ring- 
ing, knocking,  shuffling  of  invisible  feet. 


GLIMPSES   OF  THE    UNSEEN.  51 

Bradley  was  startled  beyond  measure. 
Either  her  supernatural  presence  was  close  by 
him,  or  he  was  the  victim  of  some  cruel  trick. 
Before  he  could  speak  again,  he  felt  the  pres- 
sure of  cold  lips  on  his  forehead,  and  the  same 
strange  voice  murmm^ing  farewell. 

Wild  with  excitement,  not  unmingled  with 
suspicion,  he  again  broke  the  chain  and  sprang 
to  his  feet.  There  was  a  sharp  cry  from  the 
medium,  as  he  sprang  to  the  window  and  drew 
back  the  curtain,  letting  in  the  daylight.  But 
the  act  discovered  nothing.  All  the  members 
of  the  circle,  save  himself,  were  sitting  in  their 
places.  Eustasia,  the  medium,  was  calmly 
leaning  back  in  her  chair.  In  a  moment,  how- 
ever, she  started,  put  her  hand  quickly  to  her 
forehead  as  if  in  pain,  and  seemed  to  emei-ge 
from  her  trance. 

E  2 


52  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

'  Salem,'  she  cried  in  her  own  natural  voice, 
'  has  anylliing  happened  ?  ' 

'  Mr.  Bradley  has  broken  the  conditions, 
that's  all,'  returned  the  Professor,  with  an  air 
of  offended  dignity.  '  1  do  protest,  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  against  that  interruption.  It  has 
brought  a  most  interestinf;p  seance  to  a  violent 
close.' 

There  was  a  general  murmur  from  the 
company,  and  dissatisfied  glances  were  cast  at 
the  offender. 

'  I  am  very  sorry,'  said  the  clergyman.  '  I 
yielded  to  an  irresistible  influence.' 

'  The  spmts  won't  be  trifled  with,  sir,'  cried 
Mnpleleafe. 

'  Certainly  not,'  said  one  of  the  elderly 
gentlemen.  'Solemn  mysteries  like  these 
should  be  approached  in  a  fair  and  a — hum — 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE    UNSEEN.  53 

a  respectful  spirit.  For  my  own  part,  I  am 
quite  satisfied  with  what  I  have  seen.  \\. 
convinces  me  of — hum — the  reality  of  these 
phenomena.' 

The  other  elderly  gentleman  concurred. 
Dr.  Kendall  and  Sir  James,  who  had  been 
comparing  notes,  said  that  they  would  reserve 
their  final  judgment  until  they  had  been  pre- 
sent at  another  seance.  In  the  mean  time 
they  would  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  what  they 
had  witnessed  was  very  extraordinary  indeed. 

'  How  are  you  now,  Eustasia  ? '  said  the 
Professor,  addressing  his  sister. 

'  My  head  aches.  I  feel  as  if  I  had  been 
standing  for  hours  in  a  burning  sun.  When  you 
called  me  back  I  was  dreaming  so  strangely. 
I  thought  I  was  in  some  celestial  place,  walk- 
ing hand  in  hand  with  the  Lord  Jesus.' 


54  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

Bradley  looked  at  the  speaker's  face.  It 
looked  full  of  clfiii  or  witch-like  rather  than 
angelic  light.  Their  eyes  met,  and  Eiistasia 
gave  a  curious  smile. 

'  Will  you  come  again,  Mr.  Bradley  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  ;  that  is  to  say,  if 
you  will  permit  me.' 

'  I  do  think,  sir,'  interrupted  the  Professor, 
'  that  you  have  given  offence  to  the  celestial 
intelligences,  and  I  am  not  inclined  to  admit 
you  to  our  circle  again.' 

Several  voices  murmured  approval. 

'  You  are  wrong,  brother,'  cried  Eustasia, 
'  you  are  quite  wrong,' 

'  What  do  you  mean,  Eustasia  .^  ' 

'  I  mean  that  Mr.  Bradley  is  a  medium 
himself,  and  a  particular  favourite  with  spirits 
of  the  fir>-t  order.' 


GLIMPSES  OF  THE    UNSEEN.  55 

The  Professor  seemed  to  reflect. 

'  Well,  if  that's  so  (and  you  ought  to  know), 
it's  another  matter.  But  he'll  have  to  promise 
not  to  break  the  conditions.  It  ain't  fair  to 
the  spirits ;  it  ain't  fair  to  his  fellow- 
inquirers.' 

One  by  one  the  company  departed,  but 
Bradley  still  lingered,  as  if  he  had  something 
still  to  hear  or  say.  At  last,  when  the  last 
visitor  had  gone,  and  the  landlady  had  grimly 
stalked  away  to  continue  her  duties  in  the 
basement  of  the  house,  he  found  himself  alone 
with  the  brother  and  sister. 

He  stood  hesitating,  hat  in  hand. 

'  May  I  ask  you  a  few  questions  ?  '  he  said, 
addressing  Eustasia. 

'  Why,  certainly,'  she  replied. 

'  While  you  were  in  the  state  of  trance  did 


56  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

you  see  or  hear  anything  that  took  place  in 
tliis  room  ? ' 

Eustasia  shook  her  head. 

'  Do  you  know  anything  whatever  of  my 
private  hfe  ? ' 

'  I  guess  not,  except  what  I've  read  in  the 
papers.' 

'  Do  you  know  a  lady  named  Craik,  who 
is  one  of  the  members  of  my  congregation  ?  ' 

The  answer  came  in  another  shake  of  the 
head,  and  a  blank  look  expressing  entire  igno- 
rance. Either  Eustasia  knew  nothing  what- 
ever, or  she  was  a  most  accomplished  actress. 
Puzzled  and  amazed,  yet  still  suspecting  fraud 
of  some  kind,  Bradley  took  his  leave. 


57 


CHAPTEE  XXV. 

A  CATASTROPHE. 
'  After  life's  fitful  fever,  she  sleeps  well  I ' 

The  few  days  followiDg  the  one  on  which  the 
spiritiiahstic  seance  was  held  were  passed  by- 
Bradley  in  a  sort  of  dream.  The  more  he 
thought  of  what  he  had  heard  and  seen,  the 
more  puzzled  he  became.  At  times  he  seemed 
half  inclined  to  believe  in  supernatural  colla- 
boration, then  he  flouted  his  belief  and  laughed 
contemptuously  at  himself.  Of  coiurse  it  was 
all  imposture,  and  he  had  been  a  dupe. 

Then    he    thought    of    Eustasia,   and   the 


58  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

interest  which  she  had  at  first  aroused  in  him 
rapidly  changed  to  indignation  and  contempt. 

Very  soon  these  people  ceased  to  occupy 
his  thoughts  at  all ;  so  self-absorbed  was  he, 
indeed,  in  his  own  trouble  that  he  forgot  them 
as  completely  as  if  they  had  never  been.  After 
all  they  were  but  shadows  which  had  flitted 
across  his  path  and  faded.  Had  he  been  left 
to  himself  he  would  assuredly  never  have 
summoned  them  up  again. 

But  he  was  evidently  too  valuable  a  con- 
vert to  be  let  go  in  that  way.  One  morning 
he  received  the  following  note,  written  on 
delicate  paper  in  the  most  fairylike  of  fragile 
hands : 

'My  dear  Mr,  Bradley, — We  hold  a 
seance  to-morrow  night  at  six,  and  hope  you'll 
come  ;  at  least,  /  do  !    Salem  don't  particularly 


A    CATASTROPHE.  59 

want  you,  since  you  broke  tlie  conditions,  and 

he  regards  you  as  a  disturbing  influence.      / 

know  better :  the  spirits  hke  you,  and  I  feel  that 

with  you  I  could  do  great  things ;  so  I  hope 

you'll  be  here. 

'  EusTASiA  Mapleleafe.' 

Bradley  read  the  letter  through  twice,  then 
he  gazed  at  it  for  a  time  in  trembhng  hesi- 
tation. Should  he  go  ?  Why  not  ?  Suppose 
the  people  were  humbugs,  were  they  worse 
than  dozens  of  others  he  had  met?  and  they 
had  at  least  the  merit  of  bringing  back  to  him 
the  presence  of  the  one  being  who  was  all  in 
all  to  him.  His  hesitation  lasted  only  for  a 
moment — the  repulsion  came.  He  threw  the 
letter  aside. 

A  few  days  later  a  much  more  significant 
incident   occurred.     As   Bradley   was   leavmg 


6o  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

his  house  one  morning  he  came  face  to  face 
with  a  veiled  woman  who  stood  before  his 
door.  He  was  about  to  pass :  the  lady  laid  a 
retaining  hand  upon  his  arm  and  raised  her 
veil. 

It  was  Eustasia. 

'  Guess  you're  surprised  to  see  me,'  she 
said,  noticing  his  start ;  '  suppose  I  may  come 
in,  though,  now  I'm  here  ?  ' 

Bradley  pushed  open  the  door,  and  led  the 
way  to  his  study.  Eustasia  followed  him ; 
having  reached  the  room,  she  sat  down  and 
eyed  him  wistfully. 

'  Did  you  get  my  letter  ?  '  she  asked. 

'  Yes.' 

*  You  didn't  answer  it  ?  ' 

'No.' 

'Why  not?' 


A    CATASTROPHE.  6i 

Bradley  hesitated. 

'  Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  ?  '  he  said. 

'  Why,  certaioly — else  why  do  I  ask  you  ? 
but  I  see  you  don't  wish  to  tell  me.     Why  ?  ' 

'  Because  I  dislike  giving  unnecessary 
pain.' 

'  Ah !  in  other  words  you  believe  me  to  be 
a  humbug,  but  you  haven't  the  cruelty  to  say 
so.  Well,  that  don't  trouble  me.  Prove  me 
to  be  one,  and  you  may  call  me  one,  but  give 
me  a  fair  trial  first.' 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  Come  to  some  more  of  our  seances,  will 
you  ?  do  say  you'll  come  ! ' 

She  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  liis  arm,  and 
fixed  her  eyes  almost  entreatingly  upon  him. 
He  stared  at  her  like  one  fascinated,  then 
shrank  before  her  glance. 


62  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

'  Wliy  do  you  wish  me  to  come  ?  '  he  said. 
'  You  kuow  my  thoughts  and  feehngs  on  this 
subject.  You  and  I  are  cast  in  different 
moulds  ;  we  must  go  different  ways.' 

She  smiled  sadly. 

'  The  spirits  will  it  otherwise,'  she  said ; 
while  under  her  breath  she  added,  'and  so 
do  I.' 

But  he  was  in  no  mood  to  yield  that  day. 
As  soon  as  Eustasia  saw  this  she  rose  to  go. 
When  her  thin  hand  lay  in  his,  she  said  softly  : 

'Mr.  Bradley,  if  ever  you  are  in  trouble 
come  to  us ;  you  will  find  it  is  not  all  humbug 
then  V 

Eustasia  returned  home  full  of  hope.     '  He    ' 
will  come,'  she  said  ;  '  yes,  he  wdll   assuredly 
come.'     But  days  passed,  and  lie  neither  came 
nor  sent ;  at  last,  growing  impatient,  she  called 


A   CATASTROPHE.  63 

again  at  his  house  ;  then  she  learned  that  he 
had  left  London. 

'  He  has  flown  from  me,'  she  thought ;  '  he 
feels  my  influence,  and  fears  it.' 

But  in  this  Eustasia  was  quite  wrong.  He 
was  flying  not  from  her  but  from  himself. 
The  wretched  life  of  self-reproach  and  misery 
which  he  was  compelled  to  lead  was  crushing 
him  dowm  so  utterly  that  unless  he  made  some 
efibrt  he  w^ould  sink  and  sicken.  Die  ?  Well, 
after  all,  that  would  not  have  been  so  hard ; 
but  the  thought  of  leaving  Alma  was  more  than 
he  could  bear.  He  must  live  for  the  sake  of  the 
days  which  might  yet  be  in  store  for  them  both. 

He  needed  change,  however,  and  he  sought 
it  for  a  few  days  on  foreign  soil.  He  went 
over  one  morning  to  Boulogne,  took  rooms  in 
the  Hotel  de   Paris,  and  became  one   of  the 


64  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

swarm  of  tourists  which  was  there  filling  the 
place. 

The  bathing  season  was  then  at  its  height, 
and  people  were  all  too  busy  to  notice  him ;  he 
walked  about  like  one  in  a  dream,  watching 
the  pleasure-seekers,  but  pondering  for  ever  on 
the  old  theme. 

After  all  it  was  well  for  him  that  he  had 
left  England,  he  thought — the  busy  garrulous 
life  of  this  place  came  as  a  relief  after  the 
dreary  monotony  of  town.  In  the  evenings 
he  strolled  out  to  the  concerts  or  open-air 
dances,  and  observed  the  fisher  girls,  with  their 
lovers  moving  about  in  the  gaslight ;  while  in 
the  mornings  he  strolled  about  the  sand  watch- 
ing with  hstless  amusement  the  bathers  who 
crowded  down  to  the  water's  edge  like  bees  in 
swarmiu£f  time. 


A    CATASTROPHE.  65 

One  morniug,  feeling  more  sick  at  heart 
than  usual,  he  issued  from  the  hotel  and  bent 
his  steps  towards  the  strand.  On  that  day 
the  scene  was  unusually  animated.  Flocks 
of  fantastically-dressed  children  amused  them- 
selves by  making  houses  in  the  sand,  while 
their  honnes  watched  over  them,  and  their 
mammas,  clad  in  equally  fantastic  costumes, 
besieged  the  bathing-machines.  Bradley 
walked  for  a  time  on  the  sands  watching  the 
variegated  crowd ;  it  was  amusing  and  dis- 
tracting, and  he  was  about  to  look  around  for 
a  quiet  spot  in  which  he  could  spend  an  hour 
or  so,  when  he  was  suddenly  startled  by  nn 
apparition. 

A  party  of  three  were  making  tlieir  way 
towards  the  bathing-machines,  and  were  even 
then  within  a  few  yards   of  him.     One  was  a 

VOL.    III.  p 


66  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

child  dressed  in  a  showy  costume  of  serge,  with 
long  cuils  falling  upon  his  shoulders  ;  on  one 
side  of  him  was  a  French  bonne,  on  the  other  a 
lady  extravagantly  attired  in  the  most  gorgeous 
of  sea-side  costumes.  Her  cheeks  and  lips  were 
painted  a  bright  red,  but  lier  skin  was  white  as 
alabaster.  She  was  laughing  heartily  at  some- 
thing which  the  little  boy  had  said,  when  sud- 
denly her  eyes  fell  upon  Bradley,  who  stood 
now  within  two  yards  of  her. 

It  was  his  wife. 

She  did  not  pause  nor  shrink,  but  she 
ceased  laughing,  and  a  peculiar  look  of  thinly 
veiled  contempt  passed  over  her  face  as  she 
walked  on. ' 

'  MamaiiJ  said  the  child  in  French,  '  who  is 
that  man,  and  why  did  he  stare  so  at  you  ?  ' 

The  lady  shrugged  her  shoulders,  and 
lauirhed  again. 


A    CATASTROPHE.  67 

'  He  stared  because  he  had  nothing  better 
to  look  at,  I  suppose,  cMri ;  but  come,  I  shall 
miss  my  bath  ;  you  had  best  stay  here  with 
Augustine,  and  make  sand-hills  till  I  rejoin  you. 
Au  revoir,  Bebe.' 

She  left  the  child  with  the  nurse,  hastened 
on  and  entered  one  of  the  bathing-machines, 
which  was  immediately  drawn  down  into  the 
sea. 

Bradley  still  stood  where  she  had  left  him, 
and  his  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  machine 
which  held  the  woman  whose  very  presence 
poisoned  the  air  he  breathed.  All  his  old 
feelings  of  repulsion  returned  tenfold  ;  the  very 
sight  of  the  woman  seemed  to  degrade  and  drag 
him  down. 

As  he  stood  there  the  door  of  the  machine 
opened,  and  she  came  forth  again.     This  time 

F  2 


68  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

she  was  the  woucler  of  alL  Her  shapely  hmbs 
were  partly  naked,  and  her  body  was  covered 
with  a  quaintly  cut  bathing-dress  of  red.  She 
called  out  some  instructions  to  her  nurse  ;  then 
she  walked  down  and  entered  the  sea. 

Bradley  turned  and  walked  away.  He 
passed  up  the  strand  and  sat  down  listlessly  on 
one  of  the  seats  on  the  terrace  facing  the  water. 
He  took  out  Alma's  last  letter,  and  read  it 
through,  and  the  bitterness  of  his  soul  increased 
tenfold. 

When  would  his  misery  end  ?  he  thought. 
Why  did  not  death  come  and  claim  his  own, 
and  leave  him  free?  Wherever  he  went  his 
existence  was  poisoned  by  this  miserable 
woman. 

'  So  it  must  ever  be,'  he  said  bitterly.     '  I 


A   CATASTROPHE.  69 

must  leave  this  place,  for  the  very  sight  of  her 
almost  drives  me  mad.' 

He  rose  and  was  about  to  move  away,  when 
he  became  conscious,  for  the  first  time,  that 
something  unusual  was  taking  place.  He  heard 
sounds  of  crying  and  moaning,  and  everybody 
seemed  to  be  rushing  excitedly  towards  the 
sand.  What  it  was  all  about  Bradley  could  not 
understand,  for  he  could  see  nothing.  He  stood 
and  watched  ;  every  moment  the  cries  grew 
louder,  and  the  crowd  upon  the  sands  increased. 
He  seized  upon  a  passing  Frenchman,  and 
asked  what  the  commotion  meant. 

'  Ras  de  maree,  monsieur!'  rapidly  explained 
the  man  as  he  rushed  onward. 

Thoroughly  mystified  now,  Bradley  resolved 
to  discover  by  personal  inspection  what  it  all 
meant.     Leaving  the  terrace  he  leapt  upon  the 


70  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

shore,  and  gained  the  waiting  crowd  upon  the 
sand.  To  get  an  explanation  from  anyone  here 
seemed  to  be  impossible,  for  every  individual 
member  of  the  crowd  seemed  to  have  gone 
crazy.  The  women  threw  up  their  hands  and 
moaned,  the  children  screamed,  while  the  men 
rushed  half  wildly  about  the  sands. 

Bradley  touched  the  arm  of  a  passing 
Englishman. 

'  What  is  all  this  panic  about?  '  he  said. 

'  The  ras  de  inaree  I ' 

'  Yes,  but  what  is  the  ras  de  ynaree  P ' 

'  Don't  you  know  ?  It  is  a  sudden  rising 
of  the  tide  ;  it  comes  only  once  in  three  years. 
It  has  surprised  the  bathers,  many  of  whom  are 
drowning.  See,  several  machines  have  gone  to 
pieces,  and  the  others  are  floating  like  drift- 
wood !     Yonder  are  two  boats  out  picking  up 


A    CATASTROPHE.  71 

tlie  people,  but  if  the  waves  continue  to  rise 
like  this  they  will  never  save  them  all.  One 
woman  from  that  boat  has  fainted  ;  no,  good 
heavens,  she  is  dead.' 

The  scene  now  became  one  of  intense  ex- 
citement. The  water,  rising  higher  and  higher, 
was  breaking  now  into  waves  of  foam  ;  most  of 
the  machines  were  dashed  about  like  corks 
upon  the  ocean,  their  frightened  occupants 
giving  forth  the  most  fearful  shrieks  and  cries. 
Suddenly  there  was  a  cry  for  the  lifeboat  ; 
immediately  after  it  dashed  down  the  sand, 
drawn  by  two  horses,  and  was  launched  out 
upon  the  sea ;  while  Bradley  and  others  occupied 
themselves  in  attending  to  those  who  were  laid 
fainting  upon  the  shore. 

But  the  boats,  rapidly  as  they  went  to  work, 
proved  insufficient  to  save  the  mass  of  fright- 


72  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

ened  humanity  still  struggling  with  the  waves. 
The  screams  and  cries  became  heartrending  as 
one  after  another  sank  to  rise  no  more.  Sud- 
denly there  was  another  rush. 

'  Leave  the  women  to  attend  to  the 
rescued,'  cried  several  voices.  '  Let  the  men 
swim  out  to  the  rescue  of  those  who  are  ex- 
hausted in  the  sea.' 

There  was  a  rush  to  the  water  ;  among 
the  first  was  Bradley,  who.  throwing  off  his 
coat,  plunged  boldly  into  the  water.  Many 
of  those  who  followed  him  w^ere  soon  over- 
come by  the  force  of  the  waves  and  driven 
back  to  shore ;  but  Bradley  was  a  powerful 
swimmer,  and  went  on. 

He  made  straight  for  a  figure  which, 
seemingly  overlooked  by  everyone  else,  was 
drifting  rapidly  out  to  sea.     On  coming  nearer 


A    CATASTROPHE.  72, 

he  saw,  by  the  long  bhick  hair,  which  floated 
around  her  on  the  water,  that  the  figure  was 
that  of  a  woman.  How  she  supported  herself 
Bradley  could  not  see  ;  she  was  neither  swim- 
ming nor  floating  ;  her  back  was  towards  him, 
and  she  might  have  fainted,  for  she  made  no 
sound. 

On  comincf  nearer  he  saw  that  she  was 
supporting  herself  by  means  of  a  plank,  part 
of  the  debris  which  had  drifted  from  the 
broken  machines.  By  this  time  he  was  quite 
near  to  her ; — she  turned  her  face  towards 
him,  and  he  almost  cried  out  in  pain. 

He  recognised  his  wife  ! 

Yes,  there  she  was,  helpless  and  almost 
fainting — her  eyes  were  heavy,  her  lips  blue ; 
and  he  seemed  to  be  looking  straight  into  the 
face  of  death.     Bradley  paused,  and  the  two 


74  THE  NEIV  ABELARD. 

gazed  into  each  other's  eyes.  lie  saw  that 
her  strength  was  going,  but  he  made  no 
attempt  to  put  out  a  hand  to  save  her.  He 
thought  of  the  past,  of  the  curse  this  woman 
had  been  to  him  ;  and  he  knew  that  by  merely 
doing  nothing  she  would  be  taken  from 
him. 

Should  he  let  her  die?  Why  not?  If  he 
had  not  swum  out  she  most  assuredly  would 
have  sunk  and  been  heard  of  no  more.  Again 
he  looked  at  her  and  she  looked  at  him :  her 
eyes  were  almost  closed  now :  having  once 
looked  into  his  face  she  seemed  to  have 
resigned  all  hopes  of  rescue. 

No,  he  could  not  save  her — the  temptation 
was  too  great.  He  turned  and  swam  in  the 
direction  of  another  figure  which  was  floating 
helplessly   upon    the    waves.      He    had   only 


A    CATASTROPHE.  75 

taken  three  strokes  when  a  violent  revulsion 
of  feehng  came ;  with  a  terrible  cry  he  turned 
again  to  the  spot  where  he  had  left  the  fainting 
and  drowning  woman.  But  she  was  not  there 
— the  plank  was  floating  upon  the  water — that 
was  all. 

Bradley  dived,  and  reappeared  holding  the 
woman  in  his  arms.  Then  he  struck  out  with 
her  to  the  shore. 

It  was  a  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  get 
there,  for  she  lay  like  lead  in  his  hold.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  shore,  he  carried  her  up  the 
beach,  and  placed  her  upon  the  sand. 

Then  he  looked  to  see  if  she  was  conscious. 

Yes,  she  still  breathed  ; — he  gave  her  some 
brandy,  and  did  all  in  his  power  to  restore  her 
to  life.  After  a  while  she  opened  her  eyes, 
and  looked  into  Bradley's  face. 


76  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Ah,  it  is  you ! '  she  inurrniired  faintly, 
then,  with  a  long-drawn  sigh,  she  sank  back, 
dead  ! 

Still  dripping  from  his  encounter  with  the 
sea,  liis  face  as  white  as  the  dead  face  before 
him,  Bradley  stood  like  one  turned  to  stone. 
Suddenly  he  was  aroused  by  a  heartrending 
shriek.  The  little  boy  whom  he  had  seen  with 
the  dead  woman  broke  from  the  hands  of  his 
nurse,  and  sobbing  violently  threw  himself 
upon  the  dead  body. 

'  Maman !  rnaman  ! '  he  moaned. 

The  helpless  cries  of  the  child  forced  upon 
Bradley  the  necessity  for  innuediate  action. 
Having  learned  from  the  nurse  the  address 
of  the  house  where  '  Mrs.  Montmorency '  was 
staying,  he  had  the  body  put  upon  a  stretcher 
and  conveyed  there.     He  himself  walked  be- 


A    CATASTROPHE.  77 

side  it,  and   the  child  followed,  screaming  and 
crying,  in  his  nurse's  arms. 

Having  reached  the  house,  the  body  was 
taken  into  a  room  to  be  properly  dressed, 
while  Bradley  tried  every  means  in  his  power 
to  console  the  child  !  After  a  while  he  was 
told  that  all  was  done,  and  he  went  into  the 
chamber  of  death. 


78  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 


CHAPTEE   XXVI. 

THE   LAST   LOOK. 

Dead  woman,  shrouded  white  as  snow 

AVhile  Death  the  shade  broods  darkly  nigh, 

Place  thy  cold  hand  in  mine,  and  so — 
*  Good-bye.' 

No  prayer  or  blessing  born  of  breath 
Came  from  thy  lips  as  thou  didst  die  ; 

I  loath'd  thee  living,  but  in  death — 
'  Good-bye !  ' 

So  close  together  after  all. 

After  long  strife,  stand  thou  and  I, 
I  bless  thee,  wliile  I  faintly  call — 

'  Good-bye ! ' 

Good-bye  the  past  and  all  its  pain, 
Kissing  thy  poor  dead  hand,  I  cry — 

Again,  again,  and  yet  again — 

'  Good-bye ! ' —  The  Exile :  a  Poem. 

It    would    have    been     difficult    to    analyse 
accurately  the  emotions  which  filled  the  bosom 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  79 

of  Ambrose  Bradley,  as  he  stood  and  looked 
upon  the  dead  face  of  the  woman  who,  accord- 
ing to  the  law  of  the  land  and  the  sacrament 
of  the  Church,  had  justly  clahned  to  be  his 
wife.  He  could  not  conceal  from  himself  that 
the  knowledge  of  her  death  brought  relief 
to  him  and  even  joy ;  but  mingled  with  that 
relief  were  other  feelings  less  reassuring — pity, 
remorse  even,  and  a  strange  sense  of  humilia-. 
tion.  He  had  never  really  loved  the  woman, 
and  her  conduct,  previous  to  their  long  separa- 
tion, had  been  such  as  to  kill  all  sympathy  in 
the  heart  of  a  less  sensitive  man,  while  what 
might  be  termed  her  unexpected  resurrection 
had  roused  in  him  a  bitterness  and  a  loathing 
beyond  expression.  Yet  now  that  the  last 
word  was  saidj^  the  last  atonement  made,  now 
that  he  beheld  the  eyes  that  would  never  open 


8o  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

again,  and  the  lips  that  would  never  again 
litter  speech  or  sound,  his  soul  was  stirred  to 
infinite  compassion. 

After  all,  he  thought,  the  blame  had  not 
been  hers  that  they  had  been  so  ill-suited  to 
each  other,  and  afterwards,  when  they  met  in 
after  years,  she  had  not  wilfully  sought  to 
destroy  his  peace.  It  had  all  been  a  cruel 
fatality,  from  the  first :  another  proof  of  tlie 
pitiless  laws  which  govern  liuman  nature,  and 
make  men  and  women  suffer  as  sorely  for 
errors  of  ignorance  and  inexperience  as  for 
crimes  of  knowledge. 

He  knelt  by  the  bedside,  and  taking  her 
cold  hand  kissed  it  solemnly.  Peace  was 
between  them,  he  thought,  then  and  for  ever. 
S}ie  too,  with  all  her  faults  and  all  her  follies, 
had  been  a  fellow- pilgrim  by  his  side  towards 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  8i 

the  great  bourne  whence  no  pilgrim  returns, 
and  she  had  reached  it  first.  He  remembered 
now,  not  the  woman  who  had  flaunted  her 
shamelessness  before  his  eyes,  but  the  pretty 
girl,  almost  a  child,  whom  he  had  first  known 
and  fancied  that  lie  loved.  In  the  intensity 
of  his  compassion  and  self-reproach  he  even 
exaggerated  the  tenderness  he  had  once  felt 
for  her ;  the  ignoble  episode  of  their  first 
intercouse  catching  a  sad  brightness  reflected 
from  the  heavens  of  death.  And  in  this  mood, 
penitent  and  pitying,  he  prayed  that  God 
mijjht  forcrive  them  both. 

When  he  descended  from  the  room,  his 
eyes  were  red  with  tears.  He  found  the  little 
boy  sobbing  wildly  in  the  room  below, 
attended  by  the  kindly  Frenchwoman  who 
kept  the  house.     He  tried  to  soothe  him,  but 

VOL.    III.  G 


82  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

found  it  impossible,  his  grief  being  most  pain- 
ful to  witness,  and  violent  in  the  extreme. 

'  Ah,  monsieur,  it  is  indeed  a  calamity ! ' 
cried  the  woman,  '  Madame  was  so  good  a 
mother,  devoted  to  her  child.  But  God  is 
good — the  little  one  has  a  father  still ! ' 

Bradley  understood  the  meaning  of  her 
words,  but  did  not  attempt  to  undeceive  her. 
His  heart  was  welling  over  with  tenderness 
towards  the  pretty  orphan,  and  he  was  think- 
ing too  of  his  own  harsh  judgments  on  the 
dead,  who,  it  was  clear,  had  possessed  many 
redeeming  virtues,  not  the  least  of  them  being 
her  attachment  to  her  boy. 

'  You  are  right,  madame,'  he  replied,  sadly, 
'  and  the  little  one  shall  not  lack  fatherly  love 
and  care.  Will  you  come  with  me  for  a  few 
moments  ?     I  wish  to  speak  to  you  alone.' 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  83 

He  placed  Ms  hand  tenderly  on  the  child's 
head,  and  again  tried  to  soothe  him,  but  he 
shrank  away  with  petulant  screams  and  cries. 
Walking  to  the  front  entrance  he  waited  till 
he  was  joined  there  by  the  landlady,  and  they 
stood  talking  in  the  open  air. 

'  How  long  had  she  been  here,  madame  ?  ' 
he  asked. 

'For  a  month,  monsieur,'  was  the  rep^. 
'  She  came  late  in  the  season  for  the  baths, 
with  her  honne  and  the  little  boy,  and  took  my 
rooms.  Pardon,  but  I  did  not  know  madame 
had  a  husband  living,  and  so  near.' 

'  We  have  been  separated  for  many  years. 
I  came  to  Boulogne  yesterday  quite  by 
accident,  not  dreaming  the  lady  was  here. 
Can  you  tell  me  if  she  has  friends  in 
Boulogne  ? ' 

G   2 


84  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  I  do  not  tliink  so,  monsieur.  She  lived 
quite  alone,  seeing  no  one,  and  lier  only 
thought  and  care  was  for  the  little  boy.  She 
was  a  proud  lady,  very  rich  and  proud ;  no- 
thing was  too  good  for  her,  or  for  the  child  ; 
she  lived,  as  the  saying  is,  en  princesse.  But 
no,  she  had  no  friends !  Doubtless,  being  an 
Enghsh  lady,  though  she  spoke  and  looked 
like  a  compatriote,  all  her  friends  were  in  her 
own  land.' 

'Just  so,'  returned  Bradley,  turning  his 
head  away  to  hide  his  tears  ;  for  he  thought  to 

himself,    '  Poor   Mary !      After   all,    she    was 

desolate  like  myself !  How  pitiful  that  I,  of  all 

men,  should  close  her  eyes  and  follow  her  to 

her  last  repose  ! ' 

'  Pardon,  monsieur,'  said  the  woman,  '  but 

madame,   perhaps,   was   not   of    our  Church  ? 

She  was,  no  doubt,  Protestant  ?  ' 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  85 

It  was  a  simple  question,  but  simple  as  it 
was  Bradley  w^as  startled  by  it.  He  knew 
about  as  much  of  his  dead  wife's  professed 
belief  as  of  the  source  whence  she  had  drawn 
her  subsistence.     But  he  replied  : 

'  Yes,  certainly.     Protestant,  of  course.' 

'  Then  monsieur  will  speak  to  the  English 
clergyman,  who  dwells  there  on  the  hill ' 
(here  she  pointed  townward),  '  close  to  the 
Enghsh  church.  He  is  a  good  man.  Monsieur 
Eobertson,  and  monsieur  will  find ' 

'  I  will  speak  to  him,'  interrupted  Bradley. 
'  But  I  myself  am  an  English  clergyman,  and 
shall  doubtless  perform  the  last  offices,  when 
the  time  comes.' 

The  woman  looked  at  him  in  some 
astonishment,  for  his  presence  was  the  reverse 
of  clerical,  and  his  struggle  in  and  with  the  sea 
had  left  his  attire  in  most  admired  disorder  • 


86  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

but  she  remembered  the  eccentricities  of  the 
nation  to  which  he  belonged,  and  her  wonder 
abated.  After  giving  the  woman  a  few  more 
general  instructions,  Bradley  walked  slowly  and 
thouglitfuUy  to  his  hotel. 

More  than  once  already  his  thoughts  had 
turned  towards  Alma,  but  he  had  checked 
such  thoughts  and  crushed  them  down  in  the 
j3resence  of  death  ;  left  to  himself,  however,  he 
could  not  conquer  them,  nor  restrain  a  certain 
feeling  of  satisfaction  in  his  newly-found 
freedom.  He  would  write  to  Alma,  as  in  duty 
bound,  at  once,  and  tell  her  of  all  that  had 
happened.  And  then?  It  was  too  late, 
perhaps,  to  make  full  amends,  to  expect  full 
forgiveness ;  but  it  was  his  duty  to  give  to 
her  in  the  sight  of  the  world  the  name  he  had 
once  given  to  her  secretly  and  in  vain. 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  87 

But  the  man's  troubled  spirit,  sensitive  to  a 
degree,  shrank  from  the  idea  of  building  up 
any  new  happiness  on  the  grave  of  the  poor 
woman  whose  corpse  he  had  just  quitted. 
Although  he  was  now  a  free  man  legally,  he 
still  felt  morally  bound  and  fettered.  All  his 
wish  and  prayer  was  to  atone  for  the  evil  he 
had  brought  on  the  one  being  he  reverenced 
and  loved.  He  did  not  dare,  at  least  as  yet,  to 
think  of  uniting  his  unworthy  life  with  a  life  so 
infinitely  more  beautiful  and  pure. 

Yes,  he  would  write  to  her.  The  question 
was,  where  his  letter  woidd  find  her,  and  how 
soon  ? 

When  he  had  last  heard  from  her  she  was 
at  Milan,  but  that  was  several  weeks  ago  ;  and 
since  then,  though  he  had  written  twice,  there 
had    been    no    response.      She   was   possibly 


88  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

travelling  farther  southward  ;  in  all  possibility, 
to  Rome. 

The  next  few  days  passed  drearily  enough. 
An  ^examination  of  some  letters  recently 
received  by  the  deceased  discovered  two  facts 
— first,  that  she  had  a  sister,  living  in  Oxford, 
with  whom  she  corresponded ;  and,  second, 
that  her  means  of  subsistence  came  quarterly 
from  a  firm  of  sohcitors  in  Bedford  Eow,  London. 
Next  day  the  sister  arrived  by  steamboat,  ac- 
companied by  her  husband,  a  small  tradesman. 
Bradley  interview^ed  the  pair,  and  found  them 
decent  people,  well  acquainted  with  their  rela- 
tive's real  position.  The  same  day  he  received 
a  communication  from  the  solicitors,  notifying 
that  the  annuity  enjoyed  by  '  Mrs.  Mont- 
morency '  lapsed  with  her  decease,  but  that  a 
large  sum  of  money  had  been  settled  by  the 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  89 

late  Lord  Ombermere  upon  the  child,  the 
interest  of  the  sum  to  be  used  for  his  main- 
tenance and  education,  and  the  gross  amount 
with  additions  and  under  certain  reservations, 
to  be  at  his  disposal  on  attaining  his  majority. 

On  seeking  an  interview  with  the  Eev.  Mr. 
Eobertson,  the  minister  of  the  English  Church, 
Bradley  soon  found  that  his  reputation  had 
preceded  him. 

'  Do  I  address  the  famous  Mr.  Bradley,  who 
some  time  ago  seceded  from  the  English 
Church  ? '  asked  the  minister,  a  pale,  elderly, 
clean-shaven  man,  bearing  no  little  resemblance 
to  a  Eoman  Catholic  priest. 

Bradley  nodded,  and  at  once  saw  the  not 
too  cordial  manner  of  the  other  sink  to  freezing 
point. 

'  The  unfortunate  laely  was  your  wife  ?  ' 


90  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

'  Yes ;  but  we  had  been  separated  for  many 
years.' 

'Ah,  indeed  ! '  sighed  the  clergyman  with  a 
long-drawn  sigh,  a  furtive  glance  of  repulsion, 
and  an  inward  exclamation  of  '  no  wonder  ! ' 

'  Although  we  lived  apart,  and  although,  to 
be  frank,  there  was  great  misunderstanding 
between  us,  all  that  is  over  for  ever,  you 
understand.  It  is  in  a  spirit  of  the  greatest 
tenderness  and  compassion  that  I  wish  to 
conduct  the  funeral  service — to  which  I 
presume  there  is  no  objection.' 

Mr.  Eobertson  started  in  amazement,  as  if 
a  bomb  had  exploded  under  his  feet. 

'  To  conduct  the  funeral  service !  But  you 
have  seceded  from  the  Church  of  England.' 

'  In  a  sense,  yes ;  but  I  have  never  done 
so  formally.     I  am  still  an  English  clergyman.' 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  91 

'I  could  never  consent  to  such  a  thing,' 
cried  the  other,  indignantly.  'I  should  look 
upon  it  as  profanity.  Your  published  opinions 
are  known  to  me,  sir ;  they  have  shocked  me 
inexpressibly;  and  not  only  in  my  opinion, 
but  in  that  of  my  spiritual  superiors,  they  are 
utterly  unworthy  of  one  calling  himself  a 
Christian.' 

'Then  you  refuse  me  permission  to  offi- 
ciate ? ' 

'Most  emphatically.  More  than  that,  I 
shall  require  some  assurance  that  the  lady  did 
not  share  your  heresies,  before  I  Avill  sufler  the 
interment  to  take  place  in  the  precincts  of  my 
church.' 

'  Is  not  my  assurance  sufficient  .^  ' 

'  No,  sir,  it  is  not  I '  exclaimed  the  clergy- 
man with  scornful  dignity.     '  I  do  not  wish  to 


92  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

say  anj'tliing  olTensive,  but,  speaking  as  a 
Christiau  and  a  pastor  of  the  English  Cliiirch, 
I  can  attach  no  Aveight  whatever  to  the 
assurances  of  one  who  is,  in  tlie  pubhc 
estimation,  nothing  better  than  an  avowed 
infideL     Good  morning  ! ' 

So  saying,  with  a  last  withering  look,  the 
clergyman,  turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 
away. 

Seeing  that  remonstrance  was  useless,  and 
might  even  cause  public  scandal,  Bradley 
forthwith  abandoned  his  design ; .  but  at  his 
suggestion  his  wife's  sister  saw  the  incumbent, 
and  succeeded  in  convincing  him  that  Mrs. 
Montmorency  had  died  in  the  true  faith.  The 
result  of  Mr.  Eobertson's  pious  indignation 
was  soon  apparent.  The  sister  and  her 
husband,    who   had    hitherto    treated   Bradley 


THE  LAST  LOOK.  93 

with  marked  respect,  now  regarded  him  with 
sullen  dislike  and  suspicion.  They  could  not 
prevent  him,  however,  from  following  as  chief 
mourner,  when  the  day  of  the  funeral 
came. 

That  funeral  was  a  dismal  enough  ex- 
perience for  Ambrose  Bradley.  Never  before 
had  he  felt  so  keenly  the  vanity  of  his  own 
creed  and  the  isolation  of  his  own  opinions,  as 
when  he  stood  by  the  graveside  and  hstened 
to  the  last  solemn  words  of  the  English  biurial 
service.  He  seemed  like  a  black  shadow  in 
the  sacred  place.  The  words  of  promise  and 
resurrection  had  little  meaning  for  one  who 
had  come  to  regard  the  promise  as  only  beau- 
tiful '  poetry,'  and  the  resurrection  as  only  a 
poet's  dieam.  And  though  the  sense  of  his 
own  sin  lay  on  his  heart  like  lead,  he  saw  no 


94  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

benign  Presence  blessing  the  miserable  woman 
who  had  departed,  upraising  her  on  wings  of 
gladness ;  all  he  perceived  was  Death's  infinite 
desolation,  and  the  blackness  of  that  open 
grave. 


95 


CHAPTEE   XXVII 

THE   SIREN. 

Weave  a  circle  round  him  thrice.  .  .  . 

For  he  on  honey-dew  hath  fed,  \ 

And  drmik  the  milk  of  Paradise. — Kubla  Khan. 

Bradley's  first  impulse,  on  quitting  Boulogne, 
was  to  hasten  at  once  on  to  Italy,  seek  out 
Alma,  and  tell  her  all  that  had  occurred ;  but 
that  impulse  was  no  sooner  felt  than  it  was 
conquered.  The  man  had  a  quickening  con- 
science left,  and  he  could  not  have  stood  just 
then  before  the  woman  he  loved  without  the 
bitterest  pain  and  humiliation.  No,  he  would 
write  to  her,  he  would  break  the  news  gently 


96  THE  NEW  A  BE  LARD. 

by  letter,  not  by  word  of  mouth  ;  and  after- 
wards, perhaps,  when  his  sense  of  spiritual 
agony  had  somewhat  worn  away,  he  would  go 
to  her  and  throw  himself  upon  her  tender 
mercy.  So  instead  of  flying  on  to  Italy  he 
returned  by  the  mail  to  London,  and  thence 
wrote  at  length  to  Alma,  giving  her  full  details 
of  his  wife's  death. 

By  this  time  the  man  was  so  broken  in 
spirit  and  so  changed  in  body,  that  even  his 
worst  enemies  might  have  pitied  him.  The 
trouble  of  the  last  few  months  had  stript  him 
of  all  his  intellectual  pride,  and  left  him 
supremely  sad. 

But  now,  as  ever,  the  mind  of  the  man, 
though  its  hght  was  clouded,  turned  in  the 
direction  of  celestial  or  supermundane  things. 
Eeaders   who   are  differently  constituted,  and 


THE  SIREN.  97 

who  regard  such  speculations  as  trivial  or  irre- 
levant, will  doubtless  have  some  difficulty  in 
comprehending  an  individual  who,  through 
all  vicissitudes  of  moral  experience,  invariably 
returned  to  the  one  set  purpose  of  spiritual 
inquiry.  To  him  one  thing  was  paramount, 
even  over  all  his  own  sorrows — the  solution  of 
the  great  problem  of  human  life  and  immor- 
tality. This  was  his  haunting  idea,  his  mono- 
mania, so  to  speak.  Just  as  a  physiologist 
would  examine  his  own  blood  under  the 
microscope,  just  as  a  scientific  inquirer  would 
sacrifice  his  own  life  and  happiness  for  the 
verification  of  a  theory,  so  would  Bradley  ask 
himself,  even  when  on  the  rack  of  moral  tor- 
ment. How  far  does  this  suffering  help  me  to  a 
solution  of  the  mystery  of  life  ? 

True,  for  a  time  he  had  been  indifferent, 

VOL.    III.  H 


98  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

even  callous,  drifting,  on  the  vague  current 
of  agnosticism,  he  knew  not  whither  ;  but  that 
did  not  last  for  long  :  the  very  constitution 
of  Bradley  saved  him  from  tliat  indifferent- 
ness  which  is  the  chronic  disease  of  so  many 
modern  men. 

Infinitely  tender  of  heart,  he  liad  been 
moved  to  the  depths  by  his  recent  experience  ; 
he  had  felt,  as  all  of  us  at  some  time  feel,  the 
sanctifying  and  purifying  power  of  Death.  A 
mean  man  would  have  exulted  in  the  new 
freedom  Death  had  brought ;  Bradley,  on  the 
other  hand,  stood  stupefied  and  aghast  at  his 
own  liberation.  On  a  point  of  conscience  he 
could  have  fought  with,  and  perhajos  conquered, 
all  the  prejudices  of  society  ;  but  when  his  very 
conscience  turned  against  him  he  was  paralysed 
with  doubt,  wonder,  and  despair. 


THE  SJREA.  99 

He  returned  to  Loudon,  and  there  awaited 
Alma's  answer.  One  day,  urged  by  a  sudden 
impulse,  he  bent  his  steps  towards  the  mys- 
terious house  in  Bayswater,  and  found  Eustasia 
Mapleleafe  sitting  alone.  Never  had  the  little 
lady  looked  so  strange  and  spirituelle.  Her 
elfin-like  face  looked  pale  and  worn,  and  her 
great  wistful  eyes  were  surrounded  with  dark 
melancholy  rings.  But  she  looked  up  as  he 
entered,  with  her  old  smile. 

'  I  knew  you  would  come,'  she  cried.  '  I 
was  thinking  of  you,  and  I  felt  the  celestial 
agencies  were  going  to  bring  us  together. 
And  I'm  real  glad  to  see  you  before  we  go 
away.* 

*  You  are  leaving  London  ? '  asked  Bradley, 
as  he  seated  himself  close  to  her. 

'Yes.     Salem   talks   of  going   back  home 

H  2 


loo  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

before  winter  sets  iu  and  the  fof];s  beo;in,  I 
don't  seem  able  to  breathe  riglit  iu  this  air.  If 
I  stopped  here  long,  I  think  I  should  die.' 

As  she  spoke,  she  passed  her  thin  trans- 
parent hand  across  her  forehead,  with  a  curious 
gesture  of  pain.  As  Bradley  looked  at  her 
steadfastly  she  averted  his  gaze,  and  a  faint 
hectic  flush  came  into  her  cheeks.  . 

'  Guess  you  think  it  don't  matter  much,'  she 
continued  with  the  sharp  nervous  laugh  pecu- 
liar to  her,  '  whether  I  live  or  die.  Well,  Mr. 
Bradley,  I  suppose  you're  right,  and  I'm  sure  I 
don't  care  much  how  soon  I  go.' 

'  You  are  very  young  to  talk  like  that,' 
said  Bradley  gently ;  '  but  perhaps  I  mis- 
understand you,  and  you  mean  that  you  would 
gladly  exchange  this  life  for  freer  activity  and 
larger  happiness  in  another  ?  ' 


THE  SIREN.  loi 

Eustasia  laughed  again,  but  this  time  she 
looked  full  into  her  questioner's  eyes. 

'I  don't  know  about  that,'  she  replied. 
'  What  I  mean  is  that  I  am  downright  tired, 
and  should  just  like  a  good  long  spell  of  sleep.' 

'  But  surely,  if  your  belief  is  true,  you  look 
for  something  more  than  that  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  think  I  do.  You  mean  I  want  to 
join  the  spirits,  and  go  wandering  about  from 
one  planet  to  another,  or  coming  down  to 
earth  and  making  people  uncomfortable  ? 
That  seems  a  stupid  sort  of  life,  doesn't  it  ? — 
about  as  stupid  as  this  one?  I'd  rather  tuck 
my  head  under  my  wing,  like  a  little  bird,  and 
go  to  sleep  for  ever  ! ' 

Bradley  opened  his  eyes,  amazed  and  a 
little  disconcerted  by  the  lady's  candour. 
Before  he  could  make  any  reply  she  continued, 
in  a  low  voice : 


I02  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  You  see,  I've  got  no  one  in  the  world  to 
care  for  me,  except  Salem,  my  brother.  He's 
good  to  me,  he  is,  but  that  doesn't  make  up  for 
everything.  I  don't  feel  like  a  girl,  but  hke 
an  old  woman.  I'd  rather  be  one  of  those 
foolish  creatures  you  meet  everywhere,  who 
think  of  nothing  but  millinery  and  Hirtation, 
than  what  I  am.  That's  all  the  good  the  spirits 
have  done  me,  to  spoil  my  good  looks  and 
make  me  old  before  my  time.  I  hate  them 
sometimes  ;  I  hate  myself  for  listening  to  them, 
and  I  say  what  I  said  before — that  if  I'm  to 
live  on  as  tliey  do,  and  go  on  in  the  same 
curious  way,  I'd  sooner  die ! ' 

'  I  wish  you  would  be  quite  honest  with 
me,'  said  Bradley,  after  a  brief  pause.  '  I  see 
you  are  ill,  and  I  am  sure  you  are  unhappy. 
Suppose   much   of  your    illness,  and  all  your 


THE  SIREN.  103 

iinhappiness,  came  from  your  acquiescence  in 
a  scheme  of  folly  and  self-deception  ?  You 
already  know  my  opinion  on  these  matters  to 
which  you  allude.  If  I  may  speak  quite 
frankly,  I  have  always  suspected  you  and  your 
brother — but  your  brother  more  than  you — of 
a  conspiracy  to  deceive  the  public ;  and  if  I 
were  not  otherwise  interested  in  you,  if  I  did 
not  feel  for  you  the  utmost  sympathy  and  com- 
passion, I  should  pass  the  matter  by  without  a 
word.  As  it  is,  I  would  give  a  great  deal  if 
I  could  penetrate  into  the  true  motives  of  your 
conduct,  and  ascertain  how  far  you  are  self- 
deluded.' 

'  It's  no  use,'  answered  Eustasia,  shaking 
her  head  sadly.  '  I  can't  explain  it  all  even 
to  myself;  impossible  to  explain  to  you.' 

'  But  do  you  seriously  and  verily  believe  in 


I04  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

the  truth  of  these  so-called  spiritual  manifes- 
tations ? ' 

'  Guess  I  do,'  returned  the  lady,  with  a 
decided  nod. 

'  You  believe  in  them,  even  while  you 
admit  their  stupidity,  their  absurdity  ? ' 

'If  you  ask  me,  I  think  hfe  is  a  foolish 
business  altogether.  That's  why  I'd  like  to  be 
done  with  it ! ' 

'  But  surely  if  spiritualism  were  an  ac- 
cepted fact,  it  would  offer  a  solution  of  all  the 
mysterious  phenomena  of  human  existence? 
It  would  demonstrate,  at  all  events,  that  our 
experience  does  not  cease  with  the  body, 
which  limits  its  area  so  much.' 

Eustasia  sighed  wearily,  and  folding  her 
thin  hands  on  her  knee,  looked  wearily  at  the 
fire,  which  flickered  faintly  in  the  grate.     With 


THE  SIREN.  105 

all  her  candour  of  speech,  she  still  presented  to 
her  interlocutor  an  expression  of  mysterious 
evasiveness.  Nor  was  there  any  depth  in  her 
complaining  sorrow.  It  seemed  rather  petu- 
lant and  shallow  than  really  solemn  and  pro- 
found. 

'  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  about  it,'  she 
said,  'Talk  to  me  about  yourself,  Mr,  Brad- 
ley, You've  been  in  trouble,  I  know ;  they 
told  me.  I've  liked  you  ever  since  I  first  saw 
you,  and  I  wish  I  could  give  you  some  help.' 

Had  Bradley  been  a  different  kind  of  man, 
he  would  scarcely  have  misunderstood  the 
look  she  gave  him  then,  full  as  it  was  of  pas- 
sionate admiration  Avhich  she  took  no  care  to 
veil.  Bending  towards  him,  and  looking  into 
his  eyes,  she  placed  her  hand  on  his ;  and  the 
warm   touch   of    the   tremulous   fingers   went 


io6  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

through  him  with  a  curious  thrill.  Nor  diel 
she  withdraw  the  hand  as  she  continued  : 

'  I've  only  seen  one  man  in  the  world  like 
you.  He's  dead,  he  is.  But  you're  his  image. 
I  told  Salem  so  the  day  I  first  saw  you.  Some 
folks  say  that  souls  pass  from  one  body  into 
another,  and  I  almost  believe  it  when  I  think 
of  him  and  look  at  you! 

As  she  spoke,  with  tears  in  her  eyes  and  a 
higher  flush  on  her  cheek,  there  was  a  footstep 
in  the  room,  and  looking  up  she  saw  her 
brother,  who  had  entered  unperceived.  His 
appearance  was  fortunate,  as  it  perhaps  saved 
her  from  some  further  indiscretions.  Bradley, 
who  had  been  too  absorbed  in  the  thoughts 
awakened  by  her  first  question  to  notice  the 
peculiarity  of  her  manner,  held  out  his  hand  to 
the  new-comer. 


THE  SIREN.  107 

'  Glad  to  see  you  again,'  said  the  Professor. 
'  I  suppose  Eustasia  lias  told  you  that  we're 
going  back  to  the  States  ?  I  calculate  we 
haven't  done  much  good  by  sailing  over.  The 
people  of  England  are  a  whole  age  behind  the 
Americans,  and  won't  be  ripe  for  our  teaching 
till  many  a  year  has  passed.' 

'  When  do  you  leave  London  ?  ' 

'  In  eight  days.  We're  going  to  take  pass- 
age in  the  "  Maria,"  which  sails  to-morrow 
week.' 

'  Then  you  will  give  no  more  seaiices  ?  I 
am  sorry,  for  I  should  have  liked  to  come 
again.' 

Eustasia  started,  and  looked  eagerly  at  her 
brother. 

'  Will  you  come  to-night  ? '  she  asked 
suddenly. 


io8  THE  NEW  A  BE  LARD. 

'  To-night ! '  echoed  Bradley.  '  Is  a  seance 
to  be  held  ?  ' 

'  No,  DO,'  interrupted  Mapleleafe. 

'  But  yes,'  added  Eustasia.  '  We  shall  be 
alone,  but  that  will  be  all  the  better.  I 
should  not  like  to  leave  England  without  con- 
vincing Mr.  Bradley  that  there  is  something  in 
your  solar  biology  after  all.' 

'  You'll  waste  your  time,  Eustasia,'  re- 
marked the  Professor  drily.  'You  know 
what  the  poet  says  ? 

A  man  convinced  against  his  will 
Is  of  the  same  opinion  still. 

And  I  guess  you'll  never  convert  Mr.  Bradley.' 
'  I'll   try,  at  any  rate,'  returned  Eustasia, 
smiling  ;    then  turning  to  the  clergyman  w4th 
an  eager  wistful  look,  she  added,  '  You'll  come, 
won't  you  ?     To-night  at  seven.' 


THE  SIREN.  109 

Bradley  promised,  and  immediately  after- 
wards took  his  leave.  He  had  not  exaggerated 
in  expressing  his  regret  at  the  departure  of  the 
curious  pair;  for  since  his  strange  experience 
at  Boulogne  he  was  intellectually  unstrung, 
and  eager  to  receive  spiritual  impressions,  even 
from  a  quarter  which  he  distrusted.  He  un- 
consciously felt,  too,  the  indescribable  fascina- 
tion which  Eustasia,  more  than  most  w^omen, 
knew  how  to  exert  on  highly  organised  persons 
of  the  opposite  sex. 

Left  alone,  the  brother  and  sister  looked  at 
each  other  for  some  moments  in  silence  ;  then 
the  Professor  exclaimed  half  angrily  : 

'  You'll  kill  yourself,  Eustasia,  that's  what 
you'll  do  !  I've  foreseen  it  all  along,  just  as  I 
foresaw  it  when  you  first  met  Ulysses  S. 
Stedman.     You're  clean  gone  on  this  man,  and 


no  THE   NEW  ABELARD. 

if  I  wasn't  ready  to  protect  you,  Lord  knows 
you'd  make  a  fool  of  yourself  again.' 

Eustasia  looked  up  in  his  face  and  laughed. 
It  was  curious  to  note  her  change  of  look  and 
manner ;  her  face  was  still  pale  and  elfin-like, 
but  her  eyes  were  full  of  malicious  light. 

'  Never  mind,  Salem,'  she  replied.  '  You 
just  leave  Mr.  Bradley  to  me.' 

'  He's  not  worth  spooning  over,  said 
Mapleleafe  indignantly  ;  '  and  let  me  tell  you, 
Eustasia,  you're  not  strong  enough  to  go  on 
like  this.  Think  of  your  state  of  health ! 
Doctor  Quin  says  you'll  break  up  if  you  don't 
take  care  ! ' 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  her  in  conster- 
nation. She  was  lying  back  in  the  sofa  with 
her  thin  arms  joined  behind  her  head,  and 
'  crooning  '  to  herself,  as  was  her  frequent  Jiabit. 


THE  SIREN.  Ill 

This  time  the  words  and  tune  were  from  a 
famihar  play,  which  slie  had  seen  represented 
at  San  Francisco. 

Black  spirits  and  white, 
Blue  spirits  and  grey, 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle, 
Yoa  that  mingle  may ! 

'  I  do  believe  you're  downright  mad! ' 
exclaimed  the  little  Professor.  '  Tell  me  the 
truth,  Eustasia — do  you  love  this  man 
Bradley  ? ' 

Eustasia  ceased  singing,  but  remained  in  the 
same  attitude. 

'  T  loved  him  who  is  dead,'  she  replied, 
'  and  I  love  Mr.  Bradley  because  lie  is  so  hke 
the  other.  If  you  give  me  time  I  will  win  him 
over  ;  I  will  make  him  love  me.' 

'  What  nonsense  you're  talking  ! ' 

'  Nonsense  ?    It's   the   truth  ! '    cried   Eus- 


112  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

tasia,  springing  up  and  facing  her  brother. 
'  Why  should  I  not  love  him  ?  Why  should  he 
not  love  me  ?  Am  I  to  spend  all  my  life  like 
a  slave,  with  no  one  to  care  for  me,  no  one  to 
give  me  a  kind  word  ?  I  won't  do  it.  I  want 
to  be  free,  I'm  tired  of  sitting  at  home  all 
day  alone,  and  playing  the  sibyl  to  the  fools 
you  bring  here  at  night.  Lord  knows  I 
haven't  long  to  live ;  before  I  die  I  want  to 
draw  in  one  good  long  breath  of  love  and  joy  ! 
Perhaps  it  will  kill  me  as  you  say — so  much 
the  better — I  should  like  to  die  like  that ! ' 

'  Eustasia,  will  you  listen  to  reason  ?  '  ex- 
claimed the  distracted  Professor.  'You're 
following  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  that's  what  you 
are !  This  man  don't  care  about  any  woman  in 
the  world  but  one,  and  you're  wasting  your 
precious  time.' 


THE  SIREN.  Ill 

'  I  know  my  power,  and  you  know  it  too, 
Salem.     I'm  going  to  bring  him  to  my  feet.' 

'  How,  Eustasia  ^  ' 

'  Wait,  and  you  will  see ! '  answered  the 
girl,  with  her  low,  nervous  laugh. 

*  Think  better  of  it ! '  persisted  her  brother. 
'  You  promised  me,  after  Ulysses  S.  Stedman 
died,  to  devote  all  your  life,  strength,  and 
thought  to  the  beautiful  cause  of  scientific 
spiritualism.  Nature  has  made  you  a  living 
miracle,  Eustasia !  I  do  admire  to  see  one  so 
gifted  throwing  herself  away,  just  like  a  school- 
girl, on  the  first  good-looking  man  she  meets  ! ' 

'  I  hate  spiritualism,'  was  the  reply.  '  What 
has  it  done  for  me  ?  Broken  my  heart,  Salem, 
and  wasted  my  life.  I've  dwelt  too  long  with 
ghosts  ;  I  want  to  feel  my  life  as  other  women 
do.     And  I  tell  you  I  will !  ' 

VOL.  III.  I 


114  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  The  poor  Professor  shook  his  lieacl  du- 
biously, but  saw  that  there  was  no  more  to  be 
said — at  any  rate  just  then. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  evening  Bradley  re- 
turned to  the  house  in  Bayswater,  and  found 
the  brother  and  sister  waiting  for  him. 

Eustasia  wore  a  loose-fitting  robe  of  black 
velvet,  cut  low  round  the  bust,  and  without 
sleeves.  Her  neck  and  arms  were  beautifully 
though  delicately  moulded,  white  and  glisten- 
ing as  satin,  and  the  small  serpent-like  head, 
with  its  wonderfully  brilliant  eyes,  was  sur- 
mounted by  a  circlet  of  pearls. 

Bradley  looked  at  her  in  surprise.  Never 
before  had  she  seemed  so  weirdly  pretty. 

The  Professor,  on  the  other  hand,  despite 
his  gnome-like  brow,  appeared  unusually  igno- 


THE  SIREN.  115 

ble  aud  commonplace.  He  was  ill  at  ease, 
too,  and  cast  distrustful  glances  from  time  to 
time  at  his  sister,  whose  manner  was  as  brilliant 
as  her  appearance,  and  who  seemed  to  have 
cast  aside  the  depression  which  she  had  shown 
during  the  early  part  of  the  day. 

After  some  little  desultory  conversation, 
Bradley  expressed  his  impatience  for  the  seance 
to  begin.  The  landlady  of  the  house,  herself 
(as  the  reader  is  aware)  an  adept,  was  therefore 
summoned  to  give  the  party,  and  due  prepa- 
rations made  by  drawing  the  window-blinds 
and  extinguishing  the  gas.  Before  the  lights 
were  quite  put  out,  however,  the  Professor 
addressed  his  sister. 

'Eustasia,  you're  not  well !  Say  the  word, 
and  I'm  sure  Mr.  Bradley  will  excuse  you  for 
to-night.' 

I  2 


116  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

The  appeal  was  in  vain,  Eustasia  persisting. 
The  seance  began.  The  Professor  and  Mrs. 
Piozzi  Smith  were  vis-a-vis,  while  Eustasia,  her 
back  towards  the  folding-doors  communicat- 
ing to  the  inner  chamber,  sat  opposite  to 
Bradley. 

The  clergyman  was  far  less  master  of  him- 
self than  on  the  former  occasions.  No  sooner 
did  he  find  himself  in  total  darkness  than  his 
heart  began  to  beat  with  great  muffled  throbs, 
and  nervous  thrills  ran  through  his  frame. 
Before  there  was  the  slightest  intimation  of  any 
supernatural  presence,  he  seemed  to  see  before 
him  the  dead  face  of  his  wife,  white  and  awful 
as  he  had  beheld  it  in  that  darkened  chamber 
at  Boulogne.  Then  the  usual  manifestations 
began  ;  bells  were  rung,  faint  lights  flashed 
hither  and  thither,  the  table  roimd  which  they 


THE  SIREN.  117 

were  seated  rose  in  the  air,  mysterious  hands 
were  passed  over  Bradley's  face.  He  tried  to 
retain  his  self-possession,  but  found  it  impos- 
sible ;  a  sickening  sense  of  horror  and  fearful 
anticipation  overmastered  him,  so  that  the 
clammy  sweat  stood  upon  his  brow,  and  his 
body  trembled  like  a  reed. 

Presently  the  voice  of  the  little  Professor 
was  heard  saying  : 

'  Who  is  present  ?  Will  any  of  our  dear 
friends  make  themselves  known  ?  ' 

There  was  a  momentary  pause.  Then  an 
answer  came  in  the  voice  of  Eustasia,  but 
deeper  and  less  clear. 

'  I  am  here.' 

*  Who  are  you  ? ' 

'  Laura,  a  spirit  of  the  winged  planet 
Jupiter.     I  speak  through  the  bodily  mouth  of 


ii8  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

our  clenr  sister,  who  is  far  away,  walking  witli 
my  brethren  by  the  hike  of  gohleu  fire.' 

'  Are  you  alone  ?  ' 

'  No !  others  are  present — I  see  them  passing 
to  and  fro.  One  is  bright  and  beautiful.  Her 
face  is  glorious,  but  she  wears  a  raiment  like  a 
shroud.' 

'  What  does  that  betoken  ?  ' 

'  It  betokens  that  she  has  only  just  died,' 

A  shiver  ran  through  Bradley's  frame. 
Could  the  dead  indeed  be  present  ?  and  if  so, 
Avhat  dead  ?  His  thoughts  flew  back  once  more 
to  that  miserable  death-chamber  by  the  sea.  The 
next  moment  something  like  a  cold  hand  touched 
him,  and  a  low  voice  murmured  in  his  ear : 

'  Ambrose  !  are  you  listening  ?     It  is  I !  ' 

'  Who  speaks  ?  '  he  murmured  under  breath. 

'  Alma  !     Do  you  know  me  ?  ' 


THE  SIREN.  119 

Was  it  possible  ?  Doubtless  his  phantasy 
deceived  him,  but  he  seemed  once  more  to  hear 
the  very  tones  of  her  he  loved. 

'  Do  not  move ! '  continued  the  voice.  '  Per- 
haps this  is  a  last  meeting  for  a  long  time, 
for  I  am  called  away.  It  is  your  Alma's  spirit 
that  speaks  to  you ;  her  body  lies  dead  at 
Eome.' 

A  wild  cry  burst  from  Bradley's  lips,  and 
he  sank  back  in  his  chair,  paralysed  and  over- 
powered. 

'  It  is  a  cheat ! '  he  gasped.  '  It  is  no  spirit 
that  is  speaking  to  me,  but  a  living  woman.' 

And  he  clutched  in  the  direction  of  the 
voice,  but  touched  only  the  empty  air. 

'If  you  break  the  conditions,  I  must 
depart ! '  cried  the  voice  faintly,  as  if  from  a 
distant  part  of  the  room. 


I20  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Shall  I  break  up  the  seance  ? '  asked  the 
Professor. 

'  No !  *  cried  Bradley,  again  joining  his 
hands  with  those  of  his  neiglibours  to  complete 
the  circle.     '  Go  on  !  go  on  ! ' 

'  Are  our  dear  friends  still  present  ? '  de- 
manded the  Professor. 

'  I  am  here,'  returned  the  voice  of  Eustasia. 
'  I  see  the  spirit  of  a  woman,  weeping  and 
wringing  her  hands ;  it  is  she  that  wears  the 
shroud.  She  speaks  to  me.  She  tells  us  that 
her  earthly  name  was  a  word  which  signifies 
holy.' 

'  In  God's  name,'  cried  Bradley,  '  what  does 
it  mean?  She  of  whom  you  speak  is  not 
dead  ? — no,  no  ! ' 

Again  he  felt  the  touch  of  a  clammy  hand, 
and  again  he  heard  the  mysterious  voice. 


THE  SIREN.  121 

'  Death  is  nothing ;  it  is  only  a  mystery — 
a  change.  The  body  is  nothing ;  the  spirit  is 
all-present  and  all-powerful.  Keep  quiet ;  and 
I  will  try  to  materialise  myself  even  more,' 

He  sat  still  in  shivering  expectation  ;  then 
he  felt  a  touch  hke  breath  upon  his  forehead, 
and  two  lips,  warm  with  life,  were  pressed  close 
to  his,  while  at  the  same  moment  he  felt  what 
seemed  a  human  bosom  heaving  against  his 
own.  If  this  phenomenon  was  supernatural, 
it  was  certainly  very  real ;  for  the  effect  was 
of  warm  and  living  flesh.  Certain  now  that 
he  was  being  imposed  upon,  Bradley  de- 
termined to  make  certain  by  seizing  the 
substance  of  the  apparition.  He  had  scarcely, 
however,  withdrawn  his  arms  from  the  circle, 
when  the  phenomenon  ceased ;  there  was  a 
loud  cry  from  the  others  present ;  and  on  the 


122  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

cas  beins  lit,  Eustasia  and  the  rest  were  seen 
sitting  quietly  in  their  chairs,  the  former  just 
recoverina*  from  a  state  of  trance. 

'I  warned  you,  Eustasia,'  cried  the  Pro- 
fessor indignantly.  '  I  knew  Mr.  Bradley  was 
not  a  fair  inquirer,  and  would  be  certain  to 
break  the  conditions.' 

'  It  is  an  outrage,'  echoed  the  lady  of  the 
house.  '  The  heavenly  intelligences  will  never 
forgive  us.' 

Without  heeding  these  remonstrances, 
Bradley,  deathly  pale,  was  gazing  intently  at 
Eustasia.  She  met  his  gaze  quietly  enough, 
but  her  heightened  colour  and  sparkling  eyes 
betokened  that  she  was  labouring  under  great 
excitement. 

'  It  is  infamous  ! '  he  cried.  '  I  am  certain 
now  that  this  is  a  vile  conspiracy.' 


THE  SIREN.  123 

•  '  Take  care,  sir,  take  care  ! '  exclaimed  the 
Professor,     '  There's  law  in  the  land,  and ' 

'Hush,  Salem!'  said  Eustasia  gently. 
'Mr.  Bradley  does  not  mean  what  he  says. 
He  is  too  honourable  to  make  charges  which 
he  cannot  substantiate,  even  against  a  helpless 
girl.  He  is  agitated  by  what  he  has  seen  to- 
night, but  he  will  do  us  justice  when  he  has 
thought  it  over.' 

Without  replying,  Bradley  took  up  his  hat 
and  moved  to  the  door ;  but,  turning  suddenly, 
he  again  addressed  the  medium : 

'  I  cannot  guess  by  what  means  you  have 
obtained  your  knowledge  of  my  private  life, 
but  you  are  trading  upon  it  to  destroy  the 
happiness  of  a  fellow-creature.  God  forgive 
you !  Your  own  self-reproach  and  self-con- 
tempt will  avenge  me ;  I  cannot  wish  you  any 


124  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

sorer  piiiiisliment  than  the  infamy  and  degra- 
dation of  the  life  yon  lead,' 

With  these  words  he  wonld  have  departed, 
bnt,  swift  as  lightning,  Eustasia  flitted  across 
the  room  and  blocked  his  way. 

'  Don't  go  yet ! '  she  cried.  '  Of  what  do 
you  accuse  me  ?  Why  do  you  blame  me  for 
what  the  spirits  have  done  ? ' 

'The  spirits!'  he  repeated  bitterly.  'I'm 
not  a  child,  to  be  so  easily  befooled.  In  one 
sense,  indeed,  you  have  conjured  up  devils, 
who  some  day  or  another  will  compass  your 
own  destruction.' 

'  That's  true  enough — they  may  be  devils,' 
said  Eustasia.  '  Salem  knows — we  all  know — 
that  we  can't  prevent  the  powers  of  evil  from 
controlling  the  powers  of  good,  and  coming  in 
their  places.     Guess  some  of  them  have  been  at 


THE  SIREN.  125 

work  to-uiglit.     Mr.  Bradley,  perhaps  it's  our 
last  meeting  on  earth.    Won't  you  shake  hands  ? ' 

As  she  spoke  her  wild  eyes  were  full  of 
tears,  which  streamed  down  her  face.  Acting 
under  a  sudden  impulse,  Bradley  took  her  out- 
stretched hand,  held  it  firmly,  and  looked  her 
in  the  face. 

'  Confess  the  cheat,  and  I  will  freely  for- 
give you.  It  was  you  personated  one  who  is 
dear  to  me,  and  whom  you  pretended  to  be  a 
spirit  risen  from  the  grave.' 

'  Don't  answer  him,  Eustasia ! '  exclaimed 
the  Professor.  '  He  ought  to  know  that's 
impossible,  for  you  never  left  your  seat.' 

'  Certainly  not,'  said  Mrs.  Piozzi  Smith. 

But  Bradley,  not  heeding  the  interruption, 
still  watched  the  girl  and  grasped  her  passive 
hand. 


126  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Answer  me !      Tell  me  the  truth  1 ' 

'How  can  I  tell  you?'  answered  Eustasia. 
'  I  was  tranced,  and  my  spirit  was  far  away. 
I  don't  even  know  what  happened,' 

With  a  contemptuous  gesture,  Bradley  re- 
leased her,  and  walked  from  the  room.  All 
his  soul  revolted  at  the  recent  experience  ;  yet 
mingled  with  his  angry  scepticism  was  a  certain 
vague  sense  of  dread.  If,  after  all,  he  had  not 
been  deceived,  and  something  had  happened 
to  Alma ;  if,  as  the  seance  seemed  to  suggest, 
she  was  no  longer  living !  The  very  thought 
almost  turned  his  brain.  Dazed  and  terrified, 
he  made  Ms  way  down  the  dark  passage  and 
left  the  house. 

No  sooner  had  he  gone  than  Eustasia 
uttered  a  low  cry,  threw  her  arms  into  the  air, 
and  sank  swooning  upon  the  floor. 


THE  SIREN.  127 

Her  brother  raised  her  in  a  moment,  and 
placed  her  upon  the  sofa.  It  was  some 
minutes  before  she  recovered.  When  she  did 
so,  and  gazed  wildly  around,  there  was  a  tiny 
fleck  of  red  upon  her  lips,  like  blood. 

She  looked  up  in  her  brother's  face,  and 
began  laughing  hysterically. 

'  Eustasia !  Tor  God's  sake,  control 
yourself !     You'll  make  yourself  downright  ill ! ' 

Presently  the  hysterical  fit  passed  away. 

'  Leave  us  together,  please  ! '  she  said  to  the 
grim  woman  of  the  house.  '  I — I  wish  to 
speak  to  my  brother.' 

Directly  the  woman  had  retired,  she  took 
her  brother  by  the  hand. 

'  Don't  be  angry  with  me,  Salem ! '  she  said 
softly.  '  I'm  not  long  for  this  world  now,  and 
I  want  you  to  grant  me  one  request.' 


128  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  What  is  it,  Eustasia  ?  '  asked  the  Professor, 
touched  by  her  strangely  tender  manner. 

'  Don't  take  me  away  from  England  just 
yet.     Wait  a  little  while  longer.' 

'  Eustasia,  let  me  repeat,  you're  following  a 
will-o'-the-wisp,  you  are  indeed !  Take  my 
advice,  and  never  see  that  man  again ! ' 

'  I  must — I  will ! '  she  cried.  '  0  Salem, 
I've  used  him  cruelly,  but  I  love  him  !  I  shall 
die  now  if  you  take  me  away  ! ' 


129 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

THE    ETERNAL    CITY. 

In  the  night  of  the  seven-hill'd  city,  disrobed,  and  uncrown'd, 

and  undone, 
Thou  meanest,  0  Eizpah,  Madonna,  and  countest  the  bones  of 

thy  son. 

The  bier  is  vacant  above  thee,  His  corpse  is  no  longer  thereon, 
A  wind  came  out  of  the  dark,  and  he  fell  as  a  leaf,  and  is  gone ! 

They  have  taken  thy  crown,  0  Rizpah,  and  driven  thee  forth 

with  the  swine. 
But  the  bones  of  thy  Son  they  have  left  thee — yea,  wash  them 

with  tears — they  are  thine  ! 

Thou  moanest  an  old  incantation,  thou  troublest  earth  with  thy 

cries.  .  .  . 
Ah,  God,  if  the  bones  should  hear  thee,  and  join  once  again, 
and  arise ! — Rome :  a  Poem. 

As  the  clays  passed,  Bradley  found  his  state  of 
suspense   and    anxiety  intolerable.     Day  after 
day  he  had  hoped  to  hear  from  Alma,  until  at 
length    disappointment  culminated  in  despair. 
VOL    in.  K 


130  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

He  thcu  determined  he  should  know  with 
certainty  what  had  become  of  her,  and  re- 
solved to  go  to  Milan. 

What  he  had  seen  at  the  seance  had  im- 
pressed him  more  than  he  would  admit  to 
himself.  He  could  not  believe  that  any  evil 
had  happened — he  would  not  believe  it  with- 
out the  most  positive  evidence  of  the  fact.  So 
he  said  to  himself  one  hour,  and  the  next  his 
heart  grew  sick  with  an  uncontrollable  dread ; 
and  he  refused  to  hope  that  the  revelation  of 
the  seance  was  a  delusion. 

He  left  his  home  and  proceeded  to  the 
station  in  the  former  mood,  but  the  train  had 
hardly  moved  from  the  j)latform  when  -  his 
despair  seized  him,  and  if  he  could  he  would 
have  relinquished  the  journey.  Alternating 
thus  between  hope  and    despair,  he  travelled 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  131 

without  a  break,  and  in  clue  course  he  reached 
Milan. 

His  inquiries  about  Ahna  were  promptly 
answered. 

The  beautiful  and  wealthy  English  lady 
was  well  known.  She  had,  until  quite  recently, 
been  the  occupant  of  a  splendid  suite  of 
apartments  in  the  best  quarter  of  the  city  ;  but 
she  had  gone. 

Bradley  heard  all  this,  and  almost  savagely 
he  repeated  after  his  informant,  an  old  Italian, 
waiter  who  spoke  English  well,  the  word 
*  Gone ! ' 

'■  Gone  where  ^ '  he  demanded.  '  You  must 
know  where  she  has  gone  to  ? ' 

'  Yes,  Signor ;  she  has  gone  to  Eome ! ' 

'  To  Eome !    And  her  address  there  is .^  ' 

'  That  I  do  not  know,  Signor.' 

k2 


132  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Have  me  taken  to  the  house  she  occupied 
when  here,'  Bradley  ordered  ;  and  he  was 
driven  to  the  house  Ahna  had  dweU  in. 

There  also  he  failed  to  learn  Alma's  address. 
All  that  was  known  was  that  she  had  gone  to 
Eome  ;  that  her  departure  had  been  sudden, 
and  that  she  had  said  she  would  not  return  to 
Milan. 

Dismissing  the  carriage  that  had  brought 
him,  he  walked  back  to  bis  hotel. 

It  was  night ;  the  cool  breeze  from  the 
Alps  was  delightfully  refreshing  after  the  sultry 
heat  of  the  day;  the  moon  was  full  and  the  fair 
old  city  was  looking  its  fairest,  but  these  things 
Bradley  heeded  not.  Outward  beauty  he  could 
not  see,  for  all  his  mind  and  soul  was  dark — 
the  ancient  palaces,  the  glorious  Cathedral,  the 
splendid  Carrara  marble  statue  of  Leonardo, 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  133 

and  the  bronze  one  of  Cavour,  were  passed 
unnoticed  and  uncared  for.  One  thing  only 
was  in  his  mind — to  get  to  Eome  to  find  Alma. 
One  thing  was  certain :  she  had  left  Milan  in 
good  health,  and  must  surely  be  safe  still 

'  Ah  ! '  he  said  to  himself,  '  when  did  she 
leave  Milan?  Fool  that  I  am,  not  to  have 
learned,'  and,  almost  running,  he  returned  to 
the  house  and  inquired. 

He  was  disappointed  with  the  information 
he  received.  Alma  had  left  Milan  some  time 
before  the  seance  in  London  had  been  held. 

Entering  a  restaurant,  he  found  that  he 
could  get  a  train  to  Eome  at  midnight.  He 
returned  to  his  hotel,  ate  a  morsel  of  food, 
drank  some  wine,  and  then  went  to  the  railway 
station. 

It  was  early  morning  when  he  entered  the 


134  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

Eternal  City,  and  the  lack  of  stir  upon  the 
streets  troubled  and  depressed  him.  It  accen- 
tuated the  difference  between  his  present  visit 
and  the  last  he  had  made,  and  he  cried  in  his 
heart  most  bitterly  that  the  burden  of  his 
sorrow  was  too  great/ 

He  was  about  to  tell  the  driver  of  the  fiacre 
to  take  him  to  his  old  quarters  on  the  Piazza 
di  Spagna,  when  he  changed  his  mind.  If  he 
went  there  he  would  be  in  the  midst  of  his 
countrymen,  and  in  his  then  mood  the  last 
beincf  he  wished  to  see  was  an  Eun;lishman. 
So  he  asked  the  driver  to  take  him  to 
any  quiet  and  good  boarding-house  he  knew, 
and  was  taken  to  one  in  the  Piazza  Sta.  Maria 
in  Monti. 

In  the  course  of  the  day  he  went  out  to 
learn  what  he  could  of  Alma. 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  135 

He  met  several  acquaintances,  but  they  had 
neither  seen  nor  heard  of  her ;  indeed,  they 
were  not  in  her  circle,  and  though  they  had 
seen  or  heard  of  her,  they  would  hardly  have 
remembered.  Bradley  well  knew  the  famihes 
Alma  would  be  hkely  to  visit,  but  he  shrank 
from  inquiring  at  their  houses  ;  he  went  to  the 
doors  of  several  and  turned  away  without 
asking  to  be  admitted. 

By-and-by  he  went  into  the  CafTe  Nuovo, 
and  eagerly  scanned  the  papers,  but  found  no 
mention  of  Alma  in  them.  A  small  knot  of 
young  Englishmen  and  Americans  sat  near  to 
him,  and  he  thought  at  last  that  he  caught  the 
name  of  Miss  Craik  mentioned  in  their  conver- 
sation. 

He  listened  with  painM  attention,  and 
found  that  they  were  speaking  of  some  one  the 
Jesuits  had  '  hooked,'  as  they  put  it. 


136  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  And,  by  Jove,  it  was  a  haul ! '  one  young 
fellow  said.     '  Any  amount  of  cash,  I  am  told.' 

'  That  is  so,'  replied  one  of  his  comrades ; 
'  and  the  girl  is  wonderfully  beautiful,  they 
say.' 

Bradley  started  at  this,  and  listened  more 
intently  than  before. 

'  Yes,'  the  first  speaker  said,  '  she  is  beauti- 
ful. I  had  her  pointed  out  to  me  in  Milan,  and 
I  thought  her  the  best-looking  woman  I  had 
ever  seen.' 

'  Excuse  me,'  said  Bradley,  stepping  up  to 
the  speakers.  '  I — I  w^ould  like  to  know  the 
name  of  the  lady  you  refer  to.' 

'  Oh,  certainly  ;  her  name  is  Miss  Alma 
Craik.' 

'  Alma  living  !  '  Bradley  shrieked,  and 
staggered,  like  one  in  drink,  out  of  the  caffe. 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  137 

Dazed  and  half  maddened,  lie  found  his 
way  to  the  lodging.  He  locked  the  door  of  his 
room  and  paced  the  floor,  now  clenching  his 
hands  together,  then  holding  his  forehead  in 
them  as  if  to  still  its  bounding  pain. 

'  Taken  by  the  Jesuits  !  '  he  muttered. 
'  Then  she  is  dead  indeed — ay,  worse  than 
dead ! ' 

He  paused  at  length  at  the  window  and 
looked  out.  The  next  instant  he  sprang  back 
with  a  look  of  utter  horror  on  his  face. 

'  What  if  she  is  over  there  ! '  he  gasped,  and 
sank  into  a  chair. 

By  over  there  he  meant  the  convent  of  the 
Farnesiani  nuns.  From  the  window  he  could 
see  down  the  cul-de-sac  that  led  to  the  convent. 
He  knew  the  place  well ;  he  knew  it  to  be  well 
deserving  of  its  name,  the  Living  Tomb,  and  that 


138  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

of  its  inmates  it  was  said '  they  daily  die  and  dig 
their  own  graves.' 

If  Alma  was  indeed  in  there,  then  she  was 
lost. 

Bradley  shook  off  as  far  as  he  could  his 
feeling  of  helplessness  and  hopelessness,  and 
with  frenzied  haste  he  rose  from  the  chair, 
left  the  house,  and  went  over  towards  the 
convent. 

He  knew  that  the  only  way  to  communicate 
with  the  inmates  was  to  mount  to  a  platform 
above  the  walls  of  the  houses,  and  to  rap  on  a 
barrel  projecting  from  the  platform.  He  had 
once  been  there  and  had  been  admitted.  He 
forgot  that  then  he  had  proper  credentials,  and 
that  now  he  had  none. 

He  was  soon  on  the  platform,  and  not  only 
rapped,  but  thundered  on  the  barrel. 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  139 

A  muffled  voice  from  the  interior  demanded 
his  business. 

His  reply  was  whether  an  Enghshwoman 
named  Craik  was  within  the  convent.  To  thaf 
question  he  had  no  answer,  and  the  voice 
within  did  not  speak  again. 

He  stayed  long  and  repeated  his  question 
again  and  again  in  the  hope  of  obtaining  an 
answer,  and  only  left  when  he  had  attracted 
attention,  and  was  invited  by  the  police  to 
desist. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  he  asked  himself  as 
he  stood  in  the  street.  Do  something  he  must, 
but  what  ? 

'  I  have  it ! '  he  said.  '  I  will  go  to  the 
Jesuit  head-quarters  and  demand  to  be  in- 
formed ;  '  and  putting  his  resolve  into  action  he 
walked  thither. 


140  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

He  was  courteously  received,  aud  asked  his 
business. 

'  M)^  business  is  a  painful  one,'  Bradley 
began.  '  I  wish  to  know  if  an  English  lady 
named  Craik  has  joined  your  church  ?  ' 

'  She  did  retin^n  to  the  true  faith,'  replied 
the  priest,  raising  his  eyes  to  heaven,  '  and  for 
her  return  the  Holy  Virgin  and  the  Saints  be 
praised  1 ' 

'  And  now — where  is  she  now  f  ' 

With  painful  expectancy  he  waited  for  the 
priest  to  answer. 

'  Now  !  now,  Signor,  she  is  dead  I '  was  the 
reply. 

Bradley  heard,  and  fell  prone  upon  the 
floor. 

On  recovering  from  his  swoon,  Bradley 
found  himself  surrounded  by   several  priests, 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  141 

one  of  whom  was  sprinkling  his  face  with 
water,  while  another  was  beating  the  palms  of 
his  hands.  Pale  and  trembling,  he  strnggled 
to  his  feet,  and  gazed  wildly  around  him, 
until  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  face  of  the  aged 
official  whom  he  had  just  accosted.  He  en- 
deavoured to  question  him  again,  but  the  little 
Italian  at  his  command  seemed  to  have  for- 
saken him,  and  he  stammered  and  gasped  in 
a  kind  of  stupefaction. 

At  this  moment  he  heard  a  voice  accost 
him  in  excellent  English ;  a  softly  musical  voice, 
full  of  beautiful  vibrations. 

'I  am  sorry,  sir,  at  your  indisposition.  If 
you  will  permit  me,  I  will  conduct  you  back  to 
your  hotel.' 

The  speaker,  hke  his  companions,  had  the 
clean-shaven  face  of  a  priest,  but  his  expression 


142  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

was  briglit  and  good-liumoured.  His  eye- 
brows were  black  and  prominent,  but  his  hair 
was  white  as  snow. 

Bradley  clutched  him  by  the  arm. 

'  What — what  does  it  mean  ?  I  must  have 
been  dreaming.  I  came  here  to  inquire  after 
a  dear  friend — a  lady;  and  that  man  told  me — 
told  me ' 

'  Pray  calm  yourself,'  said  the  stranger 
gently.  '  First  let  me  take  you  home,  and  then 
I  myself  will  give  you  whatever  information  you 
desire.' 

'  No  ! '  cried  Bradley, '  I  will  have  the  truth 
now ! ' 

And  as  he  faced  the  group  of  priests  his 
eyes  flashed  and  his  hands  were  clenched  con- 
vulsively. To  his  distracted  gaze  they  seemed 
like  evil  spirits  congregated  for  his  torture  and 
torment. 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  143 

'  What  is  it  you  desire  to  know? '  demanded 
he  who  had  spoken  in  EngHsh.  As  he  spoke 
he  glanced  quietly  at  his  companions,  with  a 
significant  movement  of  the  eyebrows  ;  and,  as 
if  understanding  the  sign,  they  withdrew  from 
the  apartment,  leaving  himself  and  Bradley 
quite  alone. 

'  Pray  sit  down,'  he  continued  gently,  be- 
fore Bradley  could  answer  his  former  question. 

But  the  other  paid  no  attention  to  the 
request. 

'  Do  not  trifle  with  me,'  he  cried,  '  but 
tell  me  at  once  what  I  demand  to  know.  I 
have  been  to  the  convent,  seeking  one  who  is 
said  to  have  recently  joined  your  church — 
which  God  forbid !  When  I  mentioned  her 
name  I  received  no  answer ;  but  it  is  common 
gossip  that  a  lady  bearing  her  name  was  re- 


144  THE  NEW   ABELARD. 

cently  taken  there.  You  can  tell  me  if  this  is 
true.' 

The  priest  looked  at  him  steadfastly,  and, 
as  it  seemed,  very  sadly. 

'  Will  you  tell  me  the  lady's  name  ?  ' 

'  She  is  known  as  Miss  Alma  Craik,  but  she 
has  a  right  to  another  name,  which  she  shall 
bear.' 

'  Alas  ! '  said  the  other,  with  a  deep  sigh 
and  a  look  full  of  infinite  compassion,  '  I  knew 
the  poor  lady  well.  Perhaps,  if  you  have  been 
in  correspondence  with  her,  she  mentioned  ray 
name — the  Abbe  Brest  ?  ' 

'  Never,'  exclaimed  Bradley. 

'  What  is  it  you  wish  to  know  concerning 
her  .P     I  wdll  help  you  as  well  as  I  can.' 

'  First,  I  wish  to  be  assured  that  that  man 
hed  (though  of  course  I  know  he  lied)  when  he 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  145 

said  that  evil  had  happened  to  her,  that — that 
she  had  died.  Next,  I  demand  to  know  where 
she  is,  that  I  may  speak  to  her.  Do  not  at- 
tempt to  keep  her  from  me  !     I  will  see  her  !  ' 

The  face  of  the  Abbe  seemed  to  harden, 
while  his  eyes  retained  their  sad,  steadfast  gaze. 

'  Pardon  me,'  he  said  after  a  moment's 
reflection, '  and  do  not  think  that  I  put  the  ques- 
tion in  rudeness  or  with  any  want  of  brotherly 
sympathy — but  by  what  right  do  you,  a 
stranger,  solicit  this  information  ?  If  I  give  it 
you,  I  must  be  able  to  justify  myself  before  my 
superiors.  The  lady,  or,  as  I  should  rather  say, 
our  poor  Sister,  is,  as  I  understand,  in  no  way 
related  to  you  by  blood .?  ' 

'  She  is  my  wife  I '  answered  Bradley. 

It  was  now  the  other's  turn  to  express,  or 

VOL.  III.  L 


146  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

at  least  assume,  astonishment.  Uttering  an 
incredulous  exclamation,  he  raised  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  and  slightly  elevated  his  hands. 

'  Do  you  think  I  lie  ?  '  cried  Bradley  sternly. 
'  Do  you  think  I  lie,  like  those  of  your  church, 
whose  trade  it  is  to  do  so  ?  I  tell  you  I  have 
come  here  to  claim  her  who  is  my  wife,  by  the 
laws  of  man  and  God  ! ' 

Again  the  Abbe  repeated  his  pantomime 
expressive  of  pitiful  increduhty. 

'  Surely  you  deceive  yourself,'  he  said. 
'  Miss  Craik  was  never  married.  She  lived 
immated,  and  in  blessed  virginity  was  baptised 
into  our  church.' 

'  Where  is  she  ?  Let  me  speak  to  her  ! ' 
cried  Bradley,  Avith  a  sudden  access  of  his  old 
passion. 

The  Abbe  pointed  upward. 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  147 

'  She  is  with  the  saints  of  heaven ! '  he  said, 
and  crossed  himself. 

Again  the  unfortunate  clergyman's  head 
went  round,  and  again  he  seemed  about  to 
fall ;  but  recovering  himself  with  a  shuddering 
effort,  he  clutched  the  priest  by  the  arm,  ex- 
claiming— 

'  Torture  me  no  more  !  You  are  juggling 
with  my  life,  as  you  have  done  with  hers.  But 
tell  me  it  is  all  false,  and  I  will  forgive  you. 
Though  you  are  a  priest,  you  have  at  least  the 
heart  of  a  man.  Have  pity  !  If  what  you  have 
said  is  true,  I  am  destroyed  body  and  soul — 
yes,  body  and  soul !  Have  mercy  upon  me ! 
Tell  me  my  darhng  is  not  dead  ! ' 

The  Abbe's  face  went  white  as  deatli,  and 
at  the  same  moment  his  lustrous  eyes  seemed 
to   fill   with    tears.     Trembhiig   violently,    ho 

L  2 


T48  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

took  Bradley's  hand,  and  pressed  it  tenderly. 
Then  releasing  him,  he  glanced  upward  and 
turned  towards  the  door  of  the  chamber. 

'  Stay  here  till  I  return,'  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  and  disappeared. 

Half  SAVooning,  Bradley  sank  into  a  chair, 
covering  his  face  with  his  hands.  A  quarter  of 
an  hour  passed,  and  he  still  remained  in  the 
same  position.  Tears  streamed  from  his  eyes, 
and  from  time  to  time  he  moaned  aloud  in 
complete  despair.  Suddenly  he  felt  a  touch 
upon  his  shoulder,  and  looking  up  he  again 
encountered  the  compassionate  eyes  of  the 
Abbe  Brest. 

'  Come  with  me  ! '  the  Abbe  said. 

Bradley  was  too  lost  in  his  own  wild  fears 
and  horrible  conjectiu^es  to  take  any  particular 
note  of  the  manner  of  the  priest.    Had  he  done 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  149 

SO,  he  would  have  perceived  that  it  betrayed 
no  Httle  hesitation  and  agitation.  But  he  rose 
eagerly,  though  as  it  were  mechanically,  and 
followed  the  Abbe  to  the  door. 

A  minute  afterwards  they  were  walking 
side  by  side  in  the  open  sunshine. 

To  the  bewildered  mind  of  Ambrose  Brad- 
ley it  all  seemed  like  a  dream.  The  sun- 
light dazzled  his  brain  so  that  his  eyes  could 
scarcely  see,  and  he  was  only  conscious 
of  hurrying  along  through  a  crowd  of  living 
ghosts. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  tottering. 

'  What  is  the  matter  .^ '  cried  the  Abb^, 
supporting  him.  '  You  are  ill  again,  I  fear ; 
let  me  call  a  carriage.' 

And,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he 
beckoned  up  a  carriage  which  was  just  then 


I50  THE  NEW  ADELARD. 

passing.  By  this  time  Bradley  had  recovered 
from  his  momentary  faintness. 

'  Where  are  you  taking  me  ?  '  he  demanded. 

'  Get  in,  and  I  will  tell  you  ! '  returned  the 
other  ;  and  when  Bradley  had  seated  himself, 
he  leant  over  to  the  driver  and  said  something 
in  a  low  voice. 

Bradley  repeated  his  question,  while  the 
vehicle  moved  slowly  away. 

'  I  am  going  to  make  inquiries,'  was  the 
reply ;  '  and  as  an  assurance  of  my  sympathy 
and  good  faith,  I  have  obtained  permission 
for  you  to  accompany  me.  But  let  me  now 
conjure  you  to  summon  all  your  strength  to 
bear  the  inevitable ;  and  let  it  be  your  com- 
fort if,  as  I  believe  and  fear,  something  terrible 
has  happened,  to  know  that  there  is  much  in 
this  world  sadder  far  than  death.' 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  151 

'  I  ask  you  once  more,'  said  Bradley  in  a 
broken  voice,  '  where  are  you  taking  me  ?  ' 

'  To  those  who  can  set  your  mind  at  rest, 
once  and  for  ever.' 

'  Who  are  they  ? ' 

'  The  Farnesiani  sisters,'  returned  the  Abbe. 

Bradley  sank  back  on  his  seat  stupefied, 
with  a  sickening  sense  of  horror. 

The  mental  strain  and  agony  were  growing 
almost  too  much  for  him  to  bear.  Into  that 
brief  day  he  had  concentrated  the  torture  of 
a  lifetime ;  and  never  before  had  he  known 
with  what  utterness  of  despairing  passion  he 
loved  the  woman  whom  he  indeed  held  to  be, 
in  the  sight  of  God,  his  wife.  With  frenzied 
self-reproach  he  blamed  himself  for  all  that 
had  taken  place.  Had  he  never  consented  to 
an  ignoble  deception,  never  gone  through  the 


152  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

mockery  of  a  marriage  ceremony  with  Alma, 
they  might  still  have  been  at  peace  together  ; 
legally  separated  for  the  time  being,  but  spiri- 
tually joined  for  ever ;  pure  and  sacred  for 
each  other,  and  for  all  the  world.  But  now — 
now  it  seemed  that  he  had  lost  her,  body  and 
soul ! 

The  carriage  presently  halted,  and  Bradley 
saw  at  a  glance  that  they  were  at  the  corner 
of  the  cul-de-sac  leading  to  the  convent.  They 
alighted,  and  the  Abbe  paid  the  driver.  A 
couple  of  minutes  later  they  were  standing  on 
the  platform  above  the  walls  of  the  houses. 

All  around  them  the  bright  sunshine  burnt 
golden  over  the  quivering  roofs  of  Eome,  and 
the  sleepy  hum  of  the  Eternal  City  rolled  ujj 
to  them  like  the  murmur  of  a  summer  sea. 

There  they  stood  like  two  black  spots  on 


THE  ETERNAL   CITY.  153 

the  aerial  briglituess ;  and  again  Bradley  fell 
into  one  of  those  waking  trances  which  he  had 
of  late  so  frequently  experienced,  and  which 
he  had  frequently  compared,  in  his  calmer 
moments,  to  the  weird  seizures  of  the  young 
Prince,  '  blue-eyed  and  fair  of  face,'  in  the 
'  Princess.' 

He  moved,  looked,  spoke  as  usual,  showing 
no  outward  indication  of  his  condition ;  but  a 
mist  was  upon  his  mind,  and  nothing  was  real ; 
he  seemed  rather  a  disembodied  spirit  than  a 
man  ;  the  Abbe's  voice  strange  and  far  off, 
though  clear  and  distinct  as  a  bell ;  and  when 
the  Abbe  rapped  on  the  barrel,  as  he  himself 
had  done  so  recently,  the  voice  tliat  answered 
the  summons  sounded  like  a  voice  from  the 
very  grave  itself. 


154  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

THE    NAMELESS    GRAVE. 

The  all-beholding  sun  shall  see  no  more 

In  all  his  course  ;  nor  yet  in  the  cold  ground 

Where  thy  pale  form  was  laid  with  many  tears, 

Nor  in  the  embrace  of  Ocean  shall  exist 

Thy  image.     Earth,  that  nourished  thee,  shall  claim 

Thy  growth,  to  he  resolved  to  earth  again ; 

And,  lost  each  human  trace,  surrend'ring  up 

Thine  individual  being,  shalt  thou  go 

To  mix  for  ever  with  the  elements, 

To  be  a  brother  to  th'  insensible  rock 

And  to  the  sluggish  clod. —  Thanatopsis. 

It  seemed  a  dream  still,  but  a  horrible  sunless 
dream,  all  that  followed ;  and  in  after  years 
Ambrose  Bradley  never  remembered  it  without 
a  thrill  of  horror,  finding  it  ever  impossible  to 
disentangle   the    reality   from   illusion,    or    to 


THE  NAMELESS  GRAVE,  155 

separate  the  darkness  of  tlie  visible  experience 
from  that  of  his  own  mental  condition.  But 
this,  as  far  as  he  could  piece  the  ideas  together, 
was  what  he  remembered. 

Accompanied  by  the  mysterious  Abbe,  he 
seemed  to  descend  into  the  bowels  of  the 
earth,  and  to  follow  the  figure  of  a  veiled  and 
sibylline  figure  who  held  a  lamp.  Passing 
through  dark  subterranean  passages,  he  came 
to  a  low  corridor,  the  walls  and  ceiling  of 
which  were  of  solid  stone,  and  at  the  further 
end  of  which  was  a  door  containing  an  iron 
grating. 

The  priest  approached  the  door,  and  said 
something  in  a  low  voice  to  some  one  beyond. 

There  was  a  pause ;  then  the  door  re- 
volved on  its  hinges,  and  they  entered, — to 
find    themselves    in   a   black    and    vault-like 


156  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

chamber,  tlie  darkness  of  which  was  Hterally 
'  made  visible '  by  one  thin,  spectral  stream  of 
light,  trickhng  through  an  orifice  in  the  arched 
ceilini:^. 

Here  they  found  themselves  in  the  presence 
of  a  tall  figure  stoled  in  black,  which  the  Abbe 
saluted  with  profound  reverence.  It  was  to  all 
intents  and  purposes  the  figure  of  a  woman, 
but  the  voice  which  responded  to  the  priest's 
salutation  in  Italian  was  deep — almost — as  that 
of  a  man, 

'  What  is  your  errand,  brother  ? '  de- 
manded the  woman  after  the  first  formal 
greeting  was  over.  As  she  spoke  she  turned 
her  eyes  on  Bradley,  and  they  shone  bright 
and  piercing  through  her  veil. 

*  I  come  direct  from  tlie  Holy  Office,' 
answered  the  Abbe,  '  and  am  deputed  to  in- 


THE  NAMELESS  GRAVE.  157 

quire  of  you  concerning  one  who  was  until 
recently  an  inmate  of  this  sacred  place, — a 
poor  suffering  Sister,  who  came  here  to  find 
peace,  consolation,  and  blessed  rest.  This 
English  signor,  who  accompanies  me,  is  deeply 
interested  in  her  of  whom  I  speak,  and  the 
Holy  Office  permits  that  you  should  tell  him 
all  you  know. 

The  woman  again  gazed  fixedly  at  Bradley 
as  she  rephed — 

'  She  who  enters  here  as  an  inmate  leaves 
behind  her  at  the  gate  her  past  hfe,  her  worldly 
goods,  her  kith  and  kin,  her  very  name. 
Death  itself  could  not  strip  her  more  bare  of 
all  that  she  has  been.  She  becomes  a  ghost, 
a  shadow,  a  cipher.  How  am  I  to  follow 
the  fate  of  one  whose  trace  in  the  world  has 
disappeared  ? ' 

'  You  are  trifling  with  me ! '  cried  Biadley. 


158  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Tell  me  at  once,  is  she  or  is  she  not  an  inmate 
of  this  living  hell  ?  ' 

'  Do  not  blaspheme !  '  cried  the  Abbe  in 
English,  while  the  veiled  woman  crossed  her- 
self with  a  shudder.  '  It  is  only  in  compassion 
for  your  great  anguish  of  mind  that  our  blessed 
Sister  will  help  you,  and  such  words  as  you  are 
too  prone  to  use  will  not  serve  your  cause. 
Sister,'  he  continued  in  Italian,  addressing  the 
woman,  '  the  English  signor  would  not  willingly 
offend,  though  he  has  spoken  wildly,  out  of  the 
depth  of  his  trouble.  Now  listen  !  It  is  on  the 
record  of  the  Holy  Office  that  on  a  certain  day 
some  few  months  ago  an  English  lady,  under 
sanction,  entered  these  walls  and  voluntarily 
said  farewell  to  the  world  for  ever,  choosing 
the  blessed  path  of  a  divine  death-in-life  to  the 
sins  and  sorrows  of  an   existence  which   was 


THE  NAMELESS   GRAVE.  159 

surely  life-in-death.  The  name  slie  once  bore, 
and  the  date  on  which  she  entered  the  con- 
vent, are  written  down  on  this  paper.  Please 
read  them,  and  then  perhaps  you  will  be  able 
to  guide  us  in  our  search,' 

So  saying,  the  Abbe  handed  to  the  woman 
a  folded  piece  of  paper.  She  took  it  quietly, 
and,  stepping  slowly  to  the  part  of  the  chamber 
which  was  lit  by  the  beam  of  chilly  sunshine, 
opened  the  paper  and  appeared  to  read  the 
writing  upon  it.  As  she  did  so,  the  dim  and 
doubtful  radiance  fell  upon  her,  and  showed 
tlirough  the  black  but  semi-transparent  veil  the 
dim  outline  of  a  livid  human  face. 

Leaving  the  chamber,  she  approached  a 
large  vaulted  archway  at  its  inner  end,  and 
beckoned  to  the  two  men.  Without  a  word 
they  followed. 


i6o  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

Still  full  of  the  wild  sense  of  unreality,  like 
a  man  walking  or  groping  his  way  in  a  land  of 
ghosts,  Bradley  walked  on.  Passing  along  a 
dismal  stone  corridor,  where,  at  every  step  he 
took. 


He  dragged 
Foot-echoes  after  Lim ! 


past  passage  after  passage  of  vaulted  stone, 
dimly  conscious  as  he  went  of  low  doors 
opening  into  the  gloomiest  of  cells,  he  hurried 
in  the  w^ake  of  his  veiled  guide.  Was  it  only 
his  distempered  fancy,  or  did  he  indeed  hear, 
from  time  to  time,  the  sound  of  low  wailiugs 
and  dreary  ululations  proceeding  from  the 
darkness  on  every  side  of  him  ?  Once,  as  they 
crossed  an  open  space  dimly  lit  by  dreary 
shafts  of  daylight,  he  saw  a  figure  in  sable 
weeds,    on    hands   and   knees,    with   her   lips 


THE  NAMELESS  GRAVE.  i6i 

pressed  close  against  the  stone  pavement ;  but 
at  a  word  from  his  guide  the  figure  rose  with  a 
feeble  moan  and  fluttered  away  down  a  corridor 
into  the  surrounding  darkness. 

At  last  they  seemed  to  pass  from  darkness 
into  partial  sunshine,  and  Bradley  found  himself 
standing  in  the  open  air.  On  every  side,  and 
high  as  the  eye  could  reach,  rose  gloomy  walls 
with  overhanging  caves  and  buttresses,  leaving 
only  one  narrow  space  above  where  the  blue  of 
heaven  was  dimly  seen.  There  was  a  flutter  of 
wings,  and  the  shadows  of  a  flight  of  birds 
passed  overhead — doves  which  made  their 
home  in  the  gloomy  recesses  of  the  roofs  and 
walls. 

Beneath  was  a  sort  of  quadrangle,  some 
twenty  feet  square,  covered  with  grass,  which 
for  the  most  part  grew  knee-deep,  interspersed 

VOL.  III.  M 


1 62  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

witli  nettles  and  gloomy  weeds,  and  wliicli  was 
in  other  places  stunted  and  decayed,  as  if 
withered  by  some  hideous  mildew  or  blight. 
Here  and  there  there  was  a  rude  wooden  cross 
stuck  into  the  earth,  and  indicating  what  looked 
to  the  eye  like  a  neglected  grave. 

The  Sister  led  the  way  through  tlie  long 
undergrowth,  till  she  reached  the  side  of  a 
mound  on  which  the  grass  had  scarcely  grown 
at  all,  and  on  which  was  set  one  of  those 
coarse  crosses. 

'  You  ask  me  what  has  become  of  the  poor 
penitent  you  seek.  She  died  in  the  holy  faith, 
and  her  mortal  body  is  buried  here! 

With    a    wild  shriek   Bradley  fell   on    his 
knees,  and  tearing  the  cross  from  the   earth 
read  the  inscription  rudely  carved  upon  it : — 
'  Sister  Alma. 
Ohiit  18—.' 


THE   NAMELESS   GRAVE.  163 

That  was  all.  Bradley  gazed  at  the  cross 
in  utter  agony  and  desolation ;  then  shrieking 
again  aloud,  fell  forward  on  his  face.  The 
faint  light  from  the  far-off  blue  crept  down 
over  him,  and  over  the  two  black  figures, 
who  gazed  in  wonder  upon  him ;  and  thus 
for  a  long  time  he  lost  the  sense  of  life  and 
time,  and  lay  as  if  dead. 


M   '1 


1 64  THE  NEW  ABELARD 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

IN   TARIS. 

Lay  a  garland  on  my  hearse, 

Of  the  dismal  yew  ; 
Maidens,  willow  gardens  bear  ; 

Say  I  died  true. 

My  love  was  false,  but  I  was  firm 

From  my  hour  of  birth  ; 
Upon  my  buried  body  lie 

Lightly,  gentle  earth. —  The  Maid's  Tragedy. 

Professor  Mapleleafe  speedily  saw  that  to 
oppose  his  sister  would  be  inopportune — might 
perhaps  even  cause  her  decline  and  death. 
He  determined-  therefore  to  humour  her,  and 
to  delay  for  a  short  time  their  proposed  re- 
turn to  America. 


IN  PARIS.  165 

*  Look  here,  Eustasia,'  he  said  to  her  one 
day,  '  I  find  I've  got  something  to  do  in  Paris  ; 
you  shall  come  with  me.  Perhaps  the  change 
there  may  bring  you  back  to  your  old  self 
again.  Anyhow  we'll  try  it;  for  if  this  goes 
on  much  longer  you'll  die ! ' 

'  No,  Salem,  I  shan't  die  till  I've  seen  him 
again ! '  she  answered,  with  a  faint  forced 
smile. 

They  set  about  making  their  preparations 
at  once,  and  were  soon  on  their  way  to  Paris. 
The  movement  and  change  had  given  colour 
to  Eustasia's  cheeks,  and  brought  a  pleasurable 
light  of  excitement  into  her  eyes,  so  that 
already  her  brother's  spirits  were  raised. 

'  She'll  forget  him,'  he  said  to  himself,  '  and 
we'll  be  what  we  were  before  he  came  ! ' 

But  in  this  Salem  was  mistaken.     Eustaeia 


1 66  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

was  not  likely  to  forget  Bradley.  Indeed,  it 
was  the  tliouglit  of  seeing  liim  again  that 
seemed  to  give  new  life  to  her  rapidly  wasting 
frame.  She  knew  that  he  had  left  Eno-land  ; 
she  thought  that,  like  herself,  he  might  be 
travelling  to  get  rid  of  his  own  distracting 
thoughts ;  so  wherever  she  went  she  looked 
about  her  to  try  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  face. 
They  fixed  themselves  in  Paris,  and  Salem 
soon  dropped  into  the  old  life.  He  fell  amongst 
some  kindred  spirits,  and  the  seances  began 
again  ;  Eustasia  taking  part  in  them  to  please 
her  brother,  but  no  more.  She  was  utterly 
changed  ;  each  day  as  it  rolled  away  seemed 
to  take  with  it  a  part  of  her  life,  until  her 
wasted  frame  became  almost  as  ethereal ised  as 
those  of  the  spirits  with  whom  she  had  dealt 
so  much. 


IN  PARIS.  167 

With  constant  nursing  an  1  brooding  upon, 
her  fascination  for  tlie  Enghf;hman  increased ; 
it  seemed,  indeed,  to  be  the  one  thing  which 
kept  her  thin  thread  of  hfe  from  finally  breaking. 

'  If  I  could  see  him  again,'  she  murmured 
to  herself, '  only  once  again,  and  then  (as  Salem 
says)  die ! ' 

The  wish  of  her  heart  was  destined  to  be 
realised :  she  did  at  least  see  Bradley  once 
again. 

She  was  sitting  at  home  one  day  alone, 
when  the  door  of  the  room  opened,  and  more 
like  a  spectre  than  a  man  he  walked  in. 

At  the  first  glimpse  of  his  face  Eustasia 
uttered  a  wild  cry  and  staggered  a  few  steps 
forward,  as  if  about  to  throw  herself  into  his 
arms  ;  but  suddenly  she  controlled  herself,  and 
sank  half  swoo  ning  into  a  chair. 


i68  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  You  have  come ! '  she  said  at  length, 
raising  her  eyes  wistfully  to  his  ;  '  you  have 
come  at  last ! ' 

He  did  not  answer,  but  kept  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  hers  with  a  look  which  made  her  shudder. 

'  How — how  did  you  find  me  ?  '  she  asked 
faintly. 

'  I  came  to  Paris,  and  by  accident  I  heard 
of  you,'  he  answered  in  a  hollow  voice. 

Again  there  was  silence.  Bradley  kept 
his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sibyl  with  a  look  which 
thrilled  hep  to  the  soul.  There  was  something 
about  him  which  she  could  not  understand  ; 
something  which  made  her  fear  him.  Lookin^^ 
at  him  more  closely,  she  saw  that  he  was 
curiously  changed ;  his  eyes  were  sunken  and 
hollow ;  and  though  they  were  fixed  upon  her 
they  seemed  to   be  looking  at  something  far 


IN  PARIS.  169 

away ;      bis     hair,     too,     had     turned     quite 

grey. 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  approached  him, 
and  gently  laid  her  hand  upon  his  arm. 

'  Mr.  Bradley,'  she  said,  '  what  is  it  ?  ' 

He  passed  his  hand  across  his  brow  as  if 
to  dispel  a  dream,  and  looked  at  her  curiously. 

'  Eustasia,'  he  said,  using  for  the  first  time 
her  Christian  name,  '  speak  the  truth  to  me 
to-day ;  tell  me,  is  all  this  real  ?  ' 

'  Is  what  real  ?  '  she  asked,  trembling.  His 
presence  made  her  faint,  and  the  sound  of  her 
name,  as  he  had  spoken  it,  rang  continually  in 
her  ears. 

'  Is  it  not  all  a  lie  ?  Tell  me  that  what 
you  have  done  once  you  can  do  again ;  that 
you  can  bring  me  once  more  into  the  presence 
of  the  spmt  of  her  I  love  ! ' 


I70  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Of  her  you  love  ? '  said  the  girl,  fixing 
her  large  eyes  wistfully  upon  his  face.  '  What 
— what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  ' 

'  Prove  that  it  is  not  all  a  lie  and  a  cheat : 
if  you  are  a  true  woman,  as  I  trust,  I  want 
you  to  bring  back  to  me  the  spirit  of  my 
darling  who  is  dead  ! ' 

She  bhrank  for  a  moment  from  him,  a 
sickening  feeling  of  despair  clouding  all  her 
senses  ;  then  she  bowed  her  head. 

'  When  will  you  come?  '  she  said. 

'  To-night.' 

Eustasia  sank  into  her  chair,  and,  without 
another  word,  Bradley  departed. 

At  seven  o'clock  that  night  Bradley  re- 
turned, and  found  the  sibyl  waiting  for  him. 

tShe  was  quite  alone.  Since  the  morning 
her   manner    had    completely    changed ;    her 


IN  PARIS.  171 

hands  were  trembling,  her  cheek  was  flushed, 
but  there  was  a  look  of  strange  determination 
about  her  lips  and  in  her  eyes.  Bradley  shook 
hands  with  her,  then  looked  around  as  if  ex- 
pecting others. 

She  smiled  curiously. 

'  We  are  to  be  alone  ! '  she  said — '  quite 
alone.     I  thought  it  better  for  you  ! ' 

For  some  time  she  made  no  attempt  to 
move  ;  at  length,  noticing  Bradley's  impatience, 
she  said  quietly — 

'  We  will  beoin.' 

She    rose     and     placed     herself    opposite 

Bradley,  and  fixed  her  eyes  intently  upon  him. 

Then,  at  her  request,  he  turned  down  the  gas  ; 

they  were  in  almost    total  darkness  touching 

hands. 

For   some    time    after    Bradley   sat   in   a 


172  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

Strange  dreain,  scarcely  conscious  of  anything 
that  was  taking  place,  and  touching  the  out- 
stretched hands  of  Eustasia  with  his  own. 

Suddenly  a  soft  voice  close  to  his  ear  mur- 
mured,— 

'  Ambrose,  my  love ! ' 

He  started  from  his  chair,  and  gazed  wildly 
about  him.  He  could  see  nothing,  but  he 
could  feel  something  stirring  close  to  him. 
Then  he  staggered  back  like  a  drunken  man, 
and  fell  back  in  his  chair. 

'  Alma  ! '  he  cried  piteously,  still  conscious 
of  the  medium's  trembling  hands,  '  Alma,  my 
darling,  come  to  me !' 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence,  and 
Bradley  could  hear  the  beating  of  his  heart. 
Then  he  became  conscious  of  a  soft  hand 
upon  his  head ;  of  lips  that  seemed  to  him  like 


IN  PARIS.  173 

warm   human   lips   pressed    against   his   fore 

bead. 

Gasping  and  trembling  lie  cried — 

'  Alma,  speak  ;  is  it  you  1 ' 

The  same  soft  voice  answered  him— 

■  ♦  Yes,  it  is  I ! ' 

The  hand  passed  again  softly  over  his  head 
and  around  his  neck,  and  a  pair  of  lips  rich 
and  warm  were  pressed  passionately  against 
his  own.  Half  mad  with  excitement,  Bradley 
threw  one  arm  around  the  figure  he  felt  to  be 
near  him,  sprang  to  his  feet  while  it  struggled 
to  disengage  itself,  turned  up  the  light,  and 
gazed  full  into  the  eyes  of — Eustasia  Maple- 
leafe. 

Never  till  his  dying  day  did  Bradley  forget 
the  expression  of  the  face  which  the  sibyl  now 


174  THE  NEW  ABELAKjj. 

tuniecl  towards  his  owu,  wliile,  half  crouching, 
half  struggling,  she  tried  to  free  herself  from 
the  grip  of  his  powerful  arms ;  for  though  the 
cheeks  were  pale  as  death,  the  eyes  wildly- 
dilated,  they  expressed  no  terror — rather  a 
mad  and  reckless  desperation.  The  mask  had 
quite  fallen  ;  any  attempt  at  further  disguise 
would  have  been  sheer  w^aste  of  force  and 
time,  and  Eustasia  stood  revealed  once  and  for 
all  as  a  cunning  and  dangerous  trickster,  a 
serpent  of  miserable  deceit. 

Yet  she  did  not  quail.  She  looked  at  the 
man  boldly,  and  presently,  seeing  he  continued 
to  regard  her  steadfastly,  as  if  lost  in  horrified 
wonder,  she  gave  vent  to  her  characteristic, 
scarcely  audible,  crooning  laugh. 

A  thrill  of  horror  went  through  him,  as  if 
he  were  under  the  spell  of  something  diabolic. 


IN  PARIS.  17 

For  a  moment  he  felt  impelled  to  seize  rier 
by  the  throat  and  strangle  her,  or  to  savagely 
dash  her  to  the  ground.  Conquering  the  im- 
pulse, he  held  her  still  as  in  a  vice,  until  at  last 
he  found  a  voice — 

'  Then  you  have  lied  to  me  ?  It  has  all 
been  a  lie  from  the  beo;innincr  ? ' 

'  Let  me  go,'  she  panted, '  and  I  will  answer 

you  ! ' 

'  Answer  me  now,'  he  said  between  his  set 

« 

teeth. 

But  the  sibyl  was  not  made  of  the  sort  of 
stuff  to  be  conquered  by  intimidation.  A  fierce 
look  came  into  her  wonderful  eyes,  and  her 

lips  were  closely  compressed  together. 

'  Speak — or  I  may  kill  you  !^  he  cried. 

'  Kill  me,  then  ! '  she  answered.  '  Guess  I 
don  t  care  ! ' 


176  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

There  was  something  in  the  wild  face 
which  mastered  him  in  spite  of  himself.  His 
hands  relaxed,  his  arms  sank  useless  at  his 
side,  and  he  uttered  a  deep  despairing  groan. 
Simultaneously  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and 
stood  looking  down  at  him. 

'  Why  did  you  break  the  conditions  ?  '  she 
asked  in  a  low  voice.  '  The  spirits  won't  be 
trifled  with  in  that  way,  and  they'll  never  for- 
give you,  or  me  ;  never.' 

He  made  no  sign  that  he  heard  her,  but 
stood  moveless,  his  head  sunk  between  his 
shoulders,  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
Struck  by  the  sudden  change  in  him,  she 
moved  towards  him,  and  was  about  to  touch 
him  on  the  shoulder,  when  he  rose,  still  white 
as  death,  and  faced  her  once  more. 

'  Do  not  touch  me  ! '  he  cried.      '  Do  not 


IN  PARIS.  177 

touch  me,  and  do  not,  if  you  have  a  vestige  of 
goodness  left  within  you,  try  to  torture  me 
again.  But  look  me  in  the  face,  and  answer 
me,  if  you  can,  truly,  remembering  il,  is  the 
last  time  we  shall  ever  meet.  When  you  have 
told  me  the  truth,  I  shall  leave  this  place, 
never  to  return  ;  shall  leave  you^  never  to  look 
upon  your  face  again.  Tell  me  the  truth, 
woman,  and  I  will  try  to  forgive  you ;  it  will 
be  very  hard,  but  I  will  try.  I  know  I  have 
been  your  dupe  from  the  beginning,  and  that 
what  I  have  seen  and  heard  has  been  only  a 
treacherous  mirage  called  up  by  an  adventuress 
and  her  accomplices.  Is  it  not  so  ?  Speak ! 
Let  me  have  the  truth  from  your  own  lips.' 

'  I  can't  tell,'  answered  Eustasia  coldly. 
'  If  you  mean  that  my  brother  and  I  have 
conspired    to    deceive  you,  it    is   a  falsehood. 

VOL.  III.  N 


178  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

We  are  simply  agents  iu  the  bauds  of  higher 
agencies  than  ours.' 

'  Once  more,  cease  that  jargon,'  cried 
Bradley ;  '  the  time  has  long  past  for  its  use. 
Will  you  confess,  before  we  part  for  ever  ? 
You  will  not?  Then  good-bye,  and  God 
forgive  you.' 

So  saying  he  moved  towards  the  door ;  but 
with  a  sharp,  bird-like  cry  she  called  him 
back. 

'  Stay !  you  must  not  go  ! ' 

He  turned  again  towards  her. 

'  Then  will  you  be  honest  witli  me  ?  It  is 
the  last  and  only  thing  I  shall  ask  of  you.' 

'  I — I  will  try,'  she  answered  in  a  broken 
voice. 

'  You  wiin  ' 

'  Yes ;  if  you  will  listen  to  me  patiently.' 


IN  PARIS.  179 

She  sank  into  a  chair,  and  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands.  He  stood  watching  her,  and 
saw  that  her  thin,  white,  trembhug  fingers 
were  wet  with  tears. 

'  Promise,'  she  said,  '  that  what  I  am  about 
to  say  to  you  shall  never  be  told  to  any  other 
living  soul.' 
'  I  promise.' 

'  Not  even  to  my  brother.' 
'  Not  even  to  him! 

There  was  a  long  pause,  during  which  he 
waited  impatiently  for  her  to  continue.  At 
last,  conquering  her  agitation,  she  uncovered 
her  face,  and  motioned  to  a  chair  opposite  to 
her ;  he  obeyed  her  almost  mechanically,  and 
sat  down.  She  looked  long  and  wistfully  at 
him,  and  sighed  several  times  as  if  in  pain. 
'  Salem  says  I  shan't  live  long,'  she  mur- 


N   '1 


i8o  THE  NEW  ADELARD. 

mured  tliouglitfully.  '  To-night,  more  than 
ever,  I  felt  Hke  dying.' 

She  paused  and  waited  as  if  expecting  him 
to  speak,  but  he  was  silent, 

'  Guess  you  don't  care  if  I  live  or  die  ? '  she 
added  piteously,  more  like  a  sick  child  than  a 
grown  woman — and  waited  again. 

'  I  think  I  do  care,'  he  answered  sadly,  '  for 
in  spite  of  all  the  anguish  you  have  caused  me, 
I  am  sorry  for  you.  But  I  am  not  myself,  not 
the  man  you  once  knew.  All  my  soul  is  set 
upon  one  quest,  and  I  care  for  nothing  more  in 
all  the  world.  I  used  to  believe  there  was  a 
God  ;  that  there  was  a  life  after  death  ;  that 
if  those  who  loved  each  other  parted  here, 
they  might  meet  again  elsewhere.  In  my 
despair  and  doubt,  I  thought  that  you  could 
give  me  assurance  and  heavenly  hope ;   and  I 


/A  PARIS.  i8i 


clutched  at  the  shadows  you  summoned  up 
before  me.  I  know  now  how  unreal  they 
were;  I  know  now  that  you  were  playing 
tricks  upon  my  miserable  soul.' 

She  hstened  to  him,  and  when  he  ceased 
began  to  cry  again. 

'I  never  meant  any  harm  to  yow,'  she 
sobbed !  '  I — I  loved  you  too  well.' 

'  You  loved  me  ! '  he  echoed  in  amaze. 

She  nodded  quickly,  glancing  at  him  with 
her  keen  wild  eyes. 

'  Yes,  Mr.  Bradley.  When  Salem  first  took 
me  to  hear  you  preach,  you  seemed  like  the 
spirit  of  a  man  I  once  loved,  and  who  once 
loved  me.  He's  dead  now,  he  is ;  died  over 
there  in  the  States,  years  ago.  Well,  after- 
wards, when  I  saw  you  again,  I  began  to  make 
believe  to  myself  that  you  were  that  very  man, 


i82  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

and  that  he  was  living  again  in  you.  You 
think  me  crazy,  don't  you?  Ah  well,  you'll 
think  me  crazier  when  you  hear  all  the  rest. 
I  soon  found  out  all  about  you  ;  it  wasn't  very 
hard,  and  our  people  have  ways  of  learning 
things  you'd  never  guess.  I  didn't  look  far  till 
I  found  out  your  secret ;  that  you  loved  another 
woman,  I  mean.  That  made  me  care  for  you 
all  the  more.' 

Her  manner  now  was  quite  simple  and 
matter-of-fact.  Her  face  was  quite  tearless, 
and,  with  hands  folded  in  her  lap,  she  sat 
quietly  looking  into  his  face.  He  listened  in 
sheer  stupefaction.  Until  that  moment  no 
suspicion  of  the  truth  had  ever  flashed  upon 
his  mind.  As  Eustasia  spoke,  her  features 
seemed  to  become  elfin-like  and  old,  with  a 
set  expression  of  dreary  and  incurable  pain ; 


IN  PARIS.  183 

l3ut  she  made  her  avowal  without  the  shghtest 
indication  of  shame  or  self-reproach,  though 
her  manner,  from  time  to  time,  was  that  of 
one  pleading  for  sympathy  and  pity. 

She  continued — 

'  You  don't  understand  me  yet,  and  I  guess 
you  never  will.  I'm  not  a  European,  and  I 
haven't  been  brought  up  like  other  girls.  I 
don't  seem  ever  to  have  been  quite  young. 
I  grew  friends  with  the  spirits  when  I  wasn't  old 
enough  to  understand,  and  they  seem  to  have 
stolen  my  right  heart  away,  and  put  another 
in  its  place.' 

'Why  do  you  speak  of  such  things  as  if 
they  were  real?  You  know  the  whole  thing 
is  a  trick  and  a  lie.' 

'  No,  I  don't,'  she  answered  quickly.  '  I'm 
not  denying  that  I've  played  tricks  with  them. 


l84  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

just  as  they've  played  tricks  witli  me;  but 
they're  downright  real — they  are  indeed. 
First  mother  used  to  come  to  me,  when  I  was 
very  little ;  then  others,  and  in  after-days  I 
saw  liim ;  yes,  after  he  was  dead.  Then  some- 
times, when  they  wouldn't  come,  Salem  helped 
out  the  manifestations,  that's  all.' 

'  For  God's  sake,  be  honest  with  me ! '  cried 
Bradley.  '  Confess  that  all  these  things  are 
simple  imposture.  That  photograph  of  your- 
self, for  example — do  you  remember? — the 
picture  your  brother  left  in  my  room,  and 
which  faded  away  when  I  breathed  upon  it  ? ' 

She  nodded  her  head  again,  and  laughed 
strangely. 

'  It  was  a  man  out  West  that  taught  Salem 
how  to  do  that,'  she  replied  naively. 

'  Then  it  was  a  trick,  as  I  suspected  ?  ' 


IN  PARIS.  185 

'  Yes,  I  guess  that  was  a  trick.  It  was 
something  they  used  in  fixing  the  hkeness, 
which  made  it  grow  invisible  after  it  had  been 
a  certain  time  in  contact  with  the  atmospheric 
air.' 

Bradley  uttered  an  impatient  exclamation. 

'  And  all  the  rest  was  of  a  piece  with  that ! 
Well,  I  could  have  forgiven  you  everything 
but  havhig  personified  one  who  is  now  lost  to 
me  for  ever.' 

'  I  never  did.  I  suppose  you  wished  to  see 
her,  and  she  came  to  you  out  of  the  spirit- 
land.' 

'  Now  you  are  lying  to  me  again.' 

'  Don't  you  think  I'm  lying,'  was  the 
answer  ;  '  for  its  gospel-truth  I'm  telling  you. 
I'm  not  so  bad  as  you  think  me,  not  half  so 
bad; 


1 86  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

Again  shrinking  from  her,  he  looked  at  her 
with  anger  and  loathing. 

'  The  device  was  exposed  to-day,'  he  said 
sternly.  '  You  spoke  to  me  with  her  voice, 
and  when  I  turned  up  the  light  I  found  that 
I  was  holding  in  my  arms  no  spirit,  but 
yourself.' 

'  Well,  I'm  not  denying  that's  true,'  she 
answered  with  another  laugh.  '  Something 
came  over  me — I  don't  know  how  it  happened 
— and  then,  all  at  one,  I  was  kissing  you,  and 
I  had  broken  the  conditions.' 

By  this  time  Bradley's  brain  had  cleared, 
and  he  was  better  able  to  grasp  the  horrible 
reality  of  the  situation.  It  was  quite  clear  to 
him  that  the  sibyl  was  either  an  utter  impostor, 
or  a  person  whose  mental  faculties  were 
darkened  by  fitful   clouds  of  insanity.     What 


IN  PARIS.  187 

startled  and  horrified  him  most  of  all  was  the 
utter  want  of  maidenly  shame,  the  curious  and 
weird  sang-froid,  with  which  she  made  her 
extraordinary  confession.  Her  frankness,  so 
far  as  it  went,  was  something  terrible — or,  as 
the  Scotch  express  it,  '  uncanny.'  Across  his 
recollection,  as  he  looked  and  listened,  came 
the  thought  of  one  of  these  mysterious  sibyls, 
familiar  to  media3val  superstition,  who  come 
into  the  world  with  all  the  outward  form  and 
beauty  of  women,  but  without  a  Soul,  but  who 
might  gain  a  spiritual  existence  in  some  myste- 
rious way  by  absorbing  the  souls  of  men. 
The  idea  was  a  ghastly  one,  in  harmony  with 
his  distempered  fancy,  and  he  could  not  shake 
it  away. 

'Tell  me,'  said  Eustasia  gently,   'tell  me 
one  thing,  now  I  have  told  you  so  much.     Is 


1 88  THE  NEW  ADELARD. 

that  poor  lady  dead  indeed — I  mean  the  lady 
you  used  to  love  ?  ' 

The  question  Avent  into  his  heart  like  a 
knife,  and  with  livid  face  he  rose  to  his  feet. 

'  Do  not  speak  of  her ! '  he  cried.  '  I  can- 
not bear  it — it  is  blasphemy!  Miserable 
woman,  do  you  think  that  you  will  ever  be 
forgiven  for  tampering,  as  you  have  done,  with 
the  terrible  truth  of  death?  I  came  to  you 
in  the  last  despairing  hope  that  among  all  the 
phantoms  you  have  conjured  up  before  me 
there  might  be  some  realicy ;  for  I  was  bhnd 
and  mad,  and  scarcely  knew  what  I  did.  If 
it  is  any  satisfaction  to  you,  know  that  you 
have  turned  the  world  into  a  tomb  for  me,  and 
destroyed  my  last  faint  ray  of  faith  in  a  living 
God.  In  my  misery,  I  clung  to  the  thought 
of  your  spirit  world ;  and  I  came  to  you  for 


IN  PARIS.  189 

some  fresh  assurance  that  such  a  world  might 
be.  All  that  is  over  now.  It  is  a  cheat  and 
a  fraud  like  all  the  rest.' 

With  these  words  he  left  her,  passing 
quickly  from  the  room.  Directly  afterwards 
she  heard  the  street  door  close  behind  him. 
Tottering  to  the  window,  she  looked  down  in  the 
street,  and  saw  him  stalk  rapidly  by,  his  white 
face  set  hard  as  granite,  his  eyes  looking 
steadily  before  him,  fixed  on  vacancy.  As  he 
disappeai-ed,  she  uttered  a  low  cry  of  pain, 
and  placed  her  hand  upon  her  heart. 


I90  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 


CHAPTER  XXXL 

AMONG    THE    MOUNTAINS. 

Give  me  thy  hand,  ten'estrial ;  so !     Give  me  thy   hand, 

celestial ;  so  ! — Meri~y  Wives  of  Windsor. 

It  was  the  close  of  a  bright  sunshiny  day  in 
the  spring  of  18 — .  The  sun  was  setting 
crimson  on  the  lonely  peak  of  the  Zugspitz 
in  the  heart  of  the  Bavarian  Highlands,  and 
the  shadows  of  the  pine  woods  which  fringed 
the  melancholy  gorges  beneath  were  lengthen- 
ing towards  the  valleys. 

Through   one    of  these   mountain   gorges, 
following  a  rocky  footpath,  a  man  was  rapidly 


AMONG    THE  MOUNTAINS.  191 

walkiug.  He  was  roughly,  almost  rudely, 
dressed  in  a  sort  of  tourist  suit.  On  his  head 
he  wore  a  broadbrimmed  felt  hat  of  the 
shape  frequently  worn  by  clergymen,  and  in 
his  hand  he  carried  a  staff  like  a  shepherd's 
crook. 

Scarcely  looking  to  left  or  right,  but  hasten- 
ing with  impatient  paces  he  hurried  onward, 
less  like  a  man  hastening  to  some  eagerly- 
sought  shelter,  than  like  one  flying  from  some 
hated  thing  behind  his  back.  His  cheeks  were 
pale  and  sunken,  his  eyes  wild  and  sad.  From 
time  to  time  he  slackened  his  speed,  and  looked 
wearily  around  him — up  to  the  desolate  sunlit 
peaks,  down  the  darkening  valley  with  its 
green  pastures,  belts  of  woodland,  and  fields 
of  growing  corn. 

But  whichever  way  he  looked,  he  seemed 


192  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

to  find  no  joy  in  the  prospect,  indeed  hardly 
to  behold  the  thing  he  looked  on,  but  to  gaze 
through  it  and  beyond  it  on  some  sorrowful 
portent. 

Sometimes  where  the  path  became  unusually 
steep  and  dangerous,  he  sprang  from  rock  to 
rock  with  reckless  haste,  or  when  its  thread 
was  broken,  as  frequently  happened  by  some 
brawling  mountain  stream,  he  entered  the 
torrent  without  hesitation,  and  passed  reck- 
lessly across.  Indeed,  the  man  seemed  utterly 
indiSerent  to  physical  conditions,  but  labouring 
rather  under  some  spiritual  possession,  com- 
pletely and  literally  realising  in  his  person  the 
words  of  the  poet : 

His  own  mind  did  like  a  tempest  strong 

Come  to  him  thus,  and  drave  the  weary  wight  along. 

The  wild  scene  was  in  complete  harmony 


AMONG    THE  MOUNTAINS.  193 

with  his  condition.  It  was  still  and  desolate, 
no  sound  seeming  to  break  its  solemn  silence ; 
but  pausing  and  listening  intently,  one  would 
in  reality  have  become  conscious  of  many 
sounds — the  deep  under-murmur  of  the  moun- 
tain streams,  the  '  sough '  of  the  wind  in  the 
pine  woods,  the  faint  tinkling  of  goat-bells 
from  the  distant  valleys,  the  solitary  cry  of 
rock  doves  from  the  mountain  caves. 

The  man  was  Ambrose  Bradley. 

Kearly  a  year  had  elapsed  since  his  sad 
experience  in  Eome.  Since  that  time  he  had 
wandered  hither  and  thither  like  another 
Ahasuerus ;  wishing  for  death,  yet  unable  to 
die ;  burthened  with  the  terrible  weight  of  his 
own  sin  and  self-reproach,  and  finding  .no 
resting-place  in  all  the  world. 

Long  before,  as  the  reader  well  knows,  the 

VOL.  III.  o 


194  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

man's  faith  in  the  supernatural  had  faded. 
He  had  refined  away  his  creed  till  it  had 
wasted  away  of  its  own  inanition,  and  when 
the  hour  of  trial  came  and  he  could  have 
called  upon  it  for  consolation,  he  was  horrified 
to  find  that  it  was  a  corpse,  instead  of  a  living 
thing.  Then,  in  his  horror  and  despair,  he  had 
clutched  at  the  straw  of  spiritualism,  only  to 
sink  lower  and  lower  in  the  bitter  waters  of 
Marah.  He  found  no  hope  for  his  soul,  no 
foothold  for  his  feet.  He  had,  to  use  his  own 
expression,  lost  the  world. 

It  was  now  close  upon  night-time,  and 
every  moment  the  gorges  along  which  he  was 
passing  grew  darker  and  darker. 

Through  the  red  smokes  of  sunset  one 
lustrous  star  was  just  becoming  visible  on  the 
extremest  peak  of  the  mountain  chain.     But 


AMONG   THE  MOUNTAINS.  195 

instead  of  walking  faster,  Bradley  began  to 
linger,  and  presently,  coming  to  a  gloomy 
chasm  which  seemed  to  make  further  progress 
dangerous,  impossible,  he  halted  and  looked 
down.  The  trunk  of  an  uprooted  pine-tree 
lay  close  to  the  chasm's  brink.  After  looking 
quietly  round  him,  he  sat  down,  pulled  out  a 
common  wooden  pipe,  and  began  to  smoke. 

Presently  he  pulled  out  a  letter  bearing  the 
Munich  post-mark,  and  with  a  face  as  dark  as 
night  began  to  look  it  through.  It  was  dated 
from  London,  and  ran  as  follows : 

'  Reform  Club,  March  5,  18 . 

'  My  dear  Bradley, — Your  brief  note  duly 
reached  me,  and  I  have  duly  carried  out  your 
wishes  with  regard  to  the  affairs  of  the  new 
church.  I  have  also  seen  Sir  George  Craik, 
and  found  him  more  amenable  to  reason  than 

02 


196  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

I  expected.  Though  he  still  regards  you  with 
the  intensest  animosity,  he  has  sense  enough  to 
perceive  that  you  are  not  directly  responsible 
for  the  unhappy  affair  at  Rome.  His  thoughts 
seem  now  chiefly  bent  on  recovering  his  niece's 
property  from  the  clutches  of  the  Italian 
Jesuits,  and  in  exposing  the  method  by  which 
they  acquired  such  dominion  over  the  unhappy 
lady's  mind. 

'  But  I  will  not  speak  of  this  further  at 
present,  knowing  the  anguish  it  must  bring 
you.  I  will  turn  rather  to  the  mere  abstract 
matter  of  your  letter,   and  frankly  open  my 

mind  to  you  on  the  subject. 

'  What  you  say  is  very  brief,  but,  from  the 
manner  in  which  it  recurs  in  your  correspon- 
dence, I  am  sure  it  represents  the  absorbing 
topic  of  your  thoughts.     Summed  up  in  a  few 


AAfO.VG    THE  MOUNTAINS.  197 

words,  it  affirms  your  couclusioii  that  all 
human  effort  is  impossible  to  a  man  in  your 
position,  where  the  belief  in  personal  immor- 
tality is  gone. 

'  Now  I  need  not  go  over  the  old  ground, 
with  which  you  are  quite  as  familiar  as  myself. 
I  will  not  remind  you  of  the  folly  and  the 
selfishness  (from  one  point  of  view)  of  formu- 
latmg  a  moral  creed  out  of  what,  in  reality,  is 
merely  the  hereditary  instinct  of  self-preserva- 
tion. I  will  not  repeat  to  you  that  it  is  nobler, 
after  all,  to  live  impersonally  in  the  beautiful 
future  of  Humanity  than  to  exist  personally  in 
a  heaven  of  introspective  dreams.  But  I 
should  like,  if  you  will  permit  me,  to  point 
out  that  this  Death,  this  cessation  of  conscious- 
ness, which  you  dread  so  much,  is  not  in  itself 
an  unmixed  evil.     True,  just  at  present,  in  the 


198  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

sharpness  of  your  bereavement,  you  see  nothing 
but  the  sliadow,  and  would  eagerly  follow  into 
its  oblivion  the  shape  of  her  you  mourn.  But 
as  every  day  passes,  this  desire  to  die  will  grow 
less  keen ;  and  ten  years  hence,  perhaps,  or 
twenty  years,  you  will  look  back  upon  to-day's 
anguish  with  a  calm,  sweet  sense  of  spiritual 
gain,  and  with  a  peaceful  sense  of  the  suffi- 
ciency of  life.  Then,  perhaps,  embracing  a 
creed  akin  to  ours,  and  having  reached  a 
period  when  the  physical  frame  begins  slowly, 
and  without  pain,  to  melt  away,  you  will  be 
quite  content  to  accept — what  shall  I  say  ? — 
Nirwana. 

'What  I  mean,  my  dear  friend,  is  this, 
simply :  that  Death  is  only  evil  when  it  comes 
painfully  or  prematurely ;  coming  in  the 
natural  ordv3r  of  things,  in  the  inevitable  decay 


AMONG    THE  MOUNTAINS,  199 

of  Nature,  it  is  by  no  means  evil.  And  so 
much  is  this  the  case  that,  if  you  were  to  dis- 
cover the  consensus  of  opinion  among  the  old, 
who  are  on  the  threshold  of  the  grave,  you 
would  find  the  majority  quite  content  that  life 
should  end  for  ever.  Tired  out  with  eighty  or 
a  hundred  years  of  living,  they  gladly  welcome 
sleep.  It  is  otherwise,  of  course,  with  the 
victims  of  accidental  disease  or  premature 
decay.  But  in  the  happy  world  to  which  we 
Positivists  look  forward,  these  victims  would 
not  exist. 

'Day  by  day  Science,  which  you  despise 
too  much,  is  enlarging  the  area  of  human 
health.  Think  what  has  been  done,  even 
within  the  last  decade,  to  abolish  both  physical 
and  social  disease  !  Think  what  has  yet  to  be 
done  to  make  life  freer,  purer,  safer,  happier  ! 


200  THE  NEW  ADELARD. 

I  grant  you  the  millciiuium  of  the  Grand  Etre  is 
still  far  off;  but  it  is  most  surely  coming,  and 
we  can  all  aid,  more  or  less,  that  blessed  con- 
summation— not  by  idle  wailing,  by  useless 
dreams,  or  by  selfish  striving  after  an  im- 
possible personal  reward,  but  by  duty  punctu- 
ally performed,  by  self-sacrifice  cheerfully 
undergone,  by  daily  and  nightly  endeavours  to 
ameliorate  the  condition  of  Man. 

'  Men  perish  ;  Man  is  imperishable.  Per- 
sonal forms  change  ;  the  great  living  personality 
abides.  And  the  time  must  come  at  last  when 
Man  shall  be  as  God,  certain  of  his  destiny,  and 
knowing  good  and  evil. 

'  "  A  Job's  comforter !  "  I  seem  to  hear  you 
cry.  Well,  after  all,  you  must  be  your  own 
physician. 

No  man  can  save  another's  soul, 
Or  pay  another's  debt ! 


AJIOiVG    THE  MOUNTAINS.  201 

But  I  wish  that  you,  in  your  distracted  wan- 
dering after  certainty,  would  turn  your  thoughts 
our  way,  and  try  to  understand  what  the  great 
Founder  of  our  system  has  done,  and  will  do, 
for  the  human  race.  I  am  sure  that  the  study 
would  bring  you  comfort,  late  or  soon. 
'I  am,  as  ever,  my  dear  Bradley, 
'  Your  friend  and  well-wisher, 

'  John  Cholmoxdeley. 

'  p.S. — What  are  you  doing  in  Munich  ?  I 
hear  of  curious  doings  this  year  at  Ober- 
Ammergau,  where  that  ghastly  business,  the 
Passion  Play,  is  once  more  in  course  of  pre- 
paration.' 

Bradley  read  this  characteristic  epistle  wdth 
a  gloomy  frown,  which  changed  before  he  had 
finished  to  a  look  of  bitter  contempt ;  and,  as 


202  THE  NEW  A  BE  LARD. 

he  read,  he  seemed  once  more  conscious  of  the 
babble  of  Hterary  club-laud,  aud  the  affected 
jargon  of  the  new  creeds  of  the  future.  Return- 
ing the  letter  to  his  pocket,  he  continued  to 
smoke  till  it  was  almost  too  dark  to  see  the 
wreaths  of  fume  from  his  own  pipe. 

The  night  had  completely  fallen  before  he 
rose  and  proceeded  on  his  way. 


203 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

ANOTHER    OLD    LETTER. 

Love  !  if  tlij  destined  sacrifice  am  I, 

Oome,  slay  tliy  victim,  and  prepare  thy  fires ; 

Plunged  in  thy  depths  of  mercy  let  me  die 
The  death  which  every  soul  that  lives  desires. 

Madame  Guyon. 

'  I  AM  writing  these  lines  in  my  bedroom  in 
the  house  of  the  Widow  Gran,  in  the  village 
of  Ober-Ammergau.  They  are  the  last  you 
will  receive  from  me  for  a  long  time  ;  perhaps 
the  last  I  shall  ever  send  you,  for  more  and 
more,  as  each  day  advances,  I  feel  that  my 
business  with  the  world  is  done. 

'  What  brought  me  hither  I  know  not.     I 


204  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

am  sure  it  was  Avitli  no  direct  intention  of 
witnessing  what  so  many  deem  a  mere  mum- 
mery or  outrage  on  religion  ;  but  after  many 
wanderings  hither  and  thitlier,  I  found  myself 
in  the  neighbourhood,  and  whether  instinctively 
or  of  set  purpose,  approaching  this  lonely 
place. 

'  As  I  have  more  than  once  told  you,  I 
have  of  late,  ever  since  my  past  trouble,  been 
subject  to  a  kind  of  waking  nightmare,  in 
which  all  natural  appearances  have  assumed  a 
strange  unreality,  as  of  shapes  seen  in  dreams ; 
and  one  characteristic  of  these  seizures  has  been 
a  curious  sense  within  my  own  mind  that,  vivid 
as  such  appearances  seemed,  I  should  remember 
nothing  of  them  on  actually  awaking.  A  wise 
physician  would  shake  his  head  and  murmur 
"  diseased  cerebration ; "  nor  would  his  diagnosis 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  205 

of  my  condition  be  less  gloomy,  on  learning 
that  my  physical  powers  remain  unimpaired, 
and  seem  absolutely  incapable  of  fatigue.  I 
eat  and  drink  little  ;  sleep  less  ;  yet  I  have  the 
strength  of  an  athlete  still,  or  so  it  seems. 

'  I  walked  hither  across  the  mountains, 
having  no  other  shelter  for  several  nights  than 
the  boughs  of  the  pine-woods  where  I  slept. 
The  weather  was  far  from  warm,  yet  I  felt  no 
cold  ;  the  paths  were  dangerous,  yet  no  evil 
befell  me.  If  I  must  speak  the  truth,  I  would 
gladly  have  perished — by  cold,  by  accident,  by 
any  swift  and  sudden  means- 

'  But  when  a  man  thirsts  and  hungers  for 
death.  Death,  in  its  dull  perversity,  generally 
spares  him.  More  than  once,  among  these 
dizzy  precipices  and  black  ravines,  I  thought  of 
suicide ;  one    step    would    have    done   it,   one 


2o6  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

quick  downward  leap ;  but  I  was  spared  tliat 
last  degradation — indeed,  I  know  not  liow. 

'  It  was  niglit  time  when  I  left  tlie  moun- 
tains, and  came  out  upon  the  public  road.  The 
moon  rose,  pale  and  ghostly,  dimly  lighting 
my  way. 

'  Full  of  my  own  miserable  phantasy,  I 
walked  on  for  hours  and  descended  at  last  to 
the  outlying  houses  of  a  silent  village,  lying  at 
the  foot  of  a  low  chain  of  melancholy  hiUs. 
All  was  still ;  a  thin  white  mist  filled  the  air, 
floating  upward  from  the  valley,  and  forming 
thick  vaporous  clouds  around  the  moon. 
Dimly  I  discerned  the  shadows  of  the  houses, 
but  in  none  of  the  windows  was  there  any 
light. 

'  I  stood  hesitating,  not  knowing  which  way 
to  direct  my  footsteps  or  at  which  cottage  door 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  207 

to  knock  and  seek  shelter,  and  never,  at  any 
moment  of  my  recent  experience,  was  the  sense 
of  phantasy  and  unreahty  so  full  upon  me. 
While  I  was  thus  hesitating  I  suddenly  became 
conscious  of  the  sound  of  voices  coming  from 
a  small  cottage  situated  on  the  roadside,  and 
hitherto  scarcely  discernible  in  the  darkness. 
Without  hesitation  I  approached  the  door  and 
knocked. 

*  Immediately  the  voices  ceased,  and  the 
moment  afterwards  the  door  opened  and  a 
figure  appeared  on  the  threshold. 

'  If  the  sense  of  unreality  had  been  strong 
before  it  now  became  paramount,  for  the  figure 
I  beheld  wore  a  white  priestly  robe  quaintly 
embroidered  with  gold,  and  a  golden  head- 
dress or  coronet  upon  his  head.  Nor  was  this 
all.     The  large  apartment  behind  liim — a  kind 


2o8  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

of  kitclien,  with  rude  benches  around  the  ingle 
— was  ht  by  several  lamps,  and  within  it  were 
chistered  a  fantastic  group  of  figures  in  white 
tunics,  plumed  head-dresses  of  Eastern  device, 
and  mantles  of  azure,  crimson,  and  blue,  which 
swept  the  ground. 

'  "  Who  is  there  ?  "  said  the  form  on  the 
threshold  in  a  deep  voice,  and  speaking  German 
in  a  strong  Bavarian  patois. 

'  I  answered  that  I  was  an  Englishman,  and 
sought  a  night's  shelter. 

'  "  Come  in  !  "  said  the  man,  and  thus  in- 
vited I  crossed  the  threshold. 

'  As  the  door  closed  behind  me,  I  found 
myself  in  the  large  raftered  chamber,  sur- 
rounded on  every  side  by  curious  faces. 
Scattered  here  and  there  about  the  room  were 
rudely-carved  figures,  for  the  most  part  repre- 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  209 

senting  the  Crucifixion,  many  of  tliem  im- 
finished,  and  on  a  table  near  the  window  was  a 
set  of  carver's  tools.  Eudely  coloured  pictures, 
all  of  biblical  subjects,  were  placed  here  and 
there  upon  the  walls,  and  over  the  fireplace 
hung  a  large  Christ  in  ebony,  coarsely  carven. 

'  Courteously  enough  the  fantastic  group 
parted  and  made  way  for  me,  while  one  of  the 
number,  a  woman,  invited  me  to  a  seat  beside 
the  hearth. 

'  I  sat  down  like  one  in  a  dream,  and 
accosted  the  man  who  had  invited  me  to  enter. 

'  "  What  place  is  this  ?  "  I  asked.  "  I  have 
been  walking  all  night  and  am  doubtful  where 
I  am." 

'  "  You  are  at  Ober-Ammergau  !  "  was  the 
xeply. 

'  I  could  have  laughed  had  my  spirit  been 

VOL.   III.  p 


2IO  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

less  oppressed.  For  now,  my  brain  clearing, 
I  began  to  understand  what  had  befallen  me. 
I  remembered  the  Passion  Play  and  all  that  I 
bad  read  concerning  it.  The  fantastic  figures 
I  beheld  were  those  of  some  of  the  actors  still 
attired  in  the  tinsel  robes  they  wore  upon  the 
stage, 

'  I  asked  if  this  was  so,  and  was  answered 
in  the  affirmative. 

' "  We  begin  the  play  to-morrow,"  said  the 
man  who  had  first  spoken.  "I  am  Johann 
Diener  the  Chorfilhrer,  and  these  are  some  of 
the  members  of  our  chorus.  We  are  up  late, 
you  see,  preparing  for  to-morrow,  and  trying 
on  the  new  robes  that  have  just  been  sent  to 
us  from  Annheim.  The  pastor  of  the  village 
was  here  till  a  few  minutes  ago,  seeing  all 
things  justly  ordered  amongst  us,  and  he  would 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  m 

gladly  have  welcomed  you,  for  he   loves  the 
English." 

'  The  man's  speech  was  gentle,  his  manner 
kindly  in  the  extreme,  but  I  scarcely  heeded 
him,  although  I  knew  now  what  the  figures 
around  me  were — the  merest  supernumeraries 
and  chorus-singers  of  a  tawdry  show.  They 
seemed  to  me  none  the  less  ghostly  and  un- 
real, shadows  acting  in  some  grim  farce  of 
death. 

*  "  Doubtless  the  gentleman  is  fatigued," 
said  a  woman,  addressing  Johann  Diener,  "  and 
would  wish  to  go  to  rest." 

'  I  nodded  wearily.  Diener,  however, 
seemed  in  some  perplexity, 

'  "  It  is  not  so  easy,"  he  returned,  "  to  find 
the  gentleman  a  shelter.  As  you  all  know,  the 
village  is  overcrowded  with  strangers.     How- 

p  2 


212  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

ever,  if  lie  will  follow  me,  I  will  take  liira  to 
Joseph  Mair,  and  see  what  can  be  done." 

'  I  thanked  him,  and  without  staying  to 
alter  his  dress,  he  led  the  way  to  the  door. 

'  We  were  soon  out  in  the  open  street. 
Passing  several  chalets,  Diener  at  last  reached 
one  standing  a  little  way  from  the  roadside,  and 
knocked. 

'  "  Come  in,"  cried  a  clear  kind  voice- 

'  He  opened  the  door  and  I  followed  him 
into  an  interior  much  resembling  the  one  we 
had  just  quitted,  but  smaller,  and  more  full  of 
tokens  of  the  woodcutter's  trade.  The  room 
was  dimly  lit  by  an  oil  lamp  swinging  from 
the  ceiling.  Seated  close  to  the  fireplace, 
with  his  back  tow^ards  us,  engaged  in  some 
nandy  work,  was  a  man. 

'As  we  entered  the  man   rose   and  stood 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  213 

lookincf  towards  us.     I  started  in  wonder,  and 
uttered  an  involuntary  cry. 

'It   was   Jesus    Clirist,   Jesus   the   son    of 
Joseph,  in  his  habit  as  he  hved  ! 

'I  had  no  time,  and  indeed  I  lacked  the 
power,  to  separate  the  true  from  the  false  in 
this  singular  manifestation.     I  saw  before  me, 
scarce    beheving   what   I   saw,    the    Christ   of 
History,  clad  as  the  shape  is  clad  in  the  famous 
fresco  of  Leonardo,  but  looking  at  me  with  a 
face   mobile,    gentle,    beautiful,    benign.      At 
the  same  moment  I  perceived,  scarcely  under- 
standing its    significance,    tlie   very   crown    of 
thorns,  of  which  so  many  a  martyr  since  has 
dreamed.     It  was   lying   on   the  coarse  table 
close  to  a  number  of  wood-carving  tools,  and 
close  to  it  was  a  plate  of  some  red  pigment, 
with  which  it  had  recently  been  stained. 


214  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

'  Johann  Diener  advanced. 

'  '•  I  am  glad  to  find  you  np,  Joseph.  This 
English  gentleman  seeks  shelter  for  the  night, 
and  I  scarcely  knew  whither  to  take  him." 

'"You  will  not  find  a  bed  in  the  place," 
returned  the  other;  and  he  continued  address- 
ing me.  "  Since  this  morning  our  httle  village 
has  been  overrun,  and  many  strangers  have  to 
camp  out  in  the  open  air.  Never  has  Ober- 
Ammergau  been  so  thronged."  '' 

'  I  scarcely  listened  to  him  ;  I  was  so  lost 
in  contemplation  of  the  awful  personality  he 
represented. 

'  "  Who  are  you  ?  "  I  asked,  gazing  at  him 
in  amaze. 

'  He  smiled,  and  glanced  down  at  his  dress. 

'  "  I  am  Joseph  Mair,"  he  replied.  "  To- 
morrow I  play  the  Christus,  and  as  you  came 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  215 

I  Avas   repairing   some   portion   of  the   attire, 
which  I  have  not  worn  for  ten  years  past." 

'  Jesus  of  JSTazareth  !  Joseph  Mair !  I  un- 
derstood all  clearly  now,  but  none  the  less  did 
I  tremble  with  a  sickening  sense  of  awe. 

'That  night  I  remained  in  the  house  of 
Joseph  Mair,  sitting  on  a  bench  in  the  ingle, 
half  dying,  half  dreaming,  till  daylight  came. 
Mair  himself  soon  left  me,  after  having  set 
before  me  some  simple  refreshment,  of  which 
I  did  not  care  to  partake.  Alone  in  that 
chamber,  I  sat  like  a  haunted  man,  almost 
credulous  that  I  had  seen  the  Christ  indeed. 

'  I  liave  seen  him  !  I  understand  now  all 
the  piteous  humble  pageant !  I  have  beheld 
the   Master   as   He   lived   and   died ;  not   the 


2i6  THE  NEW  ABE  LARD. 

creature  of  a  poet's  dream,  not  the  Divine  Ideal 
I  pictured  in  my  blind  and  shadowy  creed  ; 
l)ut  Jesus  who  perished  on  Calvary,  Jesus  the 
Martyr  of  the  World. 

'  All  day  long,  from  dawn  to  sunset,  T  sat 
in  my  place,  watching  the  mysterious  show. 
Words  might  faintly  foreshadow  to  you  what  I 
beheld,  but  all  words  would  fail  to  tell  you 
what  I  felt ;  for  never  before,  till  these  simple 
children  of  the  mountains  pictured  it  before  me, 
had  I  reahsed  the  full  sadness  and  rapture  of 
that  celestial  Life.  How  faint,  miserable,  and 
unprofitable  seemed  my  former  creed,  seen  in 
the  light  of  the  tremendous  Eeality  foreshadowed 
on  that  stage,  with  the  mountains  closino-  be- 
hind  it,  the  blue  heaven  bending  tranquilly 
above  it,  the  birds  singing  on  the  branches 
round  about,   the  wind  and  sunshine  shininii 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  217 

over  it  and  briiioino-  thitlier  all  the  o-entle 
motion  of  the  world.  Now  for  the  first  time  I 
conceived  that  the  Divine  Story  was  not  a  poet's 
dream,  but  a  simple  tale  of  sooth,  a  living  ex- 
perience which  even  the  lowliest  could  under- 
stand and  before  which  the  highest  and  wisest 
must  reverently  bow. 

'  I  seem  to  see  your  look  of  wonder,  and 
hear  yoiu"  cry  of  pitying  pain.  Is  the  man  mad  ? 
you  ask.  Is  it  possible  that  sorrow  has  so 
weakened  his  brain  that  he  can  be  overcome 
by  such  a  summer  cloud  as  the  Passionspiel  of 
a  few  rude  peasants — a  piece  of  mummery 
only  worthy  of  a  smile  !  Well,  so  it  is,  or 
seems.  I  tell  you  this  "  poor  show  "  has  done 
for  me  what  all  intellectual  and  moral  effort  has 
failed  to  do — it  has  brought  me  face  to  face 
with  the  living  God. 


2i8  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

*  This  at  least  I  know,  that  there  is  no  via 
media  between  the  full  acceptance  of  Christ's 
miraculous  life  and  dcatli,  and  acquiescence  in 
the  stark  materialism  of  the  new  creed  of 
scientific  experience,  whose  most  potent  word 
is  the  godless  Nirwana  of  Schopenhauer. 

'  Man  cannot  live  by  the  shadowy  gods  of 
men — by  the  poetic  spectre  of  a  Divine  Ideal, 
by  the  Christ  of  Fancy  and  of  Poesy,  by  the 
Jesus  of  the  dilettante,  by  the  Messiah  of  a 
fairy  tale.  Such  gods  may  do  for  happy  hours  ; 
their  ghostliness  becomes  apparent  in  times  of 
spiritual  despair  and  gloom. 

'  "  Except  a  man  be  born  again,  he  shall  not 
enter  the  kingdom  of  Heaven  !  "  I  have  heard 
these  divine  words  from  the  lips  of  one  who 
seemed  the  Lord  himself;  nay,  who  perchance 
was  that  very  Lord,  putting  on  again  the  like- 


ANOTHER   OLD  LETTER.  219 

ness  of  a  poor  peasant's  humanity,  and  clothing 
himself  with  flesh  as  with  a  garment.  I  have 
seen  and  heard  with  a  child's  eyes,  a  child's 
ears  ;  and  even  as  a  child,  I  question  no  longer 
but  believe. 

'  Mea  culpa !  mea  culpa !  In  the  light 
of  that  piteous  martyrdom  I  review  the  great 
sin  of  my  life ;  but  out  of  sin  and  its  penalty 
has  come  transficpuration.  I  know  now  that 
my  beloved  one  was  taken  from  me  in  mercy, 
that  I  might  follow  in  penitence  and  love. 
Patience,  my  darling,  for  I  shall  come ; — God 
grant  that  it  may  be  soon ! ' 


220  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 


CONCLUSION. 

The  following  letter,  written  in  the  summer 
of  18 — ,  by  John  Cholmondeley  to  Sir  George 
Craik,  contains  all  that  remains  to  be  told 
concerning  the  fate  of  Ambrose  Bradley,  some- 
time minister  of  Fensea,  and  a  seceder  from  the 
Church  of  Enoiand  : — 

'  My  dear  Sir, — You  will  remember  our 
conversation,  when  we  last  met  in  London, 
concerning  that  friend  of  mine  with  whose 
fortunes  those  of  your  lamented  niece  have 
been  unhappily  interwoven.  Your  language 
was  then  sufficiently  bitter  and  unforgiving. 
Perhaps   you  will   tliink  more  gently   on  the 


CONCLUSION.  221 

subject  wlieii  you  hear  the  news  I  have  now 
to  convey  to  you.  The  Eev.  Ambrose  Bradley 
died  a  fortnight  ago,  at  Ober-Ammergau,  in 
the  Bavarian  highlands. 

'  From  time  to  time,  during  his  wandering* 
in  the  course  of  the  past  year,  we  had  been 
in  correspondence ;  for,  indeed,  I  was  about 
the  only  friend  in  the  world  with  whom  he 
was  on  terms  of  close  intimacy.  Ever  since 
the  disappearance  of  Miss  Craik  his  sufferings 
had  been  most  acute  ;  and  my  own  impression 
is  that  his  intellect  was  permanently  weakened. 
But  that,  perhaps,  is  neither  here  nor  there. 

'  Some  ten  days  ago,  I   received   a   com 
munication   from  the  village   priest  of  Ober- 
Ammergau,  informing  me  that  an  Englishman 
had   died  very  suddenly  and    mysteriously  in 
the   village,   and    that   the   only   clue   to   his 


222  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

friends  and  connexions  was  a  long  letter  found 
upon  his  person,  addressed  to  me,  at  my 
residence  in  the  Temple.  I  innnediately 
hastened  over  to  Germany,  and  found,  as  1 
had  anticipated,  that  the  corpse  was  that  of  my 
poor  friend.  It  was  lying  ready  for  interment 
in  the  cottage  of  Joseph  Mair,  a  wood-carver, 
and  a  leading  actor  in  the  Passion  Play. 

*  I  found,  on  inquiry,  that  Mr.  Bradley 
had  been  in  the  village  for  several  weeks, 
lodging  at  Mair's  cottage,  and  dividing  his 
time  between  constant  attendance  at  the 
theatre,  whenever  the  Passion  Play  was  re- 
presented, and  long  pedestrian  excursions 
among  the  mountains.  He  was  strangely 
taciturn,  indifferent  to  ordinary  comforts, 
eating  httle  or  nothing,  and  scarcely  sleeping. 
So  at  least  the  man  Mair  informed  me,  adding 


CONCLUSION.  223 

that  he  was  very  gentle  and  harmless,  and  to 
all  intents  and  purposes  in  perfect  health. 

'  Last  Sunday  week  he  attended  the  theatre 
as  usual.  That  night  he  did  not  return  to  the 
cottage  of  his  host.  Early  next  morning, 
Joseph  Mair,  on  going  down  to  the  theatre 
with  his  tools,  to  do  some  carpenter's  work 
upon  the  stage,  found  the  dead  body  of  a  man 
there,  lying  on  his  face,  with  his  arms  clasped 
around  the  mimic  Cross ;  and  turning  the  dead 
face  up  to  the  morning  light,  he  recognised  my 
poor  friend. 

'  That  is  all  I  have  to  tell  you.  His  death, 
hke  his  life,  was  a  sad  affair.  I  followed  him 
to  his  grave  in  the  little  burial-place  of 
Ober-Ammergau — where  he  rests  in  peace. 
I  am,  &c., 

'John  Cuolmondeley. 


224  THE  NEW  ABELARD. 

'  Judoinrr  from  some  talk  I  had  before 
leaving  with  the  village  priest,  a  worthy  old 
fellow  Avho  knew  liim  well,  I  believe  poor 
Bradley  died  in  fidl  belief  of  the  Christian 
faith  ;  but  as  I  have  already  hinted  to  you, 
his  intellect,  for  a  long  time  before  his  death, 
was  greatly  w^eakened.  Take  him  for  all  in 
all,  he  was  one  of  the  best  men  1  ever  knew, 
and  might  have  been  happy  but  for  the  unfor- 
tunate "  set "  of  his  mind  towards  retrograde 
superstitions.' 


THE    EXD. 


LONDON  ;     PRINTED    BY 

SrOTTIRITOOTlE    AND    CO.,    NEW-STRKET    SQUARE 

ANU    PARLIAMENT    STREET 


[December,  1883. 


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The  Speeches  of  Charles  Dickens. 
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Transmigration. 
From  Midnight  to  Midnight. 

MORTIMER  &  FRANCES  COLLINS. 
Blacksmith  and  Scholar. 
The  Village  Comedy. 
You  Play  me  False. 

BY  WILKIE  COLLINS. 


New  Magdalen. 
The  Frozen  Deep. 
The  Law  and  the 

Lady. 
TheTwo  Destinies 
Haunted   Hotel 
The  Fallen  Leaves 
Jezebel'sDaughter 
The    Black  Robe. 
Heart  and  Science 


Antonlna. 
Basil. 

Hide  and  Seek. 
The  Dead  Secret. 
Queen  of  Hearts. 
My  Miscellanies. 
Woman  in  White. 
The  Moonstone. 
Man  and  Wife. 
Poor  Miss  Finch. 
Miss  or  Mrs  P 

BY    BUTTON    COOK. 
Paul  Foster's  Daughter. 

BY    WILLIAM   CYPLES. 
Hearts  of  Gold. 

BY  JAMES  DE  MILLE. 
A  Castle  in  Spain. 

BY  J.   LEITH   DERWENT 
Our  Lady  of  Tears.  |  Circe's  Lovera 


28 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY 


Piccadilly  Novels,  continued — 

Piccadilly  Novels,  continued — 

BY  M.  BETUAM-EDWARDS. 

BY  E.  LYNN  LINTON. 

Felicia.                   1    Kitty. 

Patricia  Kcmbali. 

BY  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDES. 

Atonement  of  Learn  Dundas. 

Archie  Lovell. 

The  World  Well  Lost. 

BY  K.  E.  FRANCILLON. 

Under  which  Lord  => 

Olympla.           |      Queen  Cophetua. 

With  a  Silken  Thread. 

One  by  One. 

The  Rebel  of  the  Family. 

PREFACED  BY  SIR  BARTLE 

"My  Love!" 

FRERE. 

BY  HENRY  W.  LUCY. 

Pandurang  Harl. 

Gideon  Fleyce. 

BY  EDWARD  GARRETT. 

BY  JUSTIN  McCarthy,  m.p. 

The  Capel  Girls. 

The  Watcrdale  Neighbours. 

BY  CHARLES  GIBBON. 

My  Enemy's  Daughter. 

Robin  Gray. 

Linley  Rochford.    |    A  Fair  Saxoa 

For  Lack  of  Gold. 

Dear  Lady  Disdain. 

In  Love  and  War. 

Miss  Misanthrope. 

What  will  the  World  Say  P 

Donna  Quixote. 

For  the  King. 

The  Comet  of  a  Season. 

In  Honour  Bound. 

BY  GEORGE   MAC  DONALD,  LL.D. 

Queen  of  the  IVleadow. 

Paul  Faber,  Surgeon. 

In  Pastures  Green. 

Thomas  WIngfold,  Curate. 

The  Flower  of  the  Forest. 

BY  MRS.  MACDONELL. 

A  Heart's  Problem. 

The  Braes  of  Yarrow. 

Quaker  Cousins. 

The  Golden  Shaft. 

BY   KATHARINE    S.  MACQUOID. 

Of  High  Degree. 

Lost  Ro«e.           1      The  Evil  Eye. 

-          BY  THOMAS  HARDY. 

BY  FLORENCE  MARRY  AT. 

Under  the  Greenwood  Tree. 

Open !  Sesame  !  |      Written  In  Fire. 

BY  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 

BY  JEAN  MIDDLEMASS. 

Garth. 

Touch  and  Go. 

Elllce  Quentln. 

Sebastian  Strome. 

BY  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY. 

Prince  Saroni's  Wife. 

Life's  Atonement.       Coals  of  Fire. 

Dust. 

Joseph's  Coat.             Val  Strange. 

BY  SIR  A.   HELPS. 

A  Model  Father.          Hearts. 

Ivan  de  Biron. 

By  the  Gate  of  the  Sea. 

BY  MRS.  ALFRED  HUNT. 
Thornicroft's    Model. 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 
Whiteladles. 

The  Leaden  Casket. 

BY  MARGARET  A.  PAUL 

Self  Condemned. 

Gentle  and  Simple. 

BY  JEAN  INGE  LOW. 

BY  JAMES  PAYN. 

Fated  to  be  Free. 

Lost  Sir  Masslng- 

High  Spirits. 

BY   HENRY  JAMES,  Jiin. 

•    berd. 

Under  One  Roof. 

Confidence 

Best  of  Husbands 

Carlyon  s  Year. 

BY  HARRIETT  JAY. 

Fallen  Fortunes. 

(*      Confidential 

The  Queen  of  Connaught. 

Halves. 

Agent. 

The  Dark  Colleen. 

Walter's  Word. 

From  Exile. 

What  He  Cost  Her 

A    Grape   from  a 

BY  HENRY  KINGSLEY, 

Less    Black   than 

Thorn. 

Number  Seventeen. 

We're  Painted. 

For  Cash  Only. 

Oakshott  Castle. 

By  Proxy. 

Kit :  A  Memory. 

CHATTO  &-    W INDUS,  PICCADILLY. 


39 


Piccadilly  Novels,  cotttinued — 
BY  E.  C.  PRICE. 
Valentlna. 

BY  CHARLES  READE,  D.C.L. 
It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 
Hard  Cash.  |       Peg  Woffington. 

Christie  Johnstone. 
Griffith  Gaunt. 
The  Double  IVlarrlage. 
Love  IVIe  Little,  Love  Me  Long 
Foul  Play. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Heartli. 
The  Course  of  True  Love. 
The  Autobiography  of  a  Thief. 
Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 
A  Terrible  Temptation. 
The  Wandering  Heir.   |  A  Simpleton. 
A  Woman-Hatep.  |  Readiana. 

BY  MRS.  J.  H.  RIDDELL. 
Her  Mother's  Darling. 
Prince  of  Wales's  Garden-Party. 

BY  F.  W.  ROBINSON. 
Women  are  Strange. 
The  Hands  of  Justice. 

BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 
Bound  to  the  Wheel. 
Guy  Waterman. 
One  Against  the  World. 
The  Lion  In  the  Path. 
The  Two  Dreamers. 


Piccadilly  Novels,  continued— 
BY  T.    W.   SPEIGHT. 
The  Mysteries  of  Heron  Dyl<e. 

BY  R.  A.  STERNDALE. 
The  Afghan  Knife. 

BY  BERTHA  THOMAS. 
Proud  Maisie.  |  Cressida. 
The  ViolinPlayep. 

BY  ANTHONY  TROLLOPS. 
The  Way  we  Live  Now. 
The  American  Senator. 
Frau  Frohmann. 
Marion  Fay. 
Kept  in  the  Dark 
Mr.  Scarborough's  Family. 

BY  FRANCES  E.  TROLLOPS. 
Like  Ships  upon  the  Sea. 
Anne  Furness. 
Mabel's  Progress. 

BY  T.  A.  TROLLOPE. 
Diamond  Cut  Diamond. 

BY  IVAN  TURGENIEFF  AND 
OTHERS. 

Stories  from  Foreign  Novelists. 

BY  SARAH  TYTLER 

What  She  Came  Through. 

The  Bride's  Pass. 

BY  J.  S.  WINTER. 

Cairalry  Life. 

Regimental  Legends. 


CHEAP    EDITIONS   OF    POPULAR    NOVELS. 

Post  8vo,  illustrated  boards,  2s.  each 

[Wilkie  Collins's  Novels  and  Besant  and  Rice's  Novels  may  also  be  had  ia 
cloth  limp  at  23.  6d.    See,  too,  the  Piccadilly  Novels,  for  Library  Editions.'] 

By  Besant  and  Rice,  continued,— 


BY  EDMOND  ABOUT. 
The  Fellah. 

BY  HAMILTON  AWE. 
Cam  of  Carrlyon.  |     Confidences. 

BY  MRS.  ALEXANDER. 
Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow  P 

BY  SHELSLEY  BEAUCHAMP. 
Grantley  Grange. 

BY  IV.  BESANT  &■  JAMES  RICE. 
Ready-Money  Mortiboy. 
With  Harp  and  Crown, 
This  Son  of  Vulcaa 
My  Little  Girl. 
The  Case  of  Mr.  Lucraft. 


The  Golden  Butterfly. 

By  Celia's  Arbour. 

The  Monks  of  Thelema. 

'Twas  In  Trafalgar's  Bay. 

The  Seamy  Side. 

The  Ten  Years'  Tenant. 

The  Chaplain  of  the  Fleet. 

BY  FREDERICK  BOYLE. 
Camp  Notes.      |      Savage  Life. 

BY  BRET  HARTE. 
An  Heiress  of  Red  Dog. 
Gabriel   Conroy. 
The  Luck  of  Roaring  Camp. 
Flip. 


30 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED  BY 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued-- 
BY'   ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 
The  Shadow  of  the  Sword. 
A  Child  of  Nature. 

BY  MRS.  BURNETT. 
SurJy  Tim. 

BY   MRS.  LOVETT  CAMERON. 
Deceivers  Ever. 
<]uiiet's  Guardian. 

BY  MACLAREN  COBBAN. 
The  CL're  of  Souls. 

BY  C.  ALLSTON  COLLINS. 
The  Bas'  Sinister. 

BY   WILKIE  COLLINS. 
Antonina- 
Basil. 

Hide  and  Seek. 
The  Dead  Secret. 
Queen  of  Hearts. 
My  Miscellanies. 
Tiie  Woman  in  White. 
Tiie  Moonstone. 
Man  and  Wife. 
Poor  Miss  Finch. 
~     Miss  or  Mrs.  P 

The  New  Magdalen. 
The  Frozen  Deep. 
The  Law  and  the  Lady. 
The  Two  Destinies. 
Tlie  Haunted   Hotel. 
The  Fallen  Leaves. 
Jezebel's  Daughter. 
The  Black  Robe. 

BY  MORTIMER   COLLINS. 
Sweet  Anne  Page. 
Transmigration. 
From  Midnight  to  Midnight. 
A  Fight  with  Fortune. 

MORTIMER  &  FRANCES  COLLINS. 
Sweet  and  Twenty. 
Frances. 

Blacksmith  and  Scholar. 
The  Village  Comedy. 
Vou  Play  me  False. 

BY  BUTTON  COOK. 
Leo. 
Paul  Foster's  Daughter. 

BY  J.  LEITH  DERWENT. 
Our  Lady  of  Tears. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued— 
BY   CHARLES  DICKENS. 
Sketches  by  Boz. 
The  Pickwick  Papers. 
Oliver  Twist. 
Nicholas  Nickleby. 

BY  MRS.  ANNIE  EDWARDES. 
A  Point  of  Honour. 
Archie  Lovell. 

BY  M.  BETHAM-EDWARDS. 
Felicia. 

BY  EDWARD  EGGLESTON. 
Roxy. 

BY  PERCY  FITZGERALD. 
Bella  Donna. 
Never  Forgotten. 
The  Second  Mrs.  THIotson. 
Polly. 
Seventy-five  Brooke  Street. 

BY  ALBANY  DE  FONBLANQUE. 
Filthy  Lucre. 

BY  R.  E.  FRANCILLON. 
Olympia. 
Queen  Cophetua. 
One  by  One. 

BY  EDWARD  GARRETT. 
The  Capel  Girls. 

BY  CHARLES  GIBBON. 
Robin  Gray. 
For  Lack  of  Gold. 
What  will  the  World  Say? 
In  Honour  Bound. 
The  Dead  Heart. 
In  Love  and  War. 
For  the  King. 
Queen  of  the  Meadow. 
In  Pastures  Green. 

BY   WILLIAM  GILBERT. 
Dr.  Austin's  Guests. 
The  Wizard  of  the  Mountain. 
James  Duke. 

BY  yAMES  GREENWOOD. 
Dick  Temple. 

BY  ANDREW  HALLWAY. 
Every  Day  Papers. 

BY  LADY  DUFFUS  HARDY. 
Paul  Wynter's  Sacrifice. 

BY   THOMAS  HARDY. 
Under  the  Greenwood  Tree. 


CHATTO  &•    W INDUS,  PICCADILLY. 


33 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued— 
BY  JULIAN  HAWTHORNE. 
Garth. 

Ellice  Quentin. 
Sebastian  Strome. 

BY  SIR   ARTHUR   HELPS. 
Ivan  de  Eiron. 

BY  TOM  HOOD. 
A  Golden  Heart. 

BY  VICTOR  HUGO. 
The  Hunchback  of  Notre  Dame. 

BY  MRS.  ALFRED  HUNT. 
Thornicroft's  Model. 
The  Leaden  Casket. 

BY  JEAN  INGELOW. 
Fated  to  be  Free. 

BY  HENRY  JAMES,  jii:i. 
Confidence. 

BY  HARRIETT  JAY. 
The  Dark  Colleen. 
The  Queen  of  Connaught. 

BY  HENRY  KINGSLEY. 
Oakshott  Castle. 
Number  Seventeen. 

BY  E.  LYNN  LINTON. 
Patricia  Kcmball. 
The  Atonement  of  Lcam  Dundas. 
The  World  Well  Lost. 
Under  v^hJch  Lord  ? 
With  a  Silken  Thread. 
The  Rebel  of  the  Family. 
"My  Love!" 

BY  JUSTIN  McCarthy,  m.p. 

Dear  Lady  Disdain. 

The  Waterdale  Neighbours. 

My  Enemy's  Daughter. 

A  Fair  Saxon. 

Linley  Rochford. 

Miss  MisantliTope. 

Donna  Quixote. 

BY  GEORGE   MACDONALD. 
Paul  Faber,  Surgeon. 
Thomas  Wingfold,  Curate. 

BY  MRS.  MACDONELL. 
Quaker  Cousins. 

BY  KATHARINE  S.  MACQUOID. 
The  Evil  Eye.  |      Lost  Rose. 

BY  W.  H.  MALLOCK. 
The  New  Republic. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued — 
BY  FLORENCE  MARRYAT.  ^ 
Open  !   Sesame  ! 
A  Harvest  of  Wild  Oats. 
A  Little  Stepson. 
Fighting  the  Air. 
Written  in  Fire. 

BY  JEAN  MIDDLEMASS. 
Touch  and  Go.       |      Mr.  Dorlllion, 
BY  D.  CHRISTIE  MURRAY. 
A  Life's  Atonement. 
A  Model  Father. 

BY  MRS.  OLIPHANT. 
Whiteladies. 

BY  MRS.  ROBERT  O'REILLY. 
Phoebe's  Fortunes. 

BY  OUIDA. 
Library  Editions  of  Ouida's  Novels 
may  be  had  in  crown  ijvo,  cloth  extra,  at 


5s.  each. 

Held  in  Bondage. 

Strathmore. 

Chandos. 

Under  Tv/o  Flags. 

Idalia. 

Cecil     Castle- 

maine. 
Tricotrin. 
Puck. 

Folle  Farine. 
A  Dog  of  Flanders, 

BY  JAMES  PAYN. 
Lost  Sir  Massing-    Gvyendoline's  Har 


Pascarel. 

TwoLittleWooden 
Shoes. 

Signa. 

In  a  Winter  City, 

Ariadne. 

Friendship. 

Moti'i 

Pipis-.trello. 

A    Viliage  Com- 
mune. 


berd. 

A    Perfect    Trea- 
sure. 

Bentinck's  Tutor. 

Murphy's  Master. 

A  County  Family. 

At  Her  Mercy. 

A  Woman's  Ven- 
geance. 

Cecil's  Tryst. 
Clyffardsof  ClyfTe 
The  Family  Scape- 
grace. 
Foster  Brothers. 
Found  Dead. 
Best  of  Husbands 
Waiter's  Word. 
Halves. 

Fallen  Fortunes. 
What  He  Cost  Her 
Humorous  Stories 


vest. 
Like  Father,  Like 

Son. 
A    Marine    Resi- 
dence. 
Married    Beneatil 

Him. 
Mirk  Abbey. 
Not    V/ooed,     but 

Won. 
£200  Reward. 
Less    Black    than 

We're  Painted. 
By  Proxy. 
Under  One  Roof. 
High  Spirits. 
Carlyon's  Year. 
A     Confidential 

Agent. 

Some     Private 

Views. 
From  Exile. 


32 


BOOKS  PUBLISHED   BY  CHATTO  &•    W INDUS. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued— 
BY  EDGAR  A.  FOE. 

The  Mystery  of  Marie  Roget. 
BY  E.  C.  I'KICE. 

Valentina. 

BY  CHARLES  READS. 

\%  is  Never  Too  Late  to   Mend. 

Hard  Cash. 

Peg  Woffington. 

Christie  Johnstone. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 

The  Double  Marriage. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 

Foul  Play. 

The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth 

The  Course  of  True  Love. 

Autobiography  of  a  Thief. 

A  Terrible  Temptation. 

The  Wandering  Heir. 

A  Simpleton. 

A  WomanHater. 

Readiana. 

BY  MRS.  RIDDELL. 

Her  Mother's  Darling. 

BY  BAYLE  ST.  JOHN, 

A  Levantine  Family. 

BY  GEORGE  AUGUSTUS  SALA. 

Gaslight  and  Dayli.^ht. 

BY  JOHN  SAUNDERS. 

Bound  to  the  Wheel. 

One  Against  the  World. 

Guy  Waterman. 

The  Lion  in  the   Path. 

The  Two  Dreamers. 

BY  ARTHUR  SKETCHLEY. 
A  Match  in  the  Dark. 

BY  T.  W.  SPEIGHT. 
The  Mysteries  of  Heron  Dyke. 

BY  R.  A.  STERN  DALE. 
The  Afghan  Knife. 

BY  BERTHA  THOMAS. 
Cressida.  |      Proud  Malsie 

The  Violin-Player. 


Cheap  Popular  Novels,  continued— 
BY  WALTER  THORNBURY. 
Tales  for  the  Marines. 

BY  T.  ADOLPHUS  TROLLOPE. 
Diamond  Cut  Diamond. 

BY  ANTHONY  TROLLOPE. 
The  Way  We  Live  Now. 
The  American  Senator. 

BY  MARK  TWAIN. 
Tom  Sawyer. 
An  idle  Excursion. 
A  Pleasure  Trip  on  the  Continent 
of  Europe. 

BY  SARAH  TYTLER. 
What  She  Came  Through. 

BY  LADY  WOOD. 
Sablna. 

BY  EDMUND  YATES. 
Castaway. 
The  Forlorn  Hope. 
Land  at  Last. 

ANONYMOUS. 
Paul  Ferroll. 
Why  Paul  Ferroll  Killed  his  Wife. 


Fcap.  8vo,  picture  covers,  Is.  each. 
Jeff  Briggs's  Love  Story.     By  Bret 

Harte. 

The  Twins  of  Table  Mountain.  By 

Bret  Harte. 
Mrs.  Gainsborough's  Diamonds.  By 

Julian  Hawthorne. 
Kathleen    Mavourneen.     By   Author 

of  "  That  Lass  o'  Lovvrie's." 
Lindsay's  Luck.     By  the  Author  of 

"  That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Pretty    Polly    Pembertor.     By  the 

Author  of  "That  Lass  o'  Lowrie's." 
Trooping    with    Crows.      By    Mrs. 

PiRKIS. 

The  Professor's  Wife.    By  Leonard 

Graham. 
A  Doutle  Bond.    By  Linda  Villari. 
Esther's  Glove.  By  R.  E.  Francillon. 
The  Garden  that    Paid  the  Rent. 

By  Tom  Jerrold. 


J.   OGDEN   and   CO.,   printers,   I72,    ST.  JOHN   STREET,  E.C. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

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