Читать книгу A Secret Inheritance - B. L. Farjeon - Страница 11

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When I became conscious of surrounding things I found myself in a large airy room, the pervading characteristics of which were space and light. I was lying in a bed, all the coverings of which were white; there were no curtains to it, and no hangings in the apartment to mar the deliciously cool and refreshing air which flowed in through the open folding windows. These windows, which stretched from ceiling to floor, faced the foot of the bed; my head was almost on a level with my body, and I could not obtain a level view of the gardens which bloomed without. But I had before me in the heights a delightful perspective of flowering trees, stretching upwards into the clouds. These clouds, of various shades of blue and white, filled all the spaces between the lovely network of leaves and branches. It was like gazing upwards instead of downwards into the waters of a clear and placid lake. A sense of blissful repose reigned within my soul. I had not the least desire to move; so perfect and so sweet was the peace in which I lay, as it were, embalmed, that I felt as if I were in a celestial land. There were trees with great clusters of red blossoms hanging in the clouds; a soft breeze was playing among them, and as they swayed gently to and fro fresh peeps of fairyland were continually disclosed to my contented eyes. There were nests in the trees, and the cloud-scapes of fleecy blue and white were beautifully broken now and again by the fluttering flight of birds as they came and went. The pictures I gazed upon, idealised and perfected by my mind's eye, have always abided with me. It is seldom given to man to enjoy what I enjoyed as I lay, then and for some time afterwards, in my white and healthful bed. It was a foretaste of heaven.

So fearful was I that the slightest movement might destroy the lovely pictures that I did not even turn my head at the sound of my bedroom door being softly opened and closed. A light footstep approached the bed, and I beheld a young girl whose form and face I silently and worshipfully greeted as the fairest vision of womanhood in her spring that ever blessed the sight of man. Observing that my eyes were open, she gazed at me for a moment of two in wondering and glad surprise, and then, with her finger at her smiling lips, trod softly from the room as lightly as she had entered it. I closed my eyes, so that this fair picture, in its dress of pale blue, with lace about the neck and arms, might not be entirely lost to me, and when another sound in the room caused me to open them, in the hope that she had returned, I saw standing at my bedside a grave and kindly man.

"So," he said in a quiet tone, "you are at length in the land of conscious life. You remember me?"

"First enlighten me," I said, and I was surprised to hear my voice so weak and wavering. "I am really awake? I am really in the land of the living?"

"So far as we know," was his reply. "There are those who say this life is but a dream, and that when we yield up our breath it is simply that our dream is ended, and that we are awaking to reality. For myself, I have not the least doubt that life is life, and death death, and that pain and joy are just what those words are intended to convey to our understanding."

"So fair and peaceful is the scene before me," I said, "so calm was my soul when I awoke, that it is difficult to realise that I am in the land of the living."

"You will realise it very vividly," he said gaily, "in an hour or two, when you are hungry. There is nothing so convincing as our grosser passions. You have not answered my question. Do you remember me?"

"Yes, I remember you. I had sprained my ankle in crossing the stream that runs through the woods, and not being able to walk, was doomed to lie there all night with a fine storm playing pranks upon my helpless body. It was a wild night, and I had wild fancies. What would have become of me had you not providentially come to my assistance is easy enough to guess. I should really by this time have been in possession of the grand secret."

"When did this occur?"

"Yesterday."

"My friend," said Doctor Louis, with a light laugh, "what you have so faithfully described took place four weeks ago. If you have any doubt of it, you have only to pass your hand over your beard."

The statement bewildered me. Accepting it as fact--and it was not possible for me to doubt it--I must have lain during those four weeks in a state of delirium. What perplexed me was the consciousness that I had been so well cared for by strangers, and that something more than a friendly interest had been taken in me. The evidences were around and about me. The sweet-smelling room, the beautiful scene through the open folding windows, the entrance of the fair girl, the smile on whose lips seemed to speak of innocent affection, the presence of Doctor Louis, and the friendliness and sympathy with which he was conversing with me--all these might be construed into evidences even of love. Still it would not do to take things too much for granted.

"Am I in an inn?" I asked.

"You are in my house," replied Doctor Louis courteously, "my guest, in whom we are all very much interested."

"All?"

"Myself--who should properly be mentioned last--my wife, who is first, as she deserves to be--and my daughter, who is our Home Rose."

Our Home Rose! The mere utterance of the words conveyed a sense of spiritual sweetness to me, who had never known the meaning of Home.

"It pleases us to call her so," said Doctor Louis.

"The young lady," I said, in a musing tone, "I saw in the room shortly before you entered, and whose appearance so harmonised with the peace and loveliness of the view of cloud and flower I see from my bed, that I should not have been surprised to hear she was spirit or angel."

"An angel in a blue dress," said Doctor Louis, with pleasant nods; "but it is agreeable to me, her father, to hear you speak so of her. She is, as I have said, the rose of our home. If there is an angel in our house, it is her mother. Lauretta, as yet, is but a child; she has to prove herself in life. But I ask your pardon. These details can scarcely interest you."

"They more than interest me," I said earnestly; "they do me good. Although you are a physician, your friendly confidence--which I accept as a privilege--is better than the most potent medicine you could administer to me. Pray continue to speak of your home and family. I beg of you!

"A wise doctor," said Doctor Louis, "and such, of course, I account myself, occasionally humours his patient. But I must not give you all the credit; the theme is agreeable to me; it is, indeed, closest to my heart. I used to think, when Lauretta was a little child, and we were deriving an exquisite happiness from her pretty ways, that no happier lot could be ours than that she should always remain a child. But that would never do, would it? A world inhabited by children is not in Nature's scheme. Fit theme for a fairy story. It behoves us, however, of necessity, to be to some extent practical. I have no fear for Lauretta. Children who are not violently wrenched from their natural bent inherit and exhibit their parents' qualities. I, we will say, am negative. I have my opinions, strong ones and deeply planted, but there is no positive vice in me, so far as I am aware, and it is pleasing to me to reflect that I have transmitted to my child neither moral nor physical hurt. But Lauretta's mother possesses qualities of goodness which proclaim her to be of a rare type of womanhood. She is not only benevolent, she is wise; she is not only strong, she is tender; and she has taught me lessons, not in words, but by the example of her daily life, which have strengthened my moral nature. You see, I am in love with my wife--of which I am not at all ashamed, though I am an old married man. If Lauretta's life resemble her mother's, if she follow in her footsteps, I shall be more than content--I shall continue to be truly happy. There are so many foolish, vicious children born in the world that it is something to be proud of to add to its millions one who will instinctively tread in the straight path of duty, and who, if it is her lot to suffer, will 'suffer and be strong.' Once more, forgive me for being so garrulous about my household treasures; it is a weakness into which it is not difficult to lead me. A few words concerning yourself, in explanation of what has occurred. Learning from your own lips, on the morning we first met in the forest yonder, that you were a stranger, and perceiving that you were a gentleman, I brought you straight to my house--with no settled intention, I must frankly own, of keeping you here for any length of time. After thoroughly studying your case I saw that you would be ill for weeks, and for a great part of that time that you would be not exactly in your right senses. To tell you the truth, I was puzzled, and while I was debating what to do with you, who should introduce herself into the matter but my estimable wife. She can invariably tell, by a certain puckering of my brows, when I am in a brown study, and she inquired what troubled me. I told her, You--yes, you, my friend. 'He will not be able to get about for a month,' I said. 'Poor young gentleman!' said my wife. 'And in spite of my undoubted skill,' I continued, 'I may not be able to save him!' She clasped her hands, and the tears gathered in her eyes. She has always a heartful of them ready to shed for those who are in sickness and trouble. A foolish woman, a very foolish woman indeed. 'He may die on our hands,' I said. 'Heaven forbid!' she cried. 'Heaven's forbidding it,' I sagely remarked--occasionally I say a good thing, my friend--'will not save him, if I cannot. There is healing by faith, certainly, but this hapless gentleman is not in a condition to bring faith to bear. I know what I will do. I will take him to an inn, where they will run him up a fine fat bill. His accident shall do some one good. There is the inn of the Three Black Crows. The landlord is a worthy fellow, and has a large family of round bright eyes and small red cheeks. To be sure, his wine is execrable, and he cannot cook a decent meal. But what of that? Our friend here will care little for either, and is not likely to complain of the quality. Yes, to the inn of the Three Black Crows he shall go.' My wife did not interrupt me; she never does; but she kept her eyes fixed earnestly upon my face while I was speaking, and when I had finished, she said, 'Louis, you are not in earnest.' 'Nonsense, nonsense,' said I; 'here, help me to carry this troublesome gentleman to the Three Black Crows.' 'You are not in earnest,' she repeated, and the foolish woman smiled at me through her tears; 'you know well that you have made up your mind that he shall stop here, and that I shall nurse him, with your assistance, into health and strength. His room is ready for him.' My friend, it is a rule with me never to create dissension in my home. Therefore, what could I do? Break through my rule, and cause my wife sorrow? And for you, a stranger? It was not to be thought of. That is how it has happened you have become my guest."

"How can I thank you?" I murmured, much moved. "How can I thank your good wife?"

"Thank me!" exclaimed Doctor Louis. "Have I not told you I had nothing to do with it? As to thanking my wife, she is never so happy as when she is nursing the sick. We really ought to pay you for the pleasure you have afforded us by spraining your ankle in the woods, and falling into a dangerous fever. Heavens, how you raved! What is the meaning of the expression I see in your eyes? Are you going to rave again?"

"No; I am wondering whether the sounds of music I hear are created by my imagination."

"The sounds are real sounds. It is my wife who is playing."

"But the instrument?"

"The zither."

"Its tones are most beautiful."

"It is her favourite instrument. She has sometimes played on it while you were lying unconscious, in the belief that its soft tones would not be a bad medicine for you. My daughter plays also. To conclude my explanation. During your fever your ankle has been attended to, and it is now nearly well. The sprain was so severe that it would have confined you to your bed without the fever, and as you were to have it, the two evils coming together was a piece of positive good fortune. It saved time."

"As I was to have it!" I exclaimed.

"My friend," said Doctor Louis, "do not forget that I am a doctor. Either then, or now, or at some time within the next twelve months, you would have succumbed to the strain which you have lately been putting upon yourself. The fever was lying dormant in your veins, and needed but a chance to assert itself. Whether you are conscious of it or not, there is no doubt that there have been severe demands upon your nervous system. To speak plainly, you have over-taxed yourself, and have treated Nature unfairly. She is long-suffering, but, push her too far, she will turn upon you and exact the penalty. Too late then to repent; the mischief is done, and all that we can do thereafter is to patch up. Have you met with any misfortune lately--have you lost any one who was dear to you?"

"Within a short time," I said, "I have lost both my parents."

"That is sad; but you have brothers, sisters?"

"Not one; nor, so far as I am aware, a relative the wide world over. I am alone."

"I regret to hear it, and sincerely sympathise with you; but you are young, and have all your life before you. There are, however, persons with whom you wish to communicate, friends who will be anxious at your long silence. Now that you are conscious and sensible you will have letters to write. Do not flatter yourself that you are strong enough to write them. It will be another fortnight, at least, before you will be fit even for that slight exertion."

"I have no letters to write," I said, "and none to receive. I am without a friend."

I saw him look in pity at me, and he seemed to be surprised and disturbed.

"I am a new experience to you," I observed.

"I admit it, yes," he said thoughtfully, "but we have talked enough. Sleep, and rest."

As he uttered these words he passed his right hand with a soothing motion across my brows. I was disposed for sleep, and it came to me.

The days passed as in a blissful dream. There was always within me the same sense of perfect repose; there were always before me delightful panoramas of cloudland, moving through graceful foliage and bright blossoms. Sometimes Lauretta's mother came into the room, and sat by my bedside, and spoke a few gentle words. She was the embodiment of Peace; her voice, her movements, her graceful figure, formed a harmony. I did not see Lauretta during those days, nor was her name mentioned again by Doctor Louis. But when her mother was with me, and I heard the sound of the zither, I knew it was Lauretta who was playing. The music, in the knowledge that she was the player, produced upon me the same impression as when her mother played--for which I can find no apter figure of speech than that I was lying in a boat on the peaceful waters of a lake, with a heavenly calm all around me.

Doctor Louis came daily, and we indulged in conversation; and frequently before he left me made similar passes across my forehead, which had the effect of producing slumber. After a time I spoke of this, and we conversed upon the subject. I had read a great deal concerning mesmerism and clairvoyance, and Doctor Louis expressed surprise at the extent of my information on those subjects. He said he was glad to perceive that I was a student, and I replied that my chiefest pleasures had been derived from books.

At length I was convalescent, and, for the first time for many weeks, I enjoyed the open air. We sat in the garden, and I was enchanted with its beauties, which seemed all to radiate from Lauretta. It was she who imparted to surrounding things, to flowers, to trees, to grassy sward and floating cloud, the touch of subtle sweetness which made me feel as if I had found a heaven upon earth. On that day, for the first time, our hands met.

She gathered fruit, and we ate it slowly. Lauretta's mother sat nearest to me, engaged upon a piece of embroidery. Lauretta, waiting upon us, came and went, and my eyes followed the slight figure wherever she moved. When she disappeared into the house I did not remove my eyes from the door through which she had passed until she emerged from it again. Once or twice, meeting my gaze, she smiled upon me, and I was agitated by an exquisite joy. Doctor Louis, wearing a hat which shaded his brows, sat at a little distance, sometimes reading, sometimes contemplating me with attention.

"You must be glad to be well," said Lauretta's mother.

I answered, "No, I regret it."

"Surely not," she said.

"Indeed it is so," I replied. "I am afraid that the happiest dream of my life is drawing to an end."

"The days must not be dreamt away," she said, with grave sweetness; "life has duties. One's ease and pleasure--those are not duties; they are rewards, all the more enjoyable when they have been worthily earned."

"Earned in what way?" I asked.

"In administering to others, in accomplishing one's work in the world."

"How to discover what one's work really is?" I mused.

"That is not difficult, if one's nature is not wedded to sloth."

"And where," I continued, "supposing it to be discovered, should it be properly performed?"

"In one's native land," she said. "He belongs to it, and it to him."

"There have been missionaries who have done great good."

"They could have done as much, perhaps more, if they had devoted themselves to the kindred which was closest to them."

"Not that I have a desire to become a missionary," I said. "I have not within me the spirit of self-sacrifice. I have been travelling for pleasure."

"It is right," she said, quickly, "it is good. Do not think I mean to reproach you. Had I a son, and could afford it, I would bid him travel for a year or two before he settled down to serious labour."

"It was my good fortune that I resolved to see the world, for it has brought me to this happy home."

"It is happy," she said, "because it is home."

I asked Lauretta if she would play.

"In the house?" she inquired.

"No," I replied, "here, where Nature's wondrous works are closest to us."

The zithers were brought out, and mother and daughter played. I was not yet strong enough to bear the tension of great excitement, and I leant back in the easy chair they had provided for me, and closed my eyes. Whether I slept or not I should not, at the time, have been able to decide, nor for how long I lay thus, listening to the sweet strains. Awake or asleep, I was in a kind of dreamland, in which there was no discordant note; and even when I heard the music merge into the Tyrolean air which I had so often heard in fancy during my residence in Rosemullion, and concerning which Mrs. Fortress had questioned me, I did not regard it as strange or unusual. It was played by those to whom I had been spiritually drawn. I recognised now the meaning of the mysterious strains I used to hear in the silent woods. The players and I were one; our lives were one, I who had all my life scoffed at fate, suddenly renounced my faith. Chance had not brought us together; it was Destiny.