A Secret Inheritance. Volume 1 of 3

A few days afterwards I turned my back on Rosemullion.

I had formed no definite plans; all that I had settled was that I would go abroad and see the world. It was open for me, and the flowers were blooming. Was I not rich, and had I not already had experience of the value of riches?

But although I travelled far, and saw the wonders of art and nature in foreign lands, my habits were much the same as they had been in England. What I enjoyed I enjoyed in solitude; the chance acquaintances who offered themselves, many of them travelling alone as I was travelling, received no encouragement from me; I did not respond to their advances. In this I was but repeating my boyish experiences when I was living with my parents in London attics. Truly, the child is father to the man.

It may appear strange to those who are fond of friendships, and who cling ardently to them, to learn that, despite my loneliness, I had not a dull moment. Nature was very beautiful to my soul, its forms and changes most entrancing. I cared little for the great towns and cities. The modes of life therein, especially those which were exemplified by the absurd lengths and extravagances to which fashion drives its votaries, excited in me a very sincere contempt, and I was amazed that people could be so blind to the sweetest joys of existence. I visited the theatres, but they had, for the most part, no fascination for me. I saw great actresses associated with buffoons, and often themselves buffooning; I followed, at first with interest, the efforts of a be-puffed actress, who rose to the terrors and the beauties of her part in one fine scene, and did not consider the rest of her mimic life, as depicted on the boards, worth the trouble of consistency; I was present at the performance of dramas which were absolutely false in their action and sentiment. What pleased me best were the short poetical episodes, occupying less than an hour in their representation, and in which two or three good actors sustained and preserved the unities in excellent style. But these were side dishes, and only served to bring into stronger relief the larger and grosser fare provided for the intellectual education of the masses. I went to the opera, and could only enjoy it by shutting my eyes, so many absurdities were forced upon my sight: and as this drew unpleasant attention upon me, I was compelled to deprive myself of the enjoyment. I strolled into the gambling saloons, and gazed in amazement upon the faces of men and women in which the lowest passions were depicted. Human nature in those places was degraded and belittled. "Is there some mysterious hidden sweetness in this many-sided frenzy?" I asked myself, and I staked my money, and endeavoured to discover it; but the game did not stir my pulses; I lost or won with indifference. I soon tired of it, and bade adieu to the rooms, with a sigh of compassion and contempt for the slaves who fretted their hearts therein.

My chiefest pleasures were experienced in small villages in mountain and valley, where there was so little attraction for the ordinary tourist that he seldom lingered there. I delighted in primitiveness and simplicity, where human baseness had the fewest opportunities to thrive, and where human goodness was the least likely to be spoilt by publicity. It was in these places that I came to the conclusion that the largest amount of happiness is to be found among small communities.

But although I was consistent, up to a certain period, in declining all offers of intimacy and friendship, it happened that I was to come into contact with a man for whom, in a short space of time, I grew to have a very close regard. His name was Louis, by profession a doctor, by descent a German.

We met in the woods near Nerac, in Gascony. I was fording a watercourse which intersected part of the forest when my foot slipped upon a round stone which I had supposed was fast embedded in the earth, but which proved to be loose. I made a spring upon the stone, and it rolled over, and landed me in the water. A wetting was of no account, but when I attempted to rise I uttered a sharp cry of pain. I had sprained my ankle.

With difficulty I crawled from the water to dry ground, upon which I sat, nursing my ankle, which already was swelling ominously. In a short time the pain became intolerable, and I endeavoured to draw the boot from my foot, and finding this was not possible, I cut it away bit by bit, and then cut my stocking loose. I experienced instant and delicious relief. The pleasure we derive from the relief of pain is the most exquisite of all physical sensations. I bathed my ankle with water from the cold stream, which somewhat reduced the swelling, but the relief was only temporary, for when I endeavoured again to rise, the torture produced by my attempt to sustain the weight of my body upon my foot was so keen that I fell prone to the ground in agony. There were no trees sufficiently near by the aid of which I might manage to walk a short distance, and in the intervals of relief afforded by further applications of cold water, I ruefully contemplated my position.

I had walked twenty miles during the day, and I was a stranger in the locality. The time was evening, and no person was in sight to assist me. From inquiries I made on the road earlier in the day I calculated that Nerac must be at least three miles distant from the spot upon which I lay. To crawl that distance was impossible. I looked upward to the sky. Heavy clouds charged with rain, were approaching in my direction, and the prospect before me of having to pass the night in the woods was by no means pleasant. I had learnt from experience that the storms in this region were violent and fierce; and, moreover, I had eaten nothing since the morning. Hunger was making strong demands upon me-all the stronger, as is the way of things, because of helplessness. I called aloud, and only a very fine echo-which I was not in the mood to admire and appreciate-answered me. Again and again I strove to rise, and again and again I sank to the ground, My ankle was getting worse, and had by this time swelled to double its usual girth. I turned my head in every direction, in eager quest of a human form, but none met my view. A squirrel sprang out of the woods, and stopped suddenly short at sight of me. It remained quite still, at a distance of a few paces gazing at me, and then it darted away, inspiring within me an absurd envy of its active movements. Birds, with cries both shrill and soft, flew to their nests; frogs croaked near the edges of the water. Evening fell, the sun descended; night was my enemy, and was eager to get at me, and soon its darkness fell around me like a shroud. This had ever been an enjoyment to me, but on the present occasion it served but to aggravate the mental disorder produced by my sufferings. The figures I conjured up in the gloom were the reverse of soothing, and I found myself occasionally labouring under a kind of delirium. One of my fancies was so peculiar that I will recall it. I saw on the left of me a deep cave, which as I gazed upon it grew to an enormous size. I had been looking in that direction only a moment before, and had seen nothing; the sudden vision of this great cave in the midst of black space was, therefore, the more surprising. Its roof and sides resembled a huge feathery disk, and deep back in the recess, embedded in the furthermost wall, were two strange-looking globes, surrounded by spots and curved lines of the colours of orange, brown, and soft grey. These globes were instinct with motion, and seemed to shrink and swell, while the coloured spots and curves around them contracted or expanded, in obedience to some mysterious law. The feathery roof and walls seemed also to contract and expand in sympathy, and these wave-like movements made it appear as if the cave were a living monster. I managed to raise myself upon my elbow for a moment, and as I did so I was terror-struck by beholding the monster cave rise and fly past me-in the shape of an owl that had wandered my way in search of food.

Fortunately the storm held off a while, but about midnight, as near as I could judge in an interval of reason, a few heavy drops of rain fell. I really felt as if this were to be my last night on earth. Soon the storm broke over the forest, and in a moment I was drenched to the skin. This, with the pain that was throbbing in every vein, and the hunger that was gnawing at me, completely exhausted me, and I became insensible.

I was awakened by the touch of hands, by the sound of a human voice. I languidly opened my eyes, and saw a man bending over me. The storm had passed away, and the sun was just rising. I had barely strength to note these signs, for my condition was pitiable. The man addressed me first in French, then in German; but although I could speak both languages my senses were so dazed that I had no understanding of them at the moment. I murmured faintly a few words in my native tongue.

"Ah," said the man, quickly and cheerfully, answering me in my own language, which he spoke well, but with a foreign accent, "you are English?"

I murmured "Yes."

"Of course," he said, "I should have known without asking. You are faint and exhausted. I perceive how it is. You crossed the stream, and fell, and sprained your ankle."

I nodded, dreamily and vacantly. All the time he spoke he was busy binding my ankle with some linen he had taken from a leather bag which hung by a strap from his shoulders.

"How long have you been lying here? But to give me that information just now is not imperative. You wish to tell me. Well?"

"I have been here at least since yesterday-perhaps longer."

"That is bad, very bad; I can judge from the sprain that you must have been here a great many hours. It is a very severe sprain; there is inflammation, great inflammation; you will not be able to walk for weeks. But what does that matter? These are the smallest ills of life. Were you on your way to Nerac? Do not answer me in speech. Nod, or shake your head. Rally your strength-for a few moments only-so that I may know how to deal by you. Come, you are a strong man. Compel yourself not to swoon. Stupid that I am! I have generally a flask with me; but I have forgotten it, and just when it is most needed. It shall not occur again; but that resolve will not help us now, will it? Were you on your way to Nerac? A nod. Yes, then. Have you friends there? A shake. No, then. Travelling for pleasure? Yes. An English gentleman? Yes. It is fortunate for you, friend, that, warned by the signs of a coming storm last night, I delayed my return home till this morning, and that, to prevent my people being for too long a time uneasy about me, I took a short cut, which is seldom used. The path is so little frequented that you might have lain here for another weary day. I am from Nerac; my home is there, and my family. Attend. I am going to lift you upon my horse; I call it, and it comes to me. See, it kneels at my bidding. We are friends, my horse and I; and it understands me; it can do anything but speak. Observe that I shorten the left stirrup, so that your sprained foot may find a fairly easy resting-place, and that I slightly lengthen the right stirrup, In order that leaning to the right, with your sound foot firmly planted, you may throw all your weight on that side. Now, I place my arm under your left shoulder-thus, and I have a firm hold of you. Do not fear; I am very strong, and my dear dumb brute will keep very still. I place your arm round my neck-thus. Clasp me as closely as your strength will permit. That is right-it is cleverly done. Now, resolve to bear a little sharp pain for a moment, only for a moment. Englishmen are not only proverbially but actually brave and stout-hearted. There-it is accomplished, and my dumb comrade is ready for the journey home. Are you comfortably placed? Here is my shoulder on the right of you, to rest your hand upon. Don't be fearful that you might lean too hard; I am made of iron. What a glorious sunrise! There is a subdued beauty in the colours of the sky after a great shower which is very charming. If you can manage not to faint for a little while it will be of assistance to us. The storm has cooled the air; you must feel it refreshing to your hot skin. We will nurse you well again, never fear. There will be a slight fever to grapple with, in addition to the healing of the ankle. Do not be disturbed by doubts that you may not be in friendly hands. I am a physician, and my name is Louis-Doctor Louis. Nerac is a most lovely spot. When you are well, we will show you its beauties. You are a brave young fellow to smile and keep your eyes open to please your doctor. There-that is a rabbit darting through the sunlight-and the birds, do you hear them? They are singing hymns to the Creator. Yonder, high up in the distance, winging its way to the rosy light, is a skylark. 'Hail to thee, blithe spirit!' It is better for me to take you home in this way than to leave you lying by the stream yonder, while I went to Nerac to fetch assistance. You might have thought I was never coming back, and the torture of suspense would have been added to your other discomforts. Then, we shall reach Nerac a good many minutes earlier by this means. There are times when minutes are of serious importance. We are on an eminence, and are about to descend the valley which leads straight to Nerac. If you were quite yourself you would be just able to catch a glimpse of the roofs of the houses in our pretty village. There are few prettier-none in my opinion. We shall jolt a little going down hill. Bear up bravely; it will soon be over."

With such-like words of encouragement, most kindly and sympathetically uttered, in tones soothing and melodious, did Doctor Louis strive to lighten the weary way, but long before we came to the end of our journey everything faded from my sight.

CHAPTER VII

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."