 | XI.
THE SEERESS. Lucy Arlyn |  |
11. XI.
THE SEERESS.
AT the door of a desolate-looking wood-colored
house, under the brow of the mountain, Guy
drew rein, and asked a small boy in rags, sitting
on the grass, if the Biddikins were at home. The boy
jumped up, while a tame crow he was playing with flew to
the low eaves of the dilapidated porch.
“Y-a-a-s,” he drawled with a scared and starved expression.
At that the crow began to hop along the eaves, and chatter,
“Mad's come home! Laugh, Jack! — ha, ha, ha!”
Guy dismounted, and was met at the door by Doctor
Biddikin.
“Sh!” said the little man with an air of mystery.
“We've great doings here, — great doings! Don't speak,
but come in!”
“Is Madison” — began Guy.
But the doctor checked him: his skinny fore-finger was
on his lips.
“Not a word!” — drawing him into the entry. “I've
five ladies and gentlemen here to see me,” — he reached to
close the door: “you make the sixth.” And in darted the
crow after them, as if to make the seventh.
“Good luck for Jack! Laugh, Jack! — ha, ha!”
screamed the bird.
“I declare! I didn't mean to let that creature in! He
plagues us dreadfully!” He opened the door again, and put
his head out. “Job!” — in a fierce mutter, not designed
for the visitor's ears, — “why didn't you take care of
Jack?”
“Couldn't; got away from me,” answered the boy outside,
in feeble, frightened accents.
The doctor left the door open, and tried to drive Jack out.
But Jack was not at all inclined to go. He flew up the
staircase, and down again over Biddikin's head as he went
up after him. Then he perched on a half-open door at the
farther end of the entry, and, with balancing wings and bobbing
head, looked down saucily at the little bald pate that
came up stealthily beneath him.
“Biddikin! — can't come in! — ha, ha!” And he flew
to the banisters. As the doctor went there for him, he returned
to his perch on the door, chattering all the while
impishly.
“Do catch that creature for me!” whispered the doctor,
giving up in despair.
“Ha, ha, ha!” said the crow as Guy stepped towards
reached up to catch him, he made a dash at his face with
his glossy black wings, darted between his hands, and flew
into the room beyond.
“Shut the door!” cried Biddikin eagerly. Jack was in
prison. “He shall stay there a while. He has been unusually
saucy since Madison came home, — actually blasphemous.
How do you account for that?”
“Cats and dogs often catch the spirit of the human beings
around them,” said Guy; “and the same must be true of
other pets.”
“There is some subtle sympathy; don't you think there
is? That crow is an entirely different creature when Madison
is around! — But come!” said the doctor, having by
this time tucked up again under his cuffs the soiled shirt-wristbands
which had become disarranged in his chase after
Jack. And feeling to assure himself that his threadbare
coat was buttoned well across his throat, to conceal any
appearance of unpresentable linen, he tripped quickly, and
closed the front-door; then cautiously opened another that
led into a side room. “I sha'n't introduce you,” he whispered
as they went in.
The gloom of the apartment, the silence, and the sight of a
dim, solemn company seated around a table, made Guy feel
as if he was interrupting a funeral. He attempted to retreat;
but Biddikin pulled him in, and gave him a seat on a bench
in a corner.
It was a large, naked, carpetless room, as Guy could see,
although the blinds were closed, possibly to shut out the
crow, but more probably to exclude the daylight, and at the
same time to disguise the broken windows and the penury
they ventilated. His eyes soon grew familiar with the obscurity;
and he discerned, looming up in the dimness opposite,
a sturdy nose, which could belong to no other person than
the philosopher he had encountered in the woods. Next him
appeared the ghost — not yet disembodied — of the doctor's
dutiful and affectionate son. On the other side of the prominent
nasal feature sat a young woman with a large forehead
that gleamed pale in the dusk. Next her was a tall, well-dressed,
highly respectable-looking gentleman, with a bland
white forehead. Biddikin took his seat with a corpulent
middle-aged man (whom Guy recognized as a neighbor and
a deacon) between himself and his son; thus nearly completing
the circle. There were still two chairs between the
doctor and the tall gentleman, — one vacant, the other occupied
by a young lady whose face Guy could not see. She
was petit in stature, elegantly dressed, with a small, fine
head, auburn hair, and a delicate jewelled hand, that played
restlessly with a pencil over a sheet of paper. The company
seemed waiting for her to speak; when the silence
was broken by a loud outcry on the part of Jack in his
prison.
“Jack's mad now, — hear him!” said the junior Biddikin
in a laughing whisper.
“Sh!” hissed the senior, frowning.
“I cannot proceed as long as there is any disturbance,”
remarked the young lady in low, quiet, decided tones.
“I'll fix him!” said Madison, starting for the door.
“Don't you hurt him! — don't you hurt Jack!” cried
the doctor, hurrying after him.
Guy also rose to go out, thinking he might form a part of
the disturbance of which the young lady complained.
“The gentleman will please remain,” she said in the same
low, decided tone, without looking round.
“Do you mean me?” asked Doctor Biddikin.
“I said the gentleman,” was the significant response.
“I — I suppose she means you,” said the doctor, taking
hold of Guy with both hands, and pushing him back.
“This seat is for him,” — and the young lady indicated
the vacant chair at her side.
“That is very remarkable!” said Biddikin. “When
the circle were formed, she said another were to come, and
reserved that chair.”
Guy, surprised at all this, and interested to see what
would be done, seated himself between the young lady and
Doctor Biddikin.
“You remember,” dryly remarked the individual with the
nose opposite, “I predicted that you had something to do
with this matter,” — fixing his eyes with a mystical squint
and a sapient grimace on Guy. “See there!” — his fist
began to wag, — “Swedenborg recognizes you!”
“What!” whispered Biddikin, “do you know Mr. Murk,
the philanthropist?”
“We have been a-fishing together,” answered Guy.
After a wild clamor in the kitchen, proclaiming that the
bird had come to grief, a door was suddenly slammed, shutting
out the sound; and Madison, with a black quill stuck
recklessly in his hair, returned to his place in the circle.
Guy, almost from the moment of his entrance, had felt
stealing over him an indescribable magnetic influence, which
impressed him still more powerfully in his new position.
It seemed to surround him like a fine, invisible, soothing,
almost stupefying mist. Soon a tingling sensation ran electrically
down his arm, and he felt a strong inclination to place
his hand on the young lady's. It was not until after this that
he turned his face, and saw hers, or perhaps the impulse
might have been easily accounted for.
She was not more than twenty years of age, — a pale
blonde, with very singular features, irregular, and certainly
not handsome, but full of refinement and fascination. When
Guy first observed her, she wore a decided air of disdain and
impatience, as if she did not sit willingly in the company
which was manifestly disagreeable to her. Her eyes were
downcast, and Guy could not perceive that she once glanced
at him. For some time, her hand continued to play with the
pencil it held; but at length it was drawn towards her, and
folded with its fellow near her bosom: her eyes closed gradually;
while the expression of hauteur softened, and finally
yet so marble-like, that Guy, as he looked at her, shivered
from head to foot.
“The first shall be last, and the last shall be first,” she
said at length with a sublime elevation of manner blending
with a certain childlike simplicity. Then, breathing deeply,
her head drooping, while blissful smiles softly irradiated her
countenance, she sat silent as before.
“I'm anxious to know what that means,” said Doctor
Biddikin after a long pause.
The seeress gave a light start; while, at the instant, Guy
felt a thrill shoot down his arm.
“The circle was formed,” she then said, “lacking one.
“It is now complete. The first shall be last,” she repeated,
clearly, solemnly, deliberately, “and the last shall be first.”
From that moment, Guy saw only her: ignoring Biddikin,
forgetting Murk, oblivious of all the ridiculous circumstances
attending the occasion, he watched her changing and illuminated
features, and listened to her silvery voice.
“I am still more anxious than before,” the doctor took
advantage of another pause to observe. “It is evident Mr.
Bannington came last into the circle: I were the first” —
The seeress started to her feet, stood erect, her eyelids
half closed, and the orbs upturned under them with a wonderful
expression; and raising her right hand, as if beckoning
down an invisible choir, laid the other upon Guy's
head.
“Behold,” she uttered softly, “your lord and your
king!”
Never in his life had Guy experienced any thing like the
deep, devotional, melting emotion which these words and the
touch of that light hand awakened within him. Something
descended upon him like a cloud, as of the breath of angels.
Pure, passionless, delicious, dewy thoughts distilled out of it,
suffusing his whole being. He bowed his head involuntarily.
It seemed like a consecration. Strangely enough, he was not
at all surprised by it, but accepted it as something for which
his soul had waited long.
“He is the head,” the seeress added after a pause of profound
silence; brief, if measured by moments, but deeper
than time to the soul within which eternity seemed then to
open. She laid both hands upon him as she spoke, then
spread them towards the circle. “Ye are the members:
follow him.”
She sat down. The little doctor, in great excitement,
sprang to his feet.
“He the head? And I — I want to know what is to
become of me!”
The seeress, with a mere movement of her hand, waved
him down.
“He who enters upon this work for the sake of riches or
reward shall be confounded!” were the words of her response,
prophetic, impressive, to be remembered long after,
in days of tribulation. “Self-seeking has no place here.
coffers of rock is not the end, but a step towards the end.
A great work for humanity is to be accomplished. For this
the treasure has been long provided and preserved; and to
this purpose it must be sacredly applied.”
Mr. Murk gave a slow, solemn, sleepy, satisfied nod; but
Doctor Biddikin rubbed his husky hands with irrepressible
nervousness.
“I don't know about that, Mr. Murk! The treasure is
mine yet: I've signed no papers. I may have something
to say! After all the toil and anxiety it has cost me, —
years of suffering, — I can't see others step in and reap the
benefits, while I am left to starve: do you think I can,
Deacon Pitman?”
“I see no other way but to follow the directions of the
spirits,” said the earnest deacon.
“We are all instruments,” Mr. Murk added: “I myself
am only an instrument,” — great as I am, his manner
seemed to say; while Swedenborg corroborated his remark by
the usual manifestation.
Guy was annoyed: but he felt no inclination to laugh;
having determined, from the first, to suffer no exhibition of
folly or fanaticism to divert his mind from whatever truth
might be masked beneath it.
“He who calls himself the owner of the treasure,” the
seeress resumed, “has claims which shall not be overlooked.
But this is the cause of humanity, of social redemption; and
in its way. Six individuals, of ample means, must unite
to set the stone rolling, which, once put in motion, will of
itself possess an impetus sufficient to carry an institution
along with it, and to crush in its progress the gigantic evils
of the world. Two of the six are here present, — you and
you,” — the jewelled hand indicating the tall gentleman
and the flushed deacon.
“You'll be bled, old coveys!” chuckled Madison.
“What is to be expected of us?” asked the deacon in
quick pecuniary alarm.
“Each shall subscribe one thousand dollars to assist in the
work,” answered the oracle.
“What!” — and all the solid mass of the deacon's flesh
appeared agitated, — “is it going to be so expensive as
that?”
“A fund of six thousand dollars,” the seeress answered,
“can be easily secured. Whatever portion of it is necessary
to defray the expenses of the work will be returned with
interest to the subscribers, when the large treasure, to which
this is but the key, shall be rendered available.”
“An excellent plan! very rational indeed!” cried the
little doctor, quickly consoled by the prospect of such golden
rain in the empty cistern, where his hopes, surviving stagnation
and drought, began to sing like frogs before a shower.
“What do you say, gentlemen?”
Mr. Murk nodded, and thwacked his breast, to show that
looked intelligent and bland, but discreetly said nothing;
while the deacon's sweaty visage betrayed that the spirit had
to wrestle hard with him for the lucre.
“The six subscribers,” continued the seeress, “shall constitute
a board of directors. The chosen spiritual head” —
designating Guy — “shall be the chief of the association.
The energy and executive ability which he will devote to it
are necessary to insure early success. But what is chiefly
important in this, to him and to the world, is the experience
of government which he must gain in small things in order to
fit himself for the more glorious sphere of power to which he
is destined.”
Guy could not repress an incredulous smile. She proceeded
to answer the thoughts that prompted it, though he
did not speak, and though she, as from the first, did not raise
her eyes to his face.
“Let him not despise the manger in which Truth is born.
Let his clear eye see deeper than the mean swaddling-clothes
in which it is wrapped. And as for himself, let not his scepticism
smile at the contrast between what his life has been and
what it is henceforth ordained to be. The freedom and wildness
of his youth have been needful to give power and inspiration
to his prime. He is a child of nature, not a creature
of conventionality. The uses of many things, the meaning
of many things, which have strangely shaped his life and agitated
his soul, he will now understand.”
She paused. During the previous practical discussion, the
influences which had overshadowed Guy were partially dissipated;
but now they thickened upon him again, and suddenly
thoughts of his mother fell like a warm rain upon his heart.
The seeress breathed deeply at intervals, and her brow grew
radiant.
“As the treasure which is to be sought lies buried in the
heart of the mountain, so in his bosom are hidden divine instincts,
of which he is himself but vaguely conscious. The
rocks of circumstance have fallen upon them; the briers and
brambles of youth have grown over them. But those heavenly
riches have been guarded by angels.” Her voice grew wonderfully
soft and winning. “Angel-whispers have often, in
his deep moments, been breathed into his spirit. Blind
yearnings after an unknown good, vast and undefined aspirations,
have alternated with emotions of despair at what he has
deemed his purposeless life. But now clear voices shall
be heard comforting and directing him; the rocks shall be
removed, and the precious instincts they conceal shall be
brought forth from darkness into light, blessing him, and benefiting
the world.”
The inspired manner and tones of voice; the sweet conviction
of reality with which she spoke of spiritual beings
watching over him; and, more than all this, the words that
described to himself the inward struggles which he supposed
were known only to himself and his God, — every thing
must be considered, if we attempt to account for the effect
forget the magnetic influences which surrounded him. He
yearned then and there to sink upon his knees, and pray as
he had not often prayed in his undevout career. But quickly
the question arose in his mind, “How do I know but it is all
delusion?”
Instantly the seeress responded to his thought.
“Let him neither accept nor deny his mission until what
he has this day seen and heard has sunk deep into his heart.
In the mean time, he requires some tangible, undoubted proof
that there is reality in these things.” Indescribably tender
and beautiful smiles flashed up the Pythian features as she
added, “Proof shall be given.”
She took the pencil, and, with eyes still closed, traced
rapidly a bold wavy line on a sheet of paper. The pencil
flew from her hand, and the paper was pushed towards Guy.
He took it, and, holding it in the usual position for reading a
line of writing, saw only an irregular scrawl. But, instantly
perceiving that it was not writing, — that it was the outline of
a human face, — he held it upright, and gazed at it long;
gradually drawing the paper closer, to hide the emotions of
his features. And this was Guy, the proud, the gay, the reckless,
— sportsman, sceptic, scoffer! — overpowered to tears
— by what?
| XI.
THE SEERESS. Lucy Arlyn | |