University of Virginia Library

2. II.

It is just three months since Cleopatra Tarrasal experimented with her force as a hypnotizer. If her power over her subject extended to the suggestion a echeance, to-night, in this, her southern home, it will be proven. For in that last evening at the seashore they had tried some hypnotic experiments, and Cleo had succeeded in placing three subjects in hypnotic sleep, one being Richard Noyes; and during his subjective state she had laid the command upon him to appear at her home in New Orleans three months from that day, on this, the twenty-third of November. And to-night, she is awaiting the fulfilment of the test, with every breath a quivering anxiety.

She loved Richard Noyes with the fearless intensity of her wonderful nature. Yet she was not blind to the fact that he never sought her with the eagerness she felt to behold him. Instead, she realized, although every charm she was mistress of had been thrown about him, that she had been able only to exercise a sort of physical attraction upon him when he was in her presence. That he would more willingly seek the side of pretty little Carrol Ashton, in those days at the shore, was to her plainly manifest.

But she was magnificent to-night! Effect had been studied well, before she adopted that Grecian robe of white wool with golden girdle holding its soft folds to her queenly form, her black and wavy hair held in place by a golden dagger. The dress was simplicity itself, thus showing her mastery of the art of dress; for it adorned her with its grace, and yet made you only conscious of her exquisite personality. And it was suited to the hour and the rich surroundings of her luxurious home. In looking upon her one could utter the tribute Hafiz bestowed on Zuleika's beauty:

"In the midnight of thy locks,

I renounce the day;

In the ring of thy rose lips,

My heart forgets to pray."

A soft, delicious repose creeps o'er the senses in that room where sweet odors make breathing a joy; and the soft light blends its decorations into a symphony of color. It is a spot to make the soul of man unmindful of care, of suffering, of reason, of responsibility. But it was all effective to mark the power of a woman's charms. There in the midst of beauty, she was of it all, the most beautiful.

No fervent imagination of the Orient could picture an houri in paradise more attractive.

"Hark, a ring!" A few words—

"Yes, it is his voice."

Cleo leapt to her feet, clasping her hands, pressed them to her heart as if to quell its wild beating. And then with indrawn breath exclaimed,—

"I have triumphed!"

With a mastery of self simply marvellous, her possession was regained, and all the passion of her fever of love and her sense of power was shown alone in her beauty, which was radiant.

As Richard entered the room he had a slightly embarrassed air, as of one doing some unaccountable thing; but what man, with such an apparition of beauty extending both hands in welcome, could remain untouched?

He stepped forward in his graceful way, and she half swayed toward him, just enough to bring her brow temptingly near his lips. And then, as if in response to the determining thought in her mind, his mustache swept her forehead in a swift caress.

Within himself he was bewildered as a man in a dream. He scarce knew why he was there, except an uncontrollable impulse had led him on. He had thought to apologize for his coming unannounced and uninvited. Instead, here he was with a welcome that dazzled him, and had given a greeting whose warmth startled him. But he has no time to analyze these contradictory feelings; he is in a whirlpool of sense emotions that blind his soul.

Her blush, the swift droop of her head, her low, glad exclamation of joy at seeing him were all in place, after the caress he had given her—but how had it all come about?

For a moment he was embarrassed; but Cleo's perceptions never failed her; neither did her power of will that now had

so fastened itself upon him as to transfer her thought into suggestion for action on his part.

He led her to a seat; then in a most natural way they talked of his arrival in New Orleans. He had reached there only that afternoon.

"I thought I should get in, in time," he said, "to send a messenger to ascertain if you would be at home this evening, but our train was late. At first I thought to postpone my call, but really I found myself as impatient as a thwarted child, and it was impossible to resist chancing it, and coming this evening any way."

She smiled and thought, "It is well, my will is sovereign," but only said:—

"I am very glad you did not delay my pleasure in seeing you."

After an hour passed in chat and gossip of mutual friends, and what had crept into their social experiences since last they met, he started to go, saying:—

"I am making an unwarrantably long call."

But it did not suit her purpose that he should leave her with no future command imprinted upon his unconscious will, so she pleasantly insisted their visit was not half completed.

If he could only have known, that was his moment of escape from life-long bondage; but no guardian spirit was near to whisper it, and the moment was fatal, because his sense still struggled with the world alone, his soul not having come into a knowledge of its own kindred, and it stood not upon its guard with understanding as its shield.

He stayed; the magnetism of that rich physical beauty, glittering with intellectual charm as well, held in thrall his senses.

Reaching a harp that was placed conveniently near, she said:—

"I will play for you."

Music was his love thus far in life, and it was an agreeable surprise to find she could so entertain him, as she had never before given any hint of that accomplishment. Yes, she loved melody, though the grand harmonies she could not grasp.

As her beautiful hands, with their dimpled knuckles and tapering fingers, swept across the strings of the melodious instrument, what a picture she made! And the melody was like a shimmering light, passing through the room.

The sweeping drapery of her classic robe, falling about her as softly as the lights and shadows of a moonlight eve, lost not a line of the beauty of her majestic form; and the curve and taper of her arm, as the white wool fell away in a soft mass, made a study for a sculptor.

From the dancing, sparkling melody she passed into one like a song of murmuring leaves, with a weird sort of monotony in its tone. During the repetition of this strain, she fixed her eyes upon Noyes' face; gradually, and unconsciously he passed under control of her will. With the lithe grace of a cat she moved to his side, humming still the monotonous measure she had been playing, and touching him gently upon the eyelids, she made sure he was unconscious. Passing back to the side of the harp as quickly as she had left it, she began softly to play again, keeping up the same measure, while she spoke, and said:—

"You will come again to-morrow, and say, 'Cleo, I love you, will you be my wife?' Remember, you have not been hypnotized. Now count six and be awake."

She still played the same melody that lulled him into unconsciousness until he uttered the word six, then she broke at once into a refrain of sweetness that thrilled every nerve to listen.

For a moment Richard Noyes looked confused; then said:—

"That was a peculiar change; that minor strain had a dream-like effect upon the mind, while this seems to send life bounding through the veins."

She saw it was as she desired; he was unconscious of having been hypnotized. So pushing the harp from her she said:—

"Yes, I don't care for music that is not emotional!"

"You seem the living personification of feeling," he replied; "you sometimes give me the impression that I am torpid, or but half awake; as though you knew a keener life; an intensity, that I sometimes, as now, realize only through you."

"Perhaps you are just waking," she said, with a tender look from beneath her curling lashes. And then hurriedly rising, as if she had said more than her second thought sanctioned, she moved from him, and remained standing by her harp.

Just behind her in rich folds, were golden brocade draperies of a large window. As she stood there with the exquisite poise begotten in tireless muscle and perfect proportion, she was a living, breathing embodiment of all the beauty man attributed to the goddess of Love in the days of Greek idealism. But alas, a Venus Pandemos! She knew his soul turned not to her with longing; that the sheer force of physical beauty and her all compelling will alone brought him into her presence. Yet not a voluntary yielding of a single desire did he give her. And yet—and yet! She wavered not one instant in her determination to bind him in the yoke that love alone can make honorable, or pleasant.

And like one charmed he gazed upon her. He rose from his seat and approached her, put forth his hand and half encircled her waist; she drew back ever so slightly, but it was enough to break the spell. He drew a long breath and whispered low,—

"Forgive me, but you are so radiant, you fascinate me. To punish myself I will say good-night," and pressing her hand, in a moment he was gone.

As he passed out of sight behind the portieres*, a smile of triumph swept across her expressive face, and she said under her breath,—

"You may go now, for you will come back; you are mine and you cannot help yourself."