 | III. A Daughter of Lilith and a Daughter of Eve |  |
3. III.
That which is born of the flesh, is flesh, and that which pertaineth to earth must perish through the nature of its being. A love feeding on the mortal part must die; for all earth-born desires are but fleeting fancies for a shadow.
Two years have passed since that night, when Cleo Tarrasal rivetted the chains upon her victim, a victim as helpless as a charmed bird. They married. Passion threw its scarlet robes about them, and held in thrall their natures during his limited reign; but, as extremes are subject to the law of rapid variation, the devotee at Passion's altar first rebelled. The nature that accepts the forced in place of voluntary offering can never be satisfied. Unrequited de-
To such natures as Cleo Tarrasal, the demon of jealousy holds the rod, and tortures alike the victim and victor. It is this self-seeking passion masquerading under the name of love, that is the father of jealousy. Love the Divine, the light of the soul, knows no such monster.
They had been married now nearly two years, and life was a torment alike to both. No peace, no harmony; a stifling of every soul emotion, life resolved itself into a contest on the animal plane of being.
Richard Noyes at times felt the revolt within,—a consciousness of a promise in his ideals of a different life than this, a life that had in it aspirations, hope, and harmony. Was that a vain dream of youth? he would sometimes wonder. Did life hold no tie between man and woman based on aught save passion, conflict, and base striving?
Alas! he lived a stranger to his own soul. But a new day is at hand.
Cleo is in Europe with a party of friends, and Richard feels nothing but a sense of relief as he puts in his time in bachelor fashion. Yet a world weariness is creeping o'er his sense, and it is in a mechanical way he goes through the social routine of a rich man's life.
Living on the crust of formal life, he scarce has a knowledge of the seething, turbulent mass of struggling humanity. Lacking understanding, he of course has no sympathy with the needs of his brothers, and the true vocation of man,—that of helping the world to right the wrongs of ages,—is outside his ken.
Narrowed in experience by the idleness of inherited wealth, he drifts, a disappointed, aimless man, upon this little turbulent sea that lies encompassed with eternity. Out of the eternal we come; a moment we battle with the waves of time; into eternity we go again.
He is again at the seashore, but this time one of a cottage party. Among the guests is one Elizabeth Mitchell, a girl who is gradually bringing a new emotion into his life when he is with her; a peaceful, soul-uplifting calm. Every day he feels more restless when apart from her; and he seeks her side with no sense of restriction. There is something in her calm, beautiful womanhood that soothes him so.
She steps upon the piazza now, with a light wrap about her shoulders, and he rises and joins her as she starts for a walk upon the beach. She has no coquettish art, or consciousness. He wishes to walk with her—why not? her soul is her own, and so is his. Her woman's heart long ago discovered the barrenness of his life; the crying human need of sympathy that found no expression in his words.
She saw before her a soul dormant in a nature with every capacity for good; a life going to waste for want of inspiration; simply a sense existence taking the place of soul development.
As they walked along the beach their talk referred to a subject often discussed between them,—human nature.
They had just passed a tired group of picknickers who were making their way to the pier, to take the evening boat, and he said:—
"I cannot see what their lives hold to make the struggle endurable?"—They were evidently of a class of factory operatives from a neighboring coast town.
Elizabeth scanned their faces earnestly as she passed and said:—
"Earnestness of purpose makes their life not only endurable, but noble."
"How is that?"
"While it is true their lives are full of toil, and probably this is the only holiday in the year in which they can afford an outing, breathing the free air, and in sight and hearing of the singing waves,—more the shame to you and me, and all like us, who have abundance,—yet the very toil that earns what it possesses makes life earnest, and in the sympathy for one another's burdens that you find daily manifest among those who labor, you see the mark of soul nobility. The form perhaps is dwarfed or bowed, and rigid muscles rob them of grace, but watch them closely, and you will see no mask of politeness hides hideous indifference toward one another. The spirit of brotherhood is among them. Their souls, perhaps reborn, may animate the truest civilization the earth will ever know."
"Ah, I see! you point the selfishness of aimless lives as the worm, 'i' the bud,' destroying the present flower of civilization. I don't know but you are right, although I never thought of it just that way before."
Like a vision, a mirage of his past swept before his mind's eye, and he saw its lack of true purpose, its wasted years; a flood of perceptions almost overwhelmed him. Yet under all the pain there was a soft symphony of joy. He knew now, what had led him into the light of true being, what had born into his soul the life immortal. This fair, sweet woman at his side had opened the door of paradise to him; she had brought him into his own kingdom and crowned him in the realm of spirit. The pangs of travail through which this consciousness had birth, were submerged in the waves of joy that illumined his entire being.
He walked, he spoke in a mechanical way, while his soul was singing the refrain of love. In his new wisdom he saw the subjective world as the real one. And although the crown of thorns still pressed upon his brow as a son of man, he felt his heritage as a child of God, crowning all with glory. No matter what trials fill his path on earth, strength and purpose are now his weapons, and wisdom his shield.
As they drew near the boats he said,—"Let us row."
She assented.
It was the one indulgence he would permit himself, now that he knew the truth. For one evening they should be together, untouched by humanity's tide. Alone on the waters as though eternity again enveloped them. And then, after the deeper thoughts of her developed nature had given him fresh inspiration and guidance, a store for him to live by, he would go from her, into the world, and never see her again. And she would never know what she had been to him, a veritable messenger from God.
All this was in his mind as he handed her into the boat and silently pulled from the shore.
Ah! he was a novice yet in the mysteries of the soul world. "She not know?" Why, the supreme moment of earth life can be only when two souls perceive one truth.
After long thinking, he said:—
"That is a great truth, that an aim and earnestness in its fulfilment makes life enjoyable, while sympathy with the needs of our fellows is the insignia of true nobility. I want to confess to you that a new world lies before me in the life your earnest thought has given me. I see a new meaning in life and also a new promise."
"I rejoice to hear you speak so," she responded; "such possibilities as lie hidden in your nature will enrich you beyond expression when you come into understanding of your own being. Oh, think of it! We are the children of the Infinite One, and every man is our brother. The penalty with the imprisonment of the spirit in the flesh, is labor, either with hand, or heart or brain; else the spirit wears upon itself within its prison walls. The thread upon which every bead of human life is strung, begins and ends in God. And what are we, that we should stand in the way of our brothers and attempt to live for ourselves alone?"
Her face was radiant with its high purpose to uplift him, to illumine the path that, though rugged and hard, would bring him into the light. It was the truth that rung tones of power through her words.
"You are right; and my life shall be devoted to the welfare of my fellows from now on. I feel the thrill of courage, the strength of purpose; I feel a new source of life sweeping over me as though I had but just come into maturity. I see the pursuits of past years lying like so many broken toys strewn all about me. Elizabeth, from a child within me, you have grown a man."
In low tones she solemnly said,—
"Not I; the Divinity stirreth within you."
Long they rode upon the waters, and not another word was spoken. Both hearts beat in harmony to the same music, and the language of heaven filled their thoughts,—love, the love of the spirit.
At last, softly as the notes in a dream, the words, "I love thee, I love thee," found utterance.
It was unintentional. A breath found sound and voiced the refrain of his soul. Richard was affrighted at the sound of his own voice; he felt he had violated a faith reposed in him. Not even yet had he measured the greatness of that woman beside him.
He held his breath and almost cowered, as though the word must come that would hurt him. He would have sacrificed life itself at that moment to have recalled the words. But in all his future years he blessed them. Their result destroyed the last touch of his worldliness, the last false habit of thought, and gave him the revelation of a still purer character than even his imagination could fancy.
In tones as free and pure as an angel might use, resonant with the melody mastering the base emotions of passion, of fear, or of pride, came the words,—
"Love, love! I wonder if that word means to you what it does to me?"
"Will you tell me, loved one, what it means to you? Then I can answer." And his voice was tremulous with tenderness.
"I cannot define it though I try," she said. "But it seems as though every heart-beat would be a throb of joy, telling me I am dear to you, every breath tremulous with emotions of thanksgiving for the richness of life that giveth love, and even age, a privilege, for it brings us nearer the immortality of love. I feel this in the full consciousness that life can know no fruition of love together in the flesh. That now, you and I are bound in the eternal yoke of soul-united, and yet severed by the laws of man. It is no crime to speak our love, for the eternal union of two souls will bind in spite of life's blunders, and just obedience to social law. Yet, our speech has its penalty. From this hour, it would be a sin to tempt the flesh and grieve the spirit. You are mine, and I am yours, in the oneness of soul destiny. Having found each other in this labyrinth of life's tangled paths, and established our bond of union by this acknowledgment of love, we henceforth must live in accordance with the life of the world, and with a separation of distance. But that is only a formality of the flesh; 'soul will companion soul in spite of that.'"
A silence followed, seemingly as long as a lifetime to them. In that supreme hour, they whose lips had never met, felt the union into perfect oneness of their true selves.
"I can answer you now," he said. "Love means all to me it does to you. It means, no matter how earthly things separate us, a union with you, and a sense of supreme joy in knowing you are mine. The years to come before our souls are free will prove their strength. I have no fear that we will ever be apart one from the other in spirit, for one moment."
Then her sweet tones laid the command upon him. "And now, my love, the hour is come to say—let us word it just 'good-night'— when we part."
Silently he obeyed and rowed to the shore.
At the cottage step they paused, and under the rays of the full moon they looked long and deep into each other's eyes. No touch of flesh, but soul met soul, and the angels rang the wedding chimes in heaven. With every measure of their being in harmony with that heavenly music, softly and tenderly they said,—
"Good-night."
| III. A Daughter of Lilith and a Daughter of Eve | |