The Mysterious Stranger Manuscripts (Literature) (50 page)

"No, I can't! Thought! There is no substance to thought; then
how is a material thing going to be constructed out of it?"

"But August, I don't mean your kind of thought, I mean my
kind, and the kind that the gods exercise."

"Come, what is the difference? Isn't thought just thought, and
all said?"

"No. A man originates nothing in his head, he merely observes exterior things, and comhiucs them in his head-puts several observed things together and drays a conclusion. I Iis mind is merely
a machine, that is all-an automatic one, and he has no control over
it; it cannot conceive of a new thing, an original thing, it can only
gather material from the outside and combine it into new forms and
patterns. But it always has to have the materials from the outside,
for it can't make them itself. That is to say, a man's mind cannot
create-a god's can, and my race can. That is the difference. We
need no contributed materials, we create them-out of thought. All
things that exist were made out of thought-and out of nothing
else."

It seemed to me charitable, also polite, to take him at his word
and not require proof, and I said so. Ile was not offended. He only
said-

"Your automatic mind has performed its function-its sole function-and without help from you. That is to say, it has listened, it
has observed, it has put this and that together, and drawn a conclusion-the conclusion that my statement was a doubtful one. It is
now privately beginning to wish for a test. Is that true?"

"Well, yes," I said, "I won't deny it, though for courtesy's sake I
would have concealed it if I could have had my way."

"Your mind is automatically suggesting that I offer a specific
proof-that I create a dozen gold coins out of nothing; that is to say,
out of thought. Open your hand-they are there."

And so they were! I wondered; and yet I was not very greatly
astonished, for in my private heart I judged-and not for the first
time-that he was using magic learned from the magician, and that
he had no gifts in this line that did not come from that source. But
was this so? I dearly wanted to ask this question, and I started to do
it. But the words refused to leave my tongue, and I realized that he
had applied that mysterious check which had so often shut off a
question which I wanted to ask. He seemed to be musing. Presently
he ejaculated-

"That poor old soul!"

It gave me a pang, and brought back the stake, the flames and the
death-cry; and I said-

"It was a shame and a pity that she wasn't rescued."

"Why a pity?"

"Why? How can you ask, 44?"

"What would she have gained?"

"An extension of life, for instance; is that nothing?"

"Oh, there spoke the human! He is always pretending that the
eternal bliss of heaven is such a priceless boon! Yes, and always
keeping out of heaven just as long as he can! At bottom, you see, he
is far from being certain about heaven."

I was annoyed at my carelessness in giving him that chance. But
I allowed it to stand at that, and said nothing; it could not help the
matter to go into it further. Then, to get away from it I observed
that there was at least one gain that the woman could have had if
she had been saved: she might have entered heaven by a less cruel
death.

"She isn't going there," said 44, placidly.

It gave me a shock, and also it angered me, and I said with some
heat-

"You seem to know a good deal about it-how do you know?"

Ile was not affected by my warmth, neither did he trouble to
answer my question; he only said-

"The woman could have gained nothing worth considering-certainly nothing worth measuring by your curious methods. What are
ten years, subtracted from ten billion years? It is the ten-thousandth
part of a second-that is to say, it is nothing at all. eery well, she is
in hell now, she will remain there forever. Ten years subtracted
from it wouldn't count. Her bodily pain at the stake lasted six
minutes-to save her from that would not have been worthwhile.
That poor creature is in hell; see for yourself!"

Before I could beg him to spare me, the red billows were sweeping by, and she was there among the lost.

The next moment the crimson sea was gone, with its evoker, and
I was alone.

YUNG AS I was-I was barely seventeen-my days were now
sodden with depressions, there was little or no rebound. My interest
in the affairs of the castle and of its occupants faded out and
disappeared; I kept to myself and took little or no note of the daily
happenings; my Duplicate performed all my duties, and I had
nothing to do but wander aimlessly about and be unhappy.

Thus the days wore heavily by, and meantime I was missing
something; missing something, and growing more and more conscious of it. I hardly had the daring to acknowledge to myself what
it was. It was the master's niece-;Target! I was a secret worshipper; I had been that a long time; I had worshipped her face and her
form with my eyes, but to go further would have been quite beyond
my courage. It was not for me to aspire so high; not yet, certainly;
not in my timid and callow youth. Every time she had blessed me
with a passing remark, the thrill of it, the bliss of it had tingled
through me and swept along every nerve and fibre of me with a sort
of celestial ecstasy and given me a wakeful night which was better
than sleep. These casual and unconsidered remarks, unvalued by
her were treasures to me, and I hoarded them in my memory, and
knew when it was that she had uttered each of them, and the
occasion and the circumstance that had produced each one, and the
tone of her voice and the look of her face and the light in her eye;
and there was not a night that I did not pass them through my
mind caressingly, and turn them over and pet them and play with
them, just as a poor girl possessed of half a dozen cheap seed-pearls
might do with her small hoard. But that Marget should ever give
me an actual thought-any word or notice above what she might
give the cat-ah, I never dreamed of it! As a rule she had never
been conscious of my presence at all; as a rule she gave me merely a
glance of recognition and nothing more when she passed me by in
ball or corridor.

As I was saying, I had been missing her, a number of days. It was
because her mother's malady was grown a trifle worse and Marget
was spending all her time in the sick room. I recognized, now, that I
was famishing to see her, and be near that gracious presence once
more. Suddenly, not twenty steps away, she rose upon my sight-a
fairy vision! That sweet young face, that dainty figure, that subtle
exquisite something that makes seventeen the perfect year and its
bloom the perfect bloom-oh, there it all was, and I stood transfixed and adoring! She was coming toward me, walking slowly,
musing, dreaming, heeding nothing, absorbed, unconscious. As she
drew near I stepped directly in her way; and as she passed through
me the contact invaded my blood as with a delicious fire! She
stopped, with a startled look, the rich blood rose in her face, her
breath came quick and short through her parted lips, and she gazed
wonderingly about her, saying twice, in a voice hardly above a
whisper-

"What could it have been?"

I stood devouring her with my eyes, she remained as she was,
without moving, as much as a minute, perhaps more; then she said
in that same low soliloquising voice, "I was surely asleep-it was a
dream-it must have been that-why did I wake?" and saying this,
she moved slowly away, down the great corridor.

Nothing can describe my joy. I believed she loved me, and had
been keeping her secret, as maidens will; but now I would persuade
it out of her; I would be bold, brave, and speak! I made myself
visible, and in a minute had overtaken her and was at her side.
Excited, happy, confident, I touched her arm, and the warm words
began to leap from my mouth-

"Dear Marget! oh, my own, my dar-"

She turned upon me 'a look of gentle but most chilly and dignified rebuke, allowed it a proper time to freeze where it struck, then
moved on, without a word, and left me there. I did not feel inspired
to follow.

No, I could not follow, I was petrified with astonishment. Why
should she act like that? Why should she be glad to dream of me
and not glad to meet me awake? It was a mystery; there was something very strange about this; I could make nothing out of it. I
went on puzzling and puzzling over the enigma for a little while,
still gazing after her and half crying for shame that I had been so
fresh and had gotten such a blistering lesson for it, when I saw her
stop. Dear me, she might turn back! I was invisible in half an instantI wouldn't have faced her again for a province.

Sure enough, she did turn back. I stepped to the wall, and gave
her the road. I wanted to fly, but I had no power to do that, the
sight of her was a spell that I could not resist; I had to stay, and
gaze, and worship. She came slowly along in that same absorbed
and dreamy way, again; and just as she was passing by me she
stopped, and stood quite still a moment-two or three moments, in
fact-then moving on, she said, with a sigh, "I was mistaken, but I
thought I faintly felt it again."

Was she sorry it was a mistake? It certainly sounded like that. It
put me in a sort of ecstasy of hope, it filled me with a burning desire
to test the hope, and I could hardly refrain from stepping out and
barring her way again, to see what would happen; but that rebuff
was too recent, its smart was still too fresh, and I hadn't the pluck to
do it.

But I could feast my eyes upon her loveliness, at any rate, and in
safety, and I would not deny myself that delight. I followed her at a
distance, I followed all her wanderings; and when at last she
entered her apartment and closed the door, I went to my own place
and to my solitude, desolate. But the fever born of that marvelous
first contact came back upon me and there was no rest for me. Hour
after hour I fought it, but still it prevailed. Night came, and
dragged along, there was no abatement. At ten the castle was asleep
and still, but I could not sleep. I left my room and went wandering
here and there, and presently I was floating through the great
corridor again. In the vague light I saw a figure standing motionless
in that memorable spot. I recognized it-even less light would have
answered for that. I could not help approaching it, it drew me like a
magnet. I came eagerly on; but when I was within two or three
steps of it I remembered, with a chill, who I was, and stopped. No
matter: To be so near to Marget was happiness enough, riches enough! With a quick movement she lifted her head and poised it
in the attitude of one who listens-listens with a tense and wistful
and breathless interest; it was a happy and longing face that I saw
in the dim light; and out of it, as through a veil, looked darkling
and humid the eyes I loved so well. I caught a whisper: "I cannot
hear anything-no, there is no sound-but it is near, I know it is
near, and the dream is come again!" My passion rose and overpowered me and I floated to her like a breath and put my arms about
her and drew her to my breast and put my lips to hers, unrebuked,
and drew intoxication from them! She closed her eyes, and with a
sigh which seemed born of measureless content, she said dreamily,
"I love you so-and have so longed for you!"

Her body trembled with each kiss received and repaid, and by
the power and volume of the emotions that surged through me I
realized that the sensations I knew in my fleshly estate were cold
and weak by contrast with those which a spirit feels.

I was invisible, impalpable, substanceless, I was as transparent as
the air, and yet I seemed to support the girl's weight and bear it up.
No, it was more than seeming, it was an actuality. This was new; I
had not been aware that my spirit possessed this force. I must
exploit this valuable power, I must examine it, test it, make experiments. I said-

"When I press your hand, dear, do you feel it?"

"Why, of course."

"And when I kiss you?"

"Indeed yes!" and she laughed.

"And do you feel my arms about you when I clasp you in them?"

"Why, certainly. What strange questions!"

"Oh, well, it's only to make talk, so that I can hear your voice. It
is such music to me, Marget, that I-"

"Marget? Marget? Why do you call me that?"

"Oh, you little stickler for the conventions and proprieties! Have
I got to call you Miss Regen? Dear me, I thought we were further
along than that!"

She seemed puzzled, and said-

"But why should you call me that?"

It was my turn to be puzzled.

"Why should I? I don't know any really good reason, except that
it's your name, dear."

"My name, indeed!" and she gave her comely head a toss. "I've
never heard it before!"

I took her face between my hands and looked into her eyes to sec
if she were jesting, but there was nothing there but sweet sincerity.
I did not quite know what to say, so at a venture I said-

"Any name that will be satisfactory to you will be lovely to me,
you unspeakably adorable creature! Mention it! What shall I call
you?"

"Oh, what a time you do have, to make talk, as you call it! What
shall you call me? Why, call me by my own name-my first name
-and don't put any Miss to it!"

I was still in the fog, but that was no matter-the longer it might
take to work out of it the pleasanter and the better. So I made a
start:

"Your first name . . . . your first name . . . . . how annoying,
I've forgotten it! What is it, dear?"

The music of her laugh broke out rich and clear, like a bird-song,
and she gave me a light box on the ear, and said-

"Forgotten it?-oh, no, that won't do! You are playing some kind
of a game-I don't know what it is, but you are not going to catch
me. You want me to say it, and then-then-why then you are
going to spring a trap or a joke or something and make me feel
foolish. Is that it? What is it you are going to do if I say it,
dearheart?"