The Two Destinies Page 33
destined to see the woman Iloved, in the living body, as certainly as I had just seen her in theghostly presence.
Who could interpret the mysterious sympathies that still united us, indefiance of distance, in defiance of time? Who could predict to what endour lives were tending in the years that were to come?
Those questions were still present to my thoughts; my eyes were stillfixed on the mysterious writing--when I became instinctively aware ofthe strange silence in the room. Instantly the lost remembrance ofMiss Dunross came back to me. Stung by my own sense of self-reproach, Iturned with a start, and looked toward her chair by the window.
The chair was empty. I was alone in the room.
Why had she left me secretly, without a word of farewell? Because shewas suffering, in mind or body? Or because she resented, naturallyresented, my neglect of her?
The bare suspicion that I had given her pain was intolerable to me. Irang my bell, to make inquiries.
The bell was answered, not, as usual, by the silent servant Peter, butby a woman of middle age, very quietly and neatly dressed, whom I hadonce or twice met on the way to and from my room, and of whose exactposition in the house I was still ignorant.
"Do you wish to see Peter?" she asked.
"No. I wish to know where Miss Dunross is."
"Miss Dunross is in her room. She has sent me with this letter."
I took the letter, feeling some surprise and uneasiness. It was thefirst time Miss Dunross had communicated with me in that formal way. Itried to gain further information by questioning her messenger.
"Are you Miss Dunross's maid?" I asked.
"I have served Miss Dunross for many years," was the answer, spoken veryungraciously.
"Do you think she would receive me if I sent you with a message to her?"
"I can't say, sir. The letter may tell you. You will do well to read theletter."
We looked at each other. The woman's preconceived impression of mewas evidently an unfavorable one. Had I indeed pained or offended MissDunross? And had the servant--perhaps the faithful servant who lovedher--discovered and resented it? The woman frowned as she looked at me.It would be a mere waste of words to persist in questioning her. I lether go.
Left by myself again, I read the letter. It began, without any form ofaddress, in these lines:
"I write, instead of speaking to you, because my self-control hasalready been severely tried, and I am not strong enough to bear more.For my father's sake--not for my own--I must take all the care I can ofthe little health that I have left.
"Putting together what you have told me of the visionary creature whomyou saw in the summer-house in Scotland, and what you said when youquestioned me in your room a little while since, I cannot fail to inferthat the same vision has shown itself to you, for the second time. Thefear that I felt, the strange things that I saw (or thought I saw), mayhave been imperfect reflections in my mind of what was passing in yours.I do not stop to inquire whether we are both the victims of a delusion,or whether we are the chosen recipients of a supernatural communication.The result, in either case, is enough for me. You are once more underthe influence of Mrs. Van Brandt. I will not trust myself to tell youof the anxieties and forebodings by which I am oppressed: I will onlyacknowledge that my one hope for you is in your speedy reunion with theworthier object of your constancy and devotion. I still believe, and Iam consoled in believing, that you and your first love will meet again.
"Having written so far, I leave the subject--not to return to it, exceptin my own thoughts.
"The necessary preparations for your departure to-morrow are all made.Nothing remains but to wish you a safe and pleasant journey home. Donot, I entreat you, think me insensible of what I owe to you, if I saymy farewell words here.
"The little services which you have allowed me to render you havebrightened the closing days of my life. You have left me a treasuryof happy memories which I shall hoard, when you are gone, with miserlycare. Are you willing to add new claims to my grateful remembrance? Iask it of you, as a last favor--do not attempt to see me again! Do notexpect me to take a personal leave of you! The saddest of all wordsis 'Good-by': I have fortitude enough to write it, and no more. Godpreserve and prosper you--farewell!
"One more request. I beg that you will not forget what you promised me,when I told you my foolish fancy about the green flag. Wherever you go,let Mary's keepsake go with you. No written answer is necessary--I wouldrather not receive it. Look up, when you leave the house to-morrow, atthe center window over the doorway--that will be answer enough."
To say that these melancholy lines brought the tears into my eyes isonly to acknowledge that I had sympathies which could be touched. When Ihad in some degree recovered my composure, the impulse which urged me towrite to Miss Dunross was too strong to be resisted. I did not troubleher with a long letter; I only entreated her to reconsider her decisionwith all the art of persuasion which I could summon to help me. Theanswer was brought back by the servant who waited on Miss Dunross, infour resolute words: "It can not be." This time the woman spoke outbefore she left me. "If you have any regard for my mistress," she saidsternly, "don't make her write to you again." She looked at me with alast lowering frown, and left the room.
It is needless to say that the faithful servant's words only increasedmy anxiety to see Miss Dunross once more before we parted--perhapsforever. My one last hope of success in attaining this object lay inapproaching her indirectly through the intercession of her father.
I sent Peter to inquire if I might be permitted to pay my respects tohis master that evening. My messenger returned with an answer that was anew disappointment to me. Mr. Dunross begged that I would excuse him,if he deferred the proposed interview until the next morning. The nextmorning was the morning of my departure. Did the message mean that hehad no wish to see me again until the time had come to take leave ofhim? I inquired of Peter whether his master was particularly occupiedthat evening. He was unable to tell me. "The Master of Books" was not inhis study, as usual. When he sent his message to me, he was sitting bythe sofa in his daughter's room.
Having answered in those terms, the man left me by myself until the nextmorning. I do not wish my bitterest enemy a sadder time in his lifethan the time I passed during the last night of my residence under Mr.Dunross's roof.
After walking to and fro in the room until I was weary, I thought oftrying to divert my mind from the sad thoughts that oppressed it byreading. The one candle which I had lighted failed to sufficientlyilluminate the room. Advancing to the mantel-piece to light the secondcandle which stood there, I noticed the unfinished letter to my motherlying where I had placed it, when Miss Dunross's servant first presentedherself before me. Having lighted the second candle, I took up theletter to put it away among my other papers. Doing this (while mythoughts were still dwelling on Miss Dunross), I mechanically looked atthe letter again--and instantly discovered a change in it.
The written characters traced by the hand of the apparition hadvanished! Below the last lines written by Miss Dunross nothing met myeyes now but the blank white paper!
My first impulse was to look at my watch.
When the ghostly presence had written in my sketch-book, the charactershad disappeared after an interval of three hours. On this occasion, asnearly as I could calculate, the writing had vanished in one hour only.
Reverting to the conversation which I had held with Mrs. Van Brandt whenwe met at Saint Anthony's Well, and to the discoveries which followed ata later period of my life, I can only repeat that she had again been thesubject of a trance or dream, when the apparition of her showed itselfto me for the second time. As before, she had freely trusted me andfreely appealed to me to help her, in the dreaming state, when herspirit was free to recognize my spirit. When she had come to herself,after an interval of an hour, she had again felt ashamed of the familiarmanner in which she had communicated with me in the trance--had againunconsciously counteracted by her waking-will the influence of hersleeping-will; and had thus
caused the writing once more to disappear,in an hour from the moment when the pen had traced (or seemed to trace)it.
This is still the one explanation that I can offer. At the time when theincident happened, I was far from being fully admitted to the confidenceof Mrs. Van Brandt; and I was necessarily incapable of arriving atany solution of the mystery, right or wrong. I could only put away theletter, doubting vaguely whether my own senses had not deceived me.After the distressing thoughts which Miss Dunross's letter had roused inmy mind, I was in no humor to employ my ingenuity in finding a clew tothe mystery of the vanished writing. My nerves were irritated; I felt asense of angry discontent with myself and with others. "Go where I may"(I thought impatiently), "the disturbing influence of women seems to bethe only influence that I am fated to feel." As I still paced backwardand forward in my room--it was useless to think