Seen and Unseen Part 13

Carrie was naturally greatly interested by the accurate description given of her father, and was very impatient for me to pay Mrs Peters a second visit.

I went in presently, and found the latter standing up, and in a state of great excitement. She had, in fact, been on the point of coming to us when I entered.

"Dear Henry told me to take that message after all," were the words with which she greeted me. "There was some misunderstanding between the father and this daughter, and he wants her to know that it is all right now." (This seemed to me most improbable, as the devoted daughters and father were always on terms of the greatest harmony and mutual understanding. _Yet it proved to be quite true._)

Mrs Peters continued: "He is very much upset about this marriage. He tells me he was so anxious for it when on this side, but now he sees all the difficulties and possible dangers. But he says it is too late to reconsider the step now; only he is so very anxious to secure the interests of his daughter before she marries. He wishes to know whether her settlement is signed. _It is not one of which he would have approved._ And he says there are two houses, and one ought to be settled upon her--you _must_ ask about it, dear Miss Bates. He is most decided and so dreadfully upset about it all, because he says it was he who urged the marriage upon her."

I spent the following fifteen or twenty minutes as a sort of messenger-boy between Mrs Peters in the dining-room and Carrie Waverly in my sitting-room. Needless to say, _I_ knew nothing at all about the settlements or how many houses the prospective bridegroom might possess, and having no sort of curiosity about the financial affairs of my neighbours, it was not at all pleasant to be employed in this way.

Mrs Peters, on the contrary, seemed to know everything connected with the estate and the marriage settlement, _except the fact that the latter had not yet been signed_, although reluctantly "pa.s.sed" by both the lady's trustees. Wherefore this special limitation in the father's knowledge it is impossible to say. He certainly showed no limitation in his knowledge of the bridegroom's character and disposition, and gave the most elaborate and detailed instructions as to how his daughter should behave towards her husband, and where she might, with advantage, cultivate tact and patience.

My advice to Miss Waverly was to say nothing on the subject to her sister, but she wisely, as it turned out, determined to take the responsibility of telling her _everything_. She telegraphed to me next day, asking if she might come and see Mrs Peters and bring the bride with her.

This was done, and they arrived, with several photographs, large and small, of the father, and also of the bridegroom, for identification.

Carrie, in fact, tried--a little unfairly perhaps--to make Mrs Peters identify the wrong person by forcing into notice a large photograph of the _bridegroom_ (some years senior to the father), and saying carelessly: "_There, Mrs Peters--that is the face you saw yesterday of my father, is it not?_" But Mrs Peters would have none of it. She looked staggered for a moment, then caught sight of the second picture, and turned to it with relief: "_This_ is the face I saw, whether it is your father or not," she answered, with decision.

The bride begged for a private interview with Mrs Peters, which lasted for a considerable time. Of course, I knew nothing of this interview, nor should I feel at liberty to speak of it if I did know. I may, however, be permitted to say that I have the bride's own a.s.surance that the accurate knowledge then given her of her future husband's characteristics physical and mental, and the best way of dealing with them, "made all the difference in her married life."

During that interview Mrs Peters also told her the number of years she would be married; and the prophecy was accurately fulfilled, which is the more remarkable, because, as a rule, it seems impossible to predicate time, even when events can be foreseen.

I am happy to add that the marriage turned out a complete success, and that a marriage settlement was made more in accordance with the father's wishes, although neither trustees nor princ.i.p.al in the transaction, had any idea that the actual arrangements were in any way due to the strongly expressed wishes of a discarnate spirit.

If this book should ever fall into their hands, and they should trace the story in spite of the thick veil I have thrown over all the circ.u.mstances, I can only trust that, in grat.i.tude for the results, they may become reconciled with the channel through which these were made possible.

People may say: "What a terrible idea that a father or a husband should trouble himself about such sordid details as money, houses, etc."

But this is an extremely foolish remark, although it may appear very spiritual on the surface. It is surely the most natural thing in the world that a near relation--if permitted--should endeavour to secure comfort and happiness for a dearly loved wife or daughter; especially when, as in the above case, he felt mainly responsible for a state of affairs which might have turned out so disastrously, save for his loving care and foresight, exercised as these were from the other side of the veil.

At anyrate it disposes once for all of the weary old "_Cui Bono_"

argument, which is so futile, and yet so constantly and triumphantly quoted by stupid people, who seem to took upon it as a patent extinguisher for any psychic gifts or experiences.

It is mainly in order to meet this senseless observation that I have included this story in my reminiscences.

Most of us are debarred from answering the "_Cui Bono_" bray, by the fact that our most helpful experiences are generally of a too intimate and often sacred nature to be given to a scoffing world.

But this instance has the advantage of dealing entirely with material matters, and thus being on a level with the ordinary intelligence.

n.o.body can say in this case _no good was done_. It only remains to be deeply shocked by the undignified, "nay, almost blasphemous,"

intervention in mundane affairs of a spirit "who should certainly have had some more worthy occupation."

It is another case of the old man and the donkey. If discarnate spirits _don't_ trouble about the personal affairs of those on earth, the "_Cui Bono_" argument is hurled at them. If they _do_, they are called blasphemous and irreverent!

The mention of the Waverly family reminds me of an incident which took place when I was staying in their house in the country, a year or two earlier than the time of which I am writing. I have reserved it purposely as a sequel to this last story, which is in its proper chronological setting.

In the year 1889 I was spending a pleasant fortnight with the Waverlys in Yorkshire, at the very time when a dear old friend of mine (Mrs Tennant) was dying in London. I had seen her only a week or two before, but had no knowledge of her illness, as we were not in constant correspondence, although there was a deep and strong affection between us.

I did not even hear of her death, in fact, till a few weeks after it took place, having missed the announcement in the papers. When Mrs Tennant's sister, Mrs Lane, wrote me the details, I had left Yorkshire, and was staying with cousins in Worcestershire. Thinking over the dates mentioned in describing the illness, I realised with a shock of pained surprise that the final state of unconsciousness must have set in the very evening when I was enjoying myself in Yorkshire, at a large dinner-party given by my host and hostess.

It seemed terrible to think that my dear and much loved friend should have been lying unconscious upon her death-bed, and that no word or sign should have come to me.

Then suddenly I remembered a curious little incident connected with that dinner-party.

I had been admiring a pretty little slate-coloured kitten belonging to the house, which was calmly sitting upon the grand piano after dinner, when the ladies were alone in the drawing-room. After the gentlemen joined us, I was deep in conversation with my host (a remarkably interesting and intelligent man), when I noticed a small _black_ kitten run past my dress. Probably I should have remarked upon it had we been less occupied in talking, for I am extremely fond of cats and animals in general. I did glance up, as a matter of fact, and satisfied myself that it was not the little slate-coloured kitty, which sat in still triumph on the piano. Besides, this kitten was _black_, not slate. I thought no more of it until the guests had left and Mrs Waverly and I were going upstairs to bed. She and I were very affinitive, but neither she nor her family had any special interest in psychology.

On this occasion, however, she said rather mysteriously: "_I think something will happen to-night to you._" A good many jokes had been made about the probably uncanny atmosphere of my room, and the various spooks who were doubtless sharing it with me, so I laughed, thinking this was only the usual family joke. But Mrs Waverly was quite in earnest. At first she would give no reason for her remark, "fearing I should tell her daughters," and that she would be laughed at in consequence.

Rea.s.sured on this point, she said to me quite seriously:

"Whilst you were talking to my husband this evening I saw a black kitten run straight across your dress--just opposite to me."

"_Well, of course, I saw the kitten!_" I answered, to her surprise; "but there is nothing very remarkable about a black kitten in the house."

"_But we have no black kitten_ in the house, or anywhere on the premises. Where did it go to? You never saw it again? No; it was not an ordinary kitten, and I did not suppose till this moment that anyone had seen it but myself."

It was a fact that no one but Mrs Waverly and I had seen any kitten but the slate-coloured one already mentioned.

Thinking over this in the light of the sad news of my dear old friend's death, and noting the correspondence in time between her loss of consciousness and the appearance of the mysterious black kitten--seen only by Mrs Waverly and myself--it was impossible not to ask in the depths of my heart whether, perchance, the spirit of my faithful friend had been trying to send me some symbol of her approaching death.

It may be objected that black cats are generally connected with good luck. Well, I think my dear "London mother," as she called herself sometimes, would have explained this apparent contradiction very simply.

She had lived through much sorrow, and was often oppressed by sore doubts of the Cosmic Love. I never knew any woman with such strong and pa.s.sionate human sympathy, and to such fine spirits, the world, under present conditions, must always offer terrible problems. Her sympathies were sometimes too keen for that robust faith which can _always_ say: "G.o.d's in His heaven! All's right with the world!" Yet her last words were: "_I am so tired, and G.o.d will understand; and I am so glad to go._"

To finish my chapter on a merrier note, I will mention an amusing episode connected with the evening of the black kitten's appearance.

Amongst the guests invited to that dinner-party was a clergyman-squire, a man of some means who had taken orders. A "squarson" is the "portmanteau name" for such a gentleman in Yorkshire, I believe; one who combines squire and parson.

This particular specimen of the genus was both a vegetarian and a celibate. The latter fact had been made clear to me by the many regrets expressed in the neighbourhood that he had remained a bachelor owing to religious scruples. The vegetarianism was equally certain, for I had heard orders given for special dishes to be prepared for this guest; and sitting next to him at the dinner-table, I knew that he had not touched either meat or game, although it was not a fast day.

After dinner, when the gentlemen had joined us in the drawing-room, the conversation turned upon psychic matters and my experiences in America of a few years before. This extreme High Churchman denounced all these, "lock, stock, and barrel."

He believed that everything might have happened as described, but was equally certain that the devil alone could have had a hand in "such goings on"! Perhaps it will be wise to explain that he did not make use of this latter expression!

My host, instead of coming to the rescue, which he might have done, as one of "the Cloth"; looked much amused when I fielded most of my adversary's theological b.a.l.l.s.

At length, being unaccustomed to such irreverent handling, my enemy lost his temper, and, as usual on such occasions, he tried to "take my wicket" by quoting texts against me!

"Well, all I can say is that everything you have told us is in direct opposition to Holy Writ. In fact, _we are specially warned in the Scriptures that in the latter days seducing spirits shall arise_."

At this fatal moment, when the Theological Closure was descending upon my unhappy head, a really brilliant thought occurred to me.

Was it a seducing spirit or a friendly intelligence who reminded me that my opponent had only quoted half the text--_the half that suited him_?

I pointed this fact out meekly.

He looked puzzled, and probably had honestly forgotten what he did not wish to remember.

"Finish the text? What do you mean?" he said irritably.

So I finished it for him: