The Mystery of a Turkish Bath Part 11

For this did I brave the ordeal, for this have I faced almost the bitterness of death--but the trial is almost over--the goal is almost reached. Go, now, my life's beloved, lest indeed my heart should break beneath its weight of joy! Go; but fear not. I am yours for ever in the life we know, and in the deep Unknown beyond I shall claim you still!"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE DREAM INTERPRETED.

For some days no one in the hotel saw the Princess Zairoff. But her influence seemed to have left a distinct impression, judging from the run on Buddhist literature at the different circulating libraries of the town. The "Occult World", "Isis Unveiled," and "Esoteric Buddhism" were in great demand; so were various works on Mesmerism, Clairvoyance, and Occult Science.

The poet plunged into "Zanoni," which he had read in the days of his boyhood as one reads a fairy-tale, and he and Mrs Ray Jefferson, being the greatest enthusiasts, held long and learned and quite unintelligible discussions over these mysterious subjects, with a view to being able to hold their own with the beautiful proselytiser when she should deign to come amongst them all once more.

The weather had changed, and kept the invalids indoors, so there was plenty of time for "serious reading," as Mrs Jefferson called it.

They took to calling the Princess "the Eastern mystery," and were quite certain that she must be gifted with abnormal powers. Mrs Jefferson related the story of her appearance in the doorway, her belief in it having long since been substantiated by Colonel Estcourt's reluctant admission that the Princess was certainly attired in a white silk gown, bordered and trimmed with white fur, when he went up to her rooms that evening.

Mrs Masterman alone held out, and scoffed audibly at the mystic literature, and what she called the "insane jabber" that went on in the drawing-room every evening.

"Psychic phenomena, indeed!" the worthy lady would snort. "Don't talk to me about such rubbish! It's just as bad as the mediums and the slate writers."

"Dear madam," pleaded the gentle voice of the enamoured poet, "do not, I pray you, confound these great mysteries with the strain of Human Error running through their attempted explanation--an explanation only intended to bring them down to the level of our material understandings.

Let me persuade you to read that most exquisite poem 'The Light of Asia.'"

"Light of your grandmother!" exclaimed Mrs Masterman with sublime contempt.

"I fear," lamented the poet, "it never was granted to her. She lived in a benighted age. She had not our privileges."

"And a very good thing too," said the purple-visaged dowager wrathfully.

"Privileges indeed! Fine privileges, if honest, sober-minded Christians are to learn the way to Heaven from heathens and idolaters.

You are all just as bad as those people Saint Paul speaks of, who were always running after some new thing. I'm happy to say my Bible and my Church are good enough for me. I don't want a new religion at my time of life."

"The teachers in the Church are so very frequently our intellectual inferiors," murmured the poet, "that they only excite commiseration, or amus.e.m.e.nt."

"Well, I suppose they know their business," snapped Mrs Masterman, "I'm sure no man would go into the Church if he didn't feel a call, and the fact of his doing so and taking up that life should be enough to prevent any right-minded person from ridiculing mere human frailties of voice and manner and appearance."

"Unfortunately," murmured the poet, "I have been at college with several embryo parsons. But to the best of my recollection the only 'special'

call they had for the _office_ was the call of some earthly relative or friend who had a comfortable living at his disposal. It seems to me--I may be wrong, of course--but it really does seem to me that we have quite reversed the old order of religious ministration. At first every worldly consideration, even the necessaries of life, were given up by those who undertook the office. Now, the office is only undertaken _for_ the worldly considerations, and the necessities of life--"

"Oh," cried Mrs Masterman, losing her temper, which even at the best of times was exceedingly hard to keep. "You go off, young man, to your 'Lights of Asia,' and all your other idolatrous rubbish. The truth is this foreign woman has bewitched you all, and will end in making you heathens like herself. Thank goodness I've too much sense to listen to her. It's my belief she'll turn out a murderess, or a fire worshipper, or something of that sort before we've seen the last of her. I don't like mysterious persons! If she hadn't had big eyes, and a straight nose, and a figure like those Venuses and creatures who hold the lamps in the corridors, no one here would have troubled their heads about her!"

And she swept away contemptuously, leaving the poet utterly aghast at her last indignant speech. He repeated it to Mrs Ray Jefferson, who was reclining in a rocking-chair, endeavouring to comprehend "The Light of Asia." The endeavour, however, was not very successful, and she hailed the approach of the poet with delight. His account of the conversation filled her with wrath and indignation. The feelings might have been partially due to Mrs Masterman's remembered snubs on the matter of "feet," and "suppressed gout," at the Turkish Bath. They certainly rose strongly to the occasion, and, with the help of sundry powerful Americanisms, gave a very fair display of vituperative eloquence.

The poet was more and more convinced that there was only one perfect woman in the world, and that was the beautiful creature whom he had apostrophised in sonnets as:--

"Mysterious Mystery, whose bright sad eyes, Wild as the roe, and deep with undreamt dreams."

Etcetera, etcetera.

So he listened and sighed, and in a low and plaintive voice, significant of hidden woe and much "soul suffering," to quote from another effusion, he read to her fragments of the "Light of Asia," which she could not in the least comprehend, but which she bluntly criticised as "not half bad to listen to if you felt drowsy."

"Oh, but I do wish the Princess would come down," she said at last in the intervals of a "selection."

"I've such hundreds of questions to ask her. Seems to me she dropped the seed in pretty fruitful soil the other night, for we're all just 'gone' on occultism. Only we don't know anything about it. Ah, there's Colonel Estcourt, I'll ask him if it's possible to have her down this evening. I don't mind which body she comes in: the Astral or the ordinary. In fact, I think I should prefer the former. Colonel!" she called out, raising her voice. "Come here, I want to speak to you."

She put her request to him as he obeyed her summons, and put it with an earnestness and fervour that showed it was sincere, and not the formula of idle curiosity.

"I don't know," he said, "if it will be possible, but, if the princess consents, I will arrange that two or three of you shall have an opportunity of witnessing how really marvellous her powers are. She never makes a display or show of them, for reasons which you cannot yet understand, but, if she consents, I should like you, Mrs Jefferson, and my young friend here (smiling at the poet's excited face), and one or two other people interested in the matter, to come up to her boudoir this evening. I will just send up a note and ask."

"I could just worship you, Colonel," cried the little American, ecstatically. "It's real good of you to offer such a glorious treat to us."

"Do not thank me yet," he said, smiling; "you do not know whether you will be received."

At the same moment there came a sound in the air above their heads-- soft, clear, vibrating--like the faint echo of a silver bell.

Mrs Jefferson started, the poet turned pale. Colonel Estcourt looked at them gravely.

"It is the answer," he said. "You may come. She will receive us. Who else do you wish to invite?"

"Oh, my husband, if I may," cried Mrs Jefferson, eagerly, "and Diogenes--he's so solid and sensible. His imagination never plays tricks with him."

"Very well," said Colonel Estcourt, "bring them also."

The Princess Zairoff was seated in her boudoir reading, as the party filed in, headed by Colonel Estcourt.

She rose and greeted them with the same sweet and gracious manner that had so charmed Mrs Jefferson.

"I know why you are here," she said, as the little American burst into vivacious explanations. "I am quite ready to do anything Julian wishes.

You know--or, perhaps, you do not know--that he trained my _clairvoyante_ faculties long ago. They are natural to me, I suppose; but you do not require to be told that even natural gifts are capable of training and improving to almost any extent." She turned to Mrs Jefferson. "You have some power," she said, "you saw me the other night. No one else did."

Mrs Jefferson looked highly gratified. "Oh, Madame Zairoff," she cried, "I'd give up everything in the world to have your wonderful gifts."

"Even Worth's gowns?" said the princess, smiling. "What about the pleasant vanities we talked so much about?"

"Oh, bother the vanities. I've found out life can be much more interesting than when it's merely frivolous," said the American, heartily. "Is there anything I _could_ do to become an occultist?"

Colonel Estcourt laughed outright.

"My dear Mrs Jefferson," he said, "the life is not by any means easy, or gratifying. I think you had better consider it carefully, and weigh it well in the balance with the 'creations' of Worth, and the magnificence of your diamonds, for somehow the two things won't pull together, and you haven't even learnt the A B C of occult science yet."

"No," she said, seating herself, "I suppose not. Well, please begin my lesson."

"This will not be a lesson," he said, gravely, "only an ill.u.s.tration.

May I ask you all to be seated?"

They took various chairs and seats, and the princess threw herself on the couch, nestling back among her favourite white bear-skins, with a smile on her lips.

Colonel Estcourt removed a rose-shaded lamp from the stand, and placed it behind her, so that the light should not shine directly into her eyes. They were all watching her intently in the full expectation of something to be done or said that was mysterious and awe-inspiring.

Colonel Estcourt then seated himself on a chair opposite the couch. For a moment their eyes met and lingered in the gaze, then hers closed softly, and she seemed to sleep as peacefully and gently as a child in its cradle.