Ardath by Marie Corelli (best books to read in life .TXT) 📕

prove a God or the possibility of any purely spiritual life. Why thus hanker after a phantom loveliness? Fame—fame! Win fame! … that is enough for you in this world, … and as for a next world, who believes in it?—and who, believing, cares?”

 

Soliloquizing in this fashion, he set his foot on Ardath itself, determining to walk across and around it from end to end. The grass was long and dry, yet it made no rustle beneath his tread … he seemed to be shod with the magic shoes of silence. He walked on till he reached about the middle of the field, where perceiving a broad flat stone near him, he sat down to rest. There was a light mist rising,—a thin moonlit-colored vapor that crept slowly upward from the ground and remained hovering like a wide, suddenly-spun gossamer web, some two or three inches above it, thus giving a cool, luminous, watery effect to the hot and arid soil.

 

“According to the Apocrypha, Esdras ‘sat among the flowers,’” he idly mused—“Well! … perhaps there were flowers in those days,—

but it is very evident there are none now. A more dreary, utterly desolate place than this famous ‘Ardath’ I have never seen!”

 

At that moment a subtle fragrance scented the still air, … a fragrance deliciously sweet, as of violets mingled with myrtle. He inhaled the delicate odor, surprised and confounded.

 

“Flowers after all!” he exclaimed. … “Or maybe some aromatic herb…” and he bent down to examine the turf at his feet. To his amazement he perceived a thick cluster of white blossoms, star-shaped and glossy-leaved, with deep golden centres, wherein bright drops of dew sparkled like brilliants, and from whence puffs of perfume rose like incense swung at unseen altars! He looked at them in doubt that was almost dread, … were they real? … were these the “silver eyes” in which Esdras had seen “signs and wonders”? … or was he hopelessly brain-sick with delusions, and dreaming again?

 

He touched them hesitatingly … they were actual living things, with creamy petals soft as velvet,—he was about to gather one of them,—when all at once his attention was caught and riveted by something like a faint shadow gliding across the plain. A smothered cry escaped his lips, … he sprang erect and gazed eagerly forward, half in hope,—half in fear. What slight Figure was that, pacing slowly, serenely, and all alone in the moonlight?

… Without another instant’s pause he rushed impetuously toward it,—heedless that as he went, he trod on thousands of those strange starry blossoms, which now, with sudden growth, covered and whitened every inch of the ground, thus marvellously fulfilling the words spoken of old: . . “Behold the field thou thoughest barren; how great a glory hath the moon unveiled!”

 

CHAPTER X.

 

GOD’S MAIDEN EDRIS.

 

He ran on swiftly for a few paces,—then coming more closely in view of the misty Shape he pursued, he checked himself abruptly and stood still, his heart sinking with a bitter and irrepressible sense of disappointment. Here surely was no Angel wanderer from unseen spheres! … only a girl, clad in floating gray draperies that clung softly to her slim figure, and trailed behind her as she moved sedately along through the snow-white blossoms that bent beneath her noiseless tread. He had no eyes for the strange flower-transfiguration of the lately barren land,—all his interest was centered on the slender, graceful form of the mysterious Maiden. She, meanwhile, went on her way, till she reached the western boundary of the field,—there she turned, …

hesitated a moment, … and then came back straight toward him. He watched her approach as though she were some invisible fate,—and a tremor shook his limbs as she drew nearer … still nearer! He could see her distinctly now, all but her face,—that was in shadow, for her head was bent and her eyes were downcast. Her long, fair hair flowed in a loose rippling mass over her shoulders … she wore a wreath of the Ardath flowers, and carried a cluster of them clasped between her small, daintily shaped hands. A few steps more, and she was close beside him—she stopped as if in expectation of some word or sign … but he stood mute and motionless, not daring to speak or stir. Then—without raising her eyes—she passed, … passed like a flitting vapor,—and he remained as though rooted to the spot, in a sort of vague, dumb bewilderment! His stupefaction was brief however—rousing himself to swift resolution, he hastened, after her.

 

“Stay! stay!” he cried aloud.

 

Obedient to his call she paused, but did not turn. He came up with her. … he caught at her robe, soft to the touch as silken gauze, and overwhelmed by a sudden emotion of awe and reverence, he sank on his knees.

 

“Who, and what are you?” he murmured in trembling tones—“Tell me!

If you are mortal maid I will not harm you, I swear! … See! …

I am only a poor crazed fool that loves a Dream, … that stakes his life upon a chance of Heaven, … pity me as you are gentle!

… but do not fear me … only speak!”

 

No answer came. He looked up—and now in the rich radiance of the moon beheld her face … how like, and yet how altogether unlike it was to the face of the Angel in his vision! For that ethereal Being had seemed dazzlingly, supremely beautiful beyond all mortal power of description,—whereas this girl was simply fair, small, and delicate, with something wistful and pathetic in the lines of her sweet mouth, and shadows as of remembered sorrows slumbering in the depths of her serene, dove-like eyes. Her fragile figure drooped wearily as though she were exhausted by some long fatigue, … yet, … gazing down upon him, she smiled, … and in that smile, the faint resemblance she bore to his Spirit-ideal flashed out like a beam of sunlight, though it vanished again as quickly as it had shone. He waited eagerly to hear her voice, … waited in a sort of breathless suspense,—but as she still kept silence, he sprang up from his kneeling attitude and seized her hands …

how soft they were and warm!—he folded them in his own and drew her closer to himself … the flowers she held fell from her grasp, and lay in a tumbled fragrant heap between them. His brain was in a whirl—the Past and the Future—the Real and the Unreal—

the Finite and the Infinite—seemed all merging into one another without any shade of difference or division!

 

“We have met very strangely, you and I!”—he said, scarcely conscious of the words he uttered—“Will you not tell me your name?”

 

A faint sigh escaped her.

 

“My name is Edris,” she answered, in low musical accents, that carried to his sense of hearing a suggestion, of something sweet and familiar.

 

“Edris!” he repeated—“Edris!” and gazing at her dreamily he raised her hands to his lips and kissed them gently—“My fairest Edris! From whence do you come?”

 

She met his eyes with a mild look of reproach and wonderment.

 

“From a far, far country, Theos!” and he started as she thus addressed him—“A land where no love is wasted and no promise forgotten!”

 

Again that mystic light passed over her pale face—the blossom-coronal she wore seemed for a moment to glitter like a circlet of stars. His heart beat quickly—could he believe her? … was she in very truth that shining Peri whose aerial loveliness had so long haunted his imagination? Nay!—it was impossible! … for if she were, why should she veil her native glory in such simple maiden guise?

 

Searchingly he studied every feature of her countenance, and as he did so his doubts concerning her spirit-origin became more and more confirmed. She was a living, breathing woman—an actual creature of flesh and blood,—yet how account for her appearance on the field of Ardath? This puzzled him … till all at once a logical explanation of the whole mystery dawned upon his mind.

Heliobas had sent her hither on purpose to meet him! Of course!

how dense he had been not to see through so transparent a scheme before! The clever Chaldean had resolved that he, Theos Alwyn, should somehow be brought to accept his trance as a real experience, so that henceforth his faith in “things unseen and eternal” might be assured. Many psychological theorists would uphold such a deceit as not only permissible, but even praise-worthy, if practiced for the furtherance of a good cause. Even the venerable hermit Elzear might have shared in the conspiracy, and this “Edris,” as she called herself, was no doubt perfectly trained in the part she had to play! A plot for his conversion!

… well! … he would enter into it himself, he resolved! … why not? The girl was exquisitely fair,—a veritable Psyche of soft charms!—and a little lovemaking by moonlight would do no harm, . .

… here he suddenly became aware that while these thoughts were passing through his brain he had unconsciously allowed her hands to slip from his hold, and she now stood apart at some little distance, her eyes fixed full upon him with an expression of most plaintive piteousness. He made a hasty step or two toward her,—

and as he did so, his pulses began to throb with an extraordinary sensation of pleasure,—pleasure so keen as to be almost pain.

 

“Edris!”.. he whispered,—“Edris…” and stopped irresolutely.

 

She looked up at him with the appealing wistfulness of a lost and suffering child, and a slight shudder ran through all her delicate frame.

 

“I am cold, Theos!” she murmured half beseechingly, stretching out her hands to him once more,—hands as fine and fair as lily-leaves,—little white hands which he gazed at wonderingly, yet did not take.. “Cold and very weary! The way has been long, and the earth is dark!”

 

“Dark?” repeated Alwyn mechanically, still absorbed in the dubious contemplation of her lovely yielding form, her sweet upturned face and gold-glistening hair—“Dark? … here? … beneath the brightness of the moon? Nay,—I have seen many a full day look less radiant than this night of stars!”

 

Her eyes dwelt upon him with a certain pathetic bewilderment,—she let her extended arms drop wearily at her sides, and a shadow of pained recollection crossed the fairness of her features.

 

“Ah, I forgot! …” and she sighed deeply—“This is that strange, sad world where Darkness is called Light.”

 

At these words uttered with so much sorrowful meaning, a quick thrill stirred Alwyn’s blood, an inexplicable sharp thrill, that was like the touch of scorching flame. He gazed at her perplexedly … his pride resented what he imagined to be the deception practiced upon him, but at the same time he was not insensible to the weird romance of the situation.

 

He began to consider that as this fair girl, trained so admirably in mystical speech and manner, had evidently been sent on purpose to meet him, he could scarcely be blamed for taking her as she presented herself, and enjoying to the full a thoroughly novel and picturesque adventure.

 

His eyes flashed as he surveyed her standing there before him, utterly unprotected and at his mercy—his old, languid, skeptical smile played on his proud lips,—that smile of the marble Antinous which says “Bring me face to face with Truth itself and I shall still doubt!”.. An expression of reluctant admiration and awakening passion dawned on his countenance, … he was about to speak,—when she whose looks were fastened on him with intense, powerful, watchful, anxious entreaty, suddenly wrung her hands together as though in despair, and gave vent to a desolate sobbing cry that smote him