A Romance of Two Worlds by Marie Corelli (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📕

“You are better, Ivan?” he inquired kindly.

The Prince looked about him, bewildered. He passed one hand across his forehead without replying. Then he turned slightly and perceived me in the window-embrasure, whither I had retreated in fear and wonderment at the marvellous power of Heliobas, thus openly and plainly displayed.

“Tell me,” he said, addressing me, “have I been dreaming?”

I could not answer him. I was glad to see him recover, yet I was a little afraid. Heliobas pushed a chair gently towards him.

“Sit down, Ivan,” he said quietly.

The Prince obeyed, and covered his face with his hand as though in deep and earnest meditation. I looked on in silence and wonderment. Heliobas spoke not another word, and together we watched the pensive figure in the chair, so absorbed in serious thought. Some minutes passed. The gentle tick of the clock in the outer hall grew almost obtrusive, so loud did it seem in the utter stillness that surrounded us. I longed to speak—to ask questions—to proffer sympathy—but dared not move or utter a syllable. Suddenly the Prince rose; his manner was calm and dignified, yet touched with a strange humility. He advanced to Heliobas, holding out his hand.

“Forgive me, Casimir!” he said simply.

Heliobas at once grasped the proffered palm within his own, and looked at the young man with an almost fatherly tenderness.

“Say no more, Ivan,” he returned, his rich voice sounding more than usually mellow in its warmth and heartiness. “We must all learn before we can know, and some of our lessons are sharp and difficult. Whatever you have thought of me, remember I have not, and do not, blame you. To be offended with unbelievers is to show that you are not yourself quite sure of the faith to which you would compel them.”

“I would ask you one thing,” went on the Prince, speaking in a low tone. “Do not let me stay to fall into fresh errors. Teach me—guide me, Casimir; I will be the most docile of your pupils. As for Zara—

-”

He paused, as if overcome.

“Come with me,” said Heliobas, taking his arm; “a glass of good wine will invigorate you. It is better to see Zara no more for a time. Let me take charge of you. You, mademoiselle,” turning to me, “will be kind enough to tell Zara that the Prince has recovered, and sends her a friendly good-night. Will that message suffice?” he inquired of Ivan, with a smile.

The Prince looked at me with a sort of wistful gravity as I came forward to bid him farewell.

“You will embrace her,” he said slowly, “without fear. Her eyes will rain sunshine upon you; they will not dart lightning. Her lips will meet yours, and their touch will be warm—not cold, as sharp steel. Yes; bid her good-night for me; tell her that an erring man kisses the hem of her robe, and prays her for pardon. Tell her that I understand; tell her I have seen her lover!”

“With these words, uttered distinctly and emphatically, he turned away with. Heliobas, who still held him by the arm in a friendly, half-protecting manner. The tears stood in my eyes. I called softly:

“Good-night, Prince Ivan!”

He looked back with a faint smile.

“Good-night, mademoiselle!”

Heliobas also looked back and gave me an encouraging nod, which meant several things at once, such as “Do not be anxious,” “He will be all right soon,” and “Always believe the best.” I watched their two figures disappear through the doorway, and then, feeling almost cheerful again, I knocked at the door of Zara’s studio. She opened it at once, and came out. I delivered the Prince’s message, word for word, as he had given it. She listened, and sighed deeply.

“Are you sorry for him, Zara?” I asked.

“Yes,” she replied; “I am sorry for him as far as I can be sorry for anything. I am never actually VERY sorry for any circumstances, however grievous they may appear.”

I was surprised at this avowal.

“Why, Zara,” I said, “I thought you were so keenly sympathetic?”

“So I am sympathetic, but only with suffering ignorance—a dying bird that knows not why it should die—a withering rose that sees not the reason for its withering; but for human beings who wilfully blind themselves to the teachings of their own instincts, and are always doing what they know they ought not to do in spite of warning, I cannot say I am sorry. And for those who DO study the causes and ultimate results of their existence, there is no occasion to be sorry, as they are perfectly happy, knowing everything that happens to them to be for their advancement and justification.”

“Tell me,” I asked with a little hesitation, “what did Prince Ivan mean by saying he had seen your lover, Zara?”

“He meant what he said, I suppose,” replied Zara, with sudden coldness. “Excuse me, I thought you said you were not inquisitive.”

I could not bear this change of tone in her, and I clasped my arms tight about her and smiled in her face.

“You shall not get angry with ME, Zara. I am not going to be treated like poor Ivan. I have found out what you are, and how dangerous it is to admire you; but I do admire and love you. And I defy you to knock me down as unceremoniously as you did the Prince—you beautiful living bit of Lightning!”

Zara moved restlessly in my embrace, but I held her fast. At the last epithet I bestowed on her, she grew very pale; but her eyes resembled the jewels on her breast in their sheeny glitter.

“What have you found out?” she murmured. “What do you know?”

“I cannot say I KNOW,” I went on boldly, still keeping my arms round her; “but I have made a guess which I think comes near the truth. Your brother has had the care of you ever since you were a little child, and I believe he has, by some method known only to himself, charged you with electricity. Yes, Zara,” for she had started and tried to loosen my hold of her; “and it is that which keeps you young and fresh as a girl of sixteen, at an age when other women lose their bloom and grow wrinkles. It is that which gives you the power to impart a repelling shock to people you dislike, as in the case of Prince Ivan. It is that which gives you such an attractive force for those with whom you have a little sympathy—such as myself, for instance; and you cannot, Zara, with all your electric strength, unclasp my arms from your waist, because you have not the sentiment of repulsion towards me which would enable you to do it. Shall I go on guessing?”

Zara made a sign of assent—the expression of her face had softened, and a dimpling smile played round the corners of her mouth.

“Your lover,” I went on steadily and slowly, “is a native of some other sphere—perhaps a creation of your own fancy—perhaps (for I will not be sceptical any more) a beautiful and all-powerful angelic spirit. I will not discuss this with you. I believe that when Prince Ivan fell senseless, he saw, or fancied he saw, that nameless being. And now,” I added, loosening my clasp of her, “have I guessed well?”

Zara looked meditative.

“I do not know,” she said, “why you should imagine—”

“Stop!” I exclaimed; “there is no imagination in the case. I have reasoned it out. Here is a book I found in the library on electric organs as they are discovered to exist in certain fish. Listen: ‘They are nervous apparatuses which in the arrangement of their parts may be compared to a Voltaic pile. They develop electricity and give electrical discharges.’”

“Well!” said Zara.

“You say ‘Well!’ as if you did not know!” I exclaimed half-angrily, half-laughingly. “These fish have helped me to understand a great deal, I assure you. Your brother must have discovered the seed or commencement of electrical organs like those described, in the human body; and he has cultivated them in you and in himself, and has brought them to a high state of perfection. He has cultivated them in Raffaello Cellini, and he is beginning to cultivate them in me, and I hope most sincerely he will succeed. I think his theory is a magnificent one!”

Zara gazed seriously at me, and her large eyes seemed to grow darker with the intensity of her thought.

“Supposing you had reasoned out the matter correctly,” she said— “and I will not deny that you have done a great deal towards the comprehension of it—have you no fear? do you not include some drawbacks in even Casimir’s learning such a secret, and being able to cultivate and educate such a deadly force as that of electricity in the human being?”

“If it is deadly, it is also life-giving,” I answered. “Remedies are also poisons. You laid the Prince senseless at your feet, but your brother raised him up again. Both these things were done by electricity. I can understand it all now; I see no obscurity, no mystery. And oh, what a superb discovery it is!”

Zara smiled.

“You enthusiast!” she said, “it is nothing new. It was well known to the ancient Chaldeans. It was known to Moses and his followers; it was practised in perfection by Christ and His disciples. To modern civilization it may seem a discovery, because the tendency Of all so-called progress is to forget the past. The scent of the human savage is extraordinarily keen—keener than that of any animal—he can follow a track unerringly by some odour he is able to detect in the air. Again, he can lay back his ears to the wind and catch a faint, far-off sound with, certainty and precision, and tell you what it is. Civilized beings have forgotten all this; they can neither smell nor hear with actual keenness. Just in the same way, they have forgotten the use of the electrical organs they all indubitably possess in large or minute degree. As the muscles of the arm are developed by practice, so can the wonderful internal electrical apparatus of man be strengthened and enlarged by use. The world in its youth knew this; the world in its age forgets, as an old man forgets or smiles disdainfully at the past sports of his childhood. But do not let us talk any more to-night. If you think your ideas of me are correct–”

“I am sure they are!” I cried triumphantly.

Zara held out her arms to me.

“And you are sure you love me?” she asked.

I nestled into her embrace and kissed her.

“Sure!” I answered. “Zara, I love and honour you more than any woman I ever met or ever shall meet. And you love me—I know you do!”

“How can I help it?” she said. “Are you not one of us? Good-night, dearest! Sleep well!”

“Good-night!” I answered. “And remember Prince Ivan asked for your pardon.”

“I remember!” she replied softly. “I have already pardoned him, and I will pray for him.” And a sort of radiant pity and forbearance illumined her lovely features, as we parted for the night. So might an angel look on some repentant sinner pleading for Heaven’s forgiveness.

I lay awake for some time that night, endeavouring to follow out the track of thought I had entered upon in my conversation with Zara. With such electricity as Heliobas practised, once