XIV
CROSS AND STAR
The moon rose slowly between two bars of dark cloud which gradually whitened into silver beneath her shining presence, and a scintillating pathway of diamond-like reflections began to spread itself across the sea. I remained at the window, feeling an odd disinclination to turn away into the darkness of my room. And I began to think that perhaps it was rather hard that I should be left all by myself locked up in this way;—surely I might have been allowed a light of some sort! Then I at once reproached myself for allowing the merest suggestion of a complaint to enter my mind, for, after all, I was an uninvited guest in the House of Aselzion—I was not wanted—and I remembered the order that had been issued concerning me: 'The moment she desires to leave, every facility for departure is to be granted to her.' I was much more afraid of this 'facility for departure' than I was of my present solitude, and I determined to look upon the whole adventure in the best and most cheerful light. If it was best I should be alone, then loneliness was good—if it was necessary I should be in darkness, then darkness was also agreeable to me.
Scarcely had I thus made up my mind to these conditions when my room was suddenly illumined by a soft yet effulgent radiance-and I started up in amazement, wondering where it came from. I could see no lamps or electric burners,—it was as if the walls glowed with some surface luminance. When my first surprise had passed, I was charmed and delighted with the warm and comforting brightness around me,—it rather reminded me of the electric brilliancy on the sails of the 'Dream.' I moved away from the window, leaving it open, as the night was very close and warm, and sat down at the table to read a little, but after a few minutes laid the book aside to listen to a strange whispering music that floated towards me, apparently from the sea, and thrilled me to the soul. No eloquent description could give any idea of the enthralling sweetness of the harmonies that were more BREATHED upon the air than sounded—and I became absorbed in following the rhythm of the delicious cadences as they rose and fell. Then by degrees my thoughts wandered away to Rafel Santoris,—where was he now?—in what peaceful expanse of shining waters had his fairy vessel cast anchor? I pictured him in my brain till I could almost see his face,—the broad brow,—the fearless, tender eyes and smile—and I could fancy that I heard the deep, soft accents of his voice, always so gentle when he spoke to me—me, who had half resented his influence! And a quick wave of long pent-up tenderness rose in my heart—my whole soul ran out, as it were, to greet him with outstretched arms—I knew in my own consciousness that he was more than all the world to me, and I said aloud:—"My beloved, I love you! I love you!" to the silence, almost as if I thought it could convey the words to him whom most I desired to hear them.
Then I felt how foolish and futile it was to talk to the empty air when I might have confessed myself to the real lover of my life face to face, had I been less sceptical,—less proud! Was not my very journey to the House of Aselzion a testimony of my own doubting attitude?—for I had come, as I now admitted to myself, first to make sure that Aselzion really existed—and secondly, to prove to my own satisfaction that he was truly able to impart the mystical secrets which Rafel seemed to know. I wearied myself out at last with thinking to no purpose, and closing the window I undressed and went to bed. As I lay down, the light in my room was suddenly extinguished, and all was darkness again except for the moon, which sent a clear white ray straight through the lattice, there being no curtain to shut it out. For some time I remained awake on my hard little couch, looking at this ray, and steadily refusing to allow any sense of fear or loneliness to gain the mastery over me—the music which had so enchanted me ceased—and everything was perfectly still. And by and by my eyes closed—my tired limbs relaxed,—and I fell into a sound and dreamless sleep.
When I awoke it was full morning, and the sunshine poured into my room like a shower of gold. I sprang up, full of delight that the night had passed so peacefully and that nothing strange or terrifying had occurred, though I do not know why I should have expected this. Everything seemed wonderfully fresh and beautiful in the brightness of the new day, and the very plainness of my room had a fascination greater than any amount of luxury. The only unusual thing I noticed was that the soft cold water with which my bath was supplied sparkled as though it were effervescent,—once or twice it seemed to ripple with a diamond-like foam, and it was never actually still. I watched its glittering movement for some minutes before bathing—then, feeling certain it was charged with some kind of electricity, I plunged into it without hesitation and enjoyed to the utmost the delicious sense of invigoration it gave me. When my toilet was completed and I had attired myself in a simple morning gown of white linen, as being more suitable to the warmth of the weather than the black one I had travelled in, I went to throw open my window and let in all the freshness of the sea-air, and was surprised to see a small low door open in the side of the turret, through which I discovered a winding stair leading downward. Yielding to the impulse of the moment, I descended it, and at the end found myself in an exquisite little rock garden abutting on the seashore. I could actually open a gate, and walk to the very edge of the sea. I was no longer a prisoner, then!—I could run away if I chose!
I looked about me—and smiled as I saw the impossibility of any escape. The little garden belonged exclusively to the turret, and on each side of it impassable rocks towered up almost to the height of the Chateau d'Aselzion itself, while the bit of shore on which I stood was equally hemmed in by huge boulders against which the waves had dashed for centuries without making much visible impression. Yet it was delightful to feel I was allowed some liberty and open air, and I stayed for some minutes watching the sea and revelling in the warmth of the southern sun. Then I retraced my steps slowly, looking everywhere about me as I went, to see if there was anyone near. Not a soul was in sight.
I returned to my room to find my bed made as neatly as though it had never been slept upon,—and my breakfast, consisting of a cup of milk and some wheaten biscuits, set out upon the table. I was quite ready for the meal, and enjoyed it. When I had finished, I took my empty cup and plate and put them on the dresser in the niche, whereupon the dresser was instantly lowered, and very soon disappeared. Then I began to wonder how I should employ myself. It was no use writing letters, though I had my own travelling desk ready for this purpose,—I did not wish my friends or acquaintances to know where I was—and even if I had written to any of them it was hardly likely that my correspondence would ever reach them. For I felt sure the mystic Brotherhood of Aselzion would not allow me to communicate with the outside world so long as I remained with them. I sat meditating,—and I began to consider that several days passed thus aimlessly would be difficult to bear. I could not keep correct count of time, my watch having stopped, and there was no clock or chime of any sort in the place that I could hear. The stillness around me would have been oppressive but for the soft dash of little waves breaking on the beach below my window. All at once, to my great joy, the door of my room opened, and the personage called Honorius entered. He bent his head slightly by way of salutation, and then said briefly,—
"You are commanded to follow me."
I rose obediently, and stood ready. He looked at me intently and with curiosity, as though he sought to read my mind. Remembering that Aselzion had said I was not to speak unless spoken to, I only returned his look steadfastly, and with a smile.
"You are not unhappy, or afraid, or restless,"—he said, slowly—"That is well! You are making a good beginning. And now, whatever you see or hear, keep silence! If you desire to speak, speak now—but after we leave this room not a word must escape your lips—not a single exclamation,—your business is to listen, learn and obey!"
He waited—giving me the opportunity to say something in reply—but I preferred to hold my peace. He then handed me a folded length of soft white material, opaque, yet fine and silky as gossamer.
"Cover yourself with this veil,"—he said—"and do not raise it till you return here."
I unfolded it and threw it quickly over me—it was as delicate as a filmy cloud and draped me from head to foot, effectually concealing me from the eyes of others though I myself could see through it perfectly. Honorius then signed to me to follow, and I did so, my heart beating quickly with excitement and expectation.
We went through many passages with intricate turnings that seemed to have no outlet,—it was like threading one's way through a maze—till at last I found myself shut within a small cell-like place with an opening in front of me through which I gazed upon a strange and picturesque scene. I saw the interior of a small but perfectly beautiful Gothic chapel, exquisitely designed, and lit by numerous windows of stained glass, through which the sunlight filtered in streams of radiant colour, patterning with gold, crimson and blue, the white marble flooring below. Between every tapering column that supported the finely carved roof, were two rows of benches, one above the other, and here sat an array of motionless white figures,—men in the garb of their mysterious Order, their faces almost concealed by their drooping cowls. There was no altar in this chapel,—but at its eastern end where the altar might have been, was a dark purple curtain against which blazed in brilliant luminance a Cross and Seven-pointed Star. The rays of light shed by this uplifted Symbol of an unwritten Creed were so vivid as to be almost blinding, and nearly eclipsed the summer glory of the sun itself. Awed by the strange and silent solemnity of my surroundings, I was glad to be hidden under the folds of my enshrouding white veil, though I realised that I was in a sort of secret recess made purposely for the use of those who were summoned to see all that went on in the chapel without being seen. I waited, full of eager anticipation,—and presently the low vibrating sound of the organ trembled on the air, gradually increasing in volume and power till a magnificent rush of music poured from it like a sudden storm breaking through clouds. I drew a long breath of pure ecstasy,—I could have knelt and wept tears of gratitude for the mere sense of hearing! Such music was divine!—the very idea of mortality was swallowed up in it and destroyed, and the imprisoned soul mounted up to the highest life on wings of light, rejoicing!
When it ceased, as it did all too soon, there followed a profound silence,—so profound that I could hear the quick beating of my own heart as if I were the only living thing in the place. I turned my eyes towards the dazzling Cross and Star with its ever darting rays of fiery brilliancy, and the effect of its perpetual sparkle of lambent fire was as if an electric current were giving off messages which no mortal skill would ever be able to decipher or put into words, but which found their way to one's deepest inward consciousness. All at once there was a slight movement among the rows of white-garmented, white-cowled figures hitherto sitting so motionless,—and with one accord they rose to their feet as a figure, tall, stately and imposing, came walking slowly across the chapel and stood directly in front of the flaming Symbol, holding both hands outstretched as though invoking a blessing. It was the Master, Aselzion,—Aselzion invested with such dignity and splendour as I had never thought possible to man. He might have posed for some god or hero,—his aspect was one of absolute power and calm self-poise,—other men might entertain doubts of themselves at the intention of their lives, but this one in his mere bearing expressed sureness, strength and authority. He wore his cowl thrown back, and from where I sat in my secluded corner I could see his features distinctly, and could watch the flash of his fine steadfast eyes as he turned them upon his followers. Keeping his hands extended, he said, in a firm, clear voice:
"To the Creator of all things visible and invisible let us offer up our gratitude and praise, and so begin this day!"
And a responsive murmur of voices answered him:
"We praise Thee, O Divine Power of Love and Life eternal!
We praise Thee for all we are!
We praise Thee for all we have been!
We praise Thee for all we hope to be!—Amen."
There followed a moment's tense silence. Then the assembled brethren sat down in their places, and Aselzion spoke in measured, distinct accents, with the easy and assured manner of a practised orator.
"Friends and Brethren!
"We are gathered here together to consider in this moment of time the things we have done in the past, and the things we are preparing to do in the future. We know that from the Past, stretching back into infinity, we have ourselves made the Present,—and according to Divine law we also know that from this Present, stretching forward into infinity, we shall ourselves evolve all that is yet To Come. There is no power, no deity, no chance, no 'fortuitous concurrence of atoms' in what is simply a figure of the Universal Mathematics. Nothing can be 'forgiven' under the eternal law of Compensation,—nothing need be 'prayed for,' since everything is designed to accomplish each individual spirit's ultimate good. You are here to learn not only the secret of life, but something of how to live that life; and I, in my capacity, am only striving to teach what Nature has been showing you for thousands of centuries, though you have not cared to master her lessons. The science of to-day is but Nature's first primer—a spelling-book as it were, with the alphabet set out in pictures. You are told by sagacious professors,—who after all are no more than children in their newly studied wisdom,—that human life was evolved in the first instance from protoplasm—as they THINK,—but they lack the ability to tell you how the protoplasm was itself evolved—and WHY; where the material came from that went to the making of millions of solar systems and trillions of living organisms concerning whose existence we have no knowledge or perception. Some of them deny a God,—but most of them are driven to confess that there must be an Intelligence, supreme and omnipotent, behind the visible Universe. Order cannot come out of Chaos without a directing Mind; and Order would be quickly submerged into Chaos again were not the directing Mind of a nature to sustain its method and condition.
"We start, therefore, with this Governing Intelligence or directing Mind, which must, like the brain of man, be dual, combining the male and female attributes, since we see that it expresses itself throughout all creation in dual form and type. Intelligence, Mind, or Spirit, whichever we may elect to call it, is inherently active and must find an outlet for its powers,—and the very fact of this necessity produces Desire to perpetuate Itself in varied ways: this again is the first attribute of Love. Hence Love is the foundation of worlds, and the source of all living organisms,—the dual atoms, or ions of spirit and matter yielding to Attraction, Union and Reproduction. If we master this fact reasonably and thoroughly, we shall be nearer the comprehension of life."
He paused a moment,—then advanced a step or two and went on, the flaming Symbol behind him seeming literally to envelop him in its beams.
"What we have to learn first of all is, how these laws affect us as individual human beings and as separate personalities. It is necessary to avoid all obscurity of language in setting forth the simple principles which should guide and preserve each human existence, and my explanation shall be as brief and plain as I can make it. Granted that there is a Divine Mind or Governing Intelligence behind the infinitude of vital and productive atoms which in their union and reproduction build up the wonders of the Universe, we see and admit that one of the chief results of the working of this Divine Mind is Man. He is, so we have been told—'the image of God.' This expression may be taken as a poetic line in the Scriptures, meaning no more than poetic imagery,—but it is nevertheless a truth. Man is a kind of Universe in himself—he too is a conglomeration of atoms—atoms that are active, reproductive, and desirous of perpetual creativeness. Behind them, as in the nature of the Divine, there is the Governing Intelligence, the Mind, the Spirit,—dual in type, double-sexed in action. Without the Mind to control it, the constitution of Man is chaos,—just as the Universe itself would be without the Creator's governance. What we have chiefly to remember is, that just as the Spirit behind visible Nature is Divine and eternal, so is the Spirit behind each one of our individual selves also Divine and eternal. It HAS BEEN always,—it WILL BE always, and we move as distinct personalities through successive phases of life, each one under the influence of his or her own controlling Soul, to higher and ever higher perception and attainment. The great majority of the world's inhabitants live with less consciousness of this Spirit than flies or worms—they build up religions in which they prate of God and immortality as children prattle, without the smallest effort to understand either,—and at the Change which they call death, they pass out of this life without having taken the trouble to discover, acknowledge or use the greatest gift God has bestowed upon them. But we,—we who are here to realise the existence of the all-powerful Force which gives us complete mastery over the things of space and time and matter—we, who know that over that individual moving universe of atoms called Man, It can hold absolute control,—we can prove for ourselves that the whole earth is subject to the dominance of the immortal Soul,—ay!—and the very elements of air, fire and water!—for these are but the ministers and servants to Its sovereign authority!"
He paused again—and after a minute or two of silence, went on—
"This beautiful earth, this over-arching sky, the exquisite things of Nature's form and loveliness, are all given to Man, not only for his material needs, but for his spiritual growth and evolvement. From the light of the sun he may draw fresh warmth and colour for his blood—from the air new supplies of life—from the very trees and herbs and flowers he may renew his strength,—and there is nothing created that is not intended to add in some measure to his pleasure and well-being. For if the foundation of the Universe be Love, as it is, then Love desires to see its creatures happy. Misery has no place in the Divine scheme of things—it is the result of Man's own opposition to Natural Law. In Natural Law, all things work calmly, slowly and steadfastly together for good—Nature silently obeys God's ordinance. Man, on the contrary, questions, argues, denies, rebels,—with the result that he scatters his force and fails in his highest effort. It is in his own power to renew his own youth—his own vitality,—yet we see him sink of his own accord into feebleness and decrepitude, giving himself up, as it were, to be devoured by the disintegrating influences which he could easily repel. For, as the directing Spirit of God governs the infinitude of atoms and star-dust which go to make up universes, so the mind of a Man should govern the atoms and star-dust of which he himself is composed—guiding their actions and renewing them at pleasure,—forming them into suns and systems of thought and creative power, and wasting no particle of his eternal life forces. He can be what he elects to be,—a god,—or merely one of a mass of units in embryo, drifting away from one phase of existence to another in unintelligent indifference, and so compelling himself to pass centuries of aimless movement before entering upon any marked or decisive path of individual and separate action. The greater number prefer to be nothings in this way, though they cannot escape the universal grinding mill,—they must be used for some purpose in the end, be they never so reluctant. Therefore, we, who study the latent powers of man, judge it wiser to meet and accept our destiny rather than fall back in the race and allow destiny to overtake US and whip us into place with rods of sharp experience. If there is anyone here present who now desires to speak,—to ask a question,—or deny a statement, let him come forward boldly and say what he has to say without fear."
As he thus spoke, I, looking from my little hidden recess, saw a movement among the seated brethren; one of them rose and descending from his place, walked slowly towards Aselzion till he was within a few paces of him—then he paused, and threw back his cowl, showing a worn handsome face on which some great sorrow seemed to be marked too strongly to be ever erased.
"I do not wish to live!"—he said—"I came here to study life, but not to learn how to keep it. I would lose it gladly for the merest trifle! For life is to me a bitter thing—a hideous and inexplicable torment! Why should you, O Aselzion, teach us how to live long? Why not rather teach us how to die soon?"
Aselzion's eyes were bent upon him with a grave and tender compassion.
"What accusation do you bring against life?" he asked—"How has life wronged you?"
"How has life wronged me?" and the unhappy man threw up his hands with a gesture of desperation—"You, who profess to read thought and gauge the soul, can you ask? How has life wronged me? By sheer injustice! From my first breath—for I never asked to be born!—from my early days when all my youthful dreams and aspirations were checked, smothered and killed by loving parents!—loving parents, forsooth!—whose idea of 'love' was money! Every great ambition frustrated—every higher hope slain!—and in my own love—that love of woman which is man's chief curse—even she was false and worthless as a spurious coin—caring nothing whether my life was saved or ruined—it was ruined, of course!—but what matter?—who need care! Only the weariness of it all!—the day after day burden of time!—the longing to lie down and hide beneath the comfortable grass in peace,—where no false friend, no treacherous love, no 'kind' acquaintances, glad to see me suffer, can ever point their mocking hands or round their cruel eyes at me again! Aselzion, if the God you serve is half as wicked as the men He made, then Heaven itself is Hell!"
He spoke deliberately, yet with passion. Aselzion silently regarded him. The fiery Cross and Star blazed with strange colours like millions of jewels, and the deep stillness in the chapel was for many minutes unbroken. All at once, as though impelled by some irresistible force, he sank on his knees.
"Aselzion! As you are strong, have patience with the weak! As you see the Divine, pity those who are blind! As you stand firm, stretch a hand to those whose feet are on the shifting quicksands, and if death and oblivion are among the gifts of your bestowal, withhold them not from me, for I would rather die than live!"
There was a pause. Then Aselzion's voice, calm, clear and very gentle, vibrated on the silence.
"There is no death!" he said—"You cannot die! There is no oblivion,—you may not forget! There is but one way of life—to live it!"
Another moment's stillness—then again the steady, resolute voice went on.
"You accuse life of injustice,—it is you who are unjust to life! Life gave you those dreams and aspirations you speak of,—it was in your power to realise them! I say it was in your power, had you chosen! No parents, no friends, not God Himself, can stop you from doing what you WILL to do! Who frustrated any great ambition of yours but yourself? Who can slay a hope but him in whose soul it was born? And that love of woman?—was she your true mate?—or only a thing of eyes and hair and vanity? Did your passion touch her body only, or did it reach her Soul? Did you seek to know whether that Soul had ever wakened within her, or were you too well satisfied with her surface beauty to care? In all these things blame Yourself, not life!—for life gives you earth and heaven, time and eternity for the attainment of joy—joy, in which, but for Yourself, there would never be a trace of sorrow!"
The kneeling penitent—for such he now appeared to be—covered his face with his hands.
"I cannot give you death,"—continued Aselzion-"You can take what is called by that name for yourself if you choose—you can by your own action, sudden or premeditated, destroy this present form and composition of yourself for just so long as it takes the forces of Nature to build you up again—an incredibly brief moment of time! But you gain nothing—you neither lose your consciousness nor your memory! Ponder this well before you pull down your present dwelling-house!—for ingratitude breeds narrowness, and your next habitation might be smaller and less fitted for peace and quiet breathing!"
With these words, gently spoken, he raised the penitent from his knees, and signed to him to return to his place. He did so obediently, without another word, pulling his cowl closely about him so that none of his fellow-brethren might see his features. Another man then stepped forward and addressed Aselzion.
"Master"—he said, "would it not be better to die than to grow old? If, as you teach us, there is no real death, should there be any real decay? What pleasure is there in life when the strength fails and the pulses slacken—when the warm blood grows chill and stagnant, and when even those we have loved consider we have lived too long? I who speak now am old, though I am not conscious of age—but others are conscious for me,—their looks, their words, imply that I am in their way—that I am slowly dying like a lopped tree and that the process is too tedious for their impatience. And yet—I could be young!—my powers of work have increased rather than lessened—I enjoy life more than those that have youth on their side—but I know I carry the burden of seventy years upon me, and I say that surely it is better to die than live even so long!"
Aselzion, standing in the full light of the glittering Cross and Star, looked upon him with a smile.
"I also carry the burden—if burden you must call it—of seventy years!" he said—"But years are nothing to me—they should be nothing to you. Who asked you to count them or to consider them? In the world of wild Nature, time is measured by seasons only—the bird does not know how old it is—the rose-tree does not count its birthdays! You, whom I know to be a brave man and patient student, have lived the usual life of men in the world—you are wedded to a Woman who has never cared to understand the deeper side of your nature, and who is now far older than you, though in actual years younger,—you have children who look upon you as their banker merely and who, while feigning affection, really wait for your death with eagerness in order to possess your fortune. You might as well have never had those children!—I know all this as you yourself know it—I also know that through the word-impressions and influence of so-called 'friends' who wish to persuade you of your age, the disintegrating process has begun,—but this can be arrested. You yourself can arrest it!—the dream of Faust is no fallacy!—only that the renewal of youth is not the work of magic evil, but of natural good. If you would be young, leave the world as you have known it and begin it anew,—leave wife, children, friends, all that hang like fungi upon an oak, rotting its trunk and sapping its strength without imparting any new form of vitality. Live again—love again!"
"I!"—and he who was thus spoken to threw back his cowl, showing a face wan and deeply wrinkled, yet striking in its fine intellectuality of feature—"I!—with these white hairs! You jest with me, Aselzion!"
"I never jest!"—replied Aselzion—"I leave jesting to the fools who prate of life without comprehending its first beginnings. I do not jest with you—put me to the proof! Obey my rules here but for six months and you shall pass out of these walls with every force in your body and spirit renewed in youth and vitality! But Yourself must work the miracle,—which, after all, is no miracle! Yourself must build Yourself!—as everyone is bound to do who would make the fullest living out of life. If you hesitate,—if you draw back,—if you turn with one foolish regret or morbid thought to your past mistakes in life which ARE past—to her, your wife, a wife in name but never in soul,—to your children, born of animal instinct but not of spiritual deep love,—to those your 'friends' who count up your years as though they were crimes,—you check the work of re-invigoration, and you stultify the forces of renewal. You must choose—and the choice must be voluntary and deliberate,—for no man becomes aged and effete without his own intention and inclination to that end,—and equally, no man retains or renews his youth without a similar intention and inclination. Take two days to consider—and then tell me your mind."
The man he thus addressed hesitated as though he had something more to say—then with a deep obeisance went back to his place. Aselzion waited till he was seated—and after the brief interval spoke again—
"If all of you here present are content with your rule of life in this place, and with the studies you are undertaking, and none of you wish to leave, I ask for the usual sign."
All the brethren rose, and raised their arms above their heads—dropping them slowly again after a second's pause.
"Enough!" and Aselzion now moved towards the Cross and Star, fronting it fully. As he did so, I saw to my astonishment and something of terror that the rays proceeding from the centre of the Symbol flamed out to an extraordinary length, surrounding his whole figure and filling the chapel with a lurid brilliancy as though it were suddenly on fire. Straight into the centre of the glowing flames he steadily advanced—then, at a certain point, turned again and faced his followers. But what an aspect now was his! The light about him seemed to be part of his very body and garments—he was transfigured into the semblance of something god-like and angelic—and I was overcome with fear and awe as I looked upon him. Lifting one hand, he made the sign of the cross,—whereat the white-robed brethren descended from their places, and walking one by one in line, came up to him where he stood. He spoke—and his voice rang out like a silver clarion—
"O Divine Light!" he exclaimed—"We are a part of Thee, and into Thee we desire to become absorbed! From Thee we know we may obtain an immortality of life upon this gracious earth! O Nature, beloved Mother, whose bosom burns with hidden fires of strength, we are thy children, born of thee in spirit as in matter,—in us thou hast distilled thy rains and dews, thy snows and frosts, thy sunlight and thy storm!—in us thou hast embodied thy prolific beauty, thy productiveness, thy power and thy advancement towards good—and more than all thou hast endowed us with the divine passion of Love which kindles the fire whereof thou art created and whereby we are sustained! Take us, O Light! Keep us, O Nature!—and Thou, O God, Supreme Spirit of Love, whose thought is Flame, and whose desire is Creation, be Thou our guide, supporter and instructor through all worlds without end! Amen!"
Once more the glorious music of the organ surged through the chapel like a storm,—and I, trembling in every limb, knelt, covering my veiled face closely with my hands, overcome by the splendour of the sound and the strangeness of the scene. Gradually, very gradually, the music died away—a deep silence followed—and when I lifted my head, the chapel was empty! Aselzion and his disciples had vanished, noiselessly, as though they had never been present. Only the Cross and Star still remained glittering against its dark purple background—darting out long tremulous rays, some of which were pale violet, others crimson, others of the delicate hues of the pink topaz.
I looked round,—then behind me,—and to my surprise saw that the door of my little recess had been unlocked and left open. Acting on an impulse too strong to resist, I stole softly out, and stepping on tiptoe, scarcely daring to breathe, I found my way through a low archway into the body of the chapel, and stood there all alone, my heart beating loudly with positive terror. Yet there was nothing to fear. No one was near me that I could see, but I felt as if there were thousands of eyes watching me from the roof, from behind the columns, and from the stained-glass windows that shed their light on the marble pavement. And the glowing radiance of the Cross and Star in all that stillness was almost terrible!—the long bright rays were like tongues of fire mutely expressing unutterable things! Fascinated, I drew nearer and nearer—then paused abruptly, checked by a kind of vibration under me, as though the ground rocked—presently, however, I gained fresh courage to go on, and by degrees was drawn into a perfect vortex of light which rushed upon me like great waves on all sides so forcibly that I had hardly any knowledge of my own movements. Like a creature in a dream I moved,—my very hands looked transparent and spirit-like as I stretched them out towards that marvellous Symbol!—and when my eyes glanced for a moment at the folds of my covering veil I saw that its white silkiness shone with a pale amethystine hue. On—on I went,—a desperate idea possessing me to go as far as I could into that strange starry centre of living luminance—the very boldness of the thought appalled me even while I encouraged it—but step by step I went on resolutely till I suddenly felt myself caught as it were in a wheel of fire! Round and round me it whirled,—darting points of radiance as sharp as spears which seemed to enter my body and stab it through and through—I struggled for breath and tried to draw back,—impossible! I was tangled up in a net of endless light-vibrations which, though they gave forth no heat, yet quivered through my whole being with searching intensity as though bent on probing to the very centre of my soul! I could not utter a sound,—I stood there dumb, immovable, and shrouded in million-coloured flame, too stunned with the shock to realise my own identity. Then all at once something dark and cool floated over me like the shadow of a passing cloud—I looked up and strove to utter a cry,—a word of appeal!—and then fell to the ground, lost in complete unconsciousness.