‘All the worse for thee, Sire. Believe that which yields thee most comfort, and forget my harmless prophecies. To-morrow attend the Law Courts, and see all things reversed, as thy heart desireth. Perhaps, like dreams, which are said to prove the contrary of what they picture, the reality will come out the opposite of all thou hast seen this day portrayed. It may be that Mercia, instead of being crowned an Empress, shall to-morrow be consigned to execution, or life imprisonment?’
‘I would sooner see her die than wedded to another,’ murmured the Emperor moodily.
‘Thy Majesty is merciful as wise!’ responded Swami cynically, as he pressed the extinguisher for the last time, and set the room in darkness; obliterating for the moment the entrancing portrait of the woman he was learning to love through the medium of soul-sympathy; for he was as yet personally unacquainted with Mercia.
‘I would I had never seen either thyself or thy psychical pictures,’ said Felicitas bitterly. ‘What good is it looking into futurity? It does but make one miserable beforehand. I cannot control the current of events; all will take place exactly the same as if I had known nothing. To look into the future is but to anticipate life’s troubles.
‘What earthly use to learn the issue of the trial to-day, to-morrow would have been soon enough to know my ill-fortune.’
‘Balak-like thou wouldst have me curse, when I can only bless,’ returned Swami. ‘It is true that thy Majesty must reap as thou hast sown. We all live under this unalterable law. As the husbandman sows seed expecting its like to be reproduced, so we must be satisfied to gather the fruit of our own actions. If we plant the crab, can we look for the apricot? If we work dishonourable actions, can we reap honour thereby?
‘The priest promises Heaven as the reward of a good life, but the only Heaven assigned to man is that of his own creation—the delight that pervades his soul in the knowledge that he has not lived in vain; that he has been the source of comfort and happiness to others; that he has kept the golden rule. Six little words, in fact, define it,—that he loves and is beloved—for human love, in all its various sections, is Heaven—no other Paradise exists.’
‘’Tis the want of this, that’s brought my trouble,’ murmured Felicitas. ‘If I had Mercia’s love then wouldst thou see how pious I could be.’
‘Is a child contented wholly when one desire is satisfied? No, he cries hourly for new toys and new delights. Thy Majesty would weary in course of time with the beauteous Mercia, as thou hast wearied of thy spouse. Physical charms delight the eye for a season; but if there be no union of psycho-magnetic sympathy there is no possibility of an enduring affection. Sire, be content; as thou hast made thy bed, so must thou lie upon it.’
‘That reminds me of my suit to-morrow,’ interrupted Felicitas impatiently. ‘What wouldst thou advise in this dilemma?’