Marcius was seated in his private library in an absorbed though somewhat restless temper of mind. There are times when the soul is lifted out of the petty routine of every-day living, and thus loosened from present environment, it soars abroad among scenes and recognitions long past, or, anon, essays to penetrate the veil of the future. During such seasons the human spirit transcends its ordinary limitations, and is uplifted by aspirations and experiences which are beyond the realm of cold logic and materialistic science.
Of late one portentous augury of bygone days lingered in the mind of Marcius with untiring persistency. It was but a brief deliverance, yet it stood before him in letters of fire. He had often thought it trivial, and dismissed it from recollection, but as often it returned, refusing to be barred out. Was it a prophetic curse? or only a simple warning which already had been heeded and its occasion atoned for?
This evening the problem came upon him afresh, and the fateful words fairly rung in his ears,—
“Thou art incapable of love, and it shall remain unknown to thee!”
How vividly that strange scene of the past flashed before him! The mysterious adytum of the Temple; the clammy, crawling vapor; the uncanny Shapes; the ghostly but beautiful Alethea, and her divination of the future!
He thought lightly of its interpretation when uttered—now it weighed him down.
His love for Rebecca had become a consuming flame, but it was a white flame, unmingled with smoke. Day by day every passing breeze fanned it. In her the transparent beauty of the New Faith blossomed into visible illustration and embodiment.
Marcius had not yet made an avowal of his love, for he consciously shrank from breaking in upon the secrecy of the inner adoration of his own soul. If she felt no response, a declaration would only rudely disturb the symmetry of his beautiful dream, and if perchance there was a reciprocal glow, the delightful mystery, like a sealed fragrance, would keep. In social relation with [pg 424]him she was natural and friendly, but anything beyond was an enigma.
But again the direful words of Alethea, like the muttering of the now distant thunder, reverberated through his soul, and disturbed his dream of bliss. Was he forever doomed to be a stranger to a rounded and reciprocated love? Might not Alethea now relent, and dissolve her seeming curse, and grant a blessing instead? Can it be that human jealousy invades the realm of the Unseen?
Could he not, peradventure, again invoke the fair Alethea, and while beseeching her own forgiveness for the past, implore her blessing for the future?