Ah, if the bridegroom would come!
CHAPTER XXXIII
JIM’S REWARD
AN East Indian reclining chair, eased with soft pillows and placed in the embrasure of a western window, took the rays of the sinking sun, and was breathed upon by the light evening air. The window was open, and across a breadth of green park enclosure was visible the broad gleam of the Hudson, flowing seaward beneath its parapets of brown rock. Miriam, as she lay in the chair, had just opened her eyes upon this familiar scene; and not less familiar was the spacious room which she knew she could see by turning her head; she had often sat there on summer evenings like this, holding discourse with Mary Faust on matters, deep or trifling, of heaven and earth. There was a wonderful scent of roses in the room, and when she lifted a hand indolently to her head she was surprised to find herself wearing a crown of roses; roses, too, trailed along the sides of the chair and hung down to the floor, as if she were lying upon a bed of them. Magnificent flowers they were, and not of any species that she remembered. Where had they come from?
As she idly debated this question in her mind, she was conscious of a sort of gentle puzzlement in her thoughts; the continuity of events seemed broken; she could not recall what had preceded her coming to this room. Had she fallen asleep, and had Mary caused her to be conveyed hither in that condition? She was not wont to take naps at this hour. Had she been ill? That seemed still more unlikely; illness and she were strangers. Had Mary, for some undisclosed purpose, thrown her into a trance? Least probable of all!
What had they been doing that day? She had arrived early; she had found Mary absorbed in mathematical calculations of the transcendent order; they had exchanged a few words, and then Miriam had gone alone into the laboratory. There she had paced up and down for a while, revolving the great enterprise which they had so long been working on together. Would it, after all, prove actually practicable? Theoretically, there seemed to be no opening for doubt; and yet— Finally, the better to pursue her meditations, she remembered seating herself in the chair of the psycho-physical engine; and her hand—her right hand—had rested on the head of the great lever. Would anything really happen were she to press it down?
She recalled the flitting of that thought through her brain. The lever was so nicely adjusted as to move at a very slight impulse; and then—
She uttered a sharp cry—a cry of terror. She huddled down in the chair, half raising her hands as if to ward off a blow. She panted as from a race. Her feeling was that a world was falling down upon her to crush her. After a few moments she pressed her hands over her eyes and quick moans broke from her. She felt a hand laid gently on her head—a cool, soothing hand. By and by she sat up and stared fearfully about her.
“Oh, Mary, what happened?” she muttered. “Was it true?”
“Take your time, dear,” Mary replied. “You got back safe. It’s all right. Shall I tell Jenny to bring you a cup of tea?”
“Jenny! But she was—we were taken up in a moment. Oh, my poor Jenny!”