It did please her; and she stretched out her hand to accept it, gratified, yet conscious all the while of the antagonistic spirit which often seized her when with Helwyze. He put on the bracelet with a satisfied air; but the clasp was imperfect, and, at the first turn of the round wrist, the Nine Muses fell to the ground.
“It is too heavy. I am not made to wear handcuffs of any sort, you see: they will not stay on, so it is of no use to try;” and Gladys picked up the trinket with an odd sense of relief; though poor Erato was cracked, and Thalia, like Fielding’s fair Amelia, had a broken nose. She rose to lay it on the table, and, as she turned away, her eye went to the clock, as if reproaching herself for that brief forgetfulness of her husband. Half amused, half annoyed, and bent on having his own way, even in so small a thing as this, Helwyze drew up a chair, and, setting a Japanese tray upon the table, said, invitingly,—
“Come and see if these are more to your taste, since fine raiment and foolish ornaments fail to tempt you.”
“Oh, how curious and beautiful!” cried Gladys, looking down upon a collection of Hindoo gods and goddesses, in ebony or ivory: some hideous, some lovely, all carved with wonderful delicacy, and each with its appropriate symbol,—Vishnu, and his serpent; Brahma, in the sacred lotus; Siva, with seven faces; Kreeshna, the destroyer, with many mouths; Varoon, god of the ocean; and Kama, the Indian Cupid, bearing his bow of sugar-cane strung with bees, to typify love’s sting as well as sweetness. This last Gladys examined longest, and kept in her hand as if it charmed her; for the minute face of the youth was beautiful, the slender figure full of grace, and the ivory spotless.
“You choose him for your idol? and well you may, for he looks like Felix. Mine, if I have one, is Siva, goddess of Fate, ugly, but powerful.”
“I will have no idol,—not even Felix, though I sometimes fear I may make one of him before I know it;” and Gladys put back the little figure with a guilty look, as she confessed the great temptation that beset her.
“You are wise: idols are apt to have feet of clay, and tumble down in spite of our blind adoration. Better be a Buddhist, and have no god but our own awakened thought; ‘the highest wisdom,’ as it is called,” said Helwyze, who had lately been busy with the Sâkya Muni, and regarded all religions with calm impartiality.
“These are false gods, and we are done with them, since we know the true one,” began Gladys, understanding him; for she had read aloud the life of Gautama Buddha, and enjoyed it as a legend; while he found its mystic symbolism attractive, and nothing repellent in its idolatry.
“But do we? How can you prove it?”
“It needs no proving; the knowledge of it was born in me, grows with my growth, and is the life of my life,” cried Gladys, out of the fulness of that natural religion which requires no revelation except such as experience brings to strengthen and purify it.