Hugh could hardly restrain himself while the major was thus slowly counting the steps leading up to his death. “But, Major, don’t you think—” he began.
“I will tell you—not what I think, but what I know.” His voice sank almost to a whisper as he continued. “They cannot hurt me, my boy; no, they cannot kill me, for I am a Rosicrucian and my talisman is the supposedly lost philosopher’s stone. This rare and precious chemical element was crystallized about the middle of the seventeenth century, after almost fifty years of exhaustive research and scientific investigation by my brothers of the Rosy Cross. The philosopher’s stone, however, is but one of the many secrets known to our order. Our home is in the Himalayas, in unknown vaults and caves, far above the Thibetan table-lands.
“I am, in the broadest sense, a missionary sent out by our mystic order, to lighten the burdens of humanity. Suffering among the poor, whose eyes are blinded with scalding tears, appeals to me with a strong and resistless force. For centuries I have been battling for humanity. I have renounced the world and yielded all that was demanded of me for the cheering song of one small feathered thing, that, like a tiny bird, is always singing in my soul. It is called Hope, and it still sings, and its sweet warbling notes fill me with the abiding belief that the millennium is coming, when altruism will rule the world, and selfishness shall be reckoned as one of the lost attributes of man.
“Among the many secrets of our brotherhood is the knowledge of renewing youth, the prolonging of life. Our lives are renewed only that we may complete our work. We are reformists, and seek to benefit the world, to check the greed of wealth and the tyranny and despotism of bigotry and oppression. I have suffered so much at the hands of greed and avarice that my heart has become a touchstone of generosity to the poor.
“It is true that I have taken from the rich and given to the needy, and thereby gladdened the hearts of many; and, no matter what may follow, I have had my reward in the knowledge that I have exercised the courage of my convictions and put into practice not only theories, but truths that are approved by the living God. I have been controlled by an influence leagues beyond the power of man; an influence that lays its strong hand on every deed we do, on every act of our lives, and weaves its unerring results into an iron tissue of destiny. Listen! The mob is growing more tumultuous,—it is clamoring for my blood.
“Before you go, Stanton, I must entrust you with a message to Marie. She is not my daughter. It will almost break her heart, poor girl, when this is told her. In my wandering over the earth, I found a poor, famished woman, sick and without food or shelter, in a little town in eastern Kentucky. In her arms she held a sweet-faced cherub of a babe. I took her to a private hospital and supplied means for her comfort, and, for a time, hoped that she might recover. But the sands of life were too nearly ebbed away, and she finally realized that a few days at best were all that were left to her. I saw that I could lighten her sorrow and gladden her heart by assuring her that her babe would find in me a father, and you can testify as to how well I have kept that promise. I had the consolation of seeing the mother made happy before her spirit was called away. Her real name is Marie Redfield. Her genealogy is in my safe at the Patriot office, and you can learn from it that she is none other than Doctor Redfield’s cousin. Tell her, my boy, that no father’s heart was ever more tender toward a daughter than is mine toward her. Say to her that I shall see her before many days, but until I come I shall leave her in your care.” Turning, the major took up a large envelope with Hugh’s name upon it, and, continuing, he said: “I have appointed you my executor and representative. Full instructions and explanations will be found in this envelope. To this part of the world I shall be, from this night on, as one dead. Now go, my boy, and tell your father and Captain Osborn and Doctor Redfield to join you in taking an active part with the Vigilantes, who are clamoring for my death.”
CHAPTER XLII.—A NEW-MADE GRAVE
WHEN Hugh returned to the street, Captain Osborn was concluding one of the most eloquent speeches of his life. His appeal to the better nature of his hearers was having a noticeable effect. Indeed, the wild huzzas and shoutings, which the major had mistaken for the clamoring of the people for his heart’s blood, were, in reality, cheers of approval at Captain Osborn’s words. He admonished them to give up the idea of taking so-called justice into their hands, and to permit the law of the land to take its course. His hearers listened attentively, and, when he concluded his speech with a stirring and eloquent appeal to them, the comments on every side were those of approval. Soon after, the crowd began to disperse, and before midnight the streets were almost deserted.