A Journey in Other Worlds Part 22

So saying, the spirit vanished in a cloud that for a time emitted light.

"I am not surprised," said Bearwarden, "that people took long journeys to hear him. I would do so myself."

"I have never had much fear of death," said Cortlandt, "but the mere thought of it now makes my knees shake, and fills my heart with dread.

I thought I saw the most hateful forms about my coffin, and imagined that they might be the personification of doubt, coldness, and my other shortcomings, which had come perhaps from sympathy, in invisible form.

I was almost afraid to ask the spirit for the explanation."

"I saw them also," replied Bearwarden, "but took them to be swarms of microbes waiting to destroy your body, or perhaps trying in vain to penetrate your hermetically sealed coffin."

Cortlandt seemed much upset, and spent the rest of the day in writing out the facts and trying to a.s.sign a cause. Towards evening Bearwarden, who had recovered his spirits, prepared supper, after which they sat in the entrance to the cave.

CHAPTER X.

AYRAULT.

As the night became darker they caught sight of the earth again, s.h.i.+ning very faintly, and in his mind's eye Ayrault saw his sweetheart, and the old, old repining that, since reason and love began, has been in men's minds, came upon him and almost crushed him. Without saying anything to his companions, Ayrault left the cave, and, pa.s.sing through the grove in which the spirit had paid them his second visit, went slowly to the top of the hill about half a mile off, that he might the more easily gaze at the faint star on which he could picture Sylvia.

"Ah!" he said to himself, on reaching the summit, "I will stay here till the earth rises higher, and when it is far above me I will gaze at it as at heaven."

Accordingly, he lay down with his head on a mound of sod, and watched the familiar planet.

"We were born too soon," he soliloquized; "for had Sylvia and I but lived in the spiritual age foretold by the bishop, we might have held communion, while now our spirits, no matter how much in love, are separated absolutely by a mere matter of distance. It is a mockery to see Sylvia's dwelling-place, and feel that she is beyond my vision. O that, in the absence of something better, my poor imperfect eyes could be transformed into those of an eagle, but with a million times the power! for though I know that with these senses I shall see the resurrection, and hear the last trump, that is but prospective, while now is the time I long for sight."

On the plain he had left he saw his friends' camp-fire, while on the other side of his elevation was a valley in which the insects chirped sharply, and through which ran a stream. Feeling a desire for solitude and to be as far removed as possible, he arose and descended towards the water. Though the autumn, where they found themselves, was well advanced, this night was warm, and the rings formed a great arch above his head. Near the stream the frogs croaked happily, as if unmindful of the long, very long Saturnian winter; for though they were removed but about ten degrees from the equator, the sun was so remote and the axis of the planet so inclined that it was unlikely these individual frogs would see another summer, though they might live again, in a sense, in their descendants. The insects also would soon be frozen and stiff, and the tall, graceful lilies that still clung to life would be withered and dead. The trees, as if weeping at the evanescence of the life around them, shed their leaves at the faintest breeze. These fluttered to the ground, or, falling into the tranquil stream, were carried away by it, and pa.s.sed from sight. Ayrault stood musing and regretting the necessity of such general death. "But," he thought, "I would rather die than lose my love; for then I should have had the taste of bliss without its fulfilment, and should be worse off than dead. Love gilds the commonplace, and deifies all it touches. Love survives the winter, and in my present frame of mind I should prefer earth and cold with it to heaven and spring. Oh, why is my soul so clogged by my body?"

A pillar of stone standing near him was suddenly shattered, and the bishop stood where it had been.

"Because," said the spirit, answering his thought, "it has not yet power to be free."

"Can a man's soul not rise till his body is dead?" asked Ayrault.

The spirit hesitated.

"Oh, tell me," pleaded Ayrault. "If I could see the girl to whom I am engaged, for but a moment, could be convinced that she loves me still, my mind would be at rest. Free my soul or spirit, or whatever it is, from this body, that I may traverse intervening s.p.a.ce and be with her."

"You will discover the way for yourself in time," said the spirit.

"I know I shall at the last day, in the resurrection, when I am no longer in the flesh. Then I shall have no need of your aid; for we know that in the resurrection they neither marry nor are given in marriage, but are like the angels of G.o.d in heaven. It is while I am mortal, and love as mortals do, that I wish to see my promised bride.

A spirit may have other joys, and perhaps higher; but you who have lived in the world and loved, show me that which is now my heart's desire. You have shown us the tomb in which Cortlandt will lie buried; now help me to go to one who is still alive."

"I pray that G.o.d will grant you this," said the spirit, "and make me His instrument, for I see the depth of your distress." Saying which, he vanished, leaving no trace in his departure except that the pillar of stone returned to its place.

With this rather vague hope, Ayrault set off to rejoin his companions, for he felt the need of human sympathy. Saturn's rapid rotation had brought the earth almost to the zenith, the little point s.h.i.+ning with the unmistakably steady ray of a planet. Huge bats fluttered about him, and the great cloud-ma.s.ses swept across the sky, being part of Saturn's ceaseless whirl. He found he was in a hypnotic or spiritualistic state, for it was not necessary for him to have his eyes open to know where he was. In pa.s.sing one of the pools they had noticed, he observed that the upper and previously invisible liquid had the bright colour of gold, and about it rested a group of figures enveloped in light.

"Why do you look so sad?" they asked. "You are in that abode of departed spirits known as paradise, and should be happy."

"I suppose I should be happy, were I here as you are, as the reward of merit," he replied. "But I am still in the flesh, and as such am subject to its cares."

"You are about to have an experience," said another speaker. "This day your doubts will be at rest, for before another sunset you will know more of the woman you love."

The intensity of the spiritualistic influence here somewhat weakened, for he partially lost sight of the luminous figures, and could no longer hear what they said. His heart was in his mouth as he walked, and he felt like a man about to set out on his honeymoon, or like a bride who knows not whether to laugh or to cry. An indescribable exhilaration was constantly present.

"I wonder," thought he, "if a caterpillar has these sensations before becoming a b.u.t.terfly? Though I return to the rock from which I sprang, I believe I shall be with Sylvia to-day."

Footprints formed in the soft ground all around him, and the air was filled with spots of phosph.o.r.escent light that coincided with the relative positions of the brains, hearts, and eyes of human beings.

These surrounded and often preceded him, as though leading him on, while the most heavenly anthems filled the air and the vault of the sky.

"I believe," he thought, with bounding heart, "that I shall be initiated into the mysteries of s.p.a.ce this night."

At times he could hear even the words of the choruses ringing in his ears, though at others he thought the effect was altogether in his mind.

"Oh, for a proof," he prayed, "that no sane man can doubt! My faith is implicit in the bishop and the vision, and I feel that in some way I shall return to earth ere the close of another day, for I know I am awake, and that this is no dream."

A fire burned in the mouth of the cave, within which Bearwarden and Cortlandt lay sleeping. The specks of mica in the rocks reflected its light, but in addition to this a diffused phosph.o.r.escence filled the place, and the large sod-covered stones they used for pillows emitted purple and dark red flames.

"Is that you, d.i.c.k?" asked Bearwarden, awaking and groping about. "We built up the fire so that you should find the camp, but it seems to have gone down." Saying which, he struck a match, whereupon Ayrault ceased to see the phosph.o.r.escence or bluish light. At that moment a peal of thunder awakened Cortlandt, who sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"I think," said Ayrault, "I will go to the Callisto and get our mackintoshes before the rain sets in." Whereupon he left his companions, who were soon again fast asleep.

The sky had suddenly become filled with clouds, and Ayrault hastened towards the Callisto, intending to remain there, if necessary, until the storm was over. For about twenty minutes he hurried on through the growing darkness, stopping once on high ground to make sure of his bearings, and he had covered more than half the distance when the rain came on in a flood, accompanied by brilliant lightning. Seeing the huge, hollow trunk of a fallen tree near, and not wis.h.i.+ng to be wet through, Ayrault fired several solid shots from his revolver into the cavity, to drive out any wild animals there might be inside, and then hurriedly crawled in, feet first. He next drew in his head, and was congratulating himself on his snug retreat, when the sky became lurid with a flash of lightning, then his head dropped forward, and he was unconscious.

CHAPTER XI.

DREAMLAND TO SHADOWLAND.

As Ayrault's consciousness returned, he fancied he heard music. Though distant, it was distinct, and seemed to ring from the ether of s.p.a.ce.

Occasionally it sounded even more remote, but it was rhythmical and continuous, inspiring and stirring him as nothing that he had ever heard before. Finally, it was overcome by the more vivid impressions upon his other senses, and he found himself walking in the streets of his native city. It was spring, and the trees were white with buds.

The long shadows of the late afternoon stretched across the way, but the clear sky gave indication of prolonged twilight, and the air was warm and balmy. Nature was filled with life, and seemed to be proclaiming that the cold was past.

As he moved along the street he met a funeral procession.

"What a pity," he thought, "a man should die, with summer so near at hand!"

He was also surprised at the keenness of his sight; for, inclosed in each man's body, he saw the outline of his soul. But the dead man's body was empty, like a cage without a bird. He also read the thoughts in their minds.

"Now," said a large man in the carriage next the hea.r.s.e, "I may win her, since she is a widow."

The widow herself kept thinking: "Would it had been I! His life was essential to the children, while I should scarcely have been missed. I wish I had no duties here, and might follow him now."

While pondering on these things, he reached Sylvia's house, and went into the little room in which he had so often seen her. The warm southwesterly breeze blew through the open windows, and far beyond Central Park the approaching sunset promised to be beautiful. The table was covered with flowers, and though he had often seen that variety, he had never before noticed the marvellous combinations of colours, while the room was filled with a thousand delicious perfumes.

The thrush hanging in the window sang divinely, and in a silver frame he saw a likeness of himself.

"I have always loved this room," he thought, "but it seems to me now like heaven."