Sons and Fathers Read online

  CHAPTER VI.

  "WHO SAYS THERE CAN BE A 'TOO LATE' FOR THE IMMORTAL MIND?"

  Something like fear, a superstitious fear, arose in Edwards' heart as heturned down the lid of the old-fashioned desk in the little roomupstairs and saw the few papers pigeon-holed there with lawyer-likeprecision. On the top lay a long envelope sealed and bearing his name.His hand shook as he held it and studied the chirography. The moment wasone to which he had looked forward for a lifetime and should contain theexplanation of the singular mystery that had environed him from infancy.

  As he held the letter, hesitating over the final act, his life passed inreview as, it is said, do the lives of drowning persons. The thoughtthat Edward Morgan was dying came in that connection. The orphan, thelonely college boy, the wandering youth, the bohemian of a dozencontinental capitals, the musician and half-way metaphysicist andtheosophist, the unformed man of an unformed age, new sphere, one ofquick, earnest, feverish action, the new man, was to spring armed, orhampered by--what? At that moment, by a strange revulsion, the life thathe had worn so hardly, so bitterly, even its sadness seemed dear andbeautiful. After all it had been a life of ease and many scenes. It hadno responsibilities--now it would pass! He tore open the envelopeimpatiently and read:

  "Edward Morgan--Sir: When this letter comes to your knowledge you will have been acquainted with the fact that my will has made you heir to all my property, without legacy or restriction. That document was made brief and simple, partly to avoid complications, and partly to conceal facts with which the public has no reasonable interest. I now, assured of your character in every particular, desire that you retain during the lifetime of Gerald Morgan the residence which has always been his home, providing for his wants and pleasures freely as I have done and leaving him undisturbed in the manner of his life. I direct, further, that you extend the same care and kindness to Rita Morgan, my housekeeper, seeing that she is not disturbed in her home and the manner of her life. My object is to guard the welfare of the only people intimately connected with me by ties of friendship and association, whom I have not already provided for. Carrying out this intention, you will as soon as possible, after coming into possession, take precautions looking to the future of Gerald Morgan and Rita Morgan, my housekeeper, in the event of your own death; and the plan to be selected in this connection I leave to your own good sense and judgment, only suggesting as adviser for you Ellison Eldridge, one of the few lawyers living whose heart is outside of his pocketbook, and whose discretion is perfect.

  "John Morgan."

  That was all.

  The young man, dumfounded, turned over the single sheet of paper thatcontained the whole message, examined again the envelope, read andreread the communication, and finally laid it aside. Not one word ofexplanation of his own (Edward's) existence no claim of relationship, nomessage of sympathy, only the curt voice of an eccentric old man,echoing beyond the black wall of mystery and already sunk into eternalsilence. The old life no longer seemed dear or beautiful. It returnedupon him with the dull weight of oppression he had known so long. It wasa bitter ending, a crushing, overwhelming disappointment.

  He smiled at length and lighted another cigar. His mind reverted to thesingular character whose final expression lay upon the desk. His lastact had been to guard against the curious, and that had included thebeneficiary. He had succeeded in living a mystery, in dying a mystery,and in covering up his past with a mystery.

  "It was well done." Such was Edward's reflection spoken aloud. Herecalled the lines: "I now, assured of your character in everyparticular." Every word in that laconic letter, as also every word inthe few communications made to him in life by this man, meant something.What did these mean? "Assured" by whom? Who had spied upon his actionsand kept watch over him to such an extent as would justify the sweepingconfidences? But he knew that the testator had read him right. A faintwave of pleasure flushed his cheek and warmed his heart when he realizedthe full significance of this tribute to his true character. He nolonger felt like an intruder.

  And yet, "assured" by whom? And who was Gerald Morgan? Not a relative orhe would have said so; he would have said "my nephew, Gerald Morgan."The same argument shut him (Edward) out. Why this suspicious absence ofrelationship terms?--and they, both of them, Morgans and heirs to hiswealth?

  Again he dragged the papers from the desk and ran them over. Manuscriptsall, they contained detached accounts of widely separated people andincidents, and moreover they were clearly briefed. "A Dramatic Trail,""The Storm," "A Midnight Struggle," etc. They had no bearing upon hislife; they were the unpublished literary remains of John Morgan.

  Every paper lay exposed; the mine was exhausted. He again read theletter slowly, idly lifted each paper and returned all to the desk.

  The cigar was out again; he tossed it from the window, locked the deskand passed into the mother's room. The action was without forethought,but his new philosophy had taught him the value of instinctive humanactions as index fingers. What cause then had drawn him into thatlong-deserted room? As he reflected, his eyes rested upon the picture ofthe girl in the little frame on the mantel. He started back, amazed andoverwhelmed. It was the face that had been turned to him in thelibrary--the face of Gerald Morgan!

  Edward was surprised to find himself standing by the open window when hehad exhausted the train of thought that the recognition put in motion,and counting his heart-beats, ninety to the minute. By that curiouspower or weakness of certain minds his thoughts ran entirely from thematter in hand along the lines of a lecture his friend Virdow as Jeanhad delivered, the theory of which was that organic heart disease,unless fastened to its victim by inheritance, is always a mental result.If a mere thought or combination of thoughts could excite, a thoughtcould depress. It was plain; he would write to Virdow confirming histheory.

  Then he became conscious that the moon hung like a plate of silver inthe vast sky space of the east and that her light was flashed back bymany little points in the city beneath him--a gilt ball, a vane, a setof window glasses, and the dew-wet slates of a modern roof. One whitespot was visible in the yard in front, white and pale as the moon whenthe vapor had dispersed but set immovably. As he idly sought to unravelits little secret, it simply became a part of the shadow and invisible,but he felt that some one was looking up at him; and suddenly he saw theslender figure of a man pass, cross the gravel walk and vanish in theshrubbery on the left.

  Edward did not cry out; he stood musing upon the fact, and lo, therecame a glitter of rosy light along the horizon; the moon had vanishedoverhead, and sound arose in confused murmurs from the dull heaps ofhouses in the valley. He saw again at the moment, over the easternhills, the face of a girl as she stood calling her pets, and felt hereyes upon him.

  When he awoke that day he found the sun far beyond the zenith and he layrevolving in his mind the events of the night; to his surprise much ofthe weight was gone and in its place was interest, the like of which hehad never before known. An object in life had suddenly been developedand instinctively he felt that the study of this new mystery would leadto a knowledge of himself and his past.

  The first thing to be done was to again see the stranger who had invadedhis library, and carry his investigation as far as this person wouldpermit. This in mind, he dressed himself with care and descended intothe dining-room. In a few moments his breakfast was served. Upon hearinghis inquiry for Rita, Ben, the butler, retired and presently the woman,grave, and after a few words quiet, took his place. Before speakingEdward noticed her closely again. About fifty years of age, perhapsless, she stood as erect and rigid as an Indian, her black hair withouta kink. There was an easy dignity in her attitude, hardly the pose of aslave, or one who had been. But in her face was the sadness of personalsuffering, and in her voice a tone he had noticed at first, an echo ofsome depressing experience, it seemed to him.

  Where was Gerald's room? There! He had not noticed th
e door; it led outfrom the dining-room. It was the wing intended for billiards, but nowthe retreat of her poor young master and had been all his life. He didnot like to be disturbed, but perhaps the circumstances would make adifference.

  Edward knocked on the door. Receiving no answer, he opened ithesitatingly and looked in. Then he entered. Gerald greeted him with anencouraging smile and closing the door behind him, he viewed theinterior with interest. The walls were hung with pictures, swords, guns,pistols and other weapons, and between them on every available spot werebooks, books, books and periodicals. A broad center table held writingmaterials and manuscripts, and upon a long table by two open windowswere bottles of many colors and all the queer paraphernalia of achemical laboratory. Against the opposite wall was a spacious divan, andseated upon it, wrapped in a singular-looking dressing-gown, fez uponhis head and smoking a shibouk as he read, was the strange being forwhom Edward searched.

  "I was expecting you," the young man said; "where have you been?" Thenaturalness of the words confused the visitor for a moment. No seat hadbeen offered him, but he drew one near the divan.

  "I suppose I may smoke?" he said, smiling, ignoring the query, but theintent look of Gerald caused him to add: "I slept late; how did yourest?"

  "Do you know," said Gerald, his expression changing, "strange as it mayseem, I have seen you before, but where, where----" The long lashesdropped above the eyes; he shook his head sadly, "but where, no man maysay."

  "It hardly seems possible," said Edward, gravely. "I have never beenhere before, and you, I believe, have never been absent."

  "So they say; so they say. Mere old-nurse talk! I have been to manyplaces." Edward turned his head in sadness. Man or woman the person wascrazy. He looked again; it was the face of the girl in the pictureframe, grown older, with time and suffering.

  "It is an odd room," he said, presently; "do you sleep here?"

  Gerald nodded to the other door.

  "Would you like to see? Enter."

  To Edward's amazement he found himself in a conservatory, a glass houseabout forty by twenty feet, arranged for sliding curtains at sides andtop. There was little to be seen besides a small bed and necessaryfurniture. But an easel stood near the center and on it a canvas readyfor painting. In a corner was a large portfolio for drawings, closed.

  "I cannot sleep unless I see the stars," said Gerald, joining him. "Andthere is an entrance to the grounds!" He threw open a glass door,exposing an oleander avenue. "This is my favorite walk." The sceneseemed to strike him anew. He stood there lost in thought a moment andreturned to his divan. Edward found him absorbed in a volume. He hadstudied him there long and keenly and reached a conclusion that would,he felt, be of value in his future associations with this eccentricmind; it was a mind reversed, living in abstract thought. Its visions ofreal life were only glimpses. Therefore, he reasoned, to keep companywith such a mind, one must be prepared for its eccentricities and avoiddiscord.

  It was a keen diagnosis and he acted upon it. He went about noiselesslyexamining the furnishings of the room without further speech. The youngman was writing as he passed him. Looking over his shoulder, Edward reada few lines of what was evidently a thesis;

  "The mind can therefore have no conscious memory. Memory being a function of the brain and physical structure, and mind being endowed with a capacity for wandering, it follows that it can bring back no record of its experience since no memory function went with it. It may, indeed, be true that the mind can itself be shaped and biased anew by its detached experiences, but who can ever read its history backwards? Unless somewhere arises a mind brilliant enough to find the alphabet, to connect the mind's hidden storehouse with consciousness, the mystery of mind--life (that is, higher dream life)--must remain forever unread."

  "It has been found," said Edward, as though Gerald had stated aproposition aloud.

  "How? Where?" Gerald did not look up, but merely ceased writing amoment.

  "Music is the connecting link. Music is the language of the mind.Vibration is the secret of creation and along its lines will all secretsbe revealed." The book closed slowly in the reader's hands, his thesisslipped to the floor. He sat in deep thought. Then a light gleamed inhis face and eyes.

  "It is true," he said, with agitation, as he arose. "It is a greatthought; a great discovery. I must learn once" and Rita stood waiting."Bring me musical instruments--what?" He turned impatiently to Edward.The latter shook his head.

  "'Tis a lifetime study," he said, sadly, "and then--failure. No man hasyet reached the end."

  "I will reach it."

  "It calls for labor day and night--for talent--for teachers."

  "I will have all."

  "It calls for youth, for a mind young and fresh and responsive. You areold in mind. It is too late."

  "Too late. Too late. Never, never, never too late. Who says there can bea 'too late' for the immortal mind? I will begin. I will labor! I willsucceed! If not in this life, then in the next, or the next; aye, at thefoot of Buddha, if need be, I will press to read all to the strains ofmusic. Oh, blind! Blind! Blind!" He strode about the room in an ecstasyof excitement.

  "Prove to me it is too late here," shrieked the unhappy being, "and Iwill end this existence; will go back a thousand cycles, if necessary,carrying with me the impression of this truth, and begin, an infant, tolisp in numbers."

  He had snatched a poniard from the wall and was gesticulatingfrantically. Edward was about to speak when he saw the enthusiast's eyeslose their frenzy and fix upon the woman's. He dropped the weapon andplunged face downward in despair among the pillows. Like a statue thewoman stood gazing upon him.

  "My violin," said Edward. She disappeared noiselessly.