Part 42 (1/2)
”I thank you, Judge,” said the Doctor, suavely, ”and believe me that I speak with sincerest truth, when I a.s.sure you that your daughter's happiness is now, as it has always been, the chief aim of my life. I will accompany you to the carriage.”
Having seen his friends depart, the Doctor immediately sought the secret chamber again, and brought Leon up to the laboratory, thence taking him to his room, where he awakened him, and chatted with him for a few minutes, after which he left him to go to rest.
During the long ride home the Judge and his daughter were both silent, each being lost in thought. The Judge was endeavoring to disentangle from the maze of his recollection a history of the night's events which would appeal to his mind as reasonable. Had Agnes been asked to proclaim her thoughts she would have replied that she was ”thinking of nothing special.” Yet in a dim indefinable way she was wondering how a woman could become so attached to a man, that she would be willing to yield her whole life and independence to him. She was, therefore, a little startled, when just before reaching home her father suddenly addressed her, saying:
”Agnes, my daughter, I wish you to answer a question. Are you particularly interested in any young man? Are you in love with any one?”
”Why, what a question, father! Of course not!” She replied, with some asperity, the more so because she felt the blood mount to her face, and was annoyed at the idea that she was blus.h.i.+ng. Her father did not pursue the subject, but leaned back in his seat, mentally relieved. He thought that he had received satisfactory proof that, whatever the Doctor might make Agnes say under hypnotic influence, his spells could not enthrall her during her waking hours. The Judge was not yet convinced of the Doctor's suggestion theory.
When Agnes retired to rest, as she lay in her luxurious bed, her head pillowed on soft down, with silken cover, she began to seek for an explanation of that blush in the carriage, which she was so glad that the darkness had screened from the eyes of her father. She argued to herself that, as she did not love any one, and never would or could do so, she had answered quite truthfully the question which had been put to her. Then why the blush? She had always understood a blush to be a sign of guilt or shame, and she was not conscious of either. She did not readily read the riddle, and while yet seeking to unravel it, she gently drifted away into dream-land. How long she wandered in this mystic realm without adventure worthy of recollection I know not, but at some hour during that night she experienced a sense of heavenly happiness.
It seemed to her that she was walking along a trackless desert. The sun beat down heavily, withering up the shrubbery, and drying up all the moisture in the land. Everything about seemed parched and dying except herself. She had a plentiful supply of water, and walked along without fatigue or suffering from the heat. Presently she came to a stone, upon which sat an old woman, who looked at her and begged for water. Agnes immediately took her water-bottle, and was about to place it to the lips of the old woman, when lo! she observed that the water had nearly all evaporated, so that only enough was left to slake the thirst of one person. At this she was surprised, having thought that there was a plenty, but not even for an instant did she consider the propriety of keeping the water for her own uses. Without hesitation she allowed the old woman to drink all, to the last drop. In a second, the woman had disappeared, and in her place there was a most beautiful being, a fairy, as Agnes readily recognized, from the many descriptions which she had heard and read. The fairy thus addressed her:
”My dear, you have a kind heart, and shall be rewarded. Presently you will leave this desert, and come into a garden filled with delicious flowers. Choose one, and the wish that enters your heart as you pluck it shall be gratified. But of two things I must warn you. The flowers are all symbolic, and your wish can only be appropriate to the blossom of your choice. Second, you can go through the garden but once; you cannot retrace your steps. So be careful how you decide.”
As the last words were uttered, the fairy vanished, and Agnes walked on, hoping soon to enter the garden of promise. A mile farther, and the fragrance of many flowers was wafted towards her on a light zephyr which now tempered the heat of the sun. She hastened her steps, and very soon stood before a curiously carved gate made of bronze. As she approached, the gate opened, and admitted her, but immediately closed again behind her, thus proving the correctness of what the fairy had said. In all directions before her were rose-bushes in bloom, but she observed that the whole appeared like a huge floral patch-work quilt, because all of one kind had been planted together, so that great ma.s.ses of each color was to be seen on every side. Just before her the roses were all of snowy whiteness. She moved along a glittering path, and admired the flowers, ever and anon stooping over one more exquisite than its neighbors, and pressing her face close against its petals, inhaling its sweet fragrance. When she thus stooped over the largest and choicest which she had yet seen, a tiny sprite appeared amidst the petals, and, stretching out his arms invitingly, addressed her in a voice which reminded her of a telephone.
”Maiden fair, choose this blossom. Pluck this bloom, and wear it in thy bosom forever. In return thou shalt be the purest virgin in all the world, for these roses are the emblems of Chast.i.ty!”
But, for reply, Agnes shook her head gaily, and merely said: ”All that you promise is mine already,” and then pa.s.sed on.
The next were gorgeous yellow roses. They were rich in color and regal in form and stateliness, as on long stems each full-blown rose stood boldly forth above the bush of leaves below. Again a sprite popped out his head, and oped his lips:
”Stop here, fair girl. Pluck one of these, and thereby gain Wealth and all that wealth implies. These are the symbols of gold!”
”I want no more of wealth,” said Agnes, and again she refused the tempting offer. The next were roses of a size as great as those just left behind. There was just as much of fragrant beauty, too, or even more, perhaps, in these most glorious roses, just blus.h.i.+ng pink.
”Choose one of us, dear girl, and Beauty will adorn thy cheek forever more!” the little sprite invited, but once more Agnes would not acquiesce, and so went on.
What next appeared was somewhat puzzling. The bushes were filled with buds, but at first she could not find a single flower in full bloom.
At last, however, she did espy just one, a rose of crimson color and luscious fragrance. With a strange yearning in her breast, she stooped, and almost would have plucked it, when, as she grasped the stem, a sharp pain made her desist. She looked at her hand and saw a drop of blood, of color which just matched the rose. A silvery laugh, like the ripple of a mountain brook, attracted her, and she looked up to see a little fellow, with bow and quiver, smiling at her from the centre of the flower.
”Fair maiden,” said the sprite, ”if thou wouldst taste the joy of paradise, the happiness which transcends all other earthly pleasure, choose one of these unopened buds. Take it with thee to thy home, and nurse it as thou wouldst care for thine own heart. Tend it, nourish it, and cherish it. Then, in time, it will expand and unfold, and from its petals you will see emerge, not a tiny sprite like me, but the spirit face of one such as thou, though of other s.e.x, who will arouse within thy breast that endless ecstacy which men call Love. For these deep red roses are the emblems of Love!”
Without hesitation Agnes plucked the largest bud within her reach, unmindful of the p.r.i.c.king thorns which pierced her flesh, and then hurried on, pa.s.sing the roses of Wisdom, and many other flowers of great attractiveness. And as she ran the wish that surged up in her soul was that the words of the sprite might prove true, and that she might see that face: the face of him who was born to be her master; the one for whom she would slave, and be happy in her slavery.
Then it seemed that she was at home again, in her own room, and that the cherished bud was in her most beautiful vase. She thought that she supplied fresh water, placed the vase where the sun would kiss the bud for one full hour every day and in every way did all that she could devise to hasten its maturing. At last one morning, a tiny bit of color gladdened her eyes as the first tips of the petals burst from their sheath and pushed themselves out into the great world. From that hour, as the bud slowly unfolded, she felt within her heart a sympathetic feeling which was a pleasure and yet was painful too. It seemed as though the fate of the flower was interlaced with her own so tightly, that if it should die, why then no longer would she wish to live. And so she waited and watched and tended the blooming rose with anxious patience, awaiting that hoped-for day when the promise of the fairy, and the sprite, would be fulfilled. But the days went by, and at last the rose began to fade, and as the petals dropped away one by one, she felt an answering throb as she thought that her hope would die. At length, when half of the rose lay a shower of dead petals on the table around the vase, it seemed as though she could no longer endure the suspense. She became desperate, and determined to end it all by destroying the rose which had caused her such sweet hope, and such bitter disappointment. She grasped the flower and took it from the vase, but, as she essayed to crush it, her soul was filled with remorse and she hesitated. She gazed at it for a time, as tears filled her eyes, and finally with a sob of pain she began to dismember the bloom, plucking the petals one by one and throwing them idly in her lap. At last, only a half dozen remained about the heart of the flower, when in an instant she was amazed and overjoyed to see a face slowly emerge from amidst the stamens. At the same moment an overpowering fragrance welled up and enthralled her senses, so that she almost sunk into unconsciousness. Then, as she knew that her hope was realized, that the fairy's promise was fulfilled, and that Love was within her grasp, she leaned forward eagerly, to scan the feature of the face before her. It was but a miniature, but after a very brief scrutiny she readily recognized it, and knew that it was Leon's. With a cry of surprise she awakened, while all the details of the dream were yet fresh within her mind.
As the morning sun shed a ray across the features of Agnes Dudley, now freed from the bondage of sleep, it illumined a puzzled countenance.
Agnes could not quite understand the feelings which swayed her heart.
The sense of gladness was new, as was also a dread anxiety which rose up, and almost suffocated her as she thought, ”It is only a dream!”
She had dreamed of love, and she had coupled Leon with that idea in some way, but why should it disturb her to find that it was but a dream? Surely she could not be in love with Leon? Of course not! The very thought was preposterous, even coming to her as it had, while she was asleep. Springing out of bed she was astonished to find that it was already nine o'clock, for usually she was an early riser. She began dressing hurriedly, and rang for her maid. When the girl came she brought with her a beautiful bunch of red rosebuds, half blown.
Instantly Agnes was reminded of her dream, but when she noted that a card was attached, and read upon it the words, ”With the compliments of Leon,” she felt a blush creep over her face, neck, and shoulders, which made her for the first time in her life feel ashamed. She was ashamed because she thought that the maid might observe and understand her confusion, and she was very angry with herself to find that so simple a gift should so disturb her. She sent the maid away that she might once more be alone. Then she read the card again, and noted the signature more closely. Why should he sign only his first name? That was a privilege accorded only to very close friends.h.i.+p. It seemed presumptuous, that the first note received by her from this young man should be so signed. She certainly would show him that she resented what he had done. Indeed she would! Then, with an impulse which she did not a.n.a.lyze, she crushed the buds to her lips and kissed them rapturously. In another moment she realized what she was doing, and again a blush colored her fair skin, and as she observed it in her mirror, she exclaimed, half aloud:
”A red blush, the symbolic color of love!” She paused, retreating before her own thought. But there was no repressing it. ”Do I love him?” She did not reply to this aloud, but the blush deepened so that she turned away from the gla.s.s, that she might hide the evidence of her own secret from herself.
If the Judge could have guessed what was pa.s.sing through the mind of his daughter, he might have more fully respected the suggestion theory which Doctor Medjora had propounded to him. As it was, a night's sleep, and an hour's consideration of the matter on the following day, enabled him to conclude that there was nothing about which he need disturb himself. He had come to admit, however, that a.s.suredly Agnes was a wonderfully healthy and intellectual girl, and he was willing to accord some credit therefor to her a.s.sociation with his friend, the Doctor. Feeling consequently indebted to Dr. Medjora, he hastened to write to him that he would immediately take the steps necessary for his legal adoption of Leon, and for giving the lad the name Medjora.