The Mesmerist's Secret

Front matter

BY DANIEL DORMER AUTHOR OF 'OUT OF THE MISTS,' ETC-, ETC. LONDON JOHN and ROBERT MAXWELL MILTON HOUSE, ST. BRIDE STREET, LUDGATE CIRCUS AND SHOE LANE, FLEET STREET, E.C. [AU Rights Reserved] CONTENTS. CHAPTER |.ACE I. AFTER MASS AT THE MADELEINE - - I II. PAUL L0RRIMER 8 III. IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE - - 13 IV. 'there is a sceptic among us' - 19 v. the seance - - - - - 30 VI. IS there some mystery about the marquis ? 41 VII. anguis in herba - - - - 51 VIII. the mesmerist - - - -58 IX. HESTER AND EDMIE - - - - 64 X. THE STORM GATHERS - - - 7 1 XI. THE MIRAGE - - - - - 7S XII. A TETE-A-TETE - - - - SS XIII. WHAT BROUGHT HESTER BACK SO SOON? - 94 XIV. EDITH GUESSES DICK'S SECRET - - 104 XV. MESMERISM IN A NEW LIGHT - - - II7 XVI. IN THE SHADED SALON - - - 131 XVII. A LOVE SCENE - - - - - '45 XVIII.

HESTER'S STORY IS INTERRUPTED - - 1 57 XIX. AN EVENING WALK : THE SHADOWS DEEPEN VI CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XX. AMONG THE NUT-BUSHES - - - I72 XXI. DICK IS ANXIOUS TO ENCOUNTER THE MARQUIS - - - " - 184 XXII. THE CAFE-CHANTANT - - - - 194 XXIII. AT THE PLACE OF APPOINTMENT - - 201 XXIV. A VISITOR COMES IN MERE GIPON'S ABSENCE 213 XXV. THE RAINEOW AND THE STORM-CLOUDS - 223 XXVI. EDMIE'S BIRTHDAY - 236 XXVII. THE STORM BREAKS - 246 XXVIII. THE DARKNESS OF THE NIGHT - - 257 XXIX. MRS. TREVOR IS AFRAID OF THIEVES - 267 XXX. OCCULT ATTRACTION - - - - 274 XXXI. THE OLD INN AT ALTORF - - - 287 XXXII. THE MASTER OF THE CHATEAU DE MENSONGE 297 XXXIII. ANOTHER VISITOR TO THE COTTAGE AT VERSAILLES - - - - ■ - 312 XXXIV. NEMESIS - - - - - 323 XXXV. ZEIT BRING!7 ROSEN -

Chapter I. After Mass At The Madeleine

HIGH mass at the Madeleine is just over. The congregation, gentry and peasantry stream out between the tall pillars and down the broad, white flight of steps in the scorching July sunshine. The last notes of the organ reverberate and die away in the beautiful interior, and the scattered, kneeling suppliants continue telling their beads in thesilence, with a sense that their mental vision has suddenly grown colourless ; and visitors who are loitering about the altars and side-chapels viewing the paint ings and sculptures become aware of their own voices sounding unmusically. The organist in the loft rolls up his score, closes his instrument, and puts everything in order with leisurely precision. Then, tucking his music under his arm, he leaves his stool, and presently coming down the stairs, he too emerges into the glare and stir of outside life.

Paul Lorrimer is a small man, about fifty years of age. He threads his way at a brisk pace along the busy pavement. Evidently there is nothing new to him in any of the bright surroundings, for he appears abstracted, and there is none of the observant interest in his manner which one notices in the numerous tourists and strangers. He is not long in leaving behind the Avenue des Champs Elysees, then passing under the Arc de Triomphe he goes straight up the Avenue de Wagram till it runs into the principal Boulevard of Neuilly. He follows that street about a hundred yards, and then turns in to the right under a white washed archway. An old woman, in peasant dress, enters the arch at the same time from the garden at the opposite end. She greets Paul, and turns in to the low conciergerie door on the right hand of the passage.

On the other hand, facing this door, wooden steps with an old-fashioned balustrade wind up. Paul passes one turn of this staircase and is still mounting, when a door on the landing before him is thrown open. He looks up and sees a girl in white standing in the doorway, with the sunlight streaming around her. ' Oh, daddy, I couldn't believe it was you come home so early !' she cries. ' Have you forgotten AFTER MASS AT THE MADELEINE. 3 something and had to come all this way to fetch it ? But I am so glad you are come ! I've got such heaps and heaps to tell you.' And rushing to him, she kisses him and pulls him with her into the room. Paul allows himself to be seated on the sofa — where the sunshine pouring down exposes the shabbiness of the leather — and then asks what the news may be. ' Well, darling,' he says, ' what is it ?

Nothing that will alarm me very much, I hope.' What a considerable amount of hypocrisy we are all guilty of at times ! Paul Lorrimer's light tone, which implies a confidence that no news on earth can affect him in the remotest degree, and his cheerful manner, are intentionally misleading. There is only the sudden shadow of anxiety, which insists on mixing with the love in his eyes as they rest on the radiant face beside him, to suggest the truth that the heart under the music-master's rusty coat is beating so painfully that his lips can hardly form words. ' I have been to Madame Renan's all by myself, and got a situation !' Edmie vouchsafes so much with great impressive ness, and then pauses a moment to see to what extent her listener is electrified, before she continues : 'Oh. you don't know; but Madame Renan's is a school near here, and I am to have fifty pounds a year as English governess.

Just think i — of it ! Oh, I am so glad ! because now you won't have to give music lessons all day long, and get such headaches— will you, daddy ?' Paul's first feeling is a mixture of relief and disappointment — relief from the nameless, indefinite fears which are always haunting him ; disappointment of the hope which is day by day growing more unlikely of fulfilment while he yet clings to it. For his is one of the many lives, calm on the surface, but whose experience has been such that the very mention of the word news ' administers a shock, conjuring up a whole world of possibilities — painful or the reverse, as the case may be. Paul did not betray what he felt. He looked a trifle grave as he listened, and then smiled and drew the bright little head down on to his shoulder, and kissed the eager face. ' My own child !' he said. ' But I could not let you do it, darling.

I could not possibly let you go to a dull schoolroom, and tire yourself out with teaching.' Edmie drew herself up quickly at the words, and the tears started to her eyes as she looked in Paul's face. ' But I have engaged to do it,' she said, speaking rapidly and earnestly. ' I am not in fun at all ; it is a serious engagement. I am afraid, even if you do not like it, I must do it. Only I thought you would be glad. I thought ' AFTER MASS A T THE MADELEINE. 5 Edmie pushed away the hands holding hers. She was too near tears to go on, and break ing off, she turned her head away towards the window. Paul looked a little perplexed. He was vexed with himself for having disappointed her in his reception of her loving thought ; yet he strongly disliked the idea of her taking a situation as governess.

He was in difficulty to know what to do, for every difference of will between them ended in Edmie having her own way. This had been the rule from babyhood up. Ever since the death of his widowed sister, when Paul, in the midst of his own great life-sorrow, had been saved from utter ruin by having two-year-old Edmie thrown entirely on his hands, he had known no will of his own. Her baby arms and loving, baby smiles had bound up his heart in God's own way, as He only can bind up hearts when they are bruised and broken beyond all other comfort. And from that time Paul had worshipped baby Edmie, and depended on her love almost for his very life. Everyone whom he knew at the time had remonstrated with him upon the baneful effect of the lack of wholesome discipline in Edmie's bringing up. They foretold utter ruin in consequence, and in view of this Paul had made one or two efforts at salutary correction.

But the little punishment of shutting her up in a room, which he had devised, had only elicited bursts of gleeful laughter from the delighted child, as suggesting a game of hide-and seek, so Paul had given up the attempt with a readiness condemned as extremely weak. It was impossible to him to do anything to really pain her. He could not bear her to be sad, even for a moment, so the outside world was suffered to go on reproving, while he was only the more careful that the little life committed to him, should be an extremely happy one. And really it was wonderful how sweet-tempered Edmie was, and how she had flourished in spite of all ominous prophecies concerning her. So throughout it had been the same with him ; and now love and self reproach for having pained her who had been such a blessing to him was conquering all else in his mind, as he sat silent beside her still averted face.

How could he ever have had another thought in his mind than a tenfold increase of love to her for her dearness in wishing to sacrifice herself, in order to save him from overwork ? he asked himself; and he was wondering how he could best say so to her, and make her look happy again, and turn her face to him once more, when she spoke. ' It would have been so much happiness for me,' she said ; ' but of course if you do not wish it, if it hurts you ' ' But I do wish it — and it does not hurt me if it be any happiness for you, pet,' interrupted Paul, with hopeless inconsistency. ' I only could not bear the thought of your undergoing any sort of humilia- AFTER MASS AT THE MADELEINE. 7 tion ; but if you think you would like it, that is a different matter altogether, darling.' Edmie's face was reverted and grew glad again ; and the two sat a long time together talking, and at length decided that to teach in Madame Renan's school was the happiest prospect the world could afford. ' She is French, of course, and speaks nothing else,' remarked Edmie authoritatively, if not quite correctly ; ' but she is exactly like an English woman in her face and manner.

I quite fell in love with her, daddy, and so will you when you see her.' Paul's smile at those last words was rather a sad one. He did not appear to think his falling in love with Madame Renan a likely contingency.

Chapter II. Taul Lorrimer

Edmie's awakening the following morning was very pleasant. Her dreams had been full of sunny school-life at Madame Renan's ; and she jumped up glad that it was a reality to come. It was six months since the state of Paul Lorrimer's finances had made it necessary for him to leave Paris and live outside the barrier. Edmie's education was just then completed, and Paul, being wrapped up in her, had only felt thankful that this last loss had not come till all her school bills were paid, and had given up his airy music-room and beloved pianos quite cheerfully, spending his days in working harder and walking farther than ever without a murmur. It was no fault of his that the six months had been very dull ones to his little niece. The exchange from the busy school-life amongst many companions, and the home which she had had to keep in order, to the unoccupied loneliness of completed education and three rooms au troisieme at Neuilly, where there was scarcely PAUL LORRIMER. 9 sufficient furniture for anything ever to get out of place, could not be a pleasant one.

There was no one but the house servant or the old woman at the conciergerie to speak to from morning till night, for it was too far for Paul to go home in the middle of the day, so that he was obliged to have his second dejeuner at one of the restaurants in Paris to save time. So it was small wonder that Edmie welcomed the thought of a daily duty which would bring with it fresh interests, fresh hopes and happiness. She had often longed to do something to help him who had so long done all for her. And now the time seemed come. What a lucky thing it was that the English governess at Madame Renan's had gone away in that unexpected manner in the middle of the term ! ' I thought idleness was making me discontented, and that I should be better with something definite to do,' Edmie explained to her uncle at the breakfast-table. ' I expect you are right, dear,' Paul assented. ' I should be more thoughtful for you than I am.' He spoke with a wistful love in his brown eyes.

He had been absent and abstracted all the morning, and had only now roused himself with an effort to listen to Edmie's remark. What a bright darling she is, he told himself, and how little I have attended to her or even thought of her this morning ! ' Edmie, am I dreadfully selfish and self-engrossed ? Do I seem so to you, little one ?' he asked, stretching out a pleading hand to her across the corner of the table-cloth and speaking earnestly. Edmie immediately put her hand into his, but not considering that sufficiently expressive, she sprang up from her place at the head of the table, and, putting both arms round his neck, she assured him that he was the ' dearest, dearest daddy in the world,' and that ' no one else could ever be half so kind and loving.' ' Oh yes ! some one will come some day,' con tradicted Paul, smiling and patting the face pressed close to his own. ' Some one far, far better than I, who will be able to take care of you, thank God ' He pulled up rather abruptly.

He had been about to add, ' When I am taken away,' but he refrained for fear of giving pain. Then, kissing Edmie once more, he got up, pushed back his chair, and taking up the music from the sofa — put there in readiness the previous night — he went out in his usual cheerful way. Outside he put on his hat, once black, now almost green with age ; he was beginning to descend the stairs, when he suddenly turned back and looked into the room again. ' It is on Monday you have agreed to go for the first time, is it not, darling?' he said. 'I should like to see the place and the people, first. Could I go on Sunday, or shall I arrange to miss a PAUL LORRIMER. 11 lesson this afternoon, and go then ? You see, to day is Saturday.' 'There are no "people" to see, daddy,' an swered Edmie, looking towards him as he stood in the doorway ; ' only Madame Renan, and her little boy.

She is a widow, I suppose, although she does not wear a cap like one. Edith told me too — Edith Trevor, you know ; she goes to school there — that madame dislikes seeing people, espe cially gentlemen ; she won't, in fact, ever see any one if she can help it. She is a most interesting being, you sec, not at all like ordinary people. Oh, you need not be afraid for a moment that she is not nice ! She is the sweetest, gravest-looking lady I ever saw. I am rather glad you cannot see her, because you would be sure to fall in love with her. I am really certain of it.' Paul had no time to waste, so he closed the door, smiling at the sound of Edmie's merry laugh. ' What a mischievous little puss she is ! And how little she guesses what her words do for me!' Paul was speaking to himself as he went down stairs, without a touch of resentment at the laugh echoing in his ears.

He felt very old just then, and would have been very much ashamed to let anyone know what cruel pain Edmie's suggestion of 'falling in love ' was to him. He was afraid to remember for how many years his life — redeemed from the sharp agony which would have ended it — had been at best but a placid surface, broken constantly with the rising of a bitter pain, which was ever alive, as an undercurrent. He was con tinually reproaching himself in secret for having but a broken heart wherewith to love God. Only that morning he had awakened from sad dreams to cry to himself: ' It is useless now ever to hope to find her, living or dead.' Then, unable to bear the misery, he had risen, and with strong tears and prayers had striven long on his knees, till a certain peace came in the one great assurance of death, and faith in the satisfaction it is to bring.

That the prospect of satisfaction does not here satisfy, in no way impeaches the verity of the promise that we shall be satisfied hereafter. Paul, like many other people much given to self-introspection, was at times very uncertain about himself. Was he heroic, or intensely sinful ? Was he doing his best and leading a brave courageous life, serving his Creator truly and loyally with a broken heart, or was it a disloyalty to God and rebellion against Him, to feel a past sorrow so keenly that there were moments when existence itself seemed a curse? Truly he could not answer. But there had doubtless been a touch of impatience in his pity for himself, and rebellion against his lot, as, catching sight of his own face, worn with suffering and older than his years, he had that morning turned away from his little dressing-glass.

Chapter III. In The Bois De Boulogne

The following proved one of Paul Lorrimer's happiest days. It was a glorious Sunday after noon, and he and Edmie set off early for a walk in the Bois. Over all the surrounding gaiety and vivacity there reigned a peace for him. He accepted it as he did the free gift of sunshine and pure air, and only trembled lest it should vanish again. It was one of those times not too frequent with him, when he felt trustful, able calmly to review the past, remembering its happiness, and to look for ward to the restoration of joy in the future as not an impossibility, thus bridging over the desolation of the present. ' I could even bear to speak of Hester if there were any who knew her, and could understand me,' he acknowledged to himself, as he walked along under the trees. But there was only Edmie beside him, an uncon scious barrier of silence.

He looked at her as she stepped lightly along, chatting, amused at the things about her ; and he felt that he could never cast a shadow of his own pain over that dear, sweet face, however much relief the utterance might bring to him. So Paul put his own thoughts and longings aside, and they went on merrily together, he entering into the young girl's views and projects of life, trying to share her every passing mood, as he always did. Presently, finding two convenient seats, they sat down, and, after a short silence, Edmie remarked : ' What happy days we have ! I wonder how long it will last — whether anything will ever come to disturb it, or we shall ever get tired of being together ?' Paul looked into Edmie's face to see what he could read there. It was quite innocent, however, of any occult meaning.

She was watching the passing life of the French Rotten Row, and had only given expression to a thought which had arisen. ' I shall never get tired of being with you, darling,' Paul answered. ' But, then, that is natural. With you it is different. Does the monotony of the life weary you ?' The absent look died away from Edmie's face and gave place to her usual bright expression, as she answered quickly, looking round at Paul : ' Oh no ! I was only wondering whether any thing odd and exciting would ever happen to us— like the things one reads about.' IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 15 The gravity deepened on Paul's face, and he said hurriedly, with the same instinct which would have prompted a German to cry ' Unberufen !' and which we almost all have felt : ' Do not wish for anything of that sort, dear.

Believe me, the life which has no story is by far the happiest. Odd, exciting things are all very well to read about, but they are terrible to live.' There was a great depth of meaning in Paul's constrained tone, and in the way in which he emphasized that word ' terrible,' if Edmie had but perceived it. And one look at his face, with the pathetic lines of suffering beneath the earnestness, might have added weight to the words of warning now dying on the air. But gaiety — the strongest feature in Edmie's nature perhaps, and ever nearest the surface — having been subject to temporary repression, rebounded now, and she retorted, laughing : ' You need not wish for it unless you like, daddy ; but I shall, and do. I want something very ex citing to happen to me — and I expect it will.' There was some one immediately behind Paul, who for some time past had been interested in observing Edmie, whose interest in overhearing those last words largely increased.

Finding that her uncle vouchsafed no answer to her remark, Edmie turned to look at him, and turning, caught sight of the face behind, with THE MESMERLST'S SECRET. bright eyes fixed upon her. She moved away her eyes again quickly, and wished she had not en countered those others ; they had caused a most uncomfortable sensation to pass through her. She shuddered slightly, and Paul was surprised to feel a little hand thrust into his, as though claiming protection. ' What is it, dear ?' he asked, clasping the hand strongly. ' Nothing the matter,' she replied lightly, answering the anxious tone. And, keeping her face still averted, apparently because she was interested in watching some horses canter into the distance, she added, ' I only thought I had been teasing you too much, and must make it up.' The whole thing was over in a moment.

Paul thought he had been mistaken in Edmie's manner, so the incident passed from his mind. And when next Edmie, unable to resist the attraction, ventured to turn round and look behind her again, the chair was empty, and there was a mixed group of people standing about, amongst whom the only conspicuous figure was an Indian, who looked as though he had nothing particular to occupy him and keep him from being sleepy. Edmie felt a sense of relief that the dreaded eyes were gone, and fell to wondering what interest a native Hindoo could possibly find in contemplating Parisian life in the Bois de Boulogne. But soon he, in his turn, was forgotten in the renewal of the engrossing IN THE BOIS DE BOULOGNE. 17 topic of the new life which was to begin for Edmie on the morrow. A little later Paul and his niece were fully occu pied in stifling laughter which threatened to become more hearty than was seemly in a public place, when a lady, deeply veiled, passed by them. 'I believe you are only shamming all the time, daddy.

You want to see her yourself. You would give all the world to see her really!' ex claimed Edmie. She had evidently been teased, and was re taliating. Paul's face was for the moment buried in his hands, his hat pushed back, his elbows resting on his knees. ' You would give all the world to see her really !' The chance for which Paul would have given all the world — if, indeed, he would have given any thing at all for it — had just been lost then, for Madame Renan had gone by, looking neither to the right hand nor to the left. Edmie caught sight of her black drapery as she disappeared, and, wholly uncertain that she spoke actual truth, she exclaimed under her breath : ' There ! — there, she has just gone past ! That is she. Now look, daddy !' Paul, with his near-sighted eyes, wholly failed to distinguish anything in the crowd when at last he took the trouble to raise his head.

A nd so it was that he. just missed — lightly and with a laugh — missed that which had been his one great object of search for years, and for which he would have given not the world only, had he possessed it, but his own more precious life.

Chapter IV

'THERE IS A SCEPTIC AMONG US.' ' The sweetest woman I ever saw ! How old is she, do you think, Edith ?' ' Madame Renan ? Oh, about fifty — no, not fifty — I mean about forty.' Edmie's first day of school is just over, and she is so full of it as she walks home with her friend Edith Trevor — with whom she is going to spend the evening — that she keeps up a running fire of questions which Edith finds it difficult to answer — the more so as she herself is equally full of another subject, which, in spite of all efforts, she fails to drag in. ' I can't imagine what makes her face so familiar. I seem to have seen her years ago, when she was much younger,' Edmie continued, sublimely uncon scious of the extent to which she was boring her companion. ' I suppose so,' laughed Edith. ' Perhaps you encountered her in some previous state of existence.

Now this friend of Dick's, in whom I have vainly 2 — been trying to interest you, will possibly enlighten you on that point. He goes in for evolution and clairvoyance and that sort of thing.' ' Clairvoyance and that sort of thing ! I don't believe a bit in it, but I am hugely interested at last. So now I will leave off discussing madame for the moment, and hear about your marquis. I think you said he was a marquis ?' ' Yes,' responded the other girl ; ' he is a marquis. Not that that counts for much in my opinion. I have a faculty for thinking very lightly of foreign titles. I was more impressed with the man's at tractive appearance and manner. Please recollect, though, that I did not apply the possessive pronoun to him. He is in no way to be called mine — more likely he will be yours before the evening is over.

Men — handsome men pre-eminently — like pretty faces. You are sure to " mash " one another — forgive my antiquated slang — to an alarming ex tent, even though your mutual influence go no further.' Edith Trevor is as free from the common weak ness of vanity as most people. She is tall and large-boned, though not ungraceful, with a commonplace type of face covered with freckles, her hair is a beautiful auburn, worn short and waving crisply; her white, finely -formed hands and faultless teeth being her sole redeeming physical beauties. On the whole she is by no means pretty, and knows it. She is clever without being accom- ' THERE IS A SCEPTIC AMONG US.' 21 plished, and knows that also. At one time she was much given to coveting her brother Dick's blue eyes and dark lashes, but she has overcome that tendency with added years, and is kind to Dick and fond of him in spite of his superior personal advantages.

She is very proud, too, of the recent honour conferred upon him, in his having been made manager of the English bank in Paris. The brother and sister live very happily together with their mother in the upper part of the Bank building. And Edith experiences much inward satisfaction in introducing her friend to their new home, as they go in at the private entrance together and find their way upstairs into a comfortable room overlooking the handsome boulevard. ' I wonder where mother is,' said Edith, scanning the empty armchair drawn up by the open window, missing the small, placid figure in black with its white widow's cap generally to be discovered there. Just then a voice sounded from behind them as they stood facing the window. ' Well, my dear,' it said, ' I am glad to see you.' ' Oh, here you are, mother !' exclaimed Edith, and she turned round quickly, just as the small form missing from the accustomed chair stretched up to meet Edmie's embrace. ' I went upstairs to put on a fresh cap and straighten myself generally, dear,' the mother explained, while Edith followed up Edmie's kiss with another.