CHAPTER IV.
Bertie Cochrane had taken them straight across by ferry to their housein Long Island, near Port Washington, had seen them comfortablyinstalled, and returned in the evening to his flat in town. As regardsThurso, the spiritual conflict of the Divine and Infinite against allthat was mortal and mistaken had begun, and of the ultimate issue ofthat he had no doubts whatever. But there was another conflict beforehim, more difficult than that--a conflict of things that were all good,but yet seemed to be unreconcilable; and as he sat now, after eating theone dish of vegetables which was his dinner, he felt torn by these fineconflicting forces.
For to-morrow, at the joint request of Thurso and his sister, he wasgoing down to stay with them. That arrangement he could not refuse.Since they were so kind as to ask him, it was better in every way, asregards the cure he was undertaking, to do so. Thus, all day and everyday he would see and be with the girl whom he loved with all theintensity of his jubilant and vital soul. Yet, since he would be thereonly as a healer, and since, except as a healer, he would never havebeen there, he knew that he must entirely swamp and drown all hisprivate concerns. He must say no word, make no sign. Even that was notenough, he feared. He must school himself to feel no longing. His loveitself must be drowned--that strong and beautiful thing--while he wasthere; for he would be there _only_ as one who could bring, and hadpromised to bring, light to this man who was obscured by error. Thatwould be the sole reason for his presence there, and it was worth not amoment of further debate or argument. And as he sat here now, hewondered if he was strong enough to do what he knew he must do, orwhether, even at the eleventh hour, it was better to refuse to go toLong Island at all, but send someone else. On the other hand, he hadhimself promised to cure Thurso. He and his sister had come from Englandon that express understanding and under promise. But would it not bebetter to break that rather than lead himself into the temptation ofusing for his own ends the opportunity that had been given to him, andaccepted by him, of demonstrating the eternal truth which was more realthan any human love?
He knew, too, the hourly difficulties that his position would entail.Lady Maud thirsted for more knowledge about the truth which she alreadybelieved, and it would be he, naturally, who would talk to her about it,sitting opposite her, and seeing the glowing light of the knowledge thatwas being unveiled in her eyes. And yet all the time he must keep histhoughts away from her--see nothing, know nothing, except what hetaught her. Not a thought could be spared to anything else; he would bethere to heal, and while he healed all that was his belonged to twopersons only--his Master and his patient.
He fixed his mind on this till it all acquiesced, and not only all openrevolt, but all covert rebellion and dissent ceased. And the moment thatwas done, even as, without apparent reason, a sudden surge of water in acalm sea sets the weeds waving and submerges rocks, so from theunplumbed abyss of Love a wave swept softly and hugely over his doubtsand drynesses, covering them with the message from the infinite sea.What had all his doubt and rebellion been about? He did not know.
The cold outside was intense; it had come on to freeze more sharply thanever at sunset, but he got up and set his window open. The aid that gavehim in the work that lay before him now was adventitious only, but hefound it easier to detach himself from the myriad distractions of mortalmind if, instead of breathing the close atmosphere of a room that wasfull of human associations, the taintless air of out of doors, of nightand of cold, came in upon him. Very possibly that feeling itself was aclaim of mortal mind, but it was better to yield to such a claim when itwas clearly innocent, if it told him that the realisation of truth wasthereby made more complete to his sense, than to waste energy infighting it. And then, as he had done before when he went to the bedsideof Sandie Mackenzie, he called his thoughts home. Thoughts of the dayand the sea, of the sunshine, and the windless frost and the virginsnow, came flocking back, and went to sleep. Other thoughts, a littlemore laggard, a little less willing to rest, had to obey also: he had toforget the book he had been reading during his dinner, the swift hour ofskating he had enjoyed after he came back to town, the friend he hadmet and talked with in the street. And another thought more wide-awakeyet had to be put to sleep (and, if possible, be strangled as it wassleeping)--namely, his strong physical disgust for a man who, throughsheer weakness and self-indulgence, had allowed himself to get into thestate in which he had found his patient: that slack lip, that sallowface, that dull, stale eye, the thinning, whitening hair, were like somevoluntary and ghastly disfigurement, as if Thurso had striven with hisown hands to deface and render hideous his own body, and had succeededso well that to Cochrane this morning he had been scarcely recognisable.But all this had to sleep; all his disgust had to be done away with. Youcould not heal a leper by shuddering at his sores.
Slowly and with conscious effort that was done, but there was still onesoaring thought abroad, stronger of wing, harder to recall than any.Maud, too, had to be called home (and the irony of the phrase struckhim). Her beauty, her incomparable charm, her serene, splendid braverywith her brother, and his love for her, must now be all non-existent forhim. She must cease--all thought of her must cease.
* * * * *
Then, like the force that turns the driving-wheel of some great enginethat is just beginning to haul its ponderous freight out of the station,the power of the Divine Mind began to press within him. Once and againthe wheel spun round, not biting the rail, for the load was very heavy;but soon the driving power began to move him, the engine, and the deadand heavy weight of the trucks weighted with the error and sickness hewas to cure. Under the roof of the station it was dark and gloomy, butoutside, he knew, was sunshine. There was only one force in the worldthat could bring him and his trucks out there, but that it should dothat his mind had to strain and strive and grip the rail. Sometimes itseemed that the weight behind was immeasurable, sometimes that the forcewhich drove him was so vast that he must burst and be broken under itspressure. But he knew, that little atom of agonised yet rapturousconsciousness, which was all that he could refer to as himself, knewthat he and his freight were in control of the one Power that cannot gowrong, that never yet made a mistake. The hands that held him wereinfinitely tender, even as they were infinitely strong.
* * * * *
It was some four hours later when he got up from his chair. The fire hadgone out, and the bitterness of the frost had frozen the surface of theglass of water he had poured out, and he broke the crust of ice on itand drank. Two minutes later he was undressed and asleep, having plungedinto bed with a smile that had broadened into the sheer laughter ofjoy.
Thurso awoke next morning, feeling, so he told himself, the stimulus andexhilaration of this new climate and the bracing effect of this dry,sunny morning of frost. After the narrow berth of his cabin it was aluxury to sleep in a proper bed again, and a luxury when awake to lie atease in it. What an excellent night he had had, too! He had slept fromabout half-past eleven the night before till he was called at half-pasteight--slept uninterruptedly and dreamlessly, without those incessantwakings from agonised dreams of desire which had so obsessed him duringthe last week. No doubt this change from the sedentary and cramped lifeof the ship to the wider activities of the land accounted for that, andhe felt that the place and the air both suited him. Yesterday had passedpleasantly, too. He, Maud, and Cochrane had been for a long sleigh-drivein the afternoon, and--there was no use in denying it, though he feltsome curious latent hostility to him--Cochrane was a very attractivefellow. He had the tact, the experience, the manner of a cultured andagreeable man, and these gifts were somehow steeped in the effervescenceand glow of youth. Never had Thurso seen the two so wonderfullycombined. Youth's enchantment was his still, the eager vitality of aboy.
When they returned he had had an hour's talk with him alone, and atCochrane's request had told him the whole history of his slavery. And,somehow, that recital had been in no way difficult. Once again, as onthe occa
sion of Maud's poaching, Cochrane had made it easy not to beashamed. Thurso felt as if he was telling it all to a man who understoodhim better than he understood himself, who did not in the least condoneor seek to find excuses for this wretched story, but to whom thesehideous happenings appeared only in the light of a nightmare, as ifThurso had had a terrible dream, and was speaking only of emptyimaginings. At the end--the tale was a long one--Cochrane had stillbeen genial.
"Well, now, that is a good start," he said, "for I guess you haven'tkept anything back. Sometimes people have a sort of false shame, andwon't tell one what is, perhaps, the very worst of all. That must hinderthe healer. It must help him, on the other hand, to know just exactlywhat the trouble is."
"Quite so; that is only reasonable," said Thurso.
But to himself he thought how odd it was that so straightforward andsimple a fellow should be such a crank. Not that he was not perfectlywilling to let the crank do what he could for him. He would have wornany amulet or charm if anyone seriously thought it could help him. But,again, he was conscious of his latent hostility, and this time hefancied he perceived the cause of it. For Cochrane was here to rob himof the most ecstatic moments of his life. It was the memory of themwhich made him feel that he was in the presence of a thief, an enemy.
"Well, now, before I go back to town for the night," continued Cochrane,"I want to start you right away with one or two thoughts to keep in yourmind. Remember, first of all, that all that you have been suffering fromis unreal. It has no true existence, in the sense in which life and joyare true. Try to realise that, for thus you yourself will help in theaccomplishment of your healing. A patient can help his medical man bydetermining to get well, can't he? In the same way you can help me bytrying to realise that you have never been ill. Real illness is acontradiction in terms."
"Do you mean that not only are the effects of the drug unreal, but thecravings for it are unreal?" asked Thurso. "Surely one can only judge ofthe truth of a thing by one's feelings. One's feelings are the ultimateappeal, and I assure you I know of nothing so real as my craving. If ithad been less real I should not have come to America."
"Ah! that's where you make a mistake," said Cochrane. "There may not bean atom of truth in the thing which is the cause of your feeling moststrongly. Suppose, for instance, a lot of your friends entered into aconspiracy to play a practical joke on you, had you arrested, got youconvicted of murder, and condemned to be hung, with such realism andcompleteness that you actually believed it was going to happen. Youwould be terrified, agonised, and your terror and agony would be therealest thing in the world to you. But it would be all founded on alie--on a thing that didn't exist. And your craving is founded on alie--such a stupid lie, too, believe me. As if evil has any powercompared with good!"
Thurso thought this illustration rather well-chosen, but he was a littletired, a little impatient. Also, the mention of his craving seemed tohave stirred it into activity again. He began to wonder if there was anychemist's shop near. They had passed one on their drive--"ride" Cochranecalled it--but that was a couple of miles off.... And the thought madehim the more impatient.
"Excuse me," he said, "but I am not a Christian Scientist, and themethod you employ doesn't interest me, since I do not believe in it. Itis right for me to tell you that; I only came here because I felt I owedit to--to others to do anything that was suggested."
Cochrane laughed with serene good-humour, though Thurso's tone had notbeen very courteous.
"Oh, we'll soon alter all that," he said, "and I am telling you a littleabout the treatment, in order that you may work with me, give me thehelp the ordinary patient gives his doctor."
"I suppose I'm pretty bad," he observed.
"I should just think you were. Why, you are all wrapped up in error!Have you ever unwound a rubber-covered golf ball? There are yards andyards of india-rubber string, and you think it's going on for ever. Butat the centre there is a core. And there is a core in you too. But we'vegot to unwind the error in order to get at it."
Thurso got up; he was feeling every moment more fidgety and impatient.He was beginning to want the drug most terribly; his craving was growingwith mushroom-like rapidity. Yet while Cochrane was there he felt thathis will to get well, his desire to be free, was keen also. And thatgave him an impulse of honesty.
"I tell you this, too," he said: "I'm longing for the drug mostfrightfully now. Ah, help me!" he cried in a sudden wail of appeal, "forI know what I shall do when you are gone."
"Yes, tell me that," said Cochrane; and the wail of the voice told himthat true impulse still existed, whatever Thurso's own forecast was.
"Well, I shall go and see where Maud is," he said, "and if she isdownstairs I shall tell her that I am going to my room to sleep till itis time to dress, so that I can get away by myself. She trusts me, Ithink, even after all that has happened. Good heavens! why am I tellingyou this?" he said suddenly. "You will tell her now, damn you! and spoilit all."
Cochrane interrupted quietly.
"Your damning me doesn't hurt," he said, "and I solemnly promise you notto give your plan away. There's no chemist very near, I'm afraid, butthere's one in Port Washington; we passed the place this afternoon."
"Ah, you've warned him," said Thurso.
"I have done nothing of the kind, nor shall I. Pray get on."
The pleasure that the diseased imagination took in the projection of itsplans was suggestive of the joy of their realisation. Thurso gulped ashe spoke.
"I take it, then, that you won't interfere," he said. "Well, I shall goto my room and forge--yes, forge a prescription. I'm getting a rare handat that."
He gave a little cackle of delight; the impulse that a couple of minutesago had prompted the cry for help was half smothered, and he wasconscious of one need only. He pointed a warning finger at Cochrane.
"It's understood that you do nothing to hinder me," he said, "nothingtangible, practical, though you can treat me--don't you call it?--tillall's blue. Then I shall send to the stable, and tell a man and horse togo down to the chemist's, wait for the prescription to be made up, andbring it back. Lord Thurso, you know! Republicans think a lot of a lord,and they'll hurry, because they've got a fine specimen of one now. And Ishall sit gnawing my nails till that bottle comes back. Then--two hours'Paradise before dinner. God! I wonder the whole world doesn't take tolaudanum. Paradise made up while you wait. Cheap, too."
"Remarkably cheap," said Cochrane.
"Ah, you are laughing at me. But you don't know, you can't guess----"
Thurso came close up to him and pressed his arm. The latent hostilitywas all gone; here was a friend who should be told what he was missing.So easy was it to get out of hell into purgatory, and through purgatorypast the unbarred gates of a Paradise of rose and gold. Noflaming-sworded angel was there; a glass and a bottle were the pass-wordfor admittance. You had but to draw a stopper, chink a glass, and drink,and the whole world was changed. The thought invaded and encompassedhim. He could think of nothing but that.
"Suppose you try it one night," he said to Cochrane, "when you arestaying down here, as you will be to-morrow? You just see; there's noneed for any healing any more--the thing is health and life. I say,wouldn't it be funny if, after I had come over here to be cured by you,I succeeded in pulling you after me. Just try some night."
Bertie Cochrane nodded at him.
"Well, it may come to that," he said; "there's nothing which you can sayis impossible."
Thurso laughed again.
"Maud too, perhaps," he said. "What a good time we might have: 'up toheaven all three,' as it says in that poem by--by--I never can remembernames now!"
Cochrane could barely restrain a little shudder of disgust at this, buthe checked it.
"Well, you're making an excellent start," he said, "because you'retelling me all your plans for the future, just as you have told me allthe history of the past. And as for the present, I can figure that uppretty correctly now. Now, do you know what you've been doing for th
islast ten minutes? You've been almost forcing yourself to do what yousay you are going to do by imagining it. Every action begins in thebrain. But just before that another action began. You said, 'Ah, helpme!' Do you remember that?"
"Yes, but it's useless," said Thurso. "You see for yourself."
"It isn't useless. I never spend my time over useless things. When yousaid that your will was on the right side. And even now when you arehalf-crazy for that drink, aren't you ashamed to think of what you havejust suggested--that Lady Maud, your sister, should be dragged down withyou? Aren't you ashamed? You have been very candid; I want your candidopinion on that."
Thurso frowned.
"I didn't say that; I'm sure I didn't say that."
"But indeed you did. Now come back on the right side again. You've beensuggesting things to yourself, and imagining them with remarkablevividness. So now, to make it fair, plan another evening for yourself.Come, what would be pleasant? Don't make a long evening of it; I wantyou to go to bed before eleven."
"Why?" asked Thurso.
"Just because it's a sensible hour. I shall be treating you by then."
"But Maud tried to treat me once on the steamer," said he, "and theeffect was that I couldn't get to sleep at all. I thought she was in theroom."
For the moment, anyhow, the edge of his desire was dulled. There wassomething that compelled attention in this big, strong young man, whowas so cheerful and quiet, who looked so superlatively well, and seemedto diffuse sanity and health.
"Why, that was real good of Lady Maud, wasn't it?" he said, "and thatfeeling of yours that she was in the room was very likely to happen.I'll tell you why: like everything else in science, it is so simple. Thehealer ought quite to sink himself; he shouldn't be conscious of himselfat all. He mustn't think that he is controlling the working of the powerof Divine Love. But that unconsciousness of self only comes withpractice. At first the healer finds that his personality obtrudesitself."
Quite unconsciously Thurso began to be more interested; consciously heknew that he did not want the drug just this moment as devouringly as hehad thought. The simplicity of what Cochrane was saying struck him also;it was so exceedingly unlike the torrential inconsequence of AliceYardly.
"Then why can't you heal me instantly?" he said. "If error cannot existin the presence of Divine Love, how is it that time is required for itsdestruction?"
Cochrane laughed.
"I haven't the slightest idea," he said; "but, then, I do not profess tobe able to explain everything. Sometimes healing is reallyinstantaneous, sometimes it takes time. But if you ask me why, I confessI can't tell you. It is so, though."
He got up.
"Now I must go," he said, "for though there's no such thing as timereally, it is still possible to miss a train. Now keep on making otherpictures of this evening to yourself, and say you will go to bed ateleven."
Thurso lay back in his big chair after Cochrane had gone, conscious thatsomething else besides laudanum had begun to interest him a little. Hefelt no leaning or tendency whatever towards Christian Science, and hewanted to find some weak spot in the central theory, some fatalinconsistency, which must invalidate it altogether. There must be oneeven in the little he had heard about it. At this moment Maud came in.
"I've had a long talk to Cochrane," he said, "and he left only tenminutes ago. Maud, give me a Christian Science book; I'm going to provethat it's all wrong."
She laughed.
"Do, dear; it is the business of everybody to expose error. Shall I readit to you?"
"Yes, if you will."
Then suddenly his craving began to return, sharpening itselfinstantaneously to hideous acuteness. His mind was like some lightvehicle, from which the driver had been spilled, being galloped awaywith by the bolting, furious horses of habit. Never before had thestroke fallen upon him with such suddenness. "A fine first-fruit of thevalue of Christian Science," he said to himself. Yet though itsonslaught made him almost dizzy, he retained his presence of mind andthe cunning which seemed to have been developed in him since he took tothe drug. He mastered his voice completely; he mastered also thatwatering of the mouth and the automatic swallowing movement of histhroat.
"Or shall we read after dinner?" he said. "That sleigh-drive made me sosleepy. I think I should drop asleep at once if you began to read."
Maud looked at him for a moment with a pity that was instinctive; shecould not help it. Then she laughed again.
"Oh, Thurso, how transparent!" she said. "You want to go to your bedroomand forge--yes, forge the prescription which you forged with suchbrilliant success on the steamer, and send it down to the village to getyour horrid bottle. It's all very well to forge once or twice, but youreally mustn't get in the habit of it; it grows on one dreadfully, I amtold."
He came towards her white and shaking.
"That quack Cochrane has been talking to you, has he," he said. "Hepromised not to interfere."
"He hasn't interfered. You are perfectly free to do what you like. Andhe is not proved to be a quack yet."
He laid his hand on her arm.
"Maud, just this once," he said--"do let me have it this once. It shallbe the last time. You see, the treatment will soon put me right now."
"Why do you want my leave?" said she.
"I don't know. It would make me more comfortable; I should enjoy itmore."
"Well, I propose a slightly different plan," she said. "I promise youthat I will go and get it for you myself at twelve o'clock to-night ifyou still really want it. Hold on for six hours--five hours--and then,if you ask me, I will take down the forged prescription myself. Only inthe interval you must do your best--your best, mind, not to think aboutit. And you must go to bed at eleven. That's not much to ask, is it?"
He weighed this in his mind, and soon decided, for there was somethingrapturous in the waiting, provided he knew he would soon get it.
"Yes, of course I'll wait," he said, "though I can't guess what yourpoint is. You really promise it me at twelve? And you won't tellCochrane?" he added, with a little spurt of glee, thinking that for someinexplicable reason Maud was going to help him.
"Oh no, I won't tell him; you probably will. Now, if the sleepiness ofthe sleigh-drive has gone off, I will read to you. It will help to passthe hours till twelve."
It had required all Maud's faith to get through with this, but she hadunderstood and agreed with what Mr. Cochrane had said before he left. Hewanted, above all things, that Thurso should make an effort ofabstention, though it was only for a few hours, of his own accord, andbelieved that at present he could hardly do so unless he was bribed, soto speak. He had, in fact, suggested this plan.
"And if he wants it at twelve?" she asked.
"Keep your promise. But he won't. He can't."
* * * * *
All this Thurso thought over as he lay in bed next morning watching hisvalet put out his clothes. He had gone to bed, as he had promised,before eleven, hugging to himself the thought that midnight was comingcloser every minute. And then he had simply fallen asleep, and when hewoke the pale winter sunlight was flooding the room.
Yet, mixed with the exhilaration of this cold, bracing air, the memoryof the pleasant day before, the sense of recuperation after hisexcellent night, there came the feeling as he got up and dressed,turning over these events in his head, that he had been tricked. He hadno idea how the trick was done, or how it was that he could have gone tosleep when, if he had but kept awake so short a time, he would haveenjoyed, and that with no sense of concealment or surreptitious dealing,the one sensation that turned life into paradise. Certainly it had beenextremely neatly done. As a conjurer, Cochrane's sleight of mind, so tospeak, was of the most finished sort, for, as has been said, Thurso hadhad no sense of his presence or intimation of his influence. Cochrane,however, would be here to-day, and perhaps he would explain. But thefeeling of having been tricked somehow piqued him, and the pique was notlessened by the fact that he could not guess how t
he trick was done. Ofcourse, it must have been suggestion or hypnotism in some form; but theodd thing was that neither Maud nor Cochrane had suggested to him at allthat he should go to sleep. He had gone to sleep by accident withoutintending to do anything of the sort, and without any feeling thatothers were intending it for him.
While he was dressing he heard the sound of sleigh-bells, which probablybetokened Cochrane's arrival, and when he got downstairs he found himand Maud already breakfasting.
Cochrane nodded to him.
"Good morning," he said. "Now Lady Maud will tell you that neither shenor I have spoken a word about you this morning. I know nothing of whathas happened here since I left last night. I told her, by the way, justbefore I left, to promise to get your drink for you, if you wanted it,at twelve o'clock midnight. Now let's hear what happened."
"I went to Thurso's room at twelve and knocked," said Maud. "There wasno answer, so I went in. I called him several times, I even touched him,but he didn't wake."
Cochrane laughed.
"I call that pretty good," he said.
"Oh, this is childish!" broke in Thurso. "Maud, do you swear that thatis true?"
"Of course."
"Well, you or Mr. Cochrane must have hypnotised me or drugged me," hesaid.
"I know less about hypnotism than I know of the inhabitants of Mars,"said Cochrane. "Or what do you think we drugged you with?"
"Well, how did you do it, then?" he asked. "I congratulate you, anyhow.It was very neat."
"I didn't do it. I had no idea, at least, whether you were asleep orawake at midnight. I only knew that Divine Love was looking after you."
Something rather like a sneer came into Thurso's voice.
"Did--ah! did Divine Love tell you so?" he asked.
"Yes, most emphatically. He has promised to look after us all, you know,and do everything that is good for us. My word! you've never seen sucha beauty of a morning outside. Cold, though."
Thurso was undeniably in a very bad humour by this time. He feltconvinced in his own mind that there had been some hypnotic force orsuggestive influence used on him last night; but when a man denies it,and simply attributes all that has happened to the working of DivineLove, you cannot contradict him. Maud, however, had read to him lastnight out of some Christian Science book, and he had found, he thought,a hundred inconsistencies in it. Cochrane's last words, too, wereutterly inconsistent, simple as they sounded.
"How can you say it is cold," he asked, "when your whole Gospel isrooted, so I understand, in the unreality of all such things--cold,heat, pain, and so on? Or did I misunderstand, do you think, what Maudread to me last night? I certainly gathered that neither cold nor heathad any real existence."
"No; but we think it has," said Cochrane, with his mouth full.
"Then, is it not what the Reverend Mrs. Eddy calls 'voicing error' toallude to the temperature of the morning?"
Cochrane laughed, a great big genial laugh.
"Oh, we don't--at least, I don't--make any claim to be beyond feelingcold or heat when there is no reason for not feeling it."
"I beg your pardon."
Cochrane still looked amused and quite patient.
"Well, if for any cause it was necessary that I, in healing you, shouldhave to stand in a tub of ice-cold water, I don't imagine it wouldaffect me much. There would be a reason for my doing it. But in theordinary way we say, 'This is cold, this is hot.' They don't hurt. Mytime is taken up in denying things that do hurt."
"Though nothing hurts."
"False belief hurts, and its consequences."
Maud joined in. Thurso was being tiresome and irritable.
"Dear Thurso, pass the marmalade, please. I have a false claim ofwanting some, so don't tell me there isn't any. I propose to indulge myfalse claim. Oh, don't be severe with us; it is such a pity, and spoilsmy pleasure."
"I was merely inquiring into these matters," said Thurso rather acidly,for his mind still chafed at the trick, or so he called it, that hadmade him go to sleep last night.
Maud's false claim of wanting marmalade was soon satisfied, and she gotup.
"Now, Mr. Cochrane has promised to give me instruction for half an hour,Thurso," she said, "and after that I vote we go out. There's a lake, hesays, not far off. We might skate."
"And what is to happen to me?" he asked. "Am I to have treatment orlaudanum, or to be put to sleep again?"
Bertie Cochrane looked up at him suddenly. For half a second he allowedhimself to be stung, affronted, by Thurso's tone. But he recoveredimmediately.
"Now, honestly, which would you like best?" he asked.
Then, though the moment was, as measured by time, an infinitesimal one,in eternity his soul had thrown itself at the foot of Infinite Love,reminding Him of His promise, like a child, calling Him to help.
The acidity and sneering criticism suddenly died out of Thurso's mind.His moods altered quickly enough and violently; it may have been thatonly.
"You know I want to be cured," he said.
Cochrane made a little sign to Maud, who left the room, leaving the twomen alone.
"Yes, I know you do," he said gently, "and you're going to be cured. Butyou can help or hinder. All breakfast, you know, you've been hindering.'Tis such a pity. You've been asking questions, which I love to beasked, and love answering too, when I can answer them, not because youwanted to know, but because you wanted to catch me out. Why, of course,you can catch me out, because often and often I am bound by error andclaims of mortal mind. Also, I don't know absolutely everything--I don'tindeed. But when you want to catch me out like that, it means you areadopting a hostile attitude to me and to that which I hope to bring you.That hinders me. It isn't fair."
Cochrane shook his head at him, like some nice boy remonstrating kindlywith a friend whom he likes for not "playing the game." Then he went onmore seriously.
"Now, what's the trouble?" he said. "Why are you hostile? Is it justbecause Infinite Love came to your help last night, and sent you tosleep, instead of letting you drink that poisonous stuff? I guess it'sthat. But to think or suggest that I hypnotised you or drugged you ischildish. To doubt that it all happened in any other way than the way itdid is error on your part. Why not accept a perfectly simpleexplanation. Can you seriously offer any other? How often before, whenyou've been wanting the stuff badly, and have known you would get it inan hour, have you dropped off to sleep instead? Why, never. And what isthe first occasion of it happening? When I was treating you, bringingyou into the presence of Divine Love--not suggesting things either toHim or you, but just leaving you together. I treated you for some fourhours last night, beginning soon after dinner."
"But it's all impos----" began Thurso. "I don't understand it, anyhow."
"That's a different matter," said Cochrane.
"But explain. If you've brought me there, is it all over? Am I cured?"
"No; because you have made a habit of error, and that habit has to bebroken. You've got to form a new habit of non-error. You will have toput yourself in the hands of Love often and often before you get rid ofthis. At least, I expect that, though we can't tell in what manner Hewill choose to heal you. But I expect that: from what we know a habittakes longer to cure than an occasional lapse. It is hard to forget athing we have got by heart. And we've got to ask, to keep on asking."
Again the hostile attitude was smothered, and interest took its place.
"But why?" asked Thurso. "Why, if error is all a mistake, without realexistence, does it bind us? How can it?"
"Gracious! I can't tell you," said Cochrane. "But there's no doubt it isso."
"And you can heal people who don't believe?" he asked.
"Why not? But a man who didn't believe couldn't heal. And by the timethe cure is complete, as far as I know, the patient nearly alwaysbelieves."
Thurso was asking questions now in a different spirit to that which hadprompted them before. He knew the difference himself.
"You spoke of laudanum as poisonous stuff
just now," he said. "But ifGod made everything, including poppies, how can it be poisonous?"
Cochrane laughed.
"Well, we had better ask Lady Maud to come back," he said. "It was aboutthat very point that I was going to talk to her to-day. Now, if you careto listen to that, since you have asked the question, pray do. But if itbores you, why, if you'll read the paper or occupy yourself for half anhour, we can then all start out skating, or what you please."
"But aren't you going to treat me?" asked Thurso.
"Oh, I was at it this morning for some time," he said. "I've paid youthe morning visit, so to speak."
Then again some spirit of antagonism entered into Thurso, and when Maudcame back he crossed over to the fire with the paper. But the news wasof no importance or interest, since it chiefly concerned Americanaffairs, which meant nothing to him, and by degrees he found himselfattending less to the printed page and more to the voice that sounded socheerful and serene. Sometimes he found himself mentally ridiculing whatwas said, but yet he listened. It was arresting, somehow, and whether itwas only the personality of the speaker that arrested him, or what hesaid, he found himself, whether approving or disapproving, more and moreabsorbed in it.
Cochrane spoke first, as he said he was going to do, about theapparently poisonous or sanative effects of drugs. These effects, hemaintained, were not inherent in the drugs themselves, but in thebelief of those who used them. It was quite certain, for instance, fromthe purely medical point of view, that an injection of plain water couldbe made, and that the patient, believing it to be morphia, would sleepunder the influence of what had no influence at all. He slept because hebelieved he had been given something which would make him sleep. But,from the Christian Science point of view, to use drugs for curativepurposes was merely to encourage the false belief that they could inthemselves cure, while, on the other hand, anyone who knew and fullybelieved that they could neither be health-giving nor destructive ofhealth might, if he chose, eat deadly poison, and be none the worse forit. But no one who held this belief would do so merely as ademonstration to satisfy the idle curiosity of those who did notbelieve.
Up till now he had been speaking quietly, as if all that was merecommonplace and superficial. But now intenser conviction vibrated inhis voice.
"All this," he said, "though, of course, it is perfectly true, is only adetail, a little inference that follows from the real and vitalproposition. How error originally came in I don't pretend to say. Whatwe have got to deal with to-day is that error is here in embarrassingquantities, and that one of the commonest forms of it is to attributereal existence--real, that is to say, in comparison with the reality ofLove--to material things. What is truly worth our concern is not to knowwhat does not exist, but to know what does. And one thing only exists,and that is God, in all His manifestations. Originally, as we all know,He made the world, and pronounced what He made to be good; but thatseems to have been before error entered. But the Infinite Mind, which isDivine Love, is all that has any real being. And as light, pure whitelight, can be split up, so that different beams of it appear as of allthe colours of the rainbow, so that when you say, "This is blue, this isred," you are only speaking of aspects of light, so when you say, "Thisis unselfish, this is courageous, this is pure," you are only speakingof one of the colours of God. It is good that we should contemplate anyone of these, for each of them is lovely; but we must continually befusing them all together in our thought, so that they are mingled andmade one again. And when that is done, when by the power of the littlewe know of the Infinite Mind we bring together all we can conceive oflove and purity and unselfishness, then it is God we are contemplating.And whenever we contemplate Him like that, there is no existencepossible for sin or error or imperfection. They pass into nothingness,not because we will them to do so, or make any longer an assertion oftheir nothingness, but because their existence is inconceivable."
Thurso had dropped his paper, and was listening, still with occasionalantagonism and mental ridicule, but with interest; it was not so dull asthe paper. Besides, what if it was true? Then, indeed, his antagonismwould be that of some feeble soft-bodied moth fluttering against anexpress train, and thinking to stop it. And there was something serenelyauthoritative about these words. It was not as when scribes andPharisees spoke.
Somehow, also--it was impossible not to feel this--there was the sameauthority not only in Cochrane's words, but in his life. The thingswhich he said were borne out by what he did, and it seemed as if it wasnot his temperament that inspired his words, but the belief on which hiswords were based that produced a completely happy temperament. Bigtroubles, big anxieties, he had said, never came near him, but, what toMaud was as remarkable, it appeared that the little frets andinconveniences which she would have said were inseparable from theordinary life of every day were unable to touch or settle on him. Roundhim there seemed to be some atmosphere, as of high mountain places, inwhich the bacilli of worry and anxiety could not live; nothing couldfleck or dim the happiness of those childlike eyes. A child's faith, asshe had recognised last summer, shone there, and it was supported andproved by the knowledge and experience of a man. Like all faith, it wasinstinctive, but every hour of his life endorsed the truth of hisinstinct.
And if either Thurso or Maud could have guessed how passionate andfurious was the struggle going on within him, during this first day ortwo, between the desire of his human love and the absolutely convincedknowledge that he had no right to use this intimacy into which he wasthrown with Maud by the call to cure her brother for his own ends, theywould have said that a miracle was going on before their eyes. Thetempest of desire, the storm of his longing for her, and, more potentthan either, the knowledge that he loved her with all the best that wasin him, continually beat upon him; but the abiding-place of his soul wasabsolutely unmoved by the surrounding tumult, and not for a moment washis essential serenity troubled.
It was the third day after his arrival at the house in Long Island, andhe and Maud were sitting together by the fire before evening closed in.The weather this morning had suddenly broken, and instead of thewindless, sunny frost a south-easterly gale from the sea had setchimneys smoking and ice melting, and drove torrents of volleying rainagainst the windows of the shuddering house. Maud at this moment waswiping her eyes, which the pungency of the wood-smoke had caused tooverflow.
"You were quite right," she said, "when you warned me not to have thefire lit in this easterly room. And what makes it more annoying is thatyou don't weep also. Is that Christian Science or strong eyes? Perhapsthey are the same thing. But I think we had better move into the otherroom. I can't stand it."
The other room was the billiard-room, in which they did not often sit.It was free from smoke, however, and the fire prospered. Thurso had goneupstairs half an hour ago to write letters, and had not yet come back.
"He is so much better," she said, as she settled herself into acomfortable chair. "His recovery has been quite steady, too. Do you anylonger fear a relapse?"
"Oh, I never feared it," he said, "in the sense that I ever imagined itwould baffle me. How could it? Nothing can possibly interfere withtruth. But sometimes--sometimes when error has gone very deep, and hasbeen allowed to rest there, you tap a sort of fresh reservoir of it justwhen you think you are getting to the end of it. In one sense, Isuppose, I have feared that. It may not happen, I have no reason tobelieve that it will, but I have seen very sudden attacks and onslaughtsof the most violent kind, even when one thought the cure was practicallycomplete."
"But surely he has made marvellous progress," said Maud. "Think; it isonly four days since you began to treat him."
"Yes; no one progress is more marvellous than any other, since allprogress is right, but it has been very smooth sailing so far. And--Idon't care whether I am being heretical or not, but I think Iam--conditions have been very favourable. Weather, climate, all externalinfluences, have a great effect. They have no real power to help orhinder, but when a soul is bound by a material habit ma
terial conditionsdo come in. It is no use to say otherwise. The depression caused by awet, windy day, such as to-day, is certainly a false claim, but it goesand hobnobs with other false claims, and they sit round the fire andtalk.... But, take it as a whole, those who believe are less affected bysuch things than those who do not. Mental worry is less felt by theScientist, because he knows it does not really exist. So he willdiscount the depressing influences of weather; he won't so much mind awindy or an oppressive day."
"And doesn't weather ever upset you?" asked Maud.
He laughed.
"Oh dear, yes," he said. "I've been having false claims all over me allday, like--like a shower-bath, and all day I've been reversing them tillI'm dizzy."
"You have looked serene enough," she said. "I shouldn't have guessedit."
"Well, I hope not, since it is by the serenity that comes from completeconviction of the one Omnipotence that you fight them. If you abandonthat, what are you to fight them with?"
He looked at her, smiling; but then his smile faded, for he felt for amoment that, in spite of himself, his love must betray itself by word orgesture. And surely there was some answering struggle going on in her,or was it only sympathy, only gratitude for what he had done, that madethat beacon in her eyes? Whatever it was she had it in control also.
"Won't you tell me of them?" she asked. "Sometimes telling a thing, thevery putting of it into definite words, shows us how shadowy andindefinite it really is. I--I don't ask from inquisitiveness."
"I am sure of that," he said, "but the thing that has been worrying memost to-day is--at present--absolutely a private affair. Then there isanother--I have been letting myself be anxious about your brother, andthat is very bad for him as well as me. When I was treating him thismorning all sorts of doubts kept coming into my mind. Half the time Iwas fighting them, instead of giving myself entirely to him."
"Ah, but you never really doubted," she said. "I am sure that you deniedthem."
"Yes, but I was feeble. I was a muddy, choked channel for the flowing ofDivine Love. And I am now. I have to be continually dusting andcleansing myself. I have been having fears."
"Specific ones? Fear of some definite event?"
"Yes; I'm afraid I have gone as far as that. I have had fears of someviolent access of error coming upon him, and I have no reason forfearing. Because if it did occur I should know quite well what to do.There couldn't be anything to fear really. I guess he's been gettingwell so quickly and smoothly that I have allowed myself to wonderwhether it could be true, though, of course, I knew it was. But that'sso like feeble mortal mind! The very fact that our needs are answered soabundantly and immediately makes us wonder if it is real!"
Maud got up.
"What would you do if he had a relapse?" she asked.
"I couldn't say now, and I certainly mustn't allow myself to contemplateit. But if it came, it would surely be made quite clear to me how todemonstrate over it. We are never left in the lurch like that; it's onlythe devil who plays his disciples false, and lets them have fits ofremorse just when they want to amuse themselves."
The flames on the hearth leaped up or died down in response to the greatblasts outside which squalled and trumpeted over the house, or paused asif to listen in glee to the riot that they caused. The wind was like awild creature that, with frightened hands, rattled at the fastenings ofthe windows as if seeking admittance, till a tattoo of sleet silenced itor drove it away. Then a low, long-drawn whistle of alto note wouldsound in the chimney, and suddenly rise siren-like to a screech ofdemoniacal fury, or, like a passage for drums, the rattle of theleafless branches of the tortured trees mixed with the sound of the surfa mile away seemed to portend some deadly disaster. All hell seemedloose in this infernal din of the elements.
Bertie Cochrane drew his chair close to the fire with a little shudderof goose-flesh.
"I was awfully frightened by a storm once when I was a little chap," hesaid, "and it has left a sort of scar on my mind which is still tender.I always have to demonstrate to myself when there's a gale like this; Idon't seem to be able to get used to them. My father died in the middleof that awful storm ten years ago, too. What a confession of feebleness,isn't it? But I don't think you would have guessed how I hated storms ifI hadn't told you."
"No, I don't think I should," she said. "But I am so sorry. I am justthe opposite. There is nothing I love so much as a gale like this--amaniac. There, listen to that!"
An appalling blast swept by the house, full of shrieks and cries, as ifthe souls of the lost were being driven along in the pitiless storm, andit seemed as if some window must have burst open, or some doorcommunicating with the night and the tempest have come unlatched, forthe thick double curtain which served instead of door between thebilliard-room where they sat and the hall outside was lifted a clearfoot from the ground, and a flood of cold air, strong as a wind, pouredin, making the candles flicker and stream, and stirring the carpet as ifa ground swell had passed beneath it. Cochrane jumped up.
"Something must be open," he said. "The wind has come right into thehouse."
Maud got up with him, but before he had pulled the curtain aside for herto pass, the strange wind ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and theheavy folds fell to the ground again. But by the front-door, with thelatch still in his hand, stood Thurso. The rain dripped from his coat;he was deluged, a waterspout. And Maud's heart sank when she saw him.
"Why, Thurso," she said, "what have you been doing? Have you been out inthis gale? I thought you were upstairs writing letters."
He looked from one to the other as he took off his dripping overcoat,and spoke in a voice that both knew, a stammering, stuttering voice.
"I--I finished my letters," he said, "and then I went out to--to postthem--yes, post them. You couldn't expect a servant to go out in this.Not--not reasonable. And besides, I--I had not been out all day. I--Iwanted a breath of fresh air. Sir James told me to be out as much as Icould. How did you hear me come in? I thought you were in thedrawing-room."
Maud's heart sank--sank.
"We were in the billiard-room," she said.
She looked at Cochrane. All thought of the gale, all trouble of nerves,and whatever else it was that had been obsessing him all day, hadpassed from him. His eyes were vivid and alight; his face alert again,and full of that huge vitality that was so characteristic of it.
"Why, that was thoughtful of you," he said. "And perhaps a little errandon your own account? Why, man, there's a packet in your coat--no, yourbreast-pocket. It's bulging. I can see it from here."
Thurso's hand tightened on it.
"Yes; I can't help it," he said. "Besides, I am much better, am I not? Imust break myself of it by degrees, you know."
Outside the gale yelled defiance; here inside there was tense silence,but it seemed to Maud as if some conflict mightier than that of theelements was going on.
"Ah, do let me have it just this once!" cried Thurso. "I've been withoutit for a week, and I swear to you by all I hold sacred----"
"By laudanum?" said Cochrane.
"Yes, by laudanum, that it shall be a fort-night before I take it again.And don't send me to sleep this time. I--I think I should die if Ididn't have it."
"Let's have a look at the bottle," said Cochrane.
A look of futile, childish cunning came into Thurso's face.
"Oh, I think not," he said. "You--you might forget to give it me back;one always may forget things. Look here, I--I'm going to take it. That'sall about it. I'm awfully grateful to you for all you have done, andto-morrow I will beg your forgiveness, and ask you to go on curing me.But this once you sha'n't stop me. Besides, there's no power either forevil or good in drugs."
"That is blasphemous on your lips," said Cochrane quickly. "I beg yourpardon; I shouldn't have said that."
For that moment the light of anger had sprung into his eyes, but it onlydulled them, and he stood there in silence a space, while theybrightened again with that brilliant serenity and confidence which
hadbeen there before. Then he looked at Maud, smiled encouragement to her,and spoke.
"I never stopped you before," he said. "And I'm not going to stop younow. But you laudanum-drinkers are such selfish fellows. You get away byyourselves, and drink by yourselves, and never treat anybody else. Iwant some of that too. Do you remember saying that perhaps it would endin your converting me? Well, let's make a beginning to-night. Let's havea jolly good drink together. You've got enough for us both, I expect, inthat big bottle."
Thurso still looked suspicious, and he kept his hand on his package. ButCochrane's manner was perfectly sincere, and soon he gave a littlecackle of delight. His eyes, too, like Cochrane's, were very bright, butthey were bright with thirst and desire. His mouth, too, so watered thathe could hardly swallow quick enough to keep the saliva down.
"I don't know what you mean," he said, "but I'll do anything if you'lllet me take it, and not stop me. There's enough for me for to-night andfor you for a week. And may I get some more to-morrow?"
"You may do what you choose to-morrow," said Cochrane, "if you will giveme some to-night. I've often wanted an opportunity, a properopportunity, to take it. Why, you might say I had quite a craving forit."
Maud was looking from one to the other, utterly puzzled. She came closeto Cochrane.
"Mr. Cochrane, what are you going to do?" she said. "What are you about?I am frightened."
He looked at her quickly and radiantly.
"Ah, don't be frightened," he said. "You must help and not hinder. Iknow I am right. Don't be afraid, and don't doubt."