CHAPTER XXI
It was just past two o’clock the next afternoon, when Constance—who was busy writing notices for a Church Workers’ Committee—heard a motor stop outside the gate. Shortly afterwards, heavy footsteps resounded on the gravel path, and the next moment there was a ring at the bell.
She wondered who it could be—Mr. Brentwood? Hardly. Then who was it? Her unspoken question was answered by Martha opening the door and informing her that the dark gentleman from the Manor had called.
Constance was pleasantly surprised. Ever since the night of her dream she had been cogitating how she could get to see Agar Halfi, and now the problem had been solved for her by his unexpected call.
“Show him in, please,” she said quickly.
Her blood pulsed a little faster while she waited. She remembered the last time he had called, how interesting had been their conversation, and she was conscious of a sense of satisfaction at meeting him again.
As he entered the room, Agar Halfi saluted her respectfully in his dignified way, and at her request slowly took a seat.
“I understand Mr. Alletson is out?” he inquired.
“Yes,” replied Constance, “and I do not expect him back until late, that is, tea-time. Can I be of any assistance?”
Why, she did not know; but as soon as he had entered the room, Constance felt a soothing influence come over her, which had the effect of making her forget all the small worries of life. It was similar to the influence which was always with her brother, only in a much greater degree. It occurred to her as being a little curious, knowing that the Hindoo was not a Christian. She had always associated such power with the Church, and to find that it was present, and in a greater degree, in a non-Christian, set her thinking. Her quick brain immediately grasped that if this influence could be possessed by a non-Christian, her idea that it belonged to the Church was wrong. Then to what was it due? She did not know that it was obtained by inward development of faculties of which the great majority of people are unconscious, and that in her brother’s case, he had in a small degree unconsciously developed them, and in spite of the Church! Then it struck her that at one time she had thought Mr. Brentwood possessed the same kind of power, and as she thought over it, she realised that he still possessed it, though her consciousness of it had been totally obscured by that other terrible symptom he exhibited.
“I think I can quite well transact my business with you, Miss Alletson,” replied the Hindoo. “I have called in reply to the letter your brother wrote to Mr. Brentwood yesterday.”
“Quite so,” she answered; “I am fully aware of its contents.”
“Well,” he continued, “Mr. Brentwood has left the matter in my hands entirely, and his house is at my disposal, any time I think fit.”
“That is good of him,” she exclaimed, then added: “And you—will you do it?”
The shadow of a grim smile crossed the Oriental’s face as he said:
“Yes, I will, and I will only make one condition.”
“And that?” queried Constance, holding her breath.
“Is that all the people who have been concerned in this case are present during the time I am carrying out my work.”
She breathed again, and replied in a cheerful tone:
“I feel that I must thank you on behalf of Mr. Shepperton and my brother, and I do so most sincerely on my own account.”
He inclined his head in acknowledgment, and replied:
“I called in person, Miss Alletson, partly because it is simpler to make arrangements verbally than by letter, and partly because I wish, if I may, to see Miss Hobson, so that I shall know exactly how to prepare for the experiment.”
“There is no difficulty about that—I will take you to her. She was asleep about half an hour ago, but may be awake now.”
Elsie Hobson was reclining in an easy-chair in the breakfast-room, and opened her eyes at the sound of them entering. She sat up wonderingly, with a perplexed expression on her pretty face. Constance went to her, and said encouragingly:
“Elsie, this gentleman is going to make you better.”
The girl turned her eyes to the Hindoo, who was standing just inside the door, with a softened expression on his usually set features, and looked at him earnestly; then, as if satisfied with her scrutiny, she said to Constance in a puzzled tone:
“Why, I am not ill, am I?”
“No, dear,” replied Constance soothingly. “Not now, but you have lost your memory, and this gentleman is perhaps going to restore it.”
“Oh, I see,” she answered absently.
Agar Halfi advanced to her chair, and taking one of her listless hands in his, spoke to her gently. She looked at him simply, like a child, and as her eyes met his, he stopped speaking, holding her with his glance. Just for a second, she shrank as if frightened, then a flash of intelligence crossed her face, and she exclaimed eagerly:
“Yes, I know, I met you ... in ...” she paused, mystified, a look of disappointment on her countenance, and then continued wearily, “Oh, I cannot just remember where!”
“Never mind,” he said in a low voice, “you will later on. There is plenty of time.”
She nodded as if satisfied, though her eyes never left his face. Agar Halfi gazed at her steadily for several minutes, while Constance watched with deep interest. Gradually Elsie’s eyes seemed to glaze, a film appeared over the dark pupils, then, with a restful sigh, she closed her eyes, and sank back in her chair as though in a peaceful sleep.
“She is in the hypnotic sleep,” explained the Hindoo, “from which she will awake in an hour. Keep her as quiet as possible during the next two days, please, and do not let her eat any meat, nor take any stimulant.”
“I understand,” replied Constance, “and will carry out your instructions. What day have you fixed for the experiment?”
“Friday evening, at seven o’clock; that is, the third day from now, Tuesday.”
“Very well. Now will you please come back to the drawing-room, there is something about which I want to ask you before you go?”
With a last look at the sleeping girl, he rose and followed Miss Alletson out. When they were again seated, she looked straight at him and said:
“Mr. Agar Halfi, a few days ago I had a similar dream to the one I related to you the last time you called.”
Here she noticed that a quick look of interest came into his eyes, but he did not speak, so she continued:
“And I should like to tell you all about it.”
“Tell me what you wish,” he answered in his grave way.
She paused, as if to collect her thoughts, and then frankly and clearly related all that she had seen and heard in her vision. While she spoke, his dark solemn eyes never left her face, and when she had finished, she instinctively returned his gaze, while she waited for him to reply.
“Your dream, needless to say, deals with yourself principally, but it also deals with the ‘Worlstoke Mystery.’ From it, I read that the matter will be cleared up before the moon is on the wane, but whether this moon or the next, I cannot say. How it will be settled, it is not given to us to know, but you may clearly understand that you will be concerned in it. In the working out of your life on the physical plane, this mystery in some way forms one of the obstacles, which, if you fail to overcome it, will retard your development perhaps for centuries! But in the mystery you are not one of the principal individuals, you are only drawn into it through another.
“The first symbol of the vision, the figure 18, is that of destruction, and needs no further explanation. The second symbol, the figure 22, is that of the perfect state, or the harmony of oneself with the universe. But understand that the overcoming of this present obstacle will not take you straight away to that plane. No person living on the earth could attain perfection straight away.
“The advice, ‘Be true to yourself,’ if properly understood, is all that is necessary for you to succeed.”
While she listened, it seemed to Constance as if her eyes were opened, and she realised that which before she had only believed. The man who sat before her was a Mystic, one of that little known and less understood section of humanity, which, devoting itself to the advancement of the world through the Occult, had made their labours effective in the evolution of life, though not generally recognised. She had read of such men once or twice, but to her knowledge had not met one before.
“Can you tell me anything of that which is to be revealed to me?”
“No, on that point I must not speak.”
She looked at him steadily, as he answered, and his deep dark eyes seemed to glow with a strange light. Then, instantaneously, almost before she knew it had happened, she was conscious that she beheld the man, the true inner self, radiating with a soft white fire, so dazzling, that it seemed to scorch her through and through.
With a startled cry, she hid her face in her hands, and in that moment, she suffered, and understood how small, how feebly flickered the undeveloped spark of life which was her conscious self. As she realised this, the vastness of the eternal universe gripped her mind,—how insignificant she was, how helpless!
“Save me!” she cried wildly, “Save me!” and the echo reverberated like thunder in the lonely darkness, “Save me!” “Save me!” as though mocking her pitiful cry.
She felt a strong hand grasp her own, and a friendly tender voice said:
“Save yourself, child.”
Then she regained normal consciousness, and knew that she was sitting in a chair, staring tranquilly at Agar Halfi, who sat with legs crossed, his hands clasping his knee, looking at her intently.
“What has happened?” she asked absently, “Ah! I remember, you were interpreting my dream, and all at once I forgot. Had you finished?”
“I have nothing more to say concerning it,” he replied. “Have you anything you wish to ask?”
Constance shook her head, and looked meditatively at the carpet. Then impulsively she raised her head and exclaimed:
“Tell me, Mr. Agar Halfi, what is the meaning of life? Sometimes, as I go through its details day by day, a great fear presses on me that after all we are but helpless atoms, drifting in a vast scheme, and that our self-conscious individuality is but a phantasm, non-existent!”
A great sorrow came into his face as he replied:
“It is quite impossible, Miss Alletson, for any human being to answer your question. What you express is the cry of your real self, seeking escape from its clay prison, the narrow walls of which can no longer satisfy your inward growth. So sure as all individuals must some time or other save themselves, so surely must they find the answer to that question, by their own efforts. The physical individuality cannot explain it—the brain has its limits, and to our reason such a question is impossible of reply.”
“Then must each one struggle to gain his or her salvation, every one fight selfishly for themselves? That is what your answer seems to imply.”
“Just the reverse. I am not a Christian, Miss Alletson, yet I will quote from the Bible in support of what I say: ‘Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it; and whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it.’ It is only by sacrificing oneself in the service of humanity that salvation—or more truly speaking the upward development of the conscious self—can be achieved!”
“But, Mr. Agar Halfi, life in general is not based upon such lines. The sordid struggle for material gain dominates humanity, and, based on reason, humanity says: “It is the law of nature, this ‘survival of the fittest,’ and therefore, we being part of nature, are bound by it.”
“What you say is largely true, the trend of the world to-day is for material gain. But surely, if slowly, humanity is finding out its mistake, and though to-day civilisation is based on wrong conceptions and little understood laws, it will not always be so. We are discovering that instead of having to abide by the laws of nature, we are here to subdue nature to our will. Mankind has changed, compared with, say, 4000 years ago, changed with the knowledge and powers it has gained, and will continue to do so, until the ideas of to-day are largely reversed.”
“You speak emphatically,” answered Constance, “as though you knew for certain!”
“I can only speak from my own knowledge,” he replied simply. “From where I stand, I can see the mistakes of to-day, as surely as present mankind can see and profit by the mistakes of its forebears.”
Constance listened intently, wondering at this strange man, and she smiled to herself as she thought that he was the servant of an English gentleman. There was something queer about that, which she felt she would like to know. But then, it was not her business to inquire.
“When you say, ‘From where I stand,’ I am afraid I do not comprehend.”
“That is difficult for me to explain, Miss Alletson, yet if I say to you that the more spiritually developed a human being becomes, the less does he require material things, then have I told you all. For as humanity becomes more spiritual, so will material things of the earth become of little importance. Is it not a fact that the most spiritual, the grandest and most beloved figure in Christianity, thought less of the things of the world than anyone? He, the Master Magician!”
“Of course you speak of Jesus of Nazareth?” she said in a low voice, then added: “And why do you speak of Him as ‘The Master Magician’?”
“Simply because He had greater control over the forces of nature than any man ever had before Him, and so far ever has had!”
“You speak of Him as a man; don’t you think he was Divine?”
The Hindoo shrugged his shoulders, with a little gesture of despair:
“We are all divine, Miss Alletson, in that sense.”
There was a pause—Constance did not want to pursue the matter any further just then. What the Hindoo had said gave her much food for thought, and she would think things out at her leisure.
At length she said:
“Let me see, you said Friday was the day you had fixed for the experiment?”
“Yes,” he answered, “at seven o’clock in the evening, at the Manor. Mr. Brentwood will come over with his car, and take you all there. I shall not be able to come, owing to the preparations I must make beforehand.”
“Do you think you will succeed?”
He smiled strangely, as he replied:
“I have not many doubts, Miss Alletson, and yet I fear trouble; why, I cannot say. Now I think I have said all that is necessary, and I will depart.”
Rising, he wished her good afternoon, but before he reached the door Constance arrested his attention:
“Oh, Mr. Agar Halfi, I really forgot to tell you. The last time you came here, you will remember, I was very much out of sorts, and you told me that I should feel better before three o’clock in the afternoon. Well, it was so. I felt practically recovered about an hour after lunch. Please accept my sincere thanks.”
“For what, Miss Alletson?” he asked questioningly.
She hesitated a little, then said frankly, “Well, I feel sure that it was you who did me good, in some way.”
“I apologise,” he answered quickly, “I was not thinking. I understand now. It is true that indirectly I cured your indisposition, but I had forgotten it.”
“How indirectly?” she queried.
“You were suffering from a slight shock, which deprived you of normal vitality, left you run down, and listless. Coming in contact with my surroundings, and there being a sympathetic link between us, I naturally gave forth from my reserve, of which there is a considerable quantity, and you as naturally absorbed it. Simply that, and nothing else occurred.”
She looked at him astonished, so he continued:
“It is easy of proof, Miss Alletson—give me your hand for a moment.”
She did as he asked, and slowly, but surely, she was conscious of increased energy; she felt stronger, more vigorous.
“Do you feel any change?”
“Yes, I do; it is wonderful. How pleasant to have power to relieve suffering like that!”
The Hindoo smiled queerly, as he answered in a low voice:
“Yes, but it can be used for other purposes—it is strong enough to kill!”
“Kill?” she whispered in an awed voice.
But Agar Halfi had gone, and the next moment she heard the motor car drive slowly away.