The Secret Power Read online

  CHAPTER X

  Roger Seaton was a man of many philosophies. He had one for every dayin the week, yet none wherewith to thoroughly satisfy himself. Whilestill a mere lad he had taken to the study of science as a duck takesto water,--no new discovery or even suggestion of a new discoverymissed his instant and close attention. His avidity for learning wasinsatiable,--his intense and insistent curiosity on all matters ofchemistry gave a knife-like edge to the quality of his brain, making itsharp, brilliant and incisive. To him the ordinary social and politicalinterests of the world were simply absurd. The idea that the greatermajority of men should be created for no higher purpose than those ofan insect, just to live, eat, breed, and die, was to him preposterous.

  "Think of it!" he would exclaim--"All this wondrous organisation of ourplanet for THAT! For a biped so stupid as to see nothing in hissurroundings but conveniences for satisfying his stomach and hispassions! We men are educated chiefly in order to learn how to makemoney, and all we can do with the money WHEN made, is to build housesto live in, eat as much as we want and more, and breed children to whomwe leave all the stuff we have earned, and who either waste it or addto it, whichever suits their selfishness best. Such lives areabsolutely useless,--they repeat the same old round, leading nowhere.Occasionally, in the course of centuries a real Brain is born--and atonce, all who are merely Bodies leap up against it, like famishedwolves, striving to tear it to pieces and devour it--if it survives theattack its worth is only recognised long after its owner has perished.The whole scheme is manifestly unintelligent and ludicrous, but it isnot intended to be so--of that I am sure. THERE MUST BE SOMETHING ELSE!"

  When urged to explain what he conceived as this "something else," hewould answer--

  "There has always been 'something else' in our environment,--somethingthat stupid humanity has taken centuries to discover. Sound-waves forexample--light-rays,--electricity--these have been freely at ourservice from the beginning. Electricity might have been used ages ago,had not dull-witted man refused to find anything better for lightingpurposes than an oil-lamp or a tallow candle! If, in past periods, hehad been told 'there is something else'--he would have laughed hisinformant to scorn. So with our blundering methods of living--'there issomething else'--not after death, but NOW and HERE. We are going aboutin the darkness with a candle when a great force of wider light is allround us, only awaiting connection and application to our uses."

  Those who heard him speak in this way--(and they were few, for Seatonseldom discussed his theories with others)--convinced themselves thathe was either a fool or a madman,--the usual verdict given for anyhuman being who dares break away from convention and adopt an originalline of thought and action. But they came to the conclusion that as hewas direfully poor, and nevertheless refused various opportunities ofmaking money, his folly or his madness would be brought home to himsooner or later by strong necessity, and that he would then eitherarrive at a sane every-day realisation of "things as they are"--or elsebe put away in an asylum and quietly forgotten. This being thesagacious opinion of those who knew him best, there was a considerableflutter in such limited American circles as call themselves "upper"when the wealthiest young woman in the States, Morgana Royal, suddenlyelected to know him and to bring him into prominent notice at herparties as "the most wonderful genius of the time"--"a man whosescientific discoveries might change the very face of the globe"--andother fantastically exaggerated descriptions of her own which hehimself strongly repudiated and resented. Gossip ran amok concerningthe two, and it was generally agreed that if the "madman" of sciencewere to become the husband of a woman multi-millionaire, he would nothave to be considered so mad after all! But the expected romance didnot materialise,--there came apparently a gradual "cooling off" in thesentiments of both parties concerned,--and though Roger Seaton wasstill occasionally seen with Morgana in her automobile, in heropera-box, or at her receptions, his appearances were fewer, and othermen, in fact many other men, were more openly encouraged andflattered,--Morgana herself showing as much indifference towards him asshe had at first shown interest. When, therefore, he suddenly left thesocial scene of action, his acquaintances surmised that he had got anabrupt dismissal, or as they more brusquely expressed it--"the game'sup"!

  "He's lost his chance!" they said, shaking their heads forlornly--"Andhe's poorer than Job! He'll be selling newspapers in the cars for aliving by and by!"

  However, he was never met engaged in this lucrative way ofbusiness,--he simply turned his back on everybody, Morgana Royalincluded, and so far as "society" was concerned, just disappeared. Inthe "hut of the dying" on that lonely hill-slope in California he washappy, feeling a relief from infinite boredom, and thankful to bealone. He had much to think about and much to do--inhabited places andthe movement of people were to him tedious and fatiguing, and hedecided that nature,--wild nature in a solitary and savageaspect,--would suit his speculative and creative tendencies best. Yet,like all human beings, he had his odd, almost child-like moods,inexplicable even to himself--moods illogical, almost pettish, andwholly incongruous with his own accepted principles of reasoning. Forinstance, he maintained that women had neither attraction nor interestfor him--yet he found himself singularly displeased when after two orthree days of utter solitude, and when he was rather eagerly expectingManella to arrive with the new milk which was his staple food, a lanky,red-haired ugly boy appeared instead of her--a boy who slouched along,swinging the milk pail in one hand and clutching a half-munched sliceof pine-apple in the other.

  "Hello--o!" called this individual. "Not dead yet?"

  For answer Seaton strode forward and taking the milk-pail from himgripped him by the dirty cotton shirt and gave him a brief but severeshaking.

  "No,--not dead yet!" he said--"You insolent young monkey! Who are you?"

  The boy wriggled in his captor's clutch, and tried to squirm himselfout of it.

  "I'm--I'm Jake--they calls me Irish Jake"--he gasped--"O BlessedMary!--my breath! I clean the knives at the Plaza--"

  "I'll clean knives for you presently!" remarked Seaton, with athreatening gesture--"Yes, Irish Jake, I will! Who sent you here?"

  "SHE did--oh, Mary mother!" and the youth gave a further wriggle--"MissSoriso--the girl they call Manella. She told me to say she's too busyto come herself."

  Seaton let go the handful of shirt he had held.

  "Too busy to come herself!" he repeated, slowly--then smiled--"Well!That's all right!" Here he lifted the pail of milk, took it into hishut and brought it back empty, while "Irish Jake," as the boy hadcalled himself, stood staring--"Tell Miss Soriso that I quiteunderstand! And that I'm delighted to hear she is so busy! Now, let ussee!" Here he pulled some money out of his pocket, and fingered a fewdirty paper notes--"There, Irish Jake! You'll find that's correct. Andwhen you come here again don't forget your manners! See? Then you maybe able to keep that disgraceful shirt of yours on! Otherwise it'slikely to be torn off! If you are Irish you should remember that invery ancient days there used to be manners in the Emerald Isle. Yes,positively! Fine, gracious, lovely manners! It doesn't look as if thatwill be ever any more--but we live in hope. Anyway, YOU--you youngoffspring of an Irish hybrid gorilla--you'd best remember what _I_ say,or there'll be trouble! And"--here he made a mock solemn bow--"Mycompliments to Miss Soriso!"

  The red-haired youth remained for a moment stock-still with mouth andeyes open,--then, snatching up the empty milk-pail he scampered downthe hill-slope at a lightning quick run.

  Seaton looked after him with an air of contemptuous amusement.

  "Ugly little devil!" he soliloquised--"And yet Nature made him,--as shemakes many hideous things--in a hurry, I presume, without any time fordetails or artistic finish. Well!"--here he stretched his arms out witha long sigh--"And the silly girl is 'too busy' to come! As if I couldnot see through THAT little game! She'd give her eyes to come!--fineeyes they are, too! She just thinks she'll pay me out for being roughwith her the other day--she's got an idea that she'll vex me, and makeme want
to see her. She's right,--I AM vexed!--and I DO want to seeher!"

  It was mid-morning, and the sun blazed down upon the hill-side with thescorching breath of a volcano. He turned into his hut,--it was a dark,cool little dwelling, comfortable enough for a single inhabitant. Therewas a camp-bed in one corner--and there were a couple of wicker chairsmade for easy transposition into full-length couches if so required, Agood sized deal table occupied the centre of the living-room,--and onthe table was a clear crystal bowl full of what appeared at a firstglance to be plain water, but which on closer observation showed atotally different quality. Unlike water it was never still,--someinterior bubbling perpetually moved it to sway and sparkle, throwingout tiny flashes as though the smallest diamond cuttings were strivingto escape from it--while it exhaled around itself an atmosphere ofextreme coldness and freshness like that of ice. Seaton threw himselfindolently into one of wicker chairs by the window--a window which wasbroad and wide, commanding a full view of distant mountains, and faraway to the left a glimpse of sea.

  "I am vexed, and I want to see her"--he repeated, speaking aloud tohimself--"Now--WHY? Why am I vexed?--and why do I want to see her?Reason gives no answer! If she were here she would bore me to death. Icould do nothing. She would ask me questions--and if I answered themshe would not understand,--she is too stupid. She has no comprehensionof any thing beyond simple primitive animalism. Now if it wereMorgana--"

  He stopped in his talk, and started as if he had been stung. Somesubtle influence stole over him like the perfumed mist of incense--heleaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes. What was thestealthy, creeping magnetic power that like an invisible hand touchedhis brain and pulled at his memory, and forced him to see before him asmall elf-like figure clad in white, with a rope of gold hair twisting,snake-like, down over its shoulders and glistening in the light of themoon? For the moment he lost his usual iron mastery of will and lethimself go on the white flood of a dream. He recalled his first meetingwith Morgana,--one of accident, not design--in the great laboratory ofa distinguished scientist,--he had taken her for a little girl studenttrying to master a few principles of chemistry, and was astonished andincredulous when the distinguished scientist himself had introduced heras "one of our most brilliant theorists on the future development ofradio activity." Such a description seemed altogether absurd, appliedto a little fair creature with beseeching blue eyes and gold hair! Theyhad left the laboratory together, walking some way in company andcharmed with each other's conversation, then, when closer acquaintancefollowed, and he had learned her true position in social circles andthe power she wielded owing to her vast wealth, he at once withdrewfrom her as much as was civilly possible, disliking the suggestion ofany sordid motive for his friendship. But she had so sweetly reproachedhim for this, and had enticed him on--yes!--he swore it withinhimself,--she had enticed him on in a thousand ways,--most especiallyby the amazing "grip" she had of scientific problems in which he wasinterested and which puzzled him, but which she seemed to unravel aseasily as she might unravel a skein of wool. Her clear brightness ofbrain and logical precision of argument first surprised him intounqualified admiration, calling to his mind the assertion of a renownedphysiologist that "From the beginning woman had lived in another worldthan man. Formed of finer vibrations and consequently finer chemicalatoms she is in touch with more subtle planes of existence and ofsensation and ideation. She holds unchallenged the code of Life." Thenadmiration yielded to the usual under-sense of masculine resentmentagainst feminine intellectuality, and a kind of smouldering wrath andopposition took the place of his former chivalry and the almost tenderpleasure he had previously felt in her exceptional genius and ability.And there came an evening--why did he think of it now, hewondered?--when, after a brilliant summer ball given at the beautifulresidence of a noted society woman on Long Island, he had taken Morganaout into their hostess's garden which sloped to the sea, and they hadstrolled together almost unknowingly down to the shore where, under thelight of the moon, the Atlantic waves, sunken to little dainty frillsof lace-like foam, broke murmuringly at their feet,--and he, turningsuddenly to his companion, was all at once smitten by a sense ofwitchery in her looks as she stood garmented in her white, vaporousball-gown, with diamonds in her hair and on her bosom--smitten with anoverpowering lightning-stroke of passion which burnt his soul as adesert is burnt by the hot breath of the simoon, and, yielding to itsforce, he had caught the small, fine, fairy creature in his arms andkissed her wildly on lips and eyes and hair. And she,--she had notresisted. Then--as swiftly as he had clasped her he let her go--andstood before her in a strange spirit of defiance.

  "Forgive me!" he said, in low uneven tones--"I--I did not mean it!"

  She lifted her eyes to his, half proudly half appealingly.

  "You did not mean it?" she asked, quietly.

  An amazed scorn flashed into her face, clouding its formersweetness--then she smiled coldly, turned away and left him. In a kindof stupor he watched her go, her light figure disappearing by degrees,as she went up the ascending path from the sea to the house where gaymusic was still sounding for dancers not yet grown weary. And from thatevening a kind of silence fell between them,--they were separated as byan ice-floe. They met often in the social round, but scarcely spokemore than the ordinary words of conventional civility, and Morganaapparently gave herself up to frivolity, coquetting with her numerousadmirers and would-be husbands in a casual, not to say heartless,manner which provoked Seaton past endurance,--so much so that he workedhimself up to a kind of cynical detestation and contempt for her, bothas a student of science and a woman of wealth. And yet--and yet--he hadalmost loved her! And a thing that goaded him to the quick was that sofar as scientific knowledge and attainment were concerned she was morethan his equal. Irritated by his own quarrelsome set of sentimentswhich pulled him first this way and then that, he decided that the onlything possible for him was to put a "great divide" of distance betweenhimself and her. This he had done--and to what purpose? Apparentlymerely to excite her ridicule!--and to prick her humor up to themischievous prank of finding out where he had fled and following him!And she--even she--who had kept him aloof ever since that fatal momenton the seashore,--had discovered him on this lonely hill-side, and hadtaunted him with her light mockery--and actually said that "to kiss himwould be like kissing a bunch of nettles!"--SHE said that!--she who forone wild moment he had held in his arms--bah!--he sprang up from hischair in a kind of rage with himself, as his thoughts crowded thick andfast one on the other--why did he think of her at all! It was as ifsome external commanding force compelled him to do so. Then--she hadseen Manella, and had naturally drawn her own conclusions, based on thegirl's rich beauty which was so temptingly set within his reach. Hebegan to talk to himself aloud once more, picking up the thread of hisbroken converse where he had left it--

  "If it were Morgana it would be far worse than if it were Manella!" hesaid--"The one is too stupid--the other too clever. But the stupidwoman would make the best wife--if I wanted one--which I do not; andthe best mother, if I desired children,--which I do not. The questionis,--what DO I want? I think I know--but supposing I get it, shall I besatisfied? Will it fulfil my life's desire? What IS my life's desire?"

  He stood inert--his tall figure erect--his eyes full of strange andmeditative earnestness, and for a moment he seemed to gather his mentalforces together with an effort. Turning towards the table where thebowl of constantly sparkling fluid danced in tiny flashing eddieswithin its crystal prison, he watched its movement.

  "There's the clue!" he said--"so little--yet so much! Life that cannotcease--force that cannot die! For me--for me alone this secret!--to dowith it what I will--to destroy or to re-create! How shall I use it? IfI could sweep the planet clean of its greedy, contentious humanmicrobes, and found a new race I might be a power for good,--but shouldI care to do this? If God does not care, why should I?"

  He lost himself anew in musing--then, rousing his mind to work, he putpaper, pens and ink on the table, and
started writing busily--onlyinterrupting himself once for a light meal of dry bread and milk duringa stretch of six or seven hours. At the end of his self-appointed time,he went out of the hut to see, as he often expressed it, "what the skywas doing." It was not doing much, being a mere hot glare in which thesun was beginning to roll westwards slowly like a sinking fire-ball. Hebrought out one of the wicker chairs from the hut and set it in theonly patch of shade by the door, stretching himself full length uponit, and closing his eyes, composed himself to sleep. His face in reposewas a remarkably handsome one,--a little hard in outline, but strong,nobly featured and expressive of power,--an ambitious sculptor wouldhave rejoiced in him as a model for Achilles. He was as unlike themodern hideous type of man as he could well be,--and most particularlyunlike any specimen of American that could be found on the whole hugecontinent. In truth he was purely and essentially English ofEngland,--one of the fine old breed of men nurtured among the winds andwaves of the north, for whom no labour was too hard, no service tooexacting, no death too difficult, provided "the word was the bond." Hisnatural gifts of intellect were very great, and profound study hadripened and rounded them to fruition,--certain discoveries in chemistrywhich he had tested were brought to the attention of his own country'sscientists, who in their usual way of accepting new light on oldsubjects smiled placidly, shook their heads, pooh-poohed, and finallyset aside the matter "for future discussion." But Roger Seaton was notof a nature to sink under a rebuff. If the Wise Men of Gotham inEngland refused to take first advantage of the knowledge he had tooffer them, then the Wise Men of Gotham in Germany or the United Statesshould have their chance. He tried the United States and was receivedwith open arms and open minds. So he resolved to stay there, for a fewyears at any rate, and managed to secure a position with the tirelessmagician Edison, in whose workshops he toiled patiently as anunderling, obtaining deeper grasp of his own instinctive knowledge, andfurther insight into an immense nature secret which he had determinedto master alone. He had not mastered it yet--but felt fairly confidentthat he was near the goal. As he slept peacefully, with the still shadeof a heavily foliaged vine which ramped over the roof of the hut,sheltering his face from the sun, his whole form in its relaxed, easyattitude expressed force in repose,--physical energy held in leash.

  The sun sank lower, its hue changing from poppy red to burningorange--and presently a woman's figure appeared on the hill slope, andcautiously approached the sleeper--a beautiful figure of classic mouldand line, clothed in a simple white linen garb, with a red rose at itsbreast. It was Manella. She had taken extraordinary pains with herattire, plain though it was--something dainty and artistic in themanner of its wearing made its simplicity picturesque,--and the redrose at her bosom was effectively supplemented by another in her hair,showing brilliantly against its rich blackness. She stopped when aboutthree paces away from the sleeping man and watched him with a wonderfultenderness. Her lips quivered sweetly--her lovely eyes shone with asoft wistfulness,--she looked indeed, as Morgana had said of her,"quite beautiful." Instinctively aware in slumber that he was notalone, Seaton stirred--opened his eyes, and sprang up.

  "What! Manella!" he exclaimed--"I thought you were too busy to come!"

  She hung her head a little shamefacedly.

  "I HAD to come"--she answered--"There was no one else ready to bringthis--for you."

  She held out a telegram. He opened and read it. It was verybrief--"Shall be with you to-morrow. Gwent."

  He folded it and put it in his pocket. Then he turned to Manella,smiling.

  "Very good of you to bring this!" he said--"Why didn't you send IrishJake?"

  "He is taking luggage down from the rooms," she answered--"Many peopleare going away to-day."

  "Is that why you are 'so busy'"? he asked, the smile still dancing inhis eyes.

  She gave a little toss of her head but said nothing.

  "And how fine we are to-day!" he said, glancing over her with an air ofundisguised admiration--"White suits you, Manella! You should alwayswear it! For what fortunate man have you dressed yourself so prettily?"

  She shrugged her shoulders expressively--

  "For you!"

  "For me? Oh, Manella! What a frank confession! And what a contradictionyou are to yourself! For did you not send word by that Irish monkeythat you were 'too busy to come'? And yet you dress yourself in white,with red roses, for ME! And you come after all! Capricious child! OhSenora Soriso, how greatly honoured I am!"

  She looked straight at him.

  "You laugh, you laugh!" she said--"But I do not care! You can laugh atme all the time if you like. But--you cannot help looking at me! Ahyes!--you cannot help THAT!"

  A triumphant glory flashed in her eyes--her red lips parted in aravishing smile.

  "You cannot help it!" she repeated--"That little white lady--thatfriend of yours whom you hate and love at the same time!--she told me Iwas 'quite beautiful!' I know I am!--and you know it too!"

  He bent his eyes upon her gravely.

  "I have always known it--yes!"--he said, then paused--"Dear child,beauty is nothing--"

  She made a swift step towards him and laid a hand on his arm. Herardent, glowing face was next to his.

  "You speak not truly!" and her voice was tremulous--"To a man it iseverything!"

  Her physical fascination was magnetic, and for a moment he had sometrouble to resist its spell. Very gently he put an arm round her,--andwith a tender delicacy of touch unfastened the rose she wore at herbosom.

  "There, dear!" he said--"I will keep this with me for company! It islike you--except that it doesn't talk and doesn't ask for love--"

  "It has it without asking!" she murmured.

  He smiled.

  "Has it? Well,--perhaps it has!" He paused--then stooping his tall headkissed her once on the lips as a brother might have kissed her. "Andperhaps--one day--when the right man comes along, you will have it too!"