CHAPTER VII.
A STRANGE LETTER.
MONTHS had passed—eventful months for me. One of the events my readers may guess. Our sympathy about Posela and his secret had developed into sympathy in other matters. There was a mutual approachment between Miss Christopherson and myself, which ultimately led to my suggesting to her a change of her name for mine, on which subject I was referred to her parents. The saying is, that the course of true love never runs smooth, and perhaps ours did not; but the obstacles did not prove very serious, and in less than a year from our first meeting we were joined one fine sunny morn together at the altar of St. Aldemund Church, "for better, for worse; for richer, for poorer," in the bonds of matrimony.
My readers may expect that with this dénoûment my simple story ought to end. But, in fact, we have only got through the introduction; the really important part is yet to come.
We set off for a quiet honeymoon to Oban, and there, a day after my arrival, the following extraordinary letter reached me from my friend the Vicar of Trehyndra, containing the key to the wonderful secret of the mysterious Posela:—
"My Dear Hamilton,—I have at last solved the secret of your mysterious friend; but what a secret it is! All your guesses were quite wrong; but it is excusable that you never thought of the real solution of the mystery. I never should have supposed it possible, had he not told me it, and shown by ocular demonstration that his statement was true.
"As you know, I was very much interested in what you told me of Posela; and after your letter saying he probably would visit us in Trehyndra, I looked out for a visit from him with longing expectation. No letter, however, arrived announcing the day he had selected for coming to us.
"He came to our village in a storm—a night fit for the witch scene in Macbeth. The wind was blowing 'great guns,' as the sailors say, and the sea was heaving with a succession of waves which struck in foam and spray against the shore. The storm had raged all day; but he did not come till night.
"A ship was being wrecked on our dreadful coast—an event, alas, not very rare. Posela distinguished himself most wonderfully—it almost seemed to me at the time supernaturally—in saving the crew. I did not have any interview with him that night, but next morning he introduced himself to me, and gave me your letter.
"I was charmed with him from the first. He was evidently a person gifted with remarkable intelligence and mental power, and considerable brilliancy; but of that I now feel no wonder.
"The only thing that seems to me marvellous is his wonderful adaptability to circumstances so different from those to which he was born, and his wondrous power of disguising his real nature. We had many and pleasant talks about numbers of subjects, and some of his remarks I remember then struck me as very strange, although I see now everything is capable of explanation. The only thing, beside the wonderful mystery hanging about him, that I did not like was his contemptuous criticism of many of the things of this world. Still he was not conceited in manner, but occasionally humble and unpretending, and seemed by no means void of sympathy.
"On the whole, I think he is the most agreeable companion I ever met, and his variety of information upon every subject is very remarkable. However, it appeared rather in generalities than in details. Upon natural science he was especially well informed, being thoroughly conversant with the most recent discoveries, and advancing many theories to explain natural laws such as I never heard before, and which I now suspect no one on earth but himself was acquainted with. His grasp of the laws of nature was truly extraordinary.
"One of his most remarkable, and, as I thought, most incongruous, characteristics was his love of children. I took him into the schools to show him our mode of teaching, in which, as in everything else, he took an interest. He taught a class several times, and seemed wonderfully gifted in power of illustration, quite fascinating the children by his bright manner, his vivid imagination, his lucidity, and brilliant descriptive power. Especially in the geography class did he shine, telling the children about the different places on the map that he had seen, and he appeared to have been almost everywhere. You expressed doubts, as you recollect, on the possibility of his having been at all the places that he said he had visited. I have no such doubts; certainly not now, nor even had I when I heard him give our little ones a geography lesson.
"I even, though I had some scruples at first, gave him a class for religious instruction, and shall never forget it. His reverence in speaking of sacred things, his eloquence, his tender illustrations of the love of God, were simply wonderful.
"But he soon made friends of the little ones, not only at work, but at play. His acrobatic skill is marvellous, and he very soon fascinated them by showing feats of skill and entering into their games.
"Here was a mystery to me that I could not at the time fathom. How could this strange being,—about whom some marvellous secret hung,—who appeared so profound, so learned, and so wise,—be so popular with the children? I could not solve the problem. I once ventured to ask him about it. He replied by a question: 'Is it not wisdom to mingle with the beautiful and the good, where we can find them—to make friends of innocence?'
"I feared the children would grow too familiar with him, and take liberties. It was not so, however. They soon loved him; but I thought they also feared him a little, and a naughty child was in a moment cowed and awed by a look from Posela.
"So things went on in the parish. Posela regularly attended our daily services, and appeared to be most devout. The services are humble enough, as you know, and few avail themselves of them. Posela expressed wonder at this. 'How is it,' he asked me once, 'that so few come to church on weekdays?'
"'Some are employed about their work, some are indifferent to religion, and some regard it as a matter only for Sundays.'
"'But do not all your people wish to go to heaven when they die?'
"'Yes; I suppose so.'
"'Then, if they find the half-hour or so of the service of the Church on earth too much for them, how can they hope to enjoy properly the ceaseless adoration of the Church in heaven? I always am glad to go to church while on earth; it is the brightest part of my life here. I love to be in contact with my Creator and with the souls of good men. An earthly parish church, with all its defects, is most like of all things in this world to heaven. If one is in sorrow, surely it is the best place to pour our griefs to a loving Father; if in joy, it is the best place to think of heaven.'
"I was much struck by this remark. 'Can any one, I thought, who expresses such sentiments be really wicked? He is evidently no hypocrite. He enjoys the service greatly, and is of a devout mind. His secret, whatever it is, cannot be a very harmful one.'
"And still it was manifest, with all his child-like love of childhood, with all his unobtrusive piety, that he had some wonderful secret which he sought to conceal from every one. His manners and habits were strange. He loved to walk alone on the moors; he shrank from every question about his antecedents, save and except about his recent voyages, on which he was particularly communicative; he expressed himself strangely at times, and certainly had odd ideas.
"No letter came for him while he was staying with me, but a large box arrived by the parcels delivery. After it arrived he grew more reserved, and went out on the moors by night a good deal. I ventured once or twice to enter his room. His box was locked. It was very wrong of me, but I own to have felt curious about that box, for in it I knew was much that might solve his mystery.
"If he was popular with the children, he was not entirely so with the grown-up people. Our folk, though very civil to strangers, are, like most country people, somewhat suspicious of them. They noticed a mystery about my friend, and, though he was very 'free and homely' (as they called it) with them, they saw there was some secret about him. Mysteriousness engenders suspicion. Curiosity was excited. In a country place, where there is not much intercourse with the outer world, any stranger would attract attention. We need not wonder, then, at the intense curiosity, and the many surmises, aroused by Posela. Strange rumours arose about him in the parish. Our superstitious people evidently thought him supernatural, a sort of 'white witch,' for they use the term alike for men and women; but, as they believed also in ill-wishing and ghosts, I did not heed this much. However, there was one thing which appeared not to be altogether fanciful, i.e., sundry lights of different colours were noted to arise on the wild moors of Penmor and upon the marshes, which were rarely traversed by human foot. Though few people passed at night by this desolate moor, yet so large a proportion of these saw these lights that it would be difficult to believe that they all suffered from delusion. The lights seemed to come and go, to appear and disappear, but never to be seen again of the same form. It could not all be a delusion, for the number of witnesses was so great, and yet, curious to say, no two persons agreed in their accounts of what they saw; all saw something, but each one gave a different account.
"The subject occupied my mind, and at last I resolved, unknown to Posela, to go myself one night to investigate the matter, which I doubted not was connected with this mystery or my strange guest.
"I went out one evening on the moors with a companion, who, however, deserted me as soon as the lights appeared. They were very extraordinary, and suited the descriptions of the peasantry, in being exceedingly varied in form and colour. Several acres of moorland and swamp suddenly changed colour. The cause must have been very powerful, as the twilight was scarcely out of the heavens, and the planet Venus was shining brightly amid the stars, giving a pale light over the country. Still neither the vestiges of twilight, nor Venus, nor the stars were anything to these brilliant and vivid lights. One of them suddenly illumined the place where I stood, for a moment. Then I was left in comparative darkness, with the unpleasant feeling that whoever caused them must have detected me.
"I heard behind me the sound of the flapping of wings, and then suddenly I perceived, close by, a figure sitting on a granite block just in front of me. It was Posela. I asked him plainly what could induce him to come there at that time. His answer was a singular one. 'To write a letter to my friends.' This strange reply encouraged me to put the great question which had so often been almost on my lips, and ask him what was his secret. At first he was silent. I pressed him. But he did not speak. I looked at him. It was evident he was answering me in act, not in words—to my sight and not to my hearing. His eyes were phosphorescent and shone in the darkness. It appeared as if he were not a human being. Greatly agitated, I solemnly adjured him in the name of the Most High. The phosphorescence died away and he spoke. 'Let it be so!' In a moment after, casting off his cloak, I beheld a sight that I never shall forget. It was no human being that was before me; nay, more, it was no earthly creature. His aspect still was partly human; but from his shoulders expanded huge wings, while from under his dress a most extraordinary robe was outspread. Around his head and form a sort of phosphorescence flickered, which gave him a strange and unearthly look. All I can do to describe him is that he seemed to combine the human and the bird type—not unlike the pictures we see of angels. I felt natural alarm, but he comforted me. I asked him whether he was an angel, or a spirit of one departed from this life. But he said he was neither, but only an inhabitant of another world, who had been able—first of his race—to visit this earth: that once he had been a being inferior to man, but in process of ages, not being liable to death, had developed in his far-off planet into his present condition. Having thus far satisfied my curiosity, he departed and left me alone on the moor.
"It was difficult for me at first to believe that my strange visitor was not a human being. His disguise was so complete, and he had so wonderfully adapted himself to the ways, words, and doings of humanity, that really I thought it was a mere dream, and I can well pardon you if you are incredulous on reading this.
****
"'I am incredulous, indeed,' I said to Maude. 'Can it be really true that I have been travelling with, talking to, entertaining a being who is not only not human, but not even earthly.'
'Well,' said Maude, 'I do believe it. There was always something about him of the supernatural I could not help shrinking from, and yet I liked him. He seemed so good and kind, and yet so mysterious. I am sure that what you have just been reading is quite true.'
"' But let us go on with this strange epistle,' I said, and continued reading.
****
"When I recovered myself I found myself alone on the moor. I thought at once it might be all a dream; that I had fallen asleep on the rocks, tired out by my walk, and dreamt this wonderful vision. I went home full of doubts, thinking over this extraordinary and unearthly scene. Was it, or was it not, a mere dream?
"Next morning Posela did not reappear until near midday. I found him alone in my study. At once I entered on the great question upon my mind, and asked him if I had been dreaming last night. He answered, without any delay or explanation: 'You saw me as I really am, Aleriel, the wanderer, from another world, the explorer of the realms of space.'
"I was then encouraged (finding I had unawares entertained so unearthly a visitor) to ask him some questions about his world and the universe around us. He said that life was the highest primal force, and existed throughout the universe. As earth was only one of millions and billions of worlds, so man was only one of millions of forms of the higher developments of life. In some worlds they were in a lower condition than mankind, in others there were intelligences superior to man. Mankind might ultimately develope into something superior to what he is now. At first, he repeated, he was inferior to mankind; but in the peace of his beautiful world, in their loving obedience to God's laws, its inhabitants had developed a higher and a better life than man on earth, and thus had become superior to man, as they were better than man. This could account for his power of passing from one world to another, because in his world the intelligences had a far greater control over natural forces than on earth, and so he had been able to come to earth, though no human being could ever hope in earth-life to quit the earth's surface for any distance. Having told me something about his beautiful world—which I understood must be the planet Venus—he consented to show it to me in a vision. I lay down and dreamt a strange dream.
"It seemed to me that, for a time, I was in awful loneliness in space. The stars were shining in black ether over me, and the glorious sun still blazed. I felt I was in the heavens, but alone. The feeling was awful!
"It passed away soon. The bright evening star—the glorious planet Venus—rapidly grew larger and larger. At length I beheld a huge glittering globe before me and then beneath me: I felt sinking into it. Vaster and vaster it grew. Continents, oceans, mountain-chains were opening to my vision, although more than half veiled in silvery clouds. I seemed rushing to it with incredible velocity.
****
"Then it appeared that a huge ring of stupendous mountains, shining in the bright sunlight, were beneath my feet: I was sinking into their circle. They were of vast height; the Alps would be mere hills in comparison. Their peaks were twenty miles high at the least, and the ring was greater than a couple of good-sized counties. The lowlands were still half hidden by floating clouds. I can hardly describe that huge mountain-chain. We have nothing on earth so gigantic. Precipices of miles high, jagged peaks of shining rocks, hanging terraces clad with what looked like vegetation of many hues; soft yellows, delicate pinks, and especially pale blues.
"At last it seemed I was approaching one of the peaks. I rested there. There was no snow, though so high, and the rock was bare. It was like an earth rock, but of no stone that I had ever seen. I looked around me on that wonderful spectacle. Lines of colossal mountains, chain beyond chain, were on one side of me; on the other, an immense expanse of low country stretched in a huge amphitheatre, partly shining in the blazing sunlight, partly shadowed by the huge ranges of distant peaks—a land divided between day and twilight.
"Then my dream changed. I felt that I was slowly sinking lower and lower into that vast valley. As I sank, it appeared that the sun set amid the gigantic mountains. A vast lake lay at my feet, and in it a large island with gardens, towers, and spires of a very quaint and extraordinary style of architecture.
****
"Then it became night. I was walking in the midst of a vast garden. Around me were a thousand forms of dense vegetation—or what looked like vegetation—but of a sort utterly different to anything we have on earth. Our earthly words are only formed to express earthly ideas, but for these scenes of another world they are quite inadequate. One wants another language for another world of ideas. So everything around me, in earth's words, would be nameless, and, except by a long account, indescribable. Yet it seemed as if both the animal and vegetable kingdoms were there—things very different from the productions of the earth, but still not utterly of another order of being.
"The plants were various, graceful, and beautiful. Birds in thousands were fluttering in the air, some as huge as the fabled 'Roc' of Arabian fable, some small and brilliant in colour as our humming-birds. But what caught my attention most was the crowds of winged semi-human figures, like Aleriel, who moved amidst the gardens. Like everything around in this brilliant world, they were beautifully attired, in many divers ways and in many colours. There was an air of peacefulness, of cheerfulness and happiness, all around me, which seemed most charming.
"But withal there was something intensely tropical in the scene. It looked as if it were a land where light and heat and moisture were combined to develope life; everything was of most brilliant colouring, as if it revelled in intense vitality—something beyond even the tropic luxuriance of the West Indies or Ceylon.
"I noted figures of sentient being moving about in all directions amid these tropic gardens, and seemingly conversing with one another, or else listening to soft and delicious music which was borne on the breeze.
"At length I came to a palace of enormous size and most quaint architecture (quite unlike any style I had ever seen, whether Greek, mediæval, or even Indian or Chinese), airy and fantastic to the last degree; brilliant with mosaics of every possible colour; lighted up with all sorts of coloured fires and electric lights. It was a perfect fairyland.
"I entered this palace, and saw in its corridors many strange sights, such as I should never have thought of in my wildest dreams, and such as I find it difficult to describe.
"Then I awoke from my wild vision, and found my strange guest sitting by me.
"'You have seen my home,' he said. 'Is it not lovely? I am going to it tomorrow.'
"It was as he said. I accompanied him, at his request, to a wild part of our coast in the evening. Here I followed him up one of our cliff castles, where he mounted on one of the granite rocks, and, throwing off again his disguise, he bade me farewell. It seems that I fainted, for when I looked for him again he was gone.
"I do not know what you will think of this solution of the mystery of your singular friend. It appears to me like a dream, and probably it will appear so still more to you. As far as I can tell, however, it is nothing more than the plain truth. It would seem that (as every one almost now believes) there are other worlds than ours—worlds peopled by intelligences, some of which are superior to man. One of these intelligences has, in human disguise, visited us. That is all the explanation I can give you. He was neither a spirit nor a phantom, but an embodied intelligence similar to mankind in nature; but not the same, as composed of a body, not formed of earthly elements, and of a soul not the same as our human soul, as never liable to separation from that body. Such an intelligence we have received among us.—Yours faithfully,