Possessed Part 27

"Not _his_ children! G.o.d forbid!"

Seraphine hesitated as if dreading to wound her friend.

"I must go on, dear. We must get to the bottom of this. Suppose you had done what you intended to do? And had come back to America with an adopted child? And suppose no one had ever known the truth, about it--do you think you would have been happy?"

Penelope sighed wearily.

"Is a woman ever happy?"

"Wait! Let us take one point. You have always loved men's society, haven't you? That's natural, they're all crazy about you. Well, do you think that would have changed just because you had a child? Do you?"

"No--no, I suppose not."

"You would have been just as beautiful. You would have gone on wearing expensive clothes, wouldn't you? You would have kept up the old round of teas and dinners, theatres, dances, late suppers--with a train of men dangling after you--flirting men, married men--men who try to kiss women in taxicabs--you know what I mean?"

Penelope bit her red lips at this sordid picture.

"No," she said, "I don't think I would have done that. I would have changed, I intended to change. That was why I wanted a child--to give me something worthy of my love, something to serve as an outlet for my emotions."

The medium's eyes were unfathomably sad and yearning.

"Is that true, Pen? A child calls for ceaseless care--unselfishness. You know that? Did you really long for a child in a spirit of unselfish love? Did you?"

But Penelope was deaf to this touching appeal.

"Certainly," she answered sharply. "I wanted a child to satisfy my emotional nature. What else do you think I wanted it for?"

Mrs. Walters' face shone with ineffable tenderness.

"That is what I want you to find out, my darling. When you have answered that question I believe the barrier that keeps your dear mother away will be removed. Now I am going to leave you to your own thoughts. G.o.d bless you!"

At ten o'clock Dr. Leroy directed Mrs. Wells to prepare herself for the night and told her she was to sleep in a different room, a large chamber that had been made ready on the floor below. As Penelope entered this room a dim light revealed some shadowy pieces of furniture and at the back a recess hung with black curtains. In this was a couch and two chairs and on the wall a familiar old print, "Rock of Ages," showing a woman clinging to a cross in a tempest.

"Please lie down, Mrs. Wells," said Leroy with cheerful friendliness.

"You don't mind these electrics?"

He turned on a strong white light that shone down upon the patient and threw the rest of the room into darkness. Then Penelope, exquisitely lovely in her white robe, stretched herself on the couch, while the doctor and Seraphine seated themselves beside her.

"This light will make you sleep better when I turn it off," explained the physician. Then he added: "I will ask Dr. Owen to come in a little later."

Eleven o'clock!

Not yet had the patient spoken and time was pa.s.sing, the minutes that remained were numbered. Mrs. Walters essayed by appealing glances to open the obstinately closed doors of Penelope's spiritual consciousness, but it was in vain.

Half past eleven!

The spiritual healer rose, his face set with an unalterable purpose.

"I will turn down the light, Mrs. Wells," he said quietly. "I want you to compose yourself. Remember that G.o.d is watching over you. You are G.o.d's child. He will guard you from all evil. Hold that thought strongly as you go to sleep."

Penelope closed her eyes. Her face was deathly pale in the shadows. The minutes pa.s.sed.

"I--I am afraid to go to sleep," the sufferer murmured, and her hands opened and closed nervously as if they were clutching at something.

"Think of your mother, dear," soothed Seraphine. "Her pure spirit is near you, trying to come nearer. _Oh G.o.d, keep Penelope, Thy loving child, under the close guardians.h.i.+p of her mother's exalted spirit in this her hour of peril._"

Twelve o'clock by the musical, slow-chiming bells!

Then at last Penelope spoke, her face transfigured with spiritual light and beauty.

"Doctor,--I--I know I have only a few minutes," she began haltingly, but almost immediately became calm, as if some new strength or vision had been accorded her. "I realize that my troubles have come from selfishness and--sensuality. I have deceived myself. I blamed my husband for encouraging these desires in me, but--I knew what kind of a man my husband was before I married him. There was another man, a much finer man, who asked me to be his wife, but I refused him because--in a way I--wanted the kind of husband that--my husband was."

She went on rapidly, speaking in a low tone but distinctly:

"In the years after my husband's death I was--playing with fire. I craved admiration. I wanted to go as near the danger point--with men--as I dared. I deceived myself when I said I wanted a child--of my own--to satisfy my emotional nature. What I really wanted was an excuse--to--give myself--to a man."

Some power beyond herself upheld the penitent in this hard ordeal. Her eyes remained fixed on the Cross to which she seemed to cling in spirit even as the woman pictured there clung to the Cross with outstretched arms.

There was an impressive silence, then the spiritual teacher, his voice vibrant with tenderness and faith, spoke these words of comfort:

"Penelope, you have cleansed your soul. You can sleep without fear. When your dream begins you will know that the powers of love are guarding you. You are G.o.d's child. No harm can befall you, for you will reach out to the Cross, _you will reach out to the Cross_!"

"Yes," she murmured faintly. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. She drew a long sigh of relief, then her breathing became regular and her face took on an expression of lovely serenity. She was sleeping.

And then the dream!

Penelope was in that tragic stateroom once more. She heard the throb of engines and sounds on the deck overhead--the echoing beat of footsteps, while the steady swish of the waters came in through the open window.

She turned restlessly on her wide bra.s.s bed trying to sleep.

How oppressive was the night! She looked longingly at the stateroom door which she had fixed ajar on its hook. If she could only go out where the fresh breezes were blowing and spread her blanket on the deck--what a heavenly relief!

Penelope sat up against her pillows and looked out over the sighing waters illumined by an August moon. In the distance she watched the flashes of a lighthouse and counted the seconds between them....

Suddenly she froze with terror at the sight of a black sleeve, a man's arm, pushed in cautiously through the door, and a moment later Julian entered. She saw him plainly in the moonlight. He wore a dinner coat. He looked handsome but dissipated. His face was flushed, his dress disordered. He came to her bed and caught her in his arms. He kissed her. He drew her to him, close to him. She remembered the perfume of his hair. He said she belonged to him. He was not going to let her go.

Promises did not matter--nothing mattered. This was a delicious summer night and--

"_Oh G.o.d, let Thy love descend upon Penelope and strengthen her_,"

prayed Seraphine, kneeling by the couch.

The dream moved on relentlessly toward its inevitable catastrophe.

Penelope tried to resist the intruder, but she knew it was in vain. She wept, protested, pleaded, but she knew that presently she would be swept in a current of fierce desire, she would wish to surrender, she would be incapable of _not_ surrendering.

"_Oh G.o.d, let the spirit of the mother come close to her imperilled child_," prayed Seraphine.

In her dream Penelope was yielding. She had ceased to struggle. She was clasped in her husband's arms and already was turning willing and responsive lips to his, when her eyes fell upon the porthole, through which the distant lighthouse was sending her a message--it seemed like a message of love and encouragement. She saw the mighty shaft towering serenely above dark rocks and cras.h.i.+ng waters, and watched it change with beautiful gradations of light into a rugged cross to which a woman was clinging desperately. The waves beat against her, the winds buffeted her, but she cried to G.o.d for help and--then, as she slept Penelope recalled Dr. Leroy's words and, still dreaming, stretched out her hands to the Cross, praying with all her strength that her sins might be forgiven, that her soul might be cleansed, that she might be saved from evil by the power of G.o.d's love.