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Mystery of a Turkish Bath, The

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<h3>Chapter Twelve.</h3> <h4>Effects.</h4> The next day, when Colonel Estcourt sent to know if the Princess Zairoff would receive him, he was informed she was ill, and could see no one. Feeling strangely disinclined for mere ordinary society, he ordered his horse to be brought round and spent the greater portion of the day in long, fierce gallops over the miles of stretching sand that framed in the bay. The sky was chill and grey; a cold wind blew from the sea and dashed the salt foam in his face as the waves swept stormily in. But the dull sky and the stormy sea suited his mood, and seemed to string up the relaxed tension of his nerves. “Nature is man’s best physician after all,” he said to himself, reining in his beautiful Arab at last, and baring his brow to the fresh breeze. “Even as she is his best friend. Only we don’t believe it. We live in the world and follow the ways of the world, until our faculties are blunted, our natures demoralised, our tastes vitiated, our energies enfeebled. How many lands I have travelled over, how many cities I have seen, and yet I verily believe that the wild Sioux in his prairies, and the wandering Bedouin of the desert, have more of real manhood than we. Yes; and get more real enjoyment out of life.” It was quite dusk before he reached the hotel. The country was all new and strange to him, and he had missed his way more than once. But though he was tired, and stiff, and hungry, he felt that his mental energies were braced, his mind at ease, and the disturbing and torturing memories of the previous night no longer tormented him. At dinner he sat next to Mrs Ray Jefferson, who was radiant and voluble as ever. She had a great deal to say about the Princess, who, it appeared, had again spent the morning in the Baths. “She looked ill,” said the little American. “Awfully white and languid. I asked her if she had seen a ghost. There was something scared and strange about her. I surmise it’s nerves. It was odd, too,” and she lowered her voice as if taking the Colonel into a special confidence. “But she went off to sleep in the hot room. Nothing could waken her. I got rather frightened.” His face looked disturbed. “To sleep?” he said. “That is rather unusual, is it not?” “Oh, plenty of us go to sleep in the cooling-room,” said Mrs Jefferson, “but I never saw anyone do it in any of the others. She was talking to me, and then quite suddenly she said ‘I feel sleepy. Please do not speak. I shall wake in a quarter of an hour.’ And so she did.” “You did not try to waken her, I suppose?” asked Colonel Estcourt anxiously. “Well, I did, but it was no use, so I let her be. I saw she was all right, because she breathed naturally, and her heart beat quite regularly. Still, it seemed odd. I asked her maid afterwards about it. She’s a pretty little Frenchwoman, and always waits in the cooling-room for her mistress. But she didn’t seem to think anything of it. She said she very often does that, and it is best not to try and waken her. I must say she seemed much better afterwards. Brighter and more alert. What a lovely creature she is!” she added enthusiastically. “I suppose you know you’re the most envied person in the hotel at this present moment?” He smiled, but his face still looked anxious and disturbed. “Because I have the privilege of being her friend?” he said. “Well, I am not going to deny that it is a privilege—a most enviable one.” “I should think,” said Mrs Jefferson meaningly, “it is also one that has its dangers.” The calm grey eyes met her sharp inquisitive glance, but were utterly unrevealing. “I will not affect to misunderstand you,” he said, “but there are men who covet danger for its own sake. They may seem foolhardy, but they are only accountable to themselves for the risks they run.” “Well,” said Mrs Jefferson warmly, “I’m only a woman, and yet if it’s possible to fall in love with one of my own sex, I’ve done it. She’s perfectly charmed me. I can’t get her out of my head for a single moment. It’s not only her wonderful beauty, but her mind. As for our poet,” she added, laughing, “he’s quite gone. He’s done nothing all day but moon about under the pine trees. Writing sonnets, I guess, and hoping to catch a glimpse of her. All useless—she’s not left the hotel to-day, and I suppose she’ll not favour us to night.” Colonel Estcourt was silent. Conversation was more or less general, but it sounded vague and unmeaning to him. He heard a voice on his left holding forth with energy, but he did not heed it until Mrs Jefferson touched his arm and whispered an entreaty. “Do listen,” she said, “it’s Diogenes. Isn’t he coming out? I surmise it’s her influence. You remember last night?” “An atheist,” said the dogmatic voice of the individual who had given that common-sense view of spiritualism the previous evening, “must be a fool of the most complete type. Because he doubts what men teach of God, is no reason for doubting the existence of God. I grant that the Reverend John Smith, with his high-falutin’ trappings of Ritualism on one side, and the Reverend Josiah Stiggins, with his coarse and commonplace familiarity with the Almighty (whose personality he has the effrontery to expound as if he were discussing the characteristics of an ordinary mortal), on the other, are enough to drive hundreds of people out of the pale of Christianity, and force them to take refuge in defiance and opposition. But, all the same, the expectation of another life is a rooted belief in the minds of all men, quite apart from religion. Even the savage has it. If we call it human nature to eat, drink, fight, love, or desire, it must also be human nature that gives universal assent to this idea of an after existence. The fact of finding it in all races is but a proof that Man is the creation of a Power that intends him for a far wider range of existence than he sees before him. There are many things affirmed by man’s consciousness that he cannot really or logically explain. Yet it is a narrow reasoning that bids us reject the inexplicable.” “Yet you reject spiritualism,” said Mrs Jefferson quickly. “Not at all, my dear madam. I only reject the humiliating and degrading trickery that is its sensational form. I only repeat what I said yesterday, that no lofty or educated mind could do anything but resent the idea of being subjugated to a mere material will, and being forced by that will to perform conjuring tricks in order that a small portion of the civilised world should gape, and gaze, and cry out ‘How wonderful!’ To deny that spirits exist, aye and work, would be to deny the very crudest faith in Christianity.” “There is no doubt,” said Colonel Estcourt, “that everything is explicable, but we must wait for the growth and development of our higher natures before we can comprehend half the mysteries of the higher life. The great fault of the materialist and the scientist is, that they would fain bring everything down to the level of their present comprehension, instead of patiently waiting the completion of their future spiritual forces. It is quite evident that we are not meant to attain our full mental stature on the earth-plane, or what would be left to achieve in the countless ages of immortality? Man believes in immortality and yet seems to contemplate it as a state of stagnation and quiescence. Why he believes in it he cannot fully explain. It is, as you said before, a consciousness given to the races of humanity, but no more capable of commonplace analysis than time, or space, or thought.” “The beautiful is as the cloud that floats in radiant space,” murmured the poet. “The very vagueness of form permits the eye to clothe it in the loveliest tints of Fancy.” “Now that’s what I call rational,” murmured Mrs Jefferson in Colonel Estcourt’s ear. “Do you think he knows what he means. I guess he don’t... Gracious!” She started, and suddenly grasped his arm. “Look,” she said, “there’s the princess in the doorway. Is she coming in? No! She’s moving away. I believe she’s going into the drawing-room after all. Did you see her?” “No,” said Colonel Estcourt. “Are you sure it was the princess?” His face looked strangely pale. She saw that his hand trembled as he laid down his knife on the plate before him. “Sure?” exclaimed Mrs Jefferson, with asperity. “Of course I’m sure! It’s not easy to mistake her, I fancy. I can’t think why you didn’t catch sight of her. She just looked in as she passed, I suppose.” “No doubt,” he said. But the gravity and uneasiness of his face deepened. Just then one of the waiters paused beside Mrs Jefferson’s chair. She turned eagerly to him. “Watson,” she said, “just oblige me by going to the drawing-room and finding out if Madame Zairoff is there. I guess,” she added laughingly to Colonel Estcourt, “that I’m not going to waste my time over thirteen courses if she is.” Still he did not speak, and his unusual pallor and gravity began to affect the lively little American woman. She helped herself to truffled pheasant, and became absorbed in gastronomical duties. Two or three minutes passed, when the man who had gone on her errand returned. She glanced eagerly up. “Madame Zairoff is not in the drawing-room,” he said in a low voice. “I met her maid on the stair-case, and she says that madame is not well enough to leave her apartments this evening.” “But, good gracious me,” began Mrs Jefferson, with angry impatience. “I saw—” “Hush,” said Colonel Estcourt in a low, impressive voice. “Oblige me by saying nothing about it. Remember, I too was looking in the same direction, yet I saw—nothing.” Mrs Jefferson dropped her knife and fork and stared at him. “Now, Colonel,” she said, “am I in my senses, or am I not? I’ve only had iced water to drink. I believe I’m a commonplace person eating a commonplace, though very excellent, dinner. Nothing’s been playing tricks with my nerves I can swear, and I do assure you that the Princess Zairoff stood there in that doorway and looked in here, not five minutes ago. Why, I’ll even tell you the gown she had on. It was thick white silk and had a border of soft-looking white fur. There!” she added triumphantly. “You may go up to her rooms after dinner, and if she hasn’t got that gown on, and if she didn’t come by that doorway—well—I’ll say I’ve gone stark staring mad! That’s so!” <hr /> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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