CHAPTER X.

Notwithstanding her acquiescence, Hannah displayed such genuine terror at the idea of entering the dark séance room, that Ricardo had pity on her, and held a sitting downstairs first, at which he consulted “James” as to what was best to be done. By his advice, the black hangings were taken down, and a cabinet formed by a curtain hung across one corner of the apartment, behind which was placed a chair. A lamp was lit and the two men were directed to sit at the table, holding Hannah’s hands in either of theirs. Feeling herself in the presence of her husband and his friend, the girl’s fears were allayed, and in a few minutes, she went under control, and wresting her hands from their grasp, rose and entered the cabinet of her own accord. Then “James” told Ricardo and Steinberg to lower the light until it was a mere glimmer--to close the door--and to seat themselves at the further end of the little chamber.

Steinberg was earnest in his pursuit of Science--Ricardo, in his pursuit of Leonora--so they did as they were directed, and waited patiently for the result. In an incredibly short space of time, the curtain was shaken--then pulled asunder--and the laughing, mischievous face of Leonora peeped out. The Professor was in ecstasy. He knelt down upon the bare floor, as though he were worshipping a divine creature. But his adoration was not given, because the appearance of a spirit from the dead endowed him with the blessed certainty of Everlasting Life, but because the materialised spirit was the creature of his imagination. Steinberg, on the other hand, regarded the appearance of Leonora with unstinted wonder and satisfaction, simply because her coming was another step gained in the difficult task which he had set himself to learn. As a Spirit, he hailed her advent with the keenest interest--as a Woman, he did not admire either her person or herself. She evinced none of the sorrow which a wife, whose thoughtlessness at the least, had led her husband into a serious crime, might have been supposed to feel--neither did she exhibit much pleasure at meeting him again. Her behaviour was more that of a coquette, who wished to regain the admiration she had forfeited, than of a loving woman. She smiled and beckoned to Ricardo, but as soon as he approached the cabinet, she would dart inside and be lost to view. Apparently she was, or had been, a very handsome woman, but there was nothing attractive in her appearance. Her large black eyes were void of tenderness--her smiles were affected--each motion of her supple body seemed made in order to raise Ricardo’s ardour, without gratifying it. Had she not been his friend’s wife, the Doctor would have called her by some opprobrious epithets--as it was, he regarded her simply as a curiosity, and hailed her coming only because she came.

The advent of Mrs. Carlile had a different effect upon him. She had been only his friend--scarcely that. Had she lived, he would have spoken of her as his patient. But her unfortunate and early death, occurring, as it did, under his own hands, had invested her memory with a certain tender compassion, which gave him the right, as it were, to hail her as a friend from the other Land. She came, not only to convince him of the Great Truth, but to console and comfort him under his disappointment. She came with pity and forgiveness beaming from her eyes, and trembling on her lips, and made him feel, each time he saw her, that Earth was valueless and the next World the Haven to which we must look for consolation.

The sittings, once more begun, were continued steadily every evening. Neither Ricardo, nor Steinberg, were aware of the danger that might accrue to the medium from these frequent séances. Hannah did not seem to suffer from sitting, and once she had overcome her childish fear of the Invisibles, declared herself ready to gratify their curiosity, whenever they asked her to do so.

Doctor Steinberg was only at home three evenings in the week, but the Professor sat with his wife, whether his friend joined them or not, and frequently in the daytime he would take Hannah up into the séance chamber, and hold converse with Leonora all by himself.

She did not always come to him. These things are not ordered by our earthly wishes, and we have no control over them. Often, when Steinberg was anxiously awaiting the arrival of Mrs. Carlile--sometimes, when she had even promised to come to him--a figure would emerge from the cabinet, and on inspection prove to be that of an old man, utterly unknown to either of them--or a child would run across the room, as if in play, and, startled by their addressing it, run behind the curtain again and be seen no more. To the doctor, who looked upon these manifestations as fresh proofs of Immortality, one spirit was as good as another, but to the Professor, whose whole thoughts were fixed upon Leonora, such disappointments fell keenly, and he would not be satisfied until he had sat again to give Leonora an opportunity of manifesting her presence to him.

Accordingly, he took to having séances by himself, and Hannah, who had never objected to doing as he asked since that first day, became his willing victim. Indeed, the girl even seemed to grow to like being a medium--her low spirits disappeared--she often went singing about the house--and no more was heard of her false young man, nor of her mother.

One afternoon as the Professor sat alone in the séance chamber, with Hannah entranced behind the curtain, the now familiar form of Leonora stepped out of the cabinet. She was clothed in some soft, clinging white material which showed plainly the lissom figure beneath it--her dark hair was unbound and fell below her waist--her small white hand beckoned him to approach her. Ricardo crept on tiptoe to the dark curtain that divided them. He was quite alone--Steinberg was miles away and Hannah lay unconscious in her chair--there was none but Heaven to listen to what he might say to his lost wife.

“Leonora!” he exclaimed, “my one, only Darling! Come to me and lay your cheek on mine! Whatever you were, whatever you did, you are still the same to me--the peerless, beautiful bride, whom I held to my heart during so many blissful years! Do you remember the villa down in Parma, to which I took you for our honeymoon, Leonora? Do you recall the happy evening that we were first man and wife--how we wandered into the gardens, and sat down on a bank, covered with delicious violets whose breath intoxicated us with pleasure. You cast yourself across my knees, and laid your lovely head upon my breast--then I seemed to realise, for the first time, that you were all my own. Our lips met--I drank in your sweet breath, sweeter than the violets upon which we sat--and we mutually trembled with the ecstasy of the contact. Ah! Leonora, my dearest, that was twenty-five long weary years ago! I am an old man now, but I have never forgotten--I never shall forget! Come once more and press your sweet lips to mine as you did in that unforgotten moment, and I shall be rewarded for all the efforts I have made--the sacrifice I have gone through--in order to draw you once more to my heart again!”

The tantalising face peeped out from the curtain--the lips pouted--but as Ricardo drew near to kiss her, Leonora darted like an arrow into the cabinet and evaded him. It was like the cup of Tantalus, ever presented, brimming with sparkling liquid, only to be withdrawn as soon as approached.

The Professor breathed a heart-felt sigh as he leaned against the curtain, to see if he could hear any movement going on behind it. But all was still as the grave!

“My wife--my wife----” moaned the unhappy man, “speak to me, if you cannot touch me. I feel the reason. My contact is too earthly for you, pure as you have become!--the hands that slew you are too foul to clasp with yours. But tell me--Leonora! I am hanging on your words--tell me the whole truth. You know I could not be angry with you now! _Were you guilty with Centi?_”

The mobile face again appeared round a corner of the curtain, and the rosy lips murmured, “No!”

“_No?_ O! my God! then I am a murderer of the deepest dye! I have slain my other half--she, whom I had sworn to love and cherish! What Hell will be deep enough for me? What devil urged me on to strike that fatal blow? Heavens! I can see it now, your pallid, startled face--the crimson blood that stained your white breast--that issued from your livid lips--can hear the sigh with which your pure spirit took wing, to bear witness against me before the Throne! O! Leonora, my wife! my angel! say that you forgive my rash act--my unfounded jealousy!”

The Spirit again appeared, and nodded its head solemnly.

“I knew you would forgive, dear Angel, who were so much too good for such a wretch as I am, but will Heaven forgive? that is the question? Shall I join you wherever you may be? Shall we be lovers and friends again in the Eternal World?”

But to this question there was no reply. Ricardo knelt where he had stood, and wept like a child. His life had been one long suffering for the awful deed he had committed, and now, to hear that it had been done in vain--that he had murdered an innocent woman--she, who, but for his insensate jealousy and fury, might have lived to be the mother of his children and the pride and comfort of his old age--was too much. It smote him to the ground, and struck a blow at his heart, from which he never recovered.

He felt that he could bear no more and left the séance room, without further comment. Even to Steinberg, he never revealed what had taken place between himself and Leonora that day, but he seized every opportunity of communicating with her, until he came to spend half his leisure moments in the séance chamber.

Doctor Steinberg perceived the alteration in his friend’s spirits, but attributed it to his health, which was not satisfactory. The Professor still went about his daily work, but he taught in a spiritless, listless fashion, and his pupils were not so quick to follow his instructions as they were wont to be. When he returned home, instead of interesting himself in a book, as he had been used to do, he would sit for hours with folded arms, silent and meditative. The only times when he evinced any enthusiasm, were those spent in the séance chamber, though Leonora came no oftener than the other influences who controlled Hannah, and when she did come, gave scarcely any information on subjects connected with her present life.

But if the Professor’s health and spirits appeared to fail, those of Mrs. Ricardo rose in proportion. She seemed to have entirely overcome her dread of the “sperrits” and “shadders” and “woices”, and often said it was unfair that the Doctor or the Professor did not sit in their turn, and let her share their privilege of interviewing the friends from the other World. From having been heavy and somewhat sullen, she developed quite a lively disposition, and Steinberg was astonished sometimes on reaching home, to hear her singing over her work, an accomplishment for which she had never exhibited any taste before.

She became less shy also of remaining in the society of her husband and his friend, and made a point of taking her meals with them, by which means she soon got in the way of joining in the conversation, and dropped many of her coarse sayings and mispronounced words.

She improved so quickly indeed, as to surprise Steinberg, who had imagined her hitherto to be one of the dullest mortals in creation. It was not long before he mentioned the subject to the Professor.

“How wonderfully Hannah has improved in her pronunciation, lately,” he remarked. “I couldn’t have believed it possible that any one could have made such rapid strides. Have you been giving her private lessons during my absence, Ricardo?”

“No! indeed,” answered the Professor, in the weary tone he had assumed of late, “I seldom see her, except in the séance room. Has she improved, Steinberg? I had not noticed it. But there was room for it, Heaven knows! I suppose it is listening to our conversation.”

“I suppose so too, but Hannah must be very clever naturally, to have caught our accent so soon. And she is so much more lively into the bargain. I heard her singing, or rather humming, the air of ‘_Au clair de la lune_,’ yesterday. Now, where can she have caught that up? It is essentially French. She must have heard you, or me, whistling it. And did you observe this evening that she has plaited that mass of hair of hers, and twisted it round her head at the back? We shall see her wearing kid boots with heels next. Bravo! Hannah!”

“You look at her more than I do,” replied Ricardo. “She is a good enough girl, and I have no fault to find with her. But I hope she will not get any extravagant ideas, because I cannot afford to humour them. I wonder who can have been putting such absurd notions into her head.”

“No one, unless it be yourself. You should feel flattered, Ricardo, that your wife shows any wish to please you. She is certainly vastly improved. You cannot find fault with her for that! What have you been doing with yourself to-day? Talking with Leonora, eh?”

“I entered the séance room, but she did not come,” replied Ricardo, in a discontented tone, “she has not been so regularly lately. I cannot understand the reason. Can it be any falling-off in the medium? Would her want of interest in Spiritualism account for it?”

“No! no! certainly not!” Steinberg quickly exclaimed. “How can you expect the poor girl to take any interest in it, when she is under control all the time, and knows nothing of what occurs. Hannah has more than once expressed her disappointment to me, that she should be so completely shut out from what seems to give us so much pleasure. I think it is most unselfish of her to sit so often and so cheerfully. Besides, she is as strong in health as ever! How can she be responsible for Leonora not coming so often?”

“I don’t know,” said Ricardo, peevishly, “but the fact remains. An old woman whom I cannot recognise, seems to have taken her place the last few days. I dare not show my impatience at the change, but I am longing all the time for her to go away and let my wife come instead.”

“Ah! my friend, you are not a Scientist! You do not pursue this interesting study in order to find out the secret of Everlasting Life, but only to gratify your personal longing to see your dead wife again. And now that she has come, you are less satisfied than before. What is the reason? Has she not spoken to you? Has she not solved the mystery that oppressed you? Are you not yet aware whether that blow was struck with justice, or not?”

“If I were, I should not feel inclined to discuss the question with one who was a stranger to her,” said Ricardo, in a tone very unlike himself. “The confidences which pass between husband and wife should be sacred.”

“I agree with you there, so let us say no more about it. You mooted the subject to me, or I should not have presumed to mention it again. But I think you sit too often. These researches, if carried to extremes, are apt to prove harmful to both mind and body. Come to the theatre with me this evening! It will divert you. I have a box for the Adelphi. Let us take Hannah with us. She is so much more lively lately, that I think it will interest her. She seems to be enjoying life, poor child, for the first time.”

The Professor being agreeable, Steinberg’s plan was carried out, and Hannah thoroughly enjoyed her evening. The Doctor was not mistaken. The change in her was quite as palpable as that in her husband. Live as long as she might, she would never have a lissom figure, nor a beautiful face, but a kind of brightness had settled over her features, which much redeemed their homeliness, and her attempts at tidiness did not at all events deteriorate from them.

She laughed and cried at all the right places throughout the melodrama and returned home in high good humour with both her friends.

But what still more surprised Steinberg, as time went on, was to see the gross humility that had overpowered the girl, entirely disappear, to give place to a species of pride in her attainments as a medium--as if she had suddenly waked up to a consciousness of the value she was to Ricardo, and the difficulty he would find in replacing her, if she were gone.

“I can’t sit to-day,” he overheard her say to the Professor, “so it’s no good your asking me! Can’t you see that I’m dead tired from sitting so long yesterday? Do you suppose that I don’t waste my strength, as well as yours, over these séances? And what is it all for?--so that you may see the woman you cared for, and talk love nonsense to her! I tell you, Professor, there ain’t many wives in this world who would do as much for their husbands. You treats me as if I had no feelings. I’m making a dress for Sundays, and haven’t been able to put a stitch in it all the week, so you must wait for your séance till I choose to give it you.”

“Very well,” Steinberg heard Ricardo answer meekly, “never mind, my dear! I’ll go for a little walk instead.”

As soon as he had left the house, Steinberg took Hannah to task for her treatment of him.

“I am surprised to hear you speak like that to your husband, Hannah! Do you know what I should have done if you had been my wife?”

“But I ain’t your wife,” replied Hannah, with a certain arch look that startled him--so little had he considered the girl capable of giving it with her usually dull, lack-lustre eyes.

“I am quite aware of that! You’d have to obey me if you were! But you have no right to speak so rudely to the Professor, especially when you consider that you owe everything to him.”

“Do I?” retorted the girl, “I think the boot’s on the other foot! I consider that he owes everything to me! Haven’t I brought his wife back to him, that he was hankering after for years. Who else could ’ave done that, eh? Why! I’ve heard you say yourself, that I’m the most wonderful medium in the world! I think it’s six of one and half a dozen of the other, when you come to look at it.”

“Maybe, Hannah, and I know you make him a good kind wife on the whole. But you mustn’t forget that he’s an old man now, and has broken down considerably during the last few months. So you must be more considerate of him than ever. He works too hard for his strength. Sometimes I am afraid it will not hold out much longer!”

“O! he’s all right,” said Hannah, with a lack of feeling that struck the Doctor as not only very unlike her usual disposition, but very contemptible into the bargain. “Them old men never die! Though I don’t s’pose there’d be much left for me, if he did!”

“You are unfeeling--unnatural--I am ashamed of you, Hannah,” exclaimed Steinberg, as he rose to leave her, “and you forget that you are speaking of _my friend_. I have a great affection for the Professor, and if anything happened to him, I should be deeply grieved.”

“Well, I didn’t say any ’arm,” replied the girl sullenly, as she returned to her work.

This conversation did not seem to make any coolness on Hannah’s part towards the Doctor--on the contrary, she appeared to like him all the better for speaking in defence of his friend. She commenced to hang about him more than usual, on the occasions of his being at home, and once or twice Steinberg detected a tone in her voice, or a glance in her eye, which struck him unpleasantly at the moment, and still more so, when he came to reflect upon the cause. What could she mean by them? Surely, she could never imagine that he would play his nearest friend false, for the sake of a face and figure like hers?

He put the idea away from him, again and again, as derogatory to himself and the honour of Ricardo’s wife--but it haunted him all the same. Has the reader ever encountered pictured eyes of villainy or lust which have seemed to follow him wherever he went? So did the eyes of Hannah Ricardo follow Steinberg, until he was fain to remember them, whether he would or no. She never betrayed herself, nor said a word that might be construed to her own undoing--but she gave Steinberg the impression, that the feeling was there, all the same.

He began to avoid her, as much as possible, leaving the cottage as early as he could, and returning late. He was rather an attractive young man, as has been said before--being only thirty years old, and having a fair German face, which struck most people as pleasant to look upon.

He was just pondering upon the best excuse for dissolving partnership with the Ricardos altogether, when the Wheel of Fortune did for him what he was contemplating doing for himself. He had come to London poor and without expectations, when by one of those strokes of good fortune that do occasionally happen in this world, a rich uncle of his died suddenly in Berlin, and left him his entire fortune. He rushed to the Professor with the news, almost unable to believe it to be true.

“My dearest friend, I am a wealthy man! My good uncle the Baron von Steinberg, who was the richest publisher in Berlin, has died and left me everything--everything! Congratulate me! Give me your hand! Let me feel that my best friend is glad with me! _Ach! Himmel!_ we will be happy now, and have a good time together.”

“A thousand congratulations, my dear Steinberg,” cried the Professor, warmly wringing his hand.

“But I must leave you! I must go to Berlin without delay. The lawyers have written for me. As yet I know nothing but the fact, but when I get there, I will write to you, dear Ricardo, and tell you all.”

“And won’t you come back to the cottage?” inquired Hannah.

“I do not know, Hannah. All is vague at present, except that this good luck has befallen me! My uncle’s fortune amounted, so I am told, to many thousand pounds a year, so perhaps I may have to live in Berlin. I cannot tell, but be sure of one thing--that I will never forget you, my dear Ricardo, nor all the interest you have shown in me. Farewell!”

The men grasped hands again, whilst Hannah looked on and murmured,

“Thousands of pounds a year! Some people are lucky! Why didn’t _he_ take a fancy for me, instead of the other?”