The Secret Power - Marie Corelli (books to get back into reading TXT) 📗

her heart’s longing, though she considered herself an entirely commonplace woman. And what sort of a man would it be that could hold Morgana? As well try to control a sunbeam or a lightning flash as the restless vital and intellectual spirit that had, for the time being, entered into feminine form, showing itself nevertheless as something utterly different and superior to women as they are generally known. Some thoughts such as these, though vague and disconnected, passed through Lady Kingswood’s mind as she turned away from the sea-shore to re-ascend the flower-bordered terraces of the Palazzo d’Oro,—and it was with real pleasure that she perceived on the summit of the last flight of grassy steps, the figure of Don Aloysius. He was awaiting her approach, and came down a little way to meet her.

“I saw the air-ship flying over the monastery,”—he explained, greeting her—“And I was anxious to know whether la Signora had gone away into the skies or was still on earth! She has gone, I suppose?”

“Yes, she has gone!” sighed Lady Kingswood—“and the Marchese with her, and one assistant. Her ‘nerve’ is simply astonishing!”

“You did not think of venturing on a trip with her yourself?”—and the priest smiled kindly, as he assisted her to ascend the last flight of steps to the loggia.

“No indeed! I really could not! I feel I ought to be braver—but I cannot summon up sufficient courage to leave terra firma. It seems altogether unnatural.”

“Then what will you do when you are an angel, dear lady?” queried Aloysius, playfully—“You will have to leave terra firma then! Have you ever thought of that?”

She smiled.

“I’m afraid I don’t think!” she said—“I take my life on trust. I always believe that God who brought me HERE will take care of me THERE!—wherever ‘there’ is. You understand me, don’t you? You speak English so well that I’m sure you do.”

“Yes—I understand you perfectly”—he replied—“That I speak English is quite natural, for I was educated at Stonyhurst, in England. I was then for a time at Fort Augustus in Scotland, and studied a great many of the strange traditions of the Highland Celts, to which mystic people Miss Royal by birth belongs. Her ancestry has a good deal to do with her courage and character.”

While he spoke Lady Kingswood gazed anxiously into the sky, searching it north, south, east, west, for the first glimpse of the returning “White Eagle,” but there was no sign of it.

“You must not worry yourself,”—went on the priest, putting a chair for her in the loggia, and taking one himself—“If we sit here we shall see the air-ship returning, I fancy, by the western line,— certainly near the sunset. In any case let me assure you there is no danger!” “No danger?”

“Absolutely none!”

Lady Kingswood looked at him in bewildered amazement.

“Surely there MUST be danger?” she said—“The terrible accidents that happen every day to these flying machines—”

“Yes—but you speak of ordinary flying machines,” said Aloysius,— “This ‘White Eagle’ is not an ordinary thing. It is the only one of its kind in the world—the only one scientifically devised to work with the laws of Nature. You saw it ascend?”

“I did.”

“It made no sound?”

“None.”

“Then how did its engines move, if it HAD engines?” pursued Aloysius—“Had you no curiosity about it?”

“I’m afraid I hadn’t—I was really too nervous! Morgana begged me to go inside, but I could not!”

Don Aloysius was silent for a minute or two, out of gentle tolerance. He recognised that Lady Kingswood belonged to the ordinary class of good, kindly women not overburdened with brains, to whom thought, particularly of a scientific or reflective nature, would be a kind of physical suffering. And how fortunate it is that there are, and always will be such women! Many of them are gifted with the supreme talent of making happiness around themselves,—and in this way they benefit humanity more than the often too self- absorbed student of things which are frequently “past finding out.”

“I understand your feeling”;—he said, at last—“And I hardly wonder at your very natural fears. I must admit that I think human daring is going too fast and too far—the science of to-day is not tending to make men and women happier—and after all, happiness is the great goal.”

A slight sigh escaped him, and Lady Kingswood looked at his fine, composed features with deep interest.

“Do you think God meant us to be happy?” she asked, gently.

“It is a dubious question!” he answered—“When we view the majesty and loveliness of nature—we cannot but believe we were intended to enjoy the splendid treasures of beauty freely spread out before us,- then again, if we look back thousands of years and consider the great civilisations of the past that have withered into dust and are now forgotten, we cannot help wondering why there should be such a waste of life for apparently no purpose. I speak in a secular sense,-of course my Church has but one reply to doubt, or what we call ‘despair of God’s mercy’—that it is sin. We are not permitted to criticise or to question the Divine.”

“And surely that is best!” said Lady Kingswood, “and surely you have found happiness, or what is nearest to happiness, in your beautiful Faith?”

His eyes were shadowed by deep gravity.

“Miladi, I have never sought happiness,” he replied; “From my earliest boyhood I felt it was not for me. Among the comrades of my youth many started the race of life with me—happiness was the winning post they had in view—and they tried many ways to reach it- some through ambition, some through wealth, some through love-but I have never chanced to meet one of them who was either happy or satisfied. MY mind was set on nothing for myself—except this—to grope through the darkness for the Great Mind behind the Universe— to drop my own ‘ego’ into it, as a drop of rain into the sea—and so—to be content! And in this way I have learned much,—more than I consider myself worthy to know. Modern science of the surface kind— (not the true deep discoveries)—has done its best to detach the rain-drop from the sea!—but it has failed. I stay where I have plunged my soul!”

He spoke as it were to himself with the air of one inspired; he had almost forgotten the presence of Lady Kingswood, who was gazing at him in a rapture of attention.

“Oh, if I could only think as you do!” she said, in a low tone—“Is it truly the Catholic Church that teaches these things?”

“The Catholic Church is the sign and watchword of all these things!” he answered—“Not only that, but its sacred symbols, though ancient enough to have been adopted from Babylonia and Chaldea, are actually the symbols of our most modern science. Catholicism itself does not as yet recognise this. Like a blind child stumbling towards the light it has FELT the discoveries of science long before discovery. In our sacraments there are the hints of the transmutation of elements,—the ‘Sanctus’ bell suggests wireless telegraphy or telepathy, that is to say, communication between ourselves and the divine Unseen,—and if we are permitted to go deeper, we shall unravel the mystery of that ‘rising from the dead’ which means renewed life. I am a ‘prejudiced’ priest, of course,”—and he smiled, gravely—“but with all its mistakes, errors, crimes (if you will) that it is answerable for since its institution, through the sins of unworthy servants, Catholicism is the only creed with the true seed of spiritual life within it—the only creed left standing on a firm foundation in this shaking world!”

He uttered these words with passionate eloquence and added—

“There are only three things that can make a nation great,—the love of God, the truth of man, the purity of woman. Without these three the greatest civilisation existing must perish,—no matter how wide its power or how vast its wealth. Ignorant or vulgar persons may sneer at this as ‘the obvious’—but it is the ‘obvious’ sun alone that rules the day.”

Lady Kingswood’s lips trembled; there were tears in her eyes.

“How truly you speak!” she murmured—“And yet we live in a time when such truths appear to have no influence with people at all. Every one is bent on pleasure—on self—”

“As every one was in the ‘Cities of the Plain,’”—he said, “and we may well expect another rain of fire!”

Here, lifting his eyes, he saw in the soft blush rose of the approaching sunset a small object like a white bird flying homeward across the sea.

“Here it comes!” he exclaimed—“Not the rain of fire, but something more agreeable! I told you, did I not, miladi, that there was no danger? See!”

Lady Kingswood looked where he pointed.

“Surely that is not the air-ship?” she said—“It is too small!”

“At this distance it is small”—answered Aloysius—“But wait! Watch,—and you will soon perceive Its great wings! What a marvellous thing it is! Marvellous!—and a woman’s work!”

They stood together, gazing into the reddening west, thrilled with expectancy,—while with a steady swiftness and accuracy of movement the bird-like object which at the first glimpse had seemed so small gradually loomed larger with nearer vision, its enormous wings spreading wide and beating the air rhythmically as though the true pulsation of life impelled their action. Neither Lady Kingswood nor Don Aloysius exchanged a word, so absorbed were they in watching the “White Eagle” arrive, and not till it began to descend towards the shore did they relax their attention and turn to each other with looks of admiration and amazement.

“How long have they been gone?” asked Aloysius then.

Lady Kingswood glanced at her watch.

“Barely two hours.”

At that moment the “White Eagle” swooped suddenly over the gardens, noiselessly and with an enormous spread of wing that was like a white cloud in the sky—then gracefully swerved aside towards its “shed” or aerodrome, folding its huge pinions as of its own will and sliding into its quarters as easily as a hand may slide into a loose-fitting glove. The two interested watchers of its descent and swift “run home” had no time to exchange more than a few words of comment before Morgana ran lightly up the terrace, calling to them with all the gaiety of a child returning on a holiday.

“It was glorious!” she exclaimed—“Just glorious! We’ve been to Naples,—crowds gathered in the street to stare at us,—we were ever so high above them and they couldn’t make us out, as we moved so silently! Then we hovered for a bit over Capri,—the island looked like a lovely jewel shining with sun and sea,—and now here we are!- home in plenty of time to dress for dinner! You see, dear ‘Duchess’-you need not have been nervous,—the ‘White Eagle’ is safer than any railway train, and ever so much pleasanter!”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve come back all right”—said Lady Kingswood— “It’s a great relief! I certainly was afraid---”

“Oh, you must never be afraid of anything!” laughed Morgana—“It does no good. We are all too much afraid of everything and everybody,—and often when there’s nothing to be afraid of! Am I not right, most reverend Father Aloysius?” and she turned with a radiant smile to the priest whose serious dark eyes rested upon her with an expression of mingled admiration and wonder—“I’m so glad to find you here with Lady Kingswood—I’m sure you told her there was no danger for me, didn’t you? Yes? I thought so! Now do stay and dine with us, please!—I want you to talk to the Marchese Rivardi—he’s rather cross! He cannot bear me to have my own