Chapter XXI: Some Alternations in the Current

One made himself a name for skill to trace
To its last hiding-place,
Each secret Mother Earth engaged to save,
Of jungle, sea or cave.
No path so devious but he mastered it;
And, bit by bit,
From off the face of mystery, he tore
The veil she wore;
Then, turning inward all his skill in seeing,
To solve the knot of Being,
In the deep crypts of Self fordone he lay,
Quite cast away.
--_Adventures in Egoism_.

Every morning, now, a box of flowers went up to Elizabeth, at the house with the white columns; and every evening Mr. Amidon bravely followed. The terror he felt of women was overpowered by the greater terror of losing this woman, and the fortitude and resolution he possessed in all other fields of action were returning to him. His violets and carnations she always wore for him, and all the roses except the red ones, which she put in vases and kept near her, but did not wear. She was ineffably kind and sweet, in a high and pure and far-off way fit for Olympus, but all the intimate little coquetries and tricks of charm with which she had at first received and disconcerted him were gone. She talked to him in that low voice of hers, but oftener she sat silent, and seemed to desire him to talk to her.

Since that first night, he could not bring himself to act a part, further than to assume the name and place of Eugene Brassfield. He stood afar off, looked at his divinity and worshiped. He read to her her favorite books, and ventured somewhat, out of his exceptional knowledge, to expound them--whereat she looked away and listened with something of the astonishment with which she had received his disquisitions on poetry and art on that first unlucky evening. For the most part, however, he, too, was inclined to silences, in which he looked at Elizabeth in the happiness of a lover's wretchedness. The love she had given to Brassfield seemed to him based on the deceitful pretensions of that wretch, and in any case it was not his, and he felt repelled from accepting it. He yearned to show her the soul of Florian Amidon, purified, adorned, and dedicated to her.

Once or twice she had hinted at something fateful which she wanted to say to him; but he had begged her to wait. After a few days of this slavish devotion of his, she seemed less aloof, not quite so much the unattainable goddess.

She gave him her hand, as usual, one evening at parting.

"I shall not expect to see you to-morrow," said she, "until we meet at the Pumphreys' reception. Until then, good-by."

"I thought," said he, "that if you would permit, I should like to call in the afternoon--say at three or four. May I?"

He looked so pleadingly at her, holding the little hand in both of his, that it is no wonder her color rose. It was like the worshipful inception of a new courtship.

"I shall be invisible," said she, "all day--so you must wait. You haven't any time to bother with me, anyhow. Haven't you your platform to complete? A public man must attend to public matters first, and, anyhow, I shall be denied to all my friends, and you must wait with the rest!"

"It is hard to wait," he answered, "when you are so near."

"I shall try to make amends," said she, "by endeavoring to be as beautiful as--as you used to describe me--at the reception. Good night! Good night!"

He once more violated the Brassfield traditions; he simply raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. To do more, he felt, would spoil all. She went in, more nearly happy than at any time since his return, but sorely puzzled. "I shall never understand him," she thought.

Mrs. Major Pumphrey, standing in line with Miss Scarlett and Mrs. Pumphrey's sister from Wisconsin; a procession of people coming in by twos and threes, and steered by attendants into rooms for doffing wraps; a chain of de-wrapped human beings circulating past the receiving line and listening to Mrs. Pumphrey's assurances that she was delighted to welcome them that she might have the pleasure of introducing them to her sister--and of course they knew Miss Scarlett; an Italian harper who played ceaselessly among palms; a punch-bowl presided over by Flossie Smith and Mrs. Alvord; a melange of black coats, pretty frocks and white arms and shoulders; a glare of lights; a hum like a hive's--in short, a reception. Such was the function to which Florian made his way, waiting until he could arrive concomitantly with the Waldron carriage so that he might hand the ladies therefrom, and receive from his divinity a little, uncertain pressure of the hand. Then came his respects to Mrs. Pumphrey. Amidon started as he recognized in the bright-haired second person in line his fairy of the balustrade.

"So delighted to see you here, Mr. Brassfield!" said Mrs. Pumphrey. "It gives me the opportunity of presenting you to--why, Daisy, where's your auntie gone? She was here just now!"

"She was called away for a few moments," said Miss Scarlett. "Yes, I believe Mr. Brassfield and I have met"--this with an icy bow--"and please, Mr. Cox, don't go, until I have told you the end of the story!" And she went on vivaciously chatting to Billy Cox, who had moored himself as close to her as the tide of guests sweeping by her would permit. Which current swept Mr. Amidon onward as he was in the act of assuring his hostess of his sense of loss in her sister's absence--until an eddy left him in a quiet corner, where he found absorbing occupation in trying to imagine again as vividly as possible that pressure of the hand. Was it meant as an evidence of affection?--or did her foot slip, so that she clung to his hand to prevent a fall? This question seemed of the most transcendent importance to him, and he debated it mentally all the evening, as he talked the set conversation of such an occasion. He knew no one; but every one knew him; yet he had no difficulty in getting on, because there was no sense in any of the conversation. He could answer all the remarks regarding his new role of political leader without committing himself to anything serious. Bright eyes flashed meaning and soulful glances into his, as sweet lips said things which he could answer quite as well as if the context of the conversation had been as familiar to him as it was supposed to be. Platitudes, generalities, inanities; and inanities, platitudes and generalities in reply. Amidon looked the part of Brassfield perfectly, and on occasions of this sort, to look the part is quite enough.

He found Elizabeth again, surrounded by a circle of admirers--men and women--an oasis of intelligence, it seemed to him as he listened, in a desert of twaddle. She smiled at him with her eyes, as he looked at her through the press, and just as he had won to a place by her side, the tide was sent flooding into a large room where, it was announced, Professor Blatherwick and Madame le Claire were doing feats of occultism.

"Laties ant shentlemen,"--it was the professor who spoke, "you are at liperty, of gourse, to adopt any t'eory vich seems to you goot to eggsblain dese phenomena. Madame le Claire offers none. Ven she hass broduced te phenomena, she iss--she iss all in! If dey seem to you to be de vork of tisempodied spirits, fery well--goot! Somedimes it seems so to her. If you rekard letchertemain as a sufficient vorking hypot'esis, vy, letchertemain goes, and upon dat hypot'esis ve vill gontinue to vork de miracles ant de public. Id iss kvite de same to Madame le Claire. It iss only fair to say, howefer, dat she hass nefer yet detected herself in any fraut. Bud she offers no eggsblanation; she chust gifes dese tests for your gonsiteration."

A ripple of laughter and a buzz of interested comment ran through the room.

"But how was it possible for her to get her hands loose?" said one.

"I assure you," said Mrs. Meyer, she of the _Parsifal_ impressions, and the wife of the Hebrew leader of the Gentile mob who went "down the line" for McCorkle the night before the caucuses, "I assure you that what she told me was unknown not only to every one else, but to me also; but it turned out true. It's uncanny!"

"It's humbug," said the bass voice of Doctor Brown, "and until you show me the source of this 'occult' energy, I shall so contend. Animal magnetism and sleight-of-hand! What do you think, Mrs. Hunter?"

Amidon looked across and saw--Mrs. Hunter, of Hazelhurst! It was she and her daughter from whom he had bashfully flown to the buffet, just before he alighted from the train at Elm Springs Junction. As he looked at her all the old life returned to him! He saw himself sitting with her and Minnie in the car, as she talked fashions to him and chattered her anticipations of the lovely time Minnie was to have with the family of Senator Fowler on the Maine coast. He saw Blodgett come in, and himself seize the opportunity to escape with his lawyer to the buffet. Then he saw the rural railway platform, the fading glory of the west--and then the waking in the sleeping-car! Could it all be possible?

"Do you know the lady talking with Doctor Brown?" he asked of Miss Waldron.

"Mrs. Hunter?" said Elizabeth questioningly. "Why, didn't you meet her when you came in? She is Mrs. Pumphrey's sister, of Hazelhurst, Wisconsin. She receives with Mrs. Pumphrey to-night."

"I thought it was Mrs. Hunter, as soon as I saw her," answered Amidon; "she is an old acquaintance of mine."

And it was some little time, so far had he forgotten his peculiar position, before the baleful possibilities of this innocent and truthful remark occurred to him. When he thought of it, any observing friend might well have inquired after his health, so gray with pallor and moist with sweat had his face become. Not that he felt hanging over him any such danger as he had feared when he found himself in the shoes of another man, with that other man unaccounted for. He really cared very little about _that_, now. The people of Bellevale, and Hazelhurst, too, might think what they pleased about this mystery of disappearance and reappearance: he was independent of them all, and those he really cared about would understand.

But Elizabeth! Everything now revolved about her. Now that she had grown so dear--that she had come to smile on him in his new character--how could he let her know that this Eugene Brassfield whom she so admired and loved, was no more for ever; and that Florian Amidon had never seen her, never loved her, never wooed her until these past few days! Would she ever see him again? Could she regard him as anything else than an interloper and an impostor? His right to Brassfield's clothes and Brassfield's fortune might be as clear as Judge Blodgett said; but would not Elizabeth feel that as to her he had attempted the very deed of which he had first suspected himself--fraud and robbery? And her "perfect lover," whom Amidon habitually thought of as "that fellow Brassfield"--all the perfections which Elizabeth had learned to attribute to him, would no longer be credited to Amidon. It was tragic!

As a matter of fact, beloved, any man would have been a perfect lover, or none at all, to Elizabeth. A perfect lover is the noblest work of woman.

"Te autience," went on the professor, "vill haf te eggstreme gourtesy to assist in a temonstration of Madame le Claire's power as a hypnotist. Not effery vun gan pe hypnoticed te fairst dime; bud ve vill try. Vill te autience bleace suchest te name of a laty or shentleman as a supchect?"

"Doctor Brown!" said many voices. "Alvord!" said others, but most of the votes appeared to be for Brassfield--a name which the professor hailed joyfully as insuring against failure. It is not often that the audience will hit on the only practised sensitive in the room.

Madame le Claire started, as there was thus presented to her the thought of bringing her power to bear on Amidon. The serious results of her last exercise of it came vividly to her mind. Yet, here she was openly hypnotizing him. Here she could keep him under control. She could limit his Brassfield state as to time, or she could keep him in a state of automatism.

"Mr. Brassfield vill greatly obliche by goming forvart," said the professor; and, as he had learned to do, Amidon obeyed his request.

Elizabeth, standing near Mrs. Hunter, heard an agitated exclamation from that lady as Mr. Amidon went forward.

"For heaven's sake," said she, "it's Florian Amidon!"

"Who?" inquired Mrs. Pumphrey, "that? Why, that's our chief citizen, soon to be our chief magistrate, Mr. Eugene Brassfield."

Elizabeth heard no more, but in spite of perplexity at what she regarded as Mrs. Hunter's recognition of her lover's face and forgetfulness of his name, she could not help noticing her excited talk to her sister, and the meaning glances finally directed toward her, Elizabeth. Whereat, to hide a little rosy flush, Miss Waldron turned more completely toward the place of the hypnotist.

Madame le Claire stood in the little curtained alcove, empty save for the great tiger-skin rug, the dais, and a chair or two. She was gowned once more in the yellow and black, and stood in tigrine splendor cap-a-pie. Amidon felt her old power over him, as he approached her and looked into those mysterious eyes, and knew that he should do her bidding. She looked at his troubled countenance, and pitied him for his long evening of mental strain. She had seen his devotion to Elizabeth, and, be it confessed, was jealous in spite of herself. Pity and jealousy inspired the resolution which now formed in her mind: she would for an interval--an interval definitely limited--restore Eugene Brassfield to this company in which he was so completely at home, and lay the troubled ghost, Amidon. He would appear to better advantage altogether and do himself more credit; he would, in fact, be more convincingly Bellevale's "chief citizen."

She bowed deeply and waved him to the chair. Then she performed the charm of "woven paces and of waving arms," and he slept, "lost to life and use and name and fame."

"When he opens his eyes," said she, "he will know nothing, think nothing, do nothing, except what I suggest."

"Make him dance with the broom," suggested Cox.

"Let's have his inaugural address," petitioned Edgington.

"Give him this," said Alvord, offering a coin, "and make him think it's hot. People in this neighborhood would go farther to see Brassfield drop a piece of money, than to interview a live dinosaur!"

The laughter at this sally was lost on Madame le Claire. She was looking down on the unconscious Amidon, and wondering how any one could think of making him the instrument of buffoonery.

"I will perform only one simple, yet very difficult, lest," said she. "This gentleman will soon wake as Mr. Brassfield, and will be his old and usual self among you until a certain hour, which I will write on this card, and seal up in this envelope, so that no one will know, and inform Mr. Brassfield by suggestion. When that particular moment arrives, wherever he may be, whatever he may be doing, he will enter the cataleptic state. The test is regarded as a severe and perfect one. The card will remain in the possession of Major Pumphrey until it succeeds or fails, and the envelope will then be opened."

Kneeling on the dais, she seemed whispering in the subject's ear. Then, tapping his wrist, she said, decisively, "Wake!"

It was Eugene Brassfield who opened his eyes on a circle of his friends, associates and cronies. He rose lightly and confidently, and laughed at the chaffing of his friends. He bowed to Madame le Claire, and moved across the room to Elizabeth's side, with an air of incipient proprietorship.

"No true lover of carnations," he confided to her, "could wish you to wear them as you do to-night."

"Really? I suppose I ought to ask why?"

"It isn't fair to the flowers," said he. "Flowers have rights, you know, and to be outdone in sweetness---- Ah, Jim! Go away, and don't bother me! Don't you see I'm very busy?"

"Old man," said Alvord, answering to the name of "Jim," "it's good to see you as you are to-night--your old self. You'll make a hit, my boy. This will make it more than ever a cinch!"

Self-possessed, masterful, Mr. Brassfield moved through the assembly like a conqueror. Those who, a short time ago, found him dull and moody, rejoiced now in his confident persiflage pitched safely in the restful key of mediocrity, but possessed withal of a species of brilliancy, like the skilful playing of scales. Elizabeth noted the return of that dash and abandon which she had lately so missed--but for the first time the Brassfield music had a hollow ring in her ears. The subtler melody of last night--after all, it was best!

Madame le Claire, immensely popular, gave readings in palmistry. Miss Smith was to have a husband with dark eyes. Mr. Brassfield offered to cross her palm with any gold coin she might name, if she would promise him a sweetheart with party-colored eyes, who would meet him for a long talk next day. Madame le Claire blushed and dropped the hand.

Mr. Brassfield adroitly overtook Miss Scarlett, who seemed endeavoring to retreat. He stood by her, chatting lightly, using two voices, a distinct and conversational tone, and one so low as to be for her ear alone.

"Oh, isn't it a crush?" said he. "(_Daise, what's the matter?_) A perfect evening, though. (_Are you running away from me?_) And such delightful people! (_The east room in ten minutes; is it yes?_)"

Miss Scarlett nodded, and Brassfield moved on. Mrs. Pumphrey, Mrs. Hunter and Elizabeth Waldron were sipping punch.

"May I have some?" said he. "And, please, Mrs. Pumphrey, may I be presented to the guest of the evening?"

Mrs. Hunter received the introduction with a gasp.

"Is it possible," said she, "that you don't know me? Can the possessor of that voice and face be any one but Florian Amidon?"

"Amidon, Amidon?" he repeated. "Pardon me, but some one else spoke that name to me lately, and I was trying to recall the circumstances. It is in every way on my part to be regretted, as the fact has deprived me of the happiness of knowing you, that I am not Mr. Amidon. Am I so like him?"

"Oh, it isn't a matter of resemblance, but of identity!" replied Mrs. Hunter. "Were you never in Hazelhurst, Wisconsin?"

"Never," said Mr. Brassfield; "but I am beginning to see its beauties as a place of residence. And I hope to know more of this other Dromio before the evening is past."

Mrs. Hunter bowed in acknowledgment of the compliment, and Mr. Brassfield took himself gracefully from their presence. In the fashion of one pressed for time, he moved on.

Elizabeth had grown suddenly very grave. What did this conduct of her lover mean? A little while ago he had recognized Mrs. Hunter, at a distance, as an old acquaintance. Now he had audaciously outfaced her, and denied that he ever knew her. Could this be the man she had trusted with her all? Again her doubts and fears and scruples rose--rose instantly in full strength. The new impressions she had lately received of him vanished, and all the subtle suggestions of sordid lightness which the diplomacy of Brassfield, even, had not entirely kept from her mind, came back with multiplied distinctness. These transformations of character, these curious duplicities, and now this lie. She must think it over: it impressed her, and she must act.

"Auntie," said she, "let us go."

As down the stairway they came, robed for departure, they were conscious of a hum of excitement running through the assembly.

"Where is he? The envelope has been opened and the time is up! Where is he?" were the cries. "It's eleven: it's a minute past eleven! Where's Mr. Brassfield?"

At this moment, a scream, a soprano scream, high, long-drawn and piercing, the scream of a woman in terror, came echoing from the deserted east room. A body of guests rushed through the portieres, Madame le Claire, pale with fright, at their head, and Elizabeth borne with them, all looking to see what violence had provoked that scream. They saw Mr. Brassfield, seated on a sofa in a shadowy corner, holding both Miss Scarlett's hands in his; saw the girl frantically, but in vain, trying to take them from his grasp. He sat like a statue, with his eyes set wide and unwinking like a corpse's, every limb and muscle rigid, his body tense and immovable as a stone image. The sight was terrible. It was as if the living man had been transformed in an instant into a ghastly trap, to catch those soft, warm, pretty hands! She ceased her efforts to break away, but stood white and almost fainting, and begging hysterically for help.

Madame le Claire leaped forward like a tigress, so light was her step, and passed her hand over his eyes, so as to close them. Then, bending her gaze one moment piercingly on his face, she sharply tapped his wrist and uttered the single word, "Wake!"

Florian Amidon opened his eyes. He saw that something extraordinary was taking place, for, in the act of opening his eyes, he had seen Miss Scarlett fall back into the arms of Mr. Cox, and knew that she was being conveyed rapidly away.

"It iss now," said the professor, "vun minute past eleven. Te test, you vill atmit, hass peen a gomplete success. Dis sairgumsdance vill pe noted as exdablishing to a sairtain eggstent an important brinciple, ant hass peen in effery vay bleasant ant a success: not?"

A laugh or two was heard, then more laughter, then a little hum of reviving talk, and one could observe that the affair was to be passed off as one of the mysteries of occultism.

"Well," said Mr. Amidon, "if I have contributed my share to the gaiety of the occasion, I shall beg now to be permitted to depart."

The Waldrons were waiting for their carriage as he came down.

"There will be plenty of assistance," said the aunty "and we shall not need to detain you."

"Oh, auntie, auntie!" wept Elizabeth, when they were safely alone, "there was a spell upon him, as you say, there in the east room, but the spell that took him there was none of the hypnotist's working! I am shamed, and humiliated, and robbed of all I have to live for! He went there, auntie, of his own accord, _and left me_!"

Mr. Alvord passed the thing off more lightly.

"Confound it!" said he, "I wish they were in Hades with their mesmeric stunts! I shan't tell Brass what happened, for it won't do any good; and the less notice there's taken of it the better. But carrying things before him as he was--it was hard luck to have that occur. Puts him in an undignified position, to say the least. I wish I could think there was nothing more to it!"