to retail the following scene as dr. fillery saw it in detail is not necessary, the sequence of acts, of physical events being already known. the reactions of his heart and mind, however, have importance. what he felt, thought, hoped and feared, what he believed as well, his point of view in a word, remain essential.
edward fillery, being what he was, witnessed it from his own individual angle; his mind, with his heredity, his soul, with its mysterious background, these held the glasses to his eyes, adjusting, as with a zeiss instrument, each eye separately. in his case the analyst and thinker checked the unstable dreamer with acute exactitude. this was his special gift. he studied himself best while studying others. his sight, moreover, was exceptionally keen, his glasses of consummate workmanship. he saw, it seems, considerably beyond the normal range. he believed, at least, that he did so.
he saw, for instance, that the girl, while her fingers ran over the keys before she sang, searched the room and found levallon in a second. following her rapid glance, he took in the picture that she also saw levallon, coffee cup in hand, before lady gleeson languishing on the divan, and devonham just beside them. levallon was obviously unaware of lady gleeson’s presence; he had forgotten her existence. devonham, a floor-walker with nothing particular to do at the moment, looked uncomfortable and ill at ease, scared a little, fearing a scene, a possible outbreak even. the meaning of the group was easily read. the girl herself, undoubtedly, read it clearly too.
this flashed upon the cinema screen, and fillery divined it without the help of tedious letterpress.
the same instant he was aware that the girl and levallon looked for the first time straight into each other’s faces, and that both seemed simultaneously caught into the air as though a star had lifted them. not even a question lay in their clear eyes. it was an instantaneous understanding, so complete and perfect that the expression of happy surprise was too convicing to be missed even by the slow-witted lady gleeson. vanity usually delays intelligence, and her vanity was abnormal. but she saw the expression on the two faces, and interpreted it aright. fillery noticed that she squirmed; she would presently, he felt positive, disappear. before the singing ended he had seen her slink away.
the song began. he had heard it before, “the vagrant’s epitaph,” sung by the same clear, sweet voice, had felt his heart stirred by the true simple feeling she put into it. he knew every word and every bar; the music was her own. he loved it. both words and music awoke in him invariably a picture of his own lost valley, a physical desire to be over the hills and far away with the homeless liberty of winds and stars and waters, and at the same time, its spiritual equivalent a yearning that the race should discover the immense fair region of its greater hidden self and enjoy its new powers without restraint. all this was familiar to him. but now, as she sang, there came another, deeper meaning that sublimated the essential spirit of it, lifting it out of the known ditch of space and time. never yet had he heard such yearning passion, such untold desire in her voice. the physical vagrancy changed subtly, exquisitely, to a symbol of a vaster meaning a spiritual vagrancy that suddenly captured him in bitter pain. “love could not hold him, duty forged no chain” as he listened to the sweetness, struck him between the joints of armour he had not realized before was so insecurely bound about him. the anguish of lonely souls, alien among their kind, hungry for companionship they might not find, unclothed, uncared for, desired of none and understanding none this rose tumultuously in his blood. “the wide seas and the mountains called him...” the words and music pierced him like a flame. “revel might hold him for a little space...” her voice made it sound like a description of man’s brief moment on the whirling planet, tasting adventure with men and women, playing a moment with love and hope and fear, till, “turning past the laughter and the lamps,” he heard that “other summons at the door.”
this bigger version, this deeper meaning, caught at him with power as he heard the song in the sweet, familiar voice, and realized in a flash that what he felt faintly levallon felt terrifically. his own detachment was a pose, a shadow, at best a bodiless yearning; in levallon it was a reality of consuming fire. also it was an explanation of the girl’s own singular aloofness from the world of admiring men. both belonged, as father collins put it, “elsewhere.”
he watched them. levallon’s eyes, he saw, remained fixed and motionless on the singer; her own did not leave the notes for a single moment; the words and music poured into the room like a shower of dancing silver. the personality of the girl flowed out with them to meet the newly-found companion they addressed. an extraordinary thing then happened: to fillery it almost seemed that there formed then and there between them a new vehicle as it were, a body that gave expression to their own great secret. something in each of them, unable to manifest through their minds, their brains, their earthly bodies, formed for itself an elastic subtle vehicle, using the sound, the words, the feeling for this purpose and as literally as a human spirit uses the familiar physical body for its manifestation.
the experience was amazing, but it was real. he watched it carefully. in the room about him, formed on the waves of this sweet singing, shaped by feeling that found normally no other expression, inspired by emotions, yearnings, desires alien to their normal kind, these two created between them a new vehicle or body that could and did express all this.
they heard that “other summons at the door....” and they were off.
yet he, too, heard the summons, and in the depths of his being he answered to it. his essential weakness, wearing the guise of strength, rose naked....
these thoughts and feelings lay unexpressed, perhaps too deep actually, too remote from any experience he had yet known, to find actual words, even in his mind. what did find expression, in thought at any rate, was that, before his very eyes, he witnessed the transfiguring change come over nayan. like some flower that has been growing in the shade, then meets the flood of sunshine for the first time, she knew a fresh tide of life sweep over her entire being. she seemed to blossom, breaking almost into flower and fruit before his very eyes, as though sun and wind brought her into a sudden bloom of exquisite maturity. he was aware of rich, deep purple, the faint gold of fruits and flowers, the creamy softness of a rose, the amber of wild grapes bathed in sparkling dew. the luscious promise of the spring matured about her whole presentment into full summer glory. and it was the sun and wind of levallon’s enigmatic, stimulating presence close to her that caused the miracle. the essential flower of her life poured forth to meet his own, as he had always felt it must. levallon’s was the mighty wind that lifted her, was the sun in whose heat she basked, expanded, soared. she experienced a strange increase of her natural vitality and being. her consciousness knew an abrupt intensification.
the signs, in that brief moment, were as clear to fillery’s divining heart as though he read them in black printed letters on a page of whitest paper. he knew the cipher and the code. he watched the signals flash. they had not even spoken, yet the relationship was established beyond doubt.
he witnessed the first exchange; the wireless message of joy and sympathy that flashed he intercepted.
through his extremely rapid mind, as he watched, poured memories, reflections, judgments in concentrated form, yet calmly, steadily, though against a background of deep and troubled emotion. there seemed actually a disruption of his personality. father collins, standing beside him, divined nothing, he believed, of his agitation, standing, mere figure of a man, listening to the music with attentive pleasure; at least, he gave no outward sign....
the song drew to its close. once nayan raised her eyes, instantly finding those of levallon across the room, then shifting again for a fleeting second with a rapidly changing focus to his own. he met them without a quiver; he caught again her tender, searching question; he sent no answer back.
in his own heart burned, however, a score of questions that beat against his soul for answers. what was it that each had found thus intuitively within the other? was it her maternal instinct only that was reached as with all other men hitherto, was it at last the woman in her that leaped towards its own divine, creative sun, or was it that hidden, nameless aspect of her which had never yet found a vehicle for manifestation among her own kind and had therefore remained hitherto unexpressed bodiless?
the answer to this he found easily enough. no jealousy stirred; pain for himself had been long ago uprooted. yet pain of a kind he felt. would levallon injure, drag her down, bring suffering, perhaps of an atrocious sort, into her hitherto so innocent life? was she yet qualified to withstand the fierce fire, the rushing wind, that the full force of his strange nature must bring to bear upon her?
his questions went prophesying, flying like swift birds to such great distances that no audible answers could return. his pain, at any rate, chiefly was for her. he divined that she was frightened, yet exhilarated, before the unexpected apparition of an unusual presence, accustomed to smaller jets of admiration from smaller men, this deep flood over-whelmed her. this motionless figure watching her among the shadows, listening to her singing, devouring her beauty with an innocence, power, worship she had never yet encountered could she, fillery asked himself, withstand its elemental flood and not be broken by its waves?
for at the back of all his questions, haunting his prophecies, filling his hopes and fears with substance, stood one outstanding certainty:
the motionless figure in the shadows was not levallon. it was “n.h.”
the thing he had expected had now happened. instinctively he turned to find his colleague.
for what followed, fillery, of course, was as unprepared as anyone. in some way, difficult to describe, the whole thing had a strangely natural, almost an inevitable touch. the exaggeration that others felt he was not conscious of. he never, for a single moment, lost his head. the wonder of the elemental violence appealed and stimulated without once touching the sense of fear, much less of panic, in him.
searching for devonham’s familiar figure, he found it in the seat that lady gleeson had vacated shortly before, but the face turned away towards the inner room, so that it was not possible to catch his eye. it was an attentive, critical, almost anxious expression his chief surprised, and while a faint smile perhaps flitted across his own mouth, he became aware that father collins he had again completely forgotten his proximity was staring with a curious intentness at him. the same instant the song came to an end. into the brief pause of a second before the applause burst forth, father collins’s voice was suddenly audible in his ear:
“levallon’s gone,” fillery was saying to himself, “ ‘n.h.’ is in control,” when his neighbour’s words broke in. the two sentences were simultaneously in his mind:
“a man in his own place is the ruler of his fate!”
and fillery’s astonishment was only equalled by the fact that the grim face was soft with sympathy, and that in the eyes shone moisture that was close to tears. before he could reply, however, the applause burst forth, making an uproar against which no voice could possibly contend. the subsequent events, following so swiftly, made rejoinder equally out of the question, nor did he see father collins again that evening.
these fillery witnessed much as already described through devonham’s eyes. the storm, the panic took place as told. yet a detail here and there belong to fillery’s version, for they were a part of his own being. he had, for instance, a warning that something was about to happen, although warning seems not quite the faithful word. he saw the valley for one fleeting second, the three familiar figures, nayan, “n.h.,” himself, flying through the bright sunshine before a wind that stirred a million flowers. in the farthest possible background of his mind it shone an instant. the shutter dropped again, it vanished.
yet enough to set him on the alert. into the air about him, into his heart as well, fell an exhilarating and immense refreshment. it rose, as it were, from the most deeply submerged portion of his own hidden being, now stirred, even actually summoned, into activity.
the shutter meanwhile rose and fell and rose again; the valley reappeared and vanished, then reappeared again.
for the truth came smashing against him smashing his being open, and bursting the doors of his carefully instructed, carefully guarded nature. the doors flung from their hinges and a blinding light poured in and flooded the strangest possible hidden corners.
he saw what followed with an accuracy of observation impossible to anyone else, with an intimate sympathy the others could not feel because he himself took part in the entire scene. but the scene, for him, was not the chelsea studio with its tobacco smoke and perfume, it was the caucasian valley whence his own blood derived. clean, fragrant winds swept past him across mighty space. the walls melted into distances of forest and mountain peaks, the ceiling was a dome of stainless blue, the floor ran deep in flowers. a drenching sunshine of crystal purity bathed the world. it was across bright emerald turf that he saw “x. h.” dance forward like a wind of power, cry with a joyful resonant voice to the radiant girl who stood laughing, half hiding, yet at the same time beckoning, that she should fly with him. he caught and lifted her, her hair, the whiteness of her skin flashing in the sun like some marvellous bird in the act of taking wing, for before he had touched her she leapt through the air to meet his outstretched arms. yet one hand, one silvery arm, waved towards himself, towards fillery; their fingers met and clasped; the three of them, three dancing, free and joyful figures, fled like the wind across the enormous mountains, but fled, he knew beyond all question home.
he saw this in the space of those few seconds in which nayan was swung over the youth’s shoulders beside the piano. the two scenes ran parallel, as it were, before his eyes, outer and inner sight keeping equal pace together. his balance and judgment here were never once disturbed. in the studio: he had just introduced levallon to the girl and the latter had caught her up. in the valley: she had leapt into his arms and the three of them were off.
it was this inner interpretation, keeping always level pace with what was happening outwardly, that furnished fillery with the hint of an astounding explanation. the figure in the valley, it flashed to him, was, of course, “n.h.” in all his natural splendour, but a figure unknown surely to all records of humanity as such. here danced and sang a happy radiant being, by whom the limitations of the human species were not experienced, even if the species were familiar to him at all. a being from another system, another evolution, an elemental being, whose ideal, development, mode of existence, were not those of men and women. “n.h.” was not a human being, a human soul, a human spirit he belonged elsewhere and otherwise. under the guise of levallon he had drifted in. he inhabited levallon’s frame.
in the studio, at this instant, fillery heard him using the singular words already noted, and in the studio they sounded, indeed, senseless, foolish, even mad. it was, he realized, an attempt to stammer in human language some meaning that lay beyond, outside it. in the valley, however, and at the same moment, they sounded natural and true. the evolutionary system to which “n.h.” belonged, from which he had in some as yet unknown manner passed into humanity, but to which, though almost entirely forgotten, he yearned with his whole being to return this other system had, it seemed, its own conditions, its own methods of advance, its ideals and its duties. were, then, its inhabitants this flashed upon him in the delicious wind and sunshine the workers in what men call the natural kingdoms, the builders of form and structure, the directing powers that expressed themselves through the elemental energies everywhere behind the laws of nature? was this their tireless and wondrous service in the planet, in the universe itself?
“n.h.” called the girl to service, not to personal love. alone, cut off from his own kind, alien and derelict amid the conditions of a humanity strange, perhaps unknown to him, he sought companionship where he could. drawn instinctively to the more impersonal types, such as fillery and the girl, he felt there the nearest approach to what he recognized as his own kind: their ideal of selfless service was a beacon that he understood: he would return to his own kingdom, carrying them both with him. from somewhere, at any rate, this all flashed into his too willing mind....
at which second precisely in fillery’s valley-vision, khilkoff entered, and yet before he could take action the lightning struck and the sudden explosion of the ferocious storm blackened out both the outer and the inner scene.
the shock of elemental violence, the astounding revelation as well that an entirely new type had possibly come within his ken, this, combined with the emotional disturbance caused by the change produced in nayan, seemed enough to upset the equilibrium of even the most balanced mind. the darkness added its touch of helplessness besides. yet fillery never for a moment lost his head. two natures in him, cause of his radical instability, merged for a moment in amazing harmony. the panic now dominating all about him seemed so small a thing compared to the shattering discovery life had just offered to him. across it, finding his way past kneeling women and shrieking girls, drenched to the skin by the flood of entering rain, moving over splintered glass, he found the figure he sought, as though by some instinctive sympathy. they came together in the darkness. their hands met easily. a moment later they were in the street, and “n.h.‘s” instinctive terror amid the sheets of falling water, an element hostile to his own natural fire, made it a simple matter to get him home in lady gleeson’s motor car.
