"Do not blame my presumption," she said; "do not think that I am
merely soft or weak, if I entreat you to take no further notice of
Eunané's mood. I cannot but think that, if you do, you will very soon
repent it."
She could not or would not give a reason for her intercession; but
some little symptoms I might have seen without observing, some
perception of the exceptional character of Eunané's outbreak, or some
unacknowledged misgiving accordant with her own, made me more than
willing to accept Eveena's wish as a sufficient cause for forbearance.
When we assembled at the morning meal Eunané appeared to be conscious
of error; at all events, her manner and temper were changed. Watching
her closely, I thought that neither shame for an outbreak of unwonted
extravagance nor fear of my displeasure would account for her languor
and depression. But illness is so rare among a race educated for
countless generations on principles scientifically sound and sanitary,
inheriting no seeds of disease from their ancestry, and safe from the
infection of epidemics long extirpated, that no apprehension of
serious physical cause for her changes of temper and complexion
entered into my mind. To spare her when she deserved no indulgence was
the surest way to call forth Eunané's best impulses; and I was not
surprised to find her, soon after the party had dispersed, in Eveena's
chamber. That all the amends I could desire had been made and accepted
was sufficiently evident. But Eunané's agitation was so violent and
persistent, despite all Eveena's soothing, that I was at last
seriously apprehensive of its effect upon the latter. The moment we
were alone Eveena said—
"I have never seen illness, but if Eunané is not ill, and very ill,
all I have gathered in my father's household from such books as he has
allowed me, and from his own conversation, deceives me wholly; and yet
no illness of which I have ever heard in the slightest degree
resembles this."
"I take it to be," I said, "what on Earth women call hysteria and men
temper."
To this opinion, however, I could not adhere when, watching her
closely, I noticed the evident lack of spirit and strength with which
the most active and energetic member of the household went about her
usual pursuits. A terrible suspicion at first entered my mind, but was
wholly discountenanced by Eveena, who insisted that there was no
conceivable motive for an attempt to injure Eunané; while the idea
that mischief designed for others had unintentionally fallen on her
was excluded by the certainty that, whatever the nature of her
illness, if it were such, it had commenced before our return. Long
before evening I had communicated with Esmo, and received from him a
reply which, though exceedingly unsatisfactory, rather confirmed
Eveena's impression. The latter had taken upon herself the care of the
evening meal; but, before we could meet there, my own observation had
suggested an alarm I dared not communicate to her—one which a wider
experience than hers could neither verify nor dispel. Among symptoms
wholly alien, there were one or two which sent a thrill of terror to
my heart;—which reminded me of the most awful and destructive of the
scourges wherewith my Eastern life had rendered me but too familiar.
It was not unnatural that, if carried to a new world, that fearful
disease should assume a new form; but how could it have been conveyed?
how, if conveyed, could its incubation in some unknown vehicle have
been so long? and how had it reached one, and one only, of my
household—one, moreover, who had no access to such few relics of my
own world as I had retained, of which Eveena had the exclusive charge?
All Esmo's knowledge, even were he within reach, could hardly help me
here. I dared, of course, suggest my apprehension to no one, least of
all to the patient herself. As, towards evening, her languor was again
exchanged for the feverish excitement of the previous night, I seized
on some petulant word as an excuse to confine her to her room, and,
selfishly enough, resolved to invoke the help of the only member of
the family who should, and perhaps would, be willing to run personal
risk for the sake of aiding Eunané in need and protecting Eveena. I
had seen as yet very little of Velna, Eunané's school companion; but
now, calling her apart, I told her frankly that I feared some illness
of my own Earth had by some means been communicated to her friend.
"You have here," I said, "for ages had no such diseases as those which
we on Earth most dread; those which, communicated through water, air,
or solid particles, spread from one person to another, endangering
especially those who come nearest to the sufferers. Whoever approaches
Eunané risks all that I fear for her, and that 'all' means very
probably speedy death. To leave her alone is impossible; and if I
cannot report that she is fully cared for in other hands, no command,
nothing short of actual compulsion, will keep Eveena away from her."
The girl looked up with a steady frank courage and unaffected
readiness I had not expected.
"I owe you much, Clasfempta, and still more perhaps to Eveena. My life
is not so precious that I should not be ready to give it at need for
either of you; and if I should lose Eunané, I would prefer not to live
to remember my loss."
The last words reminded me that to her who spoke death meant
annihilation; a fact which has deprived the men of her race of nearly
every vestige of the calm courage now displayed by this young girl,
indebted as little as any human being could be to the insensible
influences of home affection, or the direct moral teaching which is
sometimes supposed to be a sufficient substitute. I led her at once
into her friend's chamber, and a single glance satisfied me that my
apprehensions were but too well-founded. Remaining long enough to
assure the sufferer that the displeasure I had affected had wholly
passed away, and to suggest the only measures of relief rather than of
remedy that occurred to me, I endeavoured for a few moments to collect
my thoughts and recover the control of my nerves in solitude. In my
own chamber Eveena would assuredly have sought me, and I chose
therefore one of those as yet unoccupied. It did not take long to
convince me that no ordinary resources at my command, no medical
experience of my own, no professional science existing among a race
who probably never knew the disease in question, and had not for ages
known anything like it, could avail me. My later studies in the occult
science of Eastern schools had not furnished me with any antidote in
which I believed on Earth, and if they had, it was not here available.
Despair rather than hope suggested an appeal to those which the
analogous secrets of the Starlight might afford. Anxiety, agitation,
personal interest so powerful as now disturbed me, are generally fatal
to the exercise of the powers recently placed at my command; so
recently that, but for Terrestrial experience, I should hardly have
known how to use them. But the arts which assist in and facilitate
that tremendous all-absorbing concentration of will on which the
exertion of those powers depends, are far more fully developed in the
Zveltic science than in its Earthly analogues. A desperate effort,
aided by those arts, at last controlled my thoughts, and turned them
from the sick-room to that distant chamber in which I had so lately
stood.
I seemed to stand beside her, and at once to be aware that my thought
was visible to the closed eyes. From lips paler than ever, words—so
generally resembling those I had previously heard that some readers
may think them the mere recollection thereof—appeared to reach my
sense or my mind as from a great distance, spoken in a tone of mingled
pity, promise, and reproof:—
"What is youth or sex or beauty in the All-Commander's sight?
For the arm that smote and spared not, shall His wisdom spare to smite?
Yet, love redeems the loving; yet in thy need avail
The Soul whose light surrounds thee, the faith that will not fail.
Thy lips shall soothe the terror, call to yon couch afar
The solace of the Serpent, the shadow of the Star!
Strength shall sustain the strengthless, nor the soft hand loose its
grasp
Of the hand it trusts and clings to—till another meet its clasp....
—Steel-hard to man's last anguish, wax-soft to woman's mood!—
Death quits not the death-dealer; blood haunts the life of blood!"
Returning to the peristyle, I encountered Eveena, who had been seeking
me anxiously. Much alarmed for her, I bade her return at once to her
room. She obeyed as of course, equally of course surprised and a
little mortified; while I, marvelling by what conceivable means the
plague of Cairo or Constantinople could have been conveyed across
forty million miles of space and some two years of Earthly time, paced
the peristyle for a few minutes. As I did so, my eye fell on the roses
which grew just where chance arrested my steps. If they do not afford
an explanation which scientific medicine will admit, I can suggest no
other. But, if it were so, how fearfully true the warning!—by what a
mysterious fate did death dog my footsteps, and "blood haunt the life
of blood!"
The reader may not remember that the central chamber of the women's
apartments, next to which was Eunané's, had been left vacant. This I
determined to occupy myself, and bade the girls remove at once to
those on its right, as yet unallotted. I closed the room, threw off my
dress, and endeavoured by means of the perfumed shower-bath to drive
from my person what traces of the infection might cling to it; for
Eveena had the keys of all my cases and of the medicine-chest, and I
could not make up my mind to reclaim them by a simple unexplained
message sent by an ambâ, or, still worse, by the hands of Enva or
Eivé. I laid the clothes I had worn on one of the shelves of the wall,
closing over them the crystal doors of the sunken cupboard; and,
having obtained through the amban a dress which I had not worn since
my return, and which therefore could hardly have about it any trace of
infection, I sought Eveena in her own room.
That something had gone wrong, and gravely wrong, she could not but
know; and I found her silent and calm, indeed, but weeping bitterly,
whether for the apprehension of danger to me, or for what seemed want
of trust in her. I asked her for the keys, and she gave them; but with
a mute appeal that made the concealment I desired, however necessary,
no longer possible. Gently, cautiously as I could, but softening, not
hiding, any part of the truth, I gave her the full confidence to which
she was entitled, and which, once forced out of the silence preserved
for her sake, it was an infinite relief to give. If I could not
observe equal gentleness of word and manner in absolutely forbidding
her to approach, either Eunané's chamber or my own, it was because,
the moment she conceived what I was about to say, her almost indignant
revolt from the command was apparent. For the first and last time she
distinctly and firmly refused compliance, not merely with the kindly
though very decided request at first spoken, but with the formal and
peremptory command by which I endeavoured to enforce it.
"You command me to neglect a sister in peril and suffering," she said.
"It is not kind; it is hardly worthy of you; but my first duty is to
you, and you have the right, if you will, to insist that I shall
reserve my life for your sake. But you command me also to forsake you
in danger and in sorrow; and nothing but the absolute force you may of
course employ shall compel me to obey you in that."
"I understand you, Eveena; and you, in your turn, must think and feel
that I intend to express neither displeasure nor pain; that I mean no
harshness to you, no less respect as well as love than I have always
shown you, when I say that obey you shall; that the same sense of duty
which impels you to refuse obliges me to enforce my command. At no
time would I have allowed you to risk your life where others might be
available. But if you were the only one who could help, I should,
under other circumstances, have felt that the same paramount duty that
attaches to me attached in a lighter degree to yourself. Now, as you
well know, the case is different; and even were Eunané not quite safe
in my hands and in Velna's, you must not run a risk that can be
avoided. You will promise me to remain on this side the peristyle or
in the further half of it, or I must confine you perforce; and it is
not kind or right in this hour of trouble to impose upon me so painful
a task."
With every tone, look, and caress that could express affection and
sympathy, Eveena answered—
"Do what seems your duty, and do not think that I misunderstand your
motive or feel the shadow of humiliation or unkindness. Make me obey
if you can, punish me if I disobey; but obey you, when you tell me,
for my own life's sake or for any other, to desert you in the hour of
need, of danger, and of sorrow, I neither will nor can." I cut short
the scene, bidding her a passionate farewell in view of the
probability that we should not meet again. I closed the door behind
me, having called her whom at this moment and in this case I could
best trust, because her worse as well as her better qualities were
alike guarantees for her obedience.
"Enva," I said, "you will keep this room till I release you; and you
will answer it to me, as the worst fault you can commit, if Eveena
passes this threshold, under whatever circumstances, until I give her
permission, or until, if it be beyond my power to give it, her father
takes the responsibilities of my home upon himself."
I procured the sedatives which might relieve the suffering I could not
hope to cure. I wrote to Esmo, stating briefly but fully the position
as I conceived it; and, on a suggestion from Eivé, I despatched
another message to a female physician of some repute—one of those few
women in Mars who lead the life and do the work of men, and for whose
attendance, as I remembered, Eunané had expressed a strong theoretical
preference.