The Secret Power by Marie Corelli (dark academia books to read .TXT) 📖

Somehow she always managed to evade his efforts to become more intimate in his relations with her. Generous and kind-hearted as she was, she held him at a distance, and maintained her own aloof position inexorably. A less intelligent man than Rivardi would have adopted the cynic’s attitude and averred that her rejection of love and marriage arose from her own unlovableness and unmarriageableness, but he knew better than that. He was wise enough to perceive the rareness and delicacy of her physical and mental organisation and temperament,—a temperament so finely strung as to make all other women seem gross and material beside her. He felt and knew her to be both his moral and intellectual superior,—and this very fact rendered it impossible that he could ever master her mind and tame it down to the subservience of married life. That dauntless spirit of hers would never bend to an inferior,—not even love (if she could feel it) would move her thus far. And the man she had adventured across ocean to rescue—what was he? She confessed that she had loved him, though that love was past. And now she had set herself to watch night and day by his dead body (for dead he surely was in Rivardi’s opinion) sparing no pains to recover what seemed beyond recovery; while one of the greatest mysteries of the whole mysterious affair was just this—How had she known the man’s life was in danger?

All these questions Rivardi discussed with Don Aloysius, who listened to him patiently without committing himself to any reply. Whatever Morgana had confided to him—(and she had confided much)— he kept his own counsel.

Within forty-eight hours of Morgana’s summons the famous specialist from Rome, Professor Marco Ardini, noted all over the world for his miraculous cures of those whom other physicians had given up as past curing, arrived. He heard the story of the rescue of a man and woman from drowning with emotionless gravity, more taken for the moment by Morgana herself, whom he had never seen before, but with whom he had corresponded on current questions of scientific importance. From the extremely learned and incisive tone of her letters he had judged her to be an elderly woman of profound scholarship who had spent the greater part of her life in study, and his astonishment at the sight of the small, dainty creature who received him in the library of the Palazzo d’Oro was beyond all verbal expression,—in fact, he took some minutes to recover from the magnetic “shock” of her blue eyes and wistful smile.

“I must be quite frank with you,”—she said, after a preliminary conversation with the great man in his own Italian tongue—“These two people have suffered their injuries by drowning—but not altogether. They are the victims of an earthquake,—and were thrown by the earth’s upheaval into a deep chasm flooded by water—”

The Professor interrupted her.

“Pardon, Signora! There has been no recent earthquake in Europe.”

She gave a little gesture of assent.

“Not in Europe—no! But in America—in California there has been a terrible one!”

“In California!” he echoed amazedly-“Gran’ Dio! You do not mean to say that you brought these people from California, across that vast extent of ocean?”

She smiled.

“By air-ship—yes! Really nothing so very remarkable! You will not ask for further details just now, Professor!” and she laid her pretty hand coaxingly on his arm—“You and I both know how advisable it is to say as little as possible of our own work or adventures, while any subject is awaiting treatment and every moment counts! I will answer any question you may ask when you have seen my patients. The girl is a beautiful creature—she is beginning to regain consciousness—but the man I fear is past even YOUR skill. Come!”

She led the way and Professor Ardini followed, marvelling at her ethereal grace and beauty, and more than interested in the “case” on which his opinion was sought. Entering a beautiful room glowing with light and warmth and colour, he saw, lying on a bed and slightly propped up by pillows, a lovely girl, pale as ivory, with dark hair loosely braided on either side of her head. Her eyes were closed, and the long black lashes swept the cheeks in a curved fringe,—the lips were faintly red, and the breath parted them slowly and reluctantly. The Professor bent over her and listened,—her heart beat slowly but regularly,—he felt her pulse.

“She will live!”—he said—“There are no injuries?”

“None”—Morgana replied, as he put his questions—“Some few bruises- but no bones broken-nothing serious.”

“You have examined her?”

“Yes.”

“You have no nurses?”

“No. I and my house people are sufficient.” Her tone became slightly peremptory. “There is no need for outside interference. Whatever your orders are, they shall be carried out.”

He looked at her. His face was a somewhat severe one, furrowed with thought and care,—but when he smiled, a wonderful benevolence gave it an almost handsome effect. And he smiled now.

“You shall not be interfered with,”—he said—“You have done very well! Complete rest, nourishment and your care are all that this patient needs. She will be quite herself in a very short time. She is extraordinarily beautiful!”

“I wish you could see her eyes!” said Morgana.

Almost as if the uttered wish had touched some recess of her stunned brain, Manella’s eyelids quivered and lifted,—the great dark glory of the stars of her soul shone forth for an instant, giving sudden radiance to the pallor of her features—then they closed again as in utter weariness.

“Magnificent!” said Ardini, under his breath—“And full of the vital light,—she will live!”

“And she will love!” added Morgana, softly.

The Professor looked at her enquiringly.

“The man she loves is in the next room”—she continued—“We rescued him with her—if it can be called a rescue. He is the worst case. Only you may be able to bring him back to consciousness,—I have done my best in vain. If YOU fail then we must give up hope.”

She preceded him into the adjoining chamber; as he entered it after her he paused—almost intimidated, despite his long medical and surgical experience, by the stone-like figure of man that lay before him. It was as if one should have unearthed a statue, grey with time—a statue nobly formed, with a powerful head and severe features sternly set,—the growth of beard revealing, rather than concealing, the somewhat cruel contour of mouth and chin. The Professor walked slowly up to the bed and looked at this strange effigy of a human being for many minutes in silence,—Morgana watching him with strained but quiet suspense. Presently he touched the forehead—it was stone-cold—then the throat, stone-cold and rigid—he bent down and listened for the heart’s pulsations,—not a flutter—not a beat! Drawing back from this examination he looked at Morgana,—she met his eyes with the query in her own which she emphasised by the spoken word—

“Dead?”

“No!”—he answered—“I think not. It is very difficult for a man of this type to die at all. Granted favourable conditions—and barring accidents caused by the carelessness of others—he ought to be one of those destined to live for ever. But”—here he hesitated—“if I am right in my surmise,—of course it is only a first opinion—death would be the very best thing for him.”

“Oh, why do you say that?” she asked, pitifully.

“Because the brain is damaged—hopelessly! This man—whoever he is— has been tampering with some chemical force he does not entirely understand,—his whole body is charged with its influence, and this it is that gives his form its unnatural appearance which, though death-like, is not death. If I leave him alone and untouched he will probably expire unconsciously in a few days,—but if—after what I have just told you—you wish me to set the life atoms going again,— even as a clock is wound up,—I can relax the tension which now paralyses the cells, muscles and nerves, and he will live—yes!— like most people without brains he will live a long time—probably too long!”

Morgana moved to the bedside and gazed with a solemn earnestness at the immobile, helpless form stretched out before her as though ready for burial. Her heart swelled with suppressed emotion,—she thought with anguish of the brilliant brain, the strong, self-sufficient nature brought to such ruin through too great an estimate of human capability. Tears rushed to her eyes—

“Oh, give him life!” she whispered—“Give him life for the sake of the woman who loves him more than life!”

The Professor gave her a quick, keen glance.

“You?”

She shivered at the question as though struck by a cold wind,—then conquering the momentary weakness, answered—

“No. The girl you have just seen. He is her world!”

Ardini’s brows met in a saturnine frown.

“Her world will be an empty one!” he said, with an expressive gesture—“A world without fruit or flower,—without light or song! A dreary world! But such as it is,—such as it is bound to be,—it can live on,—a life-in-death.”

“Are you quite sure of this?” Morgana asked—“Can any of us, however wise, be quite sure of anything?”

His frown relaxed and his whole features softened. He took her hand and patted it kindly.

“Signora, you know as well as I do, that the universe and all within it represents law and order. A man is a little universe in himself— and if the guiding law of his system is destroyed, there is chaos and darkness. We scientists can say ‘Let there be light,’ but the fulfilled result ‘and there was light’ comes from God alone!”

“Why should not God help in this case?” she suggested.

“Ah, why!” and Ardini shrugged his shoulders—“How can I tell? My long experience has taught me that wherever the law has been broken God does NOT help! Who knows whether this frozen wreck of man has obeyed or disobeyed the law? I can do all that science allows—”

“And you will do it!” interrupted Morgana eagerly, “You will use your best skill and knowledge—everything you wish shall be at your service—name whatever fee your merit claims—”

He raised his hand with a deprecatory gesture.

“Money does not count with me, Signora!” he said—“Nor with you. The point with both of us in all our work is—success! Is it not so? Yes! And it is because I do not see a true success in this case that I hesitate; true success would mean the complete restoration of this man to life and intelligence,—but life without intelligence is no triumph for science. I can do all that science will allow—”

“And you WILL do this ‘all’”—said Morgana, eagerly—“You will forego triumph for simple pity!—pity for the girl who would surely die if he were dead!—and perhaps after all, God may help the recovery!”

“It shall be as you wish, Signora! I must stay here two or three days—”

“As long as you find it necessary”—said Morgana—“All your orders shall be obeyed.”

“Good! Send me a trustworthy man-servant who can help to move and support the patient, and we can get to work. I left a few necessary appliances in your hall—I should like them brought into this room— and then—” here he took her hand and pressed it kindly—“you can leave us to our task, and take some rest. You must be very tired.”

“I am never tired”—she answered, gently—“I thank you in advance for all you are going to do!”

She left the room then, with one backward glance at the inert stiff figure on the bed,—and went to arrange matters with her household that the Professor’s instructions should be strictly carried out. Lady Kingswood, deeply interested, heard her giving certain orders and asked—

“There is hope then? These two poor creatures will