The Mystery of Herbert Mylne.

Te Aroha News, Volume VI, Issue 328, 26 December 1888, Page 4

The Mystery of Herbert Mylne.

Introductory Notk. few months ago my cousin Herbert Mylne, barrister, was found dead in hi 8 chair at his London chambers, from the effect, the doctors said, of the rupture of a blood-vessel in his heart. As his only relative and oldest friend, 1 was the first to whom the intelligence 'Avas conveyed; and ■when I arrived at his rooms, I found upon the desk before which he had been sitting when he died, several sheets of manuscript in his handwriting. Searching further, I discovered within the desk another manuscript. The grate was a mass of torn and partially-burnt paper, and under it was a broken phial. On perusing the two manuscripts 1 saw that they referred to the same matter : that they were undoubtedly fragments from my poor friend's life-story ; and in giving them here in their chronological order 1 may only remark that, from what 1 know of that story, I have every reason to believe that what follows is literally true, and not the fancy of a diseased brain.

The First Manuscript. | Yesterday I was as happy as any man in \ the three kingdoms ; to-day I am as miser able as was Clive Newcome under the rule of the Campaigner. Miserable ' Miserable is hardly the word for it, and yet I have no other with which to express my feelings — the state of mingled doubt, jealousy, and unhappiness into which I have worked myself. Until now I have been in ignorance of the depth cf my nature ; I never could have believed that a single incident could have stirred me to the bottom of my soul as to-day's experience has done. Yesterday, as I have said, I was happy, and so I might be. Moderately rich ; goodlooking and well-educated : engaged fco as charming a girl as could be found in all England : what more could man wish ? And, in truth, I wished nothing more ; the love of Mabel Cardinall was sufficient for j me. How I met Miss Cardinall at her ' uncle's house in Lincolnshire la«t Christmas, and how T fell in love with her, I need not tell ; all that I care to remember to-day is that in summer I found myself in the neighbourhood of Cardinall Grange, in the East Riding, and that when I leftitlwasno longerfree. A few hours ago, the name, or even the thought, of Mabel Cardinall would have been enough to make mo rave for ten minutes — in the usual way of lovers, as novelists used sardonically to remark ; but now— well, even yet, I feel that it would not take much to make me do so. But, somehow, she does not seem the to me, and the worst of it is thab I cannot justify the change to myself. T know that it is there, and 1 know al&o the cause of it ; but that cause is so bi-ivial that to anyone but a man of sensitive feelings it may seem no cause at all. This afternoon, then, having nothing better to do, I strolled along to the Unicorn Club, and after looking into the paper*, passed into the smoking-room. There I found an old college friend. Sir Oeorge fiurdon. whom I had not seen for months, and I stood talking to him for several minutes. It was very seldom that Sir fieorge honoured the Unicoin. or London for that matter, with his presence, for, when he was? not shooting in the Highlands or tishing in Norway, he was usually a few thousand miies off iv a yacht. Accordingly, I asked him with some curiosity the reason of his visit at this time of the year. 'Oh !' he replied, ' I'm only passing through on my way to the North. Fact is, I was cruising about in the Levant when I <zot h letter from the mater asking me when 1 intended to settle down, and telling me that she was staying neai ji giillused to he sweet on. So I thought I might humour her for a month or two, and giving my captain orders to bring the boat round to Southampton, 1 came home overland. Leave here by 6.50 ti-ain — and, by Jove • ifs six already !' I wished him success in his new venture, thinking that a handsome fellow like Gurdou, with a rent-roll of -$15,000, would ha\© no difficulty io pleasing an ordinary young lady — or her mamma. 'I must be going now," he continued, 'or i may lo a e my train, and there's not another to Stoketon Regis to night.' ' Stoketon Regis !" ■ Yes — do you know the place ?' I nodded assent, for I happened to know it very well indeed, seeing that Cardinall Grange was situated not a couple of mil«s j from it. ' Then perhaps, you know the lady I'm going down to inspect— Miss Caidinall her name R But there's my cab at the door. Ta-ta, Mylne Hope to see you down at my place for the partridge 0 ' A hurried shake ot the hand, and he \vas gone. From the win-. rio*v I watched him enter his cab and drive off, thinking what an odious beggar he was, and how I should like to wring his neck. Such a coange had these two words — ' Mi&s Caidinall ' — accomplished that, had I met my old fiiend again, I might J huve done something desperate. My first feeling, indeed, was exasperation against iTiirdon : for I ne\er thought of Mabel at all for a long time after Sir George's departure : and perhaps it was well for that gentleman, or for me, that he was beyond i reach . At in a dream I returned to my chambers, and sat down to think over the incidents j ot my encounter with Gurdon. Before he had mentioned Miss Cardinall's name I j had the distinct impression that the young lady had been 'sweet 'on him as well as rice certa, although be had not said so in so "^many words ; and the thought was gall and wormwood to me. Soon, in brooding over this fact (or rather fancy), I almost forgot \ Gurdon's existence : all the force of ray mind was concentrated upon the thought, can there be anything between my betrobhed and my old chum 7 I had' never realised the depth of my love for Mabel till the incident told me ; and now that I was in this frame of mind began fully to understand the truth of Pope's words : Ope master passion in the breast, Like Aaron's Serpent, swallowed-up the rest. Love for Mabel was my^rnaster passion, and its hitherto unknown strength almost overmastered me. For hours 1 sab, my mind full of unceitainty, jealousy, and ph'ame _ thab I should doubt. But I was carried away by something beyond my control : I J yi as literally powerless to prevent what was passing within me ; and God knows that if ,1 wavered in my trust of Mabel I have suffered for it. Yet I did waver, | and all kinds of doubts, beset me ; and more than once I really wondered if it would not be better to put an end to them by the only means within my power. So far I had-.written down these words, which may be read by no eyes save mine, when, having no more to write, 1 sal back in my chair, and again allowed my thoughts full rein. By what channel my'inihd arrived afe it I know not, but soon I was think-;

iug, nob of Mabel, but of an old friend of mine who had died at my Cheshire home. Vasali his name was, and when I livst met him he was professor in a northern Italian university. Although he was a deep thinker and great savant, and I the very antithesis of that, we were soon inseparable ; and when I left Italy, it vras with his promise that he would spend hia first holiday with me. In a few months hecameto England, and while he was my guest he was perpetually engaged in experiments — • Perfecting a discovery,' he said, ' which would revolutionise the world.' The discovery, however*, he was never destined to perfect, for he was thrown from his horse while out riding, and when the doctor had examined him his recovery was pronouncod impossible. He lingered on until the next day, and in a conscious interlude gave me a small phial, saying (how well I remember his words 1) : ' You are my only friend, Herbert, and to you Jrgive this fluid, the result of my experiment, by no means perfect yet. By chance I discovered one of nature's great secrets — how at the bidding of the will, if that will be propeily guided, the body may assume different shapes from that which it ordinarily has ; and by hard work I have reached a certain point, [f you take threo drops of this fluid, my friend, and desire to } be in whatever place you will, you will at 1 once tiud yourself there. A duplicate of I your form remains on the spot, as if in j sleep ; your actual self may be thousands of '■ miles away. THe effect only lasts for a quarter ot an hour, after which you are again re-united. This, my friend, is but a first principlo of the discovery, and I have j beon prevented from reaching the great consummation of it by death. So be it; Fate is against me. But I trust to you to carry it out ; only beware of the third time, and, Herbert, bury me at home ' I could hear no more ; he was again unconscious. He died two hours later, and I buried him in his native Florence. As for che phial with its contents, I laid it away, putting down Vasali's dying words as the raving of delirium. Events which followed, indeed, almost put the remom bran cc of it out of my mind, and if 1 did chance to lecollect it i had no cimo&ity to know if it^ contents had any talismanic power. But I always intended, some time or other, to hand it over for analysis to one of my chemical acquaintances. But now, in the state of mind which I happened to be, and remembering that Vasali had been no quack, bub one of the foremost of Italian scientists, I vaguely wondered it by any possibility there could be anything in the discovery. There might be something ; surely, at least, there could be no harm. What, then, was to hinder me from testing its worth ? I do not remember what put the startling thought inbo my brain ; but the terrible, consuming desire ro see Mabel at once, to find out if she were constant, was more than I could stand, and I was ready for any means that gave me a prospect of accomplishing that desire. Almost mechanically I rose and searched my cabinet for the phial, and in a few minutes found it — a small octagonal bottle, without label and tightly corked, containing a colourless fluid, apparently without either taste or smell. Placing it before me, I went over Vasali's d^ing words. All this time, though my nerves wore at a high state of tension, my mind was still vacillating, and I was going over the matter time after time without coming to any decision, when happening to look at the clock on my mantelshelf, I saw that it was two minutes to ten. Impelled by an irresistible impulse, I rose and mixed three drops of the fluid in a glassuf water, which, though colourless itself, it instantaneously changed to a pale greenish colour. Then, stretching myself upon my sofa, I looked once more at the stuff, and then, with a sudden resolution, and the desire in my mind to be at Cardinall Grange, I drank it off just as the clock was striking ten. Before I had counted more than five stroke 0 , I was, as it were, in a deep sleep, A minute later, it seemed to me, I woke : but, instead of being on mv sola, I was lying in the open air amid the blackness- uf the night. I rose and looked around. The 3cene seemed familiar to me : the trees and shrubs behind and on either side, the fountain on ray right hand, and, directly in iront, the outline of a large building. At once I realised that I was in truth standing on the lawn of Cardinall Grange, and that Va?ali's fluid, by tiansplanting me in a minute from London to Yorkshire, had done all that he had psid it would. But for a moment I thought it might be nothing savo a phantom ot the imagination ; and only on finding that the ground was real enough, and that the fountain was the same, was I thoroufrhlj convinced. Then, when I paw that 1 was in stern reality standing before the Grange, I turned, almost mechanically, into a little walk which led up to a room used, I knew, as a pat lour sacred to the ladies of the house. As I approached I noticed that the windows were illuminated as if the room were occupied, and, cautiously creeping forwaid and looking in beween the curtains, I saw, seated on the other side ot the tireplace, Mabel. Her face was plainly vi&ible to me as if we had been sitting ri*-a-vii, and I could also &cc that she was engaged in reading a letter. With a start I recognised the letter as one sent by me on the preceding day ; and eagerly I watched her countenance as she wenL over it more than once. What she did, it is not for me to say ; it will be sufficient if T remark that what 1 saw while acting the spy was more than enough to convince me that Mabel's heart was still mine. For a time I occupied the same place, steadily resisting the desire I felt to step in and declare myself ; but by-and-by a drowsy feeling began to creep over me, mastering me so gradually and insidiously that I hardly knew I was being mastered. Before the end came I had the presence of mind to pluck a sprig of ivy from the side of the window, and then — insensibility. Again I awoke, this time upon my own sofa, finding an empty glass by my side, the gas and fire still burning as I had left them, and everything, in fact, in its former condition. For a second I thought I had been dreaming : but only for a second, for, looking at the clock, I saw that it was exactly a quarter past ten. More than this, ioiming proof positive that my experience had been no dream, at my feet lay a tspruj of ivy. Of what 1 had thus so mysteriously gone through I need say no more here ; I feel as if I cannot think any more about it at present—^it is, in a way, beyond me ; but, at any rate, it has been the means of making me even happier than I was before I met Sir George Gurdon. And for happiness, I take it, ib is worth while undergoing something new and strange.

The Second Manuscript. A week had passed Rince my firßt supernatural visio to Cardinall Grange, and again I take up my pcn — perhaps for the last time — to tell ot the development of that incident at the Unicorn Club. Why did Fate send my steps thither ab all ? Why. because of that one trivial affair, should I be doomed to this misery and doubt? We are told that all our actions tend to our ultimate good, but I cannot see anything but; evil and unhappinees springing from that chanco meeting with Sir George G-urdon. But. though my^h'eart is bitter I must" go oh [ with my narrative ; nothing

save making a confidant of something, even if it be only the inanimate paper, affords mo the least relief. For nearly a year I went about my daily avocations as usual, my mind reassured by what I had seen during my strange visit to the Grange. True, I could not help thinking of the events of that day, but these thoughts all came to one conclusion, that there was nothing whatever calling for my interference. But a reaction came yesterday, when by the evening post I received the following note : ' Mewburn Manor, Stoketon, Regis, Yorks. ' My DiflAit MriiNK,— The mater has a room to spare, and you may have it if you care to run down to-morrow. Wire what train. I find that you ai'e well known at a certain house near here— you might have told me. As for my suit, I don't despair— it is progressing as well as can bo expected, and you may soon havo to congratulate me.— Yours,

GKO. GrURDON.' To tell the stato of mind into which this note threw me would merely be to recapitulate the details I havo already written down ; but I verily believe that for some time after its receipt I was on the verge of madness. The lastsontenco left me no alternative but to suppose that Gurdon wished to give me warning that Mabel intended to throw me over, or that he, having found out, my attachment, had determined to win her irom me. The rest of the lettor was puzzling, and 1 could only account for it on tho supposition that Gnvdon did not know that I was engaged, and wished to let Mabel decide between us while both' were on the spot. Bub it was the words in which he told me that his suit was progressing well, that were so maddening to me ; and although, remembering the events of the preceding week, I strove to be calm, these words burned their way into my brain so that I could think of nothing else. But even this time I did not doubt Mabel ; I was only filled with a desire to know what Garden really meant. The minutes passed on , up and down my room I paced, my mind filled with such thoughts as I do not now care to remember ; and wondering whether or nob to accept the invitation to Mewburn Manor. At last I decided for various reasons to do so, to go down by the tir«l biain in the morning, and set my doubts at rest foxonce and all. But even after coming to a decision on this point, I found myself no better ; every minute I was asking myself what Gurdon was doing at that moment, and whether he was over at the Grange or ,not. So I congratulated myself when at length I remembered Vasali's fluid, and, more to put an end to my unwelcome thoughts than for any other reason, I detei'mined to make a second fciiai of it. It was no sooner thought of than done. As I made the usual preparations for my transportation I noticed that the street lamps outside were lit; bub as evening arrives sooner in the city than in more favoured regions, I had no doubt that twilight still reigned in the open country. And so it proved. When I had followed Vasali's instructions exactly as on the former occasion, and experienced again the same sensations, I found that on aw akening the twilight was merging into dusk. For the second time the potion had done its work well — I was lying as before on the lawn of Cardinall Grange, in the deep shadow cast by the trees bordering it. ! Before me was the house, many of its ( windows illuminated, reminding me that dinner must be in progress, or only just over ; and, standing there in the cool of the autumn evening, I considered the best means of effecting the purpose I had in view. Whilst I was doing so, 1 heard in the distance the sound of voices and footsteps, evidently of two persons or more, who were coming down a walk near which I was standing. Crouching down behind the bushes I awaited their appioach ; but before they came up I recognised two of them by their voices, and they Sir George Gurdon and Mabel Cardinall. I heaul also the voice of another person, but it was strange to me, and as the trio pabsed 1 saw tha'o the lady to whom it belonged was one whom I had never seen beiore. i 'No doubt to-morrow,' Gordon was saying a^ they passed where I had hidden; 'he cannot be doing much at this season, and I shouldn't suppose he would miss such a chance. ' 'Mabel bhould know best,' said the strange lady, who by her voice was apparently young. 'And I certainly think he will,' replied Mabel : 'Mr Myine is too fond of the country not to take advantage of such a chance.' It was with a strange feeling that I discovered by this scrap of conversation that they wore talking of Gurdon 's invitation to me ; bub there was something in the fact beyond my comprehension, and to which I should like a solution. So, after they had passed, I slipped into the walk and followed them, thinking that I might thereby solve a mystery — if mystery it was — which was hanging so heavily on my mind. For some distance the walk wound through the trees, and here it was necessarily quite dark ; and then, entering the open park beyond, the light upon it was that of the twilight, by which, though deepening fast, objects were still perceivable. (ioing through the trees I followed so closely at the heels of the trio in front, that when they came into the comparatively good light beyond, I found myself unable, unless by halting altogether, to keep beyond the range of their vision if they should turn. Bub, truth to tell, I had no thought of anything but dogging their footsteps, though, had I known the consequence, I would have cub off my right hand rather than do so. So little did I think that by my accursed doubts I should be the means of a catastrophe fatal to every hope and desire I ever had— destined perhaps to be fatal, nob only to my own life, bub also to a life even dearer to me. To resume. 1 was no more than three or four yards behind, so close indeed that I wonder now that they did nob before this become aware of my presence, when, so suddenly that I was taken by surprise, they turned round. What followed T hardly know. I was so directly in front and so near that they could not help seeing me the moment they turned, and that they did so I r«alised by the looks on their faces, barely visible through the gathering dusk. Mabel gave one glance, but it was enough ; and, as she fell to the ground in a dead swoon, I heard her piercing cry: — ' Bertie !' For the life of me I could nob move a, step, and I had no eyes for anything save Mabel's inanimate form ; yet I was aware that just as she fainted the strange lady screamed and ran off at full speed — whither, I neither knew nor cared. As for Gurdon, he glanced at me once in what seemed a startled, frightened manner, and then bent over Mabel, whom be proceeded to lift in his arms, as if to carry her indoors. As with his burden he hurriedly passed where I stood, I saw that his face was of ashy paleness ; bub, notwithstanding his haste and evident fear, he said : ' If you are a man, and not a spirit, wait here until I return. 1 ' / That, however, was beyond me ; even before he was out of sight the drowsiness began to overpower me, and bv the time he reached the house I had been transported back to London, to be left alone with 1 Judas-like thoughts of remorse and despair— such thoughts as make one under-

stand the conditions of mind under which man may be driven to suioide. That night there was no sleep tor me, but of the mental agonies I underwent I shall say nothing here. With the first morning light I wrote these pages, more, as I have said, to divert my mind' than for any other reason ; and in this I have succeeded so well that now I am able to take a loss pessimistic view u£ the matter. With the tirst train I shall go down to Stoketon, and until then, five hours hence — it is now half-past five— l must be content with what consolation I can extract from hope. The ink was hardly dry on these words when the hopes in which I had indulged were dashed to the ground by the receipt of a telegram which reached me a few minutes ago, a little after 6 o'clock. It was from Mabel's father, and, although bvief, its pur- \ ort could not be mistaken. 1 Miss Cardinall dangerously ill,' it said. ' Continually crying oub for you Come by | lirst train, or you may be too late.' Had I received such u message on the preceding day, I cannot *ay what its effect might have been ; but now, strange as it may appear after my recent experiences, 1 am quite calm. My brain has only room for one thought, that Mabel is dying, and that I have killed her. Dying? even at this moment she may be dead, and I hundreds of miles away. Good God ! could I tind no means of going to her ? The Huid —for the third time, despise the reason I havo to curse it, I must use it ; how else is it possible for me to exist for the four hours and a half until the train starts? Yes, I shall go at once ; and lest there be anything in Vasali's warning to beware of the bhiul time, i leave this manuscript here to tell of mj fate. 1 have made my third journed to Cardi nail Grange, and it is the last I shall make by supernatural means. This, time, when I awoke in the dewy freshness of the autumn morning. I made at once for the house, but when I came near I dared not (as 1 had intended) boldly enter it ; I could only hover round, wondeiinsr if the deep silence piesaged death, or if death had already done its work. Thus I was as far fiom my puipose as ever, and I might have had to return without any result whatever, had 1 not, while prowling under an open window, overheard two servants gossiping. From what they said I gathered that there was no hope — fchat she was dying. And with this in my heart I was conveyed back to my chambers, conscious of no bad effect from my journey beyond an undefinable feeling of oppression at my heart. My first act on awakening was to break Vasali's phial — I was determined that neither I nor anyone else should ha^c anything more to do with a discovery which had been such a curse to me. Having still four hours to wait until the train started at 10.40. I occupied part of the time in ai ranging my affaits >o fai as they needed arrangement, and in burning such papers as I wished no other eyes than mine to read. Why I did this I htudlv know; perhaps I have a \agne piemenument that if Mabel dies 1 phall not be long in following her. I have no more to tell ; the -equel still lies beyond mo, and whether it be life or ! death I may iv>t find out for many lone houis to cume. But if it be death, then one thing I am sure of, that to follow her will be a fm more pleasant alternative than to li\e with such thoughts as

Concluding Noik. These were the last words Herbert Mylne Avrote ; lie had died while the pen was in his hand, bub whether his three mystic journeys and the warning of Vasali had anything to do with his deceaso I cannot say. Being aware of his engagement to Miss C.irdinall, I telegraphed to her father the news of his death, and after the funeral ran down to the Grange with full particulars-. The people there, I found, had the impression that jMylne had received such a shock by the receipt ot their telegram that it. had accelerated his death ; and in tins belief 1 allowed tr.om to remain. Miss Cardinal! wa,= .-nil verj ill, and, though the danger war- over, a relapse was feared as soon as die heard of her lover's death ; but I was glad to hear the other day that she is now in a fair way to recovery. While at the Grunge, I may mention, I met Sir Geoige Gurdon, and I asked him whafc had caused Alias Caidinall's illness. ' I don't like to speak of it,' he replied, ' but there is no doubt that on the niyht preceding poor Mylne's death she saw his apparition. And not only she, but also her cousin, Miss Cardinall of Thorpe (to whom, you may know, I am engaged), and I myself, saw it plainly, and — but It's no use paying any more ; these things* ate beyond us altogether. '

D. Lawson Johnstonf