The Storyteller. PAUL VARGAS: A MYSTERY.

Waikato Argus, Volume III, Issue 173, 21 August 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Storyteller. PAUL VARGAS: A MYSTERY.

(Concluded.) I worked through the cholera : saw many awful sights : gained much experience and a certain amount of praise. On my way home I inquired for Vargas, and found he had disposed of his house and its entire contents, departing no one knew whither. Two years went by : I was still unsettled : still holding roving commissions. I blush to say that I had been attacked by ths gold fever, and in my haste to grow rioh had lost, in mining, nearly all I possessed. I cured myself before the disease grew chronic, but ashamed to return all but penniless to England, I sojourned for a while in one of those mushroom towns of America —town 3 which spring up almost in a night, wherever there is a chance of making money. I rather liked the life. It was rough but full of interest. The town held several thousand inhabitants, so there was pleuty of work for mo and another doctor. If our patients were in luck wc were well paid for our services ; if, as was usually the case, they were out of luck we received nothing and were not so foolish as to expect more. Still, taking one with another, I found the healing art paid me much better than mining. My studies of human nature were certainly extended at New Durham. I met with all sorts of characters, from the educated gentleman who had come out to win wealth by the sweat of his brow down to the lowest ruffian who lived plundering his own kind, and my experiences were such that when I did return to England I was competent to write as an authority on the proper treatment of gunshot wounds. One evening I met the other doctor. We were the best of friends. As our community was at present constituted there was no occasion for professional rivalry. Our hands were always full of work. Indeed, if we manoeuvred at nil against each other, it was with the view of shunting off a troublesome patient. "I wish you'd look in at Webber's when you pass," said Dr. Jones. •' There's a patient of mine there. He's going to die, but for the life of me I can't tell what ails him." 1 promised to call and give my opinion on the case. Webber's was a mixture of drinking bar, gambling hell, and lodging-house. Its patrons were not of "the most select class, and the scuffles and rows that went on there made the house a disgrace even to New Durham. By this time I was too well known to fear insult even in the lowest den of imfamy, so I entered boldly and asked to be conducted to Dr. Jones's patient. A blowsy, sodden-faced, viciouslooking woman led me up stairs and turned the handle of a door. " He ought to be dead by now," she said. "If the doctor can't cure him, or he don't die in two days, out he bundles." I walked to the room, taking no notice of the brutal threats. There on a wretched apology for a bed—with ;> look of heart-rendering despair in his large dark eyes, lay Paul Vargas ! I thought I must be dreaming. The man I had seen little moro than two years ago, lapped in absurd luxury—spending money like water to gratify every taste, every desire —now lying in this wretched den, and if Jones's view of the case was correct, dying like a dog ! I shuddered with horror and hastened to his side. He knew me. fie was conscious. I could tell that much by the light which leapt into his eyes as I approached. " Vargas, my poor fellow," I said, " what do*s this mean V As I spoke I remembered how he had predicted his own death. He must have remembered it too, for although he made no reply, and lay still as log, there was a look in his eyes which might express the satisfaction felt by a successful prophet when one who has laughed at his forecast is bound, at last, to realise its correctness.

I addressed him again and again. Not a word did he answer ;. so at last I was compelled to think that his power of speech was gone. Then I went to work to thoroughly inspect him and ascertain the nature of his complaint. I sounded him, tested every orgav, examined every limb ; but like my colleague was uttetly unable to find the cause of his illness. Of course I laboured under the great disadvantage of being unable to get a word of description of his pains from the patient himself. 1 satisfied myself that he had absolutely lost the power of moving his limbs. This utter helplessness made me fancy the spine might be broken, but it was not so. Paralysis suggested itself, but the obviously clear state of the mind as shown by those eloquent eyes was sufficient to send this idea to the background. At last I gave up, fairly b:\fllrd. I give no name to his ailment—could fix no seat for it. His bodily weakness svas great ; but weakness must be caused by something. What was that something 1 So far as my knowledge went there was no specific disease ; yet I was as certain as Dr. Jones that Paul

Vargas, if not dying was about to die. As underneath us was the din of drunken men ami unsexed women. Ribaldry and blasphemy, oaths and shriek, laughter and shouts rose and penetrated the frail planks which bounded the small, dirty room in which the sufferer lay. At all cost he must be moved to more comfortable quarters. I went do .vn stairs and questioned the Webbers as to how he came there. All they knew was that late one night the man entered the house and asked for a bed. He was accommodated with one, and for two days no one troubled about him. Then some one looked him up and found him in his present deplorable state. One of the inmates who had a grain of kindness left fetched Dr. Jones. That was all they knew of the affair. I managed to secure the assistance of four strong and almpst sober men. I paid what reckoning was due at Webber's, then set about removing the poor fillow. He was carried carefully down stairs, laid on an extemporised stretcher, and borne to my house, which fortunately, was only n few hundred yards away. During the transit he was perfectly conscious, but he spoke no word, nor, by any act of his own, moved hand or foot. I saw him safely installed in my own bed, and having satisfied myself that no immediate evil was likely to result from the removal, went out to look for some one to nurse him.

I was obliged to seek extraneous aid as my household consisted of an old negro who came of a morning to cook my breakfast and tidy up the place. Except for this 1 was mv own syrvanf.

Decent women in a place like New Durham are few and far between, but at last I found one to whom I thought I might venture to entrust my p-uient, and who, for a handsome consideration, consented to act as sick-nurse. I took her back with me and instruc ed her to do whf.t seemed to me best for the poor fellow. She trns to give him, as often as he would take them, brandy and water and some nourishing spoon meat. Vargas was now lying with his eyes shut. Except that he undoubtedly breathed he might be dead. I watched him for more than an hour, yet found his stite a greater puzzle than ever. So utteily at sea was I that I dared not prescribe for him, fearing I might do more harm than good. It was growing late. I had a long hard day before me on tho morrow. I had to ride many miles, and doubted whether I could get back the same day. Yet, late as it was, I did not retire to rest before I had thoroughly examined the clothes and other personal matters which I had brought from Webber's with the sick man. I hoped to come ncro°s the name of some friend to whom T eouM write and make his state known. Money or articles of value I had little expectation of finding—such things would soon disappear from the person of any one who lay dying at Webber's !

The only scrap of writing I met with was a letter in a woman's hand. It was short, and although every word showed passionate love, it ended in a manner which told me that a separation had taken place. " You may leave me," it ran ; " you may hide yourself in the farthest corner of the world : yet when the moment you know of comes and you need me, I shall find you. Till then, farewell." On the flyleaf was pencilled, in Yarga's peculiar handwriting. "If I can find the strength of will to leave her, my beloved, surely I can die in secret and in silence."

There was no cnvelopo no dale : no signature to the letter. All it showed me was that Paul Vargas still clung to his morbid prophecy — that ho had made up his mind he was to die, and it may be had been driven into his present state by his strange monomania. The mystery was—why should lie leave the woman he loved and come here to die alone and uncared for,

This could only be explained by the man himself, and he was without power of speech. After giving tho nurse strict instructions to call mo if her charge's condition showed any change, I went to the bed I had rigged up in my sitting room, and in a minute was fast a sleep. After I had slept for about three hours a knocking at my door aroused me, I opened it and found the nurse standing outside. Her bonnet and cloak were on, and by light of the lamp she carried with a tremulous hand I saw that her face was ghastly pale and nevertheless, wearing a defiant, injured look. " What's the matter ?" I asked. " I'm going home," she said, sullenly. " Going home ! Nonsense ! Go back to the sick room. Is the man worse ?' " 1 wouldn't go back for a hundred pounds—l'm going home." Thinking some sudden whim had seize I her L expostulated, commanded, and entreated. She was inflexible. Then 1 insisted upon knowing the meaning of sucli extraordinary conduct. For a while she refused to give me any explanation. At last, she said she had been frightened to death. Jt was the man's eyes, she added, with a

shiver. He had opened them and stared at her. The moment I heard this I ran to his room, fearing the worst. I found nothing to excite alarm ; Vargas was quiet, apparently sleeping. So I returned to the stupid woman, rated her soundly, and bade her go back and resume her duties.

Not she ! Horses would not drag her into that room again—money would not bribe her to re-enter it. The man had looked at her with those fearful eyes of his until she felt that in another moment she must go mad or die. Why did she not move out of the range of his vision ? She had done so; but it was all the same, she knew he was .Hill looking at her—he was looking at her even now—she would never get away from that look until she was out of the house.

By this time the foolish creaVure was trembiing like a leaf ; and moreover, had worked herself up to a pitch nordering on hysteria. Even if I could have convinced her of her folly, she would have been useless for nursing purposes, so I told her to get out of the house as soon as she liked ; then, sulkily drawing on my clothes, went to spend (he rest of the night by Vargar's bed. His pulse still beat with feeblo regularity. He seemed in want of nothing; so I placrd a low chair near the bed and sat down. As 1 sat there my head was just on a level with his pillow. I watched the pale still face for some time then I fell into a doze. I woke, looked once more at Vargas, then again closed my eyes, and this time really slept, feeling sure that the slightest movement of his head on the pillow would arouse me, I did not struggle against drowsiness. Presently T. began to dream—i dream so incoherent that I can give no clear description of it. Something or some one was trying to overpower me, whether mentally or physically I cannot say. I was resisting" to the best of my ability, the final struggle for mastery was just imminent, when, of course, I awoke—awoke to find Paul Vargas' luminous eyes, with strangely dilated pupils, gazing fully into mine. The whole strength of his mind, his very soul, seemed to be thrown into that fixed gaze

I seemed to shrivel up and grow small beneath it. Those dark, nianlcrful eyes, held me spell-bound, fascinated me; deprived me of volition or power of motion ; fettered me ; forbade me even to blink an eyelid. With a strong steady stroke they pierced me through and through, and I felt they meant to subjugate my mind, even as they had already subjugated my body, an 1 as their gaze graw more and more intense, I know that in another moment I must be their slave !

With this thought my own thoughts faded. For a while all seemed, misty, and inexplicable, but even through the mist I see those two points glowing with dark sustained fire. I can resist no longer, I am conquered, my will has quitted me and is another's ! Then thought came quickly enough. I am ill—dying in a strange place. There is one 1 love. She is miles and miles away ; but not too far to reach me in time. A burning desire to write to her comes over me. I must and will write before it, is too ktn ! Yet 1 curse myself for the wish as in some dim way 1 know that some fearful thing must, happen if she finds me alive.

Then all consciousness leaves me, except that I have tho impression I am out of doors and can feel the night air on my brow. .Suddenly I come to myself. I am standing, bare-headed, close to the post-otlice, with a kind of idea in my bewildered brain that I have just posted a letter. I feel battered and shaken, large beads of perspiration are on my forehead, In a dazed way I walked to my house, the door of which I find left wide open—an act of trustfulness scarcely due to New Durham. I enter, throw myself into a chair, and shudder at what has taken place. No—not at what has taken place, but at what might have taken place. For I know that Paul Vargas, although speechless and more helpless than an infant, has by the exercise of some Strang.) weird mental power so influenced me that I have identified myself with him and done as he would have done. His unspoken commands may have worked no evil, but I shudder as I feel sure that, had he ordered m.», whilst in that mesmeric state, to murder my best friend, I should have done so. It was only when annoyance and an»er succeeded fear, I found myself able to return to him. I felt much mortified that I, in the full vigour of manhood had been conquered and enslaved by the act of a stronger will than my own. I went back to the sick-room, and found Vargas lying with closed eyes. I laid my hand on his shoulder, bent down to his ear and said " When you recover I will have a full explanation of the jugglery you have practised upon me." I resumed my seat, fearing his strange power no longer. Now that L knew he wielded it L was armed against it. I flattered myself that only by attacking me unawares could he influence me in so mysterious a manner. When next he opened his eyes I did not

shun them. I might well have done so—their expression was one of anguish and horror—the expression one might imagine would lurk in the eyes of a conscience-stricken man to whom had just come the knowledge that he had committed some awful crime. Every now and then they turned to me in wild beseeching terror, but they bore no trace of that strange mesmeric power.

Paul Vargas, if he was to die, seemed doomed to die a lingering death. For some ten days longer he lay in that curious state—his symptomn, or rather absence of symptoms, driving Jones and myself to our wits' end, We tried all we could think of without benecinl results. Every day he grew a little weaker —every day his pulse was rather feebler, than on the preceding day. Such stimulant and nutriment as I could force down his throat 3cemed to do no goo I. Slowly—very slowly—his life was ebbing away,hut .=o surely that I was fain to come to the sad conclusion that in spite of all our efforts he would slip through our fingers. By this time he had grown frightfully emaciated, and although I am convinced ho suffered little or no bodily pain, the look of anguish in his startling dark eyes was positively painful to encounter.

I had obtained the services of another nurse, and was thankful to find that, to her, the dying man was not an object of dread ; although, after my own experiences, I could not blame her predecessor. Hour after hour, day after day, Paul Vargas lay, unable to move or speak ; yet I felt sure in full possession of his menial faculties. Several times 1 noticed, when the door was opened, a look of dread come into his eyes, lie breathed freer when he s<uv that the. newcorner was the nurse or myself This puzzled me, for if, as I suspected, he had willed that I should write a letter and send it to the proper place, his look should have been one of hope and expectancy, instead of its displaying unmistakable signs of fear. Although Vargas often gave me the impression that he was trying to subject me again to that strange influence, it was only once more that he attained anything like success. One day, grown bold at finding I had yet avoided a repetition of my thraldom, and, perhaps egged on by curiosity, I met his strange fixed gaze half-way and defied him to conquer mo. In a moment or two I found I had miscalculated my powers, and —although I blush to say it—l felt that in another second I must yield to him, and as before, did all he wished. At that critical moment the nurse entered the room and spoke to me. Her voice and presence broke the spell. Thank God, it was so ! Vargas was sending an impulse into my mind—urging ine in some way which I knew would be irresistible—to perform, not some harmless task, but to go to my medicine chest and fetch a dose of laudanum heavy enough to send him to sleep for ever. And I say, without hesitation, that had the woman not entered the room at that very moment, I should have been forced to do tho man's bidding.

Yet 1 had no wish to cut his few last days short! If I had given him that poison it would have been suicides, not murder ! Although he had predicted his own death, why was Paul Vargas so anxious to die, that he had endeavoured to make me kill him 1 Unless their tortures are unbearable, few dying persons seek to precipitate matters; and this one, 1 am sure, suffered little or no pain. His death was lingering and tedious, but not painful. After this fresh attempt to coerce me, I was almost afraid to leave him alone with the nurse. J even took the precaution of being present when Dr. Jones, out of professional curiosity, paid him an occasional visit. The tension on my nervKs grew unbearable, I prayed fervently for the man's recovery, or, if recovery was out of the question, for his death. At last the time when the latter seemed to be drawing very very near—so near that .Jones, whose interest in the case was unabated, said, as he left mc in the evening—■ " Jle will die to-night or before to-morrow is over. I believe he has only Icpt himself alive the last few days by sheer force of will and determination not to die."' ] nssentod gloomily, wished my colleague good-night, and went to rest. Next morning, just after breakfast, I heard a rap at my door. 1 opened it and found myself face to face with a woman. She was tall, and even the long black cloak she wore did not hide the grace and .symmetry of her figure. A thick veil covered her face. Thinking she had come for advice I begged he to (inter the house. 1 led her to my sitting room. She raised her veil and looked at mc. I knew her in a moment. She was the lovely girl who had shared with Vargas that luxurious eastern paradisc -the cirl whom he called Myrrha. She looked pale and weary, but still very beautiful. Iter sombre attire could not diminish her charms. My one thought, as I gazed at her was, how any man, of his own free will, could tear himself from such a creature ? Yet, for

some unknown reason, Paul Vargas had done s^.

It was clear that I was entirely forgotten. No start of recognition showed that my face was anything but that of a stranger. I did not wonder at this, I was much changed; bronzed and bearded ; was, in fact, as rough looking a customer as many of my own patients. For a moment she seemed unable to speak. Ho eyes looked at mine as though they would anticipate what I had to tell her. Her lips trembled, but no words came from them. At last she spoke. " There is a gentleman nftre —dying." " Yes," I replied. "Mr Vargas is here." "Ami in time?—is he still alive V "He is very, very ill, but still alive." A wretch reprieved on the scaffold could not have displayed more delight than did Myrrha when she heard my words. A look of indescribable joy flashed into her face. She clasped her hands in passionate thankfulness and tears of rapture filled her eyes. Poor girl, she had little enough to rejoice, at ! She was in time—in time for what 1 To see her lover die. That was all ! '' Take me to him at once," she said, moving towards the door. I suggested a little rest and refreshment first. She declined both, peremptorily. "Not a moment must be wasted. I have travelled night and day since I received his letter. Quick, take me to him, or it may be too late !" I asked her to follow me. She threw off her long cloak, and I sawthat her dress beneath it was black. No ribbon, jewel, or ornament broke its sable lines With a look of ineffable joy on her face she followed mo to Vargas' room. " Let me go first and prepare him," I said. " No," she replied, sternly. " Let me pass." She laid her hand on the door, opened it, and preceded me into the room. Paul Vargas's eyes were turned — as, indeed, they had for the last few days been mostly turned —towards the door ; yet the look which leapt into them was not one of joy and welcome. It was a look of woe—of supremo agony. A convulsive shudder ran across his face, and I expected his next breath would be the last. Why should the advent of his beautiful visitor so alle.ot him ? Had he treated this woman so evilly, fhat he dreaded lest she came to his deathbed to heap reproaches on his head. Yet, he himself had summoned her —brought her from afar —by the letter which he had willed me to write. Injured or not, Myrrha came to console, not reproach. My doubts on this point were at once set at rest. With a cry of passionate grief she threw herself on her knees beside the bed : clasptd the poor wasted hand in hers, and covered it with tears and kisses. In a strange tongue —one unknown to me—she spoke words which I knew were words of fervent love. The musical voice, the thrilling accent, the gestures she used, were interpreters sufficient to make me understand that she was rejoicing that God had spared her lover long enough for her to see him once more. A soft look, a look that echoed her own, came over the sufferer's face —a look of infinite tenderness and deathless love. But it was transient. His eyes grew stern. I fancied they tried lo drive her away ; then, as she heeded not his command, they besought and appealed to her. [n vain the strange girl laughed joyfully as a bride who welcomes her bridegroom, She kissed her lover again and again. Then, with a weary sigh, Paul Vargas closed his eyes—never, I thoughf, to reopen them. I went to his side. He was not dead ; but he bore infallible signs of approaching dissolution. Practically, it was of little moment whether he died now or in an hour's time. Nothing could save him. Still, the wish one always feels to prolong the faintest flicker of life prompted me to speak to Myrrha. " The excitement will kill him." I whispered. She sprang to her feet as if stung. Shi; threw me a glance so full of horror that. I started. Then, bending over Vargas, she satisfied herself that he still breathed. "Go," she whispered, fiercely, " Leave me alone with my love. Take that woman with you." I hesitated. I wanted to see the end. But I could not dispute the sacred claims of love and grief, or help sympathising with the girl in her desire to be alone with the dying man. -My duties were ended. 1 had done all" I could ; but death in his present mysterious garb had conquered me. The man must die, How could he die better than in the arms of the woman lie loved 1 I motioned to the nurse to leave the room, I followed her through the door; then turned to take my last look at Paul Vargas. He was lying apparently unconscious. Myrrha had thrown herself on the bed"' by his side. His poor pale face was drawn close to her full red lips. Her bosom beat a.rainst his. I Ler arms were wreathed around him, holding him to her. The contrast between life and death —between the rich, young glowing life of the young girl, and that of the man now ebbing away to Us last

few sands, was startling. I closed the door reverently. My eyes filled with tears and I sighed for the sorrow which was about to fall on the devoted, passionate creature. How would she bear it ? Then I went about my duties, knowing that when 1 returned home, I should have a patient the 1 ss. I rode some miles into the country, to see a miner who had met with an accident which would most likely prove fatal. Justas I reached his cabin my horse fell suddenly lame. I led him the rest of the way and, having done all I could for the injured man, started to return home. There not nothing for it but to leave ir.y horse to bo fetched the next day, and walk back to New Durham. I strode on as briskly as the nature of the track would allow. As T ttudged along I thought of Myrrha and Paul Vargas, and wondered if by any chance I should find him alive on my return. I was so pre occupied with these thoughts that, not until I was close to him, did 1 notice a man lying on the side of the track. At first E thought it was one of the common sights of the neighbourhood ; a man dead-drunk, but as I stood over him I found, for a wonder, it was not so. The man's back was towards mo ; his face was buried in the herbage ; but I could hear him sobbing as if his heart would break and then ho threw his arms out with wild gestures of despair—he dug his fingers into the ground and tore at it as one racked by unbearable torture. lie was evidently a prey to some fearful bodily or mental distress. Whichever it might be, 1 could not pass without proffering my assistance. His agitation was so great that he had no idea of my proximity. I spoke, but my words fell unheeded. Sob after sob burst forth from him. I stooped and placed my hand on his arm, "My poor fellow," I said, '• what is the matter?" At my touch he sprang to his feet. God of Heaven ! shall I ever forget that moment. Before me stood Paul Vargas, well and strong, as when we parted some years ago in Constantinoble ! What saved me from fainting I cannot tell. The man stood there before me—the very man I had left an hour or two ago at his last gasp ! He stood there and cast a shadow. He did not fade away or disappear as a vision or hallucination should do. There was life and strength in every limb, His face was pale but it was with the pallor of grief: for, even now the tears were running from his eyes, and he was wringing his hands in agony. Speak ! I could not have fashioned a word. My tongue clave to my palate, My lips were parched and dry. All I could do was to stare at him, with chattering teeth, bristling hair and ice-cold blood. He came to my side. Ho grasped my arm, lie was still flesh and blood. Even in that supreme moment his strong convulsive clutch told me that. He spoke. His voice was as the. voice of a living man—yet as the voice of one from whom all joy of life has departed. "Go home," he said. "Go home and learn how the strongest may tremble at death—at what a cost In; will buy life—how the selfish desire to live can conquer love. You asked trie once if 1 could not prolong life. You asked I answered. You brought her to me—you yielded then, but not the second time when I would have undone the deed. Go home, before I kill you." Something in his whole bearing struck mo with deadly terror —a natural human terror. I turned and tied for my life, until my limbs refused to bear me farther, Then I lay on the ground and, I believe, lost consciousness. When I recovered I made the best of my way home, telling myself as I walked along that overwork and want of sleep were acting on me. T had dreamed an absurd horrible dream. Nevertheless 1 trembled in every limb as 1 opened the door of the room in which I had felt Paul Vargas, dying in the arms of the woman who loved him. Death had been there during my abser.ee. I knew the meaning of that long shapeless form stretched out on the bed, covered by the white sheet. Yet I trembled more and more. The words I had heard in my supposed dream came to me elear and distinct. It was somo time before I could summon courage enough to move the covering from the dead face. 1 did so at last and I believe shrieked aloud. Lying there in her black funereal dress, her fair hands crossed on her breast, her waxen face still bearing a smile, lay the girl whom I knew only by the name of Myrrha—dead ! [Tub End.]