THE meeting with Dr. Fillery and his friends, the Khilkoffs, father and daughter, had, for one reason or another, to be postponed for a week, during which brief time even, no single day wasted, LeVallon’s education proceeded rapidly. He was exceedingly quick to learn the usages of civilized society in a big city, adapting himself with an ease born surely of quick intelligence to the requirements and conventions of ordinary life.
In his perception of the rights of others, particularly, he showed a natural aptitude; he had good manners, that is, instinctively; in certain houses where Fillery took him purposely, he behaved with a courtesy and tact that belong usually to what England calls a gentleman. Except to Fillery and Devonham, he talked little, but was an excellent and sympathetic listener, a quality that helped him to make his way. With Mrs. Soames, the stern and even forbidding matron, he made such headway, that it was noticed with a surprise, including laughter. He might have been her adopted son.
“She’s got a new pet,” said Devonham, with a laugh. “Mason taught him well. His aptitude for natural history is obvious; after a few years’ study he’ll make a name for himself. The ‘N.H.’ side will disappear now more and more, unless you stimulate it for your own ends “ He broke off, speaking lightly still, but with a carelessness some might have guessed assumed.
“You forget,” put in his Chief, “I promised.”
Devonham looked at him shrewdly. “I doubt,” he said, “whether you can help yourself, Edward,” the expression in his eyes for a moment almost severe,
Fillery remained thoughtful, making no immediate reply.
“We must remember,” he said presently, “that he’s now in the quiescent state. Nothing has again occurred to bring ‘N.H.’ uppermost again.”
Devonham turned upon his friend. “I see no reason why ‘N.H.’” he spoke with emphasis “should ever get uppermost again. In my opinion we can make this quiescent state LeVallon the permanent one.”
“We can’t keep him in a cage like Mrs. Soames’s mice and parrot. Are you, for instance, against my taking him to the Studio? Do you think it’s a mistake to let him meet the Prometheans?”
“That’s just where Mason went wrong,” returned Devonham. “He kept him in a cage. The boy met only a few peasants, trees, plants, animals and birds. The sun, making him feel happy, became his deity. The rain he hated. The wind inspired and invigorated him. If we now introduce the human element wisely, I see no danger. If he can stand the Khi the Studio and the Prometheans, he can stand anything. He may be considered cured.”
The door opened and a tall, radiant figure with bright eyes and untidy shining hair came into the room, carrying an open book.
“Mrs. Soames says I’ve nothing to do with stars,” said a deep musical voice, “and that I had better stick to animals and plants. She says that star-gazing never was good for anyone except astronomers who warn us about tides, eclipses and dangerous comets.”
He held out the big book, open at an enlarged stellar photograph. “What, please, is a galaxy, a star that is suddenly brilliant, then disappears in a few weeks, and a nebula?”
Before either of the astonished men could answer, LeVallon turned to Devonham, his face wearing the gravity and intense curiosity of a child. “And, please, are you the only sort of being in the universe? Mrs. Soames says that the earth is the only inhabited place. Aren’t there other beings besides you anywhere? The Earth is such a little planet, and the solar system, according to this book, is one of the smallest too.”
“My dear fellow,” Devonham said gently, “do not bother your head with useless speculations. Our only valuable field of study is this planet, for it is all we know or ever can know. Whether the universe holds other beings or not, can be of no importance to us at present.”
LeVallon stared fixedly at him, saying nothing. Something of his natural radiance dimmed a little. “Then what are all these things that I remember I’ve forgotten?” he asked, his blue eyes troubled.
“It will take you all your lifetime to understand beings like me, and like yourself and like Dr. Fillery. Don’t waste time speculating about possible inhabitants in other stars.”
He spoke good-humouredly, but firmly, as one who laid down certain definite lines to be followed, while Dr. Fillery, watching, made no audible comment. Once long ago he had asked his own father a somewhat similar question.
“But I shall so soon get to the end of you,” replied LeVallon, a disappointed expression on his face. “I may speculate then?” he asked.
“When you get to the end of me and of yourself and of Dr. Fillery yes, then you may speculate to your heart’s content,” said Devonham in a kindly tone. “But it will take you longer than you think perhaps. Besides, there are women, too, remember. You will find them more complicated still.”
A curious look stole into the other’s eager eyes. He turned suddenly towards the older man who had his confidence so completely. There was in the movement, in the incipient gesture that he made with his arms, his hands, almost with his head and face as well, something of appeal that set the doctor’s nerves alert. And the change of voice it was lower now and more musical than before increased the nameless message that flashed to his brain and heart. There was a hint of song, of chanting almost, in the tone. There was music in him. For the voice, Fillery realized suddenly, brought in the over-tones, somewhat in the way good teachers of singing and voice production know. There was the depth, sonority, singing quality which means that the “harmonics” are made audible, as with a violin played in perfect tune. The sound seemed produced not by the vocal cords alone, but by the entire being, so to speak. Yet, “LeVallon’s” voice had not this rich power, he noticed. Its appearance was a sign that “N.H.” was stirring into activity and utterance.
“Women, yes,” the young man repeated to himself. “Women bring back something. Their eyes make me remember “ he turned abruptly to the open book upon the doctor’s knee. “It’s something to do with stars, these memories,” he went on eagerly, the voice resonant. “Stars, women, memories... where are they all gone to...? Why have I lost...? What is it that...?”
It seemed as if a veil passed from his face, a thin transparency that dimmed the shining effect his hair and eyes and radiant health produced. A far-away expression followed it.
“‘N.H.’!” Devonham quickly flashed the whispered warning. And in the same instant, Fillery rose, holding out the open book.
“Come, LeVallon,” he said, putting a hand upon his shoulder, “we’ll go into my room for an hour, and I’ll tell you all about the galaxies and nebulae. You shall as’— as many questions as you like. Devonham is a very busy man and has duties to attend to just now.”
He moved across to open the door, and LeVallon, his face changing more and more, went with him; the light in his eyes increased; he smiled, the far-away expression passed a little.
“Dr. Devonham is quite right in what he says about useless speculations,” continued Fillery, as they went out arm in arm together, “but we can play a bit with thought and imagination, for all that you and I. ‘Let your thought wander like an insect which is allowed to fly in the air, but is at the same time confined by a thread.’ Come along, we’ll have an hour’s play. We’ll travel together among the golden stars, eh?”
“Play!” exclaimed the youth, looking up with flashing eyes. “Ah! in the Spring we play! Our work with sap, roots, crystals, fire, all finished out of sight, so that their results followed of their own accord.” He was talking at great speed in a low voice, a deep, rolling voice, and half to himself. “Spring is our holiday, the forms made perfect and ready for the power to rush through, and we rush with it, playing everywhere —”
“Spring is the wine of life, yes,” put in Fillery, caught away momentarily by something behind the words he listened to, as though a rhythm swept him. “Creative life racing up and flooding into every form and body everywhere. It brings wonder, joy play, as you call it.”
“We we build the way “ The youth broke off abruptly as they reached the study door. Something flowed down and back in him, emptying face and manner of a mood which had striven for utterance, then passed. He returned to the previous talk about the stars again:
“Who attends to them? Who looks after them?” he inquired, a deep, peculiar interest in his manner, his eyes turning a little darker.
“What we call the laws of Nature,” was the reply, “which are, after all, merely our ‘descriptive formulae summing up certain regularities of recurrence,’ the laws under which they were first set alight and then sent whirling into space. Under these same laws they will all eventually burn out and come to rest. They will be dead.”
“Dead,” repeated the other, as though he did not understand. “They are the children of the laws,” he stated, rather than asked. “Are the laws kind and faithful? They never tire?”
Fillery explained with one-half of his nature, and still as to a child. The other half of him lay under firm restraint according to his promise. He outlined in general terms man’s knowledge of the stars. “The laws never tire,” he said.
“But the stars end! They burn out, stop, arid die! You said so.”
The other replied with something judicious and cautious about time and its immense duration. But he was startled.
“And those who attend to the laws,” came then the words that startled him, “who keeps them working so that they do not tire?”
It was something in the tone of voice perhaps that, once again, produced in his listener the extraordinary sudden feeling that Humanity was, after all, but an insignificant, a microscopic detail in the Universe; that it was, say, a mere ant-heap in the colossal jungle crowded with other minuter as well as immenser life of every sort and kind, and, moreover, that “N.H.” was aware of this “other life,” or at least of some vast section of it, and had been, if he were not still, associated with it. The two letters by which he was designated acquired a deeper meaning than before.
A rich glow came into the young face, and into the eyes, growing ever darker, a look of burning; the skin had the effect of radiating; the breathing became of a sudden deep and rhythmical. The whole figure seemed to grow larger, expanding as though it extended already and half filled t............