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A WOMAN HAD TAKEN HER PLACE BY THE HARP GARBED IN WHITEST WHITE
The dim lips smiled with a mothering, tender sweetness. “Beloved by me,” she answered him, “when mortal men err upon earth ; when they come to die, still bearing the earthtaint upon them — still victimized by the body-greeds — slaves to the lesser vices — they cannot enter straightway into the sight of God. Instead, they are sent again to earth and given a new life to live — a fresh page to write upon — an opportunity to become more of the spirit — ready for eternity. You, oh, my love, were of these.”
“And you ?”
“I was permitted to remain, but, because my weak body was forged in chains of desire — desire of you — because my blood clamored for you and my spirit was not content, I was forced to watch you thru your several incarnations — forced to see you live, and grow, and learn, and love. Forced to see you suffer, so needlessly — to see you glad, with a gladness in which I held no memoried part — until, at last, my body’s dross was purged away and I can come to you in the spirit with
(Forty-five)
only the love of God within my heart.” Philip’s fascinated eyes were riveted on the ethereal, delicate face. Then he shook his head stupidly.
“I believe you, whoever you may be,” he whispered, “but who are you? I — forg'ive me — I do not remember.”
The ghostly visitant drew nearer and an ephemeral perfume touched him. He looked up at her eagerly — at her lovely face, seen as behind a veil — the humid, glorious eyes ; the soft, dusky hair ; the curved, soft mouth ; the divine nobility of the long-lined, slender form — and a fierce desire shook him. Desire that mocked all previous material longings as the sun-heat mocks the earth-fires — desire that ran in subtle blue-points of flame, thru every vein — desire that was the zenith, the exquisite consummation of all the desires of man for woman. It swept over him deathly-sweet, dizzying, swooning— and the mad thrill of it leaped to his eyes. As if in instant understanding the vague mouth curved mournfully and Philip found himself gazing into blankness.
Three days later he saw her again.
“I have been waiting for you,” he said simply. “I am sorry.”
“Try to know,” the shade said softly, “that there is love of keener ecstasy than you have ever known beyond your arms’ embrace — your lips’ caress — your eyes’ desire — a love that is beyond all power of finite minds to guess.”
“I believe,” he whispered; “now tell me — about us — who you are — I beg?”
“Over a century ago,” the wraith began simply, “I was your cousin Dorothy. You were my cousin Philip — Philip Drummond. We loved, Philip — a love that was born in an English spring and nurtured in English lanes. We loved as you have not loved since — not during all your lives on earth. I loved so strongly that the bad in me was purified by very reason of it.
“They were golden days, oh, my beloved— days when we clung, lip to lip, breast to breast, instinct to instinct. We were to be married, Philip — but my father forbade it. He favored Sir