INNER Mioiisi 
 
D UKE UNIVERSIT Y 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 The Glenn Negley Collection 
 of Utopian Literature 
 
^ 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 Duke University Libraries 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/innerhouseOObesa 
 
THE INNER HOUSE 
 
 BY 
 
 WALTER BE S ANT 
 
 Al'THOR OF 
 
 "the world went vkry well then" "for faith and freedom' 
 "all sorts and fonditions op men " " herr paulus " etc. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HATU'ER & BROTHERS. FRAXKLIX SQUARE 
 
 188S 
 
By WALTER BE S ANT. 
 
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 THE INNER HOUSE. 8vo, Paper. 
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 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 AT THE ROYAL L\STITUTION. 
 
 " Professor !" cried the Director, rushing to meet their 
 guest and lecturer as the door was thrown open, and the 
 great man appeared, calm and composed, as if there was 
 nothing more in the wind than an ordinary Scientific 
 Discourse. " You are always welcome, ray friend, always 
 welcome" — the two enthusiasts for science wrung hands 
 — "and never more welcome than to-night. Then the 
 great mystery is to be solved at last. The Theatre is 
 crammed with people. What does it mean? You must 
 tell me before you go in." 
 
 The Physicist smiled. 
 
 " I came to a conviction that I was on the true line 
 five years ago," he said. "It is only within the last six 
 months that I have demonstrated the thing to a certainty. 
 I will tell you, my friend," he whispered, " before we go 
 in." 
 
 Then he advanced and shook hands with the President. 
 
 " Whatever the importance of your Discovery, Pro- 
 fessor," said the President, " we are fully sensible of the 
 honor you have done us in bringing it before an English 
 audience first of all, and especially before an audience of 
 the Royal Institution." 
 
4 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " Ja, Ja, Herr President. But I give my Discovery to 
 all the world at this same hour. As for myself, I an- 
 nounce it to my very good friends of the Royal Institution. 
 Why not to my other very good friends of the Royal 
 Society ? Because it is a thing which belongs to the whole 
 world, and not to scientific men only." 
 
 It was in the Library of the Royal Institution. The 
 President and Council of the Institution were gathered 
 together to receive their illustrious lecturer, and every 
 face was touched with interrogation and anxiety. What 
 was this Great Discovery ? 
 
 For six months there had appeared, from time to time, 
 mysterious telegrams in the papers, all connected with 
 this industrious Professor's laboratory. Kothing definite, 
 nothing certain : it was whispered that a new discovery, 
 soon about to be announced, would entirely change the 
 relations of man to man ; of nation to nation. Those who 
 professed to be in the secret suggested that it might alter 
 all governments and abolish all laws. Why they said that 
 I know not, because certainly nobody was admitted to the 
 laboratory, and the Professor had no confidant. This big- 
 headed man, with the enormous bald forehead and the big 
 glasses on his fat nose — it was long and broad as well as 
 fat — kept his own counsel. Yet, in some way, people 
 were perfectly certain that something wonderful was com- 
 ing. So, when Roger Bacon made his gunpowder, the 
 monks might have whispered to each other, only from the 
 smell which came through the key-hole, that now the Devil 
 would at last be met upon his own ground. The telegrams 
 were continued with exasperating pertinacity, until over 
 the whole civilized world the eyes of all who loved science 
 were turned upon that modest laboratory in the little 
 University of Ganzweltweisst am Rhein. What was com- 
 
PROLOGUE. 5 
 
 ing from it? One does not go so far as to say that all 
 interest in contemporary business, politics, art, and letters 
 ceased ; but it is quite certain that every morning and 
 every evening, when everybody opened his paper, his first 
 thought was to look for news from Ganzweltweisst am 
 Khein. 
 
 But the days passed by, and no news came. This was 
 especially hard on the leader-writers, who were one and 
 all waiting, each man longing to have a cut in with the 
 subject before anybody else got it. But it was good for 
 the people who write letters to the papers, because they 
 had so many opportunities of suggestion and surmise. 
 And so the leader-writers got something to talk about 
 after all. For some suggested that Prof. Schwarzbaum 
 had found out a way to make food artificially, by chemically 
 compounding nitrogens, phosphates, and so forth. And 
 these philosophers built a magnificent Palace of Imagina- 
 tion, in which dwelt a glorified mankind no longer occu- 
 pied in endless toil for the sake of providing meat and 
 drink for themselves and their families, but all engaged 
 in the pursuit of knowledge, and in Art of all kinds, such 
 as Fiction, Poetry, Painting, Music, Acting, and so forth, 
 getting out of Life such a wealth of emotion, pleasure, 
 and culture as the world had never before imagined. 
 Others there were who thought that the great Discovery 
 might be a method of instantaneous transmission of mat- 
 ter from place to place; so that, as by the electric wire 
 one can send a message, so by some kind of electric method 
 one could send a human body from any one part of the 
 world to any other in a moment. This suggestion offered 
 a fine field for the imagination ; and there was a novel writ- 
 ten on this subject which had a great success, until the 
 Discovery itself was announced. Others, again, thought 
 that the new Discovery meant some great and wonderful 
 
6 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 development of the Destructive Art; so that the whole 
 of an army might be blown into countless fragments by the 
 touch of a button, the discharge of a spring, the fall of a 
 hammer. This took the fancy hugely, and it was pleasant 
 to read the imaginary developments of history as influ- 
 enced by this Discovery. But it seemed certain that the 
 learned Professor would keep it for the use of his own 
 country. So that there was no longer any room to doubt 
 that, if this was the nature of the Discovery, the whole of 
 the habitable world must inevitably fall under the Teu- 
 tonic yoke, and an Empire of Armed Peace would set in, 
 the like of which had never before been witnessed upon 
 the globe. On the whole, the prospect was received every- 
 where, except in France and Russia, with resignation. 
 Even the United States remembered that they had already 
 many millions of Germans among them ; and that the 
 new Empire, though it would give certainly all the places 
 to these Germans, would also save them a great many 
 Elections, and therefore a good deal of trouble, and would 
 relieve the national conscience — long grievously oppressed 
 in this particular — of truckling to the Irish Vote. Dyna- 
 miters and anarchists, however, were despondent, and So- 
 cialists regarded each other with an ever-deepening gloom. 
 This particular Theory of the great Discovery met, in 
 fact, with universal credence over the whole civilized 
 globe. 
 
 Erom the great man himself there came no sign. En- 
 terprising interviewers failed to get speech with him. 
 Scientific men wrote to him, but got no real information 
 in reply. And the minds of men grew more and more 
 agitated. Some great change was considered certain — 
 but what? 
 
 One morning — it was the morning of Thursday, June 
 20, 1890 — there appeared an advertisement in the pa- 
 
PROLOGUE. 
 
 pers. By the telegrams it was discovered that a similar 
 advertisement had been published in every great city all 
 over the world. That of the London papers differed 
 from others in one important respect — in this, namely : 
 Professor Schwarzbaum would himself, without any de- 
 lav, read before a London audience a Paper which should 
 i-eveal his new Discovery. There was not, however, the 
 least hint in the announcement of the nature of this Dis- 
 covery. 
 
 " Yes," said the Physicist, speaking slowly, " I have 
 given the particulars to my friends over the whole 
 earth ; and, as London is still the centre of the world, 
 I resolved that I would myself communicate it to the 
 English." 
 
 " But what is it ?— what is it ?" asked the President. 
 
 "The Discovery," the Professor continued, "is to be 
 announced at the same moment all over the world, so 
 that none of the newspapers shall have an unfair start. 
 It is now close upon nine o'clock by London time. In 
 Paris it is ten minutes past nine; in Berlin it is six min- 
 utes before ten ; at St. Petersburg it is eleven o'clock ; 
 at New York it is four o'clock in the afternoon. • Very 
 o-ood. When the clock in your theatre points to nine ex- 
 actly, at that moment everywhere the same Paper will 
 be read." 
 
 In fact, at that moment the clock began to strike. The 
 President led the way to the Theatre, followed by the 
 Council. The Director remained behind with the Lect- 
 urer of the evening. 
 
 " My friend," said Professor Schwarzbaum, " ray sub- 
 ject is nothing less"— he laid his finger upon the Direc- 
 tor's arm—" nothing less than ' The Prolongation of the 
 Vital Energy.' " 
 
8 THE INNER HOUSE, 
 
 "What! The Prolongation of the Vital Energy? Do 
 you know what that means?" The Director turned 
 pale. "Are we to understand — " 
 
 " Come," said the Professor, " we must not waste the 
 time." 
 
 Then the Director, startled and pale, took his German 
 brother by the arm and led him into the Theatre, mur- 
 muring, " Prolongation . . . Prolongation . , , Prolonga- 
 tion ... of the Vital— the Vital— Energy !" 
 
 The Theatre was crowded. There was not a vacant 
 seat : there was no more standing room on the stairs ; the 
 very doors of the gallery were thronged : the great stair- 
 case was thronged with those who could not get in, but 
 waited to get the first news. Nay, outside the Institu- 
 tion, Albemarle Street was crowded with people waiting to 
 hear what this ijreat thine; mio;ht be which all the world 
 had waited six months to hear. Within the Theatre, what 
 an audience ! For the first time in English history, no 
 respect at all had been paid to rank : the people gathered 
 in the Theatre were all that the great City could boast 
 that was distinguished in science, art, and letters. Those 
 present were the men who moved the world. Among 
 them, naturally, a sprinkling of the men who are born to 
 the best things of the world, and are sometimes told that 
 they help to move it. There were ladies among the com- 
 pany too — ladies well known in scientific and literary cir- 
 cles, with certain great ladies led by curiosity. On the 
 left-hand side of the Theatre, for instance, close to the 
 door, sat two very great ladies, indeed — one of them the 
 Countess of Thordisa, and the other her only daughter, 
 the Lady Mildred Carera. Leaning against the pillar 
 beside them stood a young man of singularly handsome 
 appearance, tall and commanding of stature. 
 
 " To you. Dr. Linister," said the Countess, " I suppose 
 
PROLOGUE. 9 
 
 everything that the Professor has to tell us will be al- 
 ready well known ?" 
 
 " That," said Dr. Linister, " would be too much to ex- 
 pect." 
 
 " For me," her Ladyship went on delicately, "• I love to 
 catch Science on the wing — on the wing— in her lighter 
 moods, when she has something really popular to tell." 
 
 Dr. Linister bowed. Then his eyes met those of the 
 beautiful girl sitting below him, and he leaned and whis- 
 pered, 
 
 "I looked for you everywhere last night. You had 
 led me to understand — " 
 
 " We went nowhere, after all. Mamma fancied she 
 had a bad cold.'" 
 
 " Then this evening. May I be quite — quite sure ?" 
 
 His voice dropped, and his fingers met hers beneath the 
 fan. She drew them away quickly, with a blush. 
 
 "Yes," she whispered, " you may find me to-night at 
 Lady Chatterton's or Lady Ingleby's." 
 
 From which you can understand that this young Dr. 
 Linister was quite a man in society. He was young, he 
 Jiad already a great reputation for Biological research, he 
 was the only son of a fashionable physician, and he would 
 be very rich. Therefore, in the season, Harry Linister 
 was of the season. 
 
 On most of the faces present there sat an expression of 
 anxiety, and even fear. What was this new thing ? Was 
 the world really going to be turned upside down ? And 
 when the West End was so very comfortable and its posi- 
 tion so very well assured ! But there were a few present 
 who rubbed their hands at the thought of a great upturn 
 of everything. Up with the scum first ; when that had 
 been ladled overboard, a new arrangement would be pos- 
 sible, to the advantage of those who rubbed their hands. 
 
10 THE INXEK HOUSE. 
 
 When the clock struck nine, a dead silence fell upon the 
 Theatre ; not a breath was heard ; not a cough ; not the 
 rustle of a dress. Their faces were pale with expectancy ; 
 their lips were parted ; their very breathing seemed ar- 
 rested. 
 
 Then the President and the Council walked in and took 
 their places. 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen," said the President shortly, 
 " the learned Professor will himself communicate to you 
 the subject and title of his Paper, and we may be certain 
 beforehand that this subject and matter will adorn the 
 motto of the Society — Illustrous commoda vitce" 
 
 Then Dr. Schwarzbaura stood at the table before them 
 all, and looked round the room. Lady Mildred glanced at 
 the young man, Harry Linister. He was staring at the 
 German like the rest, speechless. She sighed. Women 
 did not in those days like love-making to be forgotten or 
 interrupted by anything, certainly not by science. 
 
 The learned German carried a small bundle of papers, 
 which he laid on the table. He carefully and slowly ad- 
 justed his spectacles. Then he drew from his pocket 
 a small leather case. Then he looked round the room 
 and smiled. That is to say, his lips were covered with a 
 full beard, so that the sweetness of the smile w^as mostly 
 lost; but it was observed under and behind the beard. 
 The mere ghost of a smile ; yet a benevolent ghost. 
 
 The Lecturer began, somewhat in copy-book fashion, to 
 remind his audience that everything in ISTature is born, 
 grows slowly to maturity, enjoys a brief period of full 
 force and strength, then decays, and finally dies. The 
 tree of life is first a green sapling, and last a white and 
 leafless trunk. He expatiated at some length on the growtli 
 of the young life. He pointed out that methods had been 
 discovered to hinder that growth, turn it into unnatural 
 
PROLOGUE. 11 
 
 forms, even to stop and destro}' it altogether. lie showed 
 how the body is gradually strengthened in all its parts; 
 he showed, for his unscientific hearers, how the various 
 parts of the structure assume strength. All this was 
 familiar to most of his audience. Next he proceeded to 
 dwell upon the period of full maturity of bodily and men- 
 tal strength, which, in a man, should last from twenty-five 
 to sixty, and even beyond that time. The decay of the 
 bodily, and even of the mental organs, may have already 
 set in, even when mind and body seem the most vigorous. 
 At this period of the discussion most of the audience 
 were beginning to flag in their attention. Was such a 
 gathering as this assembled only to hear a discussion on 
 the growth and decay of the faculties ? But the Director, 
 who knew what was coming, sat bolt upright, expectant. 
 It was strange, the people said afterwards, that no one 
 should have suspected what was coming. There was to 
 be, everybody knew, a great announcement. That was 
 certain. Destruction, Locomotion, Food, Transmission of 
 Thought, Substitution of Speech for "Writing — all these 
 things, as has been seen, had been suggested. But no one 
 even guessed the real nature of the Discovery. And now, 
 with the exception of the people who always pretend to 
 have known all along, to have been favored with the Great 
 Man's Confidence, to have guessed the thing from the out- 
 set, no one had the least suspicion. 
 
 Therefore, when the Professor suddenly stopped short, 
 after a prolix description of wasting power and wearied 
 organs, and held up an admonitory finger, everybody 
 jumped, because now the Secret was to be divulged. 
 They had come to hear a great Secret. 
 
 " What is this Decay ?" he asked. " What is it ? AVhy 
 does it begin ? What laws regulate it ? What check can 
 we place upon it ? How can we prevent it i How can 
 
12 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 we stay its progress? Can Science, which has done so 
 much to make Life happy — which has found out so 
 many things by which Man's brief span is crowded with 
 delightful emotions — can Science do no more? Cannot 
 Science add to these gifts that more precious gift of all — 
 the lengthening of that brief span ?" 
 
 Here everybody gasped. 
 
 "I ask," the speaker went on, " whether Science cannot 
 put off that day which closes the eyes and turns the body 
 into a senseless lump ? Consider : we are no sooner ar- 
 rived at the goal of our ambitions than we have to go 
 away; we are no sooner at the plenitude of our wisdom 
 and knowledge than we have to lay down all that we 
 have learned and go away — nay, we cannot even transmit 
 to others our accuumlations of knowledge. They are lost. 
 We are no sooner happy with those we love than we have 
 to leave them. "We collect, but cannot enjoy ; we inherit 
 — it is but for a day ; we learn, but we have no time to 
 use our learning; we love — it is but for an hour; we pass 
 our youth in hope, our manhood in effort, and we die be- 
 fore we are old ; we are strong, but our strength passes 
 like a dream ; we are beautiful, but our beauty perishes 
 in a single day. Cannot, I ask again — cannot Science pro- 
 long the Vital Force, and stay the destroying hand of De- 
 cay ?" 
 
 At this point a wonderful passion seized upon many of 
 the people present; for some sprang to their feet and 
 lifted hands and shouted, some wept aloud, some clasped 
 each other by the hand ; there were lovers among the 
 crowd who fell openly into each other's arras ; there were 
 men of learning who hugged imaginary books and looked 
 up with wild eyes ; there were girls who smiled, thinking 
 that their beauty might last longer than a day ; there 
 were women down whose cheeks rolled the tears of sorrow 
 
PROLOGUE. 13 
 
 for their vanished beauty ; there were old men who lieard 
 and trembled. 
 
 One of them spoke — ont of all this crowd only one 
 found words. It was an old statesman ; an old man elo- 
 quent. He rose with shaking limbs. 
 
 "Sir," he cried, his voice still sonorous, "give me back 
 my manhood !" 
 
 The Professor continued, regardless : 
 
 " Suppose," he said, " that Science had found out the 
 way, not to restore what is lost, but to arrest further loss ; 
 not to give back what is gone — you might as well try to 
 restore a leg that has been cut off — but to prevent further 
 loss. Consider this for a moment, I pray you. Those 
 who search into Nature's secrets might, if this were done 
 for them, carry on their investigations far beyond any 
 point which had yet been reached ; those who cultivate 
 Art might attain to a greater skill of hand and truth of 
 sight than has ever yet been seen ; those who study human 
 nature might multiply their observations; those who love 
 might have a longer time for their passion ; men who are 
 strong might remain strong; women who are beautiful 
 might remain beautiful — " 
 
 " Sir," cried again the old man eloquent, " give me back 
 my manhood !" 
 
 The Lecturer made no reply, but went on : 
 
 " The rich might have a time — a sensible length of time 
 — in which to enjoy their wealth ; the young might re- 
 main young; the old might grow no older; the feeble 
 might not become more feeble — all for a prolonged time. 
 As for those whose lives could never become anything 
 but a burden to themselves and to the rest of the world — 
 the crippled, the criminal, the poor, the imbecile, the in- 
 competent, the stupid, and the frivolous — they would live 
 out their allotted lives and die. It would be for the salt 
 
14 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 of the earth, for the flower of mankind, for the men strong 
 of intellect and endowed above the common herd, that 
 Science would reserve this precious gift." 
 
 " Give me back my manhood !" cried again the old man 
 eloquent. 
 
 But he was not alone, for they all sprang to their feet 
 together and cried aloud, shrieking, weeping, stretching 
 forth hands, " Give — give — give!" But the Director, 
 who knew that what was asked for would be given, sat 
 silent and self-possessed. 
 
 The Speaker motioned them all to sit down again. 
 
 " I would not," he said, " limit this great gift to those 
 alone whose intellect leads the world. I would extend it 
 to all who help to make life beautiful and happy; to love- 
 ly women " — here the men heaved a sigh so deep, so simul- 
 taneous, that it fell upon the ear like the voice of thanks- 
 giving from a Cathedral choir — " to those who love only 
 the empty show and pleasures and vainglories of life" — 
 here many smiled, especially of the younger sort — " even 
 to some of those who desire nothing of life but love and 
 song and dalliance and laughter." Again the younger sort 
 smiled, and tried to look as if they had no connection at 
 all with that band. " I would extend this gift, I repeat, 
 to all who can themselves be happy in the sunshine and 
 the light, and to all who can make the happiness of others. 
 Then, again, consider. When you have enjoyed those 
 things for a while ; when your life has been prolonged, so 
 that you have enjoyed all that you desire in full measure 
 and running over; when not two or three years have 
 passed, but perhaps two or three centuries, you would 
 then, of your own accord, put aside the aid of Science and 
 suffer your body to fall into the decay which awaits all 
 living matter. Contented and resigned, you would sink 
 into the tomb, not satiated with the joys of life, but satis- 
 
PROLOGUE. 15 
 
 fied to have had jour share. There would be no terror in 
 death, since it would take none but those who could saj, 
 'I have had enough.' That day would surely come to 
 every one. There is nothing — not research and discovery, 
 not the beauty of Xature, not love and pleasure, not art, 
 not flowers and sunshine and perpetual youth — of which 
 we should not in time grow weary. Science cannot alter 
 the Laws of Nature. Of all things there must be an end. 
 But she can prolong ; she can avert ; she can — Yes, 
 my friends. This is my Discovery ; this is my Gift to 
 Humanity; this is the fruit, the outcome of my life; for 
 me this great thing has been reserved. Science can arrest 
 decay. She can make you live — live on — live for cen- 
 turies — nay, I know not — why not ? — she can, if you fool- 
 ishly desire it, make you live forever." 
 
 Now, when these words were spoken there fell a deep 
 silence upon the crowd. No one spoke ; no one looked 
 up ; they were awed ; they could not realize what it meant 
 that would be given them ; they were suddenly relieved 
 of a great terror, the constant dread that lies in man's 
 heart, ever present, though we conceal it — the dread of 
 Death ; but they could not, in a moment, understand that 
 it was given. 
 
 But the Director sprang to his feet, and grasped his 
 brother physicist by the hand. 
 
 " Of all the sons of Science," he said, solemnly, " thou 
 shalt be proclaimed the first and best." 
 
 The assembly heard these words, but made no sign. 
 There was no applause — not a murmur, not a voice. They 
 were stricken dumb with wonder and with awe. They 
 were going to live — to live on — to live for centuries, nay, 
 why not 'i — to live forever ! 
 
 " You all know," the Professor continued, " how at a 
 dinner a single gUss of champagne revives the spirits. 
 
16 THE INNER HOUSE, 
 
 looses the tongue, and brings activity to the brain. The 
 guests were weary ; they were in decay ; the Champagne 
 arrests that decay. My discovery is of another kind of 
 Champagne, which acts with a more lasting effect. It 
 strengthens the nerves, hardens the muscles, quickens the 
 blood, and brings activity to the digestion. With new 
 strength of the body returns new strength to the mind ; 
 mind and body are one." He paused a moment. Then 
 he gave the leather case into the hands of the Director. 
 " This is my gift, I say. I give to my brother full partic- 
 ulars and the history of the invention. I seek no profit 
 for myself. It is your own. This day a new epoch be- 
 gins for humanity. We shall not die, but live. Acci- 
 dent, fire, lightning, may kill us. Against these things 
 we cannot guard. But old age shall no more fall upon us ; 
 decay shall no more rob us of our life and strength ; and 
 death shall be voluntary. This is a great change. I know 
 not if I have done aright. That is for you to determine. 
 See that you use this gift aright." 
 
 Then, before the people had understood the last 
 words, the speaker stepped out of the Theatre and was 
 gone. 
 
 But the Director of the Royal Institution stood in his 
 place, and in his hand was the leather case containing 
 the Gift of Life. 
 
 The Countess of Thordisa, who had been asleep through- 
 out the lecture, woke up when it was finished. 
 
 " How deeply interesting !" she sighed, " This it is, to 
 catch Science on the wing." Then she looked round. 
 " Mildred, dear," she said, " has Dr. Linister gone to find 
 the carriage? Dear me! what a commotion! And at 
 the Royal Institution, of all places in the world 1" 
 
 "I think, Mamma," said Lady Mildred, coldly, "that 
 
THE SUPPER-BELL. 17 
 
 wc had better get some one else to find tlic carriage. Dr. 
 Linister is over there. He is better engaged." 
 
 He was; he was among his brother physicists; they 
 were eagerly asking questions and crowding round the 
 Director. And the Theatre seemed filled with mad peo- 
 ple, who surged and crowded and pushed. 
 
 " Come, Mamma," said Lady Mildred, pale, but with a 
 red spot on either cheek, " we will leave them to fight it 
 out." 
 
 Science had beaten love. She did not meet Harry 
 Linister again that night. And when they met again, 
 long years afterwards, he passed her by with eyes that 
 showed he had clean forgotten her existence, unaltered 
 though she was in face and form. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE SUPPER- BELL. 
 
 When the big bell in the Tower of the House of Life 
 struck the hour of seven, the other bells began to chime 
 as they had done every day at this hour for I know not 
 how many years. Very likely in the Library, where we 
 still keep a great collection of perfectly useless books, 
 there is preserved some History which may speak of these 
 Bells, and of the builders of the House. When these 
 chimes began, the swifts and jackdaws which live in the 
 Tower began to fly about with a great show of iiurry, as 
 if there was barely time for supper, though, as it was yet 
 only the month of July, the sun would not be setting for 
 an hour or more. 
 
 We have long since ceased to preach to the people, 
 otherwise we might make them learn a great deal from 
 2 
 
18 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 the auinial world. They live, for instance, from day to 
 day ; not only are their lives miserably short, but they are 
 always hungry, always fighting, always quarrelling, always 
 fierce in their loves and their jealousies. Watching the 
 swifts, for instance, which we may do nearly all day long, 
 we ought to congratulate ourselves on our o\yn leisurely 
 order, the adequate provision for food made by the Wis- 
 dom of the College, the assurance of preservation also 
 established by that Wisdom, and our freedom from haste 
 and anxiety, as from the emotions of love, hatred, jeal- 
 ousy, and rivalry. But the time has gone by for that 
 kind of exhortation. 
 
 Thus, our people, who at this hour crowded the great 
 Square, showed in their faces, their attitudes, and their 
 movements, the calm that reigned in their souls. Some 
 were lying on the grass ; some were sitting on the benches ; 
 some were strolling. They were for the most part alone ; 
 if not alone — because habit often survives when the orig- 
 inal cause of the habit is gone — then in pairs. 
 
 In the old unhappy days there would have been restless 
 activity — a hurrying to and fro ; there would have been 
 laughter and talking — everybody would have been talk- 
 ing ; there would have been young men eagerly courting 
 the favors of young women, looking on them with long- 
 ing eyes, ready to fight for them, each for the girl he 
 loved ; thinking each of the girl he loved as of a goddess 
 or an angel — all perfection. Tlie girls themselves ardent- 
 ly desired this foolish worship. Again, formerly, there 
 would have been old men and old women looking with 
 melancholy eyes on the scenes they were about to quit, 
 and lamenting the days of their strength and their youth. 
 And formerly there would have been among the crowd 
 beggars and paupers ; there would have been some rftas- 
 ters and some servants ; some noble and some bourgeois ; 
 
THE SCPPER-BELL. 19 
 
 there would have been every conceivable difference in 
 age, rank, strength, intellect, and distinction. 
 
 Again, formerly there would have been the most inso- 
 lent differences in costume. Some of the men used to 
 wear broadcloth, sleek and smooth, with glossy hats and 
 gloves, and flowers at their button - hole ; while beside 
 them crawled the wretched half-clad objects pretending 
 to sell matches, but in reality begging for their bread. 
 And some of the women used to flaunt in dainty and 
 expensive stuffs, setting off their supposed charms (which 
 were mostly made by the dress-maker's art) with the curves 
 and colors of their drapery. And beside them would be 
 crawling the wretched creatures to whom in the summer, 
 when the days were hot and fine, the Park was their only 
 home, and rusty black their only wear. 
 
 Xow, no activity at all ; no hurrying, no laughing, 
 not even any talking. That might have struck a visitor 
 as one of the most remarkable results of our system. No 
 foolish talking. As for their dress, it was all alike. The 
 men wore blue flannel jackets and trousers, with a flannel 
 shirt and a flat bine cap; for the working hours they had 
 a rougher dress. The women wore a costume in gra}', 
 made of a stuff called beige. It is a useful stuff, because 
 it wears well ; it is soft and yet warm, and cannot be ob- 
 jected to by any of them on the score of ugliness. What 
 mutinies, what secret conspiracies, what mad revolts had 
 to be faced before the women could be made to under- 
 stand that Socialism — the only form of society which can 
 now be accepted — must be logical and complete ! What 
 is one woman more than another that she should separate 
 herself from her sisters by her dress ? Therefore, since 
 their subjugation they all wear a gray beige frock, with 
 a jacket of the same, and a flat gray cap, like the men's, 
 under which they are made to gather up their hair. 
 
20 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 This scene, indeed — the gathering of the People before 
 the supper-bell — is one of which I never tire. I look at 
 all the eager, hurrying swifts in the air, I remember the 
 Past ; and I think of the Present when I gaze upon the 
 great multitude, in which no one regardeth his neighbor,' 
 none speaks to none. There are no individual aims, but 
 all is pure, unadulterated Socialism, with — not far distant 
 — the Ultimate Triumph of Science ! 
 
 I desire to relate the exact circumstances connected 
 with certain recent events. It is generally known that 
 they caused one deplorable Death — one of our own Society, 
 although not a Physician of the House. I shall have to 
 explain, before I begin the narrative, certain points in our 
 internal management which may differ from the customs 
 adopted elsewhere. "We of the Later Era visit each other 
 so seldom that differences may easily grow up, Indeed, 
 considering the terrible dangers of travel — how, if one 
 walks, there are the perils of unfiltered water, damp beds, 
 sprained ankles, byrsitis of the knee, chills from frosts and 
 showers ; or if one gets into a wheeled vehicle, the wheels 
 may fall off, or the carriage may be overturned in a ditch. 
 . . . But why pursue the subject ? I repeat, therefore, that 
 I must speak of the community and its order, but that as 
 briefly as may be. 
 
 The Rebels have been driven forth from the Pale of 
 Humanity to wander where they please. In a few years 
 they will be released — if that has not already happened — 
 by Death from the diseases and sufferings which will fall 
 upon them. Then we shall remember them no more. 
 The centuries will roll by, and they shall be forgotten ; 
 the very mounds of earth which once marked the place 
 of their burial will be level with the ground around them, 
 But the House and the Glory of the House will continue. 
 
 Thus perish all the enemies of Science ! 
 
THE SUPPER-BELL. 21 
 
 The City of Canterbury, as it was rebuilt when So- 
 cialism was finally established, has in its centre a great 
 Square, Park, or Garden, the central breathing-place and 
 relaxation ground of the City. Each side is exactly half 
 a mile in length. The Garden, thus occupying an area of 
 a fourth of a square mile, is planted with every kind of 
 ornamental tree, and laid out in flower-beds, winding 
 walks, serpentine rivers, lakes, cascades, bridges, grottos, 
 summer-houses, lawns, and everything that can help to 
 make the place attractive. During the summer it is 
 thronged every evening with the people. On its west 
 side has been erected an enormous Palace of glass, low in 
 height, but stretching far away to the west, covering an 
 immense area. Here the heat is artificially maintained at 
 temperatures varying with the season and the plants that 
 are in cultivation. In winter, frost, bad weather, and in 
 rain, it forms a place of recreation and rest. Here grow 
 all kinds of fruit-trees, with all kinds of vegetables, flow- 
 ers, and plants. All the year round it furnishes, in quan- 
 tities sufiicient for all our wants, an endless supply of 
 fruit ; so that we have a supply of some during the whole 
 year, as grapes, bananas, and oranges ; others for at least 
 half the year, as peaches, strawberries, and so forth ; while 
 of the commoner vegetables, as peas, beans, and the like, 
 there is now no season, but they are grown continuouslj'. 
 In the old times we were dependent upon the changes 
 and chances of a capricious and variable climate. Xow, 
 not only has the erection of these vast houses made us in- 
 dependent of summer and winter, but the placing of 
 much grass and corn land under glass has also assured our 
 crops and secured us from the danger of famine. This 
 is by no means one of the least advantages of modern civ- 
 ilization. 
 
 On the South side of the Square stands our Public 
 
22 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 Hall. The buildiug lias not, like the House of Life, any 
 architectural beauty — why should we aim at beauty, when 
 efficiency is our sole object? The House of Life was 
 designed and erected when men thought perpetually of 
 beauty, working from their admiration of beauty in wom- 
 an and in nature to beauty in things which they made 
 with their own hands, setting beauty above usefulness; 
 even thinking it necessary, when usefulness had been at- 
 tained, to add adornment, as when they added a Tower to 
 the House of Life, yet did nothing with their Tower and 
 did not want it. 
 
 The Public Hall is built of red brick ; it resembles a 
 row of houses each with a gable to the street. There is 
 for each a broad plain door, with a simple porch, below ; 
 and above, a broad plain window twenty feet wide divided 
 into four compartments or divisions, the whole set in a 
 framework of wood. The appearance of the Hall is, 
 therefore, remarkably plain. There are thirty -one of 
 these gables, each forty feet wide; so that the whole 
 length of the Hall is twelve hundred and forty feet, or 
 nearly a quarter of a mile. 
 
 Within, the roof of each of these gables covers a Hall 
 separated from its neighbors by plain columns. They 
 are all alike, except that the middle Hall, set apart for the 
 College, has a gallery originally intended for an orchestra, 
 now never used. In the central Hall one table alone is 
 placed ; in all the others there are four, every Hall ac- 
 commodating eight hundred people and every table two 
 hundred. The length of each Hall is the same — namely, 
 two hundred and fifty feet. The Hall is lit by one large 
 window at each end. There are no carvings, sculptures, 
 or other ornaments in the building. At the back is an 
 extensive range of buildings, all of brick, built in small 
 compartments, and fire-proof ; they contain the kitchens, 
 
THE SUPPER-BELL. 23 
 
 granaries, abattoirs, larders, cellars, dairies, still-rooms, pan- 
 tries, curing-houses, ovens, breweries, and all the other 
 offices and chambers required for the daily provisioning 
 of a city with twenty-four thousand inhabitants. 
 
 On the East side of the Square there are two great 
 groups of buildings. That nearest to the Public Hall 
 contains, in a series of buildings which communicate with 
 one another, the Library, the Museum, the Armory, the 
 Model-room, and the Picture Gallery. The last is a build- 
 ing as old as the House. They were, when these events 
 began, open to the whole Community, though they were 
 never visited by any even out of idle curiosity. The in- 
 quisitive spirit is dead. For myself, I am not anxious to 
 see the people acquire, or revive, the habit of reading and 
 inquiring. It might be argued that the study of history 
 might make them contrast the present with the past, and 
 shudder at the lot of their forefathers. But I am going 
 to show that this study may produce quite the opposite 
 effect. Or, there is the study of science. How should 
 this help the People? They have the College always 
 studying and investigating for their benefit the secrets of 
 medical science, which alone concerns their happiness, 
 •they might learn how to make machines ; but machinery 
 requires steam, explosives, electricity, and other uncon- 
 trolled and dangerous forces. Many thousands of lives 
 were formerly lost in the making and management of 
 these machines, and we do very well without them. They 
 might, it is true, read the books which tell of the people 
 in former times. But why read works which are filled 
 with the Presence of Death, the Shortness of Life, and 
 ^he intensity of passions which we have almost forgotten ? 
 You shall see what comes of these studies which seem so 
 innocent. 
 
 I say, therefore, that I never had any wish to see the 
 
24 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 people flocking into the Library. For the same reason — 
 that a study and contemphition of things past might un- 
 settle or disturb the tranquillity of their minds — I have 
 never wished to see them in the Museum, the Armory, or 
 any other part of our Collections. And since the events 
 of which I have to tell, we have enclosed these buildings 
 and added them to the College, so that the people can 
 no longer enter them even if they wished. 
 
 The Curator of the Museum was an aged man, one of 
 the few old men left — in the old days he had held a title 
 of some kind. He was placed there because he was old 
 and much broken, and could do no work. Therefore he 
 was told to keep the glass-cases free from dust and to 
 sweep the floors every morning. At the time of the Great 
 Discovery he had been an Earl or Viscount — I know not 
 what — and by some accident he escaped the Great Slaugh- 
 ter, when it was resolved to kill all the old men and wom- 
 en in order to reduce the population to the number which 
 the land would support. I believe that he hid himself, 
 and was secretly fed by some man who had formerly been 
 his groom, and still preserved some remains of what he 
 called attachment and duty, until such time as the execu- 
 tions were over. Then he ventured forth again, and so 
 great was the horror of the recent massacre, with the rec- 
 ollection of the prayers and shrieks of the victims, that he 
 was allowed to continue alive. The old man was troubled 
 with an asthma which hardl}' permitted him an hour of 
 repose and was incurable. This would have made his life 
 intolerable, except that to live — only to live, in any pain 
 and misery — is always better than to die. 
 
 For the last few years the old man had a companion in 
 the Museum. This was a girl — the only girl in our Com- 
 munity — who called him — I know not why (perhaps be- 
 cause the relationship really existed) — Grandfather, and 
 
THE SUPPER-BELL, 25 
 
 lived with him. She it was who dusted the cases and 
 swept the floors. She found some means of relieving the 
 old man's asthma, and all da}' long— would that I had dis- 
 covered the fact, or suspected whither it would lead the 
 wretched girl ! — she read the books of the Library and 
 studied the contents of the cases and talked to the old 
 man, making him tell her everything that belonged to tlie 
 past. All she cared for was the Past; all that she studied 
 was to understand more and more — how men lived then, 
 and what they thought, and what they talked. 
 
 She was about eighteen years of age ; but, indeed, we 
 thought her still a child. I know not how many years 
 had elapsed since any in the City were children, because 
 it is a vain thing to keep account of the years ; if an^-- 
 thing happens to distinguish them, it must be sometliing 
 disastrous, because we have now arrived almost at the last 
 stage possible to man. It only remains for us to discover, 
 not only how to prevent disease, but how^ to annihilate it. 
 Since, then, there is only one step left to take in advance, 
 every other event which can happen must be in the nat- 
 ure of a calamity, and therefore may be forgotten. 
 
 I have said that Christine called the old man her grand- 
 father. "We have long, long since agreed to forget old ties 
 of blood. IIow can father and son, mother and daughter, 
 brother and "sister continue for hundreds of years, and 
 when all remain fixed at the same age, to keep up the old 
 relationship? The maternal love dies out with us — it is 
 now but seldom called into existence — when the child can 
 run about. Why not? The animals, from whom we 
 learn so much, desert their offspring when they can feed 
 themselves; our mothers cease to care for their children 
 when they are old enough to be the charge of the Com- 
 munity. Therefore Christine's mother cheerfully suf- 
 fered the child to leave her as soon as she was old enousfh 
 
26 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 to sit in the Public Hall. Her grandfather — if indeed he 
 was her grandfather — obtained permission to have the 
 child with him. So she remained in the quiet Museum. 
 We never imagined or suspected, however, that the old 
 man, who was eighty at the time of the Great Discovery, 
 remembered everything that took place when he was 
 young, and talked with the girl all day long about the 
 Past. 
 
 I do not know who was Christine's father. It matters 
 not now ; and, indeed, he never claimed his daughter. 
 One smiles to think of the importance formerly attached 
 to fathers. We no longer work for their support. We 
 are no longer dependent upon their assistance ; the father 
 does nothing for the son, nor the son for the father. Five 
 hundred years ago, say — or a thousand years ago — the fa- 
 ther carried a baby in his arms. What then ? My own 
 father — I believe he is my own father, but on this point I 
 may be mistaken — I saw yesterday taking his turn in the 
 hay-field. He seemed distressed with the heat and fatigue 
 of it. Why not? It makes no difference to me. He is, 
 though not so young, still as strong and as able-bodied as 
 myself. Christine was called into existence by the sanc- 
 tion of the College when one of the Community was 
 struck dead by lightning. It was my brother, I believe. 
 The terrible event filled us all with consternation. How- 
 ever, the population having thus been diminished by one, 
 it was resolved that the loss should be repaired. There 
 was precedent. A great many years previously, owing to 
 a man being killed by the fall of a hay-rick — all hay-ricks 
 are now made low — another birth had been allowed. That 
 was a boy. 
 
 Let us now return to our Square. On the same side 
 are the buildings of the College. Here are the Anatomi- 
 cal collections, the storehouse of Materia Medica, and 
 
THE SUPPER-BELL. 27 
 
 the residences of the Arch Pliysician, the Suffragan, the 
 Fellows of the College or Associate Physicians, and the 
 Assistants or Experimenters. The buildings are plain 
 and fire-proof. The College has its own private gardens, 
 which are large and filled with trees. Here the Physi- 
 cians walk and meditate, undisturbed by the -outer world. 
 Here is also their Library. 
 
 On the North side of the Square stands the great and 
 venerable House of Life, the Glory of the City, the Pride 
 of the whole Country. 
 
 It is very ancient. Formerly there were many such 
 splendid monuments standing in the country ; now this 
 alone remains. It was built in the dim, distant ages, when 
 men believed things now forgotten. It was designed for 
 the celebration of certain ceremonies or functions ; their 
 nature and meaning may, I dare say, be ascertained by 
 any who cares to waste time in an inquiry so useless. 
 The edifice itself could not possibly be built in these 
 times ; first because we have no artificers capable of rear- 
 ing such a pile, and next because we have not among us 
 any one capable of conceiving it, or drawing the design 
 of it ; nay, we have none who could execute the carved 
 stone- work. 
 
 I do not say this with humility, but with satisfaction ; 
 for, if we contemplate the building, we must acknowl- 
 edge that, though it is, as I have said, the Glory of the 
 City, and though it is vast in proportions, imposing by its 
 grandeur, and splendid in its work, yet most of it is per- 
 fectly useless. What need of the tall columns to support 
 a roof which might very well have been one-fourth the 
 present height? Why build the Tower at all? What is 
 the good of the carved work i We of the New Era build 
 in brick, which is fire-proof ; we put up structures which 
 are no larger than are wanted ; we waste no labor, be- 
 
28 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 cause we grudge the time which must be spent in neces- 
 sary work, over things unnecessary. Besides, we are no 
 longer tortured by the feverish anxiety to do something 
 — anything — by which we may be remembered when the 
 short span of life is past. Death to us is a thing which 
 may happen by accident, but not from old age or by dis- 
 ease. "Why should men toil and trouble in order to be 
 remembered ? All things are equal : why should one 
 man try to do something better than another — or what 
 another cannot do — or what is useless when it is done? 
 Sculptures, pictures, Art of any kind, will not add a single 
 ear of corn to the general stock, or a single glass of wine, 
 or a yard of flannel. Therefore, we need not regret the 
 decay of Art. 
 
 As everybody knows, however, the House is the chief 
 Laboratory of the whole country. It is here that the 
 Great Secret is preserved ; it is known to the Arch Phy- 
 sician and to his Suffragan alone. No other man in the 
 country knows by what process is compounded that po- 
 tent liquid which arrests decay and prolongs life, appar- 
 ently without any bound or limit. I say without any 
 bound or limit. There certainly are croakers, who main- 
 tain that at some future time — it may be this very year, 
 it may be a thousand years hence — the compound will 
 lose its power, and so we — all of us, even the College — 
 must then inevitably begin to decay, and after a few short 
 years perish and sink into the silent grave. The very 
 thought causes a horror too dreadful for words; the limbs 
 tremble, the teeth chatter. But others declare that there 
 is no fear whatever of this result, and that the only dread 
 is lest the whole College should suddenly be struck by 
 lightning, and so the Secret be lost. For though none 
 other than the Arch Physician and his Suffragan know 
 the Secret, the whole Society — the Fellows or Assistant 
 
THE SUPPER-BELL. 29 
 
 Physicilins — know in what strong place the Secret is kept 
 in writing, just as it was communicated by the Discoverer. 
 The Fellows of the College all assist in the production of 
 this precious liquid, which is made only in the House of 
 Life. But none of them know whether they are work- 
 ing for the great Arcanum itself, or on some of the many 
 experiments conducted for the Arch Physician. Even if 
 one guessed, he would not dare to communicate his sus- 
 picions even to a Brother-Fellow, being forbidden, under 
 the most awful of all penalties, that of Death itself, to 
 divulge the experiments and processes that he is ordered 
 to carry out. 
 
 It is needless to say that if we are proud of the PIouse, 
 we are equally proud of the City. There was formerly 
 an old Canterbury, of which pictures exist in the Library. 
 The streets of that town were narrow and winding; the 
 houses were irregular in height, size, and style. There 
 were close courts, not six feet broad, in which no air could 
 circulate, and where fevers and other disorders were bred. 
 Some houses, again, stood in stately gardens, while others 
 had none at all ; and the owners of the gardens kept them 
 closed. But we can easily understand what might have 
 happened when private property was recognized, and laws 
 protected the so-called rights of owners. Now that there 
 is no property, there are no laws. There are also no 
 crimes, because there is no incentive to jealousy, rapine, 
 or double-dealing. Where there is no crime, there is that 
 condition of Linocence which our ancestors so eagerly 
 desired, and sought by means which were perfectly certain 
 to fail. 
 
 How different is the Canterbury of the present ! First, 
 like all modern towns, it is limited in size; there are in it 
 twenty-four thousand inhabitants, neither more nor less. 
 Bound its great central Square or Garden are the public 
 
30 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 buildings. The streets, which branch off at right angles, 
 are all of the same width, the same length, and the same 
 appearance. They are planted with trees. The houses 
 are built of red brick, each house containing four rooms 
 on the ground-floor — namely, two on either side the door 
 — and four on the first floor, with a bath-room. The 
 rooms are vaulted with brick, so that there is no fear of 
 fire. Every room has its own occupant ; and as all the 
 rooms are of the same size, and are all furnished in the 
 same way, with the same regard to comfort and warmth, 
 there is really no ground for complaint or jealousies. 
 The occupants also, Avho have the same meals in the same 
 Hall every day, cannot complain of inequalities, any more 
 than they can accuse each other of gluttonous living. In 
 the matter of clothes, again, it was at first expected that 
 the grave difficulties with the women as to uniformity of 
 fashion and of material would continue to trouble us; 
 but with the decay of those emotions which formerly 
 caused so much trouble — since the men have ceased to 
 court the women, and the women have ceased to de- 
 sire men's admiration — there has been no opposition. 
 All of them now are clad alike ; gray is found the most 
 convenient color, soft beige the most convenient mate- 
 rial. 
 
 The same beautiful equality rules the hours and meth- 
 ods of work. Five hours a day are found ample, and 
 everybody takes his time at every kind of work, the men's 
 work being kept separate from that given to the women. 
 I confess that the work is not performed with as much 
 zeal as one could wish ; but think of the old times, when 
 one had to work eight, ten, and even eighteen hours a day 
 in order to earn a poor and miserable subsistence ! What 
 zeal could they have put into their work? How different 
 is this glorious equality in all things from the ancient 
 
THE SUPPEK-BELL. 31 
 
 anomalies and injustices of class and rank, wealth and 
 poverty ! Why, formerly, the chief pursuit of man was 
 the pursuit of money. And now there is no money at 
 all, and our wealth lies in our barns and garners. 
 
 1 must be forgiven if I dwell upon these contrasts. 
 The history which has to be told— how an attempt was 
 actually made to destroy this Eden, and to substitute in 
 its place the old condition of things— fills me with such 
 indignation that I am constrained to speak. 
 
 Consider, for one other thing, the former condition of 
 the world. It was tilled with diseases. People were not 
 in any way protected. They were allowed to live as they 
 pleased. Consequently, they all committed excesses and 
 all contracted disease. Some drank too much, some ate 
 too much, some took no exercise, some took too little, 
 some lay in bed too long, some went to bed too late, 
 some suffered themselves to fall into violent rages, into 
 remorse, into despair ; some loved inordinately ; thou- 
 sands worked too hard. All ran after Jack-o'-Lanterns 
 continually ; for, before one there was dangled the hope 
 of promotion, before another that of glory, before an- 
 other that of distinction, fame, or praise ; before another 
 that of wealth, before another the chance of retiring to 
 rest and meditate during the brief remainder of his life 
 —miserably short even in its whole length. Then dis- 
 eases fell upon them, and they died. 
 
 AVe have now prevented all new diseases, though we 
 cannot wholly cure those which have so long existed. 
 Rheumatism, gout, fevers, arise no more, though of gout 
 and other maladies there are hereditary cases. And since 
 there are no longer any old men among us, there are none 
 of the maladies to which old age is liable. No more pain, 
 no more suffering, no more anxiety, no more Death (ex- 
 cept by accident) in the world. Yet some of them would 
 
32 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 return to the old miseries; and for what? — for what? 
 You shall hear. 
 
 "When the Chimes began, the people turned their faces 
 with one consent towards the Public Hall, and a smile of 
 satisfaction spread over all their faces. They were going 
 to Supper — the principal event of the day. At the same 
 moment a Procession issued from the iron gates of the 
 College. First marched our Warder, or Porter, John Lax, 
 bearing a halberd ; next came an Assistant, carrying a 
 cushion, on which were the Keys of Gold, symbolical of 
 the Gate of Life ; then came another, bearing our ban- 
 ner, with the Labarum or symbol of Life : the Assistants 
 followed, in ancient garb of cap and gown ; then came 
 the twelve Fellows or Physicians of the College, in scarlet 
 gowns and flat fur-lined caps ; after them, I myself — 
 Samuel Grout, M.D., Suffragan — followed. Last, there 
 marched the first Person in the Realm — none other than 
 the Arch Physician Himself, Dr. Henry Linister, in lawn 
 sleeves, a black silk gown, and a scarlet hood. Four Bea- 
 dles closed the Procession ; for, with us, the only devi- 
 ation from equality absolute is made in the case of the 
 College. We are a Caste apart ; we keep mankind alive 
 and free from pain. This is our work ; this occupies all 
 our thoughts. We are, therefore, held in honor, and ex- 
 cused the ordinary work which the others must daily per- 
 form. And behold the difference between ancient and 
 modern times! For, formerly, those who were held in 
 honor and had high office in this always sacred House 
 were aged and white-haired men who arrived at this dis- 
 tinction but a year or two before they had to die. But 
 we of the Holy College are as stalwart, as strong, and as 
 young as any man in the Hall. And so have we been 
 for hundreds of years, and so we mean to continue. 
 
THE SDPPER-BELL. 33 
 
 In the Public Hall, we take our meals apart in our own 
 Hall; yet the food is the same for all. Life is the com- 
 mon possession ; it is maintained for all by the same 
 process — here must be no difference. Let all, therefore, 
 eat and drink alike. 
 
 When I consider, I repeat, the universal happiness, I am 
 carried away, first, with a burning indignation that any 
 should be so mad as to mar this happiness. They have 
 failed ; but they cost us, as you shall hear, much trouble, 
 and caused the lamentable death of a most zealous and 
 able officer. 
 
 Among the last to enter the gates were the girl Chris- 
 tine and her grandfather, who walked slowly, coughing 
 all the way. 
 
 " Come, grandad," she said, as we passed her, " take 
 my arm. You will be better after your dinner. Lean on 
 me." 
 
 There was in her face so remarkable a light that I won- 
 der now that no suspicion or distrust possessed us. I call 
 it light, for I can compare it to nothing else. The easy, 
 comfortable life our people led, and the absence of all ex- 
 citing work, the decay of reading, and the abandonment 
 of art, had left their faces placid to look upon, but dull. 
 They were certainly dull. They moved heavily ; if they 
 lifted their eyes, they wanted the light that flashed from 
 Christine's. It was a childish face still — full of softness. 
 No one would ever believe that a creature so slight in 
 form, so gentle to look upon, whose eyes were so soft, 
 whose cheeks were like the untouched bloom of a ripe 
 peach, whose half-parted lips were so rosy, was already 
 harboring thoughts so abominable and already conceiving 
 an enterprise so wicked. 
 
 We do not suspect, in this our new World. As we have 
 no property to defend, no one is a thief ; as everybody 
 3 
 
34 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 has as much of everything as he wants, no one tries to get 
 more ; we fear not Death, and therefore need no rehgion ; 
 we have no private ambitions to gratify, and no private 
 ends to attain ; therefore we have long since ceased to 
 be suspicions. Least of all should we have been suspi- 
 cious of Christine. Why, but a year or two ago she was 
 a little newly born babe, whom the Holy College crowded 
 to see as a new thing. And yet, was it possible that one 
 so young should be so corrupt ? 
 
 " Suffragan," said the Arch Physician to me at supper, 
 " I begin to think that your Triumph of Science must be 
 reall}'^ complete." 
 
 " Why, Physician ?" 
 
 " Because, day after day, that child leads the old man 
 by the hand, places him in his seat, and ministers, after 
 the old, forgotten fashion, to his slightest wants, and no 
 one pays her the slightest heed." 
 
 "Why should they?" 
 
 " A child — a beautiful child ! A feeble old man ! One 
 who ministers to another. Suffragan, the Past is indeed 
 far, far away; but I knew not until now that it was so 
 utterly lost. Childhood and Age and the offices of Love ! 
 And these things are wholly unheeded. Grout, you are 
 indeed a great man !" 
 
 He spoke in the mocking tone which was usual with 
 him, so that we never knew exactly whether he was in 
 earnest or not ; but I think that on this occasion he was 
 in earnest. No one but a very great man — none smaller 
 than Samuel Grout — myself — could have accomplished 
 this miracle upon the minds of the People. They did not 
 minister one to the other. Why should they? Every- 
 body could eat his own ration without any help. Offices 
 of Love ? These to pass unheeded ? What did the Arch 
 Physician mean ? 
 
GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 35 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 
 
 It always pleases me, from my place at the College 
 table, which is raised two feet above the rest, to contem- 
 plate the multitude whom it is our duty and our pleasure 
 to keep in contentment and in health. It is a daily joy 
 to watch them flocking, as you have seen them flock, to 
 their meals. The heart glows to think of what we have 
 done. I see the faces of all light up with satisfaction at 
 the prospect of the food ; it is the only thing that moves 
 them. Yes, we have reduced life to its simplest form. 
 Here is true happiness. Nothing to hope, nothing to 
 fear — except accident ; a little work for the common pres- 
 ervation ; a body of wise men always devising measures 
 for the common good; food plentiful and varied; gar- 
 dens for Bepose and recreation, both summer and winter; 
 warmth, shelter, and the entire absence of all emotions. 
 "Why, the very faces of the People are growing all alike — 
 one face for the men, and another for the women ; per- 
 haps in the far-off future the face of the man will ap- 
 proach nearer and nearer to that of the woman, and so 
 all will be at last exactly alike, and the individual will 
 exist, indeed, no more. Then there will be, from first to 
 last, among the whole multitude neither distinction nor 
 difference. 
 
 It is a face which fills one with contentment, though 
 it will be many centuries before it approaches complete- 
 ness. It is a smootli face, there are no lines in it ; it is 
 a grave face, the lips seldom smile, and never laugh ; tlie 
 
36 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 eyes are heavy, and move slowly ; there has already been 
 achieved, though the change has been very gradual, the 
 complete banishment of that expression which has been 
 preserved in every one of the ancient portraits, which 
 may be usefully studied for purposes of contrast. What- 
 ever the emotion attempted to be portrayed, and even 
 when the face was supposed to be at rest, there was al- 
 ways behind, visible to the eye, an expression of anxiety 
 or eagerness. Some kind of pain always lies upon those 
 old faces, even upon the youngest. How could it be oth- 
 erwise ? On the morrow they would be dead. They had 
 to crowd into a few days whatever they could grasp of 
 life. 
 
 As I sit there and watch our People at dinner, I see 
 with satisfaction that the old pain has gone out of their 
 faces. They have lived so long that they have forgotten 
 Death. They live so easily that they are contented with 
 life : we have reduced existence to the simplest. They 
 eat and drink — it is their only pleasure ; they work — it 
 is a necessity for health and existence — but their work 
 takes them no longer than till noontide ; they lie in the 
 sun, they sit in the shade, they sleep. If they had once 
 any knowledge, it is now forgotten ; their old ambitions, 
 their old desires, all are forgotten. They sleep and eat, 
 they work and rest. To rest and to eat are pleasures 
 which they never desire to end. To live forever, to eat 
 and drink forever — this is now their only hope. And 
 this has been accomplished for them by the Holy College. 
 Science has justified herself — this is the outcome of man's 
 long search for generations into the secrets of Nature. 
 We, who have carried on this search, have at length suc- 
 ceeded in stripping humanity of all those things which 
 formerly made existence into-Ierable to him. He lives, he 
 eats, he sleeps. Perhaps — I know not, but of this we 
 
GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 37 
 
 sometimes talk in the College— I say, perhaps— we may 
 succeed in making some kind of artificial food, as we 
 compound the great Arcanum, with simple ingredients 
 and without labor. "We may also extend the duration 
 of sleep ; we may thus still further simplify existence. 
 Man in the end— as I propose to make and mould the 
 People— will sleep until Kature calls upon him to awake 
 and eat. lie will then eat, drink, and sleep again, while 
 the years roll by. He will lie heedless of all ; he will be 
 heedless of the seasons, heedless of the centuries. Time 
 will have no meaning for him— a breathing, living, inar- 
 ticulate mass will be all that is left of the active, eager, 
 chattering Man of the Past. 
 
 This may be done in the future, when yonder labora- 
 tory, which we call the House of Life, shall yield the 
 secrets of Nature deeper and deeper still. At present we 
 have arrived at this point— the chief pleasure of life is 
 to eat and to drink. We have taught the People so 
 much, of all the tastes which formerly gratified man this 
 alone remains. We provide them daily with a sufficiency 
 and variety of food ; there are so many kinds of food, 
 and the combinations are so endless, that practically the 
 choice of our cooks is unlimited. Good food, varied food, 
 well-cooked food, with drink also varied and pure, and 
 the best that can be made, make our public meals a daily 
 joy. We have learned to make all kinds of wine from 
 the grapes in our hot-houses. It is so abundant that ev- 
 ery day, all the year round, the People may call for a 
 ration of what they please. We make also beer of every 
 kind, cider, perry, and mead. The gratification of tlie 
 sense of taste hel])s to remove the incentive to restless- 
 ness or discontent. The minds of most are occupied by 
 no other thought than that of the last feast and the next ; 
 if tliey were to revolt, where would they find their next 
 
38 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 meal ? At the outset we had, I confess, grave difficulties. 
 There was not in existence any Holy College. We drifted 
 without object or purpose. For a long time the old am- 
 bitions remained ; the old passions were continued ; the old 
 ideas of private property prevailed ; the old inequalities 
 were kept up. Presently there arose from those who had 
 no property the demand for a more equal share. The cry 
 was fiercely resisted ; then there followed civil war for a 
 space, till both sides were horrified by the bloodshed that 
 followed. Time also was on the side of them who re- 
 belled. I was one, because at the time when the whole 
 nation was admitted to a participation in the great Ar- 
 canum, I was myself a young man of nineteen, employed 
 as a washer of bottles in Dr. Linister's laboratory, and 
 therefore, according to the ideas of the time, a very hum- 
 ble person. Time helped us in an unexpected way. Prop- 
 erty was in the hands of single individuals. Formerly 
 they died and were succeeded by their sons ; now the sons 
 grew tired of waiting. How much longer were their fa- 
 thers, who grew no older, to keep all the wealth to them- 
 selves? Therefore, the civil war having come to an end, 
 with no result except a barren peace, the revolutionary 
 party was presently joined by all but the holders of prop- 
 erty, and the State took over to itself the whole wealth 
 — that is to say, the whole land ; there is no other wealth. 
 Since that time there has been no private property ; for 
 since it was clearly unjust to take away from the father 
 in order to give it to the son, with no limitation as to the 
 time of enjoyment, everything followed the land — great 
 houses, which were allowed to fall into ruin ; pictures 
 and works of art, libraries, jewels, which are in Museums ; 
 and money, which, however, ceased to be of value as soon 
 as there was nothing which could be bought. 
 
 As for me, I was so fortunate as to perceive — Dr. Lin- 
 
GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 39 
 
 ister daily impressed it upon me — that of all occupations, 
 that of Physicist would very quickly become the most 
 important. I therefore remained in ray employment, 
 worked, read, experimented, and learned all that my mas- 
 ter had to teach me. The other professions, indeed, fell 
 into decay more speedily than some of us expected. There 
 could be" no more lawyers when there was no more prop- 
 erty. Even libel, which was formerly the cause of many 
 actions, became harmless when a man could not be in- 
 jured; and, besides, it is impossible to libel any man when 
 there are no longer any rules of conduct except the one 
 duty of work, which is done in the eyes of all and cannot 
 be shirked. And how could Keligion survive the remov- 
 al of Death to some possible remote future ? They tried, 
 it is true, to keep up the pretence of it, and many, espe- 
 cially women, clung to the old forms of faith for I know 
 not how long. With the great mass, religion ceased to have 
 any influence as soon as life was assured. As for Art, 
 Learning, Science — other than that of Physics, Biology, 
 and Medicine — all gradually decayed and died away. 
 And the old foolish pursuit of Literature, which once oc- 
 cupied so many, and was even held in a kind of honor — 
 the writing of histories, poems, dramas, novels, essays on 
 human life — this also decayed and died, because men 
 ceased to be anxious about their past or their future, and 
 were at last contented to dwell in the present. 
 
 Another and a most important change which may be 
 noted was the gradual decline and disappearance of the 
 passion called Love. This was once a curious and inex- 
 plicable yearning — so much is certain — of two young 
 people towards each other, so that they were never con- 
 tf3nt unless they were together, and longed to live apart 
 from the rest of the world, each trying to make the other 
 happier. At least, this is as I read history. Fur my own 
 
40 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 part, as I was constantly occupied with Science, I never 
 felt this passion ; or if I did, then I have quite forgotten 
 it. Now, at the outset people who were in love rejoiced 
 beyond measure that their happiness would last so long. 
 They began, so long as the words had any meaning, to call 
 each other Angels, Goddesses, Divinely Fair, possessed of 
 every perfect gift, with other extravagancies, at the mere 
 recollection of which we should now blush. Presently 
 they grew tired of each other ; they no longer lived apart 
 from the rest of the world. They separated ; or, if they 
 continued to walk together, it was from force of habit. 
 Some still continue thus to sit side by side. No new con- 
 nections were formed. People ceased desiring to make 
 others happy, because the State began to provide for every- 
 body's happiness. The whole essence of the old society 
 was a fight. Everybody fought for existence. Everybody 
 trampled on the weaker. If a man loved a woman, he 
 fought for her as well as for himself. Love? Why, 
 when the true principle of life is recognized — the right 
 of every individual to his or her share — and that an equal 
 share in everything — and when the continuance of life 
 is assured — what room is there for love? The very fact 
 of the public life — the constant companionship, the open 
 mingling of women with men, and this for year after year 
 — the same women with the same men — has destroyed the 
 mvstery which formerly hung about womanhood, and was 
 in itself the principal cause of love. 
 
 It is gone, therefore, and with it the most disturbing 
 element of life. Without love, without ambition, without 
 suffering, without religion, without quarrelling, without 
 private rights, without rank or class, life is calm, gentle, 
 undisturbed. Therefore, they all sit down to dinner iu 
 peace and contentment, every man's mind intent upon 
 nothing but the bill of fare. 
 
GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 41 
 
 This evening, directed by the observation of the Arch 
 Physician, I turned my eyes ujdou the girl Christine, who 
 sat beside her grandfather. I observed, first — but the 
 fact inspired me with no suspicion — that she was no long- 
 er a child, but a woman grown ; and I began to wonder 
 when she would come with the rest for the Arcanum. 
 Most women, when births were common among us, used 
 to come at about five-and-twenty ; that is to say, in the 
 first year or two of full womanhood, before their worst 
 enemies — where there were two women, in the old days, 
 there were two enemies — could say that they had begun 
 to fall off. If you look round our table, you will see very 
 few women older than twenty-four, and very few men 
 older than thirty. There were many women at this ta- 
 ble who might, perhaps, have been called beautiful in the 
 old times ; though now the men had ceased to think of 
 beauty, and the women had ceased to desire admiration. 
 Yet, if regular features, large eyes, small mou'ths, a great 
 quantity of hair, and a rounded figure are beautiful, then 
 there were many at the table who might have been called 
 beautiful. But the girl Christine — I observed the fact 
 with scientific interest — was so different from the other 
 women that she seemed another kind of creature. 
 
 Her eyes were soft ; there is no scientific terra to express 
 this softness of youth — one observes it especially in the 
 young of the cervus kind. There was also a curious soft- 
 ness on her cheek, as if something would be rubbed away 
 if one touched it. And her voice differed from that of 
 her elder sisters; it was curiously gentle, and full of that 
 quality which may be remarked in the wood-dove when 
 she pairs in spring. They used to call it tenderness ; but, 
 since the thing itself disappeared, the w^ord has naturally 
 fallen out of use. 
 
 Now, I might have observed with suspicion, whereas I 
 
THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 only remarked it as something strange, that the company 
 among which Christine and the old man sat were curious- 
 ly stirred and uneasy. They were disturbed out of their 
 habitual tranquillity because the girl was discoursing to 
 them. She was telling them what she had learned about 
 the Past. 
 
 " Oh," I heard her say, " it]was a beautiful time ! Why 
 did the}" ever suffer it to perisli ? Do you mean that you 
 actually remember nothing of it V 
 They looked at each other sheepishly. 
 " There were soldiers — men were soldiers ; they went 
 out to light, with bands of music and the shouts of the 
 people. There were whole armies of soldiers — thousands 
 of them. They dressed in beautiful glittering clothes. 
 Do you forget that ?"" 
 
 One of the men murnmred, hazily, that there ^oere sol- 
 diers. 
 
 " And there were sailors, who went upon the sea in 
 great ships. Jack Carera" — she turned to one of them 
 — "you are a sailor, too. You ought to remember.'" 
 
 " 1 remember the sailors very well indeed," said this 
 young man, readily. 
 
 I always had my doubts about the wisdom of admitting 
 our sailors among the People. We have a few ships for 
 the carriage of those things which as yet we have not suc- 
 ceeded in growing for ourselves ; these are manned by a 
 few hundred sailors who long ago volunteered, and have 
 gone on ever since. They are a brave race, ready to face 
 the most terrible dangers of tempest and shipwreck ; but 
 they are also a dangerous, restless, talkative, questioning 
 tribe. They have, in fact, preserved almost as much inde- 
 pendence as the College itself. They are now confined 
 to their own port of Sheerness. 
 
 Then the girl began to tell some pestilent story of love 
 
GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 43 
 
 and shipwreck and rescue ; and at hearing it some of 
 them looked puzzled and some pained ; but the sailor lis- 
 tened with all his ears. 
 
 " Where did you get that from, Christine?" 
 
 " Where I get everything — from the old Library. Come 
 and read it in the book. Jack." 
 
 " I am not much hand at reading. But some day, per- 
 haps after next voyage, Christine." 
 
 The girl poured out a glass of claret for the old man. 
 Then she went on telling them stories; but most of her 
 neighbors^ seemed neither to hear nor to comprehend. 
 Only the sailor-man listened and nodded. Then she 
 laughed out loud. 
 
 At this sound, so strange, so unexpected, everybody 
 within hearing jumped. Her table was in the Hall next 
 to our own, so that we heard the laugh quite plainly. 
 
 The Arch Physician looked round approvingly. 
 
 " How many years since we heard a good, honest young 
 laugh. Suffragan? Give us more children, and soften our 
 hearts for us. But, no; the heart you want is the hard, 
 crusted, selfish heart. See ! No one asks why she laugh- 
 ed. They are all eating again now, just as if nothing had 
 happened. Happy, enviable People!" 
 
 Presently he turned to me and remarked, in his lofty 
 manner, as if he was above all the world, 
 
 " You cannot explain, Suffragan, why, at an unexpect- 
 ed touch, a sound, a voice, a trifle, the memory may be 
 suddenly awakened to things long, long past and forgot- 
 ten. Do you know what that laugh caused me to re- 
 member ? I cannot explain why, nor can you. It recalled 
 the evening of the Great Discovery — not the Discovery 
 itself, but quite another thing. I went there more to 
 meet a girl than to hear what the German had to say. 
 As to that I expected very little. To meet that girl 
 
44 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 seemed of far more importance. I meant to make love 
 to her — love, Suffragan — a thing which you can never 
 understand — real, genuine love ! I meant to marry her. 
 Well, I did meet her ; and I arranged for a convenient 
 place where we could meet again after the Lecture. Then 
 came the Discovery ; and I was carried away, body and 
 soul, and forgot the girl and love and everything in the 
 stupefaction of this most wonderful Discovery, of which 
 we have made, between us, such admirable use." 
 
 You never knew whether the Arch Physician was in 
 earnest or not. Truly, we had made a most beautiful use 
 of the Discovery ; but it was not in the way that Dr. Lin- 
 ister would have chosen. 
 
 " All this remembered just because a girl laughed ! Suf- 
 fragan, Science cannot explain all." 
 
 I shall never pretend to deny that Dr. Linister's powers 
 as a physicist were of the first order, nor that his Discov- 
 eries warranted his election to the Headship of the Col- 
 lege. Yet, something was due, perhaps, to his tall and 
 commanding figure, and to the look of authority which 
 reigned naturally on his face, and to the way in which he 
 always stepped into the first rank. He was always the 
 Chief, long before the College of Physicians assumed the 
 whole authority, in everything that he joined. He op- 
 posed the extinction of property, and would have had 
 everybody win what he could, and keep it as long as he 
 would ; he opposed the Massacre of the Old ; he was op- 
 posed, in short, to the majority of the College. Yet he 
 was our Chief. His voice was clear, and what he said al- 
 ways produced its effect, though it did not upset my solid 
 majority, or thwart the Grand Advance of the Triumph 
 of Science. As for me, my position has been won by 
 sheer work and merit. My figure is not commanding ; I 
 am short-sighted and dark-visaged ; ray voice is rough ; 
 
GROUT, SUFFRAGAN. 45 
 
 and as for manners, I have nothing to do with them. But 
 in Science there is but one second to Linister — and that is 
 Grout. 
 
 When the supper came to an end, we rose and marclied 
 back to the College in the same state and order with 
 which we had arrived. As for the people, some of them 
 went out into the Garden ; some remained in the Hall. It 
 was then nine o'clock, and twilight. Some went straight 
 to their own rooms, where they would smoke tobacco — an 
 old habit allowed by the College on account of its sooth- 
 ing and sedative influence — before going to bed. By ten 
 o'clock everybody would be in bed and asleep. What 
 more beautiful proof of the advance of Science than the 
 fact that the whole of the twenty-four thousand people who 
 formed the population of Canterbury dropped off to sleep 
 the moment they laid their heads upon the pillow ? This 
 it is to have learned the proper quantities and kinds of 
 food ; the proper amount of bodily exercise and work ; 
 and the complete subjugation of all the ancient forces of 
 unrest and disquiet. To be sure, we were all, with one 
 or two exceptions, in the very prime and flower of early 
 manhood and womanhood. It would be hard, indeed, if 
 a young man of thirty should not sleep well. 
 
 I was presently joined in the garden of the College by 
 the Arch Physician. 
 
 " Grout," he said, " let us sit and talk. My mind is 
 disturbed. It is always disturbed when the memory of 
 the Past is forced upon me." 
 
 " The Evil Past," I said. 
 
 " If you please — the Evil Past. The question is, wheth- 
 er it was not infinitely more tolerable for mankind than 
 the Evil Present ?" 
 
 We argued out the point ; but it was one on which we 
 could never agree, for he remained saturated with the 
 
46 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 old ideas of private property and individualism. He 
 maintained that there are no Eights of Man at all, except 
 his Right to what he can get and what he can keep. He 
 even went so far as to say that the true use of the Great 
 Discovery should have been to cause the incompetent, the 
 idle, the hereditarily corrupt, and the vicious to die pain- 
 lessly. 
 
 "As to those who were left," he said, "I would have 
 taught them the selfishness of staying too long. When 
 they had taken time for work and play and society and 
 love, they should have been exhorted to go away of their 
 own accord, and to make room for their children. Then 
 we should have had always the due succession of father 
 and son, mother and daughter ; always age and manhood 
 and childhood ; and always the world advancing by the 
 efforts of those who would have time to work for an ap- 
 preciable period. Instead, we have" — he waved his hand. 
 
 I was going to reply, when suddenly a voice light, clear, 
 and sweet broke upon our astonished ears. 'Twas the 
 voice of a woman, and she was singing. At first I hardly 
 listened, because I knew that it could be none other than 
 the child Christine, whom, indeed, I had often heard sing- 
 ing. It is natural, I believe, for children to sing. But 
 the Arch Physician listened, first with wonder, and then 
 with every sign of amazement. How could he be con- 
 cerned by the voice of a child singing silly verses ? Then 
 I heard the last lines of her song, which she sang, I admit, 
 with great vigor : 
 
 " Oh, Love is worth the whole broad earth ; 
 Oh, Love is worth the whole broad earth; 
 Give that, you give us all !" 
 
 "Grout," cried the Arch Physician, in tones of the 
 deepest agitation, " I choke — I am stifled. Listen ! They 
 
CniilSTINE AT HOME. 47 
 
 are words that I wrote — I nijsclf wrote — with my own 
 hand — long, long ago in the Past. I wrote them for a 
 girl — the girl I told you of at dinner. I loved her. 1 
 thought never again to feel as I felt then. Yet the mem- 
 ory of that feeling has come back to me. Is it possible ? 
 Can some things never die? Can we administer no drug 
 that will destroy memory ? For the earth reeled beneath 
 my feet again, and my senses reeled, and I would once 
 more — yes, I would once more have given all the world — 
 yes, life — even life — only to call that woman mine for a 
 year — a month — a day — an hour !" 
 
 The Arch Phj^sieian made this astonishing confession 
 in a broken and agitated voice. Then he rushed away, 
 and left me alone in the summer-house. 
 
 The singer could certainly have been none other than 
 the girl Cliristinc. How should she get hold of Dr. Liu- 
 ister's love-song ? Strange ! She had disturbed our peace 
 at supper by langhing, and she had agitated the Arch 
 Physician himself to such a degree as I should have be- 
 lieved impossible by singing a foolish old song. When I 
 went to bed there came into my mind some of the old idle 
 talk about witches, and 1 even dreamed that we were burn- 
 ing a witch who was filling our minds with disturbing 
 thoughts. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHRISTINE AT HOME. 
 
 When the girl Christine walked through the loitering 
 crowd outside the Hall, some of the people looked after 
 her with wondering eyes. 
 
 " Strange !" said a woman. " She laughed ! She laugh- 
 ed!" 
 
48 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " A}'-," said another, " we have forgotten how to laugh. 
 But we used to laugh before" — she broke oS with a sigh. 
 
 " And she sings," said a third. " I have heard her sing 
 like a lark in the Museum." 
 
 " Once," said the first woman, " we used to sing as well 
 as laugh. I remember, we used to sing. She makes us 
 remember the old days." 
 
 " The bad old days " — it was one of the Assistant Phy- 
 sicians who admonished her — "the times when nothing 
 was certain, not even life, from day to day. It should 
 bring you increased happiness to think sometimes of those 
 old times." 
 
 The first woman who had spoken was one whom men 
 would have called beautiful in those old times, when their 
 heads were turned by such a thing as a woman's face. She 
 was pale of cheek and had black eyes, which, in those days 
 of passion and jealousy, might have flashed like lightning. 
 Now they were dull. She was shapely of limb and figure 
 too, with an ample cheek and a full mouth. Formerly, 
 in the days of love and rage, those limbs would have been 
 lithe and active ; now they were heavy and slow. Heavi- 
 ness of movement and of eyes sensibly grows upon our 
 people. I welcome every indication of advance towards 
 the Perfect Type of Humanity which will do nothing but 
 lie down, breathe, eat, and sleep. 
 
 "Yes," she replied with a deep sigh. "Nothing was 
 certain. The bad old times, when people died. But there 
 was love, and we danced and sung and laughed." She 
 sighed again, and walked away alone, slowly, hanging her 
 head. 
 
 The girl passed through them, leading the old man by 
 the hand. 
 
 I know very well, now, that we ought to have been sus- 
 picious. What meant the gleam and sparkle of her eyes, 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 49 
 
 when all other eyes were dull ? What meant the partin<^ 
 of her lips and the smile which always lay upon them, 
 when no one else smiled at all? Why did she carry her 
 head erect, when the rest walked with hanging heads? 
 Why, again, did she sing, when no one else sang ? Why 
 did she move as if her limbs were on springs, when all 
 the rest went slowly and heavily? These signs meant 
 mischief. I took them for the natural accompaniments 
 of youth. They meant more than youth: they meant 
 dangerous curiosity; they meant — presently — Purpose. 
 How should one of the People dare to have a Purpose 
 unknown to the Sacred College ? You shall hear. 
 
 All that followed was, in fact, due to our own blindness. 
 We should long before have shut up every avenue which 
 might lead the curious to the study of the Past ; we should 
 have closed the Museum and the Library altogether. We 
 did not, because we lived in the supposition that the more 
 the old times were investigated, the more the people would 
 be satisfied with the Present. When, indeed, one looks 
 at the pictures of battle, murder, cruelty, and all kinds of 
 passion ; when one reads the old books, full of foolishness 
 which can only be excused on the plea of a life too short 
 to have a right comprehension of anything, it is amazing 
 that the scene does not strike the observer with a kind of 
 horror. When, which is seldom, I carry my own memory 
 back to the old times and see myself before I went to the 
 Laboratory, boy-of-all-woik to a Brewery, ordered here and 
 there, working all day long with no other prospect than to 
 be a servant for a short span of life and then to die; when 
 I remember the people among whom I lived, poor, starv- 
 ing, dependent from day to day on the chance of work, 
 or, at best, from week to week ; when I think of the mis- 
 ery from which these poor people have been rescued, I 
 cannot find within me a spark of sympathy for the mis- 
 4 
 
50 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 guided wretches who vohintarily exchanged their cahn and 
 happy Present for the tumult and anxiety of the Past. 
 However, we are not all reasonable, as 3'ou shall hear. 
 
 It was already twilight outside, and in the Museum 
 there was only light enough to see that a few persons 
 were assembled in the Great Hall. Christine placed her 
 grandfather in a high-backed wooden chair, in which he 
 spent most of his time, clutching at the arms and fighting 
 with his asthma. Then she turned up the electric light. 
 It showed a large, rather lofty room, oblong in shape. Old 
 arms were arranged round the walls ; great glass - cases 
 stood about, filled with a collection of all kinds of things 
 preserved from the old times. There were illustrations of 
 their arts, now entirely useless : such as the jewels they 
 wore, set in bracelets and necklaces ; their gloves, fans, 
 rings, umbrellas, pictures, and statuary. Then there were 
 cases tilled with the old implements of writing — paper, ink- 
 stands, pens, and so forth — the people have long since left 
 off writing; there were boxes full of coins with which 
 they bought things, and for which they sold their freedom ; 
 there were things with which they played games — many 
 of them dangerous ones — and whiled away the tedium of 
 their short lives : there were models of the ships in which 
 they went to sea, also models of all kinds of engines and 
 machines which slaves — they were nearly all slaves — made 
 for the purpose of getting more money for their masters ; 
 there were also crowns, coronets, and mitres, which former- 
 ly belonged to people who possessed what they called rank ; 
 there were the praying-books which were formerly used 
 every day in great buildings like the House of Life ; 
 there were specimens of legal documents on parchment, 
 by the drawing up of which, when law existed, a great 
 many people procured a contemptible existence ; there 
 were also models, with figures of the people in them, of 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 51 
 
 Parliament Houses, Churches, and Courts of Justice; 
 there were life-size models of soldiers in uniform, when 
 men were of understanding so contemptible as to be 
 tempted to risk life— even life — in exchange for a o'old- 
 laced coat! But then our ancestors were indescribably 
 
 fooh'sli. There were musical instruments of all kinds I 
 
 have always been glad that music fell so soon into disuse. 
 It is impossible to cultivate contentment while music is 
 practised. Besides the ordinary M'eapons — sword, pike, 
 and javelin— there were all kinds of horrible inventions, 
 such as vast cannons, torpedo boats, dynamite shells, and so 
 forth, for the destruction of towns, ships, and armor. It 
 is a great and splendid Collection, but it ought to have 
 been long, long before transferred to the custody of the 
 Holy College. 
 
 The girl looked inquiringly at her visitors, counting 
 them all. There were ten— namely, five men and five 
 women. Like all the people, they were young — the men 
 about thirty, the women about twenty-two or twenty-three. 
 The men were dressed in their blue flannels, with a flat 
 cap of the same material ; the women in their erav beio-e 
 short frock, the flat gray cap under which their hair was 
 gatliered, gray stockings, and heavy shoes. The dress was, 
 in fact, invented by myself for both sexes. It has many 
 advantages. First, there is always plenty of the stuff to 
 be had ; next, both flannel and beige are soft, M-arm, and 
 healthy textures— with such a dress there is no possibility 
 of distinction or of superiority ; and, lastly, with such a 
 dress the women have lost all power of setting forth their 
 attractions so as to charm the men with new fashions, 
 crafty subtleties of dress, provocations of the troublesome 
 passion of love in the shape of jewels, ribbons, gloves, and 
 the like. No one wears gloves : all the women's hands 
 are hard; and although they are still young and their 
 
52 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 faces are unchanged, their eyes are dull and hard. I am 
 pleased to think that there is no more foolishness of love 
 among us. 
 
 The people were standing or sitting about, not together, 
 but separately — each by himself or herself. This ten- 
 dency to solitary habits is a most healthy indication of 
 the advance of humanity. Self-preservation is the first 
 Law — separate and solitary existence is the last condition 
 — of mankind. They were silent and regardless of each 
 other. Their attitude showed the listlessness of their 
 minds. 
 
 " I am glad you are here," said Christine. " You prom- 
 ised you would not fail me. And yet, though you prom- 
 ised, I feared that at the last moment you might change 
 your mind. I was afraid that you would rather not be 
 disturbed in the even current of your thoughts." 
 
 " Why disturb our minds T asked one, a woman. " We 
 were at peace before you began to talk of the Past. We 
 had almost forgotten it. And it is so long ago " — her 
 voice sank to a murmur — " so long ago." 
 
 They all echoed, 
 
 " It is so long ago — so long ago !" 
 
 "Oh," cried the girl, "you call this to be at peace! 
 Why, if you were so many stones in the garden you could 
 not be more truly at peace. To work, to rest, to eat, 
 to sleep — you call that Life ! And yet you can remem- 
 ber — if you please — the time when you were full of activ- 
 ity and hope." 
 
 " If to remember is to regret, why should we invite the 
 pain of regret ? We cannot have the old life except with 
 the old conditions ; the short life and the — " 
 
 "If I could remember — if I had ever belonged to the 
 Past," the girl interrupted, quickly ; " oh, I would re- 
 member every moment — I would live every day of the 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 63 
 
 old life over and over again. But I can do nothing — 
 nothing — but read of the splendid Past and look forward 
 to such a future as your own. Alas ! why was I born at 
 all, since I was born into such a world as this ? Why was 
 I called into existence wlicn all the things of which I 
 read every day have passed away ? And what remains in 
 their place ?" 
 
 " We have Life," said one of the men, but not confi- 
 dently. 
 
 " Life ! Yes— and what a life ! Oh, what a life ! Well, 
 we waste time. Listen now — and if you can, for once for- 
 get the present and recall the past. Do not stay to think 
 how great a gulf lies between ; do not count the years — 
 indeed, you cannot. Whether they are one hundred or 
 live hundred they do not know, even at the Holy College 
 itself. I am sure it will make you happier — 'twill console 
 and comfort you — in this our life of desperate monotony, 
 only to remember — to recall — how you used to live." 
 
 They answered with a look of blank bewilderment. 
 
 " It is so long ago — so long ago," said one of them 
 again. 
 
 " Look around you. Here are all the things that used 
 to be your own. Let them help you to remember. Here 
 are the arms that the men carried when they went out to 
 fight ; here are the jewels that the women wore. Think 
 of your dress in the days when you were allowed to dress, 
 and we did not all wear frocks of gray beige, as if all 
 women were exactly alike. Will that not help ?" 
 
 They looked about them helplessly. No, they did not 
 yet remember; their dull eyes were filled with a kind of 
 anxious wonder, as might be seen in one rudely awakened 
 out of sleep. They looked at the things in the great room, 
 but that seemed to bring nothing back to their minds. 
 The Present was round them like a net which thev 
 
54 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 could neither cut through nor see through; it was a veil 
 around them through which they could not pass. It had 
 been so long with them ; it was so unchanging ; for so 
 long they had had nothing to expect ; for so long, there- 
 fore, they had not cared to look back. The Holy College 
 had produced, in fact, what it had proposed and designed. 
 The minds of the people had become quiescent. And to 
 think that so beautiful a state of things should be de- 
 stroyed by a girl — the only child in the Community ! 
 
 " Will it help," said the girl, " if we turn down the 
 light a little ? So. Now we are almost in darkness, but 
 for the moonlight through the window. In the old times, 
 when you were children, I have read that you loved to sit 
 too-ether and to tell stories. Let us tell each other stories." 
 
 Nobody replied ; but the young man called Jack took 
 Christine's hand and held it. 
 
 " Let us try," said the girl again. " I will tell you a 
 story. Long ago there were people called gentlefolk. 
 Grandad here was a gentleman. I have read about them 
 in the old books. I wonder if any of you remember 
 those people. They were exempt from work ; the lower 
 sort worked for them ; they led a life of ease ; they made 
 their own work for themselves. Some of the men fought 
 for their country — it was in the old time, you know, when 
 men still fought; some worked for their country; some 
 worked for the welfare of those who worked for bread ; 
 some only amused themselves ; some were profligates, and 
 did wicked things — " 
 
 She paused — no one responded. 
 
 "The women had no work to do at all. They onlj'^ 
 occupied themselves in making everybody happy; they 
 were treated with the greatest respect ; they were not 
 allowed to do anything at all that could be done for them ; 
 they played and sang ; they painted and embroidered ; 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 55 
 
 they knew foreign languages ; they constantly inspired 
 the men to do great things, even if they should be killed." 
 
 Here all shuddered and trembled. Christine made 
 haste to change the subject. 
 
 "They wore beautiful dresses— think — dresses of silk 
 and satin, embroidered with gold, trimmed with lace; 
 they had necklaces, bracelets, and rings ; their hands were 
 white, and they wore long gloves to their elbows ; they 
 dressed their hair as they pleased. Some wore it long, 
 like this." She pulled off her flat cap, and threw back 
 her long tresses, and quickly turned up the light. She 
 was transformed ! The women started and gasped. " Take 
 off your caps I" she ordered. They obeyed, and at sight 
 of the flowing locks that fell upon their shoulders, curling, 
 rippling, flowing, their eyes brightened, but only for a 
 moment. 
 
 " Yes," said the girl, " they wore their beautiful hair as 
 they pleased. Oh !" — she gathered in her hands the flow- 
 ing tresses of one — "you have such long and beautiful 
 hair ! It is a shame — it is a shame to hide it. Think of 
 the lovely dresses to match this beauty of the hair !" 
 
 "Oh," cried the women, "we remember the dresses. 
 We remember them now. Why make us remember 
 them ? It is so long ago — so long ago — and we can never 
 wear them any more." 
 
 "Nay; but you have the same beauty," said Christine. 
 " That at least remains. You have preserved your youth 
 and your beauty." 
 
 " Of what good are our faces to us," said another wom- 
 an, " with such a dress as this i Men no longer look upon 
 our beauty." 
 
 "Let us be," said the woman who had spoken first. 
 "There can be no change for us. Why disturb our 
 minds? The Present is horrible. But we have ceased 
 
56 THE INNER HOUSE, 
 
 to care much for anything : we do our day's work every 
 day — all the same hours of work ; we wear the same 
 dress — to every woman the same dress ; we eat and drink 
 the same food — to every one the same ; we are happy be- 
 cause we have got all we can get, and we expect no 
 more; we never talk — why should we talk? When you 
 laughed to-day it was like an earthquake." Her words 
 were strong, but her manner of speech was a monotone. 
 This way of speaking grows upon us ; it is the easiest. I 
 watch the indications with interest. From rapid talk to 
 slow talk ; from animated talk to monotony ; the next 
 step will be to silence absolute. " There is no change for 
 us," she repeated, " neither in summer nor in winter. We 
 have preserved our youth, but we have lost all the things 
 which the youthful used to desire. We thought to pre- 
 serve our beauty ; what is the good of beauty with such 
 a dress and such a life? Why should we make ourselves 
 miserable in remembering any of the things we used to 
 desire ?" 
 
 " Oh," cried the girl, clasping her hands, " to me there 
 is no pleasure possible but in learning all about the 
 Past. I read the old books, I look at the old pictures, I 
 play the old music, I sing the old songs ; but it is not 
 enough. I know how you were dressed — not all alike in 
 gray beige frocks, but in lovely silk and beautiful embroi- 
 dered stuffs. I will show you presently how you dressed. 
 I know how you danced and played games and acted 
 most beautiful plays, and I have read stories about you ; 
 I know that you were always dissatisfied, and wanting 
 something or other. The stories are full of discontent ; 
 nobody ever sits down satisfied except one pair. There 
 is always one pair, and they fall in Love — in Love," she 
 repeated. "What is that, I wonder?" Then she went 
 on again : " They only want one thing then, and the 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 57 
 
 story-books are all about how they got it after wonderful 
 adventures. There are tio adventures now. The books 
 tell us all this, but I want more. I want to know 
 more : I want to see the old stories with my own eyes ; I 
 want to see you in your old dresses, talking ii> your own 
 old way. The books cannot tell me how you talked and 
 how you looked. I am sure it was not as you talk now — 
 because you never talk." 
 
 "There is no reason why we should talk. All the old 
 desires have ceased to be. We no longer want anything 
 or expect anything." 
 
 " Come. I shall do my best to bring the Past back to 
 you. First, I have learned who you were. That is why 
 I have called you together. In the old times you all be- 
 longed to gentlefolk." 
 
 This announcement produced no effect at all. They 
 listened with lack-lustre looks. They had entirely for- 
 gotten that there were ever such distinctions as gentle 
 and simple. 
 
 "You will remember presently," said Christine, not 
 discouraged. " I have found out in the ancient Rolls 
 your names and your families." 
 
 " Names and families," said one of the men, "are gone 
 long ago. Christine, what is the good of reviving the 
 memory of things that can never be restored ?" 
 
 But the man named Jack Carera, the sailor of whom I 
 have already spoken, stepped forward. I have said that 
 the sailors were a dangerous class, on account of their in- 
 dependence and their good meaning. 
 
 "Tell us," he said, "about our families. Why, I, for 
 one, have never forgotten that I was once a gentleman. 
 It is hard to tell now, because they have made us all 
 alike; but for many, many years — I know not how many 
 — we who had been gentlemen consorted together." 
 
58 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 "You shall again," said Christiue, "if jou please. Lis- 
 ten, then. First, my grandfather. He was called Sir 
 Arthur Farrance, and he was called a Baronet. To be a 
 Baronet was, in those days, something greatly desired by 
 many people. A man, in the old books, was said to enjoy 
 the title of Baronet. But I know not why one man was 
 so raised above another." 
 
 " Heugh ! Heugh ! Heugh !" coughed the old man. " I 
 remember that. Why, what is there to remember except 
 the old times ? I was a Baronet — the fifth Baronet. My 
 country place was in Sussex, and my town address was 
 White's and the Travellers'." 
 
 " Yes," Christine nodded. " My grandfather's memory 
 is tenacious ; he forgets nothing of the things that hap- 
 pened when he was young. I have learned a great deal 
 from him. He seems to have known all your grandmoth- 
 ers, for instance, and speaks of them as if he had loved 
 them all." 
 
 "I did — I did," said the old man. "I loved them 
 every one." 
 
 The girl turned to the women before her — the dull- 
 eyed, heavy-headed women, all in the gray dresses exactly 
 alike ; but their gray flat caps had been thrown off, and 
 they looked disturbed, moved out of the common languor. 
 
 " Now I will tell you who you were formerly. You " 
 — she pointed to the nearest — " were the Lady Mildred 
 Carera, only daughter of the Earl of Thordisa. Y^our 
 father and mother survived the Discovery, but were killed 
 in the Great Massacre Y^ear, when nearly all the old were 
 put to death. You were a great beauty in your time, 
 and when the Discovery was announced you were in your 
 second season. People wondered who would win you. 
 But those who pretended to know talked of a young sci- 
 entific Professor." 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 59 
 
 The woman beard as if she was trying to understand a 
 foreign language. This was, in fact, a language without 
 meaning to her. As yet she caught nothing. 
 
 " You," said Christine, turning to the next, " were Dor- 
 othy Oliphant; you were also young, beautiful, and an 
 heiress ; you, like Lady Mildred, had all the men at your 
 feet. I don't know what that means, but the books say 
 so. Then the Discovery came, and love-making, whatever 
 that was, seems to have gone out of fashion." 
 
 The second woman heard this information with lack- 
 lustre eyes. What did it matter? 
 
 " You " — Christine turned to a third and to a fourth 
 and fifth — " you were Eosie Lorrayne ; you, Adela Dupre ; 
 you, Susie Campbell. You were all in Society ; you were 
 all young and beautiful and happy. Now for the men." 
 She turned to them. The sailor named Jack gazed upon 
 her with eyes of admiration. The other men, startled at 
 first by the apparition of the tresses, had relapsed into 
 listlessness. They hardly looked up as she addressed 
 them. 
 
 First she pointed to the sailor. 
 " Your name — " 
 
 "I remember my name," he said. "I have not for- 
 gotten so much as our friends. Sailors talk more with 
 each other, and remember. I am named John Carera, 
 and I was formerly first-cousin to Lady Mildred. Cous- 
 in" — he held out his hand — "have you forgotten your 
 cousin ? We used to play together in the old times. You 
 promised to marry me when you should grow up." 
 Lady Mildred gave him her hand. 
 " It is so long ago— so long ago," she murmured ; but 
 her eyes were troubled. She had begun to remember the 
 things put away and forgotten for so long. 
 
 " You " — Christine turned to another — " were Geoffrey 
 
60 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 Heron. You were Captain in a Cavalry Regiment. You 
 will remember that presently, and a great deal more. 
 You" — she turned to another — "were Laui-ence de Heyn, 
 and you were a young Lawyer, intending to be a Judge. 
 You will remember that, in time. You " — she turned to 
 another — "were Jack Culliford ; and you were a Private 
 Secretary, intending to go into Parliament, and to rise ' 
 perhaps to be Prime Minister. And you" — she turned to 
 the last — " were Arnold Buckland, already a Poet of So- 
 ciety. You will all remember these things before long. 
 Lastly, you all belonged to the people who were born 
 rich, and never used to have any care or anxiety about 
 their daily bread. I^or did you ever do any work, unless 
 you chose." 
 
 " It is so long ago," said Lady Mildred — her face was 
 brighter now — " that we have forgotten even that there 
 ever were gentlefolk." 
 
 " It is not strange," said Christine, " that you should have 
 forgotten it. Why should you remember anything? We 
 are only a herd, one with another; one not greater, and 
 one not less, than another. Now that you know your 
 names again and remember clearly, because I have told 
 you " — she repeated the information for fear they should 
 again forget — " who and what you were, each of you — 
 you will go on to remember more." 
 
 " Oh, what good ? What good ?" asked Lady Mildred. 
 
 " Because it will rouse you from your lethargy," said 
 the girl, impetuously. " Oh, you sit in silence day after 
 day ; you walk alone ; you ought to be together as you 
 used to be, talking, playing. See ! I have read the books ; 
 your lives were full of excitement. It makes my heart 
 beat only to read how the men went out to fight, daring 
 everything, for the sake of the women they loved." 
 
 " The men love us no longer," said Lady Mildred. 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 61 
 
 " If the brave men fell — " But here all faces, except 
 the sailor's, turned pale, and they shuddered. Christine 
 did not finish the sentence. She, too, shuddered. 
 
 In the old times I remember how, being then errand- 
 boy in the Brewery, I used to listen, in the Whitechapel 
 Eoad, to the men who, every Sunday morning and even- 
 ing, used to tell us that religion was a mockery and a 
 snare, invented by the so-called priests for their own 
 selfish ends, so that they might be kept in sloth and at 
 their ease. There was no need now for these orators. 
 The old religion was clean dead and forgotten. When 
 men ceased to expect Death, what need was there to keep 
 up any interest in the future world, if there should be 
 any? But the bare mention of the dreadful thing is still 
 enough to make all cheeks turn pale. Every year, the 
 farther ofE Death recedes, the more terrible he looks. 
 Therefore they all shuddered. 
 
 Among the nmsical instruments in the Museum there 
 stands one, a square wooden box on legs, with wires inside 
 it. There are many other nmsical instruments, the use of 
 all (as I thought) forgotten. Yery soon after the Great 
 Discovery people ceased to care for music. For my own 
 part, I have never been able to understand how the touch- 
 ing of chords and the striking of hammers on wires can 
 produce any effect at all upon the mind except that of 
 irritation. We preserve trumpets for the processions of 
 tlie College because mere noise awes people, and because 
 trumpets make more noise with less trouble than the hu- 
 man voice. But with music, such as it used to be, we 
 have now nothing to do at all. I have been told that 
 people were formerly greatly moved by music, so that 
 every kind of emotion was produced in their minds merely 
 by listening to a man or woman playing some instrument. 
 It must have been so, because Christine, merely by play- 
 
62 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 ing the old music to the company, was able to bring 
 back their minds to the long -forgotten Past. But it 
 must be remembered that she had disturbed their minds 
 first. 
 
 She sat down, then, before this box, and she began to 
 play upon it, watching the people meanwhile. She played 
 the music of their own time — indeed, there has been none 
 written since. It was a kind of witchery. First the sail- 
 or named Jack sprang to his feet and began to walk up 
 and down the room with wild gestures and strange looks. 
 Then the rest, one by one, grew restless; they looked 
 about them; they left their chairs and began to look at 
 each other, and at the things in the cases. The Past was 
 coming slowly into sight. I have heard how men at sea 
 perceive an island far away, but like a cloudy on the hori- 
 zon ; how the cloud grows larger and assumes outline ; 
 how this grows clearer and larger still, until, before the 
 ship reaches the harbor and drops her anchor, the cliffs 
 and the woods, and even the single trees on the hill-sides, 
 are clearly visible. 
 
 Thus the listeners gradually began to see the Past again. 
 Now, to feel these old times again, one must go back to 
 them and become once more part of them. It is possible, 
 because we are still of the age when we left them. There- 
 fore, this little company, who had left the old time when 
 they were still young, began to look again as they had 
 then looked. Their eyes brightened, their cheeks flushed ; 
 their limbs became elastic ; their heads were thrown back ; 
 the faces of the women grew soft, and those of the men 
 strong ; on all alike there fell once more the look of rest- 
 less expectancy and of unsatisfied yearning which belong- 
 ed to all ages in the old time. 
 
 Presently they began to murmur, I know not what, and 
 then to whisper to each other with gentle sighs. Then 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 63 
 
 the girls— they were really girls again— caught each other 
 by the hand, and panted and sighed again ; and at last 
 they fell upon each other's necks and kissed. As for 
 the men, they now stood erect and firm, but for the most 
 part they gazed upon the girls with wonder and admira- 
 tion unspeakable, so great was the power of witchery pos- 
 sessed by this insignificant girl. 
 
 Christine looked on and laughed gently. Then she sud- 
 denly changed her music, and began to play a March loud 
 and triumphant. And as she played she spoke : 
 
 " When the brave soldiers came home from battle and 
 from victory, it was right that the people should all go 
 forth to meet them. The music played for them; the 
 children strewed roses under their feet; the bells were 
 set ringing; the crowds cheered them; the women wept 
 and laughed at the same time, and waved them welcome. 
 Nothing could be too good for the men who fought for 
 their country. Listen ! I found the song of the Victors' 
 Eeturn in an old book. I wonder if you remember it. 
 I think it is a very simple little thing." 
 
 Then she sang. She had a strong, clear voice— they had 
 heard her singing before— no one sang in the whole City 
 except this child, and already it had been observed that 
 her singing made men restless. I do not deny the fulness 
 
 and richness of her voice ; but the words she sang Dr. 
 
 Linister's words, they were— are mere foolishness: 
 
 "With flying flaj?, with beat of drum. 
 
 Oh, brave and gallant show ! 
 In rags and tatters home they come — 
 
 We love them better so. 
 With sunburnt cheeks and wounds and scan ; 
 
 Yet still their swords are briglit. 
 Oh, welcome, welcome from the wars. 
 
 Brave lads who fouc^ht the fia:ht! 
 
64 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 "The girls they laugh, the girls they cry, 
 
 'What shall their guerdon be? — 
 Alas! that some must fall and die! — 
 
 Bring forth our gauds to see. 
 'Twere all too slight, give what we might.' 
 
 Up spoke a soldier tall : 
 'Oh, Love is worth the whole broad earth; 
 Oh, Love is worth the whole broad earth; 
 
 Give that, you give us all!'" 
 
 " Do you remember the song ?" Christine asked. 
 
 They shook their heads. Yet it seemed familiar. They 
 remembered some such songs. 
 
 " Geoffrey Heron," said the girl, turning to one of the 
 men, " you were Captain Heron in the old days. You 
 remember that you were in the army." 
 
 " Was I ?" He started. " l^o ; yes. I remember. I 
 was Captain Heron. We rode out of Portsmouth Dock- 
 yard Gates when we came home — all that were left of us. 
 The women were waiting on the Hard outside, and they 
 laughed and cried, and caught our hands, and ran beside 
 the horses. Our ranks were thin, for we had been pretty 
 well knocked about. I remember now. Yes — yes, I 
 was — I was Captain Heron." 
 
 " Go into that room. You will find your old uniform. 
 Take o£E the blue flannels, and show us how you looked 
 when you were in uniform." 
 
 As if it was nothing at all unusual, the man rose and 
 obeyed. It was observed that he now carried himself 
 differently. He stood erect, with shoulders squared, head 
 up, and limbs straight. They all obeyed whatever this girl 
 ordered them to do. 
 
 Christine began to play again. She played another 
 March, but always loud and triumphant. 
 
 When the soldier came back he was dressed in the uni- 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 65 
 
 form which he had worn in tlie time of the Great Discov- 
 ery, when they left off taking account of time. 
 
 "Oh!" cried Christine, springing to her feet. "See! 
 See ! Here is a soldier ! Here is a man who has fought !" 
 
 He stood before them dressed in a scarlet tunic and a 
 white helmet ; a red sash hung across him, and on his 
 breast were medals. At sight of him the girl called Dor- 
 othy Oliphant changed countenance ; all caught their 
 breath. The aspect of the man carried them, indeed, back 
 to the old, old time. 
 
 " "Welcome home, Captain Heron," said Christine. " We 
 have followed your campaign day by day." 
 
 "We are home again," the soldier replied, gravely. 
 " Unfortunately, we have left a good many of our regi- 
 ment behind." 
 
 "Behind? You mean — they — are — dead." Christine 
 shuddered. The others shuddered. Even Captain Heron 
 himself for a moment turned p3,le. But he was again in 
 the Past, and the honor of his regiment was in his hands. 
 
 " You have fought with other men," said Christine. 
 " Let me look in your face. Yes — it is changed. You 
 have the look of the fighting man in the old pictures. 
 You look as if you mean to have something, whatever it 
 is, whether other men want it or not. Oh, you have 
 fought with men ! It is wonderful ! Perhaps you have 
 even killed men. Were you dreadfully afraid?" 
 
 Captain Heron started and flushed. 
 
 " Afraid ?" he asked. " Afraid ?" 
 
 " Oh !" Christine clapped her hands. " I wanted to 
 see that look. It is the look of a man in sudden wrath. 
 Forgive me ! It is terrible to see a man thus moved. No, 
 Captain Heron,, no ! I understand. An officer in your 
 regiment could be afraid of nothing." 
 
 She sat down, still looking at him. 
 5 
 
6Q THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " I have seen a soldier," she said. Then she sprang to 
 her feet. " Now," she cried, " it is our turn. Come with 
 me, you ladies; and you, gentlemen, go into that room. 
 For one night we will put on the dresses you used to 
 wear. Come !" 
 
 They obeyed. There was nothing that they would not 
 have done, so completely had she bewitched them. IIow 
 long since they had been addressed as ladies and gentle- 
 men ! 
 
 " Come," she said, in the room whither she led the 
 women, "look about, and choose what you please. But 
 we must make haste." 
 
 There was a great pile of dainty dresses laid out for 
 them to choose — dresses in silk and all kinds of delicate 
 stuffs, with embroidery, lace, ribbons, jewels, chains, rings, 
 bracelets, gloves, fans, shoes — everything that the folly of 
 the past time required to make rich women seem as if 
 they were not the same as their poorer sisters. 
 
 They turned over the dresses, and cried out with ad- 
 miration. Then they hastened to tear off their ugly gray 
 frocks, and began to dress. 
 
 But the girl called Dorothy Oliphant sank into a chair. 
 " Oh, he has forgotten me! he has forgotten me! Who 
 am I that he should remember me after all these years ?" 
 
 " Why," said Christine, " how should he remember ? 
 What matters that you have the same face ? Think of 
 your dull look and your heavy eyes ; think of the dowdy 
 dress and the ugly cap. Wait till you have put on a 
 pretty frock and have dressed your hair ; here is a chain 
 of pearls which will look pretty in your hair ; here is a 
 sweet colored silk. I am sur6 it will fit you. Oh, it is 
 a shame — it is a shame that we have to dress so ! Never 
 mind. Now I have found out the old dresses, we will 
 have many evenings together. We will go back to the 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 67 
 
 Past. He will remember you, Dorothy dear. Oh, how 
 could you give them up ? How could you give up your 
 lovely dresses ?" 
 
 " We were made to give them up because there were 
 not enough beautiful dresses to go round. They said 
 that no woman must be dressed better than another. So 
 they invented — it was Dr. Grout, the Suffragan, who did 
 it — the gray dress for the women and the blue flannel for 
 the men. And I had almost forgotten that there were 
 such things. Christine, my head is swimming. My heart 
 is beating. I have not felt my heart beating for I know 
 not how long. Oh, will Geoffrey remember me when I 
 am dressed ?" 
 
 " Quick ! Of course he will. Let me dress yon. Oh, 
 I often come here in the daytime and dress up, and pre- 
 tend that it is the Past again. You shall come with me. 
 But I want to hear you talk as you used to talk, and to 
 see you dance as you used to dance. Then I shall under- 
 stand it all." 
 
 When they returned, the men were waiting for them. 
 Their blue flannels were exchanged for black cloth clothes, 
 which it had been the custom of those who called them- 
 selves gentlemen to wear in the evening. In ancient 
 times this was their absurd custom, kept up in order to 
 mark the difference between a gentleman and one of the 
 lower class. If you had no dress -coat, you were not a 
 gentleman. How could men ever tolerate, for a single 
 day, the existence of such a social difference? As for me, 
 in the part of London where I lived, called Whitechapel, 
 there were no dress-coats. The change, however, seemed 
 to have transformed them. Their faces had an eager look, 
 as if they wanted something. Of course, in the old times 
 everybody always wanted something. You can see it in 
 the pictures — the faces are never at rest; in the portraits, 
 
68 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 the eyes are always seeking for something; nowhere is 
 there visible the least sign of contentment. These unfort- 
 unate men had acquired, with their old clothes, some- 
 thing of the old restlessness. 
 
 Christine laughed aloud and clapped her hands. 
 
 The women did not laugh. They saluted the men, who 
 bowed with a certain coldness. The manners of the Past 
 were coming back to them swiftly, but the old ease was 
 not recovered for the first quarter of an hour. Then 
 Captain Heron, who had changed his uniform for civilian 
 dress, suddenly flushed and stepped forward, whispering, 
 
 " Dorothy, you have forgotten me ?" 
 
 Dorothy smiled softly, and gave him her hand with a 
 quick sigh. No, she had not forgotten him. 
 
 " Dance !" said Christine. " I want to see you dance. 
 I will play for you." 
 
 She played a piece of music called a Waltz. When 
 this kind of music used to be played — I mean in the 
 houses of (so-called) ladies, not those of the People — the 
 young men and women caught each other round the waist 
 and twirled round. They had many foolish customs, but 
 none more foolish, I should suppose, than this. I have 
 never seen the thing done, because all this foolishness was 
 forgotten as soon as we settled down to the enjoyment of 
 the Great Discovery. When, therefore, Christine began 
 this music, they looked at each other for a few moments, 
 and then, inspired by memory, they fell into each other's 
 arms and began their dance. 
 
 She played for them for a quarter of an hour. While 
 the rest danced, the young man Jack stood beside the 
 piano, as if he was chained to the spot. She had be- 
 witched them all, but none so much as this man. He 
 therefore gazed upon the girl with an admiration which 
 certainly belonged to the old time. Indeed, I have never 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 69 
 
 been able to understand how the Past could be so sudden- 
 ly assumed. To admire — actually to admire — a woman, 
 knowing all the time — it is impossible to conceal the fact 
 — that she is your inferior, that she is inferior in strength 
 and intellect ! Well, I have already called them unfortu- 
 nate men ; I can say no more. How can people admire 
 things below themselves? When she had played for a 
 quarter of an hour or so, this young man called upon her 
 to stop. The dancers stopped too, panting, their eyes full 
 of light, their cheeks flushed and their lips parted. 
 
 " Oh," Dorothy sighed, " I never thought to feel such 
 happiness again. I could dance on forever." 
 
 " With me ?" murmured Geoffrey. " I was praying 
 that the last round might never stop. With me ?" 
 
 " With you," she whispered. 
 
 "Come!" cried the young man Jack. "It is too bad. 
 Christine must dance. Play for us, Cousin Mildred, and 
 I will give her a lesson." 
 
 Mildred laughed. Then she started at the unwonted 
 sound. The others laughed to hear it, and the walls of 
 the Museum echoed with the laughter of girls. The old 
 man sat up in his chair and looked around. 
 
 " I thought I was at Philippe's, in Paris," he said. " I 
 thought we were haxring a supper after the theatre. 
 There was Ninette, and tliere was Madeleine — and — 
 and—" 
 
 He looked about him bewildered. Then he dropped 
 his head and went to sleep again. When he was neither 
 eating nor battling for his breath, he was always sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 "I am your cousin. Jack," said Mildred; "but I liad 
 long forgotten it. And as for playing — but I will try. 
 Perhaps the old touch will return." 
 
 It did. She played with far greater skill and power 
 
70 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 than the self-taught Christine, but not (as they have said 
 since) with greater sweetness. 
 
 Then Jack took Christine and gave her a first lesson. 
 It lasted nearly half an hour. 
 
 " Oh," cried the girl, when Lady Mildred stopped, " I 
 feel as if I had been floating round in a dream. Was I a 
 stupid pupil. Jack ?" 
 
 " You were the aptest pupil that dancing-master ever 
 had." 
 
 " I know now," she said, with panting breath and 
 flushed cheeks, " what dancing means. It is wonderful 
 that the feet should answer to the music. Surely you 
 must have loved dancing?" 
 
 " We did," the girls replied ; " we did. There was no 
 greater pleasure in the world." 
 
 " Why did you give it up ?" 
 
 They looked at each other. 
 
 "After the Great Discovery," said Dorothy Oliphant, 
 "we were so happy to get rid of the terrors of old age, 
 and the loss of our beauty, and everything, that at first we 
 thought of nothing else. When we tried to dance again, 
 something had gone out of it. The men were not the same. 
 Perhaps we were not the same. Everything languished 
 after that. There was no longer any enjoyment. We 
 ceased to dance because we found no pleasure in dancing." 
 
 " But now you do ?" said Christine. 
 
 " To-night we do, because you have filled our hearts 
 with the old thoughts. To get out of the dull, dull round 
 — why is it that we never felt it dull till to-night ? Oh, 
 so long as we can remember the old thoughts, let us con- 
 tinue to dance and to play and to sing. If the old thoughts 
 cease to come back to us " — she looked at Geoffrey — " let 
 us fall back into our dulness, like the men and women 
 round us." 
 
CHRISTINE AT HOME. 71 
 
 "It was to please me first," said Ch-ristine. "You were 
 so very kind as to come here to please me, because I can 
 have no recollection at all of the Past, and I was curious 
 to understand what I read. Come again — to please your- 
 selves. Oh, I have learned so much — so very much more 
 than I ever expected ! There are so many, many things 
 that I did! not dream of. But let ns always dance," she 
 said — " let us always dance — let me always feel every time 
 you come as if there was nothing in the world but sweet 
 music calling me, and I was spinning round and round, 
 but always in some place far better and sweeter than 
 this." 
 
 " Yes," Lady Mildred said, gravely. " Thus it was we 
 used to feel." 
 
 "And I have seen you as you were — gentlemen and 
 gentlewomen together. Oh, it is beautiful ! Come every 
 night. Let us never cease to change the dismal Present 
 for the sunny Past. But there is one thing — one thing 
 that I cannot understand." 
 
 "What is that?" asked Lady Mildred. 
 
 " In the old books there is always, as I said before, a 
 young man in love with a girl. "What is it — Love?" The 
 girls sighed and cast down their eyes. " Was it possible 
 for a man so to love a girl as to desire nothing in the world 
 but to have her love, and even to throw away his life — 
 actually his very life — his very life — for her sake?" 
 
 " Dorothy," said Geoffrey, taking both her hands, " was 
 it possible ? Oh, was it possible ?" 
 
 Dorothy burst into tears. 
 
 " It was possible !" she cried ; " but oh, it is not possi- 
 ble any longer." 
 
 " Let us pretend," said Geoffrey, " let us dream that it 
 is possible." 
 
 " Even to throw away your life— to die — actually your 
 
 4r 
 
72 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 life?" asked Christine. "To die? To exist no longer? 
 To abandon life — for the sake of another person ?" 
 
 A sudden change passed over all their faces. The light 
 died out of their ejes ; the smile died on their lips ; the 
 softness vanished from the ladies' faces; the men hung 
 their heads. All their gallantry left them. And Geof- 
 frey let Mildred's hands slip from his holding. The 
 thought of Death brought them all back to the Pres- 
 ent. 
 
 "No," said Lady Mildred, sadly, and with changed 
 voice, "such things are no longer possible. Formerly, 
 men despised death because it was certain to come, in a 
 few years at best ; and why not, therefore, to-morrow ? 
 But we cannot brave death any more. We live, each for 
 himself. That is the only safety ; there is only the law 
 of self-preservation. All are alike ; we cannot love each 
 other any more, because we are all alike. 'No woman is 
 better than another in any man's eyes, because we are all 
 dressed the same, and we are all the same. What more 
 do we want ?" she said, harshly. " There is no change for 
 us ; we go from bed to work, from work to rest and food, 
 and so to bed again. What more can we want? We are 
 all equals ; we are all the same ; there are no more gentle- 
 women. Let us put on our gray frocks and our flat caps 
 again, and hide our hair and go home to bed." 
 
 "Yes, yes," cried Christine, "but you will come again. 
 You will come again, and we will make every night a 
 Play and Pretence of the beautiful — the lovely Past. 
 When we lay aside the gray frocks, and let down our hair, 
 we shall go back to the old time — the dear old time." 
 
 The young man named Jack remained behind when the 
 others were gone. " If it were possible," he said, " for a 
 man to give up everything — even his life — for a woman, 
 in the old times, when life was a rich and glorious posses- 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 73 
 
 sion — how much more ought he not to be willing to lay 
 it down, now that it has been made a worthless weed ?" 
 
 "I have never felt so happy" — the girl was thinking 
 of something else. " I have never dreamed that I could 
 feel so happy. Now I know what I have always longed 
 for — to dance round and round forever, forgetting all but 
 the joy of the music and the dance. But oh, Jack " — her 
 face turned pale again — " how could they ever have been 
 happy, even while they waltzed, knowing that every min- 
 ute brought them nearer and nearer to the dreadful 
 end?" 
 
 " I don't know. Christine, if I were you, I would never 
 mention that ugly topic again, except when we are not 
 dressed up and acting. How lovely they looked — all of 
 them — but none of them to compare with the sweetest 
 rose-bud of the garden ?" 
 
 He took her hand and kissed it, and then left her alone 
 with the old man in the great Museum. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 WHAT IS LOVE? 
 
 It would be idle to dwell upon the repetition of such 
 scenes as those described in the last chapter. These un- 
 happy persons continued to meet day after day in the 
 Museum ; after changing their lawful garments for the 
 fantastic habits worn before the Great Discovery, they lost 
 themselves nightly in the imagination of the Past. They 
 presently found others among the People, who had also 
 been gentlewomen and gentlemen in the old days, and 
 brought them also into the company; so that there were 
 now, every evening, some thirty gathered together. Nay, 
 
74 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 they even procured food and made suppers for themselves, 
 contrary to the practice of common meals enjoined by the 
 Holy College; they gloried in being a company apart 
 from the rest; and because they remembered the Past, 
 they had the audacity to give themselves, but only among 
 themselves, airs of superiority. In the daytime they wore 
 the common dress, and were like the rest of the People. 
 The thing grew, however. Every evening they recalled 
 more of the long-vanished customs and modes of thought 
 — one remembering this and the other that little detail — 
 until almost every particular of the ancient life had re- 
 turned to them. Then a strange thing happened. For 
 though the Present offered still — and this they never de- 
 nied — its calm, unchanging face, with no disasters to trou- 
 ble and no certain and miserable end to dread ; with no 
 anxieties, cares, and miseries ; witli no ambitions and no 
 struggles ; they fell to yearning after the old things ; they 
 grew to loathe the Present ; they could hardly sit with 
 patience in the Public Hall; they went to their day's 
 work with ill-concealed disgust. Yet, so apathetic had the 
 people grown that nothing of this was observed ; so care- 
 less and so unsuspicious were we ourselves that though 
 the singing and playing grew louder and continued longer 
 every evening, none of us suspected anything. Singing, 
 in my ears, was no more than an unmeaning noise ; that 
 the girl in the Museum should sing and play seemed fool- 
 ish, but then children are foolish — they like to make a 
 great noise. 
 
 One afternoon — it was some weeks since this dangerous 
 fooling began — the cause of the whole, the girl Christine, 
 was in the Museum alone. She had a book in her hand,' 
 and was reading in it. First she read a few lines, and 
 then paused and meditated a while. Then she read again, 
 and laughed gently to herself. And then she read, and 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 75 
 
 changed color. And again she read, and knitted her 
 brows as one who considers but cannot understand. 
 
 The place was quite deserted, save for her grandfather, 
 who sat in his great chair, propped up with pillows and 
 fast asleep. lie had passed a bad night with his miserable 
 asthma ; in the morning, as often liappens with this dis- 
 ease, he found himself able to breathe again, and was now 
 therefore taking a good spell of sleep. His long white 
 hair fell down upon his shoulders, his wrinkled, old cheek 
 showed a thousand crows' feet and lines innumerable; he 
 looked a very, very old man. Yet he was no more than 
 seventy-iive or so, in the language of the Past. He be- 
 longed formerly to those who lived upon the labor of 
 others, and devoured their substance. ISTow, but for his 
 asthma, which even the College cannot cure, he should 
 have been as perfectly happy as the rest of the People. 
 The sunshine which warmed his old limbs fell full upon 
 his chair ; so that he seemed, of all the rare and curious 
 objects in that collection, the rarest and most curious. 
 The old armor on the wall, the trophies of arms, the 
 glass vases containing all the things of the past, were not 
 so rare and curious as this old man — the only old man 
 left among us. I daily, for my own part, contemplated 
 the old man with a singular satisfaction. He was, I 
 thought, a standing lesson to the People, one daily set be- 
 fore their eyes. Here was the sole surviving specimen of 
 what in the Past was the best that the men and women 
 could expect — namely, to be spared until the age of sev- 
 enty-five, and then to linger on afflicted with miserable 
 diseases and, slowly or swiftly, to be tortured to death. 
 Beholding that spectacle, I argued, all the people ought to 
 rub their hands in complacency and gratitude. But our 
 people had long ceased to reason or reflect. The lesson 
 was consequently thrown away upon them. Nay, when 
 
76 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 this girl began lier destructive career, those whom she 
 dragged into her toils only considered this old man be- 
 cause he would still be talking, as all old men used to 
 talk, about the days of his youth, for the purpose of in- 
 creasing their knowledge of the Past, and filling their 
 foolish souls with yearning after the bad old times. 
 
 While Christine read and pondered, the door of the 
 Museum opened. The young man called Jack stood 
 there gazing upon her. She had thrown off her cap, and 
 her long brown curls lay over her shoulders. She had a 
 red rose in the bosom of her gray dress, and she had tied 
 a crimson scarf round her waist. Jack (suffer me to use 
 the foolishness of their language — of course his name was 
 John) — closed the door silently. 
 
 " Christine," he whispered. 
 
 She started, and let her book fall. Then she gave him 
 lier hand, which he raised to his lips. (Again I must ask 
 leave to report a great deal of foolishness.) 
 
 " It is the sweet old fashion," he said. " It is my hom- 
 age to my lady." 
 
 They were now so far gone in folly that she accepted 
 this act as if it was one natural and becoming. 
 
 " I have been reading," she said, " a book full of ex- 
 tracts — all about love. I have never understood what 
 love is. If I ask Dorothy, she looks at Geoffrey Heron 
 and sighs. If I ask him, he tells me that he cannot be 
 my servant to teach me, because he is already sworn to 
 another. What does this mean? Have the old times 
 come back again, so that men once more call themselves 
 slaves of love ? Yet what does it mean ?" 
 
 " Tell me," said Jack, " what you have been reading." 
 
 " Listen, then. Oh, it is the strangest extravagance ! 
 What did men mean when they could gravely write 
 down, and expect to be read, such things as — 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 77 
 
 " 'T cio love you more than words can wield the matter — 
 Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty; 
 Beyond what can be valued, rich or rare?' 
 
 'Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty.' Did they 
 really mean that ?" 
 
 "They meant more; they meant dearer than life it- 
 self!" said Jack, slowly. "Only it was stupid always to 
 say the same thing." 
 
 " Well, then, listen to this : 
 
 '"Had I no eyes but ears, my ears would love 
 That inward beauty and invisible; 
 Or, were I deaf, thy outward parts would move 
 
 Each part in me that were but sensible. 
 Though neither eyes nor ears, to hear nor sec, 
 Yet should I be in love, by touching thee.' 
 
 Now, Jack, what can that mean ? Was anything more 
 absurd ?" 
 
 " Read another extract, Christine." 
 
 " Here is a passage more difficult than any other : 
 
 '"Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind; 
 And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind. 
 Nor hath Love's mind of any judgment taste; 
 Wings and no eyes, figure unhecdy haste. 
 And therefore is Love said to be a child, 
 Because in choice he is so oft beguiled.' 
 
 Tell me, if you can, what this means. But perhaps you 
 were never in love. Jack, in the old times." 
 
 " Romeo was in love before he met Juliet," said Jack. 
 " I, too, have been reading the old books, you see. Child. 
 I remember — but how can I tell you? I cannot speak 
 like the poet. Yet I remember — I remember," He 
 looked round the room. "It is only here," he murmured, 
 " that one can clearly remember. Here are the very 
 
78 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 things which used to surround our daily life. And here 
 are youth and age. They were always with us in the old 
 time — youth and age. Youth with love before, and age 
 with love behind. Always we knew that as that old 
 man, so should we become. The chief joys of life be- 
 longed to youth ; we knew very well that unless we 
 snatched them then we should never have them. To age 
 we gave respect, because age, we thought, had wisdom ; 
 but to us — to us — who were young, age cried unceas- 
 ingly — 
 
 " 'Gather ye rose-buds while ye may.' 
 
 If I could tell only you ! Christine, come with me into 
 the Picture Gallery. My words are weak, but the poets 
 and the painters speak for us. Come ! We shall find 
 something there that will speak for me what I have not 
 words to say for myself." 
 
 Nothing: in the whole world — I have maintained this 
 in the College over and over again — has done so much 
 harm to Humanity as Art. In a world of common-sense 
 which deals with nothing but fact and actuality. Art can 
 have no place. Why imitate what we see around us? 
 Artists cheated the world ; they pretended to imitate, and 
 they distorted or they exaggerated. They put a light 
 into the sky that never was there ; they filled the human 
 face with yearning after things impossible; they put 
 thoughts into the heart which had no business there ; 
 they made woman into a goddess, and made love — simple 
 love — a form of worship; they exaggerated every joy; 
 they created a heaven which could not exist. I have seen 
 their pictures, and I know it. Why — why did we not 
 destroy all works of Art long ago — or, at least, why did 
 we not enclose the Gallery, with the Museum, within the 
 College wall ? 
 
 The Picture Gallery is a long room with ancient stone 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 79 
 
 walls ; statuary is arranged along the central line, and the 
 pictures line the walls. 
 
 The young man led the girl into the Gallery and 
 looked around him. Presently he stopped at a figure in 
 white marble. It represented a woman, hands clasped, 
 gazing upward. Anatomically, I must say, the figure is 
 fairly correct. 
 
 " See," he said-, " when in the olden times our sculptors 
 desired to depict the Higher Life — which we have lost or 
 thrown away for a while — they carved the marble image 
 of a woman. Her form represented perfect beauty ; her 
 face represented perfect purity ; the perfect soul must be 
 wedded to the perfect body, otherwise there can be no 
 perfection of Humanit}'. This is the Ideal Woman. 
 Look in her face, look at the curves of her form, look at 
 the carriage of her head; such a woman it was whom 
 men used to love." 
 
 " But were women once like this? Could they look so? 
 Had they such sweet and tender faces? This figure 
 makes me ashamed." 
 
 " When men were in love, Christine, the woman that 
 each man loved became in his mind such as this. He 
 worshipped in his mistress the highest form of life that 
 he could conceive. Some men were gross, their ideals 
 were low ; some were noble, then their ideals were high. 
 Always there were among mankind some men who were 
 continually trying to raise the ideal ; always the mass of 
 men were keeping the ideal low." 
 
 "Were the women ashamed to receive such worship? 
 Because they must have known what they were in cold 
 reality." 
 
 " Perhaps to the nobler sort," said the young man, "to 
 be thought so good lifted up their hearts and kept them 
 at that high level. But indeed I know not. Remember 
 
80 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 that when men wrote the words that you think extrava- 
 gant, they were filled and wholly possessed with the 
 image of the Perfect Woman. Nay, the nobler and 
 stronger their nature, the more they were filled with that 
 Vision. The deeper their love for any woman, the higher 
 they placed her on the Altar of their worship." 
 
 "And if another man should try to take that woman 
 from them — " 
 
 " They would kill that other man," said Jack, with a 
 fierce gleam in his eye, which made the girl shudder. 
 Yet she respected him for it. 
 
 "If another man should come between us now, Chris- 
 tine,! would — ]^ay, dear, forgive my rude words. What 
 has jealousy to do with you ?" 
 
 She dropped her eyes and blushed, and in all her limbs 
 she trembled. This young man made her afraid. And 
 yet — she knew not why — it made her happy, only to be 
 afraid of him. 
 
 "Let us see some of the pictures," said Jack. 
 
 There were many hundreds of them. They represented 
 I know not what ; scenes of the old life in the old time. 
 I dare say everything was there, with all the exaggerations 
 which pleased the painters and cheated the senses of those 
 who looked on. Fair women were painted fairer than 
 women could ever be ; their eyes were larger, softer, fuller 
 of thought ; their cheeks more tender, their limbs more 
 comely. 
 
 There were battle scenes; the young man led the girl 
 past them. There were scenes from history — kings lay- 
 ing down crowns, traitors receiving sentence, and so 
 forth ; he passed them by. There were groups of nymphs, 
 portraits of fair women, groups of girls dancing, girls at 
 play, girls laughing, girls bathing; he passed them by. 
 Presently he stopped before three panels side by side, 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 81 
 
 representing a simple allegory of the old time. In the 
 first picture, two, a young man and a girl, walked hand- 
 in-hand beside a stream. The water danced and rippled 
 in the sunlight ; behind them was an orchard full of blos- 
 som ; ^flowers sprang up at their feet — the flowers of 
 spring. And they walked hand-in-hand, gazing in each 
 other's eyes. The second picture showed a man in mid- 
 dle-age returning home from work; beside him walked 
 his boys ; in the porch the mother sat with her daughters 
 spinning at the wheel. The stream was now a full majes- 
 tic river ; the trees were loaded with fruit not yet ripe ; 
 the fields were covered with corn, green still, but waving 
 with h'ght and shade under the summer sky ; in the dis- 
 tance, passing away, was a heavy thunder-cloud. In the 
 third panel an old pair stood beside a great river, looking 
 out upon the ocean. Again they were hand-in-hand. The 
 sun was setting in great splendor across the sea ; the reap- 
 ers were carrying their harvest home with songs and 
 dances. And the old people still gazed in each other's 
 face, just as they had done fifty years ago. 
 
 '' See, Christine !" said Jack. " In the first panel, this 
 pair think of nothing but of each other. Presently they 
 will have other thoughts. The stream beside which they 
 wander is the Stream of Life. It widens as it goes. 
 While they walk along its banks, the river grows broader 
 and deeper. This means that as they grow older they 
 grow wiser and learn more. So they go on continually, 
 until they come to the mouth of the river, where it loses 
 itself in the ocean of— what our friends tremble so much 
 as to name. Tell me, is there terror, or doubt, or anxiety 
 on their faces now that they have come to the end ?" 
 "No ; their faces are entirely happy." 
 " This you do not understand. Christine, if you were 
 6ure that in the end you would be as happy as that old 
 6 
 
82 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 woman at the end, would you be content to begin with 
 the beginning? Would you play the part of that girl, 
 and walk — with me — along the Stream of Life?" 
 
 He took her hand, but she made no reply, save that her 
 eyes filled with tears. Presently she murmured, 
 
 " They are always happy — at the beginning and at the 
 end. Did they know at the beginning that there would 
 be an end ?" 
 
 "They knew; everybody knew; the very children 
 knew almost from infancy the great Law of Nature, that 
 for everything there is the allotted end. They knew it." 
 
 "And yet they were always happy. I cannot under- 
 stand it." 
 
 '' We have destroyed that happiness," said the young 
 man. " Love cannot exist when there is no longer end, 
 or change, or anything to hope or fear — no mystery, 
 nothing to hope or fear. What is a woman outside the 
 Museum in the eyes of the College? She is only the 
 half of humanity, subject to disease and requiring food 
 at intervals. She no longer attracts men by the sacred 
 mystery of her beauty. She is not even permitted any 
 longer to make herself beautiful by her dress; nor is 
 she allowed to create the feeling of mystery and the un- 
 known by seclusion. She lives in the open, like the rest. 
 We all live together ; we know what each one says and 
 thinks and does ; nay, most of us have left ofiE thinking 
 and talking altogether." 
 
 But Christine was hardly listening; she could not un- 
 derstand this talk. She was looking at the pictures. 
 
 " Oh," she said, " they look so happy ! There is such a 
 beautiful contentment in their eyes ! They love each other 
 so, that they think of nothing but their love. They have 
 forgotten the end." 
 
 "Nay, but look at the end." . 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 83 
 
 " They are happy still, although the river flows into the 
 Ocean. How can they bo happy?" 
 
 "You shall learn more, Christine. You have seen 
 enough to understand that the talk of the Physicians 
 about the miseries of the old time is mischievous non- 
 sense, with which they have fooled us into slavery." 
 
 " Oh, if they heard you—" 
 
 " Let them hear," he replied, sternly. " I hope, before 
 long, we may make them hear. Christine, you can re- 
 store the old love by your own example. You alone 
 have nothing to remember and nothing to unlearn. As 
 for the rest of us, we have old habits to forget and prej- 
 udices to overcome before we can get back to the Past." 
 
 Then he led her to another picture. 
 
 The scene was a green village church -yard, standing 
 amid trees — yews and oaks — and round a gray old church. 
 Six strong men bore a bier piled M'ith flowers towards an 
 open grave, newly dug. Beside the grave stood one in a 
 white robe, carrying a book. Behind the bier followed, 
 hand -in -hand, a weeping company of men, women, and 
 children. But he who walked first wept not. 
 
 " Oh," cried Christine, " he is dead ! He is dead !" 
 
 She burst into tears. 
 
 "Nay," said Jack ; "it is the wife who is dead. The 
 husband lives still. See, he follows with tottering step. 
 His grandchild leads him as you lead your grandfather. 
 And they are all weeping except him. Why does he 
 alone not weep? He has been married for fifty years 
 and more ; all his life has been shared by the love and 
 sympathy of the woman— the dead woman. She is dead, 
 my dear "—he repeated these words, taking the girl's hands 
 —"she is dead, and he sheds no tears. Why not? Look 
 at his face. Is it unhappy? Tell me, Christine, do you 
 read the sorrow of hopelessness in that old man's face?" 
 
84 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " No, no," she said. " He is grave, but he is not un- 
 happy. Yet here is Death, with all the terrible things 
 that we read of in the books— the deep pit, the body to 
 be lowered in the grave — oh !" 
 
 She shuddered and turned her head. 
 
 " As I read his face," said Jack, " I see hope and conso- 
 lation." 
 
 " Why is there a man in white ?" 
 
 " I will tell you some time. Meanwhile, observe that 
 the old man is happy, though his wife is dead, and though 
 he knows that to-morrow his turn will come, and a grave 
 will be dug for him beside his wife, and he also will be 
 laid among the cold clay -clods, as cold, as senseless as 
 them, there to lie while the great world rolls round and 
 round. He knows this, I say, and yet he is not un- 
 happy." 
 
 " What does it mean. Jack ?" 
 
 " I will tell you — soon." 
 
 " We who are sailors," this young man continued, " are 
 not like the rest of the world. We are always exposed 
 to danger; we are not afraid to speak of Death; and 
 though we have taken advantage (as we thought) of the 
 Great Discovery, we have never forgotten the Past or the 
 old ideas. We have to think for ourselves, which makes 
 us independent. There is no Holy College on board ship, 
 and no sacred Physician ventures his precious life upon a 
 rolling deck. When we come ashore, we look round and 
 see things. Then we go on board again and talk, in the 
 night watches below the stars. I think the Holy College 
 would be pleased if they could sometimes hear our talk. 
 Christine, there is no happiness left in the world except 
 among those whom the Great Discovery cannot save from 
 the dangers of a storm. When you spoke to me my heart 
 leaped up, because I saw what as yet you do not see. 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 85 
 
 The others were too sluggish to remember, until you 
 had dragged their thoughts into the old channels ; but 
 there was no need to drag me ; for I remember always, 
 and I only pretended until the others should come with 
 me." 
 
 Christine heard only half of this, for she was looking at 
 the picture of the village funeral again. 
 
 "Oh, how could men be happy with such an end be- 
 fore them ?" she cried. " I cannot understand it. To be 
 torn away, to be laid in a box, to be put away deep under- 
 ground, there to lie forever — oh !" She trembled again. 
 " And not to be unhappy !" 
 
 " Look round the room, Christine. Read the faces. 
 Here are portraits of men and women. Some of them 
 are eager, some are calm, more are unhappy for thinking 
 of the end. Here is a battle-field ; the dead and wounded 
 are lying about the ground. Look at this troop of horse- 
 men charging. Is there any terror in their faces ? What 
 do they care about the men who have fallen ? Their duty 
 is to tight. See here again. It is a dying girl. What do 
 you read in her face? I see no fear, but a sweet joy of 
 resignation. Here is a man led forth to execution. There 
 is no fear in his face." 
 
 " I could never bear to be alone in this room, because 
 Death is everywhere, and no one seems to regard it." 
 
 " Christine, did you never hear, by any chance, from 
 your grandfather why people were not afraid V^ 
 
 " No ; he cannot bear to speak of such a thing. He 
 trembles and shakes if it is even mentioned. They all do, 
 except you." 
 
 " What does he tell you ?" 
 
 " He talks of the time when he was young. It was 
 long before the Great Discovery. Oh, he is very old. 
 He was always going to feasts and dances. He had a 
 
86 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 great many friends, and some of them used to sing and 
 dance in theatres. They were all very fond of suppers 
 after the theatre, and there was a great deal of singing 
 and laughing. They used to drive about in carriages, and 
 they went to races. I do not understand, very well, the 
 pleasure of his life." 
 
 " Ah," said Jack, " he has forgotten the really impor- 
 tant part of it." 
 
 They were at a part of the Gallery where there was a 
 door of strong oak, studded with big square nails, under 
 an arch of carved stone. 
 
 " Have you ever been into this place ?" he asked. 
 
 " Once I went in. But there is a dreadful tomb in it, 
 with carved skulls and the figure of a dead man. So I 
 ran away," 
 
 "Come in with me. You shall not be frightened." 
 
 He turned the great iron handle, and pushed open the 
 heavy door. 
 
 The room was lofty, with a pointed roof. It was lit by 
 long narrow windows, filled with painted glass. There 
 were seats of carved wood, with carved canopies on either 
 side ; there was the figure of a brass eagle, with a great 
 book upon it; and under the three lights of the window 
 at the end was a table covered with a cloth which hung in 
 rags and tatters, and was covered with dust. It was, in 
 fact, an ancient Chapel, shut up and suffered to fall into 
 decay. 
 
 " This," said the young man, " is the Chapel where, in 
 the old time, they came to worship. They also worshipped 
 in the great place that is now the House of Life. But 
 here some of them worshipped also, though with less 
 splendor." 
 
 " Did they," asked the girl, " worship the Beautiful 
 "Woman of their dreams?" 
 
WHAT IS LOVE? 87 
 
 " No, not the Beautiful Woman. They worshipped her 
 outside. In this Chapel they worshipped the Maker of 
 Perfect Man and Perfect Woman. Come in witli me, and 
 I will tell you something of what it meant." 
 
 * ***** 
 
 It was two honrs and more before they came out of the 
 Chapel, The girl's eyes were full of tears, and tears lay 
 upon his cheeks. 
 
 '" My dear, my love," said Jack, " I have tried to show 
 you how the old true love was nourished and sustained. 
 It would not have lived but for the short duration of its 
 life ; it Was the heritage of each generation, to be passed 
 on unto the next. Only on one condition was it possible. 
 It is a condition which you have been taught to believe 
 horrible beyond the power of words. I have tried to 
 show you that it was not horrible. My love, my sweet — 
 fresh as the maidens who in the old time blossomed and 
 flowered, and presently fulfilled that condition — the only 
 woman among us who is young in heart, let us agree to 
 love — we two — after the old fashion, under the old con- 
 ditions. Do not shiver, dear. There is the old faith to 
 sustain us. You shall go to sea with rae. Perliaps we 
 shall be cast away and drowned ; perhaps we shall con- 
 tract some unknown disease and die. We shall presently 
 lie down to sleep, and awake again in each other's arms 
 t»nce more in a new life which we cannot now compre- 
 hend. P]verything must have an end. Human life must 
 have an end, or it becomes horrible, monstrous, selfish. 
 The life beyond will be glorified beyond all our hopes, 
 and beyond all our imagination. IMy dear, are you 
 afraid ^ 
 
 She laid her head upon his shoulder. 
 
 " Oil, Jack, with you I am afraid of nothing. I should 
 not be afraid to die this very moment, if we died together. 
 
88 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 Is it really true ? Can we love now as men loved women 
 long ago ? Oh, can you love me so ? I am so weak and 
 small a creature — so weak and foolish ! I would die with 
 you, Jack — both together, taking each other by the hand ; 
 and oh, if you were to die first, I could not live after. I 
 must, then, die too. My head is swimming — my heart is 
 beating — lay your arm about me. Oh, love, my love ; I 
 have never lived before. Oh, welcome Life, and welcome 
 Death, so that we may never, never more be parted !" 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 THE OPEN DOOR. 
 
 It was in this way that the whole trouble began. There 
 was an inquisitive girl foolishly allowed to grow up in 
 this ancient Museum and among the old books, who devel- 
 oped a morbid curiosity for the Fast, of which the books 
 and pictures and collections taught her something; yet 
 not all she wished to learn. She was unconsciously aided 
 by the old man, who had been approaching his second 
 childhood even at the time of the Great Discovery, and 
 whose memory now continually carried him backward 
 to the days of his youth, without the least recollection of 
 the great intervals between. Lastly, there had come to 
 the town, in the pursuit of his business, a sailor, restless 
 and discontented, as is the case with all his class, ques- 
 tioning and independent ; impatient of authority, and 
 curiously unable to forget the old times. The sailor and 
 the girl, between them, at first instigated and pushed on 
 the whole business ; they were joined, no doubt, by many 
 others; but these two were the first leaders. The Chief 
 Culprit of all, the nominal Leader — but you shall pres- 
 ently hear what kind of excuse could be made for him by 
 
THE OPEN DOOR. 89 
 
 himself. As for those wlioin they dragged rehictantly 
 out of the trauquilHty of oblivion, they were at first wholly 
 drawn from the class which, at the outset, gave us so 
 much trouble — the so-called gentle class — who desired 
 nothing so much as to continue to live under the old con- 
 ditions — namely, by the labor of others. It wanted, for 
 these people, only the revival of memory to produce 
 the revival of discontent. AVhen their minds were once 
 more filled with the thought of the things they had 
 lost — the leadership, the land, the wealth, and with the 
 memory of the arts which they had formerly loved — 
 music, painting, letters — and with the actual sight, once 
 more restored to them, of their old amusements — their 
 dancing, their society, their singing, their games; and 
 when the foolish old idol, Love, was once more trotted 
 out, like an old-fashioned Guy Fawkes, decked in his silly 
 old rainbow tints ; when, night after night, they actually 
 began to play, act, and to pretend these things, what could 
 possibly follow but revolt, with subsequent punishment 
 and expulsion? You shall hear. Of course, they would 
 have been punished with expulsion had not — but every- 
 thing in its place. 
 
 Five or six weeks after the first evening, which I have 
 described at full length, the Museum was again occupied 
 by the same company, increased by a good many more. 
 The women came in more readily, being sooner caught 
 with the bait of fine dress, which had such an attraction 
 for them that the mere sight of it caused them to forget 
 everything that had been done for them — their present 
 tranquillity, their freedom from agitation and anxiety — 
 and carried them back to the old time, when they wore, 
 indeed, those dainty dresses. What they endured, besides, 
 they do not so readily remember; but the dresses carried 
 back their minds to the society which once filled up the 
 
90 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 whole worthless lives of these poor creatures. I say, there- 
 fore, that it was easier to attract the women than the men ; 
 for the latter, no bait at all corresponding in power could 
 be discovered. The company assembled were engaged in 
 much the same sort of make-believe and play-acting as on 
 the first evening. They were dressed in the old fashion ; 
 they danced, they sang, they talked and laughed — actual- 
 ly they talked and laughed — though what there is, from 
 any view of life to laugh about, I never could understand. 
 Laughing, however, belonged to the old manners; and 
 they had now completely recovered the old manners — 
 anything, however foolish, which belonged to that time 
 would have been welcomed by them. So they laughed; 
 for the same reason, they were full of animation ; and the 
 old, old unhappy emotion which I had thought blotted 
 out forever — restlessness — had either broken out among 
 them or was well simulated. They were all young, save 
 for the old man who sat in his chair coughing, and some- 
 times talking. Christine had dressed him in a velvet coat, 
 which gave him great dignity, and made him look as if 
 he was taking part in the play. I say not that the acting 
 was not very good — of the kind. Acting of any kind could 
 never have served any useful purpose, even in the Past. 
 Perhaps a company of beautiful women, beautifully dress- 
 ed, and of gallant men — I talk their own foolish language 
 — amusing themselves in this way, may have given pleas- 
 ure to some, but not to those among whom I was born. In 
 the days when these things were done every night at one 
 part of the town, in another part the men were drinking, 
 if they had any money, and the women and children were 
 starving. And much they concerned themselves about 
 dancing and laughing ! Laughing, indeed ! My part of 
 the town was where they starved. There was mighty 
 little laughing among us, I can promise you. 
 
THE OPEN DOOR. 91 
 
 In their masquerading they had naturally, as if it was 
 a part of the life they represented, assumed, as I have 
 said, the old expression of eagerness, as if there was al- 
 ways something wanting. And yet, I say, they laughed 
 with each other. In the unreasonable, illogical way of 
 the Past, although everybody always wanted everything 
 for himself, and tried to overreach his neighbor, it was 
 the custom to pretend that nobody wanted anything, but 
 that everybody trusted his friend, and that everybody 
 lived for the sole purpose of helping other people. 
 Therefore, they shook hands continually, and grinned at 
 each other when they met, as if they were pleased to 
 meet and — Well, the hypocrisies of the Fast were as 
 ridiculous as its selfishness was base. 
 
 But three of the party sat apart in the Picture Gallery. 
 They were Christine and the two cousins, Mildred and 
 Jack Carera. They were talking seriously and gravely. 
 
 " It comes, then," said Jack, " to this : that to all of us 
 the Present has grown to be utterly hateful, and to one 
 or two of us intolerable." 
 
 " Intolerable !" the other two repeated. 
 
 " We are resolved, for our own selves at least, that we 
 will have no more of it, if we can help it. Are we not? 
 But, Cousin Mildred, let us remember that we are only 
 three. Perhaps, among our friends in the Museum, there 
 may be half a dozen more who have learned to feel as 
 str(»ngly as ourselves. Is half a dozen a Party large 
 enough to effect a Revolution ? Remember, it is useless 
 to think of remonstrance or petition with the College. 
 No King, Council, or Parliament in the Past was ever 
 half so autocratic as the College of Pliysicians. 
 
 "I used to read," he went on, "ages ago, about the 
 Domination of Priests. I don't think any Rule of Priests 
 was ever half so intolerant or so thorough as the Rule of 
 
92 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 the Physicians. They have not only deprived ns of the 
 Eight of Thought, but also of the Power of Thought. 
 The poor people cannot think. It is a truly desperate 
 state of things. A few years more and we, too, shall sink 
 into the same awful slough — " 
 
 " Some of us were in it already, but Christine pulled 
 us out," said Mildred. 
 
 "Shall we ever get another chance of getting out?" 
 Jack asked. " I think not." 
 
 " Well, Jack, go on." 
 
 " As for these evening meetings of ours, you may be 
 very sure that they will be found out before long, and 
 that they will be stopped. Do you think that Grout — 
 Grout ! — will suffer his beloved invention of the common 
 dress to be trampled on? Do you imagine that Grout 
 will suffer the revival of the old forms of society ?" 
 
 "Oh," Christine replied, "if we could convert Dr. 
 Grout !" 
 
 " Another danger," said Jack, " is, that we may all get 
 tired of these meetings. You see, they are not the real 
 thing. Formerly, the evening followed the day ; it was 
 the feast after the fight. Where is now the fight ? And 
 all the dancing, courting, pretty speeches, and tender 
 looks, meant only the fore -words of Love in earnest. 
 J^ow, are we ready again for Love in earnest? Can the 
 men once more worship the women upon whom they 
 have gazed so long unmoved? If so, we must brave the 
 College and face the consequences. I know of two peo- 
 ple only who are at present so much in earnest as to 
 brave the College. They are Christine and myself." 
 
 He took the girl's hand and kissed it. 
 
 " You may add one more, Jack," said Mildred. " If 
 you go away with Christine, take me with you ; for the 
 Present is more intolerable than any possible Future." 
 
THE OPEN DOOR. 93 
 
 " That makes three, then. There may be more. Geof- 
 frey and Dorothy are never tired of whispering and bill- 
 ing. Perhaps they, too, arc strong enough to throw off 
 the old terrors and to join us. But we shall see." 
 
 " I think," said Mildred, " it might depend partly on how 
 the case is put before them. If you made them see very 
 clearly the miseries of their present life, and made them 
 yearn ardently for the things which they have only just re- 
 membered, some of them might follow, at all costs. But for 
 most the College and what it holds would prove too much." 
 
 " Yet you yourself — and Christine — " 
 
 " As for me, it seems as if I remember more than any- 
 body because I think of the sorrows of the Past. I can- 
 not tell now how I ever came to forget those sorrows. 
 And they are now grown so dear to me, that for the very 
 fear of losing them again, I would give up the Gift of 
 the College and go with you. As for Christine, she has 
 never known at all the dread which they now pretend 
 used to fill all our minds and poisoned all our lives. 
 How, then, should she hesitate ? Besides, she loves you. 
 Jack — and that is enough." 
 
 " Quite enough," said Christine, smiling. 
 
 " If you remember everything," Jack went on, gravely, 
 " you remember, Mildred, that there was something in 
 life besides play and society. In a corner of your father's 
 park, for instance, there was an old gray building, with a 
 small tower and a peal of bells. The place stood in a 
 square enclosure, in which were an old broken cross, an 
 ancient yew-tree, two or three head-stones, and the graves 
 of buried villagers. You remember that place, Mildred ? 
 You and I have often played in that ground ; on week- 
 days we have prowled about the old building and read 
 the monuments on the walls; on Sundays we used to sit 
 there with all the people. Do you remember T' 
 
94 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 Mildred clasped her hands. 
 
 " How could I ever forget ?" she cried. " How could 
 any of us forget ?" 
 
 " Because Grout robbed you of your memory, my cous- 
 in. He could not rob mine." 
 
 " Alas !" she lamented, " how can we ever get that back 
 again ?" 
 
 " By memory, Mildred. It will come back presently. 
 Think of that, and you will be less afraid to come with 
 us. If that was able to comfort the world formerly when 
 the world was full of life and joy and needed so little 
 comfort, what should it not do for you now, when the 
 world is so dull and dismal, and the Awful Present is so 
 long that it seems never to have had a beginning, just as 
 it promises never to have an end. Courage, Cousin Mil- 
 dred. 
 
 " And now," he went on, after a pause, " for my plan. 
 My ship is bound for any port to which the College may 
 despatch her. She must sail in about four or five weeks. 
 I shall take you both on board. Christine will be my 
 wife — you shall be our companion. Perhaps one or two 
 more may go with us. We shall take certain things that 
 we shall want. I can procure all these without the least 
 suspicion, and we shall sail to an island of which I know, 
 where the air is always warm and the soil is fruitful. 
 There the sailors shall land us and shall sail away, unless 
 they please to join us. And there we will live out our 
 allotted lives, without asking anything of the College. 
 The revival of that lost part of your memory, Mildred, 
 will serve you in place of what they could have given 
 you. You agree? Well, that is settled, then. Let us go 
 back." 
 
 But, as you shall see, this plan was never carried out. 
 
THE OPEN DOOR, 95 
 
 "When all went away that evening, Mildred remained 
 behind. 
 
 " Christine,'' she said, " I have something to tell you. 
 Take nie somewliere — to some dark place — where we can 
 whisper." 
 
 One might as well have talked at the top of his voice, 
 just where they were, for any chance of being heard ; 
 but guilt made the woman tremble. 
 
 " Come into the Picture Gallery," said Christine, lead- 
 ing the way. " No one can hear what we say there. My 
 dear, in the old days when people were going to conspire 
 they always began by going to dark galleries, vaults, and 
 secret places. This is quite delightful. I feel like a con- 
 spirator." 
 
 " Don't laugh at me, dear," said Mildred ; " for, indeed, 
 when you have heard what I have to say, you will feel 
 very much more like a conspirator." 
 
 The room was in darkness, but for the moonlight which 
 poured in through the windows of one side, and made 
 queer work with the pictures on which it fell. At the 
 end the moonlight shone through the door, hardly ever 
 used, which led from the Gallery into the Garden of the 
 College beyond. 
 
 " What is that V\ Mildred caught Christine by the 
 hand. 
 
 " It is the door leading into the College Gardens. How 
 came it open V 
 
 " Have you a key ?" 
 
 " I suppose there is a key on the old rusty bunch hang- 
 ing up in the Museum, but I do not know — I have never 
 tried the keys. Who could have opened it ?" 
 
 Christine walked down the Gallery hastily, Mildred fol- 
 lowing. The door was standing wide open. 
 
 " Who has done this ?" asked Christine, again. " I can- 
 
96 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 not tell who oould have opened the door, or why. It has 
 never been opened before." 
 
 Mildred shuddered. " It is thrown open for some mis- 
 chief," she said ; " we shall find out soon enough by 
 whom." 
 
 Then they looked out through the door into the Gar- 
 den of the College. The door faced a semicircular lawn 
 run wild with rank grass never shorn ; behind the lawn 
 were trees ; and the moonlight lay on all. 
 
 Suddenly the girls caught hands and shrank back into 
 the door-way, for a tall form emerged from the trees and 
 appeared upon the lawn, where he walked with hanging 
 head and hands clasped behind his back. 
 
 " It is the Arch Physician !" Christine whispered. 
 
 " It is Harry Linister," Mildred murmured. 
 
 Then they retreated within and shut the door noiseless- 
 ly ; but they could not lock or fasten it. 
 
 " I can see that part of the Garden from a window 
 in the Library," said Christine. " He walks there every 
 morning and every evening. He is always alone. He 
 always hangs his head, and he always looks fit to cry for 
 trouble. What is the good of being Arch Physician, if 
 you cannot have things done as you want ?" 
 
 " My dear," said Mildred, " I am afraid you do not quite 
 understand. In the old days — I mean not quite the dear 
 old days, but in the time when people still discussed things 
 and we had not been robbed of memory and of under- 
 standing — it was very well known that the Arch Physi- 
 cian was out-voted in the College by Grout and his 
 Party." 
 
 "By Doctor Grout?" 
 
 " My dear, Grout was never a Doctor. He only calls 
 himself Doctor. I remember when Grout was an ignorant 
 man taken into Professor Linister's Laboratory to wash 
 
THE OPEN DOOR. 97 
 
 up the pots and bottles. He was thin, just as he is now 
 — a short, dark, and soiir-faced man, with bright eyes. 
 Oh, a clever man, I dare say, but ignorant, and full of 
 hatred for the class of culture and refinement. It was 
 Grout who led the Party which took away land and 
 wealth from individuals and transferred all to the State. 
 It was Grout who ordered the Massacre of the Old. It 
 was Grout who invented the horrible cruelty of tlie Com- 
 mon Dress. It was Grout who made the College what it 
 is — not what it was meant to be. It was originally the 
 Guardian of Life and Health. It has become the Tyrant 
 of tlie People. It has destroyed everything — everything 
 that makes life possible — and it tells the People to be hap- 
 py because they live. It is Grout — Grout ! — who has done 
 this. Not the Arch Physician. Not Harry Linister." 
 
 "Why do you say 'Harry Linister,' Mildred?" 
 
 " My dear, I think that of all women living I have the 
 greatest cause to hate the Great Discovery, because it 
 robbed me of my lover." 
 
 "Tell me how, dear." 
 
 "I told you, Christine, that the revival of the Past was 
 the revival of sorrows that I would never agrain forget. 
 Listen, then, and I will tell you what they were. When 
 the Great Discovery was announced, Harry Linister was 
 already a man well known in Science, Christine ; but he 
 was also well known in Society as well. Science did not 
 prevent him from falling in love. And he fell in love 
 with — me. Yes — with me. We met that fatal cveninjr 
 at the Royal Institution, and we arranged, before tlie 
 Lecture, where we should meet after the Lecture. My 
 dear, I knew very well what he was going to say ; and — 
 oh, my poor heart! — how happy I was to think of it! 
 There was nobody in London more clever, more hand- 
 some, and more promising than Harry. He was rich, if 
 7 
 
98 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 that mattered anything to me ; he was ah'eady a Fellow 
 of the Royal Society, for some great discoveries he had 
 made ; everybody said that a splendid career was before 
 him — and he loved me, Christine." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, the news of the Great Discove-ry carried him 
 out of himself. He forgot his love — and me — and every- 
 thing. "When his eyes fell npon me again, I know not 
 how long after, I was in the hideous Common Dress, and 
 he no more recognized me than a stranger would recog- 
 nize one out of a herd of sheep." 
 
 "How could he forget? Do you think that Jack could 
 ever forget me ?" 
 
 " I am sure he will not, at any rate. Now, Christine, I 
 am going to try something serious. I am going to try to 
 convert the Arch Physician himself !" 
 
 "Mildred!" 
 
 " Why not ? He is still a man, I suppose. Nobody 
 ever thought that Grout was a man ; but Harry Linister 
 was once a man, and should be still. And if he have a 
 memory as well as eyes, why — then — " she sighed. " But 
 that would be too much, indeed, to hope." 
 
 " What if you win him, Mildred ?" 
 
 " Why, child, he used to love me. Is not that enough ? 
 Besides, he knows the Great Secret. If we have him with 
 us, we have also with us all the people whom we can 
 shake, push, or prick out of their present miserable 
 apathy. Why did we ever agree to the stupid work day 
 by day ? We began by fighting for the wealth, and those 
 who survived enjoyed it. Why did we not go on fight- 
 ing? Why did we consent to wear this hideous dress? 
 Why did we consent to be robbed of our intelligence, and 
 to be reduced to the condition of sheep? All because the 
 College had the Great Secret, and they made the People 
 
THE OPEN DOOR. 99 
 
 think that to forego that one advantage was worse than 
 all other evils that could happen to them. It was Grout 
 — the villany of Grout — that did it. Now, if we can by 
 any persuasion draw the Arch Phj^sician over to ourselves, 
 we win the cause for all those who join us, because they 
 will lose nothing." 
 
 " How will you win him, Mildred ?" 
 
 " Child, you are young ; you do not know the history 
 of Delilah, of the Sirens, of Circe, of Cleopatra, of Yivien, 
 of a thousand Fair Ladies who have witched away the 
 senses of great men, so that they have become as wax 
 in the hands of their conquerors. Poor Harry ! His 
 heart was not always as hard as stone, nor was it always 
 as heavy as lead. I would witch him, if I could, for his 
 own happiness, poor lad ! — and for mine as well. Let 
 him only come with us, bringing the precious Secret, and 
 we are safe !" 
 
 It has been observed that many hard things were said 
 concerning me — Grout — and that I have, nevertheless, 
 written them down. First,' the things are all true, and I 
 rejoice to think of the part that I have always played in 
 the conduct of the People since the Great Discovery en- 
 abled me to obtain a share in that conduct. Next, it may 
 be asked how I became possessed of this information. 
 That 3'ou shall presently understand. 
 
 All that I have done in my public capacity — as for 
 private life, I never had an}-, except that one goes into a 
 private room for sleep — has been for the Advancement of 
 Humanity. In order to effect this advance with the 
 greater case, I found it necessary to get rid of useless 
 hands — therefore the Old were sacrificed ; to adopt one 
 common standard in everything, so that there should be 
 the same hours of work for all, the same food both in 
 
100 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 quantity and quality, the same dress, and the same hous- 
 ing. As by far the greater number belong to what were 
 formerly known as the lower classes, everything has 
 been a gain for them. ISTow, a gain for the majority is a 
 gain for Humanity. As for the abolition of disturbing 
 emotions, such as Love, Jealousy, Ambition, Study, Learn- 
 ing, and the like, the loss of them is, of course, pure gain. 
 In short, I willingly set down all that may be or has been 
 said against myself, being quite satisfied to let the truth 
 speak for itself. I have now to tell of the Daring At- 
 tempt made upon the Fidelity of the Chief — the Arch 
 Physician himself. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ARCH PHYSICIAN. 
 
 The Arch Physician generally walked in the College 
 Gardens for an hour or so every forenoon. They are very 
 large and spacious Gardens, including plantations of trees, 
 orchards, ferneries, lawns, flower-beds, and shrubberies. In 
 one corner is a certain portion which, having been left 
 entirely alone by the gardeners, has long since become 
 like a tangled coppice, rather than a garden, covered with 
 oaks and elms and all kinds of trees, and overgrown with 
 thick underwoods. It was in this wild and secluded part 
 that Dr. Linister daily walked. It lay conveniently at the 
 back of his own residence, and adjoining the Museum and 
 Picture Gallery. ISTo one came here except himself, and 
 but for the beaten path which his footsteps had made in 
 their daily walk, the place would have become entirely 
 overgrown. As it was, there were thick growths of holly 
 and of yew ; tall hawthorn-trees, wild roses spreading 
 
THE ARCH PHYSICIAN. 101 
 
 about amoDg brambles; ferns grew tall in the shade, and 
 under the great trees there was a deep shadow even on 
 the brightest day. In this neglected wood there were 
 creatures of all kinds — rabbits, squirrels, snakes, moles, 
 badgers, weasels, and stoats. There were also birds of all 
 kinds in the wood, and in the stream that ran through 
 the place there were otters. In this solitary place Dr. 
 Linister walked every day and meditated. The wildness 
 and the solitude pleased and soothed him. I have already 
 explained that he had always, from the outset, been most 
 strongly opposed to the policy of the majority, and that 
 he was never free from a certain melancholy. Perhaps 
 he meditated on the world as he would have made it, had 
 he been able to have his own way, 
 
 I have heard that much was said among the Rebels 
 about my conduct during these events, as wanting in 
 Gratitude. In the first place, if it is at all necessary for 
 me to defend my conduct, let me point out that my duty 
 to the Authority of the House must come before every- 
 thing — certainly before the claims of private gratitude. 
 In the second place, I owe no gratitude at all to Dr. Lin- 
 ister, or to anybod}'. I have made myself. Whatever I 
 have done, alone I have done it, and unaided. Dr. Lin- 
 ister, it is very true, received me into his laboratory as 
 bottle-washer and servant. Very good. lie paid me my 
 wages, and I did his work for him. Much room for grati- 
 tude there. He looked for the proper discharge of the 
 work, and I looked for the regular payment of the wages. 
 Where does the gratitude come in ? He next taught me 
 the elements of science. To be sure, he wanted the sim- 
 pler part of his experiments conducted by a skilled, not an 
 ignorant, hand. Therefore he taught me those elements. 
 Tlie better skilled the band, the more he could depend 
 
102 , THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 upon the successful conduct of liis research. Therefore, 
 when he found that he could depend upon ray eye and 
 hand, he taught me more, and encouraged me to work on 
 my own account, and gave me the best books to read. 
 V^ery good. All for his own purposes. 
 
 What happened next? Presently, Grout the Bottle- 
 washer became so important in the laboratory that he be- 
 came Grout the Assistant, or Demonstrator ; and another 
 Bottle-washer was appointed — a worthy creature who still 
 performs that useful Function, and desires nothing more 
 than to wash the bottles truly and thoroughly. Next, 
 Grout became known outside the laboratory ; many inter- 
 esting and important discoveries were made by Grout; 
 then Grout became too big a man to be any longer Dr. 
 Linister's Assistant ; he had his own laboratory ; Grout 
 entered upon his own field of research. This was a prac- 
 tical field, and one in which he quickly surpassed all 
 others. 
 
 Remember that Dr. Linister never claimed, or looked 
 for, gratitude. He was much too wise a man. On all 
 occasions, when it was becoming in him, he spoke in the 
 highest terms of his former Assistant's scientific achieve- 
 ments. 
 
 There was, in fact, no question of Gratitude at all. 
 
 As for personal friendship, the association of years, the 
 bond of union, or work in common — these are mere 
 phrases, the worn-out old phrases of the vanished Past. 
 Besides, there never was any personal friendship. Quite 
 the contrary. Dr. Linister was never able to forget that 
 in the old time I had been the servant and he the master. 
 Where equality has been so long established, the continual 
 reminder of former inequality is galling. 
 
 Dr. Linister, indeed, was always antipathetic from the 
 beginning. Except over a research, we could have noth- 
 
THE ARCH PHYSICIAN. 103 
 
 iiig in common. In the old days he was what they called 
 a gentleman ; he was also a scholar ; he used to play music 
 and write verses; he would act and dance and sing, and do 
 all kinds of things ; he was one of those men who always 
 wanted to do everything that other men can do, and to do 
 it as well as other men could do it. So that, though he 
 was a great scientific worker, he spent half his day at his 
 club, or at his sports, or in Society ; that is to say, with the 
 women — and mostly, I think, among the games and amuse- 
 ments of the women. There was every day, I remember, 
 a great running to and fro of page-boys with notes from 
 them ; and he was always ready to leave any, even the 
 most important work, just to run after a woman's caprice. 
 
 As for me, I never had any school education at all ; I 
 never had anything to do with Society ; the sight of a 
 woman always filled me with contempt for the man who 
 could waste time in running after a creature who knew 
 no science, never cared for any, and was so wont to dis- 
 figure her natural figure by the way she crowded on her 
 misshapen clothes that no one could guess what it was like 
 beneath them. As for music^ art, and the rest of it, I 
 never asked so much as what they meant ; after I began 
 to make ray way, I had the laboratory for work, play, 
 and all. 
 
 When, again, it came to the time when the Property 
 (juestion became acute, and we attempted to solve it by a 
 Civil War, although Dr. Linister adhered to his determi- 
 nation not to leave his laboratory, his sympathies were al- 
 ways with individualism. Xay, he never disguised his 
 opinion, but was accustomed regularly to set it forth at 
 our Council meetings in the House of Life — that the abo- 
 lition of property and the establishment of the perfect 
 Socialism were the greatest blows ever inflicted upon civ- 
 ilization. It is not, however, civilization which the Col- 
 
104 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 lege advances, but Science — which is a very different 
 thing — and the Scientific End of Humanity. The gradual 
 extinction of all the emotions — love, jealousy, ambition, 
 rivalry — Dr. Linister maintained, made life so poor a thing 
 that painless extinction would be the very best thing pos- 
 sible for the whole race. It is useless to point out, to one 
 so prejudiced, the enormous advantage gained in securing 
 constant tranquillity of mind. He was even, sometimes, 
 an advocate for the revival of fighting — fighting, the old 
 barbarous way of settling disputes, in which lives were 
 thrown away by thousands on a single field. Nor would 
 he ever agree with the majority of the House that the 
 only End of Humanity is mere existence, at which Science 
 should always aim, prolonged without exertion, thought, 
 care, or emotion of any kind. 
 
 In fact, according to the contention of my followers 
 and myself, the Triumph of Science is as follows : The 
 Philosopher finds a creature, extremely short-lived at the 
 best, liable to every kind of disease and suffering from ex- 
 ternal causes, torn to pieces from within by all kinds of 
 conflicting emotions; a creature most eager and insatiate 
 of appetite, fiery and impetuous, quarrelsome and mur- 
 derous, most difiicult to drive or lead, guided only by its 
 own selfish desires, tormented by intellectual doubts and 
 questions which can never be answered. The Philosopher 
 works upon this creature until he has moulded it into an- 
 other so different that no one would perceive any like- 
 ness to the original creature. The new creature is immor- 
 tal ; it is free from disease or the possibility of disease ; 
 it has no emotions, no desires, and no intellectual restless- 
 ness. It breathes, eats, sleeps. 
 
 Such is my idea of Science Triumphant. It was never 
 Dr. Linister's. 
 
 In manners, the Arch Physician preserved the old man- 
 
THE ARCH PHYSICIAN". 105 
 
 ners of courtesy and deference which were the fashion 
 when he was brought up. His special work had been for 
 many years the study of the so-called incurable diseases, 
 such as asthma, gout, rheumatism, and so forth. For 
 my own part, ray mind, since I became Suffragan, has 
 always been occupied with Administration, having stead- 
 ily in view the Triumph of Science. I have, with this in- 
 tention, made the Social Equality real and complete from 
 every point; I have also endeavored to simplify labor, to 
 enlarge the production and the distribution of food by 
 mechanical means, and thus to decrease the necessity for 
 thought, contrivance, and the exercise of ingenuity. Most 
 of our work is so subdivided that no one understands more 
 than the little part of it which occupies him for four hours 
 every day. Workmen who know the whole process are 
 impossible. They ask, they inquire, they want to im- 
 prove ; when their daily task is but a bit of mechanical 
 drudgery, they do it without thought and they come away. 
 Since labor is necessary, let it be as mechanical as possible, 
 so that the head may not be in the least concerned with 
 the work of the hand. In this — my view of things — the 
 Arch Physician could never be brought to acquiesce. 
 Had he been able to have his own way, the whole of my 
 magnificent scheme would have been long ago destroyed 
 and rendered impossible. I suppose it was this impossi- 
 bility of having his own way which afflicted him with so 
 profound a melanclioly. His face was always sad, because 
 lie could never reconcile himself to the doctrine of human 
 equality, without which the Perfection of Man is impos- 
 sible. 
 
 It will be seen, in short, that the Arch Physician and 
 myself held hardly a single view in common. But he had 
 been elected to his post, and I to mine. We shared be- 
 tween us the Great Secret ; and if my views prevailed in 
 
106 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 our Council, it was due either to my own power of im- 
 pressing my views upon my colleagues, or to the truth 
 and justice of those views. 
 
 But as to gratitude, there was no room or cause for 
 any. 
 
 As, then. Dr. Linister walked to and fro upon the open 
 space outside the Picture Gallery, his hands behind him, 
 his head hanging, and his thoughts I know not where, he 
 became conscious of something that was out of the usual 
 order. When one lives as we live, one day following 
 another, each like the one which went before, little de- 
 partures from the accustomed order disturb the mind. 
 For many, many years the Doctor had not given a thought 
 to the Picture Gallery or to the door. Yet, because it 
 stood open, and he had been accustomed to see it closed, 
 he was disturbed, and presently lifted his head and discov- 
 ered the cause. 
 
 The door stood open. "Why ? What was the door ? 
 Then he remembered what it was, and whither it led. It 
 opened into the ancient Picture Gallery, the very exist- 
 ence of which he had forgotten, though every day he saw 
 the door and the building itself. The Picture Gallery ! 
 It was full of the pictures painted in the last few years 
 before the Great Discovery ; that is to say, it was full of 
 the life which he had long ago lived — nay, he lived it still. 
 As he stood hesitating without the door, that life came 
 back to him with a strange yearning and sinking of the 
 heart. He had never, you see, ceased to regret it, nor had 
 lie ever forgotten it. And now he was tempted to look 
 upon it again. As well might a monk in the old times 
 look upon a picture of fair women years after he had for- 
 sworn love. 
 
 He hesitated, his knees trembling, for merely thinking 
 
THE ARCH PHYSICIAN. 107 
 
 what was within. Then he yielded to the temptation, 
 and went into the Gallery. 
 
 The morning sun streamed through the window and 
 lay upon the floor; the motes danced in the sunshine; 
 the Gallery was quite empty; but on the walls hung, one 
 above the other, live or six in each row, the pictures of 
 the Past. In some the pigments were faded; crimson 
 was pale-pink ; green was gray ; red was brown ; but the 
 ligures were there, and the Life which he had lost once 
 more flashed upon his brain. He saw the women whom 
 once he had loved so much ; they were lying on soft 
 couches, gazing upon him with eyes which made his heart 
 to beat and his whole frame to tremble ; they were dan- 
 cing ; they were in boats, dressed in dainty summer cos- 
 tume; they were playing lawn-tennis; they were in draw- 
 ing-rooms, on horseback, on lawns, in gardens ; they were 
 being wooed by their lovers. What more ? They were 
 painted in fancy costumes, ancient costumes, and even 
 with no costume at all. And the more he looked, the 
 more his cheek glowed and his heart beat. Where had 
 they gone^-the women of his youth ? 
 
 Suddenly he heard the tinkling of a musical instru- 
 ment. It was a thing they used to call a zither. He 
 started, as one awakened out of a dream. Then he heard 
 a voice singing ; and it sang the same song he had heard 
 that night five or six weeks aijo — his own sonjr: 
 
 'to* 
 
 " The girls they laugh, the girls they cry, 
 
 'What shall their guerdon be? — 
 Alas! that some must fall and die! — 
 
 Bring forth our gauds to see. 
 'Twere all too slight, give what we might.' 
 
 Up spoke a soldier tall : 
 'Oh! Love is worth the whole broad earth; 
 Oh! Love is worth the whole broad earth; 
 
 Give that, you give us all!" " 
 
108 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 This time, however, it was another voice — a fuller and 
 richer voice — which sang those words. 
 
 Dr. Linister started again when the voice began. He 
 changed color, and his cheek grew pale. 
 
 " Heavens !" he murmured. " Are there phantoms in 
 the air? What does it mean? This is the second time 
 — my own song — the foolish old song — my own air — the 
 foolish, tinkling air that they used to like ! And the voice 
 — I remember the voice — whose voice is it ? I remember 
 the voice — whose voice is it ?" 
 
 He looked round him again, at the pictures, as if to 
 find among them the face he sought. The pictures 
 showed all the life of the Past; the ball-room with the 
 dancers ; the sports of the field ; the drive in the after- 
 noon, the ride in the morning ; the bevy of girls ; the sol- 
 diers and the sailors; the streets crowded with people; 
 the vile slums and the picturesque blackguardism of the 
 City — but not the face he wanted. Then he left off look- 
 ing for the singer, and began to think of the faces before 
 him. 
 
 " On every face," he said, " there is unsatisfied desire. 
 Yet they are the happier for that very dissatisfaction. 
 Yes — they are the happier." He paused before a painted 
 group of street children ; some were playing over the gut- 
 ter; some were sitting on door-steps, carrying babies as 
 big as themselves ; one was sucking a piece of orange- 
 peel picked up on the pavement; one was gnawing a 
 crust. They were all ragged and half starved. " Yet," 
 said the Arch Physician, "they are happy. But we have 
 no children now. In those days they could paint and 
 (iraw — and we have lost the Art. Great heavens!" he 
 cried, impatiently, " we have lost every Art. Cruel ! 
 cruel!" Then from within there broke upon his ears a 
 strain of music. It was so long since he had heard any 
 
THE ARCH PHYSICIAN. 109 
 
 music that at first it took away his breath. Wonderful 
 that a mere sound such as that of music should produce 
 such an effect upon a man of science ! " Oh," he sighed, 
 heavily, " we have even thrown away that ! Yet — where 
 — where does the music come from ? Who plays it ?" 
 
 While he listened, carried away by the pictures and by 
 the music and by his own thoughts to the Past, his mind 
 full of the Past, it did not surprise him in the least that 
 there came out from the door between the Gallery and 
 the Museum a young lady belonging absolutely to the 
 Past. There was no touch of the Present about her at 
 all. She did not wear the regulation dress ; she did not 
 wear the flat cap. 
 
 "It is," said Dr. Linister, "the Face that belongs to the 
 Voice. I know it now. Where did I see it last? To 
 whom does it belong ?" 
 
 She stood for a few moments in the sunshine. Behind 
 her was a great picture all crimson and purple, a mass of 
 flaming color, before which her tall and slight figure, 
 dressed in a delicate stuff of soft creamy color, stood 
 clearly outlined. The front of the dress — at least that 
 part which covered the throat to the waist — was of some 
 warmer color ; there were flowers at her left shoulder ; 
 her hair was braided tightly round her head ; round her 
 neck was a ribbon with something hanging from it; she 
 wore brown gloves, and carried a straw hat dangling in 
 her hand. It was, perhaps, the sunshine which made her 
 eyes so bright, her cheek so glowing, her rosy lips so 
 quivering. 
 
 She stood there, looking straight down the Hall, as if 
 she saw no one. 
 
 Dr. Linister gazed and turned pale ; his cheeks were so 
 white that you might have tliought him about to faint; 
 he reeled and trembled. 
 
110 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " Good God !" he murmured, falling back upon the 
 interjection of the Past, " we have lost the Beauty of 
 women! Oh, Fools! Fools! We have thrown all away 
 — all — and for what?" 
 
 Then the girl came swiftly down the Hall towards him, 
 A smile of welcome was on her lips; a blush upon her 
 cheek ; her eyes looked up and dropped again, and again 
 looked up and once more dropped. 
 
 Then she stopped before him and held out both her 
 hands. 
 
 "Harry Linister!" she cried, as if surprised, and with 
 a little laugh, "how long is it since last we met?" 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE FIDELITY OF JOHN LAX. 
 
 That morning, while I was in my private laboratory, 
 idly turning over certain Notes on experiments conducted 
 for the artificial manufacture of food, I was interrupted 
 by a knock at the door. 
 
 My visitor was the Porter of the House of Life, our 
 most trusted servant, John Lax. His duty it was to sleep 
 in the House — his chamber being that ancient room over 
 the South Porch — to inspect the furnaces and laboratories 
 after the work of the day was closed, and at all times to 
 keep an eye upon the Fabric itself, so that it should in 
 no way fall out of repair. His 'orders were also to kill 
 any strangers who might try to force their way into the 
 House on any pretence whatever. 
 
 He was a stout, sturdy fellow, vigorous and strong, 
 though the Great Discovery had found him nearly forty 
 years of age; his hair, though it had gone bald on the 
 
THE FIDELITY OF JOHN' LAX. Ill 
 
 top, was still thick on the sides, and gave him a terrifv- 
 ir\g appearance under his cap of scarlet and gold. He 
 carried a great halberd as a wand of oflBce, and his coat 
 and cap matched each other for color and for gold em- 
 broidery. Save as representing the authority of the House 
 and College, I would never have allowed such a splendid 
 appearance to any one. 
 
 " What have you come to tell me, John (" I asked. 
 
 I may explain that I had always found John Lax useful 
 in keeping me informed as to the internal condition of 
 the College and its Assistants — what was said and debated 
 — what opinions were advanced, by what men, and so 
 forth. 
 
 " In the College itself. Suffragan," he said, "and in the 
 House, things are mighty dull and quiet. Blessed if a 
 little Discontent or a Mutiny, or something, wouldn't be 
 worth having, just to shake up the lot. There's not even 
 a grumbler left. A little rising and a few heads broken, 
 and we should settle down again, qaiet and contented 
 again.-' 
 
 " Don't talk like a fool, John." 
 
 " "Well, Suffragan, you like to hear all that goes on. I 
 wonder what you'll say to what I'm going to tell you now ?'' 
 
 '' Go on, John. "What is it ?" 
 
 " It's irregular, Suffragan, but your Honor is above the 
 Law; and, before beginning a long story — mind you, a 
 most important story it is — " 
 
 " What is it about ? Who's in it V' 
 
 " Lots of the People are in it. They don't count. He's 
 in it now — come !" 
 
 "He?" 
 
 John Lax had pointed over his shoulder so clearly in 
 the direction of the Arch Physician's residence that I 
 could not but understand. Yet I pretended. 
 
112 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 "He, John? Who is he?" 
 
 "The Arch Physician is in it. There! Now, Suffragan, 
 bring out that bottle and a glass, and I can then tell you 
 the story, without fear of ill consequences to my throat 
 that was once delicate." 
 
 I gave him the bottle and a glass, and, after drink- 
 ing a tumblerful of whiskey (forbidden to the People) 
 he began. 
 
 Certain reasons, he said, had made him suspicious as to 
 what went on at night in the Museum during the last few 
 weeks. The lights were up until late at night. Once he 
 tried the doors, and found that they were locked. He 
 heard the playing of music within, and the sound of many 
 voices. 
 
 Now, there is, as I told John Lax at this point, no law 
 against the assemblage of the People, nor against their 
 sitting up, or singing and playing together. I had, to 
 be sure, hoped that they had long ceased to desire to 
 meet together, and had quite forgotten how to make 
 music. 
 
 He remembered, John Lax went on to say, that there 
 was a door leading into the Picture Gallery from the Col- 
 lege Garden — a door of which he held the key. 
 
 He opened this door quietly, and then, night after 
 night, he crept into the Picture Gallery, and watched 
 what went on through the door, which opened upon the 
 Museum. He had found, in fact, a place close by the 
 door, where, hidden behind a group of statuary, he could 
 watch and listen in almost perfect security. 
 
 I then heard, to my amazement, how a small company 
 of the People were every night carrying on a revival of 
 the Past ; not with the laudable intention of disgusting 
 themselves with the horrors of that time, but exactly the 
 contrary. It was only the pleasant side of that time — the 
 
THE FIDELITY OF JOHN LAX. 113 
 
 evening life of the rich and careless— which these foolish 
 persons reproduced. 
 
 They had, in fact, gone so far, John Lax told me, as to 
 fall in love with that time, to deride the Present, and to 
 pour abuse upon my name— mine— as the supposed chief 
 author of the Social Equality. This was very well for a 
 beginning. This was a startling awakener out of a Fool's 
 Paradise. True, the company was small ; they might be 
 easily dispersed or isolated ; means might be found to ter- 
 rify them into submission. Yet it gave me a rude shock. 
 ^ " I've had my suspicions," John Lax continued, " ever 
 since one morning when L looked into the Museum and 
 see that young gal dressed up and carrying on before the 
 looking-glass, more like— well, more like an actress at the 
 Pav, as they used to make 'cm, than like a decent woman. 
 But now there's more." He stopped and whispered, 
 hoarsely, " Suffragan, I've just come from a little turn 
 about the Garden. Outside the Picture Gallery, where 
 there's a bit o' turf and a lot of trees all standin' around, 
 there's a very curious sight to see this minute ; and if 
 you'll get up and go along o' me, Suffragan, you'll be 
 pleased— you will, indeed — astonished and pleased you 
 will be." 
 
 I obeyed. I arose and followed this zealous servant. 
 He led me to a part of the Garden which I did not 
 know; it was the place of which I have spoken. Here, 
 amid a great thick growth of underwood, he took me into 
 the ruins of an old garden or tool-house, built of wood, 
 but the planks were decaying and were starting apart. 
 
 "Stand there, and look and listen," whispered John 
 Lax, grinning. 
 
 The open planks commanded a view of a semicircular 
 lawn, where the neglected grass had grown thick and 
 rank. Almost under my eyes there was sitting upon a 
 
114 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 fallen trunk a woman, fantastically dressed — against the 
 Rules — and at her feet lay none other than the Arch Phy- 
 sician himself ! Then, indeed, I pricked up my ears and 
 listened with all my might. 
 
 " Are we dreaming, Mildred V he murmured. " Are 
 we dreaming ?" 
 
 " No, Harry ; we have all been dreaming for a long, 
 long time — never mind how long. Just now we are not 
 dreaming, we are truly awake. You are ray old playfel- 
 low, and I am your old sweetheart," she said, with a little 
 blush. " Tell me what you are doing — always in your 
 laboratory. I suppose, always finding some new secrets. 
 Does it make you any happier, Harry, to be always find- 
 ing something new ?" 
 
 " It is the only thing that makes life endurable — to dis- 
 cover the secrets of Nature. For what other purpose do 
 we live ?" 
 
 " Then, Harry, for what purpose do the rest of us live, 
 who do not investigate those secrets? Can women be 
 happy in no other way ? We do not prosecute any kind 
 of research, you know." 
 
 " Happy ? Are we in the Present or the Past, Mil- 
 dred?" 
 
 He looked about him, as if expecting to see3the figures 
 of the Pictures in the Gallery walking about upon the 
 grass. 
 
 " Just now, Harry, we are in the Past. We are back 
 — we two together — in the glorious and beautiful Past, 
 where everything was delightful. Outside this place 
 there is the horrible Present. You have made the Present 
 for us, and therefore you ought to know what it is. Let 
 me look at you, Harry. Why, the old look is coming 
 back to your eyes. Take o2 that black gown, Harry, and 
 throw it away, while you are with me. So. You are 
 
THE FIDELITY OF JOHN LAX. 115 
 
 now my old friend again, and wc can talk. You arc no 
 longer the President of the Holy College, the terrible and 
 venerable Arch Physician, the Guardian of the House of 
 Life. You are plain Harry Linister again. Tell me, then, 
 Harry, are you happy in this beautiful Present that you 
 have made?" 
 
 " No, Mildred ; I am never happy." 
 
 "Then why not unmake the Present? Why not re- 
 turn to the Past ?" 
 
 "It is impossible. "We might go back to the Past" for 
 a little ; but it would become intolerable again, as it did 
 before. Formerly there was no time for any of the fleet- 
 ing things of life to lose their rapture. All things were 
 enjoyed for a moment, and then vanished. ]^ow " — he 
 sighed wearily — "they last — they last. So that there is 
 nothing left for us but the finding of new secrets. And 
 for you, Mildred ?" 
 
 "I have been in a dream," she replied. "Oh, a long, 
 long nightmare, that has never left me, day or night. I 
 don't know how long it has lasted. But it has lifted at 
 last, thank God !" 
 
 The Arch Physician started and looked astonished. 
 
 " It seems a long time," he said, " since I heard those 
 words. I thought we had forgotten — " 
 
 "It was a dream of no change, day after day. Noth- 
 ing happened. In the morning we worked ; in the after- 
 noon we rested ; in the evening we took food ; at night 
 we slept. And the mind was dead. There were no 
 books to read; there was nothing to talk about; there 
 was nothing to hope. Always the same work — a piece 
 of work that nobody cared to do — a mechanical piece 
 of work. Always the same dress — the same hideous, 
 horrible dress. We were all alike ; there was nothing 
 at all to distinguish us. The Past seemed forgotten." 
 
116 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 "Nothing can be ever forgotten," said Dr. Linister; 
 " but it may be put away for a time." 
 
 " Oh, when I think of all that we had forgotten, it 
 seems terrible ! Yet we lived — how could we live ? — it 
 was not life. No thought, no care, about anything. 
 Every one centred in himself, careless of his neighbor. 
 Why, I did not know so much as the occupants of the 
 rooms next to my own. Men looked on women, and 
 women on men, without thought or emotion. Love was 
 dead — Life was Death ? Harry, it was a most dreadful 
 dream. And in the night there used to come a terrible 
 nio^htmare of nothin<yness ! It was as if I floated alone in 
 ether, far from the world or life, and could find nothing 
 — nothing — for the mind to grasp or think of. And I 
 woke at the point of madness. A dreadful dream ! And 
 yet we lived. Rather than go back to that most terrible 
 dream, I would — I would — " 
 
 She clasped her forehead with her hand and looked 
 about her with haggard eyes. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Dr. Linister ; " I ought to have guessed 
 your sufferings — by my own. Yet I have had my labor- 
 atory." 
 
 " Then I was shaken out of the dream by a girl — by 
 Christine. And now we are resolved — some of us — at all 
 costs and hazards — yes, even if we are debarred from the 
 Great Discovery — to — live — again — to live — again !" she 
 repeated, slowly. "Do you know, Harry, what that 
 means ? To go back — to live again ! Only think what 
 that means." 
 
 He was silent. 
 
 " Have you forgotten, Harry," she asked, softly, " what 
 that means ?" 
 
 "No," he said. "I remember everything; but I am 
 trying to understand. The accursed Present is around 
 
THE FIDELITY OF JOHN LAX. '117 
 
 and above me, like a horrible black Fog. How can we 
 lift it? How can we live again?" 
 
 "Some of us have found out a way. In the morning 
 we put on the odious uniform, and do our allotted task 
 among the poor wretches who are still in that bad dream 
 of never-ending monotony. We sit among them, silent 
 ourselves, trying to disguise the new light that has come 
 back to our eyes, in the Public Hall. In the evening we 
 come here, put on the old dresses, and live the old life." 
 
 "It is wonderful," he said. "I knew all along that 
 human nature would one day assert itself again. I told 
 Grout so. He has always been quite wrong !" 
 
 "Grout! What does Grout know of civilized life? 
 Grout ! Why, he was your own bottle - washer — a com- 
 mon servant. He thought it was justice to reduce every- 
 body to his own level, and happiness for them to remain 
 there ! Grout ! Why, he has only one idea — to make us 
 mere machines. Oh, Harry !" she said, reproach in her 
 eyes, "you are Arch Physician, and you cannot alter 
 things !" 
 
 " No ; I have the majority of the College against me." 
 
 " Am I looking well, Harry, after all these years ?" 
 
 She suddenly changed her voice and manner and 
 laughed, and turned her face to meet his. Witch ! Abom- 
 inable Witch ! 
 
 " Well, Mildred, was it yesterday that I loved you ? 
 Was the Great Discovery made only yesterday? Oli, 
 you look lovelier than ever !" 
 
 " Lovely means worthy of love, Harry. But you have 
 killed love." 
 
 "No, no. Love died. We did not kill love. Why 
 did the men cease to love the women ? Was it that they 
 saw them every day, and so grew tired of them ?" 
 
 "Perhaps it was because you took from us the things 
 
118 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 that might have kept love alive; music, art, literature, 
 grace, culture, society — everything." 
 
 " We did not take them. They died." 
 
 " And then you dressed us all alike, in the most hideous 
 costume ever invented." 
 
 " It was Grout's dress." 
 
 " What is the good of being Arch Physician if one can- 
 not have his own way ?" 
 
 Harry sighed. 
 
 " My place is in the laboratory," he said. " I experi- 
 ment, and I discover. The Suffragan administers. It 
 has always been the rule. Yet you live again, Mildred. 
 Tell me more. I do not understand how you contrive to 
 live again." 
 
 " We have a little company of twenty or thirty, who 
 meet together in the evening after the dinner is over. 
 No one else ever comes to the Museum. As soon as it 
 is dark, you know very well, the People all creep home 
 and go to bed ; but my friends come here. It was Chris- 
 tine who began it. She found or made the dresses for 
 us ; she beguiled us into forgetting the Present and going 
 back to the Past. Now we have succeeded in caring 
 nothing at all about the Present. We began by pretend- 
 ing. It is no longer pretence. The Past lives again, and 
 we hate the Present. Oh, we hate and loathe it !" 
 
 " Yes, yes. But how do you revive the Past ?" 
 
 " We have dances. You used to dance very well for- 
 merly, my dear Harry. That was before you walked 
 every day in a grand Procession, and took the highest 
 place in the Public Hall. I wonder if you could dance 
 again ? Nature's secrets are not so heavy that they would 
 clog your feet, are they ? We sing and play : the old 
 music has been found, and we are beginning to play it 
 properly again. We talk ; we act little drawing-room 
 
THE FIDELITY OF JOHX LAX. 119 
 
 plays; sometimes we draw or paint; and — oh, Harrj ! 
 
 the men have begun again to make Love— real, ardent 
 Love ! All the dear old passions are reviving. We are 
 always finding other poor creatures like ourselves, who 
 were once ladies and gentlemen, and now are aimless and 
 soulless ; and we recruit them." 
 
 " What will Grout say when he finds it out?" 
 " lie can never make us go back to the Present again. 
 So far, I defy Grout, Harry." 
 The Arch Physician sighed. 
 
 " The old life !" he said ; " the old life ! I will confess, 
 Mildred, that I have never forgotten it — not for a day ; 
 and I have never ceased to regret that it was not con- 
 tinued." 
 
 "Grout pulled it to pieces; but we will revive it." 
 " If it could be revived ; but that is impossible." 
 " Nothing is impossible to you— nothing — to you. Con- 
 sider, Harry," she whispered. " You have the Secret." 
 lie started and changed color. 
 " Yes, yes," he said ; " but what then V 
 "Come and see the old life revived. Come this even- 
 ing ; come, dear Harry." She laid a hand upon his arm. 
 " Come, for auld lang syne. Can the old emotions revive 
 again, even in the breast of the Arch Physician ?" 
 
 His eyes met hers. He trembled— a sure sign that the 
 old spirit was reviving in him. Then he spoke in a kind 
 of murmur : 
 
 "I have been living alone so long— so long— that I 
 thought there was nothing left but solitude forever. 
 Grout likes it. He will have it that loneliness belongs to 
 the Higher Life." 
 
 " Come to us," she replied, her hand still on his arm, 
 her eyes turned so as to look into his. Ah, shameless 
 Witch! "We are not lonely; we talk; we exchancre 
 
120 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 looks and smiles. We have begun again to practise the 
 old arts ; we have begun to read in each other's souls. 
 Old thoughts that we had long forgotten are pouring back 
 into our minds; it is strange to find them there again. 
 Come, Harry ; forget the laboratory for a while, and come 
 with us; but come without Grout. The mere aspect of 
 Grout would cause all our innocent joys to take flight and 
 vanish. Come ! Be no more the Sacred Head of the Holy 
 College, but my dear old friend and companion, Harry 
 Linister, who might have been but for the Great Dis- 
 covery — but that is foolish. Come, Harry; come this 
 eveninsr." 
 
 CHAPTER VIH. 
 
 THE ARCH TRAITOR. 
 
 I DISMISSED John Lax, charging him with the most pro- 
 found secrecy. I knew, and had known for a long time, 
 that this man, formerly the avowed enemy of aristocrats, 
 nourished an extraordinary hatred for the Arch Physician, 
 and therefore I was certain that he would keep silence. 
 
 I resolved that I would myself keep a watch, and, if 
 possible, be present at the meeting of this evening. What 
 would happen I knew not, nor could I tell what to do ; 
 there are no laws in our community to prevent such meet- 
 ings. If the Arch Physician chooses to attend such a 
 play-acting, how is he to be prevented ? But I would my- 
 self watch. You shall hear how I was rewarded. 
 
 Dr. Linister was, as usual, melancholy and preoccupied at 
 Supper. He said nothing of what he intended. As for me, 
 I looked about the Hall to see if there were any whom I 
 could detect, from any unnatural restlessness, as members 
 of this dangerous company ; but I could see none, except 
 
THE ARCH TRAITOR. 1^1 
 
 the girl Christine, whose vivacity might be allowed on 
 the score of youth. The face of John Lax, it is true, as 
 he sat at the lowest place of our table, betokened an ill- 
 suppressed joy and an eagerness quite interesting to one 
 who understood the meaning of these emotions. Poor 
 John Lax ! Never again shall we find one like unto him 
 for zeal and strength and courage. 
 
 I waited until half-past nine o'clock; then I sallied 
 forth. 
 
 It was a dark night and still. There was no moon; 
 the sky was cloudy; no wind was in the air, and from 
 time to time there were low rumblings of distant thun- 
 der. 
 
 I made my way cautiously and noiselessly through the 
 dark Garden to the entrance of the Picture Gallery, which 
 the faithful John Lax had left open for me. I ventured, 
 with every precaution, into the Gallery. It seemed quite 
 empty, but at the end there was a door opening into the 
 Museum, which poured a narrow stream of light straight 
 down the middle of the Gallery. I crept along the dark 
 wall, and presently found myself at the end close to this 
 door. And here I came upon the group of statuary of 
 which John Lax had told me where I could crouch and 
 hide in perfect safety, unseen myself, yet able to see 
 everything that went on within. 
 
 I confess that even the revelations of John Lax had not 
 prepared me for the scene which met my eyes. There 
 were thirty or forty men and women present ; the room 
 was lit up; there were flowers in vases set about; there 
 w^as a musical instrument, at Avhich one sat down and 
 sang. When she had finished, everybody began to laugh 
 and talk. Then another sat down and began to play, and 
 then they went out upon the floor two by two, in pairs, 
 and began to twirl round like teetotums. As for their 
 
122 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 dresses, I never saw the like ; for the women were dressed 
 in frocks of silk — white, pink, cream-colored, trimmed 
 with lace ; with jewels on their arms and necks, and long 
 white gloves, and flowers in their hair. In their hands 
 they carried fans, and their dresses were low, exposing 
 their necks, and so much of their arms as was not covered 
 up with gloves. And they looked excited and eager. The 
 expression which I had striven so long to impart to their 
 faces, that of tranquillity, was gone. The old unhappy 
 eagerness, with flashing eyes, flushed cheeks, and panting 
 breath, was come back to them again. Heavens ! what 
 could be done? As for the men, they wore a black-cloth 
 dress — all alike — why, then, did they dislike the regulation 
 blue flannel? — with a large white shirt-front and white 
 ties and white gloves. And they, too, were full of the 
 restless eagerness and excitement. So difiierent were they 
 all from the men and women Avhom I had observed day 
 after day in the Public Hall, that I could remember not 
 one except the girl Christine, and — and — yes, among them 
 there was none other than the Arch Physician himself, 
 laughing, talking, dancing among the rest. 
 
 I could see perfectly well through the open door, and I 
 was quite certain that no one could see me ; but I 
 crouched lower behind the marble group when they be- 
 gan to come out two by two, and to talk together in the 
 dark Gallery. 
 
 First came the girl Christine and the sailor. Jack Ca- 
 rera. Him at all events I remembered. They took each 
 other's hands and began to kiss each other, and to talk 
 the greatest nonsense imaginable. No one would ever 
 believe that sane people could possibly talk such nonsense. 
 Then they went back and another pair came out, and 
 went on in the same ridiculous fashion. One has been to 
 a Theatre in the old time and heard a couple of lovers 
 
THE ARCH TRAITOR. 123 
 
 talking nonsense on the stage ; but never on any stage 
 did I ever hear such false, extravagant, absurd stuff talked 
 as I did when I lay hidden behind that group in marble. 
 
 Presently I listened with interest renewed, because the 
 pair which came into the Gallery was none other than 
 the pair I had that morning watched in the Garden — the 
 Arch Physician and the woman he called Mildred, though 
 now I should hardly have known her, because she was so 
 dressed up and disguised. She looked, indeed, a very 
 splendid creature; not in the least like a plain woman. 
 And this, I take it, was what these would-be great ladies 
 desired — not to be taken as plain women. Yet they were, 
 in spite of their fine clothes, plain and simple women just 
 as much as any wench of Whitechapel in the old time. 
 
 " Harry," she said, " I thank you from my very heart 
 for coming. Xow we shall have hope." 
 
 " What hope ?" he replied, " what hope ? What can I 
 do for you while the majority of the College continue to 
 side with Grout ? What hope can I bring you ?" 
 
 "Never mind the Majority. Consider, Harry. Yon 
 have the Great Secret. Let us all go away together and 
 found a new colony, where we will have no Grout ; and 
 we will live our own lives. Do you love me, Harry ?" 
 
 " Love you, Mildred ? Oh " — he sighed deeply — " it is 
 a stream that has been dammed up all these years !" 
 
 " What keeps us here ?" asked the girl. '' It is that in 
 your hands lies the Great Secret. Our people would be 
 afraid to go without it. If we have it. Jack will take us 
 to some island that he knows of across the seas. l>ut we 
 cannot go without the Secret. You shall bring it with 
 you." 
 
 " When could we go ?" he asked, whispering. 
 
 "We could go at any time — in a day — in a week — 
 when you please. Oh, Harry, will you indeed rescue us? 
 
124 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 Will you come with us ? Some of us are resolved to go 
 — Secret or not. I am one of those. Will you let me 
 go — alone ?" 
 
 " Is it impossible," he said, " that you should go with- 
 out the Secret ?" 
 
 " Yes," she said ; " the people would be afraid. But oh, 
 to think of a new life, where we shall no longer be all 
 the same, but different ! Every one shall have his own 
 possessions again — whatever he can win ; every one his 
 own profession ; the women shall dress as they please ; we 
 shall have Art — and Music — and Poetry again. And — 
 oh, Harry !" — she leaned her head upon his shoulder — 
 " we shall have Love again. Oh, to think of it ! Oh, to 
 think of it ! Love once more ! And with Love, think of 
 all the other things that will come back. They must 
 come back, Harry — the old Faith which formerly made us 
 happy — " Her voice choked, and she burst into tears. 
 
 I crouched behind the statues, listening. What did 
 she cry about? The old Faith? She could have that if 
 she wanted, I suppose, without crying over it. No law 
 whatever against it. 
 
 Dr. Linister said nothing, but I saw that he was shak- 
 ing — actually shaking — and trembling all over. A most 
 remarkable person ! Who would have believed that 
 weakness so lamentable could lie behind so much science ? 
 
 " I yield," he said — "I yield, Mildred. The Present is 
 so horrible that it absolves me even from the most solemn 
 oath. Love has been killed — we will revive it again. 
 All the sweet and precious things that made life happy 
 have been killed ; Art and Learning and Music, all have 
 been killed — we will revive them. Yes, I will go with 
 you, my dear ; and — since you cannot go without — I will 
 bring the Secret with me." 
 
 " Oh, Harry ! Harry !" She flung herself into his arms. 
 
THE ARCH TRAITOR. 125 
 
 " You have made me more happy than words can tell. 
 Oh, you are mine — you are mine, and I am yours !" 
 
 " As for the Secret," he went on, " it belongs, if it is to 
 be used at all, to all mankind. Why did the College of 
 Physicians guard it in their own jealous keeping, save to 
 make themselves into a mysterious and separate Caste ? 
 Must men always appoint sacred guardians of so-called 
 mysteries which belong to all ? My dear, since the Great 
 Discovery, Man has been sinking lower and lower. lie 
 can go very little lower now. You have been rescued 
 from the appalling fate which Grout calls the Triumph 
 of Science. Yes — yes — " he repeated, as if uncertain, 
 " the Secret belongs to all or none. Let all have it and 
 work out their destiny in freedom, or let none have it, 
 and so let us go back to the old times, when such great 
 things were done against the fearful odds of so short and 
 uncertain a span. Which would be the better?" 
 
 " Only come with us, my lover. Oh, can a simple 
 woman make you happy ? Come with us ; but let our 
 friends know — else they will not come with us — that 
 wherever we go, we have the Secret." 
 
 " It belongs to all," he repeated. " Come with me, 
 then, Mildred, to the House of Life. You shall be the 
 first to whom the Secret shall be revealed. And you, if 
 you please, shall tell it to all our friends. It is the Secret, 
 and that alone, which keeps up the Authority of the Col- 
 lege. Come. It is dark ; but I have a key to the North 
 Postern. Come with me. In the beginning of this new 
 Life which lies before us, I will, if you wish, give the 
 Secret to all who share it. Come, my Love, my Pride." 
 
 lie led her by the hand quickly down the Picture Gal- 
 lery and out into the Garden. 
 
 I looked round. The silly folk in the Museum were 
 going on with their masquerade — laughing, singing, dan- 
 
126 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 cing. The girl Christine ran in and out among them 
 with bright eyes and eager looks. And the eyes of the 
 sailor, Jack Carera, followed her everywhere. Oh yes. 
 I knew what those eyes meant — the old selfishness — the 
 subjection of the Woman. She was to be his Property. 
 And yet she seemed to like it. Forever and anon she 
 made some excuse to pass him, and touched his hand as 
 she passed and smiled sweetly. I dare say that she was a 
 beautiful girl — but Beauty has nothing at all to do with 
 the Administration of the people. However, there was 
 no time to be lost. The Arch Physician was going to 
 betray the Great Secret. 
 
 Happily he would have to go all the way round to the 
 North Postern. There was time, if I was quick, to call 
 witnesses, and to seize him in the very act. And then — • 
 the Penalty. Death ! Death ! Death ! 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 The House of Life, you have already learned, is a great 
 and venerable building. We build no such houses now. 
 No one but those who belong to the Holy College — viz., 
 the Arch Physician, the Suffragan, the Fellows or Physi- 
 cians, and the Assistants — are permitted to enter its doors 
 or to witness the work that is carried on within these 
 walls. It is, however, very well understood that this 
 work concerns the prolongation of the Vital Forces first, 
 the preservation of Health next, and the enlargement of 
 scientific truth generally. Tlie House is, in fact, the great 
 laboratory in which the Fellows conduct those researches 
 of which it is -not permitted to speak outside. The pre^ 
 
IN THE INNER HOUSE. 127 
 
 vention of disease, the cure of hereditary and hitherto in- 
 curable diseases, the continual lowering of the hours of 
 labor, bj new discoveries in Chemistry and Physics, are 
 now the principal objects of these researches. When, in 
 fact, we have discovered how to provide food chemically 
 out of simple matter, and thereby abolish the necessity for 
 cultivation, no more labor will be required, and Humanity 
 will have taken the last and greatest step of all — freedom 
 from the necessity of toil. After that, there will be no 
 more need for labor, none for thought, none for anxiety. 
 At stated intervals food, chemically prepared, will be 
 served out; between those intervals man will lie at rest — 
 asleep, or in the torpor of unthinking rest. This will be, 
 as I have said before, the Triumph of Science. 
 
 The House, within, is as magnificent as it is without ; 
 that is to say, it is spacious even beyond our requirements, 
 and lofty even beyond the wants of a laboratory. All 
 day long the Fellows and the Assistants work at their ta- 
 bles. Here is everything that Science wants — furnaces, 
 electric batteries, retorts, instruments of all kinds, and col- 
 lections of everything that may be wanted. Here — be- 
 hind the Inner House — is a great workshop where our 
 glass vessels are made, where our instruments are manu- 
 factured and repaired. The College contains two or 
 three hundred of Assistants working in their various de- 
 partments. These men, owing to the restlessness of their 
 intellect, sometijnes give trouble, either because they want 
 to learn more than the Fellows think sufficient for them, 
 or because they invent something unexpected, or because 
 they become dissatisfied with the tranquil conditions of 
 their life. Some of them from time to time have gone 
 mad. Some, who threatened more trouble, have been 
 painlessly extinguished. 
 
 Within the House itself is the Inner House, to enter 
 
128 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 which is forbidden, save to the Arch Physician, the Suf- 
 fragan, and the Fellows. 
 
 This place is a kind of House within a House. Those 
 who enter from the South Porch see before them, more 
 than half-way up the immense building, steps, upon which 
 stands a high screen of wood-work. This screen, which is 
 very ancient, protects the Inner House from entrance or 
 observation. It runs round the whole enclosure, and is 
 most profusely adorned with carved-work representing all 
 kinds of things. For my own part, I have never exam- 
 ined into the work, and I hardly know what it is that is 
 here figured. What does it advance science to carve 
 bunches of grapes (which everybody understands not to 
 be grapes) in wood ? All these things in the House of 
 Life — the carved wood, the carved stone, the carved mar- 
 ble, the lofty pillars, the painted windows — irritate and 
 offend me. Yet the Arch Physician, who loved to sit 
 alone in the Inner House, would contemplate these works 
 of Art with a kind of rapture. I^ay, he would wellnigh 
 weep at thinking that now there are no longer any who 
 can work in that useless fashion. 
 
 As for what is within the Inner House, I must needs 
 speak with caution. Suffice it, therefore, to say that round 
 the sides of the screen are ancient carved seats under 
 carved canopies, which are the seats of the Fellows ; and 
 that on a raised stone platform, approached by several steps, 
 is placed the Coffer which contains the Secret of the Great 
 Discovery. The Arch Physician alone had the key of the 
 Coffer ; he and his Suffragan alone possessed the Secret ; 
 the Fellows were only called into the Inner House when 
 a Council was held on some new Discovery or some new 
 adaptation of Science to the wants of Mankind. 
 
 Now, after overhearing the intended treason of the Arch 
 Physician, and witnessing his degradation and fall, I made 
 
IN THE INNER HOUSE. 129 
 
 haste to act ; for I plainly perceived that if the miracu- 
 lous Prolongation of the Vital Force should be allowed to 
 pass out of our own hands, and to become public property, 
 an end would at once be put to the Order and Discipline 
 now so firmly established ; the Authority of the College 
 would be trampled under foot ; everybody would begin 
 to live as they pleased ; the old social conditions might be 
 revived ; and the old social inequalities would certainly 
 begin again, because the strong would trample on the 
 weak. This was, perhaps, what Dr. Linister designed. I 
 remembered, now, how long it was before he could forget 
 the old distinctions ; nay, how impossible it was for him 
 ever to bring himself to regard me, though his Suffragan 
 — whom he had formerly made his serving-man — as his 
 equal. Thinking of that time, and of those distinctions, 
 strengthened my purpose. What I did and how I pre- 
 vented the treachery will approve itself to all who have 
 the best interests of mankind at heart. 
 
 The House of Life after nightfall is very dark ; the 
 windows are high, for the most part narrow, and, though 
 there are a great many of them, most are painted, so that 
 even on a clear and bright day there is not more light 
 than enough to carry on experiments, and, if I had my 
 way, I would clear out all the painted glass. It is, of 
 course, provided with the electric light ; but this is seldom 
 used except in the short and dark days of winter, when 
 work is carried on after nightfall. In the evening the 
 place is absolutely empty. John Lax, the Porter, occupies 
 the South Porch and keeps the keys. But there is another 
 and smaller door in the north transept. It leads to a 
 Court of Cloisters, the ancient use of which has long been 
 forgotten, the key of which is kept by the Arch Physician 
 himself. 
 9 
 
130 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 It was with this key — at this entrance — that he came 
 into the House. He opened the door and closed it behind 
 him. His footstep was not the only one; a lighter step 
 was heard on the stones as well. In the silence of the 
 place and time the closing of the door rumbled in the 
 roof overhead like distant thunder, and the falling of the 
 footsteps echoed along the walls of the great building. 
 
 The two companions did not speak. 
 
 A great many years ago, in the old times, there was a 
 Murder done here — a foul murder by a band of soldiers, 
 who fell upon a Bishop or Saint or Angel — I know not 
 whom. The memory of the Murder has survived the 
 name of the victim and the very religion which he pro- 
 fessed — it was, perhaps, that which was still maintained 
 among the aristocracy when I was a boy. Not only is 
 the memory of the murder preserved, but John Lax — who, 
 soon after the Great Discovery, when we took over the 
 building from the priests of the old religion, was appoint- 
 ed its Porter and heard the old stories — would tell all 
 those who chose to listen how the Murderers came in at 
 that small door and how the murder was committed on 
 such a spot, the stones of which are to this day red with 
 the blood of the murdered man. On the spot, however, 
 stands now a great electrical battery. 
 
 The Arch Physician, now about to betray his trust, led 
 his companion, the woman Mildred Carera, by the hand 
 past this place to the steps which lead to the Inner House, 
 They ascended those steps. Standing there, still outside 
 the Inner House, Dr. Linister bade the woman turn round 
 and look upon the Great House of Life. 
 
 The clouds had dispersed, and the moonlight was now 
 shining through the windows of the South, lighting up 
 the colored glass, painting bright pictures and patterns 
 upon the floor, and pouring white light through those 
 
IN THE INNER HOUSE. 131 
 
 windows, which are not painted, upon the clustered pillars 
 and old monuments of the place. Those who were now 
 gathered in the Inner House listened, holding their breath 
 in silence. 
 
 " Mildred," said Dr. Linister, "long, long years ago we 
 stood together upon this spot. It was after a Service of 
 Praise and Prayer to the God whom then the world wor- 
 shipped. We came from town with a party to see this 
 Cathedral. When service was over, I scoffed at it in the 
 light manner of the time, which questioned everything and 
 scoffed at everything." 
 
 " I remember, Ilany ; and all through the service ray 
 mind was filled with — you." 
 
 " I scoff no more, Mildred. We have seen to what a 
 depth men can sink when the Hope of the Future is taken 
 from them. The memory of that service comes back to 
 me, and seems to consecrate the place and the time. Mil- 
 dred," he said, after a pause — oh, the House was very si- 
 lent — " this is a solemn and a sacred moment for us both. 
 Here, side by side, on the spot once sacred to the service 
 of the God whom we have long forgotten, let us renew 
 the vows which were interrupted so long ago. Mildred, 
 with all my heart, with all my strength, I love thee." 
 
 "Harry," she murmured, "I am thine — even to Death 
 itself." 
 
 " Even to Death itself," he replied. " Yes, if it comes 
 to that. If the Great Discovery itself must be abandoned ; 
 if we find that only at that price can we regain the things 
 we have lost." 
 
 " It was Grout who destroyed Keligion — not the Great 
 Discovery," said the girl. 
 
 We kept silence in the House, but we heard every word. 
 And this was true, and my heart glowed to think how true 
 it was. 
 
132 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 "Kay, not Grout, nor a thousand Grouts. Without 
 the certainty of parting, Religion droops and dies. There 
 must be something not understood, something unknown, 
 beyond our power of discovery, or the dependence which 
 is the ground of religion dies away in man's heart. He 
 who is immortal and commands the secrets of Nature, so 
 that he shall neither die, nor grow old, nor become feeble, 
 nor fall into any disease, feels no necessity for any re- 
 ligion. This House, Mildred, is the expression of religion 
 at the time of man's greatest dependence. To the God 
 in whom, short-lived, ignorant, full of disease, he trusted 
 he built this splendid place, and put into it all the beauty 
 that he could command of sculpture and of form. But it 
 speaks no longer to the People for whom it was built. 
 When the Great Discovery was made, it would surely 
 have been better to have found out whither it was going 
 to lead us before we consented to receive it." 
 
 "Surely — " said Mildred, but the other interrupted her. 
 
 " We did not understand ; we were blind — we were 
 blind." 
 
 " Yet— we live." 
 
 " And you have just now told me how. Remember 
 the things that men said when the Discovery was made. 
 We were to advance continually ; we were to scale heights 
 hitherto unapproached ; we were to achieve things hith- 
 erto unknown in Art as well as in Science. Was it for 
 the Common Meal, the Common Dress, the Common Toil, 
 the vacant face, the lips that never smile, the eyes that 
 never brighten, the tongue that never speaks, the heart 
 that beats only for itself, that we gave up the things we 
 had ?" 
 
 " We did not expect such an end, Harry." 
 
 " No ; we had not the wit to expect it. Come, Mil- 
 dred, I will give you the Secret, and you may give it, if 
 
IN THE INNER HOUSE. 133 
 
 you please, to all the world. Oh, I feel as if the centuries 
 had fallen away ! I am full of hope again. I am full of 
 the old life once more; and, Mildred — oh, my sweet! — I 
 am full of Love !" 
 
 He stooped and kissed her on tlie lips. Then he led 
 her into the Inner House. 
 
 Now, just before Dr. Linister turned the key of the 
 postern, the door of the South Porch was softly closed, 
 and a company of twenty men walked lightly and noise- 
 lessly, in slippers, up the nave of the House. Arrived at 
 the Inner House, they ascended the steps and entered 
 that dark Chapel, every man making straight for his own 
 seat and taking it without a word or a breath. This was 
 the College of Physicians hastily called by me, and gath- 
 ered together to witness the Great Treachery of the 
 Chief. They sat there silent and breathless listening to 
 their talk. 
 
 The Secret was kept in a cipher, intelligible only to the 
 two who then guarded it, in a fire-proof chest upon the 
 stone table which was once the altar of the old Faith. 
 
 Dr. Linister stood before the chest, his key in his hand. 
 
 " It would be better," he said, " if the new departure 
 could be made without the Secret. It would be far, far 
 better if we could start again under the old conditions; 
 but if they are afraid to go without the Secret, why — " 
 He unlocked the chest. Then he paused again. 
 
 " How many years have I been the guardian of this Se- 
 cret? Mildred, when I think of the magnificent vistas 
 which opened up before our eyes when this Great Dis- 
 covery was made ; when I think of the culture without 
 bound or limit; the Art in which the hand was always to 
 grow more and more dexterous; the Science M-hich was 
 
134 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 to advance with gigantic strides — my child, I feel in- 
 clined to sink into the earth with shame, only to compare 
 that dream with the awful, the terrible, the disgraceful 
 reality! Let us all go away. Let us leave this place, 
 and let us make a new beginning, with sadder minds, yet 
 with this experience of the Present to guide us and to 
 keep us from committing worse follies. See, dear — here 
 is the Secret. The cipher in which it is written has a 
 key which is in this paper. I place all in your hands. If 
 accident should destroy me, you have the Secret still for 
 yourself and friends. Use it well — use it better than we 
 have used it. Kiss me, Mildred. Oh, my dear !" 
 
 Then, as they lay in each other's arms, I turned on the 
 electric light and discovered them. The chest stood open ; 
 the papers, cipher, key and all, were in the girl's hands; 
 the Arch Physician was caught in the very act of his su- 
 preme Treachery ! 
 
 And lo ! the Fellows of the Holy College were in the 
 Inner House ; every man in his place, every man looking 
 on, and every man standing upright with eyes and gest- 
 ures of scorn. 
 
 " Traitor !" they cried, one and all. 
 
 John Lax appeared at the door, halberd in hand. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE COUNCIL IN THE HOUSE. 
 
 " Brothers of the Holy College !" I cried, " you have 
 beheld the crime — you are witnesses of the Fact — you 
 have actually seen the Arch Physician himself revealing 
 the Great Secret, which none of yourselves, even of the 
 College, hath been permitted to learn — the Secret confined 
 
THE COUNCIL IN THE HOUSE. 135 
 
 by the Wisdom of the College to himself and to his Suf- 
 fragan." 
 
 " We are witnesses," they cried, with one consent. To 
 my great satisfaction, even those who were of Dr. Linis- 
 ter's party, and who voted with him against the Adminis- 
 tration and Policy of the College, spoke, on this occasion, 
 for the plain and undeniable truth. 
 
 " What," I asked, " is the Penalty when one of the least 
 among us, even an Assistant only, betrays to the People 
 any of the secrets — even the least secret — of the work 
 carried on in this House?" 
 
 "It is Death," they replied, with one voice. 
 
 " It is Death," I repeated, pointing to the Arch Phy- 
 sician. 
 
 At such a moment, when nothing short of annihilation 
 appeared in view, one would have expected from the~ 
 guilty pair an appearance of the greatest consternation 
 and dismay. On the contrary, the Arch Physician, with 
 an insensibility — or a bravado — which one would not have 
 expected of him, stood before us all, his arms folded, his 
 eyes steady, his lips even smiling. Beside him stood the 
 girl, dressed in the ridiculous mummery of the nineteenth 
 century, bowed down, her face in her hands. 
 
 " It is I," she murmured — " it is I, Harry, who have 
 brought you to this. Oh, forgive me ! Let us die to- 
 gether. Since I have awakened out of the stupid torpor 
 of the Present — since we remembered the Past — and 
 Love — let us die together; for I could not live without 
 you." She knelt at his feet, and laid her head upon his 
 arm. "My love," she said, "my Lord and Love! let me 
 die with you." 
 
 At this extraordinary spectacle I laughed alond. Love ? 
 I thought the old wives' tales of Love and Lordship were 
 long, long since dead and forgotten. Yet here was a man 
 
136 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 for the sake of a woman — actually because she wanted to 
 go away and begin again the old pernicious life — break- 
 ing his most sacred vows; and here was a woman — for 
 the sake of this man — actually and truly for his sake — 
 asking for death — death with him ! Since, when they 
 were both dead, there could be no more any feeling one 
 for the other, why ask for death ? What good could that 
 do for either? 
 
 " Your wish," I said to this foolish woman, " shall be 
 gratified, in case the Judges of your case decide that your 
 crime can be expiated by no less a penalty. Fellows of 
 the College, let this guilty pair be confined for the night, 
 and to-morrow we will try them solemnly in the College 
 Court according to anoient custom." 
 
 I know not how many years had elapsed since that 
 Court was held. The offences of the old time were for 
 the most part against property — since there had been no 
 property, there had been no crimes of this kind. Another 
 class of old offences consisted of violence rising^ out of 
 quarrels; since almost all these quarrels originated in dis- 
 putes about property — every man in the old time who had 
 property was either a thief or the son of a thief, so that 
 disputes were naturally incessant — there could be no 
 longer any such quarrels or any such violence. A third 
 class of crimes were caused by love, jealousy, and the 
 like ; these two had happily, as we believed, disappeared 
 forever. 
 
 The last class of crimes to vanish were those of mutiny. 
 When the People grew gradually to understand that the 
 welfare of all was the only rule of the governing body, 
 and that selfishness, individualism, property, privilege, 
 would no longer be permitted, they left off murmuring, 
 and mutiny ceased. You have seen how orderly, how 
 docile, how tranquil, is the life of the People as it has 
 
THE COUNCIL IN THE HOUSE. 137 
 
 been ordered by the Sacred College. Alas! I thought 
 that this order, this sheep-like freedom from Thought, was 
 going to be henceforth universal and undisturbed. 
 
 Our prisoners made no opposition. John Lax, the 
 Porter, bearing his halberd of office, marched beside them. 
 We closed in behind them, and in this order we led them 
 to the strong room over the South Porch, which is pro- 
 vided with bars and a lock. It is the sleeping-chamber 
 of John Lax, but for this night he was to remain on the 
 watch below. 
 
 Then, as Suffragan, I called a Council of Emergency in 
 the Inner House, taking the Presidency in the absence of 
 the Arch Physician. 
 
 I told my brethren briefly what had happened; how 
 my attention had been called to the fact that a company 
 of the People, headed by the young girl called Christine, 
 liad begun to assemble every night in the Museum, there 
 to put on clothes which belonged to the old time, and to 
 masquerade in the manners, language, and amusements (so 
 called) of that time; that this assemblage, which midit 
 have been innocent and even laudable if it led, as it should 
 have done, to a detestation of the old times, had proved 
 mischievous, because, strangely enough, it had exactly the 
 opposite effect; that, in fact, everybody in the company 
 bad fallen into an ardent yearning after the Past, and that 
 all the bad features of that bad time— the Social inequal- 
 ity, the Poverty, the Injustice— were carefully ignored. 
 
 Upon this, one of Dr. Linister's Party arose, and begged 
 permission to interrupt the Suffragan. He wished to 
 point out that memory was indestructible; that even if 
 we succeeded in reducing Mankind, as the Suffragan 
 wished, to be a mere breathing and feeding machine— the 
 Ultimate Triumph of Science — any one of these machines 
 might be at any time electrified into a full and exact 
 
138 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 memory of the Past ; that, to the average man, the Emo- 
 tion of the Past would always be incomparably preferable 
 to the Tranquillity of the Present. What had just been 
 done would be done again. 
 
 I went on, after this interruption, to narrate how I set 
 myself to watch, and presently saw the Arch Physician 
 himself enter the Museum ; how he exchanged his gown 
 for the costume in which the men disfigured themselves, 
 play-acted, pretended, and masqueraded with them ; danced 
 with them, no external respect whatever being paid to his 
 rank ; and afterwards had certain love passages — actually 
 love passages between the Arch Physician and a Woman 
 of the People ! — which I overheard, and repeated as far 
 as I could remember them. The rest my brethren of the 
 College knew already; how I hastily summoned them, 
 and led them into the Inner House just before the arrival 
 of the Criminals. 
 
 Thereupon, without any attempt of Dr. Linister's friends 
 to the contrary, it was Resolved that the Trial of the Arch 
 Physician and his accomplices should be held in the 
 morning. 
 
 I next invited their attention to the behavior of the 
 girl Christine. She it was, I told them, who had insti- 
 gated the whole of the business. A culpable curiosity it 
 was, no doubt, that lirst led her to consider and study the 
 ways of the ancient world ; what should be the wa^^s of 
 the Past to an honest and loyal person, satisfied with the 
 Wisdom which ruled the Present? She read the old 
 books, looked at the old pictures, and lived all day long in 
 the old Museum. There were many things which she 
 could not understand ; she wanted to understand these 
 things; and she conceived a violent, unreasoning admira- 
 tion for the old time, which appeared to this foolish girl 
 to be a continual round of pleasure and excitement. 
 
THE COUNCIL IN THE HOUSE. 139 
 
 Therefore she gathered together a company of those who 
 had belonged to the richer class in the days when prop- 
 erty was permitted. She artfully awakened them out of 
 their contentment, sowed the seeds of dissatisfaction 
 among them, caused them to remember the Past with a 
 vehement longing to reproduce the worst part of it — 
 namely, the manners and customs of the richer class — the 
 people for whom the bulk of mankind toiled, so that the 
 privileged few might have nothing to do but to feast, 
 dance, sing, and make love. I asked the College, there- 
 fore, what should be done with such a girl, warning them 
 that one Penalty, and one only, would meet the case and 
 render for the future such outbreaks impossible. 
 
 Again the Physician who had spoken before rose up 
 and remarked that such outbreaks were inevitable, be- 
 cause the memory is indestructible. 
 
 " You have here," he said, " a return to the Past, because 
 a young girl, by reading the old books, has been able to 
 stimulate the memory of those who were born in the 
 Past. Other things may bring about the same result ; a 
 dream, the talking together of two former friends. Let 
 the girl alone. She has acted as we might have expected 
 a young girl — the only young girl among us — to have 
 acted. She has found that the Past, which some of us 
 have represented as full of woe and horror, had its pleas- 
 ant side ; she asks why that pleasant side could not be 
 reproduced. I, myself, or any of us, might ask the same 
 question. Nay, it is well known that I protest — and al- 
 ways shall protest, my friends and I — against the Theory 
 of the Suffragan. His Triumph of Science we consider 
 horrible to the last degree. I, for one, shall never be sat- 
 isfied until the Present is wholly abolished, and until we 
 have gone back to the good old system of Individualism, 
 and begun to encourage the People once more to cultivate 
 
140 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 the old happiness by the old methods of their own exer- 
 tion." 
 
 I replied that my own recollection of the old time was 
 perfectly clear, and that there was nothing but unhappi- 
 ness in it. As a child I lived in the street ; I never had 
 enough to eat ; I was cuffed and kicked ; I could never 
 go to bed at night until my father, who always came home 
 drunk, was asleep; the streets were full of miserable 
 children like myself. Where was the happiness described 
 by my learned brother? Where was the pleasant side? 
 More I said, but it suffices to record that by a clear major- 
 ity it was Resolved to arrest the girl Christine in the 
 morning, and to try all three prisoners, as soon as the 
 Court could be prepared for them, according to ancient 
 usage. 
 
 Early in the morning I sought an interview with the 
 Arch Physician. I found him, with the woman Mildred, 
 sitting: in the Chamber over the Porch. There was no 
 look of terror, or even of dejection, on the face of either. 
 Rather there was an expression as of exaltation. Yet they 
 were actually going to die — to cease breathing — to lose 
 consciousness ! 
 
 I told the prisoner that I desired to represent my own 
 conduct in its true light. I reminded him that, with him, 
 I was guardian of the Holy Secret. The power and au- 
 thority of the College, I pointed out, were wholly depend- 
 ent upon the preservation of that Secret in its own hands. 
 By divulging it to the People he would make them as 
 independent of the Physician as the Great Discovery it- 
 self had made them independent of the Priest. The latter 
 had, as he pretended, the Keys of the After Life. The 
 former did actually hold those of the Actual Life. The 
 authority of the Physician gone, the people would proceed 
 to divide among themselves, to split up into factions, to 
 
THE COUNCIL IN THE HOUSE. 141 
 
 fight and quarrel, to hold private property, and in fact 
 would speedily return to the old times, and all the work 
 that we had accomplished would be destroyed. Every 
 man would have the knowledge of the Secret for himself 
 and his family. They would all begin to fight again — 
 first for the family, next for the Commune, and then for 
 the tribe or nation. All this would have been brought 
 about by his treachery had not I prevented it. 
 
 " Yes," he said, " doubtless you are quite right, Grout." 
 He spoke quite in the old manner, as if I had been still 
 his servant in the old laboratory. It was not till after- 
 wards that I remembered this, and became enraged to 
 think of his arrogance. " We will not argue the matter. 
 It is not worth while. You acted after your kind, and as 
 I might have expected." Again it was not until after- 
 wards that I considered what he meant and was enraged. 
 " When we allowed gentlehood to be destroyed, gentle 
 manners, honor, dignity, and such old virtues went too. 
 You acted — for yourself — very well, Grout. Have you 
 anything more to say ? As for us, we have gone back to 
 the old times, this young lady and I — quite to the old, 
 old times." He took her hand and kissed it, while his 
 eyes met hers, and they were filled with a tenderness 
 which amazed me. " This lady. Grout," he said, " has 
 done me the honor of accepting my hand. You will 
 understand that no greater happiness could have befallen 
 me. The rest that follows is of no importance — none — 
 not the least. My dear, this is Grout, formerly employed 
 in my laboratory. Unfortunately he has no experience 
 of Love, or of any of the Arts or Culture of the good old 
 Time ; but a man of great intelligence. You can go. 
 Grout." 
 
142 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE. 
 
 I WAS greatly pleased with the honest zeal shown by 
 John Lax, the Porter, on this occasion. When, after 
 snatching three or four hours' sleep, I repaired to the 
 House, I found that worthy creature polishing at a grind- 
 stone nothing less than a great, heavy Execution Axe, 
 which had done service many times in the old, old days 
 on Tower Hill, and had since peacefully reposed in the 
 Museum, 
 
 " Suffragan," he said, " I am making ready." His feet 
 turned the treadle, and the wheel flew round, and the 
 sparks showered from the blunt old weapon. He tried 
 the edge with his finger. " 'Tis not so sharp as a razor," 
 he said, " but 'twill serve." 
 
 "John Lax, methinks you anticipate the sentence of 
 the Court." 
 
 " Suffragan, with submission, it is Death to divulge any 
 secret of this House. It is Death even for me. Porter of 
 the House, to tell them outside of any Researches or Ex- 
 periments that I may observe in my service about the 
 House. And if so great a Penalty is pronounced against 
 one who would reveal such trifles as I could divulge, what 
 of the Great Secret itself f 
 
 "Lax, you are a worthy man. Know, therefore, that 
 this Secret once divulged, the Authority of the College 
 would vanish ; and we, even the Physicians themselves — 
 to say nothing of the Assistants, the Bedells, and you 
 
THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE. 143 
 
 yourself — would become no better than the Common 
 People. You do well to be zealous." 
 
 John Lax nodded his head. He was a taciturn man 
 habitually ; but now he became loquacious. He stopped 
 the grindstone, laid down the axe, and rammed his hands 
 into his pockets. 
 
 "When I see them women dressed up like swells—" 
 he began, grinning. 
 
 " John, this kind of language belongs to the old days, 
 when even speech was unequal." 
 
 " Xo matter ; you understand it. Lord ! Sammy Grout, 
 the brewer's boy— we were both Whitechapel pets ; but I 
 was an old 'un of five and thirty, while you were on'y be- 
 ginning to walk the Waste with a gal on your arm— p'r'aps 
 —and a ha'penny fag in your mouth. Hold on, now. It's 
 like this—" 
 
 What with the insolence of Dr. Linister, and the sight 
 of the old dresses, and the sound of the old language, I 
 myself was carried away. Yes, I was once more Sam 
 Grout ; again I walked upon the pavement of the White- 
 chapel Koad ; again I was a boy in the great brewery of 
 Mile End Koad. 
 
 "Go on, John Lax," I said, with condescension. "Re- 
 vive, if it is possible, something of the Past. I give you 
 full leave. But when you come to the Present, forget 
 not the reverence due to the Suffragan." 
 
 " Right, guv'nor. Well, then, it's like this. I see them 
 men and women dressed up in the old fallals, and goiu' 
 on like Pve seen 'em goin' on long ago with their inso- 
 lence and their haw-haws— damn 'em— and all the old 
 feelings came back to me, and I thought I was spoutin' 
 again on a Sunday mornin', and askin' my fellow-country- 
 men if they always meant to sit down and be slaves. And 
 the memory came back to me— ah ! proper it did— of a 
 
144 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 speech I made 'em one mornin' all about this French Kev- 
 ohition. ' Less 'ave our own Revohition,' I sez, sez I. 
 ' Less brhig out all the Bloomin' Kings and Queens,' I 
 sez, 'the Dukes and Markisses, the fat Bishops and the 
 lazy Parsons. Less do what the French did. Less make 
 'em shorter by the 'ed,' I sez. That's what I said that 
 mornin'. Some of the people laughed, and some of 'era 
 went away. There never was a lot more difficult to move 
 than them Whitechappellers. They'd listen— and then 
 they'd go away. They'd too much line speeches give 'em 
 — that was the matter with 'em — too much. Nothing 
 never came of it. That night I was in the Public havin' 
 a drop, and we began to talk. There was a row, and a bit 
 of a figlit. But before we was fired out I up and said 
 plain, for everybody to hear, that when it came to chop- 
 pin' off their noble 'eds I'd be the man to do it — and joy- 
 ful, I said. Well now, Sammy Grout, you were in that 
 Public Bar among that crowd — maybe you've forgotten 
 it. But I remember you very well. You was standin' 
 there, and you laughed about the choppin'. You've for- 
 gotten, Sammy. Think. It was a fine summer evenin' : 
 you weren't in Church. Come now — you can't say you 
 ever went to Church, Sammy Grout." 
 
 " I never did. But go on, John Lax. Recall as much 
 of the Past as you wish, if it makes you love the Present 
 more. I would not say aught to diminish an honest 
 zeal." 
 
 " Eight, guv'nor. Well, I never got that chance. There 
 was no choppin' of 'eds at all. When we had to murder 
 the old people, your Honor would have it done scientifi- 
 cally ; and there was as many old working-men killed off 
 as swells, which was a thousand pities, an' made a cove's 
 heart bleed. What I say is this. Here we've got a return 
 to the old Times. Quite unexpected it is. !Now we've 
 
THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE. 145 
 
 got such a chance, Avhicli will never come again, let 'era 
 just see how the old Times worked. Have a Procession, 
 with the Executioner goin' before the criminals, his axe 
 on his shoulder ready to begin. If 3'ou could only be 
 Sammy Grout again — but that can't be, I'm afraid — what 
 a day's outing you would have had to be sure ! Suffragan, 
 let us show 'em how the old Times worked. And let me 
 be the Executioner. I'll do it, I promise you, proper. 
 I've got the old spirit upon me — ah ! and the old strength, 
 too — just as I had then. Oh! It's too much!" He sat 
 down and hugged the axe. I thought he would have 
 kissed it. " It's too much ! To think that the time would 
 ever come when I should execute a swell — and that 
 swell the Arch Physician himself. Damn him ! He's 
 always looked as if everybody else was dirt beneath his 
 feet." 
 
 "I know not," I told him gently, "what may be the 
 decision of the Court. But, John Lax, continue to grind 
 your axe. I w'ould not throw cold water on honest zeal. 
 Your strength, you say, is equal to your spirit. You will 
 not flinch at the last moment. Ah ! we have some honest 
 men left." 
 
 The Court was held that morning in the nave of the 
 House itself. The Judges, who were the whole College 
 of Physicians, sat in a semicircle ; whereas the three pris- 
 oners stood in a row — the Arch Physician carrying him- 
 self with a haughty insolence which did not assist his 
 chances : clinging to his arm, still in her silk dress, with 
 her bracelets and chains, and her hair artfully arranged, 
 was the woman called Mildred. She looked once, hur- 
 riedly, at the row of Judges, and then turned with a shud- 
 der — she found small comfort in those faces — to her lover, 
 and laid her head upon his shoulder, while he supported 
 her with his arm. The degradation and folly of the Arch 
 10 
 
146 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 Physician, apart from the question of his guilt, as shown 
 in this behavior, were complete. 
 
 Beside Mildred stood the girl Christine. Her face was 
 flushed; her eyes were bright: she stood with clasped 
 hands, looking steadily at the Judges : she wore, instead 
 of the Regulation Dress, a frock of white stuff, which she 
 had found, I suppose, in the Museum — as if open disobe- 
 dience of our laws would prove a passport to favor. She 
 had let her long hair fall upon her shoulders and down 
 her back. Perhaps she hoped to conquer her Judges by 
 her beauty — old time phrase ! Woman's beauty, indeed, 
 to Judges who know every bone and every muscle in 
 woman's body, and can appreciate the nature of her intel- 
 lect, as well as of her structure ! "Woman's Beauty ! As 
 if that could ever again move the world ! 
 
 Behind the President's Chair — I was the President — 
 stood John Lax, bearing his halberd of office. 
 
 The Doors of the House were closed : the usual sounds 
 of Laboratory work were silent : the Assistants, who usu- 
 ally at this hour would have been engaged in Research 
 and Experiment, were crowded outside the Court. 
 
 I have been told, since, that there were omitted at the 
 Trial many formalities which should have been observed 
 at such a Trial. For instance, there should have been a 
 Clerk or two to make notes of the proceedings: there 
 should have been a Formal Indictment : and there should 
 have been Witnesses. But these are idle forms. The 
 guilt of the Prisoners was proved : we had seen it with 
 our own eyes. We were both Judges and Witnesses. 
 
 I was once, however, in the old days, charged (and 
 fined) before a magistrate in Bow Street for assaulting a 
 Constable, and therefore I know something of how a Crim- 
 inal Court should proceed. So, without any unnecessary for- 
 jnalities, I conducted the Trial according to Common Sense, 
 
THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE. 147 
 
 "What is your name?" I asked the Arch Physician. 
 
 " Harry Linister— once M.D. of Cambridge, and Fellow 
 of the Royal Society." 
 
 " What are you by trade V 
 
 " Physicist and Arch Physician of the Holy College of 
 the Inner House." 
 
 " We shall see how long you will be able to describe 
 yourself by those titles. Female Prisoner— you in the 
 middle — what is your name ?" 
 
 " I am the Lady Mildred Carera, daughter of the Earl 
 of Thordis4." 
 
 " Come— come— none of your Ladyships and Earls here. 
 We are now all equal. You are plain Mildred. And 
 yours— you girl in the white frock ? How dare you, either 
 of yon, appear before us in open violation of the Rules ?" 
 
 " I am named Christine," she replied. " I have put on 
 the white frock because it is becomino-." 
 
 At this point 1 was interrupted by a whisper from John 
 Lax. 
 
 "Christine's friends," he said, "are gathering in the 
 Museum, and they arc very noisy. They threaten to give 
 trouble." 
 
 " When the Trial and Execution are over," I told him, 
 "arrest them every one. Let tliem all be confined in the 
 Museum. To-morrow, or perhaps this afternoon, we will 
 try them as well." 
 
 The man grinned with satisfaction. Had he known 
 what a fatal mistake I was making, he would not have 
 grinned. Rather would his face have expressed the most 
 dreadful horror. 
 
 Then the Trial proceeded. 
 
 "Dr. Linister," I said, "it is a very singular point in 
 this case that we have not to ask you whether you plead 
 'guilty ' or ' not guilty,' because we have all seen you with 
 
148 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 our own eyes engaged in the verj act with which you are 
 charged. You are guilty." 
 
 " I am," he replied, calmly. 
 
 " Your companion is also guilty. I saw her practising 
 upon you those blandishments, or silly arts, by which 
 women formerly lured men. We also saw her on the 
 point of receiving from you the Great Secret, which must 
 never be suffered to leave this Building." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " if he is guilty, I am guilty as well." 
 
 " As for you " (I turned to Christine), " you have been 
 so short a time in the world — only nineteen years or so — 
 that to leave it will cause little pain to you. It is not as 
 if you had taken root with all the years of life which the 
 others have enjoyed. Yet the Court would fail in its duty 
 did it not point out the enormity of your offence. You 
 were allowed to grow up undisturbed in the old Museum: 
 you spent your time in developing a morbid curiosity into 
 the Past. You were so curious to see with your own eyes 
 what it was to outward show, that you cast about to find 
 among the tranquil and contented People some whose 
 minds you might disturb and lead back to the restless old 
 times. This was a most guilty breach of confidence. Have 
 you anything to say ? Do you confess ?" 
 
 " Yes, I confess." 
 
 " Next, you, with this woman and a Company who will 
 also be brought to Justice before long, began to assemble 
 together, and to revive, with the assistance of books, pict- 
 ures, dress, and music, a portion of the Past. But what 
 portion ? Was it the portion of the vast majority, full of 
 disease, injustice, and starvation ? Did you show how the 
 old Times filled the houses with struggling needlewomen 
 and men who refused to struggle any longer? Did you 
 show the Poor and the Unemployed ? Not at all. You 
 showed the life of the Rich and the Idle. And so you 
 
THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE. 149 
 
 revived a longing for what shall never — never — be per- 
 mitted to return — the Period of Property and the Reign 
 of Individualism. It was your crime to misrepresent the 
 Past, and to set forth the Exception as the Rule. This 
 must be made impossible for the future. What have you 
 to say, Christine ?" 
 
 " Nothing. I told you before. Nothing. I have con- 
 fessed. Why keep on asking me?" 
 
 She looked round the Court with no apparent fear. I 
 suppose it was because she was so young, and had not yet 
 felt any apprehension of the Fate which was now so near 
 unto her. 
 
 " Dr. Linister," I said, " before considering its sentence, 
 the Court will hear what you may have to say." 
 
 "I have but little to say,'' he replied. "Everybody in 
 the College knows that I have always been opposed to 
 the methods adopted by the Suffragan and the College. 
 During the last few days, however, I have been enabled 
 to go back once more to the half-forgotten Past, and have 
 experienced once more the Emotions of which you have 
 robbed Life. I have seen once more, after many, many 
 years, the Fighting Passion, the Passion of Private Eights, 
 and " — his voice dropped to a whisper — " I have experi- 
 enced once more the Passion of Love." He stooped and 
 kissed the woman Mildred on the forehead. " I regret 
 that we did not succeed. Had we not been caught, we 
 should by this time have been beyond your power — the 
 Secret with us, to use or not, as we pleased — with a com- 
 pany strong enough to defy you, and with the old Life 
 again before us, such as we enjoyed before you robbed us 
 of it. We should have welcomed the old Life, even under 
 the old conditions: we welcome, instead of it, the Thing 
 which, only to think of, makes your hearts almost to stop 
 beating with fear and horror." 
 
150 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 He stopped. That was a speech likely to win iadul 
 gence from the Court, was it not ? 
 
 I turned to the woman Mildred. 
 
 " And you ?" I asked. 
 
 " What have I to say ? The Present I loathe — I loathe 
 — I loathe. I would not go back to it if you offered me 
 instant release with that condition. I have found Love. 
 Let me die — let me die — let me die !" 
 
 She clung to her lover passionately, weeping and sob- 
 bing. He soothed her and caressed her. John Lax, be- 
 hind me, snorted. 
 
 Then I asked the girl Christine what she wished to say. 
 
 She laughed — she actually laughed. 
 
 " Oh !" she said, " in return for the past weeks, there is 
 no punishment which I would not cheerfully endure. We 
 have had — oh ! the most delightful time. It has been 
 like a dream. Oh ! Cruel, horrid, wicked men ! You 
 found such a Life in the old Time, and you destroyed it ; 
 and what have you given us in return ? You have made 
 us all equal who were born unequal. Go, look at the sad 
 and heavy faces of the People. You have taken away 
 everything, deliberately. You have destroyed all — all. 
 You have left nothing worth living for. Why, I am like 
 Mildred. I would not go back to the Present again if I 
 could! Yes, for one thing I would — to try and raise a 
 Company of Men — not sheep — and hound them on to 
 storm this place, and to kill — ^yes, to kill " — the girl looked 
 so dangerous that any thought of mercy was impossible 
 — " every one who belongs to this Accursed House of 
 Life !" 
 
 Here was a pretty outcome of study in the Museum ! 
 Here was a firebrand let loose among us straight from the 
 bad old Nineteenth Century ! And we had allowed this 
 girl actually to grow up in our very midst. 
 
THE TRIAL AND SENTENCE. 151 
 
 Well, she finished, and stood trembling with rage, 
 cheeks burning, eyes flashing — a very fury. 
 
 I invited the Court to retire to the Inner House, and 
 took their opinions one by one. 
 
 They were unanimous on several points — first, that the 
 position of things was most dangerous to the Authority 
 of the College and the safety of the People ; next, that 
 the punishment of Death alone would meet the ease ; 
 thirdly, that, in future, the Museum, with the Library ■ 
 and Picture Galleries, must be incorporated with the Col- 
 lege itself, so that this danger of the possible awakening 
 of memory should be removed. 
 
 Here, however, our unanimity ceased. For the Fellow, 
 of whom I have already spoken as having always followed 
 the Arch Physician, arose and again insisted that what 
 had happened to-day might very well happen again : that 
 nothing was more uncertain in its action, or more inde- 
 structible, than human memory : so that, from time to 
 time, we must look for the arising of some Leader or 
 Prophet who would shake up the people and bring them 
 out of their torpor to a state of discontent and yearning 
 after the lost. Wherefore he exhorted us to reconsider 
 our Administration, and to provide some safety-valve for 
 the active spirits. As to the Death of the three criminals, 
 he would not, he could not, oppose it. He proposed, 
 however, that the mode of Death should be optional. So 
 great a light of Science as the Arch Physician had many 
 secrets, and could doubtless procure himself sudden and 
 painless death if he chose. Let him have that choice for 
 himself and his companions ; and, as regards the girl, let 
 her be cast into a deep sleep, and then painlessly smoth- 
 ered by gas, without a sentence being pronounced upon 
 her at all. This leniency, be said, was demanded by her 
 youth and her inexperience. 
 
152 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 In reply, I poioted out that, as regards our Administra- 
 tion, we were not then considering it at all : that as for 
 the mode of punishment, he had not only to consider the 
 criminals, but also the People, and the effect of the Pun- 
 ishment upon them : we were not only to punish, but also 
 to deter. I therefore begged the Court to go back to one 
 of the former methods, and to one of the really horrible 
 and barbarous, yet comparatively painless, methods. I 
 showed that a mere report or announcement, made in the 
 Public Hall, that the Arch Physician had been executed 
 for Treason, would produce little or no effect upon the 
 public mind, even if it were added that the two women, 
 Mildred and Christine, had suffered with him : that our 
 people needed to see the thing itself, in order to feel its 
 true horror and to remember it. If Death alone were 
 wanted, I argued, there were dozens of ways in which 
 Life might be painlessly extinguished. But it was not 
 Death alone that we desired ; it was Terror that we wished 
 to establish, in order to prevent another such attempt. 
 
 " Let them," I concluded, " be taken forth in solemn 
 Procession to the open space before the Public Hall ; we 
 ourselves will form part of that Procession. Let them in 
 that place, in the sight of all the People, be publicly de- 
 capitated by the Porter of the House, John Lax." 
 
 There was a good deal of opposition, at first, to this 
 proposition, because it seemed barbarous and cruel ; but 
 the danger which had threatened the Authority — nay, the 
 very existence — of the College, caused the opposition to 
 give way. Why, if I had not been on the watch, the Se- 
 cret would have been gone : the College would have been 
 ruined. It was due to me that my proposals should be 
 accepted. The sentence was agreed upon. 
 
 I am bound to confess that, on being brought back to 
 receive the sentence of the Court, the Prisoners behaved 
 
THE REBELS. 153 
 
 with unexpected Fortitude. The male criminal turned pale, 
 but only for a moment, and the two women caught each 
 other by the hand. But they offered no prayer for mercy. 
 They were led back to their prison in the South Porch, 
 until the necessary Preparations could be made. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE REBELS. 
 
 It is useless to regret a thing that is done and over; 
 otherwise one might very bitterly regret two or three steps 
 in these proceedings. At the same time, it may be argued 
 that what happened was the exact opposite of what we had 
 every reason to expect, and therefore we could not blame 
 ourselves with the event. After uncounted years of blind 
 obedience, respect for authority, and unquestioning sub- 
 mission, had we not a full right to expect a continuance 
 of the same spirit? What we did not know or suspect 
 was the violence of the reaction that had set in. Not only 
 had these revolutionaries gone back to the Past, but to the 
 very worst traditions of the Past. They had not only be- 
 come anxious to restore these old traditions ; they had ac- 
 tually become men of violence, and were ready to back up 
 their new convictions by an appeal to arms. "We ought 
 to have arrested the conspirators as soon as they assem- 
 bled ; we ought to have locked them up in the Museum 
 and starved them into submission ; we ought to have exe- 
 cuted our criminals in private ; in short, we ought to have 
 done just exactly what we did not do. 
 
 While the Trial was proceeding, the new Party of Dis- 
 order were, as John Lax reported, gathered together in 
 the Museum, considering what was best to be done. 
 
154: THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 They now knew all. When John Lax, in the morning, 
 arrested the girl Christine, by my orders, he told her in 
 plain language what had already happened. 
 
 " The Arch Physician is a Prisoner," he said. " He 
 has been locked up all night in my room, over the South 
 Porch. I watched below. Ha! If he had tried to es- 
 cape, my instructions were to knock him on the head. 
 Arch Physician or not. The woman Mildred is a Pris- 
 oner, as well. She was locked up with him. They may 
 hold each other's hands and look into each other's eyes, in 
 my room, as much as they please. And now, young wom- 
 an, it is your turn." 
 
 "Mine?" 
 
 " Yours, my gal. So march along o' me." 
 
 " Why, what have I done that I should be arrested ?" 
 
 " That you shall hear. March, I say. You are my 
 Prisoner. You will stand your Trial — ah !" He smacked 
 his lips to show his satisfaction, and wagged his head. He 
 was a true Child of the People, and could not conceal his 
 gratification at the discomfiture of traitors. " You will 
 hear what the Court has to say — ah !" Again he repeated 
 this sign of satisfaction. "You will be tried, and you 
 will hear the Sentence of the Court — ah, ah ! Do you 
 know what it will be ? Death !" he wliispered. " Death 
 for all ! I see the sentence in the Suffragan's face. Oh ! 
 he means it." 
 
 The girl heard without reply; but her cheeks turned 
 pale. 
 
 "You won't mind much," he went on. "You hardly 
 know what it is to live. You haven't been alive long 
 enough to feel what it means. You're only a chit of a 
 girl. If it wasn't for the example, I dare say they would 
 let you off. But they won't — they won't. Don't try it 
 on. Don't think of going on your knees, or anything 
 
THE REBELS. 155 
 
 else. Don't go weeping or crying. The Court is as hard 
 as nails." 
 
 The honest fellow said this in his zeal for justice, and 
 in the hope that nothing should be said or done which 
 might avert just punishment. Otherwise, had this girl, 
 who was, after all, young and ignorant, thrown herself 
 fully and frankly upon our mercy, perhaps — I do not say 
 — some of us might have been disposed to spare her. As 
 it was — but you have seen. 
 
 " We waste time," he said. " March !" 
 
 She was dressed, as I have already related, in a masquer- 
 ade white dress of the old time, with I know not what of 
 ribbon round her waist, and wore her hair floating down 
 her back. 
 
 The old man — her grandfather, as she called him — sat 
 in his arm-chair, looking on and coughing. John Lax 
 paid no attention to him at all. 
 
 "Good -by, grandad," she said, kissing him. "You 
 will not see me any more, because they are going to kill 
 me. You will find your inhaler in its place ; but I am 
 afraid you will have to manage for the future without any 
 help. No one helps anybody in this beautiful Present. 
 They are going to kill me. Do you understand? Poor 
 old man ! Good-by !" 
 
 She kissed him again and walked away with John Lax 
 through tlie Picture Gallery, and so into the College Gar- 
 dens, and by the north postern into the House of Life. 
 
 "When she was gone the old man looked about him fee- 
 bly. Then he began to understand what had happened. 
 His grandchild, the nurse and stay of his feebleness, was 
 gone from him. She was going to be killed. 
 
 He was reckoned a very stupid old man always. To 
 keep the cases in the Museum free from dust was all that 
 
156 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 he could do. But the revival of the Past acted upon him 
 as it had acted upon the others: it took him out of his 
 torpor and quickened his perceptions. 
 
 " Killed ?" he cried. " My grandchild to be killed ?" 
 
 He was not so stupid as not to know that there were 
 possible protectors for her, if he could find them in time. 
 Then he seized his stick and hurried as fast as his totter- 
 ing limbs would carry him to the nearest field, where he 
 knew the sailor, named John, or Jack, Carera, was em- 
 ployed for the time among the peas and beans. 
 
 "Jack Carera!" he cried, looking wildly about him and 
 flourishing with his stick. " Jack ! they are going to kill 
 her ! Jack — Jack Carera ! — I say," he repeated. " Where 
 is Jack Carera? Call him, somebody. They are going 
 to kill her! They have taken my child a prisoner to the 
 House of Life. I say Jack — Jack! "Where is he? Where 
 is he?" 
 
 The men were working in gangs. Nobody paid the 
 least heed to the old man. They looked up, saw an old 
 man — his hat blown off, his long white liair waving in the 
 wind — brandishing wildly his stick, and shrieking for 
 Jack. Then they went on with their work ; it was no 
 business of theirs. Docile, meek, and unquestioning are 
 the People. 
 
 By accident, however. Jack was within hearing, and 
 presently ran across the field. 
 
 " What is it ?" he cried. " What has happened ?" 
 
 " They have taken prisoner," the old man gasped, " the 
 — the — Arch Physician — and — Lady Mildred — They 
 are going to try them to-day before the College of Physi- 
 cians. And now they have taken my girl — my Christine 
 — and they will try her too. They will try them all, and 
 they will kill them all." 
 
 " That shall be seen," said Jack, a fierce look in his eyes. 
 
THE REBELS. 157 
 
 "Go back to the Museum, old man, and wait for me. 
 Keep quiet, if you can : wait for me." 
 
 In half an hour he had collected together the whole of 
 the company, men and women, which formed their Party. 
 They were thirty in number, and they came in from work 
 in the Kegulation Dress. 
 
 The sailor briefly related what had happened. 
 " _\ow,'' he said, '' before we do anything more, let us 
 put on the dress of the nineteenth century. That will 
 help us to remember that our future depends upon our- 
 selves, and will put heart in us.'' 
 This done, he made them a speech. 
 First, he reminded them how, by the help of one girl 
 alone, the memory of the Past had been restored to them ; 
 next, he bade them keep in their minds the whole of that 
 Past— every portion of it— and to brace up their courage 
 with the thought of it— how delightful and desirable it 
 was. And then he exhorted them to think of the Pres- 
 ent, which he called loathsome, shameful, vile, and other 
 bad names. 
 
 " We are in the gravest crisis of our fortunes," he con- 
 cluded. "On our action this day depends our whole 
 future. Either we emerge from this crisis free men and 
 women, or we sink back into the Present, dull and dismal, 
 without hope and without thought. K^ay, there is more. 
 If we do not rescue ourselves, we shall be very speedily 
 finished off by the College. Do you think they will ever 
 foro-ive us? Kot so. As they deal with the Arch Phy- 
 sician and these two ladies, so they will deal with us. 
 Better so. Better a thousand times to suffer Death at 
 once, than to fall back into that wretched condition to 
 which we were reduced. "Wliat ! You, who have learned 
 once more what is meant by Love, will you give that up? 
 "Will you give up these secret assemblies where we revive 
 
158 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 the glorious Past, and feel again the old thoughts and the 
 old ambitions? J^ever — swear with me — never! never! 
 never !" 
 
 They shouted together ; they waved their hands ; they 
 were resolved. The men's eyes were alive again ; in short, 
 they were back again to the Past of their young days. 
 
 " First," said Jack, " let us arm." 
 
 He led them to a part of the Museum where certain old 
 weapons stood stacked. Thanks to the Curator and to 
 Christine, they had been kept bright and clear from rust 
 by the application of oil. 
 
 " Here are swords, lances, rifles — but we have no am- 
 munition — bayonets. Let us take the rifles and bayonets. 
 So. To every man one. ISTow, the time presses. The 
 Trial is going on. It may be too late in a few minutes 
 to save the prisoners. Let us resolve." 
 
 Two plans suggested themselves at once. The first of 
 these was to rush before the House of Life, break open 
 the gates, and tear th« prisoners from the hands of the 
 Judges. The next was to ascertain, somehow, what was 
 being done. The former counsel prevailed, and the men 
 were already making ready for the attack when the great 
 Bell of the House began to toll solemnly. 
 
 " What is that ?" cried the women, shuddering. 
 
 It went on tolling, at regular intervals of a quarter of a 
 minute. It was the knell for three persons about to die. 
 
 Then the doors of the South Porch flew open, and one 
 of the Bedells came forth. 
 
 " What does that mean ?" they asked. 
 
 The Bedell walked across the great Garden and began 
 to ring the Bell of the Public Hall — the Dinner Bell. 
 
 Instantly the People began to flock in from the work- 
 shops and the fields, from all quarters, in obedience to a 
 summons rarely issued. They flocked in slowly, and with- 
 
THE REBELS. 159 
 
 out the least animation, showing not the faintest interest 
 in the proceedings. No doubt there was something or 
 other — it mattered not what — ordered by the College. 
 
 " Go, somebody," cried Jack — " go, Hilda," he turned to 
 one of the girls; "slip on your working dress; run and 
 find out what is being done. Oh ! if we are too late, they 
 shall pay — they shall pay ! Courage, men ! Here are 
 fifteen of us, well-armed and stout. "We are equal to the 
 whole of that coward mob. Run, Hilda, run !" 
 
 Hilda pushed her way through the crowd. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked the Bedell, eagerly. " What 
 has happened ?" 
 
 "You shall hear," he replied. "The most dreadful 
 thing that can happen — a thing that has not happened 
 since — . . . But you will hear." 
 
 He waited a little longer, until all seemed to be assem- 
 bled. Then he stood upon a garden-bench and lifted up 
 his voice : 
 
 " Listen ! listen ! listen !" he cried. " By order of the 
 Holy College, listen ! Know ye all that, for his crimes 
 and treacheries, the Arch Physician has been deposed- 
 from his sacred office. Know ye all that he is condemned 
 to die." There was here a slight movement — a shiver — 
 as of a wood, on a still autumn day, at the first breath of 
 the wind. " He is condemned to die. He will be brought 
 out without delay, and will be executed in the sight of the 
 whole People." Here they trembled. " There are also 
 condemned with him, as accomplices in his guilt, two 
 women — named respectively Mildred, or Mildred Carera 
 in the old style, and the girl Christine. Listen ! listen ! 
 listen ! It is forbidden to any either to leave the place 
 during the time of punishment, or to interfere in order to 
 stay punishment, or in any way to move or meddle in the 
 matter. Listen ! Listen ! Long live the Holy College !" 
 
160 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 With that he descended and made his way back to the 
 House. But Hilda ran to the Museum with the news. 
 
 " Why," said Jack, '• what could happen better ? In the 
 House, no one knows what devilry of electricity and stuff 
 they may have ready to hand. Here, in the open, we can 
 defy them. Nothing remains but to wait imtil the pris- 
 oners are brought out, and then — then," he gasped, "re- 
 member what we were. Geoffrey, you wear the old uni- 
 form. Let the spirit of your old regiment fire your heart 
 again. Ay, ay, you will do. Now, let us a drill a little 
 and practice fighting together, shoulder to shoulder. Why, 
 we are invincible." 
 
 Said I not that we might, if we ever regretted any- 
 thing, regret that we did not lock these conspirators in 
 the Museum before we brought out our prisoners to their 
 death ? 
 
 The great Bell of the House tolled ; the People stood 
 about in their quiet way, looking on, apparently unmoved, 
 while the carpenters quickly hammered together a scaf- 
 fold some six feet high. 
 
 Well. I confess it. The whole business was a mis- 
 take : the People were gone lower down than I had ever 
 hoped : save for the shudder which naturally seized them 
 on mention of the word Death, they showed no sign of 
 concern. If, even then, I had gone forth to see how they 
 took it, I mio-ht have reversed the order, and carried out 
 the execution within. They wanted no lesson. Their Past, 
 if it were once revived, would for the most part be a past 
 of such struggling for life, and so much misery, that it 
 was not likely they would care to revive it. Better the 
 daily course, unchanged, unchangeable. Yet we know 
 not. As my colleague in the House said, the memory is 
 perhaps a thing indestructible. At a touch, at a flash of 
 light, the whole of their minds might be lit up again; 
 
THE EXECUTION. 161 
 
 and the emotions, remembered and restored, might again 
 seem what once tliey seemed, worth living for. 
 
 Still the great Bell tolled, and the carpenters hammered, 
 and the scaffold, strong and high, stood waiting for the 
 criminals; and on the scaffold a block, brought from the 
 butcher^s shop. But the People said not a single word to 
 each other, waiting, like sheep — only, unlike sheep, they 
 did not huddle together. In the chamber over the Porch 
 the prisoners awaited the completion of the preparations; 
 and in the Museum the fifteen conspirators stood waiting, 
 armed and ready for their Deed of Violence. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE EXECUTION. 
 
 As the clock struck two, a messenger brought the news 
 that the Preparations were complete. 
 
 The College was still sitting in Council. One of the 
 Physicians proposed that before the Execution the Arch 
 Physician should be brought before us to be subjected to 
 a last examination. I saw no use for this measure, but I 
 did not oppose it; and presently John Lax, armed with 
 his sharpened axe, brought the Prisoners before the Con- 
 clave of his late brethren, 
 
 '•Dr. Linister," I said, "before we start upon that 
 Procession from which you will not return, have you 
 any communication to make to the College? Your Pe- 
 searches — " 
 
 " They are all in order, properly drawn up, arranged in 
 columns, and indexed," he replied. "I trust they will 
 prove to advance the Cause of Science — true Scienco — • 
 not the degradation of Humanity." 
 11 
 
162 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " Such as they are, we shall use them," I replied, " ac- 
 cording to the Wisdom of the College. Is there anything 
 else you wish to communicate? Are there ideas in your 
 brain which you would wish to write down before you 
 die ? Remember, in a few minutes you will be a senseless 
 lump of clay, rolling round and round the world forever, 
 like all the other lumps which form the crust of the 
 Earth.'' 
 
 "I have nothing more to communicate. Perhaps, 
 Suffragan, you are wrong about the senseless lumps of 
 clay. And now, if you please, do not delay the end 
 longer, for the sake of those poor girls waiting in sus- 
 pense." 
 
 I could have wished more outward show of horror — 
 prayers for forgiveness. ]S'o : Dr. Linister was always, in 
 his own mind, an Aristocrat. The aristocratic spirit! 
 How it survives even after the whole of the Past might 
 have been supposed to be forgotten. Well : he was a tall 
 and manly man, and he looked a born leader — a good 
 many of them in the old days used to have that look. 
 For my own part, I am short and black of face. No one 
 would call me a leader born. But I deposed the Aristo- 
 crat. And as for him — what has become of him ? 
 
 " What would you have done for the People ?" I asked 
 him, " that would have been better for them than forget- 
 fulness and freedom from pain and anxiety ? You have 
 always opposed the Majority. Tell us, at this supreme 
 moment, what you would have done for them." 
 
 " I know not now," he replied. " A month ago I should 
 have told you that I would have revived the ancient or- 
 der ; I would have given the good things of the world to 
 them who were strong enough to win them in the strug- 
 gle : hard work, bad food, low condition should have been, 
 as it used to be, the lot of the incompetent. I would have 
 
THE EXECUTION. 163 
 
 recognized in women their instinct for fine dress ; I would 
 have encouraged the revival of Love : I would have re- 
 stored the Arts. But now — now — " 
 
 "Now," I said, "that you have begun to make the at- 
 tempt, you recognize at last that there is nothing better 
 for them all than forgetfulness and freedom from anxiety, 
 struggle, and thought." 
 
 " Not so," he replied. " Not at all. I understand that 
 unless the Spirit of Man mounts higher continually, the 
 earthly things must grow stale and tedious, and so must 
 perish. Yea: all the things which once we thought so 
 beautiful — Music, Art, Letters, Philosophy, Love, Society 
 — they must all wither and perish, if Life be prolonged, 
 unless the Spirit is borne continually upward. And this 
 we have not tried to effect." 
 
 " The Spirit of Man ? I thought that old superstition 
 was cleared away and done with long ago. I have never 
 found the Spirit in my Laboratory. Have you ?" 
 
 " No, I have not. That is not the place to find it." 
 
 " Well. Since you have changed your mind — " 
 
 " With us, the Spirit of Man has been sinking lower 
 and lower, till it is clean forgotten. Man now lives for 
 himself alone. The Triumph of Science, Suffragan, is 
 yours. No more death ; no more pain ; no more am- 
 bition : equality absolute and the ultimate lump of human 
 flesh, incorruptible, breathing, sleeping, absorbing food, 
 living. Science can do no more." 
 
 " I am glad, even at this last moment, to receive this 
 submission of your opinions." 
 
 "But," he said, his eye flashing, "remember. The 
 Spirit of Man only sleeps: it doth not die. Such an 
 awakening as you have witnessed among a few of us will 
 some day — by an accident, by a trick of memory — how 
 do I know ? by a Dream ! fly through the heads of these 
 
164 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 poor helpless sheep and turn them again into Men and 
 Women, who will rend you. Now take me away." 
 
 It is pleasant to my self-esteem, I say, to record that 
 one who was so great an inquirer into the Secrets of Nat- 
 ure should at such a moment give way and confess that I 
 was right in my administration of the People. Pity that 
 he should talk the old nonsense. Why, I learned to de- 
 spise it in the old days when I was a boy and listened to 
 the fiery orators of the Whitechapel Poad. 
 
 The Procession was formed. It was like that of the 
 Daily March to the Public Hall, with certain changes. 
 One of them was that the Arch Physician now walked in 
 the middle instead of at the end ; he was no more clothed 
 in the robes of ofiice, but in the strange and unbecoming 
 ojarb in which he was arrested. Before him walked the 
 two women. They held a book between them, brought 
 out of the Library by Christine, and one of them read 
 aloud. It was, I believe, part of the incantation or fetish 
 worship of the old time : and as they read, the tears rolled 
 down their cheeks; yet they did not seem to be afraid. 
 
 Before the Prisoners marched John Lax, bearing the 
 dreadful axe, which he had now polished until it was like 
 a mirror or a laboratory tool for brightness. And on his 
 face there still shone 'the honest satisfaction of one whose 
 heart is joyed to execute punishment upon traitors. He 
 showed this joy in a manner perhaps unseemly to the 
 gravity of the occasion, grinning as he walked and feel- 
 ing the edge of the axe with his fingers. 
 
 The way seemed long. I, for one, was anxious to get 
 the business over and done with. I was oppressed by cer- 
 tain fears — or doubts — as if something would happen. 
 Along the way on either side stood the People, ranged in 
 order, silent, dutiful, stupid. I scanned their faces narrow- 
 ly as I walked. In most there was not a gleam of intelli- 
 
THE EXECUTION. 165 
 
 gence. They understood nothing. Here and there a face 
 which showed a spark of uneasiness or terror. For the 
 most part, nothing. I began to understand that we had 
 made a bhmder in holding a Public Execution. If it was 
 meant to impress the People, it failed to do so. That was 
 certain, so far. 
 
 What happened immediately afterwards did, however, 
 impress them as much as they could be impressed. 
 
 Immediately in front of the Public Hall stood the 
 newly-erected scaffold. It was about six feet high, with 
 a low hand-rail round it, and it was draped in black. The 
 block stood in the middle. 
 
 It was arranged that the Executioner should first mount 
 the scaffold alone, there to await the criminals. The Col- 
 lege of Physicians were to sit in a semicircle of seats ar- 
 ranged for them on one side of it, the Bedells standing 
 behind them ; the Assistants of the College were arranged 
 on the opposite side of the scaffold. The first to suffer 
 was to be the girl Christine. The second, the woman 
 Mildred. Last, the greatest criminal of the three, the 
 Arch Pliysician himself. 
 
 The first part of the programme was perfectly carried 
 out. John Lax, clothed in red, big and burly, his red 
 face glowing, stood on the scaffold beside the block, lean- 
 ing on the dreadful axe. The Sacred College were seated 
 in their places; the Bedells stood behind them; the As- 
 sistants sat on the other side. The Prisoners stood before 
 the College. So far all went well. Then I rose and read 
 in a loud voice the Crimes which had been committed 
 and the sentence of the Court. When I concluded I 
 looked around. There was a vast sea of heads before me. 
 In the midst I observed some kind of commotion as of 
 people who were pushing to the front. It was in the di- 
 rection of the Museum. But this I hardly noticed, my 
 
166 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 mind being full of the Example which was about to be 
 made. As for the immobility of the People's faces, it 
 was something trulj wonderful. 
 
 " Let the woman Christine," I cried, " mount the scaf- 
 fold and meet her doom !" 
 
 The girl threw herself into the arms of the other wom- 
 an, and they kissed each other. Then she tore herself 
 away, and the next moment she would have mounted the 
 steps and knelt before the block, but . . . 
 
 The confusion which had sprung up in the direction of 
 the Museum increased suddenly to a tumult. Eight and 
 left the people parted, flying and shrieking. And there 
 came ruiming through the lane thus formed a company 
 of men, dressed in fantastic garments of various colors, 
 armed with ancient weapons, and crying aloud, " To the 
 Rescue ! To the Rescue !" 
 
 Then I sprang to my feet, amazed. Was it possible — 
 could it be possible — that the Holy College of Physicians 
 should be actually defied ? 
 
 It was possible ; more, it was exactly what these 
 wretched persons proposed to dare and to do. 
 
 As for what followed, it took but a moment. The men 
 burst into the circle thus armed and thus determined. 
 We all sprang to our feet and recoiled. But there was 
 one who met them with equal courage and defiance. 
 Had there been — but how could there be ? — any more, we 
 should have made a wholesome example of the Rebels. 
 
 John Lax was this one. 
 
 He leaped from the scaffold with a roar like a lion, and 
 threw himself upon the men who advanced, swinging his 
 heavy axe around him as if it had been a walking-stick. 
 No wild beast deprived of its prey could have presented 
 such a terrible appearance. Bafiied revenge — rage — the 
 thirst for battle — all showed themselves in this giant as 
 
THE EXECUTION. 1C7 
 
 he turned a fearless front to his enemies and swung his 
 terrible axe. 
 
 I thought the rebels would have run. They wavered ; 
 they fell back ; then at a word from their leader— it was 
 none other than the dangerous man, the sailor called Jack, 
 or John, Carera — they closed in and stood shoulder to 
 shoulder, every man holding his weapon in readiness. 
 They were armed with the ancient weapon called the rifle, 
 with a bayonet thrust in at the end of it. 
 
 "Close in, my men; stand firm!" shouted the sailor. 
 " Leave John Lax to me. Ho ! ho I John Lax, you and I 
 will tight this out. I know you. You were the spy who 
 did the mischief. Come on. Stand firm, my men ; and 
 if I fall, make a speedy end of this spy and rescue the 
 Prisoners." 
 
 He sprang to the front, and for a moment the two men 
 confronted each other. Then John Lax, with another 
 roar, swung his axe. Had it descended upon the sailor's 
 head, there would have been an end of him. But — I 
 know little of fighting ; but it is certain that the fellow 
 was a coward. For he actually leaped lightly back and 
 dodged the blow. Then, when the axe had swung round so 
 as to leave his adversary's side in a defenceless position, 
 this disgraceful coward leaped forward and took a shame- 
 ful advantage of this accident, and drove his bayonet up 
 to the hilt in the unfortunate Executioner's body ! 
 
 John Lax dropped his axe, threw up his arms, and fell 
 heavily backwards. He was dead. He was killed instan- 
 taneously. Anything more terrible, more murderous, more 
 cowardly, I never witnessed. I know, I say, little of fight- 
 ing and war. But this, I must always maintain, was a foul 
 blow. John Lax had aimed his stroke and missed, it is 
 true, owing to the cowardly leap of his enemy out of the 
 way. But in the name of common fairness his adversary 
 
168 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 should have permitted him to resume his fighting position. 
 As it was, he only waited, cowardly, till the heavy axe 
 swinging round exposed John's side, and then stepped in 
 and took his advantage. This I call murder, and not war. 
 
 John Lax was quite dead. Oar brave and zealous ser- 
 vant was dead. He lay on his back; there was a, little 
 pool of blood on the ground : his clothes were stained 
 with blood : his face was already white. Was it possible? 
 Our servant — the sacred servant of the Holy House — was 
 dead ! He had been killed ! A servant of the Holy Col- 
 leo-e had been killed ! What next ? What dreadful thing 
 would follow? And the Criminals were rescued ! 
 
 By this time we were all standing bewildered, horrified, 
 in an undignified crowd. Fellows and Assistants together. 
 Then I spoke, but I fear in a trembling voice. 
 
 " Men !" I said. " Know you what you do ? Go back 
 to the place whence you came, and await the punishment 
 due to your crime. Back, I say !" 
 
 " Form in Square," ordered the murderer, paying no 
 heed at all to my commands. 
 
 The Rebels arranged themselves--as if they had re- 
 hearsed the thing for weeks — every man with his weapon 
 ready : five on a side, forming three sides of a square, of 
 which the scaffold formed the fourth. AVithin the Square 
 stood the three prisoners. 
 
 "O Jack!" cried Christine. "We never dreamed of 
 this." 
 
 " O Harry !" murmured Mildred, falling into the arms 
 of the rescued Dr. Linister. At such a moment, the 
 first thing they thought of was this new-found love. 
 And yet there are some who have maintained that human 
 nature could have been continued by Science on the old 
 lines! Folly at the bottom of everything! Folly and 
 Vanity ! 
 
THE EXECUTION. 169 
 
 "Sir," the Sailor man addressed Dr. Linister, "you are 
 now our Chief. Take this sword and tlie command." 
 
 He threw a crimson sash over the shoulders of him who 
 but a minute before was waiting to be executed, and 
 placed in his hands a drawn sword. 
 
 Then the Chief — I am bound to say that he looked as 
 if he were born to command — mounted the scaffold and 
 looked round with eyes of authority. 
 
 " Let the poor People be dismissed," he said. " Bid 
 them disperse — go home — go to walk, and to rest or sleep, 
 or anything that is left* in the unhappy blank that we call 
 their mind." 
 
 Then he turned to the College. 
 
 " There were some among 3'ou, my former Brethren," 
 he said, " who in times past were friends of my own. You 
 voted with me against the degradation of the People, but 
 in vain. We have often communed together on the in- 
 sufficiency of Science and the unwisdom of the modern 
 methods. Come out from the College, my friends, and 
 join us. We have the Great Secret, and we have all the 
 knowledge of Science that there is. Cast in your lot with 
 mine." 
 
 Five or six of the Fellows stepped forth — they were 
 those who had always voted for the Arch Physician — 
 among them was the man who had spoken on the uncer- 
 tainty of memory. These were admitted within the line 
 of armed men. Nay, their gowns of office were taken 
 from them and they presently received weapons. About 
 twenty or thirty of the Assistants also fell out and were 
 admitted to the ranks of the Ilebels. 
 
 "There come no more?" asked the Chief. "Well, 
 choose for yourselves. Captain Heron, make the crowd 
 stand back— clear them away with the butt ends of your 
 rifles, if they will not go when they are told. So. Xow 
 
170 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 let the rest of the College return to the House. Captain 
 Carera, take ten men and drive them back. Let the first 
 who stops, or endeavors to make the others stop, or at- 
 tempts to address the people, be rnn through, as you de- 
 spatched the man John Lax. Fellows and Assistants of 
 the College — back to the place whence you came. Back, 
 as quickly as may be, or it will be the worse for you." 
 
 The ten men stepped out with lowered bayonets. We 
 saw them approaching with murder in their eyes, and we 
 turned and fled. It was not a retreat : it was a helter- 
 skelter run — one over the other. If one fell, the savage 
 Rebels prodded him in fleshy parts and roared with laugh- 
 ter. Fellows, Assistants, and Bedells alike — we fell over 
 each other, elbowing and fighting, until we found our- 
 selves at last — some with bleeding noses, some with black 
 eyes, some with broken ribs, all with torn gowns — within 
 the House of Life. 
 
 The Rebels stood outside the South Porch, laughing at 
 our discomfiture. 
 
 " Wardens of the Great Secret," said Captain Carera, 
 "you have no longer any Secret to guard. Meantime, 
 until the pleasure of the Chief, and the Sentence of the 
 Court is pronounced, remember. He w'ho endeavors to 
 escape from the House will assuredly meet his death. 
 Think of John Lax, and do not dare to resist the author- 
 ity of the Army." 
 
 Then he shut the door upon us and locked it, and we 
 heard the footsteps of the men as they marched away in 
 order. 
 
 This, then, was the result of my most fatal error. 
 Had we, as we might so easily have done, executed our 
 prisoners in the House itself, and locked up the Rebels in 
 the Museum, these evils would not have happened. It is 
 futile to regret the past, which can never be undone. But 
 
PRISONERS. 171 
 
 it is impossible not to regret a blunder which produced 
 such fatal results. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 PRISONERS. 
 
 Thus, then, were the tables turned upon us. We were 
 locked up, prisoners— actually the Sacred College, prison- 
 ers — in the House of Life itself, and the Great Secret was 
 probably by this time in the hands of the Rebels, to whom 
 the Arch Traitor had no doubt given it, as he had pro- 
 posed to do when we arrested him. Lost to us forever! 
 AVhat would become of the College when the Great Mys- 
 tery was lost to it ? Where would be its dignity ? Where 
 its authority ? 
 
 The first question —we read it in each other's eyes without 
 asking it — was, however, not what would become of our 
 authority, but of ourselves. What were they going to do 
 with us? They had killed the unfortunate John Lax 
 solely because he stood up manfully for the College. 
 What could we expect ? Besides, we had fully intended 
 ' to kill the Rebels. Now we were penned up like fowls 
 in a coop, altogether at their mercy. Could one have be- 
 lieved that the Holy College, the Source of Health, the 
 Maintainer of Life, would ever have been driven to its 
 House, as to a prison, like a herd of swine to their sty ; 
 made to run head over heels, tumbling over one another, 
 without dignity or self-respect ; shoved, bundled, cuffed, 
 and kicked into the House of Life, and locked up, with 
 the promise of instant Death to any who should endeavor 
 to escape? But did they mean to kill us? That was the 
 Question before us. Why should they not ? We should 
 
172 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 have killed the Arch Physician, had they suffered it ; and 
 now they had all the power. 
 
 I confess that the thought of this probability filled ray 
 mind with so great a terror that the more I thought of it 
 the more my teeth chattered and my knees knocked to- 
 gether. Nay, the very tears — the first since I was a little 
 boy — came into my eyes in thinking that I must abandon 
 my Laboratory and all my Researches, almost at the very 
 moment when the Triumph of Science was well within 
 my grasp, and I was ready — nearly — to present Mankind 
 at his last and best. But at this juncture the Assistants 
 showed by their behavior and their carriage — now greatly 
 wanting in respect — that they looked to us for aid, and I 
 hastily called together the remaining Fellows in the In- 
 ner House. 
 
 We took our places and looked at each other in dismay 
 which could not be concealed. 
 
 " Brothers," I said, because they looked to me for 
 speech, "it cannot be denied that the Situation is full of 
 Danger. Never before has the College been in danger 
 so imminent. At this very instant they may be sending 
 armed soldiers to murder us." 
 
 At this moment there happened to be a movement of 
 many feet in the nave, and it seemed as if the thing was 
 actually upon us. I sat down, pale and trembling. The 
 others did the same. It was several minutes before con- 
 fidence was so far restored that we could speak coherently. 
 
 "We have lived so long," I said, "and we have known 
 so long the pleasure of Scientific Research, that the mere 
 thought of Death fills us with apprehensions that the 
 common people cannot guess. Our superior nature makes 
 us doubly sensitive. Perhaps — let us hope — they may 
 not kill us — perhaps they may make demands upon us to 
 which we can yield. They will certainly turn us out of 
 
PRISONERS. 173 
 
 the College and Ilonse of Life and install themselves, un- 
 less we find a way to turn the tables. But we may buy 
 our lives : we may even become their assistants. Our 
 knowledge may be placed at their disposal — " 
 
 " Yes, yes," they all agreed. " Life before everything. 
 We will yield to any conditions." 
 
 "The Great Secret has gone out of our keeping," I 
 went on. " Dr. Linister has probably communicated it 
 to all alike. There goes the whole Authority, the whole 
 Mystery, of the College." 
 
 " We are ruined !" echoed the Fellows in dismay. 
 
 "Half a dozen of our Fellows have gone over, too. 
 There is not now a Secret, or a Scientific Discovery, or a 
 Process, concerning Life, Food, Health, or Disease, that 
 they do not know as well as ourselves. And they have 
 all the Power.' What will they do with it? What can 
 we do to get it out of their hands V 
 
 Then began a Babel of suggestions and ideas. Un- 
 fortunately every plan proposed involved the necessity of 
 some one risking or losing his life. In the old times, 
 when there were always men risking and losing their 
 lives for some cause or other, I suppose there would have 
 been no difficulty at all. I had been accustomed to laugh 
 at this foolish sacrifice of one's self — since there is but 
 one life — for pay, or for the good of others. Now, how- 
 ever, I confess that we should have found it most con- 
 venient if we could have persuaded some to risk — very 
 likely they would not actually have lost — their lives for 
 the sake of the Holy College. For instance, the first 
 plan that occurred to us was this. We numbered, even 
 after the late defections, two hundred strong in the Col- 
 lege. This so-called "Army" of the Rebels could not 
 be more than seventy, counting the deserters from the 
 College. Why should we not break open the doors and 
 
174 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 sally forth, a hundred — two hundred — strong, armed with 
 weapons from the laboratory, provided with bottles of 
 nitric and sulphuric acid, and fall upon the Kebel army 
 suddenly while they were unprepared for us ? 
 
 This plan so far carried me away that I called together 
 the whole of the College — Assistants, Bedells, and all — 
 and laid it before them. I pointed out that the over- 
 whelming nature of the force we could hurl upon the 
 enemy would cause so great a terror to fall upon them 
 that they would instantly drop their arms and fly as fast 
 as they could run, when our men would have nothing 
 more to do but to run after and kill them. 
 
 The men looked at one another with doubtful eyes. 
 Finally, one impudent rascal said that as the Physicians 
 themselves had most to lose, they should themselves lead 
 the assault. "We will follow the Suffragan and the 
 Fellows," he said. 
 
 I endeavored to make them understand that the most 
 valuable lives should always be preserved until the last. 
 But in this I failed. 
 
 The idea, therefore, of a sorti^ in force had to be 
 abandoned. 
 
 It was next proposed that we should dig a tunnel under 
 the Public Hall and blow up the Rebels with some of 
 the old explosives. But to dig a tunnel takes time, and 
 then who would risk his life with the explosive ? 
 
 It was further proposed to send out a deputation of 
 two or three, who should preach to the Rebels and point 
 out the terrible consequences of their continued mutiny. 
 But this appeared impracticable, for the simple reason 
 that no one could be found to brave the threat of Captain 
 Carera of death to any who ventured out. Besides, it 
 was pointed out, with some reason, that if our messengers 
 were suffered to reach the Rebels, no one would be moved 
 
PRISONERS. 1 75 
 
 bj the threats of helpless prisoners unable to effect their 
 own release. As for what was proposed to be done with 
 electricity, hand-grenades, dynamite, and so forth, I pass 
 all that over. In a word, we found that we could do 
 nothing. We were prisoners. 
 
 Then an idea occurred to rae. I remembered how, 
 many years before. Dr. Linister, who had always a mind 
 full of resource and ingenuity, made a discovery by 
 means of which one man, armed with a single weapon 
 easy to carry, could annihilate a whole army. If war 
 had continued in the world, this weapon would have put 
 an immediate stop to it. But war ceased, and it was 
 never used. Now, I thought, if I could find that weapon 
 or any account or drawing of its manufacture, I should 
 be able from the commanding lieight of the Tower, with 
 my own hand, to annihilate Dr. Linister and all his fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 I proceeded, with the assistance of the whole College, 
 to hunt among the volumes of Researches and Experi- 
 ments. There were thousands of them. "We spent many 
 days in the search. But we found it not. When we 
 were tired of the search we would climb up into the 
 Tower and look out upon the scene below, which was full 
 of activity and bustle. Oh ! if we could only by simply 
 pointing the weapon, only by pressing a knob, see our 
 enemies swiftly and suddenly overwhelmed by Death ! 
 
 But we could not find that Discovery anywhere. There 
 were whole rows of volumes which consisted of nothing 
 but indexes. But we could not find it in any of them. 
 And so this hope failed. 
 
 They did not kill us. Every day they opened the 
 doors and called for men to come forth and fetch food. 
 But they did not kill us. 
 
 Yet the danger was ever present in our minds. After 
 
176 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 a week the College resolved that, since one alone of the 
 body knew the Great Secret, that one being the most 
 likely to be selected for execution if there were any such 
 step taken, it was expedient that the Secret should be 
 revealed to the whole College. I protested, but had to 
 obey. To part with that Secret was like parting with 
 all my power. I was no longer invested with the sanctity 
 of one who held that Secret: the Suffragan became a 
 simple Fellow of the College : he was henceforth only 
 one of those who conducted Researches into Health and 
 Food and the like. 
 
 This suspense and imprisonment lasted for three weeks. 
 Tlien the Rebels, as you shall hear, did the most wonder- 
 ful and most unexpected thing in the world. Why they 
 did it, when they had the House of Life, the College, and 
 all in their own hands, and could have established them- 
 selves there and done whatever they pleased with the 
 People, I have never been able to understand. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE RECRUITING SERGEANT. 
 
 When the College had thus ignominiously been driven 
 into the House and the key turned upon us, the Rebels 
 looked at each other with the greatest satisfaction. 
 
 " So far,'' said Jack, " we have succeeded beyond our 
 greatest hopes. The Prisoners are rescued ; the only man 
 with any fight in him has been put out of the temptation 
 to fight any more; the Holy College are made Prisoners; 
 ourselves are masters of the field, and certain to remain 
 so ; and the People are like lambs — nothing to be feared 
 from them — nothing, apparently, to be hoped." 
 
THE RECRUITING SERGEANT. 177 
 
 They had been reduced to terror by the violence of the 
 Rebels in pushing through them ; they had rushed away, 
 screaming : those of them who witnessed the horrible 
 murder of John Lax were also seized with panic, and 
 fled. But when no more terrifying things befell, they 
 speedily relapsed into their habitual indifference, and 
 crept back again, as if nothing had happened at all, to 
 dawdle away their time in the sunshine and upon the 
 garden benches — every man alone, as usual. That the 
 Holy College were Prisoners — that Rebels had usurped 
 the Authority — affected them not a whit, even if they 
 understood it. My administration had been even too 
 successful. One could no longer look to the People for 
 anything. They were now, even more rapidly than I had 
 thought possible, passing into the last stages of human 
 existence. 
 
 " Te Gods !" cried Dr. Linister, swearing in the lan- 
 guage of the Past and by the shadows long forgotten. 
 " Ye Gods ! How stupid they have become ! I knew 
 not that they were so far gone. Can nothing move them ? 
 They have seen a victorious Rebellion — a Revolution, not 
 without bloodshed. But they pay no heed. Will noth- 
 ing move them? Will words? Call some of them to- 
 gether. Jack. Drive them here. Let us try to speak to 
 them. It may be that I shall touch some chord which 
 will recall the Past. It was thus that you — we — were 
 all awakened from that deadly Torpor." 
 
 Being thus summoned, the People — men and women — 
 flocked about the scaffold, now stripped of its black dra- 
 peries, and listened while Dr. Linister harangued them. 
 They were told to stand and listen, and they obeyed, 
 without a gleam in their patient, sheeplike faces to show 
 that they understood. 
 
 12 
 
178 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 " I can do no more !" cried Dr. Linister, after three- 
 quarters of an hour. 
 
 He had drawn a skilful and moving picture of the 
 Past ; he had depicted its glories and its joys, compared 
 with the dismal realities of the Present. He dwelt upon 
 their loveless and passionless existence ; he showed them 
 how they were gradually sinking lower and lower — that 
 they would soon lose the intelligence necessary even for 
 the daily task. Then he asked them if they would join 
 his friends and himself in the new Life which they were 
 about to begin : it should be full of all the old things — 
 endeavor, struggle, ambition, and Love. They should be 
 alive, not half dead. 
 
 More he said — a great deal more — but to no purpose. 
 If they showed any intelligence at all, it was terror at the 
 thought of change. 
 
 Dr. Linister descended. 
 
 " It is no use," he said. " Will you try. Jack ?" 
 
 "Not by speaking. But I will try another plan." 
 
 He disappeared, and presentl}'^ came back again, having 
 visited the cellars behind the Public Halls. After him 
 came servants, rolling barrels and casks at his direction. 
 
 " I am going to try the effect of a good drink"" said 
 Jack. " In the old days they were always getting drunk, 
 and the trades had each their favorite liquor. It is now 
 no one knows how long since these poor fellows have had 
 to become sober, because they could no longer exceed 
 their ration. Let us encourage ^hem to get drunk. I 
 am sure that ought to touch a chord." 
 
 This disgraceful idea was actually carried out. Drink 
 of all kinds — spirits, beer, and every sort of intoxicating 
 liquor — were brought forth, and the men were invited to 
 sit down and drink freely, after the manner of the old 
 time. 
 
THE RECRUITING SERGEANT. 179 
 
 When they saw the casks brought out and placed on 
 stands, each ready with its spigot, and, beside the casks, 
 the tables and benches, spread for them— on the benches, 
 pipes and tobacco— gleams of intelligence seemed to steal 
 into their eyes. 
 
 "Come," said Jack, "sit down, my friends; sit down, 
 all of you. Now then, what will you drink ? What shall 
 it b^ ? Call for what you like best. Here is a barrel of 
 beer ; here is stout ; here are gin, whiskey, rum, Hollands, 
 and brandy. What will you have? Call for what you 
 please. Take your pipes. Why, it is the old time over 
 again." 
 
 They looked at each other stupidly. The very names 
 of these drinks had been long forgotten by them. But 
 they presently accepted the invitation, and began to drink 
 greedily. At seven o'clock, when the Supper Bell rang, 
 there were at least three hundred men lying about, in 
 various stages of drunkenness. Some were fast asleep, 
 stretched at their full length on the ground ; some lay 
 with their heads on the table ; some sat, clutching at the 
 pewter mugs; some were vacuously laughing or noisily 
 singing. 
 
 " What do you make of your experiment ?" asked Dr. 
 Linister. "Have you struck your chord?" 
 
 " Well, they have done once more what they used to 
 do," said Jack, despondently ; " and they have done it in 
 the same old way. I don't think there could ever have 
 been any real jolliness about the dogs, who got drunk as 
 fast as ever they could. I expected a more gradual busi- 
 ness. I thought the drink would first unloose their 
 tongues, and set them talking. Then I hoped that they 
 would, in this way, be Jed to remember the Past; and I 
 thought that directly they began to show any recollection 
 at all, I would knock off the supply and carry on the 
 
180 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 memory. But the experiment has failed, unless " — here 
 a gleam of hope shone in his face — " to-morrow's hot 
 coppers prove a sensation so unusual as to revive the 
 memory of their last experience in the same direction — 
 never mind how many years ago. Hot coppers may pro- 
 duce that result." 
 
 He ordered the casks to be rolled back to the cellars. 
 That evening the Rebels, headed by Dr. Linister — all 
 dressed in scarlet and gold, with swords — and with them 
 the ladies — (they were called ladies now, nothing less — 
 not women of the People any more) — came to the Public 
 Hall, dressed for the evening in strange garments, with 
 bracelets, necklaces, jewels, gloves, and things which most 
 of the People had never seen. But they seemed to take 
 no heed of these things. 
 
 "They are hopeless," said Jack. "ISTothing moves 
 them, "We shall have to begin our new life with our 
 own company of thirty." 
 
 " Leave them to us," said Mildred. "Remember, it was 
 by dress that Christine aroused us from our stagnant con- 
 dition ; and it was by us that you men were first awakened. 
 Leave them to us." 
 
 After the evening meal the ladies went about from ta- 
 ble to table, talking to the women. Many of these, who 
 had belonged to the working classes in the old Time, and 
 had no recollection at all of fine dress, looked stupidly at 
 the ladies' dainty attire. But there were others whose 
 faces seemed to show possibilities of other things. And 
 to these the ladies addressed themselves. First, they 
 asked them to look at their fine frocks and bangles and 
 things ; and next, if any admiration was awakened, they 
 begged them to take off their flat caps and to let down 
 their hair. Some of them consented, and laughed with 
 new-born pride in showing off their long-forgotten beauty. 
 
THE RECRUITING SERGEANT. 181 
 
 Then the ladies tied ribbons round their necks and waists, 
 put flowers into their hair, and made thetn look in the 
 glass. Not one of those who laughed and looked in the 
 glass but followed the ladies that evening to the Museum. 
 
 They came — a company of Ilecruits fifty strong, all 
 girls. And then the whole evening was devoted to bring- 
 ing back the Past. It came quickly enough to most. 
 To some, a sad Past, full of hard, underpaid work ; to 
 some, a Past of enforced idleness ; to some, a Past of work 
 and pay and contentment. They were shopgirls, work- 
 girls, ballet-girls, barmaids — all kinds of girls. To every 
 one was given a pretty and becoming dress ; not one but 
 was rejoiced at the prospect of changing the calm and quiet 
 Present for the emotions and the struggles of the Past. 
 
 But they were not allowed to rest idle. Next day these 
 girls again, with the ladies, went out and tried the effect 
 of their new dress and their newly-restored beauty upon 
 other women first, and the men afterwards. As they 
 went about, lightly and gracefully, singing, laughing, 
 daintily dressed, many of the men began to lift up their 
 sleepy eyes, and to look after them. And when the girls 
 saw these symptoms, they laid siege to such a man, two 
 or three together; or perhaps one alone would undertake 
 the task, if he was more than commonly susceptible. As 
 for those on whom bright eyes, smiles, laughter, and pretty 
 dresses produced no effect, they let them alone altogether. 
 But still Ilecruits came in fast. 
 
 Every night they did all in their power to make the 
 Past live again. They played the old Comedies, Melo- 
 dramas, and Farces in the Public Hall ; they sang the old 
 songs; they encouraged the Recruits to sing; they gave 
 the men tobacco and beer ; they had dances and music. 
 Every morning the original company of Rebels sat in 
 Council. Every afternoon the Recruits, dressed like 
 
182 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 soldiers of the Past, were drawn up, drilled, and put 
 through all kinds of bodily exercise. 
 
 We were Prisoners, I said, for three weeks. 
 
 One morning, at the end of that time, a message came 
 to us from the " Headquarters of the Army." This was 
 now their official style and title. The Chief ordered the 
 immediate attendance of the Suffragan and two Fellows 
 of the College of Physicians. 
 
 At this terrifying order, I confess that I fell into so vio- 
 lent a trembling — for, indeed, my last hour seemed now 
 at hand — that I could no longer stand upright ; and, in 
 this condition of mind, I was carried — being unable to 
 walk, and more dead than alive — out of the House of Life 
 to the Headquarters of the Rebel Army. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION. 
 
 I CONFESS, I say, that I was borne in a half-fainting 
 condition from the House of Life. 
 
 •' Farewell, Suffragan, farewell !" said my Brethren of 
 the College, gathered within the South Porch, where a 
 guard of armed Rebels waited for us. " Your turn to- 
 day, ours to-morrow ! Farewell ! Yet if any concessions 
 can be made — " 
 
 Yes — yes — if any concessions could be made, only to 
 save life, they might be certain that I should make them. 
 The two Fellows of the College upon whom the lot — 
 they drew lots — had fallen, accompanied me, with cheeks 
 as pallid and hearts as full of terror as my own. 
 
 A company of twenty men, armed, escorted us. I 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION. 183 
 
 looked on the way for lines of People to witness the 
 Downfall of the College and the Execution of its Heads. 
 I looked for the scaffold which we had erected, and for 
 the executioner whom we had provided. I listened for 
 the Great Bell which we had caused to be rung. 
 
 Strange ! There were no People at all ; the way from 
 the House was quite clear ; the People were engaged as 
 usual at their work. I saw no scaffold, and no execution- 
 er, I heard no Great Bell. Yet the absence of these 
 things did not reassure me in the least. 
 
 But everything, even in these short three weeks, was 
 changed. Nearly the whole of the open space before the 
 Public Hall was now covered with rows of gay-colored 
 tents, over which flew bright little flags. They were 
 quite small tents, meant, I learned afterwards, for sleep- 
 ing. Besides these there were great tents open at the 
 sides, and spread, within, with tables and benches, at 
 which sat men smoking tobacco and drinking beer, 
 though it was as yet only the forenoon. Some of them 
 were playing cards, some were reading books, and some — 
 a great many — were eagerly talking. They were all 
 dressed in tunics of scarlet, green, and gray, and wore 
 leathern belts with helmets — the costume seemed familiar 
 to me. Then I remembered ; it ^vas the old dress of a 
 soldier. Wonderful ! After Science had lavished all her 
 resources in order to suppress and destroy among the Peo- 
 ple the old passions — at the very first opportunity the 
 Rebels had succeeded in awakening them again in their 
 worst and most odious form ! 
 
 There were also large open spaces upon which, regard- 
 less of the flower-beds, some of the men were marching 
 up and down in line, carrying arms, and performing evo- 
 lutions to the command of an officer. 
 
 Some of the men, again, lay sprawling about on benches, 
 
184 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 merely looking on and doing nothing — yet with a lively 
 satisfaction in their faces. They ought to have been in 
 the fields or the workshops. And everywhere among the 
 men, looking on at the drill, sitting in the tents, walking 
 beside them, sitting with them on the benches, were the 
 girls, dressed and adorned after the bad old false style, in 
 which the women pretended to heighten and set off what 
 they are pleased to call their charms by garments fantas- 
 tically cut, the immodest display of an arm or a neck, hair 
 curiously dressed and adorned, colored ribbons, flowers 
 stuck in their hats, and ornaments tied on wherever it was 
 possible. And such joy and pride in these silly decora- 
 tions ! No one would believe how these girls looked at 
 each other and themselves. But to think that the poor 
 silly men should have fallen into the nets thus clumsily 
 spread for them ! And this, after all our demonstrations 
 to show that woman bears in every limb the mark of in- 
 feriority, so that contempt, or at least pity, and not admi- 
 ration at all, to say nothing of the extraordinary foolish 
 passion of Love, should be the feeling of man for woman ! 
 However, at this moment I was naturally too much occu- 
 pied with my own danger to think of these things. 
 
 One thing, however, one could not avoid remarking. 
 The Rebellion must have spread with astonishing rapid- 
 ity. It was no longer a company of fifteen or sixteen 
 men — it was a great Army that we saw. And there was 
 no longer any doubt possible as to the movement. The 
 Past was restored. In the faces of the young men and 
 the girls, as we passed through them, I remarked, sick 
 with terror as I was, the old, old expression which I hoped 
 we had abolished forever — the eagerness, the unsatisfied 
 desire, and the Individualism. Yes — the Individualism. 
 I saw on their faces, plain to read, the newly-restored 
 Rights of Property. 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION, 185 
 
 Why, as I walked through one of the groups, composed 
 of men and women, one of the men suddenly rushed for- 
 ward and struck another in the face with his fist. 
 
 " She's my girl !" he cried, hoarsely. " Touch her if 
 you dare." 
 
 They closed round the pair and led them off. 
 
 " Going to fight it out," said one of our Guards. 
 
 To fight it out ! What a Fall ! To fight it out !— To 
 call a woman — or anything else — your own after all our 
 teaching. And to fight it out ! And all this arrived at 
 in three weeks ! 
 
 These things I observed, I say, as one observes things in 
 a dream, and remembers afterwards. 
 
 My heart failed me altogether, and I nearly fainted, 
 when we stopped at a long tent before which floated a 
 flag on a flagstaff. 
 
 They carried me within and placed me in a chair. As 
 soon as my eyes recovered the power of sight I saw, sit- 
 ting at the head of the table. Dr. Linister, dressed in some 
 sort of scarlet coat, with a sash and gold lace. Then, in- 
 deed, I gave myself up for lost. It was the Court, and 
 we were called before it to receive sentence. At his side 
 sat half a dozen officers bravely dressed. The tent was 
 filled with others, including many women richly dressed — 
 I observed the w^oman Mildred, clad in crimson velvet, and 
 the girl Christine, in white, and I thought they regarded 
 me with vindictive eyes. 
 
 When we were seated, Dr. Linister looked up — his 
 face was always grave, but it was no longer melancholy. 
 There was in it, now, something of Hope or Triumph or 
 Resolution — I know not what. 
 
 " Brothers," he said, gravely, " once my brothers of the 
 College, I have called you before us in order to make a 
 communication of the greatest importance, and one which 
 
186 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 will doubtless cause you considerable surprise. What is 
 the matter, Suffragan ? Hold him up, somebody. We de- 
 sire that you should hear from our own lips what we pro- 
 pose to do. 
 
 " First, will somebody give Dr. Grout a glass of wine or 
 brandy, or something? Pray be reassured, gentlemen. 
 No harm, I promise, shall happen to any of you. First, in 
 a day or two the doors of the House will be thrown open, 
 and you shall be free again to renew your old life — if you 
 still feel disposed to do so. I repeat that no violence is 
 intended towards you. Grout, pull yourself together, 
 man. Sit up, and leave off shaking. You will be able 
 without opposition, I say, to carry on again your Adminis- 
 tration of the People on the old lines. I trust, however, 
 that you will consider the situation, and the condition to 
 which you have reduced unfortunate Humanity, very se- 
 riously. 
 
 " In short, though we are absolute masters of the situa- 
 tion, and now command a Force against which it would be 
 absurd for you to contend, we are going to abandon the 
 Field, and leave everything to you." Were we dream- 
 ing? "The Present is so odious to our People; the sur- 
 roundings of this place are so full of the horrible and 
 loathsome Present, that we have resolved to leave it alto- 
 gether. We find, in fact, that it will be impossible to be- 
 gin the new Life until all traces of your Administration 
 are removed or lost. And we shall be so much clogged 
 by your Public Halls, your houses, your system, and the 
 miserable lives to which you have reduced most of the 
 men and women, that we must either send them — and you 
 — away, or go away ourselves. On the whole, it will give 
 us less trouble to go away ourselves. Therefore, as soon 
 as our Preparations are ready, we shall go. 
 
 " We shall carry with us from the Common Stores all 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION. 187 
 
 that we shall be likely to want in starting our IS'ew Com- 
 munity. We shall leave you to work out, undisturbed, 
 the Triumph of Science, as you understand it, upon these 
 poor wretches, already more than half stupefied by your 
 treatment. 
 
 " We shall take with us all those whom by any means — 
 by the beauty of women, the splendor of arms, the ancient 
 dresses, the ancient music, the ancient dances — we have 
 been able to awaken from their torpor. They amount in 
 all to no more than a thousand or so of young men and as 
 many maidens. As for the rest, they are sunk in a leth- 
 argy so deep that we have been unable to rouse them. 
 They are already very near to the condition which you 
 desire. 
 
 "Yet I know not. These poor dull brains may be 
 swiftly and suddenly fired with some contagion which 
 may at any time ruin your calculations and destroy the 
 boasted Triumph. Do not rely too much upon the Tor- 
 por of this apparently helpless herd. You had at the be- 
 ginning a grand weapon with which to enslave them. 
 You could keep them alive, and you could save them from 
 disease — if only they were obedient. If they once get 
 beyond the recollection or the fear of either, what will 
 yon do? 
 
 " We go" — he paused, and looked round the room, filled 
 with the eager faces which brought the Past back to me — 
 futile eagerness! ever pressing on, gaining nothing, sink- 
 ing into the grave before there was time to gain anything ! 
 That had come back — that ! " We go," he repeated — his 
 face had long been so melancholy that one hardly knew 
 him for the same man, so triumphant was it now — "we 
 go to repair the mistakes of many, many years. We go 
 to lead Mankind back into the ancient paths. It was not 
 altogether you, my friends, who destroyed Humanity ; it 
 
188 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 was mainly the unfortunate Discovery of the German 
 Professor. We were working admirably in the right di- 
 rection ; we were making life longer, which was then far 
 too short ; we were gradually preventing diseases, which 
 had been beyond the control of our wisest men ; we were, 
 by slow degrees, in the only true way — through the Reve- 
 lation of Nature — feeling our way to Health and Pro- 
 longation of Life. Yet, whatever happened, whatever 
 we might discover, the First Law of Life — which we did 
 not understand — was that to all things earthly there must 
 come an End. 
 
 "Then happened the event by which that End was 
 indefinitely postponed. 
 
 " Again, I say, I blame not you so much as the current 
 of events which bore you along. It seemed logical that 
 everybody, able or imbecile, weak or strong, healthy or 
 sickly, skilled or incompetent, should alike reap the Fruits 
 of the Great Discovery. If he did so, he was also entitled 
 to his equal share in the world's goods. This was the 
 Right of Man, put forward as if there could be no ques- 
 tion at all about it. Every child was to inherit an equal 
 share of everything. It was a false and a mischievous 
 claim. What every child inherited was the right of fight- 
 ing for his share, without danger of injustice or oppres- 
 sion. And the next step, after the Slaughter of the Old, 
 was the forbidding of more births. What that has done 
 for the world, look round and see for yourselves in the 
 torpor of the women and the apathy of the men. 
 
 " The People by this time had learned the great lesson 
 that you wished to teach them — that Death and Disease 
 were the only two evils. Then the College of Physicians 
 took the place of the former Priesthood, with its own 
 Mysteries to guard and its gifts to distribute. I do not 
 deny that you — we — have done the work well. The 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION. 189 
 
 Prevention of the old Diseases is nearly perfect. Yet, at 
 an_y moment, a new class of Disease may spring up and 
 baffle all your Science." 
 
 He had often talked in this way before, but never with 
 so much authority. Yet he was going to abandon the 
 ^vholc— all that he and his friends had gained ! "Were we 
 dreaming? His talk about my Administration affected 
 me not one whit. I knew all his arguments. But the 
 thought that he was going away, that he would actually 
 leave us in Power and Possession, filled me with amaze- 
 ment. 
 
 The others looked and listened as if he were speaking 
 for them. 
 
 "The Eight of Man to an equal share in everything 
 has been carried out. Look around you, and ask your- 
 selves if the result is satisfactory. I have often asked you 
 that question. You have replied that the Present is only 
 a stage in the Triumph of Science. What is the next 
 stage ? To that question also you have a reply. 
 
 "Well, we give it back to you — the whole of your Pres- 
 ent ; your People, so stupid, so docile, so sluggish ; your 
 House ; your College ; your Secrecy ; your Mystery ; your 
 Authority. Take them. You shall have them again, to 
 do with them as seems fit to you." 
 
 At these words my heart welled over with joy. Would 
 he really — but on what conditions ? — would he really give 
 us back the whole ? 
 
 There were no conditions. He meant exactly what he 
 said. He would give everything back to us. Were we 
 dreaming? Were we dreaming? 
 
 " As for me and my friends," he said, " we shall sally 
 forth to found a new Settlement, and to govern it by the 
 ideas of the Past. Xo one in our Settlement will be 
 obliged to work ; but if be does not, he shall certainly 
 
190 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 starve. Nobody will inherit any share to anything except 
 what he may win by struggle. There will be no equality 
 at all, but every man shall have what he can honestly get 
 for himself. No women shall be compelled to work ; but 
 they may work if they please, and at such things as they 
 please. Many old and long-forgotten things have been 
 already revived ; such as Love : we are in love again — 
 we, who actually forgot what love was like for all the 
 years which we have ceased to number or to chronicle. 
 It is impossible to describe to you, my former Brother 
 Suffragan, who never even in the old days felt the passion 
 — the intense joy, the ecstasy — of Love." The other men 
 murmured approval. " But Love is a plant which, while 
 it is hardy to endure many things, withers and dies under 
 certain conditions. It was found to flourish in the old 
 time, through all the changes of life : it survived the time 
 of youth and beauty ; it lasted through middle age ; flour- 
 ished through the scenes of old age ; it lasted beyond the 
 grave. It endured changes of fortune, decay of health, 
 poverty, sickness, and even helplessness. But one thing 
 kills Love. It cannot endure the dull monotony which 
 has followed the Great Discovery : it cannot live long 
 while the face and form know no change ; while the voice 
 never changes; while the dress, the hours of work, the 
 work itself, the food, know no change. These are things 
 which kill the Flower of Love. Now, all things desirable 
 — this is a saying too hard for you, Suffragan — depend 
 upon Love. With Love, they have revived : the courtesy 
 of man to woman ; the deference of the stronger to the 
 weaker ; the stimulus of work ; hope and ambition ; self- 
 sacrifice ; unselfishness ; devotion ; the sweet illusions of 
 imagination — all these things have been born again within 
 the last three weeks. They have been born again, and, 
 with them, the necessity of an End. All things earthly 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION. 191 
 
 must have an end." The Chief looked round him : the 
 men murmured approval, and tears stood in the eyes of 
 the women. " We cannot let tliem die. And since the 
 First Law of Love is change — and the Certain End — we 
 have resolved, Suffragan, on forgetting the Grand Discov- 
 ery." Could this be our late Arch Physician ? Were we 
 dreaming? "We shall forego any share in it. Only the 
 chiefs here gathered together know as yet what has been 
 resolved. Little by little the truth will get possession of 
 our people that an End is ordained." 
 
 We made no reply to this extraordinary announcement. 
 What could we say ? We only gasped with wonder. 
 
 " You cannot understand this, Grout. I do not expect 
 that you should. For long years past I have understood 
 that the Great Discovery was the greatest misfortune that 
 ever happened to mankind. For all things must have an 
 End : else all that is worth preserving will wither and die. 
 
 " I have nearly done. You can go back to your House, 
 and you can carry on your Administration as you please. 
 But there is a warning which we have first to pronounce 
 before we let you go. Your Ultimate Triumph of Sci- 
 ence is too great a degradation of Humanity to be endured. 
 In years to come when our successors rule in our place, 
 they shall send an army here to inquire into the conduct 
 of your Trust. If we find the People more brutish, deeper 
 sunk in apathy and torpor, that army will seize the House 
 of Life and the College of Physicians, and will destroy 
 your laboratories, and will suffer all — men and women of 
 the People and Fellows of the Sacred College alike — to 
 die. [Never forget this warning. You shall surely die. 
 
 "One more point, and I have done. I mention it 
 with diffidence, Grout, because I cannot hope for your 
 sympathy. Your own convictions on the subject were 
 arrived at — you have often told us — when you were a boy, 
 
192 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 and were based upon the argnments of a Sunday-morning 
 Spouter in the Whitechapel Road. 1 believe that John 
 Lax, deceased, was the Learned Authority who convinced 
 you. Therefore, you will not understand me. Grout, 
 when I tell you that we have found the Soul again — the 
 long-lost Soul. All earthly things must have an End. 
 But there are things beyond that end. Most astonishing 
 things are likely to follow from this discovery. Long 
 thoughts and great hopes have already begun to spring 
 up in our minds. Our people are reading again — the old 
 Literature is full of the Soul : they are reading the great 
 Poets of old, and are beginning to understand what they 
 mean. I cannot make this intelligible to you. Grout. 
 You will not understand all that this discovery brings 
 with it. You will never, never understand that it is a 
 Discovery ten times — a million times — greater and better 
 for mankind than the Great Discovery itself, of which 
 you and I alone held the Secret. 
 
 "I take that Secret with me because I cannot forget it. 
 But, I repeat, we shall never use it. Soon, very soon, the 
 new active life will make men once more familiar with the 
 old figure who carried a scythe. There will be accidents ; 
 new diseases will arise ; age will creep slowly on — 
 the Great Discovery will be quietly forgotten in minds 
 which you had made so dull that they could not under- 
 stand when we rescued them what it meant. But we, the 
 leaders, shall know well that their happiness must have an 
 End. All earthly things," he repeated, for the fifth time, 
 "must have an End. That is all. Grout; but when you 
 hear from me again, unless the Administration is changed 
 indeed, the People — the College — and you, my Sujffragan 
 — shall all die together. You shall die. Grout ! You and 
 your friends shall die ! And so. Farewell. Guard. Take 
 them back to the House," 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED CONCLUSION. 193 
 
 We returned to the House relieved of our terror, but 
 much amazed. I had heard, in the old days, how men 
 would be 60 blockishly possessed by the thought of a 
 woman — a creature inferior to man — that they would 
 throw away everything in the world for her sake. And 
 now Dr. Linister himself — with all those who followed 
 after him — had given up everything ; because if Life goes, 
 what is there left? And for the sake of a woman ? What 
 could it mean ? How to explain this madness on any 
 scientific theory ? We told our Colleagues, and they mar- 
 velled ; and some suspected a trick. But Dr. Linister was 
 not a man to play tricks. As for the Soul and all that 
 rubbish, if Dr. Linister was so mad as to give np every- 
 thing for a woman, he might just as well adopt all the 
 old Creeds together. That was no concern of ours. And 
 as for this precious discovery about things earthly coming 
 to an end, what had that to do with the calm and tran- 
 quil state of pure existence which we were providing for 
 mankind ? Why should that ever have an end ? 
 
 That threatened army has never come. For some time 
 the thought of it gave us considerable uneasiness. But it 
 has never come ; and I believe, for my own part, that 
 now it never will come. As for the People, there has 
 been no such outbreak of Memory as was prophesied. 
 On the contrary, they have approached more and more, 
 in docility, meekness, mindlessness, and absence of pur- 
 pose, to the magnificent Ideal which I cherish for them. 
 I know not when it will arrive ; but the time is as cer- 
 tain to come as the morrow's sun is to dawn, when the 
 last stage of Humanity will be reached — an inert mass of 
 breathing, feeding, sleeping flesh, kept by the Holy Col- 
 lege — the Triumph of Science — free from Decay and 
 Death. 
 13 
 
194 THE INNER HOUSE. 
 
 They went awaj in the afternoon, three or four days 
 later. They took with them everything from the Public 
 Stores which they thought would be useful : provisions 
 of all kinds ; wine, beer, and cider in casks ; stuff for 
 clothing ; furniture ; everything that they could think 
 of. They took the pictures out of the Gallery, the books 
 from the Library, and nearly everything that was in the 
 Museum. From the laboratory in the House they took a 
 great number of volumes and a quantity of instruments. 
 At the last moment, nearly all the Assistants and the 
 workmen agreed to join them ; so that we were left with 
 numbers greatly reduced. It is impossible to enumerate 
 the vast quantities of things which they took with them. 
 The wagons in which they were packed covered a couple 
 of miles of road : the drivers were taken from the People, 
 and ordered to discharge their duty ; and, as they never 
 came back, these poor wretches probably perished with 
 the Rebels. They went forth in perfect order : first, an 
 advance guard of mounted men ; then a portion of the 
 main body, among whom rode the Chief with his staff. 
 After them came the women, some riding on horseback, 
 among whom were the woman Mildred and the girl Chris- 
 tine, showing in their faces that foolish and excited hap- 
 piness which is so different from the sweet tranquillity 
 which we have introduced. Indeed, all the women were 
 beyond themselves with this silly happiness. They sang, 
 they laughed, they talked. Some sat in carriages of all 
 kinds, some in wagons ; some walked ; and, what with 
 their chatter and their dresses, one would have thought 
 them a company of monkeys dressed up. After the 
 women came the wagons, and, lastly, the rest of the men. 
 I forgot to say that they had bands of music with them — 
 drums, fifes, cornets, and all kinds of musical instruments 
 — and that they carried flags, and that the men sang as 
 they marched. 
 
A MOST UNEXPECTED COXCLUSION, 195 
 
 Whither they went, or what became of thorn — whether 
 they carried out tlie desperate resolve of giving up the 
 Great Discovery — I know not. They marched away, and 
 we returned to our former life. 
 
 One thing more I must relate. 
 
 We — that is, the College — were seated, reassured as to 
 our safety, watching this great Departure. 
 
 Five minutes or so after the women had passed, I ob- 
 served two of my own friends — learned Fellows of the 
 College, who had always followed ray lead and voted with 
 me— eagerly whispering each other, and plucking one an- 
 other by the sleeve. Then they suddenly rose and pulled 
 off their black gowns, and fled swiftly in the direction of 
 the wagons and carriages where the women sat. 
 
 We have never seen or heard from any of these unfor- 
 tunate men since. 
 
 I am now myself the Arch Physician. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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