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Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York, MATERIALIST AND INVENTOR BY JOHN ESTEN COOKE " I am Pressensee. I stand on that. Who or what made me I don't know. I do not believe in your future state, or your Absolute 6oul. Man and the worm are the same. There is no life after death. Life is heat. Heat goes and death comes that is all I know about it. Witness my hand and seal, NEW YORK HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS FRANKLIN SQUARE 1878 Entered according to Act of Congress, In the year 1878, by HARPER & BROTHERS, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE, i. I MADE the personal acquaintance of Pro fessor Pressensee under somewhat peculiar circumstances. It was on a visit to New York in 1872. I had spent the evening at the " Century Club/ 7 the resort of authors, artists, and others of similar tastes. In. the throng one person had specially attracted nay attention. He was a man of from forty- five to fifty, low of stature, but broad-shoul dered and powerful. His head was large, and his long hair, just touched with gray, fell to his shoulders. The face was very striking. Under a massive and prominent forehead rolled a pair of brilliant eyes, cu rious and penetrating. The lips were firm, and not a little sarcastic in expression ; his complexion pale, like that of a student work ing much in the night hours. His dress was black, plain, and unassuming; his manner 985797 8 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. brief, "but not deficient in courtesy. The lurking sarcasm of the lips was not direct ed, apparently, in the least degree at the amiable centurions around him, but at the world in general. The club meeting broke up between elev en and twelve, and I set out to return to my hotel, through the chill winter night. The wind cut to the bone, and the streets off the main thoroughfares were entirely deserted. One figure I did observe, one or two hun dred yards in front of me, sturdily tramp ing along in the same direction I was my self pursuing. But this figure turned a corner, and I hurried on with one thought only in my mind that nothing could be so desirable as the warmth of a comfortable hotel, when I heard a loud exclamation, and the noise of a struggle, apparently around the corner which I had nearly reached. I hastened in the direction of the sound, and saw three men struggling with a fourth. A glance showed me everything. The three men were attempting to "garrote" the fourth ; and this fourth personage was the one I had noticed at the club. He was defending himself against the ruffians who had assailed him with a vigor which made the result extremely doubtful. One went PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 9 down under a blow from him sufficient to fell an ox ; and he had clutched another of the assailants by the throat, nearly stran gling him, I could see, for the man stagger ed. The third ruffian had, however, slipped behind him, and raised a heavy slung-shot to beat out his brains. The man's arm with this deadly weapon rose, but it did not fall. I had reached the spot, and raising the flex ible cane I carried, cut the man with all my strength across the eyes, making the blood spurt. His arm sank, he staggered back; and in three seconds all the assailants had disappeared in a side street, running at full speed from the policemen hastening to the spot. These worthies arrived, as usual, just a minute too late. The fact did not seeni greatly to depress them. " What's up *?" said the foremost. The man in black pointed to his neck, where the impress of the garroter's clutch was visible. " Well," said our philosophic friend of the police, "that's what we call a fox Ute. Did they go through you ? No, I see your watch- chain is all right. How manv attacked you ? " Three," returned the person addressed, 10 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. in a sarcastic tone. " I managed two, and my friend here disposed of the third. It is lucky he was not one of your fine metro politan police. You arrive, as you always arrive, in time to make inquiries what has happened.' 7 Having so spoken in a tone of great con tempt, the stranger turned his back upon the blue guardians of the public peace, and we walked on side by side. " These blue jays make one laugh," he said, incisively. "They are an organized farce but we waste time on them. You saved my life thanks, friend." "I am not certain," I returned. "You were in a fair way to extricate yourself; but I am truly glad to have come up so providentially." " Providentially ? humph !" "Is not the word appropriate? You must believe in a Providence." " I do not." " Is it possible ? But our conversation begins as curiously as our acquaintance, Mr. " " Presseusee Professor Pressensee, at your service," he said. " Well, professor, I was about to say that as rational beings we must believe in some- PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 11 tiling in this world. That axiom no doubt meets with your approval." "Yes." "You do not believe in an overruling Providence, you say. No doubt you believe in something ?" " I do in Heat." The reply was outre. I looked at my companion. He was evidently in dead ear nest. "I believe in what I see and feel and know," he said. "I know nothing about what you call Providence, by which you doubtless mean a personal Deity." "Assuredly." "I do not find him anywhere. I find matter, force, and correlation. But this talk is idle. My throat hurts me from that rascal's clutch and the night is cold. Ough!" " It is bitter enough." " Well, friend, yonder is my house. Come, and let me send you to your residence in my coupe'. You will not ? Then come and have a glass of wine with me, and allow my wife and daughter to thank you." It was tempting. The man had made a deep impression upon me. In his manner, his glance, the very tones of his voice, there 12 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. was a massive force of character, a reserved power, wliich made themselves felt. In pres ence of this personage, commonplace dis appeared. Who and what was he ? I had never heard of a Professor Pressensee, al though I supposed myself to be familiar with the names, at least, of all the savans of the city. Was he simply one of those nondescripts who attach the meaningless title of " Professor " to an equally meaning less name? His whole appearance seemed to contradict this theory. There was abso lutely nothing of the charlatan in anything connected with him. As to his nationality, I had soon made up my opinion upon that point. From his accent he appeared to be a Franco-German probably a native of some of the Rhine provinces. The rest was a mystery mere vague speculation. " Come, friend," he said, in his brief voice, going up a broad flight of steps which we had reached, leading to the front door of a handsome house. I yielded, and followed him. Before the bell-stroke had died away, the door was noiselessly opened by a tall man-servant, a foreigner, apparently, and I was ushered into an elegantly furnished drawing-room, where two ladies rose to re ceive us. They were evidently mother and PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 13 daughter. The elder lady was about thirty- five, the younger apparently about sixteen. Both were dressed plainly, but in perfect taste, and received us with cordial smiles. A few words from my host informed them of our night adventure, and the elder lady held out her hand with sudden warmth, and her daughter imitated her. In a moment I . seemed to have become the friend of the whole family. My attention, however, remained concen trated, unconsciously, upon my host. A great change had sucldenly taken place in him. I have never seen in the human face an expression of such deep tenderness as in his own when he looked at the two ladies. The eyes melted, the hard lips relaxed, and his voice, which had been so curt and vi brating, grew soft and caressing. Without apparently being aware of the fact from the effect, plainly, of habit the girl took her place in his lap, and passed one arm around his neck. " Wine !" said my host : " we will drink to your health, friend." A pressure upon the bell-knob summoned the man-servant, who reappeared in a few moments with a silver waiter containing wine and glasses. The faces around me 14 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. smiled sweetly, the chandelier poured its flood of light upon the comfortable interior ; and when, half an hour afterward, I sallied forth again in the chill night, I seemed to have stepped from a tropical summer into a Siberian winter. I had promised to repeat my visit to my host before leaving the city, and this I de termined to do whatever engagement stood in the way. The man had all at once be come for me an absorbing problem. IT. THREE days afterward I rang at Professor Pressensee's door, and sent in my name which was followed by a request that I would come up to his study, to which the servant conducted me. The apartment was on the third floor, and reached by two long flights of stairs thick ly carpeted. On this carpet the feet made no noise. The room was in front, and first knocking, the servant opened the door, and I entered. The spectacle before me was singular enough. One entire side of the room was PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 15 covered by books, some in antique embossed leather bindings, others bright and shiniug from the press. On the top of the book cases were plaster busts, human skulls, and bunches of dried plants. On a table be tween the windows were innumerable sin gular objects which seemed to be machines in every stage of progress : around, in com plete confusion, lay running -bands, cog wheels, disks of metal, screws, and tools. On one end of the table was a powerful vol taic battery, and near it an alembic which my host seemed to have been busy at, for the whole apartment was pervaded by pun gent fumes. Professor Pressensee advanced to meet me, holding out his hand. His face wore its habitual expression of amiable sarcasm. Pointing to a chair, and seating himself iu one opposite to it, he said, in his brief, inci sive voice, " Welcome, friend. Something told mo you would come to-day. To employ an ab surd phrase, I had a presentiment of it." "Then you do not believe in presenti ments ?" I said, sitting down. " I cannot say that I fully believe in them myself and yet I have heard stories of such fore warnings which nearly stagger me." UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 16 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. " All bosh !" said my host, with a sarcastic growl ; " the word is good English, and ex- pressive. Matter has its presentiments the barometer has a presentiment of rain. There is no foreshadowing with the immaterial essence the spirit. I use the jargon of the world, since there is no spirit." My host seemed to invite a collision of in tellect. With an uneasy consciousness that I was overmatched, I said : "No immaterial essence? No spirit? Then you do not believe in that, any more than in Providence a personal Deity. What remains ?" " Matter and force." "Force?" " Call it what you choose all is jargon ! jargon ! I call it Heat, from which all things originate." " But the origin of Heat ?" "I don't know anything about it." "Well, that is candid, at least. You are a pantheist ?" "Yes, without the theos there is no God anywhere. I say there is Heat, which made the worlds, gives law to matter, is stored up in the coal-beds, transformed into motion, and retransformed into itself. I see and feel this I do not see or feel your < personal PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 17 Deity.' Heat warms or burns me, guides the worlds in their course, makes me think even ; and the proof is that I have nearly found my psychometer." "Your psychometer T ' I said, full of sud den curiosity. "Yes my machine to ascertain and re cord the thought that is passing through a human brain. I touch on the discovery. The idea is nearly, I might say wholly, found. Once found, I need not tell you that the rest is a trifle a mere mechanical difficulty easy to surmount." I looked at the speaker with unaffected astonishment. Was he in earnest, or only indulging in grim jest? Was he sane? Could it be possible that he seriously be lieved in his ability to invent a machine a thing of wood and metal which, to employ his own phrase, would enable him to " ascer tain and record" the secret thoughts of the soul of a human being? The very idea seemed monstrous the conception of a madman. And yet, if any reliance could be placed upon outward appearances, this man was no more insane than myself. I will add that neither in these first days of our ac quaintance nor at any other time did I find the least reason to suspect him of unsound- 2 18 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. ness of mind. Of fearfully material views, but vast intellect, his brain, as far as I could (ever perceive, was as sound as heart of oak, and reached its conclusions with a frightful logic. Professor Pressensee leaned back in his chair. He was evidently in the mood to talk. "I see all this surprises you," he said in the same tone of voice, which I can find no better words to describe than "brief and in cisive; "but all things are relative. The working of a steam-engine dragging half a mile of railway carriages would have aston ished the Greek philosophers; they were untrained in the science of the properties of matter. Heat the primum mobile effect ing this small wonder as it effects ten thou sand immense wonders was unknown to them save as a warmth-producer. You, liv ing in the nineteenth century, have your sur prises too, unless you are a student. You doubt the feasibility of my psychometer; you would not believe in my phonometer if the idea had not been found the machine perfected." " Your phonometer ?" "To measure and record the vibrations of the atmosphere, which men call Sound PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 19 from the thunder of Niagara to the twitter of the Lird going to sleep at sunset in the foliage." " To record this, do you say ?" "Certainly: a mechanical record as ma terial as the impress of a die upon any yield ing surface a record that remains." " It is impossible." " It is possible, since the mechanism is in vented, constructed, and produces the re sult." "You record all sounds precisely as they are uttered ?" "Yes." "A record that remains?" " That remains." '' The human voice ?" "Certainly the human voice the exact tones of it of each person who speaks." "And this record is permanent? The tones may be reproduced ?" "Easily; and as to the record, it is as permanent as matter. Let us say a thou sand years ten thousand, if you wish it will last that time." " So that the person whose words, voice, tones, are recorded if this person dies, the same voice speaks to you in the very same tone years afterward ?" 20 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. "A thousand many thousands of years, if you live so long. If the Greeks had found the secret, Helen of Troy and Achilles might speak to you in this room, at this moment ; you might hear Paul preach, Cic ero harangue, and Caesar's voice exclaim Et to, Brute!" I looked at the cool and unexcited speaker. " Absurd, laughable, is it not ?" he said, "to think that a dead man's very voice or a dead woman's should speak to you as they spoke in the very flesh ?" "It is frightful!' 7 ! said, with something like a shudder. "It strikes me as a good farce," said Pro fessor Pressensee. " Pardon me if I say that I do not can scarcely credit, that is such a marvel." " It is no marvel. It is as simple as a child's toy. You pull a string, and the toy man dances ; I fit a metal disk to a needle, and my wonder is accomplished." The professor quietly rose. " These things are my amusement," he said. " I do not sell them, as I have all the money I want. Look !" He went to a small table in the corner and raised a cloth. I was beside him, and looked. What I saw was a small machine PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 21 consisting of two uprights, on one of \vliich was a circular concave disk, of ebony, ap parently. The other, rising higher, was traversed vertically by a narrow strip of what resembled thick gold-leaf. " I will show you my toy," said Professor Pressensee, coolly, " and you shall talk to it. I may outlive you who knows? Then I shall at least have the pleasure of your con versation at any time." He wound up some machinery resembling that of a clock, and the strip of metallic pa per which was connected with it began to move steadily over the face of the taller up right. "Ready?" said Professor Pressensee. "Place your mouth here, opposite this con cave, and utter what you wish to be recorded." He spoke with the most negligent and matter-of-fact air conceivable, but I could not divest myself of the weird impression produced by the man and his surroundings. His broad and powerful frame, his eyes roll ing under their bushy brows, the covert sarcasm of his careless voice, and his strange invention, all produced a singular effect. I would test his wonderful machine ; but what should I say to it? I was not in a mood to whisper to it some inane jest ; I was in- 22 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. deed the farthest possible from mirth. Re volted by the fearful materialism of the in ventor, I placed my mouth as he directed, and said, deliberately, "You assert, Professor Pressensee, that there is no personal Deity that God is mat ter, and matter is God ; and Heat is the per sistent Force creating all things. You ut ter a philosophic heresy. Behind Heat is Law, behind Law is the Absolute : this Ab solute is the central Soul of the universe, in whose spiritual image you and I are made the living God before whom we will stand, with all human beings we have loved or hated, to answer for the deeds done in the body." As I uttered these words the metallic slip continued to move over the face of the upright, descending through a narrow slit in the table. As I ended, the professor took my place, and said to the instrument, "I am Pressensee. I stand on that. Who or what made me I don't know. I do not believe in your future state or your Ab solute Soul. Man and the worm are the same. There is no life after death. Life is Heat. Heat goes, and Death comes; that is all I know about it. Witness my hand and seal. Presseusee." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 23 He touched the clock-work, and the movement of the metallic slip stopped. Then, reaching beneath the table, he tore the slip in two and held it up. I could see nothing upon it but a long line of very mi nute punctures, as though made by a small needle. " Here is the document," said the profess or. "It is destructible, I grant, but you have only to electrotype it, the work of a few moments, and it will outlast the Pyra mids." I looked at it with absorbing curiosity, and said, " It is recorded, you say : now for the test." " Very true you are not yet convinced. Here is the magician" he pointed to a small needle behind the disk on the upright " and he is going to talk to you." As he spoke he readjusted the metallic slip in its former position, and then pro duced from a shelf a plaster cast of a hu man head, colored to represent life, with the lips slightly parted. " The human voice is modified by the con formation of the mouth," he said ; " hence, to render the intonation accurate, I supply the mouth." He fixed the head upon the disk, and re- 24 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. leased the spring controlling the clock-work. At the first sounds I nearly recoiled. This thing of wood and metal was speaking, and speaking through the lips of the plaster head in my own voice to the minutest peculiari ties! There was no diminution in the vol ume, no departure from the exactest repro duction of my words, in my own voice. "Behind Heat is Law, behind Law is the Abso lute: this Absolute is the central Soul of the universe, in whose spiritual image you and I are made." The words rang out, clear, sonorous, earnest, from the lips of the plaster head, just as I had uttered them. The machine was silent then for a moment ; nothing was heard but the low whir of the clock-work. Then it recommenced this time in the curt, half-defiant tones of the professor " I am Pressensee. I stand on that. Who or what made me I don't know. I do not believe in your future state or your Absolute Soul " and so to the end of his speech : " Heat goes and Death comes that is all I know about it. Witness my hand and seal. Pressensee." A sudden dizziness came over me. There was something weird and fearful in this toy, as its inventor called it. I had come to associate with it sombre thoughts ; through that wood and metal, I said to myself, the PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 25 dead spoke again as they had spokeii in the flesh. There was no longer any room for doubt. The staring human head hefore me had spoken to me in my very voice ! " An ingenious little contrivance, eh ?" said Professor Pressensee, stopping the clock work, and throwing the cloth again over the machine: "it occurred to me one morn ing as I was smoking my meerschaum, and ought to have occurred to somebody years ago. It is astonishing how stupid mankind is. Vibration follows the impact of the air wave : to record these vibrations was the simplest of mechanical contrivances; and here the world has waited six thousand or six million years as you adopt the remote or recent theory as to the Glacial Period and the origin of man until Presseusee, the idler, has discovered it !" " It is wonderful !" I said. " Relatively, perhaps,' 7 said my host, in differently ; " nothing is absolutely wonder ful. Alpha Centauri is 200,000 times the distance of the earth from the sun, and that is 93,000,000 of miles. An express train travelling at fifty miles an hour would take 40,000,000 of years to make the journey. Sirius is 1,000,000 times the distance to the sun, and Canopus is so remote that even the 26 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. annual movement of the earth shows no dis placement in its position. Is all this won derful ? Not at all. Size and distance are nothing ; they are mere incidents. The fault is in our wretched eyes and small brains. Force and matter know nothing of them. Sinus and the grain of sand are tile same. Heat is the motor of the universe. You have only to get enough of it." Professor Presseusee lit an enormous meer schaum, and began to puff out clouds of smoke. " I am growing weary of these things," he said ; " I believe I will travel. I was up nearly all night at that wretched psychom- eter, which still puzzles me, though I'm cer tain I have the idea." I looked at him with fixed attention. "Your mind-reading machine?" " The same. Like the one just shown you, the principle is purely mechanical. Brain action thought produces Heat. The de gree, character, idiosyncrasy of this peculiar brain-heat follows, and is controlled by the phrenological development and expansion of each organ of the skull; so that just as But I should only muddle the subject. The machine is not constructed that it will be, I knoiv." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 27 " You expect to read my thoughts ?" " I will read your thoughts." " An electric current will be employed V He looked at me keenly. "Ah! you know that? Yes. But I dis like to speak of these indigestoe. One day I will show you the psychometer as I have shown you the phonometer. You are right. The electric current is the wonder of the uni verse, if there be any wonders. It is little to say that through its agency a man may speak with his actual voice to another man at the antipodes, and his voice be heard clearly. The principle is found; I shall soon construct that machine. What is as certain is, that sooner or later soon, I be lieve this w r onderful electric current will enable us to transmit messages to other worlds, if they are inhabited, of which I know nothing. I should give my miud to that, but I am bemired in this miserable psychometer, which will never be of any use to anybody. What do I care to read men's thoughts ? They are a poor set, to my thinking, however you take them. Machiavelli might value the invention if ho still lived ; but he, body and brain too, has turned to dust sometime since ! Still, I work at the pestiferous thing ; I will never 28 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. rest until I make the machine. And now all this wearies me, and you too, no doubt. Let us get away from this den, and go and see the ladies." The professor rose and knocked the ashes from his big meerschaum pipe. He then led the way, with his sturdy tramp, to the draw ing-room on the first floor, where his wife and daughter -were seated by a cheerful coal fire in an open grate. III. MOTHER and daughter rose to receive us, cordially offering me their hands. In a mo ment we were seated by the fire, and the professor, after his wont, soon had his daugh ter perched upon his knee. As before, his face had undergone a sud den transformation : his sarcastic glance had softened : the surly cynic had given place to the tender husband and father. His ex pression was exquisitely mild and gentle the reflection, one would have said, of that upon the pretty young face of his daughter, who pushed back her blonde hair, and look ed at him, smiling. PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 29 " Well, ma mignon" he said, in a caressing voice, "what is that handsome book you were reading ?" " Tennyson, papa," she replied; "but I cannot understand it." " Not understand it ? The plainest writ ing in the world, petite. Listen : " ' O plump head-waiter at The Cock, To which I most resort, How goes the time ? 'T is five o'clock. Go fetch a pint of port !' " "Not understand that sort of writing? Really your education has been neglected, mignon" "You dear old papa!" exclaimed the girl, laughing, " I was not reading that. Here is what puzzled me." She pointed with the forefinger of her pretty little hand to a page of the gilt-bound volume which she held, and read : " The sun, the moon, the star?, the seas, the hills and the plains- Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns?" " What does that mean, papa?" " Humph ! all moonshine," said the pro fessor. "And this too," added the girl, reading from the volume : 30 PHOFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "Speak to Him thou, for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet; Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet. " God is law, say the wige, O Soul, And let us rejoice ; For if He thunder by law, the thunder is yet His voice." The girl paused, and looked thoughtful, as she half closed the book. " I think I understand that/' she said, ab sently. I glanced at Professor Pressensee, for, strangely enough, the verses she had read touched directly upon the topic we had been discussing. What would be the reply of the materialist ? He caught ray look, and cov ertly held up his finger, as though warning; me to be silent. " Of course, of course," he said, with an. easy air, " the meaning, as you say, ma petite, is perfectly plain. A great poet ! What a fine figure King Arthur is! And then the ' lily maid of Astolat,' and the rest ! A very great poet ! But come, shut up Mr. Tenny son, and go play me a waltz." It was perfectly plain to me that Professor Pressensee meant to avoid any discussion of "The Higher Pantheism" of the poet. Had he concealed from his wife and daughter his PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 31 fearful materialism ? I afterward discover ed that lie had done so most carefully. The young lady went to the piano aud played a gay waltz, which the professor kept time to with his extended arm in the most grotesque manner, grasping, one would have said, an imaginary baton. His face glowed, his eyes sparkled, and when the waltz ended he cried, " Good ! you feel what you play, mignonne. Now for an air from one of your favorite operas." The girl sang as exquisitely as she played ; the sweet young voice touched the heart, and I fancied I saw a sudden moisture in the professor's eyes. " Good, very good !" he said, as she rose. " There is nothing like Verdi, much as they abuse him. Opera is one of the few things that move me. Do you like ' Faust T 1J he said, turning to me. " Yes ? Let us, then, go to-morrow. Shall it be so ?" I assented at once. I had formed the reso lution to see as much of this singular man as possible during my stay in New York. " Good !" he exclaimed. " You will accept a seat in my box. You will go too, Mar guerite?" he added, looking at his wife with the fondest affection. 32 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "Oh yes," she said, returning his glance; " you know I am quite as young in my feel ings as Marie !" "You are a child, a babe, my big petite!" cried the delighted professor. "But for the presence of company I should rise and be stow a salute upon you, madame. Was there ever a dry old savant who had two such roses blooming in his parterre ! Vive lajoie! Let us embrace, ma mignonne !" he added to the laughing girl. And the fresh young cheek was drawn close to his own in the prettiest of groups imaginable. The whole little interior quite charmed me. All was simple, natural, and unconven tional. The fondness of each for the other displayed itself in the most unreserved man ner ; and the contrast betweeu the profess ors gentleness in presence of his wife and daughter, and his sarcastic abruptness in his den up - stairs, was inexpressibly piquant. The man had become more than ever a study to me, and I listened to every word he utter ed with the closest attention. He gave free rein to every phantasy now laughed, jest ed, made grimaces for the general amuse ment, and was evidently enjoying himself to the top of his bent, when the stroke of the door bell resounded, and a few moments PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 33 afterward a young gentleman entered, bow ing. The appearance of the visitor was ex tremely prepossessing. He was about twen ty-one, tall, graceful, and with a modesty and earnestness of manner which struck me. He came forward with a slight color in his face, and this I thought I saw reflected in. the cheeks of the girl, who had left her fa ther's lap and seated herself in an arm-chair near her mother. The young gentleman was introduced to me as Mr. Alford. General conversation en sued, and iii half an hour he took his de parture. As he disappeared the professor drew a long breath. During the entire vis it an incubus seemed to rest upon him. All his gayety had vanished he almost scowled. What did this signify ? I soon rose in my turn, bade the ladies good-morning, and was accompanied to the door by the professor. " To-morrow evening, you will remember, friend," he said. " I shall expect you." " I will not fail ; but is there room in your box? This young gentleman, perhaps he seems to be a friend of Miss Presseusee." "A friend of Marie's?" growled the pro fessor. "As you please." 3 34 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "He seems to be an attractive young gen tleman. Observe that I am not prying into what does not concern me, my dear profess or" " There is no prying ; I have no secrets. To be plain, this young man is my child's suitor." "And you object? Your manner seems to say that." " Humph !" grunted the professor. " Well, yes." This somewhat surprised me, as young Mr. Alford had made a very agreeable im pression upon me by his modest and manly air, and I said, unconsciously, "His means are probably not such as to warrant him in marrying ?" The professor shook his head. "He is said to be wealthy; my objections to his attentions rest on another ground. But this would not interest you, friend." It would have interested me greatly, but I felt that any farther reference to the sub ject would be an intrusion. I therefore ex changed a grasp of the hand with the pro fessor, bade him good -night, aud returned to my hotel, with a sentiment of decided sympathy for the youthful lovers for such they appeared to be. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. IV. I ATTENDED the performance of the opera of "Faust" with Professor Pressensee and his family on the next evening, and about midnight the ladies having retired was seated opposite him in his study, or u den," as he styled it, in the third story, convers ing. On the table was a waiter containing wine and biscuits. The professor was lean ing back, with his sturdy legs extended in front of him, smoking his huge meerschaum, and gazing into the coal fire, whose genial warmth was in most agreeable contrast with the bitter cold outside. "That legend of Faust is a curious one!" he growled, in his deep voice, " and full of dramatic capabilities. No wonder Goethe selected it for his poem. A very great man Goethe. Not much heart, perhaps, but a vast brain a capacity for treading on the verges of the unknown world that is won derful." " The unknown world ?" " Mephistopheles," said Professor Pressen- 36 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. see, succinctly. "If there was a devil, lie would be like that." " You mean to say that there is no such being as Satan ?" " Certainly I mean to say it." "And consequently no hell where he rules ?" "A mere figment of the imagination," growled Professor Pressensee. " It really is astonishing what children men are. They follow every will-o'-the-wisp as a guiding light. They are gravely discussing now, I see, whether hell is a place of eternal pun ishment or not. Ninnies! The whole idea, of such a bottomless pit only exists in their imaginations !" The professor puffed out clouds of smoke. "Your old Hebrew legends have foisted the idea upon you," he added, disdainfully, "and what you call your New Testament has bolstered it up. There is no hell, no devil, no atonement, no Deity, I say j there is matter and force." I was quite revolted by such gross ma terialism, and said, abruptly, " Do you expect to die at any time, Pro fessor Presseusee ?" " Certainly I expect to die. It is the law of the universe." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 37 "Well, where do you presume you go?" " Go ? Nowhere. Where does the stalk of corn go when it shrivels, falls, arid de cays ? Its component parts go into the earth and the air. It no longer exists." "And so man, when he dies, you would say" "Remerges into matter from whence he came. Yes, that is what I mean. Human remains fertilize the earth. The grass, the flower, the stalk of grain, grow over them lustily. You were a soul, as the cant is ; you turn to a thistle or a weed." "And the Soul?" " There never was any such thing. There was Heat, which is Force. The Heat goes, as I said, and your boasted Soul with it which never had any existence," " Good heavens, Professor Pressensee !" I exclaimed, " can a man of your profound in tellect come to such shocking, such absurd conclusions ? Evolution denies Revelation ; but even that admits the existence of the human Soul." " Granted. The development theory stops half-way. I believe in the theory, of course it is demonstrated. What I complain of in its advocates is the cowardice which ar- 38 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. rests them in their train of logic. They stumble or draw back on the very thresh old. If there is in tho universe what yon call Soul, there is Deity ; for Soul, in your definition, must be a spark, an emanation call it what yon choose of the Divine Es sence. You see I use the jargon of the world. It is pure jargon, since there is no divine essence ; there is force, force, force !" " Well, the origin of this force ?" "I don't know; I have said that before." "Material force?" "Certainly. What other can we con ceive of?" " So that love, gratitude, heroism, charity, devotion to noble aims, all are fancies ?" " They are facts." " And they originate in " " Heat," said Professor Pressensee, coolly. As he uttered the words a sudden glare was visible in the apartment. I started, and looked toward the windows. They were squares of red light, and, hastening to one of them, I peered out into the night. The house immediately opposite that of Professor Pressensee was on fire ; the flames were already darting from the windows, and through the crowd which had at once gath ered rushed the steam fire-engines, drawn PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 39 by their powerful horses, whose heavy iron hoofs clashed upon the paved street. From our elevated perch we had a full view of all. The flames had evideotly gain ed terrible headway before the discovery was made that the house was on fire. The lateness of the hour was probably the cause of this ; and affairs were plainly critical for the inmates. Half -clothed figures passed across the windows like shadows, in the midst of streams of water poured upward from the engines. The front door of the house had been driven in, but the foremost firemen recoiled. Flame dashed in their faces. Then the crowd surged back, and ladders rose to the second story. Up these the firemen ran, axes in hand, and the sashes fell under their heavy blows. One of the men leaped in and dragged out an old man, who was caught by those behind and hur ried to the grouud. As he was drawn through the window a dense, suffocating smoke followed, and the figure of the fire man within disappeared. Then a shout came up from the crowd. He had reappear ed, holding in his arms the half -clothed form of a woman, who was passed down the ladder, the fireman who had rescued her fol lowing rapidly. 40 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "A brave fellow brave!" said Professor Pressensee, with a glowing face. "Achilles and Bayard were nobodies: here is your bra/eel" "What is the matter yonder?" I said, pointing to the crowd which ringed the half-clothed woman, leaving a space around her free. She was standing with hands clasped above her head, tottering to and fro, and crying, "My baby! oh, my baby!" The agonized voice came up distinctly it was the last cry of despair. "There is a child in that house still!" I exclaimed. " Good God! It is not possible that" " Good God !" came like an echo from Pro fessor Pressensee, who was crouching, with bent head, upon the window-sill. "Look!" I said; "there is the brave of braves !" I pointed to the crowd. Another ladder was hooked on, and the top rose to the third story. Two men mounted it, straight to ward a window from which spouted flame. Having reached the top round, the foremost man held down his head, paused for a sin gle instant, and then plunged through the llame and disappeared. PROFESSOR PRESSES SEE. 41 "Oh my God!" cried Professor Pressen- see, clutching the sash beside him ; " useless, useless ! Both are gone man and child !" A roar like the sound of a torrent sud denly rose from the densely packed crowd. The man appeared at the window, holding something white in his arms. As his leg passed over the sill, he tottered. A blind ing, destroying volume of smoke and flame enveloped him ; then he fell forward, still clutching the white object. Help was at hand. He was caught, as he fell, by the men on the ladder, and carried insensible to the ground, in the midst of a shout from the multitude. He had never relaxed his hold upon the child, which a moment afterward its mother caught to her heart, fondling and kissing it as if she never could be done, and sublimely forgetful of her half-clothed con dition, in spite of the bitter cold. Five minutes afterward the fire was near ly extinguished, and Professor Pressensee withdrew from the window. A sort of shudder still agitated him. " It was not without reason," he mutter ed," that the Komans called courage virtue ! n I looked attentively at the speaker. I could not withhold my retort. "And yet you say that heat produces all 42 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. things that material force alone exists. Formulate me your principle that explains this brave action on that theory, friend." " Humph! humph!" came in a smothered growl in reply. All at once the voice of Marie was heard calling from the second floor below, upon which the gas was burning. Still agitated by the incident of the fire, I hastened with the professor to the stairway, and unwit tingly surprised little Marie in her snowy night-dress, beneath which appeared two small bare feet, and with her hair upon her shoulders. She retreated quickly out of sight, calling, " Oh, papa! did you see the dear little baby, and that brave man ?" " Yes, yes, mignon he was brave indeed !" " The poor, poor, dear little baby ! It was nearly burned; but it is saved, saved, papa. God watched over it !" " Yes, yes, petite ; now go back to bed. It is late." " Yes, dear papa," came back, and the door closed. I held out my hand, showing the professor my watch, which pointed to fif teen minutes of one. "Yon must go?" he said. " Well, a glass of Madeira first." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 43 My host descended with me to the front door. "I owe you an agreeable evening, pro fessor/ 7 I said. "Your philosophy of the universe, to speak frankly, outrages all ray convictions; but it is good to speak plainly." " I say what I think, friend," he growled. " I am certain of that ; and yet consider the residuum in the crucible of your thought. This heroism we have witnessed to-night is only brute instinct, you say the material impulse of matter ! This heroic fireman who perils his life to save an infant is inspired by nothing but heat ! Courage, the un shrinking nerve, the soul risking death of the body without thought of self -advan tage all are to fall into nothingness, and lose their individuality ! There is no other world in which this child will greet its pre server in which the mother will bless him with her eyes ! To speak without ceremony this burning house to-night might have been your own; the mother with clasped hands might have been Marie's mother; Marie might have been in place of the poor babe, and no hero might have been present to rescue her. What then ?" Professor Pressensee was looking with knit brows upon the carpet, in silence. 44 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. " Your philosophy separates you," I said, " from those who are clearer to you than life. They may leave you, you may see them pass away ; and then, I tell you, friend, that, with your convictions, you will be of all men the most miserable." "No," he said, in a low tone. " Your meaning ?" " There is a method of terminating men tal misery." " You would say " " I should not survive my Marguerite and Marie." "You would?" "Put an end to myself ? Yes. But I am detaining you, friend. Good-night." The door closed, and the singular person age disappeared. Walking along the de serted street, I felt an oppression at the heart which I could not throw off. On the next day I was called away from the city, and did not see him again. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 45 V. IN the summer of 1874 I was at the Vir ginia Springs. Confinement in the city had brought ou a general derangement of my health, to which was added a distressing rheumatic affection, prostrating the ner vous system, and producing great mental de pression. Quinine allayed, in some meas ure, this painful ailment; but hot baths were prescribed by my physician as a cer tain cure, and I soon found the efficacy of the remedy. In the first days of autumn I was almost completely restored to health ; and the resident physician said, "If you could now make a journey on horseback go on a hunting expedition in a word, take open-air exercise regularly for a week or two, you would return entire ly well. Your system requires heat, force; these mean health, and exercise will supply them.' 7 The prescription was a most agreeable one. Always fond of fresh air, movement, and hunting, from my country training, I 46 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. caught at my old physician's proposal with ardor, and set about following it. Hiring in the neighborhood a good riding-horse, I ordered a light carbine and ammunition. It duly arrived by express, and on a beauti- fnl October morning I mounted and set out for the western mountains. There was something quite delightful in the fresh air and the sense of freedom. In a small valise behind my saddle was a change of linen ; slung at my back was the light rifled car bine I had purchased. I looked forward ardently to a good deer -hunt before long, and went on in the direction of the Allegha- nies, rising like a blue wave in front, with the enthusiasm of a boy on a holiday excur sion. As I rode on, I thought of my old physi cian's expression "Your system requires heat, force;" and the words recalled my sin gular New York acquaintance, Professor Pressensee. For nearly two years I had heard nothing of him, or rather from him. The letter of a friend residing in the city had, however, given me a few details of the man. I had written to this friend, " Do you know a Professor Pressensee, residing in Street ? Who and what is he ?" And my friend had replied: "You ask about PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 47 Professor Pressensee who and what he is ? As to the wlio, I really have no idea what ever. I meet him now and then at the " Century " not recently, however and can only say that he appears to be a Ger man, though his accent and phraseology are somewhat French. As to what he is, there I am nearly as much at fault. I can only tell you that he is a very fine connoisseur in painting, and a man of liberal charities. His contributions to benevolent objects are princely, and I should say that the man was not only a good citizen, but an exemplary Christian. As to anything further connect ed with him, I know nothing, and I believe nobody knows anything. He is one of those mysteries you meet on Broadway any day in the week." That was all. Here all information in reference to my singular chance - friend of 1872 stopped. It was not very satisfactory to my curiosity ; but one detail struck me. So Professor Pressensee was an " exemplary Christian," since he gave liberally to char itable objects. I knew better than that. That he was liberal, generous to the echo with his means, I could easily understand. That he believed in the divine origin of Christianity I knew to be a mere fancy, un- 48 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. less all his views had suddenly changed; and in due time I was to discover that no such change had taken place. Going along now in the autumn sunshine, I thought of these meagre particulars relating to Profess or Pressensee, and asked myself what could have become of him? His whereabouts, even, were a complete mystery, as my friend had intimated that his visits to the " Cen tury" had been discontinued; and after thinking of him for an hour, I banished the whole subject from my mind, and rode on, with a sense of full animal enjoyment of the bracing mountain air. I had set out at an early hour, and by noon had penetrated a considerable distance into the wild and beautiful region west of the Virginia Valley. At a mountain cabin I procured dinner for myself and forage for my horse ; and, resolving to make the best of my time, set forward again, intent on reaching the house of an old deer -hunter to which my host directed me. The road which I now followed gradually ascended. Before me was a range of wooded hills, which it crossed a narrow opening in a mass of variegated verdure. I reached the top of the range, looked beyond, and stop ped, quite charmed with the magnificent PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 49 scene before me. Beneath me lay a shel tered valley, over which the western moun tains seemed to lean. The sun was just sinking, and threw long shadows across the cleared fields and woods. A small stream glittered in the evening light, appearing and disappearing here and there with its fringe of foliage. Ou its hanks, perched on a green knoll, I observed a comfortable mansion embowered in oaks, just touched by the burning finger of autumn ; and this was the only human habitation in sight. To the right, to the left, in front, all was forest and mountain. "Well," I said, aloud, " it seems that I am not to reach my friend the old hunter's house to-night, unless that attractive-look ing residence is his, which I think improb able. But I will find shelter there, at least, for the night. No one is ever turned away in Virginia " I rode on down into the valley, found the road led in the direction of the house, and entering the grounds, which were extensive, grass-clad, and dotted with oaks, came in. front of the building. It was of stone, ap parently, covered with brown stucco, and of considerable size. On each side of the main central portion were two wings. A large 4 50 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. double window in the centre, above the por tico, seemed to indicate that one large apart ment took up the whole of the second floor of the central building, w r hich two great oaks brushed with their foliage. These details I took in at a glance. I was somewhat surprised to find so consider able a mansion in so wild a spot, but remem bered that many impoverished landholders from tide-water Virginia had from time to time removed to the rich lands of the region to better their fortunes. This was probably one of the houses built by that class of per sons, and if so, I was quite sure of a cordial and hospitable reception. I at once dis mounted, went up the steps, and knocked at the door. Steps approached, the door was opened, and I saw before me the same for eign-looking servant who had answered the bell-stroke at Professor Pressensee's house in New York. The appearance of the man excited in me the very greatest astonishment. I remem bered his face perfectly, and looked at him for a moment in dumb surprise. He did not seem to recognize me, and I said, "Is it possible that I am certainly not mistaken. You are the servant of Pro fessor Presseusee, are you not V PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 51 "Yes, sir," said the man, briefly, with a strong German accent. " Does Professor Pressensee live here ?" " Yes, sir." " He is at home ?" " Yes, sir." The words were uttered in the same quiet and reserved voice as before. The man stood looking at me without the movement of a feature, and the whole incident impress ed me like a dream as something unreal. " Say that an old friend has called to see him," I said, " if he is not too much engaged." " Yes, sir." Moving like an automaton, the man open ed the door of an apartment to the right of the broad staircase leading to the second story, and ushered me in, after which he dis appeared, his steps ascending the stairs with out. The room was of considerable size, and furnished in carved walnut, the effect of which was rich but sombre. A carpet of the tint styled ashes of roses covered the floor. Against one of the walls stood a very fine piano ; easy-chairs were seen here and there ; on the centre-table were the last books and periodicals; and in the fireplace a slight blaze diffused a cheerful warmth. What immediately attracted my attention, how- 52 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. ever, and riveted it, to the exclusion of all else, was a portrait over the mantel-piece, nearly a fall length. It was that of Mrs. Pressensee, looking precisely as I had seen her in New York. The painting was excel lent, and the likeness perfect. The beauti ful face smiled from the canvas, and seemed about to speak to me and welcome me. I was still looking at the picture, when I became conscious that some one else was in the apartment. I employ the phrase "be came conscious " designedly ; I had heard no one enter, and yet I felt that I was not the only occupant of the room. I turned quick ly, and found myself face to face with Pro fessor Pressensee. If I had not expected to meet him, I doubt whether I should have recognized him. He was wasted away to a shadow nearly, and his dark eyes were sunken deep in the cav ernous hollows under his massive brow. His long hair had become nearly white. His thin lips were set together like a vise. From his emaciated frame the dressiug-gown which he wore fell in ample folds, and his feet were thrust into slippers which had made no sound as he approached me. I hastened to hold out my hand. " You did not expect to see me, my dear PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 53 professor/ 7 1 said, " and my surprise at see ing you iu this remote place is as great. You must remember me." "Ah!" he said, iu his deep, firm voice, which I recalled so perfectly, "is it possi ble ! Yes, friend, yes ; I remember you per fectly." " It was during the winter of 1872 that I saw you in New York." " Yes, the winter of 1872," he repeated, raising his eyes to the portrait. " And I need scarcely tell you how much I enjoyed the hours spent in your happy household. Your wife and daughter are I stopped. The professor's face altered. His frame shook. " You were looking at that portrait," he said, in a voice of suppressed agitation. "Yes; it is a wonderful likeness. I hope " " Look well at it. You will never see her again in this world !" " You do not mean " " She is gone !" He went and sat down in an arm-chair, his chin resting on his breast, and I took a seat facing him. " I am truly grieved, dear Professor Pres- sensee, to hear such sorrowful intelligence," 54 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. I said. " It is an entire surprise to me like finding you in this out-of-the-way spot." He had recovered his self-control Tby a powerful effort. " Yes," he said, in his former deep voice, measured and deliberate ; " I came here be cause the home you remember was insup portable to me. She died there, and every object was a misery to me. It was too much for my physical strength, and I left the place forever." He stopped then went on : " She died suddenly, of an acute disease brought on by imprudent exposure, a year ago. Then I came here and purchased this estate, seen as I passed in my carriage in a tour in the mountains with my child. It is away from a world I hate. My child is sat isfied with it. I live my life in quiet, wait ing for the end." A profound hopelessness spoke in his voice. His dull eyes were without expression until he mentioned his daughter, when a glow came to them ; but it at once died away. " Your little Marie is left to you, at least," I said, " and, as your friend, I thank Heaven for it." "Yes; Marie is left me, and Marguerite too ; she is with me still." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 55 I looked at him with some surprise. " You meau your wife ?" "Yes." " She is tuith you still ?" " Yes. I will explain that to you not to another ; but later : I am moved now. The sight of your face brings back everything. You are travelling? Travellers are free. You will stay with me ?" "For a day or two at least. I have no prescribed route or engagements." I explained to him the object of my jour ney into the mountains, and he said, " Good ! There are plenty of deer in the hills here. You shall be the master of your own time going and coming as you fancy." He touched a bell -knob, and, when the German -looking servant appeared, pointed to my horse through the window, and said, " Prepare the blue room." The servant noiselessly withdrew, and my horse disappeared. Then an old house-keep er went quietly up-stairs. In the establish ment everything moved like clock-work as regularly and with as little noise. " But your daughter, friend," I said ; " lit tle Miss Marie ?" Pressensee again touched the bell -knob, and his body-servant entered. 56 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "Say to Miss Marie that ail old friend calls to see her." The servant left the room, and ten min utes afterward light steps were heard trip ping down the staircase. Then, a tall and very beautiful girl came in. I should not have known her. All at once the little Marie of Street, New York, had become a woman, and an exquisitely lovely one. She glided across the floor, with her pretty face composed to an expression of lady-like courtesy, but recognized me instantly, and ran forward with both hands held out, ex claiming, "Oh, I am very glad to see yon, sir!" "You remember me, then?" I said, smil ing and taking her extended hands. " Oh yes !" She looked into my face with the frank est pleasure, and was soon seated, engaged in animated conversation. The contrast between father and daughter was perfect one was sunshine, the other shadow. But I suspected then, and knew afterward, that this intelligent and true-hearted girl as sumed much of her gayety to cheer one to whom her whole soul was devoted. An excellent supper and a sound night's rest followed, interrupted only by a vague PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 57 recollection of my host's words "Yes; Marie is left me, and Marguerite too; she is ivith me still. I will explain that to you not to another." Wlieii I rose, these words were still ring ing in iny ears. What did they mean? I asked myself. VI. SEATED iu the passage beside the stair case I ohserved a tall, gaunt personage, clad in a homespun coat and deer-skin leggings. When he saw me he rose, and said, in an honest, guileless voice, "Are you the gentleman that is come to deer-hunt?" " Yes. Who are you, my friend ? and how did you know I was on a hunting expedi tion ?" " I was sent for last night, stranger," was the reply. And I soon found that I owed this cour tesy to the professor, who had despatched a messenger at once for my friend with the deer-skin leggings, a noted hunter of the re gion. I thanked him for this obliging at tention, and after breakfast mounted my 58 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. horse, carbine in hand. The old hunter led the way on a shaggy little pony, and we set out for the mountain. Keenly as I enjoyed the anticipated sport, I should gladly have remained with Pro fessor Presseusee, for rny curiosity had been greatly excited by that strange statement that his wife was with him still. That he had not employed the phrase in a figurative sense, as indicating that, although gone, she still lived in his heart and memory, was ob vious from the expression which followed " I will explain that to you not to anoth er." What was hidden behind these words ? what did they signify? I recalled the tone in which they were uttered a somewhat singular one, I thought and vainly puzzled my brain to understand what the speaker meant. They had haunted me in sleep, as I have said, and I had determined to embrace the first opportunity to ask an explanation. This was now defeated for the present ; my host's courtesy had banished me for the day from his establishment ; and I could only resolve to remain inactive on the next day, giving him an opportunity, if he wished it, to explain his singular words. As the deer-hunt which now took place has no especial connection with my narra- PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 59 tive, I shall pass over it without special reference, save to one of its incidents. It was a still hunt, and a little past noon I had the satisfaction of bringing down a buck with my carbine at one hundred and twen ty yards, putting nay bullet directly under his eye as he stopped to look at me. At the crack of my carbine my friend, the old hunt er, came up from his stand and congratulated me, coolly cutting the throat of the game as he spoke. He then proposed to me to go with him to his cabin, which, he informed me, was near by, and " take a bite," to which I assented. The buck was thrown across his pony in front of the saddle ; we set out, following a bridle-path which ascended the mountain, and soon reached the old hunter's cabin. It was a hut containing but two rooms, one above the other, and covered with clap boards. On the log walls were stretched deer and raccoon skins, and the coverlet of a low bed in one corner was a superb bear skin. In the broad fireplace a fire was burning, and the old hunter began to fry some venison, which was soon served on the rude pine table, with brown bread and a pitcher of cider. " My boarder's away to-day huutiu', strau- 60 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. ger," said the old man, with bis guileless smile; " but mebbe he'li be bere before we're through." "Your boarder? Have you a boarder, friend ? " From the city, I take it," was his reply ; " a fine young man rides a horse it would do you good to look at he's in the shed yonder ; and as to money, there's no end of it with him." " Indeed ! a huntsman ?" "I ruther think that's what brings him. But I'm jubious. There's somethin' under his comin' to the mountings, I ruther think." Having finished my meal, I rose and went to the door, speculating vaguely on the last words of the old hunter. The view was quite superb. The cabin was perched upon a knoll on the very brow of the mountain, and the whole valley beneath lay before me like a picture, the residence of Professor Pressensee rising clearly from the trees em bowering it. The old hunter rejoined me, after putting away the debris of the meal. With the sim ple smile which w T as habitual with him, he said: "I ruther judge there's somebody livin' in the big house yonder" he pointed to the PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 61 home of Pressensee " that brings my young boarder here. He sets on that rock there by the pine-tree for whole hours sometimes, nigh sundown, and leans his head on his hand, and looks and looks that way ? s if he never would be done." I smiled, and said, " Your account of your young boarder is interesting, my friend, and there seems to be some romantic affair under all this. What do you suppose is the meaning of it ? There is a very attractive young lady in Professor Pressensee's house his daughter but I doubt if she has anything to do with your boarder's movements. He is probably rest ing after his day's hunting, and admiring the landscape, when you see him seated yon der. That is all." " Well, I don't know, stranger," said my host ; " looks like he was a-hankerin' after somethin' or somebody. But yonder he comes. You can ask him." The old hunter pointed to a figure com ing up the bridle-path toward the cabin. It was that of a tall young man in hunting costume, with fowling-piece and equipments complete. He came on with a long, swing ing walk, and was soon within a few paces of the cabin. I looked at him attentive- 62 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. ly. Something in the frank and manly face seemed familiar. He came nearer, and I at once recognized him. He was the young Mr. Alford whom I had met at Professor Pressensee's, in New York. VII. THE young man made me a friendly bow, accompanied by a courteous smile. There was no change in his appearance; he was the same modest, manly-looking young fel low who had impressed me so favorably in our brief meeting nearly two years before. Would he recognize me? I doubted it, for we had only exchanged a few words oil that morning at Professor Presseii see's. My doubt was soon dissipated. He looked at me attentively, hesitated, then coming for ward quickly, held out his hand and pro nounced my name. " This is a very unexpected meeting," he said, with a smile of evident pleasure. " I saw you in New York in 1872, Mr. ." "At our friend Professor Pressensee's, where I am now on a visit. Yes ; I remem ber perfectly, and recognized you at once, PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 63 Mr. Alford. You are, no doubt, iu this wild region, on a bunting expedition, as I ain." He laugbed, and colored slightly, as be deposited bis fowling-piece on a bench in front of the cabin. He then unconsciously turned his bead, and looked over bis shoul der in the direction of Professor Pressensee's bouse. His eye caught mine, and he blush ed this time unmistakably. "Yes, I am fond of bunting," be said, "and I hope our friend has something for me to eat." As the old hunter had at once put some venison on the fire in a pan, and soon served it, the young fellow's keen appetite was speedily satisfied ; and we strolled away to gether in the direction of the broad rock under the pine-tree, from which the fine view of the valley was obtained. I bad made up my mind to drop ceremony, and speak frankly to the young man on his own affairs. I had no doubt whatever that the real attraction in this remote retreat was Marie ; and I must say that, in spite of the professor's dissatisfaction with the young fellow's addresses, I sympathized greatly with him. lt Mr. Alford," I said, when we were out of hearing, " I am going to break one of my 64 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. fixed rales, and meddle with what does not concern me. Shall I do so T } " Yes/ 7 he said, laughing, but with some sadness in his frank eyes. " I think I un derstand what you mean it is not med dling at all. You are her friend ; she often spoke of you, and with great regard." " Well, this smooths the way wonderful ly. You did not come here to hunt; you came to see our little friend Miss Marie !" This time the sunburnt cheeks blushed hugely. " Yes," he said. " Does she know that you are here ? But let me say first, before we proceed any fur ther, that my object in thus intruding upon your private affairs is a friendly one. I wish, if I can, to serve you." " I am convinced of that," he said, in a low, earnest tone. " Yes, Marie knows that I am here, but she will not let me see her." " Why? I will not ask you if this arises from a feeling of indifference ; I am pretty certain it does not, if I can form an opin ion from her reception of you in New York. Why does she object to seeing you ?" " I do not know. I have never been able to discover why she shuns me. The only PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 65 explanation she gives is her father's objec tion to my attentions." "I noticed this disapprobation in New York. What is the explanation of it ?" " I do not know," he said, in a depressed tone. " Professor Pressensee would never give any reason. Not that I ever asked him to do so : to be frank, I have never had the courage to speak to him on the subject." "A plain question are you engaged to Marie?" He shook his head sadly. " She will not engage herself without her father's consent, and there seems no hope of gaining that. Since the death of her mother he is more opposed than ever to me. My visits in New York seemed more dis tasteful to him every day; and at last I only saw Marie on the street by accident. One day I saw the house was shut up. I inquired, and found that Professor Pressen see had left New York." "You have followed, however, to this spot. How did you discover the professor's retreat ?" "Very easily. His attorney in the city was a personal friend of mine, and told me his post-office here. I came to the Springs, and then to this cabin, where I am living." 5 66 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. "With the pleasure of seeing the house your inamorata lives in/ 7 I said, laughing, " if not the personage herself. I can un derstand that. But you have met her ?" " Once, and once only. She was walking out in the evening, along that small stream down there, and I came out of the woods and met her face to face. She showed great surprise, and seemed glad to see me ; but a troubled look came to her face, and she said that we must not meet her father did not approve of it. This was all I could extract from her, and our interview soon ended, She returned to the house, and I have uot seen her again." A long silence followed this brief expla nation of the state of affairs. I was reflect ing. It seemed to me that to thus separate two young persons who plainly loved each other was a bad business, unless there was good reason for it. It is said that all wom en are match-makers, but so are some men ; and I felt an earnest desire to smooth, if pos sible, the difficulties in the path of young Alford and his little sweetheart. I now told him of this desire, and he thanked me ear nestly. " If you could only induce her to let me see her !" he said, ardently. " I do not mean PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 67 to conceal anything from Professor Pressen- see. But if I could only see her !" The tone in which these words were ut tered showed how strong the young man's sentiment was. Young, handsome, devoted, high-toned, and with ample means to marry, it seemed most unreasonable that the youth should be repulsed without at least some statement of the grounds of Professor Pres- sen see's disapproval. We discussed the whole affair at length, and I announced my determination first to see Marie, and then to ascertain, if possible, from the professor why he was thus obdu rate. My young friend thanked me earnest ly, and said that he would owe me an ever lasting debt of gratitude ; and having ap pointed to meet him at a spot on the banks of the stream below on the next evening, I returned with him to the cabin, to tell my friend, the old hunter, good-bye. He resolutely refused the money I offered him. No : Professor Pressensee had been his friend, and he was only too glad to do anything he could to accommodate him. He was going to take my buck home for me ; and this he persisted in doing, in spite of my opposition. He threw the deer over his pony's neck ; I mounted, bidding young 68 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. Alford good-bye, and we rode down the mountain, and reached Professor Pressen- see's just as the sun was sinking. With his guileless smile, the old hunter then shook hands, and, leaving the deer on the portico, returned to his cabin. I went into the drawing-room. In one corner sat Marie, reading. VIII. I DREW a chair to her side and sat down, holding out my hand. " In Virginia we always shake hands when we meet or part with anybody, you know," I said, smiling : " it is a law of the country." "A very good law," Marie said, with a bright look in her fresh eyes. " I like what is friendly and natural better than cere mony." " And then, you know, Miss Marie, we are quite old friends now : ceremony would be out of place with us." "You do not practice what you preach, sir," said the young lady, laughing, " as you call me Miss Marie." " What should I call you ?" " Plain Marie, of course !" PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 69 Her face was charming, as she thus spoke, and her voice like music. There was, indeed, something about this girl which drew you irresistibly. In young Alford it had pro duced ardent love ; in myself, an affectionate attachment. My sympathy was more than ever aroused for the young people, and I de termined to plunge at once in medias res. " You know your friend Mr. Alford is in the neighborhood, Marie since you say I must call you so," I said. "Why do you treat him so coldly ?" A vivid blush came to her face, mantling cheek, neck, and forehead. Her lips open ed, but she said nothing. "You will think me very intrusive," I said; "but my intrusion results from my sincere friendship for you and him." She glanced at me quickly. There was some surprise in her look. " I understand," I said. " You are puz zled to know how I came to be the friend and confidant of one I know so slightly. It is due to my straightforward manner of proceeding, no doubt to my asking the most unceremonious questions. I was con scious that my motive was good at all events, I know all. Young Alford is yonder in a cabin on the mountain. When he is 70 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. not wearing himself out hunting, he is look ing down toward this house because you live in it, and pining for you. Why do you refuse to let him see you f 7 Marie covered her face with her hands and sobbed. " Oh ! it is not my I mean that Mr. Al- ford ought not to think papa does not wish me to receive his visits, and I cannot see him without papa's consent." " But why does your father object to his attentions, Marie V " I do not know," she replied. " He has not given me any reason, and, indeed, has scarcely ever referred to him. I only see that it grieves him I mean, I saw in New York and I would rather die than grieve papa." So the young lady herself was ignorant of the reasons of Professor Presseusee's objec tion to the youth's attentions. She had as sented without opposition or questions even filial devotion could go no farther. I re flected for some moments, and then said, " You will not meet your friend, then ? Yes, you are right ; you should not do so without your father's consent. Shall I en deavor to procure that assent? I ask you an extremely plain question, my dear Marie, which you must pardon in an old gentleman. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 71 I do not conceal the fact that I take a great interest in your affairs and Mr. Alford's." She gave me a flitting glance, smiles shin ing through the tears in her eyes, and her cheeks reddened. " That is quite sufficient, Marie," I said, "and I shall attack your papa upon this subject at the very first favorable moment. The result will be reported to a friend of mine to-morrow evening. I am to meet him, and will tell him how well you are looking. That wild-flower in your hair is most be coming, and would suit my button-hole !" She smiled, and drew the rose from her hair, holding it toward me. " Am I at liberty to present it to any one I wish ?" I said. " Yes," was her low reply. "Telling him where I saw it nestling?" I said, taking the flower. "If you choose," she said, looking away, and blushing. And so my interview with Marie termi nated. I had expected every moment to hear the footsteps of Professor Pressensee on the stairs, and to see him enter. In this hope I was disappointed. The young lady inform ed me that he had been suddenly summoned 72 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. to the county seat, which was at a consider able distance, 011 business, and had set out in his carriage soon after my departure for the mountain. He might return that even ing, or remain until the next day. She was quite used to these brief absences, and was not at all afraid, as Fritz, their old family servant, remained at home. After which ex planation Miss Marie went to superintend her house-keeping. The professor did not return that night, and the next day a heavy rain set in, which continued to fall until evening. I neverthe less wrapped my water-proof cloak around me, at the hour which had been agreed upon by myself and young Alford, and went to the place of meeting, quite certain of find ing him there. He had been waiting, and I could only inform him of the result of my conversation with Marie. I had not yet seen the professor, I said, and this left him de cidedly depressed. When, however, I gave him the flower from Marie's hair, telling him that she knew and approved of its destina tion, his face glowed with joy. We separated toward sunset, with a prom ise on my part that, as soon as I had any thing to communicate, I would ride to the mountain cabin and see him. I then wrap- PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 73 ped my water- proof closer around, me, and returned to the house. I found Marie on the porch, wrapped in a cloth cloak, with the hood over her head and India-rubbers upon her small feet. t( I am a little uneasy about papa," she said, "and am afraid seme accident must have happened. The streams swell very quickly from the rain." Her expression was anxious, and she was evidently nervous. I endeavored to quiet her apprehensions, hut saw that they were not dissipated. " Papa is so careless of danger !" she said. "Kather than have me feel uneasy on his account, he would swim the horses. Please go with me a little way on the road to look for him as far as the ford down there. I am well wrapped up, and do not mind the wet." Such exposure seemed to me so injudicious that I tried to dissuade her from her inten tion ; but she persisted, and seemed so un easy that I finally yielded, and we set out in the direction of the water-course, the rain still falling steadily. Marie walked with rapid steps, and peered anxiously through the gathering darkness. I regretted very much having yielded to her request without 74 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. greater opposition, as the rain was now a torrent almost ; but she hastened on, paying no attention to the storin, and we were soon at the ford. A glance told me that the stream was greatly swollen. It was out of its banks, and galloped like a race-horse. I began to feel, with Marie, that there was reason to fear some accident if her father had attempted to return home when the water courses in his path were in such a condition ; and I now endeavored to persuade her that he had not set out on his return that day, but delayed it until the next. At this Marie shook her head. " Papa is very brave, almost reckless," she said : " he never pays any attention to danger." The wind dashed the rain in her face, nearly drowning her voice. "He has remained at the town, neverthe less," I said. " I am sure of it." " I am sure he has not ; and look there is the carriage!" I looked, and saw the professor's carriage come out of the woods on the opposite bank, and without pausing the horses entered the stream, in which they sank at once to their girths, then nearly to their backs. Mario ran forward, clasping her hands. The waves PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 75 washed around her feet, and a long surge swept over them, completely covering her delicate ankles. "Oh, papa! papa! no, no! do not try to cross!" she cried, throwing hack her hood. The rain drenched her hair, hut she did not notice it. Her eyes were riveted upon the vehicle which the powerful horses dragged on. The water now washed to and fro over their hacks. -The driver forced them on with the whip. Marie wrung her hands and moaned. Then I heard her crv, " Oh ! thank God ! He is safe !" The carriage had indeed made the peril ous passage without accident. The hacks of the horses began to emerge, the water sank to their knees, and then the vehicle mounted the sloping hank and gained firm ground. We hastened to it, and saw Professor Pres- sensee reading tranquilly by the last light of day. At sight of his daughter he raised his eyes from the book, and exhibited great surprise. This expression was then follow ed by one of anxiety. " My child," he said, " you are drenched with rain! Why expose yourself in this manner ? Your health is too delicate ; why are you so imprudent ?" 76 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. " I was so uneasy about yon, dear papa, I could not stay in the house !" "About me? There was no ground for that. But come, come, get into the carriage, and make haste and change your clothing.' 7 Marie got into the vehicle, and I follow ed. The professor then ordered the driver to go at a gallop, and we were soon at the house. Marie at once retired and put on dry clothing. All her uneasiness had dis appeared, and she ran about singing like a bird. When she retired for the night, how ever, she coughed hoarsely, as I remembered afterward ; but at the time I paid no atten tion to the fact, nor, I believe, did the pro fessor. I gave him an account of my hunt. He congratulated me upon my success, and then said, " I owe you an apology for leaving you so abruptly. I am now my own master again. Would you like to see my den here, as you saw the one in New York ? If so, I will show it to you." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 77 IX. I NEED not say that I promptly assented to Professor Pressensee's proposal to show me his " den.' 7 The chosen surroundings of a man present an epitome of his character, and from the first moment of my acquaint ance with this singular personage he had become a study to me. There was nothing I so much desired as to fathom his charac ter. All that I had been able to discover in reference to him was curious and piquant. An infidel, a materialist, an absolute athe ist an unbeliever to the most perfect and even revolting extent he was yet a de voted husband and father, a man of prince ly charities, of unfaltering nerve, and of wonderful intellect, as his strange discov eries indicated. The most hidden arcana of the material universe seemed to lie be fore him like an open book. The farthest advanced positions reached by the most vigorous minds seemed only the point from which this man started upon his own inves tigations. There was nothing whatever of 78 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. the charlatan about him. He discussed his most astonishing inventions and discoveries with an air of perfect indifference, referring to them as mere matters of course. Patent ed and disposed of, they would have brought him millions. They were not disposed of; he had as much money as he wanted, he had said, and preferred keeping them for his private amusement. These few words will serve in some de gree to explain the interest I took in this man. I was flattered, too, by the fact that I seemed to be the only human being to whom he spoke unreservedly of his scien tific investigations and exhibited their re sults. This had, no doubt, arisen from our night adventure with the footpads in New York. I had saved his life, he maintained, and there was a firm bond uniting us. The result was an entire abandonment of all re serve as to his feelings and opinions. He had shown me what he had carefully con cealed from his wife and his daughter that he was an absolute materialist, a hopeless disbeliever in God and the human soul. His scientific discoveries, as I have said, were ex posed before me unreservedly. He had ex plained minutely inventions in which there was untold wealth ; and the consequence of PKOFESSOR PKESSENSEE. 79 all this was an interest in the individual which had grown to be absorbing. He led the way up the broad staircase, lamp in hand, and ushered me into the large room with the double window. It extend ed the whole width of the central building, and, like the "den" in New York, was full of books, tables, machines, and objects of the most curious description. In the cen tre was a marble table, flanked by easy- chairs. One object alone I did not remem ber. This was a large square something resembling the frame of a picture, resting upon a ledge about the height of the chair- board on one side of the apartment, over which was thrown a green cloth, which com pletely draped and concealed it from view. The professor placed his lamp, whose brilliant light was tempered by a porcelain shade, upon the centre -table, and inviting me, by a gesture, to take one of the easy- chairs, seated himself in the other. " You see, I have arranged my study here pretty much like the one in New York. Men, when they are growing old, as I am, dislike change in their surroundings, even in the position of furniture." "There is little or no change; but the apartment is larger." 80 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "Yes, and I find that a convenience in carrying on rny experiments, which are now a sort of necessity with me. They make me forget." He spoke in Ms old "brief, incisive voice ; wasted as his frame was, the spirit and will of the man seemed as powerful and, so to say, antagonistic as ever. " Well," I said, " I can easily understand what a fascination there is in such occupa tions as you pursue. But they have the draw back a great one, in my estimation of separating us too much from e very-day life, from human companionship and sympathy. " " True ; and I am on my guard against that. A purely intellectual human being is a mere machine no better than wood and iron. When I leave this den I forget all connected with it. The other half of my life is Marie." The name of the young lady brought to my mind the interviews with young Alford and herself, and the resolution I had formed to endeavor to secure, if possible, the pro fessor's assent to his visits. After some hes itation I determined to " speak out " on this subject, and said : " You have in your Marie, my dear friend, the greatest of all sources of happiness PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 81 the very rest you require after your studies. But shall I speak plainly, as friend to friend ? the day may come when you may miss this resource." " You mean " " That young ladies marry. Much as they may be devoted to their parents, they form attachments it is the order of nature and then" " They leave us yes. That is what you were about to say : and when the time conies I shall not oppose the wishes of my child." The opening was presented, and summon ing all my courage, I said, "Are you certain that time has not come, friend? I intrude upon your private and family affairs ; you may regard the intru sion as unwarranted, and resent it ; but are you not aware that little Miss Marie is a woman that she may have formed an at tachment such as you describe ?" " Yes, I am aware of it," said Professor Pressensee, coolly, but frowning as he spoke. " You mean young Alford T' "You know all, then?" " Certainly I know all. Ho has been in this neighborhood for the past month at a cabin yonder on the mountain." "Ah! you know that, I see." 6 82 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "Perfectly well, and that lie would hold clandestine correspondence with my daugh ter if he were not too honorable he seems to be, at least and Marie incapable of con cealing anything from me." This reply puzzled me greatly, and I re solved to push forward straight to the solu tion, if possible, of the whole affair. "You say that young Alford is honora ble," I said, "and when we were in New York you stated that his means were amply sufficient to justify him in marrying. What is the obstacle ? It is a friend who asks a question of a friend, not the intrusion of a Paul Pry." The professor did not reply for some mo ments. His brows were knit, and he seemed to reflect. " It is not at all an intrusion in you," he said, at length ; " and I do not object to tell ing you my motive. It is a simple one there is no mystery whatever. I might say that I shrink from the thought of living without my child of giving up all that is left me on earth. Yes ; that day will be a dark one to me. But there are other rea sons which are less sentimental. I think of my daughter's happiness, not of my own. To explain my meaning it will be necessary PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 83 to say a few words of my family affairs : will they interest you ?" " Nothing could interest me more." " Here, then, friend, is the explanation a very simple one, as you will see, with noth ing mysterious anywhere about it. I was born in Alsace, in France, the only son of a laborer. My father and grandfather were men of hard heads and strong character, but the social rank in which they were born, with their poverty, crushed them : they were unable to rise from it. As soon as I grew to be ten years old I saw all this, and I resolved that low birth and poverty should not crush me. I worked in the garden of a nobleman in the neighborhood, and earned some money. With this I bought books and taught myself to read. Then I taught myself to write. Having learned the use of my tools, I began to use them. I had studied natural science for five years, and was sixteen when I wrote a thesis on elec tricity for the annual prize at Strasburg College. It was crowned, and I was paid a thousand livres. I went to a German col lege, studied, graduated ; and at twenty-five was professor at Gottingen. Then I was married to a young Americaine who was travelling and soon resigned my professor- 84 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. ship, having ample means to live, since an uncle, who had gone into trade at Dresden, and died wealthy, left me all his money. After resigning, I came to America. " This to explain whence I came. Now to the point. I had two daughters. The eldest, who is dead many years, was the treas ure of my life. I was wrapped up in her, and dedicated my life to making her hap py. To have imagined the possibility of any one being unkind to her, or of her suf fering from neglect even, would have seem ed to me madness. Well, to sum up what happened. At sixteen she attracted the at tentions of a young man of twenty, in the city where at that time we resided. He was wealthy, fine-looking, modest in deport ment, and seemed devoted body and soul to my child. He came to me and told me this, asking my consent to his union with my daughter. I refused this assent she was too young ; but he replied that he would wait, and then he left me. In spite of my opposition, the affair was not broken oif. When my daughter was eighteen and he twenty-two, he came to me again, and said, ' She is now old enough ;' and she too came and said, i Dear papa, I can never love any one else.' That was what I was forced to PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 85 listen to month in and month, out thencefor ward, and at last I had no further strength to resist. The marriage took place and shall I tell you the result ? Three years af terward my wealthy, fine-looking, modest, rigidly moral and correct young son-in-law was a pauper, a physical wreck, and a con victed criminal. He had begun with that devil's elixir, absinthe, and his health went. The roulette-table finished him financially, and he forged bills of exchange ; the forgery was proved upon him, and he was convict ed. He was not hung he had courage or cowardice enough to avoid that : he com mitted suicide in prison." " A terrible history," I said, greatly moved by the gloomy sternness of the professor's voice. "Bad enough," he said; "but, bad as it was, this was not the worst. He had proved himself an utter brute to my child. Commencing by harshness and neglect, he had gone on, step by step, to brutal treat ment. He had grossly insulted her, subject ed her to every outrage ~beatcn her, finally ; and from these blows she died! Had I known it at the time, he would have died by my hand. He spared me that his own hand took his own worthless life!" 86 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. I could find nothing to reply to this pain ful history. The face of Professor Pressen- see did not encourage any reply. "Well," he added, " you now know, friend, why I do not wish to risk a repetition of these things in my family. This young Al- ford seems unexceptionable to you ; for my self, I see in him the most exact reproduc tion of the brute who murdered my child Elfrida. Modest? yes, so was the other. Handsome, deferential, mauty, full of prot estations of devotion ? yes, so was the oth er. I fancy at times the very same look in his face ; and I am to say, i Take my Marie/ as I said, < Take my Elfrida !' No, I thank you ! I am an indulgent father I love my daughter more than I love my life I would not say, 'Do not leave your old father alone in this world ; he has no life but yours ; he would die without you near him. 7 I would have strength not to say that, if I saw her happiness assured. But I have been warned. My duty is to guard my child ; and I guard her from this dan ger as I should have guarded the other." I could not reply. Convinced as I was that young Alford was all that he seemed to be, and that Marie's happiness could bo intrusted to him with perfect confidence, I PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 87 bad no reasons to give for so believing, ex cept iny simple conviction. With a feeling of great sadness, I therefore gave up the struggle. "Well, friend/ 7 1 said, "perhaps you are right." " Am I so bad a father ?" " You are one of the tenderest I have ever met with. But your daughter will marry some day, and with your approbation, I trust." " I will not oppose it for a moment. But her husband must be a person of greater age than this youth's of settled character one to be relied upou." "You are right; that is the surest safe guard. May I ask if Marie's feelings are deeply engaged ?" " I know nothing," he said. " She came hither with me without a word of objection." " Then you may feel assured that she loves you more than all else. Let us trust in time. There is a better phrase, friend, and I use it, though it may have no signifi cance for you." " What is that ?" he said. "Trust in God." "So be it," he said. "After all, there must be a God." 88 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. The words were uttered with perfect cool ness. I turned my head quickly, with au astonishment which he evidently noticed. " I see you are surprised," he said, in his curt tones : "I held other views once when we discussed these matters in New York. Well, my views have changed. A man's opinions alter as he goes on in life, and stud ies and reflects. Once I rejected the idea of a central spiritual Soul of the Universe ; I now accept it. What is this Soul this personal Deity? As before, I say I don't know. What I do know is, that without such a First Cause the universe is a chaos a mere phantasmagoria. Our English friends talk of their flying-mist, their pri mordial germ, and their evolution of organ ic and inorganic life. It is all a jumble of inconsequences, I grant you mere words, words, words, as my lord Hamlet says, un less there is a God originating all. There can be no effect without a cause : law neces sitates a law-giver. This law-giver is the Great Unknown, the Absolute, as I remem ber you called him once the Thunderer. If he thunders by law, the ' thunder is yet his voice,' as the poet tells us. Yes, I grant all that : I believe in the existence of this supreme author of all things this lord of PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 89 the thunder, whom your Bible styles the God of Vengeance." " He is also a God of love, friend ; a Fa ther who pities his children." " I know not," said Professor Pressensee, gloomily ; " I only know that he has proved a God of vengeance to me." His brows were knit together, and his lips set close. , "I only speak for myself. I have no right to wound your susceptibilities. You are a Christian I am not. You believe in the Deity's love I can only see his attri bute of vengeance. Is it my denial of him that has drawn his vengeance 011 me ? I know not. I only know that my life is des olate. I have lost all, or nearly all, that attaches me to earth the human being in whose life I lived. She was purity itself; with profound religious faith, a soul that seemed spotless to me. She is taken from me by the fiat of Him beyond the worlds, since there was no imaginable physical rea son for her death a mere cold. You n6w know what I mean. Yes, there is a God a God of vengeance. He has crushed me, doubtless for my past disbelief in him. I believe now, and I add that I fear him as the worm fears the thunder-bolt." 90 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. I listened to these words with painful in terest. This man of noble nature and pro found intellect was groping in/the dark staggering from point to point in the gloom. Once an absolute atheist, attributing all things to mere Force and Heat a material ist of materialists, scoffing at the existence of a spiritual Lord of the universe he had advanced now to the recognition of this supreme Euler of all things, but could see in him only the force behind force the God of vengeance ! I could find no words to re ply, and the professor added, coolly : "I speak plainly, according to my wont. I have the courage of my opinions. Now let us speak of something else. I know that scientific subjects interest you. I will ex hibit to you my psychometer, which is near ly constructed. But first I will show you what I meant when I said that Marguerite was still with me. That expression may have surprised you, but the explanation is simple." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 91 X. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE rose aiid went to the tall object, resembling tlie frame of a picture, which rested on the ledge at one side of the room, draped with its green cloth. This cloth he now drew toward him ; it fell, and I saw before me a large painting, exe cuted with marvellous skill. It represented a terrace, with urns of flowers at intervals on the stone balustrade, along which ran a marble seat. Leaning back upon this seat, with green foliage drooping above them, were the most life like representations of Mrs. Pressensee and Marie. The likenesses were indeed quite startling. The beautiful mother, in her graceful morning toilet, with her hair braid ed at the back of the head, and the fresh face full of smiles, was looking at her daugh ter's sweet young face, and apparently speak ing, for the lips were parted. The girl was as fresh and bright as a flower of the spring. She, too, seemed to be speaking, and so life like was the whole painting that the fig ures seemed about to start from the canvas. 92 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. "You see/ 7 said Professor Pressensee, in tlie low tone which characterized him when he was greatly moved. "Doubtless you recognize these portraits." " Perfectly they are wonderful. What great painter executed such marvels ?" " It was not a great painter it was my self. I studied art in Italy, intending to become a painter, but gave np the idea. To be brief, this is my work ; and I had a dou- ble design in executing the painting to possess portraits of my wife and child, and with another object." "Another object?" " To have them beside me to hear them speak to me after death, if death came to them before it came to me. Do you remem ber what you said one day in New York when I showed you my phonometer? I had re garded it as a simple toy, the amusement of an idle hour ; but you were startled by it, and saw capabilities in it which had never struck me. By its means you at once com prehended that as the human voice could be recorded the voices of those we love these voices might again be heard when the lips which spoke were cold in death. I jested then; afterward I reilected: then I came to the determination that I would PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 93 utilize your idea. You understand now. I painted this picture. Mother and daugh ter are seated, conversing, you see; and what you are about to listen to is a conver sation which actually took place between them. The whole affair seemed a jest then. They were full of mirth, humoring what they possibly regarded as a caprice in me, for I did not speak of my object. I thought it might some day be a consolation. On the contrary, it is terrible j you shall form your own opinion.' 7 He rolled the table nearer to the picture, placed a small screen behind the light so that it fell full upon the painting, and then went behind an ordinary fire-screen which stood near the heavy gilt frame. A few moments afterward he reappeared, and I heard a low whirring noise, scarcely audi ble but for the perfect stillness in the apart ment. I looked in the direction of the sound, and was about to refer to it, when Professor Pressensee held up his finger, pointing to ward the figures of his wife and daughter. As he did so I almost started, prepared as I was for what was about to take place. The portraits were speaking in their actu al voices, without the variation of a single tone or accent. 94 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. " Well, mignonne!" said the beautiful rnoth- er, "how bright you look this morning! Where did you purchase the roses in your cheeks ?" " You dear little mamma !" replied the por trait of Marie, " you are entirely too much given to flattery, which, in my opinion, is the only fault you have. Your own roses are quite as fresh as my own. Where is papa ? Up-stairs, I suppose, with that tire some pho what does he call it ? Can it take down what people say ?" 1 Yes, indeed." 1 And suppose people die ?" 'Then you may hear them speak again." ' But I would not like that, little mamma." 1 Well, we are not going to die just yet, I hope, Marie. We must not think of such sad subjects. The day is too lovely. Listen how the birds are singing ! And there is your papa's step here he comes. Come out on the terrace, dear. Your wife and daugh ter are waiting for yon. Do let your ma chine alone we are not going to die ! How could you live without us, or we without you ? I am sure I should come back ; and when you were busy, some night, I would put my arms around your neck and kiss PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 95 Low silvery laughter followed. It was the very same sound I had heard from the lips of Mrs. Pressensee at her fireside in New York, and produced a strange effect on me. I was right in supposing that this effect would not be agreeable. There was some thing weird, almost fearful, in this repro duction of the voice of a person long dead. I cannot analyze the reason of this. I can only state the fact : and looking at Profess or Pressensee, I saw that his sensations were not more cheerful than my own. He was quite pale, and the roots of his gray hair were moistened by a cold perspiration. " Strange, is it not ?" he muttered. "Very strange," I replied ; "and, to be frank, not very pleasant." "Ah ! it so affects you too ? But listen !" The portraits ceased speaking after the silvery laughter, and nothing was heard but the low sound of the clock-work behind the screen. Then the mother and daughter in the painting resumed their colloquy, which continued uninterruptedly for about a quar ter of an hour. It was animated, full of af fection, and made a hundred references to little household matters to Professor Pres sensee and the love each member of the little family bore each other. It was full of 96 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. freshness and charm, but behind this charm was the abiding shadow. One of these hu man beings who seemed to be speaking be fore me was long dead ; and when the voices ceased, and the motion of the clock-work was stopped, I experienced a feeling of re lief. Professor Pressensee, still pale, and deeply moved, threw the curtain over the portrait again, and we returned to our seats. He remained silent for some time, evidently pondering, and then said, "I remember saying, one day, that my psychometer would prove of no value to anybody ; it might even prove undesirable. I now say that I am nearly of the same opinion in regard to this machine. I thought its application to the end you have witness ed would console me, and it agonizes me! Decidedly I will destroy it. The invention shall be lost. Others may discover it. Shall I do so f 7 " It seems a pity/' I replied, " but I can not oppose your resolution : I speak for myself only. The dead leave us. God calls them, and they pass to a better land. Those they leave behind see nothing left worth living for, but the All-merciful decrees that this despair shall in time become a sa cred tenderness onlv. Let the beloved dead PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 97 live in the heart and memory : is that not enough ?" " Yes," said my companion ; " and now I will show you my other invention, which I am nearly resolved to also destroy in its inception." " Your psychometer ?" "Yes." " You still dream, then, that you are able to read by mechanical means the thoughts which are passing through the human mind ?" " I am well-nigh, if not quite, certain of it." "By animal magnetism?" "Not at all. Clairvoyance is all jargon ; there is no such thing. Wood, iron, and the electric current the Thought of Matter produce my result. The machine is not perfected, but you shall know the principle. I will demonstrate it clearly, so that your incredulity will vanish." Professor Pressensee rose. As ho did so steps were heard upon the stairs, hastily as cending. I know not why these hurried steps produced an ominous effect upon me. Whether it was the lateness of the hour it was past midnight or the emotion I had experienced in listening to the portraits speaking from the canvas why I could not 7 98 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. tell; but these steps strangely affected my nerves, and I could see that my companion also seemed to have a presentiment of some approaching misfortune. " Listen !" he said. " Some one is coming up." The steps reached the door, and a tap was heard. " Come ID," said the professor, hastening to the door. "Who is that, and what is the matter ?" The door opened, and the old house-keep er, who seemed to be a foreigner, entered the room. "Well, Charlotte?" exclaimed the pro fessor. "Miss Marie she is malade, monsieur very ill, she says. Will you come ?" The professor hastened from the room without uttering a word, and the woman followed him. I was left alone, and, with a gloom which I could not account for, leaned back in my chair and listened. The house was perfectly still, and the large apartment, with its singular objects, assumed a funereal appearance. Slight puffs of air from time to time waved the curtain over the tall paint ing, and I almost expected that it would fall, and the portraits would again speak. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 99 All at once rapid hoof-strokes were heard receding from the house. The rider was evidently going at full gallop. Another half an hour passed. Then the house-keep er opened the door so suddenly that I start ed. In her hand was a slip of paper con taining these words, in the handwriting of rny host : "Do not await my return, friend. My daughter has been seized with an oppres sion in breathing, and a burning fever, clearly indicating typhoid pneumonia the consequence of exposure this evening. I treat the case while awaiting the physicians sent for. PRESSENSEE." I read these few lines with painful fore bodings, and slowly went to my chamber. Was this man, who had suffered so much, to lose the last object of his love to see the last tie broken that bound him to life ? He had said to me formerly that he would not survive his wife and daughter if they were taken from him. One was gone : would the other follow now? and if so, would he keep his terrible resolution ? In the case of an ordinary person I should have had no seri ous apprehensions; but this man differed 100 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. from every other I had ever known, and rny heart sank when I thought of the possibili ty of Marie's dying. XI. WHEN Professor Pressensee appeared in the breakfast -room, where a cheerful fire was burning, and the urn was hissing on the board, his pallor showed the result of want of sleep and uneasiness, but his man ner was calm. " The case is developed, friend," he said. "My child has pneumonia, and in an acute form, I fear. I am something of a physi cian, and familiar with the symptoms the cheeks livid, breathing oppressed, and a burning fever. It resulted from exposure yesterday, as I said. The neighboring phy sician is absent, but I have telegraphed for a friend in New York. He will be here in sixteen or eighteen hours. We will then see." He sat down and made a pretence of eat ing. Then he rose, and, begging me to ex cuse him, went back to his daughter's cham ber. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 101 The day passed on slowly. The rain had ceased toward daylight, and the sun had come out, bathing the variegated foliage of the forest in its brilliant light. A slight breeze was blowing, and the leaves detach ing themselves from the trees floated to the brown carpet beneath. On the lawn in front of the house, some asters, autumn primroses, and other flowers moved in the breaths of air coming and going. The scene was so peaceful and beautiful that it was hard to realize that behind the walls of this cheerful country house a girl more beauti ful and attractive than leaf or flower was wrestling with a burning fever which might destroy her. The thought brought a pang. I was sin cerely attached to Marie, and my heart bled for her and her father. I knew bow tender hearted this apparent cynic was how his life was bound up in his child and pitied his suffering from the very bottom of my heart. Another person, too, I felt, must soon know the misfortune which had fallen on the peaceful home young Alford; and here, too, was a breast which the arrow would pierce. Altogether, that morning was one of the most gloomy I have ever spent. 102 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. Late in the day Professor Pressensee re appeared. Going to the window, he looked out on the road. " It is nearly time for him to arrive/ 7 he muttered. " You mean your friend from New York ?" " Yes. The telegram was despatched be fore one last night : it is now six. To the Railway station is only forty minutes, with the horses at a gallop." "You are sure of his arrival?" "As sure as I am that I am living." "And Marie?" " There is no change. The disease is fully developed. She is extremely ill." He walked to and fro, looking out of the window. " Good God !" he muttered, " why is he not here by this time ?" " There is the carriage," I said. It was seen emerging from the woods, and came on with the horses at a gallop. Pro fessor Pressensee met it at the door, and a man with gray hair, whom I recognized as one of the most celebrated physicians of New York, got out of the vehicle. The pro fessor grasped his hand, drew him in, and conducted him to Marie's chamber. Oppressed by all these painful scenes, I PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 103 put on my hat and walked out to breathe the fresh air. The suu was just about to set, and threw long shadows across the sward, which was still green. I went along slow ly, in the gloomiest of moods, and had just reached the edge of the woods, when I heard my name repeated, and raised my eyes, which had been fixed upon the ground. Young Alford was standing before me, half hidden by the long, drooping boughs of an oak, and now came forward quickly. " What has happened ?" he said. " A ser vant left at full gallop last night, between twelve and one." " How do you know that ?' ; I said. " I was here. I am here every night. I can see her light, at least. But she is sick. Some misfortune has happened !" It was useless to attempt to conceal any thing, and I told him of Marie's illness, and of the physician's arrival. "I saw and recognized him," he said. " Oh, my God ! Marie is not very ill ?" "I am afraid so. It is hard to tell you that, but it is best." His head sank, and I could see that it re quired all his self-control to suppress a burst of tears. "Oh, I love her so!" he exclaimed, in a 104 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. broken voice. " If she dies, what will I do ! And she loves me! I must see her again. I cannot live without seeing her !" I listened to this honest burst of emotion from the youth with painful sympathy. His anxiety had broken down every barrier, and I saw that he loved her more than I had supposed. I attempted to console him by saying that Marie's illness might be less alarming than was feared, but he shook his head. " Professor Pressensee has telegraphed for one of the first physicians of New York, and he is here in fifteen hours " He stopped, shaking his head hopelessly. I could only renew my attempts to make him a little more cheerful, but they were quite useless. I then urged him to go back to the cabin in the mountain and lie down, for I could see that he was quite exhausted. If he would return in the morning, he would fiud, under a stone which I pointed out, a note from myself informing him of Ma rie's condition. At this he quickly caught. Would I write the note to-night, before I re tired? he asked. I promised, and returned to the house just at nightfall, having seen him set out toward the mountain. Late in the evening Professor Pressensee PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 105 made his appearance in the drawing-room. His face had the calm and firm expression which characterizes men of strong will in moments of trial. Well?' 7 1 said. " Typhoid pneumonia of the worst type," he said, calmly. " The physician now at tending her will do all that can be done. If she dies I shall not long survive. God will decide." I looked at him attentively, but he did not seem to observe it, and went to the man tel-piece. " I neglected to give you this letter, friend, which arrived this evening forwarded, I observe, to the neighboring town." I took the letter, which had " in haste " on the envelope, and opened it. A blow had come to me too my younger brother was dangerously sick, and sent for rue, A post script gave me the consoling intelligence that his recovery was not regarded as at all hopeless; but I resolved, of course, to re turn at once, and made every preparation to set out at daylight. When about to retire, my promise to young Alford recurred to me, and I wrote a few lines informing him that Marie's condition remained the same. This paper I folded, 106 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. and going to the spot where I had conversed with him, raised the stone agreed upon and placed it beneath. As I went back toward the house I turned my head. What I had expected took place. The moon was shin ing, and, penetrating through the boughs of the large oak, fell upon a dusky figure which moved toward the stone beneath which I had concealed the note. It was young Al- ford, who, I had felt perfectly certain, would not wait until morning for news of Marie. At daylight I was in the saddle, and ex changed a last grasp of the hand with Pro fessor Pressensee, who had not taken off his clothes during the night. " She is better, I trust I" " No better no worse. God be thanked, at least, for that I" It was the second or third time in twelve hours that he had pronounced the word God. Making him promise to write to me, I then set forward, thinking now only of my own trouble my brother's illness. PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 107 XL I SPEEDILY reached home, and found my brother very ill. For more than a month I watched at his bedside, and then had the happiness of seeing him slowly gain strength. Soon he became convalescent and out of danger, and I returned to that work in the world which a man has before him always. I had heard repeatedly from Professor Pressensee. Marie's condition was un changed. Her illness promised to be a long one, but I could not help hoping that she would be spared to the poor father, whose life seemed wrapped up in her. Dr. , he informed me, had returned to New York, where his patients demanded his presence, but had made a second visit to Virginia. He had then been called back once more to New York, but had promised to return again toward Christmas. Could I not come to see him at that time, when I should prob ably have a few days' leisure ? Marie had asked for me frequently, and seemed to have something which she wished to say to me. 108 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. This latter intimation reached rue about the middle of December, and I determined to accept the invitation, and repeat my visit to the house in the mountain. I had very little doubt as to Marie's motive in wishing to see me. I was the only person to whom she could speak unreservedly of her feelings in connection with young Alford, and I had not the heart to deny what she asked. A few days before Christmas, therefore, I set out by railway, reached the station nearest to Professor Pressensee's, and, as he had been notified, found his carriage waiting, and was soon in sight of the house. The snow was nearly a foot deep, the whole landscape bleak and desolate. The trees, once so resplendent in their autumn draperies, were bare and dismal -looking skeletons ; and no sound disturbed the si lence but the mournful sigh of the wind in the evergreens, bending under their snow burdens. At the front door Professor Pressensee met and greeted me, conducting me to the cheerful drawing-room. During my brief absence a great change had taken place in him -not so much in his face, which was only a little paler and thinner, as in his manner. I have described him as he ap- PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 109 peared when I first knew Mm, and on my recent visit. His expression had been firm, defiant antagonism incarnate. Nothing better expressed the man at that time than the words he had breathed into his singular invention, the phonometer: "I am Pressensee I stand on that /" Now the man was wholly altered. His glance was as firm and collect ed as indicative as before of powerful will but an unwonted softness and patience was the controlling expression of his face, and his voice had become mild and gentle. " Tell me, first of all, about Marie," I said. " She is better, I trust ?" He shook his head slowly. "No better no worse, perhaps. I say perhaps, for Dr. , who has just arrived, may be concealing something from me." " Concealing something ?" "Physicians regard that as their duty sometimes. To say to a father, ' Your child is going to die,' is hard. Why do so ? they argue. The agony will come : why hasten it?" " Yes ; but I hope for a happier result in Marie's case, my dear friend. You have the consolation, at least, of knowing that Dr. will do all that can be done. There is his step, I think." 110 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. A measured tread was heard without, and a tall man of about sixty, gray-haired, quiet in manner, and dressed in black, came into the room. I was introduced, and he bow ed courteously. Professor Pressensee had glanced quickly at him it was the look of the father thinking eternally of his child and, in response to the look, Dr. said : "Miss Pressensee has fallen asleep with out opiates, I am glad to say. There is no one with her." Professor Presseusee at once went out of the apartment, with a few words of apology, and I was left alone with the physician. "A frank question, doctor/ 7 1 said. " I am greatly attached to this poor child: what you say will be said to me alone can she live ?" Dr. mused for a moment. Then he said, quietly : " It is a remarkable case not the disease, that is a common one the case. I am aware, sir, that you are an old friend of Professor Pressensee, who is also a valued friend of my own, and I will speak plainly." " Do so, doctor, I entreat." "Miss Presseusee has an aggravated at tack of typhoid pneumonia. The case has been lingering, but must soon reach its cri- PHOFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. Ill sis. This is the twenty-second of December. In three days everything will be decided." "In three days?" " It will not be longer." "You mean that in three days she will be certain to die or certain to live ?" " Humanly speaking." "But you are a master in your profession famous !" I exclaimed ; " can you do noth ing V "Nothing," was the calm reply. "There is something upon this poor girl's mind which co-operates with the disease to ex haust her strength. A feather will turn the balance. What this something is I cannot discover." I was about to reply, when Professor Pressensee entered the room and advanced straight to me. " Marie asks for you," he said. " She is just awake. I informed her that you had arrived, and she begged me to bring you to her chamber." I rose at once, and accompanied the pro fessor to a chamber in one of the wings, the door of which was opened by the old ser vant, Charlotte. It was evidently that which Marie always occupied, and, with its little feminine adornments, resembled the 112 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. nest of a bird. Heavy curtains at the win- clows nearly shut out the light, and on a small bed in one corner, with a snow-white covering, Marie was lying. She was very much wasted, and a feverish flush burned in her cheeks. I came to her side, and the poor girl smiled sweetly, holding out her thin hand. I thought I knew what she wished to say to me, and that she wished to say it to me alone. How would she effect that? The professor came to her relief, either acciden tally or deliberately. Informing me that he wished to say a word to Dr. , ho looked with deep tenderness at his daugh ter, pressed his lips to her forehead, and left the room. I sat down beside the young lady, and said, "You wished me to come, Marie, and you see I have coine." "Oh yes I cannot thank you enough. I have something to say to you," she said, faintly. "I know what it is or, at least, to what person it refers." A quick color came to her face. " Yes," she said, in a whisper almost, and speaking rapidly. "I knew you would uu- PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 113 derstaud. There is no one I can speak to but yon. I will die soon, I think. Will you take him a message ? I do not know where he is " She stopped, turning away her head. " Wherever he is, he shall have your mes sage, Marie. I promise you, on my honor." " I know you will keep your promise," she murmured. "What I wish you to tell him is that I I he was wrong if he thought I did not " The poor child blushed to the roots of her hair. She could not end the sentence. " You mean I must tell him that you love him ; do you not, Marie "P "Yes," she whispered, "oh yes! that I loved him, and love him more than ever now when when I must leave him! Oh, I cannot help it! He loves me so much! Papa does not like him; but there can be no harm in telling him what I say. Oh, poor Henry! and poor, poor papa! They will break their hearts ! but it will be easier for me to go if I know he w r ill get my mes sage." I was deeply affected by these faltering words, but an expression of faintness upon the girl's face warned me that I ought not to prolong the interview, b 114 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. " Once more, Marie," I said, " wherever he is, he shall be told what you wish. And now you must rest this excitement will injure you." "I am not excited," she said, growing suddenly calm. " I feel as if a great weight had been lifted from my breast." She turned her head, and looked at me with a smile of exquisite sweetness. "How good it is to have a friend like you!" she whispered, looking at me with her confiding eyes. " It was so kind in you to come !" As she spoke Professor Pressensee came in, and Marie held out her arms toward him. "Dear old papa!" she said, returning his kiss, " you are very good to your little Ma rie !" I rose and quietly went out of the room, leaving the father and daughter with their arms around each other. When, half an hour afterward, Professor Pressensee came into the drawing-room, his face was wet with tears. "You must have said something to cheer my poor child," he said, in his deep voice. "It is a long time since she has looked so happy." PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 115 XII. I RETIRED about ten, but, in spite of the fatigue of travel, could not close my eyes. I could see nothing, think of nothing, but the poor girl in her little white bed, soon, in all probability, to be her death-bed. The crisis of her disease was near, and she had a malady of the mind added to her physical malady. The two together would probably kill her ; but, by curing one, could I not disarm the other, effecting more with all my ignorance than the trained physician could, with all his science and genius? I shrunk, at first, from the responsibility of what I was about to undertake, but ended by forming a fixed resolution. Then I fell asleep, and was waked by the glare of the sunshine on the snow without. After breakfast I requested Professor Pres- seusee to order a riding-horse to be saddled, as I wished to ride out. He promptly did so, without asking me any questions. The horse as promptly made his appearance at the door; and in an hour, after toiling 116 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. through the deep snow, I was at the cabin of my friend, the old hunter. I was as certain that I should find young Alford there as I was of ray own existence, and I was not mistaken. Opening the door, I saw him seated before the fire, with his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. At the sound of the opening door his head rose. I saw before me a pale and wasted face, and his dull eyes were fixed upon me with a vague stare. Suddenly rec ognizing me, he rose quickly to his feet, and a deep sob, which he was plainly unable to suppress, shook him from head to foot An hour afterward I set out on my return, reached Professor Pressensee's, and request ed him to grant me a private interview. He looked at me with an air of astonishment, but said nothing; leading the way to his "den" on the second floor, where a bright fire was burning. As soon as I entered the room I was struck by the change in its whole appearance. On my former visit, every object had indicated that the apartment was the chosen resort of the savant, the physiologist, and the dev otee of material science. Machines, chemi cals, human skulls all these had littered the PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 117 tables, the chairs, tlie book-cases, producing anything but an agreeable impression upon the visitor. Now all was changed. No ma chines or bottles were visible, and the skulls grinning from the summit of the bookcases had disappeared. The whole apartment was bright and cheerful. I looked around me with great surprise; but what especially attracted my attention was a picture filling nearly the whole space above the fireplace. It represented a man in the dress of a pil grim, slowly ascending a narrow and rugged path which led along the verge of a preci pice. On the right rose a wooded moun tain ; at the foot of the precipice, apparent ly hundreds of feet below, the sea dashed its foam over jagged rocks, upon which a single false step threatened to hurl the pil grim. He went on, nevertheless, with an assured step, supported and directed in his course by another figure, hovering above him in the air. It was the figure of an an gel in white robes, with bare arms, one of which was passed around the pilgrim, while with the other the angel pointed to a star shining serenely in the depths of heaven before them. The angelic face was turned toward the wayfarer with an expression of exquisite affection, and was that of Mrs. 118 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. Pressensee. The face of the pilgrim was half turned also toward his guardian angel. It was the face of Professor Pressensee. I stood looking at the picture in silence. Then I turned to my host and said, " I understand. Who painted this ? 7 ' "It is my own work done in New York some months since. I sent for it. It has just arrived." "I knew your skill," I said; "I did not know your genius. To speak honestly, friend, this picture astonishes and affects me. The conception is as striking more striking, even than the execution. The two worlds touch in it the world of the dead and the world of the living. The woman you loved, and who has left you, has become your guar dian angel. Her arm guides you on your way through life, preventing you from falling; her smile shines on you ; her hand points you to the star of Hope !" " Yes," he said. "The hope of reunion with her in anoth er world ?" " Yes." " You believe, then, in the immortality of the Soul in future recognition ?" "Yes. From the moment that a Soul ex ists it is eternal, from the very nature of PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 119 its being, and retains its individuality and identity. I shall see and recognize this one, as I recognized it in the body." He turned round and pointed to the op posite side of the room. I looked in the di rection of his extended finger, and saw the picture representing his wife and daughter hanging from the opposite wall. The beau tiful faces smiled from the canvas, and I looked at them with deep feeling. Turning toward Professor Presseusee, I saw that his eyes too were fixed upon them in silence. " Yes," he said, at length, in a low voice, "I believe in the existence of an immate rial, spiritual, and consequently an immor tal Soul, as I once believed that Force Heat was the great motor of the universe. I have the courage of my opinions. The pride of consistency does not weigh with ine a feather. Material Force cannot account for the phenomenon called life. What you said one day was true. The phonometer repeated it to me not once, but a thousand times l Behind Heat is Law behind Law is the Absolute ; this Absolute is the central Soul of the Universe.' It must be a Soul. Force must have an origin, and this origin must be a thinking, spiritual Being, since Force is controlled by Law, and Law pre- 120 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. supposes Thought. My psychometer was a delusion. Thought is not heat cannot be measured with a tape-line. Heat is materi al Thought spiritual. It is Thought that originated, that directs, and controls all things through Law ; and this Thought is the Thought of a personal, an. omnipotent Deity of God." The professor paused for a moment then he went on : " I said that to myself then all followed fatally. There is a God, I said what are Ms attributes ? He has created me. Why ? I do not know. What I know is that he* has crushed me, and I see that lie is what he is called, a God of Vengeance, since at one blow he has swept away one-half of my life. This was what I said to myself. Well, I no longer say it. I think or think that I think I see more justly. Yes, the attri bute of Vengeance is his, but another attri bute co-exists with it. He made man in his own image, having his attributes of thought, free-will, the capacity to love ; and I no lon ger ask myself why man was made. God is love, as well as vengeance. It is the neces sity of love that it should have something to love. Thus man was created with the universe to administer to him, as the object PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. 121 of the Almighty's love ; and as love must be free to choose its object or reject it, man was given, free-will, the power to choose ; hence the whole scheme of redemption." "You believe, then, in redemption?" " Yes ; it follows as an inevitable truth. The love of the supreme Deity persisted in spite of man's rebellion. The atonement restored all things man had only to em brace it. I believe that with my brain and my heart, as I once believed in material Force. With death the soul passes to an other universe of happiness or misery, not into earth or air. My wife is dead : I shall rejoin her, I trust. My daughter may die : I shall see her too beyond." He sat down and fell into a fit of musing, The color which had come to his face as he spoke slowly faded. Then a deep sigh weary, piteous, almost despairing issued from his lips. " This is true" he muttered, " as true as Truth itself; but if she dies! I shall not live after that." "Friend," I said. He raised his head and looked at me. His eyes were bathed in tears. "Marie will not die, if something that op presses her poor heart is removed." 122 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. " Something that oppresses her heart ?" " Her malady is a physical one, but men tal distress aggravates it, wearing away her strength to resist the disease she suffers from. What is necessary is to remove this distress. I do not know this so much sis feel it." "Ah!" he said, drawing a long breath, " do you think that ? Can it be ?" " Yes," I replied, "I am certain of it. I have reflected deeply, and have a distinct course of action to propose to you. I believe it to be the only means of saving Marie. It was to speak of it that I requested this in terview." "Let us speak of it," he said, slowly, fix ing his eyes upon me. XIII. I HAVE thought it unnecessary to detain the readers of my narrative by presenting the details of my interviews with young Al- ford and Professor Pressensee, the result of which will now be recorded. Marie remained in very much the same condition as that in whicli I had seen her, PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 123 until the afternoon of Christmas-day. Her fever continued, and a second brief inter view which I held with her on the morning of this day convinced me that she still had some cause of sadness, of which she did not speak ; and this sadness, whose cause was known to me, I felt convinced, co-operated with the disease to prey upon her strength. The moment had arrived, I saw plainly, to carry out my design, which had been ap proved both by Professor Pressensee and Dr. . Leaving them in the drawing- room, I proceeded to Marie's chamber, en tered, and found her, as had been agreed upon, alone. The apartment had the same air about it an air of feminine sweetness and innocence. One object only I observed which I had not observed before a small evergreen "Christmas-tree" in one corner of the chamber, the boughs decorated with bright objects and small wax tapers. I approached Marie's bed, and she held out her thin hand with a faint smile. " You were looking at my Christmas-tree," she said. "Papa fixed it for me. We al ways have a Christmas-tree. Isn't it pret ty?" " Exquisite !" I said, with a cheerful smile. " Who would have supposed that an old 124 PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. man of science like your father had so much taste ! Look at that gilt star on the bough in front. That is the star of hope, dear Marie ! You are going to get well at once now ; and shall I tell you a secret?" "Aaeeretf" " I have actually had the courage to at tack your papa on the subject of our young friend Mr. Alford, and he declares that he has not the least objection to your accepting that young gentleman, if the arrangement is perfectly agreeable to you." A sudden color came to her face, and her eyes filled with light. " Oh !" she murmured ; and then, in a whisper almost, she added, "Are you in earnest ?" "Certainly I am in earnest. Your papa is convinced that he was wrong in opposing you young people in meddling with your private affairs. He and our young friend are quite devoted to each other all at once ; and if you doubt what I say, Marie, there is an extremely easy means of proving it. There is no objection whatever, if you do not ob ject, to your seeing young Mr. Alfurd, and hearing it from his own lips." In spite of every effort to control herself, the poor child could not suppress the happy PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 125 light which suddenly came to her eyes. Her blushes deepened, but a single glance told me that what I had said had acted like a cordial upon her frame. Her faint objection was very faint indeed, and a quarter of an hour afterward young Alford, who was waiting, entered the apartment. I retired, leaving no one but the deaf old family ser vant Charlotte in the apartment with them, and went down to the drawing-room, where for about half an hour no one uttered a word. The doctor then rose. " I think the young people have had time enough/ 7 he said. "The risk of excitement must be avoided." He went out of the room as he spoke, in the direction of Marie's chamber, and both Professor Pressensee and myself followed him, to which he had said there was no ob jection. We were met on the way by young Alford, whose eyes betrayed unmistakably that he had been weeping. Simply bowing, he passed on toward the drawing-room, and \ve proceeded to Marie's chamber, from which the old servant Charlotte came out as we entered. Marie was lying with her eyes closed, but the expression of her countenance clearly indicated that this did not proceed from 126 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. faiutness. It would be impossible to imagine an expression of more serene happiness. I had not been mistaken in my calculations. The great weight of distress had been lifted from her heart. A glance at her face proved that she still labored under the fever which was sapping her life, but as plainly happiness had entered like a cordial into her very being. At the noise which we made in entering she opened her eyes and looked toward her father, holding out her arms toward him and smiling. He came and placed his own around her, and for a moment no sound dis turbed the silence but low whispers and kisses ; Marie's face was burning, but the bright smile never left it. "Dear old papa! How good you are!" she said ; " and I have not even thanked you for your lovely Christmas-tree. Light it, papa." "Yes, my child," he said, going to the Christmas-tree and lighting the tapers. The famous tree thereupon burst suddenly into a glory of light, and in front of all shone the brilliant golden star. " How beautiful !" Marie murmured, dream ily ; and, half closing her eyes, she repeated, in a tone nearly inaudible, the words : " While shepherds watched their flocks by night" PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 127 The rest died away in a whisper. The girl was evidently thinking of the star shining over Bethlehem on this same night, more than eighteen hundred years before. Dr. had taken the seat at Marie's side which her father had vacated. " Well, my dear," he said, cheerfully, " you will soon be well now, and must not over tax yourself. Half an hour's rest will be of service to you, and I shall give you a little sleeping powder." The opiate was administered, and its ef fects were soon apparent. Marie turned her face from the light, her eyes closed, and soon her long, quiet breathing indicated that she was falling asleep. Dr. then made a sign to Professor Pressensee, and he silently went and extinguished the tapers, the room remaining lighted only by a sin gle shaded lamp. Dr. sat looking at the face of the sleeping girl with unwavering attention. His expression had all at once changed. In speaking to her he had adopted the most cheerful tone, and his face was bright and smiling. Now I could see upon it an ex pression of acute anxiety. Extending one hand, while he drew his watch from his pocket with the other, he touched with an 128 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. almost imperceptible pressure the wrist of the girl, whose arm was lying ou the out side of the white counterpane, fixing his eyes as he did so upon, the second-hand of his watch. As he restored the watch to his pocket, I thought I could see that his ex pression of gloom deepened. Professor Pressensee had heen standing erect and silent in the middle of the apart ment, with his eyes fixed upon his child. He now came to Dr. 's side, and said, in a low tone, "Well?" The doctor slowly shook his head. "The pulse is terrible!" he said, in a low voice. " The crisis is at hand. If the fever abates there is some hope ; if it continues for another half an hour " The expression of the speaker's face left nothing in doubt. The poor child was hang ing between life and death. In thirty min utes all would be decided. Professor Pres- senseo went and sat down in a large arm chair and buried his face in his hands. From his lips issued a dull murmur the father was praying for his child. Except that sound, no other noise disturbed the oppres sive stillness of the chamber, where the min utes dragged slowly. PROFESSOR PRESSENSEE. 129 All at once the sleeping girl stirred, and her head, which had drooped upon her shoulder, rose. Her eyes, clear and soft, were wide open. " Papa!" she said, smiling. Dr. extended his white handker chief, and touched her forehead with it near the roots of the hair. As he drew it back and examined it, I saw his face fill with sud den emotion, and heard him mutter, " Thank God!' 7 Professor Pressensee had risen quickly, and now hastened toward Marie, who held out her arms toward him with a smile of exquisite tenderness. His look, brief, inci sive, almost fiery, interrogated the face of the old physician. "The fever has spent its force, friend," said Dr. ; "the forehead is wet with perspiration. I think I can say that your daughter is out of danger now." 9 130 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. XIV. IN the month of May last year (1877) I visited the region beyond the Blue Ridge on business; and, finding myself in the vi cinity of Professor Pressensee's house, avail ed myself of the opportunity to pay him a visit. I reached the house by walking from the railway station, and, as I approached the familiar grounds, looked with delight at the cheerful and smiling old homestead. The whole face of nature was clothed in green. Where the emerald pastures ended, the deep foliage of the forest began ; and nestling down beneath its great oaks, the old house seemed to smile and give me welcome. I entered the tall white gate and took my way across the green lawn, which was brill iant with flowers. I was near the house, when, behind a group of lilacs in full bloom, and full of the hum of bees, I saw a charm ing group. On a wicker seat Professor Pres- sensee was amusing himself by tossing up and down a rosy little being in snowy mus- PKOFESSOIl PRESSENSEE. 131 lin, and within a few steps Marie was look ing at the group with a face full of smiles ; her hand grasped by a small young gentle man just able to stand erect on his feet, which were cased in shoes of blue morocco. "Well," I said, suddenly emerging from behind the lilacs, "this is really an inspir* ing sight to a passing wayfarer !" Whereupon all was in commotion. The professor started up with youthful elastic ity and grasped my hand, and Marie came and put both her arms around my neck and kissed me. As her beautiful face touched my own, a voice near exclaimed, " He is kissing my wife !" And young Alford, with ruddy and laugh ing cheeks, hastened up and shook me heart ily by the hand ; after which came the turn of the two younger members of the group, who crowed with delight by way of adding to the general joy. I remained with my friends for nearly a week, and the visit was charming. I really envied Alford, and told Marie one day that I was almost sorry I had been so officious in her affairs she might have married mej perhaps ; whereat the pretty face filled with laughter. She and Alford had been mar ried in the spring succeeding her recovery ; 132 PROFESSOR PRESSEXSEE. and as nothing could induce her to leave her father, who preferred the country, the young man had taken up his abode with father and daughter, pursuing with gusto the occupations of a country gentleman. And Professor Presseusee what had been the result with him, in body and mind, it may be asked, after all the painful scenes which he had passed through? Tranquil lity and content. I could see that plainly. On his face was written an expression of profound thankfulness. He was growing old in this quiet and happy retreat, sur rounded by all that he loved on earth. His exhausting investigations of material science had been long discontinued, he said. He was inventing a new plough, he informed me, and the idea of a superior wheat reaper was dawning upon him. Would I like to see the models ? And he conducted me to his old den on the second floor. It was no longer a den in any sense. 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