Chapter 10: Alumion

Alumion--Alumion--I could think of nothing but Alumion. Her very name was music in my ears, and her image in my heart was a perpetual banquet of delight I had never known such felicity before. My inclination for Miss Carmichael and every other transient affection or interest I may have felt was altogether of a lower strain--with one exception, a boyish admiration for a school girl who died a mere child. The ethereal flame of this new passion seemed to purify all that was earthly, and exalt all that was celestial in my nature. This beautiful land, so green and smiling under a sky of serene azure and snowy wreaths, became as the highest heaven to me, and I wandered about in a dream of ecstacy like one of the blessed gods inebriated with nectar.

I avoided my travelling companions. Their worldly conversation jarred on the mood I was in, and I preferred my own thoughts to their pursuits. As my sole desire was to hear about Alumion, and if possible to see her again, I courted the society of Dinus and Otāré. I knew, of course, that in ten days she would return to her family, but I thought I might be able to visit the temple and perhaps get a glimpse of her. However, I learned from her father that during the sacred festival the temple was closed to the outer world. It was not indeed forbidden to land on the holy island, but it was considered a sacrilege for anyone not having business there to enter the precincts of the temple, excepting on the day of the ceremony which had just taken place. While bound to respect this taboo, I was, nevertheless, drawn by an irresistible attraction to the island, where I frequently spent hours in sailing about the wooded shores, or loitering in the sacred avenue, hoping against hope that I might see her passing by or in the distance. Although I was not so fortunate, I enjoyed the satisfaction of being nearer to her, and as the island seemed a perfect solitude, I could indulge my reverie in peace.

At last I made a discovery. In describing the ceremony of the Flower, Otāré had spoken of a sacred grotto where the priestess went to bathe, and on questioning him further, I ascertained that it was situated on the shore of the island in a bay or inlet to the eastward of the quay, and that she took her customary bath at set of sun.

That afternoon I made a thorough search and found a cavern in the rock close to the beach of a secluded cove which I had overlooked until then. A footpath, winding down the mountain side through the forest led to its mouth, which was overhung and almost hid by a rich creeper with large crimson blossoms. It was evidently the spot mentioned by Otāré, but wishing to make sure, and impelled by curiosity in spite of a more hallowed feeling, I lifted the creeper and was about to peer into the darkness, when a sudden noise within made me jump back with affright. It was the most horrible and excruciating shriek I had ever heard in my life. If anyone by a refinement of cruelty were to compound a torture for the ears, I do not think he could produce anything half so piercing, gruesome, and discordant.

It seemed the cry of an animal--a wild beast--and I began to think I was mistaken in the place; but the sun was near its setting now, and it was too late to seek further afield. I therefore returned to my boat and withdrew under the overarching boughs of some trees where I could see without being seen.

I had not long to wait. Between the flowering shrubs I noticed that a figure--a woman by her undulating grace--was coming down the path. A thin wrap or veil of changing stuff, with gleams of azure and fiery red, was flung about her person. Presently she stepped upon the beach into the mellow gloaming, and stood like a statue, with her eyes bent on the sinking orb, which threw a trail of splendour across the lake.

It was the priestess, and apparently alone. A closer view of her person brought me no disenchantment. Perfect beauty, like the sublime, produces an impression of the infinite, and I only speak the literal truth when I say that she appeared infinitely beautiful to me. Her golden hair, rippling over the delicate ear and gathered into a knot behind, her large violet eyes and blooming white skin, her Grecian profile and stately yet flowing form, might have become an Aphrodite of Xeuxis or Praxiteles; but her serene and gracious countenance beamed with a pure seraphic light which is wanting to the classical goddess, and must be sought in the Madonnas of Raphael. Moreover, she had an indescribable look of girlish innocence, winsome sweetness, and pitiful tenderness, which belonged to none of these ideals, and marked her as a simple, loving, perishable child of earth.

I gazed upon her marvellous beauty with a kind of religious veneration, at once attracted by her womanly charm and awed by her god-like dignity, yet with a strange, a divine state of repose and pure rapture in my heart for which there is no name.

Would that the happiness, the bliss of looking upon her, of being near her, might have lasted for ever!

I knew, however, that she would soon enter the grotto and be lost to me. Should I speak? In this fraternal community what was there to prevent it? Something held me back. Otāré had said that the priestess was isolated from the outer world during her year of office; but that was only a general statement. Mine was a peculiar case. I was a stranger. I did not belong to their world, and was not supposed to know the ins and outs of their customs. Besides, why should custom stand between such a love as mine and its object? Conventional propriety was for the pitiful earth and its wretched abortive passions. Perhaps I should frighten her? No, I did not believe it. In this golden land even the birds seemed fearless. As well think to frighten an angel in Heaven.

While I was debating the question within myself she glanced into the foliage where I was hidden. How my heart throbbed! I fancied that she saw me, and trembled with emotion; but I was mistaken, for she turned and walked towards the cavern.

Suddenly I remembered the alarming sound within the cave, and breaking through the covert, called after her.

“Take care, take care! There is a wild beast in the grotto. I heard it cry.”

She looked round and started when she saw me. The surprise, visible on her face, seemed to melt into recognition.

“It is kind of you to warn me,” she responded with a frank smile, “but I am not in danger. There is no wild animal inside.”

Her low sweet voice was quite in keeping with her beauty. Every note rung clear and melodious as a bell.

“But the awful cry?” I rejoined with a puzzled air.

“Was that of a particular pet of mine,” she answered laughingly.

“Pardon me,” said I smiling for company, “I am a stranger here, as you can see, and did not know any better.”

“You are one of the travellers from another world, are you not?”

“Ah! you have heard of our arrival.”

“Oh yes! An event so important was not kept from me. I saw you sitting beside my father on the day of the Flower, and I knew you again. I am afraid our country will seem very odd to you. Have you enjoyed your stay?”

“So much. I cannot tell you how much.”

“I hope you will remain with us a long time.”

“I should like to stop here for ever.”

She blushed and smiled with pleasure at these words, then, raising her arms in a noble salute, inclined her head, and entered the cavern.

I returned to the car in a delirium of happiness. I had seen her again, I had actually spoken with her. She knew me! Every detail of her look and accent was indelibly printed on my memory. All next day I wandered about in a kind of transport, feasting on the recollection of what had passed between us, and revolving over my future course of action. In two days the holy time would end, and I should have an opportunity of meeting her at home; but with the chance of seeing her again at the grotto, I could not wait. I was allured towards her by the most delicious fascination. Such a love as mine looked down upon the petty proprieties which keep lovers apart, yet are sometimes so needful in our wicked world. In this noble planet life was free and simple, because it was beautiful and good. I determined to revisit the cove that evening, and if I should see her again, to declare my secret.

Had I counted the cost? With such a passion it is not a question of cost. I was well aware that if she did not reciprocate my affection she would never marry me. Nor did I wish it otherwise. I would not ask her to sacrifice herself for my sake. If, as my heart fondly hoped, she accepted me, I would not allow anything to stand between us for a moment. I would abandon the expedition if necessary, and remain in Venus. If, on the other hand, she refused me as my judgment feared, I would return to the earth as a new man, ennobled by a glorious love, reverencing myself that I was capable of it, cherishing her image in my heart as the ideal of womanhood, and grateful for having seen and known her. Surely a rich reward for all the perils of the journey.

Sunset found me in the cove, not hidden by the leaves as before, but sitting in the boat astrand. She came. To-night her veil was of a golden yellow shading into dark green. A beautiful smile of recognition passed over her face when she saw me, and we greeted one another in the graceful fashion of the country.

I did not speak of the weather or give an excuse for my presence there, as I might have done to a woman of the world. With Alumion I felt that all such artificial forms were idle, and that I could reveal my inmost soul without disguise, in all its naked sincerity.

“I have brought you some flowers,” said I, offering her a nosegay which I had picked. “Will you accept them?”

“I thank you,” she replied with a beaming smile as she came and took them from my hand. “They are very beautiful, and I shall keep them for your sake.”

“For my sake!”

Inspired by love I continued in a voice trembling with emotion,

“Alumion--can you not guess what brings me here?”

A blush rose to her cheek as she bent over the flowers.

“It is because I love you,” said I; “because I have loved you ever since I saw you on the day you cut the sacred lily; because I love you--worship you--with all my heart and soul.”

She was silent.

“If I am wrong, forgive me,” I went on in a pleading tone. “Blame the spell your beauty has cast over me, but do not banish me from your presence, which is life and light to me.”

“Wrong!” she murmured, lifting her wondrous eyes to mine. “Can it be wrong to love, or to speak of love? Why should I send you away from me because you love me? Is not love the glory of the heart, as the sun is the glory of the world? Rejoice, then, in your love as I do in mine.”

“As you do?”

“Yes, as I do. I should have spoken sooner, but my heart was full of happiness. For I also love you. I have loved you from the beginning.”

With a cry of unspeakable joy I sprang from the boat, and would have flung myself at her feet to kiss her hand or the hem of her garment, but she drew back with a look of apprehension.

“Touch me not,” she said gravely, “for by the custom of our land I am holy. Until to-morrow at sunset I am consecrated to The Giver.”

“Pardon my ignorance,” I responded rather crestfallen. “Your will shall be my law. I only wished to manifest my eternal gratitude and devotion to you.”

“Kneel not to me,” she rejoined, “but rather to The Giver, who has so strangely brought us together. How many ages we might have wandered from world to world without finding each other again!”

“You think we have met before then?” I enquired eagerly, for the same thought had been haunting my own mind. It seemed to me that I had known Alumion always.

“Assuredly,” she replied, “for you and I are kindred souls who have been separated in another world, by death or evil; and now that we have met again, let us be faithful and loving to each other.”

“Nothing shall separate us any more.”

The words had scarcely passed my lips when the same terrible cry which I had heard once before sounded from the interior of the grotto.

Alumion called or rather sang out a response to the cry, which I did not understand, then said to me in her ordinary voice,

“It is Siloo. I must go now and give him food.”

I was curious to know who or what was Siloo, but did not dare to ask. She raised her arms gracefully and smiled a sweet farewell.

“Are you going to leave me like that?” said I.

“What would you have?” she answered, turning towards the cave.

“In my country lovers bind themselves by mutual vows.”

“What need of vows? Have we not confessed our loves?”

“Will you not tell me when I shall see you again? Will you not say when you will be mine--when you will marry me?”

A blush mounted to her cheek as she answered with a divine glance,

“Meet me at sunset to-morrow, and I will be yours.”

As yet I had not mentioned my adventure with Alumion to any of my companions, but that night I said to Gazen, as we smoked our cigars together,

“Wish me joy, old fellow! I am going to be married.”

He seemed quite dumbfounded, and I rather think he fancied that I must have come to an understanding with Miss Carmichael.

“Really!” said he with the air of a man plucking up heart after an unexpected blow. “May I ask who is the lady?”

“The Priestess of the Lily.”

“The Priestess!” he exclaimed utterly astonished, but at the same time vastly relieved. “The Priestess! Come, now, you are joking.”

“Never was more serious in my life.”

Then I told him what had happened, how I had met her, and my engagement to marry her.

“If you will take my advice,” said he dryly, “you’ll do nothing of the kind.”

“Why?”

“Have you considered the matter?” he replied significantly.

“Considered the matter! A love like mine does not ‘consider the matter’ as though it were a problem in Euclid. With such a woman as Alumion a lover does not stop to ‘consider the matter, ‘ unless he is a fool.”

“A woman--yes; but remember that she is a woman of another planet. She might not make a suitable wife for you.”

“I love her. I love her as I can never love a woman of our world. She is a thousand times more beautiful and good than any woman I have ever known. She is an ideal woman--a perfect woman--an angel in human form.”

“That may be; but what will her family say?”

“My dear Gazen, don’t you know they manage these things better here. Thank goodness, the ‘family’ does not interfere with love affairs in this happy land! We love each other, we have agreed to be married, and that is quite sufficient. No need to get the ‘consent of the parents, ‘ or make a ‘settlement, ‘ or give out the banns, or buy a government license as though a wife were contraband goods, or hire a string of four-wheelers, or tip the pew-opener. What has love to do with pew-openers? Why should the finest thing in life become the prey of such vulgar parasites? Why should our heavenliest moments be profaned and spoiled by needless worries--hateful to the name of love? Our wedding will be very simple. We shall not even want you as groomsman or Miss Carmichael as bridesmaid. I daresay we shall get along without cake and speeches, and as for the rice and old boots, upon my word, I don’t think we shall miss them.”

“And if it is a fair question, when will the--the simple ceremony take place?”