"And waste my time. Why can't you rely on your own strength? I am not going to have you here draining mine, particularly when this body I have at present is so frail. Act the courteous host and give the young fool as much of your daughter's company as he desires. The rest can be left to me."

"But when are you going to move in the matter?"

"When the time is ripe and when I choose. How often am I to tell you that it is impossible to hurry things? Corn takes time to grow: a rose takes time to unfold, and everything in the visible and invisible world progresses inch by inch, step by step. Nature, as you should know by this time, is a tortoise and not a kangaroo."

"There is another reason why I came," said Enistor, accepting the rebuke with a meekness foreign to his nature; "that fisherman--Trevel!"

"Well? He is annoyed because I give the girl jewels, and waken her ambition to be something better than a domestic drudge."

"His annoyance extends to an intention to kill you," said Enistor dryly.

"I advise you to be careful, Master. Trevel is dangerous."

"Dangerous!" Narvaez spoke with supreme contempt. "You know what I am and yet talk of danger to me from an ignorant boor. I could guard myself in a hundred ways if I so chose. But," ended Narvaez deliberately, "I do not choose."

"I wonder what you mean?"

"You may wonder. Threatened men live long. Content yourself with that proverb. And now go; I am busy!"

Without a word Enistor rose and walked to the door. There he paused to say a few words not complimentary to Narvaez, and he said them with a black look of suppressed rage. "You treat me like a dog," snarled the weaker man. "Be careful that I do not bite you like a dog."

"I trust you as little as any one else, and am always on my guard," said the magician mildly, and stared in a cold sinister way at his pupil.

Enistor felt a wave of some cruel force surge against him--a force which struck him with the dull stunning blows of a hammer, and which twisted his nerves so sharply that but for dogged pride he would have shrieked with pain. As it was he writhed and grew deadly pale, the sweat beading his brow showing what agony he suffered. Hours seemed to be concentrated into that one long minute during which Narvaez held him in the vice of his will, and made him suffer the torments of the d.a.m.ned.

"I beat my dog when he bites," said an unemotional voice. "Go!" And Enistor, conquered by supreme pain, crept away in silence. As the door closed, he heard his master chuckle like a parrot over a piece of cake.

The Squire returned painfully to Tremore, cursing himself for having been such a fool as to defy a man possessed of super-physical powers.

Twice before he had done so, and each time Don Pablo had inflicted torments. The man, more learned than an ordinary hypnotist, simply used in a greater degree the will and suggestion which such a one employs. A hypnotist can make his subject believe that he has toothache, or has taken poison, by insisting with superior force that he shall so believe.

Narvaez, more learned in the laws which govern this creation, compelled Enistor in this way to feel the torments of a heretic on the rack, without resorting to the ordinary necessity of casting his subject into a hypnotic trance. If Enistor had concentrated his will, he could have repelled the suggestion, but he had not the terrific power of concentration which ages of exercise had given Don Pablo. He was in the presence of a powerful influence, directed by an equally powerful will, and therefore had no weapons with which to fight his dark master. In a fury Enistor wished that he could make Narvaez suffer in the same degree, but he knew that he could never hope to do so. Even if he became possessed of knowledge, of concentration, and of a more powerful will than was human, the Spaniard knew of ways which could baffle the attack.

The sole consolation which Enistor had to pacify his wounded pride was that there was no disgrace in a mere mortal being beaten by a superman.

Narvaez, in a minor degree, was a G.o.d, a very evil G.o.d, and those worshippers who did not obey him felt very speedily what their deity could do. Enistor had no wish to measure forces with so powerful a being again.

For the rest of that week he left the magician alone and devoted himself to entertaining his guest. It was impossible to induce Narvaez to act until he chose to act, and all that could be done was to obey his instructions and behave agreeably to Montrose, so that the visitor might be lulled into false security. Never was there so amiable a host as the Squire; never was there so genial a companion, and Douglas became quite fascinated with a personality which transcended his own. The young man was so much weaker than his host that the latter wondered why Narvaez did not compel him to surrender the fortune by putting forth resistless power. Had Enistor guessed that Montrose's desire to do good and to love every one nullified the evil spell, he would have wondered less. And at the same time Enistor would have understood how, not having unselfish love in his own breast, he lay open to the a.s.saults of the magician. As he treated others so he was treated, and a realisation of this golden truth would have enabled him to defy Narvaez and his suggestions. But the mere fact that he wished to exercise the same might-over-right free-lance law prevented his understanding how to defend himself from a more accomplished devil. And Don Pablo was as much a devil as there is possible to be one, since he wholly obeyed the instincts, carefully fostered, of hate and selfishness. Enistor was a very minor devil indeed, as he had too much of the milk of human kindness in him as yet to equal or rival the superior fiend.

In his determination to act his comedy thoroughly, Enistor went to the great length of asking the vicar and his wife to dinner. As Mr. Sparrow had never before been invited to break bread under the Squire's roof, he was extremely surprised by the unexpected honour. At first he was minded to decline, since Enistor never came to church and never took the least interest in matters connected with the parish. But Mrs. Sparrow pointed out that this desire for their company might be a sign of grace, and that if they went, it might entail the reformation of their host. Also the dinner was sure to be good, and she could wear her new dress in decent society, which she very rarely had an opportunity of doing. Urged in this way and having a certain amount of curiosity of his own regarding the splendours of the big house, Mr. Sparrow sent an acceptance in his neat Oxford calligraphy. The Squire gave it to his daughter and told her to order the dinner.

"See that it is a good one," said Enistor genially. "Sparrow is as lean as a fasting friar and won't object to a decent meal for once. It isn't Lent or any of their confounded Church feasts, is it?"

"No!" answered Alice, very much puzzled by this unusual behaviour; "but why do you ask Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow to dinner? I thought you didn't like them."

"I don't! They are a couple of bores. But it is rather dull here for Montrose, and we must get what society we can to cheer him up."

"I think Douglas is very well satisfied with my company," retorted the girl, rather nettled by the implied slight, "and these two bores, as you call them, certainly will not amuse him."

"Very well; ask Hardwick also. He isn't a bore and Montrose likes him."

"Julian isn't very well, father. He hasn't been since you found him on the moor fainting. But I shall send the invitation. Shall you ask Senor Narvaez?"

"No!" said her father sharply and uneasily, for his body still tingled with the memory of Don Pablo's reproof. "I shan't submit him to the ordeal of enduring so dull a set of people."

"Complimentary to us all," said Alice dryly, then regretted the retort; "I am sure you wish to make things pleasant for Douglas."

"Of course! I wish him to stay here as long as he likes," said Enistor, with an emphasis which she could not quite understand. "See that everything is all right, my dear. I want the dinner-party to be a success."

Rather amazed at the way in which her usually selfish father sacrificed himself, Alice consulted the housekeeper, and made all preparations for this rare festivity. When the evening came, the parson and his wife duly arrived and at their heels followed Hardwick, who had willingly accepted the chance of an evening in the company of Alice, whom he loved as a sister, and Montrose, who appealed to him as an unusually agreeable and decent fellow. The Squire welcomed his guests cordially, and took Mrs.

Sparrow in to dinner. She was a faded, colourless woman with a washed-out appearance, markedly accentuated by the gauzy grey dress she wore. Alice in a delicate pink frock, which set off her evasive beauty to great advantage, looked like a fresh sunrise beside a wet, misty autumn day. Douglas could not keep his eyes off her and Hardwick was equally pressing in his attentions.

"But you must not over-tax your strength, Julian," said Alice, when she found herself at the dinner-table between the artist and Mr. Sparrow, who had escorted her thereto.

"Oh, I am all right now," replied Hardwick, "no better and no worse than I ever was. You were surprised when your father told you?"

"I was greatly grieved, Julian. And it seems so strange that a big man such as you are should be so delicate. You should see a doctor."

"I have seen several, but they can do me no good," said the artist sadly. "In every way I am healthy, so there is nothing to cure. All I lack is what they cannot give me, and that is a new supply of life-force."

"If it is vitality you want, Hardwick," said Montrose, speaking across the table, "you should consult Dr. Eberstein, who is coming down shortly to Perchton. He is wonderful in many ways and I am certain he would do you good."

"He cannot breathe more breath of life into a man than what that man already has," said Mr. Sparrow, in a tone of sad rebuke. "G.o.d alone is able to do that."

"Therefore," murmured Mrs. Sparrow, in an equally sad tone, "you should pray for strength, Mr. Hardwick. We are told to do so."

"I thought that was spiritual strength?"

"And what more do you want?" replied the lady, forgetting the exact point under discussion. "Let us watch and pray lest we fall into temptation."

"My dear!" murmured the vicar in an undertone, for he felt that this conversation was too professional for the occasion.

"Quite so," said Mrs. Sparrow, taking the hint, and did not open her mouth for some time save to eat and drink. All the same she watched for an opportunity to lead the conversation towards such religious topics as she and her husband were interested in. This was to be done with a view of surprising the Squire with the extent of her husband's knowledge. Now she had managed to enter the big house, she did not intend to go out again in a hurry. Enistor was a valuable parishioner, and if he could be brought to defer to Mr. Sparrow much could be done with him and with his money.

The table looked charming with its snow-white napery, on which glittered crystal and silver, while the dinner-service was a thing of beauty. The scarlet and golden autumn leaves which decorated the board, the mellow light of the many wax candles, the well-cooked food and the delicious wines, all impressed the vicar's wife greatly. She even felt a little angry that such a heathen as the Squire surely was should possess these luxuries, while Mr. Sparrow--capable of being a bishop in her opinion--was content with unlovely surroundings and plain viands, prepared in anything but an inviting way by their one servant. No, not content--that was the wrong word to use. He put up with ascetic living, while the wicked--meaning Mr. Enistor--lived on the fat of the land. It was enough to shake the faith of a Christian lady in the fairness of things. And truth to tell, Mrs. Sparrow, in spite of her anxious faith, frequently doubted if the world was governed justly. She and her husband did all that the Bible told them to do in the way of living uprightly and unselfishly, therefore they should certainly long before this have sat under their own fig-tree, possessing beeves and lands according to the promise. As it was, they were as poor as rats, or rather as church mice, which seemed to be the more ecclesiastical comparison. Clearly there was something wrong somewhere in the way in which mundane matters were ordered.

Meantime, the Squire had started Mr. Sparrow on archaeology, as the best way of keeping him off theology, and the parson was talking eagerly about a certain red granite heart, inscribed with weird signs, which he had dug up on the hill where the Roman camp was to be seen. "Near the cottage of that Spanish gentleman," he explained precisely.

"I know," said Enistor; and indeed he knew the hill very well in a way of which Mr. Sparrow would scarcely have approved.

"There is a Druidical altar there," went on the clergyman eagerly, "and I have no doubt many dreadful sacrifices took place there in the old days. This heart--which I shall be delighted to show you if you call at the vicarage, Mr. Enistor--no doubt had to do with the terrible rites."

"Earlier than that," put in Montrose unexpectedly, "the heart was the symbol of the Atlantean race, as the cross is the symbol of the Aryan.

The hieroglyphics on it mean doubtless the sacred word 'Tau.' Aum is the sacred word of our present people."

"Tau! Aum! Atlantean!" echoed Sparrow, much perplexed. "What do you mean?"

"It would take too long to explain, sir. Dr. Eberstein, who told me about these things, is the best person to consult."

"I wish to consult no one," said the parson, drawing himself up. "I believe the heart to be a symbol of the Druids."

"A symbol of Atlantis rather," insisted Montrose; "this very land on which we are was part of the great continent of Atlantis."

"A mere fable, sir. You are thinking of the myth which Plato mentions."