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The Secret Power

M >> Marie Corelli >> The Secret Power




The strangest and most dramatic happenings have the knack of
settling down into the commonplace,--and so in due course the days
at the Palazzo d'Oro went on tranquilly,--Manella being established
there and known as "la bella Signora Seaton" by the natives of the
little surrounding villages, who were gradually brought to
understand the helpless condition of her husband and pitied her
accordingly. Lady Kingswood had agreed to stay as friend and
protectress to the girl as long as Morgana desired it,--indeed she
had no wish to leave the beautiful Sicilian home she had so
fortunately found, and where she was treated with so much kindness
and consideration.

There was no lack or stint of wealth to carry out every arranged
plan, and Manella was too simple and primitive in her nature to
question anything that her "little white angel" as she called her,
suggested or commanded. Intensely grateful for the affectionate care
bestowed upon her, she acquiesced in what she understood to be the
methods of possible cure for the ruined man to whom she had bound
her life.

"If he gets well--quite, quite well"--she said, lifting her splendid
dark eyes to Morgana's blue as "love-in-a-mist" "I will go away and
give him to you!"

And she meant it, having no predominant idea in her mind save that
of making her elect beloved happy.

Meanwhile Morgana announced her intention of taking another aerial
voyage in the "White Eagle"--much to the joy of Giulio Rivardi.
Receiving his orders to prepare the wonderful air-ship for a long
flight, he and Gaspard worked energetically to perfect every detail.
Where he had previously felt a certain sense of fear as to the
capabilities of the great vessel, controlled by a force of which
Morgana alone had the secret, he was now full of certainty and
confidence, and told her so.

"I am glad"--he said--"that you are leaving this place where you
have installed people who to me seem quite out of keeping with it.
That terrible man who shouts 'I am master of the world'!--ah, cara
Madonna!--I did not work at your fairy Palazzo d'Oro for such an
occupant!"

"I know you did not;"-=she answered, gently--"Nor did I intend it to
be so occupied. I dreamed of it as a home of pleasure where I should
dwell--alone! And you said it would be lonely!--you remember?"

"I said it was a place for love!" he replied.

"You were right! And love inhabits it--love of the purest, most
unselfish nature--"

"Love that is a cruel martyrdom!" he interposed.

"True!" and her eyes shone with a strange brilliancy--"But love--as
the world knows it--is never anything else! There, do not frown, my
friend! You will never wear its crown of thorns! And you are glad I
am going away?"

"Yes!--glad that you will have a change"--he said--"Your constant
care and anxiety for these people whom we rescued from death must
have tired you out unconsciously. You will enjoy a free flight
through space,--and the ship is in perfect condition; she will carry
you like an angel in the air!"

She smiled and gave him her hand.

"Good Giulio!--you are quite a romancist!--you talk of angels
without believing in them!"

"I believe in them when I look at YOU!" he said, with all an
Italian's impulsive gallantry,

"Very pretty of you!" and she withdrew her hand from his too fervent
clasp,--"I feel sorry for myself that I cannot rightly appreciate so
charming a compliment!"

"It is not a compliment"--he declared, vehemently; "It is a truth!"

Her eyes dwelt on him with a wistful kindness.

"You are what some people call 'a good fellow,' Giulio!" she said--
"And you deserve to be very happy. I hope you will be so! I want you
to prosper so that you may restore your grand old villa to its
former beauty,--I also want you to marry--and bring up a big
family"--here she laughed a little--"A family of sons and daughters
who will be grateful to you, and not waste every penny you give
them--though that is the modern way of sons and daughters."

She paused, smiling at his moody expression. "And you say everything
is ready?--the 'White Eagle' is prepared for flight?"

"She will leave the shed at a moment's touch"--he answered--"when
YOU supply the motive power!"

She nodded comprehensively, and thought a moment. "Come to me the
day after to-morrow"--she said--"You will then have your orders."

"Is it to be a long flight this time?" he asked.

"Not so long as to California!" she answered--"But long enough!"

With that she left him. And he betook himself to the air-shed where
the superb "White Eagle" rested all a-quiver for departure,
palpitating, or so it seemed to him, with a strange eagerness for
movement which struck him as unusual and "uncanny" in a mere piece
of mechanism.

The next day moved on tranquilly. Morgana wrote many letters--and
varied this occupation by occasionally sitting in the loggia to talk
with Manella and Lady Kingswood, both of whom now seemed the natural
inhabitants of the Palazzo d'Oro. She spoke easily of her intended
air-trip,--so that they accepted her intention as a matter of
course, Manella only entreating--"Do not be long away!" her lovely,
eloquent eyes emphasising her appeal. Now and again the terrible
cries of "There shall be no more wars! There can be none! My Great
Secret! I am Master of the World!" rang through the house despite
the closed doors,--cries which they feigned not to hear, though
Manella winced with pain, as at a dagger thrust, each time the
sounds echoed on the air.

And the night came,--mildly glorious, with a full moon shining in an
almost clear sky--clear save for little delicate wings of snowy
cloud drifting in the east like wandering shapes of birds that
haunted the domain of sunrise. Giulio Rivardi, leaning out of one of
the richly sculptured window arches of his half-ruined villa, looked
at the sky with pleasurable anticipation of the morrow's intended
voyage in the "White Eagle."

"The weather will be perfect!" he thought--"She will be pleased. And
when she is pleased no woman can be more charming! She is not
beautiful, like Manella--but she is something more than beautiful--
she is bewitching! I wonder where she means to go!"

Suddenly a thought struck him,--a vivid impression coming from he
knew not whence--an idea that he had forgotten a small item of
detail in the air-ship which its owner might or might not notice,
but which would certainly imply some slight forgetfulness on his
part. He glanced at his watch,--it was close on midnight. Acting on
a momentary impulse he decided not to wait till morning, but to go
at once down to the shed and see that everything in and about the
vessel was absolutely and finally in order. As he walked among the
perfumed tangles of shrub and flower in his garden, and out towards
the sea-shore he was impressed by the great silence everywhere
around him. Everything looked like a moveless picture--a study in
still life. Passing through a little olive wood which lay between
his own grounds and the sea, he paused as he came out of the shadow
of the trees and looked towards the height crowned by the Palazzo
d'Oro, where from the upper windows twinkled a few lights showing
the position of the room where the "master of the world" lay
stretched in brainless immobility, waited upon by medical nurses
ever on the watch, and a wife of whom he knew nothing, guarding him
with the fixed devotion of a faithful dog rather than of a human
being. Going onwards in a kind of abstract reverie, he came to a
halt again on reaching the shore, enchanted by the dreamy loveliness
of the scene. In an open stretch of dazzling brilliancy the sea
presented itself to his eyes like a delicate network of jewels
finely strung on swaying threads of silver, and he gazed upon it as
one might gaze on the "fairy lands forlorn" of Keats in his
enchanting poesy. Never surely, he thought, had he seen a night so
beautiful,--so perfect in its expression of peace. He walked
leisurely,--the long shed which sheltered the air-ship was just
before him, its black outline silhouetted against the sky--but as he
approached it more nearly, something caused him to stop abruptly and
stare fixedly as though stricken by some sudden terror--then he
dashed off at a violent run, till he came to a breathless halt,
crying out--"Gran' Dio! It has gone!"

Gone! The shed was empty! No air-ship was there, poised trembling on
its own balance all prepared for flight,--the wonderful "White
Eagle" had unfurled its wings and fled! Whither? Like a madman he
rushed up and down, shouting and calling in vain--it was after
midnight and there was no one about to hear him. He started to run
to the Palazzo d'Oro to give the alarm--but was held back--held by
an indescribable force which he was powerless to resist. He
struggled with all his might,--uselessly.

"Morganna!" he cried in a desperate voice--"Morganna!"

Running down to the edge of the sea he gazed across it and up to the
wonderful sky through which the moon rolled lazily like a silver
ball. Was there nothing to be seen there save that moon and the
moon-dimmed stars? With eager straining eyes he searched every
quarter of the visible space--stay! Was that a white dove soaring
eastwards?--or a cloud sinking to its rest?

"Morgana!" he cried again, stretching out his arms in despair--"She
has gone! And alone!"

Even as he spoke the dove-like shape was lost to sight beyond the
shining of the evening star.



L'Envoi

Several months ago the ruin of a great air-ship was found on the
outskirts of the Great Desert so battered and broken as to make its
mechanism unrecognisable. No one could trace its origin,--no one
could discover the method of its design. There was no remnant of any
engine, and its wings were cut to ribbons. The travellers who came
upon its fragments half buried in the sand left it where they found
it, deciding that a terrible catastrophe had overtaken the
unfortunate aviators who had piloted it thus far. They spoke of it
when they returned to Europe, but came upon no one who could offer a
clue to its possible origin. These same travellers were those who a
short time since filled a certain section of the sensational press
with tales of a "Brazen City" seen from the desert in the distance,
with towers and cupolas that shone like brass or like "the city of
pure gold," revealed to St. John the Divine, where "in the midst of
the street of it" is the Tree of Life. Such tales were and are
received with scorn by the world's majority, for whom food and money
constitute the chief interest of existence,--nevertheless tradition
sometimes proves to be true, and dreams become realities. However
this may be, Morgana lives,--and can make her voice heard when she
will along the "Sound Ray"--that wonderful "wireless" which is soon
to be declared to the world. For there is no distance that is not
bridged by light,--and no separation of sounds that cannot be again
brought into unison and harmony. "There are more things in heaven
and earth than are dreamed of in our philosophy,"--and the "Golden
City" is one of those things! "Masters of the world" are poor
creatures at best,--but the secret Makers of the New Race are the
gods of the Future!



The End

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