Flames - Robert Hichens

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had been filled with wine until the wine ran over. He put his fingers on the pulse. It was strong and rapid and did not fluctuate, but beat steadily. He felt the heart. That, too, throbbed strongly. And while he made his examination Valentine smiled at him.

      "I'm all right, you see," Valentine said.

      "All right," the doctor echoed, still possessed by the feeling that there lurked almost a danger in this apparently abounding health.

      "What was it all?" Julian asked eagerly. "Was it a trance?"

      "A trance?" Valentine said. "Yes, I suppose so."

      He put his feet to the floor, stood up, and again stretched all his limbs. His eyes fell upon Rip, who was still in the corner, huddled up, his teeth showing, his eyes almost starting out of his head.

      "Rip," he said, holding out his hand and slapping his knee, "come here!

       Come along! Rip! Rip! What's the matter with him?"

      "He thought you were dead," said Julian. "Poor little chap. Rip, it's all right. Come!"

      But the dog refused to be pacified, and still displayed every symptom of angry fear. At last Valentine, weary of calling the dog, went towards it and stooped to pick it up. At the downward movement of its master the dog shrank back, gathered itself together, then suddenly sprang forward with a harsh snarl and tried to fasten its teeth in his face. Valentine jumped back just in time.

      "He must have gone mad," he exclaimed. "Julian, see what you can do with him."

      Curiously enough, Rip welcomed Julian's advances with avidity, nestled into his arms, but when he walked toward Valentine, struggled to escape and trembled in every limb.

      "How extraordinary!" Julian said. "Since your trance he seems to have taken a violent dislike to you. What can it mean?"

      "Oh, nothing probably. He will get over it. Put him into the other room."

      Julian did so and returned.

      Doctor Levillier was now sitting in an arm-chair. His light, kind eyes were fixed on Valentine with a scrutiny so intense as to render the expression of his usually gentle face almost stern. But Valentine appeared quite unconscious of his gaze and mainly attentive to all that Julian said and did. All this time the doctor had not said a word. Now he spoke.

      "You spoke of a trance?" he said, interrogatively.

      Julian looked as guilty as a cribbing schoolboy discovered in his dingy act.

      "Doctor, Val and I have to crawl to you for forgiveness," he said.

      "To me—why?"

      "We have disobeyed you."

      "But I should never give you an order."

      "Your advice is a command to those who know you, doctor," said Valentine, with a sudden laugh.

      "And what advice of mine have you put in the corner with its face to the wall?"

      "We have been table-turning again."

      "Ah!"

      Doctor Levillier formed his lips into the shape assumed by one whistling.

      "And this has been the result?"

      "Yes," Julian cried. "Never, as long as I live, will I sit again. Val, if you go down on your knees to me—"

      "I shall not do that," Valentine quietly interposed. "I have no desire to sit again now."

      "You both seem set against such dangerous folly at last," said the doctor. "Give me your solemn promise to stick to what you have said."

      And the two young men gave it, Julian with a strong gravity, Valentine with a light smile. Julian had by no means recovered his usual gaiety. The events of the night had seriously affected him. He was excited and emotional, and now he grasped Valentine by the arm as he exclaimed:

      "Valentine, tell me, what made you give that strange cry just before you went into your trance? Were you frightened? or did something—that hand—touch you? Or what was it?"

      "A cry?"

      "Yes."

      "It was not I."

      "Didn't you hear it?"

      "No."

      Julian turned to the doctor.

      "It was an unearthly sound," he said. "Like nothing I have ever heard or imagined. And, doctor, just afterward I saw something, something that made me believe Valentine was really dead."

      "What was it?"

      Julian hesitated. Then he avoided directly replying to the question.

      "Doctor," he said, "of course I needn't ask you if you have often been at deathbeds?"

      "I have. Very often," Levillier replied.

      "I have never seen any one die," Julian continued, still with excitement. "But people have told me, people who have watched by the dying, that at the moment of death sometimes a tiny flame, a sort of shadow almost, comes from the lips of the corpse and evaporates into the air. And they say that flame is the soul going out of the body."

      "I have never seen that," Levillier said. "And I have watched many deaths."

      "I saw such a flame to-night," Julian said. "After I heard the cry, I distinctly saw a flame come from where Valentine was sitting and float up and disappear in the darkness. And—and afterwards, when Valentine lay so still and cold, I grew to believe that flame was his soul and that I had actually seen him die in the dark."

      "Imagination," Valentine said, rather abruptly. "All imagination. Wasn't it, doctor?"

      "Probably," Levillier said. "Darkness certainly makes things visible that do not exist. I have patients who are perfectly sane, yet whom I forbid ever to be entirely in the dark. Remove all objects from their sight, and they immediately see non-existent things."

      "You think that flame came only from my inner consciousness?" Julian asked.

      "I suspect so. Shut your eyes now."

      Julian did so. Doctor Levillier bent over and pressed his two forefingers hard on Julian's eyes. After a moment,

      "What do you see?" he asked.

      "Nothing," Julian replied.

      "Wait a little longer. Now what do you see?"

      "Now I see a broad ring of yellow light edged with ragged purple."

      "Exactly. You see flame-colour."

      He removed his fingers and Julian opened his eyes.

      "Yes," he said. "But that cry. I most distinctly heard it."

      "Imitate it."

      "That would be impossible. It was too strange. Are the ears affected by darkness?"

      "The sense of hearing is intimately affected by suspense. If you do not listen attentively you may fail to hear a sound that is. If you listen too attentively you may succeed in hearing a sound that is not. Now, shut your eyes again."

      Julian obeyed.

      "I am going to clap my hands presently," said the doctor. "Tell me as soon as you have heard me do so."

      "Yes."

      Doctor Levillier made no movement for some time. Then he softly leant forward, extended his arms in the air, and made the motion of clapping his hands close to Julian's face. In reality he did not touch one hand with the other, yet Julian cried out:

      "I heard you clap them then."

      "I have not clapped them at all," Levillier said.

      Julian expressed extreme surprise.

      "You see how very easy it is for the senses to be deceived," the doctor added. "Once stir the nervous system into

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