The Wonderful Story of RavaletteRandolph, Paschal Beverly
Science
The Wonderful Story of Ravalette
Randolph, Paschal Beverly
Rosicrucians -- Fiction; Spiritualism -- Fiction
For a moment there was silence. At length Ravalette spoke--
“And now my turn. What, O sleeper! what of me?”
The seer smiled blandly, stretched forth his hands toward both the tall
personage and the Enigma. They went forward, grasped the sleeper’s hands
in their own, and--
“The Enmity of Ages is ended!”
“It is ended!” repeated the tall one.
“It is finished! Thy work is done--and mine--and thine”--indicating
Ravalette--said the seer. “Henceforward, there is rest for the
weary--there is rest for thee! No longer doomed to walk the earth, we
three quit it. Our paths diverge from this moment. Above our heads is a
scroll, on which is written--
‘YE MAY BE HAPPY YET!’”
“Thank Heaven!” said Dhoula Bel.
“Thank Heaven!” repeated the Stranger.
“It is finished!” said Beverly, and, as he spoke, Dhoula Bel moved
behind the screen, and, the very instant that he did so, there came the
sharp crack of fire-arms in the hall and on the stairs, accompanied with
any amount of oaths uttered in not very choice French.
Immediately, running to the door along with the Commissary of Police
and one of his comrades, I demanded to know the cause of the
disturbance.
“By the Holy Evangelists! I fired straight into his head, and it didn’t
faze him an inch!” said the sergeant.
“And I struck him square in the middle of the head, and _that_ didn’t
harm him in the least!” said another.
“And I put two Derringer bullets and four Colt’s fair into his breast,
at ten inches, and blast me if all six didn’t fly back and hit me!”
exclaimed a third.
“And I’ll swear that he didn’t come through the open door, for it was
fast shut, with my hand on the knob, every second of the time!” said the
fourth.
“It was the devil!” said a fifth.
“Or his imp!” said the sixth.
“And I’ll swear he never passed by me on the lower stair!” observed the
seventh man.
“Come hither into the room and tell us what you are driving at,” said
the Commissary.
“I’m driving at nothing just now,” said the sergeant, as he came in “but
I have been trying to drive some bullets through the devil! Do you
remember telling me not to let a certain person go out, even if I had to
shoot him to prevent it?”
“Certainly I do. Go on.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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