The Treasure of Heaven | Page 2

wherever they may be,
constitutes for me the Everything of life.
MARIE CORELLI Stratford-on-Avon July, 1906

THE TREASURE OF HEAVEN

CHAPTER I
London,--and a night in June. London, swart and grim, semi-shrouded
in a warm close mist of mingled human breath and acrid vapour
steaming up from the clammy crowded streets,--London, with a million
twinkling lights gleaming sharp upon its native blackness, and looking,
to a dreamer's eye, like some gigantic Fortress, built line upon line and
tower upon tower,--with huge ramparts raised about it frowningly as
though in self-defence against Heaven. Around and above it the deep
sky swept in a ring of sable blue, wherein thousands of stars were
visible, encamped after the fashion of a mighty army, with sentinel
planets taking their turns of duty in the watching of a rebellious world.
A sulphureous wave of heat half asphyxiated the swarms of people who
were hurrying to and fro in that restless undetermined way which is
such a predominating feature of what is called a London "season," and
the general impression of the weather was, to one and all, conveyed in a
sense of discomfort and oppression, with a vague struggling expectancy
of approaching thunder. Few raised their eyes beyond the thick warm
haze which hung low on the sooty chimney-pots, and trailed sleepily
along in the arid, dusty parks. Those who by chance looked higher, saw
that the skies above the city were divinely calm and clear, and that not a
cloud betokened so much as the shadow of a storm.
The deep bell of Westminster chimed midnight, that hour of
picturesque ghostly tradition, when simple village maids shudder at the
thought of traversing a dark lane or passing a churchyard, and when
country folks of old-fashioned habits and principles are respectably in
bed and for the most part sleeping. But so far as the fashionable "West
End" was concerned, it might have been midday. Everybody assuming
to be Anybody, was in town. The rumble of carriages passing to and fro
was incessant,--the swift whirr and warning hoot of coming and going
motor vehicles, the hoarse cries of the newsboys, and the general
insect-like drone and murmur of feverish human activity were as loud
as at any busy time of the morning or the afternoon. There had been a
Court at Buckingham Palace,--and a "special" performance at the
Opera,--and on account of these two functions, entertainments were
going on at almost every fashionable house in every fashionable quarter.

The public restaurants were crammed with luxury-loving men and
women,--men and women to whom the mere suggestion of a quiet
dinner in their own homes would have acted as a menace of infinite
boredom,--and these gilded and refined eating-houses were now
beginning to shoot forth their bundles of well-dressed, well-fed folk
into the many and various conveyances waiting to receive them. There
was a good deal of needless shouting, and much banter between drivers
and policemen. Now and again the melancholy whine of a beggar's plea
struck a discordant note through the smooth-toned compliments and
farewells of hosts and their departing guests. No hint of pause or repose
was offered in the ever-changing scene of uneasy and impetuous
excitation of movement, save where, far up in the clear depths of space,
the glittering star-battalions of a wronged and forgotten God held their
steadfast watch and kept their hourly chronicle. London with its
brilliant "season" seemed the only living fact worth recognising;
London, with its flaring noisy streets, and its hot summer haze
interposed like a grey veil between itself and the higher vision. Enough
for most people it was to see the veil,--beyond it the view is always too
vast and illimitable for the little vanities of ordinary mortal minds.
Amid all the din and turmoil of fashion and folly seeking its own in the
great English capital at the midnight hour, a certain corner of an
exclusively fashionable quarter seemed strangely quiet and sequestered,
and this was the back of one of the row of palace-like dwellings known
as Carlton House Terrace. Occasionally a silent-wheeled hansom,
brougham, or flashing motor-car sped swiftly along the Mall, towards
which the wide stone balcony of the house projected,--or the heavy
footsteps of a policeman walking on his beat crunched the gravel of the
path beneath, but the general atmosphere of the place was expressive of
solitude and even of gloom. The imposing evidences of great wealth,
written in bold headlines on the massive square architecture of the
whole block of huge mansions, only intensified the austere sombreness
of their appearance, and the fringe of sad-looking trees edging the road
below sent a faint waving shadow in the lamplight against the cold
walls, as though some shuddering consciousness of happier woodland
scenes had suddenly moved them to a vain regret. The haze