A Thousand Years of Yesterdays by Dr. H. Spencer Lewis

Author:Dr. H. Spencer Lewis
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pickle Partners Publishing
Published: 2016-08-31T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER VI—RESURRECTION

As time, place, and circumstance dawned upon Rollins’ consciousness he found himself staring at the old painting, the mysterious landscape with the incomplete name of Raymond. It seemed older now, and it breathed an atmosphere of some incident of life. Did his memory recall the scene? He was not sure. And, as he studied the details of the picture, each growing more vibrant with life until it was as though he were gazing through a window out upon some foreign valley with its purple-tinted hills, his eyes wandered to the corner where the large R of Raymond was plainly visible, even at the distance he was from it and in the soft light of his lamp. Then he was startled. He had seen that R, with peculiar, bold formation, before. Truly; and he had seen similar pictures. The old room! The finished and unfinished paintings on the walls and standing about. Some were signed—and the name on them was RAYMOND. There was no other name after it, but there had been a mark; not a name but a symbol. The symbol was faint on the painting now upon his wall, but its faintness had led him, and others, to believe that it was the beginning of another name and they had sought in vain for that other name.

Jumping from his chair like one suddenly possessed of a key to a great secret, he removed the painting from the wall, and with the aid of a magnifying glass, one that had been so used many times, he studied the signature again. There was just a little space after the d of Raymond and then there was a mark, or possibly two marks, that suggested the letter V, the beginning of the letter W, or possibly the upper part of the letter Y, or, perhaps, the last part of the letter N, or the center of the letter M. Having always believed that these indistinct marks were the beginning of a second name, he traced out certain other faint brush strokes as being part of the faded name. But now he saw that this was the work of the imagination, for the brush strokes just as easily formed a part of the shrubbery in the foreground as imagination made them a part of the name. No, there was nothing truly definite except the first name and the two additional marks which now suggested a symbol.

Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the paintings he had seen on the wall of the room behind the old man who had just passed to the beyond in his last strange scene. Distinctly he saw the name of Raymond on a number of them, and just as distinctly a mark of some kind following the name, but the nature of the marks he could not recall, could not clearly visualize. Why had he not paid more attention to these pictures? And how came those pictures there? Was it an artist’s studio he had seen? And was the old man an artist? Was he, this old man, Raymond? Was he? Then.

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